#grave puke

[brainpukeblog]

[flowerflamestars]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down snippet

“Were you trying all along?” Eris asked. “Tell me, when was the first? Last night was not in truth our first meeting, was it, Lady Archeron? I should have known. Did you hesitate, to see what I might give?” What he would sacrifice, how long he would look? Eris had use, no interest in such matters. Of course it was a lie- what was Elain but magic, magic, magic- Eris was weak, hungry, but not one who enchanted easily. Silence swelled. “What,” Elain snapped, voice a void. Eris had never wished to get his hands on another being his whole long life, but he wished to see her eyes in blind rage to a degree that could only have been madness, “I don’t know how to do it myself! Do you think anyone is interested in teaching me magic? You think I don’t hear what they call me? Poor Elain, broken Elain. If you’re just like every other faery in this stupid, wretched kingdom, I will do it myself. I will kill Cassian, and Rhysand, and Morrigan and”- Eris had to look. Gone was the controlled, vengeful glory- here was grief, shattering. He felt sick all over again, bile rising. It was effort, to swallow it down. “I thought you’d decided against slaughtering the entire gentry.” Elain blinked. Red-cheeked, pale lipped, a strange look like a smile flickered across her face. A laugh, made a ghost by circumstance.

"You think I could?” “Daisy will ensure no body is found, no magic unleashed,” Eris could not quite meet her gaze, “Start with the shadow singer. He’ll let you close enough to get the knife. That blade is not right. Will give you an edge against the others.” Caught, a moment of neither here nor there, Elain frozen. The future, doubtless. Eris took the time to rake back his disgusting hair. Fever sweat. He reeked of salt, arms a grey, hanging muddle, too much effort to move more until he’d regained his strength.

[ofironandivory]

Oh... That's a fully detailed animation of my F/O commiting suicide...

[evergreen-endo]

comfort selfship art sketching phase :p

[irlkomaedanagito]

graves realizing that he can't just take the easy, fun way out and treat it like an adventure. because it would hurt petty. and the thought of it makes him so sick he vomits

more stories where falling in love is a horrifying fate worse than death rather than a source of comfort and hope. more stories where love is understood as a terminal affliction.

[gender-euphowrya]

not that it would make posting AI pics tolerable but the way none of those cunts even attempt to 'fix' the mistakes AI did before proudly unleashing that shit on the internet

[demonic0angel]

Duke: Thanks for the copy of lecture notes. I owe you one

Jazz: you can pay me back by introducing me to the guy that picked you up last Tuesday

Duke: guy?

Jazz: with the bike

Duke:

Jazz: white patch in his hair

Duke: Jason?

(… out of everyone, you chose Duke? 😭 /nm)

Part 2

Duke approached Jason like he was walking to the guillotine.

Jason raised an eyebrow. He stepped off of his bike, inspecting him. “What’s wrong with you?”

Duke sighed deeply. Then he handed him a piece of paper. Jason stared at it blankly without taking it. When Duke pushed it into his face, Jason finally snatched it and looked at the contents, which were a string of neatly written numbers. A phone number, to be exact.

“… okay. Is this your teacher’s number or something?” Jason was especially baffled. Usually, it was a combination of Dick, Alfred, or Bruce who made the phone calls to teachers. Sometimes, it was Tim, but it was never Jason.

“No. A friend of mine wanted to give you her phone number.”

Jason sneered, crinkling the paper. He was about to toss it away when Duke suddenly said, “You’ll regret that.”

Jason paused, still clenching the paper. “Pardon?”

Duke sighed. “I know I’m going to regret this, but you’ll regret it even more than me if you throw that paper away. I swear to Nightwing’s ass, she is absolutely your type. You’re making the biggest mistake of your life if you throw that away.”

“I’m pretty sure the biggest mistake of my life was dying,” Jason deadpanned.

Duke rolled his eyes. He pulled out his phone, scrolled for a moment, and then brought up his Instagram feed, where an image of a woman was sitting at a table, smiling at the camera.

She was drop dead gorgeous, enchanting enough to make the dead revive to see her one last time, lovely enough to make the clouds move to use the sun’s light as a spotlight for her, and beautiful enough to cause a world war if she even shed a single tear.

She had red hair like fire lilies, eyes like crystalline waters, looked tall, and had a sense of otherworldliness to her like she was a goddess from heaven that came to the mortal realm to grace everyone with her presence.

Jason scrubbed his eyes and looked again, eyes nearly falling from his skull. He blinked rapidly, almost wondering if this was real.

Was it humanly possible to be this good-looking?

“I know,” Duke deadpanned, sounding like he had aged 60 years in an instant. “And yes, it’s real. I see her in real life. She likes books, is super nice and helps everyone, is a huge nerd, and likes ‘bad boys with motorcycles’. Her words, which makes me want to puke.”

Jason unclenched his suddenly sweaty palms, quickly smoothed out the paper, and then clapped Duke on the shoulder. “You’ve done me a great service today,” Jason said gravely. “I won’t ever forget your help today.”

“I think I’m going to throw myself off the Clocktower,” Duke said.

“You have helped create a union of two hearts on this day. I could shine your shoes right now if you wanted.”

“Please don’t. Seeing you on your knees would make me actually lose my lunch for real.”

[cod-dump]

When they're sick:

Price: He's fine stop asking. No he has to get his work done, no time for rest. He said he's fine! That cough is normal, yes puking is normal. He's got shit to do!

Graves: End of the world, he's dying. This is it, this is how he dies. He's laying in bed crying until the second he can breathe out of his nose again.

Nik: Wait, he was sick? Since when? You're lying, he never gets sick.

Ghost: He's working until his bones break. He needs to be watched or he's trying to get out of bed. Will behave as long as he's constantly supervised. Is that medicine orange flavor? He's going to kill you, cherry only.

Soap: He's either absolutely fine or he's dying, there's no in between. Don't touch him he bites or if he doesn't have any head pats he's going to cry.

Gaz: Oh, he's taking a sick day. He doesn't want to risk getting anyone sick. Is he dying? No, his doctor says he'll be fine. He'll be fine, he'll catch up on sleep.

Laswell: Don’t touch her she'll stab you. Don’t look at her she's fine. Her wife made her soup, don't even look at it. Why is she still working? Who else is doing her damn job? Exactly.

Alex: He can handle being shot better than a cold. He hates everything, he's melting, he's dying. Tell Farah he tried (he'll be fine in two days).

Farah: Sick? Does it look like she has time to be sick?

Alejandro: He's doubled his work load. He gets more productive when sick. He has his spicy soup, he's going to live forever.

Rudy: Sick? He's immune to all such things. He hasn't been sick since he was five.

[coffinlover13]

WHAT THE FUCK?!?

he's a family man

[brainpukeblog]

[raviolirash]

It's amazing how

Fanon: Astarion is an incredibly suave and sexy vampire.

Canon:

"You know, I didn't care for you when we first met." - moments before banging you on his own grave

"You fowl wretch." - said to a harpy

"The Underdark has its upsides for a vampire. [Buffering icon] or it's... undersides. You know what I mean."

"She's well pickled. Whoever she was." Upon encountering a body in a keg.

"I'm sure a place like this has spirits aplenty. :)" - upon entering a haunted bar

"I'm all pointy ears, my love."

"[rage towards puzzles]"

"What in the bleeding hells was [voice crack] THAT?!"

Literally all his comments when in a room with an unreasonable amount of blood.

Cat puke noise when interacting with The Flesh in moonrise.

[qlossytbh]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 the time where you had just a little too much to drink after a party at rossis and spencer takes care of you

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 alcohol intoxication, drinking, reader gets sick, emetophobia, a bit of suggestiveness (?), lots of pet names, spencer’s a sweetheart.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 2.2k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 suffering a bit of a writers block but i am on a roll lately. it’s like ive got all these unfinished drafts and i can’t seem to finish them ugh. im going through my request, slowly but surely!

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Come on,” Spencer urged, wrapping a tight arm around you as you clung to his shoulder as if your life depended on it. God, your head was pounding and your own body felt like dead weight as you continued carrying yourself around.

You stumbled on your feet, too intoxicated to walk straight. The sharp stiletto heel that accompanied your dress was not working in your favor either, and they were frankly becoming quite painful.

“I need to sit down,” You slurred in a hushed yet collected manner.

“One second angel,” He whispered, reminding himself not to disrupt his neighbors.

It wasn’t your fault that Rossi's parties always consisted in a very sweet, very endless supply of the most exquisite cocktails you’d ever tasted. It’s not everyday you got to taste such bougie liquor and given your big sweet tooth, and Garcia’s pesky persistence to get you to follow along her alcohol tasting spree, all those free drinks were dangerous at your disposal.

Penelope had passed over this tart but perfectly sweetened strawberry drink she had encountered and you made the grave mistake of trying it. Just when the flavors melted in your mouth, you immediately made your way to the bar in search of your own, downing that one and three more in less than fifteen minutes.

In hindsight, that was a horrible decision. Spencer knew that if he had been glued to your hip, just like he usually was at these or any social event for that matter, he’d never let you drink as much and as fast as you did. He had nagged about something with rapid absorption and rapid increase in BAC— you were too drunk to remember any of the information he was dumping your way if you were being honest.

You began slowing down once the nausea and severe dizziness settled in. Usually, you knew your limits with alcohol. You knew how much got you drunk enough to loosen up, and you knew how much was too much, thanks to a few situations where you had to learn the hard way. However, something about the sweetness and the inability to taste any alcohol whatsoever threw you off your radar.

And here you are, dragging yourself against Spencer’s body and back into his apartment, too drunk to even walk and feeling like you were about to literally throw up any and every thing in your system.

Spencer pushed the door open, managing to balance you in his other arm as he unlocked the door swiftly. He walked in with you by his side, throwing the keys into the small metal dish by the door and now using both hands to keep you steady.

You remained quiet, trying desperately to focus on keeping the nausea down and not throwing up. “Spence,”

“What's wrong?” He asked, looking down at you as you dug your forehead into his chest, grappling at his shirt with a rough tug.

“I feel really sick,” The world around you was spinning and that pit in your stomach was getting harder to push down. He matted down the top of your tousled hair, tucking a few stray strands behind your ears.

“Do you need to throw up?” He asked, voice soft and comforting.

“I think so,” The nausea seemed to hit like a tidal wave, and all you needed was to lie down. You needed to lie down. Just the mention of puking was enough to get you to gag. Immediately freaked out and panicked, you gave a persistent nod, already pushing yourself off of him and making a very crooked B-line for the bathroom, knowing you were going to throw up.

Once past the bathroom door, you fell to your knees opening the lid of the toilet and hurling the contents of your stomach into it. You gagged, retching loudly while tears pricked the corners of your eyes and everything around you hurt.

Spencer followed closely behind, crouching beside you and pulling up your hair into a messy makeshift ponytail while his other came to rub comforting circles on your back, sitting through your discomfort by your side.

It was ironic really. Spencer had always been extremely opposed to anything germ related and this seemed to be his worst nightmare. If anyone knew about this, they’d probably not be able to believe how Spencer didn’t run in the opposite direction and quite literally ran right towards you and your germ related issues. Since he started dating you, he let certain things slide. He shared more of his personal space and didn’t mind if that included sharing things he wouldn’t tend to share around others.

He never thought twice about it if it brought you comfort. It came to him naturally, putting you and your comfort and happiness first.

You spit out the remaining acidic taste of bile into the toilet and groaned heavily. Your nostrils burned and so did the back of your throat, but all of the nausea was immediately alleviated from your system.

“Mhm, sexy,” You said, reaching over for a piece of toilet paper and wiping down your mouth. Spencer huffed a laugh through his nose, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “This is embarrassing.”

“This?” He said, voice jumping into one of fake shock. You threw a glare over your shoulder and his face immediately melted into a sweet smile, rubbing your back with just a bit more clarity. “I’ve seen you in worse predicaments,”

“How do you feel?” You turned, resting your back against the toilet after flushing the contents away and turning towards him.

“I feel better,” You mumbled, screwing your eyes shut and attempting to blink away the tears and the burning sensation of your nose.. “But I probably look very disgusting.”

He tilted his head with a shrug, wholeheartedly answering. “You don’t look disgusting,”

“Liar,” You said with narrowed eyes, smiling playfully.

He shook his head with one of his signature smiles, those that tugged slightly to the right and crinkled the corner of his eyes just perfectly. He reached up, grabbing the empty glass cup that sat on the side of his sink, and was now filled with water. He handed you the glass which you took without complaint. “Drink,”

You drank down the whole glass, wanting to get the disgusting aftertaste out of your mouth. “Better?”

“Much,” You nodded, smiling up at him, feeling instantly better but still dizzy. “I feel like, rejuvenated or something,”

You reached back to push yourself up off the ground, only for Spencer to set a firm hand on your shoulder keeping you still.

“Give yourself a minute,” He told you. “You feel better after vomiting following excessive alcohol consumption mainly due to the removal of alcohol and its irritating effects on the stomach, but you need a few seconds.”

You hummed, picking at a rhinestone on your dress. “Does that mean I should expel all my stomach's contents everytime I overdrink to feel better?”

“No,” He narrowed his eyes at you. “You shouldn’t even drink enough to get to the point of having to throw up in the first place, love,”

“But those strawberry drinks were so good Spence,” You threw your head back with a pout.

“Yeah, yeah,” He dismissed with a playful tone. He hooked his fingers around your elbows. “Up,”

You steadied yourself with a tight grip on his shoulders and winced at the bright white light of the bathroom. He pushed you back, knocking the back of your knees into the toilet and forcing you to sit down on it with a soft thud. He crouched down and reached over to knead at the straps of your heel and promptly remove them.

He set them to the side and wordlessly moved into his room, grabbing one of his spare t-shirts and making his way back into the bathroom, where you watched him with weary eyes and a very sleepy but adoring smile.

Everything felt fuzzy but just seeing him work his way around you with such ease made your heart beat insanely.

“It’s not fair that you’re so pretty,” You voiced. Spencer opened his mouth to answer but could only mustered a stammered chuckle, blushing profusely but trying to resist laughing at the slurring in your voice.

“I’m pretty?” He asked. You nodded.

“Very,” He reached his hands out, grabbing yours and pulling you up.

“Is it okay if I take your dress off?” He asked, turning you around so your back was facing him. His fingers skimmed across your already exposed shoulders and back and everything felt so heightened that you shuddered at the ghost of his touch.

“Thought you’d never ask,” You said, shooting him a suggestive smile over your shoulder. He said your name with a warning, not faltering in the slightest.

“I’m kidding!” For the most part at least.

“Well, given since you can’t sleep in this dress,” His calloused fingers traced your shoulders in a soothing rhythm. “I brought you one of my shirts but I need to take off your dress in order to put it on,”

Your body seemed to feel magnetized to the floor, pulling your every movement down with a huge weight. Which was probably the alcohol having its effect on you. You felt stupefied but all you could think of was just how tired you were.

“That’s fine Spence,” You murmured, allowing his fingers to skim down your shoulders and towards the dress's zipper. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to rest them while his hands moved around your back.

He pulled it down, all so gently and smoothly that you were growing even dizzier than you were with more than three cocktails in you.

“I love this dress,” You stated, watching as the sleeves loosened from your shoulders and began sliding down. The cold air hit your bare skin and you merely shivered as it fell and rested on the plush flesh of your hips.

“So do I,” He smiled, slipping his own shirt over your head. You huffed as he pushed the dress down your hips, allowing his shirt to fall over your upper body and cover you as best as it could while picking up the pool of fabric from the floor and laying it out against the toilet. “You looked very beautiful.”

You really did. The way that specific black sequined dress hugged your figure in every single angle and crease possible, flaunting off your body shape perfectly, made Spencer weak at his knees. He didn’t know how he didn’t drop everything the second he saw you to pull you elsewhere private and kiss you until neither of you could breathe.

“Looked? As in past tense?” You turned, facing him with a fake betrayal plastered across your features. “That’s rude,”

“You are insufferable,” He reached back, grabbing your spare toothbrush and putting a nice amount of toothpaste on it. “Now let me brush your teeth so I can kiss you,”

You surrendered your never ending teasing with a sigh, grabbing the hem of his shirt as he held your chin tenderly, brushing your teeth. Throughout the whole three minutes, you couldn’t hold back from allowing yourself to re-learn every single scratch and line on Spencer’s face, engraving its every detail and beauty into a small space in your brain.

Once he was finished and you had rinsed your mouth out with water, you were eternally grateful that the acidic taste in your mouth and lips had been replaced with a fresh minty one. “There,”

You hummed, pulling Spencer in by the said hem of his t-shirt and tilting your chin up towards him, smiling at him like an idiot. “Hi,”

“Hey,” His hands reached up, cradling your face tenderly in his palms, pouring any and every ounce of love he had in him onto you with a firm kiss.

“My legs are killing me,” You said, nuzzling your nose into his cheek and hugging his torso. He rubbed your back with a kiss on the top of your forehead. “I want to lay down,”

“I know but I need to get your makeup off, angel,” He murmured.

You groaned, needing to just get to bed or else you’d literally collapse “You specifically know that if you leave it on overnight, the buildup of makeup, along with dirt, oil, and pollutants that you collect on your skin throughout the day accumulates on its surface and can cause skin issues and breakouts.”

You narrowed a glare. “Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right,”

“I always am,” He smiled proudly.

“Okay now you’re just pushing it,” He reached back, grabbing a makeup removing wipe from its respective package and dragging it very smoothly across your cheeks, lips, eyes and forehead— any part of your face he could get at. You shivered at the chilliness it gave your flared up cheeks.

Spencer was so gentle with you it made your heart swell in size at just how much attention and care he put into everything he did for you. If you weren’t as tired—and as out of it— as you were right now, you really would pull him down and kiss him anywhere (and everywhere) until your heart stopped beating as much as it was. Although realistically speaking the kissing would probably cause your palpitations to worsen.

He managed to get as much mascara off as he could but the waterproof substance stuck to the bottom of your eyes with a fierce grip. He tossed the wipe into the trashcan and quickly swiped his thumbs across the bottom of your eyes with a very docile brush.

“How do I look?” You said, narrowing your eyes with humor, knowing you probably looked absolutely disheveled. Spencer cocked a brow at you, reaching back and undoing the tie that held your hair into the gorgeous updo thing you had going on.

“Absolutely breathtaking,” He still said, pressing a chaste kiss to the bridge of your nose. His hands continued working at your hair, to which you let your eyes flicker close, resisting the uncontrollable urge to moan out loud as the pads of his fingers rubbed your irritated scalp soothingly.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice came out way more breathier than intended.

“What for?” He asked, letting his hands rest on the side of your neck.

“This,” It wasn’t exactly flattering— the state he had seen you in. And for some reason you felt embarrassed at the thought of him seeing you so exposed and in some shape or form. “I don’t know I feel like I made a fool of myself,”

He furrowed his brows. “I don’t know— I feel guilty that you have to take care of me.”

“But I love taking care of you,” He murmured, instilling such a delicate tone with you that it was impossible to feel uncertain about anything. “Don’t say sorry,”

He kissed you, perfectly, just like he always did. “If you say so,”

It was true. Spencer loved, absolutely treasured, moments where he could take care of you in his own special way. Be gentle and remind you just how much he absolutely loved you.

“Am I done now?” You huffed, slumping forward as all the bones in your body begged to sleep.

“Mhm,” He pulled back, scanning you entirely. “Good to go.”

[cannibal-pentecost]

Objection!

Your honor, as you can plainly see, while we cannot verify what the exact events prior to this picture were, the intent that shines through is that Andrew is a massive lightweight and Ashley can handle some alcohol at least, especially for small size and bodyweight.

Gabe is someone who gets drunk easily or can he handle it? Same question for the Graves Siblings.

Andrew - Probably can handle alcohol alright. I don’t think he seeks it out a lot but likes a beer every now and then

Ashley - She thinks she’s not a lightweight, but she is. She definitely is. She’d probably get offended at the prospect that she can’t handle alcohol, and barely be two vodka shots in before she’s drunk

Gabriel - He can handle his drinks alright, if he gets tipsy the worst that happens is he gets very tired. Likes hard lemonades probably

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine [8]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.2k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: It's been a little bit since there was an update for this series, but I had a few different ideas bouncing back and forth before I settled on this emotional little part. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

series tag list: @mariamadison6-blog @moongirlgodness @kmc1989 @thedreadandthefugitivemind @fallout-girl219 @nfm-12 @f1samcro @sinfulscorner @danzer8705 @baybaybear1 @nutellajade @anime-lover-forever-1127 @steviebbboi @secretlysamcro @aria725 @sarraa-26

The sky overhead was a soft blue this afternoon, the color only occasionally broken by a sporadic passing cloud. Soft birdsong carried on the faint warm breeze as it blew gently past where Jax sat on the grass. But he barely noticed the weather, and he certainly didn't give a shit about the sun shining overhead or the birds singing. He was far too in his own fucking head right now for any of that to fucking matter. 

With his fingers idly running through the sparse blades of grass beside him, Jax sat with his back resting against the headstone. His legs were stretched out in front of himself as he sat in silence, not knowing what to say. Though, with the way things had gone, there wasn't much to say.

This was where Jax often found himself after he'd been released from Stockton–visiting Opie's grave. When shit with the club got too stressful, or his mind grew too damn loud, or the rage inside of himself felt like it was going to completely consume him, Jax somehow always found himself back here. He wasn't entirely sure why either, because it wasn't like he felt comforted sitting six feet above his best friend's now lifeless body. But this was where he always ended up. It was the closest thing he could ever get to spending time with Opie now. 

“I miss you, man,”  he whispered, the soft breeze carrying away his words. “Every goddamn day.” 

Jax tugged at a few blades of grass, pulling them up from the ground as a crease formed between his brows. It didn’t matter how many times he’d come out here now, it never felt right. It never got easier. 

“Should've been me,” he added solemnly. “Should’ve been me in that damn coffin. You didn’t deserve this, Ope. Neither did Donna.”

His head shifted slightly, glancing over at the headstone beside him. Donna’s. The shit that had happened to her still weighed on his conscience. He should've known that Clay would go behind the club's back and target Opie, he should’ve known that Clay would still believe Opie had turned on the club and ratted them out to the feds. If Jax had been less trusting of that old fucker, Donna might’ve at least still been here when Clay had failed to kill his best friend.

Yet another thing that felt like it was Jax’s fault. Everything seemed to be piling up on his shoulders, one thing on top of another. The weight of it all was fucking suffocating most days. Donna's death, Tara using him to kill Kohn, Tara leaving afterwards because she still couldn't accept the man that he was–that he’d always been. Opie's death. The home invasions that kept happening. The bullshit going sideways every time he kept trying to push the club into a legitimate direction.

A heavy sigh fell out of Jax before his head fell back, softly hitting Opie’s headstone behind him. His eyes closed as a flood of memories filled his mind, the years of his friendship with Opie washing over him. All those summers they spent riding around Charming on their bicycles when they were kids pretending they were riding the Harleys they planned to own when they were older. Those summers where they snuck bottles of beer and hard liquor from the clubhouse and drank them on the roof, laughing and getting drunk until they were both puking their guts out in an alley behind the ice cream shop downtown. All those times they'd both snuck out of classes in high school before they eventually dropped out at sixteen to join the Sons. 

Jax could still perfectly remember the conversation he had outside Teller-Morrow with Opie when they were barely twenty. They’d been sitting outside smoking a cigarette in the cool breeze outside of the garage, taking a break from working on a truck that was pissing Jax off. That was the afternoon Opie confessed he'd bought a ring for Donna the day before, telling Jax that he was planning to propose to her that weekend.

Now here they both were a few years later. Side by side and six feet under.

Jax's lips trembled as he fought down the tears threatening to spill, his throat growing tight with emotion. The pain and dark thoughts that always surfaced when he was here came rushing back to him now, and there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do to stop it.

Neither Opie or Donna would ever see their kids grow up, never watch as they eventually graduated high school and went out into the world. Opie would never pull up on his bike outside the clubhouse again, or throw back another beer in the bar with Jax. He wouldn't be working in the garage getting frustrated over a car, or cracking jokes when they were outside having a smoke. He wasn't there anymore when Jax needed someone to talk to, someone to help him sift through the chaos of his mind.

Opie was just gone. Permanently. And Jax would never get him back. He could never change what had happened to him, and it was partly his fucking fault.

Sniffling hard, Jax ran a hand across his eyes, wiping away the tears before they even had the chance to fully fall. Jax might have had Abel, Gemma, and the club, for which he was grateful, but that didn't make him feel any less absolutely fucking alone in the world. Which is what he often felt just beneath the fury and the fire inside of himself–a sharp, painful loneliness that steadily grew more and more every day ever since Tara had left and Opie had passed.

“I don't know what to do anymore, man,” Jax quietly confessed, shaking his head. 

Opening his eyes, he blankly stared up at the lone, shapeless white cloud in the sky. His vision briefly blurred as more tears began to sting at his eyes, and then without warning, he couldn’t stop himself from spewing all his thoughts as he stared heavanwards.

“Feels like everything is falling apart even more every day,” he admitted to Opie. “It’s like I can’t make moves sitting at the head of the table without feeling like I’m turning into fuckin’ Clay. But I don’t wanna be that. I don’t want the gavel to corrupt me, or to fuck up the shit we talked about changing, man. I wanna make a difference. I wanna save the club. Keep it alive.”

Tossing aside the few blades of grass in his fingers, Jax’s hand came up to run across his forehead in frustration. Now that he’d begun baring his soul in the empty cemetery, he couldn’t seem to stop.

“I’ve barely been back from Stockton, taking my place back at the head of the table as president, and there’s already a shit storm in Charming,” he continued. “Friends of the club getting hurt. Having their homes broken into. And the guys are looking to me to fix it, while all of Charming is looking at me for blame. And I got no goddamn idea what’s happening. No fucking clue how to fix it because I can’t seem to figure out who the fuck is behind it.”

Inhaling a sharp breath, his hand scrubbed down his face until it fell back limply at his side. Closing his eyes, he could almost pretend he was sitting in his room at the clubhouse talking to Opie right now instead of sitting atop his grave.

“And yeah, I’m still pissed about the shit with Tara,” he told him, his voice growing a bit softer but not losing that frustrated edge. “I hate that she showed up outta nowhere last year. Hate that she got back under my skin again like it was nothing, and I fucking hate that I let her.” Jax’s face twisted into a grimace before he barreled on, spilling everything that he’d never said aloud before. “And I know I went over this shit with you so many fuckin’ times before, but…”

Jax’s words trailed off, the weight of what he hadn’t admitted yet hanging in the air. He’d already told Opie so much about his pain over Tara leaving him before Opie had been killed in prison. But there was one thing he’d never confessed, one thing that had only been known between Tara and himself. 

“But Kohn didn’t just ditch the FBI, brother,” he confessed, opening his eyes and staring up at that shapeless cloud again. “He didn’t just fucking disappear to evade arrest. Tara came back here because she knew I’d take care of him for her. That I’d protect her. And that’s what I fuckin’ did. I protected her–and then she fucking ran right back to Chicago.” 

A bitter laugh fell out of Jax as he shook his head, tears still brimming in his eyes as he stared at the sky. He couldn’t believe how he’d been so goddamn stupid to think things would’ve been different with her. That she’d have stayed when she hadn’t stayed all those years ago.

“Got what she wanted outta me though,” he spat. “Left me with the weight of the guilt and a fuckin’ gaping hole in my chest that she made while Abel was just barely outta the hospital. But Tara only cares about Tara.”

His hand ran over the blades of grass beside himself again, his jaw tightening in agitation. That fire burning inside of him felt as if it were growing hotter and hotter, threatening to burn him alive and change him into something else, something unrecognizable whenever he looked at his reflection lately.

“I'm always fucking pissed off,” he grit out between his teeth. “At everyone. At everything. How the fuck does the world keep goin’ without you here, Ope? It doesn't fuckin’ feel right.”

His hand slowly curled into a fist along the grass, his blunt nails digging into his palm. Jax's gaze slowly drifted down from that single, shapeless cloud to his fist. He wanted to hit something again. Bloody his knuckles. Scream until his voice was hoarse and his throat was raw. But even that didn’t feel like it’d be enough.

“I don't know what to do with this rage,” he told Opie. “I don't know how to get rid of it. The only time it ever seems to lessen is when I'm–”

Jax broke off, his brows knitting together at what he'd been about to say. The only time it ever lessened was when he was around you. He didn't know why, either. 

“Is when I'm at this coffee shop that opened up across the street from the clubhouse,” he finished quietly. The image of your face passed through his mind and his fist unclenched just a fraction. “I know, man. A fucking coffee shop opened up in Charming.”

A small, breathy chuckle slipped out of Jax as he remembered that day he'd been released from Stockton. He'd rode his bike with the guys back from the prison to Charming, and your goddamn shop with all its fucking plants outside had been the first thing he'd seen. He remembered that first glimpse he’d had of you then with the afternoon sun shining in through the windows. You’d been smiling at a customer behind the counter, glowing in the warmth of the light like something too good to be real. You’d mesmerized him from that very first glimpse.

“The owner is far too sweet,” he continued, a hint of a smile on his lips. “It's honestly fucking abnormal, I don't get it. She actually likes when I stop in, even though her customers clearly hate it. Most of her employees are afraid of me, but not her.”

He shook his head, the anger inside of himself slowly easing the more he talked about you. His hand had uncurled from the fist, his fingers beginning to comb through the blades of grass beside him again. 

“She's funny, too,” he added, his tone softening further. “Wouldn't have expected that. Also didn't expect for her to really see me, y'know? Whenever I'm around her, it's like she doesn't even look at me like I'm a Son. Or some dangerous goddamn criminal. She talks to me like a normal fucking person. No one's ever done that before.”

Jax sighed softly, his fingers still brushing through the blades of grass. In the distance, his gaze landed on the homeless woman he’d occasionally seen around town for the past year or so. She was pushing a cart of her things along the cemetery path, far enough out of earshot that Jax knew she hadn’t been listening to him talking to himself. Yet she'd still noticed him sitting on the ground. He watched as she smiled in his direction before she continued down the path, a strange feeling settling in his chest as his eyes followed after her.

“You'd like sunshine,” Jax murmured, his attention eventually returning to his one-sided conversation with Opie. “That's what I call her. She’s like an overly-caffeinated goddamn ray of light and a fucking rainbow all in one, and somehow I still think you'd have found her interesting. And if I'm being honest with myself,” he continued, his head resting back against the headstone behind him, “I like her. More than I should. It's not just some…physical thing, either. It isn’t that I wanna just get her in my bed. I find myself wanting to sit in her presence and listen to her strange take on the world. Hear her laugh. Watch her smile. And fuck when she smiles at you, brother.”

Jax paused as his eyes gently closed, remembering when he’d last stopped by your shop almost a week ago. The way you’d greeted him with a warm smile on your face like usual, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal to just smile at someone the way you did–to smile at him like that.

“You can feel it,” he murmured, aware of how fucking stupid he sounded. “I swear to fuckin’ hell, Ope. There’s just somethin’ about her. She's different.”

His tongue slipped out, wetting his dry lips as he sat there staring off into the distance at the rows of headstones surrounding him. That solemn, lonely feeling gradually returned, hitting him right in his chest like a persistent ache that he couldn't get rid of.

“But she's too good for someone like me, Ope,” he admitted reluctantly. “I'm just some criminal piece of shit. She's like the goddamn sun itself. I'm afraid I'd just ruin her like every other fucking thing if I get too close. She's better off just being the pretty coffee girl I talk to sometimes and nothin’ else. I can’t be the one to destroy her light, man. Can’t let her get too close to my fucked up life. I’ll only hurt her. And I’d never forgive myself for that.”

Jax’s Harley roared through downtown Charming as he drove back to the clubhouse. He was still wrapped up in his thoughts as he drove despite how he’d tried to leave them back at the cemetery. Fortunately, that rage inside of himself had been quelled for the moment after he’d bared his soul to Opie. But unfortunately, there was a different feeling sitting at the forefront of his mind. One that didn’t feel much better. 

Heartache.

He’d been feeling it for years because of Tara, ever since she’d left him that first time shortly after she’d graduated high school. Then he’d felt it all over again when she’d left him a second time a year ago. But this pain Jax felt now wasn’t quite the same as that. This was different. It felt like a persistent, gnawing sensation in his chest. A yearning for something he knew he’d never be good enough to have.

You.

And it didn’t help that as he was pulling his bike up into the lot outside Teller-Morrow, he spotted you stepping outside of your coffee shop with a watering can in hand. Probably to water the absurd amount of plants you had in pots sitting out in front of your shop. The bright smile and the cheerful wave you’d sent him when you saw him parking his bike across the street tugged at his heart in a way he’d never experienced before. 

Jax sent you a single, brief wave in return before he unbuckled his helmet, pulling it off and hanging it from the handlebars of his bike. But as he did, his eyes remained fixed on you. You’d turned your attention on watering your plants, bending over just a fraction as you did. For once in his life, Jax’s gaze didn’t linger on your ass or your exposed thighs in the shorts you were wearing today. Instead, he was staring at that peaceful expression on your face that he could see from across the street. The slight upturn to your lips that just always naturally existed, the lack of worry anywhere on your features. You moved to the next plant, pouring water into the pot with such simple grace for such a mundane task.

He knew it was a bad idea, especially after the realizations he’d just verbalized to Opie’s grave not even twenty minutes ago, but he couldn’t help it. He dismounted his bike before his feet were already carrying him across the pavement and towards the street, his attention fixed on you like you were some sort of goddamn magnet. 

He didn’t want to go back into the clubhouse, though. No doubt there’d be some problem or bullshit that would land at his feet the moment he stepped inside, and right now, Jax didn’t want to be the one in charge. He didn’t feel like finding solutions to problems and carrying the weight of everything on his shoulders. He just wanted to see you, to simply be Jax Teller for a little while.

It wasn’t until you’d finished watering your fourth plant, about to walk past the door of your shop to water the potted plants in front of the other large window of your shop, that you caught sight of him approaching. The way you’d abruptly stopped what you were doing and turned with a genuine smile lighting up your face just at the sight of him had that bitter ache in his chest somehow simultaneously tightening and relaxing.

Fuck, you had definitely gotten to him.

“Hey, Jax,” you greeted him warmly. “It’s been a few days since I last saw my favorite biker on this side of the street. How’ve you been? 

Your sweet words fell over him like honey as he stepped up onto the curb, taking in the sight of you and that ever present aura of cheer that seemed to surround you. Despite how much he’d been crying at the cemetery not that long ago, he couldn’t fight back the smile that spread across his face now. Your fucking smile was contagious and felt like a balm to his soul. He didn’t understand how, but goddammit if it didn’t make him feel just a little bit better–and possibly a little less alone–whenever you flashed it in his direction.

“Yeah, I know. Been a little busy, sunshine,” he replied, making his way towards you as he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. “And I’ve been doin’…”

He trailed off as the smile faltered on his lips. He’d been about to tell you that he’d been doing just fine, the practiced line he always used whenever someone asked how he was doing. Because Jax wasn’t about to fucking delve into feelings with anyone. But the way you’d looked at him with those eyes of yours that somehow always seemed to see right through him had him hesitate. And you seemed to catch onto that hesitation, too.

Stepping over to one of the nearby tables in front of your shop, you set your watering can onto it. Then you turned back towards Jax, your bottom lip nervously caught between your teeth as you looked back at him, your hands toying with the hem of your top. He could see you mentally working something out and his eyes narrowed marginally as he wondered what you were thinking. But he wasn’t left wondering for long.

“This is going to sound really weird, but I’m going to give you a hug,” you stated, taking a tentative step closer towards him. “Because I feel like you’re going to try and lie and tell me that you’re fine, but you definitely don’t look fine and I’m not buying it. Not that you have to tell me anything about what’s really going on, ” you quickly continued, taking another step closer towards him as his face twisted up in confusion, “but please just let me give you a damn hug.”

“Sunshine, what–”

His words were cut off when you’d closed the remaining distance in a rush, as if you were trying to give him a hug before you could talk yourself out of it. Jax froze the moment your arms were around him, his body tensing at the contact as his hands remained stuffed in his pockets. Eyes widening slightly as he turned to look at where you’d pressed your face against his shoulder, Jax stood there conflicted. Half of him wanted to wrap his arms around you and crush you to himself, not wanting to let you go because this small gesture felt far better than he’d ever willingly admit. But the other half of him knew how dangerous it would be if he did that. He’d just finished telling Opie at the cemetery that he couldn’t get too close to you for your sake, and now here you were hugging him.

But fucking hell, you smelled like fresh ground coffee and vanilla, as if you’d been baking more goddamn cookies in your coffee shop. You were warm and soft and sweet. You were so many fucking things he wasn’t used to, things he knew he should keep at a distance. But what was the harm in a single damn hug? Especially when it felt so fucking good coming from you.

Without thinking his actions completely through, he pulled his hands from his pockets before slowly wrapping his arms around your waist in return. A flicker of emotions abruptly hit him hard as he held you, and he struggled to hold them down. What the hell were you doing to him? How did you have such an effect on him?

But as he stood there holding you in his arms, his eyes slowly closing, he knew one thing for certain. You were his to protect. Whatever that fucking looked like. Whatever that fucking meant. He would do absolutely anything in his power to make damn certain that you were over here opening your coffee shop every goddamn morning with a smile on your face, safe and happy.

Eventually–what felt like far too soon–you disentangled your arms from around him before pulling away. A small smile spread over your lips as you took two steps back from him on the sidewalk, acting as if you hadn’t just hugged the president of the Sons in the middle of broad daylight in public. Despite having been in countless difficult situations dealing with dangerous people in the past, this situation was one he had no idea how to even begin navigating right now. 

But apparently you did.

“Why don’t you come in for a cup of coffee?” you suggested, gesturing your head at the door to your shop behind you. “I made extra vanilla cookies–purely by accident. Maybe you could bring some home with you? To share with Abel? Because there’s no way I’m going to sell all of them.”

Standing there staring at your beautiful face expectantly waiting for his response, Jax knew he was in trouble. Because keeping you at a distance wasn’t going to be easy when you kept shining that warmth of yours on him like this, meeting him with kindness over and over. He didn’t know what the fuck to do with it. No one had ever treated him like this.

“Yeah, alright,” he replied with a single nod of his head. “Suppose I’ve got a few minutes for you, sunshine. Just don’t go hugging me in there or you might scare away your customers.”

Your smile grew wider at his words before you shrugged a shoulder. “They’ll manage just fine if you need another hug, Jax.” You turned, grabbing your watering can from off the little outdoor table before smiling back at him. “Just let me water the last couple of plants, then I'll make you a cup of coffee. Maybe today will be the one that turns a bad day around.”

Jax’s eyes lingered on you, watching as you stepped over to the other potted plants out in front of your shop and finished watering them. He was beginning to understand that maybe it wasn’t about the cup of coffee turning his bad day around, but the woman who kept making him them. 

[kilesplaysthings]

how the boys would react when you have a migraine

this was actually inspired by something a coworker told me the other day. actually, the Xavier one was too. my poor coworkers get such bad migraines, i feel so sorry for them🥺 again, this might be a little ooc, but i'm trying lol enjoy!

Xavier | Rafayel | Zayne | Sylus | Caleb

Part II: Rafayel (you/MC x Rafayel)

Your alarm went off way too soon, but you sluggishly sat up anyway. As you sat there for a moment, you frowned at what felt like another headache coming on. You tried to shrug it off, telling yourself that if you ate some breakfast and drank some water, you'd be able to deal with it. After all, you were brought up with a strong work ethic; if you weren't puking up your guts or basically dying, you were well enough to go to work.

Taking a deep breath, you shoved the covers aside and swung your legs over the side of the bed to push yourself into getting up. However, the moment you stood to your feet, your head swam, and your stomach lurched. Before you realized it, you were falling backwards onto the bed. Your head barely grazed your boyfriend's leg before landing back onto the mattress.

Rafayel stirred and slowly turned over to face you.

"Uhh... you alive?" He asked groggily.

"Yeah... I just..." You tried to sit up slowly, but even as you moved, sharp pain shot up your neck and into your eyes. It was a migraine, not a headache, and it was one of the worse ones you'd had in a while. You could only slowly lower yourself back onto the bed.

"Hey..." Rafayel quickly sat up, more alert now. He laid a gentle, cool hand across your forehead.

"You don't look so good. Another migraine?"

"Yeah..." You began to nod, but even that slight movement made your head spin and your stomach churn. It felt like all the pain was focused on your forehead and right above your eyes.

"Okay. Where's your phone?"

"Nightstand." Is all you said. You pressed your head into the sheets.

"Pass code?" He asked after retrieving it from the table by your side of the bed.

You uttered the numbers through gritted teeth. It wasn't until you peered up at him and saw him making a call that you realized what he was doing.

"Hey, don't..."

He frowned at you. "Hush." He got up from the bed and leaned against the wall by the window.

“Hello, this is Rafayel.” You heard him talking to who you assumed was your boss.

“Yeah, she’s gravely ill, so she won’t be coming into work today… Right. Well, when she wakes up and is feeling up to talking, I’ll have her call to let you know how she’s doing. Yes. Thank you. Goodbye.”

You frowned at him as he put the phone down and sat on the bed next to you.

“Hey, who said you could call off for me?” You grumbled. “I’m fine.”

He just gave you a Look. “Puhlease, if you’re fine like you say you are, why’d you flop down on the bed just now, like a fish washed up on the shore? I bet you can barely walk right now without falling over.”

You huffed. You knew he was right and you couldn’t argue with him. Seeing that you weren’t going to try and fight, he smiled and stroked your head.

“Hey, we both know you’re a hard worker. You hardly ever call off. One day staying at home because of a migraine won’t hurt. I’m sure they’ll understand at work too. You need your rest; that’s what’s important. Besides.”

His cool fingers caressed your warm cheek. “It’s obvious you don’t feel well, and I hate seeing you looking so tired and in pain.”

You wryly smiled. “What would I do without you, Raf?”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “I can’t even imagine. Wither away and die, probably.”

“Right. Well, could you be so kind as to take me to the couch? I don’t want to stay in bed at least.” You held out your arms towards him so he could pick you up.

“Fiiine..since you’re not feeling well.”

With a quiet laugh, he hoisted you up in his arms and carried you out of the bedroom to place you on his plush, blue couch. He then took one of his big, soft blankets and covered you with it. As you snuggled into the couch, Rafayel went over to the nearby window and opened it. You could feel the cool sea breeze on your cheeks and hear the ocean.

"There we go. Some natural ambience. It's kind of bright in here, though. You sure you wanna sit out here?" He wondered.

Your head was still aching and the pressure on your eyes still felt so heavy, you wanted to rip your eyeballs out of their sockets, but you shrugged. You just wanted a change of scenery.

"I'll survive."

He rolled his eyes. "Riiight. Why don't you wear this?" He tossed an eye mask onto your face. Pouting at him, you picked it up.

"Wow. Thanks."

"Don't mention it!" He said brightly. "Just relax. I'll get you some meds and something light to eat, 'kay?"

"Okay." You had nothing left in you to be snarky. You slipped the mask over your face and pulled the blanket up to your neck. You really wanted to take something now, but you knew you should eat something first, so you just lay on the couch hoping he'd bring something soon.

"Here, cutie. Drink some water."

Rafayel's voice was at your side a moment later and you peered up at him. He was holding a tall glass of water. You sat up slowly and took the glass.

"Drink it slowly. I made sure it wasn't too cold."

"Thank you."

He went back to the kitchen as you settled back in the couch, slowly sipping the water as he suggested. After a few minutes, you heard what sounded like glass clanking on a hard surface and the scraping of a chair against the floor. You groaned slightly and turned towards the noise. Lifting the mask slightly, you saw Rafayel sitting beside you in a chair. He had a bowl of steaming soup and you also spotted the bottle of painkillers on the coffee table.

"Soup should be okay, right? I wasn't sure how much your stomach could handle."

You weakly smiled. "It'll be fine. Thank you, Raf."

He smiled back and handed you the bowl. He watched as you ate and decided to pour out a couple of pills for you. Once it looked like you were done with the soup, he handed you the pills.

"I think I'll just veg out here for the rest of the day," you said after you downed the pills with water and nestled back in the couch.

Rafayel laughed a little. "Sure. I'll let you rest while I do some sketches. But what do you say to a nice, warm bath in a little bit? It'll be refreshing."

Your face lit up with a pleased smile as he pulled the mask back over your eyes. "Sounds awesome. You're the best, Rafayel."

"I know, I know." He teased. He leaned in to kiss your cheek. Then, before he got up, he said quietly,

"Close your eyes, listen to the sea, and just let your mind drift away. Your migraine will be gone in no time, cutie."

And with those sweet words of his, you fully believed it would.

[wastenoflesh]

Two rather quick blinks follow one after another, akin to a cat's ear twitching at an unexpected sound. Kaz. It was a first.

Other than the brief moment, he looks like a killer, pistol aimed right between Graves' eyes, a chin slightly raised, and the posture determined and unyielding. He feels like a god.

"What do you think?"

And then, after a beat of silence, some little light returns to his gaze and he clicks the safety back into place, tucking the gun safely back into the waistband. Kazumi has won, and it is all that mattered, and if it is challenged, he has no qualms pulling the firearm again until it proves his point a second time. A deadly bullet point.

He sucks air into the lungs through the teeth, a grimace soon replaced by a cocky grin as he squats down, right next to the commander, elbows resting on his knees.

"Man, I feel bad for ya. You smell like shit. Don't wanna humiliate you further."

As the artist raises from the floor slowly up to stand on his feet, a dark glimmer spawns in his eyes yet unseen by the soldier. It was a moment of alert disturbed, the commander caught off guard just long enough for him to regain the upper hand. That gun rests comfortably in his hand now, finger resting beside the trigger above him, and as Graves gags up whatever he had stuffed down his throat earlier, he can hear the familiar click of that safety switch. No more games.

"I like you more like this."

No time for Graves to catch his bearings, clean up, or even to acknowledge the filthy situation — Kazuyuki was completely and utterly insane, played dirty, and did not care for customs, hesitations, or dignity. Must be the second time those instructional videos were replaying in that Shadow's head; was a bite not warning enough?

"Man like you must hate losing."

He walks to Graves' side, thick leather coming into view, stepping into the puddle of vomit with a small splash and little care.

"So ya get where I'm coming from, right?"