SOC. (Sons of Cullen)

Author: Irish Chicka

Rating: *pointed look* Really? Pfft, like I'd write anything but NC-17/MA

Beta Supreme: the incomparable Naughty M, of course. Peas and carrots, people. We is peas and carrots. Package deal.

Synopsis: His life has always been lived for the Club. He's been raised in it, he embraced it and now he's risen to the station of VP in it. It's in his blood, his bike….the club…his freedom….his chaos…and that's the way he likes it. It's an outlaw's life he belongs to, a rich and sacred tradition of club first, family second and freedom third. It's all he's ever known and wanted….until now.

Disclaimers: The characters aren't mine (obviously) I just like to fuck with them. Also, any similarities between this story and a true motorcycle club are just coincidental. This is a figment of my imagination and after too many nights of watching Sons of Anarchy. No malice or infringement meant toward any club that exists.

Characters:

Edward….EX (explanation forthcoming…keep reading)

Bella…..as herself

Carlisle….Pops

Esme…Es (or Ma, to Edward and Emmett)

Charlie Swan….New Chief of Police

Emmett….Meat (will be explained)

Rosalie….Roxie

Alice….Pix or Pixie

Jasper….Jazz or J-Dog

Jacob…..Wolfie

Leah…Lee

Seth….Prospect

Other developing characters will be determined and explained later.

Common terminology within an OMC (Outlaw Motorcycle Club):

"Colors"….patches displayed on a members vest that indicate certain attributes, promotions or proclivities. A club's colors are a sacred thing.

Prospect….a person in a probationary period that wants to join the MC.

Sargent at Arms…the person in the club that is the strongest physically. Keeps order among the MC members.

Road Captain…plans the "Runs" the MC takes whether it is drug/arms runs or toy drives and other social functions the club participates in within the community.

Old Lady..the wife/or steady of a member of the club

Broads….women used as sexual objects, a one night stand

Mama/Sheep: women, generally belonging to the club that are public property and available for use to any member at any time.

1%...a patch or term, used by outlaw motorcycle clubs to indicate they are indeed outlaws and follow no government, city or state laws other than the laws of the club itself.

"Cut"…a bikers vest displaying "colors" and descriptive patches (i.e. '13'=pot dealer, etc.)

******S.O.C*******

Prologue (EX's POV):

There isn't anything like it. The feeling of the open road, with all that vibrating horsepower humming between your thighs. The smell of gasoline, oil and freedom in your nose as you literally fly. Honestly, it's a feeling that's so ingrained in of me; I don't know any other way to exist. It's not just a choice for me, it just IS.

I was born Edward Xavier Cullen (yeah, my parents for all their hippy lifestyle choices can be pretentious as fuck sometimes.) Everybody calls me EX. I think I was conceived on an idling Harley, although that is NOT a picture I care to even waste a minute of my mind thinking of. That shit is just disturbing.

I wasn't just born into the SOC (Sons of Cullen). I exist and thrive because of it. It's just who I am. As VP, it's become a staying part of my everyday life and I've got to tell you, there's no better life than this. I guess I'm getting ahead of myself here. Maybe I should just slow down (fuck that!) and share a little of the backstory.

Pops joined an MC early in life. I think he was the ripe old age of 19, when he fought balls to the wall and teeth bared to get to be in the high ranks. Yeah, it cost him a couple of years in prison but he did what he had to do to reach the top. When he came out, free and clear on the other side, Ma was waiting for him with open arms (and legs….damnit, wrong train of thought there) and the Sons of Cullen were born. He said he'd never again be at the bottom looking up; now Pops was calling the shots. That was 1985.

Pops built his MC from the ground up, with battered knuckles and spilled blood along the way. His club was a formidable force to be reckoned with and still is today. Pops takes no shit what so ever, and will not blink an eye before sending you to meet your Maker if it's right for the Club.

I was born screaming into this world in the summer of 1986, while my old man was head to toe in prison orange. According to Ma, I came into this world with a set of lungs and one piss-ant fire full of stubbornness. Some things never change, I guess. I was cutting my teeth on the handlebars of a Harley as the gang gathered at the gates for dad's release.

Ten months after, came Meat….or Emmett Carlisle Cullen, as it's stated on his birth certificate. The name Meat came from Uncle Billy. He took one look at a naked, screaming Emmett in the nursery and said infamously, "Christ, look at the meat on that kid!". Meat stuck, and don't think we haven't measured that shit. Fucker is gargantuan in the dick department….guess it runs in the goddamn family. Not bragging or anything….just stating the facts.

Pa turns his head to smile at me as he guns the motor once…twice…three times and pulls ahead on the road. This is who we are. This is family, albeit sometimes all kind of fucked up and twisted. It's riddled with issues of legality, drunkenness but above all family. We ARE the Sons of Cullen, and chaos reigns.