#fancy grocers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thelostmagicians · 1 year

Text

Hugs | Steve Harrington

Summary: Steve Harrington hated hugs until you came along. [1.9k]

Fluff, comfort, slight angst, implied homophobia (against Robin)

♡

Steve Harrington hated hugs.

Hugs were meant to be soft and warm like ice cream on a sunny day, crackling fire on a chilly night, but to Steve they were anything but.

He blamed his aversion to hugs on the lack of affection he received as a child. He couldn’t recall a time when his father even gave him a simple pat on the back let alone a hug. And his mom, she tries, but when a rare ‘I love you’ slips past her lips it’s in the same tone she uses for the grocer at the store, so Steve can never tell if she means it.

Steve didn’t know the meaning of love until Nancy Wheeler broke his heart and Dustin Henderson nuzzled his way in with an unlikely friendship and demodog. Since then, he’s opened up his large and previously empty heart to a talkative Robin Buckley, Dustin and his group of ragtag friends, Nancy Wheeler (albeit it’s different now), a smidge for Jonathan Byers, and even Eddie Munson. Even though he loves his friends to the point of self sacrifice he can never seem to spare them a hug. He’ll give them an encouraging nod and an affectionate high five, but he’s never been able to engulf any of them in the warmth radiating off his chest. And Steve feels awful for this, he truly does. He felt awful when Dustin had to seek solace in Robin’s arms when Eddie was injured and when Lucas clinged onto Max’s hand while she was on life support. He knows they understand it isn’t anything personal, but he still wants to be able to show his feelings through a soothing hand hold or a comforting embrace.

The first time he sees you he's at Nancy’s house for a small gathering celebrating the completion of her and Jonathan’s internship at the big fancy newspaper in New York. You’re in the kitchen helping Nancy with the snacks, smiling wide at her full of sunshine and sparkle, a stark difference from the gloomy aura of Hawkins.

“I see someone’s caught your eye already,” Jonathan giggles, breaking him out of his trance.

Steve glances at you a final time before he turns to Jonathan and steals his drink.

“Hey, why can’t you just get your own?” Jonathan whines a little, the result of a smoke sesh with Argyle and Eddie slowly wearing off. Steve can tell he’s only got a few minutes left to question Jonathan about you before he sobers up and uses this to tease him in the future.

“Who is she? Don’t think ‘ve seen her here before,” Steve tries to act as nonchalant as possible, but he can tell he’s failing with the way Jonathan smiles.

“She’s mine and Nance’s friend. We met her at the internship and she wanted to visit here for a change of scenery. Isn’t that crazy, someone from New York finds a place like Hawkins interesting enough to visit?”

Steve nods in agreement, because why would someone like you, someone so full of light and everything good want anything to do with the drabby town of Hawkins.

“What’s her name?”

When Jonathan says your name loud enough for him to hear over Robin and Eddie’s loud chatter Steve gasps softly. He mumbles your name to himself thrice because it tastes sweet on his tongue, sweeter than the cherry popsicles he likes so much. You talk for the first time that night, nothing past basic introductions, but it’s enough for him to drive home with a smile on his face because he liked the way your lips looked when you said his name.

The first time you hug him he’s taken by surprise his body goes rigid and then pliant. He isn’t exactly reciprocating the hug, but he isn’t pushing you away like he would the others. He pulls back first taking a look at your disheveled appearance, Nancy had called him earlier frantically telling him you needed to be picked up from Creel House and he wasted no time coming to your rescue.

He brushes the dust off your shoulders as you huff in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry for this, Nancy told me to wait for her and Jonathan to get back but I wanted to see the house for myself. I thought I could handle it, but I guess it’s a little too creepy for me,” you explain sheepishly.

Steve chuckles awkwardly, still a little loopy from your hug, “Yeah this house isn’t for the faint of heart. We brought the kids here once to err- explore and we still have nightmares about it.”

Steve curses under his breath as you give him a curious look, pushing more details out of him. “There were just a lot of spiders, ya know and the history makes it creepy enough,” he plays it off like it was no big deal but he had an inkling you knew there was more to the story.

The second time you hug Steve it leaves him winded, but he decides he likes the feeling. He lets you hold onto him longer than last time and pulls back when you sneakily go to ruffle his hair. He pouts a little, hands swatting yours away while he tries to fix it the best he can without a mirror.

“Don’t worry Steve, you’re still the prettiest person in all of Hawkins,” you say giggling.

His cheeks heat up but he likes you too much to throw a fit about your teasing. You’ve gotten closer over the past few weeks, always bringing him and Robin lunch during work and he thinks he might just keep you.

Steve realizes you're a hugger when the first thing you do after you pick him up from the station is trap him in your warm arms instead of yelling like the others would have. He thought he was over high school bullshit, but he couldn’t hold himself back when Robin called him from Tammy Thompson’s house on the verge of tears because Tommy Hagan accused her for looking at a girl a little too long for it to be considered straight. He was fuming when he pulled up to the house, Eddie meeting him at the doorway trying to convince him to not make a scene. He tossed Eddie his keys telling him to take Robin home while he threw punch after punch at Tommy for making someone he loved feel unsafe.

He pushes you off gently trying to explain what happened but you shush him softly, eyes falling to Hopper as he claps him on the back a proud smile on his otherwise stoic face. Everyone’s waiting for him when he arrives at the Byers, Joyce with a first aid kit, Jonathan with a smug smile (probably reminiscing his first fight with Steve), and Robin with eyes full of love and gratitude. He lets everyone fuss over him that night before he falls asleep on the Byers’ couch with your hand holding his.

Steve lets you hug him often now, he rolls his eyes and huffs a bit, but allows it with the pretense of it being the last time. It never is, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

You’re on his kitchen floor passing a bottle of wine back and forth sharing core memories. The others have gone home already after the last movie ended but you seemed reluctant to leave, so Steve offered you the guest room and a pair of old pajamas.

“Do you have any happy memories, Stevie?” You ask gently.

Steve shakes his head, “Not really, didn’t really have much of a happy childhood I guess, the only one I can think about is going to my Nana’s for christmas, but she died when I was five.” Steve’s a little tipsy now absentmindedly spilling his heart out to you not thinking about the repercussions.

You smile sadly, “I know what you mean, sort of.”

Steve waves his hand urging you to go on. You sigh softly, “I’ve been almost everywhere and yet it feels like I haven't experienced anything. I have loving parents but I never feel like they love me for who I am, they only love me for what I am, you know? To them I’m more of a trophy, something crossed off on the path of life to show accomplishment. I told you I came to Hawkins to research small towns for a project, but I think that was just an excuse. When I met Nancy and Jonathan they spoke so fondly about everyone back home. They might’ve been in New York, but their hearts resided in Hawkins. I wanted to find that for myself and followed them here…and I think I did.”

Steve shoots you a soft smile full of hearts as your eyes fill with unshed tears. You try your best to scoot over in your tipsy state and fall into his lap resembling a clumsy hug. This time he doesn’t pull away.

It’s nearing summer break for everyone now. Nancy and Jonathan are heading back to New York in a few weeks to present a proposal to your guys’ boss in New York for a new paper about small towns with mysterious histories. They put together a portfolio with files full of research done by you, articles written by Nancy, and photographs taken by Jonathan. The kids are finishing up finals and making plans for junior year. Robin passed her first year at community college and he quit his job at Family Video to work at the station with Hopper. And you, you decided to stay back in Hawkins. Steve can’t find a better excuse than this to throw a summer party at his house.

The sun is shining, bellies are full, hearts are happy, and laughs are loud in Steve’s backyard. Steve opened up his pool for the first time since Barbara Holland’s death and he thinks it’s time he starts moving on. Everyone is in the pool having fun, everyone except you and Steve. You’re lounging on one of the chairs, Jane Eyre in your hand and a lazy smile on your face, so it was no surprise Steve chose to stay at your side.

Steve is terrified to bare his heart to you, to tell you how he really feels, he thinks he might as well hand you his heart and a hammer on a silver platter. But then he remembers the shy smile you had when you told him you were leaving New York for good and you were staying in Hawkins. He looks over to you, your book finally pushed aside in favor of watching your friends have fun and he can’t hold his feelings in any longer.

His fingers brush up your arm slowly making their way to pet at your soft cheeks.

“You know you’re the only one who’s allowed to hug me.” It’s a concealed declaration of love an I love you that only the two of you can decipher.

“I know.” I love you too.

Steve smiles shyly before gently cupping your chin and pressing his lips to yours in a much awaited kiss. He pulls back gently only to pull you into his chest. He squeezes you hard pouring all his love into the first hug he’s ever initiated.

Steve Harrington used to hate hugs, but not so much anymore, not when your arms feel like home.

1K notes · View notes

maculategiraffe · 7 months

Text

so it is my understanding from books that it used to be that you went to the grocer(y store) and went up to the counter and told the grocer or the grocer's assistant your list, and the grocer was like "cool" and went and grabbed everything off the shelves and brought it to you while you waited at the counter. (either that or you could telephone the grocer with your list and send someone else to go pick it up for you. your husband or your daughter or your children's magical nanny as the case may be.) also the milkman came to your house and brought you milk and the butcher's assistant brought you meat on his little tricycle and the baker's assistant brought you bread. on like a subscription service

okay so I don't like the way we are doing things now. I don't like having to walk past miles and miles of scented candles and birthday cards and kitty litter and vaginal deodorants and mylar balloons and craft IPAs and erasers shaped like hamburgers just because I am out of eggs. and I don't want to pad out the amount of groceries I need to make the delivery trip worth the while of some anonymous underpaid overworked algorithm slave. I want to leave a note on the door asking the butter and egg man to bring an extra dozen eggs next time. and then I want the butter and egg man to go home and gossip to his wife about how I must be trying to learn fancy baking again because I have doubled my egg order and his wife will be like nice :) let's go out to dinner on friday and toast old miss giraffe's fifty-seventh attempt at learning to make her own macarons. who do I write to about this

#psir

524 notes · View notes

mistydeyes · 8 months

Text

miss americana: gaz edition

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

series summary: The 141 has varying thoughts about Americans which range from finding them wildly entertaining to thinking they’re the worst people on earth. However you challenge their perspectives when you meet them. Something about you makes them feel a little more patriotic ;)

summary: When you finally move to the UK, there are a few things that confuse you and Gaz is more than happy to help out! From realizing cars are not automatic to the different colloquialisms, he enjoys clarifying the differences in culture.

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x American!Reader

warnings: none

a/n: FINALLY something that I don’t have to do research on because I’m from the US🦅🎆 I have other parts planned to this as well!

also these are 100% inspired by all the questions I ask @lundenloves, she entertains my constant surprise and shock lol

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Whenever you go out with Gaz you ask him to “translate” for you.

When you first walked the rainy London streets with Gaz, you felt like a toddler with all of your questions. "Why does that stationary store have a sale on condoms?" you asked, confused, as you directed his attention to the sign that displayed a sale on rubbers. "You mean erasers?" he corrected, laughing. Next was when you saw a store you liked and immediately directed him inside, saying you needed pants. Despite how cute you looked while shopping, he had to correct you saying they were trousers and that pants had a very different meaning. Finally, the most egregious example was when you went to a restaurant and ordered biscuits to accompany your savory dish of soup. Once the waiter laughed in response, you looked at Gaz confused. "A biscuit is not like what you get in the Southern US, it's more of a cookie," he explained as you flushed with embarrassment. You would have to do some research next time and consult your British tour guide.

You’re an absolute menace when he goes to the grocery store or what he calls the grocers. You will go up and down the aisles, picking up whatever you fancy.

"Where are those chocolate oranges?" you demanded as you went down the aisle with Gaz. He pushed the cart, or trolley as he called it, which was already filled with a variety of snacks. Anything that looked distinctly British and that you knew you couldn't get at home, went in the cart. He had to hold you back from getting biscuits and crumpets. "Do you think we're having a tea party?" he joked as you waddled back with your selection. "Can we?" you asked, excitedly, and Gaz knew you were going to spend another 30 minutes in the tea aisle. "Let's just find you some Terry's and then we can consider getting tea," he corrected and you pulled the cart rapidly ahead. "I'm going to buy a whole orchard of those oranges."

Later on, you did buy a bushel worth of oranges and Gaz gently rubbed your stomach after you ate two entire ones. "They're just so good," you mumbled before you regretted the lactose coursing through your digestives.

Sometimes you’ll entertain him with distinctly American experiences.

"Did I ever tell you I was going to join a sorority in college?" you mused as you sat on the couch. He looked down at you before replying. "A what?" he questioned and you laughed. "You're telling me you've never heard of Greek life!" you exclaimed as he shook his head. You sat up for this fun explanation. "Essentially, if you're a girl you join a sorority and you spend like 4 days meeting the sister, trying to get them to like you, and then you're given a bid," you explained, he nodded as if this wasn't a foreign concept to him. "Then you all gather, usually in a football stadium or field, and they call your name as well as the sorority you're in and you run towards them." At that, he looked in horror. "It sounds cultish," he remarked and you lightly punched his arm. "It's cute! Everyone dresses up in different themes like 'Las Vegas' or 'Teddy Bears'," you smiled but he still shook his head, "it's the hazing that's cultish."

You will always insist on driving but Gaz remembers the one time he let you drive.

"Kyle, just let me drive!" you exclaimed as he beat you to the car door. In all honesty, you were a little used to being on the passenger side back at home but nevertheless, you were annoyed at his constant insistence at driving. "No," he simply said, "need I remind you what happened last time." The minute he said that you remembered the first time he tried to let you drive. First, you were surprised it was a stick shift rather than an automatic but it was nothing to worry about. It took you a few streets to get used to the changing gears but Gaz still had confidence in you. It wasn't until you pulled into a shopping center and started driving on the wrong side of the road that he made you park and take over. "It wasn't that bad!" you exclaimed, buckling into the passenger seat. "Love, my life flashed before my eyes."

He’ll make fun of you when you order coffee with a smile and try to make a friendly conversation with the barista.

As you entered the coffee shop, you were easily the happiest one there. It was 7 am and even Gaz wasn't as cheery as you are. "Good morning, how are you?" you smiled at the young barista. She returned your smile and eased her tired shoulders. "I'm doing alright, what are you having today?" she replied and you took a minute to think. “Just a cup of coffee for him,” you replied, pointing at Gaz. You pondered for a minute as you strained to look at the signs. "What do you think is good here?" you questioned and her eyes lit up as she began to list the options. "If you're looking for coffee, a cortado is my favorite, but I personally recommend trying our tea," she recommended and you nodded. "Hmm I'll take both," you cheerily replied, watching as she typed in your order. When you pulled out your wallet, you looked around curiously and the barista noticed your hesitation. "Is there anything else I can get you?" she asked before you looked up at her. "You don't have a tip jar here?" you wondered and she let out a laugh. "We don't, more of an American thing," she answered and you frowned slightly. You let her know to keep the change and waited patiently for your order at the end of the coffee bar. "You're too cute sometimes," Gaz said, kissing your forehead gently. He made sure to get a picture of you with your two cups, captioning it, "They finally got their cuppa!"

He helps you navigate the surprisingly easy currency and pricing system.

“Kyle I need more,” you corrected as he handed you a handful of notes. You had gone souvenir shopping in London but forgotten your wallet at his flat. “What do you mean, that’s enough,” he replied as he flipped over the postcards to check if he did his math correctly. “What about the tax? You forgot about that,” you said triumphantly and he laughed in response. “Oh this is one of your American things,” he said, his new favorite term to use, “Love, you pay what’s on the sticker.” Cue your shocked face as you couldn’t fathom the moment of anticipation as your items were rung up at home. On the ride home, you were sure to explain to Gaz the ins and outs of the different taxes including that there was no clothing tax in Minnesota, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Vermont. “I cannot believe you don’t know how much you’re paying when you go up to the till,” he remarked, shaking his head in dismay. “The what?”

There are some disagreements on the meaning of different words (especially ones that you both share but mean two completely different things).

On a rare day, the entire 141 was free, and Gaz decided to introduce you to them. You returned back from the grocers and were surprised when Gaz began preparing a late lunch. “We’re not going to eat at the bar?” you asked, noticing him turning the stove on. “No, no they don’t have food there,” he corrected as your face turned to confusion, “what do you think the bar is?” Upon your explanation of an American bar with cheap drinks and greasy food, Gaz laughed and kissed your cheek gently. “If you want to go to a pub, I can just let them know the change of plans. There’s plenty around,” he responded and went to put the items back in the fridge.

When you arrived at the lively pub, Gaz made sure to sit you next to Soap so you could listen better to his thick accent. While you appreciated the gesture, the Scotsman still spoke a mile a minute. Despite your initial uneasiness, you soon fell into lively conversation and entertained everyone with your stories from college and things you found differently in the UK. "I think the time zone was the biggest issue," you said in response to Ghost's question about your transition to living abroad, "although, the lack of ceiling fans was interesting." They all laughed in response before Gaz interjected. "Tell them about when you ordered a baked potato," he joked and your eyes immediately lit up before you went into a long conversation about your experience. As everyone laughed at your bewilderment at the lack of serving the side with bacon, cheese, and sour cream, Gaz looked at you fondly, his favorite American.

#kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #gaz imagine #kyle garrick imagine #mw2 #izzie is writing

393 notes · View notes

lady-ashfade · 3 months

Text

Potatoes and White Amaryllis

Day 9 of celebration marathon

Older!Grover underwood x Aphrodite!gn!reader

-ask: I read your rules so I was wondering if you asked Grover to like touch his little horns on his head like as a crush and Percy and anabeth see it and kinda of tease you two about getting together. IDK IF YOUR COMFORTABLE WRITING IT BUT IF YOU ARE PLEASEEEEEE

-£ him in the third book he was simping. And I changed it to teasing Grover.

-£ warnings: dabble, so much fluffiness, he’s just so adorable and needs more love, based on what I have read so far of him but maybe a bit oc?

no path was left unturned by the love you two had for each other. but circling around without ever meeting was the problem. one aways trailing behind the other, or waiting there in place until unfortunately going again. and it was draining to watch for the other campers.

grocer chased after you like a lost puppy, but you were just as bad with a smile on your face when you saw him. he helped you with anything you needed and never failed to make you laugh. it was obvious how shy he was around you, and how he looked at you like nature itself. the only one to not realize his feelings was you, being just as blind yourself.

“What do you think of theses?” You held up a potato you grew yourself, being someone who doesn’t have the powers for plants you still loved them. This potato you had grown in a pot near your bed after you begged your siblings to letting you keep it there. You wanted to prove yourself.

Grover examined it with his eyes and thought for a second, he hummed out in question as you watched anxiously. Grover was playing with you knowing full well that it was good, you never failed to grow anything.

“Just as perfect as the others,” he flashed a bright a smile as you exhaled in relief. “You really need to stop overthinking.”

Rolling your eyes you picked up the small basket of the others and carried it against your hip. You started to walk along the path as he followed like he always did.

“No one in my cabin likes dirt. But I like it, even like to play in the mud— I just wanna be good at this, is that a crime?” You look at him and he saw the shy smile on your lips and the sparkle in your eyes. he could stare at you all day and never get tired of it.

“No, no. I don’t think so,” he stopped at the end of the path, you needed to go into Demeter's Cabin and both of you now stood in front of the door.

You looked at him for a second and then giggled, “Can I touch your horns?” You looked so sweet and soft that it made his heart flutter.

Grover nodded his head a little to aggressively for his own liking but placed his tilted his head so it was easier for you to reach. the sweet sounds coming from your lips of light laughter caused him to blush a dark red.

Reaching up to his hair and feel the horns on his head for a second, he freezes and tries to stay still but wants to look up again at you. you step back and bring something down when you pull your hands back. he sees a small twig with a small leaf attached to it. he is even more embarrassed now that he wants to run away as fast as he could.

“I think a flower would look better,” you let go of the twig, “I think white amaryllis would suit you quite well.” you nod your head and walk away from him as he stares at you with puppy eyes. he waited until you are out of sight and into the Cain until he groans and covers his face.

“I’m such a idoit.” He speaks to himself while sighing.

“That you are.”

Grover swings around to see annabeth standing there with her arms crossed, and Percy with a huge smirk on his face. Both of there eyes mischievous.

“Hey guys!” He waves his hands. “Fancy seeing you here.” Maybe they could leave him a bit of dignity left.

“You didn’t trip this time,” Percy teased and went up to the boy and pulled him in by the shoulder. “That’s upgrade.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Grover flushed.

“Yes, you do. Following them around camp, looking at them with hearts in your eyes.” Annabeth rolled her eyes.

“Oh y/n, you’re so perfect. Oh, y/n let me carry that for you.” Percy tried to mock Grover’s voice and acted silly in love like Grover did. The satyr pushed him away and tried to walked away from them.

“And you were just geeking out about them touching your horns, I swear you were going to kiss them.” Annabeth followed shortly behind him. She made Grover blush more.

“You’ll be a couple in no time! I’m sure.” Percy patted him on the back.

“Guys stop, this is embarrassing!”

taglist: @maria699669 @purplerose291 @itzmeme @ravenmedows

#grover underwood x reader #grover underwood #percy Jackson x readwr #fluff #book Grover underwood #Grover undere fluff #Grover underwood x gn!reader #Grover underwood x male!reader #Grover underwood x fem!reader

134 notes · View notes

rainsoftenings · 1 year

Text

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — A deep growl reverberates through your stomach. You've only had a slice of salami and an old man's sandwich today- you're hungry.

VOLITION [Difficult: Success] — Perhaps with your newfound wealth you should ask Kim to drive you to the nearest high-end grocer and pick out some healthy food. Your micro-biome fancies some high-quality fermented comestibles, preferably ones that do not contain alcohol- perhaps a little kombucha, or a hunk of kick-ass cheese.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Irrelevant. You're the mega-biome. That makes you the boss. You should eat a plastic lemon. You should swallow coins.

#disco elysium #i misread the original tweet but this turned out funnier so i'm keeping it

1K notes · View notes

sebwritesstories · 2 months

Text

SALLY STARLET NAME-GIVING OBSERVATIONS

Okay, this is just a small theory, but I've noticed how Sally interacts with her fellow neighbors, and I have guesses on how she addresses them, and whether that shows her respect for them (which may change as the Welcome Home timeline becomes clearer to navigate).

To do so, I will list the characters based on whether they are the most or least respected, to make the tier list clear.

SALLY STARLET🌈⭐️: Mainly tiering her first for the ENORMOUS amount of self-respect she has. From that, we can see that she isn't one to lengthen, fancify, or change her moniker in any sort of way or form. She is, of course, Sally Starlet! The kind of pride and integrity that she has for herself is one of her more redeemable qualities, at least in my opinion.

POPPY PARTRIDGE🥧🧶: Sally's home-bodied galpal may be second on the list, but she is the only other neighbor that she constantly calls by her own name. Not to mention the fact that Poppy is the only neighbor that Sally will constantly praise for her talents, try to break out of her isolating lifestyle, and admit her mistakes and goof-ups to (which is something Sally has too much pride to do with any other neighbor)! From that, I can safely say that Sally holds Poppy in the highest regard (maybe even higher than platonically expected, we shall see), which shows through the lack of name fancification.

BARNABY B. BEAGLE🌭🎉: I am mainly putting Barnaby here for now, as he is the only other neighbor yet to be called a fancy moniker, but tends to get Sally riled up for the sake of it. It has often been stated how segments with Sally's plays will often be changed in some silly shape or form, mainly by Barnaby wanting to mess with her (similar to the Fractured Fairytales segment from Rocky and Bullwinkle). She could respect him as a fellow lover of theater and show-biz (as they play around a bit, like in Eddie's Big Lift), but I will hold off on speculations until the update next week.

JULIE JOYFUL💐🎳: This colorful character will be called both "Juliet" and her own name when Sally is exasperated with her. From their interactions, Sally seems to be patient enough around Julie and will be tolerant of the changes to stories and plays that she comes up with.

WALLY DARLING🎨🍎: Our gracious host will be called "Walliford" or his own name for similar reasons. Like any other neighbor, Sally has a fondness for Wally, despite his lack in acting skills, and will ask him for help with prop creation and directing assistance.

HOWDY PILLAR🐛🍓: The neighborhood grocer has only been called "Howardson". Sally seems to have no ill will toward Howdy, and will often call upon him for plays due to his acting skills (which unfortunately lead to advertising his store). Sally seemed to a jab at Howdy from time to time, but can easily be swayed by his scam tactics.

HOME🏡🥞: Has only been called by her own name, and we have yet to see any direct interactions between them and Sally.

FRANK FRANKLY🦋🍮: I have only heard Sally call Frank "Fred" while introducing him, so take that as you will (at least until there is a clearer timeline).

EDDIE DEAR✉️🥖: Poor, poor Eddie. He doesn't even get the privilege of being called a proper name. Sally will often refer to Mr. Dear as the "mailman", and will expect him to wait on her like a servant. To be clear, she isn't the only one to overwork or demean him because nearly every neighbor does so (with the exceptions of Wally, Poppy, and maybe Frank). But at least most neighbors have the decency to call Eddie by his name in any form (though this may show my bias, cause I kin Eddie in many respects).

Anywho, thats all I have to say for Sally, till the update! This is mainly just a drabble of sorts, but feel free to say your piece! Constructively, of course.

#welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home puppet show #sally starlet #poppy x sally #welcome home theory #sally x poppy #wh popstar

75 notes · View notes

tricornonthecob · 9 months

Text

sometimes I feel bad about having multiple primary skillsets and ping-ponging between them, but then I think about best-selling author, humanist gremlin, and unhinged ginger Thomas Paine.

More under the cut

His occupations, according to Bastion Of All Knowledge Ever, Wikipedia, included (but were not limited to:)

taxpayer-funded pirate (privateer)

bra artificer (staymaker)

office intern (supernumerary officer)

Suspiciously Disorganized Gimme-Your-Money officer (excise tax officer who was dismissed for "claiming to have inspected goods he did not inspect")

Schoolteacher

Walgreens manager (tobacconist-grocer)

Magazine editor as an excuse to write about shifting the means of production (editor of the Pennsylvania Magazine)

Best-selling Pamphlet author (Common Sense)

Number Muncher for The Office Of Wooing The French And Begging The Dutch For Money (secretary for the Congressional Committee of Foreign Affairs)

Possible Wikileaks While Being A Number Muncher

Ex-Number Muncher for The Office Of Wooing The French And Begging The Dutch For Money (dismissed for exposing corruption and being particularly rude about the whole thing.)

Not-As-Best-Selling Pamphlet That Criticized Old Rich White Guys author (Public Good)

Seriously, Fuck Off Monarchy author (Rights of Man 1 and 2)

Fuck Off, Capitalism, Lets Have UBI Pamphlet author (Agrarian Justice)

Representative of the French National Convention for Pas-de-Calais

Bridge Engineer (????? I have no words)

Smokeless Candle Engineer

Tinkerer (worked with John Fitch in developing steam engines)

12-Step Guide To Invading Great Britain (Observations on the Construction and Operation of Navies with a Plan for an Invasion of England and the Final Overthrow of the English Government and To the People of England on the Invasion of England)

Reformed Napoleon Stan

George Washington Denouncer

Look if that ginger can be a pirate, make stays, run a walgreens, not collect taxes, be a best-selling author, simultaneously court and piss off America, simultaneously court and piss off France, make plans to invade the ENTIRETY of Great Britain, be the representative of a province he doesn't speak the language of, narrowly avoid getting beheaded in the French Revolution, invent a new type of bridge, make a fancy candle, etc, then maybe my brunette ass can do anything I want, too.

#I am with few apologies a Thomas Paine stan #i love that unhinged ginger #Thomas Paine #amrev #founding fathers #american history #french history #apologies for any uninformed takes I am no academic #Please point anything out so I can adjust my thinking according to new data

57 notes · View notes

snickerdoodlles · 6 months

Note

[pot stirring] ?? 👀👀

🥰❤️.

the next installment for idiots & idioms series!! specifically the beginning and rise of Vegas's cooking youtube, tentatively named after the idiom 'to stir the pot'

so I've been blocked on this fic for. AGES. I always knew Vegas was going to end up with a wildly popular cooking YouTube, because that's absolutely hilarious to me and he deserves a world where he gets paid to make stupid fancy meals while a lil row of hedgehogs watch and his biggest concern in the world is next week's grocer list instead of stupid fucking mafia errands. my problem was that there was just like. zero narrative drive. what was the POINT, y'know?

but then

Pete

(PETE MY BELOVED)

who fucking hates masking

and would absolutely positively hate Vegas's original youtube persona. I shant spoil the whole fic, but tl;dr is Vegas gets equally hooked on and frustrated by his initial internet validation, Pete is just frustrated by it, then Pete posts the video of him and Macau bitching out Kinn and Kim's terrible cooking and Vegas discovers the joys and wonders of ✨ internet toxicity ✨ and thrives while sniping insults at Kinn and Kim online instead of literal sniping ❤️

WIP game!

#fic: gone fishing #messy summary of this but thats fine #my only awkwardness left is figuring out the best way to format this particular story #its threatening to be. LONG.#but honestly the true awkwardness here #is that vegaspete fuck out their domestic drama #AS THEY SHOULD!!!#except #this is #a socmed series #im already dealing with twitter and now youtube #i am NOT adding onlyfans to this #i dont have the mental space for twitter and can barely deal with adding youtube out of sheer necessity #add third one and i will #explode #anyways enough of me being dramatic i shall go drink a glass of water #TY FRIEND ❤️❤️❤️❤️

34 notes · View notes

meownotgood · 6 months

Note

the idea of knowing aki for forever but when he goes to ask you out he has a bouquet of roses for you is just. ough it’s getting me through the heart. (he chickens out and says he saw them at the grocer on sale and thought you’d appreciate them more than himeno, and denji kicks him in the shin when he comes back to the apartment) - 🍊

aki's really such a sweetheart, the traditional type, the kind of man who brings flowers to ask you out and then to every subsequent date afterwards. the kind of man who calls you and never texts, who opens doors for you and pulls out seats for you to sit down.

it's cheesy when he shows up to your apartment in a fancy outfit with a big bouquet of roses in his arm, shuffling nervously and staring down at his feet. he's got his hair in a longer style done up all nice, he's stammering over his words when you ask him if there's some kind of occasion. of course not, he answers, but you understand what's happening now, and it's so him you can't help but smile — even as he's stepping in, making some lame excuse for the flowers while he fills up the vase you handed to him, coincidentally asking if you're free to get dinner with him tonight.

#cutest cutie aki #he's just the kind of partner who'd always get you flowers I just know it #and you never get sick of it because he tries to get you something unique every time #when it's your anniversary he gets you roses just like he did the first time he asked you out #aki getting out of his car and running over to the passenger side to open the door for you #or sprinting ahead of you to get every door #it's totally so cute lol #no but denji definitely bullies him for not making any moves #he's like 'you can come to me for dating advice if you want to man like cmon'#aki refuses #ask mags

24 notes · View notes

z0mbiekat · 6 months

Note

You should do a vampire xer x sacrifice reader

HOLY SHIT.

He'd be so mean. :(

I imagine you'd have some like asshole friends who think it'd be funny to pretend to sacrifice you to some "lame, made up vampire."

Except he is very much not fake and now you watch your friends faces turn from amusement to pure horror. They all run obviously because they're jerks. But lucky for Xer, he now has a new hole maid!

He'd probably make you do all the housework and make dinner for him, and this man needs a feast all to himself, believe me. You'd be kept in some old, fancy looking room in his castle because he needs to have a castle if he's a vampire. Sometimes you might wake up to some weird noises that sound like someone groaning, but don't worry about that!

After a while though, he'd start warming up to you. Even letting you leave your prison and going out to local grocers and such. And since you've gotten to grocery shop for yourself, you've more opportunities to teach Xergiok. And how does he repay you?

By filling you up. (❁´◡`❁)

My requests are open, I will write for what's in the tags below. Luv ya.

#original character #x reader #obey me shall we date #the arcana #call of duty modern warfare #monster x reader #ill make a boundary list soon

31 notes · View notes

glasswaters · 1 year

Text

the lake by the mountain

It starts, as all things do, with a story. It begins, gauze-thin and stretched across these mountains, long before I was ever born, with the unspooling of a thread. Cotton, bleached white and pulled taut to keep a petticoat’s hem.

“Such was my task”, says my grandmother, who smells of wants and conviction the way my mother smells of daffodils. Her hands are worn, now, by age or by exhaustion, and when she holds her embroidery into the light, I can see the sun peeking through pierced fabric. The gas lamp on the table gives a groan, the sharp noise of the last of the wick eaten up by flame, just before it dies.

Here is how my mother tells it, when my father has left for the day and she lays the pelts out to dry: your grandmother is a stubborn thing, sweeting. When they lay the phone lines, she refused them. When they carved space for the plumbing, she filled it with soil. When they traced cables from outlet to outlet, she stood, lamp in one hand, knife in the other, and bared her teeth.

The grocer knows her by name, yet.

My grandmother’s skin is paper-thin. When she turns her head, I can see the light through it, as though she has long since been pulled taut over a bulb’s jutting edges. When she opens her mouth, her voice comes out a sharp thing, whetted and precise. “What use have I”, she says, and pulls the thread until it near snaps. “My sweetling, whatever would I do with fancy baubles?”

The fire cracks, and paints in the shape of it, my grandmother’s face golden. I shrug. “Comfort”, I say.

“Convenience”, says my grandmother, and drags her mouth downwards. There is a fountain in the courtyard and an outhouse by the trees. There is copper cookware, lined up in the kitchen, and a basin sturdy enough to hold her. The windows are open wide, and in the planters hanging off the sills, my grandmother has made for the bees an offering of sweetness.

Every summer, they feast on the flowers, a thick buzz of wings.

“What need do I have for wires?”, she asks, with her fingertips hooked underneath my chin. “The mountains are slow, dearling, and there is much lays heavy in the valleys that has not yet reached the summits.”

“Heat settles high”, I say, and my grandmother laughs. The furs on her sofa are as soft as they have ever been, silver things that I can dip my hands into and watch them disappear. My fingers sink into them undisturbed, until they rest at the downy warmth of them.

Stories are things made of thread and words, half-spun and half-dreamt. When my grandmother was new, with smooth hands and skin thick enough to break teeth, she would sit on the summit, just by the cross that marks its highest point, and hem petticoats and linens. Her feet were bare, then, and bleeding, still dripping stubbornness over limestone and fossils.

As the locals tell it, a spirit rose from the lake in the valley at night and made the trek to the summit; bloody feet and tender, stubborn mouth. With wild hair and wilder heart, it dragged from the bottom of the lake to the top of the mountain sweet freshwater pearls.

It sat, wanton and wanting, on the moss, until someone came to pin it by the limbs to plush velvet. A needle threaded through every fingertip, string tied about every toe, it stayed, like that, under dull eyes and duller teeth.

Until the dusk came, and brought with it the sun’s death.

As the locals tell it, the spirit made then the trek back down to the lake. Sometimes, at night, something wanton lay, with eyes like polished pearls and hands carved of dripping limestone, motionless until the sun rose above the mountain peaks.

“The skies were clear”, says my grandmother, and in the soft light of the waning sun, her eyes shine white. “Planets pinned to the firmament, and you could map worlds in the space between. Some days, I could see beyond this solar system.” She smiles at me, a wrinkle from the corners of her mouth to the slack of her cheeks, and keeps me pinned, still, on her furs. “When the day was cold, and there were no clouds, I could see to the ends of the universe at night. Not anymore, now.”

In my back pocket, my phone buzzes. My grandmother drags her fingers to the seam of my trousers. In my ears roar the rocking waves of a storm. “I don’t have to check it”, I say. My palms ache at the tips, still buried in the pelts, still half-hidden. Half curled.

My grandmother tilts her head. Like a bird, almost. Like something with sharp claws and sharper teeth, with eyes that see – something moves. Somewhere within my ribcage or tangled about my spine, something shifts. My grandmother’s eyes are mother-of-pearl, and her teeth are soft, soft things.

“Don’t you?”, she asks. Her skin shimmers in this light – a blanket of oil on a lake’s surface, a layer of despair around a kernel of dirt. Hands, worn and wrinkled.

Mine are smooth, still, and I shake my head. “I don’t”, I say. She laughs. She holds out her hands, and fits them to the curve of my jaw. They lay, like that, unmoving, stubborn things, against my skin.

“Child”, she says softly. “Sweet thing.”

My mother leaves the pelts out to dry once my father has left for work. Before he comes home, she collects them and folds them, damp still, until they fit into the suitcase on top of the dresser, with its broken clasp and the belt tied around it. Her mouth has long since fit itself into the gaps of my father’s smile.

Her phone in her pocket buzzes. When she picks up, my father’s voice drips from the speaker. “Hello, my loves”, he says, and my mother fades around the edges.

“Hello”, she says. Her hair is dry.

At night, something lies in the lake, its eyes wide open, its mouth agape. Its hands are smooth the way stones are in riverbeds – so long have they lain in the water that there is nothing at all to them, anymore, except polished rounds. Its hair floats, weightless, like seagrass sprouting from its head. Or, perhaps, like fabric does when it is put to soak in water that is more gasoline and blue dye, now, it drags, swirling, until it lies trembling at the lake’s surface.

The stars are dull behind their layer of light. The city is alive, even at night, flickering billboards and humming streetlights and girls with bright eyes and brighter smiles, gathered about the pavement. They carry their heels in one hand and their phone in the other, texting half-formed flirts to half-shaped crushes.

Laughing, bell-shaped.

The thing in the lake watches the skies. In the morning, it will lead wet footprints to the mountain’s summit.

“Come”, says my grandmother, ever sharp. “Why don’t you help me with the linens?”

I drag my hands from her pelts. My phone in the back pocket of my trousers is warm, and presses smooth against me. I don’t check it.

My grandmother’s hands are a solid weight on me, and my hems are still wet. My feet leave bloody prints on her wood floor.

“Come”, says my grandmother. I come. I breathe.

I reach for the linens. ______ commission for @hasenfu, thank you for commissioning me!

#spilled words #spilled ink #writerblr #writers of tumblr #poets of tumblr #on generational longing #on spirits that lay in lakes and watch their world pass them by #on old women in houses from times long past #a conversation between a grandmother and her grandchild

95 notes · View notes

shivunin · 5 months

Note

FenHawke + 5 and Cullen/Salshira + 15 for the Florence + the Machine prompts? 👀

Oooh this is so perfect for them, anon. Good choice! I will do the second one in a separate post, as always c:

When to Fold

(Fenris/Maria Hawke | 1,519 Words | CW: references to alcohol)

Summary: After Danarius's defeat, Hawke throws a party at her home and reflects on the changes to her relationship with Fenris.

“The feeling comes so fast and I cannot control it I'm on fire, but I'm trying not to show it.” —Florence + the Machine, “Free”

Relief had made Hawke clumsy.

She couldn’t explain herself any other way. Well, she probably could if she really put her mind to it—making things up had always been a special talent of hers—but it was the only way she could explain this to herself.

“You’ve dropped your cards,” Fenris said in a low voice.

He was sitting to her left. In and of itself, this was not remarkable. They’d played Wicked Grace together hundreds of times before, though they’d done so in her formal dining room admittedly less often. They’d sat together before. They’d certainly eaten together before. But—tonight was special and she rather thought they both knew it.

For the first time in three years, Fenris sat at Hawke’s side.

“Stop losing on purpose, Hawke,” Aveline said sternly from the other end of the table. Her coin made a faint scraping noise when she slid it to the pot. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“There, there, darling,” her husband said, tapping his own face-down hand. “You did very well on that last hand. There’s hope for you yet.”

Aveline cast him a look and Donnic lifted his hands, half-laughing. Maria tried very hard to focus on the two of them, but it was difficult when Fenris went on moving in her periphery. How long had it been since he’d told her he intended to stay in Kirkwall? One week, perhaps two? She’d been so delirious with joy that she’d thrown together a party to celebrate it and only come up with an excuse for the surprise after the fact.

Something to celebrate all of them being in the same place for the very first time, she’d said. It wasn’t a lie; near as she could tell, this would be around when he’d made his way to the city. Even so, she knew that she’d drawn them all here for a different reason entirely: relief. Whatever she and Fenris were to each other—and it defied strict definitions—he would not be leaving her. Not yet, in any case.

“Maybe you should lay off the fancy Antivan wine, Hawke,” Varric had told her only moments ago, after she’d dropped her cards the first time.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps her mood could be attributed to the heady rush of wine and good company alone.

“Thanks,” Hawke whispered to Fenris, and gathered the cards up again with clumsy hands.

He ducked his head to look between their chairs and leaned toward her, stretching. The light caught on the silver embroidery in his clothing, an admittedly indulgent gift. Worth it, of course; seeing him comfortable in fine things had done something rather odd to her chest. Well, seeing him at all did something odd to her chest at the best of times. Surely she couldn’t blame all of it on the clothing.

“There,” Fenris murmured after a moment, sitting back again. He lifted a card, freshly fetched from under the table. Hawke looked at it for a long moment before she realized that he was handing it to her.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, and reached to take it from his hand.

Their fingerprints brushed. It was nothing; the simplest of touches. She’d shared more contact with the grocer. After three years, it should not burn her so. But—it did. It did, just as it had every time before.

Fenris did not let go immediately. Neither did Hawke. He studied her face, lovely eyes rich and warm in the candlelight. The barest shadow hid under the curve of his lower lip, cast there by the very same candles. If she’d had more wherewithal, she might have wondered if she was blushing. She must be; she felt like her whole body had been set on fire. Not a fire that consumed, nor even a fire that slumbered safely in the hearth

No—if she burned then, it was like a candle set on a windowsill. Waiting, always waiting, held safe from the winds of the world by the thinnest layer of fragile glass.

“Forgive me,” he said after a moment, and let go.

Maria nodded wordlessly and folded the card into her palm with a deft and thoughtless motion. Each place he’d held it was warm. She marked them each: the edge of the card where his index finger had rested, the place where his thumb and middle finger had pinched to hold it still.

Clumsy. That’s all she was.

Clumsy, and relieved, and Maker but she’d forgotten how warm this gown could be. Hawke reached for her glass of wine and drained it all at once, wishing it would somehow cool her.

“Now,” Sebastian said from the other side of the table, “I do not mean to be rude, but I will say I was lured here with the promise of cake.”

“Oh, Andraste’s a—” she caught herself at the last moment and fumbled for another phrase. “Ah—dimples—”

“Thank you,” Sebastian said at the plainly amended oath, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly.

“—I’d forgotten entirely. I’ll go get it now.”

She stood so quickly that she almost knocked her chair over, but gathered herself with a laugh and made her escape to the empty kitchen. For a moment, she leaned back against the door and pressed her hands to her cheeks.

Three years. Three years of holding herself carefully apart and reminding herself over and over and over again that she had to let him go. Three years, and the tiniest trickle of hope had her stumbling now.

“It’s too much at once,” she said aloud, passing her hands back over her hair before crossing at last to the desserts laid out on the table. “That’s all. It caught me by surprise.”

It was too much. It wasn’t as if she’d ever stopped loving him. Of course not; she might be a practiced liar, but three years was an awfully long time to close her eyes and cover her ears. Hawke had watched Fenris walk out her door and done everything she possibly could to forget what they’d done. Instead, loving him had carved a new sort of groove in her heart. He was one of her dearest friends, and knowing they would never be anything else had allowed her to know him as he truly was. Fenris was flawed, irritable, biased, short of temper when pressed…but also clever, strong, kind when he had no call for it, thoughtful even when he thought nobody would notice, and unfailingly loyal.

When they’d stumbled up the stairs to her bedroom three years ago, she had wanted him more than anything. It was a desire that had overridden any good sense she had left, that had rushed her where she knew better than to go, but she was wiser now. Maria loved Fenris down to her bones and knew she always would, but that needn’t change anything. She’d be a fool to think otherwise now.

“Alright,” she told the cake, decadently draped with summer fruits. “Alright. I can handle this.”

“Do you need help?” Fenris asked behind her.

Clearly, she had been too lost in thought if she hadn’t heard him enter. Hawke tried to mask her surprise, but it was difficult after she’d already yelped and clapped a hand to her chest.

Fenris eyed her, one hand pressed to the center of the open door.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean to—”

“No, no, of course you’re not to blame,” Hawke told him, half-laughing. “I’m afraid I was lost in my thoughts. Thank you for fetching me back.”

He studied her for a moment. There was something soft in his face. She was certain she was not imagining or inventing that much. Perhaps it was only the release of a lifetime’s worth of fear and anger. Perhaps he was relieved to stay, too.

It didn’t explain why his ears were faintly red, but she wasn’t the only one who’d been drinking, was she?

“Thank you,” she told him when he rounded the little table and took the other side of the platter. “It’s heavy to manage on one’s own.”

“Then we will carry it together,” Fenris said gravely. When he bent his head to look down at it, a lock of pale hair drifted over his forehead.

“Ready?” he asked, and unexpectedly lifted his eyes to hers. Hawke blinked and nodded once, unable to look away for a moment. She was clumsy in a way that had nothing to do with her hands, but it seemed she would go on stumbling. Perhaps she ought to just resign herself to this. It would pass in time, when she got her feet under her. She was sure of it.

“Always,” she told him.

Fenris hesitated, opening his mouth to speak, but shook his head instead.

“Lead on,” he told her, as he had a hundred times before, and Hawke turned her attention instead to the path back to the dining room.

Well—most of her attention, anyway.

#fenris #hawke #fenhawke #maria hawke #prompt response #shivunin scrivening #this was sooooo good for them anon sorry it took so long!#just the like. 'clearly Something has changed and i don't know what to do with my hands' of it all

18 notes · View notes