#half sack drabble

[mysticalmallard]

Skipping back into your inbox to request another lovely drabble from you for your SOA Event

This time could we go with random, half-sack and the prompt

♥︎ 16. "The way you flirt is shameful."

Please and thank you!

SoA Taglist: @arkytiorlecter @aimkatsz @ravennaortiz @darqchilddaydreamz @mischiefnevermanaged89-blog

♥︎ If you wish to be added or removed from this list comment or message me ♥︎

Half-sack was hanging out in the clubhouse with his girlfriend, sitting against the wall near the bar. He had his arm slung over her shoulder and he was flirting outrageously, making suggestive comments and innuendos left and right. His girlfriend seemed to love it, giggling and blushing at his boldness.

Tig, who was sitting nearby, couldn't help but roll his eyes at the display. "Jesus, Sack," he said loudly enough for the couple to hear. "The way you flirt is shameful."

Sack just grinned, unperturbed by Tig's comment. "Hey, it works, don't it?" He pulled his girlfriend closer to him, nuzzling her neck with his nose and making her giggle again.

"Yeah, but it's also kind of nauseating," Tig teased. "Can't you two get a room or something?"

Sack winked. "Oh, don't worry, we will." He pulled his girlfriend up and off the barstool, his hand resting on the small of her back. "Come on, babe. Let's go... find a more private spot."

-> SoA Drabble Event <-

-> Main Masterlist <-

-> SoA Masterlist <-

[leqonsluv3r]

riding re2!leon kennedy for the first time, a drabble

an: this idea has been plaguing me for a hot minute now. random spark of inspiration. maybe it’s just ovulation week lol, enjoy and repost as usual. <33

leon and you had been going out for five months. five months of kisses, dates, flowers, cuddles and many other things. he was the sweetest guy you had ever dated. he actually took the time to get to know you first. which was something, in your experience, not a lot of men did. they just wanted one thing and one thing only.

but not leon, leon knew better.

leon was the type of guy to see a beautiful girl and be polite, respectful. sure, he’d get teased by his coworkers at the station for being a feminist. but women were people too, they deserved to be treated the same as anyone else.

so when he met you, he took his time. he got to know you first. he asked you out, called you, took you out on dates. he put in the effort same as you did. he wanted to be the best he could for you. he knew you didn’t have a good history with men.

and he wanted to change that.

he wanted to be that guy for you.

so he took his time, did everything he could to be the best and only the best for you. he was completely honest with you, he never lied. hell, he’d even gone grocery shopping with you just because you asked.

after weeks of making out, small caresses and kisses. he finally got to have sex with you. and if he thought dating you couldn’t get any better, he’d hit the mother load when he had sex with you for the first time. it was everything he’d dreamed it would be.

so when you asked him today, if you could ride him. he looked at you like he had just won the lottery. sure, he liked being ontop — fucking you into the mattress until you couldn’t remember your own name — but you being on top? his brain couldn’t comprehend how he got so lucky.

“you sure? it might hurt.” he whispered softly as he caressed your hair back away from your eyes. but you wanted to try it, wanted to give him a break from being ontop, he deserved a little bit of a breather, right? “i’ll go slow.” you whispered with a small breathless chuckle.

leon wasn’t small by any means but he wasn’t huge either, he was just average. but that still didn’t mean you could accommodate his size. he always had to prep you first, a blessing and a curse within itself. so this position was bound to cause some issues, but you were going to go slow right? you said you would. so maybe it would all be—

“fuck, slow.” he was punched out of his thoughts when your warm entrance had surrounded the tip of his cock. you held onto his shoulders, his back against the headboard and both of you naked from earlier activities. you let out a small sigh, “i’m trying.” you whispered with a small hiss.

he grabbed onto the meat of your hips, “stay right here. i’ll guide you. you wanna do this, we’re doing it together.” he says firmly, his tone strained. he was trying his hardest to have some self control right now. “no shit, sher—oh!” he had guided you down another inch, taking the retort right out of your mouth.

“what was that, baby? couldn’t catch that.” he said in a cocky tone as you stared at him with a small glare. you swallowed and let yourself relax against that other inch he slid up into you. “shut up.” you muttered but it held no real malice.

he let you adjust another couple of minutes, this was borderline torture for him, but he couldn’t just start fucking up into you. he was letting you take this at your pace, ever the gentleman, even in the sack.

“you ready for a little more?” he asked as he massaged the meat of your hips, trying to release some of the strain from you half on his dick. you let out a small breath and nodded, trying to prepare yourself for another inch of leon.

“alright, baby.” he slid you down another inch, waited and then another inch until finally you were seated on his dick at full mass. you let out a small pained sound, almost wanting to just cum like this. you didn’t even know if you could move, you felt so full from this angle. you could feel him in your stomach.

“fuck me.” you breathe as you let out a deep breath, your chest rising and falling fast as you strained to take him. “i could but you wanted to be on top-“ he starts but you slap your lips to his, kissing him slowly and taking the words out of his mouth.

“i didn’t mean like that.” you respond when your lips break apart, “just give me a few more seconds.” you whisper as you rest your forehead against his. your shared breaths mingling where you hold onto each other.

you wait a few more seconds before rising up and slowly lowering yourself, your hips meeting his as you try to ride him slowly. your breath coming out in small gasps. it was taking everything in him not to flip you over and fuck you into the mattress.

you gasped softly as you rode him, your body almost didn’t feel like yours anymore. you were someone else entirely, bouncing up and down on him. moans leaving your lips like a sweet siren song.

and all leon could do was watch — watch as you bounced on his cock. rode him into oblivion, his hands bruising on your hips as he let you bounce up and down on his cock. it felt so heavenly, he was sure he’d died and gone to heaven.

your tits started bouncing in his face and suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore, he uses his hand to slide up your spine and push your chest into his face. mauling your tits with kisses and bites as you absolutely wreck him.

he moans against the plush skin of your chest as you swivel your hips in just the right direction. he gently bites on your nipple causing you to moan loudly in response — oh? you liked that.

he was just biding his time, feeling you start to flutter around him like the perfect angel you were. he knew you were close, he had it practically down to a science by now.

“oh pretty girl, cmon. cum on my cock, baby. soak it.” he was almost whiney and desperate at this point as he let you grind down on him, moving your hips in a beautiful dance against his. “s’too good, leon…” you whine as you keep swiveling your hips. he’s definitely a goner, he needs you to come now before he does. he’s about two seconds away from blowing his load.

he laps at your chest, squeezing the meat of your ass with his hands. bringing one hand back a little to slap your ass. you gasp a little but moan in addition, he knew you liked it a little rough. he just needed you too-

“leon! uhhh! coming!” was all the warning he got before you clenched around his cock, your release coating his length and shaft. “fuck, baby. fuck.” he swears as he makes you stop moving your hips so he can fuck up into you.

he moves his knees up causing you to fall a little into his chest as he grabs the meat of your ass, his hips starting to punch up into you. you dug your fingernails into his shoulder blades. your eyes rolling back into your head as he fucked you through your orgasm to chase his.

“oh! ohhh!” you moan loudly as you bite on your bottom lip, he grunts a little into your ear as he chases his own orgasm. “you like that, baby? you like me fucking you like this?” he lightly smacks your ass again which causes a squeak to leave your lips in response.

you loved this angle, you could feel all of him. you felt so full, warm and fuzzy. you knew he was close, you could hear his grunts and moans get closer together. you also had him down to a science too. “oh god! ahhh!” you moan as he keeps fucking into you, the overstimulation making you feel a second orgasm approaching.

“don’t stop, don’t stop.” you chant over and over again, your eyes watering as shameless sounds left your mouth. leon gritted his teeth and manhandled your ass in a bruising grip as you both neared your climax together.

“cmon, baby. you can do it, come on.” he gritted out in encouragement as he kissed and mouthed at the skin of your neck. “baby, wanna feel this perfect pussy again…cmon.” he whined lowly as he smacked your ass again.

you whimpered high pitched in response before you both climaxed. your body shaking as he slowly fucked you both through it. a thin sheen of sweat coating both of your skin. you felt his come fill you, warm and sticky between your legs and in your belly before he slowly stopped his hips.

both of you panting like you just ran a mile. “jesus.” he mutters hoarsely into your neck as he rubs a hand over your spine. he gently guides your head out of his neck to look at him, seeing your flushed cheeks and bleary eyes. “we are definitely doing that again.” he whispers before he plants a soft kiss to your lips.

and how could you even refuse?

taglist: @elihii @heartsforvin @adollrable @spfoah @jmivenus @rcttendolly @shinigamigloss @sacredwarrior88 (if you want to be added to the taglist, just DM me!! they are open!!)

[ghoulphile]

it's always the quiet ones | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | pre-war cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 700 ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; oral (m receiving), throat fucking, choking, dirty talk, bathroom sex ➥ summary | based off this ask; We can see that Cooper tends to go for good girls (like @ghoulfuckersincorporated mentioned!), but what if he ran into a seemingly innocent - or at the very least kind - person… but they dirty talk like a sinner in the sack? ➥ notes | i humbly offer this drabble to @gingersforeverbox 🙈 masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?

At least, that’s what Cooper’s mama always said (and he wouldn’t know how right she was until he found himself shoved in a swanky club bathroom, slacks tucked under his ass as the prettiest — politest — lady choked herself with his cock).

Frankly, how he got here’s a hazy blur of bourbon and cigar smoke.

Whispered conversations and coy looks. The flash of cherry red nails, and a well timed head tilt; a pretty little thing cozied against him as nameless faces passed in and out of view.

Another pointless after party (though far smaller of an event than he used to pull) where vultures circled the room, waiting for their chance to pick at his bones. LA devotee’s ready to snap up the scraps of the once great Cooper Howard.

Dog eat dog; he couldn’t stand the petty games —the mindless indulgences.

So, he’d invited you as a buffer.

An acquaintanceship that’d gone back years, having met on set of one of his earlier productions, you were always cordial and had a kind word to say about anybody. Not a mean bone in that body… or so he’d thought.

Now, he’s not so sure he knows you half as well as he thought he did.

“Fuck!”

Air hisses through his teeth, his hands hovering over the sides of your head, unsure where to grip. Your hair looks awfully pretty (like it took a long time to force into shape), he’d hate to ruin the style. But if you keep trying to suck his soul out through his cock, he might just have to sink his fingers into those delicate curls and yank.

“S-Sweetheart, what are you — oh, ssshit.”

You peer up at him from beneath the spiky fan of your lashes and hum. His hips jump and you choke, your tongue pinned as your teeth scrape along his thick shaft.

Spit drips past your swollen lips, clings to your chin in sticky strings. The lower half of your face is a mess of smeared lipstick and pre-cum.

He pants, gazing down at you with awe. “How’re you so fucking good at this?”

He’s so big, stretching your mouth to the limit. A tender ache sets behind the hinge of your jaw, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Those half-lidded eyes, dark and hungry, make it all worth it. The slack circle of his mouth, the pained furrow of his brows as he wrestles with his self control all the payment you require.

You pop off; trace along the throbbing vein with your tongue as the heavy weight of his cock slips free with a wet suction. Your thighs clench and your toes curl in your heels at the low-throated groan punched from his chest.

“Practice makes perfect, don’t you think, Mr Howard?” you press a sloppy kiss to his leaking slit, lapping up the salty beads of fluid. Your fingers roll his balls, dragging the tips of your nails along the sensitive skin to watch him shiver. “Besides, I’ve seen how you look at me.”

His eyes flick off to the side, blowing wide once he catches your reflections in the mirror. He gulps, his knuckles white beside his hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

“Please, spare me.”

You snort, roll your eyes and shoot him a catty grin. Laugh when his cock throbs at the teasing flash of your tongue.

“You’re sweet — as true a gentleman as they come — but you can’t fool me. You’ve wanted me since you met me... and I don't get my best dress dirty for just anyone.”

“...”

“Now, before you try to say otherwise, remember whose on their knees with your cock in their mouth.”

“...No. Y-You’re right but I… I shouldn’t want to.”

You wink, circle the crown of his head with a red nail. More pre-cum dribbles from the slit, sticky drops you kiss away with your tongue.

“It’s okay, Mr Howard,” you say. “I want you too. Now do us both a favor and fuck my throat until I can’t talk. Please, I want it to hurt — want you to make me cry.”

[nameless-jamie]

hi <3 love your fics, they bring me joy!

was wondering if i could request a PA fic where y/n is iron deficient and overworks herself and faints at work, and jamie is naturally quite concerned for her.

Drabble - The Irony

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, mentions of fainting, iron deficiency

A/N: Hi I don't know much about iron deficiency, but I hope this drabble is good enough! Thank you for the request! This is just a small imagine-like situation.

Jamie Tartt wasn’t exactly known for subtlety.

Sure, when he and Y/N first started dating, they’d tried to keep things professional at work—quick kisses before morning meetings, teasing glances across the pitch, stolen moments when no one was looking. But that phase hadn’t lasted long. Subtlety just wasn’t Jamie’s style.

Now, everyone at AFC Richmond knew they were together. Jamie’s arm slung around her shoulders in the break room? Normal. Jamie stealing sips of her coffee during meetings? Annoying, but expected. Jamie yelling, “Oi, love you, babe!” across the pitch before training? Classic.

But right now, none of that mattered.

Because Y/N was slumped on the floor of the Richmond office, her clipboard abandoned beside her, and Jamie’s heart was trying to punch its way out of his chest. He was just casually walking into her office when he saw her unconscious body sack down to the floor.

“Oi, someone get a medic or somethin’!” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside her. His pulse hammered in his ears as he cupped her face, her skin cool and pale beneath his fingers, he was in shock. “Babe? Babe, c’mon—can you hear me?”

Her eyelashes fluttered, her lips parting in a soft, confused murmur. “Jamie…?”

“Yeah, I’m here, love. I got you,” Jamie promised, brushing damp strands of hair away from her forehead. Behind him, footsteps pounded down the hallway, but he didn’t look up. His entire world had narrowed down to the girl in his arms.

“What happened?” Rebecca’s sharp voice cut through the air as she approached, heels clicking against the tile.

“I dunno! She was standin’ there one second and then—” Jamie’s throat tightened. “Then she weren’t.”

“She fainted?” Higgins asked, kneeling beside them with a frown.

“Yeah! Why’re we all standin’ ‘round talkin’ about it? Someone call a bloody doctor!”

“I’m fine,” Y/N whispered weakly, attempting to sit up. Jamie’s arm tightened around her shoulders, holding her steady.

“Yeah, no. Don’t think so,” Jamie muttered, his brows drawn in frustration. “You scared the shit outta me, babe.”

“Language,” Rebecca warned absently.

“Sorry,” Jamie mumbled, not sounding sorry at all. “But she did.”

“I just—I’ve been a little dizzy lately. It’s not a big deal,” Y/N mumbled, cheeks heating as she realized half the office was staring.

“Not a big deal?! You collapsed!”

“It happens sometimes…” she admitted hesitantly.

“It what?” Jamie’s voice shot up an octave. “Since when?”

“I don’t know—off and on? My doctor said it’s just iron deficiency. I’m supposed to take supplements, but I forgot—”

“You forgot?!”

“I’ve been busy!”

“Babe, what’s more important—your work or, y’know, bein’ conscious?”

“I—”

“I swear, if you say work, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Jamie—”

“No, don’t ‘Jamie’ me!” His eyes were wide, his breath coming too fast. “You’re runnin’ ‘round takin’ care of everyone else—makin’ sure I show up to stuff, keepin’ track of all my interviews, dealin’ with my schedule—and you don’t even stop to take care of yourself!”

The room fell awkwardly silent. Rebecca cleared her throat and exchanged a glance with Higgins.

“…We’ll, ah, give you two a moment,” she said, ushering the others out of the hallway.

As the crowd dispersed, Y/N slumped against Jamie’s chest, her pulse still fluttering against his palm. His hand rubbed slow circles against her back as his breathing gradually calmed.

“Hey,” he said, softer this time. “You scared me.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because…” Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his jersey. “Because you’ve got enough to worry about with matches and training and—”

“Don’t,” Jamie cut her off, his voice rough. “Don’t act like you gotta handle everythin’ on your own. Not when I’m right here. This won't work if you don't let me take care of you once in a while, Y/N.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes prickling with unexpected tears. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze—blue eyes searching hers with a vulnerability she hadn’t expected.

“I just…” Her voice wavered. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Jamie exhaled sharply, like she’d punched him in the gut.

“You’re not a burden,” he whispered. “You’re—you’re the reason I don’t show up late to everythin’. You're the reason I even show up here. And you're the reason I smile everyday.” His lips twitched into a faint smile. “Besides, pretty sure Richmond’d fall apart without you. But don't tell Higgings I said that.”

Y/N sniffled and nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

“Still,” Jamie added, brushing his thumb gently over her cheek. “If somethin’ hurts, you gotta tell me. Yeah? You're my girl now.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

Jamie pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly like he was afraid she might disappear. His hand found the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair as he whispered against her temple:

“Swear to God, if you faint again ‘cause you forgot to take a bloody vitamin, I’m gonna start followin’ you ‘round with a spoon and feedin’ you spinach.”

Despite everything, she let out a watery laugh.

“There’s my girl,” Jamie murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Later that night Y/N sat cross-legged on Jamie’s couch, a blanket draped over her shoulders and a steaming mug of tea in her hands. Jamie hovered nearby, eyeing her with a level of suspicion usually reserved for rival players.

“Did you take your iron pill?” he asked for the third time.

“Yes, Jamie.”

“And you ate dinner?”

“Yes, Jamie.”

“Proper dinner? With, like, protein and veggies and—”

“Oh my God, yes!” She threw a pillow at him, which he dodged with a grin.

“Just checkin’!” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. But his smile faded slightly as he stepped closer, his eyes softer now. “I mean it, though. You gotta take care of yourself. I can’t—” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t have you keelin’ over again. Gave me a bloody heart attack.”

“You won’t,” she whispered.

“You better mean that,” Jamie muttered, flopping down beside her. After a beat, he added, “Still gonna carry spinach ‘round, just in case.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

Y/N snorted and shook her head, but Jamie caught the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips—and he figured that was enough for now.

[oncasette]

FANGTASIA. send in a character from my guide + one of the prompts below for a drabble!

how about... "you shouldn't have touched them. every single mark on their body is going to be returned to yours." wiiith our mans eric northman!

please, thank you, love youuu!!! 🩵🩵

𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗𝗡'𝗧 𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗 𝗠𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞

eric northman x fem!reader

summary: 1.3k

You’d had vampire blood. Pam and Chow had been gracious enough to offer you their wrists months after you’d started working at Fangtasia, a safety precaution as they’d claimed. You'd had Eric's blood. He could feel your fear, he knew where you were, why wasn't he coming?

or the one where eric saves you from an anti-vampire rights enthusiast.

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, death, kidnapping, stabbing

a/n: i know i said drabbles but i couldn't contain myself. i am violently ill with my love for this man.

masterlist | taglist

You think you're dying. surely. There's no way the human body would be able to endure this much pain without ultimately giving up the ghost, right? 

You never should have gotten involved with vampires. They were nothing but a bucket of trouble, as your mother would have put it. And has she had put it, a multitude of times, before she'd ever even known you'd applied to work at Shreveport's resident vampire bar. 

What she didn't know, though, was how incredible they could be. How, even without all their supernatural abilities, intensely good they could be when they decided they wanted. How loyal and caring and kind when they chose to do so. Just how beautiful they could be, fangs and all. 

‘Course, there still was that whole bucket of trouble thing. 

"You sure are pretty for a fangbanger," your captor drawled from where he was watching you from across the room. He'd tied you to a chair at the center of it, thick scratchy ropes binding your wrists to the unlaquered wood beneath you. You spit, knowing that it won't reach the man from this distance, but hoping, almost willing it to hit him squarely between the eyes. 

“Fuck you,” you say.

“Ooh,” he whistles. “You’ve sure got a mouth on you, sweet cheeks. Why waste it on one of those dead fuckers when you could have someone with an actual, bleeding fucking heart?”

“You’re a waste of skin, you piece of shit,” you huff. Not that it was any of his goddamn business, anyway, but you had only ever slept with one man, and it sure as shit hadn’t been one of your bosses.

“Aw, c’mon. I bet you get so cold after one of them vampers is inside you, don’t you. All icy and chilly like. Let me give you a little tip, sweetheart. Humans. Need. Warmth.”

“You say that as if you aren’t a fucking sad sack,” you say. “What a sorry excuse for a human, huh?”

“What’d they do to you, huh, girl? Did they glamor you into only wanting a dead man’s dick?” he asks, slowly shifting and standing from his stool so that he could approach you. Despite their constant–and half-hearted–threats, you’d never been glamored by your vampire coworkers. Your breathing shakes as he approaches in swift steps. It’s then that you see the knife in his hand. 

For the first time in a long time, you realize, genuine fear strikes through you. 

“I’m gonna teach those vampers a lesson,” he says. “And you’re going to help me do that.”

You’d had vampire blood. Pam and Chow had been gracious enough to offer you their wrists months after you’d started working at Fangtasia, a safety precaution as they’d claimed. You'd had Eric's blood. He could feel your fear, he knew where you were, why wasn't he coming?

The knife trails along your collarbone. You're glad it was as dull as it was, knowing if it'd been sharper it would be slicing the skin open in its path down. Then he presses down harder. You can’t muffle the whine as it escapes you, no matter how much you want to. No matter how desperately you wish to not show the man that he holds any power over you. You can feel the blood seeping out of the wound. It dribbles down your chest in a thick stream as it pools and stains the gray cotton of your t-shirt.

“Stop!” you plead. He chuckles before driving the blade deeper into you. With feeble force, you try to get him off with a stunted kick to his knee; It was all you could manage with the way your knees had been duct-taped together. 

“Bitch!” he heaves before rearing back to slap you with the bladeless hand. It slashes your cheek, shallowly, thankfully, but you can feel the ache of where his hand had connected with your cheekbone. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He takes the knife and stabs it into your side, just narrowly missing your ribcage. 

Before you can manage out even a wince, the door to the small shack you’d been held in for the last few hours splinters and it unceremoniously removed from its hinges. 

Eric says nothing as he rushes in. You barely register that it’s him save for the split second image you’d captured from where he’d lingered in the doorway. Your captor is off of you instantly, though you’re still bound to the chair. Eric stills. Wind warps around him as he does so, wrapping him in a flurry of movement as he stands with the man locked in his grasp. 

“You never should have fucking touched her,” Eric growls with his fangs fully extended, grip tightening around the burly man’s neck and raising him inches off the ground. There’s not even a hint of the usual smirk you were so accustomed to seeing. “Every single mark on her body will be returned unto you tenfold.”

“She fucking deserved it,” he gargles as the vampire latches onto the expanse of neck not currently held within his hand. The man screams out in anguish and you pull your eyes tight to avoid watching any more. Of course, that doesn’t stop you from hearing. The screams and the rips and the crunches. You hear something hard and solid hit the floor and somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach you know it’s bone. 

You hear the man gasp out a dead fuck only for Eric’s grasp to tighten fully, effectively severing the man’s skull from his spinal chord without detaching it from his body. The man drops to the floor with a loud thump and Eric shoves the corpse away with the toe of his shoe before he moves toward you. 

“What took you so long?” you exhaled as he moved behind you to unbind your wrists. 

“I was away on business,” he gruffs, spitting slightly to get the last of the man’s blood out of his mouth. He’d already drunk his fair share, you thought, what good what that do?

Swallowing, you ask, “And you still came?”

He walks back around to begin undoing the restraints on your legs. He’s being so gentle, you realize. If he’d wanted, he could have had this done within seconds and yet, here he was, tenderly undoing the tape and rope and rubbing a soothing hand over the abraded skin. 

“I’ll always come for you,” he says. “Until I meet the true death, I will always come for you.”

He extends his wrist up to his mouth and you wince as he punctures the flesh. 

“Eric,” you sigh. 

“Drink,” he says. 

Nodding, you allow him to bring his wrist to your mouth and latch down on the leaking wound. It’s tangy and metallic and overall pretty gross, but you’re more than grateful for it at that moment. You lick your lips when he pulls his arm back down, the small bite marks already well on their way to closing completely. 

“Will you take me home?” you ask, suddenly overwhelmed with the wave of fatigue hitting you. 

He rises back to his full height and extends a hand out towards you. The second you grab it, he’s pulling you up from your chair to hold you flush against his form. Then, in another rush of wind, you’re standing on your front porch. 

Slowly, you pull away from the vampire to take a step towards your door. Your body aches, but it’s already mostly healed as you run a hand over the small incision at your waist. 

“Thank you,” you say. “Eric.”

He’s silent, looking you over in a way that you can’t help but think is more than just an assessment of your injuries. He settles on your eyes when he says, “Anytime.”

[noirsdoll]

Drabble with curly and a reader that takes total advantage of him like jimmy but in a more suffocating way, like he’s scared she’s gonna “eat him alive” when she’s going at him in bed. (maybe like biting him when he least expects it, draining him even after a long day, tying him up, yada yada)

i wanna shove curly in a burlap sack and throw him off a freeway LMAO i just need to beat him up. uhh this is rlly short cuz i should be studying but ive been wanting to write smtn in this vein and the brainrot got to me you win anon

cw: dubcon (he says no but he wants it), bondage, forced orgasm, dacryphilia, blowjob and handjob (he’s getting the combo), slapping

You’re used to rewarding yourself, which is why you tied Curly up as your own personal gift.

The rope digs into the peaks and valleys of his muscles, cutting into him when he tries to squirm away from your touch. He likes it, he always does. He just doesn’t know what’s good for him. You do.

Curly’s the one that offered for you to tie him up, growing bashful with each circle of the rope around his bulky frame. Pink melts across his chest, disappearing into the nest of curls on his pecs.

His fat dick rests in your palm, warm with a pulse of its own. You stroke him hard and slow in your hand, pressing your tongue to the slit of his head and waiting for his cum.

You chase after his glossy eyes as he desperately screws them shut, his jaw going slack when he orgasms. His spine turns to jelly, the only thing holding him up is the muscle under his tummy. He tastes good like he always does. You love it.

The fresh taste of cum tightens on your tongue as you refuse to let up on him, kissing all over his tip as you keep going.

Immediately, he freezes cold, locking up like a sore muscle and letting his breathing go heavy. “Wait, wait, please—,” he cuts himself off with a pained noise. Curly’s hands flex from where they’re pinned behind his back, and he protests more as your hand coasts up and down his shaft, a continental stretch.

“Baby, please, wait—it hurts,” he shakes his head like it’ll help sell his case, his bottom lip jutting out and trembling like a fault line.

You let up from him just for a second and relief melts over his face. Curly’s pupils dilate wide when he looks at you, big chest heaving as he catches his breath. You don’t let him dwell in relief too long, slapping him across the face to bring his head back in the game. The hit makes a crisp sound on his face, the imprint of your palm singes red against his skin. He looks up at you like this is an act of betrayal.

Tears crowd up in the corners of his eyes, but instead of talking back, he just sinks his teeth into his lip and shudders. His cock twitches faintly as you drag your nails along his tip. Curly’s still got it in him. You’ve pushed him farther than this before.

It’s hard work, knowing what’s best for him and having him fight it every step of the way. By the end of this he’ll beg for you to do it again, or something even more demeaning. Curly lets you take what you want from him, lets you bury yourself between his legs.

You consider it your home at this point, jerking him until his cum turns watery, until even your gentle strokes and loving kisses makes him cry out and seize.

After it all, Curly melts into a gooey puddle in the mattress, heat and sweat coming off him in waves. You finally let up, undoing his rope and slotting your body with his. He looks away from you as he admits he liked it and wants more of it. Curly pulls you closer and the heat radiating off of him does half the work to lull you to sleep.

[feligayzed]

WRITING JUMPSCARE 💥💥💥

This was a short little drabble I scribbled up a HOT minute ago when I first saw the nefarious "destroy painter" screenshot, along with Zeal's comment about how Sebastian would kill you without thought....or something along those lines you get the idea

The first and only time I've written in 2nd person 😢 sorry you are NOT kissing the fish

Once again I don't do endings ENJOY

Wc: 582

You're walking down a hallway when a vent pops out of the wall. Subconsciously you're expecting a remark from Sebastian, beckoning you inside, but the soft-spoken words never come. The absence of the greeting unnerves you, but you're familiar, so you don't hesitate to duck inside the vent.

He's not there.

You're dumbfounded. He's always there, coiled in the corner of his shop, his findings neatly displayed along his flank. Always. You know of the mutant's obsession with data, and you've got quite a haul, so why-?

You're barely half a step inside when you're wrenched off your feet, a haggard gasp forcing its way from your lungs as you're slammed up into the wall with remarkable force.

"Let's ditch the formalities, yeah?"

Static swims in your vision and you can feel yourself fading, but a sharp backhand to the face jerks you back to reality. Instinctively you reach up to coddle the sting, but the stunned gears in your mind suddenly start churning. You're dangling. You're choking. Your hands instead fly to the massive fist straining around your neck, feet scrambling for purchase. The effort is futile.

Sebastian's face is inches from yours, jagged teeth bared in a snarl. Scales scrape against concrete as he repositions his long serpentine body, tail lashing dangerously behind him. His third hand twitches for the shotgun at his side, but he doesn't draw it. The space is suffocating. You're trapped.

"I know who you are, and you know what you did. Are you satisfied? Do you feel accomplished? Do you feel vindicated, that it was a righteous decision, that he deserved it, so why should you feel guilty?"

His voice is laced with venom, a gutteral growl rising in his chest. The pinprick of claws in your neck is hardly noticed as a primal fear jumpstarts your heart, blood pounding in your ears. What is this about? Who?? Your terrified mind races to put together the pieces, what the hell could have made him react like this. The fucking computer....??

You open your mouth to get a desperate word in, but his fist clenches tighter, cutting you off completely. His eyes flash cold and lethal, and you see now that there is no humanity left in his feral gaze. At least not for you.

"You're fucking pathetic. You, and all the other desperate pieces of shit they sent down here. I should slaughter you all. Right here, right now. I'm tired, Expendable. Sick and fucking tired of granting you all politeness. Why should I? Why should I, when all that you are is a disgusting, worthless, undeserving sack of shit they could easily get their greedy hands on.

You're nothing. No one will miss you. No one will wonder about you. No one will be here to clean up your bloody mess. I'm going to tear you apart, limb from fucking limb, and I'm going to relish it. All this talk of mercy, it's all bullshit. You're going to rot down here, and I'm going to revel in the knowledge."

In a jerking motion too fast to register, you're sent sprawling onto the dusty concrete floor. White hot pain bloomed down your sides, and distantly you knew your ribs had shattered. Unfortunately that was the least of your concerns. His bulk moved to block the vent you came in from, and you slumped in defeat as any hope of escape bled out through the punctures in your neck.

"Eat shit and die loser." The End!!

[archangeldyke-all]

ur sev x butch reader drabbles are so good omg 😭

what about sevika and a butch/masc reader who is equally as muscular as she is, of course there’s a lot of playful competition between you guys but the best part is that you can carry her.

maybe you guys are watching a movie or something, and sev falls asleep on the couch right next to you. you’re also pretty sleepy but you’re not about to sleep on the couch all night, so you pick her up and hold her close in your arms and carry her to bed.

or maybe she’s had a long week and is super sore and exhausted from training and working and you just pick her up and hold her and let her cling to you 😭😭😭😭😭 sorry if this is long i just love her so much

GOD this is so sweet 😭

man and minors dni

the first time you carry sevika to bed is about a month into living together.

you get home after a late night, and find sevika slumped to sleep on the couch-- clearly having tried to wait up for you.

your heart swells, and after taking your jacket and shoes off, you slowly approach your girlfriend.

"sev." you whisper. she snores a little louder at the sound of her name, and you giggle, kissing her forehead. "'m home baby, let's go to bed."

"mmm... no." she grunts, turning over in her sleep. "'m comfy."

you giggle, watching your girlfriend cuddle closer against the couch cushions.

you let her sleep while you start your night routine, washing the stress of your day away in the shower and getting bundled up in your jammies (just one of sevika's old shirts and a pair of boxers) before you return to your sleeping girlfriend.

she's still asleep on the couch, and you really don't want to wake her up. so, you bend down and wrap your arms around her, before gently picking her up in a bridal carry.

she stirs a bit, but upon realizing she's in your arms, she just nuzzles against your neck and goes back to snoring.

four hours later, you're awaken by sevika snapping up in bed dramatically, gasping and scrambling out of the covers.

"sevika!?" you ask, panicked.

the bedside light flicks on, and sevika's bewildered eyes flit around the room.

"when the fuck did i get in bed?" she asks, still looking confused to find herself in your shared bedroom. you giggle and collapse against bed, making grabby hands for your girlfriend.

"i carried you, silly. c'mon, it's like two in the morning."

sevika stares at you for a moment, and you raise an eyebrow at her.

"you carried me?" she asks. her voice is a little wobbily. you worry as you sit up to examine her face, but once you see the soft smile on her lips your worry vanishes.

"yeah, baby. you were sleeping, didn't wanna wake you up."

"oh." she whispers, shy and excited. "okay."

most commonly, you'll pick sevika up when she's sleeping.

if you wake her up with the jostling, she just smiles like a sweetheart and blinks her heavy eyelids up at you, admiring you the entire way back to the bedroom.

sometimes, when things are getting hot and heavy for you two, you'll pick sevika up to carry her to the nearest soft surface.

she always squeals like you're about to throw her across the room. (it turns her on beyond belief. she almost cums in her pants the first time you pick her up mid-make out)

sevika loves being in your arms. since she was a teenager she's been too big for any of her lovers to try to pick her up. but you-- she trusts you, heart and body. plus, you're strong as shit. she feels so fucking safe and small in your arms.

the only time she wishes you wouldn't pick her up is when you two are play-wrestling and you just hike her over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry her around for a while. no matter how much she squirms and smacks your ass, she can't get free. it infuriates her that you win your little wrestling matches with this move, but she never thinks to use it on you and pick you up in return.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob @xayn-xd

[mysticalmallard]

★《SoA Drabble Event》★

SoA Taglist: @arkytiorlecter @aimkatsz @ravennaortiz @darqchilddaydreamz

♥︎ If you want to be added or removed from this taglist comment or message me ♥︎

SoA Masterlist ★ main masterlist

⚠️!! Event closed scroll down to read completed requests!!⚠️

Rules:

★ Send me one mood, a prompt & a character from the lists below.

☆ Be following me.

♥︎ These gifts are only for my followers ♥︎

★ MUST like, comment, and reblog or submission for future requests will be denied and drabble may be deleted.

☆ Only submissions sent as an ask will be accepted.

★ One request at a time, please.

♥︎ As soon as it's done & you reblog, you can send in another one ♥︎

Moods:

□ fluff

□ angst

□ suggestive

□ goofy

□ Random

Characters to choose from:

● Happy Lowman

○ Juice Ortiz

● Tig Trager

○ Jax Teller

● Chibs Telford

○ Opie Winston

● David Hale

○ Nero Padilla

● Marcus Alvarez

○ Half-Sack

● Bobby Munson

○ Clay Morrow

Prompt list:

♡ 1. "Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

♥︎ 2. "Darling, it's beautiful, thank you!"

♡ 3. "Whatever you're going to ask, the answer is no!"

♥︎ 4. "Try focussing more on your life and less on mine!"

♡ 5. "I want that woman out of my house!"

♥︎ 6. "Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?"

♡ 7. "Am I supposed to be scared now?"

♥︎ 8. "For some reason, I'm attracted to you."

♡ 9. "You make me feel like I'm not good enough."

♥︎ 10. "I miss moments like this more than anything."

♡ 11. "What's in that bag and why are you hiding it here?"

♥︎ 12. "Well? What happened? I want all the details!"

♡ 13. "I'm ready to try again, if you are?"

♥︎ 14. "Quick, hide behind the sofa!"

♡ 15. "I did a pregnancy test."

♥︎ 16. "The way you flirt is shameful."

♡ 17. "Why would you want to put yourself through something like that?"

♥︎ 18. "Sweetheart, what did you bury in the garden?"

♡ 19. "My toaster was definitely talking to me this morning."

♥︎ 20. "We could get arrested for this."

Completed requests:

◇ fluffy, Happy Lowman, prompt 7

◇ goofy, Juice Ortiz, prompt 18

◇ fluffy, Happy Lowman, prompt 8

◇ random, Chibs Telford, Prompt 3

◇ fluffy, Juice Ortiz, prompt 14

◇ random, Opie Winston, prompt 8

◇ goofy, Chibs Telford, prompt 8

◇ random, Half-Sack, prompt 16

◇ angst, Opie Winston, prompt 9

◇ random, Tig Trager, prompt 19

◇ fluffy, Opie Winston, prompt 17

◇ random, Jax Teller, prompt 17

◇ suggestive, Tig Trager, prompt 13

◇ fluffy, David Hale, prompt 3

[itsabouttimex2]

Saccharine Snacks

Platonic Yandere Sun Wukong Drabble

Something feels different about today. Not necessarily wrong… just a little off. Just a few seconds after you wake up, the feeling sinks in. Nothing is inherently off-putting or uncomfortable, but that gnawing pang persists. The air feels strangely thick, like it’s trying to restrict your movement. The brightness of the sun that streams in from the window feels almost artificial.

But nothing is different. Everywhere you look, and everywhere you check… it’s all the exact same as it’s always been. It almost feels like a challenge, your brain racing to find the reason for this feeling, searching for the smallest difference, some minute variation in your room that would justify the strange feeling plaguing you. Predictably, you turn up nothing.

There’s no new additions, nothing taken away without your notice.

Maybe you really are just being paranoid. Maybe the air is just off. Maybe it was something as simple as a bad dream throwing you off. Whatever it it, you can’t quite shake the feeling. Not even as you get dressed, grab your staff, and head out to meet your mentor to get started with your training.

As always, he greets you with a cheeky smile, waving you into the kitchen.

“It’s not often that I see you in here,” you very casually point out. Once, it had been a little strange to speak so openly to someone so revered and powerful. But it had been by his own request that you spoke to him as an equal and friend rather than a mentor. There was no need to be so serious, after all.

“Except when we’re training. Then you really do need to take me seriously, bud,” he had told you. “Cause what I’m teaching can be just a smidge… dangerous, you know? Don’t worry, don’t worry! Nothing that’ll kill a little mortal like you, I swear!”

Even his reassurances can be goofy and heartening, with the way he acts. Just another thing you’d gotten used to. He gestures for you to come into the kitchen, waving you to the chair across from him.

“Well, I wanted to try and make something special today! I was in a kinda… ‘cooking mood’, y’know?” He looks up at you, holding a knife awkwardly as he unevenly slices cores cherries into disks.

“That doesn’t look like cooking to me,” you lightheartedly point out. “And your knifework could use some practice.”

“Yeah? So could your staff-work,” he teases back, dumping the segmented cherries into a large bowl. He grabs a handful of strawberries and moves them to his cutting board, raising an eyebrow as he looks at you, only half-focused on his task. “And what would you call it, huh? Baking? Broiling? Grilling? C’mon, bud-“

“Preparing,” you somewhat smugly interrupt. “I’d call it preparing a salad.”

He chuckles at your semi-confident tone before sliding you a cutting board and knife.

“If you’ve got time to sass me, then you’ve got time to help me, bud. Take two of those peaches from the sack over there and slice ‘em up.”

The fruit is soft and plump, fitting snugly in the palm of your hand. With two in tow, you return to the cutting board and slice them lengthways, splitting them in half and prying out the pits.

“Those are good peaches,” he explains unprompted. “Took me a while to get ‘em, actually. So I wanted to share with you.”

Sun Wukong is a good friend. He likes to dote on you when he gets the chance, and always works his hardest to keep you in good mood. He’s taught you a lot about martial arts, and never seems to get impatient with your progress, even when you find it nearly impossible to keep up with him.

Sun Wukong is a good friend.

So you trust him without hesitation when he snatches up a chunk of peach and lifts it to your lips- he shares his food with you all the time. This is nothing new for either of you.

The peach is soft all the way through, fuzzy pink skin unblemished by marks or spots. The white flesh is perfectly saccharine.

“It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” you say with a smile.

Your friend doesn’t answer. He’s too busy smiling. It’ll take you a while to figure out why, but there’s no need to worry.

You’ve got all the time in the world, now.

[astrids2th]

Mechanical hands - (drabble?)

Juliette Nichols x Fem!Reader

A/N: I'm experiencing a bit of a writer's block at the moment so I couldn't come up with anything too big for you guys, sorry. But I did manage something! This is purely self-gratification lmao, just a really short and sweet one.

Summary: “You work too hard.”

Warnings: Nothing! Just fluff <3.

Word count: 466

☆═━┈┈━═☆

The whirr of the old cooling unit hummed along like a lullaby in the background, broken only by the occasional sputter of sparks from a far-off corner panel. Tools lay scattered across the dampened floor like dropped coins, shimmering softly in the flickering lights of a broken ceiling lamp, which swayed with every thump of the machine which stood in the neighboring room. And at a cornered desk in the small room, sat you. Slumped over an open blueprint, your hand still clutching a grease smudged pencil, half of your face pressed to the paper. You were out cold. It seemed that exhaustion had finally won.

Juliette stood in the doorway, oil-stained hands on her hips as she eyed you, and a towel slung over her shoulder. She let out a low exhale and brushed a bead of sweat from her brow with the back of her glove. “Damn it…” She murmured. “Told you to take a break…”

Her boots creaked softly into the quiet of the room as she stepped across the metal floor, coming to a halt at your side. Carefully, almost reverently, she tugged off her blue jacket from around her waist, unfolded it and draped it over your shoulders. Her fingers hesitated at your temple, before brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear. Her movements were uncertain and tentative. Usually, she would never allow herself to be this gentle, it was unlike her. But the sight of your exhausted form, sagged over the table like a dropped sack of potatoes. It tugged at something within her. Even if she would never admit to it.

“You work too hard,” she whispered, a small smirk pulling at the corner of her lips as she reached down to slowly rake her fingers through your hair. “Almost worse than me…”

Your head lolled slightly into her hand, and Juliette froze in place. But she didn’t move. For a moment, she hesitated, lips parting as she was unsure of what to do with herself. The trusting tilt of your head, the soft sigh which left you at the comfort you’d seemingly found against her skin. It was unlike anything Juliette was otherwise used to with the life she led. Her opposite hand hovered just above your back. Close enough to feel the warmth you exuded, not quite close enough to touch.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed working like this,” she then added under her breath, voice barely audible. She then knelt down at your side, exhaling softly. “Stupid…”

She stayed like that for a little while, tilting her own head forward to rest it against your forehead. The blueprint fluttered gently with every quiet breath of the vents, and Juliette stroked your hair once more. “Come on. We’ve gotta get you in bed…”

[thelonelyshore-if]

1k Followers Drabble

I finally settled on how I wanted to celebrate 1k followers--by sharing a bit of fun ~extra content~ with you all! It isn't quite a traditional drabble, but I really enjoy what I've come up with.

Below the cut is a 'transcript' from Perri's radio show. The transcript is taken from the night MC washed up on shore, and surrounds some 'theories' citizens have of who this mysterious new stranger could be. Mostly the goal was to be silly, give a taste of what Perri's show is like, and show Perri and Beck's characters a bit more!

I hope you enjoy <3

THE LONELY SHORE

10/11/XXXX

-

LOVELESS:

Good evening, creatures of the night. This is your host, Perri Loveless. Sunday nights are typically reserved for local hauntings and ghost stories, but we have a breaking news story! Tonight, we’ll be discussing the story of the Drowned Stranger.

SOUND:

Waves lap against shore, THEME SONG plays before fading out, segue into…

–

LOVELESS: 

Welcome back. An incredible thing has happened, listeners. An almost unbelievable thing. Only a few hours ago, an unidentified individual was rushed into Easthaven Medical in potentially critical condition. 

We have on the line a witness who would like to remain anonymous. 

Hello–are you there?

WITNESS:

Ah–hello. Yes, I’m here.

LOVELESS:

We’re glad to have you, thank you for being willing to speak on your experience. Please–tell us about what you witnessed earlier tonight.

WITNESS:

Sure. So I was just about to leave the hospital when it happened. I, uh. Don’t need to tell you why I was there, do I?

LOVELESS:

Of course not. Please, if you’re comfortable, just tell us what you saw.

WITNESS:

Okay, good. So, I was standing there in the lobby, and I see a truck tearing into the lot like a bat out of hell. Seriously–it’s like they were firefighters trying to put out a house fire, right? Clearly something’s up, so I decided to stick around to watch.

LOVELESS:

Wow. It sounds like the situation was urgent.

WITNESS:

Seemed like it. So the truck stops so fast I was half sure they’d crash. Before I know it, the driver’s door flies open. You said I couldn’t tell you who it was?

LOVELESS:

We’d prefer to keep identities private until we know more about the story, yes. Thank you.

WITNESS:

Alright. So the, uh, driver gets out and immediately opens the back door. I’m standing there watching as they grab something out of the back seat.

LOVELESS:

Something?

WITNESS:

Someone. It was a person–it was a stranger. To be honest, the person looked dead. The driver scoops the stranger up like a sack of potatoes and pretty much runs up to the door. I’m just standing there with my mouth hangin’ open, but then I make myself useful and hold the door.

LOVELESS:

What can you tell me about the stranger?

WITNESS:

Not much. Like I said, they looked like the hospital wouldn’t do ‘em much good, if you know what I mean. But the freakiest thing was that they were dripping wet. Just, completely soaked.

A storm’s been rolling in all night, but it hadn’t hit yet. I don’t know where this person came from, but they were soaked to the bone and out cold.

LOVELESS:

Incredible. What happened next?

WITNESS:

I mean–they rushed the stranger into a room, so I didn’t really see much after that. Somebody parked the truck but I didn’t stick around to see who it was. The whole situation kind of gave me the creeps? So I just…left after that.

LOVELESS:

Sure, sure. Do you have any theories about where the stranger came from?

WITNESS:

Uh. They were pretty wet. The lake or the river, probably.

LOVELESS:

Hm. Interesting. Thank you again for your testimony!

Alright, listeners, what do you think? An unidentified individual was brought to the hospital, unconscious and, apparently, wet. What possibly could have happened? 

Give us a call at XXX-XXXX and we’ll get you on air! 

-

VOICE:

Seriously? What else could it be if not the lake? Or the river, I guess.

LOVELESS: 

Hush. I’m on air! If you want to share a theory–

VOICE:

Nah, you know I don’t. I’m just saying.

LOVELESS:

Then wait until the show’s done.

VOICE:

*LAUGHTER*

Fine–fine! You win. 

SOUND:

Brief instrumental plays, interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing.

-

LOVELESS:

You’re on air at The Lonely Shore! Hi, there, good evening!

CALLER 1:

It was aliens.

LOVELESS:

Oh, interesting–I wouldn’t be surprised if extraterrestrial life was somehow involved. Tell me more.

CALLER 1:

Reverse alien abduction. 

*LONG PAUSE*

LOVELESS:

Hello? Are you still there.

CALLER 1:

Mm-hmm.

LOVELESS:

Reverse alien abduction. Sure. Do you mean…instead of picking someone up, the aliens dropped someone off? Or more like–

CALLER 1:

Stranger is an alien. Wolf in sheep’s clothes. An alien with human skin, dumped out some kind of vat into our town. Gonna steal our secrets.

LOVELESS:

A vat–that would explain why the stranger was, uh. Damp.

CALLER 1:

Alien juice.

VOICE:

*LOUDER LAUGHTER*

*choked* Juice!

LOVELESS:

*hushed* If you can’t be polite–

VOICE:

Sorry, sorry.

CALLER 1:

Who’s in there with you? Can you trust ‘em? I thought this program was safe–

LOVELESS:

It is! I’ve just got an. Um. Station assistant here. I promise, we’re here to listen.

CALLER 1:

Really shoulda warned me you weren’t alone–wouldn’t have called you at all if I thought somebody else’d be listening.

LOVELESS:

Sir, this is a radio show?

SOUND:

Phone clicks, returning to instrumental. Music plays until–phone rings again.

-

LOVELESS:

Um–hello! You’re on The Lonely Shore. The…ah, the radio show. Thank you for calling!

VOICE:

Smooth

LOVELESS:

Would you be quiet?

CALLER 2:

Excuse me!?

LOVELESS:

Ah, not you, ma’am! Talking to my…dog. Won’t stop barking. Anyway, thank you again for calling to share your theory!

CALLER 2:

I think you should be ashamed of yourself.

LOVELESS:

…what?

CALLER 2:

Nice new face in town and you’re already spreading nasty rumors! People listen to the radio to hear news and some nice music at the end of a long day. Not this filth.

VOICE:

Oh f*** off.

LOVELESS:

Beck!

CALLER 2:

How dare you! Never in all my days have I been treated…all the ways to speak to a customer…my hard earned tax dollars don’t pay you to insult me! 

LOVELESS:

That’s not really how it…

CALLER 2:

I swear, I’ll end this program! I’m friends with very important people in city hall and when I’m through with–

SOUND:

Phone clicks, instrumental resumes.

-

LOVELESS:

*hushed* can you please not insult my callers.

BECK:

She was being a major–

LOVELESS:

Please.

BECK:

*sigh* I’m sorry. For real. I just don’t like people talking to you like–

LOVELESS:

I know, but I can handle much worse than getting scolded.

BECK:

You’re right.

SOUND:

Instrumental ends, cut off by the phone ringing.

-

LOVELESS:

Hello! You’re on the air with The Lonely Shore. We’re currently looking for theories about the Drowned Stranger.

CALLER 3:

I’ve got a theory.

LOVELESS:

Excellent, please share your thoughts.

CALLER 3:

I don’t think the stranger came from the lake. Not originally.

LOVELESS:

Where did they come from?

CALLER 3:

I’ve called to tell you this before, but I live right next to the graveyard. Somebody has been digging up graves and stealing body parts.

LOVELESS:

Oh, yes–I remember your call from a few weeks back.

CALLER 3:

I finally figured out what they needed the parts for. I think it was the Hermit.

LOVELESS:

That’s an…um, bold accusation. Usually they’re pretty reclusive.

CALLER 3:

You think I don’t know that? It’s the reason that they’ve been stealing body parts. I think the Hermit’s lonely–and they’ve built themself a grandchild.

LOVELESS:

Like…out of dead people? Like Frankenstein’s monster?

CALLER 3:

Just like that, yes! You understand. I think they finally managed to create life, and now their creation is in our town!

LOVELESS:

Do you think that the creation was. Ah. Grown in a vat, at all?

CALLER 3:

Like that fool said earlier? Of course not, aren’t you listening? The Hermit sewed a bunch of bits from our lost loved ones together to make an abomination.

LOVELESS:

You’re right, sorry. The witness just said that they were–

CALLER 3:

Wet? Yes, I was getting to that. I think the abomination escaped. You know the Hermit’s cabin’s right up against shore? I think the creature accidentally walked into the lake.

LOVELESS:

Hm.

CALLER 3:

And then when some good samaritans saw what they thought was someone drowning–

LOVELESS:

They swooped in and saved them?

CALLER 3:

Exactly!

LOVELESS:

That is quite the interesting theory! It would explain the grave robberies you’ve reported…

CALLER 3:

I wouldn’t be surprised if the Hermit had killed to add to the abomination, either. Maybe the Edwards girl didn’t get lost in the woods at all!

LOVELESS:

um.

CALLER 3:

We could have a killer in our midst.

LOVELESS:

You know, all theories are welcome here, but–

CALLER 3:

Why aren’t you listening? We could ALL be in danger!

LOVELESS:

Out of respect to her family–

CALLER 3:

Her family should know what really happened to her.

LOVELESS:

Okay. Well–thank you for calling! Listeners, we’re going to go to a quick commercial break.

SOUND:

Phone clicks, instrumental resumes and commercials begin. Unheard by the listeners…

-

BECK:

Jesus.

LOVELESS:

Yeah.

BECK:

I know you believe this stuff, but that…

LOVELESS:

It seemed plausible until she mentioned Kristy. That was just. Ah…

BECK:

Dark as hell?

LOVELESS:

Yeah. Thanks for keeping quiet, though. I’m sure you had plenty you wanted to say.

BECK:

I guess, but I was being a dick earlier. I know how much your show means to you.

LOVELESS:

Appreciate it. 

BECK:

You going to be good to keep going tonight? I’m sure your listeners wouldn’t mind one night off.

LOVELESS:

I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s weird. She was pretty much our age, you know? Makes you think.

BECK:

Ugh. Don’t dwell on that shit if you can help it. We’ve had lots of close calls and we’re still kicking, right?

LOVELESS:

You’re right. Thanks, Beck.

BECK:

Welcome, P. Maybe the next caller’s going to think the poor stranger was a bunch of frogs in a trench coat or something. That’d be fun.

LOVELESS:

*LAUGHTER* Yeah, maybe.

-

END TRANSCRIPT

[doledition]

RUNNING (II)

@deadfish-dol asked: I would like to request a shortfic of Bailey having a really, really shitty day 🙏

(or: what started off as a bailey centered drabble spawned into a three part fic focusing on bailey's Very Bad Horrible Day. takes place during Bailey's childhood in the orphanage, her first year paying off her debts. reader discretion is advised. trigger warnings for mentions of child abuse and domestic violence. updated daily.)

The soil of the garden was soft as Bailey dug. A crude, half formed hole stared back at her, just big enough to fit her bag. One last handful of dirt later, it was ready. The hole was strange and jagged, almost like a sketch with only the faintest of lines drawn on, but it was all the energy she had for. Besides, it was in the section of the garden farthest away from the kitchen window: no one would notice it behind the bushes or the willowy ferns. 

She filed through the sack, pulling out a wallet, a watch, and only one of the syringes before zipping it closed. Then, the sack went back to the earth, and the soil was packed on, and it was like nothing had been buried in the first place. Bailey made sure to shove the items into her pockets haphazardly, as though she were in a rush. 

The wallet first with the watch, and the syringe in the other pocket. Then she changed her mind, and placed the wallet with the syringe, and the watch by its lonesome. A third time, and the syringe went with the wallet and the watch all in the same pocket, and Bailey decided that was satisfactory enough.

Now, to get inside. The Orphanage was an old, pathetic structure, barely changed from when it was constructed in the Victorian era. There was no maintenance, outside of that one measly renovation where outlets were installed for the landline two years ago, and the radium green wallpaper was changed to a less offensive yellow. The Headmaster had only settled for those two changes, before his temper kicked in and he’d screamed their ears off with his anger. The next day, the construction workers had been chased off.

 Bailey had so been looking forward to indoor toilets. 

She took the route around the outhouse to the back door. Harder for anyone looking outside to spot her. She wound her way past tomatoes, zucchinis, potatoes rounded lumps in the earth. Brown stalks of some plant gathered in clumps behind the outhouse, swaying faintly in the  wind. The water well creaked, handle bumping up and down, up and down. 

Three paces from the door, gray and crooked, Bailey aimed to the left. High, tall stalks of green grass stood there, giggling softly. Next to the stalks lay a pile of wooden planks, three in total. She brushed the stalks aside to reveal a small, half shut window, hidden by the foliage from eyes that didn’t know what to look for. 

It was a tight fit. Bailey grabbed a plank from the ground and propped it underneath the glass, dirtied and half cracked, and pushed downwards. The opposite end of the wood, the part up against the bottom rail, went up in response, straining against its confines. She let out a tiny grunt of effort as her arms pushed down, sweat beading her brow. A moment later, her effort was rewarded with a rickety creak as the bottom window pane slid up. 

It was still a tight fit. But just enough that Bailey could squeeze in. She bodily strained against the harsh window sill as it scraped against her sides like a vise, before popping out with an oof. Normally, Bailey would have braced for the eventual fall, landing on her knees in a crouch like a cat and walking away after only a second. Unfortunately, the drugs were still dancing in Bailey’s veins, just enough to pull her off balance, and she clattered to the floor in a noisy clamor. 

“Ffff-” Bailey swallowed in her curse as she rolled on her back, eyes shut against the sudden battering of her body against the rock cold floor. Deep breath in, deep breath out. The curse escaped like a silent hiss of a gas valve. “Uck.” There, that was it, fuck. 

She lay on the ground for what may have been a minute, breathing in shakily as she caught her breath. One would have thought that, with the all-encompassing ache beginning to die down, it would have been easier for Bailey to collect herself. Yet all encompassing pain meant that the pain was everywhere, every part of you, so much it bled into the very facet of your existence. 

You could forget about the swimming blood of your body, the scream of your muscles. It was one with you, something you carried, something you were. When that pain began to ebb and flow, however, when it started to recede and retreat like waves at the beach, was when the real trouble began. There was pain, but in varying degrees, which played at varying times at varying measures and speeds and all that trite nonsense. There was always the possibility of more pain to fill you up. 

She’d have to drag herself upstairs to her room. Despite being in the teen ward officially, Bailey was housed in the kids wing. This was because, according to the Headmaster in a rare moment of civility, despite how much of a pain in the balls she was, Bailey had a way with the kids. She cared for them, helped rear them, watched them with a hawk's eye. She made them listen to her. The Headmaster had said that with a sneer in between drinks, and after one long swig of brandy said he could use that. 

Bailey hadn’t been sure if she’d wanted to laugh or cry or scream. Curse him out, slam the bottle of drink into her red bubbling face and run away as fast as she could from the Orphanage to the woods. Instead, she had simply stared at him with flexed fists and a blank face before walking away. 

Footsteps in the hallway, heavy and methodical and plodding. Bailey’s eyes shot open and she scrambled to her knees. The breath tightened in her lungs. No one else was up, no one else would dare to be up- they all knew the rules, the curfew, the switch- which meant…

Bailey stumbled to her legs. He was up. 

The Headmaster would do rounds of the Orphanage at night. He did them in rounds of three, starting from the isolated rooms in the Loft, then the kids wards, the teen ward, and finally the gardens. His footsteps would be heavy, something like what Bailey thought a giant’s step would be like. Whoever was sleeping would shake awake at those steps as he came down the hall, and lingered in the air long after he left. 

Bailey shook a bit. Her stomach gurgled, and she could swear she felt the wound at her side gasp for air beneath the layers of fabric. He’d have his switch, oh he always had his switch during his rounds, tracing the air behind him with its sharp embrace. He’d beat her bloody if he found her until up was down and down was up and Bailey would be dragged to the loft by the hair, to the small room in the back of the loft with the girl's flesh lodged in the wall and left to the witch’s laughter. 

There was a small stand next to the window, and on top of it a light purple vase. It was small and compact, something you would find at the markets for maybe 4, 5 quid tops. The only thing it held was a singular, dried flower, half-dead. Bailey didn’t know the type. 

The footsteps continued, the same slow, slow method, growing heavier as they approached the room. She had two minutes. Bailey grabbed the vase and threw the flower out the window before ducking behind the doorway. 

She could be rid of him. One knock to the head- he was coming this way anyways- one knock to the head and he’d be dead- no more debts no more loft no more yelling no more curfew no more cackling in the night no more-

The footsteps stopped outside the doorway. She had her chance. Bailey swung out from behind the door frame and aimed at his head. 

The figure dodged, a sharp, rattling gasp shocking the quiet of the night. Bailey knew her mistake instantly. She directed the momentum of her swing down to the floor, and nearly fell along with the suddenness of it. The vase met the carpet with a soft ting, and Bailey wobbled down to the ground, a grateful sigh escaping her lips as she lifted her head up to meet Eden’s wide eyed gaze. 

Eden was usually a stoic, mellow type, so it was strange to see her eyebrows raised to her forehead, bushy caterpillars arched against the expanse of frackled, tanned skin. Her mouth had dropped into a perfect o, a cigarette perched precariously between her gaping lips. Eden’s gray eyes reminded Bailey of an owl, like the ones which flocked to the tree outside Bailey’s window and stared into her room for hours on end. They were usually squinted, narrow, as though she’d rather see as little as possible. Now, they were wide open, and Bailey could catch little pricks of brown scattered in the gray like floating stains of ink. 

“What the fuck,” Eden began, voice low and controlled, “is wrong with you?” She had quickly regained her composure- perhaps spurred by Bailey’s listless staring- and her face had smoothed back over to its usual serene, statue-like quality. The cigarette was plucked back into her pants pockets as Eden’s gaze solidified on Bailey’s figure with some muddled emotion, a weird mix between anger and confusion. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Bailey croaked. It came out louder than it should’ve, a flash in the night, and she all but crawled into the ground as Eden whipped her head from side to side. This night was going just great. 

A door opened. Eden turned to the direction of the noise and crouched down low, fists out, as Bailey scrambled backwards, deeper into the room. Eden was ready to rumble, same as always, and the girl's large, muscular figure would serve well in hiding Bailey. They’d done it before- this was just the normal routine.  

The footsteps padded their way, and a second later- “Clarisse? What’re you doing up?” Eden asked, and her posture relaxed. A small voice answered back. Not small as in a child, but small as in quiet, hunching over, scared and shy and weak. 

“I heard a noise.” The voice, now identified as Clarisse, whispered. From her hiding place, Bailey saw Eden’s shoulders move up and down in a shrug. 

“Just me.” 

“What’re you doing up?” 

“Felt like smoking. Just one, don’t worry, I’m not stinking up the drawing room.” A rustling, the  shuffling of a cardboard box. “Want one?” 

Bailey almost snickered. Clarisse, with her short blonde hair the color of hay, her wrinkled nose and downward eyes and sunday mass clothes, her love of Virgo, smoking? Now that was a funny image. If Clarisse smoked even once, Bailey was convinced she'd die of the shame.  

“Ugh.” Clarisse sounded like she was gagging. “Those things are poison. Headmaster doesn’t even let us smoke- if he finds those on you…” The silent implication floated in her words. Bailey ground her teeth. She thought of those locked rooms up in the Loft, how they got so cold in winter they started to burn, and hated. 

“He hasn’t found me out yet.” Eden replied. She didn’t sound shaken up. When had Eden ever been shaken up, even once in her life? Bailey thought back enviously. Eden could sit through canings or lectures or sitting in the woods for hours on end, arms crossed and legs crouched, with nary even a grimace marking her face.

Once, the two of them had found a dead fox in the garden. It’s stomach had been swollen to the size of a golf ball and pulsed, breathing, up and down like a lung. Worms dotted in between its unseeing eye sockets, the blacks drifting amidst that horrible expanse. A pool of something covered the fox, and it smelled thick and sweet and syrupy, like molasses. Bailey had started crying ugly, fat tears, even when she said she was too old to cry, and Eden had only gagged before calmly walking off to find a caretaker. 

“Gonna rat me out? Thought better of you Clarisse.” Eden continued, and what sounded like scoffing came from the other girl before she turned on her heel. “I’ll be quick, don’t worry.” 

“Good.” Clarisse said, and sounded as though she were ready to leave, head back to her room in her turquoise blue bed and sleep like a fat cat until sunrise. Then, the floor creaked as she turned back. 

“Do you know where Bailey is?” This question came out nervous, a certain shake accompanying the end of each syllable. Eden stiffened from her question. Bailey squinted and slowly crept forward. 

“Sleeping. Where else would she be?” Eden’s voice indicated nothing out of the ordinary. It was a steady, even tempo, yet there was a rush to her words. Eden’s voice always rushed out just a tad bit quicker when she was lying. No one except Bailey caught that, of course. 

“You know she isn’t sleeping.” Clarisse responded. Her voice had gone so quiet Bailey had to strain to hear her. Now, Clarisse was in sight, her outline stark against the utter inky blackness of the hallway behind her. Her head was shifted down to the ground, and her eyes peered back at Eden coquettishly. Bailey sneered. Slut. 

“You’re her best friend, Eden. I-I’m just worried about her, the streets aren’t safe at night. You know she gets into trouble…if you tell me, I promise I won’t-” 

Clarisse’s eyes met Baileys. Bailey had crawled to rest against Eden’s thigh, a sharp, too wide grin splitting her face. She rubbed her face against Eden’s pants- cotton, a soft, worn through cotton- and purred softly like a cat. Clarisse screamed. 

Eden slammed her hand over the blonde girl’s mouth, and Clarisse struggled as the taller girl frantically shushed her, eyes focused on the Loft stairway. Bailey’s smile spoke of cockiness, petty schoolyard fights and shit eating joy. 

After a few moments, Clarisse calmed down, enough for Eden to slowly unwind her hand from the blonde’s gasping mouth. The three of them simply breathed in the silence, Clarisse’s eyes flicking to Eden’s who flicked to Bailey’s who flicked to Clarisse who flicked to Eden’s again. Then, Eden whispered, obvious annoyance tracing her words.

“Go back to bed Clarisse. I’ll get Bailey back to her room. She’s just…” Silence. Eden gazed at Bailey appraisingly. Bailey felt her limbs teeter slowly, the grin on her face wobbling in place. It began to melt off like butter, soft and warm, mixing in with the purple carpet below. She sprawled on the ground and kicked her legs out, a strange giddiness singing in her limbs. 

“Drunk.” Eden decided on with a finality. “She’s just drunk.” As if that was even a close approximation to the pure wealth of sensations sounding in Bailey’s body. The pain had become a figment of her imagination, now, and a strange sense of euphoria washed her anew. She remembered standing on the edge of the cliff, the one that overlooked the beach, and knowing if she tried she could fly. Bailey could fly, she would fly, she was flying. 

She climbed to her knees. Then, swung her arms up, up, up, like a gymnast, watching them float and sway in the air before bending them swiftly in and back out. Her elbow joints cracked and a warm tingling spread inside her. Almost like syrup on toast. 

Clarisse nodded. Her face had gone a strange shade of red- from all the screaming, probably- and faint tears gathered in her eyes. “She stinks.” Clarisse said, smacking a hand over her nostrils. Eden nodded and began to push her slowly towards the hallway to her room. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean up after her. Listen, Clarisse, she’s just drunk, don’t give too much thought to her.” Eden said, trying to drag an adamant Clarisse behind her. Clarrisse, for her part, had dug her feet into the ground, refusing to budge. She was positively aching to give her a lecture Bailey knew, her nun instincts demanded it. How else was she to lord over them all? 

Bailey watched the two struggle with a calm in her eyes, soaking into her blood. She was on top of a mountaintop, a precipice. All below her lay the mortal world, mottled in shades of gold and purple and faint hands. That was for fools, lesser disciples, none such as her, knowledgeable and wise and- 

Then, Bailey pulled her foot, and that age old pain crashed down on her. She fell off the mountaintop, rolled down bushes and bracken and twisting, yawning chasms, filled with spiked gouges that bit at her with fury. She was being stabbed, twisted, flogged, and she thought  she  would die. 

Bailey moaned and staggered to the ground. Tears filled her eyes, soft and pleading, and the world seemed so, so much fuzzier in her muddled vision. She heard footsteps gallop towards her, and all of  a sudden she was hoisted into the air, into the familiar warmth of Eden. 

Read the rest of the Run here: Running (I), Running (III)

[garbinge]

Charming Life (6/?)

Jax Teller & Chibs Telford & Teller!SisterOC Joanne ‘Jo’ Teller 30 Day Fic Challenge (12/30)

Chapter Index 

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: If I'm watching SOA, I'm thinking about Joanne Teller, and I'm always watching SOA lol.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Angst, arguments, siblings fighting.

Charming Life Taglist: @drabbles-mc​ @livingdeadblondequeen​ @justreblogginfics @chloe-skywalker 

Jo walked into the hospital with the chicken parm plate wrapped in tin foil and the jameson juice box tucked secretly behind her jacket. Her eyes were scanning for the sign that would lead her to the critical unit. After a few minutes and talking to a couple nurses, she found the exact room she was looking for.

“Up for company?” She peaked in and saw Chibs with his eyes closed and head wrapped with gauze. It was still a rough site for her to see, the idea of Chibs being attacked, the club being a target, she grew up with a lot of these guys being around, whether they knew her dad or not, they were family to her.

“He-hey.” His voice was raspy, he was still very much healing from his head wound, but he straightened him self up a bit.

“Don’t get up, stay relaxed.” Jo quickly paced over and dropped the plate of food on the rolling table and moved her free arm to steady him.

“I’m al’rite.” He did his best to brush her off. “What do I owe the pleasure, darlin’?” He looked up at Jo, worried she came with bad news.

“What can I say, I’m Gemma’s daughter. Just wanted to come by and check in. Brought you homemade food, because I know the shit they’re feeding you in here is well, shit.” She laughed moving the table closer to show the warm plate of food. “Made it this afternoon. S’fresh.”

“Ahhh.” He smiled eagerly and began looking for utensils.

“Here.” She turned to grab a set from the old rolling cart likely from his breakfast and placed them on the one he was currently using and followed it by dropping the jameson juice box next to it. “You hide this from the staff. Last thing I need is Tara getting in trouble for that. It’s not even two shots, so it shouldn’t be a big deal with,” she pointed to his head and then sighed. “How are you feeling?”

“Way better now, sweetheart.” He wasn’t even looking at Jo when he said it, just digging into the food and immediately going for the jameson.

She laughed but it wasn’t the usual Jo Teller laugh that everyone in the club knew, so he looked up. “I think I need to ask you, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Just, a lot going on.” A sigh left her mouth and she plopped down at the foot of his bed.

“Heard about that piece of shite, Micky being back, we’ve got your back, you don’t need to spend another minute worrying about that.” Jo knew his words were genuine but it was hard to believe when everything around her felt like it was crumbling, but she wasn’t going to talk to Chibs about that.

“Thanks.” Her hand squeezed his leg. “So when are they bustin’ you outta here?”

“Not sure, hopefully soon, but m’still on the critical list.”

Before their conversation could continue, the door was opening and Jax and Half-Sack were appearing. The tension was quick to fill the room, maybe more on Jo’s side than Jax’s.

“What’re you doing here?” Jax frowned, confused.

“What? I can’t check in?” She barked back, standing up quickly.

“What’s up with you?” Jax frowned again, a smirk peaking at his lips which made Jo want to smack it off of him.

She looked over to the corner by the door and nodded to it. Jax hesitated but then followed her and pointed to Chibs as a way to say hi as well as tell the prospect to keep him company.

“You alright?” Jax walked over even more confused than when he first walked in.

“No, I’m not.” Her voice was stern and pointed. “Why the fuck are you keeping secrets?”

That opened up a number of things that came rushing to Jax’s head. Which one of them Jo was talking about wouldn’t have been able to be figured out in a matter of seconds with the way all the possibilities flashed in his mind so instead he took the route that would likely make her more angry.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play fucking coy with me, Jackson.” Full name, she was pissed. “It’s my birth right just as much as yours to have that book, to at least fucking read it. But you’ve kept it for God knows how long.”

The manuscript. Jax didn’t know if he was relieved or more stress that was the secret she was referring to.

“Joanne.” He used her full first name now, but it was said sincerely, almost begging for understanding.

“Don’t hit me with that puppy dog eye bullshit, might work on mom, but it defintely won’t work on me.”

“I’ve just been trying to figure out some shit, alright?” Now he got back to his bitter voice.

“My name is on that dedication page, too.”

“I’ve just needed a minute to sift through it all.” He argued again.

“I feel like so much makes sense to me now.” Her voice settled now as she spot, looking quickly over Jax’s shoulder to see Kip and Chibs talking clearly preoccupied and not at all curious to the Teller’s conversation at all. “Like everything I saw on his face was written in words.”

“You were older, you saw more of it than I did.” Jax shrugged. “It’s all new to me. Feel like I actually know him now.”

“The shit with the club, you’re trying to push it in that direction, what Dad wanted.” It was more of a statement than anything else. “Why you’re pushing up on Clay.”

Jax looked at her wondering where she was getting this info.

“You two had a fit at dinner, it’s not subtle.” Jo raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t know, Jo. I look at the club where it is now, where I am now and then I just see this vision dad had, for the club, for life, and I remember why I wanted this leather and it connects with that vision JT had so well. His ideas, his views..”

“Real hippie shit.” Jo laughed thinking back to some of the ideologies she read.

“Exactly. Outlaw life but so obtainable.” Jax nodded.

“He gets angry in it later on. Something shifted Jax.” Jo was now just talking with him like normal.

“Tara said the same thing.” Jax shook his head, also just talking not realizing that sentence was going to shift everything.

“Tara?” Jo questioned with a frown. “She read it? Are you fucking kidding me?” Jo pushed Jax now not even letting him explain.

“Whoa.” Jax lifted his hands up in innocence, and now the other two patch’s eyes were on the both of them.

“Go fuck yourself Jax. 'Wrapping your head around it' my ass.” She was staring at him almost like the next words out of his mouth were going to make the decision of her next move for her.

“I needed someone to talk to about it, Tara was catching on to shit happening. I needed her to see the full picture.” He whispered it, really only so Jo could hear.

“You can talk to ME about it, Jax. Your fucking sister, the person whose name is on the fucking book. I deserved to know it even existed. I deserved to read it. He was my dad too! Just because you wear the kutte, grew the hair you get to have it all to yourself, but you don’t!”

“He was my dad too?” Jax laughed almost mocking her. “I think I should be the one saying that to you. Dad spent every free moment with you, you have memories of the asshole, so forgive me for taking this one thing.”

“Don’t give me the boo-hoo daddy didn’t love me song, like you didn’t rub Gemma’s favoritsm of you in my face every fucking day.”

“I had to, it was the only thing I had.” Jax was yelling now and the two other members were just staring not knowing what to say or do since this clearly felt like a family matter.

“What are you even saying?!” She ran a hand through her hair. “When Dad left, when Thomas died, I was by your side every fucking day. I took you to school while Mom couldn’t even get out of bed, I fixed those dirt bikes with you and Opie because you needed someone with a license to take you to get the parts, I helped you get ready for Dad’s funeral because Mom was already halfway down the aisle with Clay, I was fucking there, Jax, don’t ever say I wasn’t there for you.” She was hurt by the statement he said, he might not have exactly said that she wasn’t there for him, but the insinuation was enough.

“You weren’t. And you know it. When Dad died, you could have told me, told me about the demons. What you saw. But you didn’t.” His face was red.

It was that moment that Jo looked at Jax and almost didn’t recognize him. He didn’t look like her younger brother anymore, he looked older, like his face had given in to the fight of aging. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he wasn’t a kid anymore, he had a life, a family, but Jo knew it was deeper than that. It wasn’t just that he looked older, more exhausted, it was that he looked JT. And not the JT that’d sit at the table and eat family dinner, or taught the kids how to ride bikes, he looked like the JT who’d come home from a day at the club and TM to walk right past both kids at the table and go straight to bed, the JT who’d spend weeks across seas in Belfast, and come home disheveled and stressed without so much as a nod in anyones direction. The JT who was losing himself.

Jo was in shock by what Jax had said and also from just taking him in. “You were a kid, I was protecting you.” Now she shook her head in disbelief trying to grasp at any morsel of Jax Teller, her younger brother.

“Well I guess that’s what I was doing now. Protecting you. From club business. You’re just a member’s sister, you’re not even an ol’ lady.” Those last words were pointed, and they dug deep, he knew they would.

“That’s low.” She whispered and awkwardly stared at the two to her left and then back at her brother. “Go fuck yourself, Jax.” She turned around quickly and left the room without another word.

[blackjackkent]

All right - resuming Rakha's playthrough, but kicking it off with a non-Rakha drabble this time. Because I've realized that there's one distinct benefit of the fact that Rakha is allying with the Emperor - it allows me to give a very specific and legitimate reason why Lae'zel might let her guard down enough to be captured by Orin. >:)

-----

Lae'zel growls, pressing the edge of her blade fiercely into the surface of the whetstone. Restless agitation fills her, frustration and - yes, anger too, much as she hates to admit it. The party's encounter with Raphael in Sharess's Caress plays over and over in her mind. 

The devil offered them a way forward, a path to rescuing Prince Orpheus - the Orphic Hammer. In trade, he asks for the Crown of Karsus, the device that keeps the ghaik elder brain in check. A reasonable trade, Lae'zel thinks… but Rakha rejected it.

The anger flares in her abruptly. How dare she? Rakha knows how important Orpheus is to her - to all of the githyanki people! And yet she rejected this path forward, turned away from Raphael and all that he offered. 

After all I have done for her! Lae'zel seethes, her young mind afire with the unfairness of it. Has she not stood watch at Rakha's bedside in the darkest hours of the night? Bared her sword on Rakha's behalf against a thousand enemies? Loved Rakha without reward or recompense in spite of the beast that lives in her? 

And in return, she is tossed aside while Rakha's affections stay with Wyll, and Minthara, and the cursed ghaik that lives within the Astral Prism.

It isn't fair. And it is not right. And there is no other choice - she will do what must be done herself, if Rakha will not.

No one else in camp is watching. Most are already asleep for the night. Rakha is, as always, consumed with her own torments. There will not be a better time, and the decision is made; she cannot allow herself to waste time agonizing over it.

She clips the sword to her back, hefts her pack over one shoulder, slips out the edge of the camp through the rotted buildings beyond. She does not know where she will go, how she will begin to find the House of Hope on her own - but honor demands that she must try, no matter how much it rips out her heart to leave Rakha's company.

A voice greets her out of the dark.

"Lae'zel of K'liir. T'lak'ma Ghir - my sister."

Lae'zel's eyes widen. "Jhe'stil Kithrak," she says respectfully. "I did not know you had come--"

"Quickly, child," he says, ignoring her words completely. "There is no time. We must find the House, we must seek the Hammer, for certainly your companion will not."

"Yes. Yes!" Relief floods Lae'zel, that she will not face this task alone after all. "I am at your service. Say where my blade will strike."

"Come--" he repeats urgently. With a gesture he draws her forward, into the shadows, out of view of the camp. "Come away... and the wheels shall be put into motion."

Something in his voice shifts as he speaks the final words. As she turns to move past him, to fall into step, his hand closes on her shoulder, and his grip is like sudden iron. She grunts involuntarily with pain. "What--"

"Good. Good. Such easy prey in the end," he murmurs - and as he speaks now, his voice shifts upward in pitch, twisting, turning, and she can feel the way his fingers lengthen against her back.

She realizes what is happening only a half-second too late; she starts to turn and then a blow catches her at the base of her neck and her whole body goes numb. Slowly, majestically, like a great tree felled from its base, she pitches over and lands facedown in the dew-damp grass.

She hears Orin's maniacal giggle from somewhere above her, and the trotting footsteps of two or three others circling around her. More long-fingered hands grasp at her shoulders and begin to drag her through the mud like a sack of meat.

"Such a tender morsel," Orin purrs from behind her. "Its broken heart blinded it... but now it shall see, and see, and scream, and SCREAM... yes, we shall play an excellent game, little flesh-bit, but all in good time. First, I have need of your face..."

Lae'zel tries to scream, to cry out, to warn the others before she is dragged out of range-- but her tongue is frozen in her mouth. The bitter realization runs like ice through her. I am a fool, she thinks, rage flooding her immobilized body. Duped like a child, all my faith and duty used against me.

And Rakha will pay for it. She believed what she was doing was right, but the fact remains - blinded with anger, she turned away from her companions with disloyalty in her heart, and now Rakha will pay the price. Perhaps, indeed, Rakha will die and believe that it was Lae'zel who struck the blow.

No. No. NO NO NO NO NO NO--

She is almost grateful when one of the doppelgangers strikes another blow and unconsciousness swallows her.

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Black Horse

Reviving an old drabble for @march-of-the-noldor. You can also read it on Ao3 together with two other drabbles, united by a common theme.

Warnings: cannibalism (the common theme)

They said it had started with the groups in the back where the weak and wounded straggled. Then it had spread forward until near half of the host knew how elven flesh tasted. Disgusted, troubled and hungry, Fingon reported the news to his father.

Fingolfin looked at the gaunt, fleshless face of his firstborn child and imagined Fëanor's sons feasting on the rich game of Middle-earth.

“I will investigate,” he said. “Look after your brother.”

He returned later, carrying sacks of meat.

“They have only found a new sort of seal,” he said. “Try it.”

Fingon did without questioning him.