#or stories that are brilliant but look like a chicken scratched it into stone with a spoon

[animentality]

I mean there are definitely people who can both write AND draw.

they just don't go into the manga/comics industry.

[cilldaracailin]

Heaven For Everyone

Hello my Tumblr Lovelys!

Sorry to say this is the last part in this story in the Robyn and Taron series. Working on more but when it appears, it appears :) Thanks for all the love and comments and reads on the story. Hope you all enjou Suze xx :)

P.S A lot of the details of Taron's flat come from my head and the brief video I have seen. I don't know his flat at all so I have done my best but again as this is all fiction, it doesn't matter if it is not perfect.

10

“There is nothing more rare, nor more beautiful, than a woman being unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection. To me, that is the true essence of beauty.”

Even with the late hour, there were still some photographers waiting for those who left the afterparty, hoping to catch them stumbling out and looking worse for the wear. Taron was stone cold sober and so was Robyn and the only fuss that could have been made about their exit from the venue was the fact that Robyn was wearing Taron’s jacket.

She got into the black car, which thankfully was nice and warm, moving right over to the door, giving Taron space to get in too.

“Thanks Clive.” Taron thanked the driver as he got into the driver seat.

“No worries Taron. You have a good night?”

“Yeah it was brilliant thanks.”

“Heading back to yours right?”

“Yeah please.”

“Sure. “

“No problem at all. Let me know if the car gets too warm for you.”

Taron didn’t answer and hoped Clive saw him nod in the rear-view mirror, as another long yawn filled his body, his arms stretching over his head. “Go on, say it.”

“I’m saying nothing.” Robyn could see the tiredness immediately settle into him as he relaxed against the car seat and wasn’t surprised to see him yawn. “But…”

“And there it is!” Taron chuckled as he rested his head against the seat. “You were forewarned about the tiredness and that was even before last weekend.”

“Yes I was.” She agreed. “You want a quick snooze on the way to yours?”

“I am going to rest my eyes for a while.”

“Wanna rest them over here?”

Taron turned his head to look at Robyn as she held her right arm open for him and he didn’t even question it but moved closer to her and leaned his head under her chin, Robyn wrapping her arm around his shoulder. “Probably not the best idea to have you sleep through a power nap. You probably won’t actually sleep now.”

“Oh, don’t worry I will.” Taron snuggled a bit more into Robyn, moving his lower body so he was a little stretched out on the back seat. He happily sighed as he felt Robyn run the lightest of touches down his nose and temple before her fingers eased into the hair at the side of his head, scratching his scalp back and forth.

It was definitely the quickest Taron had ever fallen asleep with her and Robyn on hindsight, wished she hadn’t suggested the power nap for him because she hated waking him when he was sleeping. Deep and even breathes filled his body and she continued to run her fingers tips through his hair and it was slightly worrying with how quickly he had fallen asleep but Robyn just figured it had been a really long day for him work wise and she knew his body was still not quite fully healed after being so ill. Leaning down, she placed a kiss on his head and wrapped her right arm around him a little tighter, smiling to herself as he mumbled in his sleep and nestled into her some more.

The drive to Taron’s flat in London took just about half an hour and Clive turned in his seat once he had parked the car. “Robyn we are here.” He glanced at Taron who still slept against his female passenger. He had noticed in his rear-view mirror the position Taron had found to have a quick few winks and wasn’t surprised to see him still asleep as they arrived at his London home. “I will go and get your cases for you.”

“Thank you Clive.”

Once the driver had closed the door of the car quietly, Robyn wished he had of slammed the door because maybe it would have been the jolt Taron needed to wake up. She didn’t know why she bothered to run the tip of her finger down his nose because she knew it was a soft touch that comforted him and as she ran her hand through his hair, she chuckled a little. “You really can sleep anywhere but I suppose the warm body helps. Ok Taron, time to wake up.” She dug her fingers a little deeper into his scalp but knew it was a hopeless effort in rousing him. Taking her hand from around his arm, she moved to his shoulder and shook him gently. “Taron? Come on rocketman, time to wake up.”

When Robyn ran her hands so tenderly through his hair, Taron’s eyes had fluttered open and as she shook his shoulder, he stretched, yawning twice. “So sleepy.” He mumbled into her soft skin.

“And hello to you too.”

“Let’s just stay here and sleep” Taron moved his head so his face was tucked into her neck.

“Or we go inside to your nice warm flat and sleep on your bed.”

Taron smiled. “I am already nice and warm and cosy.”

“Of course you are.” Robyn laughed. “But you promised me a weekend of movies and I don’t see a TV in this car.”

Lifting his head from her shoulder, Taron looked to her. Her eyes were still bright and her face smiled at him. “Did I sleep the whole way?” He asked as he finally moved from her warm body to look out the window, seeing the outside of his apartment building. “Ok I guess I did.”

“Poor tired little chicken.” Robyn laughed.

“How are you still awake and cheery.”

“Always am.”

There was a little knock on the window. Taron moved to open the car door and Clive face appeared in his eye line. “Bags are all set to go Taron.”

“Thanks Clive.” He turned to Robyn who was still smiling his way. “You know, with the exception of Cannes, because that was just ridiculous, I think tonight has been one of my favourite premiers so far.”

“Whatever Taron. I am pretty sure your first premier was the best one.”

“Hell no. I was shitting myself.” Taron said as he started to get out of the car.

“And you weren’t shitting yourself this evening?” Robyn asked as she followed him out of the car.

Taron chuckled. “Oh there was some definite shitting.”

Robyn laughed loudly at his words and then his face after he realised what he had said, his hands going to his face in embarrassment. “And there he is!” She laughed at him again as his cheeks flared bright red, his hands moving down his face and away from his eyes. Robyn reached over to him. “Never change.” She took his hands from his face and held them tight. “Too precious for words.”

“Jesus Robyn, sorry.”

Robyn shook her head at him and closed the door of the car. “Nothing to apologise for. I work with kids, talking about shite is part of my daily conversation.” She turned to Clive who was patiently waiting for them. “Thank you so much for driving us back to Taron’s.”

“No problem at all. I hope you both had a nice evening.”

“It was very lovely.” Robyn assured him.

“Taron, I will be back on Sunday at five to collect Robyn to bring her to the airport?”

“Please, Clive. Thank you.”

“No problem at all. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

They watched him get back into the car and drive away slowly, leaving them both in the quiet of the dark street, orange light from the tall street lights beaming down on them.

“So, are you going to invite me into your pad, or am I to set up camp here for the night?” Robyn asked Taron, his face finally turning back to its normal colour.

“You know I think I might like to see you try doing that.”

Robyn gently pushed Taron on his right shoulder. “You know I will follow through with that. I love camping and a good tent.”

Taron’s lips grew in a wide smile. “Well I know that chicken and about the camping too. You were once a girl scout.” Robyn nodded, hoping her face didn’t show her surprise at Taron’s memory and ability to listen once more. “Well I guess we had better head in then, seeing as how you will get started on making a tent out of leaves and branches soon.”

Robyn chuckled. “Maybe we can do that tomorrow instead of a movie day.”

Taron shook his head and grabbed the handles of the two cases and walked toward the gates of the apartment complex. Letting go of Robyn’s case in his right hand, he quickly pressed the numbered code in the keypad, which immediately opened the automatic gates, the black metal swinging backwards to let them in. He started walking through as soon as the gap opened enough, turning his head to make sure Robyn was following him and she was right behind him, holding her dress up slightly. He gave her a small smile and turned his face forward again, telling his heart to slow down. A shiver ran through him and he knew it wasn’t from the cold night air, but rather finally getting to bring Robyn home for a visit at last. She had shared every part of her home with him and he was excited to finally get to do the same for her. He nodded towards the security guard as he came out of his little hut to greet him.

“Good evening Mr Egerton.”

“Evening Ben.”

“Miss Quinn.”

“Ben.” Robyn tipped an invisible hat his way.

“Nice to meet you. Taron always has such wonderful things to say about you.”

“Thanks Ben.”

“You both have a good night.”

“Will do Ben.” Taron replied as he kept walking.

Robyn waited until they were far enough away that the security guard wouldn’t hear her and then she spoke. “So that’s the complexes security guard Ben who knows who I am?”

“Chicken, everyone knows who you are and it is good to give the security a heads up in case you arrive at the gate and would like to get in.”

“You could just tell me the code. I mean you know where the spare key to my house is and that way, I can just walk in.”

“Well Robyn, I don’t want to catch me out when I am in nudey nudes.”

“No Taron, we wouldn’t want that would we.” Robyn chuckled.

“Definitely not.”

Robyn stuck close to Taron as he made his way in through a door, holding it open for her so she could walk through. “I’m on the fifth floor. Lifts are this way.”

Once out of the lift, Taron walked down the soft carpeted corridor to the very end, stopping in front of a white door with the number five one zero.

“Corner apartment Taron? I should have guessed.”

Taron left the cases by the door and turned to Robyn. “You mind?” He asked as he lightly touched the front of his jacket which she was wearing. “My key is in the inside pocket.” He watched as Robyn opened the button for his jacket and held it open for him, so he could reach into the left inside pocket to take out his key for the door. “Thank you.” Key in hand, Taron held it over the lock and the light pinged green. “After you.” He stood back.

“You sure? You don’t need to go in and do a quick tidy?”

Taron laughed. “No Robyn. I was here on Wednesday and I left it pretty tidy.”

“Ok then but if I find a pair of rouge boxers laying around, be warned, I am going to run around waving them.”

“Whatever makes you happy chicken.”

He pushed the door fully open and let Robyn walk in, flicking on a light switch inside the door, so his apartment lit up with white light. Once she had stepped fully in, he held the door open with his left foot and dragged the two suitcases in, leaving them at the wall, closing the door. He followed Robyn as she wandered around his apartment, waiting for any sign of reaction from her as she looked around.

“So, you were keeping not only your open plan kitchen and living area a secret…” Robyn walked straight over to his couch. “You have a corner couch and it is blue!” Taron chuckled at her words. “You have been holding out on me Mr Egerton!”

“I can’t tell you all my secrets in one go, now can I? You won’t want to come back and visit!”

Robyn laughed hard as Taron used her words against her. “This is so gorgeous Taron. You haven’t remodelled your home since you met me, have you? Stealing my homes design?” As Robyn waited for Taron’s answer, she wandered into his pristine white kitchen and pointed up to The Troubadour sign. “Stealing is bad, you know that right?”

“I didn’t steal it; it was given to me and no I didn’t steal your design. It was like this when I bought it and yes, I have a corner couch but it is nowhere near as comfortable as yours.”

Robyn gave him a doubtful look and with purpose and holding her dress up, walked over to his couch and dropped herself right into the corner, kicking her legs up onto the couch, leaning back into the cushions. She shuffled a little and then looked to Taron who had walked to stand behind the couch. “Mine definitely wins the comfy contest.”

Walking around to the other side of the couch, Taron dropped his body onto the soft material, his head resting on her shoulder, kicking his own legs up onto the couch. “I have to agree with you but as always you make a good cushion.”

Robyn moved so his head slipped down a little and she could swing her right arm around him, her hand resting on his chest. “So you’re settled for the night now?” She asked gently rubbing her palm up and down his side.

“Hmmm.” He answered her.

“This all I get to see of your home?” She asked him, lifting her left hand to his hair.

“A bed is a bed and a toilet is a toilet.” He hummed as Robyn scratched his head in gentle circles. “I have both, all you need to know.”

Robyn’s lips curled into a smile as the man laying against her moved to get more comfortable. She could already feel his breathing evening out under her right hand. “Been a long day for you.”

“Been a long week.” He whispered back.

“Any chance Matthew will hold off the start of filming for another week?”

Taron opened his eyes. “Why? You want to stay with me a little longer?”

Robyn shook her head. “Not that but it would mean you could actually get a decent rest.”

“You don’t want to stay with me longer?” He asked her, tilting his head back so he could look at her.

“I always want more time with you but you need some rest before you get straight back into it.”

“We have some scene preparation Monday and Tuesday before we actually get into filming so I have a bit of reprieve before we get right into it.” He saw a frown on her face. “At least I can come back here every evening and coming back to my own bed always makes it easier to rest up and I still have the throw you gave me and draíocht too.”

“All the tricks to help you sleep.”

“Yep.” Taron closed his eyes and moved his head so he was more settled.

Silence surrounded them, their light breathing and some late traffic the only noises that could be heard until Taron’s stomach gave one loud grumble, Robyn’s laughter soon following.

“I guess chocolate covered marshmallows weren’t enough to keep your hunger at bay.”

Taron grinned, still with his eyes closed. “Breakfast was a long time ago and I can never really eat when I am nervous.”

“Well I am not going to let you go to bed on a hungry stomach. Up ya get.”

“Oh no. I am so cosy.”

“I know that but you need some food and I have just the thing for you.”

“Baked goods?”

“The quicker you get up, the quicker you can find out.”

Reluctantly and making it obvious that he wasn’t too happy about being moved, Taron grumbled as he sat up on his couch, kicking his legs out in front of him impatiently.

“Behave!” Robyn pointed a finger at him. “Getting too used to your Robyn cuddles now.”

“‘Cos I love them.” He replied with a pout.

Robyn stood up, straightening out her dress. “Right Mr Egerton, which way to the bedroom.” Taron pointed dramatically towards the kitchen. “So I shall find it myself then.”

Before Robyn walked away from the couch, she took her shoes off, one at a time leaving them by the coffee table, picking up her dress and swinging it over her right arm so she could walk without falling over the material and headed for her case. She took the handle in her left hand and rolled it past the kitchen and down the hallway, heading for the open door at the very end. “No need to get up Taron, I found it.” She called back to him, knowing well he was stuck to the couch. The bedroom was clean and tidy, a dark navy duvet on the bed and she figured the door to her right in the bedroom was his on suite. She took Taron’s jacket off and laid it neatly on the bed before she lifted her case onto the bed too, cringing a little as it hurt her right hand, working on opening the zip to get into her case, smiling as she saw her grey and white teddy bear fleece on the end of his bed and the green dinosaur they won at the beach together sitting in front of the cushions, dressed in her blue blouse which she had left with him in Paris last weekend.

Taron happily sighed as he lay on his couch, grinning to himself a little as his atrocious attempt of a tour of his flat for Robyn. He had left her to wander herself, making her own way into his bedroom and he knew he should have gotten up to ensure she was ok but he was wrecked. The sleep in the car which had been so perfect was such a terrible idea and once again, Robyn had been right in saying that he would just feel more tired after his quick nap and as he struggled to open his eyes, his mind was telling him he really needed to check on Robyn.

“Oh no!” His head turned as he heard her give a little shout.

“Robyn?” He called. “You ok?”

“Oh bollocks!”

He knew he shouldn’t have laughed at her words, but her curse made him giggle. He pushed himself up from the couch, stretching a little as he yawned loudly, rubbing his eyes. As he heard Robyn exclaim again, he picked up the pace of his footsteps, loosening his tie as he went, opening the top button of shirt too.

“Robyn are you ok?” He asked as he walked into the bedroom, her back facing him as she stood in front of the side of his bed. “Heard some choice words filter from here.” He looked to her face as she turned to face him which was a mixture of sadness and shock and then to her hands. She was holding up a t-shirt which was definitely the colour blue but was covered in a white powder. “What…”

When Robyn opened her case, her shoulders fell before she groaned and cursed. She heard Taron call her name but was routing through her belongings to see how far down the mess had been made but when his voice was closer, she picked up her blue t-shirt and turned around him, holding it up. “It’s flour.” She groaned. “And sugar.” She saw Taron tilt his head with confusion and she rolled up the t-shirt into a ball and turning back to her case threw it down in and frustration, feeling Taron come to stand right beside her and look in her case.

“Oh Robyn.”

She sighed miserably. “I brought stuff to make cookies with you but the bags have burst in my case and everything is now covered in flour and sugar. I am just glad the butter stayed in the bag.” She took out a ziploc bag which was completely smeared inside with yellow butter, before throwing it back in. “What a bloody disaster.”

“You brought the ingredients to make cookies with me?” Taron asked quietly. “White chocolate chip cookies?”

“Kilcreen second place cookies.” She nodded then shaking her head. “But now we have extra ingredients.” Robyn put her hands in the case and lifted up her clothes. “All ruined and now no cookies.”

“You were going to bake cookies with me.” Taron repeated.

“Taron!” Robyn said a little more sternly than she meant too, immediately reaching to put her hand on his shoulder. “Sorry.” She apologised. “Sorry and yes I was going to make cookies with you tomorrow. It was my plan to make them Wednesday evening so I could bring them with me to give to you but as you know that never happened so I quickly threw the ingredients into some bags so I could make the cookies with you here because my other plan fell apart and the bags were fine this morning but now…” She held up a burst bag and a dusted white piece of clothing. “Now we can’t even make the cookies.”

Taron pulled some jeans from her case, a puff of white drifting into the air. “Robyn only you could think to do something so sweet and have it literally blow up.”

“Taron…” Robyn whinged. “That doesn’t help me.”

“You ever think that maybe I would have the ingredients for cookies here?”

“But that just ruins the surprise.”

“Better than clothes covered in flour.” Taron pulled something else from her case but quickly dropped her bra back in.

“Ok Taron, I’m a girl and wear bras and this is a sport one.” She pulled some more stuff out before throwing it down, crossing her arms over her chest. “Right that’s it. I am not taking this dress off.”

“What?” Taron laughed a little.

“I am staying in this dress for the rest of my time here and do you even have the ingredients to make cookies?”

“I have flour and sugar in a press somewhere and the butter was saved and surely the white chocolate is still ok.” Robyn routed in the case and pulled out four bars of white chocolate and held them up to him. “Ok so I am sure we can make the cookies and I can give you something to wear.”

“Not taking this dress off.” Robyn said stubbornly as looked to him, dropping the chocolate back into the case.

“Ok well how about we get all these clothes washed then and you can stay in the dress for as long as you want chicken. You know my opinion on the dress.”

Taron lifted her case back into the kitchen and into his laundry room to the side of the kitchen and helped her to separate her clothes from her toiletries and put her flour covered clothes into the washing machine.

“I think these were green once?” Taron helped up her dark green converse, now covered in a fine white powder.

“We can just put them in with everything else.” Robyn said to him as she took her runners from him and threw them on top of her ruined clothes. She moved out of the way so Taron could then add the washing powder and softener to the machine, getting it going on a wash. He then grabbed a cloth to help wipe the flour of her toiletry bottles, wash bag and hairdryer with Robyn, both putting her now clean belongings into her empty and clean case.

Robyn sat down on the laundry floor with her back against the presses beside the washing machine, Taron sitting beside her, the cleaned case in front of them. “I am starting to agree with you, ya know.”

“About what?”

“That trouble follows me wherever I go.”

Taron swung his arm around her shoulder. “Robyn?”

“Hmmm?”

“Want to make some cookies?”

Still dressed in their fancy fancy outfits, except that Taron had rid himself of his tie and waistcoat, opening two more buttons on his shirt, the two gathered the ingredients needed to make some white chocolate chip cookies and as Taron carefully chopped up the white chocolate into little chunks, Robyn guesstimated the measurements of the flour and sugar as best she could, letting Taron do the harder work of beating everything together as he didn’t own a mixer, Robyn throwing in the chocolate and once he had thoroughly mixed the cookie dough, they took turns to roll large balls of dough and place them on the baking tray.

“I can’t wait to eat one warm from the oven!” Taron said excitedly as they sat down on the couch, bending down to open the laces of his shoes so he could take them off, leaving them neatly beside Robyn’s heels beside the coffee table. The sight of their shoes together, made him smile a lot and once he had his socks off too, sat back on the couch with Robyn.

“Best way to have them when they are still a little gooey and chewy.”

“And I have ice-cream in my freezer. I could make an ice-cream sandwich.”

“Sandwich!”

The couch bounced a little as Robyn got up quickly, lifting her dress and she jogged back to Taron’s room where they had put her case back, Taron’s eyes following her for as long as he could, chuckling a little as he wondered what she was up to know. He checked his watch and was a little surprised to see it was near half three in the morning but yet even when he should have felt tired, he was happily content and awake, the power nap finally kicking in as well as the baking, giving him some extra energy. His mind ran in curious thoughts as he waited for Robyn to return and as she skipped back into the kitchen, he chuckled at her.

“What are you up too?”

“What I was going to do for you before we saw my ruined case and made cookies, which we need to keep an eye on or they will burn.” Robyn opened the oven door. “A few more minutes.” She closed the oven door and pulled a fresh pan of bread from the counter top and butter from the fridge. “I should have brought some Irish butter.”

“Did you even look in the fridge?” Taron asked as he got to his feet and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling from the back a gold wrapped package of Irish butter, handing it to Robyn. “I bought one just for you.”

Robyn grinned as she took the butter from him. “You need a butter dish for this and thank you.”

“What are you making?” He leant on his elbows as he watched her open the bread and pull out four slices. He moved to get her two plates and put the bread on it.

“A sandwich.”

“I know that much Robyn. What kind of a sandwich?”

“A tayto sandwich. Your stomach was grumbling earlier. You haven’t eaten anything proper since breakfast.”

He watched her put the bread on one plate and then cut some butter to put on the second, moving to the microwave, putting the plate inside and setting the timer for thirty seconds. “So, you are making me a crisp sandwich.”

She nodded, stopping the microwave. “Yep. Very nutritious and healthy and an Irish stable after a night out.” She took the plate with the softened butter and once beside Taron, started to butter the four slices of bread. “I’ll forgive you for not having Irish bread too.”

She expected the nudge and met his with one of her own and once had buttered both slices of bread, turned to open the oven to check the cookies. “And done!”

“Here let me. You only have the use of one good hand.” Taking the tea towel from her, Taron carefully took the cookies out, Robyn closing the oven and turning it off. “You do know I am going to eat one of these now right?”

“Give them about three minutes to cool down and then you can. They need a little more time.” She laughed at his face. “Help me make your sandwich and then your cookie will be ready.”

“Negotiating queen.” Taron murmured as he turned around to the island. “So, what do I need to do.”

“Just follow my lead.” She tossed him a packet of cheese and onion crisps and once she had picked her own, gave the packet a little squeeze before opening it up, taking one to eat, grinning as Taron copied her every move. She then poured the crisps onto one slice of bread; a tower of fallings crisps on the slice once she was done. Lifting the second slice of bread she placed it on top of the crisps, hearing a delightful and satisfying crunching sound as she pressed down, hearing the same crunch from Taron’s sandwich too. Without hesitation, Robyn picked up hers with two hands and took a large bite from the corner, nodding happily as she chewed, watching as Taron did the same, a smile growing on his face.

The saltiness from the crisps mixed perfectly with the savoury taste of the bread and as the two different textures from the crunchy crisps and soft bread combined together, Taron nodded his appreciation for the crisp sandwich, taking another large bite. He spoke with his mouth full before going into for another bite.

“I haven’t a clue what you said but I can I guess what it was.” Robyn laughed a little as he took another bite. “Good huh?”

Taron finally swallowed the food in his mouth. “So good.” It definitely wasn’t a full three course meal by any standards but the sandwich was delicious and Taron was feeling very satisfied by the unusual sandwich filling, taking another bite, leaning against the island and he nodded at Robyn’s words. Once he swallowed again, he spoke. “Just what my stomach ordered and cookies for dessert? Perfect.”

While Robyn finished off the last of her sandwich, Taron was on his second cookie, holding it between his teeth as he filled a glass with some milk. The sugar was welcomed but he knew he definitely was going to find it hard to sleep now with the homemade sweet treats. As he took a bite from the cookie the washing machine started to beep to indicate the end of the wash. He dropped his cookie and walked into the laundry room and bent down to open the door. “Can your things go in the drier?” He asked.

Robyn came to crouch beside him. “Erm not really. The jeans will shrink and the t-shirts go all wrinkly.”

“So, radiators it is.” Taron looked to Robyn. “So, you want dry clothes but they have to go on the radiator and by doing that they won’t be dry until tomorrow so you really do intend on wearing this dress for the rest of the weekend, don’t you?”

Robyn nodded enthusiastically. “I will probably never wear this dress again and it is so beautiful Taron that I want to get as much wear out of it as I can.”

“You are going to sleep in it aren’t you.”

“Might do. Let me help you with these.”

Taron knew he felt his cheeks blush as he carefully placed Robyn’s more delicate clothing on the radiators, his stomach in knots as he straightened out the matching black bra to the pants he had just put out, the little lace details on both subtle but very effective to his over active imagination at the moment. Once had he fixed her t-shirt on the radiator too, he made his way back into his living area where Robyn was sitting on the couch routing through her clutch bag. He did a quick turn around back into his bedroom, picking up the large white coloured Armani paper bag to carry with him.

“You sure you don’t want something to wear Robyn. I really don’t mind and I have a bigger selection of clothes for you to choose from. I know I can get you a comfy pair of shorts and a hoodie.” He placed the shopping bag behind the couch so Robyn didn’t see it, coming to sit beside her. He had changed into a pair of black sweatpants and a blue t-shirt but Robyn was adamant that she was wearing her dress until her clothes were dry.

“Nope. I am good.” She pulled out the black velvet Kingsman souvenir that she was given in the restaurant from her handbag. “You know what is in here?”

“Maybe.” He teased.

Robyn pulled open the gold string and looked inside with a smile. She pulled out a pen that was shaped like an umbrella. “I am going to bring this to work with me. It will come in very useful.”

Taron smiled. “Definitely more user friendly then a fidget spinner.”

“I saw that video. You loved that spinner.” Robyn laughed as she dropped the pen and velvet bag into her clutch, throwing it onto the coffee table so she could lean back into the couch, shoulder to shoulder with Taron. “Thanks so much for this evening. I had such a lovely time. I wonder why I was always so against doing this with you.”

“It’s a lot to deal with when you think about everything that is involved with a premier. The press and media, fans, all the cameras and then having to sit and watch my face on screen for two hours.”

“That was definitely the hardest part of the evening.” Robyn shook her head. “So difficult.” She leaned her head onto his shoulder. “Thanks for asking me.”

“Thanks for giving me the vouchers that let me ask you to come with me.”

“You still have a lot of vouchers left to use.”

“Don’t worry Robyn. I am going to be closer to you now so plan to use them in the coming weeks and if I remember correctly, they don’t have an expiration date.” He felt her body move as she laughed. “I had a good evening too.”

“And you can finally let go of all of that pressure you have been holding onto since Florida.” She heard the heavy sigh that left his chest. “Brand new start Taron.”

There was another moment of silence before Taron kissed her head. “I have something for you.” With a very gentle push, he got Robyn to sit up so he could move and stretch his left arm over the back of the couch to pick up the bag, seeing the look of surprise and then flicker of confusion in her eyes. “You never keep to our present pact so why should I?”

“My presents come in tiny boxes, not giant bags.”

Taron set the bag down on the couch between then, Robyn moving to sit crossed legged, fixing her dress so it was gathered in between her legs, as he knelt opposite her. “It is the only bag I had to carry the presents in.”

Robyn rose an eyebrow his way. “An Armani bag?”

Taron shrugged his shoulders. “I have some fancy suits that come in fancy bags. So are we going to let me give you the presents?”

“It doesn’t matter what I say, you will find a way to give them to me somehow. I think we need a new present pact.”

“I think we should scrap the present pact.” Taron added. “You constantly break it.”

“Only with cookies.” Robyn shrugged.

“Cookies are presents. So…” Taron reached into the bag and pulled out a long-wrapped box. “It’s a little heavy so be careful.”

Robyn took the silver wrapped gift, feeling the slight weight in her hands, wondering what on earth it could be. She tore the paper off quickly, thankful that Taron didn’t have the same love for sellotape that she did and as she got the last of the paper off, she smiled widely. “I love these but don’t have one.”

“I couldn’t see one the last time I was at yours and thought it matched your blue décor perfectly.”

The blue lava lamp was nostalgic and Robyn already knew where she was going to put it when she got home. She uncrossed her legs and leaned over so she could put the box on the coffee table. As she made sure the lava lamp was safe on the table, Taron had taken the remaining gifts from the bag and thrown it over the couch out of the way. He picked up the smaller silver wrapped gift and handed it over once she settled back into the couch once more with a grin, not saying anything.

“What’s that grin for?”

“Nothing.” He answered her.

Not believing a word, seeing his grin grow, Robyn quickly ripped the paper from the small rectangle present and took to laughing when she saw what it was, hearing Taron’s laughter too.

“You think I am going to put that on my phone?” She asked him, holding up the pop socket of his face.

“I am not letting you leave my flat until you put it on. In fact, I will do it for you.” Taron got up from the couch and lifted her phone from the coffee table, moving to sit into the couch again. “Pop socket please.”

Even though Robyn had told him she wasn’t going to put the new phone accessory onto her case, she handed over the packet, letting Taron pull the plastic open to get the pop socket of his face out. He very carefully took her current socket off and once he had the cover of the sticky part taken off, he applied some pressure onto the new socket, making sure it was applied properly onto her phone. He grinned as he held it up to her. “Now you can see my face whenever you pick up your phone.”

Robyn took her phone from him and chuckled. “And how am I going to explain this to anyone who picks up my phone?”

“Taron Egerton fan?” He answered her simply.

“Claire is going to get such a kick out of this and I am going to be teased mercilessly.”

“Just tell her I gave it to you.”

“I will, don’t you worry.”

Still smiling, Taron picked up the last gift and handed it over to her. “You can change it back if you want.”

As she took the present, Robyn shook her head. “Nope. I love it. I am keeping it on. Thanks Taron.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen what this one is yet.”

“Is it a bigger print of your face?” She asked.

“Not quite.”

“Something else?”

“Robyn!” Taron’s eyes widened at her words, his lips turning into a grin as he saw her smirk. “Just open it.”

It only took her five seconds to rip all the paper off and that beautiful smile that he loved so much, that lit up her eyes, quickly appeared on her face. It was an idea that came to him as he walked past a t-shirt print shop in London on the way to an interview Thursday morning and he asked Lyndsey to ask in the shop if they printed on other items as well as t-shirts and once she came with a nod, Taron called into the shop between interviews to get something made for Robyn and judging by her face and how she threw herself into him for a hug, that she loved the present.

Robyn hugged him tightly, getting used to the sideways hugs she had with him, kissing his jaw lightly as she moved away from him. She picked up the cushion she had thrown to the side as she went to hug Taron and lightly ran her fingers over the chicken, love heart, rocket and man emoji that were printed on the front of the white cushion, with blue tassels on all four corners. “Best gift ever and it will sit nicely on my couch.”

“Better than the dress?” Taron asked.

“Comes a very close second. I love this so much. Our favourite emoji’s.”

Taron grinned and nodded. “Perhaps over used emojis.”

“Perhaps but sometimes an emoji is all you need.” She reached over to take his hand and give it a squeeze. “Thank you Taron. These are brilliant. All of them.”

“Even my face on your phone.”

“Especially your face on my phone, though…” She picked up her phone and swiped the screen. “You might already be there.”

Taron took her phone seeing the picture of him sleeping on her bed hugging cwtch, groaned a little. “You really had to pick that one?” He asked her.

“Well it is your favourite thing to do.” She took her phone back from him. “Taron thank you so much for these. They are so thoughtful and perfect.”

“Don’t know if they equal a stunning tie pin.” He looked down his hands which were tangled together on his lap but had no choice but to look up as Robyn put two fingers under his chin to make him lift his head.

“Do you want a lecture from me because you know I am so good with my words.” It was a slow smile that filled his face and he shook his head. “Good.” She leaned in and placed the lightest of kisses to the side of his lips. “I love them all and you too.”

“I know.”

Robyn gave the cushion and cuddle and looked up to him. “Did you spray this with your aftershave?” She asked him, watching as he moved so he was sitting properly on the couch.

“Maybe.”

Robyn grinned, changing her position too so she was sitting beside him. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.” He closed his eyes, letting his head lay back against the couch, his body overcome with a yawn, followed by another. He felt Robyn lift his left arm.

“It’s so late or rather early.”

Taron took a glance to his watch and groaned. “We’ve been up for nearly twenty-two hours.”

“I think sleeping will replace movie’s tomorrow.” Robyn said as she slipped her hand into his. “You are going to be so tired for Monday.”

“Good thing you like to take pictures of me sleeping because it is all I am going to be doing for the next two days.”

“Let’s get you comfy then. Bed.”

Taron didn’t even need to be persuaded as Robyn stood up and pulled him to his feet. She waited for him for turn off some lights before following him to his bedroom, where he turned on his bed side lamp before switching off the main light.

“You want to take the bathroom first?” He asked.

“Sure. Give me five.” She started to walk away from him but turned back. “It will be longer than five.”

“Take your time.”

Robyn picked up her toiletry bag from her case and walked into the on suite, closing the door behind her. With the excitement of the late night, the sudden activities and Taron’s generosity, she had forgotten about her sore hand and only remembered how tender it was as she started to take off her make up from the evening. She had to remember to message Stella to thank her for keeping her look so simple but also so pretty and ask her what products she used as the make-up still sat perfectly hours later. She grumbled to herself at her reflection without her make-up, black dark circles deep under her eyes. Once she had given her face a through wash, patting it dry with Taron’s clean towel, she rubbed in her night moisturiser and a little eyes cream, hoping it would help ease the darkness on her skin.

Once she was make-up free and had her teeth brushed, she looked down to the dress which she was still wearing and chuckled. As much fun as it had been getting to wear such a fabulous gown for the evening, it really wasn’t sleeping material and she knew she wouldn’t be able to lay comfortably on her side with the fitted corset and finally admitted defeat. The dress was going to have to come off. She opened the bathroom door and leaned her head out.

“Hey Taron.” She saw him laying on his pillows, his hands behind his head.

“Yep.” He titled his head towards her.

“Any chance I could borrow some clothes?”

“I left some on the dresser for you.” Looking to her left, Robyn saw some neatly folded clothes on his set of wooden drawers. “I knew you would give in.”

Robyn took a step out of the bathroom, her hands on her hips. “I didn’t give in. I just know you like cuddles before you sleep and this dress has so much material it would get in the way for cuddles.”

“Sure Robyn.” Taron leant up on his elbows on the bed.

“Thanks for the clothes.” Robyn picked up the bundle and turned to go back into the bathroom, kicking the door behind her. Taron had left her a wonderfully soft pair of black shorts and a long-sleeved red top. They both looked comfortable and cosy but as she looked down to her dress, she knew she faced a problem. Stella had to help her into her dress earlier that evening and as she looked to her sore hand, she had no idea how she going to get out of it alone. She groaned as she realised she was going to have to ask Taron for help and it was a new predicament she found herself in. Slipping into the shorts under the dress, she then made her way back out into the bedroom, Taron looking up as she wandered out.

“Ok chicken I know you love the dress and you can bring it home and wear it all you want around your house but it really is not the best choice for sleeping in.”

“Erm I have a bit of a problem and I need some help.”

“Need to be fix your bra again?” Taron chuckled.

“Well, maybe a bit more than that.” She watched as Taron sat up on the bed, crossing his legs. “I need help to get out of the dress.” She could feel her cheeks reddening. “Stella had to help me get into it and even without a busted hand, I still would need some help.”

“I can zip you out. That’s no problem Robyn.” Taron made to get off the bed but her next words stopped him.

“Yeah there isn’t actually a zip. It was literally pulled down onto me and I need your to help pull it back off.”

Taron heart raced as he crawled off the bed and came to stand beside Robyn. “I can help you.” She didn’t look at him as he spoke to her. “I will keep my eyes closed.”

His words made her smile. “I have the shorts on already and do have underwear on.”

“And I have seen your underwear before. Nothing new there but sure let’s get you out of this dress.”

“Taron…”

“I will keep my eyes closed Robyn. Just tell me the best way to do this.”

“From the bottom up.” Robyn rolled her eyes and gently pushed on Taron’s chest as he giggled. “Grow up.”

She directed him to bundle up the material from the bottom of the dress at the back and once he had it in his hands, Robyn lifted her arms into the air and Taron pulled the corset of the dress up and with an extra hand from Robyn, they got the dress over her head. Robyn felt his hands brush over the skin of her sides as he very gently tugged the dress over her head, his light touch sent wonderful tingles down her body. She was very thankful for his height and help and as he carefully lifted the green dress right up over her head and body, whereas before she would have kept her two arms in front of her body, now she didn’t bother, completely trusting Taron as he got her out of her dress. She snuck a look to him as he held the dress in his arms and smiled as he kept his promise of keeping his eyes closed, even putting one hand over his eyes as he held the dress. Robyn stepped into the bathroom, to grab the red top and slipped on, walking out of the bathroom as she did so, the soft cotton covering her chilled skin, the material baggy and perfect for a cosy sleep.

Taron heard Robyn step into the bathroom without a word and he opened his eyes to see a glimpse of her heading into the bathroom, a full hitch of his breath filling him as Robyn’s beautifully smooth bare back from neck to where his shorts sat very low on her hips, came into his eye line and had to steady himself on his feet for a second, quickly closing his eyes and covering them with his hand again as he heard her step out of the bathroom. The brief touch of his hands on her skin, left his fingers burning and he was glad he had to keep a hold of the dress as it gave him something do with his hands.

“Ok all done.”

Opening his middle and index finger, Taron took a peek at her. “I miss the dress.”

“Of course you do.” Robyn pulled a trousers clothes hanger from his wardrobe and took the dress from him, laying it out on the bed, attaching the hanger to the green material.

“Let me.” Taron picked up the dress and hung it on the outside of his wardrobe. “Now all sorted.” He came to stand back beside her. “You all finished in the bathroom?”

“Yep all yours.”

“Go and get settled on the bed. I will be right back.”

As Taron closed the bathroom door, Robyn walked to the bed and got up onto her side, pulling the covers back so she could get cosy underneath the cotton duvet. She pulled draiocht over to her, giving the green dinosaur a tight squeeze, cuddling into it as she snuggled back into Taron’s soft pillows, inhaling the lovely scent from where he had been resting. It felt nice to be laying down in a soft bed after the rush of the day and as she closed her eyes, the tiredness immediately set in. All her worries about the premier last weekend had really been for nothing and she had had such a wonderful evening getting to celebrate Taron’s success with him.

“Cwtch is going to be jealous when he hears that you have been cuddling another dinosaur.” Taron turned off the bathroom light, smiling as he saw Robyn looking adorable curled up in a ball on his bed. He saw a smile on her face and he climbed up onto the bed beside her, kicking his legs under the covers, pulling them up to his waist.

“Cwtch will understand.” Robyn whispered; her words slightly muffled as she dug her face a little deeper into his pillow. Opening one eye, she looked up to him. “Or we could just not tell him.”

Taron chuckled. “It will be our secret.” He gently brushed some hair away from her forehead, Robyn staying nestled into his dinosaur. “Want to have a cuddle with a warm body instead?”

Leaving draiocht behind her back, Robyn shuffled over into Taron’s open left arm, resting her head on his shoulder, smiling tiredly as Taron pulled the covers right up to her chin. She felt his chest rise and fall as he yawned, his eyes closing as he happily sank further into the bed feeling Robyn lazily drape her arm over his stomach.

“Taron?”

“Hmmm?” He sleepily replied.

“Thanks for looking after me today, keeping by my side.”

With his eyes closed, Taron placed a kiss on her hair. “Easy to do chicken. Thanks for looking out for me too, bringing that sass and feeding me turtles.”

Robyn laughed lightly against him. “Technically you gave me the turtles. I just waited to share them with you.”

“Right decision too.” Taron chuckled. “And I told you, I will always look after you.” He kissed her hair again. “Now you need to sleep.” He felt her hum against his shoulder. “Movie day tomorrow.”

“Sounds good to me.” She nestled her face a little more into his shoulder, feeling him rest his hand on her waist. “Wanna get the light there rocketman?”

Taron stretched his right hand over to turn off the light and as they were plunged into the early light of dawn, they sighed happily.

“Sleep good.” Taron wrapped his left arm around Robyn, pulling her tighter into him. “So glad you came Robyn.”

“Me too Taron.”

His warmth was always so comforting and it was so easy to rest against him, feeling safe and snug and she was so thankful for him in more ways than one over the whole weekend and as she felt herself drifting off, her last thoughts were that she would be more than willing to attend another red-carpet event with him, knowing they weren’t actually as scary as they thought they were, especially when she had a wonderful caring man by her side.

[flipsideds]

it’s all run amuck.

a server’s dropped two trays of fresh-baked scones, and the confections litter the floor like fallen leaves, purple-pink icing making the banquet hall look less like the site of a charity benefit and more like the streets of chilham mid-fall. it lights nostalgia beneath his ribs, and flip finds his lips tugging into a wistful smile.

but then a penguin-prettied guest clears his throat and arches a bristly brow.

“ right then, ” flip says with a curt nod. he clasps his hands, gaze sweeping one final dance across the sugar speckled floor. “ i’ll see to some replacements for you. ”  he forces a gentle smile –– the chasm between the man’s brows only deepens.

amuck indeed.

flip glides toward the kitchen. he’s a smooth-sailing afternoon cloud; light. airy. bloody nervous.

oh, dear.

flip allan bell has a case of the collywobbles, theodore, his old assistant would tease whenever he’d drop a bowl, tray, or spoon. the best baker’s hand he’d been, that one. it’s a shame he ––

flip blinks. thinks of flames, of ink black smoke. then tries not to think about anything at all.

quick fingers collect ingredients, combine. get to kneading. in here, there’s no clammer. no crowd. just sugar, butter, flour. a baffled baker’s best friend. he’ll forget the chaos, for a little while. he’ll close his eyes as he brings cherry compote to a simmer, and think of home.

or, alternatively :  greetings loved ones!! my name is linc ( 21 / est / she/her ) and here is the ever so lovely, ever so flighty phillip allan bell !

below the cut you’ll find a messy run-down of who he is, where he’s come from, and where he’s headed. i am so excited to write with all of you !!  he’s fresh out of the oven ( just ask nika ) so i am head over heels for watching him grow in the windy city !

toss on some nat king cole, julie london, billie holiday, chet baker & let’s get cookin’.

— && guests may mistake me as david corenswet, but really i am phillip "flip" allan bell + cis male + he/him/his  and my DOB is 02/29/1992. i am applying for the banquet manager position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite 201. i should be hired because i am + breezy, expressive, peaceable, but i can also be flighty, perplexed, vacillant at times. personally, i like to bake sweets, not hum along to nat king cole while dancing around my flat alone, and most certainly never wear trousers that are just a bit too short to show off my eccentric sock collection when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work. thank you for your consideration! 

h i s t o r y .

born in the small english village of chilham, phillip allan bell never knew his parents––but they took great care in stapling a note with his name, birthday, and favorite color to the blanket he was found swaddled in on the steps of the local market. ( phillip allan. 29 february. needs green. ) or, at least, that’s how flip tells the story. it’s unclear whether or not his parents’ chicken scratch called for green the color, or green the currency.

when phillip started speaking, he couldn’t properly say his own name. hence the nickname flip was born. the other children in the group home took to it easily, so the single-syllable stuck.

he spent the majority of his childhood in and out of foster homes throughout kent, always returning to the same group home after intervals of six months to a year. he began helping in the kitchen early on, so he became known as flip baker –– whether in foster care or the care of group home supervisors, flip always came to dinner with a new sweet treat for the others to try. people wouldn’t want to end their time fostering him because they loved the food. but in the end, the poor boy wouldn’t be adopted. reasons tended to ring much the same, “ oh, he’s lovely, really. what a sweetheart. just a bit too nervous for us, we’re afraid. ”

in fact, nervousness colored most of flip’s young life. from loud noises to spiders to fitting in, his mind always spun about endless possibilities –– quite rarely the good ones. the kitchen was the only place he truly quieted this tendency. he baked and cooked with steady hand, when he was alone. other folks in the kitchen with him would disrupt that cadence, but flip was never one to complain. he’d just fumble a bit, laugh nervously, and move along. he’s a remarkable chef –– and the kitchen always has ample marks to prove it.

shortly after turning 16, flip relocated to london. an older couple agreed to foster and adopt him as their own, but that stability was short-lived. they perished in an apartment fire just two months later. their youngest son, theodore, agreed to take him under his wing. at only 18, the two boys became fast friends. when flip decided to open his own bakery, theodore offered to be his assistant. from then on, the sweet by & by was born.

the bakery quickly rose to fame in the london area. people traveled from far and wide to try the legendary fruit scones, fresh cakes, and scrumptious sourdough. the bbc did a feature on the bakery for one of their london food series, and the sweet by & by began attracting tourists for something more than its treats :  its adorably frenetic baker. the kitchen was always spotted, his cheeks always dotted with icing or sugar. but he’d always greet customers with a molten-honey smile. tender green eyes. for years, the bakery prospered. flip prospered. he rose early to bake. he and theodore experimented with new recipes, danced around the kitchen to billie holiday, nat king cole... things were brilliant. radiant. whole. and then came the fire.

( tw: fire, death ) it happened while on a morning that was... well. most unusual. typically, flip and theodore would open the bakery together––3am sharp. they’d start preparing the day’s fresh goods, oldies playing softly on the stereo around them. but this september day in particular started off like no other: with theodore opening. alone. flip had stayed the night at one of his friends’ flats, unplanned. they’d hosted a housewarming party, and broken out his kryptonite: good bourbon. he’d drank more than his fill, and shot a text to theodore asking if it’d be alright if he started out the next day on his own. theodore agreed with a cheeky reply, getting some, are you, flip? right! as if. both men thought nothing of it. the opening, the slight shift in daily pattern. flip would be in by noon and business would carry on as usual. except flip always handled the faulty oven. on this particular morning, the device’s... quirks... slipped theodore’s mind. it took twenty minutes for the wires to start smoking. thirty minutes before theodore, swirling about the countertops with earbuds in, realized something was burning. on september 30, 2020 the sweet by & by burnt to the ground. and three days later, by smoke inhalation, it took flip’s dearest friend with it.

and that’s how it goes, innit? the story? the heartache? standing on the corner of upland and darrell road dressed in his funeral tie, squinting through scorched brick and metal like maybe, maybe if he stared hard enough, theodore, alive and well, might rise from the ashes. he didn’t. he didn’t, and flip visited the property each day for a week until he realized... he never would. he sorted through theodore’s personal affects. finally started his adopted surname, bell, as his own. he appeased reporters, for a little while. told the story, expressed how much he’d miss his best friend. his brother. but what about the bakery?, they’d ask. what about the sweet by & by? in the last interview flip ever did for the local stations, he reckoned perhaps that chapter, however sweet, was now meant to close. somewhere, online, there’s footage of him blinking through tears. twisting theo’s favorite ring around his own middle finger. green –– tsavorite. it means compassion, theodore had explained one night, after closing up. after they’d snatched a pint at the local pub and meandered on home. benevolence. beauty. somewhere, online, a reporter asks flip about that very stone. somewhere, online, flip pretends he didn’t hear it.

then came the bubble wrapping. the cardboard, packing tape. fingers rubbed raw from crinkling tape around itself, tearing it off, starting again. after theodore’s services, after relinquishing the bakery property to dulwich, flip packs his bags. he buys himself a nap, a pack of werther’s originals, and flees across the sea.

to chicago. the windy city. it’s always been circled on theodore’s map of america. that’s one i’d like to see someday, he’d say over a glass of bourbon. reckon they’re as tough as they seem? flip would always shrug, take a sip of his own drink. he didn’t know. but now? now, he would. on the plane, he spins theodore’s ring around his middle finger. even when he falls asleep, his forefinger and thumb stay there, shielding.

his initial thought is... perhaps he’ll open a bakery. but with the financial losses from the blaze, flip knows better than to embark on such an undertaking. so he does the responsible thing –– he finds a respectable job, at a respectable inn. the american experience, he hears theodore croon in the back of his mind, as he fills out his application. he’s jet lagged, distracted –– he doesn’t realize he’s checked the wrong box until the material’s been sent. and then he gets it. a banquet manager. oh, dear –– he hasn’t the faintest idea where to begin.

d i s p o s i t i o n .

born on a leap year. meaning he’s 28. but also 7.

for real footage of how flip handles himself in the kitchen, or just in general, check out this video. do i watch it daily? yes. did it inspire the general framework for flip’s frenetic kitchen tendencies? ...maybe. the chief difference lies in the result. things may crash and burn. it might look like it’s about to fall apart. but he always, always pulls it into a beautiful success.

he’s got a very deep-seated fear of fire. he’ll light candles in his flat only to flinch and snuff them out. if someone in the kitchen cooks with wine or vinegar and the skillet bursts into flame, he’ll look as though he’s seen a ghost. and he believes he’s subtle about it; oh, he truly does. but anyone with two eyes and a brain can piece together this man is very uneasy around flames.

he’s moved here with truly no plan, beyond experiencing chicago in all its glory, to make good on theodore’s dream. but as glorious and exciting as that is, he’s petrified. please help him.

there’s... a lot of unresolved traumas and sadness regarding his childhood. the bell family was the first to truly see him and give him, in all his anxious entirety, a chance. losing his last link to them has been... difficult, to say the least.

he’s a sucker for oldie music. god. it transports him. you can frequently find him in the malnati kitchens after hours whipping up something beautiful to a background of billie holiday or french classics. humming along, eyes closed, swaying... he’s graceful, truly –– when he’s not thinking about anything.

very terrible about crushes. very terrible about crushes on him. flirting sends his brain into overdrive and... often, he short-circuits. ask him a question about himself he isn’t expecting and he’ll handle it kindly, but will look like a deer in headlights.

amendment: more often than not looks like a deer in headlights.

peaceful at his core. but with the ruckus and the world raging around him, there’s always something more to worry about. if he gives you winnie the pooh vibes, it typically means he’s spinning.

he has a very delightful way of managing, mostly because he’s scared shitless of people being mean. he handles every blip and bump with ease. but inside? he’s fretting.

amendment: most often, he’s fretting. very little quiets his mind. baking, maybe. you can tell he’s having a shit time if he shows up unannounced with endless supplies of new recipes.

adores poetry. he likes reading in public spaces, people watching. he’ll often mouth the words to himself, brow furrowed, eyes lighting like he’s seeing suns rise and fall for the first time.

he’s been in love once in his life. her name was georgie. she was the epitome of breathlessness, milky sunlight, espresso brewed on a crisp morning. she was... not who he thought she was. ( she cheated, after two years of time spent together. he found them out, on a date, on an impromptu trip to brixton market for fresh supplies. )

pansexual and very aware of it. he’s in denial about people fancying him. but he very frequently develops small admirations for people, from afar.

6′4, very tall. his pants are always a slight bit too short. if you tell him, he’ll act surprised, the beautifully eccentric socks peeking out from underneath will suggest otherwise.

he’s never had a s’more. he can’t tell if he’s more intrigued or scared by the thought of them.

doesn’t like birds, particularly ones that swoop low. ( there’ve been incidents. ) he also doesn’t take a great liking to men in tall hats. ( another incident. )

make fun of his accent please i beg you. he does not know how to handle it. he’ll stammer and chuckle and it’ll be bloody amazing, i promise you.

c o n n e c t i o n s .

MAGNOLIA BARNES –– friend. they met during her time in london. neither of them are aware they’re in the same city now, let alone the same hotel. i imagine flip hasn’t told her about the bakery yet. it hasn’t really made news outside of england, so that will certainly be... a story to tell.

FLIRTATIONSHIP / SOMETHING MORE –– just imagine this nervous little bean navigating a new love connection... please... he’ll be a mess.

TOUR GUIDES –– ever wanted to show someone your version of chicago? now’s your chance! flip is so bloody new to this place. he gets lost almost always.

CONFIDANT –– they talk about anything and everything. perhaps not all of it. but there’s an unspoken trust between them. they likely met in the most unlikely of ways, and here we are now.

literally anything under the sun? oh my WORD it has been an epoch since i’ve rped and i’m just. here for any of it. all of it. cute neighbor shit. mailroom mishaps. friends. enemies. someone who keeps sneaking the last of the lobby mints. i want anything you want to throw at me!!

[arosnowflake]

And A Monster Steals Your Children

Submission for @arowrimo! Turned out to be a lot more autism-centric than aro-centric, but I still think it counts. 

Category: short story

Wordcount: 2170

Genre: Fantasy

Prompt: none/belonging (loosely)

Summary: It is said that, in a tower rising above the valley, a monster lives, and that it steals children’s souls. Netel, one of those stolen children, goes to kill it.

Warnings: heavy ableism (including internalized ableism), off-screen child murder, ableist language, mild amatonormativity. 

///

There lives a monster in the tower. This was a fact well known to the people of the valley. Surrounded by a forest of thorns, its brick and mortar rose above them all, casting their homes in shadow. It had been there before their villages were built, and they knew it would stand long after their houses had rotten away. Even so, no-one had ever approached it; the people knew better than to approach the home of a beast.

There lives a monster in the tower, and it steals your children. It doesn’t snatch them from their cribs, attack them and drag them to its lair; that could be guarded against, could be fought. No, this monster steals your children’s souls. It sucks the life from them, steals their smiles, eats their words. It devours love wholesale, consumes their humanity in the hopes it might retain it. The children it touches are hollow, screaming at shadows, unfeeling in the face of pain and sadness, filled with meaningless tics and gestures to produce a farce of life.

If a child is taken, there is no hope for them. If one is merciful, they kill the body it left behind. But sometimes, the family can’t let go of the shadow, the shell that remains, and so it stays in the village, a walking corpse among their midst.

Netel was once such corpse.

Se was stolen young, too young for sym to remember being whole. Syr hands cannot hold still, always tapping or twisting or waving wildly, no matter what syr parents did. Periodically, se would loose all sense, crying and screaming in a facade of distress with no rhyme or reason. Se could hardly speak, needing to script syr conversations before they actually occurred, or else se would forget syr lines, revealing the truth of the interaction as nothing more than a play at life. When others felt sad or hopeless, when syr mother was crying or syr father panicking over their failed harvest, se felt nothing. Se never felt anything; no joy, no sadness, nothing at all, and syr face reflected that, still and emotionless as the dead.

Despite this, se lived. Villagers parted for sym, whispered as if se couldn’t hear, talked to syr parents as if se wasn’t there - which, to be fair, se might as well not have have been. But still, se went to the market, even if se had a fit right after. Se walked by another house where a mother cried while a father sharpened his knife, their child nowhere to be seen, and se walked past, breathing in a way their baby soon would not. Se walked by the forest, its branches looming, and se walked past, ignoring the graves between its roots.

Once a week, se went to a healer. Syr parents still held hope se might be cured, you see, and even though Netel doubted them sometimes, the healer actually agreed. See, she had explained to syr parents, Netel had made a friend.

The friend in question was the healer’s son, a boy so kind he could almost jolt Netel’s heart from its eternal slumber. They’d played together as children, and now they talked, the healer’s son not minding that Netel could barely speak. With him, Netel almost felt alive. With him, Netel almost believed the healer, that se might be cured some day.

And then, the healer’s son proposed.

He was on his knees, saying he didn’t care se might never be healed, that he loved sym all the same. He was smiling up at sym, giving sym a chance for love other corpses would never even dream of, and se felt nothing.

Later, back home, after having weathered syr former friend’s curses, se looked up at the ceiling. Netel didn’t love. That was abundantly clear, now that se had refused syr only chance to gain it. Se couldn’t love, and that had been syr last hope. Now, se could only wait for the healer to pronounce sym officially dead. Even if se was still breathing, even if se lay in a bed instead of the ground, no one without love could possibly be alive. And there were no feelings to be found in the empty cavern of syr heart.

Well, no feeling but one.

It burned syr chest, a bonfire setting sym aflame. It had smoldered there for as long as se could remember, flames rising every time syr parents cried, every time se saw a new forest grave, every time se saw the tower.

And now, syr last tether to the village had been destroyed. All se had left was this burning hatred for the monster that had stolen syr soul.

When the healer came to syr parents’ house to deliver the sad news, se was already gone.

It was time for someone to kill the monster.

///

In town, there had always been a cacophony of noise; chickens and children screeching, horses and people neighing, bells being rung and carts being pulled over unstable stone roads.

In the forest, there was quiet. Aside from the few birds singing their song (too cheerful for creatures living in the kingdom of a beast), the only noise were leaves cracking under syr heels, the wind rushing through the trees. The smell was different, too; earth, still damp from the rain, smelt fresh and vibrant in a way the village never had. For those first few hours of walking, Netel felt strangely at peace, calm in a way se never had among people.

Then, se realized se couldn’t see the tower.

Even with autumn closing in, the canopy was still thick enough light barely broke through it, and when even the sun couldn’t be seen, there was no hope for the tower. It had never even occurred to Netel that se might have trouble finding syr way. After all, that tower had always been there, and always would. It was preposterous to think that se might not be able to see it.

And yet, se could not.

The rush of the wind was suddenly incredibly loud, syr clothes rough against syr skin in a way they hadn’t been before. Se rolled up syr sleeves, but it wasn’t enough, the phantom feeling of cotton still lingering, and so se scratched. Distantly, se recognized that this was bad, but the hurt was the only thing that felt real anymore, and so se scratched and scratched and then se was screaming, syr was burning and still se screamed and screamed and screamed -

Slowly, slowly, se came back to syrself. Se was still here, still in the forest, syr pants damp from kneeling on the ground, the birds still chirping. Syr arms and throat burned, and, distantly, se realized se had a fit. Because se couldn’t see the tower.

Brilliant.

It was easier to find syr calm here, though. In the village, people kept pulling at sym, talking to sym, and se could not tell them that se needed them to stop. There were no judgmental gazes or loud voices or rough hands here; there was just the wet leaves and quiet birdsong, and it was easier.

Se ate a little. Not much, se needed to ration for syr journey after all, but enough that se felt like se could stop shaking. It was late; the sun was setting. Perhaps se could sleep tonight, and try to find a way to the tower tomorrow. Just to rest a little bit.

There was no-one to stop sym, and so se rested.

The next morning, se went looking for water. After a while, se heard the rush of water, and se found a stream, its water running fast, splashing up against the rocks. Se drank to syr heart’s content, and looked up.

The tower.

Along the shore of the stream, the trees had cleared away, leaving the tower clearly visible against the blue morning sky.

Se laughed.

It would be alright.

For a week, se followed the river, accompanied by the fish swimming in the stream, the water rushing against the rocks, the smell of morning dew. No matter how close se came to the tower, the forest remained peaceful, bright in the clearing of the river, the birds as happy and calm as ever. It was hard not to be taken in by it, and more than once, Netel felt syrself relax against syr better knowledge. But se must not rest, must not falter; se had a monster to kill.

And finally, finally, se reached the tower.

It rose higher than se ever imagined, old and weathered, the ivy climbing up against it almost making it seem like a part of the woods. Windows set along the walls, but Netel could not see anyone - or rather, anything - inside; just darkness. There was no evil aura coming from the building, or any at all, in fact; it seemed like just another house, if an overly tall one.

And, to Netel’s surprise, it had a door. Wooden, normal, on ground level, easily pushed open.

Carefully, knife raised, se stepped inside.

Se hadn’t quite known what to expect. Maybe an infinite number of red eyes, staring at sym from the darkness; the sound of claws scraping over stone; animal corpses strewn across the stairs, dripping blood onto the floor, the smell of rot inescapable.

Instead, se found dust. Dust covering the hallways, so deep that se left footprints in it like se did in snow. It got in syr nose as se breathed the air, which smelt not of decay, but of stale parchment, with perhaps a whiff of mold. Syr footsteps echoed through the tower; otherwise, it was dead silent.

Se followed the stairs up, and found rooms. Normal, human rooms, covered in spider webs and yet more dust. The furniture was old and often molding, the books nearly falling apart, but they spoke of people who had lived here, once upon a time. Scholars, perhaps, if the sheer amount of dried-up ink was anything to go by.

But nowhere was a beast. There was nothing waiting in the shadows, nothing hiding in the silence, no monster living in the tower.

At long last, se reached the final room. From the top of the tower, se could see the valley, its forest and its villages, the mountains that cut them off from the outside world, the stream that had guided sym here. The breeze was cool, the sun low in the sky, its last rays hitting the window se was standing in.

A bird landed next to sym. It looked up at sym, cocking its head, hopped a little closer to syr hand, then flew away. Se watched it until se could no longer, and then, se fell to syr knees.

There was no monster living in the tower. It was old, abandoned by time and people, but there was no monster stealing children.

Anger burned in syr chest, brighter, more destructive than ever before. There was no monster. All those graves had been for children, innocent and alive, not shells or living dead. And se had walked past them, nearly every day; se had ignored the knives being sharpened, ignored the children doomed to die behind their house’s walls.

Se was one of the lucky ones, and se had been dragged to a healer every week of syr life, to be prodded and examined like an animal, talked about as if se was lifeless, stolen, despised by everyone around sym. And why? Why had they murdered, abused their children?

There was no monster living in the tower. There were graves outside the villages, knives being sharpened, people convinced that they were living dead. But there was no monster in the tower.

A ray of sunlight hit syr face.

Perhaps there should be.

///

There lives a monster in the tower. This was a fact well known to the people of the valley. It steals your children on the darkest of nights, climbing into homes and taking them from their beds. Once upon a time, it had been content to take their souls, but now, it took their bodies too. The people let it; they remembered the husks it used to leave behind, and considered that perhaps, this was a monster’s version of kindness.

Nobody dared enter the woods, the domain of the monster; this had not changed. If they had, if they had walked far enough and found a little stream, they might’ve seen clothes drying from the trees, heard the sound of children laughing, saw a vegetable garden in a clearing.

The tower was no longer empty. It was filled with people, children young, once doomed for death, and a few adults as well, who had been called the living dead. The rooms were cleared of dust and spider webs, the ink replaced, the books rebound. The sunlight seemed brighter than ever before, and in the morning, the birds arrived, knowing they could expect freshly cooked bread.

There lived a monster in the tower, and se had a family.

[mf-despair-queen]

Your Name (Part 6) - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen​

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 3,253

Summary: The girl with no name tries to save the town before the Ghost Riders appear.

Warnings: I’m hoping you will cry at ONE specific moment.

Notes: There is like... no Stiles in this. I’m so sorry. He will return in part 7.

Listen to Me (Please note you are not required to listen)

Part 5 | Part 7

Wherever you are in the world

She sat up with a start, glancing around in pure confusion.

“Stiles…” she mumbled to herself, feeling a tear slide down her cheek. The salty tears mixed with droplets of rain that hit her face, the wind blowing it to pelt her face. She was sitting at a table under an awning in the park, having stopped when the rain picked up on her way to her friend’s house.

She glanced at the date on her phone. Mid July. The day of the storm. She remembered the date so clearly because it was the day she had arranged the date for Stiles with Lydia when they were still switching. The cracks of thunder were still distant, but now they seemed to make sense.

They were the source of her inevitable demise.

“He said I can change it,” she told herself, rushing to stand from the bench. The rain around her had slowed and the wind had lessened, giving her a chance. “I’ve still got time. I-I have to get people to leave before they arrive.”

She paused, grabbing her stuff in her left hand, stopping momentarily to stare the the tightened fist of her left. She vaguely remembered his touch, the memory starting to fade for some reason - it was almost like it had never happened, or wasn’t supposed to happen. But she remember it, seeing his mouth move as he spoke. She remember the touch of the marker to her skin, Stiles’ chicken scratch ebbed against her skin. She wanted to look, but she fought the urge, keeping it locked until she needed it, feeling her thoughts slip.

“I trust you, Stiles,” she said aloud, staring up at the dark sky. “I trust you. I will always trust you. And I will see you again. I promise.”

She didn’t care that she was doused the second she left the safety of the park. She had to hurry. They were coming for her. They were coming for her friends. They were coming for her family. But, she wouldn’t let them. They weren’t there yet, so if they could get away, they would be safe from the mark of the Ghost Riders, safe from being taken by the Wild Hunt. They wouldn’t be erased from existence.

She wouldn’t be forgotten by Stiles.

She crashed through Camile’s front door, ignoring the strange look her friend’s parents sent her. They saw her dripping wet, her bag dropped to the floor with a loud klunk when she barrelled up the stairs two steps at a time, stumbling occasionally over her feet. She ran as fast as she could towards the room at the end of the hall where he two friends sat, playing some board game she didn’t care to get the name of.

“We have to go,” she told her friends. Nia and Camile glanced at her oddly, not understanding why she was winded or what the rush was. “Please, I need you help. We have to go.”

“Are you ok?” Camile hesitantly asked, standing from her bed.

She shook her head, chest heaving for air. “This storm… it’s more than just a storm.”

“You’re talking crazy again,” Nia told her, standing beside Camile. “Are you actually you right now?”

“Yes, I’m me right now!” she shouted, her friends seemingly unconvinced. “But that’s not the thing right now, alright? If we stay here, we’re going to… well, in a way, we’re going to die.”

“Eh?” the two girls let out.

“The storm. The one that’s been approaching. It’s going to ruin this town. It’s more than just a storm.” She paused, biting her lip. She knew how weird it sounded because it still sounded surreal to her. But, after what she had been through, he had to try. “It’s called the Ghost Riders of the Wild Hunt. They come by storm and take souls. That’s the storm that’s coming now.”

Nia and Camile shared a skeptical look before turning back to her. “You do realize that is the most ridiculous thing you have ever said, right?” Nia told her, frowning. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine! But I need you guys to believe me!” she screamed, shaking her head to hold back her tears of frustration. “Please. You have to trust me. I…”

“What?” Camile ask.

She thought back to the eerie train station she had sat in for so long, the dark atmosphere making her feel cold. Warmth only came when she heard his voice, giving her the energy to stand and the power to walk until she saw him standing there in front of the boarding sign. “Because I pretty much saw it happen.”

“You… saw it?” Nia asked slowly.

“Yes,” she mumbled to them. “Stiles told me… he told me what is coming.”

“Is this really about the storm? Or is it about Stiles?” Camile asked, staring her friend in the eye. Camile saw the steady look she held, not an ounce of lies held behind them.

“I trust Stiles, guys,” she told her two friends. “And now, I need you both to trust me. I can change it. We can change it. We still have time. But I can’t do it alone. I need your help to evacuate the town.”

She feared for a second they would brush her off, calling her crazy and idiotic for the preposterous insinuations she had come up with. She didn’t blame them. They weren’t normal explanations and they seemed completely farfetched. Why would they ever believe her? Why would they believe Stiles? This wasn’t something people would believe and she was sure her two friends would lock her in the loony bin when the storm passed.

Assuming they still existed, that is.

But, her jaw fell open when they nodded in unison. They smiled at her, grabbing their shoes from the floor. “So, what’s the plan?” Camile asked.

Her eyes filled with tears, giving them a thankful smile. “You guys are the best.”

“Thank us later if we survive this crazy storm story you concocted,” Nia laughed.

She dragged the two girls out of the house, Camile’s parents protesting before the door shut behind them. The rain had stopped for the moment only the bursts of wind making their hair fly around and their clothes billow around them.They three girls darted up the road, headed for the one place they thought could make a difference.

“The town is equipped with an emergency broadcast system in case a storm or forest fire threatens the safety of the townsfolk,” she told her friends, her steps hasty up the road. “We can use that to get people to evacuate I think.”

“Are people going to listen to us? Or to that for that matter? You know the evacuations they do are typically bullshit and no one ever truly evacuates,” Nia hummed to the other two.

“They have to listen,” she murmured to no one in particular.

“I can probably whip up something to help,” Camile said. If I can get my hand on some forest fire film that was produced by a storm, we can broadcast that in a televised evacuation announcement. If people see evidence, maybe they will listen.”

“Smart idea, but it probably won’t work. They’ll look outside and there is no evidence of the fire,” she sighed sadly.

“We could blow the power,” Nia offered. “The emergency system runs on its own generator, so blowing the power wouldn’t affect it at all. And the power station is right there. We can kill two birds with one stone. With the loss of power, people will have to listen because it could be caused by the storm. If we emphasize the severity because it managed to blow the power-”

“They’ll be more willing to leave. You guys are geniuses!” she cheered. “This is why I needed you guys.”

“What about evacuations? Not everyone can leave easily. There isn’t enough cars and some people don’t own some.”

She thought for a second before it clicked. “The school. We tell everyone to evacuate to the school. The buses there will be enough to get everyone out of here.”

“Brilliant!” Camile grinned.

“You guys realize we are breaking a shit ton of laws right now, right?” Nia laughed. The other two girls smiled and laughed with her.

“Guess we’re all criminals now!” Camile laughed. “But, if we get caught, we’ll go down together.”

“We won’t get caught,” she tried to assure her friends. The girls stood before the power station, a gate between them and the building. “Because this plan can’t fail. If it fails… this town is doomed. And I won’t let that happen.”

Just as she began to jump the gate, Camile cut in. “Because of Stiles?”

She paused, thinking about the nerdy spazz. She shook her head though. “No. Because I will save as many as I can before they have to suffer that fate.”

“Alright,” Camile said, jumping the gate with her. Nia followed, the girls finding a broken window to climb in.

Nia got straight to work on the power, Camile taking her place at the panel for the broadcast. While they were at work, she worked on grabbing the microphone, placing it in front of Camile as she flicked on the device. She glanced out the window, cheering when she started to see the lights of Prattville diminishing, going dark to the storm. It made the dark sky an ebony black, nearly unable to be contrasted from the dark land below it. She could barely make out what was happening below in her home, but she was glad.

A few streaks of lightning lit up the sky, the only source of she was given as she cheered. “You did it, Nia! Now, hit it Camile!”

“Why me? The girl mumbled, hitting the talk button after clearing her throat. A siren began to sound through the small forest town, the strong winds carrying it further, amplifying the noise. “This is the Prattville Emergency Broadcast System. A powerful storm has been coming in from the west, knocking out the power substation on the edge of town. Wind speeds of nearly seventy miles per hour have been recorded and rain has been flood parts of Ruffa Ridge and Butt Mountain. It has been determined that the storm is too dangerous for the residents of Prattville. There is danger of further, more severe outages, damages to housing, and potential fires and floods. Residents please evacuate in a calm and orderly fashion to Prattville High School. I repeat, please evacuate in an calm and orderly fashion to Prattville High School for full town emergency evac.”

Camile clicked off the microphone, leaving the siren running. Standing from the chair, Camile was tackled by her friend. The girl was bouncing up and down, shaking Camile wildly. “That was so good!”

“Alright, alright,” Camile laughed, shaking her off. “I know I’m awesome, but we can discuss that later. Let’s get out of here before someone shows up and realizes it wasn’t a real broadcast and tries to arrest us.”

“Fine, fine,” she groaned. Nia walked over the them, hands in her pockets.

“What now?” she asked her two friends. The girl bit at her lip, thinking about what to do. She wasn’t sure if their plan worked or not. Their time was already thin. She didn’t know what to do. If they headed straight for the school and no one had listened to them, this was all in vain. But, they couldn’t very well run around the entire town pounding on doors to make sure people had left. That would make their efforts even more pointless.

Her phone rang, the girl’s brow furrowing when she saw her mother calling. She mumbled for her friends to hold on, answering the call. “Mom?”

“Honey, where are you?” her mom questioned. She felt sweaty, hating the lie she was about to blurt out like nothing.

“I went to hang with Camile and Nia. We were playing some card games when the power went out,” she mumbled.

“So you heard the emergency evacuation?”

“Yes, we did. We are getting ready to go right now. Are you and papa heading to the school?” she asked, unintentionally crossing her fingers and toes, praying for the answer she wanted.

“Yes, we are. Everyone is already headed for the school. Get there soon, sweetheart. I love you.”

She couldn’t stop from grinning, fist pumping the air - a very Stiles-like move that he would be proud of. “Of course, mom. I love you too. Try to help people if they need it, alright? I will see you soon.”

“Be careful, baby girl.”

The girl cheered vocally when she ended the call. “They’re evacuating!”

“It worked?” Nia and Camile asked, mirroring the joyful expression on the girl’s face.

“Yes!”

“So, do we head for the school?” Nia asked.

“What if we split up?” Camile proposed. “From here, there are three paths that lead to the school. We can just do a quick check to see if anyone is left behind on our way.”

“But the path along the lake-” Nia started.

“It’s longer than the rest,” Camile finished.

“I’ll do it,” the girl said confidently. “I can run it faster than you guys. I can do it. You guys get to the school and get everyone on those buses. Just, don’t leave without me.”

“We would never,” Nia laughed. “But, are you sure about this?”

“We don’t have time to waste,” Camile said. She turned to the girl, giving a firm stare. “Go. We’ll see you there.”

The girl nodded, her look full of determination. She climbed out of the same broken window and before, rushing down the windy, winding road. Occasional pellets of rain hit her skin, but her body pushed on without a single care in the world.

But the longer she ran, the further she advanced, her mind felt fuzzy. Her legs pumped on, yet she began to wonder why she was running so quickly and so heavily through the barren streets of her home. There was no signs of life around her, the world bubbling around her in vague confusion.

Why am I running? She asked herself, pushing on without knowing why. What was the reason I was doing this? There was a reason I was doing this. But, why? Why? Tears brimmed in the corners of her eyes, trying to remember why. A blurred face flashed in her mind when she blinked, making her heart ache.

It was for him. Someone dear to me. Stiles. I told him I would come back to him. I wanted to go back to him. I need to get back to him!

Her heart was beating in her ears as she ran, more tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t remember, no matter what she did. The only thing she could do was think of Stiles, not knowing what was coming or why it was so important to get out of there. Something was coming, but what? Her mind was blank, but her body didn’t stop, pushing on like her life depended on it.

A streak of lightning filled the sky, making her look up at the cloudy sky. A crack of thunder boomed, ringing in her ears almost like a neigh of a horse. Her blood ran cold, knowing her time was pretty much up. She didn’t have much longer. “They’re here,” she found herself mumbling, feeling whatever was coming oozing their presence into the outskirts of town behind her It made her shiver, fear striking her like a chord. She had to get out before they found her, whoever they were.

A loud shriek hovered in the air, the girl tripping over a crack in the road. She gasped in pain, landing on her side and rolling down the hill quite a few feet. Fresh scratches and bruises were already forming on her body when she went skidding across the graveled road, coming to a rest in a loud thud. Her body screamed at her, muscles aching from the strenuous running and the fall she found herself in the middle of. Her head hurt, black dots in her eyes. The world was spinning, slowing coming back into focus. She laid on her left side, letting her body rest for a moment, letting her mind clear and her dizziness to subside.

Her eyes blinked open, the dots beginning to clear for a sight of red on her right wrist. Her hand was still closed tightly. Her eyes closed to try and remember, seeing Stiles standing in front of her with a marker in hand, giving the same caring smile she had come to know growing up. It was lopsided, his glistening pearly whites seen through the crack in his lips. His lips parted, but the words came out clear this time.

“Leave a message. So, when we wake up, we won’t forget what happened. I can’t guarantee what will happen when we leave this place, so, do not forget, leave a message telling us what we have to do or just something you want us to know.”

“What should I write?” she said to no one but herself. Stiles leaned forward, pushing her wet hair back behind her ear. The touch of his fingers felt real, warming her body completely. It was soft and gentle, a touch she could never forget. She wanted to feel it forward.

“Something that will make me remember you. Something like your name.” It felt like he was holding her hand, words ringing louder in ehr ears than the booms in the sky that were nearing her slowly, clinking footsteps hidden behind them. “Something that will make you remember why I need you need to come back to me.”

She wasn’t sure if it was real or her imagination. She needed to know why she was pushing so hard. She needed to remember what was after her that was driving her this insane. She needed to know what was making her work her hardest, giving one-hundred and ten percent to get back to him.

Slowly, her hand opened, her eyes welling with tears at the words.

I Love You

She stood to her feet, swaying on unsteady feet, but her gaze remained blurred on her hand. A gasp of pain escaped her mouth, feeling streams of the water works sliding down her cheeks and falling to the ground.

“Stiles,” she gasped out through her cries, her hand shaking. “How am I supposed to know what I am doing and what is after us with this?” her hand closed, held close to her as she broke down into muffled sobs. “How do I know why I’m coming back to you besides to give you this bracelet?”

“Because I love you. And I need you to come back to me.”

Were they real or did she conjure his words and voice to push her on? She didn’t know, nor did she care. Her heart skipped a beat, body flooded with sudden adrenaline, feet beginning to carry her forward once again. She was bolting down the road towards the school, a newfound determination to get there. She saw the school coming into her view, a cold chill following behind her.

“I will come back to you, Stiles,” she told herself, hoping somehow, somewhere, he would hear. “Because I know why I am. And I won’t let you down. I will succeed.”

“I will see you soon, Stiles.”

I'll search for you.

Your Name Tags: @r0s3mm; @cas-loves-pizza; @sunflowergrrrl 

Errthang Tag 2.0: @catcrown21; @voidkitsune24; @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone; @savage-stilinski; @twilightparker; @rumoured-whispers; @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname; @caitsymichelle13; @addicttotw; @fox-lau; @xmadwonderland; @kaelyn-lobrutto24; @lobrien; @kal-pal; @espermirror; @nowthisiswaar; @belleknows; @ashpie97; @mixedupsammy; @dylobrienlover; @newtosaur250; @bandsweyhey; @offthewallspidey; @livinginadreamersparadise; @tommyswolves; @ashotofblues; @bilesbilinskix; @danathewitchywoman; @thisismexxo; @you-all-have-guns; @soulaura-canavel; @bojabee; @obrienswxlf; @feelingsareharddd; @xoitsjustmexo;@supernaturaltakeover; @suggsmate; @cassiee867; @lara-stilinski; @barryallenplease; @flirtstiles; @bottleoffirewhisky; @jadalecki-jackles; @evansesdust; @everythingthatisrandom; @puppiesarehappiness; @ixlovexpeterxparker; @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed; @tenseoyong; @jadav5; @mischiefandi; @myrandomzshit; @disbestiles; @mxtchsbxtch; @dafine18; @avadakedabitch; @girlwiththerubyslippers; @xpinkyprincess; @ssweet-empowerment; @jackles-jadalecki; @dobseventeen; @dylnobrien1911, @redstringlovers; @brien-odylan @xxxxdelenaxxxx; @katlovey14; @deajm2116

[alexsilvermusic]

‘Painting _____ Mountain’

9.

Text of Dying Camellia. John Berger, from ‘Confabulations’.

I wander around in the lane of the dismantled chicken coop, noticing an accumulation of age over the bare spots the chickens scratched open. I fix my eyes on the brush-pile and see the last fade of green in a few dry pine boughs. Four or five hens are running full-tilt toward the coop, clattering up the ramp with loud clacks and hard claws against the stiff wood. There is no echo here—the yard is too soft, too lush, and it absorbs all violent sound. Even a forceful yell would be absorbed into the earth. This does not mean there is any less sensitivity in the viewer of the yard, however. The sensitivity in this place is not a grating alertness, but an alertness that invites, anticipates, and desires sounds, turns of light, and movement. Perhaps this is trust, more than anything.

In the yard, I am less sure where I end. I feel more certain that the objects of my perception are myself. I am more certain that there is no particular world. To see the bush overflowing the fence is to see it in one inimitable way. The sparrow that constantly frets around inside the mess of pagoda-like stems sees it as the sparrow, and neither of us gets to participate in a definitive story of the world. The sparrow I see is unique to my life; and my appearance, too, is uniquely the sparrow’s. But their story of me is equal in magnitude to my own experience of myself; it is simply more brief. I was ready to feel this when I arrived.

I’m running laundry in the house and I hear its consistent buzz somewhere exterior to my thoughts. There is no sparrow, and the fence I see seems more the fence as I remember it, specifically as I construct it in the company of sparrows. Sometimes ten or twelve of them will chase themselves around the shrub, bursting from the tangle of vines and quickly entering again as if by elastic, one pressing its beak into the space of another’s ear. I want to return to the fence. In the yard, if I am attentive, I can be as if wind, as transparent and as altered by subtleties. I am trying to look at the fence immediately. So that the fence passes through me. What would this mean? A sparrow eventually does arrive, a missing fleck in the blot of the sun, and drops to the ground. As I stare at it, the gravel becomes more and more saturated until it is a brilliant shifting imprint-memory on my eyes. I look away. If the fence is who I am, what would it mean for it to pass through me? I cannot and do not want to give up my eyes. They are the shrub to me. I do not want to give up my memory of the shrub, and I don’t want to give up my care for it. I don’t want to give up its meaning.

The branches shudder a bit in the wind. I was relaxed and felt the branches scraping the aged boards of the fence. The blackberries, fully yellow, flashed in me. The enormous fir beside the basswood grew more and more yellow, until yellow was not a recognizable color, and green was like a ghost shifting around the tree’s past. The tree is a blasted-out white and nearly approaching blue. This is my life, I think. A cloud passes over the fir and stops, darkening the tree. I face the table, I transfer the tree scene to its surface. The surface, with my head this close, stretches beyond my peripheral vision, so that it is ovular. I no longer care for the old plastic and instead experience the resonances of the bursting tree; it replays, each time less white and more yellow.

With my eyes turned toward the fence, suddenly I remember how to see it. It is as if I have been residing entirely in my interior since before I can remember. Yet I remember this feeling well. This is the earth. This is where I was created. I have never left. A larger bird passing over the driveway disappears and the gravel is not saturated in my vision; my vision adjusts but I do not forget the gravel is there. I see this driveway, set below the fence, as if I had only seen it in photographs. (Once or twice I have seen a photograph in the same way, realizing that I was looking transparently at an actual place.) I stand up and walk around the yard, becoming gradually tired and overwhelmed. I am extremely happy and have trouble bearing the possibility of wakefulness. If I let it pass through me, am I seeing it? Yes. I will be seeing it and it will be what I am, and I will not arrest it and I will not translate it or convert it. And when the conversion inevitably happens, because I am a remembering being, I will see the mental imagery in the same way, not as I see photographs, but as a texturally different occurrence of appearance. I will see the objects of my interior and exterior perception as equal and I will not have to remember my detachable position on the earth because I will feel detached, yet absolutely integral, just as I know stones are.

Stepping out of the space where the chicken lane ends and the yard becomes thick mounds of grass, strips of some greater core that is the grasses’ instructions—no, it is not the instructions, the genetic code is not the grasses’ core... the actual life of the grass, its being, is only related to the instructions—the grass blowing in strips of its own origins, its family fabric; I felt the give of the grass as I walked to the plastic table and sat down.

*

I wandered around the yard with my eyes, especially above where the towering trees cut the open air. My hands were cold so I put them in my pockets. In the space between the giant conical fir and the basswood was an enormous trapezoid of dull, brilliant light and it nearly touched my face it felt so near. The shed seemed excessively far away. The fenceline seemed to run straight from me to the shed; it was usually fifteen feet distant.

- - - - -

aka ‘_____ Mtn. Journals’

[civilorange]

Ooh have you written some swan queen fics? If so, could you share them with us? Pretty please

I have, though I’ve neverposted any of them—I stopped watching OUAT right after season 3, I think?Whenever Emma went back in time and brought Marian back. I stopped after that.I did start writing something for themost recent season—when Regina split in halves—but I never really did anythingwith it. I love Regina, she is like one of my favorite characters—and I mightactually watch the upcoming season with the whole shake up plot.

But, for anyoneinterested, I’ll post some of my Split-Queen story—would this be something ya’ll’dlike to see actually done?

It starts on a Tuesday.

A Tuesday that she wentthrough believing was a Monday.

Now, it isn’t impossiblefor the days to get away from her—no, not impossible, but unlikely. Almost no one notices the fumble half-way through ameeting, but that could be drawn down to the fact that the meeting consists ofimbeciles and ingrates—and Emma Swan. Who is sometimes one, sometimes theother—but usually neither, despite what Regina likes to say with an exasperatedeye roll.

“Since the weekly meetingis in two days,” she begins, already dismissing them in her mind—letting Jacobfrom human resources, and Charles from accounting drift away, “We’ll look overthe budget then.”

“Tomorrow,” Emma pipesup, though Regina can tell she isn’treally listening.

“Excuse me?”

“The weekly meeting istomorrow,” now green eyes havelifted, crinkling slightly with the half-grin given to accompany them, andRegina feels—something—as idiotic asthe vagueness is, it doesn’t seem to matter because there’s no way in hellit’ll trip past her lips.

“It’s on Wednesday,” thebrunette doesn’t hedge, but her browshave drawn down.

“And today is Tuesday.”

She doesn’t like how concerned Emma looks now, nothingserious or too noticeable, but it’s in the way her chin tips and her handsspread out on the table. Jacob and Charles have already left—having taken theirdismissal to heart—and everyone else has filed out behind them, not really tooconcerned with discrepancies of what day of the week it is.

“Of course,” she says,smiling slightly, because of courseit’s Tuesday; after all, she picked Henry up for school yesterday, and makepaella for dinner—hadn’t she? Any attempt at recalling the events of the priorday leave her with a fluttering haze of static, like they’d simply vanished.  “Of course it’s Tuesday; my mistake.”

The admission of beingwrong doesn’t startle Emma like it might’ve a year or two ago, because Reginaisn’t afraid to be wrong, not around family. Not around Emma.

“Everything alright?”Emma’s stepping around the table, fingers pressing against the wood, otherhovering almost awkwardly like she wants to reach out, but is stopping herself.

She always stops herselfnow, like touching is some taboo that had wormed its way into their lives.

“Everything’s fine,” saidwith a smile that’s all white teeth and red lips, but Emma nods, and returns itwith a smile that’s a little more genuine. They stay there, existing in thesame room for a little while longer, before they part—Emma drifting away, andRegina pulling inward.

Everything’s fine—right?

Right.

.

.

Crash.The windows shatter inward, the shards of glass suspended in the air, twistingand spinning until they fall like dangerous raindrops to the ground. Clink, clink.

The old woman who livesnot in a shoe—not in this land without magic—but a small one room cabinstartles from where she had fallen asleep in her armchair.

The old leather creaks.

The wind outside howlsand screams and tears at the curtains to her suddenly glassless window.

“Oh dear,” a voicedrawls, curling like a grin at the edge of every silken word.

If a tree falls in thewood and no one’s around to hear it—does it make a sound?

Of course it does.

If an old woman who livesnot in a shoe, but a cottage, is torn to pieces—does she make a sound?

Oh, absolutely.

.

.

The sun’s particularlyinsistent when her alarm blares—bright, and cheerful, and all manner ofannoying.

Regina’s usually already awakeby the time her alarm sounds at five thirty—one part insomnia and two parts aninternal clock. Occasionally, there’s the irrational worry at the edges of hermind that she isn’t quite sure where she is—sometimes when she leaves thewindow open in winter it feels like the bitter drafts of an empty stone castle.

Sometimes in the summerthe freshly cut grass smells like the field just outside a stable.

Exhaling long enough thatshe can physically feel the pressure on her lungs she throws back the coversand makes her way to the en suite. The water takes too long to warm, the mirrorfogs too quickly, and there’s a haziness that lives just inside her skull—awarbling discomfort that pulses and threads through her nerve endings.

Henry’s at Emma’s butthere’s an almost ingrained need to scramble eggs in a pan that she’ll neveractually eat herself. It’s the tick whirrof the pilot flame, the close hum of the refrigerator.

Her mobile buzzes and sheclicks on the screen to see a text from Henry—up on time, ma made omelets. Love u xo xo

It makes her smile, makesher forget the weariness she’d been feeling since she woke up—and almost makes her miss the muddy footprints in the foyer.

They’re small, andalready dry, and Regina tries to remember when she’d made them—it had been raining yesterday, and lastnight, but she swore she’d cleaned up the floor when she’d gotten home.

Nearly late already, shesteps over the two prints and out the door.

.

.

Emma’s acting strange.

She’d brought Regina theusual fare for lunch—a salad and a ginger ale—and had sat in silence for thelongest time. Usually the mayor had to actively encourage Emma to breathebetween thoughts—as she skittered from topic to topic.

It was an unusual kind offondness that had crept up on Regina at first—how easily annoyance melded andmolded into something like tolerance, and then affection.

Regina watches how greeneyes flick to her, and then down to the chicken sandwich that she knew grannyhad probably fostered upon the sheriff. The battle axe had fallen head firstinto health foods the last week or so—even Regina was hesitant to try some ofher healthier dishes.

Regina opened her mouthto ask what was wrong—

“There was a murder lastnight.”

Oh.

“Oh,” brilliant,succinct—Emma looks up at Regina’s lackluster response. The mayor delicatelyclears her throat. “Who?”

“Old woman who lives in ashoe, if you’ll believe it,” pause—one moment, two moments, “Of course youbelieve it—why wouldn’t you?” Rushing out words before filling her mouth withmore chicken sandwich than necessary.

“Caroline Cudharlow,”Regina says, tapping her fork once before putting it down. “Cause of death?”

“You know how theseinvestigations are,” Emma tries for casual, but ends up with that nervous rushof explanation that just invites more questions. “Don’t want to rule anythingout too soon, you know?”

One moment, two moments.

“Emma.”

Green eyes blink, brow tucking,before she relents. Fingernail scratching absent patterns into the Styrofoam ofher take away container. “Her heart’s missing.”

Regina feels the itch atthe back of her throat that just invites agitation—a shiver up the spine, auneasy pressure in her chest. She doesn’t like feeling like she had once—likeevery conversation was an accusation in disguise, but Emma has been acting cagey, and this is the only explanation Regina canthink of. “Do you think that I—.”

Emma interrupts quickly,“No, no—God, of course not, Regina.”

Running hands throughblonde hair, Emma looks more tired than Regina realized—it wasn’t bags underthe eyes, or anything adamantly physical, but it was just the air about her.

“Missing like—actuallymissing.” Emma tries again, but scowls and picks at her French fries. “SomeoneTemple of Doomed her.”

Frown, the mayor exhalesloudly, “Is that a sex thing?”

“A sex thin—no,” shakingher head, and popping a fry in her mouth. Emma chews thoughtfully, making sureto point out how well she’s waiting to talk—until her mouth isn’t full.“Someone literally took her heart—like, the old fashioned way. With a bone saw,or whatever.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Regina murmurswhile imagining it—she doesn’t have to pretend very hard to get the visual.Bloody fingers plucking and digging, tearing at floater ribs and throughmuscle. The hah-hew of a saw chewingthrough bone, little flesh of marrow coughed up into the air. Itching at herpalms, she can’t help the phantom feeling of blood under her nails.

[grovyrosegirl]

Could you do 3 for Hadrian and Mevia and/or 9 for Milo and Isa? Please and thank you :)

There was no doubt that Milo and Isa were very different people. She was level-headed, he was excitable. She was a realist, he was a dreamer. She was organized, he was creative. The list went on. One would believe that having such polar opposites running a newly made civilization would result in nothing ever getting done. But they’d be wrong.

Well…

Sort of.

It’s true, in the early days of the newly founded Ground City—the only name that the two of them agreed on—there were often arguments between the former Founder and the former Build Club leader. Mostly they involved where to put new structures, safety measures, and what laws needed to be in place. Thankfully, compromise usually won in the end.

Even with the seemingly limitless new world around them, it didn’t stop citizens from getting into squabbles over resources they discovered, squabbles that both Isa and Milo needed to resolve. Maybe that had been the one similar trait that forced the two to put aside most of their differences; people needed them. This was a new home, a new life. In these sorts of times, there had to be at least one person who knew what they were doing.

The largest building in the budding city was the one that the two of them had built together, a decently sized wooden structure that acted as both their home (although separate bedrooms were essential to keep each other sane at first) and as the headquarters for leadership duties. Town meetings were often held in the evenings, while small building contests often took place in the grass out front in the afternoons. It’d been an odd living situation, Isa wasn’t fully used to company outside of the guards, and Milo would tell anyone who listened that having an energetic chicken running around caused more than a fair share of  shenanigans around the house. But they made it work. It was funny, that phrase seemed to sum their entire relationship.

Isa would soon admit that having the builder at her side to lead was a tremendous relief. While the rebellious Milo admitted that having the former ruler around had saved his life more times than he could count. Even the sounds of Benedict’s flapping wings and her surprised clucks became part of the daily routine. Good thing too, as it stopped Milo from calling the chicken “The Eversource”, sparing him from Isa’s annoyed glares.

It made sense then as months went by and the city grew larger, that Milo realized Isa needed her breaks. He recalled overhearing her mention a desire to travel and explore this new untouched biome quite some time in the past, and at the breakfast table just a few weeks ago, he proposed his brilliant plan. He called it “Operation: Adventure Days”, a system where once a week, one of them would be free of all their duties for the day and go explore as they pleased while the other handled everything at home. She was hesitant at first, especially when Milo gave her the first day, but she didn’t wish for her and Benedict to be stuck inside all day and soon grew fond of her days off. Sometimes after her expeditions with Benedict, Isa would bring home tokens of their adventure. Any new kind of building material she stumbled upon during her travels she gave to Milo, knowing he would enjoy working with them.

This particular summer evening had been one of those said adventure days for Isa. As the moon rose over the city now full of humble wooden and stone homes, its citizens soon lit up the dirt roads outside and windows of their houses with torches. Milo himself was using the glow of a smaller torch as he sat in the common room of the headquarters, reading over some blueprints given to him by a former Build Club member. It was a layout of what would eventually be a bridge, although the member had asked Milo to revise it and write suggestions down. So far all his tired hands could muster to write was that the ends would be unstable if they were built from sand. Today in particular had been a busy one, full of issues and tasks needed to be done. Perhaps he should’ve checked both his own and Isa’s to-do lists earlier, at least that would’ve given him a head start and save him exhaustion later.

As Milo released a long yawn, he could feel his head dripping down, the quill in his hand slipping from his grasp. No, no, he attempted to pull himself back up. Had to finish this. Needed to stay awake…

The sound of the oak door clicking shut and a giddy laughter broke the silence, causing Milo to sit up straight and turn towards the doorway. Isa had returned, Benedict trotting by her side. Both of them covered in mud spots, Isa was sporting a few scratches and bruises, and her light yellow robe now had a tear in its sleeve. Yet she still wore a bright smile on her face.

“Welcome back,” he greeted them before letting out another soft yawn.

Upon seeing the sight of him, Isa folded her arms, still keeping the smile, “You look exhausted.”

“Says the one covered head to toe in dirt,” Milo retorted in a humorous manner, his drowsy blue eyes noticed a twig tangled in her long locks of black hair. It even had a tiny leaf growing at the end. “How was today’s grand journey?”

“You wouldn’t believe what we found today,” Isa said, bending down to pet her chicken companion pecking at the floor, ruffling the feathers on her head, “we stumbled upon this large field of flowers. There were so many, all different colors and scents, it was lovely. I brought some back with me if you’re interested in making some dye with them.”

Milo nodded, “I have been wanting to see what patterns I can do with wool. Although forgive me for asking, but how does a peaceful activity such as flower picking give you bruises?”

Isa tilted her head, “Well if you would allow me to finish my story, I’ll tell you. On the way back, there was a herd of horses racing by us. Benedict and I thought perhaps we could tame them with the carrots I packed, but it was a grave mistake to only present two carrots to ten horses.” She gave a small laugh, “We even attempted jumping in the river to escape them.”

“Oh my,” Milo replied, rubbing one eye, “remind me again, what is a horse?”

Isa tapped her chin, contemplating a way to describe it to him, “Picture a sheep, except much taller, fur instead of wool, and longer faces.”

The builder rose an eyebrow, “Thank you for that description, Isa. Now I will be struck with nightmares for days.”

The comment made Isa burst out with laughter, Milo joining in until he was stopped by a much louder yawn jumping from his mouth.

“I assure you, seeing one for yourself will be much less frightening,” Isa made her way over, Benedict wandering off into another room, and looked over his shoulder at the paper stacks around him. “Seems as if you’ve had quite the workload today. Would you like some assistance?”

He shook his head, “Absolutely not, you remember the terms of Operation Adventure Days, no work until sunrise the next day.”

“My, my Milo, and here I thought you were one who made it a point to break rules set in place,” She teased lightly.

He blinked, staring at her for a moment before reaching for his quill once more and cracking a grin of his own, “Fair point. Very well, the chair across is open.”

“Excellent, let me just wash up first and I’ll be back shortly,” Isa stated, turning and exiting the room.

Milo stopped his writing once more, looking back to where the former founder had left. How funny it was, to see such a pleasant smile from her.

If you had told him this would be his favorite sight a couple months ago, he would’ve claimed you were mad.

[socialattractionuk]

I cook to impress my dates – and to forget the ones that break my heart

It looked like a bomb had gone off in my kitchen.

Half-empty bags of flour, a standing mixer and a mismatched set of bowls were scattered across the table. I rummaged through my drawers, desperately searching for a jar of bicarbonate of soda, frantically repeating to myself: ‘Too little and the cake won’t rise, too much and it will collapse.’

About 20 minutes after I finally bunged it in the oven, I got the text: ‘Sorry, I can’t do this anymore’. 

The sponge had risen beautifully, but my relationship had just imploded.

For the next half hour, I lay on the kitchen floor, staring at the orange glow coming out of the oven. The past three months with the person I’d been seeing had felt like proper cinematic love, straight out of a Nora Ephron movie – except they had re-written the schmaltzy ending and dumped me by text.

It was the first time I had experienced the mind-numbing pain of a breakup, and unsurprisingly, I wasn’t in the mood for cake, so I chucked it in the bin before it even cooled down.

My sadness meant I shunned food for a couple the next couple of weeks. But the cooking didn’t stop.

When I look back at my childhood in the south of Italy, I can see how food became my main way of expressing affection (Picture: Valerio Esposito)

I went through the motions: sifting the flour, mixing the batter, preheating the oven. I baked bread and cakes. I whipped roux paste and béchamel sauce. I sliced vegetables and rolled meatballs.

I carefully wrapped up little brown packages and gave them out to my neighbours, the corner shop lady, and everyone else I knew who lived within walking distance.

I kept my hands and my head busy so I had no time left to mourn my loss. I sought refuge in my kitchen, the only place where I still felt in control. I was determined to cook my way out of the mess my love life had become.

When I look back at my childhood in the south of Italy, I can see how food became my main way of expressing affection. It was in the messy and noisy kitchens of all the brilliant women of my life – my mum, grandma, and aunts – that I learned everything I know about both food and love. 

I cook to impress, with a considerable degree of success (Picture: Valerio Esposito)

I remember specifically my Aunt Chicca: she never said I love you but always asked if I was hungry – that’s how I knew.

I watched my nonna as she sliced dozens of aubergines and left them out to dry in the scorching Neapolitan sun. Every five minutes, I went out on the terrace to check on them, self-appointed guardian of the vegetables.

She urged me to ‘forget about them’ for a while. Good things (and good aubergine parmigiana) take time. Nonna Lilina knew all too well that in the kitchen, as in the heart, patience is the key ingredient.

At the table, I sat with my dad and my siblings and looked at the way my mother arranged food on our plates, wondering why she would work so hard for a Wednesday night dinner.

Now I know she was showing us that we were deserving of the effort – and love – she put into her cooking, that you don’t need a special occasion to show someone that. I learned from her that it’s the food that makes a home and, of course, the people you eat it with.

My Italian accent gets me halfway, and the food does the rest (Picture: Valerio Esposito)

When I was 19, I left my family and moved to London to try and fulfil my dream of becoming a journalist (I let Nigella fill in the gaps where my female relatives had been).

Since then, I have shared brief but happy moments with an array of people who have walked in and out of my life – and my kitchen. A while ago I downloaded Hinge and wrote in my description: ‘Food is the true language of love’.

And so it goes: when I start seeing someone new, I cook to impress (with a considerable degree of success).

I’ve had plenty of lasagne dates where me and my romantic interest du jour would take turns to roll endless sheets of pasta.

I romanticise the small scars on my forearms. ‘Touch it,’ I mutter seductively, ‘this is from the time I made Coq Au Vin for a party of 12.’ My Italian accent gets me halfway, and the food does the rest.

I’ll show off handmade tortellini, skilfully folded and shaped into little pasta gems – then hint at what else I can do with my hands. I may not be a gym guy but the strength it takes to lift a stone frying pan and flip a frittata must count for something (right?!).

When I stop seeing someone, I cook to forget (Picture: Valerio Esposito)

I share most of my projects (culinary and otherwise) on my Instagram page and it’s not entirely unusual for me to receive flirty DMs from women and men who ask me out upon realising that I can make Martha Stewart’s vintage hors-d’œuvres and still build a wooden shed in my garden from scratch.

You know what they say: get you a man (or woman) that can do both.

When I stop seeing someone, I cook to forget.

I have made errors of judgement. Sometimes I did too much for people who didn’t give enough in return, like the time I spent four hours doing focaccia art (it’s a thing) for a geography teacher who took four seconds to cancel our date and disappear into blue tick oblivion, the place where dreams and fancy focaccias go to die.

I have left Tupperware boxes left all over London in the grubby rental flat kitchens of the people I‘ve dated, like pins in a map of my romantic failures. Each plastic container is a reminder of some fourth date that never was, a meal made with love that was never even defrosted.

Such disappointments are always hard to swallow but, each time, I pull up my sleeves and do it again. Cliché as it sounds, it’s true what they say: you really can’t make an omelette without breaking an egg.

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Apart from platonic dinners with my wonderful friends, I’ve got no one special to cook for at the moment. But if I go home on a regular Wednesday night, and I have nobody to have a candlelit dinner with, I’ll pull out the pots and the pans.

I’ll slice the vegetables and fry them until they’re crisp, I’ll rub a chicken with butter and herbs, and carefully chop the potatoes and roast them until golden.

I’ll grab my favourite plate and arrange each part carefully and sprinkle it with parsley and chilli flakes. I’ll sit down at my table to eat the meal; a reminder to myself that I am as worthy of the love I would give to another person.

Last week in Love, Or Something Like It: No one wants to date a short man like me

SHARE YOUR LOVE STORY

Love, Or Something Like It is a regular series for Metro.co.uk, covering everything from mating and dating to lust and loss, to find out what love is and how to find it in the present day. If you have a love story to share, email rosy.edwards@metro.co.uk

MORE: A decade of casual sex has shown me what true love really is

MORE: My Italian wife taught me how to show life

MORE: What heartbreak taught me about love

[deadmantalking117]

DOCTOR, DOCTOR - GIMME THE NEWS!

This one kinda weirds me out. A lot. When I began writing these essays, one idea kinda lead to the next. One memory lead to another. So, my brilliant and beautiful wife said. "You should use the notepad feature on your phone to list all the different things that you've had, to keep them in order " That turned out to be a really great idea. But it quickly became a huge undertaking of a couple days. One memory leads to another. When I added all the mundane things that everyone goes through or the one-offs, one time ER trips... it got insanely long. As you're about to see... Mundane = everyday regular stuff Special= diseases, surgeries, tests, procedures, etc. One-offs = accidents and injuries 0 THROUGH 10 YEARS OLD Mundane- -Birth -Measles -Mumps -Rubella -Chicken pox (Had all my vaccinations) -Colds or flus -Various cuts scrapes bruises burns -Cavities, fillings, regular dental work Special- -Asthma attacks (3 years old) Spend a couple days in hospital for tests -Rhuematic fever (before 2 years old) High fever, almost died -Migraine headaches (since 4 years old) -Salmonella food poisoning (9 years old ) The whole town! From my sister's defective birthday cake. My first taste of Crohns One-offs- -Broken left little finger (3 years old) Feeding a goldfish, pulled over a dresser Left hand splint / half cast -Rusty nail through left hand (9 years old) Couple stitches / tetanus shot -Fish hook to the face (10 years old) Cut out hook / couple stitches inch below left eye 10 THROUGH 20 YEARS OLD Mundane- -Colds or flus -Various cuts scrapes bruises burns -Regular dental work Special- -Migraines (since 4) -Spend week in hospital (13 years old) Undergo a battery of tests to figure out why a kid gets migraines. During one test, I stop breathing and need emergency resuscitation. Allergic reaction to xray contrast. -Hangovers (18 and up) It's why I don't drink! -Grease burns from working in fast food. It happens. One-offs- -Went to ER twice as a teen for concussions from playing football with friends. -Caught an iceball from my cousin, in my left eyeball. Scratched cornea, ER visit to clean it. Eye patch for a week. -Ran over a wasps nest while mowing. Stung 12 times. -2nd degree sunburn over 75 percent of my body. Fell asleep on the beach. One giant blister, got lidocaine spray from ER. -Had all 4 wisdom teeth plus 2 others extracted at same time. -Catastrophic bike accident. Ripped most of the skin from hands, arms, knees, damage to chest, legs, and face. So much blood! 20 THROUGH 30 YEARS OLD Mundane - -Colds or flus -Various cuts scrapes bruises burns -Regular dental work Special- -My first real medical tests Blood tests - xrays - MRIs - CAT scans Upper and Lower GI series. -abscess near rectum Cut and drain in Dr. Office -Fistula. The long tear from my intestines through the muscle and tissues until it formed the abcess. -Surgery to repair the fistula (my very first major surgery!) -1st Bowel resection. Removed part of small intestine. Removed the appendix (Surgery #2) -Left inguinal hernia post resection surgery -Surgery to repair hernia (Surgery #3) -Cyst on left testicle (also post surgery, no idea why) cut and drain in Drs office. -Migraines (always) -High blood pressure is permanent (start pills) One-offs - -Root canals 30 THROUGH 40 YEARS OLD Mundane- -Colds or flus -Various cuts scrapes bruises burns -Regular dental work -Glasses eye exams -Hypertension -Migraines Special - -Dozens of ER visits and extended hospital stays for Crohns disease. Hundreds of medical tests. Hundreds of needles. Dozens of xrays et al. -Bowel resection #2. Remove more small intestine ( Surgery #4) -Duodenal ulcer -Peptic ulcer -Five blood transfusions to replace severe blood loss from 2 different ulcers. Required 2 years of regular AIDS test as precaution. -Severely bloody stools from ulcers -Surgically insert central line IV access for easier access. Three long tubes dangling from my right side ribcage. Needs to be flushed and cleaned daily. Its inconvenient. Gets swapped out for.. -Infuse-a-port. A titanium drum inserted under the left collar bone, under the skin. For easy IV access. My veins are mostly destroyed by now. I have it removed a year or so after. -Regular colonoscopies from now on ! -Arthritis issues (getting older) -Skin irritation around nose and mouth during flare ups. Requires prescription creams One-offs - -Pneumonia (too much time in hospitals) -Another 2nd degree sunburn. On legs only. From surf fishing in ocean. Because meds I was taking made me very susceptible to sun. I wore long sleeves, but standing in water up to my ribs so I thought I'd be ok in shorts. I wasn't. Couldn't walk for 3 days. Blisters everywhere. -Narcotic withdrawls. After I walked away from everything at 40. 40 THROUGH 50 YEARS OLD Mundane - -Colds or flus -Various cuts scrapes bruises burns -Regular dental work -Glasses eye exams -Migraines -Hypertension -Aging issues (pulled muscles, aches, pains) Special - -Many ER visits and extended hospital stays for Crohns disease. Tests, needles, etc. -Third bowel resection. Emergency surgery after ER trip. (Surgery #5). -Kidney stones. They're just starting -Fake heart attack. Feels real enough! First series of heart tests. Stress test, etc. Already showing signs of damage and hardening. -Pneumonias (more common as you age) -Regular colonoscopies at least every 3 years -Face flare ups during Crohns flares -Arthritis confirmed in hips,hands, knees One-offs - -Dentures. Vomiting all the time and chronic malnutrition are really bad for teeth. -Perforated left ear drum from water skiing wipeout. Forced water into the ear canal at high velocity. Ow. Deaf in left ear for several days. -Passed out from new blood pressure meds. Busted head on toilet seat. 4 stitches above left eye. Tell everyone I was mugged! It's a better story. -Got foreign object in right eye. Scratched cornea. ER to clean out. Prescription eye drops. Eye patch for a week. -Remicade treatments that crippled me. Couldn't walk, couldn't barely move, fell down, couldn't get up, crawled to phone, had daughter take me ER. Big dose of prednisone and I'm mobile again. Discover it's my new Crohns treatment causing the problem. Stop treatments and after 6 months, I'm back to mostly normal. 50 THROUGH 58 YEARS OLD Mundane - -Colds or flus -Various cuts scrapes bruises burns -Regular dental work -Glasses eye exams -Hypertension -Migraines -Old age sucks ( pulled a back muscle badly taking a shower ) Special - -ER Visits and hospital stays for Crohns disease. Tests, needles, blah,blah,blah. -Colonoscopies like clockwork -Occasionally kidney stones -Mononucleosis (don't ask) -Pneumonias (started getting vaccinated) -Valley fever. A ball of fungus in my upper right lung, common in southwest. Potentially dangerous. Requires lung biopsy. -Sleep apnea. Diagnosis from lung doctor after valley fever diagnosis. -New heart issues. During routine physical the doctor wants a routine EKG. He's panicked. I have to go to a Cardiologist tomorrow for stress test or die. He's already set it up. -Stress test. There's new problems! We need to put you in the hospital right now. We think you're going to die right now. Need angiogram. -Angiogram. They shave you down "there". Insert a long thin camera from your groin to your heart. Inject dyes. Watch the action. Everything looks ok here! Keep checking back every 2 or 3 years from now on. One-offs - I quit going outside. Wrapped my body in bubble wrap. Too tired to get hurt. I'm currently waiting for a meteor to crash through my roof. WOW! JUST... WOW! 58 years of living seems to have involved a ton of medical assistance. But here's the thing. If I were to strip away all the special things.. a lot of which aren't really that special. And all the one-offs, things which happen to lots of people, accidents will happen! Take all that away, and there's still years of regular stuff that everyone deals with. And as we age, there are more and more everyday issues that we all must cope with. The healthiest people in America, still have accidents. The healthiest people in America still get older. Half the things on my list are very common ailments. Healthcare effects every single human being. My list is ridiculously long. But take a few minutes, make your own list. You dont have to write it all down. Just spend a little time seeing how much you can recall. I'll bet it's way longer than you realize. Mine certainly was! Be well my friends

[albino-ottsel]

The Sensible Advantages Of Digital Videos

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Skirting your alpaca fleece for present takes time and observe. Set lifelike expectations and permit yourself to make some mistakes along the way. No matter you do, don't surrender. It'll all repay ultimately. Making ready your present fleece starts months before shearing by maintaining good nutrition, low stress, and a clear atmosphere. On shearing day, let the shearer know which of them are your show alpacas. Be prepared to collect the prime blanket on sheets (mattress sheets work fine) because it comes off the alpaca and keep it separate from the seconds and thirds. Ideally, you'll be able to skirt it on shearing day- but that won't be potential for most of us. Arrange an area to your skirting table. You may simply make your skirting desk by attaching a 3ft x 5ft wire mesh with half inch squares to a picket body. You'll be able to stability this on 2 workhorses or any two stable items at the correct top for you. Put your prime blanket in your skirting table.

Through the last Ice Age, Finland was lined by a thick layer of ice. When that ice sheet retreated (or melted) about 10,000 years ago, it gouged the surface of the land and left in its wake innumerable islands, rivers and streams, as well as countless lakes. Subsequently, the uncovered lands turned green and fertile, wildlife returned, and Stone Age hunter-gatherers from northern Russia arrived. Early settlements soon developed, and early man lived and farmed throughout Finland on by means of the Bronze and Iron Ages. At the top of the Viking era, throughout a collection of exploratory crusades into Finland, the Swedes introduced Christianity, and in brief-order, principally undefended Finnish lands had been integrated into the Kingdom of Sweden, and 650 years of Swedish influence started. As a province of Sweden, the now subjugated Finns were pressured to adopt the tradition and traditions of Sweden, together with its language and dominate religion. The imposed Protestant religion motivated many within the Orthodox religion to maneuver east into Russia. They are extraordinary plush toys and anyone lucky enough to have one is really privileged certainly. Writer: Angeline Hope Whereas all of us can't be Mary and own lambs (or take them to highschool), we can have lamb stuffed animals as companions as an alternative. Who can resist these adorable baby animals? A lamb stuffed animal is tender and cuddly, very like the actual factor appears prefer it would be. Publisher: Angeline Hope It is arduous to imagine that a baby would favor wolf stuffed animals over a cherished teddy bear, but like all wild animals, they do have their place within the plush world. For anybody that may be a collector of plush toys, specifically, wild animals, wolf stuffed animals make a beautiful addition to an already established collection. Even though wolf stuffed animals can look just like the canine pet next door, they need to by no means be mistaken for domesticated dogs. Publisher: Angeline Hope Wolf stuffed animals are not to be confused with canine stuffed animals, as a result of merely put, wolves and canine should not the identical thing. Whereas it's true canines are decedents of the wolf, as we know, one is domestic and one is wild which is not the same at all.

When Truffle ultimately dried out her dark fawn fleece had the tiniest tightest crimp I have ever seen, you may remember I wrote a blog about it. Properly that bought me excited but then no sooner was it there but - whoosh, her fleece had changed and was straight and fluffy and crimpless. I used to be dissapointed to say the least. But the story continues. We have now just weaned Truffle at four months old as her mother Dee is just too skinny and her situation needs to enhance earlier than winter. As a result we gave Truffle an excellent inspection, so we will regulate her condition as she switches from mothers milk and a bit of nibbling to full time grazing. We looked at her fleece (having paid it no attention for 6 weeks or so) and have been blown away by the transformation. The colour has changed as if it has been dyed, it is now a medium brown and the crimp has returned in bucket hundreds, tight, brilliant and gorgeous. I know you are most likely saying "Well let's see some pictures then!". If it is dry when Sue returns we'll give it a go.

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