#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.”

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?”

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.

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

𝕱𝖎𝖛𝖊 ☞

[incorrectpnatquotes]

Sophie Sybil: I can accept the ghosts and the spirits. Sophie Sybil: *preparing to take a photo of Davy Jones and Co.* But I'll be DAMNED if I work for the state.

[lights-of-a-feather]

Okay. Pardon my language but I need to just ask the world real fast.

Which FUCKING part of evolution decided that Screeb's were a good idea? Were just....fine? What DNA strand decided 'Yea, yea this is a fantastic addition' and made homing explosive creatures that I SWEAR grin at you before detonating inches from your face.

>....He's having a bad day.<

[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

[sinfulscorner]

Chris Teller is Jax's Half Brother.

[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. 🐦‍⬛

[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.

[secretlysamcro]

Plus size reader x Jax Teller Explicit language & offensive language (body shaming) If you are under the age of 18, haven't finished the show, or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Request: "Can we have some plus-size writings? Maybe have Tara try to intervene and say some not nice things about you and Jax sticks up for you, but you take it to heart so Jax does or says something to prove he’ll always choose you no matter what?"

Backstory: After helping the club with a little shit they couldn't get out of on their own, you've become wrapped up in their world. Not officially, but enough to be a regular at the parties, the gatherings and those random nights when Jax would call you up just because. Tara was still hanging around, doing her best to try and claim Jax, especially now that she'd noticed his attention was on somebody else.

It was by absolute chance that you ended up spending your evenings at the clubhouse, tangled in the world of anarchy. Not long ago, the club needed help, some shit they couldn’t get out of on their own. And through a friend of a friend, you were the one who pulled them out of it. Ever since, the doors had been open to you. The parties, the hangouts, the late night drinks. And Jax, he started calling just because. No reason, no agenda, just to spend time with you.

He liked you. And yeah, maybe you weren’t his usual type, but that meant fuck all. Not when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up every time you got too close. Not when he leans in a little too much whenever you talk and not when he finds a way to be near you, even if neither of you are saying a word.

And you? You felt the same. But you’re blinded by the fact you think Jax would never go for you, because you’ve got more curves, a little more to hold on too. Too busy comparing yourself to the half dressed crow eaters, to notice the way he actually looks at you, like he already knows exactly what he wants.

You tug at the hem of your top as you sink into the seat next to Jax, subtly adjusting it over your stomach. It’s a habit, one you wish you could break. Your thigh presses against his denim jeans, the warmth seeping through. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift away. He doesn’t care, and neither should you.

You’re all sat around the table, the drinks flowing as freely as the conversation. Jax nudging you gently with his knee every time Tig tells another playful, sexual joke your way, convinced he’s proving his point that Tig has a soft spot for you. Cigarettes and joints are passed between fingers as Chibs enthusiastically tries to teach you Scottish slang, each phrase harder to decipher than the last.

But then, she walks in. And the mood changes.

You know of Tara. You’ve heard about the history she shares with Jax, but you’ve never cared enough to truly get to know her. And if you’re being honest, you don’t particularly want to. She’s been around a handful of times when you’ve been present, and every time, her forced smiles and overly polite gestures make your skin crawl. Things between her and Jax hadn’t slipped back into the familiar rhythm they once had though, you knew this because Gemma enjoyed pointing it out. She told you one night how Tara always finds a way to pull Jax back into her orbit, and being his Mom, seeing how she did that? how she continues to fuck with his brain, his life… but still gets the chance to hang around and do it again.

Gemma hated that.

Tara helps the club out whenever she’s called. Medical attention, patching the guys up, pulling bullets out of asses, the list goes on. Lately though, she’s been making a point of highlighting her history with Jax. The longer than necessary touches on his arm, laughs that are just a bit too loud, pulling him into private corners for hushed conversations. Yet, every single time, her eyes flick over to you, making sure you’re watching. Because she sees it, she sees what you can’t, or refuse to acknowledge. Jax gravitates towards you, his attention naturally drawn in your direction. And the more she notices it, the more desperate her attempts become. She hates it, hates that she knows deep down what is so obviously clear, Jax isn’t going back there, not this time.

“Hey” She says, sliding onto the seat the other side of Jax, like she had to try and claim it. The smug confidence she’s always carried, wrapping around her like armour.

You offer her the faintest smile, barely more than a flicker, while the usual low hum of greetings from the guys roll her way.

“What are we talking about?” She says, twirling a strand of hair, leaning into Jax just enough to make sure you see her. Like she’s trying to mark her territory.

“Tig was just filling us in on his latest sex escapade” Juice says with a smirk, tipping his beer towards him. “Shit sounds wild”.

You let out a pretend gasp, hand on your chest like you’re truly offended “and here I thought I was the only one for you Tiggy” you laugh, eyebrows raised in his direction.

Everyone around the table laughs as Tig throws you a slow and sleazy grin “y/n… babe, you know I got enough love to go round” he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

You don’t see it. Don’t hear it either. You’re too caught up in the back and forth with Tig, both of you throwing insults and cracking each other up like you always do.

But Jax does.

He sees the way Tara’s lip curls in disgust at your joke. The way her eyes roll in response and he hears the scoff she lets out, like the sound of your voice grates on her nerves. But he doesn’t say anything. Not yet. He just watches her, his head tilted slightly, like he’s trying to piece together what the fuck her problem is. He’s snapped out of it when the warmth of your thigh disappears from beside his, drawing his attention back to you.

“Where you goin’ darlin?” His voice is low, like he’s trying to make sure nothings wrong, he’s checking to see if you caught any of Tara’s bullshit.

“Bathroom” you smile, completely oblivious.

He nods, watching as you walk away, his eyes trailing over the way the material of your black flares stretch over your curves, defining your body in the most perfect way. The way you move effortlessly, completely unaware of how fucking distracting you are.

Tara notices it too.

"So..." her voice is casual, too casual. "y/n?"

Jax doesn't even look at her. Just flicks the ash off his cigarette. "What about her?"

"She's been around a lot" she continues twirling a strand of hair around her finger, her tone dripping in fake curiosity.

"Yeah" he replies, his expression unreadable.

She cant help herself though, she tries to dig deeper, tries to work out why he's so interested in you. "That for Tig? or...someone else?"

He finally turns, giving her a long forced look "She's here cause I want her here" His voice is steady though, a warning under the words. "That a problem?"

She hesitates for a second, before giving a small shrug "No, just wondering" she lies, before pushing off the seat and heading for the bar. Jax doesn't even watch her go, not like he did with you.

"Yo what's her deal with y/n?" Juice asks, his eyebrows pointed as the others mutter in agreement, all of the brothers, including Jax having picked up on it.

"She's just jealous of all that ass" Tig grins, hands in the air like he's grabbing something, his tongue out and head shaking side to side. Jax huffs out a small laugh, his fingers tightening around the cigarette hanging between his fingers, but doesn't respond, because he sees you, now making your way back to the bar.

Right next to her.

"So what is it?" She leans in, her voice offering that same fakeness whenever she talks to you.

You look in her direction, clearly confused "huh?"

"You and Jax" she lifts her beer, swirling it lazily "You got something on him?"

You stand straighter, still leaning against the bar “What are you going on about Tara?"

She sighs dramatically, shaking her head "Come on..." she laughs "...you're not his usual type" her eyes look you up and down, like she's sizing you up. "You got a little...more to you" she smirks.

The fucking bitch.

You feel the heat creep up your neck, the familiar sting of humiliation she’s trying to get out of you, but you don't give it to her. Instead, you smile back, tilting your head before speaking "That's what’s got you so mad?" You take your drink from the bar, taking a sip before you continue "mad that Jax’s attention is with the ‘fat’ girl, and not you?"

That pulls a laugh from her, loud and fake, drawing more attention than necessary. Jax shifting in his seat, noticing the way her eyes narrow slightly, but unable to make sense of the conversation.

"You really think he's into you?" she scoffs, setting her drink down "He feels sorry for you. Thinks he owes you something for what you did for the club". Her words make your stomach tighten, and just for a second you begin to doubt yourself, the confidence in her voice unsettling you. She doesn't give you a chance to respond, she keeps going.

"I know Jax. I know what he likes, I know what he wants..." there she goes again, trying to shove that overrated history down your throat. "...and it sure as hell, aint a girl like you"

You clench your jaw, speechless. She doesn’t have spell it out, you know what she’s trying to get at. Without another word, you step away from the bar, retrieving your drink before you do so, and walk straight out into the parking lot.

You sit against the cold concrete, your back pressed to the rough wall. The weight of her words settling heavy on your shoulders. The last of your drink burning its way down your throat, doing little to stop the sting in your stomach. You drag your palms over your thighs, before doing the same to your face. Trying to ground yourself. Exhaling sharply before tilting your head back, eyes shut and forcing yourself to breath, forcing yourself not to cry.

Usually, this kind of shit wouldn't get to you. Yeah, you're a bigger girl, and you fucking own that shit. But this? the way she said it, the way she spoke those words like they were factual, like she knew something you didn’t. Yeah, it fucking hurt.

And now, it's lingering. Playing with your mind. Is that why you're here? is he keeping you around because he feels like he owes you something? was he keeping you close in case they needed help again? You close your eyes tighter, trying to squeeze the doubt, and tears away.

Then, there's the other part of you. The part, deep inside, fighting against the doubt. The one that see's just how Jax looks at you when he thinks you don't notice. The way he finds excuses to touch you, the casual way his knee always rests against yours when you sit close, how he calls you up just because and the way his exterior softens whenever you make him laugh.

That's not obligation, that's real.

Jax watches as you storm off outside, his brows furrowed together. Usually, when you need a breather, you'd nudge him, give him that look, and he'd follow. You'd be together, outside, passing a cigarette between you, laughing at the way Tig tries way too fucking hard to get you into his bed. But this? this was different. Something was wrong. He pushes back from the table just as Tara moves to sit beside him. He doesn't even acknowledge her, doesn't slow his steps as he moves towards the door.

"Jax" she calls out, expecting him to stop, like he usually would. But he doesn't.

She follows, the sound of her petty little kitten heels clicking against the floor as she picks up her pace, trailing behind him.

"Jax!" she shouts, sharper and more insistent.

That's when he stops. His jaw tight, his blue eyes staring her the fuck down.

"What the fuck did you say to her?" His voice is quiet, but there's weight behind. A warning under those words.

Tara blinks, and then she smirks. "Nothing" she says so fucking smooth, her voice laced with fake innocence. He doesn't blink, doesn't move, just stares her down. Long enough, hard enough that the smirk twitches at the edges.

"Go home Tara" He demands, shaking his head as he looks at her.

She blinks, caught off guard like she didn't expect him to be the one pushing her away. "What?" she does a small laugh in disbelief, like the delusion is finally cracking.

"I said leave" his voice is firm "get your shit, and get the fuck out" his bottom lip twitching, the anger just about contained.

She stares at him, like she can't quite process what he's saying. Then, she smiles, small and calculated, stepping closer, her fingers curling around his arm like she still has some kind of hold over him. "Jax..." she purrs, hear head tilted and her voice soft "…I was just messing around with her" she squeezes his arm gently, trying to reel him back in the way she always has. "She's a big girl, I thought she could take it" The double meaning in her words seeping right fucking through.

Jax doesn't move, doesn't react. His eyes as cold as steel. Then, she makes the mistake of pushing it further.

"Besides..." she adds, voice dripping with arrogance "Who you gonna call when one of your guys needs patching up?"

There it is, the leverage she thinks she has over him. But before she can even blink, Jax grabs her, yanking her in so close by the wrist that she barely has room to breathe.

"Anybody but you" his voice is fucking lethal and loaded. His grip firm. Strong enough to make sure that she feels how serious he is. He doesn't say another word. He just lets go, turning and walking the fuck away.

You're so deep in your own thoughts that everything else has faded out. The hum of the clubhouse, the distant roar of bikes, the muffled laughter and music from inside. It's all just background noise, a blur of movement and sound that doesn't quite reach you.

Until he does.

Jax slides down next to you, pressing his back against the same cold concrete wall, legs pulled towards his chest. He doesn't say anything at first, just flicks open his lighter, the small flame casting a glow against his face as he lights a cigarette. He takes a slow drag before holding it out to you, wordlessly offering it like its second nature.

You take it, fingers brushing against his as you do, bringing it to your lips. He doesn't look away. He studies your face, your eyes, they way you're trying to hold it together, but barely managing. He sees the tension in your jaw, the way your hands curl against your lap and the way your breathing is a little too controlled, like you're forcing it to stay steady.

"You gonna tell me what that was about?" he finally asks, his voice still holding that usual roughness, but more quiet, as if speaking too loud might make you shut down completely.

You shake your head, exhaling slowly, watching as the smoke swirls between you. "I'ts nothing".

He lets out a breath, knowing your holding out on him. "Didn't look like nothin". You know he isnt gonna drop it, isn't gonna stop until you tell him exactly what happened. "What did she say?"

“How you don’t actually want me around…” your voice smaller now, the hesitation clear, as your eyes take a second to meet his. “…how you all feel sorry for me…feel like you owe me something cause of the help I gave you guys…” you swallow hard, your stomach twisting, because saying this next part out loud, makes it real. “…How you’d never like a girl like me” The last part comes out in a sigh, like you’re relieved to have finally gotten it out. But Jax? He doesn’t look relieved.

His jaw locks, the muscles in his face rigid. His fist resting against his mouth as you see the tension rolling through his whole damn body. You can see it. The way the anger settles deep in his chest.

Jax’s eyes narrow in confusion, his brows pulling together “What the hell does that even mean y/n, a girl like you?”

You huff rolling your eyes, fingers tugging at a loose thread on your sleeve. “You know what I mean Jax” you mumble, avoiding all eye contact. “I’m not exactly the smallest of girls”

He shakes his head, pissed that you’d even think that way about yourself. “And?” He questions, his voice thick with frustration. “You think that matters to me?”

You laugh, shaking your head as the frustration boils over. “Fuck sake” you mutter, rubbing your forehead with both hands like you’re trying to push the thoughts away. “I’m never fucking like this” your voice is tight as you try to blink the tears away “I don’t usually give a fuck what people say… what people think” you swipe at the stray tear escaping “but what she said… how she said it…” your voice is cracking, and you bite your lip hard trying to keep it together.

Jax doesn’t say anything, but he’s watching you, waiting for you to finish.

You let out another shaky breath, your lip quivering as you continue “fuck… I just… when it comes to you Jax?” You shake your head, your voice just above a whisper “I don’t know. I turn into that insecure fucking girl again…and I don’t even know why”

He knows he shouldn't have to apologise for Tara's bullshit. Her words are hers alone, but he does anyway, in his own way. "You know she's talkin shit right?" His voice is low, but with a small edge, holding back anger that aint meant for you. "She's tryna get in your head, make herself feel better by being a dick to you"

A small frown shows on your face.

"She's jealous of you darlin" his hand finding it's way to you, the rough warmth of his palm resting on your thigh.

You look over at him, your eyebrows knitting together. "Jealous of what?" you scoff, shifting uncomfortably, your bum numb from sitting too long on the cold ass floor.

Jax tilts his head, waiting for it to click. But it doesn't. "Jealous of the way I look at you..." he nudges into you a little "...how I feel about you".

Your breath catches, the understanding sinking in slowly.

"You don't have to do this Jax" you mutter, avoiding eye contact.

"Do what?" he fires back, a little sharper than he meant to.

"Make me feel better" you let out a dry laugh, wiping at another tear that betrays you. Pushing yourself up, using the wall for balance, you cross your arms tight over your chest, a form of protection. Jax following you, getting up in one swift motion.

“Come here” his voice is steady, leaving no room for argument, he doesn’t move, he just stands there, waiting.

Your instinct is to hesitate. To put space between you and the weight of whatever this moment is turning into. “Jax, I…”

“Come. Here.” His voice is firmer this time. And something in the way he says it makes your breath catch. Your feet moving before your mind fully agrees, closing the distance between you. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t make it a big thing. He just reaches for your hands, fingers wrapping around yours. His thumbs brushing over the backs of your hands, slow and deliberate.

“I see you, y/n” he whispers. Not in a teasing tone, or a cocky one. Just real. “I see how you fidget with your hands cause you never know where to put em. How you pull at your shirt before you sit down tryna make yourself smaller. I see the way you look at your reflection when you think no one’s looking…tryna find something wrong” he pauses, breathing deep through his nose “And I see how you cover it all up with that sharp ass mouth of yours. The quick wit, that humour you use like a damn shield”

Your throat tightens. You try to pull your hands back, but he doesn’t let you.

“Jax…” you start, but you don’t even know what the fuck to say.

“You don’t gotta hide from me y/n” he says, his voice so fucking soft.

“Jesus Christ Jax, when did you turn into a therapist” you force out a small laugh, trying to deflect.

He huffs a chuckle in response, shaking his head. His hands move, sliding over the contours of your waist, pulling you in closer. You’re breath stutters, and you hate the way your body betrays you, how it reacts to him. He tilts his head, studying your face again. “You know what else I see?” his hands sinking into the softness of your body. “I see the way you make me laugh even when I don’t wanna. The way you check on me, without a second thought. And that little thing you do when you smile, how your ears twitch just a bit” he laughs, realising he’s spilling his guts “and your laugh…your eyes do this thing. Like they got their own goddamn smile”

You stare at him, stunned into silence.

He smiles, but not his usual cocky grin, something softer, somewhat vulnerable.

“I ain’t tryna make you feel better darlin” he murmurs “I’m just tryna let you see the shit you don’t see in yourself”

And just like that, any doubts you had were wiped away. The long looks, the gentle touches, those late night calls when he’d just want to hear your voice. All the pieces suddenly clicking into place.

Jax Teller felt the same about you as you did about him.

Photos & gifs do not belong to me.

Oh this was fun to write hehe. Thank you for requesting anon, hope I did it justice 🖤 Tag list: @staley83 @daryldixonswifesworld

Jax Teller Masterlist

Working through requests one at a time! Also pls someone send me some head canons, one shots etc I wanna do some of them too 🫶🏽

xoxo secretly samcro

[lights-of-a-feather]

..... Interesting to see you on here little Crow.

I'd like to introduce myself. Names Sera, I'm a Stormcaller and would like to be a friend. Don't worry about Spider founding out about our interactions, he won't hear to a word from me.

And if he tries giving you grief over anything, well, Ive been around for quite sometime now so I'm more then happy to step in, if you'll take the help 😊

Little...? I'm over six feet!

>By an inch<

Ignore him, he wont let me delete that. Anyway, Sera, huh? Nice name.

I'm not too worried about Spider finding out, he's got a good eye but only one. Can't be everywhere at once.

That being said, let's not talk about or arrange anything happening incase he does find out, it could just get me in worse trouble if he thought I was plotting something. I refuse to risk the worse case scenario.

On the topic of friends, we'd have to meet at some point for that to be doable, but due to past experiences with Guardians I'd rather not disclose where, or when.

Last time I let one get too close ended in... A lot. We'll say a lot.

>For some reason or another Guardians seem to get REAL nasty at the sight of Crow, to the point it's a situation we try to avoid entirely, even if the intention is a friendly hello. Precaution's, friend! Precautions!<

Sorry about it, though I guess if we talk enough I could take the chance...but not for a good while.

[f1samcro]

Insecurities

Masterlist

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

You and Jax had been together for years. He’d made a dumb joke when he was 15, and 14-year-old you folded. Gemma had been hesitant when you two announced your engagement four years later, and even more hesitant when she watched her 19-year-old baby boy promise you to, “Treat you as good as my leather and ride you as much as my Harley.”

She watched as you sat at the bar to finish your homework (you finished school whilst Jax chose to drop out), watched as you would look after Jax after a tough run. By the time you were 20, she was itching for grandkids. She had accepted you. Decided that you were good for Jax, brought out this soft side in him that he would’ve completely lost if you weren’t there. So when you and Jax told her when you were 21, that she would be a grandmother, she was ecstatic. But then you also told her a few weeks later that you had lost the baby. So she approached your next pregnancy, three years later, cautiously. And then you had Abel. Thomas followed two years later. You and Jax, at the ages of 28 and 29, were the king and queen of Charming. And Gemma loved you, albeit, she got frustrated with the boundaries you’d set when it came to the children and the club, but if she said anything, she would have Jax to deal with. It wasn’t like you kept the boys fully away from the club. But you rarely let them at the clubhouse, and never told them what their dad was really off doing on his work trips. But she liked you. She respected you. So, Gemma Teller-Morrow, kept her mouth shut for once. 

Until now. For someone who was often confident, not taking shit from jealous crow eaters, you were awfully quiet. Ima was saying something to you, before turning, flipping her hair and storming off. You quietly walked to your car, leaving the lot without a word. So, Gemma texted Jax, worried. And he promised to talk to you later that night.

By the time he got home, the kids were asleep, and his dinner was in the oven. He ate quickly before walking through the house to find you. Maybe you hadn’t heard him coming home, because you were standing in front of the mirror, twisting and turning, prodding and poking. “Darlin’?”

You jump, turning from the mirror and dropping your hands. “Hey, baby.”

“What’re you doin’?”

“Nothin’. Was boutta shower.”

He frowns, obviously not believing a word you say, “Give me five and I’ll join you.” You stiffen for a second, before nodding and slapping a forced smile on your face. He raises an eyebrow, before crossing the bedroom and grabbing your hips. “Abel have a good day at school?”

“Yeah. Said they did painting,” you refuse to meet his eye, until one hand reaches up towards your chin.

“What’s goin’ on, baby?”

His hand moves to cup your jaw, thumb running across your cheek bone. You smile softly, “I’m just tired. Thomas was running around all day.”

You can tell he doesn’t believe it, that he really knows what’s going on. Jax leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, “I love you. I’ve loved you for 14 years, and I know when you’re lying to me. Now go shower, I’ll wait.”

“I thought you wanted to shower together?”

“You need a minute alone. It don’t matter what I want. Gotta look after my girl, even if it means I gotta let her shower alone when she’s feelin’ bad ‘bout herself. Go shower, I’ll get you some pyjamas and find a movie.”

He gently nudges you towards the bathroom, closing the door behind you. 

When you came back out, your favourite pair of winter pyjamas was on the bed, flannel with little bunnies on them, and your favourite disney movie was on the small TV in your bedroom. You change quickly, glancing at the mirror, only to see that Jax had covered it with a sheet. The door opens, “Feelin’ better?”

You nod, staring at the covered mirror, his arms wind around your middle once he makes his way to you. He was warm, always was, “You’re warm.”

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek and nudging you towards the covered mirror. He reaches out and pulls the sheet off and then wraps his arms back around you, “Look at you. Most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. My wife. Mother of my children. Ima doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about. You’re even more beautiful than you were when you were 14. Havin’ my kids did you good.”

He holds your chin towards the mirror, so you watch as he holds you close and talks. And then he lifts you up and deposits you in the bed. You notice that he’d pulled the covers back earlier, as he pulls them back over you. And then the mirror is covered back up, and he’s next to you, pulling you into his chest and playing the movie. You still partly felt horrible about yourself, but he’d helped. A little. So, you curl up into him, “Thank you.”

He looks down, brushing hair behind your ear, “You’re welcome, darlin’, now shh, the movie’s playin’.”

[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.

[monocledcrow]

lotm fic dump

Monklein edition :3

Lofter -> The Fool and His Seven Doomsdays

one , two , three , four , five , six , seven , eight , nine , ten , eleven , twelve , thirteen , fourteen , fifteen , sixteen , seventeen , eighteen , nineteen , twenty , twenty-one , twenty-two

When the Stars Shine

one , two , three , four , five , six , seven , eight , nine

There is No Love in E-Sports

one , two , three , four , five , six , seven , eight

Sanatorium

one , two , three , four , five , six

The Rise of the Famous People

one , two , three

Will the Fool who Goes Back to the Past Give the Angel of Time a Blind Fool?

one , two , three

Failure in Training Was Not My Original Intention

one , two , three

Perhaps You Would Like to Listen to My Story?

one , two

The Fortune Teller Picked up by Duke Amon is actually The Lord of Mysteries

one , two

The Duke's Runaway Sweetheart

one

Assassin

one

Divine Marriage

one , two

The Little Prince

one

Crows Always Appear from the Fortune Teller's Cloak

one (completed)

Overture to Hymm

one

Become My Follower, and Let Me Be Yours

one

How do Thousand Year Old Trees Bloom

one

Is the Fool You are Talking About Powerful?

one

Steal Him and Him

one

Yes, We are Together

one

Fate is God's Will

one

Ao3

Death is not liberation ->

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153113?view_adult=true

Three Wishes ->

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28314213/chapters/69375789

So That You Covet Everything, Even Your Past ->

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51022180

34 East Buckland Avenue, Silver Tower, Utopia ->

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41277735/chapters/103493643

[ezekielonlysleptfor2hourd]

I may have rewatched a lot of horror and creepy films and now my brain is going crazy over fear and adrenaline. Sooo how should I cope? By writing fanfic! Yall know they drill, it’s the Gang! I’ll list the warning!

Warning: Graphic violence, body horror, intense fear, trauma, psychological distress, disturbing imagery, and unsettling themes. This fanfic contains scenes of extreme danger, creature attacks, and emotional turmoil. Reader discretion is advised.

For the love of whatever, please understand this warnings.

Blood Price:

A Bounty in the Dark

༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻

The sun burned the top of Kamor’s head as he winced at the bumpy road. The gang rode across the cracked dirt path on robotic horses, their metal hooves clanking with each step. Kamor shifted uncomfortably—these things weren’t built for comfort. Worse, he was riding with Hipswitch, his arms locked around the man’s waist. He swore his heart rate was louder than the damn horses.

Ahead, Attila, sat straight-backed, reading from a crumpled file. “Linton Graves. Robbed three banks. Killed two tellers, a sheriff, and a bounty hunter. Shot ‘em all in the head, so he’s efficient. Last spotted near Black Hollow.”

Albus snorted. “Black Hollow. Of course it’s called something ominous.”

Kamor shuddered. He knew that name. He just wasn’t sure why.

“Speaking of ominous,” Albus added, turning in his saddle with a grin. “Kamor, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or maybe you’re just terrified of being this close to Hipswitch?”

Kamor scowled, glaring daggers at him. Hipswitch, ever gentle, chuckled. “Don’t be shy, partner. I don’t bite.”

Kamor wasn’t convinced.

The sun dipped lower, bleeding into the horizon, and the road ahead twisted into a narrow trail flanked by skeletal trees. The warmth faded fast. The wind shifted. And as they rode deeper, Kamor felt it—something watching.

Something waiting.

Kamor jumped at the sharp caw of a crow, his grip tightening around Hipswitch’s waist before he realized what he was doing. He quickly loosened his hold, grimacing. Damn birds.

It wasn’t just any crow that made his skin crawl—it was what they reminded him of. The Mad Crow.

His pulse pounded in his ears as the memory threatened to surface, but he shoved it down. Now wasn’t the time. He forced his gaze forward, ignoring the way the crow perched on a dead branch, its beady black eyes locked onto him. Watching.

Albus noticed his reaction, of course. The bastard always did. “What’s wrong, Kamor?” His grin was all teeth. “Bird got your tongue?”

Kamor shot him a glare so sharp it could’ve sliced his throat, but Albus only laughed.

The road ahead darkened as the skeletal trees pressed in closer. Mahatma clicked his tongue, scanning the horizon. “Black Hollow ain’t far now.”

The crow let out another shriek and took off into the sky. Kamor couldn’t shake the feeling that it was delivering a message. Or a warning.

…

The town was dead.

Not just abandoned—dead.

Buildings slumped like broken ribs, their windows hollow and black. The wind whispered through the streets, kicking up dust that danced in the dying light. The only sound was the creak of a rusted sign swaying above what used to be a saloon.

Kamor slid off the robotic horse, boots crunching against dry earth. His gut twisted as he scanned the empty town. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Albus dropped down beside him, his usual cocky smirk nowhere to be found. His fingers twitched toward his gun before he yanked Kamor close, gripping his sleeve tight.

“Stay close,” Albus muttered.

Kamor blinked. Albus? Taking something seriously?

This was the same man who laughed when they were being chased by a horde of zombies, who cracked jokes even when some bounty was swinging an axe at his head. But now, in this empty town, his jaw was tight, eyes sharp as he scanned the shadows between buildings.

Kamor nodded slowly. He didn’t like this either.

Hipswitch and Mahatma dismounted, both tense as they took in the eerie silence. Hipswitch adjusted his hat, eyes narrowing. “Something ain’t right. Should be bodies. Signs of a struggle. But this place ain’t just abandoned.”

“It’s emptied,” Mahatma murmured.

A soft tap echoed from an alleyway. Kamor stiffened.

Then another. Tap. Tap.

Like footsteps. But wrong.

Too light. Too slow.

Albus’s grip on Kamor’s sleeve tightened.

From the shadows, something moved.

The moment Kamor heard that laugh—a low, rasping chuckle curling like smoke in his skull—his blood turned to ice.

The Mad Crow.

Not here. Not now.

His body moved before his mind could catch up. His instincts screamed. Move. Now.

He grabbed Albus and Hipswitch’s wrists, yanking them toward him with a strength that surprised even himself. At the same time, he shoved Mahatma backward, forcing him into the nearest building just as—

SCREEEEEEEECH. (I tried be scary)

The sound ripped through the town, warping the air around them. It was wrong—too high, too deep, too hungry. It didn’t belong to any alien known, any animal. It was something else.

The tapping stopped.

Silence.

Then, slow, deliberate scraping, like claws dragging along rotted wood. Kamor didn’t dare move. His heart pounded as he turned his head, inch by inch, toward the alley.

Something was there.

Just beyond the shadows.

Watching.

Waiting.

…..

Kamor’s breath hitched as he slapped a hand over his mouth and nose, forcing himself to stay silent. He didn’t know why—just that he had to.

Mahatma, quick to pick up on the danger, followed suit, covering his own mouth. Albus and Hipswitch, still crouched by the doorway, slowly peeked out.

And then—they froze.

Kamor didn’t want to look. He really didn’t.

But he had to.

His head turned, slow and stiff like rusted gears grinding together.

And there it was.

The thing.

It stood in the center of the street, impossibly still, impossibly tall. 8’10 at least. Its body was black—no, not black. Empty. Like a void carved into the world, devouring all light.

But the face. The face.

White as bone. Wide, lidless eyes that burned like pale moons. And that smile—stretched too far, too wide, jagged like broken glass.

It didn’t blink. It didn’t breathe.

It just watched.

Then—

It twitched.

A single, unnatural jerk of the head.

Albus sucked in a sharp breath, and Kamor knew—if he made a sound, they were dead.

……

Kamor’s stomach churned, the overwhelming sense of dread tightening around his chest. He wanted to vomit, but his body wouldn’t let him move. His mouth went dry, his throat closing as the terror threatened to swallow him whole.

His heart hammered, each beat a drum of panic.

He knew.

He knew what it was.

He didn’t understand how or why—he just knew. That thing, standing in the street, twisting the air with its unholy presence…

It was a Mimic.

A terror from the depths of his own nightmares. Things that copied, things that became the ones you feared most, the ones you hunted.

The Mimic—it had a taste for flesh, yes, but what it truly craved was something darker.

The thing in front of them let out another screech, but this time it changed.

The distorted sound morphed, bending and twisting until it was no longer an otherworldly wail, but a voice.

The voice of Linton Graves.

The bounty they were after.

“Help me.” The voice was pained, guttural. “You have to help me…”

Kamor’s breath hitched. His vision blurred, and his body trembled. He tried to step back but couldn’t—the terror had rooted him in place.

It was the Mimic.

It was using Graves’ voice to lure them. To deceive them. And they were so close to walking right into its trap.

Tears welled up in Kamor’s eyes, not just from fear, but from a deep, gnawing knowledge—that he had seen this before. That he had known this would happen.

It was too late.

——

The world around Kamor turned into a blur. His head rang with the chaotic buzzing of his own thoughts, drowned in the maddening laughter of Mad Crow. The laugh echoed through his mind, dark and mocking. He could practically hear the ghostly smile of the Crow, taunting him.

“Come play, Kamor. A game of tag, don’t you think?”

The words twisted like daggers in his chest. Tag? No, this wasn’t a game. It was his death sentence. Kamor knew all too well the Mimic’s power—it could end him in an instant. The thought sent a chill through his spine. He wasn’t afraid for himself, though. What terrified him was what would happen if it got his family.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Kamor wobbled as he tried to steady himself. He could feel the weight of his fear pulling him down, but he wouldn’t be a coward. Not now. Not when they were all in danger.

He looked at Hipswitch, his eyes filled with desperation. Hipswitch whispered something, but Kamor couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in his mind. He had to act.

Albus hissed at him to sit down. Kamor could barely register the words before his instinct kicked in. No. He couldn’t sit back and wait.

With a shaky breath, Kamor bolted toward the opposite door, throwing his body through it with all the force he could muster. He crashed into the dirt, scrambling to make noise—anything to grab the Mimic’s attention.

A loud, sharp clatter rang through the air as he kicked over a metal barrel, sending it tumbling across the street.

Kamor’s chest heaved as he turned, looking over his shoulder at the others. He couldn’t scream, couldn’t shout, but his eyes—his eyes screamed at them to run.

He couldn’t speak, but his body was screaming it. The panic in his gaze was the only warning they needed.

His heart raced as the Mimic’s head snapped toward him. Its eyes locked onto Kamor with a hunger that made his blood run cold.

The game was on.

And Kamor had just become the prize.

———

Kamor’s legs burned as he ran, every footstep a frantic thud against the cracked earth beneath him. The Mimic’s presence loomed behind him like a nightmare come to life, its distorted screeches cutting through the silence. It wasn’t chasing him—no, it was playing with him.

It knew.

The thing was toying with him, mocking his every move. Kamor could feel it in his bones—the way it let him think he had a chance, only to let him get just far enough before it slowed down, its unnatural movements dragging like it was savoring the chase.

Every now and then, he’d glance over his shoulder. It wasn’t rushing, wasn’t even truly running. It was drifting, its long, lanky form swaying unnervingly as it followed behind, too slow to catch him, but fast enough to make Kamor’s pulse race.

Kamor knew this game—he knew it all too well.

This was the Mimic’s way of playing. It was a predator, savoring the fear, the panic, the chase. It wanted him to feel hopeless, to feel that crushing weight of inevitability.

But Kamor wasn’t going to give it the satisfaction.

He couldn’t stop.

Kamor’s heart slammed against his ribs as he pushed himself harder, faster, ignoring the fatigue, ignoring the dizziness that threatened to drag him under. He had to stay ahead, had to keep the Mimic at bay, because if it caught him…

Kamor refused to let it catch him. He couldn’t let the others suffer because of his failure.

The Mimic let out another laugh—a low, sickening chuckle—and for a split second, Kamor’s blood ran cold. It was mocking him. Mocking him for thinking he could run, mocking him for thinking he could survive this.

He glanced over his shoulder again.

The Mimic was still there, but now, it was gaining—its head tilted, that inhuman smile stretching wider as it took a more aggressive step forward.

Kamor felt a sickening chill crawl up his spine.

The world seemed to stop as Kamor’s foot caught on something hard, and he stumbled, falling forward onto the ground. His breath hitched in his throat, his pulse pounding in his ears.

He barely registered what had tripped him, too consumed with panic, but as his hands hit the dirt, he felt it—the cold, slippery texture beneath his fingertips.

He turned his head—and the world seemed to collapse.

A corpse. Half-eaten, torn apart. Its face was barely recognizable, skin stretched and shredded. Blood and sinew were exposed, a grotesque mess of broken bones and gaping wounds. Kamor’s stomach churned as his eyes locked on the remains of Linton Graves—the bounty they had been hunting.

But this… this wasn’t just a corpse. This was a warning.

Kamor’s vision blurred. His stomach twisted violently, and before he could stop it, he bent forward, his body convulsing as he vomited onto the ground. The rancid sight of the mutilated body, the jagged teeth marks, the hollow eyes—it was too much. Too horrible.

But it wasn’t just the body. It was the thing behind him.

The Mimic was there.

Leaning down, its grotesque white face hovering just inches from Kamor’s. Its eyes were wide, unblinking, and that sick, twisted smile stretched impossibly far across its face.

And then, to Kamor’s utter horror, it began to sing.

At first, it was soft—a distorted, warbling voice that was eerily familiar. Kamor’s blood turned cold as he recognized the tune.

“Run, rabbit, run…”

The words were stretched, mangled, the melody twisted and warped beyond recognition. The voice was deep, guttural, like something scraping against the very fabric of reality.

The Mimic’s eyes never left Kamor as it continued, the tune growing louder, more distorted. “Run, rabbit, run!” It was like a sickening lullaby, the kind of thing that made the hairs on the back of Kamor’s neck stand on end.

Kamor’s heart dropped.

The thing was mocking him. It was toying with him, and in that moment, Kamor knew. It wasn’t just playing the game anymore.

It was telling him he had no way out.

——

Kamor’s breath caught in his throat as the Mimic’s voice was abruptly cut off by a guttural thud. His heart stopped as he whipped his head around.

Something else—some new horror—had entered the fray.

A creature, or several of them, crashed into the Mimic, sending it tumbling backward. Kamor’s pulse throbbed in his temples as the sight before him shifted into something even more nightmarish.

These creatures were human-looking, but their faces were wrong. Their eyes were too wide, their mouths stretched unnaturally large, with jagged teeth that snapped and gnawed at the air. Their skin was a sickly shade of grey, fur like coarse bristles running along their arms and backs, making them look like twisted, monstrous dogs.

But dogs that laughed.

The creatures giggled in an eerie, high-pitched cackle, like a hyena with a twisted sense of humor. The sound made Kamor’s stomach turn, like nails scraping across glass. They were circling the Mimic, tearing into it, gnashing their teeth. But it wasn’t the violence of the attack that made Kamor freeze—no, it was the fact that they laughed as they did it.

The sick, twisted sound of joy mixed with violence made Kamor’s blood run cold.

As they tore into the Mimic’s black, void-like body, the creature screeched in distorted agony, but the dog-like things just laughed harder. Their eyes glinted with madness, their mouths splitting wide as they savored the chaos.

Kamor’s heart pounded in his chest, but he couldn’t look away. His body was paralyzed with fear. He had thought the Mimic was the worst thing here. But now, these things—these sick, twisted creatures—were showing him just how much worse things could get.

He wanted to run.

But his legs refused to move.

___

Kamor’s world tilted as he felt cold hands grasp him, yanking him upward with frightening strength. He gasped, his vision spinning as he was hoisted into the air, disoriented. His heart raced, but then—he recognized the hands.

Hipswitch.

Before Kamor could register what was happening, Hipswitch had him settled onto the robotic horse with a speed that left him breathless. The metal steed hissed beneath him, the low mechanical hum vibrating through his body, but Kamor barely noticed. His mind was still reeling from what he’d just witnessed.

The sound of monsterous screams echoed through the air—distorted, savage cries from the Mimic and its new, sickening attackers. Kamor’s chest tightened as they faded into the distance. The chaos was still unfolding behind them, but Kamor didn’t dare look back. He was still trying to process what had happened, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

“We’ve got to move, now,” Hipswitch said, his voice calm but laced with urgency.

Kamor barely had time to register the words before the robotic horse lurched forward, galloping into the distance. The landscape blurred around them as the air whipped past, but Kamor barely felt the rush of wind against his face. His mind was consumed by what he’d just escaped.

As they neared the edge of the bridge, Kamor spotted Albus and Mahatma waiting for them, standing at the ready. Albus’s face was tight with concern, his eyes sharp as he watched Kamor approach.

“What the hell?” Albus demanded, his voice low but urgent.

Kamor’s breath caught, but he didn’t speak. His mind was a whirlwind of images—the Mimic’s face, the creatures’ laughter, the corpse… Linton Graves.

He wasn’t sure how to explain. How could he?

But as they neared the others, Kamor felt something deep in his gut. Something far worse than the fear.

They weren’t out of danger yet.

Kamor’s body convulsed as the tension finally cracked, and he fell from the robotic horse, landing in a crumpled heap on the cold stone of the bridge. His stomach churned violently, and he couldn’t stop the rush of bile that surged up his throat, spilling out as he vomited again. His whole body trembled, the aftershock of fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Albus’s voice rang out, harsh and angry. “You idiot!” His words were sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. “What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?! You don’t just throw yourself into danger like that!”

Kamor’s hands shook as he tried to push himself up, his head spinning. The world around him felt distant, muffled by the ringing in his ears. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t get his body to cooperate.

Mahatma was the first to reach him, kneeling beside Kamor with quick hands. His eyes scanned Kamor’s trembling form, quickly noting the bruises and cuts, the way his body was still shaking violently from the shock. Kamor’s breath came in shallow gasps as Mahatma gently placed a hand on his shoulder, his touch gentle.

“Hipswitch,” Mahatma said, his voice calm, but urgent. “Help him up.”

Hipswitch immediately moved to Kamor’s side, lifting him carefully, holding him steady. Kamor’s head lolled against Hipswitch’s chest, his body too weak to do anything but let himself be supported.

“Easy, partner,” Hipswitch muttered, his voice low and steady as he helped Kamor back to his feet. Kamor didn’t even have the energy to glance up at him—he just closed his eyes, too drained to protest.

The others were still talking—Albus’s voice was full of frustration, Mahatma’s mumbling, but Kamor couldn’t focus. He could only hear the rush of his heartbeat and feel the burn of bile still rising in his throat. The fear, the terror, was still clawing at him, lingering like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

They were safe—for now. But Kamor knew that wasn’t the end. The Mimic and those things were still out there, waiting.

Kamor stood under the hot water, feeling the stream wash over him, soothing the tension in his muscles. The dirt and blood from the day’s chaos spiraled down the drain, a visual reminder of just how close he’d come to losing everything. His body was sore, bruised in places he couldn’t even remember, and the trembling hadn’t quite stopped.

The memories of the Mimic’s face, the sickening laughter of those creatures, still clung to him like a second skin. Kamor wanted to scrub that fear away, but no matter how much water he let run, it was still there, deep inside of him.

When Hipswitch had offered to help him, Kamor had shaken his head, a silent plea for space. He didn’t want Hipswitch to see just how shaken he was. He didn’t want anyone to see the cracks forming beneath his usual mask.

He didn’t want to seem weak.

But he couldn’t help it. As the water pounded against him, Kamor felt the weight of what he’d done—what he’d almost caused. He’d been reckless, using himself as bait. He’d acted out of fear, but now, in the silence of the bathroom, he realized how much danger he’d put them all in.

Albus had been pissed—furious—when he’d watched Kamor run away from the group, drawing the Mimic toward him. Kamor hadn’t said much after the explosion of anger from Albus. The words had stung, sure, but they’d been deserved. He couldn’t argue.

But Kamor didn’t want to think about that now. The guilt weighed heavily on him, sure, but he needed to pull himself together. He couldn’t keep dwelling on it.

With a deep sigh, Kamor finished the shower, letting the last of the water cascade down his body, feeling it trickle off of him as if it could wash away the lingering fear. He grabbed a towel, drying himself off slowly, the soreness in his body reminding him of how close he’d come to death. His hands shook as he wiped his face, the image of the Mimic still flashing in his mind. He wasn’t ready to face the others—not yet. They were waiting for him outside, waiting for answers, but Kamor wasn’t sure if he could explain himself.

He pulled on fresh clothes, still feeling the weight of the events in his chest. As he stepped out of the bathroom, Kamor steeled himself for whatever Albus was going to say.

Kamor’s heart stopped when he saw Albus standing by the bathroom door, his posture stiff, his eyes unreadable. The weight of Albus’s presence felt like a mountain pressing down on him. Kamor lowered his head, his mind still buzzing with guilt, unsure how to face the anger or disappointment he expected. But Albus didn’t yell.

Instead, Albus’s hand came down gently on Kamor’s head, ruffling his hair in a way that almost felt… too gentle. It was the same hand that had swung at him in frustration not long ago.

“I can’t lose another family member,” Albus muttered, the words so soft, Kamor almost didn’t hear them.

Kamor felt a lump form in his throat, a sharp, painful knot. He never wanted to make Albus feel that way. He didn’t want anyone to fear losing him, especially not Albus. He wasn’t strong enough for that responsibility.

He wasn’t strong enough for anyone.

But he didn’t argue. Instead, Kamor gave a quiet nod, swallowing the sudden wave of emotions threatening to rise. He couldn’t say the words out loud—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you—but his nod was his way of acknowledging the weight of what Albus had said. He didn’t want to make things worse.

Kamor turned away, feeling like he was moving on autopilot, heading toward Mahatma for a check-up as planned.

Hipswitch hovered close by, his usual calm demeanor cracked with a visible sense of worry. He didn’t say anything, but the way he kept a few steps behind Kamor told him everything.

“You okay?” Hipswitch asked quietly, though it was clear he was more concerned than he let on.

Kamor didn’t have the energy to lie. “I will be.”

It was all he could offer in that moment. As he approached Mahatma, he could feel Hipswitch’s eyes on him, following him as if making sure Kamor wouldn’t break apart again. Kamor didn’t want to show how fragile he felt, but the truth was, everything had been too close. He could still feel the cold of the Mimic’s eyes, still hear the laugh of those twisted creatures.