
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6964252.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Sons_of_Anarchy
  Relationship:
      Gemma_Teller_Morrow/Tig_Trager, Clay_Morrow/John_Teller, Venus_Van_Dam/
      Nero_Padilla
  Character:
      Gemma_Teller_Morrow, Tig_Trager, Clay_Morrow, John_Teller, Venus_Van_Dam,
      Nero_Padilla
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Drug_Use, Consensual_Underage_Sex, Underage_Drinking, Non-
      Canonical_Relationships, Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-05-25 Words: 2493
****** A Concept of Anarchy ******
by LovelyPlantPrincess
Summary
     After the recent passing of her younger brother, Gemma Madock’s
     parents move her out to Timbuktu, Nowhere and she hates it instantly.
     But with a slightly goofy, extremely attractive young drug dealer and
     his squad of oddball friends, she might find herself enjoying more of
     this shitty little place afterall.
Notes
     This is just a concept. If you guys love it, I'll work on it and
     attempt to complete it (me and multi chaptered fics never get along).
     It'll take awhile for the new chapter of course, but I just want
     feedback. A Tig/Gemma coming of age story - yes or no?
                     Chapter I: We’re Going to Be Friends
The beaten up old moving truck rumbles beneath Gemma as it ambles along the
strict roads, the jolts and vibrations making it difficult for her to prop her
elbow on the windowsill and gaze at the scenery - if one could call the moving
landscape even  that  . It’s becoming more obvious that these parts are mostly
desert - dirt, dirt, an occasional cactus, and  even more dirt  - and it’s
absolutely infuriating the young anarchist that there’ll be no more sneaking
out of her bedroom to go to a party or rally or any of  that  business now that
Charming is ten fucking  miles  away. She can’t even remember the last time she
saw a quick stop, or even a  decent looking house. Around these parts, it looks
like it’s all trailer parks and tumbleweeds.
She can tell she’s going to hate it out here without having set foot on the
dusty roads. Gemma has a habit of just knowing these things, and this is one of
the things she just knows. It’s all backwoods and back wards , and she didn’t
think it could get as small-towned as Charming but she consistently stands
corrected. The fifteen-year-old girl is almost a thousandpercent positive that
her and her parents will be the only ones around with a full set of teeth.
The mental image of her holier than thou mother rocking a yellowed, coffee-
stained smile to church forces a huff of amused air from the teenager’s nose.
“It’s not so bad,” the mover sighs, shifting the steering wheel to the other
hand. Gemma tears her eyes away from the window to look at him. “I know what
you’re thinking - I thought it too when my mom and step-dad moved us out around
these parts. But trust me, this is just a stretch of land before you get to
where you’ll be staying, and that won’t be as bad as… this .”
The guy is surprisingly nice for such an angry looking exterior, and she can’t
help but be shocked that  he actually lived around here. If anything, she
thought he was just a Charming Valley boy looking to earn a little summer cash
driving trucks around. He’s certainly way too attractive to be the white
trailer trash she’d seen so far - shining azure eyes that sparkle under the
scalding sunlight, a mane of dark messy curls tucked under a baseball cap
flipped backwards, and a pearly white dimpled smile that entirely combats her
stereotype of people that lived in these rural areas. The only thing that
betrays he might be some sort of ‘gangbanger’ or any of the sort are the
various tattoos peeking from under the sleeves of his t-shirt and the one on
his inner forearm.
“Yeah, well… so far it looks like hell,” she pouts, because fuck it - she’ll
allow herself to be a spoiled brat just this once. Cute guy or not. She never
asked for much  else  in life before - she was too busy looking after Junior,
teaching him never to grow up like Nate or Rose, being the mother their  actual
mother couldn’t dirty her palms being. She was going to kick up as much dust as
she could now - especially since there could no longer be any repercussions to
fall back on her little brother.
“I know, I know. Like I said - I hated it too. I’m not gonna lie - the school
around here is shitty as hell and there’s not much to do for fun, so it’ll be
hard adjusting. But think about it - you’re about as far away from Jehovah’s
Witnesses as you can get,” he grins, drumming his fingers against the wheel.
She barks out a sharp bit of laughter before turning her head back towards the
window. The sky is at least gorgeous, a beautiful pastel blue that she looks
forward to photographing. “S’your name?”
“Gemma Madock,” she replies, another shocker hitting her. Everyone in  Charming
knew her name - her father was their beloved preacher, Nate Madock, and a
wholesome man that the church women swooned over. Her mother was the head woman
of their tupperware parties, always bringing out the best dishes and bowls for
her father’s jealous congregation of women to drool over, the silent ‘you lucky
bitch’ dying on their lips. And those that didn’t know her that way knew her
from school - the chainsmoking, the heavy eyeliner, the gaudy black, the mouth
of a sailor or as the girl that photographs their prom pictures for free. Gemma
was  known . It’s the first time she’s been genuinely asked her name since she
was a toddler.
“Ah. Your pap’s the preacher over at Zion?” And there it is. She braces herself
for the typical ‘you don’t look like a preacher’s daughter’ or some lecture
about how she should dress more appropriately if she was gonna be related to a
man of that godly status. Like she had a choice to be related to him. “No mean
to pry, but why is the good holy man and his family moving to Methhead City? I
mean, I live here, but that’s expected what with…”
The driver trails off, gives a small shake of his head, and spares a quick
glance to Gemma. She watches him for a moment before shrugging.
“My brother, Junior? Or well, the good holy folk know him as Nathaniel. He
passed away about six months ago. And my mom couldn’t handle all the sour
memories of that place, so she insisted that we get away from our old house.
She was adamant that my smoking, partying and drinking came from the death of
Junior, and once I was in a new environment, I’d make a change for the better.
Hypocritical bitch drinks like a fish, but that’s neither here nor there. It
just took her two times of putting her mouth somewhere she wouldn’t dare on any
other day and Nate was saying it’d be good to get us away from Charming.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t committed to leaving his congregation. So we moved a
hundred billion miles away from the nearest dealer,” Gemma snorts. The driver
does too, and he looks to her again - this time his eyes alight with amusement
and eagerness.
“I didn’t take you for a tweaker. Do you need to score? My step-daddy’s always
got some really good shit. What’re you looking for?”
“What does he have?” she asks, leaning forward in the lumpy passenger's seat
with a piqued interest.  
When moving away from Charming, the first thing she’d been worried about is
losing her connections. She’d only been smoking for about a year at this point
- it was how the seniors paid for their prom photos, considering she didn’t
really need money - but she’d already grown attached to her dealer because he
already knew just what she wanted, how much she wanted and how she liked it.
She’s almost giddy with the idea of finding another one the very day she moves
out to this place - it completely defeats fifty percent of her parents
reasoning on moving out here. She’d get her dealer - and although it wouldn’t
be the same - her pot.  And that means she’d be able to relax during her last
three years in not-Charming, California before she bailed. No more jumpiness or
edgy nerves like she’d been experiencing since she’d begun to ration her weed.
“Whatever you need. Your teeth are too clean for meth, but he’s got it if you
need it. Blow, horse, crank, molly, LSD, whatever you can think of,” he shrugs.
“I would be nervous ‘bout you bein’ a fed, but A - I don’t give a flying fuck
if that asshole gets arrested, and B - you seem too much like a free spirit to
be a rat.”
“I’m not a snitch,” Gemma confirms, almost defensively. People seemed to assume
that just because she was the Preacher’s Daughter - and technically best
friends with the Chief’s son - she was automatically undercover for law at all
times. Which, if she thought about it, wasn’t exactly too far of a guesstimated
leap. But she prided herself on being different from her connections, even if
the original assumptions always almost got her killed or hurt and it took her
longer than others to gain trust. “Hell, half the shit I do… anyways, yeah. I
don’t need all that heavy shit though - just something to make me light and
take the edge off. He got pot?”
“‘Course he has pot. He’s the best goddamned dealer in the San Joaquin county.
And I’ll make you a deal - you come out with me tonight after I finish helping
your pap and my boys move this stuff and I’ll get you your first taste for
free,” the driver promises, beaming at her.
“I don’t even know your name ,” she retorts easily, being a risk-taker but not
a stupid risk-taker. The guy was easily five years - maybe more - her senior
and definitely shady, considering his step-father was a drug dealer. Who knew
what he could be plotting? “You could be a serial killer or a rapist or
something.”
“You’re smart, but I promise I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ve seen enough of that
shit for a lifetime. And it’s Alex Trager, friends call me Tigger. I would
shake your hand but…” Alex tips his chin at the steering wheel and she nods.
She’s silent for a few moments, simply enjoying the calm of the moment - and
attempting to decipher what he means by ‘seen enough of that shit’ but then her
brow furrows.
“Why Tigger?” she asks, after a few moments. It was a strange nickname, and
definitely one that stuck. She couldn’t help but think of the Winnie the Pooh
cartoon, and the goofy, fun character that Nate used to spend hours reading
about and laughing along with.
“I used to get around a lot - if you know what I mean,” he sighs regretfully.
Gemma notices that he doesn’t seem to enjoy having the nickname, despite it
being extremely unique and actually quite suiting. “They said I liked to go
boing! boing! boing!  so Tigger - or more commonly used, Tig - spawned. I got
my act straight eventually , but the name kind of stuck.”
There’s an extreme sort of shame in his tone, and Gemma almost feels bad for
him. She herself knew how hard it was to shake a bad reputation - or rather,
her father’s exceedingly good one - and she hated the effects of it with a
passion. It must’ve sucked to have something stay with him for so long.
“Well, alright, Tigger,” she smiles, attempting to portray that she doesn’t
hold he ‘was’ against him as long as it wasn’t still who he ‘is’. “Fine. Swing
back by my house an hour after you leave, and I’ll go with you.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his tone brightening up a bit.
“Yeah.”
                                     -~|~-
They arrive at what will be her new home for the rest of her life - or for what
her  parents think will be the rest of her life - not thirty minutes after the
agreement is made with the moving truck driver. Tig was absolutely right - the
area around her house is much more attractive than the stretches of deserted
land they’d bypassed on the way. Gorgeous southern magnolia trees hang low over
a cobblestone path that leads up to the front door of the small home, and the
house itself is quite quaint. Surrounding the small property is nothing but
endless pine trees of all sizes - perfect for running off to when things at
home were bad. Gemma can only imagine what lies the mysterious loom of forestry
- the sparkling lakes, the refreshing rivers, the wildlife. All the photography
potential at her disposal.
And there’s no surrounding ‘neighbors’. Just forestry and a perfect space for a
replica of the gorgeous rose garden the Madock’s used to have in Charming.
Gemma immediately peels off with a small polaroid camera that had been hanging
around her neck - photographing the trees, the sky, anything that her camera
can catch and as fast as it can catch it. It’s obvious she longs to go deeper
into the woods, but everytime she steps too far away from the property, Rose
calls her back with a harsh snap. Nonetheless, there’s childlike wonder filling
her hazel eyes, a small - barely distinguishable - smile pulling at the corners
of her soft lips and a serene relaxation to her once tense facial muscles. Tig
stares after her with amusement and a barely concealed affection - for the
first time in four years, a salacious thought does not pass through his mind
and it secretly worries him - but a large hand with a strong grip appears on
his shoulder pulls him away from her visage.
“Don’t even think about it, son,” Nathaniel Madock says calmly, staring after
his daughter with fondness. There’s none of the fatherly gruff in his tone that
the younger man is used to, but he can suspect the protectiveness creeping into
the edges of his voice. After a few moments, Nate tears his eyes away from the
fifteen-year-old girl with a small, fake smile. “You’re not one of the boys I’d
consider worthy of her. You so much as cast a sideways gla--”
“Sir, with all due respect,” interrupts Tig, never one to put up with the
stereotypes forced on him because of the way he looks. Yes - he had tattoos,
there was a feral-like glint in his blue eyes, and he was easily towering well
over six feet. But he wasn’t a bad guy like often suspected - he had decent
table manners, he wasn’t raised like an animal despite what his step-father’s
reputation implied. Tig was still a human being with thoughts and feelings.
Disregarding that based on looks was rude. “I don’t have any intentions with
jailbait . You’ve got yourself a lovely, intelligent, daughter but I’m not
interested.”
He’s lying. He’s  more than interested, in fact. There’s just something about
Gemma - from the pout on her lips to the glistening rage in her eyes. Something
about the steely hardness in her personality, the maturity that most girls her
age lacked by the pounds. She’s wise beyond her years, no doubt - he can tell
from the way she carries herself, from the way she handles herself.
Mindblowingly intelligent - from the small snippets of conversation he’d caught
with her, he’d been enlightened to things he didn’t know existed - incredibly
beautiful, and extremely strong. She’s got an alluring personality that
intoxicates him, leaves him itching for more like a junkie without a fix. It’s
something he hasn’t seen in women since his ex-girlfriend.
“Well… good ,” Nate replies, obviously deterred. “I’d hate to have to unmount
the rifle.”
“I’m sure you would,” sighs the younger man. “I’d like to get to work now, if
you don’t mind. We have quite a bit to do before the day is over.”
Nate harrumphs and Tig smirks at him.
If only you knew, old man.
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