#g: shiny black VP

[danfanciesphil]

How about they meet while teaching in the same school au? I know there are already ones like this but idk

i like this one. 

thank you, honey x

It had never been Dan’s first choice, career-wise. 

As a matter of fact, throughout his university years, he’d always looked upon his graduate friends with scorn if they’d gone into predictable, un-specialist jobs like marketing or real estate - things that have nothing to do with the degrees they spent three or four years obtaining. 

But then university had ended, and Dan had been thrown, quite unprepared, into the cutthroat world of job-seeking. 

He’d tried, of course, to find jobs in his field, but as it turns out, there aren’t many people in need of sociology majors nowadays. He’d flirted with the idea of doing a masters course, but that shit is expensive, and by the time he’d gotten around to considering applications, the deadline had already passed. 

So, he’s twenty-two, fresh out of Manchester University, all but still clutching his freshers-week wristband, with no prospects whatsoever, and a rapidly depleting bank account. With his rent deadline looming over closer, he decides to just suck it up and look on his university’s ‘graduate scheme’ page. 

Marketing is definitely out, as Dan can’t stand the way people in those jobs talk. The idea of driving the young, naiive hopefuls that he once was around to different shitty flats and house shares in a company Fiat, lying through his teeth to persuade them to part with their maintenance loans for a damp-riddled, cockroach-infested prison cell is also too much to bear. 

So, with reluctance, Dan starts looking through the adverts for the one job he thinks he can just about handle, and that might have a chance of taking him on:

Teaching Assistant. 

Low pay, early mornings, and screaming adolescents five days a week. The idea of it iss not appealing. 

Nevertheless, he diligently sends out his CV and some cover letters to local secondary schools, then quickly closes all tabs pertaining to it in order to watch some Stranger Things. 

The following morning, he wakes up to an email inviting him for an interview. 

*

Four months of training, a fuck ton of reading manuals, health and safety guides, curriculums and other such palava, Dan finds himself being led down an eerily empty school corridor towards his first actual class. 

Even the tapping of his shoes against the shiny linoleum floor of this place is beginning to bring back horrible high-school memories. He shudders, asking himself for the umpteenth time why the fuck he ever took this stupid job. 

Think of the money, he tells himself. 

“…so don’t expect the students to be too enthused.” Vice Principal Green finishes, briskly striding along just ahead of Dan. 

“I’m sorry?” Dan asks.

Vice Principal Green looks over his shoulder. “I was just saying that as it’s the first day back, the students will likely be a little more… sluggish than usual.”

“Oh.” 

“Don’t worry!” Vice Principal Green says brightly, his cheeks rosy as he gives Dan a broad smile. “I’m sure you and Mr Lester will get them back into their regular rhythms soon enough!” 

“Yeah,” Dan says, smiling back. He doesn’t add that the idea of motivating a shit-ton of sullen teenagers to do schoolwork after a month and a half of fucking around all summer is petrifying. “Mr Lester? Is that-”

“That’s who you’ll be assisting for your first lesson, yes.” VP Green says, coming to a halt outside a door marked ‘Classroom 9′. “He’s been a history professor here for two years now. You’re in luck, as he’s an excellent teacher, and particularly popular amongst the students. It’s always much harder for the TA’s if the teacher is incompetent or disliked.” 

“Oh…” Dan says, feeling his stomach quiver. “Well, that’s… good, I guess.” 

“Yes, there’s no better person to get your bearings with, I assure you.” 

Dan nods, eyeing the closed door in front of them with a modicum of fear. Behind it is a class of twenty-six Year Nine students, all of whom he is going to have to help this ‘Mr Lester’ to control. 

Dan’s never liked teenagers anyway. He didn’t even like being one. 

Why the hell did he take this job?

“Well then, unless you have any more questions, it’s almost nine o’clock.” VP Green says, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “Ready to be thrown to the lions?”

Dan laughs politely, but it comes out sounding nervous and weak. Embarrassingly, VP Green places a reassuring hand on Dan’s shoulder, smiling that broad smile again. 

“Brave face, Daniel!” VP Green says. “Or should I say, Mr Howell.” 

Dan swallows, hating the sound of that already. “Right.” 

Then, VP Green is removing his hand and opening the door in front of them. 

There’s a hum of chatter amongst the students as they converse excitedly about their summers, catching up with one another after the long break. They’re sat in pairs, two to a table, though they lean across chairs and kneel beside one another in order to be able to speak with their friends. 

Just as Dan remembers it, the faint scent of Lynx body spray and that suffocating girly equivalent hovers in the air. Apart from the fact that the girls in this class seem to have Cara Delevigne eyebrows painted onto their faces, and the boys are all sporting that haircut with the shaved sides and the quiff, Dan imagines he could be walking into his own class back in Reading.

War flashbacks attack him from all sides. 

“Ah, Mr Lester,” VP Green bellows, grinning widely. “Glad to see you’ve survived the long break!” 

Dan turns his head, watching VP Green stride from the door towards the front of the classroom, over towards a wooden desk in the corner, beside which stands a tall young man in a red and black checkered shirt. 

The young man grins back, placing the papers back down upon his desk as he shakes the outstretched hand extended towards him by the Vice Principal. 

“Hah, I thought about running off and never returning, but alas-” he places a dramatic hand over his heart, gazing out at the uninterested teenagers before him. “Their thirst for knowledge is a siren call.” 

VP Green laughs heartily, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Dan just blinks in astonishment at the display. This man surely cannot be the famed ‘Mr Lester’ that was described to him a few minutes ago. 

For a start, the guy looks to be about Dan’s age. Perhaps a little older, as it’s difficult to tell with young men in their twenties, but definitely not by much. Also, he’s… attractive. 

Never once in all of Dan’s years of education has he ever felt anything more than a mild appreciation for his teachers or professors. Most of the time, he actually loathes them. 

To find one of the various downtrodden, weary, moody people Dan has had teaching him over the years attractive is something so alien to him that he can barely begin to comprehend it. 

But here is Mr Lester, looking like a damn snack in his short sleeved plaid, his thick-rimmed, scene-y glasses, and his actual goddamn skinny jeans. Dan has no idea how to respond. 

“Who’s the lanky nonce gawping at Mr Lester, sir?” A boy at the back of the class shouts, hauling Dan out of his inappropriate thoughts at once. 

Both VP Green and Mr Lester turn to the door, still smiling. 

“Ah, yes.” VP Green says, remembering Dan at last. “Everyone, take your seats now, that’s it. I’m going to introduce to you our newest Teaching Assistant, Mister Howell.” 

Dan gives the class an awkward wave. “Hi.” 

“Good morning, Mister Howell.” The class sings in one, unified, monotone.

It’s unexpected, and Dan stands like a lemon for a moment, dumbed by the strange, cult-like chant. 

“Um, g-good morning.” 

“Hey, knock it off you lot.” Mr Lester says around a wry smile. “He knows this isn’t Primary School. No more teasing the new TA on his first day, alright?” 

The class chuckles, and Phil grins at them all, shaking his head in mock-disapproval. His tongue peeks through the thin gap between his two rows of teeth as he smiles; Dan instantly melts at the sight of this. 

“Right, well I’ll be leaving you in Mr Lester’s capable hands,” VP Green says to Dan, clapping him once on the shoulder. He glances at Mr Lester apologetically. “Sorry, but I must run - first day back and everything. A thousand things to do. Are you alright to introduce yourselves?” 

“No problem,” Mr Lester says brightly. He places his hand on Dan’s upper back. “I’ll take care of him.” 

VP Green nods, smiling at them both before walking to the door. He waves to the class, none of whom seem to notice, and then disappears into the hall, closing the door behind him. 

Dan swallows, realising that now he is truly on his own. Well, apart from Mr Lester, that is. 

Gathering himself, Dan turns to shake Mr Lester’s hand. He has warm, large hands, which are surprisingly soft to the touch. He draws his own hand away quickly, cheeks warming as he realises what a weirdo he’s being for even noticing something like that. 

“Hey,” Mr Lester says, quieter now, so the kids won’t hear. “I’m Phil. Welcome to the Algerian War.” 

“Cool, I’m Dan- wait, what?” 

Phil just grins enigmatically, then spins on his heel to face the front of the class. 

“Right gang! We’ve got an hour.” Phil says, clapping his hands together. “You know the drill, get the tables out of the way, c’mon.” 

“Um…” Dan stutters. “Sorry, what is happening right now?” 

Phil laughs at Dan’s bewildered expression as the students hop animatedly out of their seats. Scraping sounds fill the air as they push their tables and chairs to the edges of the room, leaving a huge space in the centre.

“You’ll see,” Phil says, whispering it into Dan’s ear. 

Not realising Phil had gotten that close, Dan shudders, somewhat embarrassingly. He can smell the toothpaste Phil must have brushed his teeth with this morning on his breath. 

Oblivious to Dan’s reaction - thank God - Phil turns his attention back to the class. “Okay, yeah, but let’s use the tables to make two sets of barricades- yep one on either side of the room. That’s it, Jonah! Yeah, stack ‘em up Katie! Why not?“

“I’m not sure they covered this in training…” Dan says as Phil walks boldly into the space created in the centre, surveying the work of the students. 

“Looks good guys!” Phil says, ignoring Dan entirely now. “Let’s get these barricades up quickly. Do you hear the people sing…?”

The students groan at the sound of Phil’s off-key singing, and Dan barks a laugh, unable to believe that Mr Lester, supposed genius history teacher, just launched into the chorus of a Les Misérables song in the middle of class. 

Phil turns to face him then, grinning happily. “Get involved, Mr Howell!” He urges, walking over to grab Dan by the arm. “Are you my TA or not?”

“Well, yeah but… what do you want me to do?” 

“Are you deaf? We’re making our barricades!” 

So, not knowing how else to proceed, Dan obediently begins helping a nearby bunch of thirteen to fourteen year olds stack the tables and chairs until they have made a pretty impressive (and moderately safe) barricade. 

“Okay!” Phil cries in a surprisingly loud, deep voice. “Right, if you’re born in the months of July to December, get on the right side of the room. If you’re born from January to June, left side.” 

Dan stays on the left as instructed, listening in wonder to whatever this peculiar, charismatic man is about to say. 

“So, the Algerian war.” Phil says, hands on his hips. “Who knows what it was about?” 

A hush falls over the classroom. Dan has to admit, even he has no clue on this one. 

“Who knows when it was?” Phil asks.

Again, he is met with silence.

“Where it was fought?” 

Phil waits, sweeping his laser-blue eyes over the blank faces. He lands on Dan, smirking. “Mr Howell? Any ideas on this one?” 

Absurdly, Dan blushes, feeling as though he’s just been singled out by one of his own teachers. He reminds himself that this is merely a replica of a traumatic time, and that he is actually in charge here, with Phil. He and Phil are - supposedly - on the same team. 

Nevertheless, he doesn’t know the answer. 

For some reason though, he decides to give it a shot. “Uh, Algeria?”

The class titters, and Phil smiles. “Good work, Mr Howell. Gold star.”

Just before Phil turns away, Dan swears he sees him wink. 

“See?” Phil asks the others. “Not all my questions are designed to trick you.” 

Over the next few minutes, Phil uses a variety of bizarre techniques to supply the class with the answers to the questions he just posed - including a game of charades, a session of mime, an actual interpretive dance, and signing. 

He is theatrical in his movements, and seems to be well aware that the class is laughing at him as he clumsily acts out the French revolution of May 1968, using every mildly offensive French stereotype in the book in order to do it. 

He laughs along with the rest of them, apparently more than happy to be the butt of their teenage jokes as long as the answer comes out eventually. Dan watches his unusual technique in amazement, finding that even he is learning, without really meaning to, as well as laughing along, enjoying himself with the others. 

Eventually, Phil moves to the front of the class, standing on his desk. He throws his arms wide, letting the groans and ‘sir, what’re you doin’ mate’ comments bounce off his chest. 

“Right!” Phil announces. “The year is 1954! It is time for the war to commence!” 

Dan raises an eyebrow, smirking at the display. 

“Those of you on the left are the Algerian natives fighting for independence from the French colony!” Phil declares, gesturing at Dan and his troop of thirteen year olds. He catches Dan’s eye, smiling mischievously. “And those of you on the right are the French military, determined to stop this uprising before it becomes outright anarchy!” 

“Wait,” Dan says, “we’re not actually gonna-”

“Trois, deux, un… fight!” Phil cries, jumping down from his desk as an unholy roar erupts throughout the class. 

To Dan’s utter horror, the students run at each other from opposing sides, their fingers becoming guns, their rulers and pencils transforming into knives and swords. 

Phil sidles over to him, nudging him in the side. “Why are you waiting on the sidelines, Dan? You’re letting the Algerians down!” 

Dan cannot speak. He watches as the students wrestle each other to the ground, fake-throttling one another, pretending to stab and wound and maim. 

Every single one of them is immersed in the imaginary bloodshed, their school-kid personalities gone for the time being. For now, Dan realises, each of these children is a soldier in the Algerian war. 

“This is amazing.” Dan can’t help saying. 

He shakes his head, marvelling as he watches a ‘French militant’ straddle a wounded ‘Algerian’, pinning her to the floor. She struggles against her oppressor’s grip in vain. 

“How dare you steal our land and our produce!” The ‘Algerian’ girl cries bitterly. “The Islamic people of Algeria were peaceful until you came and colonised us you fucking French frogs!” 

“Silence, citizen!” The ‘French militant’ snarls. “We dragged your sorry excuse for a country out of the depths of poverty! What use will this insubordination bring you? Do you know how many would die to be French?” 

The ‘Algerian’ girl spits at him. “Good for them! Because I’d rather die than become French!” 

“Then die you shall!” 

He mimes stabbing the ‘Algerian’ girl through the heart. She chokes, then falls silent, her head lolling to the side. Dan wants to give the two of them a round of applause. 

“They get really into it.” Phil muses happily, still beside Dan. “History is so much more exciting when you can really put yourself in the shoes of the people involved. That’s what I find, anyway.” 

Dan turns to Phil, feeling pretty dazed by him at this point. The azure blue of his eyes locks onto Dan’s, drowning him in skies and oceans and bubblegum ice cream. 

“You’re not like any teacher I’ve ever met.” Dan says quietly, a little dizzy still. 

The shrieks and clatters of the warring teenagers still echoes around the room, creating a strange, lively atmosphere. 

“In a good way?” 

Dan considers this. If he’d had a history teacher as cool and exciting as Phil when he was in school, he almost definitely would have learned substantially more than he did. Either that, or he’d know a lot less, because there’s an equally good chance he’d spend every history lesson staring at, and fantasising about, his hot teacher.

“Definitely a good way.” Dan answers,

Phil smirks, and Dan almost collapses at the sight of it. “That’s good.” 

“Why is that good?” 

Phil chuckles lowly. He takes a step closer to Dan, making his lungs seize up. 

“Think I might get jealous if you had a different favourite teacher to work with.” 

Dan swallows, trying very, very hard to see this obvious flirtation as something entirely platonic. 

“Well… it’s only my first lesson on my first day.” Dan says, sounding bolder than he feels. “I’ve got classes with plenty of other teachers yet.”

Phil nods, running his gaze quickly up and down Dan’s body. “I see, so you’re not picking favourites just yet?”

Dan grins at him. “Not yet.”

“Hm,” Phil nods, turning away with a smirk. All of a sudden, the bell rings. “Alright everyone, cease fire! Time to head to your next classes. Let’s get these tables back in order before we leave, shall we?”

“Wait!” A long, dark haired girl interrupts, indignant. “Sir, who won the war? Don’t leave us hanging!” 

“Ah,” Phil grins. “An excellent question, the answer to which…” He pauses dramatically. “I will be saving for next class!” 

There’s an enormous, collective groan. Dan marvels at it, wondering if he’s ever groaned in frustration at a class being cut short before. 

The students chatter animatedly as they restore order to the classroom, and Dan helps them get everything back into place. At last, they’re all filing out of the door towards their next lessons, and Dan breathes a sigh of exhaustion.

He turns to Phil, feeling a little nervous at the prospect of being alone with him. 

“Okay, well it was good to meet you.” Dan says, suddenly a polite, nervous wreck. 

Phil laughs at him, but walks over and smiles, reaching out his hand. “You too, Dan.” They shake hands, but this time Dan doesn’t let go quite as fast. “Thank you for putting up with all the madness. You actually coped pretty well! I’m impressed. Most TA’s take a while to warm up to my… methods.” 

“I’m not most TA’s.” Dan says, meaning it as a joke. 

Phil regards him with a tilted head, still smiling. “No, I get the sense you’re not.” 

Dan coughs, reddening. “Well, I should get to my next class.”

“See you in 1962?” 

“Hah,” Dan responds, “yeah.”

He turns to leave, desperately floundering for some sort of witty, charming and flirtatious remark to leave Phil with.

“Oh, Dan?” Phil asks, and Dan whirls to face him, a little too eagerly perhaps. 

“Yep?” 

“Keep me updated on your list of favourite teachers, yeah?” 

Dan smiles, nodding. “Afraid you’ve got some competition in this school?”

“Mrs Laughton might be sixty-three and have a permanent scowl tattooed onto her face, but she’s got a certain… je ne sais quoi.” Phil says, leaning back onto his desk. He gives Dan a wink. “She could steal your top spot.” 

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Dan tells him honestly. Phil smiles broadly, a glimmer of something caught in the crystal blue of his eye.

Then, because he’s embarrassed, Dan ducks out of the room. 

Needless to say, every single one of his other classes that day seems spectacularly dull. He finds himself thinking about Phil throughout most of them anyway, barely able to focus on what the teachers are saying. 

The bell rings for lunch, at last, and Dan breathes a sigh of relief, heading down to the staffroom. He’s boiling the kettle for a much needed cup of coffee when he feels a presence beside him. Startled, he looks up, straight into the blue eyes of Phil Lester. 

“So?” Phil asks, smiling cheekily. “Any new contenders for Dan’s favourite teacher?”

Dan smiles, feeling his cheeks glow with warmth. He shrugs, attempting to be enigmatic as he pours the boiling water into his mug. 

“Maybe.” 

“Ooh, mysterious.” Phil says, catching on. “Keep me guessing. I like it.”

Dan coughs, his blush deepening. “It takes a lot to impress me, I’ll have you know.” 

“Hmm, interesting.” Phil says, watching Dan pour the milk into his mug. “Maybe I’ll have to introduce a new topic next week. Something more stimulating than the Algerian war.”

Dan raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh? Just for me?”

“I think you underestimate my commitment to being top of your favourite teacher list.” 

“So what topic could you introduce to peak my interest?” Dan asks, smirking. 

Without a word, Phil plucks the coffee mug from Dan’s hand and takes a sip, never breaking eye contact. “Well, around the time of the Algerian war, France was going through a kind of …decadent phase, liberally speaking.”

“Decadent?” Dan echoes, preoccupied with watching how Phil’s lips curl around the rim of the mug. 

“The lefties were chagrinned about all the censorship laws and the capitalist infrastructure of the Fifth Republic, so they acted out.” Phil explains, handing Dan his coffee back. “They made saucy films, wrote erotic novels, cavorted with each other as much as possible.” 

“I’m not sure that’s classroom appropriate, Phil.” Dan laughs, feeling the butterflies begin to burst from their chrysalis’ in his belly. 

“Yeah, you’re prob’ly right.” Phil agrees, eyes dragging over Dan’s body again. 

Dan blushes, sipping his coffee and nodding. Phil stands up straight, as if he’s about to leave. Just before he does, he leans in close to Dan, their faces dangerously close. 

“Maybe we should save that lesson for after class.” 

Before Dan can respond, Phil has drifted away, already immersed in conversation with Mrs Laughton, a geography teacher. 

For fuck’s sake, Dan thinks, trying to will his brain to calm down after that unexpected comment, he absolutely cannot let himself get involved with a teacher. 

No matter how intimidatingly hot and amazing he is. 

Dan watches Phil talk animatedly at the sour-faced Mrs Laughton, and realises belatedly that he’s actually biting his lip. Fuck. This is going to be one frustrating year. 

(Part Two!)

[coolblog2stuff-blog]

CPU ROTC: Continuing a tradition of excellence

The graduates of ROTC at the CPU Alumni Promenade and Concert Park.

On Saturday 30 March 2019, the ROTC Graduation and Oath Taking of the Reservist and Downing of Ranks Ceremony were held at the CPU Alumni Promenade and Concert Park. Four hundred and eighty two (482) CPU ROTC Cadets received their certificates in military training.

The program started with a processional at 0800H (military time). Annalie D. Gilongos, NSTP Coordinator gave the Welcome Remarks. The candidates for graduation were presented. Major Jo-An D. Petinglay, (PA), CPU ROTC Commandant. MSg Florante G. Geruldo (Res) PA read the Orders and Declaration of Graduates. 1LT Argie G. De Leon (Res) PA, Assistant Commandant, Introduced the Guest Speaker Dr. Irving L. Rio, VP for Academic Affairs, Central Philippine University.

The CPU cadets were dressed in fatigue uniform with buffed metal accessories and shiny black shoes. They marched in cadence – following orders from their officers. It can only be the same discipline and unity of the CPU ROTC through the years. It continues in the tradition of excellence that gave the ROTC many awards. The consistent performance and quality of discipline among the cadets CPU ROTC unit was once again shown during this year’s Tactical Inspection.

Centralian ROTC graduates dedicate themselves in the service of the community and for the glory of God.

Previous to the graduation, the Regional Annual Administrative and Tactical Inspection was held for the CPU ROTC Unit.  The Inspection Team arrived in CPU on 26 February 2019 and made a courtesy call to the University President Dr. Teodoro C. Robles at 0730H (military time). The commandant, Major Jo-Ann D. Petinglay briefed the President on the activity of Central Philippine University ROTC Unit (Headquarters of the 604th Community Defense Center, 6RCDG, ARESCOM).

At 0830H, LTC Nathaniel R. Villasor PA (RES), Chairman, RAATI Team was introduced by Major Petinglay. He was to assume the command and control of the CPU ROTC Unit immediately during the period of evaluation which ended up at 1130H.

The Evaluation included the Ceremonial Parade, Rank Inspection, Simultaneous Company Drill, Theoretical Exam and Military Stakes; Small Unit Leadership Tactics and Administrative Inspection.

[crimsonheart01]

Waging Wars (Happy x Reader)

Well this came out of nowhere. Definitely didn’t plan for this to happen but here’s a continuation of After the Storm. 

Word Count: 3,548

Playlist: Use Somebody - Kings of Leon

All heads turned as the shiny black Mercedes G-Class truck pulled into the compound. It wasn’t every day that a car this expensive rolled in. I scanned the area, pausing to take in all the faces sitting outside the clubhouse. There was a blond that I would bet my life was Teller, but I couldn’t know for sure unless he looked up. Everyone else was someone I didn’t recognize from my days as an Old Lady. I guess things had changed—more than I had initially thought.

I advanced forward, turning my gaze to the shop. A tall kid, with thick glasses and a fresh kutte, pushed off his stool and began making his way towards me. Turning off the radio, I rolled down my window. I waited until he approached, and he greeted me with a welcoming smile. It was jarring. I wouldn’t have expected this kid, with a kutte, to seem so friendly.

With his bright smile, he addressed me, “How can I help you, ma’am?”

I fought the cringe at his use of the word ma’am. I didn’t look that old, did I? I know I’d gone and cleaned up my act, but that didn’t mean I still wasn’t me—always a Charming girl at heart. I scratched at the phantom itch on my thigh. The movement caused me to glance down at my outfit. The smart pantsuit suddenly seemed over the top, a farce. Why did I come back here again? Who was this woman I was pretending to be? I sighed and glanced back at the kid.

“I’m looking for Happy. Happy Lowman?” To say the kid was shocked may have been an understatement. The kid’s eyebrows rocketed into his hairline, and I came up with the lamest excuse I could think of on the spot, “He – uh – did some work on a car for me, a few years ago. I just wanted him to take a look at this one for me.”

Without much else to say, he shrugged and turned. I spotted the Prospect rocker on the back of his kutte and nodded. Of course. They always had the Prospects doing their dirty work around the shop. I pushed the car into park and waited. I stared at the line of Harley’s, all parked in their specific spots. I forced myself not to examine the details of each one. I figured I’d still be able to identify his without any issues unless he started driving a new model. I glanced back at the clubhouse doors, seeing a blond head as it snapped up when the Prospect approached him. The blond stood, leaning over, and my eyes locked in on the baby blue ones staring at me. My intuition was right. It was Jax.

Something close to frustration, maybe even distrust flashed over his face before he gave a curt shake of his head. I deflated visibly at the answer, knowing what the Prospect asked. Happy wasn’t here. The Prospect spun around and began his walk towards me. In a moment of self-consciousness, I lifted my hand to my hair and tucked it behind my right ear. I forced myself from letting my eyes fall to my feet. I found myself questioning my decision to come back again. My sight glazed over as I tried to figure out where to go from here. There was a slight movement in my line of view, and it shook me out of my daze.

Jax reached out and grabbed the Prospect by the shoulder. Our gazes met again, and he tossed his cigarette onto the floor. He inclined his head in my direction as he spoke to the Prospect. The kid stopped walking over, and Jackson brushed past him, heading my way. I tilted my head in question. What was Jax doing? I crossed my arms, squeezing them to my chest and waited for him to reach me.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back in this little town ever again.” Jax’s voice lifted quietly in the small distance between us.

I shrugged. I didn’t have anything to say to that. I couldn’t explain to myself why I felt compelled to come back. Yet, here I was.

“Hap’s not here right now,” Jax said.

I nodded, shifting to turn, assuming the statement was also one of dismissal. However, Jax’s hand on my upper arm stopped me. I stared down at where he held me, reading the SONS rings on his fingers. Tears began to well in my eyes, and I blinked them away before he noticed. When I looked up, Jax’s mouth was turned down in a sympathetic frown. I swore to myself. So much for hiding the tears.

“He’s supposed to be back in an hour.” Jax murmured, “Let me talk to him. See where he’s at, ok?”

I shrugged again, swallowing before answering, “I guess.”

We stood in silence together. Jax was obviously recalling the fallout of my leaving. All I was remembering were the good times, the ones that overshadowed those ending missteps. I couldn’t deny that I missed him. I licked my lips, rolling them together and backed towards my truck. Jax let his arm fall back to his side, before shoving both hands into his pockets.

“I – uh – don’t have anywhere to go,” I mentioned, rubbing my hands together nervously. I took a moment to think and then started again, “I’ll be at the diner. I’ll stay for a few hours. Tell him that he can find me there.”

I didn’t turn to see Jax’s reaction but saw his nod of confirmation in the reflection of my truck. I opened the door and climbed back in.

As I shut my door, Jax commented, “Looks like you’ve been doing good for yourself.”

I flicked my eyes to him, keeping the sombre look on my face. I lifted my shoulders for the umpteenth time.

“Ever heard the saying ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’?” I responded.

He pursed his lips, realizing just how well I’d been doing. Making money didn’t mean I was happy. Being a lawyer didn’t mean I wasn’t lonely. Living in the city didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to bed without someone to share it. I pulled the door shut, threw the car into reverse and manoeuvred myself out of the parking lot.

I let out a shaky breath as I continued down the full small-town street. Each sidewalk, shop front, parking spot, held a memory for me. This town was where I grew up, made a home for myself and then abandoned it all trying to escape the Sons of Anarchy.

As I drove along, I reflected on the brief meeting. I wasn’t surprised at Jax’s initial hostility. We both remembered that I hadn’t been pleasant in my departure. There were a few choice comments made about their club, but I was angry and hurt. I had every right to be mean. Luckily for me, Jax must still possess a heart and noticed that I was experiencing remorse. I missed this town and all its problems. Most of all, I missed my Old Man. My Son. My Happy.

~(SOA)~

Jax watched as Clay welcomed Happy, Bobby and Tig as they rolled back in from their last assignment. His fingers curled around the cigarette in his mouth, and he inhaled in a deep pull. Clay approached him first, with a quick nod and a glance around. As a group, they all trooped into the clubhouse, reaching for bottles of beers and settling in their favourite spots. The music blared through the sound system, while women started filtering in from wherever they’d been. Jax kept his eyes on Happy, who seemed to be his usual self. No smile, no inkling of any emotion, smoking and drinking excessively. Nothing out of the ordinary. That was a semi-good sign. It meant that he was approachable, that he wouldn’t immediately throw up his defences. All Jax needed was a clue. One that he knew how to come by easily enough. He ordered a shot of whiskey, waiting with his hand out.

After she left, Happy never spoke of her again. He wasn’t a man who confided in his brothers about his feelings. They all saw that he was broken by the loss of his Old Lady, but they all knew not to ask him about it. For a while, everything relating to her brought forth a deep emotion and resulted in everything being destroyed. Until randomly one day about two years ago, Happy used a very familiar Zippo. It was striking to see something of hers that survived—one small momento.

The shot of whiskey slid down the bar, and Jax turned to catch it, shooting it back and slamming it back down. He licked his lips before patting his jeans for his smokes. He found the pack in his back pocket and tugged it out. This was it—the test of a lifetime. Jax patted the pack of cigarettes into the palm of his hand, sauntering over to the couch, where Happy was currently sitting. Without a word, Jax fell into the open seat available, propping his feet up onto the table. He extended his right arm along the arm of the couch before pulling one smoke from his pack and miming as he searched for a lighter, getting the attention of his brothers. With a deep breath, he faced Happy, giving him his trademark smirk.

“Gotta light?” Jax asked.

Happy raised one brow but reached down into his jean pocket, pulling the telltale flaming red Zippo out. He handed it over, and Jax nodded a thank you. He flicked it open, sparked it up and held it to the end of his cigarette. Once he’d lit his smoke, he flung the top closed and admired the lighter. Jax turned it around in his hand, noticing the etching of her name on the left side. Hoping to catch Happy’s attention, he muttered the name written there, and Happy’s gaze snapped to his VP. Jax licked his teeth before tossing the lighter back to Happy, who caught it in an instant.

“That’s a name I haven’t heard for a while,” Jax commented, blowing smoke out.

Happy continued to glare, clearly unsure of where Jax was going with the statement.

With a nonchalant shrug, Jax dropped the bomb, “Saw her today. She stopped by the shop.” Happy swallowed, his eyes widening the tiniest amount. Jax turned and deadpanned, “She was looking for you.”

Happy’s teeth clenched together, a small tick showing at the top of his jaw. The Prospect who was sitting close by caught the tail end of their conversation and leaned over.

“You talking about the smoke show who pulled up in the Mercedes today?” Phil inquired, genuinely curious about the woman.

Happy’s knuckles turned white around the grip he had on the lighter. Jax observed the reaction. He wanted to see how this played out. How was Happy going to address the Prospect talking about his former Old Lady like that? The kid didn’t know any better. Hap’s response was going to be the catalyst in this. That would indicate to Jax whether he should tell his brother where to find her. 

“Watch your mouth.” Happy growled.

Phil threw his hands in the air, taken aback by the killer’s tone. Jax hid his smile. He knew Happy still held a torch for her. Deep down, he was glad about that. It meant that the killer wasn’t as lost as they initially thought. It said that he was still a human among them.

“She’s at the diner. Said she’d wait for you there.” Jax inhaled another toke, blowing the smoke out.

Happy stood without another word, leaving his beer half-finished. He shoved the Zippo down into his pocket and stalked towards the exit of the clubhouse. As he rushed out, he could hear the looming question asked.

“Who is she?” The Prospect voiced.

Jax, with his eyes still watching Happy’s retreat, answered, “His Old Lady.”

~(SOA)~

Happy didn’t wait to hear the slew of questions that were likely to follow that tidbit of information. He stormed through the door, letting it slam shut in his wake. He deliberately left his mind blank, letting his business persona overtake him. Now wasn’t a time for emotions to be running wild. He needed a clear head. Figure out what prompted her return, and why now. He straddled his Harley, hastily securing his helmet and skid out of his parking spot. He rolled out onto the open street, revving the engine and roaring off down the empty road.

It didn’t take him long to reach his destination. There was only one diner in town where she would be. It was their diner—the one where they spent every Sunday afternoon, hungover and eating brunch. Instead of flying into the parking lot, he found himself idling next to the curb on the street. He pushed out the kickstand and turned off the engine. He plucked the keys from the ignition and dropped them into the pocket of his cut.

Taking a moment for himself, he leaned against the lamp post next to him, shoving one hand into his jeans pocket while the other rubbed down his face. He hid in the shadows, staring up at the clear glass windows of the establishment. It didn’t take him long to spot her, and his eyes gravitated to their spot without any conscious effort. That was their booth. Of course, he’d find her sitting in it. What was she thinking, coming back after all these years? Did she just expect it to all be fine? His eyes roamed over her appearance, and something deep down struck him. An innate protectiveness he forgot he possessed. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, watching the waitress offer her some more coffee. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked defeated.

His hands curled into fists as he fought with himself. She had no right to show up out of the blue and invoke these feelings in him. Who did she think she was, showing up at TM without any notice? She didn’t have that right anymore. She wasn’t welcome on their property any longer. That bridged was burned.

On the other hand, she was sitting there alone with a frown etched onto her face. Her hands cupped around her mug, and she stared off into the distance. She was blank and empty. That familiar surge of pure will to keep her safe rose into his chest again. He clenched his teeth, uncomfortable with the way his body was reacting to her presence. What irked him the most was how much of her physical appearance he noticed. Her hair was shorter, back to her natural colour, and plainly cut. Her makeup was minimal, attempting a more natural look. He also couldn’t spot the telltale hoops she used to wear.

He closed his eyes, the image of her from their past still fresh in his mind. He stayed put, watching her from the shadows of under the street lamp. The sun continued to set until the sky was completely black. In all honesty – he was surprised she stayed. She was so quick to leave him, so ready to disappear from his life altogether that he would never have expected her to wait for him. Especially now that he keyed together that Jax was the one to intercept her earlier. His VP obviously wasn’t one hundred percent sure he could tell him where to find her, which meant she’d been here for the better part of the day. Waiting.

His fingers brushed along the edge of the lighter in his pocket. His nail picked against the etching of her name. He thought he’d forgiven her, or at least could look past their differences. He enjoyed having the memories of her. Seeing her in person shifted something in him. He was angry, but also, he felt the ache in his arms She was still his Old Lady after all. He’d never taken on another one. She was the woman who stood by him through years of club violence and turmoil. She even stood firm when he transferred to Tacoma. He knew how well he had it, but he knew how bad he messed up when he came back to Charming. She’d been nothing but loyal, but he was caught up in being a Son and having women throwing themselves at him. He never gave it a second thought. He heaved out a deep sigh. He was a younger man then.

He pulled the Zippo out, wondering if she still had the crow he tattooed onto her for her 21st birthday. There was no way she’d be able to explain a brand that large easily. Maybe she’d gone and got it covered. The piece spanned her entire left thigh. If she ever planned to sleep with someone else, they’d notice. His anger flared up at the thought of someone else with their hands on her, and he had to swallow it down. A motion from the corner of his eye caught his attention, causing his head to snap up. He watched as she paid her bill, grabbed her purse and began the walk towards the front door. He held his breath. She was giving up. After waiting this long, she was leaving. His fingers clenched around the lighter in his hand. He was pissed that she was giving up yet again, but then also knew that it was because he was still standing out here, looking in.

“Fuck.” He swore out loud.

Taking the initiative, he moved. His feet pulling him in her direction. The bell chimed as she shoved the door open and turned away from him towards her vehicle. With slow and steady steps, he gained on her. From three cars away, he saw as she swiped at her eyes. Tears were beginning to streak down her cheeks. His heart tugged. He still loved her, a fact he couldn’t deny. She would always be his. Her hand delved into her purse and pulled out her keys. His eyes zeroed in on them, and he couldn’t mistake the charm she had hanging from them. He rubbed along the knuckle of his ring finger. She’d taken it with her: his first – the original – reaper ring.

He found himself a new one but never had the heart to don that finger with another ring. His left ring finger would always be for her. She fumbled with her keys, dropping them and bending to pick them up. He took this as his opening, his chance. With a few significant strides, he was crouched next to her, his hand covering hers. She startled, a small cry escaping from her lips before her head lifted to meet his gaze.

~(SOA)~

I swallowed, my entire body seizing as Happy crouched beside me. I didn’t think he was going to come. I assumed Jax had played me. Letting me think I had a chance to try and fix things. I turned my hand over, and Happy dropped the keys into my palm. We both took our time to stand up. He remained silent while we stood facing each other. Where did I start? How did I explain? I rubbed my hand against the right side of my face, closing my eyes and trying to center myself. With shaking hands, I reached out for him. To anyone else, his expression remained the same, but for me, I could see the small shift. He softened and allowed me to fall into him.

“I don’t like who I am without you.” I sobbed into his chest.

His arms constricted around me, causing me to let out a hysterical cry. No one had ever held me as he did. No one made me feel as safe nor as loved as he did.

“Come home.” His rasp sounded, “You always were my better half.”

I clutched him tighter to me. Afraid that this was real, that he wasn’t here. My body shook with vigour, as reality crashed down on me. I tried to reign in the hysterics building and escaping but couldn’t. Happy held me to him, gentle but firm. He was home.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured against my temple.

My fingers dug into the leather at his apology. It wasn’t needed, but I appreciated it. At least he realized he’d done something wrong. Knowing that I made the right choice, that coming back to Charming was what I needed, I pulled back. I reached up, resting my hand on his cheek. Neither of us was ready for the severe road our relationship had taken back then, but now we were sure of ourselves, of who we were as individuals.

I always knew I’d move through life loving him. Endlessly. I just didn’t know that I would ever find myself back in his arms. A warmth filled me, and I knew that this was it. He was it. I didn’t need anyone or anything else—just him. I recalled the promise we made each other all those years ago. I stepped in closer to him, letting his heat radiate against me.

I smiled up at him, tears of a happy kind streaming and whispered, “Forever.”

[slapthebass]

Source: music-guitar-instrument.blogspot.com>