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angrylizardjacket · 3 years

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dirtbags // 4: Lola

Summary: High school AU. 1985. Winter. Heather’s party is huge; Lola makes new friends, get better acquainted with some underclassmen, and turns out to be far cozier with the hostess than anyone could guess. The next day, Nikki comes to work despite his hangover, while Charlotte and Eileen plan Vince’s murder. Razzle’s just there to have fun.

A/N: 6603 words. For @misscharlottelee and @julymotel , my beloveds, as always. Sorry it's late, it's been a hell of a week. But, here's the kids. I should say that this chapter does include slight, implied internalised homophobia, just as a warning.

judge if you want, we are all going to die. i intend to deserve it.

For the record, Lola isn’t a party-goer by nature, and the fact that she’s been to two in as many months is baffling her. Usually she just goes to see bands, and sometimes hangs out at peoples’ houses, but high school parties specifically alluded her for most of her time in Boston. It’s not that she wasn’t invited, but her mom had been something of a hardass, and the closest she’d ever gotten was when drunk kids made their way to the diner right before closing on a Friday or Saturday.

Her dad’s fully supportive of her going out and partying, which is weird in it’s own right. He writes down their home phone number on a piece of paper, in case Lola can’t remember it when she’s drunk - his words - and tells her to call whenever she needs a lift. Don’t go get into a car with strangers. Drink plenty of water. Be safe. Have fun.

“Dad, you’re being weird,” she’d told him flatly, applying eyeliner to her waterline in the bathroom. Leo, leaning against the door with his arms crossed, was watching her with a fond expression.

“If I was a hardass and banned you from going out, you’d probably still sneak out anyways -” Lola goes to protest, which Leo finds sweet, but he holds a hand up, and she lets him continue, “not that I don’t think you respect me, but I just know what it was like being a teenager; if you got into trouble while sneaking out, you wouldn’t feel like you could call me for help,” he explained, giving pause, “but I always will, you know that, right?” And Lola nods, but goes back to applying eyeliner, knowing her father’s tone of voice too well, anticipating the fact that he was about to dive into a story of his own to help prove his point.

“When I was your age, or maybe a bit younger, fifteen or sixteen, me and some friends snuck out to a bonfire one night that my parents had absolutely forbidden me from going to, and I ended up needing to go to the emergency room from a burn I got on my hand from being an idiot around the fire,” and he raised his left hand, to show the still visible, large scar on his palm, “I was more terrified of what my father would do than of the burn itself so I didn’t try and call him or mum; I walked home from the hospital alone the next morning, and lied about how I got the burn.”

Lola paused, lowering the eyeliner pencil, meeting her father’s gaze in the mirror. Leo’s smile had turned a little sad at the memory; Lola doesn’t hear much about her grandparents, and she wonders if stories like this are the reason why.

“You’re my kid, Keola, I never want you to think you can’t come to me for help, okay?” It’s rare for Leo to use Lola’s full first name, usually reserving it for more poignant and earnest moments, so every comment about how he’s being a sap, or that she already knows, dies on Lola’s tongue.

“Thanks, dad,” she smiles soft, and Leo smiles back, all crows feet and laugh lines, before he tells her that she looks badass, and he steps out of the doorframe, heading back downstairs to the diner.

By the time Lola shows up, it’s just edging past eight-thirty, though the party still seems to be in its early stages. There’s music that can be heard down the street, and fairy lights scattered throughout the garden, though most of the partygoers who had already arrived are still confined to the house. Apart from a gangly, dark-haired boy whose face she knows, but whose name she doesn’t, sitting on the wide, ostentatious front steps, looking up at the stars glittering overhead. There’s a cigarette in a loose grip between two fingers, though the ash has already burnt down half of it without him tapping it off; it’s almost comical, she’s pretty sure he hasn’t even put it to his lips yet.

“You’re wasting that,” Lola points out, and the guy is jolted from his thoughts, the movement sharp enough to have the ash falling from the cigarette and to the ground by his shoes. He looks to the cigarette, which has gone out, and then to Lola, a little helpless, “I could take it off your hands,” she offers, unsure of how to proceed, and he holds the cigarette out, smile blooming on his face.

“I can’t get the hang of it; I’m playing a smoker in this play I’m doing in a month, and I’ve been trying, you know, make it feel natural, never seems to,” his mouth is curved into a bemused smile as he shrugs helplessly, watching Lola tuck the half a cigarette behind her ear. For a moment, his eyes roam his face, like he’s searching for something to recognize, and she can read it all over him when he finds it, his eyes alight with familiarity, “you work at the diner!”

Lola hates how disarming she finds his earnestness. He doesn’t mention her reputation or the rumours around her, which she’s pretty sure he would have heard since she’s eighty-percent sure he goes to her school.

“Lola,” she offers her hand, and he takes it, using it as leverage to get to his feet before he gives it a proper shake.

“Keanu,” he says, matter-of-factly, still grinning, and Lola suddenly knows where she knows him from. The school musical sign-up sheet is on the Art Faculty’s notice board right outside her art classroom, and she’s been staring at his name amongst a small list of others, including Eileen’s, much to Lola’s surprise, while she and the rest of her art class wait to get into their room.

At least she’s pretty sure it’s him; Keanu’s not exactly a common name. The only other time she’d heard it was in one of her dad’s stories, it was the name of one of his childhood friends -

She leaves it be; he groans and stretches, and there’s an idle moment where his shirt rides up, and Lola reminds herself to focus on the person who actually invited her, and to stop getting fleeting feelings for people she barely knows just because they’re pretty. Lola mutters that she needs a drink, and Keanu claps her on the shoulder and agrees, the two of them heading inside.

Heather’s house is in the same part of town as Vince’s, almost an hour’s walk from the diner, but somehow Heather’s is even nicer. Sprawling front lawn, abstract paintings and movie props on little, pristine pedestals inside, Lola feels like she’s lowering the property value just by stepping foot inside. The party was easily both the nicest and most raucous Lola had ever been to, which, granted, wasn’t saying a lot, but their house was wired with speakers, all connected back to the jukebox in the living room, and Heather’s parents had even let her hire coloured lights.

“As long as the cops aren’t called, we can do whatever we want,” was the message passed around the school from Heather herself. Lola’s feels as though that probably won’t bode well for her parents’ elegantly displayed collectables, but whatever, it’s not like it’s Lola’s problem.

Already there’s a decent crowd inside, and Lola loses Keanu amongst them, making a beeline for the kitchen, manoeuvring around the house with easy familiarity. She reaches pushes past several people to get to the fridge, reaching all the way to the back, past a set of tupperware, to the bottle of wine Heather’s mom had stashed there. Lola removes the sticky note telling everyone not to touch it, and uncorks the bottle over the sink, scowling.

It feels like she’s floating through the night, no-one around that she knows just yet, disconnected from everyone else, carrying the bottle of wine by her side, occasionally taking a drink. Moving from room to room, she takes her time people watching, and guessing how long before the various, expensive props and bric-a-brac were being used for things counter to their intended purpose.

In the front room, there’s finally someone she recognises, kind of; the the young redhead, the fruit one- Peach! She’s unsteady on her feet, beautiful and angry, defiantly making her way through a can of cheap beer, and Lola wonders where the rest of her clique is, that sister of hers, Eileen, even Charlotte.

“You okay?” Lola’s never been great at comforting people, but Peach is currently leaning against a wall at a forty-five degree angle after losing her balance, and scowling. She’s drunk. Already. Fuck.

“I’m fine! Freaking- fucking great!” She’s not even looking at Lola properly, glaring out the window she’d narrowly missed falling on. Lola follows her gaze. It’s just passed nine, and Tommy and Charlotte can be seen walking up to the door; they don’t see Peach or Lola, thankfully.

“You - you’re friends with that... that mean, asshole, punk guy, right?” Peach asks, standing upright so suddenly she overbalances again, and Lola has to catch her elbow to keep her from topping. Peach slaps her hand away, but keeps her balance, obviously with a bee in her bonnet about something that Lola couldn’t even begin it fathom.

“Nikki?” Lola clarifies flatly, amused but not wanting it to show. Peach nods solemnly. Lola bites back a laugh, “yes, I’m friends with him, why?”

“Is he coming tonight?” Peach asks, tone almost forcibly coy and casual, raising her can of drink, taking large gulps as Lola says that he mentioned that he should be, and then asks why. Peach goes quiet. Lola had thought it impossible for Peach’s scowl to grow deeper, but it did, as a blush began to creep up her neck.

“You know my sister, right? Eileen?” Peach says, instead, and Lola nods slowly, and she takes a swig of wine, “she’s a year - a single goddamn year - older than me; I’m sixteen, Lola, she said I was too young to go to a party like this.” And yeah, okay, Lola makes a face at that; she was the same age as Tommy, and he’s done objectively worse stuff in front of Eileen and Charlotte with no complaints. The last house party flashes through Lola’s mind, and she grimaces - “exactly, it’s dumb! Charlie had been dating Duff for a year by the time she was my age, and let me tell you, they were proper gross!” Peach sways a little, and Lola reminds her that she has no idea who Duff is; Peach calls him a word that shocks Lola to hear her say it, especially for a girl who had to correct herself from saying freaking to fucking just moments ago.

“Noted,” Lola nods, and takes another drink; she’s almost a third through the bottle.

“I’m not a child, Lola,” Peach says, as seriously as she can muster, and, as if light a lightbulb has gone off above Lola’s head, she realises why Peach was asking after Nikki.

“You’re not,” Lola agrees slowly, and looks around, hoping to spot Charlotte or Tommy around, someone better suited to talking an angry, determined Peach out of something she’d regret.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Peach huffed, standing to her full height, which unfortunately for Lola, made her taller by a few inches, “you know what, fuck you, Lola -”

“Peach -”

“No, fuck that, I know that tone -”

“Never thought I’d see you out at a place like this, Peach,” there’s a warm familiarity in the voice that joins them, and Peach visibly relaxes. Lola turns, and sees Vince Neil, bleach blonde, decked out in his usual, obnoxious white.

“Fuck off, Vince,” Peach mumbles, turning back to the window in an attempt to hide her sudden blush. Lola raises her eyebrows and looks to Vince, intrigued. The moment his gaze meets Lola’s, Vince turns quietly awkward, and can do little more than offer a shrug.

“Peach?” He tries again, and Peach finishes her drink, tipping her head back, and doesn’t even seem to notice that she’s started to topple back until he catches her, “fuck, Peach.” He says, still holding her.

“You really should fuck off,” Peach says, softer this time, leaning into him, and something pained flashes across Vince’s expression for the barest moment; Peach doesn’t notice in her state, but Lola sees it.

“Eileen been in your ear lately?” Vince asks through gritted teeth. Peach’s scowl back in full force, and she’s righting herself.

“No,” she snaps, an obvious lie, and she pushes past Lola, making her unsteady way to the kitchen, Vince obviously feeling some sort of obligation to her, following quickly in her wake. Thank God. Lola really didn’t want to take care of a girl she barely knows all night.

She’s two thirds of the way through the bottle of wine, feeling good and buzzed, and she’s made polite conversation with the people she knows and the people she doesn’t, the people who know her by reputation, or from the diner, polite to a fault, knowing too much and too little about her all at once.

Tommy’s roped them into a conversation with a few kids from his year that Lola doesn’t recognize any of them, and one, drunk, brunette, stupid, asks her about the rumours, in a crude, roundabout way. Tommy’s hand is firm on Lola’s shoulder, apology in his eyes as he silently pleads with her to not make a scene. Lola kicks his asshole friend in the shin anyways, and spits that he has terrible taste in friends.

Charlotte waves to her, but Lola doesn’t see it in her angry state, storming up the stairs to the second floor. It’s quieter up here, mostly. There’s a group in a side room playing spin the bottle, and people taking advantage of Heather’s parents’ bedroom, and the door to Heather’s room is closed. Lola bangs her closed fist on the nondescript door.

“Who is it?” Heather’s voice, strained, rings out from the other side.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Lola whined through a lie, banging again. There’s scuffling on the other side, Heather hissing for whoever’s with her to go, to get out the window, anything. Lola smirks, “please, all the other bathrooms are -” and she fake gags, right as the door wrenches open to show Heather’s flustered face, hair a mess, scowling.

“What?”

“I’m lying,” Lola whispered, leaning against the doorframe, pushing down all her annoyance at Tommy and his asshole friends, and playing at being coy. Heather huffs an annoyed breath through her nose.

“I know,” she snaps, but lets Lola in anyways, and Lola automatically closes the door behind herself, leaning her back against it, watching Heather try and act casual, heading to her bed, “should I be jealous?” Lola smirks, and Heather shoots her a filthy look. Lola takes a long drink of the wine, and Heather’s expression turns from angry, to simply annoyed.

“Of course, of fucking course, you, the only asshole who actually knew about it-”

“Your mom can buy another one, it’s not like you’re not -”

“Don’t say it,” Heather warns, sitting on the edge of her bed, and Lola’s smile grows sly and amused. Heather’s gaze flicks to the door handle, “lock that.”

“Yes, Princess,” Lola smirks, reaching over with her free hand, making quick work of locking the door.

“Do not,” Heather hisses at the pet name, and Lola pushes off the door, heading towards her, and offers her the bottle. Heather’s lips press into a thin line as the regards the drink she knows is completely illicit for a number of reasons, before taking it, and taking a drink - “fuck, how much of this have you had?”

In answer, Lola takes the bottle back and finishes it off.

“You’re a pig and a thief,” Heather tells her, but Lola’s smile is all teeth.

“And you kicked out someone - a boy, I’m guessing - for this thieving pig,” Lola reminds her, placing the empty bottle carefully on the nightstand of her luxurious double bed. Heather turns scarlet.

“I thought you’d at least wait until eleven to find me,” she deflects, defensive at the truth in Lola’s words, to which Lola herself actually laughs, flopping back onto the bed, arms spread, two fingers hooking into the back waistband of Heather’s flirty, short skirt.

“The fact that I’m here at all is a miracle, Princess -”

“Don’t.”

“And you know you could have told me to throw up in the garden,” Lola points out. A moment of silence follows, she tugs at Heather’s waistband, and Heather follows the unspoken prompt, leaning back onto the bed.

“Boys don’t know what they’re doing,” she says, staring up at the ceiling, arms folded but feet still planted firmly on the floor, and Lola’s eyes go wide, delighted, twisting onto her side to look at Heather’s blushing face.

“I knew you liked me,” Lola teases, grinning sharp.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Heather scoffs, angling her head back to level a glare at Lola, after a beat, she reaches back, fingers nimble and cold but her grip on Lola’s jaw secure. She frowns at Lola’s lips, rubbing her thumb none too gently over the bottom lip, taking off the black lipstick painted there, staining her own thumb in the process.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Heather prompts, frustrated, tone icy. Lola raises her eyebrows at the blonde's impatience.

“As you command, your highness,” Lola pushes herself up on her elbows, and off the bed, smirking in the face of Heather’s annoyance, before she scrubs at her mouth with the back of her hand, getting rid of the rest of her lipstick.

“I’ll be quick so you can get back to your boytoy,” Lola smirks up at Heather, kneeling between her knees, and in the next moment Heather’s legs clamp painfully tight around her head, bony knees pressing into her temples.

“If you tell fucking anyone I did anything other than get you water while you threw up in my bathroom, I will ruin your fucking life,” she spits, and Lola’s expression contorts into one of furious annoyance as she wrenches her head free, sitting back on her heels.

“As if I’d tell anyone; if you tell anyone, I’ll burn your fucking house down, do not test me on that,” she warns in return, before Heather relaxes and lays back, eyes back on the ceiling, waiting, “fucking pillow princess, I wish you’d get me a glass of water once in a while,” Lola muttered, leaning back in.

“Hey!” Heather objects, looking down, only to see the barely concealed fury smouldering in Lola’s eyes as she looks at Heather through her lashes. Lola orders her to shut up, presses a pointed kiss to her inner thigh, and Heather obeys without any more fuss.

All it took, in the beginning, was for Lola to confront Heather and ask why the fuck she couldn’t keep her eyes to herself during class, fully expecting a fight. It was after school, Lola had followed her into the bathroom after class as the school was emptying. Heather’s lip had curled, derisive, giving Lola a look like she was a bug beneath her shoe.

“You see something you fucking like?” Lola had snarled, ready to square up, chest puffed out, and Heather had rolled her eyes, scoffing about how Lola wasn’t even close to her type, before she’d realised what she’d said.

Neither had known how to proceed in that moment, both terrified of how the other would react, Lola could see the sudden fear in Heather’s eyes at the admission. Very deliberately, Lola had relaxed her posture, looking Heather over with a new appreciation, and Heather had flushed under her gaze.

“I didn’t know it was like that,” Lola had smirked, gaze locking onto Heather’s. The blonde was embarrassed, furious at herself, “well if I ever become your type -” those seven words had changed everything. Immediately, Heather knew exactly what Lola had meant, that she wasn’t a threat in the way she’d feared, and that Lola was like her, in some way, in a way that was safe.

“You’re -?” Heather raised a single, perfect eyebrow at her.

“I don’t advertise it,” Lola said, voice flat, hands in her pockets and shoulders carefully relaxed, “don’t know, you know, who else is... like me.”

“Like you?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it here,” Lola had muttered, gaze flicking to the empty stalls, and Heather had given her a long, evaluative look, before stepping forward, apparently finding something she likes.

Heather’s kind of pinning over a straight girl and none of the rest of the school has any idea she likes anything other than boys, and she’d like to keep it that way. No-one really cares about Lola the way they do about Heather, so they feel safe fooling around together at Heather’s under the guise of ‘studying’; they don’t really even like each other as people, it’s more mutually beneficial than anything else, but it’s kind of nice to have this understanding between them, free to be themselves without fear, even if it’s only for short amounts of time.

Now, at the party, when Lola goes to leave the room after all is said and done, hair checked in the mirror, lipstick reapplied neatly, Heather grabs her arm, quiet but no longer irritate in Lola’s presence, and Lola’s eyes go wide with question, but she too is silent. Heather steels herself, steps up to Lola, and then she’s got her fingers carding through Lola’s hair, and holding tight, and Lola lets herself be maneuverer, her head tipping and Heather’s lips on her neck.

When Heather steps back, there’s the beginning of a hickey blooming on the juncture where Lola’s shoulder meets her throat, aching faintly, pleasantly, and her hands are soft on Heather’s hips, lips twitching into a smirk.

“You could have just said thank you,” Lola snorted, and Heather’s frowning, but it doesn’t seem to be specifically at Lola; she rolls her eyes. Lola presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, quick and chaste, and scrubs at the mark she leaves behind before Heather slaps her hand away and tells her to get out, though there’s no anger behind it.

When Lola opens the door, she puts on a show of being a little more unsteady than she really was, and is surprised to see Nikki leaning against the wall a few feet away, chatting to Tommy, looking so carefully casual. Lola’s pretty sure she hears Nikki sigh something about needing to find a guitarist, but that’s the moment Tommy spots Lola. He tries to apologise for his friends, but Lola shrugs, letting the incident go easily.

And then Nikki’s eyes flick to hers, and he asks if she’s okay, and Tommy seems confused but Lola’s hit with a realization. She pulls back her act and tries not to smile too wide.

“I’m fine now, great actually, it’s sweet of you to care,” its absolutely and completely innocent, but she raises an eyebrow at him, as if asking how he knows that she was unwell. In lieu of response, Nikki stands to his full height, walks to the door, and knocks. Lola and Tommy watch, the former far more confused than the latter.

Heather opens the door wide, not a hair out of place, makeup immaculate and untouched, and tells Nikki to fuck off, swanning past him and down to the rest of her party. Nikki turns on Lola.

“You couldn’t have thrown your guts up in a bush somewhere?” Nikki hissed, frustrated, and Lola does a great job at biting back her laughter, shaking her head and shrugging helplessly.

“We’re you waiting out here that whole time?” Lola asks, and Nikki turns amusingly pink, stalking past her to the stairs, to which both Lola and Tommy followed, with Lola calling out a half-hearted apology, and Nikki telling her to shove it up her ass.

gandhi said 'be the change you want to see in the world.' fuck that. be the trouble you want to see in the world.

“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last night,” the morning after the party, or was it afternoon - midday after Heather’s party - Lola’s tying her red bandana around her head, hip leaning against the counter out the back by the fryer where Nikki was scowling at an order of fries that was bubbling away.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Lola,” Nikki snaps back, looking up at her, still frowning, and Lola’s smile widens, just a little. Nikki sighs, relenting, his voice dropping low, “I’m hungover as fuck, just piss off, can you?” But it doesn’t sound half as cruel as the words themselves imply, and Lola dips to press her cheek to his shoulder in a moment of affectionate familiarity before heading out to start serving customers.

It’s almost one when Charlotte and that English kid, Razzle, walk in, with the tall, pretty ginger, Eileen, sans their usual extras, but they take their spot at their usual booth by the window, talking quietly but animatedly.

“- the nerve on him! Hi, Lola,” Eileen’s practically vibrating with pent up, frustrated energy, greeting Lola with what Eileen probably assumed was a smile, but was still definitely a scowl.

“Everything alright here?” Lola asked, forcing her voice even brighter than she’d usually attempt, and Eileen’s gaze dropped to the menu, going quiet, brooding, while Charlotte sat up a little straighter and smiled, clearly not on such an intense wavelength as her friend.

“Everything’s just great; plotting Vince’s murder, kind of starving, the usual,” she shrugs, and Razzle, by her side, snorts a laugh.

“Good to see you survived the night, Honky Cat,” he adds in lieu of a greeting of his own, and Lola takes a moment to process all the information she’d just been exposed to.

“’course I did, I drank my weight in water between shots,” Lola smirks at Razzle, before her gaze slides to Charlotte, “and that’s very fair; I’d ask what he’s done now, but I think I’ll take care of your order first,” she grins amicably and pulls out her notepad and pen, as the three of them order their usual drinks and lunch preferences.

Lola heads back to the counter, calling out the order to the kitchen, taking another few order to their various destinations, before getting her friends’ drinks together to take them over.

“- home and didn’t even call, Razz, she didn’t even -” Eileen was still ranting by the time Lola deposits their drinks before them. Lola’s pretty sure she saw Razzle and Charlotte deliberately knocking knees beneath the table, but doesn’t think about it too hard. Nor does she dwell on the memory of seeing them at the party last night, of a gaggle of cheerleaders around talking to Razzle, though he just kept trying to talk to Charlotte. Later, she’d definitely seen them on the sofas, talking with Tommy and some of Charlotte’s other friends, leaning in to each other, Razzle’s arm around her shoulders, playing with the whispy ends of her hair. Lola hadn’t thought much of it at the time; she’d made out with Tommy at her first house party in the area, it hadn’t developed past friendship.

It was cute, if it was anything.

“Lola, you were there!” Eileen turned very suddenly, the moment her cup had been placed in front of her, and Lola’s eyebrows shot up, “did you see my sister last night?”

It feels like a trap, because yes, Lola definitely did, but also -

“Yes, why?” Lola asks, slowly, cocking a hip.

“They’re in the middle of a blue,” Razzle said, with a fond smile at Eileen’s carefully neutral expression, while she stirred her drink with intent.

“A fight,” Charlotte translated, “and Peach went to Heather’s last night, and got kind of shitfaced, and Vince took care of her, was really quite sweet, but she stayed with him because his place was closer and Peach refused to call Eileen.”

“She stayed with Vince?” Lola said carefully, trying not to imply she was jumping to conclusions, but Eileen’s stirring ceased in favour of vigorous drinking of the drink, obviously stuck on a similar train of thought.

“She slept on the couch,” Razzle filled in quickly, “was still there when I left, tucked in with a blanket, all above board.”

“And you didn’t know where she was -?” Lola frowns, confused.

“Vince called at three in the morning,” Eileen glowered out the window, voice low and even, “dad was mad until he was grateful; the man’s backbone is made of marshmallow fluff. She was meant to be home at one.”

“But she’s okay?”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Lola,” Eileen had said, giving Lola a look far older and longsuffering than her seventeen years.

“If we brought in Vince’s heart, would your dad batter it up and fry it for Eileen to eat?” Charlotte asked, tone teasing and light, to which Eileen rolled her eyes, but at least it got her to smile, even a little. Even when Lola snorted a laugh and told her ‘absolutely not’.

Later, on their break, Lola and Nikki sit on the roof of the building and share a serve of chips that he’d overcooked, and a cigarette, and Lola asks about Vince. Turns out Nikki doesn’t know much; he hadn’t grown up with the rest of them, had moved to the neighbourhood near the start of high school, and all he really knows is that girls apparently think Vince’s dick developed some sort of Midas touch over Summer.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s always been stupid pretty,” Nikki shoves a chip in his mouth before leaning back on his elbows, “far as I know, but you’ve seen his car, right? That fuck-off, expensive red one that sits in the teacher’s carpark, with the massive scratch in the paint along the left? Yeah that’s his; got it for his birthday last year and he’s been getting tail like nobody’s business ever since.” And Lola tries to process all this information before he’s barrelling right on ahead with, “speaking of; if you’re gonna nail Tommy, can you do it soon and put the poor kid out of his misery?”

“Excuse me?!” Lola had choked on her lungful of smoke, turning red at the suggestion.

“Yeah, poor kid was pretty convinced we were a thing and didn’t want to make a move; kinda stupid, but I dunno, admirable? Noble?” Nikki groaned through his words, laying back against the gravel of the roof, hand out for the cigarette. Lola passed it to him, glad he couldn’t see her vaguely guilty expression, knowing she’d slept with the girl he’d been hitting on the night before.

“Tommy has a thing for anything halfway pretty that’s not related to him, he’d be just as happy to boink any other girl,” Lola points out, and Nikki snorts a laugh in mild agreement, “and the only reason we’re not fucking is because you’re afraid my dad’s gonna rip of your arms like he’s the fucking Wampa from Star Wars.” She punctuates it by eating the last chip, laying out beside Nikki on the gravel, checking her watch. Five minutes before their break ends.

“Leo wouldn’t rip off my arms- I don’t think Leo would rip off my arms!” Nikki counters defensively, but that just has Lola laughing as she corrects -

“Sorry, no, your exact wording was ‘I don’t want your dad to Kali Ma my fucking heart like I’m that little bastard from Indiana Jones’,” Lola does an absolutely atrocious impersonation of Nikki, who’s laughing despite himself, “which you only took back because I told you he wasn’t Indian, and even if he was, it’s kind of a fucked thing to say,” Lola tells him pointedly, shifting onto her side, propping her head up on her hand as she smirked at Nikki.

When Nikki looks at her, green eyes shining in the overcast, afternoon light, there’s something unreadable, teasing and soft all at once, like he’s entertaining an idea he’d considered unthinkable.

“I don’t think I could look Leo in the eye if I banged his daughter,” Nikki’s voice is soft and low, though he’s grinning wide, tone coy, eyes creasing in the corners, and Lola’s gaze flicks to his lips.

“For Leo’s sake, then,” Lola matches his tone, corner of her mouth twitching into a sharp smirk when she finally looks back to his eyes, “and Tommy’s too,” she teases, pushing herself into a sitting position; she can hear it when he presses his head further into the gravel in exasperation, swearing under his breath. When Lola stands and smiles, the picture of innocence, she offers Nikki her hand to help him up; Nikki rolls his eyes, but is still smiling when he accepts.

“Your hair looks dorky like that,” Lola teases as she climbs down the fire escape.

“I know,” Nikki sighs, “but its better than getting hair in everyone’s food; I’m not gonna be the reason your dad fails a health inspection,” Nikki adds, a strange hint of protectiveness in his voice that warms Lola’s heart in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“Don’t worry, Leo’s never failed a health inspection, he doesn’t intend to start any time soon.”

love is a dream someone else had last night.

Eileen and Razzle see fit to join their ragtag bunch of misfits at lunch the following Monday by the open gate and the science carpark, which Lola had been informed was the teachers’ carpark.

Lola doesn’t care who sits with them, except for the fact that she’d taken the leftover lemon merengue tart from the diner since it was being replaced with an apple crumble, and there was only enough for four. For the past week, Eileen’s been alternating sitting with them and sitting elsewhere, but she hadn’t been here last Monday, so Lola had assumed - anyways, now she’s worried she looks like a bitch, and not for an actual reasonable reason.

“What do you mean you almost got with Heather on Friday?!” Charlotte’s voice was somewhere between a horrified and disbelieving squeak where she was picking at the crust of the piece of tart she was sharing with Eileen. The lemon merengue debacle turned out to not be much of an issue, with Charlotte and Eileen sharing, and Tommy and Lola sharing too. Lola was incredibly focused on picking at a scab through the hole in the knee of her jeans.

“I mean I had my hand in her fucking panties when someone -” Nikki cast a very pointed look to Lola, “knocked on the door threatening to throw up, and I got shoved out a window,” Nikki played up being irritated, despite the fact that he was laying out on his side directly behind Lola, while she was leaning into him.

“You’re my hero,” Eileen told Lola, serious as ever, while Charlotte cackled with delight, and Razzle snickered from where he was touching up the left hand of Tommy’s sharpie-nails.

“You guys are a bunch of assholes,” Nikki huffed, shoving the remained or his own piece of tart into his mouth.

“I brought you food, show some fuckin’ respect,” Lola smirked despite herself, gently elbowing him in the ribs; he flicks her knee in retaliation.

“Absolutely not; you’re a cockblocking traitor and the worst friend I’ve got,” Nikki announced, nose in the air, and Lola leans all her weight back suddenly, tipping Nikki onto his back and laying heavy across his stomach as she demanded he take it back, the two of them getting into a petty squabbling match, shoving at each other while the others could only look on in exasperated amusement.

“I thought Heather had a boyfriend,” Eileen pipes up, to which Charlotte makes a a gentle ‘eh’ noise in the back of her throat.

“She’s getting laid,” Charlotte corrects with half a smirk, and everyone who was paying half attention understand easily. Tommy sighs, but it’s not nearly as dejected as he’s known for whenever the topic of girls he fancies being with other people comes up.

“Whatever, I got to second base with Pam that night, and no-one can take that away from me,” Tommy announces, watching Razzle finish off his pinkie.

“Good for you, man,” Razzle says, with his trademark sincerity. Eileen and Charlotte still can’t believe it happened, but unfortunately both Razzle and Vince had seen with their own two eyes and been able to confirm; Vince may be biased, but Charlotte trusted Razzle.

“Everyone got some fuckin’ action that night except for me,” Nikki whines, finally shoving himself off, “and the fuckin’ Vomit Comet over here,” he jerked his thumb to where Lola was righting herself; Lola flips him off in response.

“I didn’t,” Eileen points out.

“You weren’t there,” Nikki rolls his eyes, “you don’t count.”

Meanwhile Razzle and Charlotte had both gone very quiet, and very pink. However Lola, who had no patience for people trying to hide their somewhere-between-pining-and-sincere feelings from each other and from other people, instead turns her attention to Eileen as she’s sweeping her hair out of her face.

“Have things gotten any better with Peach?” She tried, tone hopeful, and Eileen’s expression barely changed, just the barest crease of a frown upon her forehead, though judging by the way Charlotte’s whole expression soured, things had not, in fact, gotten better.

“Came back on Saturday afternoon all sunny and smiley and mom was thrilled,” Eileen’s deadpan irritation really sold her exasperation at the whole situation, “that she was friends with Vince again, and she hasn’t said a word to me yet.” Eileen takes a deep breath, straightening up from where she’d been slouched without realizing, taking a deep breath, nose in the air as if rising above it all, “which is fine with me, because I have a ton of dialogue to learn and they want us off-book in a month.”

This only sets them off fondly teasing the ever-unflappable Eileen, for her seemingly out of character choice to join the school’s musical, though they were all very proud of the fact that she scored the lead, even Nikki had voiced that he thought it was pretty cool.

When Lola had asked about it, Eileen had made mention that it filled in a lot of free time, that it was something she could add to college applications, and that a friend had convinced her to do it; Keanu -

“I keep hearing that name around,” Lola muses, leaning back in her seat while they were waiting for their French teacher to arrive. Eileen raises her eyebrows, “is that the pretty, dark haired Senior?” Eileen, surprisingly, had flushed scarlet when nodding. Lola hummed thoughtfully, leaning back further until the front legs of her chair lifted from the ground; she hooked her feet around the legs of her desk as she contemplated.

“It’s a musical right?” Lola asked, and Eileen hummed in confirmation, “if you can sing, you know Nikki and Tommy are -”

“I’d rather eat an entire microphone,” Eileen responds flatly, already knowing what Lola was about to suggest before she’d even finished her sentence, and Lola really tries not to laugh, but she knows Eileen well enough by now that that response makes entirely too much sense.

“You make a fair -” and that’s when Lola’s grip on the table slips, her feet sliding quickly up the legs of the desk as she topples backwards, the momentum pulling the desk up with her legs and directly on top of her, winding her. At least it made Eileen laugh, mostly from shock, sure, but Lola counts it as a win.

#motley crue #nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #the dirt #the dirt fanfiction #motley crue fanfiction #nikki sixx x oc #Razzle Dingley #lola&charlotte #charlotte & lola #the pack

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

Broken Me...

Ch. 2

Summery: The Dallas Convention couldn't have come at a worse time for Jensen. His world fell apart earlier that morning, but was expected to just act like everything was normal. You and a friend were at the convention for her birthday. Life hasn't been that great for you either, but a forced meeting on stage changes two worlds. Will you be able to put this broken man back together again...

Series Warings: Cheating, shitty marriage, Danneel is a bitch, I unfortunately have to put that as a warning because some people tend to get turnt up about it if you don’t... Smut, Crying, Suiside Attempt, brief discription of suicide attempt and recovery, depression, hints of self loathing, language. I think that’s it... Suicide Trigger warnings will be placed over each chapter!

Chapter Warnings: Singing in front of a crowd, crying Jensen, freaked out reader I guess? Language.. I think that’s it..

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2315

A/N: BINGE READ TIME!! As always all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is gold!! Hope you all enjoy this one!!

Want More? Check out my masterlist!!

****MASTERLIST****

Rob and the band had really outdone themselves tonight, and you hadn't had this much fun since your ex-fiance had taken you to Austin,Texas when Nathaniel Ratcliffe was playing on Austin city limits.

It had been a long, hard transition to being alone...

You and Damon had been together for almost five years...

Learning how to live 'alone' was difficult to say the least, especially when you thought you had found your person, only to be proven very wrong....

Thank God y/f/n had been letting you crash in her guest room until you got your shit together, because when you two separated you didn’t know what was going to happen to you, or where you were even going to stay....

The two of you had been friends since kindergarten, and she knew you better than anyone else. So she knew not to push you into another relationship with some other douche bag just so that you would 'get over' Damon like the rest of your family were trying to do.

"Okay guys, I know there's one person who you've all been waiting for most of the night."

The crowd was already screaming, and Rob was laughing at the fact that he didn't even have a chance to finish the sentence before the people started screaming.

"Mr. Jensen Ackles could you come out here please sir!!" He yelled into the mic, and everybody lost their minds.

The sheer energy in the room was almost breathtaking..

Jensen came jogging up the stairs, and walked toward the mic as the crowd continued to scream.

You have watched a lot of con videos since discovering SPN, probably to the point of a mold obsession, still on almost all the videos Jensen seemed…. Lighter? Then he did right now.

The smile he wore now was cold, and unnatural.

Forced….

Not quite reaching his eyes....

"Hello Dallas." He all but growls into the mic as the band starts to play the intro to Whipping Post.

In that instant you were completely lost in the music, forgetting about your freating, and your habit of over analyzing everything, and just enjoying the moment .

If you thought Jensen was hot just from watching him on TV, the man looked even better up close, and you were completely lost in him, must like you were sure just about everyone else in the room was. He had this ability to capture the stage, and the presents of everyone in the room. Not to mention he was extremely talented…

You closely watched every move he made, letting the music overtake you, bringing you to a place we're for just a moment there was no pain, no bad memories, no heart break.

Just Jensen and his voice...

As he wrapped up the chorus of the song he came to the edge of the stage. Propping his Foot on the speaker close enough that you could almost touch him.

When he looked down at you a cocky smirk spread across his face, and he winked.

You damn near passed out, and your friend was next to you completely losing her mind. Grabbing your arm, shaking you screaming "Holy shit Jensen Fucking Ackles just winked at you!!"

You couldn't believe it… Surely he was just playing with the crowd, and only winked because he saw the camera sitting between the two of you...

As the song wrapped Jensen and Rob lean over, and whisper something to each other. Rob then looked your way, smirking at you. You didn’t really notice it though, because when Jensen walked back into the house lights you noticed he had the same shirt on as the guy from the elevator….

It was in that moment that you knew he’d heard you talking to Y/F/N about singing with him, and you had this sinking feeling you were about to be fuck, and not in the fun way...

"Shit." You said out loud, and Jensen stood there smiling at you like he'd read your lips.

"What's wrong?" Y/f/n yelled over the noise of the crowd. Noticing the color drain from your face all of the sudden..

"Jensen was in the elevator, he heard our conversation. He heard what you said about singing with him on stage." You yelled back at her over the noise, and to your horror she burst out into a fit of laughter.

You had never wanted to strangle someone so bad, but there was a room full of witnesses, you did make a mental note to get her back for this when you got back to the motel room.

"Hey Jensen," Rob said loudly over the mic. "What about that story you were telling me backstage... About the girls that you and Jared overheard in the elevator on the way to the concert tonight? Something about her friend wanting you to sing with her for her birthday? Wouldn't it be hysterical if they were, oh I don't, right in the front row over there." Rob says pointing right at you.

The spot light following his finger, landing right in you, and if you could have fallen through the floor, and disappeared you would have done it.

You tried to hide by sinking back into the crowd, but to no avail...

Jensen had already walked off of the stage, and was standing only about a foot in front of you now with his hand out.

"Come on." He says, grinning at you. "It's your friend here's birthday wish after all. We can’t disappoint her.." He gave you another winking, and you wanted the floor to open up so you could jump in. The crowd all started making noises at once, and your friend started pushing you toward him..

Looks like this was happening, and there was nothing you could do about it without looking like the world’s biggest asshole there ever was..

Reluctantly you grabbed his hand, and allowed him to pull you to the stage.

The crowd cheered for you, but you didn't really hear any of that. All you could concentrate on was Jensen's hand intertwined in your own.

Feeling ever callous.

His strong grip.

Your skin tingling wherever his skin touched yours.

"Now if I heard your friend correctly you sing right?" He said, placing a mic in front of you, beautiful forest green eyes meeting your own y/e/c eyes.

"That's what they tell me." You say, never breaking eye contact with him.

"And, if I heard correctly, she wanted you to sing with me as her birthday present." He was smirking at you now, clearly enjoying himself.

"That's what I heard."

You never broke eye contact with him as you two seemed to continue the game of twenty questions he was playing with you.

"Well my final question Ms.?" He said, pausing for you to say your name.

"Y/n"

"Right, sorry, I forgot to ask you that." He threw his head back into one of his whole body laughs before continuing..

"If I heard correctly again she also requested the song Picture, by Kid rock and Sheryl Crow." He finally broke contact with you, and was typing on the tablet Rob had sat in front of him.

"That's what she said." You retort back to him, earning yourself a smart ass look that before he continued…

"Well it just so happens Google was able to knock the dinosaur shit off this ancient ass song, and show us the lyrics." He fired back at you, and the crowd roared with laughter.

"Well I'll be damn why not, I'm already up here." You say sarcastically, motioning around you, and Rob nearly feels backwards laughing at you, Jensen gave you his best bitchface as he motioned to the band for them to start to play.

Your momentary cocky sarcasm faded, and your stomach was doing flips with nerves. Until you heard his smooth yet ruff voice melt into you with the melody. Pulling you into your happy place.

Living my life in a slow hell

Different girl every night at the hotel

I ain't seen the sunshine in three damn days

Been fueling up on cocaine and whisky

Wish I had a good girl to miss me

Oh Lord I wonder if I'll ever change my ways

I put your picture away

Sat down and cried today

I can't look at you

While I'm lying next to her

I put your picture away

Sat down and cried today

I can't look at you while I'm lying next to her

He looks at you and half heartedly smiles. You could tell he was a little nervous as to what was about to come out of you, for all he knew you couldn’t sing your way out of a wet sack, boy didn’t he get the surprise of his life as your voice blended in with the music, sounding almost as good a Sherl herself. Turning he gave the crowd an approving nod, you even got a few cheers out of it..

I called you last night in the hotel

Everyone knows but they won't tell

But their half-hearted smiles tell me something just ain't right

I've been waiting on you for a long time

Fueling up on heartaches and cheap wine

I ain't heard from you in three damn nights

I put your picture away

I wonder where you've been

I can't look at you while I'm lyin' next to him

I put your picture away

I wonder where you've been

I can't look at you while I'm lyin' next to him

Jensen was now circling around you, pulling you closer to him with one arm, fully into making a performance out of this now that he was sure you could do it. You followed his lead not wanting to look like an idiot, facing him now you start with your line again.

I saw ya yesterday with an old friend

It was the same old same how have you been

Since you've been gone my world's been dark and grey

You reminded me of brighter days

I hoped you were coming home to stay

I was headed to church

I was off to drink you away

As he sang his lines to you and you to him you could almost see pain there, and it threw you… When he got to his last line he threw everything he had into it, and a stray tear fell down his face. He quickly duked he face to the other side of yours in what probably looked like a very intimate touch to the crowd, when really he was just hiding to wipe his face. He recovers quickly as the two of you finished the song, and none one was ever going to be any the wiser...

I thought about you for a long time

Can't seem to get you off my mind

I can't understand why we're living life this way

I found your picture today

I swear I'll change my ways

I just called to say I want you to come back home

I found your picture today

I swear I'll change my ways

I just called to say I want you

To come back home

I just called to say I love you

Come back home

As the crowd cheered he bolted off the stage, walking as fast as he could toward the stairs, behind the curtain, and out of your sight..

Rob grabbed your hand holding it in the air like you won a wrestling match, but you were pretty sure he was just trying to get your attention away from a fleeing Jensen...

"Y/n and Jensen everybody."

There were cameras, and phones videoing everywhere. Y/f/n was practically hyperventilating in her seat, you were a little glad you couldn’t see the whole crowd, because you were almost sure you would have passed out now that the adrenaline was fading...

When you went to exit the stage off to the side, Richard grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side of the stage out of everyone's view.

"What the hell was that? Why did Jensen run off the stage?" Richard said, and for a moment you just stood there shocked, and confused at his behavior.

Then it hit you, Jensen wasn’t acting like you thought he might have been while you were singing..

He really was crying…

"I don't know!"

Your Stomach fell to your feet, and you wanted nothing more than to get away from everyone in that moment. Jensen wasn’t acting, something was wrong, and he was trying to hide it, so you weren't about to tell Richard that Jesnen was crying..

Just as you were about to panic, you feel a huge hand grab your shoulder, and Jared’s voice boom from behind you over the music.

"It wasn't you." He said to you, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Jensen’s just got some personal things going on right now, and he needed to get off the stage, he’s fine. Go and enjoy the concert. You were friggin' awesome up there!"

He pulls you into a tight hug, giving Richard a stern look over your shoulder that you didn't see..

“Thanks" you say, hugging him back before practically running back to your seat. Leaving a very confused Richard to talk to Jared alone.

You slid back into the crow as random people high-five you, and slap you on the back.

You were determined not to tell Y/f/n anything was wrong. Whatever Jensen had going on was obviously personal, and you did not want to be the one to start rumors, or throw him under the bus for people to question him about what was wrong.

So you pushed the worry down and tried your best to slow your rapidly beating heart, determined to keep what happened on that stage to yourself if it killed you...

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#jensen ackles #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles binge read #jensen ackles dark fic #hurt!jensen #cry!jensen #x reader insert #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #jensen ackles series #jawritter

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alcalavicci · 4 years

Text

Finally typed up that one gen fic I mentioned before and do like since it’s so damn funny and I’m saving it here for posterity:

(Disclaimer- if this is yours and you don’t want it online, send me an ask and I’ll take it down)

My Brother, the Beauty Queen (by Kim Smith and Judi Toth)

“Tell me another story.”

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Katie, c’mon. I’ve already told you about Jimmy, Chad, Cam and Phillip. Isn’t that enough for one night?”

His sister grinned impishly. She may have been forty-one, but right now she looked about five. “Please?”

“A word of advice, Sam.” The words were muffled, with good reason. Katie’s husband Jim lay face down on the couch across the living room. His wife was sitting on him, administering a backrub. “Don’t argue, just tell her. Maybe then she’ll let us go to bed.”

“Katie.” The voice floated past Sam from the direction of the kitchen. “From what I understand, Sam ‘leaped’ nearly a hundred times. I don’t think we’re gonna run out of stories anytime soon.” Tom appeared in the doorway separating the two rooms, holding an open bottle of beer and yawning.

“Only one hundred? We’ll run out of them too soon! And I haven’t heard enough tonight. Come on, Sammy, just one more. Please?”

“You shouldn’t have given her my bedroom when I went in ‘Nam, Sam. It spoiled her.”

Jim raised his head from the pillow cradled in his arms. “You mean it wasn’t inborn? Ouch! Katie, stop! I’m sorry already! Jeez, I think you broke a rib.”

“It’s a good thing your brother-in-law is a doctor, then. He’ll fix you up after,” she emphasized, glaring at Sam, “he tells me a story.”

Seeing no way out, Sam sighed heavily. Okay. “Let’s see...”

“I have one.”

Everyone turned towards the voice coming from the patio door. They had almost forgotten Al was there, he’d been so quiet during the siblings’ conversation. Katie twisted around to look at him, eliciting a groan from her living seat. “Is it good?”

Al carefully studied the tip of his glowing cigar. “Well… I recall a time in 1958. June, I believe it was. In Georgia...”

There was no way anyone could’ve missed the effect Al’s words had on Sam. His eyes went very wide, and he began to fidget in his chair. “Um, hey, Katie. Did I tell you we found the tomb of Ptah-Hotep? I almost got killed on that leap.”

His sister looked at him for a moment, then deliberately turned back to Al. “Georgia, huh?”

“Uh huh. We were at this hotel...” Al paused to take a long drag on his cigar. “At a convention, of sorts.”

“Yes?” Katie prompted.

“Or how about the time I was a trapeze artist. You remember, Tom… remember how I’m scared of heights? Got over it then, let me tell you.” Sam paused to see if they were merciful. “Please let me tell you!”

Slow grins appeared on both of the other Becketts’ faces. “Go on, Al,” Tom said.

“Sam took the place of someone participating in...” He looked over at Sam, eyes narrowing. The younger man’s fidgeting grew more pronounced. “...A contest.”

“I was an actor,” Sam said desperately. “I played Hamlet. On a stage. In front of people. Nude.”

Katie raised an eyebrow, then held up a finger at him. “Hold that thought, bro’. Al?”

The older man’s eyes gleamed in a way that scared Sam. “Actually, it was more of a pageant.”

“You know, I just remembered. I promised Donna a backrub before she went to sleep. I’ll just go upstairs...”

A heavy hand pressed him back into the chair. Sam looked up into Tom’s grinning face. “Why, it would be rude to leave now, little brother. After all, the admiral listened to all of your stories. It’s only polite that you should sit here and listen to his.”

Sam covered his eyes. “Oh boy.”

Al walked into the living room. The man who, as a hologram never passed up the chance to take a bow he hadn’t earned, knew this stage was his. “To be precise, it was the ‘Deep South’ beauty pageant...”

“Time out,” Tom interrupted. “A pageant for men? In the fifties?”

Katie shook her head. “Tom, I think you’re missing a point here...”

Tom’s eyes widened. “You mean… Sam was a...”

“A woman,” Al nodded, matter-of-fact. “More than once, actually. But those are other stories.”

“And ones we’ll hear.” Tom leaned down, closer to Sam, and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure.”

Something that might have been a groan escaped from the lump that was once a proud Nobel Prize winner.

“This young lady, Darlene Monte, was quite a looker. Deserved to be in a beauty pageant. She also had the brains to go along with the looks. She went on to college with the money she won in the contest and become one of the first heart surgeons in the country.” Al paused for effect. “Beautiful. Graceful. And with a good chance of placing in the pageant… that is, until your brother leapt in.”

Katie wiggled in anticipation. “I’m likin’ this already.”

“He did bad enough in the swimsuit competition… but then there was the talent competition.”

Sam’s head popped up. “Wait a second! I did really well in the talent competition. In fact, I won because of the talent competition.”

“You won?” Tom asked disbelievingly. He shook his head in mock horror. “My brother, the beauty queen.”

Jim sat up, dislodging his wife. “Adding yet another title to your resume, Sam?”

“Et tu, Jim?” came the feeble response from the family genius.

“Getting back to this talent contest thing,” Katie said, rearranging herself on the couch. “What did he do?”

“I sang ‘Great Balls of Fire.’ The crowd loved it,” Sam said defensively.

All eyes turned to Al, who shrugged his shoulders. “He’s right. The crowd ate it up.”

Sam nodded his satisfaction at Al’s concession.

“’Course, that was the pageant. At the recital, he sang ‘Cuanto Le Gusta’… and he didn’t do as well.”

“So? I had never heard the song before. So what? I dropped it; I sang ‘Great Balls of Fire,’ and I won.” Sam ended with a firm nod of his head.

There was a pause. Everyone shifted expectantly, waiting for the punchline from Al. When none was forthcoming, Katie gave him a searching look. “This is a good story?”

The older man shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I guess it was his costume. You see, it was this red and gold flowered thing.” His hands began to wave over his body vaguely. “With this big hat thingy…” His arms moved in expanding circles in the air. “And it kept tipping...” Al comically leaned to his left then swayed to his right, still drawing circles in the air.

The only person left smiling in the room was Sam, obviously relieved to be spared an embarrassing moment. “I guess it’s about time that we started to turn in. I’ll tell you another story tomorrow, Katie.” The quantum physicist began to stretch in his chair.

“It’s really hard to describe...” Al began.

“That much is obvious,” Jim interjected.

“…so I guess I’ll have to show you.”

Sam stiffened. Somewhere behind him, he heard a trap door slam shut. “What?”

Al pulled a handlink out of his pocket and activated it.

“What do you mean, ‘show’?”

Ignoring him, Al spoke to the link. “Ziggy, access one of Dr. Beckett’s leaps. Monte, Darlene. 1958.” He turned to Katie and said confidentially, “He doesn’t know about the film.”

Sam stared at Al in shock. “What do you mean, ‘film’? The rehearsal wasn’t...”

Al just looked at him.

“Oh no. No!”

“Yes! Oh yes!” Katie crowed, clapping her hands. “This is definitely something I want to see.”

Tom plopped down next to her. “This will be an experience.”

Al began turning the television to face the trio on the couch more fully. “The film is a little grainy. But I think the quality is pretty good for something fifty years old. Anyway, you’ll get the picture. Pun intended.”

Sam shook his head. “He doesn’t really have any film. He’s just playing with me. This is a big joke. Really.”

In unison, everyone turned to Sam and smiled, then looked back to the TV. The black and white picture on the screen showed a medium-sized stage with a line of white curtains draped across the back. A young woman, dressed in a Carmen Miranda outfit, slowly appeared from behind the curtains, reluctance written all over her face. The slit in the front of her skirt opened almost all the way every time she took a step. Ineffectually tugging at it, she continued on stage, anxiously looked to her right and mumbled at thin air.

“So where’s Sam?” asked Tom.

Al smiled at the screen and answered, “That’s him, on stage now. I was standing right next to him, trying to get him to act more like he knew what he was doing. But of course, he couldn’t just trust me.”

The TV speakers began to play the Latin music and the young contestant nervously stepped forward and started to sing. One beat off.

“Cuanto le gusta, le gusta, le gusta, le gusta, le gusta, le gusta, le gusta.”

The dance that accompanied the song could, at best, be called unrehearsed. The performer swayed drunkenly on her heels, obviously not knowing whether to go right or left. Her top heavy hat teetered in the opposite direction of her hips, as if the fruit on top wanted to jump down and take over the dance. The presentation was not helped by the lady in question continually glancing right, as if searching for clues.

“What’ll we see there? Who will be there?” “Darlene” continued plodding through the song, seemingly unaware that she was just slightly off pitch. “What’ll be the big surprise?”

Jim and Tom laughed as she began to turn in circles like a puppy chasing after its tail.

“Oh, the poor girl!” Katie exclaimed.

“But it’s not a girl!” Tom worked out between guffaws. “It’s Sam, looking mighty fine. Say, nice legs, little brother!”

Sam was unable to take his eyes off the TV; it was simply too horribly fascinating. He remembered all too clearly the frustration and humiliation he had felt every time he leaped into a woman. He hadn’t realized he had projected his misery so obviously, though. No wonder his leaps as women had always been the hardest.

“Here’s where Sam really lost it. The song could’a been his, but he blew it.” Al’s gravelly voice projected amusement as the girl on the stage began a new line, by only singing the back-up singer’s lines.

“...We’re on our way… Pack up your bag… And if we stay… We won’t come back.”

Roars of laughter came from the sofa. It’s not often that an audience is witness to an act with one back-up singer and dancer, but no lead. Even Sam had to smile in concession at the absurd picture he had presented.

The television now showed the hapless beauty pageant positioning herself for the next round. “Thank you. That’ll be all for now,” came from off camera. Surprised, “Darlene” looked down. Realizing that meant she was free to go, she gratefully gathered her skirt in front of herself with one hand and her fruit-top in the other and beat as hasty a retreat as possible.

Tom looked over at Sam, who was trying to make himself look unconcerned. Still chuckling, the eldest Beckett shook his head at Sam. “You know, when your friends at Indiana State got you drunk and convinced you to go streaking, I thought we had just reached the pinnacle of your ‘wild ways.’ I mean, after all, you got drunk underage, exposed yourself and got expelled, all in one shot. But I never knew, little brother, that you liked to go stage-hopping in drag.”

“Before marrying Katie, I was told that the Beckett clan had some… eccentric members.” Jim grinned at Sam. “But I do wish I’d been warned about the cross-dressing. Is that something we’ll have to worry about in our kids?”

Katie stood and walked over to her brother. “Don’t be so hard on him, guys. After all, he did a wonderful thing. He helped that young woman become a doctor. And it is quite an accomplishment to win a beauty pageant.” She leaned down to look Sam straight in the eyes. “I do have one question, though.”

Warily, Sam gave her a short nod.

“How did you get your legs so smooth? Did you use a waxing system, or was it just shaving?” she asked earnestly.

The laughter began all over again, this time even louder.

Over Katie’s head, Sam met Al’s dark eyes. “A hologram,” he said loudly. “can’t be touched. Trying to reach for it, your hand passes right through. But you aren’t a hologram any more, Al.” The quantum physicist stood and began a menacing walk towards the admiral.

Katie interposed herself between the two men. “Now, Sam, we’re just having a little fun. You can’t blame Al for getting into the spirit of things. Sam?”

“Al, if you want me to, I’ll stop him.” Tom stood to his full six foot three inches. “I can still take on my little brother.”

Al stood his ground, waving away the offered help. “No, that’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

Sam stopped his advance just a few inches from the admiral. Frowning, he glared down at his friend. “Why aren’t you at least backing off? You backed off when I tried to throw a pie in your face when you were a hologram. What gives?”

Rocking on his heels, a smug grin on his face, Al said, “January 24, 1961. Andrews Air Force Base. Bobo.”

“Time for bed,” came the instant response from Sam. “Good night.”

Everyone stared in shock as the former time traveler practically flew out of the room. As the last of the thumping, taking steps two at a time, faded, three pairs of eyes looked back at Al.

“Al, tell me another story.”

#Quantum Leap #zines #you need a summary? isn't the title enough?

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deathbymeow · 4 years

Text

For You, I’d Die. Chapter: 4. Shots

Adrien walked into the club, nodding at the bouncer at the door. He never had a problem getting into places, everyone new his name. It could be a curse just as much as a blessing sometimes. When everyone knew your name there was no privacy and everyone expected something from you.

She was the first thing he saw as he climbed the stairs towards the VIP lounge. No matter how hard he tried he was always drawn to her. He could find her in a crowed without even trying. It didn’t matter if he was transformed as Chat or if she was in her spotted ladybug suit. She was his compass guiding him home and he would always be hers even if she didn’t know it.

Her black hair was out and fell down her back curling on the ends. Thigh high black boots that should be illegal showed just a hint of her toned legs, until Alya spun her around and Adrien caught an accidental peek at her black lacey panties. If he wasn’t already dead, he would be in a second as Alya let go of Marinette, who spun laughing into his arms.

Marinette looked up at him with some seriously sexy kitten eyes. Yep, dead. He was memorized by the way the flashing light seemed to make the blue of her eyes look like the sparkling sea. A surprised pout formed on her pink lips and she blinked her long lashes a few times before bopping him on the nose giggling.

“Adrien… you made it.” She breathed, smiling up at him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Hey, Marinette. You look amazing, like always.” He hugged her back, just a second longer than he would anyone else.

Adrien held her at arm’s length to get the full effect of her outfit. The high waisted black skirt had small pleats, giving it the movement that allowed it to lift. Her long sleave top was made of tight black lace, showing off her perfectly toned body. The lace was see-through enough to show a hint of her lime green bra. If that wasn’t enough to kill him for the second time, what he saw next surely would. Around her neck a little gold bell hung off a satin ribbon. He instantly recognized it as the present he’d given ladybug on her eighteenth.

Adrien lightly flicked it and his sensitive ears heard the soft ding over the loud music. He could see her shiver as his fingers skimmed the soft skin under the bell and he intentionally let his fingers linger against her warm skin. He traced them along her neck and up to her cheek, brushing a wild strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb skimmed over her miraculous and he smiled as a soft blush formed on her cheeks.

“Dance with me Agreste.” She said, sounding breathless. He nodded as she pulled him onto the dance floor.

One thing he was yet to learn, was how to say no to her so without hesitation he took off his leather jacket and threw it on the nearest lounge. Completely forgetting about the little black kwami snuggled in his pocket.

The music faded momentarily, and Nino was introduced by a deep voice. A loud cheer rung out from the packed club and Nino started his set with one of his original songs. When the bass dropped the crowd went wild, but Adrien was only focused on the dancing girl in front of him that was intent on torturing him. She danced against him, throwing her hands in the air and closing her mischievous eyes. The wicked smile on her lips gave him the feeling she knew exactly what she was doing.

Alya grabbed the bartender and yelled, “Get this boy a drink. He’s going to need it when my girls finished with him.” The bartender watched Marinette and Adrien for a moment then smirked and nodded in agreement.

Marinette knew how to move her body and tonight she wasn’t holding back. It wasn’t news to Adrien, but normally it was Luka that got all of her attention. He knew there was something going on between the couple. Marinette had taken two weeks off work much to his father’s disapproval. She’d ignored all of his texts and calls. He was worried about her and wanted to talk but now wasn’t the time.

He was slightly confused by all of her attention, but figured it was best focused on him than some of the other creeps in here that would use her vulnerability to their advantage.

The bartender returned and put their drinks on the table. He gave Adrien the thumbs up and disappeared back into the crowd. Adrien grabbed Marinette’s hand and lead the still dancing beauty to the table.

“I’ve been worried about you.” Adrien half yelled next to her ear so she could hear over the music.

Marinette turned to him and softly smiled. “You shouldn’t be Agreste. I’m fine.” She winked at him and took a sip of his drink.

“Somehow Marinette, I don’t believe you, but I’m not going to push. Just know I’m here if you need me.” He kissed her on the top of the head, and she wrapped her arms around him.

“You’re too cute Agreste and god you smell good.” She mumbles into his shirt. Adrien chuckled; he knew he wasn’t meant to hear that but having the cat miraculous for ten year had its perks. One of them being extremely good hearing.

Alya startled the two when she slapped the table and yelled. “Let’s do shots.” As if on cue a heavily remixed version of Shots started to play.

“Ugh, I hate this song Nino.” Kim whined behind them. “But I’m in for shots Al.”

“You sure that’s a good idea Al?” Adrien asked pointing to an unaware Marinette who was still cuddling him.

Marinette loosened her hold on him and look up at him pouting. “You afraid Agreste?” She playfully stuck her tongue out at him and poked his chest.

“Me? Hmph never.” Adrien gave her one of his model smiles and flagged down the bartender.

Adrien was afraid though. Afraid of losing himself in her blue eyes. Afraid of telling her how he really felt. Afraid of forgetting his morels and trying to kiss her even though she was with Luka.

He hadn’t been in a long-term relationship since Kagami. There had been other girls but no one he really cared about. They always made him feel like they wanted something from him. Whether it was his money or fame he didn’t know or care.

He’d never fully got over his feelings for Ladybug and no matter who he was with it always hung over him like a storm cloud. A constant reminder that she wasn’t his. Ladybug had a boyfriend and was happy, so in turn he was happy for her. That was how love worked right?

There was only one girl that managed to change that.

He’d always been good friends with Marinette, but for some reason she’d always held back with him. He saw how carefree she was with everyone else, but he never got that from her. Until a few years ago when she started to intern for his father’s fashion house.

Marinette was halfway through her fashion degree. Luka had just left to tour with his band and Adrien somehow became her shoulder to cry on. The two spent almost every day together and he found himself falling hard for yet another girl he couldn’t have.

Finally, he got to see the carefree Marinette with all her adorable little quirks. At first it felt strangle familiar and then it started to all fit together. The day she bopped him on the nose then folded her arms confidently over her chest while calling him “silly Agreste” was the final piece to the puzzle.

Marinette was Ladybug and Ladybug was Marinette.

He’d fallen for both of them, at different times and years apart. He felt like the biggest idiot. All this time she’d been right under his nose. Literally, he was at least a foot taller than her.

Torn, he decided not to tell her in fear that he could lose her as a friend if she found out who he was. He would never come between Marinette and Luka. If friendship was all he could ever have with her, then he’d have to be content with that. As long as she was in his life that was all that mattered.

The bartender put a tray of shot glasses all filled with different coloured shots on the table in front of them, bringing Adrien back to reality.

Adrien ran one of his hands through his hair, trying to clear his head. Marinette was dancing provocatively in front of him with Alya.

“Shots it is then.” He said lifting the glass to his lips.

The rest of Adrien’s night was a blur of drinks, blue eyes, more drinks, laughter, even more drinks, dancing and way too much physical interaction with Mari. Not that he was complaining, but he was definitely going to need a cold shower when he got home.

At some point Nino finished his set and joined them. They continued to dance and drink until the music momentarily faded. The DJs voice rung out through the club. “This was a request from one of you, sassy things out there,” he pointed into the dancing crowd, “for the beautiful Marinette Dupain-Cheng in our VIP lounge. It’s safe to say, we can thank her for the slick new tunes from Four-sided Tragedy.” The music started to play again, and the crowd went wild.

A few people turned to look at her as “I’m going under and this time I feel there’s no one to save me. This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy,” played throughout the club.

Adrien felt Marinette tense against him. Her glass dropped out of her hand and shattered around their feet. Alya was instantly by her side, wrapping her arms around a shocked Marinette.

“Oh my god, there’s a remix already. Mari honey, are you Ok? Do you want to go?” Alya asked holding her face.

“What the actual fuck?” Nino yelled, looking around furiously.

“No… Yes… What do I do, Al?” Marinette looked shattered and it killed Adrien.

Adrien clenched his fists; he could feel his temper rising and his impulsive thinking took over. He grabbed his jacket and the girl’s bags, passing the bags to Alya and put his jacket over Marinette’s shoulders.

“Nino get Kim and Ivan to take the girls out the front with you. I just have to do something.”

Before anyone could stop him, he took off down the stairs, taking two at a time. He pushed his way through the crowd to the stage where the smug DJ was playing his set. Going around the back he snuck onto the stage before anyone noticed.

Adrien grabbed the DJ and slammed him against one of the speakers. “Who the fuck requested the song?”

“Whoa… Adrien Agreste?” The DJ smiled raising his hands in surrender.

“Don’t test me. Who was it?” Adrien growled, pressing his arm firmly across the DJs chest.

“I don’t know. Just some girl.” The DJ said smugly.

Adrien let him go and took a step back. “You’re pathetic.” He turned to leave.

“Hey Agreste. So, I guess we have you to thank for the song too. I hear she’s a great fuck.”

Adrien saw red. He turned and before the DJ had time to react Adrien’s fist connected with his nose sending him stumbling into the sound board. Blood started to pour from his nose, but Adrien didn’t care, he went to punch him again, but Nino and a bouncer grabbed him and dragged him off the stage.

“What the fuck Nino. Did you hear what he said. You should’ve let me give him the beating his punk ass deserved.” Adrien yelled still struggling against the hands that were holding him.

“Adrien there’s press here. We have to go. The girls are waiting around the corner but if the press find them…” Nino didn’t have to finish Adrien stopped struggling.

“I’m good. I’m good!” Adrien raised his hands. The bouncer let him go grumbling something under his breath about the youths of today.

Adrien and Nino took off towards the exit pushing their way through the dancing crowd. Even with a busted nose the smartass DJ managed to change the song to Apologize and as they walked out, he heard the lyrics “It’s too late to apologize, I said it’s too late to apologize,” being played over and over.

They found the girls with Ivan and Kim where Nino had left them. Adrien wrapped his arms around Marinette. She snuggled against his chest. “You Ok?” He asked suddenly feeling guilty for leaving her.

“Mm hmm. I just wanna get out of here. Can I go back to your place, I don’t want to go home?” She asked looking up at him with those damn eyes.

“Sure.” He answered with out really thinking about it, but it wasn’t like he would’ve said no to her anyway.

“Adrien do you really think that’s a good idea. She should come home with me.” Alya offered.

“Hello I’m still here. Alya you don’t have to babysit me. I’m good. Go have fun with Nino, don’t let me ruin your night.”

“Are you sure Mari? I really don’t mind.” Alya looked at Marinette, clearly worried.

“Hey guys, we don’t have time to for this. The press is heading this way.” Nino said, looking over his shoulder.

“Shit… Shit. Adrien, you better take good care of her, or you’ll have me to answer too.” Alya gave Marinette a kiss and her bag then nudged the two towards to road. “Quick grab that taxi.”

Adrien grabbed Marinette’s hand, he looked down at her and she nodded. “Don’t worry Al. You know I will.” He yelled over his shoulder as the two ran towards the taxi. His sensitive hearing heard her reply as they jumped into the taxi.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about Agreste.”

Chapter: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fandom #adrien agreste #marionette dupain-cheng #aged up #alya cesaire #Nino lahiffe #flirt #adrien knows

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ijustwant2write · 5 years

Text

Not Your Typical Woman-Jax Teller x Reader

(GIF credit to @charliehunnamxo)

Masterlist

Summary: requested by anonymous: ‘Okay first of all you are amazing second of all I was kinda hoping you could write a one shot, or fanfiction (whatever you like cause I know it will be awesome either way) where the reader is looking for a job as a mechanic at TM where she gets the job an ends up patching in Mabey getting into a fight with a few crow eaters over Jax who she eventually ends up with thank you so much you are amazing 😍😍’

(A/N: Just changed it slightly, but I hope it’s still what you wanted)

Characters: Jax Teller x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name (Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Swearing, bitchiness

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Pulling into the parking lot, I smiled to myself as I looked at my new place of work. All my life I had grown up helping my dad work on his car and motorbikes, it just seemed natural to me. Whereas my sister was the typical girly-girl, playing with her dolls and dressing up, I would roll in covered in oil or mud, helping carry the tool box around; I giggled as I thought back to that time, we were so different yet had the strongest bond. This was all I wanted. A simple mechanic job, surrounded by what I loved doing. I had grown up in Charming too, I could never leave this place.

Confidently strolling towards the office, I kept my head held high as I realised that this place was mostly run by men. Shame really, we needed more women in this industry.

“Hey, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” Gemma, the woman who interviewed me called out.

“Yeah, hi!” I said back, shaking her hand.

“Good to see you again, congrats on getting the job.”

“Thank you. I brought those papers you asked for.”

“Great, let’s show you around.”

I had instantly liked Gemma when she first interviewed me, but now I was more sure than ever that she would be a good boss. Her attitude was just amazing, I loved how she was clearly the boss who ran the place, the men respected her too. After showing me where everything was, we ended up back outside, and I couldn’t stop myself from staring at the bikes lined up.

“You got one of your own?” she asked me.

“No, used to. Had to sell it unfortunately, but my dad had one too. They’re beautiful.”

She chuckled.“You know who we are, don’t you?”

I nodded.“Yeah, you’re an MC, Sons of Anarchy to be exact.”

“I’m assuming that’s what attracted you to the job?”

I laughed at that.“No, it’s just a perk.”

My dad had always told me of this MC, almost praising them sometimes. My mom on the other hand, not so much; she could see that they were helping their community, their family, but of course, this couldn’t outweigh the amount of illegal shit they got up to. I always found it exciting. That was something me and my sister had in common, we loved the bad boy look (as most girls do at some stage in their lives), and these men were just the right bunch for us to crush on. Being in an MC interested me. I didn’t know whether it was the danger, the mechanical side, or how close they all were that pulled me towards that life. And here I was, working for them.

“I think you’re going to be just fine here. Hey, I know it’s sudden, but would you mind covering someone’s shift this afternoon? It’s in an hour but he’s called in sick and I need this job doing today.”

“No problem. Might as well get going whilst I’m here.”

I changed into the overalls, pulling down the top half and tying the arms around my waist before throwing my hair up in a ponytail. Normally I was a very confident person, but nerves were starting to kick in. I had only ever worked on cars and such by myself or with my dad, and although I had the degrees necessary, I could feel doubt starting to creep in; it wasn’t a nice feeling.

“Hey, are you supposed to be in here?” I heard someone say behind me as I shut my locker.

“Uh,” I turned around, greeted by a handsome, blonde man,“yeah, I just started today.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, too used to saying that.”

“You’re too used to asking women if they should be in here?”

“Sorry, ignore that. I’m Jax.”

I shook his hand.“(Y/N).”

He looked me up and down before turning away, making me smile. I wasn’t going to lie, I was flattered that someone as gorgeous as him was checking me out. As he turned around, I couldn’t help but stare at his kutte, admiring it slightly. He must have noticed because as he took it off, he looked at me over his shoulder.

“Gotta admit, the chicks dig it.”

“I think I dig it for different reasons.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve always wanted to be in an MC, ever since my dad first introduced me to bikes.”

“Really? Don’t see many women wanting that...actually there aren’t any women patched in.”

“What?! Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it just hasn’t happened yet.”

I thought for a moment, a slow smile appearing on my face.“What does it take to get patched in?”

“You serious? You got any idea the shit you got to go through?”

“No, that’s why I’m asking.”

“Uh...listen, I’m the President of this MC-”

“Oh, shit. This isn’t a good start is it?”

“Look, the fact I’ve never even heard of a woman being patched in means that it’s there for a reason.”

“I mean, it could be that a bunch of males just made that rule because that’s what men were, and sometimes still, are like.”

He nodded to me.“Yeah, it could be. I would have to look into it.”

“So that’s not a no?”

“It’s not a yes.” he smirked.“I’ve literally just met you, I shouldn’t even be considering it.”

“Hm, what does that tell you about me?”

I winked at him, sultry leaving the room with a new found confidence, adrenaline pumping through my veins. With confidence practically radiating off me, I was greeted with another Son, Juice, who was told to show me the ropes before I started working. I was easily able to joke with him as he showed me around, introducing me to everyone else that was there. It seemed easy, everything was where it would usually be, and I just wanted to get started. Once he left, I instantly started working, fully focused on the work in front of me.

As I would bend over the bonnet or lean down to grab another tool, I would notice some of the other men staring; there were those that tried to hide it, others didn’t care if I had seen them. Sometimes I would stare back, instantly causing them to look away, which always made me laugh. They were all working for the Sons of Anarchy, a notorious biker gang, they dealt with illegal stuff daily, yet somehow the presence of a woman made them nervous.

The weeks flew by, and I couldn’t express how much I was loving my job. Not only was I passionate about my work, the people around me became like a second family. It was so easy to fit in with them. When I told my dad everything, instead of being concerned that his daughter was affiliated with a gang, he was excited, asking me tonnes of questions, as if they were celebrities. But I started noticing that I would be given different tasks to the other workers, ones not involving the garage. It was usually Jax who gave the orders, pulling me away from whatever I was working on to ask a favour. I would go with other members for small tasks, like collecting payments; this definitely wasn’t in my job description. These tasks kept appearing, and I was starting to get an incline that something was going to change for me.

Like any other working day, I turned up to work, hanging up my belongings and checking my appearance. I heard someone else enter, making me smile as I went to greet them.

“Morning Jax.” I beamed.

“You’re needed, now.” He said coldly, a dark look on his face.

My smile instantly disappeared.“Oh, for what?”

He didn’t say anything, only gesturing with his head to follow. Nerves started to build in my stomach. Had I done something wrong? What could I have possibly done? Did a job go bad? Was a customer unhappy? Numerous scenarios whizzed through my mind as I followed him to their meeting room, where they had their ‘church’ meetings. I could see all of the club members sat around the table. This was serious.

“Stand over there.” Jax ordered, sitting at the head of the table as I stood opposite.

It went silent, all of the men looking at me intensely.

“Look, we appreciate all you do. It’s clear to see that you’re a hard worker, you know what you’re doing. But I’m afraid that isn’t enough.”

I clasped my hands together, gripping onto them tightly as I listened.

“We’re gonna have to put more on you, show us that you really want to do this.”

I felt something slap onto my back, slinging around my shoulders. I jumped slightly, grabbing onto the material before it slipped off. As I brought it in front of my eyes, my mouth dropped open in shock, disbelief strewn across my face.

“No fucking way!” I exclaimed.

They had handed me a kutte, stating that I was a prospect to the Sons of Anarchy! I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming.

“It’s official, you’re our newest prospect. Means we get to boss you around a lot more.” Jax smirked.

“You’re all assholes, I was about to start crying.” I scoffed as I put it on.

“Looking good lass.” Chibs called out.

“How come I can become a prospect? I thought women couldn’t be one?”

Jax explained,“Well, the way we see it, the rules are old fashioned. I could tell that you were serious about it too. You’re our guinea pig.”

Congratulations were passed around to me as the meeting adjourned, smiles on everyone’s faces. I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked fucking sexy and powerful with this kutte, it was a new part of my life and who I would be.

“I’ve got your first order actually.” Jax, who hadn’t left the room, said.

“Oh? And what would that be, Mr President?”

“For your ass to be at this clubhouse tonight for a party.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“And wear the kutte. Don’ know why I’ve not let a girl wear it before.”

“Glad you like it just as much as I do.”

His teasing tone stopped for a moment.“You do know how serious this is, don’t you?”

I nodded.“Yes, and I wouldn’t put myself in this position otherwise.”

Once I finsihed my shift, I sped home, racking my brain to think of something to wear. My first party and first time being a prospect, it was daunting. I was making history here, being the first woman prospect. They had seen something in me, and I was going to prove that I was worth the title and much more.

Checking myself out once more in the mirror, I took yet another picture of me, still not over how I looked; I had done an amazing job of getting glammed up. Jax had offered to take me to the party, even though I could easily travel there myself. Looking over the selfies I just took, I giggled as I sent one to him, along with the message that I was finally ready. I must have received the world’s fastest reply, he was on his way.

“Someone’s out to impress tonight.” Jax commented after giving me a wolf whistle as I stepped outside.

I gave a little spin, taking the helmet from his outstretched hand.“Don’t I always? Come on, let’s get going, I’m in desperate need of a drink.”

For the first hour, Jax stayed by my side. His hand was around my waist, not caring what it looked like to others. Instead of it embarrassing me or making me uncomfortable, I relished in the fact that he was paying attention to me. Jax lured me in. I didn’t know everything about him, hardly anything actually but that made me want to know him more; he was interesting to me, not to mention undeniably hot. I felt a little lost when he left me for a moment, but I had to remain confident. I was a prospect, and although we had to earn respect, I didn’t want to come off as someone who would just roll over when someone told me to. Especially when two crow eaters approached me, as if I were some sort of prey.

“Isn’t this funny Jackie? The sons must be playing a practical joke.” one spoke.

Jackie obnoxiously cackled.“Oh god, it’s pathetic how she craves so much attention.”

Hypocrites.

“Can I help you?” I snapped.

“Oh, no. We’re just enjoying the entertainment for the evening.”

“Do you honestly have nothing better to do when you aren’t being used as a sex toy?”

“Listen sweetie, I don’t know why they’ve let you become a prospect, quite tragic actually; makes you more frigid than you already are.”

“How would you know what frigid means?”

“You have to respect us. We’re part of the club.”

“No, you’re really not. I work for patched in club members, and the only woman I’ll ever take orders from is Gemma. Stop kidding yourselves and just get on with whatever it is you do.”

“I’ll be telling Jax about this....once we’ve had our fun.”

No, Jax and I weren’t an item, we hadn’t even spoke about anything remotely close to that. She was trying to push my buttons, and although deep down it was working, I masked that.

“You do that. Now let me get on with my night.”

I turned away, leaning against the end of the bar. My hopes of them leaving were false, making me roll my eyes as they came up with more cute comebacks. That’s when I spotted a crate of beers on the floor, giving me a slightly petty idea. Picking up one, I shook it, turning back to face the girls.

“Look, you’re bitchy comments are great, they’re really making me sad,” I sarcastically said, pouting slightly,“but I really think you should cool off.”

I opened the bottle, letting it spray all over the whores. It soaked their skimpy dresses, their squealing grabbing the attention of everyone. It was silent for only a moment before laughing and yelling followed. I laughed too, really wishing that I had done something more to them. They whined as they rushed off, and that was when I knew I had made some enemies. But before I could celebrate my victory, I was harshly yanked out of the room. I panicked as I saw that it was Jax. Shit, was I really not supposed to do that? Should I have been the bigger person?

As he pushed me up against a wall, I could hear how heavy his breathing was.“That was fucking hot.”

“What?” I breathed out.

“Back there, what you did. Everyday I get more and more attracted to you.”

“J-Jax, are you serious?”

“Yes, look if you don’t want this then just say-”

I quickly grabbed his hand, it was my turn to drag him into another room.“Fuck yes, say no more.”

#jax teller #jax teller imagine #jax teller imagines #jax teller one shot #jax teller x reader #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy imagines #sons of anarchy one shot #sons of anarchy x reader #soa #soa imagine #soa imagines #soa one shot #soa x reader

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seblos · 4 years

Text

start of something new - ch 1/?

Word Count: 2138

[ one | two (coming soon) ]

read on ao3

Note: for reference in the song— bold is Blaine/italics is Kurt/both is both

—

Kurt Hummel is tense the moment he walked into this New Years' party. Not only is it loud and overwhelming, but he doesn’t even know anybody here. Although, this is better than a New Years' party with, say the McKinley football team. At least there are no lockers here to shove him into. Nevertheless, he quickly settled himself on the corner of a couch in the quietest corner (which is not very quiet at all).

If it wasn’t for his dad forcing him to try and make friends, Kurt wouldn’t be at this party at all. He’s tried to explain to his dad that he does have friends on the Cheerios with him, to which his response is always about how he wants Kurt to have guy friends.

Sure, he’s been amazingly accepting ever since Kurt came out of him back in his sophomore year, but that never stopped Burt Hummel for wanting a son on the football team, or at least with some other guys that he can sit with at lunch or whatever. (What to guys even do together? Watch football? It’s really no interest of his.)

Besides, what friend was he going to make at a New Years' party at a retreat in the middle of Ohio? Kurt wouldn’t ever see any of these kids again, so what's the point?

Kurt settled back against the couch and crossed his legs before pulling out his phone. Maybe Brittany or Santana can distract him through text, or at the very least, he can find a new Vogue.com article that he hasn’t read yet.

Vaguely, in the background, there was some slightly off-key karaoke by probably drunk teenagers. He winced slightly when a girl tried to hit a high note that she couldn’t quite reach, but besides that didn’t react. While Kurt was fully aware that he could carry a tune, there was no way he would go up there and sing live (even though he would have hit that note.)

Judging by the scattered clapping around him, Kurt guessed that whatever pair was up there had just finished, and the DJ once again started asking for volunteers. When nobody immediately volunteered, they started threatening to pick someone at random. He shuddered, sending a silent apology to whoever got chosen.

As it turns out, though, Kurt spoke too soon. The next thing he knew, there was a bright light shining right at him as someone pulled him up off the couch and gestured him over to the stage. He tried to say no, tried to pull back, but nobody was listening. Before he knew it, Kurt was standing on the stage next to a random guy his age.

“Someday you guys might thank me for this,” the DJ shrugged, handing the other kid a mic before glancing at Kurt. “Or not.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. Great, thank you, DJ from hell.

He let himself glance quickly at the kid next to him, but he was so nervous that he didn’t even take in any of his face before the kid was turning his head to look at Kurt, making him quickly look away. Great, now he had to sing a duet with some random, probably straight kid who must think he’s a weirdo. Perfect way to end the year.

Words to a song that he didn’t know started rolling across the screen in front of him, and the kid took the male lead. Considering Kurt was still trying to calm himself down, it was probably for the best.

They were still avoiding eye contact when the guy began to sing.

Living in my own world

Didn’t understand

That anything can happen

When you take a chance.

Duet Guy’s voice was beautiful, Kurt couldn’t help to admit. (And so was his face, judging by the quick glance he took while he was singing.) However, he also looked very unsure, like Kurt might leave at any moment and he would be stuck there on the stage by himself.

Kurt was still the most uncomfortable he’s ever felt, but there was no easy way out of this situation than to bite the bullet. If not for him, than for his poor duet partner. So, taking a deep breath and still avoiding eye contact, he joined in the second verse.

I never believed in

What I couldn't see

I never opened my heart

To all the possibilities

He was more than pleasantly surprised when Duet Guy added the little ‘oh’ after the third line, causing added his own ‘ooh’ after the fourth. Still, Kurt refused to give him more than a glance out of the corner of his eye, but he could feel Duet Guy’s looking at him as they sang together.

I know

That something has changed

Never felt this way

And right here tonight

Okay, Duet Guy is definitely staring at him now. For the first time since the song started, Kurt allows himself to make eye contact and oh my god Duet Guy is gorgeous. Hazel eyes meet blue ones and Kurt stops breathing for a moment. He has to look away just to keep singing without passing out, but by the third line, they’re making eye contact again.

This could be the start of something new

It feels so right to be here with you (oh)

And now looking in your eyes

I feel in my heart (feel in my heart)

The start of something new

Cheers erupt from the crows as Duet Guy starts taking off his blazer, throwing it somewhere as he brings his mic closer Kurt feels his heart pounding as Duet Guy sings the next verse. He’s smiling so big by this point now that the nerves have been replaced with this new, knee-weakening emotion.

Now who'd have ever thought that

We'd both be here tonight

And the world looks so much brighter (brighter)

With you by my side (by my side)

I know that something has changed

Never felt this way

I know it for real

This could be the start of something new

It feels so right to be here with you (oh)

And now looking in your eyes

I feel in my heart

The start of something new

Duet Guy is doing this dorky dance as he dips the mic for the bridge, and Kurt can’t help but laugh as he watched him. The crowd behind them is dancing and clapping along, but Kurt doesn’t notice any of that. His mind is occupied at the moment by one person only.

I never knew that it could happen till it happened to me

I didn't know it before

But now it's easy to see

It's the start of something new

It feels so right to be here with you

Duet Guy is getting closer to him, so close that Kurt stepped back a few times, almost falling off the stage. His face is heating up as Duet Guy continued to smile at him with that gorgeous face.

There is no way that Duet Guy can be this attractive, this talented, and also gay, but perhaps this year is wishing luck to Kurt after what he’s had to deal with. He smiled wide just at the thought, joining Duet Guy with his own terrible dancing.

And now looking in your eyes I feel in my heart

That it's the start of something new

It feels so right to be here with you

And now looking in your eyes I feel in my heart (feel in my heart)

The start of something new (The start of something new)

The start of something new

The song ended with Kurt face-to-face with Duet Guy as the note dragged out. His heart was pounding fast, eyes moving all over his face as he tried to memorize every detail, because shit, this guy was hot, and was he crazy, or were their heads moving closer together?

Their moment of solitude was broken (probably for the better, this is Ohio after all) by the clapping and cheering from the crowd as the DJ walks up to them. Quickly, before they’re kicked off the stage, Duet Guy sticks his hand out. “Blaine.”

It took a moment for Kurt to realize oh, that’s his name, before he shook Blaine’s hand. “Kurt,” he says with a smile, which is only matched with an even more enthusiastic one from Blaine.

“Do you wanna hang out? Grab some hot chocolate?”

Kurt grins even wider. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

—

Blaine Anderson has never been happier that his mom forced him to a party. He was expecting a night full of drunk straight kids making out, and instead got one with an unexpected duet, and a cute guy with it.

Neither of which were bad things. In fact, Blaine doesn’t think he could ask for a better night.

He and Kurt were standing outside at a table, hot chocolate mugs in hand while snow fell softly around them.

“You’re a singer, right? Your voice is really good!” Kurt asks, and Blaine feels himself blush, hoping he can just pass it off as the cold.

“Um, no, not really. I mean, I’ve only ever performed at malls and theme parks, and I was in a glee club for a bit at my old school, but I’m transferring after the break so I think that’s the end of that,” he responds to Kurt’s bewilderment.

“Really? I could see you on Broadway someday, Blaine.”

Blaine smiles. “Thank you. What about you? You must have quite the audience back at home with a voice like that!”

Kurt grins, turning his head slightly so he’s looking at Blaine sideways, giving him a playful (and slightly flirty) smile. “Why, yes, my shower head is my biggest fan.”

Blaine laughs along before they’re interrupted by the crowd counting down loudly behind them. Suddenly, both Kurt and Blaine faced each other in panic, realizing that it’ll be New Years' in a few seconds, and they’re about to be surrounded by kissing teens in celebration.

The chanting ends as they reach one. Fireworks are going off behind them, and also in Blaine’s body as he looks at Kurt, then at his lips, then back at Kurt, who's doing the same. Just like earlier up on that stage, Blaine swears their heads are moving closer to one another.

Blaine’s mind is racing, screaming what are you doing!? You’re falling for a guy you’ll never see again! And this is the middle of Ohio, surrounded by a crowd of people! Somebody is going to have a bad reaction! And yet, part of him kept moving closer, because if this is his last time meeting Kurt, he better make it worth his time.

Fireworks are lighting up their faces in shades of pink and blue as Blaine glanced up at Kurt’s eyes (they’re a gorgeous blue-green color) as if he’s asking for permission. Kurt nods, just barely, as he licks his lips.

Just as they’re centimeters away from meeting, the moment is broken by Kurt’s phone buzzing from a little pocket in his vest (which, can Blaine just say, this kid has the best fashion sense. And that pocket is adorable.)

“Shoot, that’s my dad. He wants me back now so we can get up early and miss traffic.” Kurt sighed as he swiped on his phone, not really looking like he’s ready to leave.

Blaine nodded, before something sparks in his brain. “I’ll text you! I’ll text you tomorrow! Here, give me your number,” he says as he hands his phone over to Kurt.

“Oh! Right!” Kurt smiled, taking out his own phone and handing it to Blaine. They both tapped in their numbers, taking photos quickly for their respective contacts, before switching their phones back.

“Singing with you was really fun, and I would love to do it again sometime,” Blaine smiled down at his phone, where is new contact was saved forever. “So where do you-” he turned to face Kurt once again, but the other boy was already gone.

Blaine glanced back at the crowd behind him, then back up at the fireworks that were still going on, smiling softly to himself. Once they were over, he moved to go inside and find his mom when he felt a buzz in his coat pocket.

Fishing out his phone once again, he opened the new message that was waiting for him.

From: Kurt Hummel: Thank you for tonight :) it was the most fun I’ve had all vacation

From: Kurt Hummel: So, how do you feel about musical theatre?

Blaine laughed, letting his head drop to his chest as he read the message over again, glancing up at the contact photo just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Something was telling him this wasn’t the last he was going to see of Kurt Hummel.

#glee #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #klaine #thanks you aly for pushing me to write this for five months bc i AM NOW!!!!!#my writing #sosn #klaine fic

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creative-type · 6 years

Text

The Murder of Arthur Wright V

First Last AO3 AN: Sorry for the delay. Writers block and lots of overtime at work meant little productivity. For those who care for such things, Anansi is named after the mythological trickster character popular in West African folklore.

Chapter Five: Anansi of a Thousand Faces

The sun was beginning to set as Margot set a brisk pace for the waterfront. Two days had passed since she had last met with Cain, and she was starting to get antsy. It turned out finding someone who could change their appearance at will was more difficult than it sounded. It was unfortunate that in the wake of Master Wright’s death that the mage’s conference had been cancelled—at least then Margot would have some idea of where to start looking. As it was she wasn’t sure Anansi was still in the city.

She stopped in front a small playhouse at the edge of the entertainment district. As far as leads went it wasn’t much, yet it was the best she had. None of her contacts at the Academy knew where Anansi was or where they would be traveling next. There had been no ads of upcoming plays in the paper. The rumor mill surrounding the mysterious actor had gone strangely silent.

Margot had almost given up hope when the professor of illusion made mention of a colleague who knew of a man who had seen a superlative performance given by an unknown actor working out of a little hole in the wall. Supposedly magic had been involved.

It seemed like an absurd story, but Margot was loath to go back to Cain emptyhanded. She was acutely aware that she had wandered to the rougher side of town. The looks she got here were of an entirely different sort than she was used to. The people here could sniff out a stranger faster than a bloodhound and were naturally suspicious of people they didn’t know.

Margot was more worried about keeping a low profile than her personal safety. There was no way of knowing if Anansi was actually inside, but if they were Margot didn’t want to draw attention to herself.

The bill outside of the theater advertised a man named Yotarou. Usually shows advertised any magic that would be a part of the performance, but there was no mention of any illusions. Even so, there was a surprisingly large crowd for a weeknight show. Margot paid the fee and squeezed into the rapidly filling playhouse, which was little more than a glorified bar with a stage at the back of the room. The air was dark and smoky and buzzing with a dozen different conversations. Margot settled near the back as she waited for the show to begin, settling in an empty stool at the end of the bar.

A minute or two passed when Margot noticed a man mustering the courage to approach her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him down his drink in a single gulp, slamming the glass down as he rose to his feet. One of his friends clapped him soundly on the back and gave him a friendly push Margot’s way.

She didn’t have time for this. Margot called on her magic with a twitch of her fingers. There was plenty of water in the air this close to the river, more than enough for her to work with. Margot’s palm warmed pleasantly as coaxed the heat from the microscopic all around her into her hand, taking just enough to send a chill through the air.

At the same time Margot fixed the would-be suitor with an icy glare, making sure he got a good look at her scars. The man stopped dead in his tracks. To his credit he got the message without any further trouble, turning abruptly to walk red-faced to the direction of the restrooms.

“That was nicely done.”

Margot turned to the bartender just as Yotarou took the stage. He kneeled on a pillow at the center of the stage armed with only a paper fan and began a long-winded tale about two parents who decide to give their newborn son twelve first names after being unable to decide on just one.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Margot said.

“Not many have that much control over their magic,” the bartender murmured. “May I get you something to drink?”’

“Not tonight,” Margot said. “I’m just here for the show.”

“Ah, a fan of the fallen words?” he asked. “I don’t blame you. It’s a rare art, not often seen this far west. Do you have a favorite master?”

The question meant nothing to Margot, and she shook her head. “I’m just learning.”

“It’s a wise man who admits their ignorance,” the bartender said. “Or woman, I suppose. Now listen, the best part is coming up.”

Yotarou’s voice rose to a fever-pitch as he reached the climax of his story. The boy with the long name was knocked unconscious after getting into a fight with a friend. The friend rushed off for help, but was forced to use the boy’s full name with everyone he came across, and by the time he came back the boy had completely recovered from the injury.

The story wasn’t suited to Margot’s sense of humor, but Yotarou’s exaggerated caricature elicited a quiet chuckle as the crowd burst into applause. Yotarou bowed to his audience, paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and launched eagerly into his next tale.

“Amateur,” the bartender said, wrinkling their nose in distaste.

“You didn’t find it funny?” Margot asked.

“Three times he botched the name, and he should have made a greater distinction between the boy and his friend. Each character should be unique.”

Margot turned to face the bartender, but the space he had been occupying was empty, with a single drink sitting on the bar the only indication he had ever been there in the first place. She tried to find where he had gone, but it was as if he had vanished into thin air.

“On the house, darling,” a voice whispered in Margot’s ear. “Enjoy the rest of the show, I’ve seen all I need.”

Magic. Margot searched for its source, but her trace was overwhelmed by the spells used to light the stage and the charms warding against fire and theft. Utterly dumbfounded Margot looked down at the drink he had left her. It was one of those elaborate mixed drinks that Lyra could down by the gallon. She hadn’t even seen him mix it.

Unless…

Once again Margot called upon her magic. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard the audience burst into laughter, but she no longer was paying any attention to Yotarou’s stories. She touched the glass with a finger that glowed with soft aquamarine light, stifling a gasp as it passed right through.

It was an illusion, one of the most sophisticated she had ever seen. Carefully she dismissed the spell and touched it again, this time her fingers feeling the contour of the glass, the liquid inside rippling with the sudden movement.

Illusionary magic was difficult because the spells either had to be meticulously planned and continuously maintained by the caster. The more senses that were engaged with by the illusion the more difficult it was to cast and the more energy it required to maintain. Margot picked up the glass and swirled the contents, noting that the drink was for all intents and purposes indistinguishable from reality.

The spell was still active, and an active spell could always be traced back to its caster. Margot murmured the words to a trace under her breath, tracing a sigil over the glass. A golden thread formed around the glass and led to the entrance of the playhouse.

Margot pushed through the crowed and followed the thread outside and down the street. It led her two blocks north, the golden light growing in intensity as she neared the source of the spell. Margot paused when she reached a small diner and scanned the crowd for the bartender. The thread pulsed gently in her hands and then, suddenly, it vanished.

“Very neatly done. I like your style.”

Margot whirled to the voice. Sitting on the patio outside the diner was…not her bartender. A figure dressed in rough-spun cotton beckoned her forward, a lazy grin on his (or was it her? Margot couldn’t tell) face. Their features were unassuming and plain.

But there was no mistaking that voice. Margot sat in the offered chair. “Unless I’m terribly mistaken, do I have the pleasure of speaking with Anansi?”

Black eyes glittered with amusement. “You do.”

“I thought you would be preforming tonight,” Margot said.

“Who says I haven’t been?” Anansi leaned on their elbows. Long, spiderlike fingers intertwined together. “When I heard whispers a professor from the Kempeston Academy wished to speak with me I had to make sure it was worth my time.” Anansi’s lips quirked in the smile of a teacher indulging a favored student. “That spell was clever. I’ve not seen it before.”

“I work at a school for magic. Knowing how to trace a spell is an unfortunate necessity,” Margot said wryly. “How did you know I’m a professor?”

“I make it my business to know who wants to find me, darling. Time is a finite resource; it has never been my habit to waste mine.” The smile transformed into a sharp, biting smirk, amusement shifting to menace. “So far you’ve been interesting enough to be worth my while. Please do not prove me wrong.”

“I had some questions about your performance before the mage’s conference,” Margot said.

“You’ll have to be more specific, darling.”

Margot hesitated a moment, before saying, “I suppose it would be more accurate to say I was wondering about what happened afterword. This might seem like a strange question, but did you speak with Master Arthur Wright?”

Anansi’s eyebrows crept up toward their hairline. “I did not. Why go through all the trouble of finding me only to ask about a man I’ve never met?”

“I’m acquainted with Master Wright’s son. He said that his father wanted to talk with you after your performance.”

“So he sent you to find out what his daddy wanted?” Anansi said disbelievingly.

“Felix Wright was nearly blinded by the explosion. It will be some time before he’s fully recovered,” Margot said, choosing her words carefully. It didn’t seem wise to let Anansi know she was investigating a possible murder. “I said I would ask as a favor to him.”

“That is strangely kind of you,” Anansi said.

“I didn’t realize you would be this difficult to find when I agreed,” Margot admitted.

Anansi laughed. “Fair enough. I’m sorry to say that Felix is wrong. I know Arthur Wright only by reputation,” Anansi consulted a battered pocket watch. “Now, I have no interest speaking about a dead man who I’ve never met, but it seems a shame to leave you with nothing to show for your efforts. I’ll answer three questions, and no more.”

Margot drummed her fingers against the table as she thought. She couldn’t tell if Anansi was lying, or if this was some sort of test. Either way she didn’t want to waste what little opportunity she had.

Her first instinct was simply to ask more about Master Wright, but Margot discarded that idea as foolishness. If Anansi was telling the truth then they likely knew nothing about the murder of Arthur Wright. If they were lying then there was no way they would answer a direct inquiry.

Finally Margot settled on a question. “Whose face did you wear when you preformed The Death of Desdemona?”

“You say it as if I’ve stolen something,” Anansi chuckled. “And the answer is no one in particular. I take inspiration from those around me, but my faces are all my own. The part called for a female, so I created one that I felt would resonate with the audience. It’s trickier than you might think—academia is disproportionately elvish, so one might think that an elf would be best suited for the role, but there are those sticks in the mud who would call it a travesty to let a young elvish lady anywhere near the stage.” Anansi grinned wolfishly. “That was what decided it, in the end. I always enjoy knocking on the door of the closeminded.”

“Really?” Margot said.

“No society is perfect, and there are times people need reminded of that fact,” Anansi said. “I’ve performed in the orcish Lowlands as a runt and the Deephome Mountains as a beardless dwarf.” Anansi shrugged, a picture of worldly wisdom. “It’s a balancing act. I can’t afford to distract too much from the performances or alienate my audience completely lest no one hire me, illusions or no. But the benefit of having a thousand faces means I always have the right mask no matter the situation.”

Margot nodded slowly in understanding. “So to be clear, your character wasn’t physically based on anyone that you know.”

“Nothing is new under the sun, darling,” Anansi said. “I’m sure there were features that resembled people I’ve seen or worked with in the past, but as a whole the character of Desdemona was my own. Next question, please, and be careful as it’s your last.”

“But I’ve only asked one,” Margot said.

“If that was your intention then you ought to be more careful with your diction,” Anansi said. “After I said I enjoy knocking on the door of the closeminded you said, ‘really?’ with the inflection of a question—a question which I answered as promised.”

A flare of anger tore through Margot at the abuse of technicality, but then Anansi rested their chin on a hand and waited patiently, a look of angelic innocence on their face. Margot swallowed her argument, and with enormous effort managed a smile of her own. It was a smile she’d perfected during her post-graduate studies, perfectly civil and with an edge that could kill a man with a single look.

“You’re right. Unfortunately not all of us are destined for the stage,” she said sweetly. “In that case, where would the best way I could get into contact with you if I needed to speak with you again?”

Anansi blinked, a startled expression flashing briefly across their face. Then they laughed, surprisingly rich and full. So full that Margot suspected it was genuine.

“Oh, I like you,” Anansi said, wiping away a tear of mirth from the corner of their eye. “Well done, darling, well done. Luckily for you I’m planning to stay in the city for another five days. Look for me at the Red Griffin Inn after the noon bell. For a half-penny I’ll tell you whatever story you want to know.”

Anansi got to their feet and shook Margot’s hand warmly. “A final piece of advice, darling, free of charge. Reputation is a man’s greatest and most fragile mask. Look behind it at your own risk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Margot asked.

“It means I would think very carefully before taking on errands for Felix Wright. You might not like what you find.”

#The Murder of Arthur Wright #daughter of the lilies #Dotl #dotl fanfiction #Margot

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charmingsrisingson-blog · 7 years

Text

Fallen Angel 2: Hail to the (falling) King

A/N: Here’s chapter two.. What will happen? Find out!

TWs: Alcohol abuse, pregnancy abuse

Chap 2: Hail to the (falling) King

Prodigia comploratus

Silens, oro

Regnet exitium.

(Wonders, mourning

Silent, I pray

Regain destruction)

I walk stricken

Pitch-black vision

Oh One, save me

Caress my weary eyes

Silence engulfed the ride pretty quickly, and it made my mind wonder, into regions I didn’t want it to go right now. I kept asking myself Why? Why now? And most of all; Was I to blame for what Abel was going through? Rationally, of course, I was far from the cause, but the shock of it was still setting in, so I wasn’t thinking straight. In fact, within these irrational moments, I even considered driving off a cliff edge with Eva in toe, and making it look like a double suicide, but then, a wave of sanity washed over me and I concluded that, instead of it being a temporary solution, it would lead to even more devastation and ultimately way more problems down the line, for the club and what little was left of my ‘family’. Plus, I had just met Eva and we seemed to bond instantly. No, I’m not just saying that because my dick got excited, I mean it! In those few moments that I was routed to the spot, I found a purpose; to keep fighting, and that, in turn is what I need to do for Abel, and maybe, hopefully, at some stage, for both.

Let’s face it. I was the only person Abel had right now and if I wasn’t willing to fight for him, why should he be the one to potentially die? Sense was starting to battle its way back into my torn up mind. I may have almost won the sensibility battle, but the one that was raging over whether I should see him, or bitch, or neither, was far from over and growing in intensity as the silence continued. I had to break it. Otherwise, I feared I’d do something stupid, regardless of my mental progress.

Let’s take a moment to break the ice.

So my intentions are known.

See I have pity in watching you suffer

I know the feeling of being dammed alone

I have a storybook of my own…

“You seem pretty used to bikes. darlin’” I commented, hoping it would spark some sort of conversation. I wasn’t prepared for what it would eventually lead to, however. Eva let out a soft laugh from behind me before she moved her position slightly, so her head was resting in the swell of my back, arms wrapped around my middle with care.

“I’ve been too used to them.” She replied, letting out a quiet, happy, sigh after. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Been in any gangs?”

“Yeah, some rough shit recently.”

“Oh?”

“I was in the UK. I won’t bore you with details, but it was fucked up. One guy fucked me over and I..” Eva trailed off and I picked up a faint sniff. Gently, I tried to probe deeper.

“You what, darlin’?”

“I had.” She started, and then broke off again, letting go another sniff. I raised an eyebrow automatically, obviously aware that she couldn’t see me doing so. I gulped internally as the dreaded silence crept back towards us. I was both intrigued and concerned at her lack of response. I couldn’t help but wonder had she a frayed connection to the Blackout crew overseas. They were one of our most deep routed enemies. Their leader, Smithy, was notorious for trying to copy me. Yes, I even knew he was up to it, so it just goes to show the length this guy went to. I didn’t find that threatening, like you might think I would. Ho no, I found it hilarious. There’s only one Jackson Teller and he ain’t got a double barrel name or a ridiculous accent. Moreover, in California, there was only one gang who held the crown; Us; Sons of Anarchy. Not some leader that looked like a faggot or our dipshit county rivals, in the form of the Avenged Sevenfold gang. They had nothing on us. They may think they do, but our blood runs deeper then they could ever dream of.

By now, I had just pulled up on the hard shoulder, and was facing Eva, having turned fully around on the saddle. She had her head down and it was obvious she was trying to hide her tears. After a few seconds, I put my fingers under her chin and gently coaxed her head up. She complied, slowly, her deep hazel orbs reaching mine, drenched in tears. Someone had done something to her, and I was gonna find out...

“I-I’m sorry.” She spluttered, starting to attempt to clear her tears, only to end up smudging her eyeliner and eyeshadow into one big black mess on respective sides of her face. A part of me began to hate seeing her upset.

“Ev, darlin’, please talk to me.” I coaxed, cautiously. Again, I got no response. I sighed slightly and brought my hand up to the bridge of my nose, pressing down on the area and leaving it there for a few seconds.

“Look, if you’re scared to tell me, there’s no need. Whatever you say will be kept between us, ok?” I stressed and assured, as best I could. Accepting and dealing with all these new and deep emotions was testing me, and I felt like I was going to crack my composure, but I held on.

Finally, after a second of my words seeping in, Eva responded with a nod and looked ready to talk.

“I. I have his baby.” She just about managed to get out, her body shaking from the force of her tears.

“Whose baby?” I asked, in an almost whisper, not wanting to upset her more, but needing to know.

“T-The leader of t-the U-UK g-gang. I can’t b-bare to say the name.” She uttered, dropping her head and almost ramming it into my abs.

“Bellers-Smith?” I enquired, again with caution as I wrapped my arms slowly around her and kissed her head. She gave a feeble nod, pressing against me more, as if I was a life boy. I immediately bit my tongue.

“He knows. He’s trying to intercept me. He’s got the Avenged crew working to keep tabs on me. I’ve seen a couple t-trying to do surveillance type shit. I-I was a paramedic, but I had to give it up because I feared he’d set up a prank call and lure me so he could finish m-me off. J-Jay’s still in the ICU, h-he’s six months old. H-He could still die. I-I managed to get him over here. I took out a loan to do it and... It wasn’t my fault! Shaun forced fed me alcohol when I was expecting a-and he was born almost full term but with s-severe complications. Shaun couldn’t take it. Th-they said the damage was drink re-related, yet I got the b-blame even though I wasn’t the one w-who chorused me do it. Shaun made it look like it was all my fault! Turned my own family a-against me. So I moved back here, my hometown and, tried to start a new life. They didn’t have any job vacancies and I began to stray as the weeks went on and ended up working in the Bat Country Club. I had an on off r-relationship with Synister, in fact, Syn still believes I’m his.” Eva concluded with a small wail.

A rush of sudden, intense emotions broke my mental barrier at that second, the two strongest ones being anger towards that asshole Smithy, and sheer devastation at how he had broken Eva down so much, from so far away.

In hindsight, I knew the club couldn’t take on yet another problem, but I was determined to find a solution and make Eva’s a thing of the past. I leaned my head down to reach Eva and then cupped her face in my hands before gently raising it back up. She closed her eyes for several moments and in that time; it hit me: Abel and Jay. We had another thing in common. This realization made me feel like I had been mentally run over by a bus; it came hard, fast and without any prior warning. I instantly felt like crying myself, but fortunately, overcame it.

“It’s gonna be alright.”

“How do you know?! You don’t even know a goddamn fucking thing about me!” Eva snapped, letting a few more tears fall. I didn’t respond. I’d learned this trick too many times with my mother and other Crow Eaters: Give ‘em an inch and they’ll take a yard!

After a few silent seconds, I felt it was clear for me to try and lighten the mood a bit.

“I know you need sugar when you pass out.” I chuckled softly.

“Oh god!” Eva half laughed and shook her head.

“I’m s-so sorry.”

“Understandable, doll.”

Eva sent me a slow, and warming smile. I returned it and stroked her hair.

“We’ll sort it out.” I assured, as she began to cuddle into me in a relaxed way, now. She nodded feebly and placed a kiss on my jaw line. I couldn’t help but smile a bit. She returned it, strained her neck upwards and before either of us could react, our lips were mere inches away from each other. I held my breath; not sure if I was really living this moment or not. Fortunately, nothing went black or fuzzy. This was real. Our eyes now locked and instantly, we both went for it. Our lips collided, with an almost underlying intensive need. We let it last for what felt like hours, but in retrospect, were just a few, blissful minutes. Within that time, I had decided that I wanted to protect Eva and guard my own suffering. She didn’t need my shit on top of her own. Only thing she did need, was safety and a solution to a problem that, as I said, I am determined to rectify.

Silence crept in yet again after we eventually broke apart, but this time, it was a different kind. Prior to the kiss, it was cold and relentless, now it was replaced with comfort, understanding and a growing bond between us.

After a while, we turned our attention to the array of stars up above us. We gazed at them and intertwined our hands. I was convinced that this was a sign; a sign of better things to come.

Suddenly, our gazing was interrupted by the sound of my phone. I quickly retrieved it from my back pocket, took one look at the ID tag and immediately slammed it back down.

“Dare I ask?” Eva questioned with a light giggle from behind my shoulder.

“Nope!” I chuckled softly.

“Okay then?” Eva giggled softly again, half questioning, and kissing my shoulder lightly. I turned my head, grinned, managed to kiss her hand and then turned back.

Within a few moments, I had pulled off again, and we were back on the pitch black, dead, open road.

“Fuck I’ve been so self centered! How about you Jax? What’s your story?” Eva enquired, nestling her head back into the swell of my back as the wind resistance intensified, along with my speed. I couldn’t help but chuckle while I rallied to form a plausible answer.

“Family ties, been a member of the Sons since I was 16. That’s all you need to know, for now.” I explained, trailing off softly at the end.

“Wow. Okay.” Eva replied happily, yet slightly deflated. She had made it way too obvious that she was expecting more of a response from me. A response that she was not going to get, come hell or high water.

Around about an hour later, I finally pulled into my driveway. The neighborhood I lived on was eerily quiet, as I helped Eva off the bike, and onto my porch. I yawned softly, put the key in the door and then let her go on in ahead of me. Once inside, we quickly took up residence on my futon, cracked open a bottle of beer each, and afterword, fell asleep on top of each other. What a day!

#soa fanfiction #| mine; |

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dinas-y-cerrig · 7 years

Text

crow sister narrative

Where to begin this story? Sis would have no problem instantly elucidating a perfect opening stage, but well, one could argue that it's exactly that mastery that has led us here. I'm not sure I'd wholly agree--somehow that seems all too blameless. Not that she hasn't her share of blame, but. Well. It's "too easy". Though the problem of blame really does fall to the reader. I'm just presenting the facts, as they happened, with as little personal embellishment as is possible in a story involving oneself. You'll have to trust me, though I've not the qualifications Sis does.

Just trust me.

Isn't that supposed to be an unspoken vow between reader and narrator? The inherent trust, no need to affirm--this situation, however, requires confirmation. Firm words. At the very least, it requires no more vague wordplay or soliloquy that could compound the issue at hand.

The issue.

Our bodies, of course. Or, to be more precise, our existence. But to understand all of that.

To understand the situation behind this farce.

I suppose I'd have to go back to the day she met him.

The summer of 1689 was particularly remarkable for its ferocity. Much like the animal of their nation's flag, that summer was a powerful, heavy thing--a tiger's summer. The torpid heat had come lumbering out of the east, over the plateaus and deserts of Medina, Dohar, and beyond, an aged heat that seemed to distort the very fabric of space itself. It manifested itself as an especially cruel presence upon reaching the straits, taking on a thick and sticky humidity as it settled over the Yasae archipelago. There was no escape even in the peaks of Hollo's mountains. It was there, in the northernmost of the island, where on a clear day one could see clear across to Medina, that the heat succeeded in thoroughly disrupting the habits of a particular shut-in. Indeed, it prompted this shut-in to become more of a shut-out, the heat so oppressive that it effectively did what this recluse's own kin could not; it drove Bianca Ioneszca out of the small room she had, six months prior, shut herself away in. Though that was not to say that she was particularly antisocial--she enjoyed company just fine, but her constitution was one that could only concentrate on one task at a time, otherwise she would end up exhausted and drained. It was, therefore, not out of disdain for her fellow man, but out of necessity that she had locked herself away in that small, stuffy closet-turned-study in the two room house she shared with her sister Viorica. For Bianca had before her a monumental task, one which she had taken to with such soldier-like austerity that Viorica now had been pleading, even bribing, her to leave the house and get some fresh air. Just a bit. But Bianca had steadfastly refused, time and again, her younger sister's attempts at camaraderie. Besides, Viorica surely couldn't complain--it was this same skill that Bianca so adamantly put herself to that had allowed them these six months of relative luxury.

To put it simply, Bianca's hobby grown out of a busy mind hungry for any release, or might it be compared to a monster that needed distraction, in any case, she had somehow managed to get a piece of her writing to press. It had been under a pseudonym, of course, and had been more of a wager from a former colleague at the monastery-turned-full-time print and press factory she had worked at, yet somehow it seemed to have gained quite the following among the educated types among the upper echelons of the company and their ilk. For a young girl whose duties consisted, somehow, solely of cleaning and tidying up--with all of that inkwork you'd have thought they might have at least allowed her some basic scripture duties!--this exposure was unheard of. Although it had lost traction outside of the confines of the business and surrounding town, it had provided her with a neat and unexpected lump of funds gathered from patrons who, upon hearing that the author was a young man in work rather than school, had taken it upon themselves to get together the means for this talent to attend university to polish their skills. However, once word got around that the writer was, in actuality, a young woman, therefore banning her from any academic setting, they had suddenly withdrawn their offers of support. What had been left was a sum they supposed she deserved--a young woman living on her own, after all, how pitiable, never mind that she lived with her sister, even more depressing--and once passed on to her they had thus retreated, as though fearing to contract ill. It was a great opportunity for Bianca though, despite the rather harsh and frivolous rumors that had arisen once her gender discovered. She decided to take the time to leave work and find for her and Viorica a home of their own--they had until now lived from room to room, a series of cheap and poor rentals. This was decidedly safer for two young women on their own, and it would provide her an opportunity to indulge herself. For the success that she had tasted, although brief, had lit in her a fierce desire to gamble all on the chance that maybe, just maybe, she could do this as a proper living.

That maybe she could be a writer after all.

Although now, six months down the line and their reserve funds dwindling, with the ending of the piece still a convoluted mystery even to her, the author, it seemed that maybe hers had been a fleeting and foolish dream after all.

Thus it was that, as the heat bore down on her from all sides and the humidity turned her cozy-hole into a hazy-hell, Bianca Ioneszca descended from her seclusion to the town of Marta. As it so happened, that day was the farmer's market, and the town square had become a bustle of activity, even in this heat. Having hoped for a quiet corner to sit and observe people as she jotted down notes, Bianca was thoroughly disappointed in the liveliness of the market. However it was the first in a long time she had allowed herself time to idle, and she was determined to get some sort of escape from the heat, even if only distraction. It was to be expected that someone so ill-suited to the atmosphere might stand out, though to most she would rather seem a hazy existence, too dim and wavering to much mind, yet to another who patrolled the grounds in the search of something, some escape from the mundane, she stood out like a beacon.

It just so happened.

It just so happened that that person was Eduard Yagyateri.

Like two moths to a flame, like one drowning person to another, clinging for life yet bringing them both down. On a distant summer day, in this distinct summer heat.

That was how the two stars to our tragedy met.

Yagyateri came from a long line of wool farmers, a meddling middling muddling son in a large family of dyers, shavers, washers, pickers, carders, a name dyed in its own craft; Yagyu- sheep, ter, textile, i. I. Personal reflexive. His father had something of a wool monopoly over Hollo, and Yagyateri Fabrics were a high-fashion item. Many of his sisters had made picturesque matches with other high-minded families, of all sorts of high-life high-lights. Many of his brothers had got pretty picturesque wives, and the pretty picturesque family was frequently host to frivolous follies where all and company danced and preened. It was, for all intents and purposes, of which they had many, a family on the rise to something approaching stardom Or, something less anachronistic at least. Quite the talk of the town, quite an assured life of prim and posh. Something others yearn for, Eduard Yagyateri possessed.

And it was slowly driving him mad.

Every day a pretty maid greeting him in the morning, afternoon tea, Does Master Take Cream and Sugar? Yes, Yes, and to sport. A light workout, cricket on the garden, and back to towel down as the heat reaches its apex. Then a light nap, or quiet reading, followed by aperetifs and quaint chatter. As all parties wend their way to the courtyard it all winds down to a feast under the brilliant summer stars.

Just like clockwork. Just round and round and round. It was enough to make a man sell his soul for a single diversion. But three-and-twenty years of gadabout roundabout and Eduard was fit to burst. He had gone off to Wellbridge--Hellbridge! he'd spit--to pursue a study in poetry, and after four years of fawning foreplay disguised as art and no real passions beside, Eduard was back at home. He was stewing, stirring, quivering with anticipation and restlessness, and his father had allowed him a summer to think over his plans for the future, fully expecting him to fall in with the rest of the family. To Hell with that! would be Eduard's reaction, and he had set upon himself to find something, anything, that would provide him even the slightest amusement, interest, or diversion, something to save him from this endless hell known as easy living.

That afternoon he had fled the family's estate to wander around the market. His sister Angeline had made some comment about his uselessness, and all in a huff Eduard had stormed out. He had burst forth like a thundercloud and descended upon the market in a frenetic state. Going from booth to booth, he was greeted by most everyone. Ah, yes, the young master Yagyateri. He felt sick with himself, sick with the world.

While he was absorbed in this sordid state of self-pity, he continued to mill about. It was as the sun was peaking that his attention was drawn to a small, dark-haired woman. She was short and stout, quite homely really, and her oversized glasses made her look like a frantic bug. It seemed she had lost something, as she was kneeling down--without a care in the world, there, in the dirt!--and reaching under a table. Eduard couldn't help but chuckle to himself, just a bit, at how silly this dumpy woman appeared, and when she was kicked by a stray boot in her search he let out a laugh. That was his undoing. Having straightened herself up, the woman turned her head at his sharp note of amusement. He paled. How uncouth. Although she was a far cry from beauty, she was still a woman, and it was crass of him to laugh at her circumstances. He cleared his throat, and was about to speak when she turned abruptly and dashed away. Feeling incredibly off-pace, he stood there stunned. When he turned to sulk away, his foot came down upon a sheet of paper. He bent down to scoop it up and, curious, turned it over. Finally settling himself down in as much an out of the way place as he could find, he took some time to read over the contents of the page.

It was

Fantastic.

Riveting, really.

He read hungrily, his eyes hastening along each and every line until, midway through a sentence, the page ended abruptly.

#unfinished #thing #aelmidean

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johnbutlersbuzz · 6 years

Text

IN THE LAND OF TWISTERS & OZ

Sometimes you have to leave a place to learn how special it is to you.

A girl named Dorthy Gale found that out in a most peculiar way. I’m on my way to visit Dorthy’s house today.

Driving north on Hwy 83, the one running smack dab up through the middle of America, I made it through the Texas Panhandle, crossed the Oklahoma Panhandle, and now I'm in the frying pan of Kansas.

As I have mentioned before, 83 has been called the “Road To Nowhere.” But I call it Heartland Highway, for reasons that become apparent when you drive any significant portion of the 1,885 miles stretching from old Mexico to Canada, right through the center of the United States.

Kansas is, possibly, the heart of Heartland Highway.

It’s been home to the Kickapoo people, Kaw, Cheyenne, Potawatomi, and other tribes. Don Francisco Vasquez de Coronado was the first European to visit, along with a small group of explorers in 1541, looking for the “Seven Cities of Gold.”

My trusty stead-on-wheels, ARGO, groomed by Airstream and powered by a Mercedes diesel engine, transports me past fields of corn, soybean, wheat, hay, sunflowers and a whole lot of Broom-corn, switchgrass, bluestem, and Indian-grass.

I’ve changed into a fresh brown short-sleeved khaki shirt, which harmonizes more with the farmers and ranchers when I stop at the local cafes along the way. But the cargo shorts and loafers with no socks still present a juxtaposition. No one has said anything; just guessing by the occasional once-over glancing from locals. It’s a long drive, so I’m more concerned with comfort. Know what I mean.

The state of Kansas continues to be noted as the beginning, and end setting of a Hollywood movie made way back in 1939, The Wizard of Oz. The story where a twelve-year-old girl, Dorthy and her dog, Toto, are transported from her aunt and uncle's farmhouse, suddenly, and not so elegantly, via tornado, to the mysterious fantasy land of Oz.

The story is based on the book by L. Frank Baum, published in 1900, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. His story captured readers imagination, and it became a hit with the first printing. The story was brought to life on the big screen in a dramatic, innovative way in 1939, engaging audiences on a worldwide scale. It’s what movie critics call, an “essential.”

If you haven’t seen the movie, then cancel whatever nonsense you had planned to watch on TV tonight, locate a copy of the Wizard Of Oz movie, throw a bag of popcorn in the microwave (adding extra butter of course), and watch. You’ll be taken on a beautiful journey.

Sixteen-year-old Judy Garland is endearingly adorable in the lead role of Dorthy Gale. The characters are archetypical of good and evil, from Glinda, the good witch, to the Wicked Witch of the West.

And the film’s special effects are a marvel, unique in the late thirties, and still, stand up today. Yes, kids, late thirties, well before computer generated movies with exploding-after-effects. Even the use of color was used in a special way, with the tornado scene in black-and-white, with Oz in color. And kids, this will throw you a curve, cell phones only existed in cartoons; the two-way-radio version worn on Dick Tracy’s wrist.

So here I am north of the Kansas/Oklahoma state line in the sweet little town of Liberty. I'm told it's a must-stop-place on Highway 83, the Heartland Highway, for at least one reason, to walk through Dorthy's House and the Coronado Museum. So, I guess I gotta go see it.

One resident of Liberty I chatted with at a local cafe, shared a little background letting me in on the secret: "the town first rejected the Oz movie mystique hung on them, then decided to embrace it." Well, whether they would have decided to or not, the characters of Dorthy, her dog Toto, Annie Em, the Scare Crow, the Cowardly Lion, the Munchkins, the Wizard and all the rest of the cast, became linked forever to Kansas.

Tornados are also linked to Kansas too. Each county in the state has had approximately 30 to 50 tornados since 1950, according to the National Weather Service.

So, here I am on the walkthrough of Dorthy's farm home and the diorama recreating the Land of Oz. All beautifully camp-shtick. I'm being led by one of the adorable teenagers playing the role of Dorthy Gale. I’m told not to use her real name, so mums-the-word, so to speak.

This girl is part of the Dorthy Program, and I find out later, that is one of the cool educational dimensions of the place. Girls from middle school and high school are accepted into the program where they memorize lines from the movie, learn to tell the story, and guided to develop their confidence and speaking abilities.

Once they pass the test, they are bestowed with the distinctive farm-style gingham dress; step into the famous ruby-red slippers and become the personification of Dorthy Gale, the star of the story. One of these young girls is my personal tour guide today, narrating the journey of the fictional Dorthy, who was taken suddenly, amidst a violent storm, from a small Kansas farmhouse to the Yellow Brick Road in the mystical Land of Oz.

Mind you, this tour is not a Hollywood mega-budget production. It’s a fun odyssey by foot through adjoining rooms staged to tell the story. Starting in a typical Kansas farmhouse living room, we experience an approaching tornado as the windows begin to rattle, curtains whip erratically, lights flicker, and the wind roars louder and louder. Past the curtains thrashing back and forth over the window, there is a picture of an approaching tornado.

Now at this point, and on a personal note, very unexpectedly … this ominous simulated turmoil triggered a terrifying memory for me.

When I was six years old, I experienced the real thing.

My family was living in Durant, Oklahoma for a few years. It was dinner time, late afternoon on an April day, just before six o'clock. Mom was in the kitchen cooking fried chicken, along with black-eyed peas, and mashed potatoes and cream gravy. An apple pie cooling on the counter. All the mouth-watering, hunger-inducing aromas of a home cooked meal wafted the warm, unusually calm, afternoon air.

And yes, that is the way I grew up, with home-cooked meals every day (yes I know … strange in today's culture, at least in the USA).

So, nothing unusual about the day as I stood in the kitchen looking out the back screen door. My little six-year-old mind was deliberating, not sure if I wanted to go out to play for a few minutes, or talk mom into a pre-dinner chicken drumstick before we sat down for dinner around the kitchen table when my dad got home from work.

“Hey mom, that’s a funny looking cloud?” I said. She stepped away from the stove to a take a peek out the screen door to see what I was talking about. For a few seconds, mom just stood there next to me, staring out at the sky, processing what she was seeing. A thin tube of a cloud was wobbling from the wild-blue-yonder, all the way to the ground, and out of an otherwise clear sky. The rotating shaft was coming right toward us. It was getting bigger. I could now see stuff flying up from the land around the bottom of it.

“Oh my God,” she screamed in a panicked voice. “That’s a funnel cloud … a tornado!”

I pushed the screen door open to go outside for a closer look. Mom instantaneously grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the door as she turned full-tilt to extinguish the gas flames on the stove-top burners. She led me lickety-split into the center of the house while excitedly yelling for my younger sister to come quick. Cathy was playing dolls in her room. Cathy ran into the room to see what all the commotion was about, then grabbed on to mom.

“Get down!” Mom commanded as she pushed us toward the floor with her arms around us. “Cover your heads … get down!”

We did, and my mom started saying the Lord’s Prayer very intently, leading my sister and me. And it was recited with immediate, intense sincerity.

At six-years-old, I didn’t fully understand what was going on, but I knew my mom was scared for us. And that frightened me. Danger was lurking. I could feel my heart racing. My sister started crying. My mom did too.

Just like in Dorthy’s tornado simulation, the windows rattled, curtains flapped around. The wind picked up speed rapidly, and at the peak, the noise was so loud it sounded like, similar to how others have described, a freight train in the sky going right over our house. The loud noise faded almost as fast as it came. The air was still again. Silence.

We had been in the path of the tornado, but it shifted course, narrowly avoiding us.

Our house had some roof damage, but the neighbor’s home suffered more. I remember a tree was knocked down nearby. Limbs and debris were scattered about the yards.

My dad rushed in the door hugging us all tighter than ever.

It’s all vividly archived in my memory, along with the chicken dinner mom was making. When we finally sat down to eat, my mom was still very emotional, saying several times, “this meal could have been our last.” Later we found out three people were killed.

The next day my dad drove all of us to the nearby areas to survey the destruction. It’s hard to believe such devastation was caused by that funny cloud in the shape of a funnel. And by happenstance, I had seen it coming through the screen door.

When the tornado came to Dorthy’s house in the fictional story, she was knocked unconscious, before being swept up into the sky. She found herself transported to a strange land, a place that morphed her black-and-white Kansas farm world into one filled with color in the Land of Oz. It was exciting, both the place and the new friends she met. But Dorthy, as a result of the terrible, yet color filled eye-opening ordeal realized what was most important to her, she wanted only to return home, to her family in Kansas.

Unlike Dorthy, I wasn’t knocked out or transported to any magical place via the tornado I lived through. But I do know what Dorthy came to realize. My family, my home, is the most valuable thing I have in life. Not the house, which can be blown apart in an instant by a funny cloud, but the most valuable thing of all: home, and all the word means. Home is the place where someone cares about us; where we are protected, understood and loved.

As Dorthy famously says in the final act of the movie, “There’s no place like home.”

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