#holyfailed

everyone seemed to be on high alert. between atf, the mayans, the irish, and everything else that was going on around the club alexis was running on fumes. sleep eluded him. his mind was racing with possibilities and plans. on the one hand, he was trying to think of what they'd have to do, just in case. on the other, the biker's mine was also swirling with the ways he needed and wanted to keep jordan safe.

he'd been sitting on the couch, boots kicked up onto the small wooden coffee table while waiting for her to stop by his house after work. the more time they spent together, the more he found himself wanting to keep it that way. didn't help that most of the club already gave him shit for what they thought was happening. every time he reminded them it wasn't their fucking business? only seemed to fuel the fire. one of these days his eyeballs were going to pop out of his head from rolling so hard.

the soft click of the front door caused his body to jolt. when had he fallen asleep? hands instantly reach out for a weapon to touch his fingers. " no, babe, " alexis says without thinking. a calloused palm rubs down his face to wipe away the evidence of sleep. seeing jordan at the door means he's abandoned the gun by setting it on the coffee table when his feet move to the floor.

a yawn escapes him.

"You come here often?" Juniper asked as the other woman sauntered over to the bar. A shitty, cheesy line, she knows, but it's been used on her umpteen times tonight, and she's feeling a little silly, levels a little grin at the other woman then looks at the bartender. "I'm buying whatever she's having." She says, jerking her head in the brunette's direction. "Just put 'er on my tab." Then she turns to face the girl and holds out a manicured hand, "Juniper... I'm your problem for tonight. Hope you're prepared."

[  ...  ]               owen  spent  most  of  his  nights  traveling  from  town  to  town  in  california.  he  lived  for  finding  the  dead-end  demon  bars  that  had  no-good,  disgusting  creatures  that  sought  out  to  hurt  the  innocents  that  surrounded  them.  tonight,  he  had  no  bounty  to  collect,  it  was  a  free  night  for  him.  he  spent  it  in  a  country  dive  bar  on  the  outskirts  of  town;  enjoying  a  beer  and  a  cigarette,  gathering  his  energy  for  the  next  mission  he  would  accept  from  a  good  paying  pair  of  hands.  that's  when  he  heard  some  degenerate  drunk  bothering  a  woman  that  didn't  look  like  she  invited  him  to  do  so.  he  comes  up  from  behind  the  stranger  and  places  a  threatening  hand  on  his  shoulder,  squeezing  it  tightly,    ❝     come  on,  man,  leave  'er  alone.  doesn't  look  like  she  wants  to  deal  with  your  incel  ass,  alright   ?    ❞  he  declared.

                Knuckles    grow    white    from    the    force    he's    squeezing    his    phone    with.    Teeth    clench    and    the    look    on    his    face    is    not    something    you'd    want    to    see    in    person.    He    wants    so    badly    to    throw    the    phone    across    the    room,    to    chuck    it    out    of    his    sight,    pretend    none    of    this    is    fucking    happening.    It's    his    fuck    up,    but    at    the    moment    he    refuses    to    admit    it.    He    has    a    fragile    ego,    especially    when    his    wife    has    decided    they    needed    to    split    up.    Rightfully    so.    She    deserves    better.    He    knows    she    deserves    better.    And    yet    he    wants    to    keep    her    all    for    himself,    at    this    moment.

THREE WORD SENTENCE STARTERS - accepting

IT WAS A MYSTERY HOW SLAYERS LIVED PAST A YOUNG AGE.        it  came  down to control & who wielded it best. it may have been a bad idea to have a rougarou of all creatures train a POTENTIAL but there was no one else. BUFFY SUMMERS had an empire to rule now. the little scavengers had to fend for themselves. she needs fuckin' work, linc thought as he watched her.      "      stop tryin' to dance with the fucker. duck, weave & go for 'he fuckin' throat. who is in control? make 'em fuckin' scared of you!      "

@holyfailed's playlist inspired starter. Control by Halsey.

emotionless gaze, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 & 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧, showed no signs of letting up. both accustomed to & unhappy with change, bear couldn't help but to notice it in even the smallest of forms ; though noticing 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 didn't necessarily mean that he could always pinpoint just what that something was. ＂ why do you look different today ? ＂