#this is a years old take and i will take to the grave with me

[globalrebrand]

When you Deny Them Staff Edition: Crowley and Crewel

Warnings: Light not sfw

Crowley

It's inelegant to say the least. Crowley likes his feathers ruffled at least thrice a week during the school year and even more on vacation. He's never had a problem getting you into his bed before. Whether you've been together 10 years or 100 years nothing has stopped this regular pattern of intimacy except for grave emergencies.

There are several key ways you and Crowley like to like to initiate your sessions. Usually a mutual coming together at the end of a long day, or when you walk into his private office in your shared home and he turns around with a wide smile to greet you patting his lap affectionately. A kiss or two quickly ends up with the two of you tangled in each other in the bed, on his office sofa, or even on the desk.

So imagine his surprise when all of the usual warmth and affection he's used to receiving from you becomes only chaste pecks and stoic caresses. He loses it. Breaks down instantly, but he tries to keep a brave front but he can't stomach not having your full affection.

His first impulse is to consult his teaching staff. Trein advises that this is a matter entirely inappropriate to discuss with the school's teachers, but as a veteran of marriage suggests that Crowley try to engage in affection with you where sex isn't the exclusive result. Just some cuddling or snuggling without pressure for more. Trein also advises Crowley to just talk to you about the changes in your intimacy levels but Crowley in all of his infinite wisdom thinks that would come off as a bit desperate. "As if you didn't reek of desperation already, Dire" (Trein's words not mine.)

Crowley sees the sense in that but would prefer faster results so he goes to Crewel who plainly tells him that he dresses like an Edgar Allen Poe inspired 19th century brothel owner and suggests that he dress a bit more modern and less garish. (admittedly this is rich coming from Crewel) This Crowley does try, he walks in one day after work in a beautifully tailored midnight colored suit and like a moth to a flame you come over and press your hands to his chest and lapels, telling him how handsome he looks, but then if you end up liking it too much his feelings are hurt and he reverts back to his old sense of dress. You liked it before! (cockblocks himself)

Vargas tells him that he needs to bulk up. He's too spindly and that you're probably creeped out by his spider like physique. Crowley considers building some muscle, but when Vargas says it will probably take about 3 months to see any meaningful gains Crowley doesn't even let him finish talking before moving on.

Naturally Sam suggests gifts and this really resonates with Crowley, so soon you'll wake up to a cadre of silver and gold glittering gifts on your vanity in the morning and a cheesy grin from your husband encouraging you to try things on. You like the presents well enough but are incredibly offended by the assumption that because of these gifts you should want to immediately jump his bones as repayment. He understands the optics look bad but that's not what he meant!

If none of these questionably implemented strategies work it takes maybe a month of cold interactions and failed seduction attempts before he's coming to you in your shared bed, already sniffling as he tries to get to the bottom of the situation.

"Please tell me what's the matter my love. I know you wouldn't withhold yourself from me for anything less than being in complete and utter despair. As your husband it is my job to shoulder these burdens with you."

Crowley is absolutely shocked when you say nothing is the matter and that you're just not in the mood. Insists you need to get to the doctor, because obviously something is medically wrong even if you feel fine. If you insist you're ok, he starts full on sobbing asks if there's someone else. He promises he'll forgive you just tell him the fucker's name.

The good news is that as long as you're honest and open with him there's really no reason for there to be an extended period of abstinence. Crowley is using all of the creative problem solving skills he doesn't use at his job to solve the problem of why you don't want to rail him anymore.

If you want to try something new, he'll do whatever you ask. If you're tired and stressed he's trying to figure out how to take things off your plate. This silly little birdman will do anything for you. He can't tolerate even 10% less of his normal daily dose of intimacy and affection from you. Now with that understanding out of the way, go to him. He needs you desperately.

"Darling there's no need to let anything come between us. I will always do my best to please you, there is no one for me but you. Now, spread your legs."

Crewel

Indignant, but demure. He's really not used to you saying no to him. Of course he respects your right to say no, to him, but you really seldom do. Crewel honestly doesn't know how to react when he draws his hand up your thigh and you stop him in his tracks and tell him not right now. What do you mean? Are you going somewhere? Doing something? If you're not busy and not sick, what gives? The occasionally no is tolerable is a smidgen disappointing, a habit of rejection however, that won't do at all.

Of course Crewel doesn't externalize those thoughts he just respects your wishes, but he's not exaggerating when he estimates that you both have sex nearly everyday. You both might tell the another not now, but more certainly there will be a later. Normally you and Crewel can't keep your hands off of each other. You both thought it was a honeymoon phase, but its been years at this point and you two just don't...stop... going at it.

Your relationship isn't only physical of course. Crewel loves you body and mind, so he's more than willing to adhere to your boundaries. He promised to love you in sickness and health, through thick and thin.

Early into the change he'll ask you if anything is wrong, and if there's anything he can do to help, make you feel more comfortable or reengage with you physically. If you open up to him and have a discussion about what's bothering you so much that you're withdrawing from him then you two can quickly get to the bottom of things together and resume intimacy with little issue, however, if you wave off his concerns all he'll say is that you're a "stubborn pet," but that he's there for you no matter what.

But he does actively try to seduce you in the mean time, and admittedly he gets really into the task. He's really unused to rejection so the opportunity to prove himself is a welcome challenge, to deliberately attract your gaze and demand your attention kinda turns him on. It's been years since you've played hard to get with him and he's more than up to the task or turning your head. He's too proud to beg so simple seduction is just what it is.

Crewel starts off simple, he walks around the house shirtless, maybe unbuttons the top few buttons of his dress shirts after he's home from school. He'll make sure to wear the clothes and sleepwear you find him the most irresistible in. But then he ups the ante by cooking you meals whenever he gets a chance.

Imagine Crewel in your kitchen, you sitting at the island, both of you splitting a bottle of wine while he works over the stove, his shirt a bit unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to expose strong forearms and an apron tied at his waist. Then he comes to you cradling spoonful of sumptuous sauce and putting it to your lips asking you to tell him how it tastes. Now I personally would just have to give him head right then and there but if you're still not swayed he has a few more tricks up his sleeves.

(It's important to note while he tries his hand at seduction, Crewel has no expectations. He's just doing his best to make you want him and he's an alchemy expert so he's very good at trusting the process and not rushing results, even if his instincts his brain's internal nonstop directive to jump your bones and make you submit are telling him otherwise.)

Now maybe Crewel perceives that the reason you're not connecting with him physically is because your burdened with either your job or housework. Managing the latter is no problem, either he hires a maid or sets up some magical systems that help to tidy the house. Sure it's tedious but absolutely worth it when you ask him about how everything go so spotless and he tells you that he's handled it. The look of gratitude and awe on your features is so alluring to him. Oh he just wants you so bad! He's impatient to have your again but tries to remember good things come to those who wait.

He finds other activities to fill up your time together, maybe you start going to the gym, or reading together just things to make sure that if you aren't having sex, at least there's other form of connection and intimacy happening. And of course he looks insanely hot in gym clothes, which doesn't fail to make you blush and seeing other people eye him makes you want to stake your claim. And coincidentally, the books Crewel wants to read with you are all vaguely or intensely erotic in nature which has certainly gotten you hot and bothered on occasion.

And you'll honestly be so surprised as his willingness to give you space sexually that it's likely you who comes up to him about the missing intimacy in your relationship.

Honestly your knowledge of his playboy past has you thinking he might have found someone else. You see how often he gets hit on by perfect strangers when you're literally right next to him. It wouldn't be hard in the slightest for him to find someone else to meet his needs. But then you realize that he's hardly away from you, if anything the two of you are continuing to connect with each other.

When you apologize to him about not being more in the mood and not initiating sex he's genuinely taken aback. It hasn't been more than a few weeks. He'll tell you that you have nothing to apologize for, though he appreciates your awareness. He understands that everyday is a bit much but is happy to work with you to find middle ground.

"Oh puppy its my fault for tiring you out. Nearly everyday for years...perhaps we were due for a reset. How about you tell me how you'd like things to go from here on out? Speak now or forever hold your peace pet. You know I'm seldom willing to make changes, but for you and this beautiful body, I do just about anything."

[themareverine]

hello!! have never tried asking yet so hope this is fine with you, but old man logan! oh my days, domestic life with old man logan makes me so weak in my knees

oh absolutely, I could write domestic Old Man all DAY. ���˚ · . ˚

A King & His Castle | Under Daylight | oldman!Logan x fem!wife!reader drabble

series summary: Breadwinner. Bring-Home-the-Bacon. King of the Castle. He's heard it all before, but it's never been true of the Wolverine. Until her. Coming home to her is the only thing to live for, the only thing keeping the heart behind his ribs spinning.

synopsis: Logan's wasted too much time — and that's right, wasted. Alive a century without purpose, floating in and out of perceived "callings," looking for meaning and direction that only really ever came years before this moment, this heartbeat. Logan — the Wolverine — had found everything he'd never truly been looking for. Wrapped up in bows and curls, swaddling clothes and blood.

warnings: drabble series, day-in-the-life, dad!Logan, mutantwife!reader, angst, domesticity, pregnancy, babies, children, Logan is a boy dad because I said so, reader has curls, slight ⚠︎

navigation | series masterlist | previous let me know if you want added to my tags! ♡！

Fuck daylight savings.

Sun begins to slip away the same time it always does, these days — too early before he arrives home, he misses that glorious little span when it gets cool. The sun sinks, sunlight more like ethereal gold as it stains the sky colors bold enough to make God blush. Years before, fading sunlight would kiss his face, taking him by the hand to say goodbye as hours tick closer and closer to the witching hour, to nightmares.

Countless hours he'd spent under the fading light of the sky, magnificent canopies of colors. All of them spent with her, mostly smiling. Always radiant. In years before the poison slipping through his veins stole more than he'd be willing to admit, they'd walked hours in the genesis of stars, the cool air of coming darkness. He'd held her hand, she'd whispered sweet everythings. They'd danced, fought — made a spectacular kind of love that was as wild as the earth, as free as the sky.

Today they did little of that. Such conveniences lost in the modern world of the concrete jungle, the age of social media. A plague not soon to die, if you asked Logan. Nobody did. A rotten cancer eating away at humanity's finest qualities, it demanded more than creation was ever designed to give. Relationships more anorexic than ever. Pressure of the grind was a mere diagnosis of a time bomb counting down years, eras, to explode. Logan saw the writing on the wall, it wouldn't be long.

He doesn't dwell there, in that hell of thoughts, often, though.

It's enough to kill a man, adamantium bones aside. A poison of another kind, he staves off the wolves of the world beyond his four walls at arm's length, away from the things that matter — what has become, for the first time since his youth, his home. His life. An unspoken, largely undeserved reward for a life under God, chasing graves and death that never arrives. Of spilling blood and cursing air in his lungs. Those things he cherishes, holds as close as a paralyzed, shell of a man with boneless, spineless fingers, can.

Logan's wasted too much time — and that's right, wasted. Alive a century without purpose, floating in and out of perceived "callings," looking for meaning and direction that only really ever came years before this moment, this heartbeat. Logan — the Wolverine — had found everything he'd never truly been looking for. Wrapped up in bows and curls, swaddling clothes and blood.

Their life together wasn't beautiful. Farthest thing from perfect — the kitchen floor was stained with refinery oils and grease, the linger scent of smelt and steel carved deep into the fibers holding the place together, old appliances hobbled together. Their windows were broken, spidering cracks taped over and draped with Look, Lo! This is perfect! tapestries discovered along the way. Stains on thrifted rugs, chipped plates. Bathroom facilities lacking everything to make it more than an industry standard, but somehow perfect for fucking her in the way he loved. Constantly on the alert for trespassers, prying eyes — wolves looking to steal away the "two Wolverines," the myths and logos had popularized.

She was like him in every physiological way, — right down to the bones they gave her. And that was a responsibility Logan had never taken lightly, would never stop fortressing. Stalking the lines like a snarling guard dog, slavering away at the world pressing into what is his, he'd never let her see the world for what it is, what it has become. What she fears in nightmares it will be, but already exists —

What, at some genetic and fearful level, Logan worries his child, in days coming soon, will enter.

Headlights cast milky beams of light against the chain link caging the front door, seven-odd foot sentinels that he knows she's already unlocked for him. It's the same routine every dusk — she unlocks the cage, the front door. Turns on the light above the doorway, waters the plant she's inevitable forgotten, but loves, potted beside the entry to their humble, dark castle.

He kills the lights on the Chrysler. Pops the shift into park a breath from the gate, Logan slips out, goods from his stop at the store under arm like the proud bring-home-the-bacon, breadwinner he isn't.

Slipping into his home with a practiced phantom years of peacetime can't quite shake, he shrugs off his suitcoat. Draps it over the makeshift foyer table and cracked mirror she took such pride in at that garage sale the first year they'd lived here. Bright, passionate roses give him pause, quaintly organized into a makeshift Campbell's soup can vase, giving the space a sort of color that makes the muscle in his jaw twitch with amusement.

If she didn't at least try to make this place theirs, a home, she'd be damned. He's sure of it as he makes his way in, groceries at hand, stepping into the low lights cutting across the kitchen floor. It smells good, like food — like bread. Meat. Protein. His gut spins at the thought, suddenly ravenous despite the junk he'd consumed on the road an hour ago.

Passing by the makeshift island, which is not ironically, a welding table, he spots dinner. Salad, warm bread. Chicken. Logan could chuckle at the bowl of Jell-o, if the idea of it being scratch-and-dent clearance didn't roil his blood. It's dinner, provisions — in some ways, better than they've had in beforeyears. They'd survived together on much less, much, much less.

But the idea doesn't quite land like he wishes it to — she deserves so much more. His child deserves a life out from the confines of hideaway secrecy and the stay-alive, a chance at life. To taste independence and experiences not those of the one's who gave it life.

Logan pops a crouton from the salad into the pocket of his cheek, the zing of dressing just enough to make his entire mouth salivate with hunger. Setting his wares on the table, his gaze cuts around the open floor — it's quiet. She isn't here.

The air doesn't move and crack like a whip with her presence, his entire body isn't on fire like it is when she's near. Weird.

But then, movement down the corridor, where their room is located, produces a nod from him. Of course. Naturally she'd be there, either room or bathroom, the two places she hadn't been able to stay out of since the start of this trimester. Throwing up or nesting, that's what the doc had called it, occupied most of her business hours. He was relegated to mere appointment appearances, sidebarred in her otherwise gestational state.

It's easy to slip into the room when she's not looking — one would think an impending child would heighten a mother's senses, but it doesn't. Not truly. Maybe for some people, maybe even for animals but not things. Creatures, like them. Science experiments clawing their way through freedom, a special kind of torture that doesn't land them in either camp. Forever limbo between fully human and fully thing, today she's more human than he ever remembers. And Christ alive, is she stunning.

Logan had never fully come to terms with the idea of being a father, of the responsibility of rearing another human being. If you'd have told him it was the best decision of his centuries of life, settling into fatherhood, breeding, he'd have laughed in your face. Drank away the idea, maybe. Drowned it in his own sorrows of survival and displacement. Lobotomized that idea right out of him, the labs had.

Hell no I don't want kids, it was a common question when courting the interests of the opposite sex. Earned him his fill of meaningless fucks and tit, that was fact. It was only ever until he'd met her that he'd high-tailed away from the idea of peace, of life not so unlike this one. There'd always be an element of danger, of suspect — even if he weren't what he was, if she weren't what she is.

And she'd come along and knifed him between the ribs, carved into him the idea of living that didn't hurt. Didn't rip apart his guts. She'd shown him what it meant to be alive, what it meant to be human — how being more than human was not the curse he'd made it to be. Loving the ugly parts of him, the raw and bleeding animal of the Wolverine, had stitched back together his soul. His purpose, his reason for walking under starlight.

She'd given him hope, faith. Purpose.

And now, a child.

Standing in the doorway of what is the farthest thing from a master suite, but suits him fine, he leans against the doorway. Watches the pretty of her across the room, rooting through opened bins on the floor for clothes.

Spiral curls pulled lazily into a clip, fallen pieces wild around her shoulders in a way that stirs fire in his belly that is so far from hunger it hurts, but produces a smile. And it isn't uncommon, seeing her this way — an oversized shirt and underwear small enough to be sinful. So few of her clothes fit, anymore. He'd never bothered to notice. Enjoyed look at her.

As natural as God designed, especially these days.

If she notices him, she doesn't say, but allows him to slip up behind her all the same. At one time, Logan trembles to think how this would've ended for him — on the floor, adamantium claws in his guts, blood on the floor. Pre-maternal her. Since Texas, since the swell of his seed filling her to a plump round that drove him within an inch of his composure, she'd become so much more docile. Content, at peace. Domesticity had changed her, a child had knit her back together.

What had once become a weapon had been reborn, became living, again. And that, Logan thinks, is the purpose of life — watching the ones you love become whole, again. Watching life restore purpose, rebirth that which once had died. Maybe not life in the general sense, but the purpose of his life.

His hands land at her hips, squeezing lovely the softness of her curve that feels so right, familiar in a way that should be frightening. And may she has been aware of him all along, because she doesn't jump. There's no spike of adrenaline in her blood, just a soft gasp of surprise. A giggle, as her hands find his on her hips, the little graze of her nails a kind of lovely he can't find words for.

"Logan," her airy laugh carries through the space brightly, lands right at home in his chest. "You're home," she leans back until her head rests against his chest, tucked securely in the frame of him. "Dinner is parked, if you're hungry. Chicken and salad."

He chuckles, lips twitching into a faint smile. Brushing a kiss to the shell of her ear, "Well stone the fuckin' crows," his taunt isn't genuine, but filled with mirth and sarcasm as he tuts over her ear, "What else is new?"

It's been chicken and salad every day for the last week, a craving he will never understand. "You're such an ass!" She swipes at his hand, trying not to laugh. It makes him smile against her skin, angling his head to gently suckle at the pulse in her neck, "I can't help it. I swear, if this kid doesn't come out feathered —"

Wrong kind of coat, Wolverines don't have feathers. The idea is, at its base, amusing. Lights him up in a way Logan isn't sure he can ever surrender. He's been enchanted with this entire journey since the moment she'd popped, and low parts of him haven't reconciled that he can't keep her this way, not forever. There will come a time she isn't swollen with his seed, fat and pumped fill of him.

Makes his cock ache in a way that will haunt him, probably forever. A high he'll only ever chase.

Tugging her back against him, his hands dip forward, fingers splayed over the curve of her belly. Warmth he can't describe slips from him, a yearning to feel snaking deep into his bones. He felt this child, his child, a dozen times. More, probably. Never had stopped feeling like the first time, he was high on it. Her scent, her heat, didn't help matters.

He could salivate just thinking about her wrapped around him, tight and so, so full.

Logan's not sure if it's the open-mouthed kiss to her neck or his hands lifting away weight of her belly that pulls a trembling, filthy grown from her chest. She falls back against his chest, slack like a doll, and his world spins for all of a heartbeat, accepting her weight. Her mewling little cry, the breathy gasp — her hands finding his, encouraging him not to let go. It all works together to take him apart in a way he isn't sure he wants to recover from.

"Oh my god, yes," he nuzzles his nose into her hair, that wild smell of peach and flowers so there, it makes him a little breathless. Adding a little more pressure into his hands, he lifts more, and the way she all but moans is just short of pornography. He wishes it was captured, somehow, for replay. "Logan, baby — oh, god." Hips bucking forward, her back arching so far, he feared she'd break.

His chuckle is low in chest, fingers gently kneading against her belly, probing. "Feel good, baby?" His hand grazes up her hip, knuckles kneading at the pulled muscle and heat absolutely buried into her softness, the curve of her.

"Mhmmmm," Nodding, Logan doesn't miss the sparkle of relieved tears behind her lashes, brow knit together in a ball of tension that makes him almost break. "Feels incredible," her nails dig into his hands, encouraging more, "shit, I could almost —" laced with wonder, it falls away under a shaky breath. "Oh, Logan —"

"I know, darlin'," he smiles against her skin, pressing a desperate kiss to her cheek, "I know." It's only a few more weeks, he knows. By their guess, by gut instinct from everything he knows about babies. It can't come soon enough, but it could be farther away.

If she never stopped loving him like this, it would be too soon.

Relishing in her warmth, in the tremble of her muscle, Logan finally releases, slowly. Hands on her shoulders gently coax her to face him, lazily. Bliss on her face pinks up her cheeks, has her eyes hung to half mast, and she almost glows as her hands find his face.

Fingers tease through his beard, encouraging him into a deliberate, slow kiss.

He lowers his forehead to hers, his lips brushing against hers in a tender, unhurried way. She asks him if he's hungry, and truthfully, he could eat. Food, of her, of this — he's a starving man for anything she'll provide, forever well fed but also never enough.

"Okay," her whisper is soft, a hand lowering to cradle their child. "It's conditional, though," she chastises, pulling back to quirk a brow at him. "Entirely dependent on what you're about to say, Lo."

He'd pull the moon from orbit, if she asked. "What's that?"

"We talk about what you're actually hungry for, after supper."

He doesn't need told twice.

taglist: @sidkneeeee @thevoicefromanotherworld @misscrissfemmefatale @eternallyfrustratedwriter @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @laaadygisbooornex3 @itsafullmoon

[greengoblinswifey]

https://www.tumblr.com/greengoblinswifey/771997285730205696/thanks-for-ur-answers-on-the-dbfrafe-asks-im

OMG YESSS, I was dying for them to have an actual serious relationship 🤩🤩 just one more thing, how did the dad found out? Bc when he said “you and rafe are what?” at the beginning of the blurb I was like “why are we late to the conversation, roll that back from the beginning” 😭😭🤣 like I want to see his initial recation upon finding out if that makes sense

Thanks for everything omt

a/n— because i’m so generous, enjoy xo

The world as you knew it would come crashing down if your father had ever caught you and his best friend fucking. You and Rafe snuck around too much with a plethora of close calls, thus, you thought it was probably inevitable.

It was weird to wrap your mind around it, but Rafe knew your father better than you did with their friendship surpassing your twenty years on earth.

He was serious about you. You weren’t some dirty secret and he loathed that your entire relationship was you sneaking around behind your dad’s back.

His hands held yours as he stared into your eyes, waiting for your father to enter the living room. “I know your dad better than anyone else. And I know that it’s better we be honest with him about us being together.”

You nodded your head slowly, chewing on your bottom lip.

Your father was chill, he wasn’t an old head or anything and you believed him to be open minded but that didn’t stop you from being scared of what his reaction might be.

Rafe sensed your nervousness and brought you in for a kiss that soothed you, though it didn’t last for long.

“What the fuck?!” your father’s voice boomed throughout the entire house.

You jerked back, startled by his sudden entrance. This was exactly what you were afraid of. Granted, he didn’t catch you fucking or anything, but he saw something before you said anything.

“You’re taking advantage of my fucking daughter!” your father continued, anger evident in his tone.

“Dad, please,” you interjected. “It’s nothing like that. Rafe and I are in a relationship.”

Your dad’s voice thundered through the house, shaking the very walls. “You’re what with Rafe?!”

And that started the most heated discussion you’d ever had with your father that ended with him walking away angrily. Though, he did hear you out a bit.

Before Rafe left he wanted to at least have a one on one conversation with his best friend. They’d never had a disagreement this big and he was couldn’t leave without at least attempting to mend things.

He knocked on your father’s office before opening the door. Your father looked up, still seething from the ordeal.

“Why the fuck are you in here, haven’t you done enough?” he asked, clearly upset.

Rafe took a deep breath before starting. “I’m so sorry man. It was never my intention to hurt you or betray you. I’ve never seen her in that way until a few months ago.”

“It’s my daughter Rafe, that’s what gets me. Why did it have to be her? I know your reputation, you could’ve gone for anyone else,” your father bellowed, fists clenching.

“It had to be her because the love in my heart is only reserved for a woman like her. It’s only reserved for her. I didn’t seek her out, the connection just sparked in a way I didn’t expect. And you’re right, I have a reputation but that’s in the past. I’m ready to settle down and I would never ever hurt her. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

At the mention of Rafe’s mother, your father’s eyes shot up from his clenched fists. Rafe would never mention his mother or even swear on her unless he was serious.

He thought for a moment. You were twenty years old and capable of making your own decisions, he trusted your judgment wholeheartedly. You were one of the most intelligent people he knew and you had good discernment. You never brought home any guys so if you had decided to inform him of your relationship with his best friend of all people, it was serious.

“Alright fine. You can date her, I’ll give you a chance just this once. But I swear to God if you get my little girl pregnant this young or break her heart, I’ll fucking kill you and they won’t find your body,” your dad told him, firmly.

“100% valid and I’m on board,” Rafe said, “thanks man. You know I love you and I love her. I’ll treat her the way she deserves, you raised such an admirable woman.”

Your father stood up and Rafe pulled him in for hug. It was hesitant at first before they both melted into it. The hug signified the love, trust and years of friendship between them. It reminded Rafe of the hug your father gave to him the day his mother died, signifying they’d always be there for each other no matter what. It signified they would remain best friends through whatever hardships they faced.

Now, decades later, that promise stood firm, no matter the circumstance and apprehension.

“Take care of her man. She’s my entire world,” your dad said, tears threatening to prick his eyes as he pulled away from the hug.

“I will. She’s my world now too,” Rafe replied and pulled him into another hug.

Slowly, you pushed open the office door and seeing the sight before you made tears flood your eyes. You walked over to them and Rafe pulled you into the hug.

“I love you both. I’m sorry if I disappointed you dad,” you said, one arm around him.

“I love you more, pumpkin. And you could never disappoint me. Go live your life and be happy, I’ll always be in your corner no matter what.”

[hammadfvmily3]

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[echoes-ofdawn]

imagine being barbatos and having to see your lord flirt with his crush while you know that bitch can't take a genuine compliment to his face because he has a praise kink and also likes your lord

[ramunnae]

I absolutely loved the wild life finale (spoilers ahead) oml, watching Grian's POV first was amazing. 'it was always gonna be like this, Jim' and 'not like skizz, not like mumbo, not on that tower, NOT TODAY' unironically went so incredibly hard it's making me wanna make Minecraft server fanart in the year 20fuckin24. that was so goddamn satisfying. The absolutely manic laugh after he successfully blew up Lizzy and Jimmy is some of the highest animatic fuel I've seen from this series. Grian's last minute teaming with and saving Joel? Then fighting him no hesitation? Because he's here to win and his original friends are dead, no matter his new allies? Amazing. and 'i need you to bam me in the bunker' 'what?' 'dont tell Joel' made me laugh SO HARD (especially in hindsight realising grian then killed them both and teamed with Joel LMFAO????). All the wildcards activating then all of them reacting was so cool, I love the effort put into them, but the end just being normal Minecraft pvp was a good choice, and I love the "make it wild". I love having Joel win, glad we haven't had any double wins so far (unless you count Scott). 'you could win this Joel!' little did he know....

anyway off to watch the other POVS now!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[koka-mi]

I dunno why but I keep thinking abt the way I used to spend my nights two years ago

I remember around 6-7pm (in the autumn/winter) or 7-8pm (in the spring/summer), I'd lock my bedroom door, bring my tablet and headphones up with me onto the roof and play songs that I liked I watched the sun set. The songs were mostly either sapphic-coded (like sofia by clairo, strawberry blonde by chloe moriondo, etc.) or something ambient and soothing to me (like colorful interlude by sublime jupiter or rhubarb/#3 by aphex twin). I don't remember why though..I guess I just liked those types of songs back then xp

sometimes I'd bring my sketchbook with me too and sketch out random things like landscapes or characters from fandoms I was in at the time. Or I'd bring my journal and write about my completely nothing day. Most of the stuff I wrote was about the same but it's still nice to look back at them :3

Was it the safest for 14 year old me to just chill on the roof? Probably not. But tbh I didn't care at the time xD I honestly wouldn't have minded dying there.

I was at like.a reaaaaally low point in my life. Probably at my worst. Like I would cry everyday over little things and I found it extremely difficult to take care of myself. I guesss when I was out there on my roof watching the sun set with nice music in my headphones I actually felt..peace?? for once?? I dunno how to explain but it was suuuper nice I remember ^^ and it was nice to let out good cries up there.

I guess I can't help but remember this fondly and find it kinda nostalgic even though it was only two years ago and when I was not.doing great :'D I'm better nowadays luckily but hadhehdjwd makes me emotional sometimes.

[vanweezer]

very very personal, just insight into where im at w my family and things that bother me/have encouraged me to move out

"i know youre moving out so im just gonna say no ones kicking you out and if you feel like this is something you have to do then ok"

thanks! i know im not being kicked out! but yknow i kinda yet a weird vibe when your out of touch husband takes me to a cemetery to yell at me, tell me im just like my father/dont give my father "the time of day", and that im "mean to people who care about me" in front of his dead mother's grave in a poor attempt at guilting me out of speaking my mind. but no yeah thanks for stating the fucking obvious that im leaving on my own terms

[sakuraswordly]

Note: Some of the story’s scenes, such as collecting fireflies for his sister, and taking her to the beach, are based on Nosaka’s own experiences. However, later in his biography, Nosaka states that the story is a “lie” and that he was not as kind to his sister as Seita was to her. 

[keeps-ache]

oops‎‎‎, i, ‎did it again - i overcheesed the spaghetteh,

[orcelito]

Feel like I am absorbing as much as my father after his death as possible. I will carry on his Legacy. I will be the Biker (in time). I am already the weapon collector (though with knives, not guns). I even have accepted owning a minions mug, something I swore would never happen (I hate those fucking things), just bc it makes me think of him.

Maybe he's gone now, but I'm gonna make damn sure to live a continuation of his life... just in my own way, lol

[apocalympdicks]

my tumblr bios a liar im fucking 25

(no one believes me irl cuz im 4'11 & im visibly autistic)

[a-story-teller]

Am once again reminded that if current Brennan Lee Mulligan were around when I was 12 I would have had a weird obsessive crush on him

[tardis--dreams]

Gotta talk to the department boss tomorrow because i asked for opportunities to increase my work hours. I regret it already but i can't back out now so this is gonna be fun (:

[chiisana-lion]

love my dad miss him a lot already and appreciate him trying to give me words of support each time we call but i do wish i could actually take it without being instantly reminded how much of a failure of a kid and student that ive managed to hide this far i really am whenever he says ive been doing great