#it sees the light of day bc I just remembered it exists and works perfectly for this post | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vergess · 2 years

Text

im gonna slam these thoughts and feelings here because you usually have Good Sociological Takes about this kind of stuff and i think the world at large would be better for it if this was public, here it goes. I have Issues with the way weaponized incompetence as a concept is like used?

like i have no doubt that it is a thing that exists but i think it gets applied to a lot of ND people (esp men actually!!!) unfairly because i know for a fact that MY behavior would DEFINITELY be construed as weaponized incompetence wrt to household tasks...except being disabled, i literally Do Not Have the skills to DO domestic chores correctly.

I don't have the physical strength to scrub things as hard as they need to be scrubbed, it's hard for me to remember when to clean things, only the very smallest of vacuum cleaners are light enough for me to use which in practice makes the act of vacuuming rooms too long for my executive functioning to handle etc. (and my family gives me shit for this constantly but thats besides the point) and like...

am i manipulative a little bit about avoiding doing domestic chores? kind of! because i HAVE to be because people flat out DO NOT BELIEVE me when i say "hey i am actually bad at cleaning things" and even when i DEMONSTRATE it visibly does look like i am "phoning it in" on purpose, even though i am not so i have to be a sneaky little asshole to dodge doing chores because i have to in order to not waste what energy and time i have doing a chore that i will never be able to do properly anyway.

(and this isn't ALWAYS about NT people having higher standards for cleanliness, sometimes i genuinely cannot wash a thing to the level of safe human hygiene standards because i do not have the physical strength/motor skills to clean it. housework is physical labor i cannot do.)

I know the problem here is probably "you spend too much time on reddit" but i constantly see people whining about how all their spouse does is come home from work and then play video games and as much as i wanna empathize with the other half in this scenario (and i get it, they do deserve a break from housework too)

the "person goes straight from work to play video games all day" type of person is ME. because i CAN'T do housework. And i wonder, how many people who are all "dump them, they are using Weaponized Incompetence to get out of being an adult" realize that not everything that looks like weaponized incompetence IS weaponized incompetence?

How many men (bc its usually men getting accused of this) doing this are actually disabled and don't know it? And now, to bring gender into it, it gets even more annoying, because i am a woman, so i am expected to know how to do housework and am constantly told "well you don't know how to do chores because you refuse to learn how" when it's not ABOUT learning how, i physically cannot do them. I am cis esp physically but socially i have actually always id'd as "failed/broken girl" SPECIFICALLY in relation to my inability to Do Female Coded Chores. This, more than anything else, makes me Not Like The Other Girls.

In summation, intellectually i guess weaponized incompetence is a thing but in practice i don't think its real, it really sounds like a thing some people made up to be ableist towards disabled people yet again :/ but maybe i am wrong?

I never actually see it applied to women but i feel like its only a matter of time, society will always see afab who can't housework as defective girl anyway, and i am dreading my immediate family ever learning about the concept because i fit the description to a T even though it's literally not true in my case but there is no way to PROVE that because it all relies on just believing me and taking me at my word about my ability level because watching me fail a task is literally indistinguishable from someone "obviously phoning it in and perfectly capable."

(I feel that way about a lot of things, actually, that "spotting a fake" anything is actually impossible because so many failed tasks in any discipline look EXACTLY like someone pretending to be bad at the task.)

--End of submission, line breaks added for clarity--

Oh boy it's time for everyone's favourite cop-out-that-isn't-really-a-cop-out:

~dialectics~

Which is basically the fancy way of saying "two things can be true."

Having experienced both weaponized incompetence and disability in myself and in partners, weaponized incompetence is definitely a real thing and it definitely needs to be discussed.

But just like everything else that can be used to shit on the disabled, it is used to shit on the disabled, especially those with chronic illnesses and invisible disabilities.

Both of those things are true.

Abled people, especially abled men, will skive off of doing their reasonable and legitimate share of home maintenance by pretending to be worse at things than they are, so that others living with them will pick up their slack. Absolutely a thing that happens.

And as soon as people became broadly aware of this, they began blaming disabled people who cannot do those tasks by claiming the disabled people are victimizing them through weaponized incompetence.

This also intersects pretty nastily with capitalism and labour (what doesn't). Since working outside the home is generally a matter of immediate survival, and working inside the home is generally a matter of long term survival, work done outside the home reads as More Important to our monkey brains. It's that much harder to cut off outside work while you any remaining brain space and energy. So, by the time you're "done" with outside work, you're genuinely too exhausted to do inside work.

So it gets put off for as long as you can bear to ignore it.

And if for no reason other than sheer socialization, women tend to be more aware of the dangers and exhausting effect of an unclean living space than men, and thus can 'bear to ignore it' less, which means that it tends not to reach the point of being consciously upsetting to men. This isn't universal, obviously, but it's a broad pattern that tends to arise any time one party is socialized as 'bring home the paycheck' and another is socialized as 'manage the living space,' even if all parties are required to work for pay to survive.

IMO, the onus is on people accusing/discussing weaponized incompetence to make, maintain and enforce the distinction between "refusing to do things they absolutely can and should be doing because they expect to be served by others" and "refusing to do things they literally cannot because they are sick."

Unfortunately, because the experience of being a victim of injustice tends to narrow one's focus in the extreme, the act of remembering the other thing is also true tends to slip by the wayside.

Ironically, this mimics the very weaponized incompetence they are complaining about. They both can and should maintain a conscious awareness of the distinction between "can and won't" and "can't and mustn't," because they are so focused on their own legitimate status as a victim on one force, that they forget they can and are perpetrating another force.

#long post #weaponized incompetence #ableism #housework gap

56 notes · View notes

in-tua-deep · 4 years

Note

I would like to see Hargreaves family time please :3

HMMMM have a bonding scene ;3c

it is unedited though bc i never got around to it lmao

...

The thing they don’t tell you about recovering after escaping from terrible experiences, is that there are some things that you miss about them. You can be glad that you escaped while still mourning what you left behind, even if as far as you are concerned there shouldn’t be anything to mourn in the first place.

Five hated the apocalypse with something heavy and terrible that settled deep in his gut and that tended to be vomited out at the most inopportune times. Or perhaps it wasn’t hate at all, but fear that he experienced. Not that he would ever admit it, mind you.

But there were just some things that just - well. Five had spent over forty years in the apocalypse, sifting through rubble and ruin and scratching out equations on walls that were too broken to offer even the memory of the comfort and safety they’d once upheld. He’d spent forty years clinging to life by his fingernails and re-reading a book that was the only thing he had of his siblings outside of the grave sites he refused to visit,

He didn’t want to go back there. His entire life’s work was getting out of that hellscape and making it so that it never existed in the first place. Five hated and feared the apocalypse, but oh there were some days that he missed it with such a terrible fierceness it rather took his breath away.

He missed it on the days when nothing seemed to go right, when every word that came out of his mouth was wrong. When people looked at him with tightness around their eyes and pinched lips, and his siblings looked at him with pity in their eyes. Poor little Number Five, who couldn’t even accomplish the simplest of social interactions without inevitably fucking it up. Poor little Number Five, who forgot that people weren’t supposed to write on walls or hoard food in their rooms or freak out when someone burned food in a kitchen.

Adapting to a normal life was a challenge that Five hadn’t ever thought about - because what about his life had ever been normal? He was a child soldier, and then an apocalypse survivor, and then a temporal assassin and then - he wasn’t quite certain what he was now. Was he a child, or an adult? What was he supposed to do with himself now?

He missed that sense of purpose in the apocalypse. He missed Dolores. His one companion for so many years. He’d actually known her for longer than he’d known his own family, and wasn’t that an odd thought?

He missed the spot he’d holed up in before an earthquake had ruined it almost ten years before the Commission had found him. It wasn’t much, but he’d found a handful of records that had miraculously survived and an old record player that had even more miraculously done so.

He’d admitted to Dolores that he didn’t really know how to dance, not beyond the general flailing and swaying his siblings had used to drag him into when Luther played something from his budding collection.

(Five hadn’t had the heart to go rooting through the remains of the Umbrella Academy for things that could be salvaged, but he wondered about it often. He wondered if he’d find a whole entire collection of records, of if Luther would have lost interest and gotten rid of them all. He wondered if Allison still read through all the trashy magazines she could get her hands on as an adult, if she still tried to balance books on her head and walk regally through the house just because she’d read it once in a princess book or if she’d grown out of that.

He was back now, and perfectly capable of asking, but he didn’t. He looked at his siblings and saw strangers and missed his childhood even with the shadow of Reginald looming over them all. He loved his siblings as they were now, but oh he ached with the knowledge that the siblings he had known, the ones he had tried so hard to get back to, were lost to time. As good as dead. But then again, perhaps so was he.

He wasn’t the child who left on that fateful November day. He would never be him again.)

He missed Dolores teaching him to dance under the pale moon. Or well, not perhaps dancing so much as gently swaying together with his arms around her, cheek pressed against hers, as he closed his eyes and pretended for a moment that he hadn’t met her in the apocalypse at all. That they’d just bumped into one another in the street and gone on dates where he made her laugh and where he stressed about what to wear - a million inconsequential moments that meant nothing and everything at the same time. He’d wished they’d had a life together instead of the slow drawn out death that was the only thing that existed in the apocalypse.

And perhaps, there were other things he didn’t know he would miss until they were already gone and out of reach. Things he didn’t even think about, until he looked up at night and wondered where all the stars had gone.

It was a silly thing to get upset over, to go tearing through the house like a man possessed to figure out what had happened to the stars.

(Or perhaps it wasn’t so silly after all - the almost-apocalypse he had witnessed destroyed the moon. Was it such a reach to wonder about the stars, as well?)

Light pollution was the simple answer. It wasn’t that the stars were no longer there, just that they were drowned out. Only a few pinpricks bright enough to shine through and be picked up by the human eye. There had been no human lights in the apocalypse, with no one to turn them on or off except one lonely man who had a flashlight with scavenged batteries. Not nearly enough to make any difference.

The stars had been so beautiful. On the clear crisp nights, he’d lay next to Dolores on the ground staring up at the brilliant specks of light and tried his darnest to remember the constellations that once upon a time Luther had enthusiastically outlined for his unattentive brother at the height of his space phase.

(“When we get back,” He’d whispered to Dolores ever so softly, in the way he whispered every wish that only seemed appropriate to utter out loud under the night sky, “I’m going to get Luther to tell me them again, and I’ll actually listen this time. I won’t tell him to shut up, or that stars aren’t important. I’ll listen.”

He’d never been very good at listening, even as a child. But outside of a seven day deadline - the apocalypse had taught him patience. It was something the Commission found to be a boon as well - there was nothing more deadly than a very patient predator on the hunt, after all.)

Klaus had told him that the apocalypse was an addiction, and Five had done his best to quit cold turkey.

He’d returned Dolores to her store, mourning what could never be between them. In darker moments, he wondered if she would have ever actually chosen him - in that imaginary world where they met on a crowded street by happenstance. They’d been forced together at the end of the world, and even though he loved her he wondered about things like choice and happiness and shared trauma. Them breaking up was the right thing to do, he knew that, he just hadn’t realized quite how much it would hurt.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Five sought comfort where he could. That he stole a record from Luther’s collection (it had gotten bigger, a passion pursued into adulthood which was one question answered) that he must have played dozens of times on that record player in their little sanctuary at the end of the world. That he slept on the floor instead of the bed that was far too soft in so many ways.

That he crept up to the roof and lay on his back and stared at the stars that were visible, remembering a sky filled with diamonds and a cool hand in his own and whispered hopes and dreams and secrets from one terribly lonely boy to the uncaring infinity of the cosmos.

And maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that it wasn’t long until he was discovered up there, gazing at the sky with such careful mourning carved across his face.

(He hated and feared the apocalypse, but he mourned it as well. It had raised him, in the harsh and terrible way that was all the apocalypse knew how to do. He’d been raised by Reginald Hargreeves and forged in bruises and thoughtless brutality, and then delivered into the arms of something else that didn’t care for him either.

He grew into a boy with careless cruelty and harsh criticisms and a love for his siblings that burned hotter and longer than any fire the apocalypse could produce. He grew into a man, or perhaps just something man-shaped, in starvation and desperation and terrible all-consuming loneliness.

Reginald had been fond of telling them, “You will learn through suffering.” It was something trotted out whenever the children were forced to skip meals or run up and down stairs until their insides twisted and they retched on the floor barely held up by burning thighs and weak knees. It was being tossed behind locked doors until they promised their unrelenting obedience to a man who had done nothing to deserve it.

If suffering was a teacher, then surely Five was one of the wisest people alive.)

“What are you doing up here?” Luther asks, too loud in the stillness of the night. Five doesn’t begrudge him it though, it wasn’t every day one was confronted by their teenage shaped brother laying listlessly on the roof at hours when everybody should be tucked away in bed.

“What are you doing up here?” Five parrots back, melancholy mood sharpening the edge of his words into something more pointed than he perhaps meant them to be.

Luther shuffles, looking awkward in his own skin as he so often does. It’s enough to make Five soften, just ever so slightly. After all, Luther isn’t exactly the only member of the house who feels alien in their own body.

Perhaps it’s cruel to take comfort in his brother’s discomfort. But perhaps Five is cruel. It isn’t the worst thing he’s been called in his life.

(No one speaks about the dinner where Five and Diego had been sniping at one another and pushing each other’s buttons where Diego had brought up Five abandoning the family. That had been his exact word - abandoning. Five had frozen and Diego had pressed on, snarling about Five not getting an opinion about Reginald because he’d ditched so early and left the rest of them to Dad’s tender mercies. He’d said far more, but the rest of that dinner was a blur of sound and colors for Five.

Diego had apologized over the incident and then proceeded to not look Five in the eye for the next week. The whole family were so good at picking at one another’s weak spots and hitting them hard and fast. It was practically second nature. They knew which points to leave alone when it came down to it for each other, but not for Five. Not yet.

They didn’t know him anymore. It was a work in progress navigating their respective minefields of trauma in the meantime.)

“I asked you first.” Luther says, childish statement bringing Five out of his own thoughts. At the end of the day, they are brothers.

And perhaps it is that brotherly spirit that prompts Five’s lips to quirk as he offers the equally childish response of: “I asked you second.”

Luther scowls, but he’s fully aware of exactly how stubborn Five could be. That’s Five, built out of spite and pettiness, who never knew how to just lay down and give up. But if he’d been any less himself, they would never be there that night on the roof irritating one another. The thought fills Five up with something that could almost be called fondness.

Luther crosses his arms, and looks away. “I like looking at the stars.” He admits haltingly, and it makes Five sit up from where he was still sprawled on the ground. “I just - on the moon - I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Five cuts in with a fierceness that surprises them both. Five doesn’t look at Luther, just the sky. “There’s not as many stars, here. Not that you can see. It’s supposed to look different, but what’s left is still comforting because the sky is a constant. Because the stars don’t really change, even when the rest of the world does.”

“Yeah.” Luther sounds surprised at Five’s insight. There’s a moment of hesitation before Luther is gently lowering himself down to sit on the roof a few feet away from where Five is. When Five dares to sneak a glance, Luther’s eyes are trained on the sky with an almost wistful look on his face.

“I know I’m not supposed to miss it,” Luther begins, and the thought sounds so much like what Five was just pondering that he can’t help but startle. Thankfully, Luther doesn’t see. “But - it was always my dream, you know? To go up there, into space. I know it was just a rejection now, that Dad didn’t want me around so he wouldn’t have to face his failure.” Luther’s face twisted as he spat out the last word. He’d taken it hard, learning that he was just as insignificant in the grand scheme of their father’s plans as the rest of them.

“But.” Luther continues, his face smoothing out, “It was still four years of my life. I had a routine. It was lonely, but god Five. The weightless feeling? The stars? The sunrises? There’s nothing quite like it.”

There’s a silence between them for a moment that Five decides to break. Because he’s trying, he really is.

“Sometimes,” Five says, so softly that Luther actually shifts closer to hear him, “Sometimes the apocalypse was beautiful. A decade or so in, when the plants just tentatively started realizing it was safe to grow again, and the weeds came back first. Just spots of green and bright yellow dotted through the cracks and crevices.”

(Five had spent many springs of his life wandering through the rubble, leaning down to pick dandelions to admire before he ate them. Even when he was terribly hungry, he’d never eaten all of them - always leaving some to mature and bring more the next year. Picking them up and blowing softly and remembering the first time he’d seen one - on a mission where Ben had quietly and excitedly informed them that they had to blow on it and make a wish. That he’d read about it in a book.

Five had made the same wish for forty some years. He wasn’t sure what he’d wish for now, now that it had come true.)

“And when the skies were clear, at night - the stars were beautiful.” Five admitted, Luther made a sound but Five ignored it to carry on because if he didn’t speak his mind now he might never. “There were so many Lu, way more than we ever saw out our bedroom windows. And on nights where the moon was just a sliver, there were even more. We’d lay out there for hours.”

Luther coughs. Five looks over and isn’t quite sure why there’s a guilty look on his brother’s face. “’We’ would uh, be you and uh, Dolores, right?”

Ah, that would explain it. Luther always got that look when Five brought up Dolores, no doubt thinking about when he’d held her out of a window as leverage to prevent Five from killing someone. Luther hadn’t known then, Five thinks, about exactly how much Dolores meant to him. He’d known she was important, but hadn’t known why. He hadn’t asked.

There’s nothing Five can do but nod though, in response to the question. “Yeah. She likes the stars, she’s always loved things that glitter.” It was why she loved sequins so much, and Five was secure enough to admit that he liked them as well.

There’s an awkward silence between them now, one that Five can’t help but try and break. “I tried to remember the constellations.” He blurts out, grasping at the connection the two of them had shared before it slips between his fingers and results in them quietly going to their rooms and forgetting this conversation ever happened.

He can’t look at Luther, not as he admits this. So he doesn’t, he turns his gaze upwards to the pinpricks of light. “Do you remember, when we were eight and Mom gave you that book of constellations? And you wouldn’t shut up about it for like, a whole month? You kept waking all of us up and dragging us to the roof and you said we had to listen to you because you were Number One?”

Luther surprises Five just a little by laughing, “Yeah! Yeah I do remember that. Diego threatened to throw me off the roof if I ever woke him up in the middle of the night again after the fourth time and I’m pretty sure Klaus learned morse code to complain about me to Ben.”

Five grins, “Nah, don’t flatter yourself. He learned morse code with Ben to gossip at dinner. Your little nighttime shows were just something else he could yell about in front of Dad without anyone the wiser.”

“Of course he did.” Luther just sounds exasperated at their most colorful sibling’s antics, which is a big improvement on how he would have felt about it when they were actually eight. “To be honest, I didn’t think any of you actually listened to what I was saying at the time. I’m surprised you remembered.”

Five shuffles, not exactly wanting to admit he doesn’t remember most of the content but not quite willing to lie to his brother either. “I only remembered bits and pieces. Some names, other shapes. Those three stars that make up that one dude’s belt or something.”

“You didn’t just find some astronomy book?” Luther asks, looking puzzled. He doesn’t look offended at least, that Five didn’t pay that much attention during those lectures so many years ago. To be fair, he’s had plenty of time to come to terms with the idea.

“It felt disloyal.” Five admits after a heartbeat, only half grudgingly. He isn’t exactly the king of heart to hearts, but there is something about Luther that seems to encourage them in him. Even during the stress of the days preceding the apocalypse weighing on him, it had been Luther who Five had told about finding their bodies and who Five had told not to waste his life.

Maybe it was the certain level of kinship between them, both of them trapped in bodies that they did not choose and did not want. Both of them left alone for years on end, having to relearn how to interact with the general populace. Luther was loyal where Five was rebellious, but they had enough common ground between them to be significant.

“Disloyal?” Luther’s tone isn’t quite questionioning, just offering a way for Five to continue his thought where he’d trailed off.

Five’s stomach squirms at the blatant emotion, but it would have to try a lot harder than that to stop him after he’d gotten used to the hollow aching pain of starvation. “I didn’t want to learn the constellations from a book.” He says, and it’s easier to admit to hopes and wishes in the dark with the stars above him. It’s familiar. It’s not Dolores next to him, but Luther isn’t half bad company when he’s by himself. “I wanted to learn them from you, except you weren’t around to ask anymore.”

Now that he’s out of that hellscape, he can half admit to himself that not allowing himself to pick up an astronomy book might have been him giving himself even more incentive to go back and fix things. Not that he needed it but - half of it might have also been a sort of punishment for abandoning his family to whatever fate left them buried in rubble and dead at the end of the world as well. Never let it be said that any of Five’s coping mechanisms were actually healthy.

There’s a silence where Luther mulls that over, before he opens his mouth with a soft expression, “I’m around now.”

It’s an offer and a question rolled into one. It’s not Luther immediately launching into a lecture assuming that’s what Five wants or needs at the moment, it’s him asking, which is an improvement all in itself. If Five was too raw tonight, he would accept that without a question and they could look at the sky in silence together until the dawn came.

The ball is in Five’s court.

“What - what’s the name of the dude with the belt?” Five asks, hesitant and careful and feeling as brittle as the porcelain vases that Reginald decorated the halls with.

Luther’s answering smile is bright and tender enough to hurt.

“His name’s Orion...” Luther explains, and Five closes his eyes and lets Luther’s voice wash over him. When he opens them, it seems like the stars twinkle just a tiny bit brighter than before.

Or that might just be his imagination.

#ask me #yeAH i volunteered to do a luther and five piece bc very few people wants to tag in for luther #look i'm not luther's biggest fan but he has some rights #then again i haven't seen s2 maybe he loses what few rights he has #but i can't help but draw parallels between his and five's experiences #me holding up luther: stinky but still good #tua #the umbrella academy #far tua long #long post #five hargreeves #number five #luther hargreeves #i don't THINK i posted this before but correct me if i'm wrong #should i put this on the masterlist ????? what would i even put it under idk #Anonymous #oneshots

1K notes · View notes

assassins-and-hidden-blades · 3 years

Text

Miracles -- Part 3

07/04/2021: Here it is!! The one, the only, the... 6.1k words of purely self indulgent protective!Jacob (lowkey been doing it for everyone and their mother except for when with the reader and idk why bc i dig that shit too)

I really hope you guys enjoy this, because I loved writing it!! There's a chance I could sneak in a last chapter if people wanted that? Feedback would be greatly appreciated!! This is super long, so sit down and get comfy :)

Pry these commas from my cold, dead hands tho. Also, I HC Jacob to be predominantly left-handed, but that's just me aha.

Warnings: Bit of violence, swearing, corporal punishment, arson (without giving too much away)

Tagging: @marshmallow--3 // @missingfrye // @ct-5445 // @iceboundstar // @rahdaleigh // @pink-polarfox // @b3k1720 // @itseivwhore // @sofiewithat // @missbenzayb

Assassin's Creed Mobile Masterlist

Red Dead Redemption 2 Mobile Masterlist

Part 1 HERE, Part 2 HERE

The night was cold.

You retreated further under the blankets, turning to rest your head on your beloved’s chest. You wore an oversized shirt, and he wore a loose pair of breeches. His arm pulled you closer, fingers stroking your bicep. In turn, you traced the Rook painted on his chest. “Jacob?”

He turned to gaze down at you, lips inches from your forehead. “Yes, my love?”

“My family have written to me; they would like me to visit them in Warwick.”

“Your family lives quite far,” Jacob remarked, smiling adoringly at you. “Will you and Lily be alright travelling by yourselves?”

You sighed. “That’s the problem.” Sitting up, you gently grasped Jacob’s hand, playing with his fingers. “They don’t know that Lily exists, and I have no chance of telling them that I have a child without the status of ‘wife’.”

“I see…” Jacob watched you trace the lines on his hand. “Is there anything I can do?”

Propose, you idiot.

“Could you look after Lily while I’m away?”

“On my own?” His fingers tightened around yours.

“I trust you with her, Jacob. You’re the only one I can trust her with.”

He sucked in a breath. “Are you sure?”

“Stop doubting yourself.” You kissed his temple. “Besides, she adores you; she’ll listen to you.”

“Alright then. It’s decided.”

“Thank you, my love. However can I make it up to you?”

Sensing the humour in your tone, Jacob winked. “I can think of a few things.”

You laughed to yourself as you blew out your candle, the darkness enveloping the room as you pulled yourself closer to Jacob, the security of his arms lulling you to sleep.

----------

Before you knew it, you were packing a carriage with your luggage, setting off for the journey ahead. Jacob was standing in the doorway of your house, Lily resting on his hip. “Mama, do you have to go?”

“Sweetheart, if I don’t, then horrible Aunt Susan will come marching all the way down here herself, and we don’t want that, do we?” Lily shook her head, giggling.

“She’s not the only one who’s going to miss you.” Jacob wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. Smiling, he dipped his head to lock his lips with yours.

“Yuck!”

The both of you pulled apart, chuckling.

“Well, I best be going. Don’t get into any trouble; I know what you both are like unsupervised.”

Sharing mischievous looks, they began to wave as you got into the carriage.

“Bye, Mama!”

“Safe travels, my love!”

You watched as they recede from view, the picture of your perfect family playing in your mind as hooves against cobblestone played in your ears.

As soon as the carriage turned the corner, Jacob turned to Lily. “What do you fancy doing?”

Lily giggled. “I have school!”

Jacob mockingly rolled his eyes. “That is the worst answer I’ve ever heard.”

“Are you saying I can skip?”

As much as he’d want to say yes, you would have punted him six ways from Sunday. “‘fraid not, love.” He took her inside. “But I can promise that afterwards, I’ll take you to get iced cream.” Lily cheered in victory before she hopped down, scurrying to collect her things for the day ahead.

----------

Jacob walked Lily to school that morning, keeping her on his left and away from the curb. He grasped her hand firmly, lest she get lost in the rushing crowd. When he approached the building, he saw various parents saying goodbye to their children, as well as some children arriving on their own.

He knelt down to her height, tidying her windswept appearance with a reassuring grin. “You have a good day, alright?”

Smiling widely, she nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Papa.”

Wait, what?

Jacob’s breath caught in his throat. Lost for words, he kissed her head and returned the hug tenfold. “I love you, angel.”

“Love you too!”

The bell rang moments after, causing Lily to pull away. “Don’t be late!” Waving, she ran to catch up with her friends and disappeared into the building. Standing up, Jacob cleared his throat and tugged on his waistcoat to compose himself, though he could barely stifle his grin. The warmth in his heart engulfed his chest. He walked past the rest of the parents as if he were walking on clouds, his happiness fixed for the day.

----------

“What’s got you in such a good mood today?” Evie asked her brother, watching incredulously as she found him tidying his train carriage.

“Oh, nothing.” Although his tone was dismissive, his face told a completely different story.

“Did you… have a good night?”

“Oh, no.” Chuckling, he sifted through the papers on his desk. “Y/N’s headed to Warwick.”

Puzzled, Evie tilted her head. “Free beer?”

“Nope.” He popped the ‘P’.

“Come on, then; what is it? You can’t expect me to keep guessing forever.”

Restraining himself from jumping for joy, he turned to his sister. “Lily called me ‘Papa’.”

Evie’s face lit up. “Oh, Jacob, that’s lovely! Does this mean you’ll…” She mimicked opening a ring box.

Blushing, he nodded, a toothy grin plastered on his face. “I’m excited, Evie. I… I need to sit down.”

He leaned back on the sofa, tossing his hat beside him. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. “Are you alright?” Evie took a chair to sit opposite him.

“I… I’ve never felt this much joy in my life.”

“Jacob Frye, you’re practically speechless.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“You have to buy the rings before Y/N comes back.”

“I will. Maybe Lily will want to come with me. Not yet, though; I don’t want to spring the news on her immediately.”

Evie began to talk about the type of engagement ring you would find the most appealing, but Jacob had all but zoned out. He was fidgeting with the iron band on his right index finger, engraved on the inside with the Assassin’s Insignia. Barely thinking, he removed it and switched hands, sliding it on his ring finger.

He was going to get married. You were going to be his wife.

“What if she doesn’t say ‘yes’?” A sudden anxiety clutched his heart as he looked up in worry.

Evie was stunned into silence. “What are you talking about?! Of course she’s going to say yes!”

“She has a child to think about; what if she doesn’t want to get married at all?”

“Jacob,” she sighed. “She knows you’d do anything for Lily. You’ve done it right from the beginning.” He shifted in his seat as a phantom pain clutched his side, remembering his tussle with Thomas Lynch. “She would be insane not to want someone like you as a husband, and as a father to her child.”

“When did you learn to talk like that?” Jacob smirked.

“When you’re the eldest, you learn a thing or two.”

“Bullshit.” He scoffed, but wordlessly thanked her for the reassurance.

“Knock knock.” Eyes fixed on the doorway as Henry peered around the corner. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I need some papers from Jacob.”

“Right; which ones?” He stood up and closed the two meter gap to the pile of half sorted paperwork.

“The ones on James Brudenell.”

“Who?” He frowned.

“Lord Cardigan.”

“Oh, that prick…” He thumbed through the various files, quickly getting to the end with no sign of the desired intel. “I must’ve left it at the house. I’ll head off there now and bring them to you tomorrow.”

“Can you not come back straight away?”

“I need to get to the school; there won’t be enough time. I’m taking Lily out for that new iced cream.” Evie quirked her lips into a knowing smile. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she shrugged.

Shaking his head, Jacob grabbed his hat and opened the door, watching the train slow into the station. “See you tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget the--”

“The papers, yes, I’ll get them!” By then, he had already jumped onto the platform, disappearing into the crowd.

----------

On the stroll back to the house, Jacob checked his pocket watch, planning his time accordingly. He’ll find the papers, finish the paperwork that should’ve been completed two weeks ago, and head to the school.

The street seemed unusually quiet at this time in the afternoon, but Jacob only grew concerned when he noticed a lack of Rooks. Usually, there would be more and more scattered around the closer he grew to the house, but so far he could count them all on one hand. A scuffling from behind him pricked at his ears. He spun, brows furrowed, but the road was empty, save for a carriage calmly trotting past. He used it as a reassurance that he was probably acting paranoid, and continued where he was heading, albeit at a faster pace.

The secure feeling he felt upon approaching the house eased the weight on his chest. Pulling out his key, he wasted no time in disappearing inside. It was quiet without you, and there was the familiar longing he felt in his heart. Sighing, he mentally crossed off another minute until he could hold you in his arms again.

He moved upstairs and into his study. At the prospect of spending more time with him, you jumped at the chance to make a spare empty room a working office. He hung his jacket and hat on a coat rack, taking a seat at the desk. The natural light coming through the window landed perfectly on the wood, illuminating the workspace without the need for candles. Jacob searched his drawers, finding the file with relative ease. He grabbed a dip pen, opened an ink pot, and quickly began scrawling details down.

He was lost in thought at the memory of his encounter with Lord Cardigan when a crude knocking hit the door downstairs. Jacob froze, focusing on the noise outside. All business was kept around the train; he sternly told Evie and Henry not to give out the address to anyone. The only other people who would have had an idea where he was were the Rooks stationed around the street, but they were loyal -- were they not as trustworthy as he thought? Who was at the door?

Harsher thuds against the door made his heart leap. He moved slowly; inch by inch, he stood and crept towards the door, pulling out the cane from his coat as quietly as he could. His boots barely made a sound as he headed down the stairs, hand calmly turning the knob to open the door.

On the other side stood two gentlemen, waiting almost expectantly. “Can I help you?” Jacob asked, tone laced with suspicion.

The two exchanged looks before one started to speak. “Pardon me, sir, but would you be interested in purchasing some humbugs? We’re opening a new shop not too far from here. We thought we could go from door to door to begin our business endeavours.”

Eyes flitting between the two, unease began to set in. “No, thank you.”

“Understood. Have a nice day.” The other tipped his hat and turned to leave as Jacob slowly shut the door again.

“What…?” He’s had bankers act more persuasive than these men. They did not seem that interested in sales. His eyes scanned the room, as if that would give him answers to a most peculiar interaction. In a second, his heart jumped as they landed on the clock. If he didn’t leave now, he’d be late to pick up Lily. He grabbed his coat and hat from upstairs and burst out of the door, rushing in the direction of the school.

----------

He made the journey by the skin of his teeth, jogging almost the entire way. As soon as he approached, the bell rang, and children began to flood out of the doors. He stood by a tree and scanned the children as they continued to rush out. A few moments later, Lily emerged, nervously clutching her hands together as she scanned the adults around her. Jacob frowned and walked towards her, concern growing. He could see the upset growing as she at first couldn’t see him. “Lily!”

As soon as she heard her name, her gaze immediately landed on the source and took off running towards him. He knelt just in time for her to jump into his arms, face hiding in his neck. “Hey, are you--” He was cut off by the sound of sobs. “Okay, alright, it’s alright, angel.” Confused, he picked her up and went to sit on a bench overlooking the playground, shushing her gently.

Cradled in one arm, Jacob used his free arm to reach into his pocket, bringing out his flask. “Take a drink, sweetheart.” She gingerly took the container, taking a few gulps of the fresh water inside. “Now, tell me what happened.” He tried to speak softly, to not provoke more tears.

“I didn’t do it! They think I did, but I didn’t!”

“What didn’t you do?”

“Throw a rock.”

“Even if you did do that, it’s only a rock.”

“It hit the teacher!”

Jacob was silent for a minute. If they thought she pelted a rock at the teacher, there would have been harsh punishments…

“Please believe me; I promise I didn’t do it!”

Shocked, Jacob pulled her closer. “Of course I believe you! Why wouldn’t I?” His eyes landed on her fists, which have barely opened since he saw her, save for the flask. “Can I see your hands?”

She nodded, and Jacob shifted her against his shoulder so he could use both hands as he slowly uncurled her fingers. Her palms were a stark red, the clear markings of a cane riddled her skin almost completely; and they looked like the instrument hit hard. He quietly asked for the other one, inspecting them with the care one would give to a newborn, brows furrowing at the sight. Lily watched his eyes moving constantly across her hands. The thought of letting her father down ushered tears to the surface. Jacob’s eyes caught hers watering. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love. Do you know who really did it?”

Nodding slowly, she pointed to the playground to a boy who was laughing by a group of children who were playing with marbles. “Oliver.”

“Okay.” The two of them stayed there for a while as Lily continued to calm down.

Just as Lily began to smile at Jacob’s conversation, a shadow overcame the both of them. Jacob felt her recoiling into his side. He looked up to see a weathered looking man with a styled moustache and a stiff looking suit, a hand against the back of his head. “So, she’s yours.” The slight tone of disapproval channeled an urge of protectiveness inside him. He sat Lily behind him on the bench as he stood toe to toe with the teacher.

“Is there a problem?” Jacob’s eyes assessed the man from head to toe, noting the thin cane that he leaned on.

“You should be ashamed of your daughter’s behaviour.”

“Why? She did nothing wrong.”

“On the contrary…” Turning around, he removed the cloth on his head, revealing a jagged cut along the back of his head.

“It wasn’t me, sir! It really wasn’t!” Lily was begging for her teacher to believe her.

“Then who was it?”

Lily stood up on the bench still hiding behind Jacob’s shoulder but managing to equal his height. “Him.”

Her finger showed Oliver laughing at someone who had tripped over a skipping rope.

“Do you really think that she would do something like this?” Jacob raised an eyebrow.

Neither agreeing or disagreeing, he instead gestured with his cane. “I’m watching you, Y/L/N.” Jacob narrowed his eyes. “I would be mindful of your attitude towards my daughter.”

Grumbling, the teacher turned and walked away. “Oliver!”

“Th-Thank you.” A sniffling from behind him softed his face and melted his heart.

“Let’s go, angel. There’s some iced cream with our name on it.”` He hoisted Lily on his hip and headed in the direction of home, hoping that the anger would dissipate with each passing step.

----------

The house came into view shortly after Jacob left the sweet shop, two cardboard pots of the cold dessert in their hands. “This is delicious!” Lily was almost her normal self again over the journey home, relinquishing details of the day as they closed the short distance to the house. Placing Lily on the floor, he took out his key and pushed it into the lock, turning the knob. Without turning the key, the door opened. He must’ve forgotten to lock it when he left the house earlier. Brushing it off, he opened the door the rest of the way and stepped aside for Lily to enter first. He checked the rest of the street one more time for anything out of the ordinary before shutting and locking the door behind him, acting safe rather than sorry.

A slight smell filled his nose as he walked into the room. It was barely there, but he could smell something. Unfocusing his eyes, he watched as colours flooded his vision. Looking around, he couldn’t spot anything strange right away, but the smell was in the air and it set him on edge. Shaking his head, he rubbed his eyes. He had felt more emotion in one day than he had for a long time, and his body had worn him out. “Are you hungry, Lily?”

She sat at the kitchen table. “A little bit.”

“Anything you particularly fancy tonight?”

“Hmm… Sausages and potatoes!”

Jacob chuckled at her excitement. “Consider it done, my lady.”

----------

Dinner was over and done with by the time the sun set below the skyline. Jacob helped Lily get ready for bed before tucking her in. “When’s Mama coming home?” she asked, playing with Jacob’s hair.

“Hopefully in a few days; Warwick is surprisingly far, even by carriage.”

“Thank you. For believing me.”

Jacob smiled sombrely. “I will always believe you. That also reminds me…” He reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a small pot of salve. “May I?” Lily offered her hands, and Jacob gently rubbed the ointment over her raw skin.

“It’s cold.”

“It’s supposed to get rid of the pain. How do they feel?”

She nodded. “Good.”

As he returned the salve to the table, he took a breath, steeling himself to give either the best news or the worst news.

“How would you feel… if I asked your mother--”

“To marry you?!” Her eyes widened, her smile reaching her ears. “Yes!”

She jumped out of the covers to hug Jacob tightly. He reciprocated, closing his eyes to savour the moment. “Please ask her,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Giggles filled the air as he pulled the covers over her again.

“Thank you, for letting me in.”

“You make Mama happy. That’s all I want.”

Jacob sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re wise beyond your years.” He leant down to kiss her forehead. “Goodnight, angel.” He stood up and blew out the candle.

“Goodnight, Papa.” Lily didn’t miss the way Jacob’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, shutting the door quietly.

He poked his head into his study, sighing when he saw his half-finished paperwork that needed to be handed to Greenie the next morning. Every fibre in his being resisted, but he knew his procrastination would catch up to him eventually. So he sat down, lit a candle, and tried to wrap everything up in as little time as possible.

About half an hour went by before Jacob finished the long overdue paperwork. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he went downstairs to the spare room he kept his bedclothes in. He fell backwards onto the bed. “Just five minutes…” he bartered with himself, resting his eyes.

----------

A scream made his blood run cold.

Bolting upright, Jacob immediately noticed plumes of smoke coming in from underneath the door, the burning smell inviting a cough from his lungs.

The house was on fire.

He lunged for the doorknob, the metal quickly searing his skin. His fingers clenched around the knob reflexively. “Ah, fuck!” He shook out his hand, watching as the flesh blistered in front of his eyes. Turning around, he dug around in the chest of drawers for extra clothes to wrap around the knob, turning and pulling swiftly before the heat travelled through the fabric. The door burst open. Jacob ducked as the flames whipped around the open space, newly fed by the released oxygen. Fresh smoke engulfed the room; Jacob inhaled a lungful as it blew towards him. He cleared his chest as he fanned the smoke away. Wrapping the clothes around his arm as a guard, he braced himself and ran upstairs, only one thing on his mind.

“Lily?!” The flames had almost completely engulfed the lower floor; he was surprised and relieved that he had managed to dodge any falling debris. “Lily!” He covered the metal with the clothes as he reached her door, slowly peeling the door away and slipping through as small a gap as he could, avoiding the mistake he made earlier. He closed the door behind him, the air luckily cleaner in her bedroom. “Lily, where are you?!”

He checked under the bed, and began to grow panicked when he couldn’t find her. He heard the scream, but nothing else. What if…

He swallowed, trying to ease the tight band in his chest.

Opening the wardrobe, he practically collapsed in relief when he saw Lily cowering in the corner. “Come to me, angel.” She dived into his arms, quivering in fear. “It’s alright, we’ll get out. I need you to be brave for me, okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice was shaking.

He looked around for a quick exit, eyes landing on a window. He led Lily over and unlatched it, pushing it with his uninjured hand, albeit with difficulty. Leaning out, the air cleansed his lungs. He hoisted Lily onto the windowsill to give her fresher air, holding her to make sure she doesn’t fall out. She clutched onto him tightly. He noted how it opened into an alleyway. He heard the bells of police and fire engines around the front of the house.

“HEY! OVER HERE!” A man peered around the corner. “HEY! HELP!”

“We can’t fit the ladder through here! You have to go around the front!”

Jacob blinked. “Have you gone mad?!”

“There’s a small window around the front, looks like the landing. You better make a move before it’s no longer an option!”

“Can’t you just climb down?” Lily mumbled, mind in shock.

Jacob inspected his blistering palm; it felt as if he was still holding the doorknob. Slowly, he put pressure on his hand against the windowsill. The pain immediately bubbled up his arm. Biting his lip, he tried to pull himself onto the windowsill. With his weight, it was maybe possible, since he could drop higher than normal and roll once he hit the floor. With Lily, that wasn’t an option.

“I can’t risk it.”

“Well?!” The man was still there, watching him.

“Be ready!” Jacob pulled Lily into him. “I need you to breathe into this, alright, angel?” She nodded slowly. He gave her one of the shirts wrapped around his arm. “Close your eyes.”

“Should I count to ten?”

“It shouldn’t take any longer, love.”

Taking a second to compose himself, he wrapped his hand up and opened the door, squeezing through as little as he could before shutting the door again. He made a beeline for the end of the hall, dodging the flames as they grew nearer, licking the edge of the wooden floor. Reaching the window was the easy part. The hard part was opening the damn thing. It felt heavier than it usually did, and he strained his free hand to push it to the top. Outside, firemen were already level with the window, waiting for the two of them to emerge.

“One of you at a time.” Without hesitating, Jacob leaned out of the window, one arm reaching Lily out of the window, while the other stopped him from falling out himself.

Just as the firemen approached, Jacob heard a crack above him. “Take her. Take her now!” The urgency in his voice paid off, as he jumped out of the way of a falling support beam, blocking his way out. He hit the floor, covering his face as embers flew around him

Lily crying out caused his heart to flip, but he managed to catch a glimpse of her safely in the arms of the firemen. “No! PAPA!” His anxiety eased slightly, but only just. He scrambled to his feet just as the beam crumbled completely, blocking the window from view.

“Shit!” Coughing, Jacob looked around for another exit. His mind thought back to Lily’s bedroom; he could probably climb down carefully one-handed if he was quick enough. His study also seemed to be the furthest from the rest of the flames.

However, he was on borrowed time.

Downstairs was fully demolished; there was no way out there. Upstairs was closing in on him fast, the heat beginning to singe the hair on his arms and sear his skin. He ran for his study, narrowly avoiding falling debris. As he slammed the door shut, he was relieved at the sight of the room being unscathed. For now. He looked over the papers; they were definitely worth taking.

He emptied his desk of the files and stuffed them in a satchel that hid under his desk. He worked tenderly with his burned hand, careful not to aggravate the wound more than he already had. He coughed some more as he slid the satchel over his head, tightening the strap so it would lay fast against his back. As the cold leather touched his skin, he hissed. The flames must have licked him on the way in. He turned to check how much time he had left.

The fire had crept inside the doorframe, taunting him in a turbulent tango.

Jacob hurried for the window, looking for the latch. His fingers felt around the edge, but he couldn’t feel anything. He tried pushing, with no luck. Does this window not even open?!

Frantic, his non-dominant and uninjured hand went for the first thing that he could always rely on.

Two wide shots rang out, cracking the glass in a spider-web mosaic. He moved to shatter the glazing, but the world began to spin. Knees wobbling, he fell against his desk, hitting the floor. Coughing hurt, breathing hurt, thinking hurt.

But he was so close.

He blinked away the world that spun around him, shakily getting to his feet. He threw the force of his whole arm into the window, the gun providing the force to break the shards completely. Clearing the way for his hands, Jacob holstered the gun and slowly began the climb onto the roof.

He wasn’t dying. Not today.

Wincing every other second, he pulled himself half-heartedly onto the tiles. Jacob took a second to try and stabilise his vision, securing extra fabric around his hand. He manWeuvered his way around the burning holes, hoping instead to find a way down that doesn’t involve jumping or falling.

Unfortunately for him, that choice was made for him.

A tile came loose under his foot. He slipped, the edge of the roof coming almost too soon for him to react. His fingers grasped the gutter, which did nothing but snap under his weight. Upon hitting the ground, Jacob managed to roll, but instead of ending on his feet, he slumped across the floor. Groaning, he lay still as he recollected himself. To anyone else, he looked dead.

A pained cry set his heart pumping again, yet he didn’t realise at first that the cry was because of him, not for him. Light footsteps rushed over to him. “Pa? Papa?” He felt fingertips dance across his cheek. “Please wake up!”

He reached for the source of the voice. “I’m okay. Are you alright?” He managed to open his eyes to check over Lily’s state. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin was dirtied in soot, and one of her hands was bleeding. “Has anyone said they would help you with this?”

She shook her head, the worry not leaving her face. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be; it’s over now.” He began the arduous process of standing up; from his stomach to his hands to his knees to his feet. Offering his hand to her, Jacob led the two of them out into the street. When everyone gathered in the street saw them, they cheered. Rooks quickly came to assist Jacob and pick up Lily, but he waved them away. He limped his way to the ambulance wagon waiting in front of them. Lily was hoisted onto the end while Jacob leaned heavily against the side. Lily faced him for reassurance.

“Mr Frye, sir!” He tilted his head as little as he could to get a view of who was calling his name. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine; just a bit singed.” He tried to joke, but the pain in his face betrayed his laidback attitude. He grasped his ribs, as if it would ease the burn on the inside. “Where’s Evie?”

“As soon as we heard what happened, we sent for her. She should be here any minute now.”

“Lily goes with Evie. As soon as she shows up, take her to the train. She’ll be safe there.” Another hard cough shook his chest.

“With all due respect, are you sure you’re well?”

“I’m… I…” The floor was ripped from under him. Jacob’s knees buckled as his vision went black. After a few seconds, he came to. The Rooks had caught him on the way down. Disorientated, he blinked, trying to process what was going on around him.

He heard a familiar voice. “Where are they?” Rooks wrapped Jacob’s arms around their necks, pulling him to the edge of the wagon. He barely registered arms pulling him from behind to lie down. He noted how he was staring up at the stars.

“Evie!” A young, panicked yell drove Jacob to sit up, but hands pushed him back down against the wood.

“You don’t want to make things any worse, Mr Frye.”

His body jolted between consciousness and unconsciousness as Evie came into view. She also looked worried. “Jacob? I’ve got Lily; she’ll be safe. I’ll come to the hospital as soon as I can.” Lily was snuggled against Evie, a bandage wrapped around her hand.

“Let’s hope I don’t fall off.” It was weak and hoarse, but there was humour in his tone.

“You better not.”

“Take the bag.” He gestured to the leather satchel underneath him. Slowly, she undid the strap and pulled it out from under him, barely able to avoid causing a wince. She looked inside to find the papers in impressive condition. “It’s the paperwork Greenie asked for.”

Jacob’s smile was weak as the wagon began to drive away. The rocking of the cobblestones was rough, and although jarring, also brought comfort. He fell in company with the stars as his consciousness left him yet again.

----------

The next time he became lucid, he immediately noticed that he could breathe better; oxygen was easier to take in than before, and although not perfect, kept the lightheadedness away. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking to adjust to the light. The feeling of rough gauze was not unfamiliar to him, so he assessed the wounds on his back based on how rough it felt to lean on.

He brought his burned hand up to see that it had also been wrapped neatly. Although that was the majority of his wounds, his entire body ached. He leaned back into his pillow and closed his eyes, assessing the situation. Approaching footsteps made him roll his head to the side, and a doctor appeared with a clipboard. “How are you feeling, my boy?” He asked with a pencil in his mouth, flipping through the various pages.

“Like I’ve been run over by a carriage. Multiple times.”

“I’m not surprised; you inhaled half a factory.”

Jacob prepared himself for the question he knew he had to ask but would hate the answer to. “How long has it been?”

“Oh, a few days, give or take.”

“How many days are we giving or taking?”

Just then, a door opened on the far end of the ward, a few people rapidly approaching. As they turned the corner, Jacob’s heart sank a bit. You were hurrying towards him with the look of a mortified wife, but he dreaded what you thought would be more mortifying: your house burning down, putting your only daughter’s life in danger…

“Thank God!” You swerved around the bed and kissed him, one which conveyed a hundred different emotions, the most evident being relief. After the initial shock, Jacob’s fingers came to your jaw, lightly directing as he kissed you deeper.

He slowly pulled away, worried eyes scanning your face. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I haven’t the foggiest what happened--”

“You’re both safe; that’s all that matters.”

“But the house…”

“I’ve been prepared for disasters like this for a while. Everything I couldn’t stand to lose went in a fireproof box. There’s nothing gone that I can’t replace.”

“Papa!” Your eyes widened as you exchanged an impressed look with Jacob. Lily had crawled onto the bed and nestled her way into Jacob’s arms.

“Are you alright?” Without speaking, she nodded, deciding to play with his hand, fidgeting with his fingers and tracing the lines. Jacob looked to Evie, who followed her in.

Shepulled a concerned face, coming up to her and putting her hands over Lily’s ears. “She’s been crying herself to sleep, sometimes waking up in the middle of the night calling for one of you, sometimes both. She’ll heal, I’m sure, but for now I think time needs to pass. I investigated what could have happened that night; it wasn’t you.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they were Templars; pisses me off though.” He turned to you. “If you hadn’t visited your family…”

“Don’t ponder the ‘if’s, Jacob. It leads to all sorts of grief.” You threaded your hands through his hair.

Evie nodded. “All I know is what happened, not necessarily who did it.”

“Go on.”

“The house was rigged to burn down. Someone must’ve broken in, set down some oil or gas, and set it alight. It all happened very quickly -- it’s a miracle you got out when you did.”

At the explanation, Jacob ran a hand down his face. “The fun never stops.” He shifted to stand up.

“What are you doing?” You put your hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to find whoever did this, and I have a feeling I know exactly where to start.”

“Not in this state you’re not.”

He stood up, much to your protests. “Honestly, Y/N, I’m…” His vision went black immediately, blood rushing to his head.

You quickly caught him. “‘Fine?” Sitting him down again, you brushed his hair out of his face. “Just take it easy.”

“I have errands to run.”

Evie whispered something to Lily, who gave the couple a mischievous grin. “We can do it!”

Jacob smiled, catching on. He leaned down to Lily’s ear. “Pick something Y/F/C,” he whispered. She nodded, grabbing Evie’s hand and running away.

The both of you laughed as Evie was dragged out of the ward. “What was that about?” You raised an eyebrow at the secrecy.

“It’s a surprise.”

Rolling your eyes, you joined him on the bed. “Don’t keep me waiting for too long.”

Jacob smiled to himself, the familiar excitement climbing. “I won’t.”

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed x f!reader #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye x f!reader #jacob frye oneshot #x reader #assassin's creed oneshot #assassin's creed imagine

174 notes · View notes

novelconcepts · 3 years

Note

omg can you do a print of damie in canon just interacting with flora bc i would love that

She’s lost Flora.

There is, Dani thinks with the forced calm of one already beginning to spiral, little cause to panic. The house is big, but it’s not that big--and Flora is a good kid. She’s not exactly prone to just wandering off. She certainly wouldn’t, say, vanish from sight and reappear somewhere unexpected, suddenly acting like she didn’t entirely remember the time in between.

That doesn’t sound like Flora at all.

She isn’t running, per se, from room to room. Running would suggest there is a problem to be handled, and if she starts thinking along those lines--if she starts obsessing about Flora’s distinctly off-putting way of gazing over her shoulder, of saying things just a little too odd to be hand-waved away, of looking at Dani as though she can see straight through her to the unease thrumming under the surface--well. That way lies nothing useful. Nothing at all.

“Have you seen Flora?” The kitchen had seemed a good bet. Here, after all, is Owen, puttering away over the ingredients for the evening’s meal, his mood somber as he uses the manor to avoid reflecting on his mother’s upcoming funeral. Here is Hannah, dutifully rearranging the china, pretending not to steal glances at Owen’s lanky frame every few seconds. That spot at the table is made for Flora, little legs hanging off the chair, brimming with questions--

But Flora isn’t there, and Owen is shaking his head.

“Not since lunch. Lost her, have you?”

No, she almost snaps. A count of three, a long-held breath; she smiles tightly, reminding herself that this is not Owen’s fault, nor Owen’s job. The children will be your responsibility alone, after all.

“She’s quick,” she says instead. Hannah purses her lips.

“Perhaps upstairs with Miles?”

She isn’t. Miles, bent over a book with a solemn expression, blinks up at her as though she’s dragged him by the shirt collar out of the actual wardrobe to Narnia.

“She asked me to color--what time is it?”

“Two,” Dani says, sparing the briefest glance for her watch. He shrugs.

“An hour ago, I think? I told her to ask Hannah.” A flash of concern crosses his face, a too-adult creasing of brow. “Was that wrong? I just wanted to finish my book--”

“It’s fine,” Dani assures him, ruffling his hair. Too-adult, his expression may be, but this is the most kid she’s seen Miles in days. The last thing she wants is to dissuade him from reading, or from the loose sprawl of his posture.

An hour, though. In the days since coming to Bly, Dani can’t remember twenty minutes passing without Flora turning up underfoot.

Outside, she thinks with another swell of barely-restrained panic. She’s outside. By the lake, probably, where Flora can so often be found keeping company with dolls and talismans and snatches of ethereal song.

It isn’t exactly a reassuring thought, particularly with summer rain sluicing down the windows, scattering over the roof like pellets. A storm, it isn’t, but an eight-year-old girl has no business wandering in weather like this.

You'd have loved it, at her age, Dani reminds herself. There’s nothing at all wrong with a little girl puddle-jumping for the sheer joy of it. Flora probably got bored, cooped up with a bunch of busy adults and her brother uninterested in playing games. She’s fine. She’s almost certainly fine.

An umbrella is waiting beside the door, still damp from Owen’s trip in before breakfast. Dani takes a breath, pops it open, steels herself for the brisk wind.

The grounds are gray, the puddles turning the grass to a squelchy mess beneath her shoes. She keeps her head up, her eyes carefully turned away from the puddles which sit like recklessly-dropped mirrors at every turn; if she so much as glances down and spots a flash of glasses, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her composure.

Flora is not by the lake, as it turns out. Nor the statue gardens. Nor the rose bushes. Flora is nowhere, she’s starting to think, and her mind is finally turning toward the worst--toward the depth of that lake, how easily a small girl might slip off the embankment and tumble headlong into its hungry waves without notice--when she remembers the greenhouse.

Jamie will help. The thought rises without warning, a solid patch of sunlight at the center of the storm. Jamie will help--because Jamie knows every corner of these grounds as well as her own hands. Jamie, who maybe doesn’t know Dani all that well, but didn’t seem to mind offering gentle reassurance, exchanging unexpectedly deep conversation on the couch...or Dani taking her hand in the dark. Jamie, who had said, Who the hell knew? Jamie, who had worn an expression a little like awe.

They haven’t had time to talk about it since, but even so. Even so, for Flora, Jamie is sure to--

She hesitates at the door, fist raised to knock. It feels foolish, rapping on the entry to a greenhouse like it’s Jamie’s own bedroom--but this is, she reasons, as close to Jamie’s home as she’s ever likely to get.

“Jamie, are you...”

“Here,” her voice comes from somewhere just out of sight. Dani takes a cautious step in out of the rain, jostling the umbrella and pulling it hastily shut. Best not to invite bad luck--she’s certainly already had her share.

“I’m looking for Flora,” she calls, feeling a bit silly. There’s so much going on in this room--plants and tables, pots and a variety of outdoor furniture draped with old blankets. Normally, Jamie is easy to spot amid the riot of greens and pinks, her hands busy coaxing seedlings to life. Today, Dani feels as though she’s tripped and fallen into a game of hide and seek.

“Don’t have to look far,” Jamie’s voice comes again--from behind the sofa, Dani thinks. “C’mere.”

“Miss Clayton!” Flora pipes up, and Dani feels the tension leave her body in a violent rush. Her hand grips the nearest table for support, her eyes closing in relief. “Come color with us”

“Come--sorry?” She can’t have heard right. Jamie? Jamie the gardener, putting aside work and temper to waste an afternoon on crayons?

Yes--yes, that appears to be exactly what Jamie is doing. Sprawled on her stomach, still dressed in her coveralls, she’s got a blue crayon in hand and a green one tucked behind her ear. She glances up as Dani steps nearer, a smile lighting her face.

“Kid came stumbling in out of the rain an hour ago. Expect she didn’t think to warn you in advance?”

“Sorry.” Flora offers a sheepish smile, sitting up quickly. “Are you very cross?”

“No, of course not.” Just going to need a minute to purge the image of finding you facedown in the goddamned lake, is all. “Next time, though, you’ll have to tell me you’re leaving the house alone. I need to know where you are at all times, Flora.”

She expects Jamie to scoff at this--to say, Ah, she was with me, she’s fine. Instead, Jamie stretches over to land a sharp flick on Flora’s upper arm.

“Rude to make Poppins worry. Look, she’s gone all pink.” She looks up at Dani, grinning. “Not a bad look, if we’re in the market for honesty.”

Dani suspects pink is the lightest shade she can manage, with Jamie gazing at her that way. It’s too easy, all of a sudden, to remember an unexpectedly soft hand under her own fingers, Jamie turning reflexively at the wrist to hold her back.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Flora says, a phrase Dani is starting to think is more Flora than even perfectly splendid. “Here--I was just about to do one of you!”

Jamie gestures with the blue crayon, a silent suggestion for Dani to sit beside her. “Might as well. Rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon.” She lowers her voice, eyes fixed on Flora’s determined rummage through the crayon box. “Sorry about that, Poppins. Know she’s been unpredictable lately, didn’t like the idea of her stumping around in the cold. If I’d known you were worried--”

“It’s all right.” In truth, she’s glad Flora made her way out here. Growing more pleased by the moment with this development, really, as Jamie slides a blank sheet of paper in front of her and presses a purple crayon into her hand.

“Join us. We’re doing portraiture.”

“I can see that,” Dani laughs. Jamie’s handiwork speaks of a distinct lack of care for detail--each sketch on her page is, at best, a stick figure with a single defining feature. “How does Owen hold up his head, carrying a mustache the size of his torso?”

“With minimal decorum,” Jamie says, grinning. “And she’s right, it’s your turn.”

Dani suspects she’s going less pink, more a volatile shade of maroon, with both parties squinting at her face, their papers, her face again. Flora is doing her very best work, taking several minutes just to select the closest shades of blue, yellow, pink. Jamie makes an enormous production of holding up a crayon, closing one eye, gauging proportions--and then, cheerfully, scrawling a figure identical to the other four already on the page.

“I’m taller than Hannah?” Dani asks, unable to resist a giggle. Jamie frowns.

“Ah, you’re...standin’ on a crate.” She adds a box beneath Dani’s non-existent feet with a flourish, nodding. “There. It’s symbolic.”

“Of what?”

“I’ve ranked you all on how much I like you. Takin’ into account, of course, certain accusations pointed my way regarding mud and shiny floorboards.” Jamie winks. Dani finds herself gripping her crayon almost hard enough to hurt.

“You’re not drawing, Miss Clayton!” Flora observes. Dani glances away from Jamie’s smile--a difficult act only a few days ago, nearly impossible now--and clears her throat.

“Well. Maybe just until the rain stops.”

There are, she thinks as a comfortable quiet settles over the greenhouse, infinitely worse ways to spend her afternoon.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #flora wingrave #soft prompts #hope this is about what you were looking for #soft it certainly is

70 notes · View notes

bbugyu · 4 years

Note

hi can i request a wonwoo friends to lovers!!

abso-fuckin-tutely! since you were a lil vague, i asked my friendly neighborhood wonwoorideul for a prompt and she shouted out the song nothing by bruno major (aka one of the sweetest songs on wonwoo's spotify playlist)!

nothing + jeon wonwoo

moving in with your best friend was the best idea you ever had, even if he claimed it was his.

wc.3707 | fluff, angst, roommates/friends to lovers au, gn reader, like one swear and it barely counts bc it was hoshi, slowburn pining, wonwoo sees you and his mind is full of poetry, happy ending! (jp ver.)

thank you so much for my very first request! i tried to post this quickly, so i’m sorry if it’s not as polished as my other pieces. i was so impatient to get this out hahah. i love me some domestic wonwoo

wonwoo wasn't just your roommate, to be perfectly frank. the lanky guy had wormed his way into your close circle when you had worked part time together at a grocery store fresh out of high school, and when you both decided you needed to be closer to the big city, it just made sense to go together. you had never lived alone before, and your mother had said she would feel better if you had someone she knew around, someone to take care of you for her, even though you insisted you would be fine. she tried to get you to move in with your auntie, and while eating her food would be a definite plus, you absolutely despised the idea of living under the same roof as your chaotic cousin. so, when wonwoo mentioned wanting to get out of your podunk village, you excitedly told him you wanted to move to seoul.

"okay," he had said, looking at you over his comic book as he lounged on your family's couch. "let's go, then."

two months later, his dad was helping the two of you move into a tiny two bedroom apartment in a neighborhood of seoul that housed mostly old married couples, but you liked that it was a little more quiet than downtown. it felt more like home, but busy enough to give you your fill of the city. you could walk down the street to a cafe every morning on your way to the station, headed to your shitty temp desk job that you had just to pay bills. wonwoo was able to transfer to the main seoul office of his existing job as a software engineer, and was even able to work from home most days. you were forever jealous that he could hop onto remote meetings wearing a tie and button up over a pair of sweats. on days that he had to go into the office, though, he would walk with you and point out shops that you had yet to visit in your few months of living in the city.

"since when are you a flowers kinda guy?" you asked, gaze following his finger to the florist shop he pointed out.

he shrugged, adjusting his backpack straps over the blazer he wore. "might be nice for the apartment."

you eyed him. despite knowing him for years, sometimes he still surprised you.

on days that he didn't ride the subway with you, you would come home to find him sitting on the couch, swinging around a digital new york city from a web on the tv. you noticed the potted plant on the kitchen counter when you dropped your keys off in their designated tray. they were red, with tight round petals. you thought they almost looked like roses, but you knew that wasn't right. peonies? begonias? you didn't know enough about flowers to recognize them, but you figured he went to the florist in your neighborhood while you were at work.

he paused his game after landing on a roof somewhere. "how was your day?"

"good," you said, pulling off your light jacket and standing by the couch. "what's with the flowers?"

wonwoo looked around you to the yellow ceramic and red blooms, both colors that suited the other few colorful items in your minimalistic (mostly from having only lived there a few short months) white kitchen. "camellias. i thought they looked nice."

you nodded, thinking that he had more to say, but decided not to press. "have you eaten?"

he stretched on the couch, hands falling to the back of his beanie clad head as he let out a strangled noise. "do i ever eat without you?"

that made you smile. "any thoughts on dinner?"

wonwoo shook his head, settling back into the couch. "what do you feel like?"

"i'm craving pizza."

wonwoo pushed his glasses up his nose and adjusted to fish his phone out of the pocket of his favorite track pants. "go take a shower, i'll order."

you grinned. "you are such a good roommate."

"correction, i'm the best roommate. oh, also," he pointed towards the fridge in the kitchen. "soonyoung came by with side dishes from your aunt."

"oh, thank god," you said, walking over to wash your hands quickly and check the haul. "i was worried we were gonna have to buy kimchi this week. he wasn't annoying, was he?"

wonwoo shook his head, chuckling at the way you talked about your cousin as he tapped through menus on his phone. "he was fine. complained that you weren't here."

"doesn't he have a job?" you opened a plastic container and popped a sweet braised potato into your mouth. your voice was muffled as you chewed. "he knows i get off at five. if he wants to see me he should come when he knows i'll be home."

the small smile on wonwoo's face never left as you rambled about soonyoung, then your fantastic chef of an aunt, and then the new guy that sat at the desk next to you that microwaved fish for lunch. seriously, who microwaves fish? in an office?

wonwoo commiserated with you, then told you to hurry and go wash up, because he had just submitted the pizza order, to which you responded "okay, okay, i'm going. i'll be back in a minute."

after a steam filled shower, you left the bathroom while toweling your damp hair, sporting a plain black v-neck with your, similar to wonwoo's, favorite track pants.

wonwoo looked up and laughed, tugging on the hem of his shirt. "we match."

you eyed one of the several black muscle tanks wonwoo sports regularly and giggled, pulling at the stripes down your pants. "we do. you want wine?"

"hell yeah. friday night, baby."

you laughed, returning to the bathroom to hang your towel before making your way to the kitchen, pulling a couple of stemless wine glasses out of your cabinet. they were the only glasses in the apartment because, as wonwoo had said, your priorities are notoriously bad. but, you reminded him, they worked just fine with water too, so you convinced him that buying real glasses could wait until you were both slightly less busy. you grabbed the bottle of red wine off the counter and looked at the seal. "wonwoo."

"yeah?" he paused his game and looked at you over the small kitchen cart that acted as an island. you held up the wine.

"new bottle."

he sighed dramatically. "what would you do without me?"

you grinned happily as you got the wine opener out of a drawer, holding it out for him. he snatched the bottle and opener from your hands and made a face, but began twisting the corkscrew into the cork nonetheless. you planted your elbow on the wood topped cart and watched him as he tugged out the cork, decidedly ignoring the fact that he was wearing a sleeveless shirt and he definitely looked like he had taken a trip to the gym today.

"you pour, i always miss."

you laughed, pulling at the shrapnel of the seal that wonwoo always refused to cut away before removing the cork. "maybe if you didn't make the neck such a mess it wouldn't go everywhere when we pour it."

"unnecessary step," he retorted, watching you as you poured the wine into the two glasses. he took the one closest to him as you finished. "cheers."

"cheers," you repeated, clinking your glass against his and taking a gulp. you let out a noise of approval. "happy friday."

wonwoo was smiling as he took a sip. "happy friday."

"where's the pizza?"

"uh," he patted his empty pockets, then put down his wine glass to retrieve his phone from the couch. "down the street."

wonwoo had to shove his feet into a pair of slides to meet the delivery person at the entrance of your building, and when he returned, you were giggling into your glass at your sns feed. the wine hit maybe a little too hard, but you hadn't eaten in too long for you to have almost polished off a glass already.

wonwoo gestured for you to join him on the couch, so you grabbed the bottle of wine and tucked it under your arm, carrying the two glasses over to where he was shutting off his game.

you ate merrily, and then you talked. about nothing and everything all at the same time. this happened more often than you ever thought it would, but a week into living in the city, wonwoo had come home from hanging out with some old friends to you crying on the couch with a show on that was far too comical to be the source of your tears. that night, he stayed up with you until the sun was peeking up over the buildings, listening to your worries and struggles. he shared his own fears. you were a blubbering mess. he kept sniffling his nose, acting like the tears welling up in his eyes weren't there when you laughed, despite yourself. wonwoo and you had always been close, or as close as past coworkers that had the same friend circle could be, but this was different. you couldn't remember the last time you had cried like that in front of anyone, much less someone who wasn't your mother.

when you woke up on the couch past noon, your sunday to a late start, your arms were wrapped around wonwoo's torso as he slept, one hand tucked behind his head and the other on your back. his face was inches from yours. your cheeks were pink and you suddenly felt hot, trying as gently as you could to escape without waking him. he stirred, but only to readjust as you snuck away.

he said nothing about the cuddling when he woke to the sound of you closing the front door, and you smiled as you held out the iced americano you got him at the cafe down the street. he squinted at you and scratched his head, taking the drink and sipping it before even testing his voice.

"thanks."

he looked at you, eyebrows furrowed. "what? you bought coffee. thank you."

you sat next to him and swirling the straw in your own drink. "no, i mean for staying up with me. sorry i was a mess."

there was a pause, and your heart almost stopped when he put an arm over your shoulder. "you weren't. and i'll stay up with you whenever you want."

wonwoo sipped at his drink again, giving you a light squeeze when a tear fell down your cheek.

living together meant you saw a side of him you had never seen before. the little things he did throughout his day, when he wasn't even particularly conscious that you were in the same room as him. he always bit at his thumb when he was working, and he had a habit of leaving the milk carton open in the fridge. he always made you smile when he emerged from his room with his headphones loud enough for you to hear them from across the room, and he cluelessly bobbed his head to whatever he was listening to while he refilled a water bottle, waving and smiling before he returned to his room. when your mom asked you how living with wonwoo was, you told her he was great. clean, respectful, and quiet. that you had never been closer. that he made you feel safer so far from home. you didn't, however, tell her that you discovered that he liked running home from the gym at 2 pm on the weekends, laying out on the floor with his shirt over his head before he convinced himself to take a shower.

you had always thought wonwoo was cute. how could you not? he was a handsome guy, but you had accepted your place as a friend to him and happily let it progress no further. but, now that you spent your afternoons off arguing with him on whether or not showering was even worth the trouble, you couldn't help but stare at him. watching his toned chest rise and fall as you thought about how he had admitted his crippling fear of failure to you at three in the morning when your face was puffier than a padded jacket.

you never noticed, but wonwoo watched you closer than he did anything in his life. that night, when he found you crying, he felt his heart clench as you told him all your insecurities. when he had pulled you into his chest and held you tight as you questioned whether moving so far from home was a mistake, he patted your hair and told you that it was going to be fine. you had him, afterall. he had you. the two of you could make it out here. and if you still wanted to go home when the lease was up in six months, he would be there to help you move back.

he didn't stop holding you until your breathing settled, your shoulders stopped shaking. he leaned back into the couch, bringing you with him, and you didn't protest when he ran his hand up and down your back, coaxing you to sleep.

since then, every time you spoke to him, he couldn't help but stare at you intently. he watched your eyes light up while you talked about something you loved. he watched you scrunch your nose as you talked about your new desk neighbor. he watched your lips push into a pout when he said he should go get some work done. he wondered if anyone else noticed the way you sucked on your teeth while you thought up a witty comeback, or the way you carded your fingers through your still wet hair. or the way your eyes creased into a laugh, your hand coming up to block your open mouth. or the way you chewed on your red wine stained lip while he tried to form a sentence in response, when all he wanted to do was put those lips on his.

wonwoo had been stewing with these feelings far longer than he thought bearable, but stuffed it down in fear that he might lose you altogether. he didn't want to lose you altogether. he had gone on a walk halfway through his workday at home, feeling antsy for no particular reason, though if he thought about it long enough he would have realised it was because you had said something about feeling lonely lately that morning. he saw the florist he had pointed out the week before, and his feet brought him through the door.

"hi!" he looked up from the colorful display by the door to the person behind the counter and smiled politely. "did you need help finding something?"

"um," wonwoo blinked and looked around for a moment, then moved towards the counter. "i need a gift, i think."

the florist's eyebrows quirked curiously. "you think?"

he nodded, eyes flicking down to the nametag on his chest. he wondered if he was a foreigner with his three character name, but didn't mention it. "yeah. housewarming. for my, uh-" wonwoo paused, catching himself not knowing how to describe his relationship to you. roommate? wannabe lover? he bit his cheek. "my friend."

joshua nodded slowly, watching wonwoo's eyes as he worked his way through the sentence. "just friend?"

wonwoo stared at a flower arrangement to his right. "something like that."

"got it." joshua walked around the counter and gestured for wonwoo to follow him deeper into the store. "since it's a housewarming, how about a potted plant? something to brighten up the space for a long time. they'll think about you every time they see it."

wonwoo nodded, not saying anything about how funny he thought it was that he said he was getting his own roommate a housewarming gift. "that sounds nice."

"now, i'm not gonna claim to know you," the florist started, putting up his hands to exaggerate his words, they kept moving as he pushed and pulled pots, looking for one in particular. "you've said, like, maybe a full sentence to me, but those were some complex emotions when you called them a friend, so i'm gonna assume i know the situation. i think you should get camellias. specifically red ones."

wonwoo looked at the sunshine yellow pot in the soft featured man's hands. the petals of the flower were round and delicate, and he thought about how you said the color yellow made you happy. "why's that?"

"i think you should look up the meaning when you give them this," joshua said, and for some reason, wonwoo trusted him.

he came back to the apartment thinking about how he might have just gotten scammed into buying the potted flowers in his hands, only to find soonyoung about to hit the buzzer to call your unit, a far too large cooler bag sitting on the bench by the entrance of your building.

"is y/n around?" soonyoung asked, trailing behind wonwoo as they walked up the stairs, struggling slightly with the overpacked bag. "they didn't respond to my kakao."

"they're at work," he replied, flipping his keys over in his hands to find the one for your front door. "they'll be home around six."

"ah, shit," soonyoung laughed. "i always forget you guys have adult jobs. i would kill for a monday through friday."

wonwoo almost laughed, but left the smile on his face. "weekends are kind of overrated, anyways."

the shorter hoisted the bag of dishes onto the kitchen cart while wonwoo closed the door. "who're the flowers for?"

wonwoo stared at the pot in his arm as if it was the first time he had seen it. "oh, uh. just the place."

"for y/n?"

he looked at soonyoung, who had his chin in his palms, elbows planted on the counter as he smiled. he knew he was right when wonwoo didn't respond.

"i think they'll like them," he said, unzipping the top of the bag and starting to unload his mother's packaged dishes for his cousin. "they like the color yellow."

wonwoo just said "i know," before he opened the fridge and started rearranging things to fit the new food.

according to soonyoung, wonwoo was painfully obvious. when he had come by a couple weeks prior, you were arguing with him about some ridiculous childhood memory at your grandparents' home, and while soonyoung laughed, he noticed the smile on wonwoo's face when he watched you. he also noticed the way he instinctively put a hand on your back when you sighed about your newest temp gig, and soonyoung pulled on his ear as he looked at the ceiling, leaning against the kitchen cart much like he was today as he told wonwoo about how oblivious his cousin must be.

you pulled your knees to your chest as you sipped at your wine, the pizza box almost completely polished off by the two of you sitting on the floor in front of your couch. you stare at the pot of flowers.

"they're pretty," you said finally.

you too, wonwoo thought.

"camellias, right?" you turned back to him. "i like them."

i like you, wonwoo thought. "i went to that place down the street. the guy working was nice."

you nodded, sipping again. "any reason in particular?"

"i-" wonwoo paused, staring at his glass. he finished the last gulp in it and put it on the floor next to the pizza box. "you said something about being down recently," he said, folding his fingers together as he leaned back against the couch. "i wanted to get you something, i guess."

you watched his fingers as they pushed his glasses up his nose again, and your heart fluttered at the idea of wonwoo thinking about you when you weren't around. "really? that's so nice," you pouted, shoving his knee.

he laughed, pulling his knee onto the couch to face you. "the guy there - the florist, i guess? his name was joshua. he seemed to really know flowers." he knitted his brows together when he realized he was procrastinating on saying what he was nervous to. he put his arm on the back of the couch, rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm before continuing. "he said i should look up what they mean when i give them to you. red ones, specifically."

you perked up, heart racing. "what they mean? they have meaning?"

"y-yeah, i guess so," wonwoo said, then cleared his throat.

"hey google!" you looked over to where the device sat by your tv. "what to red camellias mean?"

wonwoo stared at your profile as you watched the device think before its automated voice piped up.

"camellia flowers are available in white, pink, and red, with each color having its own unique symbolism."

you looked over to him, excitedly putting your glass to your lips as the voice continued.

"pink camellias symbolize a longing for someone, and is given to people who are missed."

wonwoo swallowed hard, fingers fidgeting against his temple.

"red camellias symbolize love, passion, and a deep desire."

your eyes widened slightly as the device shut off, glass still to your lips and eyes still on wonwoo's. he stared back at you, and you wondered if he meant it. but he never claimed that he didn't feel those things for you.

before you could think, you clumsily put your glass on the floor and moved. you didn't stop moving until your lips were on wonwoo's, pushing him back into the arm of the couch as you practically crawled into his lap.

his hands found your hips and he helped you settle into him, your fingers tracing his jawline as it worked against yours. you sighed into his lips as his hand slid up under your shirt, placed gently on the small of your back. pulling you into him. when you paused for a moment, you thought about waking up to this exact same view, that day after you had cried all night. but this time, his other hand pulled your jaw back to kiss him again, and you happily complied.

#YAAAA #thank you so much for requesting i owe you my life #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #jeon wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #yoonpancake #requested #i wrote dis #do i have a wonu tag yet #sure dont #wonton

417 notes · View notes

cyclogenesis · 3 years

Note

i have to tell you that the second i saw cal and ash on that mountain getaway a couple weeks ago, i thought about how desperately i would love a sequel to your turks & caicos fic set during that trip. (this is not a request, i promise, i just wanted to tell you bc that is one of my fav fics of all time)

Aw anon!! 🥺 Gosh I hadn't even thought about that when I was in my feelings about the mountain getaway pictures, which is wild because I am just remembering now that I started a fic after the honeymoon comment initially happened (like, very soon after, because @elliebirdthings was at that show and told me about it and we were freaking out haha), before we knew that they went to Turks & Caicos, and I had them taking that trip to a cabin in Maine.

Just for kicks, because this message made me smile and I love you for that, here's the beginning of that fic. It's unfinished obviously (not even any kissing!), but there's some nice stuff in there I think. This fic was going to be titled A whole fucking lifetime of this after the American Pleasure Club album which was a title I should have kept, goddammit. Also randomly in here I have them driving to the cabin while listening to My Bloody Valentine, who Ashton later called out as one of his main influences for Superbloom.

1600 words of unfinished Cashton under the cut! 😘

The day after the last meeting about the promo schedule the dressing room conversation turns, as it does, to plans for the break. It’s a month out, but they’ve to a man developed a fetish for planning their free time carefully as soon as the schedule’s set. Planning things makes Ashton feel like a grown-up. He likes renting cars. Sometimes he scrolls through AirBnB for hours just to see what’s out there.

“I’m going straight back, we got Dodgers tickets,” Michael says.

“I remember when you used to say ‘we’ and it meant you and me,” Calum says. He wiggles a little from where he’s snuggled against Michael on the couch like he wants to get away, but of course Michael doesn’t let him. Ashton thinks he probably wasn’t really trying.

“Aw, you’ll always be my first love,” Michael tells him, squeezing Calum to him more tightly. “You wanna make out just for old times sake?”

“I do not,” says Calum, but he lets Michael give him a big kiss on the forehead, his face squinching up happily.

“I just wanna get away for a bit, no work or social media or anything,” says Ashton, ignoring their tomfoolery. “A little cabin by a lake somewhere.”

“Oh yeah?” Luke says. “Where are you and Cal going this time?”

“Maine,” Calum says, at the same time as Ashton says, “Why would you assume we’re going somewhere together?”

A small silence falls over the room.

With dignity, Ashton says, “Calum and I are going to Maine.”

“Just get out in front of it this time,” Michael advises. “Let everyone know it’s another honeymoon. Take control of the narrative.”

“How many times can you go on a honeymoon before you have to acknowledge that you’re married?” Luke asks nobody in particular.

“It’s a bro trip,” Ashton says firmly. “For bros.”

“It’s very bromantic,” Luke says. “It’s okay, I’m not hurt I wasn’t invited. I love going back to LA and jerking off alone.”

“It’s nice that we’ve all got plans,” Calum says. He’s settled peacefully back against Michael, Michael absently petting his hair.

“It’s not a honeymoon,” Ashton insists.

Whatever, Ashton called it what he called it, okay? Might as well control the narrative.

Over drinks at the bar after their last show Calum asks, “Where would you want to go on your honeymoon, anyway? Somewhere new?”

Ashton pokes at the ice in his cocktail with his straw. Aren’t they supposed to not be using straws anymore because of the ocean or whatever? Ashton loves the ocean, it’s very important to him. Also this cocktail sucks. “Can I try your drink?” he asks. “I don’t love mine.” Calum has something with ginger in it, and bubbles. Calum slides his obligingly over, and Ashton passes his own over to be fair.

“I like yours better,” Calum says after a sip. “You wanna trade?”

Sometimes Ashton does believe in soulmates. “Yes, thank you.” He takes a long drink. “It would be nice to spend more time in Italy. Not one of the tourist-y parts though, somewhere quiet. Up north, maybe, one of the smaller towns.” He tries to picture what it would be like: olive groves, blue skies, stone churches. An old villa with lemon trees and a view of the hills. He’s so used to traveling with the band or just with Calum that it’s hard to picture anyone else there with him. They’re all as prone as anyone to get swept up with girls to the exclusion of most everything else, but Ashton can’t really imagine a future without seeing Calum all the time, without talking to him every day. Maybe he and Calum could just get married around the same time and they could all go on a honeymoon together.

“Yeah, that’d be pretty nice,” Calum says, looking wistful. Ashton wants to take a picture of him, capture the way a curl rests against his temple, how the blue neon lights behind the bar hit the glitter he let Ashton smear on his cheekbones before the show. They made a no social media pledge for this trip but Ashton’s bringing his camera anyway. He has to keep in practice, doesn’t he? Anyway, it’s important to capture these memories.

“Maybe we should just go,” Ashton tells him. “Why not? Who knows how long it could take for me to fool someone into living with this forever?” He sucks down the last of his drink, feeling sorry for himself now. What if he falls in love and she moves in and Calum stops coming over in the morning to walk to their favorite coffee shop together, and stops picking Ashton up so they can go hike Runyon, and stops bringing Duke over like he owns the damn place and doesn’t care about the dog hair that Ashton has to hoover off his couch pillows? That would be terrible. Worst of all, what if it was Ashton that suddenly wanted those things to stop?

“I’ll live with you forever,” Calum says, too busy flagging down the bartender to intuit Ashton’s emotional crisis. He gestures to Ashton’s empty drink. “Another one of those, right?” His own is still half full. Maybe he didn’t really like Ashton’s better after all.

“Yeah, thanks man,” Ashton sighs.

Calum bumps his knee against Ashton’s, the barstool squeaking beneath him. “Ash, you’re gonna find somebody if that’s what you want. Anyone would be the luckiest person alive to be with you. Maybe we could do Italy after the tour wraps, we’ll finish in Spain so it won’t be far.”

The thought cheers Ashton a bit; that’s a decent amount of time to get on AirBnB and see what he can find that’s available. It’ll be nice to have something to look forward to, Italian sunshine and limoncello and the quiet.

“Mike and Luke will definitely give us shit though about planning another honeymoon while we’re still on this one,” Calum says.

“Let ‘em,” says Ashton.

It’s not a long flight but it’s a bit of a drive from there to get to the cabin. But Calum said he wanted something remote and quiet, so it’s worth the wait, the drive in the dark. There’s moonlight, anyway, and Calum took the wheel, getting them the rest of the way there in their little silver Prius rental. He puts on My Bloody Valentine and sings along, low and comforting to listen to after so many days straight of playing, of promo. Halfway through the trip Ashton thinks he sees a shooting star, maybe thought he dreamed it until he felt Calum’s soft nudge of knuckles against his arm, heard his quiet, “You see that, bro?”

The way gets bumpy, thick with trees, dark and hard to navigate once they turn off the main road. At the end of it all there’s the cabin, looming in the dark, lights left on for them and the key exactly where it’s supposed to be. It’s past one a.m. but they still give the place a wander, stopping at the largest bedroom facing the lake. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows Ashton sees trees, darkness, the black glitter of water under starlight. Calum asks, “You want this one?”

Ashton looks further and just sees more darkness. “It’s kind of unnerving at night,” he says. “Anyone could be out there.” The other bedroom has smaller windows, but the point stands. “Do you wanna just watch TV or something in here and then decide?”

“If we get axe murdered here I hope our ghosts come back and leave a one star review,” Calum says, but he’s already shrugging his duffel off his shoulders and kicking off his shoes.

The host left them a bottle of pinot grigio so Ashton pours up a few glasses while Calum strips down to his boxers and gets in bed. The boxers have cartoon pugs all over them. “I can’t believe that’s the lingerie you’re wearing for our honeymoon,” Ashton says, handing him a glass. “I also can’t believe those boxers even exist.”

Calum raises it to him in a salute and takes a sip. “These boxers are fantastic, but I guess if you want me to take them off…” he trails off, eyebrow raised, thumb hooked in the waistband pushing them down past his hipbone, then further until Ashton can see the crease of his thigh.

“No, no,” Ashton says hurriedly, “I’m just saying, what’s wrong with a nice pair of footie pajamas? Keeps you warm. Keeps you modest.” Nevertheless he shucks his own clothes except for his own (very grown-up, perfectly normal, in a flattering shade of dark green) boxers and joins Calum in bed. Calum’s already stopped paying attention to him, too busy trying to figure out how to work the remote. He finally gets the screen to flash on, and Ashton stays quiet, sipping his wine while Calum flips channels, finally landing on something in black and white. Cary Grant comes on screen but Ashton still isn’t sure what movie it is; Calum seems interested enough, setting the remote down between them, so he doesn’t complain. The wine goes down easy and Ashton does too after not too long.

He rolls onto his side and sees that Calum’s eyes are already closed. It doesn’t look like he’s asleep yet; it always takes him a bit, leaving him in a dozy stage for about ten minutes during which he might respond crankily to any communication or with adorable mumbling affection. Ashton turns the sound down and says, as quietly as he can, “TV off?” Calum’s eyes don’t open, but he nods a little. “Okay. You want me to go sleep in the other room?”

Calum moves then, a sleepy shift of his body, fumbling a hand up and blindly patting the sheet until he makes contact with Ashton’s hand on the remote and squeezes it, links their fingers together like he can’t quite figure out how to make it work. It feels nice. “’S’okay,” he murmurs. “Stay here.”

Ashton didn’t feel like getting up anyway.

#asks #anonymous #cashton #my fic #5sos #extremely hurtful btw to look at my 5sos unfinished fic folder #1k of lashton living together #2k of cashton h/c #2k of ot4 #4k of mashton that was going to become ot4 #6k of calum/ashton/luke which is the one i'm probably most mad about it bc there's so much good stuff in there #rip my sweet children you were fun while you lasted #OH MY GOD and the almost 5k of michael/luke in an au where 5sos were a queercore band #i am sorry stories!! i wanted better for all of you!!!!!

19 notes · View notes

inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

Note

You've probably seen me and my asks/reposts/reblogs a few times and if not I mean- Anyways! I'm craving some BAMF! John content bc who wouldn't want that in their life? Also- I really love all that you do for the fandom and your followers. (I was an old Nonny who spoke about being asexual. I was wrong and I mean it happens-) But yeah you are super duper amazing and I hope one day I can do the same for others

Hey Lovely! <3

Aww, it’s okay to change your labels when figure out who you are (I certainly have)! I have a lot of asks from ace nonnies, so I’m not sure which one is yours, hahah. That said, don’t feel bad for identifying as one thing until recently... it’s normal. <3

Ah, yes, we all love a badass mother-fuckin’ John!! I’ve only done one list related to it, so I’ll link to it below :) As always, I encourage everyone to add their own fics to the list below!

Thank you for your kind words, and I hope you enjoy what I’ve got for you! <3

BAMF and/or SOLDIER JOHN

See also: BAMF! But Insecure John

Idiot by Anesthesiologist (T, 1,229 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, TGG AU, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Inner Monologue, John Saves Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – What the heck happened? He remembered the pool and Moriarty, but then what? Had he been dying?

Shooter by Amputation (K+, 1,406 w. || Post-TRF, Suspense, BAMF!John) – The men were trying to rile the other into acting first, it seemed. How boringly predictable and dull this was!

The 3x John Carried Sherlock, and Once ViceVersa by ShinkonoKokoro (K+, 1,673 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friendship, Three and One, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Worried Sherlock, John Gets Shot) – It happens more than he suspects.

In Which John is a BAMFy MoFo, OMG! by Kantayra (T, 1,835 w., 1 Ch. || Humour) – John's BAMFness and Sherlock's damsel-in-distress act are caught forever on camera. So Scotland Yard can mock. A lot.

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest.

Butterfly, Pinned Under Glass by billiethepoet (E, 4,648 w., 1 Ch. || Possessive Sherlock, Jealousy, Barebacking, BAMF!John) – It started as a desire to keep John safe and whole, and ended up as just desire.

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) – When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

The Death of Doubt by Gingerhermit (E, 6,584 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Canon, BAMF John, POV Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Drama, Meddling Mycroft) – Mycroft asks for John’s help in rescuing Sherlock from his Serbian captors.

High and Tight, Soft and Loose by cwb (E, 7,429 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, Miscommunications / Misunderstandings, First Kiss / Time, BAMF John, Insecure Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock, POV John, Embarrassed John, Adorable Sherlock, Junk Size, UST / RST) – John pressed the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth and sighed. “So, you're coiled like a spring and ready to be ... sprung?” “If you want to be pedestrian about it, yes.” “Like I said, you should do something about that.” “And like I said, pedestrian. What would you have me do? Take up jogging? Yoga? Oh! Unless you mean –” “I don't mean anything. Let’s drop it.”

I'm Pretty Sure This Changes Shit by cwb (E, 7,672 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Cudding, Doctor/Patient, Accidents, Pining Sherlock, Blow Jobs, Oral / Anal, BAMF John, Minor Injuries, Dev. Rel.) – Sherlock finds increasingly ridiculous ways to get John to patch him up after hurting himself.

Every Night I Look for You by destinationtoast (E, 8,377 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Post-TRF, Angst, Mystery, Unsafe Sex, BAMF John) – Every night, John looks for familiar hints of Sherlock in the men he meets in bars, and he does with them all the things he wishes he’d done before. Eventually, he stumbles into a situation that Sherlock would know how to handle, and John must decide whether he can handle it without him.

Made for You by Raxicoricofallapatorious (K, 8,440 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Sci-Fi, Androids) – When John was shot in the shoulder he was decommissioned and his memory and personality was wiped. Sherlock was given the blank droid and he quickly learns that this droid is more than it seems. John just so happened to come back and no one can fathom how or why. Johnlock if you squint.

Matters of National Security by mistyzeo (E, 8,465 w., 1 Ch. || BAMF John, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Dating, Bisexuality, Arguing, Stupidity, Teasing, First Kiss/Time, Hand Jobs, Frottage, RST, Idiots in Love) – John starts dating a male client of Sherlock's, and Sherlock can't figure out why he's so incensed about it.

Stay Awake by pandoras_chaos (E, 9,325 w., 1 Ch. || BAMF!John, First Time, Angst, Pining Sherlock, Rimming, Oral/Anal) – Sherlock can feel the tenuous threads of this conversation shuddering under the strain of all the unspoken words. His eyes narrow as he gazes up at John, noting the residual tension in his shoulders, the dark circles under his lower lids, and the way he is avoiding Sherlock’s eyes like a bi-polarized magnet. He knows John Watson inside and out, like the perfectly balanced coils and gears of a beautifully balanced grandfather clock, and yet John keeps surprising him. It’s uncanny, the way he keeps on being so utterly and wonderfully unpredictable.

John Watson’s Moon by patternofdefiance (E, 11,314 w., 1 Ch. || Werewolf John, First Time, BAMF John, First Time, Anal, Fleeting Depictions of Violence) – Sherlock finds out John is a werewolf and wants to see the transformation. It, uh, gets really kinky.

The Red Dianthus by kinklock (T, 11,382 w., 3 Ch. || Supernatural Elements, BAMF!John, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Romance, Halloween, Dev. Rel., Case Fic) – The boys investigate a mysterious disappearance in a supposedly haunted house, and get much more than they bargained for.

The Hand You're Dealt by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 12,092 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Light Violence, BAMF John, Doctor John, Injury, Friendship) – Sherlock, John and several others are trapped in a building when an explosion disrupts the crime scene they are working.

Fear Itself by KCS (K+, 12,289 w., 3 Ch. || Suspense, Friendship) – John is accustomed to being kidnapped by now, but he never expected a criminal to adopt Mycroft's method of doing so, to ensure he comes along without a fight.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The Acronym by DancingGrimm (T, 15,057 w. || Humour) – "'Bee Ay Em Eff'. Hm, that's a new one on me. Do you know what it means, Sherlock?" John might not know what it means, but there are many little ways in which he proves the acronym suits him.

I Will Take Care Of You by SailorChibi (T, 16,664 w., 15 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Sick Sherlock, BAMF John, BAMF Lestrade, Reunion Fic) – Two years after Sherlock's death, John comes to find him on the sofa. Wounded and ill, Sherlock is convinced he's hallucinating and refuses to share any details about Moran or the fact that Mycroft has been compromised. That doesn't stop John from stepping up and taking care of the last of Moriarty's web, BAMF-style.

Hope for Heroes by Richefic (K+, 16,887 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TGG Fic, Introspection / Flashbacks, Friendship/Epic Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Sherlock Admires John, BAMF John, John Deduces, Fancy Party, John’s Self Esteem, Domestics) – In the final moments of "The Great Game" Holmes hopes he will have the chance to tell his flatmate that he was wrong. Heroes do exist after all and the one in front of him is called Dr John Watson.

Traitor's Gate by roane (E, 17,714 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mystery, Bets and Wagers, Undercover for a Case, BAMF John, Scientist Sherlock, Teasing, Established Relationship, Military Base, Sexting/Texting, Military/Uniform Kink, Frottage, Dirty Sex, Anal, Bottomlock) – John and Sherlock go undercover at a top secret government lab to find out who is selling research. John is back in uniform and Sherlock is back in a laboratory, but they have to pose as strangers. Sherlock thinks he'll have an easy time of it, but John has his doubts. It's up to them to find out who is responsible for putting a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, and try to keep their hands off each other at the same time.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarrassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

Knotted by naughtyspirit (E, 23,166 w., 4 Ch. || UST/URT, Cuddling, Sharing Body Heat, Confessions, Kissing, Mastrubation, Frustration, BAMF!John) – John has to cancel a date because of Sherlock's case, which leads them to be tied up in a basement from which they have to escape. They get wet, get tied up close and John has to step up and save them. Because he's pretty. And hot. And just a little bit of a BAMF.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they've made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

Invisible by chappysmom (K+, 25,947 w., 11 Ch. || No Slash, semi-canon compliant) – John had had the knack for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t that he could become invisible, exactly. The laws of physics worked quite well in his vicinity, thank you very much. It was just that people tended … not to see him. {{This was one of the first AU’s I read, and I still love it to this day}}. SEQUELS: Still Invisible (ASiB) || Too Visible (THoB) || Invisible Once More (TRF)

And A Doctor by StillWaters1 (T, 27,393 w., 6 Ch. || Friendship, Doctor John, Whump, Soldier / Doctor Dichotomy, Five and One) – It was only when people actually saw John working as a physician that they began to understand: that it wasn't just about bullets and IEDs and trauma care under fire. That "doctor" actually covered a pretty wide field. And that John was bloody good at covering ground. 5 times Dr. Watson treated others and 1 time he treated himself.

26 Pieces by Lanning (E, 28,236 w., 1 Ch. || H/C, Torture, First Time, Happy Ending, Schmoop, Past Abuse) – Mycroft gives Sherlock the apparently simple task of solving a puzzle box containing a stolen microchip. It isn't simple.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 29,186 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship, Drama, BAMF!John, Emotional Turmoil, Introspection, Harry is in this Fic, Angry John, Happy Ending, Queerplatonic Relationship) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. A revision of the story Mending Icarus.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,689 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w., 20 Ch. || Alternating POV, Molly/ John [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon...or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn't know what Molly's up to...but he knows he doesn't like it.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w., 4 Ch. || H/C, Injury, Slow Burn) – When John's left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she's about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Left by lifeonmars (M, 45,153 w., 9 Ch. || Magical Realism, BAMF!John, Slow Burn) – John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

Impossible to Feign by achray (M, 49,204 w., 12 Ch. || TRF Rewrite / Reverse Reichenbach, Suicidal Ideations / Discussions, Drug Use/Abuse, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, John Accepts his Sexuality, Anxious Sherlock, Meddling Mycroft, Depression, Hallucinations, Secret Agent John, BAMF John, Reunion, Make-Up Sex, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock leant forward, his long fingers curving round to grip John’s.“I won’t let him win,” he said, eyes hard. “I will do whatever it takes to get you out.”

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w., 26 Ch. || Dollhouse AU || Case Fic, Slow Burn, Sci-Fi / Fantasy, First Kiss / Time, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF John, Falling in Love) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post S3, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV, Light Humour, Reconnecting, Declarations of Love) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w., 10 Ch. || Post S3 / Post TAB, Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST/URT, 3G, Mild Peril, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case, Protective Mycroft, Infant Death Pre-Story, Friends to Lovers) – Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of SpaceBois go to Space

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock, BAMF John) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Perdition's Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w., 21 Ch. || Treklock AU, Est. Rel, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU || Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

Watches 'Verse by bendingsignpost (E, 66,905 w. across 2 works || Magical Realism, Reality Distortion, Angst, Partial MCD, BAMF John) – First, he is shot in Afghanistan. Second, he wakes to a phone call in Chelmsford, Essex. Third is pain, fourth is normalcy, fifth is agony and sixth is confusion. By the eighth, he's lost track. (John-centric AU) Part 1 of Watches 'Verse

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w., 15 Ch. || Casefic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

Darkling, I Listen by You_Light_The_Sky (T, 73,254 w., 8 Ch. || Fairy Tale AU || Loosely Based on Beauty and the Beast, Magical Realism, Suicidal Themes, Romance, Creepiness, Adventure) – No one who enters old London ever comes out. They say that the beast devours them. When his sister disappears, John ventures into the dead zone beyond the wall, and finds a brilliant madman under a terrible curse... Part 1 of Darkling I Listen + Extras, Deleted Scenes

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w., 18 Ch. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) – A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Secrets and Revelations by Hisstah (E, 83,535 w., 9 Ch. || Sentinel / Guides Omegaverse AU || Adventure, Violence, Anal / Oral, Omega!John / Alpha!Sherlock, Case Fic, Politics, Mild DubCon) – Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he's kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes. Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock? Part 1 of Secrets and Revelations

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater / Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 97,884 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

Maintenance and Repair by patternofdefiance (E, 106,650 w., 71 Ch. || Future AU, Augmentation || Augmented John, Depression, Body Modification, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Sci-Fi, Self-Care, Body Dysmorphia) – John wants to explain the rush of sensation and data, which is just another form of sensation (or is it the other way around?). John wants to say: Augmentation circuits report temperature, pressure, various forms of quantitative input. Sudden changes are reported as pain, since sudden changes are dangerous, and pain is the quickest way to encourage reflexive extraction. But all John can manage is, “Nng.” Because this sudden touch is not reporting as pain. Part 2 of STATIC

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w., 23 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon, Hand / Blow Jobs, Torture) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller, Switchlock, Rimming, Emotional Lovemaking, Lots of Sex, HJ/BJ’s) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

Breakable by MissDavis (E, 117,627 w., 34 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE, WiP || Established Relationship, Major Character Injury, Fluff/Angst, Depression, Paralysis/Disabilities, Hurt/Comfort, POV Sherlock, Mental Health Issues, Drug Use, Happy-ish Ending) – After John is seriously injured, Sherlock struggles to figure out how to help him, keep himself sane, and maybe, just maybe, get their life back to the way it's supposed to be. Part 1 of Breakable Not Broken

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w., 21 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #bamf john #weakestdreams #soldier john

279 notes · View notes

dongiovannaswife · 3 years

Text

Επανένωση | The Giovanna’s

Επανένωση. Noun; reunion: greek, “epanénosi.”

Okay!! Family fic with a new member joining!! An old friend comes back too :D

CW: not really a cw but the gangster Haruno saved comes back and they talk about the past, talk about the stand virus and its pathophysiology (nothing explicit bc it’s just theories and stuff), anxiety, mafia dynamics (gun and death mention but nothing explicit, as I said, it’s just a couple of mentions) and kitten rescue at the end + fluffy stuff :D enjoyyy.

Word count: 5K

Tagging: @shiningdoradiamond @nevershoutnani @softlimefluff (i know you didn’t ask but you and Han are mentioned here uwu)

A small hand —warm, soft and familiar, — rests gently on his back as she tries to get closer, humming still in her sleep. Giorno’s eyelids flutter open, awakened with his sleeping wife's action. At first, he’s lost in the bedroom wall, relaxed as the warmth around him soothes his mind before he can start to think about the day ahead.

Blinking a few times, he tries to fight off the will to go back to sleep, looking down at the woman in his arms.

She’s clinging to him, no doubt about it; but he doesn’t mind as he takes into her features. Long and curly eyelashes barely touch her cheeks, where a few freckles rest and wink at him as he keeps looking down —rosy cheeks and pink lips in a soft line, tempting and adorable. Pale skin glowing in the soft light of the bedroom.

A sigh tears through her chest as she shifts, humming as she settles back.

Giorno’s lips twist upwards, a soft smile that brings warmth through his body. Reaching a hand out, his fingers card through her hair as he leans in, kissing her forehead. Her response is only a hum —so he keeps on kissing her cheeks, right where her freckles rest; Helena hums and shifts and her hickory brown eyes finally look at him through her eyelashes.

“Good morning.” he whispers, smiling as he slips a few fingers to her jaw; delivering a peck to her lips and pulling back when she smiles against his lips.

“Good morning,” she says back in a whisper, draping her arms around his shoulders. Her eyes leave his face for a moment as she turns to look at the baby monitor by the bedside —the twins are still asleep. Even then, Wire’s scent (lemon tea) can be perceived in the room as the stand leaves her user, floating in the boy’s bedroom direction.

Giorno arches an eyebrow, looking back at his wife —silently questioning.

“We still have some time before we have to wake them up, don’t we? Besides, isn’t this your last day off before you go back to work?”

Giorno hums, but his question still remains.

Helena grins, “I just want to spend some time with you, just us… Relaxing.”

He hums, eyes scanning hers for a moment before he presses his lips together. He opens his mouth slowly, picking his words with ease. “You are worried about something, don’t you? Do you… Do you want to talk about it?”

By the time he searches her eyes she’s already hiding on his neck, silent.

Lena sighs, blinking back tears. “I… We both know we’re born stand users, right? And the whole stand user thing can be inherited. I’m worried about the boys and their stands: you know it’s possible they get a fever during the awakening process, right? And… They’re growing up too fast for a baby whose parents aren't stand users.”

Giorno nods, sitting up and reaching a hand out until she straddles his lap. Like that, he only leans back against the headboard, resting his hands atop of the highwaisted shorts she’s wearing below his shirt.

“Hey,” he whispers, twisting his head to kiss her cheek. “There’s a high change that will happen, yes, but that’s why we have Enzo with us. Did he say something about it during the last appointment?”

She shakes her head, adding in a small, fragile voice. “He’s sure they can perceive stands: maybe not see them, but feel their presence. He said he will look it up with the Foundation, but I… I don’t want them to go through that, what if we can't stop it? We don’t even know how the virus works —the arrow is still an enigma. And I don’t want to—”

“Lena.” he interrupts gently, tightening his hold around her. “That won’t happen. Yes, the arrow is infected and that same virus is carried by us, but there’s a reason stand users exist; there are kids who have survived the fever. You did. And the boys will do it, too. It’s okay to be worried, but don’t suffer for things that haven't happened or that might never happen.”

There’s a moment of silence, one that both share.

“You’re always right.” she mutters out of nowhere, tone calmer. There’s even a hint of humor on it.

And Giorno only smirks, “Let’s pretend that’s true,” then, as fast as the smirk took over, he presses his lips in a tight line, adding. “All the things I said don’t mean I’m not worried about them: I’m as worried as you are, but I can’t let it consume me.”

She hums, rubbing circles on his back, “Yeah, I know —I’m sorry. I know this is about our family.”

“It’s okay. I know it wasn’t your intention. Besides, I’m glad you said it.”

She hums once more, settling down.

“... Gio?”

“Hm?”

“Kissy?”

Giorno chuckles, waiting until she pulls back to slip a few fingers to her jaw, bringing her face closer —watching as she closes her eyes and following the trail of tears that streamed down her face seconds ago; he kisses her cheeks then, aiming at her tears so the trail’s cut off. Then, he hums as he presses another couple of kisses to her eyelids; one to her forehead and finally, when she’s smiling and sighing dreamily, his lips find hers in a short, sweet kiss.

He pulls away capturing her upper lip between his teeth, a soft bite that has her chuckling as he leans back —his little smirk makes her blush and wink playfully.

Giorno’s phone buzzes as the screen lights up, showing Westwood’s contact. Reaching out, Lena passes the phone to Giorno, who mutters a little thank you before he picks up.

“Pronto.”

“...” Giorno frowns with Westwood’s answer, but waits until he’s done talking.

“What did he say? You know we won’t be back at the office until tomorrow.”

“...” He leans back, closing his eyes when the headboard comes in contact with his head, mouthing something under his breath —almost like he’s trying to remember something.

“Is he still there?”

“...”

Giorno nods, shooting a quick glance to his wife as she nods and stands from the bed, walking up to the bathroom to take a shower.

There’s ruffling on the other side and, after a few moments, Westwood speaks.

Watching her disappear into the bathroom, Giorno hums once Westwood goes silent.

“Ask him this; what was the house special?”

“One extra gelato ball, chocolate flavored.”

Giorno’s throat closes for a moment, but he toughs it out. “I’ll be there in forty.”

The call ends and he looks up just in time to see the door open —his wife walks out in only his shirt, walking next into the closet, unaware of his stare.

Standing from the bed and making his way to the bathroom to take his shower next, Giorno’s mind races with thoughts as he strips and gets under the shower. It had been years since the last time he saw him.

It was clear that he had left that life behind, running away from whatever gang he was working with or, perhaps, getting injured. His reasons weren’t clear, as he was only nine when the man disappeared, but his protection remained intact through the years. Even to that moment, the old man from the gelato store still recognized him, and even if the gelato store had closed a long time ago, he would stop by to greet him.

There was no doubt that Matteo Della Morte was, and continued to be, an influence to Naples’ streets.

Reuniting with him after so many years and changes was going to be a hard step.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he keeps his towel around his waist as he steps into the closet, distracted for a moment with the picture of his wife wearing an off shoulder pink dress that clings to her frame in the right spots: it takes him a moment to look away and reach for his boxers into the drawers.

“Did something happen, Giogio?”

“... He contacted Westwood.”

Lena frowns as she’s done with her makeup, turning. “Who?”

Giorno gulps down, picking a black suit accentuated with crimson details. “Do you remember Matteo?”

“The gangster who protected you? Yeah, did he call?”

Giorno nods, looking up at his wife. “He wants to meet with me. It seems like he just came back.”

Lena nods, humming under her breath. Turning to the mirror to fix a strand of hair behind her ear, she turns in time to see her husband almost dressed if it wasn't for the open buttons of his shirt as he looks around for a matching tie. “You haven’t seen him in years, right? And he met you when you were… In a tough situation.”

“I’m not ashamed of my past. The thing is,” he drops his hand to his side as Lena steps in, buttoning his shirt. “All his actions —every interaction was from afar. The last thing he wanted was for me to follow his steps.”

“He might have wanted that, but unless you want to leave all this for real, then there’s no reason for you to feel bad about it; besides, you’re not a mob boss only. You did pursue a career.”

“... You’re always right.”

Lena chuckles, shaking her head. “Let’s pretend that’s true. Do you want me to go with you?”

He seems to think about it for a moment. “Even if I would want you to meet him, I still need to make sure it’s not an ambush.”

She nods, stepping aside to pick the suit jacket as he makes a windsor knot. Smothering the fabric of the black shirt, Giorno takes the suit jacket from her, leaning down to wrap an arm around her waist, “By the way, something tells me you choose this dress just for the fun of being a tease.”

Lena chuckles, nodding shamelessly as a perfectly manicured nail traces over the arm wrapped around her waist, “Should I apologize for being this cute, Giogio?”

The small fraction of yellow in his green eyes seems to stand out as he smirks, chuckling lowly as he leans down to steal a short kiss. “You have no excuse for being this beautiful, though.”

Lena chuckles, wiping her lipstick off his lips; as she makes sure there’s no trace of red left, the light in her eyes goes dim, “Gio, call me if something happens, okay? You don’t have to go through this reunion alone.”

Giorno’s lips are pursed in a line by the time she pulls her hand back, “I will.” he then leans down to cling to her for a moment before he's pulling back.

Taking her hand, he leads her out of their bedroom, walking up to the boys’ room.

“It’s still early to wake them up, babe.” she mutters as Giorno holds the door open for her.

“Yeah, I know.” he mutters back, closing the door behind his back and joining her side. Looking down, Giorno’s heart swells as he takes the boys’ in: from the moment they were born, it was hard to separate them, even if both had their own cribs, the boys seemed to insist on sleeping together.

Hence, the scene before him: The Giovanna twins embracing each other, still deep asleep and comforted by each other’s presence.

“I want a pic to show Ari,” Lena mutters, grinning. Giorno’s smile grows as he turns on the baby nursery lamp before the crib. The light’s not strong enough to wake them up, but on point for the pic to be taken and texted to the other couple. Putting her device aside, Lena reaches out to turn off the lights. “I’ll wake them up later, let’s get breakfast, yes?”

Giorno hums, tracing the twins’ hands with his finger as his wife disappears into the corridor —shortly after he follows her.

Coming into the kitchen, the Don’s looks down at his hand as he puts on his wedding ring and straightens Passione’s signet ring when the tea pot comes to life as Lena gets closer to it.

“Gio,” she calls sweetly, “Will you have breakfast here or…?”

Giorno nods, “I’m reuniting with him at Libeccio. Don’t worry, I’ll get something there.”

“Okay,” she answers, turning to him in a swift motion. “I’ll wait for you.”

The Don’s eyes soften as he hums, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll come home soon. Call me if you need me.”

“I will. And Gio?”

“Hm?”

“I love you, stay safe.”

The black Ford explorer leaves the mansion behind in a swift fast motion —in the wheel, Giorno’s gaze flicks to the back for a moment, making sure the automatized doors close behind the vehicle, securing his family there as the two guards go back to their positions under Fugo’s watch.

The drive to the restaurant was short, around twenty minutes as he exited the secured prestigious area and got into Naples’ touristic center, where Libeccio was.

Arriving there, Giorno soon can see Westwood standing outside the restaurant, already waiting for him. Pulling up before him, the Don climbs off with the engine still on, letting West hop in so he could drive later.

“He’s in the private area, one person is with him; a man, around thirty-eight, not so tall —he’s wearing black pants and a grey turtleneck sweater. I’m sure he knows about the business.” Westwood mutters the info as Giorno leans into the closed door, glancing into the place.

“Anything else?”

Nodding his head, Westwood adds. “He’s looking at you; at the door… Good luck.”

Giorno hums in response, straightening his position and walking up to the man Westwood had described. The man’s eyes hold a glint of recognition, and Giorno could tell he had seen him before, but the pieces to the puzzle hadn’t fit yet, too preoccupied with Matteo’s arrival.

“Don Giovanna.” the man greets him first, bowing and extending a hand out. “He’s waiting inside; I will lead you to him.”

“Thank you.”

The man stares for a moment before turning around, walking straight into the private area to the restaurant.

“Morte, he’s here.” announces the man as they get into the room, stepping aside the table at a comfortable distance: not enough to hear the conversation in its entirety, but to watch over the older man.

Matteo Della Morte had been a victim to the pass of time: the brown waves of hair were now a dark shade of gray cascading down his shoulders and although his face showed the signs of an old man, his eyes still carried the mysticism from years ago; a gentle glint shining through, too. Hidden but noticeable for Giorno.

Standing from his chair, Matteo met Giorno halfway with a firm handshake.

“Don Giovanna, thank you for coming.” the man smiles and Giorno can see a fraction of pride through the gesture, “I see you’ve achieved just what I saw.”

Giorno frowns, “Excuse me?”

Matteo shakes his head, chuckling under his breath, “I’ll explain —let’s sit down and have something first, shall we?”

With a wary look, Giorno takes a seat before the man, who gestures at the man accompanying him to call the waitress.

As the waitress arrives, Mista does too, muttering an apology and sitting before Matteo’s guard.

“I’ll get a cornetto and an espresso.” Mateo nods in Giorno’s direction and he, in a relaxed expression replies, “I’ll have the same, please.”

By the time the waitress leaves, the tension has grown again.

“I’m sure you have heard rumors, or might have one of them, too.” Starts the old man, supporting his elbows in the table and crossing his hands one over the other. “I am in possession of quite a supernatural power. It allows me to see images of someone’s future, usually it happens when that person has a strong effect upon me.”

Giorno’s expression is still serious when he replies, “You mean a stand?”

Mateo tilts his head to the side, “Is it called that? Are we on the same page?”

“We might be,” Giorno nods, letting Gold Experience Requiem cast its aura over him —allowing the shape of the stand to manifest and cast a golden aura upon him.

“Oh.” eyes were the size of dinner plates, Mateo stares as he comes to a realization. “Then that’s it.”

Gold Experience Requiem disappears with no trace as Mateo keeps talking. “Alright, now that we know that: when you saved me back then and I started to investigate so I could figure out a way to pay for your actions, I had one of those episodes: I saw an older version of you; exactly this one, and I knew you would be someone important.” the man then smiles sadly, “But I had been on the business all my life and I knew the horrors of it. Stupid of me, but I tried to change the future. As you can see,” he gestures at Passione’s signet ring in Giorno’s finger, “It didn’t work.”

Giorno nods, thoughtful. “Did you see something else?”

Mateo shakes his head, “I did not. I can only see one image per person. I’ve heard rumors, though: one of them being your actions against Alessandro for the sake of a kid. Others say you’ve got a family now. I’ve heard about the Donna. But I’m not a celebrity gossip show: I rather hear about it from you, if you feel like talking about it.”

There’s a moment of silence as Giorno makes his mind. Shoulders tense and jaw tightly pressed, his eyes scan over Mateo’s face with calculated and cold movements.

The waitress’ arrival seems to dissipate the atmosphere for a moment. As they set the plates before the men, Mista throws a glance at Giorno: the gunslinger knows him well, and even then, he is not sure of the Don’s next move.

As the waitress leaves and Mateo’s guard shifts on his chair, Giorno finally speaks up.

“How can I know this is not some kind of manipulation, ambush or strategy to bring me down? Just like you must know, I have enemies and they don’t want to drink coffee with me. If your intentions are not these, then you’re still on time to say so. I’ve got things to do.”

Matteo’s bodyguard pushes his chair on the floor violently as he stands, hitting the table with enough strength to bring it down —a red haze surrounds his fits as he does: a stand. “How dare you! He sa—”

Matteo raises a hand in a gesture for him to stop, the wrinkles in his eyes seem to stand out when he frowns. “Angelo, stop it.”

Angelo’s frown does not go unnoticed, in fact, nothing in his posture changes as he stays in place, fists tightly pressed —Mista’s hand rests on his gun as his eyes never leave Angelo, ready to act if needed.

“I get your worry,” Matteo looks back at Giorno as he starts talking; his voice too calm for the situation. “Why would you ask about the house special, confirming my identity in the process? Now, tell me, why would I ask you to come over and don’t set any rules? While public attacks are common, it is highly possible I wouldn’t step out unharmed or even alive. So no, my intentions are not to hurt you for two reasons: first,” he raises a finger to point it out. “I’ve left that life behind: I saw my own end, and preferred to keep on living.” he raises another finger, “Two; honor. I’m positive you know and hold a highly moral code, and honor is the first value we consider. At least we did in the old school: I owe you one, and probably always will. You might think I don't and refuse anything else I do, but I will keep on doing it. Now, do you really think I would harm you after protecting you?”

Giorno’s expression is blank as he listens, mouth in a tight line as he locks eyes with Matteo for a few seconds.

“Sorry,” he starts, and his voice shows he means it. “I’ve got to make sure I’m not in danger. And even if I walk out safe, as you already heard, I got a family to protect.”

Matteo nods, accepting his apology. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lip, “Just how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Oh.” Matteo smiles wide, taking a bite of his cornetto like nothing happened. “So,” he covers his mouth with the back of his left hand and points at the wedding ring —that covers a fraction of the sunflower tattoo, too— with the index of his free hand. “Are you married?”

“I am,” Giorno nods, letting a sigh out. Relieved, he seems to settle down in calm. Taking a sip from his coffee, he collects his thoughts before speaking, trying to measure everything that just happened. “I met her thanks to Mista,” he looks over at Mista, who nods back. “He took me to a forceful week of vacation in Mexico. They had been friends for a while —after getting to know her I just couldn’t hide it.”

Matteo hums, setting his cup down. “Was it hard to accept it?”

“What?” Giorno asks, and a smirk crosses his face, almost like he’s reading Matteo’s mind. “My feelings? Sure thing. In the end I did and now we’ve been together for eight years. I guess we’ve made it work.”

Matteo nods, smiling behind his cup. “You have, and you will have to keep on doing so.”

For a moment, the rest is silence.

“I don’t know if you are aware of it,” Giorno suddenly speaks after taking a first bite to his cornetto and gulping it down; as he does, he sets down his napkin. “But you taught me something I rely on to this day —trust. And that, I believe, is something I will always owe you for.”

Matteo chuckles, “I can assure you, that debt was solved when you made the grass grow.”

Giorno nods, thoughtful as he takes another sip.

“Don Giovanna?” Matteo calls, finishing his cornetto.

“You don’t have to call me that, Giorno is okay.”

“Giorno. Alright. Will I meet her anytime soon? Your wife, I mean.”

Giorno nods; a small smile brightens his face as he does. “Yes, and our sons too.”

Matteo laughs, throwing his head back, “You keep surprising me, ragazzo! You’re a father too!”

Giorno raises a finger, smiling wider. “To twins.”

Matteo’s mouth hangs open for a second —and Giorno chuckles, finishing his cornetto too.

Seeing Matteo still at loss of words, Giorno lifts his chin in Mista’s direction so he can get the waitress, “I’m positive my wife wants to meet you too, but I still have to talk it out with her —would you mind if I call you later?”

Blinking a few times, Matteo nods, taking a pen and a small notebook from his pocket: he sets it down so he can write his number down. While he does, the waitress arrives and Giorno asks for the bill.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, Giovanna.” Angelo steps in. “We already took care of it.”

Giorno nods, and a flash of recognition makes his eyes widen for a second. “Thank you —Do you happen to be Matteo’s partner during those days?”

Angelo hums and Matteo gives Giorno the fraction of paper where he wrote his number down.

“Angelo is my nephew, Giorno. His father, my brother, met a tragic end. I’ve been taking care of him from then on.”

The Don nods, glancing at Angelo with a curt nod and then folding the piece of paper and saving it into his pocket. As he stands, he extends a hand out. “I’m glad I could see you again, Matteo. I’ll call you this evening so we can talk about it.”

Accepting the handshake, Matteo smiles warmly. Like a father. “Of course, Giorno: I’m glad you turned into a gentleman. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

Stepping out of the restaurant with Mista following him, Giorno stops on his tracks as soon as the cry of a kitten reaches him.

“Giogio?” Mista asks, hand back on his gun and eyes already looking around.

“It’s nothing, Mista. Did you hear it, the kitten?”

Mista frowns, nodding. “Yes,” he then grins as realization hits him. “Will you take it home?”

Giorno hums as he makes his way into the alley. The sun doesn't reach there, hence the alternaria growing in the walls and crawling all around. A few trash cans lay on the floor, knocked by some stray dog —and in the middle of all the trash, a small paperboard box.

The kitten cries again, and Giorno quickly finds the cardboard box to be the source of its sound. Walking up to it, he makes sure his presence is known by purposefully making a small sound with his shoe, enough to let it know he’s there, but not to make it run away.

Reaching the box, he opens it to reveal a kitten he recognizes as a maine coon, too small to feed themselves: he’s not sure if it’s naturally grey or it’s just dirt, but he doesn’t think much of it.

“Hey, buddy.” he mutters, kneeling slowly and letting the little one sniff his hand. “Someone left you here, didn’t they? I know of someone who will love you.” he takes off his suit jacket, completely ignoring the fact that it will probably be ruined —picking the kitten up with a single hand, he wraps the suit jacket around the kitten, and finally, with the kitten wrapped in a comfortable burrito, he cradles it like it’s nothing, stepping out of the alley and walking back to the truck.

Mista holds open the door as he hops in, climbing after him.

“West, drive us to the nearest vet.”

Westwood grins, making eye contact through the mirror as the engine comes to life. “Would you mind if I play some music, boss?”

Giorno shrugs, looking down at the kitten as it stares up at him with big, scared eyes. He then looks back at Westwood. “It’s okay as long as you keep it at a comfortable volume.”

Westwood nods and the speakers come to life as the Kean Dysso remix for Plain Jane starts playing; Mista whistles, grinning as the streets of Naples pass by.

Retrieving his phone from his pocket, Giorno has to maneuver a bit while holding the kitten and crunching down so his head doesn’t hit the ceiling of the vehicle —finally getting a hold of his phone and going back to his position, he swipes up the lockscreen (a picture of his wife smiling for the camera while holding both twins) the main menu pops in and he chooses the messaging app. As soon as the contacts are displayed he taps on his wife’s one, typing slowly, as he’s still holding the now sleeping kitten.

**Hey, angel. Everything is okay. I have a surprise for you.

The message sent notification pops in and Giorno looks through the window as he waits for the reply, looking back as soon as he sees the read notification and smiling once the typing sign shows up below her contact.

Soon, the reply pops in and he reads over it with quick eyes.

i’m glad! we’ll be waiting for you ♥♥♥

He sends a few emojis after that, smirking out of mischief as the vehicle stops before the vet clinic and Mista climbs off so he can hold the door for him.

It’s around two in the evening when the Ford explorer gets into the mansion’s front door and slowly stops before the main door, where Vittorio awaits already.

“Welcome back, Giogio. Lena’s worried, I hope you have a good excuse.”

Taking the cat kennel from the seat and seizing it while taking a bag out, Giorno shoots a smirk at Vittorio as the leader of La Squadra sees the reason for his late arrival.

“Where is she?” he asks then, walking up the stairs to the front door.

“In the lobby,” Vittorio says, “She’s playing with Jovi and Dante just fell asleep.”

“Good,” he says, walking past Vittorio and straight into the lobby.

As soon as Lena recognizes his steps, she and the little boy in her arms turn to him with big, bright gins.

“Baby, you’re here!” she opens her mouth to ask something, but the kitten’s sudden meow brings both Lena’s and Jovi’s attention.

“Love?” she asks, eyeing the kennel with illusion. “Is that…?”

“Why don’t you find out?” he replies, setting down the kennel and walking up to the coffee table where he sets the bag down. Then, he walks up to her, taking Jovi.

Lena nods, giving Giorno an excited smile.

Kneeling before the kennel, she opens it slowly, letting the kitten walk out warily as it sniffs at the house.

As soon as she could take a look at it, she gasps, grinning and melting in an instant. “Did you find it?”

Giorno nods, sitting by her side with Jovi on his thigh, “In an alley. The vet says he’s healthy, just needs a family and care. He’s around two months old.”

Lena grins wider, looking back to the kitten and snapping back to Giorno. “Is it a boy?”

Giorno laughs, preventing Jovi from touching it yet, “Yeah. The real question is —” he locks eyes with his wife, “Do you want to keep him? I brought him home because I know you love cats.”

Lena smiles, nodding excitedly. “Yeah! Let’s keep him! —Jovi, baby look! He’s your new friend.” she leans closer to Jovi’s eyesight, pointing at the kitten as the baby looks at the kitten, babbling with curious hands.

“Now,” Giorno kisses Jovi’s head. “How should we call him?”

Lena looks off in the distance, grinning when an idea pops in her mind. “Ares?”

Giorno smirks, nodding. “Why not.”

Taking Jovi from him, Lena sets the boy in her lap as she takes his little hand, guiding it to the small kitten, and letting him feel his fluffy fur —Jovi’s eyes shine brighter as he squeaks in happiness, babbling and trying to touch more.

Giorno stands from the floor, going to get Dante from his playpen and sitting back before the curious kitten, he takes Dante's hand and lets him feel the kitten too: his reaction is the same as Jovi’s.

With both twins staring intently at the kitten as he roams around, Giorno looks over at his wife, smiling when she looks back.

Lena leans in, stealing a kiss and mumbling into his lips. “Thank you, babe.”

Giorno hums, stealing one more kiss.

With the twins asleep and the couple sitting now at the couch, silence settles in as they watch Ares eat. There’s the sound of birds chirping outside and Pietro’s voice in the distance as he and Vivienne play poker.

“Lena.” Giorno mutters, twisting his head to look at her, “About Matteo. He seemed genuine with his intentions. He wants to meet you and the boys.”

The Donna hums, leaning her head on his chest as Ares looks around before he starts licking his paw in a signal that he’s well-fed. “If you think it’s safe for the boys, then it’s okay. I’ve wanted to meet him for a while now, but we gotta make sure he’s not trying to betray you in any way.”

“Then, if you agree, why don’t we go and have dinner with him so you can make your mind? Once you’re sure he’s of trust, we can let him meet the twins.”

Lena hums, shifting to face him. “Okay. Sorry if I can’t trust him yet.”

Shaking his head, Giorno’s smile is sincere like his words. “It’s okay, I understand. It’s about our family, of course we should be careful.”

She leans in, stealing a kiss and leaning on his broad chest to look back at the kitten, who has fallen asleep on his bed.

“Do you realize we have one more son? A fur son, in fact.”

Giorno chuckles.

part 2.

#GioLena #The Giovanna twins #i'm super proud of this fic please don't let it sink into The Void ;w;

25 notes · View notes

hellerism · 3 years

Note

I want an essay on #12)

12. symbolism: tell me about some cool symbolism in spn! your pick

*puts on my english major hat* im about to put more effort into this than anything ive ever written for college. ok top 10 supernatural symbolism...this isnt in any particular order its just whatever i think of first. also it might not be actual top 10 im just remembering random shit. this has gotten out of hand so im putting it under a read more

1. the most obvious one, the impala. many have discussed this before me and im probably just repeating what others have said, but the impala is an extension of deans body/a representation and mirror of both his physical and mental state. obviously the impala gets destroyed in the season 1 finale when dean is dying. and he rebuilds it in season 2, while he is trying to regroup and rebuild from the death of his father. ive seen a post about how dean losing it and smashing the impala is a metaphorical form of self-harm which is :(( also, the impala staying covered and hidden away while dean is living with lisa and ben with this reading is so interesting. i do think dean loved the idea of a normal life with lisa and ben more than the reality (not that i dont think he loved them! any scene with dean and ben makes me soft). but this also makes it that much sadder because supernatural considers dean unable to live a life that doesnt involve hunting; the impala is hidden and dean is a shell of his real self. in season 7, they once again have to hide the impala away and use other cars. the impala is gone and hidden away; something is wrong. dean is hurting. he isnt his full self. why? whats missing during that time? cas. and in season 10, when dean is a demon, he stops caring for the impala. you know, because something is wrong with him. because hes a demon.

2. dean knocking over and breaking the angel statue in the beautiful room. he makes it fall with a single touch, hardly a push. and all it took cas was a single touch for him to fall and break. dean, of course, doesnt mean to shatter cas, though he does mean to make him fall. dean repeatedly argues with cas, acting as the human opposite to cas’ emotionless faith in heaven, pushing him toward the edge, pushing him to rebel, pushing him to choose humanity. and it works; cas learns to love through dean, and through that he rebels against heaven and falls in “every way imaginable.” and when he hits the ground, he breaks, shattering all his faith in god and everything, leading into the godstiel arc as he tries to put his pieces back together.

3. the streetlight as a halo over cas’ head in on the head of a pin. it flickers when anna appears, which is physically meant to show her power. however, it also shows cas’ wavering faith in heaven. interesting how anna, the angel who chose humanity over heaven and decided to fall, is the one making cas’ halo flicker. he is beginning to question things. he is beginning to feel. he is beginning to fall.

4. deans leather jacket in the first few seasons. its not actually dean’s, of course. it belonged to john. dean picks it up and puts it on while he and sam are searching for him, physically shouldering the weight of johns expectations of him. its too big on him. and dean is 26 at that point. hes well past done growing; he’ll never fit perfectly into that jacket. no matter what he does, he’ll never fit perfectly into johns expectations: the perfect son, the perfect soldier. and leather jackets are heavy even if they fit well. there is a physical weight on his shoulders now, a manifestation of the weight of the world and the weight of being a parent for his younger brother and everything john has piled onto dean since he was a child. he eventually stops wearing it (bc some absolute legend stole it irl), and i wish they’d taken that as an opportunity to have dean grow out of the shadow of his father, but supernatural is a bad show so they didnt.

5. mary, who just happens to be named after the mother of jesus. the perfect wife, the loving mother, the tragic figure, the victim, clad in white, the color of innocence. except shes not. she was raised a hunter. shes lived the bloody dark side of the world hidden from most. she loved her children, but she wasnt a perfect wife and mother. she didnt know how to cook. she and john fought, and he even moved out for a few days, and she needed her four-year-old son to comfort her. she is not the virginal mother; shes an imperfect person just trying to do her best. the dabb-era deconstruction of the very concept of mary makes me crazyyyyyyy if you couldnt tell.

6. these shots from 9.14 captives

in the first shot, we have a statue of cupid over cas’ left shoulder and a cross over his right. and in the second shot, there is a bible on the right side of the table, and nothing on the left. and cas turns to the left. he turns away from god, continuously choosing to turn away from stability and what he always knew in favor of love and humanity. there is nothing on the left side of the table precisely because there is nothing certain in cas’ future with humanity, but he chooses them anyway. plus, cas inventing free will by falling in love with dean retroactively makes this shot that much better; there is nothing on the left side of the table precisely because there is nothing written for him. cas falling in love with dean created an empty space in gods story. this show is pure fucking insanity oh my god.

7. serafina the angel (the pantheistic view in that episode makes me crazy but we wont get into that). serafina, whose name is audibly similar to seraph, the class of angel that cas is. coincidentally, the only seraphim we see in the show are cas, who falls in love with dean, and akobel, who married lily sunder. serafina, who fell in love with adam, the literal progenitor of humanity. and who is the character in supernatural that has always stood for humanity as a whole? dean. serafina literally had me convinced that deancas would happen in the finale.

8. the removal of -iel from cas’ name. dear god this one drives me crazy and i doubt it was on purpose. castiel, the shield of god. for eons he existed as a warrior and tool of god. and then along comes dean winchester, who does a very human thing. he gives him a nickname. cas. he removes the “of god” part. he removes god from cas, because dean doesnt value him for being a good soldier or a good son. he values him simply because hes cas. and cas questions everything, his loyalty to heaven, his blind faith that god would one day return. he is no longer a warrior of god. he is simply cas, the shield, and this time he chooses to be a shield for humanity, for the winchesters, for dean. for the michael sword. the shield protects the sword. cas dies shielding dean. this got off topic but its just sooo insane.

9. this shit from 2.13 houses of the holy. i know it was an unplanned coincidence but jesus christ.

10. ...lamp. i know i know but it still boggles my mind. the completely out of place tap dance that they had to spend time and money on to train two actors who had never tap danced before. the lamp being a source of light. divine light. cas. the whole thing being set to the song lets misbehave. WHY LAMP.

#this took me over an hour #are some of these a stretch? maybe. but what is literary analysis other than stretching media way past what the author intended?#ask

51 notes · View notes

the-cookie-of-doom · 3 years

Note

📖 alternate dimensions/time travel for Steter (me trying to narrow it down, did it work?)

alternate dimensions/time travel for Steter (me trying to narrow it down, did it work?)

NOW we're cookin! (Pasted it bc as soon as I opened the answer window, your ask disappeared. Might be because of the heading font?)

I've got exactly 1 AU that fits this desc: Survivor's Guilt. (Technically 2, but the second is more of a reincarnation type story)

This story has presented an interesting problem for me, because it's technically Pitch (Peter/Mitch), except Mitch is still Stiles; just Stiles from the future. Obviously he can't tell anyone he's from the future, so he falls back on an old nickname that predates Stiles; this one drawn from his actual name. His parents usually shortened Mieczyslaw to Mitch.

So: Stiles for younger self, and Mitch for future self, but they're both the same person.

The future... does not go well for the pack. They all get killed off one by one, until Stiles is the last one standing 10 years in the future. After he buries the last one, he can't take it anymore. He's the human, he never thought he would be the last one to survive. it's not fair. So he performs some forbidden magic to tear a rift in reality and travel back to the beginning, before it all started. Unfortunately it's not an exact science, so he ends up part way through season 1, once things have already kicked off. And his younger self is damn stubborn; he has to change his plans from staying away from the supernatural at all, to keeping himself and his friends alive.

I'm going to put the rest under a cut and just copy what I have from my notes, because it's much more organized!

Stiles is determined though. Mitch gets there shortly after Scott has been bitten, and the wolf is out of the bag, and Stiles is so fiercely loyal that he won't abandon his best friend. Mitch wants to grab him and shake some sense into him, but he's a stubborn asshole and that won't work. He tries to intervene in other ways when it becomes clear that Stiles will not be put off this course, tries to keep him far away from Derek. And hindsight is 20/20, he's able to prevent a lot of things. But a lot of things still work themselves out anyway, interdimensional lynchpins that will always happen. The Hales will always die, Scott will always get bitten, Stiles will always foolishly fall in love. And Mitch hates it, having to watch Stiles make all these same mistakes over again, because he's already lived them. He's seen the consequences play out, felt the pain of everyone he loves dying horribly, leaving him the only survivor because surviving is what he does, like a fucking cockroach.

The best he can do is try to teach him everything he knows, all the knowledge he's had to pay for with pain and blood, in hopes that it will prepare him for what's coming. And along the way, something starts to unfold between him and Peter and that is just... so complicated. Mitch doesn't want to deal with that, he knows he shouldn't get involved, he's fucked up enough with everything he's doing here, falling in love with Peter is the last thing he should be doing. 10 years ago, when he was still Stiles, bright-eyed and not destroyed by the world, the kid he sees running with wolves like it's no big thing, Mitch wouldn't have even considered it. He remembers how much he hated Peter, always suspicious, watching with a careful eye. It's a distant memory, like the ghost of once-familiar perfume. More fresh is the memory of his grief, when Peter picked the wrong moment to start being altruistic, and got himself killed for it.

But he's not sixteen anymore. He's not the same optimistic kid mooning over Derek's bad boy with a heart of gold schtick, thinking he can fix him and heal the damage done by Kate (and god help him but he did, somehow). He's older and jaded and bitter, and Peter is everything ne needs and doesn't want but does, desperately. Peter, so damaged that being with him is like looking in a mirror, because Mitch has lost everything too, can sympathize with Peter now in a way he never could before. Peter would do anything to get his revenge, and Mitch would risk everything, break every sacred rule of magic, to save the ones he loves.

Peter gravitates to Mitch, drawn to his pain like a moth to flame. There's something so familiar about him, but Mitch keeps everything hidden, doesn't let any of them get close, and Peter has always loved a challenge. A good mystery is just what he needs to focus on, to temper his more murderous impulses. Now that he's older, Mitch is less Stranger Danger and more reluctantly attracted, and it's so easy to let Peter in. To not be alone anymore, after so long. Of course Peter puts it together. He doesn't say anything at first, but he watches, sees the way Mitch and Stiles interact with the world, the way they mirror each other. Mitch isn't nearly so spastic, doesn't talk as much. he's not an anxiety-ridden teen anymore, he's a broken confident adult. But they have some mannerisms that are impossible to mistake, and Peter wonders how no one has put it together yet. Then he remembers that these are stupid puppies; Scott can't be bothered with anything that isn't up Allison's skirt, Boyd and Erica only have eyes for each other, Stiles is too busy not listening to Mitch to hear the way their verbal tics are exactly the same, and Mitch does his best to avoid Derek, the only other one who may notice. It hurts Mitch to be around him, because somewhere, that bright-eyed kid that's dead and buried still loves him, and the pain of losing him will always be an open wound. Scott thought it hurt to break up with Allison, but he doesn't know true loss. But he will. They all will in the end.

Mitch and Chris get on well of course. Chris is the one that trained him into the killer he is now, almost like a second father to him. Aside from Peter, Mitch spends time with Chris, warns him about the dangers Gerard represents, especially towards Allison. Chris isn't one to blindly trust, but he does investigate into the situation when dear old daddy comes kicking around.

And when Mitch sees his dad the first time... It's some innocuous meeting, maybe they're in a bar. They strike up a conversation, John offers to buy a round, and it takes everything in him to maintain his composure when all he wants to do is collapse into John's arms and cry, because the only thing worse than losing Derek was losing his dad, holding him in his arms as he bled out, hearing his breath stop, seeing the light leave his eyes. The nightmares of that night still haunt him.

Mitch is gonna feel so conflicted about his attraction to Peter, especially at first. Bc part of him still remembers what it was like to love Derek but there is no way he's touching that with a 10 foot pole even if he's not the same kid that was in love with him, and maybe he wonders if he's just trading in for another Hale? that wouldn't be fair to anyone.

And like that is the least of his concerns, who knows what's going to happen if he starts something with Peter now. But he's been so lonely, starved for touch and affection. And Peter knows, he more than understands. He spent 6 years in a coma, longing for the same thing. He wants to give that to Mitch now, to both of them, if Mitch will just let him

it's a clusterfuck trying to deal with it, and Mitch is trying to fix things, but he doesn't know how. he's not omniscient. All he knows is that something went wrong, Y caused Z but he had no idea about X. He only knows the things he was directly involved in, and there are layers of schemes, unseen factors that will be uncovered this time around as fate continues to set itself straight even as Mitch keeps messing with the timeline

eventually Mitch has to admit that he wants what Peter is offering, desperately. He's not as cold as he pretends to be, and it's stupid to keep denying them both. He's already breaking every cosmic rule by coming back here to change things, and the universe keeps laughing in his face. So he may as well go all in here.

and maybe, briefly, Peter wonders if Mitch still loves Derek. But he doesn't; Stiles died along with the rest of his pack, leaving Mitch in his wake. Everything Stiles was is gone in him not everything, he's still fiercely loyal, hopeful beneath his jaded pessimism, enough to challenge the universe itself like Icarus on his waxen wings nothing left but the memories.

Mitch is reliving his own mistakes getting involved with Peter, just like Stiles is with Derek, and god knows what the consequences will be this time. But they can't be worse than any he's already suffered, the total destruction and devastation of everything he held dear, leaving him a burnt out shell of a man. Peter can empathize. Can't take his pain, but can maybe help to dull it, help shoulder the burden of it, show Mitch that he doesn't have to be alone anymore

And I think I know how stiles figures out Mitch is him: something happens. One day Mitch and Peter are just doing something, it’s a pretty normal day. But then something seemingly innocuous happens and Mitch has a moment of oh shit realization and he just takes off running because Stiles is in danger

Because you know, he doesn’t know the exact dates that things happened, especially in the beginning. It was so long ago. But something will happen, some small thing burned into his memory, and he’ll remember. And he doesn’t get there in time of course, the damage has been done. Leaving stiles with a wound to perfectly match a scar Mitch has from the same incident.

Mitch does manage to avert enough to change the future. But that means he doesn’t become who he is. If the pack doesn’t die, Mitch never comes to be, he never has to come back in time to change things, never falls in love with Peter. So he ceases to exist. But even though he fades away, the memories of him don’t.

"We did it," Mitch gasps suddenly, eyes wide like he can't believe it. Something in him shifted, something intrinsic. Like a damn had broken and all of his suffering was washed away by the cool waters of relief and happiness, the kind he hasn't felt in years. Not since before he lost everything. "Peter!" And Peter is watching him with pure, unadulterated excitement, because they've averted the catastrophe that would have befallen the pack without Mitch's intervention.

And then Mitch starts to fade.

Peter is grabbing for him, but his hands pass right through like Mitch is just a ghost, and then there's less than that. His very molecules are ceasing to exist. He doesn't exist anymore, Mitch realizes. "I'm sorry," he tries to say, a second too late.

Peter is left standing there staring at nothing. An empty space. There aren't even any ashes to prove that Mitch had ever been there, vanishing between one heartbeat and the next.

Peter doesn't realize what's happened at first. Doesn't want to, his fast mind lagging behind. "No," he whispers. Everyone is staring at him. Stiles is looking on with mounting horror, Derek mirroring him. It's the Sheriff who catches him when he collapsed, arms strong around him. "No, no!" It's all Peter can say. This can't have happened, it's all a mistake. Mitch will come back to him, he has to. It can't end this way.

Distantly, Peter knows he's crying. John is too, Peter can smell his tears. Of course he is, he just watched his son fade out of existence. Of course, he still has Stiles, still gets to watch him grow. Peter has no one. Derek comes to him, followed by Stiles. He's crying too, on the ground with him. Derek has a hand on his shoulder. Melissa is covering her mouth with her hands, eyes glistening. Even Argent's stony mask has broken as Peter falls apart in front of them.

Peter throws his head back and roars, so loud it shakes the trees around them. The earth quakes, the preserve trembles in fear. But the world keeps turning, the universe continues on, ambivalent. What is one human life in the grand scheme of things?

Everything, he is everything.

#cookie writes #survivor's guilt #a nice little but of angst at the end there #thank you for the ask!

10 notes · View notes

tmp-jatp · 3 years

Text

so it’s encouragement day or something i think

most of you guys have already heard this from me but i’m gonna do it again, this time in public, so that you can hear it again and everyone can know how much i love you. this is by no means an exhaustive list so if you don’t see yourself on here please know it’s not because i don’t like you, just bc i’m human and can’t remember everyone all the time. but for those i am naming today, i want to share with you what i think your niche in the fandom is as a writer, or at least what i know you best for. you all do all of these things but to call out one unique thing for each of you, this is what i offer as my gift

first off: @pink-flame k. my friend. my bestie here in jatp land. you already know all this, like i said, but girl. fliomea was the first jatp fic i ever read and i wouldn’t have had it any other way. i remember reading every single chapter of wfw each night it came out and it was the highlight of my day, every day. and then the chapters spread out further bc fair, daily 4k chaps is an insane schedule, and each new chapter was a surprise present. the way i say to everyone is this: you write the epics. that’s your signature here in the fandom. that’s your “thing”. you create entire worlds and it feels like i’ve opened my eyes again i’m reading a ya novel. even when it’s not an epic, like the bodyguard au, it’s still so good. fliomea and wfw are two of the most iconic fics in this fandom and two of the most memorable fics i’ve ever read in my life. hello?? beatrice, anyone? queenie? sammi? josie? wonderland??? iconic. one of the other “things”, i wanna note, is how much you write bobby, and you write him so well. you’ve made all of us love bobby, and you’ve made me love you.

@thedeathdeelers immy i love you so much. you’re my other jatp bestie. i love saying good morning to you at midnight and then again at nine. you have so many wonderful ideas for stories, and you make the best headcanons. that is your “thing” in the fandom. also the way that you’re always shouting about soulmates. i couldn’t imagine this place without you here, and we’d all be worse off if you weren’t. your reggie and ray drabbles bring fresh air to my lungs. whenever i see that someone’s reblogged something from you, i go through the notes to see your rb so i can read all your tags, because i can’t get enough of what you have to say. your headcanons are basically canon to me. you’re my number one rubber duck and i love you. don’t stop screaming about juke. ever. (<3)

@pearlcaddy your “thing” is the pining. also your dialogue. that’s pretty clear to all of us, i think. but i love the way that you put the jatp cast of characters into places that you’ve lived. you use what you know to write stories that feel so rich and alive. wizarding world, usc, ireland. these settings come to life and you solder the plot and characters’ emotions to the settings in a way that makes them unable to exist without one another. not only your worldbuilding and your pining, but your dialogue is stellar. (haha i didn’t even mean to do that) there’s always something that sticks out and has stayed with me, and i’ve told you before, but now for the benefit of anyone else reading this: remember “cold or frozen”. remember “string obedient woman”. remember “julie stellar molina”. you write some of the best alex and reggie, too. you've made me laugh, you've made me cry, you’ve made me start listening to jukebox the ghost, i love you.

@blush-and-books chloe you’re the one i spoke to most recently but i wanna say basically the same things (and more) again for the world to hear how much i love your stories. while pearlcaddy’s settings feel huge and awesome, your settings all feel small, like home. everything you write, i can feel. i’m there. i’m sitting in the auditorium while auditions for the music man begin, feeling the excitement for the new show and smelling that smell of the seats and the walls and the air. i’m standing on the loose gravel in the alley out to the side of the orpheum with the buzzing red light of the “ex-t” sign glowing up there and it feels humid. i’m in the library at my own table, trying hard to hide my own smile as i watch the looks being passed between the boy reading to the kids and that girl who is clearly not studying even though she’s trying to make it seem so. i’m in julie’s room and i see the ring on her finger and the fanny pack on the chair and the leather jacket hanging in the closet. your “thing” is that you have such a unique attention to detail that captures the scene and the feeling of what’s going on impeccably. perfectly. something about your way to capture the literal air of every room, i can feel it, i can smell it. i can’t get enough of what you write, and i love you.

@lydias--stiles ophelia i’ve never said a word to you ever except for in the ao3 comment box and that changes today. you’re so good at fluff but you’re right when you say that angst is where you excel. i haven’t read as much of your stuff as i’d like to have (read: all of it), but that’s definitely gonna change in the future. calm in the storm is such a gritty story but it also feels so real. you don’t hold back. i don’t know your work well enough to definitively say what your “thing” is. i’d like to, though. all i know is that today i was thinking of the way that soul and love tasted purple at anima and i went back to that fic to ctrl-f for every time you said “purple”. your stuff might not be on the front of my mind all the time, but it’s there, in my memory, and it won’t ever leave.

@bluefirewrites your stuff is good as canon to me, even though most of it is au. like ophelia, i don’t know your “thing” because i don’t know your writing well enough to say, even though i’ve read most of it. stupid cupid and doodled shoes have me on the edge of my seat right now and i love reading every new chapter. your juke’s dynamics are so uniquely you and even though they’re different across your fics, your julie and your luke are so perfect and somehow always the same, but different. do you feel me? probably not. i think i’m trying to say i love the way you interpret the characters. they feel canon, but also they don’t in the best way possible. exmas is another iconic fic, and knock three times, too. you do so many things so well that i can’t pick just one that stands out above the rest.

i love so many of you guys that i haven’t listed here. so many fics i read i just wanna shower you with all the love but it’s late so i go to sleep and i leave the tab open so in the morning i can comment but by then i’ve lost most of the specific things i wanted to say. so know that i’m always trying to be profound and all that stuff like i tried to be here, but sometimes i fail terribly. happy jatp appreciation day or whatever today is, everyone.

#mine

20 notes · View notes

neo-shitty · 3 years

Note

toffee!

hehe glad i could make you laugh, oooh that sounds awesome! yeah id love to be tagged it sounds great :)

YES the differences are so fucking weird. like, they do know they're the same age right? i feel like its just an exagguration of how much the persons role in the group matters, like we see chan being held up as such a mature, old leader while jungkook who is literally the same age, is still babied etc. like enha hyung line is basically the same age (if a bit younger) as chenle and jisung but somehow the rules are different?? as you point out, still legal but still bizarre. hehe yeah, i mean where else are we going to rant? quora lol. mmm, hopefully more people can just write less smut abt people who are barely adults

ah, no prob it didnt take long. yeah i think thats right (i keep forgetting you know my url lol) mmhmm :( i think if that happened irl there would be some major trauma going on. knock wood it never happens to you or me lol (/hj)

hehe same! oooh glad Redemption For Cheese was realised! yess we cant rllycomplain that theyve written/produced too much good music lol. yeah, ive dragged him into being a stay so *dusts hands off* mission accomplished. mmm yeah, they tend to have a certain vibe but tbh it couldve worked if they were any other group but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ahh ur one step ahead of me on the stages of listening to ssick i think, still not convinced but thats okay! hehe, it had to be said. yesss the itch in the back of my brain is very satisfied by sorry i love you, felixs vocals deserve to be appreciated! (side note i feel like hes trying to sing more like his speaking voice, sorta husky, but tbh i wouldnt be mad if he sang like in glow, his sweet honey vocals made my life lol. but i think ive heard him say he doesnt like singing like that cos it makes his normal voice less husky, so what can you do)

> YES SOMEONE SAID IT. seungmin rap KING, he sped thru that rap like it was nothing, he deserves more rap lines. i do like how they gave minho some melodic rap lines this comeback, my guy deserved to show off those skills that made him not be eliminated (flashbacks to stay collectively wanting to murder jyp) and we already know changbin can sing, my man murdered masked singer. hyunjin can obviously sing as can jisung and felix, and i want to hear chan rap more! i feel like he started as part of 3racha (as a rap unit not producing) and then just became a vocalist (which im fine with, but it could be nice to hear him flex his rapping skills) and was partially replaced by hyunjin. anywayyy

back to album talk. lmaooo sad music to twerk to PERFECTLY describes silent cry. yes secret secret is and will always be, a masterpiece. hehe glad i could make you laugh :) i just felt like they have similar vibes. putting off skz stuff bc of not having time to cry IS the kpop stan life summarised. oh my beloved track, red lights. ahh thats okay, we can have different opinions, but by god the lyrics are *chefs kiss*. *banging on table* TWISTED AU TWISTED AU TWISTED AU. yess id love to see ur take on it! sdfghjkl it would have been glorious

no no! not stupid, just able to predict my brainwaves. ooooh thats so cool! makes me want to go there (wherever there is lol) yeah the waves are pretty good here, but none of my familys a surfer, so we dont rlly enjoy the full potential lol. YES moving on to gone away, it is indeed a heartwrenching track, but the vocals and the bloody key change? makes me want to brave being sad just to listen to it. mmm yeah, good point :( i feel like ive just gotten used to overthinking so much so that it doesnt matter what mood im in, ill do it anyway, so might as well just do what i feel like doing anyway.

yeah i think ur right! it is quite comforting knowing that all the tracks will get the love they deserve. i feel like also people assume kpop is just one genre which is utter bs. there are so many different vibes and feels and songs, i couldnt get into kpop (of which i thought only the bright cheerful present day bts stuff existed smh) until i heard gods menu so... idk where i was going with this but yeah. :)

YES FUCK YG, theyre literally on the brink of being kicked out of the big three and they are holding their salvation hostage without letting them do ANYTHING. idek what thought process goes thru their minds but arghhh its so infuriating. yess lisa's cb will be awesome but ot4 is the gold standard here.

hehe, glad u could get to this point. no no! u dont sound like a cult member at all lol yeah, i loooove some of their songs but the whole 23 members thing is getting to me. thats prob a common problem with nctzens but what can i say? im a simple girl with a limit to how many korean boys i can give my money to. atm im just trying to get into ateez and finish memorising enhypen's faces. also kard is kinda sucking me into their fandom atm, as well as eric name lol. ah what can you do? ooh thats good!

hehe i love it too! its exactly like online penpals, that was rlly well put. aww ty! hmm im okay, recovering from a bad case of rsv so thats fun. im doing okay mentally, starting therapy soon (after having to convince my mother that its not just smth i can brush off). physically i wont go into, basically i should be doing stretches to help but they dont completely fix it so my lazy ass doesnt do them, plus i got told recently im going to be stuck with this condition for the rest of my life so thats fun! ah, before you type smth dw abt me ill be fine. the weather atm is cloudy but warm, its been raining on and off today which is good for the garden. uhh i just finished reading sunburnt veils and im in the middle of prom theory which is rlly good. ummm ive got a concert tonight? that i may or may not be able to sing in (bc of the whole rsv thingo) and uhhhh idk. my dog is cute? im drinking tea rn? ive got a school dance coming up?

wbu? hows ur day going, how are you? whats the weather like on ur end? done anything interesting lately? found smth that makes you rlly happy? just any random thing youve been dying to tell someone?

no no! dont apologise, i love these exchanges. i think im happy to continue them for a long time :) on the other hand, if you get tired of them, feel free to just not answer at any time. goodness gracious this was a long ask haha hope it isnt too annoying

<3 w.a. 🐺

sorry it took me a bit to reply, i was fixing my theme ;n;

yeah, i figured it was because of the roles too. my friends and i still get taken aback when 3rd gen idols are the same age as 4th gen ones. in my head it doesn't add up sometimes. PLS THE RANT AT QUORA SKJDK tbh tho it's just going to be normalized as the years pass? esp that the boys are growing older and the amount of explicit fics will just increase. i might have to start blocking tags.

i had to look up the previous ask to remember what we were talking about xd i hope the events in champagne problems never happens to anyone. realistically, it probably happens a lot. damn i really won't wish that pain on anyone. dragging your brother into being a stay i whEEZED JFKSA additional noeasy music enthusiast o.o and ALL I CAN SAY WITH YOU GUSHING ABT FELIX IS AHA WHIPPEEEED OML can't blame you tho, i also want to hear felix sing more in other shades (if that makes sense HAHA) i really hope they'll do the role exchange in the next comeback :( or like in the near future bc i know they can do it :( the day i hear seungmin rapping it i will respectfully pass away. minho was given more lines this comeback thank fUCK i could rmb my irl being vocal abt her frustration. i don't get why minho barely has center time/lines in title tracks??? like the line distribution in the past eras just made me ???? if seventeen can balance lines with 13 members why cant a group of 8 do the same? moving on. i haven't watched the stray kids show simply bc i don't want to cry HAJS but i've seen clips. imagine if skz debuted without minho and felix?!?!? i rmb another irl catching bias feels towards changbin bc of the masked singer only to find out that the man's a rapper. i love how skz's vocals were highlighted this comeback :c there were a lot of mellow tracks! i find it cute when chan sings/raps bc it gets kinda obvious that he's a foreigner? the accent (im not even sure if it's the accent) it just shows. "putting off skz stuff bc of not having time to cry IS the kpop stan life summarised." CORRECT.

abt the twisted au o.O i'll inquire my irl if she wants to write it or not. if she doesn't want to, i'll do it. i miss writing twisted aus <3___<3 and i also miss going to the beach with my friends :' ) but it's starting to get cold here and i don't think i'll be able to enjoy the beach as much as i would if i went beaching in the summer. so maybe next summer? gone away really has an sm-ballad vibe. the thing about skz being a self-producing group, their songs don't sound like typical jype songs? and i just appreciate that bc in all honesty im not a fan of jyp groups at all. PLS the overthinking. i wish i could mute overthinking.

anyone who assumes kpop is just one genre obv hasn't listened to a single track. if kpop was just one genre why do i like some tracks more than the others??? oh you've only recently become a kpop stan? tbh im not a fan of the bright songs of bts either. i liked their older ones *chefs kiss* really matched high school vibes. yg has good artists and they're just wasting the talent ~.~ that strategy they have will get tiring eventually. people will stop waiting on blackpink and move on to newer more active groups ://

HAHAHAH yeah the 23 members is pretty overwhelming! it was the reason i didn't bother stanning before quarantine started. i don't regret stanning tho, met my ult bias in that group <3___<3 i don't really purchase albums unless i like the tracks xd ohhh getting into ateez just in time for the comeback! let me know what you think about them! i was fond of them at some point but grew out of it. good luck with memorizing enhypen! it took me a while to distinguish to people there XD i haven't checked out kard yet but chan plays their songs during lives and they're sexc hype music me likey *u*

i had to look up rsv im sorry. i'm glad you're recovering! please rest more and don't stress yourself out. bro i wish i could go to therapy too bc i have weird issues i can't justify and i need a professional to tell me what's the reason behind it. stuck with what condition btw? what happened? i'm sorry in case i just forgot. yesterday was a bit rainy for me too :(( it's not the type of rainy that makes me anxious so B) oh concert! good luck and i hope you'll be able to sing but i also don't think it's best for you rn :c what's your dog's breed? and yes i just finished drinking tea too. AAAAA i miss school dances :(( the last one i was supposed to have was cancelled bc of covid.

i was less productive today and i'm teetering between being mentally stable and becoming a hermit again. i'm anxious with a lot of things atm so like : D not the best state. today it was a bit sunny but not hot hot which was nice. i changed my theme today bc i couldn't wait for sept. 1st. and no i haven't found anything that makes me happy HAHAHA shit like that's hard to identify. don't have anything to say too, i'm just thinking about why i'm procrastinating too much atm T_T and i'm listening to this rap song atm and one of the rappers sounded like han.

it isn't annoying! i enjoy the long exchanges but i do admit it takes me awhile to type down a reply. so if i get more busy, it'll prolly take a bit longer for me to reply.

#toff.asks #wild anon 🐺

3 notes · View notes