Number

Pairing: Filip ‘Chibs’ Telford x f!Reader (soon will become an ‘x fem!OC’ during the second chapter)

Word Count: 897

Warnings: I think it’s just foul language

Summary: Getting a new neighbor is always fun or even interesting. But an annoyingly cute biker who makes too much noise, isn’t.

Note: I did totally get this from a movie or show i saw on my tt fyp soooo…i don’t own the plot, nor do i own the Sons or the SOA plot (my boy Kurt Sutter does) but i just own my reader inserts kids as characters. If you find the name or know the name of whatever movie or show this is (if you recognize the dialogue), pls comment it so i can put it in here.

Masterlist

Part 1 of the Unexpected Treasure series !

It was hard to get your little one to bed. Recently she’s being crying all night long and when she sleeps, she only sleep for two hours and then wakes up. Your oldest ones weren’t bad at all. So easy even.

Tonight was a rough night. You had already done three laps around the back yard, two around the kitchen and living room, and 6 of her bedroom. Her eyes finally started to close as you were slowly and silently rocking her in the rocking chair in her room.

Laying her in the crib slowly, carefully calculating any moves to not wake her up, you stood up and closed the door, leaving a crack so you could hear her from next door.

You had applied moisturizer to your fresh and healing tattoo before hearing the an odiously loud rumbling of bikes outside the door.

Groaning loudly you quickly made your way outside the front door before crossing your lawn over to the neighbors. You saw four men outside and just one bike while they stood in the garage. The rumbling was loud that you signaling them to keep it down wasn’t heard.

“Hey!” You stood closely behind the two with their backs faced to you, and yelled in their ears so they could hear. They turned around quickly and looked upset at the loudness of your voice.

“What gives, lady?!” One with crazy messy curly black hair turned around, finger lodged in his ear.

“Bloody hell, woman.” The other one who seemed to have facial scars turned around. The rumbling of the bike stopped immediately after the two stopped yelling at you. A man with long blonde hair and another man with long brown hair looked at you.

“Why are you guys doing making so much goddamn noise!?” You were visibly upset that these men dragged you out of your house at 10pm to rev stupid bike engines.

“Introducing ourselves to the neighbors, darlin— his neighbors.” The blonde one pointed towards the man with the crazy scars. You knew someone was moving in but the bikes weren’t really a problem when they were leaving and coming back so little.

“Well, I’m the neighbors, and we’re introduced, so if you wouldn’t mind, could you please shut the fuck up.” You looked at all four then before turning around and walking back across your lawn. You made it to the door before the one with the accent started talking to you.

“Wait, hold on. Let’s start over okay? My names Filip, what yours?” He had long hair, salt and pepper colors and the leather and kutte were actually very attractive on this man. But you didn’t know him, and men weren’t exactly your specialty considering you have three kids who’s dads left them.

“That’s cool. Just think of me as the person next door who likes it quiet.”

“Aye, but come on, love. Don’t be like that. We live next door to eachother and I feel bad. I feel terrible. I’m sorry. Will ya accept my apology?

“I don’t need your apology, I just need the quiet.” You then turned to go up the 3 steps to your porch before he started talking once again.

“Why don’t I take ya out to dinner to apologize for my rudeness? You give me yer’ number and I already have your address. I’ll call you up like a proper lad, and ask ya out.”

You giggled, “You want my number?” You smiled as you looked at him, and back at the other three men who seemed to resume talking but kept looking over to listen. Your sarcasm evident to them as the snickered amongst eachother.

“I do. I do want your number.” He nodded as he fixed his hair, his eyes never leaving yours once.

“Which number do you want? Filip?” You knew his name, you just didn’t have the capacity to care about or spare his feelings considering you had three children to get inside to and a early shift at the hospital to get some of the very little sleep for.

“Filip, now I like the way you say that, darlin.” He huffed as he smirked while he looked at you and then back to his friends before looking to you again. “How many numbers do ya have?”

“Oh I have plenty, darlin,” you mocked his endearment for you. “I have numbers falling out my ears. For instance, nine.”

“Nine?”

“Yeah, that’s how many months my baby girl is.”

“You got a little girl?” He looked intrigued and surprised in your statement. The guilt for being too loud already getting to his conscience.

“Yeah. Sexy huh? And how about this? Four is how old my oldest boy is. Two is how old my other son is. Two is the amount of time i’ve been married and divorced. Twenty is the amount of money I have left in my bank account. 850-3943 is my phone number, and im guessing zero is the amount of times your going to call it.”

“That impresses me, and your wrong about the zero thing, sweetheart.” He spoke as you walked inside and shut the door. He turned around and walked back to the boys as she looked back at your house, the living room light being shut off at the same time.

“Damn, she was pissed.” The man with long hair spoke, adjusting his beanie.

“Yeah, Chibs. Opies right, you gotta stop moving and pissin off your neighbors. This has happened like four times already.”

“Oi, shut up, Tiggy.”

“You got her number though, right?” The blonde asked, his eyebrows wiggling in a mockingly manner.

“Aye, Jackie boy.”

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IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST FOR THIS FIC I CAN MOST DEFINITELY START ONE!!

Taglist:

Hey, heads up! future chapters will be longer, but i made this one short bc i didn’t have any idea on how to make further scenarios where they interacted more.

Beth Micaleff & Tig Trager

@witchthewriter I still absolutely love the idea of shipping you with Tig Trager. He’s a hopeless romantic yet incredibly dangerous at the same time. His loyalty to the club shocks many, but it shocks more as he’s even more loyal to you.

Head-canons

He awaits you, sitting on his bike, taking a drag of his Marlboro , watching you through the big windows of the one bookstore in Charming. He admires you as you sift through many different novels. He grins as he ponders on what selection you’ll choose from this time. Will it be witchcraft? Recipes on herbs? Or another hopeless love story? Either way, he’s always curious to see what you come back with.

“Witchcraft again I see? Gunna make me a protection spell for when I hit the road tomorrow, baby? … yeah you are” he winks with a cheeky grin.

At the compound, the two of you are immersed in your own world. Straddling Tig on his Harley, this shared moment is one he never wants ending. Claiming you on his ride, in front of the club, but he doesn’t see his brothers around in the background- he only sees you, getting lost in your mesmerizing blue eyes, those that almost match his.

“God, it’s like you were made for me.. tsk no, You deserve so much better.. but I’m selfish doll, you’re mine anyhow”

After many lonley nights, apart from Tig as he’s often away on buisness excursions he comes home with a special gift. Your own engraved pistol.

“I know you don’t like weapons, but it gives this old man a peace of mind when I’m not here to protect you”

He teaches you how to use your very first firearm to the absolute point that you become so in tune with it, it’s dangerous to others that dare to threat you. Yes, you know how to use this pistol, and have it near by, but you’ll always carry your dagger. Your true skills lie within holding a blade.

You work as a bartender, but only at the clubhouse. It’s the only way Tig would let you serve drinks. He loved your passion for handling liquor and your fiery banter with biker men, but he was adamant that it must be within the clubhouse. You hate being told what to do, but you hate seeing him in fear every time he leaves, clouded with worry about anything happening to you. You’re willing to compromise.

“I need you in a safe place for this kind of gig doll, I can’t watch you at other bars when I’m away, neither can the prospects. It’s gotta be the clubhouse. Plus, there’s nothing better than getting served beer by my babygirl”

Beth and Tig, a power couple. Emitting loyalty, strength and love. The entire club knows where they stand, not to get in between them as it would become fatal. Even the queen herself, Gemma is in love with the love they share. She recognizes the sacrifices Beth makes for Tig, and that she’s his number one priority. She respects Beth quickly from the get go, as many of the girls did. Tara and Lyla often visit the home Beth and Tig share, as it’s a sanctuary or it feels that way at least. They enjoy her straight shooter personality, no games or bullshit. Beth truly fits right in this little world of Charming.

Haunted - Juice Ortiz x Reader One Shot

Inspired by I Miss You, I'm Sorry by Gracie Abrams

A/N: Ok first of all. This takes place after Juice's death in SOA cannon. I am very sorry about this lol. I won't have time to get a chapter of Marked for Carnage out this week but I wanted to get something out. And this is pretty damn sad if I do say so myself. I've been hearing the song I Miss You, I'm Sorry by Gracie Abrams a lot and it just reminds me of Juice so much. So I thought of this. Warnings are below. Please read those and read ahead with caution. I also think I want to write more oneshots when I can and I'm happy to write for other SOA and Mayans characters too, so feel free to request if you would like! As always 18+ only please.

Warnings: death, grief, sadness, suicide, suicide attempts, kissing, proposal, general fluff, angst, sickness, vomiting (if I have missed anything please let me know).

Word Count: 1560 words

You groaned, opening your heavy eyelids, your skin stiff and feeling taught from where your tears had dried. You were laying on your side on the carpeted floor of your bedroom. Taking a few moments, you glanced around the room, your mind quiet for the first time in over 12 hours. And then it hit you. And that gaping chasm where your heart was supposed to be broke open again. Juice was gone. The authorities had paid you a visit last night to let you know that he had been taken from you. Left to bleed out on the floor in gen-pop. Taking any life left in you with him. You remembered laying on your bed last night. Any kind of fight was long gone, having spent most of it screaming and kneeling in your doorway whilst the two officers awkwardly tried to offer any sort of comfort. But no, you would never know comfort again. You had buried your face in Juice's pillow, inhaling his scent, wanting it to suffocate you and take you to wherever he was now. And suddenly it had become overwhelming, the flood of memories tied to this bed.

You laid on your side, Juice wrapped in your arms. Your head was against his back, your arms around his waist. His breathing was shallow, stuttering. He kept raising a hand to his neck, and you knew he was running his fingers over the ligature mark on his neck. The distinct chain pattern, a reminder of his failure that he couldn’t even do this right. Your heart was in your throat as you reached over and grabbed his wrist. "Baby, stop," you pulled his hand over to you, pressing your lips against his knuckles. He swallowed and rolled over to face you. Slowly he pulled his gaze up to meet yours and your heart shattered all over again. Gone was the sweet, silly, innocent man you had fallen in love with. Before you sat a broken, desperate and defeated human. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Are you angry with me?" he asked, his voice low and croaky. You clasped his cheek in your hand, and when he opened his eyes they were glimmering with tears. "I'm angry baby," you admitted. He nodded, and a tear slipped down his cheek onto the pillow. "But not with you," you whispered. His brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm angry that I didn’t see the signs. That I let you get to this point. I wasn't here for you like you needed me to be," your throat felt full, tears beginning to rim your own eyes. "Please don’t leave me baby," you whimpered, pressing your forehead to his. Juice shook his head, rubbing his nose against yours like you had done a thousand times over in your need to be as close to him as possible. "I'm not going anywhere baby. You got me," he grasped your hand and held it over his heart. "Forever."

Groaning you sat up, running a hand over your face. You looked at the clock. It was nearly 11am. Nearing on 24 hours since Juice had left this realm for another. You hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye before he had been arrested. You had managed to visit him a few times while he was staying with Wendy, making your plans to go south together and be free from the club. Start over. But that had all changed after the Mayans had handed him over. Making your way to the kitchen, you felt your stomach growl. The idea of eating made you want to hurl but you knew you should try to keep something down. You filled a glass with water and grabbed some crackers from the pantry. They were old and probably stale as fuck but you figured if you could keep something bland down that wouldn't be a bad thing. You took a bite out of one and turned, resting your back against the sink. Your eyes trailed over to the stovetop, and it was almost like you could feel him with you.

"What is that you're humming, hmm?" you asked, walking up to where Juice stood at the stove, stirring the sauce for the pasta you were having for dinner. You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head between his shoulder blades. He began to rock back and forth and continued his humming, making you laugh. "What is into you, today?" you asked. He spun around, cradling your face and planting a kiss on your lips that had your toes curling in your shoes. "I don’t know what's gotten into me," he wiggled his brows. "But I know what will be in you later." You screwed your face up and slapped him on the chest lightly. "Very nice," you rolled your eyes at him, making him laugh. "Seriously," you said. "You're so happy today, what gives?" Juice grasped your waist and began rocking you back and forth again. You drew your arms up to rest around his neck. "I'm just excited for our weekend away," he shrugged, leaning down to press gentle kisses against your neck. "Mmm," you closed your eyes. "No club shit, no work shit," you sighed, smiling contentedly. "Yup," he pulled back, tightening his hold on your hips. "Just you, me. No clothes and room service." You opened your mouth in shock, trying to step out of his hold. "Mr Ortiz, we need to get you neutered!" Juice laughed, pulling you to him. He kissed you again, sending your blood thundering through your body, his tongue pushing into your mouth, the sauce on the stove completely forgotten about. Little did you know that the weekend included you, Juice, no clothes, room service, and the ring he had stored in his underwear drawer.

You looked down at the ring on your finger now. Your stomach rolled and suddenly the one cracker and the glass of water were ready to make an appearance. Sprinting to the bathroom, you only just made it to the toilet before you were on your knees, the small amount of food and liquid coming up, followed by the bitter taste of bile. And all of a sudden the tears were back, unleashed in an unstoppable wave as you heaved and sobbed over the toilet bowl. You didn’t know how long you kneeled there, gripping the toilet seat as the grief suffocated and burned you from the inside out simultaneously. Eventually the churning subsided and you moved to sit against the wall, hiccupping whilst the tears continued to spill. You shut the lid of the toilet, and again, it was like Juice was right in front of you.

You tapped your foot in annoyance when Juice winced yet again, trying to pull away from where you held a cotton ball with antiseptic against the spilt on his eyebrow. "Stay still, you big baby," you chided, tempted to press a little harder against the wound. He huffed impatiently, but obliged, placing his hands on the outsides of your thighs. You stood in front of him whilst he sat on the toilet seat, tending to his wounds. "I was only protecting your honour," he tried to explain, making you huff. "As charming as that may be, Juice. This isn't the medieval times, and I can fight my own battles you know." Juice hummed and pulled your hand away from his brow. Pressing his lips against your wrist, where you knew your pulse was pounding, he looked up to you with wide, innocent eyes. Instantly turning your insides to mush. You gripped his jaw gently, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss against his lips. He sighed faintly, and it took all of your effort to not climb into his lap then and there. Pulling away you grabbed a couple of steri strips from the first aid container, placing them along the cut. He probably needed stitches but this would do the trick until you headed over to St Thomas. "I know you can handle yourself baby, trust me," he ran his hands up your thighs and lightly smacked both sides of your ass, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You just rolled your eyes at him. "But I like being your Prince Charming," he smiled, looking up at you again. You smiled down at him, placing both hands on his cheeks. Stepping closer you pulled his face to rest against your chest as you ran your hands over his shoulders and around his neck in an embrace. "I know baby. But no more fights, please?" you asked, stepping back to look down at him again. He just smiled his goofy smile. "No promises, baby."

You gripped the tshirt - his tshirt - that you were wearing in both of your clammy hands, as a guttural scream made its way up your throat. When it had died off into whimpers, you slowly laid down on your side, the cool bathroom tiles almost a shock to your overworked system. "This isn’t how it was supposed to be, baby," you whispered into the silence, your tears finally drying up again. He was everywhere. His entire being, the material of him, every memory, every kiss, every whisper, every promise. Everywhere. And yet he would never be anywhere again. Every corner of your life would be haunted.

Okay, I’m here, I’m making myself comfortable 😌

I’m avoiding SOA talk until I finish season seven, so I don’t stumble onto anything (honestly shocked I’ve managed to stay spoiler free for so long)

So, our man Will Miller… do you have any of your own head cannons for the most reserved of the Triple Frontier boys?

Ooooo yay!!!!!!! I was so happy to see this in my inbox you have no idea 🤗💗 Sorry it took me so long to answer, I'm hosting family at my cottage this weekend and there are dogs and children everywhere and not a moments peace 😅

Totally fair to avoid SOA talk! I'm glad you've managed to remain spoiler-free until this point!

You bet your ass I have headcanons about the Captain! This man is on my mind day and night and each time I watch TF, more thoughts (and thots) and ideas come up and I simply can't get enough.

So, here's a few I'll share that maybe some will agree with and maybe some won't!

The Miller's had a rough upbringing. Their dad was a drunk and their mom left when they were fairly young, resulting in Will stepping up to care for Benny and making sure he was looked after, earning Will his seriousness and maturity far sooner than he should've.

Because of that, Will was out of that house as soon as possible, having enlisted the day he turned 17.

Growing up, Will taught Benny how to fight and defend himself, making him feel less guilty about leaving his younger brother at home without him when he went away.

Because he saw what happened to his parents, Will doesn't drink much. He doesn't like the loss of control and hates the emotions it stirs up in him when he does have a couple more than he normally would. He will have a beer or two with the guys or enjoy a glass of wine with dinner occasionally, but never enough to even get a buzz. 

He keeps track of everything because it helps him process things. He never wants to forget the things he's done; good or bad. It helps him stay accountable for his actions and he's not the type of guy to kid himself into thinking his position can justify it, and he's learned over the years to acknowledge rather than bury what's happened. The numbers are sort of a certainty for him and help ground him.

Will doesn't sleep well. He suffers from nightmares often, and on nights when they don't happen, he's usually awake on account of his own thoughts. When a nightmare does happen, he wakes up in a full sweat and more often than not it's accompanied by screaming and thrashing around. To help pass the hours when he isn't able to fall back asleep, he'll go for a run to get rid of that anxious energy or hit the 24 hour gym.

I'm one to believe that his relationship with his ex-fiancée wasn't the best, that maybe they had been together since they were young and over the years grew apart and fell out of love as they changed and got older. Will's choice in career caused a lot of stress between them and wedged them apart even more, and unfortunately she took advantage of his deployments to indulge in affairs with men who suited her better. The Publix incident was the last straw for her; she wasn't willing to stick around to try to help him through things and abandoned him completely, leaving him to spiral before picking himself back up again with the help of his brother and friends.

I honestly could keep going but I'll stop there! Please, please, please if you or anyone else has opinions on any of this and wants to discuss it further send me an ask or reblog this. I just love talking about my man 😩💗

The Disgraced Son- Chapter 13 (SOA Fanfic)

Additional Chapters here

Other SOA stories here

Archive of our own version here

Rating- Mature Audiences

Chapter 13

Warning (for the story rather than each individual chapter)- violence, injury, mentions of emotional/ psychological abuse (mostly in the past), hints to cannon S assault (but no explicit mention)

They head straight back to the garage once visiting hours are over. Stopping at a red light in the middle of town Juice gets a chance to look over his home for the first time in months. It’s a peaceful sight, old couples wander down the street hand in hand, and children run circles around their parents. It looks like the perfect Mayberry town it was meant to be. The town’s tranquillity should soothe the persistent tension that’s plagued Juice since waking that morning. Instead, it grates his nerves and leaves him feeling anxious and exposed, like the reaper’s hands are still closing around his throat. He was dancing with Mr. Mayhem for months whilst Charming’s residents carried on with their lives, the thought leaves a bitter sting.

“Hard isn’t it? I always had the same feeling coming out of prison. You’re bitter that your life was paused and everyone carried on.”

His face heating up at his selfish thoughts being brought to life, he just hums in response. Reaching the house, that Juice isn’t sure if he’s ready to call home yet, they park up the van before Juice goes to unlock the front door. Chibs takes longer getting out of the vehicle, still muttering about his aching muscles and selling the van for scraps if it doesn’t start working.

Much to Chibs’ annoyance, the cat hasn’t choked on its own hairball in their absence. As they walk into the living room it’s currently sprawled out on the couch, flat on its back she's giving Chibs a more generous view than he cares for.

Immediately making himself at home Juice shrugs off his jumper, folding it neatly on the back of the sofa. Whilst Chibs is locking the door he can see him straightening the folds, aligning them to the exact inch, it's his way of creating order in their chaos, controlling the small things so the big issues don't overwhelm him.

Sensing the attention Juice looks up, realizing he's been caught in the act he drops the item like it’s a hot pan not a piece of clothing. In an attempt to play off the incident he smiles nervously and appeases “I’m making some dinner. I’ll bring you in a plate.” He’s already scurrying to the kitchen before Chibs can answer.

Settling down Chibs turns on the TV, flicking through the stations he passes by a cooking show and what appears to be a police car chase in favour of some animal sanctuary show. As David Attenborough’s voice drowns out the clanking of pots and pans, the smell of dinner wafts in, permeating the air.

Chibs has become so invested in a meerkat’s love triangle that he doesn’t notice Juice come back into the room until steaming food is placed in front of him and he’s sat down too. With their knees touching he catches him up on the meerkat love affair.

The rest of the night is quiet, the hum of the TV playing in the background is the only sound to invade the air. With the weight of the day lifting off them Juice’s eyes begin to close, he dozing against Chibs by the time the film credits roll. The last thing Juice remembers is a thick blanket being wrapped around him and a pillow being tucked under his head before darkness takes over.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Waking up in the morning the first thing Juice notices is that he’s alone, the cat and Chibs nowhere to be found. He’s sprawled across the living room couch, having dozed off at 3 AM last night, the stress of the day finally taking its toll.

Stretching and stumbling to his feet, he locates a familiar voice stemming from the kitchen. Wandering over he pauses outside the doorway, straining his ears. There's no responding voice so he’s guessing whoever Chibs is talking to is on the phone. His voice seems strained, a mixture of tense and worried that drags out his thick accent. Hearing it sends tendrils of anxiety wrapping around Juice’s stomach. Deciding to let his presence be known, Juice nudges open the door.

Chibs acknowledges him with a nod but doesn’t say anything more. Whilst he waits Juice notices the cat is waiting for more food, its fat head smushed against the bowl and its pink tongue scrapping out any remnants it can find. Juice squeezes past Chibs, pulling out a box of cat biscuits. The cat’s now weaving through his legs, honing in on the fish-shaped biscuits rattling around in the box. When Juice starts to pour the biscuits, she shoves her head directly over the bowl causing the fabricated fish to skittle across the tiled floor.

As the last biscuits are being hoovered into her gob Chibs hangs up. Staring at the phone for a few seconds he's almost forgotten Juice is still standing next to him. Glancing up, Chibs’ eyes have a note of panic in them that Juice has only seen when looking at his own reflection in recent years.

“It's Montez.”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

A neighbour had found Montez. Three A.M. last night a minivan had rolled into the neighbouring driveway before a mundane man got out. His eyes, framed by bags and square glasses, warily gaze at next doors house. A couple of months in and he still hadn’t met the gangster living next door, thanks to the fact his lanky frame could be easily hidden by vehicles, garden sheds, and in one case a dumpster. He wasn’t the only resident on the block that had miraculously managed to avoid their neighbourly duty of introducing themselves. He knows the woman two doors down has a crumpled newspaper in her handbag, months out of date, that she fans out and hides behind whenever needed.

Walking to the side of the house the neighbour moves to unlock the door, before his foot slides forward, sending his gangly limbs flailing about, his funny bone had smashed into the fencing beside him before he had reclaimed his balance, grumbling he glances down, his next breath caught in his throat at the sight.

Blood lies by his doorstep, an uneven stone leading it to conglomerate into a crimson puddle. The stream of red stems from behind the flaking wooden fence. Stumbling back his fingers shake as they search for his phone in the fabric cave of his pocket. Bringing the device out he punches in the three-digit number, his next words die before they can be fully born and a croak is released. Pulling air into his lungs with desperate gasps he tries once more, ‘’Ambulance. I need an ambulance now.’’

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

At first glance, Juice seemed to have taken the news well, better than even Chibs had. He nods evenly with an eerie calmness before he walks back into the living room. Chibs hesitates for a moment but wisely has the mind to follow him.

It’s fortunate he did as soon as he reached halfway between the kitchen and the sofa he crumbles. His legs giving out he narrowly avoids smacking his skull against the floor, Chibs just managing to stride forward and catch him. With Juice’s limbs shaking evermore violently Chibs pulls the lad against him, his arms keeping him upright and close.

‘’Please. No. I can’t take any more death, please Chibs. He needs to be ok.’’ Juice has got his face buried into the older man’s kutte and Chibs can feel his shirt underneath dampening a little more with each passing word. This moment speaks to how he views Chibs, how he’s always viewed him, as someone he can trust to fix the world.

Holding the shaking form Chibs just wishes he knew how to cure the lad.

When a few minutes pass by and Juice’s hysterical breathing has evened out, sharp twinges start in Chibs’ joints making him wince. Tugging Juice around the couch he perches both of them on the sofa’s armrest, quieting the inner voice that sounds awfully like Tig, and asks if he’s worried about flipping the seating.

Once they’re settled his starts to buzz from within his inner pocket. Signing he goes budges over to give himself enough room to fish out the wretched device, nearly slipping off the worn fabric of the edge for his troubles he eventually manages to press it to his ear.

Marcus Alverez is on the other side ‘’We need to talk, Ese.’’

He glances to the right and even though his gaze is focused on the small stain embellishing the disintegrating carpet he can tell Juice is still listening in.

‘’Now?’’

‘’It's about Teller.’’ Now that captures Chibs’ undivided attention. He can feel Juice tense up at the mention of the name and squeezes his shoulder in comfort.

’Where should I meet you?’’

‘’Diosa in thirty.’’

‘’I’ll be there.’’ Alverez hangs up as soon as the time is arranged.

Looking over Chibs asks ‘’You with me, Lad?’’

‘’Yeah... I’m with you. That was Alverez right?’’

‘’He’s got some information on Jax. I won't be gone long.’’ Sighing Juice reluctantly nods, tucking himself into Chibs’ side he allows him to phone Tig and fill him in. Not moving until a beep outside signals that the Sergeant at Arms has arrived.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future episodes. xx

@viskovie @dindezzz

I’ve finally finished SOA

Now these are my thoughts and feeling. If you disagree I promise you from the bottom of my heart, I don’t care.

Anyways I loved the show. It was beautifully done especially for its time. However after seeing Sons after seeing Mayans, I genuinely don’t understand the comparison. The two shows are worlds apart minus the few similarities. I wouldn’t even say one is better than the other because they’re both amazingly good in their own way. The writing of Sons was good for an 2000s era show. It was a thriller but it was predictable the ways shows tended to be back then. Not in a negative way but the direction of the plot, the constant play of miscommunication tropes, the twists etc. I enjoyed it but once again makes no sense to compare it to Mayans because it’s literally apples and orange. Mayans is framed darker, the writing is done so well that you can’t tell where it’s going which can be bad in some cases but it never felt bad with the show. It’s not supposed to mimic Sons, it’s a totally different story.

Tara… I hate that woman. I genuinely never hated a character as much as I hated Tara Knowles. I could go on and on about what’s wrong with her (but I’m not). Fuck her from the beginning til the end. Emily is annoying but she’s nowhere near Tara level annoying. Good lord that woman is hard to like. Gemma was the villain but she had her moments of decency. Her nosy tendencies provided a level of balance.

When I was watching Mayans people kept comparing Coco’s death to Opies… Yeah no. The only death that genuinely hurt me (other than Jax ofc) was Piney. I really liked him. But I feel character deaths are subjective. It only matters if you like the character. Opie was my least favorite Son so I didn’t really care when he died. It was more of a relief for me. I loved Coco so his death had me ugly crying. (Also idk if it’s cannon or a coincidence but Hope/Vanessa was a crow eater??? I noticed her in several episodes and I looked it up and she was definitely in the background) but yeah anyways the deaths can’t be compared. For me Coco and Steve had more of an emotional impact. Jax and Piney took that award in SOA.

Wendy, Lyla and Chibs get the award for favorite characters. I’ve been team Wendy ever since she got clean. Fuck Tara Ong. Lyla deserves the best. Chibs fine ass >>>> If it wasn’t Jax it would be him. It sucks that Juice bean head ass had to die. I want more of them. I hate that the show is over.

In conclusion I will be inserting SOA in the same category as Entourage. I’ve seen that show 12x + the movie. And I love Jax so much so I have to rewatch. That’s my man and I’m gon stick beside him. Jax Teller has made me feral. I don’t think I would rewatch Mayans tho. Not because it’s bad but because it’s so heavy and makes me so emotional, I don’t want to experience it again. Sons is less hard on my heart. But now I need to read the years of amazing Jax fanfics the internet has to offer.

Stop comparing those shows tho. You don’t need to put two bad bitches against each other. It’s okay to let them be their own thing.

Lazy work days - Happy Lowman Headcanons

Do you do headcannons? :) If you do, could I have a head cannon about Happy Lowman and his significant other having a lazy day around TM? Please !x

For Anon I’m doing significant other in second person as I would and imagine.

First head cannon request, wasn’t sure what to put but enjoy!

—

- If you didn’t work at TM then you’d certainly work close enough to visit regularly, it suits Happy because he likes having his special people close by.

- If it’s a very quiet day for the garage and club business then sometimes you and Tig would cover for Happy so that he could sneak off to drop in on his mother.

- If there was a lot of club business going on, then you were on Happy’s own personal lock down and you had to hang around TM until he could resume being your escort. The boys found it excessive and it often annoyed you but you knew, deep down, that if he felt it was that serious then you’d safer with Happy around.

- Because his hands aren’t busy working on bikes or cars on lazy days it means that your ass gets slapped – a lot.

- Also, there is a crazy amount of groping and pulling each other down the hallway into one of the empty dorm rooms for some afternoon delight. The prospects know not to barge into the rooms now since last time happy threatened to shoot them.

- If Happy’s having a lazy day but you’re still busy it means that you gain yourself a heavily tattooed shadow, he follows you around just enjoying spending time with you.

- Any guys that come to TM and look at you for too long get FIERCE glares.

- On more than one occasion he’s walked in on you and Kozik hiding dolls around the clubhouse for Tig to stumble upon.

 - Happy’s your alibi when Tig actually finds one and freaks out on everyone.

- Happy doesn’t like having to share your attention with the other Sons but he deals with it because they’re your family too. But he does have to remind himself of that when he comes into the clubhouse to find you and Juice giggling together at some weird video on his laptop.

- You spend a lot of time of the slow days with Gemma, Tara and Lyla and all of the boys panic when they see you all looking like you’re up to no good.

- You like to hide on the other side of the yard and sext Happy while he’s surrounded by the guys and watch him get flustered. Well Happy’s version of flustered.

- Even if it wasn’t a quiet day at the TM, if Hale and Unser showed up for any reason, Happy would ditch whatever he was doing and attach himself to your side. If he was out on business than Kozik or Tig took the spot next to you because of Hale’s massive, very annoying crush on you. They didn’t like the way that he looked at you but at the same time he seemed to buy into anything that you told him so you were used as an alibi by the guys all the time.

- Sometimes you steal Happy’s tools one by one and leave them as a trail for him to find and follow. The trail always leads to one of the clubhouse bedrooms.

- The first time you showed up at TM on the back of Happy’s bike, before you’d gone public with your relationship, Tig had choked on his cigarette and Chibs had to whack his back to help him out. Jax nearly gave himself whiplash doing a doing take and Juice ran off to excitedly tell everyone else that Happy Lowman had let someone else on his bike!

Chasing After You (1)

Hello!  So this will be a different SOA/Jax Teller kind of story. It’s gonna be more like a non-cannon version and will not feature scenes from the past seasons. This story takes place after season 7 and Jax is still alive and well. It’s gonna be a rollercoaster kind of story but in a good way!

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know. Hope those of you that read this enjoy it and let me know what you think! 

“What about this one?”

I looked over at my assistant, an off-white dress hanging in front of her. “It’s cute but not really my style.”

We had been at this for almost two hours and still having no luck. I was to be married in less than two months and my search for a wedding dress was basically slim to none at this point. I had been to all the fancy bridal shops that Fort Lauderdale and Miami had to offer. Hell, I even flew to New York to see if I could find one. Many of the gowns were beautiful but I had at least one negative thought about each of them. Too white. Too long. Too lacy. Too much skin. Not enough skin. The list went on and on.

I took a seat on the plush couch, leaning my head back in frustration. It wasn’t this hard the last time.

“You okay?” The couch dipped as Sophie took a seat next to me.

I looked up at her, nodding my head, “I guess.” I sighed. “I never have this much trouble picking out outfits that grace the cover of the world’s biggest fashion magazine, but I can’t even pick out my own wedding dress. Am I losing my touch or something?”

Sophie laughed, “Picking out these things are hard because this is one of the biggest days of your life. You want everything to be perfect and you are a perfectionist, my dear.”

She was right. Everything had to be perfect. My fiancé’s family was coming in from overseas and I didn’t want them thinking that he was marrying some crackpot from America. It didn’t fucking help that his mother was also a perfectionist and making my life hell at this point. During the first few shopping trips, she gave her “most honest opinion” which consisted of comments regarding my weight, height, and the model wore it better. She would tell me that she knew what was best for her son and that he wouldn’t like certain dresses that I had tried on. I honestly wanted to cry at one point but made sure to drink my sorrows away once I was back at my house.

“Maybe we should hang it up for today.” I picked at my nail polish. “Give it another try in a couple days.”

Sophie stayed silent, nodding her head in agreement.

“Maybe by then-“ I paused as I removed myself from the couch, “I can find something and end this pain and misery.”

“At least everything else is squared away, right?” Sophie smiled.

“Yeah, hopefully.” I smirked…

After a visit to my favorite liquor store and ordering way more Chinese food than I needed, I made my way back to my apartment. I laid my bags on the table, removing my sweater and shoes in the process. I removed a shot glass out of the cabinet, removing the bottle of Jack from the bag, and poured myself a generous shot. The brown liquid lit a fire in my body as it traveled into my stomach, a fire that I needed and enjoyed. Heath was not a fan of drinking. He said that the only alcoholic beverage a woman should drink is champaign and that’s only during special occasions. He thought it was trashy of a woman to drink hard liquor such as whiskey and tequila. Hell, he threw away my whole collection of men a couple weeks ago. Johnny, Jameson, Jack, and Jim all went down the drain and I was left to my own accord.

“Named him after a man of the cloth, named him Amos Moses.” I sang along to the radio. I poured another shot, this time taking a couple sips before walking towards the bedroom. Before I could enter the room fully, my cell phone started buzzing from the kitchen. I let out a groan as I turned back and sprinted towards the device. I figured that it was Heath or Sophia, so I didn’t bother to look at the screen.

“Hello?”

There was silence for a moment, “Rachel?”

I hadn’t heard that voice in years. His voice had gotten deeper with age, most likely due to his smoking and drinking habits. “Rach, I know you’re there.”

My heart was beating out of my chest at this point. I had to take a seat on the bed, the phone almost dropping out of my hand.

“Listen-“ He spoke again. “I’ve only got a couple minutes to talk but I need your help. The club is in some shit and everything seems to be falling down around us. I have to get the fuck out of Charming before I end up getting everyone killed.”

The club was everything to Jax. Hell, his whole life revolved around that stupid MC. “I’m getting out of lockup in a few days and I have to get the fuck out of town before shit hits the fan. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I need a place to crash for a while or until Chibs and Tig can get things settled down here. Gemma and Collette are gone; you’re the only person I have left.”

I read that Gemma had been killed up in Eureka at her dad’s old place. Apparently, someone shot her in the back of the head and just left her body in the flower garden. Whoever shot her must have known her well enough for her to trust them and also to know where she was. My feelings toward Gemma had always been a mixed bag. During Jax and I’s relationship, she taught me the ropes but also made me hate her as the years went by. She was the queen and didn’t like some little tart coming into her only, living child’s life and taking over. She was no longer the queen on the MC and her time in Jax’s life was dwindling as well. Jax wanted out of the life so bad, especially after Opie died.

“I know we haven’t talked in years but you’re still my wife, my only hope at this point.” The sadness in his voice was foreign. Usually there was anger and hate in his tone, never sadness. “Please just pick up, Rachel.”

I stared at the wall; my breath hitched in my throat. I didn’t know what to say, especially with how things ended between Jax and I. It was cluster fuck on wheels and just hearing his voice right now brought back so many memories.

He let out a sigh, “I really need you, Rachel. I’ve never needed someone so bad in m-“

The phone line went silent, followed by a dial tone.

I sat there stoned face, the phone still sitting in my hands. Part of me felt bad for not speaking but the other half was mentally giving Jackson Teller a big fuck you and moving on. What was I supposed to do? I left him for a reason and now he expected me to drop everything and have him come back into my life. I moved on. He moved on (multiple times). We weren’t married anymore, and I didn’t owe him anything. I’m sure there was some hang-around or tramp in Nevada or Oregon that could help him out. For being as handsome as he was, it wasn’t hard for him to find a companion for a night or two. All he needed to do was drop that smile and put on the Teller charm and the girls would come swarming…

“Can I get a Jack and diet coke, please?”

The bartender nodded his head, turning back to gather the supplies for my request. I pulled out my phone and started reading through the work emails that I had put on the back-burner.

“Jack and coke-“A deep voice sounded from beside me. “You look more like a daiquiri type of girl.”

I slowly turned my head in the direction of the voice, a smirk spreading across my face. “Oh, yeah?” I removed a piece of ice from drink, bringing it around my lips. “What does a daiquiri type of girl look like?”

A smile slowly formed across his face, “Sex on legs.”

I rolled my eyes at his answer, “What does sex on legs look like?”

The man took a seat next to me, his hand brushing against my bare leg, “Someone who knows what she wants and makes sure she gets exactly that-“He moved closer, his face inches from mine, “And even more.”

“You think your hot shit, don’t you?” My voice lowered an octave. “Come in here with your fancy dress clothes, with a couple buttons popped open, and those pants tighter than they should be. I’m sure you drive all the women crazy.” His smile dropped, his face becoming serious. “There’s only one I want to drive crazy.”

I stared into his green eyes, a fire igniting in my core. “I have a room booked upstairs if you would like to join me?” His hand slowly started to run up my leg, his fingernails dragging slowly up my skin. “Don’t want to see a girl like you sitting down her all by herself. You never know what kind of riff-raff is around places like this.”

My breath hitched when his hand slowly slipped past the hem of my dress. “I have a fiancé.” I stuttered. “He’s gonna be worried when I don’t come home.”

The world was still spinning around us, but it felt like it was just him and I at this point. The couple that was sitting to my left had faded away and the bartender that poured my drink was no longer there. At this point, I could care less if anyone say what was happening between him and I. I’m sure someone noticed at this point.

His smirk returned as his fingers found the spot he was hunting for, a slight moan escaping through my red lips. “Well-“ He leaned forward, his lips brushing against my ear, “You’ll be coming but you won’t be coming home…”

“Do you have to do that while I’m laying right here?”

I looked up at my fiancé, watching as he inhaled the smoke from his lit cigarette. “What would happen if you drop that thing on me and next thing you know, boom! I’m on fire and then you won’t have anyone to fool around with in expensive hotel rooms.”

He looked at me as if I had three heads for a moment, “Did I fuck you that hard?”

Heath and I had this running bit where we would meet up at the same hotel, same time of day, and same place, acting as if we were total strangers. We would do this back-and-forth role play that eventually led us both to the bedroom that he had booked for the night. It was fun at first, acting as if you’re someone else and this handsome, mystery guy approaches you and fucks you senseless.

I let out a sigh, “You know I hate when you smoke in bed, especially if I’m in it.”

“Would you prefer I go out on the balcony and smoke in the nude?” He questioned. “You want everyone at this hotel seeing my dick and calling the police on me?”

I rolled my eyes, pulling the sheet across my body as I removed myself from the bed. “I’m going in the shower. Don’t want to smell like a cheap whore and cigarette smoke.”

I closed the bathroom door before he could respond, dropping the sheet and turned on the shower. I examined myself in the mirror as the water heated up. Hickies littered my breast, ribs, and thighs, Heath staying away from my neck and upper chest due to the outfits I wore to work. We also had to attend a gala tonight and the dress I bought would not go well with scattered love bites. I turned back towards the shower, reaching my hand under the stream of water, deciding that it was perfect. Before I could enter fully, the bathroom door opened, revealing Heath, the same cigarette hanging from his plump lips. “Mind if I join you?”

I let out a laugh seeing how ridiculous he looked. His hair was sticking out all over the place, his skin was littered with love bites, and that damn cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth just tied everything together. “Put out the cigarette and I might consider it.”

His eyes never left mine as he took one last puff before placing the stick in the toilet. My heart began to pound harder as he sauntered over to the shower, his tall body towering over me as the water ran down his body. “Happy now.”

I didn’t say anything, instead pulling his head down, placing my lips over his. His hands instantly caressed my body, pulling me flush against him. Within seconds, his hands moved to my ass, hoisting me onto his narrow hips, pushing me against him and the shower wall. I was so zoned into him that I blocked out the noise of the shower and the sound of my phone ringing. It wasn’t until Heath muttered something about it ringing that I finally snapped out of my haze and focused on it as well.

“It might be important.” I moaned out as his teeth grazed against my breast.

“Fuck important, they can leave a fucking message.” Heath’s voice flooding with annoyance.

The phone went silent for a moment before the ringing started again. “I’m gonna answer it.” I pushed his body away from mine, removing myself from the warm shower. I shivered as I walked over to my phone, the same California number as before popping up on the screen. I already knew who it was, and my heart was racing again because of it. My wet finger hovered over the green button, hesitant to answer the call. I don’t know if it was a slip of the wrist of what, but the call was answered, and my past started speaking.

“Rachel, please just talk to me and hear me out. I’m getting out tomorrow and I need your fucking help. I wouldn’t be calling like this if I had someone else. I know you fucking hate me, but I need you, darlin.”

Darlin. That fucking word used to bring me to my knees. “Please, Rachel.”

Without thinking, I spoke up. “What do you want?”

Jax’s line was silent for a moment, probably shocked that I actually spoke. “It’s so good to hear your voice.” I rolled my eyes at his statement. “You have no idea how long I’ve wai-“

“Cut the shit and tell me what you want?” I interrupted. I looked back at the shower, making sure Heath wasn’t paying attention to me. I removed a towel from the rack and snuck into the bedroom. This way, I could speak to Jax and not have to worry about Heath hearing me. “You call me out of the fucking blue, after years of not speaking, and you fucking ask me for help? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds, Jax?”

He sighed, “I know and I’m sorry. I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t think you couldn’t help me but I know that you can and you will. You have too good of a heart not to help me, Rachel.”

I scoffed at his words, “My heart of gold was ripped out when you fucking cheated on me with Collette and almost got me killed because of it.”

The line was silent once again, “There’s nothing I can do to help you, Jackson. I have my own life and it’s up to you to find out how to gain your own. You need to call someone else or just face the fucking mu-“

“I’m gonna die if I don’t get out of here, Rachel. I fucking murdered a patched member because of all the lies and damage that this fucking club has caused. Gemma’s dead. Collette’s dead. Fuck, Bobby’s fucking dead and it’s all because of me and I’m gonna die too if I don’t figure something out.” His voice quivered with emotion. “I’m sorry for what I did to you and that I was such a shit husband but I’m desperate.”

Tears started to well up in my eyes, my heart breaking at the news of Bobby’s passing. My heart was also breaking because of Jax. He sounded so defeated, a sound I thought I would never hear.

“Baby.” Heath’s voice rang out. “Are you coming back?”

I quickly composed myself, wiping away the tears that had sprung. “Just a second.” I yelled, knowing Jax had heard Heath’s voice on the other end.

Jax stayed silent for a moment, “What do you say, Rach?”

I thought for a moment, my head and heart pulling me in different directions. Finally, I just blurted out words. “I’ll book you on the last flight to Fort Lauderdale tomorrow.”

Are head cannons still open? If so can i get an alphabet of Quinn from SOA?

They are. Any specific letters you’d like though? I don’t feel like we got to see enough of him to be able to come up with all of them and I don’t want to just make stuff up.

Hey, I don’t know if anyone’s asked but do you have any actor in mind for the head cannon of Jade’s father?

Hello darling! Yes, I use Kenny Johnson (SOA, The Shield, SWAT) as my face claim for Tommy. He just has that look that reminds me of Tommy 😊.

Loki and Sarah

Title: Loki and Sarah

Chapter No./One-Shot: Chapter 1

Author: tunkintiny

Original imagine: Imagine Asgardian women don’t have periods like women here on Earth, so natural Loki doesn’t under why you’re acting kind of odd and say you don’t feel so good when you seem to be in perfect health to him. When he pries he just keeps getting more and more confused by the seemingly bizarre euphemisms you use to try to tell him without actually saying it, because how could he possibly NOT know? He’s a grown man? Why should you have to spell this out to him?

Warning: I’ve never written a Fanfic before so, no harsh judgement please. I don’t know what the content of future one’s might be but this is supposed to be kinda comedic. It also doesn’t follow all of the cannon but oh well. I realize this now after I’m done writing that it’s a little long, but I hope you like it and I invite advice. Also I’m dyslexic so please don’t criticize the spelling.

Her name was Sarah. She was born from an experiment when Hydra used to secretly operate shield. That’s all Loki could gather about her life before being being brought to the Avenger’s Tower a year before Thor discovered he was actually alive and brought Loki back to live at the there so he could be under “supervision”. She was kind, and gentle, being the only one to try to befriend Loki upon her arrival. In all honestly, she wasn’t bad company. In fact, she was the only Midgaurdian who Loki didn’t just tolerate, but actually… Anyways, every once in a while she tends to acts somewhat strangely. Not often, the last time he noticed a change in her behavior was last month, around this time. At first he thought it was just a mortal thing, despite trying to conquer this realm he really hadn’t bothered to learn much about them. But this seemed to be a bit more than an eccentricity. 

It started this morning when he walked up to her door early in the morning to ask her a question, which after what happened he could no longer remember. It was early, about 5:00, and she stepped out of the room before Loki even had the change to knock. She looked up at him startled, and tried to hide her balled up bed sheets behind her back. “Oh, uh, hey Loki. How are you. Why- why’re y’all up so early.” “I could ask you the same thing.” He studied her face. She was growing red, avoiding eye contact. She was typically a bit timid, but not to this extent. Not around him at least. “What do you have there?” “Oh these? Ha, yeah I split something on my sheets this morning.” “Correct me if I’m wrong but… isn’t that why you had to change your sheets last morning?” “I guess I’m just a bit clumsy.”

“Evidently so.” “Right, okay see you later then.” There was only one thing running her her mind at that moment, ‘SHIT!’ Nobody wants to be caught carrying their bloody sheets out of their room, twice. *Especially* not by their male friend. After yesterday Sarah was determined to wake up early to make sure this exact thing didn’t happen again. Of course, what happens? This exact thing. Again. This was mortifying. Not just being caught , but by Loki? She could die, she could absolutely die. She ended the conversation as soon as possible and got the hell outta there and to the laundry room. But the machine already had a load. Great. Fabulous. She put them in the hamper by the machine and prayed she’d be the first one back in there when the cycle stopped. But first things first: cravings. The food type. Okay, so first to grab a stack, take some pain pills, and watch TV until the machine stops. Okay, good plan. Sarah went to her room, eat her snack, and fell back to sleep less then five minutes later. Meanwhile, a half an hour later, Loki was sitting in the common room reading by the lamp. Natasha walks out of her room ready for the next missions she’s assigned to. “Did you read this week’s chore’s list?” She spoke without looking at him, hurriedly grabbing her supplies. “No.” “Well, go look. I’m not letting you off the hook for half-assing the dishes last week.” “It needed to soa-“ And just like that she walked out the door. Well, he wasn’t exactly preoccupied at the moment, so he might as well get some done now, better sooner than later. He scrolled down to his name, exactly the same as before but this time laundry was added. Luckily for him, the machine seemed to have just stopped. He puts the dry ones in the basket to be folded, moves the wet ones to the dryer, then goes to pour the hamper into to machine, ignoring weather or not it was darks or colors, being a little bitter about his additional burden. Just then then a sheet rolled over the side of the machine and hit the floor. He picks it up and sees… blood!? Yes, blood, unmistakable blood. Was she wounded? Was she ill? Did humans bleed every time they were ill? He distinctly remembered learning she had regenerative powers? Did she have a plague? He’d heard stories of humans being afflicted by such things. He was suddenly stricken with some form of worry. He shoved it into the wash and hurried over to her room and knocked on the door. She woke up groggily, turned off the heating pad and headed towards the door, completely forgetting about her prior mission. “Hey Loki- Wow you look like you saw a ghost, are you okay?”

“Are you?”

“Yeah I guess so, why?” Just then he suddenly realized he didn’t know in the slightest what reason he’d give for interrupting her. She saw his embarrassment, and just then felt bad. Was he maybe lonely? He was kinda like a cat, he pretended he wanted to be completely solitary, but she could tell he liked being around her, more than he liked being alone. He wasn’t exactly subtle, he always happened to be around her, made conversation with her. He may be know for his trickery, but she feels like she knows him pretty well by now “I’m not quite sure, I just… sensed that maybe something was wrong.” “Oh. Well, trust me, I’m okay.” She couldn’t help but smile at his concern, he really wasn’t so bad. “Are you sure? You’re completely well, you’re fine?” “Well… mostly. Ya know.” He looked kinda puzzled, so she moved on, “I’m gonna go watch a little TV, wanna join?”

“Oh that’s fine, I have some work to catch up on, perhaps another time.”

“K”

She dragged her blankets to the common room and plopped down. She still seemed off to Loki, less energetic, less happy, less like herself. Spying is childish, especially in a circumstance like this, where she very well could be fine, but once something gets set in his mind, it’s hard to shake until he knows the answer. It wasn’t about her in particular, she’s just a aquatintance, no it’s just curiosity. His nature. About five minutes later he can’t help but stroll by the glass doors of the room to see her. Crying? Hunched over in a fetal position, clutching her stomach, and crying? She’s tender hearted and can be a tad emotional, This was certainly out of character, for Sarah, someone so spirited? Sobbing as if she was mourning? That’s it. It’s worse than he thought. She’s definitely sick. Maybe dying? She wasn’t dying but she felt like she was, she hasn’t cramped this bad for a while. That ASPCA commercial along with her hormones and her crappy week, she decided to indulge in her mood and cry. She glanced over at the sight of movement and saw a glance of light, green light then nothing. That punk ass bitch! Is he spying on her. Did he seriously think she wouldn’t notice? Okay him being a little snoopy is one think BUT SPYING? What about privacy? She whipped her tears and marched out of there, determined to bring hell. “LOKI!” “Hello, Sarah, what seems to be wrong?”

“Don’t play stupid, I know you’re spying!”

“That’s quite a harsh tone and accusation, what leads you to believe that?”

“Dumb ass, I saw you!” She doesn’t seem like she’s dying anymore, but he might be soon enough.

“Well excuse me for my concern!”

“Why are you concerned! I’m fine, I told you I’m fine! Why isn’t that good enough!”

“Healthy people don’t crawl up in a ball sobbing and bleeding!” Her mouth dropped and she became completely pail. Loki knew in that moment he fucked up. Badly.

“OH MY GOD HOW TO YOU KNOW THAT!?”

“I-“ he paused, her stare cutting through him. She’s usually so docile he doesn’t know how to handle this.

“I saw blood on your sheets when doing laundry.”

“OH NO- YOU DID THE LAUNDRY, NO I WAS GONNA-“ Her breath was heavy and she was pumping with shame, but looked at Loki’s face, which seemed genuinely concerned, and decided to not make this any harder than it has to be.

“Loki, that’s just, I’m just… having… ya know, I’m… moon sick.”

“What’s that?”

“You know… “ Gosh, what do they call it where he’s from… “Blood fever? Shark week? Invasion of Japan? Code red?” She struggled more and more to get it through to him but to no avail.

He looked more and more baffled by the increasing outlandish statements. Whatever she has, it’s gone straight to her brain.

“I’m on… myperiod…” she whispered and looked down.

“I didn’t quite catch that, you’re what?”

“Are you gonna really make me say it? Is this fun? humiliating me? Come on, It’s the time of the month! Okay? My period!”

“‘Time of the month’, you’re unwell EVERY month?”

“Obviously?”

“Since when, when did you catch this?” He ran all the symptoms through his brain, trying to see if there’s tools he knows of that could be of assistance.

“What do you mean, I didn’t catch anything, it’s natural!”

“So you were born with this ailment?”

“Yes, well no, not til I was 13, Loki don’t they teach you anything about women’s health where you’re from? You’re over a thousand years old, how are you this clueless?”

“I’ll have you know my mother had me learn everything there was to learn about the health of Asgaurdians along with magic, Incase I didn’t become a warrior I could become still aid the wounded, this is the first I’ve hear of this ailment.”

“Stop calling it that!” She sighed heavily in defeat, still not believing the situation she was in.

“Okay, so when a girl starts to… mature… her body released an egg to prep for a baby and the… uterus wall fills will blood to nourish it, but if you aren’t pregnant you bleed all of it out at the end of the month and it hurts a lot and it’s really uncomfortable, so there now you know.”

“My dear, that’s dreadful, this happens to you monthly?”

“Yes.”

“Too all women here?”

“Yes.”

“I’m-sorry, I didn’t.. I didn’t know. That sounds dreadful. At least you aren’t in danger I suppose. Is there anything I could do to assist you or..”

“No, no, I’m used to it. But if you could stay out of my business, that’d be great.” The room was thick with an uncomfortable tone. This was not the way anyone thought this day would go.

“But you could get me some more ice cream from the fridge and we could put on that movie?”

“If that’ll please you.”

Loki’s guilt caused him to be extra courteous, he ran her errands, did her favors, he even rubbed her back as they watched the movie! Once you get used to him, It’s hard to stay too mad at him. But he really isn’t all that bad.

Hamilton War Timeline- SOA

Prior to August 1777, Hamilton’s actions during the war period.  No major content warnings.  This is based around historical timelines and conflated with fiction, so don’t take it as fact.  It’s just background for my narrative and characterization purposes.

1773, moves to King’s college- second choice school, loses some of his academic drive and gets distracted with Mulligan’s work with the Sons of Liberty. Alex is boarding with him, taking his advice about writing pamphlets and doing spy work to instigate riots and manage the uprisings

~February, 1775 age 20, drops out to help form The Hearts of Oak.  

June 15th 1775 Washington becomes Commander in Chief of the army.

June 25th 1775, Washington inspects The Hearts of Oak at the foot of Wall Street- first time Hamilton sees Washington, Mifflin and Trumbull- then aides to Washington.

August 23rd, John Lamb’s company supported by The Hearts of Oak and a light infantry unit, raids a shoreside battery under fire from 64-gun man of war, Asia. Loyalists had warned the captain of the Asia that they’d attempt to raid the battery he posted a patrol barge. The redcoats spotted Hamilton’s men and opened fire, Hamilton returned fire against the ship, killing one man- the Asia hoisted and started trying to sail away, firing shots, one hit the roof of a tavern.  Hamilton hands off his rifle to haul the ropes for a cannon which he successfully gets off the ship.  Mulligan leaves it on the ship, and Hamilton runs back for it under fire.

September 1775, called into Lieutenant Jay’s office to discuss the upcoming recommendations for commissions into the New York artillery. Since the Hearts of Oak stole the cannons, they’re the first in line to form the company of artillery to use those cannons. 

Hamilton’s skill with drill and his fearlessness under fire at the battery get him onto the list, but his superiors are concerned about his loyalty to the rebel cause- as he doesn’t seem to have the same attachment to ideals as others they’re considering

Alex resolves to put on the mask of patriotism for the sake of promotion.

Troup, Alex’s roommate, has been training Alex to have the physical ability to lead as an officer. He kisses him and expresses sexual interest which calls Alex to question why he assumed he’d be interested- hint that Alex has been using flirtation to prop up his social skills

October 1775: Alex talks with Mulligan about moving out so he’ll no longer share a room with Troup. Mulligan encourages it- so he’ll move in with Nicholas Fish, but warns Alex that he may not be able to avoid the desires that lead him here

Alex realizes that he thinks of Mulligan like a father

Alex realizes that he’s been working for the rebel cause because it made him feel like he had a family and it made him feel alive and like he had a purpose- he’s been following Mulligan, which has led him to feeling so at-odds with himself. He hasn’t picked the cause for himself, and doesn’t fully believe in it- because he’s following.

November- December 1775: Alex moves in with Fish and takes the job as match manager at Fighting Cocks. Fish regularly visits and Alex quickly learns that Mulligan has him tracking and working with a British double-agent, Cope. He knows loyalist sentiments are strong and most people in New York don’t want war. That culture is rubbing off on Alex despite his affiliation with the Sons of Liberty and his position in the Corsicans- and prospects of command.

No one trusts Cope is reliable as a double-agent but when the British are the aggressors, he’s stepped in and given info. He gave them the tip about the Asia which was the event that's been getting Alex attention now. Cope is playing both sides to keep the peace because he loves New York and doesn’t want to leave or see it destroyed in conflict while most of the people there are loyalist anyway. He’s essentially gone native.

Alex doesn’t like working with someone like that, but Fish reasons that they work with much worse- like known criminals, Dawkins and the Young brothers are counterfeiters and Dawkins has their connections in the prisons.

Cope is attractive and flirtatious and their relationship is a spitfire.

By interacting with Cope, Alex sparks the part of himself that is in this for himself and the urge to resist giving his loyalty to a cause or side. He hates it. They clash heads until the futility of playing both sides comes out and Alex realizes that if you don’t pick a team, you can never lose- but you also can’t win. They both end up polarizing each other.

It renews his drive and gives him the causes that Jay was sensing he lacked. He’s able to approach Troup again and continue physical training.

Jan 6th 1776, NY Provincial Congress raises an artillery company. Most commissions were going to native colonists of wealth and social position, but Hamilton worked his connections to get support of Congressmen John Jay and William Livingston.  His math professor from Kings vouched for his trig skills (exaggerating greatly) and Capt. Stephen Bedlam, an artillerist vouched for his skills with a cannon.

Meanwhile, Elias Boudinot, leader of NJ Provincial Congress wrote from Elizabethtown where Lord Stirling remembered Hamilton from the Academy and wanted him as a brigade major and aide-de-camp. (He’d be the youngest major in the army)

Nathanael Greene invited him to be an aide-de-camp as well, also with the position of major, but in charge of continental troops rather than militia.  

Hamilton doesn’t want to be stuck to a desk. He wants glory and a ticket out of the shadows. He sticks to his gamble for an artillery commission and on March 14th, NY Provincial Congress appoints him Captain of the Provincial Company of Artillery in NY.  He gets Mulligan to sew him a new uniform with the last of his St. Croix money.

March 15, John Clark, coincidentally, is commissioned as a 1st LT in the same Pennsylvania Rifle Regiment as McHenry is serving as an army surgeon.

Ham, Troup, and Mulligan go out recruiting, but they can’t match the pay of the Continental line and anyone interested goes to them for better training and not to be ‘canon fodder’.  Congress raises the pay on his request- when he writes that his own pay will be unchanged, but the men deserve more.  At the time, an officer’s pay was about a third of the British officer’s.  An american enlisted man was paid far more than rank and file in the British army, and in theory had rations, clothing, and equipment given to him at the public expense.  The whigs in Congress were trying to use the army to introduce their version of equality.

Within three weeks Hamilton had 69 men (only needed 30).  He begins to get a view of how hostile the city is becoming in its Loyalist bent and feels antagonized by that now that he’s taken a side.

While he’d been recruiting, he was ordered to relieve Brig. Gen Alexander McDougall’s First NY Regiment in guarding the colony’s official records as they’re shipped by wagon from City Hall to the abandoned Greenwhich village estate of William Bayard.  Hamilton spent his time researching the designs of fortifications, and when his company arrived at Bayard’s hill, he had his company build a heptagonal fort, Bunker Hill with eight 9-pounders and four 3-pounders.  Washington commends the fort and Ham’s troops “for their masterly manner of executing the work”

Mid-April- Soldiers were allowed to go into the city and scrap supplies from Loyalist homes, rip up carpets, cut down trees, etc.  Hamilton gave his company a framework of the supplies they were permitted to collect and had men paddled if they deviated.

Meanwhile, Harrison and Tilghman are anticipating the same and increase their intel gathering, imploring Washington to formalize the unit under his intel manager, Major Knowlton- he’s the obvious choice, recently promoted by Congress for successfully burning the remaining buildings at Bunker Hill after their loss of the city- without firing a single shot or losing a single man. Whenever they have field intelligence, he’s the man they call on.

Knowlton can’t yet work with any men in the army itself- no one can know Washington’s staff is setting up their own intel-collection system while Congress maintains that authority for itself.

May 12 Knowlton turns to the Sons of Liberty who’s already established intel within the city, and he works his way through their credible agents towards Mulligan at their core, then compares notes with him, both of them following whisperings about an assassination plot against Washington and his chief officers.

Knowlton takes charge of his sources on the former governor, William Tryon.  He begins sending out feelers and suspects the Tory mayor, David Matthews is in on it. He uses Mulligan’s sources to start trailing several of the overlapping sources from the army, giving Mulligan the discretion of assigning his best agents to the most vital suspects on their list. Results came in quickly.

Fish reported that, while watching Tryon in New York harbor where the former governor’s ship was taking refuge, he’d been staying at Fighting Cocks. He had gotten Mulligan’s old contact to the Long Island prison agents, Isaac Ketchum, drunk enough to confess, in about February, Ketchum had made contact with a man on Washington’s life guard, interested in a scheme to counterfeit money and pay off some debts- strange that he should be eager to settle scores and deter watchful eyes. The man had used an alias, and Ketchum isn’t smart enough to trace him, but if they can find the counterfeit bills, they can find the officer.

Knowlton has a list of officers to trace and Mulligan recommends Alex for the job.

Alex is suspicious why Mulligan would task him with a counterfeiting case- that’s below his level, but he doesn’t question the urgency or the fact that the orders are apparently coming from Washington’s headquarters.

Alex spends weeks trying to balance his responsibilities to his own unit and trailing these officers, but it’s a difficult task. Meanwhile, Lieutenant John Clark is trailing one of the men on Alex’s list. Thomas Hickey tried to pay a debt to him in counterfeit money. And, when Alex runs into a man trailing one of his suspects, Alex becomes even more suspicious and intercepts Clark about why he’s trailing this man.

They’ve pretty much wrapped up the counterfeiting case, and Hickey is being charged and tried, but Alex isn’t satisfied, positive that there was some bigger purpose behind the case and all they did was lock up their best lead. Clark is similarly suspicious, and having earned Alex’s trust and met Fish and Mulligan by this point, suggests they should try and get an agent inside the prison to pull the story out of him. Clark and Fish manage to get word inside the prison to Ketchum about the plot and entrust him with getting the confession- it’s his ticket out of prison.

Alex knows, even if Ketchum gets the confession, it’s unsubstantiated. They’ll need testimony from Hickey’s contacts.

Alex turns to Cope and tries to play that he’s still susceptible to the middle-ground approach and that their previous flirting had some effect on his attractions. He tries the seductive angle, and Cope sees through it “I know you’re not here for this.” Alex presses him not to question it, and after they’ve slept together, Cope divulges that a plot against Washington exists.

Alex presses for confirmation that Hickey is involved- the name of his contact. Cope refuses that, since the protection of his sources is his primary objective. In exchange for telling Cope his name (he’d been going by Alec Stevens) Cope does give Alex a lead of where to find someone who can confirm it- and Alex sends Fish to investigate the house of William Leary- whose employee, James Mason confirms his own involvement in the counterfeiting scheme and Hickey’s contacts to New York Mayor David Matthews.

Knowing that Cope could use his name to implicate Mulligan and take down the ring, Alex leaves with a threat that he knows Cope’s true name- and his most important contacts in the city, including his lover and illegitimate daughter. They’re both tied together and could bring down those the other loves. Alex promises that, if the redcoats take the city, they won’t hear from the Sons of Liberty.

June 28, 20k spectators gathered to watch Hickey hang. The spectacle around it inflames more loyalist sentiment.

July 4th, 480 warships start approaching NY Harbor towards Staten Island

July 9th, at night, Ham stands to attention on the commons to hear the Declaration read aloud from the balcony of City Hall, soldiers run down Broadway to pull down and smash the equestrian statue of King George III

July 12th, the Phoenix and the Rose sailed up the Hudson to check the American fortifications.  One ill-trained gun crew blew itself up trying to fire on the ships.  In Tarrytown, the colonial troops abandoned their posts to watch.  Hamilton’s company fired when the ships came in range of Bunker Hill, he made a few hits, but he warships returned fire and one of Hamilton’s cannons burst, killing one man and wounding another.  Still, Hamilton’s company was the only one to successfully fire.

July 15 When Knowlton provides Hamilton and Clark’s names to Greene and Washington for promotion, Alex gives ultimate credit to Clark. He knows he’s effective at this kind of work, and for once in his life, he’s been able to protect those around him, but only at the cost of putting them in danger in the first place. He has no desire to continue the cycle. He’s just gained some glory with his artillery company and wants to stay there.

Alex knows he’s most useful to the cause when he can operate in the shadows while keeping his face in the light. Saving Washington and Mulligan is proof of that- he’s never been able to protect the people he cares about, so this leaves an impact.

The arc ends with Alex convincing Mulligan to lay low and cut ties to the Sons of Liberty- when Mulligan insists that he wants to help the rebel cause, Alex assures him that, if they ever have need of someone in the city, he’ll find him personally.

August 12 Washington promotes Knowlton to Lieutenant Colonel and orders him to select an elite group of 130 men and 20 officers from CN, RI, and MA. He invites Hamilton and Clark to the party and promotes Clark to General Greene’s aide de camp.

By September, the city was lost to the British.  Greene wanted to burn the villages and suburbs which were largely loyalist, but Washington didn’t allow that, and ordered the army decamped.  The British attacked at Kip’s Bay on the East River, two miles north of Hamilton’s hill, leaving his company cut off.  Gen. Israel Putnam and his aide Major Aaron Burr went to evacuate them.  

Hamilton held to his orders from General Henry Knox to rally his men and stand, but Burr used Washington’s authority to drag Hamilton and his company with just the clothes on their backs, two cannons, and their men by a concealed path up the west side of the island to freshly dug entrenchments at Harlem Heights.

While they’re escaping, Hamilton quickly befriends Burr until the Major talks freely with him.  Burr mentions the plot Greene had suggested to burn the city behind them.  Alex says he can make that happen- and they take a detour to the Greenwich Village where Alex has a friend willing to cut a deal with him.

September 20th, Alex stops by the Fighting Cocks tavern where he still has a contact in Stoker, and convinces him to start a fire near Whitehall Slip. 493 houses, a quarter of the city burned down.  Washington wrote “Providence, or some good honest fellow, has done more for us than we were disposed to do for ourselves”

September 24th, Alex collects the report of Nathan Hale’s hanging in the park of artillery.  He meets Captain John Montresor of His Majesty’s army under a flag of truce who explains his purpose of his visit- the execution of Lieutenant Hale- a formal courtesy and a thinly-veiled warning that Washington’s attempt at espionage had been an embarrassing failure.  Hamilton is sent to report it to Washington himself.

September 26th, Hamilton meets Fitzgerald who’s acting as one of the couriers for Washington’s office and demands to be brought to meet him with a proposal.  

“He will remember me- we’ve met twice.”  

“He meets many people many more times than twice, Mister Hamilton.”  

“He’ll remember me.”

He knows several patriotic merchants in New York who he met in person while living with Mulligan- partners of the company he’d worked with. (Hamilton worked as a clerk in the Christiansted office of a New York-based import-export house for Nicholas Cruger, the 25-year-old scion of one of colonial America’s leading mercantile families.)

Washington doubts the vitality of any kind of spy ring in New York so deep into enemy lines.  He won’t risk sending a courier with any kind of letter that far into danger.  So, Hamilton offers to make the ride himself.

Washington’s aide, Fitzgerald says he knows a fast rider (Meade) who can help him get in and out of the city undetected or disguised.  

By October 1st, Hamilton’s presented his full plan to Washington and been approved.  Fitzgerald introduces him to Meade and they suit up to make the ride.

When he gets back, he wants a promotion to Major, recalling that he’d been offered that had he worked as General Greene’s aide, after the ride he’s made, he believes he deserves a better command.  Washington turns him away.  

“One short ride into New York which may or may not provide me viable intelligence doesn’t win me the war, boy…”  

He stomps out and passes Meade and Fitz, muttering, “If he wants me to win the war for him, fine.  If that’s what it takes.”

Fitz is like ‘Is this kid serious?’ Meade just nods, having seen Alex climb roofs, fight men twice his size, and talk people into circles until they’re agreeing with him without realizing it.

October 28th, Hamilton’s artillerymen are attacked by Hessians.  Ham’s gunners, flanked by NY and MD troops repulse the attacks before being driven further north.  They encamped, expecting another attack, but none came to Ham’s company before the Americans surrendered on Nov 16th.  The Americans evacuated so quickly they left 146 canons, 2,800 muskets, and 400,000 cartridges

Early November, Hamilton ordered back up the Hudson to join Lord Stirling at Peekskill and march to Washington’s camp in Hackensack, NJ.  He’s exhausted from his ride into New York to make post, and the trip makes him ill.

Hamilton hitches horses to his two remaining 6-pounders and marched his gun crews 20 miles in one day to the Raritan river past Elizabethtown where he went to school (he’s very familiar with the Raritan river).

None of his connections in New York have responded.  So, on the ride out, he stops to deliver a letter to New Jersey to follow through on his offer to Washington.  

Desperate, he swallows his pride and changes into civilian clothes, poses as a seventeen year old Princeton student, and visits someone he knew while he was at the boarding academy.  A John Honeyman who had... admired Alex while he studied in the apartment upstairs of his butcher shop.  Alex knows that Honeyman has been keeping his head down as a loyalist, but he also knows he harbors patriotic sentiments because of how he’d rail about taxes while Hamilton worked on his studies.

He makes it clear that there can’t be a paper trail- that’s why he risked the visit in person.  Honeyman is hesitant, but he knows he’s well-trusted to the British and he can get the information Alex needs.  So, he agrees to do what he can.

November 20th, Mulligan shows up where Hamilton is dug in near GW’s Hackensack headquarters.  He had been captured three months earlier at the Battle of Long Island and determined a ‘gentleman’ after his arrest, released on his honor not to leave New York City.  But, he got word of Hamilton’s offers out to their friends in NY.  Hamilton is ecstatic, and they set up plans for correspondence and passing information discretely.

The fighting continues, November 29, a force of about 4,000, double that of the Americans, arrived at a spot across the Raritan River from Washington’s encampment. While American troops tore up the planks of the NewBridge, Hamilton and his guns kept up a hail of grapeshot.

For several hours, the slight, boyish-looking captain could be seen yelling, “Fire! Fire!” to his gun crews, racing home bags of grapeshot, then quickly repositioning the recoiling guns. Hamilton kept at it until Washington and his men were safe

On December 20th, Honeyman wanders near the artillery line of camp where Hamilton’s company is stationed.  With Mulligan providing intel from New York, Hamilton doesn’t want to bring Honeyman in, but he’s already told Washington about him so he has to and he does.

Honeyman is brought to Washington as a legitimate prisoner and he gives his report of the British positions, men he had questioned and carefully counted.  Hamilton and Fitzgerald aide his ‘escape’ from the Patriot camp and give him directions back out to the Hessian camp where he’s to meet up with Colonel Rall and tell him “There will be no attack.  The American troops are so disheartened and so bedraggled, they have no plans of advancing any time soon.”  Hamilton then tells him the arrangements made to get his family to New Brunswick safely.  Hamilton gets away without having to show him any affection for the trade by being ill enough to be unattractive.  Fitzgerald makes several comments about how ill he looks, ‘knocking on deaths door’.

The gamble pays off and Rall believes Honeyman, expects no attack.  He informs his subordinates to stand down and commence Christmas celebrations- they break open casks of ale and Washington’s troops start boarding ships to cross the Delaware into Trenton

Tramping past darkened farmhouses for 12 miles, Hamilton’s company led Nathanael Greene’s division as it swung off to the east to skirt the town. One mile north of Trenton, Greene halted the column. At 8 in the morning, Hamilton unleashed his artillery on the Hessian outpost. Three minutes later, American infantry poured into town. Driving back Hessian pickets with their bayonets, they charged into the old British barracks to confront groggy Hessians at gunpoint. Some attempted to regroup and counterattack, but Hamilton and his guns were waiting for them. Firing in tandem, Hamilton’s cannons cut down the Hessians with murderous sheets of grapeshot. The mercenaries sought cover behind houses but were driven back by Virginia riflemen, who stormed into the houses and fired down from upstairs windows.. Riding back and forth behind the guns, Washington saw for himself the brutal courage and skillful discipline.

January 2, 1777, their numbers reduced from 69 to 25 by death, desertion and expired enlistments, Hamilton and his men wrapped rags around the wheels of their cannons to muffle noise, and headed north. They reached the south end of Princeton at sunrise, to face a brigade—some 700 men—of British light infantry. As the two forces raced for high ground, American general Hugh Mercer fell with seven bayonet wounds. The Americans retreated from a British bayonet charge. Then Washington himself galloped onto the battlefield with a division of Pennsylvania militia, surrounding the now outnumbered British. Some 200 redcoats ran to Nassau Hall, the main building at Princeton College. By the time Hamilton set up his two cannons, the British had begun firing from the windows of the red sandstone edifice. College tradition holds that one of Hamilton’s 6-pound balls shattered a window, flew through the chapel and beheaded a portrait of King George II. Under Hamilton’s fierce cannonade, the British soon surrendered.

In the wake of twin victories within ten days, at Trenton and Princeton, militia volunteers swarmed to the American standard, far more than could be fed, clothed or armed. Washington’s shorthanded staff was ill-equipped to coordinate logistics.  He turns to General Greene for assistance and Hamilton offers to assist him in working as a volunteer aide, a position he was offered and turned down- Greene takes his assistance and is impressed with his accounting ability.

This sets Hamilton in the clout of the other aides again and Harrison, Tilghman, and Fitzgerald are all raving about him, toasting him at parties and asking Meade stories about their ride together.  Meade’s just joined their staff and tries to involve him in their conversations but Alex stays reserved with them.  He jokes lightheartedly when Fitz applauds his miracles and mentions how he’d thought he was going to die of fever before they saw the victory he’d assured.  Alex teases that he’d bargained deals with a devil- of course he wouldn’t succumb before collecting on it.

Shortly after the army was led into winter quarters at Morristown, New Jersey, Nathanael Greene invited Hamilton, who had just turned 22, to dinner at Washington’s headquarters. There, Washington invited him to join his staff with a promotion from captain to Major as he’d previously asked.  Hamilton demands rank as Lieutenant Colonel and stands by it- Congress had acted that Washington’s official aides all hold the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.  Washington capitulates.

On March 1, 1777, he turned over the command of his artillery company to Lt. Thomas Thompson—a sergeant who, against all precedent, he had promoted to officer rank—and joined Washington’s headquarters staff.

Why have protests hit Hong Kong and where will they end?

Hong Kong has this summer faced the worst political turmoil since its handover to China in 1997. Residents first poured onto the streets to protest an extradition proposal that would send suspects to face trial in China, where the Communist Party controls the courts. When city leaders failed to defuse tensions, police sought to curtail the largely peaceful rallies by shooting tear gas, rubber bullets and foam rounds – a serious escalation in a city long known for being one of the safest places in the world. Protesters believe that because the extradition proposal has only been suspended, and not formally withdrawn, lawmakers could still quickly table and pass the legislation. Their demands have since grown to include the resignation of Hong Kong chief executive Carrie Lam, an independent commission to investigate police brutality, and wider political reforms to allow for residents to directly elect its leader. Britain's response During the leadership race, Boris Johnson and Jeremy Hunt called on Beijing to uphold the Sino-British Joint Declaration, which guaranteed freedoms for at least 50 years in the territory after its handover. But many residents say liberties have sharply eroded, especially since Xi Jinping took power as the head of the Communist Party in 2012. The agreement is a legally binding treaty registered at the United Nations, and places responsibility on both signatories to ensure rights in Hong Kong, which means the UK could raise the issue at the UN. Hong Kong protests However, Britain’s willingness to take on China as the Brexit process calls for new trade links outside the EU could be limited.  Lord Chris Patten, the last colonial governor, has called on the British government to do more to support the protesters, saying “We shouldn’t forget there is such a thing as honour, and we’re honour-bound to stand up for freedom in Hong Kong, the freedoms we promised people for years.” In late June, the UK halted further export licenses for crowd control equipment indefinitely until human rights concerns were “thoroughly addressed,” said then-Foreign Secretary Mr Hunt. Some of the tear gas canisters fired appeared to have been made by British defence contractor PW Defence, according to Amnesty International, a human rights group. In an interview with a Chinese language broadcaster in July, Mr Johnson said his government would be “very pro-China.” Where the protests stand Hong Kong is now in its third month of mass demonstrations. The leaderless movement has used social media and mass Airdrops to spread the word, with many groups organising rallies in several neighbourhoods. Despite lacking a figurehead, the protesters show no sign of splintering and appear to only have become more determined.   Chants of “Reclaim Hong Kong, it’s time for revolution!” have overtaken the slogans that defined the early days of the movement, when people were shouting, “No extradition to China!” It’s a shift that reflects how upset Hong Kongers have become with Beijing’s creeping influence in the region, and could prompt a greater crackdown by the government. While the rallies begin peacefully during the day, they now end in pandemonium as police and protesters - often clad in black with hiking sticks and yellow hard hats - engage in tense standoffs as the sky darkens. The stakes were raised when protesters first descended on Hong Kong's lone airport a week ago, threatening the city's reputation as a global transport and business hub. On Monday and Tuesday, hundreds of flights were cancelled as demonstrators blocked tourists' access to the departure lounge.    Where they could go Anger at police brutality has risen and demonstrators are increasingly frustrated that city leaders have ignored their demands.  Ms Lam has given few public remarks since the unrest began. Protesters are becoming increasingly unruly, hurling insults at the police and preparing defences – erecting barriers and gathering items, from bricks to street signs – to throw at the charging officers. Rallies are planned through the end of August, and people say they will take to the streets until demands are met – even though police have begun rejecting applications to hold marches. Police are also preparing to escalate their response.  Riot police fire tear gas to disperse protesters taking part in a rally on 28 July Credit: Rex Three anti-riot vehicles armed with water cannons are on stand-by. Authorities are reportedly mulling plans to use the armoured trucks to shoot water mixed with tear agents or liquid dye to disperse crowds - and make it easier to identify suspects.  For now, the unrest has galvanised more supporters rather than split public opinion. People are offering free rides and shelter to protesters running away from tear gas. Trained medics are also volunteering their time, making the rounds during mass demonstrations to treat injuries. But how long city residents will put up with such disturbances remains to be seen as the protests take an increasing toll on daily life.  Police now conduct random bag and ID checks in subway stations, trains have been delayed as workers go on strike, tear gas fogs up streets even hours after the rallies have been disbanded. China's options Beijing at first appeared to ignore the protests, later giving brief comments that stated support for Ms Lam and the Hong Kong police to handle the situation.  The government also issued stern warnings to Western nations, including the US and UK, to keep out of Chinese domestic affairs, decrying foreign interference as the reason for unrest.  Foreign ministry officials condemned protesters for engaging in violent acts without addressing the issue of police brutality. Carrie Lam has rarely spoken in public since the unrest began Credit: Bloomberg Lately, however, the rhetoric has ramped up, with China's top diplomat in Hong Kong speaking publicly for the first time since the territory's handover in 1997 and calling the protests akin to 'terrorism'. Hong Kong protests: riot police baton charge and fire tear gas to clear demonstrations at parliament, in pictures Chinese state media videos of military and police engaging in aggressive anti-riot drills serve as a warning that reinforcements for the Hong Kong authorities are ready to deploy at a moment's notice. For now, city officials and the leading authority - the Chinese Communist Party - have refrained from unleashing extreme measures, such as shooting live rounds and sending in the military. That "would be a major threshold for Beijing to cross," says Steve Tsang, director of the University of London's SOAS China Institute. Yet experts say there's no telling what the government might do next, especially as Beijing officials accuse protesters of fomenting a "colour revolution" with help from foreign forces - an anti-Communist uprising that would be its worst nightmare. The fear, for many, is a crackdown with a bitter end. Many of those out on the streets now are too young to remember the military tanks rolling into Tiananmen Square in 1989. But Beijing's memory is long.

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines

Hong Kong has this summer faced the worst political turmoil since its handover to China in 1997. Residents first poured onto the streets to protest an extradition proposal that would send suspects to face trial in China, where the Communist Party controls the courts. When city leaders failed to defuse tensions, police sought to curtail the largely peaceful rallies by shooting tear gas, rubber bullets and foam rounds – a serious escalation in a city long known for being one of the safest places in the world. Protesters believe that because the extradition proposal has only been suspended, and not formally withdrawn, lawmakers could still quickly table and pass the legislation. Their demands have since grown to include the resignation of Hong Kong chief executive Carrie Lam, an independent commission to investigate police brutality, and wider political reforms to allow for residents to directly elect its leader. Britain's response During the leadership race, Boris Johnson and Jeremy Hunt called on Beijing to uphold the Sino-British Joint Declaration, which guaranteed freedoms for at least 50 years in the territory after its handover. But many residents say liberties have sharply eroded, especially since Xi Jinping took power as the head of the Communist Party in 2012. The agreement is a legally binding treaty registered at the United Nations, and places responsibility on both signatories to ensure rights in Hong Kong, which means the UK could raise the issue at the UN. Hong Kong protests However, Britain’s willingness to take on China as the Brexit process calls for new trade links outside the EU could be limited.  Lord Chris Patten, the last colonial governor, has called on the British government to do more to support the protesters, saying “We shouldn’t forget there is such a thing as honour, and we’re honour-bound to stand up for freedom in Hong Kong, the freedoms we promised people for years.” In late June, the UK halted further export licenses for crowd control equipment indefinitely until human rights concerns were “thoroughly addressed,” said then-Foreign Secretary Mr Hunt. Some of the tear gas canisters fired appeared to have been made by British defence contractor PW Defence, according to Amnesty International, a human rights group. In an interview with a Chinese language broadcaster in July, Mr Johnson said his government would be “very pro-China.” Where the protests stand Hong Kong is now in its third month of mass demonstrations. The leaderless movement has used social media and mass Airdrops to spread the word, with many groups organising rallies in several neighbourhoods. Despite lacking a figurehead, the protesters show no sign of splintering and appear to only have become more determined.   Chants of “Reclaim Hong Kong, it’s time for revolution!” have overtaken the slogans that defined the early days of the movement, when people were shouting, “No extradition to China!” It’s a shift that reflects how upset Hong Kongers have become with Beijing’s creeping influence in the region, and could prompt a greater crackdown by the government. While the rallies begin peacefully during the day, they now end in pandemonium as police and protesters - often clad in black with hiking sticks and yellow hard hats - engage in tense standoffs as the sky darkens. The stakes were raised when protesters first descended on Hong Kong's lone airport a week ago, threatening the city's reputation as a global transport and business hub. On Monday and Tuesday, hundreds of flights were cancelled as demonstrators blocked tourists' access to the departure lounge.    Where they could go Anger at police brutality has risen and demonstrators are increasingly frustrated that city leaders have ignored their demands.  Ms Lam has given few public remarks since the unrest began. Protesters are becoming increasingly unruly, hurling insults at the police and preparing defences – erecting barriers and gathering items, from bricks to street signs – to throw at the charging officers. Rallies are planned through the end of August, and people say they will take to the streets until demands are met – even though police have begun rejecting applications to hold marches. Police are also preparing to escalate their response.  Riot police fire tear gas to disperse protesters taking part in a rally on 28 July Credit: Rex Three anti-riot vehicles armed with water cannons are on stand-by. Authorities are reportedly mulling plans to use the armoured trucks to shoot water mixed with tear agents or liquid dye to disperse crowds - and make it easier to identify suspects.  For now, the unrest has galvanised more supporters rather than split public opinion. People are offering free rides and shelter to protesters running away from tear gas. Trained medics are also volunteering their time, making the rounds during mass demonstrations to treat injuries. But how long city residents will put up with such disturbances remains to be seen as the protests take an increasing toll on daily life.  Police now conduct random bag and ID checks in subway stations, trains have been delayed as workers go on strike, tear gas fogs up streets even hours after the rallies have been disbanded. China's options Beijing at first appeared to ignore the protests, later giving brief comments that stated support for Ms Lam and the Hong Kong police to handle the situation.  The government also issued stern warnings to Western nations, including the US and UK, to keep out of Chinese domestic affairs, decrying foreign interference as the reason for unrest.  Foreign ministry officials condemned protesters for engaging in violent acts without addressing the issue of police brutality. Carrie Lam has rarely spoken in public since the unrest began Credit: Bloomberg Lately, however, the rhetoric has ramped up, with China's top diplomat in Hong Kong speaking publicly for the first time since the territory's handover in 1997 and calling the protests akin to 'terrorism'. Hong Kong protests: riot police baton charge and fire tear gas to clear demonstrations at parliament, in pictures Chinese state media videos of military and police engaging in aggressive anti-riot drills serve as a warning that reinforcements for the Hong Kong authorities are ready to deploy at a moment's notice. For now, city officials and the leading authority - the Chinese Communist Party - have refrained from unleashing extreme measures, such as shooting live rounds and sending in the military. That "would be a major threshold for Beijing to cross," says Steve Tsang, director of the University of London's SOAS China Institute. Yet experts say there's no telling what the government might do next, especially as Beijing officials accuse protesters of fomenting a "colour revolution" with help from foreign forces - an anti-Communist uprising that would be its worst nightmare. The fear, for many, is a crackdown with a bitter end. Many of those out on the streets now are too young to remember the military tanks rolling into Tiananmen Square in 1989. But Beijing's memory is long.

August 14, 2019 at 09:40AM via IFTTT

The Disgraced Son- Chapter 12 (SOA Fanfic)

Additional Chapters here

Other SOA stories here

Archive of our own version here

Rating- Mature Audiences

Warning (for the story rather than each individual chapter)- violence, injury, mentions of emotional/ psychological abuse (mostly in the past), hints to cannon S assault (but no explicit mention)

Chibs can feel his eyelids falling as he rides, the roaring hum of the engine the only thing stopping them from fully closing. Every part of him aches and after pulling into his driveway way he stumbles into the house. Locking the door behind him, he pulls off his kutte before noticing a murmur of voices deriving from the living room. Edging forwards, he gently pushes the door, grateful that Juice had bugged him to oil it recently thereby avoiding a high-pitched screech. Glancing in, he sees Juice in the living room, a set of cards in his hands and a sly grin lighting up his face, Montez and Tig sit opposite. Venus walks in with a couple of plates in each hand, a spotted apron around her waist, sporting tall red heels that would put the girls at Cara Cara to shame. Taking it all in Chibs can’t help but think it makes a homely image in its own strange way.

Deciding not to skulk around in his own home any longer he walks into the living room, Juice gives him that megawatt smile but quickly turns back to the game, poker by the looks of it, Juice’s specialty. He’s clearly running circles around Montez and Tig, even without his usual tricks and cheats. They should have known better, he was the king of card games, anything that involved jokers or spades he ruled over with ease.

Chibs gives Venus a quick greeting before sitting with T.O. in the corner. The game is put on hold as soon as Venus wanders back in with the last plate of food. She’s outdone herself tonight, for most of them there are big chunks of chicken, cooked to perfection and covered in gravy, surrounded by a variety of greens. Juice’s plate is similar only Venus has bought some faux meat for him. It would be a small detail to most but Juice has to take a quick second to compose himself before giving her a shaky smile and muted thank you in response.

Making sure to keep one eye on Juice, Chibs joins in the conversation, quieting the voice in his head that’s mocking him for being a mother hen. The fact Chibs is a tad bit rounder than the others has come from his ability to houdini away any food on his plate. Thanks to his gift he may never again have Juice’s physique, although if you consulted his dear wife, she’d say he’d always looked a few days from giving birth. Throughout the years he’s always consoled himself with the fact that at least he’d be the last to die of starvation if it ever came to that and not because he was the first to resort to cannibalism. So, when he glances over at Juice once more, he’s surprised to find his plate still nearly full, the lad occasionally half heatedly poking at his plate.

Juice quickly offers his help when Venus starts to collect the finished plates, following her into the kitchen he swats away Tig’s taunts that he'll make a good old lady one day. Once he knows they’re safely in the kitchen with the tap gushing, Chibs quietly gets up to shut the door, listening for the quiet click of the lock.

‘’Something you need Prez?’’ He contemplates for a moment how to brooch the topic but in the end, he decides to rip the metaphorical Band-Aid off, ‘’He’s not well enough for it now. But how’d you guys feel about the lad keeping his kutte, eventually joining us at the table?’’

Silence lasts for a few beats until, ‘’None of us would have voted Mayhem if we’d have known everything. I never knew him too well but he loved the club. After everything that he went through, I think he deserves another chance wearing the reaper.’’

‘’Montez is right. Samcro condemned him without hearing the facts. He might have betrayed you guys but he was scared and he knew he was different. I grew up knowing what that’s like, it's not pleasant brothers.’’ T.O finishes there and they all turn to Tig.

‘’You already know my answer. If the kid gets better and he’s willing to give us a chance I’d like to have him back.’’

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

They head to bed at 2AM that night, when Chibs eventually managed to kick out their guests. Waking the next morning Chibs finds himself nestling into a smaller warm body, his hand rubbing circles on its back whilst he listens to a soft heartbeat. As he blinks open his eyes all is peaceful for a few moments. Until he realizes Juice is nowhere to be seen and it’s the damn cat he’s practically cuddling, its flat face a few inches from his own, breathing fishy air into his mouth. Sitting up he gives it a slight shove ignoring the way it hisses and spits as it hits the carpet.

Wandering downstairs, he finds Juice in the kitchen. Dressed in just sweatpants, he’s pouring glasses of orange juice, two plates of buttered toast next to him. He turns sharply when he hears footfall but visibly relaxes at seeing its source.

‘’Damn it. I was going to bring you up some breakfast.’’ ‘’I was wondering where you were. I woke up practically snogging the bleeding cat.’’ ‘’Sorry.’’ Juice hands out the plate as a peace offering, a grin on his face that suggests he’s anything but sorry. Reaching for the plate, Chibs' eyes catch sight of the reaper, drawn with utmost care it rests on Juice’s arm, its grin malignant, its scythe raised, it reminds Chibs of how close the reaper was to taking the boy. Juice himself is following his gaze's direction until his eyes also land upon the inked skin. Sensing the incoming panic that he doesn’t know how to smother or even address, Chibs rips away his eyes and takes a few steps into the living room, grabbing his hoodie from last night he throws it to Juice behind him, ‘’Don’t want you to get cold, Lad.’’

They eat their breakfast in a peaceful kind of silence, Chibs flicking through the morning TV channels, muttering about car crash TV and never settling on anything for more than a minute whilst Juice eats his toast, one hand absentmindedly stroking the cat. They’re visiting Bobby today, with the rule of not riding alone still standing, and with Juice in no condition to get into a shootout, Chibs has asked T.O. to join them on their hospital visit.

Eventually, Chibs settles into watching some motorbike programme, he’s so engrossed that the credits have flicked back on before he notices Juice has finished his breakfast, watching the kid stand up triggers some memory in his brain.

‘’Forgetting something? ‘’...No?’’ Juice replies.

Chibs leans forward, plucking a little white bottle from the coffee table, ‘’One in the morning, one at night. Those were the doc's orders, right?’’

‘’Yeah...right.”

Chibs keeps an eye pinned on him whilst he fills up a glass of water, only looking away when the little white tablets had disappeared from view.

//////

An hour later, when Chibs has thrown on his kutte and Juice has gotten changed, they arrive at the new clubhouse. It’s the first time Juice has seen the place and Chibs gives him a second to look around whilst they wait for T.O. to arrive. Being a Sunday morning Chibs is sure only a few people will be there, and he’s right. A lone croweater is behind the bar scrubbing at the counter and only a few actresses are rehearsing. Glancing at them Chibs thinks they’re acting out a scene surely only a deviant like Tig could be into. Despite never having much faith Chibs’ own catholic sensibilities are disturbed by the view.

Giving Juice a small nudge he quickly takes the hint, wandering down the corridors he goes to glance at the new bedrooms they’ve recently installed. Whilst he’s gone Chibs makes his way over to the bar, his drink is laid out before he’s even reached it.

‘’Thanks, Darling,’’ Chibs said, not wanting to admit the croweater in question’s name had escaped him at that moment. Appreciating both the morning tranquillity and his drink too, a few minutes pass by before he begins to question the lad’s whereabouts. The answer is soon revealed when Juice is shepherded back in, Tig encouraging him forward with an arm resting on his shoulders.

‘’Hey Chibby, just been giving our kid a rundown of the new place.’’

‘’Nice of you. So, what do you think Juicy?’’

‘’It’s nice.’’

Tig being Tig interrupts any further comment that might have come by rapping his knuckles against the wooden bar immediately grabbing the attention of the croweater, crouched on the floor putting away Scotch bottles. Jumping up her feet Chibs has to admire the way she doesn’t falter or stumble in her five-inch heels, her hands are deft when she's concocting Tig’s chosen drink. Looking at her closer Chibs can defiantly remember her; she’s worked at the clubhouse for years now serving customers at their busiest parties. Raking through the dusty files of his brain Chibs can feel her name dancing just on the edge of his tongue, something bright sounding; Bella, Britanny, Bianca...

‘’Thanks, Beth.’’

Or Beth. Tig was the one to supply it once his drink was propped down beside him.

Turning around to face Juice her elbows settle onto the counter and maybe it's Chibs’ wayward imagination but her eyes seem to be a brighter shade of blue this close up, ‘’Anything I can get you, Sugar?’’

Watching the interaction Chibs has the unexplainable urge to ask her to get back to stocking but refrains from saying so. Whatever the reason for his discomfort Chibs needn't have worried, as sweet as the local girls found Juice he was a born and bred ditherer. After letting out an unintelligible string of sounds he manages to throw out a quiet ‘'No thanks.’’ Not letting Juice’s lack of conversational skills ruin her day Beth simply sends Tig a wink before getting on with her previous task.

‘’So, T.O. is riding with you guys?’’

‘’Yeah” Chibs checks his watch as he's talking, “He should be here sometime soon.’’

‘’Surprised he’s coming. I would have thought you to would want some privacy on your first big date outside.’’

‘’Piss off Trager.’’

‘’I’m serious man. I hope he’s at least bringing that wife of his. I’m sure you’d hate for him to feel like a third wheel.’’ Still not finished Tig sets his eyes on Juice, ‘’You know the guys and me have been placing bets on how long it’ll take him to ask for your hand. I’ve got twenty pounds on Happy that says it’ll happen in the next couple of days.’’

It seems Juice has gotten back some of his old fire when he replies, ‘’You know I’d have thought he’d have done it already. I think he’s just can’t do it. If he got down on one knee he wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.’’

‘’Very funny Lad,’’ says Chibs

‘’I try.’’

The teasing would be continued had it not been interrupted by the front door swinging open, bringing in T.O and rays of light streaming into the building. ‘’Morning guys. Ready to go?’’

“Yeah, we’re ready. Mind taking Juice to the van? I just needed to check something in the office.”

‘’Course. I left those files on your desk for you. ‘’

‘’Thanks for that. How are the numbers looking?’’

‘’By the end of March we’ll be turning a hell of a profit.’’ T.O. waits for Juice to walk over before they head out. Leaving his barstool, Juice throws Beth one of his signature smiles, shy but still emitting happiness, Chibs is hit with an unprecedented level of jealousy upon seeing it. He tries to explain it away, they’d been friends for years, Juice has relied on him for almost a month now. It made sense that he’d be a little defensive at anyone getting between them. And Juice had enough going on in his life without potential heartbreak. Chibs was just looking out for him, at least that’s what he’ll tell himself.

Glancing at Beth again he could see the appeal, her curly hair rolled down her back in dark waves, a few pieces having escaped from the restraints of her ponytail frame her face perfectly. Her black skin is without blemish and her bright blue eyes shine even in the shallow light of the clubhouse, there’s always a sense of intelligence in them mixed with a dab of mischief like the world in front is simply for her amusement. He’ll have to get used to Juice spending time with girls eventually.

As they walk to the door, Tig pipes up one last time, “If you two want a June wedding, Venus knows just the right venue.” Juice replies with a middle finger, just before the front door slams to a close.

Taking that moment to heave himself from the stool, Chibs tugs on his kutte, trying to leave without another one of Tig’s little comments. ‘’That hoodie looked awfully like one of yours, didn’t it Chibby?’’

Too late.

'’Not another word, Brother.’’ He starts walking toward his makeshift office. Getting there it’s clear to see someone’s been routeing through, the doors hanging open like it was slammed in a hurry. Going in everything seems to be where he left it at first glance. Looking closer however Chibs can see the difference, the paperwork that was strewn across his desk has been moved into a neat pile, the pens are now sat at the same angle in their pot. Finally, the computer’s screen has been cleaned, the inches of dust Chibs had allowed to stew there wiped off. Clearly, Juice was the culprit, though Chibs wasn’t concerned, he had told him he could wander around after all. Lay in front of the computer are the files that T.O. had dropped off, they’re the only thing left untouched. The answer as to why becomes apparent as his eyes travel further across the desk.

An open cardboard box sits at the end, having been left by Chibs a few days previously. With a sense of dread unravelling in his stomach, he moves closer to it, thinking that it had been closed the last time he was here. Pulling back the lid he can see what Juice undoubtedly saw just twenty minutes earlier, cold blue eyes glaring upward. The angelic blonde hair falling to his shoulders doing nothing to hide the ugly disdain in his gaze, or the anger simmering under his surface. Jax Teller was staring at him, or at least the memory of him trapped in the mugshot was.

Chibs had been looking through them and despite knowing the truth about Jax he hadn’t launched it, didn’t have the heart to. The memory of a younger Jax stopped him from doing so. He wonders exactly what message Juice had gotten from that.

Shaking his head he shuts the box again, this time setting it under the desk away from prying eyes. It just takes a couple of minutes to check through some of the files. When he’s done he closes the door behind him, locking it for good measure.

/////////////////

When Chibs gets out there T.O. has started his bike and Juice is waiting in the passenger seat. Once in the driving seat, the key has to be turned and the peddle pushed a few times before a guttural sound is emitted from the engine and they manage to set off. It chugs along the roads, the exhaust releasing puffs of grey smoke whilst they try to ignore the slugs overtaking them.

Twenty minutes pass Chibs unable to say anything. He’d never struggled with words, always having been the sort of guy to speak his mind. Though words seem to have left him entirely right now, he’s left to shoot nervous glances at his quiet passenger.

Juice speaks first, ‘’I do like the clubhouse. It seems more homely.’’

‘’That’s Venus’ doing. Look I know you saw the mugshots...’’

‘’Not now Chibs. Can we talk about it later?’’

‘’...Yeah course.’’ Silence fell again after that, at least until they turned the corner and Stockton hospital came into view.

The hospital had been around for decades now, when it was built in 1934 it was a grand building, with marble pillars at the front and an inviting interior. Like most things in Stockton, it was left to its own devices years ago, it’s deteriorated and decayed since. Chibs has to circle the carpark twice before a space opens up. Juice has jumped out of the car before Chibs has unfastened his seatbelt once they’ve parked up.

T.O. is waiting at the front door and they pass through without delay, being sure to step over the sprinkling of glass on the stone floor, originating from the newly shattered window. Juice walks securely between the two of them, T.O. clearing the path ahead and Chibs keeping him moving with a firm and comforting hand on his back. Reaching the front desk, a portly nurse glares at Chibs as she asks them to sit down, recognising him from his kutte alone. Looking around for seating, Chibs thinks that calling the area a reception could be described as playing fast and loose with words, it’s a tiny room, a few dingy lightbulbs hang from the ceiling most of them either broken or flickering like they’re in a classic horror. Grime is caked between floor tiles, that may have once been white but have transformed into a mucus-like green over the years.

Someone has shoved in a desk directly in front of the doors, on top of it is the earliest version of a computer they could find. Finally, in the corner of the room, sit a few fragile lawn chairs and tattered sofas. Juice spots the seating arrangements first and makes a beeline for the lawn chairs. Chibs follows at his own slower gait, approving of Juice's seating preference more when he notices a few too many questionable stains on the sofas' orange fabric.

Juice perches on the seating first, Chibs winces as he follows, lowering himself down, wondering if the flimsy thing will hold his weight. As soon as they’re settled Juice’s nervous ticks start up, his hands wringing together and his foot taps out a fast-paced beat on the mouldy tiles, noticing it from the corner of his eye Chibs has to bite his lip, his teeth grinding together. Five minutes, that feels like five millennia, pass and the frustrating little dance of Juice’s is seemingly insufficient. He rises to get up only to be halted by Chibs’ hand on his solder rubbing a soothing circle, ‘’Want a drink? Coffee? Water?’’ Juice just shakes his head at that, he goes back to tapping but at least he’s been deterred from pacing.

After twenty of the longest minutes of Chibs’ life, they’re called in for visiting. Extracting himself from the chair Chibs ignores Juice’s sniggering as caught on his larger frame it rises with him for a second. T.O. is still standing in the corner, sunglasses shielding his eyes and a knife hanging from his belt he creates an intimidating image. Just before they walk into Bobby’s room, he sends an upward nod In Chibs’ direction and stands guard by the door, as silent and deadly as a sentinel. The nurse is still glaring as they walk past the reception’s desk but her expression softens a tad bit when she notices Juice in his oversized hoodie, half hiding behind Chibs, Damn boys always had a way with women.

Her expression softens a tad bit when she notices Juice in his oversized hoodie, half hiding behind them, gazing around at the mess in comical horror. Damn boys always had a way with women. After twenty of the longest minutes of Chibs’ life, they’re called in for visiting. Extracting himself from the chair Chibs ignores Juice’s sniggering as caught on his larger frame it rises with him for a second. T.O. is still standing in the corner, sunglasses shielding his eyes and a knife hanging from his belt he creates an intimidating image. Just before they walk into Bobby’s room, he sends an upward nod In Chibs’ direction and stands guard by the door, as silent and deadly as a sentinel.

Walking into Bobby’s room, it’s at least cleaner than the reception, although he'll probably still catch some deadly disease knowing their luck. Bobby reaches an arm out to hug Chibs and the usual greetings are exchanged. It takes a second for him to even notice Juice whose hovering in the doorway, neither fully in nor out of the room.

‘’You’re letting the warm air out. Come on in Brother.’’ Chibs wonders if some hierarchical instincts that are still intact are the only reason Juice creeps into the room, jumping as the heavy door shuts with a clank behind him. For the last few years now it’s been the same. When one of the higher-ranking members asks him to jump, he’ll leap without question or a second's hesitation. Juice speaks when he reaches them, ‘’How are you?’’ The question is paired with a nervous glance at his injuries. Thick white bandages wrap around Bobby’s right hand, preventing anyone from viewing the short, mangled stumps that remain attached, whilst bandages around his face cover the gaping hole that once not too long ago housed his eye. ’’Doing alright. Hoping they’ll let me leave sometime soon. It’ll be good when I can get some more gigs. I can’t even nearly die without my crazy ex-wife nagging me about money.’’ The guy's always on about his ex. Chibs is privately grateful his and Fiona’s relationship had never soured into such a rotten fruit, maybe it’s the distance that keeps them from going at each other's throats, or maybe it’s their mutual respect, both of them once loyal soldiers in the IRA’s bloody war.

Mostly to stop any persistent lawyers knocking at their door Chibs interjects ’We can send her some money if it's needed.’’ ‘’I’d appreciate that.’’ After glancing between the two for a second his one-eyed gaze settles on Juice, ‘’How you doing, Kid? Chibs taking good care of you?’’

Conversation flows easily after that question with Juice talking about the house, last night's game, acting like he was watching it rather than reading on the sofa. He even mentions the cat, a story which causes Bobby to snort and send a look Chibs’ way, although he can’t fully decipher it, it still makes heat rush to his face, Juice doesn’t seem to notice.

Later on, when visiting's nearly over, Chibs has turned to Juice, telling him to ‘’Take a walk, Lad.’’ He obeys, wandered back to T.O. just outside. Grinning at him Bobby asks, ‘’Does he know you love him?’’ Chibs is a man who’s rarely caught off guard but that question leaves him near speechless. Only one word comes out when he finds his tongue again, ‘’What?’’ “Does he know you love him?’’ After thirty seconds of gawping at him Chibs decides he must have taken the question the wrong way, ‘’He was my prospect. We’ve always been close.’’ The conversation’s dropped after that but Bobby still keeps the grin on his face and makes sure to mention Chibs’ new cat as he’s walking out the door. He knows Chibs hates animals.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The Sons have resided in Charming for so long now that their presence seems ingrained into the town, as much an integral piece as the family-run businesses and picture-perfect cottages. The last few months of relative peace have caused the residents’ feelings to develop into something akin to approval rather than the hatred and fear that once ruled their minds. So, one of the bikers purchasing a house wasn’t met with public outrage. The house was surrounded by rows of houses and lay just a couple of streets away from the local school.

As it did every night, a motorbike rumbles down the road, causing lights to flicker on in nearby homes and neighbours to quietly grumble about, ‘’that damn biker’’. Dancing with the speed limit it powers onward until reaching Alderwood Street, a squeeze of the breaks before it rolls into a driveway. Stopping the bike fully the rider pulls off his helmet before stretching, wincing at the cracking sounds his joints release. Dismounting he routes through his pockets until his fingers close around metal, keys indenting into his palm he walks to the door. Attempting to shove the key in he frowns when it refuses to budge, yanking it out he leans down, finally noticing the dried glue edging out of the keyhole.

Before he can ponder about its origin or blame it on one of the neighbourhood’s troubled teens a shot rings out in the night, closely followed by the man stumbling as a bullet rips through the white reaper proudly displayed on his back and slides through flesh. Collapsing to his knees, just before his eyes slide closed, he spots the figure of a man clad in black, a gun in his grasp, jumping off a neighbouring house’s roof.

The Disgraced Son- Chapter 11 (SOA Fanfic)

Additional Chapters here

Other SOA stories here

Archive of our own version here

Rating- Mature Audiences

Warning (for the story rather than each individual chapter)- violence, injury, mentions of emotional/ psychological abuse (mostly in the past), hints to cannon S assault (but no explicit mention)

After a week of attempting to convince Juice to head to therapy, Chibs brought out his secret weapon, in the shape of Venus Van Damn. In the last couple of weeks, the both of them have formed a mother son relationship that Tig won’t stop teasing Juice about. And after Chibs left them in the living room for just ten minutes Juice walked out into the kitchen with him. He slid up beside next to him so he could he could help with the pots and muttered quietly that maybe therapy wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Chibs pushed down any smugness he felt about being right and just nodded his agreement. The same day he’d booked an appointed with a Dr Arthur, the best therapist he could afford in Charming, an extra wad of cash had been placed outside her door at night thanking her for her discretion.

Juice is currently sat in her office, the walls are painted a calming blue colour and every item seems to be precisely placed, from the papers neatly stacked on her desk, the owl shaped clock ticking away on the wall and the wide range of seating dispersed around the room: desk chairs, sofas and a few bean bags in the corner. Before the session he watched her alter the pen on her desk a few times, he wonders if she's like him, haunted by the relentless inch to conquer and fix everything surrounding her, he wonders whether she has bottles of pills at home too, that were first shoved into her hand after the diagnosis of OCD left the Doctor’s lips. Before they start Claire walks over to her radio, it looks like it could have been plucked from an 80s movie, after she flicks one of the buttons orchestral music permeates the room, Juice supposes it's meant to put him at ease but instead it gives the situation an artificial feeling that makes his palms sweat even more.

His fears are quickly laid to rest though, none of the questions are combative or invasive and the thought of Chibs sitting just outside keeps the rising panic at bay. The inquiries cover plenty in their first hour, from his time under Roosevelt’s thumb to being laid at Jax’s cruel mercy. They don’t wander onto the subject of Stockton just yet, the first mention of it sends his heart racing so frantically he can hear it, repeatably pulsing in his head. They steer clear of it after that.

An hour later he’s feeling the pride that comes with completing the first counselling session. Afterwards she handed him a laminated card with her number printed on it, in case of an emergency she said. There's an owl logo on the back of it. Juice silently acknowledges that she’s a bit of an oddball but he wouldn’t be stood in front of her if he wasn’t the same.

Chibs is still waiting in the van for Juice, his arms propped against the door, flicking through articles on his phone. He’d already spoken to Dr Arthur, or Claire as she insists he calls her, and he’s more open to the idea than when Venus first suggested them getting a therapy animal. Most of the articles centred around therapy dogs but Chibs couldn’t abide the slobbering creatures, always peeing and chewing things that they shouldn’t be. He could deal with something less high maintenance though, maybe a cat although truth be told he’d rather just get a goldfish, he can’t see that helping Juice though.

Juice's eyes are slightly red rimmed when he gets into the van but his smile seems genuine enough when he greets Chibs. Waiting until he had scrubbed his face with a couple of tissues and settled in Chibs speaks ‘’Want to get a cat?’’

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In the end, Venus had been the one to pick up the cat. It was only a couple of years old and had come from an old friend of Tig’s. The creature was grumbling when they finally got home, a deep hacking sound that vibrated straight from its chest, setting Chibs’ hairs on edge. It's no wonder it was making such a noise really, its fat carcass had been stuffed into a small pink cage. Before today Chibs would have disapproved of any animal being treated like that but after five seconds of her being let loose in his home, he could understand the previous owner’s mindset. Venus had perched the cage on their coffee table and opened the door, letting what now Chibs refers to as miniature Satan out into the world.

As she took her first couple of steps out Chibs caught a glance of her, she wasn’t a looker by any means and he spares a moment to wonder why Tig would ever think he wanted that thing in his house. Her ginger fur is thin leaving little bald patches in random areas and her back leg had clearly been lost in an accident at some point. It's actually impressive how she manages to carry her bulk on only three legs. Her head looked to be at least four times too small for the rest of her which is only emphasized by her too large piss-coloured eyes. The most offensive thing about her has to be the scraggly thin tail hanging behind, giving her the unpleasant appearance of an overgrown rat.

Appearances aside she took to Juice immediately, maybe she sensed from the way Chibs was looking at her that she wouldn’t be staying long otherwise. Juice seemed unbothered by her repulsive looks and he was currently sat reading on the sofa with the ugly thing curled up purring on his stomach. Chibs himself had a shakier relationship with her, whenever he got within a few metres of them her lips would pull back revealing yellowing sharp teeth before a snarl was released.

Much to Juices amusement the two of them were currently locked in an intense staring contest across the room, if asked Chibs would swear she hadn’t blinked in the past hour but he still wasn’t willing to back down from “that ginger flea bag” as he so eloquently put it. After half an hour Juice tucks the book under his arm and heads off to bed, the cat cradled in his arm whilst she continues to glare over his shoulder, staring straight into Chibs’ soul with her oversized bug eyes.

With Juice now staying at his, Chibs had made some adjustments around the house. The fridge was now fully stocked with a range of healthy food (one shelf obviously reserved for Chibs’ out of date take outs). He had also taken the time to hang up some thick, black curtains in the bedroom, they could route out any sliver of light and throw the bedroom into a pitch-black darkness no matter the time of day. Chibs was rather proud of thinking of it despite the fact Juice never wanted the room that dark. Unless Chibs was sat right beside him as he often was, running his hand through the short curling hair juice had allowed to grow, the neighbouring lamps were kept on so he could watch the door, always preparing for an intruder.

The last change was the new air mattress Chibs had bought after getting sick of waking at 3AM on a deflated piece of plastic. Although in the spirit of everything related to camping hating him this mattress wasn’t much of an improvement. It didn’t deflate anymore but laying on it could only be compared to laying upon a bed of rocks. Each morning he woke up with muscles that he didn’t know he had, sore and throbbing. He didn’t complain... that much.

As Chibs walks through into the bedroom an hour later, the first thing he notices is Juice’s kutte hanging on the back of the door. It had spent the last week neatly tucked away in the wardrobe, so clearly Juice had been looking at it at since he came to bed. There’s plenty of times in the day when Chibs plans to ask about Juice’s current feelings on the club but every time their eyes make contact, the guarded pain in them always makes him lose his nerve. Juice was now dead away to the world, his legs tangled in the covers, the cat sprawled out next to him and Macbeth resting on his chest. Chibs picks it up before shoving a spare bit of paper in it as a makeshift bookmark, God knows the boy won’t let it go if he loses his page again.

He throws his clothes onto the nearest bit of furniture and carefully hangs his kutte on top of Juice’s. Leaning over he yanks at the bed covers, careful to disrupt the cat, until he’s unravelled them and thrown them back over the sleeping form. Ignoring the dirty glances the cat shoots his way, Chibs looks over, noticing a new picture on the bedside table, Chibs had pulled it from Juice’s bag the morning after he came to the house, it was from the time Juice was prospecting. Chibs remembers the day it was taken, it was just after one of Gemma’s famous family dinners, but he didn’t know the picture itself existed. He looks less grey in it and Juice looks happy, a feeling that’s become so scarce over the last years. The photo has been taken from its plastic case and slotted into a proper frame, Chibs can only think that he must have asked Tig or Venus for it.

Laying down on the mattress he's flat out within minutes. When his eyes blink open barely two hours later, he takes a moment to wonder what woke him. Then he notices Juice sweat drenched and shaking on the bed, little whimpers escaping now and again. Jumping up, it’s a battle to wake him from the terror fuelled haze he’s emersed in. When he does wake, he desperately tries to struggle out of Chib’s grip, blinding clawing at the arms trying to sooth him. He still squirms and sobs even after Chibs pins his arms down, the darkness and exhaustion stopping him from seeing the familiar face in front of him. It’s the smell that reigns in his hysteria, a blend of cheap tobacco and Irish whiskey, it’s a scent that's as much a part of Chibs as the second smile drawn across his face. ‘’Sorry...sorry...I-uh...I didn’t know...’’ he’s quietened by Chibs gently shushing him, whispering comfort in his ear. He quietens but doesn’t attempt to go back to sleep much to Chibs’ dismay, instead his hand reaches up and circles Chibs' wrist drawing both sets of eyes to the few red lines that have been scratched there, ‘’...Sorry.’’ Ignoring the apology seems like the better way to move forward, ‘’Want me to stay?’’ He receives a nod of conformation and they lie in silence, it carries on for so long that, mixed with Juice’s even breathing, Chibs starts to wonder how he’s drifted off next to the man who nearly killed him.

‘’Can I see him?’’ Not asleep then. Chibs pulls away slightly so he can look him in the eye, ‘’Who?’’ ‘’Bobby’’ ‘’I was going to visit in a couple of days. I’ll take you with me if that’s what you want, Lad.’’ ‘’Thanks.’’ He does drift off after that, leaving Chibs to ponder in the silence, holding the boy close.

Blog Update

I was looking over the blog today while trying to organize things and it hit me just how unorganized and frustrating to navigate it was. Like the links were all stretched out, had to be dragged to see them all, the link titles were confusing, things were tagged weird and I Could go on. It shot my anxiety through the roof trying to navigate it myself so I’m sure plenty of my followers have had issues too, y'all are just too nice to say anything 😂 So I decided to change the theme and the navigation of the blog to be what I feel is easier to understand and I figured I would give a quick run down of how I organized it so y’all know how to get around 

So the highlighted areas are under that “Pages” drop down. It helped to declutter everything. As far as the links go, 

SAMCRO Imagines is pretty self explanatory. Every imagine that I write for SOA will be in that link, so when you click “SAMCRO Imagines” it will bring up all of the imagines directly and you can scroll through them in chronological order. 

Queue is basically the request list with all of the requests that I have to put out in order of how they will be done. Helpful to see how many requests are before yours or to have an idea of what imagines will be put out

Mayans Imagines is the same as the SAMCRO one above, these are all of the Mayans stories that I put out that you can scroll through one after another 

Fanfic Masterlist is a masterlist where everything is listed and can be viewed individually by clicking the link. You don’t have to scroll through to find a story, you can go there to find the specific story you are looking for. This is categorized by character for convenience. These are stories with 3+ parts to them. 

About me is just that. Pointless shit you probably don’t care about, hasn’t been updated or used in a literal year or more probably. But it’s there if you wanna check it out 

Preferences is where I put all of the head cannons, most likely too’s, “how would this character react if type of posts”. For ask purposes, Preferences will be given an answer as a paragraph detailing their response/reactions to the given situation. 

Would Includes are the asks where someone wants to know what specific situations would include. These are bulleted lists, usually specific to the mentioned situation, I try not to do too many hypotheticals with these 

Oneshots/twoshots masterlist is like the fanfic masterlist. Specific imagines are listed and you can pick an individual story rather than scrolling through. These are drabbles and stories that I completed in 2 or less parts. 

The search is where you can find all posts of all kinds regarding specific characters. For instance, by searching “#juice Ortiz” it will bring up posts I’ve done for/including Juice such as imagines, drabbles, HCs, would includes etc. That way you can find everything for whatever character you are looking for. As a side note, basic discussions or asks I don’t tag. To find literally everything ever for that character, just search their name, no hashtag. 

For specific searches, you can type both the name of the character and some type of key word like “Jax cheating” and that will bring up posts that have both Jax and cheating in the post. 

Hope this makes it a little easier to figure out and navigate around so it’s a better experience for you guys. Also as always, be honest if you think there is something I should change or if you think the blog was easier to navigate before. I’m sure within these past almost 4 years y’all have figured out how to get around and it will take a bit to get used to but if you really feel that this is worse than before, please let me know. I’m in the process of updating the masterlists now. 

I love you guys 💕