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lewkwoodnco · 5 months

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buy me presents! - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: jealous!lockwood, gift giving (lockwood's version), I like to think I'm funny hehhe, maybe maybe veeery borderline crack fic? this is MY christmas present to myself and I WILL indulge in my favourite tropes so if you saw me kicking my feet like a thirteen-year-old, no u didnt. (I needed a concrete holiday for this so i used christmas but its all the same hehe) I've thrown the schedule out the window, it'll be a christmas miracle if all 12 fics even get written so happy holidays!!!!! wc 2.6k!!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

She was sitting at the kitchen table, agonising over the horribly organised financial records of Lockwood & Co. As tedious as it was, she enjoyed the work the most out of the four of them, and had taken on the extra role of being somewhat of an accountant. She had lightly teased him about receiving a boost in her pay until she saw their dismal financial situation. The joke stopped being funny alarmingly quickly after that.

Lucy was hurrying through some last-minute packing, while George was trying to locate their train tickets, sporadically yelling through the house for Lockwood. She didn't have quite the heart to tell him that Lockwood had unfortunately escaped hours ago, winking at her as he had shrugged his coat on while she had been looking particularly ragged in the sea of receipts.

She hears the front door open, and after a minute or two, Lockwood walks into the kitchen, rosy-cheeked from the brisk morning air.

"How are the accounts?"

"Terrible. The only thing more astonishing that these bank statements is the fact that we somehow haven't gone bankrupt..." she presses a few more keys of her calculator. "...yet."

George yells again and they wince in unison.

"How long has that been going on?"

"Long enough. He's going to leave you here if you don't find him soon."

He sighed. The three of them were getting ready to leave for the holidays. Lucy was going back North to visit a friend, Lockwood and George were headed to George's for the holidays. She would have come to, but they were already at the max capacity and she had waved off their worries smoothly, since she had spent most of her Christmases alone as an agent. So, as much of a fuss Lockwood kicked up about it, she'd be celebrating Christmas in a cheery if empty 35 Portland Row.

"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"

"One of us has burnt a house down and it's not me. I like my chances."

"Still. Christmas, all alone?"

George yelled again, his voice entering a new octave.

"Christmas with peace and quiet, more like. You know, maybe they'd have space for me if you weren't bringing your mountain of hair products for you fancy hair."

He pulled his gloves off with a lazy smile.

"You think my hair's fancy?"

She rolled her eyes as Lockwood revealed a small delicate pastry box, sliding into the seat in front of her. She had had a feeling it was coming from the way he had been lingering in the kitchen.

"What's this?"

"Red velvet doughnut with those tiny candy cane sprinkles you like."

She traced the box longingly, feeling torn. "I thought Arif was fully booked with Christmas orders."

"He made an exception for you."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I might have...tipped him extra."

"Lockwood."

"You're going to be alone for the next week. It's the least I could do."

She looked at him sternly. Lockwood had the particularly bad habit of impulsive spending. She had carefully broached the topic of gift-giving with him before; namely, after the time he purchased an ornate decorative set of glass robins which she had casually expressed a vague interest in in passing. She tried to explain how gestures like that made her feel obligated to him, and he tried to explain it was the least he could do, given how much of their accounting work she shoulders. They never reached a satisfactory conclusion, and though he did tone it down afterwards, she would still come across the occasional trinket adorned with a frilly bow in her belongings.

It was this very spirit, in fact, that had inspired her to tediously and secretly work on creating a snow globe of 35 Portland Row for him. She couldn't find anything commensurate to the loving thoughtfulness behind each of his gifts, so the next best thing was one decent, homemade, meaningful present. Even though he was going away, she still wanted him to receive it on Christmas, so she had passed it to George. It had been a bit of a nerve-wracking decision, especially if she was being too forward, and she had a pair of snowmen socks at the ready for a backup, but now the snow globe was tucked safely in George's trunk and there was no going back.

"The least you could do is save your limited funds for things that actually matter." She pointedly flips her notebook close.

He reaches out towards her face but gets interrupted by Lucy yellnig at him from somewhere in the house for blocking the stairs with his bags. He scrambles off apologetically, nearly tripping over himself as her threats grow more vivid.

Their reserved cab, courtesy of George ("flagging down a cab one week before Christmas? In this economy?"), arrives and the four of them start piling way too much luggage in it. Just as they're about to leave, Lockwood hesitates and turns to her.

"It's not too late for me to stay."

She pushes him out the door, waving to the others as Lockwood stumbles clumsily down the steps.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Y/N!"

"Lockwood? Hello?"

"Ho - How have you been?"

"What?"

There's a lot of commotion at the other end of the line. She had been waiting for them to call the past few days, and was eagerly settling down to hear all about the festivities. She can hear a thousand different sounds overlapping and the thuds of footsteps criss-crossing, mixed in with some familiar threats from unfamiliar voices. Huh. Though it did make sense that of all the things George might have inherited from his family, it would be this.

"Just a moment." She hears the kerfuffle die down and the crinkle of the telephone wire shifting. "Sorry, had to find a closet. Now, where were we?"

"Sounds busy."

"Oh, it is. But it's nice, meeting George's family. Had to fight them off with a stick to get to the telephone, though."

He hears the smile in her voice. "I can see that. So what have you been up to?"

"So much. Too much. Y/N, you cannot repeat this to George but...they take Christmas far too seriously."

"Really?"

"We spent an entire day picking out the tree. I am sick of Christmas cookies and it's only my second day here."

She frowned. "I told you to pace yourself."

"My fingers - oh, my poor fingers - worn down to the bone stringing popcorn and cranberries together."

"What's the popcorn for?"

"Hell if I know! They make Christmas look like an extreme sport."

She tried to suppress her smile, putting on a grave voice. "You have my sympathies."

"Good. Though I suppose it hasn’t been all bad. I liked the ornament painting. Plus, Belinda’s been helping me loads.”

“…Belinda?”

“George’s cousin. George’s somehow even busier than I am and I haven’t got a clue what’s going on sometimes, so she’s been a real help.”

“That’s nice,” she says bitterly. An uncomfortable silence follows.

“So, I was just saying, earlier, that I hope you're not feeling too lonely."

She lets him trail off, unhappily aware of how the only life and excitement the house had seen in the past three days was emnating solely from the telephone. She hadn't expected it to be this difficult to have a quiet Christmas.

"Oh, I'm fine." She stares at the Santa Claus figuring opposite her cynically. Saint Nicholas, indeed. "Just having a whale of a time with...Nicholas, here."

"Nicholas?"

An impulse brews in her head. It's a poor one, but she's got nothing to do, and it's Christmas.

"Yeah, Nicholas. I met him at the Christmas market. He's amazing, really."

"...Nicholas."

"Yeah."

"Never heard of him."

"He's a little bit older. I wouldn't expect you to know him."

"Hm."

"Anyway, I've hardly even noticed you've left, since we hang out together so much."

"So, you're spending time...with him?"

"Oh, he's not here right now. He's been a bit busy today at his..." she cast her eyes around wildly, landing on a a porcelain figurine of some grinning elves. "...workshop."

"Workshop?"

"He carves wood. He's a wood carver. You should see some of the ornaments he makes. He's great with his hands."

"I'm sure he is."

Lockwood gets too irritable to continue the conversation much further and they hang up soon after. By the time they were done, the sun had set and the house was in complete darkness: the perfect atmosphere for brooding. So what if he'd rather spend Christmas with girls like Belinda? She didn't care. Good...riddance.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later, she collects the mail and finds an envelope addressed to her in Lockwood's narrow, slanted handwriting. She rips it open like a kid on Christmas morning, but her smile twists when she sees the Christmas card inside. There's a picture of George's entire extended family-and-friends, and Lockwood's hunched over in the corner, next to a girl with effortlessly pretty hair. They're wearing matching sweaters. Not the whole family, just the two of them. While she had always reluctantly accepted the occasional gift from him with an appropriate amount of embarrassment, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of undeniable proof that he just might do the same for others. Picking out a present, spending his money, on her? Disgusting.

It's enough to make her jam it forcefully under the telephone. Next to it, she spies the slip of paper with George's personal telephone number jotted down, in case of an emergency. She drums her fingers impatiently while the phone rings, eyeing the clock while she adds in the time difference. She feels so stupid over the snow globe now. What on earth had possessed her? If she's lucky, Lockwood might have gone to bed by now and she just might catch George-

"H'llo?" Lockwood's sleep-roughened voice strains through the static hum.

"Nothing, go back to sleep."

"Y/N?"

"You're dreaming. Hush now. Good night-"

"Y/N." He sounds wide awake now, and she can hear him start to sit up. The plainness in his voice starts to fade as he gets steadily mroe assertive. "Is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine. I didn't realise it would be so late for you. Listen - is George there?"

"He's helping with the caramel apples."

"Ah. Do you think you could tell him to phone me when he has the time?"

"Oh, no worries, I'll see him at dinner later. I can pass the message."

She swears internally. "Oh it's nothing. Just wanted to have a chat, see how he was doing."

"He's doing fine."

There's an awkward silence. She can tell he's barely convinced, and the discomfort from the Christmas card prickles at the back of her neck.

"Get anything in the mail?"

"I haven't checked," she lied, clenching the card in her hand. Stupid, lousy card. It was ridiculously childish but really; her acquired expensive taste was his fault for encouraging it in the first place. "I've just been so busy with Nicholas, you know."

"I see."

"Why? Did you mail something over?"

"Just a Christmas card. No big deal."

"Aw. Thanks." She wants to curl up and die. The snow globe was most definitely overkill. She should have gone with the socks.

"Did Nicholas get you anything?"

"He really only goes by Nick."

She can hear the distaste in his voice. "A nickname. How...quaint."

"We went to see The Nutcracker, and took a walk in the park, if you really must know." It had been more like her sitting alone in the park, miserably tossing the pigeons with small kernels of roasted chestnuts.

"Oh. Did he...get you a gift?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I don't. He just sounds like a..." His voice changes and she can tell he's pulling some kind of face. "...like an interesting person."

"He is."

"Good."

"Great."

"Glad we cleared that up."

They fume at each other through the phone for a while.

"I talked to George, by the way. He doesn't remember a Nicholas either."

"Yes, well, that's because...he doesn't stay here. In London. No, he's part of a, whaddyacallit, travelling group with the, er, Christmas market."

"Like...a circus?"

"...yes."

"Well. As long you're having fun..."

"I am. So much fun." She had a white-knuckle grip on the telephone. Why was she tearing up?

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," he whispers. His voice somehow still manages to sound soft and measured over the telephone, as if he were sitting right next to her. And even through the telephone, he sounds sad.

"Merry Christmas Lockwood."

She pulls the card from under the telephone, staring at the family picture. She flips it and sees a short message scrawled hurriedly at the back.

'Thinking about things that matter. Thinking about you.'

The dial tone reverberates through her skull.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She wakes up suddenly the next morning, and she can't figure out why. It's so cold and quiet that it takes her a minute to remember that it's Christmas Eve. She has approximately two seconds to wallow in self-pity before the racket starts back up. Someone's knocking firmly at the door, loud enough to make her head pound, interspersed with some heated yet unintelligible conversation with someone else.

She opens the door and almost immediately gets the wind knocked out of her. It's Lockwood, wearing a ridiculously tinseled Santa hat, hands full of shopping bags. There's also a majorly peeved George standing behind him, carrying their bags and, surprisingly, even more shopping bags.

Lockwood hands her one of the bags, which she numbly takes, before pulling her in for a hug, and it all happens so quick it takes her a minute or two for her mind to catch up with what's happening.

"L-huhh? George? Wha- Aren't you supposed to be -"

"Surprise! Couldn't bear the thought of you having to spend Christmas all alone. Close the door behind the presents, George, you're letting the cold in."

George grumbles something about his mother never letting him live this down and where he can stick the presents. She gapes at the presents in alarm, dizzy at the sight of the avalanche of multicoloured bows.

"These can't all be for me. Right? Right?"

Lockwood bulldozes past her as if she hadn't even said anything. "Unless, of course, Nicholas is here! Is he?"

"Lockwood, wai-"

"I wonder if he got you these many presents. I'm sure he tried his best, of course, poor chap."

"Will you stop, for a minute?"

"That's his jacket, isn't it? He stayed the night, didn't he? Wait." He stops so abruptly and looks so crestfallen that something tugs at her in her chest. "He stayed the night?"

"Lockwood." A lot had happened in the past minute, but she was finally caught up. Even though she knows it's her fault for making him up in the first place, she never meant for it to get this far. "Nicholas isn't here, because there is no Nicholas. It was a joke. I'm spending Christmas all alone, I had to do something. I made him up for kicks.

George throws his head back and starts laughing, dropping the shiny shopping bags around the two of them, laughter fading as he wades his way to the kitchen. Now that he's calmed down, even Lockwood has enough decency to look slightly embarrassed.

"Dear God, don't tell me you came all the way back over Nicholas."

"I...I didn't. I had...all these presents..."

It's a lame excuse, and even he realises it when he looks at her face. He stands there for a very long minute, and then very suddenly walks to his room, leaving her surrounded by the sea of bags and frenzily wrapped presents. He turns stiffly at his bedroom door with a mildly stern, completely unabashed expression on his face. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning.

"Merry Christmas."

TAGLIST: @mischivana @dangelnleif @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @elenianag080 @houseoftwistedspirits

#lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #fanfiction #lockwood & co #fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood imagine #sabrina carpenter #fruitcake #buy me presents #side note i am so obsessed w writing huhhhhhhhhhhh any and every time i can #love tacking on an infinte amount of 'h' at the end #thats how much i have no idea abt whats going on at any time

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ellabsies · 4 months

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christmas with abby

a/n: cain here! a short lil oneshot for our girl made by yours truly <3 bro i was supposed to post this yesterday but i got high and sleepy. late but enjoy! v short and sweet. blurb?

contains: fluff. slight angst. implied smut. no outbreak.

you surprised abby first thing in the morning with hot chocolate instead of her usual dark roasted coffee. she took a sip and looked at you with a raised eyebrow, “what’s this?” she asked.

“hot chocolate. i even included whip cream and marshmallows with it. you looked at her with a smile.

“thanks? you know i prefer coffee, though.”

“it’s christmas, abs.”

“yes - they make christmassy flavors, right?”

“well… i didn’t get any! drink your hot chocolate…” you frowned at her. abby shrugged and blew on her cup before taking a sip.

“sorry, baby. i don’t mean to be ungrateful. i appreciate everything you do for me.” she pats the space beside her so you could sit.

you nod. you knew christmas wasn’t everything to her. if you’re honest, you stopped having good christmases yourself years ago. this was only the second christmas you got to spend with her so far. last year she refused to celebrate and you couldn’t do anything but accept it. this year you managed to convince her, wanting to prove to her that christmas would be better with just the two of you. even if you guys didn’t go all out.

“next year, i’ll definitely get some christmas and winter themed creamers, okay? i promise.”

abby hummed, taking another sip of her hot cocoa. “you don’t have to prove anything to me.”

you did, though. you wanted to prove to her that the holidays weren’t so bad as long as you had someone to spend them with. you two had each other now so you wanted to prove her wrong.

“oh! i forgot. i’ll be back.” you jumped up from beside her and headed off into the room you shared with her. you came back a few moments later with something held behind your back.

“what’s that?” abby asked.

“close your eyes.” you said. abby rolled them before doing so. you put her gift in her lap, telling her she could open them once again. abby complied and held the object in her hands.

a stocking. with her name on it. filled with various treats and such.

abby’s face quickly reverted to confusion, to shock, to pure happiness. she held the object between her fingers and admired the neatness of her name sprawled across it.

“look inside. i promise it’s worth it.”

abby looked at you with wide eyes sparkled with kid-like joy. she dug inside and pulled out all the contents.

various amounts of candy and other christmas related snacks. hygiene products. a giftcard to her favorite gamestore. $50 in cash. and best of all, a mini collection of rare coins.

abby gushed at the last one. she held the box frame within her hands, shaking it to hear it jingle. she smiled at you and pulled you down for a kiss.

“thank you. thank you so much.”

“anything for you. i told you christmas wasn’t so bad. maybe next year we can go all out?”

abby didn’t have an actual gift to give you, but she did take you to see the christmas lights downtown when it got dark. she also made love to you later that night by the fireplace.

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby x reader #tlou fic #fluff #slight angst #blurb?#cain writes ✍️ 𓂃 ࣪ ִֶ

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kydrogendragon · 5 months

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Dec 3 - Peppermint

(Ao3 Link)

“Hob?”

Hob turns to face his boyfriend’s confused look. Morpheus is staring with intensity at the screen of his laptop. Leaning to the side, Hob peers over at the screen and only ends up more confused. A page is open to an article on “Top Ten Gift Ideas for Her”.

“Yes?”

“What is a… ‘Bath Bomb’?”

Hob snorts. “That’s what you’re confused about?”

Morpheus turns to him, brows furrowed. “Yes. Should I not be?”

Hob waves a hand in the air. “Nah, they’re not really all that self-explanatory. I’m just confused why you’re looking at them to begin with.”

Morpheus taps the laptop screen. “This article states that they are a satisfactory gift for women.”

“Which sort of brings us to why I’m confused. Who’re you shopping for?”

Morpheus sighs and shuts the laptop. Setting it on the coffee table, he lounges back on the side of the couch and looks to Hob. “My family has requested that we visit them for family dinner at the end of the week. Delirium has insisted that we celebrate Christmas as I am now human. She also enjoys the pretty lights that it brings with it.”

“Ah,” Hob says, pulling Morpheus’s feet into his lap. He works his thumbs against the pads of his feet which earns him a pleased hum as Morpheus sinks further into the cushions, closing his eyes. No wonder he was called the King of Cats. He’s practically a cat himself.

“Right then, so gifts for the family?” Morpheus hums in response. Well, how hard could shopping for the personifications of the forces of the universe be? “Well, we could stop by the shopping center. See if there’s anything there that looks like it’d be a good gift for anyone. Are you getting gifts for everyone or just Del?”

“Del, primarily.” Morpheus mutters. “Perhaps a gift for Death and Daniel as well, though I am certain they would simply be pleased I showed up at all.” Morpheus opens his eyes and peers at Hob. “You have not answered my question.”

“What question?”

“What is a ‘bath bomb’?”

Hob laughs. “Well, I don’t remember what all they put in it, but it’s basically a ball of powder with scents and oils in them that fizz when put in the bathwater. Some change the water color, others just smell really good. I think I have one or two stashed under the sink if you want to try it. I could see you enjoying them.”

Morpheus hums. “A bath sounds nice.”

“Want to take one?”

“Only if you will join me.”

Hob gives Morpheus’s feet a squeeze and shuffles them off of his lap. “Sounds good to me. This cold front is chilling my bones so a nice, hot bath sounds perfect right about now.” He stands, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. “I’ll go get the water started and I’ll see if I can’t find those bath bombs for you.”

Hob pads his way to the bathroom and turns the water in the tub on. As the hot water rushes down, he squats down by his cabinet sink and takes a look inside. Most of what was down here was cleaning supplies or excess grooming products that didn’t fit in the smaller drawers or on the countertops.

Digging around in the back, he spots the familiar plastic packaging. He pulls it out to reveal a small plastic tube with a few bath bombs inside. He had won these as a white elephant gift a few Christmases ago and never had used them. He didn’t think they expired, so they should be good enough. Uncapping the lid, he leans back as the potent scent hits his nose.

He should have known that Christmas themed bath bombs would be peppermint scented. Hob sets the container on the counter. He’ll let Morpheus decide if they use them or not. They were pretty strong.

He steps out of the bathroom to retrieve the freshly dried towels out of the drier and folds two for themselves. He makes his way to the bathroom and drops them off on the edge of the counter before going back into the living room.

Morpheus is still lying on the couch, his eyes closed as he rests his head on the armrest. If there was one thing (there were so, so many things) that Hob was grateful for with Morpheus’s retirement, it was the ability to see him like this, at peace. He hadn’t ever seen him this calm, this at ease, before. It brought a smile to his face every time he saw it.

Walking behind the couch, he leans over, carding his fingers through his boyfriend’s soft hair, rousing him from the cat nap he was taking. “Hi there, love,” Hob whispers. “Bath’s nearly ready. You wanna come with me?” Morpheus takes a deep breath and stretches his limbs out before slinking off of the couch. He takes Hob’s hand in his own and nods.

The pair make their way out of the living room and to the bathroom. Hob turns the water off, knowing that there was plenty in the tub once the two of them were in it. He turns to see Morpheus investigating the container of bath bombs with a curious tilt of his head.

“Do you like the scent? I wasn’t sure if they’d be too strong.” Morpheus shakes his hand and plucks one out, turning it around in his hand. The white and red spiraled sphere rests on the tips of Morpheus’s fingers as he investigates.

“It has a nice scent. But why the color? Is peppermint not normally a green plant?”

Hob chuckles and leans against the counter. “I think it’s supposed to be red and white stripes like on a candy cane. They’re usually peppermint flavoured and I got those,” he nods his head towards the bath bombs. “At a Christmas party a while back.”

Morpheus blinks and turns back to the bath bomb. “I see. So it would be fitting for us to use these this month, then?”

“Most definitely.”

Morpheus hums. He steps towards the tub and looks over his shoulder. “And how does one use it?”

Hob rucks off his shirt as he answers. “You just plop it on it and it should start working. Although I’d suggest getting in the tub first if you want to enjoy the fizzing first hand.” Morpheus nods and sets the sphere on the ground by the tub.

The two strip their clothes and slot themselves into the tub. Hob rests against the back with Morpheus resting between his legs, his back pressed against Hob’s chest. Reaching down, Morpheus retrieves the peppermint monstrosity and drops it into the water.

Hob latches his chin over Morpheus’s shoulder and watches as the orb begins to dissolve in the water, leaving a pleasant aroma of peppermint. It was less intense once it was in the water than he had expected. He closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth that soaks into his bones and the feeling of his lover pressed close to him. He doesn’t think he’d ever get tired of this or any of the small moments like this. It was the quiet, intimate times like sharing a bath that really made life worth living. He was just glad he got to be the one that Morpheus decided to share them with.

“Hob?”

“Hm?” He mumbled into the soft flesh of Morpheus’s shoulder.

“Is glitter a common additive to these?”

Hob’s eyes flick open to see a silver sheen on the top of the water. Of course, of course, he was given the bath bombs with fucking glitter in the. Taking a deep breath, he replies, “It can be. It’s a bitch to clean, though, so if you decide you like bath bombs after this, we’re stocking you up with different ones. These are going in the trash.”

“You do not like glitter?”

“Not in my tub and not on my person, no.”

Morpheus hums and wades his arm through the water. The silver glitter clings to his wet skin, giving him even more of a shine.

“I think I rather enjoy it. It is like stars.”

Hob presses his forehead against Morpheus’s shoulder and sighs. He shouldn’t be surprised that Morpheus had an affinity for glitter. He’d seen that galaxy interior of his coat a few times back when Morpheus was still Dream of the Endless.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He guesses he could get used to finding glitter everywhere. As long as it makes Morpheus smile, that is.

“I guess we can keep those, then. Since you’re so fond of them.”

Morpheus hums and nestles back into Hob’s chest. He leans up and presses a kiss to Morpheus’s temple. “If my students start poking fun at me for having glitter all over my person, though, you owe me.”

Morpheus laughs.

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #ky writes #december writing list #kydrogen's december drabbles 2023

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tumbleweed-writes · 1 month

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Death and the Lady: Chapter Seven: Chibs Telford x Reader

PREVIOUS CHAPTER FOUND HERE

Slightly NSFW 18+

TAG LIST:

@youngadult9016 @mrsfilipchibstelford @mamawiggers1980 @ravennaortiz @liveinsteadofdreaming @redwoodmaya

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Chapter Seven: Unconventional

Y/N was thankful that Skeeter had been willing to allow her to borrow his Toyota pick up truck as she was quite sure the old hearse would not even manage to make the short thirty mile drive from Charming to Lodi.

Although it should reasonably only take her a couple of hours to travel from the funeral home in Charming to Saint Elizabeth’s Institute in Lodi, Y/N was not willing to take the risk of anything happening to the old hearse.

Given that her Acura was still in the care of TM Auto, and would be for a while at least according to Chibs, she was not looking to add another broken down vehicle to her problems.

Skeeter had not seemed to mind her borrowing his truck for a few hours at the very least. He knew she’d been putting this off for far too long now.

Y/N would be lying if she tried to claim she had not been tempted to use her lack of reliable transportation as a reason to avoid making this trip today, but she knew she’d been putting it off for far too long now.

The last time she’d made the trip had been two Christmases ago when she’d visited home for the holidays.

She adjusted her coat pulling it closed tighter against her body as she made her way through the long hallways of Saint Elizabeth’s.

It was a plain looking building, a little dull to be honest. It was a large structure that looked very much like any other hospital. The sign out front simply stated Saint Elizabeth’s Institute and stated the year it had been established.

The inside of the building felt sterile and always held an odor of bleach and an undertone of something quite unpleasant that someone had attempted to cover with lavender air freshener. The scent always gave Y/N a headache.

The entire place actually made her feel ill. The building always felt far too cold even in the winter. The sparse furniture in the hallway and the lack of decor only added to the feeling of cold. The walls were all either white or a pale blue. She’d assumed the color choices were meant to be calming, but it just made her feel lethargic.

The overhead lights gave the hallway a far too bright tone and patients and nurses alike passed Y/N on occasion as she slowly made her way through the halls, though the patients for the most part seemed to be escorted by a nurse or some other aide.

Y/N cringed as she neared the hospital’s recreation room having been told by the nurse on hand that this would be the best place to visit with her brother.

Lunch had ended not long ago and medications had just been given out. Most of the hospital’s residents were in their rooms or off to their daily therapy sessions. Y/N had been told simply to head to the recreation room and a nurse would fetch Daniel and bring him to her.

She sighed as she reached the room trying not to cringe as she took a seat in a plastic chair by a small table. She’d never grow accustomed to the strange furniture in the institute. It was all plastic and mostly bolted down to the floor.

She knew the reasoning of course; some patients might be prone to violent fits and it wasn’t wise to have heavy furniture that was not attached to the floor. A nurse had reassured Y/N, the first time she’d noticed the strange furniture, that it was intended both for the safety of the staff and residents alike.

The recreation room didn’t seem to have much for recreation. There was a television which was bolted up high against the wall, a few board games in a cabinet, a few books and magazines, and a few jigsaw puzzles. Y/N guessed that the staff kept most of the recreation locked away until it was time to use it.

Y/N adjusted the visitors badge that had been attached to her coat, briefly debating taking the coat off but deciding against it as she noticed a chill to the air as the air conditioner switched on making the cold space all the more icy.

She shifted in her seat crossing and uncrossing her legs. She frowned slightly regretting not wearing something more casual.

She’d chosen to wear an outfit she might usually wear at work; a black dress, tights, a dark coat, and a pair of black ballet flats.

She was technically making this trip during a work-day after all, so she’d dressed for the work day.

She sighed, staring down at her hands as she placed them on the table in front of her. She resisted the urge to pull out the pocket mirror she carried in her purse and check her appearance. She silently debated if she should have worn her makeup a little lighter. The darker lipstick most likely made her look all too much like a woman in her late twenties instead of the girl Daniel at times remembered her as being.

A voice in the back of her head warned her that Daniel might not entirely recognize her today, though she’d been told by the nurse that he was having a good memory day.

Y/N knew that most of the time though Daniel most likely still pictured her as that eighteen year old girl with a nostril piercing and an honestly peachy tone of pink hair that had faded over the summer, her roots all too noticeable. He remembered her as she’d been back when he was 24 years old, the year he’d had his accident.

She knew she’d grown since then. She no longer appeared to be that rebellious punky teen girl. She looked like an elegant young lady.

It felt strange to realize that though she was the younger sibling it felt as though she'd somehow taken the role of the older sibling. She was older now than her brother had been when he'd had his accident.

She was certain her more professional adult look might seem alarming to him if his memory happened to be struggling that day.

Y/N wouldn’t lie, at times she feared that a day would come where Daniel would no longer recognize her as his sister. As they grew older she knew her appearance would change all the more.

The doctors didn’t seem to have any clear answers as to whether his memory would decline further with his head injury. For the most part she felt that the doctors seemed to stick to the line that no head injury was exactly alike. She’d heard the promise that they would monitor his symptoms but only time would tell what the future held for him.

All they knew was that her brother struggled with his impulse control, his emotional control, and occasionally short term memory. He also struggled with self-care; remembering to do something as simple as bathing and brushing his teeth. Then there was the issue of the seizures, though they were rare.

The medications he took were meant to control the seizures as well as his emotional outbursts.

For the most part Y/N felt that the medications only made him drowsy and slow. They’d caused him to put on weight as they increased his appetite. That was why he would not stay on them if he was left to his own devices. He didn’t like how they made him feel, but without them his symptoms only worsened.

She knew that because of all of these issues that the hospitalization was necessary. It didn’t stop her from feeling guilty as hell though.

She tried to appear as though she was carefree as the nurse she’d spoken to entered the room guiding her brother over to the table.

Y/N hesitated to reach for him as he was sat down at the table across from her. She always feared touching him first, almost certain that one day he would only see her as a stranger.

Her brother was clean shaven; it was a stark contrast to how he’d been before the accident. He usually always wore some scruff. His hair was no longer shaggy the same way he’d once kept it; instead it was cut shorter than he’d ever keep it if it was entirely up to him. He seemed far too pale and the dark circles under his eyes were far too noticeable. He was wearing the same thing he usually wore each time she saw him; gray sweatpants and a white t- shirt with socks and houseshoes.

He was at least clean; the staff made sure he bathed.

Y/N at least made sure to send him clothing as often as she could, always initialing the tags with his name so that it would hopefully not be misplaced when the laundry was done. The hospital bracelet he wore on his wrist alerted staff of his name and his level of care along with some other information. The print was always too fine to read without making her feel like she had to strain her eyes.

She was relieved as he seemed to recognize her after a moment of uncertainty. He spoke his voice a raspy sluggish tone as his hand reached out for hers. “What are you doing here?”

Y/N spoke her voice soft as she tried to pretend the nurse wasn’t lingering nearby clearly monitoring the situation. “I was in the area. I thought I’d come for a visit.”

“Is dad here too?” The question spilled from Daniel’s lips Y/N doing all she could not to outwardly grimace.

Telling her brother that their father was dead was not something that had stuck in his memory. He went back and forth between remembering their father was dead to forgetting it entirely.

His doctors had advised her not to tell him that their father was dead during the times he seemed to forget. It was too upsetting to him, she’d been told. It would only make him relive the fresh grief over and over again.

“No, he couldn’t make it…work is busy. Skeeter and he had a big funeral they had to prep for.” Y/N lied through her teeth hating that it had to be like this.

She knew it was the best case scenario of course. It was cruel to keep making him relive that grief in times like this.

However it was difficult to pretend that their father wasn’t dead and buried in Charming’s cemetery where he’d been for months now. She knew well enough he was dead. She’d embalmed his body at his request in his final wishes. She’d chosen the casket and the flowers as well as the pamphlets for the funeral. She’d found a minister to speak at his funeral. She’d written the obituary and paid to have it posted in Charming’s local newspaper. She had stood in a receiving line for mourners playing the role of the bereaved instead of the funeral director. She’d had to take on the emotional and financial burden of the funeral. She had to read his will and realize her life was changed forever.

She had to do it all by herself, and now she had to carry on this act pretending that none of that emotional turmoil had happened.

Daniel twisted his lips, his brow furrowing. “He’s mad at me.”

“Why would you say that, sweetheart?” Y/N asked managing to give his hand a gentle squeeze trying to keep her voice level.

She winced a voice in the back of her head taunting her that she was an awful sister, lying to her brother carrying on this charade that their father was alive.

Daniel scoffed at the question, his brow furrowing further. “I don’t know…he’s just mad at me. I must have done something awful. That's why he never visits.”

Y/N sighed that cruel voice in the back of her head insisting if their father was still living and had any reason to be mad at anyone then she would probably be the one in deep shit at the moment given her current ties to SAMCRO. She was quite sure she would be the reigning champion of being the family disappointment at the moment.

She pushed the thought from her mind, her voice cracking somewhat as she struggled not to start crying. “That isn’t true, my darling. He’s not mad at you. He loves you very much. He loves both of us more than we know. Even if we upset him, he’d never deny us that love. You know he’s always been there for us…even when we mess up. That’s the kind of dad he is. Remember that time I broke that brand new urn that we had in the display room because I kept playing in the display room after he told me not to. He was so upset but he didn’t even yell or spank me. It was a super expensive urn too…uh had the gold edges to it…it probably cost a fortune, but he only gave me a firm talking to and didn’t make me feel bad for it for too long. I was barely grounded. You know dad’s heart. He wears it on his sleeve. Even if you upset him, he wouldn’t be a jerk about it.”

She paused, taking a deep breath once again lying through her teeth. “You know how he is, Danny. He’s a workaholic. Once he gets caught up with work there’s no pulling him away. I’m sure he’s going to visit soon…maybe once work slows down.”

“When can I go home? I want to go home.” Daniel remarked, apparently moving on from the subject of their father on to another difficult subject.

She sighed, shaking her head, not surprised by the choice in subject. They had this talk often and it was always difficult. “I don’t know when, Danny. You’re still not well. You have to stay here a little longer. Just until you get better. I know it’s hard, but you have to stay here a little longer.”

“I feel fine though. I feel okay, I just want to go home. Please, Y/N take me home.” He insisted his voice cracking, he squeezing her hand almost hard enough it hurt.

She took a deep breath shaking her head, a stray tear working its way down her cheek. She wiped it quickly with her free hand. “I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t…not yet.”

“Why not?” He snapped, squeezing her hand even harder enough to make her flinch the pain shooting through her nerve endings.

She sighed as the nurse stepped forward ready to step into action if things got too out of hand.

She spoke, taking a deep breath. “Because you aren’t well. I know you think you feel fine, but you aren’t ready to go home yet. Just be patient, sweetheart.”

“It’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to stay here.” He snapped again his grip on her hand not loosening even slightly.

She took another deep breath, shooting the nurse a glance of reassurance before she spoke again. “I know. I’m so sorry. I would take you home if I could, in a heartbeat. We have to wait though.”

She spoke again trying to distract him knowing it was the best method to take when he got worked up like this. “In the meantime try to find things to keep you busy. The grounds here are nice, aren’t they? I saw some flower beds the last time I was here. I know you like going outside and seeing them when it's nice out. You should see the greenhouse back home. The tomatoes and cucumbers are getting big…the strawberries are looking good too. I can bring you some strawberries next time, if they’ll let me. You like those right? The strawberries were always your favorite. I know you didn’t care much for the gardening part of it…except for that time you grew that marijuana plant that you tried to hide behind my tomato plant. I was so annoyed when I found it…and it didn’t really work anyway because you couldn’t keep enough light on it to actually do anything. Remember that?”

“I don’t care, I want to go home.” Daniel snapped at her squeezing all the harder she audibly letting out a gasp the pain becoming a little too much to ignore.

With this the nurse stepped forward two orderlies seeming to appear out of nowhere.

Y/N cringed as her brother was yanked from her by two large orderlies while fighting against the pull. She held her aching hand trying to ignore the pain and keep her voice soothing as she spoke to him. “Daniel, please. Don’t fight them. Just take a deep breath and calm down. It’s okay, just calm down, please, my darling.”

Of course, her soothing did little good, her brother struggling against the hold. Y/N shrank away as the nurse stepped forward placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got this handled, Miss. Y/L/N. Don’t worry. We’re going to give him something to relax him.”

Y/N parted her lips tempted to snap that she didn’t want him doped up more than he already was, but she kept the words at bay

She turned her eyes to the floor feeling helpless as the nurse guided her from the room. She felt the tears begin to fall at the words that were shouted at her by her big brother as she left the room. “I hate you! I don’t want you to come back! I hate you!”

—---

She didn’t allow the tears to fully fall until she left the building, practically collapsing against a bench on the walkway up to the entrance.

She took a deep breath trying her best to keep her composure as she wiped at her eyes furiously.

She was thankful that there were seemingly no other visitors nearby though she had a feeling if there were they would not pay her any mind. She had a feeling her reaction was a normal one for those visiting loved ones at the institution.

She took another deep breath trying hard to push the last words she’d heard her brother say from her mind.

She knew he didn’t mean them, not really. That was the thing about his condition. The filter that should stop him from saying the first thing that came to his mind just didn’t exist anymore.

Y/N stared down at her purse, opening it and searching through it for the travel sized container of tissues she always carried, her hands brushing across her cell phone.

She was stunned as a thought crossed her mind; she wanted Filip.

It felt odd to admit, even if it was only in her head.

It had been a few weeks since that date they’d had and surprisingly Chibs had called her loyally every single day. Although the calls were never quite at the same time each day, they still managed to be a daily occurrence.

It was strange to admit that she’d found some comfort in the calls.

The calls were something she actually found herself looking forward to.

It was almost funny to consider how a few weeks before she had just wanted her admittedly criminally prone Scottish admirer to get lost, but now she happily anticipated the daily phone conversations they had.

She was a bit surprised that he had not pushed her to plan the second date she’d promised him. A small part of her had to wonder if perhaps he was waiting on her to make the next move. It felt almost amusing to consider that the scary outlaw was feeling nervous and waiting for her to make the next move.

The phone conversations they'd had felt light, especially considering the way she’d practically dumped her past traumas into his lap on that first date.

They’d talked about their days, Y/N discussing whichever body she was prepping or her frustrations with the local florist who was always screwing up orders for funeral flowers. He’d talk about something dumb Half-Sack or Juice had done and a bike or car he was working on at the garage.

She’d found that she liked the clear sense of adoration she heard in his voice when he discussed his brothers even when he called them idiots. She’d also discovered that she liked the passion in his voice when he talked about whatever motorcycle he was repairing.

She’d enjoyed listening to him discuss a terrible but healthy smoothie Juice had tried to get him to drink or something truly awkward Half-Sack had managed to say right in front of Clay.

She was surprised to find that Chibs made her laugh. Even when she was stuck in the gloom of embalming a difficult case that felt honestly depressing; she was able to place Chibs on speaker phone and feel some sense of light through the gloom.

The conversations had felt easy with him though they hadn’t necessarily been deep conversations.

It still felt nice; discussing her day with someone. It wasn’t something she’d had with someone in a very very long time.

She was stunned to admit that she had found a sense of comfort with Chibs. It was such a contradiction when she said it outloud; the dangerous outlaw biker felt comforting.

She was surprised to find that he was sweet; it was something she’d not expected. She knew no one would believe her. It sounded like another huge contradiction; the admitted criminal was sweet.

She wasn’t naive of course. She knew that Chibs most likely had a side to himself that was far from sweet. She was aware enough to know that he had most likely done horrible things in the past and was capable of doing terrible things in the future.

It was a simple fact that she was surprised failed to invoke fear in her. If anything, a voice in the back of her head was quick to remind her that she’d done a few awful things of her own lately…even if those awful things were at SAMCRO’s request.

That voice in the back of her head still taunted her of course that Chibs would only lead her back to being the unhappy girl she was living in the chaos of SAMCRO. The voice was all quick to call Chibs a devil who’d tempt her back into being in that dark place she’d been in almost a decade before. The voice insisted he’d lead her right back into hell. It reminded her of something her grandmother used to say; you can’t dance with the devil and then keep wondering why you’re in hell.

Another voice snapped that it was hard to believe she would be unhappy though. She certainly didn’t feel unhappy around him. Being around him didn’t feel like she was in hell. Sure, she was aware that the world he existed in came with a level of chaos.

She reasoned that in a way she had already signed herself back up for that chaos. She’d signed herself up for it the second she’d agreed to help SAMCRO out and had insisted she would be their new funeral home contact for future favors.

She had asked the devil to dance first hadn’t she?

She was still surprised she’d felt so comfortable explaining everything with her brother and dumping some of her childhood traumas onto Chibs. She was even more surprised that he’d not run screaming.

Y/N could admit she’d not exactly been open about the darker aspects of her childhood and teen years with past boyfriends.

She had only mentioned that she’d been raised in a funeral home and her brother was special needs. She’d casually mentioned she’d been rebellious at one point in her life not going into too much detail.

With Chibs, she’d realized that he’d find out the reality of her brother eventually. If she didn’t say something, surely someone around town would mention it.

She’d guessed telling him herself would at least let her control the narrative. At least if it came from her lips then he’d get the truth and not whatever wild tale he might hear from someone else.

Somehow even with the truth about her brother and the darker aspects of her childhood, Chibs had not seemed to shy away.

It was something she was astonished by. She was accustomed to people leaving when she was too much.

She’d more often than not been told she was too exhausting to be around. She’d more than often been referenced to as being difficult by boyfriends and friends alike. She was too morbid, too snarky, too moody, and just flat out too much to put up with for the long-term.

Chibs didn’t seem to think that she was too much.

So maybe that was why she reached for her cell phone dialing the familiar number.

She let out a breath she’d not even realized she’d been holding at the sound of his voice on the other end of the line. “Hen, I was jus’ thinkin’ bout ya.”

She managed to feel a small tight smile cross her features at the statement. She was no longer tempted to tell him that he was full of shit and just trying to flatter his way into her pants.

He’d often started out the phone calls he made to her the same way I wanted to call because I was thinking about you.

It felt nice to believe that he thought about her enough to want to hear her voice.

She managed to speak grimacing as she realized her voice felt as weepy as she felt. “Hey.”

“What’s wrong? Ya sound rough, lass.” The concern was evident in his voice. She could distinctly hear the sounds of the garage in the background hinting he was at TM Auto.

The noise grew fainter indicating he seemed to be moving further from the garage most likely wanting to find some privacy for their conversation.

“I just…I’m out in Lodi…visiting my brother.” She admitted staring down at her lap the stark black of her clothing looking inky and harsh against the pale concrete below her feet.

“Aye, wasn’t a good visit I’m guessin’?” Chibs was fast to respond that concern still so clear in his voice.

She let out a weak laugh shaking her head as she responded. “No, no it wasn’t”

Chibs was fast to speak his voice taking a softer tone, the sound feeling soothing. “Ya wanna talk ‘bout it?”

“I kind of want a good stiff drink to be honest…but uh…yeah…I mean, it’s just difficult. He doesn’t remember our dad is…gone…and he doesn’t get why he can’t go home. It’s just…it’s a shit situation. The last thing he said before I left was that he hates me and never wants me to come back.” She remarked a shaky sigh leaving her, her eyes still focused on the pavement below her trying hard to not let herself break down again.

“Oh, Hen, ya know that ain’ true righ’. He doesn’ mean it. He’s jus’...confused, love. Yer his sister. He loves ya.” was the reply she received. She was a bit surprised to hear a hint of shakiness in his own voice.

“I know, I know…he’s no longer has the ability to stop himself from saying the first thing that comes to his mind…I mean most people if they’re upset might first think they hate someone…but usually that filter in their head will stop them from just blurting that out…his filter…it just doesn’t do what it should. I just hate it…today was allegedly supposed to be a good memory day too…so much for that.” She remarked another shaky sigh escaping her lips.

She swallowed the lump developing in the back of her throat before she spoke again not having it in her to hate how needy her voice sounded. “Can you talk to me about something different…anything? Something nice?”

She was surprised by the response she got. “Ya ever had shortbread? Scottish Shortbread?”

“Uh, I mean…I’ve had shortbread cookies…from the grocery store.” She admitted, a bit thrown off by the conversation choice, but she had requested that he talk about literally anything else other than her current situation.

She rolled her eyes, unable to stop the hint of a genuine smile from crossing her lips at his quick reply. “Nah, not that. That’s pure shite, Hen. Leave that grocery store prepackaged stuff alone. I’m talkin’ real Scottish shortbread.”

“I guess, I’ve never had it then. What’s so special about it?” She dared to ask the misery she felt a moment before lifting by the second.

Chibs didn’t waste a moment to reply. “It’s amazin’, one of my favorites. My ma used to make it the best…I can’ get hers round here of course. The trick is ya gotta have it fresh, with tea or milk on the side. I’m gettin’ ya some real shortbread. Ya gotta try it at leas’ once.”

She spoke, shaking her head the words falling from her lips. “Maybe you should take me to get some then. I apparently need to see what I’m missing.”

“Aye, ya askin’ me out on a date, Hen?” The response came so naturally a flirty tone entering his voice.

She smirked it not taking her long to answer. “I am…and I won’t even bribe you with car repairs.”

She felt as though the misery she’d felt just moments ago was long gone as Chibs managed to laugh at the response he fast to respond. “Aye, ya don’ gotta bribe me to take ya out, love.”

She shook her head ignoring the cruel voice in the back of her head that claimed she belonged locked up right alongside her brother if she was agreeing to another date.

She distinctly remembered the comment Gemma had made the day she’d given Y/N a ride home. It's never just one date.

It would seem indeed that it was not destined to be just one date.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chibs sighed, his stomach churning as Tig gazed up at him as he passed by the bar in SAMCRO’s clubhouse. “You going to see Y/N again?”

Chibs let out a huff knowing that the cologne he’d put on had most likely given him away. He’d only worn it once afterall the last time he’d taken Y/N out. He was certain Juice must have blabbed his big mouth all about Chibs’ big date and the effort he’d put into his appearance for said date . “Aye, I am.”

“You’ve been talking to her a lot lately. Lots of phone calls.” Tig observed the comment making Chibs feel uneasy.

“Aye.” He kept the response short, shifting the box of shortbread he’d rode out to pick up from a bakery early this morning before they had a chance to sell out.

It wasn’t his mother’s shortbread but it was the closest thing he could find all the way out in California.

“So, you hitting that?” Tig dared to ask, Chibs narrowing his eyes at the question, his free hand that wasn’t holding the box of cookies forming a fist.

He pushed back the desire to throw a punch as he replied. “Ain’ none of yer business.”

Tig smirked, clearly spotting he’d maybe struck a nerve with his brother. Occasionally he could admit he liked pushing his brothers’ buttons…mostly out of boredom.

He’d taken notice of course, that Chibs had been skipping out on Friday night parties and had definitely been neglecting the croweaters.

There was only one possible thing keeping Chibs so distracted. He’d definitely noticed the little looks Chibs had sent SAMCRO’s new asset that night at the crematorium.

Tig didn’t particularly care to be honest. He was struck by a sense of curiosity though.

He had been around almost a decade before when Y/N had been a frequent visitor to the clubhouse. He could remember the mouthy girl who had been more than willing to drink and smoke a joint. He could also distinctly remember that she’d been less than interested in letting him in her pants….and he’d tried quite hard to charm his way into them.

He could admit it was a bit of a knock to the ego to think that Chibs might very well be traversing territory Tig had failed to explore. He had to admit he felt envious of the Scot.

Tig shook his head. “Just saying, brother. Be careful with that one. She knows a million ways to get rid of a body. I wouldn’t piss her off.”

“Ya ain’ got nothin to worry bout.” Chibs snapped thinking back to the tense conversation he’d had with Clay before that first date he’d had with Y/N.

Tig shook his head a sigh leaving him not helping but to prod a little more even if he knew his next statement was an asshole move. He could admit that a sense of jealousy was maybe pushing him to run his mouth. “I’m guessing little Miss. Death doesn’t know about your wife back in Belfast…pretty sure you’d already be in a casket somewhere if she did. Didn’t think she’d be cool with being a mistress. I mean, she was wild back in the day, tight as hell and a great set of tits from what I heard too, but she still had some moral backbone.”

Chibs moved forward, his fist partially raising but he didn’t have a chance to get far, Juice taking enough notice to step in between Chibs and Tig. Juice maneuvered Chibs away quick to speak. “Let’s take a walk man, come on.”

“Ya keep yer fuckin mouth shut bout her. Ya don’ know what yer talkin bout.” Chibs snapped sending a warning glare at Tig's direction as Juice pushed him away.

Chibs yanked from Juice’s attempts he glaring down at the younger man. “I don’ need a fuckin’ walk. Ya tell that prick if he ever mentions her body or calls her a mistress again I’ll fuckin’ bash his head in.”

Juice groaned as he watched Chibs storm off towards his bike. He rolled his eyes as Tig approached him, the man shrugging his shoulders apparently not minding the death threat. “Was it something I said?”

Juice shook his head as he watched Chibs ride off. He sent Tig a look he speaking. “Really?”

Tig shrugged, playing innocent. “I’m just looking out for him. She finds out about his wife, he’s dead meat. Not to mention, if he pisses her off real good then we lose our funeral home contact.”

Juice shook his head, not responding as he made his way back into the clubhouse. He had to hope that if Chibs continued whatever he had going on with Y/N that he explained his complex past and she didn’t murder him.

Even with as crude as Tig had been, Chibs most likely would be buried alive if he kept that tidbit of information from Y/N.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N sighed as a firm knock sounded at her office door, cracking slightly Skeeter’s head barely peeking in.

The man spoke, his eyes rolling ever so slightly at the information he was about to share with his boss. “You have a gentleman caller.”

Chibs frowned, unable to see past Skeeter as Y/N let out a groan from behind the half closed door. “I can’t decide if that’s worse than calling him the outlaw biker. It sounds less panic inducing to anyone that might overhear it, but it makes me sound like I’m some sort of freaking Southern Belle.”

She paused before speaking again. “Well, let him in.”

Skeeter did as he was told though he looked as though he’d much rather deny Chibs entry. Chibs didn’t miss the stern look of disapproval as he passed by the mortician.

Y/N spoke, spotting that Skeeter was still lingering. “You can go, Skeet. I promise I’m fine all on my lonesome.”

Chibs didn’t miss the glare Skeeter sent his way before he shut the door behind him.

He took a deep breath trying to calm any rage that was still lingering around in his gut after his confrontation with Tig. He refused to let her see the enraged parts of him.

He studied her, the sight of her soothing him. She was dressed in another work outfit, another black dress similar to the one he’d seen her wear the first time he’d come to the funeral home.

He had to wonder how many black dresses she owned. He had a feeling it had to be quite a few.

She pushed back her chair standing up from her desk and rounded it as she made her way over to him.

She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, the action soothing him further. She spoke, spotting the tension practically vibrating off him. ‘Are you okay? You seem…agitated.”

Chibs did his best to give her a smile though he knew it came out as more of a grimace. “Jus’ Tig bein a fuckin’ prick.”

She let out a small bitter laugh rolling her eyes at the comment. “I guess he hasn’t changed much in my time away.”

Chibs took a deep breath tempted to ask her if she’d ever been intimate with Tig, but he bit his tongue.

He had a feeling she’d not given Tig had only commented on what he’d heard about her.

Chibs silently reminded himself that he didn’t care what her past with SAMCRO was. She had said it herself. She was no longer a club hangaround.

A possessive little voice piped up in the back of Chibs’ head insisting she was his now. Another voice piped up that he’d meant what he’d said to Tig. He’d kill the man if he ever commented on her body ever again. He didn’t care if the man was his brother, he’d bash his face in.

He took a few more deep breaths trying to calm himself.

Another thing Tig had said had troubled Chibs; the mention of Fiona. It was something Chibs knew would have to come up sooner than later.

Chibs knew Tig was right about one thing…if he kept that part of his past hidden from Y/N she’d probably shove him in the ground. In fact, Chibs was sure that if he withheld this information from her then Y/N would bury him so deep that the devil himself would need a shovel to dig him back up again.

He took a deep breath holding out the box of shortbread he’d gotten; he was no longer as giddy about presenting it to her as he’d been moments before. “I got ya somethin.”

She took it from him, a soft laugh leaving her becoming distracted from his clearly tense mood. “Shortbread. I’m supposed to drink it with tea right, or milk?”

“Aye, whichever ya want. Try it tonigh’ and let me know what ya think.” Chibs replied, his strained mood fading by the second.

She placed the box on her desk giving him a soft smile. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here just to give me some cookies.”

“Aye, I wanted to…I was hopin’ I could take ya out fer lunch too.” Chibs insisted, having made up his mind on the way to the Funeral Home.

He had to come clean about his past. He had to open up and pray she didn’t hate his guts or assume he was attempting to make her into the other woman.

She gave him a soft smile nodding down to her clothing. “Do you mind if I change shoes? I don’t think heels are a smart idea on the back of a bike.”

He nodded his head trying his best to give her a smile and hide the anxiety beginning to bubble in his stomach. “Aye, heels are probably not a good idea, Hen. I’ll wait on ya.”

She pressed another kiss to his cheek, that warm feeling washing over him again soothing a bit more of his agitation and anxiety.

He watched her leave the room, taking a deep breath as he dropped down into one of the chairs across from her desk.

He stared around the office studying the multitude of items. He clasped his hands together spotting a thick binder sitting on a shelf behind her desk that was labeled casket catalog 2007-2008.

He prayed to any God that might be listening that she wouldn’t shove him in any of those caskets after he broke the news about the life he’d been banished from in Belfast.

Chibs tried to find something less distressing to focus on. His eyes caught a photo on the wall it lifting his spirits momentarily.

He barely recognized Y/N in the photo. She was so young, clearly barely a teenager. He could distinctly spot a pair of braces on her teeth and a t-shirt emblazoned with Charming’s nearest high school’s mascot. He guessed that perhaps it was a photo leftover from when the office had belonged to her father.

Another photo was framed beside it. Y/N was even younger in this one sat on the front porch of the Funeral Home with a little boy beside her. She looked quite miserable in the soft pink dress she was wearing judging by the clear scowl fixed into her little features. He felt his stomach turn realizing the boy sitting beside her had to be her older brother.

He sighed thinking back to the phone call they’d had the day before after she visited her brother, hoping he wasn’t about to give her another reason to cry.

He didn’t have long to focus on the fear as the office door opened the object of his adoration reentering the room, a pair of black converse on her feet and a dark coat over her dress.

She spoke nodding to him. “Okay, I’m ready when you are.”

He stood up taking her hand in his once again praying to anyone who might happen to be listening that he wasn’t about to lose the woman he’d just barely managed to start winning over.

—---------------------------------------------------

The taco stand was a bit of a surprise. Y/N didn’t think much of it though, deciding that she was just happy to have a second date with Chibs even if it was a little more spontaneous than she’d expected.

They sat outside on benches the weather thankfully not cool enough for the outdoor space to feel uncomfortable. They seemed to be the only patrons at this stand and she hoped that this wasn’t a sign of the quality of their meal.

Chibs himself was debating if the taco truck was the best plan. He’d decided that an outdoor space was probably best for the bombshell he was about to drop on her.

He sighed as she spoke, raising an eyebrow at him taking notice of the fact that he seemed distracted. He’d not even touched his food yet and had seemed dazed as he’d ordered. “Are you sure everything is okay? I mean, how bad did Tig piss you off?”

She cringed worrying that she was pushing it. She imagined it had something to do with the club. She wasn’t sure if they were at the level where Chibs was going to be that open with her about anything related to the club despite her partnership with SAMCRO as a provider of favors.

Chibs let out another sigh deciding he wouldn’t repeat exactly what Tig had said. He had a feeling she’d probably kill the man for commenting on her body in that crude of a manner especially in relation to her past. “He’s jus’ an arse sometimes. It’s jus…I got somthin to tell ya.”

She felt her stomach roll hating that statement. It sounded so ominous. “What’s going on?”

Chibs sighed, deciding to ease into this. “I know I ain’ told ya much bout my family.”

Y/N spoke her cheeks flushing the words falling from her. “I haven’t given you much of a chance. I mean…I kind of turned our first date into a trauma dumping session. I didn’t leave you much room to talk about your own family.”

Chibs spoke, shaking his head reaching out his hand pressing over hers. “It’s fine, Hen. I didn’ mind it.”

He took a deep breath speaking again the words falling out of his lips. “I have a daughter.”

She widened her eyes, not expecting that. She guessed it shouldn’t be too surprising though. He was in his forties. He had to have some life before her. “How old is she?”

“Thirteen…Kerrianne…her name is Kerrianne.” Chibs responded a small smile crossing her features.

“That’s a pretty name, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. What’s she like?” Y/N asked genuinely curious to know.

She was surprised she didn’t mind the concept of dating a guy with a kid. She’d never really been around children, but she liked them. She had never really put much thought into if she wanted children of her own. She found that she liked Chibs enough to accept that he was a parent and to accept whatever role she played in that if their relationship should progress to that point.

Chibs cringed the words falling from him. “I don’ know…I ain’ seen her since she was bout four.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop at this information. He was a deadbeat? She felt her stomach sour at the thought.

Chibs sighed, shaking his head, spotting the look on her face only able to imagine the thoughts running through her mind. He had a feeling none of them were positive. He spoke again the words sliding from his lips before he could stop them. “She lives in Belfast…with my wife.”

Y/N was certain if she had a drink in her hand she would have tossed it in his face. She glared at him, yanking her hand from his her voice harsh. “You’re fucking married? Are you serious?”

She scoffed getting up from the bench before he had a chance to register what was happening.

She spoke, snatching up her purse and her coat as she prepared herself to leave her temper rising by the second. “What am I then? Am I just some stateside fun? Was I meant to be the girl you fucked in the US while your wife and kid sit back in Ireland? I mean, I knew you SAMCRO guys were kind of dysfunctional when it came to relationships and monogamy but this really takes the cake on fucked up. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me from Jackson and all your little friends down at the clubhouse. I know I haven’t always been smart about the guys I’ve hooked up with in the past, but I have developed way more of a sense of self worth than I had almost a decade ago. I am no one’s fucking mistress. Have a nice life Chibs…actually, no, you have the life you deserve. You are such an asshole.”

Chibs scrambled up from the bench moving quick to follow her. He reached out taking her hand in his not shocked as she yanked it away her voice raising. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

Chibs moved fast moving in front of her placing his hands on her shoulder he fast to speak. “Just give me five minutes…Jus’ five minutes to explain.”

“Explain what? You’re a married deadbeat dad, I’m the other woman. End of story. Good riddance.” She snapped moving aside trying to move past him.

Chibs moved just as fast stepping in front of her. “There’s more to the story, lass. Jus’ please, hear me out. If ya still hate me after I tell ya the entire story, I’ll fuck off.”

She groaned tempted to tell him that there was not a story on this planet he could tell to explain away the bombshell he’d just dropped on her.

She gazed up at him, hating to admit that she noticed the longing in his eyes. There was a sense of desperation there that she didn’t like.

She let out a huff crossing her arms over her chest. “You have five minutes. If I sense even an ounce of bullshit, I’m leaving and not looking back.”

Chibs nodded his head nodding over to a nearby bench. “Can we sit?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Fine, but the time to go to the bench and sit deducts from the five minute timeline I set.”

He spoke as they sat he sighing. “Fiona an I are estranged. I ain’ seen her in close to a decade now. I ain’ even spoke to her on the phone.”

“But you haven’t divorced her and you don’t see your kid.” Y/N snapped not entirely impressed if this was his attempt to explain himself.

Chibs cringed fast to speak again. “It ain' an option… neither the divorce or seein my Kerrianne.”

He paused, spotting the look of annoyance on her features as she spoke. “Let me guess? Getting divorced is a huge Catholic no no? Is being a deadbeat dad just a passion project for you?”

Chibs let out a huff shaking his head. “I ain’ exactly practicin’ So, no’ entirely and I ain’t a deadbeat by choice.”

She glared at him her words harsh. “ Don’t you dare try to feed me that my ex is nuts and won’t let me see my kid bullshit. I have heard it from a guy before and I don’t believe the story.”

He spoke shaking his head. “This ain’t me being some arsehole da abandonin his kid. Fiona ain’t the one keepin me away.”

He paused, clearing his throat knowing he had to tell the entrie story, every painful detail. “I met Fiona when I was sixteen. I’d moved to Belfast with my ma an my sister Cait. We moved from one housin’ estate to another…we were poor…My da…he was a real prick…mean bastard who no one missed when he walked out…my ma worked herself to the bone to barely scrape by. I was angry, mad at the world. I was pissed at the government and establishment in general. Fiona…er family was involved in the cause. Third generation…True IRA.”

He paused not wanting to meet Y/N’s eyes as he explained this bit of information. He spoke again, a sigh leaving him. “She talked bout the cause…bout her family. Told me grand tales of the figh’ fer a free Ireland. I was entranced with her stories…entranced with her. By the time we were married I was fully involved in the cause.”

He took another deep breath taking a chance to peek over at Y/N not liking that a hint of fear had joined the rage in her eyes.

He spoke again hoping that even if she understood the history behind Fiona and him that the mention of his involvement with the cause wouldn’t destroy things anyhow. “There was this lad…an ol’ friend of Fiona’s…they were childhood friends. He knew her before I did…Jimmy O’Phalen. He loved her before I did…He hated me…hated that I won Fiona…hated that she loved me…hated my background. He claimed I couldn’t be loyal to the cause given my ancestry…I wasn’ Irish, so I wasn’t as dedicated…I didn’ pay him any mind. I kept on with the cause. Life went on. The years passed by. Fiona an I somehow survived all of our twenties intact..made it to our thirties.”

“Kerrianne…she was born and it was like my life…it got brighter. I loved bein’ her da. I saw it as a chance to be a better lad than my bastard of a da. I stopped bein’ so angry…I…Jimmy O’ called it a weakness…He rose up in the ranks of the cause…got himself into a pretty high spot on the food chain…He started sowing distrust among others involved…started sayin’ I was a loyalist to the crown…sayin I was not truly dedicated…and then when my Kerrianne was barely a year old…Jimmy O’ did this to me.” Chibs explained reaching up to slide along the scars embedded into the flesh along his cheeks.

He paused his throat growing tight still not wanting to meet Y/N’s eyes. He spoke again a shaky sigh leaving him. “I gotta nother scar, along my belly. He tried to gut me too…it was…I almost died…I los’ a lotta blood, lost consciousness. I think the face…the attack was a play on my birthplace…Glasgow…He…he changed his mind toward the end I guess, decided not to kill me. Decided to give me a chance to live. Had his crew drop me off at the front steps to a hospital. He excommunicated me from the cause.”

“Fiona…your daughter?” Y/N dared to ask amazed she found the words as she tried to absorb everything he’d told her thus far her mind going a million different directions all at once.

Chibs let out a shaky breath the words falling from his lips. “Jimmy O’ took em as his…Fer over a decade now…they’ve been with him. He took my wife an’ raised my little girl as his own. Told me if I ever tried to get em back he’d kill em.”

He shook his head a sigh leaving him. “I wished I’d died tha’ nigh’ fer a long time….i wished he’d just killed me instead of keeping me alive to torment me. I joined up with SAMBEL…Belfast Sons. I knew em from business with the cause. I was their firs’ prospect. They took care of me. I found my place in that world. I…I tried to watch my Kerrianne from a’far…Jimmy O’ let me fer a wee bit…guess he liked dangling her round me…tormenting me with seein’ her from far away…I lasted in SAMBEL fer a few years…but it jus’ it got so…it hur’ seein’ my sweet wee Kerrianne…not bein’ able to even go near her. The chance to patch over to SAMCRO came up an I took it. I wanted to escape.”

He dared to look over at Y/N as he spoke, explaining himself. “Divorcin’ Fiona ain’ an option. Jimmy O’ won’ even let us speak on the phone…I ain’ seen her since I left Belfast. Ya ain’ my mistress. Ya can’t be the other woman when the only reason I ain’ divorced is ‘cause I can’t even talk to my estranged wife to start a divorce.”

Y/N let out a shaky sigh, her mind and her heart feeling heavy. She let everything he’d just told her soak into her brain, her mind going a million different directions.

The rage she’d felt left her body making her feel exhausted. She felt as though she’d been hit by a mack truck. She felt so drained that all she wanted was to lie down and not move again for a long while.

Those pesky voices in the back of her mind that screamed that Chibs would lead her to ruin were so fast to speak up insisting that everything he’d just told her was the only evidence she needed to know that he’d lead her to destruction.

Her heart spoke up easily picking up on the pain in his voice as he recalled the story. She thought of him lying in a hospital recovering from the attack all alone wishing for death knowing he’d lost everything.

She thought of his reaction each time she’d kissed his cheek thus far, the look on his face that told her that no one had shown him that kind of softness. It hit her that she’d kissed a reminder of all that he’d lost.

She let the realization that he was still legally married roll through her brain debating his insistence that she was not his mistress.

She thought of his daughter and his wife, what their lives must be with the man who had harmed Chibs. She questioned why Fiona had not fought for him though she cursed herself for having such a thought. She didn’t know how she would react if it had been her…if she’d been a mother.

She felt her stomach turn, her mind flashing back to what he’d said about the True IRA. The thought frightened her.

She sighed knowing that she’d already realized that Chibs had most likely done horrible things in the past and would do horrible things in the future. She knew he’d never pretended not to be a criminal…at least to her.

She felt a voice in the back of her mind perk up pointing out that Chibs had not given her a reason to think he might harm her. If he was going to harm her he would have killed her that night in the cemetery when she was burying those cremains.

Yes, his past involvement with the cause definitely made her stomach turn and she had a feeling that SAMCRO was still involved given his mention of SAMBEL being involved with the True IRA.

A voice in the back of her head piped up that she wasn’t exactly innocent. She’d done some pretty heinous things for the club lately.

The realization hit her that she didn’t feel afraid of him even with the past misdeeds he may have done for the cause. Even with what he’d done…what he would do in the future for the Sons; she was shocked to find that she didn’t fear for her life.

Chibs felt as though he was the last person on this planet she expected might harm her. Filip Chibs Telford was no monster.

She thought of how sweet he’d been on that first date and how lovely he continued to be.

A monster wouldn’t hold her hand so gently while she spilled her heart about her brother and her past. A monster wouldn’t bring her shortbread. A monster would never look at her like she was a fine work of art.

Chibs dared to speak knowing he had to spill his heart as a last ditch effort to hopefully not lose her. “I ain’ been interested in a woman fer more than sex since I…since Fiona…I took advantage of all that came with the clubhouse.”

Y/N cringed decoding that he meant the croweaters.

Chibs spoke again, a sigh leaving him. “I let myself get swallowed up by life in the Sons...I didn’ want to feel…din’ want to let my heart get involved…Then I met ya. I didn’t expect ya…didn’ expect I’d like ya as much as I do. All I know is yer the firs’ woman I met in over a decade who I wan’ more than just sex with. I like bein’ with ya. I love talkin’ to ya. I think bout ya more often than not. I feel good with ya around. I’m havin a good time with ya and I want to see where it takes us. I don’t want to lose ya when I’ve jus’ barely gotten to have ya. I know I ain’ conventional…I may not be able to give ya the traditional path mos’ relationships take…I jus’ know that when I’m with ya…I don’ want get swallowed up by chaos to escape the misery. So, all I’m askin’ fer is the chance even if it ain’ conventional.”

Y/N let the words marinate in her mind. She picked up on what he said about wanting to be swallowed by chaos to escape feeling awful. Wasn’t that what had led her to hanging around SAMCRO almost a decade before?

She sighed at the realization that no, Chibs would not exactly be able to offer her the stereotypical relationship path. If he was still married there would be no white wedding in the future.

She furrowed her brow knowing she wasn’t exactly in the place in this relationship with him to even consider marriage. The concept of even thinking that far into the future this soon in a relationship that was barely even beginning to bloom was preposterous.

She glanced over at Chibs her heart telling her that she’d had fun with him. She didn’t want to sink into misery and isolation when he was around.

She recalled the thought she’d had that first date when she had to leave to attend to the deceased that had fallen into the care of her funeral home.

For the first time in her life she preferred the company of someone living and didn’t want to avoid life to tend to the dead.

Her heart screamed that she didn’t want to go back to isolating herself and spending all her time with the dead.

She wanted to live. Chibs made her want to live.

She reached out, making up her mind, her hand sliding over his as she spoke. “Do you promise me every single thing you just said to me is the absolute truth? I am not the other woman?”

“I swear to ya. You are not a mistress. I may be a bastard, but I ain’ goin to lie bout that.” Chibs insisted his heart daring to lift just the slightest.

Y/N sighed telling the fears in the back of her head to shut up, deciding to listen to what her heart screamed. “Okay. I’m here…I’m not going anywhere Filip.”

She paused, shaking her head as she spoke again. “I’ve never been the conventional type…I don’t expect traditional from you…at least not in the white picket fence stereotype ... .I do expect monogamy, Filip. If you want someone who’s fine sitting by while you get your dick wet somewhere else then I’m not the girl for you.”

“I am fine with that. I don’ want anyone else, Hen. I haven’ even considered it since we met.” He replied being completely honest with her, surprised to find that he didn’t think he’d miss the freedom of not being committed.

She paused, deciding to be honest. “Just promise me something Filip…Swear to me that I’m not a cheap replacement or a fill in for your estranged wife. I can’t be a substitute for what you want ... .I can’t just be the girl you bide your time with while you wait for what you really want to come back to you. I have already filled the role as a substitute pussy for a guy in the past. I refuse to do that again. I don’t want to be used to fill a void in a man. I’m worth more than that.”

Chibs furrowed his brow surprised by the anger that bubbled up in him at her admission about this man from her past.

He gave her hand a squeeze, the words leaving him without hesitation. “Yer not fillin any void fer me…ya ain’ a substitute fer Fiona. I ain’ bidin my time with ya. I want ya fully and completely fer exactly who ya are. Ya ain’ filling a spot fer anyone else.”

She let out a shaky breath, her heart insisting that this was all she needed to know.

She leaned in her lips close to his cheek as she spoke. “Is this okay?”

He widened his eyes as he realized what she was asking. He nodded his head quick to reply. “Yes, please.”

She pressed her lips to his cheek he surprised by the dampness gathering at the corners of his eyes.

The kiss remained lingering, Y/N reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his face as she finally pulled back.

She spoke her voice soft, finding some humor in the moment. “Okay, next date no trauma. We aren’t allowed to cry on the third date.”

Chibs let the laugh leave him, he nodding his head agreeing wholeheartedly.

He wrapped an arm around her waist not helping but to tease her the horrible mood he’d been in all afternoon lifting. “So, I’m gettin a third date?”

She leaned into his embrace a small laugh leaving her. “So long as you promise we don’t cry.”

“Aye no tears from me.” He insisted, squeezing her all the tighter.

She relaxed against him, her eyes closing her body feeling lighter than it had felt in so long.

She knew this was far from conventional but she wasn’t lying. She’d never been a conventional girl.

#sons of anarchy #chibs sons of anarchy #chibs telford fanfiction #chibs telford x reader #sons of anarchy fanfiction #chibs #chibs telford #soa

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libraford · 9 months

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I know it does nothing to dwell on stuff that's already happened, but every time I look at the spice rack in the kitchen I remember a few Christmases ago-

Pock was at the computer in our room.

I was on the couch in the livingroom.

Roommate A was in their bedroom.

All the doors were open, we could all hear each other.

Pock tells me:

"Mom is trying to pick a Christmas present for you. Would you like a fancy set of spices or a silicone pastry mat?" (Pocks mom likes to show her love in the form of gift giving, but the only thing she's comfortable getting me is kitchen stuff because she knows I cook/bake.)

Before I can respond, A yells (from the other side of the house) "Get the spices!"

I wasnt sure how to respond to that because it took a moment to register.

But Pock got pretty angry about it.

"No, my MOTHER is asking LEE what THEY would like for THEIR Christmas present."

The nuance of which flew right past her.

"I dont care, get the spices!"

So even though I would have probably used the spices more, we asked for the pastry mat because if we got the spices I think she would have argued that they were hers when they split.

So when Christmas comes by and I come home with a pastry mat, A said 'I thought you were getting spices.' And was disappointed that we didnt get them.

Which like... I dont think of it as abuse, but I feel like it was such a self-centered way of navigating the holiday. How are you going to complain that my mother in law didnt ge tg me what you wanted? Absolute nonsense.

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front-facing-pokemon · 4 months

Note

I just found this blog so I'm jumping aboard the plushie bandwagon.

First we got Absol. (i feel like maybe i should've taken a closer-up picture but it's the face sooo)

Then a Wooloo

And, saving best for last, this Leafeon plush I own... of which I swear on my life is official merch.

I also have some more eeveelutions (plus an eevee and a few more) but: 1. I didn't want to send too many. 2. Eeveelutions are more popular so I wanted to give some other people the chance to submit their own. 3. I don't know where my Pikachu and Snivy plushies are cuz I own too many stuffed animals.

Only reason I submitted Leafeon was so I could show off this ~masterpiece~ of a plushie I own. And it's face isn't the only thing wrong with it too lol. Also I just noticed I accidentally had one of the ears hanging back but I'm too lazy to go take another photo but i hope this amuses you nonetheless.

ALRIGHT THERE'S BEEN A LOT OF YOU AS I'VE BEEN OUT WITH MY FAMILY FOR CHRISTMAS HUH

let's start with these guys. beautiful. wonderful. i do not believe that that leafeon is official merch. this statement is baffling to me. welcome to the front-facing pokémon family. i love the eyes on that absol and wooloo is one of my faves. i was rather obsessed with it when it first came out and have a whole wooloo tag on my main blog because of it. though i guess i cleared that whole thing out recently so i don't anymore

let's get the nose ratings out of the way:

↑ this is a lie. 10/10 chespin

it's very wide and also 10/10 you're being too harsh. merry day to you too

circular face indeed. did i already post this one? if i did you can have it again

clodsire be upon ye. clodsire fans this is your treat until gen 9

this is a trend now. i think tumblr just crunched this image to hell for some reason so here's what the text says:

"Felt like joining the others for front facing pokeplushies [images] I have more pokemon but its early morning and these are the plushies that are easy to access"

i have not but i imagine "a moment" has long passed by now. my apologies but apparently today was an important day or something? idk

YEAH it's super unbelievably fucked up. i think i kinda remember the circumstance being a bit dire so everyone else was more worried about either 1. protagonist getting stomped on brutally or 2. saving the world from kyurem / the bittercold. i was totally under the impression that he was dead in that moment but i guess the characters may have known that he would just come back? i seem to vaguely remember partner being surprised that he came back and being like "but we watched you die :OOO" but maybe i'm misremembering that. i do create a lot of pmd lore on my own time so i have a hard time telling the difference between canon and fanon sometimes

two a day makes the world go round! this blog started when i started college, paused for 80% of my college career and now has started back up and i just graduated college a week ago. i would say "how time flies" but it has been a very, very long year

i've said it before and i'll say it again: gen 6 is my favorite gen, so you'll be seeing lots of favor for this gen from me in the tags i'm sure. maybe gen 6 is my excuse to start doing other things here. like that stream i keep talking about

if they put meloetta as a little obscure puzzle thang in sv, i'm sure they'll do something for genesect. i hope. at least for keldeo probably. genesect i'm not sure is very popular, unfortunately, outside of the tumblr crowd. if the general public's opinion on genesect is favorable, then maybe

okay and then i tried to scroll down further in my screenshots for more asks and saw the wobbly will smith in a hospital bed Gimme a Hug, Man that i copied from the "i get a little bit genghis kanghis" post so that's it. to everyone who christmases: merry it. it is today. although it's basically over by now so! merry boxing day for tomorrow if i don't say anything tomorrow. but i probably will. now i'm gonna go queue up today's 'mons because i haven't done it yet today. see you all in a few weeks when those post

#gti spoilers #under the cut. don't look if you haven't played it it's an amazing game #not pkmn #nose ratings #about to queue up gogoat and pancham so be ready for those in a while

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thatginchygal · 4 months

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New 12/20

Shelagh and Patrick attend a conference just prior to Christmas. With Shelagh pining after the handsome doctor, what might fate have in store for them?

(A few Christmases ago I attempted ‘fake dating’. This year it’s all about ‘one bed’. So have a Christmas laden fun-filled dorks to lovers one bed romp from me to you. ❤️💚💚❤️)

Thanks as always to my bestie, @fourteen-teacups , for her invaluable advice and for listening to me be like—‘I wanna write a one bed fic. Let me dither for a month though, first.’ Love you!! ❤️❤️

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, all!! 🎄💚❤️💚❤️🎄

#turnadette #call the midwife #patrick turner #shelagh turner #Christmassy but that’s not the real trope here #folks #there’s only one bed #😮😮😮#ginchy fic

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writtenonreceipts · 8 months

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Rowaelin Month Day Three: Rowaelin as Teens @rowaelinscourt

This is a prologue of sorts, the rest of the fic will come closer to the holidays, hopefully—unfortunately my fic writing will be slowing down massively here in the next little bit. But, I’ve had this idea on the brain for a year now, so here we are! I’m hoping this’ll only be 3 parts total, depending on how part two goes…

Rowaelin Month Masterlist Main Masterlist

Warnings: mild (teenage) angst, references to parental death.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Like Best Friends Do—Part One

It was December eighteenth and the first snowfall had finally come to Terrasen.

Usually, the snow was a perpetual problem for the city beginning in late October and not slowing down until mid-April, at least. This year was different. And Rowan didn’t know how he felt about that.

He’d never been one for change if he were being honest with himself. Even at eighteen years old (his birthday only occurring a few weeks ago) Rowan had learned that change incited problems. Problems led to conflict. And conflict made way for misery. He knew the path quite well and was not welcome to any sort of change. Ever.

Which was why he sat in his beat-up Honda just outside of his best-friend’s house. Tradition demanded it.

He wasn’t waiting long when a shape dashed across the sidewalk toward him. With far too much energy and fervor, Aelin Galathynius threw open the passenger door.

“Sorry, sorry!” she said as she tossed a grocery bag across the console at him. “I know I’m late.”

Rowan caught the bag easily and shook his head. He couldn’t be mad, not at her.

Aelin stuck her head in the car and scowled. She wore a ridiculous winter hat with ear flaps, her blonde hair in a wild mess of waves beneath it. “I couldn’t find any marshmallows because I live with a bunch of heathens apparently.”

She then eased into the car taking care to balance two steaming thermoses in her hands. With her blonde hair flying about her face and the pink tint to her nose and cheeks, she looked far more angelic than he knew she felt. Though, Rowan wouldn’t say anything of course. He couldn’t.

As Aelin settled the thermoses between her legs, she closed the car door and buckled up. Then she grinned at him with that reckless abandon he was so accustomed to seeing.

“I am ready.”

For as long as Rowan could remember, he and Aelin had spent their Christmases looking at the lights. At first, their parents would make a carpool even of it. Holiday music blaring from the stereo, hot cocoa freshly made, and windows rolled down for the best view. For the young, impressionable kid in the prime of childhood: it was magic.

Then of course, Rowan’s dad died. That had taken some magic out of things. He’d been twelve and an only child. His mother, brilliant woman that she was, persevered. She ran the small family farm with grace and dignity, never once thinking about letting it go. She always insisted that change was just an opportunity to grow and she would grow right where she was, thank-you very much.

Still, Rowan had always hated change.

But even as Rowan struggled with grief over his dad—some things remained the same.

Ever since he’d gotten his license at the tick of his sixteenth birthday, he and Aelin often escaped on adventures of their own. During the holidays it meant it was just him and Aelin going around to look at the lights. It was always at her insistence and Rowan found it impossible to say no to her. The music and cocoa remained even when their parents no longer took them out themselves.

“What is all this?” Rowan asked. He poked at the plastic bag and sighed. Sitting on top was a giant bag of chocolate. Below he could see a baggie of baby carrots. Just for him. “Seriously?”

“Snacks!”

“I don’t like food in my car!” He knew it was a weak argument, the weakest of all arguments that could possibly be made.

She blinked at him with her big blue eyes and pouted. The streetlamps filtered through the windows creating a halo around her. It was impossible that one person could be so beautiful.

“Please? It’s Christmas!”

And Rowan, being in love with his best friend, sighed. “You’re insufferable.”

Aelin beamed at him and leaned across the center console to smack a kiss to his cheek. “I won’t make a mess, I promise.”

It was a lie and they both knew it. Aelin wasn’t the best at remaining organized even when she did try her best. To be honest, that combination was one of her most endearing attributes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rowan said, though he couldn’t help the small smile that escaped him.

He pulled the car out onto the road and headed down the street to the first neighborhood.

They were seniors in high school and had spent the last two weeks busy with finals and essays. This was going to be a fun, easy way for them to relax before Christmas. And Rowan, knowing Aelin was also stressed out over basketball, wanted to make this the best round of Christmas lights possible.

He’d already done some scouting earlier in the week. He didn’t care as much about the lights himself, but there was something about watching the joy and wonder on Aelin’s face that sent flutters to his gut and brought a smile to his lips.

She always found joy in everything. She was someone who wanted to see good, to be good. He’d admired it about her for ages now and was on the list of reasons why he loved his best friend.

Not that he actually wrote anything on that list down. He wasn’t an idiot, anyone could come across it. But he kept a mental tally of all the things.

“How’s your mom?” Aelin asked as they drove. She sipped her cocoa and hummed happily. “Is she making it through alright?”

“Yeah,” Rowan sighed. “Summer was a good season, so we’ve got hoards of lavender and honey stored up to sell, so she’s happy about that.”

The farm had a few acres of lavender plants and three beehives which kept them busy during the summer months. Winter, however, was where the Whitethorn homestead made its money. Starting in mid-November the farm turned into a certified Christmas Wonderland. For the last fifty years it had been dedicated to growing Christmas trees. Something Rowan did not understand, but his mother loved it. Tradition. And Rowan was not one to step on tradition.

“You know, it’s kinda funny that you hate Christmas as much as you do,” Aelin mused.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “I don’t hate Christmas. I hate snow.”

“Which is even more funny, you were born on the coldest day of November, Buzzard, you should be thriving in this weather,” Aelin reminded him, as she so loved to do.

There was no arguing with her so Rowan only rolled his eyes and kept driving. His phone lit up with a text message but he ignored it. For just a little bit, he wanted to remain in this moment with his best friend. And maybe then it would imprint upon his mind for years to come.

“Oh, I love this song,” Aelin said suddenly. She turned the volume on high as Michael Buble began singing one of his famous Christmas songs.

“You say that about all the songs,” Rowan pointed out.

Aelin grinned at him. “Because it’s true. All the songs are the best.”

Rowan couldn’t help but return the smile.

As Aelin hummed along to the music, Rowan turned into the first neighborhood he’d found the other night.

Immediately, they were flooded with bright lights and inflatable machines. Aelin squealed and rolled down her window so she could lean out and get closer. She pointed everything out to Rowan as though he couldn’t already see it himself.

But he didn’t care. Not as she was singing along and laughing as she was.

They continued for over an hour going to as many different neighborhoods as they could. As it crept closer to ten and some houses began shutting off their lights, Rowan pulled them off in front of Aelin’s house, knowing that her dad would be watching for them. Best friends or not, the man had firm rules of where his daughter was and who she was with.

“What happens next year?” Aelin asked as a Nat King Cole song came on. She turned the volume down so it was a low rumble in the background.

“Next year?” Rowan frowned. Why would next year be any different?

“I’m going to Adarlan, you're going to Doranelle,” she reminded him.

Rowan sighed. He’d forgotten that. Different colleges practically at opposite ends of the continent.

“We’ll figure something out,” he said with a shrug.

Aelin sighed and hunkered down in her seat. She held onto her thermos, though Rowan was certain she’d finished her cocoa ten minutes into their drive.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I don’t like it when things change so much.”

Rowan reached over and took her hand, twining their fingers together. “I know.”

“You’re my best friend, Rowan,” she said looking up at him. There was panic in her eyes, Rowan could see. It was strange seeing something so out of control in a gaze that was usually so calm and confident. “And I don’t want to lose you.”

Rowan’s chest gave a painful tug. “Aelin--”

He cut himself off before he could say what he wanted. Because really, he knew that he’d never be able to tell her how he really felt about her. Though, maybe that was for the best. After all, if it came to having Aelin in his life versus not--he’d always chose the first.

His phone went off then with an incoming call before he had a chance to debate his inner thoughts further. Before Rowan could reach for it, Aelin snatched the phone up. They always shared their phones that it shouldn’t have been an issue. But Rowan knew who was calling him.

“Cairn?” Aelin asked, looking up. Her face was illuminated by the pale glow of the screen as the call continued to ring through and the dim green and red that bounced off from the lights on her house. “Why would he be calling you?”

Rowan turned away, out toward the street where snow was beginning to accumulate. The truth burned like acid in the back of his throat.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, “he needs help in history.”

“Finals ended last week.” Aelin practically threw his phone at him. He could hear the displeasure dripping from her voice. “Seriously, Rowan? He’s an asshole. You can’t be friends with him.”

“We’re not!” Rowan dropped his hands from the car wheel and slouched in his seat. “C’mon Aelin, you know I don’t like the guy.”

“Then why’s he calling you? You know what he and Erawan said about Elide, what Cairn tried with her.” Aelin leaned back in her seat, simply staring at him.

“Which is why we’re not friends,” Rowan insisted.

The only reason Cairn was trying to call him was for something stupid, Rowan knew. They played basketball together which supposedly curated comradery between them. But Cairn wasn’t a nice kid. They way he talked about the girls in their class and they had tried to spike Elide’s drink at a party a few weeks ago. If Chaol Westfell hadn’t been the only sober one that night no one would have known…

But then Rowan had helped Cairn cheat on an exam so he could pass. If he’d flunked, he wouldn’t have been able to play in the state finals…and…well. Rowan never said he was a good person.

“Aelin,” he began.

But she was already throwing open the door, grabbing the empty thermoses and stuffing them into the now empty grocery bag.

“I gotta go, Rowan,” she said, not bothering to look at him.

“Aelin!” he yelled after her. She slammed the door and trudged back up to her house.

Rowan could only watch. He waited until she was inside and he saw the shadow of her silhouette pass the front window, followed by the outline of Rhoe rising from the living couch.

Only then did he start up his car and drive away.

It wasn’t thirty seconds later when Cairn called him again.

“What do you want?” Rowan growled.

“Easy Whitethorn,” Cairn said on the other end. He chuckled lowly and Rowan felt his hackles rise. “I just need a favor.”

“No.”

Another laugh followed by a shout from another person in the background. Probably Erawan.

“What else are you doing tonight, Whitethorn?” Cairn asked. “Damn, boy. You just wanna sit at home with your mama?”

The voice in the background spoke up louder. “Punkassbitch!”

Definitely Erawan. Another, cruder, stream of expletives trailed after.

“It’s almost Christmas, man,” Rowan said. He pulled his car over again, not wanting to drive and have this conversation. His ma would kill him if he got into an accident. “So, yeah, I wanna be at home.”

“I’ll bring you a blankie to practice,” Cairn said. Something clinked in the background; metal against metal that grated just a bit. “You owe me.”

Rowan cursed to himself. He wanted nothing more than to go back to Aelin’s, to pound on her door and beg her to let him in.

“Mr. Clark don’t like cheaters very much,” Cairn continued, “be a shame if someone told him what happened.”

“You’d be in as much trouble as me,” Rowan said. He shut off the radio as his skin grew hot and panic began to swirl in his stomach.

“You wanna bet?”

It took too much effort for Rowan to ease his breathing. Too much effort for him to calm down. Hell.

“What do you want, Cairn?”

…

The warehouse seemed familiar to Rowan but he couldn’t quite place it. They were in the cheaper side of the city, the side where everything was in disrepair and the video cameras were just for show. The cops didn’t care what happened and the citizens knew their voices wouldn’t actually be heard.

Only recently a few local politicians had been making an effort of improving the area. A few businesses had even tried moving in to give the lonely streets new life.

Hence the warehouse.

Why was it so familiar?

“Let’s go!” Cairn hissed. He prodded Rowan sharply in the back.

They snuck down a shadowed alleyway around the back of the warehouse. There was only one singular lamppost in the distance, but it kept flickering as though it would die at any moment. Snow fell from the sky in lazy flurries, barely coating the ground. The one time he would have actually been grateful for a snow storm. Maybe that would have driven Cairn and Erawan back home.

Rowan gripped a flashlight in one hand and a pair of heavy bolt cutters in the others. This was not going to end well. He already knew it. A chill swept through him in a mix of the actual cold weather and trepidation.

Erawan led the way to a chain link fence, cutting along one of the poles and yanking the metal back. Cairn ducked through the opening first, his own flashlight bobbing along. The two had come prepared for this. They’d planned it well too given how they moved. Rowan was just a random extra body. Someone to potentially blame this on if it all went sideways.

Erawan shoved him through the fence hole when he hesitated.

“Get off me,” Rowan hissed.

“Then move!” Erawan snapped. The stench of cigarettes and stale coffee wafted off of him.

Knowing better than to ignore the order, Rowan took off after Cairn.

“What’re we even doing? You can’t think breaking into a warehouse is a good idea.” Rowan tightened his grip on his flashlight and wondered how much trouble he’d actually get in if he decided to whack Cairn over the head with the bolt cutters. He was pretty sure he could out run Erawan if it came down to it.

Cairn didn’t answer, only led them to the side of the warehouse. When Erawan reached them, he dropped the bag he was holding, it rattled with a messy noise of battered abuse.

“Just having fun.”

Which was how Rowan found himself gang tagging the side of a warehouse at one in the morning. He shouldn’t have come, he knew. The reality of the situation was beating relentlessly against the side of his skull with each pass he made of the green spray paint. He should have told his mom what happened. Should have gone to Coach Brullo who trusted him. Should have—should have—

Erawan muttered under his breath as he spelled out a curse word in red paint, the c-u bleeding against the wall like a wound. Cairn was practicing his anatomy skills and doing a terrible job. And Rowan…Rowan just made splashes and slashes where he could. That didn’t seem to offend the others, just as long as he did something.

“We should go,” he said after nearly half an hour. A car drove by on the streets, slow and deliberate. In the darkness he couldn’t tell the make or model and it only added to his panic.

While this side of the city was sketchy at best—people still talked and eventually the cops would show up.

Cairn scoffed and was about to say something—likely a mockery of Rowan’s want to get the hell out of there—when a burst of red and blue lights erupted across the street.

Rowan dropped the spray paint he was holding. His mother was going to kill him. He looked around, desperate for an escape while Cairn and Erawan were already halfway across the abandoned lot. They didn’t get much further when a few uniformed officers flashed lights and their guns yelling for them to stop.

“On your knees!” One officer shouted. It took Rowan a moment to realize the order was directed at him. Coming up on his left was an officer, perfectly poised to take any necessary action.

Falling to his knees, Rowan’s mind blanked out. He did everything he was told to do, barely registering anything other than a muffled curse and an exclamation from one of the officers.

“They’re just kids.”

“Damn. Just get ‘um cuffed.”

It wasn’t until Rowan was hauled to his feet that he managed to catch a look at the messy display of vandalism they’d created. Only…Rowan finally latched onto the logo he’d noticed etched onto the metal door of the warehouse bay and his heart froze before his entire body seized up. He knew that logo and he knew the name attached to it.

Galacorp.

Aelin’s father’s company. That he’d just helped to vandalize.

“Let’s go kid,” the officer next to him said, guiding Rowan to his feet as he began to recite Rowan’s rights.

Rowan hardly listened. Couldn’t. Because in just the span of an hour his entire life turned over on its head. He let the officer guide him to the police cruiser only tripping up when he caught sight of a familiar black SUV with tinted windows and sleek specially ordered rims.

Rhoe Galathynius leaned casually against the back of the car, arms crossed over his wool coat. He watched Rowan closely with an unreadable expression. And Rowan knew that nothing would ever be the same after this.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

will reblog with tags. Please consider reblogging so others see it! <3

thanks for reading.

#rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin month #throne of glass #tog

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 9 months

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AITA for not telling my best friend I basically want to spend the rest of my life with her?

(This is long, I'm sorry, I'm incapable of shortly summarizing things)

Ok. So. I (26NB/FTM) am not in love with my best friend (25F), I'm ace and either aro or demiromantic (honestly not sure anymore). But I do love her as much as I can love anyone, probably. To the extent that I would want to be in a committed relationship (qpr I guess) with her and genuinely want to spend the rest of my life with her.

The thing is, she's neither aro nor ace and has only recently (last year) started overcoming fears and anxiety enough that she's gone on dates and wants to try having a relationship. It wasn't easy for her to get to this point and her anxiety is still a major thing she deals with, especially now trying to have a relationship. I know she doesn't love me romantically (not that I would particularly want her to) bc I'm firmly in the friend category and she's said that she can't fall in love with friends (though, again, I don't… want her to be in love me? Since I'm not in love with her either).

I want her to have these experiences. We're both still young and while I just don't need or want anything in that regard, I know it's different for her and in a way it's her finally being able to be herself, live for herself and do what she wants (she had a rough childhood and was basically the one raising her little brother). So, I really do want her to have these experiences and I'm not really jealous either bc I know I'm still more important to her ("bros before hoes" and all that, even if the hoes are guys lol). Though I have to admit it's recently been getting harder being genuinely happy for her when things go well with dates and I suppose I'm a little worried how things will be a few years down the line.

But we're very close. We've been friends for 8 years and best friends for almost as long. We tell each other everything. She's the most important person in my life and I'm the most important person in hers. We get mistaken for a couple constantly, at this point I'm pretty sure everyone in our families has at some point thought we're together. My mum basically treats her like a daughter; she's spent the last 3 Christmases with my family. Besides her brother, I'm the only person she truly cares about who she doesn't get anxious about. The reason I'm going to be moving back home after uni is because she still lives in the area; if she lived somewhere else I'd move there (that's not me being one-sidedly codependent btw, she would absolutely do the same). The jokes about how we need to die at the same time bc neither of us would want to live on alone are really only partly jokes.

Now, here's (finally) where I might be an asshole: When we were in school our friend group consisted of four guys, me and her. All the guys had a crush on her, though some she only found out about later. My best friend, at the time, identified as a lesbian (it's bi probably now). The guys knew that. Now this one guy she only found out about last year at a class reunion (I wasn't there) and he was being all weird about how he'd seen all the times they went to the movies together as dates etc. She thought they were jokingly calling those 'dates', we all did. Again, he knew she identified as gay and never actually said anything about being in love with her. He was also giving off incel-y vibes when she talked with him at the class reunion, so there's that.

We talked about that and well, I kinda admitted that there'd been a moment yeaaaaars ago (like 5?6?) where I felt myself fall in love with her and mentally went 'nope, nope, nope, not doing that (falling in love my best friend) again' and then… it didn't happen. Don't know how that worked. Either way, she made me promise if I ever did actually fall in love with her, that I would tell her. We were laughing about it but I know she was serious about that.

I don't plan on telling her though. I meaaaan I'm not in love with her, technically, which yes, I know, she would probably mean this too. But I know that, at least at this point in time, she doesn't want the same things I want and I want her to have these experiences of dating guys and being in a (allo) relationship etc. I don't want our relationship right now to change either and I know she would try to be considerate and I don't need or want that. I don't want her to overthink what she can or can't tell me, I don't mind hearing her talk about the guys she's dating and I want her to still come to me with everything. I know how she works, I've been basically managing her anxiety for years (genuinely do not mind that before anyone comes talking to me about boundaries) and I know I'm one of the few people in her life who try to let her come to her own conclusions/decisions instead of telling her what they think is right and/or what she should do (she's very easily influenced unfortunately and while I do tell her my opinions if she asks for them, I always try to let her come to her own conclusions first). I don't want her to lose all that. I don't want her to suddenly be anxious about me either, that is genuinely the last thing I would ever want.

TLDR: My best friend made me promise her that I would tell her if I fell in love with her, which I'm technically not, but I do want to spend the rest of my life with her & would want to be in a (queerplatonic) committed relationship with her. I don't want to tell her bc I know it's not what she wants, at least right now, and I want her to make her own experiences and I don't want our relationship to change with this.

AITA for not telling her I would want to be in a (queerplatonic) relationship with her?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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ladamedusoif · 5 months

Text

Candles (Frankie Morales x F!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 13

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word Count: 500 words

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None; references to Christmas

Summary: Lights will guide you home.

“It has to be red, Frankie. I dunno why. It just does.”

Frankie scours the shelves of candles in the hardware store, seeking out the elusive red candle. His dark eyes alight on a candle holder in red glass.

“Okay, it’s not strictly a red candle…”

You examine it carefully. “I guess it would look red in the window…”

He nods. “I know it has to be right, sweetheart, but better this than not at all?”

***

It was your first Christmas living together, and with it came a merging of traditions, habits, and decorations. Frankie didn’t bring many, admittedly, apart from a few handmade ones his little girl had made for him in kindergarten. But he was excited to start making new traditions with you, ones that were all your own.

One old tradition had to stay, though. The candle in the window.

“My grandma was Irish,” you’d explained to Frankie. “She never let a Christmas go by without having her red candle in the window.”

This was a new one on him, and he was curious. “What does it mean?”

You’d rested your head on his shoulder, memories of Christmases past floating through your mind. “I think it’s originally about being a welcoming light for Mary and Joseph looking for a place to stay? But don’t ask me to confirm that. I crashed and burned out of church a long time ago.”

He’d chuckled and pulled you close, kissing the top of your head. “My favourite heathen.”

“But I think it had other meanings for her,” you’d continued. “It’s supposed to be a light to guide wanderers home… especially emigrants. People who’ve had to leave, for whatever reason.” You felt tears building, thinking of your grandmother’s efforts to maintain her traditions even when she was thousands of miles from her native shores.

“So many people had to go, and it’s a sign they can always come home. Even if they didn’t feel it, you know? Home would be there for them, waiting.”

Frankie had wrapped his arms even tighter around you. “Oh, baby. I get that. Saw it in my ma, her tías… it’s hard.”

“I can’t imagine what it was like for her, Frankie. She was fourteen when she got on that boat. Fourteen.”

Frankie’s hands held you close and safe. “We’ll get a candle in the window, baby. For her. For everyone.”

***

On Christmas Eve, you light the white tea light in its red jar. Frankie goes outside to look at the effect and gives you a thumbs up.

“It looks awful pretty, baby. A real signal in the darkness.”

That year, he didn’t have his little girl for Christmas. He tried not to let it show, but you knew how much he missed her.

As you stood in the living room, looking at the red light flickering in the window, you reach for him.

“Everyone finds their way home, Frankie. They just need a light to guide them.”

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #frankie morales #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

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kisses-from-crows · 7 months

Text

Crossed Wires - Campbell Bain - Ch. 5

Pairing: Radio Host!Campbell Bain/Popstar!femReader

Summary: After the media fiasco from the day before, Campbell just wants to go to work and forget about it. But nothing is ever that easy.

Genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, modern au, reader insert, forced proximity, misunderstandings, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2,882

Warnings: Swearing, Daddy Issues

Chapter 5: Digging a hole

Beginning | Previous | Next

E!: Do we hear wedding bells? Rodger Del Ray Jr., future CEO of DreamLight Records, has announced his engagement to actress-turned-singer Penelope Taylor after a year of dating. Congratulations to the happy couple!

Posted: 2 weeks ago

Sunlight streamed through Campbell Bain’s bedroom window, spraying little rainbows across the wall as it got caught in the prism hanging from his window. It had been a gift sent to him by Rosalie about two Christmases ago. The light shining in his eyes gently forced him awake. He yawned and stretched out his unusually sore body. He rolled over and buried his face into the pillow.

Similar shuffling noises came from the unusually warm phone that sat unplugged beside him. He blinked a few times to clear the blurriness from his eyes. After a few failed attempts at reading, he finally made out the words on the screen:

ITS THE DEVIL’S HENCHMAN; DINNAE ANSWER IT

Time Elapsed – 10 Hours 34 Minutes 25 Seconds

Campbell stared at his own confused reflection in his phone screen for several long seconds as his sleep-addled brain struggled to catch up with reality. In that time, Y/N groaned tiredly on the other end. Y/N… Phone… Morning? What was that? Ah, it was reality, right on time to smack him upside the head with a steel chair.

He never hung up last night. She never hung up last night. They never… well you get the point. He shot out of bed instantly, as though a fire had been lit underneath him, scrambling away from the phone like it was a ticking time bomb.

Campbell paced anxiously around his bed, floorboards squeaking beneath him as he planned his next move. Maybe he could just hang up the phone and she would never realize how long the call was. Who checks their call logs anyway? But, what if the sound of him ending the call woke her up? And then she would know. Even worse than that, she would know that he knew. And then the world would end, obviously.

The sounds of Campbell’s stomach growling drowned out the irrational argument he was having alone in his head. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t exactly thinking straight. With a deep breath and a clenched fist, he ended the call. He waited with bated breath, staring at the black screen sitting ominously on the bed.

When a large cartoon anvil didn’t drop from the sky and crush him through the floor, he figured he was safe. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice, and they could go on as if nothing had happened. Well, nothing had happened really. They just fell asleep on a call, that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything. They had a long day and accidentally fell asleep. On the phone. Together.

There was a distinct thud beneath him. Likely his downstairs neighbor hitting the ceiling with her broom, not so subtly telling him to stop pacing. This was a common occurrence.

It was a completely innocuous thing, falling asleep on the phone like that. But Campbell couldn’t quite shake the odd feeling in his stomach… probably just indigestion. Right, that made the most sense. Never mind the fact that it was the best night's sleep he’d had in months. He bent down to the floor and knocked twice to acknowledge his neighbor’s complaint. Sore legs carried him unwillingly to the kitchen for some slightly burnt toast and coffee.

Eddie always said Campbell drinking coffee was like giving cocaine to a toddler. Which Campbell found amusing if not slightly insulting. But a cup of coffee in the morning was obligatory now. He had developed the habit during his first year in New York. Back when he had his very first show in the States. It was a show he co-hosted in a small station, filling in the 2 a.m. to 5 a.m. time slot. Just a throwaway assignment designed to fill the dead air, but to Campbell that show meant everything. It meant he had finally made it. It meant that of all the time and energy he had poured into the radio station back at St. Jude’s was worth the heartache. Hell, it even meant his father was wrong about him.

Campbell wondered if his dad knew just how successful he had become. Or if Campbell’s name had become as unspeakable in that house as his bipolar disorder. Or his ‘condition’ as they called it. The moment he announced his plan to move to the State, his father decided he was on his own.

“Don’t come crying to me and yer ma when this daft scheme of yers goes up in flames.” had been his father’s exact words if he remembered correctly. And he did. The words had seared themselves to the inside of his skull. The point of no return.

To say Campbell had missed his father would be a lie. But that didn’t stop him from wishing things could be different. To hear from his father that Campbell knew what he was doing all along. That he was proud of him. Campbell knew it was a dream, something akin to wishing on stars. He was never going to get that satisfaction, but it didn’t matter. He’d made his own family, made his own way in the world. Sometimes blood was simply that… blood.

It had been far too long since he’d called Eddie McKenna. Campbell made a mental note to give him a call soon. He filled it away in his brain along with all the other things he was likely to forget.

He munched on his lightly blackened and over buttered toast, grabbing his phone to scroll absentmindedly until it was time for work. The hope had been that the mindless serotonin machine that was social media would distract him from the fiasco with Y/N yesterday and the phone call incident this morning. Instead, he was confronted with an onslaught of tabloids speculating on the nature of their relationship and discovered that he had become a meme.

The picture of a rather panicked Campbell peering over the side of a building had caught the interest of many young people with big imaginations. Who had started photoshopping Campbell into random places: teacups, airplanes, space, peeking over the edge of the trenches in a World War I photograph. You name it, he was there. “Campbell Bain in places he shouldn’t be.” They called it.

While seeing himself plastered across time and space was a particular type of disturbing, he had to admit, some of them were pretty funny. Someone had quite alarmingly edited him into a guillotine. ‘Y/N would like this one.’ The thought passed as quickly as it came, slipped right through the grasp of his consciousness like a leaf in the wind.

Campbell finished up his breakfast and got dressed for work. Over the last 2-3 years, he had worked hard to secure the prime-time spot for the station. From 2pm to 6pm every weekday, Campbell Bain had his own radio show. Comforting the huddled masses stuck in rush hour traffic.

In a flash, he was out the door, bundled up in a comfortable hoodie with his chunky headphones covering his ears. Music blasting, he made his way to the subway. A part of him missed the simplicity of the old Glasgow railway but there was just something about the hustle of New York that agreed with him. At least, that’s what he would’ve said three years ago. These days, it was beginning to wear on him.

Campbell Bain had become a household name years ago. Around the time Y/N and Campbell had their fourth interview together. That had been the most vicious of them all, not counting their very last interview before Y/N’s disappearance. He could picture the second it all went to hell like it was yesterday.

He had delivered some jab about her lyrics being generic and expected. The moment the mood shifted from school-yard taunts to an all-out war was palpable. Y/N cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. Under her piercing gaze, Campbell had never felt so exposed. Her eyes scanning his being as if assessing his greatest weaknesses like the Terminator. Before she even opened her mouth, he knew he was going to regret whatever it was that he just said. With a wicked grin, she delivered a blow that hit him right between the gaps in his armor, and he just lost it. That night when he went home, he stared at his ceiling without blinking. The harsh conversation playing over and over in his head. It wasn’t the first time in those seven years that Campbell couldn’t recognize himself. Nor was it wasn’t the last.

Lost in the flow of the music and his own mind, Campbell nearly missed his stop. He squeezed past tourists and commuters alike, against the human current flooding into the overcrowded subway car. As he stepped onto the busy sidewalk above ground, he marveled at the skyscrapers towering above him. Only a few short years ago, all these buildings felt so much taller. Stone giants, so shiny and full of promise. Now they just felt like walls closing in on him.

Campbell pushed his way through the revolving doors of the radio station. The interior had changed a lot since DreamLight Records had bought the station, just a year after Campbell had signed a contract with them. Nearly eight years ago now. It wasn’t so bad at first, working for them. But slowly over time, things got more and more strict. All these different rules about dress code and what music they could play. He didn’t care much for being told what to do. So, he made himself utterly indispensable, the biggest name to grace what was once a small station. Now he could pretty much do anything he wanted. Well, almost anything.

Campbell got settled in his cushy leather chair with his mug of coffee and looked over the available catalog for the day. It was a list of artists all signed under DreamLight Records. Around year three, DreamLight’s CEO, Rodger Del Ray Sr., announced that the station could only play music written, produced, owned, or approved by the DreamLight Record label. They claimed it was to “promote their brand”. Campbell thought it was a load of shite, but they signed his paychecks, so he kept quiet… mostly. Well, quiet for him at least.

He took a long swig from his Bugs Bunny mug as he picked out a few of his favorites to start out the day, deciding to sort through the rest as he went along. Campbell worked best in a flow state, planning it all out just wasn’t his style. The tech guys outside the sound booth held up five fingers. Five seconds until he was live. He cleared his throat and chugged some water, best to keep the instrument clear.

5… 4... 3… 2… 1. “HELLLLLOOOOOO AND WELCOMEEEEE. If yae are just tuning in, yae are right on time for the Loony Tunes show with Campbell Bain. I am your designated loony for this afternoon, Campbell Bain.” He fell into the character like a second skin. It was a part of him. At least it had been, once upon a time. Now it just felt like a costume. The grandiose announcer thriving off the undivided attention of the general public.

Campbell played his first few queued up songs and began wracking his brain over what to play next. Deft fingers flitted over the song choices till they came to a pause at a familiar name. F/N L/N… it was a track from her third album. As much as he loathed to admit it, he actually quite liked this particular tune. Something about the way the drum kicks and cymbal sizzles emphasized the emotion in her voice made his chest go tight. He used to listen to it alone in his room and think about his father. All the rage he felt, all the disappointment, the yearning he had for his father’s approval even to this day. But that was a secret he planned to take to the grave. And when he met Fergus wherever he was going, his lips would remain sealed.

He queued up the song before his brain even recognized what his hands were doing. Campbell’s eyes widened as he watched the track go into the lineup of songs. He scrambled to fix his mistake, mouse clicking furiously. But it was too late. With nothing else to play, the channel began broadcasting a 4-year-old deep cut from Y/N’s third album. Campbell swore silently and slid dramatically from his chair onto the floor. This was not good.

Of all the ridiculously dumb things he could’ve done, this had to be one of the stupidest. If the media frenzy over their near escape yesterday had been bonfire, Campbell had just thrown gallon of gasoline on it. Plus a few fireworks for good measure.

As Campbell laid curled up under his desk, the beginning chords of the song floated through the air. He felt sick to his stomach. This was disaster. Even worse, it was downright embarrassing, he had a certain reputation to uphold after all. Maybe if he just hid down here for a while, his slip of a finger and the consequences that would soon follow might just disappear. His phone buzzed in his pocket, it’s from the tech crew. The message read: ???.

Campbell crawled out from under the desk, limbs getting tangled in the wires of the headphones. After nearly faceplanting in the well-worn carpet he managed to right himself on top of his chair with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. An awkward thumbs up to the guys on the mixer and he pretended to go on as usual. As if nothing had happened.

The song picked up around the second chorus bringing in loud baselines and a few subtle strings over top of it. The build of the instrumentals matched the intensity of her vocals as she sang about feeling alone in a crowded room and being desperate for the approval of those who could never see her. The lyrics were vague enough to be widely relatable but still cut deep. In a few measures, Campbell’s favorite part of the song was coming. The music reached a fever pitch before ending abruptly as if the entire band ceased to exist when they were giving it their all just moments before. The end left the listener feeling like they had the rug ripped out from under them. It suited the tone of the song so well.

So, maybe Campbell liked this song a little. His head bobbed to the beat of its own accord. Okay, more than a little. But after 6 studio albums she was bound to create one song he liked. Even a broken clock was right twice a day.

Campbell let the music fade out and hoped the mistake would pass without acknowledgement from the press. As 4 o’clock rolled around, it was time for requests. Loony Tunes had an hour-long segment where listeners could compete to request a song.

With every call and every right answer, Campbell was bombarded with question after question about Y/N. What were they doing together yesterday? Is she releasing a new album? Are you guys dating? Why did you play a Y/N song? Is that a secret message? Why were you two on a roof?

Mind you, Campbell Bain can bullshit with the best of them. Lie his way out of a hole in the ground. But at this moment, he had no explanation. Not one single line concocted to get him out of this mess. Because the truth was, he didn’t know the answers either. Questions swirled around his head; he was more confused now than he was before. It seemed his meeting with Y/N had only brought more questions. It had also unfortunately chucked him like a rag doll straight into the rumor mill.

Another buzz emitted from his phone from a contact labelled: Boss Baby. Oh god, it was Rodger Del Ray Jr., Y/N’s former fiancé. The text cryptically read: “You’re dead, Bain.”

Well, that much was clear already. Anxiety boiled over in the pit of his stomach and wrapped a hand around his throat. He had to find a way out of this. Maybe he should reach out and tell Y/N the interview was off. He wanted no part of whatever mess he’d found himself in. But even as he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t too late to walk away, curiosity gnawed at him like a dog with a bone.

As the last half an hour of the show rolled around, Campbell decided to take matters into his own hands. He pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. It was full of notifications, endless links to new articles claiming to have the inside scoop on Y/N’s new Scottish beau. The memory of waking up next to her on the phone flooded his overactive mind as he pulled up her contact. Passively, he wondered if he should change her name in his phone. He typed up and deleted ten different messages before settling on:

“We need to talk.”

A breath later, a buzz.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

_________________________________________________

Next Chapter

A/N: sorry this is more of a filler this week, everybody at work got sick so i was working a lot more than i expected. i promise next week we’ll get some good drama in there. also i don’t know why it didn’t occur to me when i wanted to write a popstar!au that eventually i would have to make up fake music. don’t worry i’m not gonna try to write a song that would be a disaster. just gonna stick to describing the vibe lol. - Ducky

#david tennant #campbell bain #fanfic #taking over the asylum #campbell bain x reader #fanfic writing #kisses-from-crows #modern au #campbell bain fanfic #multi part fic #popstar!reader #enjoy!

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dramioneasks · 4 months

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HP FESTS: Yuletide and Mulled Wine Fest

Yuletide and Mulled Wine Fest 2023:

Mutual, I'm Sure by LadyUrsa - E, WIP - If Draco Malfoy could have one wish in his life, it would be to not be a Veela. Wait, no. It would be to not have Hermione Granger be his mate. Fuck, at this point he would settle for Hermione Granger just being aware of the painfully obvious fact that she was his mate. But only as long as it resulted in monogamous bliss. And getting a cat. ** Two meddlesome best friends, two idiots who are bad at feelings, and a snow-filled Christmas reunion in Vermont. The only thing this White Christmas is missing are some musical numbers.

Seven Days in December by AutumnWeen - T, 4 chapters - A binding link, a friendship that blossomed from pain, and the magic of Christmas during seven days in December that will finally make them accept they can’t escape the other.

A Perfectly Normal Christmas by Kayka - T, one-shot - Hermione should have realized Christmas was doomed when the mistletoe spontaneously caught fire. This was all somehow Draco Malfoy's fault, and now she can't seem to stop running into him everywhere.

Four Christmases by vannminner - M, WIP - You can't spell families without lies - and the Granger / Malfoy duo had been spinning quite a few of those. As fate would have it, however, they're forced to unveil the truth to everyone in a series of four Christmases.

Stardust and Gentle Love by SybilEvergreen - T, 12 chapters - "Mr. Malfoy hasn't returned yet?" "No, not yet unfortunately. He sent me a message two days ago, stating that his mission had been extended. He's unsure if he'll make it back for Christmas." "You have to believe in a Christmas miracle, Miss."

The Christmas Party by arielle_reads - M, one-shot - Robards hosts a Christmas party for the Ministry but his gift-giving plan goes awry when everything gets swapped. Firewhiskey shots are introduced and Draco worries someone else will get the present he chose for Hermione.

Magical Merry Mistletoe by greyditto - T, one-shot - What happens when pureblood tradition, a Yule party, and a Secret Santa gift exchange all take place in the same event? Naturally, Draco's nearest and dearest conspire to get him what he always wanted...

Icy Truce, Warm Hearts by Serpent_Sortia - E, one-shot - The war has been raging for years but things are starting to go the Order's way thanks to the information provided by a spy high amongst Voldemort's ranks. Hermione is called out to meet the mysterious informant on a snowy Christmas Eve so he can deliver important news... until their meeting spot is compromised.

Krampussy by MidnightLumos - E, one-shot - Nothing brightens the spirits like a little holiday transfiguration. Just fun, giddy smut. “Krampus?” He nuzzled Hermione’s neck. “Are you going to eat me or take me to hell?” “The first one,” she stuttered. Malfoy made a choking sound of surprise, then pulled her forward on his lap until she was flush against his hardening bulk. “Goat demons, huh?” she said judgmentally, giving a meaningful thrust against him.

A Solstice Yarn by AStateOfInelegance - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy is at the Granger family Ugly Jumper Party which is terrifying to Hermione for a number of reasons - not least of which is meeting her parents, hearing her childhood stories, and doing atrocious things to her heart. *** When she opened the door, she was smiling and when she saw the familiar mop of brown curls and bright grin, she couldn’t help but smile wider. Theo Nott had that effect on everyone. But when she saw the equally recognisable, though much less welcome, sleek platinum hair, her smile disappeared. He was not grinning. He looked like a man standing on a gallows, watching the hooded executioner sharpen his blade. She was suddenly very aware of her pulse and the way it raced, with a fight-or-flight response. “Theo,” Hermione said, voice low and dangerous. He cocked his head innocently. “You said I could bring a plus one.” Obviously her second mistake. The first was inviting him to begin with.

Messing with Christmas and How to Fix it by Astrangefan - not rated, one-shot - Hermione has been homesick for a home she no longer has. She finds some old decorations at Grimmauld and brings them back to Hogwarts. Draco likes what she's done, but says it in a way only Draco Malfoy can say and everything goes wrong. Now he has to come up with a grand gesture to apologise.

You Can't Just by AccioMjolnir - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger is assigned to review the finances for the Ministry Yule Party. The Yule Party that just happens to be organized by Draco Malfoy.

The Holiday by LunaLunaria - E, one-shot - A remix of The Holiday (2006) featuring cinnamon roll with hidden depths Neville Longbottom, chaotic manic pixie Pansy Parkinson, hyper-productive, seduce-me-with-your-brain Hermione Granger, and literary bachelor with a side of snark and sentiment Draco Malfoy.

This is War. by AlulaSprinkles - T, one-shot - "‘This is war.’ Honestly! Who says something like that about sodding snowballs, for Merlin’s sake?!" Or: in which Draco and Hermione's ongoing snowball fight quickly becomes too real.

A Gingerbread Getaway by MarinaJune - T, one-shot - Hermione loves a perfectly baked gingerbread biscuit, so how can she resist joining the Ministry's gingerbread house decoration contest? With a Romantic Getaway for Two as the grand prize and stiff competition in the form of one Draco Malfoy, she has her work cut out for her. It will take all manner of skills and subterfuge to secure first place, but the results might not be what she expects.

Onions, Lifts, & Fairy Dust by GertrudeCC - M, one-shot - A malfunctioning lift or a meddling friend? Two people seemingly lost on Christmas Eve thrown together in a most unusual way.

All I want, all I love by Goldenbucky - E, one-shot - A look inside the Malfoy Pack during the holiday season. More so, Alpha Pack Leader Draco Malfoy will do anything for his Omega.

Wreck My Plans by bookish_clf (clf1646), LunaP999 - E, one-shot - “You can call me Draco, you know. I have a first name.” “I don’t know. If I don’t call you Malfoy it might mean you aren’t my mortal enemy anymore, and won’t that just be so fucking weird?” I joked. “You have your legs wrapped around my waist, Hermione. I think we are anything but mortal enemies at the moment.” Jesus H Christ. **** Recently divorced Hermione Granger is requested to help MACUSA with a mass obliviation event in Manhattan a few days before Christmas. She runs into Head Auror Draco Malfoy, her childhood arch nemesis that she hasn't seen in twenty years. When he offers to be her tour guide for the night, she gladly accepts. Whisking her away to the best holiday markets and restaurants NYC has to offer, she realizes he's no longer the spolied child she used to know. The snow begins to fall and so do her inhibitions.

The Granger-Malfoy’s First Annual Secret Santa by westxnorthwest - T, one-shot - For their first holiday season as a married couple, Hermione and Draco decide to introduce their friends to the Muggle tradition of Secret Santa.

This fest is ongoing.

#Yuletide and Mulled Wine Fest #dramione #fests/exchanges/challenges

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greeksorceress · 1 year

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if i had my way ( you’d always stay)

(brief mentions of mature content)

In hindsight, the night had been bound to be hell on earth since they received the current invitation for the Christmas dinner that religiously took place in the Red Keep every year.

The invitation had been a family Christmas picture that Alicent forced upon her husband and their children every October —with enough time to prepare for the holidays, Alicent had said when Daemon made fun of her two Christmases ago—, and as soon as Lucerys and Jacaerys had seen the sender’s address, they had barely contained themselves from tearing the green envelope open with teeth and nails.

Viserys, Alicent, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and Daeron wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

In the back of the card, just for “Rhaenyra and her family ♡” was written the time they were expected to arrive.

In the picture, Grandpa Viserys and Alicent were sitting on their burgundy designer couch, a piece of furniture more expensive than it had any right to be, and in the background the enormous fireplace of the main and biggest hall of the Red Keep could be seen alight and bright. Aegon and Helaena were standing by Grandpa Viserys’ side, carrying baby Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, while Aemond, pretty much like in real life, had preferred to stay by Alicent’s side. Daeron wasn’t even in the picture. The hilariousness of the situation wasn’t even about the rather ugly matching Gucci Christmas sweater that Alicent had picked for them this time. What truly sold the picture were the different stages of grief that could be appreciated as clearly as summer skies in the faces of the three Targaryen-Hightower siblings.

Spending some days in the Red Keep to celebrate with Grandpa Viserys and his second family has never been uncommon for them, truth to be told. However, Lucerys must admit that his mother and Alicent had come a long way with their relationship and it had influenced the rest of them, if not just to keep the two women happy. What had been broken once by lies and marriages, enhanced by the loss of an eye in a childish dispute, had been reconstructed and reinforced with no short amount of willingness and care, as well as time and all the perseverance in the world. Their dinners had gone from Rhaenyra and Alicent trying to claw at each other to a pleasant companionship that made Alicent feel safe and encouraged enough as to send them a personalised Christmas card every year.

The first time they received one, Jacaerys hollered so hard that he woke Joffrey and baby Aegon up. Even Rhaenyra had unwillingly giggled, covering her mouth guiltily after that. Daemon had been the most enthusiastic about it, though, and had dedicated a little hall of fame in the empty study on the second floor for all the Christmas cards they’ve received. Now, just as it was tradition for Alicent to send them one, the Velaryon brothers as well as their step-father and littlest brothers hung and ranked the pictures with the same reverence one would fill stockings or decorate the tree.

And yet, although the younger generation of the family have tried to keep it together for the sake of their mothers, it doesn’t always —almost never— work out in the end. There’s a sort of animosity that hangs above their heads as heavy as stones, and Jacaerys had mumbled once when they were about to sleep after a particular harsh toast three years ago that he thought it to be unfair that Alicent and their mother got to play friends and pretend nothing ever happened between them while their children had to carry the hate that had been fed to them by the adults. So yeah, while it wasn’t as bad as a few years ago, the invitation had meant hell on earth for the three Velaryon boys, for they had known they would have to endure poorly concealed jabs and jests through the entire duration of their stay.

Still, this has to be a first even for a family as dysfunctional as theirs.

Lucerys looks at the present, neatly wrapped in black paper with a velvety green ribbon that met in a delicate and sophisticated bow in the middle, and his hands tremble. It’s Aemond’s, that much is clear. If the wrapping hadn’t been enough of a clue, Aemond’s burning stare would have been sufficient. Lucerys blames Jacaerys for not paying enough attention to the cues, handling Lucerys the present as soon as he saw his name written in the tag attached to the bow.

He starts undoing the ribbon with clumsy fingers, almost mourning the perfection of the bow practically dissolving and then proceeds to slowly tear the paper, actively trying to ignore Aemond’s eye while being conscious of the eagerness of the rest of the family members.

The present is a box as black as the paper that has been wrapped over it, and the cover has the name of a very expensive jewellery maker from Dorne that Lucerys follows on Instagram.

As a rule, the first to open their presents are to be the children, so they had waited patiently for Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and baby Viserys to open theirs. Their excited screams and their little faces painted red with happiness had been as exhilarating and endearing for the older teens and young adults as it had been for the two older, married couples. Supposedly, baby Aegon was to be next, but Grandpa Viserys, never one to miss the opportunity to play favourites, had encouraged Lucerys to open his first.

“Jace,” he tries, “why don’t you give me mom and dad’s—” he sees the way Jaehaera and Jaehaerys pause and look at him, toys forgotten in their confusion, and he has to bite his tongue, “I mean, Santa’s presents that he has left for me in honor of mother and father—”

Jace falters, as if he’s actually considering to switch presents and take the black box from Lucerys’ hands. He will feel bad later for taking advantage of his older brother’s weakness for hi., but right now, he just wants to dodge the literal bomb that must be concealed under the paper and the velvet, waiting for Lucerys’ fingertips to brush against it to set it off. Would the bomb be powerful enough to blow his eye out of his face?

Aemond doesn’t let that happen, though. He stands up and calmly approaches Lucerys, skilfully avoiding stepping on the kids that are sprawled on top of the carpet, not a single drop falling from his champagne flute.

“But, Lucerys, that wouldn’t be nice, would it? That’s Santa’s present that he’s giving you in my honor… Would you wound me so by discarding it?”

Lucerys blinks at him, mouth agape. Next to him, he feels Jacaerys tensing. His brother is starting to realise the potential danger of the present and he reaches a hand to take it from Lucerys. Aemond is faster. He knocks Jacaerys’ hand out of the way and pushes back the box into Lucerys’ arms, making the pointed corner jab at his ribs. He sits right on the stupid burgundy couch and looks at him with unadulterated self-satisfaction, raising the flute to his lips.

Lucerys is not proud of the way his eyes fixate on the bubbles disappearing into Aemond’s mouth, and in the movements of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. Lucerys’ neck itches, the spots that Aemond had thoroughly kissed and bitten a couple of hours ago, embroidering the tender skin with reds and purples by teeth as sharp as needles, burning up and pulsating under his clothes.

He feels his cheeks heat up with shame and things he doesn’t want to admit in front of his family. Aemond dares to eye-fuck him back right in front of their family, playing with the kids’ naivety to get his will met at any costs, softening his voice enough to actually sound wounded, “Jaehaera, Jaehaerys, don’t you want to see what Lucerys got from Santa? Kēpus specially requested for it, it was the first thing I wrote in my letter!”

It works, it fucking works, of course it does. As soon as he says that, the kids turn to Lucerys and rush to assemble by his legs, peering up at the present like it’s the world’s seventh wonder.

“Open it, Luce!” cries Jaehaera, resting her little chin on Lucerys’ knee, “it has to be a great present if Kēpus asked Santa himself!”

Lucerys has fought his fair share of puppy eyes in his life, having three younger brothers kind of makes you immune to it at some point, even more if you’re dubbed as the actual king of the look itself. Now, he finds he cannot say no to those sweet faces and sighs, ready to meet his destiny.

It cannot be that bad, right?

For the longest time, Alicent was the person that hated him the most, even more than Aemond, he thinks. And yet, as years have passed and things have been settled and forgiven, Alicent seems to appreciate him enough to actually get him presents that he might like. Ignoring his own version of the Gucci Christmas zipped sweater that she has forced him to wear over his turtle neck shirt and overalls, —Jacaerys and Joffrey had looked at him with glee in their eyes, it’s his own karma for making fun of the picture—, she has also given him an Apple Watch and the two pairs of shoes that he had added to his wishlist. So, if Alicent is actually being good to him, it means Aemond cannot be much worse, right? Lucerys knows he’s not fooling anyone, not even himself.

He opens the box hesitantly, barely enough for him to peek inside. It seems Jacaerys is having none of it, and he yanks the fancy black lid open, ignoring Lucerys cursing at him, so they all can take a look.

Nothing would’ve have prepared Lucerys for this.

Inside the box was a bomb in the form of jewellery, but a bomb nonetheless.

It has to be a first, definitely. Because he certainly remembers some of the most chaotic Christmases they have celebrated and nothing that comes to mind can possibly hold a candle to this moment.

Lucerys was too young to remember that one time when Daemon punched Otto, who was still being invited to celebrate with them at the time, and successfully managed to break the man’s jaw, forcing a pregnant Rhaenyra to take the children to their rooms and leaving Viserys and Aemond to take Otto to the hospital while Alicent wept. He does vividly remember that one time Aegon was three hours late to the Christmas Eve’s dinner and crashed his brand new Mercedes into the three foot snowmen that Alicent liked to set in the front garden of the Red Keep. Aegon had proceeded to puke all over Aemond and Daemon’s shoes when they pulled him from the car before losing his consciousness. He had needed three stitches in his right eyebrow, but otherwise, he had been okay. Lucerys doesn’t want to remember the first Christmas right after the eye incident, the one where Aemond and Alicent had been absent from the table, refusing to dine with them —with Lucerys— in the same room. Unfortunately, he does remember it, and he also remembers crying into his pillow that night. He had known Aemond wasn’t going to be there on the next morning to open his presents with them, so he had made sure to sneak out during the night and place the handmade package with his letters and drawings for the older boy by Aemond’s door. When Jacaerys had woken him up and had forced him out of their shared bed to rush down and get their own presents, the box was right by their door, stomped and ruined beyond recognition.

So yeah, it’s safe to say that Lucerys and his family are used to complicated holidays. Nonetheless, this present is like a bucket of cold water poured over him.

“A necklace!” screams baby Viserys, big eyes wide open before the sparkling piece of jewellery.

No. It isn’t a necklace. It’s a choker. A fucking full on collar, if you will.

It’s beautiful. It’s frightening. It’s Aemond’s.

It’s as velvet as the ribbon that had decorated the box, only this one is much smoother and as black as the ocean water during the night. In the middle of it, dangling from a beautiful chain made of sapphires, sits a beautiful heart with a carving on its center. The material of the heart is Valyrian steel, as elegant as silver —the preferred material of House Velaryon— and more expensive than twenty-four karat gold. The carved message is two mere words.

ñuha taoba

Lucerys only needs to raise his head to look at Aemond, but he finds himself unable to do so. His stare is frozen upon the collar, and he holds the box tightly to his chest, to hide the fact that the tickling sound that seemed to reverberate through all the room was his heartbeat speeding up. He also wishes to hide Aemond’s deranged tribute far away from the kids’s curious gazes.

The room falls into a deafening silence, Lucerys doesn’t even want to see his mother and father’s reactions.

“Well. Do you like my present, taoba?”

The bomb does, indeed, tick off. Daemon stands up abruptly, the sheer force of his movement enough to knock the chair down, and rapidly stalks towards Aemond. “Is this a fucking joke to you, boy? Do you want to see how funny I can get, too?”

His mother is stricken with the same kind of mortified silence that has overpowered Lucerys, and Alicent, who’s sitting beside her, looks as pale as a ghost. Their stupor doesn’t last much, though. Soon, they’re jumping on their feet, trying to pull Daemon away from his nephew while screaming profanities at both men and at each other. Jacaerys joins the argument too, and so does Daeron while a very stressed Helaena tries to pull the children away. It just takes a couple of insults from Aemond’s mouth towards Rhaenyra to make Joffrey interfere too. Grandpa Viserys is raising his voice, trying to be heard atop the shouts of his family to no avail.

Lucerys’ abasement is fuelled when feels the taletelling wetness run down his thighs, and he hopes for the love of the gods that he doesn’t stain the couch. He wants to die.

He feels someone sit next to him, occupying Jace’s previous seat and throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

“If they think that’s bad, wait until you open my present” singsongs Aegon, drinking from his own flute without the elegance that his brother possesses.

#tw mature content #omfg sorry sorry sorry #can this be considered a drabble?#it actually is part of a larger fic that i wrote but i haven't published because i feel like it's not good enough to be in ao3 #also the second part is pretty much mature #please please please look at the warning there's mature content here so!#younger viserys and aegon are called baby viserys and baby aegon and you cannot change my mind #aegon's present is actually...... promising *coughs*#anyways i'm sorry this is absolute shit #the fact that alicent forces them to pose for christmas pictures sends me #lucerys x aemond #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #my writing: lucemond #ship: fated feud #ship: lucemond #lucemond

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