#Domestic consumers

[justnownews]

Punjab Government Announces Electricity Relief for Consumers

In a significant move, the Punjab government has announced a relief package for electricity consumers, offering a reduction of PKR 14 per unit for users consuming between 201 and 500 units per month. This decision is aimed at providing financial relief to domestic consumers facing high electricity costs.However, the relief will not be applicable to those using up to 200 units. According to…

[townpostin]

Jharkhand Offers Free Electricity up to 200 Units for Domestic Consumers

Cabinet Decision Brings Relief to Millions of Households Jharkhand has introduced a new scheme offering free electricity up to 200 units for domestic consumers, starting from August 14. RANCHI – Jharkhand electricity distribution company’s domestic consumers have good news as the state government has launched a scheme providing free electricity up to 200 units. According to the recent Cabinet…

[medusagorgongirl1]

Tim is the big spoon, I don't give a shit that he's smaller, he's the big spoon. He needs to hold Kon for the reassurance that Kon is really there.

Kon is the little spoon and fucking loves it because he never gets to be that vulnerable or feel that loved. I'm convinced that this man loves physical affection and the act of being held would absolutely bring down any of his defenses. Being held makes him feel real and loved and like he's something that deserves it.

They fit together so fucking well and I love it

[arrnand]

i do really want daniel and armand to get their time and have dedicated important moments but tbh it would also be so funny if they were kept as a ‘background’ ship sometimes. like if louis and lestat are dealing with the vampire crisis shit going on and meanwhile armand is like “beloved, you have locked me out of my ipad. this is important. i am going to lose my one thousand two hundred thirty-three day streak on candy crush. this means i will not get as good of ‘daily treats.’ why would you betray me like this?”

[kusanagihaku]

help me hold on to you.

⭢ alan x mc, 2.2k

It is a dance of wants and haves, of budgets and portion sizes, of learning to think for two. It feels like you could do this forever. How easy it is, to be with Alan. How easy he is to love.  or: supermarket date! supermarket date! soft and fluffy domestic alan!!! i love him!!!!! ( º ᴖ º ) // also on ao3

You frown. How is it that whoever runs the campus store can bring in three different types of almond milk, but only one brand of oat milk? 

You weigh both cartons in your hands. Maybe you should just get the almond milk. It isn’t even the good type of oat milk too–

“Y/N?” 

You glance up, only to be met with sea green eyes and arms full of flour and sugar bags. “Kaito!” 

Kaito beams back, golden hair washed a pale yellow under the harsh cold of the store lights. He looks slightly different dressed down, almost like he could be a college student elsewhere in a ratty old hoodie and sweatpants. “I’ve tried that brand of almond milk, it freakin’ sucks. Get the blue carton.” 

You can’t help but laugh. With the strange stocking style of the campus store, you can only ever trust comments of the other students and hope not to step on any culinary landmines. You reach to put both cartons you were holding back when Kaito clears his throat. 

“Why are you wearing a Vagastrom hoodie?” 

Ah. 

You flush, biting your lip. It was colder than you expected this morning when Alan left the bed for his morning run, uncurling himself from around you gently in an effort not to wake you up. But you awoke anyway, body leaning towards his residual warmth like it has every day you’ve woken up in his bed, eyes blurring open to Alan’s fond smile. 

I’ll be back soon, he promised, voice low. Go back to sleep. The sleep-rough of his voice left butterflies at the bottom of your stomach, a small dance of adoration and contentment that lasted long after he shut the door. 

But the cold was sharp, and as Alan’s warmth faded from the blankets you found yourself sitting up and leaning off the edge of his bed until your fingers snagged the yellow hoodie draped across the back of his chair. It smelled vaguely of engine grease, as does everything in Vagastrom, but as you pulled it over your head you were surrounded by sandalwood and summer, by sunlight and sea salt, by Alan. 

The brush of comfort was enough to turn your eyelids heavy and your dreams sweet, until you were awakened again by Alan’s touch on the crown of your head. 

“Y/N?” Kaito peers at you, and you jolt a little. 

“Um,” you say, intelligently. “Ah.” 

It’s not as if you were hiding the fact that you were dating Alan per se, but it… had never really come up in conversation? After all, it is a fairly recent development, and Alan isn’t the type to broadcast news about himself to others. The interactions you’ve had with most of the other ghouls involve mostly you running small errands for them anyway, and less so idle chit-chat. Other than the Vagastrom ghouls (Leo had scoffed the first time he walked in on Alan’s thumb brushing your cheekbone and walked back out, while Sho just smirked and hollered something in Leo’s direction about a bet), you don’t think any of the other students know anything about your relationship with the Vagastrom captain. 

But this is Kaito, one of the first people to befriend you in Darkwick, and now that you’re faced with the opportunity and his guileless eyes, you feel kind of ashamed you’ve never told him about it…

“Did you find it?” A gentle weight rests on the top of your head. A warmth blooms at the base of your throat, sweet and golden, and you briefly forget about Kaito as you lean backwards to smile up at Alan. 

“They don’t have the brand I usually get. Should we get almond instead?” 

Alan nods at you to place the carton in his basket. “Sure.” 

“Sho said he wanted us to pick up some bell peppers too–“ 

“Sorry, what the fuck?!” Kaito’s yelp is startling, and you reflexively jerk backwards into the solid harbour of Alan’s arm. “Since WHEN?!” 

You flush. A sheepish apology balances on the tip of your tongue, but Alan beats you to it. The gruff in his voice is evident as he says, “Your business, Frostheim?” 

Kaito’s eyes grow round. A million little emotions (mostly some frantic type of fear, but tinged with betrayal, you note somewhat despondently) flash across his face before your apology tumbles out. “Sorry, Kaito, I meant to tell you and Luca, but I’ve been so busy-“ 

“It’s okay,” Kaito squeaks, and before you can say anything else he disappears up the aisle, bags of flour dropping in his wake. 

Alan frowns. He pulls you slightly closer, fingers resting lightly on the waist of his hoodie, and there is something so unexpectedly tender in the action it makes your heart feel three times too big. Always soft, always warm. Always gentle, with you. 

You half-expect him to say something about Kaito, but he just sighs. 

“Bell peppers are up front,” he says, instead, and you laugh. 

You end up picking more bell peppers than Sho asked for, if only so you can add the extras to the dinners you cook for the week. Alan picks out spring onions and a new box of white miso; you trade it for a box of red (he has an unopened box of white miso hidden behind his giant tub of protein powder; you unearthed it while searching for his black pepper last week) and toss in an extra yellow onion. 

You spend the most time in the meat section, of course – Alan’s meals consist mainly of grilled meat on rice whenever you’re not around. You watch as he frowns his way through cuts of meat, bending over to trade pork shoulder for jowl, and you resist the urge to smooth out the crease between his brows as he looks between both price tags. 

It is a dance of wants and haves, of budgets and portion sizes, of learning to think for two. It feels like you could do this forever. 

How easy it is, to be with him. How easy he is to love. 

He doesn’t believe it, you know. Where you see caution and care in wrinkles of his palms he sees nothing but bloodstains and bruises, like there is nothing in him that deserves to be held. But oh, the way you’re trying to show him–

It is a whole downpour by the time Alan walks you back from Vagastrom. You are both soaked to the bone, your bangs sticking to your forehead and his yellow vest a dark ochre. 

You invite him in to dry off, of course. He can’t possibly make his way back to Vagastrom like this. 

(You also don’t think he can find his way back in the pouring rain, but you don’t say that part out loud.) 

“I’ve got towels upstairs,” you say, instead, and lead him up the stairs to your room. You pray hard that all your laundry is in its basket and you haven’t left anything stupid out. 

You haven’t, much to your relief, and you invite Alan inside after a cursory glance. You shrug off the wet sop of your jacket and dump it on your desk, heading straight to your closet to where you remember sticking the towels after your last laundry run. 

“You can leave your vest on the desk, I’ll hang it above the radiator to dry,” you tell him, and immediately regret it. Stupid. Stupid of you to think your heart can handle the visual of Alan removing any piece of clothing in your vicinity. 

You are weighing how stupid it would sound to retract your statement, when Alan clears his throat. “Your, um. Your toy is on the floor.” 

You twist around to see your white stuffed rabbit lying on the floor next to your bed. Huh. He must have fallen out when you clambered out of bed this morning, rushing to make your 9am class. 

“Oh, you can just set him back on the bed,” you say, before turning to rummage through your closet for towels. You easily locate your spare one with a triumphant ha!, and turn back to hand it to Alan so he can dry off. 

…only to see him kneeling next to your rabbit, fingers outstretched as if to pick him up, but hesitant all the same. You blink. 

Alan senses your stare, and looks up at you, almost embarrassed. “My hands are dirty.” 

You know what he’s talking about – you’ve spent countless hours staring at his fingers as they fill out your forms, watching his hands twist spanners around bolts, dreaming of what his hands would feel like on the bare of your skin. They’re mostly clean (or as clean as he can get with wiping them on spare rags and rinsing them in the sink), but there is always a line of engine grease lingering under his fingernails he can’t quite get out. 

You understand what he’s talking about too – he looked up at you one afternoon, seated on the worn leather sofa in the Vagastrom garage as he tinkered with the hood of a car. You were balancing a calculator on one knee and a form on the other, trying to figure out why the budget request for Leo’s next mission was so high and trying to look like you weren’t staring too much at the muscles in Alan’s forearms. 

Honour student, he sighed. He set down the wrench. Don’t get involved with me.

You looked up, slightly flustered and alarmed at having been caught, but a protest on the tip of your tongue all the same. He caught the look on your face and shook his head. You don’t want to get mixed up in my life.

You didn’t say anything back then, choosing instead to duck your head to hide the burn in your cheeks, but oh, how you wish you did. 

You want him to know how you’ve noticed that his hands and eyes linger longer on you than most, that he takes extra care to clean up whenever you’re around. You want him to know you’ve seen the sidelong glances he’s thrown at you, too, across the garage, and that you’ve seen the red on the tips of his ears after he leans in a bit too close for a bit too long, the peeks he takes whenever he thinks you’re busy fixing something on his phone. 

You want to show him how his fierce has always been used for protecting, how his heart has always been built to lead. How his hands have always been meant to build and fix and hold and never to hurt. 

You want to tell him that you don’t know what pushed him to make the choices he did all those years ago, but you know that he is more than the product of those choices, more than what those circumstances have made him become. That he’s more than the strength behind his knuckles and the decisions that he’s made, how he’s someone an entire house will rally behind and defend to the death. That he deserves to give himself a chance to go for what he wants, for once. 

You shake your head. You hope he understands, this time. “I don’t mind.” 

When he still doesn’t move, you move to kneel next to him, towel wrung between your hands. The wet green of his hair hangs over his eyes, but you can see him watching you all the same, almost as if you are the hunter and he is the prey. 

“I don’t mind,” you say, again. It comes out as a whisper this time, bullets careening into a moment glass-thin. 

His eyes dart up to meet yours, narrowing and wary, but your hands move before he can speak. The brush of your thumb over the rough of his cheek is feather-light, and you will him to understand what you mean when you lean forward to murmur, “That way, I can fall asleep thinking of you.” 

You feel Alan’s breath catch as you brush your lips against the edge of his mouth, and you can almost hear the cogs in his head turning, slowly, as you pull away. Please understand.

And when he turns to you, when he gives in to himself, finally, when he presses his lips against yours in a controlled kind of recklessness and the thirst of a man who hasn’t felt the cool of water for days and doesn’t quite believe that he can, it feels like he does. 

“Do I have breadcrumbs?” Alan turns to you. You blink, pulled back by the anchor of his voice.

“Mm,” you manage, “I don’t think so, but I do. We can swing by the cathedral to pick it up before heading back to yours?” 

Alan hums in agreement, and bends over to retrieve a tray of pork chops from the freezer display. You can’t help it – you lean over to press a small kiss to his cheek as he straightens, and laugh when he turns to you, confused and slightly startled, smile tugging on his lips and blush climbing up his ears. 

“Thanks,” you say. For everything. 

Alan looks at you, eyes moss-soft, haloed in the artificial bright of supermarket aisle, then places the tray into his basket. He shifts the basket to his other side so he can grab your hand in his free one. “Let’s go home.” 

Yes, you think, tangling your fingers into his. Let’s. 

[aithusarosekiller]

Mary is scared of cats so her and Lily never get one but Lily LOVES them, meaning whenever her wife goes missing, Mary immediately knows that she's broken into James and Reg's house to fuss over their two cats like a doting auntie

She has a spare key so she can go and see them whenever she wants even if they're not in

Every so often they'll go over to have dinner as a four and her and Reg will end up on the living room floor with the cats while James and Mary catch up in the kitchen

Mary: I'm going with Cas to see Marls and Reg play this weekend, to want a ticket?

Lily: nah, I'm seeing my babies

Mary: you're missing Regulus' semi-final match to go and fuss over his cats?

Lily: yup

Mary: you're missing Marlene's semi-final quidditch match? She'll kill you

Lily: ...yeah, on second thoughts-

[athousandbyeol]

tianwang and colours

teaser photos of this week's episodes were released and i couldn't stop staring at jiang tian and sheng wang's clothes.

@respectthepetty shared a brilliant post on the drama's colour theory, especially pertaining to the colours jiang tian and sheng wang are wearing or associated with. [thanks so much op for the insightful and beautifully written post ^^]

so, in this photo, jiang tian and sheng wang (maybe) are having a study date outside of school (and they look so domestic and cute and UGH). however, i do notice that jiang tian wears a darker shade of brown while sheng wang wears something lighter.

directly quoting from op's post, "One is light, and the other is dark. One is the sun, and one is the moon. One is warm, and one is cool."

we're so used to seeing jiang tian in dark-coloured clothes (black, grey, blue) while sheng wang always wears something light/bright (orange, white, red, yellow). i think it's such a nice detail to be added in this drama and also jiang tian and sheng wang's characters, considering the progress of their relationship.

i guess, it's showing us how sheng wang has brought light into jiang tian's life, and now he's no longer drenched in only darkness. he still wears darker colours than sheng wang, but it doesn't have that usual gloominess. i think sheng wang balances jiang tian's darkness, and it's just so beautiful to witness this in the upcoming episodes.

[jiang tian's fit: darker brown t-shirt with light-coloured jeans and black high-cut converse; sheng wang's fit: light brown t-shirt with dark blue jeans and yellow converse and socks. they're balancing each other with colours/shades opposite of them.]

and don't get me started on the matching bracelets.....

if my eyesight isn't deceiving me, jiang tian is blue and sheng wang is yellow/brown? again, op uses the motif 'the sun and the moon' to represent jiang tian and sheng wang and i think it's the most accurate representation of their personality.

even though the sun and the moon don't collide, they still belong to the same sky.

i honestly can't wait to see the shift in their relationship. since the walls between them are no longer high, will they finally be united? will there be more than just this feeling of wanting to be closer? what will happen in episode 7 that leads to them wearing these matching bracelets?

so many questions are left unanswered. we just have to wait and see.

[poisonousquinzel]

when i totally inevitably get around to actually writing that coffee shop au i brought up in uhhhhhhh 2020(??) this is definitely the kinda Ivy design vibe she'll have <3

[wigglebox]

Nesting ✨

[silverior968]

Tried a new, less time-consuming rendering technique :]

[Image ID: A digital drawing of human versions of Ratchet and Optimus Prime from Transformers Prime. Both of them are drawn as men in their 50s. Ratchet is drawn sitting on a metal stool with a dark red colored seat. He has one leg hanging down and the other bent, rested on the midway beam of the stool. He is drawn with pale, lightly freckled skin and teal eyes, with a lightning scar on the right temple, a diagonal scar on the right cheek and a horizontal one on the left. He's looking down at a weathered journal of some sort, and in his other hand he holds a white tea mug with the text "World's okayest grandpa" written on it in black. The teabag's tag is hanging off the side of the mug, and the steam coming from it is used as a background element for the piece. Ratchet is smiling peacefully, with his mouth slightly open as if talking. His hair is ginger with white streaks, swept back at the front but left messy at the back. He has thick, unkempt eyebrows, sideburns and a goatee. His outfit consists of white boots with red details and steel toes, white trousers with red stripes running down the sides and horizontal strips of reflective fabric on the thighs. His jacket is mostly red with white shoulders and sleeves that have red pulse lines running down. His collar is open and he has a white zip-up with a red zipper underneath. The jacket also has reflective details, along with four pockets - 2 at the breast and two near the hem. The jacket is fastened at the middle with a white ratchet-belt with a steel buckle. His gloves are white. Optimus stands diagonally behind him, leaning forward with his hands clasped behind his back. He's drawn with light brown skin and five o'clock shadow, along with a faded scars across the left side of his chin and forehead, and a fresher, blotchy scar on the right side of his face. He has very dark colored eyes with incredibly hard to see sectoral heterochromia, partially brown and partially blue. He's looking at Ratchet, smiling gently. His hair is black with gray streaks, tied in a short ponytail with a few strands hanging near his ears. His outfit consists of a black turtleneck, a red cropped jacket with a light beige fluffy collar, blue trousers with gray patches and black combat boots that reach midway up his calves. His hands have many defensive scars on them from grabbing bladed weapons. The artist's signature "Silverior968" is overlayed over the image in blue. / End ID]

[tojigasm]

I ♥️ non smut fics

[lenateliier]

"A family I could truly call my own" what if I ended it all what if chapters 62-65 were my last straw please....

[ventifrappa]

mission: impossible - baby edition

[romance-rambles]

godheim alkaid | in which he has (almost) nothing to hide (anymore)

Years after you settle down near New Godheim, your sons take part in a scheme to distract their father before the big surprise party. Unfortunately, Alkaid is observant—and his sons take after him.

1.4k, post-canon, birthday surprises, really domestic stuff with slight angst, children of characters, reader is mc [mentioned only], series: an eventful first meeting

ALKAID IS TENDING TO HIS garden when the door to the quaint house he shares with his wife and three children creaks open.

Hushed whispers descend upon his blossoming garden, but he remains deliberately immersed in cooing over the flowers. His gloved fingers hover over, but never touch, the stems of the purple flower he once brought to life for his wife—back in the snow-buried Godheim he once called home.

Whatever silence his sons can scrounge up lasts only until someone starts shoving—from the yelping, he can guess it's Leo, the older of the two. They sort out the argument between them quickly, then wordlessly set out further into his garden.

And this is, apparently, how some siblings act, particularly if they're close in age. You've vouched for the statement with anecdotes of your school life, but even almost thirteen years later, he finds it hard to wrap his head around it.

He and Ehlonna were never so rough with each other—or at all. But then again, they could only ever dream of the only kind of childhood his sons know.

This is only another difference in a terribly long list, one he hopes will only grow longer.

"Hmm?" Alkaid pauses in his act, pretending to have only just noticed his sons' arrival. "Who is it?"

Silence greets him in return. He waits. A second becomes many, but they do not keep him waiting for long. Instead, they join him by the flowers, almost solemn in the way they gaze at his hard work.

And the way their eyebrows pinch together reminds him of you.

"And what brings the two of you here?" Resting his hands on his knees, he cranes his neck to greet them, one by one. A hint of amusement trickles into his tone. "Will you not be helping your mother this year?"

The two attempt to glance at each other. He leans back a little, disguising his short laugh as a polite cough. The remnants of a smile, however, linger long after his gloved hand retreats. Pressing the back of his bent fingers against his lips, he allows it to return to its former glory.

Behind his back, they converse wordlessly. He pretends he can't hear the rustling of their clothes as they gesture at each other.

"No," Leo huffs out. Forest green eyes narrow at him, carefully gauging his reaction. "There's no point in trying this year."

"Yeah," Sirius grumbles.

Unlike his brother, he's nearly the splitting image of his mother. The title is out of reach only because of the occasional reminders that Alkaid is his father—in the color of his eyes. In the thickness of his hair. In his love for gardening, and in his quiet perceptiveness, one that would leave him wise beyond his ears if he had been born into any other life.

"You always know what we're up to for your birthday."

Indeed, Alkaid thinks privately, settling down onto the ground, with his hands back on his knees. Without delay, his sons mimic him. Today is no different. But he'll pretend it is, though it remains to be seen if his youngest son will buy it.

"Oh," he utters instead. "You didn't get me a present?"

"Not a physical one," the blond says quickly. His words take on a biting quality at the end—the message is clear, both to his brother and to Alkaid, though it's aimed at only one of them. Say something. "We're going to do whatever you want to do, Father."

Turning his head to Leo, Alkaid pretends to think, "Well, I did plan on spending more time on the garden."

"Urk." His next words slip out through gritted teeth, not quite an affirmative, but neither is it a denial. The blond leans forward, unamused gaze pinned on his snickering brother. "Ahem, it's your birthday, Father. You should relax for the day. Somewhere far, far away from here."

"Your mother once did something similar," Alkaid says wistfully, obliviously. "How nostalgic."

In unison, with an ease that suggests much practice, the twins gag at his words. They cap it off with a bland, but insistent, "We know," having perhaps grown tired of hearing the same things over and over again.

"Have I mentioned it before?" he inquires innocently. He hasn't, by the way. Nor has he mentioned the ending, where you did manage to surprise him. Such a trick can only work so many times. "I must've forgotten."

"It's possible," Sirius agrees amiably, having recovered in remarkable time. His fingers lightly caress the soft petals of Alkaid's flowers. "It only shows how much you care about Mother. You make her tea whenever she wants and you've been growing these flowers because they remind you of her."

Less amiably, Leo grumbles, "And you've told us so many stories that we could recite them in our sleep. You and Mother both."

Alkaid smiles faintly. If that is the worst of his sins, of their sins, then surely, they're doing something right. That he has to listen to his children complain is a small price to pay.

"So, when are you going to give them to her?"

"I'm not sure," he admits.

It is the sense that he's being watched that spurs him to glance back at the kitchen window, but the curtain remains drawn, void of any silhouettes that would give the game away. He thinks of his wife, of the awkwardness that's settled into their home—a genuine mistake they don't feel equipped to fix, one that isn't even their own, not entirely.

But they should've expected it. They should've realized that people would carelessly bring Ehlonna up in front of the twins. They should've known better than to try and hide her sacrifice, her—

In that moment, the dark-haired boy nudges him, pulling his attention back onto the flowers. Carefully, a smile slots back into his pleasant expression. Alkaid unclenches his hand—and when had he done that?—and resolves to focus on the current matter at hand.

"Then, do the two of you have any ideas?"

"You'd know better," the younger blond mumbles, his spirits having noticeably dampened at the direction the conversation is taking. "You've known her for a long, long time. Longer than us, since before—"

As expected, Leo was—is—the bigger problem. And Alkaid understands it. He does. But he's allowed to hope that, one day, Leo will realize he has nothing to compensate for, even if he is a bit more withdrawn than his siblings.

A lot more withdrawn, actually.

Perhaps oblivious to the slight tension in the air, though that seems unlikely, Sirius interrupts him without a care. "Give them to her on her birthday!"

A sound option, but—

Alkaid glances at his oldest son. Lips jutting out into a pout, he glares at the unsuspecting flowers in front of him. Under the sun's warmth, his hair takes on a more golden hue, as if it was gold spun into delicate strands.

Brushing the boy's bangs out of his face, Alkaid asks, "And what about you?"

"Isn't it your birthday today?"

He holds his forehead and scowls. At his father's words? At his actions? The older blond remains uncertain. Scarlet blooms acroas the boy's cheeks, the color intensifying as his brother snickers.

Gently, Alkaid offers his younger son a rebuke.

"You're right. Why don't we change the subject then?" He chuckles, tapping his chin. A hint of amusement slips into his words; his next words come out almost song-like. "Now, what shall we talk about?"

"Anything else."

"From before you met Mother!"

As requested by his boys, the topic shifts. The garden soon forgotten, they talk about his childhood.

He talks about Zack, who he'd reunited with shortly after New Godheim had been established, who they knew as "Uncle Zack". He talks about Ehlonna, focusing on the happier memories—on stars, and how he thought she might appreciate the company.

He talks about the Archmage last, telling them close to everything but the period in between, where their relationship grew distant. Wording his sentences carefully, so that they won't look unkindly upon his mentor. Focusing on the happier bits, like the time he and Ehlonna threw him a surprise party, even though they—and the emperor, as well—knew nothing about the day of his birth.

And in the garden they remain, until the ringleader behind this surprise birthday operation comes to fetch them herself, when Alkaid utilizes his best acting skills to be nothing less than thoroughly caught off-guard.

They don't really believe him, but that's okay.

There's always next year.

[skoulsons]

sooo sunday we get ellie staying as close to joel as humanly possible because he’s her comfort. because he does and will protect her with every cell in his body. because she’s been scared to death dealing with davids men, but now she’s safe with her home and her comfort and protection and her father and so she stays as close to him as she possibly can. sleeping right beside him, clinging to his side, just overall being in close proximity around their fire that night because it’s him and she needs him and she finally has him back

[childotkw]

Loved the new chapter of CS - always a treat to get an update 💛

Recently I’ve been really obsessed with the idea of domestic Hadrian and Tom, later in their lives after all this craziness in their courting years. Could you perhaps share your thoughts or write a snippet of a scene you could imagine? As the creator I feel you’d have the best vision!

Aaaaayyyyyy thank you!! And sure! I need something sweet to combat all the sour that's about to rain down on them 😂

--- -- --- -- ---

Hadrian woke with a soft grunt, burrowing his head into the pillow to escape the sunlight that was doing it's damn best to reach into his skull and burn his brain.

He was foiled when the thick blanket was unceremoniously stolen from him.

"No," he whined, muffled, curling up instinctively. The cold air brushed over the bare skin of his back and made him shiver violently.

"Get up," Riddle demanded.

Hadrian shoved himself up on his elbows grumpily, squinting at the man. His expression went dismayed. "For the love of all things good why are you already dressed?"

"Because unlike you, I have a schedule to keep to." Riddle tossed the blanket onto the foot of the bed, far from Hadrian's reach.

Hadrian eyed it, sluggish mind calculating the distance and speed he would need to move to reclaim it. He collapsed back down when he realised it would be too much.

"I resent the implication that I don't do anything important enough to have a schedule," he muttered, rubbing roughly at his face. Now that Riddle was here, it would take death for him to get another five minutes of sleep.

Five minutes, because that was all Riddle would allow him before dragging his soul back into his husk of a body kicking and screaming.

Because he was a cruel, evil man and Hadrian hated him.

He told him as much. Riddle gave him the most unimpressed look Hadrian had ever received - which was admirable given Hadrian had lived with Lily Potter for most of his life. He didn't say that though, because Riddle always got defensive when the topic of either of their mothers came up.

"Gods, we have so many issues," Hadrian whispered, sliding from the bed finally. Riddle raised an eyebrow but graciously let Hadrian keep the comment to himself.

"We have a brunch to get to," Riddle said instead, shooing Hadrian towards the bathroom as he split off to go to the wardrobe.

"Oh, heavens forbid we're late to brunch," Hadrian gasped, stepping through the door and beelining for the shower. "The sky would surely fall if we upended your precious daily organisation."

"You think you're funny, but you're showing your age with remarks like that," Riddle called.

Hadrian, stripped fully and under the flow of hot water, stared balefully at the beautiful tiled pattern because his partner was unfortunately out of sight. "Good!" he shouted back. "It'll remind everyone that your fucking someone young enough to be your grandson!"

Riddle appeared in the doorway, his face flatter and less expressive than a corpse's. Hadrian smiled guilelessly and tipped his head back to wet his hair.

All told, it wasn't the worst start to a day that they've had.