#(honda made the cake)
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Inspired by this post, a really good discussion about it, and reassurance that life doesn't end after your twenties - quite the opposite in fact. Happy 43rd birthday Kaiba <3
#kaiba seto#seto kaiba#ygo#ygo dm#I KNOW IM LATE AJKSDHJASKF AGAIN#OTP: 'Kaiba x choosing over and over to live and keep going and reach out to the people already there waiting for him'#you can tag any ship you want tho lol#(shhhh in my secret extended brain universe)#(jou and anzu get together in their late 30s and between both of them CANNOT wrap a present)#(honda made the cake)#(yuugi will always answer the phone no matter how late)#(mokuba is family to all of them)#(isono has been offered several generous retirement packages and won't take them)#(he is going to SEE THESE KIDS THROUGH DAMN IT)#(Seto won't let him bodyguard anymore tho so mostly he just hangs around enjoying his seventies)#art tag
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i've had dysfunctional Honda family on the brain lately, and i got to thinking about Katsuya's sister—better known as Tohru's bitchy aunt who had no respect for Tohru's boundries and treated her like shit. she and Tohru's cousins are set up as an inconsequential first boss, out of Tohru's life and the story halfway through the first act, and then she's barely in the series ever again. canon-wise there's not really much to be said about her: she's a shrill, selfish woman who's basically a Japanese Karen. there isn't anything more to her character, and in the context of the story there doesn't need to be.
but i just got to thinking—what was she like as a kid? what was it like for her growing up, when she had a strict and uncompromising father, a mother who died when she was a teen/young adult, and an older brother who grew up frustrated and repressed?
Tohru's grandfather said that he and Katsuya were always struggling, with Katsuya striving to meet his father's unfair expectations and Tohru's grandfather (who henceforth is going to be called Toshiro bc i can't keep typing out "Tohru's grandfather") unwilling to accept that his son wasn't the person Toshiro wanted him to be. imagine having to live in a house where your older brother and your father are always fighting, where your brother slowly becomes a different person over the years and your father won't stop pointing out everything that's "wrong" with your brother.
(i think it's also important to note that the story takes place approximately from 1999-2001, which means Toshiro is very firmly from the war generation. that almost certainly influenced his values and approach to life, from the sharp focus on education to how he expected "good etiquette" from his children. and i dunno—not to drag a far bigger can of worms into the mix, but i think there is something to be said about how horrific worldwide cruelty deflates into systematic national cruelty which trickles down into mundane societal cruelty that somehow becomes "just the way things are", which feeds nicely into the series' themes of generational trauma and how people come to normalize abuse.)
we don't know much about the Hondas' domestic life, but we do know this: Toshiro was unhappy with his kids and his kids were unhappy with their father. then the mother died and Toshiro lost what was probably his strongest connection to both of them. Katsuya and Toshiro didn't really get along until after Kyoko came into their lives, which was probably a good several years later. meanwhile, we don't know anything about Toshiro's relationship with his daughter, but clearly there isn't the same kind of bad blood between them as there was Katsuya and Toshiro.
and it's just. Katsuya's sister. his younger sister, the one who grew up beside him. a woman who married a faceless (but respectable) man, who has enough money to take vacations and hire private detectives and completely renovate houses, who looks down on Kyoko and can't stop judging her own brother's child for being raised by an ex-delinquent.
do you ever think about it? how the unnamed sister spent her formulative years in a house that was never at peace. her father was proud and stubborn, clearly not willing to deal with anything other than what HE thought was right. her mother likely tried to play peacekeeper, because that's often what the wife is reduced to in a fight between family members, and who knows what her relationships with her kids were like in the face of that. her brother started out as someone like Tohru, but slowly became a different person as their father's expectations pressured him into walling off entire parts of himself. she constantly heard her father talk derisively about Katsuya for being less than his ideal (maybe even to Katsuya's face). and she clearly comes from a high-status family who have no qualms with being assholes toward "unsavory" family members, if the flashbacks to Katsuya's funeral are anything to go by. every time she met with family—aunts and uncles, grandparents, cousins, in-laws, what have you—she was reminded that you had to marry the right sort of person or you would be openly sneered at, receive no help or support, and be virtually disowned.
do you ever think about how she probably absorbed her father's ideas of an acceptable life because that's all she ever learned to value? how she took cues from her other family members and crafted a respectable persona that they would all approve of? that she possibly dotes on her family and supports her son's dream because she never got any of that love and acceptance for herself? her life is one of a stereotypical upper-middle-class suburban housewife, the kind who's obsessed with status and appearances to the point of becoming a shallow, cruel miniboss in a story about far worse cruelties and far less shallow motivations.
listen. listen. Tohru's aunt is an annoying person but also one that's easy to read. she felt "uneasy" around Kyoko. she wanted her son to succeed in life. she judged Tohru—a sweet girl who had literally never done anything of suspicion in her entire life—solely because of Tohru's parentage. she loved her father. she thought her father would support her in deriding the "distasteful" member of the family and she was wrong. she lost her mother at a young age. she refused to see Kyoko as worthy of respect. she thought Tohru was a delinquent like Kyoko who was shacking up with three strange men, but she still called to inform Tohru of Toshiro's illness and offered to go to the parent-teacher's conference with Tohru. her own father called her and her children "nasty by nature." she is a product of her childhood and also a deeply unpleasant person because she never chooses to extend compassion or kindness to others, much less any inklings of good faith.
and it all drives me a little nuts because Tohru's aunt is decidedly a minor character, and i don't think much thought was put into her characterization or backstory—she's the shitty judgmental family member who's there to be a roadblock for Tohru, and that's it. but the nuggets of information we get on Katsuya's past also creates a path for his sister's backstory, one that points to a quietly dysfunctional family, high pressure to be an acceptable member of society, and other unfortunate circumstances that led her aunt to becoming such a shallow, hardhearted person.
anyway. dysfunctional Honda family is very interesting.
#sorry about the toshiro thing but i simply can't organize a post while being forced to write “tohru's grandfather” every other sentence#toshiro is literally the first japanese name i could think of so it's not that deep or anything lol#anyway i just think it's fascinating reading between the lines#and seeing all the examples of malformed personalities and generational trauma even in the nameless bit characters#i do realize that i made some assumptions here but i think they're sound ones#there's a lot of crumbs and i'm baking a damn cake#fruits basket#tohru honda#tohru's grandfather#tohru's aunt#(ffs these people need names)#analysis#sage speaketh#edited for your convenience#(<-capitalized names and reworked a bunch of wording)
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I wrote it @arturleclerc and @123pixieaod! A cute lil kid fic. Sequel to this my first ever f1rpf drabble, and based on this adorable party. (I hope it's good 🫣)
Edit: we now have a continuation here
Daniel wouldn't say he was overwhelmed but it was a near thing. Overwhelmed with so much happiness. He stood in the middle of his and Max's living room looking around to make sure the decorations were perfect.
Of course, everyone knew the first birthday party was for the parents and not the child. And maybe he and Max had been more than a little self indulgent when they agreed on the Formula 1 theme.
Of course, all of the ready made decorations were in red and even suggesting that to Max had been tantamount to treason. So, they had designed everything themselves. Between the both of them they were; creative, detail oriented and anal retentive.
Max designed the cake and wall decor and Daniel tackled the birthday boys outfits, the photo backdrops and the floor decor. Then they'd sent them off to their party planner and waited.
Daniel had to admit, it had been a lot of work– lots of phone calls and organizing and dates– but everything came together beautifully. While Red Bull wasn't the actual theme, no one could even suggest that this was a Ferrari themed party.
Noah was currently cooing in his Papa's arms, banging a rubber duck – gifted by his uncle Carlos– on Max's shoulder. He was delighting in the short squeaks. Max held him sturdily, glancing over with a smile when Noah offered the duck to him.
Daniel thought Noah looked adorable in his mini race suit that closely matched the race suit his parents wore back in 2017, the deep navy with the bright red racing stripe on the side.
He was a chunky pale thing with blue eyes and blonde hair; all Max and barely any Daniel. If he hadn't carried him and went through nine hours of labour, Daniel would have thought that he was Max's clone. (His short blonde hair was finally showing maybe the possibility of a curl or wave and Daniel couldn't be happier).
"Everything looks amazing, Danny. You did well." Sebastian offered him a beer, clinking their bottles together.
"Thank you. It was a lot." Daniel laughed, side-stepping Isaac, his nephew, who was chasing another friend in the matching electric bumper cars that looked like an Aston Martin DBS and Honda NSX.
"Noah seems to be enjoying himself."
Daniel snorted, "oh that duck is his new best friend. I'm not even mad because before, it was one of the protein shaker bottles."
"Daniel! Where is my beloved nephew?" Charles entered the room with a flourish. He deposited his gift bags in a seemingly safe corner and beelined for Max who turned from his conversation with Lando and Carlos. Charles only had eyes for Noah, altering his voice and making faces to get the toddler to giggle.
Noah acquiesced to being held by one of his uncles and Max begrudgingly let him go. Charles immediately walked to one of the photo backdrops, the one proclaiming Noah the future F1 Champ and demanded photos be taken of them. Lando rolled his eyes but soon was taken in by his unofficial duties as photographer.
"Uncle Daniel look! I have tattoos like you now!" Isabella ran up to the pair, showing off her arm that now sported multiple racing themed temporary tattoos. Daniel crouched to her level with a wide Ricciardo grin, his eyes squinting with his happiness.
"We match!" He said excitedly, pressing his larger forearm against her tinier one. Kissing her racecar with his Love. She squealed in happiness, kissed his cheek and ran off to play with the other children running amok in the den.
Max came over and flung his arm around Daniel's waist and it was then that Seb saw the matching tshirts. 'Dad of Champ' 'Papa of Champ'. Max's smile could only be described as proud.
The chaos continued with a car race around a 'track' set up in the den and extended to the patio and back. Issac won the first race, a little girl named Brin won the second and Isabella won the third. The trophy ceremonies were the stuff of dreams; Daniel and Carlos taught the kids to spray the sparkling grape juice like winners. Charles snuggled comfortably with Noah, pointing out all festivities with adorable commentary.
When it was time to cut the cake, Noah 'drove' to the table in his DBS that had his name on it. He squealed happily when Daniel scooped him up and kissed his chubby cheeks. He reached for the cake before anyone could stop him and the group laughed and sung happy birthday while he happily munched on cake and blue icing.
Max leaned over to kiss Noah's stained cheek and Daniel felt like his heart was bursting out of his chest. Yeah, he was officially overwhelmed and life was good.
#maxiel#max/daniel#kid fic#first birthday party#maxiel fic#mentions of mpreg#my fic rec#maxiel parents#noah au
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hiii, you should write one for trevor with 60 (if we get caught it’s your fault) and 74 (listen, it’s for science)!! i feel like those prompts scream trevor, lol
Ugh I love these prompts! They definitely remind me of Trevor. Thank you for requesting, I hope you like it!
This is a Part 2 to The Intern but it can be read as a stand-alone
After Trevor and I realized we like each other a lot more then we originally let on, we started spending time together. Seeing Trevor outside of work has been amazing. He was hiding his personality from me for so long that it feels like a gift how open he is with me.
He is so honest about his emotions. I’ve spent my entire life hiding myself so seeing him be so true to himself is beautiful. It’s even making me more vulnerable.
One of my favorite sides of him is his mischievous side. I can see it coming from a mile away. He always gets quiet and has this smirk on his face that means trouble. It’s wonderful.
He’s been wearing that signature smirk all morning. He told me yesterday that he has a surprise for me so I’m getting ready for anything. I throw on a normal comfortable outfit and meet him in the car.
His hand rests on my thigh the entire car ride and I quickly realize where we are headed. “Why are we going to the rink?” I ask.
“You’ll figure it out when we get there.” He says playfully, leaning over quickly to kiss me at the red light. I can feel his smile on my lips.
When we pull up to Honda center Trevor parks behind the building. He sees my concern and simply grabs my hand. He leads me to a back door where our favorite security guard stands. Trevor greets him and the guard lets us in with no questions asked.
“Are we allowed to be here right now?” I question.
Trevor scrunches his nose, “Not technically.” My eyes go wide and he just chuckles. We walk through the hallways and at one point he asks, “Do you trust me?”
I don’t hesitate, “Of course I do.” Part of me can’t believe that it’s true. I trust him fully and completely. Just a few months ago being in a room with him was stressful. Now I can’t imagine a world where he isn’t my safe person.
He puts in hands over my eyes. I revel in their warmth. He walks with me for a short time before he removes his hands and whispers. “Open your eyes.”
On the ice there is a picnic set up for the two of us. There’s a blanket, food, flowers, and a cute little basket tied with a bow. “It’s beautiful!” I kiss him quickly and start heading over to the blanket.
I almost trip on the way over but Trevor catches me. I let out a yelp in fear of falling on my face. He just laughs holding me to his chest. “If we get caught it’s your fault.” He chuckles kissing my neck softly.
I respond by scoffing and pushing him a little. He only tightens his grip on me. Smiling we make our way to center ice.
I’ve always loved cold weather and the chill of an ice rink is the perfect cold. I don’t think I ever told Trevor that but an indoor cold picnic is better then baking in the California sun. It’s simply perfect.
We eat sandwiches that he claims he made “all by himself” and small cakes he admits that he bought. After we are done eating we cuddle on the blanket together and talk. My favorite thing about Trevor is how he communicates with me. He’s open and honest. We can talk about anything.
Then after a while of just talking he says, “Open the basket.” I give him a weird look. “I got you a present.” He smirks and kisses me.
I cant deny I’m excited, Who doesn’t like presents? I practically rip the basket open and when I see what’s inside I gasp. As I pick it up tears start to well.
Trevor grabs my face, “what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” He asks.
“No,” I respond. “It’s just… It’s the best gift anyone has ever given me.” I stare down at this beautiful film camera. It reminds me of the first camera I ever used. Trevor and I met because I’m on the social media team. A lot of people think that means I love digital photography and I do love it. But my first ever love was the darkroom. “How did you know?” I ask dumbstruck.
“I heard you talking with the other photographers once about how you like darkroom better. I had to look up what that meant. Now that we’re together I thought I’d surprise you.”
I’m in awe of him. He’s so incredibly sweet. I put the camera down softly and jump into his lap. Straddling him, I thank him for the gift with my lips. We kiss passionately with no care that we are in the middle of a rink we aren’t even allowed to be on. He parts from me just long enough to take a breath then his lips go to my neck.
He’s sucking, nipping, and biting every inch of skin. I can’t help but lean into him. Eventually he flips me over and leans back picking up the new camera. “What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly.
“Taking your picture,” He says smiling. I try to take the camera out of his hands but he dodges it. I hate pictures of me and he knows it. “Listen, it’s for science.” He holds it to his eye and snaps two pictures of me. My hair is messy from him pulling it and my neck is covered in blotches.
“How is it for science?” I ask finally taking the camera away from him.
“Film is marked by light then develops over time in chemicals. Your neck is marked by me and then it will develop over time because it just does.” I chuckle and he continues, “I’m documenting it.”
I take a picture of him as he hovers over me. “When did you get so interested in science?”
“When it started giving me excuse to kiss you.” I can’t help but smile. It’s the most perfect date I’ve ever been on, regardless of the fact that I’ll need to use a lot of concealer tomorrow.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips.
He smiles, “I love you too.”
#trevor zegras#trevor zegras imagine#trevor zegras blurb#trevor zegras fluff#nhl imagine#nhl#anaheim ducks#honda center#usntdp#usa hockey
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How about a mini car with a midship and a gull wing door
Autozam AZ-1
by Mitsuhiro Kunisawa Komiya
IIt's a different dimension sport!
A cute AZ-1 popped out onto the street. What kind of car is the AZ-1, which has been boiled down since the motor show three years ago? This time, I immediately checked it on a public road test drive. This is the AZ-1!
Controllable cornering power
The AZ-1, which made its debut at the Tokyo Motor Show three years ago and received tremendous support along with the cherry blossom cappuccino of the same year, was finally announced as the AZ550). One year late for cappuccino!
Let's leave the explanations for later and take a test ride! I want you to think that the stage is the winding road of Hakone. The first check item is, after all, handling. First of all, instead of saying hello, I jumped into the corner with full throttle!
Then, how about it! When you release the accelerator with "Bang!" I was surprised, and at the same time, I was a little happy, saying, "Oh, I didn't escape from midship!"
After all, the comfort of a mid-engined car is that "when you turn the steering wheel, the direction of the car changes immediately." However, it is easy to exceed the sensitivity limit by doing so, so the response is usually dulled. Some cars, like the Beat, are running away from the start.
Let me explain a little more about the handling of the AZ-1. First of all, it is cornering within the limit, but it is straightforward from approach to exit. Lateral G occurs immediately when the steering wheel is turned. smoothly after.
The engine adopted for the mid is a water-cooled 3-cylinder DOHC turbo with an intercooler that squeezes out 64 horsepower.
There is enough space for a dedicated bag at the front. Well, it can fit tools and rags.
Sufficient in power. I need a little more torque for climbing, but if it's a 660cc, it might be something like this...
If you operate the steering wheel and turn on the power, you can throw in and fast out like a textbook. What if we speed it up? Understeer appears as you gradually increase the speed of entering the corner. However, this is a characteristic common to all midship cars.
Of course there is understeer, but that is not the limit yet. A well-set midship is the highlight of the Ude from here. Then, what should I do?
Use motion to increase cornering speed.
For example, when entering a corner, leave the brake slightly and shift the load to the front wheels while turning the steering wheel. By doing so, the grip of the front wheel is improved, and the underside is eliminated. At the same time, the rear is flowing, so the car changes direction.
So, if you apply a moderate amount of power to the rear that has started to flow, it will start to slide, so you can adjust the amount of flow with the accelerator control from here. If you use this according to the size of the corner, it will be a higher level corner.
The dimensions that a ring can be made. For beats, the progress of corners
The rear does not flow when entering. before that
Sloppy front wheel slipping out
It will flow to the top side. The reason why Beat escaped from handling is that midship setting is very difficult. Since the mid-engined car distributes more weight to the rear wheels than to the front wheels, if you overdo it in the corners, the rear wheels will eventually drift and you will lose control.
Even the NSX and Ferrari 348 become difficult to control when pushed to the limit. Honda knows this, so they made it impossible for the car to turn at a low level.
AZ-1 is good when you go there. At the entrance of the corner, if you turn the steering wheel with a “Hishitsu!”, the tail will flow easily. Moreover, the range of control is very wide.
The counter is a piece of cake. The NSX and Ferrari 348 do not accept the control when the tail drifts only a little. It can be said that the control range of AZ 1 is close to FR.
I can do it, but that level
I'm afraid without it. After all, while cornering on a downhill or something like that, when I hit the brakes with a feeling like, “Ah! If it's someone who can hit the counter, it's fine, but if it's an older brother who's practicing, I think it's a bit dangerous.
Moreover, as the speed increases, the suspension becomes softer. I have no worries up to 60km/h, which is the speed limit on mountain passes in Japan, but if you want to go beyond that, it might be better to go a little harder. Also, the roll is large. If the K car rolls to this extent, there is a possibility that it will fall over.
Well, if you enjoy gymkhana and circuit driving, you need to attach shocks that are commensurate with the hardness. Recently, it's been popular to do time attacks on kart circuits, but if you try to do something like the style of riding a hotch-running curb on a normal suspension, it's better to think that you'll fail first.
what about the engine? Magazines often say, "3-cylinder twin-cam turbo similar to cappuccino," but to be precise, it's a mistake. The 3-cylinder installed in the Cappuccino is vertically mounted and has undergone a large modification for FR. The AZ-1 is mid-shipped in the same state as the FF Alto Works,
It's a different engine than a cappuccino!
Well, the handling of the AZ-1 is really good, but sometimes it's not. If you have a certain amount of arm, you can freely hit the counter and run around.
The ring is also different from cappuccino.
The Cappuccino engine vibrates a lot below 2000 rpm, but the AZ-1 doesn't vibrate until near idling. In terms of engine characteristics, the AZ-1 has a higher rotation. Cappuccino emphasizes the low and medium speed range.
In any case, it seems that the power is sufficient, and if the tachometer needle is between 3000 and 7000 rpm, you can fully enjoy the thick torque unique to the turbo. Without limiter, surely 1
It will go around 80km/h. So how do I rate this car? As those of you who know me know, I have a beat and a cappuccino. Therefore, when it comes to comparison with the AZ-1, I think we are the most detailed in the world.
First of all, personally, I passed! It's narrow. Surprisingly, the beat has a lot of front-to-rear length, and even 183cm is fine. The cappuccino has both tilt and telescope.
The AZ-1 has a narrow front-to-rear length, which makes the legs cramped. In addition, if the handle is fixed, you can't help it. I'm sure there will be complaints after 175cm.
I don't think gull wing doors are more valuable than open bodies to me. The Benz 300SL may be a dream for the Yujiro Ishihara generation, who admired it, but it would be better if the roof could be taken off.
As such, the AZ-1 is unlikely to be a third collection, unfortunately. By the way, regarding the order status, unlike Beat and Cappuccino, which had to wait half a year before their debut, it has started as usual.
The tail can come out, but it feels like it's coming out slowly.
I really want to wear aluminum too. This price is ¥28,000(for one)
I would love to have the audio as well This is a woofer. Price 176,500 yen
★Manufacturer option, 4W-ABS (80,000 yen) ★Shop option LSD (79,000 yen)
COMPARISON BOX TRANSLATION
Where is the difference with rivals
This means that three 2-seater light sports cars have been released. Let's take a look at the difference between these three. First is the price. AZ-1 is 1.498 million yen, Beat is ¥1,388,000, and a cappuccino ¥1,458,000. AZ-1 is audio, no aluminum. The beat is aluminum-free. All cappuccinos are standard. If the AZ-1 were equipped with the same equipment as the Cappuccino, it would cost about 200,000 yen more. Simply considering the price, cappuccino comes out on top in terms of cost value.
However, the added value cannot be overlooked. The beat is fully open. Cappuccino is T bar, Targa open. AZ-1 is a gull wing door. Considering that opening is natural, AZ-1's gull wing door might be good. Quietness is also good for Danchi. Passengers can speak in a normal voice even on the highway. Beats can't even talk to Roku.
Full test in next issue
schedule. AZ-1 is cappuccino,
Hit the beat or catch up.
Please look forward to the next issue. (Editorial department)
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Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks....
Omggg you’re literally saur sweet, I love this question and you 🫶🏾💜 I haven’t answered a question like this yet so lemme do it for you bookie, in no particular order btw bc I hate doing that 😭:
1. Princess Carolyn from Bojack Horseman: MY HOMEGIRLLL REAL BAD LIKE IF THEY MADE ME A CHARACTER I’D BE HER ! My @ on Twitter is even Princeskiaralynn (my real name is Kiara lmao) because of her. As someone who can be a high functioning depressed person at times, she gets it so bad.
2. Nanami from JJK: MY MAN MY MAN MY MANNN. Besides being fine as hell, I too hate corporate work and would love to escape to Malaysia to eat bread (I just sighed and teared up). I love how he’s a realistic portrayal of how most of us would be if we were in the jjk world; OVER IT!
3. Reiner Braun from AOT: He was my man before I knew he was emo and had mommy issues, but after that he was really my man. I like how complicated he is as a character and how complex his emotions are. What I don’t appreciate tho is how someone bring up that bootyhole picture as soon as I mention him.
4. Alice Cullen from Twilight: I love weird bitches with pixie cuts like its a requirement that I HAVE to like a fellow weird girl. She just weird and vibing with a man just as weird as her, she won in life fr.
5. Lumpy Space Princess from Adventure Time: OH MY GLOB, how could you not love lsp,ugh!? No, but really her ass is actually annoying as hell, but she purple and I love purple and I call my brother lumpy because of her ANDD I have a beanie of her. She my surface level homegirl.
6. Tohru Honda from Fruits Basket: UGGGGGHHH EVERYONE IN THIS SHOW LOWKEY MY BABY FR BUT TOHRU TAKE THE CAKE ! Like my homegirl was living in a tent both parents gone fending for herself and you expect me not to always root for her? I gotta stop typing now before I turn this post into why FB is peak anime.
7. Oj from Nope: I dont like to talk, he dont like to talk, he weird, im weird, and I also have an obsession with extraterrestrial beings and horses. We might just be the same person!
8. Chopper from One Piece: I actually have never watched One Piece (but the weapons away ! ✋🏾😅) but I’ve beeb told by Orange anon and others that I’m just like him and he seems real cute so I vibe with it.
9. Tony Sorprano from The Sorpranos: I actually hate him as a person and he would hate me x10 too BUT, the way his character is written and broken down throughout the show is AMAZING. You’re sitting there sympathizing with a mob boss like “Damn, he just like me fr” bc he be having panic attacks and silly goofy moods like us.
10. Riley from The Boondocks: REAL RECOGNIZE REAL !!! He was the definition of young n turnt and exactly how I act when I get two shots of tequila in me.
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Sweetest Devotion
Summary: Loving Bradley is the easiest thing you've ever done, and coming home to him is always the best part of your day. Especially when you come home with cake. But a slight mixup at the bakery leads to the sweetest of promises.
Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 5k
Warnings: So much fluff (side effects may include giggling and kicking your feet)
(Author’s Note: this fic was written for my one year celebration of the ‘Like I Can’ series, but it can be read on its own!)
After a long week, there was no place you’d rather be than at home with Bradley.
The two of you have been living together for a couple of months now, but seeing his Bronco parked in the driveway of the condo you shared knowing the empty spot next to it is meant for your own still made your heart flutter out of sheer giddiness.
Even if he still teased you about your practical Honda Civic’s lack of street cred. But it did have a spacious backseat with its own set of doors and an actual trunk, unlike the Bronco.
And on the rare rainy days you got in San Diego, Bradley was asking to borrow your car rather than risk the interior of his big blue baby. Those days you just got to preen as you handed over your car keys to him. Sure, you could be the one to drop him off, but it was funnier watching the way he valiantly attempted to hold back his grimace as he tried to adjust the driver’s seat to comfortably fit his bulk.
As you pull into your spot, you’re hit with that same gust of summer breeze warmth you always are as you. It was a feeling you didn’t expect to go away any time soon.
It takes a bit of finesse getting the front door open with your work tote and purse slung over one shoulder while you cradled the paper bags of bread and box of treats you’d stopped for on the way home in the other.
Bradley had texted you to let you know that he was making dinner earlier, but had forgotten the bread during his grocery run and had asked if you didn’t mind making a quick stop to grab some. He’d promised to make it worth your while, and while you would have done it for him anyways, a little extra incentive was always nice.
Especially after the way he had teased you in the shower this morning.
You picked up the baguette that he’d requested along with a couple loaves of fresh bread for sandwiches that you were planning to stick in the freezer for later. At the checkout, they’d had a few fun pink bakery boxes packed with six individually wrapped cake slices in different flavors. It seemed like more fun than the basic red velvet cupcakes you had been debating as you waited for your turn to pay, so you’d picked up one of those boxes too. Since it was Friday, you figured a little treat was very much deserved after such a long week.
The two of you had just gotten back from a little trip back home not too long ago, but you were already dying for another vacation. Ideally one that involved creamy blended beverages served in coconuts and Bradley Bradshaw wearing some 5-inch inseam swim trunks with his thick thighs on display in the golden sunlight.
It had been so nice to see your parents and to visit the sights of your childhood growing up together. You’ve always gone home for holidays, but it had been years since he’d been there with you. Some things had stayed the same like the ice cream shop where Bradley had had his first job. And some things had changed with the times like the empty parking lot where he’d first taught you how to drive was now the site of an upscale organic grocery store. Now that you and Bradley were you and Bradley, the nostalgia of your younger years felt extra sweet as you’d strolled with his hand tucked yours.
It’s a miracle you get through the door without dropping anything.
You’re waiting to hear the scamper of little paws against the laminate floor headed your way as you kick off your heels, Duck was usually the first one to greet you when you got home.
The puppy was growing all too quick for your liking. For as much as Bradley grumbled about being woken up early on the weekends by the black and white ball of fluff, you’ve caught him on more than one occasion cooing at the dog and slipping him treats. The sweet, goofy little dog was the perfect addition to your dynamic duo.
Even if Bradley still got huffy about the name and how Duck had come to be in your life.
On the occasional night when Bob’s friend Casey from the animal shelter- the man you’d been on exactly half of a date with once close to a year ago- was invited to come hang out, your boyfriend always was finding reasons to stand a little closer to you or leave his hands lingering a little longer on your hips. Those nights usually end with the two of you sweaty and out of breath, tangled in the sheets of your canopy bed.
You can hear Bradley singing along with one of his playlists in the kitchen and the sounds of drawers opening and closing as you tuck your purse and tote under the side table at the entrance. You smile to yourself as you drop your key fob into the bowl where his are already resting, the key to his Bronco was on the same keychain with the little fighter jet charm that you’d given him when you were teens when Mav had given him the Montero for his 16th birthday.
Taking the bread and box of cake slices with you, you pass through the living room you see Duck passed out belly up on his Sherpa lined dog bed. His ears flopped out to the side and his little paws twitching as he dreams about chasing balls or squirrels. It’s a good think your hands are full or you’d be collecting even more photos of your sweet boy in addition to the hundreds you already had on your phone.
“I’m home,” you greet, rounding the corner to the kitchen, the savory smell of onions and garlic growing stronger the closer you get, “And I come bearing a baguette.”
Standing in front of the stove is Bradley with a checkered kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. His curls look a little damp, still drying from the shower he must have taken earlier. The soft looking shirt he’s wearing is pulled taut across his back, and the sweatpants he has on are hugging the curve of his ass in the best way. He looks so at ease and comfortable, none of the tense strain in his body that he sometimes comes home with.
Bradley looks over his shoulder towards you with a grin on his face, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” His pretty brown eyes rake over you in a way that has you wondering about just how he is planning on thanking you for picking up the baguette you’d stopped for. He lets out a low whistle, “Damn, I love that skirt on you.”
“I’m glad you clarified,” you say, sending him a wink and setting your bakery haul down on the island counter, “I wasn’t sure if you were talking to me or the armload of freshly baked carbs.”
He leans his hip on the side of the counter, “A little yeast and flour have got nothing on you, kid.”
“Now you know you can’t go around saying things like that an expect me not to fall in love with you,” you tease, opening the freezer to put the sandwich bread away.
“I’m failing to see a problem with that- oh shit,” he curses, hastily turning back to the stove to adjust the range knob as something spits and sizzles on the top of the convection cooktop.
You step around the island and over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind him. He’s always been the right kind of warm, the kind that makes you want to melt into him. You press your face against his back, his shirt soft against your cheek. Under the woodsy smell of his body wash there’s still a faint lingering scent of jet fuel. It’s your favorite smell.
“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, settling his big hand over yours, still stirring the sauce with the other. And you can almost see the easy, contented smile on his face just from the gentle tone of his voice.
“Hi, Bradley,” you hum, happy to be home.
“How was your day?”
“I’m glad it’s the weekend,” you say with a sigh, “The beach day tomorrow with everyone is going to be much needed.” A sympathetic sound rumbles from his chest as his thumb runs over the back of your hand. You were looking forward to sitting under the shade of the stripped umbrella and feeling the sand between your toes as you sip on an icy cold beer. “How was yours?”
“Not too bad, I took Seresin out and now he owes me $200. So overall, it’s been a pretty good day,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “Cyclone let us out early, so I was productive. Did some errands, got the groceries. Well, most of them. I even took Duck to the dog park and let him run around for a bit. He made friends with a Great Dane, I took a few videos of them playing on my phone for you.”
The mental image of Bradley recording a video of your puppy being cute and playing in the park in the same way a proud dad would film his kid’s little league game makes you feel more than a little weak in the knees.
Pressing up on your toes, you skim a kiss against the side of his neck and prop your chin on his shoulder to peer at what he’s cooking up.
“It smells really good in here,” you tell him, taking in the pot of sauce simmering away on the stove. Off to the side there’s a cutting board with some fresh basil chopped up and a pile of papery vegetable scraps and a couple empty cans of tomato sauce.
“Yeah? It’s been awhile since I’ve channeled my inner Stanly Tucci, so I thought some homemade spaghetti and meatballs sounded good.”
Your eyebrows raise on their own, the surprise evident in your voice, “Homemade meatballs?”
“Ok, maybe those came from Trader Joe’s,” Bradley admits, “But the sauce is all me. I even put the red pepper flakes in it the way you like it.” He reaches over for a handful of basil and adds it into the pot.
You send your thanks up to Carole for making sure her son at least had known the basics of cooking. He could more than hold his own in the kitchen, and the competent way he handled a chef knife in his big hands was endlessly attractive to you.
“‘Semi-homemade with Bradley Bradshaw’ has a nice ring to it, want me to pitch it as a reboot to the Food Network?” You feel the way he chuckles under your palms, the muscles of his stomach contracting and releasing.
“I don’t think I’d make it out with my liver intact. That woman loved her cocktails strong, I’m pretty sure her sangria recipe would send me to the floor,” he jokes, “No wonder why our moms were always watching her.”
“A woman after my own heart,” you sing, “I’m so glad I inherited such good taste from them.”
Bradley shakes his head amused, “The good news for you is that there’s a bottle of red open and waiting for you, funny girl.”
The promise of wine perks you up immediately. Pasta, wine, cake, and Bradley. What more could a girl need?
“God, you’re the man of my dreams.”
“I sure hope so,” he says, squeezing your hand.
“Oh, you are so getting lucky tonight, Lieutenant.” You take advantage of the way he leans his head back and laughs to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
You slide your arms back from around his waist, only managing to take one step towards the bottle of your favorite Cabernet Sauvignon that’s breathing over near the sink with one of your wine glasses set out next to it before you’re being stopped with a gentle hand on your wrist.
“Hold up, where do you think you’re going, kid?” Bradley asks, tugging you back to him with a grin.
He doesn’t wait for your response before he is leaning in to properly kiss you for the first time since he left for work this morning.
At the press of his lips against yours, you feel every ounce of strain you’d been carrying from the day dissolve like melted sugar. A satisfied hum escapes you and you feel the way the corner of Bradley’s mouth ticks up at your reaction to him. His hands cup your face, tilting you head until it was at the perfect angle for him to deepen the kiss. You don’t even notice he’s back you up against the island until the countertop is digging into your lower back, too distracted by the way the coarse hairs of his mustache scrape along your upper lip.
If it weren’t for the sound of the timer going off the two of you might have almost would have forgotten about dinner entirely, it wouldn’t have been the first time it’s happened.
“Is there anything I can help with?” you ask, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt from the way you’d had it clutched in your fists just moments ago before letting go of him so that he can silence the beeping coming from the oven.
“You want to make us a salad to go with it?”
“Yes, chef,” you purr as you spin on your heel taking off in the other direction.
And really you should have expected the cheeky way his hand connects with your ass in a quick, sharp slap. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, but he’s already facing the stove and stirring the sauce again as he adjusts the seasoning with a smirk.
You take a moment to pour yourself a glass of the wine Bradley had opened for you and take a sip. The bold, juicy flavor dancing across your tongue as you set about gathering the things to make a simple salad to go with the dinner he’s made for the two of you.
This is your favorite part of the day, when it’s just the two of you together.
The back and forth has always been easy with him. Whether it’s making dinner or running errands or doing laundry together. The things that always felt mundane on their own had become some of the things you most looked forward to during the week. It’s not that you need to be around him, but you always want to be around him.
When Bradley declares the sauce to be perfect, he comes and joins you at the island. Grabbing a cutting board of his own he starts slicing up the fresh baguette you’d picked up, offering you the end to snack on.
“Oh, what’s this?” he asks, picking up the box of assorted cake slices.
You continue chopping the cucumber in front of you, “Isn’t that fun? They had a stack of those at the checkout. I think they must have made too many cakes this week on accident, but it’s so smart of them so sell them that way. Why get one flavor when you can have six? Best of both worlds for everyone.”
“That so, huh?” he sounds amused by your enthusiasm, “Is there something else you wanted to talk to me about?”
It hadn’t been a particularly noteworthy visit, other than you’d been able to score a parking spot in front of the building, “Uh, not that I can think of?”
“You sure?” Bradley prods.
“No?... Oh! I was going to pick up that marbled rye you like while I was there getting the baguette, but they were already sold out. So I got a loaf of the multigrain brown bread and some sourdough instead.”
“Mmm, interesting.”
Stopping your salad prep, you look up at him skeptically, “Ok, why are you mmm-ing me, Bradshaw?”
Bradley’s eyes are alight with playful mischief as he slides the box of the cake slices towards you and pointedly double taps on the sticker on the upper right corner of the pink box with his finger.
You hadn’t stopped to read the shiny gold label when you’d grabbed it at the bakery, the tempting layers of cake and frosting and fillings had immediately sold you on it, but you couldn’t unsee what the curly scripted font said now.
Wedding Cake Sampler
“So, when’s the wedding? I’m assuming I’ll be invited,” he grins.
You feel your face get hot as you realize your mistake. It wasn’t just a sample box, but a very specific type of sample box. A very specific type of sample box for a very specific occasion.
Suddenly the interaction with the bakery employee as you were paying makes so much more sense now.
“Oh my god, the girl at the checkout said ‘Congratulations’ and I said ‘Happy Fri-yay’ back to her,” you groan, covering your eyes with your hands, “I thought she meant it like ‘Congrats on making it to Friday’ thing.”
He laughs, “Sweet girl, that’s about the damn cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Happy Fri-yay, Bradley! She was congratulating me on our- I mean- the nonexistent impending nuptials she thought I had and I reply to her that? We need to find a new bakery, I can’t go there ever again,” you lament. It’s truly a tragedy, since they have the best sticky pecan rolls in the area.
“And you call me a drama queen,” Bradley lightly teases, “She probably thought it was funny.”
You groan again, louder this time. If he was going to call you a drama queen, you’d at least try out your best Mariah Carey impersonation.
Your face is still hidden behind your hands when you feel Bradley gather you into his arms, running a warm hand up and down your back. “C’mon, it’s not even that bad. I’m sure I did at least three things more embarrassing than that today.”
“Yeah, I bet you did too,” you grumble into his chest without heat. The way he chuckles at your surliness lets you know he doesn’t take it personally. Not only is he getting laid, but you decide you’re definitely going to give him head too for being the sweetest man alive.
He takes your wrists in his hands and pulls the away from your face, “I gotta tell you, I’m glad it was just a little mix up. It would have sucked to find out my girlfriend had a fiancé I didn’t know about.”
You can see every shade of brown in his eyes as he looks into yours, the affection and amusement rippling there the same way the light catches the surface of a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning.
At this point you really do just have to laugh at yourself. It’s such a silly thing to get worked up about, especially since you know you’re probably more ruffled about Bradley potentially thinking that you’re trying to drop a not-so-subtle hint with it. And fact of the matter is that you still probably would have picked it up anyways, you just might have peeled off the incriminating sticker off in the car before bringing it in.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Bradshaw. I’ve got my hands more than full enough with you.”
“Yeah, you do,” he boasts, the insinuation is not lost on you.
You snort a laugh and shove at his chest lightly. He drops a kiss to the side of your head and makes his way back to the other side of the kitchen island as you get back to your salad making duties.
“Hey, just so you know, I can’t wait to eat wedding cake with you later,” he says as he continues to slice up the baguette.
You playfully toss a cucumber at him for his teasing and he pops in mouth with a grin.
A little later, when you have your steaming bowls of pasta in front of you at the dinner table, he raises his glass of wine to you, “Happy Fri-yay, sweet girl.”
And your laugh is as crystalline as the clink of your glass meeting his in cheers.
After the leftovers are put away and the dishes cleaned, the two of you are cozied up watching the new romcom that was just added on Netflix.
You’re stretched out across the couch with your feet in Bradley’s lap eating the cake you’d picked up. You try a bit of each flavor deciding which one you like the most to save it for the end, while Bradley takes his chances and eats one slice at a time before moving on to the next one. It’s truly unhinged behavior and you couldn’t help but tease him about it when you’d noticed his cake tasting methodology.
Bradley moans around a forkful of cake and you know he’s just found the carrot cake- his favorite.
He’s always been a bit of a pseudo health nut with questionable logic. “It’s got carrots and walnuts, it’s basically a superfood” he’s claimed on multiple occasions, while purposefully excluding the part about the pound of butter and cream cheese that goes into the frosting.
“I’d clear my schedule in heartbeat and take you to City Hall any day of the week as long as we get to have this carrot cake when we get married,” he says right before he licks the frosting off of his fork.
Your breath catches in your throat.
When, not if.
He says it so easily like there’s not a doubt in his mind that it’ll be you and him facing each other at the end of an aisle as vows about forever are exchanged.
He says it like a fact.
He says it like he knows.
“I didn’t realize I missed the part where you asked me,” you say, setting your plate on the coffee table in front of you, too full of the hope of it all to keep eating.
“And here I was waiting on you, kid,” he says playfully, taking another bite.
He’s teasing, you know he is. Bradley isn’t the type of man who would lead you on or play games with your heart.
“Bradley.” It’s an almost whine the way his name comes out of your mouth as you nudge his thigh with your foot. You turn your head to bury your face in the cushion of the couch, suddenly feeling very bashful.
The two of you have never talked about it, at least not like this before. Only in casual passing comments like getting a place with a bigger backyard for Duck or about setting up a joint banking account. A hypothetical future.
“Hey, c’mon. Look at me,” he coaxes, squeezing your foot. When you peek at him, the look on his face is all open sincerity, “You’re my forever girl. I love you and I’m planning on spending the rest of my life with you. That is, if you’re ok with that.”
A rush butterflies happily swoop and swirl around in your stomach.
He’s been in your life for almost three decades now. You’d known the boy, the teen, and you more than liked the man he’d become. You had absolutely no intention of ever letting him go. He was yours. Forever and always.
“That’d be ok with me,” you tell him freely. You watch as his smile gets wider and broader until it’s taking up his whole face, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “I think I could handle quite a few more decades with you, Bradley Bradshaw.”
“Is that so?” he drawls, his fingers skimming up and down the top of your calf.
“Oh, definitely. You’re stuck with me,” you grin.
“Good.”
He tugs your ankle, pulling you until your back is flat against the couch. You squeal in delight as he pins you down on the cushions, your arms and legs wrap around him on their own drawing him in even closer. Then he’s kissing every inch of your face that he can reach as you laugh in delight.
If it weren’t for Bradley’s sturdy bulk on top of you, you’re pretty sure you might have just floated away. You’ve never felt this incandescently light in your whole life.
He brushes one more quick kiss to the top of your nose before he pulls away, “But just so we’re on the same page, that wasn’t an official proposal. More like a declaration of intention.”
“I don’t know,” you muse, stroking his pink cheek, “Sounds like you’re desperate to wife me up, Bradley. Practically begging for me to take you to the courthouse.”
His hands go straight for curve of your waist, attacking that ticklish spot that’s always made you giggle and squirm. Only taking mercy on you once you’re out of breath. You’re almost positive that the smile on your face might be there permanently.
You don’t miss the intensity in Bradley’s eyes as they trace over your face as he settles himself more fully on you, “You don’t know the half of it, kid. But I’m letting you know now, I’m not going to make either one of us wait long for it.”
And then his mouth is on yours.
You feel the promise he’s making to you in his kiss. The caress of his hands along your body feels like a vow. You feel every ounce of just how much he loves and cherishes you. The cake was sweet, but his honeyed kiss tastes even sweeter.
“Tell me we can have carrot cake at our wedding, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your lips.
Our wedding.
The thought of it made you giddy.
You wanted to wear his ring on your finger just as much as you wanted to see him wearing one of his own one day. You liked your last name, but there was nothing more you wanted than to be Mrs. Bradshaw. It would be another thing you and Carole could share. A name and the everlasting love for her son.
“Ok, we can have carrot cake at our wedding,” you agree, wholeheartedly, “It’s basically a superfood, after all.”
“Damn right it is,” he beams.
The cake is quickly forgotten in favor of pulling your shirt over your head.
You might not have a ring. Yet.
But you did have a lifetime with Bradley and a carrot cake to look forward to. And that was more than enough for you.
Bradley was pretty sure that there was nothing better on this Earth than having you draped across his chest as you slept soundly in his arms. Your breathing had softened and evened out ages ago, but his mind was whirling with thoughts of his bright future with you.
He’d meant it when he’d told you he wasn’t going to make you wait long. Bradley didn’t know how much longer he could go on calling you his girlfriend when all he really wanted to call you his wife. He’s imagined you in a white dress walking towards him more times than he could count.
When he’d planned the surprised trip back to your shared hometown as a gift for your six-month anniversary, he might have had some ulterior motives. While it was nice to see the place you’d both grown up in again as adults, there had been a more pressing issue on his mind the whole time.
He hadn’t been able to control the nervous bounce of his leg or his sweaty palms when he’d ask your mom’s permission for your hand in marriage. It hadn’t been any easier the second time, when he’d had to do it all over again with you dad that sunny day at the golf course.
Bradley knew it was a bit of an antiquated tradition, but he’d never proposed to anyone before and he wanted to get it right. He wanted you and your parents to know just how serious he was about his intentions to love you for the rest of his life. He’d even asked Mav for his blessing too, just to make sure he had his bases covered.
It had thrown him through a loop when at the end of the trip you mom had slipped him the ring she’d worn while she was married to your dad. She’d told him there was no expectations or pressure to use it, she just wanted him to have it just in case.
The engagement ring his mom had worn had been tucked in the back corner of his nightstand for almost four months now. Bradley had pulled it out of storage sometime around the third month of officially dating you. It would be too soon for anyone else, but he’s already had decades with you. And he’d never been more sure about anything in his life as he was about knowing you were the one for him.
The two of you had always been perfectly right on time in your own way.
He’d dwelled on it for weeks trying to figure out if he should give them both to you at once. Or if he should propose to you with one and save the other to you during another monumental moment, like when the two of you started a family. He figured could turn one into a necklace or something for you.
Bradley could feel the presence of both rings every time he walked into the bedroom. They were both equally were important to him, he wanted to get it right.
His mom had known and loved you, he knew that she’d have been so excited to see her ring on your finger. And after his mom had passed, yours had helped him during those rough days in ways he didn’t think he could ever properly thank her for. Even though your parents’ marriage hadn’t worked out, they were the reason that you were here and he couldn’t imagine his life without you.
It wasn’t until Natasha had shown him the Toi et Moi style ring that things locked into place in a way that made his heart race at the very idea of it.
The right ring for the right girl.
He lets his fingers trail up and down your back gently as you slept soundly against him.
In the kitchen earlier that night, he might have bent the truth about his day just a little bit.
The final design had been sent to his email that morning. And it was more perfect than he could have imagined.
He did win $200 from Jake and had gone to the dog park with Duck, but he’d also stopped by the jewelers across town to give them both of the family heirlooms because he didn’t want to waste a single minute.
Two diamonds, one ring. The start of you and him. A story of your beginnings to be worn on the finger that would tie him to you with a golden thread for the rest of your lives together.
He’d even paid extra to have it engraved.
My sweet girl. My forever girl.
I genuinely thought I was one and done after I wrote my first fic in December of last year. And then came these two. 'Like I Can' was meant to be a oneshot that turned into a 3-part series that turned into half of my masterlist. I adore this couple with my whole heart. Thank you for reading along and celebrating with me!
Elle (@callsignspark) thank you for sending me the TikTok that inspired the headcanon about the wedding cake sampler, I'm showering you with shiny 'thank you' shaped confetti! And another big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for getting as giddy about these two as I do and for always enthusiastically reading the snippets I send you! You both are the best!
If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!
You can read my other stories here!
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You have some amazing news and it is some f***** around here I don't know what the hell that is we have to go after them and they did some research and they're handing it in and we're going to hit them here.
-the mini that we build is selling like hot cakes we can't keep any in stock or put them in a sales place or anything it's ridiculous we have too many people who want to buy them and we have a lot it's a lot of sales we have about 100 trillion in sales this week and we have to make them by probably around Friday and it is tough going say that's a lot of that's a lot of cars and we have plenty of materials we have plenty of people need to open plants I don't open them all over the place. It is a gigantic effort it's gigantic and it should be all sorts of parts distribution and more right now the competition is made 30 trillion this week they'll try for a hundred trillion and so will we. That's a lot of cars and we're making more and we are using the metal now and they're stamped and it's taking less time but it still takes time we're stamping right now we're still having tons now I mean that's a lot of cars that's ridiculous
-we're making motorcycles yes we are making the Grom at Japanese facilities and our son is sitting there going why don't we just cast the frame is there a reason why we're not and they're saying not really it takes a third of the time it's twice as strong people fat people and cause accidents it's really a matter of time it takes and we start to see what you're saying it takes forever and you can make it out of a steel alloy so we found one that works then cast easy and we're making a bunch of those it's a lot faster and we're going to make huge numbers of them right there but really I was going to make about 50 trillion of those this week and they're actually for Honda and they're cheap enough they're under 4 grand it's kind of expensive but and we use a different tire size no so really it's father and mother and no so they're going to make about five trillion and we're going to Shadow them but with the changes on it and we're calling the Honda Grom 2 and we're going to make about 5 to 10 trillion but we're making kits to convert an upgrade we have made about 7 trillion this week we expect to have about 500 trillion and everybody else combined they have all these shops opening we'll probably have 1.5 septillion oddly enough for talking about how many troops are bored the empire ships and it's about 1.4 septillion that's way too many. This is amazing that's a lot of bikes 1.5 septillion is a huge number of bikes I don't know how to tell you that it says he thinks that's too many I agree I don't know where these people are but seriously it's a lot of bikes it's not that many and all of us I don't know if we have that many people and so he's saying it's numbers are crazy so we are monitoring very well. New England New England is like an area it has like a few hundred trillion that's like 4,000 and that would be 13 septillion or something it's probably true it's a little less now so that's a lot of people still we don't think we're making that many this week but it's going to be a lot it'll be at least 80 trillion that's ridiculous for kids I can't believe they made that many bikes that's crazy but that's what happened that Chinese too kicked in a bunch and they made them all over the world to knock off it there's going to be so many kits out there it's not funny. That is a few other things going on we have a lot of lot of people talking about this next item
-a Porsche kit my father and mother his grandfather and grandmother god and goddess black God black goddess of Germany teaming up with Hera's side the BMW. And she's calling him an idiot saying is the other one and they almost tried to get in the house that's why he's an idiot he says wasn't there another company called Mercedes and I'm not an idiot damn it so she says oh yeah that would be me no and you believe me I said you were coming at me with your biological alarm clock going off.. and I'm frazzled she says the stuff is finally happening we tried so hard get tired exhausted and fell asleep a lot. This lack of oxygen but it's really exhausting and they're finally picking up a lot of slack well they're getting the job done and helping it's going to be nice soon. And that was Hera there's a lot of talk and it's a Porsche and BMW and Mercedes all the same time and there's a lot of people we're going to make them now and those particular models to say they're us it's too preclude as they say. I wish I had some way to tell people how many people are talking about it our son is famous and they know who he is and there's a bunch of people who heard him about the Grom and trying to get money to him and they are giving a dollar to their bosses and the bosses are saying okay some bosses have about 200 million dollars. It's working and they're starting to get something oh that's the idea he says have any more things to spring on me because I made the v looks like a new one and I heard you said have any more spring on us I can't remember what that was I think it might be the Bradley but I can't get to work it's supposed to be a kid car and I'll try to Porsche that's a good idea so he sees it and he sees people starting to make them and says we started this and the actual company is going to start up and we need it this is we need the kids more. Does Joanna's face Joy on his face and he said how fast does it go he said you take the Porsche which is really the new boxster design and it should go about 380 with the stock VW motor and if you soup it up it'll go 420 and it's a good or maybe faster so working all right they got a few ready sort of and they're rough on the inside but they go about 490 the reinforced and boy is acting Hall boy does that thing haul. Now the talk is huge it's too big it's relatively ridiculous but they want to do is sign a petition for people to get him some funding for him just to have some money and a snipe hands from like a trust account and her son is requesting that the bosses send the money up with the letter to request that their head bosses deposit the money into a trust fund and it'll be used to try and get I'll send some funds and it's typing from it or no some kind of money from something else but this money will be collected and in the cash form would be stored so we might build a vault and put it in there I was thinking about Miami and we need it this weekend. The three and others want to build so we're going to try and build it.
-who harassed today pretty good we were and we see why we're having a little war but boy I've been doing the same thing for years and so get it but okay
-no saying above that people getting harassed and I would say it and they're taking it out on them and there's a lot of these morlock will not shut up.. huge groups of them are slain white people telling them to sit down and shut up and it won't and it's gross but it had to happen . And there's more than seven trillion remaining it's 7% and out of that number 1% is coming forwards in the cities and that's what just dropped it's ridiculous and they're fighting over nothing. We have not seen this for a while it's technique and they're threatening everybody and trying to take Stone chips and they're down below doing it and another 2% but that brings us to 4% if they fail and lose them that it'll be huge they're already hunting and those numbers are going to be hundred pass and we seen it in the other clans but
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Maribel (Final Version Part 5 of 7)
It was ten of eleven, and my gut brought me north along the railroad tracks. I wanted to ask others if they saw Maribel or had any clues to where she was, but I didn't see much outside of graffiti, clothes, and a couple soggy mattresses. I came across a dirty needle and kept walking until I reached a bridge I had never seen.
I climbed up the metal staircase to a road by an auto repair shop. Noises of hammering and grinding metal caught my attention, and there was a chopped-up Honda in the garage. I zeroed in on a conversation between two mechanics who were talking about being taxed, but I couldn't see them speaking. This can’t be right,I thought to myself. How am I hearing them? I took a breath and a mild fog came over me. I stopped and turned in the direction of the soup kitchen, nearly losing my balance and falling to the tracks below. Why am I here? I asked myself. I had the shakes and needed a drink. Depending who was working, the soup kitchen made you talk to the priest if you smelled of liquor. Since I'd rather not do that, I’d have to last at least one more hour without drinking.
As I walked to the church, the sound of passing cars echoed through my body, and the vibrations changed the sounds into words. They know about you, they said. Everyone knows.
At the soup kitchen I half expected to see Maribel, but she wasn't there, and the lump in my throat returned as my gaze dropped to the floor. Silvia, one of the servers, greeted me and handed me a plate, easing the pain of Maribel's absence. I got in line and received a salad, biscuit, and some kind of hamburger pasta mix with green beans and a piece of cake.
In the corner sat John whom Maribel and I nicknamed "The Trapper" due to the animal traps he set up in the woods along the Quinnipiac River. When he wasn't at the soup kitchen, we joked that he was having squirrel for dinner. I sat nearby and read and reread the fire escape route and left shortly after eating. Usually I'd stick around to smoke, but I wasn't feeling like myself...
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A Fish Story, by Alan Steinbach
Preface: Alan Steinbach and I have had a remarkable summer of fishing. The striped bass have not been this plentiful for decades, and we've had some adventures. But this one takes the cake.
[The prose below is by Alan, and several of the photos too.]
-----
Part One
Last week, David and I met at the seawall behind MBL, where his boat, Freedom, is one of a row of boats less than 20 feet that are fastened to lines that loop through a pulley attached to a small mooring ball. It was 3 PM, the tide was rising, and we wanted to get out under the drawbridge without having to ask for the bridge to be raised. We made it, by about a foot.
I was looking forward to being out on the water, after a week following hurricane Ian’s weather-wake of wind and rain. The high cirrus clouds, and wind predicted to be ‘light and variable’, and the resulting bright sunshine and minimal wave action made it even more attractive. I also like accompanying David because he generally runs the boat by himself, leaving me to feel, look, and fish.
I should say David did not name Freedom; the name came with the boat, and he considers it improper to rename boats. However, the name fits. At about 18 feet, and shallow, with a very dependable Honda outboard, Freedom is not expensive to operate, nimble enough to cruise at 15 mph, large enough to handle forceful waves, small enough to come close to rocks where fish hang out without risking damage. Assuming you know what you are doing. David does.
“What are you thinking of?”, I ask as we move into the harbor, emerging from the channel between the ever larger Marthas Vineyard ferry operations, and the Woods Hole Oceanographic dock. Today WHOI is hosting a brutalist floating platform appropriately named Kraken. It’s a big catamaran used to manage ROV’s ( Remote Operational Vehicles, part of the REMUS program ).
“ The tide won’t start down at Staircase for an hour or more, so lets take a few drifts casting through the Hole first, and then go down the islands on the Vineyard Sound side looking for birds”, replies David.
“Sounds good”, I reply, forgetting the ambient motor noise.
“Can’t hear you!”
“ I said ‘Great Idea’” I shout after turning towards him from my seat in front of the boat. Both of us have presbycusis..age related loss of hearing.
Yes, since you asked, we are two old guys in a small boat. We don’t have to fish for a living. We are privileged in that way. Elder fishing is another reason to stay healthy.
We do a drift through the Hole, casting lures that we hope will attract a large fish. Nothing doing.
“Nobody hungry here, I guess” remarks David, easily heard over the gurgles and Glunks of moving water. “Lets get going towards Stairway”
Stairway is not on any map of the Elizabeth Islands. It’s a place on the South shore of Naushon Island, which is the second in the linear archipelago that stretches from Woods Hole on the extreme Southeast of the Cape as a perforated wall of glacial drift between Marthas Vineyard and Rhode Island. The perforations are known as ‘Holes’. Since the tide, the big slow wave of water pulled by the moon, sweeps up the Eastern USA from the Southwest, currents through the ‘Holes’ can be as strong as a river, waxing and waning every 6 hours, and timed by the lunar cycle. The currents enfold collections of small fish, known as schools. The bigger fish, like Striped Bass and Bluefish, are there to eat the small fish.
About Stairway. It’s David’s private name for a stretch of water on the Vineyard Sound side of Naushon where the currents flow close to a shore with lots of erratics..the geologists name for boulders carried by a glacier and deposited as the glacier melts. When flowing water encounters a rock, it creates eddies and gyres, swirling and sloshing. This disorients the little fish, and the predators, including seals, know this. So do we. And so do the seabirds like terns and gulls.
So, we are looking for birds because they are able to find places where big fish are attacking little fish, driving them to the surface or the shore. Their mutual communication system draws more birds, and the resulting commotion, soaring, diving, screaming, fluttering can seem like a cloud when seen from a distance.
Currents and winter storms wash up all sorts of flotsam. David noticed a set of 3 wooden stairs on the shore, and uses it as a place mark to return to. Stairway. Nearby is Witches Glen. And so on.
Fishing with other friends off Point Reyes in California, the spot is called ‘Trees’. Naming is an outdoors person thing. The most amusing one is ‘The Rose’, off Marthas Vineyard. The old charts printed a graphic of a compass in an otherwise empty space. There’s nothing there at all, but all the fishermen know that spot in the water as The Rose.
Fast forward through a long 65 F, calm afternoon looking for clouds of birds (we saw only searching singles) and occasionally stopping a few yards off the shore to cast in lures intended to attract big striped bass. We try East of Tarpaulin Cove and the old lighthouse, then motor past French Watering Place to Stairway.
Beautiful day; blue skies and wispy clouds. We cast and retrieve, cast and retrieve. Almost no wind, good flood current developing. But no fish. More on.
“Well, it’s called fishing, not catching” I remark.
“Can’t hear you” says David. We are floating in a mild current at the eastern edge of Robinsons Hole.“So, what do you want to do?”, he goes on, “ I think maybe in about half an hour rig up eels and go back to Stairway”.
“Sounds good” I shout back.
David rigs one of our two small eels, by passing a large curved hook through its brain. We have one other eel, and so I rig that. Freedom is drifting slowly Southeast along the end of Naushon, carried on a rising current coming from Robinsons. Several boats in the Hole. No sign of major catching. It’s about 5:30. Sunset is at 6:16.
I cast my eel towards the rocks on the shore. The idea is to put the bait right next to the shore, and then slowly retrieve it. If the fish are there, and hungry, one may try to eat the eel. There is a whole technique to this particular fishing. And a special regulation. A single circular hook. Wait for the striped bass to whack the eel, and then swallow it. Then set the hook.
The waiting is essential. Otherwise, you snatch the eel out of the striped bass mouth.
Of course, other predators have other habits. Bluefish, with small razor sharp teeth set in a powerful snapping jaw, just plow right into the bait. Snap the eel in half. Snap the line if they happen to get hooked. Snap your dogs nose. So I am not hoping for Bluefish.
“Hah, look now the seal is right over there” remarks David. I look a big to the left. Yup, a larger swirl in the water. Grey seals haul out further West near Penikese Island. The seal is fishing too.
I cast further to the right, away from the seal. Start the slow retrieve. You do remember it’s called fishing, not catching. I have time to glance at the green tangle of vines and bushes above the rocks of the shore. Soon the deer should be browsing for dinner.
There it is!! The smallest of jerks, almost a slap, I feel on the line. I drop the rod tip, anticipating a few seconds of wait to see if a striped bass has taken the bait. But as I mentally count ‘2’, I can feel a solid pull on the line. Then two quick jerks (maybe a big fish shaking its head) and then a really solid pull.
“I’m on!” I shout.
“Good” says David. He continues to reel in, clearing his line and bait out of the way to let me try to manage the fish.
Whoa. The fish is moving fast, heading away from the boat, towards open water. It goes by us, and I reel has to catch up. Suddenly, there is a disturbance, and I get a fleeting glimpse of a big striped bass. It disappears immediately with another swirl, and the pull continues. Really strong. That was a weird sort of thing..not really like a big fish to come to the surface like that. Now the line is being pulled out against the drag set on the reel. That’s a big fish!
“Hey David, can you move us out to sea. I think it may get into the rocks and break off!”
“OK, OK” David has recovered his bait, now he starts backing away from the shore.
The way modern spinning reels has a rachet mechanism that stops the bail from going around backwards. Still, you want a big fish take take line, otherwise the line will break when the pull is too strong. I have line that is tested at 30 pounds. So there is a set of friction plates controlling slippage of the spool of the reel. It’s called the drag. Mine is set to deal with 20 pounds of terrified fish.
“Hey David, its still taking line”
“Yeah, yeah. Keep the tension on. It will be OK, should stop soon. I’ll turn the boat towards it”
My rod is bent way over. I’ve shifted my grip to improve my leverage. I can feel episodic jerks…must be the fish shaking it’s head. But mostly, it’s just a steady very strong pull. I can’t reel the fish in. All I can do is hold on. The line continues to pull off the reel. I could turn up the drag a bit, but then maybe the fish will break off.
The fishing line I am using is expensive. So I have 150 yards of the expensive line, and then its connected to what is intended as ‘backing’…less expensive line that probably hasn’t seen the light of day since I filled the reel several years ago. The expensive ‘working’ line is green. The backing is blue.
“Hey David, it’s got all the working line, I’m into the backing. Can we chase it?”
“Really? Oh yeah, I see. OK, start reeling and point the rod right in the direction of the fish” He moves the throttle lever, and we pick up speed following the fish.
“This is the biggest bass I ever hooked” I shout
“ I can’t hear you” David shouts back.
“It is maybe a shark?”
“Probably not in close like that. Just a very big fish. Keep the tension on”
As Freedom speeds up to about 5 mph, my rod remains bent with tension, but now the line isn’t going out. To gain line, the best technique is to pull the rod tip up, without trying to reel, and then reel as you bring the tip down. Hey, it’s working. The last of the blue line is getting covered by the green.
“Looks like we may be gaining ground”, I shout.
“Just keep the tension on”
“Hey, do you think it might be a seal?”
“Maybe, but then we should cut the line. Lets see what it is”
Part Two
Now where were we?...Oh yeah, I had just hooked up with a very large fish...or something...with David in Freedom, his fishing boat, close to the south east end of Robinsons Hole (the water gap separating Naushon and Pasque in the Elizabeth Islands off Cape Cod)
After about 3 minutes, about 10 yards ahead, something breaks through the surface. For a moment, I can’t make sense of what I see, and then, the nature of our problem is clear. Yes, my line leads to a big striped bass. And that’s a Grey seal who seems to have the bass head in its jaws!
Then the seal, still holding the bass as a wolf or a lion might hold its prey, slides smoothly beneath the smooth silver and green surface of the water, and the line starts going out again.
“Wow, OMG”. I still have a fish, but the seal has it too. Do we cut it off?
“No shit, a seal!”, David shouts back. “ I think it’s just holding on to your fish, now hooked. Its your fish, maybe too big to keep but maybe if you fight for it, the seal will let it go and we can save the fish. Keep the tension on”
The line suddenly goes slack.
“Oh, I think it’s off”.
“Just keep reeling”
I reel, the line tightens as the seal turns abruptly and heads in to shore
“No, no, it's still on. Do you think maybe the seal is just tangled up and trying to escape?
Up ahead, now about 70 yards ahead , the seal, comes up, probably for a breath, and then sounds as smoothly as a porpoise. With my fish.
Now Davids skill at maneuvering Freedom really counts. The seal does not let go. It heads for the rocks, it doubles back to the deeper water. David becomes more pro-active, speeding up while I reel fast, so that when the seal surfaces, we are within 10 yards.
All this time, maybe 20 minutes, I’ve kept the line tight, the rod bent all the way over. I’m getting tired. However, the seal doesn’t seem to be taking as much line.
“I really think maybe the seal is somehow tangled up”, I whine. “Can’t drop the fish. It wouldn’t hold on for this long. Good job of boat handling”
“If you want to cut the line, we can do that”, David shouts back. “But that seal has our fish. We’re not harassing it, it's harassing us!! Keep the tension on”
After about 30 minutes, our little hookup of boat-me-rod-line-bass- seal is about a mile along the shore east from Robinsons Hole.
“You would think the seal would get tired. Maybe if we shout at it, it will drop the fish”, says David, as he makes another course correction. “Keep the rod pointed in the direction we need to go”
“I’m getting tired”, I kvetch. “I’m going to tighten up on the drag. Either the seal will break the line, or maybe we can get closer”
Now, the seal isn’t taking as much line. And we coming closer. It comes up within 15 feet, and both of us yell and hoot. Keeps its grip. Once it seems to pause and shift its bite for a moment. Damm, did it roll its eyes at me? Really, doesn’t all this mean it is somehow tangled or hooked? Aren’t seals supposed to avoid humans? Rod still bent over with the tension.
The seal surfaces just ahead, and again I have a fleeting impression that it is taking a good look at me, and isn’t afraid of what it sees. Again, it seems to shifts its grip on the fish, my fish, a bit, and sounds for the bottom. Straight down this time. I'm beginning to think of it as female.
“Hey David, she’s going down. I thought you said it was only 10 feet deep?”
“Yeah, but now it’s 30.”
Now the seal is right below us. Not budging. Surely the line will break any time now. But no.
“Gotta get away from this lobster pot buoy” says David. Oh, yeah! If the seal can snag the line on a lobster pot, or the rope going to it, this contest is over. The seal is moving again, still taking line. Feels as strong as ever. I have a sudden flashing thought; she probably thinks I am getting tired.
More jerking. Big tugs on the line. That must be the seal. Now she’s definitely coming up. Where the hell is that lobster pot buoy?
Now the tension the line suddenly decreases. Still some weight, but nothing like the implacable pull. I reel, the line is coming in.
And then, only a few yards away, the seal surfaces. But this time, no longer holding the head of my fish. And at the same time, I look down at my line, and there, with the tail of the eel protruding from its mouth, is the head of the fish with about the first third of the body ending in a shredded bloody bite.
“I got the fish!”, I shout.
“Look; so does the seal” replies David. And sure enough, as I look back at the seal, she rears her head up a bit, clearly showing us 2/3 of the fish in her jaws, and then, almost casually, tosses her head, aligns what’s left of my fish, and starts scarfing down her hard won dinner.
Now it’s 6:30. During the last maybe 45 minutes, the sun has sunk below the high points of Naushon island, and is starting to light up the sky. The seal. having chowed down most of my fish, gulps the very large tail fin, and with a very satisfied look on her face, slides under the water. I ‘ve pulled the head and mangled 1/3 body into the boat. My hands feel cramped from keeping on the tension. And I am smiling too.
“We did it!”, I say to David. He grins back at me. We bump fists.
“So, she was never stuck or hooked or tangled”, I remark, as David puts the boat in gear.
'No, just hungry and stubborn”, replies David.
“And she won, she got her dinner”, I say, pleased at the ending.
A few minutes later, we have motored back towards Woods Hole across the swirling silver sea in the last daylight. We have one more chance. Casting his eel into the shadow near the shore at Stairway, David gets a hit, and a few minutes later I use the lip grabber to bring a 32 inch bass into the boat. The slot limit for keeping is 28 to 35.
“ I think we can go home now”, says David. He has a bottle of rum for occasions like this.
So we head home, the seascape lit up by an almost full moon rising over Marthas Vineyard. The various colored lights associated with Falmouth and the Cape beyond twinkle cheerfully. The tide is so high we can’t get under the bridge, and the last opening was at 7. So we tie up Freedom, and go across to Water Street Kitchen for a drink and some people food of our own.
The end (but only for now; stay tuned)
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Location: Side of the road somewhere
Time: 4:32 pm
Status: CLOSED ( @boltonoftroy )
It was like clockwork; The barely-there sound of her silver sedan’s engine just a splash of white noise behind the Backstreet Boys blaring from the stereo, as she barreled down the street. Sure, her 2009 Honda Civic was a little outdated, but she just grew too attached to ever trade it in. The sentimentalist aspect of what made Gabriella who she was actually agreed with the logical side of her brain for once: The car was still running smoothly, so why get rid of it anyway?
That was, until the smoke started up with a bit of sputtering. A light groan was strangled in her throat as the brunette allowed her head to fall back onto the headrest. Her hands quick on the steering wheel in order to turn the vehicle off the road. It took the woman all of ten seconds to take a deep breath and screw her head on straight. Popping open her hood, a hand instinctively waved the smoke from her face as it pooled out.
Of course her car had to be overheating in the middle of nowhere. Talk about icing on the cake of what was beginning to look like her unluckiest day ever.
#{ an encounter || closed starter. }#{ the one where fate thinks she's funny || troy. }#//here's your ordered trash#//thanks for stopping bye weenie hut jr's
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