#he likes marmite

[bbybrahms]

bro greta liked peanut butter not brahms did y'all even watch the film

[silkysong]

i am spreading your art on toast and eating it with hot chocolate

nutrishious meal

[migorify]

sopping wet cat

[lilianhuas]

90% of folks in this drama with Li Lianhua be like:

[tlg-confessions]

i used to hate bunga but now i don't mind him too much (except in s3)

.

[daswarschonkaputt]

I saw “lwj doesn’t like jyl” in your wip list and I’m so intrigued, would you tell us a bit about it?

ah this ask is so old now, idk if you're still interested, but sure, i can talk about it.

so, fandom seems fairly set on the fact that lan wangji hates jiang cheng. like, i feel like no-one's arguing that fact. but i see a lot of lan wangji getting along really well with jiang yanli, which i think is... yeah, fair enough, but my brain was like, okay, let's explore a universe where he hates her too. why does he hate her? what does he hold against her? how justified is that hate? is it pettiness? or does he have a genuine grievance? how does he moderate this, given that wei wuxian definitely still loves her?

content warning under the cut for discussion of child abuse, in line with what we see of yzy's treatment of wwx in canon, but applied to a modern setting.

around the time i was musing on this, i read a modern au of mdzs that had wwx as the victim of horrific child abuse in the jiang household, and the fic was sort of about him reconnecting with jiang cheng and jiang yanli years down the line. (don't ask me which it was, because i do not recommend it.) and i was looking at that premise, and i was like, hmm. i could do something with this.

the more i worked on it, the more it started to feel like a jiang yanli character study, almost. her strengths and flaws and regrets became a central part of the fic. i really wasn't interested in doing the slash fic demonising women thing. i wanted to write her with depth and sympathy, whilst also demonstrating her flaws (that wei wuxian would be blind to).

here's a few bits:

the opening scene of the fic:

JIANG CONGLOMERATE STOCK PRICE REACHES TEN YEAR LOW FOLLOWING CONCLUSION OF LIBEL CASE Read: After the Yunmeng People’s Court ruled today against Yu Ziyuan, wife to chairman Jiang Fengmian of the Jiang Conglomerate, stockholder confidence in the company dropped, leading to their lowest share price in nearly thirteen years.

TSINGHUA UNIVERSITY ISSUE APOLOGY TO WEI WUXIAN, SCHOLARSHIP AND ENROLMENT REINSTATED Read: Tsinghua University has issued a written apology for the “hasty” sanctions they issued against post-graduate student Wei Wuxian, who has been the subject of a month-long libel case from his former family.

“I LIVED EVERY DAY BELIEVING I WOULD WAKE UP TO DISCOVER HE WAS DEAD.” – TESTIMONY FROM JIANG DEFAMATION CASE REVEALS HORRIFYING REALITY OF CHILD ABUSE IN HOUSEHOLD Listen: Leaked audio from the Jiang Family’s defamation case details the horrific physical abuse inflicted upon the defendant, Wei Wuxian.

YU ZIYUAN ARRESTED FOR AGGRAVATED ASSAULT, ATTEMPTED MURDER; FACES UP TO TWENTY YEARS IN PRISON In Photos: As Wei Wuxian attempts to escape the crowd following his decisive victory against the Jiang Family, Yu Ziyuan’s exit from the court is interrupted by Yunmeng Police.

--

Staring at the sky When all of this started, I was so mad about what Wei Wuxian was doing. I was convinced he was a white-eyed wolf, and he was lying just to get back at a family he’d ended things badly with. I was right there with all my classmates, trending #expellweiwuxian all across weibo. Now that we know the truth, I’m so deeply ashamed. Wei-xiaozhang, I’m so sorry!!

Paralysed by the flow of time I don’t think I’ve ever listened to something that made me quite as upset as Dr Wen’s testimony in the #JiangDefamationCase. To think about her as a young med student, stranded across the country from him, trying her best to keep him alive, yet knowing it could all be for nothing if Yu Ziyuan had a bad day and killed him… And the fact that it was her that kept records of his injuries and abuse – evidence that Wei Wuxian had thrown away himself – just in case he ever needed it… It makes complete sense that when he finally ran from the Jiangs, he ran to her. Wei Wuxian, marry that girl before someone else does!

Three for free and two for too Fuck everyone in the Jiang Family who covered up the abuse that was happening. Fuck every single member of their staff who saw what was happening and stayed quiet to keep their job. And above all else, fuck Yu Ziyuan.

Three for free and two for too Prison’s too good for that bitch.

--

Jiang Yanli thinks of her life in moments, most often.

Part of it, she knows, is due to the tumultuous nature of the household she grew up in. There was a thick tension that sat heavily over their house, even when A-Xian wasn’t mouthing off in front of their mother. There were so few moments of unabashed joy that Yanli clung to them all the harder – and just let the other memories slip away.

There was one, when she was seven: the day she met Jiang Wuxian. He’d been tiny and bright-eyed – untrusting but eager for affection. She’d loved him the moment she saw him.

Then, another, at eighteen: a little tipsy, hiding from the crowds at her parents’ Lunar New Year party, when Jin Zixuan looked at her like he finally saw her, and the caught her mid-laugh with an impulsive kiss.

Twenty, legs weak as she walked to the altar. Twenty-two, with Jin Ling in her arms for the first time, tiny and precious and utterly untainted.

The most important moment, though, the one that turned her life on its head, happened three days after her marriage to Jin Zixuan.

They were on their honeymoon. He’d taken her to dinner at an exorbitantly expensive restaurant – even after a year of dating Zixuan still liked to posture. The evening is dimmed somewhat by alcohol; Yanli is a consummate lightweight, and she and Zixuan had already split a bottle of champagne in their hotel room before surfacing for food. She can’t remember exactly what she said, but it’d been something like—

“If my mother knew I was ordering steak, she’d slap me.”

It wasn’t intended to be anything more than a careless remark. She’d said things like that before, and her friends had never made it seem like something terrible. At most, she expected a little light teasing about watching her figure. Maybe a shallow smile.

Zixuan gave her neither. “Is that why you always order a salad when we go out?”

Jiang Yanli had blinked. “Ah,” she said without meaning to. The deviation from the expected script threw her. “That is…” She didn’t want to misrepresent anything to Zixuan, but she couldn’t think of a way to explain herself without making his misunderstanding worse. “You know me. Kind of a glutton. My mother just—well, someone has to watch what I eat, or else I’d never have fit into my wedding dress.”

“Kind of a—” Zixuan cut himself off. “Yanli,” he said, “you’re—you’re tiny. You eat like a bird. I always—you should eat more. I don’t care if I have to buy you an entire store’s worth of new dresses. I just want you well.”

Yanli looked down at the dinner settings in front of them and felt her mouth go dry. She shouldn’t—Zixuan was being—perfect, as always. It was nice. But for some reason, his words made her feel—agitated. Uncomfortable. Like there was something treacherous to be found in his kindness.

“I am well,” she said, at length. “Please,” she reached across the table to lay one of her hands over Zixuan’s. “A-Xuan. It was just a joke. Forget I said anything.”

Jin Zixuan turned over his hand and laced their fingers. “If your mother were here,” he said, very serious, “her hand would never even get close to your face. Even if I had to take the blow for you. So order whatever you want.”

In retrospect, it was such a small thing. It shouldn’t have mattered. But it—struck something, deep and fundamental to her very being. Her hand would never even get close to your face, echoing around her head for days, weeks, afterwards. It was the first time she had ever thought to consider her mother as anything other than an absolute authority. It was the first time anyone had ever suggested that they might protect her from her.

She thinks about it a lot.

She thinks about it when she holds Jin Ling, and wonders if there will ever come a time when A-Xuan will have to protect their son from her. She thinks about it when she visits Jiang Cheng each year, on the anniversary of Wuxian’s disappearance. She thinks about it in quiet moments, when her hands are occupied with laundry or housework, and her brain is able to spiral out and play with words like abuse and childhood trauma.

And she’s thinking about it now, stood on the steps of Yunmeng’s People Court, watching A-Xian try to fight his way through a crowd of reporters. Her hand would never even get close to your face. Yanli’s father is collapsed on the ground beside her. Jiang Cheng is arguing with the police officers leading their mother away. Zixuan is back home with their child – a courtroom is no place for a toddler.

Her hand would never even get close to your face.

It had been so easy for Zixuan to make her feel safe. She wasn’t living at home anymore. She was married. Her husband was wealthy enough to take care of them without any help from her family.

She can’t imagine—

Her hand would never even get close to your face.

—how much more difficult it must be, to make Jiang Wuxian feel safe.

There’s a clatter behind them and Jiang Yanli turns her head slightly, to catch sight of a young woman rushing down the steps after A-Xian. Yanli recognises her. This is Wen Qing. She testified for A-Xian.

Yanli watches her place her tiny body between A-Xian and the press. Wen Qing stretches her arms out, forcing her way back, giving A-Xian space. She says something sharp and short to A-Xian. When he nods, she grasps his hand, and she forces her way through the crowd, A-Xian following in her wake.

Yanli watches them both until they’re completely swallowed by the mass of cameras and microphones.

“Jiejie, say something.”

Yanli’s attention snaps back to A-Cheng. Both her brother and two police officers are looking at her expectantly. “Oh,” she says after a beat. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?”

Jiang Cheng growls. “They’re saying we can’t follow them to the police station to talk to Mom,” he says. “And I said they’d be hearing from our lawyers.”

Oh, A-Cheng, Yanli sighs internally. Always so convinced of his own righteousness. “We should take Dad home before dealing with any of that,” she says gently. “Gentlemen, am I to presume you are members of the Yunmeng Police Precinct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” one of the officers says.

Ma’am. How ridiculous. I’m not even 30. “Then we know where to send our legal team,” she says easily. “A-Cheng, we can get Mom out of jail later. For now, can you help me with Dad?”

“They had no right to—”

“A-Cheng,” Yanli says, stronger this time. “I can’t lift him on my own.”

Jiang Cheng cuts himself off. He looks between their father and the police officers, hesitating, before he sighs, and kneels down to hook his hands under their father’s arms. “It’s okay, Dad,” he says. “Come on. We’ll get it sorted out.”

Yanli looks around them – at the teeming mass of reporters, barely held back by their security team, at the place where just moments ago, A-Xian had staggered out of the courthouse, victorious but no less wrecked for it, at the police car pulling away with their mother in handcuffs—

Yanli looks at it all, and can’t help but feel that this is the kind of mess that can’t really be sorted out.

and the little snippet that inspired the entire fic:

(cw for discussion of injury, and fairly horrific child abuse)

(context for this scene: wei wuxian is sick, and as such has to cancel on lunch with jiang yanli. when she hears he's sick, she makes him soup, and brings it by his apartment.)

“Oh,” Jiang Yanli says, looking at the kitchen. “This is…”

Lan Wangji follows her gaze, not entirely certain what she’s noticing in particular. He has chopping boards out, piled with vegetables he was in the middle of preparing, when Yanli arrived. There’s a pot of stock simmering on the stovetop, and a steamer that’s half-filled with dumplings.

Jiang Yanli smiles helplessly. “I guess I never expected either of you to be able to cook. A-Cheng’s hopeless, and the less said about my husband in the kitchen the better. And A-Xian… I guess I don’t know anymore. Does he cook?”

Wei Ying doesn’t so much cook as he attempts to kill his tastebuds – and his husband – with spice.

Jiang Yanli hovers inside the kitchen door. Lan Wangji watches her, quietly.

“I understand,” she says at length, “why you don’t like A-Cheng. He is rude to you. I—he hasn’t figured out yet, which parts of our mother’s teachings he wishes to keep. Please be patient with him.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers pause on the knife. He does not say what he is thinking, that he has little sympathy for the plight of Jiang Wanyin. That it is simple to him: a woman who beats a child under her care is not one who he would listen or obey in any circumstance.

It isn’t his place to say such things.

“So, I understand, why you avoid us,” Jiang Yanli goes on. “But – I am not my brother. I have no quarrel with your relationship with A-Xian. You have been – good for him. So I hope – I hope we can be friends. For A-Xian’s sake,” she adds, “if nothing else.”

Lan Wangji looks down at the knife in his hands. It is sharp, and expensive, and he should not be holding it for this conversation. He places it down on the table.

“Thank you for your care,” Lan Wangji says. “Wei Ying will appreciate the soup. But we cannot be friends.”

She blinks at him. “Why not?”

“I dislike you.”

His blunt statement seems to have staggered her. She blinks, again. Tilts her head. “I—what?”

“We cannot be friends,” Lan Wangji repeats, “because I dislike you.”

“Oh,” Jiang Yanli says. “Mr Lan, I’ve never – if I’ve done something to offend you—”

Lan Wangji’s eyes fall to the Tupperware in her hands. “It is not what you have done,” he says, “but what you have not.”

Jiang Yanli follows his eyes to the empty soup containers she’s holding. “I—I don’t understand,” she says.

“When Wei Ying was thirteen,” Lan Wangji says, “Yu Ziyuan flayed the skin from his back. Doctor Wen still has photos saved from the incident. I have seen them. It is no understatement to say that Wei Ying is lucky to have survived – had the wounds become infected, he would have likely died. You brought him soup.”

Left unsaid are the events that prevented that: that Wen Qing had stolen prescription antibiotics from the pharmacy where she worked, risking her job; that Wen Ning had spent every penny of his savings on a plane ticket across China and taped the blister packs of pills inside a hollowed out workbook, that was slipped to Wei Ying under the premise of make-up work; that Wei Ying himself had applied ointment to his wounds with a cotton pad taped to the end of a ruler, unable to reach the network of lacerations stretching across his entire back.

“I – I always have,” Jiang Yanli says. “It makes him feel better, when he’s sick.”

She doesn’t get it.

“Yu Ziyuan left him lying in the dirt,” Lan Wangji says. “He had to crawl up the stairs to his room because he could not stand up without passing out from the pain. He vomited when he reached for his first aid kit, because it had been placed on the top shelf of his wardrobe by a maid. And you brought him soup.”

Wei Ying loves her for it, even now. Jiang Yanli, his jie-jie, who always brought him soup when he was sad. She is untouchable in Wei Ying’s eyes.

Lan Wangji will never forgive her for it.

“You were in a position to help him, long before I even knew what was wrong,” Lan Wangji says. “You moved out, went to university, met your husband – and for four years, you never said a word. How many times did you come back home and make soup? How many times did you see your mother’s cruelty written across Wei Ying’s body – and how many times did you choose to do nothing?

“I saw signs I didn’t have the knowledge to interpret, and I hate myself for never speaking up. It is my greatest regret, that I didn’t have the courage to end Wei Ying’s suffering even – one year, one month, one day earlier. But you knew all along. And you made him soup.”

[swaggertron500]

More marmite :3

[fingertipsmp3]

Bro why do I never open the door when it’s someone actually useful but I always end up opening the door to Jehovah’s Witnesses

[emergencysurvivalkit]

Marmite wants to know if you've eaten/hydrated enough today? Have you unclenched your jaw? Have you been kind to yourself? Hmm?

Please tell Marmite. And if the answer is no, try and do a couple of those things. Marmite believes in you

[georgespaniel]

can't believe matty is a marmite enjoyer

[bbybrahms]

I'll be like Brahms isn't a villain, everything he did wasn't his fault, he's just traumatized, I could fix him- but he has marmite in his room so maybe he is evil idk :/

[sim0nril3y]

Revenge

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: I'm sorry for this one, but just a silly little imagine after writing that angst. So, after smacking Simon's bum playfully he decides to find his own revenge which spirals chaotically. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), playful spanking, oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, canon-typical swearing.

What was he going to prepare for dinner tonight? Simon was standing looking into the vast emptiness of the fridge, the empty shelves mocked him, the lonely jar of marmite smirked and jested whilst he stood there arms crossed, stance wide as if he was going to tackle the appliance any moment to try and find its secrets and hidden compartments.

From behind he heard you shuffling into the kitchen, placing down your long finished mug of tea and approaching him slowly. “Love-” Whack~ A rouge hand struck his butt making him jolt a little in surprise. It hadn’t hurt. The act alone had just shocked him into a stunned silence. From behind you cackled laughing, especially as he turned slowly to finally face you. “What?” You snickered, covering your mouth with your hand.

Those dark eyes of his narrowed, looking at you with a calculative glare, jaw set and muscles wound tight. “There’s nothing in the fridge.” He continued his long abandoned sentence before his rear had been struck. “I’m gonna order a take-away.” He bit out, before stepping around you. Realistically the only thing left on Simon’s mind was revenge.

It was a few evenings later after a steamy showered before bed when you were hanging up some clothes into the cupboard you shared. Now, shared was probably a loose term when it came to the cupboard, as a good portion of it was made up of your pretty dresses, skirts, trousers, blouses and jumpers a whole cascade of shoes beneath. Then shoved to the side was a measly bit of space for Simon’s clothing.

Thwhack! A sudden strike on your own rear sent you whole body hurdling forward into the cupboard, body pressed and clinging to the hanging clothes to keep your unbalanced body upright. “Ow!” You yelped; your voice muffled between the clothes. Turning your face and seeing Simon looming behind you, arms crossed and proud smirk on his face. “What the fuck?” You squeaked. “Just a little payback, love.”

As you leant there, your eyes widened. “For bloody what?!” You huffed, trying to push yourself up. “For smacking your bum like a week ago?!” You growled. “I didn’t send you headfirst into the fridge, Simon and I certainly didn’t smack you that hard…” You vented and this only caused him to chuckle. “It wasn’t that hard-” “It wasn’t soft either. I bet it’ll bruise…”

“Let me check.” The words came out quick and before you knew it Simon was tugging down your leggings and knickers to inspect your rear. “Simon!” You squeaked from inside the cupboard still, hands clinging to the fabric of your clothes, creasing them beneath your clenched fingers. “Simon…” You whimpered softly as you felt him kneel behind you, carefully taking the globes of your arse into his hands and stroking them softly. “You’ll be fine, love…” Simon mentioned, carefully pulling them apart, squeezing them, stroking them before placing a few stray kisses to the struck skin. “Want me to make it up to you, babe?”

From inside the cupboard you nodded, whimpering out a soft. “Yes, please.” “So polite…” Simon murmured, pulling carefully on your hips so that your arse stuck out a little further, placing a few kisses to the backs of your thighs, higher and higher causing you to squeak as his face dipped forward to find your soaked cunt, all pretty and leaking for him. “Fuck…” He growled, wanting to start slow and build up but simply unable to hold back as he got a taste of your wonderful juices. They were addictive to him. Once the first drop touched his tongue Simon craved more and more.

From where you were leaning awkwardly into the closet you could simply only cling to your clothes and accept the laps and presses of his tongue and mouth, moaning loudly as his hand slipped around your body to find your clit, massaging it beneath his fingers in tight circles. “Simon~ Simon~ Ohgod~” You cried in pleasure; it was like the air was thick as his hand smacked down playfully against your arse. “Please. Please. Fuck~”

The cry of his name only spurred him on more. Burying his face into your wonting cunt, growling and grunting as he sort to find your end. “There. There. Don’tstop. Don’t stop.” You panted, your body trembling as your end built and built. A second later Simon tugged away, smacking his hand against your rear and causing you to yelp in surprise. “Si, please. Please. Please… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for smacking your bum. I’m sorry. Please.” Without even having to press you for some sort of apology for your day old lapse in judgement you gifted him one, over and over. God, it was difficult to decide what sounded more pretty your beautiful moans or the sound of you succumbing to his will.

“Good girl. Good girl.” Simon smirked, spitting on your cunt and fucking a few fingers into your cunt, shunting the thick digits deep to find your special spot. “You won’t do it again, will you?” “Never. Neveragain. Never. Never.” You chanted, squirming as your knees knocked together from the sudden invasion. “Never. Promise. Pro-aghg…” The final promise caught in your throat your juices soaked his hand, something which Simon would happily clean up.

“There’s my good girl.” Simon chuckled. “There we go…” He coaxed, rubbing your lower back soothingly to coax you through the overwhelming waves of your orgasm. “Good girl. My good fucking girl-”

Now, if he had been able to hear over the sound of your panting and crying out and moans then he probably could have heard an ominous noise from within the cupboard, however that hadn’t been the case and instead was startled when the beam holding up hangers of clothes up cracked from having you probably hanging off it too as you clung to the clothes. It sent you toppling to the ground, clothes burying you on top of the shoes that lay at the bottom.

For a moment he knelt there completely taken back by your half naked body sticking from the cupboard under all that mess, then he acted and quickly tugged it all out of the way, finding your body beneath. “You okay, babe?” He asked quickly. “I’m so bloody good.” You whimpered; face completely dazed with lust.

Masterlist | Ask | 13-04-2024

[magneto-was-fucking-right]

The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 1

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;

Chapter summary: Ghost returns home to find he has a new noisy neighbor: a socially awkward veterinarian with questionable cooking skills. Word Count: 1.5k

When Simon Riley limply walked in on his flat after four months of deployment, he could barely breathe. The stale air from the lack of proper ventilation had trapped in the humidity of the past rainy days, the walls poorly insulated, and therefore, moldy. As per usual, the place looked terribly dull, the scarce decorative elements inadequately arranged, but certainly well-fitting to the dingy apartment complex in Manchester.

Dropping his duffel bag by the door dismissively, instead of opening the curtains and letting in the evening light, he first headed to the fridge, analyzing its usual contents: two beers, a carton of milk (most likely spoiled by now), a jar of marmite and an old noodles container from the Chinese restaurant he liked, stinking up the place.

“Forgot ya little fucker” he made sure to remember to throw it out later, before grabbing a beer and plopping himself on the couch, careful enough to not hurt his wounded leg any further. But as soon as he grabbed the remote from under his thigh, ready to turn on the news and resituate himself with the current ongoings of the British populace, he finally paid attention to the commotion next door.

“Bloody fucking hell” He groaned “What’s all this racket?”

He heard thumping, scratching, something breaking, quick footsteps and what seemed to be a gentle voice cooing “oh no, please, not again”. Just as he was processing the fact that he didn’t remember having any horizontal neighbors since he first signed the lease (one of the main reasons why he even signed in the first place), an aggressive knock on his door made him instantly rise to his feet, grabbing a black facemask from his bag and moving silently to peek through the peephole.

“Mr. Riley!” The old woman on the other side called out, still knocking, and Simon sighed deeply in annoyance. “I know you’re in there, I saw you come in earlier.”

“Fucking cunt” He muttered under his breath, weighting whether ignoring her would make her leave at once (it wouldn’t, and they both knew it).

He took a deep breath before unlocking the door, regretting it immediately.

“There ya are” She started, shoving a couple papers on his chest, and forcing a pen between his calloused fingers “I need you to sign this immediately.”

“What are you on about?” He tried his best to keep it polite and cordial, but the woman’s presence and constant complaints always filled him with inevitable rage.

“Your neighbor” She pointed to the door next to his, where a great deal of noise still stemmed from the walls “She cannot and will not stay here. She is insufferable.”

Well that makes two, innit? He thought to himself, biting down his tongue.

Faced with his menacing silence, she carried on with her melodramatic monologue:

“It’s a petition to kick her out, I’m getting everyone to sign, even the new tenants, then I’ll arrange a meeting with the landlady for a formal hearing.”

“What the fuck did she do?” Simon inquired, clearly irritated, reading the five signatures on the first page. He was pretty sure three of them were in the same handwriting.

She looked at him indignantly, extending her arms at the door once again, indicating the ongoing clatter.

“She has a bloody jungle in there! Cats, dogs, birds, and God forbid, rats if you can believe it!”

“Mrs. Parsons, I think we all had rats in our apartments at some point this year.”

“Not as pets! It’s disgusting, and everyone’s been complaining about the noise!”

He glared at her indifferently, eager to return to the comfort of his privacy and wallow in his frustration, giving his leg some much needed rest. She stepped back, seemingly realizing that Mr. Riley was in one of his moods, not keen on indulging in useless chatter or gossip.

“Right, well, not interested.” He tried to return the signatures, to which she vehemently refused, pushing them back to his chest.

“At least consider it Mr. Riley. She lives right next to you and the walls are thin. Your signature’s the most important one.”

“Will do.” He shut the door on her face, mindlessly throwing the papers and the facemask on the coffee table as he limped back to the couch and turned on the tv. He hissed after realizing he had ripped his stitches as he sat down aggressively, a splotch of blood soaking the fresh bandage he had been arranged on base.

“Fuckin’ hell” he sighed tiredly, deciding he would deal with it first thing in the morning.

***

As the pandemonium progressively decreased throughout the night, Simon had fallen deep asleep on the sofa, tv still on and feet kicked up on the table. But when there was a new knock on the door, this time softer, he felt like he could have only been sleeping for five minutes, exhaustion and grumpiness still ingrained in his bones.

“What now?” He groaned to himself, massaging his sore neck, and finally remembering to kick off his boots. He was so used to sleeping fully clothed, often even geared up and ready to go, that he always took some time to remember how to act like a civilian again once he was back home.

Just as he readjusted himself to go back to sleep, his lids semi closed and arms crossed over his chest, one more knock arose anger in his belly at his newly interrupted rest. Frustrated, he sighed before getting up, easing up the pressure on his wound as the sharp pain reminded him of the ruptured sutures from the previous evening.

Facemask on once again, Simon opened the door aggressively, expecting Mrs. Parsons to come collect her newfound project in ruining other people’s lives, and therefore halfway of saying “What the fuck do you-”

“I-I’m so sorry! I know it’s early and I was probably a huge bother all night, but I wanted to apologize before leaving for work and-”

“Slow down.” He commanded, stopping the young woman’s panicked rant. He had barely rubbed sleep from his eyes and his mind wasn’t yet ready to take in another dreadful monologue. He observed her intently, as he often did to potential threats (usually concealed by the shadows), but as the circumstances proved different, she observed him right back. He always felt strange and vulnerable without the skull mask, regardless of the black facemask covering half of his visage anyway.

She couldn’t possibly be over 25 years old, her bright and cheerful complexion not carrying the weight of the tired lines that came at 30. She was considerably shorter than him, but still quite tall for a woman, her frame concealed under oversized scrubs that seemed ridiculously out of place; her hair messily tied in a long braid. She held up a tray with what seemed to be freshly baked cookies, but about half of them were burnt.

As she smiled nervously, he noticed one of her canines was slightly chipped, and the small white scar across her right eyebrow almost distracted him from the dimples. If she had noticed him stare at the small imperfections, she didn’t seem bothered at all, continuing her anxious speech as if she had practiced in front of the mirror beforehand.

“Right, I’m sorry, I really hoped we could meet in better circumstances.”

“What time is it?” Simon groaned, looking at his wrist to check his watch. “Fuckin’ hell, it’s 6 in the bloody morning.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I was gonna bake you a cake and offer you tea, but I was called in unexpectedly yesterday an-”

“That’s lovely and all, but why are you knocking on my door at six in the morning with half-burnt cookies?” He interrupted moodily and almost regretted it once he saw her smile falter and her cheeks redden in shame.

“Oh…” She lowered the tray, her eyebrows scrunched as she analyzed the overcooked treats and tried hard to recover. “Well, I just wanted to apologize for all the noise from last night before I left for work. I feel terrible about it and-”

“Apology accepted.” He stepped back, ready to shut the door.

“Wait!” She held it with her foot, nervously trembling under his cold gaze. She took a deep breath, and he sighed, his head slightly tilted to the right, as if deciding what to think of the socially awkward woman meddling in his business. “I just…”

“Go on.” He encouraged, trying to speed up the end of the uncomfortable encounter.

“I’m new here.” she blurted out “I moved in about a month and a half ago and people don’t seem to like me very much already” she sighed, and he noticed the dark bags under her tired eyes.

“So I’ve heard.”

“I work at the Vet clinic a few streets nearby-”

“I didn’t sign it.” He interrupted once again, and she would certainly be frustrated if she wasn’t so happy about what he said.

“The petition?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Her face gleamed with relief “Because I-”

“I’m due to consider it.” He added, her expression quickly dropping to disappointment.

“Why?” Her soft, defeated tone could almost pull on his heartstrings. If he had one.

“I don’t know if you’ll bother me yet.” Now he was just messing with her.

“I won’t!” She argued, defensively.

“Alright. I’ll think about it over that cake.” He closed the door, leaving her open mouthed in shock, the tray of cookies still in hand.

He heard her softly press her forehead to the door after a thoughtful moment, and then yell out:

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“People.”

A/N: I'm back! I wrote this months ago but only just decided to start posting these series :) I LOVE writing porn but when it comes with a cute backstory attached it's just *chef's kiss*. I plan on keeping the chapters simple and comforting - writing has been really helping me cope with seasonal depression, and the boredom of routine in general. New chapter coming soon... Enjoy!

[midnight-bay-if]

What's everyone's tasty little treat of choice? (including non-ROs if you feel like it)

(My british is probably going to be showing in this answer, lol. I apologise in advance.)

S: S is giving me mince pie vibes... a nice, tasty, sweet pie filled with fruits, spices, and a dash of brandy. Yum.

Rain: Rain's definitely the kind of person to like marmite. A bit of marmite on toast, maybe. If you know, you know.

Taj: Taj has the sweetest tooth out of everyone. Although they would absolutely deny it if asked. Basboosa is a favourite of theirs and has been their entire life. It's a little piece of home they forced S to learn how to make well, lol.

N: Angel cake because they think it's funny.

Umbra: I think a nice strawberry cheesecake for Umbra because they deserve it.

Ruth: We already know Ruth's, lol. A nice sundae :)

Alek: I see Alek being a twiglet kind of guy. He's too miserable to like anything actually tasty, lol. Although, on a good day, he might defer to a pork pie. (I feel like I'm going to be crucified by any fellow British people with this answer.)

Hunter: Dark chocolate. Black like their soul, lol.

(Thanks, I had fun with this, haha.)

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Pregnant Cod Men

Requested: Kinda? I did a poll if I should do this or not and the answer was yeah. I’m counting it as half a request.

Warnings: Pregnancy (duh), Pre-eclampsia (Price’s), pregnancy anxiety (König’s)

Price

Good. Fucking. Luck. Price is someone who has a very tough time with the whole pregnancy thing and unlike Simon, there is no point in his pregnancy that you won’t be fighting with him to sit down and just watch the telly for a bit. It’s also made worse by the fact that he has pre-eclampsia and is told that, in no uncertain terms, is he to be exterting or stressing himself under any circumstances. And he looks at that like a challenge, constantly waddling to his office to try and get some work done. It gets to the point that you have to lock his paperwork away only to come home with his favorite biscuits just to see him digging the papers out from where you hid them, brown furrowed said he grumbles to himself about muppets. At this point you might just have to chain him to the bed, for his own sake.

Gaz

HNGGGGG!!! I’m telling you right now that Gaz is the fucking cutest when he’s pregnant. He’s constantly carrying around the weirdest little supplies like one of those belly bands that plays music. Says he needs to teach the kid what proper music is before they come out. And he spends weeks agonizing over what color to paint the nursery, torn between two very similar shades of light purple that leave you confused on what the difference even is. Insists on driving around to TEN different toy stores to find the perfect plushie that is equal parts soft and durable. Will start tearing up when he finds what he thinks is the best one, holding it close to his chest as he looks at you and asks if he can buy 5 of them because he’s afraid that just one will get lonely until the baby gets here. You don’t have the heart to tell him no when he’s looking at you like that so you do, indeed, walk out of the store with 5 of the exact same plushie and a very happy crying Gaz.

Ghost

For the first two trimesters Ghost insists that he can still do everything he normally does. Go to the gym, go on missions, stay up for days on end, brew coffee and tea in the same pot then chug the mixture. It’s a fight to get him to actually settle down and sit for any length of time. In fact it’s almost worse then when he wasn’t pregnant, like he feels that he needs to prove he can still do everything that he’s used to doing. But as SOON as that third trimester hits he is lounging around the house in nothing but a loose Diamond Head T-Shirt and his headphones, eating strawberries out of the carton, his feet propped up on the sofa arm and his head nodding along to the beat of whatever he’s listening to. Always palming his belly, never telling you when the baby moves but you can tell by the way his eyes soften just the slightest bit.

Soap

R.I.P. to your sleep because Johnny is one of those pregnant people that gets the most random cravings in the middle of the night and cannot go back to sleep until he’s eaten whatever it is he wants. Will give you the biggest saddest puppy eyes while rubbing his belly. Tells you he can go get it himself but he doesn’t want to go alone. It’s an entirely frustrating experience to lose so much sleep but it’s worth it to hear his excited giggling and watch his proud penguin waddle as he makes his way back to the car with his food. Will try and make you have a bite of whatever concoction he’s come up with. His most frequently returned to craving is marmite spread on biscuits then dipped in coffee, which he insists is the best thing he’s ever had in his life and swears that he’ll keep eating even after the baby is out.

König

König has a rather…nonchalant pregnancy? For the most part. Half the times it seems to you like he’s forgotten that he’s even pregnant. Which is partially true, and it’s so incredibly easy for him to do so because he doesn’t experience any of the usual pregnancy symptoms at all. If anything, he seems to just be more energized and ready to take on the world. He doesn’t even start showing until month 6 and reality doesn’t slap him in the face until month 7 when you both go in for an ultrasound and see that it’s triplets, in which he’s silent for a good minute before asking if it’s possible for you both to trade places. The Doctor has to leave the room due to laughing and you have half a mind to follow her. Probably would have if not the truly panicked look on König’s face as he stares at the ultrasound pictures, calling his mom to ask how big his head was when he was born, looking like he’s gonna cry when he gets his answer. Pregnancy is a mess of anxiety for him for the following months, please be sure to comfort him with many blankets and his favorite comedy movies.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not asking if anyone else wanted something I ruined for everyone else?

I (16m) am kind of the garbage disposal of the family. I eat stuff they don't like. Onions, pickles, olives and so on get tossed on my plate. I was also recently handed a bunch of raisins from my younger sister(13) and her friend's(13multiple) traillmix? They were all eating a little bowl of it then gave me the bowl of raisins. It was weird but I did eat them.

Basically my family and I do not agree on what constitues as gross and/or inediable.

Much like the fact that I am obsessed with Marmite. I could live off the stuff. I eat it more than I should but I can't eat it in front of my family. I typically have to hide in my room. The reason for that is that because they hate it so much the can't keep their comments to themselves on how disgusting it is that I eat it. It's to the point that I'm kind of insecure because even just us seeing it or hearing about it makes them go "Look it's that gross shit you like/how can you even eat that/Nasty/for some reason our son is obsessed with that stuff no idea how he even stomachs it he must be an alien" It's not fun. They are also not joking. They look at me with genuine disgust all over their faces and most of the time I have to buy it myself but my dad will sometimes buy it for me because while he does join in on calling it disgusting he doesn't think it's his buisness what I eat. It's actually recently gotten worse and I feel anxious eating in front of them at all. Which has lead to more comments about me not eating with the family, it's annoying but I'll live. That's not the issue here.

Four days ago I did something that while I will admit it was unsanitary and gross, even in the context that I am the only one who eats this, I did not think was a crime. I had a fresh jar of Marmate that my dad ordered for me and when I was putting it on my toast I got some on the rim of the jar and licked it off before closing the lid so it wouldn't get all over the lid. (It was also extra umph concentrated which was funny). My mother flew off the handle at me and asked why I would do something like that because now no one else can use it and called me selfish. I kind of stopped for a second and admittedly got a little smart and responded with something to the affect of "Now no one can use the stuff that I have to use in secret becauss no one in this house can shut up about how disgusting I am for even considering eating it?" She hesitated but then doubled down and said I needed to be considerate of others in the house who might have wanted to use it. I am beyond lost here so I'm asking Tumblr.

Am I the asshole? Willing to admit I'm the asshole and apologize if I'm deemed in the wrong. But I was honestly under the impression that I would never have to worry about my family wanting this stuff.

What are these acronyms?