#Happiness delivery

[brightindiankitchen]

Create a space that captures the essence of your theme with Bright Kitchen’s mastery in setting the tone and improving the visual interest. Collaborate with us to ensure your guests have an immersive experience.

For more info: http://brightkitchenindia.com/decoration +91 9952117009 brightkitchen2k20@gmail.com

[wishing-well-art]

Pearl's Delivery Service is open for business!

Textless versions of the stamps under the cut!

[sofiaruelle]

Baby, do you like this beat? I made it so you’ll dance with me~🎶

Redbubble

[mangyraccooon]

Luffy - Baba how long have you and dad been married

Crocodile - four years

Luffy - But I’m six..

[blue-mattress]

Paige Spiranac

[ayamemes]

thank you damien haas for making laios the cutest guy ever

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

all this to say: i think it'd be cute if Barnaby literally howls with laughter

[carpe-astrae]

gotta love 'em.

[kayzean]

"You feel real to me."

[cadoodledoodleydoo]

I'M SO INCREDIBLY NORMAL ABOUT THIS MERCH YALL DON'T UNDERSTAND!!! Did I open these, scream, and immediately place another order for 5 more to give to friends?? Yes. Yes I did. And you should too!! Thank you so much @dragonnova!!! The art is beautiful on the buttons and the note! The bean sticker is precious! The buttons are so soft yall and SO HECCIN BIG! PALM SIZED!! (granted i have baby hands BUT STILL!!)

Ya'll please go check out her shop, preorders for these end TODAY ACTUALLY SO GRAB EM WHILE YOU STILL CAN!! CLICK HERE RIGHT NOW!!

[brightindiankitchen]

Create a space that captures the essence of your theme with Bright Kitchen’s mastery in setting the tone and improving the visual interest. Collaborate with us to ensure your guests have an immersive experience.

For more info: http://brightkitchenindia.com/decoration +91 9952117009 brightkitchen2k20@gmail.com

[inkly-heart]

[seance]

— JESPER FAHEY / gambler, sharpshooter, grisha.

[lilyrizzy]

continuation and happy ending for this break up fic. i fixed it! (and maybe did a sloppy job of it oops) BUT I hope this brings someone, somewhere joy.

When Daniel gets to the door of his apartment, there is a tall, cardboard box propped up against his door. He doesn’t know when it was delivered because he’s spent the last few nights since being back in Monaco bouncing between Scotty’s place and Blake’s, drinking more and sleeping less than he should.

It’s how he ended up in this mess in the first place; stuck in the minor injuries unit, bleeding and embarrassed, waiting for Max to come and rescue him. Because even now, six fucking months later, he still hasn’t changed his emergency contact information back to Blake.

Sighing, Daniel balances the box in one hand and fumbles with his keys in the other to get his front door open. Once inside he dumps the box onto the counter and pours himself a glass of water. Takes a sip, sets the glass back down, and feels lost.

The truth is, he doesn’t know what was worse. That he hadn’t expected Max to show up, or that he did, and even though Daniel saw him nearly every weekend still, like this it was- Different. Max with his mussed up hair like he’d rolled straight out of bed to come to the hospital for Daniel, reminding him of everything he didn’t want to remember.

Like how their kind of falling apart happened slowly, so slowly that the track limits crept up on them, and by the time Daniel tried to hit the break they were already in the wall. Small disagreements built on top of months of half-conversations, until resolution stopped being the goal. Instead, it was to get through a week, a day, a morning without cracking whatever tentative peace they’d found the last time.

Shaking his head is a bad idea considering he might have a concussion, but Daniel can’t stop himself from doing it. As though his brain is an etch-a-sketch from which the fights and the furious words he spat at Max regularly can be erased.

He groans out loud, tipping the rest of the water down the sink before turning his attention back to the parcel. Ripping it open gives his shaking hands something to do, gives his nail bed a rest from his anxious chewing.

A sweet smell hits him first, before his eyes can make sense of what he’s seeing, and-

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t a bouquet of tulips and a small, hand-drawn card.

To brighten your day, Uncle Daniel, the note attached said, in Isaac’s messy scrawl, but he bet the wobbly hearts underneath were all Izzy. The words all Michelle.

It’s enough to put the smile back on his face for just a moment, even as his stomach churns with the same homesick feeling he’s been unable to shake since he left his and Max’s apartment. Placing the card down, he takes one of the petals between his thumb and finger, feeling the waxy smoothness against his skin.

They’re a bigger bouquet than the tulips he’d brought for Max one time, back when their fights could be so easily fixed. Daniel can still remember the pleased flush that warmed Max’s cheeks as he’d looked between Daniel’s face and the flowers, eyes wide like this was the most romantic thing someone had ever done for him.

At the time, it had made Daniel proud of himself. Now, it just makes him sad. The idea that crappy, half-wilting tulips brought from a supermarket in Monaco could mean so much when Max deserved the world.

But this had been the way things always went. Daniel would show up with a poker chip from Vegas, a guitar pick from LA, a seashell from Perth, and Max would beam at him like he was the sun for bringing him a gift. Or just- maybe just because Daniel showed up at all.

I don’t understand, Daniel, why nothing with you is ever enough. Max had always thrown in his face whenever Daniel picked a fight as a plea for words, for attention, for affection. I am here, aren’t I? The more than you was always unspoken, but still deafening.

I’m always going to be here.

And he still was, living in their apartment that Daniel moved out of months ago. Still sending Daniel’s dad a bottle of wine on his birthday, still cuddling Izzy when he saw her at the grand prix last weekend. Still turning up to hospital waiting rooms for Daniel at four in the morning.

Why do I feel like I have to be a fucking games console to get the tiniest bit of interest from you, Daniel had spat at Max, another evening he’d come home to find Max engrossed in the sim. How am I supposed to trust that you love me when you hardly ever fucking say it?

For not the first time, Daniel wonders if maybe Max had been trying to all along, just not with words.

“Fuck, Maxy,” he says to the empty room. “Fuck sake.”

Rubbing his eyes, he paces to the window, wanting to press his throbbing head against the cool glass. He should go to bed, should crawl beneath the covers and sleep until he wakes up feeling strong enough to try forgetting Max all over again.

Needs to forget his worried eyes scanning over Daniel’s body as though trying to catalog where he might need fixing, the soft way he’d said Daniel’s name under the harsh glare of the hospital lights. His stupid fucking car, flashy even for the streets of Monaco, and far too fast at the same time, that-

That is still parked beneath Daniel’s building on the street below.

His eyes catch on it as they slit open against the rising sun, the sparkle of the paintwork against the tarmac. Daniel glances at the clock above his oven. He’s been home an entire fifteen minutes, and still Max hasn’t moved. If he’s not careful he’ll get a parking ticket.

Some things are worth it, he’d told Daniel when he’d warned him of the same thing, a million years ago now, picking Daniel up from the airport and lingering too long in the ‘kiss and fly’ lane.

In another life.

The life Daniel wants more than he can remember the reasons he walked out of it.

“Max,” Daniel finds himself calling out stupidly, even though it’s obvious Max can’t hear. He opens the balcony door, stepping out onto it and calling it louder. “Max!”

Though the traffic on the street below is quiet, almost non existent at this hour, Daniel’s shouts still don’t seem to carry far enough. There’s no sign Max has heard, no opening of a car door, no emergence of his blonde head from the drivers seat.

Daniel needs to do more, he needs-

Stepping back into the apartment, his eyes search his kitchen frantically until his hands grab the flowers on instinct. For a moment, he considers walking down the stairs and handing them to Max, an offering, an apology, a chance, but-

Daniel can’t let him drive away. He can’t risk running down the stairs only to find him gone when he reaches the pavement and steps back out into the Monaco sunrise. This moment is his tenth of a second, small but capable of making all the difference as long as he doesn’t take his foot off the pedal.

A split second of madness passes, and he finds himself back on the balcony pulling one of the stems loose from the bouquet. Before he’s thought about it anymore, he’s watching it hurtle off the edge towards Max’s car. It misses, landing just to the side by his front left tyre, Daniel isn’t giving up.

Stem by stem, he pulls the flowers loose, throwing them down onto Max’s car. His aim gets better, and soon nearly each one is landing on his bonnet or his windshield. Their petals make a soft sound as they hit the shiny bodywork of the car. Sunshine yellow against Ferarri red.

Finally, the car door opens and Daniel waits, arm suspended backwards in midair, still clutching a fistful of stems.

“Daniel, what the fuck are you doing?” Max shouts eventually, scrambling from the car looking pissed.

He covers his hand over his eyes to shield himself from the growing daylight, face screwed up as he squints up at Daniel. His expression should be a reminder of so many bad memories, and it is, but it’s also something Daniel doesn’t want to miss anymore.

“Maxy!” He shouts, letting the rest of the flowers drop to the floor in favour of leaning over the balcony. His heart is pounding so hard against his rib cage that he’s surprised the railing beneath him isn’t vibrating with it. “Can you- I love you. Can you come upstairs?”

For a moment, Max’s face just melts into blankness. The moment stretches, long enough that Daniel’s brain starts scanning for a joke to make, to backtrack, to just get out, but then-

Max smiles. A different kind of sunshine, but still so fucking bright.

“I love you too,” he calls up, his voice more than a little croaky. “I think- I think it would be better if I told you this more, before, but- But also I think it would be better if you came home.”

Daniel’s trainers slap quickly against every other step on the way back down the stairs.

[ivystoryweaver]

Special Delivery

Based on this very patient nonnie’s requests: “I was thinking about Steven Grant x male reader. Like something very and super fluff with him, cause I love him so much and I love fluff stuff with him” Original asks here, here , and here - tysm nonnie!

Summary: You're making a delivery to the museum's gift shop and the cutest gift shop clerk has to sign for it (It's Steven, of course)

Pairing: Steven Grant x m!reader

Word Count: 724

Content: fluff, flirting, meet cute, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

“Stevie, if I have to ask you one more time to answer the back door bell, I swear I’ll take the shipping fare out of your paycheck.”

Steven’s entire body tenses as his supervisor’s grating voice echoes across the museum gift shop.

“Right. On it, boss,” he amicably musters with a cheesy mock salute, grumbling a curse under his breath as he shuffles off the sales floor, through the swinging door marked “Employees Only”. Rummaging around for his keys, he groans as the bell rings again, signaling what’s likely to be an impatient and possibly rude delivery person.

“Just a moment,” he sighs, checking each and every pocket for his keys, hopelessly tossing his dark curls out of his eyes as he finally produces his keyring. “Could’ve sworn I left those in my jacket,” he murmurs, attempting to remember the past twenty-four hours, vaguely realizing he could not, in fact, remember much at all.

Then the bell trills again - insistently. One, two, three times in a row.

“All right, hold your bloody horses…” Steven trails off, yanking the door open, eyes going wide at the sight of you.

Dressed smartly in your delivery uniform, you chomp on your gum, reaching up to cheekily tip your cap to the flustered gift shop clerk.

“Doorbell broken?” You casually ask, popping your gum. “Must’ve rung half a dozen times.”

“So sorry,” Steven rushes to apologize. “Bit of trouble finding my keys. Come right in.”

You chuckle warmly, rather than condescendingly, as the shorter (and very cute) man reaches for a box to help you unload.

“You know, they pay me to do that, mate.” The corner of your mouth curls as his bright brown eyes go wide.

“Oh god, sorry. Wouldn’t want to break anything.” Steven almost jumps back, pulling his hands closely to his chest - a gesture so adorable your heart trips over itself. “Just wanted to help, is all,” he adds.

“Appreciate it,” you sincerely reply, but…noticing the rosy hue creeping across his cheeks, you chance a wink, nodding down at his name tag. “Steven.”

“With a V,” he chuckles, a bit flustered. “Steven with a V. That’s me.”

“I see that,” you smirk, pointing, once again to his name tag. “Can’t really make deliveries if I can’t read now, can I?”

The thing is - everyone calls Steven the wrong name. Everyone. Stevie, Scotty, ‘hey you!’ The fact that you read his name tag and winked... Maybe you winked?

Steven probably imagined that. "Right, em, guess I'll get out of your way then." He makes a circular motion with his hand. "Sure you have a whole system going. Sorry to bother."

"No bother," you shake your head, expertly offloading a huge palate of shipment with astonishing ease.

Steven wets his lips at the way your uniform shirt fits your arms and chest. "Must be new here..." He finds himself murmuring.

"What's that?" You pause, slinging your arm over your dolly full of boxes.

"Oh, em, haven't seen you 'round. Must be new," Steven repeats, snapping out of his distracted stare. Returning the favor, he reads your name from your uniform shirt tag.

"New route," you explain, pivoting the dolly up with your foot, ready to move it again, but you pause - eyes raking over Steven's adorably hunched body. A mess of dark curls, and purple circles under eyes with secrets and stories to tell. Hands with long, lovely fingers drawn carefully to his chest. Still...he's handsome. And kind.

To most people, you're invisible. But Steven's noticed you. "Gotta say. I like the view." With another well-timed wink, you chomp your gum and carry on with your task.

Once you finish, you have the gift shoppist electronically sign your tablet. "I will see you later, Steven with a V." You smile warmly.

"Every Monday and Thursday!" He exuberantly quotes the delivery schedule to you, as if you aren't aware.

"All right. Thursday then." Pulling your work glove off your hand, you take a chance, crossing over the line of professionalism. "Nice to meet you...Steven." You extend your hand for a shake, completely right about how it would feel to touch him.

Yeah. You're glad you've left your number scribbled on the top box. Maybe he'll call you before Thursday. If not, you'll make sure to write it on his hand next time.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Steven Grant-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

[nionom-art]

Kiki from Kiki’s delivery service! (It’s what I’m watching with my family tonight).