Hello hello. So, the description outlines the general purpose here: I'm posting three chapters, but they aren't successive or even from the same idea. Each chapter is actually a teaser for a potential story, and since I'm undecided on which one to write, I'd love input from reviews and PMs to help me decide.

In specific, you can expect a small preamble about the idea and potential direction, and then a sample first chapter.

As a final note: Some of you may have read my other fic, Five Years, which is currently unfinished. I'm really sorry about that. I have more written and planned, but through a combination of hurried writing and few reviews, I've temporarily lost my passion to work on it. Plus, I did some really sloppy character development that I'm not pleased with.

I feel like my biggest mistake with my first fic was not seeking out a beta reader, so if you are interested in helping me beta any of these potential stories, please let me know!

I hope you'll review & vote if you see something you like. Thank you so much for reading.

Bisous,

E

From Queens

Inspired by the short line by Juice in 3x12 ("I'm a Puerto Rican from Queens – I speak better Yiddish!") I wanted to explore how growing up in Queens created Juice from Juan. How did he learn to hack? Does he actually speak Yiddish? Why did he have to leave? How did he meet the Sons? It's not really meant to evolve into a relationship-fic with an OC or canon character - more of an experimental headcanon.

The first time Juan Carlos met Mr. Malibu he was racing into their apartment building for reasons that seemed important at the time. His eight-year-old frame smacked into the large man's generous backside, causing several containers of Chinese takeout to fall to the floor.

"The fuck, kid!"

Juan stared wide-eyed at the fury shielded behind thick glasses. Years later, Mr. Malibu would seem anything but intimidating, but at the time he was the epitome of fear in Juan's small universe.

Mr. Malibu made Juan scoop up piles of sweet and sour pork mixed in with chow mein noodles with his bare hands. Grumbling, he took the remaining unspoiled food and gestured for Juan to follow him. The apartment was nothing like the one Juan called home. Even though it was the same building and separated only by three floors, the hefty man evidently didn't share Mama's proclivities for bleach.

Cave was the word that Juan thought of. Tangles of wires and dull flashing lights emerged from stacks of computer things. A dusty, dank scent permeated the room and discarded take-out boxes were in varying states of decomposition. It appeared the Chinese boxes would soon be joining. Mr. Malibu settled in front of a very lived-in looking sofa chair and gazed at the blue glow of a screen while picking half-heartedly at his meager helpings. Juan stood silently in the doorway, still clutching handfuls of slimy chicken and noodles. He was too afraid to even breathe for fear of being yelled at again. Eternity seemed to pass before the grumbling figure remembered the young boy shadowing him like a bad cold.

"Garbage can is in the kitchen. Wash your hands. Don't fuckin' touch anything."

Juan complied silently. Mama's gonna kill me if she finds out... In the course of two months, he'd already managed to irritate several of their new neighbours. He never tried to be trouble. It just seemed like trouble always found him.

"What's your name?" Mr. Malibu had asked.

"Juan Carlos Ortiz." His voice had been barely a peep, though he'd let a bit of pride slip in as he said his full name. He liked his name. Ms. Clemens was teaching his class at school how to write in cursive script, and Juan's favourite part was practicing big loopy uppercase Js and Os. Even his teacher said he had beautiful writing.

Juan suddenly remembered why he'd been rushing into the building. He wanted to show Mama the paper he'd written out in class today and the happy smiley faces and checkmarks that had decorated it after Ms. Clemens marked it. The paper was important, but this cave-like apartment was interesting. Although Juan was in probably in trouble, as usual, he couldn't help his curiousity.

"What's your name?" Juan asked boldly.

"Mr. Malibu."

"That's a weird name."

"It's not weird. It's supposed to be funny because I never go outside."

"Oh." Juan didn't understand what was quite so funny about it, he liked going outside to skateboard. Mama always said he had too much energy and needed to go outside anyway. She called him names like "Bottle Rocket" and "Firecracker." Secretly, Juan still loved the names, even though he told Mama he wasn't a baby and that it was embarrassing.

"What are you still doing here? Get out."

Juan left without a goodbye, knowing he wasn't wanted. Meeting Mr. Malibu had been scary, but exhilarating and intriguing. Maybe he would see what the strange man was up to tomorrow.

Six years later...

"Oh, shit."

Juan felt his head collapse back against the boiler. Vivica removed her head from his lap with a distinct wet popping noise and used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth.

"The janitor could come in here any second. C'mon." Vivica extended a hand to help Juan up as he fumbled to zip his baggy jeans. With his head in a daze and his eyes glazed over, they parted ways as soon as they emerged into the hallway from the cramped storage closet. Although Juan knew that he wasn't the first nor the last guy to be taken into the musty smelling room by Vivica, he hadn't been about to turn down his third-ever blowjob. Potential oral-sex was probably the one thing that kept Juan's attendance record somewhat regular, with the exception of not wanting to let down Mama. He contemplated going to Geography class but his feet led him right out the front door of his high school.

The novelty of learning to write his name in cursive in third grade had long since wore off and school was becoming increasingly useless. None of the lessons seemed as interesting or challenging as the things Mr. Malibu taught him. Juan could practically work magic with computers now – even Mal grudgingly admitted once that he had a natural knack for technology.

Mr. Malibu's apartment was just as disgusting, if not more, as the first time Juan entered.

"Mal?" he called out. The familiar, grumbling voice replied although from where, Juan wasn't sure.

"Krypto. Package is here, check it out." Juan smiled at the mention of his new online name. Mal had insisted that he needed one to replace SoccerPlayer84 and that that it needed to be memorable. Juan had thought long and hard about it, and settled on Krypto, short for Kryptonite. Superman's one weakness. They might think their firewalls and encryption made them invincible, but if computer security was Superman, then Juan was its Kryptonite. Or Krypto, rather. Unlike Mr. Malibu - whose real name had been long lost to his username - Krypto was something private. He was still Juan in reality, like a fifteen-year-old Clark Kent.

The sight of a neatly packaged, precise toolkit pleased him. Torx screwdrivers as tiny as T2 size organized alongside Phillips and flat heads. Fit for a modern handyman in a highly technological sense. Making sure to not let the mini tools falls out and be forever lost in the abyss of Mal's cave, Juan shouted out a goodbye to unseen corners of the apartment and hustled up a flight of stairs. The familiar scent of freshly baking bread and jangling songs greeted him.