#Tesco brie

[gleafer]

AGAIN.

A.

G.

A.

I.

N.

[marigold-hills]

Oh I am so jumping in here.

Can you give us a dreamy summer wolfstar first kiss/get together, but put it in YOUR nostalgic summer. Like whatever that means for you. Where are they? What are they eating/drinking? What is the air like? The lighting? The smells and sounds?

I humbly bow before your altar take my compliments on your prose and pacing and metaphors as my offering 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Hey! Loved this ask. It completely run away from me. Hope you enjoy it! (Also you said altar and offering and well. Those words clearly stayed with me.)

It’s wine and bread, a fancy cheese selection from Tesco’s. A little plastic pot of olives. No blanket, because they’re not tourists and don’t mind a bit of sand as seasoning.

The storm is coming in.

They can see it, across the vastness of water, darkening the horizon and stretching through the sky like spilled ink.

Recreating exactly how it was the first time, years ago:

Remus had said there’s a storm tonight. We should go and watch it.

On the beach? Sirius had asked, a bit bewildered. The wind was already picking up, and the logistics of sitting out in the open during a downpour didn’t enamour him.

Remus, undeterred, prepared a backpack. I know a place, he said, we’ll be hidden from the rain. Trust me?

And Sirius did: with his life, with his time. Followed him off the main promenade and across the dunes until they reached a hidden spot of sand: a bay, of sorts, with a railway bridge backed into the cliff side. The arches of its support beams only faced open towards the water, secluded otherwise by brick and clay.

“Used to come here with da, when I was a kid,” Remus told him: “there are fossils in the clay if you know where to look. Come out after heavy rain best, maybe we’ll find something tomorrow.”

They set up under one of the arches. Remus built a stone circle at the mouth of it, stacked it with sticks and driftwood he’d collected on their way. Set a crumpled wad of receipts from his pocket on fire and used it as kindling.

“Impressing me with your caveman skills here, Moony.” Sirius had known, of course, that wild streak within Remus, seen it shine through sometimes when he let his guard down, but this was something new. Large hands stoking the flame as it slowly engulfed the given wood, eyes alight with its reflection. Sirius felt a pull at his navel like a fishhook: handle me like this, the pull said.

He’d made a mistake, maybe, following Moony back to his parents’ house for the summer after their graduation. A miscalculation of how much he could stand watching him, in the summer heat, with sea breeze curling his hair.

Red wine, a couple paper cups. Sirius didn’t like it then yet: not like he pretended to, and it was a cheap bottle from the middle shelf. The aftertaste was sharp, it stayed on his tongue and the insides of his cheeks - dry, clinging.

Cheeses Remus had cut into cubes. Pungent Stilton with dark blue veins, Brie, white skin coating the creamy interior, fruity Wensleydale filled with cranberries.

They sat side by side by the fire as the storm hit. The rain a heavy curtain in front of them, the wind making their fire dance erratically. Sirius had never seen it like this, surprised by the intensity of the smell of salt in the air. Despite the cover, a thin mist of spray hit his face when the wind blew just right.

Remus had made him a canapé of sorts, spread a chutney on a finger-torn piece of sourdough and topped it with the Stilton. He ate it in one bite. Asked for another, just like it, the taste round and warming, somehow.

“It’s the chutney,” Remus said. “There’s chilli in it. Try an olive.”

A new thing, this, being presented with food like offerings. Remus watched each bite Sirius took with an intent, as if they were eating something rare and costly. Like this, with the storm above them and the fire in Moony’s eyes, Sirius felt each mouth full was something precious, something to be cherished. A worship, and he wasn’t sure if he was the god being praised or the offering on the altar.

They’d almost finished the bottle when Remus asked want to swim? With such wonderful abandon that Sirius didn’t even hesitate. Yes, he said, and they took off their trousers and shirts and walked hand in hand into the water.

The first crack of thunder rang out when they were knee deep. Remus laughed, free and loud like a curlew, head thrown back into the falling rain. The sky turned white with the lightning and Sirius thought it’s you, that needs to be worshipped.

Moments like this, though, something Sirius didn’t know: it’s too easy, for thoughts to be said aloud.

Remus turned to him like a trap closing. “Is that right?”

“You look like a god of the sea.”

(Another break of thunder, a wave sweeping into them, rough with the storm but soft like a touch.)

Remus took his hand, pulled him further into the water. There were raindrops caught in his eyelashes, and Sirius realised I’m close enough to touch them. He did, shaky fingers, as lighting lit them up. The water made Remus’ curls heavy and darker, sat on his skin in a fine sheen. “I want to lay you out onto the sand,” Sirius thought-said, “trace the path of every raindrop.”

“You’ll be at it for hours.”

“As long as you’ll let me.”

The first time they kissed, Remus tasted like salt.

NOTES:

I feel compelled to point out: everyone. Please don’t drink and swim! Don’t swim in the storm! Especially not in the sea.

I don’t know how I didn’t realise before you’re the person who wrote The Homecoming of Sirius Black??? I LOVED it. Honestly the fact that you enjoy my writing feels like such a massive compliment.

[cocteautwinslyrics]

apparently the tesco brie and bacon sandwich is receiving a lot of haters well i'd like it to be known that im not oneof them im ride or die for tesco brie and bacon sandwich

[salted-caramel-tea]

i just spent £50 in tesco so i can make cinnamon rolls for my friend who is leaving work tomorrow and to make my bf a baked brie platter for his birthday i love winter festivities i am broke

[writcraft]

For the ship headcanon meme: 6, 11 and 25 for Draco and Harry :) 26 too if you like, that ties nicely with 25 I’d say!

Thank you so much for the ask! <3

Answers below the cut to my Drarry headcanons for 6 - 'Who do they ask if they ever have a threesome?' and '25 - Why do they fight?' - I am still pondering 11 and will come back to that.

ship headcanon meme

6. Who do they ask if they ever have a threesome? My brain wants it to be Severus, my OT3. However I think somebody uncomplicated. Enter Charlie Weasley, stage left. Charlie loves his dragons, travelling and having fun with people he has an easy, flirty relationship with. He has zero interest in monogamy or anything long term. That's not to say he doesn't see the benefit in having casual, no-strings options and when he finds out Harry and Draco are both curious and interested, he's more than willing to join them for a night. It’s fun, light hearted and hot as hell. It's not a regular thing, but Christmas at The Burrow is interesting after that to say the least. Particularly when Harry and Charlie make plans for giving Draco the kind of present you don’t open with company. Draco never knew that "pass the stuffing" or "more roast potatoes, please" could sound so erotic, but with Harry and Charlie pressed on either side of him it's all he can do to finish his turkey before dragging them somewhere more private. It's not every year, or every Christmas, but now and then when the stars align it happens, it works and it's something that always draws Harry and Draco closer together instead of pulling them apart.

25. Why do they fight? On the surface it seems like they fight about everything from Draco's inability to tidy up after himself to Harry buying that awful excuse for brie from the local Tesco. In truth, they rarely have fights that matter. When those fights come they are swift, brutal things that seep into their bones. For Draco, those fights make him feel small and petulant. For Harry, they make him restless and he flies to a point where the air is cold and thin enough to hurt before he drops back down to earth. Lately, it's about Harry's job. Draco pretends to hate the Ministry and everything it stands for because he refuses to admit that the thought of Harry putting himself in danger terrifies him. Harry defends a place he doesn't believe in anymore, even though he's tired and disillusioned. He's not quite ready to confront the fact that after years of building his career he needs to build something new.

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

Ok so as someone who likes the majority of the food in phil's video, here's the thing:

-olives are delicious, but you need to get the like really fresh ones that are not from a jar from a supermarket. Find a turkish stall at a market that also sells the flatbread and cream cheeses and whatnot and get both black and green olives there. Much better texture, much softer (non-vinegary) flavour.

-why the fuck would you give someone who hates mushrooms a slice of raw mushroom. Fry that shit in butter with garlic.

-mayonaise should only be used as an addition to dishes, like having a little bit on a hamburger.

-i'm dutch and therefore legally obliged to eat cheese and as it happens i actually like brie and moldy cheese and goats cheese but, again, maybe don't get the tesco cheap stuff, go to a proper shop, get some honey, some nuts, some grapes, be fancy af about it and the taste will be so much better

-babybel can't be saved, just give up

[jays-world-of-wonder]

Prompts #38 - The Friend Bucket List (Because My Standards Are Basically Nonexistent)

What quality do you value most in a friend? Listen, making friends as an adult is rough. It’s like trying to find a matching sock in a dryer full of mismatched laundry. You sift through a pile of acquaintances, past co-workers, and that one girl you met in line at Tesco who just really liked your cheese selection (it was a brie-lliant choice, if I do say so myself). But hey, I’m not here to…

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning!  I hope you slept well and feel rested?  Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day.  Happy Hump Day!

Yesterday Too Much Information Tuesday amused me enormously.  80% of Britons have a sandwich for lunch?  I sure did.  It was a Tesco limited edition brie & smoked bacon sandwich with chilli jam and bloody delicious it was too!  In fact, this fat bastard had a sandwich for dinner too!  I had a chip butty!  Do you know what a chip butty is?  As a school kid at Highgate Wood, we used to go into the chippy in Crouch End, get a buttered roll and stuff it full of chips (seasoned with salt and vinegar, of course!)  It hit the spot!  If you know … you know!  Last night, as I’d made a delicious cheese and ham omelette, I shoved that in the chip butty too!  Can you imagine the mess?  I was in Heaven!  (You’re hungry now, innit?)

Some people think that Too Much Information Tuesday is a list of silly jokes.  It’s not.  These are actual facts!  That’s what makes it so funny.  There is a species of sea slug that sheds its penis after sex, but quickly regrows it and is able to have sex again within 24 hours.  What?  That did my head in!  Imagine if that happened to men?  It might grow back bigger?  Bonus!  Knowing my luck, it would grow back smaller!

Today’s work day starts at 9.30 a.m. and finishes at 9.00 p.m.  I told Lady Wesker about my work day and she shrieked in horror.  “What can I say, Mum?  They keep giving me more work!”  “That’s because they’re happy to have found you!” she said.  “No one wants to work anymore!”  Not strictly true.  The self-employed have to keep working!  For the month of February, e-on next charged me £394.26 for gas and electricity.  It’s not a cost of living crisis, it’s a cost of greed crisis.  This self-employed boy will have to keep working or The Trouble will complain about the cold! 

Have a wonderful and well-endowed Wednesday.  I love you all.  Yes, a crazy, bald man loves and cares about you.  

[waiting-for-my-hogwarts-letter]

My school is fucking weird.

Literally everyone who has been to my school. Ever.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

Tesco didn’t have any camembert in stock, what was even the point of going there ;_;

[travelling-my-little-pony]

It is the year of Cheese Sandwich with a different cheese every day!

This is photo 325 of 365.

Here is Cheese Sandwich with a huge French brie from Tesco.

[harveywritings92]

Shoto reads to Enji a text message from Touya (Dabi):

Shoto: "Tesco's out of Brie, so gn to Paris."

Enji: "Gn?"

Shoto: "Prices 2 high, so gn to Nice for chse."

Enji: Mm-hmm.

Shoto: "Don't worry about money. I have Dad's bnk card." Any reply?

Enji: Yep, yep.

Shoto types as Enji dictates

Enji: "Dr Tya, u r f'd."

[ncityzen]

ok i'm gonna get creative... top 5 products at the supermarket

omg I have visited many supermarkets in my life so I could really give you a different list for each of my fave supermarkets shfksk but just general products-wise

1. i LOVED Tesco's dark chocolate ginger biscuits you have no idea but then one day they just stopped selling them (at least in my town) and I was DEVASTATED. rip you'll never be forgotten and still get n. 1 😔

2. Cheese: my go-to cheese at the supermarket rn is camembert (but like, one that doesn't taste like brie, this is super important) or comté or gruyère

3. Pistachios or chestnuts

4. Hand soap: love washing my hands, love changing it up with the scents. I am one of those people who love coconut no shame, or just floral like roses and stuff

5. Instant soup. I know it's not the best but I love it, especially mushroom cream, but sometimes I like to try new things 🥰

Ask me my top 5 anything!

[salted-caramel-tea]

i need to go to the other big tesco tomorrow bc they didn’t have the vodka i wanted to get mt bf for his birthday in the closer big tesco . they might have it in the big sainsburys so i’ll try there first bc they have some cheap wooden cutting boards i can use for the brie platter

[fingerguneds]

hi! could I ask for some stozier fluff, like, stan and richie go grocery shopping ( not established relationship but they both like each other a whole lot ) 💞 thanks!

heyy

thank you very much for your ask, i fucking loved working on this, hope you don’t mind my loose interpretation of your prompt..

_

Stanley doesn’t like grocery shopping. He hates it, actually: it’s stressful, it’s always about letting people bother you somehow, and it’s totally not worth it when there’s food delivery.

But newsflash sweetie, it’s New Year’s Eve and all the closest shops are bombarded with orders. He can’t even imagine a worse case of spending the last few hours of 2019th, maybe with an exception of having to be with his parents, but whatever. It’s still bad.

So there he is, with bananas, blueberries and two bottles of white dessert wine in his cart he’s sure gonna suck in all alone in his sitting room later this evening, deciding on whether he needs another head of brie cheese, when he notices a familiar mop of black curly hair by the cereal stand.

There’s no way he wouldn’t recognize Richard Tozier from the communication and design department. He’s one of the loudest, brightest and most charmingly gorgeous people in their company, and if Stan ever tells you he hasn’t been having a huge, fat crush on him for the last few months, he’d be the ugliest, most pathetic liar.

He’s a good liar, though. He’s excellent at ignoring his fluttering heart every time Richie walks in their department to share a word with Eddie Kaspbrak, the most pleasant coworker of Stan’s in his personal opinion, or casting his best cold-eye when at parties they accidentally end up sharing a table and the guy, because he’s actually nice to everyone, tries to start an odd conversation about broken vending machines on the first floor or the fucking weather.

Why? Because Stan’s a pussy. He’s already really, really attracted to this black-haired mess of a person, with his ridiculously dark eyes with stupidly long lashes on a damn weird face one wouldn’t call pretty, because of that big nose, covered in bright specks of freckles that burn on cool paleness of his skin, or large, red and plump-lipped mouth; but would totally still define as beautiful, because those eyes are not just dark — they’re the colour of reddish pine bark after it’s been raining for hours; because that skin is not just pale — it’s like absolutely white marble with rare blue veins in all the rightest places of the man’s slender body; because his features, although weird and uncommon, somehow create a loud and charismatic pattern that attracts an eye, that makes you want to look, to inspect, to...admire.

And that’s what Stan’s been doing. Admiring from afar, because he’s a coward, too sensitive to let someone this loveable, loud and easy-going in. He’s too protective over his heart, he doesn’t take risks, he’s too fragile for his own good, and one more thing — even though Stanley secretly thinks he’s better than everyone, there is no way someone like Richie would want to do anything with him. He’s the most adorable with everyone, that’s in his nature, and thank god Stan smart enough to know that and to be aware that he’s not special — that Richie flirts with anyone, holds the door for every goddamn person in the office, checks up on every other stranger in an elevator, and although this still makes Stan’s dick ridiculously hard, he also almost dies on the spot when Richie turns his head a little bit and after a moment of surprise breaks into a grin. Stan, like a good goddamn liar he is, shoots him a quick nod of recognition, throws the bloody cheese into his cart with a bored expression and decides to get the fuck out of this place before his heart decides to break his ribcage into pieces. As calm and collected Stanley Uris is on the outside, he’s just as chaotic and messy on the inside.

He walks towards the end of an aisle as casual but fast as possible, as if his feet are on fire but he’s used to it (which is true, metaphorically speaking), and just when he’s ready to hide from Richie behind another row, something much, much more terrible than bumping into your big fat crush slash occasional wet dream happens to him.

“Stan!”

His heart drops down to his feet, when he recognizes the voice. He keeps walking forward, hoping for an earthquake, a sudden alien invasion, The Judgment Day — anything to save him from this most unwanted encounter, but of course nothing happens. A big tenacious hand still grabs his forearm, making him stop and turn, and this face Stan’s been successfully avoiding for the past couple years still appears in front of him, unchanged and familiar as ever.

Patrick.

See, he maybe wouldn’t be afraid of talking to Richie and making friends with him and maybe even going for more, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s been in a relationship with one extremely toxic and emotionally abusive man, and although Stan knows all these things, he knows he only terrorized him because he’s an awful person, not Stan, he still—can’t not be affected.

Who in the hell’s gonna love a needy Jewish nerd with a fucked-up brain and a shit ton of insecurities, earned throughout his not-so-bright pathetic faggot life?

Only Patrick, with his huge, kind heart and a perverted kink for losers, lucky for Stan: shaming people for what they are first, than pressing further, and finishing up with messing them up completely.

“Oh, hi, Patrick” Stan says casually, shoulders relaxed, body weight kept on one leg, yet one hand clinging the cart’s holder so tight his fingers turn purple, the other one in a fist, nails professionally breaking the delicate skin of Stan’s palm. “Long time no see.”

Leaving your ass all those years ago is still one of my biggest accomplishments, asshole.

Patrick’s eyes sparkle wickedly and his lips break into a wolfish smirk. Stanley finally notices he’s not alone: to the right there stands a blond man, not tall, seemingly muscular, small blue piggish eyes squinting at him with an alarming amount of hatred. Just what the fuck.

“How rude of me, this is Dean, by the way,” he says, showing up their intertwined fingers. Stan doesn’t feel jealous or envious, to his own pleasure, but he does feel this wholesome wave of bitterness. Assholes shouldn’t get away with all the nasty things they do and then proceed to live their nasty lives like nothing happened, while people they leave crippled and broken still suffer with their demons.

Stan won’t give him the satisfaction. He breaths in and smiles politely.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says, totally aware that although he’s the lonely one here, he’s still prettier and, dare he say, smarter than that Dean guy. His mug...his mug is for sure a God’s creation, but boy, did he decide to go off with this one? Yes. And absolutely nothing says mind in those little dirty-blue pools of anger he has for eyes. He looks like someone who would tattoo their first lover’s name on their bicep. And make tik-toks in their truck.

“Nice set,” Patrick, the fucker, senses Stanley’s dominating vibe and makes another elegant attempt to ruin everything he’s been building up. “Here alone?”

Okay, alright, it’s gonna be tough at the beginning, but at least he’s not holding some Dean’s sweaty stupid hand—

“Love, I only found buckwheat pasta, it all must be taken already,” and now it’s time for the third thing to make Stanley discover a lot of new white hairs tomorrow in front of the mirror. Thank God he’s not dark-haired.

Like Richie fucking Tozier, who appears literally out of nowhere, with a pack of fucking buckwheat pasta in his hand, the kindest, warmest look in his eyes behind huge coke-bottle glasses he (of course) rocks the shit out, and a smile Stan’s sure gonna jerk off to for days.

“We could drive to Tesco if you wanna—“ he starts in another attempt to silently offer Stanley a helping hand, but cuts himself off. “Oh, I’m sorry, do I know you?” he turns to face Patrick and Dean with a ridiculous replica of Stanley’s own polite smile, and if Stan wouldn’t be this honest-to-god shocked, he’d definitely laugh at the sight of it.

Patrick looks...scandalized in the most precious way.

“It’s Patrick,” Stan says, thankfully without a tremble in his voice. “We used to date a long time ago. And this is...um, Dean, right?”

“Yeah,” Patrick nods, seemingly taken aback. “My current boyfriend.”

“Oh, my pleasure!” Richie exclaims, grinning widely. “Honoured to meet my man’s old friends,” Stan almost chokes at this, but suddenly there’s someone’s strong hand sliding on his waist, and a solid body, pressing against his side. “I’m Richie by the way, Stanley’s current boyfriend.”

An uncomfortable silence hangs then between the four of them, until Patrick licks his lips in a predatory way, and nods again.

“Alright, we better keep going. It was nice to see you, Stan, have fun,” he almost spits out the last words, and him and Dean quickly leave, just like a mirage Stanley would rather forget forever.

But not the hand, still holding him tight.

“You okay?” Richie murmurs then quietly into Stan’s ear, sending warm shivers down his body. Stan hopes his coat is thick enough for Richie to not hear how embarrassingly rapid his heartbeat currently is.

“Yeah,” he answers, nodding. As much as he hates to do this, he takes a step back, which allows him to look at Richie closely for the first time in his life.

And God he’s handsome.

“I’m—“ Stanley asks, but Richie cuts him off.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and although his eyes are still pleasantly concerned, his lips curve into a small guilty smile. “I didn’t want to spy on you, I just overheard that asshole—shit, sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“No, he is an asshole,” Stanley shrugs, still lying to Richie and himself. Lying that his body’s not still on fire, his brains are not melting into disgustingly sweet puddles of adoration, his palms are not sweaty and his throat is not drier than Sahara. “And thank you for...helping me out, I guess? You really didn’t have to do that.”

Richie looks at him with something Stanley can’t really understand in his eyes, and his smile widens, revealing two big front teeth one would call funny, but Stan honest to god finds them adorable. Like the rest of Richie, really. There’s no point in denying this, he’s gone.

“I know,” he says, and his voice is low, with a slight edge. “I just, I thought there’s no better time than the present, you know, and instead of making another New Year resolution I’m going to ignore, I could give myself a chance right here and right now,” the apples of his cheeks turn an impossibly lovely shade of pink, and Stanley wants to slap himself for being such a slut for this man. He collects himself without a flinch and finally pays attention to Richie’s words and frowns.

“I beg your pardon?”

Richie keeps blushing deeper and deeper in shade.

“Well, you see, there’s that adorable Hebrew in my friend Eddie’s department that I’ve been trying to court for months, but he’s either too dense to notice it, or it’s me who’s dense and is just too preoccupied to take “no” as an answer, you know? So I’ve decided to go off in 2020 and...basically crack my ass to make that boy be more clear, yeah? Because I’m crushing like crazy stupid, you have no idea,” by the end of his ramble, his face is fully red, and fortunately for him, he’s not the only one looking like a basic white tourist after seven hours under Egyptian sun without a hat.

“Did you,” Stan mewls, voice finally breaking like a bitch, but nevertheless, his chin is up and he’s professionally acting like he doesn’t look as pathetic as Richie. “Did you just call me dense while hitting on me?”

“Yeah,” Richie breathes out, and his smile is so sunny, and warm, and relieved that Stan can’t help but smile back, rolling his eyes nevertheless, because he’s what? Still a good liar. “Did it work?”

***

It definitely did, Stanley thinks two hours later, sitting in Richie’s barstool with a glass of wine in one hand, watching the other man cook that bloody buckwheat pasta and listening to his absolutely endearing unstoppable ramble about his secret passion for cooking and not-so-secret passion for Stanley. He really, really doesn’t give a shit about embarrassing himself, Stan realizes somewhere after the words “I got shitfaced and ugly-cried for hours at that party when you left the table exactly thirty seconds after I tried to initiate a conversation with you.”

It definitely did, Richie thinks in the next morning, waking up with Stanley’s curls in his mouth, his back pressed against Richie’s chest and their bodies wrapped around each other under lazy January sun.

_

i have to say i’m not a huge fan of fake/pretend relationship trope but this specific um turn of events when character a is in an embarrassingly lonely situation against their ex and character b abruptly decides to save the day and then they end up together for real...is the shit

[starlingsrps]

you’d be north.

henry is halfway home from tesco when his phone rings. he juggles bags to fish it out of his jacket pocket. there are two people who call him rather than just texting and two people who refuse to leave voicemails, preferring to call and call until they reach him: his mother and ronnie. his mother is off to majorca with his father for a month and ronnie...well, he's not one hundred percent sure what ronnie is up to but she's calling so he answers.

"hello?"

her voice is california bright, bringing to mind the better parts of the state he remembers. ronnie sounds warm and bright, like sunshine and the over priced lattes that she got him hooked on the last time he allowed her to drag him to los angeles. "hey!" she chirps. "where you at?"

he starts down the sidewalk again, shoulders hunched against the october breeze. "doing a quick shop," he says. "i was out of milk."

"you're also out of brie. and cheddar. i swear to god henry, you live like an animal."

he stops again. he should have known the connection was too clear for her to be in los angeles. "ronnie," he says. "did you break into my apartment again?"

he can hear the shrug in her voice, see her frowning as she roots through his cheese drawer and finds it wanting. "don't leave your key under the mat if you don't want people stopping by," she says breezily.

he holds back a sigh and begins to move, his steps quicker now that he knows he has a guest. "to what do i owe this honor?"

"i was bored and wanted those samosas from that place by your house."

"so you popped on a transatlantic flight to criticize my cheese drawer and eat samosas?"

"well, when you put it like that."

"did you at least take scout out when you broke in?"

"duh."

"well, okay then. i'll be home in ten, if you can wait that long."

she sighs, heavy and dramatic. "i'll survive, i guess."

he walks faster once they hang up, making a quick stop that puts him at fifteen minutes before getting home instea. he can hear the sound of his record player pumping out david bowie through the door before he lets himself inside. she's in his kitchen, scout perched on a stool to watch her cut up cheese for a snack. he heaves the tesco bags on the kitchen island and looks around for a moment. her louis vuitton duffel is on his table, clothes already leaking out of it. there's a giant glass of wine next to her and she's already stolen his oxford rowing sweatshirt the way she always does.

she grins at him and sips her wine. "you get me my brie?"

he sighs before presenting her with the wheel of cheese he'd stopped to get. "brat," he says, kissing her hello on each cheek. "i need a bigger guard dog."