#things i have written :)

[mittensmorgul]

Loose Ends

(a story set in the Evergreen 'verse but can be read as a standalone)

Words: 20,763 Rated: T Tags: Destiel, Saileen, and The Winchester Gospels in a post-Chuck universe

Summary:

Life in a post-Chuck universe might never be dull, but sometimes they're reminded just how much that guy had fucked with their lives over the years. When helping another hunter deal with some rogue fairies brings up some past trauma for Dean, they somehow fall down a rabbit hole of fanfiction that leads them to an even stranger case. At least this time, there's the promise of bringing everyone involved a bit of closure.

NOTES:

This story started with the notion that Dean, like he was doing with The Winchesters series, would enjoy putting his life into his own words after a lifetime of Chuck dictating it all for him. As I began writing, though, I realized maybe he'd just want to *live* on his own terms instead of trying to create some definitive record of events. And that maybe there's some parts of his past he'd rather not think too hard about now that they'd finally won free of the story that had been created for him.

Dean and Cas find a very interesting fanfic that weirdly does tell some unbelievably accurate truths, and I found it much more fun for them to finally get some answers instead! I hope y'all do too!

This is set a few months after the events of my alternate finale, one working part (the first fic in this series), but it's not necessary to read that one first (though I hope it's also fun for those who do read it!)

Read it now on AO3!

or if you want to know how they got here, start at the beginning of this 'verse with one working part (40k words, rated E, a rewrite of 15.19)

[kensatou]

fascinated/horrified by this set of tweets…

[inkskinned]

the thing is that they're so fascinated by sex, they love sex, they can't imagine a world without sex - they need sex to sell things, they need sex to be part of their personality, they need sex to prove their power - but they hate sex. they are disgusted by it.

sex is the only thing that holds their attention, and it is also the thing that can never be discussed directly.

you can't tell a child the normal names for parts of their body, that's sexual in nature, because the body isn't a body, it's a vessel of sex. it doesn't matter that it's been proven in studies (over and over) that kids need to know the names of their genitals; that they internalize sexual shame at a very young age and know it's 'dirty' to have a body; that it overwhelmingly protects children for them to have the correct words to communicate with. what matters is that they're sexual organs. what matters is that it freaks them out to think about kids having body parts - which only exist in the context of sex.

it's gross to talk about a period or how to check for cancer in a testicle or breast. that is nasty, illicit. there will be no pain meds for harsh medical procedures, just because they feature a cervix.

but they will put out an ad of you scantily-clad. you will sell their cars for them, because you have abs, a body. you will drip sex. you will ooze it, like a goo. like you were put on this planet to secrete wealth into their open palms.

they will hit you with that same palm. it will be disgusting that you like leather or leashes, but they will put their movie characters in leather and latex. it will be wrong of you to want sexual freedom, but they will mark their success in the number of people they bed.

they will crow that it's inappropriate for children so there will be no lessons on how to properly apply a condom, even to teens. it's teaching them the wrong things. no lessons on the diversity of sexual organ growth, none on how to obtain consent properly, none on how to recognize when you feel unsafe in your body. if you are a teenager, you have probably already been sexualized at some point in your life. you will have seen someone also-your-age who is splashed across a tv screen or a magazine or married to someone three times your age. you will watch people pull their hair into pigtails so they look like you. so that they can be sexy because of youth. one of the most common pornography searches involves newly-18 young women. girls. the words "barely legal," a hiss of glass sand over your skin.

barely legal. there are bills in place that will not allow people to feel safe in their own bodies. there are people working so hard to punish any person for having sex in a way that isn't god-fearing and submissive. heteronormative. the sex has to be at their feet, on your knees, your eyes wet. when was the first time you saw another person crying in pornography and thought - okay but for real. she looks super unhappy. later, when you are unhappy, you will close your eyes and ignore the feeling and act the role you have been taught to keep playing. they will punish the sex workers, remove the places they can practice their trade safely. they will then make casual jokes about how they sexually harass their nanny.

and they love sex but they hate that you're having sex. you need to have their ornamental, perfunctory, dispassionate sex. so you can't kiss your girlfriend in the bible belt because it is gross to have sex with someone of the same gender. so you can't get your tubes tied in new england because you might change your mind. so you can't admit you were sexually assaulted because real men don't get hurt, you should be grateful. you cannot handle your own body, you cannot handle the risks involved, let other people decide that for you. you aren't ready yet.

but they need you to have sex because you need to have kids. at 15, you are old enough to parent. you are not old enough to hear the word fuck too many times on television.

they are horrified by sex and they never stop talking about it, thinking about it, making everything unnecessarily preverted. the saying - a thief thinks everyone steals. they stand up at their podiums and they look out at the crowd and they sign a bill into place that makes sexwork even more unsafe and they stand up and smile and sign a bill that makes gender-affirming care illegal and they get up and they shrug their shoulders and write don't say gay and they get up, and they make the world about sex, but this horrible, plastic vision of it that they have. this wretched, emotionless thing that holds so much weight it's staggering. they put their whole spine behind it and they push and they say it's normal!

this horrible world they live in. disgusted and also obsessed.

[yeoldenews]

A selection of strange and cryptic personal ads from The New York Herald, 1860s to 1890s. 14/?

[evichuart]

a hard day of work at the baratie 💪🏻✨

[doodlefox2]

good girl

[shigayokagayama]

mob psycho is the greatest show ever made because reigen being cancelled on twitter is one of the most important moments for his character as well as one of the most emotionally heavy episodes of the show but him being trapped in alone in a purgatory dimension slowly starving to death is treated as a gag and never mentioned again

[triona-tribblescore]

TW// Abuse implication

Thinking about possible Vox and Angel's interactions and how they'd go down. Theres such a unique mix of hatred to each other and common ground with their different experiences with Valentino, has me thinking.

Also just want to clarify I love Vox's character a LOT but ofc obv don't sympathise with him or think he is any way shape or form a decent individual, cant with stupid toxic dumbass x

AND IF YOU SEE ANY MISTAKES OR TYPOS NO YOU DONT- (i was so tired when drawing it forgive me TwT)

[deoidesign]

sleeping beauty (available in print!)

[egophiliac]

LET THE BOY HAVE AN EDUCATION

officially at the point where we're starting to see where it's all headed and I am just going NYEEHEEHEE in delight at it all. ahhh...next week can't come soon enough...

[obsob]

oooooooooough i love you i love you i love you!!!! hand in loving hand !!!!!!

[mittensmorgul]

Merry Beachmas Words: 3k Rated: T

Holiday 2024 mittens fic, featuring new holidays that still somehow go sideways, making it up as we go, found family, and toes in the sand!

It's set in the Evergreen 'verse, but it does stand alone as post-canon general happy holiday fluff fic :)

Read it now on AO3, or below the cut right here:

None of this was in the detailed plans they'd made five weeks ago. Jody had insisted they all were required to report in for a real family thanksgiving dinner. Not just the Winchester clan, but their entire extended network of friends and found family. Nobody objected, of course. It was a universally beloved idea. They all had a hell of a lot to be thankful for.

Nobody honestly could’ve predicted that gathering several dozen severely traumatized folks to break bread (and half a dozen pies) would’ve led to some general airing of grievances. That was supposed to be an entirely different holiday, after all. But in a world where so many holidays seemed to all tie directly back to Chuck and his own self-aggrandizing story, it naturally followed that while the idea of spending a holiday with the whole family like this was universally beloved and a tradition they absolutely wanted to continue as often as possible, they just didn’t think that the specific holiday of Christmas was necessarily the right way to go about that anymore.

“Well,” Garth said as they sat around the massive makeshift table assembled in Jody’s backyard after a long and leisurely meal. “If you still want a reason for the season that’s got nothing to do with Chuck, you can always make it about something else.”

Dean sat up in his chair so fast he nearly knocked over Cas’s beer on the edge of the table beside him. He looked over at Cas as he scrambled to catch his drink, and just stared at him for a second.

“You said it yourself, Cas.”

“I’ve said a lot of things, Dean.” Cas sat back in his chair, slightly aggrieved and this time holding on to his drink since Dean seemed to be gripped by one of this wild notions. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Dean snorted out a laugh and shook his head as he sat back with his own beer cradled in his hands. His momentary wave of realization had congealed into a proper idea, though. He grinned around at the expectant faces of his friends before finally turning back to Cas.

“We’re making it up as we go, right?”

It took Cas a second to remember the exact moment Dean was talking about, but the instant he did, he understood what Dean was getting at. Sticking it to Chuck all over again.

“We can make up our own holiday.”

Dean nodded sincerely and took a sip of his drink. “Screw all Chuck's holly jolly crap. We need a toes in the sand kind of holiday.”

After a moment of silence, Garth asked, “So are we talking about a Caribbean cruise or is this strictly a sandbox event?”

Dean shrugged. “No sand out in the middle of the ocean. I was thinking more Cancun, less cruising. Maybe one of those all inclusive resort type deals, where we don’t gotta worry about anything for a week.”

“And you’re footin’ the bill, right?” Donna asked, waving a hand around the table at the crowd of interested onlookers all thinking this was just a slightly tipsy pipe dream and not the foundations of a real plan. “Those places don’t come cheap, especially during the winter break season.”

Charlie waved a dismissive hand. “Financing it isn’t an issue. If everyone’s in, we will make it happen.”

“Well, in that case,” Claire said, smirking at Kaia, “count us in for beachmas.”

Hours later when they finally took their leave from Jody’s house, arms full of leftovers, their plans had completely come together. Dean proclaimed effusive thanks to each and every person present, and then spent half the drive back to the bunker lovingly detailing all the amenities at the resort Charlie had booked them all into. After a few hours, Sam had grumpily complained from the back seat, half asleep and truly wishing he was entirely asleep.

“Don’t forget this still involves air travel, Dean.”

Dean glanced nervously at Cas beside him on the front seat. Cas simply stared calmly out the front window, lulled into a contented state by a full belly and the sound of Dean’s happy excitement pattering on as he drove. Dean swallowed hard. That had been the one part of this whole harebrained trip that he’d really been trying not to think too much about. Cas understood, though. He reached over and patted Dean’s knee reassuringly.

“I will be right there with you, and nothing bad will happen on the airplane, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean said weakly, gripping the steering wheel just a bit harder as Sam finally, blessedly had enough silence in the car to doze off.

Over the next few weeks, they’d fallen back into their usual patterns. There were a few odd hunts that kept them occupied, but while they were home in the bunker, Dean had been getting visibly more excited about their impending trip. He brought out his best tamale recipe— the one that had even impressed the old Death— and it had equally impressed even Sam. And that wasn’t the only Mexican delicacy that Dean had tried to perfect in the kitchen. By the time the day of their trip neared, Sam had actually suggested they might all be let down by the food at the resort after Dean had spoiled them so thoroughly.

Three days before Beachmas was set to begin— because of course Dean had adopted Claire’s name for their new holiday— Dean got a call from Krissy Chambers. He hadn’t heard from her in years, and had honestly assumed she and her little gang of hunters had gotten themselves out of the game. When he saw her name on his phone, he did a double take before answering.

“Krissy, hey, long time no see,” he said, as Sam made a startled face when he realized who Dean was talking to.

“Dean, it’s actually really good to hear your voice,” she said, sounding relieved.

Her tone was so rough that Dean was immediately on alert. He instantly went from being ready to casually tease her, or even invite her and her gang to the Beachmas Party, to being ready to draw the nearest weapon and rush to her aid. Unfortunately, that was actually what she needed from him.

“So you don’t call, don’t write, and then after what… six or seven years out of the blue you finally remember we exist?” Dean asked, putting her on speaker for Sam and Cas. “Shit must really be going down. What do you need?”

Krissy snorted. “Yeah, well, it’s not like you kept in touch much, either. I hear you’ve been a little busy taking down God and all, though, so I guess I can give you a pass.”

Dean laughed out loud. “Thanks for that.”

“No, thank you,” Krissy replied earnestly. “Though if you’d just let it all stay gone, I wouldn’t be here to accidentally trip all over whatever Christmas plans you may have had.”

“We don’t do Christmas anymore,” Cas said. “We celebrate Beachmas now.”

Krissy was silent for a moment, either trying to parse out what that meant, or else trying to figure out who exactly had said that. Dean saved her from having to do either.

“Yeah, that’s Cas. I guess you’re about to meet him, if you need our help with something. But he’s right. We gave up all Chuck’s old holidays and we’re inventing our own.”

Dean’s explanation only seemed to give Krissy more questions, which wasn’t ideal considering they still hadn’t learned why she’d called in the first place.

“Oooohkay? That sounds great and all, but I could still use a hand with a couple rogue ghouls out here.”

Dean glanced at Cas, and then at Sam.

“Where exactly is here?”

“About thirty miles north of Missoula, Montana. I can send you the exact coordinates.”

“Hey, Krissy,” Sam finally said. “It’s Sam. Are you still hunting with your friends, or are you on your own now?”

“Hi, Sam, and yes, Aidan and Josephine are still hunting with me most of the time, but Aidan’s been laid up with a broken foot after our last hunt, and Josephine’s handling a haunting down in Taos and can’t make it up here for another few days. I thought I could handle a measly little ghoul stirring up trouble, but three people have gone missing since I got here, and I’m pretty sure it’s more than one ghoul doing the snatching.”

Dean sighed, rubbing his face. “Well at least it’s not vetala this time.”

Krissy snorted. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have come alone if I’d thought it was.”

“Alrighty then,” Dean said, making the executive decision to abandon their dinner and leave Sam to do the dishes. “Cas and I will be out there by sunup. Text me where you want to meet up, and we’ll see you there.”

“Really? Just like that?” Krissy asked, as Sam expressed a minor disappointment looking around the kitchen at their taco bar mess.

“Just like that,” Dean replied. “Hang tight, and try to stay off the ghoul radar for the night.”

“Will do. And thank you.”

Dean hung up, put his phone in his pocket, and then clapped his hands down on the table as he stood up.

“Come on, Cas. We got packing to do.”

“Weren’t we supposed to be packing for Cancun?” he asked, but dutifully followed Dean to their room.

“It’s just a couple of ghouls. We’ll be back in plenty of time to catch our flight,” Dean replied, trying not to visibly shudder at the mention of their impending air travel. He really had been doing better about it. Having a month to psych himself up for it had actually helped.

Sam snorted behind them in the kitchen. “You better be back in time,” he grumbled.

Of course they weren’t back in time. Which brings us back to where this story began.

“If you hadn’t given Krissy our hotel room in Cancun, there’s a chance we still could’ve made it,” Cas told him as the two of them trudged back through the forest after slaughtering a ghoul family of five, slightly disheveled and smelling strongly of the bonfire they'd built to dispose of the ghouls.

Dean grumbled a little at that and hefted his gear bag over his shoulder, but he could always get Charlie to book them another room. They’d already had this argument when Dean had sent Krissy south to collect Aidan and Josephine on her way to Mexico the day before. Now that they were alone, and a light snow had begun to fall, Dean stopped and turned to Cas.

“We handled the hunt fine without her,” Dean said. “Admit it, she was too banged up to hike out here with us,” he added, waving a hand around the dense forest and rocky terrain. “She wasn’t much better off than Aidan with his busted foot.”

Cas sighed, finally relenting. “And our family trip was the perfect time to bring her back into the family.”

Dean draped an arm over Cas’s shoulder and laughed as they continued their march back to civilization.

“No time like the holidays, right?”

“Especially the holidays we just invented,” Cas replied.

By the time they made it back to where they’d left the car, it was snowing harder. Dean turned on the radio to try and catch a local weather report. Snow had blanketed the entire region, and wasn’t expected to let up for days. Roads were precarious, and some had even closed, and the weather man advised people to stay home at least until the worst of the storm had passed. Dean frowned at the radio, calculating the odds that they’d be able to make it back to Kansas ahead of the blizzard. It hadn’t looked too hopeful. He turned to Cas, who to Dean’s surprise looked perfectly content despite the potentially catastrophic news.

“So maybe we’re not gonna make our flight,” he said, and then laughed nervously.

Cas turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “You weren’t looking forward to getting on an airplane anyway.”

“Not particularly, no,” Dean said, frowning both at the fact that Cas seemed so calm about this potential vacation ruining travesty, but also at the fact that he may have a reprieve from getting on a plane. There was also a matter of probably not getting to lounge on a beach in Cancun with Cas at his side and a fancy drink in a coconut in his hand. With that specific lament front and center in his mind, he made a sincere admission. “But I was looking forward to everything else. Flying for that would’ve been worth it.”

Cas shrugged. “Charlie can probably get us on another flight in a few days. We can still get there in time to spend several days with everyone else.”

When Dean’s mood didn’t visibly improve, Cas leaned in close, his shoulder bumping Dean’s. “We could extend our stay past when the rest of the family has left and enjoy a few days on the beach by ourselves.”

Dean blinked at him, and Cas just stayed exactly where he was, looking up at him with knowing eyes. Dean gave him a kiss, surprising Cas, and then laughed as he pulled out his keys and started the car.

“Okay then. You get Charlie on the phone and explain what happened. Get her on the job of finding us another flight as soon as possible.” As he pulled out onto the road, he added, “Whatever you do, don’t call Sam first. He’s just gonna bitch about us bailing on flying.”

Cas nodded, understanding. “He can’t bitch if we already have new tickets.”

Dean shrugged, turning off the highway toward the one place nearby he knew he could hunker down for a couple days. They hadn’t been out to Rufus’s old cabin in a while, but it would shelter them well enough from the oncoming storm.

“He probably will anyway, but at least by the time we get down there, he’ll have had a few days in paradise to get over it.”

Cas was off the phone with Charlie by the time Dean pulled up to the little market in Whitefish, just a few miles from the cabin. They stocked up on food, and Dean even picked up a bottle of ready to drink margaritas. When Cas side-eyed him, and the obnoxiously pink bottle, Dean just shrugged.

“If we can’t drink one out of a coconut on the beach tomorrow, we’re gonna do the next best thing.”

As they were paying, Dean noticed a display of winter road supplies by the door, including large bags of sand to be used as grit to spread on ice. He dashed over and grabbed one, tossing it down on the counter with a thud. A small amount of sand escaped the bag and left a mess on the counter. The cashier, wearing a festive santa hat with a flashing holly garland pinned to it, made a pointedly un-festive face at him. Dean just grinned back as the guy scanned the bag and added it to their total.

“Merry beachmas,” Dean told the bewildered clerk as they carried their purchases out into the cold.

Half an hour later, holed up at the cabin, Dean had a roaring fire going as Cas finally came out of the bathroom having showered and changed into clothes that weren’t stained with ghoul goo and mud. On the floor between the sofa and the fireplace, Dean had dumped the entire fifty pound bag of sand into a little makeshift beach. Cas just stared at him for a second like Dean had lost his mind. Dean just grinned back like he’d had the best idea ever.

“I thought the sand was to gain traction over icy roads,” Cas said, as he slowly made his way toward their indoor beach, stopping to pull off his socks before stepping onto the sand.

Dean shrugged and handed Cas a margarita, poured into a plastic cup full of freshly fallen snow to chill it. It was more like a margarita-flavored slushie than anything they probably served at the resort, but it was good enough for their wintry celebration.

“It probably will be in a couple days, but for now it’s Winchester Beach.”

Cas just stood there looking down at his less-than-tropically prepared beverage as Dean flopped down on the sofa. Dean patted the seat beside him, and Cas finally stepped onto the sand, enjoying the feeling of his feet sinking down in it more than he’d expected to. He blinked at Dean.

“I can see why you enjoy walking on the beach now,” Cas said as he sat down and curled his toes down into the warm sand.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, and it’s even better when it’s been baking under the hot sun for a few hours.”

Cas lifted his foot and frowned down at all the sand granules that clung to his skin. He wiggled his toes and watched sand rain down onto the floor. “It’s very messy, though.”

Dean shrugged, taking a sip of his drink and stretching his legs out toward the fire. “Yeah, it kinda gets in everything. It’s still not as bad as glitter. Or pine needles.”

“So you don’t mind not having a traditional Christmas tree? All the holiday rituals of your childhood?”

Dean sighed, pulling Cas in close and settling in for a long few days in their own private paradise.

“What I miss is being with everyone we care about. But we’ll be there in a few days. Until then, I get to be here, with you.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Plus my childhood kinda sucked anyway.”

Cas snorted out a laugh and leaned back into Dean.

“I’m glad to be here with you now,” he said. “Though I think next beachmas, we need to avoid going off on hunts where there’s a chance we’ll get snowed in and miss our flight.”

Dean grinned at him. “So you’re already planning on celebrating again next year?”

“That is how holidays work, right?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, that’s how they work,” Dean replied with a sigh. “Merry beachmas, Cas.”

link to the ao3 version for all your kudos and comments needs

[xochimillilili]

It's such an obvious thing with petplay but fucking hell I wanna try out commands so much with my sweet baby pup, it's just a genuine turn on while being so adorable

Sit. Said softly while I latch my pup's collar on, grabbing onto their face with loving force when they flinch as their little cunt feels the slickness of the toy under them as they sit atop our bed

Paw. Whispered gently as I kiss their palms softly before pressing them together, and getting them bound. Smiling as I see the lil pup flinch and instinctively squirm as I push them lower down on the thick toy

Stay. Said with a kiss on their cute lil nose that I love as I sit myself infront of them on a chair, stroking my cock as I see them squirm. Their own little flinches and movements lowering them, having the toy press deeper up their cunt. Unable to crawl towards me, seeing as they whine, needing more

Speak. Commanded as I stroke my throbbing cock faster, cumming all over my hand as I hear their mix of barks and desperate pleads for more. "Come on pup, good doggies beg for a knot inside"

Good puppy~ Cooed gently and teasingly as I crawl onto bed with them, pushing them down and shoving my cock into their ass, while my hand starts working the knotted toy into their cunt. Fucking them until we hear that sickenly pleasuring pop of it finally fitting inside as I fuck their tight ass while they squirm and cry it's too much

[keferon]

OKAY OH MY GOD THIS FIC IS GREAT I HAVE ONLY READ THREE AND A HALF CHAPTERS AND IM ALREADY IN LOVE

I originally wanted to make both of these pieces in color but I’m gonna be honest I have no fucking idea how to draw Ricochet…he is described as black and red and…mmhhmmm does he have canonical (canonical for this fic I mean) design? Do I need to design him myself? Idk I’ll figure this out later

[lilybug-02]

New friend acquired!

Bug Fact: Colombian Lesserblack Tarantulas have pet frogs! The frog protects the spider's eggs from ants and in return, the frog is kept safe by the spider.

First || Prev // Next

Masterpost

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Masterlist l Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖