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solinarimoon · 3 years ago

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Fields of Wildflowers , Chapter 13

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 13

A Sihtric x OC story

Previous chapters. | My masterlist

AN: Firstly, apologies for not updating or posting any original content for a few weeks. I was on vacation and taking a small personal break. But rest assured that this story will be concluded and that I have other content and other OC’s I will write for when this story is done. So thank you for your patience and continued reading and support! My timeline for events during the siege in Winchester is different from the show. I almost combined this chapter with the events for the next one but they would have been too long. Also, this chapter still does not feature much of Sihtric, but he will be in the next chapter! I promise! And the beautiful moodboard is from @serasvictoria. Check out her blog - beautiful and original work.

Warnings: non-con, male on female violence, self-defense violence, assault, sexual assault, I think that is all.

Word Count: 3553

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Since learning of Eardwulf’s presence in Winchester and the disturbing images in her dreams, which had continued nightly, Cwen’s composure had begun to falter. Shadows in lonely corners continually leared in the edges of her vision. A loud noise or commotion was enough to startle a gasp from her lips. While returning to the kitchens one evening, a dark haired man with a slim frame similar to Eardwulf rounded a corner, reeking of ale and stumbled into Cwen and Eadith grumbling to himself. The encounter was enough to leave Cwen shaking like a leaf in a gale. For the rest of that evening, Eadith couldn’t coax a word out of her friend.

Eadith was truly worried about Cwen and tried not to leave her alone when possible. The two women continued working in the kitchen and waiting for chances to sneak words to their friends. Although there was no real news to relay to them.

The siege continued. Sigtrrygr still had the upper hand and for all intents and purposes appeared to ignore Edward’s attacks on the walls outside. Cwen and Eadith had managed to speak a few more words through the door to Lady Aelswith and were confident they were managing as well as they could. Although held as prisoners, they were fed and given water. They were not ill treated.

A bit shockingly, Stiorra was being treated with even more dignity and respect. Cwen had managed to volunteer to bring Stiorra food a second time from the kitchens. All had gone smoothly and it had done Cwen some good to venture on the errand without the comfort of Eadith’s presence.

Stiorra had embraced her and assured her of Sigtrrygr’s kindness and courtesy towards her. And it was true that the young woman Cwen saw looked refreshed and lively. Cwen thought that Stiorra seemed quite taken with the conquering Dane. He, apparently, spoke with her as an equal and conversed with her, challenged her. And Cwen felt glad for the young woman. Seeing the blossoming of a potential young romance did make her heart ache to feel herself once more in Sihtric’s arms. She wished to move beyond the hard words spoken between them when they left one another.

When she had returned from delivering Stiorra’s food, Cwen felt a bit more like herself. Eadith had noticed the change in her friend as well. That one errand on her own had brought back more of the determined and confident woman Eadith knew.

Cwen still was watchful. She still steadied herself and her breathing regularly. But she had stopped her quaking and stuttering movements or being startled at every noise or turn. Her nightmares had also lessened.

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The chance to bring Stiorra her afternoon meal presented itself again several days later. Frig had yet again barked an order to any kitchen maid available to bring bread, cheese, and water to the woman, Stiorra. Careful to not seem too eager, Cwen had moved to gather the items and a basket in which to carry them all.

She paused just outside the door of the kitchen and gathered her breath. She could still see Eadith through the doorway and managed a small smile before taking a steadying breath and moving on her errand. Along the hallways, Cwen strode with confidence having become accustomed to walking the halls now occupied by Danes. She held her head down to avoid unwanted attention but walked with purpose to avoid unneeded questions. No one usually disturbed her or Eadith while they were about their business but all the same, Cwen thought it best to blend in and become unassuming.

As she turned the corner, Cwen heard muffled voices coming from the room where Stiorra was kept. Still several paces down the hall, she slowed her steps and strained her ears to better hear who was within. Thus far, her path had not crossed with Sigtryggr while he visited Stiorra. It might be best to completely avoid arousing suspicion that they knew one another.

But if Sigtryggr knew food should be on its way and she delayed it’s arrival would that not also be suspicious?

Cwen kept her head down and decided she would simply walk into the room and deliver the food. She could then see how events unfolded casually. Cwen was startled from her thoughts when the door to Stiorra’s room opened. And a voice she recognized spoke.

“I would always choose fear.”

Eardwulf backed out of the door and turned after closing it again, leaving whomever else was inside shut away.

The man appeared haggard and dejected. Fearful even.

As he turned, Eardwulf’s glare caught Cwen. She stood transfixed. A deer frozen after hearing the snap of a twig.

“What are you doing here?” Eardwulf sneered in a low voice as he stalked towards Cwen.

He reached a hand out to grasp at her sleeve, but it snapped life back into Cwen’s blood and she stepped to turn and run.

But he was himself too quick and easily grabbed her from behind and pushed her into an alcove of the hallway.

Eardwulf was quick to muffle Cwen’s cries with a hand over her mouth.

“If you are here then it means my whore of a sister must also be here. What is the plan then, eh? Have you two in here to spy and to snoop?” Eardwulf prattled on about the injustices and failures he continually faced all the while never removing his hand from Cwen’s mouth.

She stared, terrified at the man and his condition. Dark shadows rested in the hollows underneath his bloodshot eyes. His eyes themselves appeared deranged.

Finally, Eardwulf paused while bringing his head to rest against Cwen’s brow. His hand still clamped across her mouth making it hard to breathe. The pressure of his fingers was bruising.

“I will show them,” he whispered, not speaking to Cwen any longer but to some unknown collective.

“They will watch in fear as I show them what will become of those who threaten me.”

He drew back from Cwen, catching her eyes.

His breathing was haggard. Matching her own.

Cwen cursed herself for having Sihtric’s knife hidden strapped to her calf. Out of her reach.

Not like the knife Eardwulf now drew from a sheath at his waist and held up to her, the tip grazing along the dip in her clavicle.

“Not a word, Cwen. You are coming with me.”

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Cwen could not help but comply as Eardwulf led her, knife pressed against the small of her back, at the kidneys. The same place Sihtric had instructed her could incapacitate an attacker.

Her mind worked feverishly trying to find a means of escape from him. Or to even determine what he meant to do with her. How and who was he planning to strike fear into?

But realization soon struck her as Eardwulf escorted her up a set of stairs and out into the rampart. Facing Edward’s army on the field below. Facing her friends. Sihtric.

“Edward!”

Eardwulf’s voice grated as he shouted for the king’s attention.

“Edward! My Lord King!”

Eardwulf’s focus was now on garnering attention from the king, his grip had shifted, clasping an arm tight around Cwen’s throat and the knife held in his free hand. Braced against the stonewall of the parapet.

Cwen clasped her hands onto his arm desperately trying to break some of the hold he had on her. But his strength and size overpowered her. She watched as his fingers flexed and then gripped the knife repeatedly as he waited for any sign of reply from the king.

And then she heard him. Crying out to her with such fear and anguish that it almost broke her.

“Cwen!” Sihtric called, rushing forward from the base of the tree in the field. Osferth and Finan were quick to restrain him, to stop him from coming in range of any archer's arrows. What sounds followed in the next few moments we’re not words but the sounds of a man crazed. An animal desperate to act and protect what was his.

“Is that your man now, Cwen?”

Eardwulf’s words were hot against her cheek. Cwen could do nothing but watch while Sihtric struggled and fought against Finan and Osferth.

“I have struck fear in him. The rest will follow,” Eardwulf paused, scanning the crowd assembled to watch on the field. Edward had stepped out from the ranks of his men but had made no move to reply to Eardwulf. Seeing this, Eardwulf shifted his focus.

“Lord Uhtred!” He now called. Taunting.

“Lord Dane Slayer! Come forth Uhtred!”

Cwen watched helplessly as Sihtric finally stopped struggling against his brothers. He stared up at her, panting and flexing his jaw. Then Uhtred was beside them and striding forward several paces in front of them.

“We have your daughter, Uhtred.”

Eardwulf’s words stopped Uhtred in his tracks and caused the rest of his men to still.

“She is almost as good a hump as this one here,” Eardwulf yelled the words while releasing his grasp around Cwen’s shoulders to shove her forward by the nape of her neck.

Finding courage from his deception, Cwen yelled, “He lies! She is treated fairly and with respect,” but Eardwulf’s hand shoved her forward so that her head connected with the stone wall, dulling the last of her words.

Feeling dazed, Cwen could hear shouts from the men below. Sihtric’s voice was chief among them.

Then Eardwulf’s voice rose again over the shouts and protests.

“Now do I have your attention?” He paused while the soldier’s voices died down. “We hold the city. And we will continue to hold the city. Do you know how Sigtryggr took your city? I told him it was left undefended. It was me!” He paused here scanning the crowd and breathing hard. His hand still held Cwen bent over, braced against the stone wall.

“Too often I was overlooked or underused. Swept aside and discarded. But no more!” His words were coming out desperate now, pained. “Now you would have cause to fear me.”

Struggling to push herself upright, Cwen retorted, “you are nothing but a snake in the grass. A coward. That is why you will never rise. You will never become anything more.”

Cwen could feel the anger radiating off of Eardwulf. His entire body quivered with malice. She knew she needed to keep him off guard. Keep him impetuous if she was to find a chance to save herself. It was a dangerous game to play, to goad him on, but if she did not then she was sure this would end badly.

“Shut your mouth, whore!” Eardwulf snapped while dragging Cwen back upright against him.

“Sigtryggr has the power here, Edward! I have the power.”

Cwen flinched at his words. He had brought the knife back up to her torso, pressing against her breasts. But it was clear his attention wasn’t truly focused on her. Chaos and rage were emanating off of him. Cwen could feel his breath catching and the sobs seizing in his throat. The turmoil and fury he battled had won.

“And you will watch as I wield that power! I will hump this bitch now and then I will find your daughter, Uhtred, and I will hump her too. And you will not be able to do anything to stop me.”

Eardwulf’s final words were bellowed at the crowd below. It was then that Cwen felt the buzzing in her ears once more and time felt sluggish.

She could hear the shouts from the men gathered below. The din of the noise and the buzzing were too loud for her to pick out Sihtric’s voice, but she knew the anguish he would be feeling.

She felt as Eardwulf shoved her body forward once more, discarding his knife and bodily pressing himself against her. He fumbled with the bundles of her skirt, reaching down to grab handfuls of the fabric.

Cwen felt herself desperately try to push her body backwards, to gain any sort of leverage or purchase. In her struggle, Cwen brought her leg up bracing against the wall. And her hand brushed the handle of Sihtric’s knife.

With no hesitation, Cwen grasped the handle and pulled it from the sheath. Bellowing, she drove the blade back with an upward thrust from her hip with all the strength her arm could muster at such an odd angle. And she felt the weapon sink into flesh.

Immediately, the pressure holding her against the stone eased. Cwen ripped the knife from Eardwulf’s gut and whirled around.

Eardwulf’s hands were grasping at his abdomen where blood had begun to seep through his fingers.

Cwen was vaguely aware of boots clamoring up the stairs to her left. But she was more focused on the rush of adrenaline coursing through her body. Eardwulf turned his eyes back up to meet hers and lurched forward, hand reaching for her throat. And upon instinct, Cwen brought the knife up between herself and Eardwulf. She felt the tremor of the blade sinking into flesh once more as she pushed the blade outward and Eardwulf’s own momentum came crashing against it. The knife ripped past the flesh and scraped off of the bone, then tearing into his vocal cords. Cwen felt as slick, crimson gore seeped over her hand.

The buzzing had stopped. The running feet had stopped. The sounds of the shouts and yells from the field below were still slow and distant to Cwen’s ears. Slowly, she pushed Eardwulf’s body away from hers and let go of the knife.

Stepping to the side, Cwen watched as he dropped down on his knees and his head lolled forward. Fresh blood pooled out of his mouth. Cwen’s heart hammered in her chest and she felt a tingling moving along her body. First in her toes, then along her fingers, and traveling up her arms. Adrenaline roaring through her veins.

It was after a few more moments that Cwen became aware of the other person on the ramparts. Raising her eyes, Cwen saw that Sigtryggr stood only a few paces away, surveying the scene before him.

He lifted his hands in a gesture of peace and slowly walked forward. His eyes never left Cwen. Not when he closed the distance between himself and Eardwulf. And not when he stooped to grasp the knife handle, ripping it from Eardwulf’s neck. The gesture brought a new spurt of blood and elicited several choked coughs from Eardwulf.

Slowly, Sigtryggr grasped Eardwulf by the shoulders and pulled him up to his feet. The man’s life was slowly ebbing away. Cwen listened as Sigtryggr spoke to Eardwulf.

“Do you see what ruling through fear has earned you, Christian? I doubt there will be any who mourn your death.”

With those final words, the Danish conqueror grasped onto Eardwulf’s shoulders. He moved to the stone and shoved the man bodily over the parapet to crash on the hard earth below.

The shouts from the Saxons died on their lips. And Cwen watched as Sigtryggr held out his hand to her. The knife laid flat in his palm. An offering to her.

“He can hurt you no longer.” Sigtryggr’s voice was calm and low. It was collected and composed. And Cwen studied his eyes before she reached out to take the knife. They showed only sincerity.

Once she had taken the knife and stepped back a pace to have some space, Sigtryggr turned his attention towards the Saxons.

“King Edward of Wessex,” he shouted, “That man did not speak for me. And he is of no concern now.” Sigtryggr paused here, searching the crowd to see if he could find Edward among his men.

“Come on out, King. I have shown myself. Now let us see you. Come and meet me at the gate. I wish to speak with you, eye to eye. One man to another.”

Hearing his words, Cwen turned to scan the crowd. But while Sigtryggr was searching for Edward, her eyes were hunting for Sihtric. And he was there. His eyes were trained on her. Cwen could still see the desperation emanating off of him. The overwhelming yearning to be embracing his lover while only able to gaze from afar. Cwen felt it too. A physical pull lifting off her chest that there was no choice but to resist. Slowly, Sihtric’s gaze eased her breathing and Cwen felt the drain of exhaustion creep into her bones.

Sigtryggr’s next words caught Cwen’s attention.

“Bring the boys,” he spoke quietly to the guards standing along the stair to their left.

Cwen watched as Aethelstan and another young boy, Aelfweard presumably, approached. Without hesitation, Cwen reached her arms out to envelope Aethelstan. The boy embraced her wordlessly and headless of the blood Cwen noticed had begun to dry on her hands and arms, turning sticky. Sigtryggr watched while Cwen held her arm out to the second child, offering him a bit of maternal comfort and presence as well. Sigtryggr made no move to stop the boys nor even a face of disapproval. His eyes held merely curiosity.

“Meet with me, King Edward,” he called, turning back to face the warriors. “Come,” he paused, seeing that Edward had stepped forward, “and talk to us at the gate. Your sons wish to see their father.”

After an interminable time, Cwen watched as Edward’s standard bearer shouted up that the king would approach the gate and treat with Sigtryggr.

After he had confirmation that Edward would approach, Sigtryggr turned and gently ushered Cwen and the boys down the stairs, his men shifting to make room for their descent.

Cwen stiffened when she felt Sigtryggr place a hand on her back guiding her away from the front gate. Almost instantly, the hand was removed.

“Forgive me, lady,” he paused, questioning as Cwen turned to face him, the boys still clutched tightly to her, “I do not know your name.”

Cwen studied the man’s face once more. Standing closer to him, she could see more details surrounding the scars he wore along his brow and cheek. She also saw a startling depth and gentleness behind his eyes.

“Cwen,” she replied, “My name is Cwen.”

Sigtryggr’s lips quirked upward slightly in amusement. “Ah, so you are one of the young women who traveled the countryside with Stiorra in Mercia while I took Winchester?”

When Cwen did not answer, he continued, “Stiorra has mentioned you on several occasions. She likes you. Respects you,” he paused to turn and glance at some of his men and the gate, “I do not know how you came to be inside the walls, but it is of little concern. And I assure you that no more harm will come to you. I will have you taken to be with Stiorra. But the boys will come with me. I do not wish them harm. And let us pray to all the gods that their father will see reason and help us avoid that outcome.”

Cwen moved to place herself in front of the boys, but Sigtryggr’s men instantly were on her, overpowering her.

“Stop!” Sigtryggr had held up a hand and yelled the command. “You will unhand them.”

His men obeyed him without delay and he approached her placing a gentle but firm hand on her arm.

“You must give them to me now, Cwen. Trust me when I assure you that I wish to be different from the Northmen who have come before me. A better man than the Danes who have raped and ravaged your people. I do not,” he emphasized the word, “want them harmed. But this is what must be done.”

Sigtryggr held out his hands, one towards Aethelstan and one towards Aelfweard. Cwen turned her face to meet Aethelstan’s eyes. They boy nodded at her before reaching out and taking the outstretched hand. He was followed closely by his half-brother and Cwen slowly felt them both slip from her fingers.

Turning to walk to the gate, Sigtryggr spoke to the man nearest him.

“Bring her to Stiorra and see that she is allowed to clean herself and be fed. I will check that this is done later.”

“No,” Cwen protested, finding her voice frail and wavering. But gathering her courage, she spoke once more, “No!”

Sigtryggr stopped and turned his face over his shoulder to watch her.

“I,” she stammered, hesitating, “I was not alone here. Another woman, another friend of Stiorra, Eadith is here with me. I must find her. I fear for either of us to be alone.” Cwen’s eyes searched Sigtryggr’s face, pleading.

After a moment, the Dane gave a single nod before turning back to stride towards the gates.

Taking one step backwards and then another, Cwen turned and rushed off to the kitchens in search of Eadith.

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untilmynextstory · 4 years ago

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CHAPTER ONE: HOME

WORD COUNT: 18K

WATTPAD | FANFICTION | AO3

Also I think I might only be posting the first chapter on here. I’m not sure yet. It’s just these chapters are really long! I’ll see the response this gets if I will post the second chapter on here.

The best part about returning from a run is simply coming home. When he was younger and unattached, Jackson Teller thoroughly enjoyed the perks of the runs. The women, booze, and the vast road had always been something to look forward too. Although it’s hard to believe that it has been only six years since he has last indulged in the many pleasurable vices the club has to offer.

Those vices paled in comparison of the treasures that waited for him in his small three bedroom ranch. Jax wanted something bigger – much vaster. With his lifestyle, he had the means to spoil those he loved.

Even if he would have preferred a stripper pole in the bedroom, Jax would never look to replace his quaint home that rests at the end of the cul de sac. It’s hidden by the redwood trees and the dark brick exterior blends in perfectly. If it wasn’t for the cars and the bright childlike paraphilia that decorated the lawn, most would probably miss it.

The growl of his bike echoes throughout the neighborhood. He has learned to ignore the looks that peek through curtains and how some neighbors still shoo their kids back inside when he rides through the settlement of family homes courtesy of Elliot Oswald. It’s one of the few developments that the club allowed to pass through.

He pulls into his designated spot in a long driveway. After the week-long run, his bike is in a serious need of a wash. He would put the task off onto the Prospect, but instead he thinks it would be good to do it at home.

He grabs his bag filled with dirty clothes and a few souvenirs as he enters the house through the side door, which leads him into the laundry room. He immediately throws his clothes in one of the baskets.

Leaving the laundry room, he stands in the hallway and his eyes sweep around. He expects to hear the platter of feet and maybe the TV shouting some Disney song. The house is quiet – seemingly empty.

Yet, a quirk settles on his lips. He walks into the kitchen and places his pack on the kitchen island. If the house wasn’t so quiet, probably would have missed the shushing sound followed by childlike laughter.

Jax plays along anyways.

He exaggerates his movements as he opens cabinet doors and checks behind pillows as he questions if anyone is home.

The first bedroom painted a baby blue color covered in posters of various athletes and a few drawings of Harley motorcycles is empty.

The second bedroom painted a lavender color with silver accents. He had expected his life to be overtaken by princesses and tiaras. Yet, the only thing he has been subjected too is glitter tutus.

The laughter gets a little bit louder as he gets closer to the final destination. He knocks very loudly on his bedroom door before he opens it.

It’s instantaneous that he is attacked by his two kids.

“We got you, Daddy!” They shout between their laughter and giggles. Jax laughs along with them as he holds them tight in his arms. He looks at his oldest first, who has his blue eyes. It’s been six years since he has become a father. Six years that made coming home from runs the best part from going on them. He runs his hands through his son’s dark wavy hair before he presses a kiss to his head. Outside of the eyes, Nathan is all his mother.

He turns his attention to his youngest, his four year old daughter, who owns his whole heart. Her brown eyes are a carbon copy of her mother’s whiskey ones, shining brightly as she tugs at him. “I missed you so much, Daddy.”

Jax’s smile is bright. “I missed you too, Babygirl.” He hugs Kaylee tighter. She squirms in his hold as she presses a kiss to his lips as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Did you miss, Mama, too?” Kaylee wonders as her blonde furrow in seriousness.

A shadow overtakes them and Jax looks in the doorway. Alma stands in the doorway with a fond, proud smile as she watches the scene. Jax’s hold slackens around the kids. He places another kiss on each of their foreheads. His hands grip the familiar curves of his wife and he answers his daughter’s question as he presses a burning kiss to his wife’s plump lips.

The kiss barely lasts 3 seconds when he feels small hands tugging at them while Nathan exclaims gross.

Jax pulls away as he looks at Kaylee. “Daddy, you going to come swimming!” It’s then Jax realizes both of their kids are clad in their swimwear. The in ground pool they added last summer seemed to worth the money as he is sure his kids are going to turn into fish with how much they swim.

“Sure, but I think Mom needs to help me with my swimming trunks.”

Nathan scrunches his nose as he grabs his sister’s hand. “Come on.”

Kaylee gladly follows her older brother.

Alma huffs as she turns back to go into their bedroom, she is already wearing her bathing suit. The two-piece that is an electric pink is something he doesn’t recognize. Jax surmises it must be new. He closes the door and knows that he is on a serious time crunch. His kutte is thrown onto the bed.

Alma can barely squeak a Hi before he attacks her lips. His body hums in the familiar taste of oranges that he associates with Alma.

His hands find purchase in her short brown hair as he nips and sucks on her pouty lips. A week was nothing in the grand scheme of things. The longest run he had ever been on was a month as the club had managed to open a few charter on the East Coast. That run had been brutal as Nathan had only been 3 months than. He told Clay that he would never go on a run that lasted for more than two weeks.

Alma pulls back, “Jax, baby, slow down.” She whispers against his lips.

“I missed you.” He tells her as he places another softer kiss to her lips. They’ve been married for five years and Jax didn’t think the wanting would ever stop.

“Me too, but we have tonight.” She smiles at him and her arms wrap around him. He can’t help the wince as she hits a particularly tender spot.

She frowns and pulls back from him. “What happened?”

Jax chews on his lip. He had hoped he would’ve been able to hide the bruises from him a little bit longer. He honestly almost forgot about the bruises he received three days ago.

“I’m fine.” He tells her. He hopes to distract her with a kiss, but she creates a bigger distance between them.

“Let me see.”

“I’m fine, babe.”

She folds her arms across her chest. Jax sighs as he kicks off his shoes. The room is quiet as he goes and removes his socks, jeans, and boxers and replaces them with swimming trucks. He removes his white t-shirt last. He exposes the sets of bruises that dot his skin like a grotesque connect the dots his daughter loves to do.

Alma is at his back. Her touch gentle as she skims across a bruise that is near his kidney. “Was it the Mayans?”

“Don’t stress about it.” He dismissively.

“How can I not?” She retorts.

Jax turns and brings her into a hug. He places a kiss on her forehead. “Everything will be fine.” The words don’t bring any comfort as she is stiff in his hold. “Just be careful and keep your gun on you.”

Alma pulls back completely and he can there are many questions on her tongue, but she doesn’t ask. “Nathan’s grounded.”

“What?” Jax says mostly from the complete 180 in turn of where the conversation has turned. “Why?”

“He got into a fight at school. Won’t tell me why so until then he is on punishment.” Alma says tiredly. Jax wants to question why she didn’t tell him this fact during their many phone calls, but he doesn’t. “I’m tired of being the bad guy,” she tells him softly.

“I’ll talk to him.”

Alma gives him a small smile.

“Mom! Dad! Come on!” Both chuckle and they go to exit their room, but Jax grabs her wrist and pulls her back. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The great thing about an indoor pool is that it works wonders in tiring out his kids. Nights like these where he is anxious for uninterrupted hours with his wife makes him not regret spending over a grand for the concrete pond.

He watches as Nathan does his night time routine, which consists of feeding the fishes in his room. He is too big for a night light now, but he still sleeps with his Mr. Toad. It was the first thing Jax ever bought for his son. Considering his reaction to finding out Alma was pregnant, he had a lot of groveling to do and the stuffed toad was in the one in plenty of the apology gifts.

He tucks his son in bed. He can hear Kaylee and Alma from the bathroom as they brush their teeth. He looks back to his son, who is already six years old.

Fatherhood wasn’t something Jax never seriously thought about. He knew his mother wanted him to have kids. Gemma wanted the grandkids despite never liking any of the girls he hung around with. Even then with the promise of free pussy why would anyone want to settle down and have babies. Babies meant a bigger responsibility that he felt was greater than the club.

And then it only led to one time of him not using protection for him to enter the world of fatherhood. He doesn’t regret having a kid at 18. His children are something he would never regret.

Fatherhood just brought a lot of responsibilities, or crisis to his state of mind. When he held Nathan in his arms for the first time Jax had been confronted with his own morality and mortality.

Nathan despite his blue eyes was all his mother. Even down to their temperament and mannerisms. Nathan was Alma. He was the best part of him, but all of Alma. Jax knows the life he leads. He knows that Nathan is expected to follow into his footsteps. He isn’t going to say he doesn’t expect the same thing out of his son. But at the same time, his son could have more.

He can’t picture his son coming home with bruises or killing a man in cold blood. But Nathan is a part of him; he has a part of him that has violence coated in his DNA.

Jax sits on the edge of his son’s twin sized bed. “Are you going to tell me what you did in school to get in trouble?”

Blue eyes peek up shyly from behind the comfort of his cover. Nathan’s fist clutches the navy blue comforter as he turns on his side still facing him. “Mom worries too much.”

Jax places his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Your mother loves you.”

Nathan nods his head as he clutches Mr. Toad.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to talk about this.” Jax tells his son as he gets up from the bed. He is at the door and getting ready to turn off the light when Nathan speaks up.

“You love Mom too, right?”

“With my whole heart.”

Nathan smiles before his eyes close.

Jax makes his way next door where Kaylee is already tucked in, but he finds a stack of books on her nightstand.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to read all these,” Jax tells her as he skims through some of them.

Kaylee smiles, her missing teeth noticeable. “Why not?” She can’t stop smiling to even pout.

“What are we going to read for tomorrow?”

Kaylee’s eyes go wide like a deer. “Will you be here tomorrow?” She asks softly.

A lump forms in Jax’s throat. “Of course.”

“Okay, we can read the story about the mouse and cookie.”

“Sure thing.”

Kaylee falls asleep by the 10th page. Jax smiles as he places a kiss on her head and turns on her nightlight.

Turning off the hallway light, his bedroom is encased by the moonlight. Alma is already laying in bed. He frowns, but he wonders if this is a slight payback for his reluctance to tell her about the bruises on his back. He strips down to his boxer briefs and slides behind his wife. He sees she is only wearing a cami and cotton panties. He concludes she must not be too mad.

He wraps his arms around her bringing her back into his chest. He just holds her relishing in her weight and warmth against him.

“The kids are growing up so fast,” he tells her. It feels like only yesterday that he was holding a newborn Kaylee in his arms wondering what in the hell he was going to do with a girl.

“Your mom said the same thing.”

“Yeah, and what does she have to say?” Jax already has a feeling on what his mother had told his wife.

“She was wondering if we planned to move into a bigger house.”

The fact that her husband hesitates makes Alma turn over to face him. His eyes tell her everything she needs to know. Despite the fact both of their children were unplanned, she knows her husband wants more. She still is unsure if it’s more from his mother’s urges or the need for her to be fat.

“I wouldn’t mind a bigger house,” he answers. Alma has mixed feelings on expanding their family.

Alma does not nor will ever regret her children, but she can’t deny that she feels as if she was penalized for having babies by 18 and being married by 17. Even worse, the father was the blonde biker Jax Teller and now her husband. She had fulfilled the stereotype that she fought against all her life. She had plans. She wanted a life outside of the world she grew up in. She still doesn’t know why she had let Jax Teller into her bed. She knows she can’t deny that she loves him, by being pregnant at 16 and practically having to settle down wasn’t something she wanted.

Since she was 17, she had been a stay at home wife and mother. With Kaylee starting school this year, Alma yearns for more than just being a mother and wife. She loves her husband, her family, and even the club, but she doesn’t have one thing for herself. She has nothing outside of it.

She takes a deep breath. “I was thinking of looking for a job.”

Alma knew from a young age college wasn’t something she wanted. Instead, she found herself doing acrylic nails. Since she was young she had been doing her mom’s, most of the old lady’s nearby including Gemma and Luann, as well as a few neighbors. She had a steady side hustle to maybe even open her own shop. Though she thinks she will try her luck at applying at a few shops in Stockton to learn the business first. She couldn’t let her license go to waste.

Jax doesn’t say anything. “Besides, after Kaylee being in the hospital…” She adds.

Jax’s hold tightens. Kaylee inheriting the family flaw was hard on all of them. They were lucky she was even able to get into school. Gemma had been worried about the germs and the toll of letting strangers take care of her granddaughter.

“If we have no more kids, I’ll be fine with the two we have. Though I’m not going to object to more.”

“And for me to start working?”

“I’ll support you with whatever you want to do.” He tells her earnestly. She’s relieved that he doesn’t suggest that she could just work at the garage.

Alma smiles wide and she rewards her husband with a sweet, wet kiss.

Alma knows there is not a lot to do in her days. One, her day is catered to a four year old. There is a lot of cartoon, coloring, and sometimes temper tantrums. Most days, Alma spends her morning trying to teach her daughter her letters, numbers, and colors. Afternoons are when they would frequent parks, or run errands with Gemma for various things. Today they are venturing to Stockton. Alma is dressed in a modest summer dress that can pass for business attire. She even dressed Kaylee in a pretty little dress and blonde hair in two buns. Jax telling her that he had to actually work on the garage said he could take Nathan to teach him some things.

Alma is in a very good mood despite her sparse resume, but she has a portfolio of the work she had done throughout the years. She knows she shouldn’t really expect anything, but the fact she is doing something for herself is all that matters.

She knows that the only thing at her disadvantage is she isn’t a regular at Claws. It’s a very upscale nail salon. The parking lot is packed and as she eyes the Mercedes and Hummers in the lot she feels very inadequate. She grips Kaylee’s hand a little bit tighter as she walks through the sleek glass doors.

Inside is cool and the interior is cold from the harsh geometrical designs from the lights to the sharp edges of the desks. Alma knows she can’t be picky and this place is currently hiring. Besides, her work will speak for itself and maybe if hired she will break down and let Gemma take her on a real shopping spree.

Alma approaches the receptionist desk with a bright smile where a blonde with pink glossy lips and fake boobs greet her warmly.

“Hi, are you in for an appointment or are you a walk in?” The receptionist asks.

“Actually, I saw in the paper that you were hiring. I was hoping I could apply?” Alma questions.

“We actually might even be able to get you an interview right now. We are in desperate need of help.” The blonde informs her. “I’m Holly, by the way.”

“Alma Teller, but I have my daughter with me,” Alma looks down as Kaylee looks up and waves at Holly.

“She is so cute, but that will be no problem. Our manager, Kim, is here right now. The wait will only be a couple minutes.”

Alma isn’t able to reply as Holly leaps from her desk and walks across the room to an office that overlooks the whole salon.

Alma turns her attention to her daughter, who is thankfully being good. “What do you say about some ice cream after this?”

Kaylee’s eyes go wide. “Mint chocolate chip!”

“Up even with graham crackers.” Alma promises. Alma digs in her purse for her daughters leapfrog to at least keep her distracted enough for this possible interview.

The sound of heels clacking against the ceramic floor brings her attention to a tall lanky woman in a black suit. Her strawberry blonde hair is in a severe bun.

“Holly tells me you’re looking for a job?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me. Holly can watch your daughter.”

“Are you sure?” Alma asks as she looks from Kim to the receptionist.

“It’s fine. I’ll sit her right here so you can see her from the office.” Holly promises.

Alma nods her head and whispers to her daughter she will only be a couple minutes. Kaylee is too consumed by her leapfrog to care.

Alma follows Kim to her office. The salon only has a handful of clients, but she can tell by the shine of their rings it’s more about quality than quantity.

Alma isn’t even in her seat before Kim speaks to her. “Have you ever worked at a salon before?”

“Uh, no. I have not.”

“You’re applying to be a nail artist right? I don’t need another Holly.”

Alma clutches her portfolio and offers it to Kim. “I work from my house. I’ve been doing nails since I was a kid.”

Kim takes the folder and opens it. “You barely look older than 18.”

“Thank you, but I’m 22.”

Kim is quiet as she flips through the portfolio. Alma hopes she is impressed. “Why did you decide to wait until now to work?”

“I have two kids. I am a stay at home mom and wife. My youngest, Kaylee, is starting school. I decided it was time.”

“Married and two kids at 22,” Kim whistles. “Tell me the differences in gel or acrylic nails?”

“Gel nails have a more natural look with a glossy finish. And if primed right, gel has no damage to the nail bed that acrylic would. Gel nails cure faster and more flexible than acrylic nails. Although, acrylic nails are more durable and sturdy.”

“If hired, considering your lack of previous work, you will go through a three week trial period where we can fire you without just cause. Your work is good.”

“Thank you.”

“You from Stockton?”

“I live in Charming.”

“Really? I heard…” Kim clears her throat. “Alma Teller tell me more about yourself.”

“Well as you know I have two kids. My oldest, my son, is six. My youngest, Kaylee, is four. I’ve been married for 5 years to their father. I’ve lived in Charming all my life. I’ve been doing nails since I was young. My mom and various friends and family I’ve used for practice. And now I’m looking for something to be outside of a wife and mother. I want to improve my skills as a nail artist.” Alma tells her and as she sweeps her hair out of her face she watches as Kim narrows at her tattoo on her left bicep.

“If hired, we don’t allow tattoos in the shop.”

Alma looks down at her crow. “Okay.” She knows it will be easy to cover up.

“You said you’re from Charming, right?” Kim asks again.

Alma nods her head, but dread feels her belly.

“Alma Teller, I know that last name.” She watches as recognition washes over her features. “Does your husband own that mechanic garage? The one with that motorcycle gang?”

“It’s a club. A motorcycle club,” Alma refutes on instinct. She knows where this is already heading.

Kim eyes her silently as she closes her portfolio. “Leave your portfolio with Holly. Someone will get back to you.”

She still takes Kaylee for her ice cream. It takes everything in Alma not to cry like a baby at her first failed interview. Maybe she needs to develop thicker skin. She knows she needs too. Having Jax’s name is going to follow her around especially outside of Charming. People in Charming tolerate the club, but their hold doesn’t go beyond the borders. Her mother had warned her about this when her pregnancy test turned out positive with Nathan.

Alma doesn’t want to mope in the house nor does she want to spend it on the bench outside of the clubhouse. Instead, she drives over to the Winston household. Thankfully Donna is still home with a newborn Ellie.

Alma is sitting in the backyard as she watches Kenny run around with Kaylee. The only comfort that Alma had during her pregnancy with Nathan was that Donna was pregnant with her at the same time. At least Donna had been 18 and a few months shy from graduating high school. Alma had been the one to walk the halls with a big belly as whispers and snide comments followed her for being a biker whore. After all, Jax had managed to talk his way into her pants when he was on one of his numerous breaks with his high school girlfriend, Tara.

“Al, I think you should just open your own shop. You already have clientele. You have the talent.” Donna tells her. Alma leaves out the part of the interview when the woman realized her connection to the club. The club is still a little bit of a sore spot between Donna and Opie and Alma doesn’t want to add any more fuel to it.

She smiles at her friend’s supportive words. Sometimes, she is envious of Donna. Donna still had managed to have her independence from Opie despite the marriage and baby at 18. Donna had a good job working as a receptionist at Oswald Lumber. Opie loved her wholeheartedly. She and Jax didn’t have the most conventional start of a relationship.

“I don’t know…”

“What’s stopping you?” Donna inquires. “Kaylee is starting school. Nathan is 6. They aren’t babies. You need your own life too ya know.”

“I know.”

Donna places Ellie in a swing and shields her from the sun. Donna’s eyes narrow. “Is Jax not being supportive?”

“He is. He is. Maybe I’m just a little bit scared.” Alma admits.

“Alma, you need to start doing things for yourself. You take care of Jax, the kids…you need to start taking care of you.”

Alma picks at the hem of her dress. Alma thinks that is part of the problem. Her whole love has been so consumed by Jax she doesn’t know anything else. As proven earlier, her identity is seemingly tied to Jax and the club.

“I’ll think about it. Maybe start looking for some spaces. Go to the community college and take a couple business classes.”

Donna smiles and gives her knee a squeeze. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“So unsure of yourself. Everything okay between you and Jax?”

“We’re fine,” Alma insists.

Donna eyes her, but doesn’t press. “Nathan, say why he got into that fight?”

Alma sighs. “No. Jax said that he would talk to him.”

“He’s a boy. Stuff like this happens.” Donna soothes.

Alma purses her lips. “It’s just Nathan would tell me everything…”

Donna gives her a knowing smile. “Nathan will always be a mommy’s boy, Al. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Alma snorts. “That is so not it.”

Donna chuckles. “Sure it’s not.”

“It’s not!” Alma protests.

Donna shakes her head. “Hey, do you know what the guys did on the run?”

Alma’s smile dies and she thinks about the fading bruises on her husband. He still hasn’t said how he managed to acquire those. Now she’s only curious as to what happened to Opie to make Donna wonder as well.

“No, I don’t.”

Donna frowns. “I’m worried. I know…I know some things.” Donna knows that club isn’t exactly legal. “I found a bloody bandana in Opie’s pack. His clothes reeked of smoke.”

“Would you want to know the truth, Donna?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t recognize Opie if I did.” Donna confesses before the cries of Ellie wanting her mother’s milk interrupts.

“Dad, can we please please please have lunch on the roof?” Nathan begs as he follows Jax into the clubhouse.

Jax decided to bring Nathan to work with him today. There was no pressing club issue and it gave Jax time to bond with his son. Jax isn’t a great mechanic like his own father, Clay, and even Opie, but he enjoys the work. He enjoys that it gives him something to teach his own son. Something so innocent.

With the large lunch box in his hands, he looks at his son’s blue imploring eyes. For some reason, Alma did not like the thought of her babies on the roof. He knows better than to take Kaylee. He thinks motherhood has made Alma a little anal in some respect. “You better not tell your mother.” He warns as they go to the ladder.

Nathan knows better than to stand too close to the edge as they find the clusters of crates. They use a crate to make a makeshift table. Nathan preferred to sit on the ground while Jax sat on the blue milk crate.

Their lunch contained two chicken salad sandwiches, Gatorade, cookies, cheese and crackers, and a small container of fruit salad. Nathan’s portions were obviously smaller than his.

It’s quiet between father and son as they eat their lunch. Jax looks out across the lot where he can see the bustling bodies below and the expanse of Charming before them. He is brought back to his own childhood where his father would bring him up here. Jax has seen many sunsets and sunrises on this roof. It’s one of the few places he can go to escape and actually feel calm.

It seems his son feels the same way.

Jax turns to Nathan, who is greedily eating his food. Some of the chicken salad is smeared on his cheek. He realizes his son is losing some of the exaggerated features of childhood even at six. He can see under the baby fat that his cheeks will be of Alma’s. His straight nose will be his own to match his eyes. He knows his son will most likely inherit his tall height compared to Alma’s short stature. He watches as Nathan pushes back his wavy hairs from dangling in his eyes with a scowl.

“You ready to get a haircut?”

Nathan shakes his head. “I want my hair to be as long as yours.”

Jax smiles as he pushes back his straight blonde locks. The tips are brushing the edges of his shoulders. The only reason his hair is this long is out of neglect. He hasn’t just had Alma cut it for him yet.

“You might need to put in a ponytail soon.”

Nathan’s nose scrunches. “Then I will look like Kaylee.”

“Your sister is cute.”

“She’s a girl.” Nathan says knowingly.

Jax smiles that Nathan still has his innocence when it comes to the opposite sex. Nathan moves from the floor of the roof and pushes a crate next to him. His boy mimics his movements as they munch on their cookies and overlook the small town.

“You going to tell me what happened at school?”

Nathan frowns and he begins picking at the seams of his shorts. “A boy pushed me so I pushed him back.”

“Is that all?” Jax presses.

“He said…”

“He said what?”

“He said that we were white trash. So I told him to shut up. Then he pushed me.” Nathan reveals. “Am I in trouble?” Nathan asks with watery eyes.

Jax shakes his head. “No, you’re not. But next time he says something, you need to tell your teacher okay? Your mom will worry if you get into more fights.”

Nathan nods his head.

The two play I-Spy and soon point out familiar landmarks. That leads into Jax telling his son about treasured memories of him and his father.

“Will you lead the club with Uncle Opie?” Nathan asks after Jax regales a story about him and Opie thinking they were mechanics and took apart their father’s bike out of curiosity.

“One day,” Jax tells his boy. He knows Nathan isn’t stupid to some of the on goings around the club. Despite Alma being raised in this life like him, it wasn’t easy. There were nights he would come home reeking of gunpowder that would lead to loud spats that were unfortunately witnessed by Nathan. The worst was when Jax had been in a rush to leave from the house and Nathan had seen him stuffing a gun in his ankle bracelet.

Jax still remembers that fight with Alma, who was heavily pregnant by that point with Kaylee. He was surprised she didn’t induce labor with how she chewed a piece out of his ass. But they both knew it would come to a point where they could hide the truth from their boy. There would come a point where Kaylee would need to know the truth too.

“One day soon?”

Jax shrugs. Clay wasn’t giving up the gavel soon and at this point Jax wasn’t sure he even wanted it. He knew it would pull him away from his family more than being a simple patch would. He remembers the nights his dad wouldn’t make it home due to business. How his mom would clutch a rosary that she thought was hidden beneath bracelets or gold necklaces. “Not for a little while.”

“When can I be a member of the club?”

“Not until you finish high school,” Jax replies. Unlike him, he wasn’t going to allow his son to get a GED. He knows Alma isn’t either. It will probably be the one stipulation his son will need to follow if he wants to be a patch.

“But that’s in forever!”

“It’ll go by fast,” Jax soothes. He wraps his arm around his boy. “But I want you to be a kid forever.”

“I don’t.” Nathan pouts. “I want to be just like you, Dad.”

Every Sunday, they had dinner at Gemma’s. There was no exception, but once a month out of those Sundays, they had a Potluck. All the members of the club (including the mechanics) and their family were invited to Gemma’s.

And this Sunday happened to be one of those. Alma had grown up looking forward to these Sundays. Even more, she remembers being doting on like a princess on these Sundays. After all, she was the only daughter of a First 9 member. She’s Chico Vellenueva’s daughter.

Alma is working on adding cheese to the anti-pasta salad when she hears Gemma’s heels smacking the floor.

Thankfully, she and Gemma get along. They butt heads occasionally, but she has never received the cold shoulder or passive aggressiveness that Gemma bestowed on girls Jax would bring home. She assumes she got brownie points for giving her grandchildren and managing to tame her son.

Even then, Gemma was an aunt to her growing up. She remembers wanting to be like Gemma growing up. Poised, elegant, but deadly like a viper and sharp like thorn on a rose.

“You hear from your mother lately?” Gemma asks.

Her mother, Ana Rodriguez, her father’s favorite croweater, was one of the first croweaters that had managed to snag an important member. She gave them hope that sucking dick could actually lead them somewhere. Despite that, Alma is considered royalty. That royalty is what she sometimes felt made her and Jax obligated to get married when he got her pregnant.

Her mother and father were together until Alma was five before they split up. Her mom was tired of the life and wanted a man that was home and most of all faithful. Despite having Alma, her father never wanted to marry her mother.

She knows there was a time she didn’t see her father for a few months. She was living with her grandmother when Gemma Teller had found them. She doesn’t know what Gemma said, but the next day she was back in Charming. Her mother and Gemma have been enemies ever since. She only knows that the ice had thawed a bit when her father became the first casualty of the Mayan War.

Though the frigidness returned when Alma became pregnant, her mom advocated for an abortion. She didn’t want her tied down to Jax so young. Her mother didn’t want her to be with anyone from the club. She knows her mom is still disappointed in her decision to marry Jax. It seemed before the ink was even dry on her marriage license her mom had moved out of Charming to live a different life. She was too young to be a grandma, she said. Gemma never forgive her mother for that or for Ana turning her back on the club.

“A few days ago. She talked to the kids. Told us about a wonderful vineyard she is at with a boyfriend. It’s very kid friendly.”

Gemma snorts. “What in the hell are kids going to do at a vineyard?”

Alma shrugs her shoulders. “Crush grapes?”

“Sometimes, I wonder about your mother. She acts like it’s a burden to come to Charming and see her grandchildren.”

“At least she calls. Sends them things. We video chat. They know her.”

Gemma purses her lips together. She knows there is more on her tongue to say, but she doesn’t waste any more breath on her mother. “Jax mentioned you were thinking about going back to work.”

Alma fights the eye roll. Her husband has very loose lips. She did not want Gemma to find out about this until things were more concrete. She only nods her head as she goes to the fridge to add the pepperoni.

“You know I could use help in the garage.” Gemma offers.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Alma wants something outside of the club. Besides, she does appreciate some distance from her husband.

Gemma places a hand on her shoulder. “I know things can be hard and sometimes a bit lonely, but you’re not alone, sweetheart. You do have a good husband and a good life, don’t forget that either.”

Friday means no kids until Sunday morning. Gemma keeps the kids on the weekends. It’s more of a break for her than Jax. Of course, depending on Jax’s schedule they would keep the kids, but more often than night, Alma looks forward to the weekends.

After spending the day cleaning her empty house with her glass of wine, Alma strips out of her sweats and a forgotten oversized shirt of Jax’s. She makes the water hot enough that her skin will be pink and fog the shower in less than a minute.

She begins her shower with washing her short brown hair. She had cut it short more for convenience. She was getting tired of the hair in her face as she ran after two kids. She knows Jax misses her long hair. She thinks she misses it a bit herself and thinks she might try to grow it out. Maybe even put a few blonde highlights in it. She scrunches her nose as that would mean matching Gemma.

She sighs as her fingers massage her scalp. Maybe she will dye all of it blonde. She is rinsing off the suds when she hears the slap of metal hitting her bathroom floor. It’s seconds later when the shower door opens.

“Can you have it any hotter in here?” Jax comments as he steps in.

“No one asked you to be in here.” She replies as she turns around and steps under the full spray of the water to get rid of the excess water.

Jax steps under the spray and she huffs as he steals most of the water making him laugh. “Did you see the kids?” She asks as she grabs her soap.

“Yeah, stopped by my mom’s with Clay. They were already in their pajamas. I was practically shoved out the door for interrupting their time with Grandma.”

Alma smiles and she pauses her cleaning as she wraps her soapy arms around her husband. “Well don’t worry I won’t kick you out…along as you behave yourself.”

“And what happens if I’m a very bad boy,” he eyes with a waggle of his eyebrow.

“You’ll get punished.” She tells him as she bite his nipple causing him to jump.

Alma laughs as she goes back to rubbing soap across her body. Jax moves around her to grab his own soap. The two are in a comfortable silence as they shower. Of course, Jax can’t help himself and get a few gropes here and there. But outside of shower sex being complicated, this had been a routine of theirs after the birth of Nathan and even more so after Kaylee. They found taking a shower is the only time they could talk and enjoy the company of each other without one of their kids wedged between them.

“You wanna take a ride?” Jax asks as he begins washing his hair. Alma is surprised that Jax doesn’t want to stay home on this Friday night.

“Every time we go on a ride, I end up pregnant.” Alma jokes.

Jax’s eyes light up. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Alma doesn’t bother replying to his comment. “Is it cold out?”

“Your denim jacket will do,” he tells her as she steps out of the shower.

Alma squeezes her husband tight as he roars on the open road. He knows she prefers the late rides in the night than those during the day. She loves the wind whipping her hair. She even puts her arms out and screams “she’s flying” as he speeds down the highway.

Even before they were married or together, she had always begged Jax to take her on rides. He always obliged especially when he was looking for an escape himself. She loves being on a motorcycle. She loves the freedom of the open road. They are on the border of Charming when Jax stops at the gas station with a small store. He claims he needs more cigarettes even though he promised her that she would quit.

She follows him a few steps behind. She rolls her eyes as he greets the cashier, Louisa. The young blonde seems to be her age, who blushes at his attention. Alma can’t even feel mad as the girl pulls down the front of her shirt to show off a modest cleavage.

“You want anything, darling?”

Alma stuffs her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket as she follows Jax to the aisle he is standing in. By the smirk on his face, she knows it might get him punched. She finds her husband standing in front of the small display of condoms and lubricates.

She looks at her husband with a scowl.

“Hey, you’re the one that isn’t on birth control.” He points out as he skims the different brands and styles.

“I keep track of my days,” she tells him as she slaps his hand as he picks up a box. “I don’t want a warming condom.”

“We never tried that one before.” He says innocently.

“You trying to say my pussy’s cold?”

“Never.” He tells her seriously. He swipes a small pack of the ultra-thin.

“You know, you can buy these by the case. Be a lot cheaper.” She tells him. It’s not like they use them all the time. Just when she is ovulating. She knows that she should just get on birth control especially now that there are more options than the pill.

“Nah.” He brings an arm around her shoulder. “A box at a time keeps me humble.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Jax laughs as he goes to the counter to check out. Louisa’s cheeks are still rosy from Jax’s greeting and Alma spies the white frill peeking from the V-neck of her shirt. She can admit the girl is bold to do that with her standing with Jax.

Jax pays for his things as he follows her out the door.

“I think the cashier has a crush on you,” Alma tells him as they reach his bike.

“What?”

Alma stares at her husband knowingly.

“Your boobs are bigger.” Alma scoffs at him. Jax gives her a wolfish smile as he approaches her. She’s unprepared for the slap on her ass, which he soothes as he rubs it as he pulls her into his chest. “Besides, you know I’m an ass man.”

“Sometime, I really hate you.” She mumbles against his chest.

“No you don’t.” He tells her as his hands weave into her hair. He places a soft kiss to her lips, but she chases his lips as she leans on her tippy toes. He meets her lips again and she doesn’t feel bad if she breaks Louisa’s heart. But Jax is her husband and it is disrespectful to try and flirt with a woman’s husband when she is standing right there.

She’s about to pull back and suggest they go home when the dark sky is lit up. It almost like fireworks are lighting the sky with the booming sky that follows.

Jax’s body goes rigid. “Shit!”

With the explosion at the creek, the joyous mood had been disintegrated. Jax had loosened his lips enough to tell her that it was one of their warehouses. He didn’t elaborate. Yet, as he stayed most of the day at the clubhouse on Saturday to handle the blowback, according to the news and the paper most knew that the blast belonged to SAMCRO. Alma suspected it was the Mayans.

Alma spent the day indoors as she didn’t want to deal with the looks or whispers. Jax didn’t come home late in the night and as he cradled her in his arms, he had offered an apology.

With it being Sunday and not finding the kids at Gemma’s, she had to travel to the Charming Gardens to pick up her kids. This was no doubt a scheming move from Gemma to show the town they had nothing to hide from.

The kids are too busy feeding the ducks to notice her presence as she finds Gemma sitting on a bench watching the scene with a smile.

“You could’ve just dropped them off.” Alma says flatly.

Gemma looks at her from behind her sunglasses. “You need the sun – fresh air.”

“That’s what my backyard is for.”

“Staying in the house only makes you look guilty.” Gemma accuses.

Alma purses her lips as it isn’t about her. It’s about the kids getting the brunt of the blowback. She knows how cruel parents can be and how it trickles down to their children. She can only imagine the nasty things they are already saying. She knows deep down that the fight Nathan got it has to be from a kid repeating the words of his parents.

“Gem –“

Alma’s words are cut off as Nathan’s screams for his sister in the park.

There are times when Jax can fully understand why his mom is crazy overprotective. There is no greater fear or pain than that of bearing witness to your own child’s suffering. He has learned that from the time he had to witness his firstborn stumbling in taking his first small steps.

Though that fear and hypervigilance was magnified with the birth of Kaylee. They had a child with medical needs – critical – needs. With Kaylee’s birth, he had been transported back in time to watching his mother practically live at the hospital with Thomas.

He thought he could connect with that pain his parents were feeling – to simply share it. They all loved Thomas, but now as a father; he can truly feel that pain. It’s a pain that never goes away. Never.

His strides are swift and determined as he walks the halls of St. Thomas. He is more than familiar with the floors of the hospital for the first six months of Kaylee’s life they became a second home.

He finds his mom sitting in a lounge chair, Nathan clutching her as they rock together. Luann is silent as she holds vigil next to Gemma.

Clay, Opie, Bobby, Tig, and Chibs are behind him. He is barely aware of their presence as his mom’s eyes connect with his. This pain she can’t hide from him. Her hold on Nathan becomes tighter as she nods to the door next to her.

He debates if he should comfort Nathan. He debates if he should hold his son, but his mom seems to be enough comfort for now. He moves to the door and can see through the window Alma looking into the adjacent room as they perform surgery on Kaylee.

He clutches the doorknob as he opens it. A blast of cool air and grief hits him. Alma’s whiskey eyes turn to him. They are wide and scared. He is transported back in time to her being only 18 years old and wondering why Kaylee wasn’t wailing when she gave birth. He remembers seeing how blue Kaylee looked and believing his baby girl had been still born before a broken cry escaped her lips before they took her away.

He remembers it being weeks before they could hold their daughter without tubes and wires keeping her alive.

Alma is in his arms immediately. She clings to him and he can feel her tears soaking through his shirt. He clutches her. His hand finds purchase in her brown hair. He wants to say everything will be alright, but he can’t.

Alma pulls back a little as she looks up at him with watery eyes. “They have to run the wire through her leg, up to her heart.”

“What happened?” The only words that he was able to make out from both her and his mother were Kaylee was in the hospital. Both were crying too hard for him to really understand.

“She was playing with Nathan when she just collapsed. I don’t know.” Alma sobs.

It takes everything in Jax not to crumble along with her. He knows that he needs to be strong for his family. He needs to be strong for Alma. He turns his gaze to the operating room. His baby girl is in the center. Wires connected to her to monitor her heart and breathing like it did when she was a newborn.

He can’t help but notice how small and fragile his girl looks as they work to correct her heartbeat. He presses a kiss to Alma’s head. “It's gonna be okay, darlin’.”

“Like she hasn't been through enough shit.” Alma mutters.

Jax tugs on her hair making her look up at him. “She’s going to be okay.”

He receives a watery smile as Alma melts into him.

In the clubhouse getting ready for this current job was the last place Jax wanted to be. He shouldn’t be here really. He should be back at St. Thomas with his family. Kaylee’s surgery was a success and she was staying at the hospital for a couple days as a precaution.

But business still needed to be handled. He would have opted out. Bobby, Tig, or even Chibs could’ve replaced him. This was his job, a simple one that he and Opie had done many times before. He was still weary on Kyle as the man had been distracted by his marital problems. Besides, this retaliation against the Mayans needed to be done. Jax swaps his white sneakers for his black ones. He slips a gun in his ankle holster. To keep some form of anonymity, they are wearing all black and the kuttes are to be left at the clubhouse.

He hopes tonight goes by smoothly. When he left, Kaylee was sleeping and Alma had dozed off as well. Nathan was being spoiled by his mother. Jax takes a seat on the edge of the bed in his former dorm room. He still has meager belongings in here. Extra clothes so the kids don’t smell the gunpowder. He has a drawer for Alma and the kids as well. Pictures of his youth are still stuck on the wall.

A knock comes from the door and Opie pokes his head in. Jax nods his head that it’s safe to come in.

“You sure you want to do this?”

“It’ll be quick.”

“Kyle and I can handle this on our own, ya know. Or Chibs and Tig can be the extra lookout.”

“It’s like you don’t want me to go.”

Opie smiles. “You should be with your family.”

“I am.” Jax tells him as he stands up. “Besides, you know I got your back.”

“Kaylee will be alright, Jax.”

Jax looks up to his best friend with shiny eyes. He feels like shit that he can’t feel that optimism. Kaylee’s heart will always be a problem. He fears his daughter might suffer the same fate as his brother.

“No need to go to that dark space, right now.” Opie cautions.

“I know. I know.” Jax sighs.

“Well lets go set off some fireworks.”

It all happened so fast. They dispatched the guards quickly, set the boom, and as they enjoyed the fruits of their labor. Sirens were on them immediately. Jax doesn’t know how he lost sight of Opie, but all he knew was Kyle had bailed at the first wail of a cop approaching. Kyle had left them stranded. Worst, Opie had gotten arrested.

It’s 3 o’clock in the morning as he walks down the halls of St. Thomas to Kaylee’s room. Clay wasn’t too happy and he had debated on calling church immediately. He knew though that there couldn’t be much they could do this late. They would have to hear from Rosen before they could help Opie. Jax was already advocating for Kyle to lose his fucking patch.

He enters Kaylee’s hospital room to find Alma curled on the chair. There is no convincing his wife to at least sleep at home. She would be back before Kaylee would wake up bright in the morning. Jax walks over to Kaylee where she is sleeping soundly. He watches as her chest goes up and down. He memorized it. He plants a kiss on her forehead. He walks over to Alma. He wants to move her without jostling her too much. He sits beside her on the couch and begins to move her, but she jumps awake.

“Shh, it’s just me.” He soothes.

Alma blinks at him rapidly before her eyes dart over to Kaylee. “She’s still sleeping.” He confirms.

Some tension leaves her shoulders and she moves a bit so he can lay his feet up. She curls on top of him and they tangle their legs together.

“Everything go okay?” She asks sleepily.

“We can talk in the morning.”

Alma’s eyes snap back open and she sits up. “What happened?”

His body sags in the couch. He squeezes his eyes shut before they connect with Alma. “Opie got arrested.”

Alma remembers Gemma telling her that the club goes through cycles. It will be extremely calm – downright boring – then things take off rapidly and they can’t catch a break. Alma never had one of these experiences with Jax. She has been lucky her husband has been able to keep his nose clean for the most part. When he got arrested for Gun Running, he had been lucky to only get probation and house arrest for his first official arrest that got his mug shot on the infamous wall. Sure when he was a teen, Jax spent the night in the slammer for public intoxication and public disturbance with Tara. She had been livid for Jax for even getting caught as she had just found out she was pregnant with Kaylee.

She knows that her situation could be worse. Jax could have done years. Jax could’ve been in Otto’s position, or now Opie’s.

Alma winces as Ellie lets out another high piercing scream. Donna is clearly frazzled about Opie’s arrest.

“Donna, let me hold her. You need a break.”

“No, I can do this myself.” Donna insists as she rocks her infant daughter. She had been surprised Donna even let her through the door. Since Opie’s arrest two days ago, Donna had begun to pull away. There was hard evidence against Opie and they all knew he wasn’t going to walk away with a slap on the rest.

“Don –“

“I don’t need your pity.” Donna snaps. Blue eyes pin her down. Alma isn’t used to this side of Donna. She’s not distraught about Opie being gone. She is fucking angry. Pity isn’t what she has for Donna though. It would be the last thing she would show her friend.

“I’m just trying to help.”

A bitter laugh escapes Donna’s throat. “Help? Can you tell me exactly why my husband was in San Leandro committing arson?”

Alma purses her lips. She finds Kenny staring at them with wide eyes. She looks away from him as she can’t imagine being in Donna’s situation. She doesn’t know how she could even explain to her children why Jax couldn’t come home.

“Donna –“

“Tell me the truth.” Donna begs.

Alma’s nails dig into her palm. She can’t tell Donna why. There are rules to this. It was Opie’s choice not to tell Donna anything. She has to respect that. She can’t undermine a patch even if it’s her job as an old lady to support another one. Donna deserves the truth, but she knows the truth isn’t really going to bring her any peace. It would just give her more ammunition to blame the club.

“It’s not my place,” Alma tells her.

Donna scoffs. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are.” Alma replies. “It’s just that Opie should be the one to tell you this.”

“Why? Because I’m his old lady?” Donna seethes.

“Because it should come from him.”

“You should go.”

Alma feels as if she has been slapped. “Don –“

“I want you to leave.”

Alma seals her mouth shut. It’s best to respect Donna’s wishes and she doesn’t want to make things worse. She grabs her purse and heads to the door when Donna relays her last parting words.

“Tell the club I don’t need their charity.”

Alma arrives at Kaylee's hospital room to find Gemma reading a book to her granddaughter. There are smiles on both of their faces as Gemma changes her voice for each different character. After her visit to Donna, this is a very welcomed sight to see.

Alma smiles as she walks over to the couch and sits. She listens to Gemma finish the story while Kaylee’s eyes become heavy.

The stress and meds have Kaylee more tired than usual. Alma closes her own eyes as she lets her body sag against the couch. The past few days have taken a serious toll on her body. She might need a nap of her own.

“Come take a walk with me.”

Alma’s eyes snap open as Gemma peers down on her. Alma doesn’t really want to leave. She doesn’t want Kaylee to wake up alone in this hospital room. Gemma also isn’t really asking though. Alma moves up from the couch and follows Gemma out to the hall. She thinks they are going to go to the chapel. Despite Gemma never stepping foot in a church since her teen years, she knows Gemma is still a preacher’s daughter at heart. Gemma still prays and looks for guidance.

Instead Gemma takes them outside to a bench. The biker matriarch digs through her enormous leather bag and plucks a cigarette. She’s surprised it isn’t one of her medicinal cigarettes. Alma joins her at the bench silent. Gemma takes a few puffs as they watch the traffic.

“I take it Donna isn’t too happy.” Gemma surmises as she turns to look at her through her sunglasses.

“It’s a shitty situation.”

Gemma hums. “It could be worse.”

Alma knows Opie could be dead. She thinks Donna knows that too. Even then, Gemma has lived through worse with the club. She had lost both of her husbands to significant amounts of prison time. Alma had lost her own father to prison.

Alma has already lost her father and Gemma lost a husband. They know that prison is tame compared to the alternative.

“She should at least know the truth.”

Gemma flicks her cigarette. The ashes smear against the pavement. “That isn’t our place.”

Alma folds her arms around herself. “Is it bad…is it wrong that when I was there all I could think about how lucky I am that Jax didn’t get locked up.”

“No, sweetheart.” Gemma comforts. “But don’t take for granted that it could’ve been.”

Kaylee is discharged from the hospital late in the night. Jax is carrying her to her room to put her right to bed. Nathan follows his father. Alma walks into the kitchen with Kaylee's medical information. She fills a glass of water up and drinks it in a few seconds. She fills it again and downs it again. She places the cup in the sink and opens the folder. She first reads the general summary of Kaylee’s stay along with the new updated meds. She works to memorize the side effects.

But the paper she gives her full attention to is the medical bill. Kaylee will always have medical problems, which translate to bills. Sure, Jax makes more than most, but the money isn’t exactly clean and it is a process to make it something they can really use. Insurance only covers so much.

Most importantly this is a single income home. Jax works. Jax makes the money. He provides financial stability.

Jax walks back into the kitchen and stands behind her. He places his chin on her shoulder and gets a good look at what she is looking at. His arm reaches out and moves the papers. “Don’t worry about that.”

Alma turns. She looks up at her husband. She can see the stress and worry in his eyes not only from Kaylee, but the situation with Opie. They still haven’t really talked about what exactly went down.

“I could be in Donna’s position right now.” She tells him. Unlike Donna, she has no job. She wouldn’t be able to support her children. She wouldn’t know what to do. “I mean…do you even know how long Opie’s sentence is going to be?”

Jax cups her cheek. “Don’t worry about that.”

He silences her response with a kiss. She knows he needs a distraction. She lets herself become one.

5 years.

Opie was sentenced to 5 years in Chino. A six hour drive away. The judge showed no mercy on the husband and father to two small children. Alma was sure that this had been a small consolation to the government as they couldn’t connect the club to any of the charges they had tried to pin to the club for years.

But 5 years minimum, that was the plea deal. Opie wouldn’t be able to get out sooner unless there was some type of miracle. As the sentence had left the judge’s lips, she heard Clay and Jax already muttering that they needed to secure protection fast for Opie quickly.

Alma felt stupid she didn’t think far ahead that he would even need protection. Alma’s worries had been solely focused on Donna.

Despite Donna’s anger, the small brunette didn’t turn away from her support today. She had already seen how her parents were whispering in her ear. The words divorce seemed to be a favorite with her parents. Thankfully, Mary can't hide her disdain to herself about Opie’s choices. Mary may have been an absent – distant mother, but she was making it up through being a grandparent.

Alma closes the door to Donna’s room. Donna had regretfully accepted a valium to calm down and had dozed off. Alma had promised her that she would stay until tomorrow with Mary to keep an eye on the kids. Ellie being a baby doesn’t understand what is going on. Worse is the little girl won’t really know her father outside of prison visits. Kenny knows what is going on, but he doesn’t understand. Alma knows that it won’t hit the little boy until the first visit in Chino. She worries though that those visits will be far and in between. Mary had let it slip Donna had already talked to her about watching the kids more so she could pick up over time.

Alma checks on the kids, who are blissfully sleeping despite everything. She walks into the living room to find Mary folding clothes. Mary seems awfully comfortable and at home in the house.

“She sleeping?” Mary inquires.

“Yeah,” Alma replies as she stands unsure. She bends her fingers. The house is already clean. There’s nothing to really do.

“Sit down. I don’t bite.”

Alma looks at her with wide eyes, but does sit on the couch opposite from her. Even when Mary was around, Alma never was close to her like she was to Gemma or Luann. She always remembers Mary being bitter. At the time, she was too young to really understand why.

Though now, she knows Piney’s infidelities weren’t even close to a secret. Being married to a patch now, she knows it’s not easy. She knows some might say it’s weak to walk away, but she admires those you have the strength to. Alma thinks it would be easier to stay. She had been 14 when Mary had finally got her divorce after years of estrangement.

It seemed Mary didn’t look back until the birth of Kenny 6 years ago.

Mary’s hazel’s eyes scrutinize her. “You look like your mother.”

“Uhh…thanks.”

“It broke her heart when you got pregnant by Jax, no less.” Mary adds. “You were only a child. He knew better.”

Alma resists the urge to roll her eyes. She already knows her mother’s feelings about the father of her children and her relationship with him.

“Your mother and I speak from experience. Don’t dismiss our knowledge.” Mary adds. “Do you see what Donna is going through? It could’ve been you.”

“You think I don’t know that.” Alma protests.

“Just because you have children with Jax doesn’t mean you have to be with him.” Mary elaborates. “This life is just pain and suffering. Look at Donna, Luann, your mother, and hell even Gemma.”

“You only talk about this when times are bad.” Alma refutes weakly. Everyone is ready to hurdle the greatest insults when times are regrettably bloody. Yet, there is only silence when the bank account becomes heavy. When there are riches to indulge in.

Mary shakes her head. “I wanted Opie out of this, but he went running back to his father. This club will always come first to all of them. As a mother, do you think I wanted this for my son? Do you want this for your own son?”

Alma feels a ball forming in her throat. Of course she wants more for her son – children. But as a mother she can only do so much without stifling or hindering their child from being their own person. “All I know is that whatever choice my son makes I wouldn’t abandon him. I would be there to support him and guide him even when he is wrong.”

The clubhouse is quiet. They had already known what Opie’s sentence was going to be. He had taken a plea bargain. There wasn’t going to be any surprising developments. No judge was going to grant leniency. Opie was doomed from the moment he got arrested.

But there is someone Jax can lay the blame on. There is someone who should be in jail right now and not his best friend. The club hadn’t decided to make any decisions yet. They wanted to be focused on Opie. Give their full attention to his best friend and how they were going to provide protection for him in prison. How they were going to support Donna for these next five years. Yet, for Jax it took everything in his power to not kill Kyle from where he stood. The vote on what to do with Kyle wasn’t going to be until Sunday night. It was only Tuesday.

Jax takes another swing from his sweating beer bottle. He knows Alma is going to stay the night over at Donna’s and his kids are with his mom. He thinks after a few more drinks he might just make the journey over to Opie’s. He knows if the positions were reversed that Opie would be with Alma and his kids. He takes another drink of his beer and finishes it. The Prospect takes it and quickly replaces it with another one.

Jax holds the bottle as he turns around. The depressed mood doesn’t stop a party. It’s not the loud ones they are used to entertaining. But the booze, weed, and scantily clad women still roam around the room.

Nothing like losing a brother, thankfully to just prison, to make them appreciate their freedom and the overabundance of pussy.

Jax ignores the eyes wandering over his melancholy frame. Despite Alma’s constant presence and the signs of a happy and satisfying marriage, women still try to tempt him to stray into their bed. He thinks the only activity he might participate in is the ring. Since Happy came into town, he knows that the nomad won’t hold his punches either. The only thing he would have to worry about is Alma’s fretting and narrowed eyes as she scolds him about what in the hell he would explain to their kids about his owies.

Maybe he should just leave. After everything with Opie and Kaylee, he needs to be with his wife and his kids. It’s not too late and he still can stop by his mom’s before heading to be with Alma.

He swallows the rest of his beer and ignores the slight brain freeze he gets. He moves from the bar.

“You headin’ home, Jackie Boy?’ Chibs asks as he joins him on the way to the door.

“Yeah, I’m going to check on the kids then to Alma.”

Chibs grips his shoulders. “We’ll get through this, ya hear me.”

“I know.” Jax tells him with a small smile. He just needs to be strong for Ope’s family and for Opie.

Chibs smiles as they exit the clubhouse. The sun is low and in 20 minutes the streetlights will kick on. His kids are probably going to get ready for a movie and popcorn.

“Jax?”

Chibs smile falls and Jax’s body goes still. The few who lingered outside go deathly quiet as they look back and forth between Jax and the owner of the voice.

Jax makes a fist as for the first time in weeks he has looked at Kyle. He took it upon himself to bar Kyle from meetings and the clubhouse until Opie’s sentence. But now…Jax sees red.

One second Jax is standing next to Chibs and the next he has gripped Kyle by his short as he slams him onto the table.

He doesn’t register the table collapsing under their weight. How the spilt beer is creating a puddle around them.

Jax and Kyle are similar in weight and height. However, Jax is leaner while Kyle has an extra couple pounds with his bulk. They all used to work out together. Him, Kyle, and Opie spent hours in the gym together, so Jax is familiar with Kyle’s weak spots. Jax has the advantage of surprise and his fucking rage as he straddles Kyle and his hands latch onto the man’s neck and restrict his air ways.

Kyle doesn’t go for punches as he tries to pry his hands away from his neck. Jax is partially aware of the silence.

Though he feels hands on him when he notices Kyle is turning a dangerous shade of blue.

“Jackie Boy,” Chibs shouts as he manages to hook his arms underneath his shoulders. Chibs manages to loosen his hold and pulls him away for a few precious seconds.

But Chibs can’t combat the fire inside of him. Jax shakes himself loose from his hold. Kyle only has time to worry about replenishing his oxygen when Jax strikes again.

The first punch, Jax connects with Kyle’s temple.

The second punch, Jax feels his knuckles take the brunt of hitting him in the Jax.

The third punch busts Kyle’s nose.

The fourth punch has blood coating Kyle’s left eye like mascara and eyeshadow.

The fifth punch, Kyle accepts defeat.

The sixth punch, Kyle spits out blood as Chibs and Tig manage to pull Jax off him.

“It’s done!” Chibs shouts in his face.

Jax resists the urge to spit on Kyle’s prone form as he walks away to his bike.

The first month seems to be the easiest Alma thinks. The wound is too fresh to really notice what Opie’s absence feels like. Alma never really realized how much Opie was so integrated into her life. She forgot how much Opie would stop by to visit with or without Donna and the kids. Even though he had kids of his own, he played the role of doting Uncle to a T. Better yet, he was someone she could lean on when Jax would get on her nerves.

There were no more Sundays of him and Jax rotating spending the day together in one of their garages restoring a bike to sell or keep for their own sons. It’s hard to let go of him being a phone call away. The reassurance of him there is something he can’t rely on.

It’s the second month that Alma realizes she needs to find a way to fill the hole of his absence.

She doesn’t ask what happened to Kyle. She figured it out when Jax came home with bloody hands. April, Kyle’s wife of 3 years, divorced him under the guise of infidelity, but staying in Charming with the kids. She wasn’t blind to his missing picture on their mugshot wall of fame.

She tries to help Donna as much as she can or the woman will allow, but she can only try so much before she becomes angry herself. She doesn’t know how to explain to Donna that Opie’s patch has nothing to do with the help she is offering. Her wanting to help Donna has nothing to do with her obligations of being an Old Lady. She finds it best for now to let Donna simmer. She hopes maybe the fire will turn to ash at some point. Alma will still be there no matter what.

Besides, she has Jax to focus on too. She thinks he is handling it better than she anticipated, or the fact as a patch is a consequence of the life they chose. He still has his days where he will ride by himself in the glowing twilight, or in the hazy dawn of the morning.

By somehow the days glide by and it is a sticky summer day for the annual “Fun Town” festival. On top of that, her mother is in town. Her mother’s visits are not really welcomed by anyone outside of her kids. They are still young enough to not really notice the tension she brings to Jax and Gemma.

“Is Donna coming to Fun Town?” Ann asks her. Jax had taken Nathan to get his haircut before heading to the festival. Kaylee decided to tag along so she wouldn’t feel left out.

“No, most weekends she heads to her parents.”

“Such a shame,” Ann adds with a sigh. “Just to think that could’ve been you.”

Alma doesn’t reply. She begins switching her purse to a smaller one, but big enough to carry emergency items that are needed for small children.

“I can say that I didn’t think this would’ve lasted as long as it did, or maybe you are better with the out of sight out of mind.”

Alma’s spine stiffens. She knows her mom is talking about the run policy. Technically, Jax could do whatever he wanted. The boys would see no wrong as long as he isn’t on their home turf. She had no cause to complain or cause strife.

She also isn’t blind to her husband’s look or life choices before he knocked her up. Since he hit puberty Jax always had a different girl on his arm. Even when Tara had been his first serious girlfriend it didn’t stop his wandering eyes. She can recall the many times he had use that insecurity to ruffle Tara’s feathers on one of their numerous breaks.

Worse, she wasn’t even anything to Jax when they slept together that one time that got her pregnant. When she really thinks about it, Jax's sudden desire to sleep with her had to be him simply marking his territory. She had been dating Josh Collins. Her first real boyfriend, one she suspected she loved. He had been pressuring her a bit to take that final plunge. She was rightfully nervous. Being raised in the club, a reputation had been bestowed on her.

They had a terrible fight at a party. She had called Jax with tears running down her face. Of course, Jax and Josh got into a fight that only happened when Josh had accused her of already sleeping with Jax.

Jax had taken her home. He offered to stay. Her mom was gone for the weekend. Jax claimed he didn’t want to be at the clubhouse. He had been more subdue, or sad really. Tara had finally decided she was going to college far away from Charming.

It was natural to find comfort in Jax’s arms as she told him everything. How she was going to sleep with Josh for the very first time. Jax was sort of her best friend like Opie. They were her protectors. Her everything at that point.

But when Jax kissed her, he simply became more.

When it was over she felt guilty and embarrassed. She told Jax that it could never happen again. After all, technically he was with Tara still. She could never be that girl. She was only barely 16 and him being on the cusp of 18, he has a newbie patch. What she would want wouldn’t fit in what he could give her.

She pushed him away. Her and Josh broke up especially after she learned that Amanda Green had tended to his wounds.

Four months later, she was staring at jeans that couldn’t fit any more and denial burning her throat as she released her guilt in porcelain.

And sure there were bumps in the road with her relationship with Jax. She was young. She still is.

She remembers the many arguments her parents had over the other women. It wasn’t until after the birth of Nathan when she came back from her six week checkup that she set the terms with Jax. She couldn’t share him. Just because they had a son didn’t mean they needed to be together. She didn’t care about him having to soothe the scandal of him messing with a first 9’s daughter. The only daughter that was a “legacy”.

For six years she has trusted Jax, she isn’t going to let her mind unravel that now. She and Jax aren’t her parents. She’s not her mother.

“Mom, can we please not do this? Can you at least try to be civil to Jax?” Alma implores.

“How can I be civil towards him? He took advantage of you. You were 16! He knew better!”

“Mom, I could’ve said no, but I didn’t.” Alma says tired of this argument. She feels her mom brings up the same facts every time. “Besides, there is nothing in the world that would make me take back Nathan and Kaylee.”

The mention of Nathan and Kaylee cracks her mom’s righteous façade a little. “I love my grandbabies, I do, Al, but can’t you see things from my perspective? It hurts me to know you’re stuck here in this town. I worry that one day I might get a phone call about Jax going to jail or being killed.” Her mom’s breath catches in her throat. She wishes her mom could simply just ask her about the weather or hell what laundry detergent she uses. She doesn’t really want to dismiss her mother’s words. She was an old lady and it obviously changed her.

The front door opens and Nathan and Kaylee look like blurs as they run into the kitchen. Alma holds them tight as she presses kisses to their heads. Her mother watches with a sad smile.

Thankfully her mom doesn't spend her time in Charming at one of the fancy hotel franchises the Hale’s own. The Ramada is too low class for her.

Alma is fresh from the shower and has just wrapped her hair in a microfiber towel when Jax approaches from behind.

He holds her close and sways a bit. She closes her eyes as she leans back and enjoys this simple moment. She runs her fingers over the tattoo memorial of his father and of their son’s name.

“I think today went well all things considered.” She opens her eyes to find Jax nods his head. She knows that he doesn’t really agree. She turns around and folds her fingers behind his neck. “What?”

His hands find her hips as he nudges her back into the countertop and as if she weighs nothing, he places her on top. He begins to rub circles into her thighs. “You know I don’t like your mother.”

“And…”

Jax’s blue eyes burn into her whiskey ones. “I just feel like she only criticizes you. She always has something to complain about.”

“If she didn’t she wouldn’t be my mother.”

“Al…” Her husband whines.

“Jax…” She mocks.

“I’m being serious.” Jax replies as he makes his home between her thighs. She splits her legs to accommodate him as the fabric of her black short cotton robe bunches at her thighs.

“I don’t know what to say Jax.” After all, her mother saves her grievances just for her. Ann knows better than to badmouth Jax in front of the kids. Her hands find purchase in his blonde hair. She presses a kiss to his check and nose. She manages to get a smile before she meets his lips. He is at first reluctant, but as she presses her body into his and her legs lock around him, he sighs against her lips. She immediately deepens the kiss as her tongue demands entrance into his mouth.

Jax groans and she smiles as he melts into her kiss. “I love you,” she whispers against his lips.

She loves him no matter what her mother says. She loves him as the father of her children. She loves him as her husband. She loves him as the man that doesn’t complain when she needs him to paint her toenails because she is too lazy to do it. She loves him not despite his flaws but because of them.

Jax throws an extra pair of his jeans in his bag as he watches Alma pout from the bed. The run was impromptu as ATF had made a temporary home in Charming. It had Hale’s stink all over it. Hale seemed to have a little heart as he at least waited for the dust to settle on Opie’s arrest before making his move. It seemed despite the four months since the warehouse explosion it was enough evidence for the ATF to grapple onto.

Now they need to find somewhere to store their guns after the vomit inducing storage crate they were forced to do after an impromptu search. Now they were heading into Nevada to visit Uncle Jury. Usually Alma doesn’t linger or pout this much, but with her mother’s recent visit she seems to plant non-existent troubles that he needs to weed through.

He zips his bag and he plants both hands on the side of Alma’s face. She frowns and he laughs as her nose scrunches up. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Why do you have to go?” Alma presses.

“Because Uncle Jury likes me better.”

“Or he likes your money.”

Jax’s lips tug up. “Maybe.”

Alma punches him in the stomach and Jax manages to pull her tight against him. “I’m just…it’s…Nevada is Mayan territory, Jax.”

Jax feels guilty that he immediately thought Alma was worried about the brothel Uncle Jury called him that would be open to Jax. Alma never has hassled him on croweaters and the run policy since their one and only conversation after Nathan was born. She trusted him and he wasn’t stupid. He was more than satisfied with what he had at home.

“I’ll be careful.” He promises. “It’s just me and Bobby. Low profile.”

“You can’t be low profile with that kutte and bike, Jackson.” Alma remarks bitterly.

“Hey…” Jax says as he looks into her dark eyes. Alma may be moody sometimes before runs, but she usually isn’t like this. He knows she isn’t on her period as despite 6 years of marriage she isn’t comfortable with period sex. So it’s always at least a week each month they go without sex. “Something else bothering you?”

Alma pulls back from him and she falls back onto the bed. She spreads out and sighs. “Sorry.”

Jax eyes his wife’s form. She covers her eyes with her forearm, but she doesn’t elaborate. He peeks at the skin that has been exposed from her sudden movements. He smiles as he bends down and blows a raspberry against her stomach.

Alma jerks and he immediately locks her down and begins blowing more. “Jax, stop!” Alma yelps between laughter.

It isn’t long before their kids become curious as they jump on the bed. He is easily outnumbered as they work to save their mom. It isn’t long before small hands pull him down to the bed. He lies on the bed, his cheeks hurt from the laugher and smiles. As he looks at his family, their eyes sparkling, he wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

With Jax gone, Alma is left alone with the kids. Being a weekday, both of them have school. It leaves Alma with plenty of time for herself. Despite many offers to watch Ellie for Donna free of charge, Donna only takes advantage on Thursday and Friday. Being Monday, Alma finds herself with nothing to do. She feels guilty for abandoning her job search, but with everything happening to Opie it seemed that would have been the last thing anyone needed. With a clean house and no kids, Alma finds herself driving the familiar route to the clubhouse.

It’s weird to think that this structure out of brick and wood has such a significant importance to her life.

Maybe Gemma needs help, or wants to go to lunch.

She pulls into a parking spot. The lot is busy and loud from the machines. She waves to the workers. Tig whistles at her. She flips him off. She finds Gemma in the office with a stack of paperwork. Her reading glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Alma smiles as she sits on the couch. “Hey.”

“Bored?” Gemma questions.

Alma shrugs her shoulders.

Gemma chuckles. She pulls the glasses off her face. “Missing Jax?” She surmises and looks at the clock. “He isn’t around for you to give him his afternoon snack.”

Alma wrinkles her nose. “Gross. I came to see if you wanted lunch or help.”

“I could always use an extra pair of hands, or the company.” Gemma replies. “But today isn’t all that bad, but thanks for the offer. We can leave for lunch though in about 30.”

“Anytime,” Alma replies. “So have you met this ATF agent?”

Gemma shakes her head. “No, but I imagine she is going to start sniffing pretty soon. You and I will be the next target.”

“Lovely,” Alma drawls.

“I’m more worried about Donna.”

“Why?”

“You see how much she misses Opie. Probably would do anything to get him back.”

Alma doesn’t know whether to be offended for her friend or not. She knows that Donna would never do that. No matter the desperation, anger, or sorrow. “She wouldn’t…”

“This Agent is going to push and pull at her. The smallest of things could take these boys down. Opie was so worried about keeping her in this bullet it might backfire. It will backfire.”

“We shouldn’t…we shouldn’t write her off and think about her like that. If she wanted to do that…she would’ve when the charges were first coming down hard.” Alma says in defense of her friend.

Gemma doesn’t say anything. Alma knows Gemma is cynical of most things.

“You could try to be…nicer.” Alma hedges.

“Nice?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Hmm, maybe she shouldn’t stick her nose up then. She knew who Opie was. Knew where his loyalties lie.”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t born in this Gemma. You can’t deny that the first time John got locked up that he was angry and hurt.”

Gemma softens at the mention of John. Though the look is immediately washed away by her standard hardened exterior. “Still you don’t turn your back on family.” Gemma doesn’t add like Mary did and Ann did. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if Precious, Bobby’s ex-wife was on that list as well.

“Just give her time.”

“That’s like watering a dead flower,” Gemma answers before answering the garage’s business line.

Jax feels guilty that it took six months before he could visit his friend in Chino. One, he didn’t want to take away any visits from Donna. He would have gone on more trips if she was refusing to allow them to follow her. She would make the trip early in the morning to make it there by 11 am. She spent the whole duration of Opie’s visiting hours for the trip she would only take once a month. Her only day off during her workweek was Sunday as she was working overtime on Saturdays. He wasn’t sure how Donna was doing it.

But Jax kept up with his friend through phone calls and letters. After making sure Donna didn’t mind if he had this Sunday, he booked the visit after the long wait of his paperwork to be approved. He knows he plans on making a visit with his kids and Alma. He just knows that the judge had been particularly petty to sentence Opie six hours away.

Despite Rosen’s pleas, Opie has been denied transfer to Stockton. Rosen advised it would be smart to exhaust, but wait a year into his sentence to show he is a model inmate.

Jax enters the cold and stale visiting room. He scans the lot and finds his friend already sitting. A wide smile is on his face. Jax rushes over and immediately braces his friend tightly. He is taken back by the weight his friend has already lost, but he embraces his friend tightly.

“I miss ya, bro.” Jax tells him.

“Me too. Thanks for the pictures of the kids and Alma. Feels more like home.”

They both take a seat in the hard chairs. “You need anything? Money?”

“Your mom already has me covered,” Opie says with a chuckle. Jax can only imagine the smoke Opie is accumulating from poker games, or better yet the small commissary he is probably building.

“How’s art class?” Jax asks cryptically. It was their code for the Nords. It was a hard bargain brokering the deal with the wannabe Nazi’s as it came to a hard line that they wouldn’t mess with the Nords as long as they didn’t sell in Charming.

“It’s been easy. Been working on the landscape.” Opie is working on feeling them out. “The fence needs some work, but I’m happy I don’t need to paint a tool shed.” Opie hasn’t been asked to do anything to compromise his sentence. He is just the appearance of muscle.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“Actually, I might need you to talk to Rosen for me.”

Jax’s brows furrow. “For what?”

Opie scratches his black beanie. “Donna’s not happy. I don’t want to keep her tied down.”

Jax feels his mouth go dry. “Wait…you’re thinking about a divorce?”

“5 years is a long time.”

“So?”

Opie buries his face in his hands. “Can we ignore who we are for a second and look at the reality. I’m stuck here for five years minimum, that is if I can get on parole. It’s not right for me to expect her to wait.”

“Ope, people have gone through longer sentences. Christ, it’s not like you’re in here for murder or some shit.”

“But we’re not other people.” Opie replies. “I can already see the toll this is taking on her. This isn’t even about me and my feelings. This is about Donna.”

“Donna just wants you to keep your head down and come home.” Jax interjects.

“Did she actually say that?” Opie implores.

A heavy feeling settles in Jax’s guys as he imagines the type of stilted visits Opie has been enjoying for the past six months. “Ope…she’s just adjusting…”

Opie snorts. “I don’t want her to become bitter and angry because of me. I don’t want her to stay when she is unhappy. What happens when I come home?” Opie looks up at him with wide hazel eyes. “Whatever…trust…we had is broken. She’ll always been suspicious. I’ll turn her into someone she’s not.”

“Christ, Ope, it’s only been six months. See where you are a year from now. If Al –“

“Don’t tell, Alma, please just keep this between us.” Opie begs.

Jax would’ve laughed if his best friend wasn’t deadly serious. “I won’t, I promise.”

“I can already hear her screaming in my head. She would probably scalp me over the phone.” Opie jokes.

Jax chuckles. “Yeah and she would take it out on me.”

“Thank her for me. I know she is probably the only person in Donna’s corner.”

“You just can’t think negative bro. Sure Donna’s pissed, but dwelling on this isn’t going to help you through this. If Donna was really pissed she wouldn’t be making these 6 hour trips. You need to hold on to what’s good. Not let it go.”

The “Taste of Charming” festival is Gemma’s annual PR campaign. Charming has a love hate relationship with the club. They are willing to turn a blind eye to all the shit until it gets bloody. Charming doesn’t complain that it keeps the franchises out of the town. It kept everything local and contained.

Like they weren’t complaining about this year’s good will campaign was going to benefit the school’s music program.

Alma did her part and helped with the flyers, setting up, and she even let her kids used their wide innocent eyes to sell tickets for the many raffles.

However, her main focus is looking after Donna. It took her forever to even agree to come to the annual fundraisers. She knows Donna has slowly become more reclusive since Opie’s prison sentence began. She wants to tell Donna that hiding is only going to make things worse.

The only good thing is the kids are having fun.

Donna is watching the kids play with water guns when Alma joins her with a funnel cake and pop. Donna gives her a small smile as she accepts the food.

They eat in silence. It’s how it is between them now. Neither of them knows how to fill the silence if it doesn’t revolve around the kids. She hates how things are turning out between them.

“Thanks for coming out Donna.” Alma settles on.

The brunette prison widow nods her head. “There’s no point in hiding away.”

“Don –“

“It’s alright. I know how I’ve been. But thank you for being here even with the things I’ve said.”

“I know that you do the same for me.” Alma soothes as she reaches out and grabs her hand.

“But I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Donna begins. “I’ve seen April Hobart around…what happened to Kyle?”

Alma freezes. “He left.”

Donna scrunches her brows. “Left?”

“Yeah. He’s not a member and him and April got a divorced.”

“He just left though?” Donna repeats. “You can do that?”

As Donna’s wide and hopeful eyes look up at her, Alma knows her friend has hope – dangerous false hope. She needs to find a way out of this conversation. Alma goes to open her mouth to explain it is much more complicated than just leaving.

She jumps as hands enclose around her waist and she finds a kiss being planted on her head. Sandalwood, gasoline, leather, and smoke flood her senses.

“Kids know their way around a gun,” Jax jokes, but Donna does not find it funny as her face falls.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Donna mumbles as she makes a quick exit.

Alma turns to her husband and glares at him. “Really, Jax?”

He gives her a blank stare as he straddles the picnic bench and caging her slightly between his thighs. He steals some pieces of her funnel cake. “I saw her staring at April. I could tell where the conversation was going.”

“Don’t you think she should know everything?” She didn’t see the benefit of keeping Donna in the dark. She deserved to know the whole truth.

“What would the truth do? Doesn’t change that Opie still is going to rot in jail for the next five years.” Jax remarks bitterly.

“I would want the truth.” Alma interjects.

“You already have it.”

“But if I didn’t. It’s almost like you’re…” Alma stops herself before she can really say what’s on her mind.

“We’re what?”

Alma backs down. “Nothing. It doesn’t change anything anyways.”

Jax’s blue eyes soften and he pulls her into his arms. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

But it doesn’t stop her from thinking that it could’ve been him too.

Jax is grateful that his one meet for the day was with Piney’s old jarhead buddy. He had a bad feeling about the son. When it comes to selling guns, but Jax had made a hard peace with the fact the bullets of the guns aren’t doling out harmless water.

He didn’t want to think about the moral ramification of his outlaw ways. The kids would still be at school and it left him with a few hours of alone time with his wife. A lecherous smile comes across his face as he thinks about the naughty things he has planned, but stops at the couple of unfamiliar cars parked in his driveway.

He enters the house and he is immediately hit with the scent of nail polish, acetone, and his ears already ring from the high pitched squeals, which he supposes is categorized as laughter.

He walks through to the dining room near the open windows where Alma usually has her mini nail salon set up.

It’s been awhile since Alma had people over to do nails. In fact, she hasn’t mentioned how her job search was going, or if she even was still looking for a job.

He doesn’t feel like dealing with curious eyes. They are both aware of the fact most of the people that went to Alma for her nails were just curious about the state of her marriage to Jax.

Jax walks into the kitchen and goes into the fridge where the laughter seems to stop at his arrival. He turns and leans against the counter and is relieved to find that Alma is in the process of cleaning up as the woman’s hand is under some fancy drying contraption.

Eying the beach blonde stringy hair and the orange tan, he recognizes the girl as Alicia Rogan, who is drying her nails and the companion is Diane Lawrence. Both girls were on the cheerleading team in high school. Alicia had tried to give him a blow job on one of his numerous breaks with Tara in high school. She does possess a decent rack and he had heard stories about her certain skill set from rumors in school. Though he also heard about her having some problems he wasn’t looking to contract.

Diana had always turned her nose up at him.

“Well, I’ll let you two be. I can only imagine how exhausting two kids can be.” Alicia says sweetly as she passes Alma some money. “I’ll see you in two weeks. It was nice seeing you, Jax.”

Jax gives them both a tight smile as they find their own way out of the house. Jax takes a swing of his beer as he watches Alma clean up. She is wearing short jean shorts, a white wife beater, along with one of his flannels. Her brown hair is up in a very sloppy bun.

“So should I expect more strangers in the house?”

Alma rolls her eyes. “They honestly just showed up. Must be bored with their crop of gossip.”

“So we are just so entertaining?”

“You’re something to look at.” Alma retorts as she enters the kitchen and then washes her hands.

“Well this merchandise is off the market.”

“Lucky me, huh?”

Jax smiles. “So how is the job search going?”

“I think there have been more pressing matters to deal with.”

“Maybe, but you’re already doing so much, I don’t want you to forget about yourself, babe.” Jax explains as he comes up behind her.

“Its just…Donna needs my help. And maybe right now isn’t the right time.”

“If you say so.”

Alma turns around and her fingers trail over his kutte. “So are you done for the day?”

“Just me and you, babe.” Jax informs her as he grips the back of her thighs and throws her over his shoulder as he races to their bedroom.

The kids had an in-service day. Jax was working at the garage. The kids were outside running in the backyard. Jax had recently bought them a trampoline and as it was new they were spending every second outside jumping on it.

Alma is inside making them a simple lunch of a sandwich, chips, and apples and peanut butter. She has just grabbed the some juice boxes when a knock comes from the door. Opening it she finds a tall scrawny blonde in a pantsuit and blonde hair staring at her with an amused smile.

“Can I help you?” Alma greets. She has a feeling she knows who this woman is.

“Mrs. Teller, I’m Agent Stahl, A.T.F.” The woman shows her badge. “May I come in?”

“You got a warrant?”

Stahl raises an eyebrow. “I just have a few questions. I’m not here for anything more.”

Alma clenches her jaw, but opens the door wider. She leads the agent to the small kitchen table. “Wait, here.” She orders.

Alma goes to the sliding door and calls for her kids that its time for lunch. She directs them to the living room and allows them to eat while watching TV, something she doesn’t normally do. It’s enough to distract them though that they don’t pay attention to the fed lingering in the kitchen.

“Cute kids.” Stahl comments. “I think your son thinks like your father.”

Alma scowls. “You said you had some questions.”

“Do you know any illegal activity that your husband, Jax Teller, or the Sons of Anarchy are involved in?”

“No.”

“What about your husband’s whereabouts yesterday morning?”

“He was here, at the garage, and came back. There were no kids home so it was just us.”

“Well that was easy.” Stahl says as she hikes her purse up her shoulder.

“What are you even looking for?”

“You know I seen your friend Donna. I can tell Opie Winston’s prison sentence is taking a very hard toll. You have two beautiful children, you’re young. I hope your children don’t know what it's like to lose a father from prison or a bullet. I know you know how that feels.“

“I think you should go. I already answered your questions.”

“Right. I imagine we’ll be seeing each other again.”

Alma follows Stahl all the way to do the door. She waits until the woman’s government issued car is down the block before she goes to her computer and loads up the Charming Gazette. The top story of the day is of a prison van escort being ambushed by men with guns. A cop was killed in the attack.

Jax stubs his cigarette in the ashtray as he sits next to Clay in the Pub. It’s the local Irish spot where they meet their contact from the IRA. Jax thinks it’s a little on the nose, but it’s only a meet. They don’t exchange anything outside of words and some cash. There isn’t anything to connect what the money could be exchanged for.

“You alright, son?”

Jax’s blue eyes flicker over to Clay’s. “He’s late.”

Clay nods his head. Jax can see the tension in his stepfather’s shoulders. It seems hit after hit keeps coming from the warehouse explosion, Opie’s prison sentence, and the prison transport van being attacked. Thankfully, there was nothing to connect them to being the providers of the gun. It was only hearsay that had the Feds flashing their badges all over town. He was peeved to find out that Stahl had the nerve to go to his home when the kids were there. He knows that was a calculated move.

Still, the high profile of the case had made it hard for them to sell the remaining guns. Despite Piney’s vocal protests because of military bonds they had no choice but to get rid of the right wing militia.

Clay’s eyes flicker to the door where Tig is at the bar keeping watch. Tig seems uneasy too. The door swings open and a blading skinny man walks through. The bartender nods at him and motions towards him and Clay.

Jax sits up straighter as the man comes to their table. Tig immediately stops him. The bartender intervenes, seemingly vouching for the man. Tig eyes them skeptically. He makes the man wait as Tig comes over.

“Cameron Hayes, Michael’s cousin. With the cause. Doesn’t come stateside much.” Tig informs them.

Clay nods and Cam Hayes walks over. “Where’s McKeevy?” Clay asks before the man can even take a seat.

“He's dead.”

“Jesus.” Jax says. He wonders how come they haven’t heard anything on it. Though maybe this news is something that needs to come in person.

“How?” Clay ponders.

Cam Hayes eyes narrow. “The Oakland park commissioner threatened to bust open... a shipment we got coming in on Monday. Wants to triple his payoff money. Hefner. Greedy prick.” The man snarls. “Been riding roughshod over the ports for years. Michael was pissed. Went off on him for changing the deal. Must have spooked Hefner. He had his port goons jump Michael. They beat him, broke his neck. Left him for dead.”

“Sorry. That's awful shit, man. Condolences.” Jax replies.

“Thank you.” Cam says gratefully.

Clay tilts his head. “Anything we can do to help with this?”

“No. No, it's personal.” Cam answers. “I'll handle Mr. Hefner.” Cam sits up straighter. He turns serious as he begins to discuss their business. “Michael spoke very highly of SAMCRO. Trusted you. Hope to be able to continue the relationship. That's why I'm here. I'll be your new contact.”

Clay grimaces. “I mean no disrespect. I'm sure everything you're saying is the truth-“

Cam nods his head understanding. “No, no. Wish we had a secret handshake or business card.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a photo. It shows Cam along with Mckeevy and other people wielding guns. Jax spots Jimmy O and Keith McGee, the Belfast president. It seems to be enough for Clay.

Tig picks up the black bag from the floor. “That's the package there that we were delivering to McKeevy. Two months, and a month insurance, 200 K."

“Mind if I take a quick count?”

“I got all night, brother.”

“Thank you.” Cam says as he moves to another table.

“Shit,” Clay mutters.

“You think that is why ATF came down too. Hoping to catch Hayes?” Jax wonders.

“Could be. We’re going to have to be really careful.”

Jax fights the urge to snort. They always have to be careful.

Cam comes back to their table with the duffle bag. “ Lovely. This will float the cause, keep SAMCRO and us in business. Glad we could work it out, Clay.”

“Me too, Cameron.” Clay exclaims as they shake hands. “How is, uh, the cause going?”

“Like any good war- slow and steady.” The Irishman tells them.

Clay grabs the untouched shot on the table and they all do the same. “Michael McKeevy. Good soldier, good friend. To a unified Ireland.”

They are unprepared as the glass around them explodes.

Jax sits in the chapel as they grimly go over last night's attack. Luckily no one was killed, but Cameron Hayes had walked away with a bullet to the ass. Someone Chibs was able to remove the slug and stick the man up, but Cameron wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. There was also the fact; Cameron had been mumbling about handling Hefner and the club had agreed to do it. Their payment would be refunded if they could.

Still with Mayans deciding to do such a violent attack only meant they had to go to war. It was going to be Bloody ’92 all over again.

Clay is about to dismiss church after all agrees to summing all the Presidents and Vice Presidents to Charming.

“Before we go, I need to say something.” Piney says gruffly. “If we are going into a war, we need someone better at our President’s side. Let’s face it, I’m getting old and this oxygen tank is slowing me down. I’m stepping down as VP and I’m nominating Jax to take my place.”

Jax is still in a slight stupor from Piney’s announcement. There is a smile on his face, but this is a big change. He walks into his former dorm room. His kids are tucked under the covers sleeping. With the Mayans attacking it meant all of them were in lockdown. He begins to remove his shoes, kutte, and jewelry when the bathroom door opens. Alma is highlighted by the bathroom light in his oversized SAMCRO shirt.

“Hey.” Alma whispers.

“Hey back,” Jax replies. He watches as Alma lingers by the door. “Everything okay?”

“You first.”

Jax steps out of his jeans and walks to his wife. He brings her into a hug. “For now. Tomorrow we’ll really know. It’s going to be busy with all the number ones and twos coming. But Piney nominated me to be Vice President.”

Alma reels back. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jax says with a dopey smile.

Alma wraps her arms around his neck and attacks him with kisses all over his face. “I’m so happy for you Jax.”

“Thanks, babe. So you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Alma purses her lips and she tugs him into the bathroom. She points at the small stick resting on the counter.

“I’m pregnant.”

#soa #soa fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfiction #jax teller x oc #jax teller #sons of anarchy

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darkredehmption · 5 years ago

Text

Workout

*~*~*~*~*

Malachi:

I felt tested, and I liked it.

There was something to be said for training with vampires. A lifetime of training with humans, hunters, had certainly made me strong, fast, and able to face the nasties in the night, but it hadn’t always challenged me.

Not like this.

A couple weeks of living in the manse, and every day I’d trained with one of the Brothers, or their trainees. I sensed the flicker of resentment from the trainees at my late arrival yet early inclusion with the warriors. After a few rounds of ‘me’ putting ‘them’ on their backs though, it faded. I had the skill to step up - I didn’t need to be taught how to use a weapon, explosives, or anything else the Brothers might throw at me. I just had to learn how to work with them. Know their movements, their patterns, and react accordingly.

That’s what this was.

I dodged another fist from Butch, twisting as I did to catch it and flip him over my shoulder. He grunted as he hit the mat, but before I could deliver another punch to take him out of this round Vishous was there. His cold diamond eyes let me know that touching Butch meant he’d break something important of mine, so I darted back, evading his swings. Then Zsadist was there, countering his Brothers’ moves to create a buffer. I went for Cop again, but the male was already up and moving away, backing Vishous up. Zsadist leapt back to my side.

The scent of the male, the fluid twist and movements of his body, threatened to distract me, even as I wrenched my mind away from how glorious he looked naked. There was a part of me that wondered if that was the point of this session; being able to divorce my affection for the male to do the job. These two Brothers weren’t stupid; by now, they had to have an inclination that Zsadist and I were well and truly entangled.

“Switch.”

The command came from Butch, and just like that, I twisted and lunged for Zsadist. Now Butch was my ally, and Zsadist my opponent with Vishous. Butch caught V’s hand as it shot toward me and the pair engaged. I caught Zsadist around the waist and lifted to take him off his feet, but my male was no push over. He wrapped his legs around my waist and threw his weight back, ruining my own balance and sending us both to the floor. He flipped us, and I struggled to wriggle free even as his hands grappled to create a lock. I found a nerve in his leg and jabbed it to get him to let go.

Zsadist:

[The angel was great in training. Not that I doubted him for a second. More so I was relieved that we wouldn’t have to go through all the steps as if we had a trainee on our hands. Weeks had gone by with the male in the mansion and I had to say it was nice. I mean we trained with all the Brothers then snuck up to my room for more make out sessions. The angel liked those and so did I. Phury was right though. The others were definitely catching on. I just feel like they looked at me in a different way. Hell maybe I’m reading way too much into it.

Pulling away from my thoughts as I feel a blow to my side. Looking up at Vishous who couldn’t help but give the angel a look every now and then. It wasn’t a “I’m checking you out” look. Which was good because I didn’t feel like getting all growly. No, it was more of a you better watch where you touch my roommate. Which had me thinking. Was V just protected over his best friend or was I missing something else? Another hit came my way but luckily I blocked it, ending up right beside the angel. Then I heard Butch telling us to switch. Lifting my head to see a hint of a smirk on his face. Oh yeah something was up. Nevertheless I leaped into action on full attack mode.

Before I could do anything the male instantly went for my waist, trying his hardest to pull be down. Though I don’t budge. Instead I locked my legs around him and pulled us onto the floor. Letting out a grunt as my back hit the mats, quickly moving to get on top of him. My hands pinned his wrist down, but when I pulled one back to give him a hit I got one to my leg. Gritting my teeth as I jerk in my hold giving him a chance to break free. My golden eyes narrow and my fangs elongate slowly, though I do my best to not show them off.

Quickly I get up and lunges forward again. Only this time we throw punches together and are completely in sync with each other. I swore it was like you were watching two people dance. Every hit I threw he blocked and vice versa. Finally I get one in, knocking his head back as my fist connected with his jaw. I didn’t hit him too hard though. Wasn’t trying to knock him out just more back him off. He pays me back with one which just makes me want to slam him against that wall and do all the naughty things to him. Placing my hands on my hips as I pant and shake those thoughts from my head. Come on Z not now. Not here.]

That was good. Fuck that was really good. [I give a fangy grin then looks up to see Vishous and Butch wide eyed staring. Shit. Did I do something inappropriate? Raising a brow I watch as the Brothers compose themselves. Vishous lights a hand rolled, cause it was clearly break time, while Butch chuckles and takes a sip of his water. “You guys...fight well together. That was epic to watch.” I lift my shoulders in a shrug before gazing over at the angel. What I wouldn’t do to have us alone right now.]

Mal:

Zsadist never held back, short of knocking me out, and I was grateful for that. I paid him the same courtesy; my punches were designed to hurt, stopping shy of incapacitating, and we moved like we’d been fighting together, or against each other, for decades, not days. The harmony of the moment was enough to make the world fade to the background, if only slightly. After all, the whole point of this exercise was to be aware of your surroundings. Your opponents. Your allies.

As he complimented me I grinned, then glanced sideways as the other male’s watched us. After a beat I straightened from my half crouch, noting Vishous calling break time by pulling out a hand rolled. Nodding to Butch at his words, I offer a lopsided shrug and a rueful grin.

“I’ve trained with a lot of different people. Maybe that helps,” I offer, trying to downplay it. Not to mention ignore the vibe I was getting from Zsadist. If it had just been the pair of us, there was every chance we’d have been fighting naked and I’d already be pounded into the wall.

“This is the first time I’ve trained with this kind of directive,” I continue, folding my arms as I look to Butch. “Shifting partners, or allies. But it makes sense. In the field, anything could separate you from your partner, and adjusting to back up or a new foe is important.”

The former Cop nodded his agreement.

“If this life has taught me anything so far it’s that ‘everything’ can turn shit side up real fuckin’ quick. Better to be ready for that.”

“I know plenty of hunters that would agree with you. Myself included.”

I glanced over at Zsadist as Butch looked to Vishous and murmured something low. I gave my male a wink, then turned my attention back to the other Brothers.

“Speaking of your hunter pals, maybe it’s time you n’ me have a chat about all that,” Butch said, a little louder as he looked from Vishous to me.

I couldn’t help it. I tensed.

My mahmen’s words darted through my head again; that I had to warn them about me.

But it was too soon…

“A… chat?”

My eyes went to Zsadist again. I had to wonder if he could identify everything in that glance; my uncertainty. The bolt of fear.

Zsadist:

[Of course. A chat. It was a chat I had with many trainees before. Was almost like a mental check to make sure everything was good up there in his head. See distractions can cause someone to go hurt. So we made sure we got all problems and any issues out of the way before someone goes out on the field. It also was a good chance to get to know the trainee better. Find out about their home life and what not. I mean even though I’ve been spending a lot of time with the male doesn’t mean I actually know a lot about him. Hell he could have a whole bag of issues like me. Then again I don’t think anyone had the amount of baggage I had.

Grunting as I move to grab two water bottles. Handing one off to the angel I can’t help but twitch as I feel that spark between us when we touch. Damn. Always gets me. I try to give him a reassuring look. The male looked a little spooked when Butch mentioned about having a chat with him. Gazing over at the cop before speaking up.]

Is that something you wanna do here? Hell how comfortable would you be if three Brothers all stood around asking questions. I mean...I can always chat with him.

[Butch looks at V then back at me. “Hey...you spent enough time with him. I mean he’s part of the team now and I think he should get to know us all. So maybe it would be good if Vishous or I had a chat with him.” Grunting loudly before I take a few swigs of my water.]

Yeah sure. Fine. Go ahead Butch. Chat him up. [Like hell I was going to have Vishous do the interview. He could be a little easier to talk to than V. Fuck why was I so protective over him. Oh right cause MINE. Shakes there thoughts from my head before I move over to Vishous.]

Wanna continue? [V smirks wide around his hand rolled and gives a nod. “Fuck yeah I do.” Good. Maybe while we fought a bit Butch and Mal could have some space to talk. Though the thought of leaving the angel alone didn’t sit right with me. Not that I didn’t trust cop. I trusted all my Brothers. I was just greedy as fuck and wanted him all to myself.]

Mal:

Accepting the water bottle with a grateful nod, I force myself not to react as a spark leaps between our fingers. Meeting that golden gaze, I cracked the lid and took a sip, relieved at the reassuring light in his eyes. At his question, I wanted to nod like a bobble head on crack, but instead I simply let my own eyes go between the Brothers, waiting.

Well, if it couldn’t be Z, at least it wasn’t Vishous. Something about the male’s diamond gaze made me feel like he was seeing beneath my skin, to my very soul. Unsettling when you think how many secrets that soul carried.

As the Brothers resumed their fight I followed Butch away from the battle, half watching out of the corner of my eye, right until we were at the door and out into the hall.

“You look nervous.”

Drinking from the bottle to give myself a beat to consider my response, I shrugged, wiping my mouth as I put the cap back on.

“Never really been the sharing n’ caring sort. Not like professional hunters sit down for job interviews or to chat about their feelings,” I point out, tone mild as I stepped through the door the former Cop was holding open, into an office space. After our no holds bar fight in the gym, the space seemed too small for our energy, but somehow we fit.

“Professional hunters…” Butch repeated, taking a seat and kicking back in the chair. “What’s that like? I mean, a couple years ago I’d have said you were crazy and checked your asylum release papers,” he added ruefully, then gestured to himself. “But now… I’m half a vampire, so I can’t really talk.”

Looking at the bottle in my lap, I thought about the question. A glib response was always on the tip of my tongue, but I had the feeling that wasn’t going to fly right now. These males needed to know I was the calibre of person that could have their back every day and every night.

“It’s quiet a lot of the time. Lonely. Most of the time you’re on the road by yourself, motels and back roads and bars in the middle of nowhere,” I admit, rubbing at the back of my head as I think of every night I lay in some flea bitten motel bed staring at the ceiling and considering if this was really my life. “The things we hunt though… the lives we save…” I glanced up, a small, rueful grin on my face. “It does make it worth it.”

“What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever hunted?” he asked curiously, leaning forward and bracing on the desk.

“Every ‘thing’ has its… issues,” I admit. “Some poltergeists are nasty bastards linked to items or places that went through something dark. Angry spirits might’ve died a violent death and you can’t find their bones to salt and burn them. Fuck, a wendigo moves faster than just about anything on two legs and you’re as much a meal as a threat to them,” I mutter, shaking my head. “It just… depends.”

I looked up, only to find Cop staring at me with a wide eyed, ‘wtf’ kinda expression. I gave a lopsided grin and shrugged.

Zsadist:

[When Cop and Mal walk off I turn my attention toward Vishous who was busy putting out his blunt. He turns to face me and lowers into a crouch. I mimic him, my eyes lowered as they watched his every move. Suddenly he darts towards me and I’m ready for the attack. Dodging the fist he threw at me only to give him a good jab to his side. Though it didn’t faze him and he comes right back at me. One hand grabs ahold of my shoulder as he tries to take me down. Lifting my knee to break us up but he’s resistant.

Struggling in his hold until we end up on the floor. The wind gets knocked out of me as I fall flat on my back. Fangs bared in a growl as I quickly reached up to block his next hit. Giving him one square in the jaw, watching as he snarls at me. This is why I loved to fight with Vishous. He was just as intense as the real thing which was good practice and he wasn’t afraid to get a little bloody.

We rolled on the mats, my legs moving up to wrap around his waist, pushing my body up so I can get him in a headlock. When I manage to I smirk, waiting for him to tap out. But he doesn’t. Instead the fucker managed to get a hit in to my side. And fuuuuuck me it was a hard one. Did he just crack a rib? I felt like my side was on fire and I couldn’t help but drop my arms from him. Feeling his hands shove at my shoulders to pin me down. “Give?” His diamond eyes sparkled as he looked down at me. But no way was I giving. Never. Slamming my head forward to smack against his own. Watching as his head snaps back and he tries to focus. It hurt but not as bad as he was hurting right now.

As he is trying to recover I take my moment to lunge towards him again. This time I had him flat on his back. One hand at his throat as I bare my fangs once more. He smirks, a little blood dripping from his lip as he barely gets out. “Kinky Z. What’s next? Gonna tie me up?” Rolling my golden eyes before I push off of him and flops back onto the mat. Closing my eyes as I murmur.]

You killed me with that hit to the side. Luckily I just fed…[Vishous rubbed at his eyes before lighting another hand rolled. Listening to the sound of his bic flicking. Then all I smelled was that Turkish tobacco he loved so much. “Oh yeah? Little angel blood?” My eyes flash open and a growl forms in my chest.]

Fuck you. You don’t know what you’re talking about. [I hear a chuckle. “Oh I don’t? Then why do I smell him on you?” Point taken. Guess Phury was right. They would find out soon enough.] It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’ve just been helping him get acquainted is all. [Vishous laughs again then I lift my head to watch him shrug. “Fine. Then I guess you won’t mind if I invite him over the pit later for a little fun.” My fangs come out again as I let out a powerful growl that echoes in the gym.

Quickly I move up only to knock the Brother back down again. He nearly chokes on the blunt between his lips. Watching as he tries to talk around it. “Will you fucking relax? I was testing you and it clearly worked.” I loosen my hold and he removes the blunt. “But damn I smell a whole lot of bonded male coming from you and all I can say is hallelujah.” Snorting as I push him back as I get up, my hand moving to rub at my side that was still sore.]

It’s not what you think. Hell I don’t know what it is. I can’t explain it. [Vishous gets up and shrugs. “Don’t try to explain it just let it happen and see where the fuck it goes. Hell...you with a male. That’s interesting as fuck. Did not expect that one. Question. Who’s top and who’s bottom?” I blink then looks dumbfounded.] Who and what? [V laughs and slaps a hand to his knee. “Fuck man! You are too easy sometimes.” He clears his throat still chuckling. “You take him or does he take you?” Another growl forms in my chest.] WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ASKING ME THAT FOR? [Giving him a hard shove hearing him mumble “He’d make a good top with those wings.” Scrubbing my hands over my skull trim as I shake my head at the Brother.] Sick.

Mal:

“Alright, so you hunt whatever kills the innocent. I definitely get that. Probably came across a few cases like that when I was a cop,” Butch muttered, nodding his head. “The unsolved, didn’t make sense kind, right?”

I winced but nodded.

“Pretty much. If it registered on your ‘the fuck is this shit’ meter, then it was probably more my kind of gig than yours. But if I try telling that to you guys…”

“We write you off as a loony toon,” he nodded, looking almost sheepish about it too, bless him. “You go through that a lot?”

Huh. Hadn’t thought about that. Now it was my turn to look sheepish.

“Actually… yeah. I’ve run into my fair share of cops that think I’m coo-coo for cocoa puffs. Which, maybe I should’ve mentioned before… but… I’m wanted by the law in a few states. Y’know, awkward moments of finding me over dead bodies and trying to explain it as hunting spirits and them not believing a word of it kinda thing?”

Butch actually snorted, flipping open his notepad and scribbling something down.

“I’ll have Vishous take a look. See if we can’t get you removed from them.”

“Even FBI ones?”

He stopped writing, pen mid word, and looked up.

“…FBI. Seriously?” I shrugged, scratching the back of my head awkwardly. He sighed and kept writing. “Alright. Not sure about the Federal Bureau but V will do what he can. Now, another thing…”

He set the pen down as I leant forward, my readiness to answer more questions encouraged by the idea I might no longer be a wanted man in several states.

“…are you sleeping with Zsadist?”

I didn’t miss a beat.

“Yeah. Why?”

Butch didn’t flinch either.

“That’ll complicate things on rotation.”

“Y’think so?”

Butch leant back in his chair, folding his arms as he gave me the once over. Like I’d changed in the last five minutes of talking to him.

“I know you’re like me. Only half. I get it. We don’t have all the same ticks the other Brothers do. But being out on rotation with your bonded mate is asking for trouble.”

“Woah, woah,” I held up a hand as I got to my feet, staring at him from across the desk, “‘bonded mate’? I wouldn’t take it that far.”

My heart back flipped. Bonded mates… seriously? Was that… was that what we were?

“No? Well, fact of the matter remains, we don’t pair up romantic partners out in the field. We don’t want to compromise each other. Even Qhuinn and Blay are put on separate pairings from each other,” he added, referencing the only other male/male couple I knew of in the manse that also fought.

Bracing my hands on the desk, I gave the male a sunny smile.

“I’m a professional, Butch. As in, I tend to not let anything get in the way of getting the job done. Even living.” I arched a brow, a not so subtle reference to my taking a bullet, or two, to protect the Chosen and the Brothers out that night. Even if my main motivation had been protecting Zsadist… “So… pair me with whoever you like. But it doesn’t matter who I fight with, I’ll still get the job done.”

Zsadist:

[Vishous lights another blunt. Silent for a moment as he takes a few hits before speaking again. “Look. On a serious note I couldn’t be happier for you. I see a change in you Z. Yes you’ve already changed dramatically prior to the angel, with the golden eyes and eating right and what not. But now I actually see some light in those peepers of yours. You got this aura around you. Seem to be more relaxed. And I can’t help but hear that you definitely have a clear head on your shoulders. Normally your thoughts are very dark.”

My head lifts. Great. He knew all about the demons in my head. Watching as he waves a gloved hand. “Don’t be embarrassed, you should hear what’s in my head at times.” His face softened which was different to see on him. “But recently...it’s all good thoughts, and good vibes. Except when you then doubt it all and think you aren’t worthy.” He snorts. I rolled my eyes.]

Alright, enough...I don’t need the replay of what I’m thinking about. Barely can escape my own mind. [Taking in a deep breath as scrub a hand over my skull trim.] As for me being worthy...fuck. I know I’m gonna mess this shit up. Somehow he’s gonna get a taste of my fucked up past and run away in the other direction. [The Brother raises both brows, smoke curling at his lips as he speaks. “Okay and if he does then fuck him. Clearly it wasn't worth it if he thinks so little of you. Hell he disses you for your past then you send him to me.” V cracked his neck to make a point. I couldn’t help but let out a low laugh.]

Alright. Calm your ass. There will be no beating up the angel. [Bites back the growl in my chest that threatened to escape. Damn. I needed to get a control on this bonded male shit. Smirking as I change the subject.] You got a little blood on your lip. [He snorts then gives me a smirk back. “Yeah? How’s the rib?” I snorted loudly then gave my side a pat even though it hurt like hell.] Just fine. [The Brother laughs loudly as he flicks some ash on the floor. “You’re a fucking liar.” Making a face at him before I polish off my water bottle.]

The fuck is taking them so long? Hope Butch is going easy on him. [V nods as he moves towards the weights. “Relax. He may be an ex cop but he’ll go easy on the male. Hell...should have had me talk to him.” He waggles his brows as he sits on a bench. I narrow my eyes.] That is exactly why I offered Butch to talk to him, not you. [I move over to spot the Brother when he lays back and reaches for the barbell. V smirks and starts to lift it, grunting out. “Yeah, yeah. Knew that one.”]

Mal:

Butch stared at me for a beat, then sighed and nodded, getting to his feet to match me. I pushed away from the table, straightening and fighting the impulse to fold my arms like I had any need to be defensive. I didn’t. And he hadn’t asked me about my dual nature. Not really. So I had that going for me.

“Alright, well, y’know if you ever need to talk or unburden or whatever, I’m here, right?”

Inclining my head, I accepted that at face value. Hunters weren’t the sharing and caring sort though, and I wasn’t about to break the mold. Not with that.

“Yeah, ‘preciate it.” I moved toward the door, grabbing the handle as he spoke again.

“Oh, and one more thing?”

I glanced back, arching a brow.

“Zsadist is a male of worth. And he’s been through more than enough in one lifetime. So while Phury might not say it, Vishous and I have no problem letting you know…” He paused, then gave a smile that was pure ‘I’m the good cop now, but I can be the bad cop any time’. “...you fuck with that male, and we’ll make your poltergeists look like a play date. Feel me?”

I grinned.

“You really channelled Vishous right then, y’know that, right? N’ I feel you. I didn’t come here to… to make Z’s life harder. I’m hoping I make it better,” I admit quietly. “That’s all we can ever hope for the people we care about.”

Butch reagrded me carefully, then nodded. Without another word we walked out, back into the hall, down it, and into the gym. The males inside were no longer fighting, but judging by the fresh scent of blood, they’d at least wounded each other in an effort to distract themselves. I tried not to shoot Vishous a filthy look as I noted Z was half holding one side. Like something hurt. Or was broken.

“You ladies have fun?”

Zsadist:

[Nallum. The word just popped into my head and I’m glad as fuck I didn’t speak it out loud. Turning my head slightly to see if V picked up on it. He was too busy looking at Cop. Figures. I help the Brother lift the barbell, watching as he gave the two a smirk. “Oh yeah, loads.” He winks at me then gets up. “I’ll be in the pit.”

I watched as V moved to exit. He pauses in front of the angel and just stares at him for a heartbeat before heading out. Butch salutes us then follows Vishous out like a lost puppy. I swore those two did everything together. Snorting before I removed my hand from my side and walked over to the angel.

Grabbing ahold of his hips, tugging him against me for a kiss. Yeah I was getting a little more ballsy with doing it in the manse. But let’s be real. So far already three Brothers knew and that’s not to say the others didn’t as well. My hands shifted to roam over his back. Wishing his wings were out. Then again I’d rather only I get the pleasure of seeing them and if someone walked in I wouldn’t be too happy. Pulling back so my eyes can search his own.]

How did the talk go? If he said anything to hurt you I’ll fucking kill him. [Growls to make a point before lifting one of my hands to rest at his cheek. He was only gone for ten minutes and I already missed him. Yep. I was fucked.]

Mal:

The kiss had me grinning, not least of all because the vampire did it with such ease - like he’d been doing it for years. With his hand stroking my back I felt almost relaxed.

“Talk was fine,” I soothed, somewhat amused by the male’s possessive streak. If not a little enamored. “It’s ‘Butch’. I may not have been here that long, but I know that the Cop isn’t that kind of a dick,” I point out ruefully. “He just wanted to know about hunting. About the kind of life a hunter leads. That sort of shit.”

Glancing down, I put a gentle hand to what I now figured was a broken rib. Looking up through my lashes, I arched a brow.

“Vishous broke a rib?”

My eyes flashed white. I knew they had by the faint thrum of divine power that rippled through me. My skin stretched at my back, but my wings didn’t emerge - I was getting better at containing them around Zsadist. The male, thus far, had been quite good at ruining my defenses with his golden eyes, small smiles and light touches.

Zsadist:

[Watching as his eyes turn from brown to white. Holding back a wince as he touches my sore side, giving a nod.] Yeah. Nothing major and not the first time. I got a good hit in and had him pinned in the end.

[Winks before leaning in for another kiss. I could tell he was tense. The same tense I was not too long ago when Vishous was asking too many questions. Soon though I felt him relax against me. I guess my kisses were working. My hand lifts to cup his cheek as I pull back, lips twitching slightly.]

I think we are good to leave now. I mean… [Smirks as I head for the door.] I’m going up to my room...I suppose you are going to your own now. Yes?

[Turning my head so I don’t laugh as I tease the fuck out of the angel. Quickly I exit the gym and dart down the hallway. When I hear the door open I slow down in my steps so he wouldn’t catch me practically running through the tunnels like an idiot. I had to be about halfway down by now. Though I didn’t turn around. Instead I pretend like I was just going to head up to my room without him. Like I would ever. Fuck if everyone knew about us we probably could just get rid of his room all together.]

#SLS

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indigosees · 6 years ago

Text

Secret Pumpkin~

Had the honor of making a secret pumpkin for @v-dcc for the event we held in the server at @mm-discord. Fic is after the cut~

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Ship: Platonic JuminxV Theme: Halloween

Another day, another pile of paperwork. Jumin sighed softly as he placed a file to the “done” pile. In three minutes and twenty Assistant Kang should come knocking at the door to pick the signed files up. He placed his pen neatly down the table, exactly 38.7 centimeters from the right edge of the desk. It was the perfect placement as it allows him to get the pen at 0.18 seconds faster than it was at 38.6 centimeters and 0.12 seconds faster than at 38.5 centimeters. It must be due to how his arm is usually positioned on the desk, which is important to consider since it is the relative distance. He took out his phone to check for messages and found zero notifications—a little disheartening as he was hoping to hear from V after not having talked to him for more than a week now. V has told him that he was going to fly overseas again for a project, so it will take him a week to be back. Although he’s used to V not being around often because of his work, Jumin couldn’t help but feel a little less enthusiastic about his days. He would always appreciate wine nights with him, talking about whatever crossed their minds. No matter. V should arrive soon enough, with tales from his adventures. Then that meant he should be ready to receive him. When he gets home, he will pick out from his collection one of his best wines and then order the best snack pairing for it. Although V doesn’t really snack much, it is courtesy to at least leave some for the guests, no matter who they are.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. ‘It must be Assistant Kang’. Checking his watch, she was… two minutes late. ‘Hm. This is unusual.‘ She better has a reason for being late. The door swung open to reveal the brunette, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. Jumin waited for her to explain, slightly wondering himself why she is wearing such an expression.

“Mr. Han,” Jaehee said. “V is in the lobby. He said he wanted to see you.”

Jumin’s features lit up. V? He’s here? Why didn’t he message him first? Suddenly remembering that he has work, he nodded at her. “I’ve finished signing these documents. I will meet with V shortly.” He stood up from his seat, sliding his phone in his pocket.

“But you have a meeting in a couple minutes, Mr. Han,” She proceeded to take the pile of folders and paper work on Jumnin’s desk. “I can tell V to return in the evening, when you’re most free.”

“No need, I’m sure our meeting won’t take long.” Jumin walked out of his office and took the elevator ride down. It felt a little longer than usual, even if it barely stopped at any floor. He counted that it only stopped twice, which meant that the it shouldn’t have taken him so much time to get down. ‘Weird,’ He thought. ‘Then again, time is relative.’

A soft ding signaled that he has reached the ground floor. He strode out of the elevator, his steps seemingly quicker than usual. He couldn’t afford to waste time—there is a meeting in a couple minutes and it will be rude to be late for it. He wanted to see V, however. And usually, V comes up to his office if he has anything important to say. Why stay in the lobby now? He shrugged the thought off. He will find out when they see each other soon.

It didn’t take him long to reach the lobby and see V. His mint-colored hair has always stood out from the crowd. It was admittedly a unique color, one that most often than not earned him stares whenever he was out. It suited him, though. Although it remains a puzzle to him how such hair color came to be.

“V, you’re—” Jumin was about to greet V when he realized that V was wearing… a costume? He raised his eyebrow at V. He was wearing what seems to be an animal suit of sorts. Was it called a onesie? He was dumbfounded, unsure of how to react.

“Jumin,” V stood up from the sofa and turned to Jumin, his lips pulled to a smile. “You’re here. Happy Halloween!” He was beaming, and Jumin stood paralyzed in confusion as he tried to understand the situation. ‘Halloween? Is this what this is?’

“Let’s go trick or treating.” V showed him an orange plastic container that resembles a pumpkin and has a face drawn on it. It had nothing inside.

Jumin stared at V for a full five seconds, his lips slightly parted in surprise. He closed his eyes and took a short exhale. “V, you do realize I have work today right?” he crossed his arms, exhaling again. “And these are for children.”

“But we are children, Jumin,” V smiled brightly. “And we should make the most out of the opportunity to have fun together.”

Jumin’s brows knit together. 'Children? What ever does he—’ He looked around to check and saw that he was back in his old mansion. It was as he remembered it. Elegant wooden furniture and glass chandeliers hanging in the high ceiling. Lavish carpets, heavy drapery—his house had made their wealth apparent. He returned to V with wide eyes, who was now standing in their front door, a carefree smile in his face. They were both young again.

“Let’s go, Jumin,” V turned and went down the steps of their porch. “We might run out of the good candy.”

Jumin huffed, his lips pulled to one side. He followed the mint-haired boy and left the front door. “Why do we have to do this? We could easily buy the candies we wanted.”

“I figured we should experience this at least once.” He was leading Jumin down the streets of their neighborhood. The moonlight shone down on them, and the fluorescent glow from the lamps lit their path. They came across other groups of children in costumes, their loot bags equally empty. They left their homes just in time.

They stopped in front of a simple house. It had modest decorations, obviously bought from dollar stores--or at least, the Korean equivalent of it. Looking at it, one could wonder how a family could possibly fit in such a cramped space. Perhaps the tenant lived alone.

“This is pointless.” Jumin said, mildly annoyed. They could've simply ask their fathers for the candies they're interested in and ultimately save themselves the trouble. To Jumin, it was a waste of energy and time.

V either did not hear him or ignored him, as he didn't respond to Jumin’s complaint. He reached out and pressed at he doorbell, a soft ding song breaking the silence of the night.

Jumin sighed, and waited with V for the door to open. He stepped to stand beside V and took a short glance to look at his expression. His face was bubbling with excitement; his lips were upturned and his eyes sparkled in anticipation. ‘He really is into it.’

He sighed. The door swung open to reveal a figure. Jumin estimated that they were in the mid to late 30s. Like her home, she looked pretty ordinary.

“Happy Halloween!” V greeted. He held out his bag to the lady.

The lady smiled. “Happy Halloween.” She took a bowl full of candies and picked up a handful to give to V. Jumin stared, but held out his bag as well. She gave him a handful of candies before closing the door.

V chuckled, making Jumin stare at him blankly. “What?”

“You looked like you were demanding her to give you some.”

“It is only normal to demand equal treatment. If she is going to give you candies, then she should give me as well, or it will be a preference bias, and is therefore a questionable method of handing out candies.”

V walked away from the house chuckling softly. “Jumin, you’re taking it a little too seriously.”

Jumin snorted lightly. He saw no reason not to look at it in such perspective.

They went to other houses--some giving them candy, others shooing them off. There were also those that recognized them and refused to give them any, which didn't come as a surprise to both of them. As sons of wealthy families, it's even questionable that they bothered to go trick or treating. They did heir best to avoid the other groups of children--they didn't want to get caught up with them or for them to recognize who they were.

They got home an hour or two before midnight--they ended it pretty early as Jumin has been complaining at how long they've been walking. V turned to his best friend and smiled. “We did it.”

Jumin sighed. He still doesn't see the point to it--it honestly felt like they were begging for things they can easily acquire. To top it off, his feet and legs are sore.

He was about to complain again, but V started speaking again before he could. “It was nice to spend the evening with you.”

“We could've just stayed at home and played games,” Jumin said, mildly peeved at V’s apparent enthusiasm. “Instead we wasted hours and effort for useless and unhealthy things.”

“I’m sorry you think that way, Jumin,” V looked away from him. “But I personally think it was fun that we had a new experience together.”

‘A new experience…’ Jumin’s eyes widened slightly at the sudden realization. He wasn't the most sentimental person but he understood what V meant. Sure, it was pointless and they wasted so much effort, but it's not always that they got to spend time like this together. Thinking that, Jumin realized that maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe he shouldn't be mad at V for dragging him around like this.

“Alright,” Jumin looked down at the stash of candy he got. V certainly had more, as he was the one doing the greeting. He was more of an afterthought. “Do you want to… try some of them out?”

V chuckled. “You don't have to force yourself. I'm sure your nutritionist told you not to eat too much sweets.”

“I'll… make an exception. For new experiences.”

Jumin woke up and found himself asleep in his office chair. ‘What… time is it?’ He took a glance at his watch and found that it was only three in the afternoon. ‘Right.’ He let out a small exhale, and stood from his seat to get a glass of water. A knock from his door made him turn to it. He half expected for Assistant Kang to come in and deliver files to him, but he only heard more knocks when he didn't answer it. Raising his brow, he decided to answer the door and open it himself. His eyes went wide when he realized it was V, and he was wearing a costume.

“Happy Halloween, Jumin.”

#mysticpumpkin #mystic messenger #Vumin #juminxv #jumin x v #platonic #MM #probably didnt get V right #and yes jumin is precise with his numbers #writing #fanfiction

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imagining-supernatural · 6 years ago

Text

I’m Totally Into Anatomy

Chapter 1 of Life Changes (Hopefully For The Better)

Summary: I mean, this chapter starts with Bucky Barnes waking up still handcuffed to my bed, so if that’s not an attention grabbing way to start off a story, I don’t know what is (And if my 8th grade English teacher is reading this, first: kindly fuck off, perv. Second: My friends and I totally didn’t TP your house after you failed me on that creative writing piece. That was definitely someone else).

Warnings: Think about the phrase “still handcuffed to my bed” for a second. (For all you innocents out there, I’m talking about sex stuff. So don’t read if you don’t wanna read conversations about that shit.) Also, my 8th grade English teacher would warn you about bad writing, but he’s a crusty old man so...

Word Count: 1602

Human bodies have bones, few people would argue that. But when I woke up that morning? Well, it sure felt like my bones had liquified and settled into piles of well-satiated sludge. My room was lit up with a soft glow from the string of white lights I hung up, meaning I hadn’t gotten around to unplugging them last night. It definitely hadn’t been a top priority, and the bare chest I was laying on reminded me of the reason why.

Waking up next to Bucky was becoming familiar and expected. However, what was not familiar was the absence of his arm that was usually curled around me, since he was an extreme cuddler. I’m talking gold medalist cuddler, if that was an Olympic sport.

It took a moment of silent pep talks to convince myself to finally open my eyes, and even longer to convince my eyes to stay open for more than a few seconds. Of course, that was nothing compared to the effort it took to convince my neck to move enough to look up and see where his arm was. The effort was well rewarded and I couldn’t help the giggles at the sight that greeted me. My laughter, combined with my vain attempt to control myself in the form of pressing my forehead to Bucky’s chest woke him up

“Wha’s goin’ on?” He mumbled, trying to shift. My laughter only grew when he froze, realizing that he couldn’t move his right arm more than a few inches, courtesy of the handcuff still anchoring his right write to my headboard. “Fucking shit.”

“Hold on, Bucky,” I somehow managed to wheeze out. “I’ll find the key.”

The small grin toying with his lips was at odds with his groan of frustration. It took a few more giggles and some more mental pep talks before I managed to shift enough to start the journey of reaching over his body to the side table where the key was. God, moving had been a mistake. After everything we did yesterday, my muscles aggressively did not want to move and were screaming at me to stop. Bucky’s left arm tightened around my shoulders when I grunted and I could see concern written in his eyes.

“So fucking sore,” I reassured him with a smile to let him know that he hadn’t hurt me or anything. I finally managed to move until I was on top of him, far enough to reach the table and the key.

My words had that self-assured smirk growing on his face and he relaxed back onto the pillows. “Too sore to move, still cuffed… Damn, I’m good at this.”

“Careful, Barnes. I might just not let you out of those cuffs if you keep being a cocky bastard.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, doll.” The mischievous gleam in his eyes didn’t give me enough time to prepare for the cool metal of his prosthetic arm sneaking under the covers to pinch my ass, and the squeak that escaped my lips and jump of my muscles in response just fed the fire of his smirk. “I wouldn’t say no to you keeping me here all day.”

“Well, my body is saying no. I need a breather.”

As a testament to my words, I kept fumbling with the key in my attempt to free Bucky from the cuffs. Man, I was worn out. The simple task of unlocking some handcuffs was almost too much, and Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on my face. Each second that passed made his smile grow.

“Shut up,” I mumbled. “This is your fault, you know. You’re the one who asked me to call in sick to work and didn’t give me a moment’s rest for the rest of the day.”

“And I’m the one who gave you, how many orgasms was it again?”

“Shut up.” The handcuffs finally fell away and he stretched out his arm in relief before wrapping it around me and rolling over until I was firmly tucked into his side. When we started fucking a few months ago, I hadn’t expected him to stay the whole night, much less cuddle all night long. Who knew that Bucky Barnes, the badass, cocky, war-hardened son of a bitch was the cuddliest little fucker I’d ever met?

Speaking of the sides of him people rarely saw… I pressed closer to him and spoke up a few minutes later. “What happened yesterday?”

His chest under my head rose and fell with his deep sigh. “Just… I don’t know. It was just shitty.”

Someone braver than I might have pressed the issue. But what Bucky and I had was… complicated. But simple. Simply complicated.

It started out simple. See, I had this roommate my freshman year of college, Natasha. I was halfway in love with her. Massive crush. Too shy and cowardly to do anything about it, though. And a few months later, she got a boyfriend, Steve. So, there went my chances.

Then she dragged me to a party and I met Steve’s roommate, Bucky. It didn’t take too long for me to realize that he was crushing on Nat too. Honestly though, who wouldn’t crush on her?

It wasn’t until I found my own place, a cheap studio apartment, and Natasha still dragged me to a party that I was just tipsy enough that when I caught Bucky checking out Nat’s ass, I made an offhanded joke about the two of us fucking around with each other to get our minds off of the unavailable redhead. He laughed it off, but a week later he called and I woke up with him in my bed the next morning.

That was six months ago. When watching his roommate and Nat around his apartment got to be too much, he would find his way into my bed with our clothes thrown all about my apartment. Then he would call when he had a bad day, even if it wasn’t related to Nat. It was always just sex, but somehow, the arrangement worked.

See, I usually couldn’t do casual sex. I was too shy to initiate that kind of conversation, usually. And I needed something more. I needed some sort of connection. I suppose Bucky’s penchant for cuddling made up for any emotional connection I usually needed. Sex with him was fun. Still is. Usually alcohol-fueled conversations ended with regret, but that conversation that started this whole thing was something that I definitely did not regret.

This no-strings-attached thing was pretty great. And a month ago, I would have said that I was sticking to the no-emotions part of it too. He’s a friend. Nothing more.

Well, he is still a friend.

Nothing more.

But there are definitely some emotions sneaking in. And I’m pretty good at ignoring them, for the most part. Every once in a while, though, they slipped through like they did that morning and I’d ask him a personal question, like what shitty thing prompted him to slip between my sheets. Though the fact that he came to me when he was having a shitty day had to mean something, right? I’m the one he came to for comfort.

That meant something.

Still, though, we rarely talked about anything deeper than philosophical discussions on why the Chinese place on Eighth had better eggrolls than the takeout across town.

What a long-winded way to say that it wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t answer my question.

“You coming to Steve’s party tonight?” He asked after a few more minutes of comfortable silence.

“I doubt I’ll be able to walk by then, so no.”

He chuckled. “You’re welcome for that, by the way. But seriously, you coming?”

“Probably not.” Parties weren’t my cup of tea. That’s why I only ever went when one of my friends dragged me to them. If I was going to be around a crowd of strangers, there better be live music and a hell of a light show.

“Hey, if I have to watch Nat and Steve sucking face all night long, then you—”

“That’s not it,” I cut him off. “I… well I’m pretty sure I’m over her. I just don’t feel like being around people today.”

“Or you just don’t feel like losing beer pong to me again.”

“That game was fucking rigged.”

“You were just drunk.”

“Fucking. Rigged.”

“Sore loser.”

“Just plain sore.”

The tightening of his muscles was all the warning I had before he had me flat on my back, his face barely a few inches above mine with a devilish grin on his face. “You know, the best cure for sore muscles is to use them again.”

“Bucky,” I warned weakly, but dammit, I couldn’t resist that damn grin and sparkle in his eyes.

Then he had to go and lower his grin to my neck, peppering kisses along my bare shoulder and down my chest, stopping at my stomach to look up at me. “How about a wager, doll?”

“For what?”

“The party tonight. If I can make you come in less than five minutes right now, you have to come to the party tonight.”

Don’t get me wrong, Bucky’s mouth was a thing of wonder. But I’d barely woken up after hours of fucking him yesterday and I was exhausted. Even he couldn’t be that talented. “And when you can’t, I get to stay home and you have to buy me pizza before you leave.”

“I’ll buy you pizza on the way to the party tonight, doll,” he said with a wink just before disappearing under the sheets.

Did Bucky with that bet with his magical mouth? Do I have to go to the party with him later that night? Find out here in the next chapter:

Sometimes You Gotta Make A Bet To Get Drunk. You Just Gotta.

Series Taglist OPEN! Add Yourself HERE

Bucky Babes: @lavieenlex @hallow-hazel @infinity-dreamchaser @andhiseyesweregreen @amomenttowrite @zanthiasplace @clairese1980 @bandbandeau @zahiaouzidane @li-ssu

#buckyxreader #bucky barnes x reader #buckyxreader smut #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky au #bucky barnes au #implied smut #bucky x reader #marvel oneshot #marvel imagine #reader insert #bucky barnes fluff

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lynyrdwrites · 7 years ago

Note

kc + "I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one would even notice.“ !!!

As you read this, remember I am not sober. Blame all mistakes on that. Timing would fall somewhere in S3 or 4.

---

“You know, I don’t think creepy old men were our targetaudience for this.”

Klausraised a brow and leaned against theside of his car as Caroline strode up tohim. She clutched a soap covered rag inone hand, and didn’t seem to notice that it dripped down her front as shecrossed her arms and frowned at him. Klaus found the drops that trailed down bared skin, towards the daisy dukes that she wore over her bikini bottoms. It took her a moment to realize where his eyes were focused, but when she did, she narrowedher own in reply.

“Why areyou here, Klaus?” Caroline demanded, arather delicious flush rising high on her cheeks, when he just grinned at her and didn’t offer any apologies forwhere his gaze had ventured.

“To havemy car washed, of course, Love,” Klaus replied easily. He tossed his keys towards her, and Caroline dropped the rag in her attempt tocatch them. She huffed angrily, and knelt down to grab it,continuing to glare at him. “And if yourintended customer base wasn’t… ah… creepyold men, was it? - then you perhaps shouldhave made an announcement.

Caroline turned to look at the vehicles currently beingwashed, and let out a weary sigh of acknowledgement.

“Theytip really well,” she admitted grudgingly. “Even if it is… really gross.”

“Perhapsyou should let Bekah know that murder doesn’t help with profit,” Klaus observed wryly, whenhis sister looked ready to tear out the throat of a particularly old, particularly vocal customermade a crude comment. Luckily, the cheer squad’s advising teacher stepped in to send the man away with a thinly veiledthreat to tell his wife about his behaviour.

“I hatethis fundraiser,” Caroline admitted, a rare moment of honesty. Klaus looked at her, and she shrugged uncomfortably. “Itmakes us our bet profits, though. I can’tbeat the spreadsheets!”

Shehanded Klaus’ keys off to another cheerleader, which Klaus found rather disappointing. He found his gaze following her constantly as she moved from groupto group, occasionally stepping in to smooth issues out. Even once his car hadbeen cleaned, he remained, findinghimself making eye contact with the menthat would cause a fuss, with teeth that would look just a little toosharp.

How the mighty fell – the most powerful creature on earth,playing silent guardian to group of cheerleaders of all the things.

Morethan that, when Caroline wound up soakedfrom head to toe, courtesy of his own sister, he found himself an uncomfortable guardian. She discarded her shorts, leaving all of thatgloriously sun kissed skin bare to the world,and Klaus drank it in eagerly.

It was testament to how far he had fallen, when he found himself carrying the cash boxafter her as she headed into the school to hide it away for deposit onMonday. Rebekah smirked at him, asthough she found it to be some grand joke, but a middle aged man whoCaroline obviously knew rather well had offered his assistance, and the look onhis face when Caroline looked away saidclearly why he wished to help.

PerhapsCaroline was a vampire… but wasn’t Klaus doing his community duty byensuring the local Head Cheerleader didn’t have to compel a classmates father into submission?

“I don’tget why you’re doing this,” Caroline stated as she unlocked a classroom andmotioned Klaus to enter. “Even if Mr.Fell did try to get handsy, I couldhave dealt with him even without the vampire thing.”

“You knew…of course you knew. I take it he’s aregular customer?”

“Every year. I could set my watch by his arrivaltime.” Caroline leaned against the wall next to the door and watchedKlaus put the cash box away. “But…thank-you. It was nice, not having to worry about him for once.”

Klauslet out a heavy sigh, and looked at herwearily.

“Youreally shouldn’t have thanked me, Love.I’m not really doing you any favors.”

When hetugged Caroline into his arms and sealed his lips over hers, he expected the kiss to be fast. A quick taste, before she shoved himaway and called him evil and declared her eternal hatred.

He did not expect her lips to part beneath his,or her hands to slide into his hair. She tugged almost sharply as she pulled her body flush to his. Klaus ran his hands along the bare skin ofher sides, and held her against him byher hips. His chest rumbled happily, and Caroline pulled back to look at him with befuddlement.

“Are youpurring?”

“I’mpart werewolf, Caroline. Werewolvesdon’t purr. They growl. Happily.”

She hadthe gall to laugh at him, and in return, Klaus backed her up to the desk at the front of the room and lifted her onto it. When he went to his knees, Caroline’slaughter halted.

“Woah,wait…what do you think you’re doing? Anyone could come at, like, any time.”

“I couldjust pull your bikini bottoms to the side. No one would even notice.”

“Your head would be between my legs! I think they’dnotice!”

“Hmmm,”Klaus considered her with a wickedgrin. “I suppose they will. Well… I suppose you should start hoping no one comessearching.”

True tohis word, Klaus tugged the bikinibottoms aside. He danced the fingers ofhis free hand along the inside of her thigh and gave her a long, slow lick thatended with the swirl of his tongue around her clit.

Carolinetugged his hair again and let out a hiss.

“Careful,Love. If you make too many noises, you’ll draw that attention you’re so worriedabout.”

“Shut.Up. And do that swirl thing again.”

Just tobe contrary, Klaus chose to delve his fingers inside of her instead, hooking them slightly to find herg-spot. Caroline didn’t seem inclined toargue against the act.

Heturned his mouth to her clit once more, still working his fingers inside ofher, and Caroline’s hungry pants and desperate little noises soon had Klaus worked up into his own state ofdesperation.

“Weshould lock the door,” Caroline said asKlaus straightened and unzipped his jeans, releasing his cock with a his of relief. “That would be the logical thing.”

Shestroked him as she spoke, a sure sign that logic wasn’t particularly on the topof her mind.

“Caroline,if I’m to close the door, you’ll have to release me.”

“Uh…”she looked at the door and bit her lip, wrinkling her nose incontemplation. “I… fuck it.”

Klauswasn’t sure he had ever been so relieved to hear two word. He clutched herthighs, fingers digging in as he thrust into her.

Shefelt as good as he’d imagined she would,those rare nights when he actually slept and found himself haunted by fantasiesof her. He didn’t move for severalmoments, simply savoring the moment. Shefinally moved her hips restlessly and dug her fingernails into his shoulders.

“Are yougoing to move? Or has no-”

Whateversnarky comment she meant to follow the question with was lost when Klaus moved, pulling back and then thrustingagain. Caroline’s eyes went hazy, and when she would have let her head fall back, he released the hold of one of his hands so he could grasp her chin softly.

“Eyes onme, Caroline,” he growled out, resting his forehead on her. He heard her swallow, but she didn’t try tolook away again.

“Oh, God…Klaus,” she hissed, her eyes closing for a moment. He nipped her lip, and hereyes shot open again. Her lips curled into a snarly, and she tugged him in tokiss him again.

Klaus’thrusts continued, increasing in pace as they both began to feel the pleasure build.Caroline had curled her legs around his waist, and as they got closer to the edge,they found their position changed, as Klaus actually joined her on the desk.

The lastfew minutes were fast and hard, and their eyes stayed on each other as Caroline’slegs tightened around him, her heels digging almost painfully into his ass ashe came. After another two thrusts,Klaus joined her, his fingers leaving gouges in the desk.

“You’re goingto have to fix that,” Caroline said, gasping for breath she hadn’t needed sinceturning, but sex with Klaus seemed to have made her forget that.

“Theschool can fix it,” Klaus replied, earning himself rolled eyes.

He wasn’tsure what she might have said next, because they both heard the door to theschool open, and Klaus found himself unceremoniouslyshoved to the floor. Caroline straightened her bikini as he shovedhimself to his feet.

“So, we’reto ignore this, are we?” he asked Caroline as she strode towards the hall. She paused at the doorway, almost as if with indecision.

“Yes,”she said at last.

Klauswaited until he heard her talking to whoever had come into the school. Then helooked at his scratch marks on the desk and let a slow smirk curve his lips.

“I don’tthink I will.”

He didn’tspeak loudly, but he heard a catch in the way Caroline spoke that said she hadheard him.

Send me smut prompts and I might write it... maybe

#Klaroline #Klaroline fic #Klaroline drabbles #goldcaught

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pinkrocketimagines · 7 years ago

Text

Issues & Tissues : PART 1 ( Tom Holland x reader)

(Zendaya x Tom Holland x reader x Cole sprouse )

SUMMARY : You have the biggest crush on your co-star Tom Holland. Although there has always been rumours of him and your other co-star Zendaya dating, you’ve always ignored it. You liked him a little too much to just let go.Too much to even notice another co-star, Cole, looking at you the same way you look at Tom. But what’ll be the outcome of your immense likeness for Tom? Will it be worth it? Or will you be left heartbroken when the fan theories of him and Zendaya prove to be true?

A/N: I’m sorry it took me so long to post! Hopefully, you’ll like this one :) Love you guys x

Since the day he first called you ‘darling’ to the day he shared his cup of tea with you, you were absolutely smitten. You were very much aware of the fact that he simply called literally everyone by that word and he liked sharing tea because he’s a kind man BUT you couldn’t help it, I mean, c’mon look at him! With his messy brown hair and his cheeky smile.. oh that handsome smile. One thing was clear- you were smitten. This quackson guy got the best of you this time.

The fact that you got to work with Tom every single day for 4 months didn’t help your case much either- everyday you found yourself falling more in love with him and his little ways. The other actors on set were Zendaya and Cole Sprouse. Yeah, that’s right- Tom’s ideal match Zendaya. They got along really well, their chemistry was inevitable, no wonder fangirls and the press shipped them so much. You would ship them too, had you not been so hopelessly in love with Tom. Seeing him and Zendaya do scenes together or even interact ! made you sore. Maybe they did like each other but eh, it’s easier to come in set, make-believing they don’t. It has almost been 3 months since you first met and I have to say, you did a pretty good job in hiding your hots for Tom. Nobody knew about it. Well, nobody except your best friend on set- Cole. Cole caught you way before you even admitted to your ownself that you were falling for Tom. You hate how easily Cole reads you. Best friends’ intuition, I guess.

Anyway, you and Tom got along pretty well too. He was always his goofy self, cracking stupid jokes every opportunity he got, doing 100 things at the same time but nonetheless, making sure everybody was having a good time. Work didn’t feel like work when you were with him. He would always give you the warmest hug- and to everyone as well.

He made horrible attempts to break you out of your shy shell and in doing so, you found yourself falling for him. You don’t know when you started getting butterflies for this young South-west London lad. You found yourself searching for silly excuses to go see him or give him his tea. You would usually end up chatting with him about the silliest things on the red sofa which was placed in the middle of the set for..you were not sure why it was kept there but it had been there since the first day. It became your spot. You and Tom’s, to be precise. You would hangout there almost every 5:30pm because you and his free-time coincided at this hour only. Days when you didn’t have a single scene with him were the ones you dreaded the most. However, you always got to catch him on the red sofa over your mutual love for tea at 5:30pm.

You’re not sure if Tom has the same liking towards you, I mean, he’s just so nice to everyone! When he’s with you, he woud make you feel like you’re the only girl in the room. Pretty sure, everybody in the room feels that way when they talk to him. He’d always make the warmest cup of tea during your 5:30 couch time and tell you stories about his family and his sweetheart Tessa. Tom also had his way of making you blush by telling you how ‘wonderful’ you look every now and then. Yeah, it’s hard to tell if he likes you but you would like to think that he does..even if it’s just a little bit.

Right now, you’re lazily sitting on the couch with Cole. You have few minutes of break before heading for an interview.

“I think he’s doing an interview with Z in the other room,” you nag as you rest your head on Cole’s shoulder.

He scoffs,”Geez, (Y/n), don’t be that girl”

You abruptly sit up straight,”What girl?”

“You know,” he nervously utters,”The green eyed monster bitten g-“

“Ufff, I’m not jealous,” you sigh and turn towards the other room where Tom and Zendaya are supposedly get interviewed,”I was just saying…” you drop your head.

“Aww,” Cole chuckles as he lifts your head up with his finger,”You’re adorable. I wish he knew how you felt,”

You move away and roll your eyes,”Like he’d ever like a slob like me when he has this gorgeous Z all over him,”

You meant it. You don’t think you have any chance with Tom. Regardless of the wonderful bond you shared with Tom, you always felt like Zendaya had the upperhand since she’s the one who got to spend most of the time with Tom. She also has millions backing her ship with Tom.

“(Y/N),” you hear one of the crew assistants call out,”You and Cole are up next for the interview,”

“That’s our cue,” Cole blurts before ruffling your hair.

“Hey!” you hit his arm. He chuckles in response.

You head towards the interview room.

”After you, ma’am.” Cole opens the door for you like a pro-butler.

“Thank you, Mr Sprouse” you chuckle at his fake courtesy.

Little did you know that in a few seconds time you’d be wishing Cole hadn’t let you in first.

Your heart drops. You lose your breath for a second.

On entering the room, you’re greeted by the sight of Tom and Zendaya kissing.

Something you had always seen coming.

Something you wished would never happen.

Something you dreaded.

Something that made your heart break more than you thought it would.

Suddenly all the butterflies in your stomach seem to have fallen dead.

The touch of Cole’s hand on your shoulder made you step out of the blackhole you were putting yourself into. “I’m sorry, I can’t-“ you run out of the room. You don’t know if Tom had seen you since you left so abruptly.

4 hours since the vague scene at the interview room. 4 hours since you covered your mouth and held yourself together as you bawled your eyes out on the bathroom floor. Much to your contempt, shootings were usually 6-7 hours long so that meant you had to stay here for few more hours. Other days, 7 hours felt like 7 minutes but today it feels like a lifetime. You’ve done a pretty good job at holding yourself together and ignoring Tom. You know you have no right to be mad at him, he wasn’t even yours in the first place. But it..hurts.

You thought he liked you. Maybe you were only fooling yourself but you really thought he did. Maybe you got your hopes up too high but a part of you always felt like he did like you back. The way he’d always make you feel at home, the time you’d spend laughing and talking about everything on the lounge, the way- No, (Y/n), maybe all of those things meant a lot to you because you liked him, or even loved, but it doesn’t matter now. It shouldn’t matter. Because it clearly meant nothing to him. It meant nothing to Tom.

You still can’t get the image of him and Zendaya kissing. It’s funny how you can get your heart broken the same time the other person’s heart collides.

You’re now in Cole’s temporary trailer on the set. He spent the whole day making sure you weren’t alone and invaded the thoughts of Tom and Z. You have few minutes of break before your next scene. Cole has already left for his. You haven’t seen Tom since that incident. And you’re glad you haven’t. You even missed the 5:30 red sofa ritual you shared with Tom.

It meant nothing to him, you remind yourself.

You hear the door click open. You pull yourself up from Cole’s couch, “Cole, I was just-“

“Thought I might find you here,” Tom smiles lovingly.

You feel your stomach tighten. You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out. You can’t even look at him, “I was just leaving,” you quickly utter as you see yourself out.

“Wait, (Y/n). I didn’t see you the entire day! Where were you?”

“I was just-“

“And you didn’t show up at the red sofa either. You know that’s our thing,”

The last sentence made your fist tighten and your heart weak. Why, why does he do that?

“I’m busy. See you later,”

It took everything in you to walk past the guy you had loved for so long and pretend that your heart wasn’t breaking when you did.

“(Y/n)..” you could almost faintly hear him but you didn’t turn back. No, you weren’t turning back for him anymore. You had been a fool for too long. How could you have not seen this coming?

You continued to love him even though it was you against all the fangirls and the press. I did this to myself.

You spent the next hours of the day keeping yourself busy and avoiding Tom. Somehow you kept bumping into him more than usual. You ignored every attempt of his to talk to you. You played it cool and mellow to make sure you weren’t giving off any awkward vibes. You continued to remind yourself that he wasn’t even yours to begin with, so you don’t have any right to be mad at him.

You were just shooting your last scene when you saw Tom walk into your area. Tom was well-known to have the most hectic schedule out of everyone so you have no idea why he was here and not somewhere else shooting his scene.

Just dropping by, I guess.

“And cut!”

“That was a great scene, (Y/n)” Emma, one of the producers, applauds you.

“Thank you,” you warmly smile as you grab a bottle of water to hydrate yourself, completely ignoring the fact that Tom is in here too.

“Great shot, (Y/n)” you hear another familiar voice approach towards you.

Shit.

“Thanks, Tom” you quickly reply and try to leave-abruptly, again.

“Wait!”

He’s too close for you to ignore anymore. “I’m getting late, I have to-“

“I can drop you home,” he says in a low tone, sounding almost melancholy.

“That’s okay, I have a ride! I’m sorry, I have to lea-“ you quickly make another desparate but successful attempt to leave.

You walk towards the changing room to grab your stuffs and go home. You quickly collect your bags and walk yourself out of the set.

You were just about to get into your car when you heard someone call out your name again.

You turn around to find Tom, again.

This has never happened before. In all these months of shooting, he has never made himself this available.

“Oh, Tom. I told you I have a-“

“So I’m guessing you saw, huh?” he bluntly utters.

“Saw, what?”

“You know what,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Tom. I’ll see you to-“

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,”

You take a deep breath and a long pause. You’ve been trying to avoid him the entire day to avoid having this conversation but here he is, pestering you for the same. You know he doesn’t feel anything for you, he never did, but hearing him actually say that would be even more torturous. You’d rather pretend your heart didn’t break when you saw him kiss Zendaya and that you didn’t really love him just so you could get past the next days of shooting without wanting to breakdown everytime you see him. It’d be easier to pretend nothing happened.

“So what, Tom?” you sigh,”So what if I saw you and Zendaya kiss?”

“Is that why you’ve been ignoring me the whole day?”

“I wasn’t-“

“Please. I know the way you used to look at me but today you were just-“

“JUST WHAT?” you increase your tone out of frustration,”SAD?HEARTBROKEN? DEVASTATED? Is that what you want to hear? You want me to tell you that I could feel my heart sink and that I wish that I’d never entered the interview room in the first place? God, I wish I could tell you. I wish I could tell you what you want to hear so badly but trust me, ‘hurt’ would be an understatement to the way I felt when I saw you kiss Z. And as for walking into the interview room, I’m glad I saw it.”

“(Y/n), I’m sorry, I-”

You cut him off. You hold back your tears and gather up all your guts as you complete your sentence,” You’re not the one of blame here, you weren’t even mine to begin with. You made me think that maybe you did like me, or maybe that was just me fooling myself. And there is nothing worse in the world than thinking you have a chance..,” you choke,”.. when you really don't.”

And with that, you leave.

“(Y/n),”He immediately grabs hold of your hand.

“Let me go,”

“No,”

“Tom,”

“No,”

“Let me..,” you abruptly pull out your hand from his grip, “..go”.

And he did.

A/N : Please, it doesn't have to end like this!!! PART 2 coming up soon ;)

Let me know if you wanna be removed/added

- General Taglist ~ @xbobaaa @riverdrew @dandelions-inthewind @ashleyykabob @punkrockandchemicalx @thevioletmarkey @punkrockandchemicalx @acidbabytears @ceruleanjones @riverdalemami @simbatastisc @caitsymichelle13 @allthelove-marz @butterybra @margauxthemuse @tcmhollnd @desicookie @calums-band-tee @pinkglitterycactus @laa-rose @moonlight53 @oceantostars @jasmineeee85 @1022bridgetp @peachy-jordyn @prtmnstr @nano-fantasy @theweaknessstories @castellagreen @louloudeug99 @tear-in-my-heart14 @imstillinlovewithyou @flopmalum @mypotronus @hehaditcoming @jugheadjonnes @satansconcubine @julesimba @superfangirl2004 @ohhdarllingg

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagines #cole sprouse #cole sprouse fanfic #cole sprouse imagines #cole sprouse x reader #hollanders #quackson

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seriestrash · 7 years ago

Text

You Me Her

1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 ||

Chapter Eleven: About Last Night...

Word Count: 2138

↠ ♥ ↞

When Riley wakes the morning following the winter formal she's immediately hit with a throbbing headache. Riley lets out a sleepy groan as she sits up and rubs at her temple. Violet meows softly after Riley's stirring wakes her.

"Any chance I dreamt it all, Vie?" Riley pats the kittens fir. Another tiny meow. "Yeah I didn't think so." Riley sighs.

The brunette looks over to the window. The blanket Riley had placed over Lucas in the early AM sits neatly folded in the bay window seat. Riley notices a glass of water on her nightstand, courtesy of Lucas she guessed. Riley gulps down the liquid quickly, her dehydration was not satisfied even a little. She sets the now empty glass down and rises from her bed.

Once Riley is on her feet she's hit with an extra pang of throbbing in her head. It painfully took her by surprise, so much so that she wobbles on her feet. After steadying herself, Riley makes her way out into he hall. She hears the shower running in the bathroom when she passes and notices Auggies room is empty.

Then Riley hits the stairs, each step making the pain in her head worse. She spots her best friend sitting on the sofa watching television. He's still in his suit pants, his white shirt is half unbuttoned, his hair a mess.

"You look like crap." Riley jokes.

Kai turns his head around with a smile, "You're not looking too hot yourself.” His smile turns into a knowing stare. “It’s not like I packed an overnight bag for this spontaneous little sleepover.”

“You have some spare clothes in my room if you want to change.” Riley sluggishly walks over and joins him on the sofa.

“Yeah I’ll change in a bit.” Kai turns off the television and gives his full attention to Riley.

“Was that Noah in the shower?” Riley questions.

Kai crinkles his nose and nods his head. "He started throwing up not long ago."

"Ick." Riley scrunches her nose too.

"How are you?" Kai questions.

"My head is throbbing but I don't feel like being sick... Yet." Riley grips at her stomach.

"That's good but I meant how are you after the mind F that was last night?" Kai clarifies.

"Oh that." Riley curls into the arm of the sofa with a groan. Her voice is muffled as she continues. "I was hoping I got concussed on the way to the dance and imagined everything."

Kai tugs at the hem of Riley's tshirt, she lifts her head with a pouted bottom lip. He extends his arms out and Riley curls into his side with feet tucked up beside her on the sofa.

“If time travel exists in the future I’m super mad at my older self for not warning me about the embarrassment that was yesterday.” Riley whines.

“Everybody knows that altering History is dangerous.” Kai chuckles. “You’re smart enough to not risk the fate of the universe like that.”

“Damn me and my common sense.” Riley huffs, warranting another soft chuckle from Kai. “Did you see Lucas at all this morning?” Riley asks. “He was gone when I woke up.”

“He left about half an hour ago.” Kai says.

“Did you guys talk?” Riley questions.

“Yeah I apologised for being a dick last night and then we sat around and exchanged fond memories we have of you.” Kai is very sarcastic.

“Cool the sarcasm would you?” Riley groans. “I could be mad at you, ya know?”

"I apologise for telling Lucas about your panic attacks. I shouldn’t have done that.” Kai is sincere. “But I’m not apologising for anything else I said to Lucas. I think I went easy on him.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Riley sighs.

“Good.” Kai says. “We can forget wonder boy once and for all.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, that doesn’t mean I can ignore what happened.” Riley pulls away from their cuddled position to look at Kai.

“Why not?” Kai questions. “He shouldn’t be allowed to come back into your life after all this time and claim that he still cares about you.”

“I know. I completely agree with you.” Riley nods.

“Okay but why does it feel like we’re fighting about it?” Kai laughs nervously.

“I’m confused.” Riley shrugs. “I tried for so long to be upset with Lucas for not choosing me but I couldn’t. I loved Maya too, so I could see why he chose her and I know first hand that you can’t help who you fall for but to tell me he made a mistake after they broke up.. That’s.. I just.. I’m angry that he’d come to me, his second choice like he expects that I’ve been waiting for him.”

“Total jerk move.” Kai nods. Riley deflates in her place. “Ri, you’re fairly incapable of anger-”

“Am not!” Riley whines.

“Riley.” Kai coaxes his head with a knowing look. “You know I have the anger thing covered enough for the both of us so you can tell me how you really feel about it.”

“I am upset about being a second choice. I thought so much more of Lucas back in the day... But I think I’m upset mostly because part of me was actually happy to hear Lucas say he wish he chose me.” Riley frowns. “What kind of a terrible person am I for thinking that?”

“Ri, you’re human.” Kai gives her a sympathetic smile. “This is the first guy you ever liked. You loved him Ri, of course part of you is going to like hearing that he likes you too.”

“So I’m not a terrible person?” Riley asks softly.

“The opposite.” Kai holds her stare.

“Is Noah mad at me for bringing up Notre Dame?” Riley wants to change the subject but is still visibly worried about the response.

“No, oh gosh no.” Kai soothes. “He babbled about it for a while before passing out. When I take him home later I’m sure I’ll get a more coherent explanation out of him.”

“You’re happy for him right?” Riley asks.

“Are you kidding?” Kai grins. “He’s some football superstar on an athletics scholarship but also manages to get in on early admission for academics. I’m so proud of him.”

“Little math whizz he is.” Riley smiles too. “Then you’ll go to college and become some fancy pants historian.”

“History geek and dramatic freak.” Kai says his ‘slogan’ with hands under his chin in the ‘cupcake’ pose.

“And Noah is the math whizz in ... the football bizz?” Riley squints one eye.

“We can work on his slogan later.” Kai chuckles.

“Such a power couple.” Riley praises.

“Today, do you want us to hang around and keep you company?”

“No I may have been using the empty house as an excuse to get out of the dance but now I do really need some alone time.” Riley says.

“Are you sure?” Kai asks.

“Would I lie to you?” Riley exaggerates a toothy grin.

“Yes.” Kai says bluntly. “Exhibit A, yesterdays spiral.”

“Fine.” Riley pouts. “But I do need to think through some things on my own. We’re meeting up tomorrow at the bakery for our gift exchange so you can quiz me then.”

“I’ll prepare the questionnaire tonight then.” Kai jokes.

Noah rounds the corner of stairwell and both Kai and Riley erupt in laughter. The tall and muscular football player is wrapped in Riley’s pink polka dot robe.

“Stop!” Noah bashfully turns his body. “My suit smelt gross so I didn’t want to put it back on.”

“I have some sweats here that you can wear home.” Kai continues to chuckle. With that the boy in glasses disappears to retrieve said clothes.

“Sorry for encouraging you last night, Sunshine. I don’t know what got over me.” Noah holds Riley’s hand as he sits by her on the sofa.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I can corrupt myself.” Riley jokes.

“So did anything happen last night with Lucas?” Noah questions.

“What do you mean?” Riley gives him a quizzical look.

“Nothing like that.” Noah’s eyes widen. “I mean did you two talk?”

“Everything is still a little fuzzy.” Riley admits. “But I have the overall image of me being fifty shades of confusing. I don’t know what I wanted from Lucas last night.”

“Naturally.” Noah’s smile is small. “Part of you is angry that he’s come back after so long but part of you still loves him. It’s not weird that you’d be hot and cold with him.”

“Still loves?” Riley laughs nervously. “That was so ten chapters ago.”

“You never really got the chance to be in love with him so I find it hard to believe you ever fell out of love with him.” Noah softens completely. “I’m not saying you should give him a chance or anything like that but I do believe that owning those feelings might help you officially move past this.”

“I think I’m more confused than ever now.” Riley frowns.

Kai returns in a fresh outfit himself and throws some baggy sweats at his boyfriend to change into. Shortly after, Noah and Kai leave Riley’s apartment. The brunette heads upstairs to shower. Once clean, Riley feels slightly better. Only slightly. Then she sits at the edge of her bed and pulls out her phone. Riley dials Caitlin’s number, it rings a few times before she finally answers.

“Bonjour.” The free spirit answers happily.

“Hey.” Riley smiles at her friends French greeting. “It’s not too late there is it?”

“Nah, It’s just after six.” Caitlin says. “What’s up?”

Riley then goes on to tell Caitlin in great detail all that happened yesterday after they parted ways.

“Wow Matthews, you got drunk?” Amusement clearly present in Caitlin’s tone.

“So not the point of the story.” Riley groans.

“What do you want from me?” Cait asks in a funny accent. “I’m on vacation.”

“Well sor-ry.” Riley huffs.

“Look Riley, I know I don’t say it much but I love ya. You have to know that right?” Cait softens a little. “But this seems like Kai territory, I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“I need your unbiased opinion on the situation.” Riley sighs. “You know how Kai feels about Lucas. I can talk to him, but I don’t know if I can trust his opinion completely.”

“Well, what do you want to do Riley?” Caitlin asks.

“I don’t know!” Riley exclaims. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“But what are your options?” Cailtin questions. “Are you trying to decide between giving him a chance or-”

“No, no, no-” Riley cuts in quickly. “I could never date Lucas.”

“Then what do you need help with?” Caitlin is confused.

“How to handle things.” Riley shrugs to herself.

“So you’ve made up your mind about it already.” Caitlin says simply. “The way I see it is; you can kick him to the curb, sorry wonder boy you missed your chance, or you can grill him for the answers you clearly want and then kick him to the curb.”

“What if I can’t handle the answers?” Riley continues to freak out.

“Matthews, you’ve been kicking ass without wonder boy for years now.” Caitlin scoffs. “Answers or not you’re still Riley.”

“You think I kick ass?” Riley smiles.

“Hey. After I repeatedly claimed I disliked you, you looked me dead in the eyes, smiled and told me you didn’t care.” Caitlin says. “Total badassary.”

“And look at us now?” Riley can’t help but smile. Riley’s phone vibrates against her ear. She takes a moment to look at it.

“It’s a text from Lucas.” Riley panics. “He want’s to talk.”

“You’re a stress head, Matthews.” Caitlin doesn’t mean it in a snide way, she’s just stating a simple fact. “Try not let this eat away at you. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, you have the rest of winter break to sort through how you feel. Just try and relax, would ya? Lucas made you wait eight stupid months in a triangle he can wait one damn week for you to be ready to talk to him.”

“You’re right.” Riley nods.

“Always.” Caitlin chuckles.

Soon after, their call ends. Riley sits quietly with her thoughts for a while. Her eyes wander over to the backpack by her desk. Riley nervously bites at her thumbnail as she continues to stare at it. Riley stands up and takes a step towards it but shakes her head and sits back down. She does this two more times before finally marching over to her desk and opening her pack. Riley pulls out the handful of brochures Noah gave her the previous day. Riley lines them all up beside each other.

“I kick ass.” Riley says aloud and with that empowering affirmation she picks up the first brochure.

End Notes: Firstly I want to apologise for short chapter. Secondly I want to apologise for not including Lucas in this chapter like I said I was going to.

NEXT CHAPTER, we will certainly have some q’s answered from Lucas. Maybe y'all can let me know what you want answered and if it fits with my plan I might include it! Also there will be Riley’s Wizard of Oz audition oooooo.

ALSO. I know the college apps are late especially for ivy league but most places still accept applications until Jan don’t they? If not lets just pretend okay because storyline wise it’s fitting that it happens now!!!

Until next time!!!!!!!!!!!! x

#rucas #rucas fic #rucas au #rucas imagine

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emospritelet · 7 years ago

Text

Cuckoo’s Flight

I wanted to write a fic in which Belle meets season 1 Gold and they screw their brains out. Unfortunately my own brain wanted to take its time over the set-up, so it ended up way longer than I’d planned. Therefore it’s no longer a one-shot, but a five-chapter fic. However, the smut definitely happens, because I’ve written it :) Overall rating E (obvs, it’s me) but this chapter T

AO3 link

She wasn’t sure how it had happened.

They’d been telling her she was mad for years, but she didn’t feel it. Perhaps that was the drugs they kept her on, but she didn’t think so. Besides, she had stopped taking those some time ago, pushing them into the side of her cheek and waiting until the severe nurse who brought them to her twice a day nodded and left, then stashing them under her mattress until she could slip them down the drain in the showers. Coming off the meds had made her brain clearer, her thoughts more coherent. It didn’t help with the dreams, but no one believed those anyway. Perhaps she really was mad.

She shook her head, walking quickly with her head bowed and her arms wrapped around herself, the cold air exhilarating on her skin after so long staring at the same four walls. Dusk had fallen, and the streets were quiet, but she was still attracting some curious looks, dressed as she was, and she quickened her pace. Dr Hopper had given her a bag with some clothes and shoes and some money, and told her she was free to go. She still didn’t know why, and from the stricken look on his face, he wasn’t sure either.

“You don’t belong here, Belle,” he had said, when she asked him, and stood there opening and closing his mouth for a moment, as though he couldn’t understand why he’d said that.

She had run before he could change his mind, before the woman with the red lips and the wicked smile could come to peer at her through the hatch in her door like she was an exhibit in a freak show. No one had stopped her, and she had slipped out of the hospital and made her way into town, not knowing where she would sleep that night, or the next. One thing was certain, though. She needed to get out of sight, and change out of the hospital gown which was all she had worn for as long as she could remember. Once she looked less like an escaped hospital patient, she could see about getting something to eat, and a place to stay for the night.

The sound of harsh rock music caught her ear, and she hesitated for a moment, looking around. Lights in the gathering dark, a red sign with a stylised white rabbit. The Rabbit Hole, it declared, and she wavered, shifting from foot to foot in the hospital-issue slippers. They would have restrooms, she decided, and possibly something to eat and drink, and so she ducked inside, finding an empty corridor that smelt of cigarettes and stale beer.

The ladies’ room had three stalls, one of which had a broken lock, but she slipped into the middle one and sat down on the toilet seat, rummaging in the bag. The clothes looked to be decent enough, a short grey dress with a thin black belt and black heels. Frowning, she turned the dress over and over in her hands. Part of her mind was telling her firmly that she had never worn something so short, but another part was insisting that she must have, and simply couldn’t remember it. She shook her head, trying to recall how long it had been since her father had had her locked away. She found that she couldn’t remember, and so she shrugged, and pawed through the bag to see what else there was. Plain black underwear: a bra and panties in “small”, the box showing a smiling woman with more cleavage than she suspected the bra, which looked to be a simple pull-on halter with little support, would give her. Still, she was used to going without, and she supposed Dr Hopper wouldn’t have known her size, so he couldn’t buy anything else but a simple set. He’d done pretty well to guess at the rest, although the shoes, when she put them on, were a little loose, and she had to pull the straps tight.

She tugged up the dress and zipped it, belting it at the waist and smoothing it over her hips. There was a roll of money in the bag, too. Two hundred dollars, secured by an elastic band. The dress had no pockets, of course, and she bit her lip in consternation, wondering where she could hide it. She tried down the front of her dress, but the bra wasn’t tight enough to tuck it without it being obvious, and the neckline was so high she would have been scrabbling around every time she tried to reach it. Eventually she lifted her skirt and slipped the roll into the waistband of her panties, just to the right of her left hip bone. At least she could feel it there, and couldn’t see it when she looked down.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the stall door and stepped out, shoving the bag with the hospital gown, slippers and her used underwear into the trash. She caught a glance at the mirror above the sink, and turned to look herself over properly. The asylum had no mirrors, and she blinked, unused to her reflection. Large blue eyes stared out of a pale face with high cheekbones, reddish-brown hair falling in waves around her shoulders. The heels made her legs look long, and took some getting used to, but she could walk in them. And she definitely didn’t look as though she’d just escaped from the hospital, so that had to be a plus.

The door opened then, a young woman entering and glancing at her curiously before crossing to the mirror. She was taller, and thinner, dark hair falling in a shining sheet halfway down her back, a red shawl draped around her shoulders.

“Hey,” she said carelessly.

She fished a lipstick out of her purse, applying it in the mirror, bright red lips in a pale face.

“It’s pretty dead in there tonight,” she added. “Sleazes being sleazes, no change there. I might come back later, if Granny lets me out again. It’s rent day, so she’s pissed.”

She blotted her lips with a tissue, turning around and grinning, and Belle swallowed.

“Could I - could I borrow that?” she asked, and the young woman’s grin widened.

“Sure! Oh, wait…” She rummaged in her purse. “I think this colour might suit you better, it’s a little darker. You want anything else? I got perfume, deodorant, a little powder....” She glanced up, dark eyes warm. “I’m Ruby, by the way.”

Belle smiled.

Ten minutes later she was ready to leave, her hair teased up into a messy bun, tendrils curling at the nape of her neck, her lips the colour of claret and a light, floral perfume at her wrists and throat. All courtesy of Ruby, who had seemed to enjoy making her up. She had managed to think of a backstory for herself, and the lie had tasted surprisingly easy on her tongue. Agoraphobia, she said. Dr Hopper had been giving her therapy, and she was trying to ease her way back into town life, which meant that she was hardly ever out in Storybrooke during the day when it was busy. Ruby was sympathetic.

“You’re in luck,” she said. “There’s maybe six people in the bar right now, and believe me, you wouldn’t want to talk to any of them.”

“Dr Hopper said getting used to being in the same room as people is important,” said Belle, and Ruby shrugged.

“Nowhere lonelier than the Rabbit Hole, even when it’s full of people,” she said. “Just ignore that asshole Keith if he tries to hit on you. Or punch him in the balls, your call. Good luck!”

She went out, swinging her hips, and Belle bit at her lower lip, glancing at her reflection in the mirror again. She’d need something to eat, and a place to stay. The first she could remedy here, at least.

She pushed open the bathroom door, walking out into the corridor, the sound of music louder. Clenching and unclenching her fists uncertainly, she glanced at the door to the bar before lifting her chin and pushing it open. The smell of stale beer was stronger in here, a few men standing near the flat screen TV, which appeared to be showing a football game. Two more were shooting pool while another looked on. The dark-haired, slightly paunchy barman was watching her, polishing a glass with a rag that looked as though it had seen better days. She stepped forward, ignoring the looks she was getting, and slid onto a stool at the bar.

“Hey,” she said. “You got any food here?”

“We got nachos,” he said. “You want some?”

“Sure.” She thought she could remember what nachos were like. Eating something that wasn’t tasteless slop would make a change. “And can I get a glass of wine?”

It had been something she had thought about, all that time in the asylum. Given how many years she must have been in there, she didn’t think she’d ever drunk wine in her life, and yet it was as though she remembered it, the rich taste on her tongue, the heat as it went down. The barman nodded and turned away to pour her a glass, setting it in front of her. She took a sip, wrinkling her nose. She hadn’t expected it to taste as sour as this, but perhaps she’d get used to it. The mild heat was there, at least, warming her from within.

“Hey there.”

The sound of a deep voice made her look around, and she turned to see a dark-haired man smiling at her. She supposed he was good-looking, the hair flopping over his forehead, his body tall and lean, but she recognised that she wasn’t really the best judge of these things.

“Not seen you in here before,” he went on. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Just got one, thanks,” she said, and sipped at her wine again, turning away.

“After that, then?” he persisted. “I’m Keith, by the way.”

Ah, so this is Keith. No thanks. She ignored him, and he shifted closer.

“Are you gonna tell me your name, or do you want me to beg?” he asked. “Because that’s not something I do.”

“Neither,” she said, not looking at him. “And I’m just here for something to eat.”

He snorted. “Seriously, you came here for food?”

“Hey!” said the barman, looking affronted.

Keith shook his head. “Look, babe, you don’t need to eat in this dive. I can make you something back at my place, what do you say?”

“No, thank you.” She wished he’d leave.

“Come on, I got frozen pizza, tater tots, you name it.”

What the bloody hell are tater tots? “No, thank you, I just want to drink my wine.”

“Girls don’t really come to this place alone,” he said, and leaned in, his eyebrows wiggling lasciviously. “Not unless they’re after one thing, you know what I’m saying?”

She pulled away, wishing he’d leave, and casting a desperate glance at the seemingly-oblivious barman, her heart thumping with anxiety. Keith took a step closer, making her want to shrink in on herself.

“You know, that dress isn’t bad, but it would look way better on my floor…”

There was a flash of gold at his throat, and he choked on his words, his eyes widening before he lurched away from her, stumbling back with his arms flailing.

“You really have a problem with the word ‘no’, don’t you?”

A calm voice, accented. Belle looked around. There was a second man there, short and slight, a gold-handled cane grounded in front of him. He had hair that was longer than usual, brushing the collar of his suit jacket, and was glaring at Keith, who despite having the advantage in terms of both height and weight, was backing away, hands in the air.

“I - I didn’t see you there,” he babbled, and the man’s mouth twitched, a tiny smile.

“Well, of course not,” he said quietly. A gold tooth gleamed on his lower jaw as he spoke. “You were too busy pushing your unwanted attentions on this young woman. I suggest you leave while I’m still feeling generous.”

He was Scottish, thought Belle, his evident displeasure making his accent seem stronger than it otherwise would. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but menacing, as was the look in his dark eyes. Keith continued to back away, nodding hurriedly, and turned on his heel, making for the door. The man allowed himself a brief grin, and turned to Belle. His eyes flicked up and down her very briefly, and then he gestured to the barman.

“Whisky,” he said. “And the rent, of course.”

“I - uh - yes, Mr Gold, coming right up.”

The barman scuttled off to grab a bottle, and Belle took another sip of her wine, eyeing the man as he waited for his drink. Mr Gold. His hands were opening and closing on the handle of the cane, long fingers with smooth nails. He wore a large gold ring set with a moonstone on the third finger of his right hand. The suit looked as though it had been made for him, sleek and dark, and he had a black tie and a black and white checked shirt beneath it. That looked a little odd to her eyes, as though it was laundry day, and he’d run out of decent shirts. She imagined him in something darker. His hair was brown, starting to grey at the temples, and she ran her gaze over his profile, high cheekbones and a long nose, his lower lip soft, almost sensual. Deep brown eyes flicked across to her.

“See something you like?” he asked dryly, and she felt herself blush.

“Sorry, it’s just…” She shook her head. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure how to get rid of him.”

“No matter.”

He reached for the glass of whisky that the barman set in front of him, and turned towards her slightly. He shook back his hair, his eyes gleaming in the light, and she felt a tug of something at the back of her mind. Almost like a memory.

“We don’t get strangers in this town,” he said eventually. “What are you doing, sitting in this vile joint drinking terrible wine?”

The barman cleared his throat, looking offended, and Mr Gold gave him a flat stare.

“Rent,” he said curtly, and the barman swallowed and scurried off.

“I - I just got here,” said Belle lamely.

“I can see that, dear.” He took a sip of the whisky. “Doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s…” She cut off, trying to think of something to say. His eyes made her want to be honest, as though she instinctively knew that he could hear lies. “It’s quiet, I guess.”

“Hmm.” He looked amused. “Well, that’s certainly true, although you’ll find it gets busier as the hour gets later and this town’s trolls slither out from under their bridges.”

The barman returned then, holding up a roll of money, which Mr Gold plucked from his fingers. He set down his whisky glass and began counting out the money, sorting the bills into piles.

“You’re a landlord,” she observed, and he glanced across at her.

“Only one in town,” he said. “Are you looking for a place to stay?”

“Maybe.” She watched as he licked his thumb, separating the dollar bills. “How much do you charge?”

“Well, that depends.” He turned back towards her, settling back on one foot. “What is it you want?”

The barman shuffled over at that point, setting a dish of nachos in front of her. The scent of melted cheese made her mouth water, and she took a corn chip between finger and thumb, transferring it to her mouth.

“I mean apart from food with some nutritional value,” he said dryly.

“I was hungry,” she said, a little defensively.

“Apparently so, if you chose to eat here.”

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” she snapped, surprised by her own inner fire, and he smirked, a tiny, amused smile, as though he was not used to being spoken to in that way.

“I merely wanted to inform you that there are better places in Storybrooke to eat and drink, that’s all.”

Belle ignored him, and he turned back to counting the money the barman had given him. Watching him out of the corner of her eyes, she slid a hand up her leg beneath the skirt of her dress to pull out the two hundred dollars she had stashed there. Peeling off a twenty-dollar bill, she slid it across the bar to pay for her food and drink, and the barman gave her change, which she folded around the rest of the money and returned it to its hiding place just as Gold finished counting and turned back to her. His eyebrow twitched, but otherwise he gave no sign that he had seen her slip money into her underwear.

“You’re paid up,” he informed the barman, his tone terse. “Don’t be bloody late next time, do you understand? I have a round, and a set routine, and I hate having to go out of my way.”

The barman muttered something and slouched off, and Gold turned his attention back to Belle.

“So, you want something from me,” he said softly. “Why don’t we sit and discuss it? Perhaps I’ll be able to give you what you need.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #fic: cuckoo's flight

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ohheythislookskindaimportant · 6 years ago

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The Nitty Gritty (Rules)!

Please read through this carefully!

General Stuff

I have ZERO tolerance for hate. These are fictional people, but they are meant to provide, promote, and encourage diversity. It’s simple: If you come to me with hate regarding myself or my muses, you will be blocked and reported.

Mun is around the age of 25. To interact with me, you must be older than 18, preferably 20+. Muse must also be 18+.

I am a real person. The pretty/handsome muse you are interacting with is fake. I am separate from my muses. Know the different between the two.

With that being said, if there is any aspect of our plot that you want to talk about/you don’t like, we can easily talk about it OOC. My brain and my muses’ fictional brain are separate. My muse will not influence my opinion, but I will do what I think is best for my muse(s).

I am not claiming to actually be any of these people! Momma didn’t raise no catfish!

I am a person who appreciates and respects communication. If you follow me/I follow you, I have every intention to interact with you in some way. That also means I expect some interaction and communication from you as well. Please do not ignore me and just use my page for memes/pictures/plot ideas/mutuals/etc. No one likes to feel used. If there has been NO actual communication back from you for about a month, you will be unfollowed and possibly blocked.

Do not mistake my friendliness as weakness. I feel like RPing is a two-way partnership. If you want to plot, help me plot. Since I’m looking at your rules and muses, you should be looking at my muse and rules. Please don’t make me do all the work.

No god modding!

Even though certain tropes are very common in the RP world, do not completely copy any muse/plot of mine! If I feel like you stole a muse, I will confront you and then block you from all pages.

Following

This is not a follow for follow page. I only follow pages who express actual interest in plotting. If you follow me, except to be interacted with/talked to. *I understand everyone has our own levels of socializing, but I do expect some communication between the two of us, even if its just plotting and saying hello from time to time. If you’re shy, that’s okay! I’m a friendly person and will usually reach out to say hello.*

Even though I would prefer it if the person who follows me introduces themselves first, I typically say hello whenever someone follows me.

DO NOT follow me and not say anything to me. DO NOT follow me and ignore my message and only use my page for images, memes, plot ideas, and mutuals.

I will unfollow, block, and possibly report you. Sorry not sorry.

I only follow those who are interested in plotting after a few messages or replies.

Activity/Threads

I am relatively active. My speed is not meant to make you feel pressured into responding back just as fast. I understand everyone has their own pace. The only thing I ask is if you take months to reply, just give me a heads up is all.

Unless its otherwise mentioned, if a reply goes unanswered for a week or two, I may send you a little nudge just to see what’s going on. Do not feel pressured. I just have anxiety and sometimes worry is all.

If I have not answered a thread in 5+ days, feel free to give me a nudge.

I do not like feeling ghosted or ignored. If you lose interest in wanting to plot or in a thread, please just let me know if something was dropped or if you lose interest. I will understand. It happens. Bad news/confrontation sucks, I know, but it’s common courtesy to let the other person know so you aren’t keeping the other person guessing. If you expect people to respect your wishes and boundaries, then you should respect other people’s. Just tell me “Lost interest” or “dropped”. I’ll be honest, I might ask why. I might also want to talk about other options if a thread doesn’t work out. If you don’t want to talk about it, I respect that.

I can and will unfollow and drop threads if I feel like, after talking to you about it, the scene/plot development is going no where. I prefer the drama to stay with our muses, not in real life.

Responses do not have to extremely long, but more than just 2-3 sentences. I will usually try to match the length of a response if I can. Just give me something to work with and I will make it work!

I do not respond to scenes with gifs or pictures simply because I am lazy and don’t know how to format them the way most people like them. If this is an issue for you, please talk to me about it. If I use a gif or picture for a wanted plots/plot calls, feel free to start the thread with a gif, but after the third or so response, I won’t be using images anymore. You are more than welcome to use gifs on our threads, though! Maybe it’ll motivate me to stop being lazy, haha!

Feel free to reply to any opens or send some memes. If you send me an ask that involves our muses, I may ask you a few questions before replying.

Plots/Tags

This is a multi-muse and multi-verse independent RP. Some plots/headcanons will overlap, some will be their own verse. Multi-mun plots shall be discussed later on if it comes up.

I’m pretty much open to anything. I am not opposed to plots getting dramatic, serious, complicated, messy, chaotic, dark, weird, etc. I’m not a prude either, so things can get a little smutty and NSFW! Things I’m Down to Do: pretty much anything. I normal people stuff and fantasy stuff (like anything involving creatures (vampires, werewolves, mermaids, etc.) . I’ll only really do canon plots if I am familiar with the universe, but I’m also easily persuaded into things after doing some good, honest googling. I don’t mind doing apocalyptic or future stuff. When it comes to specific time periods, uh... let’s just talk about it!

I know the lore can change on these creatures, so we should probably talk about how we want to approach it.

Not every plot has be smutty. Ultimately, I’m here to plot and create! We can talk privately about boundaries if you are not comfortable with smut.

NSFW posts/threads will be tagged. Any triggering content will be tagged the best I can! Trigger warnings will look like this: TW:___ List of TWs that appear on this RP page can be found HERE. I will do my best at tagging triggering content. If I miss something, just let me know!

Things I Won’t Do: pee/poopy sex, pedophilia, anime stuff, 1920s themed era (unless it makes sense at the time. i.e. a party), extreme blood/needle/knife/weapon play. I AM NOT KINK SHAMING. These are just things I am not comfortable with for personal reasons. I don’t judge. I just don’t want my muses subjected to certain things. I also don’t think I will be making any muses under the age of 20, so pedophile plots won’t be likely. I do welcome age gaps, though. Other than the things mentioned, I’m pretty much open to anything else.

Admittedly, I am not great at smut but it is something I really want to get better at. Just be a little patient with me! I will give it my all and try my best to be engaged!

Muses/FCs/etc.

Muse pages and bios will always be updated. I’m always developing my muses and trying to figure out what is going on with them. I will usually make a post when things are being updated or changed with a muse. Any major aspects of a muse that is changed will usually be discussed with the mun before I change it.

Banned FCs are found HERE.

I don’t mind interacting with a muse with the same FC. I’m sure we will find something interesting to do with them.

Anything Else I Forgot

When in doubt, just message me! I’m a friendly and excitable, yet reasonable person! Any questions/comments/concerns can easily be addressed if you just come to me! Also, don’t hesitate to say hi!

Important thoughts and feelings can also be found here.

#myrules #rules #importantinfo

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woollyqueen · 5 years ago

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usse 55

Floral Patterns ~ An Essay About Flowers and Art (with a Blooming Addendum.)

by Andrew Berardini

A Change of Heart installation view at Hannah Hoffman Gallery, Los Angeles, 2016. Courtesy: Hannah Hoffman Gallery, Los Angeles. Photo: Michael Underwood

“Without flowers, the reptiles, which had gotten along fine in a leafy, fruitless world, would probably still rule. Without flowers, we would not be.”

— Michael Pollan, The Botany of Desire (2001)

“Not even the category of the portrait seems to have ever attained the profound level of painterly decrepitude that still life would attain in the sinister harmlessness in the work of Matisse or Maurice de Vlaminck… the most obsolete of all still-life types.”

— Benjamin H. D. Buchloh on Gerhard Richter’s Flowers (1992)

Don’t worry, nobody’s looking. Go ahead.

Stop and smell the flowers.

Feel that sumptuous perfume blooming from those spreading petals. That’s pleasure. That’s sex. That’s the body lotion of the teenage beauty fingering your belt buckle to take your virginity (or the one you wore when you tugged that belt off your first). That’s your grandmother’s bathroom and the heart-shaped wreath at her funeral. That’s the lithe fingers and supple wrists of the florist, an emperor of blooms arranging the flowers for your mother just so.

Those petals, that scent, those colors.

Somehow flowers have become a decrepit subject, “the most obsolete of all still-life types,” to use Buchloh’s words. Despite the eminent Octoberist’s antipathy (and he is hardly alone in his disdain), flowers in art are back in bloom.

Flagrantly frivolous, wholly ephemeral, though ancient in art, the floral’s recent return as a major subject for artists marks a pivot toward those things that flowers represent: the decorative, the minor, the ephemeral and emotional, the liveliness of their bloom and the perfume of their decay, a sophisticated language of purest color and form that can be both raw nature and refined arrangement, poetic symbolism rubbing against the political mechanisms of value, history, and trade. Flowers are fragrant with subtle meanings, each different for every artist who chooses them as a subject. They are a move away from literal explications, self-righteous cynicism—and toward what, precisely? Let’s say poetry.

Bas Jan Ader, Primary Time (still), 1974. © Estate of Bas Jan Ader / Mary Sue Andersen, 2016 / Bas Jan Ader by SIAE, Rome, 2016. Courtesy: Meliksetian | Briggs, Los Angeles

Free in the wilderness, rowed in gardens, in bouquets on tables, or as a decorative aromatic around the dead, flowers offer an opportunity for a simple, sensual pleasure—both a temporary escape and a corporeal return. Their origins as a species are a bit shrouded in mystery, but most who study flowers and evolution agree that they came about in order to employ insects and animals in their reproduction (a process that surely continues with our artful interventions). They lure with beauty, eventually tricking humans into agriculture and the dream of making such fecund and lively yearnings permanent, into art.

First and foremost, flowers are the sex organs of plants. Those bright colors and elaborate bodies were meant to turn us on. Georgia O’Keeffe transformed her blossoms from still-life representation into a kind of abstraction that tongued that first truth of flowers; all of her blooms wore the faces of interdimensional pussies. Robert Mapplethorpe’s photographs of flowers look even more suggestive to me than some of his more obviously lusty snaps of men in various states of undress and erect action.

Though their flounce and curve have a pornography of color, flowers as a metaphor can be easily read as safe, sanitized stand-ins for the real musk and squelch of sex. A vase of flowers in grandma’s parlor might be less notable than a bouquet of dildos erupting out of a bucket of lube. The opposite of badass to all the tough boys playing with their power tools, flowers to them are for old ladies and sissies and girls. Macho minimalists preferred stacks of bricks and sheets of steel to prove the heft of their seriousness. Besides, the florals look too comfortably bourgeois for the shock and spectacle of self-serious avant-gardists, though Giacomo Balla’s Futurist Flowers(1918-1925) look as radical as anything else those defiant Italians cooked up.

Virginia Poundstone: Flower Mutations installation view at The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum, Ridgefield, 2015. Courtesy: The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum, Ridgefield. Photo: Jean Vong

Though flowers have appeared in art for thousands of years, first evidenced in funerary motifs in the earliest Egyptian dynasties, they’ve been used mostly as a sideshow, a decorative motif, a signifying prop. But around 1600, during the time of the tulip mania that rubbled the Netherlandish economy, Dutch artists began to paint blooms as the main attraction: finely wrought bouquets with delicate strokes, an idealistic botanist’s attention to perfection and detail, each variety laden with meaning, some held over from religion, some devised for newly invented varietals. This efflorescence came about with the disposable income of the bourgeoisie and the introduction of the tulip to international trading with the Ottoman Empire; in the court of Constantinople, flowers were all the rage. As an object of desire and prestige, the flower earned its worth as a central subject.

By the Victorian era, the language of flowers became wildly popular, as that repressed period needed something sexy to finger, especially for the corseted women. The frivolity of flowers was perhaps an area of knowledge the patriarchy let ladies have mastery over, but male artists weren’t ignoring the chromatic potential of blooms, either. With wet smears and hazy visions, Vincent van Gogh and Claude Monet were among the best floral daubers of their time (with a solid shout out to the drooping beauties of Henri Fantin-Latour, whose 1890 painting A Basket of Flowers made it onto New Order’s 1983 album Power, Corruption, and Lies, itself an elliptical Richter reference). Flowers to these painters were a way to explore the power and range of their medium with unfettered color. “Perhaps I owe it to flowers,” said Monet, “that I became a painter.” As art took an intellectual turn, however, flowers fell out as serious subjects and became the provenance of Sunday painters, appropriate only for the marginalized. Yet as outsiders increasingly collapse binaries, the center cannot hold and vines snake into the heart of power to bloom a variety as diverse and beautiful as the spectrum of humanity.

A Change of Heart, an exhibition organized by the curator Chris Sharp at Hannah Hoffman Gallery in Los Angeles in summer 2016, touched on dreams and contemplations I’d been having about obvious forms of beauty and their force in art as both assertion and escape. Sunsets, moonlight, waterfalls, and, of course, flowers, all easily dismissed as sentimental kitsch, seemed to be enjoying a new life, born of a self-conscious romanticism that acknowledges these subjects as perhaps decayed and misspent, but lets their beauty sweep them up anyway. Sharp stated in the press release that the work in the exhibition “embraces the floral still life in all its formal, symbolic, political and aesthetic heterogeneity… a radical and even dizzying diversity of approaches, including the queer, the decorative, the scientific, the euphemistic, the memento mori, the painterly, the deliberately amateur and minor as a position, and much more.”[1]

Willem de Rooij, Bouquet IX, 2012. Courtesy: the artist and Regen Projects, Los Angeles. Photo: Michael Underwood

From historical works by Andy Warhol, Alex Katz, Ellsworth Kelly, Jane Freilicher, Felix Gonzalez-Torres, and Bas Jan Ader to art made much more recently by Camille Henrot, Willem de Rooij, Amy Yao, Kapwani Kiwanga, and Paul Heyer, the pieces in A Change of Heart approach the floral in wholly unique ways. Rather than cordoning off the artists in Sharp’s excellent show, I’m going to weave their methods, ideas, and visions into a larger conversation, some aspects of which were quite likely on the curator’s mind, as any art gallery and its resources can only be so expansive. In London as well, the gallerist and curator Silka Rittson-Thomas has opened up a project space and storefront called TukTuk Flower Studio to host the floral visions of contemporary artists.

Of course some artists in recent history focus on the base, mass appeal of flowers, like Warhol and his iconic screenprint Flowers (1964), or Jeff Koons with his giant, bloom-encrusted Puppy(1992) and solid shimmering metal of Tulips (1995-2004). But despite the blank-faced games of pop cipher employed by Warhol and the spirited industrial-scale exuberance of Koons, I can’t help finding a whisper of contempt in both, a pandering hucksterism, giving the people what they want. This obviousness and its exploitation is of course a part of the story of our modern interactions with flowers, but it obscures a more nuanced narrative.

Capitalism has so often turned beauty as a notion into kitsch, or as Milan Kundera puts it, “a denial of shit,” and we can find this modern kitsch in the unblemished bloom on the cheeks of a Disney princess, or in “America’s most popular artist” Thomas Kinkade’s creation of an imagined past of perfect old-timey townships, a good old days that glosses over all the problems of inequality and oppression endemic to that era. Donald Trump is the kingpin of this kind of kitsch these days. The best of our feelings can be easily hijacked for political purposes, but it is a mistake to cynically dismiss those feelings simply because others would take advantage of them.

All aspects of creation are beautiful enough to need little human improvement, including flowers. As John Berger writes in The White Bird, “The notion that art is the mirror of nature is one that appeals only in periods of skepticism. Art does not imitate nature, it imitates a creation, sometimes to propose an alternative world, sometimes simply to amplify, to confirm, to make social the brief hope offered by nature.” [2] We attempt to capture the power of these moments not to improve upon them, but to fix their power, to make ephemeral hopes and desires into something more permanent. Perhaps the natural versus the human-made is one more collapsing binary, and the diversity of flowers allows for such wild variety that the simple monolithic subject of “flowers” can’t easily contain it. In using flowers as a subject, artists have gravitated from the classic still life (like Richter on the ass end of Buchloh’s anti-floral sentiment), with its entwined poetical and political meanings and their elaborate symbolic language, operating at the decorative margins, toward the center. This can be traced in the atmospheric floral patterns of Marc-Camille Chaimowicz (enjoying a fantastic resurgence of interest), the pastel squiggles of Lily van der Stokker, and the softly erotic washes of Paul Heyer. Pulling the margins into the center is also of course one of the great political projects of our time.

Felix Gonzales-Torres, “Untitled” (Alice B. Toklas’ and Gertrude Stein’s Grave, Paris), 1992. © The Felix Gonzales-Torres Foundation. Courtesy: Andrea Rosen Gallery, New York

The poetical-political intertwining in flowers has a few significant contemporary exemplars. Felix Gonzalez-Torres imbued common objects with profound poetic and political force throughout his work, and included in A Change of Heart was his photograph of the flowers on the graves of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. In a single snap, an almost slight touristic photograph, the artist reveals a nexus of forces around flowers: as memorial, as assertion of love with all its political and artistic forces, as vaginal (given their lesbian sexuality), and as a visual poem that matches Stein’s “A rose is a rose is a rose…,” itself of course an invocation of William Shakespeare’s “A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” A rose is a rose and love is love, by any other name.

With a blend of flowers, sometimes artificially constructed, and his own indexical variety of sharp critique, Christopher Williams takes a more distinctly political focus, working wholly on reclassifying a collection of flower models (fakes, to be clear) not into botanical hierarchies but into political relevance. The photographs in Angola to Vietnam* (1989) are snapped pictures of selected replicas from the Harvard Botanical Museum’s Ware Collection of Blaschka Glass Models, made between 1887 and 1936. Williams, however, focuses on flowers from countries where political disappearances were recorded in 1985, reclassifying them by country of origin rather than by the museum’s system. But although these are certainly flowers, one gets the feeling that Williams wants to undermine their bourgeois beauty and the colonial impulse that collected, modeled, and classified them.

This sharply political act finds force in Taryn Simon’s photo series Paperwork and the Will of Capital (2015) and Kapwani Kiwanga’s ongoing series Flowers for Africa (begun in 2012), with their similar focus on floral arrangements made for banquets celebrating important political moments. Simon’s pictures tend to flatten the arrangements into manipulated environments. Kiwanga presents living bouquets, with the intention that they rot over the course of the exhibition (I watched one whither in A Change of Heart) so as to describe a complex physical poetic. For Kiwanga, the flowers that stood on the tables of important moments in politics represent the colonial import of European flower arrangement: where, for what, and by whom these flowers were cultivated, but also the hope and heartbreak involved in many of the agreements they witnessed. Some represented a marked turn toward liberation, while other accords withered along with the flowers. (Both of these projects echo, for me, Danh Vo’s display of the chandeliers from the Hotel Majestic in Paris hanging over the agreement that ended the US-Vietnam War.)

Zoe Crosher, The Manifest Destiny Billboard Project in Conjuction with LAND, Fourth Billboard to Be Seen Along Route 10, Heading West… (Where Highway 86 Intersects…), 2015. Courtesy: the artist. Photo: Chris Adler

Zoe Crosher’s billboard series Shangri LA’d (2013-2015), produced in collaboration with LAND, displayed a lush array of flowers and greenery arranged by the artist and shot in a storefront in Los Angeles’s Chinatown formerly occupied by the Chinese Communist Party. As one drove across the country on the transcontinental highway, I-10, the flowers rotted further with each successive picture, until a decayed brown mass greeted the traveler as they crossed into California and on to Los Angeles. The dream of prosperity and possibility that drives a traveler westward became the hardships of the road and the realities of the place.

For the last decade, Virginia Poundstone has included in her artwork all aspects of floral cultivation. She has climbed the Himalayan mountains to find the wildest of wildflowers, and traveled to the factory farms of Colombia, tracing industrially grown blooms from growth to auction to wholesalers to flower markets and shops. Her interest grew from her day job as a floral arranger and her research into the gendered origins of that craft in the West and its resonance as a mode of art making in Japanese ikebana. She has also curated exhibitions at the Aldrich Museum that included floral works by Christo, Nancy Graves, and Bas Jan Ader (Ader’s video Primary Time [1974], of endless arrangements, is also in A Change of Heart) that have informed her deep investigations into the complex symbolism and language of flowers.

Other artists focus primarily on this language. Willem de Rooij’s Bouquet series (first begun with his late collaborator, Jeroen de Rijke, in 2002) speaks without literal language. Discussions around politics are followed by meditations on color or a collection of blooms gathered for their intensely allergenic qualities. The giant displays, in contrast to Kiwanga’s, are carefully maintained throughout an exhibition; a florist collaborator always makes regular visits to an exhibition to maintain the scent, color, and freshness of the expression.

In A Change of Heart, Sharp also included Camille Henrot’s ikebana interpretations of important modern novels as well as Maria Loboda’s A Guide to Insults and Misanthropy (2006), which attempts to use the symbolic language of flowers to insult their receiver.

Camille Henrot, The Golden Notebook, Doris Lessing, 2014. Courtesy: the artist and Metro Pictures, New York

For flowers, the recent turn holds an echo of romanticism, the intuitive, the emotional, the poetic, existing alongside a belief in political freedoms. The lusty poet Lord Byron died in the war for Greek independence. One of the fundamental human rights is a right to pleasure, to beauty. Beauty isn’t our collective ignoring of the hard struggles of the world, but rather an assertion of exactly what we’re fighting for.

As Fernando Pessoa writes in The Book of Disquiet (1984), “Flowers, if described with phrases that define them in the air of the imagination, will have colours with a durability not found in cellular life. What moves lives. What is said endures.”[3]

[1] http://hannahhoffmangallery.com/media/files/pr_acoh_web.pdf. [2] John Berger, The White Bird (London: Chatto & Windus, 1985) [3] Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (London: Serpent’s Tale, 1991)

~ BLOOMING ADDENDUM ~

Christopher Williams, Angola, 1989, Blaschka Model 439, 1894, Genus no. 5091, Family, Sterculiaceae Cola acuminate (Beauv.) Schott and Endl., Cola Nut, Goora Nut, 1989, from the series Angola to Vietnam*, 1989. Courtesy: the artist and Galerie Gisela Capitain, Cologne

Orchid / #DA70D6

General Sternwood: The orchids are an excuse for the heat. You like orchids? Marlowe: Not particularly. General Sternwood: Nasty things. That flesh is too much like the flesh of men. Their perfume has a rotten sweetness of corruption… — The Big Sleep (1946)

The shape of this flowering plant’s pendulous doubled root ball suggested to some ancient Hellenic botanist the particular danglers in a man’s kit, and the orchid got its name from the Greek word for testes. Thus the dainty beloveds of aristocratic gardeners and fussy flower breeders are buried balls, dirty nuts. Try not to snicker when granny effuses, “I simply adore orchids.” Flowers have always been symbolic of sexuality, and even more so for those for whom it’s suppressed. Women, especially older ones, have been forced by social norms to stanch their desires, rarely granted the allowance to fuck freely. It gladdens the heart in its own weird way to hear old folks homes have the highest rates of STDs these days. Not because it’s good for anyone to catch the clap, but because it means they fuck with more abandon than most might care to admit.

To some, orchids are the sexiest of flowers. Their namesake roots lie buried in most variants, while those strange blooms pump horticultural hearts with lively colors, generous curves, and lusty orifices. If vaginal decoration took a sharp surgical turn past bejeweled vajazzling, you might find yourself confronted with one of these psychedelic pussies when dipping down for a French lick. As flowers, they fall into an uncanny valley. Too close but not close enough, the effect is just creepy rather than alluring. While other flowers invite an inserted nose, a huff, and though not yet an erection, their floral perfume has turned my head in that general direction. But the fleshy orchid does not inspire my lusts even a little. Perhaps even the opposite—its odor and form the absence of body, a dry, funereal thing.

“Crypt orchid” is the term for an undescended testicle, though I dream a flower that can only blossom in tombs.

The bright, rich purple creeps its name from the flower, one of innumerable possibilities for a plant with wild variation. Though it has the crackle of electricity beneath its buzz, orchid’s too muted to be much beyond a suggestion. Bright but not the brightest, rich without being creamy, orchid’s a faded purple haze on a bright day, the fading neon of a strip club past its prime.

Rose / #FF007F

A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.

When a beautiful rose dies beauty does not die because it is not really in the rose. — Agnes Martin (1989)

Each five-petal-kiss of colors from the tangled, toothy green stems. A brokenhearted smear, a yearning expressed through the formality of its presentation, the rose’s simple obviousness is its charm. The color of nipple, just exposed before cold air and hot mouths harden it into a deeper shade.

In many languages, the words for “rose” and “pink” are the same.

Rose-colored glasses. Roseate glow.

Rose tints my world Keeps me safe from my trouble and pain. — The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975)

Ask any florist and he’ll know how much a dozen will cost, one extra thrown in for luck. The rose grows thorns to better climb over its neighbors, to push over other flowers hungry for a beam of sunlight. More than one rose has drawn my blood, the dripping finger quickly mouthed.

Rose, floating in the pond, a dead flower in the eddies of the silver surface spangled with light. A lover’s bathtub blanket, a romantic’s bedspread. Rose, a gesture, an empty signifier, a lover’s lament, a husband’s apology. A shapely scented flower, a dream of what pussies could be.

Flowers and fruits are the sex organs of plants. Georgia O’Keeffe knew surely what she was doing with her folded blooms, plumped petals peeled back. Victorian ladies corseted by rigid morality spent repressed hours devotedly fingering their carefully cultivated flowers. Fresh blossoms will wilt on the vine whether they are nabbed or not. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, you virgins who make much of time. The scientific term for wilted plants starved of nutrients and water is “flaccid.”

A lover once told me she only enjoyed flowers knowing that something was dying expressly for her pleasure. Every rose has its thorn…

Flowers began as a funeral tradition to mask the odor of a decaying corpse. Wreathed, bouqueted, and sprayed, apple blossoms and heliotropes, chrysanthemums and camellias, hyacinths and delphiniums, snapdragons and, of course, roses. Anything goes for funeral flowers, just as long as they are fresh.

One artist I know dreamed of casting in concrete the cast-off flowers at the base of a Soviet war memorial. All the original flowers she stared at for hours, snapping picture after picture, measuring and admiring the perfect war memorial, the waste of pageantry all heaped and rotting, all the showy pomp to be swept up and trashed. Failing to gather them all from a park one Sunday afternoon, she made a memorial to that one. Under marbles carved Pro Patria, sometimes you’ll find flowers, but you’ll be sure to find a corpse.

“Roses,” she thought sardonically, “All trash, m’dear.” — Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway (1925)

As bright blooms fade, what is the color of decay?

Is it a sinking brown, a pale green, a moldy black that captures the wilted flower, the rotten fruit, the decomposing body? Spotted and mottled, both wet and dusty, alive with death’s critters and aromatic with rot, the color is unsteady at best, a hue with a checkered future. Tuck a rose away, let it dry, and though the life goes and the color fades, its form remains.

Ah Little Rose—how easy For such as thee to die! — Emily Dickinson (1858)

I won’t forget to put roses on your grave.

Lilac / #CBA2CB

I lost myself on a cool damp night Gave myself in that misty light Was hypnotized by a strange delight Under a lilac tree I made wine from the lilac tree Put my heart in its recipe It makes me see what I want to see and be what I want to be When I think more than I want to think Do things I never should do I drink much more than I ought to drink Because it brings me back you… Lilac wine is sweet and heady, like my love Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, like my love

Pale purples are the fucking saddest. Lavender’s forgetful wash. Mauve’s lonely decadence. And lilac. The color of unwilling resignation to lost passion. The pale fade, a lost spring.

April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. —T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land (1922)

The lilac flower originated on the Croatian coast whence it found its way into the gardens of Turkish emperors and from there to Europe in the 16th century, not reaching the Americas until the 17th. The scent of lilac has become for many the scent of spring. Carried by the compound indole, which is also found in shit, lilac’s aroma carries with its fade a special decay, heavy and narcotic. To a nose that does not know the tricks of the master perfumer, indole dropped in chocolate and coffee makes a product smell natural.

A note found in perfume, bottled spring, often worn by elderly ladies. In the Descanso Gardens near Los Angeles, there is a grove of two hundred fifty varieties of lilac, their names a horticulturist’s poetry of yearning: Dark Night and Sylvan Beauty, Snow Shower and Spring Parade, Maiden’s Blush and Vesper Song.

I missed their bloom this year, gone to the snowy mountains where the flowers blossom late, but to walk among the towering shrubs is to be punched in the face with perfume. So sweet, so heady. Running my fingers over its heart-shaped leaf, failing to feel my leaf-shaped heart. I dreamed of going to the gardens with my lover and went there many times after she left me. Dreaming of her. Feeling the sweet sadness of her perfume, the unwilling resignation of her love withdrawn. And this lover, all the lovers who always go away. One lilac may hide another and then a lot of lilacs… — Kenneth Koch (1994)

Walt Whitman dropped a sprig on the passing coffin of a murdered president and birthed a poem for dooryards and students. Not his most beautiful by far, but its love is real. As any love for a distant leader can only be so real, but the lilac is love. Staring into a screen full of its color, I am both spring and its destruction. Its bright lovely burst of life, its wilt and loss. The cool kiss of night, naked skin shivers but still you stay. And you stay and drink its sweetness and its rot, you drink your heart.

In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, Who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hands, And ate of it. I said, “Is it good, friend?” “It is bitter—bitter,” he answered; “But I like it Because it is bitter, And because it is my heart.” — Stephen Crane (1895)

Cherry Blossom / #FFB7C5

A Selection of the Traditional Colors of Japan; or, Bands I Wished I Was In

Cherry Blossom Ibis Wing Long Spring Dawn Orangutan Persimmon Juice Cypress Bark Meat Sparrow Brown Decaying Leaves Pale Incense The Brown of Flattery The Color of an Undried Wall Golden Fallen Leaves Simmered Seaweed Contemplation in a Tea Garden Pale Fallen Leaves Underside of Willow Leaves Sooty Willow Bamboo Thousand-Year-Old Green Insect Screen Rusty Storeroom Velvet Harbor Rat Iron Storage Mousy Wisteria Thin Color Fake Purple Vanishing Red Mouse Half Color Inside of a Bottle

Andrew Berardini is an American writer known for his work as a visual art critic and curator in Los Angeles. He has published articles and essays in publications such as Mousse, Artforum, ArtReview, Art-Agenda.

Originally published on Mousse 55 (October–November 2016)

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saiqianxi-blog · 7 years ago

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Eye-opening

QianXiSai Make money Diary（How to make money）

Friends found a girlfriend, 90 years.

He commented highly on her. Where is Gao?

capable.

The girl's work is a bit half-physical and she works and sleeps. He appreciates...

Whenever you talk about this advantage.

I always have different opinions. What do I think if a woman turns herself into a porter? This is not a woman who wants to find a good individual at farming. What time is it?

Do not dress up, can not play, this is a good woman?

I think it is worth discussing.

I have been thinking that these girls around me, who are around 90 years old, are the best?

After much deliberation, Mei Er.

She does not have a car and room, there is a full-time driver, this is very Niu B, can basically be volunteers for her driver, is not seeking any return, just for more contacts, is not to think bubble she was?

Her feelings are very cold, and generally the man turned himself down.

Unless it's me shameless.

How do we know? I studied yoga in Qingdao. The assistant told me about the experience of traveling to my hometown.

She said that there was a classmate who opened a yoga studio in our county and had a very good business.

I recommended the business card to me. It was the beautiful children. They were together. He participated in a crash course for yoga instructors in Jinan.

Plus, just after the eleventh eve, Meier had an activity, 300 yuan experience a week, after experiencing 300 yuan, I went and paid 300 yuan, but I did not experience, after a long time, she always I felt that my heart was a thing and asked me on WeChat.

It meant that I could not return my money.

I said, no need to retire, please let me eat.

So we ate together.

Later, I reported a private tuition class for 6,600 yuan, but I didn't go on. I just thought she was very good and she simply supported her business. Even though she had a good face value, she could play a joke, but I didn't think about soaking her.

On the contrary, we talked together very well, talked about business, talked about life.

The man is actually the species that will most likely look at the dishes. Different women have different attitudes.

If a man goes up, he will sing with you. To illustrate, you must give him the wrong signal and let him see you as frivolous.

For a long time, we are commensurate with men and women.

Occasionally go out and play together, I introduce: This is my girlfriend.

She also responded with a smile, this is my boyfriend.

I think women's gas field is too strong. Men do not dare to use hands. We live alone on many occasions.

The most exaggeration is nothing more than hug or courtesy. Of course,

according to my intuition, it is smooth, but I still do not do so.

I feel that when a friend is good, she can talk and talk. She can understand me.

She is unmarried and has no boyfriend.

I called her to spend time in communication, then she must hurry up to make up a sentence: ignorant.

She has too many human resources and spread all over Shandong. How do you know? She graduated from the Master of the Mountain, and in the senior year of that year she worked as a market for a training company.

At that time there were 250,000 high-end courses. She might be brainwashed too thoroughly. I borrowed money to attend this course.

Do you know what the result is?

She became the star of the entire course.

Those entrepreneurs either recognize her as a sister or be a daughter, that is, for her hard-hearted infection, I remember that I wrote this before, and some called her to go to work in her own company, while others suggested she start her own business. Is willing to invest in her.

For example, I would like to visit the fine art museums in the province. After I was listed, she could contact me directly to the person in charge.

When I went, everyone was treated as a guest and I was completely convinced.

Yoga is not really her main business.

Her main business is actually purchasing. In the duty-free shop in Khorgos, the surface is for tourists, in fact, mainly through WeChat sales, the network is very large, purchasing the most profitable thing is actually smoke, wine, but these two are in fact It is the business of wiping the edge.

WeChat plays a very good hidden role. You have to know that the highest cost of tobacco is the tax, and the smoke has a characteristic, the customer group is very stable, and there will be big customers.

Of course, not considering legal risks.

All studied thoroughly.

The illegal costs have been calculated, and Khorgos will be the main port for foreign cigarettes. There are a number of other port restrictions. At present, this port only has a monetary limit.

Of course, the policy will also change at any time. The former cross-border e-commerce has been doing too much at one go. Therefore, five policies were changed within one year.

In the end, everyone did not have to play.

There is no problem in the short term...

She once wanted to cooperate with me and only cooperated with spirits. Spirits are also a huge market, but I always feel that these things are full of uncertainty and I am negligently rejected.

At the time, there was another reason that I found I was blackened by her. I hurriedly called and asked her.

She hurriedly said, no, no.

Hang up the phone, and call me again for a while. Explain that she had talked about a boyfriend and was a very good man in those days. He was a company and he was almost the same age as me. Divorced, the man was Looking through her chats at night, I found that I was too embarrassed with me.

And those days we just discussed the issue of where to go. It was a joke. As a result, I was darkened by her boyfriend.

After a while, plus me, I reconciled with my boyfriend about me.

After a while, I said to my boyfriend.

Happy for her, she also sighed: I'm not fit to fall in love.

On one occasion, we went for picking together. In fact, the whole process was actually quite boring...

I told her that in the future, similar activities should not call me. It is not interesting. You should spend your time on the knife. If you visit the entrepreneur someday, you can call me.

I would also like to participate if you pay me. The class is completely a waste of time.

She asked, do you think the visiting company has someone attend?

I said, do not be positioned as a visit to the enterprise but as an experience. It is fresh every week. For example, take everyone to sit and sit in Ferrari and visit the villa.

This is something that we cannot reach in our daily lives. Too many, 10 places, you do not want to profit, just for your own play.

She said this is good.

I said that there is definitely a market. For example, everyone goes to see Super League and even goes to Shanghai to watch F1 and even listen to Guo Degang together.

Let's do it.

There was an experience tour in Qingdao with red wine, equestrianism, golf, a sports car, and photographers. Each person took a group of photos. At the time, the fee was 1,500 yuan, of which 1300 yuan was the cost and 200 yuan was her. profit.

It is just looking out at the well.

This line is very good, at least I think it is value for money, I also recommend that she engage in the children's version is to allow children to experience and see how the rich lives, we come to experience a lot, and for many people It is just the normal state of life.

On the eve of Christmas last year, she had also engaged in a visit to a bookstore. At that time, there were 11 people.

When I talked about it, everyone was very shocked. I have autographed living famous artists here. Even inkbo, I talked about these writer's heads, who is the character, who has any stories, who loves to drink, and who loves to smoke...

Everyone sends 5 books, I charge 300 yuan, and she charges 500 yuan.

She also sighed: After visiting the lap, I had a totally new understanding of you, and I looked around.

Each of them also prepared some questions, such as how the article was conceived, whether it was a hand-in-hand or a draft, and I answered one by one.

Very interesting, I also gained a lot, and also harvested a hardcore female fan, most people take a photo with her shoulders at the most.

She is ringing my waist and is a big sister in Texas. She looks like a doctor and believes in the Buddha. On the first day of the first month of this year, she ran to Thousand-Foshan to burn incense and also photographed me. She said that I wish you peace in my wishes.

Because there are family dinners on weekends, I rarely participate in activities organized by the United States. In addition, watching dramas and riding yachts are not very attractive to me. I will not go.

Two more times are very interesting.

One time we went to Shandong to visit the radio station. The radio station arranged the first beauty to accompany us for dinner.

It was very extroverted, familiar, and self-proclaimed to be the first beauty in the universe. It can only be said that the long is very beautiful, but it is not a big beautiful woman. She had just born a child soon, still quite fat, mobile phone screensaver is a picture of her son, pointing to the photo and said: See no, this is the first handsome guy in Jinan.

We asked a lot of questions, and more about business. For example, if you sell fake Maotai in the middle of your show, what do you think about the anchor?

She hurriedly corrected it. It was Maotai liquor, not fake wine.

All in all, she was grateful for these advertisements, which means that if there were no such owners, they might starve to death.

Many of the questions I ask are biased. From an outsider's point of view, what questions do you understand?

For example, I asked her, usually you go to some fans in the store to spend, like a single?

She said it was absolute.

I ask, do you usually meet fans?

She said that we often make face-to-face meetings, or more.

I ask, is there a die-hard fan?

She said that it was particularly large.

I asked, is it more than now?

She said that in the past, there were too many radio shows and fans were not loyal.

I asked, is the program a good mouth?

She said: No, we must do our homework one day in advance.

I asked, who is the column of your radio station?

She said that it is me, as early as 7 to 9 o'clock, do you think about it? Is there a more gold time than this? Morning class time.

I ask, don't you help people to hold a wedding?

She said, no, I am not familiar with the process. I often preside over some auto conferences.

I asked, did anyone complain about your show?

She said that there are ah, such as playing the mayor's hotline, saying that Valentine's Day is a holiday for foreigners, and why the radio broadcasts Valentine's Day. Why is such a program not banned?

I said, isn't it a neuropathy?

She said, who is not a neuropathy who will complain to us? You like to listen and listen. If you don't like to listen to a channel change, it's much easier.

I asked, in the eyes of your colleagues, are you their idols?

She said that I hate it, after all, my position is what they want.

I said that it was not particularly about your rumors.

She said yes, it is said that all leaders slept with me.

I laughed……

I asked seemingly indecent, she answered in the same way, but she knows that I understand her, do not look at her so bold, in some issues will also be blushing, and a little, the sound is really nice, especially laugh, some Excuse me, it's sexy.

I was particularly impressed with another event. I went to visit the hometown of local tyrants. This local tyrant is doing new energy.

His house is in the X House compound and is similar to the general building. There are only very high-level talents, and only one yard 11 families, first-class security, he is a direct increase of 2 million to buy, say plain, not for sale.

Many things we cannot imagine.

For example, hierarchy.

He usually sits on a very ordinary PASSAT. The decoration of the home is very simple. It is not like local tyrants.

I praised his table at home. He came to the sentence: This table is the least in the whole house.

Ass took the horse and hung up (oh, a little...).

There is a full-time chef at home, and we have 9 dishes for us. It is a bit similar to Japanese cuisine. Each dish is one or two chopsticks and it is very delicate.

He has two Ferraris, one black and one red, the same paragraph, the number plate is similar, but the first two letters are different, the ending number is 458, the car usually parked in a car private club, not far from the circuit.

On the track, everyone experiences a lap, not open, but sit.

The man's life is very careful, sleeves on the sleeves, very chic.

It turned out that some people live in this way.

He also visited private clubs. Private clubs are all similar to hotels. There are no signboards in the office buildings. The interiors are too luxurious.

The toilets are all music toilets of the ININA INAX. One is about 100,000, and the other is close to the toilet. The lid is automatically down, and it automatically flushes out of the toilet and is still pneumatic.

After joining the club, members can entertain customers here.

very good.

And it's hidden. You can't swipe in the door.

We can never imagine, yeah, this office building still has this one...

Every month, there are member salons. Some famous artists are invited to give lectures, or to speak Buddhist studies or to study Chinese culture.

All are masters. Each period has a group photo, and there are two types of participation. Individuals can join or join the company.

The annual fee is 10 Million yuan, of course, can not be used to get money, but also need sponsors, clubs are very low-key, I specifically Baidu for a moment, without any relevant information.

The day before yesterday, I went to America to send red wine. We also had a chat.

I said that you do something more meaningful than doing training.

It means opening a window and giving us the opportunity to see the outside world. If there is no bridge, we have no chance to experience it.

We cannot find a place to spend money.

She said that I myself have gained a lot.

I said that sometimes chatting with other people may cause people to say something unintentional. It makes us very inspired. It is much better than lectures. We can see and feel that it is really shocking.

Travel is just watching the scene and it is difficult to go deeper.

What about this model? It is another different kind of scenery.

It's more attractive to us.

I said that, in fact, you can expand the geographical scope of the country and include celebrities in your goals.

She said that it needs to be gradual.

I said that the fees can be higher and the frequency reduced. For example, only 12 issues a year are needed.

If I am a well-known Chinese writer, then you can do my lunch, for example, 5,000 yuan per person, 10 people, and everyone can Asking questions, in fact, you are the biggest beneficiary.

As for the cost of our three points, you have one, I have one, donated one, linked to the public interest.

She said, good!

I said that everyone has a price tag. Apart from the front line business people, if you have lunch for 20,000 yuan, you have to pay for lunch or you have a higher price tag. At least, the writer can take it all.

This matter is totally unintentional.

This year, we want to be a monthly center, and talk to the market about it. We all say that it is a sunrise industry.

Then we need to do a lot of market research.

Investment is not a trivial matter, and it cannot be blind. In addition, it does not make sense from the surface. Because you cannot see the content, you need to find the real practitioners and investors and talk to them.

So, I commissioned Meimei to help me find a better month center in Shandong.

When she went up, she introduced us to a tall building. In Qingdao, the 30-room-sized moonlight center has invested close to 20 million in the light decoration. It was also the owner who personally received us.

They are the capital operation route that they take. There are also risk funds involved, the high-end route to go, the cheaper room is 40,000 yuan/month, and the high-end one is up to 160,000. The boss said that it is decorated according to the standard of a five-star hotel.

We have three people to visit.

The boss is also very knowledgeable, but also just opened soon, the blueprint is very ambitious, in the next three years to open 17 in Shandong, and even the GEM listing plan.

The three of us had similar feelings when we went out: The store will close in less time.

why?

One of the deadliest mistakes has been made. The house is oriented towards something. If the center of the month is not north-south, it will die because the child must sunbathe and the room without the sun can easily cause depression.

There is such a tall room, smelly in the hallway.

Management is also not standardized. For example, we went to visit and we put us in without measuring our body temperature. We only gave masks and shoe covers to each person. When we visited the room, we encountered a nurse lying on the couch and sneaking.

The boss knows about the monthly center that it is simply superficial. He thinks that the month center is nothing more than a five-star hotel + medical care service.

Therefore, he used all the hardware on the blade and introduced the hardware during the introduction. What is this TV? The brand's shower card was what it was. The shower was introduced for a long time...

I asked the two teachers accompanying me: Are you, will you come here for a confinement?

The answer is NO.

We recognize this market, but we cannot blindly, because the market is in the incubation period. It is the entire industry that is in the cultivation period.

Even the oldest and most expensive month center has been opened for so many years, but it is only a few hundred customers. If there are more than one thousand, a city may have more than a thousand customers and fewer counties.

The future will surely increase.

Can we survive the cold winter?

When we don’t make money, will we still stick to our hearts? For example, health, food, service.

Later, we heard that Fu Manyuan did a good job and contacted Zhang. I wanted to go through the inspections. Zhang always reminded her that she must be informed one day in advance so that she would be prepared to prepare some classic monthly meals for us to experience. Some time.

I am very curious, what does the monthly meal mean?

In my understanding, the monthly meal is old hen stew, meaning nothing.

Let's go.

Being stopped at the door, identifying the identity, measuring body temperature, wearing protective gear, giving us a very formal feeling, and one thing is particularly good, that is, fingerprint verification, can ensure the personal safety of the mother and baby.

The rooms are generally decorated and some are out of date, but the overall humanistic atmosphere and management atmosphere are particularly good. After a chat, Mr. Zhang talked about the view that the core of the month-month center is actually the monthly meal + service process, that is, the soft culture. Is the core competitiveness, hardware is not a core competence, not that hardware is not important, as long as the sun, health, quiet, warm enough, no fancy.

The entire process was visited and it was quite beyond my expectations.

Especially the experience of the monthly meal, I did a great job. There were cakes, fruit, soup, and meat, all of which were small dishes. It was a bit like the meal I was eating at the local tyrants.

I felt a bit special at that time. Deep, if it were to open such a private dish, it would be a perfect fire. In fact, I would say that everyone would understand it as an advertisement. In fact, it is really good. At least in the north, we rarely encounter such delicate meals. In the south, there are, for example, Jiangsu, Zhejiang and Shanghai.

Or three of us went to visit.

On the return journey, we all talked about the shock of the monthly meal to ourselves, and we repeatedly pondered a bit. In fact, confinement is to eat and what to eat is important. Why do you eat so well and lose weight? It is the amount of grasp, just right, a month to lose 20 pounds.

They are not heavy meals.

When we left, we had some regrets that we didn’t let go. It was mainly the whole process of busy exchanges.

We were not too shy to say that we were too ugly to eat. Zhang always reminded us not to look at the number of samples, but in the afternoon there were 4 More points will be hungry, and sure enough...

Before we went there was a general budget of 1.5 million or so. However, after returning from the visit, we felt that there was a budget of 300,000, because the kitchen would require 300,000 investment, and we may have misunderstandings about the understanding of the monthly center. It is actually not the case that the emphasis is on the care of the child and the shaping of the mother.

Another point is that we must treat it rationally, that is, open 10 homes may die.

In other words, we have 80% probability of failure.

This is the truth.

what is the reason?

Everyone overestimated themselves and underestimated the market. They always felt that they had touched the door and went to visit several homes to be able to touch the pulse. This is not the case.

This is a systematic project. Zhang Zeng told us this sentence: If you are ready to devote the rest of your life to the monthly center, then this matter will surely become a success. If you want to work part-time or be a shopkeeper, you must not be fooled.

Makes sense.

The franchise fee is 300,000. There is a support period, which is to help with it. I also talked with partners about the cooperation model. She didn’t have much doubt about her initial fee. She talked a bit: In fact, Zhang’s sentence is worth it. For money, she said that the house must not be chosen for something.

Before this, the houses we selected were all east-west oriented. We did not think about this issue at all.

The core is to find a house.

I think now that entrepreneurship, capital is not a problem, as long as there are good projects, everyone is willing to follow the vote, but it is still very difficult to really do things, need full-hearted input, handling trivial matter, in fact, our county is the most suitable for the month In the sub-center, there are top-three hospitals that can radiate three or four neighboring counties, and our location is very special. The distance from Linyi City is the same as that of Qingdao Jinan, which is 2 hours. The one who made the first one is the easiest to survive. ......

Actually, for this matter, I only want to be an investor. As a shareholder, I can help a lot, such as coordinating some resources and the like. At the same time, I can pull many customers.

Even if I am not pregnant yet, I can help them. Signing the slip as I can enrich my life experience may lead me to writing this book.

Of course, people may not need my funds, but as long as things can be done, I am quite happy because I learned a lot during the inspection process. For example, when we visited Fumanyuan, the light management manual was as thick as a dictionary.

There is one thing I think is particularly bullish, that is, each person is a member of a number of positions, staggering the time, very good, and talented people are highly efficient.

Come back, I talked about these experiences with Meier. She said that she can actually open up a sign shop and join the whole country.

I talked about my own ideas.

I think that if it is a lie fee, this gameplay is not a problem, and it does have such a play, but if you want to pursue success rate, then it is too difficult, because it can be done is a probability problem, and the probability is very small, and all aspects are There is a relationship, the boss is doing things for the people, the house is facing or even for heating...

So, I don't think this path is feasible.

This is something that has inspired me a lot. It was before our visit that our little partners prepared a series of questions, consulted one by one, and took notes seriously.

I think this is the attitude of doing things. Carefully. Demonstrating that the inspection of the market is very important, both the avant-garde investment awareness and rational investment attitude.

Even if the result of the final argument is that this is not possible, it is also meaningful.

In addition, I also have a new understanding of investment promotion. For example, now the monthly center is the outlet.

The monthly centers that we visit are relatively good are all need to make an appointment. The reason for the appointment is that the schedule is very tight, almost every day.

All have been inspected in the past, and things are so good that nobody joins.

Think of where to write, write so much first.

......... End of article .........

Special Note:

The article non-Documentary entity, I do not necessarily mean me, he is not necessarily him, not on the right seat.

About qianxisai:

Since 2008, write a diary daily, unhindered.

Based on entrepreneurial experience and life experience.

The article inside the material, story, case all come from my communication with friends, life experiences and experiences.

There is no empty theory and advanced technology, are the actual life experience and successful experience.

In my country, I have 10 million fans in 10 years. Annual article dues Hundreds of thousands of dollars.

My readers are civil servants, entrepreneurs, teachers, students, rich second generation, official second generation, entrepreneurs. They are everywhere in every city in my country.

I am now actively promoting my favorite book. Before I go to bed every night, I read it and carefully understand the true meaning of life.

I hope my essay can help you, inspire you, affect you, make you understand entrepreneurship, understand making money, understanding humanity and understanding the mysteries of success.

Share with you:

The perspective of society in turn has three levels, technology, system, and culture.

As small as a person, as large as a country, a nation, any kind of fate in the final analysis is the product of that cultural attributes.

Strong culture to create strong, weak culture to create the weak. This is the law, can also be understood as Heaven.

If you want to get the success of life and the happiness of life, please pay attention to my article.

I wish you success and happiness.

PS:

If you do not understand this article, or have any questions, you can write an email to me.

E-mail address: [email protected]

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We learn together, improve together and look forward to becoming friends with you.

From this perspective, the men in the dust are also wonderful...

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