#Teller Crow

[aprill-99]

Assistant: “This whole criminal empire thing takes a lot more paperwork than I thought.”

Boss: “It’s called organized crime for a damn reason Sheryl.”

[theesirenteller]

Reaper's Crow. 𝕱𝖔𝖚𝖗☞

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

▌This fictional piece is AU with very little amounts of canon. I understand if this fic isn't your cup of tea. Please do not leave hate comments. The story is set some years after season seven. ▌

Tagged ( @youflickedtooharddamnit @velocibee @darqchilddaydreamz @ravennaortiz @spaghettificationandpretzels @darklydeliciousdesires

The night air buzzed with excitement at the town carnival, a chaotic blend of bright lights, ringing bells, and shouts from vendors. The scent of sugary, fried donuts had been the cause of a large smile displayed across Scout's face. The Reaper moved silently through the crowd, his towering figure casting a shadow over the playful chaos around them. People parted instinctively, some whispering, others just gawking at the sheer size of him. But The Reaper didn’t care about their reactions. His focus was on Scout, walking just a few steps ahead of him.

She was wide-eyed, her face lit up with pure, child-like wonder. Everything about the carnival seemed to fascinate her. Scout twirled a little, hopping in place as her eyes darted between the glowing lights, the spinning rides, and the smell of cotton candy floating through the air. She barely noticed the way people looked at The Reaper—or her, for that matter. The world was too big, too new for her to focus on anything but the wonder of it all.

“Look, Reaper!” she exclaimed, pointing excitedly at a nearby game booth where oversized stuffed animals were on display. “I want to win one!”

His brow furrowed as he glanced at the booth, a part of him wondering if it was worth it to indulge her. But when he looked down and saw the way her eyes sparkled with excitement, he couldn’t help it. Something in him softened, just enough to go along with it.

“You want one of those?” His deep voice rumbled.

She nodded furiously, bouncing on her toes. “The big one! The biggest one they have!”

He gave a low, almost imperceptible chuckle and approached the booth, towering over the vendor like a looming giant. Scout scampered up beside him, her fingers reaching for his arm, not out of fear but out of habit. She always seemed to need to be connected to him, like he was the anchor in a world too big for her to navigate alone.

The game involved hitting a lever with a mallet, a test of strength. The Reaper glanced down at the mallet, then back at the vendor, who was eyeing him nervously.

“Go on, Reaper, show ‘em what you can do!” Scout urged, almost bouncing with excitement.

He shot her a look that was both amused and exasperated. “You think I need to prove anything?”

She giggled, a sound so light and carefree it almost didn’t belong in his world. “Nope! But it’s fun, right? Don’t you want to try?”

He let out a grunt and picked up the mallet, the weight of it nothing compared to the strength in his arms. With a swift, effortless motion, he slammed the mallet down, sending the lever up with such force that the bell at the top rang instantly. The vendor’s eyes widened, and Scout clapped her hands, practically squealing.

“You did it! You really did it!” she beamed, clutching his arm like she couldn’t contain her excitement.

The vendor handed her the largest stuffed bear he had, nearly half her size, and she hugged it to her chest like it was the greatest prize in the world.

“Thank you!” she said to the vendor, then spun to face The Reaper, eyes shining with admiration. “You’re so strong! It was like nothing to you.”

He gave her a half-smirk, his expression unreadable but warm in a way that only she ever saw. “Told you I didn’t need to prove it.”

She giggled again, hugging the bear tight as they moved deeper into the carnival. Scout darted from one booth to the next, her curiosity boundless, always asking questions about the games, the rides, the food. He followed her in silence, watching her with a mix of amusement and quiet protectiveness, keeping an eye out for anything that might harm her or disrupt her innocent enjoyment of the night.

When they reached the Ferris wheel, Scout froze, her gaze locked on the spinning lights high above them.

“What’s that?” she asked, her voice breathy with awe.

“It’s a Ferris wheel,” he said, his tone even. “You sit in it, and it takes you up in the air.”

She turned to him, eyes wide. “Up? Like, way up?”

He nodded, studying her reaction. “You want to go?”

There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by her curiosity. “Yes! I’ve never been up that high before!”

He sighed, knowing full well that her excitement would outweigh any fear she had. “Come on, then.”

They climbed into the carriage, Scout holding the stuffed bear on her lap, her legs swinging beneath her as they were lifted slowly into the sky. She leaned forward, eyes glued to the sight of the carnival shrinking below them. Every little thing seemed to amaze her—how small the people looked, how the lights twinkled like stars, how quiet the world became the higher they went.

“Reaper, look!” she pointed eagerly. “You can see everything from up here!”

He didn’t respond right away, just watched her as she marveled at the view. She was so innocent, so unaffected by the harshness of the world he knew so well. She still believed in beauty, in wonder. He... he just believed in survival.

But something about her innocence tugged at him in ways he didn’t fully understand. He couldn’t shake the way she clung to him like he was her lifeline, how she always found joy in the smallest things, how her lightness seemed to counter his darkness.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet but sincere.

He glanced at her. “For what?”

“For...for bringing me here. For letting me see all this.”

He stared at her for a moment, then his hand—large and rough from years of battle—gently rested on her head, ruffling her hair with an unexpected tenderness. “You don’t need to thank me, Scout.”

She smiled at him, her eyes soft and full of trust. “But I want to.”

The Ferris wheel began its slow descent, and Scout let out a little giggle, clutching the bear tightly. She was still in awe of the night, of the world, and everything it had to offer. And even though The Reaper said little, his presence was steady, comforting, and for the first time in a long time, Scout felt like she belonged somewhere—safe, right by his side.

As they reached the bottom, she looked up at him, her child-like innocence still intact despite everything she’d been through. “Can we come back here one day? Maybe do it all again?”

He glanced down at her, his voice low but carrying a softness she rarely heard. “Yeah. We can.”

[prick-love-for-arting]

my piece for the @hqelectricboogalooexchange

a take on Modern Magic with Ennoshita, Mai, and Akaashi. (aka my excuse to stare at my Mucha postcards and have fun with lighting)

for @a-flux-uchiha

[higherhell]

Top 5 most relatable Full penned English lyrics: 1: I don't have profit purpose 2: Form a small group that your greatest dream 3: I try hard but I don't change I walk about in my bare feet 4: I still here stand Life work is write sad fiction 5: GueGueGueGueGueGueGueGueGueGueGueGueGueGue　 GueGueGueGueGue It so funny thing a frog say

[crowsandmurderbackup]

Jax Teller tags

Jax  ✖ (Aesthetics)

Jax  ✖ (Thoughts)

Jax  ✖ (Character Development)

Jax  ✖ (Crack)

Jax  ✖ (Headcanons)

VERSES:

V: Rebellion is the only thing that keeps you alive [Teen Jax] - After the death of John Teller and even before, Jax is definitely a rebellious teenager. He doesn’t handle his father’s absence, death and his mother remarrying well.  He finds love and that is something that helps him focus, but other than that, he get into trouble a lot and enjoys it.

V: The Prince Prospects [Jax as a Prospect] - Jax may be the Prince of Charming, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to Prospect like everyone else.  He has to learn to serve the guy his mom married, someone he’s always known. His hot headed temper leads him and others into trouble, along the way.

V: All I ever wanted was a Harley and a Kutte [Pre-Show SAMCRO Jax] - Jax patches in, like was expected and his life revolves around club life, women and crime. It’s easier to not commit to women than deal with not being over the one who left. But, that doesn’t mean that he spends all his time pining away or anything like that.

V: Some days you’re the beamer, some days you’re the goddamned deer [Season One] - Jax is the VP of SAMCRO, Opie’s out of prision, Tara’s back in town, and his kid was born way too soon because of his junkie mom.  There’s always a bunch of shit as Jax deals with feeling like shit matters more, now that he’s got a kid.

V: I’m not the one out there murdering women! [Season 2] - After the death of Opie’s wife, Jax finds himself at odds with Clay, as they deal with a new group and Ethan Zobelle.  He tries to balance it all, but finds himself wanting to be away from Clay and then seeking revenge for his mother.  

V: It’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better [Season 3] - If Jax thought things were a mess before, there even worse now. The Irish stole his son and he doesn’t know how to get him back.  He struggles with self-destructing and having to go to Ireland.  There’s no one who self-destructs quite like Jax Teller.

V: I know you killed my father [Season 4] - Fresh out of prison, Jax has goals that are more than being a part of SAMCRO. He wants to get his family out of this and makes a deal with Clay how to do so. But old secrets and lies may keep that from happening as more things grow out of control and Jax finds himself torn between what’s best for his family and what’s best for his chosen family. 

V: You can’t sit in this chair without being a savage [Season 5] - It’s a new era of SAMCRO. Jax is President and wants to do things differently. But something shocks him to the core and takes away part of his heart, something that he’ll never get back. Dealing with the fallout is difficult and Jax learns the weight of being the King of SAMCRO.

V: My self-hate is so deep, so palpable [Season 6] - Things just keep getting worse. Jax’ marriage is a mess. The problems with the Irish seem to be getting worse all the time and he finds himself falling deeper and deeper losing his vision, and wondering what the brotherhood even is. 

V  I’m sorry that the family I was given has created so much chaos in the family I’ve chosen [Season 7] - Jax wanted to do what he could to protect the club, but he’d never imagined the horrors of what happened at the end of season 6. Facing being a widowed father, he is a self-destructive mess, taking his anger and grief on anyone gets in his way. Mistakes are made and consequences have to be paid. 

V: The crow no longer speaks to me [Surviving AU] - Thought it is near impossible that it happened this way, Jax survives what happens at the end of Papa’s Goods. It takes him a long time, and the fallout from his emotional point at that time is still address. He’s not sure what happens now.

V: Soar on my Wings [Canon Divergent AU] - Instead of going down 580, Jax found himself going up to Norco, meeting Wendy and Nero up there. Now, he’s got to decide if hiding out is worth it. What will his life mean now, and can he salvage the relationships he wants to?

V: He sees all my sins, He reads my soul [Time-jumps] - Time periods of various time jumps.

Bio already on CARRD

[darkmoongodess]

Swear Fealty, or die & be forgotten!

I AM THE MORRIGAN! I’ve heard the cries from all of my children all around the planet known as earth. I hope lived feeling their agony majority of my life. I have now healed myself from the wounds inflicted upon me by others. Healed my inner child and healed my outlook to the future. It took me 38 years to get to this point in my life. But now I am here. I will not allow these invaders to take the Earth to its grave. These invaders are trying to steal the life force from the planet including everyone on it. I Will not allow them to continue. But in order for me to take control I need your help. I need people to swear fealty, I need people to spread the world I have returned. Can you do that? If so, then I will free you all from your 9-5 shackles & I will destroy whatever else stands in your way of the life you deserve!

For the low, low, subscription fee of 1,666.07/month on my Patreon! (Psst check out my other memberships while you are there!)!!

Too much for you? That’s ok, you can always sign a blood contract stating that you belong to me.

Now, read this prayer below until every last hair on your body has raised, or until you believe it with every fiber of being. Whichever comes first.

Now here’s my very first track release (free download):

[darthhope-in-the-woods]

Meet my new characters! (They totally play a huge role and they needed to be created whatdoyoumean)

Luck, Teller, Eivar, Keyes (or Kees, haven’t decided yet), Atticus, and Grey

Luck’s a tiger, Teller and Grey’re wolves, Eivar’s a crow, Keyes/Kees is a squirrel, and Atticus is a leopard. And they aren’t exactly what you would call alive…

(If you can guess what Teller’s short for, you win a cookie)

[blackdaggerart]

A fortune teller and her crow friend. 🐦‍⬛

[groovyangelkisses]

Jax with a girly girl who wears the shortest shorts and tight tops <333 just love the idea of this big bad biker corrupting this innocent girl

anon, you are an absolute dollbaby & this speaks to my very soul. jax teller needs a sweet girl, it's true!!!!! i listened to venice bitch by lana for this <3

cw: hyperfem!reader, innocent!reader, slight size kink, protective!jax, nsfw

the first thing jax ever noticed about you is how wide-eyed you looked at others around you. amazed or heartbroken, your sweet eyes held that same vulnerability that made him, and the entire club instantly enamored by you. you weren't a crow eater, couldn't muster up that type of confidence (or keep your eyes on anyone other than jax) for long enough, and all the guys knew it.

tig was the first one to spot you, quietly shuffling into teller morrow with the request of fixing a flat tire. your hair sat in a ponytail on your head, leaving a dainty necklace to show off your neck that slowly grew warmer with the intense california heat. and when jax peers around the corner to see why juice has suddenly stopped working, and prospect stands completely still, he sees you in your sweet little orange tube top & tiny jean shorts & sneakers & long white painted nails and moves a little quicker in his walk over to you.

in fact, he tugs on that same ponytail while asking you about your car, where you're from, where you bought that sweet little tube top, if you've ever been on a bike, if he makes you nervous. and the rest of the guys are flabbergasted. jax? fawning over the sweet, curious little thing that waltzes unto the shop, all coconut & jasmine scented? sure, it's not the most insane thing to happen, but the fierce protectiveness that jax immediately adapts is. like when you bend down to sign the paperwork for your car repairs, he stands behind you, afraid your distressed levi's will lift and show off those sweet orange panties he caught a glimpse of earlier when you leaned into your passenger seat to grab your insurance.

and when you straighten around to show him your paperwork, smiling & proud, his hand resting on the frayed posters of gemma's office, effectively boxing you in, he gently tells you "you gotta be careful when you lean over darlin' not everybody is as gentlemanly as i am— what're you lookin' at dickhead?!" before excusing himself with a light, fleeting touch to your hip before chasing half-sack down to point a strong finger in his face & tell him to leave the female clientele alone.

he loves your height difference, how you peer up at him with such wonderment, and even devastated confusion when you learn of some of the innerworkings of samcro. he absolutely has to fight off his cuteness aggression so he doesn't immediately smush your cheeks in his big hand, bring your other hand to the front of his jeans and purr "too fuckin' cute, you gotta cut it out or i'm gonna blow a load right here, sweetheart." and he looooooves the breathless look that overtakes you, and the slight creeping smile that adorns your face— adapting to him, to his never-ending need to feel you, just as needy and wanting as he is.

your naivety, your kindness, your ability to see jax as he's always wanted to be seen— strong, trying his best, all of it makes him even more enamored by you. you and your clicky wedged heels that always signify when you come to visit him at the shop, the scent of your bubblegum lipgloss floating through the clubhouse, your sweet, sad sniffle when he has to leave on a run. he loves all of it. loves that you need him, most of all.

[theesirenteller]

Reaper's Crow.

🅦🅐🅡🅝🅘🅝🅖 Kidnapping, Gore, Abuse, Violence, Profanity, OCC, glorification of serial killings, mentions of sexual violence, smut, mentions of PTSD, Sociopathisim, graphic violence, torture, blood, gore, deaths, dark undertones, angst, slow-burn romance

▌This fictional piece is AU with very little amounts of canon. I understand if this fic isn't your cup of tea. Please do not leave hate comments. The story is set some years after season seven. ▌

"This is just in another series of bodies that have been reported to have been found butchered and dismembered. Two of the six bodies were confirmed to be Sergeant Robert Combs and Officer Micheal Llyod. Both were suspected to be in business with the Aryan Warriors. Police have put out a curfew for all Mottenhill residents to be inside their homes by seven p.m. We ask all residents to lock their doors and remain safe."

An ear-piercing scream echoed throughout the four-bedroom-two-story home. Drowning out the downstairs news report from the Tv. The sound of glass shattering followed by choked-up sobs and high-pitched squeals of agony bounced off the walls of the home. The commotion let death himself slip in through the backdoor like a dark shadow in the night. The rubber soles of his steel-toned leather boots pressed soundlessly across the wooden floor. The glimmer of his silver c-shaped daggers reflected across the floorboards as the six-foot-seven male crept up the staircase. 

"You stupid fucking bitch! I love you! Why do you have to make me so angry?!"

The reaper tightened his grip on the daggers within his hands as he edged closer to the master bedroom door. His target, the unfortunate son of a bitch stood with his back turned away from the door. Hovering over a blood-covered, badly beaten woman. Who looked more like a girl based on her size. She spat blood across the floor, and a few of her teeth followed. Tapping against the wood as they spilled. The man raised his foot up, no doubt getting ready to aim a kick towards the back of her head. Just as his foot started to lower…

The dagger shot right through his skull with a loud crunch. The leather whip attached to the handle of the blade tugged back. The man's neck yanked backwards as his large body fell onto the floor. The layers of rolls on his stomach jiggled due to the harsh thud. The blade roughly snapped open the bridge of his nose and dug upwards splitting the middle bridge of his eyes open wide. Blood splattering across the man's wrinkled face as his body jolted back and forth out of shock.The Reaper lowly whistled to himself as he walked further into the bedroom. His once bright eyes turned midnight blue as he looked down at his victim coldly. His breathing shallow as rolled the wire around his leather glover covered hand but ultimately yanking the blade from the man's head. Warm blood splattered across his shoes and pants. Something that felt as simple as rain falling on a gloomy day. Crouching down like a panther getting ready to indulge in its prey, he soon hovered over the dwindling body. First came snapping a photo on his mobile then he plunged the dagger violently into the man's jugular and rapidly yanked it across his throat. Viciously causing the mangled bones to disconnect from the spine and shoulders. With little regard to the blood painting his face crimson, The Reaper proceeded to take a plastic black bag from his pocket and toss the head inside. As he stood back up the sound of wheezing caught his attention. 

The woman weakly slithered herself as far away from him as she could. "P-ppp-ple" she attempted to beg as blood steeped from the sides of her mouth. Her sepia-brown skin is stained with crimson so much that he wasn't sure how many places she was bleeding from. She was tired of begging. Tired of pleading. And if this was her end, she wanted to plead for her life rather than plead for the pain to stop. It never did stop when she pleaded anyway. The reaper's left eye began to twitch as flashes of blood, stab wounds, and his cries of agony replayed in his mind. Tara. He dared not utter her name. His eyes closed for a moment. Wincing. WIncing away the painful memory. When he opened them again he looked around before making his way over to the bed. After snatching off the duvet cover he then B-lined towards her again. Now crouching down beside her he proceeded to turn her on her back. Which caused a sudden yelp of pain to escape her lips. Shoe parks embedded across her breasts and her collarbone stuck out of place. One of her eyes was closed shut and swollen with the size of a lemon. A large gash in the middle of her forehead.She had eyes the same color as the grease that used to coat his calloused hands. Eyes that held pain. A pain he was familiar with. A pain he wished to undone.

"Sorry" his voice was gruff. Husky with grief.

Snapping her collarbone back into place only caused a mouse-like squeak to leave her lips. She had no more fight left in her. Her eyes rolled back before they shut. Her breathing was shallow as he leaned in closer to her face. Not wasting a moment longer he draped the duvet across her body and cocooned her into it. Carefully picking her up, The Reaper cradled her in his arms. Swiftly turning on his heel, he retrieved the bagged head from the floor on his way out the room.

Disappearing like an Incubus in the night, The Reaper drove his GMC truck out of Las Vegas. He drove for miles until reaching his destination. Parking his truck out in front of the gated mansion, he grew comfortable in his seat and wrote on the plastic bag in red marker 'Stolbatch' before tossing it out the window. 

It wasn't long before he was back on the road. The road that once was his friend, his freedom, his sense of invincibility and thrill…until it wasn't. It'd become an escape route and pathway to the neck job. His attention turned to his mirror. He watched the battered woman lay unconsciously across his backseat. It's been a longtime since he acted on impulse. And now he debated on what he'd do with her. Where he'd leave her. 

'Christ Jackie…what'd ya gotten into now' an old friend's words played back in his head causing a grimace to flash across his lips.

Pushing those thoughts aside, the only thing now on his mind was to get the nameless woman taken care of and patched up.

Chapter Two.

[thegettingbyp2]

Hiii, I personally think we have a criminal problem with the amount of Jax teller here, and i love your writing so I was hoping that you could do something with him and a arrange marriage, maybe there’s no tara and gemma arrange it or maybe someone in the club kinda like john and esme wedding in peaky blinders

I'll Take Care of You

‘You’re shaking,’ Jax noted as he looked down at your hands where they were nervously fiddling with stem of your wine glass. Jax knew that this wasn’t your idea, that you wanted to meet someone the old-fashioned way and fall in love before getting married, however, he didn’t exactly protest when Gemma told him that she’d arranged for the two of you to get married.

With pressure mounting on the club, Gemma insisted that Jax needed to get married, to have an old lady, to prove that the club was a united front; it also helped that she knew that Jax had always had a bit of a thing for you. You weren’t a crow eater but you could sometimes be seen hanging around the club and you’d hooked up with Jax a couple of times, so, the fact that the two of you were already familiar and had a bit of history between you, made you perfect for the situation.

‘I’m fine,’ you replied, giving him a small time.

‘Look,’ he said, sighing heavily and turning in his chair so his body was facing you, taking one of your hands in both of his, smoothing gentle circles with his thumb on the back of your hand, ‘I know that this isn’t what you wanted and I’m sorry. But, I promise you, we’ll make this work, I’m going to be here, I’ll take care of you. This isn’t just for show, okay? You’re my wife, and that means something to me.’

You couldn’t stop the tears from filling your eyes at Jax’s words; it made you feel slightly better that he knew how you were feeling and that he reassured you, knowing what you needed to hear. ‘Thank you,’ you said softly, bringing your free hand up to cup his cheek, his beard scratching your palm.

‘I’ll make sure we have a good life,’ he said, bringing your hand that was clasped in both of his to his lips before leaning down to press his forehead to yours.

‘I believe you,’ you smiled at him, tilting your head to gently press your lips to his. The moment your lips connected, one of Jax’s hands moved to the back of your head, holding you to his lips as he ran his tongue along your lips, begging for entrance, his other hand settling on your lower back pulling you against him. You didn’t know what it was with Jax but whenever you were with him, he always seemed to be able to make it feel like it was just the two of you and everything else just faded away.

You let him deepen the kiss, your fingers fisting in his cutte, the familiar feeling of the worn leather doing something to further settle your nerves. Jax practically hauled you onto his lap, his hand moving from your back to your thigh, making you whimper against his lips. It wasn’t until you heard the cheers from everyone around you that you remembered where you were and pulled away. Jax helped you off of his lap, smirking the whole time, making you lightly slap his chest.

‘You want us to leave, Jackie Boy?’ Chibs called over to you both, making you raise your middle finger to him only causing everyone to cheer again.

‘Nah, but I think we’re gonna head out,’ Jax replied, his smirk widening as he picked you up bridal style, walking out of the clubhouse to his bike where he took you home.

[acewritesfics]

Beautiful | Jax Teller 

Pairing: Jax Teller x Winston!Reader 

Request: No. Find original here -

Synopsis: Jax takes his old lady out for the night.  

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, swearing, talks of body parts, mentions of dressing and undressing. This was originally a Song-fic. H/C - Hair Color. E/C - Eye Color

Word Count: 2,186

Main Masterlist

Jax beams as he watches the woman he's madly in love with hurry around their bedroom, dressed in her black lace bra and panties set, that just so happens to be his favorite, oblivious to him standing there, focused on trying to decide what to wear. His eyes scan her body, stopping on her ass, admiring his third favorite part of her body. 

He never imagined falling in love with Y/N Winston, the younger sister of his best friend, but something changed when she left for college. When Y/N left Charming for college, she was just Opie's annoying little sister; but, when she returned four years later, it seemed as though she had completely changed. She was now a woman, not a girl. 

Y/N settles on a pair of skintight black jeans and a flowing deep crimson tank top. On the bed, she has her leather jacket that he gifted her for her 21st birthday, laying next to her jeans.  She eventually catches him standing there as she slides her legs into her jeans.  She pulls on her top as he enters the bedroom, a bit disappointed that his second favorite part of her body was now also hidden from him. 

After giving him a short kiss, she walks over to her dresser and gathers up her make up bag and hair brush. "I thought we were going to meet up at the clubhouse?" 

"Church got out a little early," he muttered, his eyes following her as she entered the ensuite connected to their bedroom. He observes her brushing her H/C hair as he leans against the door frame. 

When she put down her hairbrush, he closed the gap between coming up behind her so they're back to chest. He slides his arms around her waist, his fingertips caressing the flesh on her left hip where his crow was inked before resting his hands on her stomach and kissing the side of her head. "I figured I'd be a gentleman and come pick up my old lady." 

"You'll be driving the cage," she quips as she looks at him through the mirror.  

"I know," He smiles looking back at her, his baby blues meeting her E/C eyes. He takes a step back from her as she starts to apply her makeup. 

They got it confirmed last week that Y/N is pregnant again, after speculating that she was a few days before hand. Aside from not being able to ride bitch right now, they haven't told anyone about the pregnancy yet. Being just nine weeks along, they choose to hold off until the second trimester, when the risk of miscarriage is significantly lower. The first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage at 11 weeks, and it wasn't only them who were devastated by it. 

Despite the fact that they are quite certain their family aren't buying into the excuse, they used her being sober driver as an explanation for her abstinence from drinking and riding on the back of Jax's motorcycle. They noticed Gemma, Opie's, Piney's and even Clay's suspicious looks when she would deny a drink or avoid being on the of a motorcycle. Y/N could tell Gemma was the most suspicious and that she was picking up on more than just those two things. 

Once Y/N has finished applying her makeup, she exits the bathroom to retrieve her jacket and put it on, with Jax close behind. 

"How do I look?" She asks as she slowly spins around, flaunting her appearance. 

He closes the gap between them once again, encircling his arms around her waist and planting a scorching kiss to her lips. He smiles as she responds kissing him just as heated as he was.  Nobody else has ever made him feel the way he does when he kisses Y/N. He knows he had the same effect on her as she always left him out of breath. He knew this because of the small moment after their kiss when her eyes remained closed and her lips pouted. 

Before letting her go, he quickly kisses her and doesn't say anything as he leads her to the car, locking the front door on their way out of the house. 

"I never answered your question," he says as he opens the passenger door for her but blocks her from entering the vehicle. She looks at him puzzled. "You look fuckin' beautiful," he whispers as he kisses her lips again before helping her into the car before getting in himself and driving to the SAMCRO clubhouse. 

When Jax pulls into the lot, the music is already booming from the speakers, there is already a strong odor of weed and cigarettes in the air, and beer bottles and cigarette butts are scattered all over the ground. He exits the car as Y/N gets out and meets him at the front of the car. He smiles as she slips her smaller hand into his larger one and laces their fingers together. As they enter the clubhouse, he brings her hand to his lips and gently kisses the back of it. 

As soon as they are inside, surrounded by patches, friends of the clubs, old ladies, sweet butts and crow eaters, Jax let's go of her hand and placed his arm around her waist pulling her into his side. A few people stared and scoffed at them, he was unable to control the smirk that grew on his lips. The women envious of Y/N and the men who aren't members of the club wishing they were him. 

Jax orders drinks from the prospect behind the bar before noticing Tig and Chibs sitting nearby. He leans close to Y/N to talks to her without having to yell, "Go sit down with Tig and Chibs, and I'll bring the drinks over." 

She gives him a quick peck on the cheek and moves over to the table where his SAMCRO brothers are seated. He watches when both men stand up and hug her before she sits down. 

He catches a few men glancing in her direction with hungry eyes as he surveys the crowded room. As his gaze returns to her, he suppresses the temptation to pound their faces into the nearest surface. Jax is unsure of what he did to earn her love, but he is glad that he did. He couldn't picture his life without her. 

Jax has only ever been in one committed relationship before he got into one with Y/N. Because of Tara's decision to go medical school, his ex-girlfriend ended their relationship but not without trying to convince him to leave with her. He'd been crushed and drowned himself in weed, alcohol, and pussy when he wasn't working his way up in the club. 

All of it came to an end when Y/N returned from college. 

After she returned home, a lot of things changed for him. Y/N became the reason he stayed awake and alone in bed most nights, her face being the one he saw when he tried to take another girl back to his room. When she wasn't with him, he thought of her constantly, wondering what she was doing and if she was safe. He had to stop himself from calling her every chance that he got  He existed solely for her and the club. Even though the guys made fun of him for being whipped, he didn't know where he'd be without her. He couldn't picture his life without her. He didn't want to. 

Jax brings the drinks over to the table and sits in the empty chair next to Y/N's handing her bottle of water to her. She leans in close to him, kissing his cheek once again, and whispers "thank you" as he drapes an arm across the back of her chair. 

"Hey, where's my kiss?" Tig is heard asking. 

"Not here, but maybe if you ask her," Y/N chuckles, pointing to a brunette crow-eater who is gazing lustfully at the club's resident crazy while wearing next to nothing. "She might give you one." 

"You might be right." He smirks, looking in the direction that Y/N is pointing.  He gets out of his chair and moves over to the couch where the crow-eater is seated. 

After an hour and a few drinks, Jax glances at Y/N as Chibs walks away, finishing their discussion. He finds her looking back at him with a small smile and love in her eyes. Now that they are alone at the table, he smiles tenderly at her as everything around them fades, Y/N becoming his sole focus for now. He didn't want to admit it, but she had turned him into a love-sick idiot. 

"How are you feeling?" She asks, concern in her eyes as she takes in the faint bruise on the side of his head. Moving her hand from his leg, she reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair. This afternoon he'd been hit in the head by some thug the club had to deal with, earning him a nasty headache.  However, it vanished when he took a few painkillers before church. His headache was returning, and the loud music was not helping. 

"I feel wonderful," he says trying to ease her worry and kisses her to distract her knowing she'll see right through his bullshit. 

"You're an awful liar." 

"I know." He offers her a small smile. "My headache's back." 

"We don't have to stay. I'm beginning to feel a bit worn out, myself." 

"Let's go home," He stands and offers his hand to her, helping her stand up also. They say goodnight to the most of the club members before Y/N makes plans to meet Gemma for lunch the following day. As they exit the building and walk to her car, Jax hands Y/N the keys. 

"Take these and lay down." Y/N offers Jax a glass of water and some pain relief she'd snagged from the kitchen on her way to the bedroom. As soon as they walked through the front door, Jax made his way into their bedroom, stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed while she double checked that everything was locked up and all the lights were off. He takes them as she instructed and leaves the half empty glass of water on the bedside table. 

He doesn't move from his upright position while he watches her undress till she is only wearing her bra and panties. 

His eyes follow her once more as she walks over to his dresser and picks out one of his SAMCRO shirts before entering the bathroom. A few minutes later, she returns wearing his shirt and with her face make-up free. He continues to observe her as she removes her bra, pulling it from the sleeve of his shirt and discarding it on the chair in the corner of their room. He moves to lay down as she climbs into bed, facing him. 

"How's your head?" She softly asks. 

"The pain is starting to fade." 

"That's good. 

"How are you feeling?" he questions, cupping her face and caressing her cheek with his thumb. 

"Amazing," she says as her eyelids close, relishing in the tenderness of his touch. "Though I was feeling a bit queasy earlier." 

He rolls onto his back to reach his bedside table and switches off the lamp. Y/N moves in closer and places her head on his chest. 

With his arm around her holding her close, he kisses the top of her head. "I know I never tell you I love you as much as I should, but I do love you." 

"I love you too," She smiles. His spoken 'I love you's' are rare but he didn't have to say it for her to know it's true. Every day, in the smallest things he does for her, he tells her he loves her.  

"I don't mean to turn into a huge sap but you're the most wonderful person I know," He kissed the top of her head again. "I don't know what I'd do without you or if anything happened to you." 

"I hope we never have to find out." 

"Me too." He sighs. A silence falls over them but is soon broken by Jax. "We should get married." 

Y/N sits up looking at him in the darkness, a look of shock plastered on her face. "You wanna get married?" 

"Yeah I do." he admits. They've never had the marriage talk until now. They hadn't had the baby talk before she got pregnant both times. "We have a good reason to. I love you, you love me and we're going to have a kid." His hand reached under the shirt she was wearing, his fingers brushing the skin of her belly.  

She smiles. "Okay, let's get married." 

Jax smiles back and pulls her down to him making her giggle. He runs a hand through her hair tucking a few strands behind her ear. "You really are wonderful." 

"Just kiss me already," she orders him. 

"Sure thing, Darling." he laughs and pulls her into a passionate and mind-blowing kiss that was bound to leave both of them breathless. 

[awoogayanderes]

in this life, we both die

➪ pairing : fyodor dostoyevsky x reader

➪ sypnosis : you prepare him for his death

➪ other notes : YALL KNOW I HAD TO DO IT. IDEC IF THIS FLOPS RAHHH, this is also like another take for what fyodor truly knows about his different lives ? this is trash but i had to write something…

“you are to impale him with your spears at dawn as the rooster crows !” lord bram yelled out. “yes my lord !” the knights said. “you know what to do,” lord bram says, turning to face you. “yes my lord,” you nod, bowing down. you nod for the guards to unchain the man in front of you, before they follow lord bram out.

you let a heavy sigh, but nevertheless grab your basket of what you’d call toiletries. “sit,” you simply say, hinting for the man to kneel down on the floor. “it’s quite dirty,” he says. “you’ll be dead in a few hours, what does it matter,” you say, kneeling down first. “who are you ?” the man asks, kneeling down in front of you.

“i’m a maid for my lord…but i try to make those who my lord punishes, comfortable before they’re executed,” you say, grabbing a rag before dumping it into a bucket of water next to you. “so you take pity on those like me ?” he asks, eyes peering at your every action. you cracked a smile, “you could say that,” you say.

wringing out the rag, you lean forward into the man, patting it on his face. “what’s your name ?” you ask, focused on the man’s porcelain skin. “what’s yours ?” he rebuttals. “i asked first,” he almost cracks a smirk. “fyodor…fyodor dostoyevsky,” despite you having never heard that name before, chills run up your spine. “my name is y/n l/n,” you simply say.

“you mentioned you were a maid, why ?” fyodor asks, as you use another rag to wet his hair. “my mother used to work for my lord,” you say, not having much of a care, he was going to die, what was the point of withholding secrets ? “she has passed ?” the man asks. your eye slightly twitches, “you talk a lot for someone who’s going to die,” the man only smiles.

“you aren’t here by coincidence,” the man suddenly says. you pause, looking at his face. “are you some type of fortune teller ? my lord detest those, a nutcase told him he was to turn into a sword,” you shake your head. “you’re my wife in a future life,” he says and you suck in a breath. “i’m not fond of men who have a foot in the casket,” you say, shaking your head.

“seven days after i am executed, you will plummet to your death,” fyodor says and that’s when you finally retract your hand. “my job here is done, goodnight sir dostoyevsky,” you say getting up, before wiping your hands. the man could only smirk at your flee to the cellar door, before leaving in a rush.

you wouldn’t have taken that comment so seriously if it weren’t for that same fortune teller that your lord had contracted, telling you that you would die within a few weeks, falling to your death just like your mother did all those years ago. you couldn’t help but feel suffocated by the thought, you wouldn’t let it be real.

[hippiegoth97]

Hangman's Joke: An Eddie Munson x Reader Halloween Special (The Crow AU) Part Two

Collage by me :)

Special Thanks to @keikoraven for beta reading for me <3

Masterlist

Part One

Tag List: @ar-jupiter @alcielo1438 @cairro-xx @stolen-in-moonlight

@micheledawn1975 @janiejenn @rafeyscurtainbangs @melodymunson @spacedoutdaydreamer

@veemoon @sariahs-stuff @feral-pumpkin-energy @comeonatmebruh @munsoneightysixx

@morgthemagpie @josephquinnsfreckles @jenniquinn @userchai @cometzombie

@spookybabey @daggerdaggerkitten @nina6708 @sanctumdemunson @yourdailymemedelivery

@person-005 @slowandsteddie @gri959 @elegantkoalapaper @letitgoandletlive

@loserboysandlithium @costellation-hunter @leelei1980 @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever

@ohmeg @stalactitekilla @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne @oneforthemunny

@prettyboyeddiemunson @eddievanmunson @msgexymunson @rattkween86 @violetpixiedust

@bimbobaggins69 @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @bimbogorewhore

@mediocredreams @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @ali-r3n @emxxblog

@cxrrodedcoffin @queenimmadolla @kellsck @keeksandgigz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

If anyone wants added/removed from tags please let me know <3

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, fem!reader, mentions of abuse/child abuse, flashbacks, blood, violence, murder, death, blood licking(?), smoking, crying, mentions of sexual assault, torture, sex, genitals, weapons, homophobic language

Word Count: 8k

divider by @strangergraphics

Part Two

October 30th, 1992

Your body feels like a sack of bricks as you struggle to climb out of the deep hole, flashes of bright white shocking your vision between swaths of damp dark. Your hands slip for the third time, hopelessly dragging through rapidly dissolving mud as the rain pours down on you in a merciless torrent. You groan as you manage to pull yourself up on the fourth try, the sound growing louder and more dire from your lungs at the strain. It’s nearly a scream as your upper half finally lands on the soaked grass. Panting breaths leave your lips with reckless abandon, giving yourself a break from climbing out of your own grave. 

Once you regain some semblance of strength, you crawl away from the gaping pit to bring your legs to the surface. Another pained cry leaves you, every flex of muscle and bend of joints feels like you’re being torn apart. Free from the hole at last, you roll over onto your back for another small rest. In your blurred vision, you can make out a small dark animal perched on what must be your headstone, though you can’t exactly read it in this state. You discern, however, that the creature is a crow, hearing its caw through the haze. It oddly sounds like a command for you to get on your feet, like there’s something you must do.

You aren’t exactly sure what’s going on here. One second, you were dead, and now…you’re not. And this black bird is somehow here to guide you towards whatever your undead purpose is. What it is, you can’t quite place. You can’t even remember how you got here to begin with. “Eddie.” You murmur to yourself. He must know what’s going on. If you just go back to your apartment, everything will make sense. Seeing him again will fill in all the blanks. You roll over once again, wincing as you do. You get up on your knees, disregarding the cold of the rain chilling your bones. Must get home, gotta get home. The simple message repeats incessantly in your head, urging you to move. You take a lurching step forward, the other foot dragging slightly behind. It appears your body will have to get used to being active again. 

Ignoring the intense agony you feel in every inch of yourself, you keep limping your way out of the cemetery. The crow follows, landing on a nearby tree a few feet ahead to assist you in staying on course. You track its path, reaching the end of the graveyard and finding sparse street lights lining the quiet road. The only sounds are the flapping of the crow’s wings, and the rush of the rain. The cold doesn’t bother you anymore, the sensation rather refreshing instead as it washes away the dirt and stench of death from your skin. Your steps even out as you continue on, crossing the street and meeting the first long stretch of sidewalk that leads back to your home. Each movement still wounds you greatly, but your newfound resolve with the help of your feathered friend keeps you going regardless. 

The crow flies from place to place, luring you further and further with every landing it makes on a tree or mailbox. You follow its encouraging caws, motivated by the steady flaps of its wings. You’ve heard of crows being helpful to humans, remembering them if said human does something kind for them. But this is surely no ordinary bird. It appears to know far more than you do, about why you’re back here, what’s to be done. The glimpses you catch of its voidlike eyes seem to tell you ‘all will be revealed, dear friend, if you just follow me’. Hard to argue with that, when you can barely string a coherent thought together on your own. 

The crow guides you through side streets and alleyways, avoiding what little traffic passes through the main roads in the middle of the night. The journey seems to take hours, but you eventually end up right outside your apartment building. It looks much different now, deserted and unpopulated. There’s no cars parked in the lot, and a few of the windows have been smashed, without a single light to be found inside the units. Unbeknownst to you, the other residents slowly moved out after your murder. They made claims of hearing strange noises, chanting voices, even seeing apparitions of you or Eddie. All of which were surely bullshit, but it didn’t change the fact that even in death, you were accused of terrorizing this so-called sleepy town. High school kids break in from time to time, some to pay respects, others to party or vandalize your home, and a scant few with a morbid curiosity who attempt to communicate with the ‘Maniac Munsons’ using a Ouija board. 

None of these facts are of any consequence to you, as you haven’t been alive to experience them yourself. The corvid spares you of the knowledge, what it has to remind you of once you’re inside is more than enough. It flies a short trip from a dead potted plant onto your shoulder, urging you inside with a gentle nudge of its beak. You travel up the steps, your bare feet crunching on broken glass. “Shit.” You hiss as tiny shards embed themselves in your skin. You press on, opening the front door that’s long since lost its panes to rowdily swung baseball bats. It’s much warmer inside, despite the power having been shut off months ago. You traipse down the hallway to your right, finding the one place where you felt safe in this town. The lock on the door has been broken off, shredded police tape still clinging to one side of the frame. The door is slightly ajar, so you push it open to have a look inside. You take a step past the threshold, and it all comes rushing back. All the fear, and the joy, and the agony, and the love, rolling over you in a monstrous tidal wave. You scream in pain as memories flood you from the inside out, reliving every last terrible, wonderful second of it in flashes that stab relentlessly at your brain. 

“What do ya think, baby?” Eddie asks, his strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind as you look over your newly-leased apartment. It’s nothing special, with its dingy lighting, worn carpet and yellowing walls. But it’s yours, a home you get to build together. 

“I love it, Eds.” You giggle happily in his arms, leaning further into him as his cologne swirls in your nose. “It’s perfect.”

He chuckles lowly against your ear, laying a warm kiss on your neck. “I think so, too, sweetheart. Now all we gotta do is move in.” 

Eddie’s words reverberate in your mind, whispers of them brushing coldly against your skin. The image of his arms holding you tight as you look down dissolves, quickly replaced with something far less pleasant.

There’s a sudden banging on the door, an angry fist weakening the well-worn wood. “Open up, you freaks!” A voice shouts from the hall, slightly muffled. You and Eddie turn to each other on the sofa, exchanging a worried look as your almost-anniversary dinner has been interrupted. Before you can even ask who’s there, or get up to answer it, the door comes crashing open with force. A spray of splinters flies to the floor, and you both stand up to find four familiar faces coming into the apartment. 

“What the fuck?” You murmur as Tommy Hagan, Steve Harrington, Jason Carver, and Billy Hargrove stand before you. They stare you down, brandishing knives, a baseball bat befitted with nails, rope, and duct tape. 

“It’s time for you to pay for what you’ve done.” Billy says angrily. Without hesitation, you jump over the couch and try to get past them to the phone in the kitchen. But it’s no use, Steve captures you in his arms, squeezing you far too tight. 

“Nice try, bitch. You’re not goin’ anywhere.” Harrington says coldly in you ear, barely audible over your heart pounding in your chest.

“Let her go!” Eddie yells, making an attempt to get closer. But Jason and Tommy step in his way.

“Not a chance, freak.” Jason snarls, giving Eddie a firm punch to the jaw. Eddie falls to his knees with a cry, gripping his face.

“Get some chairs and tie them up. Think we oughtta give them a taste of their own medicine.” Billy orders, flashing you both a sickening grin. 

“No!” You wail, tears rolling down your cheeks as you remember the primal fear you felt that night, the night you died. The night Eddie was taken from you. You don’t wish to see any more, but your new friend regrettably still has many sights to show you. The crow bows its head from the tattered remains of your sofa, and shows you another.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got a surprise for you.” Eddie coos as he gently shakes you awake from your slumber, brushing a stray hair from your face. You open your eyes to find him sitting at your bedside, a tray piled with breakfast in hand. 

“You always give me breakfast in bed on Saturdays, love.” You tease, smiling ear to ear. 

“Yes, but this one is extra special. Have a look.” He chuckles, setting the tray on your lap once you sit up. You gaze over the usual spread, bacon, eggs, french toast, orange juice. Until your vision catches on a dark sparkle beside your plate. Your eyes dash back for it, finding a ring box, sitting open with a gorgeous black opal ring inside. Your favorite stone, set in an ornate silver band. It’s absolutely beautiful, taking you by surprise. 

Your eyes widen once you realize what this is. An engagement ring. “Eddie, is this…?” You trail off, picking up the box to hold it in your hand. You look up at him, hoping for an answer.

He smiles warmly at you, tears welling in his eyes. “Yes, my dark angel. It’s exactly what you think it is.” He says sweetly, though his breath shakes a little with nerves. “Will you marry me, Y/N, and make me the happiest man in the world?” He asks, a tear rolling down his cheek as he says the words you’ve longed to hear. 

“Yes! Of course I will, Eddie!” You reply excitedly, your own emotions getting the best of you. He leans in to give you a tender kiss after you slide the ring on your finger, leaving breakfast to be neglected in favor of some celebration.

“No! No, Eddie, please!” You sob aloud as the memory fades away, taking the warm, loving body of your husband with it. You wish so much to touch him, feel him, hold him again, it hurts. You fall to your knees on the floor, doubling over as the worst has only just begun. 

“Let’s take a look at what we got here. Hopper must have missed something.” Billy announces to the others as he carelessly knocks over statues of goddesses and pulls books from your shelves. He opens one in particular about worshiping oneself and one’s partner, emotionally, mentally, and physically. He laughs at the nude artwork inside, eyes skimming over ‘intimacy rituals’ and ‘bonds of trust’. “Would you guys get a load of this?” He beckons the others over to share a jeering hardy-har at your expense. It makes your blood boil to see them mock the very things you’ve built your relationship upon. But all you can do is watch helplessly, tied to your kitchen chairs side by side. Once the boys get their fill, Billy comes over and shoves the book in your face, open to an illustration of a man and woman entangled in one another. Your favorite page. “This the kind of shit you were showing those kids? Huh? This pornography?!” Billy yells, his spit hitting your cheek. You flinch, turning your head to look away. “Sick fucks.” He mutters, turning away and tossing the book to the floor.

The young men spend a good while tearing your home apart, in search of non-existent evidence that would label you and Eddie as the devil worshippers everyone thinks you are. When they can find none, they only seem to get more enraged. “Where is it? Huh?�� Tommy shouts when he comes back from trashing your bedroom, brandishing his knife at you.

“Where’s what?” Eddie bites, ignoring your pleading eyes that beg him not to goad these maniacs. 

“You know ‘what’! Where’s the shit you fuckers use for your sacrifices, hm? Where’s the photos you took of Pete and the others?” Tommy jabs the knife toward Eddie’s throat, threatening to slice it open.

“You won’t find anything like that here. We didn’t do anything. We wouldn’t ever hurt those kids. Please, just leave us alone.” You answer through your tears, helplessly straining against the ropes tied around your torso and ankles. 

“Bullshit!” Billy bellows, shoving the contents of your coffee table to the ground. Ceramic trinkets smash to bits on the carpet, and pages of books flutter open on the journey down. He gets in your face again. “Everyone in town knows you did it! Now, tell us where it is, or the faggot gets it!” He yells even louder, the beer on his breath making your stomach turn. You shake your head, unable to get out any more words through your sobs. “Cut him.” Billy orders, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate. He slashes quickly across Eddie’s cheek, a trail of deep crimson flowing down his face. Eddie winces, but tries to deny them the satisfaction of hearing his screams. His wound stings at the exposure to the air, his eyes growing glassy. “Again.” Billy says, watching your chin wobble as they hurt Eddie. Another slash, this time on his chest. A hole forms in his shirt, more ruby red seeping through. The cuts aren’t very deep, but they hurt like hell nonetheless. “Still not gonna tell us?” Billy gives you one last chance to fess up. You look at Eddie, who shakes his head at you. You don’t respond fast enough, so Billy turns away from you. “Kill him.” He orders with a shrug, and you watch as Tommy is just about to bring the blade to Eddie’s throat.

“No! Wait!” You shriek, halting Tommy’s hand. “I’ll show you, okay? I-I’ll show you. Just untie me, and I’ll show you!” You plead with them, hoping you can figure out some way to get to the phone, or out a window to run for help. Anything to make this stop.

“Fine.” Billy sighs, gesturing for Steve and Jason to untie you. “But if you try anything, we’re gonna kill you both. Got it?” He warns, threateningly running his thumb along the edge of his switchblade.

“Okay. I promise. I promise.” You nod your head frantically, nearly gasping for air as the adrenaline builds to an all-time high as you prepare yourself. You get one chance to try and escape, you cannot blow it. Otherwise, you both die. You give Eddie as reassuring a look as you can, and his eyes widen slightly once he realizes what you’re going to do. He wishes he could talk you out of it, to tell you how reckless it is, how he doesn’t want you to get hurt. But it’s too late now.

“Get up. Show us where it is.” Steve, tips your chair over to get you on your feet, shoving you forward. 

“It’s in here.” You lead Steve to the bathroom, where there’s a window just big enough for you to fit through and run away. Hopefully. Your heart races, blood pumping in your ears so damn loud it’s like a drumline in your brain. You stop just inside the doorway of the bathroom, and suddenly turn and kick Steve in the crotch to distract him.

“Fuck!” Steve yelps, falling to the floor, dropping his bat. You take your chance, slamming the door shut and turning the lock. 

“Run, Y/N! Run!” You hear Eddie shout from the other side, causing more tears to pour down your cheeks. You go for the window, struggling with sweating hands to disengage the lock. It’s old, and painted over, but you know you’ve managed to get it open before.

“You fucking bitch! Get out here, or we kill him! You fucking whore! We’re gonna fucking kill you!” The young men yell from just outside, a symphony of insults and threats. You manage to push the lock through the slot, just as you hear a thick craaack from behind you. You turn and scream when you find the nails from the bat sticking through the bathroom door. You try to shove the pane of the window outwards, but it’s jammed. You keep pushing and pushing, running out of breath as the boys slowly tear down the thin barrier between you. Just as the window finally swings open, you feel two large hands pull you by the waist.

“No! No! Let me go! Please, let me go! Stop!” You scream, kicking and flailing with all your might. But it’s no use, the men are stronger than you. Your eyes snap to Eddie, who’s tugging as hard as he can against his restraints, to no avail. “I’m sorry, baby. I tried, I tried. I'm sorry.” You weep pitifully, your heart aching as you can guess what comes next.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise, it’s okay.” Eddie tries his best to comfort you, his voice broken with his own sobs. 

“Nice try, you little bitch.” Billy growls as you’re shoved back down in your chair. He slaps you hard across the face, his thick palm sending searing pain through your cheek.

“Don’t fucking touch her! You piece of shit! Fuck you!” Eddie screams.

“I’ll do whatever the hell I feel like, Munson. In fact, I don’t know if you knew this, but I’ve always had kind of a thing for your girl here.” Billy sneers, grabbing hold of your chin. “She’s pretty cute, for a satanic slut, anyway.” He chuckles, patting the side of your face he hit not moments ago. You groan quietly at the insult to injury. “Aw, what’s the matter? Thought a girl like you would like it rough.” He mocks, forcing you to look in his eyes. You find a sick lust in his pupils, which makes your stomach drop.

“I do. But not with you. Not in a million years.” You reply bitterly, spitting in his face. You may not make it out of this alive, but you sure as shit aren’t going down without a fight.

“Well, that’s not really up to you, now, is it? I think you’re a bit outmanned here.” Billy chuckles as he wipes his face, earning equally evil laughs from his band of hyenas. “Who knows? Maybe if this pussy is good enough, we might let you go.” He says lowly. His words make you feel sick, like you’d rather die right now. He yanks you out of your chair and to the floor where he forces you onto your back. “Don’t worry, we’ll let Eddie watch. Maybe it’ll teach him a thing or two, hm?” He looks at Eddie with this, grinning impossibly wide at the furious expression on your husband’s face. The others assist Billy in ripping at your clothes, and pulling down your pants.

Discordant screams of protest from you and Eddie clash inside your skull, even more memories flooding through the cracks. “No, please! No more!” You beg the crow, who just looks down upon you in sorrow. 

A spinning carousel of images flies across your vision. Billy and the others taking turns having their way with you as you scream in horror. Shelving books at the library as kids cheerfully ask you where to find their latest pick. Stabs of blades and swings of Steve’s bat ripping your flesh open while you and Eddie lie helpless on the floor. Searing kisses Eddie gave you in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. Pools of blood spilling everywhere as the young men continue to torture you both, warm and staining everything in sight. You and Eddie dancing around the apartment with Max, singing along to Judas Priest while playing the air guitar, spinning the girl around in playful circles and laughing until your faces turned red. Billy and his thugs standing over you once they’re sure you’ll be dead before the cops show up, giving you one last kick to the ribs for good measure. Eddie’s hand reaching for yours, right before the light fades from your eyes and your last breath escapes you. Every last second twists the anger and heartache inside you further and further, like a vengeful blade taking its pound of flesh. 

“Fuck!” You let out a primal yell, clawing at your dress, ripping the leather clean down the middle as the agony reaches its peak. The straps sag on your shoulders, the pain mercifully coming to an end. You flop over onto your back, the remnants of your clothes falling open. But you don’t care much, there’s no one here to see you, or to hurt you again. No, now it’s your turn to dole out some goddamn pain and suffering. 

You rise to your feet, discarding the tattered dress, and the underwear the mortician dressed you in. You walk down the short hallway to your old bedroom with purpose, ignoring the burned down candles and crudely drawn pentagrams that litter the floor. You find your closet sitting open, though your old clothes are still inside. Well, most of them. Some have been stolen, others eaten away at by moths, probably a few burned in a pile somewhere as a way to ‘cleanse’ the town of your supposed evil. But what remains is exactly what you need. Your favorite pair of leather pants, a tattered long-sleeve shirt you made yourself, and the ankle-length black leather trench coat Eddie gave you as a birthday gift. You finish it off with a pair of boots still stashed away in the back of the closet, untouched by insects or thieves. 

The clothes warm you as you pull them on, though they don’t smell like home anymore. The scent of incense and perfume that used to permeate every inch of fabric is long gone, replaced with the stench of dampness and stale beer. It makes your heart ache just that little bit more, but there’s not much time to spare on the thought. Much more pressing matters like retribution and revenge take far more precedence. You give yourself a weary once-over in your vanity, the mirror now smashed with hundreds of weblike cracks in the glass. The makeup that had been painted dutifully on your corpse has run, streaks of black maligning the foundation that was used. You reach for the nearest piece of cloth to wipe it away, deciding a refresh is in order, if you’re to look your best when exacting your recompense. You find your old shade in the mess, resorting to applying it with your fingers. A little blush there, some dark circles around your eyes, and a deep blood red lipstick to pull it all together. You pout your lips, slipping the stick into your coat pocket. You have a feeling there’ll be a need for it later on.

Satisfied enough with your look, it’s time to get your motorcycle back. The crow has been kind enough to show you where it is, the Hawkins Police impound. You imagine Hopper kept it safe there, to prevent it from being stolen. He has always been so kind to you over the years, in death ought to be no different. Far more confident on your own two feet, and your mind set clear with a solid mission in mind, you walk the few blocks to the station with the corvid on your shoulder. No one’s really around to take much notice of you, save for a couple cops on patrol and a nurse having her smoke break outside the hospital. You bypass their eyes, as if cloaked in the dark of night despite the street lamps overhead. You slip around the back of the police building, kicking open the door with a newfound strength once the coast is clear. The crow flies ahead of you, settling on a shelf with the logged weaponry. It caws at you, pointing its head downwards to the matching knives at its feet. They bear long, thick blades that shine in the fluorescent lights, and ornate handles detailed with mirrored images of rattlesnakes.

“Ooh, very nice.” You pick up the knives, weighty yet familiar as they rest in your hands. “Yeah, these’ll do just fine.” You chuckle softly to yourself, pocketing the blades in their respective sheaths before setting off to find your ride. Your hand absentmindedly picks up a tagged switchblade from another shelf as you walk towards the area storing the heavier items, one that just so happens to have belonged to Billy Hargrove. It joins the twin knives in your pocket, sure to be returned to its rightful owner when the time is right. You turn the corner, and finally lay eyes on her. Your sweetheart, your gorgeous black and silver beast that sings a beautiful, rumbling song beneath your thighs when you ride her. Karma, which is a rather fitting name for her now. “There’s my old girl. I’ve missed you.” You say sweetly to the bike, circling around her before swinging a leg over to feel the leather seat that has molded to the shape of you and Eddie. Your hands run along the handlebars lovingly, the cool metal greeting your fingertips. “Let’s see if you still run, baby.” You say to her, finding the keys sitting in the ignition. Fate certainly appears to be on your side tonight. You make sure she’s in neutral, move all the right levers to get her ready, and turn the key. All that’s left is the fun part. You nudge the kickstart lever out with your foot, lifting yourself up slightly to give it a swift push downwards. Karma’s engine roars to life, purring with familiarity between your legs. “Fuck yeah.” You laugh, slapping the handlebars with pride.

Just as you’re about to literally motor out of here, an officer comes into the room with some bagged evidence to log. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing in here?” He shouts, tossing the bag aside in favor of stalking over to you.

“Sorry, officer. Gotta go!” You yell over the sound of the engine, giving him a salute and pressing on the gas.

“Get back here!” The cop calls after you as you peel around the corner towards the open door you’d broken in through. You zoom past more shelves of old evidence, and the crow flies to land on your shoulder as you pass by. The bike just barely squeaks through the doorway, wind whipping in your hair and adrenaline coursing through your veins as you make your escape. The tires land on solid road, leading you to your next destination.

“Whoo!” You squeal in delight, throwing a middle finger the officer’s way as you steal a glance back at him. Hopper’s sure to be pissed once he finds out someone broke into the station, but you’ll deal with the consequences of that later. Right now, it’s time to pay Tommy Hagan a visit.

“Yes! Yes! Oh, Tommy, don’t stop! Yes! Yes! YES!” Carol moans as Tommy gives his usual lackluster performance in bed. She fakes her orgasm for what must be the thousandth time in their relationship, playing it up by making her legs shake a little and rolling her eyes into the back of her head as her mouth falls open to let out one final cry of his name.

“That’s it, baby. Take it, take it for daddy.” Tommy grunts, pistoning his hips until his load inevitably spills deep inside Carol’s cunt. A satisfied grin spreads across his lips as he pulls out, collapsing onto his back beside his less-than-satisfied girlfriend. “Fuck, that was great, baby.” He sighs, wiping sweat from his brow. 

“Sure was.” Carol rolls her eyes, reaching for her smokes. She wonders just how many more times she’ll be able to put up with miserable fucking that leads to nowhere. Nearly a decade now they’ve been together, and he hasn’t even bothered to commit. Or learn where her goddamn erogenous zones are. She lights up, hoping to gain some form of gratification from the nicotine. There is a little, but not near enough to soothe the ache between her legs that’s yet to be truly sated. Oh well, no relationship is perfect. That’s what she tells herself, anyway. 

“Gonna take a piss.” Tommy says, sitting up in bed. “Don’t go anywhere.” He says lowly in Carol’s ear. 

“Oh, I won’t.” She giggles awkwardly in response, and he leaves her side. He goes into the bathroom, shutting the door. A quiet trickle can be heard from the other side, the sound of which makes Carol crinkle her nose.

“Shit, I’ve had lousy lays in my day. But, man, that was painful to watch, honey.” You laugh from your spot, leaning back against the sill of the open window beside Tommy’s bed. You’d only caught the end of the show, but Carol’s fake moans gave you enough cover to wait patiently right under their noses.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Carol yelps, covering herself with the sheets. Her eyes are blown wide as she stares at you, an intruder. 

“Well, if you must know, your little casanova and I have some…unfinished business.” You say with a grin, slipping inside into the dim light of the room. 

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave! Tommy!” Carol’s voice trembles, calling for her boyfriend.

“Carol, sweetie, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” You tut, stepping closer to her. You reach a hand forward to stroke her cheek, grabbing hold of her chin. “Listen to me carefully.” Her supple skin trembles under your cold touch, and you lean down close to make sure she gets the message. “I’ve got a bit of revenge that needs exacting. Now, I suggest that unless you wanna see the mess I’m about to make, that you get your shit and get the hell out of here. You understand me?” You say, your words coming out husky and low, nearly seductive if they weren’t so threatening. 

“Y-Yeah.” Carol nods frantically, and you let her free from your grasp. 

You watch wordlessly as she gathers her clothes, struggling to put them on to make her escape. You’re surprised she doesn’t recognize you, especially after all those years in school she personally saw to making your life miserable. No matter, your grudge isn’t exactly with her this evening. No, no. It’s for the lousy asshole who apparently takes ten minutes to piss. When she’s finally dressed, Carol scurries to the door to Tommy’s apartment, coat and bag in hand, quickly making her way out. Once she’s gone, you figure the fun can finally begin. A sickening grin crawls across your mouth, and you sit on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands.

“Oh, Tommy, please hurry! I’m just dying to have you rock my world again!” You put on your best impression of Carol, coming off surprisingly accurate. A feeling of glee grows within you, anticipating Tommy leaving the bathroom to find his honey has long gone, and he’s stuck in here with you. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You steal a quick glance at the crow, who is perched on the window as you were previously. Rain pours outside once again after the short respite on the ride over here, bright lightning flashing through the sky. The bird gives you an approving caw, redirecting your attention to the bathroom door as it opens.

“Comin’ right up, baby!” Tommy laughs, stepping out from the bathroom completely nude, a dribble of urine still leaking from the tip of his humble manhood. He nearly shrieks when he finds you on his bed instead of Carol, covering his crotch with his hands. “What the fuck!?” He shouts, brows furrowing and eyes widening in terror as he realizes who you are. “No way! It can’t be! W-We一”

“You what? Killed me? Raped me? Yeah, I remember that, too.” You casually cut him off, standing up. 

“But how? Why?” Tommy asks in absolute horror, looking around in search of his girlfriend. “What did you do with Carol?” He asks fearfully.

“Oh, nothing. It’s not her I’m here for.” You say with a shrug, reaching inside your coat. You pull out the switchblade, flicking it open. “You, on the other hand? Well…” You chuckle, stepping closer to him. “I think you owe me about a pound of flesh!” You say with a laugh, before slashing Tommy across his bare chest. 

“Fuck!” He screams at the pain, blood rapidly pooling and running from the wound. It drips down his stomach and over his hands that still cover his wimpy cock.

“What’s the matter, Hagan? Can’t take a little cut? You sure were happy to give me and Eddie more than enough of them!” You yell, swinging the knife to cut across his cheek now. More of that deadly crimson pours out across his pale flesh, like thick syrup. You quickly grab the uninjured side of his face to pull him closer, following the perverse impulse to lick the gash and have a taste. Tangy copper coats your tongue, sending a dark thrill through you. Your cold breath rushes against his cheek as you let out a low sigh, further stinging his wound.

“What the hell? Get the fuck off me!” Tommy screams, pushing you away.

“Aw, poor baby.” You pout sarcastically. “I’m just gettin’ started.” You laugh, carefully wiping your lip with your finger, sucking it clean. Tommy tries to make a dash for the door, but you stand in his way, blocking his every move. “Sorry, Tommy. You’re not getting away alive. Not after what you’ve done!” You tackle him to the floor, a loud grunt escaping him as he hits the ground. His hands try to grab your wrists and hold them back, but it’s quite a struggle. You press down, gaining way as you grip the knife with both hands, pointing it at his chest. “You aren’t even gonna apologize for what you did to me? For what you did to him? Huh?” You ask, demanding answers.

“Why would I? You deserve what you got! The fact that you’re even here right now proves we were right! You fucking whore of Satan!” Tommy retorts, trying to shove you off of him. But it’s no use. Your newfound strength lets you overpower him with ease.

“I wish it was that simple, Tommy. But the devil’s got nothin’ to do with it. He never did.” You reply, the words ringing true in the man’s ears as you straddle his naked, bleeding body. Realization washes over his face, as if the things you know have somehow been beamed into his mind to provide clarity.

“Oh, god.” He gasps, kicking his legs and flailing his arms helplessly. “Please, I’m sorry! Please don’t do this! I’m sorry!” He starts to weep, tears of fear, not remorse. He continues to snivel and beg for his life, but no true apology leaves his lips. Not that it would make any difference.

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t nearly make up for what you’ve done.” You say coldly, raising your hands above your head, clutching the knife firmly as you prepare your aim. 

“No! No! Please! No!” Tommy cries, your weight staying steady on him despite his desperate squirming. Tears stream down his cheeks, a sight you never thought would make you so unbelievably happy.

The knife comes down as you let out a scream that’s been deeply rooted inside you since you resurfaced. One of release, and closure. The blade plunges deep into Tommy’s chest, blood splattering from the violent hole you’ve made. Tommy wails in pain, though it’s short lived as the fluid begins to fill his lungs and make him choke. That deep red bubbles just past his teeth, staining the inside of his mouth as he gurgles. You pant heavily as you pull the knife out, bringing it back down again. The wet and metallic sounds of knife meeting flesh fill the air, over and over as you stab Tommy repeatedly. Splashes of blood land warmly on your skin and clothes, painting you the most lovely shade of crimson. You revel in the carnage, getting the payback you very much deserve, that Eddie deserves. Grunts and stunted screams leave you while you continue to stab the pale flesh beneath you. Tommy has stopped squirming, but you find it hard to stop yourself as you raise the blade and sink it back in again. It feels so good, letting it all out. It’s enough to become an addiction in no time at all. 

The crow eventually snaps you out of it with another cry from its beak. Your eyes fall to Tommy beneath you, finally soaking in the image of the mess you've made. His mouth sits open, eyes staring past you with not an ounce of life left in them. Droplets of blood litter his skin, a visceral interpretation of Jackson Pollock on your part. He’s gone, having paid the price of taking your life, and the love of your life. You lean down, pressing a kiss to his cold cheek. A perfect imprint of your lipstick is left behind, a calling card. You may as well sign off on what you’ve done here, since no one can possibly lock up a woman who’s already dead. You climb off of Tommy’s body, wiping your knife and putting it back inside your coat. 

You snatch up the discarded pack of cigs Carol left on the nightstand, lighting one up as you climb back out the window. The crow hops onto your shoulder, and you take a moment to enjoy the first drag of your smoke before venturing back down the fire escape. Surely one of Tommy’s neighbors will have heard all the screaming and called the cops. You wonder if Hop will respond to the call, and see what you’ve done. If it weren’t your sole purpose for returning from the grave, you might feel a little bad about it. But there’s no time for regret or remorse. None was given to you, or to Eddie. Not in all the years of torment, or the hours of hell you went through before death mercifully brought an end to it all. Certainly not afterwards. You flick your half-smoked cig away, deciding not to dwell on these thoughts anymore. Too much to do, and not much time to get it done, you remind yourself.

“How’s the burger, kid?” Hopper asks, taking a large bite of his own sandwich, washing it down with a sip of his soda.

“Delicious as always, Hop.” Max replies cheerfully, picking up a few french fries and dipping them in some ketchup. Usually they opt for the drive-thru, but tonight seems to call for dining inside. It’s been quite a year for both of them, one that simultaneously went by at a snail’s pace, and whipped through three hundred and sixty-five days like it was nothing. Both Max and Hopper have done their best to cope with the loss of the Munsons, nurturing the bond between themselves in the process. These late night meals together make all the difference, when they’re both very alone in this world otherwise. Jim, buried in his work and surrounded by apathetic officers. And Max, tormented by the man who led the charge to kill her friends every single day, with her parents being very little help. ‘Typical sibling rivalry’, as Mr. and Mrs. Hargrove call it. 

“Hey, Chief. We’ve got a call.” Powell’s voice crackles from the radio sitting on the plastic table. A mechanical chirp follows the man’s broadcasted words. 

Jim picks the walkie up, pressing the button on the side to speak into it. “The night before Halloween? I’m sure you guys can handle it.” He answers, setting the radio down once again. 

“You sure you don’t have to take that?” Max asks, a worrisome feeling stealing away her appetite.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Hopper waves her off. “Loch Nora probably just got egged, same way it does every year.” He adds with a chuckle. Those rich assholes never seem to learn this one simple rule: you don’t cheap out on Halloween candy. The kids in this town are ruthless when it comes to sugar, and they will strike back, swiftly and without mercy if you don’t pay their due of sweets. 

“You’re gonna wanna get down here, Chief. It’s…the Hagan boy. He’s dead. And there’s something I think you need to see.” Powell calls again, his voice sounding far more grave than it has in a while. 

“Shit.” Hopper murmurs, picking the damned radio up again. “I’ll be right there.” He says firmly into the receiver, holding back his sigh. “Sorry, kid. Duty calls.” He gives Max an apologetic look as he gathers up the burger wrappers and half-drunk sodas. 

“Looks like the rain’s stopped for a bit. I can skate home if you’re in a hurry.” Max suggests abruptly, an idea hatching in her mind at the news that just came through the walkie. She finds it no coincidence that Tommy Hagan, of all people, is dead exactly one year after the Munsons were murdered. That sinking feeling she had before is now one of childlike belief, even excitement. She only hopes that her hunch is correct. That somehow, some way, either Eddie or Y/N have come back. Max doesn’t dare clue Hopper into this idea, he’ll surely shoot down the offer to ‘skate home’ if she does.

“You sure? It could start up again, and the roads are still pretty slick.” Jim asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow. But given the circumstances, he doesn’t really have the time to dissect Max’s sudden interest to make the way home by herself.

“I’ll be fine, Hop. Really, the wet roads will get me home faster.” She insists, politely of course so as not to set off any alarms.

“Alright.” Hopper sighs, nodding his head as he puts his hat back on. “But you go straight home. No detours, you hear me?” He points a stern finger in her direction.

“Yes sir!” She stomps and salutes him playfully, making them both laugh.

“Good. I gotta go. Just be careful, and look both ways, alright?” He issues one last kernel of fatherly advice, giving the girl a quick hug before parting ways. He heads for the door, wasting no time in climbing into his vehicle and speeding off to the scene.

“I always do.” Max says to herself once he’s gone, dumping the tray of garbage before leaving the restaurant. She lowers her board down onto the asphalt that gleams in the dim street lights, and heads off in the opposite direction of her house. She has a much more interesting destination in mind, one that will either confirm her suspicions, or leave her childish dreams utterly dashed.

[divider]

“Alright, what do we have here?” Hopper asks as he steps into Tommy Hagan’s apartment. He sees the blood on the wall just outside the bathroom, and the body draped over with a sheet that’s quickly getting stained red.

“It’s not pretty.” Powell replies, leading Jim over to the corpse. He crouches down and lifts up the sheet, exposing Tommy’s fear-struck face. Hopper can see the stab wounds that litter his chest, and the fact that he’s completely nude. “What do you think we have here? Crime of passion?” Powell asks, looking up at his boss while still holding the thin slip of fabric. 

“Maybe.” Hopper replies. He thinks on it for a moment, getting down on Powell’s level to get a closer look. He notices a slash on Tommy’s left cheek, while the other bears a dark print of lipstick, in a shade he could place anywhere. No. He lets out a small gasp, already scolding his own mind for the thought that has just crossed it. 

“Noticed that too, huh?” Powell chuckles dryly, letting the sheet fall back over Tommy’s face. The two men stand, exchanging a skeptical look. “You know, it could be a coincidence. Someone else in this town probably wears that shade, or bought it for a costume.” Powell attempts to explain it away, to drive as far from the nonsensical idea as is humanly possible. 

“Or an act of revenge from someone else.” Hopper adds to the list of totally logical explanations. “It could be Carol. A crime of passion, like you said.” He continues, nodding his head as a means to convince himself. It can’t be her. It just…can’t. There’s no way! Jim struggles to pound some reason into his head, to clear out the silly ghost stories. It’s the night before Halloween for Christ sakes, and the anniversary of the Munson murders. And it’s getting to him. That’s all. “Let’s wrap this up, and get the body to the morgue. I’m going home for the night.” Hopper says finally, leaving his men to finish the job. He can’t keep his mind straight in all this, and he needs a goddamn drink.

Max kicks up her board as she reaches the outside of the condemned Crystal Ridge complex. She’s been around here a few times, when she’s desperate for some semblance of what remains of the Munsons. She’ll sit on the couch that now oozes stuffing, and talk to them about her day. When there aren’t other kids drinking, screwing, or performing seances in there, that is. She heads inside, happy to escape the rain that caught her halfway through the trip. Max steps into the apartment, finding it just as trashed as it always is. Crude graffiti on the walls, broken bottles all over the floor, a used condom here or there. She used to tidy up the place as best she could, at first. But the rowdy teens of this town have proven too messy for her to keep up with after a while. 

“Y/N?” Max says softly, afraid to disturb the deathly quiet inside the apartment. She goes down the hall to the bedroom, hoping not to catch a randy couple between the dusty sheets. The room is thankfully empty, but she notices some torn clothes on the floor. She picks up the tattered garment, instantly recognizing it. Y/N’s funeral dress, the one Max herself picked out. Ripped straight down the middle and discarded in a damp, mud-crusted heap. She goes digging for more evidence to support her insane theory that Y/N is, in fact, back from the dead. Max looks in the closet, finding items Y/N loved the most to be missing, including the boots she hid way in the back from potential looters. Some of Y/N’s makeup has been recently used, as well, her signature dark red lip no longer amongst its spookily-shaded siblings. “She must have been here.” Max observes aloud. “I knew it!” She says cheerily to no one. But, if Y/N made the trip over here for a post-resurrection change of clothes, she might just come back. And Max plans to wait and see, all night if she has to. She sits down on the bed, the springs creaking under her weight. 

Max peers out the boarded window from her spot, hoping to see a bright white headlight, or hear the roar of a motorcycle engine any minute now. Her eyelids droop, as she hasn’t slept very well since the Munsons were murdered. Nightmares plague her resting hours, leaving her screaming and crying until her mom comes in to wake her. Safe to say it’s yet another thing in a long list that Billy torments her with. Not that it isn’t terrifying enough living under the same roof as a murderer, let alone one that got away with it. 

To Be Continued…

[perseidlion]

I just came up with a very sad Monty headcanon I might write into one of my fics.

What if Monty was originally human? What if the transformation wasn't crow to human, but back into human form?

Maybe he was the brother of one of the little girls Esther sacrificed. Or maybe she mistook him for a girl, and rather than let him go, transformed him into a crow to become her familiar. That feels like something she would do.

This makes Monty's willingness to go along with Esther even more sad and heartbreaking. If this were true, he was probably very little when this happened and imprinted on her like his mother. She's horrible, but she's the only family he remembers clearly.

And maybe the form Esther gives him when she transforms him into a human isn't what he looked like before. Esther wanted to use him to manipulate Edwin, so it makes sense she'd try to make him look like someone he'd be attracted to. So he gets to be human again, but not as the self he barely remembers.

That explains also, why Monty took to being a real boy again with such enthusiasm. And why he fell for Edwin so hard. He suddenly realized everything he'd been missing for years and is rediscovering his real form. Maybe his interest in astrology comes from his real mother who he barely remembers. Perhaps she was a fortune teller and tarot card reader and he's interested in all of that because of a fragment of memory.

Monty displays some bird-like traits, but he seems pretty good at being human for a crow. Which is why I started to wonder, what if he started as a human?

That also makes his transformation back into a crow at the end of the season hurt even more.

[onlydevilsleft]

@xx--ofmanythoughts--xx

Ryan looked like he was a fish out of water. He’d dealt with people in WITSAC before. He’d even dealt with bikers before. But this was… Perhaps he’d never met a strong woman before that hadn’t grown up on the hard planes of the West. But here one was… “I’m not tellin’ Kayce anything! He’s my boss! You go an’ tell him, if yer so inclined.”

The Livestock agent was talking to air, of course, because Tara had already shoved him and ran past him out the door. His eyes rolled. This wasn’t something he could understand. When his eyes looked down from the ceiling, he saw the older of the two boys, Abel, staring at him from the landing on the stairs. “Hey, buddy… Yer mom just went outside. Everything’s okay.” He didn’t know that of course. This could turn bloody real quick…

Kayce had a hand on his holstered sidearm, the other out in a halting gesture to the biker in front of him. The arrival of Tara at the end of the drive wouldn’t help any of this calm down. He felt it escalating. “Rules are rules an’ they exist f’er a reason. You found her.” He keeps his eyes primarily on Jackson, but his peripherals are keeping track of where Tara is, too. The professional who’d done this job a long time; even when this job was overseas for the federal government as a Navy Seal. “An’ if you found her, tha’ means anybody in yer organization could, too.”

Jax tore his eyes away from the animal police standing in front of him and looked directly at Tara. “We agreed. I know we’re not getting out of this easy. That choice isn’t ours anymore.” He stares into her eyes so deep that he feels in his bones that he could feel her in his arms. They’d known each other entirely too long. They’d been through too much. “If you still want this, if you still want us… That’s why I’m here. I missed you, darlin’…”

❧ ❧

cont’d from JAX

Hearing the familiar voice yelling from outside, she knew it was Jax and she could hear the distraught and anger in his voice knowing he had been stopped by the officer from getting further towards the home she and the boys now resided. After tossing the dish towel to the counter, she turned to walk towards the door, the officer stepped in her way as Thomas, their youngest son, wrapped his arms around her leg. “I can tell it is my husband…I heard the thunder-headers coming up the road unless you have bison that sound like a rumbling muffler because of the carburetor?”

“Let me pass…”

She said but the officer’s head shook in the negative. “We cannot let you see him or him, you. Witness protection does not allow this,” he informed her, and she felt her anger rise. “You will not keep these boys from their father or my…from my husband! We have been through enough for the Feds for this RICO case,” she said moving towards the door before being blocked by the officer.

“You think that is going to stop me,” she angrily told him pushing his arm into his body then pushing him backwards.  “Ma’am?!”  She heard him call her ma’am and sneered to herself…how she hated being called that…she wasn’t old enough for that shit.  “You can tell your man…Kayce or whomever…that I will see my husband.” She, once again, told the one that stayed watching her family throughout the day…something she was growing tired from and wanted it over.  

“Jax!”

She yelled out when she finally made it to the end of the dirt road that was her driveway. She hated being a part of this protection, but she had to protect her family and it was something the two agreed to but not to keeping him away…it was meant to be a new start for them both…but the damned Feds lied to them both.