#this calls for a fluff next

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the ‘Wife at First Sight Series’)

For the first time in a long time, Simon feels as if he’s walking on eggshells

He’s 6’4”, easily over 200 pounds of bulking muscle, strikes fear into the heart of each and every enemy he comes across (should they live to tell the tale that is), and yet he feels as though he’s tiptoeing, practically dancing around the issue he refuses to address

Yet you make him feel this way

It’s been months now, of this dance you still haven’t realized you’re apart of, shining on centre stage under the constant spotlight of Simon Riley’s attention, rather than one of the background performers as you seem to believe

He feels as though he’s done everything he can to get the point across to you, other than literally getting down on one knee and asking you those four special words he can’t seem to get himself to speak out loud

As easy as it is to pretend you two truly are husband and wife ‘til death do you part, he’s instead having to watch you leave base in exchange for your lonely flat each night, reminded of the fact that he’s not ballsy enough to just come out and say it to you

You make the Lieutenant nervous for fucks sake, something he hasn’t truly felt in so long he’s grasping for straws, searching for a life raft in these uncharted waters to help him stay afloat

That’s part of why he’s so confused when Gaz finally joins him and Soap in the gun range, landing a friendly smack across the taller man’s broad shoulders, saying something about how he’s ‘really happy for you LT, finally properly asked her, aye?’

“What are you goin’ on about?” Ghost practically grunts out, readjusting the weapon against his shoulder as he glances through the scope of his gun, only partly interested in what the Sergeants answer is, that is until he hears him mention your name

“Just saw her at her desk, talkin’ about how she has a wedding this weekend-” Gaz has barely finished his sentence before Ghost is whipping his skull clad head around, shoving his weapon into Soap’s arms, and beelining out of the armoury towards you, leaving a pair of chuckling Sergeants behind him

They’ve never seen their Lieutenant so whipped before. And the fact that you don’t even know you have this beast of a man wrapped around your dainty little finger makes it all the more entertaining for them

They totally haven’t taken bets on how long it takes for him to break and finally confess his feelings, and Price definitely didn’t put money down on it either

Ghost may as well float into the room on a cloud he’s feeling so overjoyed at the idea of finding you sat at your desk all pretty, chit chatting away with colleagues about the wedding you’ve finally realized he intends to give you, taking all the pressure off of him

Instead, he rounds the corner and overhears the last tidbits of your conversation, pretending as though his stomach doesn’t drop out of him and onto the floor when he realizes you’re telling your desk mate about your sisters wedding this weekend

He should’ve know better, it wouldn’t be that easy

“-not that I’m embarrassed to go without someone. That I don’t care so much about.” He hears you explain, failing to have noticed him behind you quite yet. “God knows it’s been ages since I’ve gone on an actual date anyways. But this is the first time I’m a bridesmaid, and my sister keeps saying I’m apparently the only bridesmaid without a date-”

“Well aren’t you going to bring your husband?” Your colleague asks, cutting you off. Just like everyone else on base, she knows thinks you are in fact Mrs Riley, for all intents and purposes. You open your mouth to correct her and tell her you don’t have a husband, when a deep voice comes up behind you and speaks first.

“‘Course she is.” Ghost replies for you, coming to stand behind you in your chair, sneaking a gloved hand onto your shoulder to offer a slight squeeze of acknowledgment. You lean your head back to glance up at him, offering a soft smile that melts his heart more and more each time he’s lucky enough to see it, to be the reason for it. Sensing she’s now the odd one out, your coworker quietly excuses herself and goes to find someone else to talk water cooler gossip with.

“Oh Ghost! Hi!” You say, reaching your own hand up to squeeze his in return, smile widening when you notice the crinkles next to his eyes that you hope mean he’s smiling as well under the mask. “Oh, you really don’t have to. I mean- I wouldn’t want you to waste a day off just to sit through a stranger’s wedding for who knows how many hours. I barely want to go.”

You try to joke about it, but this really has been causing you unnecessary stress. Your sister apparently doesn’t have enough wedding planning on her plate as it is, seeing as she has enough time to constantly pester you about whether you’ve secured a date yet or not, despite your answer always being no. She knows it’s been forever since you’ve dated anyone seriously, and that finding a date will be more of a chore than showing up without one and enduring your relative comments and questions.

Each time you told her no though, your mind wandered to the tall, dark, muscular man who liked to call himself your husband, imagining the looks on your family’s face if you were to show up with Ghost on your arm. But you never bothered to ask him, not wanting to force him into extending his kindness and charade of a happily married couple outside of work hours.

“I’d be with you for those ‘who knows how many hours?’” Ghost asks, quoting you, watching as you offer him a simple nod in return. “Then that’s the farthest thing from a waste o’ time in my books, love.”

As simple as that, the plan was set. Ghost would be your date to the wedding that weekend.

Now, Ghost was used to not having very much to look forward to in life. He could look forward to a hot shower occasionally, look forward to good pub food instead of mess hall dinners, look forward to a chance to sleep in a little later, simpler things of the sort.

But when you came into his life, he was suddenly looking forward to equally simple, but different things. He looked forward to reading your cute replies to his good morning and good night texts (he still never misses a single one, all these months later), looked forward to seeing your sweet smile greeting him when you arrived to work, looked forward to hearing your pleased hum when you took your first sip of whatever drink he prepared you that day. Essentially, he looked forward to seeing you.

Now though, he feels as if this weekend cannot come soon enough, finding himself practically giddy he’s looking forward to spending more time with you off base so much, feeling like a kid who’s itching to get their hands on their new Christmas gifts.

When he arrives at your flat almost a half hour too early (he just couldn’t wait anymore lovie, you can’t blame the poor man), and you open the door to greet him, he doesn’t think it’s fair to compare this to a gift under the Christmas tree.

No. It’s more like he’s won the goddamn lottery.

Standing before him, is the most beautiful, breathtaking vision he’s ever laid eyes upon in all his years. He half wonders if his knees are legitimately beginning to wobble where he stands, he feels so weak in the knees as he gazes upon you in your doorway. It’s still just you, the same woman he’s been seeing every day and dreaming of each night.

But you don’t look like you have every day these past months. Your hair is styled differently, your make up is a little more done up, and the thing that’s really got his mind reeling, is that instead of your regular work attire, you’re wearing a dress so stunning he half wonders whether or not you are the bride this evening. There’s no possible way someone so beautiful is expected to stand on the sidelines tonight, expected to be anyone apart from the star of the show, the centre of his the world.

You don’t take much notice of the way Ghost fails to greet you properly, standing outside your door and practically gawking at you, seeing as you’re preoccupied doing the same to him. His usual fatigues and black everything have been swapped out for black dress pants, a white button up shirt (your eyes definitely do not linger on the top three buttons being left undone, nope, not at all) and a black blazer, matching black surgical mask in exchange for the typical skeleton mask.

You two blushing, bumbling idiots in secret love manage to pull yourselves together enough to make the drive up to the venue, the car ride filled with laughter, stories, and too many stolen glances to count, each of you wishing you could pull the car over somewhere and jump each others bones instead.

At the venue, you go through the obligatory introductions with your family, simply so they couldn’t say you didn’t say hello at least once throughout the busy night, only partially intent on ignoring them later on. They’re left understandably stunned at the mention that the man beside you is your husband, and when your family members begin unloading question after question, the two of you manage to find a quick excuse each time to dash off, giggling and holding onto the other as you weave the growing crowd of guests, all too proud of your little inside joke.

You regretfully tell him that you’ll have to leave him to sit alone throughout the ceremony, though he insists you shouldn’t worry about it, lifting your spirits momentarily when he jokes that you should focus more on not tripping during your walk down the aisle, before the both of you are left bright red in the face at hearing him talking about you walking down an aisle, as if you don’t pretend to be married every day to begin with.

He truly doesn’t mind having to sit on the tiny foldable chairs that make up the seating for the ceremony, it’s only a small portion of the evening after all. And besides, his eyes certainly aren’t on the couple reciting their vows up at the altar. No, his gaze is on one person and one person only. From the moment the music kicked in and pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen stepped out to walk the aisle in their matching attire and matching smiles, his eyes have been locked on you, just as yours have been locked on his.

His size certainly helped you pick him out of the crowd with more ease, finding him amongst the familiar and unfamiliar faces instantly, as though gravity was pulling your gaze in his direction alone. Later on, neither of you could even correctly point out amongst the groomsmen whose arm you were holding on to as you walked, attention only focused on each other.

Even as you stood up front, listening to your sister and new brother in law profess their love for the other, you tried your best to appear as though you were paying them your full attention, considering you were standing up at the front and all. But it was as though you could literally feel Ghost’s eyes on you the entire ceremony, unable to stop your eyes from straying towards him more times than was surely appropriate, feeling the heat of a blush creep over your cheeks every time you saw how devastatingly handsome he was today.

By the time the newlyweds are marching back down the aisle past their cheering loved ones, wedding party in tow, your eyes are no longer pretending to look anywhere other than at him. And Simon is looking back at you, but his mind is growing preoccupied, thinking of how he can finally ensure you’ll let him walk you down the aisle now.

Because in the glove compartment of the very car he drove you up here in, only inches away from your knees the entire drive, he’s tucked away a small little box, containing the exact ring you chose from the jeweller all those weeks ago. He carries it with him everywhere, eager for the moment, the opportunity to be lucky enough to truly call himself your husband and slip the band over your finger as his wife.

And he’s decided that tonight is the night he tells you.

The night he tells you this has never been a joke to him, never been anything apart from what he really wants to be true from the moment he saw you.

To call you his wife.

[yuuchama]

Sometime during the VDC training camp, when everyone on team Night Raven is sleeping over at Ramshackle Dorm:

Ramshackle Dorm has no shortage of spare rooms, but their condition is another story. You've managed to get enough of them decently clean. They're not as nice as your room, which has had far more time invested in it and is well lived in, but your groupmates should be able to spend a few days at the dorm without issue and are more than free to tidy up rooms as they please.

Yet on one of the first nights, you hear the door of your room creak open. It's dark and you can't see the intruder, though you know it's not one of the ghosts. The approaching footsteps aren't as heavy as Grim's, even after he's cleared out the entire fridge in one sitting. You're also pretty confident Grim is fast asleep beside you.

"Hello?" You groggily lift your head and call out to the intruder. If it's anything malicious, you hope the ensuing scuffle will cause enough noise to wake everyone else up.

A weight pushes the edge of your mattress down and there's a gentle touch at your shoulder. "Prefect, do you mind if I spend the rest of the night here?"

"Jamil?"

You almost don't recognize him in the dark with his hair down. You feel around for a bedside light. Grim groans in his sleep when it clicks on and turns over, shielding his eyes with tiny arms.

Jamil looks exhausted. "Please, I'd really appreciate if you could let me sleep here tonight."

"Yeah, sure. Of course." Maybe it's the sleep addling your brain or your trust in Jamil. You see no reason to turn down his request and didn't question why he was coming to you instead of Kalim. You nudge Grim over to make room for one more on the bed.

The vice housewarden does his best to fit in the cramped sleeping conditions, assuring "I'll pay you back for this. Thank you."

He's turned towards the wall, back touching your side so that he doesn't fall. You wait to make sure he's fully secure in bed before turning off the light. In the calm that follows, you notice he's almost imperceptibly shaking. Sure, the dorm is cold, but not that cold. Especially with three in one bed.

"Jamil, are you okay?" The longer you spend awake, the more concerning this whole situation feels.

"I'm fine. Goodnight, Prefect." Jamil already has his eyes shut and seems adamant about not discussing things further.

"Okay... Goodnight."

You lay down and silence settles over the room once more. It's really warm between your two friends. Sleep is quick to catch up to you, you find yourself nodding off within minutes of your head touching the pillow.

Before you fully drift off, Jamil turns to face you. His hair drapes over the side of the bed and he places a hand on your pillow, lightly grazing your cheek.

"Thanks again," he whispers. "I feel a lot better with you here. Your room doesn't have bugs on the wall."

[demothers-empty-blog]

i can’t believe i didn’t think of this sooner - fluff.

farmer!könig has a dog, his name is Hasso.

Hasso is a big sweetheart, he likes sneaking baby bunnies and acorns inside the house.

Or at least, tries to.

‘Drop it!’ Hasso ducks his head and attempts to weasel his big self past König, but his owner was having none of it.

farmer!könig closes the distance in two steps and tilts the big bastard’s head up carefully, there’s a tiny pink nose sticking out from between his lips.

‘Oh, du Scheißhund,’ he whispers in disbelief, ‘What is in your mouth, is that a fucking bunny?’ Sure enough, he saw tiny white whiskers poking out of some brown fur, it’s a bunny.

farmer!könig now has to find a way to get that thing out from Hasso’s maw. It’s so frail, he’s afraid something might break if he makes the wrong move. Almost robotically, he begins to peel back Hasso’s upper lip. His canine is the damn size of the bunny’s arm. König comes out victorious after a bit of struggling, he places the small bundle of fur in his hand. Goodness it fit right in the middle of his palm it was so teeny.

Poor thing was wet with slobber, farmer!könig brings it inside briefly to clean the drool off its fur. Don’t want it to smell like Hasso, he doubts mama will take kindly to a stranger’s scent.

farmer!könig finds the nest shortly after and places the little guy back with his siblings. Hasso has the audacity to whine. König shoots him a halfhearted glare.

‘This is your fault,’ he says with no real venom. ‘He was not friend shaped, that was a bunny. Go make friends your own size.’

[nhura]

QUICK NO ONE'S LOOKING

(See readmore for thoughts, cope, bonus, etc.)

Anyone else up thinking about Ratio's big, strong, secure arms and how warm and all-consuming they could be in a hug or embrace. :/ Anyway

I just wanted to draw them being cute and seizing a sliver of a moment where they could have some PDA silly time without actually having any eyes on them. They're public figures and working adults with very clear boundaries between public persona and private life (to varying degrees of "in a sad way"), so while it may be in Aventurine's nature to constantly blur lines for various agendas and self-preservation (read: play "the flirt" without an aligned goal), I believe that in an actual relationship they'd be fairly private.

It's kind of fun to break your own rules, though! Ratio would be more upset about the consequences, though. He's a little bit of a hypocrite, which is devastating for someone of such discipline, but nobody's perfect.

I'm of the mentality of, "If you're tired of working on it, then just post it!", so here are some fun peripherals that I didn't feel like adding:

Some staff in the background sweeping up to evoke a blended sense of fragile privacy and liminal time.

A laptop on the aquarium/bar/counter because there's something fascinating about seeing people on their work laptops in public.

The rest of their clothes (casual friday)

[gomzdrawfr]

Merry Christmas!! they're exchanging gifts by the tree :3

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

Nothing… just Violet wearing Xaden’s shirt and stealing his clothes, and Xaden asking to help wash her hair and taking care of her, while making sure his mind is open to her so the bond can wrap around her now-dreamless-nights and never let her be alone, and joking about how far they’ve come beyond any “breakup point”, and really channeling the “old married couple” vibes the squad said they had at the beginning of this book only double-dosed on fluff.

[mentallyunstablethembo]

(this is a Shen Yuan-centric fic, it is the prologue (?) to an au that I'm working on! Thank you and I hope you enjoy!)

This starts like any other story.

Shen Yuan was born apart of a wealthy family, with loving, yet very busy parents, two older brothers and one little sister.

However, ever since he came out of the womb, he was weak and sick, his little soul already struggling to stay alive.

His heart was weaker than that of all of the other children, his lungs making it harder to breathe properly, his immune system struggling to keep up as his body rots and decays like a fresh carcass.

But none of that ever stopped him. He always did what he wanted, his weak body letting him have a lot of free time to do whatever caught his attention that day, his mind and hands usually occupied with something to do.

Shen Yuan was a bit of a loner, but that was fine by him, for he had everything that he ever wanted, that is, his siblings of course.

From the day he was born, his brothers always tried their best to be by his side, helping to raise him and spend time with him while their parents were busy with all of their work.

And ever since their little sister was born, Shen Yuan did the same for her as his brothers did for him.

Life was tough, but he did all that he could while constantly going in and out of the hospital, his passion for his interests only growing stronger.

He learned to play the guqin so that he and his erge could play sweet melodies together, sharing memories of wondrous songs and lullabies to soothe their souls.

He and his dage would then spend time together by playing different games such as weiqi, or 'go', as some people reffered to it. But they also enjoyed playing card games, especially uno, as Shen Yuan enjoyed the thrill of beating his siblings in the game, the satisfaction that he felt as he watched his siblings' distraught faces almost like a sweet nectar to his taste buds, it was simply addicting.

But it was with his meimei that he spent hours reading books and chattering about mundane things.

And it was also because of her and his erge that he picked up drawing and writing along the way as well, as he sought ways to bring their favorite things and ideas to life.

He loved his family dearly, and it was with their support and passion for his interests that he chose to study hard and become a literature teacher.

And he loved it too!

Teaching the next generation of students made him feel fullfilled, like he found his one and only purpose. And the kiddos loved him too.

Sure, he was a bit strict, and boy did he leave scathing reviews and seas of red on student essays, but it was fine!

They were high schoolers, they could handle it!

He taught them for a few years, the students loving him for his curious and excited personality, the way he at times was giddy to teach them new things in the most fun and interesting ways possible, with his classroom feeling comforting and fun due to his decor.

He adored teaching, and he adored the kids as well! And the kids adored him in turn. He wanted to teach for as long as he could.

Until he couldn't anymore.

The pain was all too much. His health was fine and stable enough for the past few years, and sure, there were a few times here and there when something happened, but other than that he was fine!

His decline in health was so sudden and unexpected, nobody could've seen it coming even if they wanted to.

One moment he was fine, teaching the kids like he normally would, and the next he suddenly blacked out as his body hit the floor.

He was suddenly stuck in the hospital again, constantly going in and out while his family tried to be there for him, everyone afraid of what was going to happen next.

By this time, Shen Yuan found the webnovel 'Proud Immortal Demon's Way'.

Curious, he decided to give the book a try, and stars did he fall in love with the story.

That is... Only the beginning.

The rest could burn.

Along with all of the nonsense the author put into it.

The story was good at the start, the world-building, fauna and interesting monsters being what pulled him in, until... It.. kind of spiraled out of control..?

Almost as if the author suddenly decided to say 'fuck it' and shoved his dick into the story, fucking up everything and making sure that all of it was coated in a nice sticky layer of nonsense and papapa scenes, destroying all that he ever created.

Shen Yuan did in fact leave scathing reviews on every chapter, yet also decided that he was bored enough to look closely through the story for any interesting lore, fauna or monsters, cataloging everything he found on the wiki, since that was what originally pulled him in.

He did have all the tine he could ever want, after all.

This journey took a while as well, so when the story finally finished, Shen Yuan felt a little bitter, upset at the way it ended while also deciding to just take a break finally.

... Only for the infamous author, also known as 'airplane shooting towards the sky' (a bit of a childish name, but who was he to judge?), decided to post all of his actual drafts, showcasing the backstories, all the peak lords, scrapped ideas and characters, places, and so much lore!

Shen Yuan wanted to print all of these drafts out, take aitplane out on a nice hang out session and then shove these pages down his throat. Or maybe just hit him with them. Repeatedly. On the head. Mainly so that his braincells that decided to each go their own seperate ways like a couple after a terrible divorce could come back together, because the other one 'changed' and they're 'doing it for the kids', and then hopefully beat the crap out of his non-existent pea brain. Maybe then would the author finally have a light light up in his head.

But of course, life hates Shen Yuan and so it decides to attempt its try at his heart, only to trip onto a panel of glass, shattering it as it failed miserably, because of course he would survive because his sister found him in time!

I would say 'good for him that he survived and avoided his death!', but Shen Yuan was, understandably so, very tired of life's bullshit.

He didn't go back to his home anymore, his condition so bad that he could only stay at the hospital.

His family visited him as much as they could, his sister always coming to visit after school so that she could hang out with him (and maybe get some help on her homework).

His erge would come by and stay for hours, the two would usually talk about the most mundane things, to their deepest wishes and most biggest regrets. They would talk about the future, if there were past lives, anything that crossed their minds as nothing was left unsaid between them. That is, until Shen Yuan's erge had to leave.

His dage would also come and visit him, usually spending their time together in comfortable silence, playing games or just watching movies together.

However, ever since Shen Yuan was little, there was always one thing that he liked the most about these horrendous situations.

He loved when his family would climb into the bed with him, whether it be his mother, sister or any of his brothers. But over the years, Shen Yuan thinks that his most favorite visits are with his father.

The man was always quiet, cold and distant to everyone, but so very gentle it sometimes ached Shen Yuan's heart. His father tried his best, tried everything and anything to ease the burdens that Shen Yuan had to carry, he did everything he could just like Shen Yuan's mother, but that wasn't why he adored the visits from his father.

Through the whole visit, his father would always hold his hand, listening as Shen Yuan talked about anything. And when Shen Yuan asked, he would also climb into the bed, his strong arms embracing his weak, yet so very soft child of his.

He would stay there for hours, as Shen Yuan's head rested on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

In the end, however, it wouldn't be his father, or his mother, that would see Shen Yuan off.

His erge, his dear, beloved erge, would be the one to do so.

Shen Yuan was feeling so weak, so tired, as he was barely holding on, yet he still kept going for his family. It was one of those days where his erge would come and visit, but this time, he held a solemn expression when he looked at Shen Yuan.

Without a word, he quietly climbed into the bed with his little brother, holding him close as Shen Yuan's head rested on his chest, his fingers carding through his hair, careful to not tug on any of the tubes, cables or wires.

"You can go now", spoke his brother softly, tears slowly gathering in his eyes as he continued to pet his little brother's hair. "I'll take care of everyone, you can rest now."

And it was in this peaceful moment that Shen Yuan closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, never to wake up as he was wrapped in the gentle hold of his brother.

His sould drifted away, finally going to sleep.

Or so he thought, but that is a story for the next time.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Author's note: this is for an au that I'm currently working on, it is only the start of the story and I really hope to write more for it! Hopefully...

Please keep in mind that I rarely write! This is my first time writing after like, what, at least a year or two? And even then, they were very short things that never saw the light of day, and were only shared with friends on discord.

I write only for fun, I do not write to be perfect or have the top writing style, and I quite don't care either! This is all only for fun and because I like it, so please keep this in mind!

My writing is not perfect and there will definitely be spelling errors, as english is not my 1st language and no matter how many times I re-read this, I still tend to miss said spelling errors-

With love,

- Onyx

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[last-starry-sky]

pt. 2 of babysitting with totally platonic roommate, Simon

pt. 1 HERE

ghost x f!reader - 3.8k, no warnings, all fluffy set up.

You set up a meetup with your cousin at a local coffee house, someplace close enough that it wouldn’t be a huge hassle for her to bring the baby with her.

When the day came you got there first, early enough to lay claim to the large couch facing the bay of windows at the front of the cafe. The early morning sun poured in through the windows, baking the vintage velvet upholstery until it was the perfect, blissful, warmth against your skin. You could have fallen asleep right then and there. While you’d gotten little sleep over the last few days - stress keeping your mind tossing and turning, the sound of Simon's typing reverberating through the wall that separated your rooms early into the morning — you made yourself resist.

Instead, you sat selfishly sprawled on the center cushion, your bag saving the seat to your left and your legs casually blocking the right. You tried to relax now that you were here, turn your brain off and just scroll on your phone while you waited, but you couldn’t. Not with two unanswered texts to Simon still sitting marked delivered — unopened on your phone and a third clawing it’s way out of your brain hard enough to make your fingers twitch. Amazing how he could wind up your anxiety when he wasn’t even here. Instead of wasting time switching manically between the same few apps in between checking your conversation with him in an attempt to keep your eyes open, you threw your phone in your bag; deciding to people-watch out the window instead.

You took in a deep breath of lovely, espresso scented, air, willing it to homeopathically force you awake. You tried to keep your eyes forward, watching people pass the coffeehouse on the busy sidewalk outside. It was mostly students and young professionals in this neighborhood: kids that looked barely old enough to drive hustling down the street with large portfolios. Barely older than them were the techie professionals, coffee in one hand and the newest slim, shiny laptop/tablet in the other. Your vision blurred as you slumped back into the warm, dusty, velvet. A young man walked by with his dog. A couple pushed their baby in a stroller, a soft glance of love shared between them. Two women linked arms, cooing and giggling at the display in the window in front of you, their faces only a breath apart.

The forgotten fragment of a saying or poem or maybe it was a song drifted to the front of your foggy brain. “When you’re lonely, everyone you see is in love.” You grimaced, not quiet satisfied. That wasn’t right, you knew it, but you just couldn’t-

The bell above the door rang out, cheery and inviting. Your head snapped to the side so fast you heard something pop. You half expected it to be Simon, dropping in from the middle of a daydream in his fully massive glory, but it’s not. Instead, your wide-eyed stare is met with the smiling face of your cousin: Melissa. She spots you immediately, her permanent smile widening into something so full and genuine it makes your heart ache. You had always admired that quality about her: her warmth, the way she could make anyone feel loved and special. No wonder she had taken to motherhood so well.

She threw out her right arm out to her side that beckoned you to join her for a hug. An excited gasp fell from her mouth followed by your name as you scrambled out of your cushy cocoon and into her arm. You were careful to only let her hug you to her right side, because her hugs were notoriously strong and, more importantly, her daughter Emily was balanced on her left hip.

“Oh my god,” she squeaked, drawing out the O’s in god just like she had when she was a teenager. She drew back just enough to get a look at you before continuing. “It’s been too long girlfriend! Look at you!” You stood self-consciously blushing in front of her, patting down your frazzled hair and adjusting your rumpled clothes. “You look more mature every time I see you,” she said with a smile. You couldn’t help but join her laughter at that. She was all of four years older than you and her sister. “Especially with your hair grown out! Looks so nice on you,” she said, adjusting her healthy chunk of a daughter on her hip.

You managed to guide her to sit down with you on the couch, letting her ramble on while nodding politely. Once Emily started to fuss you suggested holding her while she got a coffee. She was quiet for a second, the only one she’d had since walking in the cafe, letting a sigh fall from her mouth before agreeing with you. Mel was smart enough to not stick around once she had deposited her baby on your lap. Emily was instantly transfixed by you, grabbing at your shirt and hair and whatever new things she could fist in her chubby little hands, not making a single fuss for her mother while she was gone. She’s a sweet girl, with a head of soft, downy hair and big eyes so interested in everything, and one, around her. And boy was she a healthy baby, too. Her weight was solid as she squirmed in your lap, strong little legs kicking excitedly in her footed onesie. You didn’t know how Mel made it look so effortless. Mom magic, most likely.

“You’ve gotten so big, Em,” you said quietly to her, knowing she couldn’t respond. Mel talked constantly, and with twin four-year-old’s and a very active husband in the same house, you felt the silence would be more uncomfortable to her. You looked over the back of the couch. Melissa was next in line to order, chatting, of course, with the man behind her.

“Haven’t seen you since you were born,” you mused as you rubbed her warm little tummy, making her squeal with laughter; pumping her chubby little arms. Your hand span barely covered her little torso now, but when she was born: her tiny head barely filled your cupped hands. “Gotten so big and strong,” you told her, eyes misting as you realized just how much of her life you had missed. You knew in your logical brain you had good reasons. Moving and a new job could account for most of your lost time, but how much was you not making the time? Mel was more than just your friend, she was family. If you wanted, you could be as much a part of her life as her husband and children, but you just . . . hadn’t. You had been there for her wedding and the boy’s birthdays, why couldn’t you get out of this weird funk and connect again?

You pushed down your sadness and regret as Mel plunked back down on the couch. She set a coffee for that you hadn’t asked her to buy on the little antique coffee table in front of you. She had also moved your bag to the same place while you were distracted. More mom magic, you supposed. You rotated Emily so that she could keep looking over the back of the couch. Her feet stamped on your thighs as she gummed on her hand in her mouth.

“So,” she asked peering over her paper cup, her breath warm and cinnamon-y, “when did this roommate of yours say he was going to show up?”

You felt your face drop. Nerves bundling in your stomach like a bowling ball. You don’t have a lot of hope left, honestly, but you don’t know how to tell her that. He was already ten minutes late, and that man was never late.

“Simon?” you croaked in response. Emily wriggled around, plopping down hard on your leg once she was done holding herself up. She gave no notice to your pain – you’d have a bruise there tomorrow, you knew it – as she set about grabbing her foot, trying and failing to remove the attached foot of her onesie. “He, ah, he said he’ll be a little late. Work conflict,” you said with a shrug that was not at all convincing. Mel was impassive as she rested her coffee on her knee. You knew her bullshit meter was already pinging. “I know,” you admitted sheepishly, eyes drifting down to the infant in your arms. At least she couldn’t look at you with judgmental eyes like her mother. “It’s frustrating. ‘Military shit’ was all he told me,” you confessed with another half-shrug. You were about to apologize when Mel reached over and covered your hand with hers.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, her usually animated mouth pressed into an understanding smile. “Even if he doesn’t- can’t make it,” she said smoothly correcting herself, “It’s not a total loss. Still got out of the house today!” she said breaking into a laugh.

Nerves made you follow her. It was a stilted, bubbling, thing, but laughter all the same. Amazingly, you realized how good you felt in that moment. Out with your friend, a warm chunk of a baby in your lap that looked up at you like you hung the moon for her, laughing and joking like old times. Not a care in the world. You needed more times like this. Needed friends, family.

“Still got to see you,” she mumbled behind her raised cup of coffee.

You didn’t answer her, taking a moment to drink in appreciation for everything you had right now. Even if Simon did the unthinkable: bailed on you without so much as a text, you wouldn’t let it disappoint you. The atmosphere in the cafe had settled down from the morning rush into a quiet murmur that barely disrupted the indie jazz playing over the loudspeakers. Em began squirming in your arms again. She was done trying to get at her covered toes. Now she was using every ounce of her baby strength to spin in your lap, her plan unclear to everyone but herself. You just smiled and let her do as she pleased: grunting and muttering long strings of single-syllable baby words until she was facing the empty third of the couch. The space you had saved for-

Simon. You spied the figure darkening the door before he entered, sharing an electric moment of eye contact, only a moment before he walked through. You’d know those eyes anywhere; those dark, heavy eyes, that felt like they could push right through you. Besides his hulking silhouette, his eyes were the only thing he couldn’t keep from you. Just as you’d given up, here he was. Of course. The door creaked open. The bell rang.

You felt your cheeks burn with a shared embarrassment for the man as every single head in the cafe turned to stare at him. Not that he was a monster or anything. He certainly was nice to look at. You would have stared just as hard if you had never met him before. Fuck, you thought as you bit your lip, Em straining against your grip as she cooed and reached forward. If only you could be so lucky to have someone like him land in your life: a tall, muscled, career soldier. He only had to lose the mask – his usual balaclava swapped out for a black surgical mask – and prove that he actually had the handsome face he sarcastically teased you about and he would be perfect. The shock of seeing his real hair: a natural blond on the lighter side of brown, almost made up for it. Maybe it was a good thing that he gave off such feral dog energy, because not a beat later, everyone had turned back into their laptops and books, intimidated back into silence.

“Oh wow,” you heard Mel gasp. The perfect punctuation to his entrance.

Simon strode over, slipping around to take the seat you’d saved for him – staring you down the whole time. It made you forget your voice until he settled down, his large, black-clothed form taking up the rest of the couch.

“Mel!” you squeaked, breaking out of the hypnotizing pull of his stare in order to look at the woman behind you. “This is my roommate, Simon.” You awkwardly gestured from him to her around the baby in your lap that clearly no longer wanted to cooperate with you. “Simon, Melissa. Melissa, Simon.”

Melissa, thankfully, wasn’t intimidated by him. She seemed to find this all hilarious, if you were reading her barely contained, manic, smile correctly as she greeted him with a musical, “Nice to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

Simon greeted her with a nod. A low, gruff, “Nice t’ meet you,” following.

An awkward beat of silence spooled out, terrifying you. Oh god, you thought, panicking. This is it. Despite your best efforts, this is where everything falls apart. It was Emily that broke the silence. She screamed, shattering the mood of the cafe, stamping her strong little feet against your abused leg as she tried to throw her body over your arms. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” she yelled, her brows scrunched together in frustration as she reached for Simon.

“Hello, t’ you too,” Simon said, his usual gravel smoothing into a deep, dark, purr you had never heard before. He folded his too-tall torso down enough to get face-to-face with the child in your lap, making Em shriek out again in excitement. “You ‘ave a name, love?” he asked her, his eyes shifting over to yours a second later.

You felt like you’d been shot in the gut. Your whole middle turning to jelly as you muttered out, “Em . . . Emily! This is Emily. Mel’s baby.”

“Think she wants to meet you, Simon,” Mel said with a musical giggle behind you.

When you look back at Simon, you expect him to be defensive, terse; his body telling you ‘no’ before he’s even made his mind up to say it. That’s not what you see though. Emily is happily cooing, babbling her soft baby-talk, her fat little fists wrapped around Simon’s large, outstretched hand. It’s his left hand too. The one covered in a sleeve of mysterious tattoos you’ve been dying to get a good look at. Now, here they are. The warmer than usual weather has him forced into one of his tight black t shirts that you usually only see post-workout or shower and he’s fully distracted by Emily. It’s your dream come true.

His other hand that had been nervously gripping his thigh slid along his black pants toward his knee, his watchband winking in the sunlight as he folded over more and more to let the little girl play with his hand. “Y’ a strong lil’un, aren’t you,” he murmured as his knee knocked yours. Emily’s screams of delight cover his words. No one else sees how his eyes relax, either; from wide, alert, and on-edge, to half-lidded and comfortable. He looks like he does when we’re both at home, you think, blushing.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Simon,” Melissa cooed behind you. You hear her take a sip of her coffee. “Can hold her if you want. She’s already decided she likes you.”

Simon’s eyes darted from Emily’s, lingering on yours, then back. “Don’t have to-” you started to tell him, whispering in the space between you just in case he wanted to be spared the interaction. Instead, he straightened up, his muscled form towering over the pair of you once again. You looked up at him, nervous and expectant; unsure of what he would do or say. Emily went back to chewing on her hand, excitedly flexing her legs as she watched her big new friend with doe-eyes.

“If it’s okay with mum,” he said, waiting for Melissa, but she was silent. Probably smiling that big, barely-contained-excitement, smile of hers. When the offer wasn’t rescinded, he held out his arms dutifully, black-eyed gaze pressing down on you as he waited for you to follow orders as well.

“Here you go,” you said as you lifted Em’s squirming weight up off your legs, still whispering out of habit. She fussed for a moment, trying to turn to you when your hands started to bite into her underarms and the warmth of your body left hers but once Simon’s larger hands scooped her up, she fell silent. You all did, honestly. You could have sat there for another eternity just marveling over how this big, chunky baby suddenly looked like a newborn in his hands. He was a bit awkward at first, holding her away from his body as her legs squirmed and pumped, seeking something solid. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. He realized what he needed to do soon enough: folding Emily away into the crook of his tattooed arm.

You relax back, finally letting your arms fall back against your sides as you watched Em look up around at her new surroundings. She was temporarily quiet and still as she attuned tot he new feels and smells around her. Once she stuck her hand in her mouth, sucking as she sat back and began kicking her feet happily in Simon’s lap, you realized how much tension you’d been carrying up until that moment. You swore you heard Melissa chuckle into her coffee as you let out a relieved sigh, but that could have been your imagination. You were pretty distracted by the sight of his hand – long fingers, bony with large joints, plump, healthy veins crossing over strong tendons – curling around Em’s body. Her whole torso caged, protected.

“One of us can take her back if you go for a coffee,” you offered. Simon nods back at you, acknowledging your kind gesture, but his heavy-lidded gaze is directed at the little lady in his lap and nowhere else.

Simon never does order his coffee, but he does end up holding the baby for the rest of the meeting. An hour slips by too fast as the two of you catch up and make plans. Suddenly, Mel is fishing her phone out of her bag, an alarm buzzing somewhere at the bottom as she swears at all the clutter. “I’m so sorry!” she says, syrupy with apologies once she turns off the alarm. “We have to go. Will just make it to pick up the boys if we leave now.”

“’s no problem,” Simon said back, answering for the both of you. He bounces Emily happily on his knee while you clear away your empty coffee cups and help Melissa pack up. She doesn’t even ask for her daughter back once you’re all ready to leave, simply leading you out in a line to her car. Simon, of course, carries her the whole way. Both of his massive arms wrapped around her, offering better protection than any amount of money could buy. You swear his eyes look sad once Melissa opens the door, her arms reaching out to take back her baby girl.

“It was really nice to finally meet you, Simon,” she said, half inside the car and bent over; trying to buckle in Emily who is not happy to have lost her personal bodyguard. “I’ll send you the details for next week, okay?” she says to you once she’s done wrestling with Em, who is screaming out full-on sobs behind the car door. She pulls you into a quick hug before dashing off to get behind the wheel.

You stand beside Simon for a moment, waving as she pulls away. You feel like you’re in a dream. Neither you or Simon talk, but he just knows to lead you back to his own car down the block; not having to ask if you had walked or brought your own. The ride home is silent too, filled instead with side-long glances at his hands gripping the steering wheel. Once you’re back at the flat, you separate as usual. It feels forced, though. Like you’re only making tea and he’s putzing around his room as a ritual, as a force of habit, just to be apart because . . . well, that’s how roommates act, right?

You’re almost done with your cup when your phone digs, vibrating on the counter next to you. It’s Mel.

“Today was so nice! You and your guy are still open to watch her for the whole week? I talked to Jason and he’s SO happy. It’ll be nice to have a holiday again, just the boys and I. Let me know if anything changes!”

You bit your lip, looking across the kitchen to Simon’s open door. He’s been shuffling things around since you got back, but he’s been quiet for a bit. It’s either now or never, so you gather your confidence and walk over to his door. You don’t even get the chance to knock on his doorjamb before he’s spun around to face you. He’s got his balaclava back on and it makes your smile falter. You’d hung a small bit of hope after today that he wouldn’t feel the need to wear it around you anymore.

“What,” he asked you in his usual way in that it’s not a question but a statement.

You wiggle your phone in your hand where it rests against his door as you will your words to congeal into something presentable. “Melissa just got back to me,” you said. When he just blinks back at you, not responding, you take it as permission to continue. “She just wants to confirm a final date and time . . .” you trail off, looking down at the nervously picked sides of your nails, “if you’re still onboard with this, that is.”

You wait for him to say no, to walk-back on his initial offer, to go off on you for even thinking it would be a good idea, something. He doesn’t though. He just shrugs his shoulder and says, “Hm. Yeah. Okay,” with a small nod meant to dismiss you. Conversation over, signed: Simon Riley.

“Okay,” you repeat, a small smile worming past the grip of your teeth on your lip. You look down at your phone, if just to break eye contact. “I’ll text her back, then and we’ll be set for next week.” He doesn’t stop you as you back out, sliding into the hallway and toward your own room. Your heart hammers in your chest once you hit send, the weight of what you’ve just committed to finally clicking into place. “I’ve still gotta put in for leave!” you say out loud, chiding yourself as you flop onto your bed, hands scrubbing at your eyes. It’s going to be fun, you tell yourself. It’ll be worth it. Besides, she’s just one baby. How hard could it be?

[bedazzled-skull]

loving that man so much i wanna punch him in the face, pull my hair out, drop to my knees, tear my skin off with my own hands, get picked up like baby and cry in his chest

[dawnlotus-draws]

A loneliness like morning frost.

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

A glance into the mind of Noel in "The Fox and the Butcher" au

This is supposed to be an intro to a fic but I think I need to replan the rest of it. However, I like these about 700 words and have been staring at them for a week while struggling with the next bit, so I'm sharing what I have here.

@arthur-lesters-spinal-cord

It was a job. 

It wasn’t much different from the work he’d done a lifetime ago. Employed to investigate, find, or stop. Whatever the client wanted, within reason and the local authorities. Return to them with good news, hopefully, in exchange for a good feeling and a paycheck. This was much the same. He’d be employed. He’d investigate and he’d find. He’d kill. And return to his client with good news, in exchange for a paycheck that he’d use to live till the next job.

He preferred targets that he knew were guilty. Ones he knew were deserving of death. It really didn’t matter either way. If a hitman were sent after you, there was a greater likelihood than not that you’d done something deserving of pain.

And Charlie had a lot of pain to dole out. Ten years of Hell to make up for.

When he had finally escaped, he had to face the question of “what next?” He had to get food for the next day, had to find a place to sleep, and somehow talk to people without wondering when their masks would peel back and he’d hear his voice again. He needed a job. He’d thought about doing investigative work again, but he would have to pick up another name and couldn’t stop thinking of Roland’s second death at the idea. At what the King could do to him if he found him again. No, Charlie Dowd, private investigator, was dead and gone. His body still walked though. His mind, as broken and scarred and hollow as his body, still planned and dreamt. His name… his name was covered in brown mud and clay and thin black roots and yellow chains. It was still his under it all, perhaps, but it needed to be kept hidden. Buried.

Someone with a kind face in a soup kitchen had asked what his name was. He’d panicked before saying “Noel” without thinking. It had been followed by a wave of guilt and a certain rightness. Noel was dead. Charlie was as good as dead. He couldn’t be Charlie anymore, not outloud and without consequences. Between the two of them, Noel deserved to see the light again. To rise from the grave. He’d picked up the name in hopes of a rebirth. Almost a fresh start.

But hunger and desperation and the lack of a name that he could easily say had led him here. To being a hitman. He’d tried to compromise on that first job - I’ll investigate, I’ll find what you need to have authorities arrest him - but the client was insistent. The target would buy his way out. Charges would never stick, he’d hurt and smiled and lied and couldn’t be touched. Yellow had flashed through Noel’s mind and he’d agreed. The target deserved to die. And he had. As Noel held a knife to his throat, whispering that mask would never lie or hurt Charlie or anyone else again. The mask acted confused, claiming they’d never met before. Noel had laughed as the blade slit the mask’s throat. It felt good. 

Ten years with only masks and lies for company -

(Waiting for each mask to peel back and ask a question and for the pain to begin. Being left alone in the dark after to think on what had happened and what would happen again and again. There were a few times he’d talked to someone he thought might have been real. Roland had been one, that last time. The King never used his voice after killing him. Had rarely even visited after. There had been another person in his pit once. He’d thought them to be another mask till long after the body lay cold in front of him.)

 - unable to fight back, to plead that he really didn’t know what the King wanted as knives and claws pierced his skin, to do anything other than scream as the King smiled and laughed and raged. Noel could fight back now. He held the knives now. He smiled and laughed and gave those deserving of death a taste of what he had experienced for those ten years.

It was vengeance. It was survival. It was a job.

[every-sanji]

[ladyryukyo]

For the WIP thing: Friends

you won i think lol because ive used this word a lot,, kyoya just has too many issues with friendship so ofc i have to mention it allll the time

multiple snippets from multiple wips incoming

--

Kyoya had known this might happen, but he had stupidly assumed he would be impervious to any thoughts regarding camaraderie or (god forbid) friendship. He had offered his skills and his knowledge not for any desire to help but out of selfish, idle curiosity. His feelings towards Tsubasa are complicated – as they are with everyone he considers not-quite-friends-but-rivals-at-least. Still, he has a mostly positive opinion of him. That doesn’t mean he is prepared for Tsubasa to attempt to deepen their almost non-existent bond.

--

Tsubasa just snorts. “Shut up. I know you two are friends, whether you’re willing to admit it or not.” 

“Fuck off.”

“Not true! My taste in friends is way too good to include Yoyo,” Yu grumbles, not looking at Kyoya.

“As if I’d want to be friends with a brat like you, anyway,” Kyoya says, rolling his eyes.

--

Kakeru at least seems embarrassed about the misunderstanding. “I dont know! You two are always together and I don't think I've ever seen you interested in spending time with anyone else outside of beyblade. I thought that meant you were in love with him!”

“We’re friends! He's my best friend. I guess.” He groans.

--

“It’s not me who’s friends with the kid. Also, he’d get a heart attack if I approached him so abruptly.”

--

This is her own kind of mission. She can't go on quests to battle unruly bladers like Tsubasa or Gingka and she doesn't have the business know-how to negotiate with blader groups outside of the WBBA's jurisdiction like Hikaru or Ryo himself. But this is something she can do, something to help lighten the weight on her friends' shoulders.

--

Kyoya absently ducks underneath a book flying through the air as he enters the library, gaze sweeping the occupied tables in search for his friends.

--

And Kyoya knows he is not great at relationships. With no significant previous relationships to compare this to, no point of reference, he is flying completely blind. It’s a little scary, not that Kyoya would ever admit it, to care so much about someone’s opinion, their feelings and their thoughts. If Benkei is walking around like this all the time, caring about all these things for every person he calls his friend–

[up-to-some-good]

And, just like that, it's done!

I really enjoyed writing this fic and doing something new, as I haven't really done more than oneshots before (though I have several series of linked oneshots...) and I haven't ventured into muggle/modern AUs either. I may do more of this in the future, possibly with the Castle AU I posted about a while ago.

But anyway. Thank you to anyone who has read this fic, has left a comment, has left kudos. I appreciate every one of you.

Excerpt from the last chapter:

They went over to the living room and Lyall started handing out gifts until Sirius remembered something and darted upstairs, finding his gift for Remus in his bag. “I saw this the other day and thought of you,” he said, handing the wrapped parcel over and returning to his place on the couch. Remus turned the present over in his hands, running his fingers over the label with his name in Sirius’s handwriting. “But I don’t have anything for you,” he said quietly. “You’ve already saved my day, Remus,” Sirius responded. “And you weren’t expecting having me here in the first place. So just say thank you and open it. That’s all I need."

[ceiling-karasu]

New Chapter Lily Bell in the Thorn Thicket

[manicali]

Keep seeing people on complaining that Netflix and chill isn’t romantic enough.

Im sorry how is cuddling close to the one you love in pyjamas and watching a movie NOT the most sweet thing ever. Smh.