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maasbesttiffinservice · 1 year ago

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What is Tiffin Service in the United Kingdom?

Introduction

Tiffin service, a concept deeply rooted in Indian culture, has gained significant popularity in the United Kingdom over the years. This unique food delivery system offers a convenient and often healthier alternative to traditional meal options. Let’s delve into the intricacies of Tiffin's service, exploring its history, working mechanism, benefits, and impact on the UK food scene.

Definition of Tiffin Service

In essence, a Tiffin service involves the delivery of freshly prepared meals to individuals’ doorsteps. Originating from the Indian subcontinent, where “Tiffin” refers to a light meal or snack, this service has found a welcoming audience in the UK.

Popularity in the United Kingdom

The busy lifestyles of many UK residents have contributed to the increasing demand for Tiffin services. Are you looking for a tiffin service near me? Maasbest provides the best quality tiffin food in the UK. The appeal lies in the convenience of having wholesome meals delivered, saving time on cooking or procuring food.

History of Tiffin Service

Origin and Evolution

Tiffin services trace their roots back to the Indian tradition of delivering homemade lunches to office-goers. Over time, this concept evolved, incorporating diverse cuisines and adapting to the preferences of a global audience.

Cultural Significance

In the UK, Tiffin services not only provide a practical solution to meal planning but also serve as a cultural bridge, introducing residents to a variety of flavours and culinary traditions.

How Tiffin Service Works?

Ordering Process

Engaging with a Tiffin service is a straightforward process. Customers typically choose a subscription plan, select their preferred meals, and set delivery preferences. Many Tiffin services offer flexible options, allowing users to customize their orders.

Delivery Logistics

To ensure the freshness of the meals, Tiffin services employ efficient delivery systems. Advanced logistics enable timely and secure deliveries, maintaining the quality of the food.

Benefits of Tiffin Service

Convenience

The primary allure of Tiffin's services is the convenience they offer. Subscribers can enjoy well-balanced, home cooked meals without the hassle of grocery shopping or cooking.

Healthy Options

Tiffin services often prioritize health-conscious options. With a focus on fresh ingredients and balanced nutrition, these services cater to individuals seeking a healthier alternative to fast food.

Popular Tiffin Service Providers in the UK

Overview of Leading Companies

Several Tiffin service providers have established a strong presence in the UK. Each comes with its unique offerings, catering to different tastes and dietary preferences.

Unique Offerings

Tiffin's services distinguish themselves through diverse menus, from regional specialities to international cuisines. Some may focus on vegetarian or vegan options, while others might offer gourmet selections.

Customization Options

Dietary Preferences

Tiffin Services recognizes the importance of accommodating various dietary preferences. Whether someone is vegetarian, vegan, or has specific allergies, these services often provide customizable options. Are you looking for a Vegetarian Tiffin Service Near Me? Maasbest can help you.

Frequency of Service

Customers can choose the frequency of their Tiffin service deliveries, making it suitable for both daily meals and occasional treats.

Customer Testimonials

Real-life Experiences

The success of Tiffin services is often reflected in customer testimonials. Positive experiences highlight the convenience, taste, and variety offered by these services. Are you looking for Gujarati Tiffin Service Near Me in the Slough, UK?

Positive Feedback

Customers appreciate the effort Tiffin's services put into ensuring satisfaction. Positive feedback abounds from the quality of ingredients to the presentation of meals.

Challenges in the Tiffin Service Industry

Quality Control

Maintaining consistent quality poses a challenge for Tiffin service providers. As the demand grows, ensuring every meal meets high standards becomes crucial.

Competition

The popularity of Tiffin services has led to increased competition. Providers must innovate to stay ahead and meet the evolving tastes of their customer base. Maasbest provides online tiffin delivery services.

Tips for Choosing the Right Tiffin Service

Considerations Before Subscribing

Prospective subscribers should consider factors such as menu variety, delivery reliability, and customer reviews when choosing a Tiffin service.

Reading Reviews

Reading reviews from existing customers can offer valuable insights into a particular service's strengths and potential drawbacks. You can see the tiffin menu before giving the order.

Tiffin Services Beyond Home

Office and Corporate Subscriptions

Tiffin services have expanded beyond individual subscriptions to cater to offices and corporate events. This provides a convenient solution for workplaces seeking wholesome meal options. Maas Best provides the best tiffin service London in the UK.

Events and Parties

Hosting an event or party? Tiffin services can be a catering solution, offering a diverse menu that caters to different tastes.

Impact on Local Food Businesses

Collaboration or Competition

The rise of Tiffin services has prompted local food businesses to adapt. Some choose to collaborate with Tiffin services, while others see them as competition. Are you looking for a tiffin service near me in Berkshire, UK?

Market Trends

Observing how Tiffin services influence local food trends provides insight into evolving consumer preferences and demands.

How Tiffin Services Promote Sustainability?

Eco-friendly Packaging

Many Tiffin services prioritize sustainability by using eco-friendly packaging. This commitment to reducing environmental impact resonates with environmentally conscious consumers.

Reduce Food Waste

The precise portioning of Tiffin service meals helps minimize food waste. Subscribers receive exactly what they need, reducing the likelihood of leftovers being discarded.

The Future of Tiffin Services in the UK

Emerging Trends

Tiffin services are expected to evolve further, incorporating technological advancements, expanding menu options, and reaching new demographics. You can find Punjabi Tiffin Service in the UK.

Anticipated Changes

As the market grows, changes in pricing models, delivery methods, and partnerships may shape the future landscape of Tiffin services in the UK.

Home Cooked Food Near Me- Recipe boxes that deliver ingredients for you to prepare yourself have soared in popularity — one such service has seen sign-ups rise by 730 per cent. Some of these brands are taking things further, delivering ready-made meals.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Tiffin services in the United Kingdom have become a convenient and culturally enriching way for individuals to enjoy wholesome meals. The flexibility, variety, and health-conscious approach make Tiffin services attractive for those seeking an alternative to traditional meal options.

FAQs

What types of cuisines are typically offered by Tiffin services?

Tiffin services often provide diverse cuisines, including regional specialities, international dishes, and options for various dietary preferences.

Is Tiffin's service more cost-effective than traditional meal options?

Tiffin services can offer cost-effective solutions, especially when considering the time and effort saved on grocery shopping and cooking.

Can I pause or cancel my Tiffin service subscription?

Most Tiffin services provide flexibility, allowing subscribers to pause or cancel their subscriptions with proper notice.

How do Tiffin's services accommodate dietary restrictions?

Tiffin services typically offer customization options, allowing customers to specify dietary restrictions, allergies, or preferences when placing orders.

Are Tiffin services available in rural areas?

Availability in rural areas may vary, but some Tiffin services strive to reach a broader customer base, including those in less urbanized regions.

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lmfilmss · 2 years ago

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Punjabi photography London | Punjabi photography leister | lm filmss

LMFilmss is a premier Punjabi photography service in London. Capturing beautiful moments with creativity and expertise. Book us for your special occasions.

#Punjabi photography London

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mollymauk-teafleak · 1 month ago

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if we're lovers then we're screwed (chapter one)

Huge thanks to @minky-for-short who came up with this au and who continues to be a great friend and an excellent beta reader <3

Please reblog and comment over on ao3!

---

Jonathan Sims always dreamed of bigger, better things than his bleak home town. He knew that Bournemouth held nothing for him.

At least until Martin Blackwood moved in across the street.

And now that bigger, better future has arrived and Jon wants to take Martin with him.

But it isn't going to look the way Jon thought.

---

There was a letter for Jonathan Sims on the doormat.

That wasn’t the name on the front, of course, not entirely. Halfway there. As close as he was going to get right now.

It was meant for him and that was more of a letter than he’d ever gotten before. It caught his eye as soon as he walked through the door, snagging his attention in an unpleasant way like an uneven paving stone catching his foot. Something unexpected interrupting what, up until that point, had been a day just like every other. For a moment, all he could do was glare at the letter on the mat, like he could stare down reality until it righted itself again, until it hurriedly swept away this unexpected error and let him continue with his routine.

He didn’t get letters. The only ones that came through their door were bills and they had his daadi’s name on the front, though it was often misspelled, like they were perfectly fine to ask for her money, more and more every month, but couldn’t be bothered to look up any name that wasn’t English.

When the letter didn’t realise the mistake of its own existence and vanish, Jon gave an irritated sigh, shifting his backpack so he could pick it up. That was definitely his old name printed on the front in stark black letters, so firm and indisputable that it twisted his stomach. He’d trodden on it by mistake as he’d walked through the door, the smudge of black sand from the beach across that dead name did make him feel a little better.

Though the return address he saw as he turned the envelope over sent him right into freefall. For a terrible moment, he was certain he was about to throw up on the hallway carpet.

Admissions office. University of Oxford.

He had to read the words a few times just to make sure, the text blurring a little more each time as his hands began to tremble and he fought to breathe steadily. But no, this was it. The thing he’d been trying not to think about for months had hunted him down and dropped right onto his daadi’s doormat.

Jon swallowed hard, trying to strain his ears past the hammering of his own heart. The little house was silent, nothing bubbling on the stove, no radio crackling in the kitchen, no whisper of slippers or soft, creaky voice singing in Punjabi. His daadi must still be at work.

He did feel guilty about the rush of relief that brought him. He knew how much this meant to her, how hard she’d worked so he could afford the train down to London for the interview, how many times she prayed for him even though he’d stopped joining in, how she believed even though she came from a family where a granddaughter going to school, let alone university, was unheard of. Not that she had a granddaughter anymore but those conversations had only ended in frustration and raised voices.

Regardless, daadi had supported him with everything she had, even after she’d been left with so little. She cared, even if she did it in a way Jon couldn’t always understand and didn’t always feel.

Which was exactly why he couldn’t open this envelope in front of her. Because standing there, holding it in his hand and feeling it grow more heavy than a piece of paper had a right to be, all Jon could think was that he’d let her down yet again.

But he did have someone who would look at him the exact same way, no matter what the letter said. Someone who cared about him in a way he understood even less because he could never- probably would never- figure out how he deserved it. But he could depend on it. And right now he needed something solid to cling to as his stomach roiled and his skin prickled and he held his future in his shaking hand.

Fortunately, Martin was right across the road.

Jon was careful, approaching the house from the back, walking right around the street to do it even though a single strip of badly maintained tarmac separated them. He was pretty sure Mrs Blackwood was having one of her stints in the hospital but he wasn’t about to take the risk of going to the front door, just in case. He hadn’t always been careful and Martin had paid for it.

He’d much rather put his own neck on the line, hopping up onto the back wall and climbing into the jagged branches of the tree that dominated the Blackwood’s back garden. It was a damn sight harder now, ten years on from the first time he’d scaled it as a scrawny, bird-boned eight year old. But he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t that familiar sense of thrill to it, a flickering moment where he could be a prince scaling a tower or an explorer summiting a mountain. That had never fully gone away, even if the branches bent under him a lot more than they used to and his shins and palms ended up raw.

Jon perched on the branch that had been scratching at Martin’s window every windy night since he’d lived there, scaring him and making him think some monster was tapping on the glass, demanding entrance. Jon had snorted when Martin told him that, drily saying at least the monsters were more polite than him, he just let himself in, had been for years. Why not lock it, if he was so afraid?

Martin’s voice had softened and his eyes had ducked away, as he’d mumbled that if he did, Jon wouldn’t be able to let himself in. That knowing he could come over whenever he wanted was worth being afraid. Jon had replayed that over in his mind a lot, so much that it would have worn out if it was a tape.

It was enough that he understood why no one at school was surprised when they started dating.

Climbing through Martin’s window had been easier when he was eight years old too. As he was shifting his weight, the toe of his boot barely secured on the flimsy plastic windowsill, a wave of nausea crashed over him. With no warning, his stomach tried to crawl up his throat, turning his muscles to water and his grip to nothing. Absurdly, his panic was all for the letter grasped tight in his fingers, he had a horrible vision of it whisking away on the breeze, completely forgetting that he’d be right behind it, falling a lot faster and harder.

“Jon, bloody hell!”

Jon just about managed to keep hold of his stomach and his letter as he was yanked onto the safety of Martin’s floor, catching ragged breaths as his eyes focused on the peeling glow in the dark stickers he’d helped put up ten years ago, insisting they go in the astronomically correct positions.

Then, for one pretty fantastic moment, his whole world became Martin. He looked exhausted, the way he always did these days, deep shadows carved under his eyes from waking up early and working until late in the night, lines of worry etched into the corners of his mouth. He looked far too young for his own expression, his face still soft and child-like underneath the tired, tense jaw of someone trying to balance three jobs and a spiralling mother. Like he was dressed up to play a role, a small child made up like an older man for a school play. But those cracks, that worry, wouldn’t rub away on the heel of a hand, Martin wasn’t allowed to set it all aside once he’d said his lines. This was just his life.

Jon felt his heart thump painfully. It wasn’t just his own future clutched in his fist.

“Did you come over just to give me a heart attack?” Martin panted, studying Jon’s face carefully like he couldn’t believe he was completely okay yet.

“Maybe,” Jon rasped, shifting so he could move the envelope in front of Martin’s eyes, “Depends what’s in here, I guess.”

He watched Martin’s jaw drop, heard his quick intake of breath, “Oh shit…”

Jon felt himself pulled to his feet, Martin helping him sit down on the bed. His boyfriend’s hands moved anxiously, fluttering like birds trying to decide where to land as he fussed over him, pulling a twig from his hair, brushing a leaf from his shoulder. Martin had never been able to sit still when he was nervous, driven by some frantic impulse to help even if it wasn’t needed, like he was a robot who got stuck on a looping command.

“So…you haven’t opened it?” he finally plucked up the courage to ask, once Jon had caught those restless hands and held them tight and safe in his own.

“Chickened out,” Jon admitted with a weak smile, running his thumbs over Martin’s knuckles, “I don’t know, as soon as I had it in my hands, I just…I needed you.”

Someone, even with how tired he was, even though Jon knew he’d been up at four in the morning, had worked in the bakery until ten, had to run to the bookstore to work through until four, even though he only had another hour before he needed to go to his evening shift at the supermarket, Martin still put all of that aside to look at Jon with what felt like all the love in the world. Like to him love wasn’t something exhausting or difficult, it was the breaks of sunlight in between.

“Well, you’ve got me,” he smiled, squeezing Jon’s fingers, “So enough stalling.”

He had to let go of Martin’s hand to slide his thumb under the seal and break it, freeing a tightly folded sheaf of clearly expensive paper. Jon got about as far as recognising the University’s crest at the top before shoving it away, shaking his head.

“Nope. Can’t do it. You read it,” he managed to croak out of his tightly closing throat.

Martin sighed, though it wasn’t frustrated or exasperated, the way people usually sighed at Jon. His broad hand came to rest at the small of Jon’s back, just a reminder that he was there.

“Dear…Mr Sims,” Martin edited with the barest stumble, “Thank you for your application to Oxford University and our BA course in History and English…”

Jon closed his eyes, turning his face against Martin’s neck, like he could will the world to stop turning. Because even with how hard he’d worked, how sure and certain he’d made himself seem when teachers had looked at him with badly hidden doubt and other kids had sniggered, even with how stubborn he was, in that moment it seemed inevitable. He knew, with a sickening certainty, what that letter would say. It would say thanks for trying, thanks for the effort, thanks for padding our diversity statistics but this isn’t for kids with behaviour problems and no money behind them, this world doesn’t have room for people like you so just give up and stop trying-

“Oh…Jon, you got in!” Martin gasped, “‘We’re delighted to inform you that your application was successful’, you did it!”

“Wait, what?��

Jon snatched the letter back, scowling at it until the words resolved and the truth sank in. He felt oddly hollow at first, a little dizzy, like he’d been walking down the stairs in the dark and miscounted the steps, left to wobble on the edge of the world. He’d done it.

“I got in…” he said the words out loud, like that would make it seem real, “I actually did it…”

Martin laughed, his smile wide in a way Jon had almost forgotten it could be, a smile he remembered from when they were small, planning futures where they were pirate captains of their own vessel or astronauts settling a far off planet for just the two of them. Like he’d believed in this dream as earnestly as he’d believed in those, like it had all been equally as likely just because Jon had promised it to him.

“You look surprised!” he pulled Jon into a tight hug, “Did you not realise how amazing you are?”

“Guess not…” Jon murmured, holding him back just as tight, grounding himself, “I mean, I know what I said but…I never thought I was actually good enough.”

Martin flinched, like something had struck him. He moved back, enough that he could meet Jon’s eyes, his gaze stubborn in that way it sometimes got.

He’d seen that look when Martin had found him in his daadi’s bathroom, sobbing and holding a pair of scissors in shaking hands, hacking messily at the black hair that had reached the small of his back since he was a toddler. Martin had set his jaw, taken the scissors from him and helped Jon find someone who looked like himself in that mirror.

He’d seen that look when he’d told him, through a thick tongue that didn’t want to work, that he was a boy and his name was Jon and please, please don’t hate him. Martin had just smiled, his love as fierce as anything Jon had ever seen, wrapped his arms around his shaking shoulders and told him it was so nice to finally call him the right name.

He’d seen that look when Jared had shoved him against the back wall at school and threatened to break his teeth, striking him with names that burned, knowing no one would hear and they probably wouldn't come to help, even if they did. But Martin had. He’d seemed to grow twice his size as he’d drawn himself up and yanked Jared back, shoving him to the ground and growling that he wouldn’t let him hurt his best friend.

He’d seen that look, watched Martin try so hard to be brave when he was so nervous, when he’d first told Jon he loved him.

That look had always made Jon feel safe, protected, like nothing could hurt him because Martin simply wouldn’t let it. It had taught him that love could have teeth, that it wasn’t a resigned obligation, it was a choice. And it was a choice Martin had made, over and over, for him.

“Jon,” he smiled, resting a hand on his cheek like this was too important to risk him looking away, “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go to Oxford. You’re going to show those posh dickheads how smart and brilliant you are. You’re going to get a degree and a masters and probably a PhD and spend the rest of your life being ridiculously clever and surrounded by books. You’re going to get everything you want, Jon, and it's going to have your name on it. Your real one. Because you’ve worked so hard and you bloody deserve it.”

Jon had to swallow hard before he could get the words out, eyes swimming so Martin blurred and seemed to move away from him, enough that he grasped his arms tighter just to be sure he was close.

“You forgot something,” he realised he was grinning as he spoke, his heart so light it was bumping up against the top of his ribcage like a balloon.

“Oh, right. You’ll also have a pet cat,” Martin cocked his head playfully, poking him lightly in the ribs.

“No. I’ll have at least two,” Jon poked him right back though Martin was infuriatingly less ticklish than him, “I meant you, Martin. You’ll be there.”

An expression flickered across Martin’s face, too fast to catch, “What?”

Jon beamed, “You’re coming with me. We can live in London, Martin, we can get a shitty flat that’s ours, you can find a job you actually like or you could go to college like you wanted. We can go to museums on the weekends and poetry readings and listen to music and it’ll be hard but it’ll belong to us. This is the start of our life together, Martin.”

For the second time in less than half an hour, Jon was so sure, so certain that he knew exactly what was about to happen, like he could see the next moments of his life mapped out clearly. And for the second time, he was proven wrong.

“Jon…Jon, I can’t.”

He was falling again, stomach dropping, bile rising, air rushing through his ears and, this time, no hand to catch him. The hand had shoved him over the edge instead.

“What? What are you talking about?” Jon found he was still smiling, like he could force this into an absurd joke by just having the right reaction.

But Martin’s face stayed devastated, deeply lined with grief, “It’s okay…I promise it’s okay, Jon, I’m happy for you. But this was how it was always going to be.”

“You need to start making sense, Martin,” Jon drew himself up, pulling away. He knew he was speaking too sharply but he couldn’t help it, the shock and the panic were lining his throat with broken glass, “The hell do you mean this is how it was always going to be?”

Martin’s hands were off again, now grasping at his auburn curls and plucking anxiously at the front of his own jumper, nowhere for them to land and soothe, placate, “I can’t go to London, Jon. I can’t go anywhere. My mum, she’s getting worse, she needs me more and more and we can barely afford the rent as it is, if I go…if I go, she’ll have no one.”

Jon had to stand, his whole body vibrating with nervous energy, like a violin string plucked in a discordant note. He paced back and forward, stumbling into piles of comic books and clothes Martin always left haphazardly on his floor.

“You can’t be serious,” he shook his head, “Martin, you can’t just give up on the rest of your life. Especially not for her, not after everything she’s done to you. You already dropped out of school you already work yourself to the bone for her and the way she speaks to you, the way she speaks about us-”

“Jon, she needs me! She needs me and you don’t!” Martin’s voice almost broke, almost, but he took a breath, pulling a smile up from somewhere, “But it’s going to be okay! This is your dream, you’re going to get everything you want, you don’t need me anymore.”

Jon felt the words he desperately wanted to say pressing between his ribs, reaching out and grasping for Martin. But he didn’t know how to let go of them. Everything hurt too much, everything was too loud and too bright and so he did the only thing he seemed capable of doing. He got angry.

“So what, this whole relationship you were just watching the clock, waiting until you could set me free like this is fucking White Fang?” Jon snapped, scowling at Martin, “When exactly did you decide on this plan, after I came out to you? After we fucked? After the night on the beach?”

Martin had tears in his eyes, brimming behind his glasses and god, Jon wanted to shut his eyes but he couldn’t, like if he looked away Martin would be gone when he looked back. Like everything around him would just crumble into dust.

“Jon, that’s not…it’s not like that,” Martin’s voice trembled, close to bending and breaking entirely, “You’re too good for me, you always have been, you were always going to…outgrow me.”

Jon felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach, the sickness rising again, “Fucking hell, Martin…”

Martin seemed to hear his own words, shifting uncomfortably, tears rolling down his cheeks and hanging for just a moment on his jaw. Just a moment, then they fell.

“I know my mum’s not perfect,” he croaked, “I know she’s difficult but…everyone else has left her, Jon, I’m all she’s got. I can’t leave too, not when she’s so sick. She needs me.”

“That’s bullshit, Martin,” Jon grit his teeth, feeling like he running out of space to fall, that the ground was coming up to meet him, that there was nothing he could do, that it was really going to hurt, “That’s complete bullshit, you don’t owe her anything after what she’s put you through. You know, there’s a fine line between being a martyr and being a coward.”

Martin’s eyes widened, his expression pained, “That’s…that’s not fair. She’s my mother, I love her-”

“Well she doesn’t love you!” Jon shouted, hard and sharp like a slap, “She doesn’t, Martin, and I do love you but you still won’t choose me!”

He’d hit the ground. The silence that fell between them was the ringing, white hot silence that came after a heavy impact, the silence that had pain on its heels, the silence where you were forced to just hold still and wonder if you’d ever be the same again.

Martin’s jaw worked, his chest heaving like it was fighting against some enormous weight. Like there were words trying to escape him too, trying to drag themselves out on broken limbs. But they wouldn’t come. They couldn’t, no more than Jon could let go of his own.

“Fine,” he choked out, turning on his heels and heading back towards the window, feeling every new ache and bruise and broken bone from his fall, feeling his nerves screaming at him not to go.

“Jon, please,” Martin sobbed out from behind him, voice cracking like ice underfoot.

But it was too late. They both knew it.

Jon didn’t remember climbing down the tree, vaulting the wall, stumbling back across the road. The next thing he was really aware of was falling to his knees in their front garden, heaving and spewing his guts up amongst the dahlias that daadi grew to remind her of home. His fingers dug deep furrows in the dirt, his body still wracked even when he had nothing left to give but sobs.

There was a bitter irony to it, as bitter as the bile in the back of his throat. He’d gotten everything he’d wanted but he’d lost the one thing he’d never even dared hope for. The future he’d held in that envelope was whole but he was the one broken, shattered beyond recognition.

Twice in one hour, Jonathan Sims had been so sure of what was around the corner, only to find himself tumbling.

And, little did he know, he hadn’t hit the ground yet.

#jmart #jonmartin #teaholding #the magnus archives #tma jmart #childhood friends au #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #please reblog and comment!

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egosdelirium · 2 months ago

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Thinking so many thoughts about...... James and Remus both being Spiderman in their own universes and somehow meeting when a portal opens a passage between them.

- Earth 48915

Remus is eighteen. Your local nerd, the loner with his nose always stuck in a book, the weird kid who's never really made any friends in school or at church. The one who never attempts to talk to girls. Dirt poor, has recently moved to London with Hope after Lyall suddenly passed away in a car accident (Remus was driving the car). Him and his mum left Wales and their little village behind to go live with Hope's brother, Ben, to try and give their lives a new meaning and get Remus a better education while they're at it. He gets into this private posh Secondary thanks to his uncle's contacts and his outstanding academic records.

There, he meets Sirius Black: the fittest, richest, smartest, most successful boy of the entire school who exclusively hangs out with future runaway model, Mary Mcdonald, and his little brother, Regulus. In addition to his all-rounded perfection, Sirius also belongs to the family funded Black Industries, a multi-million pharmaceutical corporation that is well known for its advanced discoveries and unorthodox research methods.

Remus avoids Sirius (and everybody else) to the best of his capabilities until he gets paired up with him for the end of the first trimester science project. Sirius loathes science, chemistry, and everything that has anything to do with molecules or atoms. He still gets top marks in it, but his real forte his maths: arithmetic, trigonometry, calculus. Sirius's brain is like a computer wired to solve equations. Remus, on the other hand, is 100% the science nerd Orion Black wishes his son was. In the end, their project turns out to be so good that they get paired together for the rest of the year, and Remus keeps falling more and more head over heels in love with his new lab partner and is very pathetic about it.

They start hanging out outside of school too, after Remus catches Sirius crying in the bathrooms one afternoon during footie practice and Sirius breaks down to him about how horribly abusive his parents are to him and Regulus. One night, Sirius has the great idea to sneak into his father's private lab with Remus (who's now become a regular in Sirius' bedroom) to employ his scientific knowledge to understand some top secret project Orion has been very elusive about, and there Remus gets bitten by a modified specimen of Wolf-spider that Sirius mistakenly frees from its box.

Spiderman shenanigans ensue (but Remus' chronic joint pain gets cured, so he's not complaining all that much)

- Earth 48916

James is a high school senior in a prestigious private school in upstate New York. He lives in Brooklyn with his british/punjabi mother and puerto rican father. He's the 'five different vacation houses in five different states' type of rich boy. Straight A's and B's, captain of the soccer team with a fullride scholarship to Columbia University, every girl's and boy's dream boyfriend.

Everyone's but Lily Evan's, no one other than his main academic rival and the girl he's been desperately in (unrequited) love with since ninth grade. She's top of half their classes (mainly the ones James can't be bothered trying to excel at), future valedictorian, exceptionally hardworking and particularly gifted in 'all things science'. She also allegedly hates his guts.

James mainly hangs out his two childhood best friends: Marlene, star player of the female's soccer and basketball team, and Peter, their very own regional chess prodigy. When James is not with them, he's usually surrounded by the guys from his soccer team or the ladies from the 'Crocheting for Charity' club he attends on weekends. He never really dates anybody else, albeit being asked out almost daily, because his mom taught him that perseverance is the only way to truly show the authenticity of one's desires.

James gets bitten on a saturday night, when he overhears Lily Evans argue with Severus Snape, her ex best friend turned new nazi schizo, as he was heading out after his crochet meet-up. The two are fighting about something in the school's science lab and Severus keeps trying to get Lily to look at a small box he's placed on the table, but they just end up screaming at each other and Lily storms out of the room. In his hurry to chase after her, Severus mistakenly hits the box and drops it to the floor. James, who had hidden just behind the corner, enters the lab to check for himself what the whole argument is about, and the genetically modified Golden Silk Orb-Spider that once was in the box bites him.

Spiderman shenanigans ensue. James is thrilled, Marlene is too, Peter not so much.

And Lily is too curious, and way too good at science and genetics to not get roped up into the whole mess, unfortunately for her.

#marauders #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #regulus black #black brothers #jily #wolfstar #spiderman au #i fucking love spiderman #this whole thing was born out the firm conviction that both james and remus are variants of peter parker #in two very different ways tho #i need to geek out to them more DO YOU WANT TO KNOW THE COLOR OF THEIR COSTUMES?#marauder's spiderman au

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read-write-thrive · 3 months ago

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Charles Rowland Week Day Four - Alive/headcanon

I ended up having to skip Day 3 bc my health is shit rn but I’m back for day four of @charles-rowland-week !!!! (definitely on the later side but shhhh let me have this) With everything going on I don’t have much time for fic writing and it felt like a cop out to just list my Charles headcanons (not to mention I have zero capacity for creativity rn so it would just be regurgitating from elsewhere on my blog). Ultimately I was inspired by the WIP games going around and decided to give y’all a sneak peak into my “Best Friend’s Brother” fic!!! I’ve also talked about this fic here if it sounds familiar lol. The whole fic is one big exploration of a headcanon I have for when Charles was alive so it felt fitting. It’s short but hope y’all enjoy ❤️

~~~

Charles didn’t have a lot of fond memories from when he was alive. I mean, feels a bit dark and depressing to put it like that, but it was true. His life hadn’t been a walk in the park. His dad was shit, his mom looked the other way, and pretty much anything potentially good was tainted by that. Friends in primary school? Not allowed to come over to his house, which meant he stopped getting invited to others’, which meant said friendships didn’t last. Cricket games? Even when they won it was bittersweet to see that neither of his parents had bothered to show up. Dating as he got a bit older? Couldn’t exactly bring a girl home, now could he? So he made sure it never got that far. It wasn’t hard, in the end. Relationships prior to age seventeen rarely last long enough to go home and meet the parents anyway. He assumed that sort of thing came as you got older, but he wouldn’t ever find out in the end.

Anyway, all that to say he didn’t have a lot of happy memories. But there were a few, and he’d come to cherish them more and more over the years. Meeting Edwin was always top of the list (yeah, he’d died, whatever) but there were a few outside of that too. The only time he got to meet his maternal grandmother, for example. She’d flown into London for Charles’s sixth birthday (which coincided with the wedding preparations for one of his mom’s cousins, if he remembered rightly, which made it a more worthwhile trip) and stayed for a whole week. The entire time she was around, Charles latched onto her side and refused to leave, as she gave him sweets and prevented his father from hitting him. Those punishments came back around once she left, of course, but it was still one of his favourite memories. He always reminisces about it around his birthday, or when around sweets, or when he runs into people speaking Hindi or Punjabi. All of which happened somewhat frequently in London—for better or worse for Charles’s mental health.

#charles rowland #Charles rowland bfb #charles rowland best friend’s brother #fic wip #charles rowland week #fic snippet #back on my Charles’s family is Punjabi thing #which I also included in my fic where his parents died #(don’t ask me the title I have no idea)#dead boy detectives #dbda #dead boy detective agency #save dead boy detectives #bisexual charles rowland #charles rowland’s bi awakening my beloved

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pinnaclegrouplondon · 6 months ago

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#indian in london #NRI Property Consultant in UK #Sell Online Property in India #NRI Selling Property In India #nri property management services #real estate #property sell #punjabi in london

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r473n · 4 months ago

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What was original Mayuri's hair color in SOULs?

Ahhh, very good question! So SOULs is loosely set in London, which is very multicultural, so really could have chosen any hair colour. But I wanted to keep Mayuri's skin tone dark, so in this particular HC, he's of Pakistani descent. His parents are first-generation immigrants who came to the uk before having him. He speaks Urdu and Punjabi perfectly well, tho! And his hair is a dark brown that he totally hates since he was a child because it's too common. It's also very hard to bleach past that bright yellow stage, so when he first started trying to dye it blue as a teen, it used to come out green! 🤭

Thanks for the question!! 💙😊

#mayuri kurotsuchi #bleach fanfiction #Souls

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bombaybistro · 2 months ago

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Experience authentic Indian cuisine at Bombay Bistro, the best Indian restaurant in London, Ontario. From rich curries and tandoori delights to flavorful biryanis and fresh naan, we bring you a true taste of India. Our expertly crafted dishes use traditional spices and high-quality ingredients to deliver an unforgettable dining experience. Whether you prefer dine-in, takeout, or delivery, enjoy the finest Indian food in London, Ontario.

#best-indian-restaurant-in-london-ontario #best-indian-food-in-london-ontario #punjabi-restaurant-london-ontario #indian-restaurant-london-ontario #indian-meal-box #meal-delivery-service-in-london-ontario

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jalebi-weds-bluetooth · 10 months ago

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Saheb, Bibi Aur Ghulaam

For IPKKND’s 13th anniversary, hosted by the lovelies @arshifiesta

1903, Kolkata

Nandkisore sat by the ghats, watching the sun set on the Ganges. Devotees offered prayers while lovers sat in the ferries, gently bobbing from one end of the river bank to the other.

Not too many summers ago he had arrived, with barely a paisa in his pocket, and only a few local words that he had picked from fellow travellers.

“What were you thinking about sahab?” Mohan, his rickshaw puller, asked. Nandkisore chuckled at being referred as a sahab. It would take him some time to get used to that honorific. Granted, his patent for a new type of printer at the printing press gave him a financial security that his ancestors had never seen, but that couldn’t really make him a sahab.

Nandkisore pointed to the sprawling mansion across the river.

Sheesh Mahal

Owned by the richest zamindar in the city. By a true sahab - Arnav Mullick.

“Oh Maa! Did you know him? Were you both friends? Is that how you learned how to make money?” Mohan asked.

“No, Arnav sahab was my employer,” Nandkisore said. The formidable Arnav Mullick was nobody’s friend but his kindest, sweetest wife was the closest friend Nandkisore ever had.

And the only thing he learned in the godforsaken house was tragedy.

— — —

1897, Kolkata

The white marbles and mirrors of Sheesh Mahal made it stand like a diamond amidst the city. A step into the haveli and one would think another city lived inside it. Water fountains to an army of servant, Nandkisore hoped to find some employment within that army.

As a Punjabi lad he struggled to find meaning between all the Bengali words thrown left and right at him, but he was able to piece together what all the househelp agreed on.

Since he hadn’t seen the haveli in entirety yet, he must see the central courtyard! Chhote sahab, although strict, disposed the idea of servants not being allowed in certain areas or using separate cutlery.

Huh, it was surprising that in a house of two brothers it was the younger one that wielded more power.

But why would anyone be surprised? Given his progressive ideals that made him a favorite amongst the workers and a sore in the eye among other zamindars, London return Chhote sahab brought the financially wrought Mullick household into prosperity.

The househelp clearly favoured him, reciting some of his speeches as well. For those who blamed modernization and London as an influence for his liberalism, he laughed that studying the English and seeing the effects of their Industrial Revolution opened his eyes in ways one could never imagine.

So Nandkisore was eager to meet Chhote Sahab. But before that - a trip to the main courtyard. There were whispers of tapestry belonging from the Mughal eras, intricate woodwork that took countless hours and men to produce, ingenious architecture that illuminated the courtyard at all times of the day.

Except nothing caught Nandkisore’s eyes apart from the lady in red, sitting on a swing.

“That’s Choto boumaa,” one whispered.

Nandkisore reddened, for having admired the wife of Chhote Sahab. But there was a genuine goodness in her that radiated an aura of kindness, of childishness.

Little bells chimed in the air as the youngest bride of the house swung high, her alta stained feet adorned with heavy payals, a Jalebi in her hand.

None could ever look at her with an evil eye. She was a good person. He knew it. He believed in it.

The bahu nearly jumped off the swing when a babu appeared. Given the way he strode to her with two helpers who had a pile of gifts - sarees and jewleries - that must be Chhote Sahab!

Then why did a chill run up Nandkisore’s spine?

“Dada, you have no business gifting things to my vwife.” A man strode into the courtyard, his gait enough to frighten the babu’s two helpers.

Tall, sharp nosed and not a hair out of place. His eyes held an icy wrath that could shake the soul out of any ordinary man. Nandkisore knew that that man had to Chhote Sahab.

Then who was the other man? And why was he gifting Chhoto Boumaa?

A bile rose up in NK’s through as understanding dawned.

“A wife who spends all her time alone? Perhaps you and I aren’t that different Chhote,” The babu scoffed.

“If I find you, again, near my wife, then you can find yourself another home.” The young bride cowered behind her husband - clenching her saree in anxiety.

“ARNAV! HOW DARE YOU!”

“Keep your voice down Shyam Mullick, if it wasn’t for boudi’s plea then…”

Of course, the other babu was Barrister Shyam Mullick. The older son, the heir eclipsed by his younger brother.

Shyam threw the gifts aside and stormed off. Nandkisore breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God Chhote Sahab had arrived in time, if not then Chhoto Boumaa would have had to deal with the sleaze of a brother in law-

“Your greed has no end, does it?” She yelped, her arms in Arnav’s brutal grip.

“Na, na ami-” her soft pleas for mercy had no audience in him.

Nandkisore dropped a metal bowl and ducked, Arnav sprang apart from his wife and walked away, while the fragile woman picked up the fallen Jalebi from the floor to put it away.

Her eyes were full of tears, and Nandkisore rued on the fate she had. Her home had two men who abused her and she had nowhere to run.

He was thankful Chhote sahab didn’t see him drop the bowl.

He was careful to tiptoe away.

“Darao,” he halted at Chhoto Boumaa’s order. She studied his face for a moment.

“Shukriya,” she whispered.

“Oh no no, please Chhoti Malkin-”

“Call me Khushi please,”

— — —

A/N; finally!!! Here’s my little contribution to the festival! Enjoy enjoy and let me know your thoughts 😊

#ipkknd #ipkknd fanfic #ipk 13th anniversary fiesta #Jalebi writes

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