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green-eyedfirework · 5 months

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Dick stared at the baby in the cradle, frozen to the spot, unable to breathe. He was so…small. Tiny. His little hand was formed into a fist and he was making soft little breaths and some part of Dick was drowning in happiness. It felt like the world had narrowed down to the little curl of the baby’s mouth and his heart rose and fell with the infant’s breaths.

Nothing else mattered. Not the aches and pains throughout his body, not the dread and anxiety twisting his gut, not the ticking clock hanging above his head. His baby was here and that was enough.

“Damian,” Dick sounded out. Not a name he’d picked—it was ill luck to pick a name before the babe was born, and Dick had no time to think of one before it’d been pronounced. “Dami,” Dick shortened, and that felt better. “Baby bat,” he whispered, the forbidden name hanging heavy in the air.

Damian was a part of the Bat pack, no matter what Ra’s al Ghul thought. Dick was a part of the Bat pack. And it was long past time that they went back home.

Dick adjusted the supply pack so it wasn’t cutting into his shoulders and reached into the cradle. “Shh,” he hummed as he carefully scooped Damian up. “Shh, it’s okay, Dami, Mama’s here.” The babe woke up with a fussing sound and Dick hastily brought him closer. “It’s okay,” he crooned, an eye on the door as his heart beat faster. “Shh, it’s okay.”

Damian’s eyes fluttered open, one hand flailing at the movement, but then subsided, yawning wide and curling closer against Dick’s neck, breathing in his scent and relaxing. The babe made a slight smacking sound and fell silent again, falling straight asleep.

Dick let out a shaky breath and fought the urge to cry. He’d been terrified that Damian wouldn’t recognize him—it had been just a handful of days, Dick knew that, but between Ra’s al Ghul’s gloating and the others’ refusal to tell him how much time had passed, Dick had half-feared that the pup would have no idea who he was. It was part of the reason that had spurred Dick into getting them out now.

“We’re going to be okay,” Dick whispered, drawing the cloak around them both.

The keep was silent, the corridors yawning and empty, and every near-silent footfall rose his apprehension. It was the witching hour, late enough that everyone was asleep, and Dick stuck to the shadows as he avoided the patrols. If he got caught now—well, Dick didn’t put it past Ra’s to throw him in a cell now that he’d served his purpose.

Dick kept glancing over his shoulder, worried that this whole thing was a trap, but no one spotted him. No one shouted or raised the alarm. No one stopped him from crossing the courtyard and slipping out of an unlocked wooden gate, Ra’s al Ghul’s precious heir slumbering in his arms.

“We’re going home, Dami,” Dick breathed out when the keep’s walls finally disappeared from sight. The pack he hadn’t seen in nearly a year, his family, his siblings, Bruce, home. Tears pricked at his eyes as he took a wavering breath. “We’re finally going home.”

~#~

Dick was exhausted. He gave birth just days ago, and while fleeing the League pack had been aided by adrenaline, the effects had long worn off. The brief jolt of fear when he'd been captured by the Defiance pack hadn't lasted long after the alpha agreed to let Dick travel with them.

But the alpha had made it clear they wouldn't take any freeloaders. They were aiming to get through the mountains before the winter storms hit, and Dick swore that he wouldn't be a hindrance. Maybe slightly exaggerated how long it'd been since Damian's birth.

But he would do anything to get away from Ra's. Through the mountain meant back to the valley, back to the Bat pack, it had been nearly a year and Dick desperately wished to go home.

His feet ached. The first few days hadn't been that bad, with frequent stops and an easy path, but there were growing clouds on the horizon and it was clear that time was running out. If they didn't make it through the pass before the storm hit, they'd be stuck here till spring.

And Dick had tried to keep up with the increased pace, he really had, but Damian was a heavy weight tight against his chest, and the pack grew heavier by the hour, and Dick's trembling muscles grew weaker and weaker. He'd expected to fall behind, to slip past the other members of the pack, struggling up the path as the others disappeared from view, but he'd kept his position in a small knot at the back of the pack, with a few of the pack's warriors bringing up the rear.

Some of the others had offered to carry Damian for him, with sincere, open expressions, but Dick wasn't ready to let go of his son. Not now. Not when he still remembered the way Ra's ripped him away just moments after his birth.

But now they were stopped for the night, and Dick could take a moment to breathe. Breathe, and ignore the throbbing pain in his feet and the fire in his muscles and the shakiness and the increasing dread of what tomorrow would bring.

Damian made a sharp cry and Dick exhaled.

His baby was moderately well behaved when Dick was holding him, but gods forbid Dick settle him down, even to clean him up. Damian protested shrilly every time. It was a trial to get him to sleep at night and was definitely the reason that Dick arranged his furs away from the others. This pack was already giving him shelter and food and safety, he couldn't repay them with a wailing babe.

Dick finished cleaning Damian and untied enough of his cloak and tunic to bare a breast. Damian immediately began suckling, and Dick's own stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't picked up his dinner ration.

Dick squinted past the fire, towards the mouth of the cave, where laughter and conversation flowed. The very thought of standing back up and limping over there made him dizzy. He needed rest more than food. And better he not take too much, especially after slowing them down today.

Dick gently brushed the wisps of dark hair on Damian's head. His baby. His son. For Damian, everything was worth it.

He was so focused on the babe that he didn't register the footsteps until they stopped right behind him.

Dick half twisted in an immediate jolt of fear, keeping Damian out of view as he looked up. And up.

The alpha was looking down at him, expression a faint scowl, single eye burning.

"You didn't eat dinner," the alpha said. There was a bowl of something hot and smelling mouthwatering in his hand.

"Ah," Dick said, unsure how to continue. Was the alpha looking for acknowledgment? Apology? What—

Dick's train of thought stuttered to a halt when the alpha crouched, placing the bowl next to Dick.

"You need to eat," the alpha said, tone faintly disapproving, "To keep your strength up."

Dick flushed at this reminder of how he'd slowed them down and ducked his head. "Thank you," he said softly. Gruff and terse as it was, it was still kindness, of which Dick had seen none in the League pack.

Only an obsession with power and victory. Ra's hadn't cared for Dick beyond the powerful heir that Dick could birth him. He certainly wouldn't sit with Dick as Damian finally detached and Dick laid him down in the furs while he covered himself back up.

He certainly wouldn't have stayed as Damian realized his mother was no longer holding him and started crying, high and thin.

Dick attempted to shovel the food down his throat as fast as possible, heat creeping up his shoulders the longer the alpha stayed, watching him scream.

"Sorry," Dick said in a breath between spoons, "He doesn't like being put down."

The alpha made no visible sign of his annoyance. "May I hold him?" he asked instead.

Dick almost choked on the stew. No, was the instinctive response, no, no one would ever take Damian away from him again, no, especially not another alpha—

But Dick was keenly aware that he was here on the alpha's sufferance, and Dick ducked his head in a nod.

He couldn't breathe as the alpha reached out and picked up the crying babe.

He was gentle. Practiced, in a way that spoke of long time with babies. A little rocking and Damian quieted, looking with wide eyes up at this new person.

The alpha chuckled. Dick stared.

"What's his name?"

This time, Dick didn't choke, fear worn down to alertness but not panic as the alpha lightly tickled the babe's belly, showing no ill intent.

"Damian."

"Strong name," the alpha hummed, tapping one of Damian's little fists. The babe immediately caught the finger. "For a strong babe," the alpha smiled.

That was too close to what Ra's had said. Dick scraped up his last few spoons of stew to avoid a response.

"How old did you say he was?"

Dick swallowed. The alpha was looking down at the babe, not at him, and Dick frantically tried to remember what he'd said. He'd implied that it had been more than a month for sure.

"Five weeks," Dick said.

"How strange," the alpha looked up, blue eye pinning him in place, gaze level and hard. "Because the last time you told me six weeks."

Dick went cold. He couldn't breathe. Damian was still in the alpha's arms—an angry alpha's arms, a few feet away yet so far from Dick's reach.

"How old is he really?" the alpha demanded, voice even but steely.

Dick's gaze didn't move from his son. "Two weeks. I think."

"You think?"

"I don't—" Dick swallowed, paralyzed, "I don't know. How many days. No—no one told me."

Something flashed in the alpha's eye, angry and dark.

"Please," Dick tried, mouth dry. He couldn't look away from Damian. "Please, I swear I can keep up. I can. Don't make me leave. Please." Ra's was undoubtedly out there, looking for him. Looking for his heir. And if he caught Dick—

Ra's had already gotten what he wanted from Dick. And Dick couldn't leave Damian all alone.

"I do not appreciate being lied to," the alpha said coldly, and Dick made a choked sound. He needed Damian back, please, his baby, Dick wanted him back—"Unexpected information causes delays. And our window for getting through the mountains is short."

"I'm sorry, alpha." Dick couldn't think. His head was ringing and his mouth was dry and his babe was in someone else's arms.

The alpha made a grumbling sound and reached out to hand Damian back. Dick snatched his baby with alacrity.

"Our pace tomorrow will be slower," the alpha said, straightening up, "Get some rest."

Dick stared at his departing back, thoroughly confused.

~#~

Their pace was indeed not as punishing, but Dick got very little rest with a demanding babe. The alpha must've said something to the others, because Dick's rations suddenly increased—he was being fed more than nearly anyone else—and one of the pack's healers approached him to give him a check up, but the alpha made no mention of the punishment for the lie.

They were a few days from the pass, shielded from a flurry of snow by the half tunnels they were walking through, and Dick had used the abundance of fires to take the time to air out his furs and wash his clothes. His little nest was in a corner as always, and he was facing away from the pack as he nursed Damian.

Footsteps, echoing through the stone. Dick glanced back, and froze when he caught sight of Slade.

The alpha's gaze was narrowed on Dick's back. For lack of anything else to wear, Dick was in the loose silks he'd worn in the League pack, too flimsy to do anything but entice. Dick's mouth went dry as the alpha stepped closer and knelt on the edge of the furs.

Dick abruptly turned away, heart rate skyrocketing.

No, was the overriding thought, but Dick was unattached and clearly fertile, and taking up pack resources to boot. It was only reasonable that he had to do something to pay for his place, and Dick knew that he was attractive. This shouldn't be a surprise.

Dick squeezed his eyes shut and suppressed the shaky breath. The alpha's anger at the lie made somewhat more sense—he wanted to know whether Dick was still torn up from the birth. But there were other things they could do, so the alpha didn't have to wait.

Fingers skimmed Dick's shoulder, sliding the sleeve of the silks off. The other sleeve was already off so Damian could feed, and the silks dropped to pool around his waist, leaving his top bare.

Dick choked down the sob. This wasn't Ra's. Slade had never hurt him. This pack was kind. This wouldn't be the League all over again. No one would hurt him here.

Fingers stroked down his back, catching and sliding on the scars that littered his skin, tracing patterns and making Dick shiver. Just scars, Dick reminded himself, shaking off the memory flash of pain, the agony, the way Dick hadn't been able to move for days afterwards—

"Who did this?" growled a very angry alpha.

Dick responded to the tone before the words, half curling around Damian with a shudder, pulling free of Slade's touch in the process. The alpha didn't follow, and when Dick twisted to meet his gaze, the alpha's rage was clearly visible.

Dick could feel the whip strikes against his skin, every last one.

"Those are recent," Slade nearly snarled, "Only months old. Who did this?"

How was Dick supposed to answer that? Slade had made no probes when Dick had asked to cross the mountains with them, and Dick knew that the alpha had assumed that Dick's pack was dead. If he knew that Dick was running...

"I—it was another pack," Dick said slowly.

"Which pack."

Determined to not let him evade this time, then. Dick held Damian tighter. "The League," he said quietly.

~#~

They were at the pass, sheltered in a cave smaller than their usual. A storm had blown in—a weak one, but strong enough to halt their approach before midday. Dick had seen the alpha and his inner circle conferring, all of them visibly agitated, before they'd been given the order to stop.

It was a good decision not to attempt the pass in the middle of a snowstorm. The problem was if another storm followed before this one stopped, they were stuck. Trepidation and frustration ran through the entire pack.

Dick stayed in a corner, back against the wall, tracking the unrest. His arms were aching but he kept rocking Damian—he didn't want to risk frustration turning on a screaming infant.

The pack settled after a few hours, grumbles pacified, order restored to keep moods cheery. Most people dropped off to sleep in preparation for the hard day's trek in front of them.

Dick wasn't one of them.

His instincts had been bad enough after fleeing Ra's' pack, a new mother running on hyperawareness, but Slade's pack had provided a stabilizing effect. Dick had never forgotten that this wasn't his pack though, that he couldn't fully let down his guard, not with a baby to take care of, and the hypervigilance was keeping him awake.

He was exhausted, but something inside him wouldn't let him sleep.

The alpha and his warriors crept through the cramped cave in regular intervals, and Dick dully watched them go. The fires had dimmed down by the time the alpha stopped in front of Dick.

"You aren't sleeping," the alpha said.

"Can't," Dick whispered, because he was so exhausted but he just couldn't. He couldn't even keep looking up at Slade, his head drooped down, too heavy to lift.

"Come with me," the alpha turned on a heel and walked away.

It took a moment for Dick to register the command, and several more to lever up on aching feet. He stumbled after the alpha, drained and aching, and nearly walked into his back in a daze.

"Get in," Slade ordered, and Dick looked past him and at the pile of furs. Slade's pile of furs.

Dick's heart beat stuttered.

It took him a stretching moment to figure out how his limbs worked, but he jerkily crawled into the nest of furs. Damian and his little basket went to the side. He told Slade that he couldn't sleep, it made sense that the alpha wanted to burn off some restlessness, he—

A hand dragged roughly through his hair as he was covered by furs. "Sleep," the alpha said, "No one can touch you here."

No one could. He was in the alpha's nest, no one but the alpha could come after him, and Ra's wasn't the alpha, and Slade was walking away.

Something loosened in Dick's chest. Pack, safety, warmth.

Dick didn't remember closing his eyes.

~#~

Something woke him up a little later, or maybe it was a dream, hazy and dark. The scent of alpha became stronger, the warmth winding around him and pulling him towards the source of heat, and Dick fit comfortably in the hollows. He was out before he could try opening his eyes.

~#~

Dick woke up slowly. He was warm and safe and protected, utterly secure and content. The air smelled like alpha-mine-care and Dick was cradled in warmth.

Something had awoken him though, and Dick resurfaced to hear a thin, hesitant, hiccuping cry. Someone was making shushing sounds as Dick struggled all the way awake, Damian on his lips.

There was a figure crouched over the basket. Dick had a single moment to panic before he recognized the figure, and Emma pushed the basket closer to him with a soft smile.

"He's hungry," she said quietly, and Dick wriggled free of the furs to sit up. There was something wrapped around him, though, and it tightened around his waist as he tried to get up.

Damian made an actual cry, and Dick abandoned getting free to reach for the basket. Emma passed it over, her lips quirking, and Dick had his clothes shifted to allow Damian to latch on and start drinking before he stirred all the way awake.

"Alpha doesn't want to get up," Emma said teasingly, and Dick blinked at her.

These—these weren't his furs. He was sitting in the middle of camp, not a corner. And the pressure snaked around his waist was an arm clutching him tight.

Dick stared down at the sleeping alpha's face with numb surprise. Slade had curved around him, Dick tucked snugly in his grasp, and he didn't let go, even as he cracked open his eye.

"Alpha had a long night," Slade said gruffly, his arm tightening around Dick's waist.

"Of course," Emma agreed too easily, still grinning, and Slade made a low rumble as he pushed upright.

He stayed pressed against Dick, hand moving up to cup Damian's head as the pup sucked busily.

The rumble changed to something distinctly pleased as Slade plastered himself against Dick's back, tucking Dick into his arms and resting his chin on Dick's head for a moment.

"Good morning," he said quietly, and for a moment, Dick was in a different life. A life where he could've woken like this every day, where he didn't have scars, where he wasn't running, where he wasn't terrified that his babe would be ripped from his arms.

"Good morning," Dick returned softly, relishing the moment for as long as it lasted.

~#~

"He's never going to learn to walk if you keep that up," Grant calls out, throwing a handful of grass at Slade. Slade ignores him, hands firmly around Damian as the baby coos at a flower.

Dick snorts from his position in the grass. He can look away from Damian now, can leave him with Slade without the clenching worry, but Slade's taken up the overprotective role in response. "You learned to walk just fine," Wintergreen says dryly, walking over, "Alpha, our scouts have a report."

"Grant can take care of it," Slade says without looking up. Damian is making grasping motions at the flower.

Grant groans but gets up. "Can't believe I've been supplanted as the favorite child," he grumbles as he walks away. Wintergreen goes with him, leaving only Slade, Dick, and Damian in the little meadow.

"Mama!" Damian waves at him. Dick grins and waves back, laughing as Damian attempts to fight Slade's grip to get back to Dick.

Slade leads him back slowly, and his mouth is quirked in a small smile as Damian collapses on Dick's stomach.

"Mama, fo," Damian shows him the tiny fistful of petals and Dick kisses his little forehead. Damian giggles, and Dick could never think he was Ra's' child like this.

Slade stiffens, straightening suddenly.

"Slade?" Dick calls out slowly, tightening his grip on Damian.

"Someone's here," Slade says evenly, staring at the trees and Dick hurriedly sits up, Damian curled in his lap. He can't see anyone, but there's the faintest prickle on the back of his neck, like someone is watching them—

A dark blur drops out of the trees.

Dick scrambles up with Damian immediately, stepping back as Slade steps forward—and freezes when he recognizes the hard green eyes and the flash of white in dark hair. "Jason?"

"You know him?" Slade asks tersely, which on anyone else would be a shout. Jason's watching like he's ready for a fight.

Dick doesn't care about either of them. That's his brother. He's here.

"Jason!" Dick says again, happy and hopeful and desperately worried that this is just a dream, "Jaybird!"

Jason moves forward as Dick moves forward, but Slade steps in between. Jason immediately growls, low and deep, and Dick snaps into alertness.

"Slade, no, he's my brother," Dick explains, a mollifying hand on the alpha's arm. Damian is peering curiously from where he's perched on Dick's hip.

"Brother," Slade repeats, and it doesn't exactly sound happy, but he steps to the side and Dick runs at the first member of his pack he's seen in over a year.

Jason barely manages to catch them instead of letting them tumble over, and Dick goes from smiling to sobbing, clutching at his brother, tightening his grip on Damian, something in him unclenching at the familiar scent of pack, home, safe.

"Dickiebird," Jason says, voice hoarse and cracking, and Dick cries harder.

#my snippets #sladick #omegaverse #pack au #baby fic #protective slade

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vennilavee · 2 months

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vii. fallen rose

blood&pearls mlist

wc: 2.6k

summary: you are a curious creature, trying to explore the depths below and the lands above. your curiosity may get you in trouble with a world that you do not understand.

warnings: none really

a/n: we're so back babeyyyy

The first winter of your time above sea is frigid and empty. The barren treeline looks the way that you feel.

You’d only heard stories of the pearly snow that descended from bright skies. Your sisters had told you of the warmth that snow could bring. That winter could bring.

Instead, you feel a deep rooted chill with the change of the seasons.

You stay in the lake to keep warm while the self-proclaimed god-like man does not leave the shrine in the mountains. Can he feel your stare towards him, with all four of his eyes? Does he miss your warmth in his sheets, or does he prefer the iciness of his own stubbornness?

You are patiently waiting for a reason to enjoy the winter. You have yet to find one.

All of your favorite fruits are rotten during the winter and nobody comes to visit you anymore, as it is difficult to trek through the mountains to get to the lake. You lay by your everlasting lemon tree in an attempt to soak up the pale moon, but now it has become too frigid to do so.

The smoke puffing out from the shrine just beyond your lake tempts you. But just like the man who inhabits it, you are stubborn.

And so you shiver.

The thought of returning back to the depths of the ocean does strike you on more than one occasion. Something holds you back from leaving into the abyss that has not called out your name in what feels like years.

You have not come up from the floor of the lake in several days. Instead, you have been sulking, even the fish know to keep away from you because of your sullen attitude. The fairies have called for you from the trees, but you have ignored them in favor of solitude.

You feel like a banished princess again, this time being told to leave by your lover instead of your father. Pretending like you’re not breaking into pieces at the revelation, you wonder how the great lord Sukuna’s heart would beat in your hands.

The shrine is always kept warm in the winters, with the wood fires prickling inside to stave away the cold. This winter is especially frigid, due to the unexpected high number of snowstorms and blizzards that have passed on this side of the mountain in recent weeks.

Even for Sukuna, it has proven to be somewhat difficult to travel through the snowy peaks and valleys that he resides in. It has been even more difficult to travel while making it a point to avoid the lake right behind the shrine altogether. Why should he care about the lake and any creature that inhabits it, anyway?

Despite the near painful iciness that coats the air in unwelcome shards, Sukuna still finds his way down the mountains and into the nearby villages. He has fees to collect, after all.

The village in the far east of the valley has welcomed him with open albeit anxious arms. He is showered in precious gemstones, in gold, in paintings, in the finest silks and thin, freshly cut slices of cartilage and hearts, only for his thoughts to stray to you. He hopes violently that you fall ill from the cold and die there, in the center of his lake. Then he’ll finally get a taste of your delicate little mermaid heart from your still warm corpse.

Sukuna ignores the ire that stirs at the thought of your bloated corpse floating in the abyss near the shrine. Instead, he imagines your bright eyes, seemingly glowing in the dark. Blinking at him annoyingly, curiously- asking him why, why have you wronged me so?

He scoffs at sheer absurdity, that your visage could evoke such reluctance in him.

Even as he sits upon his throne to bask in the flames of the latest virginal sacrifice that the village has promised to him, he absently rubs his jaw with a calloused hand. Sukuna wonders idly where he should go next. After all, he’s grown quite comfortable in his shrine in the mountains.

He wonders if you would look at him in wonder or in disgust as he forced you to watch him eat the warm hearts of his subjects. Perhaps you would join him, instead.

You are told by the fairies that this winter has lasted longer than previous winters. The everlasting, enchanting, winter, they call it.

It doesn’t feel very enchanting to you. You rarely come out of the lake these days, burdened by misery and the perception that despite all of your freedom, you are unwanted. Undesired. Perhaps even unworthy of the freedom that you desperately chased. You have condemned yourself to this prison of your own making.

You wail in the frozen lake as the sounds echo harshly. The fairies look at you with sympathy. Or with pity, you are uncertain.

What is stopping you, anyway? What have you become- a shell of the nymph that you were when you first found this meadow.

Your sisters always said that you were destined for the land. It doesn’t feel that way as you lose track of the sun rising and setting in the distance. You have not come up for air in days, weeks, nearly months. Staring at the unwavering solitude in front of you feels hauntingly comforting.

The fairies have informed you that the nearby civilians in the valley are reporting an increase in the number of deaths. They suspect that the water supply has been poisoned.

Your mother was right. You were venomous to the sea, and now you are venomous to the land.

The taste of flesh is rotten on his tongue and he cannot savor the richness of blood when knows that you have sunken to the bottom of the lake. In such a pitiful state, wrapped around yourself as if you were some frail human.

The fairies whisper. Mostly to Uraume, but Sukuna still knows.

No matter, it’s not his problem, he thinks idly. He sits on his throne, barely listening to the unlucky soul thrown in front of him. It’s no fault of his that you are weak-minded to your affections of him. You should not seek his approval or reciprocity, and he would tell you that if you had the gall to show your face in his throne room.

Everything tastes utterly decayed, like the soft, fleshy pulp of a peach that has sat in the sun for too long. These people bore him maddeningly, incessant droning fills his ears and echoes across the ruby red pillars of the throne room.

He doesn’t think about you, not once. Not how you most likely are freezing at the bottom of the lake, since you’re accustomed to warmer waters. Not how you haven’t come up for air in weeks.

You haven’t enjoyed the snow, despite how enthused you were to see it before the turn of the season.

Sukuna sighs and twirls his fingers, cutting off the poor man mid sentence as his blood and guts explode all over the pristinely cleared floor. Uraume doesn’t even bat an eye.

“What was he referring to in his drivel, Uraume?”

“Well, my lord, it seems that the water supply in the village has become… tainted. People are falling ill and dying within days.”

If the foolish, brutish man who lives in his balmy shrine with his devotees wants to see you, then he shall come fetch you himself rather than sending the message along with the fairies. How dare he use your friends so that he could continue to avoid you?

You would shake with fury, if you had the means to. Instead, you remain at the bottom of the lake, curled in on yourself.

Rays from the pale moonlight pierce the surface of the water. Usually, you would bask in its light, enjoying the way it feels on your tail. But not tonight. You turn your head the other way with closed eyes, refusing to look up and remaining in your pitiful bout of self-wallowing.

The water shifts around you in billowing waves, swirling against your tail but you pay it no mind. It pushes at you, as if to coax you to get up and come out of your bout of gloom. You woefully peel an eye open to stop the water from tickling your tail, only for the moonlight to be completely blocked out by a looming figure with menacing eyes.

Well. He tries to be menacing.

You look pathetic, laying in the darkness with sorrow rolling off of you in waves. No wonder the fairies have avoided you and the lake. It does not suit you. All of your favorite fruits that Uraume meticulously prepared and left at the corner of the lake have either rotted or been eaten by animals.

Ungrateful. Sukuna shakes his head and wraps his arms around you. Your grip is strong enough that you could fight him if you wanted to. If you had the energy to. Instead, he feels the warmth of your tail loosely around his legs as he swims up to the surface of the lake.

Your eyes are barely open, with no fight left in them. It’s hardly recognizable on you- how could you let yourself devolve into this state?

He ignores your shivering in his arms as he marches back into the shrine with heavy steps.

A warm glow caresses your face as your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the lack of darkness that you have become accustomed to over the course of many moons.

Two pairs of ruby red eyes stare back at you when you sit up in a comfortable, familiar bed. Your body feels stiff as you try to get up from Sukuna’s bed, and you nearly fall once your feet land on the floor. But he catches you before you can, chiding you for being foolish.

“You have been asleep for about seven hours and you have not used your legs in weeks,” he scoffs, “Your body is weak.”

You expect to see the same ire that shone clearly in his eyes like obsidian pools the last time you had spoken to him in this very room, but none of it is there.

“Why have you brought me here?” you ask hoarsely. You try again to rise from the bed on shaky legs, but your entire body aches terribly. So you don’t fight him as he nestles you tightly under the covers. He shields you from the gaze of the moon with his broad back and his touch is gentle, fleeting as he heals your sore muscles.

“I believe you have a death wish and I cannot determine why. You are a danger to yourself-”

“Why do you care?” you interrupt petulantly. He raises an eyebrow but you glare at him regardless. You are behaving like an infant, pouting and raising your voice and he will not stand for it.

“I will not have you drown yourself to death on my land.”

“Oh, my apologies, my lord, perhaps it would be acceptable for me to go to the ocean to die instead.”

He would have beheaded anyone else if they spoke to him with the same sardonic acidity dripping from your tongue.

He pinches your thigh lightly, but enough for it to sting. You swat his hand away but he captures your wrist in his.

“You vex me,” Sukuna hisses his face only inches away from yours, “Your cavalier attitude, your self-pity, it disgusts me. Why have you chosen to live and die here? You are a nuisance, one that should cease to exist if you would allow me a taste of your bleeding heart!”

And still, none of the former vexation burns in his eyes.

“Then you should be the one to kill me! I would rather die by your hand than live in a cage that all the foolish men of this world, land and sea, have created!”

He drops your wrist from his grip, snaking his hand to your neck and pressing lightly. Your chest heaves, rising and falling, rising and falling in harmony with his breaths.

“I have only one weakness in this entire universe,” he says, ignoring the racing of your feathery heart against his touch, “I wish death upon you for this.”

Your eyebrows furrow, intent on arguing with him but Sukuna closes the space between easily, hastily capturing your tongue with his. There is no room to question him, or his place unless you will yourself to pull away and ignore the heat unfurling in your belly.

“You demanded that I go,” you mumble into his lips, “You said there was no place for me here…”

“And yet, here you still are,” he replies, coaxing you into another searing kiss. But, to his chagrin, you do not allow him to.

“I can protect myself,” you say with your heart lurching in your throat, “I am not some weak human who requires their beloved deity for protection.”

“Am I your deity?” His tone is serious but his eyes soften.

“Am I yours?” you murmur, giving him not a breath to reply before surging your lips to his. You missed the feel of his body on yours, the heat of his hands and the sharpness of his muscles. The place where his heart should beat. The tenderness that lines the padding of his fingertips as his touch sears your skin, a punishment fit for damning yourself in the depths of the water.

“Gods have no deities,” he replies.

“Kings do.”

You have not left Sukuna’s bedchambers in several days, alternating between basking in the warmth of his bed and the warmth contained in his arms. You have also taken to perching on his windowsill to watch the snowfall in the early morning, dressed in his robes.

It seems he has returned to your good graces.

You remain silent, eyes drifting across the barren treeline, landing on his unlocked treasure chest and back. The chest that contains the still heart of the white haired man who threatened you in your lake in the previous season.

“I want to go outside.”

You do not wait for him to join you as you slip out of his robes and through the window of his bedroom to step into the frigid air. He does not make an attempt to stop you, knowing that it would be futile.

Your laugh is infectious, ringing in his ears as it lights up the shrine from the outside in. Despite the snow falling on your bare skin for some time, you continue to be in awe of it. You ignore the goosebumps rising on your arm in favor of twirling around in the snow.

The fairies were right. It is enchanting, and warm, next to the well-lit lamps that surround the outside of the shrine where you stand. The cold, bright sunshine does not feel bitter on your face, not the way the fairies told you it would be. Instead, you feel hope bloom in your chest.

The way a flower blooms in a field of decay.

Naivete rolls off of you in waves. Sukuna shakes his head at your mirth as he leans against the window. It would be so easy for him, for even one of those white-haired bastards, to take advantage of you. Cut you, bleed you dry, desecrate your soul until nothing is left but a bawling onyro haunting the forest, mistaking revenge for love.

He does not tell you how the water was poisoned for the last several weeks, when you were decaying at the bottom of the lake. He keeps that information tucked away, so as to not see your face fall and your shoulders slump. Perhaps your onryo form would be better than your crestfallen form.

Sukuna places a wool robe around your shoulders to keep your body heated in the icy air, quickly dispeling thoughts of your demonic eyes.

Blood pools on the horizon, a promise of the days to come.

tags: @kentobean @misslovingpearl @aeanya @threadbaresweater @aboveasphodel

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you

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tumbleweed-writes · 6 months

Text

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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orquidborgo · 9 days

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Well, I'm getting a fever and with a lot of ideas, so I'm going to write them here because I don't have anything better to do!

This are concepts/writing ideas I got that I have more or less the story made in my head but I never wrote it down because I don't have the confidence to publish anything (haha self esteem issues are so funny), so here they are:

Jake Muller, professional B.O.Wsitter

* I got this idea while reading a modern fantasy resident evil fanfic (where the wound drips venom from your soul), basically:

After the events of resident evil VI, Jake only accepted jobs that allowed him to fight B.O.W and protect people BUT that didn't get him a lot of money, with Sherry's birthday approaching he is thinking about taking a mercenary jobs that pays very well until he receives a call from Chris Redfield, go to the middle of nowhere in Nebraska(? I'm thinking about changing the location) on a mansion with everything paid to take care of 5 B.O.Ws, just not the way he though he would.

Perfect paintings

* I got this idea from reading a really short story from space marine husbandry (I think it was from @kit-williams, is a story about a custodes, idk I forgot, it was so long ago) but I never got the confidence to write it because I don't think I will write a good mystery piece that'll comply with my expectations:

Detective Arad Yilmaz approached the scene, this is the 4th murder this month, the murders follow a pattern: All of them were strangled to death, had long black hair, honey/light brown eyes, middle eastern heritage and where last seen interacting with a really tall astartes.

The location of the corpses leave a trail as if the murderer have been moving constantly, following the same movement as the chaos warbands path, now with this corpse being found by a Dark Angel the astartes want to take this matter in their own hands.

Will Arad be able to find the murderer, bring them to justice and avoid an all out war between astartes before is too late? The clock is ticking.

There is no home like the one your bonded is:

* After reading Cedric's story in space marine husbandry (I also forgot to say that Cedric belongs to @sleepyfan-blog, sorry) and watching the movie "Bolt" I got thinking, what happens when a space marine grows a bond with a human that lives in another country and is only visiting? So here it is:

Guillermo Testarossa is visiting the U.S.A for his winter vacation, following his aunt's advice to stave off boredom he ventures into the local astartes hospital with his aunt's bonded apothecary. There he meets an injured space wolf, the rest of his vacation he spends it talking and having fun with this astartes but not everything last forever and he has to comeback to his home country Argentina, saying his goodbyes and promising to comeback next year.

Unbeknownst to him, this space wolf will not wait an entire year, using a joke his brother-captain made as motivation, with a camera, a notepad and supplies on his back he embarks on a adventure walking from the U.S to Buenos Aires - Argentina to find his bonded, taking photos and recording everything he encounters in his journey. The only thing he knows is that his bonded lives in San Telmo, works in a coffee shop with private tango shows and studies electronic engineering.

Save us from ourselves

* I seriously need to read Magnus primarch novel because there is no way you are telling me a whole planet of highly trained psykers (this mfs have magic, mind you) with space travel technology didn't have a plan B to evacuate civilians in case of a invasion, and I also like Arknights a LOT so, this is kind of a crossover between 40k and arknights:

Rhode Island is an humanitarian/pharmaceutical organization that travels across space with the mission of saving psykers, protecting those infected with flesh change and find the cure of said illness, right know they have treatment and have developed technology to protect/stabilize psykers with it so they can live a normal life.

Marckus Ahriman is a young 16 year old field operator with signs of mutation and a big heart who wishes for a world where all psykers are free and flesh change is finally cured. In a fateful operation battling against a chaos incursion he finds a soul shard that "calls" to him, upon touching it he remembers: he Magnus the Red, primarch of the Thousand Sons and son of the Emperor of Mankind, or well... A shard of him.

My big... Primarch?: Friendship is Magic (this is a temporary title)

* I watched a few episodes of my little pony so this is a crack fic, don't mind it that much:

During her fight against Starlight Glimmer through timelines; Twilight Sparkle gets "knocked out", but when she wakes up again to try and stop Starlight, she ends up in Magnus's body as a baby. So is basically her dealing with 40k insanity, family issues and trying to go back to her home.

She would try to understand why the other primarchs are so apprehensive of magic and would try to befriend them: She would try and not use magic in front of Mortarion after knowing his trauma and help him through it the best she can, would cure Angron of his nails, Leman would finally like her because she gets tired of his bullshit and start throwing hands and things like that.

Magnus's regular day

* With how pridefull is Magnus about magic, I'm surprised he hasn't gotten in a lot of psychic shenanigans in "regular show" style, every chapter would be Magnus getting into a crazy adventure, sometimes pulling his brothers, any of his sons or a unfortunate custodes along the ride.

The Emperor, Malcador and Constantin are just... Done with his magical bullshit at some point and just let him be because they know that he'll somehow fix it at the end.

So... Yep. This is all I got.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #magnus the red #arknights x 40k #MLP x 40k #space marine husbandry #resident evil #fic ideas #i feel like dying #send help #oc: cedric

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moonbeamwritings · 2 years

Text

bathed in moonlight

wc: ~3.3k

pairing: johnny joestar x fem!reader

warnings: nudity, nonsexual intimacy (bathing together), fem!reader pretending to be a man for the steel ball run

Your life is simple. Quiet. You work on your family’s farm, the only child to two loving parents. You take on a lot, both emotionally and physically, familial burdens becoming your own to bear as soon as you could help on the property.

The burden gets heavier the winter before the Steel Ball Run. Your back bows and threatens to crack and splinter when your mother falls ill and the responsibility of both mother and daughter comes to rest on your shoulders. You tend to the animals when you can, clean the house, cook the food. All the while, your aunt and uncle who have come to stay in the wake of your mother’s illness to care for her and assist you and your father, talk in hushed tones, blaming you for your family’s misfortune. You’re not doing enough. Well, maybe if they had a son or more money things would be different.

Your father can only tell them off so many times before their words start to seep through your skin, covering your bones in a dark, cloudy haze. You take on more responsibility, eager to prove yourself. To do something.

Months later, a newspaper you find in the corner store changes everything. A horse race with a generous cash prize is set to be held in September — The Steel Ball Run. Your father taught you to ride when you were just a kid. Hours of your youth spent in the warm summer sun working with your horse before your mother rang the dinner bell. You know it won’t be easy, but you know you have to try, even if your family won’t approve.

You spend the next few weeks hoarding supplies, stuffing them into closets and hiding them in the stables, chipping away at all of the things you’ll need, and on the night you plan to leave you press a kiss to your parents’ cheeks, and go to bed, heart turning to lead in your chest.

That night, when the moon is high, and the house has fallen silent, you pull your father’s clothes from beneath your bed — an old pair of pants with a rip in the knee, a loose button up shirt, and an old cowboy hat — and tiptoe down the rickety wooden stairs, careful to avoid the creaky boards along the way, and disappear into the night.

As you ride, the wind whipping in your hair, and the moon casting shadows over the landscape, you assume a new identity, one of a man on the hunt for a new beginning. You’re sure you won’t be the only one, and you’ll be able to slip right through the cracks. And though you’re leaving your home behind, everything you’ve known growing more minuscule with each beat of your horse’s hooves, you feel hopeful — like a grand adventure is waiting just beyond the horizon.

The moment you meet Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli is the moment your life becomes infinitely more complicated. They’re nice, friendly despite Gyro’s initial intention to kill you for so much as looking at him. But hey, all budding friendships have their hiccups, right? You travel with them and find safety in their numbers, though getting wrapped up in their scheme to find the parts of a mysterious corpse wasn’t exactly high on your to-do list.

The only times you ever hesitate, the only times you ever find your voice losing the confident vibrato of the man you’re masquerading as is when it’s time to bathe. At inns, tucked neatly along the streets at each checkpoint, it’s easy. Harmless. You can sneak away and conceal your true form behind closed doors and shower curtains. But with the sky overhead and a babbling brook acting as your only chance at freshening up, your fingers wring the soft fabric of your bandana.

You weave intricate excuses, using a different one each time, hoping, praying the boys don’t catch on.

“Oh, I was going to eat first.”

“Someone needs to collect the firewood.”

“I’m just not used to bathing around other people yet.”

And the first few times it works, Gyro doesn’t think a thing of it, looking at Johnny as he dunks his head beneath the water, and raising his shoulders to shrug. “Eh, some guys just have their things, ya know?”

Johnny nods reluctantly, but feels there’s something else going on. Something you’re not telling them. He knows you’re not an enemy stand user, you’re not out to get them or kill them in their sleep. He’s certain you would’ve done it by now if that was your true intention, but there’s something else.

He ends up discovering your secret entirely by accident.

Sure he’s suspicious of what you’re hiding, and sure he wants to get to the bottom of it, but he’s not a creep. Honest. He didn’t mean to walk in on you just as you were pulling your night shirt down over your head, curves and smooth skin on display. As his entire face burns, he’s at least thankful all he saw was your back.

You whip around at the sound of his strangled gasp, and your face ignites. At the same time, you both frantically mumble, “Oh my god.”

You’re speaking over each other as you race to kick your door shut, pulling Johnny into your room with a harsh tug.

“‘M really sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in! Yer door was open and I just thought-”

“How much did you see? How long have you been here? Do not tell Gyro or I will-”

Words and questions rush from your mouths like waterfalls, only stopping when you finally huff, running a weary hand through your hair. “It’s fine,” you start, only to repeat yourself when Johnny opens his mouth. “It’s fine. Just please, Johnny. Don’t tell Gyro.”

The desperate plea in your voice pulls the strings of his heart taut, and he’d do anything you ask if it meant he’d never have to hear that broken, aching sound again. His brows crease, and his face softens. “I won’t.” And as the clock behind you ticks to fill the silence, he adds, “I promise.”

In the days that follow, you hold your breath, waiting for the pin to drop, for the dynamics to finally shift. But that shift never comes. Johnny keeps your secret to himself, treating you just as he always did. Gratitude blooms in your chest, and you find yourself smiling whenever Johnny does, fixing him with a honeyed expression, like you’re seeing him in a new light.

You sit nearly shoulder to shoulder by campfire light, you eat meals at the same time, and when Gyro isn’t babbling away, the two of you make quiet conversation to fill the silence. It’s nice, feeling like you can finally ease the ache in your shoulders. The burden has shifted, if only just slightly, and you’re grateful to Johnny for taking on some of its weight.

“Wanna set up here?” Johnny asks, bringing Slow Dancer to a stop at a quiet clearing. The grassy patch is a ways off the path, concealed by trees and dotted with flowers. You hear the dull babbling of a river just down the hill. An oasis. “I think we should rest sooner than later now that the sun is starting to set.”

The ache in your back shoots up your spin and you roll your shoulders. “Yes please. I don’t think I have anything else in me.”

You all dismount and begin spreading out, setting up tents and crafting a little circle of rocks for a small fire. And as you chuck your bag to the ground, Gyro approaches you with a proposition.

“I’m gonna bathe now, I’ll make dinner once I get out if you find the firewood.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

He ruffles your hair, before shooting Johnny a look. “You comin’?”

Johnny's gaze flickers between you and Gyro for a moment, pensive, before he replies, “I’ll take a dip later, wanna rest for a minute.”

Gyro holds up his hands and sets a towel over his shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

“Do ya need help with the wood?”

“No, I think I got it, Johnny. Thank you.”

By the time you come back, bundles of sticks in your hands, Gyro’s already setting up a pot to boil water, wet hair clinging to the back of his night shirt. When you drop the pile, he grins at you appreciatively. “Thanks.”

With Gyro’s attention elsewhere, you and Johnny sneak off down the hill, excited to have your own time in the river.

You perch your things on a rock before hesitantly locking eyes with Johnny. He knows your secret, and with the sun setting, he probably won’t be able to make much out anyway. Yet you feel bare, vulnerable even now, fully clothed.

As if sensing your trepidation, Johnny pulls his hat off. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go first.”

You turn your back and let Johnny strip and get in, and once he gives you the all clear, you fiddle with one of the buttons on your shirt. “Just-... Just don’t look.”

You slowly unbutton your shirt, and Johnny shuts his eyes, the cool water of the river already kneading the ache from his joints. “I won’t.”

“I don’t want a repeat of last time.” A flutter, and a soft thud follow. Johnny figures you must have lost your shirt and your hat. He doesn’t dare peek.

“It was an accident.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

The smile that forms on Johnny’s face is lazy, teasing. “Alright, alright.”

Johnny hears you hiss. “Shit, it’s cold.” You dip into the water until only from your shoulders up remains above its surface. “You can open up.”

He almost wishes he hadn’t opened them at all. You have a bar of soap in hand, your hair clinging to the back of your neck with water. His eyes trace along the smooth curve of your neck, watching as the delicate lines kiss your collarbones and shoulders. The setting sun catches the water droplets that cling to your skin, bathing you in tiny flecks of pink and orange. Your body glitters like a jewel as you rinse away the grime and sweat from a long day of traveling. You’re so beautiful Johnny fears he may never be the same.

In that moment, he understands artists and their muses. He understands why someone would painstakingly mix colors and stare, memorizing features and curves and lines. He understands how love inspires art.

And he wants to die when you smile, this tiny sheepish thing that Johnny thinks stops his heart in his chest. You duck beneath the water’s surface until it reaches your chin. “My eyes are up here, ya know.”

Pushing a hand in his direction, you send a gentle spray of water barreling towards his face, and it's then that Johnny decides he needs to get his mind out of the gutter; shifting focus to start washing his hair.

With his back to you, you can admire the strong muscles you find there. His pretty blond waves are darkened by water and slicked back away from his forehead. They brush along his shoulders and bring your attention to the pale skin of his shoulders, inhabited by tiny freckles, constellations trapped right on his skin. You wonder if you’ll ever get close enough to connect the dots, to find patterns in the speckled curves of his shoulders. You want to give names to those tiny stars, to kiss them.

“What-“ Johnny looks like a deer in headlights as he emerges from the water, fresh from dunking his head to wash away the shampoo. “What’re you looking at?”

The shimmer of the water, deep blue tones mixing with the same oranges and pinks that paint your skin, catch the light blue of his eyes, and you feel like you could drown in them. Johnny in the light of that setting sun, eyes sparkling, hair shimmering like precious, golden threads, is a sight you wish to burn into your memory, to covet.

Now it’s your turn to feel caught red handed, vulnerability prickling your bare skin. You speak without thinking. “You’re so…” You struggle to identify the right word, and when you can’t conjure one, you hope that what you do find will be enough to articulate what you’re thinking. “You’re so pretty, Johnny.”

And despite the silence that follows, and the awkward tension that hangs, thick and heavy, in the air, Johnny can’t bring himself to refute you. If he didn’t know you better, he’d wave a hand, tell you you’re full of shit or that you’re just trying to butter him up, but he does know better; and it’s that exact thought that sends his heart racing back to life. It’s a compliment he’ll only accept from you — an angel amongst men. And Johnny’s certain that angels can’t lie.

You watch as his wet cheeks flush, eyes downcast as you catch the tiniest ghost of a smile on his lips. His response is quiet, bashful, and it makes you want to hide your smile beneath the surface of the water. “Thanks.”

Any walls that remained between you have been reduced to rubble, and as the moon begins to peek over the trees, you feel comfortable, more relaxed now that the daylight has made way for night. You fall into murmured conversation and the warm hues of the sun morph into the silver beams of the moon, floating together with your skin feeling refreshed and bodies feeling slack. Your hand brushes over Johnny’s beneath the cool surface of the river.

When the conversation lulls, Johnny worries his lip between his teeth, his brows furrowing.

“What?” You ask, tilting your head and squinting at him in the moonlight. “What is it?”

Johnny looks at you for a long moment. He’s nervous. He runs through a list of things he could say, but even now, with your hand in his and your shoulder brushing against his own, he can’t form the words in his throat.

You’re so pretty it hurts. My heart is hammering against my ribs so fiercely, I’m afraid it’ll burst right out of my chest. If you keep touching me, looking at me like that, I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself anymore. You’ve ignited a fire in my belly that I’ll never be able to extinguish.

He opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by rapidly approaching footsteps.

Johnny hisses. “It’s Gyro.”

You have to act, and you have to act now. Either you arouse suspicion and stay put, jeopardizing your precious secret, or you hide - somewhere, somehow, and leave Johnny to fill in the gaps. Deciding on the latter, you scramble up to the bank of the river and practically throw yourself behind a bush, praying you’re out of sight of both Johnny and Gyro. You don’t think you can stomach the blow to your ego being caught naked, and now covered in mud (again), would deal.

“Hey, you need help getting out?” Gyro asks when he approaches the edge of the water. “You’ve been down here awhile.

It’s only then that Johnny notices the way his fingertips have started to prune. “Oh, no.” He rushes to answer, “‘m fine. Just got lost thinkin’ about stuff.”

Gyro’s only half listening, gaze fixated on a pile of clothes amongst the rocks. Your clothes. Johnny’s chest tightens.

“What’s this doing here?” Pressing further, Gyro asks if you finally manned up and joined Johnny to bathe. Johnny catches sight of your soaps, sitting just out of eye-line on a rock behind some thickets, and some of the tension eases from his shoulders — less to explain away.

“Oh, he came down and… went around the bend that way,” Johnny nods his head towards the left. “Wanted some privacy, I think.”

You’re shivering from your spot in the bush, branches poking your ribs and leaves getting trapped in your hair. So much for getting cleaned up.

“You’re a shit liar, Johnny.”

It’s almost like a horror novel, the way your body stills, the way your breath catches in your throat. Shit shit shit. Your heart races, and you worry that somehow Gyro will hear it.

“Wha-”

“You don’t have to play coy with me Johnny, I can see it plain as day.”

Johnny has never wanted to curl up and die so badly in his life. Gyro had figured out your secret all on his own, and is content to rub it in Johnny’s face. Torture him with it.

“You finally told him you like him… I gotta hand it to you, I never thought you’d have it in you.”

Johnny stands corrected.

“What’re you-? Gyro that’s not-” Johnny can't even form a coherent sentence under Gyro’s smug gaze, and knowing you’re sitting behind that bush, listening to this shit only serves to add fire to the warmth pooling in his cheeks, boiling up to the tips of his ears.

You have to bring a hand up to cover your mouth.

Gyro clicks his tongue with a wag of his finger, head shaking and ruffling his dirty blond hair. “You don’t have to explain it to me. Trust me, I get it. Our lil riding partner’s pretty easy on the eyes. If you ever need some time alone, I can make myself scarce, ya know? Collect some firewood, maybe hunt a little or something. However long you need.”

Johnny can hear the smirk in Gyro’s tone more than see it in the dark of the evening. He struggles to collect himself. “It’s not like that.”

“Mm,” Gyro hums, “sure it’s not.” He raises his voice a little, ensuring that you both can hear what comes next, “In any case, food’s done whenever you two lovebirds are ready to eat.”

Johnny’s face burns as he watches Gyro disappear back to camp and out of sight, and just as he brings his gaze back towards the smooth surface of the water, you’re climbing back in. He catches an unfiltered glimpse at your curves, the expanse of your legs, the plush of your hips. His eyes squeeze shut and he feels like he’s suffering from acute heat stroke. Johnny knows the visage of your body, sinking into the water, bathed in moonlight that clings to your skin like a silver gown, will haunt his dreams until the end of time. Aphrodite has been plucked from her throne amongst the Gods and dropped right in the lap of some disgraced jockey from Kentucky.

He can’t possibly face you now can he? He’s not prepared to meet a goddess.

“I-” You look up at Johnny through your lashes, water clinging to them from your journey back into the river. You seem almost bashful, shy. Johnny’s heart skips a beat.

“He’s an idiot.” Is all Johnny can bring himself to tell you.

You giggle, and Johnny thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “He is.”

A quiet moment passes before you’re back where you started, hand closing over his own as you settle before him, backlit by the full light of the moon. “I meant what I said earlier.”

With the way you carefully examine the slope of his nose, the way your gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips and back again with a look Johnny can only describe as reverence, the man has no choice. He believes you, just as he had before. He captures your cheek in his palm, as if doing so will stop you from returning to the heavens, disappearing before his eyes.

Johnny brings you closer, lips ghosting over yours. “I know.”

#johnny joestar x reader #johnny joestar imagine #jjba x reader #jjba imagines #steel ball run x reader #steel ball run imagine #johnny joestar fluff

544 notes · View notes

rosethornewrites · 3 months

Text

Fic: Operation Barking Dog, ch. 8

Additional Tags: Family, Mutual Pining, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Has a Fear of Dogs, Repaying Debt, Regret, Phobias, Trauma, Memories, Tree Climbing, There Was Only One Bed, Travel, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín in Seclusion, Cynophobia, POV Third Person, POV Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, domestic, love confessions, getting together

Summary: In a world where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji didn’t have drunk sex and there was no confession in the temple, the pining continues as they travel across Jianghu post-canon. In which Wei Wuxian learns Mo Xuanyu adored Xianzi (Fairy) and decides to honor him by again attempting the impossible: curing his cynophobia. Largely novel and donghua canon. Very loosely based on an @angstymdzsthoughts post.

Notes: see end

AO3 link

——————

Wei Ying’s birthday was a quiet affair, different only in that Lan Wangji asked Hu-furen to cook some spicy foods and sau mein, providing a whole fish and whole chicken, along with other ingredients needed for a birthday meal.

Earlier in the day, they picked up the ordered clothing in the nearby town, keeping the shoes off for another trip to avoid the bad luck of shoes as a birthday gift, spent the day at the market, where Lan Wangji found a fur-lined hooded cape that would keep Wei Ying warm during their travels.

They returned to the farm to a beautifully cooked meal complete with sweet lotus paste shoutao Lan Wangji had purchased in town, hongdan, bai qie ji, whole steamed fish with scallions and shitake mushrooms, and tangyuan, along with millet and a variety of vegetable dishes—including tudou si to satisfy Wei Ying’s love of potatoes.

Though normally such a celebration was reserved for the elderly or very young, this was Wei Ying’s first birthday since his resurrection, and Lan Wangji was of the opinion that it deserved recognition by virtue of being miraculous. He simply told Hu-furen it was a milestone birthday and let it rest there, and she didn’t pry. The hongdan were her addition to the meal, serving in part as a birthday gift for Wei Ying from the Hu family, the eggs from the family chickens.

The dinner was a surprise for Wei Ying, who was delighted, but also a little withdrawn at odd moments, perhaps remembering past birthdays, with people long dead. The children presented him with drawings they made for him, some featuring the writing he had taught them, and that seemed to cheer him considerably.

In the weeks that followed, Wei Ying’s tolerance of any dog or puppy save Xiao Ta did not improve more than it already had, and the weather worsened. While Lan Wangji was unbothered aside from occasional issues with his scars, his core strong enough that the cold barely registered, Wei Ying struggled, burying himself in the blankets they’d purchased and burrowing against his side at night but still shivering. Even the new, warmer robes had a limited effect. The shed itself had no stove or fire, nor could it, and he eventually asked if Wei Ying would prefer they took a room at the inn in town for the rest of the winter, concerned the cold could lead to illness.

“I’ve never been good with the cold,” Wei Ying confessed. “But I had to make do with limited supplies during winters in Luanzang Gang—if we pick up some supplies in town, I should be able to make this space nice and cozy.”

Then he sneezed, and admitted a couple of nights in an inn would be welcome, as he would need time to put it all together.

When they let the Hu family know after breakfast the next morning, A-Ning insisted they take Xiao Ta with them so she could be warm at the inn, too, and Wei Ying caved quickly, tying the little creature to his chest in a sling and tucking her underneath his outer robes, so she would benefit from his body heat and be snug under his cape as well. Fortunately, the puppy no longer required as much care as she had in the first few weeks, no longer needing to be stimulated to eliminate her bladder or bowels, but she still needed regular feedings; though she could get some milk from her mother at times, she was just too much tinier than her siblings to compete. Her eyes were open now, and she was very curious and wriggly, communicating in soft puppy croons, but settled easily enough in the sling, the warmth and a full belly urging her to sleep.

Xiao Pingguo was significantly less enthused to be brought from the relative warmth of the barn, immediately trying to step on Wei Ying to express her discontent, only stopped by Lan Wangji’s quick reaction.

The trek itself wasn’t terribly unpleasant, quiet but for the wind and Wei Ying’s flute, Xiao Ta occasionally crooning along, until his hands were too cold to be outside of mittens and he tucked Chenqing away in favor of staying warm. So instead he talked the rest of the way, explaining his intended remedy for the cold, which hinged on buying six large blankets, sewing talismans for keeping cold out on one side of each, and talismans for giving off heat to the other side, to be hung from the ceiling, walls, and placed on the floor of their shed.

“Popo was delighted when I came up with them—said her old bones couldn’t handle the cold as well as they used to, and she had difficulty with arthritis anyway. I even made her some warm packs for the painful days.”

That explained how he was so confident with the Hu’s water bottle, which they had not brought with them, Lan Wangji realized, and thus would need to purchase something to keep Xiao Ta warm while they were in town. Likely Wei Ying would opt to stick to what worked and buy a new water bottle, but he was just as likely to try something experimental.

Wei Ying fell silent again, and Lan Wangji knew he was remembering the elderly woman whose blood corpse had come to protect him and Sizhui, likely facing a grief over a decade old but still fresh to him.

While the situation in Luanzang Gang had been difficult, in some ways the Wen remnants had been something of a family to him in the final years of his first life, and he could not fault him for such grief—he had so many to mourn. Lan Wangji wondered if perhaps they should at some point venture to Dafan Shan and visit the cenotaph with their remains, wondered if Wei Ying would want to burn joss for them, just in case any lingered and would appreciate such a gesture.

Lan Wangji, despite everything, had never truly learned to mourn, instead focusing on living his life doing the good that Wei Ying would have done, had he lived, and he did not know how to help him in his grief. He had found that grief was a profoundly personal thing at a young age with his mother’s death, but Wei Ying had experienced waves of loss—his parents, the Jiangs and Jiang disciples, the Wen remnants, his sister… If his own grief had been powerful enough to lead him to brand himself in a fit of mental anguish, seeking a physical pain that would rival it as well as a closeness with Wei Ying when he was gone, he didn’t know how the layers of loss affected Wei Ying.

They went to the market first, before even renting a room at the inn or boarding Xiao Pingguo at the stable, with the intent to stay in after taking advantage of the baths again and having dinner sent up. His new shoes were their first priority, followed by the components for Wei Ying’s project.

Wei Ying was particular about the blankets, not wanting anything too thin and discussing the construction with the shopkeepers, and even more particular about a large amount of cinnabar-dyed embroidery thread and a set of embroidery needles. They also purchased a basket, terrycloth, soft bedding, goat’s milk, and a water bottle for Xiao Ta’s comfort. Wei Ying discovered a shop selling little household items that had a crude but adorable little rabbit-shaped ceramic vessel with a spout as its mouth, meant for very young children and infants to suckle from.

“It might be more effective than the rags for Xiao Ta, even if it won’t be used long,” Wei Ying said, his voice distant.

The Hu family patriarch had mentioned she would start growing teeth in a few weeks, and while she could then be started on more solid foods, she was behind her siblings in growth, having been the last to open her eyes. The worry was how Wei Ying would react to her new teeth.

“And anyway, we can hang onto it after and add it to your bunny collection,” he added with a smile, as though the collection didn’t live in a qiankun pouch and wasn’t mostly added to by Wei Ying himself.

When they reached the inn, Wei Ying took their purchases up to room once Lan Wangji rented it for the night, eager to feed Xiao Ta, while he stabled Xiao Pingguo, leaving apples to the stableboy for her, with permission to have one as well. The youth’s surprised grin, briefly thrilled, as though they both didn’t know full well the boy would have had one regardless, reminded him oddly of Wei Ying. If he had not been found by Jiang Fengmian, might he have eventually been able to find such work and lived a normal mundane life, never to meet Lan Wangji but without the tragedies that he’d endured? An unsettling idea for reasons he can’t explain even to himself.

On his way to the room, he stopped the owner and arranged for their dinner be sent up, early but necessary for the half shichen needed between a meal and a bath, choosing several spicy dishes for Wei Ying as well as ones that would suit his own palate.

Lan Wangji found him sitting near a low table, holding Xiao Ta gently as she successfully suckled at the spout, grinning and practically humming with excitement.

“Lan Zhan, I think she‘ll be able to drink more this way, look!”

The Hus were concerned about whether the runtling was able to intake enough through the rag, always seeming more satiated when she was able to suckle from her mother, and Wei Ying had fretted about it, attached now to Xiao Ta in a way Lan Wangji suspected would never hold true for any other dog.

He also knew the big test would come when Xiao Ta’s teeth came in, as puppies could bite at that point on, and that Wei Ying was treating this task with the sort of seriousness he applied to things he cared about, sometimes testing himself by letting the little runt suckle and gum at his fingers, occasionally pulling them away when it became too much. Lan Wangji could see the fondness and protectiveness he displayed toward Xiao Ta, the sort one would give a baby animal, but she was a dog, and this was progress enough for him to have faith that Wei Ying could be ready when it came, and he would support the attempt regardless of the outcome.

The food was delivered as the puppy settled to take a short post-meal nap wrapped in one of several short bolts of soft terrycloth they’d bought at the market, along with tea for himself and wine for Wei Ying.

Wei Ying spoke through the meal, of course—Lan Wangji had long ago stopped expecting anything else, and Wei Ying never pressured him to speak—alighting on different points of interest, from characters to remember to teach the Hu family based on their time in the market, to his plans for the assorted supplies he had gotten. He intended to put the water bottle in the basket with soft bedding above, then the terrycloth with Xiao Ta, so any mess would be on the terrycloth, easily switched out and washed. The walls of the basket would still be high enough that she would have a challenge wriggling her way out if she woke while they were bathing.

“And the basket handle will make it easier to carry her while we travel,” Wei Ying chirped, then added, “back to the Hu farm, I mean.”

He wondered if the slip meant anything, if Wei Ying had started imagining the puppy with them on their travels. Lan Wangji wouldn’t mind it, of the opinion that Wei Ying should have everything he wanted in this life.

Wei Ying put his plans into motion after they finished their meal, though he occasionally picked at the remains as he worked, letting Xiao Ta wriggle around on the terrycloth, occasionally shifting her to a new direction when necessary or letting her nuzzle at his fingers in a sort of play. By the time the bed was ready, a replacement of the terrycloth was needed as well, and Lan Wangji set the soiled one aside to have cleaned with some of their laundry. Wei Ying settled Xiao Ta in her new bed, the pup worn out after eating and playing, and they gathered a change of clothing before heading to the baths.

The post-bath routine was similar to their last stay, Wei Ying permitting him to comb his hair with his own sandalwood-scented oils after the tangles frustrated him, but it was early yet.

With the aid of lighting talismans as daylight waned, Wei Ying showed Lan Wangji the talismans he had invented toward the end of his first life, in Luanzang Gang, to protect the elderly refugees from the cold in winter, deceptively simple and brilliant. On the side to face outside, a barrier to cold, while on the inside, a talisman that would radiate warmth, working in tandem to keep a space warm, something that could have many applications.

“It’d work on buildings if I modified it, but sometimes you don’t want to keep out cold or have a space be warm, though if I worked at it I could design those as well,” Wei Ying said when he asked. “They’re just kind of intricate and better on certain materials, which is why I was asking the shopkeeper all those questions about the blankets.”

Lan Wangji was not adept with talismans, having chosen to focus on musical cultivation instead, and so could only listen to Wei Ying and ask questions to gain understanding of his ideas, but that never seemed to bother his companion, who insisted that outside perspectives helped him think.

What threw him was the fact that Wei Ying intended to embroider the talismans on the blankets with the cinnabar embroidery thread, not because he didn’t know it was possible—the Lan clan robes were embroidered with protective enchantments—but because he hadn’t known embroidery was one of Wei Ying’s skills.

When he said as much, Wei Ying laughed and explained that Jiang Yanli taught him, long ago when he was recovering from an injury and bored, to try to help pass the days until he had healed, his voice tinged with nostalgia. Though he hadn’t used it much except for mending his clothing, he had taken it up again while exiled in Luanzang Gang with the Wen remnants, using it to help with his research and inventions mostly, though Popo had given him clothing to embroider when Wen Qing insisted he take a rest.

For the moment, the memories did not seem to cause him pain, and Lan Wangji was content to listen to him ramble, watching him deftly thread the needle and start on the first talisman, about how the medium had not worked well with the Zhao Yinqi, and so he had determined that paint or blood was more effective for more complex talismans, though embroidery gave more permanence.

Lan Wangji let Wei Ying’s voice wash over him as he composed a letter to Lan Xichen to update him on his travels, pausing to ask questions at times. A letter from his brother had been left in place of the remnants of dinner. When they decided to stay in the area for a time, he had let his brother know to send correspondence to the inn. Unsurprisingly, he had also sent a pouch of tael to spend on their journey, which he had to admit was welcome after having purchased a small wardrobe for Wei Ying.

He transferred the contents of the pouch to his purse, still the one that had held herbs from Luo Qingyang all those years ago in the Xuanwu cave, which he had jealously stolen. Perfume sachets were courting gifts, and there had been a possessive part of him that had made him act then. Lan Wangji had tempered that tendency over the years Wei Ying was gone, but he still kept the purse.

Wei Ying was focused on his embroidery, and Lan Wangji could see characters meant to keep cold out on the talisman he was working on, privately awed by his ingenuity. Many mundane people, especially those of few means such as farmers, would benefit greatly from such an invention, as there were often deaths during cold snaps, those unfortunate who could not keep warm enough. Were these talismans, even paper that could be adhered to walls, produced for the masses, it would save lives and add comfort to many more.

“The talismans use ambient resentful energy, so they worked pretty well in Luanzang Gang; I’m sure they’ll work just as well outside, and prevent local problems since they siphon off resentment.”

His fingers, deftly handling the needle, paused.

“I’m sure I could rework the talismans to use ambient spiritual energy, though.”

Wei Ying wasn’t quite looking at him, and Lan Wangji realized with a pang that he was expecting condemnation, something he had so often given him without meaning to in his previous life.

“No need,” he said after a moment. “Wei Ying’s ideas are sound.”

His ideas were of course unorthodox, but Lan Wangji had decided through painstaking reflection in the years of Wei Ying’s death that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—were not multiple sects shamelessly using his inventions because they were brilliant and useful, even as they condemned him for having created them? If these siphoned resentment and transformed it, how could they be bad? He didn’t know how to say these things, knowing there was no use in his years of regret with Wei Ying sitting here in the warmth of the inn with him.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, you really are too much sometimes,” Wei Ying finally said after a moment, returning to his embroidery.

But he seemed more settled than he had before, more at ease as he worked.

Wei Ying worked quickly, pausing only to give Xiao Ta more milk when she woke and started whimpering, but he paused and stretched once the pup was asleep again, blinking ruefully at the lighting talismans that were no longer enough light, clearly in need of a break.

“The night market?” Lan Wangji suggested.

The town was small and winter meant the night market was even smaller than it normally was, but it was a distraction he was certain Wei Ying would appreciate.

He brought out the package of new shoes for Wei Ying, both slippers to be used for indoors, which he didn’t have, and boots for traveling, as Wei Ying’s were worn out. Wei Ying laughed quietly at some unknown amusement as he changed into the boots.

“They’ll take some time to break in properly, but they fit well, so hopefully they won’t cause sore feet,” Wei Ying said once he had them on.

As they left the inn, Xiao Ta in her basket in tow,he launched into a short tale how the first shoes Jiang Fengmian had gotten him had been too big and he worried about being a bother despite his sore feet, so Jiang Yanli had ensured his shoes fit once she discovered it and thereafter.

“My feet were smaller than Jiang Cheng’s, and he’d assumed we were the same size because we were the same age,” Wei Ying finished.

The memory seemed as though it was positive to Wei Ying, but all Lan Wangji could wonder was how a man with children could possibly make that assumption, and what shopkeeper would allow him to put ill-fitting shoes on a child. So many of his memories seemed tinged by neglect.

“Mn,” he settled on, not quite sure how to reply.

“Shijie sorted it out in the end,” Wei Ying said softly. “She was the best.”

Lan Wangj knew the flavors of Wei Ying’s grief, knew her death had broken him at Buyetian Cheng, knew he had unfairly burdened him at the end of his first life with his inappropriate feelings, only adding the the maelstrom that led to the First Siege of Luanzang Gang. To so much more of his grief. He had resolved to never burden him so again.

The night market consisted of booths of street food and low-level luxury goods like lanterns or small paintings, nothing so big as a larger town would host, but vibrant in its own way. Wei Ying managed to find two handmade bunny masks, one black and one white, and Lan Wangji immediately drew out his money pouch to pay for them—for although his zhiji was the one to add to their collection, he was happy to enable him.

After he ensured Wei Ying had some warming snacks from the market, in particular a large bag of tang chao lizi and another of dong shizi, they returned to the warmth of the inn. The dong shizi he used a stasis talisman on, one he had apparently invented in Luanzang Gang to preserve food, to keep them fresh.

Xiao Ta was hungry again, and suckled easily from rabbit vessel, and while she sated herself Wei Ying worked further on his talisman embroidery. Lan Wangji took over her care, petting and allowing her to wrestle with his hand, to allow him to work. It was wonderfully domestic, uplifting that he could be with Wei Ying in this capacity.

Before long the puppy was asleep and tucked into her basket. Lan Wangji waited until Wei Ying finished a part of the talisman, the light too low and the hour past hai shi, before gently bullying him to ready for sleep, reluctantly taking the other bed himself. He knew his zhiji would likely be restless before settling, but he tried to help him avoid staying up all night working on projects. He fully expected Wei Ying would get back up and eat some of the snacks from the market and drink the wine Lan Wangji had set out for him from the innkeeper’s stock, but he expected having access to an actual bed to be something of a luxury, one he should enjoy.

“See you tomorrow, Lan Zhan,” followed him into sleep.

Instead, Lan Wangji woke long before mao shi, confused momentarily as to why until he realized across the room Wei Ying was thrashing in his sleep, his breath like choked-off screams, in the throes of a nightmare.

Wei Ying woke when he called out to him, sitting up panting in the bed, and Lan Wangji rushed to his side.

“Just—Just a nightmare,” Wei Ying murmured, clearly trying to dismiss it. “I wish it hadn’t woken you.”

Lan Wangji had never known him to have nightmares, but when he said so, Wei Ying laughed hollowly.

“It’s better when we share a bed, but I need to get used to them; you’ll need to return to Gusu eventually, and I know you don’t like touch. You’ve been very tolerant of me.”

Cosleeping had helped, and yet Wei Ying felt he was a burden while Lan Wangji had felt selfish for enjoying it secretly.

“It is no burden, not with you,” he murmured.

Wei Ying looked up at him, his expression captivatingly his even on a different face, his essence in a new form, and Lan Wangji didn’t want to look away. He struggled for words, his words so often having the opposite his intended impact.

“Were it my decision, I would not be separated from you again,” he managed after a moment. “I am selfish in this.”

“You said…” Wei Ying started, then broke off as though trying to find the words. “When you drank, when you told me you like rabbits, you said you had regrets. I don’t want you to feel obligated to me for anything. You don’t owe me anything from the past, Lan Zhan.”

“The past is past,” Lan Wangji said slowly. “The present is now. I know what it is to be without you, and I wish to be with you.”

There was a long and pregnant pause, Wei Ying looking up at him, so much shorter now, his eyes shimmering in the sparse light of the moon coming in from the closed shutters.

“Lan Zhan… I might get the wrong idea.”

Lan Wangji shook his head, a bit confused by what the wrong idea could be, aside from…

“I would not burden you again.”

Wei Ying tilted his head, his expression concerned.

“Burden me? Lan Zhan, when did you burden me?”

Did he not recall? Lan Wangji was hesitant to remind him, but he seemed so earnestly confused. And he had made a vow to himself to stay by Wei Ying’s side in all things, something dishonesty by omission didn’t allow.

“After Buyetian Cheng, when I returned you to Luanzang Gang…”

“After?” Wei Ying interrupted. “You’re how I got back to Luanzang Gang? Lan Zhan, I don’t remember anything from that time—is that why you were punished?”

He reached forward as though to touch his shoulder, where a particularly viscious lash had sliced the flesh and scarred over.

Lan Wangji’s world spun a little—he’d assumed Wei Ying knew, that it had been only another weight that had carried him to his death. Hope stirred.

“Lan Zhan, nothing you could say would be a burden to me,” Wei Ying said, finally gripping his arm. “Nothing.”

With Wei Ying’s touch, Lan Wangji felt emboldened, and the words spilled out.

“I love you. I have loved you since our blades crossed under the moon at Yunshen Buzhichu, when we first met.”

Wei Ying let out an indecipherable noise, and Lan Wangji braced himself.

“All that time?” he whispered. “I thought you hated me.”

His breath came out in a rush. Too many had believed that, but it had never been true, and it rankled him that Wei Ying believed it. Perhaps that was the real burden he had carried to his death, and Lan Wangji would need to be better with his words in the future.

But Wei Ying didn’t seem bothered by his confession.

“Never. Could never hate Wei Ying. I… have difficulty with words. But I have always felt thus.”

Before he could react, Wei Ying threw himself into his lap, clinging to him like a limpet.

“Lan Zhan! You’re really great. I like you, or in other words, I fancy you, I love you, I want you, I can’t leave you, I whatever you. I want to night-hunt with you for the rest of my life. I don’t want anyone but you—it can’t be anyone but you—”

Lan Wangji could only helplessly repeat the sentiments, too overwhelmed to find words himself, though he allowed himself to indulge in tipping Wei Ying’s face up for kisses between them. He had kissed him once, long ago, in a dark moment, but this was reciprocated and made his heart sing.

Before long, he pressed Wei Ying against the mattress and they were otherwise occupied for some time.

He would wake past mao shi, tangled with Wei Ying, filled with joy at what the future could now bring.

It would take several days for Wei Ying to finish his project, as distracted as they too easily became, and for the rest of the winter they spent the days helping at the Hu farm and teaching the family, and the nights passionately learning each other, snug in the shed with Wei Ying’s ingenious talismans.

Spring would find them headed to Yunmeng, a gifted (though Lan Wangji left some tael in exchange) Xiao Ta sometimes snuggled in a saddlebag on Xiao Pingguo, sometimes prancing around following her. She was intended as a gift for Jiang Wanyin, Wei Ying hoping to draw him out of seclusion and mend their relationship with the gift of the only dog he wasn’t afraid of.

And if they completed their bows along the way, that was just one more thing for Lan Wangji to appreciate, making Wei Ying officially his husband.

—————

Finally complete! I hope this is everything rymyanna hoped for. Sorry it took so long to finish it.

Writing has been delayed by getting my gallbladder removed and a subsequent infection, both of which led to hospital stays. I’m okay now—home health nurse checking in and everything. It was my first time staying in the hospital! I actually got sick on my birthday.

bai qui ji = whole poached chicken

Buyetian Cheng = Nightless City

dong shizhi = frozen persimmons

hai shi = 9pm, Lan bedtime

hongdan = dyed red eggs

Luanzang Gang = Burial Mounds

sau mein = longevity noodles

shoutao = peach buns

tang chao lizi = sugar roasted chestnuts

tangyuan = sweet rice balls

tudou si = stir-fried shredded potatoes

Xiao Pingguo = Little Apple

Xiao Ta = Little Otter

Yunshen Buzhichu = Cloud Recesses

Zhao Yinqi = attraction flag

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan zhan #lan wangji #mdzs fanfiction #mdzs fic #mdzs fanfic #untamed fanfiction #untamed fanfic #untamed fic #cql #chen qing ling #cql fanfic #cql fic #cql fanfiction #my fanfiction

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g4ll0wd4nc3r · 11 months

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school of the viper headcanons

these are not edited and probably not canon compliant but fuck it we ball

they can’t regulate their internal temperature as well as other witchers, so they have to soak up warmth from somewhere else. you’ll often see vipers curled up as close to their campfires as possible when traveling or taking a nap on a nice warm rock.

gorthur gvaed is filled with era-equivalent space heaters

an older viper some centuries back developed hand warmers. it’s a necessity when traveling.

vipers aren’t outwardly affectionate to each other. you’ll know if one trusts you if they offer to make your potions or food (i like you enough to not poison you) or if they turn their back to you

on the rare occasion that they are more affectionate, they will huddle for warmth or wrap around one another. they may also rub their heads/cheeks together, but not often.

on the whole, vipers are loyal and protective of one another, but have difficulty showing it. vipers on the path tend to avoid one another

building immunity to toxins started as soon as you were recruited. trainees (read; children) would be required to drink poison and identify toxic plants, often running the risk of getting severely ill or dying. older witchers were instructed to slip poison onto food or drinks too

you learned pretty quickly to either smell out whatever was on your food or be tough enough to ride it out

vipers will never eat food they haven’t seen prepared. they go hungry more often than not.

vipers who can get away with it conceal their status as a witcher. a lot of people have crossed paths with one and never known

someone made a hc that vipers will wear other schools’ medallions before an assassination and i love that

vipers are smaller than wolves or bears but more built than cats

the cats and vipers are sister schools. they hate each other and need each other. it’s very strange to see. toxic yuri

cats and vipers are known to trade or buy things off one another, with vipers being able to make quality potions and cats being able to procure harder to find ingredients. they also had similar training so on the rare occasion they work together, they mesh really well

however they will most likely attack one another when out in the wild — cats and vipers both take human jobs, and cats especially are known for poaching jobs that vipers may be interested in

a relatively new practice is “getting your teeth”. after a hard hunt, vipers will have a procedure to get retractable fangs in their mouth. they can load poisons and tear through pretty much anything at the cost of being extremely close combat. vipers without fangs are sometimes called “nibbles”.

maybe also split tongues. is that too quirky

best eyesight among all witchers, which makes it even funnier that vipers keep going blind/get eye trauma

like cats but opposite — their mutagens dulled their emotions to an extreme, so young vipers tend to be extremely blunt and rude. older vipers have learned to fake their emotions to “normal” levels, but will drop the mask as soon as they can

expect your viper to be extremely to the point. they expect the same of you. good luck!

cold and mean and weird about affection BUT. but. after ivar and the old guard died people started adopting animals that were left on the base of the mountains / on the path back for winter

gorthur gvaed is filled with animals that are so so loved and spoiled. it’s atonement for the animals that were killed during training and healing for the vipers that are left

vipers can usually whip up their potions and elixirs while on the road, but much prefer the fully outfitted alchemy labs at gorthur gvaed and *will* complain. loudly.

its not winter unless someone explodes something while experimenting

if an experiment goes particularly wrong it’s not unusual to see a viper face down on the floor. floor time. it’s like a reward

all vipers are fucking nerds. they have an extensive library (added on to after ivar’s death) and many of them learn additional skills (languages, math, other sciences, even music) when out on the path.

most horses don’t like vipers

that tweet that’s like i’m probably nonbinary but i have a job so i can’t worry abt that rn. yeah thats the whole school

#the witcher #school of the viper #banshee writes #i’m sooooo normal about the blorbos #sorry to any lorekeepers in the witcher fandom rn #the timeline makes no sense to me but i know i hate ivar!!

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

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Darling, Let's Run

Part II: Along the Reaches of the Street

Summary: A month after her sister mysteriously went missing, Feyre receives a letter instructing she leave the village immediately. And the letter's messenger? A curious black cat.

A sequel to They Are the Hunters, We Are the Foxes. While I recommend reading it first, it is not necessary.

Read on AO3・Feysand Month Masterlist ・Series Masterlist

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The village was busier than Feyre expected it to be.

As winter approached, she always found the markets grew quieter. Merchants were less willing to travel so far as her ramshackle village if it meant facing harsh weather and highwaymen. But it was market day, and snow hadn’t fallen, so the brisk morning was swept with patrons and vendors alike.

Feyre remembered how much she used to love market days as a little girl. Before their father had taken ill, he used to run a stall at this very market. A merchant who peddled exotic wares he traded off of travelers that passed through her village. Feyre used to regard it with so much whimsy, marveling at her fathers wares as she imagined that she might one day visit such far away places. Now that memory haunted the market like a ghost.

If it were a year where she had managed to catch excess game, she would have at least been weaving through the stalls looking for an interested buyer. Instead the smell of fresh bread and spun sugar wafted through the air, taunting Feyre until the dull, constant pang in her stomach flared to the point of nausea.

She quickly set her sights away from the stalls.

Feyre pretended not to notice the lingering stares of her fellow villages, either. Some of their words trailed her, as readily as the cat that slunk in her shadow. Lord Nolan… murdered… unusual… Guilty. She walked as though she couldn’t hear any of it—just as Nesta had been doing since the moment they had all learned of Lord Nolan’s murder.

Stupid, a cruel part of her whispered as she headed towards the barn Issac’s family owned. She could already see him leaning against a building, arms crossed as he surveyed the crowd. Stupid to think he would still want her with the way the Village has been talking.

Their eyes met, and he inclined his head down that decrepit path towards the barn.

Feyre always used to meet him on market days, but she hadn’t shown up to one in well over a month. Had he waited for her at every single one, she wondered, or had it simply been fortunate timing?

In any case, she followed him down that path, until they were far enough away from any prying eyes.

Issac turned, lips set into a grim line. “What are you doing here?”

It was rare for them to talk beforehand—usually by this point their mouths would be occupied. It shook Feyre off guard enough that she needed a moment to think of a response. “It’s a market day,” she said lamely.

He stared pointedly at the plain dress she wore, and Feyre did her best not to shift under the weight of his scrutiny. She hardly ever wore dresses. Under the smirch of poverty, it felt too much like a child playing pretend. And with the way men’s gazes tended to stick to her and her sisters, she tried to avoid the extra attention when she could.

“Funny,” Issac said, “you haven’t been showing up to many of those recently.”

Feyre reeled at the frost in his tone, so unexpected from the soft-spoken man she’d come to associate him as. She squinted. “Are you… angry with me?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “People are saying your sister murdered Lord Nolan. That you helped her get away with it.”

“My sister is missing,” Feyre said, without needing to force the warble in her voice.

Issac sighed, running a hand through his hair. His eyes darted to something over her shoulder, and Feyre turned to see the cat walking through the center of the alleyway, seemingly unconcerned with stealth. He settled himself at Feyre’s side, a predatory gleam in his eyes that made Issac shift weight on his feet.

He pitched his voice low, like he suspected someone might overhear. “And the black cat that suddenly follows you around… It’s a bad omen, Feyre. The others are warning people to stay away from your family.”

“The villagers are narrow minded fools,” Feyre said hotly, wrapping her arms around herself. “And I always thought you above that kind of thinking, Issac.”

He had the decency to look ashamed. His eyes were gentler as they swept over Feyre. “Did you come for a specific reason?”

Feyre leaned forward, suggestively dragging her eyes to those barn doors. She dropped her voice low, leaning closer to let it drip like honey over his skin. “You don’t believe I wanted to see you?”

She watched the caution in his eyes slowly fizzle, replaced by a heat that confirmed he hadn’t found other girls to occupy his time while she’d been away. Not that Feyre would have particularly minded. There was no love between them, and she knew she would hardly think of him once she was in Velaris.

After a moment’s consideration, Issac nodded and slid the barn doors open.

This, at least, was familiar. Her mouth found his the moment the doors shut. It was dim in the barn and in those moments where her eyes adjusted, all she knew was the feeling of Issac’s warm breath, the way his callused hands scraped against her back as he slid them beneath her tunic. For just a moment, she could forget why she had come. The murder, the hunger, the poverty, for a minute they all drifted until there was just this warm body that reminded her she wasn’t entirely alone in the world.

Feyre tore at his shirt, needing to feel the skin beneath, to feel the heart hammering in his chest as an echo to her own. She stifled a moan as Issac grasped her breasts, feeling a spark of relief at his roughness. She didn’t want him to be gentle—not when the world made her so angry and scared, and the only place to bleed that wound was in the way she gripped his hair and tugged like she wanted it to hurt. In response, Issac tore his lips from Feyre’s and bit her neck. Hard, just as he knew she liked it. She moaned, but it was drowned out by the sound of the barn doors opening.

They broke apart as sunlight poured into the space, falling over them like an accusation. She strained to make out the figure strolling in on long, even steps.

“Am I interrupting something?” a deep voice purred.

“Who are you?” Issac asked sharply. Feyre noticed the way he stepped in front of her, ever so slightly, and she couldn’t decide if it was in an effort to protect her or to conceal that he had been having a tryst with an Archeron.

Her eyes were still adjusting to the intrusive light, and she couldn’t see the stranger’s face until he stepped further into the barn, revealing the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Everything about him radiated sensual grace and ease as he stalked around them in a wide circle, ignoring Issac’s question entirely.

His short black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers, and even in the shadows his golden skin seemed to glow with youth and wealth. Wealth that, if Feyre couldn’t detect from his strong build and healthy features, she certainly could have inferred from his clothing. His fine, silver-trimmed black jacket looked better suited to a royal court than the shambles of their village. But most intriguing of all were his deep, near violet, eyes that twinkled with amusement as they beheld Feyre.

“A barn is hardly a place to take a lady,” he said with a tut, making his way towards one of the occupied stalls. He extended his hand towards the chestnut mare inside, skimming his hand along its neck. “So many prying eyes in here. If you’re in a pinch, at least pick an alleyway with a decently sturdy wall.”

“This is my family’s barn,” Issac said, face redder than she had ever seen it. “You need to leave.”

The stranger waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve simply come to take the mare I’ve purchased.”

Feyre’s heart sank into her chest.

Issac’s brows merged. “What?”

“I purchased this horse from a farmer just a moment ago,” the stranger answered, appraising his new mare with a diligence that felt misplaced. Anyone who was looking for prestige wouldn’t seek it here. And if Issac’s father truly was selling his horse… it dashed any hope that Issac would lend the mare for her own journey.

Issac glanced between the stranger and Feyre before taking a deep breath. “I need to confirm this with my father. Feyre, please… make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

She watched him disappear around the corner, seemingly far more concerned about his horse than leaving Feyre alone with the strange man. He was watching her again, and she couldn’t notice that much of his amusement had faded.

“You seem disappointed,” he noted, abandoning the stall in favor of circling towards her. “Really, you should be thanking me. Hay can be dreadfully itchy.”

Feyre crossed her arms defensively. “It’s softer than an alley wall.”

He laughed—laughed in a way that made her blood boil. Like those piercing violet eyes swept over her and saw far more than she’d ever intended him to. He smiled, as sweet and intoxicating as honeyed wine. “I get the feeling, Fay-ruh—” he rolled each syllable of her name over his tongue as if he were tasting it—”that you don’t like things soft.”

Inviting a conversation about what she liked seemed too dangerous a territory when she was alone in this barn with him. Especially when he insisted on moving closer, closing the distance between them with each lulling step. For some reason, she couldn’t find it within herself to step back.

“So long as we’re examining the other, maybe you can tell me more about this horse you’re purchasing.” She angled her head. “And what you’re doing in this village, for that matter?”

His eyes flashed. Excitement, she thought. Some strange thrill of a game, which she felt sparking in her own chest as he prowled closer still. Until he was standing before her and she could see the way his long eyelashes brushed his cheek as he flicked his eyes downwards.

“I’m stopping amid my travels,” he said, lips twisting into a smirk. “And I needed a horse.”

Feyre raised a brow. “Most people amid their travels already have a horse.”

He leaned towards her, almost conspiratorially. So close, she could feel his breath on her face as he murmured, “Does my purchasing another one offend you?”

“It inconveniences me,” was her shoddy defense.

“Mmm, I can see that. I assure you, once I procure my horse you can return to fucking the farmhand in the hay.”

Her cheeks flamed, but she refused to be ashamed when he was staring at her like he was merely an invitation away from doing the same. “Where are your travels taking you?”

He was staring at her mouth, eyes dark and swirling with something she couldn’t quite place. “Velaris,” he answered.

Her heart stopped. She must have misheard him.

“Velaris?”

“Ah.” He pulled away, looking considerate. “I recognise that look in your eye, Feyre. Looking to get out of this quaint little village? See the world?”

He hadn’t been looking at her eyes at all. She wanted to point it out, but Feyre felt more compelled to learn what he was calculating behind that cunning smile. She challenged, “What if I am?”

The stranger splayed his hands amicably. “Then I might be in a position to help.”

“At what cost?”

His smile didn’t waver. “Who says there’s a cost?”

“With men, there is always a cost,” Feyre said flatly. And by the way he was looking at her, Feyre could already guess what that cost might be. Had already contemplated if she was willing to pay it.

“Feyre darling,” he said, her name like a caress on his tongue. She could almost feel it gliding against her skin, until her hair was standing on edge. The stranger whispered, “I’m not like any man you’ve ever met.”

Something in her chest tugged, like he were pulling an invisible string as he slid his hands into his pockets, urging her closer.

She was relieved when Issac returned, stone faced. It gave her a moment to take a steady breath and attempt to calm her racing pulse as the stranger returned his attention to the mare he had in fact purchased.

Issac handed him the lead, wordlessly opening the stall. Though they fucked more frequently than they spoke, Feyre knew he cared very much for that horse. Watching a stranger lead it out of the barn must have been no easy deed, and Feyre wondered what had compelled Issac’s father to sell it. Were they facing hard times as well, or had that man simply offered a price Issac’s father couldn’t refuse?

It was the latter, Feyre suspected. The man sent her a wink as he led the horse towards the open door. He paused, turning his head to call to Feyre, “I’ll be staying at the inn by the tavern. If you reconsider, that is.”

Then he was gone, leaving Issac glaring in his wake.

“What was that about?”

Feyre shrugged, searching for an explanation—or an excuse. With the barn doors open, it didn’t take long for her cat to come slinking in, striding right up to her.

“He wanted to buy my cat, too,” she blurted, leaning down to collect him. The cat lifted into her arms with ease, purring as it tucked its head against her shoulder. “Must be putting together a circus.”

Issac snorted, staring at the cat with thinly veiled contempt. The cat almost looked smug, as though it knew exactly what it was interrupting. “I’m surprised you didn’t sell it.”

Feeling oddly sentimental, Feyre pressed a kiss to the black fur between its ears. She was grateful the cat was giving her an excuse to leave, now that Issac couldn’t help even if he wanted to.

Feyre shrugged. “I’m starting to feel attached to it. Maybe I’ll even give him a name.”

She left with a hasty kiss to Issac’s cheek, inwardly laughing at how the cat glowered over her shoulder the entire time.

Prick, she thought privately. I’ll call him Prick.

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