𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔩

"Believe it or not, the whole aliens built ancient monuments and wonders has pretty strong links to Nazi-specific occultism and white supremacist ideology. Same with Atlantis. And with the slow shift of the political center further and further towards the right it's starting to pick up a little bit of steam. I try not to think about what it's gonna look like after Obama, if shit doesn't change."

With the lo mein re-homed and the sight of the gentle flush to his cheeks prompting a smile, Mary Jane reaches towards the table to pick up the orange chicken she'd set aside earlier. She gestures emphatically with her own fork as she continues speaking. "But basically it starts with the aliens built the pyramids because ancient civilizations couldn't have had something like math or engineering and then it builds to the aliens did everything remotely impressive and then it starts morphing into truly bananas race science. Not that there's really a point where it's not bananas but..."

Her voice trails off and she shrugs one shoulder, looking at one a little bashful for the unexpected rambling, and pleased with being able to show off some of that knowledge to someone she'd actually like to impress. As if to see just how much is allowed, Mary Jane shifts forward just a little, just enough that her shins are leaned against his thigh. It's a slow build, a gradual build, no matter that she'd like to do more, no matter that she's used to doing things much faster.

Funny. If someone told her that she'd be showing up in the middle of nowhere, California, and catching herself staring a little (a lot) too long at a biker to call it unattached and professional interest, she'd probably have believed it, but she would have guessed she'd lose interest with taking things so slow. And yet, here she is, second- and third-guessing her every move, determined to build some bridges without frightening him off. She feels like a teenager again, in those years before she learned how to wear confidence like armor and wield it like a weapon.

Her lips spread into a bright smile and she straightens a little more at the offer. "Seriously? You'd do that for me? It would be a huge help. Nothing's guaranteed, of course, but I have a really good feeling about this. We've been talking about a west coast office for ages. If we set one up in San Francisco, I can go down for a day or two a week, have a place I can actually afford out here..."

something in her tone has an image of juice popping in to his head. those nights when he went with his brother over to the dispensary he was part owner of and all the weird shit they'd talk about around the glass cases. now that opie was thinking about it, he's pretty fucking certain he could hear these exact same words coming out of the younger man's mouth. at the time, the biker brushed it off as a bunch of people talking out of their asses. it wasnt because mj was ( much ) prettier that he was taking everything more seriously but she's a journalist. research and truth are essentially her job no matter the capitalist agenda.

as his fork stabs into the pile of noodles, he's suddenly self conscious of his lack of education. both he and jax were very, very street smart but they dropped out of high school to be prospects with the sons. once they'd become patched members they finished the process for their g.e.d.

" i don't remember what it's called but i've heard this theory about civilizations going through cycles. kinda like the ice age, i guess. have you ever read wheel of time? i can't imagine the language being up your alley because jordan is not... " both eyebrows raise up at some of the language he forced himself to get through, mainly when it related to descriptions of the female body. " but it's a similar concept. their past was much more technologically advanced than the present. because of the, " opie clears his throat. " the wheel. "

he never mentioned to anyone that he read in his free time. mainly because he didn't have much of it. most of his reading was done when everyone in the house was asleep. in fact, several of his books were tucked away in his room over at the clubhouse. " none of which is very relevant to the aliens. " yet, he could understand why it was a racist ideology to think someone else swooped in to help all these people. he heard racist pieces of shit talk every day of his life.

when her shin presses up against his leg it's oddly automatic to lower one of his hands to slide against her calf. the warmth seeps down into his skin, settling something indescribable. he and donna never had conversations like this. fuck, when was the last time they had a conversation that didn't end up with one of them walking away all pissed off?

"It's alright, honey." What else is there to say? Astoria doesn't comment on the tear she sees fall, any more than she comments on the way he seems almost haunted, now. "You love him, too. You want to do right by him. I'd think less of you if you weren't concerned." She runs her thumbnail along the curve of her lower lip, brows knit in a frown, as she considers her next words. After a beat, she lets out a slow breath, and she looks back at Opie, a rueful smile playing at her lips. "You're a good friend. He's lucky to have you."

She shifts, then, tucks her hands underneath her thighs, certain that if she doesn't they'll start to shake. Saying the next part is hard, harder than she wants to admit. (Telling Jax was easy—but telling Jax is always easier than telling anyone else would be, isn't it? This is the hard part: telling anyone else.) "I think I know how that goes," she says, voice very, very soft. "The first time you hear that it's your fault they're lashing out at you, you might believe it, but there's still some piece of you that has enough fight to think, wait a second, what did I do? And then the thousandth time you hear it, that fight's gone."

Astoria clears her throat, sniffs, flexes her fingers under her thighs. By the time anyone had laid a hand on her, she'd stopped fighting it. She almost says as much, but she knows how this goes, too, knows that Opie loves Donna as much as he ever did, knows that the gentle nudge towards maybe how she treated you wasn't okay is something to take very, very slowly.

"Is that why you're taking things so slow with MJ?" she asks instead—that much is safer, even if only slightly. "You don't know what to make of her?" From what Astoria can tell, Opie's new friend is much more willing to accept the help offered to her, and she doesn't seem to have much trouble saying anything, let alone how she feels. "It feels weird, when someone shows you affection differently than you expect. Feels almost like a trap. But for what it's worth, I think she's pretty crazy about you. And I think she's good for you."

for a moment, or maybe more, opie's lost in the land of possibilities. what would his life be life if donna weren't stressed to the point she was. what would his relationship with everyone look like with his kids if they had something like the journal astoria was creating for abel? all those pictures? all those weekly visitations so he could sit there and let his children know they were loved even if he couldn't be there with them every day.

on vaguely does he recognize the shift in astoria; the way she sits and the tension in her muscles. for reasons he doesn't understand it makes his own start to bunch up at the shoulders, until there's a burn at the base of his neck. under normal circumstances he'd be braced but he's also never had that kind of reaction to astoria. it happened more often with mj, even if he didn't understand why or why he was left more confused when something didn't happen. although, now that he was thinking about it, he also never felt that way around gemma. well, not unless she was shouting at someone.

not liking the train of thought he was falling down, opie looks down at his hands. there's still a slight discoloration on his ring finger that he hones in on. " i mean, it was stuff i was already hearing from my mom. she was slinging anything new, " came one shrug of the shoulder. " given how uncomfortable astoria looked the biker didn't bother to mention the kinds of things that came out of his mother's mouth; how often she called him a piece or shit. or how often she called piney worthless.

"Only thing you're interrupting is me eating takeout and watching a documentary on Stonehenge. Twenty bucks says it's another one that ends with the aliens theory. Come on in."

There are a handful of things she's been able to do to make the place feel a little more homey. The first thing she did was steam clean every inch of it: the carpets, the mattress, the couch, the chair. Everything else got scrubbed down with ammonia. She's turned down every offer from the motel's staff to clean, preferring instead to handle it herself. Then there was the matter of the slipcover she packed thrown over the couch, the bedding she picked up for cheap at a nearby Walmart, a tablecloth thrown over the wobbling table just off the kitchenette.

And then, of course, her notes. Everything in her own shorthand, illegible to anyone else who might look at it, stacked in piles, spread out on the floor near the couch and shoved, now, into a small stack to one side. The coffee table (a little more stable than the other) is covered in Chinese takeout, now, and Mary Jane sweeps an arm out towards it in invitation. "I've got enough to last a few days. Help yourself."

She's traded her armor for something a little more comfortable, brown leather jacket and sensible shoes traded for a sweater and a pair of slippers. Her most recent article is in, and she's giving herself a rare night off, and she's glad Opie showed up in no small part because she's been talking herself out of calling him since she shut her laptop down. She locks the door behind him, then crosses the room and drops back onto the couch; it's only a moment before she's settled in again, comfortable as she's ever been, leaning back against the arm of the couch with her slippered feet tucked under her.

charming was not, in any way, known for it's five star accommodations. the motel mj was staying in was no exception, which reminded him that he needed to put word out she was protected just in case darby or any of those assholes thought to try and hit her up. he wasn't supposed to be that close but that didn't stop him from trying.

stepping inside, opie stopped like he was seeing something from the twilight zone. everything looked clean. fuck, it looked downright adorable in the room; a miracle for any motel and not just the ones in charming. there was even a tablecloth. " holy shit, " the tall biker whispered to himself. he'd been worried about mj staying in the place. now? now he felt like it was even better than his house. " did you do all this? "

" wait, " the words from the front door hit him before he takes another step into the small room. nevermind that it looked cozy as all hell or that mj was essentially inviting him in for dinner. no, the part that catches up with him is, " did you say ' aliens?' "

in the small space, opie tries his best to respect all the work she'd clearly put into making the room look homey by taking off both kutte and boots. his leathers are set on the arm of the couch while the boots are tucked in close to his feet, just to keep them out of the way. fortunately, he'd showered before coming over so the rest of his clothes were fresh as a daisy. no work to smear all over.

before sitting down, he takes the offered carton of mein. fingers brush briefly against hers. opie turns his head towards the television in fear that the heat in his cheeks becomes visible. hopefully the lighting in the room was too dark to tell. even better is if it didn't show at all.

" why would anyone think stone henge was built by aliens? they fly all the way over here and play jenga? " his tone is more curious than anything judgmental. it's also a question meant to push aside his own need to jump on the idea of mj staying in charming for any length of time beyond her current assignment. she made him feel seen and as much as he wanted more of it he was also scared of getting used to it.

Long years of careful control over every reaction, every expression, every word has her steady, but there's a hot, vicious anger building in her stomach with each word. Silently, Astoria leans over to collect her bag from where she'd left it beside the desk, and once she has it, she digs out the journal in question and opens it to the first page, holds it out for Opie to take and look through.

"My father didn't know about me until I was eighteen. We spent my next birthday together, and we made it through the whole day before he broke down over dinner. He just sobbed because he'd missed eighteen birthdays. When he met me, I was already an adult, and I'd been shaped by the absence where he would have been if he'd known. And it broke his heart. You saw Jax while Abel was in Ireland—he was in agony. How do you think he's handling fourteen months without his baby boy? After everything he went through to get him back? With how badly he wants to be Abel's dad?"

The journal is full of lists. Details. What Abel wears, what he eats. The songs she sings to him to get him to sleep. The kids' shows he likes to watch. The albums he wants her to play while she's making dinner or tidying up while he plays. The toys he likes. "I've got Abel's first words, his first steps, on tape. I have hundreds of pictures by now. I get a hand print every month so Jax can see how he's growing. I can't give him this time back, but fuck if I'm not going to try.

"I'm calm because there's a kid who relies on me to survive, and I don't have the luxury of panicking if I want to take care of him. I'm accepting the help because I need it, and I don't have the luxury of pride if I want to give Abel what he deserves. And the journal writing and pictures means that when Jax gets out, he'll know his son, because this isn't about me. It's about my family. So, no." Her voice is steady, calm; she hasn't shouted, hasn't snapped, and it's starting to piece itself together as she watches Opie. She sounds almost kind. "I don't enjoy it. It feels like I'm missing a lung.I'm scared shitless, all the time, and I'm fucking heartbroken, but I love Jax enough to figure this out anyway. I told him I was in it for the long run and I meant it. Fourteen months, fourteen years, he can have it all."

" my mom knew about me and she ran the other direction, " one shoulder shrugged. not the point of the story but an illustration all the same. everyone came from something fucked up and he was trying as hard as he could to make sure his kids didn't do the same. funny that, despite all that trying, they were growing up without their mother anyway. although, it was a different way than he did. neither kenny nor ellie would have to find the hatred in their mother's eyes or feel venom spit upon their skin. he'd gone wrong somewhere but that was something he was trying to atone for every single fucking day.

there's a flinch he doesn't understand when astoria pulls something out of her purse and shoves it in his direction. opie feels his jaw steel against the sensation. his back straightens just a fraction. when he looks down and realizes it's a book - a journal - the slight slouch he always walks around with comes back until he plops down into the chair beneath the window meant for customers.

under normal circumstances he wouldn't go through someone else's journal no matter what he thinks is inside. no one needs that kind of invasion. since it's offered and they're both trying to make a point, the biker figures it couldn't hurt.

....called me "mama"....

opie feels his head jerk at that, too. surprise lifts his eyebrows. each word pulls him in deeper and deeper. all accounts of abel, mostly. several sentences denote how much she herself misses jax. photos fall out from between the pages. there's notes everywhere and it's very clear she's trying to capture as much of their life that jax is missing as she possibly can.

" shit, " a tear drops onto one of the pictures. instantly, he's putting the edge of his sleeve down to soak it away. " sorry. " at the same time, he slams the book shut so nothing else gets damaged by his looking through. " i thought. i've never seen anyone... " why hadn't donna thought to do any of this? would ellie be scared of him if all this love was put into a book?

It's not what she's expecting. Astoria's eyes snap up from where they'd been fixed on the files she's trying to organize, and she sets them on the desk and leans back, considering Opie for a long moment before she answers. "'Course I'm mad. At Stahl, who's dead. And Cameron Hayes, who's dead. And Zobelle, who's gone. And Hale, who's dead. And Unser, who I don't talk to, anyway. And I'm not completely thrilled with Clay, but he's locked up, too, so I mean, what good is screaming going to do? What happened isn't Jax's fault, or any of yours, and even if it was, what's done is done."

She stands, then, stretching; she's been sitting for hours, hunched over the desk, and she realizes with unexpected clarity that she'd settled in comfortably, like she'd been in this space for years, like she was in her own office, like she was home.

"The way I see it, I knew what I was getting into, and I made the decision to stick around anyway. So I'm taking care of him however I can. I can't give him back the time he's going to lose with his son, but I can make sure he has a record of it, and I can make sure Abel knows how much his dad loves him. And I can't bring him home now, but I can make sure he's got a home to come back to, right?"

There's something she's not getting, she's sure. She didn't know Donna well—they never spoke in person, and what she heard was a series of caveats and conditions. She's a nice girl going through a hard time. She loves Opie but she doesn't love the club. Gemma had been more forthright, in the way she always was, and the impression Astoria was left with was of a woman more in love with her anger, her resentment, than her agency.

opie can feel his eyebrows pinching together as astoria gets up and out of the chair. confusion decorates his face, somewhere on the edge of anger. donna would never be so calm when he was behind bars. she was always yelling and lashing because of her pain. pain that he caused by fucking up and getting caught. " i just don't understand how you can be so calm. why are you taking the help? why all the boo hoo journal writing and pictures? it's almost like you're enjoying the fact that he's gone. " not what he originally thought of when astrid pushed him to say something but now that he'd said it everything made sense.

because he's jax's best friend it's his job to make sure the family is okay. life sucked in the sense that he was taking care of his own and couldn't be there for abel as much as he wanted to.

Six months of waking up alone in the middle of the night to soothe a fussy toddler. Six months of solo bath times and exhausted attempts to get him to eat, trying to keep the house relatively clean despite whatever tantrum is brewing next. Six months of home videos and two full journals, packed with details of their day-to-day and photographs developed at the local grocery store. She's on journal number three and that one's close to full, too. Her hand doesn't cramp quite as much when she writes for an hour or two after she's gotten the little one to sleep, and she takes the little victories when she can. Six months, too, of Sundays spent visiting, so that he never forgets what his father looks like, or the sound of that voice.

If Astoria had doubts before this that she could handle the life, they're gone now. She and Abel are managing, somehow: dinner every other night with Gemma, who feels the emptiness in her house just as much as Astoria does, have helped more than Astoria cares to admit. She's never felt the truth in it takes a village like she does when Alix stops by to watch Abel so Astoria can go grocery shopping on her own for once, or the time Chibs slept on the couch because Astoria had the flu and he figured someone else should be waking up at ass o'clock if Abel couldn't sleep through the night. The first few months were hell, and it's easier now, enough so that when Gemma shoots her a desperate look across the parking lot at the garage, Astoria knows what she needs without asking.

"Go on," she assures her, allowing Gemma to gather Abel into her arms, "get some space, I've got this." They'll spend the afternoon in a park, pretending for a moment that everything's perfectly normal, and Astoria will answer phones and manage accounts and follow up with customers and be perfectly polite in her place. "Call me if you need anything." Gemma shoots her a grateful smile as Astoria heads in, and she thinks for a moment that they've learned how to work well together, that she never would have guessed that this was where they'd land a year ago.

And because she's an adult, and because this is a well-oiled machine, and because she can handle this, she doesn't say anything at first when she notices the strange look Opie casts her way, and she doesn't say anything when Opie seems not to know how to interact with her today, and it's not until things start to settle down in the mid-afternoon that Astoria mentions it at all.

the first time shay mentioned the journal thing all opie did was raise an eyebrow. why the face? his brother asked as they steeled themselves for a repo job. profanity, crying, and the whole nine yards. hearing it through the grapevine helped him forget it was even happening. what hit home was the first time he saw astrid jotting something down at the bar in the clubhouse and then again in the office of teller morrow. it raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

he'd always gone back and forth on whether or not he trusted her. not only did she come out of nowhere right before stahl brought atf down on their asses but she didn't....freak out. no yelling. no passion. did she even give a shit about jax? how could she when that smile was always plastered on her face. which, fine, whatever. wasn't the first time jax stuck it in someone for the sake of having company. but now that she was running his life while he was stuck in stockton for fourteen months? that feeling in his stomach was in overdrive.

pulling the pack of cigarettes from his front pocket, opie takes a light to the tip and inhales. " do not, " was the knee-jerk reaction. eyebrows pinch together. did he wish donna would've asked for help like astrid was doing? maybe. probably. sure. but at least donna showed enthusiasm. the words didn't always come out right and sometimes she swung in the middle of a fight but there was never any question on what donna could handle.

she holds him so tight, she feels like she might squeeze the air out of her own lungs. her cheek pressed to his chest. they sway back and forth so slow. opie's warm. and strong and solid and hers. lyla doesn't know what right turn she made in the road of her life that lead her to where she is this second. but wherever that fork was? she's so fucking glad she took it. cause there's not a day that passes that she isn't a million times grateful for the person she's clinging to being in her life. and the fact that he loves her? just blows her mind away.

cause he loves her for her. not for what she does. or who she's done. but just for lyla. the real one. and all her flaws and mistakes and everything in between, too.

her heart practically explodes every time she looks in his eyes. then melts each time his lips meet the top of her head. or her forehead. but it's when the low rumble of his voice comes out of his throat that she pulls back enough to look up at him. her smile's instant and she tilts her head, listening.

she lifts up onto her toes. lips finding lips and lingering with the sweetest smile that is reserved only for him. "can't be stuck when i'm picking to be this way. or maybe we're just both stuck? i can deal with that." his lips on her cheek make her knees weak. funny how it's the lightest kisses that do her in the quickest.

no one kisses girls like her like that.

just opie.

fingers stretch out against the small of his back. pale pint painted nails trace a light circle on top of his shirt. til they dip in and graze over his skin. feathery touches that flutter about. her opposite hand? it comes up and cups the back of his head so she can pull him down and brush her lips over his one more time. then hold him there. nose to nose. mouth to mouth as she speaks.

"you know? i thought i had a good life before you? wasn't normal. nothing about me's ever been normal," he can feel a playful little grin form before she continues, "but it wasn't anything close to what it was after you. it wasn't good. it was just living. so... thank you." her nose brushes back and forth over the tip of his.

     it hadn’t been easy to get here.  the part of him that wanted to self sabotage for whatever bullshit childhood reasons had been in full swing.  as they swayed together opie knew deep in his heart that if he’d gone back inside stockton at any early part of their relationship he would’ve tried to push lyla to the edge of her limits just to prove she’d abandon him like everyone else.  that he was so fucked up he didn’t deserve the love she so freely gave him.  hell, as it was, he’d put her through the ringer.  opie had been so used to negative reactions and feedback that he’d entered this thing on the defensive.  top that off with all the shit going on with the club and he was honestly surprised they’d made it this far.

     although, he shouldn’t be.  lyla had proven herself to be every bit dedicated and loyal to the life as gemma was.

     even here, in the safety of them opie could understand that his problem with her profession wasn’t about whether or not lyla performed on camera.  it was some weird, fucked worry that she’d leave.  logic reminded him it was all a show and that his problems were all deep-seeded insecurity.  whether that was whether she’d find someone better or that she’d remember he didn’t live up to anyone’s fantasy was unclear.  

ₓ ˚ .   ୭   ˚ ○ ◦ ˚     as always, some triggering content may be present! change any pronouns to better suit your muse(s) needs!     ˚ ◦ ○ ˚   ୧   . ˚ ₓ

flowers grow back even after the harshest winters, you will too.

at your absolute best, you still won’t be good enough for the wrong person—at your worst, you’ll still be worth it to the right person.

the more people i meet, the more disappointed i am.

love can make up for a lot.

maybe i’ll see you in another life—if this one wasn’t enough.

one of the hardest lessons in life is letting go.

don’t wait until you’ve reached your goal to be proud of yourself.

give me all your stress and worries, i’ll take it all just to see you smile.

don’t ask yourself what the world needs, ask yourself what makes you come alive.

we are products of our past but we don’t have to be prisoners of it.

what would i do if i weren’t afraid?

there is a strange warm grace in not being alone.

closing your eyes and plugging up your ears won’t make time stand still.

i learned not to trust people.

we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever.

it is possible to lie, and even to murder, with the truth.

i think i might always be in some kind of love with you.

we fight to hold on and we fight to let go.

i find that music is so much more attractive than love.

if you light a lamp for someone else it will also brighten your path.

i thought i could imagine how much this would hurt, but i was wrong.

deep in my heart, i know i am a loner.

they lash out because if they can see that their words hurt someone else, it makes them feel as if they aren’t completely powerless.

you have nothing to prove to anybody.

what the world needs is people who are alive.

people don’t want to hear the truth because they don’t want their illusions destroyed.

you have to do what’s best for you—not what’s best for somebody else.

do you say what you really mean?

tomorrow is another chance.

have patience with all things, but first with yourself.

keep moving forward.

the less i know, the better.

don’t listen to yourself—listen to the advice that you give others.

becoming fearless isn’t the point. that’s impossible. it’s learning how to control your fear, and how to be free from it.

people will say terrible things when they’re scared..

you deserve someone who answers.

you can’t fix me, let me have my bad days.

we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened for us.

i knew this was going to happen.

the truth is often a terrible weapon of aggression.

you alone are enough.

millions of people can believe in you, and yet none of it matters if you don’t believe in yourself.

the love we have for each other is bigger than these small differences.

are you really how you're perceived to be?

i just want to be your peace.

i’m afraid that if you look at a thing long enough, it loses all of its meaning.

falling in love doesn’t always lead to heartbreak.

eyes are blind. you have to look with the heart.

i have always known life damages us. we can’t escape that damage.

there is no way to happiness: happiness is the way.

sometimes you just have to jump.

change is never easy.

keep your eyes wide open, only a coward closes his eyes.

sometimes you make choices in life, and sometimes choices make you.

you can’t always wait for the perfect time.

to live is the rarest thing in the world, most people exist—that is all.

there's no shortcut to forgetting someone. you have to endure missing them until you don't.

it is the things you cannot see coming that are strong enough to kill you.

nothing’s going to disappear just because you can’t see what’s going on. things will even be worse the next time you open your eyes.

you started caring too late.

that’s the kind of world we live in.

it’s never too late to change the direction that your life is going in.

i take much pleasure in being alone.

appreciate those who don’t give up on you.

when your head lays on my chest, i want you to forget the world and all it’s problems.

only a coward closes his eyes.

however rare true love may be, it is less so than true friendship.

you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.

bad ideas make the best memories.

telling you to "go fuck yourself" is considered rude in most social situations.

if i had a flower for every time i thought of you, i could walk through my garden forever.

it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

some hearts understand each other—even in silence.

be nice to yourself.

we can be mended, we mend each other.

any goodbye makes room for a hello.

survival is a talent.

never confuse your mistakes with your value as a human being.

allow yourself to hope and believe again.

you need to distance yourself so you can discover what you want out of life.

god gives every bird its food, but he does not throw it into its nest.

remind yourself that it’s ok not to be perfect.

people will never forget how you made them feel.

soft hearted people know what people did to them, but they forgive them again and again because they have beautiful hearts.