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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Part 3 of the disowning fic where Sirius calls Reg and Remus tells James (with Sirius’ permission ofc) and when Walburga calls Reg, he rips into her like never before. James rushing to Sirius’ house and basically having to be restrained from going to her house with Reg in tow.

Hopefully that makes sense. Sorry it’s probably really badly phrased

This makes a ton of sense--thank you for sending it in! Writing Regulus is such a neat challenge, since he and Sirius are so similar and yet so different. Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Part 1 II Part 2

TW for disownment and past child abuse (mentioned)

If Sirius ever met the person that invented showers, he would kiss them on the mouth. With tongue, if requested.

His phone hummed on the coffee table; when he made no move to grab it, Remus reached over and flipped the screen up. “Reg is on the way.”

Sirius hummed and cuddled into his chest, tightening his hold on his waist. Gentle fingers combed through his damp hair and he was warm all over in the best way. His face and eyes still itched a little, and his throat was raw from crying so hard, but at least he finally felt clean. The ache in his gut had dulled.

Remus pressed his lips to the space just above Sirius’ ear and wrapped his arms around him, tracing patterns on his upper back beneath his shirt. The skin-to-skin contact was something he never knew he needed so much—he couldn’t imagine living without it now. “We should go on vacation sometime this summer,” he mused, absently braiding a few locks of Sirius’ hair.

“Where?”

“I dunno. Somewhere warm, where we can swim and you can get all sexy and tan.”

Sirius laughed against his chest and breathed in the honey-lavender smell of his soap. “As long as you promise to freckle.”

He could feel Remus smiling. “I’ll do my best. It wouldn’t have to be a long trip, either—maybe a week in Florida, or California.”

“Alabama?” Sirius teased.

“Honey.” Remus kissed his forehead. “If you take me to Alabama—” Another kiss. “—I will take the biggest spider I can find—” A third kiss, so sweet in comparison to his playful threat. “—and put it in your shoe.”

Sirius snorted. “Just divorce me, that would be nicer.”

“Mmm, no, you’d miss me too much.”

“Put a spider in my shoe and we’ll see if that’s true.” Remus’ shoulders shook under him as they laughed and Sirius kissed his collarbone, then closed his eyes. “Do we have time for a nap before Reg gets here?”

“Maybe. How fast does he drive?”

“Not as fast as Pots—”

The doorbell rang, and then kept ringing; someone knocked insistently on the door, and Sirius groaned as he untangled his limbs from Remus and wandered over.

Regulus was not alone on the porch.

“What’s her phone number?” James demanded, practically smoking with fury as he and Regulus stormed into the house. He let out a furious breath when he saw the open envelope on the kitchen counter.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at his little brother. “Did you call him?”

“Of course I called him,” Regulus scoffed. “We also called Logan.”

“Isn’t he in Canada for the rest of the week?”

“Yeah, but he said he’d be here on Friday.” Regulus gave him a quick once-over and a stormy look came over his face. “When did she drop those off?”

“She didn’t. The mailman did, just after five.” Something bitter tinged Sirius’ mouth. “That was after she tried to make Remus give them to me.”

“What a bitch.”

“Reg!”

“It’s true,” Regulus snapped, though his anger was clearly directed elsewhere. “She’s a horrible coward and you deserve better.”

James held his phone up to get Sirius’ attention. “What’s her number?”

“I’m not giving you her phone number, J.”

“Reg, what’s her number?”

Regulus bit his lip for a second, then shook his head. “She won’t know who you are, and she would sue your ass faster than you could blink if you lost your temper on her. Me, on the other hand…”

Sirius put his hand over Regulus’ phone. “Don’t do this. If she disowns you, too—”

“If she disowns me I’ll throw a fucking party!” Regulus all but shouted. The room went silent. “I am sick and tired of hiding and watching them hurt you. She doesn’t control me anymore.”

“I’m not letting you get hurt for me.”

“And I’m not asking for you permission.” Regulus stepped back and dialed a number; in the kitchen doorway, Remus and James watched them in a mix of shock and concern.

The call connected and Regulus’ whole face went stony. “What is it, Regulus?” a tinny voice asked.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Walburga sniffed. “Please, Regulus, we’ve discussed this. You have to clarify your intentions—”

“Did you disown my brother?”

“He’s not your brother anymore.” Disdain dripped from her voice and Sirius’ throat constricted as cold fire lit in Regulus’ eyes.

“He’s more family to me than you ever were.” His tone was even and deadly.

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Shut up.” A protective urge jolted in Sirius’ gut and he almost smacked the phone out of Regulus’ hand. “Just shut up.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a coward and a liar, and I hate you.” A fine tremor slipped through and Regulus gritted his teeth. Remus touched Sirius’ elbow gently, and he gripped his hand tight.

“Listen here, you silly boy—”

“You don’t get to hurt him anymore. Sirius is a better person that you could ever dream of being and the fact that you can’t accept when your own son is happy—”

“He disgraced us—”

“You disgraced us!” Regulus snapped. “You and your rules, your blood money, your parenting that belonged more in a prison than a house! I’m not stupid, Mother, I know what you did was wrong!”

There were a few beats of silence. “I did what I did to prepare you for the real world.”

“The real world doesn’t give a ten-year-old a black eye for breaking a plate.”

Sirius closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as Remus inhaled sharply next to him; James cursed under his breath. The plate had been one of his grandmother’s, part of a twelve-piece set that they were using for Thanksgiving. One flipped corner on the rug had sent him flying, but the porcelain shard in his hand had hurt less than Walburga’s fury.

She was breathing hard on the other end of the line. “The world is a cruel place, Regulus.”

“No crueler than you.”

“Watch your mouth, you ungrateful child, or you’ll find yourself in the same shoes as that stain on our family tree.”

A flinty look came over Regulus then; if Sirius didn’t know better, he’d say he looked almost smug. “Do it. I dare you to look the media in the eye and tell them you disowned one son for being happy and the other for calling you out on your terrible parenting.”

“We disowned him for being a failure and a disgrace.”

Grey met grey as Regulus spoke next, his gaze never flickering from Sirius’ eyes. “Happily married to the love of his life, youngest captain in the league, with two Stanley Cups under his belt? Doesn’t sound like a failure to me, and far from a disgrace.”

Remus squeezed his hand as Sirius swallowed back a few tears that had started to gather. He offered a weak smile and the corners of Regulus’ eyes crinkled slightly.

“I’m hanging up the phone now,” he said, smooth and collected. Walburga was utterly silent. “Never contact me or my brother again. If you disown me, at least have the dignity to do it in person.”

He hung up and slid his phone into his back pocket. “Jesus,” James half-laughed behind them. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“That was really brave, and really stupid.” Sirius said as he walked forward. Regulus met him in the middle, tucking his head under Sirius’ chin in a tight hug. “Thank you.”

“Brave and stupid, huh? I’m turning into you already.”

Sirius flicked his ear with a grin, but never loosened his hold. “Brat.”

“Love you.”

He closed his eyes and felt Regulus’ heartbeat through his palm. “Love you, too.”

“Will you at least give me her address so I can egg her house?” James asked once they separated, already moving to give Sirius another hug. He melted into it; James had the incredible ability to make him feel completely and utterly safe, like the world couldn’t touch him as long as he was there.

“As amazing as that would be, I’d rather not see you arrested.”

“Fair point.” He pulled back a bit and James searched his face. A wrinkle appeared between his brows. “How can I help?”

“This is nice.” Exhaustion made Sirius’ limbs heavy and his head was starting to throb from his earlier breakdown. James pulled him back in and two more sets of arms followed, forming a shield all around him. He felt Remus kiss his cheek and Regulus’ hand splay over his ribs; James was steady, an anchor in the storm. “How am I going to tell people about this?”

“You don’t have to,” Remus murmured.

“If I don’t, she will.”

“Then tell them the truth,” Regulus said. “Maybe not everything, but the relevant parts.”

“We’ll be here with you.” James’ voice was soft. “Us, and the rest of the team. Anything you need.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, but he did sink into the warmth of their embrace and let the weight of fear and unease lift off his shoulders. The burden wasn’t his alone; it never had been.

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

The Best Mistake of My Life - Pt.1

Type: One-shot/ch1 of a series

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4100

Summary: A soulmate AU. They say having a soulmate is a blessing. Who wouldn’t love the idea of star-crossed lovers, right?

Neither Steve Rogers nor you consider yourself lucky though. It probably has something to do with the lines written on your skin. Because if the words are anything to go by, you’re not sure you want to meet each other.

Warnings: swearing, light angst, FLUFF

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Steve Rogers was born a sickly baby.

Born a sickly boy to a single mother in the time of great depression, money thin, his health even thinner and having a pathetic number of friends; though that never really bothered him. What his friendships lacked in quantity was hundred times compensated by quality. Bucky Barnes’ loyalty was everything Steve could ask for.

And what Steven Grant Rogers himself lacked in height and strength of body was made up for by the strength of will, amount of determination and a great compassionate heart, ready to welcome anyone sans bullies there.

Perhaps God had seen that Steven would grow into a man carrying his heart on his sleeve and decided that this man should be blessed with a love so magnificent they would tell stories about it; people always had. People were always telling tales about soulmates.

Having a soulmate wasn’t necessarily rare, but not everyone was bound to have one. Being one of the lucky ones was an amazing gift; a promise of a connection as unbreakable as the thread of fate, a promise of an unconditional love.

To know person had found the one, their soulmate, those who were blessed with one wore a brand on their skin, a clue to allow them to recognize their destined partner; a set of words.

It was the set of words what was troubling Steve Rogers the most. Despite Bucky’s reassurance, despite his mother’s last words, despite Steve willingness to fight everything else the world would kick into his way, he found moments in his life he cursed the words written on his skin, reminding him how weak he would always seem to people.

Above the visible line of his collarbone, sticking out on his rather skeletal frame, there sat the words of doom:

‘Oh no, there must be a mistake.’

The very first time his soulmate would spoke to him… they would be disappointed and silently praying that whatever force was behind bounding souls together made one hell of a misstep. A mistake.

That was what Steve was going to be to his soulmate; a mistake. A failure. A disappointment.

And why wouldn’t he be? Ninety pounds of rattling bones, list of illnesses longer than his birth certificate…. Every girl Bucky had ever tried to set him up with out of pity (which Bucky would deny until his last breath) had been disappointed.

“Maybe she’ll be more into brunettes. Maybe she won’t believe her soulmate is blond at first,” his friend would say, “or she’ll be from Queens and wouldn’t get over the fact you’re not, but once you’ll show her the true Brooklyn charm, she’ll fall to your feet.”

Then he would always pat Steve’s shoulder, pulling him into a one-arm hug and tried to get him a date once more.

Steve didn’t believe him. He never did, but recognizing his friend felt better if Steve played along, he would smile and poke his ribs in return.

“Whatever you say. Jerk.”

…

Much later, when he said to Peggy Carter that he was waiting for the right partner to dance with, he was starting to admit to himself that he wasn’t thinking about his so-called soulmate as the one. After all, he went against all odds, against rules, against destiny itself when he had been accepted to the army regardless of his fragile body. Maybe, just maybe it meant that not ending up with his soulmate was what would happen one day.

When he crushed the Valkyrie to the ocean, not even having taken a chance on Peggy Carter despite her obvious interest, he must admit he had been lying to himself.

His last realization concerned his soulmate; despite wanting to fight against the whole world, he couldn’t make himself to take a chance on Peggy Carter, a brilliant woman who was not carrying the right set of words.

His last regret was that he would never meet his true love.

His last thought was that maybe, his soulmate never had a set of words spoken by him on her skin – her first words to him might as well be the ones spoken when reading his obituary, somehow knowing he was supposed to belong with her.

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The moment you were old enough to understand the meaning of the word ‘soulmate’, you were intrigued by the concept; it probably had everything to do with the fact that you too were supposed to have a person meant to be your other half.

Every parent was bound to be delighted when their child was born with that kind of blessing, but the older you were getting, the more you understood what kind of a shock might occur when a kid had rather strange line supposedly spoken to them by their universe-chosen partner for life.

There were people who had words like ‘shit’ on them; literally. Not very delightful. Sometimes there were general lines like ‘Hello, how are you?”. Good luck hunting down the right person. In contrary, some people had a name on them; ‘Hi, I’m Peter Cameron.’ Lucky bastards.

And then… then there were people like you, whose words were just… weird.

“But I really am 95,” you mumbled under your breath, tracing the handwriting right under your collarbone subconsciously, the first thing you did in the morning if you remembered – which wasn’t every day, not by a long shot.

“This is the stupidest thing ever…”

You shook your head and started to get ready for your day at the office.

Your opinion on your soulmark had been changing during the years. You had had a period of fascination, simply being proud of carrying it. Then you had understood the meaning of your words, and you had been horrified and desperate at the idea of meeting your soulmate at such age or worse, having one that old while you would be thirty or something when encountering them.

Then had come the phase of how could I avoid having a grandpa as my soulmate. Maybe the number meant something different – your soulmate’s weight (you really wouldn’t care for that, you reasoned), his temperature (he might be hypothermic at the moment, no?), his hotel room number, the number of a seat in a theatre perhaps… there were so many possibilities, right?

Now, you just tried not to think about it too hard. You had had boyfriends, never lasting longer than few months sans the one exception of George, who had turned out to be the biggest asshole in the world despite your belief he had might have been the one; until you had caught him in bed with another girl.

Maybe it was that deep inside you had never believed in the relationships you had, because the guy never said the right first words. Or maybe you were full of shit and you couldn’t keep a guy interested, god only knew – hence not thinking about it too hard, going on with your life and taking it as it was.

You might meet him, you might not. It wouldn’t be the first case of never encountering a soulmate. Life was funny that way.

Best not to let it ruin your day. A rather nice day it was, today. If you only didn’t have to spend it in the crowded office with people demanding their licences and taking out their frustrations on you. Well. You were a grown-up; you had to be okay with things not always being okay. Which sucked. But that was life.

…

You had a chance to have a shortest coffee break to exchange ‘hello’s with Ryan – your actual favourite person in the world, your platonic ‘soulmate’ (not in the ominous sense of the word), your boss who never really acted like a boss – and that was it. Apparently, half of Manhattan had gotten their licence this very date years back, so the office was ridiculously crowded. Thank god for the glass between you and the jungle; it shielded you at least partly.

You grabbed the file of request no. 57 that day – you were like a machine, okay, you couldn’t remember the office ever managing to deal with so many in only three hours – pulling out the documents and the licence to make another driver happy.

Your hands were acting on autopilot and you didn’t even glance up when an ID was pushed to you through the small space between the glass and the counter, checking the renewed licence first.

Your first thought was ‘oh wow’. That guy on the photo was gorgeous. You couldn’t help but snap your head up, checking out the real-life thing.

OH WOW.

Scratch the ‘gorgeous’. Replace it with ‘unreal’.

You were tempted to ask if he was made by an ancient sculptor and then brought to life, because his body was as incredible as his face; the broadness of his shoulders begged for a touch. His muscular arms were not so hidden in the sleeves of his dark green shirt. The shoulder-waist ratio was clearly a God’s mistake, a one you were thankful for.

Forget ancient sculptures. His face must have been sculptures by angels and they left him with a halo of blond hair as a reminder. And his eyes. Oh god, such pretty eyes…

He gave you an unsure smile, opening his mouth to probably accuse you of staring and you quickly dropped your gaze, returning to check the licence before you would give it to him.

Your hand froze hovering above the date of birth. You hesitantly looked up again, biting your lip guiltily despite not being the one who had messed up. You felt kinda sorry for him waiting the line for nothing.

“Oh no, there must be a mistake…” you half apologized, half said only to yourself, meeting his suddenly alarmed gaze.

You put on your most apologetic face, hoping he wouldn’t be too mad. How had someone messed it up again? The birth dates were with typos all the time. How?! There were only numbers for God’s sake! It wasn’t like the person inserting the data to the computer had to spell Buchwald or Mxyzptlk or something like that!

Damn you, Sheryl or Kira or you whoever have done this!

The man – Steven Grant Rogers, as you had learned from his sadly valueless driving licence – was staring at you, speechless. You were honestly getting worried, though you weren’t sure if you were more scared for him or for yourself in case of his reaction escalating.

So you went to explain.

“Uhm… I’m really sorry, mister-“ You quickly eyed the name ID he had given you, checking if the office got the name right at least. “-Rogers, but there seems to be a typo in… in your birth date. I apologize for the mistake our institution made, even though I wasn’t the one to-- you don’t need to know that, it doesn’t matter-- I’m so sorry you have to come here again, but I can’t really let you walk around or rather drive around with a licence claiming you were born in 1918, so…”

You had become so flustered, your cheeks burning, talking and talking without being able to stop, not making any sense even, until-

“But I really am 95,” he admitted sheepishly and you wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement, when something in your brain clicked.

The click was about as loud as an atomic bomb falling on Hiroshima. You were sure everyone had to hear it.

It shut you up immediately. Your whole body froze, your mind buzzing uselessly, not a single thought staying long enough for you to actually understand it. Until two words got stuck, shining in red letters like a neon sign in your brain.

Holy. Shit.

“Excuse me,” you squeaked, grabbing his useless licence and mechanically rising from your seat, walking away.

The moment no one could see you as you got into a hallway, you broke into a run. You acted on instinct. You ran and you ended up in front of Ryan’s office, stumbling in without knocking and without an atom of oxygen left in your lungs.

Ryan’s neatly combed hair swayed as he snapped his head to the door, his eyes strict until they took the newcomer – hint: you – in, widening instantly.

He quickly jumped to his feet, pacing to you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice filled with worries.

You weren’t able to answer, because—holy shit. Your eyes frantically scanned the room, unable to meet your friend’s gaze. “I-- I-“

A hand landed on your shoulder, your eyes immediately falling on it on instinct. Shit, you couldn’t breathe. Could you?

Ryan’s free hand found you chin, tilting your head so you faced him. “Hey, baby, look at me! What happened? Was someone too much of an asshole to you?”

“I’m not-- he’s-“

Ryan’s face screamed concern, but he had fixed it in a second, soothing smile on his lips. He led you to his sofa, the calming blue cushions enveloping you.

“Sit down on your ass and gimme that,” he maneuverer the document off the steely grip of your fingers, sitting next to you as he looked it over. “Huh, quite a looker this guy. So what did he do?“

“I—the- the licence says he was born in---in 1918,” you stammered, finally able to breathe in properly and speak.

Ryan squinted at the date and then rolled his eyes.

“Oh jeez, again? Why is it so hard to just get it right? I swear I’m gonna have to fire Sheryl, she’s a disaster. What’s wrong with her? It’s not like they would be making a licence for someone that old! There’s a photo goddammit!”

“Ry-Ry… he said he was 95.”

Another eye-roll was his answer. “Yeah, I can count. He would have been if he was born in 1918 instead of 1981.”

“No, you don’t-“ you licked your lips and swallowed against the lump that grew in your throat. Your voice was as shake as your hands. “He just told me that. That he really was 95.”

Your friend observed you silently for a beat, not following. And then realization hit him like a train.

“Oh. OH. No shit?!”

It was your turn to stare silently, your mind loud enough to make noise and fill the space of Ryan office.

“Damn, does he really look like that? Lucky bitch!”

“Ryan!” you yelped in surprise when his fist bumped your shoulder, almost knocking you off balance.

It worked though. It grounded you and threw you back to reality. You tried your best to calm your breathing, but damn. This guy… he was your soulmate. You just met your soulmate. And he wasn’t a grandpa. He didn’t weight 95 pounds either. You weren’t in a hotel, neither in a theatre.

No. The number was only about one tiny mistake— oh, ohhh shit, what was the first thing you had said to him? Oh fuck. Way to go, girl!

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked rubbing the spot he had punched.

“No!” you shot back immediately, your mind racing.

“You know what I mean. You look better now. Though I gotta say, so is he. His face really is quite easy on the eyes. How about the rest of him?”

Ry-Ry, your bi-side is showing.

You chuckled at the easy talk, the tension from your shoulders falling a bit.

“Well… yeah, he’s like a model. So out of my league…” you muttered, remembering your ogling. This guy was your soulmate? Wasn’t it a mistake?

Ryan was suspiciously quiet; normally you would expect him to scold you for selling yourself short. Instead, he was staring at the licence, his lips parted in silent shock.

What now?

“What?” you demanded, following his line of gaze.

Ryan just chuckled, the incredulous sound ringing, echoing in the quiet space. “Girl, I hate to break it to you, but I might not fire Sheryl just yet.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Remember that one time aliens were falling from the sky?”

You blinked in surprise at that question, not following his train of thoughts. “Uhm… yeah? Pretty hard to forget that…?”

You were lucky you hadn’t been smashed under a building that day. Many people in Manhattan were, some sadly not. So yeah, you remembered.

“You remember the waitress from the café talking after the incident?”

“Oh my god, Ry-Ry, just spill it! I’m not following!”

Your friend huffed in exasperation, shoving the licence in your face, his finger on the name.

Steven Grant Rogers. Yeah, you could read too.

“That name should ring a bell, you dumbass! Would you say that this guy is handsome enough to be Captain America?” he hissed, making your heart stop.

Oh. Oh shit.

OH SHIT.

Your brain short-circuited.

“Oh my god. He really is 95,” you breathed out, your brain somehow choosing the least logical reaction to this whole revelation.

Ryan laughed. “Ding-ding, we have a winner! Holy crap, baby, I think you just got yourself a superhero soulmate!”

And just like that, you started panicking again. You gulped, watching the driving licence as if it could blow up.

“Shit, Ry-Ry! What do I do?” you whispered, desperation soaking through. What were you supposed to do upon that revelation? Captain America was your freaking soulmate!

Ryan smiled at you reassuringly, patting your cheek. “Not coming back to your spot behind the counter today, that’s for sure.”

“But-“

“I’m going in. I think this place won’t blow up if I fill in for once. I sure hope I remember the process, though I’m probably not gonna be as efficient as you are.”

You didn’t know what to say. Hell, you didn’t know what to do! But yeah, not coming back to the jungle sounded good, especially given your frantic escape.

“You really would do that?” you asked hesitantly and Ryan just rolled his eyes. “But… Ryan, what the hell do I do?!”

Your bestie gave you a lopsided smile and a wink, patting your cheek patronizingly once more before heading to take over your workplace.

“Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want.”

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While you were having your own freak-out, Steve was standing at the counter, dumb-struck.

He couldn’t believe it. You had actually said those words. And judging by your reaction to his own, he must have said yours. Which… yeah, congratulation, Rogers, you had given your Universe-chosen dame an amazing note on her skin. To be fair, so had she.

Incredible.

Impossible.

His soulmate was in this century. In this millennia. That was what he got for ever thinking he could escape fate; a slap right in his face.

Because while for several cherished moments, he basked in the light on his soulmate not considering the pairing with him the infamous mistake the words on his skin claimed… he soon learned that it didn’t mean no heartbreak for him.

You had taken an abrupt leave to the back of the office and never came back.

Few minutes later, a man emerged from the door you had disappeared into, taking your seat and without a second look on Steve’s ID, he explained that Steve would have to come here again.

Steve didn’t care for the process of getting his driving licence renewed in the slightest, barely listening. His gaze was at the door to the hall, opened ajar, the door you didn’t return from after learning he was meant to be your partner.

When he had seen you behind the desk, he had considered you a beautiful dame, certain his heart had skipped a beat when your eyes met his. The sight of you was burned into his brain, now forever as a painful memory.

Clearly, you didn’t want him. Not because he was sickly, 95 pounds or 5’7’’ or all bones. Not because your words to him were about a mistake. Not because he was from Brooklyn. No. Honestly, Steve didn’t know why, what could scare you off so soon. He just knew you had escaped at the mere sight of him.

With his mind fuzzy, he walked out of the building into the bright nearly midday sun, blaming the sharp rays for the sting in his eyes. He sighed, running his hand down his face, suddenly bone tired.

“Mr. Rogers?” a shy female voice addressed him, instantly making him turn around to its source.

His lips parted in awe. There you stood, your airy floral dress reaching your knees, played with by the softest breeze. Hesitant smile on your lips. A tiniest spark in your eyes as he subconsciously took two steps to you, just to prove you would still be there if he came closer. You didn’t disappear.

“Y-yes?” he stuttered, actually feeling like the small man he had used to be before the serum.

You quietly introduced yourself, meeting his eyes once more, effectively stopping his heart again. You offered your hand for him to shake and he, feeling like he was dreaming, something else possessing his body, kissed your knuckles as he would have done if meeting you seventy years ago.

The most adorable heat warmed your cheeks at the gesture and you casted your gaze down; but Steve did catch a glimpse of the earlier spark shining brighter before you hid yourself from him

“I… I believe we have a lot to talk about,” you whispered and he instinctively gave your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and shifting a half step closer to you. The corners of his lips unwittingly turned up, something warm building up in his chest as you returned the smile with hesitance.

“Yes, I think we do.”

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Nicolas J. Fury was sitting in his office, waiting for the door to finally open. There was something bugging him – and that something was about 5’7’’ tall, had red hair and was doing whatever it wanted, messing with his business. On top of that, she left him waiting; he had requested her ten minutes ago and she still hadn’t arrived.

He couldn’t help but let his sarcasm show when she came eventually.

“Agent Romanoff. Thank you for coming. Now, care to explain me why did you insist on Rogers getting his driving license renewed in person when we have done it for him already?” he demanded, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk.

The agent just shrugged. “He needs to meet people.”

“Don’t give me this shit, Natasha! What are you not telling me?”

Slow smirk spread Natasha’s lips, perhaps a bit smug, but she didn’t say a word.

“Romanoff-“

“Alright! Jeez, Nick, you have to work on your patience when it comes to Rogers, I swear…” she teased him. However, at least she started talking. “I might have run his… words through the system Stark provided us.”

Realization dawned to Fury. There was only one system she could be talking about. The soulmate matching one. Insert the words of a person and it would search the database for a possible match; everyone’s words were being put into the database at their birth. It made SHIELD’s work easier in case criminals happened to have a soulmate; the connection was so unique it usually offered a weak spot even for the rotten people.

Nicolas Fury raised his eyebrow expectantly, while Natasha just watched him, amused as she had the upper hand. The man rolled his functioning eye and sighed exasperatedly. Why was he keeping her around again? Oh right, she was his best agent.

“Fine. Did you find a match?”

Natasha snorted. “I didn’t even have to look for a match. There aren’t many women with ‘But I really am 95’ written on their skin,” she explained dryly and Fury just wanted to growl, cursing mentally.

How had no one thought about using the database in the first place?! It had cost them a lot of money, okay? They had it for a reason!

“She clean?” he inquired instead or swearing out loud and Natasha scoffed.

“Like a whistle, not even a speed ticket, which is rather ironic. She’s boring, really – she’ll be perfect for him. Can I go now? I have an ass to kick.”

“…Rogers’?”

“Barton’s, actually. Have a good day, Director,” Natasha spun on her heels and headed to the exit gracefully.

“Hey, I want her file!” Fury complained, already knowing he wasn’t going to receive it from her.

“Find it yourself!” she threw over her shoulder cockily, her red hair swirling with the sudden movement of her head.

The director of SHIELD tried to keep his amusement in check, controlled by the irritation, but he lost. The corners of his lips twitched as the door clicked behind his best spy.

Why did he keep her around again?

He started the search for the words Natasha had said, sinking into his chair comfortably.

Alright, no doubt future Mrs. Rogers. Let’s see how boring you really are.

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Part 2 (originally this was only meant a one-shot)

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Tags: @cxptain @mermaidxatxheart @smilexcaptainx

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If you wish to be tagged/untagged, let me know - either via an ask or a message :)

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sadaxfsd · 3 years

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We have to adapt at speed

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advernia · 4 years

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fic: heaven just called, said it wants you back

— y'see, things naturally fall from the sky. for example, rain. hail. dead birds. bird poop. oh, then there was you. - ace of spades & alice the second.

1: alternatively - fenrir godspeed gets a bad case of the shoujo eyes, made possible by cradle's local random substance-making association ╮( ꒪౪꒪)╭

Fenrir's hands are loose fists with tingling fingers, pinching away at the fabric of his pants. Were the Ace of Spades a couple years younger and seated in front of a desk again, Dean would've taken that as a sign of another beloved student forgetting that somehow, there was a hundred-point exam waiting to be finished in five minutes.

Ah, good times.

"So - how am I, doc? Am I still good to go?"

Kyle chuckles, looping the stethoscope around his neck. "What's with the jitter, Ace of Spades? You're in tip-top shape. Heck, if I could smack some of that health onto my worst patient, he'd be outta my hair for a month or two."

"Even an untrained eye can tell that you're energetic as ever, Fenrir," Dean adds, snapping his book shut. "What made you run after Kyle when you heard that he was done doing his rounds here in Central?"

"Yeah, about that..." a scratch of the cheek, a boyish grin. "One of the smugglers I chased down earlier suddenly threw some sparkly liquid to my face. Kinda stung, yeesh."

"Oh. Sounds like a regular morning to me."

Dean does not address that comment. At all. "I see. So you sought out a doctor to check if the liquid had some adverse effect on you as a precaution."

"Right you are, prof - but if Cradle's best doc says I'm fine, then I probably am!" Fenrir beams, rising up from the bench. "Should've known though, just the usual weird bunch making all sorts of stuff with bogus effects!"

"Hm?" Kyle frowns, leaning back on the bench. "So you're saying that the sparkly stuff wasn't just meant for distraction, but it should've had some actual effect on you?"

"I guess? The smuggler did say that it will make you powerless at the face of sheer beauty, hah!"

Doctor and professor exchange glances: the no-trace-of-a-single-expression variety, face-so-perfectly-neutral variety.

Then, turning back to face Fenrir and in deadpan unison:

"What."

"I know, right? Like, what kind of effect is that?!"

Fenrir scours the Central Quarter's streets for at least four more hours, and he doesn't go weak in the knees at all.

Oh no, Central was already loads of pretty to begin with anyway, with its tons of market stall rows and crowds of people and various shops open for business. There's all sorts of energy teeming about from every road and alley be it good or bad, and each day there's always something new just waiting to be discovered - that's the sheer beauty in Central, if Fenrir would say so himself.

But the thing was, everything in Fenrir's perspective still looked as fine like usual: no change on how he saw his favorite spots around town (they're still the best), no change on how he saw all the people he passed by be it the group of young ladies (charming, they're all wearing new makeup) or that old man by the bookstore (pudge and wrinkle galore), no change on how he saw those stuffy Red Army goons in all their whitewashed uniform glory.

But then again, no sparkle in the world could make any Red Army goon's toothy grin look the least bit prettier in Fenrir's book.

So, yeah. In conclusion: local smuggler's liquid that will make you powerless at the face of sheer beauty?

Bogus. Slip-up. Dud. The usual back alley magic shenanigans, nothing to see here, case closed. What would true beauty even look like, and how would that render him powerless, anyway?

Ah, well. Another successful patrol under his belt, Fenrir whistles a tune on his way back to Black Army headquarters, choosing the scenic Central Quarter market route.

He regrets that in five seconds. He cringes, a shiver running down his spine, legs moving faster.

Sheer beauty, my foot.

That one tomato stall could make him walk away, but it didn't mean that it was beautiful, dammit!

Making his way past the Black bridge, a couple more villages, a short hike up a hill, and at last stepping within the familiar grounds of Black Army headquarters; he passes by the old man and his raccoon-skin-wearing-imp for a pet.

Nope, nothing beautiful there, especially with those sharp rows of teeth. The blooming tulips look great though!

He runs into Seth by the hallways, who, for all his claims of being the prettiest guy in the whole barracks; still looked pretty manly to the eyes.

... Okay, so maybe his hair was far from manly - did he seriously brush all those strands every single morning?

Then, at long last, the kitchen: something lingering about in the air had become a siren's call to both Fenrir's nose and stomach, amplified to the extreme when he finally makes it to the source. He just sort of stands there by the doorway for a moment, taking in a strong savory scent.

Hmm, meat in brown sauce, maybe? Or some stew or soup that was heavy on the onions?

Another sharp inhale of Fenrir's catches the attention of one of the backs facing him, of the person standing near the stove.

"Oh - welcome back, Fenrir," Luka nods, a ladle in hand.

"Heya, Mister Head Chef!" a wave back, a couple of sure paces forward. "Sooo, what're you and our assistant chef cook... ing..."

Fenrir feels his breath abruptly catch in his throat, words losing their coherence the same time his feet just stop themselves from taking another step closer.

Eyes open wide like they've never done before, as if determined to capture every detail what was unfolding before him.

Illuminated by bright rays of midday sunlight passing through the windows, hair he had always perceived to be a shade of honey-brown has turned golden, shining with a beautiful luster that gold itself would envy and desire to possess. The vivid color has a dazzle to it that achieves a delightful balanced feast of soothing and fascinating to the eyes, not making one have the urge to turn away or squint due to its sheer brilliance.

Its waist-length entirety had been gathered together, pulled up high, and was held secure by a white ribbon, but every single strand and every lengthy lock of gold followed and swayed; a shimmering veil dancing along in accordance to the movement of their owner - a turn of the head to look back, an action almost so painfully slow as it was simple, and the veil gives way to reveal what it has kept hidden.

Fenrir could literally feel his throat go dry.

Oh boy.

An even skin tone with touches of rose-pink undertones, absent of any prominent blemish from the tip of the forehead to the base of a very bare neck -

A face longer than it was wide, with a soft jawline that tapers from the cheeks to a rounded chin -

Neat eyebrows with delicate arches towards the tail, plump cheeks and pert nose blooming with a gentle flush perhaps due to the heat in the kitchen -

Innocently round eyes complementarily framed by long wispy lashes, holding in irises painted repeatedly with the combined natural hues taken from the clearest summer skies and cleanest waters of the sea: the end result was such an alluring blue, a shade that not even the finest jewel in the world could compare to, a color that could capture passing gazes and never let go; rendering one lost in the wonder of those eyes -

Then finally, full lips with both ends perpetually curved upwards; unpainted yet bearing a delicate peach-like tint, drawn closed but parting themselves open to say just one na -

"Fenrir!" Alice the Second smiles and just like that her face lights up - she's the sun in that very moment and he's hopelessly drawn to her, to those eyes visibly crinkling at the corners, to those eyes that were set solely on him and him alone. "Welcome home!"

Oh, man.

Seth always called her cute, but that one word hardly gave any of her features a single shred of the justice they deserved.

Here in the kitchen, standing not so far away and with the sun generously bathing her in its light, she was beautiful. Lovely. Enchanting. Divine.

Perfect.

A shaking hand pulls up to cover his mouth, fingers press down on cheeks that feel warm to the touch.

Not good. So not good.

She and Luka exchange a glance when he doesn't say anything, when he doesn't as much move from his spot. Then she - she with the blue Mary Janes protecting her dainty feet, she with the pure white socks modestly hugging her shapely legs - takes a step forward.

Towards him.

His heartbeat roars in his ears. Quite loudly, complete with relentless echoing.

Oh no. Oh no, oh n -

"Fenrir?" those pretty, pretty lips spell, with a voice kind and beckoning. He grips his face a little tighter, takes a step back, tries not to look at her lips. Tries. For his efforts, his eyes reward him with quite the pleasant view of her clothed chest - two buttons of her blouse are undone, giving way to a tantalizing view of more unblemished skin and the shape of her very prominent collarbones, and -

She takes another step forward, her lithe figure still occupies his whole line of vision, and he swears something in him is slowly dying.

Aw, shit. Remember rule number three! Rule number three, you're not supposed to -

He bumps into something as he takes another shaking step back and he takes that whatever he bumped into was a person, so he quickly turns on his heels; eyes brimming with a desperation and sorrow of a sinner as he pleaded rather loudly:

"Punch me."

Behind Fenrir, two voices say: "What?"

And standing in front of him, the bulky Seven of Spades, with his understanding heart as big as his brawn; offers Fenrir a toothy grin and not a single question as he replied: "Okay!"

The Jack of Spades and Alice the Second could only stare in horror as the Seven of Spades demonstrated an uppercut right before their very eyes.

2: it's february and i should be writing lighter things, aka a crack prompt revolving around the wonder that are the many odd substances being smuggled in cradle asides from aphrodisiacs 乁( ◔ ౪◔)ㄏ happy valentine's day! (‘∀’●)♡

#ikemen kakumei #ikemen revolution #ikerev fanfic #fenrir godspeed #dean tweedle #kyle ash #luka clemence #ikerev alice

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laurelsofhighever · 4 years

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The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 63 - The Flotsam

Chapter Rating: Teen Warnings: None Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Read it on AO3 or start at Chapter 1

---

Ninth day of Haring, 9:31 Dragon

Her eyes snapped open with the gasp of air into her lungs. Awareness flooded into her all at once, the crack of the fire, the ache in her head, the brightness of the room about her, so much it made her dizzy, spots in front of her eyes until she remembered she had yet to let the breath go. She blinked again, and focussed on the familiar canopy of her own bed and its raised embroidery of wildflowers, the leopard stalking through them with golden eyes that had been her companion through so many bedtime stories. The details of the dream were fast fading, but the ragged edges of it drove the drum of her heartbeat in her chest and rose a dull, aching throb in her side. Her head felt raw, her tongue thick against the roof of her mouth. Worse were the ideas swimming through her mind – Howe, a traitor, and Highever lost, the entire country mired in war with something darker stirring above it like a spider lurking in the corner of its web. It would be an interesting story to tell over breakfast, even if her father would tease her that the cause was taking too much of the pudding the night before. And she would not be mentioning the lover her mind had conjured; she had no need of such things.

A dream, but over now.

With the surety of that thought to calm her still-racing pulse, she sighed and brought her hand up to knead the heel of her palm against her forehead. Cuno’s breath fanned against her collarbone, drawing a smile across her lips. Usually, he slept at her feet, but he must have worried for her as she dreamed and shuffled up to be next to her on the pillow.

But when she reached for him her fingers met cloth, not fur. She turned, confused, and found Alistair stirring beneath the brush of her fingertips. A cold trickle of horror ran down her spine to settle in her stomach, heavy and poisonous as lead. He had been part of the dream. He couldn’t be here. If he were here then her nightmare – everything she had imagined – it would all be real. Howe. Her family. His eyes squinted in the light, but then blew wide as he noticed her regard, and with a rushed breath of her name he propped himself on his elbow and reached for her, his gaze darting about her face as if she were too much to take in all at once. Such wonder in his look, dashed so suddenly as she flinched from his touch, as revulsion that wasn’t his fault slithered in her veins. Her stomach turned. It was all real. It was real.

She rolled and heaved over the side of the bed. Her fingers clutched the sheets as a thin stream of bile pooled on the floor, her name a hoarse whisper from his lips. Her side flared with pain. Gentle fingers combed her hair back from her face, a counterpoint to his panicked shout for the guards as those same fingers fell to her shoulders to gather her away from the rebellion of her own body and her harsh reintroduction to the world.

He wiped her mouth on a spare corner of the blanket as he wrapped her in his arms, murmuring reassurances into her hair, his own relief slipping loose in the tears that ran down his face and the reverent, disbelieving way his hands roamed over her back. He rocked them both, clung to her. She shook. The pains in her side and her right arm throbbed with every judder in her body as she gave up the fight and wept into his collar, and only her shattered breath and sheer exhaustion kept her from yelling in the face of every one of his soothing words, because she ought to be dead and everything hurt and every single one of her nightmares was real.

A door opened, and distantly she felt Alistair turn just enough to issue orders to someone over her shoulder, before they were alone again and he was pressing a desperate kiss into her hair, cradling her like a child. Her body’s weakness told her she must have been asleep for days at least, and it grew weaker still as the tears ran dry and her sobs quelled into jerking, broken breaths that drew a wince with every inhale. She couldn’t tell if dehydration or blood loss was causing the new ache in her head, so she fisted her hands tighter in Alistair’s shirt, ashamed of the soaking she had given it but unwilling to allow him even the option of pulling away. Every other horror might be real, but he was solid and warm against her cheek, he smelled of sweat and ointment and smoke, with a sour tint like he hadn’t washed in days, and his heart beat a strong rhythm beneath her ear. She couldn’t have imagined such detail. She had been too long without any such sensation in the dark place she had been. So long as she could anchor herself to him, she could endure the rest.

The protection of his arms stayed around her as the door to her room opened again, but she only buried her head deeper against his chest, aware of the silent conversation going on above her head and too tired to care about it.

“Your Ladyship?” Wynne’s voice. “It’s good to see you with us again. I need to look at you.”

Her throat burned, too dry for words, so she just shook her head.

“Has word been sent to the kitchens?” Alistair asked.

“As instructed,” came the steady reply. “I need to check Her Ladyship’s wounds. Your Highness, if you would step outside?”

Fear clutched at her chest as he shifted next to her. “No –”

“Wynne’s right, love,” he murmured, kissing her fingers as he untangled them from his shirt. “I’m not going far – I’ll be right outside.”

“Now that the worst of the danger has passed, perhaps Your Highness will finally submit to a bath, instead?” Wynne interrupted, with a sardonic purse of her lips.

Chastened, he looked down at himself. “Maybe I am a bit… But I’ll be right back,” he promised, leaning towards Rosslyn again. For an instant, his gaze dropped to her mouth, but with an audience he couldn’t follow through on the intent, and with his thumb brushed across her cheek he pressed his lips to her forehead instead. “I love you.”

She only managed a smile in return as all the things she wanted to say clogged in her throat, but her gaze remained hungry on his back until Wynne chivvied him all the way into the corridor and shut the door behind him. In a way, she was grateful, because the healer knew enough not to dance around plain truth, and now that her initial shock had calmed, the number of questions unanswered was growing. Gritting her teeth, she sat up straighter in the bed and pulled in a steady breath.

“What happened to me?”

The hot-water sluices of Orzammar felt particularly distant to Alistair as he roughly washed himself with the cloth and cold water in the ewer in his room, then shaved himself without waiting for Marten or a decent amount of light. He was out of practice with the razor, so when he ended up outside Rosslyn’s door again, he had to resist the urge to fidget with the small, scarlet nicks on his chin where his hand had passed too impatiently over the bristles. Tiredness itched at his eyes, but the rest of his body chafed in the quiet, and as the first wash of blue lit the sky over the keep’s inner courtyard, it illuminated him in indecision, either leaning on the windowsill with his arms folded, or pacing back and forth in front of the door like he was on the inside of the cage. He only stopped when the clack of wood on the floorboards announced Fergus’ arrival. In the week since the battle, his health had improved a great deal, but walking was still an effort for him after months of incarceration and Amell had provided him with crutches so he could exercise the muscles in his atrophied legs without putting his full weight on the still-healing bones.

“She’s awake?” he asked.

Alistair nodded, swallowed, and returned to his pacing. “Wynne is… She’s looking her over now.”

“How did she seem?”

At that, he could only shake his head. He had lost count of the number of times he had imagined Rosslyn waking, hoped for it so much the vision entered even his dreams, but the disorientation and the panic in her eyes had been unexpected, and his own easement at finding her conscious had only lasted as long as it took to realise she was still very, very lost. And now another worry entered his mind as Fergus settled himself on the windowsill with a grunt of effort, one that had been pushed away by the horror of the battle. The man was her brother, the only family each had left in the world, and compared to that, he himself was nothing more than an intruder on a lifelong relationship – and he had spent the past week entirely fastened to her side, sleeping next to her in her own bed.

“Uh, my lord?” He cleared his throat, willing the heat on the back of his neck to subside. “I – about me and Rosslyn –”

“I’ve never seen my sister behave with anyone the way she does with you, otherwise I wouldn’t have let you anywhere near her,” Fergus interrupted. The set of his jaw was the same as his sister’s, and his tone, like hers, offered no room for argument. “I didn’t thank you for your intervention with Irminric.”

Alistair looked at his hands. “I shouldn’t have left her.” A few moments more, and not even Morrence would have been enough.

“How’s the dog?”

“Getting stronger,” he replied. “Once he knows she’s awake he’ll probably try to climb the stairs again.”

“You should’ve locked that cage,” Fergus said.

“There wasn’t time to think.”

Silence fell over them. Somewhere below the castle walls, a rooster crowed, answered by the bark of a dog and the babble of distant voices waking up to start the day’s chores. At any other time, Alistair’s discomfort with silence would have had him scrambling for some topic of conversation to pass the time, but the longer Rosslyn’s door stayed shut, the more he glared at it, and his focus left no room for idle talk. He only moved when the click of the latch sounded in the quiet, and Wynne stepped into the corridor, adjusting the bag of potions she held over one arm. Before either of them could say anything, she held up her hand.

“Her Ladyship is resting,” she said. “As she needs to after a week battling for her spirit in the Fade.”

“So there was something keeping her there?” Fergus asked.

“Yes, but fortunately, beyond some bad memories I can detect no traces of it remaining. She has eaten, and knows to call if she has need of anything, but for now I must ask you both to please let her be.”

Alistair frowned. “Have you told her about Cuno?”

“Your Highness, I have lived long enough to know that few things motivate people to ignore healers’ orders like the plight of a distressed animal.” The enchanter pursed her lips and huffed. “I remember one particularly stubborn apprentice in the Circle who was adamant about caring for a stray kitten that somehow found its way inside, no matter how I pressed him to mind his own matters instead. I trust I can leave that happy news to you?”

He nodded. It wouldn’t be information she’d forgive being kept from her, but after a week of so little good news, telling her that her dog still lived would make a welcome change of mood. And yet, Rosslyn might not wake for hours; he had been so consumed with worry over recent days, he had almost forgotten how to do anything else. Should he go to his room? Try to sleep? Cailan might accept some help with the logistics of the army, but it was unlikely either he or Anora would be awake so early. For an instant, he considered going to the kitchens to make sure the servants would be on hand, but dismissed the idea quickly, because for one thing, he didn’t know the best kinds of foods to combat sickness, and for another, after a lifetime of living with Rosslyn, the cooks probably knew already that she liked honey and dried apple slices in her porridge.

Wynne was already halfway to the stairs. He made to call after her, but Fergus laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“This is good news,” he said, and coughed self-consciously. “I’m going down into the city this morning on business. You should come with me.”

“But –”

“I know your worry,” Rosslyn’s brother told him. “I share it, but duty cannot be neglected, especially not now.”

“What do you mean?” It sounded like something she would say.

“Many families were torn apart by what happened here, and they need our help – what little we can offer.”

Rosslyn would have agreed. His thoughts flew to the argument he had overheard between her and Gideon on Summerday, the righteous anger that had goaded her to stand before the king and demand he do something other than run away, and to the moment in the Circle tower after everything they had seen, when she had confessed that she would have committed treason to keep Ferelden from Orlesian hands.

“Alright.” She would chide him for not getting out to stretch his legs, anyway – and perhaps he could find something cheery to bring back for her.

“Good.”

It had snowed during the night – not much, certainly not as deep as the winter blizzards that settled over Redcliffe, but enough to cover the still-churned earth of the battlefield outside the gate so that the crows fluttered across the expanse like specks of soot on clean linen. The carriage they rode in had been piled with furs and warmed with a heat rune to stop Fergus catching a dangerous chill, and it rumbled along the road with a convoy of mounted Highever guard and what few supplies they could spare from their stores. They had butchered the horses slain on the field and dried the meat, but with Gwaren’s soldiers to feed as well as those that had travelled from Aeylesbide, even that source of food had been stretched thin. A broth made from the bones had served as the bulk of the army’s rations for four days now, mixed into a rough gruel with mashed grains and what few wild greens could be sourced by the foraging parties. Alistair remembered such fare from his time as Teagan’s right-hand, without much fondness; aside from the lumpy texture, the stench of boiled bones lingered in a greasy film at the back of the throat, a sour taste like the guilt as he picked at his own, significantly better meals, but better than nothing.

The blank landscape invited such introspection. What would Rosslyn think when she saw the accommodations for her soldiers? Shame wormed uncomfortably in his stomach for the way he had dismissed his share of the work since Loghain had fled. Aside from the paperwork he had taken on to pass the long hours while she slept, most of the day-to-day logistics had been passed to Anora once Gwaren’s soldiers surrendered. While he appreciated the reprieve, his time among dwarven politics had taught him to recognise the queen’s help as an attempt for her to reassert her authority over a leadership that had learned to cope with her absence. It didn’t help that rumours about Cailan’s intentions towards Rosslyn had reached even to Denerim, nor that their near-confrontation before the battle had pitted the two women so neatly against each other, like flint on steel.

“Didn’t Cailan want to come?” he asked, to break the silence. In truth, the few times his brother had made an appearance outside his rooms, he had been snappish and withdrawn, with a forced, brittle energy that could not be entirely faulted given his guilt over Rosslyn’s injuries and the loss of most of his guard – but which did not entirely explain it, either.

Fergus turned from the view out over the cliffs. “I asked, but His Majesty said he had a headache. He seems very different to the man I knew.”

“Rosslyn said you all grew up together,” Alistair prompted.

“Not quite,” Fergus chuckled. “Though she tried. The king and I were of an age, and there was Nate. Rosslyn never really had that, mostly because she never got on all that well with Delilah, so she would follow along after us, trying to prove she could match three boys twice her age.”

“What did you do?”

He smiled. “Oh, we thought she was a pest, especially the time she stole Father’s horse and made us chase her half way to West Hill. I never did work out if she’d done it on purpose or if it had just taken off with her.” The expression faltered, and he took to gazing out of the window again. “I hear she’s taken to leading cavalry now.”

“She’s an excellent rider,” Alistair replied. “She’s…” But outing her once-plan to revive the stock of Ferelden’s horses wasn’t his place, not least because it had seemed so impossible before her brother’s unexpected return from the dead, so he bit his tongue. “She’s saved a lot of lives with that cavalry.”

The rest of the journey passed in spurts of uncomfortable and short-lived conversation, an itch of awkwardness that left Alistair shifting in his seat with every bump in the road, and trying not to make the movement too obvious. As the buildings of Highever rose higher around them, the more he felt out of his depth, and the ever longer pauses between him and Rosslyn’s brother were filled with the rattling of the carriage and the jingle of harness. When they finally stopped in the main chantry square, he followed mutely behind Fergus as the supplies they had brought were unloaded directly to the revered mother, watched over by the guards to ensure everyone got a fair share. After that, they drove on further to meet a man in a carpenter’s smock who shook his head over the progress of street repairs, and from there to the wharves, where fresh catches of fish were being hauled in for gutting now that the Clayne blockade of the port had been lifted, and every slow, laboured step of the tour drove deeper the guilt that he had not done more to help.

And yet, as they passed, more than one dark look followed after them, and once away from the broadest thoroughfares into the maze of ancient, winding alleyways, he noticed how their guard tightened their grip on their swords. Apparently unconcerned, Fergus turned off the street and into a tavern with a board over the door painted with a strange, fish-like creature with a single, spiralling horn rising from its forehead. The tavern’s glazed windows had been smashed and boarded with planks, and the plant pots resting on the upper windowsills contained only dead stems. The few other patrons already inside turned baleful eyes on them as they entered with the cold air, before those same gazes slid to the armed and armoured guards, and finally back to the foamy depths of their tankards.

“They’re angry,” Fergus explained quietly as they crossed the rush-strewn floor to a table in the corner. He hissed as he sat down, and laid aside his crutches to massage his legs. “Many of them ended up desperate under Howe’s thumb, and they think we did nothing to stop it.”

Still wary, Alistair kept his silence until the barkeep had taken their order for ale. “They aren’t happy for the supplies?”

“Their children are starving,” Rosslyn’s brother pointed out. “And the soldiers were brutal to them. I can understand them wanting to protect those they love, and trying to reason that what little we do have needs to be rationed isn’t going to mean much with those who still need to feed their families.”

“And yet if you gave them as much as they wanted, there’d be nothing left to eat next year, or enough seasoned timber for good quality houses.” Brantis had taught him as much; and Cailan, too, had worried about the harvest.

A nod. “Not without expensive imports from elsewhere, and Howe drained too much of the teyrnir to fund his bloody mercenaries. We can only do what we can, and hope to win back their trust.”

The declaration made a weary kind of sense, but even after the barkeep returned with two glazed mugs of mulled ale and a bowl of fried sprats to keep hunger at bay for the midday meal, Alistair’s frown didn’t ease.

“If they could have seen what it did to Rosslyn, having to leave them behind…” he started, and bit his lip. Those were days he wasn’t proud of, when he had wallowed in his own hurt pride and pushed her away.

“They would have resented her for hesitating to do what she had to.” Fergus took a long, slow gulp of his drink and wiped the foam from the trim of his moustache. “As a ruler, you cannot show weakness, or else people will lose faith and stir up trouble where it is least needed. Getting too embroiled in personal problems means you stop thinking for the good of the majority.”

“That seems rather cold.”

“Is that how you would describe my sister?”

“What? Of course not.”

She could seem distant at times, but only to those who didn’t know her, and only when the politics of a situation demanded it. Having been a soldier, sometimes her dismissiveness towards commoners irked him, but to see her get so little recognition for how hard she worked – after everything that happened – turned his stomach in an entirely different way. It didn’t help to have her brother watching him, evaluating like he was some recruit being paraded about for the good of the sergeant on inspection day.

“Rosslyn is… She cares a lot,” he said at last. “When I first knew her, she spent weeks sleeping in ditches and fighting to stop Howe’s soldiers gaining a stranglehold on Highever, and when she came back, a child ran out in front of her horse and he nearly threw her. She could have lashed out, but she didn’t – I know a lot of people who would have scoffed at her taking time to comfort a crying peasant girl, but it’s what she did.”

Fergus leaned back in his chair with a smile faint on his lips. “Compassion isn’t weakness,” he replied at last. “My father said once that it was like fire forging a sword – too little and the metal becomes brittle, too much and it will melt and be lost entirely to the coals.” A sigh. “You saw the people we passed. What use would we be if we spent our energy trying to be their friends? They want solutions to their problems, with as little interference in their lives as possible.”

“Have you asked them?” Alistair countered.

“Four days ago,” came the cool reply, “when I first came down here to see the extent of the damage.”

Stung, he dropped his gaze to the wood grain of the table, unable to match the impassive stare that came across so familiar, even if the eyes that held it were sea-blue instead of grey. A proper apology was just forming on his tongue when his companion grunted and slapped the table.

“Enough,” Fergus said. “I have had precious little to celebrate this past year, and now finally, my sister is awake. This is damn well worthy of an occasion.”

“It is.” Alistair raised his mug, unable to stop the relieved spread of his smile. “She’s awake.”

“And thank the Maker for it,” Fergus agreed, watching him again as he tipped his head back. “But now that she is, there’s a question.”

“Mm?”

“It’s very obvious you’re in love with her.”

Alistair choked. Coughed. Felt his ears turn scarlet.

“And since you are,” the older man continued, slowly, leaning forward with the same rapt attention a wolf might give a ram, “what do you intend to do about it?”

As afternoon drew on, Rosslyn’s attention wandered from the papers in her hands to the blank white world beyond her window, the fields of blinding snow and the winding course of the Donmarl cutting through the landscape like a vein of black flint through chalk. After a week in the dark her thoughts flitted too quickly for her to catch, forming patterns here and there like a murmuration of starlings over an autumn field, but exhaustion dogged her and she let each one surface and fade as it willed.

Cailan’s advance guard had arrived in Denerim, just in time for the weather to close behind them and cut off all communication. They knew the city had been relieved, and that Loghain and those loyal to him had fled, but his plans beyond that remained shrouded, and there was nothing they could do about it, no way to make him pay. Meanwhile, the casualty list from the battle stretched as long as her forearm. While she didn’t recognise every name, the number alone brought her to the edge of despair. Hobbs, who had ridden with her since Wythenshawe, had fallen to Erimond’s magic, and every other soldier who had travelled with her aboard the Windcaller had either met similar fates or were missing from the final tally. Gideon had lost his left arm below the elbow. Morrence, though mostly unharmed, had stared glassy-eyed as she delivered her reports earlier that morning, still in shock from the news of her father’s death, and the death of the last small bit of hope she had carried unnoticed through the summer campaign.

“If you need some time…” Rosslyn had murmured to her when the truth first came out.

“You didn’t have any,” her captain had replied. “And it’s better to be doing, anyway.”

That, at least, Rosslyn understood. Harder to grasp was the way time seemed to slip from her, how the world moved on regardless of personal hurts. So much had changed, she might have been asleep for an age, rather than just a week. In a few short weeks more it would be First Day, and from there, only a month until Wintersend, the anniversary of the day she left, and the day she watched her father ride away for the last time. She still had his ring snug about her finger, the once-sharp fracture in the band worn down by months of use, and in the corner of her room the heirloom sword that had been plucked from the battlefield and given to her because there had been no one else to take it now rested propped up in its sheath like a malignant shadow, waiting for her to make a decision. It ought to go to Fergus. He was the rightful heir, the eldest, but though the sword would fit him better, and she longed to set down the burden of her title, she could not help the wriggle of guilt in her chest for her selfishness when he had suffered so much for it already.

A knock on the door interrupted the ramble of her thoughts. Checking the tears that had rolled unobserved down her cheeks, she stuffed the casualty list in a drawer of her desk and called for the visitor to enter, her shoulders thrown back despite the strain it put on her injuries. When a familiar mess of tawny hair poked around the door, she relaxed into a smile, and started forward as Alistair swept into the room. He got to her first, arms outstretched to catch her fingers, gaze soft but missing nothing as he looked her over, trying to squash the disbelief that had yet to fade from the early hours of the morning. Now he appeared in daylight, it was easy to see the fatigue shadowed in his eyes. Unsure how to answer all the silent questions crowded in them, she stepped close and tried for a teasing smirk.

“You’ve brought the cold in with you.”

He heaved an unsteady breath. “My most sincere apologies, dear lady.” Before she could retort, he flourished the two wings of his cloak and wrapped them around her back so she was enclosed, snug, and unable to escape. “Is this better?”

The suggestive tilt of his eyebrows brought a giggle to her lips. “Maybe a little.”

“That’s my girl.” For an instant he leaned down as if angling for a kiss, but then checked himself and turned back to the doorway, looking entirely too sheepish.

Fergus watched them, leaning heavily on his crutches. Startled, Rosslyn pulled away from Alistair’s embrace sharply enough to send a stab of pain along the line of her wound, but if either of them saw her flinch, they ignored it. Her brother’s expression held the same wry amusement she had seen so often on her mother’s face, in the same blue eyes, and yet there was a sombre edge to it that only increased his resemblance to their father. It had been easy to forget that with a castle under siege, when he had been unwashed and dressed in only filthy rags.

He cleared his throat. “So. You two.”

“Fergus –”

“All I can think is what Mother would have said about it,” he chuckled, limping forward. “If we were playing fair, I’d pay you back for all the smart comments you gave me when –” A pause, and he took her hand. “Well, never mind. At least he’s a prince. Couldn’t have picked better for you myself.”

“Your taste in men is terrible,” she reminded him with an arch of her brow, but something in his expression, a glance that flickered to Alistair over her shoulder, rose a suspicion in her mind. “You two have been talking about me.”

“We’ve been worried about you, love,” Alistair told her hastily, brushing a touch over her shoulder. “We were just happy you woke up.”

Something dark loomed at the back of her mind, a trick of stray thought that vanished before she could really notice it, but it left her too unsettled to answer. She remembered little of what she had seen in the Fade, despite Wynne’s attempts to coax more information out of her. Instead, she turned to Fergus.

“And am I allowed to worry about you?” she asked.

Her brother sighed. “The mages are already doing enough of that. Enchanter Amell is skilled, but there’s only so much even she can do. This morning took it out of me, but I wanted to see how you were before I took myself off for a nap.”

Despite his smirk, she couldn’t miss the pallor in his sunken cheeks, or the way his restored finery hung off his shoulders despite the padding of extra layers to keep him warm.

“Well, I’m out of bed,” she tried, gesturing to herself. “You should get some rest.”

“If you insist. You two play nice.”

She coloured at the suggestion in his tone, but refused to rise to the bait, standing perfectly still as he made his exit. As soon as the door closed behind him, Alistair’s hand cupped her cheek and brought her round with only the barest hesitation to ask permission before he leaned down and kissed her, fiercely, as if he could push all of his relief to her lips at once. She swayed into his embrace as his tongue grazed her lip, stealing her breath in a whimper that only brought him closer. His hand splayed across her lower back, her fingers winding into the fabric of his collar, and when they ran out of breath he didn’t pull away, only pressed his forehead to hers as he caressed her face.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” he breathed.

Smiling, she nudged another kiss against his mouth. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

The laugh that burst from him held more than a note of hysteria, but he kissed her again anyway, a slow, desperate movement that banished thought of all else – until she stretched too far and broke from him with a gasp.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as she clutched at her side. “Do you need to lie down?”

She shook her head. “I’ve had enough of lying down – I never want to go back to bed again.”

“Never never? That’s too bad.”

The joking tone didn’t quite touch his face, the anxious way his hands reached to steady her, but she appreciated the effort nonetheless. When she had imagined being with him in her bedroom, the nausea and fatigue had definitely not been part of it, nor the pain barely masked by Wynne’s potions, and she pushed herself against his chest again to pretend it all away.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asked.

“Officially?” He chuckled. “The blue room across the hall. I’ve been told it’s technically the royal suite, but your brother gave Cailan and Anora the teyrn’s rooms, and he’s in the one next down from you.”

“He hasn’t been back to his own?”

He stroked her hair. “I couldn’t blame him. I can’t stop thinking about how I’d feel if I lost you, and… Maker, I’ve come too close to that for comfort.”

“I’m alright,” she murmured, and pressed a kiss to his collarbone where she could reach.

“When I close my eyes, I keep seeing you lying there, and when it’s not that… I don’t want to let go of you.”

“Then don’t.” Later, she could be glib, but for now all she wanted was his warmth and the even beat of his heart.

They stood together for long enough that she slipped half into a haze, drawing comfort from the shield of strong arms and the sigh of breath above her ear. Even when her legs began to shake from an exhaustion she shouldn’t feel at all, he never let her go.

“You’re tense,” he said, after a while.

She forced a breath through her nose, ordered her thoughts. “This – retaking Highever – it should have solved everything, but it hasn’t. We lost so much, and… Howe got away again, and I can’t go after him.”

“There are search parties out,” he replied, cautious.

“It’s not the same as being out there. He might be halfway to Antiva by now.”

“I know.” A kiss fell against the top of her head. “But… since there isn’t anything we can do, why don’t we get out of here? Go somewhere that’s less… here.”

It hurt to laugh. “Wynne won’t be happy.”

“She can hardly object if you’re escorted, now can she?” he reasoned. “And since I’m a prince, I can overrule her.”

“Where did you have in mind?” she asked.

“Why don’t we see where we end up?”

After taking an extra blanket from the bed to wrap around her shoulders, he offered his arm with a teasing grin and they went slowly. Part of her wanted to chide him for the frequent glances he cast her out of the corner of his eye, but almost as soon as she stepped across the threshold of her room, her frustration at being caged gave out to the deep weariness she had been ignoring for most of the day as a symptom of her close mortality, and she didn’t want to think about it. Being able to lean on Alistair helped, especially when they reached the stairs. She didn’t want to look at her surroundings, didn’t want to hear the quiet of the castle settled about her. Snow had fallen outside and drifted against the corners of the windows. That morning, she had checked and found all of her valuables taken, her things rifled through like goods at a flea market, and as they walked along they passed squares of bare, whitewashed walls where her memory held paintings and tapestries that could not be replaced. The sense of violation followed her to the first floor landing where most of the guest bedrooms were, but of more immediate concern was the shortness of breath that spotted behind her eyes and left her dizzy. Once, she had bounded up those stairs like a deer.

“Where to now, my lady?” Alistair asked, keeping his voice deliberately light.

She dropped her head against his shoulder with a weak huff of amusement. “I was supposed to give you the tour.”

“Any excuse to spend time with me, I know,” he teased. “Are you hungry? Do you need to sit down? I should have asked if you were warm enough.”

“Surely I don’t look that bad? You don’t need to fuss.”

“Yes I do.”

The sincerity in his voice stole what little breath she had left. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. “The library,” she managed after a moment. “I’ve always liked the view.”

Beaming, he stole a quick kiss and tucked her arm into his again, then led the way down the corridor. She rested her head on his shoulder, smiling at his familiarity with her home. She only lifted it away when they approached the library, but as they stepped through the door, the little strength remaining in her limbs bled away like sunlight from the sky.

The shelves had the look of carrion picked clean. Where once shining leather volumes had been set in neat rows, the shelves now had great, yawning gaps where the books had been torn away by people wanting kindling, or just amusement. The glass fronts of the cabinets had been smashed. The marble bust of King Calenhad that had sat on the desk for as long as she could remember looked like it had been knocked over and glued back together, and a chunk was missing above its left eye. She felt Alistair’s gaze on her as she followed her mounting dread to the corner behind the door, where her family’s most prized tomes were kept, hoping that their half-hidden alcove had been enough to spare them from the fate of the rest of the books.

It was gone. The manuscripts remaining in the case showed signs of rough handling in the scuffs to the edges of the vellum pages and the cracks along their spines, but they meant nothing to her in the face of the conspicuous gap on the shelf like a knocked-out tooth, the spot where the volume of her family’s history had once sat in pride of place.

“Rosslyn?”

This – this was worse than the rest of it, Howe’s greed and lack of respect for her family’s things, because the Cousland book hadn’t been just another tapestry or a trinket. It had borne the handwriting of generations, counting back all the way to Sarim’s dealings with Flemeth almost seven hundred years before, before the castle had been built and before Ferelden had even existed. It had contained illuminations in vibrant inks that matched any in Southern Thedas. As a child, she had spent hours gazing at the illustration of Elethea bending knee to King Calenhad, and the chase through Cullodhne Forest as the twins Haelia and Mather drove the werewolves from the north. It had survived coups and feuds, had been smuggled out in her great-grandmother’s saddlebags during the Orlesian invasion, and now…

“I can’t believe it’s gone,” she whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut as Alistair’s hand fell to her waist. “Everything my father built. How could he hate us so much?”

“I’m sorry.”

There were copies of the book, which her father had had made at the end of the Occupation and locked away against calamity, but those were just words and imitations, lacking the stains and imperfections accrued over ages of use, the intangible history that linked her through messy fingerprints to every one of her ancestors.

“My father loved this room,” she said, almost to herself. “He grew up running from the Orlesians, but he always loved to read. Anything he could get his hands on, he would say. When he finally took this place back at the end of the war he built this library up from nothing. There are so many memories here… I used to balance the accounts in that chair, with –” Heat itched sudden behind her eyes, blurred her vision, and she had to bite her lip. The crossbow rising. “Cuno used to sleep by the fire.”

A breath hissed in between Alistair’s teeth. For an instant, she thought he might be working out what to say, but the look in his eyes as he cupped her jaw in his hands showed only softness.

“He’s alive,” he said. “Cuno. The shot missed its mark, and Howe’s apostate changed sides to save him.”

She jerked away. “Alive? Why hasn’t anyone told me this? What are we doing here when we could be –”

“He’s still very weak.” He licked his lips, choosing his words. “They had to amputate his leg, and he’s still learning to manage. It’s partly my fault. I went down to see him, and… I accidentally left the run unlatched. He tried to follow me, and it was too much too soon.”

“So he can’t come and see me,” she surmised. “I have legs, I can go to him.”

“Rosslyn, you barely made it down one flight of steps. He’s all the way in the kennels. Wynne didn’t want you to know because she thought you’d go flying down there and ruin all her hard work, and that’s just what you’re thinking of doing, isn’t it?”

The touch of humour brought a pout to her lips, as always happened when logic and common sense outweighed her need to act.

“I promise, tomorrow I will make it so you can see each other. You can – meet in the middle, and go for a walk in the garden,” he suggested. “And I’ll go down this evening and tell him you’re awake.” He looked at her with such worry she had to bite her tongue against the impulse to argue, until the familiarity of their positions struck and painted a laugh on her lips.

“This is like the morning we met, when I demanded to see Teagan,” she told him.

He smiled. “We had breakfast.”

“We did.”

“Does that mean I can let go of you now?” he asked, having stepped close enough their breath mingled.

“I don’t want you to.”

And yet she couldn’t fight the red edges creeping in at the corner of her vision, or the way her limbs deadened in a cloud of pins and needles. He pulled away from the kiss with concern written in all the lines of his body and helped her to the window seat before retrieving every soft furnishing from around the room to prop her up and tuck her in.

“Are you quite done pampering me?” she demanded in mock exasperation.

“No.” The answer was smug. “Now wait there while I find someone to bring us some food.”

“Dinner’s only three hours away.”

“And Wynne said you were to eat little and often,” he pointed out. “I’ll be right back. Be good.”

She accepted the peck to her forehead with a good-natured grumble but wriggled deeper under the blankets nonetheless, too tired really to be disobedient. Once Alistair’s footsteps died away, her attention turned to the window. Snow was falling again, thick, fat flakes swirling fast enough to blot out the line of cliffs and the iron-grey sea beyond, batted by the wind into the shape of roaring dragons and galloping horses. It felt better to follow the patterns in the weather than dwell on thoughts of Cuno. Hope tickled like a cough in the back of her throat, but she refused to entertain it, or to unleash it until she saw her dog for herself. Until he greeted her with his big slobbery grin and a headbutt that knocked the wind from her stomach.

But would he even want to see her? What if he associated the pain of his injuries with what she had done, with the fact that she had been too proud to beg even for the life of the one creature that had kept her from spiralling into the dark after Glenlough? She had been so focussed on Howe, she hadn’t even thought to look after the shot was fired – couldn’t look – with all the details of the room crowding in on her, narrowing down her focus, the taste of blood, the crazed shouts, the stench of sweat and rotten breath, and a deeper, more profound hatred than any she had ever thought to experience.

She hauled in a deep breath to rid herself of the echo of Howe’s voice. Her hands were fisted in the blankets and she forced them to unclench. Snowflakes half-melted against the window pane then slid down to solidify at the corners, building up a layer of white already more than an inch thick with the storm still raging and rattling around the keep’s walls. Wearier than she had expected to be, she let her mind drift on the eddies as the fall brought on an early twilight, trying to block out the worry of what might happen when she fell asleep again, if nightmares would plague her, or whether she would wake up again at all.

She didn’t realise she had drifted off until she blinked her eyes open to find Alistair back at her side, holding her hand with a tray of green tea and small platters of food set on a parlour table next to her. The smell reminded her stomach of its leanness and her mouth watered, but she was distracted from the collation by the knot between Alistair’s brows, the pull at the corner of his mouth. The crick in her neck told her he must have been gone some time.

“What’s wrong?” she mumbled, unable to resist trying to smooth the expression away with her fingers.

Something guarded entered his expression as he sighed. He dropped his gaze. “I guess I’m still a little worried you won’t wake up.”

“You don’t need to worry.”

With a brief smile, he turned a distracted glance towards the food. “I hope you’re hungry - the cook has orders to stimulate your appetite by whatever means necessary. We’ve got breaded eggs, mince dumplings, apples stuffed with cheese curd – and I think Graela said those are pomegranate seeds? – and spiced potatoes with garlic.”

All favourites. All things she had missed during her months on campaign.

“I hope you’re not going to kneel down there like a page and feed me like some grand duchess,” she teased. “There’s no way I could eat all of this by myself.”

“What would you suggest, my love?”

She shrugged, traced her thumb over the back of his knuckles. “Why don’t you join me on this very comfortable seat?”

The summer sun couldn’t compare to his grin. He brought the table within arm’s reach as she shifted to make room for him then settled, with gentle guidance on her arms to pull her back against his chest into the fit that had already become so familiar. It was difficult to get comfortable without putting pressure on her injuries, but drawing the blankets up to her chin made things a little better. They worked their way through the food in comfortable silence, except for the moment when Alistair had to gulp down an entire cup of the tea because he failed to take a warning about the amount of spice on the potatoes. Much of the food produced in the castle’s kitchens benefitted from connections with the northern trade routes, with Castle Cousland especially adapting to the hotter palate favoured in Antiva, and while his spluttering shouldn’t have been quite so funny, Rosslyn had to bite her lips together as she passed him one of the apples so the cheese-curd stuffing might cool the pepper on his tongue.

Even before the food was half-finished, however, she began to doze again. Wynne had said her body would have to be eased back into its normal portions, especially given the amount of blood she had lost, but this time at least sleep felt welcome, the fingers playing on the side of her neck a comfort she wasn’t aware she needed. The only thing that disturbed her was a bizarre, intermittent squeak she couldn’t place, and it was a few moments before she realised the sound wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Twisting to see better, she squinted in the low light and found her lover tracing shapes in the condensation on the window. As she watched, he formed the last arcs on the ‘R’ and the ‘C’, before breaking the line to draw the shape of a heart around their joined initials.

He flushed when he caught her looking. “What?”

“Nothing,” she answered, laying her head against his shoulder once more. “I’m… I’m happy.”

His chest expanded in a deep inhale, a weighted silence.

“I know it sounds weird – I shouldn’t be, given everything that’s happened.”

“No.” A hand threaded into her hair. “It doesn’t sound weird, I… You deserve to be happy.”

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #rosslyn cousland #alistair x cousland #cousland #dragon age au #cousland feels #fergus cousland

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thefallenlilith · 6 years

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TURNING TO THE MOON (3/?)

Kamilah x MC (Millie)

Part 1 Part 2

....

When it came to most aspects of her life, Kamilah had, up until very recently, trusted only one person over the last century. However, occasionally there were some delicate situations where Adrian wasn't enough. For those, she confided in Lydia Montague-Smythe; a robust woman who Kamilah had turned herself in 1887, and was one of the first members of Clan Sayeed.

Lydia had been a prolific theatrical performer while she was mortal, and didn't think there was any point in changing that now she was a vampire. She was also the only vampire in New York, possibly even the country, who had the respect of the local coven. And that was what Kamilah needed right now.

She dialed the number, and it was answered almost immediately by a strong, melodic baritone voice.

"Kamilah, darling, you couldn't possibly wait a few hours to speak to little ol' me? I am flattered!"

"This is not a social call, Lydia."

"Oh dear. This sounds dire! Who is it you wish me to dispose of? It'll be done lickity-split."

"Nobody." Kamilah smiled at this woman's unwavering loyalty. "I need you to arrange a meeting with your bruja."

"My stars and garters! What could you possibly need from her?" She lowered her voice into what she probably thought was a whisper. "Does it have anything to do with that delicious little thing you've had on your arm these last few weeks?"

"Millie."

"Goodness! You're even using the mortal's name? It must be serious."

"It seems like it."

"You must dish the dirt. I need every detail! Anyone who can turn your head must be special."

"Lydia, you're avoiding."

There was a long exasperated groan on the other end of the line. "Esme is not one to be trifled with My Queen, I'm not sure if she would be willing to take a meeting with the most powerful vampire in the city."

"I'm aware that it's a lot to ask, and I wouldn't if it wasn't important. If it helps, tell her I will owe her a boon."

There was an audible gasp. "Think this through Kamilah, I beg you. That is too much power for her to hold over you."

"Your concern has been noted. Now, will you contact her or not?"

"Yes." Lydia sighed. "It'll most likely take several days. She tends to ruminate."

"That's fine." It would have to be.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about? It might help to persuade her."

"Is that so? It isn't because you love to gossip?"

"Well, I prefer to think of myself as well informed!" She sounded dramatically indignant.

Kamilah chuckled. "I'm sure you do. In this case however, you shall have to wildly speculate."

"Very well darling. I meant what I said; I need all the details of this Millie creature."

"She'll be accompanying me tonight, if you're so curious. I think the two of you might get along."

"Oh goody! I adore new friends!"

"I know you do. But Lydia, she is mine." There was only the merest hint of a threat.

"Understood! Does she enjoy the theater?" Lydia didn't care who you were, or where you were from; she only cared if you enjoyed the arts, and if you were interesting.

"This would be a conversation for her. I have never asked her."

"Why must you make me suffer so? Anyhoo, I shall see you in a few hours. Toodle-pip."

Kamilah placed her phone down onto the counter-top gently, and covered it with her hands.

Owing a favour to a witch was risky. But those were consequences she would deal with when the time came.

For now, she had a party to get to.

Just as she was about to head to her bedroom to change, she realised that there was music coming from the other room, that became louder as Millie came dancing out towards her.

Her auburn mane was partially tamed; it appeared Esteban had made quite a bit of progress in a short amount of time.

"Hey!" Millie bit her lip as she smiled at her. "You'll be pleased to know Esteban and I have bonded. Mostly over Abba."

"The Swedish music group?"

"Way to boil it down; and yes, them." She shimmied close to Kamilah, and placed a lingering kiss that made the vampire twitch.

"What was that for?" Kamilah chuckled.

"Do I need a reason? Other than I want to?"

"No. That seems perfectly reasonable."

"Yes. It does, doesn't it." Millie leaned in again, pressing Kamilah against the counter and kissed her jaw, then worked her way down to her neck and then her collarbone.

Kamilah gripped the marble surface, fighting the need to bury her fingers in Millie's hair, and pull her closer. "Perhaps we should postpone this. We have company." She said through a moan, and her girlfriend pulled away looking flushed.

"Probably for the best." Millie nodded, and stared at Kamilah's lips for several seconds before she shook her head and walked towards the small wine rack, picking a bottle out at random, and holding it up. "Something to do while Esteban does his magic."

Once Millie was back in the other room, Kamilah relaxed slightly. There were times when having heightened senses were more of a hindrance than a help; especially when every part of her could feel the sensation of Millie's arousal.

She straightened her back, then quickly made her way to her bedroom.

----

After an hour of getting ready, she gave herself a cursory glance in the mirror to make sure nothing was out of place and then went to see Millie's progress. If wine and dancing were involved, she wasn't sure if any progress had been made at all. She was only half surprised that her girlfriend was still in her street clothes, and the only things that seemed to have been accomplished, was her hair and a dance routine that they were currently performing.

"Have you not decided which dress you'll be wearing?" She asked as she entered the room.

Three sets of heads turned in her direction. Millie was the only one to continue dancing.

"Nope. They're all super nice." Her girlfriend studied the black dress she wore, then looked at the four dresses that were hanging up around the room.

"Okay you two." Millie pointed to the kitchen. "I need to talk to Kamilah."

They both scampered out, and Kamilah closed the door behind them.

"You are a bad influence on my employees."

"Nonsense!" Millie twirled towards her, and rested her hands on Kamilah's chest. "Dance, is only ever good."

"I supposed it depends on the circumstance. Now, could you please choose a gown to wear."

"The green one."

Kamilah rolled her eyes. "If you knew which one you were going to wear, why aren't you wearing it?"

"Dancing Queen took precedence!"

"I understood those words individually."

"I am going to open up a whole new world for you." Millie grinned, and went to take her dress from the closet door.

"You already have." Kamilah muttered.

"So, is there anyone I need to avoid tonight?" Millie asked as she removed her clothes.

"Unless you already know them, or I introduce you to them, just assume they are to be avoided." Kamilah answered, her eyes never leaving the exposed flesh.

She was going to be on high alert tonight; every vampire within a quarter mile radius was going to be sniffing around Millie like a tom cat on the prowl. She still hadn't figured out what it was that drew her kind to Millie, but she was at least grateful that she was the one chosen. Even if she had been resistant to the awkward flirting at first.

"And how are you going to introduce me?" Millie cocked a brow at her.

"With your name."

"Not your lover, or girlfriend?"

"No."

She saw the hurt on Millie's face, and then realization. "Because I'm seen as a weakness for you."

"No." Kamilah crossed the floor to take her girlfriend in her arms. "Well, yes; but not in the way that you're thinking. I don't care if anyone believes that what I feel for you is a weakness, I don't want you to be hurt. There are many vampires, and other beings, that would hurt you, or worse, just to watch me burn the world."

Millie looked at her with sad eyes, and a half smile. "You'd burn the world for me?"

"That's what you took away from that?"

"That was the most important part!"

"How?"

"Because you lurve me. And you keep denying it, but it's clearly true."

Kamilah blew out a breath and stepped out of the embrace. "Just get ready."

"Fine." Millie slipped on the dress and stood in front of Kamilah so she could fasten the back. "This is a really fancy frock, it's got to be worth, like, twenty five diamonds."

"That's an odd choice of currency. But, the only way it would be worth twenty five diamonds, would be if twenty four diamonds were sewn on."

"Holy shit! It's worth a diamond? What if I spill salsa on it or something?"

"I doubt there will be 'salsa' at this gathering."

"Will there be any human food? Wait! Let me rephrase that; will there be food meant to be consumed by humans at this party?"

"Of course. Just not 'salsa'."

"Riiight. Do I need to bring a bib?"

"Millie, relax. It's just a dress."

"Says the billionaire.”

Kamilah sighed. Perhaps bringing Millie as her date was not the best idea. "Would you prefer to stay here? Or --"

"No!" Millie blurted before she could finish. "I have to be there."

"Have to?" She frowned, but before she could get a reply, she heard her phone ring from the kitchen. "That'll probably be Adrian." She said, and reluctantly left her girlfriend to answer it.

"Are you on your way?" He asked instead of a greeting.

"We'll be leaving shortly." Kamilah replied as she waved Esteban and Samantha back into the room with Millie, and stepped into her study.

"Good. Lily and Jax are already at the office. I think our newest clan leader is a little nervous." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"He should be. Have you told him to behave tonight?"

"As if he ever listens to me. Maybe you should ask Millie to tell him."

"I don't like using her for council business. We have three thousand years experience between the five of us. We shouldn't need her, to keep a pup on a leash."

"Feeling protective are we?"

"Is this what it's like to have feelings in the twenty first century? I get mocked by the people I care about?"

"I think teasing friends about their love life has spanned over many ages."

"I don't like it. I'm hanging up now." And she ended the call with a huff.

Millie was waiting for her with a tender smile as she left the study. "I sent Esteban and Samantha home. Or, at least, away from here. You look beautiful tonight by the way. That dress is very... flattering."

Kamilah chuckled. "Are you staring at my breasts?"

"They started it!" Millie gestured at her cleavage. "That neckline plunges all the way."

"Well, we don't have time for your ogling right now. Adrian is waiting for us."

"Booooo."

Kamilah smirked and held out her arm for Millie to take. "If you must, you can utilize the car journey for your ogling. And if you're lucky, there'll be a traffic delay."

"I like that plan. Prepared to be objectified!"

Kamilah shook her head and dragged Millie to the elevator, thinking she might tell her driver to take the long way to Raines Corporation.

#kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #bb kamilah #bloodbound #choices fic #choices bb

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boogiewrites · 6 years

Text

Don’t Call Her Annie 8: Dusk & Dawn

Characters: Jim Hopper x Reader (OFC)

Word Count: 2000

Summary: Annette Horowitz is Joyce’s younger sister. She hasn’t been the perfect sibling or aunt but after she finds out Will is missing, she finds herself crashing back into Hawkins to do everything in her power to help, driven by a need to prove herself. She’s been through the worst with her new mismatched family, so surely the best is around the corner?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 9

You can check out my other work on My Masterlist.

Warnings/Tags: Angst. Fluff. Intense Situations. Violence. Slight Gore. Language. Feelings (insert Crowley gif here). Slow burn.

Tagged folks are at the bottom, if you’d like to be added or removed, just leave a reply and I’ll see it! Any positive feedback or messages are appreciated. Thanks!

OCTOBER

The metaphorical smoke had cleared, everyone was settled down and safe. The sun was coming up, the roadway illuminated enough now for the street lamps to turn off in town.

Jim was driving back to the cabin alone, he needed to be for a little while after all of this. At least long enough to shower and eat something so his body could have a chance at functioning. He wasn't sure when the crying would try to sneak it's way out. He's rounding a curve on the way to the cabin. He thinks he sees someone walking on the side of the road, he assumes it's a jogger, it's dawn after all. The closer he gets, the more his heartbeat races. The thought crosses his mind that it was a hallucination. He remembered doing that after Sarah died, so he didn't trust himself after losing you too. Not after the hellish night he'd just survived. His heart drops when he sees dark hair, but he knows it's not a jogger when he sees the blood-soaked clothes.

His heart chokes him in his throat. The sun hits your hair, he sees it shine red. Your hair was so covered in blood it looked as dark as Joyce's. His eyes are wide as the gravel sprays and he pulls the Blazer up behind your bent form. He barrels out of the vehicle, screaming out your name.

You barely register the sound. You aren't sure if it's dawn or dusk or where you are. You had pieced together your brain enough to know you should find and follow a road for help. You need a hospital but you can't think about that, you're still in shock. You see the gash in your thigh and arm, puncture wounds in clusters across the rest of your body, you know there's blood soaked into your clothes, not all of it yours. If what those things even had in them would be considered blood. You use a branch to help you walk, you're worried you're cut too deeply on your leg. Your hair is damp to the touch from any number of wet mucus sources drying in the cool air. You hear the gravel crunch behind you and try to turn to whatever was waiting for you there.

"Annie?" your ears pick up. You watch as he gets slightly fuzzy as he shakes you in a panic by your arms, screaming your name. "Jesus, sweetheart, what'd they do to you?" he asks, his hands looking over your injuries, he winces at the sight of you and goes to pick you up and carry you to the vehicle.

Your tired body lashes out at him as you flashback to what you'd just been through as his big arms trap your body. You drop the crutch in the process and fall into his arms, not being able to support yourself. You try to focus on him, he's holding your face in his big, warm hand, not even registering your blows. "Annie, it's me." his voice is a welcome sound, even if it does come out scratchy and desperate. You lock eyes and he finally registers in your brain.

"Jim?" you choke out, tears starting to fall from your eyes. Your lips hurt very badly as you spoke. "Are you real?" you ask him, it was a genuine question. Your hand weakly reaches up to his face, you fall short and land on his collarbone. You wanted to touch him, make sure you weren't hallucinating from blood loss or already dead. You moan at the warmth radiating off his bare skin as you touched it. He seemed real.

He chokes back a sob of happiness and you know he is real by the sound. A dopey smile spreads across his face.

"Are you?" he laughs at you madly, not holding in the euphoric relief he felt at the sight of you. He readjusts you, holding you gently. "Come on I've got to get you to the hospital, baby." he says soothingly. "I'm going to pick you up, okay?" he asks, your eyes close and you nod, you go limp in his arms. You know he sits you in his car, you hear him start it. You flutter your eyes open and groan as the heat from the vents warms your cold, drained body.

"I didn't die." you muse weakly, your voice sounding amazed. You want to laugh but you cry out at the pain in your ribs.

"Somehow." You feel his warm hand touch you, you whimper at the feeling of warm again, you thought you'd never feel it again. You moan and lay against the door.

"Fuck. Everything hurts." you say in a breathy voice, using the arm that you can move best to across your ribs. It's hard for him to watch the road, he can't believe you're real.

"I've got you, Annie, I'll fix it, just a little while longer." he rushes out in a hushed tone, trying to keep you calm. He's wondering if he died too somehow, because how could you have survived? "How in the hell did you do it, kid?" he mumbles to himself, seeing you passed out, wrapped in his coat.

NOVEMBER

You wake up in the hospital. You're grateful the blindingly bright lights weren't the afterlife you thought they might have been an indication of at first. You see you're covered in bandages and a cast on one arm. You find you can wiggle your fingers and toes and you relax, the beeping on the monitors slowing. You're surprised you're not in worse shape and more pain than you were. You groan at the hum of the lights and machines in your ears. You look around the room, you see Joyce on a love seat on the opposite of the room. You wonder how long you'd both been here. "Joy." you croak out. Your voice is weak, your throat feels crushed. You close your eyes and lay your head back, you can try again later. You have that option again.

JANUARY

You'd been so overwhelmed with recovery and the amount of love you felt coming at you from all sides from your family and friends. It gave you another crash course in dealing with compliments and intimacy. You'd needed this honestly, you just wish it hadn't been happening in the middle of healing and the holidays. It made everything whirl by so quickly you felt like you were going to miss something. You hadn't been able to help much at Thanksgiving and Christmas. You and Will shared too many long, empathetic looks over the Holidays as you both were now the target of attention you didn't really want or felt like you needed. Everyone treated you like you were fragile and incapable of anything. You'd both stared death in the face and come back so you'd think people would act more impressed instead of more worried than ever before.

So here you were, now just one arm out of commission, for the time being, trying to make snacks for tonight. You'd worked in kitchens before, you were perfectly capable of cooking a decent meal, but with one arm down and being out of practice it was proving harder than you anticipated. Joyce was winding down her shift soon, Jonathan had taken out Will to give you the space you'd requested as you wanted to surprise them when they got home. ---------- You're sitting in the living room, everyone is full of food and chattering on about the past year, bad memories are passed over as you focus on the good ones. Lots of sighs and watery eyes from you and your sister. Jonathan as stoic as usual, sharing glances with his brother, they would nudge each other with their hands and elbows often as they sassed each other after embarrassing stories were shared. The phone rings, it's very close to midnight and it makes all of you jump at the unexpectedness of it. Jonathan puts a hand on Joyce's knee out of instinct to calm her anxieties over the sound.

"I got it." he says, narrowing his eyes at the second ring. You can't make out the words from his quiet voice as he was out of sight. You smile over at Joyce, her eyes darting from the tv to you, an uneasy smile on her face.

"Probably a drunken wrong number." you scrunch your nose at her to ease her worried eyes. You see Jonathan appear around the wall and shake the phone your way.

"It's for you Ann." you tilt your head, the confused expression on your face clear. You shrug to Joyce who has a similar look on her face.

You walk to the phone and take it in the kitchen. You hold your hand over the receiver and with your upturned lip, you ask Jonathan who it is.

"It's Hopper." he says quietly, his eyebrows raise slightly at the suggestion of the intention of the call before he turns back into the living room.

"Jim?" you almost whisper, not wanting to worry Joyce with what news must be coming next.

"Happy New Year, Ann." he says quietly. Your mouth opens and your voice stutters.

"H-Happy New Year, Jim." you say in a suspicious voice, taken back by the smooth tone of his voice. "It's not New Years yet, you're gonna make me miss it." you say sassily, leaning against the kitchen wall with your shoulder, peaking into the living room at the tv.

"I won't keep you long." he clears his throat. "I...I know I've not been around much since you've been out of the hospital." he sighs and trails off. "Well, I'm," A smile spreads across your face as you mindlessly wrap your finger in the long cord of the phone, your heart pumping faster as you hear the tone of his voice. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there tonight." he says, his voice low and sweet.

You let out a small feminine sound of amusement. "No apology necessary." you smirk and look up at the ceiling, "But without you here, my options for who to kiss at midnight are absolutely awful." you say in a hushed laugh, wanting to ease his worry about you. You'd missed the half-assed flirting, the goofiness you'd been working so hard to bring back into your lives until the Upside Down tore it all away again. You hear his laugh, the smacking of his lips against the receiver.

"I give you one kiss and now you're getting greedy?" he teases, his voice blooms into a laugh.

"If I recall correctly it was more than one, Jim." you tease back, your hand over your mouth as you quietly laugh into it so the others can't hear.

"And there might be more." he says, his voice full of grit and tease. The vagueness would usually annoy you but you were too relieved to know he was thinking about you to be annoyed.

"More?" you ask intrigued. You felt so much lighter knowing he'd entertained the possibility.

"I'd like to think so." he smartly answers. You peek around the wall again to look at your family, their faces illuminated by the tv light, huddled together. Your heart warms, making your chest feels heavy with gratitude.

"Promise?" you whisper, rolling back into the kitchen, fingers turning red and purple from the tight twist you'd unintentionally created around them with the phone cord.

"Promise." he answers, his voice hitting you hard, making you swoon despite yourself.

Chapter 9: Valentine & Variation

The marked through ones I could not tag. Sorry!

@whatmakesmebeme-tblr @sleepylunarwolfh @elevenofmages@alahmorah @norcula @undiscl0sed-desir3s@atari-writes @jobean12-blog @missharleenquinzel-blog @kiwiphroot @ashphoenix105 @ambeazyyy @riotguuuurl @warriorqueen1991 @misbehaving-f0r-days @divadinag @wefracturedmotivation @flamehairedwritings @earinafae @beltzboys2015-blog @gettinjoyful @lucifer-in-leather@nerdysuperchick @kathrinebutterlover @dragongirl420 @fangirlinginspace @xxdragonagequeenxx @the-bitch-gotham-deserves @hopperholland @lil-tea-cup @darthnerd25 @davidkharbours@mrslydiaholden @titpunch02@thedaydreamerrrrr @yedi16 @jess2464 @scrunchinn@thatisthemagic @maddieisaboredable @bloom005-blog@mcxmarti @bitchinmouthbreather @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @lalalindsay25631888 @essie-star03 @madsch

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alexkryceksbutt · 7 years

Text

Bedroom Church Choir

MSR

Explicit

Pt. 1 (can be read as a standalone)

Melissa sang in the church choir.

She stood front row, sang first soprano, and always got the best solos. She’d had a gift—an uncanny ability to carry a multitude of emotion with a single syllable. A man who had never been fed a drop of religion in his life could know what it was like to know God, just by hearing Melissa sing.

Scully sat in the pews.

She’d be the first to tell you she couldn’t carry a tune. Her musical résumé included a few simple hymns she sang under her breath on the rare occasions she actually made it to Mass, and a monotone rendition of a Three Dog Night classic; she never wanted to be in choir.

But still she envied Melissa.

As a child, tugged out of her muddy, ripped jeans, and forced into a dress, sitting on an old, creaking bench with her mother at her side, hissing, “Sit like a lady, Dana!” Scully’s heart was green when she heard her sister sing.

It wasn’t the notes she was jealous of, but the emotions. Scully, who felt deeply but was twice as guarded, couldn’t fathom the ease at which Melissa poured herself into such a public display of self-expression.

Maggie Scully always said, that when she was born, her eldest daughter didn’t cry.

“I asked the doctor what was wrong, but he just smiled and said, ‘She’s just taking it all in, Mrs. Scully. You’ve got a very curious baby on your hands.’”

And of course, that was true. As a newborn, she prioritized understanding the brand new place she’d been pushed into, over giving into the fear of its newness, and thus began the repertoire of Dana Scully; a constant of hers, literally since birth. Melissa was truly gifted, but never let it be said that Scully was not without her own wealth of talents. It took, after all, an incredibly talented person to hold the Universe in the palms of her hands, and pick it apart until it was nothing more than atomic numbers on the elemental table.

But the drawback was that she had walls, somewhat by nature, and certainly by nurture.

It’s not that Scully was dispassionate. No one who truly knew her would call her cold or calculating. She laughed easily at things she found funny, and cried when it was necessary, and she carried within her a heart so full of sentimentality and romantic idealization that among her wealth of medical journals and scientific studies, one could find Austen, Brontë, and du Maurier. But surely, with a heart so fragile and a mind so analytical, it was only logical to keep it safe.

It wasn’t always about safety, however, but rather, shame. Scully, so independent and self-assured, had the bizarre tendency towards hero worship. Likely, she was born with an overflowing amount of loyalty, and like opposing ends of a magnet being drawn together, she gravitated towards anyone she felt she could unburden some of it on.

Her first hero was her father—a naval captain, who was emblematic of what a man of his time was meant to be. He loved to his core, but was wont to express it more often with a salute than with a hug. And Scully idolized her father, trying so hard to emulate what she saw as a representation of perfection, that she began to see every tear, or hurt, or pain as a weakness, and she began to keep them inside.

And then she had to go and become a doctor, of all things, where she had to work ten times as hard as her male peers just to prove she belonged there. Short, petite, and so very much a woman, Scully could never let her classmates see her as anything but the hardened intellectual facade she brought to her lectures, and into her labs, and then into her residency, until suddenly, that was just who Dana Scully was to any new person she met; logic and intellect personified, in order to avoid the misogyny, both purposeful and ingrained, of her peers.

(She had loved one man in med school, opening her heart exactly once. He was a man who saw her both as a woman and an intellectual, and he was someone she had no right to claim, and when she finally walked out the door and into the arms of the FBI, she couldn’t be so sure if it had been her heart that she had opened to him, or her ego.)

And this all brought her here, to this life she now led, as the voice of reason sidekick to a man she had given her wealth of loyalty to, to the surprise of them both.

Mulder, of course, was not someone she needed to fear judgement from—she had witnessed him proposing alien abduction as a plausible theory to a room full of his superiors on more than one occasion—but by the time he entered her life, or, more accurately, by the time she had been forced into his, her walls had been widened and caulked so substantially that it never occurred to her that vulnerability was an option.

(Every now and then, Mulder would hack away a piece of metaphorical cement, and glimpse at the person behind the wall, and while he never once would pass judgement on her for simply being human, Scully would rebuke herself for her weakness.)

Which is why, today, she is thrown entirely off guard as Mulder asks her, so bluntly and inelegantly that she does a mental double-take, “Why are you so quiet in bed?”

It is either very late, or very early, depending on your point of view. The sun hasn’t quite started to rise, but the sky is starting to brighten just a bit around her halo glow. Scully and Mulder spent the better part of their Thursday night, and Friday twilight hours, on a stakeout outside of an ugly, brick apartment complex in a town of less than 4,000 in rural Kansas, which ended in a foot chase down a dead end alleyway and Scully’s gun pressed against the temple of a man with the marking that led them here tattooed on his right forearm, while Mulder read him his Miranda rights.

“Y’all might as well go back to your hotel and get some rest,” said the local sheriff who arrived on the scene shortly after. “I only got one other officer on duty so it’ll take some time to take care of the booking, and the forensic lab in KC won’t have gotten back to you with the test results on the corpse until at least this afternoon.”

And Scully should have jumped on the opportunity for rest, having not truly slept in well over a day, but she found she was still hyped on adrenaline, and with a single look at Mulder she knew he was feeling the same, which is how they now found themselves sitting in a lumpy booth inside a 24/7 diner, with Mulder inquiring about their bedroom habits.

Because, due to a couple beers over a Twilight Zone marathon taken too far two weeks ago, they actually have bedroom habits—a fact Scully is more or less never not thinking about. Even when she is preoccupied with paperwork, or meetings, or chasing bad guys down rural Kansas alleyways, the back of her mind is always replaying the feel of Mulder’s fingers or the taste of his tongue, like some sort of X rated background noise.

“Mulder,” Scully hisses, after she’s taken a moment to recover. She glances over her shoulder. The diner is entirely empty except for an elderly, heavyset man in the far corner looking like he’s trying, unsuccessfully, to sober up over a cup of black coffee, and the disinterested waitress leaning against the counter, snapping bubbles with her chewing gum while flipping through a gossip magazine without seeming to read a single word.

“Relax, no one is paying attention to us,” says Mulder, reading her thoughts, cutting off her reprimanding before it can begin. She turns back to him and puts both her hands around her mug of English breakfast tea, and stares into it with a frown.

“Where’d that question even come from?” she asks her tea.

“Just something I’ve been wondering since this whole…” He clears his throat. “Erm, thing started.”

“And a crappy diner at 4:30 in the morning is when you decide to ask it?” asks Scully, occupying herself by grabbing another sugar packet and tearing it open to pour into her tea. “Why were you even thinking about our sex life right now?”

“Not to be crass, but it’s probably safe to say that I’m always thinking about our sex life,” says Mulder, and Scully tries to shoot him a glare, but she’s pretty sure it comes out a smirk, because the idea of ‘our’ sex life is still so new and exciting that she gets the flutters in her belly at the thought.

“Hate to break it to you, Mulder, but real life isn’t like those VHS tapes in your desk. Not all women scream bloody murder when they’re fucked.”

Mulder regards her with a sly gleam in his eye that makes her suspicious as he takes a bite of apple pie. “I know that,” he says through his mouthful. He swallows. “I just have the distinct impression that you’re secretly one of them.”

Scully blinks at him. “What makes you think you’d know something like that?”

“I’m a behavioral psychologist,” he says. “It’s my job to know.”

Scully rolls her eyes, and goes back to stirring sugar into her tea, not dignifying that with a response. She takes a sip and grimaces—too sweet.

“That, and you always try to stop yourself from making noise,” Mulder continues, and Scully’s head shoots up.

“I do not,” she defends. In response, Mulder raises an eyebrow, and reaches up to pull the collar of his shirt to the side, revealing the fresh, red bite mark on his collarbone, and Scully flushes, remembering the night before in the motel room they were very much not supposed to be sharing, as Mulder pushed into her and she’d muffled her scream by digging her teeth into the flesh of his muscular shoulder. She scowls. “Circumstantial evidence,” she says.

Mulder cracks a grin, and responds by reaching over and gently taking Scully’s hand that’s wrapped around her mug, and closely examining a faded mark on the skin between her index finger and her thumb, also in the shape of Scully’s bite, and Scully pulls her hand away, thinking about a week and a half ago in her apartment, when Mulder went down on her while she was sitting on the couch, and she had caught her moan before it escaped by clamping down on the webbing between her two fingers, so hard she drew blood.

“What’s your point?” she asks crossly, wishing Mulder had the decency not to look so smug.

“It’s not a point, it’s a question,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “Are you quiet in bed because that’s just how you are, or is it for some other reason?”

“What other reason would there be?”

Mulder shrugs. “You tell me.”

And Scully is at a loss, because the truth is that Mulder’s right—she isn’t a quiet lover. But she wishes that she were, because inside every moan, groan, and wail of pleasure, there’s a vulnerability attached. To be vocal in bed is to admit to feelings she’d rather not say.

“I’ve been louder with other people,” she says.

“So just not with me?”

“Of course not with you,” she says, almost annoyed, because he sounds almost hurt, but he knows her so well, shouldn’t it be obvious? “Not with you because you matter.”

Mulder makes that face he makes when she says something unexpected. He pulls his eyebrows together, and his mouth forms a question he can’t find the words for, and Scully secretly revels in it, because it’s rare.

“You don’t get it,” she says for him, and he doesn’t disagree.

“Explain it to me?” he says instead, and she stirs her cooling, overly-sweet tea.

“I could never sing in church choir.”

“No offense, but among your many talents singing isn’t one of them.”

She smiles, knowing that for a moment they are both back in the woods in northern Florida, flirting about sleeping bags while monsters lurk in the dark. She says, “I could spend my whole life perfecting vocal technique, and I’d never sound beautiful, because I don’t know how to put emotion behind it. I don’t want to put emotion behind it.”

“Art requires a degree of vulnerability,” Mulder agrees.

“So does letting someone you care about know the things they make you feel,” says Scully, and Mulder understands.

“I’m not a congregation, though.”

“No, you’re something worse.”

“You don’t have to give me anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“But you deserve it,” Scully finds herself saying. God, she’s been up for so long. God, she’s been fighting for even longer. “But I want to. I just don’t know how.”

Mulder is silent. So is Scully. The man in the corner grumbles about his hangover into his hands.

“I have an idea,” says Mulder finally. “But you need to tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not too much,” says Scully automatically. She trusts him with her life.

—-

Even as the sun rises, the hotel room is dark. It faces west, and the light is in the east. They’ve got the curtains pulled tight, and the lamps off. It’s an old motel, with only five channels without static, two of which are local weather stations, and the comforter pattern doesn’t match the carpet. Scully lays on her back, a sleeping mask resting over her eyes, as Mulder takes her wrist and locks it inside the cool metal of his handcuffs.

The backboard of the bed is made up of discolored, metal columns, and Scully listens as the opposite end of the handcuffs is placed around one. She tugs experimentally. She’s stuck in place.

“Safeword?” Mulder asks her for the third time, as he takes her other wrist gently in his hand, and takes her own pair of handcuffs to trap her to the bed. Their superiors would love to know what they do with FBI property; maybe it’d finally get them out of the building.

“Abduction,” she says for the third time, and she can’t see it, but she knows Mulder smiles, because he laughed for a full minute when she picked that as the word.

“It’s about sensation,” he explains again, as though reminding himself. “It’s about feeling and letting go. But if it gets to be too much—”

“Mulder?” she interrupts.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

And she hears him huff out a breath of laughter, and she feels his lips against hers, just briefly, in a chaste reassurance. “Okay,” he breathes, hot on her skin. And she waits, chained and entirely nude, more vulnerable than she has willingly been, possibly ever. The fear she feels treads the line of exhilaration, as Mulder runs a hand along her thigh.

She hums her contentment. Humming is okay. Humming is not revealing. It’s the noise equivalent of, “that’s nice,” which isn’t scary to say. Yes, that’s nice. Full stop. No barriers broken, image maintained.

He kisses her again, harder this time, and she responds enthusiastically, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair, but being met with the clang of metal on metal and resistance against her wrists. She can’t touch him, and that’s a bit unnerving, as she realizes how unlevel the playing field is. That is, of course, the point, but theory is never the same as practice.

Mulder moves his lips along her jawline, licking her lightly in the spot just behind her ear that is strangely erogenous, and she lets out a muffled, “mmph!” A step up from humming, but not quite the danger zone just yet.

He nibbles lightly on the skin of her neck, not hard enough to raise eyebrows at their meeting with Skinner day after next, but enough that it tickles in that way where it is indistinguishable from minute pain, and a groan builds in the back of her throat, like a low rumble of thunder, but it doesn’t escape.

Two fingers suddenly pinch around her nipple, and she can’t help the gasp that escapes. She can’t see him twist the sensitive flesh; can only feel his fingers tug, and his tongue joins them, and there’s something about the darkness that makes it that much more intense. She pulls her lips inward, and bites down on them, muting the sounds that threaten to pour off her traitorous tongue.

Without moving from her nipple, his other hand reaches down between her legs. A finger dips quickly inside her, and then encircles her engorged clit, lubricating her with her own wetness. “Oh,” she says, softly, turning her head and resting her cheek against her shoulder, and she tries to find something to bite down on, but she can’t reach. “Oh!” she says again, surprised this time, as the fingers around her nipple tighten, and his mouth moves to her other breast, expertly working three of her most sensitive spots at once.

Abruptly, he moves away from it all, and she protests, until she feels him positioning himself between her thighs, and then she smiles, because she knows this is his favorite. She never has to ask; you’d think her pussy was heroin the way he seems to crave it.

But she isn’t prepared for this, as his tongue makes contact, and his fingers slip inside her. She isn’t prepared for the intensity of it, as she pulls on the handcuffs, surely leaving marks in the skin, trying to grab hold of something to concentrate on anything other than the steady motion he’s gotten nearly perfect at.

A tightness begins to build where his mouth presses against her, and every hair on her body is standing on end. It’s too much, too much, and she goes to shout, “abduction!” but it comes out as, “fuck!” In fact, it comes out as a string of expletives, each one louder than the next, punctuated by high, desperate moans, as though she were a woman in one of Mulder’s VHS tapes.

And then her orgasm is washing over her, and she is faintly aware of her voice growing hoarse; of the clang of metal on the backboard pinging like mad, and she doesn’t care. Isn’t that something, she thinks somewhere in her blissed out mind, she doesn’t care. She is singing her own one-person church choir, and Mulder is her congregation, and they both know what it’s like to know God.

She comes down, breathing harder than she had in the alleyway with a gun in her hand, and Mulder pushes up her mask, his eyes wild, looking at her like she’s the answer to every mystery he’s ever encountered, and he crushes his mouth against hers, filling her tongue with the taste of herself.

With no prelude, Mulder pushes his erection inside her easily, and she buries herself in the warmth of his neck, saying all the things she’s never allowed herself to say, using filthy, single syllables. He says it all back to her in the same language. She comes again, which only happens when the sex is particularly special, and he follows her, spilling as deep inside of her as he can get.

Then there is silence; nothing but the sound of their tandem breaths.

“Jesus,” says Mulder finally, and Scully, who has said everything and more, can do nothing else but nod.

He slips out of her; undoes her binding. He rubs her wrists, peppering the red marks with soft kisses, and then gathers her up into his arms.

“I thought you couldn’t sing,” he whispers into her ear, petting her sweaty, properly-fucked-looking hair.

She smiles into his touch.

“I guess I just needed somebody to teach me how.”

#read the other one first bc it's better #idk if it's actually better #im more attached to the first one #anyway #tags #my fics #msr #msr fanfiction #x-files #x-files fanfiction #txf #etc

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moonm0chi · 7 years

Text

Upstairs (m)

credit

Pairing: Hoseok x reader

Genre: smut, fluff (?), dancer!college!Hoseok

Word count: 5.7k (I love a good build up)

Warnings: contains sex, sexual/explicit language

Summary: You finally get the courage to yell at the noisy neighbor upstairs and begin to realize that maybe you should’ve gone up sooner.

a/n: pls be kind first smutty thing I’ve written in A WHILE, idk if it’s any good I’ve literally re-read it like 15 times before posting. Enjoy! Hopefully more of my writing is on the way!!!

“Are you fucking kidding me!” You yelled in exasperation. The floorboards above you creaked and thumped as your neighbor pounded on their floor.

It was currently 11:30 and you were trying so hard to get your presentation done for tomorrow’s class. You grabbed the broomstick that was becoming less for sweeping and more for hitting on your ceiling in shallow attempts at getting the ruckus to quiet down.

The thumping stopped and you let out a sigh of relief but it was short lived when the stomps and thumps started up again. And you were almost positive they were louder. The nerve of this kid. But you just groaned again and hoped it’d die down by the time you went to bed, not having enough courage to go and ask them to kindly shut the hell up.

But suddenly the clock read 3:30 and you could feel how bloodshot your eyes were and the incessant thumping didn’t sound like it was going to stop anytime soon. You sighed in defeat and re-dressed yourself before taking the elevator up to the next floor. It didn’t take you long to locate the door that was the reason behind your insomnia.

You knocked on the door furiously making sure it could be heard over the music in the apartment. It wasn’t long until the music died. You bit your lip anxiously and whipped your gaze from the floor to the open door.

A wave of heat immediately hit you, your gaze locked with the boy in front of you. He was wearing a low cut tank top and gym shorts, a towel wrapped around his neck. His auburn hair plastered to his face and beads of sweat rolled down his tanned skin. He had a shocked look on his face, clearly not expecting you.

You gaped at the sight in front of you, all thoughts fleeting for a moment before you are pulled from your stupor, “Hi..uhm can I help you?” He asks a wide grin replaced with his previously shocked one.

You clear your throat as you remembered the reason you’re there in the first place.

“Hi, I’m Y/N I live below you,” you smile sheepishly feeling slightly guilty for meeting on such awkward circumstances, “and I’m trying to go to bed…umm..do you think you c-could try and be quieter...” you look down shyly and waited for his response.

He lets out a laugh, “Yea, of course! Sorry sometimes I forget about the other people living here.” You watched his smile stretch and you’re blushing at how dazzling his whole face looks.

He sticks his hand out, “I’m Jung Hoseok, nice to meet you neighbor!”

You shook his hand, and noted how large and warm it felt in yours. You thanked him for his understanding and curse yourself for your late introduction. You’d have went up sooner if you’d known a ridiculously attractive and sweaty boy would’ve been greeting you at the door.

It looked like your broom was finally out of commission.

“Wait, Jung Hoseok lives about you?!?” Your friend exclaimed. You frowned in confusion not understanding the implications.

She scoffed, “He’s like… probably the best dancer in the department. Not that you’d know Ms. Business major.” she laughed at your pout.

“Well he certainly practices like he’s the best in the department.” You complained “Yesterday I had to go upstairs and tell him to basically shut up.”

“You’ll be the reason he fails his showcase.” Your friend said, playfully jabbing you with a fry which you happily stole from her.

“It was 3:30 in the morning!” You defended, “But, I’ll admit….he was so sweaty and it was…” you sighed trailing off into your memories of his glistening tanned skin.

She laughed while you reminisced.

But you ultimately shrugged off the whole ordeal. He was indeed incredibly attractive but as long as he practiced during normal, human hours, you’d have no reason to see him other than in your thoughts. And that would have to suffice.

But after having to practically beg him twice to quit practicing into the wee hours of the morning he finally proposed it’d be best if you guys just exchanged numbers.

You were thankful for the more convenient method of dealing with him, although slightly upset to have to stop making your frequent trips up to sneak glances at Hoseok’s sweaty body every time you scolded him.

“I swear I’ll set a reminder to stop at 12.” He had promised you. And any anger you’d felt toward him melted at the sincerity of his smile and the way his eyes begged you to believe his good intentions. This is how it always happened. You could always feel yourself soften at his brown eyes staring at you, his apologies would hang sweetly between the two of you. You never could find yourself staying angry at him once you’d returned to your room.

You came back from a party , that you were immediately regretting, to your apartment room well after 12. The effects of alcohol were ebbing from your system and all you wanted was to place your aching head on your pillow and drift off to sleep.

But that wouldn't be in the cards for you when you heard the incessant thumping and pounding on your ceiling. You groan and cover your head with your pillow praying it’d drown out the noise.

You text him begging for him to be quiet and it seems that the pounding only gets louder. You are furious at this point. So done with his shit. But your phone pinged and a gentle vibration resounded on your nightstand and then it’s completely quiet. You hadn’t bothered responding. A sigh of relief escapes and you felt your body settle into bed.

Then there was a knock at your front door.

You threw your blankets off your body and stormed towards the door. You’d been completely ready to curse Hoseok out, positive it was him on the other side of your door.

But the sight in front of you had you weak in the knees. Much sweatier than you’d ever seen him and his chest was heaving from probably sprinting down the steps. A flush washed over his face, guilt written all over it.

You bit your lip but quickly and tried to look upset. It seemed difficult keeping your eyes locked on his. You tried your best not to let your eyes travel, knowing the sheen on his collarbones or the veins running up his forearms would only make you forget what the hell you were supposed to be mad at him for to begin with and hastily accept his apologies.

“Hey” he smiled, his shallow breaths filling the silence between you.

You smiled, struggling to keep your eyes on his once he began to speak.

“I’m so sorry, my reminder went off but the music was s-

Keep your eyes up

“Seriously, anything, if you-

Keep your eyes up.

The longer he spoke the farther you found your eyes drifting. They trailed down his long neck, your mind filled with thoughts that yearned lick and bite a trail from his jugular down to his collarbones. They were glistening with sweat even under the shitty hallway lights and his low cut shirt showed off his hard upper chest.

You licked your dry lips and once you’d flickered your eyes back up to his you realized he had stopped talking.

“So really, if you ever want to just text me.”

You blinked at the empty meaning of the words, “What?” you ask completely dazed.

He chuckled and placed a hand on the back of his neck, “I said that if you want, I teach dance lessons on the side and I could give you some for free in exchange for putting up with my noisy ass.”

You blushed embarrassed at your actions and think you mumble something along the lines of “sure, I’ll text you” and that seemed to please him because he waved goodbye and you were shutting the door quickly. But all you’d been thinking about was the way his bicep flexed when he raised his arm.

Hoseok finally managed to be quiet whenever you asked for quite a while. But then dreaded finals rolled around and you’re ready to pull your hair out of your head. You were 10 pages deep in 1 of your 4 research papers and the thumping persists accompanied by a deep bass pumping in the background this time. Hoseok isn’t answering his phone and you’re way too close to a mental breakdown to sit around and wait for a response.

You stormed up to his room, skipping the elevator altogether. Your chest heaves with frustration and the stair sprint you just forced yourself to do. You’re knocking rapidly on the door and it isn’t until you’re eyes lock with his that you’re regretting just how fast you left your room.

The loose tank top and flimsy bralette you’re wearing do little in combatting the exposure you feel under Hoseok’s gaze and your shorts should’ve never left the confines of your apartment walls. You curse yourself for not changing. You averted your gaze, and tugged at the hem of your shorts begging for some coverage that you knew wasn’t going to come.

He leant on his door frame, a smirk playing on his gleaming face and his arms folded.

“Well, from the urgency of those knocks it doesn’t sound like you’re here for a dance lesson.”

He watched you expectantly, studying your face before sighing when you stayed silent.

You opened your mouth ready to protest when he grabbed your arms, dragging you into his apartment. “Hoseok, what are you- really can you just please be quiet. I have so much work to do before the end of finals.” You pleaded finally getting your voice back and trying to shake out of his grip.

He shook his head no, grip only becoming tighter and dragged you towards the speakers in his small living room. The couch and other furniture moved to make room for a makeshift dance floor.

“No, you are way too tense Y/N.” He laughed looking at your wide eyes, “No offense but you look cracked out right now and I think a dance lesson would really take your mind off things for a little.”

You pinched your lips together tightly and vehemently shake your head in protest. He ignored your protests and un-paused the music.

“You’re not leaving until you forget about your work.” He smiled and began to sway with the beat.

“I know I’ve been especially noisy lately but I have a reason.” He said, “I need to create choreography to this other students music. We’re doing a joint project for our final showcase.”

You watch as he switched songs, the heavy bass familiar, but much clearer than when you were in your apartment downstairs.

“Want to see?” He asked, his eyes shining with hope that you’ll say yes.

You nodded your head, not having the heart nor desire to reject his offer.

You watch his graceful and fluid movements totally transfixed on the way his body easily hits every beat like it’s been ingrained into his soul. It’s like no dancing you’ve ever seen before and now you can understand why he’s one of the top students in his program.

Hoseok noticed you watching him and that in your trance have started to gently bob to the beat. He slowly eased out of the routine and you blinked out of your trance, stopping your movement.

He knitted his brow together and came closer, “Why’d you stop?!”

“I didn’t know I was moving.” You admitted shyly.

“Okay, dance with me I’ll teach you.” He motioned for you to come closer to the center of the “dance floor” and showed you the “easier” moves from his routine.

You began to relax as laughter bounced between the two of you so easily (unlike the dance moves he tried to teach you). Eventually you’re both sweating, the heat trapped in the small space leaving the air hot and heavy.

But when a fast upbeat song comes on, you show Hoseok some of your “moves”- shaking your hips and twirling around. The song comes to an end and your skin is sticky with perspiration.

As the song switched, Hoseok grabbed your hips and a breathy chuckle sends a shiver down your spine when his hot breath fans over the nape of your neck.

“So maybe you don’t need dance lessons after all.”

Despite the compliment he began to move your hips, “So my next lesson will be on how to step up your moves to seduce any guy in the club.”

You laughed at his comments and play along, eager to keep away from your work a little while longer.

“Well I’m all ears.” You replied enthusiastically and placed your hands over his.

Another wave of warm air over ran over your neck. “Okay, so you start slow- you know gotta keep the guy guessing.”

You nod and began to swirl your hips slowly, brushing against Hoseok’s body every every so often, feeling the warmth that sent goosebumps over your flesh despite the heat.

His chest radiated heat and you could feel the fabric of your already short shorts riding up further the more you moved your hips. His grip tightened and brought you closer to his chest.

“So now you want to pick up the speed a little, make things more...sexy. And if you feel comfortable you can do this.”

He grabbed one of your hands and brought it back so you’re fingers are ghosting over the nape of his neck. You tightened your grip and gently tugged at the baby hairs.

He inhaled sharply, “Sorry.” You apologized sheepishly letting up on your grip but not removing your hand from where he had placed it.

“That’s fine, it feels nice.” He replied honestly and tightened his grip on your hips.

His warm chest pressed firmly to your back. His hands twitch against your waist and you close your eyes, the intimate contact had started to make warmth flow towards your stomach and lower. You’d let your head roll back against his shoulder and you bit back a moan when he grinded your hips especially hard into him.

He watched your face flush and he leaned in to whisper, “I’ve always wanted to try this next move.”

You hummed, putty in his hands at this point until your eyes flew open when you’re being bent over at a ninety degree angle. Your ass flush against his crotch. In any other situation such a move would’ve had you laughing or pulling away, but as the situation may have it, you couldn't help but moan. You turned your head and watched as your moan had been drowned out by Hoseok’s own throaty moan.

Your heart was beating so fast you’re sure it was going to come out your mouth any second. Sweat slid down your back and your hands flew out to the edge of an arm chair to keep you steady.

He had one hand on your upper back to keep you bent and the other tightly on your hip. All it took was one look at his blown out eyes and devilish smirk to tell he was enjoying this just as much as you were. The thought alone was enough to have you getting wet & rolling your hips into his.

Another deep moan left his lips as he throws his head back temporarily enjoying the friction. But after a few hip rolls, your legs begin to shake at the uncomfortable position.

“Fuck.” He growled and turned you around bringing your chest flush against his.

You could feel his hard dick against your lower stomach and bit your lip to stifle a groan at the sinful feeling. His face was inches from yours, both of you were breathing in each other's heavy exhales. His dark eyes looked at you and you’re slowly whispering, “I should probably go now...I have some-uh..some work t-to finish.”

You swallowed thickly as his eyes repetitively drift between your lips and eyes.

He expression is fierce, as he speaks, locking eyes with yours, “I can think of another way for you to forget about your work for a little if you want.” He tilted his head suggestively and poked his tongue out to run it over his lips .

You found yourself watching his tongue. You watch as he tried to control his breath, his jaw flexing waiting for your response. You trailed your fingertips up his arms, feeling the contours of his biceps and then slowly traced over his collarbones delicately.

All it took is one look at him before he’s cupping your jaw in his hands. Your lips met his in desperate passion. Hot and feverish, his tongue slipped into your mouth not even asking for permission- both of you knowing it wasn’t even be an option to deny.

You moaned and melted into his touch. Gripping his biceps to keep yourself from totally slumping into his chest. His hands traveled from your face to ass where he gives a rough squeeze.

“You must’ve known what you were doing to me with this outfit. Your whole ass basically on display.”

He gives another squeeze for emphasis and it makes you moan his name in a needy fashion.

You grind your core into him trying to get your throbbing clit some much needed friction. You bring him in for another kiss. His mouth so warm and every caress of his tongue making your core pulsate and clench.

You trailed kisses down his throat and nipped not so gently but soothingly would lap at the love bites soon after. You feel the moan vibrate from his throat and you lick a stripe from his jugular up to his jaw before you dropped your head to his collar bones. You’re sure he’ll have marks on them once you’re done with your assault.

Your head pushed into his chest and you squeezed your eyes shut as his hands dip into the waistband of your shorts. “Shit, you’re not wearing any panties?”

You feel him groan so sinfully you moan in response, his reactions alone were enough to have your knees practically buckling.

As his two fingers slipped into your folds, your hands made their way up his shirt. You felt his stomach muscles flex under your touch as you run your nails up and down his chest and stomach. Your fingers teased the area around his waistband, pulling at the soft material.

He grunted, “Stop teasing.”

You almost made a snarky retort when he sticks his two fingers into you, slowly pumping. You fisted the material of his shirt and moaned into his chest. “Ho-Hoseok, please move your fingers.”

Your whole body is tense and trying to get your thighs to shut to add some friction.

“Yea you don’t like teasing now do you.” He chuckled and you can’t take it anymore so you trailed your hand down his body and you hear his breath hitch once your hand falls below his waistband.

You looked up and were immediately met with his dark brown gaze. Wearing a smirk, his eyes totally blown with lust. He licked his lips. His head fell to the crook of your neck and began to leave open mouthed kisses along the juncture between your neck and shoulder eliciting a shudder and small moan from you.

“Y-you have no idea,” he grunts when you ran your thumb over his swollen tip, “how long I’ve wanted this to happen.” He lifted his head, eyes squeezed shut and his head kicked back. Your lips open in pleasure at seeing him so fucked out and latched your lips onto his throat again leaving wet kisses.

“Shit...ever since that day you knocked on my door. I-” He swallowed thickly and you felt his cock twitch in your hand, “I would occasionally...accidentally...on purpose get louder… hoping you’d come back up.”

You smiled at his confessions, “Have you thought about me while doing this?”

You flushed with pride and excitement when he nodded his head.

“I’d always imagine you storming in here while I’m jerking off-ugh..” His elaboration on his fantasy is cut short when you squeeze tighter around the base of his shaft.

You were squirming under his touch, gently grinding into his fingers that have moved to rub slowly against your clit. Both leaned into each other for support and breathing hot and heavy in the already stuffy apartment. You felt him shift and when you looked up at him with eyes wide, lips swollen and a lovely flush dusting your face he snapped,

“Fuck this, I need you right now.” You let go of his shaft and he pulls his hand from your shorts, a sigh of disappointment heard between the both of you.

He pulled you in for another kiss while he gently guided you to the couch. You’re being laid back against the cushions and you’re pulling at his hair, bucking your hips into his thigh that rested between your legs.

“Hoseok.” You whined desperately.

“Please don’t say my name like that, you have no idea how close I’ll be to coming if you keep moaning like that.”

The insufferable heat of passion and from the apartment pushed you to rip his shirt over his head. His body was slick with sweat and your hands easily glided over his warm skin.

You’re ready to beg at this point. He ran his hands under your shirt slowly lifting the material until your bralette is the only thing that covered your very hard nipples. His hand cupped one and you let out a sigh of content at the more intimate contact.

But that’s not enough and soon you’re bare chested and his eyes never left yours while he took one of your nipples into his mouth.

“Mmm-my god. Hos-” your words die at the back of your throat as you arched your back to feel more of his warm tongue on your burning skin. By this point your clit is aching and the sorry excuse of trying to grind against Hoseok’s thigh just wasn’t doing it.

You take it upon yourself to slip your hand into your shorts as you began to pleasure your sensitive clit when a tight grip on your wrist pulled your hand out of your damp shorts.

Your arm in being restrained above your head and Hoseok is smirking at you.

“Clearly someone’s in a rush.” He said with a devilish grin and a raised eyebrow. You suddenly felt a pang of guilt at his words.

“N-no I just…” But your sentence trails off too embarrassed to say that you’re about to cross over the fine line of lust and into absolute insanity- the need to cum and feel good the front most thought in your mind at the moment .

Hoseok wanted nothing more than to see you delirious with lust and so far gone with desire that you couldn’t help but speak whatever was on your mind.

“What?” He said pinching your erect nipples before lowering his head again to take one into his mouth.

You whine his name, his warm tongue lapping at your skin was enough to make you lose your train of thought.

“Tell me what you want. Tell me what you’ve always imagined me doing.”

You pushed your modesty aside for your carnal desires and grabbed his hand from your chest and he watched with eager eyes. But he wasn’t expecting what you’d do next and his jaw was slack and a low groan escaped his lips as you placed two of his fingers into your mouth.

“Oh god that is so hot.” He palmed his hard length with his other hand slowly, careful to get too carried away by the scene laid out in front of him.

You made sure your tongue coated his fingers generously, never breaking eye contact through the whole gesture before pulling them out and guided down to your aching heat.

Too impatient to take your shorts off you slide them to the side and then his hand is hovering above your dripping core.

“Touch me.” you said resolutely but you can hear the sigh of desperation at the end of the sentence.

You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, a bead or two of sweat slid down the side of his face and he began to slide two fingers into you. That’s all it took for your head to dig farther into the couch and your back to arch off the cushions.

“Please, please go faster.” You pleaded and he obeyed, loving the way you looked at the mercy of his hand. The rest of your words crumbled to moans and heavy panting, your hips driving down on his fingers with his every thrust. You’re grabbing at his shoulders, bringing him closer to your body.

He swallowed your moans with kisses and his lips searched for all the weak spots on your neck. One in particular had your toes curling and a high pitched “please” spilling out of your mouth.

You’re so close, but it’s not enough.

“Hmm, tell me what exactly you want.” His skin stuck to yours, eyes ablaze and soaking in your wanton pants.

“Ho-Hoseok please..y-your mouth...” But your hand is already flying to your clit so desperate for release. He smirked an understanding glint in his eye and he slid down your body until his head was in between your thighs.

All it takes is his mouth around your clit and about 10 seconds of his tongue pressed roughly to it and you’re clenching tightly around his fingers, a loud hybrid of a groan and a scream resounded through the apartment. The sight of Hoseok between your spread legs- an image you’ve fantasized since you’d knocked on his door -was enough to make you cum immediately.

He replaced his finger with his tongue, delicately licking at your entrance until you’re pushing his back from the sensitivity.

“Well that didn’t take long.” He says wiping his mouth, “Have you ever thought about me like that- between your legs?”

His smirk was telling you he was trying to get you flustered and it worked.

You covered your face as it reddened but hesitantly nodded your head. When you peak out from behind your hands his face held traces of a faint smile at the corners of his lips and his irregular breathing was enough to tell you he loved the idea just as much as you had.

He keeps his eyes glued to yours as he finally removes your shorts and stands up briefly to remove his own. Your eyes trail to his hard dick- the tip pink and glistening with pre-cum and it had your mouth watering, animalistic desire coursing through your veins for him to ram into you.

“I need to be in you right now....I seriously almost came so hard thinking about you touching yourself to me in between your legs” He says voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it, eyeing you as he slowly pumped his hard length.

You get up from the couch slowly, still a little shaky from your orgasm not long ago.

“Hoseok.” You say, barely audible.

He looked at you curiously.

You swallowed and swore your face couldn’t get any more red. But if this was only going to happen once you wanted it to be done the way you’d always imagined.

“Will….willyoufuckmefrombehind?” You say

You look up from the carpet shyly and you can barely make out his reaction of a dropped jaw before his face became stern and he growled out his next commands to you.

“On the couch, face down, ass up...now.”

You scurried back to the couch and got into position, feeling exposed in this new position but so needy that you barely cared. And he’s suddenly behind you rolling on a condom.

“You’re so damn beautiful.” Hoseok says, running a hand from the small of your back over the curve of your bottom before he squeezed.

A groan of admiration is heard as he spreads your ass to get a better look at your arousal. You squeak at the unfamiliar feeling.

He sighs, adoration and awe laced into his words, “Your pussy is so pretty,” he says swiping the tip of his head between your folds, “and so fucking wet, god. And it’s all for me.”

You don’t even need turn around to know he’s wearing a smirk of pride on his sun kissed face.

You can feel more heat pooling just from his words of praise before you’re moaning and gently pushing up against the tip that’s running up and down your folds. There’s a sharp inhale of breath as Hoseok pushes in slowly, the generous amount of arousal from your core making it that much easier for him to slide inside of you.

You moan into the cushions at the pleasurable stretch of him inside you- just enough pain to feel good.

“Shit..Hoseok-” you moan again as you started to swivel your hips around him once you feel he’s pushed completely the hilt, “you feel so good.” You let out in a whine itching for movement.

All it takes is a small push back into his hips before he’s gripped your hips roughly, the pace fast enough to hear skin slapping against skin.

He grunts with every thrust and you clench around him after one especially rough thrust as he brushed right against your g-spot.

“God you’re so-so unbelievably tight.” He says

All you can do is moan and meet his hips with more fervor, feeling the warmth of your second orgasm quickly begin to pool in your abdomen. You bite your lip trying to stifle your moans and form a sentence.

“Ho..Hoseok...I’m...so...soclose.” You manage in between his thrusts.

He’s leaning over you, panting into your ear his words goading you on further to your release “Come for me, I want to feelyou come around my sick.” A moan that got stuck somewhere in the back of his throat drew from his lips, eliciting a higher pitched whine that had you rolling your eyes at the overload of stimulus.

You felt your toes curl in ecstasy, and you pushed your hips up further, burying your head into the couch cushion as your jaw fell slack. You open your mouth but no sound came out, any moans dying in your throat and only a breathy squeak, barely audible, fell from your lips as all your breath is lost to the orgasm that’s enveloping your whole body. You let out a loud moan once you were able to breath again.

You walls clenched around Hoseok whose motions weren’t as powerful or deliberate as before. His grunts and shallow breathing were enough to tell you he’s close.

“Shit, Y/n….I’m gonna- where-” He trailed off, slowing his pace to get direction from you.

You quickly pushed him off of you and scrambled to your knees on the cheap wood floors. Pushing your chest up, you looked at him and simply said “Here”

You watched him jerk off once, twice, before warm spurts of cum are falling all over your chest, a few powerful lines landing on your chin as well.

You gently suck at the dip of his dick to milk him of every drop before you feel him begin to go soft and let your lips detach from his head.

His face is pure bliss. He’s looking down at you totally fucked out, a lazy smile plastered on his face as he scanned the art he’d left on your chest and face. He watches as you swipe the cum that’s on your chin into your mouth. You smile as his features show incredulity at your actions.

He ran his fingers through his matted hair as you get off your knees and he’s shaking his head, still staring at you.

“God, where the hell have you been my whole life.”

You blush thankful his back is to you while he gets a paper towel from the connected kitchen. He comes back, smiling softly at you. He gently places a hand on the small of your back before swiping the damp paper towel across your chest to clean up the mess he’d left behind.

You internally swoon at his gentleness, looking up at him fondly.

“Thank you.” you say searching the apartment floor for your clothes. You quickly dress, the heat fading from the room and a chill ghosting over your damp skin.

You bit your lip, looking back at Hoseok who’d chose to just dress in a pair of basketball shorts. You study his lithe muscles as he stretches. But you quickly shake yourself out of your reverence for his smooth, post-glow skin.

You smile shyly and pointed towards the door, “I think I should go. You know….still have papers to write.”

He cleared his throat, opening and closing his mouth until his lips form a thin line. You turn, slightly disappointed- you’d hoped for a little more fluff after but quickly reprimanded yourself for expecting too much from something that was presumably a one time thing.

Your hand is on the knob when he’s grabbing at your wrist.

“Okay, so actually...uhm would you want to dinner me- er..what I mean is- would you like to go out...to dinner….with me.” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that’s not firmly gripping your arm.

You furrowed your brows,“No.” You responded curtly.

His downcast eyes shot up to yours, his look of disappointment as obvious as the blush that spreads across his face at the embarrassment of rejection. But a smirk played on your lips.

“Not until I finish my papers. So you need to be quiet.” You poked fun at him.

His laughter makes butterflies swarm your stomach. He pulled you into his chest and pecked your cheek before letting you go.

“I’ll try, but no promises.”

You huff at the vague response, “Guess that’s as good an answer as I’m going to get.”

You can’t help but smile though, more determined than ever to finish all your work. You get halfway down the hall before you heard the door creak open behind you and you turn around to see Hoseok leaning half out the doorway, smiling devilishly at you.

“You can always come up along the way if you need a study break!” He says

You can’t help but break into a bigger grin and giggle, only offering a small suggestive shrug before you stepped into the elevator. You roll your eyes at the eager text you receive only seconds later:

“Or I can come down, maybe you could give me some “tutoring lessons” ;P”

#BTS #BTS smut #BTS fanfic #j-hope smut #hoseok smut #hoseok fanfic #bangtan #BTS fluff #jung hoseok #jin #jungkook #jimin #suga #rap monster #v #taehyung #sweaty hoseok is a godsend #sky writes

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magnuspenna · 7 years

Text

One Nation above the Sky

1⁰

Those letters, the color of raven, wouldn’t stop dancing on his sight. Those black-dressed men he saw were just like the black spots inside his chest. His lips, white as if the blood had drained from his face. His hands couldn’t stop shaking while his feet were completely frozen. It was really hard for him to move, as if there were magnets beneath his shoes and the ground was made of iron. He lost his soul, he lost his spirit, he lost himself.

All that he’d got were lost.

-6⁰

“If there is only one nation above the sky, will we meet again?”

Daylight had gone, the night started to fall. The colorful lamps that were entwined on the trees started glowing phosphorescence light. Two people, a man with his adolescent spirit and a girl with her young adult soul walked on the narrow paved lane with tall trees on its sides. The cold late December breeze wouldn’t stop blowing on their cheeks and ears.

“Why do you ask such thing?” he asked her, just wanted to know why she did ask him about that.

She made noises as her shoes stepped on the fallen leaves. Her steps were just like the ticks of a hanging clock on his wall. Her hair was full of leave sheds but she didn’t seem to mind it. She was cold, but instead of tucking her hands in her pocket, she flung both of her arms in the air.

She shrugged, “I’m just curious,” she answered. Her accent made him giggle inside, “Imagine, if there is really one nation above the sky. Everything will be so much easier. There’s only one country, one language, one religion, one land, one currency. We can love anyone without being judged. We can meet anyone anywhere we want without people wanting to know our names, where we are from, or how old we are. Life will be beautiful up there.”

They kept on walking. They walked in silence—a comfortable silence—through the mounds of autumn leaves. Sometimes they kicked them with their feet. She made distance, a few steps away in front of him, then spun her body and jumped around the lane. He smiled unconsciously. He’d never thought this girl would be an important part of his life. Moving thousand miles away from his homeland to this city and arranging how he would spend his life there were all planned, but being in love with a local girl was not.

After she jumped and moved her body for a while, she walked back to him and took his hand in the pocket of her oversized sweater. Their fingers intertwined inside, embracing the warmth. He said nothing to her. His hand never left hers along the lane until they saw some cars passed by, which meant they were approaching the street. There were no more trees hovering over them, all they could see were old buildings: coffee shops, book stores, and some patisseries.

“Where are we going?”’ he asked.

“I’m not telling you.“

“Why?”

She answered him with a smile. Her grip on his hand tightened. They continued walking. None of them cared about the cold air. They just wanted to enjoy every breath they inhaled. They walked further until they reached the downtown, the busiest spot in the city where pedestrians waited for the green light to turn red and crossed the street together. They were getting closer to a familiar building across the street. Her smile widened as she strode faster. He looked confused, his brows were frowned.

“Are we going to my place?” he asked again.

She didn’t say a thing. Excitement lit up her face as they entered the lobby and headed straight to the elevator. He was getting more clueless when she didn’t press the number six, the floor where he lived.

The thing moved upwards to the top. They stepped off the elevator and headed outside. The cold wind brushed their faces and blew their hair. She pulled her hands off his and ran to the edge of the top. Her hands held on the palisade as she turned her head.

She shouted his name as she waved at him.

Once he reached the verge, he looked at her, smiling.

“Beautiful isn’t it? The city is glowing.” she said.

He felt bad for her sometimes. She was born and raised in one of the most beautiful city in the world but she didn’t get to see it properly, however, all he could manage was, "That’s why people call it the City of Light.”

“La Ville Lumiere” she looked around the landscape with her mouth open, “Look at it, it seems as if someone has committed arson.”

“Why do you think so?”

“I don’t know. Probably because its light makes me feel its warmth even though the air gives me chill,” she said.

He looked at her without a word.

“You’re so lucky to live here, you know. You can enjoy this beautiful scenery whenever you want. I wish I could move in,” she paused, “I wish I could show them how beautiful this place is,” she said as she stared blankly to the city lights down there.

He hated it when she talked about her parents. Three years ago, her brother died when he was only twenty four. He smoked crack all the time, like her father did. Her mother blamed him over their son’s death and they never stopped arguing ever since that day. He drank every night and almost never stayed at home.

The scar traces on her wrist told everything. She used to do it back then instead of crying because it helped her more to kill the pain in her heart. But she stopped—completely—since he kissed her wrist for the first time. She kind of had him at hello.

“I’ve been wondering, if they were here, seeing this beautiful night, would they hold their hands like us? Would they forget all the problems and the fights they had?”

“Stop that,” he caressed her wrist.

“I miss having a loving family,” a drop of tear started falling on her cheek.

“You have me,” he kissed her wrist for the hundred times, “Nobody deserves a single teardrop of an angel.”

She didn’t answer. He’d said that to her like a catchword so she chose to be quiet.

They spent the rest of the night in clarity. On the sixth floor, they sat on his couch, under the painted ceiling as he sang for her until his voice in her ears slowly faded away.

-5⁰

“I’m scared.”

She was shivering on her bed, tried to close her eyes but she couldn’t. The dispute shouts wouldn’t stop buzzing in her ears. She bit her lower lip until she could taste her blood. She pressed her cell phone to her ears. She couldn’t cry. She was too tired and too scared to cry.

“Don’t be,” he answered on the line. ”Remember what I always say to you?”

“That I’m an angel and nobody deserves my tears?” she chuckled. Her parents’ shouts she heard didn’t seem to bother her anymore.

They talked on the phone—with the back sound of her parents yelling at each other as usual. She was too sick of them, sometimes she wished that she could kill them, or at least one of them so the bickering would stop. Of course she couldn’t. Her heart wasn’t made of rocks.

“If I weren’t an angel, what would I be?” she asked.

He sighed heavily that made a distortion on the line. Then he started to speak, “Fire.”

“Why?” she asked.

“It gives me heat, it gives me light. So do you. You light up my life, you make me warm, but…”

She furrowed her eyebrows, “But what?”

“But everytime I touch you, you make me weak.”

She smiled, even though she knew that he wouldn’t be able to see her smile. The noise got louder than before. She heard her father yelling and she heard her mother crying. “They’re getting worse,” she said.

So he decided to sing her a song on the phone. She tried to concentrate to the phone where he sang her favorite song: Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide. She tried her best to ignore the fight.

But this time, she couldn’t get distracted. This fight was different. Her father yelled louder than before, and her mother’s cry sounded like an endless grief.

Then she heard gunshot.

She knew it was gun even though she’d never heard one before. A sudden silent crept into the entire house. The silence shook her spines. It took a long time for her to realize, that her mother had stopped making any sound.

She held her cell phone against her chest and began to reach the door, walked out of the room. “Maman?”

He stopped singing. “Hello?”

Fear started to cover his mind. He kept calling her name but she didn’t answer, except a few seconds later, he heard her screaming. Long and painful.

Soon he hung up. He jumped off his bed and ran towards his car. He knew something was wrong. He drove like he was possessed and he couldn’t stop swearing because the ride seemed longer than usual. The jam almost got him screwed. Right after he reached her house, he hopped off the car before it even stopped.

He entered the unlocked house and called her name, but he got no answer. He went straight to her room, she wasn’t there. He began to panic because she wasn’t in the bathroom either. He braced himself to walk to the kitchen, and there was where he saw a dreadful sight.

Her mother sat on the floor with her back leaned against the drawer. Her body smeared with blood from her collarbone. Her head bowed and her eyes were shut, the floor was all red. Her father was nowhere to be found. However, what terrified him more was the one lying beside her. A girl sprawled on the floor near the sink. Her face was sweaty and her lips were pale. She choked up as her body shivered when she was aware of his presence. Fresh blood streamed down her wrist and she held a knife in the other hand.

0⁰

Right after he found her nearly suffocating in the kitchen floor that night, he called the police as fast as he could. He carried her body to his car and headed to the hospital. Her father was still missing.

“Why did you save me?”

She regretted her own thought that she wished she could kill her parents, or at least one of them. After what happened last night, that caused her mother’s death, she wished she could kill herself.

“Do you even need to ask?” It’s obvious, as cliché as it is, he didn’t want to lose her.

They were sitting on the rooftop of the hospital. She wore the bright blue hospital suit with her wrist bandaged. He couldn’t kiss it this time although he really wanted to.

“I… It hurts living than dying, you know. We’re all going to die, aren’t we?” she sighed.

“We’re all going to die in joy. We’re not going to die except we lie on a warm bed with our loved ones beside us.”

“Loved ones?” she laughed ironically, “They’re all gone. First my brother, then my mother. My father? He barely talks to me.”

“You have me,” he said unhesitatingly.

“If you had let me die yesterday, I would’ve died with my loved one beside me. You!” she yelled. Tears started falling to her cheeks. She couldn’t handle it this time, “I could’ve even died in your arms.”

“I don’t want you to die,” he gritted his teeth. They both were angry, they just didn’t know to whom they were angry to.

Her body was too weak for her to yell any harder because she had lost too much blood. She had got the blood transfusion, but she hadn’t fully recovered yet. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he said.

Then the unpleasant silence crept around them.

“It’s time for you to have lunch, isn’t it?” he broke the silence.

The girl stayed still. She could feel him walking away and disappeared behind the wall where the stairs led him to the lower floor. She was completely upset. It was a perfect mixture of disappointment, anger, and of course, her love to him. For her, the man was tired enough to be in her life.

She wanted to cry, even though she already did. But her tears wouldn’t change anything. Her tears would not make his life better. She didn’t want him to be the reason of her tears.

She stood up and tried hard to stand tall. She walked, slowly, step by step ahead. Then she stopped. Looking down at the beauty below her. She closed her eyes and felt the wind that blew from the city through her body. She realized that now was the time. She opened her eyes and turned her body around after she heard the sound of breaking glass.

There he stood still, looking at her. His face turned pale as hers. The bowl broke down to pieces near his shoes. His eyes widen when he saw his favorite girl in the world had stood on the edge of the rooftop with her hands spread in the air.

“Have you lost your mind?”

She shook her head, “One step to me, and I will take one step back.”

“It’s not funny,” he took one more step, “Please—”

“The closer you are to me, the closer I am to the edge!”

His lips were dry, “Listen—”.

“You’re the fire.”

“What?”

She let out a little laugh, “Remember our last conversation on the phone?” she chuckled, “It hit me. Now I realize something, I realize that you are the fire. You give me light, you keep me warm.”

“What are you talking about?“ he tried to take a step back, hoping she would take one step forward, but her feet didn’t move.

“But fire will always be fire,” she continued, “when fire touches things, they will burn, it won’t get out. Fire will turn it to ash and it will never get back to what it was. It will be trapped forever.”

He reached his hand but the girl didn’t take it. “Come on.”

“But when the fire burns, it will turn what it touches to smoke. Smoke dances in the air like the bird that just left its cage,” she took a deep breath, “You set me free, you are the fire.”

“I can’t lose you,” he said, still reaching his hand, “I can’t lose you, Angela, please don’t do this,” his voice was shaking like when someone banged two cymbals really hard.

Unexpectedly, she took his hand and pulled him closer. Her other hand touched his cheeks gently as she murmured something to his ears, “You won’t.”

“I hate seeing you crying,” he said.

“Don’t worry, you won’t see a crying angel all over again,” she pulled off slowly.

“Angela—“

“Angels got wings,” she whispered and jumped.

1⁰

Smile, my dear.

Your angel is where she belongs now. The world is not my place.

Love, A.

The fire had burnt his hopes. His inner side struggled to reach it, to join her, to jump in its scorching heat, to feel how the pain would be like when the fire separated a soul from one’s body. The fire went bigger that he could feel the heat in his bones. He could smell its smoke that now floated in the air like freedom.

The all-black figures around him seemed like statues.

Dark.

Cold.

Pathetic.

But he was just one of the statues he’d seen.

Slowly, the man squeezed the piece of paper he received from one of the nurse who took care of her yesterday. The nurse found it inside the pocket of her apparel when she arrived in the hospital. The handwriting was so messy and the paper was smeared with blood.

Blood and tears.

Angels got wings. He kept repeating the last words he heard from her. Her words broke his heart, his cheeks were wet and his sight was still blurry from the sheet of water. But when the burning fire died out slowly and she was no longer seen, his tears stopped falling as he realized that his angel had flown away.

His head lifted up facing the limitless sky, his gaze followed everywhere the smoke moved. A slight smile appeared on one corner of his lips as he whispered against the air, “If there is only one nation above the sky, will we meet again?”

fin.

magnvs-penna

#short story #short stories #writing #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writer on tumblr #excerpt from a book i'll never write #literature #spilled words #readables #spilled ink #fiction #flash fiction #story #prose

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ignisardens · 7 years

Note

Can i say 1 to 99?

You’re lucky I’m bored.

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most?

Operator - Nightcore

Hesitate - Stone Sour

We Found Love - Lindsey Stirling

They Don’t Care About Us - 2Cellos

Make it Stop - Rise Against

A Night at the Spleen - Closure at Moscow

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

ANYONE? I have a load

Ellie, Branden, Niamh, Ana to name but a few.

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

“Moreover, the Swordmaster had confided that should Tomas do well in training, he might be found a place in the Duke’s personal guard”

4: What do you think about most?

The future and how to make my plan for the future happen.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?

Haha it says “Fucks sake. Oh well.. xx”

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on?

Without.

7: What’s your strangest talent?

I have the power to change the world with my mind. I have no strange talents.

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence)

Girls want to be with me. Boys wish they were me.

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you?

Yes :D

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar?

About 10 mins ago.

11: Do you have any strange phobias?

Nope just the normal ones.

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?

Finger?

13: What’s your religion?

Don’t have one

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

Working, Gardening, being forced to be social.

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

Neither really.

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

Linkin Park or Rise Against.

17: What was the last lie you told?

I don’t actually know….

18: Do you believe in karma?

Not as a cosmic force but as a social convention yes.

19: What does your URL mean?

Its just my nick name plus “Inkd” cos I have tattoos

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

Weakness: Trust issues

Strength: Loyalty

21: Who is your celebrity crush?

Natalie Dormer.

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

Nope

23: How do you vent your anger?

Listen to loud music.

24: Do you have a collection of anything?

I have a collection of minerals and gemstones.

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

Either is fine by me

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

Mostly happy yes.

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?

Sound I hate? anything whiney or droning.

Sound I love…jeez, a certain someone’s voice…

28: What’s your biggest “what if”?

What if I had moved away all those years ago?

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

Ghosts no, Aliens yes.

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

Right arm, nothin but air.

Left arm, nothin but air.

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?

Tandoori chicken baguette, cos thats what I’m eating.

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to?

Gravesend? :P

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast?

SOUTH COAST

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?

I have no idea.

35: To you, what is the meaning of life?

Absolutely no idea.

36: Define Art.

Something creative that takes talent or practice that conveys something, a meaning or emotion.

37: Do you believe in luck?

Nope

38: What’s the weather like right now?

Its pretty warm.

39: What time is it?

It’s 12:49

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?

I don’t

41: What was the last book you read?

Caliban’s War

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?

It’s alright

43: Do you have any nicknames?

Wee Man

44: What was the last film you saw?

In the cinema was probably The Force Awakens

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

Broke my Jaw and Collarbone at the same time.

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly?

Nope

47: Do you have any obsessions right now?

Pubg

48: What’s your sexual orientation?

Straight

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?

Yes, many.

50: Do you believe in magic?

Nope

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

Depends how badly they fucked up.

52: What is your astrological sign?

Capricorn

53: Do you save money or spend it?

I like spending it on other people.

54: What’s the last thing you purchased?

I bought myself a new coffee mug.

55: Love or lust?

Love

56: In a relationship?

There’s someone on the horizon.

57: How many relationships have you had?

2 serious ones.

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

Yes

59: Where were you yesterday?

At home.

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

Yes there is.

61: Are you wearing socks right now?

Nope

62: What’s your favourite animal?

Monkeys

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

I make them laugh

64: Where is your best friend?

I have many best friends, they’re all at work or home.

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.

@fallwithmedear @earlploddington

They’re the only two I visit often.

66: What is your heritage?

English

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?

I was actually asleep for once.

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name?

I have no idea

69: Biggest turn ons?

Biting, Scratching, Dirty talk.

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?

Yes.

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

Rescue the fucking dog?

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

A) YesB) Enjoy it to my fullestC) Yes

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love.

You can’t have love without trust, so, dumb question.

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

Nightcore - Operator

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?

4321 (god’s honest truth)

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

Trust, Loyalty, Honestly, and most importantly being open with each other and telling each other everything, even if you think it’s something that might upset your partner.

77: How can I win your heart?

Read the above.

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?

I have no idea.

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?

To go to Uni and move north.

80: What size shoes do you wear?

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

I don’t want a tombstone.

82: What is your favourite word?

Anything that ends with “ism”

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.

Her.

84: What is a saying you say a lot?

“It is what it is”

85: What’s the last song you listened to?

Operator - Nightcore

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours?

Blue/Purple

87: What is your current desktop picture?

A wallpaper from Dead Cells, the game.

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

No one.

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

I’m not afraid to tell the truth.

90: Turn offs?

Not that much beyond the basic, bad hygiene etc.

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

The ability to manipulate time.

92: where are your parents from?

England.

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

Being cheated on.

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

Lindsey Stirling?

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

India.

96: Do you have any relatives in jail?

Nope.

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?

Nope

98: Ever been on a plane?

I have

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say

Stop fucking hating each other.

#long #asks #fucking anons

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cyclinglegs · 7 years

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Shooup

I first bumped into Tony Sandeberg, the Managing Director of ShooUp, at the 2014 TdU Village. Tony had some prototype rear lights he was trying to get off the ground. We got a prototype over into the Wednesday Legs test labs a few months later but we had a few issues and ended up sending it back sans review.

I touched base with Tony a few weeks back to see where he was at, whether he had decided it was all too hard, or whether he had persevered.

I was pleased to hear back from Tony saying that he had persevered, and was a finalist in the Cycling Promotion Fund, a national event. That followed up from being shortlisted in ”The Australian Innovative Challenge in Oct 2012.

From the Shooup website:

Shooup Liverider was invented in 2012 by adventurer and cyclist Tony Sandeberg. After continually hearing on the media “ another cyclists killed on our roads “ and one too many close calls, Tony had enough and decided to develop a product that would literally redirect cars safely away from the cyclist. That passion and determination underpinned the product development process that has resulted in the most innovative and effective rear safety bike light available today.

ShooUp Liverider is a new rear safety bike light designed to help save cyclists’ lives. The aerodynamic wing shape of 21 high visibility strobing red LED’s from the rear and 8 white LED’s facing oncoming traffic extends 265mm redirecting drivers safely away from the rider, providing added cycling confidence.

Main body is secured by a dynamic flex-back mechanism protecting it from knocks and impacts

Liverider quickly detaches from seat post mount for security and mini USB charging.

Tony will be heading over to Kickstarter soon to raise funds for the next stage. Watch this space.

Further details at the Shooup site here. http://www.shooup.com.au/

___________________

Red Hook Crit Brooklyn 10

This is a format that is going from strength to strength, with stages held in London, Milan, Barcelona and the original, Brooklyn, down at the Brooklyn Cruise Terminal, NY

It is the self proclaimed, and almost certainly correct, World’s Premier Track Bike Criterium. The Red Hook Crit series are held on a short technical circuit, with the heats during daytime and the finals at night.

Crit racing lends itself to be spectator friendly, with short lap times, allowing the spectators to get close to the action, follow the movements and show their support.

Athletes from around the world compete in the four-city series to claim the coveted championship title.

In Brooklyn a 5K running race is held on the same night and in the same spirit as the bike race.

The 5K is open to runners of all ability levels and has acquired a cult following as one of the fastest races on the east coast. Runners complete multiple laps on a USATF-certified course; cash prizes are awarded to the top finishers and first lap prime winners.

This years Brooklyn event (Brooklyn 10) took place over this last weekend, with German Stefan Schafer taking the honors in the Mens and American Colleen Gulick taking the women’s.

1 Stefan Schafer Specialized / Rocket Espresso ger 2 Colin Strickland Intelligentsia Racing usa 3 Aldo Ino Ilesic Specialized / Rocket Espresso slo 4 Davide Vigano Team Cinelli Chrome ita 5 David Van Eerd 8Bar Team ned 6 Addison Zawada State Bicycle Co. usa 7 Tristan Uhl Aventon Factory Team usa 8 Evan Murphy MASH SF usa 9 Martino Poccianti Cykeln Divisione Corse ita 10 Daniele Callegarin IRD Carrera Squadra Corse ita

Davide Vignano 4th in his debut for Team Cinelli.

Dangerous business this racing, as Cesar Valenzuela found out as he crashed and broke his collarbone while leading the peloton with 5 laps to go.

Colleen Gulick on her way to winning the Red Hook Criterium Brooklyn No.10

Stefan Schäfer wins Brooklyn No.10

1 Colleen Gulick Deluxe Cycles 2 Eleonore Saraiva Aventon Factory Team 3 Carla Nafria Team Crit Life 4 Raphaele Lemieux Team iBike 5 Ash Duban Affinity Cycles 6 Jasmine Dotti IRD Carrera Squadra Corse 7 Sammi Runnels Aventon Factory Team 8 Tanja Erath Fixedpott 9 Tamika Hingst Canyon Rad Pack 10 Johanne Jahnke ELF Huez*

There were some pretty decent looking bikes on display at the RHCB10.

The colorful Allez Sprint track bike for the Specialized / Rocket Espresso Team.

Colin Stricklands Pinarello

8bar team rider David van Eerd

Aventon

Wouldn’t it be cool to have something like this down at Adelaide’s Port Docklands Red Hook Crit Adelaide

Can you imagine the streets lined with thousands of spectators on a summers evening, floodlights lighting up the spectacular historic buildings music and race commentary blaring out of loudspeakers bouncing off the walls in the confined spaces. It would be phenomenal.

Who’s in?

_____________________

Cycling trip to Europe

As you would have picked up from my last posting, I have signed up for my first overseas cycling tour with a local Adelaide company Unique Cycling Tours.

I’m doing the Provence and Allemont trip in June. At the end of the tour, I’m catching a train over to Annecy for a 5 day layover at a friends “holiday” house before heading back to Adelaide.

One of the classic ascents will be Mont Ventoux (Windy Mount), I’m not sure if I’ll tackle 1, 2 or 3 ascents in the one day, but the option is there.

Some insights into Ventoux that you may not be aware of:

Ventoux has its own Club

Le Club des Cinglés du Mont Ventoux (Club of the Mads of the Windy Mount), is a club for riders that have climbed the col from all three routes in one day. If you can ride Bédoin, Malaucène et Sault in one day you can become a member of the club of the mad men (and women) of Mont Ventoux. Further details on the club here: http://www.clubcinglesventoux.org/en/

Ventoux has many Names

Mont Ventoux is geographically part of the Alps but stands alone from them. It is located in Provence, France, and it is easily the highest peak in the region. The col has often been referred to as “The Beast of Provence” and “The Giant of Provence”.

The Bédoin Route is the Hardest

The Bédoin to the summit route is considered the hardest. It features an intense gradient-heavy section where gradients hit the 12% mark. You are also cycling the longest distance as your starting position is lower than the other two routes.

The Barren Summit

The last 6 kms of Ventoux has been described as cycling on the moon. The barren land does give you a lunar landscape feel. The rock, however, is actually limestone. It has formed by the endless storms and freezing temperatures Ventoux experiences in the colder months. The road to the summit is closed for around six months of the year.

The Red and White Building at the Top

Resembling a lighthouse, the distinctive red and white building at the top is as a meteorological station. It was built in 1968. The building now is used to broadcast television signals as well as its original purpose.

High Wind Speeds

Ventoux’s microclimate keeps you on your toes. Yes you may have started the ride in brilliant sunshine, but when you hit the last 6 kms you could be riding in a thunderstorm. As you can imagine at high altitude with no cover wind speeds are high. So far, the highest recorded wind speed is 321 kph (200 mph).

Philosopher Quotes

Ventoux has inspired generations of cyclists and one happened to be a philosopher. Roland Barthes, arguably best known for his work on the intellectual movements of Structuralism and Post – Structuralism, was also a cycling fan.

Ventoux made such an impression on him, that he wrote two quotes that if you have ridden Ventoux you will probably be able to relate to. They are:

“The Ventoux is a god of Evil, to which sacrifices must be made. It never forgives weakness and extracts an unfair tribute of suffering.”

And,

“Physically, the Ventoux is dreadful. Bald, it’s the spirit of Dry: Its climate (it is much more an essence of climate than a geographic place) makes it a damned terrain, a testing place for heroes, something like a higher hell.”

There are not many cols that can inspire philosophers.

To join the club, there are a few rules to follow:

The Club des Cinglés du Mont-Ventoux is a closed club. It is open to people who respect the following rules:

Ascent by bicycle of the Mont-Ventoux from three main asphalted roads (Bédoin, Malaucène et Sault) at least;

the climb will be in the same day (between 0 and 24 hours) , in the sequence and the date you prefer.

OPTIONS You can choose between 3 options:

Cinglé (137 km and 4400 m) – Up and down, by bicycle, in the same day (between 0 and 24 hours) from three main asphalted roads. Sequence of ride as you prefer.

Galérien (183 km and 6020 m) – Up and down, by bicycle, in the same day (between 0 and 24 hours) from three main asphalted roads. –Up from the Forest road by MTB if possible and down from one of three main asphalted roads. Sequence of ride as you prefer.

Bicinglette (274 km and 8800 m) – Twice up and down, by bicycle, in the same day (between 0 and 24 hours) from three main asphalted roads. Sequence of ride as you prefer.

To register, fill the form and make payment. Entries will be received throughout the year, at least 15 days before the attempt (21 days during holiday periods). You will receive a bicycle plate and a ride card;

__________________

Rad Race – Stop Racism, Start Race-ism

Furious Fixies against Racism

Under the motto “Stop Racism – Start Race-ism” thigh muscles burn at the RAD RACE Last (Wo)Man Standing. Without gearshifts and brakes, riders compete in a relentless round robin knock out race. Tight bends and top speeds are a radical combination.

The 2017 Rad Race Series is a championship series for fixed gear bikes only. There are team and individual track bike categories. The following races are part of the RAD RACE SERIES 2017:

RADRACE LMS, Berlin, 04.03.2017 RADRACE (Done)

FIXED42, Berlin, 18.06.2017 RADRACE (Dusted)

BATTLE, Hamburg, 19.08.2017

RADRACE CRIT, Ostend, 02 & 03.09.2017

There are a number of formats across the rad race series, including the Last Man Standing, which kicked off Europe’s fixed gear crit season during Berlin’s bike week earlier this year.

Based on elimination, each heat is made up of small groups, just about eight riders. Every lap the last one gets kicked out. The Berlin LMS was at an indoor Go-Kart track complete with foam mats for safety.

https://vimeo.com/209745487

____________________________________

Sophie Cape – AIS Experiments

I was watching a recording from Auntie a few weeks ago, Australian Story, and came across a real belter. Sophie Cape. Does that name ring a bell?

Thought not.

https://zippy.gfycat.com/MajorIdleApisdorsatalaboriosa.webm

Sophie Cape is a former professional athlete who retired from competitive sport ahead of the 2008 Beijing Olympics due to injury.

Sophie Cape is an award-winning artist based in Melbourne.

She grew up resisting the pull to follow her mother and grandmother, who themselves were successful artists, into the world of art. Her passion lay in downhill ski racer, a result of her father taking the family skiing in the Australian Ski Fields in her childhood.

Sophie Cape dreamed of the Olympic Games as a downhill ski racer. Traveled to the Canadian ski fields to learn her trade. She was building up a good career, but suffered a number of major crashes, one in particular on Super G training.

“My leg snapped off at the top of my ski boot and it was just flapping around as I was cartwheeling down the hill with my, the boot and ski still attached and so it was just sort of my leg ended below the knee and then the sort of the suit and then there was, by the time I stopped, it was just my foot and everything was over there somewhere.”

She almost log her leg. It took her 12 months to recover from that and get back skiing, something she was told that she would never be able to do again.

Later, as she was competing in the World University Games in Slovakia, she crashed out in a big way, her knees obliterated.

So that was that, until she was approached by the Australian Institute of Sport who were trying to fill a gap in female track sprint cycling following the Sydney 2000 Olympics, and went looking for girls all over the country. The program the AIS set up was effectively to develop competition for the then-rising track cycling star, Anna Meares, ahead of the Athens and Beijing Olympic Games.

Sophie was one of the 450 people that tried out, one of 20 to be selected.

They gave them a few weeks to train and then put them straight into the nationals. They we went straight into the velodrome, straight into the gym, straight into the sprints. It was all about power and speed right from the start, so it was no surprise that they started getting injured and over-trained and falling apart or just giving up then as a track cyclist.

Sophie started getting really serious leg pain and they couldn’t figure out its cause. Sophie underwent two very invasive surgeries, designed to try to help her.

The first was on her quads, where they cut the fascia off her quad muscles., effectively stripping the sheath off the outside of the muscles like the skin on the outside of a sausage, to allow them to grow, without restraint. It was pretty amazing when I went back training with these huge Frankenstein scars all the way down my quads. As soon as she started training they just “went whoop!”.

Her resultant times were fast, everything was great but then the pain came back again and it was much worse. So they tried the vascular surgery where they cut my stomach open on both sides and took veins out of my shins and put patch grafts into my arteries to make them larger. So she had these oversized arteries going into oversized muscles.

Unfortunately for Sophie those surgeries didn’t improve or make a large difference. They tried everything, but they just came to the conclusion that it was severe over-training and didn’t know what the solution was. So that was the end of all sport for me for the rest of my life.

So, a an elite athlete having all that she was about being ripped asunder, her world came crashing down all at the one time. She fell into a black hole for about a year, could barely leave the house. She was lost, suicidal. Everything she’d been working towards and training for and dreaming of, was now absolutely, truly impossible. She didn’t really know what to do, or who she was was anymore. Nothing really made any sense anymore.

She tried a lot of things, but nothing replaced the challenge of training at the elite level. It was fate that she ended up at Art School.

Sophie Cape has since conquered her physical and psychological trauma, transforming herself into one of Australia’s most celebrated young artists.

She draws on her catastrophic sporting injuries for inspiration in her artworks, creating work on a grand scale, often in natural environments, and using materials she finds outdoors such as animal bones and soil, as well as painting with her own blood.

This disturbed me on a few levels, but I’m also a little confused. The basis for the surgery was to attempt to overcome a particularly painful muscular injury, and one can argue that modern athletic surgery is really no different, however the bulging muscles and the patching of arteries with veins to increase the blood supply to the muscles seems to me a step over the wrong side of the line.

___________________________

Rider of the Week – Russel Schrale

Russell Schrale is a late thirties Adelaide resident who along with being bike obsessed, works for Cancer Council SA.

You have an association with Gravelaide, for the uninitiated, what is Gravelaide?

Gravelaide is a series of events that is designed to pull together the gravel riding community here in SA. The events will likely evolve over time but we’re committed to three key principles of showing some great new gravel roads in the state, providing a challenge to riders and most importantly having fun and not taking ourselves seriously. We don’t put on races and we want riders who are looking to have a good time come along.

You are one of a team behind Gravelaide, who are the others?

Graeme Theissen (aka The Sticky Bidon) and Peter Gratwick are the other guys involved.

How did Gravelaide come about?

Peter simply posted up on facebook that he was looking to get a ride organised and asked if anyone else was interested. Graeme and I responded and a week later, the three of us were eating burgers and drinking a few beers in a pub drawing loop ride ideas on the back of bar coasters. We then spent a lot of time riding many roads, coming across many dead end paths and talking with locals about how awesome it would be if they let us ride through their properties!

We’ve brought a good mix of skills to the events. I’m a spreadsheet dork who likes running the numbers and the ticketing, Peter is an ideas man who brings great enthusiasm and business development and Graeme is obsessed with finding routes that will give riders a day out to remember.

You’ve just hosted G2, what has been the turnout for these rides.

For our first ride in October, we were hoping to get just 45 riders along and we ended up getting 87 which was great. For this last ride in March, we were aiming for 125 and ended up with 127 and sold out a week ahead of time (having to say sorry to those that wanted to sign up late). Obviously this is a great level of growth but we need to decided where to take it now. Do we go big and start trying to entice over interstate riders or do we keep it boutique and more manageable. We’ve scheduled a BBQ at my place for a few weeks time where these discussions are to be had!

Whilst I wasn’t at the second, I was at the first, and I was stunned at where you took us, public roads, private properties, over fences, down ravines the mars explorer couldn’t get down. How long did it take for the route to come together?

Glad you liked it ;-)

For the first one, we probably went out there about 15-20 times to ride the course and see how we could make it link together. Both long course options have been 95%+ of gravel which is unheard of for events like this that are so close to a capital city. This is not done easily though and you spend many a Friday or Saturday night staring at a computer looking at Google maps trying to follow yellow paths of gravel. Then theses’ manually creating a route for your Garmin and then out on your bike the next day to see if it works. There have been times where we’ve found something that’s perfect and then when you knock on doors to seek permission you get a no from the landowner and you have to change 30% of the course again in order to avoid long stretches of paved roads. It takes time but we think it yields great results.

Have there been barriers to get these up and running?

There’s nothing really stopping anyone from getting started in putting an event on, you just need to do your homework and be prepared to put some cash on the line. Apart from that it’s just how much time you’re willing to put in. We’re all working and have families so really it comes down to watching the TV in the evening or typing away on the laptop and catching up for a meal after work to run through the to do list. Although it takes time, it is fun. I did not know Peter and Graeme before but now I’d consider them to be good mates and I always look forward to catching up with them.

How frequently are you planning to run.

It’s a bit unknown at this stage. We’re looking to mix it up a little and perhaps the next one might be a bit more of a ride rather than an event. Peter in particular is a keen bikepacker so perhaps we’ll look at an adventure that incorporates this as well.

What have you taken away from Gravelaide personally?

I’ve always worked for an organisation and have had a boss. It’s been a real treat to be able to work with two guys and create something together, it’s allowed me to scratch my entrepreneurial itch without having to quite my day job! Apart from this, I’ve met some great people and we all get a kick from seeing people post online saying they have had a great day out. We all talk about the week long glow we feel after each event. There’s nothing like putting a smile on people’s faces.

To run these events you need a lot of support, what backing have you received to date?

Honestly, it’s just the three of us doing this without much support. This being said, we have had support from some sponsors but really, we only seek sponsors that can keep the costs of the event low. We’re not out to make a profit but we do want to keep the ticket prices as low as possible so this help from people like Swell Beer and Balfours has really helped.

There’s no doubt thought that the best support we get is from our wives. They put up with the days out of the house, the constant facebook messaging we do back and forth and the constant talking we do about it!

So, lets hear a little about you.

How long have you been cycling?

Since I was around 3 years old, must be something to do with having Dutch parents!

What got you started in cycling?

I must have been off my bike for at least ten years during my late teens and 20’s. I started to commute again about 7 years ago and then started looking at CX bikes. I made a deal with myself that I’d drop the cash on one if only I raced it. This lead to my dropping about 10kgs and having lots of fun racing with the great people at the Port Adelaide Cycling Club events.

How many bikes do you own and what is your main go to bike?

I’ve got a very reasonable four bikes at the moment. An awesome Dutch commuter, a old banger mountain bike, a Bakefits Cargo bike and my jack of all trades Kona Jake the Snake CX bike. The Kona is definitely my go to given the many uses, especially as I have one wheel set with CX tyres and one with road tyres for a quick changeover.

What bike do you covet?

I’m actually pretty happy as is at the moment but a Salsa Woodsmoke would be pretty sweet. I’d set it up as a permanent bikepacking bike and it would also be great for weekends up at Melrose.

Do you do all your own maintenance or do you use a LBS? If so, which one?

I love hanging out in the shed and working on my bike… but I leave big jobs to the experts and I have to admit I’ve had them fix a few mistakes that I’ve made when I’ve overestimated by repair abilities ;-)

What cycling specific tools do you have in your “bike shed”?

A good quality stand and set of allen keys would be the most frequently used. Also, my Park Tool Dummy Hub has been fantastic but I do pick up tools as I need them. By the time I hit 60 I should have a pretty comprehensive kit!

What is your favourite piece of cycling kit or accessory?

My new Gravelaide cap that we got made for the last event. It gives me a kick every time that I put it on and I’ve met a couple of people out on rides that I’ve got chatting to about the event which is awesome as well.

What are your pet love and hates about cycling?

I love the comradery around the cycling world, you can always strike up a conversation with another rider as there is a shared sense of passion. I would not say hate but I dislike the perception that you need to spend big to get into cycling and the best kit is essential. Just get out there and have fun on whatever you have available to you.

Other than yourself, who is your favourite cyclist?

At the moment, Matthew Van De Poel would be my favourite. He’s a beast and when he is fit he’s unstoppable.

Mathieu van der Poel in front of Wout Van Aert

If you could have dinner with 3 people in the cycling world, who would they be and why?

Matthew Van De Poel, Jessie Carlson and Sarah Hammond. I was bitten by the IPRW bug and despite the Mike Hall tragedy, the event is a great demonstration of what humans can put themselves through.

Where would you take them to eat?

Knowing the IPWR diet, anywhere that’s not a roadhouse would be fine.

What are your craziest/fondest cycling memories?

Riding a bike through Amsterdam would be the number one. Such a fantastic city and it’s a bike utopia. I wish we could fly all the residents of Adelaide there over to ride bikes for a week. We’d radically change the way we think about transport as a result.

Have you had any nasty crashes? If so how did the worst occur and what was the consequence?

Yep. I crashed during a CX race over in Melbourne. To cut a long story short, I snapped my arm and partially dislocated my shoulder. The end result was a bone graft and rehab that is still going.

What is your favourite post ride cafe, and what would you normally buy as a treat?

I don’t really have one. I tend to leave it all out on the road and my recovery is a cold beer whilst having a shower!

Do you have a favourite overseas country in mind you’d love to take your bike to?

Riding from the North to the South of NZ is very high up my list at the moment.

What is your favourite local training route?

I like hammering my bike around the parklands making up CX courses as I go or alternatively, the up Mount Osmond, Lofty and down Norton is a go to.

What is the biggest cycling lie you have told a partner?

There have been many but they all start with “I’ve been doing some research and I really need a …….”

What cycling related thing would you like for your next birthday?

More free time to get out an ride!

Is there a local cycling outfit/company/cycling club/cycling group/person that you would like to plug?

The Port Adelaide Cycling Club have done fantastic things for the CX scene in Adelaide. This has been a big feeder for the Gravel scene and there have been many many hours that they have put in. After organising a couple of events I’m more aware of just how much work it takes and we should all be grateful for clubs and individuals that give us an opportunity to do organised rides/races.

From a non-cycling perspective, what do you love about Adelaide?

It’s just awesome. Sure we have our challenges but the quality of life is just so high that it’s hard to beat. To hard to name just one thing!

What is your go to place when interstaters come to Adelaide?

I’m a big fan of the small bar scene and what it has done for the night life in Adelaide. Peel/Leigh Streets are always on the agenda as a result.

Is there anything else you feel like talking about?

Nope! Thanks for the opportunity and for doing what you do to promote cycling in this great state,

Thanks Russell, keep up the great work with Gravelaide.

Hope you enjoyed this weeks posting

till next time

tight spokes

iPib

No Sleep Till Brooklyn Shooup I first bumped into Tony Sandeberg, the Managing Director of ShooUp, at the 2014 TdU Village.

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