brxssknuckld

[brxssknuckld]

                             ↪ out  of  context  memes  ft.  @brxssknuckld​.

[brxssknuckld]

reblog if you are the hot sibling

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[brxssknuckld]

valentine's day application

Name: Age: Do you like to cuddle?: Can we make-out?: A night in or dinner out?: Ice cream or chocolate covered strawberries?: What makes you a good Valentine?: Would you cook for me?: Would you let me cook for you?:

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Warmth there was when Jack entered the flat; the stove and fireplace were both crackling merrily to stave off the chill, both a coffee percolator and kettle for tea set to heat. Jacob himself was standing at one of several work desks, hands braced over a map of London as he mentally traced networks, contacts, and all the things to keep in mind for the Rooks and his budding initiates.

For he was master of London now. There was a lot to do to keep her from falling into trouble, and Jacob would be damned if he let it happen.

Jacob turned slightly as Jack entered, smiling warmly seeing his best and brightest apprentice come ‘home’. For the moment, he abandoned the map and his worries to approach, arms open if Jack wanted an embrace.

“Keepin’ yourself busy, hm? Don’t blame you; I’d be other there with you if I could,” Jacob greeted him. “Any interestin’ words on the street?”

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Frequently the young man had seemingly disappeared, up to who knows what.  But he’d always come home; returned to Jacob’s loft for a day or two.  He never said where he’d gone.  Perhaps it was personal; a visit to old haunts, or places that reminded him of a time before everything went wrong.

Or perhaps it was something else.  A young lady who caught his interest perhaps?  He was a grown man now, more than able to find himself a wife, and settle down if he really wished it.

It was one of those nights that he’d found his way back.  Tired in the old, dingy coat, with worn boots stomped of remnants of mud at the entrance before walking up the stairs.  His hair was slightly damp, and his skin a touch moist from the mist of rain outside.  Too light to be a bother, but just enough to leave him a little cold.  Autumn was right around the corner.  The days were shorter, and the nights colder.

As he reached the door, he paused, contemplative of what he might say to deter Jacob from prying.  He couldn’t tell him about the thoughts; the constant buzz of things flashing through his mind like whispers of demons reminding him of all the wrong that had gone down in his life.

No, he would leave the truth shroud in the shadows.  Somewhere buried deep so not to alert Jacob to what was happening.  After all – he couldn’t have him interferring in his plans.

A gloved hand curled about the door, and pushed it open, hoping to be greeted by some level of warmth to shake off the chill.

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The early morning returned Jacob to camp scruffy, tired, and once again human. He made good use of his sneakiness to get to his bedroll and partly-dress (the better to avoid Grimshaw’s wrath at the very least) before collapsing to sleep a few more hours. He woke a little after the others, though Jacob’s eyes danced to Bill and Dutch before settling on Sean once again on guard duty. Perhaps something to help the lad calm himself would be worthwhile.

Once fully dressed, Jacob made a stop at the cookfire for two cups of coffee and a few cold cuts and biscuits for breakfast before heading over to Sean’s patrol route. He made sure to make enough noise as he approached so he wasn’t facing that shotgun twice within twelve hours.

“Look like y’got a mite rattled last night; interesting duty?” Jacob ventured as he offered one of the cups. “See Bill and Dutch are shook up, too.”

( JACOB )·:

Classic, Sean, really. Jacob couldn’t be sure if Sean could tell, but there was a definite unimpressed look that crossed the wolf’s face as Jacob flicked one ear. However, the shotgun being presented made Jacob’s hackles rise briefly. He just suppressed a warning growl, though both his ears flattened and the fur on his back rose.

To show he understood the warning, though, Jacob rose onto his paws, using the maneuver to ease a half step closer to Sean. Last thing he needed was a mass of buckshot in his shoulder and side, then waking in the morning needing it all pulled out. But he walked slowly, watching Sean, as Jacob headed for the edge of the clearing. He paused again to paw briefly into the dirt, claws scratching out a JF, before Jacob loped back among the trees. Perhaps come morning Sean would piece it out. One of the Irish Rooks Jacob had come to know had once talked about how Irish tales of werewolves described them as protectors, namely of children. Maybe Sean would have heard one of those tales from his father. God knew, he’d need an ally come next month if things got out of hand.

Jacob didn’t go too far into the trees, just enough to not be seen but still see himself.

                           𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝, 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐠, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬. The way his breath hitched when Jacob eased a tiny bit closer to him, the way his hair stood up, and the size difference between the Irishman and the werewolf. Even on his paws alone, the beast towered over Sean. His eyes remained on Jacob, not exactly noting the way the beast shared the same hue in their irises as his friend, Jacob. What grounded him and kept him level headed was the shotgun in his grip, the cold metal gave him an air of confidence and valor than if he was stuck with his flimsy knife. A blast from the gun might not strike him down in one blow, but it certainly would injure him more than a few useless swipes.

                           He finally was able to exhale and move his position when Jacob crawled back into the forest foliage, concealing him behind bushes and trees until Sean couldn’t see him or make out his silhouette anymore. His feet dragged him over to the scuff from the claws. Yet, it was clear, Sean still couldn’t put two things together. It left him scratching his head in thought, rolling the two initials off his tongue in a way Mary-Beth might when searching for a word.

                           Come morning, Sean was placed on guard duty. Bill was still too shaken up from coming across the werewolf, Dutch thought it would be a far better idea to place the man who faced the werewolf for longer. What a fool he was. Cursed by a similar paranoia, Sean couldn’t think of trying to get a quick nap during his duties – that was far from his mind. Eyes glanced back and forth, making sure to take a second look as his eyes traveled over the tree lines. The grip of his rifle was tighter, imagining all the scenarios where he might have to make good use of it. What if the werewolf decided to pop out of the bushes, fueled by a need to seek revenge on him for his insulting remarks? Sean couldn’t calm his mind no matter how hard he tried.

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“Those, dear sister, entirely depend on the city, and not my knowing of them,” Jacob replied with a matching smile, letting the breeze catch his own coat and the cold ground him in the moment. There was no point in arguing that his opponent had started the scrap by threatening one of the girls working in the pub, that if he hadn’t intervened and drawn attention there would have been an innocent dead on the street. He’d had to act. Jacob felt no guilt in the act, only in the way it had gotten around back to Father.

Tonight, though, Jacob led the way to a different tavern - better to avoid possibly coming across anyone that wanted their fist in his face - not far from the factories and coal mines. The steady rumbling was a soothing beat, a rumble that accented the tune rising from the piano as he and Evie arrived.

“So - what’ll be your poison?” Jacob asked as he approached the bar and glanced to her. “Will I actually get to see you drink for once?”

( JACOB )·:

Ah, yes, classic Evie - asking permission even when it doesn’t matter. Having a sitter had not been in Jacob’s plans, but he could likely work around it, lose Evie for long enough to get to his planned gig. Though the mention of the local paper earned a brief, barking laugh as he started off down the road with Evie.

“Oh please, if the bastard that started the whole thing hadn’t blabbed it would never’ve made the paper and Father wouldn’t know the wiser!” Jacob replied with a grin, tracing over the still-healing scar through his brow. “Everything else was just practice that got blown out’f proportion.”

Her question brought Jacob to weighing exactly how much to say, easing on his cap as they reached Crawley proper.

“Just visitin’ a couple local pubs, just enjoyin’ the night,” Jacob half-lied. “Nothing crazy like you think!”

                𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐛’𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞. Crawley was a town that didn’t house too many issues, crime still ran throughout the streets, but generally there wasn’t any gossip to indulge in. An article like the one made on Jacob would often be filled to the brim with exaggeration, trying to get as much attention as a reporter could, even if that meant they had to fabricate some juicy details. 

                ��❝ Father still would’ve found out, dear brother. You know him as well as I do on that one, ❞ a smile was upon her lips, a mere jest towards her twin. ❝ I don’t believe a word of it that it was the other man’s fault. ❞ She followed alongside Jacob, pulling her wool coat tighter to her body when a wind arose.

                Her eyes scanned over the buildings that lined the streets. She knew Crawley like the back of her hand that she would even wager that there wasn’t a place that went unnoticed by the assassin in training. She spent many times climbing along the roof of their home that she grew a large temptation to try her hand at climbing the buildings that sprinkled nearby one day. Luckily, Father never appeared to care if Evie was to do it, since he believed Evie would be more cautious than her twin.

                She hummed, a disbelieving chuckle in Jacob’s answer, her arms crossed as she looked over at him, mirth twinkling in her eyes. ❝ No fight clubs or plans to ruffle a few feathers of the townsfolk? Color me shocked. ❞ 

[brxssknuckld]

//just a lil reminder

// Since I’m slowly-slowly flexing my way back into the rp scene, I just wanna make sure the new personals following me (hello there all of you!) are clear on a couple small points.

// I get Syndicate content is ridiculously scarce, and that (somehow) I have a really strong grasp of Jacob’s voice. But this is a roleplay blog, first and foremost. 

// Please remember: if it’s not your thread, don’t reblog! 

// Yon Jacob Frye fans, I understand your thirst and need for Jacob content!! I am so happy to provide it!!! But simply liking and commenting on a thread is good enough if you like the rp!!! My partners and I usually rely on Tumblr notifications or similar to stay aware of whose turn it is to reply to a thread - and reblogs are that signal. 

// Think of it a little like you’ve gotten blind-copied on a collaboration fic that gets an update when one of the authors sends a new email. If you reply to that blind-copy (and others do too!), even if it’s to say wonderful and loving things, the authors can quickly lose track of which of them is supposed to add to the story, and it becomes impossible for the fic to be updated.

// I can and will accept fic requests! I love writing Jacob to where I don’t mind that there’s not an actual thread. Got an idea for a ficlet? Toss it at me and I can give it a go. These would absolutely be open for reblogging!

// I don’t want to be That Person that drives off personal blogs, because ultimately we’re all fans of the same content. Just please be courteous to me and my partners if we ask you to not reblog threads.

[brxssknuckld]

Frye twins, pencil drawings

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I’m starting to think Father didn’t know everything about everything.

[brxssknuckld]

// OK for you RP folks who don’t follow my main blog: I will be dropping all threads pending a reply from me (ie., my turn to reply) to start getting back underway and appropriately active. If you want a thread to carry forward, please let me know so I can give it a new tag as I get threads reorganized.

In the meantime, feel free to send asks/memes/starters to get Jacob grinding again. (Not literally grinding, just. Activity-wise.)

[brxssknuckld]

//Very unscheduled stop indeed. I think I'm alive tho.

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Anyways, Victoria Atkins and Paul Amos just are Evie and Jacob Frye

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Jacob presented a thumbs-up - though, from Claire’s field, it was certainly a thumbs-down - and once he was deposited on the floor he sat up to kick the rope off from around his foot and collected his fallen hat.

“Now I’ve been made a complete fool of, I’m ready for a pint and tracking him down, once again,” Jacob sighed. “Swear I had him cornered before I got hoisted like a bloody flag.”

➥  JACOB.

“…no, not kidding,” Jacob replied from where he was dangling, working up a grin. “How about I, um…get brought onto the floor, we work on figuring out how we catch up with the guy responsible? …please?”

 ❛   you’re   lucky   i   like   you   jacob   —   anyone   else   ,   i   would   have   just   left   them   DANGLING   there.   ❜   her   smile   can’t   hide   the   frustration   within   her   voice   ,   although   it’s   not   directed   at   him.   they   were   so   close   to   getting   the   guy   ,   &&   yet   he   always   seemed   to   be   two   steps   ahead.   slippery   bastard.   ❛   alright   ,   i’ll   get   you   down   ,   &&   then   we   can   go   over   our   options.   ❜

[brxssknuckld]

Ah, yes, classic Evie - asking permission even when it doesn’t matter. Having a sitter had not been in Jacob’s plans, but he could likely work around it, lose Evie for long enough to get to his planned gig. Though the mention of the local paper earned a brief, barking laugh as he started off down the road with Evie.

“Oh please, if the bastard that started the whole thing hadn’t blabbed it would never’ve made the paper and Father wouldn’t know the wiser!” Jacob replied with a grin, tracing over the still-healing scar through his brow. “Everything else was just practice that got blown out’f proportion.”

Her question brought Jacob to weighing exactly how much to say, easing on his cap as they reached Crawley proper.

“Just visitin’ a couple local pubs, just enjoyin’ the night,” Jacob half-lied. “Nothing crazy like you think!”

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Jacob was more and more keen to get away from Father and George and every other Assassin - especially as Father’s words kept cutting at the edges of his thoughts. How he wasn’t a good enough Assassin. Why couldn’t be as studious and thorough as his sister. Why must he make a scene out of everything.

A good enough a time as any to slip out for the night, into Crawley proper. Have some real fun.

He had descended carefully from the roof - Jacob had climbed up from his favorite part of the training yard - to avoid anyone getting suspicious. Or, he’d hoped he had avoided suspicion. Evie’s voice behind him made him stop and smother a groan. Fuck.

“Since when’ve I ever asked Father’s permission for anything, sweet sister?” Jacob replied, screwing on a smile as he turned to his twin. “My slipping out is one thing - but you? I’d never have thought it in you.”

         Evie grinned, not being able to stop it from hearing her brother’s words. She stepped away from leaning against the front of the house, deciding to come closer to Jacob.

         “For your information, I’m not sneaking out, I already asked. And for you? Pretty sure Father is used to it by now,” she replied back in a similar teasing matter. “Told him that I thought it would be a nice change to join you on one of your adventures around town. Maybe it’ll give the press a break for a day.” 

         She remembered the first time one of Jacob’s many chaotic moments was written about in Crawley’s newspaper. Their father was completely livid and she had to avoid him for an entire day. What father and Jacob didn’t know was that Evie had a habit of sneaking out as well. At night, she tested herself and would listen to George’s and Ethan’s conversations. Sometimes it was uneventful, simply chatter, but other times it had some interesting information. She learned a lot about her mother and how it affected her father from listening to these conversations.

         “What does Jacob Frye have in store for today?”

[brxssknuckld]

that’s mine! that’s mine! ( Young Evie if you want? Like a childhood memory or something where he decides to take one of her books or something? If you want !! // sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins )

it’s so sharp and brief it’s gotta be grog \ @sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins

“No it’s noooot!” little Jacob protested, hugging the pamphlet tight into his chest. “Gran gave it to me, it’s mine!”

Though it was supposed to be both of theirs, ever since Father had taken them to Crawley Jacob had had to hide the little book so it wasn’t taken. Father didn’t like them speaking Welsh, not even just between Jacob and Evie, so the book’s existence - a little primer of Welsh - was the most important secret. But Evie usually did anything Father said so Jacob wasn’t giving up their last piece of Gran.

“...y cyfan sydd ar ôl gennym,” he murmured. It’s all we have left. Of the time before Father, when it was just them and Gran.