#Drowning Mona | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

desire-mona · 1 month

Text

more modern poets hcs for greenie!

charlie -

charlie used to post like "annoying gay ppl vs normal gay ppl" memes, had a huge turnaround and they cringe when they think of that time. mentioning blaire white or kalvin garrah would make him jump

has an "i <3 milfs" design of every article of clothing, could make an entire i <3 milfs outfit. shirt, hat, pants, socks, belt, shoes, hoodie, you name it.

todd -

todd is nonbinary bc he is autistic and autistic ppl generally view gender differently. not debating this. this is a fact and this is canon. they/he/she todd anderson, what of it.

chronic procrastinator when it comes to anything besides school. they will put off doctors appointments, finishing tv shows, even charging their phone.

neil -

doesnt use tiktok but he watches todd scroll thru her fyp sometimes and gets very mad at those "acting pov" videos. hes like "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN ACTING POINT OF VIEW" "POINT OF VIEW YOU ONLY HAVE A LIMITED NUMBER OF WORDS???????? WHAT DOES THAT MEEEEEAN"

i see ppl saying that neil would be a swiftie but i would like to suggest that he's a big ethel cain fan, a collection of songs that tell a fictional character's story? tell me thats not right up his alley

meeks -

i dont think this is the type of math meeks bases a career off of but i do think he rly pays attention to architecture and city layouts and stuff. will forever complain abt how inconvenient it is to have a car centered society and how every place should be walkable OR have public transport

collects records despite not having a record player, tapes despite not having a walkman, and cds despite using his cd player maybe 3 times a year. quite honestly its just to have a physical collection of his music taste

pitts -

pitts went thru a "nice guy/ vaguely incel-ular" phase in middle school, but he didnt talk to a singular woman in those years. by the time it went away there was no harm done to anyone but himself and a very annoyed meeks who had to listen to how girls "only go for assholes"

he has a fashion sense so good that ppl online *ask* him to post fit checks, he doesnt do any if theyre not requested of him. pitts is also the one with the biggest online presence, most notably tiktok and twitter

knox -

type of guy to constantly post shit like "like for a tbh" or post anonymous question things on his story. nobody interacts with any of it so he usually just deletes them after half a day

haaaaaaaates texting and will either send very long voice messages or just ask to call whoever he's talking to (me fr i send ppl voice msgs almost exclusively)

cameron -

cam is suuuuuuuper creeped out by ai "art", especially the ai washing feet commercial during the superbowl, which he had nightmares about for a week

his parents are constantly trying weird diets (most notably keto) so he has the weirdest assortment of random ingredients in his pantry. has come up with the strangest "meals" any one of those boys have ever seen

#desire mona #hopefully this drowns out the unrelated dark academia posts and taylor swift screenshots #yall today is hc post day pls fill the dps tag with dps stuff #dead poets society #charlie dalton #todd anderson #neil perry #steven meeks #gerard pitts #knox overstreet #richard cameron #banger #mona mentioned user flaming green

36 notes · View notes

queerofthedagger · 2 years

Text

Spitfire Heart

[Dreamling, T, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Child Death + Drowning, AO3]

At first glance, it may appear odd that Hob Gadling possesses an aching fondness for graveyards.

On second thought, the simple fact of the matter is that he has never been particularly good at letting go—things; people; life.

He is not allowed to keep everything as easily as the latter. The people around him die, strangers as well as those he loved so much that their absence nestles between his bones for centuries.

Death used to be an inconvenience where peasants were concerned; it was something to do quietly, quickly, and unobtrusively. Something to be forgotten as soon as the prayers tinkered out.

During the worst times, there were no marked graves. There were no places to return to, to kneel on wet soil, press your hands to wood or stone, and hope that God or the church or whoever, whatever, would relay your last message—apology, confession, simple words of longing.

There was only hunger and illness and more bodies than the earth seemed able to contain.

Hob had lived, though, and he had remembered. He cannot recall the faces of his parents or his siblings, would not be able to place the cadence of their voices if his life depended on it. But he knows, instinctive and aching, the place in Sevenoaks where the mass grave had been dug and filled and, eventually, grown over.

He knows where most of his friends and lovers are buried, and he visits, still, whenever he is around.

Hob Gadling has never learnt how to look Death in the eye and not feel the urge to snarl, to run, bare his teeth and challenge her for the bare bones of life itself.

He has learnt how to pick up the pieces whenever she visits, though, no matter how often he is the only one left behind. He has learnt how to pick himself back up, and yet, there remains a time in his life that he prefers to keep locked away.

He knows what lies beyond that door. He knows it like he knows the thunder of his heart, like water in his lungs, like the nails buried into his skin and how there is nothing he can do about it.

Eleanor’s and Robyn’s graves have always been the ones he could barely bear, guilt like a noose around his neck. After all, what right did he possess to keep on living? What point in heaping guilt upon his shoulders for staying, when they were the ones to leave him behind?

Hob has always had an aching fondness for graveyards, for the places that allowed him to visit his loved ones even after they were long gone. He remembers the sites that no longer exist, the rough estimation of where gravestones or wooden crosses once proclaimed names and dates.

He has visited all of them countless times; pompous graves made of marble and intricate engravings, bedecked with flower arrangements more expensive than a maid’s salary. Humble ones, dug by siblings or children or parents, with unsteady, listing wooden crosses, carefully carved names and lacking birthdates because back then, no one recorded these kinds of things if you were not nobility. Public memorials bearing witness to humanity’s feats and horrors, and mass graves without name or reason.

Hob has borne witness to them all; he knows how the grief never changes as long as it has a place to weep at, something to press its fingertips to and utter apologies and longing and a fond, aching inside joke.

The graves of Eleanor and Robyn and their unborn child, though—those, Hob only ever kneels in front of every other decade; whenever guilt visits him, hand in hand with grief.

He still knows exactly where they are, of course; the house is long since gone, but he could find his way blind if he had to. The stretch of land has been reclaimed by the forest, and generally, beneath the stinging loss, Hob is thankful for it; it is far more bearable than those places taken over by nondescript office buildings or car parks.

Today, though, the trees are looming around him and the air is damp, smelling of loss and decay. His hands are buried in the soil, guilt like an anchor pulling him down.

There has never been a time in Hob’s life when he wanted to die, but the years after Robyn’s death had been the closest that he ever got. He didn’t think it was possible to survive; that the festering hole in his heart would not devour him, no matter what Death had to say about it.

Eventually, he had learnt how to keep living beyond surviving, had taken to avoid the small graveyard beyond the church, and to treat these specific memories as carefully as something cataclysmic.

He cannot remember why he decided to come today—usually, there tends to be an occasion when he does this to himself.

The sky above him is dark, clouds rolling as if the biting wind alone is trying to promise retribution. For what, Hob doesn’t know either—what he does know is that he never visits when the days are ashen like this.

Both Eleanor and Robyn had loved the sun-soaked days, summer’s warmth lingering well into the night. It is easier to pay tribute when clinging to the happy moments, Hob has learnt this long ago.

He doesn’t know why he is here. That in itself is a cruel thought, is tearing open old scars that always, always stay tender. Once it manifests, though, he becomes aware of the weight bearing down on his shoulders, tangible. He becomes aware of the fact that he cannot move, even as his legs ache from kneeling for this long. And how long has it been? Hob cannot remember, his mind fracturing and getting torn to shreds by the grief that twists through his chest and snakes around his lungs, breathing becoming laboured until he feels like drowning, and—

And he has done this before, the grief and the drowning and the endless, never-ending misery. He does not want to do it again, but he cannot move, his fingers numb and freezing where they are still buried in the ground as if he will be able to drag his family back with stubbornness alone.

The panic snatches the last remains of air out of his lungs and he can feel his body locking down, mind beginning to drift. He has lived for centuries, has died in so many different manners that he would struggle to count them all; the desperate instinct to fight for survival is still the same as the very first time.

“That is quite enough.”

The voice is familiar, tugging at something inside of Hob that calms against all reason.

Firm hands settle on his shoulders, their warmth seeping through his clothes, and finally, finally, his mind goes blissfully quiet.

The last thing Hob thinks is that he wants Dream to stay, God please stay.

---

He gasps awake to the sight of his own goddamn ceiling.

The room is dim, only London’s refusal to turn properly dark anymore seeping through the gap in his curtains.

Hob presses his knuckles against his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe.

It isn’t as if he is a stranger to nightmares—they have been his occasional but faithful companions for all his life. Unfortunately, they do never become any easier to bear.

“Hob.”

He startles so badly that it almost throws him out of bed, his heart kicking right back into fight or flight mode before the specific tenor of voice registers.

In the murky light of the room, Dream’s form seems less solid. His eyes shine with dying stars, and Hob would be embarrassed about how a part of his sore heart is instantly soothed by the realisation that Dream is, in fact, still here, if he hadn’t accepted long ago how utterly, horribly gone he is on his oldest friend.

His oldest friend who has cool fingers curled loosely around Hob’s ankle and is watching him with concern pressed into the delicate lines around his night sky eyes.

“You—”

“I am sorry,” Dream interrupts, and it is rare that he does, even more so than his apologies. “I am not usually in the habit of intruding on your dreams, much less your nightmares—”

“Well, I could do without them, not going to lie,” Hob mutters; he doesn’t mean it, not really. He knows that they serve their purpose, and he trusts that if they did not, Dream would not subject him to them in the first place.

For all his haughty demeanour, Dream has never been purposefully cruel, after all.

None of those things change how his heart still hammers against the cage of his ribs as if trying to escape, and it has not, in fact, anything to do with Dream of the Endless sitting on the edge of his bed.

At least, Dream seems to understand, instead of taking offence. He says, “You and I both know that you could not.”

“No, I suppose not,” Hob agrees. He leans back against the headboard and desperately tries to scrub the guilt and the shame off his soul.

Dream’s fingers squeeze briefly around his ankle; under different circumstances, Hob would probably shiver. Right now, he mostly feels numb.

“I am going to make tea,” Dream says, and he doesn’t give Hob time to answer before he disappears from the room.

It should be an absurd notion, but Hob merely rubs a hand across his face and sinks deeper into his covers.

It has been so many centuries, so many people he has loved and lost since then; and perhaps Eleanor would have simmered down to the ache of lovers and friends lost if not for their child. Their children.

Hob has learnt to outlive just about everything and everyone, but there is a reason why he has never married or fathered children again.

He has learnt to love life regardless, but on this slow, sluggish December morning, Dream comes back into Hob’s bedroom as if he belongs here, two steaming mugs of tea in his hands, and Hob almost asks him to leave.

He doesn’t; he has not worked on curbing his self-destructive tendencies for decades to fuck it all up in a matter of minutes, but it does take considerable effort to push himself up. To accept the warm cup Dream offers him, and to find comfort in it, too, instead of yet another reminder of things that had and had not been.

Dream hovers at the foot of the bed, and if Hob were in a better mood, he would call the expression concerned.

Finally, Dream asks, “Do you have plans for your day?”

“Probably waste a day or two in bed before dragging myself back up, if I were to be honest,” Hob says; he tries to be, these days. “After that, I should probably visit them. If that nightmare was any indication, I have been putting it off for too long again.”

“I can leave if you would rather—”

“No, please. I would… I would rather have your company than not.”

If Dream is surprised, he hides it well and, after a beat of hesitation, settles down beside Hob. He has lost his cloak and his shoes, and at literally any other time, Hob would have a quiet little freakout over the fact that he has Dream in his bed.

Their meetings might have become more weekly than centennial, and Dream might have slowly but surely opened up to him, but this is so far beyond huddling up on Hob’s sofa to catch up on a century’s worth of movies and music, he expected it to take a few more decades.

At any other time, he might have been giddy like a teenager; right now, his insides feel scrubbed too raw to do anything but lean his head against Dream’s shoulder, too bold, and soak up the comfort.

If Dream is to run out on him again, well—today cannot get any worse, anyway.

Dream doesn’t; he stiffens ever so slightly, but then he shifts until he can slowly, carefully, put his arm around Hob’s shoulder. Cool fingers come to press featherlight against Hob’s temple, slipping into his hair from there, and then repeat their path.

He closes his eyes and breathes and breathes and breathes.

It is impossible to say how much time has passed when Dream shifts, his fingers pressing a little more firmly against Hob’s temple. When he speaks, he sounds almost hesitant. “You said that you were planning to visit the place where they are buried.”

“The graves are long since gone, but I remember,” Hob says, and it still stings. After all these years, the day he returned to find the entire graveyard gone is still sharp and festering like a thorn beneath his skin. “That’s what matters, isn’t it?”

He hopes that it is; there is little else he can do about it, after all.

“In the Dreaming, their graves still exist. It would not have to be a nightmare.”

Theoretically, Dream has explained how it made no sense to consider the waking as the real world. Practically, Hob isn’t sure whether he can revisit his late wife’s and son’s graves in a dream, and not feel even worse about it once he wakes up.

He does not have the energy needed to explain this. Instead, he says, “You are surprisingly… understanding about this. It has been centuries.”

He doesn’t truly expect Dream to be a bastard about it; he rarely is, at least not on purpose. What he does not expect is the answer, spoken quietly and full of familiar, well-worn grief.

“I have once lost my wife and my son; I know of the pain that never lessens, no matter how many years pass. No matter how existence seems to move on.”

Once the words properly process, the thicket of sorrow in Hob’s throat catches fire anew. This is the kind of grief you do not wish on anyone, and he finds Dream’s hand and links their fingers together. If it is for the sake of his own heart as much as it is to offer comfort, he is quite sure that Dream knows.

Indeed, Dream only offers a quiet sigh, squeezing Hob’s hand in return.

It gives Hob the last speck of needed courage to speak the following words, out of place as they may seem. They burn against his tongue, push against his teeth until he utters them, even as they do not, in fact, logically follow. Or perhaps, they do; it is currently hard to tell. “I do not want to lose you, too.”

There is a pause, and then Dream makes a sound in the back of his throat that sounds entirely unlike him, sounds raw and bitten-off and primal. His fingers slip further into Hob’s hair, and he turns his head until he speaks against Hob’s forehead.

“You will not, Hob Gadling; I swear it, upon my title and my function.”

“Dream, you—”

“You should sleep,” Dream interrupts; it is more a command than an observation, but it isn’t entirely unwelcome.

Exhaustion has been dragging at Hob’s limbs since he woke up, and something within Dream’s promise soothes his old, stubborn, spitfire heart.

As if reading his mind, Dream murmurs, “I will be here when you wake up.”

The last thing Hob feels before he drifts off are Dream’s lips pressed to his forehead, warmth like peace spreading through him. When he sleeps, he does not dream.

#the sandman #dreamling #hob gadling #the sandman fic #dreamling fic #dream x hob #mona's writing #child death mention #drowning mention

66 notes · View notes

fawnchives · 4 months

Text

hi superstars ★ come talk to me, literally send me anything <3 there’s been way too much discourse in the fandom, very icky

#₊˚ ʚ mona rambles.#i’ll be answering in a bit though !! <33 #drown out this nonsense im seeing #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

4 notes · View notes

millionsnife · 1 year

Text

tag dump tba

#hcs;;#ooc; snife knife #memes;;#musings;;#main verse;; plant like me #peas in a pod;; Vash #dash comm;;#xiv verse;; press X to doubt #burnt chicken nugget;; wolfwood #40 gallons of bees;; zazie #music;;#an emotional homocide;; meryl #timeswap verse;; one more breath before we drown #you're the sole reason i keep believing we're gonna die like this;; kniveswood #reruns are never the same next time;; rem #murder blender;; knives #monhun verse;; khezu khezu at the door #alternate ending verse;; do you remember why i walked on water for you #modern day verse;; it's 2 am in a wendy's #are you gonna stay the night?;; knives/mona #roleswap verse;; bones grown old around a broken heart #fae verse;; got your heart in my hands #digimon verse;; digidestined on the boulevard #survive the story cause the ending changes everything;; kaenknives #eldritch brother verse;; when you said forever is this what you meant #we are never ever getting back together;; legato #'cause i am only me when i am without you;; milly #save your heart for someone that's worth dying for;; elendira #trimax verse;; sorry for what i said i didn't mean to get so emotional #tristamp reincarnation au;; you're so much bigger than the world i've made

1 note · View note

incorrectlooneytunesquotes · 1 year

Quote

I want half. And don't give me none of that 'fifty-perthcent' sthuff.

Daffy Duck to Bugs Bunny

#daffy duck #Bugs Bunny #source: drowning mona

1 note · View note

gwendolynshepherds · 1 year

Text

It's been, like, 24 hours and I'm already seeing people misinterpret the ending of Glass Onion. Spoilers, obviously, so keep scrolling if you haven't seen it yet.

No one had a change of heart in that movie. No one found their conscience at the end, no one on that island cared about Andi except Helen and Benoit. Everyone else on that island only cared about looking out for themselves, and they knew Miles, their cash cow, was going down, and the only way to save themselves from drowning was to turn on him.

Claire even said how fucked she was earlier in the movie. If being at a party with a murdered men's rights activist and a consummate racist is bad for her numbers, how bad will will being at a party where the Mona fucking Lisa was burned to a crisp be?

Birdie's relying on the payout from Miles to stay afloat, and if he goes down, there's no one to catch her when she goes down for the sweatshop.

Lionel has worked for Miles and vouched for him way too many times in front of way too many people. His only way out is to trash Miles and use him as a stepping stool to try to revive his career.

Whiskey's intermediary to fame is dead, which actually takes out a big problem for her since she wanted to distance herself from Duke's stupid MRA shit anyway, but she still wants to become an influencer and go into politics. Insert "I helped solve a murder" clickbait, but she can't do that until she has the witnesses to back her up.

Peg knows that as long as Birdie's safe, so is she, so taking down Miles and blaming all Birdie's problems on him is in her best interest, but like Whiskey, she doesn't have the social pull to do that on her own.

It was never about getting justice for Andi, regardless of how much she deserved it. The moral of the story was that rich people will always look out for themselves, their money, and their power. Nothing else matters.

#glass onion spoilers #glass onion #op

4K notes · View notes

pinkbowjournal · 7 months

Text

Something dreamy and dark, with distortion. Something I could close my eyes and drown in beautifully.

Mona Awad, Rouge.

#quotes #mona awad #rouge #pisces #sagittarius #scorpio

595 notes · View notes

saintshigaraki · 4 months

Text

my reading list currently looks like....

frankenstein* (ill probably finish this one up in a day or two)

the salt grows heavy by cassandra khaw

dracula

wuthering heights

the death of jane lawrence by caitlin starling

the haunting of hill house by shirley jackson

howls moving castle by dianna wynne jones

the secret history by donna tartt

jane eyre

drive your plow over the bones of the dead by olga tokarczuk

dune by frank herbert

we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson

birnam wood by eleanor catton

are prisons obsolete? by angela davis

a game of thrones* by grrm

daughter of smoke* and bone by laini taylor

a clash of kings* by grrm

days of blood and starlight by laini taylor

into the drowning deep by mira grant

dune messiah by frank herbert

their eyes were watching god by zora neale hurston

bunny by mona awad

a storm of swords* by grrm

the lottery and other stories by shirley jackson

a psalm for the wild-built by becky chamber

the poppy war by r.f. kuang

the ash family by molly dektar

project hail mary by andy weir

beartown by fredrik backman

a prayer for the crown shy by becky chamber

once there were wolves by charlotte mcconaghy

mother thing by ainslie hogarth

all’ s well by mona awad

the long way to a small and angry planet by becky chambers

the goblin emperor by katherine addison

the memory police by yoko ogawa

*rereads

#PLEASE SPARE CONTEMPORARY BOOK RECS PLEASE !!!! PLEASE !!#vicspeaks

224 notes · View notes

infoactionratio7 · 10 months

Text

call it fate, call it carmen pt. 2 - c. berzatto

summary: carmy gives a small tour of the neighborhood to the pretty girl he met in the cafe, they realize they could get used to eachother.

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem! teacher! reader

word count: 2,657

note: carmy talking about mikey, cursing, a lot of describing food and restaurants in chicago! not really proofread, excuse any mistakes pls. could be read as a stand alone but you can read part one here! read part 3 here!

thursday afternoon -

The only thing anyone could hear was the sound of second graders screaming, the music you had put on was drowned out by them yelling your name and playing around the large art classroom. Some of them were running up to you with their finished drawings, wanting to show you the finished pieces. You checked the clock, fifteen minutes until three, fifteen minutes until you were free from the kids screaming, and fifteen minutes until you could see Carmy again.

The last time you saw him was at The Beef, when he had given you his number and a free dinner. One of the most delicious dinners you had the pleasure of eating in an extremely long time. You couldn't stop thinking about it. And you couldn't stop thinking about him, he was pretty, and even that was an understatement.

You were pulled out of your thoughts of the talented chef by a tug on your pants, looking down a little girl was holding a painting up above her head trying to show it to you and get your attention.

"Miss, I tried to paint the Mona Lisa." You had taught the class about some famous artworks today, and they were tasked with the job of recreating their favorite one.

"Well Iris, that is a beautiful version of the Mona Lisa!" You smiled, taking the painting out of her outstretched hands, crouching down to her eye level. "You know, I think I like it better than the original. I'm going to hang it on our wall if that is alright with you."

Iris's eyes lit up, "Oh, yes Miss I'm so excited!" She giggled and went to sit back down at her assigned seat in the classroom. Proud to tell her classmates she was getting her art hung up on the wall.

You checked the time again, ten minutes to three. The student's teacher would be coming soon to pick them up and get them out of the art room. You clapped twice, a sign the students needed to stop and listen, instructing them to clean up any of the supplies they were using, the classroom got quiet. The only sounds were the pitter patter of feet and the students putting away their pencils, paper, and pushing in their chairs to line up. Their teacher was at the door waiting and you gave her the sheet detailing what the students did in art class to give to the parents. As the students filed out of the room you were met with many cheery goodbyes and well wishes to have a good rest of the day. Waving to the students, you closed the door and took a breath, looking around the classroom.

There was a soft buzz that came from your desk, situated by a tall window filled with small stained glass projects some of your older students had completed. You made your way to the desk, relaxing into your plush chair and picking up your phone,

from: carmen

'hey, headed out of the restaurant. meet you in front of school at 3'

A smile blossomed on your face, excited to see what exactly the man had in store for the day ahead of you. Neither of you had really specified if this was exactly what someone might call a date, but it might as well be. After that sunday night, you had called the blue eyed chef every night since then, telling him about your day and the new restaurants or cafes you had tried. Some good, some bad, but none hit the spot like that lucious slice of chocolate cake you had eaten almost a week prior from Carmy's kitchen. He had told you a pastry chef named Marcus made it, and you told him that you would have to meet the man who makes the sinful slice of cake.

With both of your schedules being so demanding, there was never a spare moment for him to do as he promised and show you around the city. The two of you finally settled on a calm thursday afternoon, blocking out the whole night and dedicating it to the man you just couldn't wait to see again.

The school bell ringing over the loudspeakers alerted you that three had finally come and you could get out of the school and breath in the crisp winter air. You put on your puffy coat, one you had had for years after going to college on the east coast, you needed all the warmth you could get. The bag you brought with you to school had not been the typical one you usually had, knowing you would be going out with Carmy that night. You opted for a simple tote with your trusty sketchbook and pencil, and any other essentials you might need to use at any time in the upcoming evening.

Turning off all the lights, and locking your classroom door, you were met with the screams and giggles of the elementary students who were leaving the school to go home. They were just as excited as you were. You followed the crowd, exiting through the front steps of the school you heard your name being called by a soft child's voice. You looked up and saw Iris, pulling an adult who looked just like her, you assumed it was her parent. Iris caught up with you, letting go of her parents hand and hugging your leg,

"I just wanted to say goodbye to you Miss, I had such a fun time in art class today I am so excited to show my parents what I did in class!" She let go and looked up at you with a toothy grin.

Smiling at her parent then glancing back down at the little girl you remarked. "Well Iris I am just as excited that you had such a fun time in class, I can't wait to see you again next thursday." You waved goodbye to the little girl and turned around to see Carmy. Lounging on the stone fence next to the school, with one hand in his pocket and one hand holding a crinkled up brown takeout bag. He was wearing a wool checkered jacket and black work pants, with his signature Boston Birkenstocks (not his work shoes, but the ones he bought for everyday wear after he saw Fak wearing them one family holiday). As he looked up from the sidewalk he caught your eyes and you could feel your face get warm, you couldn't believe you had just met the man less than a week before. It seemed like fate, starting your new job and moving into the city, happening to stumble across this brilliant chef you still had so much to learn about.

You walked over to where he was standing and he stood up to his full height, holding out the brown paper bag, "I thought we could start at the park, nobody will be there cause of the cold." He shuffled his feet scanning your figure as your stopped in front of him.

"Yeah. Yeah that would be great Carmen" You smiled grabbing the bag from his outstretched hand, "What's in here?"

"Um it's from this cafe just around the corner on West Oak, Doma. It's a uh, Croatian Cafe" He rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly anxious to tell you about whatever might be inside the bag. "They opened around 2020 and have some really cool food. I um- I know the owners, got a chocolate croissant and baklava. They're some of my favorite pastries in the city." You opened the bag, smelling the sweet butter and honey that was combining from the two pastries, still warm, insulated from the cold in the bag.

You closed the bag, holding it by your side, "They smell heavenly, do you wanna walk to the park?"

He nodded and turned around, toward one of the many parks in River North. You thought for a second and decided to loop your arm through his own still in his coat pocket. He didn't seem to be expecting any physical touch, flinching before relaxing into your touch. He looked looked at you with a relaxed smile then started walking.

It was a beautiful snowy day, the night before there had been flurries of snow, leaving a blanket of white across the city. You could see your breath in front of you as you exhaled, "So, tell me a little bit about Chicago, have you been here long?"

He nodded, you could see the gold of the chain hidden in his shirt peeking out against his smooth skin, "I was uh, I was born here, yeah. When I was around 19, I moved out to New York, worked in a ton of restaurants there tryin to uh, sorta work my way up." He paused as you came up to a corner, and hit the arrow to cross the street. The walk sign flashed on the street corner. You looked both ways on the street and kept walking.

"Eventually, I got to this place called Eleven Madison Park. That was when um, I got my award. But uh, that's around the same time Mikey, my brother he was an addict, killed himself." He took a deep breath as the two of you walked into the park and found a picnic bench free of snow, under a small covered area. You both sat down, you across from Carmy, and opened the bag with the pastries, placing them on the table in front of you.

"Oh god Carmen, I had no idea, Jesus." You were shocked, you had never expected for him to open up to you so quickly. He picked up the chocolate croissant and took a bite shrugging, "You don't have to call me Carmen you know, everyone calls me Carmy." He looked to you expectantly, waiting for a response.

"I like it, it makes you sound more mature," you met his gaze, softly smiling as he shook his head and laughed. "I can't believe you, ya know, calling me by my legal name just because you think it seems more mature." You shrugged, taking the croissant from his hands and bringing it to your lips. You could smell the sweet chocolate and see the delicate lamination throughout the pastry. You bit into it and knew that Carmy knew what he was doing. He hadn't even made this but it was delicious, and if he had a good taste for food, his food must be even more delicious. Thinking back to the dinner he had given you, there was no question he was a master in his craft. He watched as you melted into the pastry, looking at him with eyes full of adoration for him and the croissant you had just taken a bite of.

"You like it huh," You nod and moan out a yes, "Knew you would, now you gotta try this baklava."

He offered up the fork he had gotten a bite of the desert on for you to taste, he brought it up to your mouth and nudged it to your lips. They seemed to open on command as he brought the pastry into your mouth. You closed your lips around the fork, taking the flavors of the pastry in as he pulled the fork from your lips.

"Fuck me Carmen" You couldn't contain yourself, it was mouth wateringly delicious. It was probably the best desert you had ever put into your mouth, apart from the chocolate cake you had that past sunday night. "Jesus how did you even save any while you were waiting for me? That was fucking amazing." He was beaming, proud you loved the desert so much. This was his love language, food, the one thing in his life he could have some control over. He had been waiting for this night since the second you texted him about taking you on a tour of the city. He thought the food tour would be the best. It was such a simple gesture, him picking out these restaurants for the two of you to try and experience together, but it meant everything to him and soon he hoped it would mean everything to you.

"I'm officially impressed, I don't think anything could top this. How the hell are you going to top this Carmen?" He glanced up at you through his thick lashes, "You know, I'm not too sure."

He took another bite of the croissant, "That was the best reaction to a pastry I've ever seen. I'm intrigued to see what you think of the rest of the places tonight."

"Well if they are even close to being as good as this, I can tell you that I'm going to go home very satisfied tonight." Taking the last bite of the baklava and putting your trash into the brown paper bag, you watched as Carmy pulled out his phone. He was looking at a list in his notes app, you tried to sneak a peak but he pulled the screen just out of your vision. He wanted to keep the next stops a surprise.

"Alright," He met your gaze, "Do you want to do appetizers or drinks first?" You contemplated the question, knowing that it would be better if you ate some more before you had any drinks. That's the best way to keep yourself clear minded around the handsome chef, you didn't need any slips of the tongue embarrassing you in front of him.

"Hmm, appetizers?" You were unsure of your answer but he nodded, making your choice seem like a good one. Standing up he grabbed the remains of your pastries, throwing them into the brown takeout bag, and tossing the whole thing into the trash. You stood in quick succession with him. Knowing he wanted to get going so the two of you could continue with the night he planned so meticulously. As you stood up next to him, he outstretched his tattooed hand, implying he wanted you to take it.

You flushed, realizing his intentions, and slipped your cold fingers into his. His grip was firm, but kind, the two of your hands slotting together perfectly. You shot him a smile, he returned it and started walking onto the sidewalk, pulling you along with him. Your joined hands were creating a perfect amount of warmth that shot straight into your stomach, making you feel fuzzy inside. You could walk around this city forever with him, he just had this aura around him, making everything feel so warm.

The two of you walked through the streets, making your way to the next stop on his mini food tour of River North. He told you all about his siblings, taking over the restaurant, and learning about all the chefs who worked in The Beef. You could tell that he cared so deeply for his craft and for each and every person he surrounded himself with. You told him about your move to the city, why you came here, moving out of your hometown had been hard, but you think you found a quiet sense of home in this large city. You didn't mention that he was that quiet sense of home, but he didn't need to know that. It took about ten minutes to get to the next stop, Carmy stopping suddenly and dropping your hand.

Looking to your left, you saw a large line of people waiting to enter a restaurant on a street corner, illuminated with warm lights hanging from the ceiling, and intricate architecture. Carmy walked up to the host, standing at the door letting people in, had a short conversation, then turned back to you. He lifted his hand for you to take, leading you into the restaurant. You were met with a burst of warmth and the smell of bone broth overwhelming you.

This was going to be an amazing night.

another note: i hope you guys enjoy this little mini series, i'm just doing it for some fun! i would totally recommend trying some of these places if you are from chicago or happen to be going there for any reason. they all are so amazing! i'm going to write at least one more part for this to just wrap it up! thank u all ♡ .

#the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear season 2 #the bear season 1 #jeremy allen white x reader #jeremy allen white #female reader #x you #x reader #part 2

695 notes · View notes

incorrect-tmnt2012-quotes · 3 months

Text

“I feel like a man dying of thirst watching another man drown.”

— Donnie, watching Raph making out with Mona Lisa

#incorrect tmnt quotes #source: dragon ball z abridged #tmnt 2012 #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #donatello #raphael #mona lisa #ramona

163 notes · View notes

the-pessimists-paradigm · 4 months

Note

Hi! Are you comfortable with angsty topics?

If you are, what do you think about the brothers (or just Lucifer) coming to terms with the fact that the time with us (or MC) is running out (be it sickness, health, life exchange, etc)? Can it be gn please?

Thank you so much!!

LUCIFER

Lucifer was drowning in paperwork, slumped over by his desk when he saw the time. The decades spent with him were taking a slow but aching toll on your human body. It was a realization that suddenly occurred to him, your graying hair, and your increasing amount of wrinkles. Your pained smiles as moving became harder worried him, he tried every remedy he could think of, but eventually came to the conclusion that this was meant to happen. Although he made sure to cherish you even on your deathbed, it still lingered that there wasn't much time left.

Expanded Version

MAMMON

Mammon was listening to some RnB music while looking through his old photoshoots when a vintage song came on. The release date of the song reminded him about your first date together, and although he looked as young as ever, you were aging along with time. He never admitted his worry, but it was as plain as day to the average observer, His frantic internet searches as he realized your death was inevitable. The aches in your muscles, the sagging of your face, your smile lines. He held your face in his palms, kissing you softly and letting death gently take you away.

Expanded Version

LEVIATHAN

The characters flashed around on Leviathan's screen with hilarious dialogue, an action-packed roguelike from the 90s. His retro game system crashed again, as he noticed his first save file. It was a game he'd played with you a few times. As he looked back on those fond memories, he thought about you now. He loved you now just as much as before but grew concerned. It hurt him to see your pained back, dark circles and thin lips. He noticed your fatigue after concerts and competitions. Knowing you wouldn't be around for eternity, he put special care into your last moments, showering you with love.

Expanded Version

SATAN

While studying the arts of the human world, Satan was amazed by the Mona Lisa. The colors and the historical value all appealed to him, however when researching, he couldn't help but ponder upon your own end. He remembers exploring old museums and educating himself on the realms, but as his knowledge traveled through time so did you. He observed your smile, ever-so-radiant, wrinkles holding onto the edges, the spots on your skin, the pains that weren't there before. He started watching you more, holding you while he could.

Expanded Version

ASMODEUS

Every stroke of the nail polish was beneficial, complimenting his youthful signature look. Asmodeus painted every last bit of fingernail, carefully inspecting his work he proudly showed off his work. He started applying makeup to your face, savoring every smile line and wrinkle you had, every special and unique mole. Although he used to hate aging, he appreciated your natural beauty, highlighting it. He knew you would eventually pass, so he did things he normally wouldn't do, going out of his way, being extra affectionate, making sure you had a peaceful rest surrounded by the man you love.

Expanded Version

BEELZEBUB

As Beelzebub ate five Hell's burgers blissfully, he reminisced on the times you spent at restaurants together. He tasted every bit, nibbling to show it care. This was much unusual from his typical pace, ravaging through meals, he savored it for you, knowing what burgers can do to a human body, knowing it wouldn't last long. He began cooking more for you, noticing that your body was becoming weaker day by day. Even in your weakest moments, he held you and quietly shed tears.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor was listening to relaxing piano music as he slept in bed with you, holding on tightly. His snores filled the room as you woke. Usually a heavy sleeper, Belphegor jolted to the unexpected sound of your joints creaking and popping. He cuddled closer, knowing you couldn't hug him forever. Even when he hated humans, he knew how easily they could die, be killed off. And although he knew this was going to happen, he didn't want it now. He let you rest, awoke early in the morning to do laundry, to attend class. You slept on his lap when you passed, cementing his favorite human's death as a peaceful one, one that he couldn't get over.

This is my first angst attempt, so feedback is appreciated!

105 notes · View notes

natsvenom · 5 months

Text

Every Minute, Every Second

Jason DiLaurentis x Montgomery!Reader

Based on the post-dollhouse episodes of PLL but not much relation to actual episodes.

No mentions of Y/n.

SUMMARY: You and the other liars have been rescued from the dollhouse and you finally reunite with your boyfriend who you've been infatuated with since you've met. He's always been affectionate with you, but now he never wants to let you go.

WARNINGS! Mentions of kidnapping, torture, abuse, etc. Smut!!

The sound of the fire alarm blaring in your ears made you anxious, reminding you of all the times Charles had turned on the ear bleeding sound through the speakers to torture you. Suddenly you became aware of your surroundings, noticing the heat from the fire that was spreading around you burning your skin. You watched as every last memory Charles had left of his life burn to ashes.

“Let’s go!” Spencer shouted, grabbing your arm as you and the rest of the girls rushed out of the room to safety.

You rushed down the dark narrow hallway, calling out for Mona. Who had been missing since earlier, “Help me please!” Mona screamed. You could hear her sobs coming from a room ahead of you. You ran toward the door, prying it open with your bruised hands. You looked around hastily, searching for Mona. As you looked down you saw a terrified Mona, her arms were wrapped around her chest as her sobs echoed through out the entire room. Though it looked more like a dungeon to you.

You and the girls found a long strand of thick rope, you used it to help pull Mona out of the hole. It took all your strength, still feeling weak from everything you had endured in the past three weeks. As you finally managed to free Mona, you and the girls ran down the hall, searching for escape. You stopped running once you reached the ladder toward freedom. You climbed as fast as you could, your hands shaking as your feet stumbled a few times. It seemed useless though as you could barely get the door open. The smoke started spreading throughout the bunker as it made its way into your lungs. The smoke scratched your throat, making your chest hurt from choking, but by some sort of miracle, the door came open as you ran out into freedom.

As you ran out you saw people who you thought you might never see again: Alison, Caleb, Toby. But most importantly you saw him. The man who you spent every second worrying about, wondering how he chose to cope. You froze in your place, locking eyes with him. You missed that blonde hair, remembering the times you’d run your fingers through it. But his eyes were what got to you, they were glassy, he looked like he was about to cry, they were somehow greener than you remembered. Even though they weren’t the color of the ocean, you still felt yourself drowning in them.

You broke out of your trance, darting over to him as fast a your feet would take you. You jumped into his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. His arms wrapped around your back, squeezing you so tight you thought you might explode, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The only thing that mattered in this moment was that he was there, in front of you.

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, feeling the tears beginning to fall. He had one hand on your back and the other was in your hair. He couldn’t believe you were here, in his arms. He didn’t know if he could ever let you go again. Every minute he was awake, he spent searching for you. Every second of the day, he spent worrying that he would never see you again. He removed his arm from your back, now holding your face in his hands, looking into your eyes.

You could tell he was deep in thought, but right now all you wanted to do was kiss him. You pulled him close, attaching your lips to his, sighing into him. You missed him every minute you were in there. Every second. You put your hands in his hair, tugging at the strands. He kept his hands on your face, his thumbs rubbing your cheeks softly.

He pulled away hesitantly, pushing lose strands of hair behind your ear, “I love you.” He spoke softly, resting his forehead against yours. You should see the tears falling from his eyes, you brought your hand up to his face and wiped the tears away with your thumb.

“I love you too, Jase.” You said, your voice still slightly scratchy from the smoke. He pulled you into another tight embrace, resting his head on top of yours with his arms around your upper back. You wrapped yours around his waist as your head lay on his chest.

The EMTS wanted to take you to the hospital, considering you had inhaled a bunch of smoke. But mostly because of being kidnapped for three weeks, nobody had any idea on what happened to you and they needed to make sure there were no serious injuries. You told them you wouldn’t go unless Jason could go with you, not wanting to be alone another second. The whole time he held your hand, or ran his fingers through your hair. There was never a second he wasn’t touching you. You missed the small moments of intimacy like this.

At the hospital the doctors treated a small cut you hand on your forehead, and wrapped your bruised knuckles with bandages. They also gave you fluids as you were severely dehydrated, which didn’t surprise you as Charles had left you outside for almost three days straight. Luckily, there were no major issues so you were cleared to go the same day.

You wanted nothing more than to be with Jason, but your parents got to the hospital and wanted you and Aria to stay home for the time being. You couldn’t have been more disappointed, you understood, but it still pissed you off. Your parents had always been protective as parents should be, but right now the safest you felt was with Jason.

As you got home, you walked into your bedroom, feeling extremely uncomfortable. You couldn’t help but remember every moment of torture you had endured in the dollhouse. You wanted nothing more than to rip every thing off the walls, get rid of every item that was laid on your desk, rip each and every book off the shelves, but you didn’t. What you didn’t realize as you stared at your no longer comfort zone, was that Jason was behind you, assessing your every move. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t wanna scare you, he also didn’t wanna approach you just in case you flinched away. So, instead he knocked on your already open door.

You turned around to see him leaning against the door frame. In the dark you weren’t really able to see him, but now, in the dim light of your room, you got a good look at him. He looked different, his hair was tousled and you could see the puffiness of his eyes. You walked up to him and put your hand on his cheek, circling your thumb over it. He leaned into your touch, staring into your eyes.

“You don’t mind if I stay, do you?” He asked softly.

“Of course not,” You said, “I feel safer when you’re here.” You confessed. He grabbed the hand that was on his face and pulled it away so he was now holding your hand. He stepped inside your room and closed the door. He pulled you over to the bed, lying down first and pulling you on top of him. You cuddled into his chest, grasping his shirt into your hands.

You knew the moment was entirely chaste right now but you couldn’t help but feel a burning feeling for him. You haven’t been able to entirely feel him in three weeks, you missed the moments when he would lather your entire body with soft kisses, leaving marks where only he could see.

You pulled your head up from his chest and sat up straight on his lap, looking into his sea green eyes. You planted your hands on his lower torso, just above the waistband of his pants. He looked into your eyes, searching for what was going through your head in this exact moment. His question was answered when you leaned in and kissed him, your hands running down his body.

He put his hands on your face pulling you away momentarily, “As much as I’d like to, are you sure you want to?” He asked, pushing the lose strands of hair behind your ear.

“Yes, I’m sure. I need to feel you.” You answered desperately, putting your hands under his shirt. He sighed at the feeling of your hands on his skin. You leaned back down, kissing him harder. His hands found their way to your hips, squeezing slightly. You moaned into the kiss as he sat up, the friction making you ache for him. You broke the kiss, tugging at his shirt. He assisted you on taking it off, giving you full view of his body.

He flipped you over on your back, hovering over you as blonde strands of his hair dangled above your face. You traced one of your fingers down his abdomen, making his shiver. He grabbed your hands and pinned them to the sides of your head, but not forcing them to stay there. You knew if you asked him to be rough with you, he would say no, in fear of hurting you, so you didn’t ask.

He planted kisses down your throat, sucking at the one spot he knew would get a reaction out of you. You whimpered, fidgeting beneath him. He smirked into your neck, putting his hands under your sweater, just resting beneath your bra. He pulled your sweater over your head and tossed it on the floor. He began kissing all the way down your body, from your collarbone, to your chest, all the way down to your abdomen, stopping when he reaches your the waistband of your cotton shorts. He looked up at you for permission, when you nod he pulls them down and tosses them on the floor by your previously discarded sweater.

He hovers over you, running his hands all over your body, making you whine for him to touch you. His hand slides down to your thigh, rubbing circles with his thumb just before he slides it further up. His fingers trace over your underwear, putting the tips of his fingers in to pull them completely off, making you feel slightly insecure under his gaze. He somehow senses your fears and kisses you with so much passion and neediness that you think you’ll implode.

“You’re beautiful, so beautiful.” He mumbles, snaking his hands behind your back to unclasp your bra and disregard it with the rest of your clothes. Your completely vulnerable beneath him and he knows it.

You shiver as his hands trail from beneath your back and down your waist and hips.

“Jase.” You whine, clenching against nothing. He knows what you want and he knows exactly how to give it to you. He wasn’t going to deprive you now. He trails his fingers down your thighs, all the way down your legs and stops as he reaches your ankles. You let out a shaky breath, trying not to unravel completely.

He throws your legs over his shoulders, holding down on to your hips, pushing you into the mattress to keep you from moving. In one swift movement, he attached his mouth to your clit, sucking harshly. You moaned his name, tugging at his hair. You attempted to squeeze your thighs together but his hands kept you pried open.

You loved the way his muscles tensed as he wrapped his arms around your legs, holding you in place. It just turned you on that much more. He always noticed the “sneaky” glances you’d take at him, though he’d never admit it to you.

“Jase, please.” You begged, wanting to feel all of him. He seemed to understand what you meant as his mouth left your clit. You sighed, the sudden emptiness leaving you desperate for something more. He let go over your legs, hovering back over you. You pushed the blonde strands of hair out of his face and pulled him into a needy kiss. You hands trailed from his face to the waist band of his sweatpants. You were quick to untie the strings, tugging his pants down. He assited you, pulling them down the rest of the way. He reacted quick, grinding into you desperately. You whimpered at the sudden friction, feeling yourself getting wetter.

“Don’t tease.” You mumbled, almost incoherently. He chuckled at your neediness, loving how he got you all riled up underneath him. You put the tips of your fingers in his boxers, pulling them down. You really did not want to waste any time.

“Someones a little desperate.” He joked, watching your every movement. You looked at him as you rolled your eyes. He leaned his forhead against yours, searching your eyes for any sense of regret. But the only thing he saw was love. He kissed you passionately as he pushed into you. You moaned into his mouth, the sudden feeling of being stretched out hurting you ever so slightly. He was doing his best to go easy on you, making sure you were comfortable the whole time. Usuaully, you would protest against the delicacy, but this was different. You were making love, not fucking.

He thrusted in and out of you at a steady pace, his hands were in your hair, keeping his lips attached to yours the entire time. You could tell he was resisting the urge to go faster, you knew it wouldn’t be the only time he walked on eggshells around you. As tired and bruised up from the dollhouse as you were, you needed him to go faster.

“Jason, go faster.” You whined, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” He mumbled, maintaining his steady but slightly wavering pace.

“You won’t, I promise.” You assured, bucking your hips upword, trying to get as much of him in you as possible. He looked at you for any sign of reluctance, but was met with none. He started moving in you faster.

“Jason.” You moaned his name, turning him on more. He got quicker, more rapid, as he thrust in and out of you. You closed your eyes tightly, sighing at the overwhelming pleasure. You felt your walls tightening, you knew you were close. You whimpered, feeling yourself ready to completely fall apart beneath him.

“Shh, just let go.” He whispered in your ear, making you shudder. You felt your body giving into him, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You came around him, causing him to groan in your ear. His thrusts began wavering, clearly chasing his own release. You noticed he was about to pull out, but you put your hands on his biceps to stop him.

“Don’t.” You pleaded, you knew it was risky, but you really wanted to feel all of him.

“You sure?” He asked, uncertainty in his eyes. You put your arms around his neck and nodded, looking at him with doe eyes. He pushed into you a few more times before he came inside of you, burying his head into your neck as he did.

You put hands in his hair, twisting the strands around between your fingers. You were both a panting mess against each other, your hair was messy, lip gloss smudged, him leaking out of you. Every minute, and every second of it was perfect.

Soo, this is my first imagine, so I hope you like it. I'm not familiar with writing smut, so if there's anything I can do to fix it, lmk! I write stories on Wattpad, and I'm currently in the process in writing a Jason fic and Derek Hale. They're not published yet, but once they get to at least twenty chapters I'm going to post it.

#jason dilaurentis #jason dilaurentis x reader #pll #pretty little liars #aria montgomery #hanna marin #spencer hastings #emily fields #mona vanderwaal #smut #female reader #x reader #imagine

77 notes · View notes