#Glenny boy!

[taylormarieee]

Day 3: Handjob kinktober

Summary: You give Glenn what he asks for

Word Count: 577

Pairing: Glenn Rhee x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Handjob, subby glenn, dom-ish reader, whimpering and pet names. MDNI 18+ONLY

A/N: I'm sorry this one was so late, i'm extremely tired. I know its the 4th now but let's ignore that fact...

You and Glenn were like the couple that everyone wants to be. You guys almost never argued and you guys were always happy.

So what do you guys do in your free time? Have sex. Any position, any time of the day. You guys did the deed almost everywhere.

Car.

Kitchen.

Couch.

Woods.

Cell tower.

Abandoned store.

You name it! You both were the cutest and horniess couple.

Today was just like any other day. You were talking to Glenn about things you wanna try out that you've never tried before.

And to your surprise, you've never jerked him off. Like ever. So you wanted to try it out. See how it made him feel and if he didn't like it then you'l stop but if he does you guys may do it more often.

"I just want to try it hunny!" You exclaim. "Why can't we try this out?" you ask.

"I just feel like I will be vulnerable." He says fiddling with his hands.

"That can't be it glenn. We've had sex almost everywhere!" You chuckle. "This is not scary. But if you don't want to that's fine." You say.

He sighs and rubs his hands over his face. "Fine baby! We will try it. I will try it." He says. You squeal! "Ohhh! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You exclaim.

He smiles and starts to remove his pants. You bite your lip as you watch him slowly remove his boxers. Your mouth waters at his semi-hard cock.

You moan and get closer to him. He lays down and you lay between his legs. You touch him, starting by doing simple strokes up and down.

You twist your hand as you move up and down and his tip starts oozing pre-cum. He whimpers and moans grasping his hands tightly at the sheets.

You bite you lip and lick at his tip, gathering the precum in your mouth. The salty taste fulfilling your taste buds.

You stroke him faster now as he continues to moan your name over and over again with a line of curse words in between.

"Oh fuck- Baby girl- Oh fuck , just like that pretty girl-hmph- yeahhhh." He whimpers out.

"You like that baby?" You say staring at him with doe eyes. He swoons and throws his head back.

"Yeah-hmphh- Your so hot baby! You treat me-hm- you treat me so well!"

You smile and twist your hand again in a way that has him squirming. Glenn was very sensitive. He was always whimpering and squirming when the overstimulation became to much.

You of course weren't going to punish him today. Especially when he's been such a good boy.

"Your such a good boy glenn. Look at how well your taking this. You wanna cum for me? Cum for your sweet girlfriend?" You ask tauntingly.

He shakes his head whimpering as his release his close. "Pleas baby girl I wanna cum so bad please!" He cries out.

"Go ahead baby, cum for me." You say stroking him at a faster pace. His pants and whimpers echo throughout the room.

He moans your name with a drawn out drawl when he shoots his load all over your hands and his abdomen.

"Good job Glenn. You did so good." You say licking the cum of your hands. You lay next to him as Glenn takes a moment to breathe.

Why didn't you do Handjobs more often? This will definitely be a frequent thing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Drabble...

Taglist: @sinsandsweetness @murdadixon @dixongrimesgirl @loveforcarl @carlsdarling @number1gal @xowritella @tied-in-a-knot @eternalrose81 @iamacowboi

[1drwstuff]

I love to think that chiro had to study a piloting course like Irl XD I mean ik it's a cartoon but come on

[lestatposter]

LISTEN!!!! i am both a glennis girlie and a macgirl....... I WILL NOT BE FORCED TO CHOOSE BETWEEN MY BLORBOS!!!! SICK OF TUMBLR MAKING ME CHOOSE!!! mac is my himbo and glennis is my pile of wet socks and thats all there is to it!!!!!

[thrina-thrina-on-the-wall]

I've become one of those "defending the bad boy" girls...

but in real life

[silly-mars]

Hey guys it's my birthday (Slash joking, not really it's just Mars international day.)

SO! for my birthday i want Denglen drawings from everyone. (Denny x Glenny) GOGOGO! it's my birthday guys. I'm the birthday boy.

ALSO. FUNNY THING. MY BLOG TURNS ONE YEAR OLD THIS EXACT DAY SO. IT'S MAYBE MY BIRTHDAY (at least for this account. BIRTHDAY BOY!!!)

[glennriley49]

Sons Of Anarchy: Ghosts Of The Past

A fan fiction by Glennis

Authors Note: I don't usually do fan fiction but would like to thank @samcrosfaith for inspiring me to write this piece with her impressive writing on the series itself.

**Disclaimer:** This fan fiction is inspired by *Sons of Anarchy* and is not affiliated with or endorsed by its creators. All characters and concepts from the original series are the property of their respective owners. This story is for entertainment purposes only, with no intention of profit or copyright infringement.

**Set after the series finale**

The rumble of motorcycles echoed through the streets of Charming, a sound as familiar to its residents as their own heartbeats. The Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club, Redwood Original—SAMCRO—rolled into the lot of Teller-Morrow Automotive, their chrome gleaming in the California sun. At the head of the pack, astride his father's old bike, rode Abel Teller, the spitting image of Jax with his blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

As the engines cut out, the silence was heavy with unspoken tension. It had been years since Jax Teller's departure, but his ghost still haunted every corner of the clubhouse, every decision made at the reaper table. Abel dismounted, his kutte bearing the "Prince" patch that once adorned his father's cut. He looked around at his brothers, their faces etched with the weariness of men who had seen too much and lost even more.

"Alright, boys," Abel called out, his voice carrying the weight of leadership that had been thrust upon him far too young. "Church in ten. We got shit to discuss."

The Sons filed into the clubhouse, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the lingering scent of whiskey from the night before. Abel paused at the bar, pouring himself a shot of Jack. As he raised the glass to his lips, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror behind the bottles. For a moment, he saw his father staring back at him, and he quickly downed the liquor, trying to chase away the ghosts.

Inside the chapel, Abel took his place at the head of the table, the gavel resting before him like a constant reminder of the legacy he carried. To his right sat Chibs, now sporting more silver than black in his hair, his scars a roadmap of the club's violent history. Tig, looking as wild-eyed as ever, occupied the VP seat, while Happy, Ratboy, and a handful of new patches filled out the rest of the table.

Abel brought the gavel down, the sound cutting through the murmur of conversation. "Alright, let's get this started. Chibs, what's the word on our gun shipment?"

Chibs leaned forward, his Scottish brogue as thick as ever. "Aye, laddie. The Irish are gettin' antsy. They're pushin' for a bigger cut, sayin' times are tough all over."

Tig snorted, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper curls. "Times are always tough for those mick bastards. What else is new?"

"It's more than that," Chibs continued, his expression grim. "They're threatenin' to cut us out entirely if we don't play ball. Says they got other buyers lined up."

A chorus of curses filled the room. Abel's jaw clenched as he processed the information. The gun trade had always been the lifeblood of SAMCRO, and losing it now, when they were already struggling to keep their other enterprises afloat, could be a death sentence for the club.

"We can't let that happen," Abel said, his voice low but firm. "Those guns are our leverage with the Mayans, the Niners. We lose that, we're vulnerable on all fronts."

Happy, his face as impassive as ever, spoke up. "Maybe it's time we start looking for new suppliers. The Irish have been jerking us around for years."

Abel nodded, considering the suggestion. "It's not a bad idea, Hap. But we need to tread carefully. The last thing we need is to start a war with the IRA."

As the discussion continued, weighing options and potential consequences, a prospect burst into the chapel, his face pale with urgency.

"What the hell, shithead?" Tig barked. "We're in the middle of church!"

The prospect, a young kid named Ricky, held up his hands in apology. "I'm sorry, but you all need to see this. Now."

The urgency in his voice had everyone on edge. Abel stood, leading the procession out of the chapel and into the main room of the clubhouse. Ricky pointed to the TV, where a breaking news report was playing.

On the screen, chaos unfolded. The camera panned across a familiar street in Stockton, now littered with bodies and bullet casings. The reporter's voice came through, tense and hurried:

"...what appears to be a coordinated attack on multiple businesses linked to organized crime in the area. Witnesses describe a group of heavily armed individuals, many of whom appeared to be of Asian descent, methodically moving through the neighborhood. The death toll is still unknown, but early reports suggest..."

Abel felt his blood run cold as the camera zoomed in on one of the buildings. The sign, partially obscured by smoke, was unmistakable: "Diosa Internacional."

"Jesus Christ," Chibs breathed. "That's Nero's place."

The room erupted into a flurry of activity. Phones were pulled out, calls made to contacts in Stockton, to Nero, to anyone who might have information. Abel stood rooted to the spot, his mind racing. This wasn't just a random act of violence. This was calculated, precise—a message.

As the others scrambled around him, Abel's eyes were drawn back to the TV. For a split second, the camera caught a glimpse of a figure standing amidst the carnage. Tall, lean, with features that hinted at mixed heritage. The man turned, looking directly into the camera, and Abel felt a chill run down his spine. There was something hauntingly familiar about those eyes, filled with cold determination and barely contained rage.

Before Abel could process what he was seeing, the feed cut out, replaced by the studio anchor's shocked face. But the image was seared into Abel's mind. He had seen those eyes before, in old photographs his father had kept hidden away, in hushed conversations between the older members of the club when they thought no one was listening.

A name surfaced from the depths of his memory, one spoken in whispers and always with a hint of fear: Glenn Riley.

As the clubhouse erupted into chaos around him, Abel Teller realized that the ghosts of his father's past had finally come calling. And they were out for blood.

---

The acrid smell of gunpowder and burning rubber hung in the air as Glenn Riley surveyed the scene before him. Diosa Internacional, once a symbol of SAMCRO's expansion into legitimate business, now stood as a smoldering testament to the vengeance that had been years in the making. Bodies littered the street, their blank eyes staring accusingly at the sky.

Riley's face remained impassive, a mask of cold indifference that belied the storm of emotions raging within him. He flexed his gloved hands, the leather creaking softly, as he replayed the events of the past hour in his mind. The precision of the attack, the ruthless efficiency of his Yakuza allies—it had all gone according to plan. Yet, it was only the beginning.

A figure approached from his peripheral vision, moving with the silent grace of a predator. Yuki, his second-in-command, bowed slightly as she came to stand beside him. Her delicate features were at odds with the deadly aura she exuded.

"The police will be here soon," she said in flawless English, her voice barely above a whisper. "We should go."

Riley nodded, taking one last look at the destruction they had wrought. "Any word on Nero Padilla?"

Yuki's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "He wasn't here. Our sources say he's been spending more time in Charming lately."

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of Riley's mouth. "Charming," he repeated, tasting the irony of the name. "Well, I suppose it's time we paid them a visit, then."

As they turned to leave, Riley caught sight of a news van pulling up, a reporter and cameraman scrambling to capture footage of the carnage. For a moment, he considered letting them film unimpeded—let SAMCRO see what was coming for them. But caution won out. He gestured to one of his men, who raised an assault rifle and fired a precise burst at the van's tires and engine block.

The reporter and cameraman dove for cover, but not before the camera caught a glimpse of Riley's face. He stared directly into the lens, allowing a fraction of the rage he felt to surface in his eyes. Let them see, he thought. Let them know that death is coming.

As sirens began to wail in the distance, Riley and his team melted away into the shadows, leaving behind a scene of devastation that would send shockwaves through the criminal underworld of California. The message was clear: the old order was crumbling, and a new power was rising from its ashes.

---

Back in Charming, the SAMCRO clubhouse had transformed into a war room. Maps were spread across tables, phones rang incessantly, and the air was thick with tension and cigarette smoke. Abel paced back and forth, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the fragments of information pouring in from their allies and associates.

"Nero's safe," Chibs announced, hanging up his phone. "He was on his way back from visiting Lucius at college when the hit went down. Lucky bastard."

Abel nodded, relief washing over him. Nero had been like a second father to him after Jax's departure, and the thought of losing him was almost too much to bear. "What about our other interests in Stockton?"

Tig shook his head, his usual bravado replaced by grim concern. "It's bad, prez. The Mayans lost two of their chop shops, and the Niners' heroin distribution center got hit. This wasn't just about us—whoever did this is taking aim at the entire power structure."

"Jesus Christ," Abel muttered, running a hand through his hair. He could feel the weight of leadership pressing down on him, heavier than ever before. "Alright, we need to reach out to Alvarez and Tyler, set up a meet. We're all in this together now."

As the others moved to carry out his orders, Abel felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Chibs looking at him with a mixture of concern and something else—was it fear?

"A word, lad?" the Scotsman said quietly, gesturing towards a quiet corner of the room.

Abel followed, his stomach knotting with apprehension. When they were out of earshot of the others, Chibs leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That face you saw on the telly," Chibs began, his eyes darting around to ensure they weren't overheard. "You recognized him, didn't you?"

Abel hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Glenn Riley," he said, the name feeling like a curse on his lips. "But that's impossible. My dad... he told me Riley was dead. Said he'd taken care of it himself."

Chibs sighed heavily, suddenly looking every one of his years. "Aye, that's what we all thought. But if it is Riley... Christ, lad, we're in for a world of hurt."

"Who is he, Chibs?" Abel pressed, frustration seeping into his voice. "I know the name, I've seen the old photos, but no one ever told me the whole story. What did my father do to this guy?"

Chibs was quiet for a long moment, weighing his words carefully. Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy with the weight of long-buried secrets. "It was before your time, even before your da took the gavel. Riley was... he was a friend, once. Damn near a brother to Jax. But something went wrong, terribly wrong."

Abel listened intently as Chibs recounted a tale of betrayal, violence, and a vendetta that had apparently survived death itself. As the story unfolded, he felt a chill settle in his bones. The ghosts of his father's past weren't just coming for the club—they were coming for him, for the very legacy of the Teller name.

As Chibs finished speaking, Abel's mind was reeling. He looked out across the clubhouse, at the men who had become his family, who looked to him for leadership and protection. How could he tell them that the storm heading their way was one of their own making?

"What do we do?" Abel asked, hating how young and uncertain he sounded in that moment.

Chibs placed a hand on Abel's shoulder, squeezing gently. "We do what SAMCRO has always done, lad. We stand together, we fight, and we survive. Your father may have created this monster, but you're not him. You're the one who has to end it."

Abel nodded, straightening his shoulders and feeling the weight of the president's patch on his kutte. He was Jax Teller's son, but he was also his own man. And he would be damned if he let the sins of the past destroy everything they had fought to build.

As he turned back to address the club, Abel's voice rang out with newfound determination. "Alright, brothers. We've got a storm coming. It's time to batten down the hatches and prepare for war."

The Sons looked up at him, their faces a mixture of fear, determination, and unwavering loyalty. In that moment, Abel knew that whatever was coming, they would face it together. The ghosts of the past were powerful, but the bonds of brotherhood were stronger still.

Little did they know, as they prepared for battle, that Glenn Riley and his Yakuza allies were already setting the next phase of their plan into motion. The war for Charming had begun, and blood would soon paint the streets of the town that had seen too much violence already.

As night fell over Charming, an eerie calm settled over the town. But beneath the surface, tensions simmered, ready to explode at any moment. The Sons of Anarchy and their allies prepared for a fight, while somewhere in the shadows, Glenn Riley and his forces moved like phantoms, ready to strike at the heart of everything Abel Teller held dear.

The stage was set for a confrontation that would determine the fate of SAMCRO, of Charming, and of the legacy left behind by Jax Teller. As Abel lay in bed that night, sleep eluding him, he couldn't shake the feeling that the real battle was yet to begin. The ghosts of the past were restless, and their reckoning was at hand.

---

The following days in Charming were a flurry of activity as SAMCRO fortified their defenses and reached out to their network of allies. Abel barely slept, dividing his time between strategy meetings, weapons inventory, and coordinating with local law enforcement—a necessary evil in times like these.

It was on the third day after the Stockton massacre that the uneasy quiet was shattered. Abel was in the garage at Teller-Morrow, elbow-deep in the engine of a customer's car, when the roar of approaching motorcycles caught his attention. He straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag as he watched a group of riders pull into the lot.

The patches on their kuttes identified them as members of the Mayans M.C., their faces grim beneath their helmets. At their head rode Marcus Alvarez, the Mayans' long-time president, his salt-and-pepper beard and weathered features a testament to the years of violence and tenuous alliances that had defined their relationship with SAMCRO.

Abel strode out to meet them, feeling the eyes of his own members watching from various points around the compound. As Alvarez dismounted, Abel extended a hand in greeting.

"Marcus," he said, his voice carrying across the lot. "Wasn't expecting you so soon."

Alvarez clasped Abel's hand firmly, his dark eyes scanning the area before settling back on the young president. "This isn't a social call, Teller. We need to talk. Now."

The tension in Alvarez's voice was palpable. Abel nodded, gesturing towards the clubhouse. "Let's take this inside."

As they walked, Abel caught Chibs' eye and gave a subtle nod. The Scotsman immediately began gathering the rest of SAMCRO's officers, following them into the chapel.

Once inside, with the doors closed and prospects standing guard outside, Abel took his seat at the head of the table. Alvarez remained standing, too agitated to sit.

"What's going on, Marcus?" Abel asked, leaning forward. "We were supposed to meet tomorrow with Tyler and the Niners."

Alvarez paced, his agitation growing by the second. "Tomorrow might be too late, ese. We got hit again last night. Lost a whole shipment of heroin and three of my men."

A ripple of tension went through the room. Tig leaned forward, his blue eyes narrowing. "Jesus Christ. Where?"

"Oakland," Alvarez spat. "Right under our goddamn noses. These cabrones, they're ghosts, man. In and out before anyone knew what hit them."

Abel's mind raced, piecing together the information. "Was it the same crew? The ones from Stockton?"

Alvarez nodded grimly. "Looks like it. Same M.O. Precision hits, military-style takedown. But here's the kicker—they left one of my guys alive. Beat to shit, but breathing."

The room fell silent, all eyes on Alvarez. They knew there had to be more; leaving witnesses wasn't a mistake professionals like these would make.

"What did he say?" Chibs asked, voicing the question on everyone's mind.

Alvarez's face darkened. "He said the leader, some mixed-race looking dude, told him to deliver a message." He paused, his eyes locking with Abel's. "He said, 'Tell SAMCRO that Glenn Riley sends his regards. Charming's next.'"

The name hung in the air like a death sentence. Abel felt the weight of every gaze in the room settle on him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come.

"Alright," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his gut. "It's time you all knew the whole story. Chibs, you want to fill them in?"

As Chibs recounted the tale of Glenn Riley's history with SAMCRO and Jax Teller, Abel watched the faces of his brothers and allies. He saw shock, anger, and fear play across their features. When Chibs finished, the silence was deafening.

It was Happy who broke it, his gravelly voice cutting through the tension. "So what's the play, prez? We going on the offensive or what?"

Abel shook his head. "We can't. Not yet. We don't know where Riley is, how many men he's got, or what his endgame is. Going in blind would be suicide."

"So what, we just sit here with our thumbs up our asses waiting for him to hit us?" Tig exploded, slamming his hand on the table.

"No," Abel said firmly. "We prepare. We fortify. And we send a message of our own." He turned to Alvarez. "Marcus, I need you to reach out to every charter, every ally we've got. Niners, Lin Triad, shit, even the Aryan Brotherhood if you have to. We need eyes and ears everywhere."

Alvarez nodded, a grim smile on his face. "You got it, hermano. What about Charming PD?"

Abel grimaced. The club's relationship with local law enforcement had always been complicated, but in times like these, they needed all the help they could get. "I'll talk to Sheriff Jarry. She may not like us, but she likes the idea of a gang war in her town even less."

As the meeting continued, plans were made and tasks delegated. Abel felt a strange mix of pride and fear as he watched his brothers and allies come together, united against a common threat. This was what SAMCRO was about—family, loyalty, survival.

But even as they planned and prepared, a nagging doubt gnawed at Abel's mind. Glenn Riley wasn't just some rival gangster or ambitious drug lord. He was a ghost from their past, a mirror reflecting the darkest parts of SAMCRO's history. And ghosts, Abel knew, had a way of exposing the secrets and sins that everyone thought long buried.

As the others filed out of the chapel, Chibs lingered behind. He approached Abel, his face etched with concern.

"You alright, lad?" he asked softly.

Abel nodded, though he felt anything but alright. "Yeah, I'm good. Just... thinking about my old man. Wondering what he'd do in this situation."

Chibs placed a hand on Abel's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Your da made a lot of mistakes, brother. But he also taught us the most important lesson of all—family comes first. You remember that, and you'll find your way through this mess."

Abel managed a small smile, grateful for the older man's wisdom and support. "Thanks, Chibs. I just hope it's enough."

As Chibs left, Abel remained at the table, his eyes drawn to the carved reaper at its center. The weight of leadership had never felt heavier, but he knew he couldn't falter now. Too many lives depended on him.

Outside, the sun was setting over Charming, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. To Abel, it looked like the town was burning. He could only hope it wasn't an omen of things to come.

---

Across town, in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Charming, Glenn Riley stood before a makeshift war room. Maps of the town and surrounding areas covered the walls, each marked with potential targets and strategic points. Around him, his team of Yakuza enforcers moved with quiet efficiency, cleaning weapons and poring over intelligence reports.

Yuki approached, her tablet in hand. "The message has been delivered," she reported. "SAMCRO knows we're coming."

Riley nodded, a cold smile playing at his lips. "Good. Let them sweat. Fear has a way of making men careless."

"What's our next move?" Yuki asked, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Riley turned to the largest map, his finger tracing a path through Charming's streets. "We've rattled their cage. Now it's time to draw them out. Tell our men to get ready. Tonight, we paint the town red."

As Yuki relayed the orders, Riley's mind drifted to the past. He could almost see Jax Teller's face, hear his voice making promises of brotherhood and loyalty. Promises that had turned to ash in Riley's mouth.

"Soon, old friend," he muttered to himself. "Soon, you'll see everything you built crumble. And your son? He'll learn that the sins of the father are paid for in blood."

The sun had fully set now, plunging Charming into darkness. But for Glenn Riley and SAMCRO, the real darkness was yet to come. The war for the soul of Charming was about to begin, and no one—not Abel, not Riley, not even the town itself—would emerge unscathed.

As night fell, both sides prepared for the battle ahead. In the SAMCRO clubhouse, weapons were distributed and strategies finalized. Across town, Riley's forces moved into position, their eyes gleaming with murderous intent in the moonlight.

The calm before the storm settled over Charming, but it was a fragile peace. In the shadows, violence lurked, waiting to explode onto the streets. And caught in the middle were the innocents of Charming, unaware that their town was about to become a battlefield in a war decades in the making.

Abel Teller stood on the roof of the clubhouse, looking out over the town he had sworn to protect. In the distance, he could almost sense the approaching storm. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come.

"Alright, Dad," he whispered to the night sky. "I hope you're watching. Because I'm about to finish what you started."

With that, he turned and headed back inside. The night was young, and the real fight was just beginning.

---

The first shots of the war rang out just after midnight. A series of explosions rocked the eastern part of Charming, lighting up the night sky and sending plumes of smoke billowing into the air. The targets were strategic—a warehouse SAMCRO used for gun storage, a garage linked to their automotive business, and the home of a city council member known to be in the club's pocket.

Abel Teller was jolted awake by the sound of his phone buzzing incessantly. He grabbed it, his heart racing as he saw the flood of messages and missed calls.

"Shit," he muttered, jumping out of bed and throwing on his clothes. He dialed Chibs as he strapped on his holster and grabbed his kutte.

"I know, lad," Chibs answered before Abel could speak. "It's started. Get to the clubhouse now."

By the time Abel arrived, the compound was a hive of activity. Members rushed back and forth, loading weapons into vans and bikes. The air was thick with tension and the acrid smell of gunpowder carried on the wind.

"What's the damage?" Abel demanded as he strode into the clubhouse.

Tig, his face grim, turned from the wall of security monitors. "It's bad, prez. The gun warehouse is toast—we lost at least half our stock. Lumpy's garage is burning, and Councilman Halsey's place got hit. No casualties yet, but it's early."

Abel's mind raced, trying to process the information and formulate a response. "Where's Halsey now?"

"Safe house on the edge of town," Happy reported. "Got him out just before the hit. He's scared shitless, but alive."

"Good," Abel nodded. "Keep him there. We can't afford to lose our inside man at City Hall." He turned to address the room at large. "Alright, listen up! This is it, brothers. The war we've been preparing for. I want every charter within a hundred miles called in. Set up roadblocks on every street leading into Charming. Nobody gets in or out without us knowing."

As the others moved to carry out his orders, Chibs pulled Abel aside. "What about the Mayans and the Niners? We calling in those markers?"

Abel hesitated for a moment, weighing their options. "Not yet. This first hit, it's personal. Riley's sending a message. We need to send one back before we bring in the cavalry."

Chibs raised an eyebrow. "What've you got in mind, lad?"

A cold determination settled over Abel's features. "We're going hunting. Tig, Happy, you're with me. Chibs, you hold down the fort here. If Riley wants a war, we'll give him one he'll never forget."

As Abel and his small team geared up, the sound of sirens filled the air. Sheriff Althea Jarry's voice crackled over the police scanner, calling all units to respond to the multiple explosions.

"Shit," Tig growled. "Cops are gonna be all over this."

Abel's jaw clenched. "Then we better move fast. In and out, no witnesses. We find Riley's men and we send them back to him in pieces."

As they roared out of the compound on their bikes, Abel felt a surge of adrenaline course through him. This was what he had been trained for, what his father had prepared him for all his life. The weight of leadership, the thrill of the ride, the promise of violence on the horizon—it all came together in a moment of crystal clarity.

Across town, Glenn Riley watched the chaos unfold from the roof of his temporary base. The orange glow of fires painted the sky, and the wail of sirens provided a fitting soundtrack to the destruction.

"Phase one complete," Yuki reported, coming to stand beside him. "Our teams are in position for the next strike."

Riley nodded, his eyes never leaving the burning skyline. "Good. Let them scramble, let them feel the fear. By the time they realize what's really happening, it'll be too late."

As he spoke, a trio of motorcycles roared past in the distance, heading towards the industrial district where some of Riley's men were holed up. A smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, well," he murmured. "Looks like the young prince wants to play. Yuki, tell our men in sector four to expect company. But remember—Abel Teller is mine."

Yuki bowed slightly and retreated to relay the orders. Riley remained on the roof, his eyes following the distant bikes. The real game was just beginning, and he intended to savor every moment of it.

In the streets below, the citizens of Charming huddled in their homes, fear and confusion gripping the town. They had seen violence before, had lived through the tumultuous years of SAMCRO's reign. But this—this felt different. This felt like the beginning of the end.

As Abel and his brothers raced through the night, as Riley's forces prepared for the next phase of their assault, and as the authorities scrambled to respond, one thing became clear: Charming would never be the same again. The ghosts of the past had risen, and their vengeance would reshape the very soul of the town that had borne witness to so much bloodshed.

The war for Charming had begun in earnest, and only one side would emerge victorious. But at what cost? The answer to that question would be written in blood on the streets of a town that had seen far too much of it already.

---

Abel, Tig, and Happy tore through the streets of Charming, their bikes cutting through the chaos like sharks through turbulent waters. The industrial district loomed ahead, a maze of warehouses and abandoned factories that had become a haven for the darker elements of the town's underbelly.

"There!" Tig shouted over the roar of their engines, pointing to a nondescript building with a flickering light in an upper window.

Abel nodded, signaling for them to cut their engines and coast to a stop in the shadows of a nearby alley. As they dismounted, the distant wail of sirens served as a reminder of the ticking clock they were operating under.

"Remember," Abel said in a low voice as they checked their weapons, "we need one of them alive. We need information."

Happy's face split into a grim smile. "Don't worry, prez. I got just the tools for that job."

They moved silently towards the building, years of experience guiding their steps. Abel's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through his veins. This was it—his first real test as president, his chance to prove he was worthy of the legacy his father had left behind.

As they reached the side door, Abel paused, his hand on the handle. He looked at Tig and Happy, saw the unwavering loyalty in their eyes, and felt a surge of gratitude. Whatever happened next, he knew they had his back.

"Let's do this," he whispered, and kicked in the door.

The next few minutes were a blur of violence and adrenaline. They caught Riley's men off guard, taking down three before they could even reach for their weapons. The fourth, a wiry man with a dragon tattoo snaking up his neck, managed to get off a shot that grazed Tig's arm before Happy tackled him to the ground.

When the dust settled, three bodies lay motionless on the floor, and the tattooed man was zip-tied to a chair, blood dripping from his broken nose.

"You okay?" Abel asked Tig, eyeing the wound on his arm.

Tig waved him off, grinning despite the pain. "It's just a scratch, prez. You should see the other guy."

Abel nodded, then turned his attention to their prisoner. The man glared up at him with defiant eyes, spitting blood onto the concrete floor.

"You have no idea what you've started," the man snarled in heavily accented English.

Abel crouched down, bringing himself eye-level with the captive. "No, my friend. You have no idea what you've walked into. This is our town, and you're about to learn what happens to people who fuck with SAMCRO."

He stood, nodding to Happy. "He's all yours. Get what we need."

As Happy stepped forward, his eyes glinting with sadistic anticipation, Abel moved to the window. He looked out over Charming, at the smoke still rising from the earlier attacks. Somewhere out there, Glenn Riley was watching, waiting. Abel clenched his fists, a cold determination settling over him.

"I'm coming for you," he whispered to the night. "And this time, you're gonna stay dead."

Behind him, the prisoner's screams began to fill the air, a symphony of pain that would soon yield the answers they so desperately needed. The war for Charming had claimed its first victims, but Abel knew they were only the beginning. The real battle was yet to come, and the fate of everything he loved hung in the balance.

As the night wore on and the prisoner's resolve began to crack, Abel steeled himself for what lay ahead. The ghosts of the past were closing in, but he was determined to face them head-on. For his club, for his family, for Charming—he would see this through to the bitter end, no matter the cost.

The war had only just begun, and Abel Teller was ready to show the world what he was made of. The son had risen ready to make his mark.

To be continued....

[hangmanbradshaw]

My life lately is just sitting on airplanes with a stack of books making post it notes about description and striking through my scrivener manuscript like it’s nobody’s business while people side eye me lmaooooo (all that to say I probs won’t update fic soon sorry 😕) (btw everyone who sent me kind messages about meeting Glenny boy THANK YOU. Probs not gonna talk publicly in detail but as always feel free to message me friends.)

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 24

"What is this place?" Manon asked Glennis as she found the crone polishing the handle of a gold-bound broom beside the fire. Two others lay on a cloak nearby. Menial work for the witch in charge of this camp.

"This is an ancient camp-one of the oldest we claim." Glennis's knobbed fingers flew over the broom handle. "Each of the seven Great Hearths has a fire here, as do many others." Indeed, there were far more than seven in the camp. "It was a gathering place for us after the war, and since then, it had become a place to usher in some of our younger witches to adulthood. It is a rite we've developed over the years—to send them into the deep wilds for a few weeks to hunt and survive with only their brooms and a knife. We remain here while they do so."

Manon asked quietly, "Do you know what our initiation rite is?"

Glennis's face tightened. "I do. We all do." Which hearth had the witch she'd killed at age sixteen belonged to?

"You're not a cold person."

He arched a brow. "Is that your professional opinion?"

Manon studied him. "You can descend to those levels when you are angry, when your friends are threatened. But you are not cold, not at heart. I've seen men who are, and you are not."

"Neither are you," he said a bit quietly.

The wrong thing to say.

Manon stiffened, her chin lifting. "I am one hundred seventeen years old," she said flatly. "I have spent the majority of that time killing. Don't convince yourself that the events of the past few months have erased that."

"Keep telling yourself that." He doubted anyone had ever spoken to her that baldly-relished that he now did, and kept his throat intact.

She snarled in his face. "You're a fool if you believe the fact that I am their queen wipes away the truth that I have killed scores of Crochans."

"That fact will always remain. It's how you make it count now that matters."

Make it count. Aelin had said as much back in those initial days after he'd been freed of the collar. He tried not to wonder whether the icy bite of Wyrdstone would soon clamp around his neck once more.

"I am not a softhearted Crochan. I will never be, even if I wear their crown of stars."

He'd heard the whispers about that crown amongst the Crochans this week-about whether it would be found at last. Rhiannon Crochan's crown of stars, stolen from her dying body by Baba Yellowlegs herself. Where it had gone after Aelin had killed the Matron, Dorian had not the faintest idea. If it had stayed with that strange carnival she'd traveled with, it could be anywhere. Could have been sold for quick coin.

Manon went on, "If that is what the Crochans expect me to become before they join in this war, then I will let them venture to Eyllwe tomorrow alone."

"Is it so bad, to care?" The gods knew he'd been struggling to do so himself.

"I don't know how to," she growled.

Ridiculous. An outright lie. Perhaps it was because of the high likelihood that he'd be collared again at Morath, perhaps it was because he was a king who'd left his kingdom in an enemy's grip, but Dorian found himself saying, "You do care. You know it, too. It's what makes you so damn scared of all this."

Her golden eyes raged, but she said nothing.

"Caring doesn't make you weak," he offered.

"Then why don't you heed your own advice?"

"I care." His temper rose to meet hers. And he decided to hell with it-decided to let go of that leash he'd put on himself. Let go of that restraint. "I care about more than I should. I even care about you."

Another wrong thing to say.

Manon stood—as high as the tent would allow. "Then you're a fool." She shoved on her boots and stomped into the frigid night.

I even care about you.

Manon scowled as she turned in her sleep, wedged between Asterin and Sorrel. Only hours remained until they were to move out—to head to Eyllwe and whatever force might be waiting to ally with the Crochans. And in need of help.

Caring doesn't make you weak.

The king was a fool. Little more than a boy.

What did he know of anything?

Still the words burrowed under her skin, her bones. Is it so bad, to care?

She didn't know. Didn't want to know.

[taylormarieee]

~She looks like lust and smells like desire~ ft. Daryl Dixon

Summary: You come to deanna's party dressed all hot and sexy for your two favourite boys knowing exactly how the nights gonna end.

Word Count: 3k

Genre: Pure filthy smut

Pairing: Rick X fem!reader X Daryl

Warnings: Threesome, PiV sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral(F&M), Daryl and Rick do not kiss or do anything of the sort they just please the reader, Dom/Sub dynamic, Pussy drunk Rick, Cock drunk reader, Reader rides Daryl's face, Cream-pie, Breeding kinks, Mentions of alcohol, Doggy style, Just pure and filthy smut! Enjoy!

You and the group were a little bit skeptical of Deanna and her ways, especially Rick and Daryl considering they don't trust so easily. Rosita and Carol had there suspicions but decided to brush it off for the good of the group.

For the most part everyone was happy. No problems yet at least.

Deanna says she's throwing a little welcome party for you guys. Typical. Of course she would throw a party like it's the real world again, like we're friends. But, you went on a run with Rosita and found this gorgeous black dress that fits your curves just right.

It was sure to be the dress to make everyone swoon and drool over you. Plus you wanted to have fun and feel pretty. You haven't felt much like that in a long time. So you slip on your dress put on these pretty black stilettos you found as well.

You make your way down the stairs and is met with rosita.

"Girl you took like two hours! What were you doing?" She says with a slight chuckle. "One, I did not take two hours Perra! And Two I was making sure I look good. Haven't felt like this in a while. Feels like prom all over again." You say sadly looking down at your dress.

"Its ok girlie, let's go shall we!?" She says with a smile holding out her arm for you to take. You gladly take her arm and walk out the door.

You both arrive at deanna's house together and knock on the door. There's music playing but someone heard the door. Glenn.

"Hey guys! You guys look great come in!" He says smiling. "Thank you Glennie boy!" You say hugging him.

"Stop! You've been calling me that since the farm!" He says chuckling. You and Glenn have known eachother since Atlanta, you guys were the closest.

You two were like brother and sister. You guys never left one anothers side. You ofcourse was like his little wingman when he met Maggie.

He was so shy but you helped him anyway. You walk through the crowd losing Rosita to Abraham. You make your way to where the drinks are and you see Carl. You wave at him and he walks over.

"Hey! I see you got all dressed up!" He says smiling while hugging you.

"Yea I did! Haven't felt like this since before the end of the world came you know? So I thought when I heard party why not dress up!?" You say hugging him back.

You see Enid walk by and that's when Carl says, "Uh I gotta go see you at home?" He asks. "Go get her Carl! I will see you at home!" I say smiling. He chuckles and puts his head down before walking the way Enid went.

You feel a pair of eyes on you but you don't know who's watching you. You look around getting that feeling of chills on you body only to see Rick Grimes staring at you while seductively taking a sip of what looks like whiskey, could be bourbon but you don't really care.

You smile and you do a cute little wave at him and he smiles back. He turns away to talk to Deanna again.

Yet, you still felt a pair of eyes on you and to your surprise, it was your favourite Archer. Daryl Dixon.

You and Daryl were close but not as close as he was with Carol. Him and Rick were still your boys though.

Following you everywhere to make sure no guy in Alexandria tried anything.

The possessiveness and need to protect you was cute. But you always thought they should know by now that half of Alexandria either hates us for being here or is scared shitless of us. Plus you could take care of yourself.

You always thought Daryl had a crush on Carol and always tried to set them up together. Like going on runs.

You would always partner up with Carl, Tara, or Rosita first so that Daryl wouldn't choose you and end up being with Carol instead so they could get some alone time.

What you didn't realize is that Daryl actually had a crush on you. But you were always so oblivious that him and Carol were a thing or could be a thing at least.

Maybe part of it was his fault for always being around Carol but he only had eyes for you.

And so did Officer friendly. But you always had a crush on Rick. He was a very attractive man, so who wouldn't.

There were always glances that lasted to long or touches that lingered longer than they should have. So you decide to walk over to him.

You almost make it to him except your stopped by deanna's son Spencer.

"Hey, You look nice tonight. Care to join me for a drink?" He asks with a smile. You being the nice person you are didn't deny a nice drink.

Sure I'd love to. Do you have whiskey though? I'm a whiskey girl!" You ask him. He chuckles and looks at you.

"What!?" You say laughing and smiling.

"You have this energy about yourself. Your fun and happy! Butt yea we've got whiskey!" He says holding out his hand, "Shall we?" He asks smiling.

Ha! We shall my knight in shining armour!" You say laughing. Rick and Daryl stood next to each other and they both saw this interaction and boy were they pissed.

They both knew that Spencer was only trying to get in your pants but you were of course to oblivious to notice that.

You were always so sweet and innocent and that's what made Rick and Daryl so obsessed with you. They wanted you all for themselves.

Daryl hated sharing and Rick was just so obsessed with you. Together they were the most toxic duo. And they were planning on taking down their prey. You. There one and only.

After some drinks later you two get more comfortable with each other. Joking around, Laughing, even some friendly touches were made.

Daryl and Rick didn't like this at all but Spencer wasn't exactly doing anything inappropriate with you so all they could do was sit back and watch the painful show in front of them.

"You really funny! How come we weren't friends sooner?" You say chuckling. You pat his shoulder and he chuckles.

"I honestly have no Idea. I don't really like Rick or Daryl and i don't know, maybe its affected the way I look at the rest of the group." Spencer says twirling his drink in his hand.

"Speaking of them, I can feel there eyes on you all night. You must be extremely special." He says smirking and nodding his head in their direction.

As soon as you look over there you are instantly met with their death stares watching the entire interaction. Heat rises to your face and ears as you look back at Spencer.

"Look Spence, I am so sorry but i should probably go. See you around sometime?" You ask pointing your finger out to him as you ask slowly walking away.

He smiles at the nickname and nods, "See you around sometime Aphrodite!" He says laughing and holding his drink up. You laugh and walk away.

The boys look defeated. Maybe Spencer really was just trying to be your friend. They hadn't seen him do anything really. He joked with you and touched you appropriately, in friendly ways. Who were they to take away a friend from you.

"Seriously guys? You scared my friend away!" You say with the pout of your lips. It's taking everything in them not to take you right here right now. Daryl just grunts and takes a sip of his drink while Rick just stares at you.

"Hello? Earth to Rick!?" You say waving your hand in his face. "I heard you, sweetheart. We're sorry. Right, Daryl?" Rick says not looking up from your body in that tight dress as he nudges Daryl's arm.

Daryl grunts and lowly says, "Yea." While looking at your eyes. "What'd ya wear that thing for anyway?" He adds.

"What this? Oh! I wanted to feel girly again! Did you know Spencer called me Aphrodite!? That was so nice of him but I just think he-" You state before being interrupted.

"I don't care what he said sweetheart, I asked you what did you wear that tight thing for?" Rick asks, his blue irises finally enchanting you. fuck.

Whenever Rick looked at you, you couldn't speak. No matter how hard you tried to think of a coherent sentence, word, or anything, it never came out. Damn you Rick!

You stutter trying to answer his question and Daryl scoffs clearly jealous at how you instantly get all shy around Rick.

"I-I wore it for you guys. Thought you guys would like it because your opinions matter to me." You say heat rushing to you face in embarrassment.

They look at each other and smirk. "Well Sunshine, yer lookin good if ya ask me." Daryl says with a smirk, winking at you.

You giggle and smile at him. You then look to Rick for his opinion on your dress.

"Darlin, you are gonna make me act up tonight. That dress looks amazing on you but trust me sweetheart it would look better on my bedroom floor." Rick says biting his lip looking you up and down.

You squeeze your legs together and bite your lip looking up at them with big doe, glossy, innocent, eyes.

Daryl mutters a 'fuck' under his breath and grabs your waist pulling you close to the both of them. "Damn doll ya really know how to push our buttons." Daryl says.

"Your lookin like lust on a plate sweetheart." Rick says biting his lip again.

"Well if you guys like it then it was all worth it!" You say twirling around and smiling. They both glance at you ass and admire you.

"It was definitely worth it sweetheart." Rick says biting his lip again. "C'mon, let's take ya home and show ya how good ya look." Daryl says smirking and grabbing your hand while Rick grabs your waist.

After about a 5 minute walk, you guys arrive at the shared house. You walk up the steps to open the door with Rick and Daryl behind you.

You guys walk in the house and Daryl is just itching to get his hands on your pretty little body. "Why are we here guys? Did I do something wrong?" you ask confused as to why they brought you here.

"Nah sunshine, you ain't do nun wrong," Daryl says getting closer to you. "Were here to show ya how special you are." Daryl adds.

Your eyes light up and your face contorts into a small little smirk. "Oh, I see. Well, boys don't just stand there," You say seductively "Fuck me."

Both boys are immediately on you growling in your ear and both trying to tear that dress off you.

They both successfully take your dress off and bring you toward the pull-out couch. Rick between your legs and Daryl in front of your face.

"Get on your knees, sweetheart." Rick orders sternly. And you obey him getting on your hands and knees while lustfully staring at Daryl. Daryl slowly unbuckles his belt and takes it off.

Rick unbuttons his pants and drops both his pants and boxers revealing his beautiful 9-inch aching cock, awaiting to be inside you. Daryl reveals his hard, 8-inch cock with protruding veins and already leaking pre-cum.

"God, ya look so pretty from this angle sunshine," Daryl whispers. The throbbing between your legs is unbearable and makes you extremely dizzy. You close your legs together to feel a tiny release only for Rick to yank your legs open.

"Nuh uh sweetheart, keep those prey little legs open f'me ok?" He whispers in your ear, his body flush with yours. You nod feeling his cock on your ass.

"Please... I wanna feel you, both of you. Please fuck me." You whine feeling helpless.

Daryl and Rick share a look before nodding at each other. Daryl looks back down at you and grabs your jaw forcing you to look up at him as he bends down to look at you.

"Beg for it, then maybe you'll get it. You've been a bad girl sunshine." He says in a singsongy voice.

"Please Daryl, please. I'll be a good girl for you, for both of you! Please R-Rick Please Daryl, I beg of you fill me up please!" You beg, pleading eyes staring into Daryl's lust-filled ones.

Rick nods his head of approval a Daryl and Daryl lets you go. "Alright sunshine, get ready."

"You asked for it sweetheart," Rick says grabbing your hips to push your ass against him. You whimper at the feeling.

"Open yer mouth sunshine." Daryl says.

You open your mouth and wait. Rick lines himself up with your entrance and at the same time, they shove their cocks into your holes.

Both thrusting at rough, fast paces. Nothing but skin slapping against skin and slobbering gagging noises filled the silent room. Your cries muffled by Daryl's cock shoved down your throat.

Your throat contracts in a way that has Daryl groaning loudly, "Oh fuck sunshine." He pulls your hair into a ponytail and starts fucking your face harder.

Rick plunges his cock deep inside you, it feels like he's hitting your cervix. His thrusts are rough and deep. You feel him all inside you. You feel his cock twitching, it feels so good you feel like you can feel his veins.

Both of them fucking you just right you feel euphoric. This feeling is better than anything you've ever felt before. Blood rushing through you, it feels amazing.

Your heart rate pumping faster than ever. Daryl pulls out to give you a chance to breathe and catch your breath but Rick's pace doesn't slow down.

You moan out as your body jerks from his rough thrusts. Daryl looks at your puffy lips and fucked out state. You feel your orgasm approaching and Rick's cock twitches inside you.

You both moan out loudly at the same time. Your body starts convulsing and shaking as you squirt all over the place. Your orgasm hits you so hard your eyes cross.

Rick shoots his warm cum inside you. The feeling of him cumming inside you is enough to have you cumming again. Daryl is jerking himself off at the sight.

"Where do ya want it sunshine?" He aska. "M-My mouth." You open your mouth for him and wrap your lips around his cock. Lips warm like a blanket.

He groans and shoots his cum straight down your throat. He gives one last final thrust before he pulls out. You stick your tongue out and show him the cum sitting on your tongue and you let it drip between your breasts before swallowing the rest.

You maintain eye contact through it all. Rick doesn't pull out yet, still breathing heavily as he comes down from his high. He starts thrusting again, "Wanna breed you so badly, wanna cum inside your pretty tight pussy again, want you to have my babies." He says.

You cry out at the overstimulation. And try your best to push him off you. Eventually, Daryl tells him to calm down but he just keeps mumbling at how good your pussy feels and how well you take him. Rick is so drunk off your pussy that it's like a drug. He wants more of it. More of you.

He pulls out though and falls onto his back. "Well, how good is tha pussy? I wanna try." He says with a smirk on his face.

Your body is limp but you still have some strength left. You get off your hands and lean back on your feet. Daryl picks. you up and lays. back and rests you on his stomach. Involuntarily, you grind on his stomach. You whimper and put your hands on his chest.

He lifts your hips closer to his face, "Want ya to ride my face, okay? Take it easy, wanna taste ya." Daryl says. You nod and he smiles. He lifts your body and slowly lowers you on his face, intoxicated by your smell he flattens his tongue against your slit.

You gasp and grab his hair. He starts lapping at your clit, licking from your slit to your clit. He moans into you and you groan feeling the vibrations.

Your moans start to get louder as he starts to prod and poke at your entrance. Haps up whatever he can, all of your juices flowing from your wet pussy. He loves how you taste and how you smell. You taste sweet like candy and fruity like strawberries. And you smell like peaches and whiskey.

God, you drove him crazy. You drove him absolutely crazy. He was so feral for you.

The things you do, the clothes you wear, how hot you are, how brave you are.

All those things always shot a spark down to his crotch every time. It drove him crazy.

Your pretty little noises grew louder and the pattern was all over the place. He could tell you were about to cum again. He continued to fuck you with. his tongue and lap up your juices.

You let out a long drawled fuck, with a cry of his name while you came all over his face. You rode and grinded on his face trying to ride out your high.

You scooted down from his face to his thighs and fell on top of him. He rested you on the couch and got up. He offered Rick a hand as he was clearly still fucked out.

Rick carried you up the stairs bridal style while Daryl got you a warm, wet rag to clean you off. The smell of sex, cum, and sweat lingering on your pretty body.

They wiped themselves off and got in bed with you. They sandwiched you in between them and kissed you goodnight.

A/N: Whewwww! That was hot! Personally, I enjoyed writing this one. It took me a while but I did it! I hope all enjoyed it! The longest fic I've written so far.

Taglist: @murdadixon @catt-leya @carlsdarling @carlgrimesenthusiast. @rickswh0r3 @sickyrat @sinsandsweetness @the-dixon-effect @number1gal @daryldixmedown @darylscvmdumpster @loveforcarl

[glenpowcll]

𝙨𝙢𝙨 ⇢ 𝘻𝘰𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘤𝘩

glen: so, you go get a boyfriend and forget about good ole glenny boy? thought we had a stronger friendship than that, deutch.

[lilhemmy]

✉️ | glen & liam.

Liam: Oh Glenny boy! How do we trade places so I can feel the magnificent charge of being little spoon to Kate Hudson?

[gaydennisreynolds]

hey yeah hi.. are you the one responsible for glorny?

if you mean the invention of the word I'm pretty sure that was @ratcoffin69! Along with gems such as glervix and glussy....a huge contribution to the fandom if you ask me.

If you mean just generally being Horny on Main for glennis, then I'm also not responsible for that but boy do I contribute to the war effort daily and have for years 🫡

[swissrollan]

It's ya boi Glenny! :D

[dallassunshine14]

No one breathe in my direction, I’m mourning the loss of my boy, Glenny.

[hintzy]

thank you to @oetterpark for the tag

favorite color?

pink! if whatever im buying has a pink option you best believe im getting that one. however im also fond of blue and brown

currently reading?

on the origin of species — charles darwin

last song?

beethoven’s 3rd because i think im classy

last movie?

rewatch of the lion king

last series?

ohmygod i never watch series anymore. if im being fr i think it mightve been supernatural. wait i need to rewatch that

sweet, spicy, or savory?

savory mmmm. savory + sweet is godlike. i inherited my white mom’s spice tolerance so. No spice

craving?

pad thai omg. ive been craving it for like days now

tea or coffee? hot or iced?

im a good ol southern boy so i like iced tea. SWEET.

currently working on?

oh well a lot. playing around with the fikos/glenny fic, painting a birdhouse, and uh well. Im a bit of the warriored cats enjoyed so i have my own ocs. and i write for them. Like a lot

i tag hmmmmmm @kiceleste @spiceberrie and uhh @pupuhintz if you have already done it or dont want to then whoops!! My bad!!

[sunsetcarnation264]

On the character otp/notp/etc meme!

Chiro!!

:D!

My NOTP for them: I don't have a lot of ships I dislike with him, but I guess one that ain't doing it for me the most is either Chiro/Valeena or Chiro/Skeleton King. I like me my enemies to lovers, but mmm not doing it for me ig. Maybe I just need really good fanworks for them, I dunno lol

My BROTP for them: Chiro and Otto! Look at these funky little guys :D I just really love seeing some brotherly stuff with them, they're really cute honestly

My OTP for them: ugh two could fit really well here XD I'll just use ChiSprx here lol. ChiSprx is just really fucking good imo, best friends to lovers, a kid that tends to get cocky and had practically nothing before meeting everyone x a cool wisecracking guy that's probably insecure deep down, size difference, everything is just GOOD MAN. Age gap and possible pseudo-incest (depends if you see Sprx as the cool dad/brother for him or not) are just bonuses lol. I could go on about them if given the chance, same with a few other ships. Also, that damn line in VS Chiro.

"Chiro, you make one ugly chick, but if you were a (girl) monkey? Woo cha!" will forever live in my brain rent free. Ain't no way nobody on the crew DIDN'T ship them to some degree with that shit XD

My second choice pairing for them: Chinmay! They're too cute and wholesome, I can't. I usually hate the whole love at first sight thing, never made sense to me and it never works, but these two happen to make it work for me! One of the only two that manages to work love at first sight lol

My fluffy pairing for them: Chinmay, definitely

My angsty pairing for them: for something that I actually ship, Chitauri could fit here. The angst would mainly come from Antauri's side than Chiro's, but that would count right? For something I don't really ship, Chiro/Gyrus Krinkle. I hate Gyrus but OOH he's just so good for fucked up shit, and torturing Chiro with said shit with Gyrus XD otherwise, keep Chiro far away from him

My favorite poly ship for them: ChiSpantauri! :D Boy gets extra love from best friend and father figure lol. This is just fun from Chiro drowning in love, Sprx being a wisecracking teasing little shit, and Antauri just dying from embarrassment and guilt, and Chiro and Sprx reassuring him everything's alright. Could also talk about this for hours lol

My weirdest pairing for them: Including poly ships, probably SlingChinmay. I blame the fanworks for this one, and myself for getting too hyped for Slingshot when he only appears in one episode XD Fucking, gotta supply myself with interactions. But very cute, need to do more with them even if it's just Slingshot with Chiro or Jinmay

Excluding poly ships, one-sided Chiro/BT- No, lemme explain! It's mainly with my genderbent Chiro AU where they're actually friends, and BT is just getting the short unrequited side of the stick. "I love you Chiro" from Shadow Over Shuggazoom(?) still be a little sus to me tho like. You gonna say that to Chiro, but not Glenny who you not only friends with but had succumbed to being a zombie earlier at that point. Either you secretly admired Chiro's ass because of how cool and badass he ended up being and would rather get that out before you died, or you got a crush on him. Hmm