#tesco stuffing

[hometoursandotherstuff]

[happy-mokka]

My children!!!

The cost of living is so bad Tesco can’t even afford a horse meat scandal and had to resort to moths

[russo-woso]

Would you please do an Esme Morgan x reader, where her teammates are meeting her girlfriend for the first time. Maybe Esme's teammates are prepared to be protective of Esme and give R older sister speechs until it turns out she's just as soft and sweet as Esme.

I told you | Esme Morgan x reader

Summary Esme’s teammates meet you for the first time and realise you’re just as big a softie as Esme is

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“So Es, when are you going to bring your secret girlfriend to meet us?” Alex’s scouse accent filled the food hall as the Man City girls ate their lunch.

“I’ve managed to get her tickets to the match against United next week.” Esme replied and all the girls smiled, knowing they could finally meet you.

You, the girl who Esme couldn’t stop talking about.

“I can’t wait to sit down and talk to her. She best be ready for it. I’m gonna tell her that if she ever hurts you or a single hair on your head, she’s dead. I know I’m known for breaking my own nose, but I’m also just as good as breaking other peoples’ noses.” Alanna spoke up and a light hum of agreement was heard throughout the team.

“She’s dead if she hurts you.” Jill agreed, a stern and serious tone in her voice.

“She is so sweet, please don’t scare her away. She means so much to me. I can’t lose her.” Esme defended, a smile appearing as she thought of you.

“As long as she treats you right, then it’s fine.” Steph added and all the girls nodded in agreement.

“She does, I promise. Tell them, Hempster.” Esme commanded, knowing Lauren had met you since Lauren and Esme shared a house.

“She is. She’s just like Esme.” Lauren stated before adding more in. “They’re perfect for each other.”

“We’ll see.” Alanna

————————

“Hi, baby.” You greeted Esme as she opened the door.

“Hi Y/N bear.” She responded, bringing you in for a hug and a kiss.

“I bought these for you.” You told her, showing her the bouquet of flowers. “And I also bought this for you. I walked past it in tescos and I thought of you.” You explained, showing her the small stuffed teddy bear.

“Thank you so much, baby.” Esme said, nearly in tears at your thoughtfulness. She pecked your lips once more before letting you walk in.

After a movie and cuddles on the sofa, Esme tensed up remembering the conversation with her teammates earlier.

“Y/N, baby, you know you’re coming to my match on the weekend?” Esme started and you hummed in response, pressing a kiss to her head. “I told my teammates and they really want to meet you. Of course, it’s up to you. And you don’t have to give me an answer now but it’s—”

“Es, take a breath, love. It’s fine. I promise. I love you and if getting to love your means I have to go through your teammates, then tell them to bring it on. I love you so much, Esme, and that means that I’d do anything for you.” You told her, stroking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before placing a soft kiss on her lips.

“And by the way, the whole team thinks you’re going to hurt Esme so be prepared.” Lauren laughed as she watched the whole thing from the other couch.

You just looked at Esme, confusion written on your face, as Esme shrugged whispering that she’d explain it to you later.

————————

After an eventful Manchester derby, the nerves started to kick in as you waited to meet all Esme’s teammates.

To city’s luck and pure talent, they won the derby 3-1, managing to get the ball past Mary Earps 3 times.

As soon as the match ended, Esme made her way to you.

“Essy bear, you played so well. I’m so proud of you.” You said, enveloping her in a hug.

“I only played 15 minutes.” Esme pointed out, a smile wide on her face, identical to the one on yours.

“I know but you didn’t let any balls past you.” You told her, taking a piece of grass off her forehead, and kissing the place it was in.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Esme admitted and you rested a hand on her cheek, gently rubbing your thumb over it.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Now where’s them teammates of yours? I’ve been preparing myself to take them on.” You joked and Esme let out a soft giggle, taking your hand in hers as she led you down to the pitch.

“Y/N!” Lauren cheered as she spotted you walking towards the team.

“Hi, Hempster. Well done on the win.” You said to her, bringing her in for a hug.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“Hempster, don’t go stealing my girlfriend now.” Esme warned as you and Lauren still hugged.

Esme tickled your sides as you laughed and clung onto Esme.

“Es, stop it.” You giggled, as Esme planted kisses on your face.

“Why? Can I not kiss my gorgeous girlfriend?” Esme asked, a grin taking over her face.

“Of course you can but not when you’re all sweaty.” You said, placing a final kiss on her lips.

The whole team watched from afar, realising that they were all wrong about their thoughts.

You really were another Esme.

“Gonna introduce her, Es?” Chloe asked, and Esme nodded.

“Everyone, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is the team.” Esme introduced you and you smiled at the whole team.

“Hi everyone. I’ve been so excited to meet you all. Esme’s constantly talking about all of you and it’s so nice to finally get to meet the people she’s been talking about. Congratulations on the win as well. It was such an exciting match to watch.” You said, a smile on your face the whole entire time.

“Maybe I won’t be breaking your nose any time soon. It’s nice to meet, Y/N.” Alanna greeted and your eyebrows furrowed at her statement.

“Breaking my nose?” You asked, confused.

“I thought you were gonna be some drug dealing alcoholic that was gonna break Esme’s heart.” Alanna explained casually and you nodded in understanding.

“I can assure you that I’m not. And before you all have talks with me, I’m not going to hurt Esme. I’d rather die than ever hurt Esme. Esme is my whole heart, I couldn’t be without her.” You told them all as Esme’s heart warmed.

“I couldn’t be without you either, Y/N.” Esme said, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek.

“Right, we get it. You two are madly in love. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N, welcome to the team.”

“I told you she was another Esme.” Lauren spoke up, grinning at her teammates.

You had a huge smile on your face, and so did Esme.

You had been welcomed into the team although you couldn’t kick a ball to save your life.

And Esme was so happy that you had been accepted by her family, and the fact that she had you in her life.

[fourmoony]

hii so i was thinking could you write smth with james getting flowers for the first time from reader? it would be soo cute

hi lovely! thanks for requesting.

james x reader fluff | 711

James' shoes are haphazardly abandoned beneath the coatrack when you push your way through the door.

You're holding two bags in each hand, the crinkling of them loud in your ears as you struggle to move through the door way. The coat rack wobbles when one of the bags catches a coat that's been thrown over the top and you let out an exasperated swear under your breath. James rounds the corner with curious eyes, already changed out of his work clothes despite having only been home for what you know to be twenty minutes. He looks cozy in his Christmas pyjamas, socks pulled up with the bottoms tucked into them.

He smiles bright when your eyes meet his and steps forwards to take two of the bags from your hands. You hand them over gratefully, smiling to yourself when his lips press to your head in greeting.

"Hi, lovey," He murmurs, pulling away to make for the kitchen.

You follow, hot on his heels, chasing the scent of his boyish body wash and the warmth of his heart. "Hi. How was your day?"

James sets his bags on the kitchen island and you follow suit, "It was good. Got lunch with Sirius. He sends his love."

"No Remus?" You ask as you fall into a practiced routine of putting away the shopping, together.

It's domesticity at it's finest and you love every minute of it. James has a way of making the smallest things mean the world. With him, things like changing bed sheets or folding laundry isn't so boring. Simply because he's there, soft voiced and willing to help.

He squeezes your hip as he passes, headed to put the milk in the fridge, "Nah, he's got a deadline to meet next week, probably won't crawl out of his hole until after."

You make a mental note to check in on him through the week, even just to tidy up around him while he works, make him a meal that has more nutritional value than a Tesco microwave meal or a kebab. "I hope he's feeling more inspired than last week. Marlene said he was staring at the wall for over an hour when she went round to drop off the shortbread Mary made."

James hums in agreement, rustling around in the second bag. Cellophane crackles and your boyfriend makes a questioning noise - "Lovey, why didn't you tell me your flowers were dying, I only bought them last week."

You turn from where you're trying to stuff a bag of oven chips into the overly stuffed freezer drawer, eyebrows drawn together because your flowers aren't dying so why is James saying that they are? His eyebrows are furrowed, too, and he's standing with a bunch of bright yellow sun flowers in his hand. You smile, "They're for you, silly. Not me."

As if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

It only makes James more confused. "Why?"

Well, for starters, they're big and beautiful, and remind you of a summer's day - same as James. Secondly, he'd said only last week that his mum had grown them in her garden when he was a young boy and he missed the sight dearly. You tell him this and watch as his big hazel eyes turn soft, the hand that isn't cradling the bunch of flowers reaching out for you.

You crowd his space, happy to be so close to him, all cozy and warm and smelling so handsome. The tops of his cheeks are pink and he's smiling so wide it makes your heart melt. He looks almost bashful.

"I've never had someone buy me flowers before." He says it so quietly you're not sure if you were even supposed to hear.

"Well," You press your lips to the underside of his jaw, "Now you have."

He smiles even wider, presses his lips to yours and you feel the familiar warmth spread through your body at his touch. His fingers brush along your waist line, eyes on his bright bunch of sun flowers.

"Thanks, baby."

His smile is sweet and sticky like honey, a familiar feeling in your chest, and all you want to do is kiss him again. So you do. He welcomes it.

"You're welcome, Jamie."

[penny-anna]

big tesco nearby did a re-organise some time ago so now the chocolate counter is stuffed in a corner beside the back door which is an awkward location in and of itself but bcos there's no trolley return at the back door and people (reasonably) don't wanna go all the way around it has become the location for dumping trolleys so now if you want a bar of chocolate you generally have to squeeze down a 1-foot gap between the counter and all the trolleys. and thats if ppl have been putting them away sensibly, sometimes you have to actively wade through a sea of loose trolleys. disgusting.

[binch-i-might-be]

ok nevermind I packed my four pairs of socks, two shirts, and two pants, and it took like three minutes

can someone pack my shit for me I don't wanna

[loadedberetta]

imagine any of the 141 at like a Tesco- bear with me here. buying a giant stuffed animal their partner (you) requested for Christmas. they'd look fucking ridiculous carrying that thing around.

but anything for you :))

[emerald-hobbit]

Procrastination at it's finest is stopping writing a fic to figure out a headcanon for John Constantine's preferred Tesco meal deal choice, and then posting said headcanon to Tumblr.

Here's what I came up with:

Chicken, Bacon and Stuffing sandwich

Either a Dr Pepper or a Red Bull depending on the day he's having

And either a Snickers or cheese and onion hula hoops

[raina-at]

Bu the Blue

When Sherlock opens the door to 221B, he finds the Watsons in a highly uncharacteristic state of agitation. The sitting room looks like a tsunami hit it, and while this is not in and of itself unusual (John always says Sherlock and Rosie together equal a mid-sized hurricane), normally Rosie achieves that chaos while happily playing, but she’s sitting in the midst of the chaos and crying her eyes out. John’s tossing things around the room, obviously frantically searching for something.

When he spies Sherlock, he immediately stops. “Thank Christ you’re home!!” he exclaims, walking over to Sherlock and all but collapsing against him.

“What happened?” Sherlock asks, catching his distraught husband in his arms, while Rosie runs towards him, still crying, and hugs his legs.

“Bu’s gone, Papa, you have to help us!” Rosie yells, holding on to his legs for dear life and wiping her tear-and-snot-streaked face on his coat. 

Oh no, Sherlock thinks. Bu is Rosie’s favourite stuffed animal, a ratty old blue elephant of apparently German origin. She’s had him since she was eighteen months old. John loves to tell the story how she ‘rescued’ him out of a department store toy bin, a bit moth-eaten and slightly disgusting, but she fell in love with him immediately and the saleswomen there were so enamoured of her that they let her keep him. She called him Bu because that was the nearest she came to the word blue at eighteen months and the name stuck. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere,” John adds, gesturing at the sitting room. “He’s not here, not upstairs, or in our room, or at Mrs Hudson’s.”

Sherlock scoops up Rosie and hands her a tissue. “Calm down, Watson, we’ll find him.”

“But, Papa, he’s out there all alone!” Rosie wails.

Sherlock decides it’s time to take charge. He strides into the flat, sets Rosie down into the client chair, gestures for John to sit in his chair, and takes his own place to complete the triangle.

“From the beginning, please. When did you first notice he was missing?”

“When we got to the flat and unpacked the groceries,” John answers.

“And you’re sure you had him when you left daycare?” Sherlock asks Rosie, steeping his fingers under his chin in his classic thinking pose. 

Rosie nods. She’s calmed down considerably, and she’s now sitting up straighter, obviously proud of being treated like a client. 

“Where did you go, Waitrose or Tesco?” Sherlock continues the interrogation.

“Tesco,” Rosie answers. “But I’m sure I had him when we left, I was feeding him a banana.”

“Well, then the answer is obvious. He’s at Speedy’s.”

John and Rosie stare at him, surprised. “How did you know we went to Speedy’s?” Rosie asks, obviously awed.

“Easy. There’s a cocoa stain on your dress, and Daddy’s breath smells of coffee. He never has coffee unless it’s from Speedy’s. You went in to pick up some cupcakes to have after dinner to celebrate my coming home from Glasgow today. You sat down, had a bit of a chat with Mr Chatterjee and left Bu lying on the chair next to you. And if I’m not completely mistaken,” he adds as he walks to the door, “That’s Mr Chatterjee now, hurrying up the stairs with Bu.”

He opens the door, and indeed, there’s Mr Chatterjee, looking surprised, with his hand in the air as if he was about to knock on the door to 221B. His other hand is holding Bu. 

Rosie squeals and runs towards Mr Chatterjee, who hands her the toy and accepts her enthusiastic thanks.

“Brilliant!” 

Sherlock turns around and makes a face at John. “Elementary.”

“Thank you, Papa!” Rosie yells, throwing herself in Sherlock’s arms.

“It was nothing, Watson.”

“You’re a genius, Papa! I’m going to tell all of my friends how you found Bu tomorrow. Now they’ll know who to come to when they lose their toys!”

John grins. “Tell them Papa likes to be paid in ice lollies. Now go wash your face, love, you look all splotchy.”

Rosie runs off, dragging Bu behind her.

Sherlock sags into his chair, suddenly exhausted.

“This one’s going on the blog,” John says as he starts straightening the sitting room. 

“Don’t you dare. It’s bad enough that her entire daycare class will now require me to find their sorry belongings. Also, I’ve been home almost fifteen minutes and I’ve yet to get a kiss.”

“Sorry, how absolutely horrid of me,” John says, leaning down for a kiss. “Welcome home, love.”

“Additionally,” Sherlock says, pulling John into his lap, “I don’t accept ice lollies as payment. Ginger nuts or nothing.”

John laughs. “All out of ginger nuts, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll work out an alternative payment plan for you,” Sherlock mutters before pulling John in for a proper welcome home kiss.

“Daddy! Papa! Gross!” Rosie yells as she re-enters the room.

John rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know, your parents love each other. Disgusting.” He pecks Sherlock on the lips once more, and Sherlock lets him go reluctantly. “Now let’s see about dinner.”

Sherlock watches the two Watsons bicker good-naturedly about what to make for dinner as he sinks back into his chair and breathes. 

It’s good to be home. 

A bit of parentlock fluff to recover from the angst of yesterday. Did I model the story of how Rosie got Bu after how my son got one of his most beloved stuffed animals? Yes I did.

Also, this one's for the German-speaking world out there, because Bu is, of course, the elephant from Die Sendung mit der Maus.

Here's a picture:

This was written for the May prompts by @notjustamumj, today's prompt was Blue.

I'm tagging the German-speaking crowd I know of, @khorazir @meetinginsamarra @catlock-holmes @the-reading-lemon (i think) (I hope I didn't forget anyone).

And a few non-German speakers as well. Do you have The Mouse outside of Germany and Austria?

@helloliriels @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @jrow @fluffbyday-smutbynight @peanitbear

[mollymagician]

Okay, there’s an hour left of Valentines Day. I wanted to post a present, because I am so grateful to this fandom. You got me drawing again. You got me WRITING again. After YEARS.

I love you. Have some fic.

…………………………………………………………………….

If you asked Hob what he loved most about living, he could easily give you as many different answers as there were days contained in his 600 years of life. But there was one that he always came back to, again and again (and not just because he was a teacher now and felt obligated)- you just never run out of new things to learn.

Today, for instance, on his meandering walk home from campus, Hob discovered he’d finally learned how not to jump clear out of his skin every time Dream appeared next to him out of thin bloody air.

Dream’s boot hit the ground in perfect step with Hob straight out of the ether, as though they’d been strolling together for an hour.  Dream quirked one of his small smiles, hands tucked in his pockets. And there it was. Another thing Hob had learned over the years. That certain…was it even a look? It was more of an aura, if anything. The aura that surrounded Dream of the Endless when he was attempting to look innocent.

“Hullo, love,” Hob said, and quirked an eyebrow. “Wasn’t expecting this pleasure today.”

Dream slanted him an amused look. “I found myself with unexpected free time”

“Did you now?”

“Yes. And unexpectedly…inspired.” The smile grew, just enough to crinkle the corner of his eyes. (Oh, some sort of shenanigans were obviously afoot.) He gestured at the extra load Hob was bogged down with. “Do you need assistance carrying any of…this?”

Hob laughed, the kind of laugh that would have come with a compulsive ear tug if he hadn’t been trying hard to break the habit for the past decade or so. Aside from the usual satchel loaded with laptop and papers and other academic debris, he was hauling a bag filled with what looked like half the candy aisle of Tesco, along with at least one bunch of flowers, a small balloon on a stick that read #1 TEACHER and some sort of furry stuffed creature. “Valentines day, “He huffed. “The kids are sweethearts, really. But I have no idea how I’m going to eat all of this. Probably going to have to leave half of it in the break room at the Inn, get everyone else as sugared up as I am.”

He barely heard Dream’s soft, rumbled laughter. “They appreciate you.” Hob grinned down at his shoes and Dream shifted to brush their shoulders just the smallest bit. A quiet moment, and then, very very softly, “You are very…easy to appreciate.”

Goddammit. Hobs breath streamed out in the snappy air as he opened his mouth, shut it, cleared his throat. If his face hadn’t already been red from the chill, it damn well would be now.

Dream went on. “Your student’s appreciation was very sweet. And. In some cases, very loud. Today.” He tipped back his chin to look at the clouds scudding by.

“Aha.” Hobs grin bloomed. “Inspiration, you said. I see. You were…appreciating how inspiring my student’s appreciation was.”

“Perhaps.” Innocent.

Hob felt a wave of something familiar and impossible to smother, a kind of unbearable fondness, well up from the core of himself. Acting on impulse, he thrust his hand into the sack propped against his hip and came up with a…heart-shaped lolly. Of course. Swirled in shades of blue and orange that looked like it would give you some kind of radioactive superpower if this was a comic. Lucky for him it wasn’t. He grinned and handed it over with a wink. “Well, I’d appreciate if you’d help me eat some of this. Seeing as how you’re here.”

Dream took it with an unreadable expression.

“It won’t irradiate you,” Hob said. “Er…probably.”

“Hmm.” Dream stated at it. He twirled it between his fingers. Then he tugged the wrapper off and, with great deliberation, slid it into his mouth.

Hob swallowed. “I, uhh-“

And was cut off by a loud crunch.

Dream removed the stick from his mouth, completely devoid of lolly. He crunched a few more times, thoughtful. “That was….not terrible.”

A laugh burst loose from Hobs chest, only slightly breathless. “Bloody hell, you’re one of those lunatics who just crushes it right off, aren’t you? That wins first place for best new fact I’ve learned today.” At dreams blank look, he elaborated, “Sweets. You’re a cruncher. Heh, you know, that’s something I wouldn’t have thought, love, considering how you….uh…”

Dream said, “Hob.”

“Home!” Hob clapped his hands together, brightly. “Right! Lets go home! I’m freezing.”

“That is,” Dream intoned, “an inspired idea.”

“What the hell flavor is that, anyway?” Hob asked. Dream looked down at the empty stick, thoughtful. “I honestly don’t know.” He raised his gaze back to Hob, eyes so very bright. And, oh, the crinkle was back. “Perhaps you can tell me.”

When their mouths came together it was nearly hard enough to upset the bag all over the sidewalk.

Later that night-

“Dream, love, what are you doing, digging through all that?”

“I….nothing.” Innocent.

“Heh. Okay, fine. Let’s dump it, I’m sure there’s another one in there somewhere.”

[jomiddlemarch]

With you nothing is simple yet nothing is simpler 

Rose stood before her, drooping, her braids coming undone, shoes scuffed, a new rip in her overalls, giving Hermione a look of absolute incredulity when faced with the undeniable truth:

Hermione had forgotten to pack snacks. 

She didn’t even have a bloody Polo mint somewhere in the recesses of her beaded bag, Transfigured to look like an ordinary mum’s ordinary leather handbag, designed to carry her through her day at the Ministry and any trips she might make to Muggle London. 

Forget about something healthy. 

She had planned to rely on the water fountain, that wasn’t another complete miss on her part.

She opened her mouth to begin the explanation-slash-apology that would not satisfy either one of them. Rose already had that furrow in her little brow that meant she planned to invoke Nan, which only ever meant Molly, and how important Nan said it was for growing human beans to have good homegrown food and not that muck Mum bought from Tesco’s.

“I have plenty, if she’s hungry. The fruit’s already cut, it won’t keep, and these pesto egg muffin bite things he said he liked yesterday, so of course I’ve gone and made far too many.”

That was Draco Malfoy, sitting on the bench just next to hers, a rucksack and some sort of sport-inspired hamper beside him, unable to resist rubbing it in, that he was a better prepared and more attentive parent than she was, the he his neatly and comfortably dressed five year old son Scorpius, who somehow made the jersey and shorts he wore look like the ideal outfit for a Wizarding child. His fringe was the proper length and not slicked back with some imported pomade like Draco’s had been for the first three years at Hogwarts, and he was busy constructing something tower-like from the stones, twigs and other assorted detritus he’d scoured the park for while Rose ran around, screaming like a banshee and climbing halfway up a tree before scuttling down again before Hermione had to call out to tell her too high, Rose!

Hermione turned her head to convert her explanation-slash-apology into a far more gratifying coldly cutting retort that she had to trust to inspiration to supply, since she had nothing approaching the moral high ground, when she actually looked at Draco’s face, which was tilted in an encouraging and frankly kind manner, and consider the tone of his voice, which had been commiserating and not the least judgmental. Hermione was quite familiar with the myriad shades of judgment and Draco’s voice hadn’t held even one.

He was also incredibly fit.

(That wasn’t really relevant to her decision-making, but it was note-worthy as a general fact.)

“Rose, Mr. Malfoy has some fruit if you want a snack. And something else tasty and homemade, just like Nan would have given you for tea,” Hermione said. Rose sized up Draco in an instant, pivoted to rifle through the sporty hamper, retrieved a little baggie of apple slices and another of the unexpectedly attractive pesto egg bites that reminded Hermione she’d also forgotten lunch and a stale ginger biscuit at her desk was going to have to hold her until after Rose was asleep.

Again.

“Ta,” Rose said, about to fly. It was impossible that she wouldn’t be Quidditch-mad. 

“Rose,” Hermione said. 

“Thank you, Mr. M’Foy,” Rose said. It was anyone’s guess if she would have gotten Malfoy correct without her mouth half stuffed with Braeburn. 

“You’re quite welcome,” Draco said.

Hermione nodded and Rose scrambled away, as fast as her hand-me-down trainers could take her.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. Her wild magic on an empty stomach is terrifying,” Hermione said. Was she bragging about Rose’s magic, when she’d heard rumors Scorpius Malfoy might be a Squib? Probably and she wasn’t proud of it, but that wasn’t unfamiliar either.

“I find them terrifying full-stop,” Draco said. “Adorable, would lay down my life for him in a heartbeat, makes me question every decision my own parents ever made on my behalf, but terrifying nonetheless.”

Hermione laughed. It was the first time she could remember laughing at something Draco said without there being any seething vitriol or tearful desperation she’d had to tamp down or put aside. It felt…nice.

“I have a bit more sympathy for my parents,” she offered. “My wild magic started when I was a toddler and they had no idea what to make of it. No context at all. My mother told me, during out sixth year, that she’d thought she was losing her mind. I was well on my way to inventing Leviosa before I got a hold of the first year spellbooks.”

“Yes, I can see how that might be where one would go. Madness, that is,” he said. There was a frankly companionable silence between the two of them and then he spoke again. “Sometimes, I can’t help regretting it.”

“Regretting what?”

“I love him, with all that I am, my heart and soul and magic. And I can’t help regretting sometimes I agreed to it, having him when I, when we did,” he said. He turned away slightly, so that she saw him in profile, a face like a god’s on a coin, the straight nose, the full lower lip, his jaw held tightly. 

“Why are you telling me?” she asked.

“For one, I don’t think you can think any worse of me than you already do, so that makes you perfect for such a shameful admission,” he said, shrugging. “Secondly, you let your daughter eat the snacks I made. Not that I’m trying to make you feel like you owe me something, that I’ve caught you out. You trusted me with your child, that’s what I meant.”

“I think you underestimate how I think of you,” she said slowly.

“Is that better or worse? Do you mean you think well of me and now I’ve dropped in your estimation? Or did I somehow go from sniveling worm beneath your heel to abysmal slime-mold you wouldn’t use your wand to scrape off with magic from said heel?”

He sounded resigned, amused, self-deprecating. His voice was low, a rich baritone, only a little of that drawl he’d had at Hogwarts left. The perfect amount. 

“I wear flats unless I’m in court,” she said. “I don’t hold the past against you anymore, we were children, child-soldiers, pawns moved around by people who should have known better. Played a better game of Wizarding chess, given that it was our lives they used. I regret it, myself, having her so young, though I don’t let myself think it if I can help it. I can’t, if I want to keep being a decent mother.”

“You are clearly an exceptionally fine mother. Why did you do it? You’re Hermione Granger, you don’t make decisions you regret,” he said.

Now she laughed, a bitter sound, that kept the tears in her eyes from spilling. 

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Or read,” she said. “I lost my parents in the war. They were both only children, my grandparents were gone a long time ago. Rose was my one chance to have a family, someone who belonged to me.”

“I’m terribly sorry. I hadn’t heard they’d died,” he said.

“They’re alive. Just…lost. Turns out, if you do a thorough enough Obliviation, there’s no return. The person they were before is effectively dead. They’re just not sad about it. That’s for other people,” Hermione said.

“Astoria told me it was her dying wish to have a child, even though it would kill her,” Draco said.

“That’s why you agreed?”

“No. I refused when she said that. She used blood magic, from the binding. Once that was done, it was either lose them both or just her,” he said. “She didn’t know that for sure, there was plausible deniability and we’d said someday. She made someday happen sooner than I thought possible.”

“You loved her,” Hermione offered. She’d never met Astoria, who’d been a few years behind them at Hogwarts and in Ravenclaw, had only a dim memory of the photo that had been in the Prophet when the marriage was announced, a slim, dark-haired young woman wearing a lot of lace standing next to Draco, who’d been all in black. Wizards wore all sorts of things to funerals. Only Hermione saw him in mourning at his wedding.

“In a way. I hated her too. I didn’t want to be either of my parents and I didn’t know how to be anything else,” he said. “My parents were overjoyed, a Malfoy heir, no miscarriages, no stillbirths. A healthy Pureblood baby. That’s quite rare, all the inbreeding, you understand. They think Astoria was a paragon of virtue and also, they didn’t give a damn about her.”

Scorpius ran over and stretched out a hand to show Draco a stone. It was an unremarkable piece of quartz, though it did catch the light.

“What a find, love. You can bring it home if you like or leave it here. You could even hide it, like goblin treasure,” Draco said, studying the stone, reaching out to straighten the collar of Scorpius’s jersey. He touched Scorpius’s cheek fondly, but he didn’t try to wipe the smear of dirt there, nor did he say anything about his son’s grubby hands. Hermione recalled what a pristine child he’d been, all silver and green, how he’d stand between his parents, very still, as if a portrait were being painted. 

“Hide it—” Scorpius said and darted back over to the field, just at the edge where a copse of trees stood, shadows beckoning. The whole playground was heavily warded and there were monitoring spells St. Mungo used for observation. It was safe enough to let him run away.

“That’s what I thought,” Draco said, shooting her that familiar parental glance, proud and powerless. 

“Ron begged me not to end the pregnancy. It wasn’t planned. The Healers said the curse damage I suffered from Bellatrix was unpredictable, the interactions with contraceptive charms and potions would have made them less effective. It wasn’t my fault, except I never told them I hadn’t bothered with any spells or potions, so it was, in a way. I didn’t care and then I did. I told Ron I was pregnant and he told me he was gay and in love with Theo and it would break his mother’s heart if he never gave her a grandchild. My parents were gone. Harry and Ginny were expecting, Andromeda was raising Teddy, Bill and Fleur just had Victoire. It was easier to say yes. It made so many people happy and Ron did what he said he would,” Hermione said. Andromeda knew most of it, but Hermione had never told anyone all of it, certainly not in one sitting, not sitting on a park bench in the weak English sunshine, without a Polo mint to her name. Augusta Longbottom had said Hermione should do as she liked but it was rare to see such a strong magical signature in the first trimester, though likely it would happen again, for a witch of her abilities. Likely hadn’t seemed like a good enough bet, not when Ron’s blue eyes had pled with her and he’d held her hands in his instead of touching her completely flat stomach. 

“What he said he would?” Draco repeated. He sounded encouraging, not nosy. Not prepared to made a rude remark about Ron or the Weasley family as a whole. It felt…good.

“Molly wanted me to name her Frederica. Winifred. Or Elfreda. It was ghastly. Even I knew Fred would have loathed it. Ron put his foot down and told her we weren’t doing that to a baby and that I had final say on her name. Then he came out to them, Molly and Arthur, so the name part receded as something anyone cared that much about,” Hermione said. “I don’t have to tell you how Purebloods feel about that, however warm and Muggle-forward they seem to be.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco said.

“There was a lot of screaming. Arthur finally told Molly to be grateful she had a son alive to tell her what made him happy and she piped down,” Hermione said. “She started knitting a jersey for Theo as soon as Ron let it slip they were involved. It was a little forced, but I think the knitting settled her down, let her feel like she was back in charge of the family. Molly had a great need for that.”

“Ah, the famous Weasley jersey,” Draco said.

“Infamous is more like it,” she replied. “Fleur won’t wear hers at all. But she’s married to Bill, so she can get away with it.”

“I gather you don’t have the same option,” he said.

“Molly watches Rose when Ron and Theo and I are all working or busy, always sends home dinner, invites me to Sunday lunch even when Ron and Theo have Rose. She’s Rose’s only grandmother. She means well,” Hermione shrugged. “Fleur wears cashmere and Molly sniffs. I Transfigured mine into a cardigan. Molly didn’t mind that, as long as the H is all on one side. I hid the pockets I added.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” he said, squinting a little against the light, the sun lower in the sky. Rose had approached Scorpius and now they were working on something with less height but a larger area. Hermione suspected St. Mungo’s had tracking spells to evaluate wild magic. At Rose’s last Healer’s visit, Hermione had been advised to stock up on Easiheal and beginning Arithmancy books, as if she and Ron hadn’t already done so (plus the Wizarding chess set Theo had brought out to let Rose watch them play.)

“It beats the alternative,” Hermione said. He shifted, faced her full on. They both looked older than they were, Draco with shadows under his grey eyes that spoke of broken sleep, Hermione with a streak of white in her hair like a ribbon, neither of them partial to glamours. He’d grown a fair amount after Hogwarts, his shoulders broader, his lanky frame filled out, and he dressed the part of an older man, much as Hermione had her mum’s uniform on. For a moment, she only saw the boy he’d been, too clever by half, preening, insecure, nervous he’d be caught caring. He’d taken the Dark Mark or rather, it had been forced on him, hidden by the sleeve he had securely fastened with monogrammed cufflinks. He could be the Dark Lord’s deputy, she could be dead in a ditch, both their first wands broken.

“I don’t think that’s as true as people say,” he replied. “We could have been given a chance to grow up. To put ourselves first, not the survival of the Wizarding world or the Noble House of Black. We could have found ourselves here in another ten years or twenty, with children we had chosen to have. Had wanted to bring into existence from dreams. We wouldn’t have to be alone, here, and at home, sitting by ourselves with a drink after we put them to bed, wondering what happened—”

“It’s hard,” she said, to stop him, because he was so right it hurt. She drank tea at night, even though it kept her up, because drinking wine or whiskey alone was worse. Ron and Theo encouraged her to go out when they kept Rose, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to explain who she was and she couldn’t bear it they already knew. She drank oolong, Darjeeling, PG Tips, always black, and she never read the leaves.

“What if it were easier?” he asked.

“Easier?”

“What if you told me what happened and I told you, after we put them to bed. What happened that day, not just what Rose did and what Scorpius said, but how you dealt with that stroppy minister from Croatia and how I heard back from Damaris, in Alexandria, about that manuscript revision, and what we could bring to the potluck Neville’s insisting on hosting instead of getting a proper caterer,” he said. “Samosas, for the record. Though I can manage vol-au-vents in a pinch, if you wanted to be Muggle retro about it.”

“That’s a lot happening,” she said. It was a leap, an enormous, across-a-chasm leap, he was describing and also just words, a possibility she could dismiss with a shake of her head, a slight frown, some politeness he’d accept instantly. His eyes, though, were hopeful, watching her.

“Scorpius will probably interrupt. He usually wants a glass of water exactly when I’m at a good part,” Draco said.

“Rose talks in her sleep. In French. It’s quite distracting,” Hermione said. When had she ever backed away from something daunting? Granted, she usually did some research first. Draco knew what a vol-au-vent was; she clearly wasn’t the only one who prepared. “It’s better than mine. She talks to Fleur and Gabrielle a lot.”

“I’m fluent,” he said. “In French and wheedling.”

“I’m good at pouring a glass of water wandless. I make the water take the shape of a dolphin going into the glass but I can do a Hippocampus too,” Hermione said.

“Are you hungry? I have apple slices and pesto egg muffin bites going begging,” he said, smiling. He had a sweet smile and a gleam in his eyes that was positively, gratifyingly filthy. She blushed, dropped her gaze from his.

“You’re a very pretty mummy, Hermione,” he said softly. “But it can be whatever you want, however you want. It can be maybe later, after you look at your calendar. Half-past never. Whatever’s easier—”

“I didn’t bring any snacks to the park and I have nothing planned for dinner unless we get Indian takeaway again. For the third time this week,” she said in a rush. “It would be easier to have someone else take care of dinner. I’m not picky, Rose isn’t either.”

“Bolognese or carbonara?” Draco asked. “Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy is made 98.2% from pasta. Don’t be deceived by the organic apple slices and pesto egg affectations.”

“Carbonara’s faster,” Hermione said. 

“But what do you want?” Draco hit the you and want with a perfect balance of emphasis. It made her remember she was only twenty-four years old. Hermione, not only Madam Granger and Mummy and ‘Mione.

“Bolognese,” she said. She reached over, touched his hand where it rested beside his leg. He couldn’t mistake her intention. “Everyone calls her Rose, but I named her Roseline, from Shakespeare. Roseline’s the one Romeo liked first. She goes away. Lives her own life off-stage.”

“I had to pick a constellation. I wouldn’t do it again,” he said.

Ten years later, after a long day and a longer night, he arrived, only a little later than they’d planned and just as they’d hoped. They named him Hugo.

[astroboots]

Moon boys + your period? How would they behave? Awkward or all up in your cycle?

So out of the boys, you'd think that Marc would be awkward about it. You'd always assumed he would be. He doesn't like talking about feelings or dealing with his own feelings, and you are all about big feelings and emotions in the days leading up to your period so of course, it's only reasonable to assume that the boy would be an awkward disaster in dealing with anything period related.

But he's not. He's perfect. You never have to say anything, and don't have to give him warnings before the D-day. He always seems to know somehow.

Stocking up the cupboards until it's filled to the brim and can't fit anymore. So he ends up stuffing the teapots with Cadbury milk chocolate, hobnobs biscuits and tins of Quality Street Chocolate from Tescos.

On your side of the bathroom sink, all of a sudden there is a small box of ibuprofen waiting for you because the paracetamol they usually keep in their medicine cabinet isn't as effective in helping with stomach cramps.

And when you come out of the bathroom after showering in a scalding hot bath to abate the cramps, there's a hot water bottle waiting for you on your side of the bed.

At first, you're not even sure how the fuck the man knows each time your ovaries decide to throw a tantrum and go on a homicidal shooting spree on your eggs. How he can tell each time you're due, like fucking clockwork. Although in retrospect, it shouldn't be surprising that he has an internal calendar as precise as any military clock. The man is all about routines and schedules, for fuck's sake he has a daily rotation of breakfast repertoire between the two of you: Monday is eggs benedict, Tuesday is scrambled eggs on sourdough bread, etc etc.

Maybe... just maybe he's learned to track when your granny panties that come up to and over your belly button start making appearances (because yes they're fucking hideous but they're comfortable AF okay?!?!)

Or maybe, just maybe it's because all of a sudden, days before and during, you'll start squirrelling around their kitchen, opening and shutting cupboards in the middle of the night and early in the morning, on the hunt for chocolates and snacks.

Or maybe, just maybe it's because you'll start ending up crying like a banshee on his livingroom floor, and he'll awkwardly and in panic hunch down until he's sitting on the floor next to you, and pull you into his lap, arms wrapped tight around your torso to comfort you. Pressing his nose to your hairline as he hushes you and tell you it's okay to let it all out. He's got you. He's got you. It's okay baby.

Either way, Marc is perfect in helping you make a bad situation suck a little bit less.

[junk-culture]

14, 18?

HIIIIIIIIII!!! 14. Last thing you ate: um a beautiful cinnamon swirl from tesco. it was mai dessert ^_^ . actually i saved this ask as a draft to finish later and since the time of initial writing i have eaten an additional cinnamon swirl and a couple of chocolate digestive biscuits. #girl eats . 18. Idea of the perfect date: [insert william shatner gif when hes saying april 15th or whatever because its a nice spring day etc] good question actually. - well some of the cliches would be perfectly fine e.g. art gallery/museum or aquarium. art galleries are always fun because if the art you see is nice then it's awesome and if the art you see sucks then it's awesome too because you can poke fun at it and either way you are experiencing reactions to art and also each other etc etc. and aquariums are very fun too. ive never been to an actual aquarium as an adult. actually whats the aquarium tunnel called in pokemon black and white..... i forget but please can i go on a date there and watch the mantines and frillish etc. and then buy a little stuffed marine animal from the gift shop. - in summer any kind of outdoor hanging is good actually. whether that's some kind of picnic style affair or riverside chilling or something a bit less scenic. there's a disused railway tunnel in my hometown and me and my friend always said we'd go there at night one day and have a candlelit "vigil"... well we never did that but something silly and bored-teenager-y like that would be cool as a date i think. i like the idea of hanging around in abandoned places or weird little nooks and crannies of the world where there's nobody else around and you can just talk and goof around. i'd take someone to my shitty pond on a date actually but maybe not the first date. that's for when things are getting serious.... - i am extremely indecisive though and in reality it would be better for me to list the things i DONT want to do and then the other party can decide. unless theyre equally indecisive in which case we'll just stay in and play videogames i guess. and it depends on the person and the situation of course. ....any activity can be the perfect date etc. also ive never been on a date before so like whatever i guess....the smiths voice take me anywhere i dont care i dont care i dont caaaaaare .... thanks for asking!! : -D

[thylacines-toybox]

hi! can I ask about your lime green cat Stripy from Tesco (posted about in 2022)? I want to get one from online, but since I can’t feel it I’m not sure if it’s floppy enough. is your plush floppy, or is it more stiff? hope this makes sense ^^;

Sure! It's a fairly floppy cat, not super beanie but quite loosely stuffed and squishy. Hope you find one online easy enough, I think I got that one around 2016 or so.

[concerningwolves]

Remy's stomach growled. His hand twitched for the wafers, but he stopped himself, his unease returning. "I'd like to think," Darren said slowly, gazing out into his garden with a distant expression, "that you could trust me a bit more." "What?" Remy hoped he sounded innocent. Darren sighed and poured the tea, then pushed it pointedly towards Remy. "I'm not going to whisk you away to the Otherworld or a secret hall under a hill if you eat or drink something I give you." Leaning back, Darren stretched his long legs out in front of himself, so that strips of yellow bee-patterned socks were visible beneath the hem of his peasant skirt. "If it’s more comfort to you, look at this way: The biscuits and teabags are from Tesco, and I'd argue the water is provided by the Dartford Borough Council, so I’ve no hold over you because of it." Remy gaped. He'd never met a fae so willing to nullify the rules they lived by. To hide his embarrassment, he stuffed a biscuit into his mouth whole.

↪ The Blood Enigma // WIP, revisions

(struggling to get writing today so have a snippet from the scene I revised on Wednesday. it's one of my favourites)

[legendary-pink-dot]

You ask, you shall receive.

My fave Pedro character is of course, Din.

And a pic just in case you don't recognise him.

I'm British, and British sandwiches are notoriously boring. Have you ever been to Marks and Spencer's or had a Tesco meal deal? Probably not. I digress.

So I'd have to say that my favourite sandwich is probably chicken and stuffing (no double-entendre intended 😏) on brown bread.

This will be interesting.

My beloved Linds! 💜 Thank you for ordering from Dot's Sandwich Shop!

I have been to the UK and Tesco many times, and have actually eaten a couple of Tesco Meal Deals before, but don't remember a thing about them. So that supports your theory. 😂

Din is test-piloting a new hyperdrive on a starfighter, and it takes him into a wormhole in space. He ends up in the Milky Way galaxy, on a blue-green planet, on what he eventually discovers is the year 2023 on this place called "Earth".

He walks into a Marks & Sparks and smells something delicious, roasted and comforting...