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#feeling like pure shite n just wanting to stop existing
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I haven’t had chemistry since like 2008, and I’m also an idiot who likes to make my friends upset, so I rated the periodic table in order to tilt my friends:
Hydrogen - this is like your childhood friend who has always been with you more or less and always will be down to get a drink and chill even tho you haven’t spoken in years. Solid bro imo 7.5/10
Helium - always down for a good time, even if probably created Alvin and the Chipmunks which in some places is considered a war crime. 4/10
Lithium - Gives me bitchy vibes and is flammable as fuck if I remember. Skinny bitch with an attitude 3/10
Beryllium - idk this sounds like a sailor moon villain lol for that it can have a 6/10
Boron - more like BORONG amirite ha ha wait no seriously I have no idea lol 5/10 clean neutral rating
Carbon - *screaming* 2/10 I will not be taking questions
Nitrogen - cool cool cool tight tight tight 9/10 Nitrogen just is the cool hot chick you wish you were
Oxygen - kid who takes up all the glory for the group project even tho you did all the work, 4/10 for natural charisma
Fluorine - lol what are you knockoff chlorine lmfao bitch 3/10 reminds me of the dentist
Neon - I can vibe with this boy for his contributions to signs which cause my eyes to scream 8/10 modernized Art Deco thanks you
Sodium - 10/10 this is me and I won’t be taking questions next element
Magnesium - magnesium is a close relative of magnificent and therefore I think the case is closed folks 9/10
Aluminum - 10/10 for providing a home to my Diet Coke addiction I’d be dead without you
Silicon - 6.9/10 :smirk:
Phosphorous - This has a very soundly name and it’s welcome to do that but idk, not a fan, seems like he’d be smelly, 2/10
Sulfur - 1/10 pretty sure that dog farts are purely comprised of this and as such if I was leaving negative ratings I would
Chlorine - 7.8/10 for being in pools so we could swim without brain eating amoeba in the south you a champ
Argon - he seems like a nerd jk this guy has a good color 9/10 for just being himself
Potassium - I hate bananas and this word gives me the physical sensation of biting into one but only by thinking of abstract letters and making them into something which we can nutrientise from bananas and to me that shit is bananas, b a n a n a s — 3/10 for making me sing hollaback girl thru adhd word association
Calcium - hm my brain went to mega milk so you get a 2/10 today bud I don’t make the rules
Scandium - pretty sure this is fake lol what’s next faxdium, e-Mailite and copinium? 5/10
Titanium - this song’s a banger and also is the only thing that lets me wear earrings 10/10
Vanadium - if your erection lasts for longer than like idk it’s supposed to then don’t take vanadium wait what do you mean it’s not an ED treatment 4/10
Chromium - decent bloke shame the browser eats all your memory 5/10
Manganese - if a weeb tries to tell me how to pronounce mayonnaise one more time... 1/10
Iron - excellent tool against the fey, in your blood, what a bro, 10/10 this bitch slaps
Cobalt - has a powerful energy; I respect him. 8/10
Nickel - if I had a nickel for every time someone made this joke lol 5/10 he’s doing his best
Copper - taste bad 3/10
Zinc - isn’t that the dude in the green tunic and white tights who saves premcess Lelda or something lol 7/10 those games are good
Gallium - seems like a prick 4/10
Germanium - sounds like a child pronouncing geraniums which are superior 3/10
Arsenic - bad vibes coach 1/10
Selenium - isn’t this just sailor moon lol 10/10 love this bitch
Bromine - farmine wherever you aremine - 9/10 I love a good bro
Krypton - he’s okay I guess 5/10
Rubidium - yet another Steven universe villain who will be redeemed I imagine 4/10 seems a bit dull
Strontium - I feel nothing when I see this lad’s name and that seems like a shame 1/10 I don’t like it
Yttrium - this is an atrium in Yharnam, or something 8/10 would love to sit in one and make contact with higher beings
Zirconium - oh wait THIS is the sailor moon villain from the dead moon circus! 9/10 I enjoyed that arc
Niobium - seems sassy, I like that in an element 7/10
Molybdenum - I hate this one, rancid. 1/10 for making me have flashbacks to difficult Ancient Greek vocabulary there is no fucking way that sound combination is anything but Beta and Delta borking and then Latin being like oh imma steal that
Technetium - 6/10 decent name but seems a bit forced
Ruthenium - 5/10 kindly old lady element I guess lol
Rhodium - 10/10 this ain’t my first rhodium babee this lad has good vibes what a name what a king
Palladium - 10/10 for making me think of paladins
Silver - 12/10 I’m breaking the rules for this silver is the best it is so cool and also it is the other best tool for dealing with supernatural creatures when iron has failed you highly suggest Even if I am extremely allergic to it going into my ears...wait hold on
Cadmium - 2/10 sounds like a total douche
Indium - 8/10, i just think it’s independent and neat
Tin - 10/10 good ear sounds when involving rain and roof shapes and automatically reminds me of Nora Jones’s come away with me album which is also 10/10
Antimony - 7/10 decent protagonist good name all around seems rad
Tellurium - tell ur mom what? That’s so early 2010s league of legends humor bro 2.5/10
Iodine - strikes fear in my soul from having it poured on my wounds but this is why I have more pain tolerance than god 5.3/10
Xenon - I think this is a declension of Xena warrior princess which is a win in my eyes, 8/10
Caesium - kind of has a cunty Latin name, 4.5/10
Barium - yeah boss, bury’im! 7.5/10 I love a good mobster gag
Lanthanum - A bit pretentious on the Tolkien spectrum sorry bud 3/10 sounds like you’d be the dickwad elf everyone hates
Cerium - 6.5/10 I like this one, gives me a clean vibe
Praseodymium - the fuck who sneezed all their alphabet soup onto the paperwork and called it an element Christ we can’t keep doing this 1.5/10
Neodymium - oh my god what did I just say 1/10
Promethium - thank Christ we’re back to greek 9/10 Prometheus was a Chad I could get behind
Samarium - 5/10 gives me boring wizard vibes
Europium - 4.5/10 don’t rename opium chrissake can’t take these nerds anywhere
Gadolinium - 5/10 it’s a starship knockoff but it’s trying to be bold with the G sound
Terbium - 2/10 I don’t vibe with this one
Dysprosium - sounds like an antidepressant that has a lot of shitty side effects 3/10
Holmium - sounds like someone anxious asking their beloved to hold them 8/10 I like hurt/comfort fics
Erbium - you can’t just describe something as herby you daft bastard 2/10
Thulium - sounds like a spell I like it 8.5/10
Ytterbium - macguffin in a shite sci-fi show that gets highly overrated because BBC produced it and superwholock stans emerge and go utterly feral 1/10
Lutetium - bards are an element I agree 10/10
Hafnium - sounds like a river (my dog) sound and has a cute vibe, I’d offer it head pats 7/10
Tantalum - noooo you can’t be sad yuor so sexe haha 6.9/10 tantalizing
Tungsten - 10/10 this is a lad with history
Rhenium - 5.5/10 it’s ok
Osmium - 4/10 I wasn’t a big wizard of oz fan
Iridium - 9/10 sounds like iridescent and that’s in my top 10 favorite words and concepts
Platinum - 10/10 best Pokémon game
Gold - 7.9/10 all that glitters and all but it’s still pretty on some people, silver is better tho
Mercury - yikes 8/10 so it doesn’t kill me
Thallium - sounds like the brother character in a ps4 exclusive western rpg that oddly falls under the radar in terms of reviews and gets shafted at awards for no reason 7/10 I’ll support you tho
Lead - 2/10 that’s gonna be a no from me dawg pretty sure I still have lead in my hands from stabbing myself with my mechanical pencils
Bismuth - 6/10 sounds good in mouth and reminds me of biscuits for some reason, I’ll take it
Polonium - to thine own self be true so stop trying to act like the arts don’t influence science jk pretty sure this is named for Poland but hey that’s where we get the Witcher so you get a pass 6/10
Astatine - 1/10 I don’t even know what you are
Radon - 7/10 this motherfucker knows his shit and how to party, rad is right
Francium - I bring you francium...and I bring you myrdurdium... 7/10 for a good vine
Radium - killed the video star probably 9/10 I can get behind her
Actinium - as opposed to passtinium I prefer actinium in the voice of writing 8/10
Thorium - overrated Norse god 5/10 because lightning is still cool
Protactinum - sounds like some pretentious condom brand 4/10 wouldn’t do it with a dude who bought these
Uranium - I always thought she was a hot sailor scout 10/10
Neptunium - same for her I knew they weren’t cousins you couldn’t lie to me 4kids 10/10
Plutonium - sounds like a macguffin unfortunately 5/10
Americium - I read this with a pivotal letter missing and nearly died, 7/10 for the laugh
Curium - 10/10 gives me Curie vibes and also reminds me of curiosity which reminds me of—[old yellered before the association could set in]
Berkelium - what I shout when I want Burke (fam dog) to slaughter innocents and raze territories 2/10 world was not meant to know his commands
Californium - 1/10 California is cool with geography but probs could stand to chill with the ego sorry to my friends in Cali
Einsteinium - 6/10 it’s alright but we’re really running out of ideas huh
Fermium - 3/10 this one is porny
Mendelevium - 1/10 my brain didn’t like parsing this and I stand by my earlier statement of running out of good names
Nobelium - 0/10 you didn’t name any noble gases this cowards this gas can’t be a noble oh wait it’s NOBEL I take it back 5/10 seems an alright chap
Lawrencium - fear the old blood my sorry dead hunter’s ass I’ll never get back my life from the hours I spent trying to beat this lava shitting bastard 2/10 for being a boss who eats Taco Bell specifically before being challenged to have fresh lava shit with which to punish you for having the audacity to exist in his space
Rutherfordium - my god what a snob 4.2/10 I respect him a little but only because he sounds like a right lad
Dubnium - DROP THE BASS 10/10
Seoborgium - not sure about this one but it can have a 7/10
Bohrium - as an American English speaker this sound combination makes my pathetic throat become a black hole as I try to properly create the sound of it 10/10 I love when my body becomes a massive void in the universe
Hassium - lazy 2/10
Elements 109-118 can go fuck themselves I hate them all, collective 6.66/10 for their general demonic vibe
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dracosearlgreytea · 4 years
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indelicate marks (1)
indelicate marks: chapter one - the broom cupboard 
A/N: welcome tumblr to this draco x reader fic! this can also be found on my ao3, under the user ‘accioearlgrey’. i hope to post 1-2 times weekly, so keep an eye out for updates
summary: Draco Malfoy and Y/N Y/L/N both hide the marks left behind by choices they did not make. The birth of one, however, will tie them closer together than either of them realise, in ways that grow to be more delicate than they know. Reader is a Pureblood Slytherin, set 6th Year.
warnings: blood, language, mild sexual implications, gryffindors being shite
indelicate marks index
Draco Malfoy had only spoken to you once. The Yule Ball - you seemed to be the only one in fourth year or above that hadn't shown up. Not that Draco had noticed; you were quiet, withdrawn. The type that made him, and most others, question your placement in Slytherin. You weren't obnoxious and loud, like Pansy Parkinson, and you didn't make friends with everyone for the gossip, like Daphne Greengrass. In fact, it was quite uncertain to some if you even actually existed, half the time. It seemed you had quite the knack of making yourself invisible. Draco was hardly surprised, either, with a name like yours. Rumours and whispers followed you in the corridor - whenever anyone noticed you, that was - shrouding you in dark mystery. 'Y/N Y/L/N - parents were in Azkaban before she had even learnt to walk.' 'I bet she's had the Dark Mark since she was born - just came out with it already there.' 'She's got to be a Deatheater. Surprised Dumbledore allowed her to even come to Hogwarts in the first place.' He couldn't help but pity you, in a way. He supposed, if things hadn't gone differently for his father... Well, he might have ended up in much a similar position.   So, no - it hadn't even occurred to Draco that you weren't amongst the crowd at the Yule Ball, not in the slightest. He'd left early. The music was still loud, the sound of students cheering and shouting along to a song Draco had never heard before echoing down the corridor. He was attempting to escape Pansy Parkinson, as per usual; her hands had been particularly too touchy and giggle too high, tonight, and so he'd managed to slip off into the mass of people when she had gone to get a drink, hastily making his way down the dim corridors. Once he was sure she wasn't about to ambush him after potentially spotting his swift exit, he slowed, contemplating why he had made the awful decision of asking Parkinson, of all people, in the first place. A fucking annoying date was better than no date at all, he reminded himself, pulling at his painfully tight bow-tie. She's desperate enough to have asked me herself, anyway. Just... Sped up the inevitable. He'd been nearing the top of the stairs leading down to the dungeons when he'd heard it. A quiet moan - a gasp. Draco had frozen, for a moment. His eyes flickered from where they had once rested on the floor, to the door to the side of him. He wasn't sure if he was too disgusted to check the broom cupboard the noise had came from - or if this was a perfect opportunity to ruin someone else's night. Fucking hell, you'd think they'd choose somewhere less obvious than a broom cupboard. They're pretty much asking to get caught. Another moment passed - another groan. Draco finally decided that no, he didn't want to see some hormonal teenagers getting at it to end his night, but as he took another step, there was another, much more worrying noise. A muffled scream - bluntly cut off by a violent shushing. Draco's heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed, glancing round the dark corridor. No one else would come this way for a good hour - and whatever the hell was going on in there needed stopping. Merlin. It's one thing after another tonight, is it? Where the fuck is Potter when you need him? Draco stepped away from the stairs, reluctant, before marching over to the broom cupboard. Grimacing, he flung the door open. "What the fuck are you -" Draco stopped, dead. There you were - thrust up against the wall, face crushed to the side. Held in place by some Gryffindor seventh year that he didn't recognise, another loomed over you, your arm tight in his grip. In his other a hand, a blade. It was bloody. Horrifically bloody. The crimson liquid plastered his hands, staining the fronts of his white dress shirt in a way that made Draco feel sick. At the interruption, the two had recoiled from you, leaving you to stumble to keep upright. Eyes wide with alert, their previous smirks now fell into horror at the sight of Draco stood in the doorway. It took him a moment to react, lips curling into a vicious snarl. "Get away from her before I get Snape." The older boys stared back at him, your attacker visibly tightening his grip on the blade. Draco poised his wand, before letting out a much louder hiss. "Are you deaf? I said get the fuck away from her!" They didn't need much more convincing. Shoving Draco out of the way, they pelted down the corridor, leaving you lent against the wall. Shaking, you held your bloody arm in your hand, hunched over and sobbing. Draco shifted forward, eyes widening. A pained wince spread across his face at the blood that stained your left forearm. It was now painted onto your right hand, running down your fingers before dripping onto the floor. Head forward, hair covered most of your face, but he could tell you were still crying. The sight seemed to wake whatever empathy he usually kept deep, deep within him, as a flicker of worry shot through him. "Let me look." Draco commanded, making you jump. You stared back at him through your mess of hair, eyes glinting with warning. "Get the fuck out." Your growl was wobbly, making it hard for Draco to take it seriously. Teeth bared as the corners of your mouth twitched, you were trying to contain your sobs, breaths quick. He could tell you were in agony, and it made the panic within him grow even more intense. "Shut up and show me your bloody arm," He moved closer, your eyes uncertain as he held out his hand. Gritting your teeth, you finally offered him your arm, shakily. He rested it in the palm of his hand, raising his wand and hovering it over the thick layer of blood. "Tergeo." You winced with a gasp, jolting your arm back a little. Draco kept his grip firm, but careful, moving his wand over the wound. The blood withdrew, back into whatever cuts the boys had left you with, but Draco noticed your eyes, still trained on him, jaw clenched. You stayed silent as the shapes of the cuts on your arm became clearer, that sense of pure sickness growing in the pit of his stomach. A word - several cuts overlapping on each letter. The boys had gone over it more than once. Deatheater. Sprawled across your left forearm. Draco faltered, eyes flickering up to meet yours for a moment, and you snatched your arm away from him. Your gaze avoiding, you pulled your uniforms sleeve back down over the wounds. Fresh blood was already beginning to stain the white of your shirt, and you tucked it away from view. Fucking Gryffindors, acting so high and mighty. Acting like we're the ones to pull all this shit. "You need to report them." Draco muttered. Anger swirled within his chest, your eyebrows raising as you finally looked back at him, still hesitant. "We don't all have a father to run to, Malfoy," Tone tainted, and bitter, but not quite as harsh as he would have expected. Silence settled between you as he searched your expression, but he found no aggression. In fact, your lips flicked up, so quick that Draco was half convinced it had been a twitch of some sort. But no - your gaze was not accusatory, a little unsure, but not malicious. Something within him shifted at the action - an unfamiliar feeling that Draco didn't recognise, spurring him to speak again. "Anyone tries anything again, you tell me." His words took you off guard, eyes searching for any humiliation or joke intended within them. "I've managed by myself so far." Gesturing, Draco flicked his gaze down to your arm, eyebrows raising. Your lips twitched again, a more obvious, relenting smirk. Within that moment, Draco studied you. You'd never spoken, but you had an atmosphere that felt easy. You were the perfect target for his bullying, and yet, he'd never said a word against you. After all, your name was your curse - and Draco recognised that all too well. When you didn't speak a second time, Draco took it as his queue to leave, only for you to grab his arm as he did so. Turning to look at you again, he found your expression much more unreadable than before. It took a moment for you to speak, uncertain, grip falling from him as he focused his attention back on you. "No one can know." A mere whisper, but something in your tone was desperate, your eyes glittering with anxiety as you stared back at him - pleading.   Draco's heart twinged, but he only pulled his features into ones of emphasised confusion, eyes glinting with an odd mix of sincerity and mischief. "Know what?" Your hesitant smirk came fuller this time, more genuine, eyes glowing warm with appreciation. His own played along his lips, and then he left the cupboard without much of a glance behind him. Yet, the smile you'd left him with didn't actually leave him. His dress robes remained stained with blood, your sleeves always pulled down and fastened since. You returned to acting like you didn't exist, and Draco did too. Your secret, however - that, remained kept.
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runnfromtheak · 3 years
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tagged by @icosagens!!! such an eloquent and stunning writer with a sharp sense of humor srsly go check him out on ao3! <3 Specifically check out his JayDickDonna fic, CHCl3 which is beautiful and painful and just E V E R Y T H I N GGGGG.
I'll put everything under the cut so there isn't a terrible amount of scrolling for those wishing to skip <3
Rules: list the first lines of your last ten stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.
Anchors of Mortality
AKA my new passion project where Dick has a savior complex and no self-preservation skills featuring a Constantine who just wants to Tap That, a Zatanna who is tired and also wants to Tap That, and a host of resurrected characters because Dick can't let things lie or die. Ships include JayDick and Magic^2Dick (or Dick/Zee/Constantine)
Life ends and life begins in rain, at least as far as Dick Grayson is concerned. His parents died on a rainy day, ice-cold droplets seeping in through the bright, thick cloth of the circus tents. A drizzle, Haly had called it beforehand, telling them not to worry. But rain is an omen – a warning – of an uncertain future, of conflicting emotions and thoughts. It had been a sign he’d been foolish to ignore, a sign Haly had been foolish to ignore.
everything casts a shadow
AKA SladeDick with Slade being the Worst and Dick straight up not having a good time
Zatanna used to say that rain has a cleansing effect on the heart and the soul – and the cock, Constantine would always interject with a filthy leer of promise. Rain purifies negative energy from a space, murder or magic, and rain settles the anxious mind. The three of them had made love in the rain once, intertwining limbs and the glow of magic refracted throughout the cold droplets. Three hearts aligned in a crystalline world of skin and water, for a perfect moment.
a prayer for which no words exist
JayDick where Dick has issues and needs therapy. Like a true emotional support/projection character, he reads instead.
On nights he can’t sleep, he reads.
Dick’s always enjoyed books, had grown up with yellowed pages musty with the scent of age as comfort and entertainment, but he’d stopped reading frequently when he’d grown up. With everything else, with responsibility atop responsibility atop responsibility as he’d aged, he hadn’t the time or the mental capacity to love reading like he had before. He hadn’t been able to focus or concentrate, always oscillating between too keyed up and too exhausted. The words, when he’d try and sift through the neurochemical adrenaline high and sift through the luring temptress of melatonin and sleep deprivation, would float and float and float away like distant birds migrating to a new land.
i'm addicted to the way you hurt (i don't mind if you fuck up my life)
JayDick where Dick is a female and also depressed but not in a sexy way. Very Spuffy s6 vibes if ya know what I mean.
When she comes back to life, her world is a nuclear green.
She’s embraced by something; it cradles her, like she’s a precious bundle of jewels, like something perfect to be coveted. There’s warmth where she rests her head, breasts pillowed beneath her, and she’s held close enough to feel that rhythmic cadence like a siren call to life.
warning signs can feel like they're butterflies (i won't stop 'till i get where you are)
Johnlock fic because I got into the fandom late where Sherlock just can't say no and everyone is sad.
He shoots her blackmailer on Christmas Day on the front porch of a cold mansion.
It’s a good shot – clean, precise – with an entry wound and an exit wound. Bits of brain matter coated in blood spatter at Magnussen's back, a dead-eyed look of shock in his empty eyes.
hold your breath 'till we're in too deep (my love is a mood ring)
JayDick where Dick just wants to love Jason and people (*cough* Jason *cough*) make this a difficult venture.
The thing is: Jason Todd is dead.
The thing is: Jason Todd is holding a detonator in his right fist and a gun in his left, both pointed in Dick’s direction in a fairly menacing way.
The thing is: Dick’s vision is blurry from what may or may not be a concussion and there are little floating Batmen spinning around his head in diapers like a horrifying rendition of Cupid, so his assessments may not be entirely accurate.
i wanna waste my youth on you
DickDonna where Dick Grayson is a fucking simp for Donna Troy but aren't we all? (the correct answer is yes. if you said no, only god can help you now.)
He’s ten and she’s eleven and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
heart on your sleeve like you've never been loved (running in circles now look what you've done)
Johnlock and Adlock where Sherlock picks sex over drugs and John is Not Pleased.
It starts right after the funeral dressed up as a wedding. Tables of decorations he’d picked, dishes he’d selected, color pallets he’d painstakingly coordinated and plotted. John and Mary’s song, weaved from his tears and his blood spilt like ink over the dancefloor as his violin grieves with him.
She’s pregnant. Sherlock smiles, as the best friend is meant to, and John smiles, as the father is meant to, and Mary smiles and it’s all normal and proper and Sherlock’s frozen before she pulls John away with something so horribly knowing in her eyes, before they kiss sweetly on a dancefloor he’d helped pick and lose themselves in throngs of friends and family.
light at the beginning of the tunnel (but he tells me that i'm dreaming)
Johnlock where Sherlock pines and does drugs post T6T.
He hadn’t intended to return. Victorian London holds its own sort of allure, delicious danger at every corner, nothing but pure intellect unaided by modern machinations to solve puzzles of every sort—
(a John Watson that still looks at you like you hung the sun and the stars just for him, like you’re the center he orbits, a gravity he doesn’t care to escape. A place where deductions still evoke tenderness, approval. Where John Watson still wants to hear your voice and cares for you, even with Mary.)
—but it had been dangerous. It had been utterly reckless, a calculated OD with no less than five compounds of varying effects, each boosting the others into a delightful failing of his heart that hadn’t lasted because his transport’s tenacity outweighed his mind’s desires. The fanciful realm where his life hadn’t gone to complete and utter shite had never been a conscious plan. Sherlock hadn’t intended for his brain to grasp for a chain, a link to reality in the form of delusions and hallucinations and awful attempts at honesty. He hadn’t planned for a did you miss me? Despite all his claims to the contrary at the time.
me and you are such a beautiful tragedy (in love with agony)
JayDick Jason wants to be a good person but he's horny. AKA the new pitch for evil: come to the dark side, we have great sex or your ex that can and will kill you if you don't.
The thing about the Lazarus Pit is it consumes you. It’s greedy, like Midas’s touch on a cellular level. It replaces the old with the new – with it – carving a home in blood and soul for its will. For its intentions, passive though they seem at first. Mental stability is only one cost of such a bargain, but it’s by far the worst.
I mean, I used rain as a symbol/parallel twice but mehhh. I don't think I'm super duper set in any formula as far as first lines go. I think my fave would either be the Lazarus Pit line or the nuclear green one. I love my Pit consequences, okay?
Tagging @boyblunder-thedarkheir, @behindtherobinsmask, @luthienluinwe, @stevieraebarnes, and @bitterleafs!! <3
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weirdochick56 · 4 years
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Mr. Evans II- Chris Evans AU Chapter Two
Teacher!Chris Evans x Student!Reader
Warnings: Explicit language, heartbreak, angst, MILD SMUT, a little bit of infidelity
Disclaimers: I don’t condone relationships of this kind, this is for entertainment purposes only.
Word Count: 3, 509 words
Read Chapter One here!!
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(Gif isn’t mine!)
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He’s looking at you and you’re looking at him and all you can think is god, his voice is sexy.
Your dad looks between you two, brows raised.
“You two know eachother?” He asks, bewildered.
You barely hear him, too taken by Mr. Evans’ intense aqua gaze on you and how good that nickname still sounded and looked coming out of those oh-so kissable lips. 
“Hey, Chr-Mr. Evans,” you correct yourself in a soft whisper, unable to conjure much else in response. 
His name felt so unfamiliar in your own mouth, and yet, your tongue welcomed it with such vigor, wrapping around each syllable, each sound like it’d never get to do so again. 
You finally tear your eyes away from his, turning to your dad. “Mr. Evans was my English teacher.”
He beams, pleased beyond your comprehension. “What a small world we live in! Funny how I’m marrying your teacher’s aunt isn’t it?”
You can’t help it when your brows raise to your hairline. “His aunt?”
Ah, so that’s where the familiarity in the eyes came from...
You can see it now, their similar features.
Kennedy interjects, gripping your father’s arm with a grin. “Yeah. Chris’ mom is my sister. He’s been really great through all of this, too. He even helped repaint the house.”
At this, your stomach falls. Your face goes stone hard as you fight the urge to turn your gaze to him because you knew if you did you would explode. Betrayal burns low in your belly and you hold back the impulse to lash out on Mr. Evans, clenching your fists. 
Instead, you look at your dad with an icy stare. “Are you fucking kidding me, dad?” 
His face falls, the color draining. “Y/n, please not here.”
But you don’t care. Your heart aches and your stomach churns with anger. Seeing him move on and try to repaint over your mother’s memory- this wasn’t how you expected it to go. You wanted him to be happy, yes, but not if it meant he’d be erasing everything about your mother and her legacy. Everything but that. 
But what really bothered you was that Mr. Evans, of all people, had helped do such a thing. Just thinking about how he had helped erase your mother’s memory made you want to barf. Now that was a sting you weren’t quite sure you could ever recover from.
You step up to your father, chin held high. “With all due respect, father, I will talk my mind wherever and whenever I damn well please. As far as I’m concerned, you are not removing her entirely from our lives like she never even existed.” You smirk. “Luckily, I’m here now. And I’m gonna be your daily goddamn reminder of that.”
“Y/n can you please-“ your father grips your arm in his but you feel utterly repugnance for his touch right now.
“No, dad!” You hiss, ripping your arm from his touch. “She loved this house, and you knew that! Why would you let her-” you point aggressively at Kennedy. “Come in and change our house. My house. Mom's house?!” Without realizing tears have trickled done your cheeks. Of anger or hurt, you don’t know.
You wipe at them furiously. Fuck, you hated this and you were not planning on crying on your first day here. Pathetic little girl. 
Despite your blurry vision, you manage to preserve your snark, looking around at you. “Congrats on the engagement, guys,” you spit disgracefully before your gaze lands on Mr. Evans who watches you with an unreadable expression. That fucking wall again. 
You just wish you could read him like one of his books but that wall- it was damn near unpenetrable. 
“You know what? Screw this. I’m jetlagged and quite frankly your faces are boring. I’m headed to bed.” You look at your father and Kennedy, tone satirically lazy. “My room is still there, right?”
Your father clenches his jaw, clearly wanting to say something else before Kennedy squeezes his arm in warning, offering him a small smile. He visibly relaxes and a firm nod of his head is your only response. 
You can’t help it when you scoff, rolling your eyes as you spin on your heel to walk up to your room. “Fuck’s sake,” you mumble under your breath incredulously.  
*
Not even a few minutes after you’ve begun settling into your room, does a knock come at your door. You sigh, not necessarily wanting to speak or even see anyone right now. 
“Whoever it is, I’d appreciate it if you’d kindly fuck-!” you call out before being abruptly cut off as the person opens the door, striding in any way. 
“Still got that potty mouth, I see.”
You freeze at the sound of that voice. That voice...a shiver travels through your spine like a small ripple travels in water.
You immediately pause your unpacking, gaze immediately snapping to his. “W-what’re you doing here?” you fight against the lump in your throat, swallowing tightly. 
He licks his lips, watching you from his stance near the door with his strong arms crossed across his now even broader chest. His gaze is undecipherable and you feel at a huge disadvantage not knowing what the hell it is he’s thinking. 
Nothing much has changed, apparently.
“I didn’t know,” is what he says once he finally breaks the insufferable silence. 
You huff at him, going back to your unpacking merely to seem unbothered. 
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Y/n,” he begins seriously. 
Your insides instantly melt at hearing his voice embrace your name once again after all this time and out of pure damn instinct, your movements freeze and your gaze jumps to him. Fuck. 
His gaze doesn’t waver. Doesn’t move away an inch. “I just-,” he licks his lips. “If I had known how much it meant to you- I mean....I-I wouldn’t have- I hate seeing you cry,” he whispers sincerely- as if that is all he is allowed to say.
And you believe him, dammit, you do.  
But you’re not the same naive girl from before and he needed to know that. He needed to know that you’d grown up and that he was a part of your past. Not your present and he sure as hell was not a part of your future. Not the one you had planned, anyway. 
“Okay,” you retort nonchalantly, not even sparing him a glance. “Do you mind closing the door on your way out? Thanks.”
You hear the shuffle of feet then the closing of the door and then silence. 
Finally feeling like you can relax, you release a small sigh, looking up.
A strangled, small, startled gasp escapes your lips and you force your hand down from jumping to your racing heart. 
In the few seconds you’ve kept your head down, he’s stridden over to you with incredible stealth and is currently towering over you so closely, you can smell him again. In fact, he’s so close that from this angle, the tip of your nose brushes against his firm t-shirt-clad chest. Was he working out more? Your stomach clenches and your lips part in shock. 
He gazes down at you with a spark of emotion in his eyes. “You’re back.”
It’s as if he can’t believe it.
You peer up at him, once again trying to read him. Was that...pride? Curiosity? Longing? It was hard to tell. 
“I wanted to be here for the wedding,” you confess quietly before chuckling dryly. “But I might just end up leaving earlier than planned.” 
At this, he jerks. It’s small, minuscule even, but you catch it before he regains composure. 
“Aunt Kennedy is a really kind woman and she loves your dad. Give her a chance,” he responds calmly. “I know it’s hard for you to watch this happen right now, but everyone deserves happiness.”
You look him in the eye, your heart clenching. ”I assume that includes my mom too,” is all you answer despite wanting to say “And what about me? Us?”
His gaze saddens dramatically. Still, it’s a controlled emotion-- not a crack in the wall. Merely a door he’s opened because he’s allowing you a glimpse into what’s simmering beneath. “I-”
“I know,” you cut him off. “I know that I have no right to stop them from marrying and finding happiness because my mother never got to live her happiness thoroughly. I don’t care that they’re getting married, frankly. What I won’t allow is having my mother’s memory destroyed.”
He licks his lips. “Sweetheart, I get that. I really do and I respect it, too. But-” he hesitates. “Why does it matter so much that we repainted?”
You sigh. “One of my fondest memories is painting this house with my mother. It was one of the things that made it ours. Home. Purple isn’t a common color in this neighborhood in case you haven’t noticed. And my mom- she absolutely abhorred blue.” Your lips quirk up lightly. “Thought it was too sad of a color.”
When you look up at him, he’s even closer, glancing down at you like he couldn’t get enough of having you close. Inspecting you too. 
“You’ve changed.” It’s not a question and you wonder how this is all still happening right now. How you had him in front of you, talking to you like you’d been long lost friends who’d had a rough patch but still somehow found your way to one another again.
“Have I?” you decide to play coy, remaining planted in your spot as if to let him know you weren’t intimidated by him even though you were quite literally shiting your pants right now. 
How your body was reacting to his proximity was freaking you out even though you should have been used to it. It infuriated you that even after all this time he was able to do this to you. To cause such internalized emotions to whirl around you and force you to suppress them.
He nods, his fingers twitching beside him as he scans your face closely. “You have.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to control your fast-beating heart to no particular avail. “So have you.” 
He smirks softly.  “Have I?”
You nod in response like he had earlier, weirdly enjoying this new back-and-forth banter. 
It was as if this new energy between you from your time apart was fresh and new and clean- and suddenly you could feed off eachother like never before. But still, the weight of what you refused to discuss hung over your heads like some unreachable, unbearable burden. 
And there was an air of maturity and even an entitlement that came with that. Alongside it, all these old emotions you’d suppressed over the last two years ferociously fighting to break out of you. 
It was all too complicated.  
“You have. And it’s not just the hair,” you jest, giggling lightly at your own little joke. 
God, he smelled good. And looked so good. And-
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers like it’s hard to find his voice and you can see his hand slowly rising to touch your face. “Still such a firecracker-” he pauses to chuckle with sad endearment, his gaze twisting into a confused frown. “But...different somehow. And I can’t quite put my finger on it.” 
His words are enough to make your limbs tremble with delight and you can’t help it when you’re taken aback by his bluntness. You hadn’t expected him to be so upfront with his thoughts right away. 
He still thought you were beautiful...
In your time apart it is true that you’d hardened your heart. Truth be told, after the heartbreak he brought you, you couldn’t bear another heartbreak. It’d kill you. So you decided to put up a wall of your own.
His fingers are two centimeters from your face and your skin immediately buzzes with exciting liveliness, anxiously, desperately, seeking his touch on your skin. Wanting- no. Needing it more than anything. 
You ached for him to touch you like he had before. To light the same fire within you that you knew could never be put out. To hold you so close to him, entangle himself with you so intricately, you wouldn’t be able to tell when you started and he ended. 
But nothing is as it was before. And it wouldn’t be fair for you to act like it was.
“Then don’t,” you mumble and just before he can fully press his fingers to your face, you swiftly step away from him, rounding your bed and acting like you’re so much more interested in unpacking even though your heart is fucking racing in your chest. 
The silence that settles between you two is tense and horrible, the air filled with so many questions about what had gone on in the past two years you hadn’t seen eachother, but neither of you is brave enough to act on your curiosities. 
So you say the first thing that comes to mind without looking up. 
“Who is she?” 
He quirks a brow at you. “Who is who?”
He’s acting coy- baiting you to get a reaction, you can tell. It was a game you weren’t all too eager to play, to be honest. So you stop unpacking, looking up at him straight in the eye. 
“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” you retort sassily. 
He doesn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Why do you care?”
You hide your embarrassment with nonchalance, shrugging. “I don’t. I was just curious.”
He chuckles mockingly. “You know...curiosity killed the cat.”
“But satisfaction brought it back,” you quip, glancing at him.
He laughs that beautiful laugh that made your insides quiver, skillfully avoiding your gaze (and your question).
And rather than stand around awkwardly, he opts to spin on his heels and look around your room. He does this with such a high degree of casualness and familiarity that it boils your blood for some reason. He prods and pokes as if you aren’t standing right there with him, looking at the band posters and books. 
“Interesting...” he hums before laughing under his breath as he holds up a Queen vinyl record with a raised brow. “You’ve got some taste, sweetheart.” 
You snort, trying to hide how bothered you really were. “Yeah, says the guy who listens to Frank Sinatra.”
He freezes for a only a split second but you catch it once more. What? Did he not think you’d remember?
“Touché,” he retorts under his breath, flipping through one of your books.
Something about the way he carried himself in your space like it was his too- even after all the time that has gone by without you even seeing eachother- made you so utterly pissed. 
 “Can you-” you sigh, trying to refrain from letting your petulant side slip. 
“Why are you here, Mr. Evans?” you ask point-blank, unable to see why he was choosing to stick around you despite your weird and awkward situation. You’re also not seeing a point in beating around the bush.
He doesn’t respond at first, merely looks at you with that same unreadable expression you hated so much. 
“I had found out about your father and Aunt Kennedy only when they were already engaged. It came as a shock to us all. I don’t want you to think I planned any of this in some weird, creepy strategy to-“ he inhales sharply, smiling wryly. “...you know what I mean.”
You shrug. “I didn’t think it was either way.”
He clears his throat. “Good, because I have no reason to do that, you know?”
Sharp pain inevitably shoots through you at this and you can’t help but laugh dryly. “Of course you don’t. I hadn’t expected this either, for the record. If you were shocked, imagine how much of a sneak-up this was on me.”
“Well, that’s because you left.” It comes out of his mouth too fast and there’s something ever so slightly strained in it.
You reel back immediately, brows raised. Is he accusing you of something? And is that hurt you hear in his voice?
You don’t get time to voice these questions before he’s completely backpedaling, freaking out because he’s said and shown too much. 
“Anyway, I think it’s about high time I head back downstairs. Get some rest, sweetheart.”
Before you can even fully process what you’re doing, you throw yourself in between him and the door, blocking his path. Peering up at him, you try to ignore how close you two are and how softly your chests are brushing. 
“Answer honestly. Do you hate me?” you whisper so softly, you’re sure he has to strain to hear what you’re saying.  
His face immediately twists into a sad grimace- tender and vulnerable- as he looks down at you. His eyes are utterly entrancing, your lips only a few inches apart. Slowly, his hand reaches up to touch you again. 
A crack in the wall?
Your flinch is tiny, a twitch at best, but he notices. His grimace deepens and he slowly retracts his hand, letting it drop stiffly beside him. 
He gradually steps back and you’re terrified he won’t answer your question before he talks again, his voice soft and earnest. 
“I thought you would know by now.”
“Know what?” You frown.
 He smiles. “I could never hate you, sweetheart. Even if I tried.”
And then he walks out. 
*
You sleep for hours, too exhausted to even change out of your clothes before you tumble onto your bed and pass out.
You really must’ve been jetlagged because with all the thoughts racing through your head after what’s just occurred with Chris, you’d think it would have been impossible to fall asleep in the first place.
It’s all so confusing and weirdly coincidental. Like really, what are the odds of this happening? And maybe in a moment of insanity, you can’t help but think what if this is destiny? 
But it isn’t long before another thought overrides that one and you grow scared when it strikes you right in the gut. This would mean that you’d have to see a lot more of him. Especially since it’s the week of the wedding.
Something in you curls and you don’t know whether it’s in excitement or fear. Probably both. 
You stay in bed a while longer, unable to go downstairs in fear of awkwardness and having to face more guests with a fake smile plastered on your face. Your thoughts kept going back to Mr. Evans and all the questions that were left unspoken between you two, so you decide to distract yourself. 
Talking with Margo and catching her up on everything seemed as a good place to start at as any. 
And she -as you’d expected- freaks out after you tell her Mr. Evans is related to Kennedy and you have to take your phone off your ear momentarily due to her shrill screams.
“Margo, seriously. Calm down, it’s not that big a deal,” you lie right through your teeth, getting off your bed and putting your phone on speaker as pull your hair into a messy bun. 
She laughs maniacally. “What the hell do you mean, baby girl!? Do you even realize how gaga you were about eachother just a few years ago? It’s crazy that your teacher crush is now practically apart of your family.”
You scoff, blushing madly as you pull your heels off. “I was not gaga about Mr. Evans, Margo. It was just a schoolgirl crush.”
She hums unconvincingly. “Yeah, sure. It’s not like it was clear as day on both your faces that you loved eachother.” A pause. “...not to mention the fact that you both went on to have a relationship afterward.”
You freeze, eyes as wide as saucers. “W-what?”
She laughs breezily. “Oh please, Y/n. You’ve been my best friend since childhood, you really think you could hide something that big from me? Nuh-uh, babygirl. It was written all over your face when I even brought him up, too. But even more telling were the looks you gave eachother. That’s when I knew.”
You swallow harshly, slowly reaching for your makeup wipes, almost like you didn’t know whether you should be acting like this wasn’t completely unexpected or not. “We gave eachother looks?” 
She snickers. “Did you ever! Hate to break it to you, hun, but the look of two people in love is practically impossible to hide.” She sighs, voice lowering. “I’ll admit, at first I was offended you hadn’t told me but then I remembered those looks. You were wrapped up in your own little world and I knew telling me would mean letting someone else in that world. You weren't ready for that and neither was he.”
You’ve ceased everything you’re doing, your mouth trembling and tears already gathering in your eyes. You have no idea what to say or even do right now. Hearing someone else say this out loud...it was electrifying in a horrific way.
After a few seconds of this, she finally speaks up again. “Y/n?”
You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry,” is all you can say in a shaky whisper. 
She clicks her tongue. “It’s fine, really! I just- I know it’s not because you didn’t trust me with it. I mean I could see you practically dying to tell me. It must’ve been hard not being able to talk to anyone about what you felt, right?” Her tone is soft, comforting. 
You sag with relief. “God, you have no idea. It doesn’t matter anymore though,” you straighten out.
“Why?”
“Because it’s been over for a long time. In fact, we hadn’t even labeled what ‘it’ was,” you laugh dryly. 
She’s silent for a second before responding in a matter-of-fact tone. “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”
That strikes you for some reason and you remember what you’d told him that day at his house when you were pointlessly and foolishly begging him to keep loving you. “What we feel is real. This- us, we’re real. You know we are.” 
And yet- You huff, a sardonically sad smile spread limply on your face. 
“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what that means, Margo.”
Your talk with Margo had carried on far into the night, and you’d caught up with her life, not wanting to think anymore about Mr. Evans and everything that was going on with the wedding and your father. 
She had met a guy a few years ago- Todd. He was a nice dude. Kinda nerdy, totally not her normal type. But he treated her like she deserved, loved her endlessly and she did so too. You envied her happiness, truthfully. But you were also really excited for her.
You tell her about Daniel and the problems you had been having, practically screaming about how complicated it all was and how you “just wish you could fuck him”.
 Margo, who had never shied away from sex and all its conversation glory, explained that once you found someone you truly loved-- it was magical to become one with them physically. Heightened everything about sex-- the pleasure, was an obvious one, but the intensity with which you experienced that pleasure, on the other hand, wasn’t that obvious.
That also really stuck with you. Was it really? Would it feel like that with Daniel? What was holding you back from just going ahead and doing it? You loved Daniel so shouldn’t it be easy to want that with him?
I don’t know. Maybe I’m making it too complicated. Maybe I should just go for it.
After you’d finished talking to her, you’d changed out of your clothes into your PJs- a simple tank top and cotton shorts and once you thought it was late enough into the night that you wouldn’t bump into anyone, headed downstairs for some food. 
All this emotional turmoil makes one hungry.  
Read Chapter Three here!!
***
Does it ever!
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tellerford-mayhem · 7 years
Text
Americano: No hablo su Jesu Cristo  Chapter 2
Chapter 1
Ship: Chibs x OC
Word Count: 2,565 Words
Synopsis: Isa confronts her uncle for working with Zobelle. Jax and Chibs learn who Isa is and why she hates them so much.
Rating: M
Warnings: Strong Language, Mentions of Death and Attempted Suicide/Self-Harm
A/N: I know it’s been a long time since I posted part 1! Here is part 2. I hope everyone likes it. Please let me know if you want to be tagged!! Enjoy!
Her POV
As soon as Zobelle drove away she jumped out of her car, furious at her uncle. “¿Qué crees que estás haciendo? ¿Cómo puedes trabajar con ese cabrón?”
“Es necesario para los negocios, mi sobrina.” He nodded to one of his men who sped off on his motorcycle.
“You trade one devil for another. They want us dead more than the Sons do!”
“I traded one devil to deal with the other. Once I have the Sons taken care of, I’ll deal with Zobelle.”
She sat down next to her car with her hands on her head. Her uncle was the only person she had left to remind her of her father. Growing up, she was closer to her father than anyone, and when he was taken away from her, she traveled down a path that only her uncle was able to save her from.
He reached down and helped her stand up. Marcus wrapped her in a hug before leading her to the passenger side of her car. He climbed into the driver’s side and drove away. “It’s been a long time since you’ve visited, Isa,” he said.
“If you and Tía Diana let me stay with you…”
He shook his head. “No. I want to keep you as far away from this life. I promised Mateo that I would keep you safe.”
“Then please let me move out. I can live in Stockton or Oakland. Amo a mi tia y tio, but I can’t live on that reservation.”
He grabbed her wrists and flashed them upward. “Am I able to leave you alone without finding you on the bathroom floor again?”
She looked down at the puckered, red flesh on her wrists. She lost her father two years after she lost her mother. She had grown so numb and empty that she would occasionally test herself. If she cut here, would she still feel pain? One time, though, she’d lost too much, and her uncle found her on the floor in a pool of her own blood. However, after she left the hospital, he sent her to live with her aunt and uncle at Wahewa. He wanted her out of California, but she refused to live in Nevada. Isa pulled her wrist away and rubbed it, remembering that dark time in her life. She had gotten help, learned to move on, and found other - healthier outlets to express herself: her hatred of the Sons of Anarchy was nice start. There wasn’t anything wrong with her; they were to blame for her problems.
“I’ve been doing a lot better. Aunt Dana has me gardening to reconnect with my roots. She says it’s productive and therapeutic.”
He raised his eyebrow.
“Look, every time I have any problems or feel like I’m going to relapse, I call my doctor.”
“Lo sé. She has to call me every time you do.”
She smiled. “What about confidentiality?”
“Does not exist when you’re on the Mayan payroll.” The car pulled into his driveway. “When this shit with Zobelle is over with, then we can buy you that place,” he said pointing to the small home adjacent to his.
She hugged Marcus as she climbed into the driver’s side. “Why don’t you come down for dinner next week? Diana misses you,” he said.
“Of course.” Isa put the car in reverse. “Te amo!”
“Te amo!” he waved.
She pulled out of the driveway and turned toward home.
Chibs POV
They watched as her car drove down the street. They decided instead of waiting until next week that they should grab her now. It gave her less time to gather more information about them. Chibs and Jax followed slowly behind her, leaving plenty of space between them. They followed her in the opposite direction of Wahewa. She led them through Oakland to a cemetery on the outskirts of town. They parked their bikes and followed her. Chibs drew his gun and kept it on her as she stopped in front of a marble headstone that read Mateo Alvarez. He and Jax slowly approached her. She didn’t move as they grew closer. They stopped two rows behind her and watched. They saw her wipe her eyes as she bowed her head in prayer. When she was finished, they were shocked to hear her speak out loud. “Are you going to kill me at my father’s grave? It’s almost poetic.”
Jax lowered his gun. “No. We just want to talk.”
She turned to look at them. Her green eyes piercing through Chibs. The pure hatred in them burned right through him as he kept a steady eye on her. “I have nothing to say to either of you.” She tried to storm past Jax, but he grabbed her wrist. She spun around fast and hit him square in the nose, causing him to release her. Chibs ran after her and grabbed both wrists, feeling the scars. “¡Déjame ir, hijo de puta!”
“Sorry, lass. My Spanish isn’t verra good. Care to translate?”
She spit at him. “I said let me go, motherfucker.”
They forced her to sit against a headstone as they aimed their guns at her. “Why were you meeting with Zobelle and Alvarez today?” Jax asked.
She wouldn’t look at them. “You know I won’t hesitate to shoot you here and now.”
“I know. I’m very well-versed in how you treat enemies of your club.”
Jax stepped closer to her with his gun. “Fine! I don’t want you to start another war with my uncle.”
He stopped and looked at her. “You’re Alvarez’s niece?”
She smiled. “What’s the matter? Did you just realize how big of a fuck up you are?”
“No, but if you’re giving information to your uncle about Wahewa, you have bigger problems than us right now.”
“I’m not stupid. I’m not going to give them that kind of information knowing that you’d kill me.”
“Then why were ye meetin’ with Zobelle and Alvarez today?” Chibs said.
She glared at him. “I was visiting my uncle. I don’t like that he’s dealing with Zobelle anymore than you do, Scottie.”
They looked at each other. “You were really just visiting?”
Isa released a long, exasperated sigh. “Yes. If I want to take my revenge out on SAMCRO, I’ll do it myself. I’m not going to give my uncle firepower to start another war with you. I’m not about to lose more family.”
Jax looked at Chibs who shrugged. “Why do ye hate us so much, lass?”
She looked at her father’s grave and then back to Chibs. “I’ll give you one guess.”
“Shite. Let her go, Jackie.”
Jax lowered his gun and shook his head. “Go back to Wahewa,” he said.
She stood up and dusted her jeans. “I’m not one of your old ladies to boss around,” she said defiantly.
Jax pointed his gun at her. “Leave! Now!”
She rolled her eyes and walked back to her car. “Well, at least she’s not telling the Mayans about our ammunition supply,” he said to Chibs.
“Aye, but she’s angry with us for killin’ her da.”
“She’s just one girl,” Jax said, “I don’t think we need to worry about her.”
“Oh no, yer right there, Jackie Boy,” he said sarcastically, “she’ll only tryta pop our tires ev’ry time we are there.”
Jax smiled. “I guess she can be your problem then. Next time we are there for a pick up, you get to keep an eye on her.”
“Half Sack is better at babysittin’ than I am,” he said as they headed back to their bikes.
“Right, but he’s tailing Zobelle.”
Chibs strapped his helmet on. “Dè bha mi a ‘dèanamh ceàrr…” he muttered under his breath.
“Hey,” Jax said, “it could be worse.” He winked at him before revving up his engine.
Chibs laughed. “It could be much worse.”
Her POV
She didn’t pay attention to the odometer as she sped towards Wahewa. All she could feel was anger welling inside her. Anger towards SAMCRO. Anger towards Alvarez. Anger towards herself. She didn’t want to keep living on a shitty reservation, but her uncle refused to let her move home. She didn’t want SAMCRO near her dear aunt and uncle or the Wahewa, but they needed the money. She didn’t want to be this angry, but it’s the only emotion she was familiar with.
When she pulled into the drive, her Aunt was sitting under the canopy of their house weaving. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back,” she said, “Where have you been, Isadora?”
“Oakland.” She sat down on the steps in front of her.
“What on earth were you doing in Oakland? I thought Marcus told you to stay put for now.”
Isa sighed. “Since when did I listen to anyone, Biazi? I felt the need to see my family.”
Dana sat down next to her. “If SAMCRO finds out you’re his niece…”
“They know.”
“What!”
“Two of them followed me today. Jax and that Scot.”
“Well what happened?”
“They questioned me and asked me if I shared any information with Tio Marcus. I told them no. I can only assume now they are going to watch me like a hawk the next time they’re here.”
She shook her head. “No. The next time they’re here, you’re leaving. I don’t care if you hang out in Oakland, but just leave when they show up.”
Isa stood up. “It’s time for bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Isa, I’m serious.”
“I know, Aunt Dana. Good night.”
***
Once a week they would arrive, and once a week they would collect their ammunition. A week had passed and it was time for their pick up. Dana had given her a shopping list full of things she needed picked up in Charming. Isa heard them pulling up the drive, so she grabbed her keys and hopped into her car. She rolled her eyes she watched their van pull up. She waited until they parked before putting her car into reverse. Isa looked in her rearview mirror and saw Chibs and Jax blocking her path. “Move, assholes, or I will run you over,” she said.
Chibs walked over to her window and leaned in. “Where do ye think yer goin’, lass?”
“Far away from you,” she said, annoyed.
He smiled. She could tell he enjoyed being a huge inconvenience to her. “Based on yer last adventure, I canna allow that.”
She started moving her car, Chibs moved with her. “Jax, call off your dog.”
“Afraid I can’t do that, darlin’.”
“I’m not going to see my uncle. If I showed up again, today, he’d ship me off to Nevada.”
Chibs let go of her window. She shook her head and continued backing up, before speeding away toward town. Isa looked in her rearview mirror waiting for motorcycles to appear behind her. Glad to be free of the reservation, she pressed on the accelerator and allowed the warm, Californian air to whip through her hair. She turned the radio up and enjoyed the peaceful drive into town. It wasn’t long before she pulled into the small grocery store. Isa parked the car and grabbed her list. It wasn’t until she got out of her car did she see him leaning up against his parked bike.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she said, “what are you doing here?”
He smiled. “Jax has tasked me with keepin’ a tail on ye.”
“Dios ayúdame,” she said under her breath. Isa stormed over to the biker and crossed her arms. “I don’t need a tail, so hop back on your bike and go back to your club.”
“He dinna trust ye. Besides, ye told us yer gonna get yer revenge on us eventually. I need to make sure tha dinna happen.”
She looked around at the other shoppers in the parking lot. She was not one to make a scene in public, but she was ready to do whatever she needed in order to get rid of SAMCRO. “Then leave my tribe alone. You assholes are the reasons why I have no family, so I have nothing left to lose.”
Chibs looked around. “Tha may be, lass, but yer not gonna do anything stupid while I’m around. If anybody understands the need for revenge…” he reached up and touched the scars on his cheeks. “Jus’ hurry up and get yer things so we can get back to the reservation.”
For once, Isa didn’t argue with the Scot and walked into the grocery store. Before entering, she turned and saw him sitting on his bike watching her, making sure she entered the store. She grabbed the few things she needed and headed back to her car. Chibs was still waiting on his bike for her. She then drove to the nearest home and garden store. She needed to get supplies to build a better box garden for her flowers. She grabbed what she needed and saw him still sitting on his bike, waiting for her. After she loaded her car, Isa approached Chibs. “I was going to stop at the diner for some lunch,” she said, “you might as well come in with me.”
“I thought ye hated us,” he said.
“Yeah, but I’m not an asshole. Everyone needs to eat.”
He looked at his phone. No missed calls or texts. “Fine. But we should make it quick.”
They drove to the diner and ordered something small. As Isa sat across from him, she glared over her cup of tea. “Look, I canna eat with ye starin’ at me like tha.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
She sighed and set her cup down. “The war with the Mayans. Why would you murder my father in cold blood?”
Chibs shook his head. “Lass, it’s not that simple. Both sides lost people. Yer da just happened to be caught in the crossfires.”
“Do you know who he was? He was president before Marcus. They found him in a pool of his own blood in his bathroom. His throat was slit and the Anarchy symbol carved into his chest. That doesn’t sound like crossfire to me.”
He didn’t respond, but continued looking at her. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat empathetic towards her. Chibs knew that kill wasn’t theirs, but he didn’t have enough proof to show her. He finished his drink and threw some cash on the table. He stood up and looked around at some of the other customers staring at them. “Time ta go.”
She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the restaurant ahead of him.
Chibs POV
It was after church and Chibs asked to speak with Jax in private. They both walked outside to the picnic tables and lit their cigarettes. “Do ye remember when the Mayans lost their original president?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Tha’s Isa’s da.”
He took a long drag on his cigarette before replying. “She thinks we killed Mateo?”
Chibs nodded. “We gotta find out who did it, Jackie Boy. She won’t stop comin’ after us until she knows the truth.”
“I’ll give Otto a call and see if he can’t do some digging around.”
Relieved, Chibs jumped off the table and walked back into the bar for a drink. He knew she would stop at nothing until she avenged her father, because he knew all too well how badly the vengeful feeling would eat at her until it was fulfilled.
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