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calif0rnia-lovers · 1 year

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kiss it better 03.

pairing: jax teller x black!reader | warning: not much in this chapter tbh

sum: you’re back in charming. perfect timing for a storm is brewing. jax teller has an unquenchable thirst for vengeance.

chapter 02.

The moment he comes to Jax knows he has overslept.

The sun was bright, slowly creeping toward the center of the sky. Its rays slipped through the thin curtains casting a glow across the bedroom.

Despite resting for ten hours, Jax’s body remains bogged by exhaustion. Ten hours paled to the amount of sleep needed for his body to replenish the remaining hours of his sleep deficit. His mind attempts to drift to the cellphone across the room. His slumber meant there were unanswered calls and messages waiting for his attention. Jax nuzzles his face back into the inviting warmth of his pillow.

The rise and fall of his pillow come in a steady rhythm, one that could easily lull him back to sleep.

His eyes open to find you asleep. Your bodies had remained close throughout the night. In the center of the bed, you had somehow managed not to be awoken by the sunlight filling the room.

Jax blinks, part of him thinking you would be gone once the action was over. The last few days had passed in an endless blur of moments. He wouldn’t be surprised if the image of you were an evil illusion summoned by his sleep-deprived senses.

Now he is awake, Jax wonders how the news of Opie’s passing reached you. When he was released, his first instinct was to call you. Not Gemma, but you.

He would have, but he knew the number he’d spent years committing to memory was disconnected. The pain he’d felt deep within his chest when he’d first dialed the number to no avail was one he’d never experienced. Its initial impact was sharp, coming as fast as it left. Soon, the sharp pain subsided, melting into an unnatural, soft dull pain that lingered for days. The ache was temporarily forgotten as Jax tackled the fires of his day. It returned to the front of his mind when he had a moment of downtime.

It took him nearly a month after your departure to learn the meaning of the pain resonating in his chest. It was the soft and slow tearing of his heart.

He’d spent months angry at you, the bitter hatred of your decision to sever all ties with him spilling into every aspect of his life. His temper nipped short, leading to Jax butting heads with everyone who stepped foot in his direction. As the exhaustion of being angry wore off, he started the chase of distraction.

Days packed full of tasks for him to complete. The list ran from the rising to the setting of the sun. The moment the list was complete, Jax was rewarded with a night of decadence. A dangerous cocktail of alcohol and heated moments with Lisa.

The vicious cycle was endless, but it kept Jax distracted from the dull pain in his chest.

When his eyes return to your face, Jax finds your gaze focused on him.

“Mornin',” he whispered softly.

“You look like shit,” you manage.

The soft smile your words sparks brings your touch to the warmth of his cheek.

“Trust me, I feel like it.”

You could echo the sentiment, but your voice is trapped in your throat. The soft smile on Jax's lips had faded slowly, his expression inscrutable. His eyes met yours before moving down to your lips.

His gaze pinned you in place, the air leaving your lungs as his touch grazed your cheek. It was a look you had encountered a handful of times in his presence. Each time, Jax had mustered enough willpower to suppress it. As his thumb dragged over your bottom lip, you realized he had no intention of pulling away.

Before he could persuade himself it was a terrible idea, Jax lowered his head and pressed his lips to yours.

They were gone as fast as they had come. The initial action is simple testing of the waters.

When they returned, the kiss was gentle and hard at once. Jax's beard was coarse as it scraped against your skin, his lips soft as they moved against yours.

Jax’s body relaxed, your arms snaking around the back of his neck, his weight shifting to press you into the mattress. Your fingers carded through his soft locks urging his tongue to part your lips. The kiss melted into a slow pace, Jax’s expert exploration of your mouth fogging your mind. You could only think of how to keep his lips on yours.

This was a slippery slope, but neither of you could pull away. Your kisses were different than any he’s previously shared. Jax’s most intimate moments panned out like every moment in his life. Rough, heated, and fast. They satisfied his need for a temporary high yet always left him wanting more.

Your kisses were heartfelt, your touch inviting as it drifted down his spine. The combination mysteriously seized control of his mind. It commanded his body to slow down. It allowed him to savor the softness of your lips, the warmth of your skin under his touch. The way your body responded to his, your hips dangerously arching up to meet his.

The ringing of his phone seemed to break Jax from your spell.

You both paused, panting and breathless, listening to the chime of his phone echo off the walls of the quiet house. Jax’s heart pounded against his ribs, yours beating in tandem.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Jax’s words trail off as his eyes pass over your parted lips.

What was the point of lying?

He had meant to kiss you. Hell he would have done more than that if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“It’s okay.”

You push yourself up, thankful for the distance it forces Jax to put between the two of you.

With fresh air in your lungs, the fog in your mind quickly recedes. An unsettling twinge of guilt tightens your stomach as Jax’s eyes meet yours.

A slippery slope.

A single kiss had tipped the scales. It would take a far more painful act to reset the balance.

You cannot stay here.

The reminder pushes you off the bed.

Thankfully, the ringer doesn’t relent. The moment it dies, the sound returns with a second call. Jax’s eyes track your movements, his silence prompting you to glance in his direction.

“You should get that. I’m going to shower.”

Not tonight.

Your foolish words echo through your mind as you stare down the Reaper grinning at you.

It looks like you’re a bit rusty, sweetheart. You foolishly allowed me to rest.

The slip of your tongue hadn’t registered until nearly an hour after you left Jax alone in his bed.

Not tonight.

The limitation on his retaliation was up. The sun was now high in the sky, blazing down on the crowded parking lot of the Teller-Morrow automotive repair shop.

The patched members of SAMCRO had filed outside with the anticipated arrival of their president. Too intoxicated the night before, Jax had allowed you to drive him home. Which resulted in you having to give him a ride back. Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem. But, today, you wish Jax didn’t require your help.

He was across the parking lot, back to you as he spoke to a man you didn’t recognize. Despite the distance between the two of you, you could still feel the weight of his body against yours. The warmth of his mouth against yours, and how easily it coaxed you to cross a line you’d spent years avoiding.

“What’s troubling your mind, sweetheart?”

You find Bobby’s eyes on you. Rubbing a cloth against his glasses, he awaits your response.

You nod in the direction of Jax, your gaze returning to the man he speaks to. Arms crossed over his chest, he rests against the black SUV behind him.

“Who’s Jax talking to?”

“Nero,” Bobby explains. “He’s helping us out with something.”

“Something?” You echo, your brow arched in amusement as Bobby meets your gaze. The action pulls a chuckle from the older man. “Am I better off not knowing?”

“Depends,” he shrugs, eyes watching as your attention returns to Jax. “On how good you were at comforting Jax last night. Don't want to bring out your jealous side.”

Your eyes roll at the implication.

“I got him to sleep,” you sigh. “Something none of you knuckleheads bothered to do.”

Bobby releases a chuckle, unconvinced. “The kid’s stubborn, same as you.”

“How were things with him before…”

Bobby remains silent as he struggles to find words, to sum up, the events that have occurred in your absence.

“Jax has been preparing for the gavel since he was born,” his eyes take in the crowded lot. “But I don’t you can ever really prepare for it, legacy or not. He’s been trying to steer us in the right direction, but…”

With listening ears nearby, you watch Bobby’s brows rise in suggestion. You don’t need him to complete his statement.

You noticed Clay’s absence the moment you arrived. Although you were glad he wasn’t around to add more to his stepson’s plate, you knew Clay’s absence still weighed heavy on Jax’s mind.

Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.

With Clay out of sight, Jax wasn’t able to see what he was plotting.

As if sensing your thoughts, Clay steps out of the clubhouse.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”

Your words come out low enough to only be heard by Bobby, but Clay’s gaze scans the crowded lot before settling on you.

He’s visibly aged since your last sighting of the former president. The tubes tucked into his nostrils snaked down his chest to the oxygen tank in his left hand. He looked meek and surely incapable of riding his bike out with the rest of the club. His expression remained unreadable as you lifted your hand offering him a wave.

“I don’t imagine he’s been supporting Jax in his new role?”

With a slight shake of his head, Bobby wraps his arm around your shoulder. Giving you a gentle squeeze, he offers you a warm smile as your head briefly rests against him.

“It’s good to have you back.”

Soon you’re left alone, nervous energy radiating through your body as Jax makes his way toward you.

Despite the feeling, you cannot deny him a smile as Jax comes to a stop before you. The smile on his face is one you’d spent years missing. Paired with the bright blue eyes searching your expression, you almost forget about the circumstances surrounding your arrival the night before.

Not tonight.

You blink, eyes dropping from his to your worn sneakers.

“Thanks for last night,” he says, his fingers finding yours.

Your eyes focus on his split knuckles. Your thumb gingerly passes over the damaged skin.

“And this morning.”

The second half of his statement comes as your eyes meet his.

“I just want you to be okay.”

It’s not a lie. You’ve never meant anything as much as the words you’ve just spoken. The problem is, you know placating Jax’s current state would only lead to a more difficult departure.

“It feels that way when you’re here.” The softly uttered admission is not meant for your ears.

Jax reaches into the chest pocket of his kutte. He retrieves a familiar scratched eight ball. The same keychain you’d passed to him the last time you said goodbye in the same spot years before. The key he’d forged for you still sits on the ring.

His throat clears as your fingers brush his in retrieval of the key. “You can uh–stay with me as long as you’re here.”

You meet his gaze. His eyes are curious. His invitation is a shoddy attempt at asking the question his lips can’t utter.

How long will you stay?

“Thank you.”

You house the keychain in your front pocket, a silence falling over the two of you.

You can feel her gaze before you spot her. It sears into your skin as your fingers remain interlaced with Jax’s.

Jax follows your gaze, a deep breath filling his lungs as he glimpses Gemma's narrowed eyes. The corner of his lips tugs into a smile as he shifts, blocking you from her sight.

“Play nice,” he sighs. The twinkle of amusement in his eyes relaxes your tense grip on his fingers. “The last thing I need is to break up a fight between you two.”

“I’ll play nice if she does.” Your matter-of-a-fact tone morphs his smile into a grin.

He knew your words rang true. He never dreamt he’d witness a woman who could go toe to toe with his mother until he met you.

The warmth of his hands against your cheeks forces your gaze to meet his. You make a point of allowing your eyes to roll as you huff a “fine.”

“I’m only doing it because you asked,” you mumble.

You can feel your body relax as his soft chuckle fills your ears. Your eyes drift shut as his lips press against your forehead. A parting gift he’d given you for as long as you can remember.

“I gotta go,” Jax mumbles. Despite the admission, you both remain where you stand.

Your lips meet his halfway. The featherlight kiss drew his hands down your spine. Pulling you closer, he deepens the kiss as you relax against his chest.

“Be safe, please.”

Jax’s response to your request comes in a gentle squeeze of your waist. He slips his sunglasses over his eyes before starting toward his bike.

Your mind drives away with Jax as he disappears through the parking lot gates. The distraction allows Gemma to settle alongside you, her voice causing you to jump.

“Gotta admit, I’m surprised you lasted the night.” Your eyes remain on the gates, but Gemma can easily read the tightening of your stance. Her shade-covered eyes rake down your entire frame. “Thought you’d vanish before the sunrise. Isn’t that more your style?”

The breath you take comes out softer than you expect. The smile you’ve fixed on your face instantly forces your shoulders to relax.

“Nice to see you haven’t changed, Gem.”

Gemma lets out a dry laugh as you face her. Instead of matching your words with a snide remark, she nods over her shoulder.

“It's too hot to do this out here,” she sighs, her hand raising to fan her face. “Let’s go in.”

You follow Gemma across the lot towards her office.

The cramped room welcomes you with the forgiving breeze of AC. You sink into the seat opposite hers, eyes passing over the familiar walls. Not much has changed. Her desk is still cluttered, stacked high with files and receipts. The only additions you can easily find are the updated photos tacked against the wall.

A soft smile finds your lips as you observe a photo of Jax.

He sits on his Harley, his son seated in front of him wore his helmet. Older than your last encounter, Abel wears a smile that matches his father's.

“You must have really missed it here.”

Your brow arches, gaze leaving the photo to find Gemma relaxed in her chair. She takes a drag of her cigarette before pointing the lit tip toward you.

“You came running back the second you got a chance.”

“I never missed this place. It’s full of leeches that suck you dry.” Gemma scoffs as your eyes linger on her. “I did miss the weather. Winters in New York are too cold for my taste.”

Gemma’s brow lifts at the admission. “Thought you’d be used to it by now.”

“Why?”

“Jax mentioned that’s where you’re from.”

“Not originally. My mom and I moved there when I was four.”

“What about your dad?”

You shrug.

Breaching the topic of family history is never something you enjoy. Let alone with Gemma on the receiving end. Although you had lived in Charming for five years, Gemma can admit she barely knows much about you.

You had never taken a liking to her. Which was fine for her, Gemma never liked you. She watched you arrive, a stranger to the ways of her lifestyle, but you somehow easily fit in. The moment her son laid eyes on you, Jax was incapable of escaping you. The hold you had over her son, Gemma couldn’t comprehend.

Five years, and not once did you allow Jax to cross the line of friendship. That’s why he couldn't get rid of Lisa. As long as the line remained uncrossed, Lisa believed there was hope.

You knew why Gemma didn’t like you. She feared the influence you had over her son, even if you didn’t recognize the full extent of it.

Lisa thought the way to Jax’s heart was sex. She was naive to believe her tactics would work. No matter how powerful, time and time again, men have fallen victim to the lure of a woman’s touch. Men, much more powerful than Jax Teller, had lost their families and fortunes to a woman able to get them in bed. That’s why Gemma permitted Lisa to stay around. Lisa was incapable of seeing the bigger picture, and that’s how Gemma wanted things to stay.

A woman blinded by the power and money she believed Jax possessed would never think to persuade him to desert it.

A woman who could see through the allure and convince Jax to do the same, was dangerous. That is why her comment comes out with a laugh.

“Lemme guess, your daddy’s locked up somewhere. Serving life for some crime he didn’t commit?”

“Might as well be,” you watch her smile dim as you ignore the bait. “He hasn’t laid eyes on me since I was born.”

A silence falls over the office as Gemma’s eyes study you. If you’re irritated by her previous statement, you show no sign.

“Well, you’re doing pretty good without him from what I hear.”

“And what have you heard?”

“You got a good-paying job waiting for you back in New York.” Tapping her cigarette against the rim of the ashtray, she meets your gaze. “How much time they give you to come here?”

You smile at her question.

Classic Gemma.

Skillfully distracting her prey before hooking them with unsuspecting bait. Only, you’ve been in the ring with her before.

“I took a week off.”

Leaning forward, she crushes her cigarette against the bottom of the ashtray.

“Well, since you’re gonna be here a while I got something for you–”

“I don’t need any favors, Gemma.”

Like many things in Charming, favors from Gemma Teller-Morrow came with strings attached.

“It’s not a favor, sweetheart.” Gemma’s eyes roll. “And it’s not from me.”

You watch her stand. She picks a key up from the board hanging behind her desk. Turning to face you she weighs it in her palm, her eyes taking in your current state of confusion.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she steps around the desk walking to the door. “We can finally get this hunk of trash out of the garage. It’s taking up space for potential customers.”

The “hunk of trash” Gemma referred to sits at the center of the garage. The red 1965 Ford Mustang is a sight for sore eyes. It was the last thing tying you to the father you couldn’t remember. Left with your mother, the car was the only thing she had bothered to keep that came from the man who disappeared faster than the ink could dry on your birth certificate.

“If it were up to me, I would have had it crushed at the junkyard when you left,” Gemma says, eyes tracking your movements as you step into the garage for a closer look. “But ya know Jax. He made sure the prospect kept it in pristine condition in case you ever came back.”

“It’s a good thing he doesn’t take after you.”

“You’re right,” Gemma’s nose scrunches at the comment. “Jackson has always taken after his father. Right down to the bleeding heart. That’s what got him killed.”

You jump, managing to catch the keys poorly cast in your direction.

“Phil.” Gemma waves the prospect over. “Follow her, so she can return her rental. Finally, give us a reason to get her car outta here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

"For someone who called me here, you sure delivered an icy welcome." Your comment stops Gemma in her tracks.

Her dark eyes narrow as she takes in your expectant expression. Your words may have stopped short, but the unspoken question is loud and clear.

Why the hell did you call me here?

"See you when you get back."

The prospect watches your eyes follow Gemma out of the garage. He offers you a warm smile as your eyes drift to him.

“So you’re the mystery owner,” he says, hand running over the hood. “Jax’s been gatekeeping this one.”

Your brow arches prompting him to elaborate.

“Everyone who sees this car asks to buy it,” he chuckles. “Just last week, some suit came through and offered Jax 60k, cash if he was willing to part ways with it. Gem was pissed when he said no.”

A smile spread across your lips at the thought of Jax resisting Gemma throwing a fit.

“I’m Phil.” He offers you his hand.

You drop the key in Phil’s hand before starting toward the garage’s entrance.

“Y/N. You can follow me.”

It's not up for discussion, Jackson.

150 kilos. Three weeks.

Damon Pope's voices echoes through his mind as Jax parks before the clubhouse.

His latest meeting with the kingpin was proving to be problematic.

150 kilos. Three weeks.

Jax had difficulty moving fifty kilos to meet Pope's last deadline. He cannot fathom how the kingpin expected him to move more than double that in the same length of time. Let alone convince the club to assist in the matter.

Jax wasn't naive--his table was divided. A divided table can lead to a king's downfall. Clay was a living testament.

Since the meeting, Jax had connected with the Mayan president. Alvarez hadn't bothered to ask if Jax was okay.

"Sorry about your friend, hermano," he'd sighed as he'd answered Jax's call.

The conversation delegated a meet-up for the two MCs. Alvarez knew better than most that the responsibilities of a king did not stop for a loss.

Even if Jax could secure help from the Mayans, it was still too much product.

Fuck.

"So, the rumors are true." The smile on Eli's face stretched into a grin as he watched Jax's pace stall. Damn. He loved catching the SAMCRO leader off guard. "Your girlfriend's back in town."

Jax lifts an unlit cigarette to his lips, eyes taking in the Lieutenant casually resting against the hood of your Mustang. He pauses to light it.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Right." Eli slowly drug out the word, his eyes taking in Jax's current state.

Since their last meeting, Jax had earned himself new bruises.

Jax allows the smoke to leave his lungs before raising his question.

"Is there a reason you're here?" It's a genuine question. What little patience Jax had was threatening to run thin as he took in Eli's smile.

A dry laugh escapes Eli's mouth, the sound tightening Jax's jaw.

Shrugging off the car, he invades the President's space, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"I keep trying to figure out how the fuck you manage to squirm outta every cage I manage to put you in," Eli's growled. "That murder charge was airtight."

"Clearly," Jax huffs. "It wasn't."

Dropping it to the ground, Jax ground the cigarette with his shoe.

"Look, man. If you came to ask how I got out, I can cut this enlightening conversation short. I don't know any more than you do." Jax allowed Eli's fiery eyes to search his.

All the Lieutenant found was two pools of cool blue. The tone of Jax's voice would have convinced most. Eli, however, knew Jax was a master of gatekeeping secrets.

"Now, I gotta go," lighting patting the man's chest, Jax ignored the gritting of Eli's teeth. "I'm sure you're aware, we both have jobs to do. Last time I checked, my taxes aren't paying for you to sit on your ass in my shop's lot."

Eli reacts quicker than Jax. His grip caught Jax's arm, bruisingly pressing into his skin, keeping him in place.

He felt Jax's body change in a matter of half a second. The calm, relaxed posture tensed as Eli's grip tightened. Jax's rigid stance paled in comparison to the frigid icy blue gaze that passed over Eli's face before lowering to his grip.

"There's the man I've been hearing about," Eli chuckled, his smile stretching as Jax's jaw locked into place. He tightened his grip, the slight flinch of Jax's left eye the only sign the pain had registered. "Thought you'd let Pope scare it outta ya."

"I suggest you move your hand," Jax's voice came out low and level, the threat pooling in his eyes loosening Eli's grip.

Eli's touch falls away, the pounding of the blood rushing in Jax's ears prompting Jax to take a step forward. His fight instinct had flipped on as quick as a switch. Jax catches sight of the panic that briefly flashes in the Lieutenant's eyes, Eli's right hand instinctively moving to the holster on his hip.

The pain registering against his right palm pulls Jax's gaze from Eli's holster. Relaxing his clenched fist, Jax forces a harsh breath from his lungs.

"Unless you plan on leaving your condolences, I suggest you get the fuck out of here, Eli," Jax growled.

He didn't wait for a response. Neither man can comprehend what force pulled Jax back. It guided him across the lot towards the clubhouse, prompting Jax to back down from a fight they both knew his rage would easily allow him to win.

"I'll admit I took you for a lot of things, Teller, but not the type of man that would blatantly disrespect Opie by playing nice with the man responsible for his death?"

Eli's words echoed across the empty lot.

They halt Jax's movements, forcing him to stop just shy of the door. A long second passes, Jax's fists clenching.

Eli waits, ready to receive Jax's backlash. He just needed verbal confirmation. A verbal confirmation of the relationship between the Oakland kingpin and SAMCRO.

But Eli's request was denied as Jax yanked the door open before disappearing inside.

You pass Phil another beer, watching as he slides it into the fridge. Phil is behind the bar restocking it in preparation for the meeting Jax had called.

Although most members of SAMCRO had filed through the door an hour ago, you had yet to see Jax. To pass the time, you had busied yourself with helping Phil complete small tasks around the clubhouse.

The prospect seemed to be thankful for your company. He quickly found what Jax liked about you. You were easy to talk to.

Your eyes pass over the crowded room. "So…any idea what this meeting is about?"

Phil's eyes briefly meet yours before returning to the beer you offer him. His voice lowers, prompting you to lean across the bar to hear.

"All I know is…there’s a big shipment the guys gotta vote on today."

"That explains why Jax is tense."

"Everyone is," Phil admits. "Pope is offering the club a lot of money if Jax can pull it off."

Your muscles tense. A cold shiver runs down your spine.

"Pope?"

"Damon Pope, some big hitter from Oakland—"

Phil tenses. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Jax stalking through the door.

The laughter and conversations quickly die down as the President's return registers.

You watch as Lisa instantly perks up, her posture straightening as Jax's eyes drift to her. Seated at the opposite end of the bar, she has spent the last hour shooting daggers at you. The beer in her hand was nearly empty. She had tried to pass the time by flirting with Frankie Diamonds.

It didn't take more than a single look over for you to register how tight Jax was wound.

His eyes follow Lisa's gaze to you. His brow arches as his eyes meet yours.

“Your guard dogs are extra feisty today,” you note as he stops beside you.

"Can’t do much about that, darling," he sighs, reaching over the bar for a beer. “Not trying to get bit today.”

He glances over at you, surprised by your lack of comment. He takes a sip of his beer before settling on the stool next to yours. He doesn’t object as you take the bottle to do the same.

“Jax–”

“I’m good.” His response is automatic. He’s repeated it a handful of times today. Each time he said it, he believed it would move him one step closer to it becoming true.

“That’s…good,” your brow furrows, eyes watching as he slowly turns the ring on his left hand. “But that’s not what I was going to ask.”

Jax’s eyes lift to find yours focused on the bottle in your hand.

“Since when are you working with Damon Pope?”

To no surprise, your question is met with silence.

In all your years as friends, you had never desired to learn the details of the club’s business. Jax was thankful for your desire. It made it easier for him to filter out the bullshit in your presence.

Jax's brow raises as he accepts the bottle from you. “How’d you hear about that?”

It is your turn to be shocked by the presented question.

You hadn’t expected him to respond, let alone not attempt to deny your words. Instead, of deflecting the question, Jax had taken it head on. The look of confusion on his face causes you to swallow.

“Does it really matter?” You ask, suddenly wary his question may be an act of avoidance.

Jax’s jaw tightens his eyes slowly passing over the room. He releases his breath as his gaze lands on Phil. The prospect trying his best to avoid Jax’s gaze as he ferociously scrubbed a clean table with a rag.

“It does matter,” Jax’s gaze remains on Phil. “The club’s not advertising that information yet. We still got shit to work out—“

His eyes glance in your direction, his words stopping short. He knows he’s already said enough by confirming your suspicion.

“I know it’s not—“

“Your place to speak on?”

Jax watches you recoil at his harshly spoken words. The sight was one he’d hoped to never see from you again.

"Shit. I didn’t mean that.”

He sighs, hand running down his face. His eyes gripped shut. He tried his best to force down the anger still bubbling from his encounter with Eli. Lifting the bottle to his lips, how downed the chilled liquid to the last drop.

His tired eyes lifts to meet your gaze. When he speaks this time, his voice is softer.

“It’s just…I’ve been hearing everyone’s opinion on this all morning.”

“It’s a bad idea to work with him, Jackson.”

The conviction in your voice gives Jax pause. His brow furrows.

“What do you know about him?”

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#let me know what you think?#jax teller x black!reader #jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #soa imagine #charlie hunnam imagine

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garbinge · 2 years

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Jax Teller x F!Reader

Summary: Lockdown at the clubhouse can be stressful, even when Jax comes back.

I have a sort of second part to this fic, called Riding With Angels. Can be considered its own standalone fic but figured I’d link it here!

A/N: I have no idea what this is but it’s something so enjoy lol.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Cursing, canon level violence insinuated.

SOA Taglist: @drabbles-mc (Not sure how many SOA fics i’ll have in the future but happy to add anyone to any potential future fics!)

The heaviness of the day was apparent on everyone at the club house that night. It was lockdown day number 7, but it was starting to feel like everyone had been there for weeks. Which was normal, the days blended together here at the clubhouse, especially for those who didn’t sleep in the dorms and were making their beds on the old couches, pool tables, and floor of the club. You heard some commotion outside of Jax’s dorm so you decided to leave Abel and Thomas who were sound asleep and made your way through the bar area which was looking more like a maze with all the sleeping bags.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Gemma’s voice alerted you to look in the kitchen. She was pouring a cup of coffee for herself but had grabbed a second mug for you.

“Hey, Gem.” You stepped into the kitchen, not making eye contact as you were still curious about the commotion.

“They just got back,” she said, focused on the pour, “doesn’t look good.”

You nodded, expecting that much. You didn’t know what was happening, you rarely ever did, but they didn’t go into lockdown over nothing. The more you thought about it, you weren’t sure if there was ever a point where lockdown went past one week, but there was always a first for everything.

“Go,” Gemma nodded towards the door that lead to the lot, “I’ll go be with the boys, you go check on your’s.”

Before you could argue, not sure if you were ready to deal with what was on the other side of the door, Gemma was walking back towards the dorms, leaving you with coffee and your thoughts, alone.

After a sip and a sigh, you got the courage to go outside. There was a large bonfire happening just outside the awning, mostly made up of family but a few of the club members had joined. Most of them sporting new cuts and bruises. Your eyes scanned over all of them, taking them all in. Juice looked broken, his spirit crushed, his lip split. Happy was next to him, no visible marks on him, but the rage was dripping off of him. Tig had made his way past you, patting your back and mumbling a quick “hey, doll” greeting but in such a monotone voice in comparison to Tig’s normal tone.

You now were looking for him. A little worried what you were going to be met with, broken bones, or worst, a broken soul. Scanning the lot, you were startled by someone tall breaking your gaze.

“Jesus Christ, Ope.” You whispered. It normally would have gotten a chuckle out of him but not today. There likely wouldn’t have been any sign of a laugh around here anytime soon.

“Jax isn’t here, yet. He’ll be here in a bit.” he said like he had been rehearsing what to say. After taking a quick glance at the bikes you noticed Clay and Jax’s bikes were missing. You nodded to Opie, understanding there was something bigger at play here that you likely would never know about.

You made your way to the bonfire, grabbing an open seat. Your thoughts consumed you as the time passed and there was no sign of Jax. The mug you had was now empty but before you knew it that same tall shadowy figure was hovering over you again. Opie was back with a mug of coffee in one hand and a beer in the other. He offered you the coffee mug and sat down on the bench next to you.

“Any fuckin’ longer and I might have to start drinking to pass the time,” you half joked as you brought the coffee to your lips.

Opie didn’t say anything, which normally wouldn’t have bothered you, but right now you needed something to keep you level headed.

“Opie. You gotta give me something.” Your eyes looked over at him as he stared into the bonfire. “Is it ATF? The Mayans?” You questioned pulling at the little bit you knew happening with the club.

That got Opie’s attention, he looked down at you with a frown on his face.

“I may not know the ins and outs of the club’s doings, but I’m not stupid, I can pick up on shit.” You looked away from him not expecting him to give you anything.

“It’s family shit.” Opie said at a mumble. “Mixed with other shit, but, something is up with him and Clay.”

Now that, you knew. Jax had shared a few things with you in regards to Clay, but nothing you were willing to show your cards on to anyone in the club. You just gave Opie a nod, but then your eyes went around to all the other guys who were beat up.

“You’re telling me that Jax and Clay’s shit did all that.” You pointed to Juice, Tig, and Happy who were sitting across the fire out of earshot nursing their wounds with frozen bags of vegetables, sad looks, and alcohol.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” Opie attempted to smile.

“Maybe.” You smiled back at him.

“Shit’s bleeding into the club, makes us weak.” Opie said knowing it was the last piece of information he was going to give up. You’d known Opie on a different level than the rest of the club. He was Jax’s best friend and that’s how you knew him first, compared to everyone else who were just patch members who were nice to you since you were Jax’s girl.

“You’re telling me because you want me to talk to him.” You said seeing right through what he was doing.

Before Opie could answer or you could ask him why he thought you were going to be the one to get through to him, the sound of motorcycles in the distance filled the air and your head turned as the few people on guard at the gate moved to open the fence.

Clay’s bike was first in but Jax was shortly behind him. The two of them didn’t speak, in fact Clay was off his bike and halfway to the clubhouse while Jax was still backing up into his spot.

The president walked by you, his eyes locked with yours for a millisecond, you would have missed it if you weren’t looking for clues in every detail happening at the moment. His glance, although short, was menacing, it was mean, and it was annoying but it was short lived so instead of giving that any of your energy, you turned to wait for Jax.

His walk was slow, and there was definitely a limp in his walk. His eye was red and starting to bruise. Your mind had to wonder if that was a consequence of whatever the rest of the guys went through or something Clay had just done.

He was closer now, and you could see how he felt all over his face. You took a few steps forward, not expecting him to engulf you into a hug the way he did. His lips met with your temple and your arms wrapped around his waist and slid under his kutte.

He smelled like defeat, which was a mix of sweat, cologne, cigarettes, and dirt. But you weren’t going to let that get in the way of the moment he was having with you.

His hands moved to cup your face, despite his slumped shoulders that originally melted into your grip at first. You were now eye to eye, staring at each other.

“Hi.” You said at a whisper.

His lips were pressed together but parted into a small smile when you spoke.

His eyebrows raised, “hi,” he said back to you as his thumb caressed your cheek and the rest of his fingers gripped your head tighter.

“I heard you had a rough day or something.” Your voice was still at a whisper.

“Or something,” he said with a nod.

“I’m not a fan of your new accessory,” you let your grip behind his waist go and move up to caress his bruised eye.

Jax had a high tolerance for pain, so when there was a slight flinch as you lightly touched it, you knew that meant he was in a lot of pain.

“Sorry,” you removed your hand from the bruise. “I’ll get you something cold for it,” you went to let go of him so you could scour the clubhouse for any frozen vegetable that wasn’t currently being used by one of the other members but Jax pulled you back.

“Let’s go home,” Jax said, placing his hand over yours back on his face.

“Okay, sure, I cleaned the dorm up today, the boys are asleep but if you want some time to shower I can take them to sit by the bonfire or have Gemma watch them for a bit.” Your mind was going a mile a minute, which usually happened when you were overwhelmed with thoughts.

“No, babe, like home. I want to go home.” Jax said as seriously as possible.

“We’re on lockdown, though.” You frowned looking up at him.

“Abel and Thomas can stay here with my mom, and you know I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I just can’t be here.” His eyes closed and his head shook.

“Alright, yea, that sounds good. Honestly it sounds nice, I’m sick of the shitty water pressure here.” You managed to make him laugh. “Let me just get some of my stuff, and then we can go.”

You had taken two steps before you turned around again. “You gotta give me something when we get back, Jax. You gotta let me in.” It was random and probably shocking to hear that out of your mouth, but at the same time, what really could Jax expect.

He gave you a nod in approval. “Get your stuff and we’ll get out of here.” He said giving a final nod to the clubhouse, and with that you escaped behind the metal door.

After finding Gemma who was now with Abel and Thomas in the main part of the clubhouse, playing, you asked if she could watch them while you and Jax were gone. She had her hesitancy of letting the two leave the compound but she knew you weren’t the person to argue with about it, and with everything going on, she wasn’t going to have that conversation with Jax. She’d just hope nothing horrible would happen.

You were in Jax’s dorm, grabbing some of your things from the dresser when you heard the door close. Your head snapped to see Jax making his way over to the bed.

“I’ll be done in like 2 minutes, just need to grab my backpack.” Your head wasn’t facing him, you just figured he was waiting for you at the edge of the bed. But when you turned around you saw a large binder in his hands. It looked like a manual to a bike or a car, so you frowned but you glanced at the door and noticed Jax had locked the door, which likely meant whatever was in the binder was more important than it looked.

“If you want me to give you something, I’m going to have to give you everything. And it all starts here.” His hand lifted the binder and shook it.

“It’s going to be a long night isn’t it?” You said sitting next to him grabbing the binder from his hands and running your hand over it.

“But at least we’ll be home.” Jax lifted his eyebrows and pushed his shoulder into yours.

You smiled and leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before pulling away and staring into his blue eyes.

“At least we’ll be home.”

#Jax Teller #Jax Teller Fanfic #Jax Teller Fanfiction #SOA #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfic #SOA fanfic #opie winston #jax teller x reader #jax x reader

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silversatin2105 · 1 month

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Hi!!! Kisaki is one of my favorite antagonists! May you write something with the reader being in love with him; they hang out all of the time and admire him. The reader confesses their feelings to him only for him to turn them down cause he's in love with Hina? The reader will be very sad about it😭

Yes I can do this and believe me it killed me to write this, I had to come to terms with this not ending in love and happiness but I did after discussing it with a friend of mine and so I do hope you like this, so without any further delay please enjoy

Trigger warnings

Angst

Mental health issues

Bullying

Unrequited love

Kisaki X rejected Fem-reader

Ever since you had become a freshman at the school Kisaki attended, You were deeply curios of him, his aura called to you in a no one else did, but you were nervous, watched him from afar, afraid to talk to him because deep down, you were at your core afraid of him, he made your fight or flight response trigger and you wrongly equated this to love, you wanted to talk to him yes, but your heart told you to stay away.

After half a year of yearning and pining over this amazing person, even as a fantasy crush you decided to confess to him, true you both never talked, but it didn’t matter, you had built up this image of him in your mind, you had imagined dates with him and in your distorted heart this was enough.

A verbal confession ? no this was too much for you to handle and so you chose to write him a little love letter, confess in a little pink envelope, it worked out for some people in your class you told yourself and so after school that day you blew off all social gatherings you had planned to pen your magum opis, your note of pure love.

You sat at your desk at home and drafted so many versions of how you would tell him, many ideas passed though your mind as you wrote your feelings upon your light pink stationary, ball after ball of crumpled paper fell from your desk as you poured your heart into your confession that night, hell you even forget to come down for dinner when called, you focused so much on this one little note that much that it was first light when you had the finished letter.

On your walk to school the next morning you were a physical mess, you look tired and you were, you didn’t have the same level of pep and energy your friend commented, you ignored her as you headed to the lockers at the entrance of school and slipped your confession into the locker of Tetta Kisaki.

After you waited, you nodded off a few times, but you kept yourself awake the only way you knew how, think of how he will react, hell take it well, you will be together from that day forward, how wrong you were, you weren’t even part of his world.

You watched from your vantage point for the fruits of your last night labour to grow and a little after six, he appeared, the guy of your dreams, he opened his shoe locker and your little pink envelope fell into his hand as he retrieved his school shoes, you hoped for the best as your heart raced, but then the cold reality hit you with the sound of paper being ripped.

It hurt you, killed you as you watched with cold horror as Kisaki ripped your confession letter, your penned feelings turning into scattered shards of your very soul, your deep feelings massacred as the little pieces of paper fell into the waste bin.

Cold reality set in and all you color vanished from your vision turning your world black and white, you withdrew from socializing, only stuck by your usual spots, but they no longer brought you comfort, some of your fellow school mates began talking rumors of Kisaki meeting with a girl, her name Tatchibana Hinata, you shuddered and tired to mentally process this information but in your state you came to the conclusion they were an item and your apathy turned into bind hatred.

If you weren’t the love of his life you decided it was your god given right to hate this Tachibana girl, you spread slander about her, you got some of your remaining friend group to try and ruin her life, anything just so she would feel your pain, it only ended with one action when he the perceived love of your life accosted you at your locker, your blind to love heart thought he had seen the light but all that changed with a message spoken in a cold tone.

“I don’t know what your planning but if you go after Tachibana again …I WILL kill you” his cold voice spoke as he began to walk away from you, that aura of curiosity being shattered as you stood in fear.

About a month later you had to transfer out of Tokyo for a place overseas, you protested at first but after being told by your mother that for your mental well-being it was for the best and it was a new beginning you left Japan, true you were still pining for what could have been but you decided that you needed to move on.

For time can heal most wounds

END SCENE

#tokyo revengers #toman gang #tokyo manji gang #kisaki tetta #character x y/n #reader x character #written response #Toman-Inquisitorial-division

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writercole · 1 year

Text

Drive Me Crazy

Summary: A chance at a promotion becomes more than a chance encounter and a date is far better than par. Words: 1330 Warnings: bad puns, objectification, innuendo, language Credits: @princessmisery666 for being the best beta ever. A/N: I could not have done this without my Opie. This AU has been in development for quite some time now and literally would not exist had my Ope not forced me to watched this stupid movie about these stupid planes and stupid hot boys. I still have strong negative feelings about Tom Cruise.

Carla knew that her best chance of getting her promotion lay in impressing her bosses at the golf game she was invited to at the end of the week. The only problem was her lack of skills.

Everyone at the office raved about the golf pro at Sandy Dunes Country Club. When she called, she was informed that lessons were available to non members at a higher price and more limited schedule. She booked for every available afternoon slot.

Now that she’d arrived, twenty minutes early for her first lesson, staring at the lavish landscaping in front of the columned building through her windshield, she wasn’t sure she had made the right decision. Golf had nothing to do with her job in marketing. Her performance over the last several years garnered rave reviews from both superiors and clients alike and her colleagues adored and respected her. She didn’t need to be good at golf.

My marketing game is on par, I don’t need a golf score, too. That thought drew a laugh from her and gave her the courage to go meet this golf pro, Bradley Bradshaw.

“Who names their kid Brad Brad, anyway?” she muttered under her breath as she stepped into the lobby. Her sneakers squeaked with every step she took, giving her the feeling that everyone was staring at her, judging her.

She saw a group of men standing over by the pro shop, impeccably dressed and impossibly handsome, all three of them. One of them looked like a living Ken doll and another looked straight out of the California surf. The third reminded her of a more handsome Ricky Ricardo with his jet black hair and brown eyes. They all looked up as she passed, her eyes darting away quickly to avoid being caught, though they didn’t seem to care if they were taking their turn to ogle her as their eyes followed her inside.

She scanned the small shop, spotting another broad shouldered man, his back towards her as he arranged stock behind the counter. She approached slowly, still dreading the actual lesson but slightly less apprehensive about meeting her instructor. If he was half as attractive as the male models standing at the door she’d have trouble paying attention, but at least she’d have some eye candy.

“Excuse me,” she called, stepping up to the counter. As the man turned, she had to suppress a gasp. His eyes drew her in immediately. Warm and dark, they reminded her of tidepools on the beach, the sand turning the ocean water a brownish shade before it washed back out to sea.

The depths of his enchantment deepened when her eyes landed on the soft brown mustache, something that would have been commonplace forty years ago but had fallen out of fashion - and rightfully so - yet somehow, this man pulled it off. The faded scars on his cheeks told of a deep past, something that piqued her curiosity without him ever having spoken a word. As his eyes focused on her face, his lips curled into a soft smile, making her swoon inside.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked. His voice was rich and velvety, wrapping her in a warmth that made her feel safe.

“I’m looking for Bradley Bradshaw? I have a lesson at 3,” she said, controlling her voice well enough that he didn’t hear the tremble of anxiety or the breathlessness of her attraction towards him.

“You’ve found him. It’s nice to meet you.” He rounded the edge of the counter and extended his hand. His hand engulfed hers, calloused and warm and strong.

“You say that now. But by the time our lesson is over for today you may feel differently.” She chuckled as she let his hand go, casting her eyes down in embarrassment.

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, I’m terrible at anything athletic.”

His eyebrows raised and his arms folded across his chest as he eyed her in disbelief. “I highly doubt that, sweetheart. I bet you could run circles around me.”

“Well, running isn’t really athletic and -”

“Running builds stamina. It’s important for pretty much every other sport as well as…other activities.” He winked and her face flushed, her bottom lip slipping between her teeth as her eyes found anything else to look at. The whistles and cheers from the group of men were silenced with a single look before he turned his attention back to her. “Let’s head out to the driving range. See what you’ve got.”

She let him walk in front of her when an idea crossed her mind. “What does driving have to do with golf?” she scoffed with a tsk. When Bradley turned around, his mouth ajar and eyebrows furrowed, it took everything in her to keep a straight face.

"You're kidding right?"

"I know about the golf carts but I mean, I drove here in a car. Shouldn't that count for something?"

Bradley scrubbed his hand down his face, folding his arms across his chest covering the sigh that escaped him with a hand over his mouth.

"I told you I'm not athletic!"

"That's not - I mean I - You -" he stammered as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, resting his hands on his hips when his gaze returned to her. When his eyes landed on her face, her eyes twinkled with mischief and her bottom lip pinched between her teeth, his jaw dropped. "You're fucking with me."

Laughter burst from her mouth, her head tipping back before she doubled over. Several long moments later, struggling to catch her breath, she wiped tears from her eyes. “The look on your face, Bradley. It was worth everything,” she stated through her laughter.

“Worth me dropping you as a client?” he offered.

“Oh, absolutely. I don’t even want to learn golf,” she shrugged.

“So why hire me?”

“It’ll give me an edge for a promotion,” she sighed. “Old white men and their boys clubs. They invited me to go golfing with them this weekend at some private course and I know zip about how to play.”

“Old white men and - you wouldn’t be talking about Mitchell, Simpson, and Caine, would you?”

“How did you know that?” she questioned, her eyes narrowing.

“They play on my dad’s course.”

“Wait, Goose is your dad?”

“Yeah, they were all in the Navy together -”

“Before they retired and went their separate ways and get together every couple of weeks to hang out.” She shut her eyes and groaned. Of course that would be the case. “I’ve heard their stories a thousand times. I work for Caine Technology.”

“In that case, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Bradley smirked, “he sucks at golf. So do the other three, my dad included.”

“Then how did you become a golf pro?”

“Sorry, that information is reserved for a second date.”

“A second date? I wasn’t aware this was a first date,” she flirted.

“Well, this isn’t, exactly. But I had planned on offering to buy you a drink afterwards at this great place I know that just happens to be attached to a restaurant.”

“Did I just ruin your plans?”

“Depends on what your answer is.”

“And if my answer is yes?”

“Then I guess you haven’t ruined my plans.” Bradley tucked his hands in his pockets and grinned at her, a boyish smile that made his eyes light up.

“Good,” she smirked, but her expression soon sobered and she looked very serious. “But my plans consist of beating your dad’s friends at golf so I need you to show me everything you know.”

“In that case, let’s work on your short game first. None of them can putt worth a damn,” he chuckled as he offered his arm and led her to the practice area. His track record with women had him sitting pretty in the nest as an Eagle, but with Carla, he wanted to get an ace or at least avoid the sand and land in the green.

#writercole #country club au #a drive for love collection #golf pro bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster #top gun maverick #tgm #cole loves stacey

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galactikburzt · 8 months

Text

Oh yeah remember that one post i made about that forbidden testing tracks mod before it came out a while ago

I have decided that I am gonna be this mod's strongest soldier because some people out there are being mean about this mod when there was clearly a lot of passion behind it and it really seems to be someone's first mod ever and like, i do really hope that we get to see new things from the creator in the future because i do see a lot of potential in the mod

Putting my thoughts over the mod in detail under the cut

Personally, I do think that this mod's main issue was that it tried to be way too much at the same time

Which, as someone who likes writing for myself from time to time, I get it. Sometimes you kind of just write something so ambitious that you later realize that its so big for you that you wont be able to manage to get yourself to complete it

The mod has A LOT of mechanics, and I mean A LOT. While I have never had the chance to learn how to build puzzles in portal since my pc is currently not working, I do know a little bit about level design since I am interested in the topic, and also because I do also like messing around on custom level editors whenever I can which was the thing that made me feel interested on level design lol (i really love seeing video essays about gameplay mechanics whenever i can because i do find that very fascinating but that's not the point i am trying to make right now)

Forbidden testing tracks does have lots of mechanics, several multiple types of guns, a dimensional traveling portal sort of, i think, sparks you can jump on, explosive cubes, hell it even has a test room that rotates itself

When you put it out in paper like that it sounds amazing

But the thing is, I can't get myself to mention all of these mechanics, and that's the thing

The mod has so many mechanics, that it is difficult for the player to process all of these new things at the same time

Some of these mechanics appear only once or twice only to not be used ever again

I do think, that whenever you add a new mechanic to a game of any genre, you need to let the player have the chance to process it, learn it, and mess around with it until they get the hang out of it

Let's take a look at the first portal game for example

Im not gonna go into detail about all of the mechanics and how the entire game is constructed because that would be exhausting and too long to write, but I do want to point out the introduction of the portal mechanics

At the very start of the game, we do see the first portal in the game, which we need to use to get out of chell's relaxation vault

We don't have the portal gun in our hands yet, and for a person trying to play for the first time it would be overwhelming to get the gun with both the orange and blue portals at the same time, so the game lets the player get through one portal to walk through to get to the outside of the relaxation vault

And then the player is able to process the main mechanic of the game in that way, you get through one portal and you come out to the other one

There are other tests that do a similar thing to get the player to be used to the portal mechanics and the portal gun

like the test we get after the first one and the test we use to learn how to use the portals to reach higher places, so we can get to learn about stuff like learning where to place portals, how to move around and how do portals work in general, all before we get the two portal gun thing so it can be easier to process for a regular player

(sorry if i am not explaining myself correctly 😭😭😭)

I do think that the mod could benefit itself by focusing on one or two mechanics, like some other mods out there like Aperture tag and Portal Reloaded, who do focus on the gel gun and the time travel mechanics respectively

And speaking of adding way too much, I do think the writing does also suffer from this in a way

So there's this core called SAIC (which is honestly the best part out of the entire mod in my opinion)

I think that the voice acting for him is very good, and I personally Do love his animations as well

When I first saw the trailer I was very excited to see this core in particular, because his lines were delivered very well and I was excited to see more of him in general

but unfortunately, he didn't really get too much dialogue

Yeah, there is this section at the second chapter where we grab him for a bit, but he really just says two small dialogues at the start and at the end

After we meet him, we kind of just hold him for a bit and he doesn't say anything while we walk until we get at his management rail

The game does have a couple walking sections which can feel empty sometimes

I think the game would have benefited from small dialogues through the way while walking these long ways, along with solving some small puzzles outside of the main test chambers, something like the start of portal stories mel with the old aperture which had the player exploring the place without it feeling too lonely thanks to the recordings and later also virgil along the way so the player doesn't feel too lost

There are many things that come off as out of context, we don't really know about SAIC's motivations as far as I can remember and the first half of the game feels very empty, because there's nothing to guide you or give you context

Maybe someone could think that the creator didn't leave too many recordings so the player could feel lonely, but sincerely it is very possible to have a game full of dialogue along the way which also makes you feel isolated, and Portal 1's atmosphere along with GLaDOS having lots of dialogue through every chamber proves it

So while we have the first part of the game being completely empty and out of context, then we have the second half of the game which is overwhelming.

So, let me try to describe it

A lot of nothing happened, i THINK that SAIC was trying to get us to escape, and then GLaDOS catches the player or something and then SAIC apparently dies. And then Wheatley takes over the facility because TURNS OUT that the whole thing is happening at the same time of portal 2

Then things happen i guess and the player just keeps testing because i forgot why, then something happens and we are at the moon and apparently cave johnson is alive and then turns out SAIC's death was a fakeout, and then there's something about Rachel Johnson twin sister of chell because of a something failure???? And then i think everyone just decides to destroy aperture at the end

Just like some of these mechanics out there, there are so many things in the story coming out of nowhere (along with some of these way too into the headcannon territory) that feel out of context, and overwhelming, and then there are some elements which are not used enough or just appear once or twice to not be seen ever again, like SAIC, for example

His voice feels nice to listen to, and I feel like the mod would have benefited itself by having more dialogue and exploring his character with small stuff like him peeping in to say a couple things and adding random comments even if it's just something like a "so... What's your name?" "Hey hey, over here!" Or anything like that

He genuinely should have gotten more screen time, the way his lines were delivered was very nice to hear even if his dialogue was short and the writing could get nonsensical

I think SAIC has the potential to be just impactful as Wheatley if handled correctly, but unfortunately he was set aside even if he was supposed to be one of the main characters because the mod itself was trying to add way too much at the same time, which didn't allow the player to get attached to the story

I think the creator just. Added so much that they couldn't focus on the details of the story

which is understandable because I myself had a couple original stories that never saw the light of the day for the same reason

I realized on the hard way that I was biting off way more than I can chew, because i kept adding more and more, to the point i either had so many characters with no purpose or i couldn't get to work on details because there was too much to work on

So yeah, I do think that sometimes less is more in creative projects, you don't need to be the next super big project immediately, just focus on the essentials and then add the final details later. Try to know the size of your project and keep it in mind, because even short things can be very enjoyable and memorable to experience

With that aside, there's only one question left that I do want to answer

Why

Why do I like this mod so much? What do I see in it for me to call myself the #1 fan of PFTT despite everyone disliking it? Why am I taking the time to write a long essay about a mod that probably no one else aside from me might even like?

Well, I'm pretty sure you have noticed me repeating this one specific word through the whole essay so far:

Potential.

Yeah, the mod is messy both story and gameplay wise, but I think that the mod does have a lot of effort and passion put behind it

I seriously hope that the creator is not gonna end up stopping with doing more content after feeling discouraged by the reactions of all these people

Because I do think that this developer could create for example, the next portal stories mel, or the next aperture tag in the future

Because even if it is very flawed, I think the mod does have it's charm regardless

Yes, it was surreal to watch, it made no sense sometimes, it had lots of things coming out of nowhere, and some other couple things

But I had a good time watching it

I absolutely love SAIC, and when I saw the trailer I KNEW that he would be one of my favourite characters once the mod came out, and I was right

Even if the mod was nothing like what I have expected

I had lots of fun while watching this mod, and sincerely I do wish I was able to play it despite everything

Because it seems like something you could get on a call with a couple friends and talk about it

And ironically even if I can't remember the story, waiting for the mod once the trailer came out, and later watching this mod on a stream through one sitting was one of the most memorable things i could have experienced

I can't stop thinking about SAIC, even if he didn't appear as much as I hoped he would, and even if he didn't have that much time to shine, he has left an impact on me despite everything

When i saw this line in the ending screen while seeing other people's reactions it absolutely broke my heart

I do want to wish lots of luck to the creator, and I genuinely hope to see what they create in the future

And I hope people are gonna be kind to this new creator, because I can tell that this mod clearly had a lot of passion and love behind it

Now, Lastly I do want to apologize if there's anything i have not worded correctly, since English is not my first language

And with that aside, I am gonna end this essay right here (unless there's anything i forgot to mention that i want to edit in the future aha)

Thank you for reading, and have a nice day

#galactikburzt rambling #portal #portal forbidden testing tracks #SAIC portal #claiming myself as the number one forbidden testing tracks fan immediately /hj

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jaxteller87 · 3 months

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Where I Need to Be 2

I was focusing more on the club than my personal life. Every time a run came up, I threw my hat into the ring and signed up for some open-road therapy. A few weeks had passed before I set foot in the house I call home, even though it felt more like a fancy hotel room at times. Generally, when I was stuck in my head, but that made everything different. I tossed my helmet on the kitchen counter, and from the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a brand new flannel shirt folded on the counter.

“Hey, stud,” I heard Amber call out as she wheeled herself around the corner and into the kitchen.

I chuckled and leaned in for a kiss. She had come down from New York to visit, which always made things feel more homely. “Hey, darlin’! I’m uh— It’s good to see you.”

“You seemed surprised to see me,” Amber looked behind me like she expected me to see a woman following me in, “I’m not interrupting a hot date or anything, am I?”

“What?” I probably looked guilty, but her accusation couldn’t have been further from the truth. “No, it’s just I’ve been on the road. I haven’t been home in weeks, and the first time I stop by, here you are. It’s a very pleasant surprise; the timing is shocking, is all.”

“Oh,” she said, almost looking disappointed. “So, I told you I’d buy a new shirt for you since I ruined the other one.” It was true, and the last time I was home, actually. Opie and Donna were over for a cookout, and after a few beers, Amber thought she was a professional wrestler. Having had a few beers myself, I accepted her challenge. One thing led to another, and my flannel got torn. No big deal to me, I have a dozen of’em between the clubhouse and here— but it meant something to her.

Amber also stopped by the burger joint down the road and picked us up our usual. We sat there at the kitchen table and ate together like we used to do when we were teenagers in love. Through the idle chit-chat and small talk, I noticed that look in her eye, the one that says she has something on my mind that her lips don’t want to say.

“What’s up, darlin’?” I asked, “Something troubling you?”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t know what this is or what it will become,” Amber confessed.

“Amber, honey—”

“Teller, please just let me ramble for a minute; I need to clear out some space in my head.”

“Well, in that case, drop your baggage, girl,” I said, sitting back, trying to replicate Donna or another girl pal.

“Cute,” she smirked, “But that’s why I broke things off a few months ago. I want there to be an ‘us’ so badly, and I think about it all the time, but then when I see you, it just reminds me that I’m not in any shape to be your girlfriend.”

“But darlin’,”

“Jax, let’s call it ‘us’ like we did when we were teenagers— no labels.”

“Are you finished?” I asked.

“I suppose,” Amber looked nervous but mildly relieved to say what she wanted to say.

“Well, the truth is I haven’t been with anyone since right after you broke it off. I admit, I got a little rowdy and hooked up with one girl.”

“Just tell me it wasn’t Ima,” I could see the worry in her eyes.

“It most definitely was not Ima. Some old croweater a few miles from Chino. I was too drunk to remember much else than that. I haven’t felt right since and just took to the road while you did you. But like ya said, whatever this is, I’m here for it— whatever you need, darlin’.”

“Damn it,” she mumbled as tears rolled down her cheeks. “This is what’s so frustrating—I’m fine, and then, boom, I’m a puddle of tears the next.”

I couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t allowing herself to grieve her parents’ passing properly, and now those feelings were resurfacing. Amber would bury herself in her work to keep her mind from straying into the painful stuff— but who could blame her? If I lost Gemma, I’d probably do the same thing.

The next night, I found myself at the club with my ma, taking a break from VP stuff and updating her on Amber.

“Baby, I wish I knew what to tell you,” she sighed sympathetically as I finished up my story with a sentence about me holding Amber in my arms as she cried herself to sleep.

“She’s in pain, ma. I just wish she’d come home. I mean, I get it—Amber can’t uproot her life; plans have to be made, but, still—I can’t help but think if she were here, surrounded by people who give a shit— she’d be better.”

Gemma smiled, placed her hands on mine, and nodded. It wouldn’t be long before I discovered how severe Amber’s depression had become. I felt like Ma was holding back on her true feelings, which was new for her. She’s always been a shoot-from-the-hip kind of person. The few times I knew of her to withhold her thoughts was when she believed they’d hurt me. Knowing this didn’t make me feel any better.

Once I got done using my mom as a sounding board, I returned home to find Amber asleep on the sofa with only one light on. Carefully, I laid down beside her, holding her close as we embraced in what she called the “full-body snuggle.”

“Jax?” she whimpered; she had been crying.

“It’s okay, darlin’. Big Papa’s here,” I whispered, kissing the top of her head as she drifted back to sleep.

Sometime later, I woke up alone. Expecting to hear Amber in the bathroom, but nothing. I lay there for a few minutes before I went on the search. As I approached the kitchen, I could smell the earthy aroma of a freshly lit joint, which led me to the side door— lo and behold, there she was. “You gonna share that?” I pulled over a chair from the table and plopped down beside her.

She exhaled and coughed in the other direction, handing me the joint. “Sure,” she coughed again softly.

“Sweet,” I took a big, long drag, held it for a minute, and then blew it out my nostrils like an angry bull.

“I just want you to know; I swear I’m not leading you on. But if you wanna bail until I get my head on straight, I totally get it.” Amber reached for the joint.

“I’m good, darlin’. You need to do whatever this is, and I promise I’ll be here waiting for you whenever you’re ready to call it what it actually is.”

“And what is it, actually, Teller?”

“If you gotta ask, then you really don’t know.” I smiled at her, and she smiled back.

After that, we went to the bedroom and snuggled up. It was as if my embrace was the only place Amber felt safe, where her demons didn’t scream at her. “You’re safe, Big Papa’s got you, my love,” I whispered, holding her tightly.

The next day, I woke up feeling like everything was good, but instead, I found Amber on the back patio, bawling her eyes out like a kid who just lost their pet hamster.

“Let me ramble for a minute,” she stuttered through her tears.

I nodded, taking her hand in mine.

“Jackson, I don’t know what’s wrong. That’s part of the problem. I haven’t said anything about this part yet— I turned 30, and then I said to my counselor, there’s something else wrong, but I don’t know what it is. I just keep twisting myself up in knots trying to fix it, and the only time I’m not in pain is when I’m with you,” she confessed.

“Shh, my love, it’s okay. I’m right here,” I comforted her.

“It’s not... your... job... to... fix... me,” she sobbed.

“You’re right; it’s not,” I said, wiping my face before she could see my tears. “But I can help you. Let me, please.”

“The only time I feel okay is when I’m in your arms, or well— when we’re— you know,” she chuckled.

“Yeah, sex with me is pretty great,” I smirked, but I instantly realized that she could have taken that the wrong way. Fortunately, she didn’t.

“Oh, Teller— don’t let it go to your head, but it’s true. Only I can fix me. But how can I fix something when I don’t know what the fuck it is?”

“We can figure it out together; that’s what I’m telling you. I’m here for ya, darlin’. I don’t know how you’re going to figure out what you need to figure out, but I’m here to support and help in any way I can. All I know is you’re right where you need to be, and that’s how I feel. Sorry if it’s selfish, but my life is better when you’re around, and I wish there were something I could do to make you see that.”

Later that night, I found myself on the back porch, alone with my drink—more Jack than Coke, as usual. About a month before the accident, Kim, Amber’s mom, had pulled me aside, saying I was going to have my hands full with her daughter when she turned 30. It was funny how right Kim was, but it was also a stark reminder of just how cruel life could be.

#jax x oc #jax teller #jax teller x disabled reader #jax teller fluff

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zalrb · 9 months

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How do you think Jax and Tara got together in high school? Based on her relationship with the club I would have to imagine there was a “small town so they knew each other but never spoke vibe” and then there was a turning point but i’m curious what you think that might have been. And then secondary to that what do you think they were like before they got together? We can infer that Tara was studious and Jax was all about the club but nothing else really.

Hmm. OK. So, I can see Jax helping out at Teller Morrow after school or on the weekends and one day, Tara's dad -- who's been described as a crazy drunk -- was driving Tara somewhere, I don't know, the grocery store or something and gets into a minor crash and his car is towed there. When they get there, it's kind of slow so Jax is reading a book, I don't know let's say Ulysses, and Tara notes that Jax is in her English class and it's not a book that was assigned so he's just reading it for fun.

Jax sees her handling her father and talking about the car to one of the mechanics and when it's time to leave, he walks up to her.

"I can drive you wherever you need to go."

Tara's resistant. "No, it's fine, I can just call a cab if I can use your phone."

Jax chuckles. "That [insert technical car thing] is going to cost [insert amount] so you might as well take advantage of the full Teller-Morrow service, darlin'."

And he flashes his signature Jax smile and Tara feels herself breaking and they're staring at each other until finally, "OK. Thank you."

She starts manoeuvring her dad but Jax is like "No, I got it" and hauls her dad into the truck.

The ride is quiet for a bit and then Tara asks, "How're you enjoying James Joyce?"

Jax says something thoughtful and intelligent and Tara is visibly impressed.

He grins. "Thought I was all beauty and no brains, huh?"

"Beauty, right." She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but with a hint of amusement. "No, you're just not in class much and you never really say anything when you are. Too busy getting notes from Carla Greggs."

She looks out the window as she speaks but Jax can hear a hint of jealousy which puts a small smile on his face, then Tara says,

"You can never really tell what's going on with someone, I guess."

Jax glances at her father passed out next to him and agrees. The ride is still mostly quiet but the quiet has shifted, deepened -- there's a sense of familiarity and understanding now.

They reach her house.

"Thanks for the ride. You didn't have to do this, really."

Jax ignores this. "I'll get him inside."

He gets out of the truck and takes a hold of her father, propping him up as they make it over to the house. Inside, Tara directs him through the clutter.

"You can just put him in that chair."

Jax sets him in a recliner and then lightly starts smacking his face. "Hey. Hey. Wake up." Her father's eyes open, still a bit bleary, but Jax doesn't move or speak until he's sure he's got his full attention. "Don't drive her like this ever again." He holds the gaze and then gets up, glancing back at Tara before leaving. "See you at school."

Tara watches him leave, speechless and deeply touched.

So to answer the second part of the question, I think Jax was what we see in season 1 -- I think he was a probably a very big flirt and loved the ladies, also pretty introspective, I think he probably liked school but not nearly as much as the club obviously, and spent a lot of time hanging out with Opie, I think he could be a little mischievous, maybe pull a prank here and there and I think he was always a Presence.

With Tara, I don't get the impression she had many friends because she was focused on getting out of Charming but I don't think she was uptight or high strung, just very dedicated and focused and kind of had tunnel vision toward that goal and Jax would prove to be a complication to that.

#sons of anarchy #jax x tara #tara x jax #jax teller #tara knowles #SOA

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dawn-petrichor-world · 10 months

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Quiz

Warning: none, I think. Let me know please.

MB stands for Mama Bear, the reader's nickname.

+ 550 words no proofread.

A/N: It's @princessmisery666 fault with her quiz who is your soa boy. 😑

The sound of your voice couldn’t reach him. You called him again and again, but it was like he was deaf and around a minute or two, standing next to him he finally look at you with sadness and horror in his eyes.

- “Hi! Did you know women could feel pain, a week before and a week after their period. And the pain during it, is equivalent to a heart attack for a man. This is awful. You barely have just a few days of peace. It sucks, man.”

- “And did you know that I broke my water several minutes ago, but you were so deeply focused on this magazine you never heard me calling you.”

- “You what?” He tried to understand looking at your belly and noticed you were dry. “Fuck! Babe, you should yell or snatch this stupid magazine instead of watching me. Where are the bags again? Wait here? I’m looking for the keys."

- “Where do you think I could go in my condition?”

- “Don’t panic babe, everything is going to be okay! Where are these stupid keys.” He growled.

You were looking at your Grizzly running and swearing into the house and throwing away pillows, stuff or unfolded clothes laid in the hallway. From time to time he heard some rattling but didn’t realize they were in your hand and you played with.

- “Kenny farted in the car and it’s getting hot even with windows open. Um .. MB? What’s daddy doing?” Asked Ellie, concerned about the mess, in the living room, absent when she left the house approximately ten minutes ago. “Daddy! She has the keys in her hand. Can we go now?”

- “It was funny.” You said, following your stepdaughter.

- “We should've been in the hospital for a while now, why are you playing like kids? Ugh!”

Opie’s head appeared on the frame of the door to understand what was going on, squinted at the keys you rolled between your fingers. He wasn’t amused at all. He snatched them, kissed your forehead and drove to the hospital in silence while you couldn’t stop laughing about how cute and funny and panicked, he was.

Hours later of work and you gave birth to an amazing, beautiful and healthy girl, you could rest but you saw something in your husband’s bag. It took all your attention that time it was you who didn’t hear him coming into the room.

Sure, it was the middle of the night, the kids wanted to stay with you and they were sleeping on a futon, but it was like Opie spawned from nowhere, you bit your lips to hold back a scream.

- “I can’t believe you did that without me!” You showed him the magazine opened on a quiz page and the betrayal in your voice hurt him. “You did it wrong. See, on which planet you are like Freddy Krueger, at least as a tough man you could be Michael Myers.”

- “Really!” He asked disappointed. “I can scare people”

- “Dude! Why do you think I always choose lovely and cute petnames? You’re literally a bear or Chewbacca”.

He climbed on the bed to tingle you, not happy with the comparison but the baby started to cry, time to feed her.

You took her and breastfed her while Opie with a pen and the mag asked you some questions to know which movie serial killer you were.

Thanks for reading it. Hope you like it. My Masterlists .

#opie winston x reader #sons of anarchy #pregnancy

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transmascutena · 3 months

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Never got around telling you that I watched the transfeminism in utena essay and loved it!

Today I finally rewatched Adolescence and loved it as well, I think it's one of my favorite movies, it's visually stunning and so amazingly haunting/hypnotizing, felt like I was in a trance while watching it.

(and oh my god Anthy is my favorite character in anime of all time, I adore that she gets so much more dialogue and screen time in this, specially towards the end. Hearing her say the "Give me the power to revolutionize the world!" line made me tear up)

Just wondering your thoughts on it, or your favorite thing about it (?) Idk! If you have any rant about aou I'd love to read it

sure, i'll rant a bit about aou! this is mostly just my thoughts on various parts i like and dislike, not really any analysis.

i have mixed feelings on adolescence that change every time i watch it but mostly they're positive. i think my favorite thing about it is anthy. i love that we get to see her be more free and more forward. i love that it's her narrative, that we get to see what her and ohtori are like without akio (though still haunted by him.) i love the reading of the movie as a sequel, in that the show is about anthy escaping her abuse, while the movie is about the lingering trauma from it. i love the "we were together in killing the prince" line from utena at the end. i love that they're both free and together now. i also love the visuals of it, of course, it's a gorgeous movie. and i appreciate that we get to see utena and anthy in a much more explicitly romantic relationship, even though i do prefer the subtlety of the show by a lot. all their scenes together are very good, but i especially like the bedroom scene, the dance scene, and the drawing scene (i want to write some proper analysis of them sometime). i love the layers of metaphor and symbolism in every part of the movie, and that it feels even more abstract than the show. i love the car scene, it's silly and it's symbolic and it's emotionally impactful <3

on the other hand i think pretty much every part of the movie that isn't about anthy and utena is .. not very good in comparison (to the parts that are about them, and to the show.) which makes sense when you read the movie as anthy's narrative. of course she's not really focused on any of the other characters. saionji especially lacks literally all of his depth, which i think is just funny when thinking about it through that interpretation. uh, i hate the nanami cow scene which i've talked about before. i think it's unnecessary and uncomfortable and purposeless. i do however like that she doesn't appear in ohtori, because of the implication that she escaped. i appreciate touga's backstory reveal, though i don't really care for his role in the movie very much. it's never felt all that coherent to me, though i do understand what it's saying about the themes of the prince being dead. shiori has a weird antagonistic role that i don't know how to feel about. she's lacking a lot of her depth too, and i'm not sure i fully understand her motivations. or maybe i do and they're just not that interesting to me. hmm what else . akio is a far less interesting character than in the show also, but i think it works. he's not very intimidating, incredibly pathetic even, because anthy has already left/has already made the choice to leave him. also i like that he kills himself :)

i don't want to directly compare it to the show when talking about what i like about it, because obviously i like the show more. but i don't think the movie is trying to like.. compete with the show in terms of which you like better. because it isn't just a retelling of the same story. if it was, a 39 episode long tv series would always beat it in how developed its characters and themes are. which is why i think the movie works much much better when read as either a literal sequel to the show or as a continuation of its themes. it doesn't stand very well on its own in my opinion, aside from how pretty it is.

#adolescence of utena #asks #m

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yourwinchesterbros · 2 years

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Old Habits Die Hard Part One

Word count: 8K

Pairing: Opie Winston X reader

Summary: In this part, reader returns to Charming due to her father’s funeral. She’s left to confront the past she ran away from.. and reveal history.

Author’s Note: My first Opie fic & I'm so happy to be writing about this grizzly man! This is a bit of a slow burning start, but I promise part two will be 🌶️!!! If you enjoyed, please show me and Opie some love 💖

Big thanks to @alohomorasomnium for helping me with this! (Kisses)

Warnings: Use of y/n, Talk of death, foul language, some Gaelic dialogue, and perhaps fluff?

There it is.

The famous wind beaten, dark trim wooden sign.

Welcome to Charming - it reads.

While surpassing this somewhat historical landmark, you inhale heavily as if you were absorbing all the tension in the air. With a shaky exhale, you peer up in your review mirror, watching the dirt cloud settle behind your deep blue 1970 Plymouth Barracuda. The sheer force of your muscle car causing the sign to rattle into swings as it literally eats your dust.

“Too late to turn back now” You mutter under your breath.

It’s been what? Roughly 6 years since you’ve set foot into your little hometown. You can't deny the rising tidal wave of emotions crashing against you, waiting to be released from the bay doors within you, begging to be liberated and settled before you arrive at your mom's. You swallow hard, trying your damnedest to keep the composure you’ve held since you left Dublin. Although you’re successful at ignoring your failed healing process, your heart still weighs heavy as you remember the look on your fiancé's face at the terminal.

“Call me when you land. I love you and say hi to Mrs. M for me” He whispered as he held your face close to his. “I'm sorry about your dad, I wish I could be there with you.”

Your chest is riddled with stings of guilt. As much as he expressed his longing to accompany you, and support you in this time of loss, you wanted to take this trip alone. For many reasons, some you openly accepted and others you buried in the back of your mind.

Your princess cut, diamond-studded ring glitters brightly in the sunlight. Almost obnoxiously actually. You flex your hand from the steering wheel into a flat spread, looking upon the sparkle in dread. Yeah, that’s right- dread. Things weren’t so peachy in your so-called apple-pie life over in Ireland. After what had happened here in Charming all those years ago, which caused you to pack your bags in a hurry and relocate, your world changed overnight (or literally over a flight) when you landed in Dublin. At the young age of 21 years old, you started from scratch again, moving in with your aunt. Along the way you picked up a few bartending gigs, whilst going to nursing school. You kept to yourself, focused on your savings and your studies. Even though you had promised yourself exile from Charming, you kept in regular touch with your parents over the phone.

After establishing a steady, normal routine, it didn’t take long for you to meet your now fiancé. Declan is a professor that taught at your university, DCU. He was once a full-time surgeon, who went part time as he enjoyed teaching others. In your second year of nursing school, you eventually became a student of his. And let me tell you, from the moment he saw you, it was clear he took a liking to your appearance as well as your demeanor. Even though you had just turned 22, your childhood was one that matured you quickly.

Upon meeting Declan, also known as Dr/Mr. O’Brien, the chemistry was evident. Over the course of a quick four years, the two of you ended up here. First It was after class tutoring, which turned to dating, then to moving in together which then resulted in an unexpected proposal over a year ago.

That’s right. It's been a whole ass year of struggling to pick the wedding date, the vendor and who the maid of honor would be. Certainly not your aunt, your only friend in that godforsaken town. Even though all these struggles were enough to stress a new coming bride to the point of being traumatized, you felt relief. As much as you adored Declan, truly, you never wanted to get married. You came to realize, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t give him your whole heart. You weren’t sure if you ever would. Therefore, this put a bit of a pin in your wedding plans. Although he’s a smart man, he never really seemed to recognize this. So, until you could figure it out, he didn’t need to know. You tap your thumb on the steering wheel, anxiety creeping upon you, as if your body has muscle memory, it takes you a minute but you finally realize why.

An upcoming fork in the road appears, one you know all too well.

Left Your mind involuntarily speaks, causing your heartbeat to rapid.

With a slow approach, you turn your steering wheel to the right, trying your best not to glance down at that highway of memories leading to town. You shift your black rays sitting on your head, holding your bangs out of your face, to the bridge of your nose. Left is a path to history. A history too painful to replay. You didn’t block out the world you once lived in for no reason. No No, those memories stay tightly locked in a box inside that head of yours. He stays locked away, far from your heart which never fully recovered from his actions. You feel your bottom lip tremble. Although it’s been six years since you last saw him, you still often thought of him, no matter how hard you try to ignore those creeping flashbacks. Man, first love heartbreak is a god damn bitch and if anyone understands Taylor swift's lyrics, it’s you.

The pavement beneath you turns to gravel. Your beast of a car rattles at the uneven pebbled pathway leading to your parents' house. Your nerves instantly fire up at the sight. You’ve been so caught up in your thoughts, the reality of your current situation hadn’t had time to sink in, until right now. You believed in yourself when you said you’d grieved at home with your fiancé, but really you only just touched the surface. You bit your bottom lip, parking into your old spot near the farm you grew up on. You turn the ignition off, the silence deafening. Shit. This ride was too short. You expected it to be longer, to give you more time to process all that comes with reentering Charming.

“Here we go” you whisper as you swing out of the car, to the trunk to grab your baggage.

“Y/n”! You hear a pip squeak yell behind you, recognizing your mother's voice immediately. You turn to her, baggage in one hand, your free hand shifting your sunglasses back to the spot on your head.

There she is, waving at you. God. Could she be any cuter? Her white apron, with patched green clovers, tied around her waist. Her dark redish/brown hair clipped up into a messy bun, revealing her full facial frame. You smile as she waves excitedly at you.

“Mum!” You call out as you attempt to lightly run towards her, your baggage making it awkward.

“It’s about fecking time you arrived sweetie!” She opens her arms to you in a wide embrace.

“máthair, máthair I rushed, I promise I did” You squeeze her tightly. It had been way too long since you’ve been in her arms.

Your hug lingers, as you both quietly accept the very reason you’re here. You were coming home to one parent now. Although your mother has been on her own for the past week, her Irish strength never failed to persevere.

Your dad fell ill last year. He was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. No cure. Despite your hatred for this town, You fought to come out and see him, to help assist your parents as their world turned upside down. But your dad, also known as Mr. M, the Leprechaun of Charming, was adamant that you do not see him in the condition he was. As much as he was dignified, he was humiliated at his decline. He argued with your mom, to try and get her to understand that his daughter should never see her father dying. Therefore, phone exchanges were your only line of communication. They started out quite frequently, three times a week. Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. But that gradually changed as your father got sicker. The length of phone time with him becoming less and less. Your heart took a beating each time you heard the struggle in his voice. It eventually got to the point where your mother was answering your calls due to his exhaustion from chemotherapy.

Until one day, your phone rang with heavy chimes. You’ll never forget. You hesitated to pick up, waiting until the last ring, praying it wasn’t the day. Tears streamed down your face when you heard your mom’s tired and broken voice. “He’s gone sweetheart.”

Those were dark dark days, despite being in a town that was always cloudy.

You set your bags in your old room, scoffing at the fact it hasn’t changed one bit. You save the trip down memory lane for later and return to the kitchen where you find evidence that your mother had been busying herself making sourdough bread. There’s flour all over her counter and stove, and the aroma that filled the house was delicious. You greet her at the little round table, her teapot steaming out the spout and her teacups ready to be filled. Teatime was always ritualistic in this household. It was comfort for your little Irish family.

“So, sweetie” Your mom breaks the silence. Her tight lip smile warms you. Her eyes, hugged by crow’s feet, sparkle with pure gratitude that you’re finally here.

You take a sip from the teacup, which turns to a slurp as you feel the searing on your lips from the heat. You set your fine China down and take a little glance around the room. Your eyes scanning and picking up items that you remember from the past. Your mom watches you, analyzing your expressions, wondering if you’ve been coping well. She knew that your return back home was no easy feat.

“It hasn’t changed here one bit hey?” You speak softly.

She shakes her head swiftly, picking up her cup in two hands.

“I know and I’m sorry it’s a bit of a mess, I’ve been baking and I'm aware of the flour that’s everywhere. I plan on sorting through and tidying up the house, it’s just been so hectic the last couple of weeks, you know? It’s hard t-”

“Mum” You interrupt. “Don’t be sorry, Jesus. I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through, the last thing you need to worry abou-”

She cuts you off. “It’s just.. I haven’t got the heart to start going through his things, and I know I should throw out his used tissues or the fecking toothpicks on the side table I-”

“Mum, stop. You don’t need to explain, you shouldn’t be doing anything on your own right now anyways cau-”

She interrupts again. “I just need to get over there and toss all his things out, his glasses, the god forsaken pennies he collected, his sweaters, oh.. how he loved his fleece sweater” her voice cracks.

Your eyes well up at the sight of her. You place your hand on her thigh, bringing her attention back from your dad's sweater, sprawled on his armchair.

“Mum, I miss him too. I miss him so much, that seeing his stuff... brings me some sort of comfort so let's just leave his things where they are... a little while longer, please?” You whisper, the tears streaming down your cheeks. She catches them with the crook of her index finger.

She breathes deeply, closing her eyes. “I’d like that”.

The night comes quickly as you unpack your bags and get your things in order. After teatime, your mom had offered you dinner, but you really didn’t have an appetite. The two of you briefly discussed the funeral that was taking place tomorrow, which cemetery your dad was being buried in, what time to arrive at, and how long the two of you planned to stay. Being around those crying, or mourning wasn’t your area of expertise as you didn’t know how to comfort others, and your mom felt the same way. She managed to change the subject by dropping comments towards you and your fiancé moving back to Charming, but you dismissed that quickly. “That’s a topic for another day” you mentioned.

You blessed her with your goodnights before crawling into bed. Allowing yourself to drift off to the noises of the house, the mooing of the cows and grunts of the sheep in the barn. These were sounds you were familiar with. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks as you dream of your childhood, working the farm again with your dad.

The following day, you slip on your black mary Janes, analyzing yourself in the ceiling to floor length mirror that stood by your bedroom door. You wore your snug fitting, formal black dress that reaches to your midcalf, with tight black sleeves that reach your hands and a high neckline. You put on your black, trench length peacoat and continue to gaze at yourself, losing focus, falling into a trance. Today is the day. Reality is going to be profound.

As you close the front door and meet your mom at the courtesy hearse, you grab your ray bans from your purse to cover your eyes. The two of you ride in silence, all the way to the cemetery. You pluck your hair tie from your wrist and smooth your hair with your palms before tying it back into a ponytail. You really only did this, to give yourself something to do, as your bay doors holding back that tidal wave was quivering with anxiousness. You could feel it falling apart inside you. Before you know it, the driver announces your arrival. You share a moment with your mom, your eyes speaking words you could never voice.

Be strong for each other.

The door is opened by the driver, and an umbrella is offered to you as it is starting to rain. The cemetery looks like something out of a thriller film. Dark clouds hanging low, expelling increased rain, fog rolling near the ground dancing around your ankles, the forest surrounding you seeming alive as the trees seem to sway with grief. You hate this. You look up the little hill where the driver begins to escort you, seeing a group of people formed at the top, standing with black umbrellas. Fuck.

You step over the curb, leaving the sturdy concreate road, to meet the squishy wet grass of the cemetery. With your mom by your side, the two of you walk up the little hill, towards your family and friends and towards the casket which is suspended right over the 6ft hole beneath. You feel dizzy. Everything happens in slow motion. Memories of your father race through your head causing your guilt to come flooding to the surface. Why didn't you just visit? You shouldn’t have listened to him, no matter how stubborn or afraid he was. It is your biggest regret.

You stare at the shiny, brown, mahogany lid, watching the rain drops slide down the sides. The pastor stands in front, saying a prayer you can’t make out as you begin zone out. You feel eyes on you causing your stomach to turn. You’ve never been good at hiding or playing off your emotions and you hate the spotlight. The paster continues his sermon, you listen closely now as you hold your mom, her head resting on your shoulder. Your mind drifts off again, ignoring movements in your blurred vision. Individuals start to approach the casket, one by one, placing red roses on top, saying things to your dad. You’re startled as your mom leaves your side, placing her rose gently on the now heaping pile of rain-soaked flowers. You suddenly feel unbalanced, unstable. Your breathing becomes labored when she returns. Your legs, having a mind of their own, start to move, step by step towards the casket. Your heels dig into the wet soil as you try to balance your sluggish footing. Somehow, you still end up tripping, or maybe your knees gave out but next thing you know, your hands are palmed on the lid of the casket, supporting you from your fall. You feel your hair soaking and your sleeves dampening under the pour of the rain. Warm tears start spilling from your eyes, your nose running hot, the lump in your throat becoming too painful to swallow. The words spill out.

“Even when you’re dead, you catch me when I fall” you sob.

The floodgates come crashing down; you feel yourself losing control as you try to grip the wood as if you could somehow grasp him through it, hold him one more time. Tell him all the things you felt, how you’re sorry, how you wish you were strong enough to face his illness, the one that was robbing you of a loving father. You clench and grit your teeth to fight back the whimpers.

You feel a gentle touch on your back, a hand under your elbow. You stiffen at the sudden contact, embarrassed at the display you’ve presented. You snap back to reality, inhaling deeply. You look up through the mist, assuming it was your mom supporting you, only to have your world completely shaken.

“Hey, I’ve got you” His voice oozes out, basically dripping off his beard.

Opie Winston looks down at you, head cocked, sadness written across his face as if the sight of you like this crushed his very soul.

Your eyes widen at his presence, and you swear he could see past the black tinted lenses of your ray bans.

“Opie...Wha- what are you doing here?” You stutter, struggling to comprehend the fact that this man is standing in front of you. Your hands are on his forearms. You were shaking but you couldn’t tell if it was from the cold of the rain or if it’s a reaction to him supporting you, touching you.

“I... “His voice sounded the same but somehow different. It was a tone that was carried out with a certain hardness. You watch his eyes search your face. “Well...I wanted to say goodbye too” He whispers. The loudness of the rainfall keeps your conversation private as the rest can’t hear the words exchanged between you two.

You stammer with confusion “Y-you... wanted to say goodbye?... Wh-why..you didn’t care before.”

His reaction was if you had hit him, he shifts his gaze down to his soaked, water-stained boots.

“A lot has happened since you left” he whispers, returning his gaze back to you, his dark eyes burning through your sunglasses.

Your mom suddenly appears at your side as she slips her arm into yours, pulling you back to the umbrellas. As you let her motion you back, your eyes watch him disappear into the crowd.

This can't be happening. Opie didn’t just appear back into your life, uninvited. Your vision blurs as you lose yourself to an endless montage of memories. While the pastor speaks again, you think about how Opie was at your house everyday 6 years ago. Working on mechanics in the garage with your dad, or helping your mom put the sheep back in the barn, he became a part of your family. He seemed to care so much back then but he ended it all with a few words, one late night.

Why is he here now?

You nod your head at your cousin as she gives you a life lecture on how to cope with death, how to be thankful for what you had and not dwell on what is lost. Yeah, all that bullshit. Her words drift around you, never penetrating your focus as you carefully watch across the room in the funeral home. As many were scattered around, conversing with one another, you could see Opie talk with your mom near the entrance of the building. You desperately try and make out what they were saying to each other as he places a hand on her shoulder. Their expressions confuse you as they seem to be.. comforting each other?

It has been 6 years.

Your cousin catches on to your lack of focus and chalks it up to shock. She embraces you with a warm hug before departing to lecture someone else on grief. You hold your gaze, slowly walking along the wall past the other bodies milling about, drowning out all the murmur of conversation. You continue to watch them.

You cup your mug that’s half filled with coffee, as they shared a long hug. You feel the longing to approach them. Approach him. But the fear that resides within you, is too strong. You stay where you are, your feet planted to the ground. Even from a distance, he still makes you feel that certain glow like before. But it starts to fade as he exits the funeral home. Butterflies alight within you as your body takes you through the crowd towards the open doors. You’re desperate to see his figure once again, to convince yourself that this is real. You halt at the sight of his Harley parked by the curb. He stands next to it, his hands by his side. You follow his gaze as you realize he’s staring at the leftover dirt mound that was used for your father’s burial. You hold your breath as you pray, hoping that he’ll look back to find you standing there, to notice that you want another chance to talk with him.

Your ears cry at the sound of his bike being fired up, your vision blurring once more as Opie fades away, disappearing down the hill, the rumbling turning mute.

“Alright mum, enough with the excuses and start talking. Why were you speaking with Opie? Why was he even there?” You question your mother as the two of you walk to the outside porch from the kitchen.

After the service, you and your mother returned home in silence. Still absorbing all the shock that came with the funeral. After washing up and putting on dry clothes, the two of you started to putter around the house, cleaning up. You couldn’t wait long, as you kept thinking about Opie, to ask your mom for details. As subtle as she likes to think she is, your mother wasn’t. She seemed to enjoy taking her time with her answers, as if the little kid inside her was coming out via gossip.

The two of you sat on the bench swing, listening to the farm animals.

“Well darling, when you were away, a lot happened here” she says ever so casually.

“Yeah, I'm starting to gather that” You respond with hints of annoyance.

“Mmmhm” She hums.

“Okay, and... care to elaborate máthair?” You say through gritted teeth.

“Just remember what you told me dear, you nearly tore my head off through the phone that day eh?”

“What?..No, I-I don’t remember, what are you even talking about?” you throw your hands up in frustration.

“You’re the one that said you didn’t want to hear anything about Ope anymore. Every time I brought him up as I should be allowed too, as he basically lived in this house, it irritated you” she spoke so matter of factly. “Don't you remember now? Nearly ripping my head off when I said he visited, and asked about you?”

“Ar son Dé, máthair” you groan.

“Dont you get all gaelic with me! I simply did what you asked. Now are you wanting me to fill you in or do you want to keep whining about it?” she questions, finger pointing at you. At least her sass was coming back.

“Alright, alright. Yes, tell me, what happened while I was gone?” You say eagerly, feeling as if you've missed out on so much.

With a loud sigh, she begins “Well, he visited a few times, here and there after you moved away. He spoke with your father about the club often, as you well know your dad was familiar with all the things that went on in Charming” her eyes rolled at this. “Your father heard about everything that happened in this town, sometimes before the plays were even made, you know how he was”.

“Yes, I do. He stuck his nose and ears everywhere” You chuckled.

“Anyhow, Opie got married which I told you”. The words immediately pained your chest.

“Yes..., I remember that, and yes I know shortly after I didn’t want to hear anymore.”

“Mmhm, that's right. Well, about a year after, his wife died”.

Your hand covered your mouth. “Oh my god...”. You whisper

“It was due to the club, retaliation of some sort. I never got the full story and I don’t think I want to.” she shudders.

“Jesus christ.. I knew the club was changing but I never thought it was going dark...” You shake your head remembering his face from today, supporting you at the casket. Guilt rising as you think about your response to him. He’s lost someone too..

“That’s not all my dear..” She takes a big inhale before exhaling loudly. You brace yourself.

“Piney died last year... also, a consequence from the club”. She says shaking her head.

“Piney... was killed?” You barely spoke the words.

“Mmhm I don’t know the details on that one either. However I will say that Clay stepped down shortly after, and Jax took the gavel”. She pursed her lips together, looking at you.

“Jax is president now? You ask, eyes wide. “Is Opie still a part of the club?”

“Oh very much so, I believe he’s becoming the VP soon actually”.

You shake your head in disbelief, mouth open and brows furrowed. This is not the charming you knew after all.

“So..was he here cause...”

“Well after losing his wife and his father, we wanted to provide him a safe place. He was welcome anytime; we shared many dinners and conversations.” She chuckled, as you could see her reminiscing. “But when your dad was first diagnosed, Opie started coming weekly. He helped us with the farm, he helped your dad fix up the roof on the barn, hell he was doing the hay rolls for us. He just... he took care of us. Your father and him grew quite close. It was as if he was helping, to preserve your fathers dignity. Anything your father couldn't do..which was many things during his illness, Opie did.”

You look down at your feet, confused by all the emotions you feel. You’re thankful he was here for them, but you’re mad that he got that closure with your dad, especially after breaking your heart. Why did he deserve your family when he didn’t want you?

“So, he was at the funeral today because he truly, missed your dad”. She whispered as she looked out into the farmland.

You lean back into the bench, looking up at the stars. You can’t help but feel a bit foolish. A part of you thought, or even hoped, that he was there because he wanted to see you. But it all made sense now. You scoff at yourself. The impact this man has on you, has your mind playing tricks on you.

“Did you know he was going to be there?” You ask, one brow raised.

“I didn’t, he knew about it, but it wasn’t confirmed if he was coming.” she explained.

“Well... that was very nice of him wasn’t it?” You look upon your mom, clearly seeing the signs. She really cared for him.

“Yes, but that’s Opie for you” She whispered.

Yeah, that's Opie alright. Caretaker of your parents, undertaker of your fucking heart. What a saint.

You walk around the house, with your glass of scotch on the rocks in hand, looking at all the pictures on the wall. You smile at the ones of you when you were a wee lass, posing with your mom and your favorite cow, Misty.

You chuckle, “tsk, she really was a good cow”.

You find yourself walking towards the garage, mindful of the ice clinking in your glass as you pass your mother's room. It’s well after midnight and you didn't want to interrupt her much-needed rest.

You unlock the bolt, and quietly step into the garage closing the door behind you. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her... The beast herself.

“What the fuck?” You freeze in your tracks as you see the brown tarp laying flatly on the ground.

“What... the... fuck?” you repeat slowly. You look around the dusty room, looking for the keys. Your dad’s old jacket hung off one of the toolboxes. You dig in the pockets, feeling no keys and instead, your fingers graze over a piece of paper.

To your surprise, you pull out a letter. “What?” you whisper as you flip it over.

“Opie”

You’re fucking kidding me. He gets a message from the grave but not me? You shove the letter in your pocket.

You make your way to the door re-entering the house, walking to your mother's bedroom door, careless of the noise you tried to suppress before. With a gentle knock, you turn the knob.

“Mum.... hey mum.” You whisper loudly. Luckily, she’s never been a deep sleeper.

“Yes y/n?” She responds dimly as if she had never dozed off.

“Hey, sorry to wake you but... dad’s Harley, its gone??” There’s panic in your voice. You were ready to sound alarms.

That was your dad’s baby, one that was to be passed down to you. He was determined to teach you how to ride that machine, starting when you were a toddler. There’s pictures of him holding you, so you were standing on top of the Harley seat, at 3 years old. Pictures of you on the back, holding your dad, wearing a bicycle helmet, while he drove you around the property. Pictures of when you went through your “Metal” stage in your teen years. Holding onto the ape handles, barely able to muscle the sheer weight of the Harley while you look at the camera with a proud smile. Your dad on the side looking at you with such pride. When you were 18, you rode it to prom with Opie.

Your dad said “Kiddo, whenever that rainbow decides to collect me, this girl right here, she belongs to you” he said gruffly while patting the Harley.

“Íosa Críost, you had me worried.” Your mom spoke through the moonlit room. She sat up, putting her glasses on.

“The Harley?” You move towards the garage.

“Yes honey, I know. I'm not sure how to say this but... well... “. She paused. “Your dad gave her to Ope.” she said in a whisper, knowing how much this may upset you.

Yes. You’re riddled with anger and more confusion than ever; you wanted nothing but to break down and cry. But your mom didn’t need to deal with that. You look at her, seeing her wrinkles increase with concern.

“Oh.. Okay, geez. Sorry mum, I thought the worst. Thought that it had been stolen. I'm sorry to wake you”. You whispered calmly.

“That's quite alright dear, now get some sleep”. She blows you a kiss as you quietly close the door.

What the fuck. You can’t help but feel like you’ve failed your dad.

He was dying, and you didn't show up. Opie did.

You slammed back your drink, looking at the letter while putting your glass down. Every fiber of your being wanted to rip this open and read the mystery that resides inside.

“I’m not thinking clearly”. You rubbed your eyes as you glared at it one more time.

“Opie”

You put the letter on your nightstand, hands in your hair. “I’ll Just deal with it tomorrow” you told yourself. With one last look, you shook your head and crawled into bed.

Before closing your eyes, you check your phone.

7 missed calls - Declan.

Fuck. “I’ll just deal... with it...tomorrow” You say to yourself a little louder. You toss your phone back in your bag and let the alcohol take you away.

The paper makes a quiet shuffle as you throw it onto the counter. Your mom looks over from the stove peering up through her glasses. “What’s that?” she questions.

“That, is a letter to Opie...from dad” You respond sternly.

“Oh really?” She hums as she walks over to inspect it closer. “Well would you look at that, I wonder if he forgot to give it to him”.

“Maybe” you mumble. She hands the letter back to you. You take it in your hands, flip the paper and start to open it.

“What on earth are you doing?!” She lectures as she rips it from your hands.

“Is it so bad that I want to know what it says? what if it’s important?” You say with raised eyebrows. You already know how wrong this is, you just needed someone to confirm it.

“Well then I’d suggest you take that Barracuda for a drive and go to TM and deliver it to him” she says as she puts one hand on her hip.

That’s not what you were expecting.

“Your father clearly had more to say, and you’re robbing Opie of that, the longer you hold onto that letter”.

You scoff. “You can’t be serious. I haven’t been there in years, mum. I don’t even know if I'd be welcomed!”.

“Only one way to find out” She turns and attends to the stove “Tell the boys I say hi.”

It’s happening. You’ve got your ripped skinny jeans on, your black tank top accessorized with your favorite worn out leather jacket recovered from your closet. You walk out of the house into the daylight towards your ride, your heeled boots thudding against the gravel.

“You better be dancing on that rainbow dad” you mutter as you fire up the engine, bringing her to life.

You peel out of the driveway, and race down the road. The sun shining down on your face, the fresh California air consuming you. You can’t fight the grin that appears as you delve into this feeling. It's been a few years, but it feels the same. There’s something that feels so right about wearing leather, driving a sexy car, and heading to the clubhouse. Your hair flows in the wind as you course through the back roads to that fork you saw a couple days ago.

Left

You skid as you turn sharply, causing a burnout as you squeal down that road. Laughter escapes you, this amazing feeling arises, just by knowing you’re going to see the boys. You weren’t just a part of their gang when you dated Opie, they became your friends. You joined them on every travel trip they took for “club business”, riding on the back of Opie's bike. You partied with them, cheered on their cage fights. They were all you knew when you were in and out of high school. They were your life, here in Charming.

As much as you feared seeing Opie in the flesh again, you couldn’t deny your excitement.

Teller-Morrow Automotives

You turn into the driveway, the gate already opened and pulled to the side. You notice the lack of Harleys that are usually parked by the railing.

You kill the engine. “Shit might have been a bad time to pull up.” You swing open the door and step out.

“Holy shite! Bobby, it’s her!” You smile at the Scottish accent travelling across the lot.

“Shut up! Y/N!” Bobby calls out to you. You laugh as you watch Chibs and Bobby practically skip-run over to you, smacking each other on the back.

“Hey hey boys, long time no see!” You smile wide as these two grown men bear hug you, creating a huddle of you three.

“Jesus Christ lass, I thought I'd never see you again,” He grabs your head to plant a big kiss to your cheek.

“What’re you talking about, I knew she couldn’t stay away, she's always been a crow” Bobby chuckles as he grabs your shoulder, shaking you.

“Something like that” you wink back.

“Oh shite, darlin’ that’s right, I’m sorry to hear about Mr. M” Chibs hugs you again apologetically. Bobby nods at you as you look over Chibs shoulder.

“He was a good man”.

“Thanks Bobby” You whisper.

“I actually thought you was your mum pulling up in here, in his old ride” Chibs barked as he started inspecting your barracuda. “She looks like she could use a wee bit of a touch up aye, maybe a polish?”

“I mean, I did just tear up the roads of Charming coming down here, no surprise if there’s some damage.” You winked at Bobby.

“Ayyee That’s my girl” Chibs growls. “Come on inside, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do”.

“Oh actually, I can’t stay” you watch as their faces fall slightly.

“I’ve gotta see Ope, got something to deliver to him” You murmur looking down. Geez get a grip

The boys ever so painfully, obviously glance at each other with the smuggest of expressions.

“Oh, do you now” Chib grins.

“Don’t give me that” you roll your eyes with a smile.

Bobby spins, hearing it before us. The roar of the comrade coming down the street.

“Aye looks like you can make your delivery right now” Chibs chirps at you.

You suck on your teeth before blowing your lips “Looks that way.”

There they are

Riding up like cowboys on stallions. You watch as you place your hands on your hips, inspecting each bike and rider. Narrating in your head.

There's Tig, Happy, Juice, Rat, Jax and of course, Opie

Your stomach begins to flutter. You’re already overcome with intrusive thoughts.

Was this a mistake?

Tig is the first to hop off his bike, throwing his helmet down on the ground with his mouth agape. “Hey! Is that... Is that who I think it is?”

You shyly wave at Tig, failing at suppressing your excitement.

You squeal as Tig bee lines it to you, running like a madman, trying to scare you just like he used to before.

“Tig! Oh my god, you still do that” You laugh as he scoops you up, holding you in his arms.

“You son of a bitch, you think you can go nomad on us and not expect any consequences?” He growls, pretending to bite you as he continues to twirl you.

“I'm not even a member!” you blurt out through your laughs.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jax pat Opie's back as they walk up to you.

“I told you she’d come bro” you hear Jax say, smiling from ear to ear. You notice a hint of a smile hiding in Opie's beard.

“Okay okay, share her you psycho, before you break her” Happy grunts as he deliberately peels Tig’s arms off you, just to engulf you in his.

“Hi Happy” You muffle in his chest.

Happy always gave the best hugs. You feel yourself glowing, being charged with nostalgia. The happiness these boys bring you, just by the sounds of their laughs and banter. Like nothing ever changed. Happy pulls away, patting your head, then messing up your hair, “About time you came back” he says through his smirk.

Like you’re his little sister, you try and smooth out the mess in your hair that Happy had to create. You do so as Jax approaches you, his blue eyes making you fall in love with the president all over again, he still has that charm. Back in the day, he almost won you over when you first met the boys, but when he introduced you to his best friend, the game was over. Opie effortlessly owned your heart.

“Hey Darlin, you lost?” Jax winks as he pulls you into him by your waist. Okay you lied, Jax gave the best hugs. You wrap your arms around his neck as you feel his beard tickle you. You both squeeze tightly before you pull back to see him.

“I heard about Mr. McGuire, I’m so sorry darlin” he whispers, his eyes filled with sorrow “Charming isn’t the same without him” He pinches your chin lightly.

“Aye we don’t have our lucky leprechaun anymore, harassing the streets for information, I miss that bastard” Chibs says.

“Thank you guys, truly. I really appreciate it. It’s been surreal to be back, and today has by far been the best day of my trip. I missed you guys” You speak softly, feeling vulnerable in this crowd of the most dangerous men in California.

“That’s right, we have that effect on people, they just love us y’know” Tig cackles, clearly still thinking he’s the funniest thing alive.

The group clammers and hollers, inviting you to come inside.

“Listen, I … actually need a moment with Opie, if you don’t mind.” You get the words out, but as if you’re a shy schoolgirl.

You see Opie’s head snap up. Eyes locking in with yours, as if you’ve shocked his core.

“Alright, y’all heard the boss, clear out. We got church anyways, Ope, I know your vote, so no rush.”

Jax leans into you, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Take your time Darlin.. Oh, by the way we’re throwing a party here for Ope, he’s getting promoted” He nods in his brother's direction “We would love for you come.” He grabs your hand, his cold rings bringing down your body temperature as it rises due to his touch.

“Aye, she is, how else is she gun’ pay for that tune up” Chibs winks at you before blowing you a kiss.

Before you can even argue that you shouldn’t go, the boys were already marching to the clubhouse. Everyone but Tig, who stood there, hands on his hip, staring through his shades.

“Trager, let's go!” Jax orders.

“Why? I wanna see what happens” Tig turns back to you, bearing a full smile. You see Opie raise his hands up in the air, mouthing to his straggly haired brother “What the fuck?”

“Alright alright calm down, don’t get your panties in a twist, it’s not good for you” Opie rolls his eyes in defeat as Tig could never be subtle. Tig holds his finger in your direction “Good to see you doll, better see you here tonight.” With a swift hair fix, he makes his departure, walking away with the swagger he always possessed.

You smirk “Fucking Tig” the corners of your lips stay upturned. Opie quietly chuckles, shaking his head.

You suck in the air sharply, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed being all alone with Opie.

“Is everything okay?” He breaks the silence with his gruff but honey-like voice, holding a firm grip on his beard.

You chuckle nervously, “Yeah, sorry to take you away from work.. I uh-”

“Nah, don’t be sorry, I'm happy you’re here cause y’know” He pauses with a click of his tongue “not sure when I'll see you again.. Could be another half a decade” He basically speaks under his breath near the end of his sentence.

His arms are crossed, making him seem even bigger, taller, more intimidating than he already is. How is that possible? Yet seeing his wide stance, tattooed arms and slick back-man bun already cause embers to erupt into flames around your heart.

“Well..that wasn’t my fault” You mumble looking down, eyebrows raised, yet peering up through your lashes. The two of you lock eyes, facial expressions turning smug matching one another as he grins, you grin back. The sarcasm you two shared seems to be very much alive.

“You look good” He smiles, flashing his silver fang, his gaze trailing down your figure before clenching his jaw.

Your body quivers, responding to his not to subtle eye fuck, to the point you’re worried he might have noticed. His smile turns smug confirming he most definitely did.

“Thanks” You bit your lip desperately, trying to conceal your smile. “Uhm .. right, here I meant to give you this.” You hand out the letter in one swift motion.

“What’s this?” He asks, brows furrowed as he tentatively takes it from you. A shockwave of sparks jolted through you as his hand touched yours, causing your heart to flutter.

“A letter...” You inhale deeply “from dad.” You chew on the inside of your lip, anxious to find any sign from Opie, regarding what mystery lies in that envelope.

Ope glances up from the paper that looks so tiny in his hands, his eyes narrowing into yours.

“Well, that’s unexpected” he clears his voice. “Thanks for giving it to me”

“Yeah, I mean I found it in his jacket and to be honest if it wasn’t for mum, I probably would’ve opened it so, you can thank her.” Why am I saying this

To your surprise, he chuckles. “You’ve never been good at that.”

“At what?” You cock your head, making him grin.

“Keeping your curiosity at bay, you always gotta find the meaning behind everything, even if it gets you in trouble.”

You stare at him, unsure if that was a compliment or an insult.

“I’m just pulling your leg” he says as he realizes your panic, loving how innocent you can be. Great, he can still read me like an open book.

“Oh” You chuckle, feeling so fucking stupid. “Well, congratulations on your promotion, I better get back though.. It was nice seeing you... VP, take care.”

You turn quickly, wanting to disappear. You feel disappointment arise in you, wishing this wasn’t a sequel to another goodbye. You’ve only been with him for a few minutes, and it terrifies you how quicky your feelings come undone, as if they have a mind of their own, fighting against your carefully constructed barriers. Surely, this was a bad idea after all.

“Wait, hey wait” He calls after you, matching your steps from behind. You can feel his presence towering over you. He gently grips your arm to turn you. With a spin, you face him, your heart armored, ready to end this interaction once and for all. You just can’t take it anymore. His perfection cuts into you like broken glass, how did you ever lose him?

“You really should come to the party tonight, they’re a lot of fun and- and the boys, they miss you so much, I... I feel like we have so much to catch up on.” He pauses watching your face shift, stunned at his words “Just come tonight, even for a little while.”

“Please” He gazes at you.

Wait, is he letting his guard down?

He looks down at you, running one hand in his hair, making it extremely difficult to ignore the muscle bulging out of his bicep. “I’ll come pick you up, go for a little spin like old times” he motions towards his parked Harley.

You nod, absorbing the high this man emits, just by hearing he wants time with you.

“Okay.. maybe I will, I miss the boys a lot too, and... I think I've earned a night off with a few drinks and good music” You say smiling.

“Yea, you have” He smiles back. “Uhm thanks again for the letter” he starts his descent backwards. “I’ll see you tonight okay, sweetcheeks?” He shoots a thumbs up at you.

Lightning strikes inside of you. He always called you sweetcheeks when you dated. Hearing it literally makes your body react, your core squeezing, your breath stolen.

“Alright big guy” you chuckle.

“Promise?” He hollers, his back to you, walking to the club.

You chuckle harder, “I Promise!” You catch him sneak one more glance at you, his smile not so hidden anymore.

You stand alone in the lot, trying to wrap your head around the fact that you might be right back to where you started? What you thought would be the end of a chapter, might be the beginning of one.

You huff to yourself in disbelief, wondering if accepting this sudden shift within you is the right call. It’s familiarity overpowering. Your smirk as you know this outfit isn’t temporary anymore. The girl that wore jeans and leather religiously is returning. Deep down you already know you plan to make the most of it before your clock runs out, sending you back to where you came from.

That’s it. Tonight, will be a night where history will unfold. It’ll be a night of release, a chance to be yourself again, unpolished. A night that will end with answers.

It’ll be a night that Opie will never forget, and something tells you, neither will you.

#soaimagine #opie winston #sons of anarchy #jax teller #samcro #x reader

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nicklloydnow · 8 months

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“Each day in Jocktober, which takes place in October, Opie & Anthony producer Sam Roberts picks a different radio show from around the country and then the show spends an hour diagnosing exactly what makes that oh-so-zany “morning zoo”-style show so shitty. Jocktober is like if Warner Herzog or the Coen Brothers spent a month each year just attacking movies like Paul Blart and Mortdecai – but also explaining the conventions of why they are so bad. Wouldn’t that make the film industry better? Wouldn’t it at least be entertaining? At least one of those things, yes.

Exaggerating the characteristics of drive-time radio, interrogating the conventions of the radio industry, is a way to ask: Why do people act this way? If this sounds familiar to improv people, it should: the goals are exactly the same, they just go about it in different ways. The work of improv is to excavate some truth of a situation and then heighten it to show why it’s funny, like some kind of fiendish archeological dig. Opie and Anthony, on the other hand, prefer to throw the entire situation into a giant rock tumbler to shake the dirt off of it and leave the fossils of truth at the end. Sure, some delicate things might get broken, but if they were that delicate, then how valuable were they in the first place?

The public at large pigeonholes Opie & Anthony as those terrible zany “morning zoo”-style DJs. But there’s a difference. Gregg “Opie” Hughes gives a shit when it’s done badly. Around the tenth day of every Jocktober, Opie and, to a lesser extent, the rest of the crew, kind of reach a point where it’s not longer even fun to mock these shows. Like Radiohead turning its back on Creep, it hurts them too much. Radio hosts, by and large, the targets of Jocktober, do nothing but play Creep. (…)

Prepburger and other services like it license content, like The Fugitive and War of the Roses, and the other, smaller, refillable formats that allow shows to comment on topical events, to any radio show who can pay. That’s why every morning show in every market is indistinguishable white noise. They’re literally saying the exact same thing. It’s like that part of Going Clear that talks about L. Ron Hubbard as a sci-fi writer where he’s like “never write any character who has not appeared in that magazine before. Realism or originality is the enemy,” or something like that, I wasn’t listening that hard.

One element that continues to be at the heart of a lot of programming philosophies is localness. With the advent of huge national radio shows like Howard Stern and Opie and Anthony, smaller market shows were forced to use what they had to stay relevant. They literally did stuff like hang up signs in studios that reminded jocks to “Stay Local” and talk about the stuff in the town, or inject specifics about the nearby highway, or talk about local news stories. Which is fine, but can come at the cost of prioritizing actually stimulating conversation. Focusing on trying to work the name of the local mall into your story is completely missing the point that people don’t give a shit what specific you use, the important thing is you’re talking about things that are honest and immediate and you’re good at talking.

(…)

Nothing encapsulates what Jocktober is about better than the name itself. “Jocktober” refers to the seemingly universal cliché where every radio show calls the month of October “Rocktober” and makes all these loud promos about it and hypes it up and makes this huge deal about how they play [radio station bro voice – you know the one] the most rock out of any station and October is going to rock so hard. But then they just PLAY EXACTLY THE SAME FUCKING SONGS THEY NORMALLY DO. The sound and fury, etc. To quote Anthony Cumia circa 2009: “There’s all this energy… but it’s all wasted energy. It’s like sitting in your driveway in neutral and just gassing it.”

(…)

Not to put too fine a point on it, but the first ever Jocktober episode was actually and explicitly inspired by a jock on some other show chastising O&A for, “not [having] anything to talk about, so they just talk about their real lives.”

And so, like NutraSweet, Jocktober was invented by accident. Even die-hard Pests might forget that when The Show went after 97.1 ZHT’s Morning Zoo on October 1, 2008, it was based on bad intelligence from a listener, that Frankie and Danger Boy were “talking shit” about the show.

The damage was done. Opie & Anthony had “napalmed the wrong village” as Anthony replacement Jim Norton put it.

But in the process, they realized that there were a lot of little villages out there that deserved napalming. Enough, in fact, to sustain the heady fall tradition of Jocktober for the next six or seven years… depending on how you count.

Anthony and Jim Norton supplied the bulk of the comedic voice, historically, and Opie was the point guard who kept things on track, but Jocktober really gave Opie’s voice a time to shine. He’s a student of radio and prides himself on knowing its history and the theory behind why it works, so he particularly hates seeing it done badly. And he’s usually thought of as almost the heart of the show, where Anthony or Jim make the really dirty, cutting jokes about child molesting or how fat/skinny/old/young/famous/washed up/etc. someone is. But there are moments every once in a while where Opie is suddenly just enormously cruel and you realize… this show has no heart. When the moral compass of the show blows up, Jocktober is like a some kind of Bermuda Triangle nightmare.

(…)

The early years of Jocktober, starting in 2008, was a very particular era for shock jocks. Satellite radio allowed them to be out from under the thumb of the FCC, but it was still before the Internet progressed to the point where personalities are really accountable for what they say. All these shows were just lost to the ether, but now everyone knows that everything’s permanent and the internet is forever. For that reason, I’d argue that there’s two distinct periods of Jocktober: 2008-2011 and 2011-present.

It was during the first period, 2008-2011, when they really learned how to effectively use social media as a tool for mischief. In the Jocktober of 2008, there were some mentions of sending “pictures of roosters” to email addresses and administrators of the official sites of different stations, as well as the long-standing tradition of listeners bombarding any station mentioned on-air with horrific phone calls.

But soon enough, Opie and Anthony walking into the studio was basically like the pilots in Pacific Rim climbing into those huge robots. They could get on mic and command their huge social media following to destroy whatever target they pleased. So each day in Jocktober would go like this: they’d announce the name of that day’s show, and then the clock started until “phase 1 is complete,” which means the show was forced to disable posts on their Facebook wall. Then began phase two, where listeners would leave the most vile, disgusting jokes and pictures on the comments of the Facebook wall. That went on until Phase 2 was complete—as in, the entire Facebook page had to be deleted.

This seems like it took place back in some era when cyberbullying was a more innocent thing. Maybe “innocent” is the wrong word for spamming a Facebook page with hundreds of pictures of a man eating shit or a terrifying bus accident, but there was certainly a time when you could say “hey, just unplug the computer if it’s too much!!” and really believe it. But as we entered the more recent era, though, social media began to fragment even more and bleed into people’s “real” lives, until finally, coincidentally very near Jocktober 2014, the whole GamerGate thing happened and everyone kind of realized, hey, maybe even radio station cyberbullying isn’t just good clean fun.

(…)

On the last day of Jocktober, Opie & Anthony turned the focus on themselves, because after all, they’d be just as hacky as Terry Clifford if they didn’t call out their own shortcomings. This usually consisted of listening to some old shows from their Boston days or early in New York and pointing out flaws. Personally, I have to say that one definite flaw in the Opie & Anthony Show was that one of them liked to go on racist tirades that ended up on the front page of the newspapers.

But this isn’t about Anthony, it’s about Jocktober. And if you’re saying that he shouldn’t be on the radio anymore, then here is some good news for you: he’s not. Jocktober remains a fascinating cultural artifact. I was listening to one of these shows with a friend once and her reaction was, “How can you listen to these? It’s… so funny.” I think she meant just how decadent the kind of humor is in O&A in general, and then Jocktober in particular. They’re responding to this shitty, watered down entertainment, so they purposely make their show the most sugary, rich product possible. It was like they were getting mad that someone’s Kool-Aid is weak and doesn’t have enough sugar, so you dump 10x too much sugar in it. Jocktober was the most high-proof, premium-grade version of O&A’s cartoon-cruel comedic voice possible. (…)

Shortly after Anthony got fired in July of 2014, comedian and frequent guest Joe DeRosa compared the freedom of speech to the right to eat as much candy as you wanted. Sure, the thinking goes, knock yourself out, but if you eat too much, eventually you’re going to get sick. Looking through this lens, SiriusXM’s decision to fire Anthony was like Bloomberg’s decision to ban large sodas. Sure, you can drink this sweet, decadent soda, but it’s in the interest of everyone concerned that you don’t literally drink all of it.

Probably good thinking. But if you are so inclined, every episode of Jocktober is right here.”

#opie and anthony #jocktober #jim norton #sam roberts #radio #satellite radio #sirius xm

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