#joe got closer to kissing cherry in the show more times than he actually kissed those girls

[im-probably-playing-genshin]

Joe from sk8 kissed 2 girls. He’s straight

hope this helps!

[imagineanime2022]

Reki And Langa Like The Same Girl

Reki Kyan X Fem!Reader Langa Hasegawa X Fem!Reader

Requested: Anon

Request: Can u do love triangle with reki x reader x langa like the both fall the same girl reader who is very good at art and and skating and reader doesn’t noticed their tension whenever they fight over getting reader attention the ending could be up to you or different charcters endings if that makes a lot sense

🛹 You honestly had no idea what was going on between the two friends, they both latched onto you after you were introduced as the new exchange student.

🛹 They were drawn to you after noticing the board under your arm that morning in the hall, not that you had noticed them. 🛹 They’d often argue about who you liked more and even asked you in the heat of the moment but you never really swayed in one direction or the other. 🛹 They would show off when you were there but neither of them were the best when it came to skating tricks and often failed whenever you were actually looking. 🛹 They both asked you to make a design for the bottom of their board,even if it was a little sketch so they could have something from you on their board. 🛹 Miya and Shadow noticed something was up the first time that they met you and it wasn’t long before they had enough of the backstage bickering. 🛹 Even Cherry and Joe had something to say about the two skaters and their new found love interest after meeting you one evening.

Reki

🔧 Reki offered to show you his workshop one evening when your skateboard broke, you agreed and he helped you fix your skateboard. 🔧 Hearing him talk about your board and suggesting ways that he could make it better for you made you look at him differently. 🔧 Everyone noticed the change as you seemed to grow closer to Reki, well everyone except the boy himself, Langa was not a sore loser he was happy for the both of you. 🔧 You would have to be the one who said something to him because he was unable to grasp the concept that you would want him over Langa.

Your favorite color - (Y/F/C)

You walked into the workshop to see Reki leaning over a skateboard “who’s that for?” You asked. “Hm? Oh this is yours, remember I said that I could make you a board that was better than that one?” He asked. “Mmm.” You hummed. “Well this is it, I mean it’s not finished but here.” He said softly as he stepped away, you looked at it and smiled, you loved it but there was something that you wanted to do. “You're done with the base of the board right?” You asked. “Yeah.” He answered. “Good…” You walked over to your bag and grabbed some of the paints that you carried with you taking out the red and (Y/F/C) paint walking over to the table “give me your hand.” Reki put out his hand you painted his hand red before painting yours in your favorite color before directing his hand down and smiling when you both pulled your hands back to leave a print on the board. “You know I’ve got to do something to say thank you for the new skateboard.” “You don’t have to do-”  He stopped talking when you pressed a kiss to his lips and he turned red. “You still don’t want me to say thank you?” You asked. “Well I mean…” Reki scratched his neck. “It’s not a trick question, do you want me to kiss you again or not?” You asked, smiling and he swallowed before nodding and you connected your lips again while still being careful not to get paint on him. “I thought you’d pick Langa.” He answered honestly. “Langa is great.” You smiled. “But you're the one that I really want.” “Really?” He asked. “Really.” You confirmed with a smile.

Langa

❄ You ended up doing a project with Langa one day and you both went back to his place to do it. ❄ You saw all of the pictures of him in snowboarding gear and asked about it, you saw the small smile as he remembered the time he spent in Canada. ❄ You asked him to teach you one day and he agreed, you listened as he talked about snowboarding and his mum even pulled out some old videos of him snowboarding, which you thought was amazing. ❄ After that night you honestly felt so much closer to Langa and it helped that he always brought you food as a gift.

One evening you were sitting in your room when Reki text you saying that Langa had managed to hurt himself while they were practicing a trick, you climbed out of bed and let him know you’d be there soon. You appeared 10 minutes later with a small first aid kit and smiled. “What’d you do this time?” You asked. “I don’t know, Reki said I’m not allowed to look.” Langa answered and you both looked over at the red head who was arguing with Miya. “Why’s that?” You asked as you opened the first aid box. “Last time I fainted.” He answered. “You're so cute.” You giggled as you cleaned his cut and put a plaster around his hand. “Cute?” He asked. “There aren’t many skaters that faint at the sight of their own blood.” You informed him and he shrugged. “I never got this hurt when I snowboarded.” He answered. “I guess you wouldn’t.” You nodded “I got injured all the time because I skated and did art.” You held up your hands where you had a few fingers wrapped in plasters. “Oh.” He frowned, you smiled as you lifted his hand and pressed a soft kiss to the plaster. “There, all done.” You informed him as you stood up but before you got too far grabbed your hand. “What was that?” He asked. “What?” You asked, a small smile on your face. “The… The kiss.” He answered and you shrugged. “If you didn’t like it I won’t do it again.” You answered. “No, that's not what I said.” He said quickly. “I found this snowboarding center, maybe you can come with me and show me the basics.” You suggested and he nodded. “Sure.” He answered. “I’ll text you the details later.” You smiled before disappearing down the road on your own skateboard. “Dude!” Reki called as he ran over a pout on his face “I can’t believe you were the one that got a date not me.” “Date?” Langa asked. “She just asked you out dude.” Reki sighed, Langa didn’t hear what Reki said next he was too busy coming to terms with the fact that the girl that he liked actually asked him on a date, and that you wanted him to teach you how to snowboard.

Request Here!!

[applsauss]

Lightning Bugs in July | I

THE END

Description: When it rains in Virginia, it is absolute -- the storm, the heat, the humidity. A rainstorm in September is the same as a firestorm in Europe.

Fandom: Band of Brothers


Pairing: 
Joseph Toye/Reader

Word Count: 
4.2k+

Warning(s): Derogatory Language. Nothing you wouldn’t see in the show.

When you close your eyes, you comfort yourself with your last easy memory. You'd been standing out on a gravel bank with your pants rolled up, up to your calves in the cool waters of the Potomac. Your eyes were closed, face turned up towards the twilit sky, and you'd let the cooling Virginia heat crawl off you like the setting sun. 

You remember thinking distantly of your home, which wasn't so distant at the time, and remember wondering idly if you'd end up regretting enlisting. Your thoughts were quickly carried away by the river current, however, and so you took a deep breath and thought instead on how you'd break the news to your family. 

When you finally opened your eyes, it was to the intermittent flashing of lightning bugs over the river, lazy and at the mercy of the breeze, in July.

xxx

This is one thing you know for certain: Joe Toye does not taste like love. 

Love tastes different on every person; it can be the flavor of caramel popcorn and sweet, sweet starshine from atop a ferris wheel, or the rosemary in fresh pancakes. It can ache like the sweet of iced tea, or stick in your mouth like a secret meant to be kept. 

Sometimes, it tastes like a quiet, earnest promise. Sometimes, the flavor fades into the taste of a broken one. 

These are two things you know for certain: Love tastes different on every person, and Joseph D. Toye does not taste like love when he presses his lips to yours -- but you kiss him anyways.

His eyes are ardent, they gleam in the twilight like twin lightning bugs, and the rest of him is kind in that he is unyielding. Every inch of space you give, he fills without preamble. There is something innate in him that overwhelms common sense. 

Ten minutes ago, you'd been deliberating over whether it would be wise or not to take a page out of Lieutenant Nixon's handbook and get your hands on some alcohol. You might not have found alcohol, but you found Joe, the cherry of his cigarette flashing in the dark alley behind Easy Company's makeshift barracks. 

It's as if he knows you need this, to be held down and held together. He kisses you in a way that insists you keep all your attention on him, that you forget about mortar rounds, the whites of eyes turned red, and machine guns. 

You forget all about machine guns.

You think you could live with yourself if this was all there is to the world, kissing Joe Toye behind some half-shelled shed you both figured no one in the battalion would bother with. You might even be able to live with yourself in a world without the taste of love, so long as you could taste instead Lucky Strike cigarettes in his mouth, and let him handle you in the single, heart-breaking moment before you fall apart in the face of another angry artillery barrage.

Joe's hands slide down your sides, then he grabs a handful of ass and thigh and lifts you up just enough to wedge you onto the pseudo-worktable on the far side of the shed. 

The collision is rough, edging on desperate, but neither of you claim to be perfect and both of you are soldiers caught in a war you only cared about fighting until you actually fought it -- but there's something -- God, damn it -- there's something here, between the two of you, but it's just not -- 

Joe bites down, just left of hard, on your shoulder, and your reaction is immediate and helpless: Neck scrunching to the side, eyes widening, hands grabbing fitfully at his shoulders and a half-bitten noise rushing from your lips. 

Joe mutters an apology, then kisses the spot, tenderly. You sigh at the feeling of him questing up the column of your neck with a series of chaste pecks. Then he kisses your lips, tenderly. 

But Joe Toye just does not taste like love. 

You ruin his hair with your dirty fingers and try and bury every thought bouncing around in your head with your lips, in his mouth. His jaw is rough under your hands -- when was the last time he had a chance to shave? -- and he pins you with his body, pressing closer until there's no space between you, until you're melding and melting into one another, becoming something entirely different and unstable. 

His hands ruck up your shirt. His hands are calloused and dangerous. His hands are greedy. His hands are reverent. His hand tangles itself into the back of your grown-out hair and tugs your head back so it thumps against the wall, baring your neck to him. 

His eyes are ardent, dangerous -- they are breathtaking, like the lightning bugs in July. 

Your tongue lashes out at the back of your teeth, and you taste him. Lucky Strike Cigarettes. 

He drags his mouth down your throat, then loses the pretense of kissing once he latches onto the skin below the collar of your uniform. 

You stare up at the darkening sky without seeing, lips parted as you try to understand this feeling building in your chest. 

Joe Toye does not taste like love. 

Joe Toye does not taste like love.

Please, God -- you squeeze your eyes shut when they burn with tears like memories -- Joe Toye cannot taste like love.

 xxx

You're both sitting on the cold dirt, slumped against the shed wall, and in the silence of the night. Joe drags his cigarette up to his lips and inhales; you unwrap the foil from a stick of chewing gum and hold it between your teeth, burning your tongue with the concentrated spearmint. 

Across the river -- there are too many rivers in Europe, you're learning -- a German flare is shot straight up into the overcast sky. You track the light with your eyes as it begins to arch, and squint when it flashes too brightly. The flare falls, falls, it falls, then drops into the river beside the blown-out bridge. You stare at the krauts, and they stare back.

"I better go. I've got watch soon," you say without moving an inch to stand. Your sweat is turning cold on your skin, and you dip a hand into your open jacket to scratch at your stomach. Your dog tags are sitting on your bare sternum, and they clink when you brush up against them. 

Joe hums suddenly then, in acknowledgement, but his heavy eyes remain trained across the river. Beside you, he is completely topless, his bare skin caressed softly by the waning moon. Your eyes trace the fuzzy outline of his face, then down to where his dog tags hang, just beside his beating heart. You fist your own tags in your hand, then pocket selfishly the vision of him in this moment, subdued and satiated. A statue left standing in a battlefield. 

His stomach is bunched up, and idly you watch the way the muscles under his skin move when he takes another drag from his cigarette or swallows down whatever words he might have shared with you instead. You wonder what it would feel like to lay your hand just over his heart, to feel it beat, or to hold it in your hand and understand the warmth of him. 

He's built like Flash Gordon, that space-faring hero who ends up without a shirt more often than not. This is not the first time you've thought of the comparison, but it makes you laugh all the same -- a quiet, lighthearted huff. 

Joe glances at you from the corner of his eye, with a slight turn of the head, and raises a single eyebrow. "What's so funny?" 

You shake your head and look back out over the river. Another flare rises up into the night sky. For a moment, you forget about the war, and are instead struck by the beauty of the scene. It is alien, devastating, and beautiful. The German flare rises up, up, it arches, then falls behind the bridge and dips into the river. It is haunting.

You sigh, then slowly stand and begin pulling on your uniform, piece by piece. You feel Joe's eyes on you, but don't comment or turn to look at him. You can't bring yourself to, and you can't understand why. 

When you shoulder your rifle, you hear Joe grunt, then shuffle in the dirt. "Hey," he calls after you, too loudly, too quickly, too warmly, and for a moment, you are truly afraid. Of what, you're not sure, but as you grip the strap of your rifle, your stomach falls into a pit of dread. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember that beach, those lazy lightning bugs, but the memory fights and refuses to be reeled to the surface -- all you can picture are his eyes, ardent, the way they shine. 

It is embarrassingly silent. You shudder when you realize Joe is waiting for a response. 

Slowly, you force yourself to face him, only to find him staring up at you, holding out your helmet for you to take. You realize you'd left it somewhere between the door and the worktable Joe fucked you on.

His eyes are earnest, his mouth is set in a thin, worried line. You pull on a wobbly smile like you would a camouflage tarpaulin, but can't hide behind it and it does nothing to make you feel safer. You take the helmet silently and tuck it under your arm. 

Joe blinks, then directs his eyes to the ground. The laugh he forces out is awkward, and sounds as if it was skimmed off the top of his chest. "What would you ever do without me?"

The air tastes sour. Humor is the only weapon either of you have in your arsenals to mask the flavor. "Get my brains blown out by a Kraut, Joe." 

"That's right," he rasps, and then he takes a drag from his cigarette. "And don't forget it."

You stare at the dark shape of his slumped over form for a second longer than you should, but he's retreated into himself, staring blankly into the night, across the river at the Krauts. If he notices your hesitation, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

You swallow thickly, then take your leave, aware of the way the heat of his eyes brand your back until you turn the corner and disappear from sight. The night is cold after that.

 xxx

But wars end eventually. This is something you never thought hard enough about. 

You close your eyes and will yourself to remember that beach, that twilight, those floating lightning bugs on the Potomac. Now you are standing out on that gravel bank, shaped and reshaped by the river, and that moment is nowhere to be found. 

The river is beneath you, too warm from the sun; the sky is above you, bluebird and soft; and that easy, stolen moment is gone. All that's left is the damp notion of an autumn rainstorm passed. 

But wars end eventually, and now you are fresh off the train, delaying your eventual homecoming and staring blankly across the river, wondering if there are any Germans in Virginia to stare back. You pick up a flat river rock and skip it across the slow moving water, counting five jumps before it sinks below the surface. 

But wars end eventually, and now you are left standing, still standing, in your uniform. It is wrinkled. Every moment longer you spend in it, you want to tear each patch off. They make your skin burn. You whip another flat rock out across the water, but it wobbles and only skips twice before suddenly sinking. 

"Shit."

But wars end eventually. Maybe you always knew this -- what's confused you is that you never expected to survive it. 

All this time you spend longing for home, yearning for some perfect memory, and the reality of it is exactly the same and forever changed instead. The sky is too blue, the river too warm, you are not the same person. You pick up another flat rock and scrub a wet leaf off it with your thumb. What's worse, though, is that you feel nothing staring at this beach; no relief, not even nostalgia. The thought makes agitation flare hot and settle in your chest like heartburn. 

You close your eyes and try to picture those lightning bugs, but the only memory your subconscious offers is the glow of Joe Toye's eyes. "Shit!" You throw the rock at the ground hard enough for it to bounce. The sound is like a gunshot. The chewing gum in your mouth is like paste. You clench, unclench your fists and blink away the burn settling behind your eyes, then reach down and tear into your rucksack.

The Krauts you imagine to be across the river watch as you pull out your bronze and silver stars, along with your purple heart. You rip open the cases of each one, glare shamefully at the contents, then pitch them as far as you can across the river. 

 xxx

When it rains in Virginia, it is absolute -- the storm, the heat, the humidity. A rainstorm in September is the same as a firestorm in Europe. 

The air hangs heavy and low to the ground. The world grows quiet as the skies open up, thunder rolling like a wave over the countryside. 

All the windows and doors in the house are propped open, and the air is restless as it paces about the house. You sigh, breath iced by spearmint, and drag your nails over your scalp. Something in this storm makes your hair stand on end. There is a restless energy in your muscles that winds and winds without release. 

Lightning flashes. thunder claps. Rain falls. Downstairs, the dog whimpers. 

When it rains in Virginia, it is absolute. 

When it rains in Virginia, it is absolute.

 xxx

Home for you is a three bedroom house at the end of an uneven, unpaved road. The roof leaks in three different places, the stairs are missing a banister, and the front door only shuts if you twist the knob the right way. It is also filled to the brim with your brothers and sisters. Including you, there are twelve. 

Eustace was the oldest, but you don’t remember him very well because he ran off to Sacramento as soon as he turned eighteen. You were nine at the time.

Beth was second born and is more of a mother to you than your actual mother has ever been. She’s run the household since she was five. 

Cecily is a secretary for a law firm in Richmond and sends what she can of her paycheck home at the end of every month.

Lip enlisted with the army in 1939, and caught a bullet in North Africa around the time you jumped for Operation Market Garden.

Tommy is only a year younger than you, and broke his leg jumping from a tree when he was ten. It never healed right.

Dog was halfway through basic training when Hitler shot himself. He patrolled the streets of Berlin a couple times before he was sent home, and still has the itch for war.

Norma is a year from graduating high school and all she wants is to make movies.

Jim-boy is a sophomore in high school and on the baseball team as a pitcher. 

Pat is in middle school and runs your old paper route. 

Ulysses is eleven and trying his very best to get kicked out of elementary school.

Em is as sweet as a pea and everyone who knows her thinks she’s just the most darling girl in all of the south. 

None of you share a last name, but it doesn’t matter because you’re family regardless. It’s a bond you understand well, and one you carried with you to war. 

Love tastes like blood in your mouth just as much as it does of saltwater taffy on a crisp fall day.

 xxx

It's early enough for the sun to just barely be peaking over the gray horizon. Sometime in the night the rain finally broke, and so now you're left in its result; the countryside is warm, damp, and quiet except for the hum of the cicadas. 

There are five of you sitting around the kitchen table, barefoot and in various states of undress. Upstairs, the floorboards creak under the three teenagers in the house as they mill about getting ready for the day. Beth is at the stove, slaving over a batch of potato pancakes. They're your favorite, and you know that's why she's making them. 

Beth throws a cautious look over her shoulder, and you pretend to be too heavily invested in the back of the newspaper Tommy's holding up to notice. But you can make out the way her eyebrows knit in worry, and how the lightning bug glow of her eyes cradles you as if you were china.

You appreciate the gesture. 

Some days are more difficult for you than others, and so you appreciate the gesture. 

You appreciate the gesture, but you stare down at the pancakes on your plate and all they do is remind you of that one time in who-the-fuck-knows-where, France when you'd pan-fried potato pancakes for the guys under the beginnings of an artillery barrage. 

Skip had traded in some fresh, army-issue loaves of bread with Fox Company for a sack of half-bad potatoes; you and Liebgott had stumbled across a half-shelled herb garden with a bushel of rosemary half-intact; and Alton More had sat for half an hour grating potatoes by hand, biceps bulging and quivering by the time Malarkey and Toye ran in with a half-basket of eggs.

It was half a feast. The lot of you had inhaled the food in a root cellar while the town you were occupying was shelled. You remember shoveling piping hot pancakes into your mouth -- barely chewing -- while the wooden door to the cellar bounced and leaped into the air with every shell impact. All you could think about was how it would be better to die on a full-stomach than an empty one. 

But wars end eventually. You stab a pancake on your plate and take a bite. Your eyes fall shut as you chew. Beth's pancakes taste better than anything you could have dreamed of in Europe -- and the rosemary she used isn't even singed by hellfire. 

You wash the pancake down with a sip of bitter coffee and work your jaw around a phantom piece of gum. You're quickly finding that your home is exactly the same and forever changed, like that long-gone beach of memory. The front door is still guarded by a carpet of shoes, Norma still hums when she brews iced tea, and your chair at the kitchen table is still in the same spot, next to Lip's empty one -- but there are new, loosened floorboards that you don't know to avoid, Tommy has taken up reading the newspaper in the mornings, and Ulysses no longer sits perched on a stool, but instead on a little blue chair wedged between Dog and Em. 

"What was it like?" Ulysses asks, and Beth shushes him as she sets another plate of pancakes on the table. The question does not take you by surprise. Ulysses is as gung-ho when it comes to the idea of war as most eleven year-olds are. All he and his friends talk about are Krauts and Nips and who's turn it is to pretend to be John Basilone, the war hero.

"Dangerous," Dog says, "there were Krauts everywhere, and not enough bullets to shoot 'em."

You roll your eyes. There were Krauts everywhere because Dog was deployed straight to Berlin as a replacement. You have a suspicion that the most he shot his gun in Europe was at a couple of bottles lined up on a fence. 

"It was cold." You shiver as he says this. He has no fucking clue. "And artillery is loud -- louder than you think it could ever be. When the big guns go off, the whole ground rattles like you're standing right next to a moving train." Dog doesn't know. He doesn't understand -- no one here understands because they weren't there.

"They called me Hawkeye, because I was the best shot out of my group."

Dog doesn't know what it's like to huddle in a shallow foxhole -- not the way you do. He doesn't know what it's like to have your thoughts shelled, to hold one of your best buddies while he bleeds out in your arms, begging you and god alike to not let him die. 

"You should have heard the way the Krauts shout in German, all high-pitched and garbled, like they've got potatoes in their mouths--" You slam your mug down on the table hard enough for the sound to snap through the still, morning air. Coffee sloshes out and over your hands, and Beth jumps a foot in the air, then rushes over to you with a kitchen rag. She tries to catch your eyes with hers, but you shake your head and stare down at the table, feeling queasy. 

You think of Lip -- not your lieutenant, but your brother, Phillip -- and wonder if he would have understood. He spent three years in North Africa before he was killed in combat. Maybe he would have known the way it feels to scrub and scrub your hands, only to have the dirt and the blood stain them permanently, like memories, like tears you can’t forget.

Sweet Em, who's been quiet this whole time, turns to you, then. "What did they call you?" she asks, peering up at you with such big, brown eyes; the childish question floats innocently from her lips while you fight the urge to cringe away from her. 

Beth is watching you, eyes worried and sad. You suck in a chestful of brave air and put on your biggest, unaffected smile for the sake of your sisters. "Gunner." You quickly turn away and begin reaching around the table, collecting empty plates to stack them on top of yours. 

"Why's that?" Ulysses asks, leaning forward over the table in interest. 

"Because it's what you call a machine gunner -- a good one," Dog says proudly, and you force yourself to let out a laugh -- much like the one Joe Toye had offered you a year ago, in France; one skimmed off the top of your chest.

"Yea," you say plainly. You move to take the stack of dishes to the sink, but Beth swats at your hands and collects them instead. "Now you sit, sergeant, until it's well time for you to leave." She might not be your mother; your actual mother growing up was more often than not shacked up across town, drunk off her ass and falling into the arms of some beau; but Beth is the closest thing you have to a maternal figure. 

The scene moves on, and the quiet of the morning returns, along with the hum of the cicadas. Only a couple months until their chirping gives way to the dead silence of winter.

Tommy snickers into the morning paper at the exchange, shooting you a disarming look from over top the sports section, and you find yourself smiling a little more honestly. 

You continue to drain what's left of your rapidly cooling coffee over the course of the next couple of minutes. They are mundane. The conversation at the table has long since left you behind, and you're content to linger in your own quiet. Sometimes, you find yourself overwhelmed by just how normal everything still is. 

When you're done with your coffee, you push the mug away from you and shuffle until you can pull a pack of gum from your pocket. The familiar taste of spearmint floods your mouth.

"Were you a good machine gunner?" Em asks suddenly, and you nearly bite through your tongue. 

"Em!" Beth scolds, "enough questions. Now go and get your shoes on. You're fixin' to be late the longer you dawdle. You too, 'Lysses." She shoos the kids from the table, not looking at you, and you find yourself scratching at a carving you'd made a couple years ago with your nail on the wood of the table: A crude, little lightning bug. 

One by one, the kids file out of the house, off to school. You and Tommy sit at the table as the morning rush swarms around you, him reading, you staring at that lightning bug. Beth is washing the dishes. Dog clears out, saying he's going fishing with some friends. Then comes the muffled rumble of an engine, and tires rolling slowly over gravel; the drawn-out whine of brakes, then the toot of a car horn. 

"That's us." Tommy shuts the paper and tosses it onto the table as he stands. "Ready to go?"

"Fine, Tommy." You make it all the way to the door before Beth is tugging on your sleeve. 

"Forget your cap, Buggy?" Beth says suddenly, holding out your cap for you to take -- and you don't know what strikes you more: the sudden use of your childhood nickname, or the way she's holding out your hat like Joe Toye had all those times before her. They’ve got the same lightning bug eyes.

"Thanks." You offer Beth a small smile as you take the cap, and she brushes a bit of your hair from your forehead, then smiles back, eyes just a bit more tired than you remember them to be.

 xxx

But wars end eventually, and when it rains in Virginia, it is absolute. 

It rains in Virginia all through September.

Masterlist | Posting Schedule

[whitequeenasitbgan]

The House of Smoke and Fog Cap 10

May, 1917

Erin was walking around the garden early in the morning: she had lost weight, she was as pale as a corpse and her appetite was gone. She vomited every time she tried to content her mother and eat. She was nauseated by herself: she couldn’t even bear to look at herself in the mirror. He was dead. He probably died not knowing how sorry she was for not saying goodbye to him: he never answered her letter, after all; how could she be sure he knew. Not knowing how he had died was a torture. Did he suffer? Was he scared? Did he lay in the mud alone for hours before it all ended? She knew nothing. If only he could have relied on her, in his last moments. Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference, he would have suffered just the same, but she felt like she failed him. Every human beings need to know they were loved when their life is about to end. He needed to know that he was loved. He needed her. But she wasn’t there. 

She heard a horse galloping down the alley. When she turned, she noticed the horses were two and on one of them she recognised Joe. He greeted Mr Evans, they exchanged a few words, a pat on the shoulder. Then Joe came towards her. -Would you like a ride? -I’m not in the mood, Joe… but I’m happy to see you home, safe. -Tom wouldn’t be happy to know I’ve left to go back to France without talking to you. Tom. Everything reminded her of him. Erin exhaled loudly -I hate all this- she said as she took the reins from Joe. -Erin! you’re not in the right attire for riding! Your knees will be showing!- Her mother screamed. She didn’t care. Female propriety couldn’t have bothered her less. -Don’t worry, Mrs Evans. I’ll make sure no one will see her - Joe said, as he galloped to reach Erin.

They rode silently through the woods. Erin stopped at the clearing where Tom used to teach her how to ride. Joe left the horses browsing on, then sat by her side, against Tom’s favourite tree. -She used to sit hear and scream at me ‘look forward! Heels down!’ all the time- she said, breaking the silence -He taught you well - silence. An awkward silence. Tom used to fill it with a joke. -My mom said you might have wanted to know… more. -About? -How he died Erin turned at Joe, astonished -You know? How? -I wasn’t with him, but I met a soldier. Name is Schofield. He was with him. -What happened, then? He told her everything. About the mission, the Letter, Erinmore, a guy named Leslie who warned them, the German trenches, the dugout, the rat, how Tom saved his mate as the earth was about to bury them, about the cherries.. and finally about the farm. -He had to help him. Bastard Boche- Joe said. He was crying. His voice was calm as usual, his breaths were regular, but tears were falling down his eyes. He cried like Anne. -So that’s where he left him? at this farm, near Ecouste? -Yes… I imagine they took care of him, but we don’t know if we will ever get the chance to.. well, bury the body. -I understand. Did he suffer? -I don’t think so -You’re like Anne… -Anne who? -My best friend, Anne Shirley -Last time I saw her was ages ago -She’s changed a lot since then. We all are. But she never learned how to lie. Neither you did. -My mom doesn’t know. I think my dad does, but she couldn’t bear it. -I can. I want to. He was stabbed, Joe. I know what that means. He bled to death. -Not for long. -Not quickly enough, though. -And there’s more- Joe said. He was embarrassed. Visibly. -What else? -Schofield said he had just received mail, before he left. One from mom right before Erinmore summoned them. And one from you, the night before. Spent all night talking about it with Schofield. He had so many things to tell you… I know this is a bit private and that Tom would have said all this way better than me… Anyway the point is: he felt like there was nothing to forgive, it was all his fault… -it wasn’t. We were two fools. No, two morons, definitely morons Joe laughed, struggling to keep going -he wanted to tell you the he was sorry about what happened cause it made you skip a year in college and he encouraged you to go ahead, follow you dream, cause the last thing he wanted was to stop you from doing what you wanted with your life. He said he was looking forward to meeting you. And that he loved you. He always had and he always would have. Erin was relieved, but not as she expected to be by the news. She had dreamed of it: she had dreamed to receive an answer to her letter, sooner or later, in which he said those things. She even dreamed he was still alive once and that she still had a chance to be with him one more time. But now that she knew that yes, he had forgiven her and that he still loved her, knowing for sure that he was dead made it all even more cruel. They remained silent, for a while. -What are you going to do, now?- Joe asked. -King’s Scholarship Examinations, I suppose. Then, if successful, I’ll attend training college for two years. -Sounds great…Have you thought where? -Westminster Training College -London? Your parents? -They don’t like the idea of me going to London alone. But knowing I’ll be with Anne has finally convinced them to let me go. They would have had to face Anne’s fury if they didn’t. -This is… Men are so privileged I’m disgusted by my own gender -A feminist, ladies and gentlemen! -And I also support the suffragettes. Every man should. How could a non represented woman give birth to a free mind -Don’t ever get involved with politics -Why I’m not good at it? -No, you’re great at it. People like you usually get killed. You could start a revolution. -I’ll just help you with yours, as much as I can- Joe said, turning to look at Erin. She looked thoughtful -what is it? -Nothing -Erin… -Ok… It’s just that my world has turned upside down: I.. I was meant to be married by now. Tom should have been with me, in London. I don’t feel as invincible as I felt before. I know it sounds pathetic, but I just miss Tom and how he made me feel safe and powerful. -It’s not pathetic -It is -Erin said. She wasn’t comfortable with her weaknesses. She tried to cheer up the conversation -Not to mention that it would have been much better if my parents knew Tom was always with me there to ‘guard me’ Joe started laughing. It was a genuine belly laugh -Tom?! He needed surveillance himself! God knows how many times I had to take him home dead drunk from the pub. Mum never found out. -You were very discrete…- Erin said, closing her eyes to catch a glimpse of sun, before he got back playing hide and sick with the clouds -Thanks for this, Joe -You’re like a sister to me, you know that. Anything you’ll ever need, I’ll be there. I mean this. I owe this to Tom. -Just be careful, that’s all I need - Erin said. Placing a hand on Joe’s shoulder and gently squeezing it. He felt nothing like his brother. He was way more muscular and rough than Tom. Had they been dogs, Joe would have been a majestic and elegant Great Dane. Tom wasn’t a pure breed, he had the energy of a Dalmatian and the hard working attitude of a Shepard. He was good looking but not in a rough way: he was sweet. He looked at you like a stray dog, as if he was asking ‘can I believe in you or will you just let me down?’. He he did look at you as if he deeply believed in you. He really did. -Time to go home - Erin said. -Sure I can’t do anything else for you?- -You know what? Actually there is something You could do for us -Us who? -Anne and me. You could take us to London on your way to France.

‘This is it’ Erin thought as the train was running towards London, leaving the countryside behind ‘this is the future’. Anne was right in front of her, talking to Joe. And Joe looked bewitched by her. What a fool: he wondered around London for so long until he ended up in the trenches that he missed to notice there was an extraordinary young woman right under his nose. She was a girl when he left, no corset, no hair… and he was Tom’s big brother, of course he didn’t notice. How much time did they lose. They all did. Erin smiled, contemplating happiness, then she turned at the window again. It was open, so she got closer to it and lifted her head to catch the breeze. The sun was warmly kissing her. ‘This is the future, Tom. You are in everything. And all that I’ll do will be for you’.

Cap 11

https://whitequeenasitbgan.tumblr.com/post/613333193352953856/the-house-of-smoke-and-fog-cap-11 

[whiskynottea]

An interruption in the 1st law of thermodynamics.

Previously Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21

AO3

Shout out to @katnoenau for being my awesome beta!

Chapter 22. The Game of Things

source

Birthdays are strange.

The day comes just like any other day and it’s the same to everyone, apart from that one person who happened to cry for the first time on that particular date, years ago.

All I had from my early birthdays was pictures.

Colorful cakes printed on glossy paper. Smiles and shiny eyes.

My daddy’s strong arms hugging me and raising me up so high, that I could almost hear the toddler that I was giggle through the paper.

Curls just like mine falling across my mother’s cheeks, her warm lips smiling as she kissed my nose.

Lamb was travelling, and my birthdays were always a celebration for three. Judging from the pictures, we didn’t need anyone else.

I didn’t remember those days, but I made a story for each one of them, based on the pictures I had in my little box. And I remembered my stories.

Every 20th of October, I would lay on my bed with these pictures scattered around me, spending time with them, replaying the stories in my head.

It wasn’t a tradition that saddened me.

I just wished someone could tell me how many times the little me had to blow before the flames on the three pink candles were extinguished. Or what gifts I asked for. I wish I knew more, some accurate information to add to the stories I had created.  

But what I knew deep inside me, was that these days, like any other day I spent with them, were imprinted in me forever. Forged with laughter and love, they made me who I was.

For that reason, I loved my birthday. I felt I was celebrating my parents’ gift, keeping them alive inside me.

With Lamb every birthday was different.

My gift could range from excavating the personal belongings found inside a tomb to a trip on a camel’s back in the desert.

Candles standing proud on a Basbousa or almost falling from an Om Ali.

Hugs and words that conveyed love and support.

Every time I woke up on the 20th of October, I felt that the world was shinier and cheerful songs would play in the back of my mind. The positivity that people hide on other days is finally released when it’s your birthday. It’s like an unwritten rule – you can’t be mean to the birthday person. Not today.

I couldn’t believe that Jamie ordered a special birthday cake for me. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually had a real birthday cake.

“You found yourself a really nice lad this time, lamb.” Uncle Lamb said, kissing me on the forehead when I finished narrating the day’s events. “This is for you.” He handed me a small box, with a wink. It was a beautiful watch, with a rose gold cadran and navy blue bracelet.

“Oh, thank you uncle! It’s beautiful!”

“I’m sorry I have to leave on your birthday.” He said with a rueful smile that then changed to something I couldn’t discern. “There are beers in the fridge, too.” He smiled seeing my raised eyebrows. “Gift from your uncle. Happy birthday, Claire.”

I snuggled into his embrace as I did years ago, smelling the ocean breeze of our conditioner on his suit, the mint leaves and cedarwood of his cologne.

“Have fun today and behave, okay?” I closed my eyes as he placed a kiss on my forehead.

“Okay! I love you, Lamb.”

“Love you too, lamb.” He said and was out of the door.

--

House cleaned.

Beers and soft drinks cold in the fridge.

Crisps in their bowls. Vinegar, oregano, barbeque.

Tortilla rolls made and laid out.

Cherry tomatoes, cucumbers and carrots all in place next to the mayonnaise and yogurt dip.

Dried fruits and nuts.

Am I forgetting anything?

The cheese and spinach pie!

The doorbell rang the exact moment I finished applying my lipstick.

My long lasting lipstick, that is – because with Jamie in the room it would be impossible to keep anything else on my lips.

I didn’t wear too much makeup, just my lipstick and mascara, and I thought it was perfect with my high waist blue jeans and a polka dot blouse.

Opening the door, I saw Joe and Gail’s smiley faces. Five minutes later, the swimming gang arrived.

Jamie was standing at the front of the door with a huge smile on his face. His lips were on mine the moment he got close enough and I surreptitiously checked his mouth for any sign of my lipstick.

Nothing. Cool. Maybe a hint of pink, but… I like it on him.

We joined Joe and Gail in the living room, my hands full of gifts.

“Do you want to open the gifts first, Claire?” Jenny suggested, and I sat on the couch next to Jamie, all the bags at my feet. I couldn’t remember the last time I received so many gifts.

I raised a medium sized orange bag first.  “This is– ” Jenny started, but Rupert interrupted her.

“Let the lass guess who brought what!” He winked at me, leaning into the armchair’s back.

Jenny looked at me with a frown, trying to understand how that made me feel. Seeing me shrug, she smiled.

“Okay then, let’s do this.”

Gift number one was an infinite scarf, brown, red and yellow, and I loved it. Looking around, I smiled to Jenny and Ian. “Thank you, guys.”

“Did she find it?” Angus asked, reaching for the crisps.

“Aye, she did.” Ian’s smile was one of the sweetest I’ve ever seen.

“Grab the next, then!” Angus said with a mouth full of crisps, catapulting some bits towards Rupert who glared at him.

“Okay, I know this is from Joe and Gail…” I picked the white bag Joe handed me when they arrived. Books. The first two books of the series A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin; A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings.

I raised my eyebrows. “No, you didn’t.”

Joe laughed, holding Gail’s hand. “We did. You love the show and you said you wanted to read the books!” As if Joe could read my mind about reading fiction instead of biology and chemistry for my classes, he continued, “It’ll be good to take a break from school stuff once in a while!”

“I don’t know how I’m going to stop reading these, once I start.” I muttered. “I hope I won’t get as obsessed I was when I was reading Harry Potter.”

“Ye read Harry Potter?” I heard Jamie’s excited voice from my left.

“Of course I did! I love Harry Potter! Don’t you?”

“Of course!” He said indignantly.

I sighed, relieved. “I mean… Who hasn’t read it?” I asked rhetorically, looking at my guests.

“Well, I haven’t.” Gail’s reply made Joe turn and look at her through bulged eyes.

“What?” He asked, not waiting for an answer. “We have to fix that, G.” He announced in a serious tone, making her shake her head.

“Ye should see the movies!” Rupert proposed, with Angus nodding in agreement. “Tis faster and more fun than reading.”

Jamie, Jenny, and I almost shot out from our seats. “WHAT?”

“What?” Rupert asked perplexed as we erupted in laughter at our identical responses.

“The movies are shite compared to the books.” Jamie stated and Jenny, Joe and I nodded again in agreement.

“Read the books, people! What’s wrong with you?” I asked, exaggerating my exasperation.

“Have ye seen the books, Claire?” Angus said, grimacing. “They weigh more than me. And are thicker than Rupert’s head.”

As we laughed, Jamie leaned closer to me, whispering, “Ye were Hermione, right?”

I looked at him smugly. “Why would you say so? And who would you be?”

“Well, I always imagined myself as Harry.”

“Of course.” I snorted. “The leading role.”

“I dinna want to be Harry anymore.” That made me turn to look at him. “Can I be your Ron? I’m a ginger already!”

My heart stopped before beating so hard that it was almost painful.

How does he do that?

I didn’t have time to answer his question, because Jenny’s voice directed my eyes back to her.

“Let’s move on with the gifts, aye?”

I opened the long and narrow bag to reveal a bottle of whisky. Angus’ smile reached his ears and Rupert’s eyes were glinting at my revelation. The disbelief in my eyes must have been evident, as I asked, “How did you manage to get this?”

“We have our ways, lass.” Angus wiggled his eyebrows with a huge grin.

“Okay then, let’s save this for later. Aye?” I mimicked his accent, and the Scots filled the room with laughter. I knew they would, because Jamie found my horrible impersonation hilarious every single time.

“So, this is the last one.” I turned to see Jamie, who for some unknown reason had started to blush.

Let the gift not be underwear or I’ll have to listen to crude jokes from Angus forever!

Seeing my furrowed eyebrows, Jamie stroked my back and smiled.

No underwear, then. Or he would have said something.

I opened the small bag to find a little box inside. Biting my lip, I swallowed hard and removed the top. There was a beautiful stainless-steel bracelet inside, with little leaves and bluebells with azure enamel on them. I couldn’t stop my smile, remembering the first day Jamie came to pick me up with a bunch of bluebells in hand.

“I love it.” I said, leaning into him for a kiss. “Help me?”

I extended my hand to him and Jamie locked the bracelet in place, interlacing his fingers with mine when he finished. I couldn’t take my eyes off my bracelet and our hands together and I felt my heart beating harder.

How did he find a bluebell bracelet?

I looked at him, grateful and happy, and I didn’t need to say anything, because he knew. He just knew. He held my hand tighter for a moment and then relaxed his grip again when my head found his shoulder.

With the gifts now opened we talked and gossiped about our teachers, eating the finger food I had prepared, and drinking both six-packs Lamb left in the bridge. When Rupert rose, stating that we should open the whisky, I got up too.

It was time.

I returned from my room with the box in hand. Everyone’s eyes were on me, their question obvious.

“The Game of Things!” I announced, excited.

“What?” Angus’ eyebrows almost touched, and I saw Joe shaking his head.

“Whisky and The Game of Things is a bad combination, LJ.” Joe stated, his raised eyebrows in complete contrast with Angus’.

“So, what is the game about?” Ian’s smile indicated that he didn’t mind whisky and games together.

“Okay, the rules.” I said, as everyone’s eyes focused on me.

Jamie’s stare was different than the others, and I soon realized he wasn’t thinking about the game at all. I knew that stare, I’d seen it more than once, and I felt my cheeks flush. Clearing my throat, I continued, “We all have to answer to the same question. We write our answers down on folded papers, and then we collect them all and open them. Each one of us tries to guess who wrote what. If your answer is correct, you go on guessing. If it’s not, the next one continues.”

With everyone on board Rupert started filling glasses with whisky. Lamb said that whisky is an acquired taste. If I was to stay in Scotland, I figured I had to learn how to blend in – with a blend.

I sat next to Jamie, opening the box and distributing the papers and pencils to everyone, painfully aware of his hand sinking deeper than my waist to settle comfortably on my arse.

I drank my first sip of whisky as Jenny revealed the first question.

Acquired taste. It’s going to taste better after a while.

THINGS… you wouldn’t do naked.

I bent over my paper, hiding it from Jamie’s prying eyes, as I tried to think what I wouldn’t do naked. Jamie’s free hand however, plainly disclosed what he would do if I was naked.

Cook. Plant greens in the garden. Open the door to a stranger.

I folded my paper placing it in the middle of the table. Joe guessed first, and he immediately identified my answer.

“Cook,” he said with a smirk. “Ever the logical mind, LJ. And greens?”

“Shut up!” I grinned back at him as he tried to figure out which was Gail’s answer.

On the next round Jamie immediately found Angus’ answer to THINGS… you would do if you were invisible.

Enter the shower to check on a lass.

But then he missed Rupert’s, who wouldn’t go around eating people’s chips. That would be Ian, the little bully!

The fifth question was the hardest one.

THINGS… you would do if you were a superhero.

The answers were collected again, and it was my turn to guess first. I squeezed my eyes, thinking.

“Will you stop distracting me?” I hissed at Jamie. “Are you doing that on purpose so I won’t win?”

“Busted!” He said, raising his hands up before replacing them on the exact spots they were previously.

I tried to ignore him – and the squeeze low in my belly – as I read the answers again.

Listen to people’s thoughts.

Be invisible.

X-ray vision

Time travel.

Fly.

Heal.

Run fast.

Transform to whoever I want.

Time travel was me.

X-ray vision should be Angus. Certainly. To see through girls’ clothes.

Heal, I had to go with Joe. Damn! Why I didn’t write that?

Now for the rest, things were getting hard.

What would Jenny do?

Definitely not being invisible. Neither fly nor run fast.

“Today, Claire.” Rupert grinned smugly from the other side of the table and I narrowed my eyes on him in response.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

I started my guesses, but they stopped me when I said that Ian would want to listen to people’s thoughts. Apparently, Jenny’s voiced thoughts were more than enough for Ian and he didn’t want access to more. Jamie’s turn was next, and he lost when he guessed that Gail would want to be invisible.

He didn’t seem defeated though, he just sank further into the couch taking me with him. I snuggled close to him, his chest in sync with mine as we laughed together at our friends’ inaccurate, tipsy guesses.

My eyes wandered to the table and I noticed that most of the bowls and plates were empty.

“I’ll go get more crisps!” I said, taking two empty bowls as I headed to the kitchen.

I was on tiptoes, trying to reach the packages in the back of the cabinet when his low voice came next to my ear, startling me.

“Open the door to a stranger?” Jamie’s breath was hot on my neck and I felt a current running through me.

“Mmm,” I smiled, content that he remembered my answer four questions back.

“But to someone you know? Would you?”

“Would I what? Open the door naked?”

His teeth on my neck answered my question better than words.

“Are you implying something, Fraser?”

“Aye, Beauchamp, I am.” His voice was burning me. I heard him inhaling deeply before he spoke again, more somber now. “You are so beautiful, Claire.”

He trailed kisses across my neck and I shivered, feeling his tongue against my skin.

I turned around, trapped between the counter and Jamie, feeling every inch of his body against mine. My hands found the nape of his neck just a moment before our lips crashed in a desperate kiss. To have him next to me all this time and not kiss him properly had made me crazy. Obviously, the effect had been the same for him, too.

“I want ye…” He whispered, his breath shallow. “I want ye so much, I can scarcely breath.”

My body trembled and my heart was racing as the whisky in his breath mingled with mine through our almost touching lips. “I want you, too.” I ran one hand down his body, until I found the waistband of his jeans.

Someone called my name from the living room and I heard the word crisps before everybody started laughing.

“We need to go back.” I whispered, my eyes locked with Jamie’s. Hooded and wild.

“Mmphm,” he exhaled loudly, his broad chest deflating. “I canna believe this.”

I smirked at him, running my tongue on his bottom lip one last time. “Can you reach the crisps?” I asked, nodding towards the cabinet.

Jamie gave me a lopsided grin and with an exaggerated move to show how easy it was for him, he handed me the bag.

We waited a few minutes for Jamie to be in condition to join our friends and we entered the living room, flushed, smiling, with our hands intertwined.

Ready to hear all the teasing.

Chapter 23

[belladonnaandulriched]

amped and wired, part two | chapter ten: angel eyes

“Oh. Oh—my God.”

It had been twenty minutes since Danny showed up with the prototype, and another five minutes before Mrs. Hamilton returned to my place with Lars. I stood over Danny and the prototype as they took their seat there on my couch. She had leaned back against the couch with her hands rested in her lap, and her thighs were separated apart by just a few inches. She looked like she was about to vanish into the couch cushions.

“How'd you find her?” I asked Danny.

“More like—she found me,” he confessed. “After the place burned down, I tried to run down the block to call my wife but I got turned around when I went to go find a pay phone. Something hit me in the head and knocked me out. When I woke up, she stood over me and actually tried to get me to wake up. I asked her who she was and she told me she was a prototype.”

“Like she explained to you the whole thing with the clones?” Lars followed along as he strode into the room.

“Yeah.” Danny tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “She and I have walked the streets together for a couple of days, too. It's so fucking weird down there in New York City, with all the webby shit all over the sidewalk.”

“How'd you get out of there?” I asked him.

“We got to the edge of Manhattan and she and I were able to hitch a ride on a subway—the subways, by the way, are totally vacant. They're driven by ghosts—or corpses. I have no idea, but every part of the subways is fucked up right now. Fucked up and haunted as all hell.”

“The sidewalks are steak and the subways are a graveyard,” Lars concluded with a glance over at me.

“What're you lookin' at me for?” I asked him.

He didn't answer.

“I should also add, that Maya and I couldn't exactly get to Manhattan very quickly because I needed to watch over her a bit,” Danny continued. “She wasn't walking very quickly and she kept wanting to rest every so often.”

“And I would think you guys didn't have much to lay upon, either,” I figured.

“There wasn't, no!”

“Nowhere to lay or sit...” Lars' voice trailed off. He still didn't answer me, but Mrs. Hamilton did from the kitchen.

“Joey?” she called out. I turned my head and leaned forward.

“Yeah?”

“Come in here for a second.”

I raised a finger to Lars and he nodded in response. I made my way into the kitchen to find her holding that final little bunch of cherries in one hand. She used her other hand to gesture for me to come closer to her. I hesitated in front of her, and she brought her lips to the side of my head.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier before I left,” she said; each word, she lowered her voice closer and closer to a whisper. “I wanna overcome the silence between us. I've enjoyed it—but now I want something more from it.”

“Okay,” I slowly said.

“Have a seat, baby,” she whispered into my ear.

“At the table?” I asked her as I felt the butterflies in the pit of my stomach. She smiled at me, with those lips are big and lush as those cherries in that hand.

“Have—a—seat,” she repeated. I swallowed down the nervous feeling within me, especially when she used her eyes to gesture down to the floor beneath the sink. I sank down in front of the cabinet under the sink and stayed on my knees. She held the cherries before her face with that smile still plastered on her face.

“These cherries are so ripe,” she remarked.

“They really are,” I agreed with her as I set my hands on my stomach.

“And you didn't finish them, either.”

“I couldn't,” I confessed.

“Aw, that's too bad. I promised a little round of fun if you finished these.”

“I know, I know, but I'm too full, though.”

“I'm sure you've got some more room in there,” she taunted me.

“I don't think there is,” I insisted.

She stooped down to put those cherries right in my face. I looked past her face to find her coat zipped down a bit. Some bare skin even in the face of the cold. She brought her other hand to my stomach and I almost fell backwards.

“Let me feel,” she insisted. “Let me feel you.”

“Mrs. Hamilton, please—”

“I'm going to make you eat more fresh fruit, baby boy.”

“No—God, Mrs. Hamilton, I can't—”

She set the cherries themselves on the counter next to my head, and then she set her hands on either side of my face. She pressed her lips to my forehead, then she dropped them down to the tip of my nose, and then my lips.

“Gwen's right—you are sexy,” she whispered to me; in the next room I could hear Lars, Danny, and Maya conversing with each other about something. I wish I knew what they were saying. “Really sexy indeed.”

I looked over at the cherries on the counter. I didn't want to eat anymore for a little bit; I wanted my stomach to rest for a minute.

But then she reached down below her waist for the band of her leggings.

Oh, that was what she meant.

“Nice juicy apples, baby.” She stood upright and moved her hips closer to my face. “Eat with your hands if you'd like.”

I lowered my gaze to where she put her hands. She shoved her leggings down some more skin. She spread her legs just enough for me to slip tongue inside. I made out the sight of that delicate skin, still delicate even with her being as old as she was. I closed my eyes and clasped onto the sides of her bare thighs.

I stuck my tongue inside.

Right there in my kitchen. On my knees. With Lars, Danny, and Maya in the next room.

And yet I kept at it. I couldn't help it. Mrs. Hamilton gave me an offer I couldn't refuse.

“Mrs. Hamilton?”

I stopped and she rested a hand on the back of my head. She pressed my face right against her crotch.

“Do we have something in the car that can mop up a bit of blood?” he asked her.

“Tissues,” she said; her voice was muffled as if she stood on the other side of a wall, or I was inside of her. I kind of was inside of her, come to think of it.

“Okay—” Lars ducked out of the kitchen and out the front door without questioning what was going on in there. I looked up to the curvature on her belly; I kept looking to the underside of her breasts and that head of hair. She peered down at me with a grin on her face.

“Want a little cream?” she asked me in a soft husky whisper.

“Do you have any?” I asked her.

“Look—”

I did, and I could see that thin sliver of sheen on her lips.

“Every good boy deserves a sundae,” she whispered to me. I moved my tongue in further for a taste.

That was good. That was good!

I could feel my jeans growing tight by the feeling. The front door opened again. I took my tongue out as she moved her mouth back down to my forehead for a kiss in between my bangs. I caressed my face with the pads of her thumbs.

“Good boy,” she whispered. She then tugged her leggings back up her thighs and over her hips. I leaned back onto my legs and ran my tongue over my lips. I wanted a drink of water, and I wanted one especially as she walked by me. I let her walk into the next room, and then I clambered to my feet for a glass from the cupboard. I switched on the faucet and filled it up all the way.

I took a rather large swig from it over the sink. I then held it to my chest to catch my breath. I let out a long low whistle and then stepped out of the kitchen to face them. Danny, Maya, and Lars rounded out that comfy couch. Those two guys sat there with their thighs spread wide open, much like I usually sit myself.

“Somehow, even by looking at your jeans, I can learn about either of you guys' balls with a single glimpse,” said Maya.

“Speak my language, baby girl,” Mrs. Hamilton quipped. I swallowed and then took another swig of water. If it was any compliment to Maya herself, I knew it had to be part of her overcoming all that had happened to her and her sister. Mrs. Hamilton gave her a little toss of her hair back a bit and then she gestured to the recliner chair next to the phone and the couch.

“It's something to exemplify when talking about the beauty of their crotches,” she added; she flashed me a wink. I sighed through my nose and ambled across the floor to the recliner. I took my seat there and kept my eyes fixated on Maya.

To think Lars' wife had something to do with her. More than something. They were friends with each other. I held the glass of water to my chest.

“Lars tells me you're a singer,” she said to me in that soft voice laced with a gentle British accent.

“Me?” was something I actually answered her with.

Danny giggled at me, complete with his fingers pressed to his lips.

“Do you want me to give you a li'l sump'n?” I asked her as I brought the glass to my mouth again.

“Naturally she's curious, Joey,” Lars told me. “I played drums for her when my wife and I first met her.

“I am an artist after all—a writer—so my wish is to connect with other artists. So, please.”

I finished out the glass of water and then set it down on the small table next to my right elbow. I ran my tongue over my lips again: even though I had a mouthful of her just a few minutes before, I didn't have a single crumb of flavor of Mrs. Hamilton on my lips. I cleared my throat and took in a deep inhale of breath through my nose.

“I've seen it before,” I started out low and with my eyes closed, “it happens all the time... closing the door. You leave the world behind. You're digging for gold, yet throwing away, a fortune in feelings, but someday you'll pay.”

“Oh, man, Joe, I've missed your voice,” Danny remarked.

“It's only been a few days, though,” I pointed out.

“Still!”

“That was glorious,” Maya complimented me without changing her expression. “May I have a word with you in the hallway?”

“Me?” I asked her.

“Yes.”

“Go on, Joey,” Mrs. Hamilton coaxed me. I lifted my right wrist to fix my sleeve which tucked a tiny bit down the inside of my silver metal bracelet. I then stood to my feet to follow Maya into the hallway. The way in which she walked reminded me of a marionette puppet, given her knees pivoted a tiny bit with each step. Her feet almost shuffled across the carpet; I strode up next to her as we stepped away from their earshot.

Once we stood before the bathroom door, she turned to me in almost slow motion. I was thinking she still needed to rest again.

She breathed harder as if she had been running up a flight of stairs. Her skin looked even more pallid than before.

“You okay?” I asked her.

“Yes. But I wanted to bring you here is because I am hypnotized by your voice. It's so—so—it's the voice of an angel.”

“Me? An angel? No way.”

“I mean it,” she insisted. “It's so gorgeous. And you are gorgeous. I just want to rock with you.”

“Well, when Anthrax gets a chance, we'll put on a show for you,” I promised her. “I'll make sure you're given a good spot, too.” I flashed her a wink.

“I want to write about it, too,” she continued, “I never want to stop writing about it, either. You are so—underrated, I would say. I want to give you a window for the outside world to look into.”

“You're too kind,” I said to her as I felt my chest swell with excitement.

“It's my job, my dear Joey,” she assured me. I didn't know what to say to her: not long ago, I was sitting right in that chair in the next room with the phone to my ear and hearing Charlie break it to me. It was only a few days ago! But then there I was, just a few feet away and after having Scott vow to me credits and more of a say in the next album, it was followed by hearing this little writer swoon over me right to my face. It was like a dead weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

I didn't know what to tell to her so I set a hand on her shoulder.

Something shocked me right inside of that silver flat bracelet on my wrist. I yanked back my hand and shook it about.

“Are you alright?” she asked me.

“Yeah. It's just—ouch. Ow.”

Another shock, that time right inside of my wrist.

“Ow!”

I wasn't going to let it get me. Not this time. I tried to pry off the bracelet but it felt like something had glued it onto my wrist. I tugged it off of my wrist bones and a hard static shock shot through my wrist. I threw it on the floor.

I rubbed my wrist and looked at her. Her eyes were huge and reminiscent of pools, or the sand baths back on the reservation. I could see glimmers of neon within those pupils, and I knew it wasn't my eyes playing tricks with me.

I thought back to when I first found that one clone on and the sidewalk, and Lars and I were trying to take her to the hospital. Her deceased body sent a shock through the metal and it was because she was a clone. I shook my head about. The dead weight was back on my shoulders and it stood right before me. I doubled back to the living room.

“Guys!” I called out. I almost ran right into Mrs. Hamilton.

“Joey! What's wrong? What's wrong!”

“She's a clone!” I yelped. Not once did Maya change her expression as she ambled at a slow, undulating pace up the hall to meet up with us. Her eyes were huge, like big ink droplets. Lars and Danny gasped.

She was about to malfunction at any second.

“I don't know what he's talking about,” she confessed.

“Look into her eyes,” I told them. “Look!”

“She's a fucking copy!” Lars exclaimed. “A copy that tried to pass off as the original!”

“Man, I'm an idiot...” Danny grumbled.

“It's not your fault, Dan—neither of us knew,” Lars assured him.

“Lars—it's all me,” Maya continued: her voice was so light and airy and yet it grated on the side of my mind.

“What the hell do we do?” Mrs. Hamilton demanded.

“Maya, come with me!” Lars advised her as he climbed to his feet.

“Where are we going?” Maya asked him; it sounded as though her voice had been pitch shifted a little bit. A little lower.

“Just come with me—” He took her by the hand and led her outside. I thought about when we were in the City and I saw Danny through the windshield, but I had no idea if he saw me at all. Lars guided Maya outside to the pouring rain. I had no idea where they headed but I turned to Danny.

“Did you see us down in the City the other night?” I asked him.

“No, I did see one of those clones eating some poor bastard, though,” he answered with a running of his fingers through his hair. “And she—that version of Maya—told me to keep on walking.”

“But you didn't see Mrs. Hamilton's car there, though?”

To which he shook his head. Lars then darted back into the apartment. He shut and locked the door behind him.

“Where'd you take her?” I asked him.

“Come back out here,” she shouted. “Help me!”

“Who wants coffee?” Mrs. Hamilton offered us.

“Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me!”

Her voice warped and morphed into something I couldn't even describe.

“Joey, sing something!” Lars declared.

“—why?” I sputtered.

“Because when you and Mrs. Hamilton were in the sewers you shrieked so loud that it killed all of those prototypes!”

“There are no bats here, Lars!” I pointed out.

“Help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—” Her voice twisted and contorted into a blurred deep mess of nothing.

“Dan, did she eat anything before you brought her here?” Lars asked.

“No, I was just gonna ask Joe if he had sump'n to eat 'cause he's the only guy from Oswego I know,” Danny replied.

“—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—me—help—mehelpmhelmehelpmehelpmehelp—”

“Ate some poor bastard down in the City,” I said aloud.

Silence outside.

Lars turned around and peered out the peephole.

“Where'd you take her?” I asked him.

“A ways away from the front step and away from your front door,” he told me.

“By the way, I'd love a cup of coffee,” Danny piped up to Mrs. Hamilton.

“I'm still digestin' cherries and a big fat stack of pancakes,” I said.

“Let's go back to Black Orchid,” Mrs. Hamilton suggested. “See if the gang's alright at the moment.”

“And I'm lockin' the fuckin' door,” I said at a quick clip. We put on our coats and I swiped my keys—I also put my bracelet back on because I knew it would help us if given the chance. I locked the door but I knew if something happened, I had four ghosts there in the apartment to protect it.

Indeed, when we headed out, Maya had collapsed onto the sidewalk and melted into a huge puddle of blood and broken machinery that looked to be made of neon, a tiny bit of metal, and human skin and bones.

Not the prototype. Not the original.

Just another clone.

Which meant the prototype herself was still out there somewhere.

Hopefully.

[nonbinarysasquatch]

Because it amuses me, I’ve decided to assemble list of Weird Al polka songs and mark what songs I’ve heard along with notations of which ones are actually in my collection. Skipping Hot Rocks Polka from UHF (yeah, I have heard all of those, and I have some of them in my collection) and Bohemian Polka (is there a human being who hasn’t heard Bohemian Rhapsody, and of course it’s in my collection.)

Songs in bold I’ve heard at some point. Songs and artists in italics I literally know nothing about.

Just because something is in my collection doesn’t mean I love it (though more often than not I do) and just because something ISN’T doesn’t mean I don’t like it.

Polkas on 45 from “Weird Al” Yankovic in 3-D (1984):

"Jocko Homo" by Devo (In My Collection) "Smoke on the Water" by Deep Purple (In My Collection) "Sex (I'm A...)" by Berlin (In My Collection) "Hey Jude" by The Beatles (In My Collection) "L.A. Woman" by The Doors (In My Collection) "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" by Iron Butterfly "Hey Joe" by Jimi Hendrix "Burning Down the House" by Talking Heads (In My Collection) "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner "Every Breath You Take" by The Police (In My Collection) "Should I Stay or Should I Go" by The Clash (In My Collection) "Jumpin' Jack Flash" by The Rolling Stones (In My Collection)

Hooked on Polkas from Dare to Be Stupid (1985):

"State of Shock" by The Jacksons and Mick Jagger "Sharp Dressed Man" by ZZ Top "What's Love Got to Do with It" by Tina Turner (In My Collection) "Method of Modern Love" by Hall & Oates (In My Collection) "Owner of a Lonely Heart" by Yes (In My Collection) "We're Not Gonna Take It" by Twisted Sister (In My Collection) "99 Luftballons" by Nena (In My Collection) "Footloose" by Kenny Loggins "The Reflex" by Duran Duran (In My Collection) "Bang Your Head (Metal Health)" by Quiet Riot "Relax" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood (In My Collection)

Polka Party! from Polka Party! (1986) (one of Al’s best albums imo):

"Sledgehammer" by Peter Gabriel (In My Collection) "Sussudio" by Phil Collins (In My Collection) "Party All the Time" by Eddie Murphy "Say You, Say Me" by Lionel Richie (In My Collection) "Freeway of Love" by Aretha Franklin (may have heard as child) "What You Need" by INXS (In My Collection) "Harlem Shuffle" by The Rolling Stones (In My Collection) "Venus" by Bananarama (In My Collection) "Nasty" by Janet Jackson "Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco (WHY IS THIS NOT IN MY COLLECTION?) "Shout" by Tears for Fears (In My Collection) "Papa Don't Preach" by Madonna (In My Collection)

Polka Your Eyes Out from Off the Deep End (1992):

"Cradle of Love" by Billy Idol (In My Collection) "Tom's Diner" by Suzanne Vega (In My Collection) "Love Shack" by The B-52's (In My Collection) "Pump Up the Jam" by Technotronic "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M. (In My Collection) "Unbelievable" by EMF (another I’m surprised I don’t have) "Do Me!" by Bell Biv DeVoe "Enter Sandman" by Metallica (In My Collection) "The Humpty Dance" by Digital Underground "Cherry Pie" by Warrant "Miss You Much" by Janet Jackson "I Touch Myself" by Divinyls (In My Collection) "Dr. Feelgood" by Mötley Crüe "Ice Ice Baby" by Vanilla Ice

The Alternative Polka from Bad Hair Day (1996) (welcome to my teen years)

"Loser" by Beck (In My Collection) "Sex Type Thing" by Stone Temple Pilots (In My Collection) "All I Wanna Do" by Sheryl Crow (In My Collection) "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails (In My Collection) "Bang and Blame" by R.E.M. (In My Collection) "You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morissette (In My Collection) "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" by The Smashing Pumpkins (In My Collection) "My Friends" by Red Hot Chili Peppers (In My Collection) "I'll Stick Around" by Foo Fighters (In My Collection) "Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden (In My Collection) "Basket Case" by Green Day (In My Collection)

Polka Power! from Running with Scissors (1999): (the beginning of the end of my time listening to the radio/watching MTV... seriously 1999 me was so bitter about how music was going to shit...)

"Wannabe" by the Spice Girls "Flagpole Sitta" by Harvey Danger (In My Collection) "Ghetto Supastar (That Is What You Are)" by Pras featuring Ol' Dirty Bastard and Mýa "Everybody (Backstreet's Back)" by the Backstreet Boys "Walkin' on the Sun" by Smash Mouth (In My Collection) "Intergalactic" by the Beastie Boys (In My Collection) "Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba (In My Collection) "Ray of Light" by Madonna (In My Collection) "Push" by Matchbox Twenty (In My Collection) "Semi-Charmed Life" by Third Eye Blind (I HATE THIS SONG AND I SAW THEM IN CONCERT AT ROCK FEST BEFORE THEY WERE BIG AND I WAS LIKE “WOW, THAT BAND SUCKED” THEN INEXPLICABLY THEY WERE SUDDENLY FAMOUS LIKE TWO MONTHS LATER) "The Dope Show" by Marilyn Manson (In My Collection) "MMMBop" by Hanson (I kinda wish I had some Hanson) "Sex and Candy" by Marcy Playground (In My Collection) "Closing Time" by Semisonic (In My Collection)

Angry White Boy Polka from Poodle Hat (2003) (I wasn’t listening much to the radio at this point, and some of these songs I’m pretty sure I heard a good while after they were in the Polka, I either don’t care about or don’t like most of these songs.):

"Last Resort" by Papa Roach "Chop Suey!" by System of a Down (In My Collection) "Get Free" by The Vines "Hate to Say I Told You So" by The Hives "Fell in Love with a Girl" by The White Stripes (In My Collection) "Last Nite" by The Strokes (In My Collection) "Down with the Sickness" by Disturbed (In My Collection) "Renegades of Funk" by Rage Against the Machine "My Way" by Limp Bizkit "Outside" by Staind (In My Collection) "Bawitdaba" by Kid Rock "Youth of the Nation" by P.O.D. "The Real Slim Shady" by Eminem

Polkarama! from Straight Outta Lynwood (2006): (We’re at the point where unless I just randomly caught it on the radio or someone I knew played it, I was pretty over popular music and was digging through other musical interests)

"Let's Get It Started" by The Black Eyed Peas (I’m unsure on this one. I know I’ve heard some Black Eyed Peas in the past) "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand (In My Collection) "Beverly Hills" by Weezer (In My Collection) "Speed of Sound" by Coldplay "Float On" by Modest Mouse "Feel Good Inc." by Gorillaz featuring De La Soul  (In My Collection) "Don't Cha" by Pussycat Dolls featuring Busta Rhymes "Somebody Told Me" by The Killers (In My Collection) "Slither" by Velvet Revolver "Candy Shop" by 50 Cent featuring Olivia "Drop It Like It's Hot" by Snoop Dogg featuring Pharrell "Pon de Replay" by Rihanna (I feel like Umbrella is the only Rihanna song I’ve heard) "Gold Digger" by Kanye West featuring Jamie Foxx

Polka Face from Alpocalypse (2011):

“Poker Face” by Lady Gaga “Womanizer” by Britney Spears “Right Round” by Flo Rida ft. Ke$ha (the first time I heard this in the polka I thought Al was suddenly doing Dead or Alive) “Day 'n' Nite” by Kid Cudi “Need You Now” by Lady Antebellum (In My Collection, weirdly enough) “Baby” by Justin Bieber ft. Ludacris “So What” by Pink (I’m surprised I don’t have more Pink) “I Kissed a Girl” by Katy Perry “Fireflies” by Owl City (I know nothing about this band but the name sounds gothic, which probably means it’s pop) “Blame It” by Jamie Foxx ft. T-Pain “Replay” by Iyaz “Down” by Jay Sean ft. Lil Wayne “Break Your Heart” by Taio Cruz ft. Ludacris “Tik Tok” by Kesha (she’s on the periphery on the sort of thing I’m into so I checked her out and determined I wasn’t feeling it)

Now That’s What I Call Polka! from Mandatory Fun (2014): (To say that at this point I’ve long since abandoned any way to check out music that isn’t a deliberate choice is almost an understatement but at the same time I’ve become a lot more musically opened minded in recent years AND I’ve been on tumblr which has made me more vaguely aware of stuff younger folks are into):

“Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus (checked out re: controversy iirc) “Pumped Up Kicks” by Foster the People (In My Collection) “Best Song Ever” by One Direction (I legit was like, well hey maybe One Direction is surprisingly good since so many people on Tumblr love them... nope. Sounded like every boy band in the history of ever as far as I could tell.) “Gangnam Style” by Psy (Too heavily referenced everywhere to have not checked it out) “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen (see above re: references) “Scream & Shout” by will.i.am feat. Britney Spears “Somebody That I Used to Know” by Gotye feat. Kimbra (I legit love this song because it sounds like Peter Gabriel, I checked out Gotye without having any idea he had a hit song though) “Timber” by Pitbull feat. Kesha “Sexy and I Know It” by LMFAO “Thrift Shop” by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis feat. Wanz (Yeah, I’ve BEEN to the Value Village that has since closed on Capitol Hill in Seattle but I’ve never heard the song or seen the video in which it is featured... in fact I’ve never heard any Macklemore, despite Seattleite status) “Get Lucky” by Daft Punk feat. Pharrell Williams

I think the polkas from recent years come out better than I thought, though I literally only have two songs in my collection from the last one so...

[jarlet-blog1]

33. Kiss of Revenge ~ by Jax & Scarlet

Jax

The usual scent of oil and grease tickled the senses of Jax Teller as he knelt down beside the old Honda CT90, now laying in pieces, parts laid precisely out on the tool bench next to where he was working. Reaching for the impact wrench to loosen the screw locked on the aluminum crankcase, a steady stream of grey smoke billowed from his nose after inhaling a drag from the cigarette resting between the corner of his lips. His days usually left little time for actual ‘mechanic’ work so when shit was quiet Jax took advantage of the downtime and put his mechanic knowledge to use.

“Hey baby..” The biker lifted his head, a few lone strands of blond hair falling down over one eye as he looked up to find his mother hovering over him, hands perched on her hips perfectly, shifting her stance as she stood there waiting for Jax to obviously pay attention to her.

“Mornin’ ma. Ya need something?” He stood upright, placing the wrench back in its place before wringing an already dirty rag around his grease covered hands.

“Scarlet come over here with you? I want to talk to her about something.” Gemma stepped in, brushing a kiss over Jax’s rough cheek.

“Yeah, she’s in the clubhouse.” His brow lifted in obvious curiosity. When he mother wanted to talk about ‘something’ it was usually never good. “I mean it mom, no getting shit riled up. I’m just getting her settled after the shit that went down with the DA. I don’t need her wound up again. I mean it.”

“I swear baby. Just want to see how’s she’s doing...and maybe talk to her about a little party? Baby shower kinda party.” Gemma batted her lashes as if to gain her son’s approval.

A heavy sigh left Jax as he tossed the tattered rag back to the tool box. A baby shower wasn’t really something he considered a good idea, fuck knows they still had all the baby shit from Abel in the storage unit. His blue eyes lifted to meet his mother’s, his face expressionless.

“Ma, I don’t think…”

Gemma raised her hand in an attempt to stop her son from saying no.

“Jackson, that girl deserves some good in her life right now. Don’t tell me you don’t want that for her.” Shifting her stance Gemma continued to look at Jax causing him to release a half frustrated sigh.

“Fine. Plan a party. Keep it small. I mean it. But /only/ if Scarlet wants one.” Turning away from her he slipped over to the workbench, stubbing his finished smoke out in the overflowing ashtray as his mother sashayed her way back to the office, allowing him time to get back to what he was doing in peace.

[30 minutes later]

The high pitch squeal on the other side of the lot caught Jax’s attention as he tightened the last of the bolts on the old bike. His head lifted, watching his only son kicking his feet happily on the swingset with Unser. The last few months had been an adjustment for Abel as it had been for himself. He worried about his son becoming twisted up inside, not understanding the whys of the things that happened in their world. The young version of himself had experienced the sense of loss more than any boy his age should and it bothered Jax, ate him up inside. It was the sole reason for the thoughts that often invaded his mind about leaving the club behind. That option showed itself more and more the last few weeks, especially as the pregnancy became more real for him. He not only had one child to be responsible for but in a few short months he would have two and that scared Jax, more than he let on. He had tried to compile an exit strategy but anything he came up with just wasn’t an option. He knew nothing more than how to be an outlaw and that could very well cause his children to eventually live with the same turmoil and heartbreak he lived with everyday. He didn’t want that for them but he also didn’t know how to stop it. Maybe someday he would find a way, today, however, wasn’t that day.

Jax grabbed the carbon paper from the clipboard that corresponded with the bike he had just been working on. Filling in some part numbers and a little bit of time for labour he strolled up the step to the door that connected the office to the garage of Teller-Morrow. Finding the space empty he laid the paperwork in the top file on his mother’s desk. His mind drifted back to his mother’s earlier suggestion. Gemma was right, Scarlet deserved some good in her life, something to put a smile on her face. The pregnancy had been a shock to the both of them and it was in no way planned and even though Jax was still apprehensive about bringing another life into his world of chaos at the same time he embraced it. Jax Teller might be a criminal and an outlaw but when he loves he loves deep and there is none deeper than the love for his children. The only thing that could even come close to matching it was his growing love for Scarlet.

“Jackie!” The biker prez was pulled from his thoughts when he heard his mc brother call out from the garage for him. Taking a few quick steps he joined the others in the open bays, a wide grin consuming his featured when he is offered a cold pint of beer and a freshly rolled joint.

“Five o’clock somewhere brotha.” Chibs winked, tossing back a generous gulp of the cold ale.

“Damn right.” Happy added, leaning himself back against one of the tool benches covered with engine parts from an old Chev that they were working on as he chugged his own bottle.

“Speaking of, we still got that buy goin’ down with Cacuzza at five, Jax?” The scruffy haired biker, Tig picked up one of the many bottles of beer that Chucky had obviously delivered from the clubhouse.

“Yeah, the day’s pretty clear till then boys. Was thinking I’ll probably take Scarlet and Abel out for a little family time before we head out. Think they could both use it.” With a slight shrug he patted down the ass pocket of his carpenter jeans, pulling free his zippo before lifting the flame to the end of the blunt perched between his dry lips.

“She’s turnin’ you right into a domesticated family man, boy.” Bobby teased, placing his brown bottle on the tool bench behind him, a deep chuckle rumbling from deep within.

“Fuck you Munson.” Jax’s own laugh broke out causing much of the same from the other guys. The laughter concealed the awareness that a vehicle had rolled into TM, almost right up to the open bay doors before Juice brought their attention to it. Just another piece of shit needing to be repaired.

Jax tapped out the cherry of his half smoked joint as the stranger stepped out of the rusty shitbox. Man, if he was hoping for that hunk of shit to be restored he needed a lot more than a few mediocre mechanics like them. Strutting out to get the details of what the guy was needing, Jax approached him, the sudden feeling when he got close that he knew the man standing only a few feet away, but from where he just couldn’t pinpoint it. Fuck, could have been anywhere in the past. After all, they deal with a lot of shit on any given day.

“Hey man, got some trouble with this ol’ beauty?” Jax dragged his fingertips over the hood of the ‘64 camaro. It could be a mint machine with a bit of TLC and a whole lot of labour. The owner didn’t look like he was made of money though; an everyday guy, jeans, tshirt...just an average Joe.

“Yeah, the old girl needs a good tune up. Just rolled into town and was told this was the spot to help make her purr again.” The dark haired stranger’s eyes moved from Jax to Chibs as the Scot stepped in behind his President.  Jax didn’t see it but Chibs’ mind was overhauling the image of the man before them as well, as if he had also recognized him from somewhere.

“Ya come to the right place man. Lemme grab a work order and get some info.” Usually Gemma did anything that had to do with the office shit but Jax assumed she had already set off to discuss baby shower plans with his ol’ lady. Just the thought of it made him huff in slight annoyance despite knowing his mother was right that it would be good for Scarlet. With a pat on the customer’s shoulder Jax turned on his heel of his clean, white Nikes and headed towards the empty office to retrieve what he needed to get the work started on the old camaro.

“No Gemma!” The high pitched yell that was quickly recognized as Scarlet bounced through the air as she bust through the back door of the clubhouse leading into the lot of Teller-Morrow. Gemma was quickly on her heels followed by one of the croeaters apparently on Gemma’s side where the baby shower was concerned. “I don’t want a party! I DON’T!”

“Scarlet! Jesus Christ listen to me...please!” Gemma chased after Scarlet as she stormed off, making her way to the garage where Jax had spent his morning. Obviously the party idea hadn’t gone off like Gemma had hoped.

With the clipboard in his hand Jax stepped quickly to the open office door, noticing his ol’ lady stalking through the yard, getting closer with each hasty footstep. He told Gemma it was a bad idea. He told her. With one step out the door to meet his angered woman, the metal clipboard suddenly fell, crashing to the asphalt below.

The yells coming from across the yard pricked at Andy Avery’s ears as he stood in the middle of the Teller-Morrow gated in lot. Little did the biker boys know he was not here to get his car looked at or fixed. He didn’t give two shits about the car but to scope out the place where he knew Scarlet Delaney would at some point be. But he didn’t realize his opportunity would come so quickly. With what seemed to be happening in slow motion Avery turned his head and got his first look at the woman who ended his only brother’s life. He’d never have a better chance than he had right now. His mind went quickly into overdrive as he reached to his back and pulled his Smith & Wesson from behind him and pulled back multiple times on the trigger.

The fury in Scarlet’s eyes and the anger consuming her expression from Gemma’s suggestion quickly turned to paralysing fear as she raised her eyes and saw the only man she now feared standing less than a hundred feet away. Her breathing went shallow and her heart began to pound uncontrollably in her chest. Her eyes widened as she started to shake in an uncontrollable way, her dark eyes meeting those of Andy Avery for the first time since she murdered his brother Chris. It was as if she knew, even before anything took place as she darted her eyes to Jax as he moved down the platform from the TM office unaware of what was actually happening. The man she had fallen deeply and madly in love with was so close yet so far away and even he couldn’t help her. She knew he wouldn’t be able to save her. Her eyes then turned to Abel as he played happily at the makeshift park Gemma had installed. The young, sweet boy she was growing to love as her own and once again she felt he would suffer the despair of losing yet another motherly figure in his life. She froze in her steps, both arms wrapping around the round belly that was the housing for their unborn child. Her life flashed before her like a movie, reliving the most horrible moments of her upbringing, to the joyous moments of meeting her father for the first time and being accepted by him and then his club and most of all Jax ending with the happiness she finally felt to have a precious life growing inside her. It all played out in slow motion moments before the stabbing pain consumed her and her petite body collapsed to the ground.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The sound of the gun going off ripped through Jax’s ears as if he was right next to a fireworks display, listening to it go off, with no protection. The echo of the ear-splitting "BANG" carried on for a good minute as he stood paralyzed, watching the metal fragments, spiraling through the air, pierced the stomach and chest of his pregnant other half. The bullets moved with more speed than the fastest of living things yet seemed to him to be moving in the slowest of movements. The wounds in Scarlet’s flesh leaked the dark blood much like the way crying eyes leak tears. Jax was stunned, the clipboard crashing to the ground as he watched helplessly as the woman he loved fell lifeless to the ground. The scene unfolded in slow motion, he couldn’t even focus on the man that pulled the trigger, his only conscious thought was to get to the woman he loved and save her, somehow keep her with him. He just found her and he needed her. She couldn’t leave him, she just couldn’t. He rushed to her, forcing his steps forward before falling to the ground to gather her in his strong arms, the pool of dark crimson painting the asphalt red in color.

“Scarlet! Scarlet, baby...no...you hang on. Don’t you leave me! Don’t…” He cradled her, pressing his bare hand to the open, seeping wound to her pregnant belly. The tears poured silently over Jax’s pale cheeks, falling to the leather that rested on his back now smothered in the blood of the woman that now held his heart. Her eyes were barely open as she began to turn cold to his touch, his surroundings swirling around him like a merry go round, one that he desperately want to get off. He screamed out in a desperate cry for help, not willing to let her slip into another world where he didn’t exist.

Scarlet

After dinner at Gemma’s Scarlet seemed at peace with Otto and the shit that came with it. It took a lot of soul searching in order for her to come to terms with the reason behind his death. Being around the whole family scarlet realized she was indeed home. It was finally seeing that Jax wasn’t trying to keep hr from anything but trying to make her understand she didn’t have to fend for herself anymore. He took the world off her shoulders and kicked it aside. In some ways she felt it made her weak to allow someone to take care of her. No one has ever taken care of her before and now she had all these people who just wanted to allow her to be happy. It made her head spin, she felt like she was floating even with the extra baby weight she had gained. There wa still guilt that sat on top of her heart, the need to go after Andy was always going to be there but when Jax and the rest of the MC promised Scarlet she would see a day when Andy Avery would pay for what he had done she believed them.

Scarlet began to enjoy the simpler things as in getting the nursery ready, helping out around the clubhouse with inventory and shopping. She had gotten an Email from her long time friend Adean who she hadn’t emailed back yet but only because she didn’t want to lie to him. She wasn’t sure how he would feel about her dating a SON let and be pregnant. There was a lot there that needed to be caught up on between the two but she didn’t want to do it thru email. The formality of it didn’t seem to fit all the news she needed to share along with what was going on with him. Her dream with Adean sometimes sparked concern but she knew if he was in trouble he would reach out.

“Where do you want the kegs lady?” A delivery driver with a dolly grunted out while she signed for the order. Her head nodded to the back room checking in the rest of the bar stock inventory to make sure all she ordered was in the delivery.

Her left hand rested behind her back that seemed to be bothering her a little over the past few days. With a quick rub she sat down deciding to take a small break before logging in the order parts that needed to be ordered.

A cold bottle of water was set down in front of her, she looked up to see Gemma  with a croeater standing next to her both with suspicious shit eating grins. “Hey Momma, you are glowing today you know that?” Gemma spoke out before Scarlet could open the water and ask what she wanted.

“It’s not glow it’s sweat. This damn clubhouse is so fuckin’ hot I keep turning down the air but it’s not helping” At the end tail of her sentence she noticed the ‘eater wearing a light jacket. Gemma chuckled placing the palm of her aged hand under Scarlets chin.

“It’s because you basically have a heater inside you. Body heat of the baby. You go ahead and keep it as cool in here as you need. You know I was talking to Jax out there.” Gemma sat down picking up a napkin she began to fold the paper in thought.

Scarlet watched confused looking towards the doors half expecting him to walk in. “Yeah..about what?” Her suspicions only grew with Gemma’s seemingly loss for words. The croeater that hung around Gemma like she was some sort of goddess.

“He loves you baby, so much. Jax wants to give you everything and more and we all would like to throw you a baby shower.” Scarlet's eyes suddenly widen without any words she already began to shake her head no in an answer.

“But it will be so much fun. We never had one for Wendy and you guys would get all the baby stuff you need.” The croeater piped in only aggravating Scarlet’s nerves.

“No. We are fine with Abel’s old baby stuff. I don’t want a shower. I am not the baby shower type of chick.” She picked up her bottle of water struggling to stand up only to be stopped by Gemma standing in front of her.

“It’s not just for you. Jax likes the idea. He wants this for you guys.” The reasoning coming from Gemma made Scarlet laugh, still shaking her head.

“Jax? The president of SOA the Motorcycle club wants a baby shower? Come on Gem, don’t use him to con me into this. I don’t like the spotlight on me. I am sorry but I don’t want one.” Scarlet walked past Gemma, her stomach brushing past her, making her way toward the outside of the club house.

“But Scar wait... we don’t have to do it like a real shower, just a small party to honor you and the new baby.” The heels of the soon to be grandmother to Scarlet’s baby echoed closely behind as she made her exit. The doors were abruptly shoved open, the words that followed loosely behind her irritated her to no extent. Scarlet has never had a party to celebrate her in anyway. She knew she would feel awkward and would hate people she hardly knew buying her gifts. With as loud and rambunctious as she was, she hated having all eyes on her. She was still figuring her new life out and just settling down the entire Andy and Chris ordeal. A party was the last thing she needed on her already full plate.

“NO GEMMA!” She finally snapped, not wanting to hear anything else about it. Her mood was ruined by the pressure of it, clearly Gemma wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I don’t want a party! I DON’T so stop!” She snapped almost running from the two trying to convince her it was a good idea.

Scarlet scanned the lot for Jax but her eyes fell on the terrifying face of a man she was shocked to see. She had frozen in place looking to the club who didn’t seem to take to much notice of him. Jax was filling out a clipboard of paperwork. It took her a second but it all became frighteningly clear. He was not here under the restraint of the club but of his own free will.

Everything inside her told her to scream but she was frozen solid. Abel was at the park, everyone she loved was in close range to Andy. There was no way she could save any of them, nor could they save her. Andy’s eyes locked on Scarlet, falling to her growing child. An eerie sadistic smile slowly tugged back on his lips. That moment she knew this was the end for her, but it wasn’t her that she was afraid for, it was her baby. For the first time in her life she loved something, someone so much more than her and she hasn’t even met the little person growing inside her. She didn’t care if she died but she couldn’t bare the thought of her child not being able to even have a chance. Her arm’s shielded the vulnerability of her child, her eyes never leaving his as he saw him pull out and fire in one swift movement.  No one was paying attention to the silent interaction between the two enemies. When the explosion of gun fire hit the ear drums of everyone around it was already too late. No one knew who or where it was coming from.  

The first shot fired lodged into her collar bone, forcing her scream to finally escape. She knew what he was after when she watched the aim lower in slow motion. There wasn’t anything she could do but crouch over her extended belly, shielding it with her hands trying to stop the bullets.   The barrel kicked back quicker than she could ever escape, knocking her to the pavement, screaming in agony. Her shaky hands pulled back to display a dark crimson liquid leaking from her body but due to the heart stopping pain she could not locate the second wound. All the screaming faded to a loud ringing in her ear. She could see the movements around her but unable to make out what was happening. The sun had her blinded; all she could see was blurred shadows.

Dropping down next to her Jax was already in tears as he gathered her in his arms,. His lips moved but she couldn’t make out anything he was saying. Her breath was harsh, ragged. All she could think about was the baby; it was all she kept trying to relay to Jax was to save the baby but she couldn’t hear her own voice. Scarlet cried out in pain, feeling little movement but at this point she wasn’t sure what she was feeling besides the warm blood running like water from her wounds and the thunderous pounding of her heart.  Her chest was tight, breathing became harder after each breath she was forcing herself to take. Her eyes fell heavy, fixed on Jax who was holding on to her begging her not to leave him.

The sound never returned, sure she watched everyone hoover around her. She could sense the panic but she didn’t hear a word. She didn’t know who else was hit or if Andy was taken down, all she knew was she wasn’t ready to go but she was less ready for a world without her baby. The sun suddenly shifted, blinding Scarlet into making her eyes squint. Struggling for breath, bleeding into the arms of the only man she ever truly loved she shook, shivering, now fighting to peel her eyelids open to look at Jax. Everything about the two of them that never made sense was perfectly clear to her at that moment. He was made for her. The term soulmate came to mind though it was never a word she believed in until meeting the King of Charming. All the times she fought against his protection she wanted to take back. She needed him to know how much she truly loved him but she couldn’t find the air to give her a voice.

A new familiar shadow knelt down beside Jax. She saw the image of a hand getting placed on his shoulder, making her look past her ol’ man to the one now offering him support. “Daddy?” She breathed out, finally seeing his face. He smiled at her, regretfully offering her his left hand with his right still on Jax’s grieving shoulder.

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter thirty-one (a bunch of donuts)

“See, Mr. Littman, what you're doing is you're just making the top. You have to make the whole muffin and then—you take the top off. Also, about the sign… it's not 'Top of the Muffin TO YOU!' It's 'Top of the Muffin to Ya'.” -Elaine Bennes

“What're you guys doing here?” Sonia asks us once we reach within their earshot. She adjusts her grip on the paper bag in her arms. The two of them, too, are wearing shades to protect their eyes from the white glare in the sky.

“We should ask you ladies the same thing,” I tell her as Lars puts his free arm around her body, followed by Marcia: she smiles at me and puckers her lips at me. I show her a kind smile. It's all I can do for her.

“We were just picking up some things for my boss,” she replies to us.

“Yeah, they have opened a bakery about a block away from here,” Sonia adds. “I guess Sandra picked a good spot, Marsh.” She nods to the music shop across the street.

“Indeed she did, Sonia.”

“We were just discussing what to have for breakfast,” Lars informs them, adjusting the sack over his shoulder.

“Oh!” Marcia declares, giving her hair a little toss back with a flick of her head. “Well, why don't you boys come with us? Sandra was just cooking up a fresh batch of donuts and blondies when we left the bakery a little while ago.”

“Ooh! I love the donuts,” Lars pipes up.

“I'm up for anything, to be frank,” I chime in. “Think it might rain, too.”

“Well, come on, boys!” Sonia declares. “Follow us.”

They lead us down the brick sidewalk towards the next roundabout, one with a neat cluster of bushes in the center, so much that it reminds me of the rose garden over in Portland. Once we're halfway around, they step off the sidewalk to the right towards a cute little two storied gray building with two bright lit front windows, both of them bearing the sight of display shelves full of cakes and brownies and breads and all manner of things that are making me even hungrier. Written in bright pink lettering on the window to the right it says:

“Smell the Magic

Established, June 1979. Portland, Oregon.”

“I still think this is the most appropriate name ever,” Lars remarks as he lunges around them to catch the door. He holds it open for the two of them as well as me. Once he closes the door behind him, I remove my shades.

First of all, it smells divine in here, of freshly baked bread and caramelized sugar that probably went over the top of even fresher donuts right out of the oven. Second, to the right of me stands two rows of metal shelves, all of them holding anything from a dozen chocolate donuts to fruit pies to raspberry danishes. To the left is a low display case showing cute little cakes, cupcakes, pies, brownies, blondies, and of course, even more donuts. I almost want to faint, not from hunger but the fact I just stepped into part two of Avalon; part one being the music shop.

“Like what you see in here, Joe?” Sonia teases me as she sets the paper bag down on the counter between the cash register and the display case.

“Me, too, man,” Lars agrees with me as he slings the burlap sack down from his shoulder towards his knees. “Now you know why I have gained and lost a lot of weight.”

“I swear to God, there's enough in here to send you, me, and these two chickadees here into a diabetic coma three times over,” I tell them in a single breath. “I love it.”

He then walks towards the door on the other side of the room with the sack down by the side of his knee. Marcia rounds the other side of the display case and walks along back there; at one point, she stoops over to set down the paper sack in her arms on something. Her hands reach up to the top of the case to set down a couple of big pale green granny Smith apples that just make the back of my jaw looking at them. She follows it up with four of those big chocolate bars that are utterly chockful of cocoa.

“Marcia, you're gonna make Joey faint!” Lars laughs as he pushes open the door with his foot; meanwhile, she's setting down a bag of red cherries and another one of raspberries.

“You're killin' me,” I groan out, rubbing my stomach.

“I think there are some day olds right next to you, Sonia,” Marcia informs her as she stands upright and folds the paper bag in half. Sonia turns to look at some of the small cardboard boxes on the wooden rack next to her there on the shelf behind the cash register.

“Oh, yeah!” she declares, gesturing to the rack. “There's muffins, donuts, danishes, and a couple of Napoleons over here, Joey.”

“I can have some?” I ask her, feeling like a little boy in a candy store.

“Yeah, help yourself!” Marcia insists. “Those are usually the goods that are going to be thrown out in about a day, so have at it, Joe.”

I rub my hands together as I come closer to the rack. On the bottom shelf is about a dozen separated layered puffy pastry cakes with pale white custard about the size of my fist and a cupcake. I look closer to find the label on the side of one of those dozen reading they're each Napoleons. Above that shelf is one with two dozen donuts. Above that is a box of four blueberry muffins. I do in fact like blueberry muffins. So I take that plus two of the Napoleons down below, one for myself and one for Lars, my partner in crime. I've got the muffins up against my chest and I'm cradling both Napoleons in my right hand.

The door is hanging ajar as I make my way there into that next room, which I find is actually the kitchen from the ovens to the left of me and the little bright red fridge right in front of me: one of the ovens is going at the moment, baking I would think blondies or donuts. Lars, meanwhile, is seated on an empty milk crate, right next to a full rack of bare, raw donuts ready to be baked. He's hunched over something on the milk crate in front of him; he lifts his head to see me.

“Oi,” he greets me, and his face lights up at the sight of the muffins and the Napoleons in my hands. “Good man. Have a seat.”

“Next to this whole bunch of donuts? Nah, you're the good man.”

I set the muffins down on another milk crate next to him and hand him the Napoleons before I have a seat myself. Once I have myself organized, he hands me the one I grabbed for myself and I open the little box. I take in a whiff of that crispy, sugar laden puff pastry.

Oh, man.

I pick it up by the sides and take a bite. I can't get it into my mouth faster. I'm also way hungrier than I had anticipated. I take my time on it but I also quickly eat it because I have to.

Even though it's a day old, the custard is still creamy and lush—I can only imagine what it must've been like straight out of the oven!

Lars has a bite of his Napoleon and, like me, he can't get it into his mouth faster even while examining the radar detector he had just bought.

“God—I miss their baking sometimes,” he admits to me with his mouth full of pastry. “These are exquisite and just excellent, even right off of the rack.”

I shove the last bite into my mouth and then I turn to the muffins. I take a whiff of those as soon as I open it up.

A little more subtle, especially since the blueberries still look quite ripe. I think those blondies baking behind us is stealing their thunder. Not that I'm complaining, of course.

I take one out and peel back the paper. I hear Marcia and Sonia talking about something in the next room, but my focus on this beauty in my fingers. I nibble on the top first, and I follow it up with a gentle bite. I could really use a glass of milk, or better yet, a cup of coffee, right about now.

“Bostonians are lucky people, lemme tell you,” I say to him with my mouth full of muffin: the blueberries make the back of my jaw tingle.

“Rochester's getting a Smell the Magic, though, Joey!” Marcia declares from the next room.

“Hell to the yes!” I tip my head back and pump my fist into the air before taking another bite of muffin.

“Those blondies—whatever's cooking in the oven here,” Lars pipes up again after swallowing down his last bite of Napoleon. He still has his head bowed over the radar detector; “they smell absolutely incredible, Marcia.”

“Those are in fact a fresh batch of blondies,” she replies, still from the next room. “With white chocolate, brown sugar, and a little kiss of bourbon.”

“Oh, my God,” I moan out with my mouth full once again.

“God damn!” Lars exclaims, as he brings the radar detector closer to his face. “Oh, here we go.”

He pushes a button on the butt of the detector and it makes a soft beeping noise. There's a low drumming noise on the ceiling over our heads: it's raining.

“It's funny, 'cause I'd usually think a radar detector looks like a Walkman,” I confess to him before taking another bite.

“I thought the same thing!” he answers, examining the handle better. “Like it's a little Walkman looking thing that sticks to the inside of the windscreen.”

“Yeah, when you first showed it to me, I thought it was a label maker.”

He laughs at that. “Well, that's what the lady told me back at the shop, that is this in fact detects radar from the drones. I guess this disc right here shows what's on the waves. See, we're not getting a reading here because we're in a safe place here in the bakery. I am getting a little detection—I'm guessing from the ovens right here next to us. Oh, wait, hang on—”

I hesitate as I'm reaching for a second muffin. He's examining the disc with a stern look upon his face. I hang there with the second muffin in my hand and my stomach already feeling a lot better feeling a lot fuller. It's silent in that back room except for Marcia and Sonia's quiet conversing with each other about something and the rain on the roof.

“Good thing we got here in time,” I note at the noise above us.

“I know,” he says absently. The look on his face never changes for a good long minute, and then he raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“What's the matter?”

“This can't be good, Joey.”

“Well, what does it say?”

“It's not saying anything, but rather it's showing me all these tiny dots all over the disc. They're all moving very slowly. Hang on, it's calculating—”

There's a pause, and then—

“Drones,” he answers.

“Drones?”

“Drones. That's what the reading is telling me.”

I crane my neck for a better look at the disc: there's like an intricate white square web over the top and it's showing a swarm of tiny black donut shaped dots, like pinholes all over it, or rather a bunch of donuts. A bunch of tiny donuts. They're all in fact moving very slowly. There has to be dozens of them.

“The drones are everywhere,” he tells me in a low voice, and I think back to when that one was over our heads over by the Morlentes' house. The sheer terror I felt when it was in our presence. “If I didn't know better, I'd swear Boston's getting invaded.”

“Well, why don't we just go back upstate?” I suggest to him. “I have the arrowhead in my coat pocket right now.”

“I don't want to leave Marcia and Sonia here.” He finally lifts his gaze to me.

“Oh, right. Well, they can come with us.”

“Not like this, no, they can't.”

“Well, what do we do? Drones are everywhere and Maya and her foster dad are a strange case.”

“Let's just stay here for a little bit. As far as anyone knows, this is just a bakery. There's nothing back here that can't be trusted.”

“And if nothing, we're surrounded by things to give our stomachs what for.”

“Exactly!”

[belladonnaandulriched]

amped and wired, part two | chapter three: relentless

I hadn't played the role of goalie in so long it seemed. It was quite the adjustment given I had eaten so much so soon earlier, but I was determined to keep myself afloat there on the ice inside of the net. I clutched the hockey stick. I bent my knees. I let the food in my belly fuel me as well as keep my balance.

The skinny guy was making himself look as big as possible. There ain't nothing getting past me. No way, no how.

My gloved fingers rounded the stick part of the actual stick and I bowed my head. The crown of hair atop my head fluttered in the cold winds. I had the whole entire mane tied behind my head with a little black tie. I was the boss. There was no one going past me. The puck, maybe on the outside, but not into the actual net.

Brick, given he was so big and heavy, heavier than me, proved to be quite agile and it always surprised me that that was the case, too. The first time he and I played a round of hockey together with several more of our friends like during that very round, I was stunned by how fast he moved about the ice. Like a big bulky ghost thanks to his pearly white jersey. He even stunned Lars, who stood on the far side of the rink with his arms folded upon the top of the wall and gazed on at us with his eyes wide with amazement.

He swung his stick up a bit and fired into the other net.

“That's how you do it!” I declared from behind my mask.

I bowed down again and buckled my knees to steady myself over the ice. At some point, I was going to find my way into a studio and make some time for myself. I would have to lay down some drum tracks and then ask around for a guitar player. I always liked hearing people play because I could never do it myself. I never foresaw being a guitar hero, but I always wanted to sing or drum for one.

The little orange punk fired past the outside edge of the net behind me; I was quick to duck out from it to fetch it for myself. The damned thing kept on moving along the wall.

Empty goal post, I know, I know. This thing went way out, though! Well towards the wall!

But I caught up with it and slid down onto my knee pad. I raised the stick and took a swing. My stomach still feeling very full and wanting to hang out from behind my jeans or not, I managed to catch this thing and fire it towards Billy and his offense position. I shot ahead with three swipes of my skates, much to Lars' amazement.

“Holy shit, dude!” he shrieked with his voice echoing over the ice. “You can run fast!”

“Don't underestimate the goalies, my Danish friend,” I assured him with a smirk even with my mask over my face. I glided my way back to the net with the mits down by my hips.

I had to fetch the puck again. Twice.

“You guys really need to stop hitting it so hard,” Lars suggested as I made my way towards the far side of the rink a fourth time.

I spotted a woman on the other side of the wall: she looked as though she had just arrived there. I recognized her black hair behind her head: I took a second look to find it down inside of her coat, probably to protect it from the cold. Her full cherry lips glistened in the gray morning light and the blush on her face bloomed with the cold. I recognized her shapely body as it was covered underneath her white parka: she was brazen enough to wear a little hot pink mini skirt covered in sequins even on a chilly morning like this. I skirted up to her and she grinned at me once I lifted the mask from my face.

“Cindy!” I declared in a broken voice.

“Hi!” She puckered her lips at me and then blew a kiss: I noticed she had painted her nails a fiery scarlet red.

“Um, I can't really talk right now,” I told her as I moved in closer to her, but I was really moving in closer to fetch the puck from the edge of the wall.

“It's okay—I just got here. Take your time.”

“Good to know,” I assured her with a lopsided smirk. I took the puck out of the corner there with the head of the stick; I noticed her showing me her tongue.

“You sure do know how to work a stick,” she remarked as I took a swipe at the puck and sent it flying down the ice.

“So do you,” I told her before I lowered my mask and glided away from her. I wasn't ready for some ass as of yet, but she still owed me and Lars a round of strip chess. I knew Scott, Frankie, and Charlie wanted in on the fun themselves. But I had my hope that I could have a little rendezvous with Cindy after the game here. Lars and Brick could join in if they so wished.

I shot forward with the stick extended in front of me. Goalie or not, there was a part of me that wanted to show off a little bit for her.

I reached the puck and nudged it forward, right past the net. I hunkered down before the front of the net itself with my legs spread and my ass in the air. Sure, I looked funny but Cindy was right behind me and she was looking at me straight on. Standing like that also helped me have better navigation of the stick. Like I was stirring butter, even with Lars showing me a funny look the whole time.

Our side won that little match: it was nothing fancy, just a bunch of friends playing a round of hockey together on a cold day, which beats the hell out of taking a cold shower on a cold day. I peeled off my mask and doubled back to Cindy, who didn't move from her spot there behind the wall.

“How ya doin'?” I called out to her as I hoisted the hockey stick over my shoulder.

“Chilly,” she replied.

“Hey, Cindy!” Lars called out from behind me. I turned around to see him walking towards me with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face.

“Maybe the three of us can do a li'l hanky panky after lunch,” I suggested.

“Three of us?” Lars teased me once he came within earshot. “Why not bring Brick and your buddies into this?”

“That'd be a little awkward, though,” Cindy pointed out. “Especially without asking 'em first.”

I stuck out my pinky finger and my thumb and brought it to my ear.

“Hey, Dad, is Mom around? Oh, nothing—I've just gone out raping,” I sputtered out, which made the both of them laugh out so loud; their laughter echoed over the ice. Brick scurried over to us with his face flustered and his jersey slightly damp from skating around on the ice.

“You three amigos wanna join us over at the Denny's for some lunch?” he offered us.

“Oh, yes, please,” I told him as I peeled my mask off of my head. I then turned to Cindy and Lars. “As is tradition, after a hockey game, we go over to Denny's for sump'n to eat, be it dinner or breakfast. The two of you wanna join us?”

“I'd love to,” said Cindy.

“And I wouldn't mind having something myself, too,” Lars chimed in, to which he stifled another belch. He bowed his head as if he was about to puke but he never did. She raised an eyebrow at him and then at me. I shrugged and then he lifted his head to face us.

“Sorry. Let's boogie.”

Once we all had taken off our skates and changed back into our regular street clothes, but I didn't feel like changing out of my jersey given I had just washed it, Brick drove the three of us to that little Denny's, which was about a block away from Black Orchid, which meant afterwards Cindy could take Lars and me there for a little round of fun and whatnot. I was eager to have a big hearty sandwich and some fries and a big chocolate milkshake with whipped cream on top, but I was even more eager for what waited for us up ahead. While I drank down the shake, I thought back to that encounter in Syracuse. I knew that was the beginning of something, like it alluded to something up ahead of me, and ahead of Cindy herself. I tried to think ahead, like what she had in store for the two of us.

Surely, it would be something amazing.

Indeed, once we had finished up and I swore I had gained five pounds in my hips, Cindy beckoned Lars and me to the next block over. Even in the frigid New York cold, she was brazen enough to don that miniskirt and those high heels, too.

“Don't do anything we wouldn't do, Joe,” was the last thing Brick told me with a grin on his face.

“Of course, of course,” I said, and I hurried ahead to catch up with her and Lars. Those stilettos crunched along the damp sidewalk.

It was only a block but I could feel myself wanting to do it right then and there. I reached down to adjust the band on my jeans but it was useless. That itch I couldn't scratch—and the fact I was right behind her didn't help anything, either. There was a part of me that wanted to touch her ass but at that point, we had reached the front step of the strip joint.

“So we're gonna have a little game of sorts?” Lars recalled; he held the door for her into the intimate lit front corridor: I was met by the combined aroma of Jager and perfume even there on the front step.

“Yes, we are!” Cindy proclaimed as she peered over her shoulder at me. Lars shut the door and she pressed her body to me. Her chest pressed against my own; I could feel her body warming up against my own. It helped that I had just eaten my weight in breakfast and lunch today, and thus I was extra warm myself.

“Yeah, baby boy—you're gonna get it so good, baby,” she assured me. She let her parka fall off of her body and I could catch a whiff of the perfume wafting off of her neck and shoulders. Her skin was clean and clear, like fresh porcelain. My jeans felt even tighter than they did before then.

“Shall I grab a chair?” Lars offered with a bit more chirp to his voice than normal.

“Grab a couple, baby,” Cindy told him, but she never took her eyes off of me. I watched him go off to the left to fetch a couple of chairs. She showed me her tongue and then she held onto my arm, and she guided me towards the front room. We got to the doorway; I raised my gaze to find, circled around a low small black cherry colored table right smack in the middle of the room and underneath the yellow light on the ceiling, wrapped up in their little black wind breakers—

“Scott!” I said, to which Cindy showed me a puzzled look upon her face. “Charlie! Frankie!”

“Joey!” Frankie declared with his eyebrows raised.

“Frankie!” Charlie insisted, stunned.

“Charlie—” Scott was cut off by a slight dry sounding cough.

“Scott,” Charlie added.

“Charlie,” said Frankie.

“Frankie,” said Charlie; meanwhile, I rolled my eyes and reached for the light switch. I flicked it several times so they were in the dark and in light for about a second each. The three of them looked at me, also as puzzled as Cindy.

“Are ya done?” I asked them.

“Yeah... sure,” said Scott as he fixed the collar of his shirt.

“Anyways, what're you guys doin' here? I thought you went back down to the City.”

The three of them glanced at each other with grave looks upon their faces.

“We've got nowhere to go, Joey,” Scott explained in a low voice. “Charlie, Frankie, and I—yeah, we're—we're—”

“We're pretty much homeless,” Frankie finished for him.

“We know you just have your place,” Charlie added, “like it's just you there. So we didn't want to ask you.”

“Well, shit,” I remarked as I pressed my hands to my hips. “We could'a at least figured sump'n out. D'you at least call John?”

“Johnny Zazu's not picking up and neither is Martha,” Scott grimly told me. “It's like the studio burned down, we got kicked out of our places all at the same time, and then the two of them bounced outta New York all within a matter of couple of days. Guess this whole thing with the industry going sideways is more potent than we thought...”

“The Bush man, I mean.”

“Him, too! Charlie was the last person he talked to.”

“And what'd he say?” I asked Charlie.

“He said 'guess what? Chicken butt.'”

“What?!”

“Yeah. I shit you not, Joey. That's what he said to me.”

“Angeline can't do anything about it, either,” Frankie added. “She called me last night—she's over in Boston right now so there's nothing she can do.”

“Wow,” I remarked.

Lars strode up to us right then with a spindly black chair in either hand. He sat them both down before the table at the same time and gave his fine hair a toss back.

“Have a seat,” he told Cindy and me.

“Gladly,” she replied with a puckering of her cherry lips.

“What about you—little lion man?” I asked him; that comment brought a chuckle out of Frankie.

“There's another one over there,” he assured me with a nod back to the other side of the room. “So relax, Joseph.”

I fetched up a sigh and did just that, right in between Cindy and Scott. I noticed a square checkerboard in the middle of the table, one consisted of cold black and golden wooden squares. I wondered what the chess pieces looked like as I lowered my gaze to the drawer right in front of her knees.

“I hope this won't be too controversial,” she began with a toss of her black hair over her shoulder.

“I ain't everyone's cup of liquidized Injun,” I teased her and the three of them burst out laughing.

“But I think we're going to have to do this in teams of three given there are six of us,” she continued, nonplussed. Lars dragged a third chair in between me and Cindy, and plopped down hard on the seat. He stripped off his coat, but then he hesitated.

“Do you think I should keep it on?” he suggested to her.

“What, your coat?”

“Yes.”

“If you want, baby.”

Lars nibbled on his bottom lip for a second. And then he reached behind him to put the coat back on. I showed him a sideways little smile.

“Alright, let's get this party started,” Cindy said with those cherry lips glimmering bright under the intimate light. “Could one of you boys be a dear and grab my parka for me, please?”

Charlie scrambled to his feet and hurried over to the front door for her parka, which lay on the floor. She reached before her to the drawer and slid it open. I watched her take out the chess pieces: a set of black ones which, when held up to the light had this reddish tint to them; Cindy referred to them as “black candy apples”. I held up the king and I thought of black cherries, or a jar of cherry and apple jam, like a candied apple, albeit one with blackened caramel. The other set meanwhile, consisted of that same heavy honey colored wood making up the checkerboard. Scott, Frankie, and I helped her set up the board; Charlie returned with her coat just in time with her parka cradled in his arms.

He was even kind enough to put it back on for her!

“Team Wood and Team Apple,” Scott remarked as he scooted closer to Frankie and Charlie. “Sounds good by me!”

“Alright, so the rules are as follows,” she began as she adjusted the lapels of her parka. “The same rules to chess apply—pawns move one spot forward only, and when they take out another piece it has to be in the same color square diagonal from it; rooks move in straight lines, either forward or backward; knights move in 'L' shapes, either forward or backward; bishops move in diagonals, either forward or backward; kings and queens, on the other hand, do whatever they please. Whenever a major chess piece is taken off of the board, be it a rook or a bishop—or better yet, the king and queen—someone on the other team has to strip one article of clothing. Two rooks, two knights, two bishops, a king, and a queen. We really have nothing to lose but our clothes.”

“Oh, this should be interesting,” said Lars with a twinkle in his eye.

“Ladies first,” Frankie beckoned her with a mischievous smile.

“Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, honey boy?” Cindy teased him, which brought a giggle out of both me and Lars.

“Honey boy!” Charlie laughed at that.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Frankie offered her, to which he raised his fist.

“Draw cards,” Scott suggested.

“That's for choosing beds, not which side to go first,” Lars pointed out.

I peered over my shoulder to find the bar right behind us. There was a bottle of root beer on one edge of it there—as far as I knew, nobody claimed it. I stood to my feet and ambled over to it, and swiped it. I pried off the bottle cap and held out the actual bottle from me so the foam from it wouldn't get on my jacket or my jersey. Using my free hand, I moved the cap onto the back of my thumb.

“Heads, or top of the cap, it's Wood—tails, or the pointy edges, it's Apple,” I told them, and I flicked the bottle cap straight up into the air. We watched it fly up in a straight line, but then it came down on the table, right next to Cindy. It fell onto the floor; Scott craned his neck down for a look.

“Heads,” he declared.

“It bounced off the table, though,” Frankie pointed out, “doesn't count.”

“Yeah, but it's heads,” Scott insisted.

“Still bounced off the table, though,” Lars joined in.

“Yeah, if it bounced off anything in a hockey rink, they'd ask for a do-over,” I chimed in.

“Same with baseball,” said Frankie.

“And tennis!” Lars chirped.

“It's still heads, though!” Scott insisted.

“Scott, you're dealin' with three guys who play sports, you might as well listen,” Charlie said in a single breath. Scott fetched up a sigh.

“Okay.” He reached underneath the table to pick up the cap from the floor; meanwhile, I took a drink of the root beer. I had no idea how long it had been sitting there on the counter, but it was still cold and crisp. Fresh, too, like it had come straight out of the root beer factory place. Granted, I had had a milkshake not long before, but I wasn't going to let them bicker over something as pithy as who went first in a game of strip chess. Once I had taken my seat at the table again, Scott set the bottle cap on the back of his thumb. He flicked it up into the air and then held out his hand before him. He caught it and curled his fingers over it.

“Which is it?” asked Charlie. He opened his hand to show the smooth top of the cap.

“Those pointy edges hurt, too,” he remarked as he set the cap down on the table in front of him.

“Okay, now which of us are going to move out the pawns first?” asked Frankie.

“I think the tossers should go first,” Charlie suggested.

“Scott will start and then Frankie and Charlie will follow suit,” Lars added. “I think we should do that, too, but beginning with Joey.”

Scott held onto the head of the wooden pawn in front of the king and slid it forward one square. I took a drink of root beer and moved the pawn before the queen one square. Frankie followed with the next pawn forward; Cindy followed suit; then Charlie and Lars. I nibbled on my bottom lip as Scott moved out another pawn before me.

“Only pawns,” he muttered once our rows of eight pawns were moved out one square each: each one was two squares apart from the opposing side. Charlie eyed the black candy apple pieces in anticipation. Lars watched him with intent.

“Your move, Char,” said Scott as he shifted his weight in his seat.

“I know—I'm just thinking.”

“Remember, pawns are pawns,” Cindy reminded us. “It's only when the big pieces in the back get involved is when the clothes come flying off.”

Charlie sighed through his nose and moved out the one before the king one more square, which meant Lars could knock out that pawn from a diagonal with one of ours.

And he did.

“I knew that was gonna happen,” said Charlie as he leaned back in his seat. Scott then swooped in with a taking of that one black candy apple pawn from one of their wooden ones. Three squares in front of our king.

“That's your move?” asked Cindy with a hearty chuckle. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Check, gentlemen,” Scott announced with those thick eyebrows raised up, “—lady.”

“No, it's not,” Lars pointed out.

“Sure, it is,” Scott insisted. “Your king's exposed. So, check.”

“You haveta get it from an angle, though,” I told him as I took another sip of root beer. “It'd be in check if it was a bishop or a knight, but not a li'l pawn.”

That said, I reached for the knight in front of Lars and moved it in that “L” shape, and took out that pawn.

“Oh, snap!” Frankie declared as I took another sip. Their pawns were all a square away, which meant the board was a stalemate of sorts. Frankie rubbed his chin and ran his tongue along the edges of his two front teeth. Surely, it couldn't too difficult.

He moved one of the pawns forward, which brought a laugh out of Cindy.

“What's so funny?” he demanded. She held onto the horse's head of the knight and moved it in that “L” shape again. Another pawn down.

“We're losin' our men, men,” Scott told them. “Come on, Charlie—you got this.”

“I do!” Charlie held onto the pointed top of their bishop and moved it towards the knight. One of our back pieces!

“One of us has to strip now!” Cindy declared; she turned her head to Lars, who bowed his head a bit, but he knew it had to be done.

“Take it off!” Frankie chanted. “Take it off!”

Scott and Charlie joined in with claps of their hands; I set down the bottle and joined them.

Lars then stood to his feet and peeled off his coat, and draped it over the back of his chair. He sat back down and adjusted that long mane of smooth hair so that it lay over his shoulders. I took another sip as he prepared his next move: he used the other one of our bishops to take out that one wooden one.

Scott peeled off his coat and lay over the back of the chair. He then watched me with his head bowed so those dark eyebrows obscured his eyes; I moved the other knight forward. One more move and I could take out their king, meaning they were in check.

“Kinky,” he remarked in a low voice; he leaned forward for the other bishop, but he kept it behind the pawns, though.

“You know what else is kinky?” Cindy asked him.

“What's that?”

She moved the other bishop in a diagonal and took out their king in one fell swoop.

“Check mate, little boys,” she said in a singsong voice.

“Oh, shit—I totally missed that,” Scott sputtered. I raised my bottle to that and Lars burst out laughing.

“We still strip though... right?” asked Frankie.

“Please do,” she insisted.

The three of them glanced at each other; I took one more sip of root beer when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

Mrs. Hamilton strode into the room right then in a black leather teddy and a lacy black skirt down to her knees. Her bob of hair glittered under the intimate light: I took a second look to see she had glitter incorporated into the roots.

“Darling, Lili,” Lars called to her. “Lili—Leila—Leela, whichever you wish to be called.”

“We've got some male strippers here, Mom,” Cindy told her; for a second, I completely forgot Mrs. Hamilton was her mother.

“Oh, boy!” she declared in that Pennsylvania Dutch accent.

Scott, Frankie, and Charlie looked at each other again before they each stood to their feet. The latter two took off their jackets and draped them over the backs of their chairs. Scott was first to remove his belt and hand it to Mrs. Hamilton; Frankie and Charlie held onto the bands of their jeans and dropped them down to their legs. All three of them peeled off their shirts in unison: Scott had that thick dark hair all over his chest while Frankie and Charlie both had bare smooth skin on their chests. I looked over at Lars, who glanced behind Cindy at me.

“Shall we?” he mouthed at me. I looked over at Mrs. Hamilton, who had one hand pressed to her hip and the other hand pressed on the edge of the table in front of me. I returned to Lars and nodded at him. He reached down and peeled off his shirt; he kept the collar of it stuck to his forehead so his hair was off of his face and his shoulders.

I didn't want to take off my jersey... but I did it anyway. I stood to my feet and lay it over the back of my chair.

“Show off,” Frankie joked.

“Yeah—my word, look at Joey,” Mrs. Hamilton commented; she dropped her gaze to my hips and thighs, and then back up to my chest and my shoulders.

I felt something grab me from behind. I looked to find Cindy coaxing me to somewhere.

I couldn't resist.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hamilton rounded the table to meet up with Lars. As I began after Cindy, I noticed Gwen and Louise entering the room from my right.

“Hey, golden boys,” I heard the former say to the three of them.

Meanwhile, Cindy led me throughout Black Orchid to the back room. The whole center of the strip club was spacious and dark enough for not just lap dances but maybe a whole show of the girls given their whole mood and aesthetic; the stages were made of heavy, dark wood and lined with little golden lights the size of quarters. A wooden cat walk lined the upper part of the walls; I spotted a row of silvery stripper poles up there, each of which looked to be suspended out in the open rather than attached to the ceiling and the floor. Right in front of us there was a closed off room with a couple of beds—actual beds, with pillows and comforters and everything. Overhead stood an intimate lit balcony with a ladder on the right side; before Cindy led me into the room, I spotted another bed up there.

“Close the door,” she commanded me. I pushed it closed with my hip and she puckered her lips at me.

“So we're gonna play around with corpses and shit?” I asked her.

“Yeah, you and I are gonna play around with corpses and shit.”

“YES!”

She brought those cherry lips to my collar bones and then moved down onto my chest and my stomach. I could feel her undoing my jeans, but I lunged for the bed in front of us. I somersaulted onto the comforter so the crown of my head was pointed at the door.

She peeled off that miniskirt and climbed on top of me.

Tendrils of her black hair caressed over my collar bones and my chest.

“You really are so sexy,” she whispered to me.

“Takes sexy to know it, baby doll,” I whispered back to her; I had no idea where that came from. She kissed my neck and my shoulders a few times before she sat upright and took her top off. Those nipples were pointed, more pointed than what was happening with me.

She scooted back a bit to peel back my jeans; I reached up to fondle those nipples some more but she swatted my hand.

“Bad boy,” she scolded me with a wag of her finger.

“But—” I begged.

“No.” She stuck out her chest at me as she undid my jeans.

And then the door opened. She gasped and lunged backwards. I tilted my head back to find Frankie and Louise there in the doorway.

“Oh, shit, Frank!” Louise shouted and she stepped away from the doorway.

It didn't help matters he was upside down to me, too.

“Frankie!” Cindy and I said in unison.

“Oh, hey—sorry, Joe and Cindy Lou Who,” Frankie stammered. “I thought you guys were goin' out to the car—”

“Get out!” I shouted.

“—the two of youses oughta put on a couple of bathrobes and pretend like you're ghosts.”

“OUT! Wait, what?”

“Yeah, pretend like you're ghosts and have a round of spiritual rendezvous.”

“Frankie, we're not goin' tantric,” I scoffed as I ran my fingers through my hair to brush it off of my shoulder and my collar bone.

“That'd be even better, though,” he continued with a wag of his finger. “Be in here for hours and hours on end until you reach the other side of the spectrum, if ya know what I mean.”

“The other side of the spectrum on the other side of the street,” I corrected, also with a wag of my finger.

“You'd have to go through that wall over there first,” he gestured to the other side of the room.

“I'd have to use both feet, though,” Cindy pointed out.

“Yeah, and talk about breakin' your ankles, too—with those stilettos of yours,” I added with a low whistle.

“Alright, I'll leave you two kids to it,” Frankie told us as he rubbed his hands together, “just keep the noise level down, y'know?”

“Of course, of course!” I proclaimed; he doubled back out of the loft and shut the door behind him. I let out another whistle. I was still erect, I could feel, but I wasn't too sure of what to do next. Cindy caressed my shaft to try and stoke the flames again, but I couldn't feel anything.

“There's a part of me that wants to take part of this here—” The tips of her fingers stroked across the tip. “—and put it around my neck for good luck. You know, like a rabbit's foot.”

“It'd be easier if you could kill me first, though,” I grumbled.

“Joey!” Cindy reached forward and slapped me right on the belly.

“Ow!”

“I'm in charge here, big boy.”

“Big boy...” I murmured as I closed my eyes.

“Yes—big boy.” I felt her clutch onto my shaft with one hand. She used the other to hold down my thigh. “This is going to get so huge.”

“And then what?” I asked her as I kept my arms outstretched on either side of me. She didn't answer.

“And then what? Cindy?” I lifted my head to find her bringing her mouth to my head for a drink and a good lick. I lay my head down on the mattress again and took in the feeling of her tongue and the inside of her mouth.

Meanwhile, above us, I could hear Lars panting. He and I was thinking... Mrs. Hamilton were going crazy up there in the loft. At least so I believed: for all I knew, he could've been doing push ups. On the bed. With Mrs. Hamilton right there next to him...

“Ow, fuck!” I yelped out. She bit me!

“Just testin' you, babe,” Cindy teased me with a lick of her lips. She brought her lips down again. I held still, but then I thought of rolling over onto my side and pushing her down. I also thought about putting on a robe and doing the ghost thing Frankie suggested. I kept thinking of it so much that it beckoned a pinch of the nipples from her.

“OUCH!”

“Joey!”

“What?” I raised my head to find tears lining her eyes.

“Sex with a stripper is better when she's cryin', y'know,” I pointed out with a wag of my finger.

“Yeah, you wish,” she snarled as she brought her lips back down to my head. But then she sank her teeth in so hard, I wasn't sure whether to cry, shriek, or laugh my other head off. I could feel myself coming even with the bites. If anything, the bites were bringing me closer to the climax.

She was right: I was a bad boy. I let go today a bit, and therefore I was a bad boy. Deserving of every iota of punishment, every bite from her teeth right on that taut skin.

But damn, it felt so good and the fact I hit that high point, that state of euphoria so quickly, only proved it to myself.