#nearest takeaway to me

[saporeditaliauk]

Discover the Passion of Italy at Sapore D'Italia, New House Park, St Albans

Are you ready to embark on a culinary adventure without leaving the comfort of New House Park? Sapore D'Italia invites you to experience the vibrant flavours of Italy, expertly crafted and delivered right to your doorstep.

Arrabbiata Pasta: A Fiery Temptation

Our Arrabbiata Pasta is a fiery masterpiece, a symphony of flavors that will leave your taste buds dancing. Imagine tender penne pasta tossed in a rich tomato sauce, infused with the heat of fiery roquito peppers, and finished with a sprinkle of pecorino and romano cheese. It's a dish that promises to ignite your senses and leave you craving more.

The secret to our Arrabbiata lies in the perfect balance of spice and sweetness. The tangy tomato sauce is complemented by the heat of the roquito peppers, creating a harmonious blend of flavours. The garlic oil adds a depth of flavour, while the pecorino and romano cheese provide a creamy and nutty finish that perfectly complements the spicy sauce.

A Culinary Journey Through Italy

At Sapore D'Italia, we're dedicated to bringing the authentic flavours of Italy to your doorstep. Our menu features traditional Italian dishes, from classic pizzas and pasta to hearty meat and seafood specialities. Every bite is a journey through the heart of Italy, crafted with fresh, high-quality ingredients and cooked to perfection.

Why Choose Sapore D'Italia?

Authentic Italian Flavors: Our dishes are inspired by traditional Italian recipes, ensuring an authentic and unforgettable dining experience.

Local Convenience: We're conveniently located in New House Park, St Albans, making it easy to enjoy our delicious food without the hassle.

Expert Chefs: Our talented chefs have years of experience in creating authentic Italian cuisine, ensuring every dish is a masterpiece.

Exceptional Value: We offer competitive prices without compromising quality, making indulging in Italian luxury easy.

Ready to Experience the Taste of Italy?

Whether looking for a quick and delicious meal or a special occasion dinner, Sapore D'Italia is the perfect choice. Order from us and discover the magic of Italian cuisine at our local takeaway in New House Park, St Albans.

[satans-knitwear]

What does a takeaway even cost?

I don't think many deliver round here unless you spend at least £20??? Some are more??

[marzipanandminutiae]

I've gotten some interesting responses to my post wondering if Um Actually 3 AM Is The REAL Time For Supernatural Occurrences was a traditional thing before I first noticed it in the creepypasta boom of the late 00s-2010s, as many of those creepypastas claimed. some of them along "guys. please. reading comprehension" lines, I admit

"Lots of cultures have a Witching Hour!" yes, true, but that's not 3 AM specifically. for a long time it was usually midnight, or an unspecified late night/wee hours of the morning period

"This author says 3 AM feels like depression or vice versa!" that is not about Spooky Things Happening; try again

"early Christian beliefs say-" "well, in traditional Japanese folklore-" sources??? (also from what I've seen while looking into this, the Hour of the Ox in historical Japanese timekeeping was between 1 AM and 3 AM- 3 AM specifically was the end of it, not the beginning. but it was a traditional time for curses)

A mention of 3 AM as a particularly bad time of night re: health, sleep, nightmares, etc. in Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962), which DOES seem reliable and close enough to what I'm talking about

Apparently the 1974 Amityville murders happened at 3 AM, and of course that house had a highly public (probably faked) haunting. So that could have contributed

I haven't yet found anything earlier than that Bradbury reference that SPECIFICALLY mentions 3 AM as a time when scary and/or supernatural things happen, WITH ACTUAL SOURCES

Interestingly, the Bradbury quote doesn't seem to refer back to an existing cultural belief in the idea of Evil 3 AM(TM). rather it's framed as the narrator's personal feelings around that particular time of night:

"Oh God, midnight’s not bad, you wake and go back to sleep, one or two’s not bad, you toss but sleep again. Five or six in the morning, there’s hope, for dawn’s just under the horizon. But three, now, Christ, three A.M.! Doctors say the body’s at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow. You’re the nearest to dead you’ll ever be save dying. Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed staring, is living death! You dream with your eyes open. God, if you had strength to rouse up, you’d slaughter your half-dreams ... And wasn’t it true, had he read somewhere, more people in hospitals die at 3 A.M. than at any other time." [I can't find any credible studies of this, for the record]

so it seems like the seeds of the idea were floating around in the cultural consciousness for a long time, between unspecified Witching Hours and the Hour of the Ox curses and this probably erroneous but popular belief that most people who die in hospitals do so at 3 AM. but as for the very strictly-defined notion that Supernatural Things Are Most Likely To Happen At 3 AM...the earliest anecdotal reference I saw to someone having heard that was from the 1980s, and it doesn't seem to have really entered the zeitgeist with force until the late 2000s, earliest

unless someone shows me a source on something earlier, that's what I'm going with

which leaves my takeaway, as a paranormal believer, being: there's nothing supernaturally special about 3 AM, unless it has individual significance to a specific entity or haunting (ie residual apparition of an event that took place at that time). it's something people came up with for interesting fiction, as a fresh take on the longstanding western idea that the Witching Hour is midnight, and not even that long ago

[the-fiction-witch]

Illusion

Media - Doctor Who (The Lodger Episode) Character - The Doctor (11th) Couple - The Doctor X Reader Reader - Y/n (Companion) Rating - Flirty Word Count - 2857

The doctor bounced around his room, jumping on the bed, still getting accustomed to his room. He had been a lodger with the human Craig for about three days and was already losing his mind pretending to be a human. Of course, The Doctor wasn’t exactly the best at being a human, unsure of the human ways and habits. All the little things that wouldn’t make him look insane so was having to check in very regularly with his human companion back in the Tardis. 

"Honestly? As if being trapped here on Earth wasn't bad enough, I'm starting to think I've gone crazy having to listen to the neighbours screaming at each other for days on end over the most mundane of things!" he complained, "How about you? I'm going to assume that you're having a much better time back at the Tardis,"

"Welcome to humanity." she giggled, "Tardis is fine,"

He sat back up and stared at the walls around him for a good five seconds before letting out another groan, he felt like banging his head against the wall, "Y/n, do me a favour and start doing something useful, I desperately need something to keep me distracted or I'm going to start screaming,"

"Why not read a book?"

The Doctor let out a frustrated sigh before he rolled onto his back and groaned loudly. He glanced over at his small bookshelf before rolling over to the edge of his bed and grabbing the nearest book on it. "I've read all of these already, and nothing that came out since has held my interest!" He flipped through the pages of the book, 

"Write a book?" 

He slammed the book shut and threw it across the room in frustration, "I'm better at doing stuff, like exploring the universe!" The Doctor suddenly perked up as an idea popped into his head "Or, I could build something, or explore some of the buildings here in the city, anything with more action than sitting on my sofa staring at the walls all night because no one here is interesting!"

"Why don't you do the human thing, order a takeaway, drink a beer, and watch crap TV?"

"Absolutely not! I think I'd rather claw out my eyes then watch old reruns of the old Eastenders, and reality TV! Give me anything else that isn't that or Love Island for the love of all time!" He shuddered at the mere thought of having to watch shows like that... He absolutely hated the idea of it

She giggled, "Well... How about I put the Tardis into a safe orbit mode, and come down? Help to sell the illusion you’re really a human if you actually interact with someone, and I'll come to keep you company we can get some food in, and have a drink," she suggested "I get to show you the fun of a human evening,"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow as he thought about it for a moment. On one hand he really hated the idea of doing any of those things, but he supposed it was better than spending a night watching Love Island of all things so he begrudgingly gave in. "...Fine! I suppose I can suffer through an evening of acting like a regular human and all the pointless things they do at night like drinking alcohol and stuffing their faces with bad food."

"All right be there in five," she rang off,

The Doctor quickly got up from the edge of his bed and quickly started tidying up the small bedroom he had to make it look like an actual human lived there. He stuffed anything that would look odd and alien underneath the blankets. A book here and there along with just some general random stuff that would give away his secret. Just a couple of minutes later he had managed to get rid of most of the things before hearing a knock at the door,

The Doctor quickly rushed towards the door, reaching it just before Craig, He put on his best happy smile and quickly opened the door up. He was greeted by the sight of Y/n in front of him, looking every bit as ordinary as him.

Y/n smiles in her little blue dress and black tights one of her usual outfits giving the doctor a hug to help sell the illusion of two normal people who knew one another "Hey!" 

"Hey! Come on in then, I was starting to get bored to death in here without you,” He quickly returned the hug, though his focus wasn't on the hug... he couldn't stop staring at her outfit, especially at the tights she was wearing ...That definitely... made things harder considering how her outfit looked with every move she made. He quickly tried to shake the thoughts out of his head and just act casually.

"uhhh who is this?" Craig asked curiously, 

"Oh! Right, this is my... er..." The Doctor glanced over at Y/n for a moment before giving a smile, "Girlfriend! Yes, girlfriend. She's my girlfriend!"

"ohh..." Y/n blushed a little not expecting that to be his excuse, "Hi, Y/n" She introduced herself to Craig the two met and had a small chat about things as people do her normal human way giving the doctor's human persona a much better chance of being believable, 

"How on earth do you put with him?" Craig laughed,

"Ohh you know... I love him" she answered giving the doctor's cheek a kiss,

The Doctor couldn't help but blush a little bit as Y/n kissed his cheek, he was very surprised by how convincing she was at pretending they were actually a couple. The entire thought of her being that convincingly believable made him feel a slight fluttering in his stomach which for someone like him...was unusual. He continued to smile, though it was a little strained from how uncomfortable he was starting to feel being around two regular humans and having to pretend he was just like one of them.

Luckily Y/n knew he was feeling uncomfortable so managed to skirt them away towards his bedroom but Craig stopped the doctor before he could follow her

"Hey, uhh look no issues with you having your girlfriend over but you know maybe... Give me a heads up next time?"

The Doctor glanced over towards Y/n before looking back at Craig and nodding his head. "Oh yes, yes. Next time I'll make sure to mention that she'll be coming over, my apologies." He gave a small apologetic smile, but he secretly just wanted to get out of that conversation and spend time in the bedroom with Y/n.

"no problem, I'm heading off to the pub anyway so... You have fun" Craig winked,

The Doctor gave a small nod before immediately heading over towards the bedroom with Y/n. Once he was inside he let out a long sigh as he closed the door and leaned back against it. "Remind me never to do something like that again! Having to act normal for so long for people is hard."

She giggled "thanks?" She sounded fake offended sitting on the bed, 

"You know what I mean!" The Doctor rolled his eyes playfully at her as he walked further into the room. He went over to his bed and sat down by her, letting out another long sigh before glancing over at her "So, since this is supposed to be a 'normal human night'... What are we supposed to do first? Watch rubbish on TV or order food that will give us a heart attack?"

"rubbish TV, order food, drink beer, and make terrible decisions" she smiled 

He glanced over at her his eyes once again drawn to her outfit and those tights again. "I really don't understand human fashion..."

she chuckled, "What about it?"

"It just looks... uncomfortable. That's all. Just look at the tights you're wearing. You've got to squeeze into them like a sausage!" He looked her up and down for a moment with a small frown on his face while still having issues taking his eyes away from the tights.

"Thanks Doctor!" She said slightly more offended,

The Doctor immediately realized his mistake and shook his head immediately, reaching out gently to take her hands into his. "No, no, no! I didn't mean you! You look lovely, really! I just... I just don't understand how it's even comfortable to wear things like that. And it makes everything so much more difficult for me to focus..."

"you wear a suit and bowtie everyday doctor I'm not sure you can really comment on comfortable outfits besides I like my tights"

"... Fair point, though in my defence those outfits are very fashionable and comfortable! And your tights are... very distracting." He gave a small laugh but he couldn't take his eyes off the way hers were wrapped around her legs as she moved.

she chuckled "You rather I take them off?" She raised an eyebrow,

The Doctor's eyes widened slightly as his mind suddenly became far more empty as the words left her mouth. He stared at her for a moment or two before he mentally slapped himself and quickly shook his head. "... No! I... That's not at all what I meant! I just... they're... distracting! That's all!"

"you are spending too much time down here" she giggled leaning on his headboard "you're becoming a bit too human..."

The Doctor leaned back onto the headboard as he took a sip of the beer, still staring at her legs and those tights. At this point he was completely mesmerized by the way they looked against her skin. "What does that even mean?" The Doctor finally managed to tear his gaze away from her legs and looked over at her, forcing himself to focus on what she was saying for once.

"you’re become predictable. Like a human man."

A look of complete shock immediately took over the Doctor's face in response to her words. He suddenly looked genuinely offended as he looked over at her. "I am not predictable! Predictable? Me? I am the least predictable person you'll ever meet! There is nothing predictable about me at all!" He glared directly at her, not at all happy with how she had labelled him. He clearly did not like being thought of as predictable in the slightest.

"you are becoming predicable down here" she smiled "you’re slowing down... Acting more human"

The Doctor's expression softened after she said that, he went silent for a few seconds, the truth of what she was saying slowly sinking in. He leaned back against the headboard and took another sip of the beer before speaking again. "Maybe... Maybe you're right. Time Lords aren't exactly used to being human. I never wanted to be human... I never wanted to think like one, act like one..." He frowned for a moment before turning his gaze to look at her.

"well it won't be long just till you figure this thing out. Then you can come back to the Tardis and we can go off wherever you need to get back to, an unpredictable, madman with a box that I love so much" she cooed laying her head on his shoulder

A small, genuine smile appeared on his face as she laid against him. He gently put his arm around her and held her close, leaning against her with a happy sigh. "Once I'm myself again, the first thing I'm going to do is take us somewhere completely unexpected. I think it's a good time to finally show you Gallifrey." A look of deep contemplation appeared in his eyes as he looked down at her. He could practically feel his heart pounding.

"... Really?!" She sat up looking into his eyes "You... You would take me there? But you always said you've never taken any companions there?" 

"Yes... I... I will. I'm going to show you my home, I never said anything but now... I want you to see where I came from." He smiled gently, his gaze not leaving her.

Y/n trembled a little tears welling up in her eyes "But... You've had so long, so many other companions you could have taken and ... It's me? I get to go?"

The Doctor nodded his head without an ounce of hesitation in him. "You! Who else would I want to show Gallifrey other than you? You matter most to me." As he continued to look at her, he could see the tears starting and that immediately made him smile even more. "I'll show you everything I can... I'll show you how beautiful the orange skies of Gallifrey are. I'll show you the mountains and the rivers. Everything."

She hugged him tight squeezing him in her arms as she cried tears of joy "Thank you thank you thank you! I promise I'll be on my best behaviour, I'll listen to everything you say, I'll be good and follow all the rules and you can pick my outfit before we go just to make sure!" She began rambling,

The Doctor hugged her back just as tight, holding her securely and smiling happily as he did. He gently pulled her onto his lap and held her against him, rubbing her back as she let out all of her emotions on him. "I'll make sure you have the best experience you could ever imagine while we're there. I'll hold your hand the entire time, you won't even have a chance to misbehave."

she nodded excitedly "okay!"

He gently reached over and brushed a few of her tears away while resting his other hand on her thigh, gently and absentmindedly rubbing her leg a bit. He looked at her and had a small twinge of guilt come to him as he finally realized just how happy she was to share in such an intimate moment with him. 

she giggled looking down at his hand "I should wear tights more often" 

The Doctor immediately realized what he was doing and shook his head, instantly removing his hand with a flustered look on his face as he leaned back against the headboard. "No! No no, I... I need to get my brain under control. Focus on something else, anything..."

She giggled grabbing his hand and putting it back on her thigh"very common human thing, to watch TV and cuddle" she smiled nuzzling into his chest 

He groaned softly as she placed his hand back on her thigh. He wanted to argue against it, but he really didn't want to. He stared at her with a slightly pained frown as he once again started gently rubbing her leg. "Cuddling is a human thing, you're right." He paused for a moment pulling her thighs a little so she sat in his lap before continuing in a mumbled tone. "Though I think I'd rather watch you instead."

She giggled a little about to speak when the bedroom door suddenly opened and in a rush of sudden thought Y/n remembered they had to look like a human couple so immediately grabbed the doctor by the neck and pulled his lips to hers immediately starting a heavy make out as if they had been doing this for hours, He instinctively put his arms around her, wrapping them around her waist and kissing her back, his tongue gently sliding into her mouth. He didn't even react as Craig opened the door, too caught up in what he was doing.

Frankly, her already being in his bed and sitting on his lap was likely enough to sell the illusion already but the kiss was just the sugar on top, 

"Ohh uhh? Sorry for interrupting -" Craig began,

After a few moments of intense kissing, the Doctor pulled away from her for a moment to catch his breath. "Hello, Craig! What's up? Can't you see we're a little busy?" The Doctor quickly said before immediately pulling Y/n closer.

"Right yes sorry just uhh going out I'll be back later. I'll lock the door." Craig nodded a little awkward

"That's fine, no worries! Have fun, we'll probably still be here all night." He quickly went back to kissing her afterwards, gently biting down on her bottom lip.

Craig nodded and shut the bedroom door heading out to go to the pub, 

The Doctor was completely caught up in the kiss, completely focused on the taste of her lips, how good she felt sitting in his lap, how wonderful those tights were still looking... His mind was going a mile a minute while his hand gently and absentmindedly started going up her thigh before he even realized what he was doing.

She blushed hard and kissed back the kisses now turning into a hot and heavy make out her voice moaned into his mouth, his mind exploded from the sound alone. He suddenly couldn’t think about anything but her, completely focused on this new feeling that was overtaking him. He deepened the kiss in response, pulling her closer and running his hand slowly up her back before gently biting down onto her lower lip.

[villain-crown]

neutral | @jegulus-microfic | words: 1,309

critical care, part 9 (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8)

* a small amount of explicit content!!

a Jegulus nurse!AU

Regulus Black was an absolute nightmare. 

James knew this because he was watching the evidence of it in real time, in awe of the sweet-looking Slytherin who he knew to be anything but. 

After the heart attack-inducing moment when Sirius has unknowingly advised James to have dirty, unprotected sex with his precious little brother, James knew he was going to need something a lot stronger than coffee to get through the rest of this shitshow of a day. Since injecting vodka directly into his fucking bloodstream wasn’t in the cards, he’d begged, bribed, and bullied most of Gryffindor to order takeaway drinks with him from the nearest boba shop. He was just relaxing into the peace of his first sip when who else but the menace occupying his thoughts came sauntering up to the Surgical ICU nurses’ station.

James choked. 

“Hey, Reggie!” Sirius sang from near his elbow, rifling around the cardboard cup holders containing twenty plastic containers. “I have your order here.”

Taking advantage of his best friend’s momentary distraction, James couldn’t stop himself from checking Regulus out. He looked as fit as ever in his cute forest-green Slytherin scrubs, tilting his head with a devastating smirk when he caught James’s eye. 

The Gryffindor could feel his face redden as the other man’s eyes drew a long, heated line from his face, to his chest, to his waistband, and then finally, to his—

The suggestive look vanished like it was never there, replaced by something much more neutral when Sirius straightened up, holding a purple drink. 

“Here you go, kid.”

“I don’t want that one,” Regulus said with the most adorable pout James had ever witnessed in his life. He suddenly couldn’t figure out where to look or what to do with his hands when Regulus turned that look on him. “What did you order, Potter?”

Sirius raised a finger immediately as James tried to remember how words worked. “No. Don’t tell him, Prongs! No, you’re not getting your way this time, you little brat. You wanted the taro, I bought you the taro, you’re having the taro!”

Meanwhile, James thought he might pass out from the sheer intensity of Regulus’s undivided attention. 

Fuck, he’s pretty. 

“James,” the petite Slytherin cooed, and damn he was so screwed as Regulus bit his lip just so, his dove-gray eyes wide. He stepped closer so that his smaller build seemed even more obviously so compared to James’s height and muscle. Regulus’s powdery, amber scent was almost too much to resist as he tilted his neck, as though to show off the soft, unmarked skin there. “Please?”

“I… I already put my mouth on it,” James said stupidly, his lips oddly dry. 

“Oh, I don’t mind.”

That only prompted James’s imagination, which supplied a fantastic picture of Regulus not minding where else he put his mouth. For instance, Regulus with two of James’s fingers stuffed past his lips, coating them in saliva and teasing him with the warm, wet twist of his tongue. 

“Ugh, here, just take mine, Reggie.”

James was jolted back into awareness by a takeaway cup labeled Sirius being thrust into Regulus's line of sight. 

Panicking, James nearly tripped over himself for the opportunity to offer his sugary milk tea to him instead. 

“No, wait! Here, Regulus, try mine! It’s okay, really!” 

Sirius rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t encourage him, Prongs. It’s bad enough he’s got me wrapped around his stupid little finger. There’s still time to save you.”

No there bloody isn’t, mate.

“I’m supposed to be reinforcing boundaries with you,” Sirius added to his little brother accusingly. “And I didn’t have to buy your drink order, you know. You’re not even floating here.”

“Thank you,” Regulus offered with the loveliest combination of wicked eyes and innocent smile that James had ever seen on anyone.

Sirius sighed, folding immediately as he shook the drink labeled Reggie vigorously before stabbing the plastic top with a thick straw. “You’re bloody lucky I’d do anything for you, you little monster.”

That pulled a real smile to Regulus’s lips that made James want to melt.

“I’m going to bring Remus his. He’s about to admit a liver bomb and you know how busy that will be.”

Sirius wandered off, nursing his new drink, leaving just James and Regulus standing there, staring at each other. 

“What did he mean by that?”

Regulus blinked. “What?”

“That he’s supposed to be reinforcing boundaries with you.”

The Slytherin sucked at James’s straw, unconcerned. The Gryffindor watched him do so closely, imagining Regulus’s pretty curls framing his cheeks as they hallowed to suck the fluid from James’s cock. 

“Our therapist told him that.”

“Your…?”

Regulus looked at him like he was an idiot. “Therapist. You don’t survive our family without needing one. You’re his best friend. I figured he’d told you we were in family therapy.” 

James couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. While Sirius had not in fact told him so, it wasn’t that much of a surprise. From what he’d gathered about Sirius and Regulus’s parents’ underhanded and emotionally manipulative tactics, it sounded like Sirius had a hard time letting people see any sort of vulnerability, despite their years of friendship. 

But James had seen it. 

He’d seen it in the way Sirius bought his little brother boba and in the way he’d called him “kid.” It seemed like a poor repayment of their friendship, James turning around and railing Regulus in his bed for as long as the other man wanted it and his stamina allowed.

But Regulus… fuck, he was stunning and mean with an unexpectedly wicked sense of humor that was definitely going to get James killed.

Maybe if I just fuck him once, I’ll get it out of my system, James thought desperately. Sirius doesn’t have to know. 

“What’s this?” Regulus asked as he examined the white board next to them, oblivious to how his mere presence was twisting James’s thoughts and feelings into pretzels. 

It was a busy board, boasting the day’s nursing assignments as well as the names of the interns, residents, fellows, and attendings staffing the unit for July. At the top of the board in Doctor McGonagall’s severe cursive was the riddle of the day: her way of connecting with the Gryffindor staff, who James secretly thought she viewed as her own children.

“It’s the unit riddle. You text McGonagall the answer if you think you know it, and she gives you a prize if you’re right.”

“Wouldn’t people just Google the answer?”

James gaped at him, offended. “That’s cheating!”

Regulus laughed, a real, genuine laugh that made his heart stutter in his chest. A faint blush of pink dusted across the Slytherin’s fair cheeks, giving him a truly beautiful glow that was even more appealing than crowding him up against the wall of an elevator or watching him verbally overpower Tom Riddle (though it was a damn close call).

“Let’s see. ‘I have cities but no houses, mountains but no trees. I have water but no fishes, and islands but no breeze. What am I?’ Did you guess it yet?”

James was so wrapped up in the sheer pleasure of listening to Regulus speak that he didn’t answer immediately. “Oh. Yeah, but I wasn’t right about the answer.”

Speaking of riddles, if Sirius did hypothetically find out, he should only be too grateful that it was James Regulus was seducing instead of someone like Tom Riddle, who was honestly the most arrogant doctor James had ever had the displeasure of knowing. He still couldn’t believe Regulus had tolerated the man long enough for them to couple. 

Sirius hates Riddle, James told himself as Regulus contemplated the puzzle, smirked to himself, and pulled out his phone—presumably to text McGonagall his answer.

So I’m basically doing him a favor, sleeping with his brother.

((Click “keep reading” for the answer to Dr. McGonagall’s riddle! 🫶))

Answer: a map 🗺️

[popcornforone]

Sweet Like Chocolate

A Lucien Flores Fic

Day 29 of Pedrotober (The Uninvited Prompt)

Masterlist

Rumour has it Lucien we might get to meet soon, I can’t wait. This jammies look… oooh I’ve been sold since that moment. So I wanted to go all soft for this man, because I think I will fall for him hard when I meet him on whatever screen it is.

Synopsis:- You are about to close up the cafe when a last minute customer arrives.

Word Count:- 850

Warnings over & above:- swearing, pain from not paying attention, just nice & soft & fluffy, age gap. This has been written as gender neutral as the reader.

Thanks for the read peoples. This journey really has been something. Thanks to @alyssamariag & @norththelemon for the prompts.

9pm is approaching. Closing time. Finally, you mumble to yourself. You work at a cafe at the back of a petrol station & tonight as deputy manager you are incharge of cleaning & closing & locking up. You’ve cleaned as many tables as possible, no one has been in for an hour & you are busy sorting out all of the syrups & cups when the door opens. You moan a bit too loud, the customer can probably hear you. You sigh & turn around & put in your best happy voice.

“Good evening what can I get you…” you stop. Your mouth is dry. Standing in front of you is not just a customer, but a man. In a floral silk top, with fluffy brown hair. Tailored trousers that cling to all the right places, brown loafers & eyes that entrance anyone. As a college kid you shouldn’t be fantasising in those 5 seconds exactly what this man would do to you but you do. It’s lust at first sight as you try to avert your gaze.

“Erm a hot chocolate with extra cream please to go” he says looking at his phone & then he looks up at you a good few seconds later & you haven’t moved. “Hello…” you jolt back to life. Still trapped under the charms of his good looking spell.

“Sorry sir” you panic “can you repeat that” you’re not being calm.

“A hot chocolate to go, extra cream” he winks. He can see he is having an effect on you. He does a little chuckle & runs his hand through that fluffy hair. You scramble, extremely flustered & aroused & grab the nearest takeaway cup.

“Name?” You manage to splutter out very high pitched.

“There’s no one else here” he says & you do a loud nervous laugh back.

“Sorry force of habit” & you get the milk carton out to start frothing it.

“Busy day?” He asks as he gets out his wallet.

“Mornings are worse on Sundays, everyone gets their car washed” you say frothing the milk.

“Hmmm but a dead quiet evening?”

“Yea, it gets a bit boring from 4pm to 9pm”

“That’s a long shift”

“Something’s gotta pay the rent”

“True” he says & you look up at him & smile, he’s giving back genuine small talk, often customers past 6pm don’t bother. It’s a nod, thanks & then leave without even faining interest at all. His own smile & dimple has you sighing. But you’re not paying attention. The hot milk froths over the top of the jug & drips onto your hand. Youve been doing this long enough to put the jug down & run to the sink in seconds without spilling anything else.

“Fuck” you shout as the cold water hits the already forming blisters. You then suddenly see a large hand grab a plug so the sink fill up with water.

“Keep it in there” he says as you hiss”it will feel better like this” he the caresses your other hand to try & calm you down a bit & it works. Such large hands doing such delicate things.

“Thanks but what about your coffee”

“Hot chocolate…” he says & you both laugh. “I’ll make it, I used to work in cafes it can’t have changed that much in 20 years.” You smile at him. “Just leave your hand in the sink for another 5mins then I’m sure you can point out your first aid box to me.”

The man is a complete gentleman. Making his own hot Chocolate. Strapping a blister plaster to your hand & even helping you tidy up the cafe. You can’t believe it, this man is too good to be true. Why can’t all 8:50pm customers be like this & be handsome.

“How much for the hot chocolate” he says as you turn off the last coffee machine.

“On the house”

“I can’t let you do that, won’t you get in trouble”

“Sir you helped me out when I…”

“You wouldn’t have burnt yourself if i hadn’t come in for a late night pick me up” he raises an eyebrow & hands you $20 “keep the change” he says.

“Thank you mr…”

“Lucien” he says with a smile. “Lucien Flores & I’ll be seeing you again soon, I’m certain of it” he then leans over the counter & captures your lips in a sensual kiss. You feel all jittery, the handsome stranger was either trying to make you feel better or he genuinely wanted the kiss. He is flush too when he breaks from the kiss & grabs what’s left of his hot chocolate & turns to leave. “See you around kid” he says.

You wait & watch him drive off in his McLaren before having a few palpitations as to what just happened holding that $20. You’d really had one hell of a night to end your shift. It’s only then that you realise something is inside your cash you were given. His business card with his phone number highlighted, with pink hearts around it.

“Call me”

[oumaheroes]

My submission for the @hws-anthology! Thank you so much to all of the mods for making this possible

Characters/ Ships: England, France- FrUK (But gently… softly)

Summary: The rediscovery of lost relics has a habit of awakening unwelcomed feelings. The past overlaps with the present far more than France realises.

---------‐----------------

Sunken Nostalgia

‘There you are. Hiding as usual.’

England looked over his shoulder at the sound of France’s voice. He was leant against the railings of the walkway overlooking Portsmouth harbour, wearing a light coat and stood as far as he could get away from the main crowds without missing the view. It was a busy day, unsurprisingly given the circumstances, and even where he was on the waterfront people were thronged out all along the railings and in the nearby buildings to get the best look at the happenings out at sea. It was not every day that a ship this old- a rare find indeed for how intact it was rumoured to be- was raised back to the surface. Some more eager watchers had even gone out onto the water themselves; past England, France saw a small pleasure boat packed with onlookers come in closer to shore to avoid an official navy ship, bearing down imperiously on anything in its way.

Maybe sensing his wish to be alone from just his expression, or from whatever it was that connected their people to them as they so keenly were, the onlookers nearest to England had given him as wide of a berth as they possibly could. He stood there in the crowd out of place and alone, a lone island close pressed by a sea of mortal life that dare not come closer than the five feet he mentally permitted.

‘I wondered when you’d show up.’ Was all England said as France approached.

‘You thought that I would?’

‘No, that I’m still surprised by. But I felt you arrive a few hours ago.’

‘Ah.’

‘Boat? Plane?’

‘Plane, then train. You know as well as I do that those ferries are frightful things.’

‘That’s just your delicate constitution talking.’

France didn’t bother to reply. He joined England at the railing and handed him one of the takeaway cups that he was carrying, waggling it when he hesitated.

England took it gingerly, ‘You should have told me you were coming.’

‘What on earth for.’

‘Common courtesy. It is my land you are invading.’

‘I’m invading, am I? Today’s events affecting your terminology?’

England gave him a dry look and popped open the lid of his cup, ‘You brought me tea?’

‘You like tea.’

‘I do.’ England looked suspicious. ‘You never bring me tea.’

‘Hmm.’ France made sure the lid of his own cup of bitterly dark coffee was secure and leant his arms against the railing’s cool metal, ‘Well, your look of disgust will lose its charm if I see it too much.’

‘As long as you breathe I’ll wear it, so you don’t have to worry about it going anywhere.’ England took a tentative sip and turned back out to the water.

Portsmouth harbour spread out around them, deep docks and industrial ships on the murky grey sea. Beyond the harbour and out to the horizon were large, sturdy boats, supporting a large, odd looking white crane that rose impossibly high up into the sky. It looked something like a praying mantis, all arms and disproportionate length.

France ran a hand through his hair to tame it back, and wished that he’d remembered to bring a hairband with him. ‘Finally happening then, is it?’

‘Apparently so.’

‘It’s been talked about for long enough.’

‘They had to invent a way to raise her without damaging her.’

‘I’m still surprised there’s anything of the Mary Rose (1) left to raise. Or damage.’

England made a non-commital noise.

France gently swirled his coffee, trying to cool it. ‘You weren’t on her when she went down were you?’

England shot him a warning look, eyes going to the humans nearby. ‘No. I was moved to another one the day before. A change in gunners, or perhaps one of the captains was unwell; I can’t remember. But I should have been. He blamed me for her loss, though.’

‘Henry?’(2)

‘Hmm.’

‘I would have blamed you too. Poor thing was so heavy in the water, like a round, fat duck.’

England rolled his eyes, ‘You weren’t even there.’

‘I was on the shore.’

‘Exactly. No where near the actual danger.’

‘I’d had enough of fighting you at sea, thank you.’

‘You knew you’d lose, that’s why.’

‘My love, need I remind you whose sunken ship we are waiting to see dragged out of the mud?’

‘Which was sunk from an oversight-‘

‘Your navy’s oversight.’

‘And not from any effort on your part.’

France leant over and kissed England on the cheek, his cool skin growing warm as France stayed close to whisper in his ear, ‘Your misplaced insistence is scaring the children.'

To their left, a small child had wandered away from their family and now stood close enough to likely hear them. He stared up at them, wide-eyed and baffled until his mother clucked for him to come away.

England stepped rather rudely on France’s shoe, ‘If anyone’s scaring them, it’s you.’

They fell into silence, sinking under the general chatter of the people around them and the sound of the waves breaking against the concrete embankment below.

‘When do you leave for the Falklands?’(3) France asked after a while, risking a taste of his coffee. It was disappointingly English, ‘I assume you’re going, now that things have become serious.’

‘As soon as this is done.’

France nodded and nudged him gently with his shoulder. ‘How far you have fallen. Surely your navy isn’t quite so lacking that now they’re forced to recruit your long-fallen flagships.’

England smiled, safely hidden at the corner of France’s eye, ‘Depends on who you ask.’

‘Well, if you ask me-‘

‘I’m not.’

‘You should, you know. I’d give you the truth.’

England laughed, a sharp bark, ‘Why are you really here, Francis.’

France ignored England’s eyes on him and shrugged, ‘Just to watch.’

‘Just to watch. Why?’

‘Why not?’

England snorted, disappointment shown only in the downturn of his mouth, and turned away.

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

It didn’t happen.

Deteriorating weather, a problem with the crane, some drama between the Mary Rose Trust and the army personnel that were helping them- it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. What was one more day to her or to them, after so many centuries waiting.

That night, quiet and contemplative in England’s small hotel room, France closed his eyes to the memory of canon fire and felt for England’s familiar hand in the dark.

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

If England was still curious as to why France had stayed with him to watch the Mary Rose be raised, or why he was there in the first place, he didn’t let it show. He left for the harbour early the next morning, jangling the hotel room keys before France’s bleary eyes and placing them silently on the bedside table. France found him again later in the same spot as the day before, when the sun was actually up and thus made the goings on visible.

It was just as busy as the day before. Boats of all sizes bloomed like algae on the water and the crowds watching on the harbour grew larger every passing hour.

‘I wonder if they’ll find clothes,’ France mused before the worst of the onlookers had arrived. It was overcast and cool, the temperature made bitter by the morning, and France stood chilled next to England who was annoyingly content with it all.

‘I doubt it. Been down there for too long, most of it will have rotted away.’

‘I hope there’s still something caught up there. I like it when they find everyday items in these sorts of things: combs and clothes and such. Little reminders of what things were once like every day.’

‘They won’t find much. Far too old.’

‘It would be nice if they did. I don’t have anything from that far back. Nothing fabric, anyway.’

England watched a seagull pass overhead, screeching loudly, ‘What on earth would you do with it?’

‘Nothing.’ France shrugged, ‘Have them restored and put in a museum, most likely. Using them isn’t the point. Remembering and admiring them is, looking upon examples of who we were and how we lived.’

‘Is that why you’re really here? To steal any potential treasure they find?’

France scoffed. ‘Hardly. Damp and rotten English fabric has no value for me.’

‘Mock it, then.’

‘Far more likely.’

England shook his head and picked at his coat sleeve.

France leant his head on his elbow and watched England’s fingers, remembering fat gold rings with inlaid expensive stones which had once sat there. Smaller hands, a youth’s hands- skin stained black with gunpowder beneath torn lace. England had never been able to keep himself from ruining his clothes. He walked through delicate things like cobwebs, hardly seeing them at all, a magpie-like need for finery without understanding its function.

‘It’s strange to think about us doing that now, isn’t it?’ France mused.

England stopped and looked up, ‘Wearing those sorts of clothes?’

France nodded to the waves, ‘Us warring on the Channel. The Channel of all places. Odd, isn’t it, how that sort of thing feels like strangely like childhood.’

‘This isn’t the Channel, this is-’

‘Oh, stop it, you know that’s not what I meant.’

‘Either way, say the word,’ England’s face was serious but his eyes betrayed him, ‘It’s been far too long without practice in my opinion. You’re too close for comfort these days- quicker boats and planes and all that.’

‘There are talks of a tunnel, you know.’ (4)

‘God.’

‘One road to connect us.’

‘Abysmal.’

‘I can be here within an hour or two.’

France was surprised when all England did was give a short, quick laugh, ‘I suppose I’ll need to change my locks.’

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

Despite several signs to the contrary, eventually something notable did happen.

A rippling of the water, the line of the crane rising, and then the old wreckage of the Mary Rose slowly emerged to the modern day in her metal coffin. From the docks and the televisions, sixty million people watched the blackened ribs of her cracked belly emerge to a thunderous cheering and the cannon fire of reawakened city defences. The first breath of air she’d felt in nearly five hundred years, the old Tudor wood greeting a new Elizabethan age.

Watching her return on modern concrete embankments, her last living sailor smiled widely to see her. England’s expression softened to something younger and boyish as the old ship became visible, as if greeting an old friend after years apart.

France tried to see it through his eyes, past the dark remains and the sludge to find something beautiful or special. Something which matched the colours and the vibrancy of the period that he remembered, hopeful nostalgia given physical form.

It was a disappointment. Nothing remained of the old ship but fingers of dark wood, skeletal and misshapen. All else was lost: the once tall, straight mast, the billowing sails, and her black shiny cannons over a beautiful crafted wooden hull. She had been beautiful. What was left behind was nothing at all but a lump of something undefinable, impossible to see as a ship at all without being told so.

Yet England was still smiling, relaxed and loose as he took in the crowds and the scene on the water.

France shook his head and dug his cigarettes out of his pocket. ‘You look as if she has returned whole.’

To his regret, now aware that he was being watched, England’s easy openness vanished, face smoothing back under his usual control, ‘Shut up.’

France offered him a cigarette, ‘There is nothing wrong with that. Though I admit that I had hoped there would be more. From what the news had been saying-‘

‘This is more than they ever thought we’d get. And even fifty years ago, this wouldn’t have been possible. Humanity’s come a long way.’

‘Maybe too far.’ France cupped his hand around his lighter to protect it from the wind and held the cigarette in his lips. The smoke filled his lungs, sweet and safe. ‘I hoped to see something I recognised. All this fanfare and money and all you’ve got for your troubles is a few pieces of old wood.’

‘It’s more than I had before.’

‘But aren’t you unhappy with that? Didn’t you hope to find more; for her to be better preserved, at least?’

England thought for a moment, flicking the end of his cigarette with his thumb to scatter the ash in the breeze. ‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘I think no matter what she could have looked like, she wouldn’t live up to how I remember her.’

He paused. Then added, ‘Those ships were once everything. The fastest travel, the most powerful weapons, the only way to get safely off my land with any distance. I think that if she had come back perfectly whole, I would find her more disappointing; I’d only see how jarringly small she is against everything else.’

France considered this. ‘You are right in that this is an odd world she has come back to. Nothing is the same from when she sank, not the look of the shores nor even the language. Technology, ideas, religion-’

‘I’m still here,’ England said. A hint of his soft smile had returned, eyes back on the strange crane and its messy cargo. ‘It’s the same soil. Same air, same skies. That’s essentially what we are, isn’t it. The passing things no one thinks about which change on the surface but remain the same underneath.’

France didn’t reply and England coloured, seemingly only then aware of what he’d said. ‘Besides. Who else would know exactly what’s missing but us. I’d rather think about what’s still there.’

‘There I was, thinking you’d gone sweet.’ France flicked the end of his cigarette into the water below them and hooked one arm through England’s, ‘The Falklands ignored for this; I would never have guessed you’d favour sentimentality over current politics.’

‘I don’t.’

A lie, a lie. England young, his small hands smoothing mud over his old torc, hoping to keep it hidden and safe from harm. He could have instead given it to please Rome: new, hungry invader eager for twists of Celtic gold. A lie, a lie- England at his Plantagenet court, eyes on the windows to the sea and the unknown beyond whilst behind his back his monarchy and way of life tore itself apart, a dirty boy in fine clothes who’d have been just as happy in rags if they’d kept him warm.

A lie, a lie. Arthur after Alfred left, more heartbroken that he should have been for the loss of one colony among many.

France smiled, ‘Of course you don’t.’

They looked out to the boats and the crane in silence, listening to the crowds and the seagulls overhead. The unchanging sounds of millennia, birds and welcoming crowds watching as ships with their sailors returned to them.

Glancing down the seafront, to the people young and old clapping and shouting with the ancient city at their backs, England seemed to read France’s thoughts. He stepped closer, their arms still linked- a solid weight against France’s side. ‘It’s all the same thing, isn’t it. Just dressed differently.’

France thought of all the things he’d had and lost over the years, from delicate gold trinkets to wooden shoes, handmade woollen tunics to the finest silks. Different versions of his long life kept safe and lost somewhere in the soil. Whether they were whole or not didn’t bring the past any closer.

Maybe, merely closure was enough.

‘Yes. I suppose so.’

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

AN:

A huge thanks to the always wonderful TheDisappointedIdealist12 for kindly beta reading this more times than needed and being my creative sounding board. Thank you for your help, your friendship, and for everything else

Historical Notes:

The Mary Rose was, as touched on in this fic, an English battle ship which sailed from 1511- 1545 and was a key part of several major battles between England and France. She was sunk in July of 1545, theorised due to the reasons listed here- overfull with men and heavy, she keeled over in the water when she was turned to fire guns. Aside from this, the sinking could also have been due to gunports being left open (let all the water in as she turned), the wind hitting the sails at the wrong time, or age making her too heavy. Potentially, it was a combination of several reasons. She sank not far from the port of Portsmouth, in the Battle of the Solent. She was raised in 1982, when this fic is set. Learn more about the Mary Rose here! https://maryrose.org/about-the-mary-rose/

King Henry VIII was King of England from 22 April 1509 until his death in 1547. Henry is best known for running through wives like there was no tomorrow in a violent, unstoppable fashion, and spending lots of England’s gold. Much of this gold was stolen from looted monasteries he had decided weren’t very important any more, after he’d turned the Kingdom Protestant from the traditional Catholic just to marry his mistress (whom he later beheaded- yay!). The Mary Rose was said to be his favourite ship, and he tried to have her raised in his lifetime

Falklands War: The Falklands War, a not officially declared war between the United Kingdom and Argentina which lasted 10 weeks. It was fought over the British territory of The Falklands (Islas Malvinas) which lies off the coast of Argentina in 1982. The war spanned April to June, and the Mary Rose was raised in May with the British Army being heavily involved. As both were happening at once, many soldiers involved in the raising had friends or knew those in other units who were at that moment going off to fight. It made things somewhat tense and frustrating, according to some involved (This is the documentary I watched whilst researching this topic, I recommend giving it a watch! It has interviews with some soldiers who comment about this odd situation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAJgKunmGdk)

Channel tunnel: The Channel Tunnel, the underground route between the south of England and the north of France connecting Dover to Callais, was only built in 1994- 12 whole years after this fic is set. Arthur has a few years of peace left

[marvel-ousmondays]

Iron Man (2008)

As mentioned in last post, when I went to Iron Man I literally had no idea that such a superhero existed. (I thought Sherlock Holmes with RDJ came out first but apparently not so I had essentially no knowledge of the actor either.) My friends and I decided to spend the day out at the nearest town big enough to have a book store, craft stores, and a Target, as well as a Drive-In movie theater. I was now a college student and enjoying the freedom of no curfew, rebel that I was. I'm pretty sure the movie prior to Iron Man was the Narnia: Prince Caspian movie. I mention this because I hated that movie. It bastardized the book something awful and after the first movie was so faithful an adaptation, this was incredibly disappointing. However, this meant I was doubly primed to appreciate the awesomeness that Iron Man ended up being. I've watched it a few times since then, but usually as background to something else. I decided for this challenge I did REALLY want to watch the movies/shows. No other distractions- just it. I can take breaks (it took me 3 days to finish Iron Man due to various constraints last week) but when I'm watching, I'm JUST watching.

Here were my takeaways this time

The differences in Terrence Howard's Rhodey and Cheadle's Rhodey are always a bit mind boggling and part of what makes Iron Man feel really different from the later films. We're also just starting MCU so while they aren't LACKING budget, it's not the level it would be later. This doesn't hurt the movie at all for the record, if anything I think it meant the story had to be more well-developed and the actors better.

But this first film has a seriousness and a somberness that most of the other films only flirt with (notable exception being Infinity War of course).

The scene where Tony goes back to help Gulmira, Yinsen's home, and we see the 13 year old boy screaming and crying as his father is pried away from their family, the soldiers clearly planning to execute him and all the other grown men. The young boy tears himself away from his mother to his father, determined to keep him, to save him. His father, begging his son to go, so that he will live even though he knows- he KNOWS he will not. This moment of utter terror made personal just before Tony shows up is incredible and all the more so when put into historical context. The U.S. was still in Afghanistan and Iraq at this time and it was easy for citizens here to paint everyone in those areas with the same brush. But in this moment you CAN'T. You HAVE to see the family ripped apart right alongside the terrorists and be forced to realize that race, ethnicity, language don't make terrible people- actions do.

A common criticism of Marvel movies is they don't let a moment sit- that they always break a serious moment with a joke. But this one doesn't do that. There are multiple heavy moments- after Yinsen's death for one and when Pepper nearly quits (because she can't watch Tony self-sabotage and possibly die) and he tells her:

"I shouldn't be alive... unless it was for a reason. I'm not crazy, Pepper. I just finally know what I have to do. And I know in my heart that it's right."

This moment sits between them so clearly, so starkly and it is not ended with a joke, but with Pepper grabbing the flashdrive and asking what to do. (Thinking back, I'm wondering how many of those MCU "broken" moments are by Tony. He's the one uncomfortable with emotion. Him breaking those moments with humor is actually 100% in character. Something to pay attention to as I watch.)

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, some of the key themes of this movie just strike to the heart.

Death from a distance is easy to ignore or even be complicit in, but death up close rips us apart. Tony sold weapons that he knew took lives for years but it wasn't until he watched Yinsen die that I think he really understands what that means. Yes, his parents had died before but he wasn't THERE, he didn't SEE it. This death, this is the one that makes him really know what it means.

You don't have to change everything to be a better person. Tony is still self-centered. He still likes attention. He's still arrogant and as we will see next movie, open to playing the field as Pepper and him haven't committed. But not only has he stopped being complicit in the deaths of the innocent, he's taken on the mantle of protecting them.

Lastly, who the good guys are is largely a matter of perspective. This obviously gets hit harder again in Ultron (oh that glorious train wreck- I'm looking forward to writing about you), but it matters here. Tony was fine manufacturing weapons because he assumed he was supporting the "good guys", the 'Muricans. But not only was Obadiah dirty dealing, he is forced to learn the good guys aren't always as discriminatory with their weapon use as they purport to be. That it's easy to start painting with broad brushstrokes in areas where precision is actually called for.

Overall I'm really glad I PAID attention to this one this round. The grittiness and the depth really hit the way they did the first time or even more so. Onward to The Incredible Hulk, even though it's only semi-canon now.

Note for me:

Directed by: Jon Favreau

[philaet0s]

Celebrity/Social Media AU - Part 26

Previous Part: Part 25

Next Part: Part 27

back to tweets in the next part!

Simon

A cottage in the middle of the woods. If you’d asked me where I thought Baz was taking me, this would have never been my guess. After spending his entire childhood in a huge, isolated manor, without ever seeing people unless his dad took him to the nearest town, a twenty-minute drive away, let’s say he’s not a fan of secluded places. He likes people and the business of cities.

And he likes luxury hotels. It’s very strange for him to have booked something like this. I ask him about it.

“I’ve been spending my life between the jet and busy cities for the past few months. Reconnecting with nature couldn’t hurt. And you like it, don’t you? I can perfectly picture you frolicing in the garden,” he comments, in a teasing tone, as he looks out the large bay windows that open on ‘the garden’.

That word does not do justice to the large outdoor space this place has. I can’t even see the limits of it from here.

“I am excited to go around the garden,” I answer with a smile.

“I knew it.”

…

Baz has decided that we should have a picnic for lunch. My argument that it’s November, therefore absolutely not the right time of year for a picnic, doesn’t stop him. Neither does my argument that we don’t have any food, and that I was thinking we would rely on delivery services for our trip, as always when we’re away from home. (Right, we do rely on delivery a lot when we’re at home too, but that’s beside the point.)

So there we are. On our way to the nearest grocery store, to get food for our picnic.

Groceries are always a fun experience with Baz. His parents have tons of people working for them, including a cook who is the one doing most of the grocery shopping as he is also the one making most of the meals, and though he has lived alone in the past, a majority of his meals were takeaway or delivery so he never had to worry about groceries then either. Then he had a boyfriend who, as far as he told me, was in charge of food. Now… He has me for that. I’d never trust him with my shopping list.

But, on occasion, I do take him to the shop with me, and I get to watch him walk the aisles like a child in the zoo, marvelling at everything around himself. And putting a shit ton of crap in our cart.

Every word out of my mouth is full of skepticism as I watch the items he grabs. “Do we need four different bars of chocolate?” “It’s November. Why would we buy ice cream? It’s going to melt before we’re back at the cottage anyway.” “You know we can’t survive on sweets only, right?” “We also can’t survive on cheese only.” “You do know that strawberries are not in season, right? Put that back. Here, let’s have some pears if you want fruit.” “Is the hummus really necessary?” “So we’re buying a family-size box of cereal for… 2 days?”

I do put back some of the things he’s added to our cart, but most of it stays. He doesn’t do this often, and it makes him happy. I don’t have the heart to stop him. Besides, it’s not like it’ll go to waste. We’ll bring anything we haven’t eaten here back home.

I’m a little concerned that most of our groceries are not things his dietician would recommend while he’s on tour, but I keep those concerns to myself. I can see him turning my question into a comment about his weight from a mile away. It’s a sensitive spot for him… Which is absurd. He’s put on a few pounds since the beginning of his tour and he’s still slimmer than I’ve been in years. Yet, he never seemed to have issues with my weight. Quite the opposite.

He can have junk food for two days. It’s not like I’m going to tell on him.

As we’re emptying our cart on the belt at checkout, a hesitant voice speaks his name.

I was wondering if that was going to happen.

Surprisingly enough, Baz doesn’t get recognised that often when he’s out and about. Of course, it happens, but far less than what I expected when I met him. He told me it happens more when he’s in the US. Maybe it’s just that a majority of his fans don’t live in the UK.

We both turn to look at the voice. It belongs to a girl, who’s probably only a couple of years younger than us, with her hair bleached so much that it looks white and tons of piercings on her face. Her hair is shaved above her ears and she has tattoos there, that make her look like an elf in a fantasy movie. She’s very pretty.

“Hello, I’m sorry to come onto you like this, I hope I’m not bothering you, I totally understand if this is annoying, but if you don’t mind, could I have a picture with you?”

At least she’s polite. (A bit too polite, the poor girl sounds anxious). Some people don’t even say ‘hello’ before they ask for a picture.

Baz smiles at her kindly. “Sure. What’s your name?”

“Alice.”

“Okay.” He turns to me. “Can I let you handle the groceries? It’s almost our turn.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Thank you. Alice, do you want to go outside for that picture? It might look nicer than with those aisles in the background.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. I mean, I need to… uh…” She holds up the groceries in her hand. “Pay.”

“Well, then, let’s all pay for our groceries, and then you can have your picture.”

She nods. “Y-Yeah.”

Poor girl. She looks like she might faint.

The lady at checkout looks mildly annoyed with us. With all that chatting, we haven’t finished putting our groceries down and she’s already checked everything else out. We hurry with the rest of our things, then Baz pays. I don’t even argue about it. There was a time when I would have. I don’t like when people pay things for me, but after a while I understood that that was one of the ways in which Baz showed love –I guess that’s what happened when you grow up in a family where you received many gifts but no affection. When I seemed annoyed that he was paying for me again, he would take it very personally. Like it was him I was rejecting and not his offer to spend his money on me.

Besides, he’s rich as hell. He can pay for things.

My contribution is paying for our bills. It makes the most sense since I’m the one who’s at home most of the time, anyway.

We head out of the shop, soon followed by the girl, Alice. She looks incredibly flustered. It’s kind of cute. She clumsily searches for her phone in her tote bag. It’s the sort of behaviour I’m more used to seeing in Baz’s teenage fans.

I offer to take the picture for them, both because it generally looks better than selfies and because that poor girl is so emotional she might not be able to get a good picture. She accepts with a grateful smile, handing me her phone. They pause, I click. Picture taken. Alice thanks me when she takes back her phone, which she quickly drops inside her bag.

“Thank you so much,” she tells Baz, waving her hands in front of her face and blinking fast, like she might cry. “I’m… Sorry, it’s just… I really love your music. It got me through very hard times and I… It’s really a big deal for me. Seeing you. I… If I may take one more minute of your time. I have a tattoo. Inspired by one of your songs. I wanted to show you, if that’s okay.”

“I’d love to see it,” Baz answers.

I wonder how that feels like for him. Someone loving his lyrics so much that they get them tattooed on their body. It’s not a rare occurrence, I see people post their Baz Pitch tattoos on Twitter regularly, but I don’t know if he’s ever seen one in real life. He doesn’t get much interaction with his fans.

Alice pulls up the sleeve of her coat and top to show Baz the inside of her forearm. There, she has a broken violin tattooed, and from what I can see, lyrics from his song Precipice. It’s from the album of Baz’s I listen to the least –Portrait of the Artist as a Madman– because it was written when he was at a very low point in his life and the feelings he expresses in it always make me tear up after a song or two.

“That is not my most cheerful song,” Baz comments, almost teasingly.

“I love your sadder songs more. You have a way of describing feelings and experiences in just a few words that is so… raw and real, but lyrical at the same time. Some of your songs could be poems, it’s… brilliant.”

“Some of my songs were written as poems.”

“I know! I study English at university and the first time I heard In Fairness I lost my mind, I had to listen to it a second time immediately to make sure I wasn’t going crazy and that you had written a song in iambic pentameter! It’s a prowess, really, that you were capable of taking that poetic form and putting it to song, and it’s such a lovely homage to the tradition of poetry and singing being intertwined. And it was such a risk! That’s an unusual way of putting stress in a sentence, it gives an odd rhythm to the song, but… it works so well. And… I talked too much. I’m so, sorry. I’ll leave you now. Thank you so much for your time, it was absolutely brilliant getting to chat with you.”

“Hey, slow down. You just gave me all these compliments and you’re going to walk away without giving me a chance to thank you?”

She flushes.

“I’m very touched to see how much you seem to appreciate my art, and I’m glad you were so impressed by my… bold songwriting decision on In Fairness. The general opinion on that song is that it’s terrible, so it’s quite pleasant hearing someone say something positive about it.”

Oh, to hear Baz talk about his music. I must have the same adoring look on my face as Alice…

Simon and Baz going grocery shopping is actually so special to me, I’ve written so many scenes of then at the grocery shop lol (it’s because I’m obsessed with grocery shops)

[mimifreed]

Cottage

Remus tossed his keys in the bowl on the stand next to the door as he kicked his shoes off. The flat smelled…well, not great, but different. Like something had been left in the oven a touch too long or bad takeaway had sat in the bin for a few too many days. 

“Sirius?” he called out, peeking his head into the bedroom before backtracking toward the kitchen. “Hey Sirius, do you smell that?”

Sirius was standing near the oven, the only apron they owned tied around his waist, and his hair pulled up on the top of his head. His skin was flushed from the heat of the burners and he had oven mitts on his hands. 

“I made you your favorite!”

Remus drew his brows together, “You made lamb roast?”

“Er no. Your second favorite then.”

“Bangers?”

“Okay. Your third—and I swear to god if anything besides cottage pie comes out of your mouth, I’m throwing it all in the bin.”

Remus laughed and stepped further into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ waist from behind.  “Thank you.”

“Let's try a bite, yeah?” Sirius suggested, digging into the pie with a fork. He twisted in Remus’ arms to hold the steaming bit up to his mouth. “I have potatoes for it, too. They’re almost done.”

Remus kissed his forehead before leaning down to take the mouthful. The moment it hit his tongue he held back the urge to gag and spit it back out. It was so heavily peppered, he could feel his nose burning and somehow, the peas were hard. Not to mention what was supposed to be a rich, velvety gravy tasted more like glue than anything edible.

Remus swallowed, barely chewing. “It’s, erm, it’s…did you make this yourself?”

Sirius beamed proudly at him, “You’ve been so busy lately. I just wanted to make us a nice, home-cooked meal.”

Remus hummed, willing the bite of cottage pie to stay down and not come climbing back up his throat. “That was a nice thought.”

Sirius gave a happy little wriggle in his arms before shoving the fork in again to take a bite of his own. As soon as the fork left his mouth he shoved Remus away from him, retching into the nearest bin. 

“Holy shit, that is disgusting. My god. How did you even swallow that?”

Remus laughed, “You were so proud of it!”

“Jesus, don’t ever let me get the idea to cook again. My god. I need a new tongue now.”

“I happen to like your tongue very much, thank you.”

I took artistic liberties with the cottage prompt. Hope you like it!

word count: 429 @wolfstarmicrofic

[ceruleanwhore]

I know it’s been almost 20 years since AtLA came out but something that still bugs the shit out of me about it is the stuff with Aang, his crush on Katara, and the avatar state. It’s not just that Aang should’ve given her up in s2, it’s also all the ways they could’ve written that without putting kataang in that position, and I feel like I haven’t seen people talk about that as much, so I’m going to.

The first option I see, which I really like, is that they could’ve given Aang a different crush at that point in time, like how other characters got to have crushes on characters who weren’t their endgame love interests. Personally, I love the idea of this actually being Toph because that would give most of the season to set it up and there would be the same proximity he has with Katara. In the end, he’d have to give up this crush and all of the stuff at the end of s2 would actually contribute to significant growth and maturation in Aang which, paired with continued growth throughout s3, would set him up to actually be mature enough to end up with Katara.

Another option that I also think would’ve been really good would for the thing he needs to let go of to actually be his past/the air nation he left behind that’s gone now. So, I know nuance definitely is not a thing with the chakras in the show, but my takeaway has always been that the last chakra is just about relinquishing the power that earthly attachments have over you, not permanently yeeting them out of your life. For example, with giving up Katara, he was just being asked to give up his desire for her, the earthly attachment, but not to kick her out of the group and send her home. With this idea of it being about his past, it wouldn’t be about abandoning Appa or anything but, rather, giving up the ways he is tethered to his past and his underdeveloped ideas of what it means to be an air nomad that he constantly throws around to justify literally anything he wants. In this case, I’d really love for his past at the air temple or leaving it to come up in every single chakra (correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t think it does in the show). It would also be really cool to have a visual representation of how his past with the air nation connects to his present in how he views the world around him.

The third option is to just have it be something else entirely that Aang has to do in order to unlock the avatar state. Honestly, the chakra stuff ended up not really adding anything to the show since it was mishandled so badly and Pathik was never more than a throwaway side character and a racist stereotype played for laughs, so I don’t think the chakras are necessary at all. I think what might have made more sense would be for Aang to go to the nearest air temple and enter that inner sanctum like we saw in s1 e17 that Teo’s dad fucked up. He could connect with his past lives and unlock the avatar state there, no racist, out of place guru needed.

But yeah, I think putting in all that stuff about the chakras just to end up throwing it out the window completely because of how they wrote themselves into a corner was an issue that could have easily been avoided. Also, I do think that part of the issue is that they didn’t spend enough time on the chakras so it felt like things weren’t explained very well to Aang, especially with the love vs earthly attachment debacle, because they didn’t take the time to explain it. Had they both taken a minute to have Pathik explain the difference between love, like Aang unlocked with the 4th chakra, and his crush on Katara and then also not had that scene with Iroh validating Aang’s decision since he had no context for it, they also could’ve avoided a lot of the issues we see with this in canon. Regardless, I feel like there’s multiple ways the creators could’ve very easily avoided the whole mess they created at the end of s2.

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Howdy Howdy! 🫶❤️

Between Riot and Ghost who would be the first to lend their jacket to the other when it’s cold out? Which would peel the other’s orange if asked? :0

Love youuuu @vasyandii sorry for the time it took me to answer this <3 I'm writing this on a whim because I got inspired right now, so it's unchecked and unedited

Tagging my usuals that asked just because I love them <;3 @glitterypirateduck @jamesrifftapes @sofasoap @mmyrrhh

It was late December and snowflakes were slowly falling down on the streets of Hereford, a chilly winter wind rolling between the buildings. Crowds of people were roaming the shops, making late purchases or exchanging the gifts received in Christmas.

''How many shops are we going to visit today?''

''As many as I need so I can find all the ingredients I want''

Ghost shook his head slowly, dutifully following the blonde spitfire walking in front of him, looking down at the notebook in her hand while crossing out the items that they had already bought and that he was carrying in several bags.

Riot didn't look up even when a group of distracted people almost stumbled upon her, and Ghost gently grabbed her elbow to steer her away from their path. She didn't look up even then, completely trusting him to keep her safe and on her path to the next shop.

''You're gonna get run over, lovie''

''Pfft, as if you were going to allow it'' Christine answered cheekily, with a tiny smile that was hidden by her mask but the smiling wrinkles on the corner of her eyes betrayed her. Ghost rolled his eyes, with his own fond smile hidden by his balaclava, and followed her inside the next deli shop.

By the time they had almost finished their shopping, the temperature had dropped and the snowfall was getting heavier, so they decided to grab a takeaway coffee in the nearest coffee shop ands wait for the snow to clear a bit before going back to the car.

Standing side by side under the portico of a building, the bags stored behind them and against the wall, they observed in comfortable silence the snowflakes falling onto the pavement, sipping their coffee.

Both were clad in heavy coats and gloves, and Christine was also wearing a tartan scarf that Soap had gifted her on Christmas ignoring her protests. Still, she was so cold she couldn't help but shiver when another boost of chilly breeze rolled down the street. Seeing this, Simon started to lower the zipper of his jacket.

''Don't you dare'' She looked up at him, frowning, her mask tucked below her chin to be able to sip the coffee while his balaclava was hooked over his nose. ''You'll freeze''

''You're freezing now, doll'' Simon ignored her protests and unzipped the garment all the way, but before he could take it off she moved between his arms, against his chest, and snuggled into the open borders of the jacket, circling his waist with her free arm as she held her coffee cup with one hand.

He stood there, still for a moment and wondering how in the Earth she could protest about everything and anything and then just fix it right away, and with a low, rumbling chuckle, closed his arms around her, holding her close and resting his chin on her head.

''Well, this works too'' He murmured, and felt her shake lightly against his chest, but with laughter.

''As if you didn't know the good ideas are always mine'' Christine raised her head to look up at him, comfortable in the safe refuge of his arms, and smiled at him. Simon grinned back.

Neither of them were fans of PDA when they were out and about with the others, feeling awkward and self-conscious, but in a town (although it was the nearest to the base) where nobody knew them? Fair game. With decent limits of course.

''You're going to catch a cold if you keep trying to give me your jacket in this weather...'' She murmured against his chest, her cheek right below his heartbeat, steady and firm. His mouth and nose were buried in her hair now.

''Well, it's a risk I'll have to take''

''Right, because if you're sick you're a joy to deal with...'' Christine giggled, remembering the mild cold Simon had caught at the start of the month and that rendered the stern Lieutenant insufferable for two whole days.

''I didn't ask you to fuss over me, lovie'' Simon shrugged, and flinched when she bit him over his jumper. ''What was that for??''

''It's not fussing over you, you stupid oaf'' She looked up at him, frowning. ''I made you soup, knitted you a scarf, that you don't use by the way, kept Johnny away so he wouldn't bother you, peeled the damn orange you asked for in the middle of the night, and still you think I'm fus...''

Simon cut her rant short by simply tilting her chin up and bending down to cover her mouth with his, chuckling. It always worked like a charm, like when it was the other way round and she kissed him to shut him up when he was ranting away about anything.

They kissed like two teenagers in the portico while the snow kept falling over the streets, the wind rolling between the buildings, the crowds roaming the shops.

[rammingthestein]

iirc the dublin date is like a day before richard's birthday right? now manifesting they get shitfaced in temple bar then go to the nearest chinese takeaway to get like a spice bag or something (idk i don't eat them lol) for richard's special day 🥹

i'm manifesting they get a spice bag/box (the ones with chicken balls obvs) and some garlic cheese chips as well as some ridiculous pint that costs €11. (then i'm manifesting that till falls in love with me when he sees me in the crowd but whatever ✨️)

[theoldandnewfirm]

My main takeaway from Ascendance of a Bookworm is that if I ever find myself in an isekai situation and wake up in medieval times I'm throwing myself off the nearest structure immediately in the hopes that the God of Isekai re-re-incarnates me into an era when practicing basic hygiene won't make everyone look at me like I've grown a second head.

[aniron48]

Love Letters - Day 5

Welcome to Day 5 (!!!) of Love Letters, a 00q choose your own adventure! We're in the home stretch, friends--as a reminder, we'll wrap up on the evening of 2/14, around 9ish EST. If you're joining for the first time, you can catch up here: Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4

And for those who have been here for the long haul, come see how your voting turned out! Day 5 starts below the cut. 😁

He just had to make one more stop.

Bond arrived in Q Branch to find Q underneath the hood of one of his cars.

“James,” Q said, straightening up at his approach. He rubbed ineffectually at the engine grease on his cheek, only succeeding in smearing it further. “I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

“Why in god’s name do we have a Ford Fiesta?” Bond asked, leaning against one of the work benches.

“Believe it or not, some of the agents actually appreciate being inconspicuous on their missions. You should try it some time.” Q reached for a rag to clean off his hands. “Are you here just to see me, or...?”

“Just to see you,” Bond confirmed. He held up a bag from the Thai place down the block. “I’ve brought lunch.”

It had been meals like this one that brought them together in the first place. Bond had learned early on that Q, in many respects, was not dissimilar to a giant panda: both of them had to eat almost constantly in order to survive, and like the panda, if left to his own devices, Q’s natural diet was almost entirely devoid of nutritional value, consisting of sour gummy worms, liters of tea, and whatever biscuits he could scrounge from the break room. 

He and Bond had barely been friends, in those early weeks after Skyfall—there was a newly-forged trust, and a certain grudging respect, but that had been it. But one afternoon, Q had nearly fainted while fitting Bond for a holster. Bond had stormed down the street to the nearest Tesco, returned to throw a sandwich, an apple, and a packet of digestives at Q’s head, and had stayed in his office until he’d finished them. Before he knew it, he’d fallen into a pattern of bringing Q meals whenever he was in London.

Bond couldn’t pinpoint exactly when these lunches with Q had become the thing that felt most like home to him—more than his empty flat, more than the ruins of Skyfall, more, even, than the halls of MI6 itself. It had happened gradually, a slow thawing of the frozen earth under the relentless advance of spring. And then one day, a few months back, he’d leaned in to wipe a bit of curry from Q’s face, and Q, misreading Bond’s intention, had kissed him.

Bond had never been a selfless man. Self-sacrificing, maybe; reckless with his life and well-being, certainly. But he was selfish at his core, incapable of denying himself the things he wanted most—first MI6; then Vesper; and now Q—curling around them instead like a dragon with his secret hoard. And so he’d kissed Q back, that night, instead of letting him go; kissed him, and gone home with him, and stayed.

Bond lingered over the takeaway containers after lunch, gathering them up to take them to the bins.

“Is everything all right?” Q asked.

“Yes. Everything’s fine. Why do you ask?”

Q smiled, but didn’t answer, reaching out to smooth at the furrow between Bond’s eyebrows with his thumb.

“I’m all right. I just wanted to say…” Bond scrubbed a hand over his face, the words he’d planned suddenly out of reach.

Q sat down on the edge of his desk, his grey-green eyes on Bond as he continued.

“It’s about what you said, the other night, after the movie. I know you didn’t want to talk about it, then—maybe you still don’t. But I wanted you to know—it isn’t just you. I’ve never had a love letter, either, as it happens. I should have told you that night, but I’m telling you now, because I need you to know that any—any lack that you’ve experienced has nothing to do with you. It’s certainly nothing to do with who you are. It’s not a fair world, nor a particularly kind one, in my experience. And if it comes down to whether there’s something wrong with you or something wrong with the world, then the answer is the world. Unquestionably.”

He’d had more to say—at least, he thought he did. But Q was on him, then, knocking the empty takeaway containers out of his hands and kissing him within an inch of his life, and anything else was forgotten.

He wrote the letter in Q’s flat that night, sneaking out of bed while Q slept, the cats curled around his feet. He sat at the kitchen table, the light from the moon coming in the window, and wrote until he’d said all he had to say. He had one last surprise up his sleeve, however, and for that, he needed to go to Bath.

You've probably noticed that Bond did, in fact, write the letter at the end of this segment! If you're wondering how this outcome differs from if you'd picked "sit down and write the letter," the spoiler-free answer is that you would have gotten to read the text of Bond's letter to Q a little bit earlier. You'll just have to wait a little bit longer... 👀

[catt-nuevenor]

Modern Setting - Louis and Leila

Extrovert

The neon strips blare as we're thrust from the waiting room to the main arena. People around me are bubbling with excitement, darting into scattered groups that dive into the narrow alleyways and corridors of the plywood cityscape. I think I see a glimpse of Louis/Leila disappear through a cramped crawl space, but before I can confirm the countdown begins, and the venues 'commander' warns with prerecorded hype announces the imminent arrival of our opponents.

Gripping the garish green plastic of my armament, I dart for the nearest promise of cover, and press my back into the hollow plasterboard.

Illusion of danger or not, as the crackling speakers descend through their count of ten, my heart begins to beat against my ribs, my fingers fidget, and my breath climbs higher up my throat.

We're twelve against twelve. Greens versus Pinks. There are team names too needlessly quirky to commit to memory, and technically there are even ranks within those teams, but from experience, none of that matters once the main klaxon sounds.

I wonder if Louis/Leila is as nervous as I am? Are they also crouched alone in the dark, or have they stuck with some of our teammates? Are they excited, scared? Perhaps both. Are they looking for me?

The bottled wail of the klaxon screams through the arena, and somewhere in the distance I hear the beginnings of battle. I press further into the shadows, the scenery grinding in protest but holding. Heavy footsteps thunder through the twilight glow, and a hulking blur of silhouette dashed with bubblegum pink narrowly streaks passed my hiding spot. They're gone before I can act, and despite the loss of potential points, I can't find it in myself to regret my inaction.

"Heads!"

I yelp as a second set of footsteps skids to a halt in front of me, and a cheerful grin lit by the neon lights, curls into a familiar laugh.

"Louis/Leila!"

"Up and at em, Dear! The Pink lot won't take the hit for us!" Their impression of the brutish military general that delivered our health and safety warnings before the match makes me crease in two with laughter.

I take the hand that offered to me, and find myself swiftly yanked up onto my feet.

We lose, but we do so in style.

All throughout the meal that follows, Louis/Leila weaves elaborate tales to tell the others when we get home. Sweeping epics of laser and plastic plating, glittering with all the flair and outright embellishments their mind can conjure. We're both bruised and battered, and the strain of the hour-long match burns in our limbs, but the devilishly unhealthy joy of pizza keeps our spirits high, and by the time we leave the squeaky plastic seats of the takeaway, we're still fizzing.

The rain doesn't start immediately, it wouldn't. No, it waits until we've decided to walk home instead of taking the bus. The first few drops are light, a misting drizzle that makes Louis/Leila's straw blonde hair sparkle. Then it gets heavier.

"B weather!" they grumble, hiking their jacket up over their head, trying in vain to stretch its meagre shelter over me too.

"It's not so bad," I lie, already soaked through to my skin. "And we're not that far from home now."

We duck beneath an archway as the weather worsens.

Dripping from head to toe, Louis/Leila slides out of their jacket and tries to shake the worst of the water away. Finding success in the endeavour, thin though that success might be, they take the tie from their hair and try to shake out their hair.

Mildly dizzy, and only a little dryer, they peer through their messy locks and smirk. "You can say it. I look like a blessed Retriever, don't I?"

I chuckle, lift my hands, and begin to comb my fingers through their hair. "Can't plan for the weather. Maybe if we sneak in the back we can avoid commentary?"

Louis/Leila groans, leaning into my ministrations, and the first phantoms of their brother's snark fills their thoughts. Then they still, their eyes locked upon mine as such concerns drift away.

"Can't plan for the weather," they say, their voice soft as their breath falls across my lips. "Good excuse though."

I find myself drifting away from the cloying damp of my clothes, the ache of the bruises on my legs and arms, even the quiet shadows of the night seem to slip from my grasp. Everything folds itself away neatly, retreating to leave just the two of us.

"Excuse for what?" I ask breathlessly.

"Staying right here with you."

---

Introvert

The doorbell dings, and before I can so much as lift a finger, Louis/Leila is chatting away with whoever it is that has delivered the pizza.

"Eager, aren't they?" Lars quips from behind his coffee mug, earning a swipe from a tea towel Peyton/Peidyn wields like a whip. He ducks the admonishment with ease.

"What have you all got lined up?" I ask, placing my own mug in the sink.

Peyton/Peidyn shrugs. "I'll go with what the other two want."

"Which means it's up to me, Ana/Abe, and your little one, so..." Lars also shrugs. "What ever's our little overlord desires, I guess. You?"

"Louis/Leila's got a plan."

Lars snorts into the cream porcelain and dregs of his coffee.

"May I present the finest, greasiest flatbreads of cheesy goodness this side of regret!"

Louis/Leila sweeps into the kitchen with a flourish, twirling two enormous boxes on the tip of one finger, while a third balances precariously upon their other hand.

Peyton/Peidyn swoops in to rescue the two, sliding them deftly onto two preprepared wire racks upon the counter. "Did you have to make them sound so appealing?"

"Just speaking truth to takeaway," Louis/Leila grins. They turn to me and bow, offering up their free hand like a dashing paramour from a 50's romance. "Dear? Our evening awaits."

Lars groans and mutters several pleas for mercy to an uncaring authority.

I ignore him, and take Louis/Leila's hand.

Up three flights of narrow stairs, passed two doors, and several promises of 'no trespass' from the rest of the house, Louis/Leila and I ascend to our 'nest' and begin our night in.

"Better eat first," they say, placing the box carefully on the table before the TV. "Cold pizza only tastes good in the mornings. Then I've got movies and games, even a few of Lars' board games if you're up for it? He won't notice they're missing till the next game night. Or if you want to just watch what ever's on, we can do that. Or..."

I step up into Louis/Leila's immediate orbit, and gently take their flustered face between my hands.

"Louis/Leila," I say with just the right balance of firmness and sympathy. "Take a deep breath."

They do, and it takes all my willpower not to chuckle as they all but melt into my touch.

"Breathing is good," they say on their third deep breath.

"It is." I smile as the tension falls away from their bony shoulders. "Why so nervous?"

Their bright blush warms my palms. "Well... I mean... It's just me, isn't it? What if you get bored? Or I make an arse of myself? Or the pizza tastes B awful? It's all on me."

I kiss their burning cheek. "It's all on you, and that's a good thing. Because you know what? I like just you, just the way you are, arse, bad pizza, boredom, and all."

---

Image courtesy of Thomas Charters on Unsplash