#ideal mart

[4xplay-or-2not]

In very local news , desperate people doing desperate things all while being stupid.

[whimsyquill]

Can't stop thinking about The Ghoul scrabbling around on the floor of the Super Duper mart for drugs, so desperate for liquor that he's pouring it over his face, only to come face to face with the very moment he first betrayed his ideals. Feo, fuerte e formal.

[metranart]

The sound of Hawk's voice was something you still hear when you close your eyes, undertones of something deeper, something similar to devotion... almost too caring... asking you to bare his children and become completely and irrevocably, HIS.

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Dabi x Hawks, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader (in future chaps)

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 14)

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Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

-

Hawks felt like a glorified asshole for keeping an eye on you instead of doing his patrols. But he couldn't help it... he was just drawn to you like a magnet. Now, you were the gravitational force of his entire universe.

A loose gray sweatshirt covered up to your thighs, it was large and easily hid your identity. Those honey marbles that he called eyes, followed you closely bouncing from solitary tops of buildings, wondering where you were going in such a hurry and with so much stealth.

"What are you up to, baby bird?"

After all the commotion created in the dorms the night the Nomu attacked you, the last thing you wanted was to attract more attention.

The days to come it was difficult to find a moment alone especially with how overprotective your friends got, but you finally managed to shake them off a little, making up a credible enough excuse to go out alone even when Bakugo insisted proficiently on tagging along. 

You reassured him, and quickly claimed that your parents wanted to see that you were okay in person. Actually, this web of lies was only due to you didn’t want Bakugo by your side when going to the drugstore in search of that, vital and inculpatory, item. 

You moved at a fast pace; it surprised you how sharp you were even when had been unable to close your eyes for the last nights. The thought of already being carrying Hawks' child in your womb plagued you mercilessly.

“I'm gonna stuff you with my chicks, you are gonna look soooooo pretty all swelled and heavy…” you remembered his words, you could even feel his warm breath against your ear.

The sound of his voice was something you still hear when you closed your eyes, undertones of something deeper, something similar to devotion... almost too caring... asking you to bare his children and become completely and irrevocably, HIS.

“I can barely wait to come home to my pretty little wifey, waiting for me—” he had claimed, reverently—as if you were meant to be his most prized person, “...round belly, full of my chicks and big, pretty smile on your face,” his daydream, way too chaotic, way to visceral… “-SO ready for me to fill you again.”

Your favorite Hero had come inside you more times than you could keep count, since you stopped doing it when he reached five. 

You even remember, now like a bittersweet and faraway, fond memory…. that Hawks was your first sexual awakening, at the tender age of fourteen, it was his golden curls and his captivating, carefree smile, that had made your heart skip a beat, that had set your hormones on fire... he, alone had been the protagonist in your first sexual fantasy, your first masturbation session in the privacy of your room, your first fictitious boyfriend, your first crush with a man-.... So, was expected, that this situation should be a dream come true for you, but it wasn't…. Because you were no longer a naive and dreamy girl, and he was no longer the idealized, unattainable Hero. Everything had fallen into place in the most painful way possible.

“Here you go miss, thank you for your purchase." 

The cashier replied as dry as a martini, prejudice peeking out of her cold stare, to which you only gave a soft thank you. Without a doubt, she and her unjustified reaction was a clear example of what to expect in a teenage pregnancy.

 A heavy sigh escaped from your lips as you left the drugstore, you hated the situation you were in. The contents of the paper bag resting on your hand, your best kept secret so far, or so you thought.

Keigo’s skin crawled, the entire time you were inside the drugstore. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the winged hero felt like throwing up. He had used one of his feathers with a hidden microphone, so he could listen to what you ordered at the pharmacy, and his fists had clenched almost homicidally when heard you order 'morning-after pills' and a pregnancy test.

You were his mate, Goddammit! You were supposed to be happy and proud to sport his seed inside your tummy. Hawks sulked feeling highly wounded and offended, and not just for this… but also for yesterday's incident. That Bakugo guy was brazenly prickling at his infinitive patience, the bastard had overstepped his welcome yesterday and now, Hawks got him on his radar. 

The winged blond paced from side to side like a bull seeing red, like a lion caged… yet eventually, after seeing how miserable and slouched you looked while searching for a public bathroom to make the test, his heart softened for you. 

“I’m the worst trash that ever existed," The blond chastised himself, "nevertheless, I'm HER trash now."

Hawks didn’t even try to deny his bizarre infatuation. He, almost proudly, admitted that this was not the end for the two of you- 

He gifted you a month out of the graciousness of his heart, even when he doubted his ability to keep that promise. You were freely looming, in his mind, taunting his every thought. 

So, he kept watch, waiting for something he didn't even know what it was. Nevertheless, his watch has begun, and it shall not end until his dying breath. 

His mind had been set. You were his and he was yours, he could easily overpower you no matter how hard you tried, no matter who you ran to, what you did to try to protect yourself.... there was nothing you could do to stop him, and that simple truth was what was keeping him at ease. Granting you certain freedom from his iron grasp, from his sharp claws.

Finally, you found a public bathroom and ran in, this time the winged hero chose to give you the privacy of urinating on a stick, alone. You deserved that much. So, he patiently waited on the nearby roofs, he would then go get the pregnancy test from the garbage can, without a doubt, you wouldn't take the proof of his sin back to the dorms. So, all he had to do was wait.

You pee on the blessed plastic stick and wait. The instructions said one minute but you felt like two hours had already passed.

"God! Can't this take any longer?!" You complained loudly, nerves eating you alive. The minute passed and suddenly all your courage disappeared along with your desire to know the result.

The plastic stick left abandoned on top of the sink, you just had to take a look at it, but you couldn't move, you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t fucking blink.

What was there would change your life three hundred and sixty degrees.

"Dammit!" you heard yourself curse, burying your face between your hands to massage your temple burdensomely, "...Grow a fuckin' pair and be done with it, (Y/N)-"

"-If you want, I can tell you the result."

You suddenly heard a bubbly voice say, and your hands fell from your face to reveal a girl standing there. A cute brunet with something akin to a smirk, or a very self-indulgent grin on her face.

“I really don’t mind,” she giggled, all teeth and bubbly energy, “nor I will judge you, I’ve been there myself.” Her smile twisted reassuringly, and you sighed, embarrassed at having to resource to a stranger to do this.

“You are way too kind but-”

“Don’t overthink,” the girl stepped closer, offering you her best winning smile, “I’ll look and then you can tell me if you want me to tell you the result, okey?” 

Somehow, her odd and unrequested company felt better than face this alone. You ended up, nodding stoically and she peek at the pregnancy test.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” you repeated, quizzically. “Is that a good ‘Oh’ or a bad ‘Oh’?” your voice sounded weird even to you.

The girl cracked a wide smile taking the test in her hand. “Well that depends on you, do you want to be a mommy or not?”

You heart fluttered awkwardly at the bold use of term mommy. You shook your head anxiously, and she hummed in understanding. 

“I see.” The girl conceded in a weird resignation, “too bad, you're so pretty... they would have been very cute children."

Oxygen refilled your lungs again, and you felt as if your life with dreams and hopes, was turned back on. A devastating feeling of relief washing over you.

“Thank god!” you beamed with so much relief, you even felt like hugging this opportune strange, girl. “That means, I’m not with child.”

“Nop.” She corroborated, handing you the test back, yet you refused to touch it.

“I don't want to have one of those in my hand again for a long time,” you admitted, honestly, “you can throw it away.”

“Sure,” the girl did, and after an unholy and vast blast of thank you’s, you parted ways with your anonymous hero. Almost skipping on your feet all the way out.

“Thank you again.” You screamed back, once at the exit door. “Sure, it was my pleasure...-” You left, and the door slowly swayed until it closed completely, and the girl added, “-(Y/N).”

Once alone, she reached into the trash can and retrieved the pregnancy test, giggling the whole time.

"A heroine-to-be shouldn't be so trusting." A macabre smile spread across her face, and she tilted her head at the test in her hand, "...I wonder why Dabi is so interested in Hawks' toy?" Toga wanted to rip her face off, but she had chosen one so pretty that decided to stay in costume a little longer. "Well, it doesn't matter, Dabi said he’ll pay me for this, anyway."

Still, in disguise, pocketed the pregnancy test and left without raising any suspicion. 

Hawks kept pacing on the roof, desperation clear in every stomp of his boots. He was doing his best to be patient while searching. The blond had been looking for the evidence for more than half a day, the damn pregnancy test, he sent a dozen of his feathers in search of it, but nothing... had you taken it with you? One would only keep a test if it was positive, right?! Were you pregnant with his nugget?!?... Was he really that lucky?

“Hawks, where are you? over.” His radio came to live, once again and this time felt he couldn’t dodge his Hero responsibilities anymore, “We have not had any communication from you all day, over.”

Hawks inhaled sharply before answering. “I am on surveillance, please do not use this channel unless it is an emergency.”

“It's not an emergency, but I thought it was prudent to let you know before accepting, over."

The night was already upon him, and the cleaning man was just leaving his shift. Hawks sighed, heavily. He had lost his chance to find anything. 

"Speak."

"You have to say over when you finish talking." Hawks deadpanned; he wasn’t in the mood for this.

"Speak." He repeated, sternly, patience close to its limit. The person on the other end sighed, "UA Academy is calling for reinforcements for this year's sports festival, over," the voice on the other end said and suddenly he felt very interested, "continue."

The radio biped again, "They fear an attack from the League of Villains, since yesterday someone managed to throw a projectile through the shield and break a gym window,” Hawks listened attentively, an impious smirk slowly twisting his lips up, apparently his little outburst had had interesting consequences. The person on the other side continued, “and therefore, they request the help of Pro-heroes to avoid any incident. Endeavor, Mirko, Best Jeanist and Ryukyu have already been confirmed," the voice explained, "I think It would be an overkill if you were to-"

"I accept, confirm my attendance immediately." There was an awkward silence before the radio biped again, "Are you sure? We have no intel of an attack from the League, you would be the first to know, I think they are overreacting-"

"Better safe than sorry."

Long silence, and then.

"If you say so, over and out."

The memory of yesterday's incident made his blood burn again, he knew it wasn't your fault but that of your little friend: Bakugo, that shameless son of a bitch, that made him foam at the mouth like a mad dog, it made him want to kill someone... it made him need to get even, and suddenly, the blue eyes and stapled skin of his lover in turn, spark in his brain... Dabi could take it, he'd even love it.. Hawks left the roof in a rush of crimson feathers and sent a text message.

Hawks. -

See you at the agreed place.

Dabi. -

So fast, birdbrains?

Hawks didn't answer, just heading to the agreed upon location.

-

“Give it here, Toga.” Dabi entered the room where Toga was upside down on the couch, scrolling through her cell phone. He needed to close that before meeting Hawks. "...I assume you have what I asked for?"

Toga sat up straight and stretched her back soundly, before answering. "I got it," she assured, "...where's my payment?"

Dabi took out a box of fine sweets, from the best store in town. Store that at this moment was being put out by firefighters after the sudden and unsuspected electrical short that set it on fire. If only.

"First give me the evidence and I'll give you the box." Dabi offered with a bored grimace, and Toga pulled the coveted item out of her backpack.

"At the same time?"

Dabi shrugged, unconcerned. After both snatched the precious items from each other’s hands in a quick exchange, the pregnancy test rested in his scarred hand. Without ceremony, Toga ripped the box open and stuffed her mouth, making her words difficult to understand.

"Why aw-re you interestwed in Hawks' girlwfriend?"

A pierced eyebrow rose on the dark-haired man's face. 

"How many lines for positive or negative?" the turquoise-eyed asked, openly ignoring her ramblings. 

Toga shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, I never knew how to read them." She admitted in all honesty, stuffing her cheeks with more candy.

Dabi grimaced, and luckily for him Kurogiri’s timing couldn’t be better. The dark purple mist appeared out of thin air behind the bar. Misty's hands beginning to clean glasses, absentmindedly.

"Oi Kurogiri, do you know how to read these things?"

The dark purple mist's yellow eyes stared sharply at the item in his hand before meeting his eyes for a brief minute, and then returning his gaze to the pregnancy test. "I have some knowledge about it."

Dabi stepped closer, handing him the test. Kurogiri’s eyes fixed on the stripes and Dabi’s lips pursed, unable to know if he was smiling or scoffing when he ended up saying quite politely.

"Congratulations, Dabi."

COMING SOON PART 15....

➡️ NSFW Artwork of this story

@wtvbabes @dreamlessnight @naomi1247e @alicecil87 @geniejunn @justanerd1 @bakugosgirl01 @toxicxmindsposts @kezybear

[khvis]

' de todas formas todas estos viajes nos han ayudado a aprender de forma presencial, aunque yo prefiero la teórica ' admite suave, observando a compañera por encima de sus pestañas. ¿era un cliché andante? por supuesto que sí, no le gustaba tener que entrenar y no se le daban bien los viajes en avión. ' mis compañeres lo hicieron muy bien, estoy feliz de que nos regalaron una cena para celebrar ' asiente varias veces, era lo que se merecían y en su grupo nunca lo dejaban pagar si iban a comer por lo que agradece al profesor oliviar de regalarles una buena cena. ' pienso mucho en lammas, no debe ser fácil. no han salido de la c ' y realmente lamentaba que el destino le jugase de esa forma. después de la disolución de mabom, le había costado bastante salir de ese último lugar. sabe que no tiene que ver con él, pero se pone en su lugar. ' supongo que así es el oficio, nunca sabes donde tendrás que trabajar. aunque me molesta el sol ' estaba inclemente, caluroso y no sabe cuántas capaz de protector solar tiene encima. ' ¿de señor y señora smith? ' porque recuerda aquella conversación que habían tenido hace mucho tiempo. ' supongo que sí, puedo verlos a ambos en el restaurant hablando de lo mucho que se quieren matar mientras beben un rico vino rojo. '

‘ eso sí, aún con todo lo prefiero a un plan de estudios reducido a pasar los días en un escritorio ’ por la naturaleza de su trabajo, prefiere las tareas más dinámicas. los pétalos se aprietan en una pequeña línea cuando lo escucha, lo cierto es que no se había fijado en nombres más allá de lo entonado por el profesor. ‘ va, si al final todo forma parte del conjunto ’ por muy individual que fuera, quiere decir. ‘ lo mismo digo, tener una recaída sería terrorífico ’ el trauma de la limpieza de excrementos habla por sí solo. ‘ el lugar es maravilloso, una lástima que estemos aquí para resolver un homicidio ’ suspira, habiendo de elevar el cuadernito que porta, el interior está repleto de anotaciones. ‘ ¿no crees? ’  ladea la cabeza con gracia, animada a ensanchar la sonrisa en visión del mayor. ‘ me parece hasta romántico que decidieran esta escenografía, ¿recuerdas esa vez que hablamos de películas? tiene esa atmósfera ’

[cherrycola27]

A Favor Among Friends

Masterlist Next Part

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, historical inaccuracies. Regency era men and ideals. Eventual Smut. RegencyEra!AU Banner Credit @thedroneranger

...........................................

Part 1: The First Ball of the Season

Dearest Reader,

I am sure you, just like I am, are buzzing about the upcoming social season. This year's marriage mart is filled with the cream of the crop and overflowing with perfectly beautiful ladies and perfectly handsome gentlemen.

This narrator is excited to see what matches are made this year.

But before the first ball of the season, I hope you all place your bets as to which ladies will find success and which will be left broken hearted.

All eyes this year, seem to be on the house of Lord and Lady Beaumont. At the ripe age of six-and-twenty, their daughter, Miss Y/N Beaumont, enters her fourth social season without a husband. With het older sister being the Dutchess of Miramar, and her older brother set to inherent the family title, one can only wonder why Miss Beaumont has yet to secure a match, and what her family plans to do if she fails again this season.

However, it seems there will be some excitement that many young ladies, and their mamas can look foward too.

After an extended period away in the Americas, this narrator is thrilled to report that the Viscount Bradley Bradshaw has returned to London in hopes to take a wife this season. The only question is, who will be the lucky lady that will catch his eye?

...........................................

"Isn't it wonderful to be back in London?" Your mother chirped from the carriage. "Yes, quite wonderful." You responded, not taking your eyes away from the passing landscape. You sighed.

You dreaded being back in London. You already knew that people would be whispering about you in hushed corners. Girls would giggle and cover their smirks as you walked by, a buzz about that fact that you were old, and still unwed.

It's not that you didn't want to marry. You just didn't want to make the wrong choice. You wanted someone who was kind and valued you as more than a body to carry a child. You wanted someone who liked your wit and charm and appreciated the many talents you had.

"Darling." Your mother called, snapping you out of your trance.

"Hmm?" You hummed back as you turned to face her and your father.

"I asked if you enjoyed your time in Miramar with your sister and the Duke?" Your mother repeated. "Yes, Mama, it was absolutely splendid. William, Micheal, and Violet have grown so much since you've seen them last." You beamed as you talked about your niece and nephews.

You had spent several months helping your sister tend to them while she looked for a governess. It had truly been a splendid time, and you wished you had been able to say forever. But, your parents insisted you come home.

"Wonderful." Your mother smiled before her expression turned more serious. "Y/N, there is something your father and I must discuss with you."

"What?" You asked her. "We know that you have had some difficulties securing a match. It is very noble for you to hold out for love, but sometimes, one must forego love and find a sensible match." Your mother began.

"What do you mean?" You say. "What I mean is—" she sighs. "Your sister is a Dutchess. Your brother will inherit the estate, and you— you will have nothing. And I know Eddie would never let you go without, but darling, your father and I want to know you will be taken care of once we are gone." She tells you.

"Eddie and Clarissa would make sure I'm taken care of. So would Marianne and George." You say.

"We know they would." Your father speaks up finally. "But it is not their job. That is the job of a husband. Which is why your mother and I have decided that if you do not secure a match by the end of the season, we will find one for you." He states.

"What?" You shriek. "An arranged marriage? I will not agree to it." You huff. "You don't have a choice. We love you, but we will not let you tarnish the family name by becoming a spinster!" Your father declares.

You open your mouth to respond, but he shoots you a look that lets you know his mind is made up and that this conversation is over. You sulk into your carriage seat and refuse to look at either of your parents for the remainder of the ride.

............

Your first few days back in London are a flurry of trips to the market, the jeweler, and the modiste. Your mother insists that a new wardrobe will help in your quest to sequester a husband. You're fitted with beautiful drapes of satin and silk and lace for what seems like hours until your mother deems you finished. She does allow you to pick the colors of your garments at least, and so, for the first ball of the season, you choose a deep shade of burgundy. You've always been fond of the color. Even though some would say it's melancholy, you think it's just right. The thought of a dress in that color gives you the tinest bit of hope as you prepare for the season.

..........

Viscount Bradley Bradshaw was not thrilled to be back in London. He would much rather be in the countryside, but he had ignored his estate for too long, and it was now to the point that he could no longer manage on his own. He needed a wife. Someone else to share the burden with.

He didn't need, nor really want, a love match. But he did want someone smart, sensible, kind, and willing to bear his heirs. He wanted someone he could have a conversation with, and that could, at the very least, be his friend.

He'd heard much about the ladies that were available this season, and there seemed to be several promising options. He just hoped he could find someone quickly, have a short courtship, an even shorter engagement, and be married before the meddling mamas sicked their daughters on him.

He ran his hands over his face in the back of his carriage. There were so many things he needed go do this week before the first ball of the season.

He needed to collect a few payments, pay the staffs wages, and head to the tailor. Many of his suits were now too tight in the shoulders. The months he'd spent traveling and made him broader and more muscular than he once was. He couldn't risk being on the dance floor with a potential wife and have his seams bust.

He glanced outside his carriage and saw the parade of ladies and their mothers walking around and gossiping.

"One season, Bradley, you can do this for one season." He whispered to himself before grabbing his journal and writing.

...............

The first ball at the home of Lord and Lady Whittmore came faster than you imagined. It seemed you'd just unpacked your trunk when your ladies' maids came in to help you dress and prepare for the evening.

They tied your corsets and stays, fastened each tiny button, styled your hair into an elegant half up, half down hairstyle, and helped you adorn yourself with a few simple jewels that your mother insisted on.

Standing back from your mirror, you looked every bit the part of an eligible bachelorette. Your deep red dress accentuated your features. The sparkling stones sewn onto it caught the light beautifully.

Your silk gloves elongated your arms, and the garnet necklace and earrings you wore matched your dress perfectly.

Your father smiled warmly, and your mother gasped when you descended the stairs to the foyer where they were waiting for you along with your brother and his wife.

"Y/N! You look most marvelous. Surely you will be the crown jewel of the ball!" Your sister-in-law, Clarissa, gushed as she hugged you.

"Thank you, Clarissa." You smiled at her warmly before your mother ushered everyone out to the carriages. You rode with Eddie and Clarissa to the Whittmore estate, thankful to have a reprieve from your parents talking your ear off about how important it was for you to find a match, and this ball would be your best chance.

The Whittmore estate was lovely when you arrived. Candles lit up the great rooms, lively string music played. There was delicious food and drinks at every corner. Lady Whittmore handed you your dance card, which you quickly secured around your wrist.

Your brother insisted on taking you on a turn about the room, which meant you stopped to talk to several noblemen and had several ask to place their name on your card.

You can't remember half of those you danced with. Just that they would step on your feet or only talk about themselves. Anytime they asked you a question, it was about how many children you wanted and if you knew how to run a house. They didn't care that you were well read, knew three languages, or that you could play the harp. Heirs, and lots of them. That's all they cared about.

After a quatrain with some Lord old enough to be your father, you stepped away from the dance floor in hopes of taking a break and catching your breath. You grabbed a glass of champagne and tried to find a quiet place to sit and have a moment to yourself. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. A large body collided with yours, causing you to trip and spill your drink, and there's all over yourself.

"Oh my goodness! This dress is new!" You shrieked as you frantically tried to dry it with your hankerchief.

"My apologies, Miss. I wasn't watching where I was going." The person who crashed into you said.

"Of course you weren't. You Lords waltz around here with your noses so high in the air that you forget to look down and pay attention." You shot back at them.

There was a moment of silence where you realized that you probably shouldn't have said that. Especially if you wanted to find a husband.

"I'm sor—" you began as you looked up. But once you saw who it was, your words died in your throat.

"Bradley Bradshaw?" You breathed not, not quite believing it was him standing before you. "Ducky? Ducky Beaumont? Is that you?" He asked with a smile.

"No one calls me Ducky anymore, not even Edmond." You say. "Well then, what do they call you?" Bradley asked you.

"Mine name, or Miss Beaumont." You reply. "Miss Beaumont?" Bradley asks you.

"Yes. I am still Miss Beaumont, even though this is my fourth season." You sigh. "Well— I have a had time believing that you of all people struggle with finding a match, Ducky." Bradley smiles at you.

You're just about to correct him again when he suddenly grabs your hand and sweeps you out onto the floor for a waltz. "What was that all about, Lord Bradshaw?" You ask him using his formal title.

"Well, Ducky. There is a young lady who has been pestering me all evening, and I needed to get away from her." Bradley said as he directed your attention to a girl who looked rather annoyed with you.

"Ah, I see." You chuckle. "So, Ducky, tell me, how have you gone four seasons without a husband?" Bradley asks you as the two of you dance.

"It is Miss Beaumont, Lord Bradshaw. We are no longer children, and I am no longer chasing you and my brother around the countryside while our mothers play cards." You say to him. "But, I have simply not been able to find someone who appreciates me and is kind. Everyone only cares about how many children I want and what my dowery is. Not once today have I been asked if I read or if I know another language or if I can play an instrument!" You huff. Bradley chuckles.

"Well, do you read?" He asks you before giving you a spin. "Yes, I read all kinds of books." You reply. "Do you know any other languages?" He asks with a chuckle. "I know three! I speak Spanish, French, and Italian!" You exclaim. "And what about musical instruments? Can you play any?" He smiles at you. "I am most accomplished with the harp." You smile back at him.

"Well, you are very well rounded, Miss Beaumont, certainly interesting." Bradley tells you.

"And you are the only person in this room who knows that. Which is probably why I am on my way to be an old maid at the age of six-and-twenty." You sigh.

"That is not old. I am not much older than that myself. I went to school with your brother, and we are both barely two-and-thirty." Bradley says as the song ends.

"Well, I appreciate the thought. Thank you for the dance, Lord Bradshaw." You say as you curtsey to him.

"No, thank you, Ducky." He smiles and winks at you before bowing and walking away.

You had butterflies in your belly for the rest of the evening. If you were being truthful with yourself, you'd always had feelings for Bradley. Ever since you were a girl, you were captivated by your brother's best friend, always chasing the two of them around your estate, which earned you the nickname he so foundly called you.

You can remember the exact moment you realized your feelings for Bradley weren't platonic. It was when you were fourteen, and he and your brother had come home from their second year at university. The tall, lanky boy you'd spent summers with had filled out into a broad, brawny man.

And even though he was older, Bradley was always kind to you. Which is why it crushed you that he went away the same year you made your debut. You'd always hoped that maybe—just maybe—he would court you.

Maybe that's why you'd never tried too hard to find a suitor because deep down, you were holding out for Bradley. And now, that he's back, you hope that this might be the year that you find a husband.

..............

The next day, you were giddy as calling hours approached. You prayed that if anyone came, it would be Bradley.

When a valet came and said there was a caller for you, you practically leaped from your seat on the sofa, only to be met with disappointment that it was Lord Artenson. He was followed by Lord Phillips, Lord Martin, and Lord Herrington, who was determined to have you as his third wife.

You sighed and resigned yourself to reading a book once Lord Herrington finally left. Calling hours were almost over, and you were silently disappointed that Bradley had not come. But really, it was foolish of you to think that he would. You were his best friend's little sister, practically his own little sister. You were his Ducky, and he would never think of you as anything more.

You were just about to head upstairs to your room and your parents to their own when a valet came in the drawing room.

"Excuse me Lord and Lady Beaumont, it seems there is another visitor here for Miss Beaumont." He spoke.

"Really?" Your father asked. "Who is it?"

"The Viscount Bradshaw."

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[lovingapparition]

If Would Sure Do Me Good (to do you good)

Genre: Angst, Slow Burn, Smalltown American Aesthetics

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

A retired Simon moves to town. There are vibes.

Light warning for not very subtle sugar daddy implications that will ramp up later on.

AO3 Link

Modern civilization would be all but dead and gone, turned to dust, before this guy stopped talking. He's a regular at this dingy little convenience store, in at exactly 5:15pm Monday through Friday because it's, “just down the road from my job, and on my way home!” he reminds you, over and over as if you could possibly forget after being told for the second time that week. He insists you call him Pat but you never do, he's mostly just this fucking guy in your head. And boy, does this fucking guy love to yap your ears off. 

You blink rapidly, not that he notices, focusing in on his hands. They're dirty, always are, with some weird mystery grime that makes you vaguely queasy when he hands you his warm dollar bills. You think he might be a mechanic, he must have told you at some point, but information like that doesn't really stick during the evening rushes because hello dude there's like ten people behind you- 

Deep breaths. You are taking deep breaths, nodding, and smiling. The guy pauses for a breath, and you pounce. “So your total’s gonna be $13.47, the usual,” with a tight smile, your jaw a little clenched. Across the counter, he hums and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He's still describing something, gesticulating with his free hand before he pulls out a few bills. Through a couple of well-placed hums and nods you manage to focus on counting the proper change from the drawer. He pockets it without recounting his bills, too busy looking right at you as he tells you to, “Have a good night. Stay warm, honey.” 

Ugh. 

At least the next few transactions go quick, other people also getting off work but not as willing to talk your ear off. The weather was too cold for anyone else to feel like idly chatting. Your shift was just beginning, and already you felt worn out. Working evenings into the early hours of the morning wasn't ideal, but a job is a job. You value paying your rent more than seeing the sun or having time to hang out with your friends and family, at the moment. At least your cat was always happy to see you at one in the morning. 

When the first rush eventually slows down, you're able to take what feels like your first real breath since clocking in. You let your mind wander as you wipe the counters down, fill out the daily logs, and stare at the grimy spot on the ceiling that seems to grow inch by inch each time it rains or snows. It's all become a familiar routine, as horrifically boring as it is. You'd listen to a podcast or something in one ear bud if you could, but your phone barely got service inside the old building. A perk of the cheapest phone plan you could find.

The night goes without too much fuss, and when you've tidied the shelves and double-checked that your boss hasn't left any cryptic notes for you to interpret, you find yourself leaning against the counter. There's early 2000’s rock playing softly over the old speakers, and you desperately wish that your boss would give you permission to change it to anything other than 98.8 FM The Rock. 

Against your will you hum along to a Nickelback song as you watch the clock tick its way closer and closer to 9:30pm. Lunch. Also known as the only time you were allowed to lock the store. Your boss doesn't really vibe with the idea of paying two people at a time, so obviously you still had to help customers on your fifteen-minute breaks.

Halfway through the song you step out from behind the counter to go lock the front door. It's dark outside, and the street lamps cast everything in a warm, rusty yellow. The unshoveled and slushy snow looks like crushed gold, mixed with the oil and dirt from the parking lot. Inside, the lights inside Mo’s Mart buzz overhead. Their sickly green cast makes you feel a little ill if you think about it too hard. Looking outside just reminds you of it. You try to not feel disappointed as you trudge back to the counter to sit down for the first time in four and a half hours. 

The stool beneath you is only a little rickety, and you sigh as you lower yourself into it. For lunch you pull a bag of potato chips out of your bag. You'd bought them from the store yesterday and saved half for tonight. At a certain point the frozen burritos and hot pockets stopped being appetizing. This isn't much better, though. The chips are already going a little stale, gumming up in your molars as you chew. 

You're in the middle of digging at the crevices in your teeth with your tongue, zoned completely out as you stare at yesterday's crossword section from a newspaper your boss had left out. To be without. Six letters across and it ends in T. You're tapping your pen against the paper in thought, trying to ignore the urge to check the clock to see how much time you've got left on your break. You know you've got to have at least- 

The locked front door clunking in the frame snatches your attention. You sigh. There are three loud knocks on the glass. You set your pen down. Without a doubt in your mind you know you taped the handwritten, “On break! Back at 10!” sign up at eye level. When you look up and make eye contact with the man out front, this only seems to incense him. You recognize him, a regular who's never really happy about anything. Why he keeps shopping at Mo’s you'll never understand. He shouts something that's muffled through the door, like you're the asshole right now. A quick glance tells you that you've got eight minutes until the inevitably awkward confrontation where you have to let him in. You would rather sink into the tiled floor and never come out. It almost makes the rest of the break not even worth taking.

Almost. 

Trying to quell the unease his presence brings, you stay behind the counter. It's your break, and it's your right to take it without having to worry about some guy who wants his convenience store snacks in the middle of the night.

When you approach the door you try to avoid his eyes, you can practically feel him staring daggers already. As soon as the lock turns in your fingers he's pushing the door open, brushing past you as he haphazardly stomps the snow and salt off of his boots. You mentally add sweeping and mopping back onto your short mental to-do list. 

You count your breath on the inhale, and again on the exhale, as you walk back to the counter. The small monitor on the cluttered counter shows the store’s security cameras on three separate little boxes. You’re vaguely aware of the man hovering by the liquor section, but you can’t bring yourself to head out into the center of the store to bother him in the hopes of deterring theft, your boss be damned. His abrupt entry brought in enough cold air to make you shiver and jam your hands into your pockets. Standing behind the counter gives you an odd sense of security as the guy wanders from aisle to aisle. You know exactly where the store's panic button is under the counter should anything go away. Some cynical part of you wonders if it even works, knowing how cheap Mo is. 

The door chiming as someone else enters the store jolts you out of thought. You turn your head to greet the customer and you're met with probably the scariest individual you've ever seen. He's huge, wearing a heavy black work coat that doesn't hide the bulk of his body. The fact that he's wearing a skull print balaclava is what makes it worse. This guy could be totally normal and just wearing it because it's snowing out. He could also be about to ruin your night. 

He's looking right at you as he beelines to the counter. 

Anxiety bleeds into your hands, makes them feel like you've just stuck them in freezing water. Slowly, you take them out of your pockets and press them flat on the counter. You watch your own fingers spread out. From some job training or another, you recall that it's worse to look into the eyes of someone trying to rob you. “Hey there,” you try and fail to sound like you're not nervous. “What can I get you?” He's quiet for a long time. Too long. Risking a glance up at him, you find he's not even looking at you. The guy is carefully scanning the rows of cigarettes behind you.

You breathe a small sigh of relief. He doesn't say anything and you don't feel like pushing your luck tonight. You scoot over to the side and quietly thumb over your abandoned crossword. With a quick glance up you can see the man running a gloved hand over his jaw. There's a faint sound of his stubble rubbing against the balaclava. His eyes are dark, half lidded. Without moving his head, his gaze flicks to meet yours, and you look away without even thinking. Bright blue. Jesus Christ this is awkward. You tap your pen against the newsprint, wishing whatever was happening right now would just end. This guy isn't a regular, and he's certainly no one you've ever seen around town. Fingers crossed he's just passing through, never to be seen again. 

“Hey dickhead, anytime now!” Your head jerks up. The masked man slowly looks over his shoulder. The guy who came in earlier is cradling a bottle of cheap rum and a liter of coke, clearly pissed about the long wait. Your stomach feels like it's about to fall out of your ass. A stranger you've never seen and a pissy regular, what could possibly go wrong? Chewing at your lip, you take a step back from the counter. 

“Hey Marvin, I can get you over here. Relax,” you say over the stranger's shoulder, just barely managing to remember his name. You've carded him everyone else in this town enough to remember a few faces. The giant man in front of you steps over wordlessly as if Marvin hadn't just insulted him. Wanting to get him out as quickly as possible to avoid anymore confrontation, you check Marvin out. He's still grumbling to himself, working the toothpick in his cheek with his teeth. “Have a good night. Drive safe,” you tell him as you hand him his brown paper-bagged liquor. Marvin scoffs at you and yanks his items from your hands. You try not to react as he lets the door slam on his way out. 

The fluorescent lights buzz above you. Coldplay is on the radio, crackling softly. The man approaches your register, already reaching into his coat for his wallet. “I'll have your cheapest menthols,” he rumbles in an accent you've definitely never heard in town. What the hell was this guy doing in Mo’s this late at night? The vibes were sketching you the fuck out. You school your face into as neutral of an expression as you can manage and turn to reach for a pack of Marlboro Black Menthol 100’s from the shelf of tobacco products behind you. The man is looking down at your crossword, still unfinished, when you turn back to him. You were half tempted to ask where he was from. You don’t. 

When you ask him for ID he hands you a card from his wallet. Upon inspection, you find that it’s a British Military ID and heavily censored. It only tells you his first and last name initials. S. R. The photo is censored as well. As far as you can tell, it looks real to you. If it’s not, then he’s gone through an awful lot of effort for the worst cigarettes Mo’s has to offer. You weren’t in the business of prying. Most everyone else who lives in town you stopped carding years ago. Over time you just know through the grapevine who has what birthdays and when. Hard not too. Regardless, you nod uneasily at the man and carefully slide his ID back to his side of the counter.

You tell the man his total and he slides you a crisp twenty, avoids touching you directly. With a quick hand, you count his change back to him. It's all very normal until he neatly drops the cash into the dusty tip jar by the register. What the fuck? The cigarettes were barely five dollars, and you're pretty sure in your entire tenure at Mo's you've never been tipped anything other than the loose coins people don't want to keep. You're in the middle of trying to figure out how to thank him when he nods to you once, and turns to leave. 

Stunned, you have no idea how to react. Genuinely what the fuck was any of that? You eye the tip jar suspiciously as if the man had filled it with Monopoly money instead of enough cash to buy yourself a couple of hot meals. You entertain the idea of going to the local burger place you used to love as a kid. Hot, fresh fries and a large coke would probably fix you at least a little bit, you think. When you return to the comfort of your crossword you see in very neat, small handwriting, that the last word has been penned in. 

Bereft. 

The rest of the night goes without much else of note happening. You sweep the floors and mop the salt and grey sludge from the entrance. The coolers are stocked and the cash drawer is counted when your replacement arrives at two in the morning. Mo liked to keep the place open 24 hours since it was close enough to a busy highway that folks came through at all hours of the day. Your coworker, Olivier, arrives a little early so you can check them out at the register. Each morning they like to buy an energy drink in a tall pink can and whatever gummies they wanted to snack on that day. You enjoyed the little moments you got to have together. Olivier was one of the few people in this town who you could relate to. Their hair seemed to change color and style by the week, and they always had the best fashion sense. It seemed they were an expert at thrifting in a way you could only dream of. Layering different fabrics and patterns, they seemed to somehow never repeat an exact outfit.

“How was everything? Good night?” they ask, already rooting through their bag of gummies for the blue ones. You shrug, making a high-pitched noise somewhere in your throat. Olivier, bless them, immediately understands. “Did that weird masked guy come in again? He pulled in with a giant moving truck the other night.”

This immediately perks you up. “No shit?” That guy was moving here? “What's wrong with him?” you half-joke as you punch out on the register. Olivier chuckles with you, and the shared judgment over a new face in town reminds you how glad you are to have them. These small moments in the quiet hours of the morning made the town feel like it wasn't so small and empty. 

As you pull your heavy coat on you look out the windows into the parking lot. The lot had been heavily salted, but it was dusting snow. You could see the suspended motes in the yellow street lights outside. Part of you was a little jealous of Olivier. This time of the morning always seemed so peaceful and quiet. You knew you’d never want to work their hours though. Waking up at midnight to get ready for work? No thanks. You wish Olivier a good shift as you pull your gloves on, before pushing out into the parking lot. The air shocks a chill into your chest as you breathe it in. Your breath puffs in a heavy cloud as you exhale. Already you could feel your fingers burning as the cold licked it’s way through your heavy layers. Awkwardly, to avoid slipping, you shuffle your way across the lot to your truck. It’s a little blue beat-up thing. How you’ve managed to keep it running all these years, you have no idea. Apparently, luck and hoping for the best are good enough for the ancient beater. It takes a couple tries to get the engine to turn over, and you sigh in relief when it finally roars to life. After idling in the cabin for a few minutes, you shift into drive and begin the slow crawl home. The roads aren’t plowed, but it’s not slick enough to worry you. The sound of snow crunching beneath the tires, barely audible over the low hum of the radio, accompanies you home. 

When you pull into the driveway you can feel your shift finally weighing down on you. You turn the key and slouch down in the seat, eyes shut. Your feet are cold. Your shoulders sag under your heavy coat, but you're somehow not warm enough. The cold always finds a way in. After a few moments, you manage to drag yourself out of the truck and you make the short walk to your front door. The only benefit of small-town living was the fact that you could afford the rent on this little house. Never mind the fact that you were pretty sure your landlord lived about an hour and forty-five minutes up the highway and owned most of the houses in your street. 

Your nightly routine goes without much fuss. Tabitha, your cat, is pleased that you've come home on time to refill her dish with wet food. You undress, shower, and bundle back up in your warmest sleeping clothes. The house is cold, no matter how well you insulate the windows and the cracks in the baseboards. In the dark, you sit in bed with microwaved pasta in its plastic packaging with the instructions on the side. It's not good but it warms your belly and fills you up. As you eat you scroll on your phone, lazily browsing your social media and clicking through posts. Your mind wanders to the man you saw today. He was odd, and him moving here was even stranger. In all your life you can't really remember anyone moving into the town. Mostly your friends from high school have slowly trickled out, save for Olivier. You weren't sure why you'd never left for the bigger city, you'd just never felt the pull to get out and see more. 

When you sleep that night it's restless as ever. You wake up often, teeth chattering. Your cat is nestled somewhere beneath the blankets with you, and you're careful not to roll onto her. You vow to do a once over, just to see if you can stuff any more of your hand-me-down towels into the draftier baseboards. It feels like it's been winter forever now, but with Christmas barely around the corner, you knew it had just begun. 

—

You start seeing that guy around town. You pass by him in the grocery store. He's got a cart full of stuff, and you figure he's just stocking his kitchen. You grab your scant groceries, milk, and some canned goods that will last. While you're in the checkout line he pushes his cart behind you, leaving a respectful amount of space. You're not really the type to engage in the painfully long-winded Midwestern custom of talking about everything you possibly can, so you don't acknowledge him. You set your items down on the belt when it's your turn, and you offer a polite smile to the cashier. 

“Hey, find everything okay?” he asks, nice as you please. 

“I did, thanks Carter.” He was a few grades above you back in school. He also stuck around after his class had graduated. You vaguely wonder each time about his dreams of joining the military, and whatever happened to them. Maybe it was just life that happened. You know he's got a little boy to take care of with his high school sweetheart and another on the way. Maybe that was all it came down to, at the end of the day. 

Carter tells you your total and you mentally curse. You'd counted your cash twice before you'd come in the store, and you were certain you'd been doing the right math as you grabbed your items. Carter gently angles the register's screen to you so you can see the line items. God damn. You'd just plain miscalculated, probably too tired to keep it all straight in your head. You look down at the things you'd grabbed, trying to calculate what you could do without. You force a laugh. Humiliation roils in a dark pit in your chest. You find yourself speaking without thinking, “Oh whoops! Sorry, go ahead and take off the soup cans.” Carter, bless his heart, doesn't make a fuss. He punches the register keys quickly and counts the cash you hand him. You very much do not want to look at the stranger behind you. You pray to whatever god might be listening that maybe he wasn't being as nosey as everyone else was in this town, and that he didn't just hear that you can't really afford an armful of groceries. 

Carter hands you your single plastic bag, tells you to “Have a good one, hon,” You speed walk back to your truck, your breath puffing in clouds around you. 

–

The next time you see him you're driving to work. The radio is playing softly and your truck's heaters are blowing semi-cold air onto you. You're stopped at a light when you see the guy, dressed in a light coat and the same balaclava. He's jogging, somehow managing to work a sweat on the cold. You have no idea what kind of psychopath goes on a run in the dead of winter. When the light turns green you have to drag your eyes off of him before you accelerate through the light. 

It was rare that anyone in your town went on a jog. Unheard of in the winter. You were certain the old ladies would be gossiping up a storm at church. You figured it was no different than you and Olivier at Mo’s. You smile at the thought of sharing your sighting of the masked stranger with Olivier tonight. The little chats in the quiet morning hours were a light in the dark of winter. 

It was easy to get lost in the cold. It seemed all your waking hours were spent in the dark, during these months. You'd wake up later in the afternoon, always too tired to rise any earlier. It wasn't great for your mental health, but neither would being homeless. You'd take your victories where you could get them. Without much family nearby to rely on, you had to get by on your own.

The joy of adulthood.

–

You see him again that same night. He comes in around midnight. He's the first customer in around an hour. There had been a small rush of truckers passing through, trying to make it off the major highways before some snowfall was forecast to hit the area. You note that he's better dressed for the weather than he was earlier while he was jogging. He's in the same black work coat and leather gloves as before. You find it hard to meet his eye when he approaches the counter. 

Something about seeing him in town made the transaction feel off in a way that you've never experienced before. Getting Janet her pack of Marlboro Reds and ringing her son Nick up for his energy drinks was never sullied by the fact that you saw them at the Sonic Drive-In in their old beater from time to time. Seeing him now with the sense that he was apparently sticking around in town made you feel strange. You didn't know anything about him besides his initials and the skull print on his balaclava. Knowing he was likely some retired military operative from a foreign country was nerve-wracking and exciting and weird as hell for your little town. You had no idea how to interact with him. 

When you're getting the register open to count his change, you can't help but blurt out, “Are you liking it here?” Immediately you wish you could stuff the words back in your mouth when you see his eyes flick to meet yours. How on Earth could anyone be enjoying one of the worst winters your town has seen in years? 

To your surprise he humors you. “It's nice. Quiet,” he says after a beat. You blink at him, quickly looking back down to the cash you're supposed to be counting back to him. 

“Good. That's good. Folks can be weird about new people, but I'm glad you're settling in.” Oh God, you're rambling. Make it stop. 

To this, he hums. It's a low sound, almost silent, deep in his chest. You suppose that's the only response you're getting as he accepts the cash. You slide his pack of menthols across the counter. Your eyes widen as he doesn’t even recount the bills you’ve handed him, just folds them once and drops them into the tip jar. Sputtering already, cheeks red with embarrassment, you search for words but find none. This had to be about the grocery store. You were completely fine. Really, you were. You get paid this week and you would definitely go back to the store and probably pick up some extra groceries. None of this is coming out of your mouth though, as the man has basically vanished already. You can hear his truck starting up outside, the crunch of the snow and gravel as it pulls out of the lot. 

Guilt rolls through you, thick and familiar. You had no idea what to make of this guy. First, he blows into your dead-end town and starts leaving you ridiculous tips on the cheapest cigarettes possible? What the fuck? It makes you feel ashamed and unnerved. No one had ever given you more than the change they simply didn’t want to carry around, and you’d never expected anything more than that. 

When you talk it over with Olivier that night in the early hours, they eye you mischievously, clearly very interested in the man’s motives to give you excessively large tips. “C’mon, let the guy toss you a little cash here and there, it’s a free country. He can do what he wants, even if it's to give all his money away,” they tease over the lip of an energy drink. You hang your head, groaning in response. 

“I dunno… I don’t know what to make of it, is all,” you admit. That little pit of nervousness in your gut had been sitting heavily all night. Olivier gives you a pitying look. 

“Don’t worry too much about it, I think you should just let it ride. And tell me all of the details.” You can’t help but choke a small laugh at their insistence on being in the know. Almost nothing new ever came to town, of course it was the juiciest thing ever to Olivier. You give them a weary smile and wish them a good shift before heading out.

–

The next few weeks are more of the same. You see the man around town, like any other local. At the grocery store, he’s always got a cart full of food, and you’re sure to hurry off out of his way with your armfuls of items. Once or twice you’ve seen him meandering around the local shops, and you sort of dread the idea of running into him at the little cafe you sometimes indulge in when you’ve got a little extra cash on hand. Something in you wanted to be protective of your favorite spots in town, but you knew it was irrational. Soon enough he would be just as familiar to the folks around here as you were. 

Without fail, he continued to come into Mo’s with large bills. He’d ask you for his cigarettes, tip you far too much, and leave before you could really say anything about it. He never spoke to you more than you spoke to him and he was never anything other than perfectly polite. You hadn’t begun to have a single idea as to why he insisted on tipping so much. 

Eventually, you had come to terms with his insistence on leaving all of his excess cash with you. You started squirreling some of it away, using it specifically on groceries and smaller bills. It was nice to have a little extra padding in your wallet, especially during these cold months. You definitely weren’t touching the thermostat though, that’s for sure. Old habits, and all that. It was easiest to be thankful, to not look this gift horse in the mouth, and to do your best to just keep pushing through the winter. 

–

A winter storm was forecast for your town. The weatherman you’d grown up watching warned this would be one of the worst in years, and to stock up on the essentials. You knew you had about a month’s worth of cat food and a few cans of something or other in the back of your cupboards and called it good before heading to work that day. Calling out wasn’t really a thing Mo liked you to do. It didn’t help that you’d woken early today, sweating through your layers of blankets and somehow still chilled to the bone. 

Getting ready for your shift had taken about twice the time. You’d taken a cold shower, teeth chattering and your stomach turning the entire time. You did not look in the mirror while brushing your teeth and getting dressed. It had to be bad, the way folks looked at you when you arrived. You were bundled up in a hoodie and an oversized flannel. There was something about being ill that just made the cold weather feel so much worse. The black K-95 mask you’re wearing isn’t doing much to hide the puffiness or dark circles under your eyes. The near-constant sniffling and perspiration aren’t doing you any favors. 

Between the little rushes of your shift, you unabashedly sit on the floor behind the counter, not caring if Mo saw you on the cameras and wanted to give you a pissy little talk about it later. You hadn’t had any medicine to take at home and all the store carried were caffeine pills and Tylenol for eight dollars per two-pack. You do your best to stay hydrated, refilling a small styrofoam cup from the soda machines often. The water tastes vaguely like Hi-C Punch, and you try to not think about it. When you’re able to focus on your own hands, you see them shaking as they bring the cup to your lips. 

You think it’s around one in the morning when you hear the door chime. Close to the start of Oliver’s shift, the end of yours. No one has been in the store since around eight, you think. Time has stopped feeling real at this point. Breathing heavily, you muster the strength to stand. You lean heavily over the counter, trying to wet your mouth against the sudden nausea crawling up your throat. Under your layers, you’re sweating and chilled and just so uncomfortable. Whoever’s just entered the store stomps the snow off of their boots, and you can hear their steps squeak on the linoleum straight to your counter. A quick glance up and you’re making eye contact with the masked man who has become strangely familiar to you. 

You can only manage a nod to acknowledge him, before turning around to grab his cigarettes. He’d been in the night before, so you weren’t expecting him tonight. Normally his packs last him a few days. Why would he come out so late, especially during this bad weather? You can’t really bring yourself to think too critically right now, instead choosing to focus on not passing out before you can clock out and go home. When you turn around, pack of menthols in hand, you find that the man is eyeing you more intently than normal. You think? The mask made it hard to tell. Your hands are shaking, you realize it just as the cigarettes slip from your fingers. 

“Fuck, ‘m sorry-” You bend to pick them up and are met with a rush of blood in your ears. When you rise you lean against the counter for a moment, eyes closed. It would later come back to you as an embarrassing moment, but currently, you’re focusing very hard on staying upright. 

“You're sick,” the man says, so plainly it's kind of funny. You huff a small laugh, nodding. 

“Why’re you here? Storm’s gonna get bad tonight.” It’s a poor attempt at deflecting the obvious statement. Something bristled in you at him, it was enough that he’d seen you at the grocery store. Being seen by him like this now, especially after all the cash tips he’s been leaving you, makes you feel cagey and defensive.

“I could ask you the same.” He slides you a twenty as he says this. You meet his eyes, briefly. It’s easier to look at him with half of your face covered, you realize. Maybe that’s why he’s never been seen around town without his balaclava. He meets your gaze evenly, seemingly unaware of the shame that pulses under your skin. You sniffle loudly, not looking down at the bill on the counter. You’ve got about a dozen questions for him, but your jaw is clenched so tightly you’re not sure where to even begin. Just when you’ve worked up the nerve to fire a question at the man, the door chimes. 

Both of you turn to see Olivier entering the shop. They wave one mittened hand at you. “Oh hey! You’re here too, Simon. Nice to see you again.” Simon? Somehow Olivier had failed to mention his name after all this time. Admittedly, you’d never even thought to ask. He’d never introduced himself formally, and you weren’t one to pry, especially into the lives of odd men who only buy their cigarettes after sundown. Simon raises a hand to greet Olivier, the most human thing you’ve seen him do so far. 

“Hey Liv,” you croak, clearing your throat a little. At the sound of your wrecked voice, Olivier grimaces at you. Already, they’re reading into their tote back and donning a mask. 

“Stay over there, and disinfect the counter when you leave!” They harp, only half joking. You nod wearily and quickly check Simon’s cigarettes out on the register. It feels strange to even think of him using his first name. Simon takes his leave, and as soon as you've got your coat on you’re following right behind him, waving a quick goodbye to Olivier as you go. They’re immunocompromised, and the last thing you want is to make their life harder by getting them sick.

The snow falls heavily, immediately sticking to your eyelashes and blinding you. You drag your gloved hands over your eyes, trying to clear them. Blinking rapidly, you see that the parking lot is a smooth expanse of honeyed yellow. The street lamp makes the area look warmer than it is. You can already feel the cold sinking into your fingertips. The trees on the edges of the lot are bowed heavily under the snow’s weight. When you step into the lot, the snow is powdery soft, but icey beneath. Not good. It would be a very slow drive home once you got your truck moving. The snow is only about halfway up the tires, but you’d still need to shovel it out to give it a fighting chance of leaving the lot if you could get it started in this cold. 

When you get it started. 

Historically, your beloved fossil of a truck has not done well in the cold. You’d been meaning to replace the battery and get the transmission checked out this Summer. You had forgotten. 

The sound of snow crunching behind you tells you that Simon has not left the lot, and is apparently watching you have your silent meltdown now. Great. “You want some help getting that snow shoveled?” It’s strange hearing him outside of the contained environment that is Mo’s. The wind changes his voice. It’s odd to be shoulder to shoulder with him, and not talk about cigarettes. Dejected, you know when to choose your battles. You nod your head and lead him to the driver's side door of the truck. 

“I might need a jump, it really doesn’t do well in this weather,” you admit wearily. Simon nods like he knows that already. Maybe he did, it’s not exactly the nicest-looking vehicle anyone’s ever seen. You crank the door open and hop in the seat. When turning the engine over multiple times does nothing but pitifully crank the engine, you lean your forehead against the steering wheel in defeat. Before you can say anything you can't fight the urge to suddenly cough. You turn away from Simon, who's kind of hovering near the open door of your truck, to bury your mouth in your elbow to cough. You've honestly had enough of being gross and embarrassed in front of this guy for one night. When your coughing fit is done you lean back, exhausted, against the seat. Your throat is raw, and your entire body feels weak. The thought of shoveling out your truck and waiting on the battery to charge fills you with dread. “Fuck this, man.” 

Snow has started sticking to Simon's coat, dusting white onto the black fabric. He's standing a small distance away with his hands in his pockets, giving you a decent amount of space. “You want a ride home? Can come deal with it in the morning with you, if you like.” You turn your head to regard him, thankful again for your mask to hide behind. There's plenty of security footage of him coming into the store over and over again. You supposed if he wanted to kill you there would be at least a half-decent physical description. Plus Olivier probably knew more about him, given that they're a chatterbox no matter the time of day. 

Your eyes flick out to the lot. The snow shows no sign of stopping. Fuck it. 

“My house isn't far from here.”

[teiasviago]

r/relationshipadvice u/alwaysnumbr3

Do I need to wear a cravat to see my wife?

Context: I’m 22, unmarried, and wealthy but I hold no title as the third-born son in my family.

Technically, the woman in question is not my wife, but she hopefully will be in a few months’ time if tonight goes according to plan, which is why my question is so important.

I met my wife when we were little kids and have known her for about half my life. She’s stunningly beautiful and with an intelligence to match her looks. She’s witty and a wallflower and it was not until this season of the marriage mart that she attracted a suitor.

Originally, I gave her lessons in confidence, because—though she believed herself innately undesirable—she simply needed someone to guide her on the path to being herself around others rather than shutting down.

However, over the course of the season, I have actually fallen in love with her. (Or I may have been a little in love with her for a long time, I am unsure about that as of right now.) The man that has been courting her is planning to propose tonight so I need to ensure that this does not happen.

Her mother has spread the news of her imminent engagement so it’s important that I dress in a fashion appropriate to the actions I will be taking. That being interrupting a marriage proposal. Not an ideal situation no matter how I dress.

This is also highly time sensitive. So do I take the time to put on a cravat or no?

EDIT: We are engafed!!!!! Sirry for the spekkubg errirs, I am typibf thid wirh one hsnd!!!!

[adrianasunderworld]

More Twst x Stardew things

The Royal Sword Corporation opened one of their stores in town years ago. Crowley hates it. He hates the manger, Ambrose, who wants him to sell the community center so they can open another Royal Sword Business in town.

Che'nya works at Royal Sword Mart. Neige actually got his big break from Royal Sword. He got cast in a commercial for it, and it did so well that he's the face of a whole ad campaign now. Vil is angry and jealous because he also auditioned for that role and Neige got picked over him.

Vil still acts and models, but it's on a much smaller scale compared to Neige. Like he gets hired a lot to do ads and commercials for businesses in town, and in all the neighboring towns, to the point he's kind of a local celebrity in the area. He keeps visiting the city to audition for theater, but so far nothing. He ideally would like to move to the city to pursue bigger roles, but it's just not in the cards now.

The witch that turns your eggs into void eggs at night is Malleus grandma. He gets embarrassed, and has tried convincing her to get a different hobby, to no avail.

Fellow and Giddel are event characters. They get hired to work at the county fair during the fall, and sometimes stop by on the Night Market. There's a quest where you can befriend them so they can move into town, and Giddel can join the other kids on their lessons.

Leonas family is very well off. After his father passed while Leona was still a minor, Falena took custody of him, and he still lives with Falena and his wife, Asha. The Kingscholars were successful in their careers and had plenty of money. Like the farmer, they wanted a change of pace from city life and bought a nice inn just outside of town. Falena runs the actual business while Asha still works as a lawyer. Leona is taking online courses while working at the inn. Ruggie also works there and often has to keep Leona on track.

Ace is a carpenter, and was like Robin, the first person in town to greet you and show you to Ramshackle Farm. And like Robin, he also called your grandpa's house crusty. He also has beef with your cat, Grim. Everytime he comes by to work on something, they have a stare off.

Jade is still interested in foraging, and often gives helpful tips, like what is in season and where to find it. His favorite gifts are any mushrooms.

The mermaid who does a show at the Night Market is Rielle.

Ortho, Najma, and Cheka are like the Jas and Vincent in town. They're the local kids you always see running around, along with everyone else's little siblings, like Jack's brother and sister.

Since there's more than two kids in town in this au, there is an actual school house in the area. It's right next to or is connected to the library, and Clara is the local teacher. Trein helps her out by doing the history lessons. Clara will give the older kids their lessons in the morning before doing their more independent study time and class work in the afternoon while she teaches the little ones. Trein usually keeps an eye on the older kids while they work in the library. It's hard though, Lucius keeps demanding their attention when they're supposed to be doing homework.

Ramshackle is still haunted. There's ghost all over the property, and they mostly show up at night. But they will sometime show up indoors, like in the house, sheds, and greenhouse.

If you marry Leona, he will nap in the greenhouse.

If you marry Deuce, he will work on his bike outside.

If you marry Vil, his post marriage heart event is him going away to work after taking a bigger role. Kinda like Elliot going on his book tour.

If you marry Cater, he will post about living on a farm. He will absolutely make vlog type videos going "My day in the life of a stay at home farm husband."

@mangacupcake @marrondrawsalot @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind

[aremindertoremember]

Thinking about the scene after Lucy saves the Ghoul outside the Super Duper Mart. Where he goes inside and puts on his old movie, and is confronted with his former identity.

Feo, fuerte, y formal. He was ugly, strong, and had dignity. Well, two out of three.

This is Cooper Howard as he was speaking through the centuries to the Ghoul as he is now. That’s literally him - he’s ugly (conventionally speaking…) and he’s strong, but he’s lost his dignity. He’s lost his humanity to the horrors of the life he had to lead for the last 200 years.

But Lucy living up to her ideals and saving his life, and after absolutely kicking ass, surviving and then some inside that organ trafficking operation, is the catalyst that gets him thinking about his lost humanity again. Truly facing it and beginning to reckon with it. If she can do it, why not him?

And the next time we see the two of them together - it’s an entirely different vibe between them. He isn’t looking down on her, he isn’t trying to bully her or intimidate her. He’s treating her like an equal. They’re two magnets being drawn to one balanced centre.

[fluffyglass]

Which grumpuses does yolka like best, and who does shelda trust to babysit her? P.s. I love her sm, the babything.

The Complete Yolka Babysitting List, with stats and extra details (might edit later)

Filbo

Babysitting Comfort: 3/5

Fun Level: 4/5

Shelda's trust in them: 1/5

Filbo likes watching over Yolka, but he's very nervous about messing something up. Shelda shares this sentiment and is never too keen to let him babysit, given his. Filbo-ness. Yolka, on the other hand, likes hanging out with Filbo a lot. I mean hey, he loses track of her so fast she can go on a little adventure! Somebody please teach this man basic responsibility.

Wambus

Babysitting Comfort: 2/5, later 5/5

Fun Level: 4/5

Shelda's trust in them: 3/5

Wambus was a little freaked out around Yolka at first, to be completely honest. Him and Triffany had always discussed having children of their own, but never got around to it, and suddenly he's being asked to look over this mystery infant?? However, he's kind of like your dad who doesn't want to get a dog. After a single afternoon, he's hooked. Just imagine them taking an afternoon nap in a rocking chair with Wambus's hat covering Yolka's entire head. I could hear that "Aww" all the way from here.

Beffica

Babysitting Comfort: 1/5

Fun Level: 2/5

Shelda's trust in them: 2/5

Honestly, if Beff can get out of babysitting, she always will. She's got snooping to do, she can't sit around with some weirdo baby. What's she supposed to say to her? I found out that your weird uncle is a karaoke singer? She is not lasting a second. Yolka does like her camera though, once again to Beff's dismay.

Gramble

Babysitting Comfort: 2/5

Fun Level: 5/5

Shelda's trust in them: 4/5

Probably one of the most ideal babysitters, at least if he wasn't so freaked out by the prospect of looking after a baby. As long as he's not alone (say hi to Auntie Wiggle!) he's pretty much golden. Yolka loves to play with his snax, and he basically has a built in playpen to keep her in one place. Eight out of Ten, wish he wasn't scared of kids.

Wiggle

Babysitting Comfort: 3/5

Fun Level: 4/5

Shelda's trust in them: 3/5

An audience that won't criticize her? Count Wiggle in! As long as she isn't in the middle of writing her magnum opus, Wiggle's always open to play with Yolka, even letting her play with some of her less fragile instruments. Yolka is going to be a famous triangle player one day, she swears by it.

Triffany

Babysitting Comfort: 5/5

Fun Level: 3/5

Shelda's trust in them: 5/5

Probably Shelda's safest bet if she needs to leave Yolka with someone. Wow! A decent, responsible adult on Snaktooth Island! Who can believe it? Yolka might not be crazy about bones but by Mother Naturae is Triffany trying to teach her. Sometimes if she's good she's allowed to put one in her mouth for a minute.

Cromdo

Babysitting Comfort: 4/5

Fun Level: 4/5

Shelda's trust in them: 1/5

Hello, opposite of Triffany! Cromdo is never allowed to babysit Yolka, because he- without fail- will attempt to convince this infant to join his business. Yolka is the lead manager of Cromdo Mart, and has also been taught plenty of words that a child her age really shouldn't know. Yolka loves him, Shelda hates him.

Chandlo

Babysitting Comfort: 3/5

Fun Level: 5/5

Shelda's trust in them: 4/5

If Chandlo's in charge of Yolka, then one thing's for certain; that infant is getting some GAAAAINZ! Usually he'll play games with her, sometimes picking her up and helping her dunk a ball into one of those kiddie basketball hoops. He witnessed Yolka's first steps but he refuses to tell anyone, lest he ruin the magic for Shelda.

Snorpy

Babysitting Comfort: 1/5

Fun Level: 1/5

Shelda's trust in them: 2/5

And now, categorically the worst possible choice, yet still more likely to be chosen over Cromdo. Snorpy is absolutely convinced that Yolka is secretly a Grumpinati spy robot, and would rather be as far away from her as possible. If he's in charge of her, he'll just set her down somewhere and watch her intently to make sure she doesn't start shooting lasers out of her eyes or something. Yolka doesn't like him.

Floofty

Babysitting Comfort: 2/5

Fun Level: 5/5

Shelda's trust in them: 1/5

If anyone is asked to babysit Yolka less than Cromdo, it's Floofty. For a long time, Floofty was only interested in Yolka due to the curious circumstances of her birth, but after studies determined that she was just a normal grumpling, it was already too late. Floofty is Yolka's favorite babysitter. She absolutely loves them, and the feeling... isn't exactly mutual, but Floofty does get a thrill out of "babysitting" Yolka when they know Shelda doesn't want them to. They're both menaces.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

[kana-daydreams]

𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥

summary: you and the general have a 'throw down' for the last panda bun in Hope Mart.

𝐏𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“One panda meat bun, please.” 

The loud chime of Hope Mart’s doors follows the two voices that utter out their order in sync, one a deep masculine and the other a chirpy feminine.

Behind the cash register, the young female employee’s eyes flicker between you and the other customer to your right, a nervous smile crawling its way onto her face at your shared dilemma. 

Your brows pull down into a frown when you glance to your right, peering up to see a very much unwelcome guest. “Why are you here?”

Warumono glances down at you through his thick curls, seemingly surprised like you, at your presence.

“Panda bun.” He points a finger at the piping hot and adorable meat bun decorated in the image of a panda, that sits on the top shelf of the showcase seated atop the checkout counter. 

A meat bun that was the last of its kind.

“Hard luck, pointy ears.” You say, arms crossed. “The bun’s mine.”

Panda buns—Hope Mart’s newly, limited-time hot seller— had recently become your custom after-work treat. And after a long day of patrolling, you were looking forward to enjoying the meaty treat back at home, together with your favourite tv show. 

Hence, no way are you going to give up your precious bun to a despicable villain.

“Is that true?” Warumono directs at the cashier who gives him a questioning look. 

“Pardon me sir?”

“Is it hers?” He clarifies, pointing again at the meat bun. 

The cashier looks between you two. “Um, no sir. It isn’t.” She stutters out and you flinch.

“Then I’ll  have it.” He fishes out his wallet from his left pocket, pulling out a few notes— the same time the cashier hesitantly starts retrieving his order from the display case. 

However, before the transaction can be made, your hand seizes Warumono’s wrist. 

“Don’t. you. dare.” You aim at both Warumono and the cashier who flinches with a quiet squeak when your head suddenly snaps in her direction to cast her a threatening glare. 

You turn your gaze to Warumono. “Why should you have it? It’s unfair.”

“And why should I care about fair?” The left corner of Warumono's lips inches up into a devious smirk. “Did you forget who I am?”

“How could I?” You murmur, then heave a sigh, releasing his wrist. “Then I guess there’s only one solution.”

Warumono gives you an inquisitive look. “And what’s that?” 

“We fight for it.”

And that’s how in the next moment you and Warumono come to stand outside, at the back of the store, brandishing curled fingers of one hand at each other. 

 “Three rounds.” You explain the conditions, after just finishing explaining the rules of the ideal solution to any decision-making problem: Rock, Paper, Scissors.

Warumono’s lips had adorned a frown throughout your entire explanation. 

This wasn’t what the villain expected when you’d suggested you both fight. Though he guesses he can’t complain since he’d rather much avoid fighting you on his treasured day off.

“The winner gets the bun. The loser pays.” You finally finish explaining the conditions and Warumono nods in understanding.

He smiles an arrogant smile, and thinks to himself he has this in the bag. A recent earthling expression he’d learnt.

Though after one loss, leaving both you and him to reach a draw, he wasn’t so sure.

“Last round, villain.” 

The both of you take your position, both sporting a determined expression.

You chant. “Saisho wa guu, janken pon!”

A strangled gasp escapes Warumono while a happy cheer escapes you at your splayed fingers and his fisted hand.

“Too bad sucker. That panda bun is mine.” You grin.

After his disappointing defeat, Warumono watches with mild jealousy as you snap a few selfies with your earned award.

His shoulders slump and his head hangs low. He’d finally built up the resistance over the past few weeks to eat the long-awaited delicacy, but it seems his hard work was all for naught.

From your periphery, you see Warumono’s crestfallen expression.

A villain sad over a meat bun?

The spectacle surprises you. Once again—he’d surprised you. 

You frown. His defeated look makes you feel like you were stealing candy from a baby. A giant, over six feet tall baby.

You heave a defeated sigh. Then reluctantly break the bun in half. “Here.”

Warumono raises his gaze to see your outstretched hand brandishing half of the bun towards him. His brows knit in confusion.

“Just take it already.” You grit out. “I’ve got a show to catch.”

Warumono slowly retrieves the steaming bun from your hand. “Thank you.”

His words shock you and you’re even more shocked when you look up to see a smile on his face.

Your face involuntarily warms at the sight. 

“Creepy.”

© 2024 kana-daydreams

[lilmissnatcat24]

bound ch 1- a professional rake of a man

Jane Shepard, heiress to Normandy House, has thrown away her ideals to join the marriage mart. It seems she is not the only one.

pairing: female shepard/ garrus vakarian

rating: explicit

tags: regency au, marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, fake dating, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst

lil text blurb:

“Miss Shepard, of all the eligible bachelorettes on this entire station, you were the last one I ever considered throwing your stake into the race,” he said earnestly. “It has me thinking, what could be so wrong with the heiress to Normandy House for such a sudden and extreme switch of ideals?” 

“Absolutely nothing is wrong with my house,” Shepard said nearly frantically, with all of the misguided bravado of someone who clearly has something incredibly wrong with her house. “And to insinuate such a thing is not only an insult to me, but to Lord Anderson himself.” 

Garrus put his hands in the air flamboyantly, as if surrendering dishonestly. A mockery if Shepard had never seen one. “We certainly do not wish to offend the Lord or his heiress. I was simply ensuring that you are not being blackmailed, or threatened with the gun aimed straight at an artery underneath the table. That isn’t happening, is it, miss?” 

“It most certainly is not .” 

“Right. And by the looks of your reddening cheeks and your stuttering tongue, I can tell you are most pleased to no longer go at it alone as a bachelorette.” Shepard very much wanted to stomp over and slap him across the face. In fact, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d done that in Jalissar’s. But she had been warned by the old asari who ran the parlor that one more scuffle and she was banned, so regrettably she held her tongue and kept her fists to herself. 

[cheritzteam-es]

[MM] Tú que me haces soñar un futuro juntos💙 Anuncio de los eventos de cumpleaños de V y el Chuseok de Septiembre, 2024

Hola, somos Cheritz.

Dejando atrás las divertidas y refrescantes vacaciones de verano en Corea, dicen que todos están sufriendo (?) un poco al regresar a la rutina diaria. 😅

Este año en Corea, por la humedad constante, ha sido un verano realmente caluroso y difícil de soportar.

De todos modos, ¿no seremos los únicos que pensamos que también el calor sofocante del verano algún día se volverá también en un buen recuerdo también, no? 🤭 

En esta época, en Corea, con la brisa fresca que sopla por la mañana y la tarde, se siente que el verano está terminando y el otoño se acerca.

El protagonista de septiembre que todos los años vuelve para avisar el comienzo del otoño junto a los vientos refrescantes, ¡ha llegado el cumpleaños de V! 

¡Si quieres saber qué eventos han sido preparados para el cumpleaños de V, sigue leyendo los detalles de la información de este aviso! 😉

< ① Evento de cumpleaños de V >

Dice V que lo que siente V sobre su cumpleaños es diferente a lo que sentía cuando era un niño.

Siente que se ha vuelto realmente un adulto y piensa mucho acerca de su futuro. 

V dice que suele pensar en la familia con la que sueña o en la vida ideal que desea para sí mismo.

Sea cual sea el futuro que V imagine, sabes que en el futuro con el que sueña él, tú siempre estarás a su lado, ¿verdad? 😆

Y en el cumpleaños de V tendremos un evento de reposteo en X.

Entre las personas que han reposteado, sortearemos 50 relojes de arena​⌛♥ (15 ganadores internacionales)

¡Además, por el cumpleaños de V hemos preparado un evento bonus!

Utiliza el hashtag ​#Feliz_cumple_V mandándole un saludo de cumpleños, y no te pierdas de 50 relojes de arena​⌛ que entregaremos por sorteo♥

Por último, habrá un evento de descuento de productos relacionados a V

¡Así que si estuviste dudando en comprar algo, no te pierdas esta oportunidad por nada★! 

Periodo de descuento en la tienda de Cheritz: 5 de septiembre (jueves) 2pm ~ 12 de septiembre (jueves) 2pm (KST) 

< ② Evento de inicio de sesión >

¡Si te conectas al juego durante el periodo mencionado abajo, podrás disfrutar de la imagen de portada por el cumpleaños de V! Disfruta del juego junto a la ilustración de portada y saluda a V por su cumpleaños. 🥳

(¡La versión completa de esta ilustración y la imagen bonus podrás disfrutarla el jueves de la cuarta semana!)

¡Y no te pierdas la recompensa por conectarte por el Chuseok coreano! 

Periodo de la ilustración de portada: 4 de septiembre (miércoles) ~ 17 de septiembre (martes) (KST)

Recompensa por inicio de sesión por Chuseok: 15 de septiembre (domingo) ~ 18 de septiembre (miércoles) (KST)

¿Qué te parecieron las noticias de los eventos de septiembre que hemos preparado?

¡Agradecemos de antemano a todas las coordinadoras que van a participar en el evento de cumpleaños de V y el evento por el Chuseok!

¡Coordinadora, esperamos que en este septiembre que se acerca solo te pasen cosas alegres y felices!

¡Muchas gracias!

De Cheritz.

[3terna15unshin3]

Then Because She Goes

Instagram AU (volume iii)

volume i — volume ii — back to masterlist

a/n: heyyyyy here it is!!! a few people have asked for this and i kept saying i’d do it but i kept putting it off for so long😭 they’re always so fun to make and now that i’ve written so many blurbs there is so much more material to work with so it was especially fun this time around, hope u enjoy🌟🌟

—

este.manansala

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este.manansala NYE🌟 (+ aftermath)

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rass1975 Pho after a night out is crazy

↳ trumanblack Actually the most ideal time for pho

giveurself4try I’d recognize that chest tatt anywhere

_catekeeling this COAT?????? omg

↳ este.manansala i pretty much live in it

1 January, 2021

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trumanblack added to their story

28 January, 2021

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este.manansala

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este.manansala Valentine

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noacfdefender so cute😭😭😭

trumanblack Mine

↳ este.manansala hi x

14 February, 2021

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trumanblack

Liked by charli_xcx, r0bberz and others

trumanblack Bea❤️ Last day on earth out now!!! x

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radvxz !!!!!!

este.manansala Obsessed

bedforddanes75 Why were you in a dressing gown

↳ trumanblack Idk studio felt sophisticated that day

24 March, 2021

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este.manansala added 4 posts to their story

8 April, 2021

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este.manansala

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este.manansala I’m begging you to go read Crying in H Mart !!! jbrekkie is such a fucking light, it is a privilege to know her and i am so moved/forever changed by this book❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

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jbrekkie Este 🌈 Thank you for reading!

denise_welch ❤️❤️❤️

trumanblack I wept the whole time jbrekkie

3 May, 2021

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trumanblack

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trumanblack My este.manansala turns 30 today. Please never ever ever ever leave my side, there's no me without you x

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trumanblack That last slide will be us in 40 years btw

charli_xcx dirty thirty!!!!!! the cutest ever <33

↳ Liked by este.manansala

1975adam Happy birthday bestie este🎂

↳ este.manansala "bestie este" lmfao ily

denise_welch That is totally you two in 40 years!!!! Xx

↳ Liked by este.manansala and trumanblack

este.manansala I love you

↳ trumanblack LOLML

↳ trumanblack LOMOL!!!**

↳ trumanblack LOMOMLLOLMOLLOLOMMLOL!!!!!!***

↳ trumanblack fuck sake

2 July, 2021

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trumanblack

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trumanblack Stop asking me when DLID is coming out

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turnthebiglightoff We wouldn’t be asking if you hadn’t told us it was finished 😐

↳ Liked by este.manansala

rass1975 Mate… that fucking mug

↳ trumanblack What about it?

**↳ Liked by este.manansala

_catekeeling u cut me out of the second slide

28 August, 2021

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este.manansala

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este.manansala Cali for a bit

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trumanblack LA SUXXXX👎

↳ percyjmanansala Come home then!

**↳ este.manansala soon!!!!!!!

unitepariahs yall are in LA.. things are happening arent they

phoebebridgers 🤘🤘

19 October, 2021

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23 October, 2021

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este.manansala I’ve missed you Manchester🎄🎁❄️

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_catekeeling don’t leave me again :(((((

trumanblack My first kamayan😎

bedforddanes75 I dream about your mum

↳ bedforddanes75 Her cooking ^^^^^

g3orgiaheadley Dano!!! My fur baby!!

24 December, 2021

[gotham-response]

Gotham establishments ranked by food quality:

1. Pepperoni Toni's

2. The Tasty Pierogi

3. Ralli's

4. Batburger

5. Mitch's Mayo Mart

Gotham establishments ranked by how likely you are to get mugged there:

1. Pepperoni Toni's

2. Batburger

3. The Tasty Pierogi

4. Mitch's Mayo Mart

5. Ralli's

Obviously, the ideal restaurant based on convergence of the two lists is Ralli's, but I just can't get enough of Pepperoni Toni's cheesy bread

[littleyellowtangerine]

I know a lot of ppl are hating Eloise´s character right now but I think she is in the middle of her self discovery (also why I think Benedict's season will come before hers), as life is turning all she has known as she has become part of society, along with her siblings. She was free in Daphne's season because she still wasn't in the mart and was considered more of a child, as well as everyone putting attention on her sister rather than her. Then she entered society and she felt like all the freedom she had as a child was gone because suddenly she was a "woman" and they set standars to her, that´s why she felt like reveling. But with whistledown she gets reminded that her freedom was an illusion as she can now taint her family with her actions. She is sort of humbled, as she realises what her part in her family and society really is. And she gets maaaad.

That's why I think she is trying to integrate herself in society in this season. Trying to keep up but she is failing, because she just can't understand and leave her ideals behind, but she knows she has to, so she is in the middle of coming into terms with what she wants and what she has to do.

Yes, she is very privileged but that doesn't belittle her search of herself. And Yes, that also doesn´t mean she is free of guilt for threating Penelope badly or every other bad thing she has done. If anything, I think her season will be the most divergent from the book. At least I wish. So that we get to see Eloise finding that balance (in terms of what she wants vs what society expects of her) and maybe Phillip giving her the space or attention she needs to sort it out and be herself.

Anyway, whenever I try to understand Eloise, I think a lot of this analysis of Jo March and find it really relatable to her.