#please be nice this is the roughest of drafts

[usersiren]

tidbit tuesday 💛

i was tagged by the always talented and beautiful @bigfootsmom and i finally have something to post! this is from an ed/stede fuck or die fic i just started today :)

cw: nsfw, trans ed (terms used are clit/cunt), fuck or die

“Well, I’ve been looking for an excuse to use this,” Ned sighs, standing back up and rooting around in his jacket pocket. “None of my physical torture will be good enough for you. That I knew when I got here. But the combined effects of this… well, it should do the trick just fine.” Ned pulls out a small vial, the contents inside a rich blue-purple color, reminding Ed of the indigo chest that Stede told him about from when they met Zheng. The pigment almost glowed under the lantern lights, and Ed has never seen a drug that looks like this, wracks his brain for something and comes up blank. “I can’t wait to have a front-row seat to this show,” Ned mutters, uncorking the vial and sneering before tossing the contents out into the air, immediately taking several steps back. “What the fuck—” The powder hovers in the air for a moment, glittering and catching the light of the lanterns, and then all at once dives and sticks itself to Ed’s exposed skin, spreads up under his leathers and into his nose and mouth, what the fuck, what the fuck— Ed thrashes against the cuffs, kicks out at Ned’s legs even though he’s too far away now, laughing as Ed coughs and struggles to breathe. Ed’s skin is on fire, a burning ache throughout his entire body like when he uses those pepper salves on his knee, and his eyes water and his—oh, what the—his clit throbs, warmth flooding between his legs as he cramps and clenches around nothing, yanking his legs shut. “What did you do to me?”

tagging anybody who wants to do this! i'm p sure all my other writing friends have been tagged but i'm always down to make new ones!! 🫶🏻

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Idle Hands

I'm clearing out my drafts, so please enjoy this super short one shot. I'm not all that happy with this, but I've been working on it for months, and if I kept working on it, it was never going to get posted.

Contains: Historically inaccuracy around coconut oil and rum, fluff, smut (P in V).

933 words

John gets bored on your spa vacation.

When Tommy suggested you and John go to one of those new fandangled spa resorts by the sea to take a break from the rush and smoggy air of Birmingham, you knew it would be a change. What you didn't know was how bored you were going to be, one can only soak in the Grecian pool so much.

When you returned from your spa treatment, John was lying on one of the couches in your room, naked under the towel wrapped around his waist as he read the Birmingham Times, looking disinterested. You walked behind the loveseat and wrapped your arms around his body as he twisted himself to kiss you. He pulled back with a smile and took a deep breath. "You smell like that fancy rum we give to the Toffs at the Eden Club, the one from the Caribbean."

"Yes, I just spent the last hour getting a coconut oil massage." It was nice, but even a trained masseuse had nothing on John's strong, capable hands. You made the short journey around the seat and sat next to him, but he grinned and lifted you onto his lap. "What are you doing?"

His eyes filled with mischief as he placed his hand on your thigh. "I got lonely without you."

His calloused fingers grazed your inner thigh, his trigger finger the roughest as they slowly slid closer to the leg opening of your loose linen shorts. "I'm sorry, Dearest. You could have come with me. They did have a couples option."

He started running his fingertips up and down your leg, from your knee to just inside your shorts and back again, before letting out a sigh. "I'm bored shitless, love. There's nothing to do here."

You raised an eyebrow. "Nothing? I can think of a few things."

The way he grinned and tilted his head told you the game was on, and a bulge radially grew in the towel as he pulled you into a kiss. You couldn't decide whether to remove his towel or your shirt, and the room filled with laughter as your hands collided midair in the rush to choose. The towel fell away as the knot came undone, and a moment later, his hands found your bare skin.

He palmed your breasts as his lust filled eyes raked over your body. "You're so fucking beautiful." He pushed himself up and pulled you further onto his lap as his lips found yours with force, his teeth meeting your flesh as his hand moved to your lower back to press you to his hard cock. The kiss turned softer as his other hand made its way to your core.

He smiled into the kiss as his fingers ran through the mess between your legs. He swallowed your moans as he zeroed in on your clit and dug your nails into his ample bicep as your head fell against his chest. He was infuriating sometimes; his need to take his time and enjoy it like he was walking through an interactive art gallery made you far more desperate than you were willing to admit. "John, please, you had your fun this morning, have mercy on me."

His chest rumbled with a chuckle, and you fought the urge to sink your teeth into his plump lower lip as he brought his fingers down to your entrance. Just as you were preparing to protest again, he pulled his fingers away and grabbed his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. "Well, hop on Love." He held himself steady as you slid down and settled into his lap.

You stayed still, adjusting to his size as one of his hands landed on your lower back while the other found your cheek. His fingertips brushed your cheekbone as you started to rock your hips, and his nose bumped yours as affection poured from his mouth. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest as he took over the pace and you buried your head in his neck as your nerves lit up like the night sky during a bomb run.

He hit his stride, and an inferno followed the path his hand made from your back to your clit as he rubbed it in tight circles while your breath caught in your chest. Your teeth found the junction of his neck and shoulder as the sparks of pleasure grew overwhelming while the steady pressure of his cock on your G-spot made your thighs twitch against his firm body.

He was grunting like an animal, snapping his hips up at the end of each stroke to kiss your cervix before pulling out almost all the way and starting again. Your nails dug into his skin and opened your mouth to warn him of your oncoming fall over the edge, but he already knew and took you in a searing kiss as he pushed you over it. Your world spun as you landed on your back and he folded you like a pretzel as used all his leverage to slam into you.

It was so much it almost ached, but just as you were about to try to beg for mercy between desperate breaths, you felt him pulse inside you, and his weight collapsed on top of you while his chest heaved and his hips stuttered with aftershocks. He took a deep breath, and you felt his lips fall all across your face in gentle kisses. "You right, Love?"

You nodded. "I'm great. Are you still bored?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, I'm great too."

Fin

[fatale-distraction]

More from my Orin-Kidnaps-Barcus idea. Part 1 is HERE.

Part 3

This will eventually be polished and holes filled in, but for now please enjoy the roughest of drafts.

~~~

Not for the first time, Lithe was glad to have offered to help Yenna. She slurped down a second helping of soup with noisy abandon, Grub purring fearfully on her lap. It was so nice to finally have some good, flavorful food on the road, Yenna was an endearing child, and Grub got along well with Scratch and Owlfredo, even if he was petrified of everyone else.

“Fantastic as usual, Yenna,” praised Lithe, stroking Grub’s rust-colored head as she set her bowl aside. “I think you might be getting even better.”

The child beamed, but her expression shuttered as Astarion approached, a sneer stretching his lips.

“Getting better?” He scoffed, seizing the girl’s arm. Yenna squealed in pain and shock, tugging at her arm in his grip. “At cooking, or pulling the wool over your eyes?”

“What are you talking about?” Lithe demanded, standing so quickly that Grub hissed and leaped away, cowering behind his struggling young mistress. “Astarion, unhand her!”

“Don’t you see?” the vampire implored, giving the girl’s arm a twist. “She offered to cook for us, but she’s been sneaking poison into our food the whole time! SHE’S the traitor Gortash warned us about!”

Lithe began peeling Astarion’s fingers free from the icy grip on Yenna’s arm. “Let her go! She’s just a child and Gortash is as paranoid as you are! What’s gotten into you?” She managed to break his grip and gave him a hard shove, putting her body between the two.

As her friend stumbled backwards, cursing, Lithe shooed the child away, instructing her to find Jaheira and stay with her. She narrowed her eyes at Astarion, who shot her a lofty scowl right back, flexing his fingers.

“Astarion,” Lithe started, jaw set. “Why is your mole on the wrong side of your face?”

“Why is my what where?” a familiar voice asked behind her. Lithe squeezed her eyes shut and heaved an irritated sigh as Astarion approached, dabbing a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. He stopped short at her side, staring at the man in front of her.

“Oh what in the hells—“ he drew his dagger just as the other Astarion charged him, their blades crashing together with a spark. The doppelgänger knocked him back several steps, but he managed to keep his feet under himself. Lithe had rolled out of the way and came up with her bow drawn and knocked. The arrow flew past the two white-haired men, nearly clipping the real Astarion’s cheek.

“Aim for HIM, not me, damn you!”

“Sorry,” Lithe panted. “Hard to tell the difference.”

“Oh please,” Astarion snapped, still grappling with his clone, who had begun laughing in a hysterically high pitched voice that sent shivers down their spines. “I’m MUCH more handsome.”

“Vanity doesn’t become you,” teased the Not-Astarion in a curiously feminine voice.

“Everything becomes me,” Yes-Astarion gritted out, finally throwing his assailant off.

“Apparently a bit too literally.”

The doppelgänger backed up, grin too wide for his face as the two friends flanked him. The other companions were beginning to gather, drawn by the fighting and Yenna’s cries, but kept their distance. There was no point in further complicating things, but each of them was ready to jump in if they needed to.

With a sickening crack of his neck, the Astarion double shifted and changed, limbs jerking, skin tearing until Orin the Red stood before them, dragging her tongue up the twisted blade of her dagger.

“Charming,” quipped the vampire.

“Aren’t I?” cooed Orin. Lithe made a gagging noise and the other woman scowled her way. “I’d mind my manners if I were you, delicious little creature. I’m here to play a little game, and you don’t even know the rules yet.”

“No one wants to play your weird game, Orin,” the elf snapped. “Haven’t you had enough fun for one night?”

“Oh not nearly,” she cackled. “There’s so much more fun to be had. I haven’t even gotten to the best part! You’ll just DIE when I tell you.”

“Can we just kill her please?” complained Astarion.

Lithe knocked another arrow. “Absolutely.”

The human woman tutted and shook a finger. “Ah, ah. You haven’t heard the rules yet,” she giggled maniacally. “Kill me now, and you’ll never see him again!”

Violet eyes widened as the realization hit her and Orin continued laughing to herself. The bow dropped from limp fingers with a hollow clatter.

“What are you talking about?” whispered Lithe. “What did you do?”

“Oh, I haven’t done a thing, yet. And I won’t, as long as you play by the rules.” Orin twirled a stray hair around her finger until the circulation became visibly cut off. “You see, I took something very important to you. A sweet. Little. Pebble.”

Shards of ice squeezed Lithe’s heart. Astarion shot her a panicked look. “Say what you mean, witch,” he ordered as Lithe’s chest rose and fell faster.

“I have your ugly little boyfriend,” sneered Orin. “And if you don’t play by the rules, I’m going to flay him alive, bit by teeny tiny little bit.”

“What do you want?” Lithe asked in quiet, steady voice, her face as cold and hard as a sheet of rock.

Orin flashed her a smile that might have been pretty if she wasn’t so horrifying to behold. “Oh, it’s a very simple game, my delicious morsel. All you have to do is kill that traitorous little scab, Gortash. And then you and I will meet beneath the merciful eye of Bhaal, and duel in his honor. Whoever lives gets to play with the little pebble.” Her voice dripped sugar and honey as she explained her perverted game, then took on a sharp, raspy hiss. “Doesn’t that sound fun?”

~~~

Lithe stared into the space left behind by the shapeshifter, eyes wide and glimmering with the horrified tears that streamed down her cheeks.

Shadowheart was the first to break the tense silence, calling to her friend in a soft, hoarse voice.

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” murmured Lithe so quietly everyone in camp leaned forward to hear better, only to jerk back again when the simmering rage finally boiled over and exploded from her mouth like acid.

“I am going to fucking kill that fucking psychotic motherfucking BITCH!” Lithe shrieked. She began to pace, gesturing wildly as she continued to scream and rant. “I am going to rip out her fucking spine and strangle her with it and then wear it like a fucking necklace! I’m going pop her stupid fucking eyeballs out and eat them like grapes! I’ll pry out every single last one of her rotten teeth out of her stupid head and string them together with her weird little black veins and wear it like a fucking crown! I am going to FUCKING KILL that godsdamned BITCH!”

Astarion was practically bouncing up and down, clapping his hands lightly as Lithe swung back around to face her companions, tears of fury streaking down her burning cheeks. Lae’zel looked quite impressed as well. Lithe could certainly be moved to violence when circumstances called for it, but this was the first time anyone had seen her react so viciously.

“But first,” Lithe raised a shaking finger, eyes hard and cruel. “First, I am going to make her SUFFER. Any pain she’s put my Barcus through, I will inflict upon her a thousand fold!”

“Excellent,” Lae‘Zelda hissed with a grin, strapping her sword to her back.

Karlach did a giddy jig and pumped her fists. “Let’s fucking go!”

[tamarinfrog-art]

Starting Full time Job. Patreon closing. Future.

I've been writing this journal in my mind past two years. And today is finally the day. Lost my faith at some points. But here I am.

As the title says, I have found a new full time job and I'll be starting in mid April. I started looking for a new job properly about two years ago. And well, world stuff happened but I am glad the search has finally come to an end for now. I worked with a nice company as a freelancer a bit and now they are hiring me for full time. I'll be doing art stuff for them.

Now, this obviously means things will be changing here. I'll put together a little FAQ under.

When will Patreon close? 

This March is the last patreon month I'm making content for. I'll be keeping patreon around till the start of summer, but I won't be creating any official new content nor charging any money there from current members.

(You can still join the patreon and pay if you want any of the old exclusive content while it's still open. Note that I won't take any commissions anymore.)

Will you be taking commissions in the future?

Maybe. I'll be keeping my company name so technically I could still accept commissions if I wanna do some extra work and money. Right now I have no plans but maybe. (I'd more likely be open for projects like the Deviantart commission I did November 2020. But no video game projects. My contract does not permits that.)

Will you still do art streams? What about game streams?

Yes! I enjoy streaming so I'd like to continue doing weekly art streams and game streams when ever. However, since art streams technically were my job and no longer are, I'm more inclined to just relax and not do them if I feel like taking a break.

What happens to Bottled Up?

BUP will continue as a passion project. Which is honestly what I want it to be. A personal project I do for fun and no stress of making it "marketable" and something that would make money. I'll do it for myself. And if people enjoy, that's a bonus! I however, cannot promise regular weekly updates anymore. It will update whenever I get pages done. I do think it will be better for the comic in the long run. While it was nice to "force" myself to make the comic with the regular weekly update. It honestly also stressful and didn't always leave me with much time to plan and write.

What other art will you do?

I'll still also do fan art. You can expect the usual, pokemon, ice climbers and such. I'm also really feeling animations at the moment so hopefully more of those.

What will happen next?

My work won't start till mid April. And I'm considering these weeks up to it as a holiday. So I'll be taking things a bit easy. There are still patreon stuff I wanna do. Including a big document about Bottled Up and how it came to be and first draft of the world and how different it was. This document will be posted on patreon first and this summer publicly. BUP will also go for the no-schedule-update-cycle. Next page will happen when I get it done. Please give me time to relax a bit now and get used to new life cycle with a fulltime job.

I think that covers most of it. If you have anything else in mind, you can ask in comments.

There's a lot else I wanted to write about. Reflect on these 7 years I've been doing patreon. Especially past two years.... Which, honestly were roughest of my life. And covid had nothing to do with it! That was just a cherry on top of the personal shit sundae that was going on at the time. None the less, I'm still dealing with that stuff. But I think I'm doing better now and looking forward to re-plan and build my life. I am getting older and I have plans and things I wanna do now with my life.

None the less, I do wanna thank you all for taking a time to read this and following my art. I like drawing for fun. And if you enjoy my drawings. That's super nice.

I do also wanna thank the people who supported me on patreon and thought my art was worth that support. You kept me afloat these past 7 years. And I'm eternally grateful to you and how much I grew as an artist, especially thanks to your commissions.

This is pretty much 7 years of commission work.

Thank you all. Much love. See you next time. Hei Hei.

[confetti-cupcake]

Tell me about Nothing Safe is Worth the Drive? Please?? 💕💕💕💕💕

Thanks for the ask 💕 Oooh okay, so Nothing Safe Is Worth the Drive is essentially an Amazing Race AU where everything is somewhat canon compliant for Buck and Eddie, except Bobby, Chimney, Hen, et al. don't work at the 118 and Buck never met Taylor (because they're all going to be running the race too!). Eddie is in love with Buck, but doesn't think Buck feels the same way (spoiler: he's wrong!) and thinks he's perfectly content with them being just friends. But after a call at a reality TV casting office, Eddie gets recruited to be on the Amazing Race — a reality competition show where pairs of contestants race around the world — and he asks Buck to be his partner. And the fic is the two of them running the race, and in the process, being forced to confront their feelings for each other!

This is like the roughest of rough drafts, but here's a little snippet I was working on last night:

[Also tagging @hattalove because she responded to an anon a while back about wanting to see a fic like this. It's happening!]

~~~

It takes a few minutes to navigate the bustling crowd, but once they turn the corner and the white and blue United logo peeks into view, Eddie finally breathes a sigh of relief.

“What do you think?” Buck asks as they enter the queue for the ticket counter. “We gotta be top five, right?”

The line is wrapped twice around the various rope barriers – not as long as it could be this time of day – but by Eddie’s count, there’s one, two, three teams wearing big, overstuffed backpacks and matching outfits and the same frazzled enthusiasm that he’s found profoundly relatable at this point in the race.   

“I don’t know. There are at least three teams in front of us. And who knows how many are at the gate already?”

Buck sighs, deflated. “How did this happen? We were one of the first teams out.”

“Hate to say it, but I think our buddy Rafael might’ve taken the scenic route on us.”

Buck shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue with him, and Eddie feels a sting of regret. He doesn’t want Buck to think he’s blaming him, because he isn’t. But if he’s being honest, their cab driver caught a few red lights he shouldn’t have, and took some turns that seemed suspect. Nice guy, no doubt. But nice isn’t going to cut it on a race for a million dollars.

They follow the twists and turns of the rope barriers, which somehow feel longer than the queues at Disneyland. But they’re one rope-length away from the next person on line, and Eddie can almost taste the end.

Until a flash of red ducks underneath the rope, and before Eddie can process what happens, a fourth team in large backpacks rushes in between them and the ticket counter.

Buck sighs again, this time more ragged – a telltale sign that he’s getting frustrated. And Eddie can’t blame him. He clears his throat, but the cutters don’t turn around.

“Eddie,” Buck warns.

Eddie shakes him off, and clears his throat more obnoxiously. They don’t turn around again, and they’ve got to be either deaf or obtuse at this point.  

“Eddie. Just let it go,” Buck hisses, once again.  

But the thing is, Eddie can’t let it go. Because he knows Buck, and he knows his self-critical tendencies, and how they’ll have him beating himself up over hailing a slow cab for the rest of the night if they don’t get on the early flight. And while Eddie is just here for the adventure of it all, this is Buck’s dream – and he won’t be able to live with himself if they’re the first team eliminated because two cheaters cut them. Because that would make Buck sad, and he can’t have that.

“Excuse me,” he finally says, loud enough to turn the heads of the group in front of them.

The young woman of the pair sags, as if she’s rolling her eyes. She whirls around and her red hair falls back over her shoulder. “What?”

“Uh, you and your boyfriend just cut the line.”

The woman scoffs. “First of all, Bret’s not my boyfriend,” and her partner shakes his head quickly like he wants no part of that assumption. “And no, we didn’t.” She says it simple and matter-of-fact, and it’s so damn pompous that Eddie can’t help but quip back.

“How do you figure?”

“Well, for one, you and your boyfriend weren’t on line.”

Eddie tenses up, his cheeks suddenly burning hot. “What? I—” He’s suddenly breathless, and in trying to act inconspicuous, he somehow manages to forget every word he knows. Is he really this obvious? “He’s—He’s not—”

She arches an eyebrow. “Not so fun, is it?”

Eddie takes a deep breath and counts to ten. “You’re mistaken,” he says through clenched teeth, and his jaw will certainly be paying the price for this later. “We were on line. Literally no more than ten feet behind you.”

“Hm. See, that sounds more like you were walking toward the line. Is that right?” she asks, and the question drips with condescension.

“What the hell is the difference?”

She rolls her eyes. “You weren’t on line. You were ten feet behind it. You said it yourself,” she says, like that’s an obvious disqualifier. “You don’t get dibs on the line just because you were dumb enough to walk through all the velvet ropes.”

Eddie gapes at her, and the expression “seeing red” suddenly takes on a whole new meaning. “Well, that’s—” he splutters, and it’s one of those situations where the argument is so inexplicably dumb and wrong that he can’t even think of a halfway decent comeback. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“And?” she goads him, like she can do this all day. “What are you gonna do about it?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Because, sure, he’s worked hard the last few years to instill Christopher with good manners, the most important of which being that nobody likes a tattletale. But god, has Eddie never wanted to be a dirty hypocrite so badly in his life.

He glances around, mostly in hopes that there’s some disgruntled airport official nearby looking for a fight, since there always seems to be no shortage of those in the movies. But there’s nobody to be found, and now that more travelers are filing in behind him, he’d never be able to dip from the line to get somebody’s attention without getting pushed even further back.

And look, Eddie’s usually not one to let his emotions consume him. When you have a kid at home, keeping a stiff upper lip in times of conflict is Setting a Good Example 101. But there’s something about this woman that makes him want to throw all that out the window and willingly participate in the pettiest, most immature argument of all-time. Just for the mere chance at wiping the smirk off her face.

But he can’t do that. Because when he finally comes up for air, and realizes that cameras are suddenly in his face and the sound guys are pushing close to pick up every word of the conversation in crystal clear quality and everyone in a fifty-foot radius is looking at them like they’re caged zoo animals… well, trashing his dignity and composure an hour into the race seems like less of a good idea. And it’s not until Buck shifts awkwardly beside him that he’s able to reel himself in enough to bite back the urge.

“Thought so,” the redhead says smugly before she and her partner turn back to face the counter.  

Buck grimaces, laced with sympathy, and Eddie suddenly regrets all his life choices. “I tried to tell you it wasn’t worth it.”

Eddie sighs. “You know, you could’ve backed me up there. They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that.”

Buck, to his surprise, shrugs like he doesn't have the energy to care. “Cheating’s part of the game, Eddie. They’re not the first to do it, and they definitely won’t be last.”

Eddie crosses his arms. “Well, that’s—”

“Stupid?” Buck chuckles and flashes a knowing grin, the very kind that never fails to make Eddie weak in the knees. “Yeah. I thought you might say that.”

Send me a title of a WIP and I'll answer with a snippet!

[songbirdkisses]

Okay so I can’t believe I’m posting this

Buuuuuut here is a little bit of the Miracle fic I’ve been working on. THIS IS THE ROUGHEST DRAFT. I know it needs A LOT of work.

But I figured I would post a little bit. I’m super insecure, I haven’t posted any writing in like 4 years, and never on Tumblr. So please don’t be too mean :) ALSO the format kinda got messed up, so I’m sorry. I guess here it is?

Julie huffed in annoyance as she stepped out of the airport in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She immediately noticed how much cleaner the air was here, as opposed to Los Angeles, where she had been living since she was 16. She pulled her sunglasses down onto her face as she hailed a taxi. She struggled with her luggage as the taxi driver pulled up beside her.

“Need some help there?” The driver asked, exiting the car while trying to hide a laugh.

No, I’ll just get this all myself, Julie thought to herself, trying not to let her bad attitude show.

She had overpacked a bit, to say the least. Two large suitcases, a carry-on suitcase, and her purse, but what was a girl to do when she had no idea how long she’d be away from home? The taxi driver loaded up her luggage before they both got in the car and headed off to the address she had given him. The whole drive, she could feel the man looking at her in the rearview mirror. She wanted to snap at him, to tell him that yes, it was her, and to stop staring at her. To say that Julia Brooks was on edge was the understatement of the decade. Julie couldn’t believe she was back in Minnesota. She was here totally against her own free will, and she was far from happy about it. She tapped her red nails against the door handle, her leg bouncing up and down.

This is some terrible dream that I’m going to wake up from any second.

She held her breath as the taxi pulled up in front of the ice arena. Julie felt like stomach was doing flip-flops. She paid the driver his fare, throwing in some extra for a tip and he helped her get her luggage out again. She tried to take all her stuff with her as she made her way to the doors, stopping every couple of seconds when she lost control of a suitcase and muttering a string of profanities. Right as she was about to open the door, it swung open from the inside.

“Julia,” a man said quietly as Julie dropped her carry-on again.

Herb Brooks was a middle-aged man with a stern face and neatly combed brown hair. Julia noticed what he was wearing, a maroon tracksuit with USA on the front of it. Herb Brooks had been involved with hockey his entire life. After coaching the University of Minnesota hockey team for years, he had been named the head coach for the U.S. Olympic hockey team. Practices had begun not even a week ago. She looked up at him, once again holding her breath. Her blood felt like ice running through her veins. This was the first time she had seen him in almost a year, and the first time she had spoken to him in two weeks. Since her big accident. She waited for him to start screaming at her. After what felt like an eternity of silence, she decided he wasn’t going to yell at her and finally decided to speak up.

“Hi, Uncle Herb.”

Before either of them could say anything else, the doors swung open again, this time with a lot more noise. A group of three boys came streaming out the door, stopping when they saw the two of them.

To be fair, Julie didn’t really look like she belonged outside an ice rink in Minnesota. Her brown hair was in big, bouncy curls. She wore a fair bit of makeup, with her lips painted a deep red. Her Led Zeppelin t-shirt, leopard print pants, and black heeled boots were certainly not helping her blend in. The designer sunglasses pulled over face didn’t make her look nice. The three boys stopped in shock, all three of them shocked for different reasons.

Oh, here we go.

“Julie?” She looked towards the voice and smiled slightly in relief at the boy who spoke her name. Phil Verchota.

Julie had to be honest with herself, there was one person she was not looking forward to seeing. Of course, here he was, one of the first people she saw, standing outside the doors next to Phil Verchota and an unknown man. She tried desperately not to get emotional at the sight of him, so she just chose not to look at him. Instead, she turned to Phil Verchota and the brunette beside him who was clearly confused.

“Hi, Phil.”

“What are you doing here?” Phil asked, moving forward to give Julie a hug. She returned the hug, before pulling away and looking towards her uncle. The words that threatened to pour out of her mouth were stopped by the look on her uncle’s face.

“Boys, help my niece take her luggage to my car. I need to go talk to Coach Patrick.”

And with that, her uncle handed her the car keys and went back inside the arena, leaving her standing there with the three boys. The unknown brunette boy smiled at her, before introducing himself as Mike Ramsey and picking up one of her suitcases. Phil picked up the other, and Julie started to follow them with her carry-on before a hand grabbed onto the handle of the bag. She looked up and there he was, the only one she didn’t want to see, taking the luggage from her hand, while still avoiding eye contact.

“So, what’s got you in Minnesota?” Mike asked her.

A lot of threats and screaming. My life and career being ripped from me.

“Well, you see….everyone thought it would be best if I got out of California for awhile,” she told them, walking to the car. Julie tried not to let any of the bitterness she was feeling drip into her voice. She was really understating it, but who had time for the truth?

“Got out? But you were dominating! Every time I turned on the radio or opened a magazine, there you were,” Phil said as they approached the car, and she unlocked the trunk of her uncle’s car.

“I kind of got into some trouble and everyone thought I deserved to be shipped away to old Minnesota,” she said flatly, shrugging her shoulders as the boys helped her load up the trunk. That seemed to be enough to satisfy them while the four of them finished situating the suitcases. Julie looked up to see her uncle walking towards them with his briefcase in hand. His face held that same stern look he always has around his players. Julie pitied herself, on account of how often she was going to be seeing that look.

“Oh, good lord, help me,” she groaned quietly. She loved her uncle, she really did. Her uncle Herb was so fun when she was a little girl. He taught her how to skate, and the two of them used to take fishing trips in the summer. That was before she went and wrecked it all. Everything was going to be different now. Julie doubted they would spend much time fishing.

“Well, hey, we’d love to catch up. We were gonna go to Maureen’s Diner tonight around 7 if you’d like to join us,” Phil said as Mike shut the trunk. Mike and Phil stayed behind for a second, but of course the other boy was gone the minute he got the carry-on in the trunk. He hadn’t even heard Phil invite her to Maureen’s, which was probably a good thing.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll meet you there,” she smiled at them before they said their goodbyes and were on their way. The truth that she didn’t want to tell them was that she didn’t even know if she was allowed to go. She scoffed at how ridiculous that sounded. She was 21 years old, why would she need to seek permission to go to a diner with some friends?

“See you tomorrow, boys,” Herb called to them as he got into his car. She followed suit, getting in quietly and buckling her seatbelt. It was eerily quiet as he pulled out of the parking lot and started the drive towards his house.

“Not quite the reaction I expected from you and Mac. The two of you didn’t even say hello,” he pointed out, after a few minutes of silence. Julie knew this conversation was coming, and yet her stomach was still in knots.

“We got into an argument a couple of weeks ago. Haven’t talked since,” she shrugged, looking out the window. If she acted like it didn’t matter, maybe it really wouldn’t.

“I know you got into it a couple weeks ago, and I know what it was about. And I think you need to talk to him. He’s your best friend, Julia, and believe me, you’re going to need a friend for the next couple of months.”

God help me if it’s months.

[knifeshoeoreofight]

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

TW: Discussion of animal/human abuse, death, and slavery as it applies to the Russian serf/feudal system

Sidney’s memories of the ride home from the ball are hazy the next day, but he remembers enough to blush at the speculative look Zhenya gives him across the breakfast table the following day. Well, luncheon table, perhaps, as they both sleep until noon after such a late night. 

Sidney has never really been the type for liaisons. He’d had a few brief affairs with close friends at Oxford, but that was all it had been. Mutually agreeable, and a comfortable assurance at the time that come his wedding night, he would have at least some idea of what to do. 

He’s never really felt the urge for more than that. He’d admire a beautiful person without much desire to act upon that admiration in any way. No one sets fire to his blood like Zhenya does. 

He tries to read his correspondence but fails miserably. Zhenya is sitting right there, worrying that voluptuous lower lip of his between his teeth as he muddles through the book he’s currently reading. 

Sidney is getting a little lost pretending he isn’t watching Zhenyas’s big hands carefully turn the pages of his book, when McCann practically skids into the room. 

“Forgive me, your lordships, but Mr. Heinze said to alert you with all haste, we have an unexpected visitor, she--”

“Sidney Patrick Forbes-Crosby!” rings out a clear, familiar voice from the hall. 

“Oh no,” is all Sidney has time to say before, with an indignant rustle of silk skirts,  his sister sweeps into the room. 

***

Sidney was prepared for Taylor perhaps to be angry with him, but he is not prepared for the brittleness to her voice when, after she cordially greets Zhenya and lets him bow over her hand, she draws Sidney aside to speak to him. 

“Sid,” she says, and just looks at him, eye swimming with tears. “Why--” 

“Oh, Tay,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.” She lets him embrace her, but removes her gloves and whacks him with them when he releases her. 

“So. What is your excuse for marrying with only a letter to me after the fact?” she says. “Tristen and I were traveling and that delayed our receiving the letter even longer. What was so urgent, Sidney, that you--” She pauses again, to compose herself. 

“Evgeni’s life,” Sidney says simply, and she shakes her head. 

“How very like you, Sid,” she tells him. “Tell me everything?” 

“I’ll tell it with Evgeni,” he says, and they do.

***

After they’re through recounting the entire affair, Taylor looks at the both of them for a long time, evaluating. Her eyes linger on Zhenya, who fidgets a little under her gaze but meets it all the same. 

Taylor sighs. “Magistrate Bettman is a blackguard.If the both of you are happy, I’m happy as well.” It’s an olive branch, and Sidney is grateful for it. 

Zhenya looks a little shocked to have his well-being included, and Sidney reaches over to squeeze his hand where it lies on the arm of his chair. That’s just how his sister is. Her kindness runs deep.

“Now that that’s all been explained, I have some news of my own,” Taylor says, sitting up very straight in her chair. “You are to be an uncle. Well, both of you, I suppose.” 

“Taylor!” Sidney starts out of his chair. “Oh, Tay, truly?” When she nods, a brilliant smile taking over her face, Sidney sinks back down, and has to pass his hand over his tear-filled eyes. Zhenya settles a heavy hand on the back of his neck, squeezing gently. When Sid looks over at him, Zhenya smiles. 

“So good, Sid,” Zhenya says, and Sidney can only nod.

Taylor regards the two of them with an odd little smile, but something else occurs to Sidney before he has time to try and parse what is going through that head of hers. 

“Where the devil is Tristan? He left you to travel alone?”

Taylor waves her hand. “Don’t be difficult, Sidney. It’s very early days. And Tristan should be here tomorrow or thereabouts. He had some business to take care of and I insisted he do so. I’m not a porcelain doll. Tristan trusted me when I told him I was fine.”

Sidney grumbles a bit, and Zhenya gives him a fond look. 

“Let lady decide own life always,” he says, and Taylor laughs. 

“Exactly, I think I like you,” she declares, and Zhenya beams. 

“Now who is this?” she asks, and rises to lift Koshka from where she’d been sprawling luxuriously on the rug. 

“Sid’s baby,” Zhenya says with a grin, and Taylor snorts. 

“Seems I’m an auntie as well,” she teases, and although Sidney senses that his future is likely to contain a lot of Taylor and Zhenya joining forces to tease him, he cannot help but be ridiculously pleased about it.

***

They have a dinner party of their close friends in honor of Taylor and Tristan’s felicitous news. Zhenya seems more comfortable with everyone now. He compliments Catherine on her gown which results in an enthusiastic conversation about brocade that Sidney cannot quite follow.

Zhenya overhears Julie mention potentially investing in a particular shipping endeavor and stops her. He knows the waters and ships she speaks of, and knows the scheme is a swindle through and through, according to him. 

As she thanks him for the information Sidney help but smile proudly and perhaps too fondly across the table at his husband. 

Taylor elbows him and he turns to her. 

“I was really worried, you know,” she says softly, so they are not overhead. “I thought you had made the greatest mistake of your life. I’m so glad I was wrong. Anyone could see how much you love each other.” 

Sidney tries to reveal nothing, but there must be a flicker of what he feels in his eyes. Taylor could always read him better than anyone. 

“Sid?” 

Sidney looks at his hands. He’s twisting a linen napkin into a shapeless wad. 

“You’re half right, Tay. I love him.” 

Taylor looks stricken, then glances across the table. Zhenya is watching them, frowning a little. He tilts his head inquiringly, as if to ask if everything is alright. Sidney shakes his head, and smiles at him. Zhenya, partially mollified, turns back to Letang, with whom he’s comparing cuff styles. He keeps glancing across the table though, still a little concerned for Sidney’s wellbeing. It makes Sidney smile helplessly again, down at his plate so that no one sees. 

“Are you quite sure, brother?” Taylor asks him. “The way he--” 

“Please, Tay,” Sid begs her, and she mercifully keeps her peace. 

***

Spring, along with visitors, brings the annual horse fair to Truro. The horse fair is more apt to boast farm and cart horses- more finely bred animals are typically found by inquiring with wealthy gentlemen. Sidney has a feeling, though, that some hot-blooded, nervous Thoroughbred is not what would set Zhenya at ease. For, like it or not, he needs a horse of his own.

“You like Cole well enough,” Sidney cajoles, as Zhenya leans away from the inquiring nose of a massive Clydesdale.  

“Only him,” Zhenya retorts. 

He cannot be coaxed into more then cautiously patting a few promising animals on their flanks, staying far back as Sidney tries a few of them under saddle. There’s a nice chesnut gelding, but his action is jolting and he makes an unpleasant mount. Sid finds another draft cross like Cole, sturdy enough to carry a man of Zhenya’s height, but he lays his ears back and makes as if to bite Zhenya in the arm, and that is nearly enough to make Zhenya leave the premises altogether.

Sidney has almost given up when Zhenya stops head in his tracks, staring. Sidney follows his gaze and his heart sinks. 

There is almost nothing that makes Sidney angrier than a basely used horse, and the poor animal before them has seen the roughest of handling. It’s a big grey mare, with an ugly, course head and a ratty mane and tail all filthy knots. Her ribs stand out like a washboard and her hip bones jut cruelly. She has raw sores from ill-fitting tack  and she stands with her head hanging, as if her spirit has been completely crushed. 

“That is a travesty,” Sidney says, and starts a little when he looks at his husband to see how deep the fury is that burns in his eyes. 

“I-” he looks as if he is struggling to gather his words. When he does, he spits them through clenched teeth “I’m know how that feels.”

He gestures at the emaciated animal, and Sid feels his blood run cold. 

“We take her,” Zhenya says, and there’s iron in how he says it. Sidney shakes his head a little. It’s unwise in the extreme, but he can deny Zhenya nothing. And perhaps the poor thing can pass away in comfort at least, safe in their stables. 

They approach, and the disreputable scum at the other end of the mare’s lead tries to obsequiously engage them in conversation but Sidney holds up his hand. 

“Do not speak to me,” he says, and watches as Zhenya holds out his hand for the horse to sniff.She barely moves. This close, Sidney can see the lines of healed whip marks criss-crossing her back. 

Zhenya is murmuring to her in Russian, one hand supporting her head and the other gently stroking her from forehead to muzzle. She takes one tottering step forward and presses her forehead to Zhenya’s chest, then closes her eyes with a sigh. Zhenya presses a kiss to her forelock and looks up at Sidney with watery but flinty eyes. 

Sidney nods, and turns to the owner. “You should be in the stocks for this.” He hands him a few coins, and glares when the man makes as if to dispute the amount. “Out of my sight.” 

He turns back to Zhenya and says, gentle as he can, “She may not live, my dear.” 

Zhenya raises his chin stubbornly. “I did.” 

“Zhenya,” Sidney says, sick with the idea of his being, at any point in his life, so ill-used. He cannot help himself, he lays his hand along Zhenya’s beloved face. Zhenya looks solemnly back at him.

“We shall give her the best chance possible,” is all he can promise, and he lets a single stroke of his thumb along Zhenya’s cheek suffice for the gentle kiss he wants to press to Evgeni’s tremulous mouth. 

***

The mare is too weak to travel that day. Sidney proposes they take her to the stable of an inn he trusts, to get some good food and clean water inside her and to let her rest for the trip to Ydhyn Dhu. 

The ostler at the stables gapes at the scarecrow of an animal they deliver to him. Sidney hands him a generous handful of coins and explains.

“We visited the fair today, and my husband would not leave her to the tender mercies of the reprobate trying to sell her.”

“Oh aye,” the man says, nodding. “My eldest is just like that. Always takin’ in stray mongrels and hurt birds and wee squirrels what have fallen out o’ the nest.  A lassie with a soft heart, she is.”

Sidney watches Zhenya coax the mare into lipping at some wisps of hay, murmuring to her in Russian and running his free hand along her bony neck. 

“His heart, too. A good man,” he says. “The best.” 

“You’re a fortunate one, then, milord, if I may be so bold.” 

“I am,” Sidney tells the ostler. “I am.”

***

Sidney is not terribly surprised when Zhenya digs his heels in and doesn’t want to leave the horse behind to return home. 

Sidney does not brook any argument, but merely sets their carriage horses up in the stables as well, and sends word back home to expect their return in a day or two. 

“Sorry, Sid,” Zhenya tells him, abashed. He’s still fussing over the horse, overseeing the stableboy’s treatment of her sores and making another attempt to untangle the knots in her mane. 

“No trouble at all, my dear,” Sidney reassures. “We can get some shopping done and I can meet with our solicitor.” Sidney does not need to meet with his solicitor and there is nothing they presently need to buy, but he supposes he will think of something. 

At the very least he can order Evgeni more waistcoats. 

***

 Another problem presents itself when they speak with the innkeeper. When Sidney inquires into a set of rooms she wrings her apron in her hands and apologizes over and over that she only has the one singular room fine enough for “gentlefolk.” 

“Please, do not trouble yourself for a moment,” Sidney says, with an alarmed glance over her head at Zhenya. 

Zhenya rescues him with a charming smile for the innkeeper. “I hear man in stables say you have best saffron buns in Truro?” 

“Oh, well!” she says, fluttering and blushing as she tells Zhenya that they do their best, what with the price of saffron, keeping good old Cornish traditions is important, et cetera. Zhenya listens attentively, nodding and agreeing with her until her fit of nerves is quite subsided. 

“Thank you,” Sidney says as they climb the stairs. Zhenya makes a low, amused laugh that sends a shiver down Sidney’s back. 

“Poor Sid,” Zhenya teases. “Scare old ladies. Fancy lord, big inconvenience.” 

“Oh, come now,” Sidney protests, with a glance at the maid leading them to their room. But she merely deposits them at the door before curtseying and scurrying away. 

Sidney almost stops short in the doorway. The room is plainly furnished but clean, and the singular four poster bed it contains is on the small side. He swallows. In the hubbub of speaking to the innkeeper, he’d forgotten this would most likely be the case. 

“Will this be alright?” he asks Zhenya. Zhenya takes a long look at him. 

“Alright with you?” 

Sidney feels a flash of irritation. Why turn the question back around to himself? But he answers truthfully with, “If you don’t mind, I don’t mind.” 

Zhenya just shrugs, and Sid walks into the room with a sigh. It really can’t be helped. 

***

They eat supper at the little table and chairs in their room. Zhenya had looked tired around the eyes and Sid had decided to ask for food to be sent up to them instead of eating in the public dining room. The sitting area features a large diamond-paned window overlooking the street. Sidney sits back and watches a lamplighter ply his trade as dusk falls. He glances at Zhenya who looks lost in thought, and considers their kiss at the ball, and the subsequent lack of any and all overtures since. 

Sidney wonders sometimes if he embarrassed himself that night, too lovelorn and drunk to control himself. He wonders what will happen now, with the two of them sharing a bed for the first time since their wedding night. 

Zhenya, however, seems far away. He picks at his food, and joins Sidney in staring out the window as the town goes to sleep and the light dies in the west. 

“What is it?” Sidney asks, the “my love” he’d wanted to add lying tender and unspoken on his tongue. “Is it the mare? Are you worried?” 

Sidney watches their burry, disjointed reflections in the window glass, watches Evgeni’s shoulders rise and fall as he sighs deeply and leans back in his chair. 

“She’s remind me of a lot of things,” Evgeni says, but doesn’t explain. 

***

They undress for bed. Ordinarily Sidney might be beside himself at the sight of Zhenya only in his shirt and smallclothes, the breadth of his shoulders and the vulnerable nape of his neck as he bends to splash his face with water from the ewer on the dressing table. The way the lamplight makes soft shadows in the hollows of his neck and collarbone. The way Sidney wants to press his mouth there. 

He does, briefly, think about those things, but he also marks the continued distant expression on Zhenya’s face, and he wishes most of all he could take that look away. 

“My dear,” he says, and catches at Zhenya’s sleeve. “Can I do anything for you?”

Zhenya covers Sidney’s hand with his own, but does not look at him. He just tugs him towards the bed, and gets in, sitting up against the pillows, staring at his hands. 

Sidney moves about the room, blowing out all the candles save the one burning at the bedside. He pulls down the coverlet on his side of the bed and slides in. And then he waits, watching Zhenya’s face until he feels ready to speak. 

“Do you know what крепостной is?” he finally says. 

“Krepostnoi…” Sidney tries out the unfamiliar word. “No, I’ve never heard the term before.” 

“People who live on land. Belong to land. If land is sold, people sold also. They cannot leave. They have to work or they starve. Sometimes starve anyway. Man who owns land can do anything he want to them.” 

Sidney’s blood runs cold. “That sounds like slavery.” 

“Almost,” Zhenya says. “My family, we were крепостной.” 

He stares off into the dark of the room, and Sidney reaches over to take one of his hands in his own. He hadn’t liked how they looked, laying still and empty on Zhenya’s lap. 

“Winters so hard,” Zhenya says, voice rough. “My mama always give us food first. Always tell us she’s not hungry.” 

Sidney tightens his grip on Zhenya’s hand. Zhenya has never mentioned his mother before. 

“One year, harvest is bad, and snows are so deep after that. Many die. Mama get thinner and thinner and she cough more and more. I’m too small to notice she doesn’t eat, just give food to us. Then one morning, she doesn’t wake up.” 

Sidney makes a soft, involuntary sound and brings Zhenya’s hand to his lips to kiss it. 

Zhenya continues. “Father die when I’m baby. My brother try to take care of me after mama die, but he’s also young. Hard life makes people hard, too. He has to work in the fields, and when I’m big enough, I do too. I’m always angry, in here.” He bring a fist to the center of his chest. “So angry. But I’m small and I’m young and alone, so I can do nothing. Only kind person is village priest. He’s teach me to read, he’s tell me about other places. About the sea. And I’m think, no one can touch me there. Nothing but water and sky. I can go far, far away.”  

Sidney gently kisses Zhenya’s hand again, and Zhenya goes on. “One summer I’m grow and grow. I’m always short before, but I’m get tall very fast. I think the landowner was little bit scared of me. I’m get beaten a lot, maybe I’m talk back, or maybe not, he doesn’t care. Just want me to keep working and not make any trouble. One day, I’m watch him beat a man almost to death. I’m done. I run away that night.” 

Zhenya pauses again, and Sidney cannot do anything but stroke his thumb against Zhenya’s hand. 

“Best and worst thing I’m ever do. Worst, because I leave my brother. Best, because I am free.” He looks down at Sidney, finally. “She’s remind me of that time, the horse. They use us like that.” 

Sidney slides up on the bed, settling in close to Zhenya. He hesitates a moment, then rests his head on Zhenya’s shoulder. To his relief, Zhenya raises his arm to tuck Sidney under it. 

“We can look for your brother,” Sidney offers. “Perhaps try writing to the priest?” 

“We can?” Zhenya asks, voice small. “And if we find, we buy?” 

Sidney shivers in revulsion. “He’d have to be bought? That’s monstr— of course Zhenya. Of course. My god.” 

He turns his head, and kisses Zhenya’s chest, right over the heart, as it turns out. “I’m so glad,” he murmurs. “That you’re safe now. That you’re here.” He hesitates a moment, wondering if he’s going too far. But he feels scraped raw by Zhenya’s story and he is tired of pretending he feels less than he does. 

“Here, with me,” he adds. Zhenya’s heart beats faster underneath his ear. 

“Sid,” Zhenya whispers shakily, followed by a long, liquid fall of Russian, the deep burr of it impossibly sweet to Sid’s ears. 

“Люби́мая,” Zhenya croons, as he slides a hand into Sid’s hair. It’s a word Sidney recognizes. He thinks it might be a name, or a term of address. 

He wonders dizzily if this— if perhaps— but he feels Zhenya’s hands tremble a little and when he sighs it’s deep and exhausted, not amorous. 

“Come here,” Sidney tells him, and arranges the pillows, blankets, and Zhenya to his satisfaction. He curls up behind Zhenya, one arm over his waist, pulling his back into Sid’s chest. “Is this all right?”

He feels Zhenya relax into him, and thread this fingers through Sidney’s. “Thank you, люби́мая,” Zhenya says. 

“Sleep,” Sidney tells him. Then, a little nonsensically, “I have you, darling, right here.” 

Zhenya drops off to sleep in moments, it seems like. Sidney lies awake for a long, long time, Zhenya in his arms and his heart aching with hope, and with pain.

[xxjokesonyouxx-blog]

This is my first try at a story. Please let me know what you think! Literally the roughest rough draft.

Our blood

Like a poison

It all happened so fast one drop and she was dead

My parents are so proud

If youre born of the blood no harm will come. But if you arent made a part of the family one drop is sll it took

My mother, a smart but eccentric woman was a sort of mad scientist. my father, an opera singer. My sister shes 6. Had a dog she turned to be a part of us

We were on vacation

In America the good ol west cowboys and what have you. Then it happened

I got cut. One drop fell into the river, and it was too late

The waters turned black. And started rising. I got knocked out. And thats the beginning

Im a server. No special talents. Im not even that nice. But i do what i can to survive

The rain has been crazy these past few days

I don't know why but its so flooded. And the water is black. Its not un manageable. You dont really get your feet wet in some parts. Like i said manageable

It was a busy day for me. I had seven tables mostly big parties. Nothing i couldnt handle with a lot of hard work. Then this family came in calling us a hospotol. And we need to save their pride and joy. An eight foot tall Frankenstein's monster looking mother fucker. The mother, i guess you couls call her that. Was maybe 4 foot. With a beehive that was a foot on its own. She wore. Red hills. Red nails like talons. Red lipstick. And was kinda portly. The father tall and portly. The daughter. Smaller than moat children ive seen. That could walk and talk as smart as she was. And the son. I can see his face now. Something about him was. Attractive? They all were way too pale. And not in that cool vampire way. From my books. Like the kinda really dead grey sorta way. He had a buzzcut. But it was growing out he was 7 foot. But he was passed out.

I took him to the back room. Told my manager. And started working on him. I wasnt going to school to be a doctor or anything it waa just something that came to me

He was bleeding a lot and i being totally afriad of blood was doing my most important job. Not touching his blood. I had gloves, a hairnet, an apron a mask. It wasnt before long he stopped bleeding. I sewed his lesion closed. Somehow. I have no idea how. Im blown away honestly at how cool i was. We put him upstairs this resturant was a bnb anyways. I tucked him into bed and went to work cleaning his blood off everything. But when i got there all the things that the blood touched were gone.

[violyntfemme]

Sunday Six Plus

Snippet from you’ve become all i’ve lost, mark darkish!harry hartwin fic. I thought I would finish it with NaNo, I had 30K written when NaNo started, wrote the 50K for November, and it is still going, although I feel as if it is almost done, Just gotta write till the characters tell me their are done, you know?

As always, the roughest of the rough drafts, so please ignore spelling and grammatical mistakes. Those will get cleaned up in the editing process.

------------

Eggsy leans forward and grabs Jamal’s hand where it is gripped around the keys. “Jamal, if the roles were reverse and suddenly you were the one with the means to help me out, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, bruv, you know I would.”

“And would you see it as giving me a handout?”

“No, it’s taking care of family.”

“And that is what this is, me taking care of my family. You and Ryan are my brothers, the ones who sewed my eyebrow shut when Dean busted it open. The one who beat the fuck out of that punter that wouldn’t take no for an answer after he got what he paid for. You guys… Jesus.” Eggsy can’t speak thinking of all the fucking shit they have gone through together. Ryan and Jamal catching shit, and fists, from other kids on the estate when they decided to come out seven years ago. I don’t know if I’m gay, bruv, Jamal had told him one night when they were pissed on some shitty sweet shit Jamal had stole from his mum, but I know I love Ryan. Fuck, I want to marry him. And he feels the same. 

They are more than family. The blood, violence, and pain that they went through forged a bond between them that nothing could break. Eggsy would walk through a a fire to save them, and they would do the same.

A drop of wetness hits Eggsy’s hand and he realizes that Jamal is crying. Eggsy goes over and sits next to him, hugging him.

“I just… I want Ryan to have nice things you know, and I can’t always get them for him. I don’t want him to come home to a flat where the paint is peeling and you have to make sure you don’t step in the corner next to the loo because you might fall through. I don’t want him to have to sleep on mattress on the floor. And now you’s handing me the ability to do that, to take some burden off of us, and I can’t breathe for how fucking grateful I am Eggs. I can’t fucking breathe, mate.”

[afro-elf]

tagged by @jedifinnrey to post the last lines of 5 of my unfinished works and then tag ppl

this is gonna be a mix of unedited (so... Bad) fanfiction and original work because i’m a mess and i’m writing like ten things right now, two of which i don’t wanna spoil

1. My novel’s roughest possible draft

“Well, on the up side, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.” Michael told her. “Down side is, only a dozen other Necromancers in history of the human race have ever done that, only one of that dozen is living, and he’s a dick.”

Adalira groaned. “Please don’t tell me it’s who I think it is.”

“It is. Down down down side, now I think I know why he’s after you…” Michael pulled up a chair in front of her. “Here’s the thing. It’s gonna sound bad, but this guy’s been out of his mind for decades now so… It might not be as big of a problem.”

“Just tell me, man.”

“Yes, please, just tell her.” Dean said.

2. The next chapter of Brown Sugar and Honey

The waiter arrived with your food and you tried to look a bit more like you belonged in a restaurant like this. T’Challa was, one hundred percent, paying for everything, but you didn’t need everyone else knowing that.  

You looked around the restaurant at everyone else there. You recognized a few faces from Tony’s circle. Speaking of Tony, you were silently thanking him for suggesting you wear “that dark blue number” to dinner, because you were working it, and T’Challa was drinking it up almost as much as the wine.  

“Well, I return to Wakanda in three days, perhaps you could free some time in your busy schedule for me.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t keep the grin off your face no matter how hard you tried. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’m three episodes behind.”

3. A new Steve/OC thing i’m working on

The woman smiled. “You never do, I don’t know what you apologizing for.” She kissed him on the cheek, and handed the baby over to him, then looked back at the battered Avengers standing on her lawn. “Y’all hungry?”

“Very much so!” Thor said. “It has been a long and trying day.”

She nodded in understanding then turned to Steve. “If I’m making dinner for, like, fourteen people, you helping. One of them gotta help too.”

He cooed his baby girl. “No problem, honey.”

She gestured for the rest of them to come in. “Don’t be strangers, I won’t bite.”

4. A sci-fi/horror story i’m trying my best with

My home district is Lux, the capital city of a nowhere-nothing country that I’m not overly fond of or knowledgeable about. Wait, that is far from true… I know a few things. We used to be united states but then we broke apart, then we came back together again, a Frankenstein’s monster of fragmented politics and fragmented people.

5. Some character backstories for my novel

Joe almost had a heart attack, her voice was so beautiful. Light and flowery, with that smooth accent. It reminded him of the reggae and calypso that his mother loved so much. Old songs about falling in love. He never felt the urge to listen to that stuff until he saw her.

“I’m Joe,” he replied. “I’m a Werewolf.”

She walked over to him and extended her hand for him to shake. “I’m Simone, and I’m a Witch.”

He took her hand and kissed it, never breaking eye contact. “Nice to meet you.”

“Welcome to Philly, Joe. You new to the underworld?” He nodded. She smiled. “Well, welcome to your new life.”

For the first time, he felt fully ready to say, “Happy to be here.”

i tag @keenureeves @whatstheskinnyjean @mikeymagee @blackmetalbuckybarnes @imperatorkhaleesi aaannnndddd @lady-thor-foster

[trogersracing]

Ironman Barcelona

Ironman Barcelona Race Report

When I finally allowed myself the reality that I wanted to undertake the challenge of my first full Ironman in fall of 2017 I started by looking at the race schedule. I had already signed up for London Marathon in April 2018 and wanted to run well there and knew that effort would both need a decent amount of recovery as well as take a bit away from cycling and swimming during the build up. I also knew that having just qualified for South Africa for 70.3 WC’s I wanted to perform well there and that build could work nicely with building to a full race a few weeks/months beyond. Additionally, and being a bit ahead of myself (or just wishful thinking) I knew that there was no way we would be able to swing a trip to Kona in the same summer so finding a race in late September/October really seemed to be the best option to give myself another year to focus on Kona if I should qualify. This quickly narrowed the race options down and on final review IM Barcelona seemed to be the winner. I approached the race with the idea that I wanted to limit the ‘complications’ as much a possible, travel, course difficulty, etc etc. Barcelona was a single, relatively inexpensive and limited air time travel race from London, winner for travel. The course is very fast, (usually) calm seas, flat, smooth, simple bike course and a flat, smooth and simple run. It wasn’t that I wanted an ‘easy’ race, but I’ve never competed in a race of this distance or time and adding in a huge amount of elevation gain at my first go seemed like a unnecessary complication. It also helped that it was Barcelona, so a few days on the beach afterward seemed like a fantastic way to end the season!

This brought back some bad memories….

The first two races I had on the calendar in 2018 were the IAAF Half Marathon Championships and London Marathon. This gave me a solid run focus through the spring and through April. I purchased a Tacx Neo smart last year which has been a great tool for training and has allowed for consistent bike training during the variable London weather. It also allowed me to make efficient use of my ‘other’ training time during the run block and retain some quality on the bike. Given that (at the time) I couldn’t mount the Dimond to the trainer had had an old roadie bike that I set up with the same gearing and fit to replicate my race setup. I was also using my daily bike commute (about 10k each way) to pad my weekly miles or use as a cool down for the mornings workouts.

By virtue of the 70.3 WC’s and Barcelona my season was very much focused on getting to September/October fit and healthy. Generally my weeks were in the 10-12 hour range with a few pushing up beyond that mark. As a note, I never counted my commuting time/mileage, it was always just ‘extra’. There were a few larger weeks built into the schedule with one 100 mile ride (done outdoors) and one 5 hour ride (on the turbo). Otherwise my longest ride was no more than 4 hours. My longest week was around 15-16 hours, before adding another 5 of commuting. I wanted to do well at the WC’s but my primary focus had always been Barcelona, so I was very happy to have take away a 9th in my Age Group performance at the race with about four weeks to go before the big race (I’ll write a separate post about that race).

Skipping a bit to Barcelona

  Blending in.

Travel always means packing the Hen House. I’ve actually had the travel bag longer than I’ve had my Dimond and I used the bag to travel to Milwaukee and Chicago when I was living in the states for USAT National Champs and ITU worlds. I’ve always loved the ability to have the bike with me, and (knock on wood) never paid a bike/baggage fee. Since moving to London I’ve used the bag to travel to Australia, South Africa and Barcelona for races all without fees or hassle. With the Dimond I use the carrat case and have self reinforced the bag with custom cut lexan sides. I love that the bag is light enough to pick up and huff off from baggage claim without much fuss and allows us to rent whatever car we want as the bags aren’t bulky (another cost saver)!

  Snug as a bug.

As mentioned, Barcelona caught my eye because it was flat and fast. After arriving at the race I was quick to set up my bike and see the course with my own eyes. The race is actually set a bit further north in the city of Calella. The transition area is right on the beach (they take over an astroturfed soccer pitch) so the transition zone is concise. However, that means that you need to get through the old part of the city to get out to the main road where the majority of the bike is held. This means no aero bars for the first 3k. However, once out on the main highway they road is smooth, clean and fast. There are a few slow rolling hills as you arrive or leave the small villages you ride through but primarily the course along the ocean is flat. Perhaps, in an effort to break up drafting, they updated the course with a small out and back about 1/3 of the way into the loop which went uphill and away from the sea. Looking at the course map it looked like the great pyramid of Giza but once you realized that it was only in comparison to the pancake flat remainder of the course it wasn’t bad at all.

            Important race prep happening.

  Pre-race jitters.

The majority of the few days leading up to the race were filled with the typical pre race shenanigans. Obsessing over your gear, obsessing over what you eat, significant other telling you to get a grip… you know the drill. However I do always enjoy bike racking. To me, it is really the first time to size up the race and who you might be racing against. Its always a great time to meet some new friends and chat about what brought you to whatever race you happen to be at. Living and racing in London and Europe I’ve only ever seen one other Dimond at a race. Combined with my American accent I do find myself the focus of some attention when racking the bike. Barcelona was no different in that I didn’t see any other Dimond’s but a few interested onlookers. Typically I find myself talking about how easy it is to travel with the bike. As I’ve not had a wealth of racing experience at the half or full distance before the bike I’m not one to say that its made me ‘’xx minutes faster’’. I’m more of one to talk about the bike as something that gets me excited to get out there and ride, to me it’s a part of a well rounded approach to racing, its not some magic bullet that will suddenly transform someone from an enthusiast to a champion.

  Full race race setup.

Get some.

Finally race day was upon me. My general race plan was to survive the swim, pace myself into a good position on the bike and go for it on the run. I knew the marathon would be my strength so my goal was to put myself in a position to run into a Kona slot. The weather had been sunny and warm for the preceding days but come race day it was cool and raining. The sea, which had been calm, was in full swell. Generally the specific race conditions don’t put me in a better or worst mindset, being from New England I consider my a ‘tough’ guy and tend to power through most conditions. I always try and remember I’m racing with the same situation as everyone else so I try not to get concerned. However, not the strongest swimmer to begin with I was concerned that swimming in these rough conditions might hamper my race plan. But by that point, there was no turning back and after the normal pre race screwing around with the bike and double checking transition bags we were off.

    fak.

  I’m seriously reconsidering the race at this point.

  But I don’t wanna!!!

I had lined up in the 1:00 area thinking that was going to be my goal time, however, soon some staff ushered me down to the AWA starting wave. I think it’s a bit odd to have a specific AWA wave, there is nothing saying that I’m going to be faster (or slower) just because I’m AWA. It seemed odd to cater a starting wave to the group. However, I knew that if it put me that much further in front of the ‘crowd’ I’d be setting myself up for a quieter bike. The swim was easily the roughest I’ve ever done. I felt like I drank a gallon of water by the time it was over and sighting was a complete nightmare. I had to time sighting with the top of the swells or you’d never see the next buoy. When you did look up to sight I’d see swimmers going straight up the next wave. This was a race!! Making the primary turn I glanced at my watch and saw 30:00 and was pleasantly surprised. I knew that the second half was going to be into the swell but to have paced right to where I want to be gave me confidence. Powering through the second part of the swim I exited the water at just over one hour and was very, very, pleased to have had that swim behind me!

  Holy shit! I’m alive!!

Jumping on the bike I knew this was where the work (for me) really began, I had a target wattage (230-235) and worked out a good nutrition plan. The goal was to take down a half of a honey stinger waffle every 30 minutes and supplement with a mix of Precision Hydration and Honey Stinger gels. The idea was that as I worked through the pre mix hydration I would take course water and cycle that into my routine. Starting the bike you always get a few guys that seem to go out like they’re going to win the race in the first five miles. I resisted the temptation and stuck to my plan. My average power seemed to be tracking a bit lower than where I wanted but I was moving along at a good pace and this being my first race I didn’t want to overextend myself now. I stuck to my plan for fuel and hydration and covered the first lap without issue. By the end of the first lap I had found myself largely riding alone and had been able to put in a few blocks of consistent power. However, as I began the second lap I could sense riders behind me and was starting to encounter last of the riders that exited the water late. On the out and back hill I could see my that while there weren’t main people in front of me but I was definitely the start of the chase. By the end of the second lap between passing those still on their first lap and the people behind me putting on good pressure I had been caught. My power suffered drastically and its definitely one of those times that I should have put down a good effort to get some separation, but I played it safe and stuck to my plan of not burning matches on the bike. In retrospect I really feel this was a poor decision and really wished i had put down some watts. I don’t think my run would have suffered all that much in comparison to putting some solid time into my competition on the bike.  

      Still coughing up water at this point. Current aero situation: -10

I had a retul fit done over the winter in preparation for this race which had moved me a bit lower and longer which yielded great results. I’m sure I could fuss about with the fit more and find either some additional aero advantage or power output but it would be starting to split hairs. Overall I felt very comfortable and relaxed on the bike, no areas of unreasonable pain or discomfort. I think this speaks of both a quality fit as well as a comfortable and stable bike under saddle. For the race itself I used Continental Force and Attack tires with Latex tubes and Stans sealant wrapped around HED Jet 9 and Disc wheels. The only other modification I’ve made to the bike outside of the factory ‘race’ set-up is the SLF oversized pulley wheels. I use a Stages power meter as I find that to be the easiest meter to swap between my training and racing bike. I currently have the Gen 1 Left only meter but just upgraded to the gen 3 L/R meter, so looking forward to that. I use a profile design refillable BTA bottle and amount a second cage to my stem (TriRig Sigma). Additionally, I have my tube and repair kit behind the saddle with another bottle. This set up works well for 70.3 races as it allows me to not stop at aid stations and easily take on course water but have my own mix for the full distance. I’ve made a reasonable effort to clean up my front end with the Sigma stem but there are definitely some gains that I could make by reviewing my setup.

  Race nutrition.

Its on.

  Werk.

However, with all that said about my ride clear differentiator for my bike is the color scheme. As a graduate of Virginia Tech the Orange and Maroon paint scheme was a given. My time there in was formative and provided me with the tools that have allowed me practice architecture all around the world. When I’m running up to my bike in transition I can hear the Metallica’s Enter Sandman playing at Lane stadium and sixty-eight thousand fans jumping up and down. The bike and the paint scheme signify the work that has been done, and the work that needs to be done, this is my time, my effort. I always jump on that bike ready to rock.

After two laps along the scenic Barcelona coast it was back into Calella, through the old town and back to transition. A quick shoe change (and socks on for this race) later it was out on the run. Coming off the bike I felt energized, I had made it through the bike without a crash, technical issue or any penalties. At this point I knew, no matter how I might do it, I was going to finish the race, even if I had to crawl across that line.

Well frick… its time to run.

The first mile or two of the run felt amazing, being back on my feet, stretching my back a bit and opening the legs up was fantastic. It was also now I could hear Carly cheering which was a really nice pick up. We had run through a bit of what i’d like her to do in terms of split information so I was looking forward to getting an idea of where I stood in the race. From a pace perspective my goal was to run a 2:55, I felt I had that in me and was a good target to set. I started off at a brisk 6:40 pace and was holding it well for the first 3-4 miles before I saw Carly for the first time. She yelled something about 8th, or 8 minutes down… or something…  I wasn’t really sure. Oh well, it is only a few miles in, I really need to run a bit and let the race settle to get a feel for the work I need to do.

The run course at Barcelona is three big loops with the finish at one end. Carly had positioned herself at basically the halfway point so I was able to see her both heading out and coming back of each loop. After the initial split where I didn’t really get where I was she had some solid information that I was sitting in 3rd and running the same pace as first but well above 2nd or anyone else around me. This was great news! Outside of finishing my goal was 3rd in my AG, I figured that would be a ‘safe’ position in my AG to secure a slot for Kona. Knowing I was running strong compared to others also gave me some confidence that if i slipped a bit I might have a bit of a buffer.

Your mind goes to some dark places.

I continued pushing and ended up running with a few groups during the first half or so. At one point I ran with who would turn out to be the second place female professional and grouped up a few times with some other runners. I went through the 21k mark at 1:27:33, pretty much perfectly on pace for a 2:55.

Carly continued to offer updates and I seemed to making ground on second but wasn’t past him just yet, no mention of where 4th was so I kept on grinding. However, shortly after the turn around on loop two I hit the wall. Mentally perhaps I had gotten too comfortable, and physically perhaps I had gone out a bit too fast. Either way, mile 15-19 were pretty rough. I had been taking water and coke regularly throughout the race and added in some gels and red bull. I’m not sure if it was the added fuel or the fact that I started what would be my last lap and knew that was it, 9 more miles, one more lap. I checked myself back in the game and really tried to push myself with what I had left. I knew second had to be super close to second and if I put in a solid effort here I might be able to pick him off. However, as by now people were pouring on to the run course from the bike I had little to no idea who was who and if someone was on the first lap or third.

Just trying to maintain.

I honestly can’t recall the last information Carly gave me, but I’m pretty sure I asked her how far off and she said something like 4 minutes down on first, 4 minutes back to third… I had made it into second!!! I knew I wouldn’t see Carly again till the finish so it was up to me to close this out. I was terrified that at any moment my body would just say ‘nope’ and start to shut down so my goal was to get across that finish line as quickly as humanly possible. I told myself to suck it up and you’ve only got 4….. 3……2…..1… miles to go. Running back towards town I knew that once I passed back by the transition tent I’d have only a mile to go and I had made that my last ‘carrot’ before the finish. As I was closing in on the transition I passed by one racer, he looked over at me and asked ”second or third?”. Not really thinking/having any idea what he was asking about I told him ‘I have no idea’ and kept on cranking.

  Passing through the transition tent with only a mile to go it started to feel real to me, that I’d actually finish this race and be an Ironman. I started to skip the aid stations and just push towards the finish. The course tightens up a bit near the end and a couple of times I found myself wedging myself through some slower moving runners.

You know the difference between me and you? I make this look good.

However, as soon as I got to the last corner it was a sharp turn off and down on to the red carpet and I found myself running alone. It was down a quick hill and to the left with the finish chute all to myself. It all happened quite fast, I’m naturally one to race all the way through the line so in retrospect I do now get why people say to relax and enjoy the finish experience. I however, cruised through the line and promptly collapsed. It took me a few minutes to compose myself, I was totally drained…

  A slow walk to the recovery area where I took my time to have a bit of food and drink. Looking around I saw a few male pro’s, one or two female pro’s and a few age groupers. It seemed like a pretty small group, but I really couldn’t tell. I hadn’t run one watch throughout the so I didn’t have an actual race time but I could piece it together knowing each of the disciplines and figured I was near 9:00, which had typically been where my age group’s third place finished. That, coupled with Carly’s encouragement, left me feeling good that I had secured a solid place.

  After a bit of food and drink and chatting with a few of the other AG finishers and going around to congratulate everyone who had finished thus far  I made my way out from the finish area to find Carly, she had been anxiously waiting for me and gave me a great big hug exclaiming ‘You won!!!’ I told her ‘No, you said I was second , but still I had a good day!”  She replied, ”No, you caught first, you wont your age group!!’ Wow….. I made up four minutes in the final half of the last lap on first… I couldn’t believe it!!!

Still in a physical and emotional state of shock she handed over my gear and we slowly made our way back to the apartment. After some confirming glances at the Ironman tracker I finally did realize that yes, in fact I had won my age group, and in fact been the 6th Amateur across the line!! The next few hours were filled with a well deserved shower and a lot of food and drink. We went down to the finish line around 10:30 to cheer on those still working their way through the marathon. It was really exciting to see how jazzed everyone was to finish the race. Despite the fact that it was now pouring out there was a great crowd out cheering the last competitors across the line. It was really quite fun to watch everyone finish.

Monday’s award ceremony was certainly an experience. I had laid out some lofty goals for my first race, but to have placed first in my age group and 6th overall was really something I wasn’t expecting. I was really happy with my overall race plan and management and while I took a lot away from this race as learning experiences I feel like I put it all out there for my first race. I’m looking forward to racing Roth Germany next July which I hear is another fast course and then Kona in October!!!

It goes without saying but none of this would be possible without the unwavering support of Carly. Her ability to encourage me along this journey and be great partner is without measure. She is the reason I push myself to be better. Plus she’s pretty cute.

          Ironman Barcelona was originally published on Rogers Racing