#chatting at the funeral chatting at dinner

[princeofwinterfell]

Something so compelling about how even if they hated each other in so many ways, Aegond only had each other and no other real friends.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

obsessed with how the literal second charles first dies in the classic comics magneto finally comes back for the first time in like twenty issues

[airystwinsibling]

I come back bearing whiteboard fox doodles (i am currently without my sketchbook for the next few hours and I'm going insane)

The 2nd one is an oc I made,, I forgot her belt but that's okay,, her name's Layla!!!

Also UURS (unstable universe roleswap) Spoke reveal... idk what 2 do w his hair 😭😭😭

[theastrical]

withering with you (retired genshin men AU)

Genshin men headcannon where they are spending their retirement and old age with you

Kaeya, diluc, childe, alhaitham x fem!reader

a bit angsty yet also fluffy!! hurt/comfort.

Kaeya:

he had retired a few years ago at the age of 65, he retired a bit late than his other comrades due to him enjoying his job as much as how his younger self would. Leaving the job was rather..emotional for him, because his job lead him to meet you, his wife.

Even after years, the knights still give him his monthly pay check to ensure his future and that pay check was used by kaeya to take you out to a romantic dinner. Every single month, in one particular evening, he would asked you to dress up and drive you around the city before taking you out to an expensive dinner.

Would help you walk since your legs aren’t as strong as it used to be. Lending his arm to let you hold into cause he doesn’t want you to fall.

He needs you 24/7. He can barely use a phone and would asked you to set up the brightness to dim, how to save contacts, and how to chat his grandchildren.

Would cook you food everyday, breakfast? He’ll serve it on the bed, with his signature smiley face with ketchup. lunch? Whatever you want, he’ll make it (or if it’s too hard, he’ll buy it). Dinner? You’ll get full course meal. Quality time for him means seeing you enjoy his food and his company.

Would nag you to get a check up every month with him, because he prioritise your health the most and he will carry you if you’re being whiny. The dedication is surreal.

Has an investment for a couple graveyard so when you both have finally passed away, both of you would get to be buried with each other. Because he doesn’t want to burden his children to think about their funeral and burial, he wants his and your death to be prepared since the very beginning.

His favorite activity is walking around the street with you and teases some children in the garden about monsters, until today he loves scaring children. Yes he also loves to scare your grandchildren because he loves to make

Bought couple clothes for you and him…wear it in every single place since he barely change his clothes (he forgets he had used it for 4 days straight. Somehow it smells like his rose shampoo.

Diluc:

As soon as he retired he takes you out to a vacation. What is the definition of his vacation? Eat free breakfast in the hotel, look around the hotel, sleep, eat the street food, look around the local stores, look around some art gallery, go back to hotel, take a bath, dinner date, sleep. It’s boring, but he would take you out to some pretty dinner in the local area so you can taste the real deal!

you’re his walking reminder, since he can get lost just by walking beside you, that’s why when he walks too fast while you both stroll by the street, you have to immediately tug on him. “Diluc…if you stray, you won’t be able to come home..the hotel key is with me..”

also he’s really mesmerized by bath bombs, he collects every scents the salesman offer (he’s easily persuaded by the salesman). Now, he had bought around 20 of it. You have been stressing about the spending…sometimes he helps you bathe with the relaxing bath bombs since you’ve always been the one to take care of the finance and house problems. Obviously, it stresses you out even more knowing Diluc’s excuses to buy these bath bombs are also because he wants you to be more relaxed.

Gets more emotional these days, he eats the breakfast you made and cried. “One day i won’t eat your grilled sausage again..” he cried silently and wiped it, you were confused instead of worried but you still hugged him from behind to at least make his heart steady… Afterwards, he just ate it again as if there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a weirdo.

gets more clingy, especially when he sleeps, he would hug you unconsciously and squish you. he might be old and grey, yet his power is still the same as the young him

he loves quality time, he would follow you around everywhere. if you plant flowers, he would be the one to wipe your sweat. if you cook lunch, he would be the one to cut the veggies or meat. if you're doing your makeup, he'll be the one to offer you his face as your lipstick test.

he hates outdoor activity, he just wanted to stay at home and cling to you like a koala as he gossips about kaeya.

childe:

in the night of his retirement, he held a huge party. he's old enough to be a grandpa yet he celebrates his retirement by drinking and playing cards. you can only watch from afar, staring at him menacingly before he gets scared by your anger and immediately stops the party. the house was a mess. a wreckage. "I'm sorry...ill treat you to a-" "no." "but honeeeyyyyyyyyyyyy"

becomes even more whiny. he had always been bad with managing the household money even as he reach retirement, you're the one in charge of his money. when he want something, he has to get your approval and if he's persistent he'll start to persuade you using his clingy self.

he gets easily bored, that's why retirement means going out daily. he'll wake you up at 7am just to accompany him run a marathon in a 5-celsius degree weather.

would tease you just so he can laugh at you for being silly. at some point he pulls up a prank that makes you cry, he immediately kneels down to apologise but ends up injuring his knee, ah yes, his legs are already stiff, he forgets he's an old man by now.

his new hobby? farming. even with the sharp weather and uneasy condition, he continues his hobby diligently, he plants your favorite veggies and fruits, making sure the quality of the food is guaranteed.

As he grew older you realise he also gets even more jealous, sometimes when you were just talking to the butler in the house, he would immediately scoffs and hold your hand, as if he guards you from being stolen by that butler (he hates handsome man because he wants him to be the only man for you).

He snores so loudly, it gets even louder as he ages, and somehow you can still sleep so peacefully. He’s a deep sleeper and you’re a dead sleeper, somebody who can’t be budge while sleeping…you both are perfect for each other indeed.

Alhaitham:

He retired quietly, he didn’t want to make a fuss about his retirement, after all his health was slowly declining and his line of work needs his survival instincts, hence he decided to stay at home and enjoy his pensions.

To make sure he didn’t lose his mind, he bought a gaming station. He was used to his work in the academia that he forgot how to relax his mind at least a bit, so he played some online games with you (even when you can barely play the game since he’s already a pro by days, he helped you and carried you so you both can play in the same level)

He tried doing meditation, he sucks at it because he kept getting interrupted by your humming while watering the garden, he wanted to tell you to be quiet but deep down…he enjoyed it, it makes him feel fuzzy.

He kept on persuading you to have a pet…”we’re both already old and aging, let’s have a pet together…at least for once in our life, please..?” He asked politely, too polite it makes you get in the mood to accept his persuasion.

Nevermind. You’re trapped into his fantasy of getting a pet. You were dragged to a pet store and alhaitham immediately shows you a huge golden retriever that wags it’s tails so energetically with it’s lovely eyes. how can you not melt from that sight..? Now that golden retriever is now alhaitham and yours best buddy.

He abandon his game station to play with the dog everyday, he even teaches the dog to send you his artificial flower he made secretly because he can’t never give it to you face to face since he’s too prideful and embarrassed.

If the dog disobeyed you he would scold it, because all he does to the dog is teaching him tricks to please you. Yes he secretly does this since he’s too shy to convey his “thanks” for you after looking out for him day by day.

You guys will have a date where he takes the dog out for a walk as his other hand held your hand tightly. You guys will just enjoy the sunset as you rant out about your day to him even when you both are mostly together everyday since the day he retired.

[n4tsum1-san]

as sweet as this year's lantern rite ending was, i think it would've been better if the traveler didn't find hu tao in the border in time:

after the ritual is done, everyone reconvenes at liyue harbor. the traveler comes back alone, holding the extinguished staff of homa. her friends hold a memorial service for the 77th director who gave her life so valiantly.

yun jin regrets not performing the tao dou opera earlier that day; now hu tao will never get to hear it. xingqiu has lost a friend whom he can be himself around, no pretenses, just pranks and poetry. xiangling will never chat with her over dinner again, never be able to cook for her again. xiao and zhongli stand silent, their grief muted by the crushing numbness of past friends lost to time. ningguang is haunted by the memory of another director who died on wuwang hill, another soul sacrificed for the living who go on unaware. how much farther will death encroach on their world? how long until history repeats itself again?

everyone mourns...

...only for hu tao to crash her own funeral, having survived miraculously by a thread, and wondering why everyone is gathered together in one spot? are they having a party without her?

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Always have but never hold

Next chapter

a/n lingered in my brain for a bit and now it's out here. Be gentle, it's my first time writing for this man. 😳🥺😭✨

warnings: fighting, kitchen accidents, swearing, mental health struggles.

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Fuck early Chicago mornings and the freezing temperatures that came with them. And add the people who promised bursts of sunshine and blue skies to the list. Fuck all of them and their predictions. Your grandma made better weather foretellings and landed straight on target with them.

You tightened your jacket closer to your body. Wrapping your hands around yourself. Well, the jacket wasn't yours. It was Carmy's, but you always preferred to wear his stuff. It soothed your anxiety. All the worries Made the early mornings more bearable. You don't remember the last time you two woke up in the same bed. You don't remember how the warmth of the morning, still wrapped up in the sheets, felt. Carmy would be off to the restaurant even before you. You tried to suggest that you just go together an hour or so later, but that only brought out a fight that left you two even further apart as it was. And it had gotten far away. You let his scent flow through your mind, chasing the nagging voice away. Yet already dreading the chaos of the day ahead.

Your phone starts ringing in your pocket. For a moment, you hesitated. Surely, it's too early for something serious to be going on. But then, don't all the scary things happen at the oddest hours? So you reach for it, frowning when you see Sugar's name lighting up the phone. You weren't close to Carmy's family. You had only met them briefly at the funeral. God, they didn't even know who you were. Nor did they care. Or maybe they cared too much.

"Hello", you said, clearing your throat right away. You hadn't spoken any words yet this morning, meaning the first hello sounded way too raspy. "Yeah, hi, it's early, isn't it", Sugar breathed, and you almost wanted to roll your eyes. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to it. Her voice sounded worried. "Did anything happen?", you trailed off. It's not like you two called each other out of the blue. You didn't just chat or go out for coffee. You didn't meet up for lunch or dinner. She had called you once, and it was only to ask if Carmy had wanted to keep any of Mikey's stuff. She was Natalie to you. Someone who might not even stop in the middle of the street to greet you.

"I've just been thinking about Carmy", she muttered quickly. You could hear her shuffling through some papers in the background. "What about him?", you said after a moment of silence. "Did you talk to him about the doctor I suggested? Maybe you two can even go together?", the words just spilled from her mouth, and you halted quickly, "You care for him, right? So take him". A light hint of anger picked up in your chest at that. They had all been pushing down on him. Do that. Do this. Carmy wasn't like them. He operated differently.

"Yeah, yeah, we spoke about it. He just doesn't want to do it now", you said calmly, changing the hand with which you'd been holding the phone so you could warm up your fingers in the jacket pocket. "He will never want to do it", Natalie grumbled back, "Did he even tell you about the times he couldn't breathe? Don't you notice that it's bad? It's scary". A chill ran down your spine. An image of Carmy holding onto his throat filled your brain. Hand gripping the sink as he gasped for air. Panicked eyes searched the room. Two am. Calling the ambulance. Crying in the bathroom before you even went to see him. Fuck, they knew about how scary it was, yet you only mumbled a quiet, "I know, yeah". A sigh leaves her mouth. "And you're not doing anything? He'll end up like...", but you pull your phone away from your ear, press the red button, and swallow quickly. You weren't going to think about it now. No. Not now. Not never. Carmy wasn't going to end up like this. He just wasn't.

You rounded the last corner, quickly pushing your key into the door before letting yourself in. The warmth of the restaurant soothed your cold skin. You thought about giving yourself a moment to compose yourself, but then you were already late. So you quickly undid the jacket. "Where's my fucking knife? Have you seen my knife?", Carmy's voice echoed through the space. You quickly dropped your stuff at the corner of his desk in the office before walking into the kitchen.

"Morning", you smiled up at everyone, and someone grumbled in return. The tension in the kitchen was already brutal. "Your cigarette is on the table, Tina", You turned her way, and she flashed you a smile. "Lord knows, I'll need a whole pack of them today". She had been the only one who hadn't thrown a fit about your being here. She wasn't flowing with joy, but it was by far the best way you've been greeted since moving back to Chicago with Carmy.

"Behind", Carmy shouted again, moving past the rest of the kitchen with a tray of meat in his hands. He didn't even glance your way. He wasn't someone to go lovely dovey in front of the others yet it stung. To your surprise, he turned your way. Eyes softened at the sight of you, and all of the nagging thoughts drained. "Hey", he muttered, reaching for your hand and squeezing it gently. "We prep, then the papers?", he asked, already bearing for the tray with vegetables. You quickly nodded before reaching for the knife yourself.

"They fucked the order? Why the hell do I care that they don't have my shit in stock", Carmy ran his hand through his hair in frustration, "I'll call them again; this is just...", "Why don't you take a break? Breathe for a moment", you said, lowering the order papers onto the desk. Eyes searching his. You've only been in the office for ten minutes, and all that time Carmy had been shouting. A frustrated sigh left his lips as he buried his face in his hands. You stepped closer, your fingers instantly reaching for his hair. Running your fingers through his curls, you let him do what felt best, and Carmen wasted no time in bringing his hands up to rest on your hips, his face buried in your stomach. He let out a frustrated growl, and then the place went silent.

"Talk to me. Say anything", his voice was barely a mutter, but you heard him perfectly. He did this often. Whenever the voices in his head got too loud, he would ask you to speak. Tell him whatever pops into your head. It didn't even have to make sense. He just needed to hear it. The smooth sound of your voice. "We ran out of milk, and I managed to put on a wash before I left", Your fingers dragged down his neck and shoulders. "We'll have clean sheets; can you believe it?", you chuckled softly. The apartment looked like shit if you were being honest, but then you spend so little time there these days.

"We can buy milk on our way back", Carmy said, pulling away slightly. "Yeah, we sure can", you hummed. Just as a knock made you both turn toward the door, A dark-skinned girl with big eyes stood there, looking at Carmy as if she had seen a holy spirit. "I... I... I want to help with the kitchen. To work, I mean", she stuttered, and you instantly turned to her fully. "We talked yesterday, didn't we?", You reached your hand towards her, and she shook it gently. "We sure can use a second set of hands", You smiled at her, yet her eyes didn't leave Carmy. "Sydney and... My resume", she handed the papers to Carmy, who flipped through them straight away.

In a perfect world with a perfect system, you would have loved to give her a rundown of the place. Unfortunately, this wasn't a normal place, nor was the situation normal. So Sydney was left to listen to the constant swearing and bickering of everyone else. It was half-decent until Richie showed up. Shouting at the top of his lungs about all that Carmy was doing wrong. And that fucking pasta of his. You gripped the knife tighter but stayed out of it. This wasn't a fight you wanted to be a part of.

"As if we need another know-it-all in the kitchen. Don't need that fancy shit,", he barked, glaring at the girl. Sydney's head was hung low, but she too said nothing. Doing her thing as she got ready for family. "We don't need this shit; it was fine till Carmy stepped in, fine till you showed up", Richie slurred, and the last straw snapped within you: "Get your head out of your ass and drop it", your glare met him, and you could feel the way all of the anger within him now ran directly to you. Boiled even more because of you.

"And who's talking? One more burden Carmen dragged from New York", he spat, stepping closer to you, no doubt trying to intimidate you, but you didn't back away. "We should have lost you at the airport", he said bitterly. "What will your art degree do for us? Want to paint walls, sweetie?". You were so glad that he had turned away from you after the words left his mouth because you were a moment away from...

"Jesus, Y/N.", Tina's voice made you blink a couple of times. You felt her finger on your palms, and your gaze followed her touch. The chopping board was covered in blood. You must have lost track of your movements and senses. Trying too hard to keep your composure. Or maybe Richie's words hurt worse than the cut palm. "Cover for me, Sydney", you muttered, pulling the towel from your shoulder and pressing it to the wound. "Don't you need...", she tried to interfere. "Just fucking cover for me, please".

Slamming the freezer door shut, you let your back hit the side shelf. God, you were glad Carmy wasn't here. That call from the butcher couldn't have come at a better time. Richie was your headache to carry. Adding that to Carmen's shoulders won't help. He had hated you from the moment you showed up. You always cared too much and too little in his eyes. You tried to reason with him. He was grieving too, but fuck was he an ass when he wanted to be. And he wanted to be most of the time. Angry tears ran down your cheeks. You were just so fucking tired. So tired of it all. Of the shouting. Of the worrying.

"We don't have time. Where the fuck is she? The vegetables won't cook themselves", Carmy's voice ran through the freezer. You pressed your fingers into your eyes, gritting your teeth for a moment before stepping out. "On them, chef", you called out, wrapping the bandage around your hand messily. As long as it stopped the blood, it would have to do. And Carmy was a split second away from shouting again until his eyes fell on your palm.

"What the fuck happened?", he asked, marching forward. Forgetting all the corners, behinds, and whatnot. "Nothing happened", you muttered, turning to Sydney, "I'll take it from here, thanks". But Carmy caught your wrist and said, "Like hell, you will; what the fuck happened?". You knew that this all was coming from a good place, but the tone of his voice didn't soothe you. "We have shit to do, chef", you said, waving your head out of his grip and turning your back to him.

You hoped he would just walk away. Just drop it. Let it be. Let it all sizzle out. "Learn to fucking hold a knife", he grunted, his hand came into contact with your injured palm as he pressed it firmly onto the handle, making you whine in pain. "Hold it for fuck sake", he barked again, only tightening his grip as if he was blind to the blood seeping through the bandage. "I fucking am", You ripped his hand away with your other hand, pushing at his chest to get him away from you.

"Stop being a crybaby and be useful for once", Carmy's words left you defenseless. Your body froze. Cold shivers running down your back. You surely didn't hear it right. Carmy threw the knife across the table and turned his back away from you. Was he about to walk away? Just like that. Like nothing happened. "Fuck you", you threw the same bloody towel his way, "If I'm so fucking useless, feel free to find someone else", Carmy halted in his steps, but he didn't turn around. Clapping filled your ears, and you found smug-looking Richie, beaming like the promised sun today, saying, "Should have been an actress". You bit the inside of your cheek. Quickly undo your apron before storming outside.

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 11

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,508

A/N: Here comes the burn 🔥

Dean’s awoken by the sound of laughter. He quickly sits up, his knuckles rubbing deep into his eyes as night rolls in through the back windows. 

He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep, didn’t even intend to, but the clock above the back console table reads an hour and fourteen minutes since he last chatted with Mary. 

With a groan, he pushes himself off the sunken-in couch cushions, rolling out the kink in his neck that formed while he was napping.

He’s still rubbing his eyes as he steps into the kitchen, the lights bright and the aroma of fresh rosemary, sauteed onions and sizzling garlic immediately assaulting him, inviting him to take in a deep breath. 

“Well look who woke up.” Mary’s eyes are bright as she teases him from the kitchen island. Y/N is behind her, standing at the sink, Mary’s apron partially obscuring your sweater and pants. You look fresh faced, with some still-damp tendrils of hair framing your face. 

Dean then notices the two wine glasses on the island, and a bottle next to it already half drained. Michael Bublé sings quietly from the smart speaker in the corner.

Dean saddles up on one of the island bar stools. 

“Looks like I’m missing a party.” He offers the women a lazy grin as he slowly begins to perk up at the thought of dinner and the two happy companions in front of him. 

This kitchen was no stranger to joviality; Mary was always beloved by her husband and sons for her home cooking. Though she spent her days at the local hospital, serving twenty-three years as an ICU nurse, Mary always made sure to have a fresh-made meal for her family once her shift was over. There was nothing she loved more than having her boys around the dining room table, hearing about Dean’s basketball practices and Sam’s debate team, while John would grumble about his annoying coworkers. Mary’s family meant the world to her. Marrying John and having Dean and Sam were the best things she ever did with her life, and so much of that life revolved around food when you have two sons over six-feet tall and a father close behind. 

Even after John passed, Mary continued to cook. Even after her sons had returned back to their own lives after the funeral. Just being in the kitchen reminded her of all those amazing years together, when John would kiss her on the cheek as she prepared the meal. How, if music was playing, he would steal her away from the stove for a dance when their boys weren’t around to gag at them before she would fight her way out of his arms to make sure the food wouldn’t burn.

The kitchen brought Mary happiness, and it was obvious to everyone who sat in the kitchen with her. 

“Just some meal prep.” Mary brushes him off as she turns towards the stove and gives a pan a stir. 

Dean takes in another deep breath as the pan crackles.

“What’s for dinner?”

After a deliciously filling pan-roasted chicken and potatoes, plus another two glasses of wine, you and Dean are sitting on the back patio, a fire crackling in the pit between the two of you as you relax back in Adirondacks overlooking the pitch black lake. You’re bundled in your winter coat and hat, while Dean is somehow relaxing in nothing more than his jeans and sweater. Another glass of wine rests in your hands, warming you in ways the fire can’t while Dean opted for a bourbon on the rocks after the red wine he had with dinner. 

Mary had excused herself after you and Dean had cleaned up after dinner. It wasn’t late, but Mary was excited about a book she recently started, and decided to say goodnight and head to her room. 

“This has to be amazing in the summertime,” you muse as you look towards the quiet water, lights from houses around the shore reflecting on the thin coat of ice that sits atop of the lake. Soft edison bulbs are strung above the patio, providing a soft glow to your surroundings, and you would love to see this in the summer, when the nights are warm and the breeze doesn’t chill you to your bones.

You take a sip of wine. 

“It’s pretty nice. I keep telling mom she should get a boat, but she doesn’t want to be bothered with the maintenance of it.” He takes a sip from his own drink. “Nor would she actually know what to do with a boat, so it’s probably for the best.” He chuckles to himself and you smile at the sound.

A silence falls between the two of you, and you wish you had a speaker with some music playing just to break up the quiet. 

You decide to let your mind wander, playing back this afternoon, when you padded back downstairs after your shower in some comfy leggings and knit sweater to find Dean asleep on the couch, still sitting up but his head knocked back and mouth open with soft snores filling the living room. You had smiled at the sight, though you didn’t know why, before you had quietly looked for Mary. It wasn’t until you noticed her car gone from the driveway that you realized she wasn’t home. Not wanting to risk turning on the TV and waking Dean, you wandered around the house, taking in all the lake-themed decorations as well as the many pictures scattered throughout the house. A lot of them were from years ago, with a younger-looking Mary – who has aged like a fine wine – and who you assume to be her husband and Dean’s father, John. Two little boys were the subjects of most of the pictures, one with shaggy blonde hair during what seemed like elementary school years, and a lanky, dark-haired, hazel-eyed boy, who must be Sam. The pictures followed them throughout the years; Dean in a basketball jersey, Sam on skis, the brothers looking to be about high school age in tuxes and boutonnieres. It broke your heart as you noticed some pictures from not too long ago, a notable figure missing from the family portraits and the smiles of the remaining three Winchesters not as bright as they used to be. 

You take in a deep breath and look through the fire, shadows flickering across Dean’s face as his eyes stare out across the water. 

You think back to one particular picture that caught your eye, and it brought back a question you’ve been biting back on for a long time.

It’s none of your business. Sort of. You were metaphorically in the middle of their drama, but it didn’t necessarily mean you were entitled to the details. 

It didn’t mean you weren’t any less curious though. 

“If you don’t mind me asking. And you don’t have to answer.” Dean’s eyes dance to you. “But what happened between you and Lisa?” You recall a picture of an adult Dean in a tuxedo standing alongside Mary in a flowing, navy gown, a white rose worn proudly on her wrist, matching the one on Dean’s lapel, resting on the mantle. Clearly from a wedding day – Dean’s you assume. 

“Aren’t you just full of questions today?” He chuckles as he takes a sip from his tumblr, the ice knocking against the glass as he brings it to his lips. You watch as his Adam’s Apple bobs on his heavy swallow, and you feel your face flush with embarrassment. 

You were right the first time. It was none of your business. 

“Nevermind, I shouldn’t have asked.” You whoosh out, trying to fix your mistake before it can threaten to ruin the night.

“No,” Dean rests his now empty glass on the wide armrest and leans forward. “It’s okay. Especially since Lisa kinda roped you into our mess.” He scratches as the light layer of scruff over his jaw as his eyes look through the empty night. His shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath before he begins. 

“We had a good marriage for years, great even. We were young when we got married. Only twenty-four, but we had started dating when we were nineteen, and she was there for me when my dad died, so it just made sense. Which isn’t why I proposed. I really did love her. And back then she loved me too.” Dean’s eyes flick to the fire and hold its gaze. “The downfall started when she couldn’t get pregnant. All she wanted was a big family, we tried for years, then finally found out that she had some condition – I don’t even remember at this point – that made it hard for her to get pregnant. At first, she got depressed. She never wanted to leave the house, just spent her days either on the couch or in bed. At some point, the depression passed, and then the anger appeared. I tried to be understanding and be there for her as much as I could, but the anger never really went away. We started fighting. A lot. Which we had never really done before, and didn’t really know how to navigate. She got resentful, I got annoyed. We just started growing apart.” Dean takes in a deep breath, his lips setting in a hard line. 

“I started working more, just to get away from her and the fighting, then she wanted to get away from me. At some point she found someone, and then I eventually found them. In the guest house, ironically enough.” Dean relaxes back into his chair, though his body is rigid. “That was two years ago now. And we’re still not divorced.” He huffs and picks up the glass, swirling around the ice. 

Your eyes haven’t left him. He remains quiet, his story clearly done, and you have no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry you went through all of that.” You settle on. Because truly, what the hell do you say?

He just shrugs. You’re probably not the first to offer your condolences on the death of his marriage.

“You know what really sucks?” He continues without your prompting. You don’t answer, and let him continue. “We could have been divorced ages ago. We just can’t seem to quit this fighting.” He shakes his head as he deeply inhales. 

“Almost sounds like you two like the fight.” For the first time since he’s started talking, his eyes flick to you. You offer with a gentle smile as you take a bigger sip of wine this time. 

He sighs heavily. 

“It’s exhausting.” He quietly admits. 

“Then why keep going?”

He shakes his head and looks away, his shoulders dropping. 

A moment passes. Then another. Nothing but the crackling of the burning logs filling the dark silence. After another minute, the answer pops into your mind.

“You want to get back together?” You ask softly, and your stomach knots at your words. You expect him to ignore your answer, but he shocks you when he barks out a laugh, his body shaking with the sound before he puts his glass back down on the arm of the chair.

Your body slumps.

What the hell?

“Jesus, no.” He all but wheezes, shaking his head. “There’s no getting back together after what we’ve been through.” His voice drops as the laughter leaves his tone. 

You just stare at him, completely and utterly lost, until he looks back at you.

“We’re being assholes, is what it comes down to,” he admits as he drops his gaze. “She wants the house because I have it, and I don’t want to give it to her just because she wants it. And neither of us wants to be the one to surrender.” He clears his throat as he keeps his eyes downcast. 

“So you’re just spiting each other?” He looks up at your words, and even across the patio you can see the shame in them. 

“Never said I was perfect,” he forces a smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Now I would never accuse you of being that.” You drop your voice as the corners of your own lips quirk up. His eyes crinkle at your words as his grin suddenly matches yours. 

And what a gorgeous smile it is. You think as your cheeks warm and suddenly your core clenches. You take in a sharp breath at the response, and you clear your throat and take a long sip of your wine to try and drown out the feeling. 

As you place your wine glass back down, you catch Dean’s gaze through the flame, his chiseled jawline sharp, even covered in a layer of managed scruff, and the fire reflecting in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and try to lean back from his gaze, but you're already against the backrest. 

Your movement seems to break his stare, and he relaxes back as well.

“How about you?” His voice is casual, but the air around you has changed, an electricity crackling through the cool night in time with the fire. 

“What about me?” You pick up your glass for another sip.

“Ever been married?” Now it’s your turn to bark out a laugh. 

“Kinda hard to keep a relationship when you’re married to your job. A job that didn’t even give a shit about you.” You sigh and look out to the lake as you think aloud. “But maybe that was always an excuse.”

“An excuse?” 

You keep your eyes on the icy water. If Dean can be honest, so can you.

“I haven’t had a serious relationship since college. On paper, we were perfect for each other, but we broke up a couple years after we graduated, and.” Your voice catches on your words and you swallow. “We had a nice relationship, but I never really loved him. Not the way you should. We were more friends than anything and we just fizzled out.” You think back to Justin. You had met at trivia night your junior year, and he was everything you thought you wanted; handsome, driven, had a sense of humor, a good family and group of friends, but somehow it wasn’t enough. “After that, the idea of dating just turned me off. If my dream guy wasn’t enough, how would anyone be? So I just started focusing more on work, and I got my first big promotion after the breakup. And then whenever anyone would ask me about dating, I could use work as an excuse.” You shrug. “I’ve dated here and there since then, but never really found anyone worth taking my attention away from my job.”

“Sounds lonely.” You throw your head back and laugh. You look over to him, his elbows now resting on his knees as he leans towards you from across the patio. 

“So does divorce.” He snorts out a laugh and looks down.

“Fair enough.” He starts to lean back but stops himself and looks over to his empty glass with raised eyebrows. 

“If we’re going to keep talking about relationships, I’m gonna need a refill.” He stands from his seat and takes his tumbler with him.

“Me too.” You hold your own empty glass up and wiggle it in the air. More wine sounded like a great idea. 

With an easy stride, Dean strolls around the firepit and over to your chair. The man is tall when you’re standing next to him, but right now he’s damn now towering over you while you’re seated. Despite the heavy conversation, he looks down at you with an easy smile. And maybe it’s the wine, or it’s just him, but you smile back as your heart thrums wildly in your chest. 

He reaches out for your hand slowly, his fingers brushing against yours as they take a secure hold on the stem. His touch is warm against your chilled skin, and his gaze holds yours and you swallow. His chest moves in a controlled rhythm as his fingers wrap around yours. Your lips part, but nothing comes out as you stare up at him, his eyes evergreen in the shadowed glow. He swallows, his Adam’s Apple bobbing with the movement.

“I–”

A log shatters apart and drops heavily into the bottom of the firepit, and you jump as the logs that had been resting on top of it tumble down, sending sparks wildly bursting and flying into the night sky.

“Holy shit,” you breath out, your eyes darting to the flames just as they begin to die down, as you rest your hands against your chest, just now realizing you had let go of the glass. 

Dean lets out a quiet laugh and takes a step back from you and the movement causes you to look back up at him, your wine glass securely in his hand. 

“More wine it is then.”

You managed to stay out through another glass of wine, until the fire dwindled down to embers, and Dean finished another two drinks. Once the flames had died down, the chill of the night couldn’t be held off, and it was late enough for you to both call it a night. 

You quietly sneak your way through the kitchen, a tipsy giddiness keeping a near constant giggle in your throat as you and Dean bump your way around the darkened room, tossing your jacket and hat on the kitchen table, and doing your best to keep quiet as you place your glasses into the sink before heading up the stairs, keeping a tight grip on the railing as you go. Dean is a half step behind you, so close, the few times you sway on the unfamiliar steps, you brush against his warm frame, even though he sat out in nothing but a crewneck sweatshirt all night. 

As you reach the top of the stairs, you expect Dean to break off, to head down to his room, but as you lazily wander towards your own door, you look over your shoulder to find him a hands-length behind you. You flex your fingers, wanting to reach back and take his hand in yours, but you keep your hand tucked in tight at your side. 

“I know this is my first night here,” you whisper roughly. “But I’m pretty sure your room is that way.” You throw a thumb over your shoulder and he quietly laughs as he leans forward, his chest brushing against your shoulder.

“What type of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you to your door?” His breath tickles your ear and your shoulders tense at the proximity as your feet halt. The sudden stop catches Dean off guard and he stumbles into you, one arm catching you around your waist as the other grabs at your hip. His arms tighten, pulling you against his chest. And hips.

And groin. 

You swallow.

You can feel Dean’s heartbeat at your back, erratic and wild as yours as you close your eyes and lean into him without a second thought. His hand tightens around your waist, his fingers deliciously digging in as you sway your head against his shoulder.

You close your eyes as you hear him take a deep breath. 

Without warning, his lips ghost against your exposed neck, a sliver of warmth playing across your skin and you shiver at the contact. 

Finally. Is the only thing that crosses your mind as you push yourself further into him. A growl stirs in his throat, vibrating his chest as you rest against him, and you swallow. Hard. 

You trail your hand up your body, stopping only when you find his still attached to your waist. His deep breath wafts over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Ever so slowly, he leans over you, his lips locking in on your pulse point, just below your jaw. You sigh out a whimper into the quiet hallway as his lips linger on the sensitive skin, your knees failing you as you let your weight fall against him.

In a heartbeat, his lips are gone, the skin cold without his touch and he takes a step back, his hand around your waist coming to hold your hips at an arm’s length. You spin in his grasp, your head swimming from the wine, his kiss, and the jarring movement. 

He stands there with an easy smile on his lips. The same damned lips that were just on you, making you want more. So much more. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” is all he offers before his hands fall away from you and he turns and heads for his room. 

You don’t move a single muscle, watching him until he disappears behind his door and it clicks shut. 

You shutter out a breath and your shoulders fall. Your fingers come up to your neck, tracing the space where he left his kiss, and a smile grows on your face as you stroke the spot with a gulp.

You were officially in trouble.

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[the-californicationist]

This will be the first request I’ve ever made, I want you. Only if you can. Price coming home in this, whatever mission it is, needs and wants his princess. Marvin Gaye, Sade, maybe? And naughty shenanigans, kisses!!! Thanks thanks and hugs!!! 👑💜

And He Spoke of His Dreams

Song inspo: Like a Tattoo by Sade

Thanks for the ask! Hope this is what you wanted! TW: fem reader

It was late, too late, when John's keys finally rattled in the door. In front of you, meticulously placed on the table, was his icy cold dinner, two candles burned down to their ends, their wax dripping onto the pale tablecloth, and an empty bottle of wine you had meant to share. Your lips were stained red, as if your mouth was bloody, like a lioness over her kill, panting and wrathful. Stained. Stained with it.

He sighed, but he didn't say anything. He was wearing The Suit. He only owned the one. It was the funeral suit, and the wedding suit, and it was the suit that he wore when Laswell called him down to the base for these late-night chats about all the things he should be doing more (or less) of. About how it was his fault that Makarov escaped. About how it was his fault that all of the intel had been tainted. About how it was his fault.

What were you going to do? Tell him he was late to his own birthday dinner? Tell him you hadn't seen him in days even though he should have been home from duty? Tell him you had been waiting for him, pacing for him outside of the door to his home office, hoping that you could find a reason to barge in there and demand his attention?

What good would it do? What were you against the importance of Terrorism?

"Hey, love."

His voice was smoke and brimstone, sparking even though his ire wasn't pointed toward you. He had been yelling. You'd been married to him long enough that you could hear it in his timbre.

"Have a seat, John. I'll warm it up for you."

You tried to hide your frustration, but it oozed around your words like a fetid stench, and he could smell it.

"Sit down."

You sat. He was still a commander. Sometimes he shed that mantle on the drive home... and sometimes he didn't. You could tell he was fighting it. You could see how he heard his own command and winced from it, flogged from his own whip in some sort of self-inflicted flagellation. He hurt himself when he struck you with those words.

John pulled out the chair and drug it across the floor unceremoniously and without care. The legs banged along the ground and slammed down as he fixed the seat in position right in front of you. He sat and you heard the wooden chair groan. He kept his knees spread wide apart, framing you inside of them. As he leaned forward, his black tie fell into the empty hole between you. His hands played with the hem of your dress, and you could feel the backs of his knuckles on his skin.

"Laswell wants me to send me and my men back to the field, and I told her I wouldn't. Bad intel. Went round and round and round..." his volume started low, but it began to increase, like a rising flame in a pile of tinder, "It was like she couldn't hear me. Like she wouldn't..."

He had more to say, but he stopped. You knew that he had a whole rant bottled up in there, but if he let it out, he'd be back in that familiar rage, wearing it like a second skin, and he promised you wouldn't see him in that way. Not again. There had been such a peace.

You weren't sure what made you do it, but you kissed him. You felt your lips purse and press into his mustache, tickled by it, wetting the hairs. You felt the fullness of his soft lips as he responded to you, kissing you back but pulling away.

"Darlin'..."

You attacked, deciding to show him just how darling you could be, deepening the kiss, and giving your tongue to him. If he wouldn't eat his dinner, you would feed him something else.

He relented, enticed by your surprise offering, and any part of him that wanted to hold onto that old, comfortable anger was happy to put its paws on something softer.

John wrapped his arms around you, devouring you with his mouth, pushing at your jaw and forcing you to collapse into him with his immense body leaning on you. He pulled you up, making the chairs scream again as your legs jostled them away.

"C'mon, love. C'mon."

He was speaking into your mouth, filling the hollow of your cheeks with his own words, groping you and caressing you wherever he could manage. As he held you, he moved you into the bedroom, bullying you into an awkward, all-encompassing dance, eager to lead.

His shirt buttons caved under your effort, and he managed to loosen his tie enough to let it flutter down to the floor, trampled by your feet. You found his undershirt and tugged at it, using your hands to venture underneath to pet his belly and make him gasp.

"Bloody hell. Wha's gotten into you, missus?"

His shirt peeled away from his back.

"Don't wanna hear about your shitty day," you hissed.

The top two buttons of your dress were undone.

"Oh? Why's that?"

His hands rucking up your skirt, trying to pull it off of you.

"I wanna feel your shitty day," you smiled, licking your lips, "I wanna feel every bit of it. Give it to me. Let me feel you. I wanna feel you."

You prayed that he understood you. He seemed to, grinning as your hands pried away his trousers from his waist, yanking at his zipper and seeking out his hidden warmth.

John was already as hard as a stone, and his smooth, velvety cock filled your hands and reminded you of just how much of him there was. You pumped at his length, slicking the precome over his head, teasing him just enough to make him wild.

His eyes held a bright fire within them, and you could tell how much he wanted to take control, so you forced his hand. He was always so careful with you, but that's not what you needed. You needed him to bind himself to you, like a bone once broken that was now healed.

Your knees hit the floor and you rubbed your cheek over his length like a cat. You did it again, enjoying the look on his face and the brief uncertainty about what he should do with his hands. He stumbled back, just a half-step, but enough to tell you that you were doing the trick.

His hands were in your hair, and he groaned for you, watching you in furious disbelief as you took him into your mouth. You could only fit his head, but you suckled from it hungrily, pulling it into the wet warmth of your mouth and rolling it around with your tongue.

"Fuckin' hell. Fuck..."

John got rough with you, pulling you up by your scalp, gripping you at the base of your skull, slowing his pleasure down and staring at you like you were a ghost, something unreal.

Then, he kissed you again, letting you both fall to the bed, pressing you down with his weight so that you couldn't move. You couldn't even shift your hips; you were fully at his mercy, ready and very much willing to be used like his toy.

He slid into you without resistance or help. Your body welcomed him in, not asking you for your opinion.

"Mmff... fuck!"

John growled out mid-kiss, trying to reel himself back in. You gasped and moaned, feeling the same effects as your husband, reveling in the magic he had crafted between you.

All of his rage melted from his visage like butter in a pan, soft and frothing and bubbling in a place that was once rigid and cold. You tried to grind your hips for him, milking his pleasure one tiny motion at a time, stoking that fire to dangerous heights.

As if he was being forced to comply, he began to thrust into you over and over. You felt his cock slide all the way out and all the way back in like a shining piston.

It made your eyes water. Your pleasure was so enhanced by his ferocity, and his intensity burned its way through you with every selfish push and lustful pull.

Greedily, he picked up his pace, slamming himself into you and hugging you to him, desperate to be closer and not having a way to make that true. He began to talk to you, telling you his secrets,

"Needed you so bad."

More and more of his cock seemed to find a way to fit itself inside of you, and you couldn't remember ever feeling so full.

"This fuckin' pussy. My pussy. Mine."

His possessiveness made you want to scream, and you could tell he was pleased with your reaction to his declaration of ownership. His smug, satisfied look turned you on even more.

"So wet for me, pretty thing. Wet. Wet. Wet."

The sounds he was making inside of you were straight up pornographic, and you loved hearing the result of his work. He was a master at drawing out your pleasure, and you thought you might blackout if he didn't let you come soon.

"John, please -" you said, but you were interrupted.

He plastered a huge hand over your mouth and chuckled darkly,

"Smells sweet," he licked your neck, sending chills across your arms and chest, "Like you've been wantin' me for a while. That true?"

You nodded, unable to respond. Then, you basked in the pleased look on his face. It was delicious to see him so enamored with you, and you wanted to roll around in it like a dog.

"Gonna come on me, missus? Wash away my fuckin' day, yeah?"

You nodded again, weaker this time. You felt your body decide to divert its attention to your core and the pressure building in your womb. It was like the end of a lit sparkler, glowing and spitting, sparkling and hissing and then... it was the explosion.

Your orgasm spread like wildfire across your skin, blazing in your hips and rushing through your veins, burning you inside and out.

"Tha's it," he was shouting over your screaming, "Lemme hear you. C'mon! Fuck!"

John pressed his cock inside of you as deeply as it would fit and felt the climax as it rent its way through you. He allowed himself to follow, pouring his joy out into you like warm, melted sugar, sticky and cloying.

Shorter, shallower thrusts painted his come inside of you, and your senses were overwhelmed by it. Everything was golden and silver and glittering with his love. Everything was bright. Everything was John. There was no you. No him. You were bathed together in this cosmic light, forever entwined by it.

More than anything, he looked relieved. It was exactly what he had needed. He needed to let himself out, to let his wildness run free, and you celebrated being the vessel for such reckless abandon.

He was petting your breasts, kissing them and studying them like there was a test. Occasionally, he would return to your mouth, slanting his own over it and languidly using it to kiss you. He would lick and taste and kiss and suck and you would allow it. You would be his toy for as long as he needed, and in turn, he was yours to command. Your captain.

"I like you like this," he confessed, keeping you pinned beneath him, "All mine. Trapped, hm?"

"All yours, John. As long as you need me."

"I'll always need you."

[archangeldyke-all]

hiii i had this idea stuck in my head all day, how about buying sev flowers just because, without any occasion and she doesn't know how to react? you can sprinkle some spice there pretty please

AWEEEEEEEE this is so SWEET

men and minors dni

as you strolled to the last drop like you always do on thursday evenings-- sevika gets fridays off so you like to walk her home after her last day of work, stop to buy her whatever she's craving on the way home, and spend the time catching up and chatting with your girl-- your eyes caught on a little cart on the side of the street.

flowers are rare in zaun, especially flowers that aren't meant to be smoked for various inebriating effects. there's hardly any sunlight in the undercity, hardly enough clean water for all the citizens, much less the flora and fauna. but, once in a while, someone will head up to the promenade, buy a whole bunch of flowers in bulk, and haul them back down to zaun to sell.

most often, people who visit the flower sellers of zaun are men trying to get back on their girls' good side, or people headed to funerals. you slow your pace to examine the colorful bunches of petals, smiling softly as your mind wanders, as it tends to, to your wife.

you wonder what kind of flowers are sevika's favorite. you wonder if she's seen enough flowers in her life to form an opinion. something sad settles over you, and you frown as it occurs to you that your wife's likely never been gifted flowers in her life.

well, that's all it takes for you to cross the street and pat down your pockets for a few spare coins.

"hello, beautiful!" the old lady behind the cart greets you. you smile.

"hello. i don't know much about flowers, but i'm looking for something for my wife?" you ask. "something sweet and small."

the woman grins, then reaches up and grabs a giant bouquet of red, pink, and white roses. you giggle.

"oh, no, i think that's a bit much. she might die of embarrassment if i give her those." you chuckle. the woman smiles.

"so she's got subtle taste?" she asks. you giggle and nod again. that's one way to put it. the old woman quickly gathers a few flowers from various bunches. she holds it up for you to examine. you smile.

"that's perfect. what flowers are these?" you ask, reaching out to hold the small bundle she's picked out for you. she smiles and reaches across the cart, pointing to each flower she's arranged.

"white tulips," she points to the two tall white flowers, "for a pure love." she moves her hand to the tiny five-petaled blue flowers with bright yellow centers. "forget-me-not's, their meaning is in their name." she explains, then she points to the the tallest flower, one singluar purple stalk. "this is lavender. it's symbolic for women like you and your wife." she looks you up and down, winking, and you realize she means gay people. you chuckle. "it'll also make the room you store these in smell fabulous. chop the stems at an angle when you get home, and then put 'em in fresh water with a little bit of sugar. keep 'em in a sunny spot--not too sunny though! they should last you a week." she says, quickly wrapping the stems in your fist up in a sweet white bow.

you grin and pass her three gold coins. she gasps.

"oh honey, this is only worth one!" she calls as you start walking toward the last drop again. you just giggle and wave her off.

"thank you miss!" you call, waving goodbye to her.

you're a little nervous to give the flowers to sevika, worried that she won't like them. but when she walks out of the front doors of the bar and sees you waiting across the street for her, she grins, and all your worries melt.

she wraps you up in a big hug, and you giggle. "hi baby." you mumble against her shoulder. she groans, kissing your scalp.

"it's so fuckin' good to see you." she mumbles.

you pull away to look up at her, pouting. "bad day?"

"horrible. c'mon, i want somethin' greasy and salty for dinner."

you laugh. "i got you somethin' that might cheer you up." you say. sevika raises a salacious eyebrow at you, and you burst into giggles. you're happy to see her permanent scowl melt a bit at the sound. "not that kinda surprise, baby." you snort.

then, you reveal the bouquet you'd been hiding behind your back, pushing it into sevika's hands. she blinks down at them, then up at you, then back down at the flowers. "...what?" she asks eventually. you giggle and kiss her cheek.

"i got you flowers!" you exclaim. she looks up at you, still confused.

"...did someone die?" she asks, and you can see her trying to mentally catalog all the people she knows. you snort, then gently smack her shoulder.

"sevika! can't a woman just buy her wife some flowers? no ulterior motives?" you ask.

sevika considers this like you've just asked her what the meaning of life is. she looks seriously confused. you're half adoring, half sad. you make a mental note to start buying your wife flowers any chance you see them. she needs to be spoiled more.

then, her face clears, and she looks up at you with a look she reserves for you and you only. reverent, vulnerable, and shaky. you pout, and reach up to cup her face in your hands. "just for me?" she asks. you smile and lean forward to kiss her.

"just for you, babe." you whisper against her lips.

sevika usually walks with her flesh hand in yours. tonight, though, she demotes you to her mech hand, so her flesh hand can gently cradle the bouquet against her chest.

you make a quick stop at jericho's to pick up some grub, and you have to bite back a smile at the looks regulars are throwing sevika as she gazes sweetly down at a small bundle of flowers in her hands.

when you get home, you insist that you be the one who trim and arrange them for sevika. she hovers over you as you do like you're going to crush them. you think it's adorable-- she's so attached to the things already, you're a little worried what's going to happen when they eventually die.

(you don't have to worry though. you end up pressing the flowers between some old encyclopedias, then framing them and hanging them on your wall. it's becomes a tradition, each time you buy sevika flowers-- which ends up being close to once a week-- you guys press and frame them together once they're close to wilting, to preserve the memory and love forever.)

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[bluewolfangel01]

Can you do the Obey Me! cast with an MC who finds out about their childhood pet getting ready to pass on and how they deal with the aftermath of the pet passing on. My dog is getting ready to go from the sounds of it and I’m looking for some comfort from my comfort character group. Take your time in answering! Here’s a picture of my sweet baby girl.

Aw, that's a very cute and sweet looking baby. I'll try my best to write something that'll help and comfort you as best as it can 🙏

If Mc tells the brothers that their beloved childhood pet is getting ready to pass on, they'll do everything in their power to comfort them

And even if Mc doesn't tell the brothers at first, they'll eventually find out why Mc is acting so strange and sad

Whose ever turn it is to cook, either for dinner or breakfast, they'll make sure that it's one of Mc's favorite or a dish that they like

Beel will make sure that Mc gets as much as they want to eat, even if he's really, really hungry he'll wait for Mc

Mammon will hang around and basically escort Mc everywhere when he's not extremely busy, kinda like an emotional support demon

Whenever Mc is hanging out with Levi, he'll play whatever games that they like best

Whenever Mc is hanging with Satan, he'll read to them if they like, and he's very much willing to listen to any stories that Mc has about their childhood pet

Asmo will steal Mc away, with permission of course, for extra long self care sessions that involve only the best treatments and letting Mc talk about any and all their memories with their beloved pet

Belphie will cuddle with Mc at night, or any time during the day really, and make sure they sleep extra well and dont have any nightmares while they sleep

If Mc wants to chat late in the night to better process things, Lucifer is very much willing to listen as long as Mc doesn't feel hurt that he may not be listening fully at all times since he is working away at the paperwork on his desk, but he'll try his best to listen fully as much as he can

If Mc wants, Lucifer will also talk to Diavolo about allowing Mc to go back home to the human realm

In the aftermath of Mc's childhood pet passing, the brothers would do the same stuff that they did beforehand to comfort Mc, but of course they'd do it with much more gusto

Whatever Mc wants or needs, even if it's something silly, the brothers get it so fast that Mc will get whiplash

Mc wants cuddles or to be held? Immediate line of the demon bros asking which one of them Mc wants to cuddle with or if they just want to have a cuddle pile with everyone

Mc wants to go back to their home in the human realm to be there for their pet's funeral? One or all of the brothers are willing to go as both support and company if Mc is okay with or wants that

This next bit is if Mc is okay with or finds being around "pets" to be helpful with coping

Don't forget that there's a giant doggo under the HoL in the catacombs

Although Cerburus is all teeth with the brothers, except Lucifer of course, he loves Mc and is willing to help them cope however he can, which is mainly via fluffy cuddles

If the brothers can't find Mc anywhere, then they'll check the catacombs, to which they'll find a Mc laying on top of Cerburus

Overall the brothers will do anything in their power to help Mc

Mc wants to forget about the whole thing for a while, talk through it, cry for a bit, sit in silence while being held, etc?

Mc is apart of their family, they'll do whatever it takes for Mc to feel even a little bit better

[rosescarlette]

- Gentlemen. -

Zhongli is the type of person who's often described as a gentleman. Trust me this guy has a lot of fame but even he doesn't know how. He just uses his knowledge and skills and boom! He's famous.

Zhongli is the type of person to absolutely spoil you. He just wants you to be happy. Of course grandpa sometimes goes overboard. You see something? You complement it? Congrats! It's yours now.

Zhongli is also the type to be very reserved during the first time of the relationship. Not like the people who just ask him something completely about, "Hey have you-" where he just goes.. "Sorry I have a girlfriend." No. He isn't. He would completely let the person finish their question and then answer them appropriately. If some one were to indeed ask him out. He'd politely decline and just return to his work what he was doing before.

Zhongli also would be quite strict with himself. But hey.. can you really blame him?.. he has no experience during the first moments. But however do expect him to be completely perfect at the dinning matters and etc. He has learned these habits himself when he used to disguise himself as a human to mingle among his people.

He also has immense strength. Trust me no human could ever compare to his strength because he's the archon who dominates over the element geo. So he obviously has no trouble carrying your bags even yourself. No matter how heavy you are.. you're just a feather to him. There would always be arguments like: "Zhongli let me carry my bags myself!!" "Pardon but I will carry these." Yep. Expect him to be formal even when arguing. You raised yourself as an independent woman and he's the gentleman. So.. yep arguments on who's gonna pay for the dinner. Of course he ends up winning. He pays the bill regarding the price. Heck does he even look at it? No. Because his wallet (childe) will always pay for it regardless of the price.

If zhongli sees you overworking yourself to the point where you sleep on the desk itself. He will not hesitate at all to pick you up and place you in bed and tuck you in. He has no problems doing that.

You and zhongli would RARELY get into arguments. Trust me, the only times you'd argue is who is going to pay the bills and all. He always wins somehow.

He is also the type to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday or happy anniversary to you. Because he wakes up quite early and you? Nah you're gonna sleep almost to the point where people would mistakenly arrange a funeral for you thinking you died... /j . This guy has photographic memory so.. he captured every emotion on your face with immense detail. He never gets bored looking at those eyes.

He is also the type of person who'd comfort you very well. If your day is bad you can always go chat to him. He will always and ALWAYS try to make you smile. Your smile is something he would pay anything to see.

You overthink? He's the one to comfort you. You have social anxiety? He's the one to do the talking. You're short to reach? He helps you with it. Any problem you bring up he brings up the solution.

Zhongli wants everything to be perfect. My guy's a rich person. (But somehow broke) He wants everything to be absolutely perfect and no detail should be missed. So expect your birthdays and special occasions and all to be amazingly perfect. Including his proposal is something that has so many hidden meanings that many people have forgotten. Yet it's perfect. In a way where everything is according to you. Which represents you and him.

In the end.. your relationship was perfect with him. It was only date to marry. Trust me. He will only choose you.

Zhongli knows eventually one day he will outlive you. He always had. So he tries his best to always stay near you and capture every emotion of yours. And eventually when you aren't there anymore.. he will forever be lonely. He wouldn't want another person. He himself had set a contract to himself. It's either you or no one. And he follows it. Until it's the end of him.

Your grave is something that can't be found easily. I mean.. he wouldn't let it be known so easily to people. He would try to hide it as much as possible. The area would be secluded. And your grave will the one that has your favorite flowers. However to him. He visits to be with you. Only to be reminded of the fact.. you're gone too.

Despite living so long. He'd always learn talents so who knows if he learns art. Not for anything but other than painting you so you wouldn't be forgotten in his memory so easily. Even with his photographic memory he fears that he would forget. The tea cups on the table will always be the pair where one is empty and the other has cold tea. A remainder again you're gone. He heavily uses muscle memory so it's hard for him to get accustomed easily.

Despite the bittersweet ending. He always loved and always will continue to love you. And if it's his end. He would want to be next to you. And after always hold you in his arms. No matter where he would always find you. Even without his memory. His soul knows you and will continue to find you. So expect many lives of yours to be with him.

In the end he has no regrets. He always wanted to be with you. So it's always you no matter what.

[ceslatoil]

Ghost Filbrick AU

So a few weeks ago I was in the group chat and I pitched an idea for a fic (not writing it anytime soon, I have enough projects on my plate for now!) and it’s about the Pines family visiting Ma Pines before she moves to an assisted care facility. Main idea is that Dipper and Mabel meet Filbrick’s ghost who is trying to hinder the move, and the family trying to get him to move on. Lots of family drama ensues.

I wrote like, a scrap of a script draft for it if y’all wanna read it below:

(Scene: The grown ups, including CARYN, STAN, FORD and COOPER, MABEL & DIPPER’s dad, are all up playing cards. CARYN pulls out the Tarot Deck)

Caryn: I call this one “Last Man Standing!” You put down a card and the other player has to put down either the same suit or card number. If someone plays a major arcana card like wheel of fortune or the star, they can switch up the minor arcana suit. If you play death or the tower, the other players draw four. Whoever has zero cards wins!

Dad Pines: Grandma I think you just reverse engineered Uno

Stan: Dad wouldn’t buy us more than one card deck, so we made due with Ma’s tarot.

Ford: I thought it was to keep you from cheating the deck

Caryn: Both things could be true! Now hush.

Stan: … Coop is everything all right with Dipper? It’s not my business but… he seemed pretty cagey with ya earlier.

Caryn: Cagey? The kid stormed out of the room in the middle of dinner! Granted it was *my* cooking, so I can’t really hold a grudge on that front. (*plays a card*) That’s The Fool, so we’re reversing direction.

Ford: … It just doesn’t seem like him.

Coop: … that’s been the norm lately, I’m afraid. I don’t think he’s handling the divorce well, with me moving out and I just haven’t been around as much since then.

Ford: Mabel told us in one of her letters you were in family therapy together?

Coop: We’ve had a few sessions, yes. She loved it, got along great with our counselor. I think she asked a few times about becoming a therapist someday! But Dipper doesn’t really participate much during the sessions. He just sulks in the corner, like he doesn’t want to be there at all.

Stan: He’ll get over it. He’s stubborn, but not the type to hold a grudge.

Ford: I can’t imagine any of this is easy for any of you.

Coop: Weirdly enough, me and Annie— uh, Annie and *I*— have gotten on better than ever. Divorce was the best thing to happen to our relationship, it’s like we’re finally friends again?

Stan: Divorce ain’t so bad, I’ve done it at least six times now!

Caryn: I thought about divorcing your father, but he died before I got around to it. Suit change.

Ford: when did Dad pass?

Stan: … ‘97.

Ford: … I see. (*silence*)

Caryn: … Let’s not talk about funerals right now. God knows I’ve been to enough of ‘em. I’m just glad one of ‘em didn’t count. (*pinches Stan’s cheek.*)

Stan: … me too, Ma.

Ford: … Last Man Standing

Stan: Like hell you are, you shit, draw four!

Ford: … that’s not the tower, that’s a Stan Buck!

Caryn: Don’t tell me you’re still making Stan Bucks! You know damn well that’s not how money works!

(This next part is self indulgent and idk if I’ll include it in the fic proper)

Caryn: Now Stanford… let me ask you a question. Why the hell have you been hiding your left hand in your pocket all night?

Ford:…. I don’t know what you mean— HEY!

(Caryn pulls his hand out of his pocket, examines his second ring finger)

Caryn: Stanford Filbrick why does it look like you have a wedding band on your finger?

Ford: …. (*sighs*) because I have a wedding band on my finger.

Caryn: AHA! Here we are moping about death and divorce and you sit on good news like that! Who is she? Who’s your wife? Where’d you meet her, what’s her family like, what does she do?

Ford:… I don’t have a wife. I have a husband.

Stan: The guy used to live in the dump and now he’s a millionaire inventor running for president.

Caryn: You married McGucket?! Me and the girls canvassed for him this year! Wait till I tell that Janine, that’ll get her to pipe down about her Chiropractor Son-In-Law for once!

Coop: I really like his policies on infrastructure, very forward thinking!

Stan: Eh, I’m voting third party. Nothing personal, I just don’t want a brother in law who’s commander in chief. It would make thanksgiving a nightmare.

Ford: You’re a felon, you can’t vote at all.

Stan: That hasn’t stopped me in thirty years!

Ford: So Ma, you’re… fine with—

Caryn: Sweetie, until this morning I thought two of my sons were dead and one cut all ties. I figured I deserved it. Sitting back while your Father gave you all grief for nothin. I told myself if I ever saw you again I’d take you as is, and I meant it.

[librarycards]

I enjoy many poets whose work I’d call “warm.” I love Billy Collins and Mary Oliver, for example, but I would not depend on them to tell me their whole truth. They prefer, perhaps, to please me, to wish me well, to enable me. There is a place for them on my shelves. After a hard day, tired in the evening, I will reach for them. But they don’t give me that shuddering thrill. They do not, like certain close friends of mine, stop me mid-sentence to challenge the bullshit I’ve been speaking. They do not lock eyes with me and tell me what’s really on their mind. They will never change my life. [...] Cold art, when it enacts the moment of death over and over, isn’t interested in death in itself, but wants to remind us of death. We are, as at a funeral, not the corpse but the attendees. The life force still surges within us. Cold art doesn’t urge us toward nihilism, but reminds us to live now, to get things done, that we are vital. This is the wisdom of it. Without such reminders we risk becoming fools, like Lear. Cold art is not harmful or bad at all, but provides a useful counterpoint to “happiness” in our society, which is severely overemphasized. Our existence naturally oscillates between warm and cold. This oscillation must be allowed, or the pendulum will break. When that deep cold is invoked—in a poem, a song, a painting, a voice on the subway—the windless ice forest wakes within me. And it’s in me always, the cold. The spiritual, psychic cold. While driving my motorcycle through the potholed streets of Philadelphia, while leading a poetry workshop, while chatting to my mother, while eating dinner, while watching Netflix with Tiina. That cold forest, its myriad frozen boughs, bristles within me.

John Wall Barger, In the Cold Theatre of the Poem.

[emphasis added]

[bitchinbarzal]

see you again | J.Hughes

summary: all he wants to do is see you again.

-

Jack was weirdly quiet the whole morning. From coming down to breakfast late, to not talking when everyone was debating their plans for the day and when they eventually agreed on a boat day he just shrugged and walked up to his room.

“What’s up with him?” Luke asks, the question is directed at Alex who’s sharing a room with Jack.

Alex shrugs “He was freaking out this morning when he woke up, like he was looking for someone in the room? He was so annoyed I woke him up”

Everyone frowns, confused by the behaviour and thinking of a reason until Cole speaks

“You know it’s his first time back here since she left”

Everyone looks down the table at him, a slight look of disbelief he’d say that and Cole says “What?! It is! I’m just saying that could be why he’s being sketchy”

Quinn rolls his eyes and adds “Jack’s fine, he’s probably just moody or something girl troubles from back in Jersey. He’s finally come to terms with it so don’t bring it back up”

The oldest brothers stern voice told everyone what they needed to know — don’t bring it up.

The rest of the day consisted of Jack sulking around while everyone tried their best to ignore it.

His brothers were becoming slightly worried about him, sharing glances through the day while his friends were trying to listen to Quinn and leave it alone.

They had docked the boat back up and Jack made his way back to the house immediately, not so much as sharing a glance with anyone.

After doing what they had to do with the boat Trevor decided to follow him into the house, finding him in the basement.

Jack was facing the wall where the cinema projected would usually play movies onto, the wall however now was black alongside most of the room.

“Hey man, you good?”

Jack doesn’t turn around when he answers “I saw her in my dream”

“What?”

“Y/N, i saw her in my dream last night and I got real pissed off with Alex because he woke me up and now I can’t see her anymore”

Trevor sighs and sits next to his friend on the couch “She’s gone Jack”

“I know that”

“You gotta-“

Jack turns to his friend and let’s put a frustrated noise “I know she’s gone! I know that Trevor but I miss her, she just left and I have never gotten over—“

Jack’s rant was interrupted by his friend throwing his hands down on the couch “She’s gone Jack, there was nothing we could do that night”

Jack sinks back into the couch cushions “It was my fault, we fought”

Trevor sighs, sitting on the arm of the couch. That night haunted everyone for months after it happened. You and Jack had fought about a girl that Trevor had brought to the lake house, your jealousy got the best of you at the party the boys had thrown and you guys had a fight.

You ended up storming off but being in the middle of nowhere you decided to drive.

It was stupid and Jack went after you immediately, only to find your car sitting in a ditch down the street where you’d crashed into a tree.

Jack left Michigan soon after that, he didn’t go to the funeral, he didn’t meet your parents for dinner when they flew to jersey to watch him play.

He felt so guilty.

His trauma had blocked you from his mind so much so he had started to forget things about you, like your smile, the colour of your eyes or the perfume you wore.

He was forgetting you. He didn’t want to forget you.

“Jack it was nobody’s fault, shit happens she wouldn’t want you to be this upset”

“I don’t know what she’d want because I can’t really remember much about her” Jack mumbles, playing with his fingers.

“She was your best friend” Trevor started “she loved you, weirdly she chose you over me but whatever I’m not salty”

Jack laughs at that, you’d met at a party in Plymouth when the boys were in the USNTDP and Trevor spent the entire night flirting with you only to go home with Jack.

The two spent the night talking about you, joined by the rest of the house later who joined in on the chat. From funny first meeting stories, remembering your weird quirks and Luke telling the story of the time you accidentally kissed him good morning infront of the Hughes’ because you were so tired and mistakened him for Jack.

Jack felt good for the first time, like he knew you better but it wasn’t enough.

When everyone had fallen asleep Jack got up and walked upstairs, grabbing his keys and getting in his car.

He sat there staring out the front window gripping onto the steering wheel while looking at the road, he can’t see the brick wall that was there now, where your car had tipped.

His hands fall down to the ignition and the engine comes alive. He flips down the sun visor, the picture of you smiling sweetly staring back at him.

“I’m coming baby, I’ll see you real soon”

[thisbelongsto-nohbodys]

[Marcy is streaming herself working on some art when Grimothy Jr comes up to her, meowing]

Marcy picking up the cat: Oh hey baby, is it dinner time already?

Chat: Good thing the chicken can deliver itself, just needs some breading.

Marcy: Now now, let’s not be mean.

Chat: Behold, two types of gremlins. The cute one (Marbles) and the ugly one (the cat).

Marcy: I dunno, he’s pretty cute…once ya get used to it.

Chat: Thought nudity wasn’t allowed on here, lol

Marcy: Sashy has some sweaters for ‘em but—

Chat: So is the abomination monster from the comic based on that thing? Lol

Marcy: ………it’s your funeral……

[The door bursts open, Sasha rushes up, grabs her cat]

Sasha: WHO DARES TO INSULT MY SWEET BABY BOY!!! I’LL GUT YOU AND STRING YOUR ENTRAILS AROUND SOME POWERLINES!!!

Sasha: don’t listen to them GJ, you’re the cutest cat ever.

Marcy: Anne might disagree in favor of Domino 4…also, weren’t you at work? How’d you get here so fast?

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

I'm Here, I'm Here

Request: Could you do a fic with either Roy or Jamie x reader and the reader is having a hard time with grief after losing their dad?

Jamie Tartt x Reader 0.7k words Warnings: Grief, mentions of a deceased dad, established relationship

A/N: Ahh my first Jamie Tartt fic! I hope it came out well ❤️

“Babe? Where are you?”

Jamie’s pretty face appeared in the doorway. His eyes softened when he saw you standing over the sink, sponge in hand. You’d said you were going to the kitchen to do the dishes from dinner. However, it was clear from the plates still stacked in the sink that you hadn’t even begun the task. Instead, you were staring out the window, not quite seeing the fading sunlight that lit the garden in that soft way you usually liked.

With a tiny sigh, Jamie approached and gently wrapped his arms around your waist. Instinctively, you leaned into his familiar touch, dropping the sponge and closing your eyes. For the past month, he kept walking on scenes like this: laundry on your lap, unfolded; dinner ingredients on the countertop, unopened; television in front of you, unwatched. Just you, frozen, lost somewhere in your own thoughts.

It would get easier, everyone assured you. Day by day, things would start to feel better. But you’d begun to doubt that. It seemed that no matter how much time passed between your dad’s funeral and now, your entire body still felt the loss just as heavily. You were a statue, frozen and made of stone.

The only person not telling you that things would get better was Jamie. Your boyfriend of about three years didn’t say too much about the situation, but he held you. He’d held you through the days of endless crying, listening to you attempt to bargain with a god neither of you were quite sure was listening, and now he held you through the endless silence.

His arms were so familiar after three years together: firm, tender, strong, gentle. He gripped you tight and pressed your back against his chest so you could feel his beating heart. I’m here, it said over and over. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.

He leaned his cheek against the top of your head, simply engulfing you in his warmth, as if he were trying to thaw you out. Never able to stay still, he eventually began to sway back and forth aimlessly, creating an uneven rhythm that clashed with the steady one his heart created.

“I’m sad,” you finally croaked out. You wrapped a tentative hand around his forearm, afraid that if you moved to suddenly, he too would disappear forever.

Instead, he kissed the top of your head. “I know,” he murmured. He sighed, a heavy sound that you could feel in your whole body. “I miss him too, babe.”

That lump in your throat that never seemed to go away hardened. Jamie had loved your dad; with his own father being what he was, and his mother and Simon back in Manchester, Jamie clung to your family like a life preserver. He and your dad had become best friends quickly, always chatting at family dinners or going out for a pint. He made sure your dad and his mates always had tickets for any match they wanted, and all of Nelson Road knew to treat Jamie’s girlfriend’s dad like royalty. It made your dad happy to be so doted on by a famous footballer, and it made him even happier to see you so in love with such a kind young man.

Jamie didn’t say it- probably because he didn’t want to take away from your grief- but he was heartbroken. He, too, had moments of silence where the loss hit him like a punch to the gut and he had no choice but to simply freeze. He’d find things around the house that made him think of your dad- a photo of your family, the book he’d suggested Jamie would like, a bottle of his favorite beer, the kind Jamie actually hated but always made sure to have on hand just for your dad- and would become as still as a statue.

The sorrow hit even harder when he saw you like this, looking like a lost child. He wished he had the words to make everything better, but he knew they didn’t exist. And even if they did, he was pretty sure he’d say them all wrong and somehow make you feel worse; Jamie Tartt wasn’t the most eloquent speaker, and he knew it. So instead, he loved you the best way he knew how.

He folded the unfolded laundry. He made the unmade dinners. He put a movie on the unwatched telly. And now, he walked you to the kitchen table and let you sit down before turning back to the sink to handle the unwashed dishes.

And after that, he would lead you to your bed, where he’d simply hold you and let his heartbeat tell you over and over again, I’m here.