#almost sent this to my corvette buddy

[mentallyinwalmart]

Roadtrip!

a Braime fic— chapter 1

Hi all! Here’s the first chapter of the most voted for fic, the Braime college roadtrip au. Hope y’all enjoy :)

~~

Brienne sighed as she looked at the Facebook post on her dash.

No replies.

It had been almost a week since she posted it, and though five dozen ‘likes’ were dropped beneath the text, not a single message had it drawn. She read over it for the hundredth time, looking for what was turning people off from it.

‘Hi all! Hitting the road from San Fran, CA to New York, NY for college! Whether you go to Columbia or any other school in NY, if you are down for a road trip and to split the cost of rental trucks and gas, let me know! It would be a long drive by myself!’

It still looked flawless, and Brienne sighed again, cursing under her breath. She moved to close her laptop but just as it was halfway shut, a message pinged in her inbox.

She opened it quickly, and did a double take.

‘New message from Jaime Lannister!’ The screen said. She moused over the text box and opened it hesitantly.

‘Still need a roadtrip buddy?’

Brienne frowned in disbelief.

‘Is this a prank?’ She sent back, pushing a blonde curl from her eyes as she watched the little typing bubble flicker in the corner. After a painstakingly long time it finally turned to a message.

‘No.’

So the rumors were true, Jaime Lannister was illiterate. She chuckled to herself. How long does it take to type a simple message?

But as she stared at that little two letter word she wondered if he was lying. She clicked on his profile absentmindedly. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d done so. Many a night she’d scrolled through his photos, him and his track trophies, him and Cersei in his dads corvette, smiling and waving as homecoming king and queen, him and his gaggle of friends at the beach.

She paused on the same picture she always did, the side by side of him as a little boy with his first prosthetic arm to him their senior year. In both he had the same blond hair and sparkling eyes, but while he looked pained in the first, he was all smiles in the second, donning a Columbia sweatshirt.

‘What a difference eleven years makes. #Blessed to be heading to Columbia on a track scholarship! But I’ll miss my boys and the gold cloaks #OnceAKnightAlwaysAKnight !’

Brienne pondered the caption. Obviously, she’d known he was going to Columbia. That they’d be going together, sort of, but not at all. She scrolled up a photo to the only one of his she was explicitly in. It was the two of them, Robb Stark, and Yara Greyjoy on signing day, the four of them shooting the camera their best thumbs ups and proudest smiles. Yara and Robb wore jackets for UCLA and Stanford respectively, and she and Jaime had their Colombia jackets on. Yara played water polo and Robb was recruited for archery. Though she and Jaime were on the same track team, and had been since 9th grade this was the only photo he’s ever tagged her in.

He had his prosthetic arm thrown back behind her on the bench and if she squinted it was almost like his arm was around her.

Brienne slammed the laptop shut. She was being ridiculous. Obviously he and his friends were messing with her. She sighed as she reopened the computer.

‘Lannister I swear to god’ she looked at the message and then quickly deleted it.

What the hell was she supposed to even say. Jaime hardly spoke to her at track, let alone when they were off the field. She sighed.

The typing bubble popped up again. Brienne stared at it as though it was hypnotizing her. She took a sip of her tea and waited for the message to become another cryptic one word answer.

‘Come on Brinny, were the only ones of us headed over there, we might as well have each other’s backs’

She choked on her drink, droplets scattering on the screen.

‘Brinny’? No one had called her ‘Brinny’ since primary school. She shook her head.

‘Isn’t Cersei going to NYU? Why don’t you drive with her.’

She hit send and then smacked her forehead with her palm. She closed her laptop again and flopped her head down on the table. After a while she raised her head up and opened the laptop. Again.

‘Conflict with other stuff for her. Do you need someone to drive with or not?’

Brienne took a deep breath and bit her lip.

‘I do.’

She hit send before she could stop herself. The reply was almost instantaneous.

‘Great. Can I Venmo you my half of the van?’

‘Sure. I’ll text you how much.’

‘Do you have my number?’

She hesitated. She was pretty sure she did have his number, from the track group chat she never talked in. But she decided it would be weird to say that, so she just went with a good old fashioned lie.

‘No.’

Her phone dinged a moment after she hit send and she looked down at it.

‘No worries cuz I have yours! Track GC! Go Knights!!!’

She snorted out a laugh.

‘Oh my god’

‘So what’s my half for the van?’

They exchanged a few more texts, and Brienne went to bed with a smile on her face.

The next day she woke up to seven pictures and three more texts from Jaime, inquiring as to what of his things was actually worth bringing.

It wasn’t until the day he pulled up in front of her home with the moving van and a huge Columbia flag hanging from the antenna that she was positive she wasn’t being catfished.

“Brinny!” He called, honking the horn as he pulled into the driveway of her apartment complex. “Need help with your things?”

“No, Lannister I’m just gonna carry them all myself.” She rolled her eyes as he hopped out of the drivers side and ran over towards her.

“You are the strongest person I’ve ever met.” He grinned, “Brienne the beast!” He raised his hand for a high five which she hesitantly obliged.

Despite the negative connotations the nickname had had in highschool, she swallowed any sadness and pasted on a smile, following him as he bounded up the stairs to her father's apartment.

~~

Hope you enjoyed! This doesn’t have a set number of chapters yet but I have at least 4 more outlined so hopefully you don’t hate it 😂🧡 (they’re also longer, this is more of an intro) special thanks to @sassbewitchedmyass because I totally snagged ur adorable Braime nickname for baby bri 😂

Let me know what you think or if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Tag list: @sassbewitchedmyass @ben-roll-io @averageinside @nashilena @lannisteroftarth @briennexofxtarth @marasjadesfire @onlyjaimebrienne @itsclaucueva @oathbreaker-oathkeeper @paceofbase @jointhemadnessjb

[james-stark-the-writer-wips]

A Year At The Opera - Excerpt

Chapter 9: A Body In The Woods

A/N: Its 5K words, I hope you like it!

*

Eleanor and Aaron

Eleanor opened the door and stepped in, only to be greeted by darkness.

“Hello?” She called out, checking to see if anyone was there. No response. She flicked the light switch on. Nothing. She did it again. Still nothing.

Power must be out or something.

“El?” A voice came from the second floor.

“A?” She called out. “Where are you?”

“Upstairs.” His voice was faint.

Eleanor shrugged and put the car keys in the bowl, heading to the stairs. She quickly turned on the flashlight on her phone. As she reached his door, she knocked once before pushing the door open.

“Why are the lights out?” She asked, turning her flashlight off.

“Power outage or something, Ingram’s looking for the gas valve for that chandelier in the living room.”

“Any idea when they’ll be back?”

“Ingram called his mom. She said she’d check and call back soon.”

“Okay, so, nothing’s working? They don’t have a backup generator or anything?”

“Well, they do but it’s not working. Or at least that’s what Mrs. Shaw said.” Aaron replied, turning on his phone’s flashlight. “So, where have you been all day?”

“Went for a drive around town. Saw a movie, had some lunch and just drove around for a bit.”

“Really?” Aaron asked. “And what exactly did this drive entail?”

“It was just a drive. Jeez, mom.”

“Eleanor, it’s never just anything with you. What did you do?���

“Look around for people.”

“Any chance these people happen to be cute guys?”

She paused. “Maybe.”

“El—”

“Look, I know what you’re going to say but… I need a distraction and technically, we are on vacation.”

“If you’d let me finish, I’d tell you I’m not your parent, you can do whatever you want. You don’t have to hide things from me.” He said casually.

“But?” She offered, almost looking for him to stop her.

“There’s no buts. That’s it.”

“Really?”

Aaron nodded.

“I don’t believe you.” She said.

“You can choose to believe whatever, I guess.” Aaron stood up, turning off his flashlight and flexed his back to crack it and release the pressure that had built up in it for a few hours, sitting on his bed trying to write.

“Sure.” She said unsurely.

“And by the way, you should never feel like you have to hide anything from me. Sure, I’ll judge you for a little bit but it’s because I’m trying to be helpful, you dumbass. Okay now I actually sound like your parents. Just forget I said anything.”

El smiled.

“Found it!” A voice came from downstairs. El stood up, following Aaron out of the room.

Mason turned on his flashlight to guide El and Aaron down the stairs. Ingram shouted from the basement, “Tell me when it’s bright enough!”

The lights on the chandelier flickered to life with a small hiss, casting bright amber across the room.

“That’s good!” Mason shouted back.

“Okay!” Ingram said, before rushing back up the stairs.

“Is that a gas chandelier?” Eleanor asked, looking at the chandelier with childlike amazement.

“Yep. An original one too.” Ingram said, walking up to her. “My great great-grandfather built this place in the late 70s. The 1870s. We’ve obviously upgraded stuff but a lot of it is original.”

“I did not know that.” Aaron stated blankly, wondering why he didn’t actually know that. Of course, they were only six when they stopped associating with the same social circles but he still couldn’t believe he didn’t know that.

Ingram chuckled. “Yep. We were the first cabin built in the area, actually. Pappy was the first one to start then everyone else started building around us and eventually we branched out into the town.”

“Pappy?” El asked.

“Yeah, that’s what my grandparents called him whenever they told me about him.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. Super genius, generally beloved, helped the people a lot, great with tools, practically an inventor. He sounds so fun whenever I hear about him.”

“So,” Mason began, clapping his hands. “Anyone wanna play a game of strip truth or dare on this dark, cold night with only a gas chandelier as a light source?”

“Uhhhh, duh.” Ingram said, lightly pecking Mason on the cheek. “I’ll go get the bottle.”

“What the fuck kind of bullshit horror movie setup is this?” Aaron muttered to himself.

“Let’s sit!” Mason sat on the floor around the small coffee table.

“Wait, what’s strip truth or dare?” Eleanor asked.

“It’s regular truth or dare but if you don’t want to answer or do whatever, you have to take off an item of clothing.”

“But it’s so cold.” Aaron said.

“All the more incentive to spill or sit naked in the cold.”

“Cool.” Eleanor said, taking the place next to Mason.

“Uh, okay.” Aaron said cautiously before taking the seat opposite Mason.

Ingram arrived from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and four glasses.

“There’s not much left in this, figured we might as well finish it, right?” He said, opening the window before taking the last empty spot on the floor, right next to Mason. He quickly placed the glasses in front of everyone and popped the cork, filling each glass up as equally as he could. “Bottoms up, bitches.” Ingram said, raising his glass.

A soft ‘bottoms up’ escaped Aaron’s lips as he gulped down a quarter of the glass in one sip. Eleanor quietly sipped hers while the duo gulped almost half a glass down.

“Who wants to go first?” Ingram topped off the glasses and placed the empty bottle in the center of the table.

“I’ll go.” Eleanor took a sip of her wine before laying the bottle flat on the table. She took a deep breath and spun it.

It spun slowly, not enough force behind the spin. But, regardless, it came to a stop.

Ingram.

“All right.” He said. “Let’s start off easy. Truth or dare?”

Eleanor felt a pit form in her stomach as she struggled to pick one. Fuck it. “Truth.”

She immediately regretted it.

Ingram mulled over for a second about what he should ask her. “Hmm. Best kiss you remember. When and where. Go.”

El leaned back, took a sip of her wine and tried to remember the answer. To be honest, she didn’t even need to think. She knew the answer. She really didn’t want to say it though.

“Two months ago. Passenger seat in a Corvette. That’s all you get.” She said, taking a slow sip of her wine. God, this better get me drunk.

Aaron gave El a tight lipped smile. He knew exactly who she was talking about, after all it’s kinda obvious, but he looked at the bottle and took a sip of his glass.

“My turn.” Mason said, spinning the bottle.

The bottle spun fast. It stopped. Aaron.

“Truth or dare?” Mason asked.

“Dare.” Aaron said enthusiastically. Might as well be first, right? Get this shit over with.

Mason grinned. “Take a shot of hot sauce.”

“Dude!” Ingram looked at Mason in shock.

“What?” Mason defended himself. “He asked for it?”

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Ingram said, placing a reassuring hand on the table.

“No, it’s okay. A dare’s a dare. Plus I like hot sauce anyway.” Jesus fuck forgive me for the words I just uttered. Nathan, how fucking long is this night?

Aaron’s phone buzzed. He quickly took it out. Four hours till midnight, buddy. Stay in there. We need this. I texted him.

“Alright, that’s the spirit!” Mason jumped out of his seat enthusiastically. “I’ll get the glass and the sauce.”

“It’s open.” Ingram said and Mason rushed off into Mr. Shaw’s study, emerging a minute later with a bottle of hot sauce, a spoon and a glass of water.

The bottle looked suspect on all accounts. It had no label except for a handwritten ‘HOT SAUCE’ on the bottle scribbled in what seemed to be sharpie and a very awful drawing of a chicken breathing fire accompanying it.

“So, fair warning,” Mason put the bottle down on the table.

“No.” Ingram said. “Not that one.”

“Relax. He’ll be fine.” Mason said, which did nothing to reassure Aaron. He was regretting his decision with every passing second.

“So, fair warning, but this is super hot sauce so you should only do a spoonful instead of a shot. Because it will kill your tongue otherwise.” He put a spoon beside the bottle.

“Oh, boy.” Aaron said lifting the spoon. The world versus my tongue. You can do this, you little shit.

He cracked the bottle open and poured a little bit on the spoon. He brought the sauce a little closer to his nose to smell it. Instantly, the noxious fumes of the hot sauce obliterated his nostrils. He suppressed a gag and touched the tip of his tongue to the spoon. Hmm. Nothing. It’s one of those. Aaron shoved the spoon in his mouth and gulped the sauce down trying his best to not taste it.

As the sauce moved through his body, the heat from the sauce began to come through. Aaron grabbed the glass of water and held it near his lips, ready to guzzle it. The spice coursed through his veins and he shoved the glass in his mouth to try and stop the pain. Of course, it didn’t do much, but the coolness helped a little.

As the pain began to subside, he put the glass down and took a deep breath. “Who’s next, bitch?” He announced proudly.

Ingram chuckled, grabbing the bottle and spinning it.

As the bottle began to slow, a savior came in the form of the doorbell.

“I’ll get it,” Ingram announced, jumping from his seat.

He rushed to the door and opened it. Aaron leaned back to see who it was.

“Mr. Shaw?” The man at the door said, making Eleanor lean back too.

“Yeah?” Ingram said.

“Your mother sent me to get you some supplies.” The man said, handing Ingram two bags of groceries and food.

“Oh, okay.” Ingram took the bags.

“Oh, and here’s my number if you need anything else, just call me and I’ll get it to you ASAP.” The man handed Ingram a card.

“Uh, cool.” Ingram shoved it in his pocket.

“Alright, I guess I’ll be going then.”

“Uh, okay.”

As awkward as the conversation was, the man left without another word, driving off in the blue sedan he’d arrived in.

“We got food.” Ingram said, holding up the two bags.

“Tell me there’s something good in there.” Mason said, rising from his seat. El and Aaron followed them to the kitchen.

Ingram and Mason quickly emptied the bags on the counter. El turned the flash on her phone on to be able to see the things better. The first thing that caught Aaron’s eyes was the pack of chocolate chip ice cream. The pain from the hot sauce had mostly gone away but his throat was still burning a little and that ice cream looked really good right about now. Mason put his hands on one of the loaves of garlic bread and announced it was his. Aaron quickly grabbed the ice cream.

“Mine.” He said, placing the container in the freezer.

El grabbed one of the other ice cream containers. “I don’t mind sharing but mine.”

The rest of the food was either quickly divided up or put away for Mason to cook with later.

“Let’s get back to where we were, shall we?” Mason suggested.

“Happily.” El said, returning to the table. El and Aaron took their previous seats but Mason and Ingram switched seats.

El grabbed the bottle and spun it.

Mason.

“Truth or dare?” El asked, an evil smile on her face.

“Truth.” Mason said.

“Most embarrassing thing no one in this room about you knows.” El said. Either he answered the question in which case she got a new topic to talk about or he didn’t and she got a new piece of eye candy.

“I—” Mason began but stopped, looking defeated. He pulled his shirt over his head and placed it next to him.

“Try not to faint, Eleanor.” Aaron whispered.

“Believe me, I’m trying.” Eleanor whispered back. Holy Jesus fuck do you live in a gym?

Mason looked like a walking Greek god with his sculpted abs and chiseled pecs and muscular arms. Talk about unrealistic standard for teens. But as he looked at Mason, Aaron felt himself getting… excited. Oh boy.

“It’s that bad?” Ingram asked.

“Let’s not talk about it.” Mason said, quietly taking a sip of his wine.

“Alright then. My turn.” Aaron grabbed the bottle, quickly spinning it, trying to get his mind off Mason.

Ingram. Oh Jesus fuck me.

“Truth or dare?”

Ingram smirked. “Dare.”

“God why?” Aaron murmured to himself. “Alright, easy one. Give me your credit card. I get to make one purchase, whatever I want.”

“Oh.” Ingram said after a short pause. “So much for easy, huh? My mom would kill me, so…” He quickly took his shirt off and placed it behind him on the couch.

“Are you trying to kill me?” El whispered to Aaron as she laid eyes on Ingram. “What the fuck? How are you so built?” She said out loud without thinking.

Ingram chuckled. “Thanks, I try.”

“I mean, he plays a shitton of ball.” She gestured vaguely at Mason. “What’s your excuse?” Eleanor prodded further.

“I just go to gym a little bit.” Ingram said, trying his best to sound humble.

“Alright, I’m next.” Mason grabbed the bottle and spun it in an attempt to change the topic. He could see everyone getting uncomfortable.

“Eleanor.” Masons said as the bottle stopped. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” She said, absentmindedly.

“Right.” Mason cleared his throat. Eleanor shifted her attention to him. “Uh, give me your phone, I get to text anything to a random person but you aren’t allowed to tell them it was you for at least 48 hours. And you can’t see who I texted what until midnight either.”

Eleanor hesitated for a second but figured, how much harm could he really do? She reached into her pocket and grabbed her phone, handing it to Mason.

“Right. Mind unlocking it?”

“Oh, sorry.” She took the phone and quickly unlocked it before handing it back. “There.”

“Perfect.” Mason opened her messages, quickly scrolling through the names. “No, no no. Maybe? No. Wait. Who is that? Interesting…” Eleanor watched in anticipation as he scrolled through the chat. “Alright, I know exactly what to say.” He quickly typed out a message before handing the phone back. “I’m sorry, Eleanor. You’ll be able to explain it all in 48 hours.”

“Who did you text?” She took the phone.

“You’ll find out soon enough. You can’t look at your phone yet though.”

“Aw, come on.” She put the phone back in her pocket. She didn’t like not knowing but she was a good sport. She could at least respect not looking at it while everyone was around.

“Sorry, those are the rules.” Mason said.

“Who’s next?” Ingram asked enthusiastically.

“Me.” Aaron said, turning the bottle.

The bottle spun quick. Aaron swore he could hear the bottle grinding against the table as it slowed to a stop, just inching further like it was being pushed.

Ingram.

“Truth or dare?” Aaron asked.

“Truth.” Ingram declared. He didn’t want to lose more clothing. He felt cold as is.

Aaron felt a wave of emotions wash over him all of a sudden. “Why did we stop being friends?” The words slipped past before he could stop them. And he wanted to stop them so much. But now they were out there. In the open, seared into everyone’s brains.

Ingram cleared his throat. Instantly, the room felt a lot hotter, the tension was practically palpable.

“What?” Ingram asked, pretending he hadn’t heard the question.

“Nothing, never mind.” Aaron said, trying to brush it off. But he wanted the answer desperately. He’d never really understood why they’d stopped talking. He’d attributed it so far to just having different interests but there had to be more than that. There had to be.

“Well, so much for a fun game.” Mason mumbled to himself.

And so they sat there, waiting for someone to get up and leave so the situation wouldn’t be that awkward anymore.

Mason faked a yawn. “Well, I’m tired all of a sudden. I’m going to go sleep.” He stood up and turned to Ingram. “You coming, babe?”

“Yeah.” Ingram stood up and followed Mason out of the room.

“I should go too.” El said, placing a comforting hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “Get some sleep, A.” She rushed up the stairs and into her room.

With an exasperated sigh, Aaron rose as well. “Fuck me.” He muttered under his breath as he began to walk up to his room.

-

The room was shrouded in darkness when Aaron entered.

“What the fuck happened there, Nathan?” Aaron whisper-screamed into his phone as he closed the door behind him. He walked over to the window and pushed aside the curtains to let some moonlight in. It wasn’t very bright but it was better than before.

“I don’t know, dude!” I said. “You might not be as resistant to the spell as I thought.”

He walked over to his bed. “Oh, God. You’re telling me there will be more of these incidents?”

“I don’t know!” I said, “This is completely unprecedented! I don’t know anything! Why do you think I’m here for your help — as useless as that has been?”

Jesus fucking christ what the fuck have I done? Aaron put his head in his palms, contemplating how complicated he’d just made everything.

“Look, just try and sleep on it, we’ll figure it out in the morning.” I said.

“Can’t you like, do some magic and fix this?” He asked. The desperation in his voice really made me want to try. But there was simply no way of doing it without alerting the Council of what I’d done.

“I can’t. Believe me, if I could, I would have. That was not fun for anyone involved.”

“Then how did you do the wish spell in the first fucking place, Nathan?”

“I don’t know!” I said. At this point, even I was starting to get frustrated. “Have you not been listening to a single word I’ve been saying? I have no idea how this happened!” I let out a soft sigh. “Just, try to get some sleep man. Hopefully in the morning everyone will have forgotten about it. After all, isn’t that how these things usually go?”

Aaron chucked his phone onto the bed and closed his eyes but sleep was not to be found. He lay there silently, trying to keep his mind blank but the intrusive thoughts of the consequences of what he’d done snaked their way in like a temptress, driving the idea of sleep even further away. Groaning, Aaron grabbed his phone and his earphones from the nightstand. Maybe music would be a comforting distraction.

-

As morning dawned, Eleanor knocked on Aaron’s door. “A?”

“Come in.” Aaron grumbled, half asleep, reaching for his phone to check the time. 8:36 am. He didn’t even know what time he’d fallen asleep at. After the music, everything was pretty blank.

The door swung open and Eleanor walked in, dressed in slutty-pink running gear.

“El?” Aaron asked in a soft mumble.

“Yeah, it’s me.” She replied. “Mason’s making breakfast and wants to know if you want any bacon and eggs.”

“Ugh. Tell him no, I’ll just have some cereal.” He said groggily.

“Okay.”

“And where are you headed dressed like a bored housewife who’s really into yoga?”

“Oh you just never stop, do you?” She put her hands on her hips.

He sat up, adjusting the pillows to provide more support to his back. “Hard to turn off a personality. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Had a revelation last night. I’m just going walking, maybe running. Figured might as well use the time we’re here to have some fun.”

Aaron’s phone buzzed and he picked it up. Go with her. I texted him.

He let out a soft grumble. “You mind waiting for me?”

“How long are you gonna take?”

“Like half an hour. We’ll leave together at nine.”

“Fine. But you better hurry up because once it’s nine, I’m leaving with or without you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be ready. Now get out.” He chucked a pillow at her.

She smiled, turned around and left the room.

“Why the fuck am I going walking at 9am?” He said out loud.

Because you need to get out of the cabin. I texted him.

“Oh come on.” He said.

GO.

“Ugh. Fine, I’m going. God, get off my back.”

He pushed the covers aside, slipping away from the warmth of the bed to the harsh cold of the room. He grabbed the pillow he’d thrown at Eleanor off the floor and carefully put it back in its place.

Letting out a dramatic sigh, he trudged his way to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, he descended down the stairs into the living room.

“You want anything?” Mason asked as he spotted Aaron walking to the couch to join Eleanor.

“I’m good, thanks. I’ll eat something when I get back.” Aaron said, taking the seat next to Eleanor. “Ready?”

She nodded, tying her shoelaces. “Ready.”

“Alright, let’s go then.” Aaron stood up.

Eleanor rushed to the door, throwing it open and jogging out. Aaron walked through the door, closing it behind him. Eleanor was already halfway down the path cheerily skipping along. He closed the door and ran up to catch up with her.

“You seem extra cheery.” He said as he caught up with her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just happy to be out and about.” She replied coyly.

“The fuck you are. What’s up?”

“Idk what you want me to tell you, dude. Just feeling happy. “

“Alright. Good to hear. You deserve to be happier.”

“Don’t get cheesy on me.” She joked.

“I thought you liked cheesiness.”

“On the TV, dude.” She took a left turn into a narrow path. “Not irl.”

Aaron’s phone buzzed. You’re telling me this was for nothing?

He shoved his phone in his pocket without a reply. Rude. “So you have any idea where we’re going or is it just a random walk?”

“I kinda do. Not exactly but I have an idea of our path through.”

“And where are we heading?”

“There’s apparently a beautiful stream that cuts into the forest, right on the border of Athea, Tenebris and Ellesburg. That’s where we’re going.”

“Cool.” Leaves crunched below Aaron’s feet as he walked through the damp forest, following Eleanor’s lead, hoping they didn’t get lost.

They walked mostly in silence as they made their way to the stream, making the occasional small talk but mostly looking at the trees and listening to the birds. It was serene. Calm. Peaceful. No loaded emotions, no baggage. Maybe this walk was exactly what Aaron needed.

The green leaves provided great cover from the sun but small gaps allowed tiny beams to pierce through, making a beautiful pattern along the way. It really was a sight to behold.

The ground beneath them was a little soft, slowly dragging them in as they walked. But it wasn’t too much of a hindrance.

“I hope this place is worth going this far, Eleanor. This mud really isn’t. Do you know how hard it’s going to be to get this off my shoes?” Aaron said, walking up next to her.

Eleanor ran her hand along the trees, feeling the jagged trunks as she walked. “It is, far as I know.” She reassured him. “And besides, even if it’s not, the walk is pretty fun, isn’t it? And sure, the mud isn’t ideal but this is the closest route.”

“Fine.” Aaron mumbled.

As they walked further in, nearing the boundaries of the three towns, the ground began to dry a little and the cover of trees began to reduce. The ground changed from the wet mud to a softer sand, the opposite of what you’d expect to see near a stream. But that strangeness was what made it such a special place.

“I see it!” Eleanor announced, running off over a small hill.

“Wait up, Eleanor.” Aaron said. God for someone that small, she sure is fast.

“It’s amazing.” El’s voice came as Aaron cleared the hill.

The stream flowed smoothly, its water clear as day. El could even see a few tiny fishes in there, dashing through the stream like it was some sort of obstacle course.

“Okay I take it back.” Aaron said. “Definitely worth it.”

“I don’t wanna say I told you so, but I did tell you so.”

“Fair enough.” Aaron walked up next to her.

Aaron and El spent about an hour by the stream, walking along the edge, just hanging out, walking. The hour cruised by and before they knew it, they’d begun to grow hungry and tired.

“Wanna head back?” Aaron asked.

“Sure.” El said, picking a small flower from a bush and tucking it into her hair. “How do I look?”

“You look great.” Aaron replied. “Now come on, I’m starving.”

“Alright.” El said, following behind him.

They walked through the mud again though it had begun to dry a little bit now. El almost tripped over a branch sticking out of the ground and Aaron turned to help her stand up. “Careful there, El.”

“God!” She said as she regained her balance. “I think I sprained it.”

“You are kidding.” Aaron said.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” She took support against the tree and rubbed her ankle.

“Uh, okay, what do I do?”

“We have to get back somehow.”

Oh god. Are you fucking serious. Can we please not do this? He thought.

“You’ll have to carry me.”

You are fucking kidding me. Goddamnit why does this need to happen?

But Aaron had to go along with it. He couldn’t just leave her here in this forest alone. If these past few days had been any indication, she’d probably be kidnapped or murdered or worse.

“Ugh, fine.” Aaron grumbled.

He put his hand under her knees and another on her back to lift her up. She put her arms around his neck to hold onto something and he slowly started to walk.

“You know, we really should start looking for someone for you.” El said, trying to start a conversation that didn’t need to be started.

Aaron chuckled. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, come on. I’m not that bad at judging people.”

“Ha!” Aaron carefully maneuvered over another root sticking out of the ground.

“Okay, fair enough, my record hasn’t been the most spectacular but I’m a good judge of character. After all, I’m still friends with you, aren’t I?”

“Fair.”

“So, tell me. What are you looking for? Tall, blonde, dumb? Smart, short, brunette? Like, what do we have to work with, here?”

“Well, there is this one girl…” Aaron mentioned casually.

Eleanor gasped. “You little shit! What’s her name, where did you see her, I’m going to need all the details!”

“I’ve just started talking to her, found her on twitter, she seems nice.”

“Well, what does she look like?” Eleanor asked.

Aaron froze in his track. “Oh fuck me.” He muttered under his breath.

“What happened?” El asked, looking in the direction he was looking.

“We might have a big problem.” He said. “I’m going to have to call for help. I’m putting you down, okay?”

She nodded and Aaron gently put her against the tree. He reached into his pocket and quickly dialed Ingram’s number.

*

Ingram and Mason

Ingram took a last bite of his cereal, pushing the bowl aside. “So, babe. Now that it’s just the two of us and the guests are gone, do we have any plans?”

“I don’t know, do we?” Mason leaned forward, placing his hand on Ingram’s.

“I do have plans and I know you are going to love them.”

“Really?” Mason smirked. “What makes you so sure?”

“It involves me being naked.” Ingram whispered.

“Oh, that does sound fun.” He said. “And what will I be doing during this… plan?”

“I mean, it’s practically an event.” Ingram leaned in to lightly kiss Mason.

“And what will I be doing during this event?” Mason asked, slightly leaning away from the kiss.

“Participating, hopefully. I’m not getting naked alone.” Ingram said in a breathy rasp.

Ingram took Mason’s hand, gently pulling him towards and into the bedroom.

“Sit.” Ingram said, vaguely motioning towards the bed.

Mason complied without a second thought. He was enjoying this side of Ingram. Ingram had always been a little laid back before but in the last few days, he’d gotten a bit more controlling and, as awkward as it was to admit, Mason liked it. A lot.

“Now watch and learn, baby.” Ingram took a small step towards the bed.

Ingram slowly raised the shirt above his head, letting Mason enjoy the delicious reveals as it came off. Ingram chucked it behind him.

“God, you’re spectacular.” Mason said in a breathy whisper.

“And so are you.” Ingram took a step closer, unbuttoning his jeans. The waistband of his boxers peeked just slightly over the jeans. Mason couldn’t wait to get him out of those.

Mason quickly pulled his own shirt off and yeeted it across the room. It hit the door and landed next to it.

“Let me help you.” Mason said, leaning forward, slowly slipping the pants off Ingram to reveal his black boxers. Mason slipped his fingers into the waistband, slowly tugging them down. Ingram grabbed Mason’s hands and set them aside.

“All in due time.” Ingram said, placing a soft kiss on Mason’s cheek.

The tips of their noses touched as Mason kissed Ingram. It was a passionate kiss, like a soldier kissing his significant other after seeing them for the first time in years.

Ingram hands slipped under the covers, into Mason’s boxers.

“Someone’s excited.” Ingram whispered, breaking contact for just a second before kissing him again.

“You see what you do to me?” Mason whispered back.

“I love you.” Ingram said, laying a trail of kisses down Mason’s neck, slowly leading to his stomach. As he approached the edge of the covers, his phone rang, vibrating in his jeans.

Ingram let out a soft groan.

“God, let it be.” Mason said, a desperate whimper.

“Just let me see who it is.” Ingram grabbed his jeans, quickly reaching in and retrieveing his phone. “My god these two are mood killers.” Ingram groaned.

“Who is it?” Mason asked.

“Who do you think?” Ingram turned the phone towards Mason.

“Oh, come on. They wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important.” Mason said.

“Are you seriously siding with them?” Ingram looked at Mason in shock.

“I’m just saying, if they’re calling, it must be pretty important. Now pick up, already.”

“God, you’re annoying. Fine.” Ingram picked up the call. “Hey.”

“Oh thank god you picked up!” Aaron’s voice sounded relieved.

“Is everything okay?” Ingram asked.

“No, absolutely not.” The reply came back quick.

“What happened?” Ingram sat up straight.

“There’s been an accident, El’s sprained her ankle and there’s something you should see. I texted you our location, come here ASAP.”

“We’re on our way.” Ingram said. Aaron cut the call.

“What’s the matter?” Mason asked as Ingram jumped off the bed and grabbed his jeans.

“They’re in trouble.” Ingram said, tossing Mason a shirt. “Get dressed.”

“Are they okay?” Mason slipped the shirt on.

“Eleanor’s sprained her ankle and I think he’s fine but apparently they need us to come find them.”

Mason got out of bed and quickly pulled on a pair of jeans. Ingram grabbed the house keys and Mason followed him out the door. Quickly locking up, Mason and Ingram set out to find the duo.

*

Aaron

“You still haven’t told me what’s happened.” El said, leaning against the tree.

“El, you see that over there?” Aaron pointed at the ground in the middle of the trees a few feet from them.

El peeked her head around the tree, looking at where Aaron was pointing. “Yeah?”

“Look a little bit off the center, towards the left.”

“Holy fucking shit!” Eleanor almost lost her balance but Aaron caught her, helping her stand against the tree again. “Is that a human hand?”

*

[qqueenofhades]

Prompt alert: Lucifer getting used to flying again and ends up taking Chloe for a flight

“Wait,” Ella says. “Are you serious? He has wings? Wingy-wings?”

“Yeah.” Chloe rubs the bridge of her nose. “I know I sound a little cracked, but… I kind of figured that you were the only person I could talk to who might get it.”

“Aw, man. That is so sweet. But.” Ella is not going to be distracted. “He has, you know – ” She does an improvised Funky Chicken in the middle of the forensics lab. “Can he fly? Because I’m sorry, that would be awesome.”

Chloe eyes her narrowly. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“Why not?” Ella shrugs. “I’ve always known there was something different about him. Weird. I mean, not weird – well, yes, weird, a lot weird, but more than just that. Him being an angel, I can’t say I’m all that shocked, you know? It’s not like it’s something that I think can’t happen. I believe in a book where it happens a lot. Hey, has he announced anything? Like the two of you are meant to be and having a miracle baby?”

Chloe’s look turns cold. “No.”

“Darn.” Ella sighs. “Anyway. Wow. I have so many questions. I’m not gonna ask them, because  he’ll do that thing where he spooks and runs away like a startled turtle. If turtles ran, but you know what I mean. Is he here?”

“Yeah. In the break room.” At the other woman’s look of barely restrained curiosity, Chloe sighs and decides that since the cat, or rather the angel, is out of the bag, they might as well at least allow Ella a chance to peek. Not that Lucifer is going to be strutting around the station with his wings (or any other part of him, hopefully) hanging out, but still. “Fine. Come on.”

They leave Ella’s lab and start down the corridor to the break room. Just before they enter, however, they hear a familiar voice complaining, “Lucifer, did you eat my pudding again?”

“I did not.”

“It was right there!” Trust Dan’s dessert-related tribulations to be ongoing. “Look, I might not mind letting you have it if you asked, but you can’t just grab it and – ”

“Fine, if it’s that big of a deal, I’ll just fly down to the corner store and act as your personal messenger angel, shall I? More of Gabby’s gig than mine, but if you insist – ”

“Lucifer, can you not say crazy shit for two seconds and just – how’d you fly, anyway – ”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, Daniel! WITH THESE!”

There is a rush of air, a whoosh, a sudden light that does not come from the dismal fluorescents, and papers swirl off down the hall in a miniature cyclone. Chloe stops, stares, and then rushes forward, Ella on her heels, to wrench the door open and find Dan flattened across the far wall looking as if he is about to have a heart attack. This is understandable, due to the fact that Lucifer is standing with wings unfolded, bursting from the back of his usual smart suit jacket, tips almost touching the workplace safety poster on one wall and the coffee machine on the other. At the sight of her, he folds them tidily against his shoulders and smiles brightly. “Ah! Detective!”

“Lucif – ” Chloe shakes her head almost in slow motion. “What are you doing –?”

“I’m trying to get better about being honest about myself, what’s it look like?” Lucifer regards Dan critically. “Though that might have been a bit much, I admit.”

“Have you always had those?” Dan keeps staring, then whirls on Chloe, wild-eyed, as she is obviously more familiar with Lucifer’s bits and bobs than he is. “Has he always had those?”

“I was born with them, yes,” Lucifer says, rather impatiently. “However, they are a recent and unfortunate re-acquisition, so no. I haven’t always had them.”

“Dude!” Ella exclaims. “Those are awesome!”

Lucifer looks slightly mollified – and also touched, even if he glances down quickly to hide it. “Terrible bother, trust me. And Daniel, I didn’t eat your pudding, but as I said, I’ll flap off and get some more if it’ll help.” He seems suddenly uncertain. “Daniel, say something.”

“What the hell.” Dan wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “I knew you were weird, but I didn’t know that involved feathers.”

Lucifer flashes a small, slightly strained smile. “Oh yes. Fuzzy handcuffs, too.”

“I do not need to know about your kinks, man.”

With that, some of the tension eases, and everyone seems to draw a breath as the wings fold out of the visible plane with a soft flutter – which, after all, is quite a remarkable thing to be happening in a suburban police station. Chloe hopes nobody is watching the break room cameras right now. Nobody seems entirely certain what to say, until Ella steps over and – clearly to Lucifer’s shock – hugs him. “Yeah. Be your true self, buddy. We gotcha.”

Lucifer swallows visibly, eyes rather bright, as he puts a hand on Ella’s shoulder and gingerly disentangles her. “Well,” he says, and coughs. “Thank you, Miss Lopez.”

“And here I always thought you were a method actor.” Ella shakes her head. “This is way cooler.”

————–

Chloe still is not entirely sure how she is processing this. It’s been a few weeks since the wing bombshell, and she and Lucifer have tried to go back to their usual work, but all the unanswered questions hang thickly in the air. He’s been parceling out bits of information, dribs and drabs, but he still avoids coming clean in any great rush, and she can tell he’s still on edge and distracted about the whole situation, about what it means for them, about how they can possibly be anything like what they were before. It’s hard, admittedly, to go about your day-to-day life, to question suspects and fill out paperwork, knowing that the guy next to you is – well, who he is. It hasn’t changed anything, really. He’s still Lucifer. But yet it has, and neither of them are entirely sure how or why. Lucifer seems, if such a thing is possible, shy.

As Chloe is leaving the station that evening, having sent their latest case on to the prosecutor’s office and hoping she can get home, take a long bath, and drink a lot of wine, she finds Lucifer leaning against the Corvette in the staff parking lot, having a pensive smoke and listening to the distant sound of traffic. He glances up at the sound of her footsteps. “Detective.”

“Lucifer.” It sounds awkward, almost formal. “So… just. Flashing the station now, huh?”

It’s a mark of how off his footing he is these days that he doesn’t go for the golden opportunity to make some crack about the other kind of flashing he could do, if she’s interested. He blows out a meditative cloud of smoke. “Daniel will probably recover from the shock.”

“Probably, but…” Chloe hesitates. “All this secrecy and evasion, and now you’re just… okay with everyone knowing?”

“It’s not everyone,” Lucifer points out, with some asperity. “You, Daniel, and Miss Lopez. Oh, and Dr. Linda. I showed her at our session this morning.”

“So you’re seeing her again?” Chloe nods encouragingly. “That’s good.”

Lucifer sucks the last drag out of his cigarette and tosses the butt in the air, where it vanishes with a small puff. Chloe has never seen him like this in any number of ways, with this casual and unconscious use of what must be considerable power, and she wonders if she still affects him in the same way. He’s always said she makes him vulnerable, that he’s more human when she’s around, susceptible to injury, but as she can’t cancel out something that’s physically part of him, that does not seem to include the wings. Furthermore, as is evident by their very presence, the rules are changing, and she wonders suddenly if that’s played into some of his standoffishness around her. At least they more or less knew how it worked when he was Lucifer Morningstar, her eccentric but lovable coworker. Trying to navigate the dangerous waters of Lucifer Morningstar, apparently no-longer-fallen-angel and Devil in the flesh, is… different.

“If you’re here to have a go at me for showing them,” Lucifer says after a moment, tiredly, “then why not just get it over with?”

“No. I mean, they’re your wings, it’s your choice who you show them to.” Chloe sucks in a breath, attempting to steady herself. “I just… was going to say that I… well, that I miss you.”

He glances up, startled and wary. “I’ve been back, Detective. Haven’t I?”

“Yes, but… things have just been off with us for a long time, and I understand why they have been, and I know both of us are working through some things, but…” Now that she’s said it, it’s hard to hold back the emotions bubbling beneath the surface. She can’t quite look at his face, just in case. “I miss you, all right? I miss how we used to be, and… I don’t know who this new Lucifer is either. But I wouldn’t mind having my Lucifer back for a bit.”

Both of them catch that, how easily it slipped out – my Lucifer – and it remains hanging in the air for an uncomfortable moment. They cough, neither of them certain if they should acknowledge or ignore it. Then Lucifer blows out a slow sigh. “Come by Lux later,” he says. “Maybe we’ll see what we can sort out.”

“Okay.” Chloe smiles at him, small but genuine, and heads for her car. Drives home, makes dinner, asks if Maze would mind staying home with Trixie tonight (the demon doth protest too much, usually, as she is clearly content to sit and play whatever Trixe thinks up) and then wonders if Lucifer meant something special, or just, you know, drinks with friends. Chloe changes out of her usual jacket and jeans, lets her hair down, but doesn’t want to overdo it. Once it is late enough that most of the rush hour traffic has subsided (though this is L.A., so of course there is still some traffic), she gets back in the car and drives to Hollywood Boulevard.

She parks and goes inside the club. It’s a fairly quiet weekday night, no major events or parties, and the place is only about half-full, mellow jazz, low conversation. Lucifer is sitting by his piano, looking as if he’s spent the last several hours questioning his better judgment (though that would imply that he had better judgment), but he stands up nervously when he sees her. “Ah. Detective.”

“Hey.” Chloe smiles awkwardly, ducking her head, as she follows him to the elevator and up to the penthouse. He isn’t acting like he’s intending to swoop her away (in any sense of the word) and ravish her, though an admittedly thirsty part of her might not mind if he was. But they reach the apartment and step out, and Lucifer hesitates, then pulls off his jacket, leaving Chloe suddenly wondering if a hot night is on the agenda after all. She might have spent more time on her hair if so. “Lucifer – ”

He turns around – white shirt, suspenders, suit slacks, shined shoes. His usual ensemble.Then, with the soft rustle and faint glow that announces their arrival, the wings. It’s somewhat less shocking each time, a bit more normal, as much as this could ever be. He stands there, clearly hideously uncomfortable, as if he’s a museum artifact on display. “I… ah. There they are. If you had, well. Questions.”

Chloe has many, probably more than Ella, but she also doesn’t want to stand there and just interrogate him. What comes to mind is, “Why don’t they tear your clothes?”

“I’m not the Incredible Hulk, Detective.” Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “And besides, they’re angel wings. They don’t obey the laws of human physics.”

Chloe moves closer, circling around behind to look. She can’t help brushing her fingers lightly over them, and sees him shudder. “Do they weigh much?”

“No. Nothing, really.” Lucifer attempts a shrug. “Or perhaps I was just used to them before. They do seem heavier now.”

Chloe makes a small noise in her throat, still unable to believe that anything could be so soft. The question she really wants to know, of course, is the same as Ella’s. “Have you flown yet?”

“I tried. The other night.”

“Did it …  not work?”

“Oh no. It worked.” Lucifer’s expression is odd. “But I’m not sure it’s a wise idea to get into the habit. The bloody things appeared, they could disappear again. Besides, I’m still planning to hack them off again myself if not.”

Chloe does not in the least believe him, but decides not to say so. She can tell that Lucifer is refusing to get into the habit again because he misses it too much to let himself think that he could have it on a consistent basis, or what it would mean to accept the wings rather than rejecting them again. She doesn’t get half of it, but there’s plenty mixed up with them, something that Lucifer cannot take without reservations, or possibly even at all. But be that all as it may, she will kick herself forever if she doesn’t ask at least once. Before she can stop herself, she blurts out, “Can you fly me?”

Lucifer looks as startled as if she just turned blue. “Fl – ?”

“Not for long,” Chloe says, feeling herself blush like a volcano. “Just, you know. Around the block or something.”

Lucifer continues to look stunned.

“I’m sorry, is that a huge angel faux pas or something?”

“I – no. It’s just, I… don’t think I’ve ever done that before. Certainly not to a human. Maybe a very long time ago, when I was a wee young devil, but – ”

Chloe takes a moment to consider the totally adorable mental image of a bunch of baby angels having piggyback races around heaven, and has to cough hard. “I’m sorry. You can forget I asked. I just – ”

“I mean.” Lucifer seems rather taken aback. “I suppose I could try. It will likely be horrible and cold and disappointing, though.”

“I’ll get over the shock.” Chloe musters up a smile, trying not to show how much she wants it. Even if, nothing else, just to touch him properly. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Lucifer mutters something under his breath, then strides to the balcony and steps out, as Chloe hesitates, then follows him. He holds out his arms, and she steps over, linking her own arms around his neck, as he takes a firm grip on her waist. It feels a bit like Tarzan and Jane, really, but they make it work. Then he takes a deep breath, clearly cannot believe he is doing this, and says, “Ready, Detective?”

“Yeah. Don’t, uh. Don’t drop me.”

Lucifer gives her an indignant look, as it is clearly a personal insult to think he would ever be so clumsy. Then he backs up, takes a running start, and hurtles at the edge of the balcony, as Chloe has just enough time to think that she really hopes he’s practiced more than once. She does not particularly feel like being Failed Test Run #2.

The railing rushes toward them, Chloe squeals despite herself, and then they launch upwards in a whirl of white feathers, twenty stories above the ground. The small glowing dots of cars beetle past below, as they gain altitude with a few quick, effortless strokes, rising upward as Chloe likewise hopes that no helicopters are passing through. Her hair whips to every side, her eyes watering, as she tightens her death grip on him and tries not to look down. They are high. She doesn’t know how high, exactly, and probably would prefer not to. It’s definitely high. Very, very high. “Okay,” she squeaks, hoping her dangling shoe won’t fall off. “Got it!”

He glances at her with a distinctly devilish aspect. “Not afraid of heights, are you, Detective?”

“No, not really, just – ” She did, after all, ask for this. The view is also, to say the least, stupendous. Dark mountains to one side, dark sea to the other, and the endless, glittering city that is Southern California between. “But Lucifffff — ahhh!”

The reason for her sudden exercise in new high octaves is due to him plunging headfirst into a nearby fogbank like a kamikaze pilot. However fast she thought angels could go – she wasn’t sure – it is clearly much faster, and she gives an excellent full-throated scream, fingers going numb as she clings onto him for all her life is worth, as he barrel-races through it and emerges higher on the other side, as Chloe thinks she can practically reach up and snatch a star from the sky like a fat jewel. She has never seen the stars in Los Angeles before, and, it goes without saying, certainly never like this. She and Lucifer, damp from the mist and shivering in the wind, hug each other close, her feet dangling several thousand feet above I-10. The wings are still unearthly warm, and Lucifer spreads them to ride an updraft like a hawk, not flapping, just gliding. Chloe is never going to forget this moment as long as she lives.

Neither of them say anything, lost in a trance, as they lazily bank and soar. Chloe hitches her legs up around his waist, clinging to him like a sloth to a log, as he wraps his arms with reassuring firmness around her back. She is still half convinced that he’ll fake-drop her just to be a dick, but the only person more horrified than her at the possibility is him. And she does. Trust him.

After a few more broad swoops, as Lucifer can clearly hear her teeth starting to chatter like a nutcracker, he turns back and propels them the way they came. It is astounding how much power is in even half a beat of the wings, how far it sends them, as they glide through the dark air and back under the fog to the glow of L.A. Chloe is sure she sees someone goggling at them out the window of an office building, and then Lucifer’s own balcony is rushing up at them, he decelerates hard, and comes to an only slightly skidding landing. “Well, Detective?” he says, breathless but pleased with himself. “How was that?”

“That was – ” Chloe is still catching her own breath, which may take several years. “That. Was. Okay. Okay, then. I. Well. Wow. Okay.”

It takes them a moment to work out how to let go of each other, which they do with a slight cough. Her hands linger on him, as do his on her, until he reaches up to tidy a strand of wet hair out of her face. “I’m,” he says, and hesitates, oddly diffident. “I’m glad you liked it, Chloe.”

She has never been so close as she is then to leaning up on her tiptoes and kissing him, kissing him properly, the way she wants to and then some. They seem drawn to each other by some strange gravity nonetheless, leaning in, foreheads touching. In that moment, in that stillness, everything seems restored again. Not the way they were before, not quite, because it cannot be. But something new. And it is then, so simply, that Chloe realizes – not that she’s falling in love, as that would imply that it was half-done, that it could be reversed. No. That she already is. Long since, and long gone. That he is her world and heart and soul.

Rattled, she pulls back. “I – thanks, Lucifer. It’s late, I should get going.”

His eyes hold hers for a moment. If he senses what she just understood, he doesn’t say. Then he nods once, and steps away. “Good night, Detective,” he says. “You’re welcome.”

Barely catching her breath, knowing it’s cowardly, that she’s doing what he does, that she can hardly stand the magnitude of what is rising in her, the heat that is not from the wings – she runs.

[totallymotorbikes]

Whatever: Moto Inequality A few MO commenters are always encouraging me to keep my politics to myself, which I do as much as I can because I understand people want to read about motorcycles and look at pretty pics when they come here to get away from it all. The problem for me is that if you’re paying attention to your life, including motorcycles, politics can’t be avoided any more than you can just ignore the family of bears who just decided to share your campsite. Politics affects my bottom line. Stop me if I’ve already addressed this topic before, but what got me onto it again was people lamenting the other day how the motorcycle industry is dying off because the kids don’t want to go outside and ride; they just wanna sit in a sensory deprivation hyperbaric chamber all day and take selfies and play video games. It’s their parents’ fault, they also say, for not exposing them to the Great Outdoors as children. Personally, I think what’s wrong with the millennials is this: None of them are buying motorcycles because none of them have any money. So, fine, let’s not talk about politics: Let’s talk about economics. The Motorcycle Diaries is a pretty fun film about a couple of guys whose clapped-out Norton causes them to become Commies. I might be willing to go along with the millennial bashers if I didn’t have my own dog in the fight (my son), and if he didn’t have a bunch of friends in the same holey boat. To begin with, if we Boomers had had Playstations, “Call of Duty” and VR headsets, you can be damn sure that the Indulgent Generation (children of the Greatest Gen) would’ve been all over that action, and just like the current one we would’ve grown eventually tired of those toys, too. I can’t remember the last time I saw mine (now 23 years old) shooting up the forces of evil from my couch. He does have his nose in his phone a lot, but every time I expect to find him playing Candy Crush or looking for Pokemons, he’s reading something for a school assignment or doing homework. I do wish we’d spent more time camping and hiking and doing Great Outdoors things when the kid was growing up, but with his mother and me both working full-time and then some, there never seemed to be enough energy or money, for much of that on the weekends – though for years we did pack up the Ranger (the kid’s still driving it with almost 180,000 miles showing) nearly every weekend for a trip to one of the local MX parks, none of which were nearer than a two-hour drive. Not like when I was a kid, where you could ride your minibike all kinds of places not necessarily legally but nobody much cared. And I don’t know anybody who packs the kids up in the station wagon every summer for a two-week vacay anymore like we used to do (on one income), though I do know a few people (mostly on Facebook) who are constantly checking in from Monaco or Hawaii or a really expensive restaurant. Their big garages, already groaning with collectible Ducatis, are always gaining new bikes and expensive cars. I manage not to be too bitter mostly because my MO duties sometimes have my own garage stuffed with great motorcycles, but that wouldn’t be the case if I was having to pay for them. And my son, who was kind of soured on bikes there for a few years after a couple of frightening RM85 mishaps involving gravity, is back into motorcycles now in a big way, so we do have that going for us. We Burnses are simple peasant stock who don’t need much. If he hadn’t had me for a role model, though, I don’t know that my kid would’ve ever caught the motorcycle bug in the first place. What I see in his generation isn’t a lack of enthusiasm for letting the good times roll, but a much greater and earlier awareness of the harsher realities of life than we Boomers had: Faced with the high cost and need for education, and the expensiveness of lots of things we took for granted (a garage, healthcare, Rolling Stones tickets), I see a frugality that’s more in line with my Children of the Depression parents (save that aluminum foil!) than with my own. A buddy in Solvang who was looking for new digs sent me this Craigslist: $1450 / 2br – 400ft2 – 5th Wheel on 15 acres (Full Hook-ups) (Solvang) That kind of overarching worry about finances had them wondering the same thing: Why would you ride around on a vehicle that’s 38 more times likely to get you killed than a nice sensible Pontiac Bonneville? A lack of money creates a cautious worldview that excludes things like motorcycles, which are both dangerous and toys to outsiders. Google “millennial earnings” to find tons of stories like this one at Forbes. In the ’60s, we bypassed our parents’ concerns because the world was our ever-expanding oyster and bell-bottoms and bongs were in; shooting guys to the moon was also a dangerous thing with no real economic payoff, but we all got behind it anyway. And the astronauts got Corvettes! In that era, a lightly-used Camaro or Mustang was not out of reach of the average 20-something; neither was a decent middle-class living for just about anybody who worked 40 hours a week. Homelessness wasn’t yet a thing, not where I grew up anyway. The future, in short, looked rosy, and motorcycle sales, especially cheap Japanese ones, soared. A quick run over to Chevrolet.com informs me that the cheapest new Camaro with a V-8 starts at $37,295. It’s not like there’s not still plenty of money sloshing around in the economy. The problem is very little of it is leaking down into the pockets of people who buy motorcycles anymore, which used to consist mainly of young males. For a while there the Occupy Wall Street movement gained a little traction complaining about things like the CEO-to-worker pay ratio, which has climbed from 42-to-1 in 1980 to its current level of 335-to-1, according to the AFL-CIO. GlassDoor has it at only 204:1. Either way, we’ve moved on to more pressing concerns like transgender bathrooms and walling off Mexico. Do Americans buy motorcycles when they have money? I think this little chart from webbikeworld.com is worth a thousand words. One man’s ���wealth redistribution” is another man’s “tax reform,” but lately both terms are code for even less disposable income for those just launching themselves into the job market. We worship the wealthy in the U.S. Nobody has a problem with the six heirs to Sam Walton’s Walmart having a net worth greater than the bottom 42% of Americans combined, but make no mistake their six fat straws are drawing from the communal milkshake. Good for them and Sam Walton; I don’t begrudge them their wealth at all. I do know the country was better off when the top tax rates were a bit higher. I was there. I seriously doubt that the small percentage of us who gravitate toward motorcycles has grown any smaller; blaming the youngsters for a faltering motorcycle industry is a classic case of blaming the victim (even if E-i-C Duke deduced in this editorial that fewer kids today are riding bicycles, creating a bigger hurdle to riding a motorcycle one day). Meanwhile, the people who do have a few bucks continue to keep Harley-Davidson, BMW and other builders of upscale motos afloat. Ducati and its Scramblers are one bright spot among several, but my intel is that the average Scrambler buyer is 47 years old. (And that’s not even a bad thing if said 47-year old trades in a nice, clean bike for a disadvantaged youth to pick up on the cheap.) I’m almost ready to throw up my hands and not care anymore, really, since it looks like my own offspring, after taking only five years to secure his four-year degree, appears to have landed a jay-o-bee after he graduates in a few months where he’ll make more than his dear old Dad right out of the chute. I couldn’t be prouder and when it comes to pass, I think it means he’ll be giving back my old R1 – and maybe even the old Ranger truck. First thing he wanted to know when he called me with the news, was ‘what’s up with that new Ducati Supersport anyway?’ He thinks he needs one. I think I’m going to offer him a smoking R1/Ranger package deal and see if I can finally achieve the Buell XB-9S of my dreams, then pull up the prosperity ladder behind me. I’m glad we’re able to have this discussion without getting into politics. What’s a nice pre-owned RC213V-S down to now? Maybe I’ll get one of them… Whatever: Moto Inequality appeared first on Motorcycle.com.