The Hunter's Journal

jackiesjunkie @ 2009-09-04T13:32:00

2009-09-04T19:39:59Z

The rule was the same for all of us. You got one chance, one shot to do it right. It was our motto, our creed. There was no going back. There were no second chances. Do it right the first time because if you missed, more than likely you'd end up dead.

There were twelve of us in the group. We came from all over the country. Colorado, Oregon, New Mexico, Alaska, Missouri, Louisiana, Tennessee, New York, Alabama, North Carolina and Massachusetts. A bunch of those guys never made it back. Sometimes I wonder if maybe it's better that way. They can't see what the rest of us have become.

No, I don't mean the few of us who are still breathing. I mean our world in general. Most people seem to think it was a mistake, our going over there. Most kids today don't even know where Vietnam is, let alone why we were fighting. For the most part, we've been forgotten. Pushed into the background so the politicians wouldn't have to deal with their mistakes. They won't admit it. But I know the truth. I was there. I saw my friends killed before they had even reached their mid-twenties.

It's taken a long time. I've spent so many years running from the memories. But now it's time for me to face the past. This trip through hell won't be put off any longer.

CHAPTER 1
1984
Russell Vincent York stepped down onto the tarmac and let his eyes wander over the buildings and planes. He nodded to the pilot of the Piper Cub in a silent farewell before shouldering his duffel bag and making his way to the nearest hanger.

He paused in the open doorway to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. A familiar figure was bent over the engine of a dilapidated, dark blue pickup truck. He stifled a laugh when he heard the mumbled curses coming from the man. “Haven't you gotten that piece of junk running yet”?

Nicolas McLeod straightened abruptly and succeeded in smacking his head on the raised hood. He bit back another string of obscenities when he recognized the speaker. “How many times have I told you never to insult a man's truck?”

“Stick to the horses, Cowboy. It's the only thing you're good at.”

Nicolas slowly climbed off the pickup. “You're the last person I expected to see.” Picking up a rag, he proceeded to wipe the worst of the grime and grease off of his hands.

Russell shrugged. “You invited me, remember?”

Nicolas nodded. “Yeah, but I didn't thing you'd actually take me up on that offer.”

Turning as if to leave, he said, “Well, if you didn't want to see me...”

“Get back here, you bastard. I haven't seen you in more than ten years and I'm not letting you get away that easy.” He limped over to where Russell stood. “It's damn good to see you, Van Gogh,” he said sincerely.

Russell hesitated before grasping the hand Nicolas offered him. “It's been a long time, Cowboy. I'm not the same man you knew back then.”

A knowing look crossed Nicolas' face. “None of us that made it back are the same men we were, Van Gogh. Life happened to all of us.”

Glancing down, he asked, “When did you pick up the gimp leg?”

Nicolas shrugged, “Couple years back. I had a big buckskin I was trying to saddle break. I got a lot of practice in on my flying dismount with that fella. One day I just landed wrong. Messed up a bunch of tendons and ligaments in my knee. It's not too bad but it gets stiff sometimes.”

The two men walked toward the back of the hanger where a table and chairs sat. Nicolas poured a couple cups of coffee and held one out to Russell. He carefully lowered himself onto the metal chair across from his friend. “So how have you been? Fill me in, we've got a few hours before the others are due in.”

Russell raised his eyebrows. “You kept in touch with all of them?”

“Kept track of them.” Letting out a low sigh, he confessed, “I never could let go of the guys the way you did. I wish I could but they were all I had.” He took a sip of his coffee before he continued. “We're down to four now. You, me, Stretch and Fishface.”

Russell stared at a curved scratch on the surface of the table. Absent-mindedly, he traced the line. “You ever wonder why we were the ones who came back?”

Nicolas nodded. “All the time.” His stomach rumbled, breaking the tension growing between them. “Come on, Van Gogh. There's a great little restaurant just a couple miles down the road. My treat, what do you say?”

Russell eyed Nicolas suspiciously. “Are you trying to bribe me with food?”

Nicolas grinned. “Does it still work?”

Laughing, Russell said, “Yeah.”

“Good. Let's go.”

Three and a half hours later, they had begun to get accustomed to each other again. They were lounging at the rear of the hanger when the sound of raucous laughter caught their attention. “You think it's...” Russell began.

Nicolas nodded. “Who else?” It didn't take long before the two men were joined by the owner of the laugh and his companion.

Kent Bridger smirked at the sight of the two men sitting at the table. He glanced down at his companion. “Well, what do you know? The prodigal returns.”

Ezekial Johnson playfully punched the taller man in the arm. “I told you Cowboy could get Van Gogh to come down out of those mountains.”

Russell and Nicolas both stood as Ezekial and Kent approached the table. Russell chuckled and shook his head. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've gotten taller, Stretch. But I know for a fact you've gotten uglier, Fishface.”

Ezekial laughed. “Mind over matter, my friend. Some of us aren't obsessed with our looks.”

Kent crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, I was all for getting together with you guys when Cowboy called me. But you got me curious, LT. What's this all about?”

“Grab your stuff. I'll explain when we get out to the ranch.”

Kent glanced back and forth between Nicolas and Ezekial for a minute before asking, “If he's the Cowboy,” motioning at Nicolas, “and he's the Indian,” pointing at Ezekial, “what does that make us, Van Gogh?”

Russell tilted his head to one side as he considered Kent's question. “You really don't want to know the answer to that question, Stretch,” he finally said, waggling his eyebrows.

Kent groaned and rolled his eyes. “Meum cerebrum nocet.” All three men looked at him questioningly. “My brain hurts.”

“Well, if you would quit using all those fancy Latin words, your brain wouldn't hurt so much,” Ezekial teased.

“I'm beginning to think Mockin'bird was right. You are educated beyond your intelligence,” Russell taunted.

Kent glared at the pair. An impish grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he said, “Veni, Vidi, volo in domum redire.”

All three men roared with laughter at the phrase they had heard so many times in the past. In unison, the four quoted, “I came, I saw, I want to go home.” After they had regained their composure, Russell sighed, “It's good to see you guys again.”

They gathered their belongings and left the hanger. Nicolas locked the doors before leading the other three to a parking lot where his Jeep was waiting.

Kent immediately laid claim to the front seat, asserting he needed more leg room than either Russell or Ezekial. Ezekial kindly offered to cut him off at the knees to make him fit better. Russell suggested a deuce and a half troop carrier would be a less messy solution. Back and forth the two went making outlandish suggestions as they rode to the ranch.

The sun was just beginning to set when they pulled up in front of the house. Nicolas pointed out the main buildings to the others. Once inside, he showed them the bedrooms where they would be sleeping. The men deposited their luggage in their respective rooms before following their host back downstairs to the living room.

Nicolas waited until the others had found comfortable places to sit before he began. “For the past few years, I've been doing a little snooping into the records and reports from the war years. There are a lot of questions that have remained unanswered for a long time. Especially when it comes to our boys who didn't make it back home.”

“Now, you guys know that a lot of what happened over there was hushed up. We all got sent into places where we weren't officially supposed to be. But Washington denies it, just like they always have. Our missions, our targets, our casualties were deemed classified. It's like they never existed because if the details got out now, there would be a lot of people asking questions. The boys in the Agency don't want to have to answer those questions.”

“I know they don't like me poking my nose in their business. I've had warnings to quit looking for the answers I want; to quit looking for proof. Two months ago, I got a call from Bowers. He didn't say who had told him about me looking through the information I had managed to dig up but he warned me to drop it. The last thing he said to me was, 'Nicolas, I know those guys meant a lot to you. But please, let it go. He wasn't your brother.'” He stared at Russell for a moment. “How much do you remember?”

CHAPTER 2
1968
The July sun beat down on the group of Marines. For weeks they had been training, testing, learning. They were the best in the Corps, striving to be the best of the best. Only a few would be chosen to receive the specialized sniper scout training.

It was more than just their scores on the firing range that mattered. They were tested on their tracking skills, there were evasive maneuvers exercises, camouflage techniques and, of course, the psychological examination.

There had been nearly fifty men wanting to become part of the sniper scouts. Only twelve were chosen; ten enlisted men and two officers. Some of them had been in the military for years. Others were fresh out of boot camp. They were paired up into six teams, each man able to act as either sniper or spotter. Erik Thompson of Boston, Massachusetts was teamed up with a handsome Seminole from High Point, North Carolina named Ezekial Johnson. Jefferson Greene, the son of a Mobile, Alabama preacher was paired up with Buffalo, New York native Matthew Hayes, a graduate of Berklee College of Music. Robert Chamberlain, the Elvis fan from Memphis, Tennessee was partnered with Beau Davis, a part-time pilot from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. James Rivers, a Cherokee from Kansas City, Missouri was placed with Todd Richards, a young Aleutian from Nome, Alaska. Nicolas McLeod, a true western cowboy from Santa Fe, New Mexico was paired with Kent Bridger, a 6'5” Italian from Bend, Oregon. The final team was comprised of 19 year old Jeremiah Roberts and his 21 year old half-brother Russell York, both of Aspen, Colorado.

It didn't take them long to realize that they would be the loners, the self-made outcasts of the Corps. Their training was geared for one and two men missions rather than platoon sized maneuvers. With their partners, they learned to disappear into the trees and underbrush. They learned to survive on minimal food and water. They learned to kill with a single shot without hesitation.

By their last day before being shipped out to the war, each of them had earned a special call sign. Each of them knew their chances of returning alive weren't good. It was easier to call someone by a nickname to keep from becoming too attached to them.

They had gathered in the mess hall that evening to celebrate what might be their last night together. An impromptu ceremony of sorts started around the table where Erik, Ezekial, Robert, James, Todd and Kent were playing a game of five card draw poker.

Erik received some good natured teasing from the other players when he refused to touch the cards until James had finished dealing. “I tell you, boys, you should never touch the cards until the dealer is finished. It's bad luck.” He picked up his cards and studied them intently. “So now that we've all got our call signs figured out, we should make them official. Say your new name and explain what it means. I'll start. I'm Crusher. I used to be on both the boxing team and the wresting team in college.”

Nicolas was next. “I'm Cowboy. I've spent all my life living and working on different ranches around New Mexico.”

James tossed his cards onto the table shaking his head. He folded his hands together in front of his mouth and gave a realistic impression of a great blue heron. “They call me Mockin'bird 'cause I can imitate birds' calls and people's voices.”

Ezekial leaned his chair back and said, “Let me tell y'all a joke. There was this fella who went fishing one day and he saw an old Chinaman standing out in the water. Now, he was curious so he decided to watch him a while. After a bit, the Chinaman ever so slowly reached down into the water and pulled out a fish. He held it up and stared right at it. After a few minutes, the fish's eyes started to slant just like the Chinaman's. So he goes over to the Chinaman and he asks him how he does it. The Chinaman tells him, 'Mind over matter,' and points at his head. So the fella figures he'll try it. If the Chinaman can do it, so can he. So he stands out in the water for a while and when a fish swims by he grabs it. He stares as hard as he can at the fish, concentrating, until all of a sudden...” Ezekial sucked in his cheeks and crossed his eyes, making a fish face.

There were groans all around the table. Mockin'bird sighed and shook his head. “Believe it or not, you got the name Fishface because you're uglier than homemade sin. It had nothing to do with that joke you keep telling.”

Todd scoffed at him. “Don't you believe a word he says, Fishface. You're as pretty as a new pair of snow tires.”

Beau stood on one of the nearby tables and spread his arms out as far as he could reach. “My name's T-Bird. I fly World War 1 bi-planes and tri-planes just like the Red Baron used to do.”

Russell went next. “I got hooked with the name Van Gogh. I was born on his birthday and someone was kind enough to tell all the rest of you that I like to draw and paint.” He eyed Jeremiah suspiciously.

“Hey, don't look at me. I didn't tell them anything,” he said innocently.

Crusher chuckled. “Boy, if the good die young, you're gonna live forever.”

“Wouldn't take much to outlive an old fart like you,” he shot back.

Crusher squinted one eye and raised the other eyebrow. “You think you can take me? Come on, hit me with your best shot.”

Jeremiah shook his finger at Crusher and warned, “One of these days, my friend, someone is gonna take you up on that offer. You better be careful. Fighting is bad for your health.”

The men burst into another round of laughter. Russell asked, “Have you forgotten where we're going, little brother?”

With a look of mock terror, Jeremiah said, “Tell me it isn't so! There's going to be fighting in the war? Whatever shall I do?”

Fishface offered an interesting bit of advice. “Don't drink the water. The fish pee in it.”

Robert's advice was a bit better. “Don't go looking for trouble, it'll find you soon enough.”

Kent pushed his chair back from the table and stretched his muscles. “I got labeled Stretch because I'm taller than any of you. My advice is quando omni flunkus moritatus. When all else fails, play dead.”

Matthew came over and thumped Fishface on the back. “See there? Short, sweet and to the point. Take a lesson from Stretch and learn when to shut up.” He looked around at the other guys and said, “I've been given the name Hummer. I studied classical music and opera at Berklee College of Music. I have a bit of a habit of humming arias.”

Jefferson grinned, “I think if you're doing something constantly, it's more than just a bit of a habit. We don't claim to understand you, Hummer. We don't know why you do what you do. But as the Good Book says, 'Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.' He never said you had to sound good. Thankfully for us, you do. I'm the Preacher. My daddy is a preacher and some of his teachings over the years have managed to stick with me.”

Robert began shuffling the cards for the next hand. “My name is Graceland. I've been a fan of Elvis since before I could walk or talk according to my mom.”

Jeremiah spoke up next. “I'm Germ. No matter what your bad habit may be, I can tell you how it could someday kill you. Careful with those cards, Graceland. You could get a paper cut. Those are extremely dangerous you should know. You could develop gangrene and die.”

Todd was the last to speak. “You boys, being the astounding intellectuals that you are, named me Igloo because I come from Nome, Alaska. Believe it or not, Nome does have running water and electricity. It does get warm in the summer. We do have cars. We don't all have dog sleds. We have houses, not igloos. We eat the same foods as folks in the lower 48, not just fish and seals. I don't have a pet polar bear.”

Graceland dealt the cards and said, “Ante up, boys. Tomorrow we're leaving the world and I plan on winning all your money before then.” He glanced at Preacher and asked, “Where's that verse at? The one that says something like let's eat and drink because tomorrow we're all going to die.”

“It's the book of Isaiah, chapter twenty-two verse thirteen. 'And behold joy and gladness, slaying oxen, and killing sheep, eating flesh, and drinking wine: let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we shall die.'”

“Anyone ever tell you how depressing you can be sometimes, Graceland?” Hummer asked.

Stretch considered the cards in his hand for a long moment before raising the bet. Before long, only he and Igloo remained in the game. “Show me what you've got, kid. See if you can beat this.” He dropped his cards onto the table to reveal a full house of jacks and fives.

Igloo sighed dramatically. “I don't know what to tell you, Stretch. All I have are these three eights.” He faltered briefly before showing the other two cards he held. “Well, I also have two aces. Are they any good?” he asked with a not so innocent grin.

Stretch stared at Igloo incredulously. “You're unbelievable, you know it, kid?”

“Aces and eights. They call that the dead man's hand. It's the same hand Wild Bill Hickok had the night he was killed. He had made the mistake of sitting with his back to the door. Never sit with your back to the door when you're playing for money. I sure hope your luck is better than his was, kid,” Crusher said as he gazed down at the cards on the table.

Hummer shook his head. “Don't listen to his superstitious beliefs, Igloo. He's just trying to get a rise out of you because you're the snuffie of the group and the youngest to boot.”

Mockin'bird frowned at Crusher. “Lay off my partner, will you, man? It's not his fault he hasn't been in the Corps long enough to make it past Private First Class ranking.”

Hummer chuckled. “Mockin'bird, you of all people ought to know that out here, if it happens to you, it's your fault. Besides, it could be worse. He could have been stuck doing pogey duty typing up our orders if he wasn't such a crack shot.”

Softly, T-Bird said, “Better to be a pogey typing orders than a pogey typing the notifications to the families of the boys who don't make it.” He rose from his seat and said, “I don't know about you, guys, but I've got to get some sleep tonight. We've got to be on a plane at five in the morning and you all know as well as I do that if we even think about being late, the Captain will take each of us out and beat us like red-headed step-children.”

The men agreed that like it or not, T-Bird was right. Gradually, they all made their way back to their quarters to get what little sleep they could before their trip in the morning.

CHAPTER 3

Flying to Da Nang wasn't that bad when you consider there was a war going on. The landing on the other hand was nothing short of heart stopping. In order to avoid sniper fire, the pilot practically had to dive bomb the airport to land. They made it down in one piece though and were greeted by the sweltering heat and humidity which was typical for Vietnam during that time of the year.

The twelve snipers soon found themselves in the office of Major David Bowers who would be assigning them to the locations where they were needed the most. They had been divided into three teams of four men each. Graceland, T-Bird, Mockin'bird and Igloo were sent to a camp not far from the Ia Drang Valley. Van Gogh, Germ, Hummer and Preacher were sent farther south, nearly all the way to Saigon. Stretch, Cowboy, Fishface and Crusher were stationed just outside of Da Nang.

They learned all they could about the land, the locals, the enemy. Usually they went out on their own to find the soldiers of the Viet Cong. Less often, they were sent along with patrols to the surrounding villages. The rainy season had begun in earnest when Graceland and T-Bird were sent on one of those patrols in early February of 1969.

Mockin'bird was lounging around the hooch, alternatively re-reading the latest letter he had received from Graceland's younger sister Melissa and listening to Igloo tell stories about life in Alaska.

“Summertime in Alaska is great. The sun doesn't really go down, it just goes behind Anvil Mountain. At the peak of summer, around 1:00 in the morning or so, the sun goes behind the hill so Nome is basically in shadow. It doesn't get pitch black; it's more of a twilight. Then around 4:00, the sun comes out around the other side of the hill.”

Mockin'bird glanced up from his letter. “How do you sleep if it doesn't get dark?”

Igloo grinned at him. “Closing your eyes seems to help. You get used to it though. Either that or you get really dark curtains for you bedrooms. The end of June to the first part of July is my favorite time of summer. There's always a big to-do for the Fourth of July and the Midnight Sun Festival.”

Mockin'bird shot him a curious gaze. “Just what, may I ask, is the Midnight Sun Festival all about?”

“Basically, it's a celebration of summer. There's a lot of stuff going on between Midnight Sun and the Fourth of July. We have one day where everyone who wants can gather at one end of Front Street and they take a town picture. You know, kind of like people do at Christmas when all the aunts and uncles and cousins show up. There are baseball tournaments that don't start until 10:00 at night, 3 AM barbecues on the beach, not to mention some of the weirdest races you can imagine.”

Mockin'bird grinned. “Sounds like you guys have a lot of fun.”

Igloo sighed in memory. “Yeah. My buddies and I had a yearly tradition. The first weekend in July, we'd load up all of our 4-wheelers onto trailers, fill up all the extra gas cans, cram as much food as we could carry into our coolers and head out the Kougarok Road. The dad of one of the guys had a camp out there. The only thing on the property was a 20 by 20 foot cabin and a little bitty shed out back. But there would be a dozen of us guys crammed in there for two or three days, eating and goofing off, barely sleeping. It was a blast.”

“Sounds like it.” He walked over to the entrance to the hooch to watch the pouring rain. “Hey, when are the guys supposed to be back again?”

Igloo thought for a few moments. “Well, they went out on patrol on Monday at dawn. It was scheduled as a three day patrol and it's Thursday now, so they should be getting back any time.” He picked up a deck of cards and began a game of solitaire. “I hope we get to go out by ourselves next time. I like going out with just you rather than all those guys in Captain O'Halliday's squad.”

Mockin'bird dropped back onto his bed. “Is that jerk Wallace giving you trouble again?”

Igloo shrugged as he flipped over another card. “He's mostly just talk. The only time he gets pushy is when he's been drinking.”

Mockin'bird snorted in response. “That guy is going to earn himself a spot in the Thirsty Thirteen if he keeps drinking as much as he has been. I can't figure out how such a scrawny guy can put away so much booze without any ill effects.”

Igloo shook his head. “What I can't believe is how he can drink that Tiger Beer stuff. I tried some of it right after I got here. I've never tasted anything so disgusting in all my life. Did you know they use formaldehyde to preserve it?”

Mockin'bird nodded. “Why do you think I stick to Budweiser?”

A sharp knock at the door drew the men's attention. They both had similar expressions of surprise and delight when they saw Stretch duck inside the hooch. “Did I hear someone mention Budweiser just now?”

Mockin'bird reached into his foot-locker and pulled out a beer. He handed it to Stretch and asked, “So did they run out of beer in Da Nang or did you just miss our company?”

Stretch took a few long swallows of the beer before he answered. “Neither one. I'm just running some errands for my CO and Cowboy wanted me to pass on a message to you boys.”

“Oh, yeah? What words of wisdom has your partner asked you to share with us?” Igloo asked.

He took another swallow of the Budweiser. “Cowboy said to tell you, 'Getting shot hurts. So don't get shot.' Those were his exact words.”

“How bad was he hurt?” Igloo asked, looking concerned.

Stretch grinned at the younger man. “Don't worry about him, kid. He's only in the hospital at Da Nang for the next few days. It wasn't bad enough to send him south, let alone out of the country.”

“Where'd he get hit?” Mockin'bird wanted to know.

Stretch smirked. “Well, he made me swear I wouldn't tell you guys the exact location because he thinks you'll laugh. But I can tell you this. He won't be sitting down on any hard surfaces for a while.”

All three men cracked up. “Send him our best wishes and tell him there are better ways of getting out of latrine cleanup.”

“I'll do that, Mockin'bird.” He glanced over as the door opened again to admit T-Bird and Graceland, both bedraggled and soaking wet.

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. How you doing, Stretch?” T-Bird asked.

Stretch gave T-Bird an odd look. “Better than you if you think you're a biscuit.”

“Speaking of butts...” Igloo said with a sly grin. “Do you think Cowboy will be getting a Purple Heart for his injury?”

Stretch nodded. “Don't see why not.”

“Whoa, now, hold on just one minute. What's this? Cowboy got hurt?” Graceland asked.

“Caught a bullet with his backside according to Stretch,” Igloo answered.

“Well, that's what he gets for hanging around Rocket City. Stretch, you've got to tell that boy he's supposed to duck when Charlie starts shooting at him,” T-Bird said.

“I'll be sure to do that.” He glanced at his watch and grimaced. Taking a few steps, he dropped the empty beer bottle into a bucket half full of similar beverage containers. “Well, boys. It's been nice seeing all of you. Unfortunately, duty calls. Stop in if you're ever in my area. I'll leave the porch light on for you.”

After saying his goodbyes, Stretch headed back out through the downpour. He glanced back for a moment when he heard Igloo call after him.

“You be careful out there, Stretch. That mud is slicker than snot on a doorknob.”

He waved to the younger man, never imagining how drastically things would change for all of them over the next six months.

CHAPTER 4

Cowboy crossed over to a corner cabinet and pulled out a thick binder. Returning to his seat, he carefully set it down on the coffee table. Van Gogh, Stretch and Fishface gathered closer around as he opened it. Before them was a compilation of newspaper articles, letters, photographs, journal entries and obituaries.

The oldest was from the spring of 1969. The newest was less than two years old. Beside each of the obituaries was a picture; a link to the past the men had shared.

Van Gogh slowly read through each of the death notices. “1969 was a bad year for us. Three guys in less than five months.” He shook his head as he stared down at Crusher's picture. “They never knew the whole truth about how he died. Uncle Sam wouldn't want anyone to know he was one of the many casualties we had in Laos. We weren't even supposed to be in the country.”

“There were a lot of places we weren't supposed to be but we went anyway. When we got our orders, we went. No questions asked,” Fishface said.

Van Gogh reached back and began massaging the muscles in his neck, trying to work out the knots and stiffness. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift slowly back to 1969.

Graceland stepped out into the early morning darkness and listened to the sounds of the camp waking up. He noticed a dark shape perched on a pile of sandbags nearby and went to see who was sitting there. “It's quiet this morning. You reckon Charlie's got tired of fighting?”

Igloo shrugged. “I don't know. Seems more like the quiet before a storm, you know?” He paused to light a cigarette and blow the smoke toward the sky. “Last night I had a dream about my birth parents. I could see them walking out on the tundra. Next week will be twelve years since they died.”

“Do you remember them very well? You were what, six or seven when they died?”

Igloo nodded. “It was a few days after my seventh birthday. They were in a Cessna flying up to Barrow when they had engine problems. They were both killed instantly. Wade and Jenny Richards were my parents' best friends. They adopted me, raised me along side their kids, loved me like one of their own.”

“I had been a little curious about your name after you said you were an Aleutian,” Graceland admitted.

“I was born Todd Alexander Noyakuk Ahnangnatoguk.”

Graceland whistled. “That's quite a mouthful.” The sound of approaching footsteps drew the men's attention.

“Time to saddle up, kid,” Mockin'bird announced. “We just received our orders to head out.”

“Stay out of trouble, kid. I'll buy you a beer for your birthday when you get back,” Graceland offered.

Hours later, the two men slipped down the jungle path silent but alert. Although they were still a few clicks from their destination, they were cautious. Reports of Viet Cong soldiers using the village as a supply station and ammunition depot had been coming in for a couple weeks. Yesterday, however, their informant had claimed to have seen a Viet Cong general arrive; the same general whose troops they had been battling for more than a month.

Mockin'bird signaled to Igloo to branch off from the main trail when they were just over a click from the village. Stealthily, they moved together among the trees and vines, picking their way up to the predetermined location overlooking their target area.

Before they reached the top of the hill, both men dropped to their bellies and began inching their way up the incline. Taking cover behind a half rotted log, Igloo set up his spotting scope and began to survey the area before them. He could see half a dozen pigs ambling between the huts, women preparing the evening meal, men returning from the rice paddies. “Where are the kids?” he wondered aloud.

He shifted his scope slightly to one side and spotted movement in the doorway of one of the huts. With a frown, he peered at the doorway in hopes of another glimpse of whatever it was he had seen. Patiently, he waited and watched until the old man they had been informed was the village leader hobbled over to the hut they were studying. Igloo glanced over at Mockin'bird who was also watching the elderly man through the scope of his rifle. He took a deep breath and returned his focus to the village.

The old man had paused outside the hut, obviously waiting for something. After a few moments, two men stepped outside. One was plainly a high-ranked Viet Cong officer, the other's uniform exposed him as a Chinese soldier.

“Well, what do you know. Seems like the general brought a visitor with him. Kong Tou Kuai, he's been using the Trail to run heroin for years. Today must be our two for one special,” Mockin'bird muttered as he chambered the first round. His breathing slowed as he narrowed his attention to an invisible target on the North Vietnamese man. Gently, he squeezed the trigger.

In a matter of seconds, the bullet had ripped through the man's chest, his heart exploding as easily as if it had been an overripe tomato. As his first target dropped lifeless to the ground, he chambered another round and sent a second bullet toward the Chinese soldier. The shot was true; he collapsed onto the body of the General.

Igloo and Mockin'bird immediately slithered away from their vantage point. No need to stick around and give the Viet Cong the chance to find them. They cut through the jungle toward their extraction point. Both were pleased by the success of their mission and they were looking forward to sharing the story with the other guys back at the base.

Before they were able to reach the safety of the company of their fellow Marines, they ran into a small party of NVA regulars. Both of the snipers darted through the foliage, seeking whatever shelter they could find. With a simple flip of his finger, Mockin'bird switched from single shot to full automatic as he ducked behind a tree. He spun out on the opposite side, raking the NVA with a hail of gunfire. Nearby, he could hear the report of Igloo's M-16 firing as well. He threw himself behind the tree again as a bullet plucked at his pant leg, much too close for his comfort.

Suddenly, everything was deadly calm once again. Mockin'bird eased around the tree to see they had managed to overpower the enemy. He gave a quick bird call to alert Igloo of the all clear. When his partner didn't readily appear, he stalked over to where he had last seen him. It took him less than a minute to discover what had happened to the young man.

Igloo's eyes were frozen in the stare only seen on the dead and dying. Several bloody bamboo stakes had pierced his body. At least two had managed to puncture his lungs, more had ripped through his lower vital organs. For a moment, his eyes rested on Mockin'bird. As he struggled to draw in a breath, his gaze wavered slightly, looking past the physical world and into the ethereal. A slight smile played on his features. His final breath was exhaled in a joyful whisper, “Mama.”

Mockin'bird gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. What a messed up world it was when boys who were only days away from turning 19 had to die so violently, so needlessly. With a grimace, he struggled to pull Igloo's limp frame from the punji stakes. It wasn't an easy task to carry both of their rifles and balance the body over his shoulder but Mockin'bird was fueled by his anger so he hardly noticed the rest of the hike to the rendezvous point.

When the chopper touched down, the door gunner was on alert while two grunts jumped out and ran over to where he was crouched. They carried Igloo's body back to the chopper as Mockin'bird followed. He sat stone-faced as they flew back to the camp. His thoughts, on the other hand, were as chaotic as the flood-swollen rivers he had lived nearby as a boy. He rested his head against the wall of the chopper and closed his eyes, thinking again what a tragedy it was to lose someone so young, so full of promise.

A week later, Mockin'bird stood at attention in front of his commanding officer's desk. His anger toward the NVA had quickly grown into bitterness and contempt. When the senior officer had finished speaking, he asked, “Permission to speak, Sir?” At the colonel's approval, he continued. “Sir, I'd rather work alone. An untried replacement would be more of a hindrance than an asset to me. He would be a liability on missions. We've had some major movement of enemy troops lately and it's my opinion that it would be too hot for a new guy right now, Sir.”

The colonel stared at him critically, mentally weighing the benefits and drawbacks of having one of his snipers working alone. He pursed his lips and sighed in resignation. “All right, Rivers. We can try it your way for now.” He drew a form out of his desk drawer. As he filled in the relevant information, he said, “I want you to take a few days of R&R. Go down to Saigon, get laid, get drunk, do what you need to do.” He paused to gaze up at the soldier. “I won't run the risk of losing one of my best men because of a personal vendetta.”

Mockin'bird took the leave pass the colonel held out to him and asked, “Will that be all, Sir?”

He nodded. “Dismissed.”

His bush hat was pulled down over his eyes to block out the afternoon rays. All he wanted to do for the next few days was sleep. He would give up his favorite sketch book, his beer, his chow, anything to simply be left alone. Somehow, he doubted Germ would be quite so accommodating. Van Gogh sighed as he heard the younger man whistling as he returned to the hooch. Maybe he'll think I'm asleep and not bother me, he thought hopefully.

“Hey, man, get up. I got an idea,” Germ said as he dropped onto Van Gogh's cot. When he didn't receive an answer, he poked the lounging man in the ribs. “Come on, I know you're awake.”

Van Gogh slowly reached up and pushed his hat further back on his head so he could glare at Germ. “Go away.”

“No way. I've got an idea and you're gonna love it.”

“You're dripping on me.”

Germ tucked the stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Sorry about that. Just got out of the shower.”

“You need a haircut.”

“I like it this way,” he retorted.

Van Gogh groaned as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Well, since you're obviously not going to leave me alone, what's this brilliant idea you have?”

Germ grinned like a kid who had stolen from the cookie jar without getting caught. “You and I are going into town. It's already been cleared by the CO and I got us a ride. What do you say? You up for a little fun?”

Van Gogh stared at him for a few minutes. He couldn't help but notice how much Germ reminded him of their mother. The boy had inherited her dark eyes, her thick black hair, her smile. On the other hand, Van Gogh resembled the father he had never known. Joel York had conveniently skipped town soon after he had received the news of his imminent fatherhood. The only connection he had with his son was his unusual grey-green eyes and his Celtic temperament. “All right. I'll go,” he relented. “Now get off my bed.”

Germ bounced up with a shout of glee. “Just you wait. I'll make sure this is a night you'll never forget.”

Van Gogh let his eyes wander over the interior of the Saigon bar. The walls were painted a deep red with mirrors lining the area behind the bar. The tables were made from a dark, native wood, the chairs around them a slightly lighter hue. Groups of soldiers mingled with local young women. Just to the right of where he stood, sat an old withered Vietnamese woman. The shirt she wore was patched over her left shoulder. The hem at the bottom of her pants was tattered and frayed. Her wrinkled hands gripped her bowl of rice as she ate. She paused long enough to give him a long studious look. Her eyes lit up as she cackled at him; something about him obviously struck her as funny. A sharp elbow jab to his ribs brought his attention back to Germ.

“Will you look at that?” he said, pointing off to one corner.

Slouched over a table which was littered with empty beer bottles was a familiar figure. Mockin'bird slowly raised his head and nodded in acknowledgment when he saw Van Gogh and Germ. He signaled the barkeeper to bring them a round of drinks.

Van Gogh pulled out a chair across from Mockin'bird and sat down. When their drinks had arrived, he said, “We heard what happened to Igloo. It's rough losing one of our own. The kid had a lot of potential.”

Mockin'bird nodded. “He wasn't even nineteen. Just a few more days and he would have seen his birthday. What a waste,” he said bitterly. He began to peel the label from his bottle, staring morosely at the table. “Graceland's writing a letter to his folks back in Alaska. He figures they deserve more than the telegram from the state department.”

“I'm sure they'll appreciate that,” Germ said. He shot a dirty look at a rowdy group of Army Green Berets making their way into the building.

Mockin'bird shifted his gaze to watch the men as they gathered around a pool table. He was far from impressed by the way they strutted around, acting as if they owned the place. He turned back to his companions and rolled his eyes. “Better be on guard, boys. Looks like we've been invaded by the Greenie Beanies.” Germ and Van Gogh both laughed.

The soldier nearest to them bristled and turned to stare at them. “Just what did you call us?” he demanded.

“Oh boy, here we go,” Germ muttered.

“Greenie Beanie, real tough guys don't you know?” Mockin'bird answered sarcastically.

“You're outnumber, Marine. You don't stand a chance so don't even think about it,” he threatened.

Mockin'bird glanced over at Van Gogh. “Three of us, five of them. Doesn't seem quite fair does it?”

Van Gogh smirked. “Not fair at all. They'd never know what hit them.”

The other four Green Berets stood shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed. Their expressions dared the Marines to make a move. For a few minutes, no one spoke. The animosity between the two groups was nearly thick enough to feel. All at once, the three men launched themselves from their table. Fists and elbows flew as the Green Berets started out with the upper hand. Slowly though, the three Marines were able to even up the odds. Germ narrowly missed getting hit by a flying 8 ball, ducking his head as it crashed against the wall.

Van Gogh struggled violently as he was grabbed from behind. With a quick jerk of his neck, the back of his head connected with the soldier's nose. He could hear someone shouting in the background. It took a few more minutes before they began to tire enough to slow down.

Nearby a group of military police watched the fight wind down. When the men moved apart, they quickly surrounded and handcuffed all of them. The brig had 8 new visitors that night.

jackiesjunkie @ 2009-07-01T12:19:00

2009-07-01T18:21:12Z

visionofblue and I have been trying to poke, prod, encourage, nag, do whatever it takes to keep each other writing with the goal of FINALLY FUCKING FINISHING SOMETHING.

Ray had been poking around with his electronic whatever the hell it was for weeks. Bob figured it was probably best if he just didn't ask. He recognized that determined look in his friend's eyes and he knew it would go one of two ways. Either the current hair-brained scheme would work in EPIC proportions or it would end very, very badly. Possibly a little of both he thought as he drained the can of Red Bull he had clutched in his hand.

Mikey was leaning sleepily against the door frame staring in their direction, a mug of coffee gripped tightly in his hands. He let his gaze wander over Ray's... experiment? Invention? Whatever it was before returning to Bob's face.

Bob just shook his head with a “you don't want to know” grimace.

Mikey blinked, attempted to bury his head in the coffee mug and wandered back to the other end of the bus.

By the time a month had passed, Ray's lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him. In all honesty, he was beginning to take on that “mad scientist” look. Even Gerard had noticed and had made hinting comments about an intervention in the near future.

Bob stumbled toward his bunk after a marathon length Halo tournament and noticed Ray's bunk was still empty. Wandering to the back of the bus, he discovered Ray snoring at the table with wires running from his laptop to whatever that contraption was to sticky pads on his head. Bob vaguely wondered if Ray was trying to electrocute himself.

A soft, happy sounding sigh escaped from Ray's throat. He was dreaming of something pleasant, Bob guessed. Well, if he wanted to sleep like a lab rat instead of making use of his bunk, that wasn't Bob's concern.

Morning comes much too early at the best of times. Going to bed at dawn only complicates matters. Bob forced one eye to open far enough to see what all the commotion was about.

“It works! I can't believe I got it to work! I have to patent this, test it, find a way to mass reproduce it. It works!”

Bob threw... he thinks it was a dirty tee shirt at Ray's head as he ran past his bunk in an attempt to get the guitarist to shut up.

After a few more hours of sleep and an insanely large amount of caffeine, Bob was finally ready to listen to what Ray had been going on about all day. “Let me get this straight. You're saying you've invented a machine that can record our dreams?”

“Basically. It's not an exact science yet.” He lost Bob about two minutes into the technical mumbo jumbo. “Anyway, I've got someone already who is willing to be a 'test dreamer' you could say. She volunteered, I didn't ask her to do it,” he added.

“You're nuts.”

“Maybe so but it works.”

For a period of three weeks, Ray had his “test dreamer” wear his dream machine with its wires and electrodes and gizmos when she slept and write down any dreams she remembered having to compare with what was recorded on the machine. He compiled the recordings, edited all the bits and pieces together and burned it onto a DVD. He didn't mean to leave it in the DVD player where anyone could find it. Not really.

Mikey had simply seen a DVD with the words ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE written on it in Sharpie and decided it would be perfect for a late night movie fest with Bob and Frank. He'd seen his share of B-rated films but this wasn't one he had even heard of before now. They had settled into a comfortable sprawl on the couch with popcorn and candy and blankets and quickly discovered why they had never heard of the movie. There was no real plot or storyline, continuity was unheard of, the action jumped around unexpectedly and the Nazis all suddenly turned into aliens without any form of explanation. The zombie cat with razor sharp teeth running around biting everything it could get it's teeth into was starting to freak Mikey out a little, too.

“Where did you get that?” Ray's voice caused them all to jump.

Mikey pointed at the tv. “It was in the DVD player. I hope you didn't pay anything for this movie. They didn't do a very good job filming it.”

Ray just stared, standing behind them with his mouth hanging open.

Bob groaned as he realized what the “movie” really was. “New rule. No more watching movies that don't come in normal DVD cases. One of these days you'll find yourself watching Frank's porn dreams if you're not careful.”

Fic: Unexpected - Adam/Danny

2009-03-31T18:22:31Z

TITLE: Unexpected - American Idol RPS
AUTHOR: jackiesjunkie
DISCLAIMER: This isn't real. I made it all up.
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 122
WARNINGS: None
PAIRING: Adam Lambert / Danny Gokey
SUMMARY: Love finds Danny
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for a fun flash fiction contest in one of my yahoo groups.

After losing the love of his life, Danny thought he'd never be able to fill the gaping hole in his soul. Her wedding band still hung on a chain around his neck.

His eyes dropped to the wide silver band that now graced his left hand. He had followed his dream the way she had asked him to do. In doing so, he met someone. Someone he hadn’t expected to fall in love with. He had felt alone in the crowd until those dazzling blue eyes captured his.

A hand sporting a matching band and black nail polish slid around him to rest delicately over his heart.

“Morning, love.”

Danny smiled. His heart and soul were complete again. “I love you, Adam.”

Original fic

2009-03-16T15:42:02Z

Title: Wanted You All Along
Author: jackiesjunkie
Fandom: Original
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1271
Author's note: Written as a gift for obselizabeth. Big thanks to badtyler for the beta. Title taken from "Something in Your Mouth" by Nickelback.

This is my first girl/girl work. I'm quite pleased with it. I hope you enjoy it.

We met innocently enough. You had an extra room; I needed a place to stay while I was working on my degree. We hit it off right away. Between my classes and the two part time jobs I was working, my down time was almost non-existent. After finals were out of the way, we decided to have a much needed girls night out. I think you needed it as much as I did. We grabbed a bite to eat at our local Italian place before heading to a club that we knew always played great music. After a few drinks, you managed to drag me out onto the dance floor. I think you must have been plotting with the DJ. He played that Nickelback song you know I love. So I danced for you. There were others who stopped to watch but my eyes were only on you. I teased, I tormented, I tempted.

When a mutual acquaintance told us how the club she bar-tended at starting up an amateur's night for dancers, you were my confidence. You worked with me, encouraged me, drove me to the club that first night. The men were kind enough. It was a classy place. They flirted a bit but kept their hands to themselves. At the end of the night, I was invited to come back. I had potential as a dancer. You were waiting with a bottle of water and a can of Red Bull when I gathered my things together.

We discussed it on the way back to the house. You said if I enjoyed it, why not give it a try? Set a time frame and then make a final decision. For 6 months I danced every couple of weeks. The manager of the club offered me a job after that.

Now I dance a few nights a week. The hardest part was learning to strut my stuff while wearing 6-inch heels. Tonight there are 4 of us dancing in shifts. It's easier on us that way. The club is moderately cool. It's not sexy when the dancers are sweating. My last turn on the stage for tonight comes around 2 AM. It's Saturday night, well- Sunday morning now, so there's still a fair number of guys around the edge of the stage. They can't reach me. It's for their safety as much as my own. The bouncer is 6'4” and well over 200 lbs. He's very protective of “his ladies” as he calls us.

I can see you waiting for me at one of the tables up on the platform farthest from the stage. I sway and turn in time with the music. My hands slowly remove my clothing a piece at a time. Their eyes follow me, roaming over my skin. I smile at them, I tease them, I let them look because they can't touch.

After a couple songs, the only thing left on my body is the pair of glittery purple heels that you picked out for me. I spend the next couple of songs working my way around the edge of the stage. The guys toss loonies into a rolled up poster I hold between my legs. By this time of night, their aim is abysmal but they're generous so I give them magnets and posters as mementos. When everyone has had a chance to play, I gather my belongings and the money and slip into my clothing. I take a few minutes to put everything away in one of the back rooms before coming back out to the main room. I grab an energy drink and a black Sharpie from the bar. I take the time to say hello to the customers, sign their posters, thank the DJ for a job well done. He's really good about playing the music I like when I dance. Not the pop/dance tunes that most of the girls use. Me, I'm a rock and roll girl. Nickelback, Hinder, Theory of a Deadman, Led Zeppelin is more my style.

When I finally get over to you, I find a bottle of water waiting for me. You make sure I drink the entire thing before you pick up your coat and keys. I meet you at the back door and I slide into the passenger seat with a tired sigh. You tell me to sleep if I need it. It's almost a 90-minute drive back to our place so I doze for a good portion of the drive.

You don't judge me for dancing for strangers. You don't condemn me when I tell you how I practically seduce men and women to the beat of a song. My hands caress them; I straddle their laps, my breasts brush over their faces, my hair trails over their laps. But they can't touch me. Only you have the privilege. For them, I dance at a price. For you, I dance for love.

When we get home, I pull you into the bedroom. I hit the button on the remote and music fills the room. 3 ½ minutes of guitar, drums and a voice I love hearing. Now I'm dancing for you. My clothing is discarded without a thought. I brush your hair back from your face. My lips whisper over your skin as I mimic the singer. I take your hands and place them on my bare skin. My fingers trace the line of your throat, the curve of your breasts. Your eyes are half closed. You let out a soft mewling sound as I rock my hips against you. My fingers curl under the hem of your shirt exposing a line of skin. As the music changes to something slower and more sensual, I remove the offending piece of material. I reach behind to undo the clasp of your bra, freeing you to my touch and my gaze. My head dips down to press a kiss to your lips before I slide down so I can take one of your nipples into my mouth. My tongue flicks over the hard pebble to pull a quiet moan from your throat. When I gently nip at your skin, your hands lace through my hair.

One of my hands glides up under your skirt. I give you a naughty look when I discover you aren't wearing any panties. I can smell your arousal. I can feel the dampness on my fingertips as I brush against your heat.

Tonight, I don't even bother with the toy stash we have in the nightstand. I can't wait that long. With a hungry look in my eyes, I push you back onto the bed and shove your skirt up out of my way. I pause just long enough to take a deep breath, inhaling your intoxicating scent. My tongue laps at your juices greedily. I don't tease you. Two fingers buried inside you, I suck your clit just hard enough to make you squirm. I glance up to see you pinching and pulling on your nipples. My other hand is spread over your thigh. My nails dig into your skin. Pleasure and pain. It doesn't take long. Your breathing becomes ragged, louder, gasping as I bring you to climax. Your thighs tense, my fingers are trapped inside your body as it convulses in pleasure. My face is covered in your come.

We're both weary. You slide your skirt off as I pull the covers down so we can collapse into bed together. I pull the blankets up to our shoulders and curl up in your embrace. We kiss once more, tender and slow before drifting off to sleep.

MCR Crack!fic time

2009-03-16T15:34:43Z

Title: Maybe a Memory
Author: jackiesjunkie
Rating: G
Word count: 562
Author's note: From a “fake memory of you and me” meme. Crack!fic. It didn't really happen.

February in Alberta . It could be 60 degrees, sunny and beautiful or it could be -30 and blizzard conditions. When Claire come up to visit Leah, it was neither of these weather conditions. It was a little of both… all in about a 3 day time span.

Claire swore that the cold was beginning to freeze her very soul and she stared pleadingly at her friend for a solution. After all, life in Florida is no way to prepare for a future visit to the frozen Canadian prairies. Leah was used to it. After the mountains of Montana and the Alaskan tundra, this was a walk in the park. Dragging out the winter clothes, she dumped the container out in the middle of the living room floor. Scarves, hats, mittens, knitted items of every kind lay as if in a treasure trove. Claire swaddled herself in enough layers to prevent hypothermia in Antarctica .

After she was suitably bundled up, Leah dragged her out the door and into the insanity that is downtown Calgary .

“Coffee Junkies,” Claire mumbled from under the fluffy scarf she had wrapped around her entire head until only her eyes were visible. “Sounds like your kind of place.”

“Best place ever. Seriously. There is no such thing as a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf up here so you have to settle for Tim Hortons or go scrounging around to find the best hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. I found this place by accident last summer. I got lost after a trip down to the Saddledome.”

The two made their way inside and ordered large, strong mugs of coffee. Leah noticed a group of guys outside on the patio (even though there were still a few random snowflakes drifting down from the earlier storm) so she insisted that Claire join her outside. Ok, so it was more a case of dragging Claire out without bothering to ask, instead just declaring that it would be good for her. Whatever.

There were 5 of them. Two of them looked so much alike they had to be brothers, both pale and dark haired. The taller, younger looking one huddled close to the older one in an attempt to keep warm. The shortest one was sporting a scorpion tattoo on the side of his neck and was constantly trying to use the solemn blond dude as his personal jungle gym. The last guy had a head full of long, frizzy curls… quite similar to Claire’s actually.

Leah started chatting with the guys as Claire sipped her coffee and smiled whenever any of the guys spoke to her. Claire’s main objective was DO NOT FREEZE TO DEATH IN FRONT OF CUTE GUYS. Because that would be bad. The guys were from out of town, it turned out. Just up for a couple of days to do some things out for work or something. Leah dug one of her cards out of her pocket and handed it to the older brother. She told him that he should give her a call next time they were in town for any length of time and she could tell them where all the best coffee shops and sight-seeing spots were.

By now, Claire was beginning to turn slightly blue so the girls said goodbye to the guys and headed back to the car where there was blessed warmth and no snow.

I must upload more icons... I have nothing in this fandom here yet

2009-02-08T09:08:41Z

Fandom: Fall Out Boy - RPS
Title: What a Catch, Donnie
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Summary: Patrick brings a present for baby Bronx.
Warning: Schmoopiness.
Disclaimer: This is completely a work of my own imagination. Written as a "Get Better" present for visionofblue
Note: First attempt at writing FOB. Title is a FOB song.

Pete opened the door and grinned stupidly at the sight of Patrick holding a giant teddy bear with a blue bow around its neck. He pulled his friend inside and enveloped him in a hug. “Hey! Thanks for coming over.” Pete grabbed Patrick's wrist and tugged him toward the nursery.

Patrick followed without argument. When they reached the nursery, he smiled at Ashlee and said hello.

She gave him a tired smile and rose from her chair. “Nice to see you, Patrick.” She held Bronx up to see the teddy bear. His eyes fixed on the bright blue bow almost instantly. “Will you take him, Pete? He spit up all over me and I need to throw this shirt in the laundry.” She handed the baby to Pete who cuddled his son close to him.

Patrick set the teddy bear on the floor by the crib. “He's beautiful, Pete.”

The joy on Pete's face was plain to see. “He is, isn't he?” Glancing up, he asked, “You wanna hold him?”

Patrick momentarily panicked. “Um... I... uh...” was as far as he got before Pete placed Bronx in his arms. He blinked down at the baby, praying he wouldn't chose this exact moment to start crying or anything.

“Stay there! I gotta get the camera.” Pete took off like a shot, leaving Patrick alone with Bronx.

Bronx's tiny hand came up to tap on Patrick's chest. He cooed and blew spit bubbles happily.

Patrick took a seat in the rocking chair by the window and started singing softly. I've got troubled thoughts and the self esteem to match. What a catch, what a catch. And all I can think of is the way I'm the one who charmed the one who gave up on you. Who gave up on you. I will never end up like him. Behind my back I already am. Keep a calender, this way you will always know.

Bronx's eyes fluttered shut. Patrick smiled and gently ran a finger over Bronx's tiny fist. He heard the click of a camera shutter and looked up to see Pete standing in the doorway.

Pete squatted next to Patrick and caressed his son's soft, fine hair. “Patrick, would you consider... I want you to be Bronx's godfather.” He looked up at Patrick, “Please?”

“Why me?”

Pete smiled. “You're my best friend. I want Bronx to have the best I can give him. If anything was to happen so I couldn't be there for him, I'd want him to be with someone I could trust to keep him safe and happy, someone who would love him as much as I do.”

“If you really want me to, Pete, yeah. I'd be honored.”

“So when he can't sleep, can I call you to sing for him? He doesn't seem to like it when I sing for him.”

Patrick smiled. “We can make him a CD.”

So Travis McCoy is the actual godfather to Bronx. And now Pete is talking about recording a children's album.

Leathermouth Pics

2009-01-27T07:37:01Z

Comment fic for visionofblue

2009-01-16T20:26:09Z

Fandom: MCR - RPS
Title: Worse than Mikeyway
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Summary: Comment fic. Energy drinks and late night texting.
Warning: Crack!fic, self insertion.
Disclaimer: This is completely a work of my own imagination. Except for the one line at the end which I'm quoting from visionofblue

3:17 AM. The guys were just finishing up a Mario Kart marathon. I'd made the mistake of admitting to liking the Rock Star energy drinks. Normally I avoid energy drinks like the plague due to the artificial sweeteners that make me feel like I've been eating ground glass... and I get twitchy after just one. That night, I'd had three in less than four hours. One from Gerard and two from Frank. Bob just shook his head at them.

"Dude, karma is a bitch. Lay off the energy drinks."

Frank flipped Bob off and cracked open another can of Rock Star. "What's the worst that could happen?"

That was about the time it hit me. Caffeine, taurine, ginkgo biloba. I had to do something. I grabbed the nearest phone - Frank's. I scrolled through his address book until I found what I was looking for. When the guys got into trouble, they always turned to the same person. Brian.

Dude r u awake?
I stole Frank's phone LOL
its JJ btw

After a few minutes of fooling around with the phone and forwarding a few things to my own phone, the buzzing of an incoming text made me giggle.

hi everything ok there?

That's Brian. Always keeping an eye on things.

yup Ray kicked ass in Mario Kart
too many rock stars
the drink not the guys
*twitch* how do they do it? Gee had like a billion red bulls

Bob watched me as my fingers tapped out the messages one after another. I grinned at him and raised the phone to snap a quick picture to send to Brian.

bob is staring. make him stop

does frank know you have his phone?

not yet

I snuck a glance over at Frank and managed to get a picture of him falling off the back of the couch.

no blood, nothing broken don't worry

"Hey!"

now he knows
i'll hide behind bob
if you don't hear from me send in the marines

The texting was cut short as I clutched Frank's phone close and scrambled over furniture trying to get behind Ray or Bob or both of them. I think somehow a blurry picture of Frank's hands trying to grab the phone from me managed to make it's way to Brian.

Bob's phone rang after I'd climbed up onto the counter and was holding Frank at bay with a pair of knitting needles.

"Have they killed each other yet? Get Frank's phone and give it back to him. And for God's sake, keep JJ away from the energy drinks. She keeps texting me with hyper missives every five seconds. SHE IS WORSE THAN MIKEYWAY."

Music inspires poetry

2009-01-09T06:08:46Z

Long live the broken hearts
The ones who know how to bleed
Pain and betrayal leave a stain
That can't be washed away
The scar never fully heals
From a love thrown away
Don't dismiss the broken hearted
For they know how to survive
They are the dangerous ones
Who will do down swinging
And rise up to face the day
After you have faded to dust and ashes

I gotta quit listening to Hinder

2008-12-22T08:07:13Z

Fandom: MCR - RPS
Title: We Could End Up Making Love Instead of Misery
Pairing: Mikey/OFC, Mikey/Gerard
Rating: R for language and adult situations
Summary: Gerard isn't jealous of Mikey. Not really.
Warning: Language, sexual situations, incestuous situations, mention of alcohol and drug use. Not beta read so all mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: This is completely a work of my own imagination. If your last name is Way, please don't read this.

They were brothers. They were bound to argue from time to time. From the time they were small, it was always the same story. Gerard would be the first to break. He'd be the first to say the words that cut deeper than any knife. Mikey used to cry when he was little and Gerard said mean things. As they got older, they learned how to fight. They moved on from just words and tears. Fists, feet, teeth did the damage that left a more visible scar. In the end, though, they always found a way to make up. Gerard would start feeling guilty for the tears he'd caused, the bloody nose Mikey had to hide from their Mom. He found ways to show his younger brother how much he really did love him, his actions saying what he couldn't put into words.

Somehow, they managed to get through their awkward teenage years without killing each other. The Jennifer incident was both a blessing and a curse. Mikey had been dating Jennifer for a couple of months when they came back to the house after a double showing at the movie theater. Mikey pulled Jennifer onto the couch in the basement. This was his and Gerard's domain. Their parents rarely ventured downstairs so Mikey knew they could get in a decent make-out session without risk of embarrassing interruption.

Jennifer had crawled half onto Mikey's lap, just enough to frustrate him because she wasn't quite close enough to the one part of him that was aching for her touch. He dropped his head against the back of the couch, eyes closed as he trailed his fingers up under the back of her shirt. Her soft lips were leaving a trail down his throat, her teeth nipping lightly at his skin.

The familiar scent of alcohol and pot stole into his consciousness. Forcing his eyes to open, he could see Gerard standing in the doorway, watching them. A half smoked joint he held in one hand, a bottle of whiskey in the other. Gerard's eyes were glazed but Mikey knew he was still sober enough to know what he was doing. With a glare, he made a motion toward the bedroom with his eyes. Give us a little privacy he was trying to convey.

Gerard gave the bedroom a glance then turned his gaze back to the pair on the couch. Running his tongue lightly over his chapped lips, he conceded... for the moment at least.

He was waiting on the couch when Mikey returned from taking Jennifer home. The whiskey bottle sat nearly empty on the floor beside him. "She's cute. Nice tits. She let you touch 'em?"

"Better not let Mom catch you smoking pot down here. She'll flip."

Gerard shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Mikey dropped onto the couch beside his older brother. "When's the last time you slept? I don't mean drinking yourself into oblivion, I mean really sleeping?"

Gerard scowled. "Since when are you my keeper?" He grabbed the bottle from the floor and drained it. When it was empty, he cast it to the floor and lurched to his feet. "I don't need you to tell me how to live my life. Go on, go fuck the girl and have your happily ever after life. Don't pretend you care what I do. You're better off without me." With a defeated sigh, he stumbled off toward the bedroom.

Mikey stared at his brother's retreating back in confusion. Generally, he was pretty good at deciphering Gerard's moods but this time he wasn't sure what had set him off. "Gee wait." He rushed to catch up with Gerard. Catching his arm, Mikey pulled until Gerard was facing him. "Why are you acting like this? Are you mad at me for bringing Jennifer down here?" He knew it had been a while since Gerard had had a serious girlfriend.

Gerard laughed without any humor in his voice. "You think I'm jealous?"

Mikey shrugged and dropped his gaze to the floor.

Gerard let his forehead rest against Mikey's. "You are so fucking dense sometimes. I don't want your girlfriend. You're the only person I've ever depended on. The only one I need. I don't want to lose you, Mikes."

"I'm not going anywhere. I got nowhere to go."

Gerard pulled back slightly to look his brother in the eyes. "You could be anything you wanna be. But you won't cause I'm such a fuck up and you think you gotta take care of me."

Mikey frowned. "Don't say that. It's not true. You're my best friend, my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother, moron."

Mikey just grinned. "How do I fix this?"

Gerard shook his head. "You can't fix me. I want what I can't have, what I shouldn't want."

Mikey stared at him, confused.

Gerard's eyes were sad as he placed a hand against Mikey's cheek. "You're too good for me. If you had any sense, you'd leave and never look back." His voice dropped to just below a whisper. "All I've ever wanted was you. Just you."

"Gee?"

The kiss was sloppy, hurried. It wasn't the first time Gerard had drunkenly kissed Mikey. This time, something was different. Mikey's hands drifted down to Gerard's hips to steady him. He knew this was about 7 kinds of wrong but when Gerard's lips left his, he didn't let go. His fingers dug in, keeping him close.

"You should beat the shit out of me for that," Gerard groaned softly.

Mikey shook his head. "I've got a better idea." He rubbed his cheek against Gerard's as if he was a cat. "Do it again. And this time, do it like you mean it."

Gerard opened his mouth to say something but his brain refused to cooperate. He could feel Mikey's breath teasing at his skin. He saw his tongue flick out to wet his lips. He inched forward until they stood thigh to thigh, chest to chest. This time it was softer, less rushed. When Mikey's lips parted under his, Gerard took it as a sign that Mikey wasn't going to be doing him serious bodily harm and took things one step farther. One hand slipped around the back of Mikey's neck, pulling him closer. The other traced the waistband of his jeans. He sucked on Mikey's lower lip, eliciting a whimper from the younger man.

Mikey's breath was coming in short, harsh pants. He'd been half hard when he got home but now, he had a full blown erection. He shifted his leg slightly, trying to keep from humping his brother's leg like a fucking dog. In doing so, he inadvertently rubbed against Gerard's groin. The growl that emanated from Gerard's throat made a shudder run down his spine.

What little rational he had quickly dissolved when Gerard felt Mikey's hardness against his thigh. "I wanna touch you," he choked out. At Mikey's nod, he fumbled to pop open the button on Mikey's jeans using only one hand. He managed though and got the zipper half way down before sliding his fingers under Mikey's boxer briefs. He could feel the pre-come already leaking from the tip of Mikey's cock. Wrapping his fingers around the shaft, Gerard ran his thumb over the piss slit. He wanted to mark Mikey as his own. His tongue traced the pulse point in Mikey's neck. His teeth pulled at the skin.

Mikey's hands were itching to grab ahold of something other than Gerard's hips. He couldn't hold back the moans, he didn't even try. Almost by their own accord, his hands slid over Gerard's ass. He began to grind their cocks together, modesty and decency long forgotten. He was close, too close to care. "Gerard!" he gasped as the hot, sticky come spurted over his brother's fingers.

"Mine!" was the answering growl that rumbled against his throat.

Mikey's eyes fluttered shut. His smile was matched by Gerard's. "Yours."

Poem: That Summer

2008-12-22T06:55:23Z

Turn up the music
Gotta drown out the sound
Of your voice in my head
One summer together
Hidden glances, stolen moments
Everyone deserves a little
Bit of happiness
It couldn't last
We knew it was damned
From the moment
Our lips first touched
Can't blame the alcohol
For the lack of inhibitions
Late night horror marathons
Clinging together for safety and warmth
Just an excuse to feel you close
Your skin on mine
3 AM text from across the
Parking lot when I'd rather
Be curled up in your bunk
Sweaty and tangled in your limbs
The memory haunts me now
When I'm not quite awake
Still feeling you against me
Still see you in my dreams
We moved on or so they say
But that summer still lives on

visionofblue I'm blaming this on you. I think you can probably figure out who I had in mind when this got written.

Tweak says

2008-12-11T18:59:43Z

Tweak says, "My pants are too tight."

Tweak says, "Did you steal my spork?"

Tweak says, "Put it on me. I want you safe."

2008-12-09T15:09:11Z

Claire... Tweak has been paying attention again.

jackiesjunkie @ 2008-12-08T14:31:00

2008-12-08T21:35:48Z

Fandom: MCR - RPF
Title: The Simple Things in Life are the Sweetest
Pairing: Bob/Mikey/Frank
Rating: PG
Summary: Response to prompt - Thread
Disclaimer: This is a work of my own imagination. This never really happened. I've never met any of the MCR guys.

There's something to be said for clean sheets. Especially if those sheets have a 300 thread count. Bob couldn't be happier than he was at that very moment. He took a deep breath, basking in the light fresh smell that surrounded him. No sweat, no vomit, no urine, no musky bus funk. It was something he was able to experience all too rarely. He burrowed his head a little deeper between the pillows.

Yeah, it was nice. Sadly neither Mikey nor Frank was awake to appreciate this. Bob opened his eyes long enough to make sure they were both still asleep and in the bed. Running his hand up Mikey's arm, he wondered how he could possibly be so cool to the touch given that Mikey had been sleeping between Bob and Frank all night.

Cold blooded freak of nature he thought. With a soft sigh, he slid a little closer to Mikey until he was close enough to throw his arm over Mikey's side and grab onto Frank's shoulder. Giving Frank a gentle shake, Bob whispered, "Hey, snuggle up. Mikey's cold."

Frank managed to flop over onto his side, facing Mikey. He wiggled his way betwen the tangle of arms and legs until Mikey was comfortably sandwiched between him and Bob.

Bob smiled and squeezed the back of Frank's neck. "Thanks," he whispered as he fought back a yawn.

Frank grunted in reply, not really awake. He started snoring after a minute.

Bob let his eyes flutter closed again and it only took a few moments before he was asleep again as well.

Nickelback sings Dirty! songs

2008-12-08T19:28:54Z

got to meet the hottie with the million dollar body
they say its over budget but you'd pay her just to touch it come on
needs to hit the big screen and shoot a little love scene
if hollywood had called her she'd be gone before holler her come on

pretty little lady with the pretty pink thong
every sugar daddy hittin on her all night long
doesn't care about the money she could be with anybody
ain't it funny how the honey wanted you all along

(you naughty thing)
your ripping up the dance floor honey
(you naughty women)
you shake your ass around for everyone
(your such a mover)
i love the way you dance with anybody
(the way you swing)
and tease them all by sucking on your thumb
your so much cooler when you never pull it out
cuz you look so much cuter with something in your mouth

crafty little lip tricks
tattoos on her left hip
she bending as your spending
theres no ending it so baby come on
dressed up like a princess
bettin' that her skin smells better
than the scent of every flower in the desert come on

pretty little lady with the pretty pink thong
every sugar daddy hittin on her all night long.
doesn't care about the money she could be with anybody
ain't it funny how the honey wanted you all along

(you naughty thing)
your ripping up the dance floor honey
(you naughty women)
you shake your ass around for everyone
(your such a mover)
i love the way you dance with anybody
(the way you swing)
and tease them all by sucking on your thumb
your so much cooler when you never pull it out
cuz you look so much cuter with something in your mouth

she loves the night scene bar queen
living for the fun taking over every dance floor like shes the only one
in the spotlight all night dissing everyone
trying to look so innocent while sucking on her thumb

your so much cooler
when you never pull it out
so much cuter
with something in your mouth

(you naughty thing)
your ripping up the dance floor honey
(you naughty women)
you shake your ass around for everyone
i love the way you dance with anybody
(the way you swing)
and tease them all by sucking on your thumb

(you naughty thing)
your ripping up the dance floor honey
(you naughty women)
you shake that ass around for everyone
(your such a mover)
i love the way you dance with anybody
(the way you swing)
and tease them all by sucking on your thumb
your so much cooler when you never pull it out
cuz you look so much cuter with something in your....

MCR Crack!fic time again

2008-12-05T01:16:07Z

Fandom: MCR - RPF
Title: Drunk Dialing
Pairing: none
Rating: R
Warnings: foul language, alcohol, "your mom" jokes, insults, pee talk, crack!fic
Summary: Frank can be a dick sometimes. It's worse when he's been drinking.
Disclaimer: This is a work of my own imagination. This never really happened. I've never met any of the MCR guys and have no idea what they act like under the influence of alcohol.

This one is for you - "friend in Tennessee"

There are lessons you learn when you're on the road. Handy little bits of information to store away for future use. You learn to walk in a moving bus. You sleep on any available surface any time you get a few spare moments. You disregard sights, sounds, smells that would normally make you blush or cringe. You learn to share your personal space, your belongings, your very life with those closest to you whether you want to or not.

After a while, you get used to it. You think nothing of it. Gerard wears Mikey's shirt. So what, they're brothers. Mikey uses Ray's shampoo because it's the closest bottle available. Big deal. Frank stole Bob's boxers and wore them on his head during the Guitar Hero marathon. Ok, that managed to raise an eyebrow or two but at least it was a freshly laundered pair. But... that's just Frank.

Frank can be a dick sometimes. He can be sweet and generous on occasion. Frank can be a pain in the ass, an annoying little fucker and an amusing oddity - all in a five minute time span. You could try to ignore him but 98.978% of the time it wouldn't do any good. Like that one time...

It was a hotel night. A week's worth of shows were now behind them and the next few days were mercifully free of commitments. Everyone - the band, crew, roadies - had congregated in the hotel bar after getting checked in.

Frank was doing tequila shots with one of the roadies. The chick who made the good coffee and shared the candy her grandmother sent. Fuck if he could remember her real name. Mostly they all called her JJ. His objective was to get her drunk enough to drunk-dial her friend in Tennessee - the one she was always texting and Twittering with. He leaned over the table, trying to get a look at her phone. "Whatcha sayin?"

Holding the phone away from him, she smiled. "None of your business."

"C'mon. Lemme see. Did you say something dirty?" Frank grinned hopefully.

"Nah, just told her we're hanging out and having drinks."

With a disappointed pout, Frank grabbed his phone out of his pocket and started tapping on the keypad. A moment later, he giggled.

"What?"

"Bob. I changed his text alert to vibrate. He had his phone in his back pocket and he was sitting on it."

"My phone's always on vibrate."

"You're dirty."

"I hang around you guys all the time, what do you expect?"

"I have taught you well, Grasshopper," Frank said as he shoved another shot of tequila at her.

JJ tilted the salt shaker onto her hand then did the same for Frank. At the same time, they licked the salt from their skin and swallowed the tequila. "Wait, how many was that?"

Frank shrugged. "I dunno. I stopped counting after five."

"Try using both hands and you could count to ten."

"Your mom can't count past ten unless she takes her shoes off."

JJ stared at Frank. "Okay, if you're resorting to 'Your Mom' jokes, you've had too much. I'm cutting you off. No more tequila for you little man."

"Bite me, bitch."

"Where and how hard?" JJ smirked.

Frank pointed a finger in her face. "No flirting. Bob and Mikey said." With what was supposed to be a menacing growl (but it really sounded more like a kitten trying to growl), Frank jabbed the end of JJ's nose.

She leveled her gaze at him. "Frank. You're a dick."

"You like dicks. You're a dick magnet," he taunted, parroting the song playing in the background.

"That would explain your presence." Under her breath she muttered, "Muppetfucker." JJ poured each of them another shot. "I always thought beer goggles made people look better." Tossing back the liquor, she glanced at him. "Damn, you're still a short, ugly little fucker."

"If you didn't have such a great ass, I'd probably spit on you for that. Now I'll just have to pee in your shoes later."

"Still not housebroken, Frankie?"

"I was too busy banging your Mom to find the bathroom."

JJ groaned. "You're drunk and I'm not drunk enough for this shit." She tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. "What did I do to deserve this?" That was her mistake. You should never take your eyes off Frank.

He snatched up her phone and started scrolling through the texts to find the number for her friend. He hit SEND just as she noticed what he had done.

"Hi!"

"Give me my phone, Frank."

"No." He turned to the side so the phone was out of reach. "I stole her phone. We were drinking tequila but JJ refused to get drunk first. Then she called me names."

"Frank, I'm serious."

He flipped her off and hopped off his bar stool, heading over to Bob. "Say hi to Bob. Bob, say hi." He held the phone up toward Bob's ear for about half a second before resuming his chatter. "That was Bob. He doesn't say much. Here's Mikey. Say hi! Mikey, say hi." Again, he didn't actually give either of them any time to really say anything before moving off to find Gerard and Ray. Eventually, he came back to the table and handed the phone back to JJ. "Your friend is weird. All she does is giggle."

"Remind me to kill you later. Or at least piss in your bunk." Holding the phone to her ear, she sighed. "Sorry. That was Frank. He's a dick sometimes."

"I know. You've told me." More giggling.

"I dunno. What can I do? These guys are too much fun."

"You're such a sweet, slurry drunk. Grab his ass for me, okay? Have a good night."

"You too. Night." Turning off the phone and slipping it into her inside jacket pocket, JJ shook her head at Frank. "Good thing I like you, Iero. C'mon. Let's go pry Mikey off his Sidekick." Waiting just long enough for Frank to start walking away, she fell in step behind him. Resisting urges never was much fun. She reached forward and gave Frank a quick but firm squeeze on his ass. That little yelp of surprise? It made it totally worth it.

Just a note - either I'm crazy and love you too much or I'm hoping you love me too much cause I typed this on the Wii.

Poem: Untitled

2008-11-29T05:52:36Z

Not to be taken literally. This is a symbolic piece.

Cut me to the bone
See what's there
See if you can make me bleed
Choke me
See me gasp
See if you can take my breath away
Scream at me
Bruise my skin
Slam me up against the wall
Bury me in a shallow unmarked grave
Wipe me from your memory
Wash my blood from your hands
The sun comes up
Warmth washes over me
Angels with screaming guitars
Dirty faced beautiful boys
Raise me from the ashes
Give my life new meaning

Dedicated to the boys of My Chemical Romance, The Used and Leathermouth. Thanks for the music.

MCR fic - Evil diabolical plans

2008-11-27T07:14:35Z

Fandom: RPS -- MCR
Title: Evil diabolical plans
Characters: Bob, Frank, mention of Ray
Rating: R for language and nudity
Disclaimer: This is all lies. This never happened. If your name is mentioned, please don't read this.
Author's note: I'm just doing this to fix visionofblue's Dirty! or maybe corrupt her more. Whatever works. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine. Oh god I can't believe I just wrote this.

It was a day never to be spoke of. Unless your name was Frank. While everyone else was doing their best to simply forget, Frank insisted on bringing up the subject at least once a day. More often than not, it was at the most inappropriate time. Like when Bob was eating. Or just waking up. Or showering.

"I can't believe I missed it!" Frank yelled from the other side of the bathroom door. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

Bob scrubbed a towel over his hair, trying to ignore Frank. When you're living in a tour bus with a group of guys, ignoring one of them takes a special kind of skill. Bob learned quickly. Sometimes it took all his willpower to not drop Frank out the door or duct tape him and stuff him into one of the bunks. Tossing the towel into the sink, he pulled the door open and sidestepped around Frank. Just because you're trying to ignore someone doesn't mean they will play along.

Frank followed along like a kicked puppy. “Don't you love me any more, Bob?”

Bob abruptly stopped, barely registering the thump of Frank walking face first into his back. “Let it go, Frank.”

“But, but... it's not fair!” Frank began steadily headbutting Bob between his shoulder blades to emphasize his frustration. “It was supposed to be the greatest, most insane, evil, diabolical plan of all time. It took me forever to plan it out and I missed the climax!”

Bob shook his head. “Dude, you're a freak, you know it?”

“Tell me about it, please?”

Bob dropped into the nearest chair and looked as bored as he could manage. It took Frank less than 3 seconds to climb onto his lap and clasp his hands around Bob's cheeks. “Please? Please? Please? Bob, you know you want to.”

Bob growled a little as he half-heartedly batted at Frank's hands. “I'm doing my best to burn the memory from my mind.”

Frank pouted. “I knew you didn't love me anymore. This just means I'll have to start my entire evil, diabolical plan all over again. Only this time I'll be there for the big finale with cameras.”

Bob may have turned a little green at the thought. “Fine, if you'll shut up about it, I'll tell you about it... again.”

Giggling and bouncing around, Frank nearly fell onto the floor.

Deadpanning as well as Mikeyway could ever accomplish, Bob stared at Frank. “You stole all of Ray's clothes. He didn't notice and when he came out of the shower, he was naked and had to walk through the lounge where all the rest of us, except you, were minding our own business. Happy?”

Frank tried to frown but had to bite his lower lip to keep the insane grin off his face. “You aren't a very good story teller, Bobert. I love you anyway. What was it like?”

“It was Ray.”

“But he was naked!”

Bob blinked. “Yeah.”

“I wish I could have been there to see the look on his face.”

“You are so messed up. What's with your sudden need to see Ray naked?” He raised an eyebrow at the younger man perched on his lap. “Did someone steal all your porn or something?”

Frank shrugged. “I dunno. I was bored.”

Bob sighed heavily. “Frank, you're fucked up.”

“I know.”

Bob, a tree, Ray's stuff

2008-11-26T06:01:47Z

Dixie pics and giant jerky

2008-11-26T05:58:25Z

Guardian angels and plot bunnies

2008-11-26T05:07:43Z

I need a plot. I have guardian angels assigned to the boys and I have no plot.

Serafina
Origin: Hebrew
Meaning: The burning ones. Feminine form of Seraphim.

Keelin
Origin: Celtic
Meaning: Slender, fair.

Kayla
Origin: Hebrew
Meaning: Crown of laurals.

Tapanga
Origin: Hebrew/African
Meaning: Sweet, unpredictible.

Mariasha
Origin: Egyptian
Meaning: Perfect one; bitter, with sorrow.

MCR drabble - prompt Smoke

2008-11-03T02:05:40Z

Fandom: RPS -- MCR
Characters: Mikey, Gerard, Bob, Ray, Frank
Rating: R for language and implied adult relationships
Disclaimer: Didn't really happen. I made it up.
Author's note: Continuation from the prompt Blue

Gee took a deep drag off his cigarette and half ignored the dying groan behind him. The room was spinning but as long as his back was against the wall, he knew the ground wasn't likely to bounce and tilt too much. Glancing over his shoulder at his friend, he asked, “Dude, you okay?”

Ray's bloodshot eyes met his. “I. Fucking. Hate. Smurfs.” He gripped the edge of the toilet, his face turning three shades of green.

Gee's grin was lopsided but sympathetic. “I'd give you a kiss to make it better but you're kinda gross and pukey right now.”

After the Jack and coke had all been consumed, they had moved onto the other bottles in the liquor cabinet. Somewhere after the Baja Rosa and Hot Sex, Bob attempted to put Mikey and Frank to bed and wound up being used as a human body pillow between them on the floor instead. Gee pulled the blankets and pillows off one of the beds and got them half covered when he noticed Ray stumbling out of the room.

“Oh god, kill me now.”

Not trusting his balance, Gee scooted over and brushed Ray's hair away from his face. “Don't worry. You'll feel worse in the morning.” Reaching up, he wet a washcloth and handed it to Ray.

Running the cool cloth over his face, he said, “Thanks. You're an evil fuck but thanks.”

“I thought you liked having Hot Sex with me,” Gee teased.

“Way, don't start,” Ray said with a half-hearted grin.

Gee giggled and struggled to stand while pulling Ray up with him. “Okay. Bedtime, but no hot sex for you.”

Together they managed to weave their way back to the bedroom without crashing into or breaking anything or each other. Collapsing onto the bed that still had pillows and blankets, Gee pulled Ray close and gently rubbed his head. “Go to sleep. It'll help.”

Ray sighed and closed his eyes. “Gee?”

“Hmm?”

“If you start snoring, I swear I'll puke on you.”

Gee chuckled. “Night, Ray.”

MCR drabble - prompt Blue

2008-11-03T01:44:01Z

Fandom: RPS -- MCR
Characters: Mikey, Gerard, Bob, Ray, Frank
Rating: PG-13 for a swear word
Disclaimer: Didn't really happen that I know of. I made it up.
Author's note: Continued in the prompt Smoke

"Wait, how does this work?" Ray asked.

Frank grinned. "Every time you hear someone say Smurf, we take a drink."

"And if they say it three times in a row, we chug," Gerard added.

Bob started pouring the pre-mixed whiskey and coke into glasses on the coffee table. "It really is the easiest drinking game you'll ever play."

Mikey rolled his eyes at his friends. "This is so fucking lame."

Frank nudged Mikey with his elbow. "Ah, come on, it'll be fun."

Gerard plopped down on the couch beside Ray and pointed at the television. "Shut up, you morons. It's starting."

MCR drabble - prompt Chill

2008-11-03T01:40:18Z

Fandom: RPS -- MCR
Characters: Mikey, Bob
Rating: PG-13 for a swear word
Disclaimer: Didn't really happen. I made it up.

Bob dangled his feet off the end of the dock and let the water numb his toes. The temperature had passed into the triple digits shortly after eleven and showed no signs of letting up any time soon. The sound of bare feet on the wood behind him made him smile.

Mikey's knee gently bumped against his shoulder. “Hey.”

Bob looked up at the younger man, noticing how Mikey's swim trunks were hanging enticingly low on his hips. “You going in?”

Mikey shrugged. “Guess so. You wanna?”

“Dude, I've been here two minutes and I can't feel my feet.”

“Whatever.” Mikey rolled his eyes and dropped into the water, splashing Bob in the process... not accidentally by any means. When he resurfaced, he hopped back onto the deck and crawled onto Bob's lap. “You're right. It's fucking freezing.”

Bob just shook his head and pulled Mikey against his chest. “Feel better now?”

“My lips are cold.”

Bob brushed his thumb over Mikey's lips, wiping away the droplets of water. “That's something I think I can fix.” Tilting his head up, he pressed his warm lips against Mikey's colder ones. When he felt Mikey's tongue flick over his lip ring, he softly moaned Mikey's name.

MCR drabble - prompt Rumpled

2008-11-03T01:36:06Z

Fandom: RPS -- MCR
Characters: Mikey, Gerard
Rating: PG-13 for a swear word
Disclaimer: Didn't really happen. I made it up.

Gerard wasn't overly observant at the best of times and when he was still half asleep and distracted by comic books, it wasn't hard for Mikey to sneak bites of his cereal. By the time Gee noticed Mikey's spoon reaching for another bite, the bowl was nearly empty.

"Why the fuck are you eating my Cheerios?"

Mikey shrugged and gave his older brother a half grin.

Gee kicked at Mikey under the table and said, "Get your own food."

"Your's tastes better. Besides, I'm full now."

Gee shook his head and went back to his comic book, but not before he slid the bowl farther away from Mikey.