#OH BOY I DO SURE LOVE BIKING THROUGH THE RAIN EVERY DAMN DAY

[frosti-moon]

Hiccup looked at the printed plane ticket that Viggo had put in his hand. “We’re going to the Netherlands?” he asked. “Why there?”

“It’s beautiful up there,” Viggo told him, sitting on the couch beside him.

Scholar's Mate by @evilwriter37

Me, who actually has to live there:

[hawkinsindiana]

this changes things

ALMOST PARADISE: PART THREE - CHAPTER FOUR OF ELEVEN (!!)

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 2.3k

a/n: we’re back to eleven chapters baby!!!! this one ended up being longer than i thought. i know i usually post on friday nights, but i couldn’t help but give you all a lil valentine’s day treat. pls enjoy!!!!

masterlist

Steve’s nervous. 

It’s down to the wire; there's only a few short weeks left of his final high school semester. Four out of five college applications have been rejected. Each one received has fed the anxiety more and more. 

Every day that passes without a lick of news from the remaining university has him reconsidering everything. His education. His career. His future.

The only thing Steve knows about his future is that he wants you in it, in whichever form that might be. You’re the constant. Without you, he’s afraid he’d eventually go back to being that person he was before. You make him want to be better. Trying to be worthy of you gives Steve purpose. 

He imagined that getting a college education would help keep him on that path. It seems farther away with each rejection letter he receives. 

Steve hasn’t told you that he hasn’t gotten into any so far. He’s afraid of disappointing you, especially after everything you’ve done for him. 

The spring of ‘85 has been particularly unforgiving. It’s been storming all week - the air still hangs with that familiar smell of rain soaked concrete. You read that the Hawkins Post reported a record amount of rainfall; the local stream overflowed and flooded a few basements. 

The mail is still damp when Steve retrieves it after practice. It sticks to his fingers as he shuffles through each envelope, drying his sneakers on the welcome mat. 

And then his eyes linger on one addressed to him; Steve nearly drops his backpack when he sees who sent it. 

Haphazardly, he tosses the rest of the mail onto the kitchen counter as he contemplates whether to even open the damn thing. Steve’s pretty sure he knows the answer. Is it an answer he wants?

Whatever the words inside this parcel read, it changes Steve’s life forever. His future is planned from the moment he breaks the seal - there would be no going back. Either he stays here in Hawkins, trapped by an education he neglected for far too long, or he gets to take a step to distance himself from this shitty town and prove his worth. 

Steve isn’t a fan of the former option.

He wishes you were here to read it for him. He’d rather you tell him the news; hearing it come from your lips would make it easier. 

By the time Steve decides to open it, a few minutes have passed. Why does this feel like the scariest thing he’s ever done?

Due to the water, some of the ink bled through the paper; pieces of the letter are illegible. But at the top, a familiar phrase answers his question: Unfortunately, we regret to inform you-

Steve curses, angrily throwing the envelope and its contents into the trash. He refuses to read anymore. 

He has no one to blame but himself. Maybe that’s why he’s so angry. There were multiple opportunities for him to change course and put effort into his schoolwork. By the time he finally tried, it was too late. 

Thunder booms in the distance once Steve parks his car beside your mother’s. He doesn’t remember deciding to come here; the only thing he can recall is grabbing the keys, without a destination in mind. His heart brought him to your warmth. 

As Steve gets out of the car, he wonders if this was maybe a bad idea. It isn’t very often that he feels afraid to face you - he’s scared of your reaction, and the outcome that could follow.

He knew that he could love you, that he could fall just as hard as you did for him. But admitting it to himself, and then you - he doesn’t know if he has the strength to do it again. That phrase has left a sour taste in his mouth, one that Steve hopes he can wash away. Because you deserve to hear it too. 

Maybe he’s closer to saying it than he thought, perhaps that’s why he’s so scared to tell you. Maybe-

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Dustin’s voice startles Steve, who turns to see the boy walking his bike up the driveway. Steve fumbles his response, head spinning with thoughts about you, “I don’t, uh-”

Dustin interrupts him, not noticing the nerves Steve displays, “Hey, you should come in! It’s mac ‘n cheese night.” 

Steve hangs his head in defeat, knowing that he’s going to follow your brother inside. He can’t say no to this kid. 

Dustin hangs up his raincoat once the pair of them enter the house; the bell on Tews’ collar jingles as they run to greet the boys. The kitten weaves between Steve’s legs before he kneels down to give them a few pets. 

“That you, Dusty?” Your mother calls from within; clattering silverware echoes from the kitchen. Steve chuckles at the nickname. Dustin punches him in the bicep. 

He kicks off his shoes as he replies, “Hey Mom! Get out another bowl - look who I found loitering around.” 

Steve scoffs, shoving Dustin as they walk forward through the threshold into the living room. Your mom moves to welcome them; her warm smile widens when she sees Steve by her son’s side, “Well look who it is! Steve, sweetheart, how are you?”

He’s baffled by her every time he shares a meal with your family. Her kind soul is infectious, and drastically different from the parents he was raised by. Steve tries not to think about the fact her beloved pet is secretly buried out back - he’s reminded of it whenever he sees her. 

“I’m good, Mrs. Henderson. How are you?” Steve answers, returning her grin. She envelops him in a quick hug, “How many times am I going to have to tell you? Just call me Claudia, hon.”

Steve laughs along with her as he follows her to the kitchen, “I think you’ll need to remind me one more time.”

And then his eyes meet yours from across the room. They smile nearly as much as your lips at the sight of him; your heart flutters at this unexpected surprise. 

When you catch onto the sadness in his expression, the corners of your mouth drop. It’s obvious to you that something’s wrong. Steve doesn’t usually stop by without an invitation; something must’ve happened. 

Throughout dinner, you take mental notes on his deflated behavior. It’s subtle enough to fool your family, but you know him better. With each minute that passes, the more anxious you become to hear the cause. So when he volunteers to help you with the dishes, as he always does, you know it’s only a matter of time. 

“How was practice?” You ask before drying off a cup. Steve takes it from your hand as he replies, “Uh, it was good. Although it’s annoying that we’re still practicing even though the season’s over.”

You hum in agreement as he places the glass on the shelf. Steve glances back at you briefly, “What about you? What’d you get up to?”

A beat passes - you’re looking for the words to describe your afternoon. Maybe not the words, but the courage. It’s only when he turns around, brow creased, do you answer him. 

“I studied at Nancy’s,” You say. Steve’s eyes widen in surprise, “Oh yeah? How’d that go?”

You nod your head, focusing your gaze onto the floor, “It was nice, actually. It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be.”

“Now when you say studying…” He trails off for a moment as he thinks, “You two didn’t… exchange notes about me or anything, did you?”

Steve’s growing smirk makes you laugh; you hit him playfully with the towel, “No! And I haven’t told her, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

A part of him can’t help but be relieved. There’s no limit to what you two could chat about.

“We just ended up talking about college most of the time,” You add, “She wanted to know some tips since she’ll be applying soon.”

Steve grabs a plate to dry; in order to try and quell his anxiety, he has to do something productive. But your mind recognizes it as a distraction - you’re no stranger to coping mechanisms. 

“Have you figured out where you’re gonna go yet?” He questions, praying your answer isn’t far; lightning flashes outside the kitchen window, followed closely by the low rumble of thunder. 

You sigh as you lean back against the counter, “I’m not sure. Nancy was helping me talk through my options earlier, but it’s such a big decision to make. I wanna make sure it’s the right fit.”

Steve nods slightly, forehead creasing as he wipes his hands on the towel. And by the way he clenches his jaw at your reply, you know that this is the source of contention. 

You nudge his leg with your foot, “What about you? Get any responses back?”

The breath hitches in Steve’s throat; there’s no way this conversation doesn’t end with his reveal. The longer it takes for him to speak, the more concerned you grow. 

“I, uh-“ A sigh passes his lips as he grips the counter, keeping his focus away from you. He doesn’t want to witness your reaction. 

“I didn’t get in,” Steve mutters. He exhales, shaking his head in disbelief; until now, it almost didn’t seem real. It took admitting it to you for his brain to accept it. 

You shift on your feet, unsure of what to say. Over the past few weeks, you and Steve had been discussing how your relationship would persist once you both had made your college commitments. This wasn’t an outcome either of you prepared for. 

“Holy shit, Steve. I’m sorry…” You whisper. Steve pushes his face into his hands; his voice is muffled from behind his palms, “Yeah, yeah… holy shit.” 

You don’t hesitate any more to comfort him. Steve straightens as you place your hands on his arms; he melts into your touch, unable to prevent you from turning his body to face yours. 

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” You reassure him, “College isn’t the only option, you know. There are other things you could do.” 

The expression on Steve’s face breaks your heart. You’d do anything to wipe it away and brighten his mood. But Steve just sighs again, appreciating your efforts to help him, but nothing seems to be working. 

“How’d your parents react?” You ask. The only thing keeping Steve grounded to this moment is the firm grip you have on his shoulders; he thinks he’d float away without it. 

He scoffs a bit; the sound breaks the deafening silence that formed as he thought of a response. His eyes are still focused downwards as he finally answers you, “They don’t know yet. I just got the last letter today. I couldn’t think of going anywhere else.”

When your fingers brush against his cheek, Steve instinctively moves his hands to rest on your waist, “I’m sorry, I just-”

Steve finally lifts his head. Your eyes are wide, pupils filled to the brim with nothing but your fondness for him. All of a sudden, he’s confused why he was so scared to tell you. He realizes that he never should’ve doubted you. 

“I was scared this would change things. Or that you’d be disappointed in me or some shit.”

Your brow furrows as you laugh softly - baffled by his words, “What could ever make you think that I’d be disappointed in you?” 

A flash of previous memories answers your own question. You decide not to pull on that thread anymore. 

“This changes things,” You mutter. Your eyeline drops as you pause, choosing your words carefully before continuing, “But it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Finally, Steve feels a bit of relief. The sincerity in your voice calms the fear, and a deep exhale allows him to let it go. Your compassion and understanding permits him to begin thinking clearly again. He knew there was a reason he came here. 

You’re right though. This does change how you both navigate the future. But with you here to support him, Steve figures he’ll be just fine. 

“I mean…” The corner of your mouth curls up at the thought that pops into your head, “The only way my opinion of you changes is if you killed my brother or something like that.”

Steve chuckles slightly, “But Mike’s still fair game?”

“Oh yeah, go ahead,” You quip, “He’s had it comin’ for a while.” 

Even though your voices are hushed, the joke still makes you crack a pair of brilliant smiles; it almost makes Steve forget about his future for a moment. Standing here in your arms, Steve can’t help but realize how safe he feels. 

And then you sigh, reaching up to brush back a lock of his brunette hair - the sensation of your touch fills Steve with something new, something different. A direct contrast to the violent storm brewing outside, this is soft, warm, and golden. Like daylight.

Your eyes meet again. Honestly, he’s not sure he ever wants to look at anything else. 

Your hand lands on his chest, “This doesn’t make me love you any less.”

Steve throws caution to the wind - he kisses you. And already, you can tell that this is one you’ll remember. His lips are soft against yours, but without sacrificing an ounce of passion. You almost forget that someone could walk in and expose your relationship; when Steve finally pulls away, it doesn’t matter anyways.

As if you weren’t left breathless enough from his kiss, the words he mutters afterwards could’ve done it themselves. 

With one of his trademark smirks plastered across his face, Steve moves to hold your head between his palms, “Fuck, I love you.”

You kiss him again so quickly that you both didn’t have enough time to wipe the twinkling grins from your lips. Your noses are squished against each other, but neither of you cares enough. Your shared love dulls the pain. 

Steve smiles into the kiss even further. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

—   taglist: @djjarin / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @hellisateenageheather / @alewifex / @l0ve-0f-my-life / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @asianravenpuff / @im-a-stranger-thing / @mikariell95 / @pilunb / @harringtherin / @royalestrellas / @ultrunning / @buggs177 / @poutfull / @yoheyyosup / @duchessdaisybat / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury / @beththebubbly / @i-bitch-you-bitch / @captainstilinskis / @juliebean247 / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender / @rexorangecouny / @pass-me-jeez-it / @ahoy-scoops-troop / @halefirewarrior / @jointhehunt67 / @peanutem / @ketchuplukehemmo / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x / @elite4cekalyma / @marjoherbo / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass / @alafolieee / @mochminnie / @phantomalchemist / @dustyblueboo / @alonewolfsblog / @ggclarissa / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long / @bippityboppitybabe / @readinthegarden12 / @bakugouishusbando / @stxtch72 / @random-girl-army / @wisdaemon / @thatawkwardlittlefangirl

if you want be added to the taglist, just lemme know!

[smoaking-greenarrow]

If I Tremble chapter 21: Clutch

Rated M

(Gif)

“Do you think in another life, or on one of those other earths...you could’ve been a mechanic?”

Oliver paused for a moment, and then continued adjusting the gear on his motorcycle, not turning around. His hands and shirt were covered in grease from the engine. It was late.

He was tired.

And he was sad.

Tomorrow, he’d have to say goodbye to his beloved bike. The same one that had helped him escape some risky missions unscathed. Carried him through high speed chases with criminals. But most importantly, the bike held some of his fondest memories. And all of those fond memories involved Felicity pressed against him somehow.

Oliver had owned this motorcycle when he first met her. He could still remember the first time she got on it and how good it had been just to feel her there.

It was dark and raining. They’d just had a long day at Queen Consolidated; the kind of day where he was irritable and snappy with Felicity and she’d given it right back to him. They took a short cease-fire in their snide back and forth so they could go home, eat dinner, and get ready for another night of vigilante business. But the break hadn’t done either of them any good. They were still at each other’s throats by the time they met up with Digg at the lair. Unfortunately, it was also a quiet night on the streets, so Oliver and Felicity had nothing to do but bicker.

After a few hours of it, they finally decided to call it a night. Or rather, after Diggle got sick of playing the middleman, he called it a night for all of them.

But then Felicity’s car wouldn’t start. Digg had already left, so Oliver offered to drive her home. Because of course he wasn’t going to leave her stranded in the Glades. No matter how much she tested his patience on a daily basis, he knew that he cared about her. A lot.

And Felicity accepted the ride, not knowing that he’d brought his bike that night.

Oliver tossed his leg over the seat, unable to hide his smirk as she gaped at him. He’d wondered, once or twice, or maybe more often than he was ready to admit...what it would be like to have Felicity on the back of his motorcycle.

“Hop on, Miss Smoak,” he offered her the helmet, his voice thick and his eyes trained on her.

Her mouth hung open and she shook her head.

Hesitant little thing.

Felicity had never been on a motorcycle. Which he knew. The first time she’d seen his bike, she’d told him as much. And she’d informed him that she had no desire to ever be on one. To be fair, she’d also seen the way he drove, so her fear wasn’t entirely misplaced. He could see it in her eyes that she wanted to change her mind. That she wanted to find another way home. But after the tension they’d been sharing all day? Felicity wasn’t about to back down to him.

So she climbed on the back, grumbling to herself about the bus stop a few streets away.

As if he was ever going to leave her at a bus stop alone.

He took his time getting to her apartment, driving slow, making sure she felt safe and sound.

To his amusement, Felicity loved it.

When they finally reached her home and he helped her off the bike, Felicity was smiling ear to ear. And he knew it wouldn’t be the last time he got her on his motorcycle.

It became sort of a goal for him, actually.

He started taking his bike every day in the hopes that she might need a ride.

Even as the broken man he was back then, it had felt right to have Felicity there with him. That first night and every night after it. The countless rides with her, all while he’d been falling in love.

Granted, ever since Mia was born, it had mostly been collecting dust in their garage, but it still held a sentimental value that made it hard for Oliver to let go of it.

“Mechanics are pretty sexy,” Felicity hummed, pulling him back to the moment.

Oliver turned around to look at her, letting out a sigh as he grabbed a rag off the floor and wiped his hands. “And men who have daughters and sensible cars...they’re not sexy?”

Felicity made a face, lifting her hand to wave the baby monitor she’d brought from Mia’s room. “Oh no, trust me. The loving dad to a little girl thing is...very sexy.”

Oliver huffed out a laugh, giving his bike another glance. It was in better shape than it had been a couple of days ago. After taking the time to fix it up, it was ready to ride again.

Selling it was a better plan than hoarding it in the garage, after all.

“What about an exhausted mom who has sore boobs because her daughter has an incredibly demanding appetite?” Felicity cocked her head to the side, “Or a woman who had to change her clothes because that same daughter just hurled all over her? Super sexy, right?”

Laughing, Oliver shook his head. “You’re always sexy. Trust me.”

“Well,” Felicity moved down the steps into the garage, setting the baby monitor on the shelf near the door. “You didn’t see the mess your child made of my favorite sweater. She chugged that bottle like a college frat boy and then threw up like one, too.”

“She still hasn’t learned that lesson?” Oliver stood up, finally getting a good look at his wife as she came closer. She was barefoot, her legs exposed, because she wasn’t wearing anything but a t-shirt. His t-shirt.

“Like father, like daughter...” Felicity mumbled back, smiling as she stopped in front of him.

He gulped, leaning against the seat of the bike as his eyes raked down her body. His wife gently nudged his legs apart, stepping between them. Then she leaned in, pressing her lips against his ear. “You know,” she whispered, her arms winding around his neck, “we had some good times on this motorcycle. Remember Coast City?”

Oliver’s eyes closed on instinct, the feel of her body and the sound of her voice doing a number on him already. “Of course I remember,” he groaned, nuzzling her cheek.

It was a few months after they came back to Starling. They’d been missing Ivy Town and the summer they spent together, so they’d decided to take a weekend trip to Coast City. On the bike. “That night I took you out to dinner…” Oliver grinned, his voice low, his chest pressed to hers.

“You parked in the alley behind the restaurant.”

“And for some reason, you wanted me to teach you how to drive this thing.”

Oliver couldn’t see her face, but he felt her shiver.

He remembered, very vividly, how he’d put Felicity in front of him on the motorcycle, her hands on the gears, his on top of hers as he sat behind her. “I thought I did a pretty good job,” Felicity chuckled.

She’d only driven it from the mouth of the alley to the end of it once before she stopped the bike and started grinding her ass against him. Which led them to a very heated make out session until Felicity finally insisted that he take her back to the hotel immediately, and Oliver did his best to obey all the speed limits to get there while ignoring a massive boner.

“I guess our days of being spontaneous are kind of over,” Oliver sighed regretfully. As much as he loved being a father, there was a part of him that missed that time in their lives. The freedom of it. The adventure of every day with her. An open road in front of them that could take them anywhere they wanted to be.

And god, did they explore together.

In many different senses of the word.

Felicity shrugged, pushing his leg aside so she could climb onto the motorcycle. “Says who?”

“Uh...the baby who wakes us up two or three times a night?”

She rolled her eyes, “Mia’s sleeping. Let’s say goodbye to this old thing...the best way we know how.”

With a smirk, Oliver climbed onto the motorcycle behind her.

It wasn’t something that he’d ever admit to anyone, especially not the young gentleman who they sold the bike to…but Felicity knew her way around the machine, despite the fact that she’d never driven it outside of that alley in Coast City. She knew where everything was because they’d done... other things on this bike.

Of course, the new owner didn’t need to know that. And he definitely didn’t need to know the details of those things they did.

There had been nights. Dangerous missions and life-threatening encounters. Close calls and moments where one of them thought they might lose the other. Nights when Felicity had been insatiable and Oliver had needed her just as badly, the spark between them full of desperation and relief. Impossible to deny. Nights where they’d needed each other but had nowhere to go, so they got creative.

Having sex on his motorcycle wasn’t really something that they could just do once and then not want to do again.

He’d be lying if he said it was a one time thing.

Wrapping his arms around Felicity, reminded of those moments and how it felt back then, Oliver pressed himself against her back and buried his face in the crook of her neck. His hands slid slowly over her stomach, skimming down her thighs as he started to kiss her ear. Then he moved one hand to her hip, pulling her back against him. He ground his hips forward at the same time, and Felicity groaned when she felt his hardening length rubbing against her ass.

Silently, he slipped his other hand up her side, barely letting himself touch her breast before he flattened his palm on her chest, his fingers curling lightly around her throat. Just the right pressure to make her shiver. “Oliver,” she mewled.

He dragged his lips to her shoulder, pushing the fabric of his shirt out of the way. He only let go of her when she began to roll  her body on her own. Keeping his grip on her neck, Oliver dipped his other hand underneath the shirt, kneading one of her breasts.

Felicity plastered herself to him like she couldn’t get close enough, a low cry escaping her mouth. She dropped her head against his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to kiss her. His tongue demanded entrance, which she easily welcomed.

Oliver could feel her pulse thrumming under his fingertips, her skin getting warmer under his palm.

Her breath grew shallow as his mouth ravished hers.

God. Damn.

It didn’t surprise him anymore how quickly and how thoroughly his wife could turn him on. But it still amazed him. She was letting go, grinding her ass against his cock, and he was practically seeing stars.

Not wasting any time, Oliver leaned over, fumbling to find the keys while Felicity was too distracted to notice. When he turned the keys and started the engine, she gasped at the unexpected sound.

The bike purred to life, vibrating beneath them. Felicity’s hips jerked in response, finding friction.

Oliver kissed her harder. “Turn around,” he growled into her mouth. “Felicity, come here.”

She scrambled to spin around on the seat, nearly falling, but his firm hands guided her movements until she was facing him. Then Felicity hummed as she wrapped her legs around him, the noise mixing with the steady buzz from the motorcycle.

Her hands were on his jeans a moment later, nails digging into his thighs and then his hips. Then she reached for the button of his pants, snapping them open quickly. Felicity moaned as she slipped her hand inside, rubbing him over his boxers, feeling the length of him as he hardened beneath her palm.

Oliver lifted his hips; one arm branded around Felicity’s body as he did his best to pull his pants down. He could barely get them over his ass while he was straddling the bike, but it was enough that Felicity could free his cock.

His jeans were painfully tight around his legs, but as he settled back down on the bike, Felicity started grinding her hips down on him. He groaned in approval as her wet underwear rubbed up and down on his erection.

Felicity rocked her hips against him, her breath catching every time the head of his cock would slip between her folds. And Oliver tried to control his own breathing, his face buried in her throat; her familiar, delicious scent filling his nose.

He was vaguely aware that the garage door was wide open, which left him with the sense of being exposed and vulnerable, despite the fact that no one came to the cabin aside from John, Donna, and Thea.

None of which were expected for a visit tonight.

So the dirt road and sunset ahead was private. Safe, of course. Yet it still provided a thrill behind their actions; the feeling that they were somewhat in public.

“Is the monitor on?” Oliver couldn’t help but ask. His last shred of control.

Felicity gave him a quick, short nod as she pointed to the baby monitor on the shelf.

With the lungs Mia had, they both knew they’d hear it if she did happen to wake up…

“Fuck, Felicity,” he huffed out a breath, giving in to the incredible feeling of doing this with her. Again.

For the last time.

Fuck.

Oliver shoved his hand between them, yanking her underwear to the side and dipping his fingers between her soaked folds.

She was so damn wet.

He bit his tongue to keep from cursing again.

It made it easier that he knew exactly how to get Felicity going. How to really turn her on. Quickly. Because he was certain that as much as he wanted to take his time, he wasn’t going to last very long. He never did when a situation involved his motorcycle and his hot wife. Although this time, at least, there were no life-threatening missions to urge them on.

There was just her.

And god was he desperate for her.

Pushing his fingers inside, Oliver let Felicity set the pace; keeping his fingers straight, curving them to hit the spot deep inside that made her cry out for him.

Each time she thrusted down, her walls would squeeze his fingers tight and his hand would press against her clit.

Oliver ignored his aching cock, begging to be touched, in favor of watching Felicity.

He loved the way she moaned his name.

Loved the way she rode him.

Loved her.

It didn’t take long before her breath on his cheek became shallow. Her fingers pulled on his hair and her legs tightened around his waist, the vibrations of the bike coursing through him and straight to her.

And with one final roll of her hips, Felicity stiffened. She choked on her next breath. Her grip on his hair was hard, making him grit his teeth.

“Oh god,” she whimpered in his ear. “Right there, right there. Yes!”

Oliver straightened his fingers, moving them in and out as fast as he could while Felicity came.

Her legs tightened, shaking around him. Her head fell back, her breath catching.

He finally eased up, coaxing her down from her orgasm as he slowed his movements down, then carefully pulled his fingers out. He brought them to his mouth, and Felicity leaned back to watch him lick them clean.

With a smirk, Oliver tilted his head, his mouth meeting hers.

Felicity’s lips were slow to kiss him back, a sweet sigh falling from them. Oliver sucked on her bottom lip, his hands gliding down her back until he reached her ass. And he kissed her harder, squeezing the flesh, tugging her closer.

Her hips were already starting to move again, seeking friction.

Oliver smiled, giving her ass a light smack.

That’s my girl.

Felicity gasped, her mouth breaking from his while her body instinctively surged closer.

But when he went to kiss her again, she turned her head, letting his lips land on her cheek. With a pout, Oliver trailed kisses along her jaw, stopping at her chin. “What’s wrong?” He mumbled against her skin.

She didn’t answer right away, so he moved lower, licking and sucking a path across her throat. Felicity shivered, arching her back for the briefest moment, but pulled away as soon as he started to press his face between her breasts.

“Felicity?” Oliver frowned, holding her tighter.

Looking up at her, he saw the smile on her face; her lips swollen and red from his beard, her skin flushed, her eyes wide with pleasure. She shook her head once, moving to get off of him and the bike, and this time he let her. Felicity climbed down, using his hand for balance, then she nudged him to get up, too.

Once she had him on his feet, Felicity hooked her fingers through his belt loops and dropped to her knees, taking his pants along with her.

She took his cock in one of her hands, grasping him tightly. She smiled at him with those swollen lips. Stared up at him with those wide eyes. And Oliver instantly groaned, his hips snapping to meet her hand. His hands reached for her head, wanting nothing more than to dive his fingers into her hair and hold on while she did whatever she wanted with him.

But Felicity had other ideas. Her hand flattened against his stomach, “Sit,” she demanded, pushing him back until he fell onto the motorcycle.

‘Oh, fuck,” he huffed as he landed on the seat, the vibrations hitting his backside. But before he could get his bearings back, Felicity’s mouth was on him.

She nipped at his chest, scraped her teeth over one of his nipples, licked her way down to his stomach. And by the time she kissed the tip of his cock, he was already feeling lightheaded. Glancing down at her, he ran his fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face so he could see her better. Felicity met his eyes as she swirled her tongue around the head. Oliver sucked in a breath at the sensation, struggling to keep still.

God, he was sensitive.

Felicity grabbed his waist, holding herself steady with her nails digging in. Slowly, she took him between her lips. Inch by inch, he disappeared into her warm, wet, perfect mouth.

Until she had all of him.

Oliver instantly cried out as she swiped her tongue along the underside of his cock, jerking inside her mouth.

He could feel her throat constricting around him. Her teeth gently scraping his length. Her eyes watching him, blinking back some slight moisture as she pulled back and took a deep breath. Then she did it again, taking every inch of him. And again. Always stopping to swallow when her lips reached his balls, making his breath catch as she tightened her throat around him. Felicity kept her movements slow, which she knew drove him crazy in all of the best ways.

When she changed pace, focusing on his head while her hand stroked up and down his shaft, Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, pleasure washing over him. The intensity of the bike rumbling beneath him and the things she was doing with her mouth...it was almost too much. He didn’t realize he was rocking his hips towards her until he heard Felicity moan.

Slowly, he opened his eyes again to look down at her. She hummed, giving him a nod of approval. “Oh my god, Felicity,” he grit through his teeth, snapping his hips again. Every time he pushed into her mouth, she’d swirl her tongue around him. And every time he pulled out of her mouth, he’d lean back against the bike and feel the vibrations of the motorcycle, coursing straight to his balls, making his pleasure skyrocket.

He could feel his own orgasm coming as fast and as hard as Felicity’s had, and it was beyond tempting to let his body follow it. But Oliver leaned back, holding her head steady as he pulled out of her mouth with a loud pop.

Felicity furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Her lips, that were even more swollen now, pouted up at him.

He sighed, both in regret and anticipation. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that being buried inside Felicity’s mouth when he came would be incredible. But he really wanted to be buried somewhere else. Oliver stood up again, helping Felicity to her feet. Then he gave her an ardent, slow kiss.

Felicity moaned into his mouth, and he kissed her harder as he tasted himself on her tongue.

Their eyes met again, each of them smiling. Oliver gently tapped his index finger to her nose, making her giggle.

God, she knew what that sound did to him.

It was a laugh that quickly faded when he grabbed her waist and spun her around. Taking a moment to admire the view in front of him, he pressed his palm against her lower back and guided her to bend over.

Felicity did so willingly, her breaths ragged.

Without a word, Oliver clutched onto her hips, gently kicking her feet apart, spreading her legs. He lined himself up at her entrance, and Felicity gripped onto the seat of the bike.

As he started to push into her, Felicity tossed her hips back, making him moan as he filled her. She glanced over her shoulder at him, smirking, and Oliver let out a breathless chuckle in return. His hands skimmed up her back, his fingers dragging, until he could grip her shoulders. Her smile fell when he pulled out, and she moaned his name when he thrusted back in.

Oliver kept his pace slow, a careful force behind his thrusts, since he knew that the motorcycle couldn’t take too much pressure. But it was more than enough.

As he felt his orgasm begin to build again, he shifted his weight over Felicity, pushing his hand between her body and the bike. And it only took a moment to find the right angle; his fingers working quick circles on her clit as the bike pulsed under them.

Felicity came with a shout, her hands flying to his arm, anchoring herself.

And Oliver followed right behind, spilling inside of her while his body folded over hers.

The motorcycle muffled their cries, the throbbing machine making everything feel more intense.

As he came back to his senses, Oliver lifted his hand from Felicity’s shoulder, keeping the other pressed against her clit, and reached over to turn the engine off. Listening to each of their heavy breaths, Oliver kissed Felicity’s shoulder, every patch of skin that he could reach without having to move.

“Having any second thoughts about selling this thing?” He mumbled against her back.

Felicity laughed, nudging him until he moved off of her. “Was this your way of trying to get me to keep it?”

He slipped out of her with a groan. “Honestly, no. But if you want me to do some more convincing, I’m all for it.”

“I’ll always love the bike...” Felicity shook her head, “But no. It’s always been more about you than the bike.”

He smiled at that, agreeing with the sentiment completely. Everything that he’d just felt had been entirely Felicity’s doing.

“That’s true,” he sighed, noticing that her legs were shaking when she tried to stand, and he quickly moved to pick her up. “I already know how easily you can get me wound up. Basically anytime you want.

“And anywhere,” Felicity grinned as he carried her towards the house, grabbing the baby monitor from the shelf as they passed.

Oliver turned the light off while Felicity pushed the button to close the garage door, each of them giving the motorcycle one last loving, appreciative look. “It may be ‘goodbye’ to the bike,” he whispered in her ear. “But I’m sure that we have a lifetime of thrills ahead of us still.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow, “I’m willing to bet you’re right.”

[hogwartsfirebolt]

Oooh, if you’re still taking those “I love you” prompts, can I please have drarry + 15? Thank you! ❤️

Thank you for the prompt ❤️

The way you said “I love you” 15: Loud, so everyone can hear.

They fell in love on a Wednesday night like any other, almost without noticing. 

It happened during what, years later, they would call “the spring that lasted a full year”. Harry had finally made his way back to England after half a decade of travelling, and they found themselves having dinner with what used to be their individual friend groups and had somehow, at some point, become a unit. 

More often than either of them would like to admit, in those weekly dinner nights at whoever’s house had been offered the week before, they would end up in secluded corners, just talking, would have denied it if it weren’t for the fact that they were caught at it a handful of times — Theo walking into the kitchen where they were huddled together, whispering even though they were alone; Ron opening the bathroom door without knocking that time Draco cried into Harry’s shoulder; Hermione and Pansy stumbling into the cellar, where Harry and Draco sat on the floor, sharing a wine bottle, laughing and drinking themselves silly. 

They were caught, and teased, and each time it happened Harry would give him a conspiratorial smile so bright Draco almost had to step back from it, but instead bore it stoically, with a flush to the tips of his ears. 

The first time it happened, the last remnants of winter still clung to the night. Each time, it would let up a fraction, until buds sprung up in the middle of Draco’s belly, bloomed every time he learned something new about Harry, and then it was spring, it was always spring. 

And so, they fell in love on a Wednesday night like any other, at Hermione and Ron’s minuscule flat in London, sitting side by side with the tips of their pinky fingers brushing underneath the dinner table. 

They were the last ones to leave, that night, and when they did, the air felt thick with new beginnings and Draco’s side tingled where Harry pressed against it as they walked down the street. It was not raining, the first dry night they had in a while, but still their shoulders were covered in thin raincoats and their heads bent low. Draco knew something was happening, could feel it in the way his heart seemed to be fighting its way out of his chest, but he couldn’t have said what it was. 

They fell in love quietly, not knowing it was love. The first kiss, when it happened, surprised them both. 

It was me, Harry would say, years later, I kissed you first. 

No, Draco would argue, I leaned in, it was me, it was me. 

Truth be told, neither of them could tell — all they knew was Harry walked Draco home that night and in the space of a second, in between one moment and the next, their noses were brushing and their lips touching. 

They were in love. It was spring. 

Nobody could have predicted it, Draco least of all, but if he’d ever dared imagine it in his wildest dreams, he wouldn’t have pictured it the way it truly was. He would have thought, we’ve gone through so much, it will be intense and difficult. It wasn’t. Falling in love with Harry was the gentlest thing he’d ever experienced, easy as breathing, as if it had always been a part of him, a seed waiting to be nurtured and grow. 

It took them nine long months to get to that kiss, summer and autumn and winter passed, but once they got there, they moved quick and without hesitation, went from kissing to touching to sleeping in each other’s beds to moving in together in the space of one spring. 

They were sure their friends would be shocked, even prepared a speech to deliver at the next gathering, flashcards with several bullet points that ended up being useless, for Draco blurted it out as soon as they stepped into Theo’s, and everyone laughed and laughed and money was passed around to a chorus of About time! Took you both long enough! 

It was love — the true kind — even if Harry tiptoed around the word, even if Draco was slightly terrified whenever he stopped to think about how much it meant to him and how destroyed he would be if anything were to touch it. 

Fear made him coarse, sometimes. It would make him act up, yell whenever Harry did something reckless because he thought it would be fun and got himself hurt — too often, way too often — would make him break down and cry in the hallway of the hospital after Harry had crashed his bike, or fallen from a great height, or stunned himself while trying to perfect his charmwork. 

Made him pack his bags and leave their flat one rainy morning, and that, too, felt like a message. Spring was over. It was time for summer rain. 

He didn’t want to leave, but if he was going to lose Harry, he would lose him in a way he could control. I can’t see you die, he scribbled in his goodbye note, because he wasn’t strong enough to say it to Harry’s face, I can’t spend my days waiting for the hospital to call and tell me something’s happened to you, to say you didn’t make it this time. 

They hadn’t said the words, so he didn’t write them. It had been six months, the happiest of his life, the scariest of his life, and he loved Harry but hadn’t said it yet and wouldn’t get to, because he was leaving. It was for the best. 

Avoiding Harry proved almost more difficult than forgetting him. He seemed to be everywhere Draco looked for months after their break up.

Coincidence. I wasn’t following you, Harry would say, years later. 

You were so following me.

I wasn’t, but if I had been, you should be grateful because otherwise you’d never have talked to me again and you know it. 

If Harry wasn’t following him, it certainly seemed like it. Draco ended up walking out of dozens of parties and avoiding parts of London he’d previously frequented because he couldn’t stop running into his ex, who he hadn’t spoken to once after breaking up and whose letters he burned every morning. 

That was not a sustainable way of life, of course, and it had Draco slightly unhinged, which was how, years later, he’d excuse that night’s actions. 

Spring was around the corner again, and the numerous Christmas parties held by their friend group had begun. He couldn’t recall the exact series of events, but he remembered it happened (more or less) as follows: 

They were at Blaise’s, there was music, the newest Weird Sisters’ album- 

It definitely wasn’t the Weird Sisters, Harry would say, years later. 

It was the Weird Sisters, Draco would argue. 

So, the Weird Sisters played and Blaise had invited the entirety of London, it seemed, and Draco felt alone and miserable and couldn’t stop thinking about how, the year before, Harry and him had snuck out of the party and climbed to the roof of the house to stargaze. 

He could see Harry across the room, looting the snack table, and it still hurt, not being able to walk up to him and hold his hand and knowing the only reason he couldn’t was his own damn pride. 

What happened after was crazy, to say the least. Draco couldn’t remember what had driven him to make the decision, all he knew was that he had walked to the snack table, held the tablecloth in both fists and pulled, hard. 

Definitely unhinged, Harry would say, years later, laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes. But he hadn’t laughed, when it happened, instead he stared at Draco, wide eyed as every plate crashed on the floor and Draco exploded in front of him. 

You are infuriating, Draco had said, then, sounding insane. I can’t stand the sight of you, you drive me crazy, what are you doing here? Why have you been following me? I can’t do this, I hate you, I hate this food, I don’t want to see you ever again. 

You said a few more things, Harry would say, years later, but he wouldn’t push because he knew Draco would be embarrassed about that episode for the rest of his life. 

When it happened, though, the only thing Harry had said was, Are you done? 

And it infuriated Draco so deeply that he turned around and made for the door through the crowd, trembling, on the verge of crying. 

But the music stopped, just then. 

It definitely wasn’t the Weird Sisters.

Oh, shut up. 

The music stopped, and Draco turned around and found Harry standing on top of the table Draco had just ruined, looking so upset and beautiful and hurt that Draco couldn’t leave the room after all. 

Don’t go, Harry had said, then, breathed it out. Don’t go, I —. 

It wasn’t just the music. The room had gone quiet, everyone staring at the two boys making a scene, but Draco almost wasn’t aware of them, felt them fade out as his entire being focused on Harry, the face he knew so well, and, for once, listened. 

It’s been hell, why haven’t you answered any of my letters? I — And then he said it, loud, so everyone could hear. I love you. I loved you and I love you and I never wanted to hurt you, please don’t leave, please don’t go, please —

I didn’t beg that much, Harry would say, years later. 

You did, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Theo, Pansy and Blaise would remind him, until he sighed and admitted Right, I did, I did beg very much. 

But it was alright, in the end. Because after a very long winter came spring and with it, a love that had been put on hold bloomed again, brighter and stronger than ever before. 

And then we got married, Harry would say, years later. And Draco would smile. 

[insanelycooljk]

You mentioned ⚡⚡⚡was the worst for angst so now I Have To Ask

send me the title of one of my deh wips and I’ll share an excerpt/tell you a bit about it  

Ok I definitely only mentioned that because I was hoping someone might ask about it lmao. I’d argue that this is more like... hurt than angst, but it’s gonna be hurt/comfort, so hopefully the sweet moments make up for it. You can expect a lot of soft kleinsen lol.

This one it was like 3am and there was a huge storm outside. I was sitting by my window watching the lightning, I’d just finished reading Trying Through the Trauma and a particular scene was on my mind (if you’ve read it you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about, and if you haven’t I highly reccomend it because that fic is wonderful, the world-building is INSANE).

So given all of that, plus my apparent desire to just hurt all the characters I love, my brain was like “hey... what if Jared got struck by lightning?”

Which I KNOW sounds absolutely ridiculous and like some kind of crack fic, but just bare with me here ok.

For maximum angst, the fic begins with Jared storming out of Evan’s house after a fight.

I haven’t worked out all of the details of the fight yet, but basically there was an attempt at an apology/discussion of Evan’s letter that didn’t go so well and things got a bit heated.

Jared’s hurt and angry, so he runs away because that’s what he does.

It’s absolutely pissing down, it’s at least a 15/20 minute walk back to his house, but Jared’s a stubborn bastard and he just needs to get out of there.

Evan’s stuck in his head trying to process how the hell that went so badly, because he’s hurt and angry too, but then a particulary loud clap of thunder snaps him out of his thoughts. He’s not sure why the hell Jared walked here instead of drove (it was because he wanted the extra time to try and plan what he was going to say to Evan), but Heidi will kill him if she finds out he just let Jared walk all the way home in this weather.

So he runs outside after Jared to tell him to stop being an idiot and at least just wait until it stops raining so much

And of course Evan catches up with Jared just in time to see him get struck

Evan is just frozen in absolute horror because what the fuck. What the fuck. Who the hell gets struck by lightning!? That just doesn’t happen in real life. What the fuck.

His brain finally catches up to him and he rushes over to Jared who’s just convulsing on the ground.

Evan’s hands are shaking but he manages to call 911. Once the ambulance is on their way he’s just staring helplessly at Jared still seizing on the ground, and all he can think is Jared is going to die and the last thing they did was fight.

Another minute or so passes and Jared’s seizure suddenly ends. Evan’s just holding his breath because he has no idea what he should do. Being a nurse and all, Heidi’s taught him how to do basic CPR incase of emergencies, but Evan’s in such a state of panic that he can’t do anything

And then Jared opens his eyes. It takes a second for the pain to catch up to him, the ringing in his ears is loud and oh fuck everything hurts his whole body is on fire

Evan is freaking the fuck out now that Jared is awake and crying, and he’s desperately trying to comfort him and is begging the ambulance to hurry the fuck up. And god this is so much worse now that Jared’s conscious, because Jared just doesn’t break down. The last time Evan probably saw him cry was when he stacked it on his bike when they were kids (unless you count the unshed tears shining in his eyes during their gfy fight and most recent fight, which Evan is pointedly NOT counting lmao, he can’t deal with that right now)

Anyway, the paramedics finally arrive and give Jared some serious painkillers and take him to the hospital because honestly they’re not really sure what to do either. It’s not like there’s a special “lightning strike survivor” class in the paramedicine curriculum lol. Jared didn’t go into cardiac arrest or anything so that’s a good sign, but he’s obviously in pain and he’s got some really nasty burns that need looking at so he’s clearly not fine.

And of course, for more maximum angst, they take him to the hospital Heidi works at. Because of course they do. Heidi’s had a fairly quiet night at work, or at least as as quiet as it can be working at a hospital. But then she overhears something about a kid who got struck by lightning!? And Heidi is like damn… well that doesn’t happen every day. She’s currently on her break but she’s understandably pretty curious, so she decides she’ll just go see what’s going on.

Which of course leads to her finding an extremely distraught looking Evan who is absolutely drenched, and any other thoughts are gone from her mind instantly.

Evan all but collapses into her arms. She’s holding him tightly as he just sobs and sobs and he’s shivering and so cold and why is he so wet? And obviously Heidi just wants to be there for him but the she’s starting to panic and she needs to know what’s wrong. She pulls away, still holding his shoulders tightly, to look him in the face.

“Evan, honey talk to me. What happened?” And he just manages to choke out “It’s Jared, it’s���. he,” but he can’t get the words out because he keeps being interrupted by his own sobs. And now Heidi is really worried because what happened with Jared? Is he ok? “He…” Evan can’t continue because he just lets out this choked cry and breaks into even harder sobs. Which causes Heidi to promptly pull him close again.

Evan is just, exhausted. Like, he was so tense and upset after the fight with Jared, and then THAT happened, and he’s been doing his best to not completely fall apart so he could explain what happened to the paramedics, but it’s just all so much, and all he wants his mum to hold him and tell him everything’s going to be ok.

“He’s hurt,” Evan says finally once his breathing is bit more under control and he can finally speak again. “He…. there was lightning and, and-”

And Heidi’s heart just stops because she suddenly remembers the boy that supposedly got struck by lightning and she does not like where this is going.

Jared’s mostly ok physically. He’s got some really nasty burns and he’s in a lot of pain, plus the strike was super loud so he’s got some bad tinnitus, but nothing that really needs monitoring. So he’s only in the hospital for a couple of days.

However, the thing with lightning strikes is it can do a lot of weird neurological damage that scientists and doctors don’t really understand yet. So a lot of survivors suffer from things like personality changes, mood swings, memory loss and chronic pain.

So in terms of symptoms for Jared he struggles with chronic pain. It’s not like a low-level constant pain, it’s more episodes where he’s in extreme pain for a short period of time and then it fades away again. He got struck on his shoulder, so the pain flares up on his shoulder and down his arm on that side of his body.

His burns take a while to heal, and whilst his tinnitus gets much better it’s always there to an extent. He’s also got some issues with fatigue, it’s not terrible but he definitely gets tired more easily than he used to.

Jared doesn’t really have any issues with like, personality changes or anything, but the whole experience was pretty tramautic, so his mental health definitely isn’t great right now.

Obviously, Jared’s pretty fucking terrified of thunderstorms now. He pretty much just refuses to leave his house if there’s a storm.

One time he’s driving himself and Evan home from school and it starts raining and he just – refuses to leave the car. There’s not even thunder but the sky is dark and it’s raining pretty heavily and Evan’s all like “It’s ok, come on. It’s two metres. Just take my hand and we’ll run inside together ok?” And poor Jared is having a panic attack, just gasping for air, and he’s shaking his head and saying “I can’t.”

And Evan kinda tries a couple more suggestions to coax him inside, because like they literally just have to walk from the driveway to Evan’s front door. There is a 0% chance that anything would happen in the 5 seconds it would take to get inside, and there isn’t even any thunder, it’s just raining heavily.

Eventually he gives up and they just sit in the car together waiting for the storm to pass. Evan can’t help but think how ironic it is that he’s the one who has to help Jared through his own panic attacks now.

But the main complications Jared struggles with are the cognititve issues. Jared’s always been pretty smart and has done well in school, so he finds it really hard to deal with.

He REALLY struggles with his memory at first. Mainly short-term memory. He’ll do things like make lunch multiple times because he forgot he ate already. He struggles with reading and writing and keeps tripping over his sentences. It all improves a lot over time, but it never quite gets 100% better.

But yeah, that’s kind of the hardest part for Jared because it’s just frustrating and confusing. It causes him a lot of distress because it makes him feel so stupid.

One time when he’s really struggling with it, maybe whilst trying to do work for school, Jared just breaks down about it because he just feels so frustrated. He ends up crying into Evan’s shoulder and going “I just want to be better”

Evan says nothing, because he’s been doing an obsessive amount of research and the truth is Jared might not ever be “better” again, and he doesn’t want to lie to Jared. Well, he certainly wants to, we all know about Evan’s lying issues lmao. He desperately wants to tell Jared comforting lies like “it’s ok” and “there’s nothing wrong with you” and “of course you’ll get better” but he holds his tongue because he knows he can’t lie to Jared, not about this.

ANYWAY ahahaha, I got a little carried away with this one but I’ve got a LOT of feelings about it. It will end up with kleinsen because I couldn’t resist, so on that note I do have just one last point I HAVE to share 🥺

So a lot of people who get struck by lightning end up with these really kind of beautiful looking scars called Lichtenberg figures. They normally only last a day or two (although I did read about one guy where they lasted like a month) but uhh.... I will be taking some artisitic liberities there lmao because imaging Evan gently tracing over Jared’s scars when they finally get together? Good shit.

[roses-ruby]

Cherry Muffins and Lavender Tea

Namjoon x Female Reader

Genre: College AU, Sugary Fluff, Humor if you squint, Smut but it’s ugly, and the teeny tiniest angst

Warnings: curse words, sex, orgasms, oral (female receiving), choking kink, daddy kink, hot biker Namjoon, sex with clothes on, might make you hungry (i’m not sure about everything that’s considered a warning sorry! If there’s something you want me to add, tell me)

Word Count: 8,196

Summary: You’ve got feelings for my man Namjoon, the scary looking dork that drops by where you work. But how will you relay them?

A/N: My first story! Omfgsfkhbifb I’m nervous so please leave a kind word, I’ll love you forever. Might have mistakes cause i’m an idiot. None of this would have been possible without the great @countrysundae she’s my darling and inspiration and I love her sooooo much and you should too!!! Please appreciate her Pisces ass, and send her some love! Oof anyway, please enjoy

10:30

Originally set for 8, 10 fucking 30 is when the bells of your alarm informed you to awake for maybe the 99th time that morning. Groaning in displeasure you move your stiffened muscles to shut the damn thing off. This is a process that’s become a routine; waking up way later than originally planned, no matter how many timers set, or reminders kept. Even though you admit you are sleep deprived constantly, it doesn’t make you a heavy sleeper habitually! You wake up to the tiniest noises at night, from your roommate trying to sneak back into the shared room in ungodly hours of the night to the leaking tap in the bathtub. And yet your phone’s alarm is your placebo-it does absolutely nothing for you.

Though you do try. You keep about 5 alarms on at once, to your roommate’s expense who somehow is both a night owl and early bird all at once. Speaking of which-

“So, the witch finally sees daylight,” snickers Sana

“what the fuc--how long were you there?!” You rasped, grabbing at your erratic heart

“Just got in 5 minutes ago, that was my first alarm and trust me when I say I would’ve strangled you if I heard another.”

It’s true, she’s done it before. Your poor roommate was an occasional victim of your ruthless sleeping habits. You’d sometimes slip into conscious from slumber to hear her whine about your blaring alarms in her own sleeping state. Other times you’d wake up from a pillow landing on your face from a girl who’s had Enough.™ But you didn’t feel too bad for her, since you’ve given her the option of waking you up herself and she’s proven frivolous far too many times for such a simple task. Lowkey? She deserves it.

“Ooh another fun night, huh?” You grin in your sleepy state

Sana giggles “Mhmm, think Mark’s in love with me the poor chap,” she mocks his English accent making you both laugh at yet another fuckboi who’s become a victim to Sana’s lethal looks. Giving her a glance over, from her messy hair and smeared lipstick you conclude she indeed had a very fun night.

Sana came from a well-off background and had it all. Good-looks, smarts, the money, and a very good heart. She didn’t have to go to university, but her mom was not having it. The whole ‘be grateful for the opportunity people suffer to receive’ speech led her here. A parent’s guilt tripping wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with. You considered yourself an average person. Kinda cute, smart, headstrong and half of a pretty good character…Your parents on the other hand, were really wimpy.

“We always thought you’d go to the neighborhood community college”, your dad remarked in horror holding the prestige upper state university’s acceptance letter that arrived recently.

Your dad, who thinks jaded denim vests are cool.

“You’re too young to be living on your own, you’re still a bird who can’t use her wings correctly, not ready to leave the nest!” Said your distressed mom, who’s solution to all bad food was to put more cheese on it.

Don’t like your chicken curry? Pass on the parmesan sprinkler!

You hear the bang of hands on the table and a chair screeches, “let her go, she’ll come back with her tail between her legs”, your little brother who plays fortnite all day and is going through his ‘I hate feelings but secretly cry every night’ faze shouts before storming off towards his room.

All you do is sigh and roll your eyes, picking at your over-parmesaned chicken curry with your naan as your parents continue to nag, cause after this whole fiasco your mind was certainly convinced.

You’re going to the university.

_

Now that you are here, nothing was easy even for someone as headstrong as you. You were smart enough for a scholarship, but living expenses were something else entirely. Which led you to seek employment at a small café, a few miles from your university. It wasn’t the most bustling of places as it drew in a handful of consumers a day, even your fellow students chose the McDonalds right across the street. Everyone enjoyed the quick coffee and frozen fries, rather than your place’s slightly pricier fresh brews and handmade savory biscuits. Alas, you considerably appreciated the quiet composure your café provided. From the dim soft white lighting, to the 60’s slow jazz-which you routinely exchanged with a Studio Ghibli playlist from YouTube discreetly, blended well together. Gave you time to catchup on your schoolwork. Your boss was a chill 42-year-old who won the lottery a few years back, and let you clock in any time before 12, even if your morning shift began from 9. Maybe it had something to do with how the last waitress quit to work at McDonalds.

And he was always there.

Kim Namjoon. The quiet stud that had captivated your heart without even trying. Also, the fucking reason you wanted to get up earlier in the mornings damn it!

Namjoon was a psychology major who was always reading a new book. Mostly from his favorite author Haruki Murakami. And he always stopped by at the place you worked to indulged them. Parking his Harley-Davidson Softail outside and softly walking in with his old school leather jacket and gloves, ripped jeans, a book in his hand, his huge hard…helmet forgotten on the bike’s handle. He’d gently relay his familiar order of cherry muffins and lavender tea, raking his hair back with those beautiful black gloves, and striding to his usual seat in the back of the café.

He’d grace your presence 3 times a week, usually at 9:30 before his 10 am classes; another early bitch bird. All you wanted to do since then was to be able to take his order.

You had met Namjoon at the beginning of your first semester last year. But he hadn’t harbored much of your attention until that fateful day. Chilly winds and frequent rain were what you were adjusting to, as fall was in its peak with every other color on the leaves a vibrant orange, grabbing at your focus. Having arrived on time for once, you were engaged in your workspace. The co-owner and your co-worker of the small café, the boss’s niece, had taken a day’s leave, and you knew she’d beat your ass if you were late. Tray in hand, you served a bacon quiche and caffé americano to the table refuging a girl in an infinity scarf and glasses who didn’t bother to look up from her phone, when the door chimed open

It’s him again, you thought at the tall stranger you’ve seen around your campus in all black stepping towards the counter. He had small droplets of water on his leather jacket and hair from the rain. You didn’t realize you were staring until he awkwardly looked directly at you, standing with an empty round tray at the side of the table of the occupied girl, who you know is also taking a secret glance at him, and shyly smiles.

Cute.

You walk yourself behind the counter and smile, “hey there”

“Hi, um two cherr-“

“-y muffins and lavender tea, right?”

He nods

“Why don’t you just say the usual?” You laugh, wringing up his order in your old school register

“I didn’t think you’d remember me out of all the customers,” he states bashfully, dimples on display

“‘all the customers?’’ you laugh louder, “we get like 15 a day, I’m sure I’ll remember you”

“Oh, I thought I just came too early”

“You definitely do! I don’t have the energy to get up and comb my hair at 9 in the morning, much less bike to a café for cherry muffins”

“You like it?” he grins “it’s a Harley-Davidson, my dad owned one”

“It’s as pretty as you sweetie,” you don’t know where that confidence was coming from, because you’ve definitely haven’t talked to a boy like this before. Blame it on the chilly weather.

“oh, thank you,” he rakes his leather gloved hands through his hair, looking down at his shoes

Stepping towards your tea station, you grab open the bag of loose organic dried lavender buds, on the shelf above. Picking up a measuring spoon, you scoop and slide in some buds in the French press. You grab the boiling water on the electric stove, next to your station and slowly pour it onto the herbs. You close down the French Press and set a timer for 6 minutes.

Taking a breath, you look around the café. Namjoon stands there as towering as a tree, looking at his book, ‘Women who Run with the Wolves.’ Most people would go sit down if it wasn’t pickup, but he always stood right at the registrar. Strange. Unsurprisingly, you remember being intimidated as hell in the beginning. Usually people that come to the café are chill in the ‘harmless millennial hippie’ type of way, dressing themselves in mutable colors. But he looked like he would yell if you even slightly messed up his order or gave a ‘wrong look’ to his bike. You loosened up when his order was always so easy, and his book choices always so cute. You almost bust out laughing when he came in with ‘A fault in our stars;’ especially when he sat at his table with glossy eyes, trying to finish the last pages. His smile also melted all worries away.

Infinity scarf girl gets up to leave (but not before giving Namjoon a longing look), leaving you both alone in the balance of your heartbeats. There was slow piano from Kiki’s delivery service filling up your café’s background. The weather still faintly drizzling, the soft gray clouds seeping through the broad windows, making the café’s wooden brown hues a tad bit dimmer, yet the fairy lights radiant. Pedestrians with transparent umbrellas in beige coats and red hats pass by every so often, not a care in the world. Smells of fresh scones and cinnamon filled your nostrils, making you remember holiday nights at home. Though your thoughts often redirected themselves towards the handsome stranger and the harmony of the quiet fall day.

The timer dings and you get back on track, using the handle to press the floating buds down to the bottom of your French press. You head toward the counter’s display case. Below is a steel countertop with coffee/tea cups, silverware, small plates, trays and a set of tongs. You grab a cup and plate, fixing them properly you pour the tea. The steam drifts towards your face, an amazing aroma that complimented the purple complexion of your brew. Grabbing a set of tongs, you take out two large cherry muffins, placing them on a tray, along with the tea. You decide to grab a chocolate chip cookie as well from one of the clear cookie jars set on the wooden crown of the display case.

“Here ya go,” you place the tray in front of him. He places his book and gloves onto the tray and gets out his wallet from his beautifulbooty back pocket. After paying he picks up the tray and halts

“Cookie?” He holds up the chocolate chip cookie in his hand, a bit confused

“It’s on the house, they’re the best thing in the café, but I end up eating most of them, so might as well give ‘em out”

He smiles, “thank you, it looks delicious”

“No problem, anything for our loyal customers,” you both laugh, “it’s beautiful out today”

“Hm, not as much as you,” he states, walking away from you towards his usual seat. Now, he turned around very quickly after he said that, so you didn’t really get to see his face after such cheesy words, but the tips of his ears were red. Oh.

He’s cute cute.

Stunned, you stand there for a moment or two, just wide-eyed; staring at nothing, until you spin on your spot and head back into the tea vicinity of the café. You feel your heartrate rise and alarms go off in your head. But not the loud intrusive kind. The kind where a baker knows his three-layered chocolate fudge cake is ready. The ones where a mom takes freshly baked cinnamon rolls out in the morning. The ones when the apple pie is prepared to be sliced. Those kinds. Covering your extremely warm face with your hands, you muffle a squeal.

Since then, you’ve started paying close attention to Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t know what it was, his tall broad frame and long thick legs, which you wanted to be choked with. His large hands in those chunky leather gloves or when he took them off, to handle the pages of his book delicately; his long skinny fingers would graze over the soft wood, both things you wanted to be choked with. Or his keen eyes that would get larger or darker depending on what part of the book he was reading, and you imagined in which manner they would present themselves with while he’s choking y-Ok. Ok. Ok. You had a kink. Endeared was how you felt at his intimidating appearance.

You also adored how far away from intimidating he actually was. You were smitten with his gentle demeanor in dealing with people. His pacifist nature, and how much he loved tiny crabs, how he was so respectful towards everyone, younger or older, never judging anyone’s appearance or his love for characters that’re as large, and clumsy as him, like Ryan from that Kakaotalk app. And his laughed that carried large amounts of joy over cheesy, silly things ultimately making you laugh as well.

You were sure you loved Kim Namjoon, yet you barely spoke to him-

I mean who’s gonna disturb a huge scary-looking dork when he’s trying to read? Certainly not you. What you desired is a way to get close to him somehow, and for that you needed to know more about him. It wasn’t hard to pick up gossip though, when you were friends with the loudest chatter mouth on the planet.

You told Sana once about your silly crush and she shrieked so hard it sounded like a howl. The next day she had all the deets on who she referred to as ‘Hunkjoon.’ He had an IQ of 148, he hates seafood, he’s so clumsy that his friends refer to him as ‘the god of destruction,’ favorite color is black (no duh), he’s well-known, terribly smart, and to your dismay, associated with the exceedingly popular frat boys Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin.

Ugh

Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin, or who you so kindly referred to as the Seokbitches, were the schools James Dean. ‘Icon of teenage disillusionment.’ Hehe, perfect definition by google. They were notorious, for playing ghosts in their classes, throwing a party every.single.damn.day., never keeping their dick™ in their pants, and having the most obnoxious laughs on the earth…

Ok, so maybe only you knew them for that. To others they were the teenage love and rebellion dream, James Dean. They never attended classes, because they were fuckthesystem peeps, threw a party everyday so the poor souls stuck in an endless cycle of capitalist warfare aka their fellow students could enjoy the more fun things life has to offer, indulged in every part of youth-including the 24/7 horny part, and had the most beautiful laughs in the damn planet.

How were they Namjoon’s closest friends…How? Anyone with a functioning brain can tell the vast difference between the trinity. Namjoon attended all his classes (yet fate didn’t give you a class with him, the bitch), he actually read books, and he wasn’t hooking up with 2-3 girls every night, unlike certain people.

You heard from a classmate a while back that ‘bout two years ago Namjoon had a serious girlfriend. Since their breakup, he hasn’t been with anyone else. It’s good that he’s single but you’ve still only talked to him here and there. A few shy glances, a few awkward touches. Nothing more, but lord do you want more, alot more. What if a girl more daring gets him first?  Do you really need angst in your life? NO! but you are still at a loss of what to do. You had one boyfriend so far, and it was one of your worst experiences.

The guy was a total creep. And the worst part? You asked him out. All your friends had relationships and he was someone who rode the bus with you, making you laugh here and there. So, being the usual teenager, you thought it’d be a good idea to date him, like a fool. Who knew he wasn’t just being charming, and making fun of people (trying to be edgy as you now know) was a hobby for him? You did. Right after you overheard him announce the fact that you look like a winged bat when you suck dick just to make his jerk-ass friends laugh. It was so humiliating, as you never did something of the sorts with him, yet his friends would stick out their teeth in a ‘vampire like manner’ whenever they passed you in the hallway, as well as your first heartbreak. You got him back by filling his locker with Limburger cheese, from your mom’s collection of cheeses. His gym clothes smelled for a month, and people called him cheeseboi for the rest of the year.

You shed your blind innocence that day and knew that men are trash. Namjoon isn’t like that though, and you’re surer of that than anything. He’s special for you and you want to be the special one for him. Sadly, you just didn’t know how to start a conversation with Namjoon, without looking like you jumped in boiling water. I mean you had hook-ups in college. Who doesn’t play around here and there? But fuck-this is definitely the first time you actually like someone. Like really like them, so you just clam up and don’t know what to do. That’s where you are today.

You bounce from your bed, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m late again,” you mumble.

Sana hears that (at this point she could have better hearing than dogs)

“Hunkjoon, huh?”

“That’s not his name Sasha”

“Listen, why do you even spend your time trying to get with him in that boring café?” Sana shouts, hopping off her bed she makes her way to the bathroom and throws her hands around you who’s brushing her teeth. “You should ask him out, maybe to a club. A little booty popping, ear sucking, mouth licking, and he’s yours”

“Please don’t ever use any of those words in that way ever again.”

“I’m serious!” Exasperated she throws her hands in the air before resting them on each of your shoulders together and squeezes you. “You just need a change of scenery, that place is no hook-up central for us modern kids. Just one party, and he’ll be all over you.” You tug her off your back and narrow your eyes-looking at her through the mirror; you continue to brush your teeth. She knows you want something far from a hookup with Namjoon, yet she-

“And then,” she smirks, “maybe your mouth would be full of his cum-not toothpaste”

You choke.

“Sana what the fuck,” you rage running after the laughing vixen with your toothbrush as a makeshift knife

“Don’t act like it’s not what you want!” She cackles as you tackle her onto the bed ready to stab her eyes out when your phone rings. Oh shit. You know exactly who that is. Picking it up, you run to the bathroom, spitting out your toothpaste

“H-h-hello?”

“Where. in. Jesus’s. name. are. you?!”

“O-oh, coming Linda, I’m in traffic” Sana proceeds to imitate a car beep sound at that-“and I’ll be there in 5 minutes!”

“If you aren’t, I’ll personally serve your head as our main dish this afternoon!” She screeches before hanging up

“Shit,” you catch your breath, “I gotta go,” scrambling around, you find something appropriate to wear in late April weather. You brush your hair in a hurry and throw on a high ponytail. Sana just watches you the whole time, staring at you up on her elbows from her bed looking deep in thought. Grabbing one of Sana’s car keys and your purse, you rush out the door with a quick bye to Sana. She doesn’t reply back but after you are out the door she flings back onto her bed, arms expanded.

“I’ll ask Hobi,” she says to herself

_

Parking in the small lot behind the café, you run inside the back door. You gather yourself, fixing your hair and your fast heartbeat, you wrap on an apron and head to the front.

Linda spots you right away.

“You’re late,” she grits

“Yeah, traffic sucks,” you grin awkwardly, praying she’ll believe you.

“Just get to work, the pound cakes are almost ready to take out,” she points toward the oven. You nod, heading into the vicinity of the oven in the back next to the stove.

“Hey Linda,” someone shouts making you turn, “the person at table 3 wants some sourdough starter”

Linda acknowledges, moving into the back storage where the starters where kept.

You spot a girl. A new girl. A very very pretty girl, with long light brown hair up to her waist, and a delicate body. She meets your eyes and smiles and you return the gesture before looking away like you didn’t momentarily become gay looking at her soft features.

It’s good to have her around, you conclude. Usually you worked the morning shift with Linda 3 times a week, taking afternoon classes during those days. (coincidently when Namjoon comes by) You know there’s a girl who works the afternoon shift, but you never really ran into her. And since you do come late 1 out of 3 times, Linda ends up doing most of the work herself, including making all the café’s delicacies. You’re so very thankful to Linda and her uncle for not firing you, and very glad that Linda has some actual help now.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the oven timer dings and the door chimes open.

The new girl greets the customer cheerily while you concentrate on taking an enticing whiff of the vanilla pound cakes, about to pull open the oven’s door when you stop dead in your tracks. You’d recognize that deep voice anywhere.

Turning your head so fast, you feel your neck burn from whiplash you spot your Namjoon finishing his order to your co-worker. He meets your eyes for a moment, and god you’re sure you look like a fish.

“Would you like anything else? We have really good chocolate chip cookies,” pipes the newcomer

“I know, they’re delicious,” he catches your eyes again, “but no thank you, not this time”

“Aww, well I love them a bit too much. Even though I’m new I’ve had quite a few,” she starts ringing up his order

“I thought I haven’t seen you around here”

“Moved in recently and kinda have trouble unpacking…I need a stronger body ya’know”

“Is that so,” Namjoon quirks a brow and you feel like you’ll throw up. Why is Namjoon late? Catch 22 didn’t seem like his style of book? Why the fuck is she giggling so much? Who let her steal all your cookies? And why is his hair so much messier than usual? He looks so cute omg?... What’s that burning smell?

…Shit

You gawk at the oven in horror as Linda shouts your name from a mile away.

_

Sana’s scrolling through her phone on her tummy when you bonk her head with your purse

“Ow, what the fuck-”

“When’s the next frat fiasco? I need to relive some stress”

She smiles, “I knew you’d come around, and that’s why I went ahead and asked Hobi to bring Hunkjoon tonight.”

You beam at the mention, “Sana you angel!” Then immediately scowl, “Wait at a seokbitch party? Just fucking great”

“Don’t be so sour,” Sana sighs, sitting up, “Namjoon doesn’t go to many parties anyway so his best friend was the only solid way to bring him.”

Giving it a thought, you beam again, jumping on Sana

“Sana you angel!”

“Whatever’s up with your hair by the way, looks like you’ve been pulling on it.”

“Don’t ask…long day.”

_

Arriving at the party, you grimace at the smoke of marijuana blanketing you as soon as you enter.

“Alright, Hobi should be around here somewhere,” Sana looks around,” standing on the tippy toes of her heels, trying to look past the frisky bodies, but it’s of no use with the amount of people in the room.

The room was packed with tipsy children. There was barely any elbow space even though the frat house was huge as you and Sana squeezed through hot, sweaty dancing bodies. Some unbalanced drunkards clumsily pushing into you every now and then and you wondered how anyone came to these things. It’s hot, and everyone smelled of axe and sweat. Parties would be much better with just a modest group of people you know, or maybe that’s the small-town girl in you speaking.

No! You cringed internally. You must forget about your outdated methods and passive behavior. Tonight, you will become someone completely new. Someone who takes action.

“Oh there!” Sana shouts over the music, waving furiously to someone by the stairs

Soon after you hear the jubilant voice of Jung Hoseok as he comes into view to greet Sana with a hug, and after being temporarily blinded by his smile you give him a once over or call that twice, because fuck He looked good in a simple white tee, tight blue jeans, dark brown Timberlands and his hair pushed up with what seemed like some gel and messy fingers (think back to Gayo Daejejeon 2018 mic drop)

“This is the girl I was telling you about,” Sana points at you

Hoseok joins in on your shameless gawking and grins

Embodying you was a baby pink thin strapped mini dress, and when you say mini, you mean your black Chantelle Présage lace thong is showing mini, but you’re a woman on a mission, and you didn’t care if you were naked at this point. Your hair was thoroughly straightened, and you went for a glossy cherry makeup look, courtesy of Sana. You weren’t trying to look like a cherry muffin, buuuut you didn’t mind if that’s what people thought, specifically one person.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he extends his hand, eyes duskier than a moment ago

You should wear shades in front of him or you’re sure you’ll go blind.

You shake his hand and give him one of your most forced friendly smiles, trying not to make much conversation as you just wanted one thing. Though that shiver upon your spine at his grip tells you otherwise.

Hoseok motions for you both to follow him and you pick his trail

Sana elbows you

“We talked about this! You’re supposed to be acting like a lamb, ready to be jumped on at any time, not a fox,” she whispers at your obvious display of wanting nothing to do with the Hyena

“I’m being nice! I am! This is how I’m nice!”

Sana rolls her eyes, and you sulk. It’s not your fault she is a master seductress, and you just don’t know how to be kind to the guy who’s trying to undress you with his eyes when he knows you’re here for his friend. She told you two things about seducing men, act completely incompetent and laugh at all their lame jokes. The more you feed a guy’s concocted ego, the more you feed his desire for you. And well, a way to the man’s heart is through feeding him…or something right?

But all your thoughts disappear into nothing once you lay eyes upon the man you’ve been wanting for almost a year.

Kim Namjoon, holy fuck.

Never has a loose black tee and oversized maroon velvet bomber’s jacket looked that good on anyone before. He commands your undivided attention with that low-neck line and gelled up hair. Healthy, glowing skin spread out like a canvas. His jeans ripped in all the beautiful places around the man’s thick, strong thighs, and black derby’s? Classic, yet defiant as always. He was fucking beautiful and you were awestruck. Hoseok says something to the group of 3 guys standing by the back sofa, including Namjoon, most likely about you, but you don’t hear anything once Namjoon locks eyes with you. There’s evident surprise in his eyes, which dims into concentration at the dress you’re wearing.

“So Namjoon,” Hoseok interrupts your thoughts, “I heard you both’ve met before?”

Namjoon doesn’t break away from you for a moment, smiling slightly “we’ve met, it’s nice to see you here”

He was being strangely vague. “You too,” you mutter

You could physically feel Sana scoff at the virginity act.

“Alright, I can use a drink-Ali, Jason, Sana let’s go get them”, Hoseok works fast to evade the intrusive attention on the both of you

“Why do you need 3 people to help you with drinks”, says a confused Jason

Flustered at the man’s impaired ability to read between the lines Hoseok scrambles for another excuse, “um…uh, I don’t know what you want? And uh there’s a lot of people, so uh”

Jason stubborn as ever quirks, “well I can just tell you what I wan-”

“JASON! ALI!” Sana shouts and everyone, aside from Namjoon, who won’t turn away from you, glances at her, “be a darling and pour my drink for me,” she uses her sultry voice, throws a sly smile, and they all get led away by her, even Hoseok, looking hypnotized

Watching them walk away you let out a sigh. This is it. This is your moment. You really should’ve had a shot before this. Drunk you wouldn’t clam up and clench her buttocks that sober you is doing for some reason. Clearing your throat, you start blurting out the first forms of conversation that settles in your mind.

“Nice to see you here, finally away from the café-not that I don’t like seeing you there…I mean I do, but this is nice too hehe”

You mentally slap yourself for the worst beginning. When have you ever been this quiet? Sana couldn’t get you or your alarm to shut up most of the time and this is the moment you choose to get awkward? Maybe this is it. He’ll just walk away now and you can wallow in self-pity.

“It’s great to see you too, out of that café…not that I don’t like it as well” he smiles

Your whole form relaxes, and you feel the knot of pressure in your back coming undone. You know you’re overthinking, know that your mind is self-sabotaging you, so it can get out of this hellhole back into its safe space between your bedsheets. So, you take a breath and focus on his eyes, trying to bring back the confidence of an 80’s café waitress. “You got yelled at pretty hard this morning, were you ok?” He asks

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I kinda deserved it and Linda’s the biggest sweetheart, she would never actually hurt me.” Minus where she almost tore your hair out in the backroom

“…speaking of which, why were you late this morning?” You slapped yourself again

He gave you a look. Shit. “You track me?” he grins

“No-no, nonono…n-yes. I track all my customers”, you smile awkwardly, “they keep me on my toes ya’ know the little bastards” If only you could forever tape your mouth

It was a bad joke but he lets out a chuckle where his eyes turn into little crescents and his dimples poke through his skin

“Well, I missed my alarm this morning, so I was too late to arrive on time…but I still wanted to come…”

“…Why?”

“I just,” he stares at you, “did”

“I see. It’s our tea isn’t it.”

Both of you share a laugh

“You look beautiful by the way”

“This little thing?” you twirl your hips, “just found this in the back of my closet”

The brag was true because you never fucking dressed up for anything, yet always shop like you do.

When you look at him again, you see his eyes dark at the move you just did, which you’re sure exposed your ass

Gathering courage, you start walking toward and up the stairs not giving Namjoon another glance. You could feel his bewilderment through your exposed back, as he follows you like a lost puppy. You hide a smile. Heading into an open room, you find its balcony. Outside, the spring wind picks up your hair and you take in a deep breath, letting go of all your nerves that tense up once you feel the balcony door open and close and the presence of another person in the little island.

“Are you alright?” You feel his breath on you, and you barricade a shudder

“I’m fine…I just couldn’t breathe in there with all the weed,” you turn and smile at him.

“I hate it too,” He smiles back

There’s a moment before you both break eye contact and he’s stepping up beside you

Looking out from the balcony, you pander in the serenity of the dark night and silent winds. The music is still mutely conscious in both your eardrums, as well as the laughter of kids who came here to forget tomorrow. There’s always a calmness you feel with him, no matter the weather or locality. The tips of your arms are touching and the barring heat your entire left side simmers in provides you with the translation of your need to be closer with him.

“I’m sorry I’m not good at small talk”

You turn your face to him as he takes a breath before speaking again

“I’m very awkward, sorry about that”

“You aren’t the one who’s awkward, you raise a brow, I’ve been making bad jokes all night. And well, who’s good at things like small talk?”

He smiles at you, “Your jokes aren’t bad,” he says bringing his face closer to yours, “and I love hearing you talk”

“Thank you” There’s another silence before you ask, “started a new book recently?’

“I did!” He quirks, “‘Yellow Wallpaper’ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, it’s disturbing yet addictive. Like an Edgar Allen type you know. The increasing dread creates a form of suspense, which feels like a drug. Even though you can tell the ending won’t be good, you carry on led by a strange empathy as if you’ve become the character and it-“

Namjoon stops suddenly and stares at you smiling. “Um…sorry I got carried away, I’m probably boring you”

“Nuh-uh” you stop him immediately, “You aren’t boring at all. I love hearing you talk”

There’s a radiant blush on his cheek as red as your cherry lips, and you just want to devour him. “When I,” he begins looking away, “When I come to the café, you always seem so interested in what I’m reading. Most people don’t really care about that from me. They care that I ride bikes or about my popular friends. Not that I mind. I’m fine keeping them on a surface level. But,” He looks at you, “I want to know you better.”

“Me too” you blurt out very quickly

Your faces are so adjacent you can smell his soft mint toothpaste from his steady breathing. He’s staring at your glossy lips, your whole form is covered with his warmth, fluttering your senses leisurely

“Want a taste,” you whisper just for him to hear

“I bet it’s as delicious as it looks,” he lets out a heavy breath

“Well lucky you cause tonight I’m serving them specially for you”

You close the distance between your mouths and take in his plump lips. It wasn’t rushed, yet it wasn’t slow. It felt like the most perfect kind of kiss in the silent spring, the one that’s described in timeless romance novels. The one that you tell your children to look for, if they’re fortunate enough in their youth. That they’ll know it’s from the one.

He brings his hand upon your cheek and rubs it tenderly with his thumb. You both move back and stare in each other’s eyes.

“Well…was it delicious?”

“Better than cherry muffins,” he licks his lips to taste your cherry gloss on them

You crinkle your eyes to cringe and giggle

“You’re so cute,” he says and he’s kissing you again

This time he slips his tongue in your mouth and you hum in content, grabbing at the back of his blonde hair. Your tongues dance wildly, and Namjoon reaches for every nook and cranny of your wet cavern. Immoral sounds are escaping you both as your closed eyes burn in delight. Putting your legs on each side of his torso, he hurriedly picks you up from under your thighs and easily carries you inside the room, towards the bed.

You both break off as soon as he lands your bodies on the spring. His body still contains the heat from your thighs, and he’s pressed so close to you, you can feel your nipples against his rock-hard chest as well as the tent in his jeans. Breathing heavily, you stare in his starry eyes, filled with so much lust it feels like they’re dripping.

With a shaky breath you try to melt his lips onto yours again, just for him to shift back.

“Do you want this?” He asks, determined to move off if you refuse him

That would be a sin. “Yes.” You speak clearly, “I always wanted you, since I first saw you, Namjoon.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, before he’s on you again like the kindest, warmest deity he is.

He’s back into exploring your mouth as your hands find their home roaming his broad back. As he moves his hips up and down your wet entrance, a heat shoots up through your spine. His hands are kneading your ass, and everything is moving in slow motion for what feels like forever. Breaking off your mouth, he moves his kisses along your neck down to your cleavage, sucking hickeys on sensitive areas you moaned around. Growling at the invasive flimsy fabric surrounding your chest, he begins to tear it apart. His hands pulled down your transparent bra. You gasp at the intrusion of air surrounding your upper body.

“Mmm, fuck yes baby,” you could feel yourself soaking his cloth covered crotch as you fuck yourself upon his restricted dick.

Namjoon smirks reaching towards your back to take off your bra, letting his warm fingers tickle your skin as you lift your back to help him remove it and discard it to the side. Namjoon takes you in, caressing your face and you feel like he’s going to compliment you before he’s spitting words in your ear

“You little slut, you came here just to be fucked didn’t you”

Flustered you splutter, “Yes, ah please”

“That’s yes daddy for you baby,” he uses his large fingers to take hair off your face and removes his jacket and shirt

“Yes daddy, please,” you eye his tan muscles and broad chest. He noses your jaw and takes his mouth around your areola. You immediately run a hand through his golden locks, your mouth hangs open as he flicks your nipple with his tongue. Around his arms was sunken skin, in the form of muscles and you run your hands through every cervix.

Your breathing is labored

He moves back, moving your thong slightly to the right as he dips two fingers into you,

“Drenched and shameless muffin,” he mutters scissoring your entrance slightly, staring at you darkly

You are sprawled out for him like an unwrapped muffin. One leg hangs off the bed, while the other is desperately wrapped around his torso as if you’re scared he’ll leave. Your breasts are exposed and wet with saliva, and you’ve just handed him your cunt for the taking. You’re high off his soft sandalwood scent, as he takes your chest in his large hand, rolling your nipple in his thumb and index finger, pulling it slightly. His fingers are wet from your juices and you’re embarrassed you’re this wet. Vulnerable, you shut your eyes and look away before he grabs your cheeks with his hand and brings your face back towards him, hitting a certain spot that has you arching your back and knitting your brows.

“Don’t close your eyes baby girl, I need your focus completely on me”

“Then no more teasing,” you pout

Namjoon chuckles as he brings his fingers dripping with your silk into his mouth; looking straight into your soul he licks around his fingers in the lewdest way possible. “Sweeter than cherries” he mutters, slowly unraveling your wrapped leg and caresses the inside of your wet thigh, never letting go as if reassuring you that he’s right here. Languidly, he noses down your navel and further below until he’s lined with your aching core

“Daddy” you whimper

Giving you kitten licks around your folds, he licks a long strip before placing his tongue slightly inside your walls and suckles your juices. Your legs were on each side of his head, and you pulled at his hair out of frustration. The higher your voice went, the more he licked, bringing his tongue around your bundle of nerves and gently rolling the nub around. His hands traveled from your thighs to your waist, and slowly towards your breasts and kneaded. He flattened his tongue against your folds again, to take a finer taste of you, as he hummed knowing you were close. He took his right hand off your chest and used it to slide two fingers into your inner depths.

His mouth then went back to your clit, slowly rolling it around his tongue in a circular motion as his fingers drilled into you faster and faster. You let out a string of curses as your thighs began to shake, and the knot in your stomach becoming undone. You came with a yelp as your eyes began to see stars and vision whitened.

All your sudden adrenaline left you and your limbs limped onto the bed, fingers no longer in Namjoon’s hair. Letting out heavy breaths you saw Namjoon slowly coming out of your legs to face you. His thick lips were wet with your juices, and he licked through them and smiled.

“You’re so beautiful baby girl,” he said before kissing you again. Your tongues danced through your exhaustion, and you moved your hand towards his hard on. You felt him hiss into your mouth as you slowly rubbed him through his jeans. Backing off his mouth you smiled, it’s your turn daddy, and undid his zipper. You felt his hard dick in your hand, blessed in length. Spreading precum around his shaft, you watched him twist his expression. He reached into his back pocket and took out a condom, tearing off the wrapper with his teeth and handing it to you.

You gave him a smile as you rolled the condom onto his length and lined it with your entrance-giving him a hand job as he gradually moved into you. Once he was fully sheathed, he took a moment, before pulling out a slamming into you again

You let out a gasp at his pace, still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm. He was relentless and pounded into you over and over again, as the whole bed shook at his force.

“F-fuck dadd-y ooh” you cried as the same knot appeared inside your stomach. You grabbed his hand on the side of your head and brought it up to your face to give it a kiss. Light headed from the force of his thrusts, you could still feel him looking at you as you brought his hand upon your neck and laid it out flat

He cursed at your submission, and lightly put pressure on your neck “You’re such a good girl, daddy’s good girl, good girl fuck,” his paced faltered and you could feel your orgasm approaching with the pressure around your neck. With his other hand he stimulated your clitoris and that’s all it took to have you cuming once again.

Your mind travels back to how much you’ve wanted this-wanted him. His strong arms are no longer hidden under his bulky jacket, his fingers no longer clean with traces of paper fiber, but with your juices. How the hands you’ve wanted for so long around your neck, the eyes you waited to be filled with just you, the moans you suffered to hear from his luscious lips. It’s all happening. It’s all yours and no amount of overthinking will take this away.

With a few more thrusts he reached his own peak with a grunt, flopping down on you shortly afterward. You could feel his heavy, hot breathing on your neck and you wrapped your hands around him. You take a few more huffs before talking to him.

“I really like you” you whisper

“So I’ve heard,” he chuckles moving off you, he picks you up to move you upright in the bed with your head on the pillow and your arms still around him. He lays down next to you. “I’m not going anywhere baby. I really like you too. You didn’t really think I came for the tea did you”

Your heart soars and you meet his dimpled smile, He looks so youthful with his after sex glow, “Hey I make that tea with a lot of love and care!”

“Right, I’m sorry,” he laughs

“I didn’t know you liked me, your head is always in your books”

“Well originally, I came to chill and read. Until I found the cutest waitress that makes amazing tea-“

“-Shut up,” you jab him with a giggle

“-and I didn’t want to seem creepy, so I just payed attention to my books. But I did try to talk to you. I would stand as still as a tree next to the registrar trying to think of something to say. You tended to look intimidated of me, so I always froze up and just sat down. I asked my friends how to talk to you, and they kept giving me strange advice. I don’t think they know how to get a girl without sexual innuendos. They didn’t know how you looked, just knew you as café girl. If Hoseok found out you were café girl tonight, he’d probably try and do something stupid”

You took in the information he gave you and put the puzzle pieces together. You both were huge overthinking dorks. “I was only intimidated in the beginning,” you begin, “even if I was I still found you hot and probably would’ve jumped on your dick had you asked”

He suppresses some coughs while turning red

Smirking you lead him on, “Oh, so you’re shy now but wanted me to call you daddy just a few minutes ago”

“T-that’s” he begins, and you laugh out loud thinking this is definitely your Namjoon

“What about your choking kink? That was cute and unexpected” he gives you a sly grin

“Wait, shut u-that’s not…it’s your fault with those leather gloves, and leather jackets”

You poke his dimple out of mock anger and he tickles you. The rest of the time is spent by talking out your feelings, your dreams, favorite books, and desserts until you both fall asleep in each other’s arms.

_

You wake up by what you believe is your alarm. Opening your groggy eyes, you look up towards the ceiling of a room that wasn’t yours. After a minute more in conscious you realize it’s not your alarm ringing, but a pounding residing from the closed door of the stranger’s room.

“Can you guys please give me my room back now,” shouts a frustrated Hoseok

That’s when you remember the nights events and look at a sleepy Namjoon next to you. After checking the time of 7:41 shining through the digital clock on the nightstand next to what you now know as Hoseok’s bed, you smile and cuddle up to the warm body.

“Go away Hoseok,” Namjoon groans, “My baby’s trying to sleep.”

Both of you ignore Hoseok’s whines of protest as you whisper to Namjoon

“It’s fine, I’m glad he’s here so I can get to work on time for once. My alarm never wakes me up”

“Babe don’t worry, from now on I’ll be your personal alarm. As long as you can be my cherry muffin”

“I’ll do you one better and make one for you at the café”

“Those cherry muffins taste good,” he looks at you, “but you taste better,” and winks

You giggle until you hear the disturbed voice of Jung Hoseok behind the door,

“You guys are disgusting and have no idea how to whisper”

...

“GET OUT OF MY ROOM”

[xxxholicmaniac]

Valentine’s update!

I just updated one of my works on AO3

Baby, Your Laugh Is Rock and Roll Magic

xxxholicmaniac

Chapter 6 : Valentine's Day

Those green eyes, serene as a lake

in whose calm waters one day I contemplated myself,

don't know about the sorrows left in my soul

by those green eyes that I will never forget

"Aquellos ojos verdes" by Paquita la del Barrio

Take me to Spotify!

DEAN

THEN

He keeps messing with the radio.

"Cas, I swear, just. Pick a damn station. Please."

"There's nothing half decent on, Dean. And before you start lecturing me: NO. I don't feel like listening to your music," he snorts, turns off the radio altogether and turns to look out the window. Dean keeps sparing him sideway glances every other mile. He seems more than a little moody today. The rain drums against the car in a soothing rhythm and with no music, it's hard not to drift off.

"Is there any coffee left?"

Silence.

"Cas?"

"What?" He turns around.

"Wanna tell me what's going on, man?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing."

Cas snorts.

"See, that's your angry snorting right there. C'mon, spill the beans."

"I'm not angry."

"Right."

Cas keeps struggling for a while with whatever it's on his mind and then finally he blurs out: "What's the deal with Bobby and motorcycles?"

Oh. That.

"He doesn't like them."

"Yes, Dean, I get that much. But why?" Cas looks at him earnestly, like this is really important for him.

"His best friend Jesse got killed on his bike."

"Oh," Cas' stance deflates. "He... He didn't mentioned it."

"Do we ever mention those we've lost?"

"No, I guess not," Cas sighs and goes back to that little place inside his head. After a few more miles, Dean insists.

"We still have a few hours to go, do you feel like stretching your legs? I can pull over on the next exit."

"Sure," he nods and goes quiet again.

Half an hour later, they pull up at a truck stop. After a quick visit to the boys room, (Cas, for the love of God, stay away from glory holes!) he gets to the convenient store as Cas takes a walk around the parking lot. Dean makes a bee line to the coffee machine and smack his lips in disappointed. The coffee has the consistency of an oil spill. Given the very sad caffeine situation, he rummages through the candy isles, picking gummy bears, a few Snickers bars, and gum. Next to the register there's a big plastic fish bowl with cassettes tapes for 99 cents and that definitely sparks his attention.

"Gotta love a good treasure hunt," he mutters to himself as he carefully goes through them. The big guy behind the counter chuckles at his comment and that's his cue. He looks up and sees a name tag.

"Amirite, Larry?" Dean grins widely at him.

CASTIEL

Three cigarettes later, Dean comes back with a shit eating grin. He opens the driver's door and toss the plastic bag inside. He makes his way to him with the beaten Stanley tugged under his arm. He places it on top of the trunk and leans against the side of the car.

"What took you so long?" He hands him the cigarette package.

"Got distracted," Dean shrugs, takes one out and pads his pockets. He makes the grabby hands and Cas has to dig the lighter from the front pocket of his jeans.

"Dude, seriously. Quit stealing my shit," Dean sighs and pockets his Zippo. They smoke in comfortable silence for a while. The rain has since stopped. It's cold, cloudy and altogether a gloomy February day. Cas goes for the coffee and can't help a disappointed grunt when he realizes it's empty.

"Tought you were getting coffee?" He didn't mean to sound so childish, but it's been a somewhat meh day.

"Yeah, didn't look so good. Wanna grab a good cup of joe?"

"Do we have the time?"

Dean nods with that stupid grin still plastered on his face.

"Rufus said he expected us after 2 p.m., we can take a detour. Specially for coffee and pie."

"OK, Dean."

"You can throw me under the bus if we run late, don't worry."

"You'll deal with Rufus?"

"Of course, Cas. Don't worry. I got you."

They finish their cigarettes and get back on the road. Apparently Dean seems to know exactly where he's going.

"Larry said this place has the best pecan pie," he says casually looking out the window.

Don't frown at him.

"Who's Larry?"

Don't frown at him.

"Convenience store guy," he replies. That's so like Dean. Making friends in a heartbeat. Charming everyone on his wake.

"It should be... right... this... way... wait... wait... and... there! Aha!"

"I don't see any parking space," Cas points out.

"Yeah, Larry said it might be packed. But worry not, 'cause I asked Vivian to call them ahead, so they should have our order ready to go. And before you ask, Vivian is Larry's special friend."

Cas has to huff, he has to.

"And no, that's not how I got distracted. You go inside and ask for Fred, I'm gonna drive around the block."

"Who's Fred?"

"Fred's the man. Here," he fishes some bucks out of his wallet. "And here," he hands him the Stanley. He slows down almost to a halt and Cas gets out and totally jaywalks to the dinner.

"Cas!" He turns around to see Dean rolling down the window. "Tip the man!" He yells and Cas nods. Then he watches as Dean slowly drives away.

He walks in and, sure enough, the place is packed. He manages to get to the counter where a middle aged brunette in a very pink uniform greets him.

"Hey, sweetie, what can I getcha?"

"Hi, I'm looking for Fred?"

"You the Angel?" She smiles like the Cheshire cat.

"Sorry, what?"

"It's you a'right, baby blues she said. I'm Fred, Vivian said you were coming. Lemme get that for you," she gestures for the thermos and Cas hands it reluctantly. She swirls on her heels and goes to the back, where she disappears for a minute and gets back with three containers.

"A'ight, birthday boy! One order of blueberry pancakes, one waffles and bacon, one pecan pie for dessert and fresh coffee for the road. Is that all?"

Dean. Fucking. Winchester.

DEAN

He cruises by the dinner a third time and this time Cas is there holding a big paper bag with both hands, the Stanley tugged under his arm. He thought a second breakfast for lunch would cheer him up but apparently he was mistaken. He hits the breaks and opens the passenger door to let him in.

"You told them it was my birthday!" Cas barks and sits down miraculously balancing all the food, thank God. He carefully put the containers down on the seat and then he practically shoves the coffee at him. "They sang to me, Dean. The whole freaking dinner sang happy birthday to me. And you said Fred was a man and she was certainly not!"

"Did not."

"You totally did!" Cas sounds pissed, but doesn't slams the door, because he definitely knows better than to take it out on Baby. Dean picks up some speed as they return to the barely existing traffic.

"I said Fred is the man. You don't need to be a man to be the man. And you know birthday boys gets extra everything on their order."

"And she asked me if I was an angel!"

Oh.

"Look, Cas," he begins. "Honest misunderstanding, OK? I said you were named after an angel, not that you were an angel. It's not like. They didn't even know about. Just. Chinese telephone, man."

"And then Fred told me Vivian told her I was feeling 'a little blue' because my girlfriend is going away to college---"

"Never said Sam was a girl," he chuckles.

"So Fred explained me in excruciating detail everything Jesus can do for me, including but not limited to, help me with my most primal urges, and, of course, how to have a healthy long distance relationship."

Now he has to laugh at loud.

"It's not funny, Dean."

"I think that's pretty damn funny."

"You're such a jerk."

That actually hurts hurts.

"Oh c'mon! You know the art it's in the details. You need to chill, man."

"Don't tell me to fucking chill! This is exactly what Sam means!"

Oh hell no.

Under any circumstances he'll endure the tone from Castiel. He'll be damn if he does. He sees a spot ahead, hits the gas, pulls up and hastily hits the breaks. Cas obviously didn't see that coming because when he turns to face him, he's staring back, eyes wide open.

"You don't get to talk to me like that, y'hear me? You're not my brother!"

Oh fuck.

Cas narrows his eyes, snorts.

"Believe me. I know," he mutters through gritted teeth and turns to look away.

"That. That came out wrong."

Breath, just breath.

"That's not. Look. I was trying to cheer you up, a'ight? I just thought. We could. I didn't. I didn't mean to. Fuck." He can feel his voice trembling.

Just say it. Just fucking say it God damnit!

"I'm sorry, Cas."

You fucking coward.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

Cas keeps his back turned but his shoulders sag a little.

"We should eat our breakfast, before it gets cold," he looks around. He seems to have parked on someone's driveway.

"Maybe not in Darren and Karen's driveway."

He pulls out and starts to make his way back to the interstate. Maybe he can find that park he saw on the way to the dinner. Hopefully, the scenery will help up with the mood. Probably not. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Years of carefully and thoughtfully phrasing everything that comes out of his mouth to blow up over one stupid breakfast.

I hate Valentine's day.

Keep reading on AO3

@cocklesdestielfiction

[riderdrauggrim]

Day Tues Oct 20, 2020.

So! On uh. ... Other day... (they blur together, what is time, hrgnn) I made use of Toad Rock's repair shelter and put the bike up on the stand (with some help because Am Smol) to try and get the horrible slack out of the chain.

I'd known it was getting time for a new one before I left, but I'd always assumed the occasional clattering as the sprockets spun the chain around was my eternal foes; negligence and rust.

Hence me installing the CameleonOiler automatic chain oil dripper prior to departure: It meant I didn't need to risk lugging around a pressurized spray can, and the dripper would keep the chain tended for me.

Or so I thought.

That reads wrong. The CameleonOiler does exactly as advertised, drips a sticky spider web like dot of oil every three minutes and change, which keeps the chain happy. It wasn't until the reservoir ran out of the custom goop that the noise returned. I had only brought one jug of the oil for backup, and I was due those new tires, so I decided not to refill it and get everything gunky gross slimed for the poor shop guys at Riverside.

Once the tires were done, I refilled the tube; noise went away.

Friday night the noise came back with a vengeance, and the bike seemed to jerk and stutter when I accelerated. I was shifting through lower gears than I normally do, as I was both in the rain, at dusk, and on a twisty mountain pass I was unfamiliar with.

My natural instinct was "reservoir must be empty again, and all the rain washed whatever was on the chain away."

So. The other day I went to check the slack and it was so bad it was easily over 3". NOT good. Poking around a bit and the left swingarm end cap plate was loose. Okay, new theory, they'd cleaned and greased things when they replaced the tire... Perhaps the axle had jostled out of place when I hit a pothole or a rut or nearly wiped out on thay icy bridge. That would explain the loose plate, and the chain sag.

So it's on the center stand and I wrench things around and that's when I realize it ISN'T just stiff and rusty links. The Master Link and the two links beside it are outright LOOSE. Like, get them on the rear sprocket and then lift them off it a quarter inch LOOSE.

Which created a new problem.

If I tightened the chain slack while those links were on the sprocket, once they were off the sprocket they would relax, and that's where all the horrible sag was coming from. It also probably was what made the cringe worthy snapping sound, as they were suddenly drawn taut with tension from the opposing sprocket.

However, if I tightened the chain while the loose links were -between- the sprockets, it would cinch everything TOO tight once they revolved back onto the teeth.

Well. Shit.

On a whim, I decide, maybe if I can get a new chain, I can swap it myself.

Problem 1) The current chain has a rivet style master link, after a freak failure of a newly installed clip link years ago, we'd swapped to rivet style for security.

I do not have the tools to grind rivet heads off with me.

Problem 2) The place a half hour up the road DOES have a chain that fits. Except it had more links than I need.

And I do not have a chain breaker with me.

Solution 1) Said Honda place up the road, Main Jet Motorsports in Nelson, B.C. DOES have time this afternoon to pop the chain on for me. On one hand, saves me buying tools I don't need. And saves me from getting overwhelmed if I mess up. Let's do it.

And it's a good thing we did.

Service fellah comes to find me with an odd expression. I know what this means.

"What have I messed up and broken now," I sigh, because that's generally the case.

"No, it's just. Your wheel bearings are worn. Like. Badly worn. Like letting you leave with them in is a health and safety concern."

Wheeeeeeeeeee.

At the very least, it's not something that I would have known to look for, and it's apparently impossible to "tell" with weight on the wheel. They took me down and showed me how the wheel slightly wiggled side to side if you grabbed it and applied lateral pressure.

"And that's bad," I presumed. "What would happen if I kept going like that?"

Well, the wheel could straight up seize and stop spinning.

Okay! How do we fix it!

It became a good news/bad news afternoon.

Good news! We have replacement bearings in stock!

Bad news! We only have two of three.

Good news! The carrier bearing generally takes less wear than the other two, so we can probably leave that one in, just replace it asap when you get back.

Bad news! Your bearing seal is also shot, and we don't have any in stock.

Good news! It's not THAT horrible, we'll just grease it to heck and you get a new one when you get that third bearing swapped.

-sigh-

SO.

New chain, two out of three new bearings, and I'm good to go. Super thanks to Main Jet Motorsports!

-----

I also feel horrible because a woman came in who had bought a KTM 390 two years ago and had only put 500km on it because the damn KTMs are TOO FUCKING TALL and she wasn't confident when she had to stop and put a foot down.

That is the STORY OF MY LIFE, so of course I perked up. She'd done dirt bikes a bunch when she was younger. She liked riding. She just needed something she fit on.

So the... Six foot + sales guy and her are looking at the... Rebels?

What?

I'm like. Does he even understand her issue?

Sure, she can touch ground on the Rebels, but.

That's a totally different ride style?

Not AS Lazy-Boy recliner as a cruiser, but still. Nothing like the "feet pegs in line with body" of a dual sport, adventure, or sport.

If she has a dirt background, and wants to build up more confidence off road. You don't put her on a retro cruiser thingy.

I swear. All shops should have a sales person UNDER 5'4".

So I basically hijacked his sale.

And I feel bad for it.

But I talked up the CB500X, or even the CB500F like I used to have. I showed her how her posture on the Rebel would impact her spine if she wanted to off-road it, which she hadn't considered. Sure, it feels great in the show room, with both your feet on the floor. But go a few hours down a fire road, unable to stand and see what's ahead, the rake and trail all sluggish for quick corner input.

And it was one of those moments where I was ::aware I should just shut up:: but also felt like...

Responsibly motivated to make sure the lady got what she was actually looking for by pointing out pros and cons she maybe hadn't considered? As one short rider to another?

She seemed to REALLY be grateful for the advice and input.

The sales guy seemed annoyed as he glared at me and then growled he was gonna go photo copy something until I "was done talking".

I mean. Yah. I was all for Honda, and like, "these are both great machines, I recomend either, get what you feel comfortable on!" Like I wasn't at all like "no lady, what you want is to go somewhere else and buy a different brand".

But the dude didn't even get her copies of the full colour glossy product books, and I was kinda like...

Maybe he didn't take her seriously.

I mean most motorcycle makers and gear manufactures don't seem to give a shit about people under 5'4", there's barely any clothes that aren't too long or too tall. I've got to soften suspensions or put lowering links on my rides. I've got my pant cuffs rolled up three times like I borrowed my big brother's space suit.

Plus she's a GIRLLLL. Oh yah, companies make riding gear FOR GIRLSSS. It's pink, and shows off your hourglass figure, and has silver sequined butterflies. Or the Klim Jacket that had the cell phone pocket DIRECTLY over the left breast, so the device would get painfully mashed into the tissue if you tried to zip up. Almost as if they didn't actually have any girls on hand to trouble shoot the product.

HHHGGNNN.

Anyways. I hope that lady finds a nice Honda she likes and has fun on it.

I'm sorry to the sales dude for stepping on your toes.

And I love the heck out of the service guys for looking after me and catching that huge safety concern and getting me back on the road super quick.

Now I just need it to STOP RAINING.

[kagakusenpai]

Another HataMaou FanFic

This one’s an AU where....I’ll let you read and find out :P 

Enjoy!   -Roguecookie                            

--

A lone figure stood on top of Usui pass, basking in the last rays of the evening sun. The soft orange rays slowly dissipated as the setting sun disappeared behind the mountains. Soon, the void of darkness would envelop everything around him.

The man took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Pure focus.

The whistling of the wind through the trees was soon accompanied by a growling sound. In the distance he could see a trail of small lights snaking their way up the mountain. Moments later, the rumbling of motorcycle engines surrounded the man on all sides.

He opened his eyes. His surroundings were illuminated by dozens of lights. Turning around, he faced the group of bikers that had approached him.

The leader of the group hopped off his bike and approached the man, sneering. “So, you’re the leader of the new Kanto gang? Awfully confident in yourself, showing up alone. Perhaps our crew will have to teach you how we do things here in Chuubu.”

“I’d really appreciate it actually, its my first time here and I could use a local to show me around.” The man, dressed in white, calmly replied.

“Hahahahaha, you’re an odd one. I’ll be sure to remember your pretty face before I turn it into a bloody pulp.” The grinning leader paused for a moment before letting out a bloodthirsty roar. “GET HIM BOYS!”

Dozens of men, dressed in similar black jackets, swarmed towards the outnumbered man in white. The man began smiling, his deep red eyes glowing with excitement.

--

A few minutes later.

On the side of the road a pile of men were groaning in defeat. Some had passed out, while others were too injured to stand up. None of them were expecting this outcome.

Their bloodied leader was currently being held up in the air by his jacket’s collar. Tears forming in his eyes, he struggled to escape from the grasp of the monster before him.

Those eyes full of despair, how wonderful! The white ‘monster’ brought the leader’s face up to his own.

“Now, how about you show me some of that lovely Chuubu hospitality you were talking about?”

Laughing, he threw the whimpering man aside. He turned around to observe the view from the top of the pass once more.

The bright headlights illumined the boldly embroidered characters on the back of the man’s tokko-fuku:

“Kanto Demon Army”

His laughter faded into the dark, moonless night.

--

“Aaaaaaaaaargghh! Not this again! And on my day off of all things.”

Frowning so hard her eyebrows formed a distinct ‘V’ shape, Emi Yusa sat up at her work desk. Crumpled papers in hand, she stared at the report placed in front of her:

Reported brawl between the Kanto Demon Army and Chuubu biker gangs reported last night at around 20:00 hours. Over 30 injured men were found, all claiming that the injuries were inflicted by a single man. Reports currently lead us to believe the suspect to be the leader of the Kanto Demon Army, known as the Demon King of Kanto.  Currently there are no leads to his whereabouts.

“AND I WAS THIS CLOSE!”

Emi threw all the papers in her hands into the air in a sudden fit of rage before sulking back down into her chair.

“Officer Yusa, what is the matter?”

“Ah, Captain Tojima! Apologies for my… unbecoming behaviour. I just let my emotions get to me, that’s all”

The tall man who approached Emi brought a chair and sat down in front of her desk. His neat blue uniform and spotless black cap showed that he was a man who cherished his public image. On the other hand, the bags under his eyes and stubble on his chin showed that he had been spending a little too much time occupied with work.

“I understand Ms. Yusa…if I had been working on a case as long as you have been without getting a single lead, I’d be frustrated too.”

“But that still is no reason for me to start throwing papers.”

Tojima let out a quiet chuckle. He pulled out a small note from his jacket pocket and tossed it over to Emi.

“Or is it now? I’ll let you know I was quite the accomplished paper thrower back in my day.” Clearly overstepping the boundaries of his joke, the man’s face suddenly turned serious as he leaned towards Emi. “Listen Officer Yusa, I reported no leads for a reason. There has to be an explanation as to why every single lead has been a false positive so far…catch my drift?” His voice has lowered substantially.

Emi understood the meaning behind the man’s words. Her opportunity had finally come. Many months after arriving from Ente Isla in search of the Demon King, joining the police force, and investigating his whereabouts she had her first reliable lead.

“I’ll give you permission to take one other officer you can trust with you. Backup will be on standby, but at a more distant location, to avoid any possible hints to the enemy.” Without saying another word, the exhausted captain stood up and headed back towards his office.

Emi grabbed the paper Tojima had tossed onto her desk. Its contents would finally lead her to apprehending the damned Demon King, Satan Jacob. She spun around on her chair, looking towards the person who sat at the desk behind her.

“Oiiii Rika! You got a moment?”

The girl sleeping at the desk jerked her head up. Her brown eyes sparkling, she looked at Emi and gave a huge grin.

“Ehehehehhhhhh…what’s up Emi.” Still a bit groggy, she tilted her head inquisitively.

This girl is basically a human cat, Emi thought to herself before rolling her chair up to Rika’s desk. Rika’s hair was dishevelled due to her constant worktime napping. Emi went ahead and straightened her hat and patted her messy hair down. Truly a cat, all I need her to do now is purr.

“…I got a lead on the Demon Army case.”

“AAAA! Oh my--”

Emi placed her hand on Rika’s mouth.

“SHHHHHH! Not so loud…it’s top secret for now.” Emi nervously looked around to see if anyone had heard their conversation. No one was within earshot.

“Listen, grab your bike tomorrow and come meet me at this address in your undercover clothing.”

“Wait, I can come in my undercover clothing? Kyaa~ I have the perrrrfect getup for this occasion. We should totally get you a new outfit too Emi! Let’s go shopping!” Rika was clearly excited for all the wrong reasons.

“How about some other time Rika?���

Sighing, Emi handed Rika the paper she received from the Captain. Rika read its scribbled contents.

21:00 – Z bridge, Y City, Saitama. X Gang vs Kanto Demon Army.

--

The steady rain poured down on a quiet neighborhood in Tokyo. A man stood in an alley, taking cover from the weather under the metal awning of a nearby ramen store. He pulled out an old grey flip phone that had just begun ringing.

“Yes, my liege?......Understood. We have complete control over Chuubu’s primary gang thanks to your hard work. Quite a few of our men were assaulted by Gang X in Saitama. I suggest we take their bait and take their main force on…...Yes, I’ll handle the escape routes and cover ups.” The man closed his phone and stepped out into the rain. His blonde-silver hair was lit by the streetlights as he walked down the streets. The Demon General Alciel, also known as the ‘Demon General Ashiya’, walked up to his bike, removing its cover. Putting on his black jacket, embroidered in white with the words ‘Demon General’ and ‘Victory’, he started his bike’s engine. Giving the engine a few ceremonial revs, Ashiya sped off into the distance, his red taillights weaving through the midnight traffic.

--

The next day, 21:00 hours Z Bridge, Y City, Saitama.

“Jeez, don’t you think all these biker gang fellas could at least pick nicer outfits? Like my gawd, look at that guy’s hair! It looks like it needs an oil change along with his bike. And he’s wearing orange, yellow and green. Emi that’s a crime against fashion!”

“Rika, shush! We’re undercover! Stay focused and don’t make so much noise.”

Rika and Emi were parked outside an abandoned warehouse near Z bridge. Their motorbikes were neatly hidden behind some old crates they had found earlier. Lying prone in the middle of a pile of abandoned equipment, they had an excellent view of the bridge with their binoculars. Being on surveillance for the past hour, Rika had begun to grow a bit restless.

“It’s not like they can hear us all the way over here! Give me some slack girl!” Rika nudged Emi.

Emi didn’t want to admit that it was this kind of attitude that made Rika so valuable to have on a stakeout like this. Even though she would joke all the time, Emi knew that her attention was still focused on their mission.

“Still, it’s a bit odd that nothing has happened yet. Its almost 15 minutes past nine.” Emi was starting to get worried. She was certain that Satan would show up, not missing a chance to feed on more demonic energy and expand his network of biker thugs throughout the region.

Over the past few months the Kanto Demon Army had slowly begun terrorizing all the local biker gangs and expanding their territory through brute force and subjugation. Not only did this provide ample negative energy for the demons to feed on and grow their reserves stronger, but it allowed them to slowly build an army of followers based on fear. Emi assumed that not even the military could stop a fully powered up Satan in this state. It was up to her to use the Better Half and take Satan down on earth, once and for all.

“Its not like these guys even care for showing up on time. Besides, these kinds of guys are the type to always show up late to a date…augh.” Rika rolled her eyes, clearly remembering an unpleasant experience. “Let me give you some life advice Emi, if a guy ever shows up late to a date, just dump him on the spot. True gentlemen are a dying breed I tell you, a dying breed!”

Emi didn’t bother answering Rika. Her eyes were focused on the sudden movements on the bridge.

“Rika, quick look!”

--

Maou peeked out from his hiding spot a few blocks away from the bridge. He had parked his motorbike here an hour ago and used magic to hide himself from passerbys. He looked at his phone – 21:05 – Ashiya was taking too long.

Normally he would have received a call saying that the escape route was covered, and any surprise attacks had been neutralized. This was key to Maou’s quick ‘in-and-out’ strategy for conquering the different gangs in the Kanto region. Defeat their leader, quell any rebellion and force the enemy to admit absolute defeat in a matter of moments to ensure maximum despair. Once defeated, most groups would stay loyal. All these biker gangs really cared about was being apart of the strongest and most powerful group so they could assert their dominance on others. Maou didn’t care much for politics.

“Shit, its 21:15.” Maou would run out of time soon, and the gang would likely disperse. He needed to defeat them all in one single blow if possible. “Here goes nothing.”

Disabling his illusion magic, Maou pulled out onto the street and raced down towards the bridge. Blocking the entrance was a group of bikers wearing dark purple jackets with yellow emblems that read ‘Light Bringer’.

Tokko-fuku flapping in the wind, Maou headed straight for them without slowing down. Extruding demonic energy from every pore in his body, he made himself as scary as possible. The bikers, clearly terrified to their core, grabbed their motorcycles and fled.

He continued down to the middle of the bridge before drifting his bike at an angle to a complete stop. Casually stepping off his motorcycle, Maou took a few steps forward towards the large group of bikers.

“So, who’s the leader that wants to challenge me, the Demon King of Kanto?”

It was absolutely silent as the thirty odd members of Gang X just stared at Maou.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite…”

Maou leaned forward and grinned.

“…I’LL DO SOMETHING MUCH WORSE!”

He leaped forward at the bikers, channeling demonic energy to his arms and legs to increase his physical output to the max.

He pulled his arm back to throw the first punch when –

--

Seeing Maou fly through the bridge suddenly threw Emi and Rika into action immediately. Without wasting a second, they were both riding their personal motorcycles towards the bridge at full speed.

“Rika, secure the perimeter, make sure no one gets hurt! I’ll handle Sata- … err the Demon King.”

“Gotcha! Be careful Emi, this guy looks dangerous though…”

“I’ve handled demons like him before.”

“Demons?? Umm ok!”

As they turned the final corner to reach the bridge an immense flash of light blinded them both.

“What the hell!” Emi was in shock.

--

“It’s been a while, Satan Jacob.”

Maou couldn’t believe it.

“What are you doing here…. Lucifer”

Right before his first punch connected he was stopped by an immense amount of magical energy. The collision caused an immense shockwave that knocked down most of the bikers, along with their bikes.

“I couldn’t help myself join in on the fun here on Earth. You see, once the hero defeated me on Ente Isla I thought I was a goner, but it seems heaven had different plans for me.”

“Heaven?! Don’t tell me Lucifer….did you betray us?” Maou was furious. “We thought you….you were defeated.”

“Funny how that works, right?” Lucifer’s gaze pierced through Maou.

Maou tensed up, ready for Lucifer’s next move. He didn’t know how much demonic power he had stored up, but the power he used to stop his punch was more than enough to put him on full alert.

“my liiiiieeeeEEEEEEEEGGGGGEEEEE!!!!!!!”

In the distance, Ashiya’s voice grew increasingly louder. Speeding down the road at an incredible speed, he pulled up from behind Maou and stopped his motorbike in an instant.

“We…we’ve been betrayed…. I’m sorry … I couldn’t get to you faster my Lord.” Short of breath, Ashiya walked up beside Maou. “Lucifer is getting assistance fro-”

Maou barely had time to react to Lucifer’s barrage of magic attacks. All bets were off, Maou and Ashiya realized they had to use their demonic forms to survive this battle. Clothes ripping, they turned into the demons they truly were and sidestepped the magic projectiles.

“Once I defeat you and the hero, I’ll regain my proper position in heaven once again AHAHAHAHA!” Streams of purple light blazed past Lucifer towards Maou and Ashiya. “There’s no sense in running, I’ve acquired so much more power than you two combined.”

--

Seeing Lucifer’s sudden appearance along with Satan and Alciel’s transformation completely shocked Emi. The light and shockwave from earlier had stopped her and Rika in their tracks, both their bikes being tossed aside by the sudden blast.

Emi knew she had to act now but the situation was a complete mess. Beside her Rika was lying on the ground, regaining her senses.

“See… I told you guys who are late to their first date are trouble…” Rika groaned while she stood up.

Emi smiled at her friend’s comment. Still not fazed enough to stop making stupid jokes I see.

“Rika, handle those who’ve collapsed around the bridge. I have no idea how this is going to turn out but evacuate everyone as fast as possible. This bridge is likely going to collapse.”

“Collapse?!?! Ok, whatever I’m on it!” Rika picked up and steadied her bike. In the corner of her eye she saw Emi jump into the sky before disappearing completely.

--

The battle with Lucifer had taken its toll on Maou and Alciel.

“Alciel, we need to make a tactical retreat…this isn’t the right place to be fighting, not with our current state.” Maou knew that Lucifer had the edge with his immense amount of demonic energy. Maou had been expending his reserves carelessly in the past month, leaving him with just enough to stay on the defensive.

“Sir, what about the civilians?” Humans were still valuable pawns for the Kanto Demon Army.

“Get whoever you can out of the way, we can’t waste too much time.” Maou flew towards the river to drag Lucifer’s fire away from the bodies strewn on the bridge.

Ashiya flew down towards the bridge and began grabbing unconscious bodies and dragging them to safety. As he grabbed the last survivor, he saw the bridge crumbling.

Looks like I got them all before the bridge collapsed.

Then he noticed something in the corner of his eye.

A small girl was helping a man get off on the other side of the bridge. She’s not going to make it. Unsure why he did it, Ashiya threw the man he was holding towards the pile of unconscious bodies he had saved and dashed towards the girl.

By the time Rika noticed the bridge was crumbling, it was too late. She had tried dragging an unconscious biker off the bridge but was struggling to pull the heavy body towards safety. Even if she let go of the body and ran, she knew it was too late. Her legs buckled.

“E-E-Emmiii, h-help me!” She barely managed to cry out. Her voice wouldn’t reach Emi, who had been missing since the start of the whole fight. Still, she cried out hoping someone, anyone, would save her.

“Hold on miss!”

Rika extended her hand to the mysterious stranger who appeared in front of her. His body was black like charcoal and the arm she grabbed onto was cold as metal. She felt herself being pulled up into the air. She looked up at her mysterious saviour’s face.

Such emotionless golden eyes…

Rika felt her grip on reality fading … as if some strange energy was forcing her body to shut down all its senses. Her vision was fading to black. Before she lost consciousness, she saw the man’s face look down and managed to put together a faint smile.

“Thank…you….such…a…..gentleman…”

Alciel stared at the limp body of the girl he saved. He managed to hold her in his arms before she completely lost consciousness. 

A human who thanked me, how odd…

--

After giving Rika her instructions, Emi flew towards the battle that was taking place above the bridge. Activating her Better Half, she positioned herself carefully to avoid catching the attention of the two demons flying around in front of her.

Suddenly, she noticed the area around her turning black.

“What’s going on!”

She was trapped, in what seemed like a magical barrier, but one made from a mysterious kind of magic. She readied her sword.

“Who are you? Come out before I make you regret trapping me in this barrier…….!”

The Better Half was slowly fading from her hands, its sacred powers dissipating into the air, leaving Emi defenceless. She couldn’t believe it -

!

“w---w---who…are………..”

A crimson-stained scythe blade was sticking out of Emi’s chest. Vision beginning to blur, she knelt on the barrier’s floor, gasping for air as she watched blood spill out from her chest.

“….y….ou!”

A single white feather dropped down into Emi’s arms.

  To be continued…

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Nocturne (11/30) - Ao3 Link

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)

Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.

(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes’ ‘taur AU)

—————————————————————————————— ——————————————————————————————

Galadh is just as Clarus remembers it: a positive riot of color and sound.

Each house is painted in startlingly bright tones with different colors for the windows and doors and sometimes - often, really - having twisty, almost flowery designs painted as further decor, and buskers and street-sellers line virtually every street to sing out their wares or play an instrument. Even the people follow the same theme: with the exception of those in black mourning, the clothing they wear is bright and cheerful and noisy, their hair worn long and woven through with beads and feathers and braids. Even the Hunters here find that greens and yellows work better to blend with the wild jungles deeper in the islands than the dark browns and blacks preferred on the mainland.

And there are birds everywhere.

Colorful birds, loud birds, talking birds, birds perched on rooftops and on trees growing in the center of the sidewalk and on parked cars and bikes and even some birds sitting casually on people's heads as they sit at the cafés, speaking as much with their gestures as with their words.

And that's not to mention the monkeys. Just casually there, sitting on garbage cans and chowing down the way raccoons or squirrels do on the mainland, or at least did before the Starscourge started to reduce their numbers and turn them into mutated creatures out of nightmare.

Ah, Galadh. Nowhere quite like it, in Clarus’ view.

Interestingly, despite Galahd's long history as undisputed Lucian territory, the population here tends towards canidaetaur rather than felidaetaur, with inlanders generally being woodland creatures, like wolves and foxes, while beachsiders are often creatures that enjoy water, like bears and beavers and jaguars - though of course the population here, like everywhere else in Lucis, is growing increasingly mixed and diverse over time.

And, of course, let Clarus not forget to mention the food – the heavy scent of spice in the air, peppers and chilis and other mysterious spices that are hot enough to burn even people from Leide, who pride themselves on their spicy peppers, right alongside the stalls filled to the brim with freshly-caught fish or unusual fruit brought down from the jungles.

Clarus must admit that he enjoys Galahd's determined fondness of food and their resulting appreciation for heavier figures. He knows the tendency probably stems from the famines that still sporadically strike the islands whenever more severe hurricanes than the usual yearly fare batter them, but – as a tiger with, shall we say, not as much time to exercise as much as he probably should – he still appreciates it.

Oh, yes, and there’s the hurricanes.

Can't forget those.

That is, of course, the part of Galadh that Clarus doesn’t like, particularly as midsummer marks the onset of the rainy season, or more accurately the rain-and-storm season: Leviathan’s blessing, Ramuh’s curse, as the islanders liked to joke.

Galadh, wild child of the sea and storm.

Poetic, really.

At least their passage here was pretty quiet, thanks be to Leviathan – the Tidemother is generally blissfully calm for the period right around midsummer, her favorite day of the year – and they arrive without any large fanfare, just as planned.

The poor Harbormaster who came to collect their papers had something of a bad moment when he saw his King and Queen holding the paperwork with polite smiles that only barely covered how amusing they found this whole situation. It was rather funny, but, more importantly, it allowed them to disembark with remarkable swiftness and without all the ridiculous pomp that usually accompanies pre-announced royal visits - speeches and surprise presentations by local choirs and bands and whatnot. Always extremely charming, always extremely irritating to a traveler who just came rather a long way and just wants to take a nap.

Of course, no matter how quickly they managed their arrival, there still managed to be just enough time for Regis to be swamped by the (very surprised) local Galahdian politicos, but Regis is an old hand at these sort of events: he and Aulea are very effectively glad-handing them with the goal of putting them off their scent and reassuring them that there's no reason to be concerned. By all rights, Clarus ought to be helping with that, but instead he’s with Scientia, watching the children run around acquainting themselves with the harbor town – something he prefers by far.

The children, at least, are having a positive blast.

They're all keeping quite busy – Gladio looking through the stalls selling bright clothing and beads and jewelry made of shells, Ignis staring enraptured as one of the street vendors efficiently butchers and then sizzles up a giant shrimp in a medley of spices, Noctis and Prompto leaping over each other and rolling around in the sand of the beach...even Luna seems to have escaped her usual reticence, looking around her with a broad smile.

"Hey, pretty lady!" a local girl around Luna's age, holding a basket of brightly colored flowers with more flowers woven into her hair like a crown, calls out to her. "Buy a flower for your hair?"

Luna turns to look. "Oh, they're lovely!" she exclaims, clapping her hands together and trotting over to look closer.

The local girl – a maned fox 'taur, if Clarus is getting his more obscure species right – gapes at her. "Oh, wow," she says. "You've got the daintiest hooves I've ever seen."

Luna blushes.

Clarus is reminded, suddenly, of the first time Luna met Cindy, back in Hammerhead – her eyes going as wide as saucers and her cheeks going pink as the normally precociously self-possessed girl stuttered over a basic introduction – and he smiles. A pity, really, that the Glaciad is so far away at the tail end of winter – it looks like Luna will have her hands full of people she might want to ask to join her for that romantic festival's traditional joint cup of hot cocoa.

"Thank you," Luna is saying. "I love your legs, too – they're so long and graceful –"

"Oh, you don't have to say that –"

"No, really!"

Now both girls are blushing. Clarus pretends to inspect a vase, enjoying the little childhood romance unfolding in front of him – it's like something out of A Springtime's Stroll, the paperback romance novel he's currently reading. Cyrella thinks he's ridiculous for enjoying them, but Gladio certainly enjoys them as well when Clarus reads them aloud to him – he’s currently very invested in the resolution of the ongoing love quadrangle...

"Would you like a flower, then?" the girl blurts out, clearly desperate to get back onto some sort of even footing. "For your hair?"

"Oh, yes, I'd love one," and here Luna falters and glances down at the ground, "but I’m afraid I don't know how to put them in my hair."

"Oh," the local girl says. "Well – if you like – I can show you..?"

Oh, smooth, smooth! Clarus thinks admiringly. Well done, Luna!

(He is particularly amused by the idea that Lady Lunafreya, born amongst the beautiful blue sylleblossoms of Tenebrae, might find anything to do with flowers difficult.)

"I couldn't possibly bother you while you're at work –"

"No, no, I was just about to go out on break – my name's Crowe, by the way –"

"And I'm Luna. Do you mind if we go to the shade somewhere? It's only that I'm not used to it being so bright – it's my first visit to Galadh –"

"No wonder, what with you being so pale. Sure, come with me – you know, if this is your first visit here, I could show you to a nice ice cream parlor – the best one on the islands - my parents run it, it's just down the block –"

Luna glances briefly at Clarus, who nods his approval. "If it's just down the block, I don't see the issue. Keep your phone on," he advises. "I'll tell Scientia."

The two girls beam and run off.

Clarus is barely able to restrain himself from laughing at how efficiently Luna secured herself a date, even though he suspects that neither girl is entirely certain of what it is – after all, Crowe can't be much older than twelve to Luna's eleven. Ah, kitten love! Or puppy love, in little Crowe's case, and fawn love, in Luna's.

Oh, he wishes that Cyrella was here for him to share the joke! If only that damn doctor hadn't absolutely forbidden her from sea travel...

Ah, well.

He goes over to Scientia, who has her nose buried in a book that's half the size of his torso. "Luna –" he starts.

"Has run off with that Crowe girl to the ice cream shop, yes, I overheard," Scientia says, not looking up from her book. "They'll be back shortly – I saw it as we passed earlier; there's no room in there for them to sit. We should plan our next steps after that."

"Technically, the Hydread isn't until tomorrow, on midsummer itself; it’s only the Eve," Clarus offers. Luckily, he's already gotten used to the way Scientia's mind is already five steps ahead of everyone else's – he's learned to take it as a compliment that she doesn’t feel the need to explain herself to him. When she's in court, or dealing with people she thinks are slow, she suddenly becomes remarkably clear and straightforward and just a touch judgmental. It's a bit frightening, not least of all because Ignis does the same thing – and Clarus suspects that Gladio and the other boys are starting to pick up on it. They’re going to be terrors, each and every one of them. "We could spend the day doing tourist things, instead."

"What a marvelous idea," Regis says, limping up towards Clarus – no worse than usual, Clarus is pleased to note. He's managed to lose his Galahdian escort, probably by fobbing them off by promising to go to some fancy dinner later, and leaving it in their hands to prepare something suitable to his rank. "I don't think I've ever gone tourist-ing. What's there to do?"

"There are several famous landmarks," Scientia says dryly.

"No, thanks," Aulea says, following Regis closely. "Those we'll see by necessity when they want Regis – or I – or Noctis – to appear at all of them to wave at the local populace."

"Probably true," Clarus agrees ruefully. The price of being royalty...

"We could go to the beach and sun ourselves," Cor suggests. He looks rather fond of the idea. He would be, the overgrown kitten.

"Beach!" Noctis shouts. "We want beach!"

"Yeah! Beach!" Prompto joins in.

"No, thank you," Ignis says, wrinkling his nose fastidiously. "I don't want sand in my fur, thanks."

"The sand's somewhat inevitable everywhere you go in the beachside," the girl from earlier, Crowe, says. She and Luna have indeed returned, holding ice creams in one hand and holding each other's hands with the other.

Clarus is going to die of cuteness overload, he just knows it.

"Sorry, kid," she says apologetically to Ignis. She clearly hasn’t recognized any of them, which clearly pleases Regus immensely. It won’t last, of course, but it is nice to go a little incognito for a change, and Regis is clearly relishing every moment of it. “It really does get everywhere.”

"Is there anywhere we can go that won't have sand, then?" Ignis asks with a sigh. "I assume going inland would be too burdensome..?"

"Sadly, yes," Aulea says. "We need to be here tomorrow for the Hydread ceremony. Besides, I rather like the sound of sand."

"Well, there's always the caves," Crowe offers hesitantly, Luna squeezing her hand supportively.

"The caves?" Regis asks.

"Oh, they're lovely," Crowe says effusively. "They're technically inland, but they're right by the waterside, not far at all. No one ever goes to them in the summer, since they're lots prettier in the winter, but you can't come to Galahd and not see the Caves of Wind and Wave."

"Are those the ones with the cave paintings?" Scientia asks, even putting down her book – a major achievement. "I've heard good things."

"That's where the old ceremonies to raise Leviathan used to be held," Luna murmurs, leading the adults to glance at each other meaningfully.

"I could do caves," Gladio says, glancing at Ignis. "Caves are cool. They're spooky."

"I don't want to do spooky, though," Noctis pouts. "I want to go to the beach."

"Well, how about we split up?" Regis offers, smiling. Clarus likes the look on him: he looks years younger, and lighter. He's needed a vacation for far too long. This isn't a real vacation of course – they're here for the Covenant with Leviathan – but it's just close enough to one for it to already have good effects. "I'm rather interested in these caves myself – Aulea, Cor, why don't you take Noctis and Prompto to the beach, while the rest of us go look at these caves?"

"Really, no one goes in the summer," Crowe says hastily, clearly embarrassed now that they're taking her up on her suggestion. "The tides are high, you know – you can't really get the full impact of it –"

"The paintings are still supposed to be visible, even in the summer," Scientia says crisply. "We'll take our chances, I think. Will you show us the way to go?"

People do not generally say no when Scientia asks something of them. Crowe does not do so now.

Clarus arches an eyebrow at Regis. He knows his old friend well enough: this little splitting up isn't really about preferring the caves to the beach. It's about Luna's statement – that this might be where they need to go for the Covenant – and the fact that Regis wants to check it out first before letting Noctis anywhere near.

Regis smiles back, utterly unashamed of being seen through.

"Fine," Cor says. "You take three-fourths of the guard."

"What? No. Half, at most. Someone needs to watch over Noctis."

"Two-thirds. I’m watching over Noctis."

"Fine."

"Guard?" Crowe echoes with a frown.

"Don't worry about it," Luna says with a bright smile. "Can you show us the way?"

"Sure," Crowe says, smiling helplessly back, utterly distracted. "Come with me."

"Have fun at your beach," Clarus tells Cor with a grin. Cor rolls his eyes back.

Cor and Aulea head off towards the beach with Noctis and Prompto, while Regis, Clarus, and Scientia take Gladio and Ignis and follow Crowe, with Luna in tow close beside her, on a much less crowded trail inland. Their Crownsguard escort drifts along with them, quiet and unobtrusive.

It's a pleasant walk – somewhat steep, but nothing they can't handle, especially at the slow strolling pace they've adopted – for the first half-hour.

Then they discover that the main road to the caves is apparently closed for repair.

"Damn," Regis says mildly, frowning at the roadblock with its large and very unhelpful sign. "Guess we'll have to go back."

"Nah," Crowe says dismissively. "We can go in the other end, if you don't mind walking single file."

"We don't," Scientia says. "Other end?"

"Yeah," Crowe says. "It's not really an official entrance, but all the local kids go through that way. Cuts down on the line. And you end up on the Oracle's platform, the ancient one, which is pretty cool."

Clarus frowns. He's not sure this is a good idea –

"Excellent," Regis says. "Let's go."

Clarus sighs faintly. The vacation business is clearly going to Regis' head.

Still, Crowe is starting to stride down a much smaller dirt path and Regis is following, not to mention Ignis leaping along the rocky road like – well, like an excited goat kid. So there's clearly no choice but to go onwards.

It's another half-hour, this time padding along increasingly small and shabby roads before they get to the cave entrance. Still, that's more due to their slow pace – Gladio and Ignis keep dashing off to look at flowers or plants or even small animals – than the distance, even if the last portion of the descent towards the cave is, in fact, such a narrow path that going down single-file is the only way to proceed.

Crowe seems to have belatedly realized that she's guiding around some moderately important people (it was probably the Crownsguard's presence becoming increasingly less subtle as they left town and trees behind and forcing them to go out in the open despite their best attempts to remain subtle) and has been spending the last few minutes attempting to downplay the loveliness of the caves she spent the first half of the trip boasting about.

"– really, it's summer, so you won't get the full effect, like I said," she's saying, somewhat desperately. "The light's all wrong, you know, and the water level's pretty high, so you don't really get a sense of scale – there's a reason people don't ever come here in the summer –"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Luna says, not for the first time.

"I mean, the cave paintings, they're there, sure, but we're coming in at the weird end, you know, since the other road broke down, so I don't know exactly how many we'll be able to see –"

"I'm sure it will be fine," Scientia says sternly.

Crowe shuts her mouth with a small peep.

Clarus and Regis share amused looks. It's rather nice not being the intimidating one of the group, for once.

Unfortunately, Crowe's nervousness is such that even Scientia's implacable force of will can only stop her for a while. "It's just that I wanted to say it up front," she murmurs as she pushes aside the vines growing on the cave wall to reveal a battered old door so well hidden that even the Crownsguard that preceded her couldn't find it, and stepping straight though before they could stop her and insist that they go first, "so that you won't be disappointed when...wait, hold up, what in Leviathan's name is –?"

Clarus, who slipped in second – he's the King's Shield, he doesn't need a Crownsguard escort to go gawk at some cave walls – puts his hand firmly over Crowe's mouth.

"Say nothing," he murmurs into her ear, his eyes fixed at the sight over her shoulder, even as the rest of their party filters in through the door.

The caves are lovely – as huge as promised, with the famous blue-and-green sheen – but Clarus has no time for that.

The caves which no one visits during the summer, the caves with the main road to them marked as being under repair –

The caves are not empty.

"What is that?" Scientia asks, keeping her voice as low as possible. She's picked up Ignis and covered his mouth with her hand; Gladio stands by her side, looking with increasing alarm at the grave-faced adults around him, but luckily he's had enough training to know that it’s time to go quiet.

"That," Regis says grimly, his voice low, "is a Niflheim airship."

"No," Clarus corrects quietly, looking at the gigantic ships wrought in black metal, with glowing red windows – it's not one ship; it's two, no, three massive airships, each one of them a fleet ship capable of holding multiple attack ships filled with MT soldiers or the carrier ships which Niflheim traditionally fills with daemons to help terrify the local populace after the initial conquest, and next to those behemoth ships there are also a number of smaller sea-ships equipped with tows designed to pull the airships into and out of the caves. "That is an invasion force."

Crowe starts struggling in shock for a moment, but then it fades and Clarus feels comfortable releasing her. "Invasion," she whispers, pasty-faced with terror. "Of Galahd? But..."

She trails off.

Clarus knows what she meant to say. Galahd's long history as undisputed Lucian territory is primarily for two reasons: one, sea-averse Niflheim wasn't particularly interested in a territory that dealt with yearly hurricanes that ranged unpredictably from 'problematic' to 'devastating', and two –

Two, whether they came by air or by sea, the isolated Galahd would see them coming.

But that didn't apply if they were already here.

They must have started smuggling the ships here piece-by-piece the very second the tourist season ended and built them up in Galadh itself.

"What are the forces available on Galahd?" Regis asks, quietly but forcefully – the relaxed father on vacation gone and replaced by the King of Lucis. The ring on his finger is glowing faintly, only noticeable because of the gloomy darkness of the caves.

"Not enough, your Majesty," Clarus answers, knowing what Regis really wants to know. "Not to resist a force of this size. The Galahd Coast Guard is formidable, but it will be utterly overwhelmed. We could call up reinforcements from Insomnia Port, but their warships will take hours to equip, and then more to get here – particularly since they'll need to keep some back to protect the Port itself."

"Still, a few hours will surely be enough –" Scientia starts.

Clarus cuts her off with a firm shake of his head. "They were probably originally planning on attacking during the notoriously calm weather of the Hydread tomorrow," he says, his sharp eyes fixed on a platform on one of the airships furthest away from them and closest to the supposedly "closed" main road to the caves. He recognizes one of the figures there, one of the Burgomasters of the port town in which they landed. He was part of the party greeting Regis and Aulea with vaguely panicked expressions earlier, except evidently his panic wasn't because he need to find a way to host the royal family in a suitable manner. "It would've been a massacre, all those people unarmed and celebrating, Insomnia Port all cluttered up with the paper ships for the holiday and slow to respond...if they kept to that original schedule, we’d be able to summon help in time.”

“You don’t think they will?”

“No. They weren't expecting the King of Lucis to arrive with a squadron of Crownsguard, and it's thrown off all their plans, since they don’t know why we came. Regardless, the reason doesn’t really matter: whether we’ve come to try to fight back against them, or whether it’s an accident that gives them an opportunity to strike at the royal family and shatter Lucian morale, they know they need to move quickly, before back-up arrives. They'll be attacking now, instead."

Even as he watches, the first of the great airships creakily begins to cast off, the ropes and chains holding it in place by the dock starting to fall loose, one by one.

"My parents –" Crowe croaks.

"Scientia," Regis says, taking control. There's that tone in his voice, the one that draws the eye irresistibly towards him - that deep, almost-growl that precedes the roar of the lion. There can be no doubt in anyone's mind, now, that the King of Lucis is speaking. "I need you to take the children back up the path as quickly and quietly as possible. When you get back to an area with cell service, immediately inform my wife and Cor of what is happening, then alert Insomnia Port. The local town must be evacuated at once, with their Coast Guard and every able-bodied member of the militia – or who's willing to try to fight – told to expect invasion. The Crownsguard will go with you to assist with preparations."

He turns to Crowe. "Do not despair. This is Galahd, and you, its children, are born of the sea and storm," he says to her, and her back goes straight, her head lifting higher under his regard. "You will not fall so easily before Niflheim's might, and I swear to you that Lucis will not stand aside and let it happen. Are your people trained in civilian evacuations?"

"Oh, yes," Crowe says eagerly. "We're all trained – but the alarm is only meant to go off in the event of an unexpected tsunami –"

"You will go at once to activate that alarm," he says. "You may do so on my authority. Know that Insomnia Port will send what reinforcements it can as soon as it can."

"Will – do you think we’ll be able to hold them off, your Majesty?" she asks.

He puts his hand on her shoulder and looks her in the eye. "We will fight to defend your country," Regis Lucis Caelum vows, and no one who looked at him would doubt that he meant it with every fiber of his being. "Whatever we can do to ensure that Galahd does not fall, we will do. But even should it fall in the end, know that Niflheim will pay for the privilege in a river of blood."

Crowe's eyes are shining. If she survives, Clarus would wager that Cor will have another new recruit for the Crownsguard in a handful of years. She nods and goes without another word.

Scientia lingers a moment longer after Crowe has left running at full speed. "Your Majesty," she says.

Regis looks at her.

"There is – another thing," she says, uncharacteristically hesitant. "That we could do. Perhaps. To make the odds a little less – overwhelming."

"At this point, all suggestions are very welcome," Clarus says wryly. "We're facing a force that's likely four times the size of the existing military power on this island, assuming Niflheim hasn't changed their typical approach to invasion. Every little bit might help."

"More than a little bit," Scientia says, and her habitual impassive calm has settled over her once more – her hesitation before was merely uncertainty as to the extent of their need, Clarus realizes, and now that he has confirmed the direness of the situation, she has put aside all doubt. "Let me remind you that we stand now at the Oracle's platform, where once, long ago, they called upon the sleeping Leviathan."

They all stare at her, Clarus and Regis and even the head of the Crownsguard escorting them, a sturdy 'taur named Riyad. Her meaning is quite clear.

Scientia turns to Luna, who has very nearly been her adopted daughter this last year and who she loves dearly, and yet her voice is calm and certain when she asks, "Can you do it?"

Luna swallows, and nods. "If I had the Trident –"

"The royal Armiger," Clarus says, looking at Regis. "It's only a shadow of the real Trident, of course; the real one is in Sylvia's care, but it might do the trick regardless. And if Leviathan rises –"

"Then the raging sea will come with her," Regis finishes. The Tidemother rather famously does not enjoy having her slumber disturbed. "I see the mission I sent Crowe on was more accurate than I realized - there may indeed yet be a tsunami here today."

Luna stands up straight – only eleven years old, dressed in a white frock selected more to be appropriate for the beach than for formal ceremonies, but with steel in her eyes. Sylvia's steel, but Scientia's, too. "I will do it," she says. Her voice brooks no disagreement – not any of theirs, nor even of Leviathan herself. "With or without the true Trident. I will summon Leviathan."

"You will, and you will do it well," Scientia says, and Luna's back, somehow, goes even straighter with pride. "Two instructions: do not die, and return safely to us when you are done. Come along, Ignis, Gladio."

"But –" Gladio starts to protest, looking at Clarus. "Dad –"

"I need you to go, Gladio," Clarus says firmly, fixing the image of his son in his mind. He prays this will not be the last time they see each other alive, but he knows all too well the risks of war. He’s always known. "I am needed here, to guard my King and Luna, but I need you to go to the town to help with the evacuation, to help save lives. You are an Amicitia, my son: a Shield. This is what we do. Go now."

Gladio's lower lip is trembling, but he nods firmly. This time, when Scientia begins to move, he goes with her without complaint.

Clarus watches them until they disappear up along the face of the cliff, then turns back to his King – and his Oracle.

"Let us begin," Regis says, and summons the Armiger.

Cor ends the call on his cell phone.

Aulea, standing beside him and listening to Scientia's report from the second he realized what it was, looks grim. "What do we do now?" she asks, her eyes fixed on the surf where Noctis and Prompto are still leaping over each other, splashing and rolling in the wet sand like the excitable kittens (well, kitten and puppy) that they've barely outgrown being.

"Scientia reports that Crowe has gone up ahead, so the evacuation alarm should sound any minute now," Cor says. "Everyone will go inland, I assume; we'll join them. Once I see you and the children are safe, I will go help with the resistance efforts."

"There's nothing else..?"

"The priority is keeping Noctis and Prompto safe," Cor says firmly. He knows he should add that Noctis' safety is especially important now, given the Prophecy, but he can't bring himself to do so – it's true, of course, but he can't voice anything that would suggest that if Aulea finds herself in a terrible position of being only able to rescue one child, she ought to pick her own, the Chosen King, future savior of the world, instead of...

Instead of his own.

Aulea puts a hand on his shoulder. She understands, without words, what he means. "I will look after them both," she promises, grabbing her bag and tossing him the sword he brought, because he always has at least one sword even for supposedly innocent trips to the beach. And to think Clarus was teasing him for being paranoid! “Remember, should the worst come to worst, I can in times of dire need call on Regis' shadow Armiger, too, and I'm pretty handy with that bow."

"You always were the cleverest," Cor tells her, but he's unable to laugh at his own joke, so it comes out sincere. "Come on, let's get them."

Neither Noctis nor Prompto particularly wants to stop playing, but one look at the faces of their guardians puts an end to their complaints.

The alarm begins to ring.

Alarms, plural, would be more accurate – blaring sounds start coming from all directions, and flags colored red suddenly unfurling from the tops of all the highest buildings.

"Tsunami!" someone shouts.

"On the Hydread?" someone else exclaims disbelievingly.

But, disbelief of no disbelief, they all start moving inland. The people of Galahd do not play games with the sea, Cor is pleased to see.

The noise of all the beachgoers abandoning their bags and towels and picnic baskets and trudging up towards the town, and the safer high ground of the inland beyond, is very nearly deafening, but Cor's ears have been trained since childhood to hear and identify sounds even through the roar of the battlefield. That talent has saved his life more than once.

He identifies such a sound now.

"Aulea, stop," he orders, and she does, clutching both children's hands in hers and pulling them in closer as Cor draws his sword, turning just in time to deflect the dagger thrown at their backs.

They look like regular Galahdians, out for a day on the beach – loose clothing, one of them even shirtless – but they move like soldiers, and there are weapons in their hands, pulled out of baskets and sun-umbrella poles.

Niflheim trained, Cor determines, even as he darts forward to attack those nearest to him. If Scientia's report of Clarus' prediction of an attack expected tomorrow is right, and he has no reason to doubt it, these people would have been mingling with the crowd for days to ensure that they looked familiar to the others, safe, and then they would call out for people to follow them, and people would have done so – and only once they had led them somewhere out of sight would the swords and the guns come out –

They're good, these infiltrators. They have to be to do their jobs – to go alone into enemy territory to murder panicked and unarmed civilians who might try to fight back is not a job for the weak or the untrained – but, at the same time, they're infiltrators. They're disposable; they have to be, to be sent ahead into such danger.

They're not that good.

Cor kills the first three before they've taken another step, and the next two after that before they've even fully finished drawing their weapons.

But there are more still coming.

Many more.

Cor lifts his sword in a ready stance, his mind calm and clear. Niflheim’s forces have identified them, then; this many infiltrators all blowing their covers, all at once, can mean nothing else. They have been given new orders – to get these particular targets – that supersede all others.

Good.

That means none of them will be left to murder innocent civilians in the retreat.

Aulea has put Noctis and Prompto behind her, producing a gun from her beach-bag.

Cor’s trained on sand before, and he doesn’t let the uncertain surface slow him down, even as the ‘taurs rushing him trip and fall as they try to pounce. He ducks and darts between them, rearing back on his hind legs to rip at their bodies with his forelegs while he strikes at them with the sword in his hands. The daggers he rips free from their hands he throws back at the ones with guns, and he can hear Aulea start firing at them as well.

The crowd has started to run away from them now, leaving them alone on the beach – his Crownsguard are here, Basiana and Serio and Maero and Tristus and a bare handful more, and on his orders they form a protective ring around Aulea and the children – but the infiltrators are doing a good job separating them from the crowd.

And the sea has started churning.

“Leviathan is rising!” Aulea shouts, jerking her head towards the sea – it very effectively distracts the ‘taur Cor is fighting now, and Cor uses the opportunity to strike him down before glancing at the ocean.

The waves are coming hard now, large and choppy and frothing white at the tops as if a hurricane is approaching, and yet Cor is standing on the beach: there is no wind to explain the winds, and only a scattering of clouds in the sky.

Leviathan is, indeed, rising.

“MTs!” Maero bellows. “From above!”

Not good. Cor leaps ahead, cutting down two more infiltrators – he’s gotten most of them, now – but he sees what Maero saw: a drop ship, buzzing in from above. It’s been sent ahead from the fleet ship Scientia had reported seeing undock itself, no doubt in response to the infiltrators’ report that the Queen and Prince appeared to be (relatively) unprotected.

Cor glances towards to the town. The nearest Galahdian Coast Guard outpost – a lone station – has seen the oncoming threat, and the poor lone ‘taur that was manning it is screaming on his radios, shouting out orders and gesturing towards their little group, but back-up will clearly be some time in coming.

He gestures to Basiana and Serio – stay back, watch them – gestures for Maero and Tristus to back him, and he charges straight into the MTs as they land on the sand.

This is much harder – the infiltrators were more agile on the sand, having been trained for it, but the MTs are wearing full armor, and their unnaturally jerky movements sometimes make them harder to predict than standard fighters.

Niflheim MTs, soulless robots with armored metallic bodies shaped like a standard hound ‘taur, like machines but with the intelligence and reaction times of regular ‘taurs behind those empty glowing red eyes – Cor knows, from the information that he obtained from Justina’s laboratory, the monstrous way in which they are made, but it doesn’t matter to him now. It can’t matter now.

Now, all that matters is the fighting.

Cor has always known that one day he would come across a battle he would lose, and this one isn’t looking great. But he will not let them have Prompto or Noctis, even if it costs him his own life.

One MT – a gigantic axe-wielder – manages to get him with a nasty backhanded swing, forgoing the sharp side of the axe in favor of just walloping Cor on the side of the head, knocking him off his paws, but just as he’s lifting the axe to bring the sharp end down at Cor – Cor struggling to lift his sword in an attempt to at least deflect the blow –

The MT’s head gets blown off with a massive blast.

That’s not Aulea – she only has a pea-shooter, really – and none of his Crownsguard have a gun that powerful.

The Coast Guard...?

No.

There are ‘taurs charging out of the water, guns in their hands – two otters, a capybara holding the rifle that probably saved Cor's life, and even a frankly massive hippopotamus ‘taur dual wielding two-handed bastard swords, one in each hand. They’re not dressed like Coast Guard – in fact, Cor’s never seen the slick wet fabric they’re wearing before, something like waterproof neoprene that shimmers wet in the light.

“Queen Mother!” the capybara ‘taur calls out. “Bring the Chosen King here; we can keep him safe!”

Aulea starts, badly, and one of her shots goes wide.

Cor understands her concern – no one should know that Noctis is the Chosen King of Prophecy, because they haven’t told anyone �� but he can see more drop ships in the distance, the gigantic fleet ship not far behind, and he doesn’t think they have a choice about who to trust right now.

He gestures to his Crownsguard – keep formation and advance – and calls to her, “Bring the children, Aulea! Quickly!”

She nods, putting her gun away, and snatches up both crying children from where they were hiding behind her.

They’re only six.

Cor’s eyes narrow in a burst of fury, and he takes advantage of the MTs trying to cope with this unexpected threat from an unexpected angle to throw a lightning bomb at them. He’s standing close enough to it that his fur goes on end, but the vast majority of them go down all at once, and between him, his Crownsguard and the otters from the sea, they’re able to kill the rest of them quickly.

“Quickly,” one of the otters says, glancing back at the ocean with concern. “The bubble won’t last that long at the surface.”

Cor doesn’t understand, but he runs towards the ocean, his Crownsguard at his heels, because Aulea is nearly there, coming up to the hippopotamus.

“Into the surf,” the hippopotamus ‘taur is bellowing. She’s a massive woman, with deep black skin and tight corkscrew curls that are already defying gravity despite the thrashing waves of water all around them. “Now!”

They follow her into the raging tide.

Prompto is crying, Cor can hear him, crying and howling; Noctis is wailing, a high hollow shriek; Aulea is shouting, desperate for answers; the waves are crashing around them, louder and louder and –

They all tumble forward into what Cor can only describe as - well, as a giant bubble.

The water is held back by the clear almost plastic-y sides of the bubble and the roar of the waves is muted. Perhaps most importantly, they seem to be breathing without difficulty. The capybara is at the front (Cor thinks) of the bubble, doing something on some sort of keypad, and the bubble begins to move forward, first simply away from the beach in a straight line and then, once they’ve gotten past the shallower waters of the beach, starting to turn down to head deeper into the waters.

“Woooooow,” Prompto – always inclined to look at the bright side of life – says, his tears drying up. He elbows Noctis. “Look, Noct! Fish!”

There are indeed many brightly-colored tropical fish around them.

“You should also look at the coral reef,” the hippopotamus ‘taur suggests kindly. “We’ll be passing that soon.”

Noctis sniffs a little, still not fully recovered. “Coral reef? I think Iggy was talking about that on the boat ride over…”

“Yeah, he was,” Prompto says. “He had that book – with all the colors! When will we see the reef, Ms. – uh, sorry, what’s your name?”

“I am Dido,” the hippopotamus ‘taur says. “The capybara is Bomilcar; the otters are Mago and Minthos.”

“My name’s Prompto Argentum,” Prompto says proudly. “That’s Cor Leonis – he’s my Cor – and this here’s Noct and that’s his mom, Aulea. And then there’s Basiana an’ Tristus an’ Maero an’ Serio an’ –”

“What sort of ship is this?” Basiana interrupts to ask, looking around. She hasn’t put her weapon down: good. They might be trusting these 'taurs, but there's a limit to any amount of trust. “I’ve never seen anything like this before – where did you get this tech?”

Aulea has different concerns. “Why did you call –” She hesitates a moment, since the other Crownsguard members are not necessarily in on the secret yet. “Why did you call Noctis what you called him?”

“Because he is, of course,” the capybara ‘taur – Bomilcar – says, relinquishing control of the bubble to one of the otters in a practiced hand-off. “We were sent by our King to yours, so as to offer our aid when you approach the Hydrean for the Contract. We are the closest land to the Tidemother’s domain, after all.”

“Your King?” Cor echoes, eyebrows arching. As far as he knows, there’s only one King – that of Lucis – while Niflheim has an Emperor, Tenebrae an Oracle, and Accordo a Secretary.

“Oh, yes,” Bomilcar says. “King Hasdrubal the Third – the King of Atlantioi.”

[misadventures-phan-can]

Chasing Phantoms ~ Prologue

It was not meant to be.

A Mother clutched her month-old daughter close. The ship shook, fire danced in the corner of her eye. Outside, a dark figure loomed. Another ship, the attacker, raining bolts down on its prey.

Oh the life they had planned. The love, happiness… The hard times and anger, sadness. All of it they were prepared to face together, forever. But not this. Never this.

The child she held in her arms cried, either from the jostling of her mother’s running, or the loud, terrifying sounds of battle that engulfed the ship whole. Soon, soon they could escape.

The woman felt terrible. Torn between the men and women of the crew that had helped her so much, the urge to stay and fight for them like they were for her… or her daughter, her Star, and the life she would surely have if she took an escape pod and ran.

The Captain knew what choice she would make, the crew knew. No one held it against her, even as she rushed away, no time spared for goodbyes. He only looked at her, stoic as always, nodding once. She smiled grimly, the first hit rocking their ship on its axis. She ran. The Captain turned and started barking battle orders. That was the last she ever saw of them, the valiant crew and their leader.

It was not meant to be.

It was hot as hell on this planet, the humidity in air stuck to the skin, only adding to the sweat that formed over faces and arms- for the humans anyway. Men and women alike wore sandals as they walked down solar-paneled sidewalks. Bicycles casually rolled past on the sidewalk separate from the pedestrian path. Every few feet the solar-panels displayed the image of a figure walking on the appropriate lane, and little bike signals on the bike path.

Leafy, flowering vines grew up telephone poles and hanging baskets dropped down within reaching distance, most full of small pitcher plants to help control the insect population. Although the wild variety​ smelled like rotting flesh, these small domestic ones smelled like overly ripe fruit. Edible plants and berry bushes hung down as well, such as ripe red strawberries, plump peaches, juicy oranges and many others, both from different planets and native to Linus.

Natural bridges went over highways for both human and fauna safety alike. Every block had a shaded solar charging port surrounded by benches, walkways that led to the beaches, bicycle racks and parking lots. The skyscrapers in the distance grew with greenery, bearing a strong resemblances to the massive forests surrounding most of the coastal capital.

The community, whether native or not, enjoyed this planet’s climate immensely… however the foreign General felt his sweat squelch in his thick military boots and under his formal uniform. The locals merely wore bikinis and shorts, with only the rare few daring to cover up with sundresses and tank tops. He had only been here for barely half a Standard Galactic Day, and already he hated it with determined vehemence.

The man stopped under some shade, both to catch his breath and check in with Head Quarters. Taking his communicator off the clip on his coat, he clicked it to the correct signal.

“General reporting, Sir come in, Sir.” The man states, pressing the receiver of the little device, all the while shaking sand out of the speakers despite it not having been exposed to the beaches at all.

“Oh hun, always so uptight and formal… you couldn’t just lay your head back and relax for the day could you…” An effeminate voice chimed through static from the other end. One could just imagine him in his Cat’s eye sunglasses, filing his nails. The General fought back a cringe of disgust.

“They didn’t know about the mineral… they don’t apparently use much mining resources… pride themselves on being green, having low impacts on the environment and all that… A biologist I found along the shore did not suitably help… he was more concerned with some species of cat beasts and a slug…”

“Ah yes….” The man on the other end of the line hummed. “I heard about those cuties. I think I may have seen one earlier today… maybe two if wolves in sheep’s clothing count. Very adorable little things, really. It makes me want one…” he hummed in a slight airy manner, with noticeable emphasis on the want.

“Sir, I do not think it a wise course of action…”

However within moments he was walking down the sidewalk to visit the flea markets, casting cold, grey eyes along colourful stalls that seemed to sell everything on this planet. From exotic fruit and meat, to equipment for ships, Earth antiques, and every species imaginable living on Linus, which seemed as good a candidate for ‘pet’ you could get, in as loose a sense of the word as possible.

He decided upon a particularly dedicated looking vendor, which was really just a collection of small play gates and cages full of animals. The first creature to greet him was a many-eyed reptilian-looking cat with 6 arms. It started growling- the man assumed- for it made a repeating, aggressive ticking sound combined with a series of rattling snarls. Eventually it turned to lay contentedly under a heat lamp. Then, he saw an odd looking snake whose eyes seemed to jut out like a chameleon’s and whose tail wrapped around a branch like it had a mind of its own. A certain scaly thing even vaguely resembled a dragon. But one species in particular caught his eye. If one had lived on Earth, in its golden age, one would compare it to a cute, chubby baby otter. To the people of Linus, they were Mimics. And, to the people who knew what they were capable of, limitless sources of potential.

The stern General was, however, hoping he wouldn’t have to go through with this tomfoolery.

Approaching the manager, or owner of sorts, he cleared his throat and presented his dilemma.  

“I need a pet for someone… a Service Dog like animal. Something smart. Something vicious.” He said, with a glint in his eye.

“Ah, is it perhaps for that special lady in your life? I mean, it all depends on what you want smart for exactly…” The manager replied, the local Linus lilt colouring his speech as he scrutinized his latest client.

The man grimaced, disgusted by the latest developments. He supposed one could call his Commander a ‘special lady’ alright… special with a helmet maybe.

“You pry too much…” He retorted, in a very smooth, very dangerous tone despite his apparent anger. “I came to ask questions, not to answer them…. I am here for a Mimic.”

The vendor- thought he seemed slightly dumbfounded- laughed heartily. “Pardon my manners, us mainlanders don’t mean to pry as much as we do. Should have just been straight forward- we got a whole litter. I hear even the SDF are starting to use these guys. I do warn ya, they aren’t pets. With ‘em little guys it’s like adopting a kid of your own…”

He motioned to a small group of Mimics, round chubby faces with antenna like whiskers. One seeming to be a small white female, another a large dapple grey, the third a grey with a black back and light underbelly. The fourth, and final one was a small black, and white male, standing just slightly taller than the female.

“That one right there, he’s a smart one I’ll tell ya.” He says pouring some milk into a saucer with a small amount of cat food. By the time the dishes were placed in their pen, the “alpha” Mimics were chittering and hollering loudly. Already they had started to mimic the noises of the animals surrounding them. The small black and white male remained silent as the two others pushed and shoved, snapping at one another for the food.

“Chester, come over here boy.” The puppy, though young, seemed to have a natural aptitude towards this sort of thing. He stood up his hind legs, prancing up and down as if he were a kangaroo jumping in delight before the dish was placed down in front him. Followed by another one for the other two Mimics.

While the two grey males fought over who would drink first, the black puppy stared at them. When the moment was right, he snuck his snout under their chests to stealthily pick dish up carefully in his mouth, all the while pushing the other with his flippers. Once his thievery accomplished, the small male sat by the passive white female, with whom he shared his prize. She pressed up against him, affectionate, but most certainly shy.

Then, suddenly, the black male looked up at the scowling General, their gaze locking. A galaxy of blue ocean waves and worlds of the multi-hued coral beneath seemed to scrutinize the man’s very person- for he had no more soul. They glowed with multitudes of deeper secrets, hidden thoughts he would never see. Perhaps it was intelligence. Or maybe not. Was it, perhaps, something more?

It didn’t take long before the Grey’s realized what had happened and approached. They bristled and snarled, copying all sorts of offended animal calls. The black male, Chester, simply looked at them before growling and making a noise that the man had heard before, upon approaching the stall. The Mimic pup got up on his hind legs and made a noise resembling the roar of one of Linus’ big cats, albeit softer and smaller, babyfied, almost. Now, before the Grey’s, stood an almost perfect replica of the reptilian, six armed cat who slept a few cages over. The male’s siblings retreated in a frenzy, fearfully whining high pitched screeches that made the General want to shoot them. But nevertheless. If his Commander had stated he wanted a pet, he would have his damn pet. And if it was to be, the General would make sure its usefulness would be maximized. He would make damn well sure. And if he was to be stuck with an overgrown, doggish copy-parrot, he would make sure it wasn’t a dumb overgrown, doggish copy-parrot. This would be it. 

The man spent the rest of the day carrying an unstable cardboard box, with holes punched in the top, under his arm. Heavily annoyed, very unamused. Little did he know, this was the beginning of 15 years of annoyance and un-amusement.

Next: Chapter 1 - The Cloak

[claraduffy]

Sunny and 45

A few weeks ago as long awaited spring break began, I found myself caravanning east with some friends. I was hoping for sunburns and headlong dives into waves. What actually awaited us was five days of a consistent 45 degrees and windy, scattered clouds. In high school, my photography teacher told me that light is everything—that light changes the way we behave and think in the moment, and even the way we remember things. Though we didn’t always have the warmth we were hoping for, that week we had the sun.

The caravan from Houston to Orange Beach passed as quickly as ten hours can, when you’re with friends. It was full of “firsts” for me. I’d never driven my own car across state lines, honking the horn, my passenger reading me facts about Louisiana (did you know in L.A .“The Pelican State,” it’s illegal to gargle in public places?) I’d never eaten gumbo under a bridge in Baton Rouge and then written my name on a dollar and stuck it to the wall. I’d never fallen asleep in the back seat of my own car, trusting a friend to drive. During our short jaunt through Mississippi, my dad called, and when I informed him of my whereabouts he retorted, “Better not to get out. Mississippi is a crap-hole.” I laughed, but doubted him. What did my dad know about Mississippi?  

That Sunday afternoon, I first saw Alabama from inside of the car, staring at palm trees contrasted against a deep blue sky. It reminded me of the Rio Grande Valley, which is my home base. Stepping out of the car, the wind bit harder than I’d expected. I was weary from driving and craving time alone to recharge, but my friends were loud, bubbling like shaken soda. We bumped into each other in the stairwell, lugging suitcases. Connor, who leased the house in his name, was trying to make sure everyone signed the contract on their way in. “Oh I’ll be right back! Just need to grab my money!” said a few as they dodged him. The boys claimed the master bedroom upstairs, which had a jacuzzi bathtub in it. However fancy their bathtub was, five of them slept on the floor, leaving the girls most of the smaller bedrooms; I suppose Alabama was bringing out the southern gentlemen in them. Still, there was an offbeat quality about those first hours. The beach was out of sight, the bike tires were flat (they never stayed full, though I toiled with a junky air pump each day), and my stomach felt swollen and with the sugary food of road trips. After unpacking, we separated: some to find the beach, some to the bike trail, and some to pick up pizza. I stayed behind to catch my breath.

I walked out to the dock and sat on a porch swing, shivering. “I sure wish the weather’d behave for y’all,” I heard a voice say behind me. And there was Shaun, the owner of the house, unloading his boat after a three day fishing trip. Shaun was middle aged and sunburned, with blondish grey hair and stark white boots. I kept glancing at the gloss of his boots, which were the kind of shoes that scream at you. “Yeah, me too. But it should be a good week.” I responded. Shaun went on to give me a ten minute monologue about the restaurants in Orange Beach, the spring breakers, the history, his own history, his fishing trip, the people he’s rented to lately, and so on. My eyes glazed over but he didn’t notice. A young woman came up and cut him off in the middle of a description of the type of fish you could catch off the dock. “This is a girl I picked up at a bar last week,” he grinned, referring to who I assumed was his girlfriend. She was not amused; neither was I. I learned to avoid Shaun, for fear of getting more information than I needed. Many weren’t so lucky; there flowed from his lips a never ending stream of cliches and pleasantries.

We spent the first afternoon driving to Gulf Shores. It was only 15 minutes away, but it was more about the driving than the destination. It was raining, and two of my roommates and I decided to escape the house, where everyone was drinking hot chocolate with coconut rum and half-watching a TV game show. We drove past charming beach town restaurants, which looked more like cheap tourist traps in the rain. Driving on and on and listening to sentimental music, I didn’t quite know what to say to Makayla and Brittany. I didn’t want to repeat the refrain of the group: It’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow. I didn’t feel very light or silly, which is my normal. I was driving, though, and trying very hard to notice when they were tired of heading in no particular direction. I love inefficient driving, though I’m aware it annoys most people. We eventually pulled into a liquor store and tried to talk intelligently about how to buy wine, which first made everything sort of tense and then turned into giggling. We had no idea how to buy wine. Brittany bought us a bottle called “Cupcake,” anyway.

My cold beach vacation passed quickly. The sun came out and warmed us a few degrees, we found a volleyball court and a seafood restaurant and some better shows to watch. The boys wrestled upstairs and it shook the house and Shaun came over to check on us, which was mortifying. The house filled with sand and grime and people left books and empty bottles everywhere. I volunteered to be buried in the sand, thinking it would be warmer in there. We snuck into a hotel hot tub from the beach side, and met some girls from the University of Alabama, who taught us their fight song complete with expletives about Auburn. I had honest conversations with many of the people who ended up in my passenger seat. I heard the words “I bet it’s gonna be sunny tomorrow” countless times. Shaun, though a kind and good host, served as an entertaining villain, and predictably, the butt of our jokes. And through the biting cold shined the sun.

There’s something about living and growing on my own, being influenced by people and books and advertisements, walking and driving around by myself and wondering. I hope it is always like this, even when I’m much older and heavy with things I’ve done. I’m sure there’s also something about reaching middle age, like Shaun, and having most of your firsts behind you—settling into who you are, finally. But do I have to? Can I just stay this wispy, morphing, malleable creature that is age 20?

Something about the way freshman year played out—the girls I met, the group I stumbled into—rendered me overwhelmed with friendships, both the bantering kind and the real, painful kind. By junior year, I was spending a cold week in Alabama with the same people, many of whom I still don’t know well enough to be completely authentic. It wasn’t the ultimate spring break. It certainly wasn’t perfect, and I hope I see better vacations. But at the time, it was life to the full. It was messy and thrilling; awkward and honest; disappointing and surprising; sunny and freezing. One night, I fished off the dock for two hours with no luck, and watched the guy next to me catch seven Piggy Perch. Maybe he was catching the same damn fish every time. Maybe I just wasn’t doing it right. But somehow that’s what I love about being young and making mistakes; I don’t always catch a fish but I get to stand out here and try.

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'I loved being part of that scene': 80s style tribes, then and now | Music

Carrie Kirkpatrick and Gill Soper, skinheads (above)

Carrie I got into punk at the age of 12, and went quite wild with it. It was a means of escape from difficult situations at home. I found it empowering; going to gigs and drinking and taking drugs was exciting. I felt free; but I was getting into trouble with the police.

There was a skinhead revival going on, and Gill suggested we get into that instead. Skinheads were more structured, not so wild. We wore smart clothes, we had perfect hair and nails.

I grew up in south London, surrounded by rightwing views. The area had seen a lot of immigration and it was very much a “them and us” attitude. I spent a lot of time making sure I deprogrammed my conditioning around racism. When you’re in a subculture as a kid, you’re doing it for the social scene, for the music, and to find yourself. In your 30s, 40s and 50s, it’s different: you can have shared interests with others, but you don’t have to do everything with them. Your relationships are more sophisticated.

When I showed the original photograph to my son, who is 11, he said, “You don’t look very happy!” But I wasn’t unhappy; I loved being part of that scene. I suppose we were just trying to look hard, weren’t we?

Carrie Kirkpatrick (left) and Gill Soper outside the toilets in Crystal Palace, London, in November 1980 (top) and April 2017 (above). All photographs: Anita Corbin

Gill Between 1978 and 1979, there were so many subcultures to choose from: punk, disco, reggae, mod, 2 Tone. I was a punk originally, but I couldn’t go the whole hog, because I was also into disco. If you turned up at a disco with a blue mohican, you wouldn’t be so welcome.

When you’re young, you latch on to the newest thing, which for us was being a skinhead. Everyone I knew was a punk one day, and then shaving their head and wearing jeans and braces the next.

It was the clothes that drew me. Well, it was the boys to start with, closely followed by the clothes and the music and the attitude. We all had suits made. There were the shirts, the feather cuts, the shoes.

My daughter was born not long after the original picture was taken, and I was “normal” for a while before turning skin again in my 20s. I was clearing out my mum’s house recently and found pictures of my daughter with a feather cut in primary school. She hates me for that. She stayed with my mum a bit, because by that time I had got into scooters and Northern Soul. I’m still into it: it’s a friendly scene and very tight-knit.

I’m 54 now, and things have definitely turned a corner for women my age. Of course, if you want to blend in, you can, but many women have been given a new lease of life. Your experience of age is what you make it, really. I’m going to the hairdressers right now, in fact, I’m having a feather cut and getting it dyed bright red.

‘I still like to be different. I live in a mobile home. I don’t have a TV. I avoid supermarkets’

Shelley Spencer and Di Sage, punks

Shelley Spencer (left) and Di Sage in the toilets at the White Swan, Crystal Palace, in November 1980

Shelley I grew up just outside Croydon in south London. One night, when I was 14, I was at the bus stop on my way to a social club and saw my first punks. One of them had lots of black makeup on, and the other had spiky hair and ripped clothes held together with safety pins. I remember thinking, “Wow.” Over that summer, 1977, I went from riding bikes and horses to going out with my sister and the Croydon Punks. It was huge fun.

I crimped my hair before work every day. I was working at the dole office in King’s Cross and you’d sometimes get musicians coming in to sign on. Dave Vanian from The Damned came in once. I said, “My sister enjoyed your gig last night!” He got all nervous and said, “We don’t get paid, you know,” worried that I would shop him.

Di and I met at school and used to go out three or four nights a week, but we lost touch when I went travelling. After 14 years, we reconnected. Since 2002, I’ve lived in rural France. I look at photos of me as a punk and think, “Ooh, I was quite gorgeous”, and realise that modern society’s view of women in their 50s is very negative.

What the past 36 years has taught me is that you are yourself, whatever else you do. You are not your children’s mother. You are not simply a wife. It is so important to put time aside to remember who you are.

Shelley Spencer (left) and Di Sage in Angoulême, France, in May 2017

Di When I was 17, I had a lot of fire in me. I’d do leaflet drops for the British Union For The Abolition Of Animal Vivisection. As part of a Stop The City protest, us punks would go to phone boxes and all call a number in the City at nine on a Monday morning, so the switchboards were jammed.

Being a punk provided a sense of belonging and of being different. It was fresh, exciting, fiery – and loud. Live music was a huge part of it.

I remember standing at a bus stop with my mother, and people would call me names across the street and she would get upset. People saw punk as aggressive, but I was just expressing myself. I was shy, but I liked to shock.

You’d not be seen dead with your hair flat. You’d do your best, even if it was raining, with a tin of hairspray and an umbrella. I still like to be different. I live in a mobile home, I don’t have a telly, I avoid supermarkets. I am not materialistic. I teach yoga now, and my students can’t believe I used to smoke and take recreational drugs. Yoga is my community and family; like punk, it’s about expressing yourself from the inside.

‘I remember thinking I was going to marry a mod, have a mod house and mod babies’

Tessa Morton and Charlotte Wager, mods

Charlotte Wager (left) and Tessa Morton at Tessa’s parents’ home in Highgate, London, in March 1981

Tessa We got into a 60s crowd when we were 16 and 17. Then we got into the scooter crowd. We loved that it was edgy; we didn’t want people to see that we were middle class. We wanted to be seen as a bit Quadrophenia, then we’d go home to nice Sunday lunches and warm beds and parents who didn’t quite know what we’d been up to.

We were really into 60s Motown, and boys with scooters were part of that scene. We had to be on the back of their scooters, because the good clubs were dotted all over London. Then Charlotte and I got our own scooters, and it became part of ouridentity. I remember thinking I was going to marry a mod, have a mod house and mod babies.

I’d tell my parents I was staying at Charlotte’s when in fact we were down in Brighton for the weekend. I still remember walking into a club and seeing a roomful of people saying, “Oh, Tessa and Charlotte are here!” We were very visible. I still don’t follow the rules. I don’t have cushions that match my curtains, I don’t follow recipes, and I don’t force my children to go to ballet. I want to be myself, to be authentic.

Charlotte Wager (left) and Tessa Morton at Tessa’s parents’ home in Highgate, London, in January 2014

Charlotte I live in Chicago now, and Tessa is in Warwickshire, but we have stayed close. I remember what it felt like to be a mod: exciting, part of a team; it was something you looked forward to, planned for, dressed up for.

In the 1980s, I became a CND youth leader. I was very into political activism, campaigning and organising marches. There was a bit of tension between that and the mod scene.

I spent the 1990s studying and working, first in London, and then at law school in the US. I was a young professional in Chicago, learning how to be a lawyer, becoming financially successful. I was still young and carefree, but in a different way: I had lots of work responsibility, but no kids.

Somewhere in there came the realisation that I wasn’t going to change the world in quite the way I thought. By 2003, I had four children under six and a busy practice. I was trying to be a successful lawyer and the perfect mother.

Until Trump’s election, I had become politically passive, and shame on me, because that’s what led us to where we are now. Now I am reinvigorated. My husband and I took our two youngest kids to the Women’s March in January.

I suppose my tribe now is Volleyball Mom. It’s my youngest daughter’s sport and I attend two dozen tournaments a year. It’s similar to the mod scene: we used to go on scooter rallies to the Isle of Wight; now I drive to Michigan and Wisconsin for tournaments. It’s a subculture of sorts.

‘We weren’t scared of much. Either the world was less scary, or it was the courage of youth’

Linda Robinson and her sister Susan Stecker

Linda Robinson (left) and Susan Stecker outside Southgate tube station, London, in March 1981

Linda I remember this being taken; we were 15 and 17. I saw it for the first time 35 years later, when it was posted on Facebook. I had to call Susan. We were like, “Oh, God, how awful we look!”

In my teens, I loved having my photograph taken; Southgate station had a photo booth, so we would all crowd in there. I had an Instamatic and was always at Boots, getting pictures developed. If I took a photo I didn’t like, I ripped it up and no one would ever see it. It’s different for my four daughters. I see the stress they go through, looking at images of themselves on social media.

We are Jewish, so that was our scene. In our early teens, we’d hang out at McDonald’s or the Baskin-Robbins in Golders Green, and we would go to pubs – not to drink, but to hang around outside. We’d go to Hampstead and meet at The Milk Churn for a salad or ice-cream and hang out there all night to meet new people. Boys, mainly.

In our 20s, we went to the Camden Palace, where all the New Romantics were. I remember feeling inferior, because they had made such a statement with their clothes and makeup. I remember the skins, the punks, the fights.

I didn’t have any particular statement to make. My dream wasn’t to rebel, but to be financially sound and not reliant on a man. I got a job as a John Lewis fashion buyer at 16 and bought my first flat at 22. I regret not travelling, though.

Linda Robinson (left) and Susan Stecker outside Southgate tube station, London, in April 2017

Susan I was too young to be aware of what a subculture was. We weren’t really part of one, but we wouldn’t have been scared of punks or crossed the street if we saw some. I don’t think we were scared of much, really. Either the world was a less scary place, or it was the courage of youth.

We wore whatever was in fashion. I think the sweatshirt I’m wearing was from Miss Selfridge. On a night out, we would have friends round or go to a friend’s house. There were clubs and events put on especially for the London Jewish teenage scene, and we used to go to those. We weren’t drinking, really, but if we did it would be something like Malibu or Cinzano. We’d arrange to meet at a certain place. It’s bizarre thinking about it now: having no mobiles, you just had to wait for people to arrive.

A lot of the clubs would play disco, but I also liked Spandau Ballet, Adam and the Ants, Heaven 17, David Bowie. I had my own stereo with a cassette and record player, and lots of 12-inch singles. I think music has much less of an influence on fashion now. It’s the age of celebrity.

‘It was about wanting to be different from my parents. By 16, I had a pink mohican’

Helen de Jode and Emma Hall

Helen de Jode (left) and Emma Hall in Wimbledon, London, in August 1980

Emma I was 14 in that picture, the same age as my daughter is now. It is currently half-term, and both she and my 13-year-old son are roaming free in north London, so I suppose their lives are quite similar to mine.

Those tartan trousers were the ones I wore on a CND rally, which culminated in a Killing Joke concert at Trafalgar Square. I wasn’t political at that age; it was more about being part of something. I didn’t have dreams of the future and neither was I trying to escape anything. I think that’s partly because I came from a secure home. I just thought everything would turn out OK. More than anything, it was about wanting to be different from my parents. They were nothing more terrible than middle class and conventional, but the only way to rebel was to look abnormal, so by 16 I had a pink mohican.

As you’re growing up, you are trying on your identity, working it out, trying to find like-minded people. I have a strong sense of myself now, though I think identity is something you search for but never really find.

Helen de Jode (left) and Emma Hall in Finsbury Park, London, in May 2017

Helen It was 1980, and we used to listen to the Stranglers and the Clash. We were very London-based; we didn’t think a great deal about the rest of the world, or listen to music from anywhere else. I think about my children now and can’t imagine them having nearly as much freedom as we had. When we were out, we were completely uncontactable.

There was a group of us who shared similar clothes and went out together, but Emma and I were the only ones at the same school. I remember saying to her once: “I think I have seen you every single day this year.”

At 51, I don’t think of myself as part of a group. The friends I have are friends for their individual personalities, rather than because of something we all have in common.

Everything is so much more global nowadays. My children watch American TV and listen to international music, and there is nothing local that might offer them a sense of identity, except maybe a football club.

My friendship with Emma has evolved throughout our lives. After graduating from uni, I lived and worked in Africa for 10 years; Emma worked in Paris and New York, before settling in London. As young mothers, we lived in neighbouring streets in Highbury; now, I’m living in Sydney. We’re still good friends and see each other a couple of times a year. In many situations, you can present the picture you want others to see, but with someone who has known you since you were 11, you can only be who you truly are.

‘We would sneak off to the airbase to practise our moves on their wooden dancefloor’

Nicole Le Strange, aka Quasi, and Sue Lenham, aka Squasher, rockabillies

Nicole Le Strange (left) and Sue Lenham at the Royalty in Southgate, London, in March 1981

Nicole People called me Quasi because I did a great impersonation of Quasimodo. I was 18. I loved rockabilly music, the clothes, the hairstyles, the dancing, but it was also my refuge. I grew up being told by my mother that I wasn’t good enough because I wasn’t a boy, because I was ugly, because I was too tall and too skinny. Then I met this group, and Sue in particular, and they didn’t want me to change. I felt like a superhero.

I never really liked this picture, but I recently realised it’s not about how I look, it’s about what the photograph means. There I am at such a hard time in my life, but I’m with Sue, who loved me unconditionally – with whom I could be, and still can be, exactly who I want to be.

Even into my early 30s, I remember watching the movie Thelma And Louise and there’s this one line, “You get what you settle for”, and I realised that had been my life. I hadn’t got what I wanted; I had basically done what other people told me I should be doing – including having children, if I’m completely honest. I have three children, and one grandchild. I suddenly realised there was a whole world out there.

In the past 14 years, I have rebuilt my life. For the last five years, my partner and I have lived all over Europe. I’m 54 and feel completely free. At 18, I wasn’t certain what freedom meant.

Nicole Le Strange (left) and Sue Lenham in Kranjska Gora, Slovenia, in April 2017

Sue Nobody else was into rock’n’roll when I was at school: it was too retro. My dad brought us up, which was unusual in the 1960s, and my family situation was challenging. I had to be independent and the scene let me express myself. I found out later that my dad had been an Edwardian, a particular type of teddy boy. It turned out we had frequented the same haunts: unknowingly, I was following in his footsteps. People called me Squasher because my surname sounded like lemon, which became squasher lemon.

Nikki and I would sneak off to Mildenhall airbase to practise our dance moves on their great wooden dancefloor. The men assumed we were gay, because we danced together, which was good, really, because we didn’t want any of them bothering us.

Of course there was gang stuff going on, but I’d do anything not to be in a fight. I remember we snuck in to see Quadrophenia when it opened and we were the only rockers there. We wore jeans and checked shirts, no leathers, but we were terrified we might get done on the way out.

I didn’t get on with my sister and Nikki had family problems, too, so we were both sort-of orphans and became each other’s family. I looked out for her. I knew quite early on that I didn’t want children or a family. Because of my childhood, I had decided to choose my family from my friends. I looked after them and they looked after me, and we still do.

These days, I would say I was a bippy, or a biker-hippy. I go to motorbike rallies twice a year to keep me feeling mad, bad and dangerous to know: we have the hippy mentality, but we’re all bald or short-haired; the average age is between 40 and 60. We bond over our non-conformism. I’ve always been a bit “rage against the machine” in that way.

• These photographs are from Visible Girls: Revisited, an exhibition that opens in Hull on 7 July before a UK-wide tour; go to visiblegirls.com for details.

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