#the under the tuscan sun au

[yeahimwiththeband]

--> with the band chapter 16

Happy New Year, Izzy

warning: social anxiety, big time. jump scare. horror? for someone with anxiety, horror. 

A/N: izzy is THRIVING. and then she hears what her ex George has been up to. love on tour AU, angst!harry. 

word count: 5.7k

Izzy picked up her phone and sent yet another message to Lydia. She had been back home from the tour for just four days and had heard nothing from either her or Harry. Or anyone.

As soon as she sent it, her phone rang. Izzy put it to her ear right away.

“Harry?” Izzy asked hopefully.

Static on the other end.

“Izzy, it’s Lydia.” Lydia’s voice sounded shaky. Izzy was ecstatic and concerned at the same time.

“Oh my god, thank god,” Izzy said, “I’m so happy to hear your voice!” Izzy mouthed to Olivia: it’s Lydia! Olivia gave a tight smile, put the keys back in Izzy’s hand, and left the room.

“Izzy,” Lydia said, steadying her voice. “I have something to tell you...George and I are together.”

“George… Do you mean Mitch?” Izzy asked desperately. 

“No.” 

“George from the tour George?”

“Yes.”

“You and George,” Izzy repeated. She wanted to make sure she was hearing correctly.

“Yes.”

“We got together after you and him broke up.”

“3 days ago. 3 days ago we broke up. And now you and George—“

“I’m sorry, I know it’s fast. I know it’s too fast. I’ve liked him for a while and you seemed so happy, but then you slept with Harry and it was obvious it wasn’t real between you two.”

“That’s fair,” Izzy said. She didn’t feel angry that they were together—she felt betrayed, betrayed at the lie. That her closest family member had liked the guy she dated for months, and not said a word. “How could you hide that from me, Lydia? That you liked him?”

“You needed him more than me.”

“That’s not for you to…” Izzy felt her anger bubble up into her voice, but she didn’t want to yell and have Lydia hang up. “I’m responsible for myself. I’m responsible for myself, and you’re responsible for yourself. You didn’t have to manage me that way. You should have said something.”

Silence on the other end.

“Were you… were you waiting for us to break up?”

“No, no. I meant it when I said I just wanted you to be happy.”

“I know,” Izzy said. She remembered their conversation on the beach. Lydia saying she was sorry.

“I tried to tell you, on the beach. I couldn’t do it. You were finally happy and thriving. You wouldn’t have stayed on the tour if you and George had broken up—you would have gone back home. It was the only way to keep you there and you wanted to be there so badly, instead of at home.”

Izzy took all this in. She felt her anger transfer somewhere else.

“Did George like you too, the whole time we were together?”

“No, no. I don’t think so. This is probably just a rebound,” Lydia said, laughing weakly. Her voice wasn’t believable.

“Why date someone I dated pretty seriously for months so quickly afterwards if it’s not even that serious for you? George just developed feelings over the last 3 days?”

“Maybe he used to have them, and then they went away when he met you. I sincerely believe that. When he met you, I think he found the answer to everything, and then it didn’t turn out like you thought - you said it wasn’t working. You said you weren’t happy.”

“Could you… is he there? Could you put him on the phone?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Izzy.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t be dating anybody right now. He’s running from something. He’s into some pretty hard stuff, Lydia—needle stuff. I saw him shooting something at that party. It’s not good. It’s not being a real artist. He’s just an addict. He needs help.”

“You don’t get—” Lydia started. “It’s different for him, for the band. They’re not regular people, Izzy, and it’s not normal life. It’s not supposed to be. And besides, he’s getting better.”

“I want you to get better too,” Izzy said. “Maybe the tour isn’t the best place for you either. I’m making a new life for myself here and it’s not what it was before. You could come home and we could—

“I’m not coming home, Izzy.”

Izzy paused. She felt like she had bungled it: she had a golden opportunity in the conversation to bring Lydia home, and she had failed. “You always can,” Izzy said.

“I know,” Lydia replied.

Izzy felt like she was back in the wreckage again and that this time she had found the whole black box. George and Lydia. George and Lydia?! George and Lydia. She remembered George pulling her out on stage at Inglewood in front of 10,000 people and telling them all that he was in love with her.

“When you said maybe he used to have them, that he maybe used to have feelings for you, what do you mean?”

Lydia ducked the question. “He was in love with you, Izzy, or the you that you let him see. His feelings for you were real.”

“Jess was right. My anxiety makes me blind. I didn’t see it, but that makes sense. Of course he liked you. But then why date me?”

“Because he really liked you. Honestly. He really, really did. The thing with Harry… it really killed his feelings, quickly. He said he could tell something was off in the last week, that you were maybe not feeling it…”

“Please don’t talk about me with him,” Izzy begged. “I can’t stand the thought of that.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“You and George. I can’t wrap my mind around it. You couldn’t have waited, like, a week or something? It just makes the whole thing - everything I went through with him - seem fake, from his side.”

“You were the one that was faking it with him. His feelings were real. Your feelings were always somewhere else.”

“I am sorry about that, that I lied to him. It didn’t feel like I was lying… I really wanted it to all be good, and I didn’t want it to stop. It wasn’t a fake relationship, though, Lydia. A lot of the moments we had were very real. This is so fast.”

“You know how things are here, how chaotic it is.” Izzy remembered where Lydia was: out in California. Maybe calling her from the apartment she was supposed to share with George.

 “He needed a decision from me on whether or not I was going on with the tour to follow Jess or staying back with him. I had to decide fast, so Jess could find somebody else… Since you didn’t want to go on with Harry like I thought maybe you would.”

“It wasn’t cool of George to put you in that position, to try to start something up so quickly with you and have you quit your job like that.”

“I still have a job, Izzy - I’m still going to be helping him with his socials. Still working for Ryan.”

“Don’t even get me started on Ryan,” Izzy said.

“I don’t like him either.”

Izzy felt herself welling up all of a sudden. Her cousin wouldn’t budge, on anything. “I’m really worried about you,” Izzy said through tears. “I’m just really worried about you. You told me once at the beginning of the tour that all I had to be was honest, so that’s what I’m trying to do, even if I failed earlier with George. Here’s the truth: I should have left earlier. The tour… it’s so good, I know. That life is so beautiful and fun, but the drugs. Did you see what happened to Tara? And George is in so much trouble, and the drugs are causing the problem and are also the way that he runs from it. You just can’t do that stuff, Lydia. You don’t have to—you can still have so much fun out there without needing a bump.”

“You’re the one that ran,” Lydia said.

Izzy sighed.

“You’ve forgotten how good it is out here,” Lydia continued. “Come back. Come back to the beach. Harry will be here for more shows in January. Izzy, I know that you’re in love with him.” Izzy almost dropped the phone. “Don’t you see? Everything that is meant to happen is happening. Me and George, and you and Harry.”

Izzy put her hand up to her face. “It doesn’t feel like everything is working out,” Izzy said. “It feels like a fucking plane crash. I still don’t understand what happened. You’re not telling me everything.”

“I just want you to be happy, Izzy.”

“I just want you to be happy!”

“Come back out here,” Lydia repeated.

“Come home,” Izzy said.

“I love you. I’ll call again soon.”

“I love you too,” Izzy said. “Please be careful.”

Lydia hung up.

Izzy stared down at her phone, hoping and praying that she had dreamed the conversation somehow. That she would wake up. But no, it was real. George and Lydia. 

Izzy sat down in the middle of her floor. 

Tears started to fall down her cheeks. She felt volcanically angry at George and so, so worried about her cousin. The conversation ended so quickly, the opportunity to talk Lydia into doing something else just slipped away. Lydia hadn’t even sounded like herself: she normally asked questions and listened, instead of spewing advice. Izzy reprimanded herself for not listening better and asking more questions herself; maybe that would have helped Lydia see how insane and fast this was. The anger and anxiety climbed up Izzy’s body like fire, burning her scalp. Izzy put her face in her hands and sobbed. She wanted something to cut the feeling, to take the edge off—a bump, anything. But there was nothing to do but to cry. Who was she going to call to complain? Harry? Harry who hadn’t responded to any of her messages? She was crying about him, too. Her heart was broken. A bitter thought, one she thought she destroyed, resurfaced: Sometimes I think love is for other people. 

The next morning, Izzy skipped her first class at the community college. Noon rolled around and she went downstairs, happy to help her mom catch a break by taking over the register at the store. Sitting behind the counter, looking out at the familiar street past the mannequins, Izzy felt her old life pulling her in like quicksand. She felt numb. It all seemed too hard, all of a sudden, like it had before she went on the tour: trying to get a real job, trying to move out. She felt wounded and just wanted to hide back where it was safe. The store was easier and she felt her daydreams calling her; she could just put in her headphones now and drift away. Her thoughts darted back to that first night at the concert, dancing with Meg and Lydia. George slinging his arm around her shoulders in the green room. Waking up on the plane. Lying with Harry in the grass at the co-op under the wisteria. Climbing up on that streetlight. She could sit here and remember it forever. She checked her phone again. Still no message from Harry. Not one.

There was another possibility, too: she could run. The keys to a house or a hut or a piece of land in Italy were sitting upstairs in her room, a total surprise—an unexpected gift from the past. And Mrs. Shepherd wanted her to go. That means I should go, right? Izzy wanted to run. The smoke from the crash wasn’t clearing, it was getting thicker. She couldn't see at all. She hadn’t seen clearly for months, just like Jess said. How had she missed George and Lydia and whatever feelings and vibes there were? She wanted out. She thought about Lydia’s offer, fleeing back to California. What would she even do there? Sleep on Lydia and George’s couch, hang out at the studio, maybe OD and end up at the hospital like Tara? 

Izzy felt like she was melting into her chair behind the cash register where she had spent so much time. She was supposed to go to the plant nursery in the afternoon to sign her health insurance paperwork. This third option, between staying and running, now seemed impossible—the little plan she had made with Olivia seemed too hard: the new job, the new training and later, a new apartment.  

Izzy twisted around to the three-pane mirror and surveyed her slumped over, fragmented reflection. She thought about Mrs. Shepherd and her own grandmother, Ila. Moving to America, building a life piece by piece. She thought about her mom, fighting to keep everything together. Surviving, despite losing her mom and sister.

The jingle of the shop door opening brought Izzy out of her fog. Olivia stood at the threshold, dressed for her new job at the music store. She eyed Izzy up and down and her eyes went soft.

“I felt there was something going on with George and Lydia,” she said. “Not while you were together, but there are vibes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t your responsibility,” shrugged Izzy.

“Let’s go. You have your paperwork, and I have my first shift.”

“I’m feeling kind of tired,” Izzy said. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

“Let’s go,” Olivia said, more assertively than Izzy had ever heard her speak. Whatever twinge of anger Izzy felt at Olivia for holding information back faded away. Izzy stood up, switched the store sign to closed, and let Olivia march her to the nursery, where she felt like she could take deep breaths again. Izzy filled in her details, signed all the forms, and even had an impromptu training shift from the eccentric owner, Reedy, about the importance of spritzing the ferns hourly. The next day, she made it to her 8 AM class. The day after that, she did it again. Time seemed to speed up. One step followed another. After George posted the first photo of him and Lydia together, Izzy deleted Instagram from her phone. She worked and went to class. By the end of November, She had saved up almost $6,000 living at home and working. On Saturdays, she worked at the store, and to keep busy, on Sundays she added an extra shift at the nursery. The busyness dulled down the constant ringing in her head: is Lydia okay is Lydia okay is Lydia okay. The ringing had started soon after Izzy joined the tour, and grew deafening after that phone call. She and Lydia sent polite texts back and forth, so superficial that they broke Izzy’s heart. Olivia got an apartment, and when her roommate fell through in December, Izzy moved in. The apartment was above a dentist’s office near the community college: not glamorous at all. It definitely wasn’t the Riot Hyatt—but it was better, because it was all theirs. The rent was $1,200 per month, enough for them to split while still saving; they curtained off the living room to turn it into Izzy’s bedroom. They painted the walls blue and purple and had laughing fits while trying to pull off the painter’s tape off cleanly. Izzy put a record player in her room and had Meg and Lauren over to celebrate her new place, toasting with the cheapest red wine they could find in recycled jars over a table made of milk crates. Izzy loved working at the nursery and was learning more and more about all the species she had admired but couldn’t name before. She was doing well in her courses, but not letting her anxiety drive her into a perfectionist frenzy. For 2023, with Olivia’s encouragement, Izzy planned to sign up for landscape architecture courses. She daydreamed about the best parts of the tour, and tried not to ruminate on everything that went wrong. She remembered how Harry had embraced her even after he found out about her lack of experience—and Meg’s kind words, years ago: love is for you too, Izzy. 

It was a good thing that Izzy got a steep discount on plants at the nursery, because she had so many in her room she had trouble getting to her book collection sometimes: two giant Caladium Moonlights arched around them, leaves resting on the shelves. Olivia hung up her guitars in the living room and Izzy played sometimes in the evening. Olivia sometimes Facetimed with Lisa, Jess, and Tara. Izzy always found an excuse to go out. 

Olivia moved around the house in a light, easy way that Izzy admired; the musician was so relieved to be out from under Ryan’s thumb, out of the constant pressure of the live performances. Olivia played the guitar and worked on some new melodies some evenings. Izzy found herself smiling more often, her shoulders loosening up. She really admired Olivia, who was a lot more steely than she let on: she was strong. Olivia seemed like a fragile, floaty, spiritual person on the tour, but she was actually rock solid—otherwise, Izzy realized, she would have been totally crushed by the band. Copying Olivia’s example, Izzy painted a green and pink mural of abstract shapes on the wall opposite her bed, and had dragged in bookshelves they found on a curb in the snow and cleaned up. Just as she had done with her clothes in New York, she chose furniture that really felt like her; her new bedroom was colorful and warm, so different than the brown room she had escaped. The keys to the house in Italy collected dust on top of a small pile of books.

Izzy was doing what she had expected to do before the accident derailed her, but it was all so different than it might have been because of what she learned on the tour. One afternoon just before Christmas, Izzy sat in her new bed and looked out her windows, partially fogged up from all the humidity the plants created. She felt proud of herself. She hadn’t chosen to run or stay. Instead, she went with the third option: grow.

Still, sometimes Izzy felt a restlessness tugging on her sleeves, tickling her wrists and ankles. She knew what the feeling was. Lying in her bed alone at night, her mind always ran back to that voice, those eyes, those hands: Elisabetta. I know I’m not the only one. You’re so nice, and I hate that about you.

Suddenly, it was Christmas. She and Olivia would start new courses in the second week of January, so they had a bit of a break for the week between the 25th and New Years: Izzy only had a few shifts, and planned to spend a ton of time with Meg, who had finally earned some vacation time three months into her new gig.

On Christmas Day, the sky was grey but bright and Izzy went over to her parents’ first thing in the morning. She took the bus over to her parents’ apartment as a grown up for the first time—presents under her arm, side dish she made in her own oven carefully balanced in one hand. Her mom and dad had put up the tree, like every year, with lots of homemade decorations from the store’s most glittery fabric samples. Boxing Day Sale posters piled up in Izzy’s old room, which had become an office of sorts. And her mom seemed fine, happy—almost excited. Izzy felt grateful. Christmas at home was more beautiful than she remembered, because it no longer happened in a place she was trying to escape.

For the first time, Izzy didn’t notice presents under the Christmas with her name on them. After breakfast, her parents opened their gifts (a dark, soft bolt of silk Izzy had found at the thrift store, and a history of baseball book for her dad). Once the wrapping paper was cleared away, her mom slid a small piece of paper across the table to Izzy.

“Just for a week,” her mom said. “Do you think you and Meg would like to go? We have two tickets.”

Izzy unfolded the sheet of paper. On it, a flight itinerary to Sicily.“I can’t accept this, mom—it’s way too much.”

Her mom took Izzy’s hand and shook her head. She explained that she had been to Italy several times while her mother was still alive, and returning now was too painful for her.

“The store is doing well,” her dad said. “Don’t worry about us. This is what Ila would have wanted for you.”

Mrs. Shepherd’s words boomed in Izzy’s mind: Go! Dance! It wasn’t running if she was just going for a week, right?

…

Izzy knew she made the right choice when she saw the blue of the Mediterranean from the window of the plane. It was so pretty that it looked impossible, unreal. She had never been to Europe. Never been outside the country.

Two bus rides and one 2 mile walk later, Izzy, Meg, and Olivia came to a stop in a cloud of gold dust on a gravel road that wound along the sea. It was about 80 degrees, and the sun was bright and warm. Google Maps said they were at the house, but they only saw a heavy, sunken iron gate in the middle of a long, crumbling stone wall.

The land was scrubby and hard, tall brown grass and dark green groves of olives and figs and blood oranges. The air smelt like lemons and salt. Cactuses and palm trees stretched up behind the wall, dangling orange studded fruits over  at them—Ficodindia di San Cono, prickly pear, as Izzy had learned from a local influencer she had been following. This area of Sicily was usually pretty quiet, but it had been getting more and more popular; a bougie seaside resort had opened near the next town and some celebrities had even parked their yachts off the coast in the summer.

“It’s giving Under the Tuscan Sun,” Meg said. Izzy reached out and grabbed one of the fruits, and the three of them split it, while staring at the gate. They had walked two miles to get to the address. Izzy had the keys in her hands. She was so glad that Olivia and Meg decided to join her: Meg took the free flights as a “sorry I cost you your job” gift from Izzy, and Olivia had saved up enough to come on her own. Staying at the hostel helped, and everything in Sicily had been dirt cheap so far.

Olivia dropped her thrifted backpack. Meg did the same.

The gate was obviously rusted shut.

“We should probably go back into town and get someone,” Izzy said. As she was saying it, Olivia hopped over one of the crumbling stone walls.

“Get who?” Meg asked. “A blacksmith?”

Izzy heard an “oh my god” from the other side of the wall. 

“Remember the last time we broke in somewhere?” Meg asked with a smile.

“The first concert, Lydia shoving us through the backstage no access doors,” Izzy said. 

They looked at the gate.

Izzy unclipped her backpack, dropped it with a THUD, and hopped over. Meg followed her.

The house was small; stone, with a slate roof, and three windows upstairs over a centered door. But Izzy honestly barely noticed it: she was looking at the garden. Meg put her hands on her shoulders and they gazed at it in awe.

The house sank into a rolling field of yellow flowers that grew over tangled, knotty roots of old olive trees before disappearing over an edge with the blue sea behind it: the house was on a cliff overlooking the water. Each window had a flower box stuffed with purple anemones and bougainvillea vines of pink flowers climbed up the left side and covered the chimney.  Heavy aloe plants guarded the house on each corner and poppies grew out of the stone steps leading up to the door. A gardener lived here: not just a gardener, but some sort of plant genius. The house hadn’t been rented for at least ten years. It had been her great grandparents’, and her grandmother Ila had left it behind before she turned 20 for a new life.

Meg took the keys from Izzy’s hands and walked up to the house, Olivia following her, while Izzy walked around it to look at the ocean. A falling-down fence rooted in place by tall grasses held back the flowers from the cliff, which was a short drop down to a white sand beach. Steps worn by the seawater led up to a small opening in the fence; the gardener had planted cactuses on the outside of every step, like fence posts. The house was on a small cove a few miles from the nearest town, which Izzy could just barely see around the east corner. Izzy peered around the west corner of the cove; there was a sand path leading to a connected beach, revealing miles and miles of coast line dotted with pretty houses, some old and some new. Looking at the coastline, Izzy realized why her and Lydia’s mothers always took them to the beach. It’s because it was a place that their mothers’ loved. Izzy imagined Mrs. Shepherd and Ila as girls there at the house, hopping up and down the steps to go swimming.

Izzy carefully took off her shoes and socks and walked down the steps to the water, pausing on the last one. She couldn’t believe that nothing on Instagram had captured the ocean properly: the greens and blues were so much brighter in person. Her feet sank down and water pooled around them, pulling her in. Izzy hiked up her pants and walked into the water, soothing and cool. She laughed. She had so much. The restlessness and the ringing finally left her alone.

Izzy looked back up at the house, which had six windows on the back and a stone patio under olive trees, obviously designed for the view. Olivia waved from a window on the second floor.

“Everything that’s mean to happen is happening,” Olivia called down. Izzy had always wondered where Lydia learned that phrase.

“Izzy, it’s really pretty in here,” Meg said from a nearby window. “Black and white tile floor. Every window has a flower box.”

They ran some basic errands in the village using translator apps and Izzy’s broken Italian, getting the power hooked back up to the house ($1,400!), getting the water turned back on ($260!), getting a contractor to fix the gate and some of the broken stairs inside ($2,300!), and scheduling an inspection so it could be lived in again ($430!). That night, Izzy fell asleep on the bottom bunk in their hostel room as soon as her head hit the pillow. It was New Year’s Eve the next day and she felt like a new person.

Olivia and Meg had floated several ideas to end 2022: the hostel bar was having a party, in the little gap between houses where they had built a small library and put some tables and chairs. They could celebrate at the house, with candles. Or, there was a tarot card reader doing 2023 readings out of the shop next door (the language barrier was an issue). They weren’t permitted to go back up to the house while the inspection was being conducted, so over breakfast they traded ideas. There was a beautiful old mansion that someone had snapped just a few weeks ago; it had been in ruins, but it was being fixed up. It was famous for its huge music room / library, which looked like something out of Beauty and the Beast but better in the video—Italian, baroque marble insanity with peeling gold leaf and elaborate, curling wood carvings on the shelves and ceilings. They had four more days before they were going home, and they planned to see Noto (birth place of ice cream, Meg’s choice), Giardini de Balio (the most beautiful gardens in Sicily, Izzy’s choice), and Rockerilla (music venue famous across Europe, Olivia’s choice). Izzy hadn’t come up with a plan for the house yet. The upkeep costs were minimal and she didn’t know if she wanted to rent it out or what, but she knew fixing it up would help whatever she decided to do.

Olivia made an impassioned case for going to Rockerilla, apparently one of Jess’s favorite spots and well know among real artists—it was like an overseas, Italian hangout for international rock stars. They decided they would go on their last night, to celebrate before going home (best for last).

That day, they decided to go to the mansion with the library; it was a boring enough excursion before a big New Years night out. Izzy caked herself in sunscreen and they took a bus down the dusty road over a few hills to the west of the town, past the house by over an hour, on the other side of the island. Izzy was able to ask the driver to per favore, ferma and they hopped off in front of the mansion, alone on its own hill—it was expansive, and under construction. Metal construction fences encircled the property. It was quiet; no one was on site. Huge signs in Italian with clear do not enter icons glared down at them from the fences. 

Before Izzy could ask what they  should do, Olivia was through the fence and striding toward the door. 

“This is private property!” Izzy said.

“No one is here,” Olivia called over her shoulder. “We are calm. We are relaxed.”

Meg followed Olivia.

“Meg!” Izzy cried, gesturing to the signs.

"I don’t speak Italian,” said Meg.

Izzy took a breath and stomped after them. She had already broke and entered earlier that day, into her own home. Why not go two for two? 

The villa was massive; a single story in stone with colums supporting pointed archways. It was a pretty mishmash of styles, added too over the centuries. The windows were huge, and you could see the ocean peeking through from the other side. Olivia picked up the heavy metal knocker and let it slam against the door; they could hear the loud clang echo through the house. 

There was no response to the loud knock. No one was home. Izzy turned around to leave, and Olivia turned the heavy door knob until it clicked. The door opened. They were in. Meg walked in first. Izzy shot Olivia a skeptical look.

“Did you ever think we’d be here?” Olivia asked. “Could you have imagined this last summer?” Izzy shook her head, no. If she hadn’t gone on the tour, she absolutely wouldn’t be here now. She’d be in the store, behind the cash register, slowly dying inside. Izzy followed Meg inside. They were in a wide hallway in front of a small inner sanctum surrounded by columns and overgrown with ferns and shrubs. There was a ladder at one end of the hallway, and scaffolding up to the ceiling. Olivia had her phone out.

“It says it’s in the west wing, so… down there.”

“What if there’s someone here?” Izzy asked. But her concern was half hearted: the house was so beautiful, she didn’t really mind that they were breaking and entering. She was reminded a bit of the first time Lydia had shoved her and Meg through that backstage door.

They walked past a massive room, with huge wooden beams and a beautiful marble tiled floor, that was being painted. It was empty, except for a huge piano that looked new, pointed out toward the ocean. Everything else was covered in dust except the keys. None of the lights in the house were on. It was even brighter and hotter that day, but the house was cool and shadowed. Izzy took off her sunglasses and put them in her fanny pack.

“I think it’s through here,” called Olivia. She and Meg disappeared around a corner. Izzy had fallen behind them, transfixed by the piano.

She walked across the courtyard, into the library—she had found it. She could hear Olivia and Meg down the hall. Light streamed in from towering windows looking out over the ocean and the walls were lined with books, some too shiny to be that old. The ceiling had a blue and gold painting of a constellation, with ivy winding up toward it from a crack behind a huge, open stone fireplace. Izzy ran her hand along one of the tables, walking and taking in the ceiling painting. Her fingers hit on something and she stopped: she almost wiped a tea cup, saucer, and open book off the table. The tea cup was full with hot water, still steaming. Someone was home.

She heard a sharp intake of breath from outside. “Izzy?” She spun around. She could only see a silhouette against the ocean. Izzy briefly contemplated turning and running. She could run all the way back to town using anxiety alone as her fuel; that’s how much her anxiety had spiked, just hearing that voice. Her heart hammered in her ears. She walked toward the voice slowly, already knowing who it was, and seeing no other way out of the situation, though she kept trying to think of them.

When Izzy finally made it outside to the patio, the sun nearly blinded her. She blinked hard and her sunscreen ran into her eyes, so she had to drag up her shirt to dab them. It was so bright compared to the interior. The figure came into focus slowly.

“Harry,” she said, blinking the sting out of her eyes. “Hi.”

“Hello,” he replied. He wore a t-shirt over trousers with flip flops, and sunglasses that he had taken off to double check that it was really her, thousands of miles from home, standing on his patio.

“We were—we were in Italy for my family. Well, my family’s not here. Olivia made me come here. I didn’t know that anyone was home. I’m so sorry.” Izzy’s eyes burned. Strugs. 

“Your family is here?” Harry asked. His voice was open and kind, shockingly open and kind, Izzy thought, given that she had broken into his house. Is this his house? He extended a tissue toward her and she took it, hand shaking, dabbing her eyes so she could finally see straight. He came into brutal focus then: two curls coming down over his forehead, gold flecks in the green twinkling at her in the sun, and a smile on his lips almost too slight for Izzy to notice.

“My grandmother is from here,” Izzy stammered. “I inherited her house. I was here to look at the house, and Olivia said she wanted to come here to look at the library—it was listed as a tourist destination in this video. I wanted to see the gardens; I’m sort of obsessed with plants.”

“I know.”

“I had no idea… we thought it was abandoned.”

“Right,” Harry said. “I bought it a few months ago.”

“I thought you were back in California,” Izzy said, blushing deeply.

“I needed to clear my head.” Harry couldn’t look away from her.

They stood in awkward silence. Izzy couldn’t think of any social conventions to fall back on for when you break into the home of someone you once slept with, who said he was crazy in love with you and then ditched you after you said some terrible things to him. Nothing came to mind. She wanted to laugh—the whole situation was just so ridiculous. 

“Where’re you staying?” Harry asked, trying to help.

“We’re at the Ostello Estremamente Economico, about two hours away. We took the bus.” Hearing her speak Italian made Harry smile. He couldn’t help it.

“What are you doing for tonight, Izzy?”

chapter 17 -->

[inexplicablymine]

The Fandom Feasts

There are so many updates on AO3 for this Friday I just wanted to let y’all know that the RWRB fandom feasts today

In no particular order todays updates (including the link to read them of course ;)

the one in which everything is the same, but Alex has piercings and Henry has no idea by @cheesecurdsgravyandfries (E/2K)

Technically last night and a second chapter update ~ but as a celebration fic for 200 subscribers it deserves a shout out, the title is exactly like it sounds and some may like it hot, but Poutini’s fics always are

under the tuscan sun by @stutteringpeach (E/5.4K)

One shot with a mistaken Airbnb double booking, one bed, and the Italian countryside. What more could you ask for (there’s not, let me tell ya)

Going Platinum by @cricketnationrise (E/12K)

A spicy chapter three update of Cricket’s Cam Boy AU (and fret not this story is being updated DAILY every day until it reaches its 5 chapter conclusion)

Little Matters by @pridepages (M/72k)

If you have not been tuning in every Friday to this absolute masterpiece you are missing out. This chapter 14 installment was just one update in a long line of updates that have had me on the edge of my seat. Found family, real family, AU and a whole lot of slow burn between our boys

But I love him, whether or no. by @leaves-of-laurelin (E/5.4K)

This first chapter installment of a FDNY/Firefighter AU is exactly what everyone in this fandom needs. So enjoy this piping hot piece of writing.

Under your influence by @clottedcreamfudge (T/2.2K)

A canon compliant one shot 5+1 of all the times Alex was a bad influence and one time Henry was. Y’all this one made me tear up in a good way.

Level-Headed and Even-Kneeled by @historicallysam (T/2.9K)

This one shot features Alex’s water going out, and just maybe his hot neighbor in 807 has a working shower? Honestly cuter than it had any right to be

Drummers Do It Better by @everwitch-magiks (M/1.4K)

Run don’t walk to this one shot that is punchy and on beat every line makes itself count. A game of F*ck Marry Kill featuring the positions in the band. And let me tell you, drummers do it better.

All The Broken Pieces by @ifigo (M/8.9K)

An epilogue months in the making this is a sweet conclusion to the previous chapters described as “three pieces of angst in a crack shaped trench coat”

Minor Holidays by AbsoluteAudacity (E/3.2K)

This is the 4th installment of a 5+1 where the boys celebrate a very sexy little month long “holiday” involving a whole lot of deliciously explicit experiences

In the Stars by @orchidscript (E/38.9K)

A chapter 10 update! This WWII au is a part of Orchid’s History Huh series that if you haven’t taken a peak down you are missing out immensely

In His Wildest Dreams by @myheartalivewrites (E/11.4K)

Listen I wasn’t expecting and 11K canon compliant one shot (spoilers for the bonus chapter) that was this horny today but I’ll take it gladly with no qualms. Truly y’all this one will get ya

we’re right here for a reason by @smc-27 (M/12.8K)

“How to loose a guy in ten days but make it FirstPrince need I say more” - I’ll say more. This is delectable and honestly a feast for all rom com lovers, let it tide you over until the movie comes out.

We don’t feast every Friday ~ but when we do? The grub is good.

[hollyethecurious]

Six(ish) Sentence Sunday

To ring in the new year, I thought I would start up Six Sentence Sunday again. 

Each week, I’ll share a six(ish) sentence snippet from a wip I’ve worked on that week. In addition to the snippet, I’ll list the fics my muse is currently vibing on, and you can let me know in an Ask or reply which ones you’d like a snippet from the following week. 

Today’s six(ish) sentences are from Part Five of Pan Says... which currently has almost 1400 on it, just from today!! Enjoy!

Consciousness returned slowly. The buzz of the fluorescence, the warmth of the blanket, the soft caress of fingers carding through his hair, the scent of his Swan, the dryness of his tongue as is stuck to the roof of his mouth, all points of awareness that were sharpening with clarity as he broke free from the confines of sleep.

“Killian?” Emma whispered, seemingly having sensed the change in his breathing. “Killian, are you awake?”

With effort, Killian managed to pry his eyes open and focus on the concerned pinch in his Swan’s brows. Reaching up, he intended to soothe it away with the pad of his thumb, but when he opened his mouth to respond, all that came out was a croaked, “Aye,” before he erupted into a fit of coughs from the cool air hitting the aridness of his throat.

Current WIPS: (This is not a complete list of my wips, just what I’m actively working on this week)

Pan Says...

The Law Surprise

Under the Tuscan Sun AU

Ghosts AU

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(I have done a reset with my tag list. Let me know if you’d like to be added/added back. Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@paradiselady19 @aprilqueen84 @kmomof4 @mie779 @donteattheappleshook @stahlop @anmylica @undercaffinatednightmare @zaharadessert @karl0ta @booksteaandtoomuchtv @courtorderedcake @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @the-darkdragonfly @jonesfandomfanatic @wyntereyez @xarandomdreamx @teamhook @winterbaby89 @justanother-unluckysoul @whimsicallyenchantedrose @badwolfreturns @deckerstarblanche @tiganasummertree @jrob64 @resident-of-storybrooke @motherkatereloyshipper @lfh1226-linda @youherotype @kday426 @snowbellewells @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @unworried-corsair @justanotherflailgirl @alexa-fangirl-forever

[elilelibeli]

me? Yes. Has never really written anything? Yes. I don’t know If I know how to write? Yes. Am I still thinking about writing Under the Tuscan Sun AU for my queen Lily Evans and can’t focus on anything else? Yes.

what the fuck do I do? I have real things I need to be doing and all I can think about is Lily in overalls renovating her impuls buy villa in Italy.

help

[yours-etc]

Under the Tuscan Sun Steddie AU when?

Recent divorcee Eddie moves to Italy and meets attractive italian neighbor Steve.

blah blah blah, they are in love and in Italy

[ao3feed-supercorp]

Heartland

by BonzaiBri

There had been her tablet and lots of drunken scrolling through real-estate porn. Lena blamed Diane Lane for giving her the idea that a random small town and a vineyard—read: farmland—was just the thing she needed to turn her life around. Cue Midvale, Indiana and one hundred acres of partially wooded farmland for sale. How Lena was ever able to type out an email and not sound totally sloshed was beyond her.

-OR-

Lena gets drunk one night and watches Under the Tuscan Sun and makes an impulsive purchase in a town she's never heard of and proceeds to build a house. Had she known that said house would come with an insanely hot blonde carpenter she would have done it sooner.

Words: 5598, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Supergirl (TV 2015)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor, Alex Danvers, Kelly Olsen, Esme (Supergirl TV 2015), James "Jimmy" Olsen, Winn Schott Jr., J'onn J'onzz | Hank Henshaw, M'gann M'orzz, Lucy Lane (DCU), Andrea Rojas, Samantha "Sam" Arias, Jack Spheer

Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Country AU, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Kara has ZERO gaydar, Found Family, extra buff Kara, Soulmates, Fluff and Smut

from AO3 works tagged 'Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor' https://ift.tt/SKJF2TC via IFTTT https://ift.tt/SKJF2TC

[acourtofladydeath]

🎵💚 Once bitten and twice shy, I keep my distance but you still catch my eye. Tell me baby, do you recognize me? ❤️🎵

I certainly hope not because I’m going out of my way to ensure that you don’t

Hi it’s me again (santa)

I hope your week is going well!! I’ve been thinking about your present and I was curious if you would prefer something canon-compliant/canon-divergent and/or pre-canon?

Also, I have plans to incorporate Nesta and I was wondering if there were any other characters or ships that would be fun for you to read if I included them? No promises to get them all, but I’ll do my best!

Final fic-related question: do you have any hard limits? Anything that you actively do not want to read or read about? I want to ensure that your present is as enjoyable as possible ❤️

Now because you seem very cool and I’d like to get to know you, I’m going to quiz you a little more 😂

What is your favorite color? (mine is either cornflower blue or mossy green)

What’s your go-to comfort film? (a few of mine are P&P (2005,) Under the Tuscan Sun, and The Holiday.)

Most Ardently Yours,

Santa

HI SANTA!! Thank you for that, by the way, I will now have that song stuck in my head through the end of the year at a minimum.

I like to stay close to canon compliant, but it could be pre, during, or post! Honestly as long as they're together and happy.

I did want to add that I will enjoy smut, but I truly want these boyos to be in L.O.V.E. = LOVE. I'm such a sucker for a good story behind any smutty bits that may be included. Smut not required, story preferred. (BUT smut not discouraged AT ALL, I just prefer it to be a part of the bigger story. Set the stage, ya know?)

So excited to hear about Nesta!!! If and only if it works with your story I'd love to see the bat boys in there for 2 reasons:

Nessian moments, my other favorite ship.

The bat boys reactions to Azris is one of my fave parts of the ship.

Also would never say no to seeing Lucien, especially for more brotherly love vibes. But I don't have super strong opinions on additional characters!

I had to think about hard limits for a while because I don't have many, if you've delved into my AO3 bookmarks at all you'll see QUITE A RANGE LEMME TELL YOU. I'm typically not a fan of anything that straight up bashes characters, I truly see them all with faults, strengths, and weaknesses. As long as things/opinions are explained within a fic, I'm good with most of it. There are no individual characters I avoid or dislike. I'm not a fan of elriel (I'm mentioning this because it's one of the only things I typically scroll past but not sure it's at all applicable here?) If you're specifically asking about kink ranges, lemme know cuz they're WIDE AND VARIED. If there's anal there must be lubrication of some kind, that's a hard line for me.

As for my favorite color, I've got a lot of teal things, but I'm starting to tend more towards deeper, darker blue-greens and lots of forest greens.

Comfort movie? Oh gods...this question...I'm not sure that I have one. I literally had to go look at my streaming services because I haven't watched many movies recently. I also tend to rewatch TV shows more than movies d/t time constraints. I'm also such a mood watcher/reader/listener that this answer literally changes hourly. I'm a huge fan of Disney's Peter Pan (see: my Azris Peter Pan AU), Beauty and the Beast (OG animation), and Hercules. I don't think I could watch The Prince of Egypt enough in one lifetime. Anastasia is another favorite. I enjoy The Proposal a lot too. White Christmas is my favorite Christmas movie. I'm a huge sucker for movies like "Rush" that are retellings of actual events (and a big F1 fan).

Pride and Prejudice and The Holiday are both great movies that I really enjoy, but haven't watched in a while!!

I'm looking forward to see what you cook up with and getting to know you more as well!!

Sincerely,

A chronic over explainer who could not come up with simple answers and I hope that's okay. Please feel free to ask for clarification on anything!

[northisnotup]

If you are still taking them - 15. I've had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with. For Obiqui?

OKay, as I need to post SOMETHING for May the 4th (be with you) and this idea has been rattling around my brain like a bird in the egg of the bird in the nest of the nest on the branch of the branch on the tree, of the tree in the hole of the hole in the ground of the bog down in the valley, oh - you’re getting the Under The Tuscan Sun au! (though rest assured I had like 7 other ideas for this prompt. it was a GOOD prompt, my friend)

Qui-Gon froze in the street, craning his head and leaving his ice cream to drip over his knuckles to look at, almost through Obi-Wan and sigh. “You’re so boring.” He said quietly, almost to himself as he continued walking.

Struck still in affronted shock, Obi-Wan almost lost the other man to the crowd before he could catch up and demand an explanation for the rare overt rudeness. (For in their short acquaintance - the mysterious flirtation, helpful advice and good company could lend itself to no other description in Obi-Wan’s mind - Qui-Gon could be sly, with dry wit and the vague confusing advice of a holo-net actor pretending to be a Jedi, but he was rarely outright rude!) “Excuse me?”

“You’re boring!” Qui-Gon did him the favor of not even pretending to choose nicer words. “Look at you, you’re sad - again.” In the short time they’d been parted he had attended to the stray cream across his knuckles and Obi-Wan was embarrassed to be upset he had missed seeing it cleaned. 

Obi-Wan dodged another market-goer as Qui-Gon jubilantly embraced a passing fruit seller, kissing the being on both cheeks as was custom here. 

Here, a planet that up until three months ago, Obi-Wan had never set foot on. Where he bought a five century old villa, sight unseen because he was lonely and heartbroken and the man a few meters ahead of him, lapping at an ice cream cone, joking about wine prices had asked if he was going to get it, and when Obi-Wan said ‘No, no that would be an awful idea,’ winked, and said:

“Don’t you just love those?”

So now he had a beautiful, run-down old house, on a run-down plot of land it would take two bantha’s two days to plough. Having neither a bantha nor a plough, Obi-Wan took the seller’s word on that. His neighbors were a family of local politicians who had a great amount of money due to their flourishing fields and winery. Obi-Wan had one fruit which clung stubbornly to a withered vine. He had a group of contractors, foreign, like him, who have adopted him as one of their own. He had a broken heart, a failed marriage and the near ever present company of a man who flirted like he breathed but seemed to view Obi-Wan as a mentee or perhaps some sort of stray, pathetic life form.

He’s stayed silent too long. Qui-Gon looped back, a bag heavy with fragrant fruit on his arm and placed his melting iced cream to Obi-Wan’s lips. “Here, try this.”

The taste burst on his tongue, rich and silky with just the slightest sharp bite as he swallowed. “That is gorgeous.” He said, helplessly leaning back into the hand splayed across the small of his back, leading him Gods know where through the cobbled streets.

“Isn’t it? I love ice cream. It is because of ice cream, I am who and where I am today.”

“Oh?” Despite himself, Obi-Wan hung on to every word, but stole the ice cream for another bite.

“I was an awful child, you must know. An absolute hellion as a teen and my dear friend and teacher, Yoda found me outside an ice cream shop the third time I ran away from home. I thought for sure he was going to drag me back by the hair, and instead he bought me an ice cream and had me take a walk with him. He said, and please forgive the translation, his syntax gives me headaches to this day, he said ‘You have to live spherically. In many directions at once. Never lose your spark of life, and things will work out as they are meant to.’ How are the renovations going?“

Obi-Wan blinked through the conversational whiplash, swallowing a large bite of the treat and handing it back as he thought. He was long past trying to sort out rhyme or reason for Qui-Gon’s patterns and had decided during his third conversation with the man to accept the twists and turns as they came. This one, though, was exceptionally bitter as Obi-Wan, in the privacy of his own mind, blamed his acquisition of the house on Qui-Gon and his flights of fancy. He sighed, longing for the sweet red wine waiting for him. “It is going. Anakin, at least is flourishing, he loves the challenge. Cody and Rex bicker constantly -”

“The married couple who could be clones of one another?” 

“Yes - exactly, and if Plo finds one more addition not included in the plans the council had on file I am afraid he is going to burn the house down with me inside it.” Obi-Wan laughed bitterly. “I keep thinking, why am I doing all this work? Why - I have a death trap of a home that suits a life I do not and have never had.”

His ‘spark of life’ must be flickering because Qui-Gon actually stopped to look at him, worried lines replacing the laugher creases Obi-Wan often admired from the corner of his eyes. “Sorry. I told you I wasn’t good company today.”

 Abandoning their game of tug-o-war with the ice cream, Qui-Gon tossed it in an organic waste bin - just as well, the cone had started to go soft - and cupped his face, tenderly stroking his cheekbones with callused thumbs. “Yoda always said ‘regrets are just the past crippling you in the present,’ my dear. Tell me. What is it you want?”

Blinking hard, Obi-Wan looked up to the sky, both to will away the tears that wanted to form and to avoid Qui-Gon’s piercing gaze. “I want - I want everything I thought I had. I have a house with three bedrooms and no one but me to sleep in them. I have a kitchen and no one to cook for, I wake up in the middle of the night and think I must be the stupidest man in the galaxy.”

“What do you want.” Two fingers stroked the nape of his neck as gentle and insistent as the voice of the man they belonged to. 

“I -” 

Admitting to wanting things he was never going to get was something Obi-Wan grew out of when he was still a child. Wanting did not change what was.

Qui-Gon sighed, tugged him closer and angled his head all at once. Obi-Wan felt his face flame as someone rushed past him, close enough to rustle the fabric of his robes. They were still in the clutter of the market square, an oddity among oddities and though no one was paying any mind, he still felt horribly exposed. “Did you know I hunted ladybugs as a child?”

“No?”

Conversation with Qui-Gon always flowed like a river. Deceptively mild, but with a wicked undertow.

“I would chase them for hours and eventually give up and fall asleep in the grass, and when I woke up - they would be crawling all over me.” His voice was just loud enough to be heard over the crowd-noise but it was the vibration of the low-rumble of it echoing between them that dragged Obi-Wan’s eyes back down. The frown lines started to smooth away, leaving Qui-Gon’s expressive face desolate and blank.

“Are you telling me I just need to be patient?” Obi-Wan wanted desperately to wet his suddenly dry mouth but couldn’t break away even if his life depended on it. In many ways, he felt more like a butterfly being pinned to a board than a child in search of discovery. 

“I am telling you to consider the ladybug. Why do they fly away when someone chases them only to come around when they are not being sought out?” 

“Come home with me.” Tongue turned to cold metal, Obi-Wan cast about his suddenly blank mind to try and find any words to forgive, excuse or explain himself but could only part his lips in surprise when Qui-Gon grinned. 

“My dear, I thought you would never ask.”

[wafflesetc]

Ok but where is the laird who humped me ft the potting shed

Ye shall ask, ye shall receive. @caitbalfes deserves an award for putting up with me and encouraging this bad behavior.

The Laird Who Humped Me: Prequel | The Laird Who Humped Me  | Movie poster 1 | Movie Poster 2

Special thanks to @kkruml and @missclairebelle for holding my hand through writing this fic. Shout out to @futurelounging for this whole idea, who knows, maybe an Oscar is coming your way! #DreamBig 

And for everyone else, I’m sorry…. You’re welcome.

Holiday.

That’s where we were—what we were doing, we were on holiday. After our money laundering case HQ had told us to take some time.

“The Frasers have saved the world again, the least ye can do is enjoy some time off.”

That was easier said than done, but then again, anything is possible under the Tuscan sun.

I slid out of the bed and silently shuffled to the open window, grabbing my husband’s button down shirt and drawing it over my shoulders.  

It had been a wonderful start to the morning – what one might consider a rude awakening had left me feeling alive and vigorous –yearning for more, but as soon as I had come to full consciousness slowly, while Jamie had fallen peacefully asleep next to me. It was a rare treat for me to be able to watch my husband sleep. I knew he struggled with the memories of what I liked to call – the incident—that dreaded Op in Germany where I had almost lost him.

The nightmares over the years had been less frequent: but they would still come, still haunt him in the depths of his soul. His only release from the torment, to tether himself back to me; He was commanding my body and pouring himself deep within me- the blending of our souls.

I turned my face towards the rising sun, taking in the view before me. As many issues I might have with Jamie’s uncle, the use of his private Tuscan Villa was a warm welcome. The rows of vineyards and the red shutters made the view from the master suite painting a picture before my very eyes.

I heard the small rustle of the sheets behind me, as slowly turned back towards the bed. The sun outlining Jamie’s Viking cheeks, and strong Fraser brow—his auburn hair spread out on the pillow, his sun-kissed skin nearly sparkling as the touches of light accentuated his well-defined stomach.

A modern day Greek god – and by the grace of god all mine.

His eyelids softly fluttered as I watched his hand reach out from under the covers.

“Sassenach, come back to bed.”

I discarded his shirt, leaving it on the floor, joining him once more.

I loved seeing this carefree side of my husband.  We had long lived lives on the edge, a constant fear of the unknowns, of a tomorrow not always being promised. But here, as we flowed the winding curves of old laid bricks in a small Italian market, he seemed like a boy, not a worry in the world.

His hand had barely left mine all afternoon, our skin always in constant contact. We meandered through the market sampling olive oils and cheeses, and the best bread my taste buds had ever feasted on. And wine – oh the wine. It was never ending.

I could feel the sun on my bare shoulders; the green sundress I was wearing had thin straps and exposed the top half of slightly burnt skin. The wine was as invigorating as the feel of the people in the local village.  I could feel the effects of the fermented grapes flowing through me as Jamie squeezed my hand and nodded to a small little garden, as we reached the outskirts of the market.

I blushed, releasing his hand from mine, walking through the rows of small plotted flower, herbs, and vegetables. I tipped the brim of my hat back as I smelled the sunflowers, the fresh mint and basil, and felt the small crisp tomatoes. I had always had a green thumb—a knack for keeping things alive. I had a small herb garden while living in the dorms at college, but after being recruited by Interpol and constantly on the go with Jamie—we had never had a true home of our own.

I picked a small pink flower, turning to Jamie and sticking it in the crook of his ear.  “You look dashing, my love.” I said as I turned back to study the next row of plants.

“Ye want a garden of yer own one day, I can see it on yer face when ye walk through the rows.”

“Mmmm.” I hummed at him as I kept taking stock of just how meticulously this garden had been maintained. I could feel his eyes on me as I kept meandering, taking mental notes, wishing to be able to do this one day in a place of our own.

“Ye look so bonny, Claire. Yer hands in the dirt, long fingers handling the dainty flowers and herbs…. That floppy hat on yer head….” Jamie started as he walked up behind me, grabbing me by my waist giving me a rather firm inclination to just what he had in mind.

“Jamie….We’re in public…” I said as he pressed his groin further into my arse.

“That hasna stopped ye before, Sassenach. I’ll find a place.” Jamie groaned as he took my hand, leading me.

“What, in here?” I stammered as he opened the door to a small green house just off the garden.

“I must have ye, or die.” Jamie said as he lifted me in a one handed motion, hastily shuffling over to small corner.

“Those will be your dying words—“ I started as he kissed me right beneath the base of my earlobe. I let out a small high-pitched squeal of sorts, as he shoved the pots and trowels out of the way.

“Make that noise again for me, Sassenach.” Jamie said as he trailed kisses over my bare chest, his hands finding the hem of my dress as he moved it to the tops of my thigh. I happily obliged making another squeaky noise as I reached for the button on his shorts.

“Stop talking.” I ordered as I tried to reach down and push his shorts off his waist but was stopped as his mouth lined my face with kisses as his clothing fell to his ankles.

His tongued lined my mouth as he scooted me an inch closer, aligning our bodies so he was just a quick movement from his end game.

I took his face between both my hands as I pulled his attention to look at me. I saw his chest move as he gasped for breath, his eyes locking on mine.

“I love you.” I whispered to him. His blue eyes seared into mine—locking the depths of my soul that he commanded and held between his two very capable hands. He nodded slightly and in one quick motion filled me – solid and warm, alive, one with me.

“OH.” I gasped as I closed my eyes, gasping for air. He moved slowly at first, a delicate hold on my back.

I kissed the base of his collarbone, as his thrusts picked up the pace, and reached for his ass, pulling him closer to me.

Know exactly what I needed – what I had wanted, his hands held me still as his rhythm escalated, becoming erratic, as I shuddered around him, as he followed closely right behind me.

“Ye have a piece o’ dirt on yer forehead, Sassenach.”

“And who’s fault might that be?” I said as I pushed a piece of his hair out of his face.

“Mine and I dinna regret it, one bit.” He laughed as he kissed me tenderly.

“Well, I guess anything goes under the Tuscan sun, aye?” I joked as I got off the shelf, adjusting my dress, in the best Scottish accent I could muster.

“Aye, I suppose it does.” Jamie said as he fastened his shorts, taking my hand.  “We’ll have a home one day, that I promise ye.”

“You’re my home.” I replied – and whether we were in Italy, Scotland, or even the only two people on the moon, I meant it with all my being.

[leighbot]

“You did what?”

“Sorry, is the connection poor?” Harry asks, pulling the phone away from his ear. He isn’t sure if the acoustics of a phone booth are setup a specific way, but he can only shove one side of his body into the small booth. Maybe some of the sound is escaping.

Niall laughs. “It sounds like you said you bought a villa in Tuscany.”

“Oh, perfect, then it’s clear like crystal.”

A Zarry Under the Tuscan Sun AU I’ll probably never finish

[sojutogo]

soulmate au:

There was a time when Wonwoo saw nothing but shades of white and gold every single year.

Bands glittering underneath the Tuscan sun or flowers softly swaying under a canopy of red woods, the scent of earth clinging to his shoes at every step. Where the revelry went for hours and hours on end and the wine flowed like a fountain as shrieks of laughter broke the night air and made it warm. He also remembers swaddles of cloth and love held in the arms of his friends, of rosy-cheeked babies and long afternoons rolling on hills and picnics underneath the trees.

And then like the changing of the seasons, of summer bleeding into the cold winds of fall until the harshness of winter surprises him one morning when he least expected it, an ocean of black and somber white was all he could see—of umbrellas held under the rain and cold headstones. The scent of earth clinging to his shoes smells like mourning.

Not everyone lives forever.

The heart, at some point, grows old with weariness and succumbs to resignation as its other half remains lost—a boat untethered to its shore.

Wonwoo will watch friends turn old and grey, skin withering until he gazes into their milky eyes and realize that recognition has long passed and they remember nothing of their nights of revelry when the wine flowed and the laughter went on until morning.

Wonwoo makes sure to attend every funeral as an apology—all sixty-five years worth of it.

The butler had already prepared his suit by the time Wonwoo dropped the call. He does not know if he wishes to praise his efficiency or to worry about how they have established a routine with how often Wonwoo receives calls like he just had these days.

It feels like the grim reaper is also calling for him.

Nevertheless, Wonwoo slips the suit on—he used to have a favorite but as the years passed, the threads began to fray and Wonwoo had to call for a new one. He thinks he likes this one best, it's simple and it will be easier for him to blend with the crowd later.

Wonwoo had never liked drawing attention to himself.

“I'll pick you up after, Sir?” His butler asks, a tall blond man who does not look a day over eighteen but has worked for Wonwoo for over twenty-seven years. He has a silver band on his finger and his hands are smooth and pale—some are lucky to have found their soulmate so young and stay frozen in youth, forever.

And is that not one's ultimate desire?

Countless tomes of literature and reels of films have spoken about humanity's search for the fountain of youth, for the elixer that cures old age and sickness and lets the beholder stay young for all of eternity.

But Wonwoo had come to realize that these are nothing but products of souls who have not found their own souls, the chattering of mad men in the dark or the drunken conversation from one bottle of spirits to another.

A hidden desire, a prayer to the lost gods.

“No need,” Wonwoo replies as he slips inside the back seat of the car, bringing his wrist in front of him to check the time. “I'll be fine.”

His butler steals a look on the rearview mirror for a second, kind understanding in his eyes, before he nods and they drive off.

The funeral this time is quick and only attended by a few friends and family.

Wonwoo sees some familiar faces during the service and he chances upon Seungcheol once the casket had been lowered and Wonwoo had finished offering his respects to the family.

“Leaving already?” Seungcheol greets him, face just as cherubic as Wonwoo remembers when he first met him in college, fourty-three years ago. “You haven't even said hello to the gang, yet.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes at Seungcheol's fatherly tendencies but he supposes it's warranted. Seungcheol is the oldest friend Wonwoo has ever had.

“I'll see all of you at dinner tonight anyway,” Wonwoo replies as they walk side by side on the grassy lawn of the cemetery. It's a shame that most of New York's greeneries are found here.

“Forgive me if I wish to spare myself a few hours of peaceful sanity.”

“Dramatic as always,” Seungcheol scoffs as he folds the umbrella he had been carrying earlier when it started to drizzle. “They're not that bad.”

Wonwoo shrugs as he focuses his gaze on Seungcheol's side profile, “What? Don't they tire you?”

The older is quiet for a minute as they simply walk in companionable silence.

When you have known someone as long as Wonwoo has known Seungcheol, there is no need to fill every meeting with conversation—Wonwoo knows enough as much as Seungcheol knows him enough. Understanding each other was just as inherent as breathing, Wonwoo thinks there was no else in the world that he knew him in the way Seungcheol did.

Eternity is often lonely as Wonwoo had come to realize but he's glad he will always have a familiar face to go back to.

“I think funerals always had a way of shocking me back to reality despite having lived this long,” Seungcheol starts. “It's a cold reminder to me that not everyone has a lot of time, not everyone is like us.”

Immortality was conditional: a person stops aging only if they meet their soul mate. No one knows how this rule came to be, the gods have long refrained from answering prayers and neither history offers any answer. It simply just was and that is how they came to be.

Yet despite such premise, they could still die. Old age will not touch them, not even if they grow as old as the mountains that once were piles of rocks and seas that once were barren with water. But Death has other ways to announce its arrival because after all, the heart is also a fragile, fragile thing.

Heart break was his favorite harbinger.

Sometimes meeting your soulmate does not mean the guarantee of forever. Sometimes differences do not work out even if their destinies have been written in the stars.

Stars after all, no matter how bright they burn, die.

So does love.

Human beings are fickle creatures and love becomes arbitrary when the years stretch long enough for it to simply be not enough.

“Good, now you're reminded to start my funeral preparations.”

Wonwoo gets nothing but a dead-eyed stare in return for his cheek.

“Do you still honestly believe you haven't found him?"

Him.

How was Seungcheol so sure?

“Of course,” Wonwoo scoffs, shrugging away the disbelief in Seungcheol's eyes. “I have been feeling old age in my bones lately, my joints hurt when it rains.”

Now, it's Seungcheol's turn to roll his eyes.

“You do not look like you've aged since the year we met,” Seungcheol replies, sounding like he's trying to explain a basic concept to a five year-old (Wonwoo knows, he's been around Seungcheol's kids for dinner long enough) when he had already explained it earlier but has to do it again.

Wonwoo does not think he appreciates the sentiment.

“Maybe you're the one getting old,” Wonwoo squints. “Don't you see my wrinkles?”

Seungcheol throws his hands up in the air in a whatever gesture and simply walks away with his back turned against Wonwoo, the picture of defeat. There's a car waiting for him at the curb and Wonwoo does not have to guess that Jeonghan is the one behind the wheel.

Late for every single thing unless it involved Seungcheol.

Mingyu as the eternal host of honor had figured that if he wanted their dinner parties to start on time, Seungcheol was the one to ask and not Jeonghan if they were going to make it.

“Don't forget dinner, grand pa!” Wonwoo calls after him and Seungcheol simply shoots Wonwoo the bird as his figure retreats even further until Seungcheol finally fades out of sight.

Despite Seungcheol's frustrations, Wonwoo still finds a reason to laugh at his old friend's antics. He know understands where Hyunbin got her moody tendencies.

"Well," Wonwoo sighs as he fishes for his phone, "Looks like I don't have a ride home after all."

"Why? Too old to walk home, old man?"

Wonwoo spins around, phone halfway raised to his ear as another (unfortunately) familiar face comes into view.

Wonwoo's mood immediately dampens.

“What are you doing here.”

“I'm attending a wedding,” Soonyoung hums, his tone adopting the sarcastic one he always has when he's within the hearing vicinity of Wonwoo's.

“Hope it's not yours, I fear for the groom,” Wonwoo fires back with the same ease of banter and dose of acidity.

“Aww. Jealous, darling?” Soonyoung grins mockingly as he shrugs a black jean-jacket over a frayed band shirt, horribly under-dressed as per usual.

“Don't flatter yourself, I'm merely concerned for the poor man that has to spend eternity with you.” Wonwoo mutters as he pockets his phone and begins to resume his walk towards the cemetery's exit.

Uncaring if Soonyoung follows.

But like a fly that annoyingly buzzes in one's ear, Wonwoo hears the rush of hurried footsteps.

Great.

“Shouldn't you be more concered about those wrinkles, old man?” Soonyoung replies, easily falling into step with him despite the younger's obvious disdain, which he has made very clear every time Wonwoo was present.

"Shouldn't you start dressing in warmer clothes? Those jeans can't be too good for your blood circulation."

Wonwoo doesn't remember when he first met Soonyoung but he distinctly remembers the wave of white-hot anger that came crashing down when the younger clumsily crashed against him and consequently, the diorama Wonwoo had spent weeks building for class.

To his credit, Soonyoung had tried to help Wonwoo and even going as far as offering to come with him to class to explain what happened to Wonwoo's professor. But patience was not (yet) a virtue Wonwoo had come to cultivate and he was too proud for his own good to accept Soonyoung's apologies despite the younger's insistence.

And thus began a war that spanned all through out college as Wonwoo had retaliated by sneaking into Soonyoung's frat house (courtesy of a once-impressionble Chan) and putting powdered chalk all over his clothes and beddings and well, his laptop was just lying there and Wonwoo had a year of computer engineering before he shifted to creative writing and got, well, creative.

Soonyoung not one to take such insult lying down, had proceeded to egg every inch and crevice of Wonwoo's newly-washed car so much that it had to take three more washes for the older to get the smell off.

In hindsight, Wonwoo thinks they could have just talked it out like proper and civilized human beings. But pride was on the line and Wonwoo had spent way too much money on balloons that he had blown up and snuck in Soonyoung's car to bake under the heat and pop simultaneously the moment the Dance major attempted to open the car doors.

As such, it just became a thing to both their eternal thirst for revenge to one-up the other and their friend's amusement.

("I've never seen Wonwoo exert so much effort until he meet Soonyoung," Mingyu mutters in quiet awe as he watched two of his friends chase each other down the lawn with a can of whipped cream. "You couldn't even pay him to attend sports day."

Jeonghan simply hums as he grabs the can of beer from the still-frozen man and leans back on the beach chair he had comandeered from one of the frat houses for No-Beach-Beach Day.

"Sometimes your soul mate makes you crazy.")

"Don't worry, I'll still out live you." Soonyoung replies as he twirls his car keys over a finger. "Now, does the senior citizen need a ride?"

There's a scathing reply at the tip of Wonwoo's tongue but it gets cut off as a gust of wind billows around them, making the both of them shiver and goose bumps to errupt on their exposed skin.

Freezing to (possible) death just to wait for Desmond to arrive will save his pride but Wonwoo had just come from a funeral and he's just about ready to call it a night with a glass of wine to lull him to sleep.

Getting stuck in an awkward car ride with Soonyoung seems like the lesser of two evils and he wants Desmond to come home to his own family on time for dinner, for once.

"Fine," Wonwoo mutters as he walks towards the direction of the car park, "Get me home."

"Oh, is that a please I hear?"

"Fuck off," Wonwoo mutters as Soonyoung grins manically beside him as he rushes to his car.

Once they're both inside with much less fanfare than Wonwoo had come to expect, Wonwoo presses himself against the car door as close as possible to at least create a line of separation between him and Soonyoung.

Wonwoo will find a way to keep his dignity intact.

To his chagrin, Soonyoung doesn't even comment on it and simply drives.

The ride is silent for a few minutes save for the constant stream of whistling from Soonyoung's end after he had turned on the radio to some pop station that he knows will annoy Wonwoo to death. Wonwoo having no other desire to exert any unnecessary effort to interact with Soonyoung, simply keeps his mouth shut despite the headache throbbing in his temples at the repetitive lyrics.

"Hey, you think you'll die soon?" Comes the sudden question from Soonyoung as they drive out of the cemetery property and into the highway.

Wonwoo furrows his eyebrow for a second before he shrugs and decides there would be no harm to entertain Soonyoung's answer.

"If you still keep that smoking habit, you might." Wonwoo mutters as he eyes the pack of Malboros on Soonyoung's dashboard and the accompanying lighter beside it.

One of Wonwoo's eternal ticks was the smell of nicotine and Soonyoung was a walking cigarette pack ever since he met him. It was just natural for Wonwoo to add that to the long list of things he found annoying about Soonyoung.

"I stopped!" Soonyoung whines, petulant as if Wonwoo has greatly wronged him. "Why do you always think the worst?"

Wonwoo rolls his eyes at the younger's petty tears, "You've been smoking since college, how was I to know you stopped?"

But, Wonwoo did know.

He knew because the car was strangely absent of the scent of nicotine that used to line the leather over the years and he had seen Soonyoung stay on his seat the entire time during dinner last week, when the black-haired man would usually excuse himself during dessert for a smoke break.

"Well, I'm stopping now." Soonyoung mutters as he rubs a finger against his nose, body bowed in a self-conscious curve.

"Congrats? Is that what you want me to say?" Wonwoo wonders out loud and it only serves to make the hunch on Soonyoung's shoulders more pronounced.

"You don't know have to be such a dick about it," Soonyoung sniffs as he manuevers the car in the free way. "Asshole."

"Well, what did you want me to say then?" Wonwoo sighs as he rubs a tired hand against the space between his eyebrows.

"Nothing, forget it." Soonyoung replies tersely and his sudden closed-offness just serves to make Wonwoo's headache worse.

"Just spit it out, Soonyoung." Wonwoo mutters as he leans back on his seat and gazes out the window, "Or you'll end up holding it against me, again."

"I said it's nothing!" Soonyoung suddenly shouts and it makes Wonwoo jump on his seat with surprise.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Wonwoo hisses as he tries to calm his heart beat down, "Do you want to get us into an accident?"

"Oh so now I'm a horrible driver?"

"I did not say that you dip shit," Wonwoo fires back.

"You were implying it, dickhead."

"I really was not but if you're going to insist on it, fine. You're a horrible driver and I will fucking kill you if you get us in an accident."

The car grows quiet after that with nothing but Wonwoo's still-harsh breathing and Soonyoung's god-awful radio station to puncture the silence from time to time.

"I'm not," Soonyoung whispers after a while, strangely subdued after his sudden outburst.

"You're not what."

Wonwoo watches him drive the car to the outermost lane before Soonyoung kills the engine and parks the car by the sidewalk in silence.

"What are you doing, some of us has to get home."

"I told you, I'm not gonna get us killed."

Wonwoo raises his eyebrow, slowly growing concerned over Soonyoung's unsual behavior, "Okay? Now drive?"

"Just..." Soonyoung sighs, a harsh sound escaping his teeth before he unbuckles his seatbelt but makes no move to get out of the car.

"Have you been drinking?" Wonwoo asks, "What is wrong with you, today?"

Wonwoo can feel the headache consuming his whole skull as his skin burns with impatience.

He has no time to deal with whatever brand of crazy Soonyoung has decided to dish out today and just wants to get home, take off his suit and wash the scent of flowers and burnt candle wicks out of his body and then drown himself with alcohol until he feels numb and he forgets the image of his hand throwing a rose at a dugged-out pocket of land as he watched its petals touch the solid wood of the casket being lowered to the ground.

He just wants to go home and forget that he lost another friend.

"Nothing's wrong, why do you always assume something's wrong with me?"

God, why now?

"Soonyoung, I'm not in the fucking mood to deal with your bullshit right now." Wonwoo breathes harshly through his teeth as he tries to will the headache away, "So you either drive me home or I can get out of this car and walk."

"Do you really hate being with me?"

It's said so quietly that Wonwoo could just miss it but they're alone and the highway is silent that Wonwoo hears every word.

He's about to reply when something glints on Soonyoung's cheek and Wonwoo realizes with aborted surprise that the younger is crying.

"Shit," Soonyoung swears once he (too) realizes that he was crying, "Shit, why the fuck am I crying?"

"Soon–" Wonwoo doesn't know what to do with his hands as Soonyoung keeps crying, tears stubbornly falling on his cheeks even if the younger tries so hard to wipe it off.

It's the first time Wonwoo has seen Soonyoung cry.

He has known him for fourty-one years.

Soonyoung's tears evolve into full-on sobs, shoulders hunching as his body is wrecked with the force of his cries and Wonwoo doesn't know what to do.

He doesn't know what to do, he has never had to take care of Soonyoung before.

The younger was always so bright and full of life even in the face of the worst of Wonwoo's pranks. The worst of his emotions was only limited to being pissed off after Wonwoo one-ups him or to bursts of annoyance that came when he couldn't get the choreography right for a dance recital or when his unreasonable boss piles another job on him which usually ended up on Soonyoung taking it out on Wonwoo in the dorms when they were still in college or after their dinner parties in his apartment.

Yes, they slept together.

Their petty rivalry had to rear it's ugly head at some point and it happened a few months after they started when they got into one of those arguments that had everyone fleeing the room to avoid the inevitable car crash.

Wonwoo doesn't remember who kissed who but he remembers ending up in Seokmin's bedroom with his pants halfway down his thighs and the feeling of his teeth clamping on his own fist as he tried to hide his moans as Soonyoung sucked him off.

Then he jerked the younger off to near passing out until they collapsed on their friend's bed with a tired sigh.

They still hated each other even after that but instead of ludicrous pranks, Soonyoung can leave mean bites on Wonwoo's shoulders where his shirt will hide them and Wonwoo can edge Soonyoung for hours if he pissed Wonwoo off that day.

It didn't have to mean anything else but another way to get revenege against each other.

Wonwoo could still see the bite he had left on Soonyoung three days ago peeking through the collar of the younger's shirt and if Wonwoo could concetrate enough, he can still feel the phantom throb from where Soonyoung had pressed his fingers deep into Wonwoo's shoulder as he fucked him from behind last week.

There's an entire constellation of themselves on each other's skin—pressed, bitten, kissed.

A reminder, a claim, a promise.

Wonwoo suddenly feels so, so tired all of a sudden.

He's so tired of having to pretend that all this time, from college up until this very moment where he's watching Soonyoung cry, he doesn't want to hold his hand.

"You are not going to die," Wonwoo starts, not knowing where he'll end up after this. "Not even in the nearest future or even after then."

A waterly laugh errupts from Soonyoung's mouth from where he's leaning on the steering wheel, "How sure are you?"

"I just am, Soonyoung." Wonwoo sighs as he looks ahead of him, through the window of the car and into the long and silent road.

"I could die anytime now," Soonyoung mutters. "I could die anytime."

"Why do you think you'll die, why are you so sure?"

Soonyoung scoffs as he lifts his head off from the steering wheel, "C'mon genius, you and I both know why."

Wonwoo turns his head and looks at Soonyoung straight in the eye.

He has known Soonyoung for fourty-one years.

"I really don't."

Soonyoung sighs as he wipes the last of his tears off before looking away and staring at his own side of the window, "I don't have a soulmate. There. Happy now, asshole?"

Wonwoo is not.

"You really had to make me say it, don't you?" Soonyoung scoffs as he begins to start the car up, "You're really an asshole."

Wonwoo closes his eyes and thinks that he has known Soonyoung for fourty-one years.

Fourty-one years, Wonwoo should be over sixty now and yet he still looks like he's still twenty-three.

He met Soonyoung at twenty-three.

"What am I, then?" Wonwoo whispers, quiet.

A confession, albeit fourty-one years late.

"What are you what?" Soonyoung asks, tone confused as Wonwoo opens his eyes and stares back again at Soonyoung.

Fourty-one years.

He has been in love with Soonyoung for fourty-one years.

"What am I, if not your soulmate?"

[adelindschade]

So I’m watching Under the Tuscan Sun and this AU occurred to me: 

After a messy divorce from her ex Tomas, Nesta escaped to Italy as her best friend Emerie’s second, a spot that would have been occupied by the unknown lady friend that Emerie never talks about because their relationship is under wraps. 

Emerie convinced Nesta to take a chance - do something crazy! Something she’s never, ever done before! - and in that moment, a house listing pops up, and they look at it for kicks - and after a pigeon poops on her, the owner insists she buys because it’s a sign of great luck. 

A house is a lot of work and they need help. They hire local landscape Balthazar to show them how to tend & pick the vines; local abroad student Gwyn is given room and board after she drops out of school and nowhere to go (refusing to return to the states), offering her expertise of the language, history, and geography. 

Enter Azriel, the cute Italian Gwyn fancies, but can’t muster the courage to talk to.

Enter his brother, Cassian, who is handy with carpentry, and offers to work on the house’s interior, and willing to play cupid between the shy redhead and his idiot brother who gets tongue tied around the cute American. 

Too bad Cassian can’t master the language of love when faced with one of the beautiful mistresses of the house, and ends up butchering each attempt to ask her out. (Emerie simply laughs but does not assist, excited to see some entertainment). 

Nesta’s sister, Elain, and Feyre, visit after years of estrangement, and bewildered about Nesta’s big venture abroad, and they fall in LOVE with the city, and in turn, catch the attention of the locals. 

Like the local professor, Lucien, from France, who courts Elain with flowers, wit, poetry, and all things romantic. 

Or Rhys, Cassian’s elder brother, and stockbroker from New York, who came to talk some sense into his brothers and insist they escape the small village blues, and find Feyre, the gorgeous free spirited woman who cannot fathom being tied down to such a mundane life of money and number and yada. 

And just like that - Nesta built a home with laughter, love, life, and hope. 

And Mor, the woman who chases her ex across the sea, finally free of her own insecurities, find Emerie standing outside a temple, grinning as she waited for the blonde to come to her senses. 

[deansawthetvglow]

give me a deancas under the tuscan sun au IMMEDIATELY

[hollyethecurious]

First Lines Meme

Rules: share the first lines of your ten most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway ❤️

Tagged by the lovely @iamstartraveller776 and @kmomof4. I'm taking a page out of @iamstartraveller776's book and sharing the first lines from my current, unposted wips instead of my recently posted... since I haven't posted much recently 😆

A Necessary Evil - serial killer AU:

Killian Jones was attractive, charming, and absolutely insane.

Ghosts AU for @cssns2023:

“I’m sorry. Could you repeat that? I thought I heard you say, I’m the heiress to an old, abandoned estate in Maine, wish is… crazy.”

Land Run AU:

Stars exploded behind Killian’s eyes as the force of the punch knocked his head back.

Shipwreck AU:

Frigid water crashed over the men who worked frantically to ready the lifeboats.

The Law of Surprise:

Smoke billowed from the hull, choking the air as steel clanged around them.

Under the Tuscan Sun AU:

"Emma… Emma?"

Wips I don't have a first line for, but are in the works:

In the Company of Demons sequel

Pan Says... Chapter 6

EF Werewolves/Soulmates AU

Tagging: @winterbaby89 @artistic-writer @caught-in-the-filter @cocohook38 @wyntereyez @killian-whump and anyone else who might want to play!

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

tv and movies of 2021 - big lists!

Just for ... well, no reason whatsoever except that I kept track, here’s my list of movies and TV that I watched and rewatched in 2021! Rewatches are italicized (unless I forgot to italicize one but it’s obviously something I’ve seen before). It’s a total of 118 movies (er, ignoring the fact that Ideal Home is counted multiple times) and ... I don’t even know how many TV shows. A lot.

Movies Watched in 2021

January

1. Soul 2. The Sunlit Night 3. Standup Special - Ari Eldjarn: Pardon My Icelandic 4. Lilo & Stitch 5. Save Yourselves! 6. Fisherman’s Friends 7. Bedazzled 8. Ideal Home (I HAVE A PROBLEM!)

February

9. Afternoon Delight 10. Irresistible 11. The Little Hours 12. Just Go With It 13. Juliet, Naked 14. Neighbors 15. Neighbors 2: Sorority Rising 16. Ophelia 17. I Capture the Castle

March

18. Before Sunrise 19. Before Sunset 20. Before Midnight 21. Zootopia 22. Ever After 23. I Care A Lot 24. Godzilla: King of the Monsters 25. Long Shot 26. Hysteria 27. Peter Rabbit 28. The Dig 29. Pretty Woman

April

30. Runaway Bride 31. Men In Black 32. Ammonite 33. Misbehaviour 34. Sonic the Hedgehog 35. Prince Caspian 36. Emma. ♥ 37. Godzilla vs. Kong 38. Shrek

May

39. Wild Mountain Thyme D: 40. Notting Hill 41. Did You Hear About The Morgans? 42. Ideal Home 43. Stowaway 44. Little Monsters 45. The Personal History of David Copperfield 46. The Woman in the Window 47. Cruella 48. The Mitchells vs the Machines 49. Jennifer’s Body 50. Supernova 51. The World To Come

June 52. Peter Rabbit 2 53. Underwater 54. Luca 55. The Mirror Has Two Faces

July 56. Point Break 57. Bo Burnham: Inside 58. Music & Lyrics 59. Barb and Star Go To Vista Del Mar 60. Gunpowder Milkshake 61. Man Up 62. This is 40 63. Clueless 64. Our Idiot Brother 65. Hampstead 66. Ideal Home (I AM WHAT I AM!) 67. Peter Rabbit (I AM WHAT I AM! And Justine hadn't seen it yet!!) 68. Zombieland 69. Paddington 70. Paddington 2 71. Ghostbusters (2016)

August

72. Dirty Dancing 73. Zombieland: Double Tap 74. The Green Knight 75. Jungle Cruise 76. The Suicide Squad 77. Raya and the Last Dragon

September

78. Carmilla (2019) 79. Promising Young Woman 80. Good Will Hunting 81. The Hot Chick (ahahahahahahaha!) 82. Train to Busan

October

83. Freaky (aka The Freaky Chick, aka The Hot Chick Horror AU) 84. B&B (2017) 85. Paradise Hills 86. Emma. (2020) 87. Under the Tuscan Sun 88. Corpse Bride 89. Crimson Peak 90. Hotel Transylvania 91. Attack the Block 92. Alice In Wonderland (2010) 93. Dune (2021) 94. Blithe Spirit (2020) 95. Nacho Libre 96. Hocus Pocus

November

97. Persuasion (1995) 98. School of Rock 99. Spencer 100. The Holiday ♥ 101. Love Hard 102. Instant Family 103. Jungle Cruise 104. Before Sunrise

December 105. Pig 106. The Piano 107. Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings 108. The Big Year 109. Night of the Living Dead 110. Blades of Glory 111. Willow 112. Home Alone 113. Don't Look Up 114. How The Grinch Stole Christmas 115. Home Alone 2 116. Get Him To The Greek 117. Blockers 118. Reality Bites

TV Watched in 2021

January

Letterkenny, Season 8

Big Mouth, Season 4

Doctor Who, Season 8

Melissa & Joey, Season 1

Miranda, Full Series

Letterkenny, Season 9

Saved By The Bell (2020), Season 1

Lovecraft Country, Season 1

Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death

History of Swear Words

Orphan Black, Season 1

Orphan Black, Season 2

Like one million seasons of The Simpsons, you don't even know!

February

All Creatures Great and Small, Season 1

Disenchantment, Season 3

Orphan Black, Season 3

Miracle Workers, Season 2

Servant, Season 1

Orphan Black, Season 4

Good Trouble, Season 1

Orphan Black, Season 5

March

Sally4Ever, Season 1 😱

Search Party, Season 1-Season 4

What We Do In The Shadows, Seasons 1 & 2

Servant, Season 2

WandaVision

AP Bio, Season 1

Superstore, Season 6

AP Bio, Season 2

Escape to the Chateau, Season 5

April

The Irregulars, Season 1

AP Bio, Season 3

Schitt's Creek, Season 1-5

The Nanny, Season 1

Ted Lasso, Season 1

The Nanny, Season 2

May

Schitt's Creek, Season 6

Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life

People of Earth, Full Series

The Nanny, Season 3

Sanditon, Season 1

Agatha Raisin, Season 2

Mythic Quest, Season 1

Trying, Season 1

June

Girls5eva, Season 1

The Mighty Ducks: Game Changers, Season 1

Younger, Season 7

Modern Family, Season 1-4

Anne With An E, Season 1-2

Hacks, Season 1

Starstruck, Season 1

Sweet Tooth, Season 1

Big Shot, Season 1

July

This Way Up, Season 1

Anne With An E, Season 3

Trying, Season 2

The Nanny, Seasons 4-6

Sense & Sensibility (2008)

Modern Family, Season 5-7

Kevin Can Fuck Himself, Season 1

August

The Pursuit of Love

Modern Family, Season 8

Slings and Arrows, Season 1-3

The Office: Superfan Episodes, Season 1

Ghosts, Season 1-2

Modern Family, Season 9-10

Gilmore Girls, Season 1

September

Gilmore Girls, Season 2-3

The White Lotus, Season 1

Modern Family, Season 11

Ghosts, Season 3

Gilmore Girls, Season 4

Nine Perfect Strangers

Sex Education, Season 3

We Are Lady Parts, Season 1

October

Squid Game

Single Parents, Season 1

Gilmore Girls, Season 5

Midnight Mass

The Baby-Sitters Club, Season 2

Gilmore Girls, Season 6

Gilmore Girls, Season 7

Only Murders in the Building, Season 1

Wellington Paranormal, Season 1

Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life

Succession, Season 1

Ted Lasso, Season 2

November

Succession, Season 2

Saved By The Bell (2020), Season 1

The Next Thing You Eat

Single Parents, Season 2

Good Trouble, Season 3

The Other Two, Season 1

Big Mouth, Season 5

The Great, Season 1

The Other Two, Season 2

Saved By The Bell, Season 2

GBBO 2021

Random Xena episodes yaaaaay!

December

Jane Eyre (1983)

The Great, Season 2

Parks and Rec, Season 1

Succession, Season 3

Parks and Rec, Season 2

Parks and Rec, Season 3

Dickinson, Season 3

Mum, Season 1-3

Parks and Rec, Season 4

[chittapornswife]

neo summer love ❀ུ۪ - collab!

❀ INFO

hello! this is my first ever collab call inspired by this moodboard & the movies “Under The Tuscan Sun” and “The Wind Rises”!

The theme is simple, summer love. 

Think of the time when you had a summer love; the joys, the sorrows, the heartbreaks, the thrill of participating in something that could be temporary or may last forever. Or, think of the time where you longed for a summer love, a person who was by your side on those clear, starry nights; a lover who you could have fun with on vacation and not think of the repercussions.

This is an NCT OT23 collab call and all nct writers are welcome to join! Of course, no hate/discouragement to any of the fics or the writers involved. Please reblog so this may reach a broader audience!

(can’t believe I forgot to include this but special thank you to my moonlight, @127-mile​ , for encouraging me to create this collab & for checking my draft! Without you, I probably never would’ve posted this :’) 💗 )

❀ RULES ❀

first come, first serve basis

apply by sending me a private message/ask! :D

No plagiarism, bullying, anything nasty of that sort will be tolerated

No 18+ content for Jisung

Suggestive is okay for Sungchan and Chenle! (But please nothing too far)

Must be 18+ of age if wanting to write suggestive/smut

Please be inclusive. So, no skin colour, eye colour, hair colour, basically any colour on the body besides the clothes worn. Also no indication of weight, race, anything that may exclude a reader. 

I encourage you to join the discord since announcements, plots, idea & feedback will be given there but it’s alright if you can’t!

You don’t have to join the discord but I would still like to know the plot of your story so that it may not overlap with anyone else’s! msg me on here to do so or on discord (if you choose to get it :) )

after applying, i would appreciate a reblog so that this may reach a wider audience :)

if you need to back out, message me and the deadline for that is July 1, 2021 (you can still message me after this if you’d like an extension or need to drop out for specific reasons) 

❀ CRITERION ❀

❀ུ۪  theme: summer love (can be from any era and be based off of any ficitonal/non-fictional work aka you have free reigns long as you give credit)

❀ུ۪  genre: all genres are accepted! I don’t want to limit your creativity/mind.

❀ུ۪  pairings: member x reader allowed (no member x member or member x oc, sorry)

❀ུ۪  word count: must be at least 1K - no drabbles or timestamps or blurbs. Anything else is allowed! 

❀ུ۪  warnings: please do list all warnings/triggers at the top of your work and if you need help with figuring out, send me a DM or just simply list it in your warnings. Better to be safe and overly cautious then not!

❀ུ۪  questions: please do send me a msg if you want to inquire further or need help in any way and I will try my best to be of assistance!

❀ུ۪ deadline: August 31, 2021

❀ MEMBERS ❀

❀ moon taeil - @dundun-baby​

❀ seo youngho - @neonun-au 

❀ lee taeyong - @sweetlyjaem​ 

❀ nakamoto yuta - @127-mile

❀ qian kun - @lovetalkhendery​

❀ kim doyoung - @ncteaxhoe​

❀ ten chittaphon -  @sakuracheol​

❀ jung jaehyun - @urlocalnctstan

❀ dong sicheng - @dreamyyang​

❀ kim jungwoo - @treasuretaeil​​ 

❀ wong yukhei - @endlesslove-r​

❀ mark lee - @hyuckdove​

❀ xiao dejun - @soliverse​

❀ wong kunhang - @hachanbaecon​

❀ huang renjun - @chittapornswife​

❀ lee jeno - @treasuretaeil​

❀ lee donghyuck - @chittapornswife​

❀ na jaemin -​ @seomelon​

❀ liu yangyang - @chittapornswife

❀ osaki shotaro - @dundun-baby​

❀ jung sungchan - @kpoppinandlockin​

❀ zhong chenle - @butterbeeryuta​

❀ park jisung - @bbyqngels​

↳ COLLAB MASTERLIST