#ffs give him a proper bike

[fabioquartararhoe]

fabio’s stayed in q1 once throughout his entire career in motogp, the time when he won the championship in misano 2021! that’s some record if you ask me.

yes, thank you. it’s really impressive and the fact that he had the same engine in 2020, 2021, 2022 💀

[gaudeixcc]

Peloton news – Pride and prejudice

Deep breath. 

OK, here goes.

I am prejudice. At times, horrifically so.

There. I’ve said it.

I feel better. Marginally.

Society today is becoming increasingly intolerant of any individual who dares transgress the firming social lines of the protection of the individual. And if the individual is in any kind of minority group, then watch out buster, say nothing or have your very being besmirched for being an out-of-date and contemptible individual. Cast out of the society you circled in and forever damned as being a sinner amongst saints.

Last week a cable TV show announced the annual winner of the ‘Funniest joke at the fringe’ award.

Every year I read through the top 10 and smirk at the inevitable, but usual amusing and witty contenders. 

This year was no different. 

An example of the type of top gaggery comes from the 2017 winner. Topical, as it came at the time of a new release from the Royal mint:

I'm not a fan of the new pound coin, but then again, I hate all change

Nice. A gag that has both a slight play on meaning and it topical. 

This year’s winner was equally gentle in its bending of phrasing.

I keep randomly shouting out 'Broccoli' and 'Cauliflower' - I think I might have florets.

Now I read this at work one morning, and seconds later moved on with other things. A few days later and a casual glance at the BBC website and there was a follow-on story. This time Auntie Beeb has published an article about the annoyance that the Tourettes Society have felt at with this joke.

A prominent lady within the society voiced distinct disapproval;

“Humour is a great way of educating people - but not only is it not funny to poke fun at people with Tourette's, it's not even that funny a joke, is it?”

In the irony of all ironies, the Tourettes society were one week away from launching a campaign aimed at stopping the condition being a punchline in jokes. How d’ya like them fucking apples.

Now I personally think you’re treading a fine line by dictating what you can and can’t make jokes about. Clearly the old days of Chubby Brown and Jim Davidson are well and truly behind us. Humour used to belittle particular groups and minorities. It always left a nasty taste in the mouth. But not being funny because someone is in a minority group? Not such a clean-cut affair.

I find it almost unbearably funny taking the piss out of people who are different. People who don’t conform. Social groups are almost always driven by some sort of common conformity after all. Look at the Peloton. All centred around cycling and conforming to what that social circle deems acceptable.

Let’s look at a few examples of what happens when someone wanders off group alignment.

• JT rode a Cube FFS. And it was a triple! In the fullness of time he was nearly bullied into tears over that little faux pas

• RTA made the best repair he could to a pair of shoes that had given him particularly good value. Merciless haranguing followed

• Has Damo worn the famour winter ‘lobster glove’ since that particularly cold ride on January?

• Macca and the white ‘show the world your penis’ bib shorts. 

Now none of the above makes any difference to the enjoyment of cycling. But they all made a helluva difference to the enjoyment of cycling on that particular day (for 7 out of the 8 riders at any rate).

But this is the thing. Comedic highlighting of group norm differences within the group, gentle isolation, then regular revisiting of past errors affirms group identity. And, it actually re-shapes individual behaviour and brings it back to group behaviour.

An interesting point to ponder is this. Should the individual who made the brave move away from group compliance, continue to do so without giving a merry fuck, would the group then gently steer towards him as a standard? Would his own confidence and ‘don’t-give-a-flying-fuckery’ actually position him as a standard setter…one to follow…? 

It’s difficult to believe that the Peloton could, in some parallel universe all be riding about the place in white penis-flaunting bib-shortery… but you never know.

Thank fuck Macca is a social conformist is all I can think.

This behaviour however is inbred. It’s part of humanity. When it’s one of your own, it’s good natured and mistakes are to be pounced on with glee. They’re funny. And there is nothing quite as satisfying as being the first one to publicy spot a fellow rider’s error.

Outside the social group, the prejudices are all still there, but all sense of warmth evaporates. This is where my inner demons roam. This is where my critical and saintly eye turns on humanity from the comfort of my own stately glass house.

I have a broad expansive set of prejudices and as part of recognising who I am, I feel the need to unburden myself. Think of it as detoxing. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll be a better person. More accepting. Happier, dare I say it.

So, in no particular order, here is a summarised list of some of the things that really hack me off about people whom I don’t know who have the temerity to be different to me.

• People who ride bicycles with the seat too low. Every time of see one of these hapless fuckers I think exactly the same thing. ‘Not very efficient on the quads that…. And you could do with dropping a gear or two. That slow cadence is making is harder that it should be.’ My gaze lingers for a few seconds whilst I mentally shake my head. Now what difference does it make to me that ‘random station commuter’ is going to spend exactly 8 mins not being as absolutely efficient as he could be? Answer? No difference whatsoever. So why do I feel slightly annoyed by it? How is this man’s seat height affecting my life in anyway whatsoever?

• People who ride by pushing the pedals with the middle of their feet as opposed to with the ball of their foot. When I see this, I want to see justice delivered instantly, preferably by the police using a taser gun to stop the offender in their tracks before then shouting at the quivering and prone floor-bound body to ‘pedal that fucking bike properly’ and then going about lesser police priorities. An overreaction? I think not. If I’m with the kids and I see this social travesty I point it out them. Seriously. It absolutely boils my piss.

• Now this one is perhaps my all time, most heinous of heinous crimes against civilised society. I mean, when exactly did some people revert to living with the apes in that great troop on the savanna? Have we forgotten millennia of tool-making and using skills? One of the very few things I might add, that genuinely separates us from nearly all living creatures on earth. When sitting in a restaurant or pub for that matter, and I see a mature homo sapien, who can seeming talk. Seemingly dress themselves in a manner compliant with social norms. Who can order food. Who can pay for food. Who can interact with waiting staff with courtesy and conviviality. But, who can’t hold a fucking fork like you are supposed to…! I mean for the love of sweet baby Jesus… you’re holding the thing with thumb and three fingers (pinky redundant)…jabbing it down like a fucking chop stick…. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Why aren’t your parents at this very second, beating you to within an inch of your worthless life at your inability to grasp and use the most basic of tools in not just the right way, but the ONLY fucking way to use a fork!!! When I see this, I just want to shout ‘WANKER’ across the table and over my salmon and quinoa salad. 

I had my annual BUPA health-check last week and no ulcer was detected, but I’m telling ya, it’s fucking coming.

This weekend I’ve been mountain biking with my eldest. I bloody love it. He bloody loves it. He’s new to it and the activity is nothing short of joyous. 

Yesterday we went over to Holmbury St Mary and into some of the well-established MTB trails. Second time round I had a proper go at ‘Barry knows best’, a long swopping bermy 3 or so minutes which is just fabulous for the 2 beginners alike. This time though, whilst absolutely caning it and trying to set a time which my son wouldn’t beat (he did), I properly stacked it. Half way down. Came down hard and narrowly missed a tree. Very lucky really to only have a hurty shoulder today. After the event we went to the local pub and had chips and a pint. (Well, I did. Jnr had chips and a couple of glasses of coke. It’s like the Tenants super for the young generation.)

Outside there were scores of pretty serious looking bikes and bikers. They all looked different, but oddly the same. They all conformed to this particular group norm. I could tell my eldest was a little wary of being seen as a beginner. Neither of us where particularly dressed to ‘shred the gnar’ or whatever the fuck it is Macca says when he’s talking MTB mumbo jumbo. 

I sat there and munched a chip. ‘Don’t worry about it son… I don’t care about them, we’re doing this and enjoying it. I don’t care what we look like. We have as much right to be here doing this as they do’.

Off we went, back to the car. I felt bruised. Jnr felt good following the Strava analysis. He’d come out on top. As we walked past a table of fellow diners I noticed the husband holding his fork the wrong way. Our eyes crossed. As I walked past I felt a sense of calm solidarity. He had every right to be there. Just as much as me. And if he insists on eating like a wanker, that’s his call. 

Celebrate the commonalities, not the differences. 

Hold that thought as the rag-tag peloton makes its way to France this year. Perhaps we will see more tolerance? (I bloody hope not).

Finally, for the first time in 5 years I rode with Clemo today. The Peloton’s favourite chippy and the most upright tax-paying citizen this country has seen has rediscovered his cycling mojo and is out on his bike.

Clemo and Amesy in Majorca fo G20?  For the fist time in this edition, I’m not taking the piss.

Ride safely mon fuckerettes.

Hoppo

[capaldisrighteyebrow]

Unorthodox Auto Repair - A Reylo Fic

That time this video came up in chat and @mnemehoshiko made me have cracky Reylo thoughts about fixing car dents with dildos.Thanks to @spacedarcy for reading this over and helping me fix that pesky problem!

Links: FF | AO3 (ETA: Link added!)

Rey has a split second to make her choice: take the fall or chance an impact. If she swerves now, she'll have to lay down the 200 kilogram bike—not the best option under any circumstance, but a full-blown Bad Idea when sporting a mini dress and heels instead of proper leathers and boots. Damn Rose and her insistence that her bachelorette party should feel like Vegas despite taking place at the Tico family farm.

Option two doesn't give her much better odds: if she brakes now, she may not have the distance to spare before hitting the jackass sitting at the crossroads without so much as parking lights. Her only saving grace is that her heels paired with the unfamiliar country roads have tempered her lead foot. She's kept the engine between her thighs at an even purr instead of coaxing it to the delicious growl she loves to hear, because she does want to show up to Finn's wedding alive come morning.

Gritting her teeth, Rey makes her choice.

In the Porsche's insulated cabin, he almost doesn't hear the screeching tires. By the time he does, it's too late. The car lurches forward from the hit, though it only moves a few inches while parked. Ben scrambles up from his reclined seat, the stars he was observing through the windshield utterly forgotten, and throws open the door.

This night just keeps getting better and better, he thinks sourly. First, the disastrous corporate banquet; now, this.

The air smells like burnt rubber as he circles round to the back of the car. An accented voice scares away the songs of nearby nocturnal creatures concealed in the cornfields surrounding the intersection.

"Shit," the voice exclaims as the girl flips up her visor and starts to remove her helmet with shaky hands. "Fuck."

He casts a cursory glance over the two vehicles. The headlight of the motorcycle shines on his back end, the only light for miles and miles just inches from his bumper. There's a dent, but nothing looks cracked or scratched on his end; her bike's front wheel didn't fare as well. The popped tire sags, making it look like the aging Triumph is bowing to his car.

Insurance details can be hashed out after manners have been met. "Are you okay?"

She swings her right leg backward, dismounting the bike. The black fabric bunched at her hips falls down to her upper thighs, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't take in how much skin stretches between the hem and her black pumps. Legs. Legs for days. Toned and smooth and. . .the absolute last thing he should be focusing on right now.

"I didn't ask to see my life flash before my eyes," the girl answers after running her hands over the front of her leather jacket and up again to grip the back of her neck, "but yeah, I'm fine."

Now that manners are dispensed with, his voice takes on a harder edge, "Are you drunk?"

"I've had drinks," she throws back, "but that's not the problem."

He holds the shock of anger in his fists, squeezing it up his arms and through his neck, before finally gritting it out around his teeth. "You rear-ended my car."

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, kicking up dust from the road as she steps toward him, an accusatory finger pointed at the loosened knot of his tie. "I bumped into your black car that didn't have any fucking lights on in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere at night," she counters. "If anyone was a hazard on the road, it was you."

He's both impressed and horrified by her words. The sharks he swims with usually conceal their teeth around him; seeing them bared and ready to bite is oddly refreshing. "Are you always this eloquent at three in the morning?"

"Only when my best friend is getting married tomorrow, and his fiance will kill me if I end up in jail," the girl goes on.

"I didn't say I was going to call the cops," Ben remarks. He has every right to. Taking his car in to be looked at by the dealer for underlying damage will cost him more than what her bike is worth. Still. . .the truth she hit upon nags at him: he is at least partially responsible for the accident. Parking at an intersection without hazards—even on a back road no one should be cruising through on a still-dark Saturday morning—wasn't the best choice on his end.

Her eyes snap up to his, hopeful. "You mean that?"

Ben groans inwardly. Considering the age of her bike and the sudden calmness in her tone, he assumes it means she has no insurance. He doesn't care much; money has never been a concern on his radar. But her bike is inoperable, if not totaled. How is she going to get it fixed without coverage? What would have happened had she been thrown from the bike and injured?

He puts aside the what-ifs to focus on the present. His jaw eats around the lie as his hand waves off the entire accident, willing to sweep it under the proverbial rug seeing as neither of them are hurt. "There's no damage."

Her eyes narrow. "Are you blind? Or do you really not see that dent?"

"It's nothing major," he corrects.

She's already shaking her head at him, not accepting his words even though she's the one that benefits from him not making a fuss. This girl seems determined to hold on to something he's ready to move past, to forget.

She crouches next to his bumper, hands smoothing over the impact site, whispering her apologies. "I'm so sorry, gorgeous. I'm gonna fix you up in no time."

"Are you talking to my—?"

"Shh," she hisses. "Let me think. I can get this dent out. I know I can."

She'd give anything to have her tools. Normally, she keeps the essentials in her saddlebag at all times, but she'd needed the space to transport party supplies tonight. For a moment she considers offering to fix the dent at her shop on Monday—even goes so far as to visualize the sleek, black 911 model nestled into the single station she calls a garage—but brushes off the thought.

The G-Man, whom she's upgraded from jackass due to his offer to forego a paper trail, would probably laugh at such an offer. He's dressed in navy Tom Ford pants and a tailored white shirt that knows every curve of muscle in his upper arms and chest intimately. This is the kind of man who doesn't work for the government so much as is the government. He doesn't come to businesses that break half a dozen OSHA laws unless he's there to give a citation.

Better not to invite trouble, Rey agrees with herself. Even so, she can't leave his beautiful Porsche looking like this. If only I had something with suction. . .

"Ah!" she cries, startling his spine straight in her eureka moment. Spinning dangerously on her heels, she bends over to dig through her saddlebag. It's a crazy idea, but the physics of it should be the same no matter if the pull is coming from a traditional suction cup or from the more unorthodox tool she has on hand thanks to Rose and her ridiculous party favors.

Her hand finally closes around the soft shaft of silicone and she whips it out into the country air.

At first, Ben isn't sure he's seeing what he's seeing. It can't possibly be that.

She straightens and holds the electric blue dildo aloft like it's some award. A delighted laugh at her ingenuity turns into a fit of giggles as she considers the obscenely large phallus, pressing the base to her hand several times as if testing it out. Whatever simulation she's running, it passes. "This should do the trick."

He intercedes before she can reach his vehicle. "Wait," he tells her, "You're going to fix my car with a. . .with that?"

Her smile falters slightly as she looks from him to the intimate toy—how anything so imposing can be called a toy, he can't begin to fathom. Flipping the dildo so she's holding the tip, she shows him the end with the concave cup. "It's just like a plunger," she explains. "It'll work just fine. These things have some incredible suction."

He's at a loss for words, but his eyebrows must speak for him because her eyes cringe shut and she runs her tongue along her bottom lip. "Not that I would know," she mutters, clearing her throat.

"This really isn't necessary," he protests. "I can have a mechanic work it out tomorrow."

"I am a mechanic," she returns with a proud smile. "And one that won't charge you a fucking pound of flesh for an easy fix."

Without another word, she brushes past him and kneels down on the road, clenching her jaw against the bite of the asphalt on her bare knees.

"It's just. . ." he begins again, gesturing at the thing he can't seem to name without his cheeks threatening to catch fire. "Why do you even have it?"

She shrugs as she lines up the base of the dildo with the center of the dent. The thing is so large that even her two hands don't cover all of it. "It's from the party. No need to worry," she adds, "I haven't used it yet."

Rey remembers learning about spontaneous human combustion in school and thinks it might be happening to her right now, starting at her ears. Haven't used it yet? she repeats to herself with an internal groan she wonders if he can hear. You don't plan on using it at all, Rey. It was a gag gift.

She goes silent with embarrassment and hopes he thinks she's concentrating on her task. There's not a chance in hell that she can meet his eyes right now to check. Instead, she secures her hold around the dildo and presses it firmly against the dent. She feels the air compress beneath it, gives the dildo a slight twist to lock it in place, and then yanks back with a determined pull.

The dent pops out with a hollow thunk, and it's over. Easy, peasy. She's probably just saved him a grand with a five second job.

His remark is a dumbfounded whisper: "I can't believe that worked."

She's still flushed from her previous comment, but she can't help grinning at the skeptic. "I said I could fix it. I'm good at fixing things. Always have been."

"Even with your skills," he starts, "I don't think there's a way you can fix that tonight."

She follows his gaze to her busted front tire, and Rey scrunches her nose at the sight. It really is a miracle that she wasn't bucked from her seat when the rear of the bike popped up. Having opted for two wheels all her life, Rey's had her fair share of scary situations and taken one or two trips to the ER; tonight marks the first time she's ever been truly afraid of not walking away.

"I'll have to call for an Uber," she remarks, tucking the dildo under her arm to retrieve her phone. "Finn will give me a tow to my shop in the morning."

As she unzips a pocket on her leather jacket and removes her phone, Ben scuffs the asphalt with his cap-toe Oxfords. Getting an Uber to come all the way out here at this hour is going to take forever and cost her an arm and leg. He would extend an offer to drive her home, but he can't think of a way to express it without coming off sounding like a creep. They are relative strangers, after all. He doesn't even know her name.

"I'll wait with you," he says instead, leaning against the side of his car and tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants. "It's the least I can do."

"You might be out here until dawn," she comments as she scrolls through the app to contact a driver.

"I insist."

Her thumbs stop moving across the screen. The girl peers up at him, cocking her head to the side. "If you're willing to wait that long, why not just give me a lift?"

Ben thanks the stars that she is the one who asks, and he pushes away from the vehicle. "I'd be happy to, if you're comfortable with that."

She looks from him to the car, an odd sense of longing in her glance. In the eyes of a mechanic, the sleek Porsche must be an awfully big temptation. The hunger in her gaze isn't focused on him, that's for sure. He fleetingly wonders if it's possible to be jealous of his own car.

"On one condition," she states, then changes her mind, "No, two."

Tentatively, he nods in agreement. He did say he wants her to be comfortable with him driving her home. "Make your demands."

"Show me your ID."

Of all the things she could have said, that isn't what he anticipated. "My what?"

"Your license," she repeats. "I don't make a habit of getting into cars with men at three AM. You could be a serial killer."

His eyes go wide and his jaw slack in mild horror—these are the conclusions women leap to?—but he's already digging into his back pocket for his wallet. In a moment, he produces it and slips his driver's license out of the clear window, holding it out to her between two fingers while questioning her logic, "Even if I was out to kidnap beautiful women, how would having my license keep you safe?"

She shrugs, snapping a picture of it and tapping out a message he presumes she's sending to a friend. "It wouldn't," she answers, "but at least if I go missing, the police will know where to look first."

"A bit morbid, don't you think?"

"I like to think of it as pragmatic," she responds, finally reading his name from the card, "Ben Solo."

He watches the way her mouth forms his name, how her pink lips kiss together before curving around the vowels. "What's your other condition?" he inquires as he plucks his ID from her hand.

She moves past him and ghosts her free hand an inch over the car's shell, headed for the passenger side door, as she makes her second request: "I want to hear her roar. I may never get the chance to ride in one of these again, and. . .it'll kill me if I don't find out what she can do."

He mirrors her movements as she speaks, meeting her on the opposite side of the car. He was right about the hungry look in her eyes as they feasted upon his car. "I think I can make that happen," he agrees with a wide grin, adding, "But he prefers to be called 'Kylo.'"

"Ben and Kylo," she repeats with a smile. "We had a rough start, but I'm glad to have met you both. I'm Rey."

[seriouslyhooked]

Scoring Your Love (Part 10/?)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six,Part Seven, Part Eight. Story also on FF here and AO3 here. Banner by the wonderful @timetravelandfairytales

Modern AU where Killian is a world famous soccer star who has hit rock bottom and been sentenced to the place where ‘football’ legends go to die – America. While here he crosses paths with Emma, an up and coming musician and film scorer who challenges everything he thought he knew and makes him want more than the game he’s always loved. Will be filled with fluff for days, and eventually rated M.

A/N: Hello again, friends! So as promised we finally get to the M rating in this chapter, but we also get another important check in before then. I mean come on, you didn’t think I was just going to forget about Liam, did you? Well he’ll make an appearance of sorts in this chapter, and though we’ll end in my usual fluffy place, we’re sowing some seeds of intrigue for later. Hope you all enjoy and thanks so much for reading!

In all his years playing in the professional leagues, Killian had managed the intensity and the strange schedules of a sportsman’s life better than most of his fellow teammates.

To be sure there were some more destructive habits he had formed, drinking a bit too much, surrounding himself with the kind of people who were interested just in the fame and the fortune, but on the whole he hadn’t fallen victim to the same bad moods that most other men did. Leaving home for so long and being apart from family took a toll on anybody, but Killian had never felt he was leaving too much behind. Since it was only ever Liam who he had as a given in his life, and since his brother was also his manager and as such was on the road with him more often than not, Killian didn’t feel the weight of separation.

Now, however, things were changing. One might argue it was because he was on the American circuit and his new games weren’t in enthralling places like Paris or Milan, but in small suburbs outside cities he’d never thought to see. Yet Killian knew that the real reason for the change was simpler than that. The problem was home – or rather Los Angeles – had a certain person in residence who did not get to come on these trips with him, and the more he got to know Emma Swan, the harder it was to take these jaunts out on the road for the sake of a game. It was likely crazy to feel this way, but Killian wouldn’t lie to himself. He missed Emma when he was gone, and finally he understood all that regret other more settled teammates had been feeling all these years.

It was of great comfort to him then that tonight he was back at his place in LA once more. Minutes ago he’d said goodbye to Tiny down stairs and now Killian was filled with anticipation and a need to get things going. He could do with a shower straight away, and food would probably be a good thing this time of night when he’d had none so far, but any unpacking could wait until morning. Right now Killian was hoping to speed things up as much as he could to get to Emma. He pulled out his phone and started to craft a text seeing if she was still up. It wasn’t too late yet, and he knew from their conversations this morning that she didn’t have any early morning commitments tomorrow, but he’d hate to call and disturb her if her plans had changed. Unfortunately just as he was about to press send on the text, a call came in disrupting him. A picture of his brother and Liam’s name appeared on the screen and Killian groaned at the interruption, but decided to answer in the hopes of conducting a speedy conversation.

“Liam, I’m sorry I haven’t checked in the past few days, but I’m actually just -,”

“You’re not seriously blowing me off are you, Killian?” his brother asked from where he was half a world away, and though to others it might sound a bit standoffish, Killian could sense his brother was actually in good humor. He could envision the smirk Liam had going there across the pond, and he was glad things had started to calm between them since Killian was first shipped off to the states. “It’s been a whole week at this point.”

“Aye, it’s bad form to be dodging my manager, I know,” Killian agreed.

“Ha! Your manager – I’m your brother first Killian, as you well know. Question is, what’s got you so busy. You’re ‘on a roll’ as they say over there. Stats are looking good and there’s still a buzz about you over here. But are the States so entirely exhausting that you can’t call your family?”

“Not quite,” Killian said with a smile of his own as he looked about his apartment figuring he could kill two birds with one stone. He could straighten up a bit on the off chance Emma could come here later and also touch base with his brother.

“So what is it then?” Liam asked and Killian hesitated, not because he had any shame over his relationship with Emma. On the contrary, he was thrilled that the two of them were progressing as they were. Instead his worry came from Liam’s potential reaction, and that worry was proved of merit when Liam spoke again. “Oh for fuck’s sake, tell me it’s not some woman.”

“Liam -,” Killian wanted to immediately correct his brother’s resentfulness and assure him Emma was different and unlike anyone he’d known before, but he didn’t have the chance with Liam fully blowing up at the realization.

“God, I knew this ‘new leaf’ was too good to be true! Here I am campaigning for you, working my arse off to get your image back where it needs to be for a proper team return, and you’re shagging some random American woman and throwing it all away!”

“I’m not throwing anything away. And she’s not just some woman,” Killian growled back, his hand balling into a fist and his body tightening in anger at his brother’s harsh iterations.

“Oh I bet. If you’ve glommed on to her she’s bound to be a total disaster,” Liam said haughtily. “Let me guess: she’s a great lay right? But with her sexual abilities there’s always some kind of rubbish. My bet its either a fully-stunted personality or some sort of fucked up gold-digging ambitions. Am I right?”

“No you aren’t bloody right, and I’m telling you Liam if you don’t stop talking about Emma that way you will regret it.”

“Oh Emma is it?”

“Aye, Emma,” Killian said, releasing a breath and trying to be the bigger person here. He could admit that he had made bad choices in the past, and the fall out of those choices had made Liam’s life and job no doubt more complicated. Rationally Killian knew that he was the one the burden fell on to be the bigger person, but it was difficult when his elder brother was giving in to such theatrics. They both knew Killian hadn’t been in the habit of sleeping with every eligible lady in the whole United Kingdom, that was all a part of his unearned reputation, but hashing that point out in this moment would do nothing. What needed to be said was of an entirely different nature. “I hadn’t planned to get into this just now, I was hoping to introduce the two of you when you came in a few months so you could see that she’s different. She’s everything.”

“Everything? Christ, Killian, she’s just a woman!”

“No, she’s the woman, brother,” Killian said aggressively, and then it dawned on him – this wasn’t worth his time. If Liam was coming at this with such combative, head-strong energy he was never going to listen. As such they were just moving towards a larger fight, a bigger blow out with more hurt along the way. It would be better to shut it down now and deal with the fall out later, at least that way the whole night might not be ruined and he might yet get to see Emma. “You know what, let’s just call and end to this. It’s been a long day, and I’m not interested in whatever judgment you’ve got rattling around in your brain right now. You don’t know Emma, Liam. You don’t know us together. Hell you don’t even really know me anymore. So let’s just say I’ll call you in a week, or better yet you can email me any business particulars and I’ll see you when I see you.”

Killian ended the call before Liam could respond and turned his phone on the ‘do not disturb’ setting. Was it rude? Yes, but it felt warranted under the circumstances. He didn’t need that kind of negativity in his life, and when his brother felt a little more compassionate and a little more interested in trusting Killian’s judgment they’d speak again. For now, Killian returned once more to the text he was about to send Emma only to hear a knock at the door. Now who could that be this time of night?

“Can I help you?” Killian asked as he opened the door to his apartment. A young man with a bike stood before him and the kid nodded, handing Killian a package and a tablet for a signature.

“Delivery for Jones.”

“Right. Thanks, mate,” Killian said as he accepted. He shut the door behind him and examined the parcel. He knew he hadn’t ordered anything but when he saw the return address he grinned. It was from Emma. But what could it be?

Opening it up Killian discovered it was of all things a cassette tape and an accompanying player. Thank God she’d thought to include that last part because he certainly didn’t have one, but before he could listen he had to search for a note. He found a short one attached and read it as quick as he could.

‘This song wouldn’t exist without us.’

Killian felt his pulse quickening as he maneuvered the tape out of its holder and into the player, his conversation with his brother all but forgotten. It was a Walkman style set up, something straight out of the 90s but the fun of the nostalgia was undeniable. He was already in the best mood possible by the time he had the headphones on, but then he pressed play on the tape and he was awed into something else. 

The music that came through the device and into his ears was unexpected but brilliant. It moved him in a way he truly hadn’t seen coming. This was no mixtape of throwback songs, this was something new, something bold, and something truly remarkable. Killian was certain it was one of Emma’s own compositions, and he stood there surrounded by the essence of her music trying to fathom how one person could have such talent. Too soon the song came to an end, but just as Killian was about to hit rewind to play it again Emma’s voice flittered through the air giving the name of the song, ‘Ready for You,’ and the intended scene it should go with on the series she was working on with Tiana.

Another realization dawned at that part, not just from the title, but from the purpose of the song as well. He’d been speaking with Emma on and off all week about the orchestrations she needed to work on, and one of them was the theme for one of the show’s heroines and her love interest. According to Emma the two characters (neither of which were played by Ruby) were ‘endgame,’ and he was now sworn to secrecy because no one knew of that except for Emma and Tiana. So to have Emma saying that it was their relationship that sparked this kind of music with this intended meaning… well it was just about the clearest way he could think for Emma to show him that she was in fact ready for the next step between them.

Understanding now what Emma’s intention must have been Killian moved swiftly, abandoning his original plans and throwing on his leather jacket once more. He grabbed his phone, debating as he walked to the doorway whether or not he should call Emma on the way. Such debate was not actually needed, however, because when he opened the door again he very nearly ran into the woman he was trying to get to in such a haste.

“Emma,” he declared, shocked that she would be here but so bloody grateful he couldn’t find the words.

“Hey. I was hoping you were back by now, and I got the delivery receipt for the package, but I didn’t think you would have plans already,” Emma said as she took in his appearance that was ready for departure. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I’ll just -,”

Not wanting Emma to doubt even for a moment that he was thrilled she had come, Killian pulled her to him and kissed her out there in the hallway. He felt her wariness slip away the instant their lips met and through some sort of coordination he couldn’t actively control he maneuvered them both inside of his apartment. Words weren’t needed as he got them inside and pushed Emma against the now closed door, his body fueled by the feel of hers beneath him and the way she held on to him like she loathed the very thought of being parted. There was no space between them, no end to the passion in sight, but Killian wanted one last affirmation before they took this final plunge.

“Stay with me tonight, love,” he whispered as his mouth remained just inches from hers. He watched her eyes open, the jade color now darkened from the exchange they’d just had but they lit with the smile she shared at his request.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

With her approval Killian locked the door and now the decision wasn’t one of how far to go but just exactly how to play it. He’d fantasized about this almost since their first meeting, concocted at least a hundred scenarios in his head and imagined each corner of this apartment as having some kind of potential, but the first time he was truly with Emma, Killian knew it had to be in bed. That wasn’t to say they were in any kind of rush though, and the build up, of which he was planning quite a lot, could happen anywhere she damn well pleased.

Emma, meanwhile, had no problem indicating what she wanted. She was unwilling to break away from him, kissing him surely as she had been, both of their hands roaming, leaving trails that inspired more hunger along the way. It was as if they were famished for the connection and too long denied the promise of this part of their chemistry. In no time at all Emma had managed to rid Killian of his jacket and most of the buttons on his shirt while also leading them to the living room. She was making good time, trying to tear away the layers that separated them until they were all gone, but it seemed it wasn’t fast enough, as Emma looked at him and let out a frustrated sigh of air.

“Something wrong, Swan?” Killian asked with a grin, knowing full well there was nothing the world over that could possibly be calculated as amiss when he and Emma were like this. No, her frustration was all of a sexual nature, and he watched as his words, rough from the need he had for her, washed over her skin and sent a shiver through her.

“This is taking too long,” she said with what might have been considered a pout and Killian chuckled as they moved in through the kitchen and come up against the counter. Then he surprised her by spinning her in his embrace and coming right up behind her, his hands clasped on her waist to pull her back. 

Killian pushed her blonde hair over her shoulder, his lips trailing down from her ear lobe and lower, finding a spot at her neck he’d noticed that she was sensitive at before. He took slow, torturous care of riling her up in a way that had her wanting all the more, his hands moving across the delicate dress that clung to her figure. He knew in his heart she’d worn this for him, in the hopes of pushing things further tonight, and he had no more ability to resist. This scrap of red silk was beautiful, but it couldn’t compare to the woman underneath and Killian was ready to reveal his prize. He unzipped it with just enough patience to tease them both and then he let the garment fall as he pushed the straps off her bared shoulders.

“We have all night, Emma,” he assured her as his fingertips traced her now mostly naked flesh. “And far longer too, as you well know.”

Killian watched the harsh swallow that came at his words, but Emma wasn’t running from his actions or his words. Instead she turned back around in his arms and took control back once more, pulling him in for another needy kiss that he caved into immediately. So much for slowing this down, Killian thought to himself. Now Emma was even more set on finding release, and he was right there with her. 

“I know we have time,” Emma said when they came up for air again and her eyes locked on his, her hand trailing down to the button of his slacks, grazing down his bare chest and abs in the process and making his already undeniable ache to have her grow. “And trust me, I’m happy for it. But we’ve already waited so long… I don’t think I can stand to wait anymore. I need you, Killian. I need you now.”

What more was there to say? When the woman he loved made her wants and wishes known it was Killian’s job to see to it that he did everything he could to procure them for her. It was in no way a hardship given how much he wanted her as well, and besides, they could have the slow and steady seduction he’d anticipated later. Far, far later after he’d wrung out every last drop of passion from her tonight.

They hurried back to his room, both of them of the same mind this time and now words weren’t needed any more. Their remaining clothes were stripped away, and by the time they’d hit the bed they were both beyond rational planning or design. This was pure instinct, and all Killian could think was that he had to make her come, had to satisfy every last desire his Swan could have. He knew he was on his way to accomplishing that as he moved above her, his lips tracing down her body past the tender peaks of her breasts, over the gentle swell of her stomach, and down to the space between her thighs that had been driving him mad for weeks.

“Killian.”

Emma said his name not in warning or in censure but as a sigh of need. His eyes flicked back up to hers and he saw the nearly wild appearance that had settled in them. Lust had consumed her, and Killian had known as much without even looking. Every sound, every movement that came from Emma told him exactly what she wanted, and he was nothing if not persistent when it came to reading the signs. Because of this he knew that even as she pleaded for him to sate her desire immediately, she actually wanted just a touch more anticipation. He bit lightly at her inner thigh, feeling her jump and then shake underneath the soothing of his tongue after. He did the same thing to the other side, moving closer to her sex, and only after a few more heartbeats did he give in, tasting her on his tongue as she let herself go to the sensations.

It was an out of body experience to know he was giving Emma so much all at once. Nothing could compare to it, and he didn’t even think to try and draw connections. This was already so much more than a simple shag; it was intimacy designed with meaning and with purpose. Every flick of his tongue, every suck, every kiss, was all done in the name of seeing Emma reach heaven itself, but when she finally fell into the ecstasy she was seeking it was Killian who was flush with fulfillment. It became clear that this was rapidly becoming an addiction, and as he kissed his way back up her body and came above her, looking at the pink that had crept into her cheeks and the satisfaction that swam about her gaze, Killian realized there would be no coming back from Emma Swan. This woman had run away with his heart completely and he was fundamentally changed from knowing and loving her.

Their tender moment was short lived however, for Emma had sacrificed none of her energy in finding her enjoyment. Indeed she surprised him, switching their positions and undertaking a perusal of her own that left him reeling. Damn she was a siren, a bloody minx who was hell bent on riling him to a state that would be unforgiveable, but how could he blamed when she had her mouth on him? It was sublime and indescribable, but when he was just at the edge of falling apart himself he stopped her and took back the reins once more. The time for waiting was over. All he could think about was filling her, sheathing himself inside her and never turning back.

“Fuck,” he grunted to himself as he paused just before taking what they both wanted.

“That’s kind of the idea,” Emma said with a laugh that turned into a slight moan from her still lingering desire. “What’s the hold up here, Jones?”

“I left the condoms on the counter. Just a minute, love.” He moved to get them but Emma held tighter and shook her head.

“You don’t have to. I’m on the pill.”

Holy shit, he didn’t know what to say to that and his hard length jerked at the words. The thought of being with Emma without a barrier was enough to drive him mad. If things were already blindingly glorious between them, what indescribable ecstasy would be procured from taking her bare?

“Are you sure, Emma? I’m clean of course. Just had my physicals with the new team doctors, and I’ve never actually gone without…”

“Me either,” Emma replied softly as her hand came to brush some of his hair from his forehead. “But I want to. With you.”

Since that want was of a fully mutual variety Killian offered no rebuttal, only giving in and taking what they both were craving so desperately. The moment he filled her was too fantastic to put to words, and he could have stayed there forever if Emma hadn’t begged him to move. The rhythm they set was perfection itself, crafted from a bond needed between two people that couldn’t ever be contrived. It made the claims of stories and fairytales, the ones about soul mates and perfect matches seem a little more realistic, for surely this could never be this way with another. This love he felt for Emma was cosmic, causing a shift Killian swore he could feel down to his bones, but when it came to an end and they both cried out in relief, it was the aftermath that truly took his breath away.

Holding onto Emma and having her in his arms cuddled beside him was a luxury he knew she rarely bestowed on others. Emma was guarded, cautious, and careful with her heart. She had been wary at the start, and with good reason, but as weeks went on Emma admitted that getting close to people always scared her. Truth be told Killian had often felt the same way. Love was a means of getting hurt, a fanciful notion that distracted from the game and never worked out in the end, but his old cynical notions of love no longer held water. For in this moment there was no way to deny what was between them. Tonight both Emma and Killian had shed the last pieces of doubt and of caution, and now they were truly in this together.

“So that was…” Emma paused as her fingers traced over his chest and a smile bloomed upon her lips. “Definitely worth waiting for.”

“On that we most certainly agree, love,” Killian said happily, seeing the call of sleep washing over Emma and feeling a similar tug into slumber himself.

“And I’m waking you up in a few hours for more,” she joked with a yawn. “You promised, no more waiting.”

“Aye, Swan. No more waiting. Not any more.”

He pressed a final kiss to the crown of her head, and a few moments later, as sleep finally claimed them both, Killian fell asleep smiling, knowing that life held so much promise now that he had Emma. And no matter what came next, and no matter where their paths might lead, Killian would do whatever it took to keep them like this – happy, connected, and together – for now and for always.

Post-Note: So there we have it. Another chapter come and gone and we find our couple just about in the happiest spot they can be. Rest assured this story, like all my stories so far, intends to give CS truly happy situations, and while there will be some bumps in the road ahead, it’s smooth sailing for the time being. Anyway I thank you all so much for reading, commenting, and messaging me! Your enthusiasm has been wonderful and I love hearing your thoughts. Hope you have a great rest of your weekend and thanks for being fabulous!

[himbowelsh]

Luz is a mad driver right? But what about the others! What kind of drivers are they? What are your headcanons? I mean you would think Dick is a proper driver but i remember a scene where they were driving in the woods and Lew looked like he was going to fall out of the jeep tho he tried to look cool 😂

Richard Winters

okay, to start with, dick loves driving.

he loves it! it’s fun, it’s liberating, it’s exciting, and he’s able to be a little adventurous.

he is very adventurous.

dick has two driving modes -- overly cautious (“it’s a stop sign, you have to come to a full stop, you have to wait, it says STOP for a reason”) or has never heard the word caution in his life (“the light is yellow, not red. time to floor it.”)

dick isn’t a bad driver, but you never know what to expect with him. riding with him is always an adventure.

Lewis Nixon

lew has nearly hit five people

like. not cars. PEOPLE.

he wasn’t even drunk (he has an awful track record in p much everything alcohol-related, but he’s never once driven drunk). he just... doesn’t look sometimes.

he does his best.

he is, however, way more predictable than winters. he doesn’t take unnecessary risks on the road, and he doesn’t make his passengers anxious. he’s a better driver, tbh, as long as his head’s in the game.

Carwood Lipton

lip could be a driving teacher, okay? he’s a really good driver.

he keeps his head, he stays calm, and he’s vigilant on the roads. he knows what he’s doing.

everyone wants to drive with lip. he has a really nice jeep -- it’s roomy, comfortable, smells nice, and drives smoothly even on dirt roads. lip is the best driver.

Ron Speirs

ron enjoys driving just as much as dick. ron is also, somehow, even more unpredictable than dick.

he can usually keep himself from speeding, and obeys the rules of the road. he’s not a reckless driver, and not unsafe by any means, because he loves his car. ron has a passion for cars, and he loves his baby.

somehow, he has never gotten a ticket??? like?? no one knows how he does it.

okay, ron chases people. if they piss him off, he will literally chase them.

he has gotten out of his car and chased people on foot.

ron does not have road rage, but god help anyone who tries to come at him.

may or may not have a legal license, but that’s not about to stop him.

Harry Welsh

harry is kind of a speed demon

seriously, no one wants to drive with him. 

he just... he gets excited. he has places to be, people to meet, and everyone on the road is just so SLOW. he gets road-rage sometimes, and has gotten into more than a few arguments with cops while getting ticketed.

harry is the one to eventually teach his and kitty’s son how to drive. and harry’s a teacher, okay, so he knows how to deal with nervous teenagers, so you’d think he’d be real good at it

he’s not. he freaks out. he doesn’t start yelling (he’s never been that sort of dad) but he gets PANICKY and makes his kid so nervous that the car stops in the middle of the road

(kitty has to take over. she’s a much better driving teacher than harry.)

George Luz

basically

he’s trying his best okay but sweet jesus

don’t get in a car with george luz

Joe Toye

road rage incarnate

joe likes to think he’s a very safe driver, but he’s... he’s not. he does his best but he just isn’t.

he gets way too worked up. it’s kind of funny hearing him yell at people from behind the wheel. he monologues. he snarls like an angry badger.

he’s gotten into races before. people piss him off and he just -- goes for it.

“oh, you wanna go, jackass? is this really how you wanna do it? fuckin’ -- fine. eat my dust!”

Bill Guarnere

road rage 2.0 - revenge of the obsolete swear words

bill likes to do the driving whenever they’re going somewhere, and he’s honestly a good driver. he just... gets frustrated really, really easily.

he’ll curse anyone out. he’ll curse your mom out. he’ll curse himself out.

he’s the type of guy who cheers on people who try fighting in the middle of the street, just for the hell of it. well, he’ll curse at them for being idiots, but cheer them on in the same breath.

nothing stops bill, okay? he’s driven 20 miles on two blown out tires. he one crashed into a tree, and drove home with half the tree still embedded in his car. HE HAS ONE LEG AND HES STILL DRIVING.

u wanna get bill guarnere off the road? haha good luck.

Babe Heffron

once again he tries his best

this does not mean he knows what he’s doing

he’s an anxious driver. he doesn’t mean to be, and he’ll deny it if anyone says anything, but he gets nervous, okay? people on the road are idiots. he doesn’t like driving, and he’ll only do it if bill or gene isn’t willing to cart him around.

will not hesitate to yell out the window at dumb drivers, but won’t actually fight anyone himself

Eugene Roe

boy has nerves of steel, ok

he does not get mad, and he definitely doesn’t lose his cool on the road. he knows his car inside and out, and he knows a surprising amount about mechanics. he takes good care of his girl.

the type of person to name his car. the ancient convertible he has is named Lucy.

gene is the sort of person you want to drive with.

David Webster

the “hey, can you give me a ride?” friend

like, everybody hates him. if they know web has plans to go somewhere one day, they also know he won’t think about transport until the last minute. his friends will actively avoid answering their phones if they see him calling, because they don’t want to be roped into giving him a ride.

(he doesn’t even give gas money, ffs)

getting your license is just a lot of effort, okay? and driving makes him nervous anyway. web has a bike. he has feet. he has JOE.

joe is pretty much web’s chauffeur most of the time. he doesn’t know how this happened, but he’ll bitch about it every chance he gets.

Joe Liebgott

joe knows how to freakin’ drive, okay?

he could have been a pro racecar driver, but decided to aim for taxis instead. he likes cars enough, and he’s a good enough driver. he’s in his element when he’s on the road.

he’s just the right combination of careful and risky. plus he’s a fast driver -- he gets where he needs to go. 

Don Malarkey

okay, who gave him a car??? who???

malarkey has stolen cars. he’s a speed demon. he races people for fun.

malark does’t know what he’s doing.

he has such a track record of getting tickets that it’s amazing he hasn’t actually gone to jail by now. (he’s really good about paying them off, and he’s got a few police officer friends)

still this man should probably not be on the road. every ride is a joyride for him.

Skip Muck

a very, very cautious driver, believe it or not.

road time is not playtime. malarkey’s the joyrider. skip has driven a carpool for his little sister and her friends since he was sixteen. he doesn’t mess around.

he doesn’t get road rage, but he will rant at other unsafe drivers a little bit. no yelling, though, because he hates people who do that.

he’s the one who teaches his little sister to drive, and he’s about the most patient teacher ever.

[sage-nebula]

Pokemon Anime!

Misty --- Predictable, I know, but I love Misty and probably always well. I love how well-rounded and multifaceted she is, and how she’s a tomboy who still likes and embraces traditionally feminine things without that ever taking away from her character or being portrayed negatively. She can like traipsing through the wilderness and dressing in shorts and a tanktop most of the time (+ keeping her hair short and in a messy ponytail), but she can also like dressing up sometimes, can love romance and romantic things, can really, really want a set of princess dolls. Plus, I mean, Misty kicks a lot of ass whenever the OS gives her the time to shine (or when she comes back in AG---that gyarados *_*), so that’s always a plus, too.

Casey --- Casey was a minor character, and she was never allowed to be a proper rival for Ash (A CRIME), but I really loved her! Her passion for baseball and her desire to form a team around yellow and black stripes to represent her favorite team (and giving her chikorita/bayleef/meganium a headband to represent that, so cute) was adorable, and honestly I feel like she had a lot of similarities to Ash, which is probably why they jived so well (but also clashed at times). Casey was tons of fun and I honestly wish we had gotten to see more of her. (I also headcanon that she’s the Johto Champion someday, especially since her design is so similar to Kris.)

Iris --- DRAGON PRINCESS. I admittedly haven’t seen all of BW, but I loved Iris in the games and I love what I’ve seen of her anime incarnation, too. That she’s a wild child who swings through the trees is fun as hell, as is the fact that she teases and plays around with Ash (and no, her calling him “a little kid” isn’t a bad thing, ffs, she’s just teasing!). I love that she has a love for dragons, of course, as well as a special connection with them, that her title of “The Girl Who Understands the Hearts of Dragons” isn’t just fancy wording, it’s something that’s a core part of her character and development. Iris is great, and she deserved a better ending / deserves more love than she got / gets.

Dawn --- Like with Iris, I haven’t seen all of DP, but I really love Dawn from what we’ve seen of her. I love her friendship with Ash and think it’s completely adorable (one of my favorite scenes is her cameo in DP, when she’s ducking around behind Ash, smothering her laughter as he keeps trying to turn around to find out who’s tapping his shoulder, and then she surprises him with a highfive once he finally faces her), and I also love how sassy she can be at times (such as when she asks Paul if he has seen Ash and Brock, and he’s like, “ugh, not you too,” and she pulls this face and is like, “Well, excuse me for living!” fsafsdsdjdsa TELL HIM, DAWN). I also really like that we got to see Dawn have a full arc, that she didn’t succeed at Contests right away, that her repeated failures really got to her until she regained her self-confidence, worked hard, and earned her ribbons. Dawn was great, and deserves her status as co-lead of the DP saga. (Also, it’s cool that she got to be co-lead---we haven’t had a female character with that status before or since.)

Jessie --- I was really, really torn on who to give spot five to, and to be honest I almost gave it to May (whom I also love, don’t get me wrong)---but ultimately, I can’t leave out Jessie, I just can’t. The TRio is fantastic, and Jessie is a large part of why the TRio is fantastic, especially since she actually has a fleshed out backstory that contributes to her characterization. From growing up poor and having “snowgasbords” because her mother couldn’t afford real food in the winter (and so they just pretended with snow), to trying to become a nurse but accidentally enrolling in the Pokémon Nursing School instead, to flunking out of Pokémon Tech, to joining a bike gang . . . Jessie has had a rough life. And when you consider that her mother was a Rocket as well, it’s not surprising that Jessie ended up where she did despite her attempts at a legitimate career. And I mean, Jessie’s not unhappy now! There are times when she still tries to quit, tries to be more legit, tries to marry some character of the day, whatever. She does Contests, she’s tried Showcases. She clearly has found a life partner in James, and she’s proud of her work with Team Rocket. But although she’s a criminal (and is more villainous at times), and though she has a wicked temper and flare for the dramatic, Jessie isn’t a bad person at heart. She’s a well-rounded character and I really appreciate her for all that she is. So yeah, she gets spot five. Can’t forget Jessie, the best lady in Team Rocket. (Step aside and down, Cassidy. Seriously, just leave.)

[gaudeixcc]

Peleton news – Butter knife.

This week, RTA and Moley went off to enjoy the cycling somewhere. We were all invited (eventually) and what an evening it was. JT, like a foreign benefactor blessing his adoring public with little leather pouches containing silver coins, sent £7 to our hapless duo for them to buy some fizzy lager. It’s not all champagne and strawberries in his Munich Penthouse you know. The fact that he can risk his children’s breakfast by dipping into the pension pot to pull out 7 whole pounds just to buy Bert and Ernie a beer speaks volumes.

JT has changed. I remember years back on a drunken night out, James threw 10p at my head after I had suggested his Golf (2.3V5) was not quite in the same league as my BMW 635 Csi (shark-nose). The shot caused a small dimple on my temple. Later that night in my taxi ride home, I spotted him shining a torch in the gutter in a lame attempt to locate the said coin.

He never did find it…. But the story doth not endeth there… many many years later, last year in fact, when JT paid for coffee one morning on our Malaga trip and shared the bill with the Peleton, the eagle eyed amongst you will have noticed that everyone got charged £3.20….. everyone except me… my bill was £3.30….. I looked at my screen… I looked up at JT… I looked at my screen again…… I didn’t move my head this time, instead slowly raised my eyes to his. There was much hub-ub at the time with the rest of the group teasing RTA about careless bicycle leaning (bike on wall.. bike off wall… bike on floor…. Damo summoned to fix)…..but JT met my eyes with his icy stare. We said nothing….. JT tapped his temple….. and we both knew…. That 10p was lost no more. The Trusler balance sheet was restored.

Half an hour later I glanced over JT’s shoulder as he was texting the lovely Mrs JT…. All I could read of JT’s message was;

‘Close the 2004 accounts. Balance now received. Nobody makes a monkey outta……’ and that was all I glimpsed….(although I later saw Karen’s reply ping through…’Well done love, nobody out-cunts the cuntmaster general…ps. Bring home some schnitzel x’…)

So in summary my advice to RTA and Moley is…. Send the money back…. You might as well…. And probably before the 2018 accounting period is over.

Sunday came this week and for a change some of the Peleton managed to ride together.

There has been much press speculation of late concerning G19. The big fight in town being DripHop….. a little less Wiggins v Froome.. a little more Fury v Wilder.

This was the first press conference Drip and I have done since James ‘Frank Warren’ Trusler had the contracts drawn up. It could have been a frosty affair, but luckily, we had Macca ringside to keep things on the straight and narrow.

Macca, not one for riding off ahead and leaving every other fucker in his wake, rode off ahead and left every other fucker in his wake.

Drip and I made a sufficient meal of riding in mud and also managed to embarrass ourselves with many a stranger before the day had concluded.

It didn’t start well.

We rocked up in Cricketers close in my second-hand bargain Range Rover (blacked out windows, natch).

I wound down the passenger window when we saw a cyclist and immediately struck up a conversation with the fellow rider as he was Macca’s mate and was due to join us on our ride. Being Macca’s mate, he was dressed in hugely expensive gear, had an expensive (but sensible) car and spoke with an accent that has probably had money thrown at it at some point. (He really was grammatically flawless). Drip and I were dressed in trackies and trainers and looked like a couple of pikies who had lucked-out and found a brace of bikes outside the local newsagents.

Anyhoo…. After much jolly banter, our riding partner disappears and Macca arrives on the scene.

‘Who was that?’ asks Cricketers favourite pilot (there are 14 of them on the close).

Turns out the fella had fuck all to do with Macca and us….. ffs…. Sometimes I do feel a complete pillock.

Anyway, it comes time to trundle off and Dawn waves from the upstairs window… well, it was either a wave or a furious ‘get the hell out of the street with all ya noise and bafoonary, people are trying to sleep’…. I think it was just a wave.

The ride itself was tough. It’s been a while since either of the two Crawley boys have troubled mud on a bicycle and the long, slow climbs took their toll.

Overall though I was quite pleased with the days riding. Macca was like a wheeled London city guide…every hill, climb or manoeuvre was teed-up with an introduction.

‘Slow climb coming up… steepens after the turn….. then steady to the top’

‘Tough climb… looks easy… is surprisingly hard and into the wind’

My favourite of the lot was when we were about to conduct a tricky gnarly and rooty left/right bend.

‘I’ve only every completed this a couple of times without having to walk the bike round’ says Macca… clearly expecting Drip and I to be walking bikes around.

I follow Macca. Macca clears the tricky section without stopping. It’s the first time he’s done it in years. Now it would take a complete twat to show-boat and go around like a hot knife through butter making easy what had been positioned as hard. It would have been like a giant ‘fuckyoumotherfucker’ whilst giving the finger behind poor Macca’s back.

Clearly Drip and I are two proper gentlemen who don’t just rock up at this sort of event looking like Vince and Jules at the end of Pulp Fiction only to embarrass our host by deploying rarely seen cycling talent to cast shadow over his own.

Who do you think we are…? We’re not monsters you know.

Anyway, I went round that corner like a knife though hot fucking butter….. but boy did I pay the price later….

The promised post-ride breakfast was a dish of revenge…. Served piping hot.

Drip, who had the courtesy to put his foot down and pretend that it was too hard, got Avacado with his bacon, two cups of coffee… TWO!!!... double toast…. DOUBLE TOAST…all served up within minutes of his arse touching a McEvoy perching stool.

I had to wait….. a loooong time……. And then……. I got a piece of toast (un-buttered).

‘Er…. ‘ I said.

‘What?’ squawked Macca

‘Butter?’ says I.

Macca pushes it my way…. And adds a ‘would you like a fucking hot knife with that?’

Now I may be seeing shadows, but I think Macca might have had the hump. It was either my wizadary on two-wheels that hacked him off…. or it might have been the fact that on entering the McEvoy kitchen I immediately commented on the picture of Mark and the budgie (now ex-budgie) on the fridge.

On mention of the cheeky chappy Dawn cried for a solid 20 minutes…. How was I to know?

All-in-all though, a successful ride out. Fury vs Wilder looks set to be a thriller. Training has started in both camps and ahead of us lies many a press conference.

So finally, I’d like to end on an unusually positive note. Our 2018 pink cap, RTA, has been shamed by Damo into action and will shortly be sending out invites (printed on heavy-weight fine china-white stationary) to his inaugural 2018 pink cap social.

It will be lovely to see you all. We can expect a contribution from our Munich benefactor no-doubt, in line with the precedence he set last weekend.

So for those in any doubt, I’ll wrap up with this little thought. Never in the history of Gaudeix tours, has training started so early for so many. G19…. As Moley would no doubt say…. This shit just got real. Get on your turbo’s boys…. The Pyrenees are a comin’ and the butter  knifes are being warmed.