#sons of anarchy fan

[little-horror-smut]

Fixer Upper

Reader x Juice

18+

Warning; Nothing, its just a cute little story. No sexual content

The sun blasted as you waited for your car to get fixed. The hours seemed to pass slower than usual. You decided to get a peak, to see how far they were. As you made your way into the garage, the air was even thicker with warmth there, you spotted her. Her radiant cherry red colour accentuated her beautiful curves. She was your pride, your 57 Chevy. One of the guys was arm deep in the hood. His once white tank top was now striped with grease.

The sweat dripped from his head down his neck all the way down his back. Making his tank top cling to his skin, like it was never letting go. With every move he made, his muscles tightened. As he straightened his back, it accentuated his shoulder. They looked even bigger now that he stood up. The sweat was glistening on his body. He took one of the water bottles and drank it with big gulps. This made water trickle down his jaw and neck, all the way over his chest. The last bit of water he poured over his head, trying to cool himself down. He ran a hand over his head and shook off the last bit of water. Your eyes were glued to his every movement making you bite your lip as you watched him from a distance.

The golden sunrays beautifully lined his body, kissing his gorgeous tanned skin. You realized you must have been standing there a while, as the sun began to set. Finally he looked over his shoulder, feeling the eyes on him. When he noticed you staring, a smirk tugged at his lips. “This beauty yours ma’m? Or were you eyeing me?” He teased, knowing she was watching him. You quickly averted your gaze and cleared your throat. “I- uh- Yeah she’s mine. I wanted to know how she was coming along” You composed yourself as you walked over. He wiped his hands on a clean rag, trying to get as much grease off as possible. You watched carefully with every move he made. His hands looked strong, his underarms tightened as he wiped the last bit of grease off. He clearly was enjoying the attention. “The name’s Juice” He said with a big smile as he reached out his hand. You took it pleasure, feeling a tight grip that send shivers down your spine. Your eyes slowly went up from his hand until you met his eyes. They were these big beautiful brown eyes, that hid a lot behind them. Your eyes locked for a moment and everything else seemed to falter, even if it was for just a minute. “She’s almost done” Juice said, his voice barely above a whisper. There was this little bolt of electricity between the two of you, so strong it was almost visible.

You both reluctantly pulled your hands away, the connection breaking. “I’ll stick around then” You said as you turned to walk away, your eyes still lingering. Juice scratched the back of his head, still taking in of what just happened between the two of you. A smile crept across his face as he turned himself to work on the last parts of your car. “ I still got it” He murmured to himself as his smile widened. The sparkle that was cascaded in his eyes, could be seen from miles away.

[ladyeckland28]

Shadows Of Charming

A fan fiction by Ecky

Starring @samcrosfaith

**Disclaimer:**

This fan fiction story is a creative work set in the Sons of Anarchy universe, inspired by the original series created by Kurt Sutter. It contains mature content, including violence and strong language, in line with the tone of the show. Please enjoy this fan tribute for entertainment purposes only. Thank you for being part of this fan fiction journey in the world of Sons of Anarchy.

Part 1: Arrival

The night cloaked Charming in a veil of secrecy as Sam Crois Faith stepped off the Greyhound bus. Her combat boots hit the cracked pavement with a soft thud, the sound barely audible over the idling engine. She tugged her black leather jacket tighter around her slender frame, her piercing blue eyes scanning the deserted bus station.

Sam's heart raced, her breath shallow. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat, every rustle of leaves a potential pursuer. She knew Damien wouldn't give up easily. The thought of his rage, his possessive fury, sent a chill down her spine.

"You okay there, miss?" The bus driver's gruff voice startled her.

Sam forced a smile, tucking a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear. "Yeah, thanks. Just... taking it all in."

The driver nodded, unconvinced. "Well, be careful. Charming ain't always as nice as its name suggests."

As the bus pulled away, leaving Sam alone in the pool of dim streetlight, she muttered, "Nowhere is."

With her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, Sam set off into the unknown streets of Charming. The town slumbered, unaware of the storm she brought with her. Shop windows reflected her pale face and dark attire, a gothic apparition gliding through the night.

Sam had no destination in mind, just an desperate need to disappear. Each step took her further from Damien, but the invisible tether of fear still bound her. She walked for what felt like hours, the weight of her past growing heavier with each block.

As dawn began to bleed into the sky, Sam found herself in front of a garage. The sign read "Teller-Morrow Automotive Repair." A row of gleaming motorcycles caught her eye, their chrome accents reflecting the first rays of sunlight.

"You lost, darlin'?"

Sam whirled around, her hand instinctively reaching for the switchblade in her pocket. A man with wild, curly hair and piercing blue eyes regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. His kutte bore patches she didn't recognize, but the words "Sons of Anarchy" were clear.

"I... I'm new in town," Sam stammered, forcing her hand away from the concealed weapon. "Just walking."

The man's lips curled into a grin that was equal parts charm and menace. "Hell of a long walk. Sun's barely up." He extended a hand. "Name's Tig. And you are?"

Sam hesitated before shaking his hand. "Sam."

Tig's eyebrows rose. "Sam? That short for Samantha?"

"No," she replied curtly. "Just Sam."

Before Tig could respond, the rumble of motorcycles filled the air. Three bikes pulled into the lot, their riders eyeing Sam with obvious suspicion.

"Making new friends, Tiggy?" A blonde man with a neatly trimmed beard dismounted, his eyes never leaving Sam.

"Just being neighborly, Jax," Tig replied, his grin widening. "This here's Sam. Says she's new in town."

Jax approached, his swagger confident but cautious. "That right? What brings you to Charming, Sam?"

Sam's mind raced. She couldn't tell the truth, but lies had never come easily to her. "I... I'm just passing through. Looking for work, maybe."

A older man with scars on his cheeks stepped forward, his Scottish accent thick. "Aye, and what kind of work would that be? Don't recall many job openings for gothic princesses 'round here."

Sam bristled at the comment. "I can do anything. Mechanic, bartender, whatever pays."

Jax exchanged glances with his companions before turning back to Sam. "Why don't you come inside? We can talk about it over coffee."

It wasn't a request. Sam knew she was trapped, at least for the moment. She nodded, following Jax and the others into the garage's office.

The space was cluttered but organized, with a distinct masculine energy. Sam perched on the edge of a worn couch, hyper-aware of the exit points and potential weapons.

"So, Sam," Jax began, leaning against a desk. "Where you from?"

"Around," Sam replied vaguely.

The Scottish man snorted. "Aye, that's specific."

"Chibs," Jax said, a warning in his tone. He turned back to Sam. "Look, we don't mean to interrogate you. But Charming's a small town, and we like to know who's coming and going. Especially when they show up at our doorstep at dawn."

Sam's fingers twitched, itching for a cigarette. "I told you, I'm just looking for work. Is that a crime?"

"Depends on the kind of work," a new voice interjected. A woman entered the office, her presence instantly commanding attention. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, fixed on Sam. "You running from something, sweetheart?"

Sam's breath caught in her throat. This woman saw too much, knew too much with just a glance. "Aren't we all?" Sam countered, trying to keep her voice steady.

The woman's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm Gemma. Jax's mother." She looked at her son. "Clay's looking for you. Club business."

Jax nodded, then addressed Sam. "Stay put. We're not done talking."

As the men filed out, Gemma took a seat across from Sam. The two women studied each other in tense silence.

"You're in trouble," Gemma finally said. It wasn't a question.

Sam's defenses crumbled under Gemma's penetrating gaze. "You have no idea."

Gemma leaned forward. "Try me, sweetheart. I've seen it all."

For a moment, Sam considered spilling everything. The words danced on the tip of her tongue – Damien, the drugs, the beatings, the desperate escape. But years of caution held her back.

"I can't," Sam whispered. "It's not safe. For anyone."

Gemma's expression softened, just slightly. "Honey, nothing in this life is safe. But sometimes, the right danger can keep you alive."

Before Sam could respond, the office door burst open. Jax stormed in, his face a mask of barely contained rage.

"We've got a problem," he announced. "Seems our new friend here brought some baggage with her. There's a guy tearing up Main Street, flashing your picture." He fixed Sam with a hard stare. "Want to tell us what the hell is going on?"

Sam's world tilted. Damien had found her. The fragile illusion of escape shattered, leaving only cold, familiar dread.

"I have to go," she gasped, bolting for the door.

But Tig blocked her path, his earlier friendliness replaced by steely resolve. "Not so fast, doll. You've got some explaining to do."

Trapped between Damien's approaching storm and the Sons' suspicion, Sam realized she had run out of options. The shadows of Charming had ensnared her, and there was nowhere left to hide.

****

Part 2: Revelations

Sam's eyes darted frantically between the Sons, searching for an escape route that didn't exist. Her chest tightened, breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.

"Hey, hey," Jax said, his tone softening as he noticed her distress. "Take it easy. We're not gonna hurt you, but we need answers. Now."

Gemma stood, placing a steadying hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sit down, sweetheart. Deep breaths."

As Sam sank back onto the couch, Chibs peered out the window. "Shite. We've got company, Jackie boy. Mean-looking bastard in a suit, asking questions at the gas station across the street."

Jax's jaw clenched. "Tig, take Juice and run interference. Keep him busy, but don't engage. I want to hear Sam's story first."

As Tig nodded and left, Jax pulled up a chair directly in front of Sam. His blue eyes, so like her own, held a mixture of concern and wariness. "Start talking."

Sam took a shaky breath. "His name is Damien Cross. He's... he was my boyfriend."

"The guy out there?" Jax pressed.

Sam nodded. "He's dangerous. More than you know. I had to get away."

Chibs scoffed. "Aye, we gathered that much, lass. What we need to know is how dangerous, and to whom?"

"To everyone," Sam whispered. She looked up, meeting Jax's gaze. "Damien isn't just some abusive ex. He's a drug lord, with connections spreading from here to Mexico and even Colombia."

The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches. Jax and Chibs exchanged loaded glances.

"Jesus Christ," Gemma muttered. "You sure know how to pick 'em, don't you?"

Sam's eyes flashed. "I didn't choose this. I was a stupid kid who thought she was in love. By the time I realized what Damien really was, it was too late."

"How deep are you in this?" Jax asked, leaning forward.

"Deep enough to know too much," Sam replied. "Names, routes, contacts. Damien liked to brag when he was high. Said it turned him on that I knew how powerful he was."

Jax stood abruptly, pacing the small office. "Shit. This is bigger than we thought."

The door burst open, and a young man with a mohawk and tribal tattoos on his scalp rushed in. "Jax, we've got a problem. That guy? He's not alone. There's at least four more, armed, circling the block."

"Thanks, Juice," Jax said, his mind racing. "Get everyone inside. Now."

As Juice left, Jax turned back to Sam. "How many men does Damien usually travel with?"

"At least a dozen," Sam said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Ex-military, mostly. Loyal to a fault."

"Christ," Chibs muttered. "We're outnumbered and outgunned."

Jax's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression darkening. "Clay wants us in church. Now." He pointed at Sam. "You're coming with us. Gemma, keep an eye on things out here."

Gemma nodded, her face a mask of grim determination. "Be careful, baby."

Jax led Sam through the garage and into a back room. A large wooden table dominated the space, carved with a reaper logo. Men in kuttes similar to Jax's filled the chairs around it, their faces a mix of curiosity and hostility.

An older man with graying hair and scarred hands sat at the head of the table. His piercing gaze locked onto Sam. "This the girl?"

"Yeah," Jax replied, guiding Sam to stand at the foot of the table. "Clay, we've got a situation."

Over the next few minutes, Jax laid out what they'd learned about Damien and his operation. The room grew increasingly tense as the full scope of the threat became clear.

Clay's eyes never left Sam. "And how do we know she's not working with this Damien? Could be a setup."

Sam's temper flared. "If I was working with him, why would I tell you about his operation? I'm trying to get away from him, not lure you in!"

"Watch your tone, little girl," Clay growled. "You brought this shitstorm to our doorstep. Far as I'm concerned, that makes you a threat."

"Clay," Jax interjected, his voice tight. "She's scared and alone. We need to focus on the real problem here."

A large man with a wild beard spoke up. "Jax is right. If this Damien's got the connections Sam says he does, we could be looking at a full-scale war. Mayans, Niners, everyone's gonna want a piece of this action."

"Opie's got a point," Chibs added. "We need to tread carefully here."

Clay leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "Alright. Jax, take Tig and Chibs. Go talk to this Damien character. See what he wants."

"And Sam?" Jax asked.

Clay's lip curled. "She stays here. Insurance."

As the meeting broke up, Sam grabbed Jax's arm. "Please, don't hand me over to him. He'll kill me."

Jax's expression softened. "We're not gonna let that happen. Just sit tight, okay?"

As Jax left with Tig and Chibs, the remaining Sons eyed Sam warily. She hugged herself, feeling more alone than ever.

Outside, Jax approached the sleek black SUV parked across from Teller-Morrow. A tall man in an expensive suit leaned against it, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"Damien Cross, I presume?" Jax called out.

The man's dark eyes glittered. "And you must be the local muscle. Jackson Teller, right? I've heard interesting things about you and your little club."

Jax's stomach churned. This man radiated danger in a way few others did. "Seems like you've done your homework. Want to tell me why you're tearing up my town?"

Damien's smile widened. "Come now, Mr. Teller. We both know why I'm here. Where is she?"

"Who?" Jax asked, feigning ignorance.

Damien chuckled, the sound devoid of any real mirth. "Please. Don't insult my intelligence. Samantha is mine. She belongs with me. I've come to take her home."

Tig stepped forward, his hand twitching near his gun. "Listen, asshole. I don't know who you think you are, but—"

In a flash, Damien had a pistol trained on Tig's forehead. "I'm the man who can have this entire town turned into a war zone with one phone call. So please, choose your next words carefully."

Jax raised his hands placatingly. "Easy. We're just talking here."

Damien lowered the gun but didn't holster it. "Indeed we are. So let's talk business, Mr. Teller. I know your club has certain... entrepreneurial interests. I'm willing to offer you a mutually beneficial arrangement. All I ask in return is Samantha."

"And if we don't have her?" Jax asked.

Damien's eyes hardened. "Then things will become very unpleasant for Charming. You see, I have friends in low places. The cartels owe me favors. It would be a shame if they decided to move their operations into this quaint little town."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Jax's mind raced, weighing their options.

"Give me 24 hours," Jax finally said. "If she's here, I'll convince her to meet with you. Peacefully."

Damien studied Jax for a long moment before nodding. "24 hours. Not a minute more." He got into his SUV. "Oh, and Mr. Teller? Don't try to run. There's nowhere she can go that I won't find her."

As the SUV pulled away, Chibs turned to Jax. "What's the play here, Jackie boy?"

Jax ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know yet. But we need to find out more about this guy. Juice!"

The young intelligence officer jogged over. "Yeah, boss?"

"I need everything you can find on Damien Cross. Dig deep. I want to know every skeleton in his closet."

Back inside, Sam paced the small office like a caged animal. Gemma watched her with a mixture of sympathy and suspicion.

"You weren't entirely truthful before, were you?" Gemma asked.

Sam stopped pacing. "What do you mean?"

Gemma leaned forward. "You said you were just some stupid kid who fell for the wrong guy. But there's more to it than that, isn't there?"

Sam's shoulders slumped. "How did you know?"

"Honey, I've been around long enough to spot a girl running from her past. And you? You're running from more than just a bad relationship."

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes. "I didn't have a choice. My parents died when I was 16. I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Damien... he seemed so kind at first. Offered me a home, a family."

Gemma's expression softened. "And by the time you realized what he really wanted, you were in too deep."

Sam nodded, wiping away a tear. "He made me help him. Said it was the price for his protection. I... I've done things, Gemma. Terrible things."

Before Gemma could respond, the office door opened. Jax entered, his face grim.

"We've got a problem," he announced. "Damien's given us 24 hours to hand you over, or he's bringing a cartel war to Charming."

Sam's face paled. "Oh God. I never should have come here. I've put you all in danger."

Jax shook his head. "This isn't on you. But we need to figure out our next move, fast."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Juice entered, his laptop tucked under his arm. "Jax, you're gonna want to see this."

They gathered around as Juice opened his computer. "I did some digging on Damien Cross. This guy's no joke. He's got ties to the Galindo Cartel, the Russian mob, even some rogue CIA operatives."

"Jesus Christ," Jax muttered.

"That's not all," Juice continued. "I found some chatter on the dark web. Seems Damien's been making moves lately, consolidating power. Word is, he's planning something big. Like, 'reshape the entire West Coast drug trade' big."

Sam's eyes widened. "The Avalon Project," she whispered.

All eyes turned to her. "What's that?" Jax demanded.

"It's... it's Damien's master plan," Sam explained, her voice shaking. "He wants to create a new pipeline, one that bypasses the traditional cartels. He's been working on it for years, calling in favors, making alliances."

"And you know the details of this plan?" Clay asked, having entered silently during Juice's explanation.

Sam nodded. "Some of it. Enough to destroy everything he's worked for."

A tense silence fell over the room. Finally, Clay spoke. "Alright. Here's what we're gonna do. Jax, you and Opie reach out to Alvarez. See if the Mayans have heard anything about this Avalon Project. Chibs, touch base with the Irish. If Damien's making moves this big, they might have some intel."

"What about me?" Sam asked quietly.

Clay fixed her with a hard stare. "You're gonna tell us everything you know about Damien's operation. Every safe house, every contact, every dirty little secret. If we're going to war, we need all the ammunition we can get."

As the Sons dispersed to carry out their tasks, Jax pulled Sam aside. "Hey. You okay?"

Sam let out a shaky breath. "No. Not really. Jax, I... I'm sorry for bringing this to your doorstep. I never meant for any of this to happen."

Jax's expression softened. "I know. But you're not alone anymore, Sam. We're gonna figure this out."

For the first time since arriving in Charming, Sam felt a glimmer of hope. But as she looked into Jax's eyes, she saw something that both thrilled and terrified her – a fierce protectiveness that mirrored Damien's in the early days.

"Be careful, Jax," she whispered. "Damien has a way of twisting people, of making them do things they never thought they were capable of."

Jax squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "I can handle myself. You just focus on staying safe and remembering everything you can about Damien's operation. We're gonna need every edge we can get."

As Jax left to meet with the Mayans, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that she had set something in motion that would change Charming forever. The shadows were deepening, and she feared that by the time this was over, they might consume them all.

Outside, Damien Cross sat in his SUV, a phone pressed to his ear. "Yes, everything is proceeding as planned. The Sons took the bait, just as we anticipated." He paused, listening. "No, they don't suspect a thing. By the time they realize the true scope of the Avalon Project, it will be too late. Charming will be ours, and with it, the key to controlling the entire West Coast."

As he hung up, Damien's gaze fixed on Teller-Morrow Automotive. A cold smile played on his lips. The pieces were falling into place, and soon, very soon, he would have everything he wanted – Sam, Charming, and an empire that would make him the most powerful man in California.

The clock was ticking, and the fate of Charming hung in the balance.

****

Part 3: Unraveling Threads

The chapel of the Sons of Anarchy clubhouse had never felt so claustrophobic. Sam sat at the far end of the table, surrounded by leather-clad bikers whose expressions ranged from curiosity to outright hostility. Clay presided over the impromptu meeting, his scarred hands splayed on the wooden surface.

"Alright, darlin'," he growled. "Start talking. We need everything you know about this Avalon Project."

Sam took a deep breath, steeling herself. "The Avalon Project isn't just about drugs. It's about power. Total control over the West Coast's underworld."

Tig leaned forward, his blue eyes intense. "How's he planning to pull that off? Guy's got balls, I'll give him that."

"It's a three-pronged approach," Sam explained. "First, he's been quietly buying up properties all along the coast – warehouses, docks, even small airfields. Second, he's been infiltrating local law enforcement and government offices, planting his people or blackmailing officials."

"And the third prong?" Jax prompted.

Sam's eyes met his. "Us. Or rather, clubs like yours. Damien believes that if he can control or eliminate the major MCs, he'll have a clear path to dominance."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Chibs was the first to break it. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The bastard's trying to build himself a bloody empire."

Clay's jaw clenched. "You're telling me this Damien character thinks he can just waltz in and take over? He's got another thing coming."

"You don't understand," Sam insisted, her voice rising. "Damien's not just some upstart drug lord. He's methodical, patient. He's been planning this for years."

Opie spoke up, his deep voice rumbling through the tension. "How do you know all this? No offense, but you don't strike me as the criminal mastermind type."

Sam's gaze dropped to the table. "I told you, Damien liked to brag when he was high. But... that's not the whole truth." She took a shaky breath. "I was more involved than I let on. Damien... he was grooming me to be his partner in all this. Said I had a mind for strategy."

The revelation sent a ripple of unease through the room. Jax's eyes narrowed. "Just how involved were you, Sam?"

Before she could answer, Juice burst into the chapel, laptop in hand. "Guys, we've got a problem. A big one."

Clay glared at the interruption. "This better be good, Juice."

"I've been monitoring police channels and dark web chatter," Juice explained, setting his computer on the table. "In the last hour, there's been a spike in activity. Looks like someone's making moves against every major MC on the West Coast. The Mayans just had one of their gun shipments seized. The Niners are dealing with a sudden influx of rival dealers in their territory."

Jax's eyes widened. "It's starting. Damien's making his play."

Sam nodded grimly. "The Avalon Project was always designed to be a swift, coordinated attack. Weaken all potential opposition simultaneously."

Clay slammed his hand on the table. "Goddammit! We need to shut this down now. Jax, get Alvarez on the phone. We need to coordinate with the Mayans. Chibs, reach out to the Irish. If Damien's disrupting gun shipments, they need to know."

As the Sons scrambled into action, Sam felt a hand on her arm. She looked up to see Gemma, concern etched on her face.

"Come on, honey," Gemma said softly. "Let's get you some air while the boys figure this out."

Outside, the California sun felt at odds with the darkness gathering around them. Sam leaned against the garage wall, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.

"You're carrying a hell of a lot of guilt, aren't you?" Gemma observed, lighting her own smoke.

Sam exhaled a plume of smoke. "You have no idea."

"Try me," Gemma challenged. "I've seen my fair share of shit in this life."

For a moment, Sam considered brushing her off. But something in Gemma's eyes – a mix of hardness and understanding – made her reconsider.

"I didn't just know about Damien's plans," Sam confessed. "I helped create them. The strategy, the timing – a lot of that was me. I thought... I thought I was building something. Creating order out of chaos."

Gemma studied her for a long moment. "And when did you realize you were just trading one kind of chaos for another?"

Sam's laugh was hollow. "When I saw what it was doing to people. The lives destroyed, the communities torn apart. Damien didn't care about any of that. To him, it was all just numbers on a spreadsheet."

"So you ran," Gemma finished.

Sam nodded. "But not before I sabotaged what I could. Changed some key details in the plans, altered delivery schedules. It won't stop Damien, but it might slow him down."

Gemma's expression softened slightly. "You did what you had to do to survive. We've all got shit we're not proud of."

Before Sam could respond, Jax emerged from the clubhouse, his face grim. "We've got trouble. Alvarez says the Mayans are under attack. Looks like Damien's men are making a play for their territory."

Gemma straightened. "What are you gonna do?"

Jax ran a hand through his hair. "We don't have a choice. We need to help the Mayans. If Damien takes them out, we're next."

Sam stepped forward. "Let me help. I know Damien's tactics, his weak points."

Jax hesitated, studying her. "You sure about this? Once you're in, there's no going back."

Sam met his gaze steadily. "I'm already in, Jax. Might as well do some good while I'm here."

Inside the clubhouse, plans were coming together rapidly. Maps were spread across the chapel table, marked with potential targets and strongholds.

"Alvarez says they're hitting the Mayans from three directions," Jax explained, pointing to the map. "Here, here, and here. They're trying to cut off escape routes and supply lines."

Chibs nodded. "Classic pincer movement. Bastard knows his stuff."

Sam leaned in, her eyes scanning the map. "There," she said, pointing to a spot just outside Oakland. "That's where Damien will be coordinating from. He always likes to be close to the action, but not too close."

Opie raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Sam nodded. "Positive. It's an old civil defense bunker. Damien had it retrofitted as a mobile command center."

Clay's eyes narrowed. "If we could take out their command post..."

"We could throw their whole operation into chaos," Jax finished. He turned to Sam. "What kind of defenses are we looking at?"

Sam closed her eyes, recalling details she'd tried so hard to forget. "At least a dozen men, heavily armed. State-of-the-art security system. But..." She paused, a memory surfacing. "There's a weakness. A maintenance tunnel that doesn't show up on any official plans. Damien had it built as an escape route."

Tig grinned. "Sounds like our way in."

Clay nodded. "Alright. Jax, take Opie, Chibs, and Tig. Hit that command post hard and fast. Juice, you're on tech support. The rest of us will coordinate with the Mayans, try to push back Damien's men on the ground."

As the Sons prepared for battle, strapping on kevlar and checking weapons, Sam felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Fear, guilt, but also a strange sense of purpose.

Jax approached her, adjusting his holster. "You sure you're up for this? It's gonna get ugly out there."

Sam met his gaze, her blue eyes hardening with resolve. "I helped create this mess. It's time I helped clean it up."

Jax nodded, a hint of respect in his eyes. "Alright. Stay close to me. And Sam?" He paused, his expression serious. "When this is over, we're gonna have a long talk about everything you know."

As they headed for the bikes, the roar of engines filling the air, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that she was crossing a point of no return. The shadows of her past were colliding with the uncertain future of Charming, and she was caught in the middle of the storm.

The ride to Oakland was tense, each member lost in their own thoughts. Sam clung to Jax, the wind whipping through her hair, carrying with it the scent of impending violence.

As they approached the outskirts of the city, Jax's voice crackled over the helmet comms. "Alright, boys. We go in quiet. Hit 'em hard, hit 'em fast. Sam, you're with me. Lead us to that tunnel."

They ditched the bikes a mile out, approaching the bunker on foot. Sam's heart raced as she led them through overgrown paths, memories of her time with Damien flashing through her mind.

"There," she whispered, pointing to a rusted grate barely visible beneath a tangle of vines. "That's our way in."

Tig made quick work of the lock, and soon they were crawling through the dank tunnel. The sounds of activity grew louder as they approached the main chamber.

Jax held up a hand, signaling them to stop. He turned to Sam, his voice barely audible. "Last chance to back out."

Sam shook her head. "I'm seeing this through."

With a nod, Jax gave the signal. The Sons burst into action, catching Damien's men off guard. The room erupted into chaos – gunfire, shouts, the crash of equipment being overturned.

Sam stayed low, her eyes scanning the room for Damien. She spotted him near a bank of computers, barking orders into a phone.

"Jax!" she called out, pointing. "There!"

Jax fought his way across the room, determination etched on his face. But before he could reach Damien, a familiar voice cut through the din.

"Well, well. Samantha. I must say, I'm impressed."

Sam froze, her blood running cold. She turned slowly to see Damien standing just a few feet away, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"Did you really think you could run from me?" Damien asked, his voice deceptively calm. "That you could betray everything we built together?"

Sam's hand inched towards the gun Jax had given her. "It's over, Damien. Your plan's falling apart."

Damien's laugh was chilling. "Oh, my dear. This?" He gestured to the chaos around them. "This is just the beginning. You of all people should know – I always have a contingency plan."

As if on cue, a new wave of armed men flooded into the room. The Sons found themselves outnumbered and outgunned.

Damien's eyes gleamed with triumph. "Now, Samantha. It's time to come home. We have an empire to build."

Sam's mind raced, searching for a way out. But as she looked around at the Sons – bloodied, cornered, but still defiant – she realized there was only one path forward.

"No," she said, her voice steady. "I'm done running. And I'm done hiding." She raised her gun, aiming it squarely at Damien's chest. "This ends now."

The room fell silent, all eyes on Sam and Damien. The fate of Charming, and perhaps the entire West Coast underworld, hung in the balance.

Sam's finger tightened on the trigger, her past and future converging in this single, defining moment.

*****

Part 4: Reckoning

Time seemed to slow as Sam faced down Damien, her finger poised on the trigger. The air crackled with tension, punctuated by the ragged breathing of those around them.

Damien's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something – respect, perhaps, or fear – crossing his face. "You won't do it, Samantha. You don't have it in you."

Sam's hand trembled slightly, but her aim remained true. "You're wrong, Damien. You don't know me anymore. Maybe you never did."

Jax inched closer, his gun trained on Damien's men. "Sam," he said softly, "you don't have to do this. We can end this another way."

Damien's laugh was cold. "Listen to your new friend, Samantha. Put the gun down, and maybe I'll let him and his little biker gang live."

The threat snapped something in Sam. In that moment, she saw with crystal clarity the path that had led her here – every compromise, every justification, every step deeper into darkness. And she saw, too, the possibility of redemption.

"No more threats," Sam said, her voice steady. "No more manipulation. It's over, Damien."

She squeezed the trigger.

The gunshot echoed through the bunker, followed by a moment of stunned silence. Damien looked down at his chest, a red stain blossoming on his expensive shirt. His eyes, wide with disbelief, met Sam's one last time before he crumpled to the floor.

Chaos erupted. Damien's men, momentarily frozen by their leader's fall, surged forward. The Sons met them head-on, the room exploding into a frenzy of gunfire and hand-to-hand combat.

Sam felt a strong hand grasp her arm. It was Jax, pulling her behind an overturned desk. "Stay down!" he shouted over the din.

The battle raged, neither side willing to give ground. Sam watched in a daze as Tig took down two men with savage efficiency, while Chibs and Opie fought back-to-back, a whirlwind of fists and bullets.

Suddenly, a new sound cut through the chaos – police sirens, growing louder by the second.

"Shit!" Jax cursed. "We gotta move. Now!"

He grabbed Sam's hand, leading her towards the exit tunnel. The other Sons disengaged, providing covering fire as they retreated.

They emerged into the fading daylight, the sirens now deafeningly close. "The bikes," Opie panted. "We'll never make it."

Jax's mind raced. "The trees. We'll lose them in the woods. Move!"

They plunged into the dense foliage, the sounds of pursuit fading behind them. Sam's lungs burned as she ran, branches whipping at her face. She could hear the labored breathing of the Sons around her, the occasional curse as someone stumbled in the gathering darkness.

After what felt like hours, Jax finally called a halt. They huddled in a small clearing, catching their breath and assessing injuries.

"Everyone okay?" Jax asked, his eyes scanning the group.

There were nods all around, though Tig was sporting a nasty gash on his arm, and Chibs had a rapidly swelling eye.

Sam leaned against a tree, the adrenaline ebbing from her system. The full weight of what she'd done – what they'd all done – began to settle on her shoulders.

Jax approached her, his expression unreadable. "You okay?"

Sam laughed humorlessly. "I just killed a man. The man I once thought I loved. So no, Jax. I'm not okay."

Jax nodded, understanding in his eyes. "You did what you had to do. We all did."

"He's right, lass," Chibs added, limping over. "That bastard would've burned the whole coast to the ground if you hadn't stopped him."

Sam closed her eyes, fighting back tears. "Maybe. But where does that leave me? I'm no better than he was."

"Bullshit," Tig interjected, his voice gruff but kind. "You made a choice. The right choice. That makes all the difference."

Before Sam could respond, Juice's voice crackled over their burner phones. "Jax? You guys okay?"

Jax grabbed his phone. "Yeah, we're clear. What's the situation?"

"It's crazy, man," Juice replied. "Damien's whole operation is falling apart. His men are turning on each other, trying to grab what they can before it all goes down. The Mayans are pushing them back on all fronts."

A collective sigh of relief went through the group. Jax allowed himself a small smile. "Good work, Juice. Keep monitoring the situation. We'll make our way back when it's clear."

As Jax relayed the news to the others, Sam felt a strange mix of emotions wash over her. Relief, certainly, but also a profound sense of loss. The life she had known, for better or worse, was over. She was adrift in uncharted waters.

Jax must have sensed her turmoil. He sat down beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. "Hey. I meant what I said before. You're not alone in this."

Sam turned to him, searching his face. "Why? Why would you help me after everything I've done?"

Jax was quiet for a moment, considering his words. "Because I've been where you are. Caught between loyalty and doing what's right. It's not an easy path, but it's one worth walking."

As night fell, the Sons made their way carefully back towards Charming. They moved in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The events of the day had shaken them all, forcing them to confront hard truths about themselves and the life they led.

It was nearly dawn by the time they reached the outskirts of town. Exhausted and battered, they rolled into the Teller-Morrow lot. Gemma was waiting, worry etched on her face.

"Jesus Christ," she breathed, taking in their appearance. "What the hell happened out there?"

Clay emerged from the clubhouse, his face a mask of barely contained anger and concern. "Inside. Now. We need to talk."

The chapel was somber as Jax recounted the events at the bunker. When he finished, a heavy silence fell over the room.

Clay's eyes bored into Sam. "You. You're the key to all this. You know names, places, operations. If we're gonna clean up this mess, we need everything you've got."

Sam nodded slowly. "I'll tell you everything I know. But after that... I need to disappear. It's not safe for me here, or for any of you while I'm around."

Jax started to protest, but Clay held up a hand. "She's right. There'll be a target on her back. And on ours if we harbor her."

"So what, we just cut her loose?" Opie asked, disbelief in his voice.

Clay's expression was grim. "We do what we have to do to protect the club. Always."

The discussion raged on, voices rising as opinions clashed. Sam sat silently, the weight of her past and the uncertainty of her future pressing down on her.

Finally, Jax slammed his hand on the table. "Enough! We're not abandoning her. Sam risked everything to help us. We owe her."

Clay's jaw clenched. "And what do you propose we do, son? Hide her in the clubhouse forever?"

A thoughtful look crossed Jax's face. "No. Not hide her. Give her a new life."

Over the next hour, a plan took shape. Juice would create a new identity for Sam, complete with background and paperwork. The club would use its connections to set her up in a new town, far from California.

As the Sons hammered out the details, Gemma pulled Sam aside. "You sure about this, sweetheart? Once you go, there's no coming back."

Sam took a shaky breath. "I don't have a choice. It's the only way to keep everyone safe."

Gemma studied her for a long moment. "You know, when you first showed up, I thought you were nothing but trouble. But now..." She paused, a hint of admiration in her eyes. "You've got steel in you, girl. You'll be alright."

The next few days passed in a blur of preparation and goodbyes. Sam spent hours with Juice, memorizing her new identity and background. She sat with Chibs, learning the basics of self-defense. Tig, in a surprising show of sentimentality, gave her a burner phone "for emergencies only, doll."

On her last night in Charming, Sam found herself on the roof of the clubhouse, staring out at the town that had become an unexpected sanctuary. She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Jax approaching.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, sitting down beside her.

Sam shook her head. "Too much on my mind."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the cool night air carrying the scent of possibility.

"You know," Jax finally said, "when you first showed up, I thought you were going to be the death of us all."

Sam laughed softly. "I thought the same thing."

Jax turned to her, his expression serious. "But you saved us, Sam. You saved Charming. Don't ever forget that."

Sam felt tears prick her eyes. "I don't know if I can ever make up for the things I've done."

"Maybe you can't," Jax replied. "But you can choose who you want to be from here on out. That's what matters."

As the first light of dawn began to streak the sky, Sam felt a sense of peace settle over her. The shadows that had haunted her for so long were finally receding.

The next morning, Sam stood in the Teller-Morrow lot, a small bag containing her new life slung over her shoulder. The Sons gathered around her, faces a mix of emotion.

Clay stepped forward first, his handshake firm. "You ever need anything, you call. You're family now, whether I like it or not."

One by one, the Sons said their goodbyes. Tig's hug was bone-crushing, Chibs pressed a kiss to her cheek, and Opie's nod held a world of unspoken understanding.

Gemma approached last, pressing a small package into Sam's hands. "A little something to remember us by. And to remind you of who you really are."

Finally, it was Jax's turn. He pulled Sam into a tight embrace. "Stay safe out there," he murmured. "And remember, you've always got a home here if you need it."

As Sam climbed into the waiting cab, she took one last look at the group that had become her unlikely family. They stood together, a united front against whatever darkness might come.

The cab pulled away, Charming receding in the rearview mirror. Sam allowed herself one moment of grief for the life she was leaving behind. Then, squaring her shoulders, she turned her gaze to the road ahead.

In her lap, she opened the package Gemma had given her. Inside was a small silver pendant in the shape of a crow in flight. Attached was a note in Gemma's flowing script: "Spread your wings, baby. The shadows can't touch you now."

Sam clasped the necklace around her neck, feeling its weight settle against her skin. It was a reminder of where she'd been, and a promise of where she might go.

As Charming disappeared behind her, Sam felt a surge of something she hadn't experienced in years: hope. The road ahead was uncertain, full of potential pitfalls and challenges. But for the first time in a long time, she was facing that uncertainty on her own terms.

The shadows of her past would always be there, a part of her story. But they no longer defined her. She was Sam Crois Faith, survivor, friend, and now, finally, free.

The cab sped on, carrying her towards a future bright with possibility. And somewhere in the distance, barely audible over the hum of the engine, came the rumble of motorcycles – a reminder that family, in all its forms, was never truly left behind.

The End...

[ravennaortiz]

🌹🌹🌹

This is from A Camera In the Attic

Juice swirled his whiskey and stroking himself absentmindedly as he sat looking out his window. He closed his eyes and smirked as he heard one of your moans carried through his open window by the cool night breeze . Soon. He thought as he sipped his whiskey.

[ariesfring]

Hear me out?

[roadtogracelandx45]

Well, that was a first. I just checked my email and i got 4 alerts from AO3 about comments on my Sons of Anarchy story. Saying that Ryder (my oc) was pathetic and shame to women for having a moment of weakness and sleeping with Jax.

Is it wrong for a wife to have a moment of weakness and have a moment with her husband? who yes did cheat on her and move her former friend into their house after Ryder left him for cheating in the first place?

The one review said that Ryder was pathetic for doing that.

I don't know, am I going about this wrong way?

[glennriley49]

Sons Of Anarchy: Ghosts Of The Past

A fan fiction by Glennis

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

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

**Set after the series finale**

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You alright, lad?" he asked softly.

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued....

[unassumingastartes]

Part 2 of Heresy Era Primarch fan casts.

I'm still in the stage of my selections where I have very solid choices as to who I would like and why; I may reach a stage where I struggle either due to not being able to find a particular actor or due to not being very familiar with the character themselves.

Particularly for this post, I have had these actors in mind since becoming a fan of warhammer.

[The writing is subpar on the post imo at the moment :c but I'll edit it over the next few days to where I'm happy.]

Lion El'Jonson-

Charlie Hunnam.

In the wild forrests of Calaban ruled by chaos corrupted, warp tainted carnivorous beasts. There was one animal that survived by itself; it was small, ferocious and brave. It fought, killed and consumed all challengers.

Until it was discovered by a Knight named Luther. Just as the animal was about to be slain, Luther realised it was a small blonde haired boy. The boy had done the impossible and lived in a forrest, in which brave knights went to die. Luther named the boy Lion el'Jonson and raised him like a son; like a knight.

The Lion is powerful, honourable, knowledgeable yet secretive. Even amongst his brother primarchs he is a gold standard, he has proven himself time and time again. Charlie has also proven himself time and time again of being able to perform as a powerful leader. Especially in Sons of Anarchy.

Mortarion-

Gustav skarsgård.

I tried to stay away from casting multiple people from the same series, but I couldn't help myself with Gustav's performance in Vikings as Floki especially during his time in Greenland, being very reminiscent of Mortations time on Barbarus not just visually but the emotional performance was so powerful (which is saying something for that to stand out as Gustav is phenomenoal throughout all of Vikings). Through the harsh environment, the confrontations, the craving for hope where it's not. He cemented himself in my brain immediately as Mortarion.

Floki in the early seasons of Vikings all though he is an extremely tall, lanky unassuming ship builder but is utterly terrifying to even the most warforged veterans when he has to be.

As I referred to in part 1 Gustav has a something that is required to play a primarch a completely unique aura and ability to bring such characters to life.

Sanguinius-

Aaron taylor-johnson.

I have a very special place in my heart for Sanguinius as it was an image of him that got me interested in warhammer in the first place. Which is very fitting as his beautiful angelic appearance has the power to draw people to him and want to fight alongside him, but under resides the red thirst; a powerful curse of vampirism that afflicts sanguinius and his sons.

He is equal parts charismatic as he is fierce. People are drawn to the angel from Baal. Loved by most of his brothers especially loved by and close to his brother Horus Lupercal "The Warmaster."; The Angel was also afflicted by another curse one he shared with his brother Konrad as they both saw visions of the future... it gave Sanguinius hope but it did not do the same for Konrad.

Here is the link to part 1 incase you have stumbled across these posts out of order :3

[tumbleweedstillhaspanic]

I actually updated it again with yet another chapter!!

[basiccortez]

with the last and final season of Mayans MC coming up around the corner i have decided to bring back my series “Out of the Dust” and re-open my Mayans MC/SOA requests:)

it’s been a hot minute since i wrote for the two shows, but my stories “Out of the Dust” and “Chains” are currently available on my wattpad (@/agrace32)

I will however, be rewriting “Out of the Dust” on here. I originally wrote it when I was 18, and my writing has changed A LOT since the show first debuted.

but for now… here’s a list of the following characters i write for:

Ezekiel “EZ” Reyes

Angel Reyes

Obispo “Bishop” Losa

Johnny “Coco” Cruz

Miguel Galindo

Happy Lowman

Jax Teller

Harry “Opie” Winston

Chibs Telford

[theycallmequeenie]

Lexie And Happy

Part 15:

A/N: Hello again! This chapter got away from me, and there is more over share in this part, as well as a couple of visuals. I’m going to link them HERE(1), HERE(2), and HERE(3). so that they don’t get A: lost in the fic and B: in the way of the reading. I will also link the images in the story for those that don't want to look at the images before reading the fic. Again, I wish to apologize for all the run on sentences and the info dump like ramblings. I apologize in advance for the excessive word barf. Love to you all and Happy Reading!

Master List

P1, P2, P3, P4, P5, P6, P7, P8, P9, P10, P11, P12, P13, P14

Tig sat on his side of the bed he and Venus shared and for the first time in days he allowed himself to just feel all the chaos. Vee knew this would happen eventually and was there for her man. Doing the best, she could to comfort him. She knew he needed to process everything over the last several days. To say utter chaos to describe things would be a massive understatement between the nightmare Lexi went through and the hell the guys were going through trying to find and save her. Vee knew all too well that both Tig and Happy were trying to squash the guilt they were feeling from Lex being taken right out from under their noses. Vee felt it too. How could have none of them been completely oblivious to someone not only breaking into Tig and Vee’s home but abducting Lexi right out from under them.

Tig told Vee figured out how the culprit managed to get by Sunny, the dog knew the guy from Lexie’s last job on the east coast. Lex was known to work it out with the owners of the garages she would work at that they would permit her to bring in Sunny with her from time to time. The owners would always agree because with Sunny being a Pittie, she seemed to keep the more gruff customers in line with just her presence in the shops and would provide Lexie, at least in theory, some form of protection from the customers that tried to mistreat Lex because she was a female mechanic. That sort of customer usually felt that since she was female, she had no business in turning wrenches on their cars that she ‘belonged either at home or in the office at the very most’. Lexie showed that sort of patron exactly why she was the one working on the cars and not making the coffee.

Tig knew all of this from the years of phone calls with his niece and willingly shared these details with Venus. Proud that he helped contribute to his niece’s love for working shoulder to shoulder with him and all the guys from the club and the friend of the club as well. All the men loved having her working with them at TM she was a sponge with it came to learning the ins and outs of all the vehicles and especially the bikes. Tig smiled proudly as he told Venus how Lexie would almost daily shock or surprise the guys by doing something they all figured she would need help with. Tig went on telling his Ole Lady how proud he was of his niece and how far she’d come from that terrified kid he took in when he lost his sister. She really hadn’t been a tough kid to raise, and he did have help from everyone in the club and all the Ole Ladies and Croweaters for the feminine influence. Mentioning that he had been thankful that Lexie’s mother had a will giving Tig custody of Lexie in the event she passed before Lex was of age to look after herself. Otherwise, she would have ended up in the system and God knows where.

This was when he started getting emotional. His voice was starting to crack, and he began to try to hide his face from view. Venus knew this was his telltale sign he was losing the battle between ‘Badass Outlaw’, that had seen more than enough to stay stone faced through everything, and a concerned uncle that knows how traumatized his niece had to be and how she had grown as a person in the manner of dealing with said trauma. Seeing lex not wanting to run this time and fighting to stay with the ones she loves. He still felt like he had left Lexie down by not stopping this from happening to her. This was all bubbling to the surface and Tig was trying to his hardest to keep his emotions in check or, since he was clearly losing that battle, at least to keep his emotional meltdown as quiet as possible.

Watching her man start to lose composure she wrapped him up in her arms and holding him to her. Murmuring to him that it was okay, to let go and get this out of his system. She did what she could to sooth her man. Vee knew that when he felt, he felt deep and that his emotional breakdowns could get intense. She continued to reassure him that Lexie did not feel that he let her down or failed her in anyway. Reminding him of the events after she was rescued and the things, she said to both him and Happy.

Vee sat with Tig and helped him through his moment of humanity for what seemed like an hour before he started to calm himself down and got himself into the PJ pants that he basically only wore with Lexie in the house as a measure to avoid exposing her to anything that should not be seen by her. That was not an experience neither of them wanted to deal with. Tig and Vee talked while they both readied themselves to get a few hours of sleep when out of nowhere they heard a loud, “SON OF A...” and then a fairly loud thud. Prompting them to both grab their respective robes and run to Lexie’s room to see what happened.

They got to her room and were met with the sight of Lex on the floor with Sunny standing over her essentially pinning Lex to the spot she landed. Both stifling a giggle at the quite comedic scene before them Tig moved to try and pick his niece up off the floor as Vee wrangled Sunny.

Tig couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice as he spoke, “How on earth did this happen?”

Lexie made an undignified face at her uncle and answered, “Well, Mister Trager. It seems one of the two of you have taught my dog a new trick. The ‘tackle Momma when she gets up off the bed’ trick. All I was trying to do was get up to grab a drink and take some more ibuprofen and she tripped me and pinned me to the spot I landed. She just stood there wagging her tail for the few seconds between me landing and you two coming in.”

Tig and Vee had to fight their laughter again as Vee told him she would go get the meds so he could try to get Lex picked up off the floor but got a glare from Lexie after losing her battle to contain her laughter followed by a ‘it’s not that funny’ from Lex.

Tig helped his niece up and told her it kinda was and swore up and down that to their knowledge Sunny learned that one on her own. Asking if she needed anything else while she was up. She nodded and mentioned about going to the bathroom while she was up and that thanks to her and Vee’s brainstorming earlier in the day, she could manage to handle the entire process on her own thanks to a make up brush cleaning mat suctioned to the side of the sink making it possible for her to wash her uncast hand by herself. Something she wishes was available when she broke her arm at 16.

Tig nodded and being the helicopter uncle, he was being, at that point in time, walked her to the bathroom, waited outside for a few minutes until Lex had finished what needed to be done and asked Tig to open the door for her. Tig opened the bathroom door and was met with Lex holding up a hand towel and her telling him that was the one part they hadn’t figured out for her to do on her own. Tig laughed and took the towel drying off her left hand. Once he had put down the towel and walked her over to her room, he kissed her on her temple asking if she was okay with just her and Sunny of if she wanted him to stay with her until she was asleep again.

Lexie shook her head and told her uncle that she was fine with just her new bodyguard. Claiming she still wanted to know who taught that dog to do that. Her uncle laughed this time as Vee came in with water and the ibuprofen that was asked for; after handing those off Vee and Tig both helped Lex get situated so that she was comfortable in her bed as well as the dog that wasn’t really in her momma’s good graces at that moment. As Sunny snuggled up against her momma and with all the excitement over with everyone returned to their beds and finally to sleep.

The hours ticked by without incident and soon morning came with the ringing of the alarms going off on the trio’s respective phones. And again, as Lexie was trying to get up out of bed only to be pinned down by Sunshine.

“Damn it Sunny, let me up! Uncle Tig, I need help and a word with that Hap. This has got to be his doing.” Lex yelled so that she knew she would be heard by the two who, from the clanking noises, were in the kitchen making coffee to start the day.

Vee made her way back with mug of coffee in had for Lex saying Tig fixed it for her knowing she’d need it to try to function in a socially acceptable way. Lex shook her head with a soft laugh again making the ‘you deck on out of line biker’ remark and gingerly got up to start her day by going to her closet and picking out a black spaghetti strap dress(1) and slipped it on once she completed her morning routine and downed her cup of coffee.

Tig helped her brushout her hair and put it up in a messy bun like he used to all those years ago. He was grateful for those moments back then and now. They helped keep him grounded in some of his loneliest moments since the time she left him and her home. Tig Trager was certainly a complex man but the things he held onto were simple things like this. He still had some issues with the fact that she left but was grateful she came home even if this was the hellish aftermath of that decision.

He smiled as his niece, “Well kiddo, I know it’s not as good as it used to be, but I am out of practice, and it has been at least fifteen years since I’ve done your hair…”

Lexie looked in a mirror and shook her head reassuring him, “It’s fine. It looks better than I could have done. And if memory serves the last hairstyle, you gave me was braided pigtails and I can promise you that crew at TM would have a field day if I rolled in with those…”

Tig laughed at his niece agreeing with her and started going over the plan for the day. Telling her that she is only going to be there for three hours max and if she felt like she needed to leave earlier that all she needed to do was say the word. Lexie nodded and agreed. She knew she wouldn’t make it much longer than that anyway and so there was no point in arguing with Tig. Vee and Tig got her out to her SUV, the vehicle for this outing as it was the bigger and more comfortable option, got her into the passenger seat as comfortable as possible, and made their way to TM.

Happy Had just finished walking Opie and was gearing up for the long day ahead of him. Through the night of tossing and turning he came to the realization that he had overreacted to Lexie wanting to try and push through her ordeal. He saw the point Tig had made and decided that he was being an overbearing overprotective ass, so he decided that he would clean himself up a bit more than he normally would for a long day of turning wrenches and getting covered in automotive fluids.

He had woken up about an hour before his alarm was set to go off upon checking the time on his phone, he made the decision to just get up and start the day. He showered and shaved and made sure he looked as close to he did when he and Lex got together as he could. The years had been mostly good to him in respect to his looks. He hadn’t changed all that much. A few new wrinkles here, added a few gray hairs in his stubble around his chin that he left there for Lex because he knew how much she enjoyed seeing him sporting that look. He also did something that he normally wouldn’t. Much like with Lexie’s shampoo that she used for special occasions solely because he loved the way it made her hair smell, he had a special bottle of after shave that he wore because she loved the way it smelled on him. He had put it away in the far back of his medicine cabinet because he would only ever wear that one for her.

He let out a heavy sigh as he looked at his watch thinking to himself that he needed to get going if he wanted to make that extra stop before going into TM. He corralled Ope and after telling him he’d see him later, he left for the day hoping his ‘I know I was an ass, please forgive me’ efforts are well received by Lexie.  

Tig arrived at TM with Lexie after what seemed to her, an hour of driving, instead of the actual ten minutes. Between her being uncomfortable in her own skin and her uncle drive a maximum of an entire fifteen miles an hour to not jostle her too much she was more than ready to exit her vehicle. However just as she was maneuvering herself to try to open the passenger door with her left hand, she was met by an oddly antsy Chibs opening her door for her and doing his best to gently help her down out of the vehicle.

“Easy there Darlin’. No need to rush. You’re already pushing yourself more than you should be…” He spoke in a soft tone. Almost as if he was a father trying to sooth his child after they had gotten hurt.

This surprised Lexie as she hadn’t never let him really get within arm’s reach of her much less him all but lifting her out of a vehicle. They were barely civil with each other and all of a sudden, he’s being overly nice and handling her with kid gloves as he insisted on personally escorting her over to the office that had oddly been outfitted with out of place soft cushions, quite a large cup of tea, and a small teddy bear wearing traditional Scottish attire, kilt shirt and sporran. Prompting her to laugh and give Chibs a small smile.

“Really now Telford?” She spoke in a playful tone giving him a wink. “There a reason that bear is wearing a skirt?” this too was said playfully just to get a rise out of the man. She was well informed on Scottish traditions and knew exactly what she was doing. She was messing with him to show him that she was still her and that he didn’t need to go to these lengths nor treat her differently than normal. She watched him as he started to show that she ruffled his feathers but caught himself as she spoke again, “I’m only joking around Chibsie. The bear in the kilt is adorable. Thank you.”

As she spoke, he made a face at her that appeared half annoyed and half ‘you little brat’ before his expression softened. “You’re welcome, Lass. Now enjoy that tea before it gets too cold to drink. It’s the good stuff not that Lipton crap they sell you over here.” He gave her a light nudge with his elbow and returned her wink with one of his own before spinning on his heel and leaving the office.

Soon the rest of the TM crew started to arrive, and everyone had made it a point to at least poke their head into the office to say hello and check on her before getting to work. What exactly happened wasn’t known to anyone outside of the club, but they had been informed that she was fairly beat up and wouldn’t be around much until she’s healed and feeling up to full days at the shop.

The minutes ticked by, and Lex was beginning to grow concerned by someone’s very noticeable absence. She figured Hap would have been the first one to the lot that morning and making sure she was comfortable. Not that he wouldn’t show up at all. Her heart began to sink as she sighed and started sorting through the mess that had been left on the desk in the office by the mechanics out of habit.

They got the shop opened up and started their work routine and tig would check in with her at five-minute intervals making sure she was okay. At about the fifth time of him doing this lex snapped at him that if he kept it up neither of them were going to get anything accomplished.

Lex snapping at him told him all he needed to know about the missing Happy situation. This wasn’t normal for him in the slightest and Tig was getting worried. To his knowledge Happy hadn’t even called to say he was running late.

Moments after the interaction with her uncle Lexie heard the familiar rumbling of Happy’s bike in the distance much to her relief as well as her uncle’s. Slowly she stood and made her way over to the door of the office watching him roll into the lot. She watched him park his bike with a sad smile on her bruised face. The argument she had had with Happy was still weighing heavy on her mind. She hoped that he would be willing to at least talk to her. She regrated yelling at him the night before. She should have figured out a way to tell him calmly that coming into TM, even if it was only for a few hours, was what needed to happen to keep her somewhat sane. To her surprise she saw the tall, lean biker heading directly for her.

Happy noticed her in the doorway of the office the moment he turned into the lot at Teller-Marrow, he always wondered how she knew it was his bike coming down the road. It comforted and freaked him out at the same time. As he walked toward the office, he carefully removed the backpack that carried the precious cargo that took him longer to get than he liked but he wasn’t showing up to see her without the contents in that bag. Getting closer to her he unzipped the backpack carefully and started to pull out what took him so long to retrieve.

Just as he got to Lexie he pull out a dozen of her favorite flowers, Lady Diana Roses(2). He offered an apologetic smile as he handed them to her, and hoped she would take them from him without too much fuss.

“Aw, Hap. You remembered…” was all she could say as she took them from him. She looked them over and reveled in their beauty. She offered him a small grateful smile and laid them on the desk and gently sat herself back down. Knowing Happy she figured he would want to talk about the previous night.

She was right, after he had jumped to help her sit back down, he started talking about why he had gotten so upset with her pushing to get back into her routine so soon after what she went through. Telling her how he felt, admitting to his fears surrounding the situation. His fear of her shutting down and bottling everything up instead of letting herself feel and process through the emotions and heal from the damage that had been inflicted upon her. And his fear of losing her, of her running away, her leaving him again.

Lexie nodded and listened to him voicing his fears and concern. Acknowledging that he had sound thoughts and theories. Telling him she understood him, and her track record wasn’t really confidence inspiring. She promised him that she wouldn’t be going anywhere this time. She was finally home and that was where she had planned on staying. She told him that yes, she still gets stir crazy from time to time when she’s cooped up at home too long and that was exactly her reason for coming into TM that morning. She knew that it would have only been a matter of time before she would start getting ‘twitchy’.

He nodded in agreement. He knew too well how she got when she wasn’t either able or allowed to do what she needed to because of one thing or another. He had perched himself against the desk and next to her, crossing his arms as they talked.

After Happy was satisfied that they were sufficiently on the same page, He mentioned he had one other thing for her and after pausing once he finally caught sight of the obviously Scottish bear that had been waiting on the desk in the office. Asking for the bear to stay in the office and noting Lex agreeing without hesitation, he reached into his cut and pulled out the tattoo design he had worked on the night before.

He had asked if she knew the meaning of a Medusa tattoo(3) and after her answer of no he explained that it meant survival, strength, and overcoming both the physical and psychological aftermath of that type of assault. He knew he didn’t need to explain the reason behind Medusa became the figure head for that as Lex was a student of Greek mythology. It was one of her main interests since she was a child. He still had some of her books on the subject packed away for her.

Lexie looked at him, “Hap, only way I’m getting that done is if you are the artist.” Her voice was soft, and it was clear that she was starting to tire out and it didn’t go unnoticed.

Happy noticed her tuckering out before him and offered her an understanding smile and excused himself momentarily. Returning about ten minutes later speaking in as gentle of a tine as he could muster, “Come on Sweetheart, lets get you back to Tig’s place so you can rest. I’ll stay with you for some time if you would like that…”

He trailed off, too engrossed in watching Lex delicately maneuvering herself to get up out of the chair she was in. He got to her and helped in supporting her knowing that she was soon going to need to medicate again.

Lex intuitively reached out for the hand that had been offered. Thanking Happy for not only helping her but for not pushing her away like some of the men in the club would have. She Gave him a tired smile, “So I guess you are the one driving me home?” She received a nod from Hap. “And how is tig getting home then?”

He sighed, “I suppose I will have to bring you SUV back to the lot, but I can wait to bring it back down later if you want me to stay with you for a little bit…”

Lexie nodded, and asked one simple thing, “And if I want you to stay with me?” Her voice was soft and showing her exhaustion as she held up her keys in her nonbroken had offering them to him.

Happy took her keys and escorted her to her vehicle. Making sure to keep a close watch on her making sure that any little bobble would be nothing more than just that. Last thing any of them needed was her falling over right after all the other issues. That would be an unequivocal setback for her.

Hap got her into the passenger seat and buckled up before getting himself in the driver’s side and situated ready to drive her back to Tig’s house. Along the way they talked a bit more about a little bit of everything. From the weather to some of the places she had lived and visited back east. The places she ended up living the longest and what places she loved almost as much as Charming.

It was the first easy organic conversation they had had since she came back. There were no expectations or explanations. Just the two of them reconnecting after all their time apart. They both knew that had she not been kidnapped and put through the nightmare that she was, this probably wouldn’t have happened this soon. It most likely would have taken months for them to get back to this level of comfort and ease between the two of them. This was the only positive to come from that nightmare.

As they pulled into the driveway of Tig’s home Lexie turned to Happy, who was still in the driver’s seat, and spoke quietly, “Hap, can you promise me something?”

Her question took Happy by surprise, which caused him to faulter momentarily before answering her, “I can try, Little Girl. You know how this life is…” He looked cautiously in her direction almost after of what she may have been about to ask of him.

Lexie nodded in agreement, she knew all too well how unpredictable the MC life could be, she took a deep breath and looked at her hands as she spoke, “Hap, after I’m healed and past the worst of this mess, will you promise to take me home with you?”

Happy could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment at her question he gave her one of his sly grins that he knew she loved so much, “Lex, if I knew Tig wouldn’t cut my balls off, Id take you home now…”

To Be Continued…

@camelia35​ 

Part 16

[missacidburn928]

My Ao3 is where I post all of my stories.

There's 26 works total spanning multiple fandoms. Click the link to give em a read 🖤

[ravennaortiz]

Summary: Kozik struggles with Karas rebellious behavior and anger at him following the death of her mom.

As always my stories are 18+. TW: Parental death referenced

"Its fine. The store owner doesn't want to press charges. They know she is just a girl grieving her mother" explained Unser as he watched Kozik pace the lobby. "Annie has been dead for three months its time she start moving on in the process. Besides this is the fourth time in the last twenty-four hours she has been picked up for mischief" replied Kozik a hint of anger in his voice.

Kozik weighed his options as he glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost five on a Friday. Maybe some tough love would get her back on the path. Rubbing his face roughly he turned his back to Unser and sighed. Annie I'm not built to raise a teenage daughter on my own. Forgive me for this he thought to himself.

"Keep her till Monday." stated Kozik without turning back to Unser as he made his way to the doors. "That" started Unser before Kozik waved him off dismissively.

Unser sighed as he made his was back to his office. This was not going to go over well. He hated to go against a parent but he didn't agree that Kara should have to sit all weekend in lockup because she tagged a dick on a wall with the words- my dad sucks- on it. Not when her grief was fresh. Picking up his phone he scrolled through until he landed on Tigs number.

Later Clubhouse

Kozik was making out with a crow eater in a dark corner when he felt a hand yank him backwards. "Are you fucking kidding me?" snarled Tig as he looked down at Kozik. His blue eyes ablaze in anger. "So whats the plan? Keep my goddaughter locked up so you can wet your dick all weekend? For what because she is hurt, sad and angry about not only her mom dying but her pathetic excuse for a dad deciding she has to move out of state?" ranted Tig as he kicked Kozik in the ribs as Chibs and Jax moved to separate them.

"Get off me. He's not worth it" snapped Tig as he shrugged the two men off him. "Where you going?" called Kozik as Tig stormed to the door. "To get Kara and take her to my house for the weekend." called Tig without a look back.

Three Years Later

"Thanks for calling Tig and letting me know." sighed Kozik as he let himself slide down the wall of his house. "No, its fine. I'll come down in a few days and us three can talk about it. Tell her I love her" he added before ending the call. Sighing he let the tears that had been building slide down his face. His daughter hated him so much she had hitchhiked her way to Charming.

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[mariajbee]

Just made a new blog !! Can't get on my old one 😭 gimme some good art/fanart accounts to follow

[roadtogracelandx45]

If anyone wants to send a prompt from my list tonight or tomorrow to help settle my anxiety and worry about my dad having another neck surgery and all of the health issues from the previous surgeries.

[rimunagenius]

Rimunagenius’ Masterlist

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ʚ Hi, i’m Ri. Welcome to my blog. I write age appropriate and non age appropriate (NSFW; SFW) fan fictions and headcannons!! You will be able to differentiate them with the warning labels at the start of each fiction or headcannon.

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[tumbleweedstillhaspanic]

So...I did it....I updated it. I hope it's not awful...I haven't written for this fandom since around 2017ish.