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sparklingcid3r · 2 months ago

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wut did the convo between darry and child services go like? obvi was complicated but like genuinely how did he convince them he could b the guardian of 2 teenage boys? he genuinely must have nerves of steel.

also like must have been the worse adjustment if he always confided in paul or his dad when stressed, but now has no one. like his just isolation from any close relationship is soooo noticeable, esp compared to his brothers who actively lean on their best friends

just ignore that this might end up horribly inaccurate🙏 i’m here for a good time alr leave me alone😭 but fr darry was going through the traumas of odysseus on his voyage back to ithaca when he should have been getting lit at the club😔

Darry’s shell shock looks a whole lot like numbness. That’s how he feels, too, so when the same officers who just told him they’re very sorry, but his parents have been killed in an accident, he just stares and hears them iterate for him what exactly he needs to get done immediately. He forces himself to actually listen, because this isn’t about him, it’s about Pony and Soda and keeping a roof above their heads.

He needs to locate his ma and dad’s birth certificates and legal documents to have their wills probated and assets distributed, schedule an appointment with the funeral director, schedule a date for the funeral itself, meet with the court to be appointed Pony and Soda’s legal guardian, but that’s only after they deem him fit to be the sole caretaker of two teenagers. They’ll assign them a case manager. They’ll ask him what his salary is, they’ll call his old coaches to ask about his time management and self-discipline—what if he comes up short in some way? What if he makes a mistake and gets his brothers thrown in a home?

Fuck, then there’s the personal arrangements. He needs to call the college dean and tell him extraordinary circumstances have forced him to drop out, probably he’ll still have to pay for the rest of the semester he didn’t get to finish. When the case manager comes over for their meeting—the house is a mess from Darry’s birthday party, they’ll think Darry is okay with raising his brothers in filth. Something about bank statements too, he’s sure he’ll have to go over it, see what his parents have been paying for, what he’ll need to pay for and what he has to cut now that money’s about to be tighter. Bills, taxes, he needs to draw up a system to distribute those payments overdue or not. Groceries, do they need to go shopping soon? With what money? With Darry’s money, he needs to get a job now.

Darry gets to work.

Identifying the bodies is the first thing he does. He lets Steve and Johnny stay over to keep Pony and Soda company. Two-Bit offers to come with Darry to the hospital, but he refuses. When he gets to the hospital, he sees Dally standing at the entrance, cross-armed and stone-faced. He doesn’t even look at Darry when he arrives. Just pushes himself off the pillar and shrugs. “Your call.”

Darry says nothing, so Dally follows him in. The police lead him to the morgue. The sheets are carefully folded back to reveal their faces, and Darry’s stomach heaves and his eyes blur. His parents are shredded. They’re just bodies, sliced, crushed bodies. He doesn’t even realize he stumbling until a steeled hand grabs him and keeps him upright, and Dally’s saying “Easy, easy, man. Breathe, Darrel. That them?”

Darry nods. All he’s think is that it’s going to be a closed casket funeral.

The wills are the next thing he deals with. Once those are probated and the surrogate has deemed them official, Darry is free to pay the fees and obtain his inheritance, as well as transfer his parents’ money to his name in the bank.

Next, Darry searches for a job. Something physical, or something to do with numbers. He was going to be an accountant after all, might as well make some use of the few months he spent studying. After busting his ass hunting and applying, he lands a job at Fitzmorris Roofing and starts as soon as he can. The pay is decent, but not enough, so he keeps looking. Eventually he finds out about a firm at the edge of town looking for a bookkeeper, so Darry goes in for an interview and walks out with his second job.

Then are the bank statements. Darry gets issued a copy of his parents’ bank statements from the previous month and spends entire nights going through them. After crunching the numbers twice, he finds out that in two months from now, they’ll have to go without paying the electricity bill for a few weeks while Darry’s paychecks catch up with expenses. Better than going hungry. They’ll just have to deal with the dark.

So far, they’ve been feeding off the numerous donations from families around town. Lasagnas and casseroles and meatloafs, that’s what they’ve been pushing around their plates for the past two weeks. Darry surmises they have about one more week to make those last, then he’ll need to crack open a cookbook or two.

He meets with the funeral director. He advises Darry on what graveyard to pick, what kinds of caskets to hold the bodies in, how much of the burial will be covered by insurance. All Darry understands is that this is money he’ll need to cut from their budget. It eats at him.

Darry blinks and a week has gone by.

He doesn’t really remembering seeing Pony and Soda during it. Everything’s a blur. But he looks at a calendar and realizes with a seize of his heart that their case manager is supposed to meet them for the first time in—an hour and a half.

Shit, he hasn’t even gotten to cleaning the house yet. There’s laundry on the fucking couch, for Christ’s sake. Darry snatches it up and bangs down Soda and Pony’s door, dumping it on the bed. He sees a lump under the blanket and a jolt rocks him—that’s your brother, that’s Ponyboy, he’s grieving, he’s in pain, he needs help—but all he can do is kick the mattress and tell him, “On your feet, Ponyboy, Mrs. Mulligan’ll be here for dinner.” Pony doesn’t move, but there’s nothing else Darry can do, so he rips the blanket off Pony and leaves, slamming the door behind him because his own strength has become unfamiliar to him.

Soda’s in the backyard doing whatever the hell Soda’s been doing while Darry was out, and he’s called in but he comes trailing in like a wet dog. Darry doesn’t know what he’ll do if this meeting doesn’t go well, if Mulligan says Darry is not suited to provide for his brothers, how he’ll possible be able to live by himself knowing his brothers have been separated, so he snaps for Soda to stand up straight and fix his hair. Soda looks at him blankly, and again there’s a voice in Darry’s head—Sodapop’s not alright, he’s not talking, he’s not smiling, he’s not laughing, you have to fix this—but all he can say is “Now, dammit” and hits the countertop, spooking Soda enough to get him to flee, and Darry’s alone again, cleaning the table of the bills and documents, pushing them on top of the icebox and out of sight.

Darry’s prepped one of their last donated meals, macaroni salad, and set the table as nice as he can.

Fifteen minutes before Mrs. Mulligan arrives, he checks in on Pony and Soda. He stands outside their door, hand raised to knock, but he can hear them talking.

Talking about him.

“He’s gone crazy, Soda, I swear. When’s the last time you saw him stand still for two seconds? If you’ve seen him at all.”

“Dunno, Ponykid.”

“I miss Ma. I miss her and Dad. It’s like Darry hasn’t even noticed they’re gone.”

“Naw, baby, don’t say that. He’s trying, I think. He’s trying awful hard. We just don’t see it.”

“You don’t even know that. What if he’s making plans to shove us in a boys’ home?”

Darry can’t take it. His breath is lodged in his throat, but he can’t go falling apart right now, not when he’s come this far and still has a long way to go. He just knocks and calls them out to the living room.

Darry can’t meet their eyes when they sit in the living room. Pony’s lean on Soda’s shoulder but Darry can’t think about that, he’s got to put the macaroni salad in a bowl and clean off the utensils and “Pony, I told you to wash the dishes this morning.” With his back turned to his brothers, Darry winces. Anger never used to seep out this easily. But everything was enough of a threat to push him over the edge. Everything everyone said to him pierced him like a hook, made his tongue feel heavy and his blood feel hot. He needed to put a lid over it tonight.

Mrs. Mulligan’s eyes don’t rise to Darry’s when he opens the door for her. She looks behind him at their living room, at Soda and Pony on the couch, makes a funny noise in the back of her throat, then extends her hand out to Darry. Immediately Darry knows he’s going to be on the defensive the entire night. This woman does not approve of where Soda and Pony are being raised. Whether that means she doesn’t approve of the East side as a location or Darry as a guardian, he isn’t sure.

She drills him, but it’s disguised as gentle. Darry does everything slowly. Serving the food, making small talk, discussing Pony and Soda’s grades. Mulligan switches to speaking directly to the boys, and Darry’s not hungry, but he pretends to enjoy chewing the rubbery macaroni and keeps his head down.

Despite their reservations about life without their parents, Soda and Pony defend Darry to the case manager. It goes smoothly enough that she leaves Darry with a smile and a promise to stay in touch.

When the door clicks shut, Pony is gone in the blink of an eye back to his room. Soda just stalks into the kitchen and starts wrapping up leftovers, cleaning off the dishes. Darry tries to get Soda to sleep, but Soda turns to him.

“I’ll do the dishes, Darry. Just don’t get mad at Pony.”

“No, Soda, I’ll do it—“

“You’re tired, Darry. Let me be useful?”

Soda always knew how to spin the conversation in his favor. He was right. Darry was tired. He was just… tired.

But there’s a reason Darry hasn’t given himself a restful night yet. He doesn’t trust himself yet.

“Give me the sponge, Sodapop. Pony needs you.”

Darry’s had sixteen years to learn how to outmaneuver his kid brother. He’s not in the mood to fight fair.

Soda concedes and draws away from the sink, but he lingers in the doorway. “We need you, too, Darry.”

“I know. I’ll be here in the morning.”

He wouldn’t be. He’d be gone by the time they woke up, on top of a roof with bundles of roofing slung over his shoulder, but it wasn’t his physical presence that mattered. He was going to keep their heads above water, no matter what it took.

“When’s the funeral?” asks Soda.

“Friday.”

Two days. Two days until it was official and their parents were covered in dirt. Darry just needed to keep it together until then.

“G’night, Darry.”

“G’night.”

When the funeral comes, Darry’s quiet. Pony and Soda are weeping, unashamed by it, so Darry’s the one people feel comfortable giving their condolences to. He shakes a lot of hands, feels disgusted by it, like he’s collecting germs and other people’s bad luck. The gang is there, even Dally, but they hang in the back of the crowd, discounting Two-Bit, who’s up front with his ma and sister.

After Darry gives the eulogy he doesn’t remember writing, he watches twin caskets get sunk into the ground, dirt spilling on top of them, and Darry is officially alone. He leaves the ceremony, goes and sits down on a bench outside the fencing.

Not yet. Don’t break yet.

A shadow falls across his own. Dally’s taking drags from a cigarette at his side. He’s just as quiet as Darry, but offers the cancer stick. Darry accepts it, taking a few puffs. He’s out of practice and coughs the first time. Dally just pats his back and waits for him to try again. It feels good, but not the kind of good Darry knows he can depend on. He’s still got to stay healthy if he’s going to be trudging around in the sun for half his day and sitting around doing math for the other half.

“Do what you gotta do, as long as it’s nothing permanent,” Dally says.

“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” Darry replies, handing back the cigarette. His eyes sting.

It’s like the world’s stopped rotating after his parents are put to rest. Not when Darry actually expected it to. He closes the door to his parents’ bedroom, the room he’s been sleeping in for the past… however long it’s been.

He doesn’t even make it to the bed. The moment the door’s locked behind him, Darry’s loosening his dad’s tie from his neck, yanking at his dad’s collar to untighten his airways, but it doesn’t work. He slumps against the door and slides down, messing up his hair and crying into his arms, only as hard as his silence will allow. Pony and Soda are in the next room over, still teary, consoling each other. Darry won’t steal their reprieve.

He falls apart alone, wondering how he’s meant to wake up tomorrow in a world he doesn’t want to live in. And when he picks himself up and puts himself back together, he’ll do that alone too. He doesn’t have a choice.

istg sometimes yall just gotta LET ME COOK 👩‍🍳 can u tell i got super into it the longer i went on for lmao

oh btw this doesn’t scratch the surface of everything darry prob needed to do. he would have had to choose what his parents wore in their caskets, dealt with the scrapping of the car, assumed responsibility of the real estate deed (the house), communicated with pony and soda’s high school, communicated with his parents’ former employers, etc etc. the break was uncatchable i fear

#the outsiders #the outsiders darry #darry curtis #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders musical #the outsiders ponyboy #the outsiders sodapop #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders dally #dallas winston #the outsiders johnny #johnny cade #the outsiders two bit #two bit mathews #steve randle #the outsiders steve

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brian-in-finance · 1 month ago

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… to @bcacstuff and her Anon who said

Looks like Cait is on an interesting path in HW not just as member of The Academy of Motion Pictures and actress but also making things work in this industry from BTS.

ACADEMY REVEALS 2024 NICHOLL SCREENWRITING FELLOWS

Posted: Monday, September 30, 2024

LOS ANGELES, CA – Four individuals and one writing team have been selected as recipients of the 2024 Academy Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting. Each individual and writing team will receive a $35,000 prize and mentorship from an Academy member throughout their fellowship year. They also will participate in a week of virtual seminars, a virtual meet and greet with the Nicholl Fellowships committee, and in-person networking events, including a celebration in Beverly Hills on October 29. The Nicholl Fellowships were established in 1985 through the support of Gee Nicholl in memory of her husband, Don Nicholl.

The 2024 Nicholl Fellows are (listed alphabetically by author):

Alysha Chan and David Zarif (Los Angeles, CA), “Miss Chinatown”

Jackie Yee follows in her mother’s footsteps on her quest to win the Los Angeles Miss Chinatown pageant.

Colton Childs (Waco, TX), “Fake-A-Wish”

Despite their forty-year age gap, and the cancer treatment confining them to their small Texas town, two gay men embark on a road trip to San Francisco to grant themselves the Make-A-Wish they’re too old to receive.

Charmaine Colina (Los Angeles, CA), “Gunslinger Bride”

With a bounty on her head, a young Chinese-American gunslinger poses as a mail order bride to hide from the law and seek revenge for her murdered family.

Ward Kamel (Brooklyn, NY), “If I Die in America”

After the sudden death of his immigrant husband, an American man’s tenuous relationship with his Muslim in-laws reaches a breaking point as he tries to fit into the funeral they’ve arranged in the Middle East. Adapted from the SXSW® Grand Jury-nominated short film of the same name.

H (West Chester, PA), “The Superb Lyrebird & Other Creatures”

A neurodivergent teen who envisions people as animated creatures, battles an entitled rival for a life-changing art scholarship, while her sister unwisely crosses the line to help.

A total of 5,500 scripts, from 80 countries, were submitted for the 2024 competition.

The 2024 finalists are (listed alphabetically by author):

Kelly Beck-Byrnes, “Where the Boxelders Grow”

Tate Hamilton, “Delivery Girl”

Jamie Murphy, “Lights over Idaho”

Adele Smaill, “No Ghosts Tonight”

Justine Suh, “Deep”

The five fellowships are awarded with the understanding that recipients will complete feature-length screenplays during their fellowship year. The Academy acquires no rights to the works of Nicholl fellows and does not involve itself commercially in any way with their completed scripts.

The Academy Nicholl Fellowships Committee is chaired by Julie Lynn (Producers Branch). The members of the committee are Aldis Hodge and Caitríona Balfe (Actors Branch); Julien Thuan (Artist Representatives); Susan Shopmaker and Academy governor Kim Taylor-Coleman (Casting Directors Branch); Andrzej Bartkowiak (Cinematographers Branch); Allison Anders (Directors Branch); Bruce Hendricks and Marcus Hu (Executives Branch); Blaise Noto (Marketing and Public Relations Branch); Jason Michael Berman, Susan Cartsonis, Julia Chasman and Linda Reisman (Producers Branch); Sue Chan (Production Design Branch); Bobbi Banks (Sound Branch); and Destin Daniel Cretton, Susannah Grant, Ehren Kruger, Adele Lim, Justin Marks, Zak Penn and Katie Silberman (Writers Branch).

The global competition, which aims to identify and encourage talented new screenwriters, has awarded 186 fellowships since 1986. In 2024, several past Nicholl fellows added to their feature film and television credits:

Aaron Chung is a staff writer on Apple+’s “WondLa.”

Elizabeth Chomko directed the docuseries “Martin Scorsese Presents: The Saints.”

Eric Nazarian wrote and directed “Die like a Man.”

“Holy Irresistible” is from Andrew Shearer and Nicholas Sherman’s 2007 Nicholl-winning script.

“Interstate” is from Anthony Jaswinski’s 1997 Nicholl-winning script.

Jason Micallef is an executive producer and writer on Disney+’s “The Acolyte.”

R.J. Daniel Hanna wrote and directed two features: “Succubus” and “Hard Miles,” which he co-wrote.

For more information about the Academy Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting, visit oscars.org/nicholl.

Oscars Press

Brian 29 June 2022

Remember Caitríona’s latest Academy role?

#Tait rhymes with hat #Good times #Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences #2024 #Nicholl Fellowships #Screenwriting #Thanks bcacstuff

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globalindeed · 2 months ago

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Factors That Influence Your Choice of Funeral Director

Where death occurs, the grief comes automatically, and in this situation, making funeral-related arrangements becomes a major challenge. The right solution is to contact a reputed funeral home and seek funeral director services. These professionals are experts in this profession and understand the phase and grief that the family is going through. They ensure that every arrangement is made according to the family's wishes, religious considerations, and budget. Your responsibility would be to find a reputed funeral director, and you can do this easily by going through this post carefully.

WHAT IS THE ROLE OF FUNERAL DIRECTORS IN PLANNING FUNERALS?

The fact about these professionals is that they are the ultimate remedy if you require any assistance related to funeral planning. They will offer seamless funeral director services tailored and planned to match your family's wishes and requirements. They follow all your considerations and specifications closely and ensure that the deceased is honoured and that dignity is maintained at every step.

IMPORTANT FACTORS TO CONSIDER WHILE FINDING A FUNERAL DIRECTOR

FUNERAL INTENTIONS

You should ensure that the funeral director guarantees to reflect your intentions and the wishes of the deceased at every step of the process. They should come up with specific funeral plans and arrange everything as per your wishes or the last wishes of the deceased. They should also give you exciting ideas on choosing the ideal casket inside your budget.

UNDERSTAND THE LOCATION

The funeral director should be fully aware of the location to choose for the end-of-life ceremony, and they should also understand your needs directly. There should be no confusion, and it is important that you choose a local funeral director for this. They know every detail about the location and ensure that all the services are readily available. Further, they are well-versed in terms of the following –

HOW DO WEATHER PATTERNS WORK?

Where each religious location is designated for specific religious preferences?

Where and how can you match the site to your loved one's final wishes?

DETERMINE THE SERVICES OFFERED

Your shortlisted funeral directors should provide various funeral director services for funerals. They should be maturely responsible for making all the arrangements and offering services that match your requirements and don't breach your budget. Most importantly, these services should match your cultural requirements. Apart from this, these professionals should also take care of requirements such as casket style, flower style, music style, religious services, legal paperwork, liaison with the church or cemetery, transportation, etc.

#funeral director #funeral director services #funeral director experts #funeral director arrangements #funeral director religious #Funeral ceremony #Funerals ideal casket #Funerals religious services #Funerals church #Budget Funerals

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mightbeimpossiblenotto · 16 days ago

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Rude - Oct 16 - @rosekillermicrofic - 703 words - Warnings: none

Evan enjoyed his job. A lot of people would find it off-putting or upsetting, but Evan liked working at the mortuary. He started at the front desk, where he was only permitted to greet clients and take calls. But as he continued to work there, he apprenticed under the mortician and learned all kinds of things that he never thought he would enjoy doing, but he did. The only part he didn’t like about the job was the amount of living people he had to deal with on a daily basis.

He was suppose to be meeting with a man for an arrangement conference for his deceased father. The man was already twenty minutes late for their meeting, and Evan was quickly losing his patience. He much preferred the parts of the job that kept him confined to the back with the bodies, either cleaning them up or performing a cremation. He resolved to give the man ten more minutes before giving up on him ever arriving.

Of course, nine minutes after he had made that resolution, the man strode through the door. He was wearing black jeans with rips through the knees, paired with a long t-shirt featuring some punk band, and a distressed leather jacket. His dark hair looked like he had rolled right out of bed, after a long, long night. Worst of all, the smirk on his face was a mile-wide.

Evan disliked him on sight.

“Helloooo,” the man drawled, sauntering up to the front desk to plop into one of the chairs in front of it. “Are you the Mr. Rosier I’m supposed to meeting with?”

Evan glared at him. “The meeting started 29 minutes ago.”

That only made the man’s grin widen. “My bad. I was celebrating the good news last night.”

Evan arched a brow in response, not entirely interested in whatever that meant, but the man took it as an opportunity to embellish.

“The good news being that dear old dad has finally kicked the bucket, of course,” the man explained. “I’m Barty.”

“I know that,” Evan said, tone clipped. He gestured to the file in front of him. “It was your father’s name too.”

The man, Barty, wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Ah, my father. He always wanted to make me exactly in his image. Too bad it didn’t work out for him.”

That much was clear. Evan had seen a brief glimpse of the body when it came in. Barty Crouch Sr. was a thin, middle-aged man with a mustache, and he’d been wearing a full suit when he died. His son wore jeans with tears in them, and Evan had noticed an earring on one ear. Evan couldn’t imagine they would have gotten along well, if his father wanted his son to turn out like him.

“Why don’t we get started talking about the arrangements for your father?” Evan asked politely. He was ignoring the way he could feel Barty’s eyes roaming over his body.

“Ugh, boring. Why don’t we talk about you, handsome?” Barty clicked his tongue, and Evan looked up to find him smiling winningly. “C’mon, I didn’t expect the funeral director to be so goddamn gorgeous.”

Evan fought against a flush. He would not let Barty know he was getting under Evan’s skin. “I’m a professional. What kind of funeral service were you thinking? We offer burial and cremation.”

“Burn him, for all I care.” Barty waved a careless hand, and despite himself, Evan fought back an amused smile. The man was beyond rude, sure, but he was quite funny, actually.

“Cremation, then,” Evan said, making a note in his file. “We can take a look at urns and other container options later. What sort of personalization—“

“What are you doing after this?” Barty interrupted. He was still smiling that slightly-manic grin.

Evan stared at him for a moment. “Nothing.”

“What time do you get off, handsome?” Barty fluttered his eyelashes dramatically.

“My shift ends at 5, but I hope I’m getting off with you,” Evan shot back. Barty’s eyes widened in shock briefly, before his grin widened into a feral smile, showing every tooth.

“Oh, I like you,” Barty said. “We’re going to get along, you and I.”

#evan x barty #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #rosekiller #marauders #barty crouch x evan rosier #rosekiller microfic #microfic #microfic prompt #maurauders microfic

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tumbleweed-writes · 8 months ago

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Death and the Lady: Chibs Telford X Reader: Chapter Three

Chapter Two found HERE

Chapter Three: Roses

She was almost amazed she’d managed to keep her cool after the horrible deed she’d just completed for SAMCRO. Y/N was astonished she’d been so calm and cool throughout both the task and the aftermath.

She’d been able to maintain the appearance of a competent, professional, and caring funeral director as she’d worked helping show possible options for caskets, discussed burial plots, cost of embalming, an obituary, flower arrangements, and viewings.

One of Charming California’s most prominent restaurateurs, Jonathan Meyer, had not noticed anything amiss as he’d spoken with Y/N about funeral arrangements for his late grandmother.

No one would be none the wiser about the fact that three members of SAMCRO had just recently been in her place of business and retrieved a corpse from Y/N. She cringed knowing that there would be a buried empty casket by this time next week and the dead man’s family would never know. No one would ever know aside from SAMCRO and her. The secret would be literally six feet under in Charming’s local cemetery.

The thought sent a chill down her spine but based on her outside appearance and behavior no one would ever guess.

Y/N had always been gifted at compartmentalizing her emotions and thoughts. It was a necessary skill set in her line of work. One couldn’t allow negative emotions of grief or any other feelings to cloud the ability to get the job done when it came both to embalming the deceased and conducting a successful funeral service.

She was worryingly a professional when it came to being able to shove the horrid mixture of guilt, shame, and fear back into some little drawer in her brain and keep the appearance of a professional whose only care in the world was serving the bereaved.

Now that she was truly all alone in her office downstairs, Y/N found her brain taunting her with possibilities of just why SAMCRO even wanted two corpses from her to begin with. It was a disturbing request and one that she’d honored.

To be honest she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know just what the MC wanted with the dead bodies she’d provided. She had a feeling knowing just what they’d wanted with them would only trouble her further.

It was getting late and so far she’d not heard a word from SAMCRO. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or troubled by the silence.

Though she knew that she should go upstairs and try to wind down from the day, she found herself parked at her desk trapped in a pit of selfpity and anguish.

Her brain taunted her with the distinct possibility of SAMCRO being caught doing whatever the hell it was they were doing, and this all leading right back to her doorstep. She knew if any of this led back to her then the fallout would be ruinous.

It was more than just the fear of a fine or fear of possibly being arrested. It was the fear of everything she’d lose if the discovery of this horrible deed led back to her front steps.

She knew if any of this led back to her then she’d lose literally everything she held dear and had fought to achieve. She would not only lose the respect of the community, her entire livelihood, and possibly even the home and business she’d wanted so badly to preserve.

The years of schooling, a hard earned apprenticeship, time spent studying and testing for licensure both in New York and California would be meaningless.

She’d lose her license and this would mean losing the family legacy she’d tried so hard to upkeep.

It wasn’t just the guilt of what she’d done and the fear of being caught that troubled her. It was the realization that Jackson freaking Teller had somehow wormed his way back into her life bringing SAMCRO right along with him.

She cringed, hating the sense that she felt as though was right back where she’d started almost a decade before. She was back to once again being entangled in SAMCRO’s world. It was a world she’d thought she’d moved on from.

She had foolishly thought the MC was a thing of her past. She wasn’t partying alongside them anymore, but she was working with them. She wasn’t sure which scenario felt worse.

She glared up at an old black and white photograph hanging on the wall in her office, the photo featuring some great grandfather of hers way back when standing by an ancient looking hearse. She felt the words slide from her lips, filled with bitterness. “I bet you never had to deal with this kind of crap when this place and gig was yours.”

She slumped back in her desk chair, her stomach and heart twisting when she spotted a small photo she kept framed on her desk. The photo of her father and she sat almost taunting her. It had been taken soon after she’d graduated from mortuary school. Her father had been so proud of her; proud she’d taken up the family legacy on her own terms and so proud she’d outgrown her wild streak running around with Jax Teller and SAMCRO.

She felt her eyes water she quick to reach up and wipe any tears that threatened to spill. A sense of shame washed over her as her mind taunted her wondering what her father would think of her now.

Her father and she may have butted heads when she’d been a rebellious teen, but she’d loved him dearly.

She missed him dearly. It had only been four months since he’d passed and to be honest she’d thrown herself into taking up the family business. Throwing herself into the family business and all the debt and dealing with her brother was far easier than facing her feelings of loss and pain.

She’d always admired her father. It wasn’t just his dedication to the profession that she’d loved. It was everything about her dad.

Her father had been a handsome man, though a bear of a man if there ever was one. He was tall and broad shouldered. He was strong, incredibly so not just physically but mentally.

She knew she’d gotten her smaller build from her late mother.

Her father and her brother though both were practical lumberjacks.

Seeing younger photos of her father made her easily understand just why her mother must have fallen for him.

Her father was handsome, strong, dependable, loyal, and proud of a profession that he viewed as being more of a service and duty to his community.

She’d always found it a little funny. Her father, as huge and intimidating as he appeared, was so mild-mannered and calm.

He’d been a gentle parent even when she’d been going through her rebellious phase and probably needed a bit of a tougher hand. Her father had been so patient of her even offering her an escape when it had all become too much.

Her father had taught her everything he knew about the family business. He’d started her young, being frank with her about just what the family business consisted of.

She’d still been a kid when he’d brought her downstairs and showed her the tools of the trade.

It wasn’t until she was an adult that she’d realized that this seemingly charming, at least to her, childhood memory horrified people when she recalled it.

She guessed she got the reaction. People assumed her father had been some kind of sadist trying to torment a child far too young by exposing her both to death and the funeral business.

She knew though that it had been more of her father’s attempt to bond with her. It was the only way he knew how to bond with his children after his wife’s death.

Most kids' dads taught them to play baseball and change oil in a car. Her dad taught her about embalming and how to change the oil in a hearse.

She knew most people would never understand the comfort she’d found surrounded by death. It was all she’d ever known after all.

Her core memories consisted of mourners trailing in and out of the home, the fact that caskets were displayed on the first floor of her home, corpses could be found in the basement, and the realization that everyone died.

Her father had always taught her not to fear death. The biggest lesson she’d learned was that though everyone died; dying was nothing to dread. Death was inevitable and no one could say for sure what laid beyond death. One should never spend their lives fearing the end though. If anything one should be amazed that death gave the opportunity to appreciate how beautiful life truly was. Her father had taught her that although she would die one day that she should be in awe of the fact that anyone even had the opportunity to live at all to begin with.

During the past few years of his life her father and she had begun to have longer conversations at least once a week. They’d had much needed heart to hearts admitting mistakes they’d both made and regrets they both had.

She’d been able to hear that her father was proud of her. He was proud of the young woman she’d become.

She had been so proud of the woman she had become up until now.

She’d been so proud that she’d turned over a new leaf and grown into a better person. This entire deal she’d made with the MC proved that she was not at all the better person she proclaimed to be.

She sighed, reaching up to toy with the small golden cross pendant hanging around her neck.

Although she had been snarky with Jax, she could admit she was no woman scorned.

She knew way back when she was hanging around SAMCRO neither she nor Jax had any preconceived notions about just what she and he were doing.

She had been looking for a place to rebel and an environment to escape how angry and miserable she felt and he’d been behaving just as the Prince of SAMCRO should.

She wasn’t bitter or angry about their history no matter how brief and messy it had been.

She just hated the person she’d been back then. The girl she’d been almost ten years ago had hated everything and everyone. Most of all though, she’d hated herself.

She had looked in the mirror and had seen nothing but sadness in her features back then.

Y/N hated who she was before.

She feared becoming that girl again, hating herself and seeing nothing but sorrow staring back at her in the mirror.

She felt her stomach twist all the further the words sliding from her lips as she tore her eyes from the photo of her father and she, the words soft . “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

She was pulled from her pity party as her cell phone chimed an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.

She answered the call trying to keep her voice level and peaceful as though she hadn’t been trapped in a cycle of dread. “Y/N speaking.”

“Y/N, jus the lass I was tryin to reach. Jackie Boy asked me to call ya up.” The voice on the other end of the call sounded out, it taking her brain a moment to both work through the thick Scottish accent and to realize just who was on the other end of the call.

She felt a nervous flutter in her stomach as it hit her just who she was speaking to. She could still remember the previous reaction her body had to the Scottish Son. It was something that both troubled her and excited her and she was trying to convince herself she hated it.

She furrowed her brow, it hitting her that she didn’t even know the man’s name. No formal introductions had actually been made during the few interactions she’d had with SAMCRO lately.

She widened her eyes as the voice sounded out again. “Y/N, lass? Are ya there?”

“I am…what can I do for you?” She remarked, snapping out of it almost dreading what response would be.

She cringed remembering Jax’s comment about possibly needing to borrow her access to the crematorium later on. This was most likely what this call concerned.

She continued to toy with the cross pendant around her neck as the voice spoke up again. “Clay, I’m assumin ya know him…wants ta know if ya can give us access to the crematorium tomorrow nigh?”

She sighed hating that she was right on the money concerning just what this was about. “What time?”

“Late.” Was the only reply she earned.

She scoffed gazing down at the rich mahogany desktop in front of her. “How late?”

“After midnight, prolly close to bout one a.m. Keepin discreet is important.” The voice finally replied.

She glanced down at the time on her laptop, her stomach turning as she realized that it was getting late. She had a long night and a long day tomorrow that would apparently end with another long night. “Okay…I will need to be there to run the machinery…I’m not about to try to pull an innocent explanation out my ass if the damn thing got busted because I let one of you run it. I’m not coming up with a reasonable lie because some idiot screwed up an expensive piece of machinery. That thing costs a fortune and I’m not the only funeral home in the area that uses it. It’s owned by the city, local government owns the cemetery. Most of us don’t own an on site cremator so we all pay to use the thing.”

She was certain she almost heard a chuckle on the other end of the line. “Aye fair nough.”

She took a deep breath working up the nerve to say it. “I’ll expect payment of course, for my time and effort.”

The amusement still seemed to be clear in her conversation partner’s voice as he replied. “Aye o’course. Clay said yer gonna be paid well fer the favor an he appreciates yer willingness to help with future…needs.”

She felt her stomach turn it hitting her that she’d definitely set herself up for this. She had opened the door for future favors, so she shouldn’t be shocked. She needed the money badly enough to keep the door open for future favors.

She cleared her throat trying to sound calmer than she felt. “Perfect…I’ll see you around one then.”

She paused, unable to stop herself from asking the curiosity too strong to ignore. “Uh…”

She frowned realizing she still didn’t know the Scot’s name. She wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to ask now…it just felt too awkward given the conversation.

He thankfully heard the small sound she’d made. “Aye?”

She spoke knowing it was now or never. “Everything turned out okay…with you know? Uh…the cups of sugar. Nothing went wrong?”

Chibs snickered as it hit him exactly what she was hinting at, recalling her words to Jax as he’d first requested the bodies from her: you aren’t asking me to let you borrow a freaking cup of sugar here.

“Nah, no issues on our end love.” He remarked, deciding to leave out some of the more exciting details about just all that had happened today. What she didn’t know didn’t hurt her.

She felt her heart race at the word love. She pushed back the reaction it gave her. She ignored the slight flush to her cheeks and the voice in the back of her head that claimed she could get accustomed to being called love as she spoke. “Oh, uh…good to hear…I think.”

She frowned, hating how awkward she felt. She hated feeling as though the man on the other end of the call and the men he associated with had the upper hand here.

“Aye, told ya it’d turn out. I don’t make a habit of lyin to pretty lasses.” Chibs was quick to reply the comment making her cheeks flush all the darker.

She spoke a small huff leaving her not missing the attempt to flirt. “I highly doubt that. I’ll see you gentlemen later, tomorrow night at the agreed time. Don’t be late…again.”

And with that she hung up ignoring the strange cocktail of fear, anxiety, shame, and desire for her caller that washed over her.

She groaned, dropping her cell on her desk. She took a deep breath trying to calm her racing heart and the strange sense of lust perking up in her. This was so not what she needed. She refused to go down that path. She was not the girl who got all hot and bothered just because the intimidating biker was flirting…even if that intimidating biker did have a lovely accent and equally lovely eyes and dimples.

She stared back up that same photo of her great grandfather that she’d gazed at earlier, a bitter sigh escaping her lips. “You so didn’t have to put up with this bullshit when the gig was yours.”

==================================================

Chibs smirked as he hung up his cell having to feel pleased as can be with himself even as she’d abruptly ended the call and hadn’t exactly responded to his attempts to flirt as eagerly as he’d hoped.

He had the distinct feeling Y/N was going to prove to be a challenge. It was a refreshing realization. The croweaters around the club were not a challenge. They required no effort at all.

He had to like the concept that Y/N was the kind of girl who required an effort. Although he could admit he found it intimidating.

It had been a long time since he had to put in effort when it came to a woman.

He could admit he found himself at a loss as to why he was so eager to put in the effort.

The easiest answer he could pull together was that he found her fascinating and he was curious.

He knew of course that curiosity killed the cat, but he’d never been one to shy away from the threat of being killed.

He was unable to resist saving the number to his contacts before he dropped the cell on the bar in front of him.

He nodded to the croweater behind the bar as she eagerly poured him a glass of Jameson.

Just a week ago he would have probably been tempted to drag the croweater away for a little bedroom entertainment, but he found himself disinterested in the concept.

He was surprised to find that there was only one woman he wouldn’t mind having some bedroom time with.

He easily found his brain remembering those curves and those legs of hers and how it was a damn shame those legs had been hidden under tights today. He wouldn’t mind having those legs wrapped around him. He also was quite able to vividly recall the incredible cleavage he’d spotted that first meeting in the crematorium. He would be quite happy to bury his face against that cleavage. He was certain he could die happy with his face buried there and the lower part of his anatomy buried in what lay between those glorious legs of hers.

He shifted in his seat, the thought exciting him. He took a slow sip from his drink doing all he could to not allow his brain to slide down the rabbit hole of lust.

He could remember Juice’s comment that Y/N was spooky but hot.

Chibs had to admit he found her to be less spooky though she did frighten him a little…or at least the thoughts he had about her frightened him.

Her job was intense to say the least, but Chibs had never been one to shy away from the intense. The morbid nature of her job didn’t trouble him as much as it probably should.

He was too entranced by her to pay too much thought to the fact that she embalmed and buried the dead for a living.

She was morbid but somehow tantalizing. She seemed elegant, confident, and intelligent. Those weren’t qualities he’d found with a woman he’d pursued since Fiona.

The thought was terrifying.

He cringed at the thought of his estranged wife and the history related to her and he. There was a lot of pain there. It wasn’t a trip down memory lane he wanted to go down, not when he was currently infatuated with an entirely different woman.

He glanced up from his drink as Bobby dropped down beside him giving him a nod. “You get everything settled with her?”

“Aye, she’ll meet us tomorrow. She’ll run tha machinery at her insistence. We jus gotta bring the payment.” Chibs replied a small smirk crossing his features as he remembered her comment about just why she had to run the crematorium.

He was once again amused that she was ballsy enough to be just a little insulting by essentially implying they were idiots who would break the cremator if she didn’t run it herself. He had a feeling he’d not exactly tolerate the disrespect from a woman who he didn’t fancy.

Bobby raised an eyebrow spotting the hint of a look he’d never seen on Chibs’ face before. He quickly connected the dots that the somewhat lovesick smirk on Chibs’ lips and the SONS new associate at the funeral home were connected.

He spoke, deciding to keep the comment casual. “Interesting having her back in town…Y/N. Thought she’d never show up again after she left.”

“Aye? How’d she leave?” Chibs replied, that spark of curiosity bubbling up in him again.

Bobby shrugged accepting his own drink from the croweater behind the bar. “Nothing too dramatic, not really my place to say. It seemed like she just stopped coming around one day, next thing anyone knows her dad shipped her out east. She was pretty young though. Shit just probably got to be too intense for her.”

Chibs dared to ask though he’d already asked Jax a similar question. He wasn’t entirely satisfied with the reply he’d gotten from Jax. “Aye, she mentioned bein a club hanground.”

He paused, gazing at the croweater uncertain of how to broach the subject. He spoke again, deciding to be a little more tactful even though he didn’t particularly care what the croweater thought about how the Sons viewed her. “Was she one of our Friday nigh lasses?”

Bobby shook his head, a small smirk crossing his lips. “Not exactly. To be honest I think most of the guys around here were intimidated by the fact that her daddy could bury us alive literally…a few nomads weren’t so wise but…like I said she wasn’t what you’re thinking. Shit was complicated.”

He paused the next statement only making Chibs feel more frustrated. “Not my story to tell though. It’s been almost a decade, pretty sure most of us who were around back then have killed a few brain cells since then to fully recall every last detail.”

Chibs resisted the urge to remark that he was sick of hearing that line: It’s not my story to tell.

Chibs shifted in his seat the conversation doing little to sate his curiosity. It only left him feeling more intrigued. He wanted to know just what was so complicated.

Y/N was definitely a puzzle he wanted to solve. He was determined to solve it.

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

Y/N was relieved to pull up to the crematorium late the next night to see that the SONS were actually on time.

It seemed that lateness was only a trait Jax Teller held.

She tried to keep her cool as she shut off her engine of her little black 2003 Acura and exited the car her purse held tight in her grasp.

She busied herself digging through the purse for the keys to access the crematorium as she approached the line of motorcycles and one unremarkable looking white van. She easily realized that a boring white van might be favorable for a more discreet task. After all, a van attracted far less attention than Harleys.

She cringed as another familiar Son approached her; she just as displeased to see him as she’d been to see Jax Teller. “Doll, can’t thank you enough for doing this.”

She gave Tig Trager one small glance before focusing back on the contents of her purse. “Don’t thank me.”

He held his hands up in mock defeat he fast to reply. “Still charming as always.”

“Same could be said for you.” She remarked fast to reply to the observation.

If her mood wasn’t sour enough another person she wasn’t entirely pleased with approached her. Jax speaking. “Thanks for the favor darlin”

“Don’t thank her.” Tig was fast to remark, parroting the words she’d said earlier.

She rolled her eyes not wanting to engage with either man. Though Tig and she didn’t exactly share the same history Jax and she shared, she was still not looking to chat like old times with the Son.

Chatting like old buddies with either man made her feel too much like the angry young woman she’d once been, the one who hated herself and didn’t care what happened to her.

Chibs stood aside with Juice and Half Sack observing the exchange. He raised an eyebrow sensing Y/N’s sour mood.

He had a feeling it was about to get more bitter once she saw just why they needed access to the crematorium.

He approached Juice and Half Sack following along beside him. The prospect spoke nodding to her car. “You drive an Acura?”

She rolled her eyes as she finally located the necessary keys. “The hearse attracts too much attention…besides the casket I have in the back rattles around the backend when I drive. It’s kind of distracting.”

She felt a small sense of satisfaction when she noticed the young man’s face pale at the latter part of her statement. She’d found, as cruel as it was, that it was far too easy to screw around with people when they asked her stupid questions.

It wasn’t exactly something she made a habit of. She usually prided herself in being able to make death and the funeral business less terrifying and intimidating to the average public.

She had to enjoy making the members of SAMCRO feel uneasy though. It was kind of an ego trip seeing the definition of danger get nervous over some bullshit she told them about her job.

Chibs smirked, only allowing Half Sack to fret for a brief moment before he gave him a smack on the back of the head. “She’s fuckin with ya, ya half nutted muppet.”

She furrowed her brow not missing the half nutted comment. She shoved the question dancing around on the end of her tongue about this statement back telling herself she didn’t want to know.

She ignored the little playful smile Chibs tossed her way. She did her best to pretend she wasn’t reminded of the feelings that had washed over her during the phone call they’d shared the day before.

The Scottish Son was an interesting one. She was finding it hard not to admit this to herself.

She spoke holding the keys up. “I’ll unlock the doors.”

She cringed her stomach dropping as Tig spoke nodding to both Half Sack and Juice. “Get the bodies.”

She took a deep breath trying to calm her nerves. Of course there were bodies. She wasn’t naive enough to think they needed to borrow her access to the cremator without there being bodies to cremate.

She felt bile rise in her throat refusing to question if she was considered some kind of accessory after the fact related to what she was about to help burn.

Wasn’t this considered destroying evidence?

Chibs entered the crematorium eyeing Y/N as she dropped her purse on the cabinet in the corner of the room she busying herself finding those thick black gloves he’d spotted on her hands that first day.

He watched her having to admit that he noticed the curve of her backside in the jeans she wore. He was pleased to see she wore another tight fitting pair of jeans. The black denim hugged her bottom and hips in a way that left Chibs feeling envious of the fabric.

He watched her shrug her soft looking plum hooded jacket off placing it over her purse. He admired the way the black top she wore gave him another view of clevage. He was also amused to spot those pink converse on her feet again.

He watched as she pulled a hair tie off from around her wrist pulling her hair up into a messy looking top knot.

He spoke unable to stop himself, wanting to soothe any anxiety she might have about the circumstances behind the bodies she was about to help cremate. He couldn’t help but to hate the thought of her thinking she was some kind of accessory to murder. “It was an accident…found em in…a property of ours that caught fire.”

She furrowed her brow wanting to ask if it was just an accident then why was it so important to get rid of these bodies?

She told herself it was probably not a great idea to ask too many questions. She had a feeling the Scotsman wouldn’t tell her the entire truth anyhow.

She cringed not having time to focus on the thought as Half Sack and Juice entered the room carrying two bodies wrapped in old looking blankets.

She took a deep breath as she moved towards the cremator opening and pulling out the drawer nodding down to it. “Put them down here. We should be able to cremate both together…it might take longer but it’s doable.”

The men deposited the bodies stepping back Y/N left to glance down at them. She grimaced at the sight of the two bodies. They were young women from what she could see. They’d been dead for a few days she guessed by the level of decay.

It wasn’t the worst deceased body she’d seen, but the realization that she was about to cremate these two nameless women did send a chill through her.

She yanked her glance from them as Jax stepped forward distracting her. “We have your payment.”

She took the envelope not missing the heft of it. She resisted the urge to open it and count it the thought seeming cruel given what she was doing.

She placed the envelope within her purse unaware that Chibs was studying her he taking notice of the way she’d gazed down at the corpses and the hint of sympathy in her eyes.

He couldn’t help but to be troubled by it. It was a surprising realization; that it bothered him that she was upset doing something that would get the club out of a huge pile of shit.

He pushed the thought from his mind as he watched her work getting everything together.

She moved quickly just wanting to get this over with. The sooner this ended the sooner she could go home and probably have a sleepless night. She had a feeling she’d need a good shower and maybe a drink when she got home.

She pushed in the drawer mentally apologizing to the bodies she was about to cremate. She was certain this wasn’t their end of life plans. She was sure they were far too young to consider such plans.

She ignored thoughts of any family they might have left behind or any dreams they might never achieve.

She knew she had to compartmentalize those feelings and focus on the task at hand.

The machine was started up Y/N speaking as she worked finding it easy to talk about what she was doing in a technical sense than to actually acknowledge how screwed up this all was. “It will take a moment to get to the right temp. It needs to reach up to at least 1,400 degrees fahrenheit to burn. We’ll probably want to go a little higher given that we’re…burning more. It might take up to three hours…that’s for one body though. I don’t know about more than that…It’s not legal to burn more than one at once honestly.”

She cleared her throat as she spoke again. “I’m going to have to just assume we’re going to be pushing the three hour mark considering that is usually the time it takes to cremate a heavier body.”

She stepped aside surprised that the Sons moved forward lining up in front of the machine. She was uncertain if they just wanted to be sure the job was being done or if they were actually paying their respects in some weird messed up way.

She stood to the side not certain of what else she should do.

They stood in silence for a long while the entire situation feeling both surreal and daunting.

Half Sack spoke as they gazed at the bodies within the crematorium. “Should we say a prayer or something?”

Juice snickered his comment earning a grimace from Y/N. “You know any bible passages about lost semen.”

Chibs took notice of the look of disapproval on Y/N’s features. He couldn’t help but to cringe himself it seemed his young brother wasn’t exactly making the best impression. He reached out smacking Juice’s shoulder harshly, the action wiping the smirk from the man’s lips.

Chibs resisted the urge to glance over at Y/N and check and see if she’d noticed his disapproval and was aware he wasn’t being as crude and disrespectful as his young associate.

He was a bit surprised he cared so much what she thought of him especially in a situation like this. She probably already disapproved of them all.

He couldn’t help but to hate the thought that she might think he was disrespectful enough to not at least understand the gravity of what they were doing. This essentially was the only funeral these women would get.

Tig spoke thankfully finding something to say that was a bit more respectful, a prayer leaving his lips. “May a ray of sunshine warm your souls amen.”

With that they stepped back enough to allow Y/N to move forward, shutting the door and turning up the heat, she doing her best to turn her mind off and not focus on how awful this all felt.

Time seemed to move far too slowly and no one seemed that concerned that they were clearly going to stand here the entire time it took to completely cremate the remains.

Everyone seemed to have the sense to not speak even Juice and Half Sack.

When it was clear that the bodies were getting closer and closer to being ashes Tig spoke. “We should go.”

Jax nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah.”

He turned to face Y/N fast to speak again. “Thanks for helping us. I know this wasn’t ideal.”

She shook her head a small bitter laugh leaving her not sounding humored at all. “Nope, not ideal.”

Jax spoke, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “I can’t promise the next favor won’t be less shitty.”

She moved from his grasp crossing her arms over her chest, the act almost seeming as though she was trying to protect herself. Chibs took notice of it, surprised that he wanted to reach out and provide some reassurance.

She moved towards the cabinet she speaking over her shoulder. “I’ve got it from here boys.”

Everyone but Chibs seemed to take the hint, happy to be out of the crematorium and escape this entire situation.

Jax spoke over his shoulder as he moved to leave. “We really are grateful for the help, Y/N. You’re keeping us out of some deep shit.”

She sighed, shaking her head, her voice monotone, not seeming comforted by the thought that she was helping them escape what was most likely the consequences of their own actions. “Yeah, sure.”

She pushed back the judgment knowing deep down she wasn’t much better. She was accepting money for this. She wasn’t an angel.

Chibs didn’t speak until only they remained in the room. He cleared his throat nodding over to the cremator. “What are ya goin to do with tha ashes?”

She raised an eyebrow almost fearing he was testing her to see if she was going to run to the cops. She was tempted to point out the primary chemical elements that were in cremains were just calcium phosphate and sodium. No forensics team could pull any evidence from cremains.

She didn’t have a chance to dwell on fears that he was testing if she was likely to snitch as he spoke again. “I mean…we don’ know wha they woulda wanted. I imagine they were young nough not to think bout it.”

She shrugged her shoulders a bit surprised that he seemed to genuinely care. She’d almost expected him to disappear off into the night like his brothers and leave her to clean up what remained.

She spoke nodding her head towards the entrance of the crematorium. “There’s some old mausoleums out near one of the back corners of the property. They’re old as hell…the city uh they are responsible for maintaining the landscaping…so there’s rose bushes near them. It might be nice to bury the ashes under the roses. It’s at least some final resting place.”

Chibs nodded his head, a small half smile crossing his features, having to find it kind of endearing that she’d put this much thought into it. She really did have a passion for her job. “Aye, tha’ sounds nice…are ya doin it tonigh?”

“Yeah, probably shouldn’t do it during daylight. I think I can manage it tonight. I can figure out how to dig a hole.” She remarked not wanting to admit she wouldn’t be able to rest tonight until she’d done this.

A small part of her almost had to hope that providing a final resting place for the remains would at least make up for some of the horrible things she’d done over the past two days.

Chibs took her by shock he speaking. “I’ll go with ya.”

She furrowed her brow a tiny paranoid part of her almost fearing that he’d off her once he’d gotten her alone. Maybe she’d been too pushy with the MC asking for payment. Maybe they were just going to get rid of her.

She shook the thought from her mind, reminding herself that she was still useful to SAMCRO. She was right, she was more reliable than Skeeter any day of the week.

Chibs spoke again, spotting the tiny hint of fear in her eyes, hating that she might fear him and believe he might intend to harm her. “Lotta homeless probably hang round this place at nigh. Can’t trust that someone with less morals won’t see ya and ya know.”

She cringed quickly coming up with a few scenarios that the you know seemed to imply.

“Okay, sounds good.” She remarked, turning her attention back to her work.

—----------

The two didn’t speak again until they reached the mausoleums Y/N had described. Chibs gazed up at them there was something eerie about them in the dark. He was relieved Y/N seemed to be smart enough to carry a little flashlight in her purse.

She handed the flashlight to him a small sigh leaving her lips. “Hold this while I dig.”

He was tempted to insist that he could be the one to dig the hole. It seemed to be the gentlemanly thing to do after all. He bit his tongue though having a feeling she wouldn’t allow him to do this.

This seemed a bit more personal to her judging by the look of sympathy he’d spotted in her eyes earlier.

He stared up at the night sky being sure to keep the flashlight on her task. He spoke searching for anything to talk about. “Stars are at least nice out ere. Not nough street lights to fuck it up.”

She cleared her throat a little surprised by the choice in conversation. It seemed so casual after what had happened just a few hours ago. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

He spoke again searching for more to say. “Don’ have em like this back home.”

“Home?” She asked her curiosity peaking despite the voice that screeched at her not to get involved.

“Aye, in Glasgow…Belfast too…too many fuckin people in the city at least…too many lights. Out in the countryside though, that was some real stars, put these to shame.” He replied a small dreamy tone crossing his voice as he recalled the countryside.

“You’ve lived in both Scotland and Ireland?” She questioned. She was relieved that the conversation provided some distraction from her dread filled brain. She had to admit she was curious about how the Scotsman came to reside here of all places even if it was just related to his involvement with the Sons.

She was comforted to have something else to focus on other than the fact that the new leaf she’d turned seemed to be dead.

He spoke nodding his head. “Aye, born and raised in Glasgow, moved to Belfast when I was sixteen.”

“You’re a long way from there.” She remarked, cringing at the comment knowing the move most likely had something to do with the criminal element surrounding the man she was speaking with. It probably wasn’t wise to bring it up.

Chibs felt his heart twist the same way it often then when he was reminded of what had forced him from Belfast in the end. “Aye…it was an adjustment…The states aint all that bad…even became a citizen a few years back…figured it was easier than maintainin’ a work visa.”

She nodded her head not entirely familiar with immigration laws or how citizenship worked. It wasn’t something she’d really experienced.

She spoke as he continued to dig. “The furthest I’ve been is New York. I moved there for mortuary school…lived there for a while. Never left the United States though. I have always wanted to, but dead people don’t tend to care about vacation plans and travels not in my budget most of the time.”

She felt her stomach turn at the mention of her budget considering she’d just been paid twice to do some questionable things by the associates of the man she was speaking with so casually.

She spoke again, shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe someday. I wouldn’t mind seeing the stars you’re praising.”

“Aye, ya won’t regret it.” Chibs was fast to reply, a small smile crossing his features relieved the conversation seemed to be flowing so easily.

For someone who had given SAMCRO nothing but sass, there seemed to be something kind of sweet and lovely about this conversation they were having one on one. He wouldn’t mind experiencing more of it.

She spoke again, satisfied with the depth of the hole she’d dug. “This should work. I think I got it wide and deep enough.”

Chibs felt a small sense of disappointment wash over him at the realization that he was about to no longer have an excuse to be near her.

He hid his disappointment as she placed the plastic baggie containing the cremains down in the hole working quickly to cover it.

He parted his lips wanting to say more to her, wanting to say anything to keep her here by his side.

He felt the words die on his lips as she stood up wiping the dirt from her jeans. She spoke, taking the flashlight from him. She was thankful it was dark enough that he didn’t notice her cheeks flush as her fingers brushed against his. “Thank you for holding it.”

He took notice of the softness of her hands. He had to wonder just what other parts of her were soft. “Aye, glad ta help.”

She spoke, taking a deep breath, a bit of the weight of shame she’d felt lifting just the slightest. She knew the small act of giving the remains a final resting place wouldn’t make up for the two bodies she’d given SAMCRO, but at least she might be able to feel that she wasn’t entirely a terrible person. “Thank you for…watching over me and keeping me company.”

“Aye, anytime lass.” He replied, causing her to let out a small laugh though this one didn’t sound as humorless as the laugh she’d given Jax earlier.

“No offense, but I hope it isn’t anytime. I don’t mind talking with you, but I’d prefer the next time to not be while I’m burying remains I illegally cremated.”

He smirked both at the comment and the implication she might enjoy talking with him.

He was fast to bring it up. “Aye, so ya like talkin to me?”

She let out a huff rolling her eyes though she didn’t stop the small smile from crossing her lips her cheeks flushing darker. “Shut up.”

He smirked, satisfied that she didn’t have a more clever comeback.

She spoke again, shaking her head. “I’ll see you around…uh?”

He furrowed his brow, it hitting him; they'd never been entirely properly introduced.

He was surprised by the words that left him not choosing the club nickname he’d long gone by but his legal first name. “Filip.”

She nodded her head. “Goodnight, Filip.”

He spoke as he watched her step forward intending on parting ways. “Aye, goodnigh lass. I’ll see ya around.”

#chibs telford #chibs sons of anarchy #chibs telford fanfiction #chibs #soa #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #Chibs Telford x reader #chibs telfordxreader

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scaranation · 2 years ago

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Hey! Can I request something about Zhongli refusing to find a partner for himself due to him being an ex archon and a literal dragon (though only half of it) found reader who just landed in liyue in a quest to expand the business reader started in their very own nation, but zhongli found out that reader was also a dragon in living among humans and took interest upon them cuz apart from dvalin, he hasn't encounter another dragon for millennia

That's all ♥️

Thank you for this I had so much fun writing! Sorry this took so long I completely forgot what an inbox was 🥲🥲 (i’m not sorry abt the title tho)

༊*·˚ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘

Pairing: Zhongli x GN!reader

Content: fluff, broke Zhongli

After ages of being amongst the only dragons he knew of, Zhongli finally finds another like him - a person he begins to hope he can pursue more than the trivialities of mortal love with.

“Hm.” Zhongli leaned back in his seat as he stared at the paperwork in front of him. A new business had recently entered the Liyuen market, specialising in gifts. It was an admirable scheme - the enterprise had taken over many small souvenir businesses, rendering it a prominent influence in Inazuma, the region from which it’d been started. Furthermore, the business was also listed as being part of the gift giving and floral arrangement markets, allowing it to merge multiple companies whilst still abiding by competition laws. Zhongli nodded to himself. Truly, the one who’d headed this ludicrous venture would’ve had to have possessed great ambition.

It reminded the man of his days as a young archon - the youthful drive and greed spurred on by his draconic traits.

“Zhongli! Are you ready? We’re going to meet them now.” Hu Tao’s chipper tone jerked Zhongli out of his thoughts.

“Ah, yes.” He gathered the files on his desk, checking the time. They were supposed to have left ten minutes ago for a meeting with the aforementioned business in hopes of forming a partnership - after all, a floral arrangement specialist was undeniably beneficial to a funeral parlour.

“My bad, I appear to have lost track of the time. Hopefully our soon to be partners aren’t too phased.” Zhongli opened the door, before stepping out after Hu Tao. She only laughed, waving her hand nonchalantly as the two proceeded to the arranged location.

“Nice to meet you, Director Hu.” You stood up once your guests finally arrived, grasping the funeral director’s hand to shake it.

“It’s a pleasure. This is our consultant, Zhongli.”

You glanced at the man standing behind the director. A piercing amber gaze, glinting like ancient cor lapis. Despite his shrewd gaze and the way he carried himself - as though he’d been here for millenia - he looked to be a youthful young man, with a pleasantly defined face. You shook away the thought. You hadn’t met another dragon in thousands of years, and of all professions, why would a dragon resort to working as a consultant?

“So, about our potential partnership.” You broke the eye contact you realised you’d been holding with Zhongli, beckoning him and his boss to sit at the table.

“Ah, yes.” Zhongli opened a folder as Hu Tao began to talk, and so the meeting finally started. Between Hu Tao's thinly veiled business ambitions and Zhongli's shrewd remarks, you found yourself preferring the latter. His voice possessed a certain soothing quality, almost making you lose your edge. He talked as if he'd experienced the same meeting countless times before, making suggestions you would've never thought of. With Hu Tao's negotiating and Zhongli's articulate guidance, the exchange flew by. With another firm handshake, you parted ways with Hu Tao and Zhongli, your assistant leaving work early. Both the funeral parlour director and consultant certainly had an interesting character, and the negotiations had gone amicably beyond your expectations.

Similarly, Zhongli also left the meeting in a good mood. He was almost certain you were also a dragon, which piqued his interest greatly. The calculating gaze you'd levelled at him, and the quick-witted contributions you'd made to the meeting. You couldn't possibly be as old as him, but you had clearly experienced much of Teyvat.

Zhongli sighed contentedly. To meet another one like him... Would be an honour indeed.

“What do you mean? These antiques have been professionally verified!” Zhongli sighed as the store owner in front of him spluttered in defence.

“Ah, if you say so.” Zhongli only turned away, unbothered with involving himself in such mundane conflict. He'd decided to take a walk through the harbour and indulge a little in the frivolous joys of mortality, and wanted to preserve his high spirits for longer.

“Wait, young man! What about this necklace? I’ll sell to you for half price, I’m sure your partner would love it.” The store owner made one last attempt at landing a sale.

Zhongli chuckled to himself. He hadn’t taken another lover for ages. Somehow, it simply wasn’t the same to commit himself to a mortal, despite the vessel he’d taken on. Something about the way humans loved was inherently fleeting, unlike the millennia-long romances common amongst dragons. The ex-archon couldn’t bring himself to be interested in a short, fiery burst of superficial passion, and he hadn’t met another dragon - aside from Barbartos’s friend - in ages.

Before Zhongli could retort to the store owner however, a new voice cut through the air.

“Even at half price, that necklace is nowhere near worth how much you’re demanding for it.” You stepped forward, tutting.

“What? This necklace was taken straight from a chest buried in Guili, and polished into this state. The fine embossing proves it. Clearly, you have no eye for quality.” The vendor was turning red. Zhongli turned his gaze to you, amused.

“The embossing work on this is indicative of a technique used long after the Guili area was inhabited in its prime. Furthermore, this material appears to be the smelted remains of lower quality ore - hence the dull gleam. If you wish to swindle customers, at least do it more convincingly.” You ran an unappreciative finger over the necklace, flipping it over in your palm. The store owner snatched it back, seething.

“Well, if you don’t believe in our authenticity, you may as well leave.”

“Of course.” Zhongli, sensing the vendor was becoming exponentially more irate, quickly grabbed your arm and led you away. His grip was firm, yet undemanding. A strange warmth emanated from his touch, prompting you to glance up at him in surprise.

“That was some keen observation. Are you perhaps interested in the history of Liyue?” Zhongli asked, releasing you.

“No, it was merely some… general knowledge from my first hand experiences.”

“You were alive back then?”

“And I’m assuming you were, too.”

“Hm, you would be the first dragon other than myself and Dvalin that I’ve met in quite some time.” Zhongli’s eyes gleamed. You cocked your head, until you found the consultant’s hand enveloping yours in a heat that was almost familiar - like the broad warmth of a sun baked stone.

“Come on, it'd be a shame if someone who'd come all the way from Inazuma didn't have the luxury of seeing Liyue's more authentic stalls."

You nodded, slowly curling your fingers around the man's hand, or at least as much as you could - his hands were quite a lot larger than yours. The contact was nice and unforced, unlike the awkward times you'd had to touch humans. It simply wasn't the same, as with them, it was more like holding a delicate glass. Mortals were so fleeting, their lives so precarious.

After winding through the bustling streets of the harbour, the two of you arrived at another stall selling ores.

“Which one would you like? They seem to be of high quality. I’ll purchase one for you, as a gift.” Zhongli glanced over the assortment of brightly coloured jewels.

“Oh, you really don’t have to.”

“I insist. It’s only proper for me, seeing as you’re a fellow dragon.”

“Alright then, I’ll take the one on the far left.” You gestures towards a lump of noctilucous jade. The lustre suggested it was relatively valuable, but not expensive enough to make you appear impolite.

“That’ll be four hundred mora.” The vendor smiled.

Zhongli slipped a gloved hand into his pockets, fumbling for a while - but not in the way a broke person would. Rather, he did it with a practiced grace, leading you to doubt he had any financial troubles at all. Given their long lifespans, dragons usually amassed much wealth.

“Ah, it appears that I’ve forgotten my wallet. How improper of me.” Zhongli chuckled lightly. You blinked a few times, exchanging a shocked look with the vendor, before reaching for your own wallet.

“I’ll take all the items on display.” You said. The vendor hurried to wrap up all the stones, handing you a relatively heavy bag.

“My apologies, it seems I’m still not accustomed to the mortal way of life. Using mora… What a difficult thing to get used to.” Zhongli mused, although he didn’t appear to be embarrassed at all.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly questioning the man. Dragon or not, most had to be well-acquainted with the currency, especially if they were a citizen of Liyue.

“I believe I forgot to mention, I created mora. Hence, actually using it in practice is quite foreign.”

You spluttered in shock. How could someone admit that they’d founded Teyvat’s primary currency so easily? Zhongli’s orange eyes gleamed in mirth at your surprise.

“Y-you’re… Morax?” You stood stiffly for a moment. You were standing and talking casually to an archon. You briefly wondered if you should bow, and began to kneel - before a firm hand came under your arm to hoist you back up.

“No need, I’ve given up that role. Not many know I was Rex Lapis. I guess by admitting that, I’m placing my trust in you.” You could only continue staring as you processed the information, unaware of the way his touch still lingered at your elbow.

“I…” You were certain there was some form of etiquette you were missing. How did people address deities? Lord? Your highness? Your area of expertise was that of commerce, not honourifics.

Zhongli laughed - the sound deep and comforting - gently closing your open jaw with his finger.

“I was going to gift the ores to you, but I’m scared that’d come off as more of an insult to the Lord of Geo…” You trailed off.

“I’d be more than happy to accept. You and I, we’re much more similar than you think. So don’t feel too pressured around me, alright?” His smile was heavenly. For a moment, you pondered the possibility that people had worshipped him for his handsome features, defined as if from stone itself. A heartbeat later, and you realised that much of the distance between your face and his had vanished. Panicking, you shoved the bag of goods into his chest and scurried away.

“It was nice talking with you! I’ll see you at the next meeting.” You blurted.

“I hope we’ll see each other before then.” Zhongli called as he watched your disappearing figure. He shook his head fondly, holding the bag in one hand and resting the other on his chin. You were so reminiscent of his younger, more draconic self. He could only attribute it to you and him being one and the same species - however rare it was.

Zhongli was simply happy to have found someone like himself - a person that shared the memory.

#genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin oneshots #genshin fluff #genshin fanfic #fluff #zhongli x you #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x reader #zhongli oneshot #zhongli imagines #zhongli fluff #zhongli

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