jax-iosua-blog

[jax-iosua-blog]

As a teenage runaway who regularly had to hold her own against dangerous gangsters, Clara had learned pretty quickly that while she couldn’t exactly throw her weight around in order to intimidate people, simply acting like she was an intimidating person was surprisingly effective. As a young, female deputy who regularly had to wrangle men—coworkers and criminals alike—twice her size, not that much had changed.

Jax was different. Yes, he was also twice her size and yes, she still stood there shooting the same unwaveringly steely gaze at him that she shot at everyone who stepped up and towered over her. But unlike most others, with whom Clara felt she was always fighting a losing battle for respect, the man in front of her had always treated her like she was an equal. He had always talked to her like an equal. He never patronised. He gave her hell, because he knew that she could take it; and in return, she had more respect for him than she did for most of the Sheriff’s Office combined.

“Deal, and don’t call me pipsqueak,” she retorted while adjusting her ponytail, matching his seeming severity with a matter-of-life-or-death tone of her own. She didn’t actually mind the nickname, seeing it more as a term of endearment than an insult, but she would never admit to that.

Curling her hands into fists in front of her mouth, the brunette feinted back and forth while simply observing Jax, knowing that her best strategy was to lean into her tiny, wily stature rather than engaging in a futile effort to overcome it. The composite of moves that followed was quick but precise, culminating in an overhand right that she didn’t usually open with, hoping to take advantage of the element of surprise in order to give her an edge.

Jax was well practiced fighting those smaller than he was because, well… that was pretty much everyone. The assumption always was that he’d be slower than they were, that his motions would be hulking and easy to see coming, that they’d be able to dart and dodge around him like an angry little hummingbird and somehow scrape together a victory that way. That assumption was just fine by him. Let them wear themselves out, he was patient – he could take a few punches in wait for just the right moment to let them know their assumptions about him were dead wrong.  

The thing was, Clara already knew all that. She was the one waiting; shifting her weight from side to side, readying herself to hit the gas and dodge his first strike, opening a window of vulnerability which she’d no doubt take advantage of.

Bitch, he thought, with warm affection.

Since they both couldn’t reasonably just stand there having a starting contest for the evening, Jax was left to set the tone. Size didn’t intimidate the deputy, and so didn’t bother with that gimmick at all – instead he came in low. This would stabilize his center of gravity, and, in turning his body, protected his face as he swept his elbow toward her torso – if it landed center, or below her ribs, he could have her winded. Clipping her shoulder or her hip could throw her balance. Either way, he knew she’d be quick to react and he’d need to keep that up; don’t give her a second to think. Reaction following reaction following reaction… that would eventually lead to a mistake.

It helped knowing he could hurt her, that she wouldn’t fold or feign weakness as a strategy. She had a backbone of steel, and a heart whose rhythm beat in pulsing defiance of the world around her. There wasn’t a single thing Jax could to do her here that’d break her – because he could only imagine the kind of shit she’s already faced and survived to get to where she is now. And she knew that. She knew her strength, and in that, she wasn’t afraid of him either , which was a refreshing realization. Although, it seemed, most people liked him (he did have an awful large capacity for being friendly), he knew it came with some level of caution. His size, his scars, the distance in his eyes that only just hinted at the kind of life he’s had – the shit he’s done, as it capable of still doing. He was welcomed, but at arm’s length.

 Execpt by Clara. She welcomed him, completely. Fists and all.  

#| Clara | #i simply cannot with gifs tonight so idk pretend shes the punching bag? lulz

[jax-iosua-blog]

Don’t want no sugar in my coffee, it makes me mean, Lord, it makes me mean.       ( I don’t want no...)

#| Jax | #tunes

[jax-iosua-blog]

To say it had been a long day was an understatement. She’d been in all day, and it had been medical mishap after medical mishap. She was stuck with a few junior doctors who seemed as though they’d studied medicine in middle school, and nowhere else. Finally, though, it was getting to the point that people were calming down, thinking more on their feet than running up to Alice with every patient they had.

Excited to leave, but a bit wary about the fact that she’d go home and be alone for the rest of the day, Alice wandered over to check on one of the patients the most incompetent nurse was dealing with. They’d collapsed suddenly during the morning, and was now simply recovering from fainting. The doctor who’d seen her thought there might be something more wrong with her, and Alice was more concerned about her doctor, than anything.

She was speaking and reading over the notes, when an all too familiar voice cast a grin over her lips. Jax was someone she knew she wanted to get close with from the moment she’d met him. He was different, but she adored that.

“Damn it, Jax.” She shook her head, though the smile remained. Alice enjoyed his company probably more than she’d admit. Whichever state he was in. “For you? Always.” Excusing herself, she wandered towards him before taking a closer look at his arm. “Come on. We’ll go to my office.” She told him, nodding in the right direction.

The nurse that had been struggling to keep up with him came to a quick halt when Dr. Scott herself approached him with a smile. Her lips turned downward into a frown, completely off-put by how things played out, and immediately began to make herself look busy tidying up a shelf of supplies. Jax, at this point, had already completely forgotten about her.

 “I know, right? Just my fucking luck,” he replied, with a roll of his eyes. “Fucking dog. See if I get out in the middle of traffic again to save its mangy ass again.” Though that probably wasn’t true, he admitted to himself as he followed Alice toward her office. He knew the stupid thing was probably just scared, and fear had a habit of making all beasts lash out in violence. In all honestly, he wasn’t all that different by nature – he’s just spent an entire career leaning how to temper that impulse.   

Making himself right at home once they stepped inside her office, he had himself a seat at the desk, inspecting the extent of the damage himself. He’d been around field medic often enough to know basic protocol, “irrigation and stitches, yeah? I mean it’s really not that bad, I just don’t want to start foaming at the mouth with rabies or some shit.”

#| Alice |

[jax-iosua-blog]

The Drive in was a frequent spot for the Crimson’s to prey on the unsuspecting. His younger siblings in particular couldn’t get enough of the adrenaline of robbing someone as they sat right there in the front seat engrossed in a movie. Bodhi usually let it go, loose change and unwanted junk in the back of peoples cars was no big deal. But he was always there, just in case they took it a step too far. Because the siblings that raised him were old enough that he couldn’t stop them from making their own choices in life, no matter how major the crime. But as for those younger than him, there was still a chance.

He’d been sitting at the back of Starlight Cinema, sunk into an old abandoned couch against the fence watching the movie, a classic as always, playing ahead. He was the big brother that was always there but didn’t step in until shit went south, and as he saw his youngest brother fly by with wire in hand, he knew that his time had come. Using his cane to assist in getting up, he casually made his way through the parked cars, the movie still rolling as he stopped up the back corner of the lot. His brother was head down under a steering wheel throwing the steering column guard away, plucking at the car wires. God knows where the owner was, but there was no doubt they’d be back any minute. And there was no doubt they’d be highly unimpressed that someone was attempting to hot wire and steal their car. Their was people all around them, and it was about to end terribly for them both. So without hesitation Bodhi grabbed his brother by the back of the shirt and shoved him away from the situation. As a figure approached in the darkness his brother took off, Bodhi turning around to see who approached. “My bad, thought it was my car”

Jax caught sight of a figure dart across his Chevy’s cracked rearview. His eyes jumped quickly down to his side mirror, catching the shape as it disappeared next to a car sitting, empty, at the back of the lot.  Having been that kid, once upon a time, his mind jumped to the likely scenario about to unfold with a small thread of nostalgia unraveling in the pit of stomach. There was almost nothing as thrilling as stealing a car, he knew. It’d been a favorite of his as a teenager, though he’d never been stupid enough to go after one at a drive-in. Part of him thought to just let the whole thing play out: the owners would arrive, the kid would run, the police would be called, and maybe catch him, maybe not. Harmless, really.

But, hell. This town had enough going on between the two gangs. It was likely the citizens lived more on edge these days than they deserved, and would retreated to the theater as a sanctuary; an innocent night out to just enjoy watching an old movie and relax. In that context, Jax decided that he wasn’t okay with letting the little fuck head get away with ruining someone’s night. So, he sighed, and reached for his .45 tucked into his jeans at his back. He inspected the weapon, pulled back the slide, and chambered a round – just in case. Replacing the Walther into its place, Jax got out of his truck, slammed the door shut, and started toward the wayward young criminal.

 At his approach, another man joined the mess – a man with a cane, he noticed right away – who shoo’d the thief quickly from the scene, and presented him with an absolute shit excuse. But Jax didn’t stop walking as he spoke. He continued, far past the appropriate boundary of personal space, to face the kid’s protector until he was standing just breath a from him, staring downward with an obvious lack of amusement.  

Jax knew how this shit worked. This guy wasn’t looking after the other for no reason. There was a tie of some kind, and it didn’t quite matter what kind of tie it was. At the end of the day, if cane-boy took a beating instead of the thief, by proxy the same message would be sent.

“Is that really the excuse you want to go with?”

#| Bodhi |

[jax-iosua-blog]

I am either a storm or a drought. In-betweens have never been my thing.

Sanober Khan (via coffee-and-quotes)

#| Jax | #words

[jax-iosua-blog]

@deputyxjones​

Jax towered over the small brunette woman who stood defiantly in front of him, her eyes like two knives, honed and ready to strike. He had close to a foot on her, and he’d bet over a hundred pounds too, easily. But what she lacked in stature, she made up for in spades with pure spunk and attitude. She wasn’t one to fold against the odds, and for that he had more respect for the little local deputy than he did for all the cocky gangsters walking the streets like they were worth a damn put together. 

Their friendship had come quickly and effortlessly, kindred spirits with more in common than either of them would likely admit any time soon. While neither of them were about to waste time with gossiping over coffee or braiding each other’s hair, there was a genuine affection in the shit they gave each other back and forth. Never giving an inch, never yielding to the other’s challenge. Theirs was an unspoken comradery, undefined – and it didn’t need to be.

 “Get me to the mats first, and drinks are on me tonight,” he challenged, laying out the stakes of their match, his face as serious as if it weren’t just booze on the line. Until the range was built out, he used a small portion of the building as a gym of sorts, with the mats padding them from the dirt and concrete ground, and a punching back hanging tattered and worn out in the corner. “Otherwise, you’re coming over tomorrow to help me haul the rest of the shit out of the front. Deal?”

 Jax rolled back his shoulders, one by one in a motion more fluid than someone of his mass should be able to move. “Let’s see what you’ve got, pip-squeak.”

#| Clara | #hope this works??

[jax-iosua-blog]

Oz was deep in paperwork in the back, wishing to God he dealt illegal drugs instead of caffeine and sugar so he could spend less time in the office. It barely contained enough room for a desk and a couch, which was all it contained. He slept there sometimes, so the couch was much nicer than the desk. He needed to buy one of those ergonomic chairs but was holding out because they were expensive and he didn’t want to be old. He’d grown up in shitty computer chairs, which might be the problem.

There was a shout that seemed to rattle the windows, though that was probably just his imagination. He stuck his head around the door and spotted Jax. Why the giant thought he was good company, Oz would never know, but it could be unnerving. Of course, it came with benefits as well. His regulars were a lot less likely to get mouthy when Jax was around. Hell, everyone was a lot less willing to be mouthy around Jax. If he’d wanted to, Oz had no doubt he could be running the Rascals. But he seemed to have no ambition or even a nasty bone in his body. All he wanted to do was sell guns for some damn reason.

Oz didn’t like guns. But he liked Jax, so here he was, apparently becoming a gun runner as well as drug dealer. “Surprisingly, yes, and also not deaf.” Since there was no way he could stash Jax in the office, Oz decided to close the shop ten minutes early. “Alright, you degenerates. Go steal someone else’s Wi-Fi for a while. Shoo! Before I take a broom to you!” A reputation for being insane and weird could help, since everyone just sighed and started to pack up. “You really need to get cable instead of just relying on me to amuse you.”

A smile broke across Jax’s face immediately as Oz stepped from the café’s closet, uh… office. Without skipping a single beat, as Oz dismissed his customers (none of whom appeared surprised over what was happening), three long strides brought him to the other man’s side. He dropped a hand against his shoulder, and then shoved his own into him in greeting. Once Jax decided that he liked someone, all sense of proximity and personal space took a hike. His displays of affection were as hands-on and as physical as everything else he did. “And miss that look on your face? Fuck cable.” 

Cutting to the chase, he took a step back, “the revised application for the range came in. Mind coming by and looking through it for me? There’s this whole fucking bit in there about concern over my suppliers,” Jax’s eyes rolled with annoyance, frustrated even just recalling the endless process this turned into. His connection in Egypt was well established and legitimate by international standards, exporting anything from handguns and ammunition all the way up to British anti-tank missiles. Despite that, the state bank was still shivering in the shadow of the giant red flag that anything from that region seemed to throw up.

Business aside, Jax simply liked the other’s company. There was a sarcastic edge to him when he spoke, and he had an infectious passion about certain topics that Jax enjoyed listening to, even if he didn’t entirely agree. Admittedly, that was in part because if he was listening, then he wasn’t thinking. And he’d had enough of his own company, his own thoughts, to last a lifetime at this point. Getting a bit of work organized would be productive, but more so than that, he was hoping for a distraction. “Lock up, I’ll get the truck started. Unless you’ve got plans to watch reruns with your parents tonight instead?”

#| Oz | #Family Fued anyone?

[jax-iosua-blog]

She wasn’t a drinker and certainly couldn’t name brands of liquor or know what type of drinks are popular, but for those who did she was pretty certain it shouldn’t take this long to decide. Her act of kindness for the day was to be fulfilled with buying a random a drink and yet he only looked at her as if he’d seen a ghost. Surely that wasn’t the case as Taryn didn’t at all believe in them, but she looked over her shoulder just in case. Never could be too sure in life. Except besides some people playing pool in the opposite corner, there was no one behind her.

Finally replying and giving her something useful to work with, she turned to find the bartender coming her way and repeated his answer when the man was done. Turning her attention back to the guy who was either slower than she originally picked up on or was already too drunk, she found herself staring at those familiar eyes again. It made her stomach churn with unease as she couldn’t pinpoint why she felt like she’d seen him before. He certainly would have left an impression due to the sheer size and bulk of the man, but she couldn’t place him.

Snapping back into the moment, he was slow to ask to return the favor and frankly it was starting to creep Taryn out. She felt like she was missing something here as surely he wasn’t this bad at talking to women. That frozen, almost terrified look hadn’t left his face, which only unnerved the brunette even more. “No, no. I don’t drink.” Her head shook from side to side as she answered as politely as she could, but letting suspicions grow the more she stared back at him.

“Have I done something to you?” She asked suddenly, frowning at both her own outburst and him. “Or are you drunk already? Because you can’t keep looking at me like that.” Her temper was starting to flare the more she spoke. “I mean seriously, you’re looking at me as if I’ve just done something awful like killed Bambi’s mother, and it’s freaking me out.” Sliding to the edge of her chair, she was ready to make a move to leave if needed.

He could hear the heat of her impatience beginning to flicker in her voice. And he couldn’t blame her for it. Hell, he was getting impatient with himself.  This wasn’t like him, so it was no wonder there was no recognition at all, a decade’s worth of physical changes aside. Even all those years ago, back when they’d called each other friends, Jax had always been assertive – confident, no matter what kind of mess he found himself in the middle of. Hesitant and cautious? Those weren’t words anyone would have chosen to describe him – not back then, and not today.

Man up and just fucking spill it already, he urged himself,she’s going to put it together anyway.

 At the unexpected mention of Bambi (and the murdering of his mother), his head tilted to the side, brow raised – more off guard than he’d been a moment ago at the absurdity of her chosen analogy. Really, Taryn? The corner of his lips cracked into a helpless grin, and a small, rumbling chuckle escaped from between them, no doubt aided by the alcohol content of his blood. “Bambi? Are you fucking serious? Nah, nothing like that... I mean, not unless you’ve quit being a vegetarian and picked up hunting, or something?”

Jax paused at the slip, his eyes watching carefully through the haze of his buzz for her reaction. Not exactly how he wanted it to pop out, but fuck – at least it was out, right? There was no going back now.

“It’s Jax, Taryn” he clarified further, the words slow with intent, the humor in his voice fading with the admission. “From southside, we uh… grew up together. Remember?”

The bartender approached with his whiskey then, the guy's demeanor obviously picking up on the acute awkwardness of the situation and ready to excuse himself, but Jax held up his hand to halt the man. “You sure you don’t drink?”

Reunion | Taryn & Jax

#| Taryn | #fucking bambi's mom...

[jax-iosua-blog]

Full name: Jax Iosua

Age: 30

Birth date: March 13, 1987

Gender & pronouns: Male, he/his

Affiliation: Civilian

Occupation: Owner of Double Tap Armory & Range; Ex-Army Ranger

Faceclaim: Jason Momoa

B i o g r a p h y »

At seventeen, Jax was caught behind the wheel of a stolen 1967 Shelby Mustang, worth an easy $300,000 on the black. After a lengthy chase, ending in a futile attempt to resist arrest, the police hauled his rebellious ass straight off to jail. While locked up and wondering if his foster folks would bail him out or not, Jax was forced to slow down and take a long, hard look at the path his life was headed: fucking nowhere.

Jax’s parents were both long dead; he’d found his mother unresponsive and foaming at the mouth with a needle jammed into her arm at nine years old. Weeks later after her funeral, his father bit down the barrel of his pistol and swallowed a bullet. Besides the revolving door of foster parents that followed, becoming an orphan hadn’t really changed Jax’s life all that much. His folks had always been absent, leaving him to fend for himself for most of his childhood, anyway. He’d grown accustomed to relying on himself for survival, with only his best friend Taryn at his side. Chicago was a playground for the wayward youth of the city, and among them, Jax had already learned how to get anything that he wanted – he didn’t need guidance or a charitable set of fosters trying to turn his life around, he thought, because nothing was out of reach for his quick hands, clever mind, and intimidating presence.

But at what cost? He realized, as his fosters posted bail and took him home, that he needed to do something to get himself off the path of inevitable self-destruction that he was on. Otherwise, he’d end up just like his folks had: either in prison or dead, after contributing nothing but utter uselessness to the world and those around them. He wanted more for himself than that – he wanted a chance to mean something, to be able to protect and provide for those who came into his life and mattered.

And so, the day after his eighteenth birthday, he stepped onto a bus on his way to boot camp. It was a seemingly impulsive decision that had not been well received by his friends, especially not by Taryn. Saying goodbye to her had been the single hardest moment in his life, but he hoped, with the naivety of a boy standing on the precipice of the rest of his life, that one day she’d understand why he had to leave. He needed something to force him to stay on the right track, with enough adrenaline to keep himself from getting into trouble out of sheer boredom.

He tried to keep in touch, but he never heard from her again.

Twelve years later, his career within the 75th Ranger Regiment abruptly ended to the sound of shots fired and the blinding light of a flash grenade. He woke up in a state-side hospital with his medical retirement papers already prepared. Reeling from the sudden, jarring challenge of having to re-enter civilian life, Jax found himself back in Illinois. His fosters had made Muddy Waters their home, and while old Thomas had died from a heart attack some years ago, they’d been the only two souls that had stuck with him through his troubled teenage years and countless deployments. They’d written to him constantly, and he found himself looking forward to seeing their faces, beaming with pride, when he got to wire in remotely. So, the only thing he knew to do with himself now was to try and start over, and to try and care for his foster mom with her progressing Alzheimer’s.

These days, Jax could give a shit less about the goings-on of the town’s gangs. Live, and let live, he figures. (Though, that half mil could come in handy…) Most of his days are spent running errands for his mom and trying to fix up a small piece of property at the end of town into a workable shooting range and armory. At night, after a round or two at General’s, he can be found sizing up potential competition at BnB’s fight club for a little extra spending money.

P e r s o n a l i t y »

When Jax comes at you, hopefully it’s with warmth and good humor. A slap on the back, and a booming laugh, he can be quite a boisterous, energetic companion. Being a protector by nature, friends hold Jax’s absolute loyalty, and he’d overextend himself to the point of breaking for any one of them if called upon. At the same time, he’s impulsive; a man to follow his gut. Alert and observant, when given a reason to question a person’s motives, they’d find in him a brick-wall of an adversary, unrelenting and unforgiving. Despite his open friendliness, he enjoys being on his own, and is quite withdrawn when it comes to himself personally. He tries his best not to burden others with his troubles, and would prefer to consult a glass of whiskey with his problems rather than talking with anyone else about them.

Played by Ever

#| Jax | #bio

[jax-iosua-blog]

@alicescotts​

“Sir… uh.. wait, Sir! Do you have an appointment?” the frazzled young nurse questioned, stepping quickly to keep up with the length of his strides down the medical center’s hallway.

“Nope,” he answered simply, not slowing down for her sake as his eyes scanned in and out of the rooms, across the nurse’s stations that he passed. His good deed for the day and turned right around and bit him straight in the ass - almost literally. The dog he’d tried to rescue from the middle of the goddamn highway decided to thank him by sinking its teeth into his forearm as he carried him safely out of traffic.

Now, normally Jax would avoid bother going to a medical facility for something like this. Nothing a little hydrogen peroxide and a stitch-kit wouldn’t take care of back home. But it was a longer drive back to his property than he wanted to take on bleeding, and there was always the off chance the creature had some sort of disease or something. If he were being honest, though, the real reason he bothered with the medical center at all was it was as good of an excuse as any to see Alice.

She’d been the first person to point him in the right direction when he made it to Muddy Waters, and over the weeks figured there was something of a friendship developing there. Case in point, when he finally spotted the blonde in her lab coat, a wide asymmetrical grin cracked across his face and he called out to her, his voice rising loud over the regular medical chatter surrounding them. “Yo DOC! Look at this shit!” He held his arm up, where a stream of dried blood was caked down the point of his elbow. “You got a minute to spare for me?”

#| Alice | #don't mind me making up shit as I go over here

[jax-iosua-blog]

Slowly the blood from the various cuts on his face pooled and ran towards the pink wheels of Laney’s bike. Usually she’d already be at school and he’d be head deep in a car bonnet by this hour of the morning. But unfortunately Laney had fallen ill and Lincoln was beat to shit. Sometimes he wondered if she would even recognised him, if he didn’t have at least one black eye or cut riddling his head. In fact would anyone know who he was without some kind of showing of violence written across his face. Instead Lincoln lay flat on his back on the driveway of the shop, tossing a baseball in the air to pass time. Some old bags car sat a meter away ready to get serviced, Laney inside with the other employees watching some shitty show about ponies on the office TV.

He hadn’t even cleaned up since he got home, having gone straight to bed, red covering everything he touched. He had a particularly nasty cut above his right eye and his bottom lip. All the bruising becoming darker hour by hour, nothing more than tangled and tattered flesh covering his skull and knuckles. Honestly he was used to it, the fight had been his life for years and he didn’t know much else anymore. Lost in thought, a shadow pulled over his vertical body, his eyes not yet adjusted enough to see who was brave enough to stand over him. “We’re all booked up today. Aka I can’t be bothered fixing your vehicle so thank you come again.”

Working his ass off all day at the range, running errands for his ailing foster mother, and counting the hours into the early morning with empty glasses at the bar was growing into a tired routine. Jax couldn’t afford to be bored, that’s when trouble had a habit of seeking him out and instigating bad decisions. He’d learned this long ago as a teenager (with a juvenile rap sheet as tall as he was today, and plenty of time in a holding cell waiting for his guardians to decide whether or not he was worth the bail), and it was one of the primary reasons that led him to enlist with the Army in the first place - it kept him busy and grounded, constantly on alert. But with his military career no longer an option to go back to, Jax was finding it difficult to keep himself focused and on track as he settled into civilian life - he needed something to keep his blood pounding with adrenaline, his senses sharp and stimulated. 

So when he heard a rumor float past his ear in a whisper about a fight club, he got to digging. And now he was here, standing over a man who looked as if he’d know exactly what he was after.

“I don’t give a shit about your fixing business,” he started, clearly unphased by the mans flippant attitude. “I’m more interested in the breaking-shit business. You the guy I talk to about that? Or are your just the warm-up punching bag?” 

#| Link | #how to make friends 101 with this idiot

[jax-iosua-blog]

@coffee-wizard-of-oz​

It was coming up on dusk when Jax pulled up to the Rise-and-Grind in his old pickup, headlights flashing obnoxiously in through the window before he killed the engine and got out. 

Cafes weren’t exactly the kind of place he’d normally choose to hang out in. He wasn’t much into indie music and avocado toast first of all, and there was a perfectly good bar in town he’d rather be at instead. But the General’s wi-fi was shit, and he could hardly understand the business application process sober - whiskey, in this case, wasn’t going to help.    

Jax knew guns, and he knew the people who wanted them. What he didn’t know, however, was the first thing about getting a legitimate business off the ground. Hell, the whole process was making it painfully obvious why people turned to organized crime to begin with – there was something appealing about the simplicity of just saying ‘fuck you’ to all the regulations and agencies involved. 

Which was precisely why meeting Oz had been a goddamn miracle. 

He wasn’t entirely sure if he’d be here at this hour, but with nothing left to do with himself for the evening, he figured he’d might as well give it a shot. Maybe get a few of the documents organized, and he had half a mind to finally drag Oz down to his property and put a gun in his hands too, for shits and giggles. Oz had offered his help (which was substantial), and Jax wasn’t about to let him miss out on the fun side of the project. He owed him that, at least. 

Stepping inside, he didn’t see him behind the counter right away, and instead of politely waiting his turn in line to ask, he shouted towards the back, his voice booming loudly and startling those who’d had their noses tucked into their laptops, “OZ?! YOU HERE?!”  

#| Oz | #good luck being friends with this idiot thumbs up #can you believe there is not one gif of him walking and shouting? wtf

[jax-iosua-blog]

There was only one reason for Taryn to be entering the General’s Tavern and it wasn’t because she liked to drink. Since Cole had been on her case about their reason for being in Muddy Waters she’d found herself spending a lot of time at the bar. Listening to subtle conversations people have when they think no one is listening. Trying to chat up whoever would give her the time of day which was always much harder than it needed to be as she despised most people. It didn’t help that she was easily recognized as a social pariah being both new and therefore a threat in this town.

Stepping inside and doing a quick scan of the room, her gaze went up and down from person to person. There were the usual faces that she was pretty sure spent most of their waking lives with a beer in their hands. There were a few who looked like they’d just gotten off work and needed a little something to take the edge off and then one that she let her disinterested stare rest on. Mostly because he was staring at her but also because there was something about the man’s look that felt familiar.

What made it worse was that the bumbling idiot act that thus followed their visual exchange didn’t look in character for the man. He was pretty large but more in the muscle which compared to most in this place, he stood out like a sore thumb. Against her better judgment that was her cue to go over, and maybe try out this thing called socialization. Mostly she wanted to figure out who the man was, why he was staring, and if there was anything he might know that could be of use.

“You’re going to want to clean that up yourself unless you don’t mind standing on broken glass. They won’t do it.” She nodded her head at the bartender after daring to head in his direction, taking a seat but leaving one in between them. Turning now to face him, Taryn narrowed her eyes as she couldn’t quite place that familiar feeling that remained and grew stronger as she got a closer look at the man. Scruffy and buff could describe half the men in town so she just shook her head and brushed it off.

“What are you drinking?”

Jax watched her as if she were an apparition, materializing before him. Like she just slipped in from across the veil, visiting from some place between here and the intangible. His mind struggled to reconcile her presence, the solid buzz of whiskey in his system and the downright shock he was in at the sight of her came together into a bewildered silence as she spoke to him. 

Shit -- - Taryn was speaking to him.  

The gravity of that fact alone left him spinning. It had been over a decade since the last time they’d spoken. Dozens of letters, sent to her old address and ignored.  And he couldn’t blame her for it. Good intentions aside, the black-and-white of it was that he’d left her; abandoned her in his attempt to make something out of his life that was worth a damn. And he knew, even as a child, growing up together in the slums of Chicago, cutting their teeth on shoplifting and reckless acts of general youthful rebellion, he’d never known her to be the forgiving sort. Nonetheless, he’d hoped, prayed even to Gods he wasn’t sure were even up there, that she’d make an exception; that one day there’d be a letter from her waiting at the barracks, or that he’d hear her voice on the other end of a satellite call. 

But that never happened. And now, here she was. Standing before him not a ghost, not a figment of his imagination. Here, now. Real.

His head tilted to the side, for the time being completely forgetting about the issue of the shattered glass. She didn’t recognize him, he realized. Which was fair enough, all things considered. The boy she’d known all those years ago was long gone, and Jax had done a lot of growing up in the Army; he stood 6′4″ now, 230lbs with a crooked scar above his left eye, tattoos down his arms and more scruff than his teenage-self could have ever hoped to grow. 

“Wild Turkey,” he answered, absently, after far too long a pause.

Unsure of how to proceed, he looked over toward the bartender, who mercifully had his next round on it’s way. “Can I.. uh.. buy you a drink?”

Because he sure the fuck was going to need them. 

A lot of them. 

Reunion | Taryn & Jax

#| Taryn | #he's perma-fucked over this great

[jax-iosua-blog]

At Ease | Caleb & Jax

@caleb-calloway​

The old Chevy pickup sighed in grateful relief when Jax pulled into the EzPump and killed the engine. He’d been running the poor machine to within an inch of it’s life, back and forth, in and out of town for weeks now; loading the bed full of rubble and garbage from his property, driving it all out to the dump, stopping into town to load up with supplies, and repeating the process all over again once he got back. He promised, if the damn thing saw him through his project, he’d work on getting her restored one day, and would often find himself bribing her with a brand new engine while trying to coax her to start up for another loop. 

He set up the pump, and while the tank filled, Jax decided to step inside for a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of Wild Turkey. He still had a few hours ahead of himself, and once he wore himself out from work, he’d be needing a cold glass of whiskey to complain to. 

As his eyes adjusted from the easy light of dusk to the assault of florescence inside the shop, his gaze swept over those milling about (a child begging for a candy bar from his mother, an old man browsing the drink coolers, and the usual apathetic hourly behind the counter).  A pleasant surprise, however, came in the form of one of the few friendly faces he’d come to meet since settling down. Not only that, but man’s military background helped forge an immediate connection - a kindship, of sorts, that make conversation (or lackthereof sometimes) easier, effortless with their mutual understanding. 

“Caleb, hey,” Jax greeted in approach, “the hell you got goin’ on, huh?”

#| Caleb |

[jax-iosua-blog]

Gisela looked at the person standing next to her. Or rather, the speck of dirt or food or something on the face of said person. For the past ten minutes, she had been debating whether or not she should say anything or let them continue to walk around with shit on their face. Finally, deciding to do the nice thing, Gi said flatly, “Dude, you’ve got something on your face.”

Jax had discovered that the QuikMart was only really ‘quik’ after dark. If you wanted a damn thing during the day, then you’d better just resign yourself to standing in line waiting for the one underage cashier to figure out what buttons to press or, God forbid, some old lady decided to whip out her check-book to pay for her white bread and bacon. 

Though, Jax wasn’t really in a position to judge. His basket was not much better; breakfast burritos, microwave dinners, and a couple of different flavors of pringle chips. You know - just to mix things up. He’d lost his patience to hunger a little while ago as he finished shopping, and broke into one of the cans of chips for a quick nosh before getting into line. The evidence was apparently still visible, as the little voice from below him decided to point out. 

“No shit?” He wiped his chin with the back of his arm, and felt the crunchy Pringle remains fall free. “Thanks, doll- guess I got a little carried away. But shit, that CheeseBurger flavor is better than it sounds. Want one? While we continue to waste away in line.” 

#| Gisela | #Yooooo! Meet my idiot

[jax-iosua-blog]

Reunion | Taryn & Jax

@taryn-lively​

Within hours of moving to Muddy Waters, Jax and the General had become fast friends. Over the weeks of attempting to settle down, he’d become quite a common sight there, sitting with his back pressed against the red-brick interior underneath a dimly flickering overhead light. The glass in his hand reflected a dense, dark amber in color; Wild Turkey, straight. It hit like a horse and hand the burning aftertaste of sun-cooked gravel, but fuck, it did the trick. It hushed his thoughts and calmed his perpetually tense muscles just enough to give himself (and likely others) the illusion that he was managing to relax.

Visiting his foster mother and keeping himself busy clearing the mountain of shit and rubble surrounding the property he’d purchased at the most remote stretch of the Town’s limits only managed to occupy so many hours of the day. Which left these remaining ones vulnerable to the demands of silence. The questions, the regrets, pressing the insecurity of having no idea what the fuck he was going to do with himself anymore.

Fuck this. He forced that train of thought to stop, and threw back the remainder of his whiskey to chase it away. With a rumbling growl, glass returned with a loud thunk against the hardwood table, roughly translating to, “damn right, I want another.”

As he waited for his refill, his eyes moved to the door, the handle turning. Even out of the military, there was no shutting off the training. If the door was already open by the time you noticed it, you were already at a disadvantage.

Relax. It’s nothing. Chill the fuck out, would you?

A woman entered, and he let his gaze follow as she strode into the building, as if to prove to himself he didn’t have to be on alert all the goddamn time anymore. Harmless, see?

Her head turned, then, just enough for him to get a good look at her. Her hair was a familiar shade of dark brown, framing a sloping jawline and lips that were angled into a soft, comfortable frown. Coincidence, he could have claimed in processing the familiarity of those features… had it not been for her eyes. The sharp, lupine shape of them, as bright and razor-edged as he remembered as they scanned the tavern. They were just as he always assumed they would still be, twelve years later. Here, in this shit hole of a town. Taryn fucking Lively.

Maybe he was more drunk that he realized. Maybe he’d finally just lost his mind? He moved (to get up, to leave, to approach her – he wasn’t sure, he had no idea why he was moving, just that he was), and as his arms unfolded from the table, the span of them knocked the emptied glass over and onto the ground, shattering the thing into a thousand traitorous pieces. “For FUCKS sake.”

#| Taryn | #kay well good luck with this 8)

[jax-iosua-blog]

I have no idea how people function without near-constant internal chaos. I’d lose my mind.

Dave Eggers (via coffee-and-quotes)

#| Jax | #words