#i love Yorkshire pudding also

[fairyprince7]

The British did one food right and it's fish and chips with vinegar

#talk #also yorkshire puddings. I love yorkshire puddings

[helloidkwhatimdoing-0]

Didn't take my meds till like 1pm so they haven't worn off yet and im tryna eat dinner

#moss mumbles #i love roast dinners but i cannot eat this #turns out when i have no appetite. gravy is just a midly bad texture and so are yorkshire puddings #also its getting cold cause im eating so slow #which is making it worse

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

It's Who We Have | Part Six

Summary: After dinner with Billy's parents, the bridge is difficult to rebuild | Word Count: 5.1k~ | Warnings: angst, family trauma, mentions of terrorism, heavy(ish) petting, billy going softie

General Taglist | Billy Washington Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Lana was a little, petite woman, and yet she slammed the door so hard, it could have come off its hinges. She even thought she saw the family portrait above the fireplace wobble. 

A steady, raw silence filled the air at the dinner table. Billy’s mum stared forwards at the centrepiece, with two M&S candles lit, and sighed softly, as if disappointed that she hadn’t expected such behaviour. She remembers Billy’s dad huffing as he got out his seat and wordlessly stepped through the creaky french doors, pulling a bag of tobacco out his pocket to roll himself a cigarette.

She also remembers the cracked leather of the seat cushion, how her feet didn’t touch the floor and the gnawing ache of hunger in her stomach. The passing thought that perhaps this was the only hot meal she was likely to have for a while, and it was in someone else’s house. 

Billy remained quiet beside her, scraping the tongs of his fork against his plate as he tried to stab at a pre-cut piece of sausage, seemingly quite used to keeping silent after the usual outburst from his older sister. 

“Come on, chick, you’re alright,” Billy’s mum smiled softly, the lines in her cheeks deepening as well as around her eyes, coaxing her to eat once again, after being rattled by the incessant shouting and blaring of Lana’s teenage rampage. 

In the eyes of Mrs Washington, there was care, tinged with sadness that such behaviour had made the little girl sitting opposite her curl back into her shell, mouth sealed shut as if on instinct. And so, she chose to trust this mother’s nature, and ate slowly, grateful at least for the company of Billy beside her, non-judgemental and kind-hearted. 

He and his mum were always alike in that way.

"Mummy, can we play upstairs after—" Billy began, interrupted by the ringing of the home phone. His mum rose from her seat, excusing herself to answer it.

"Just a second, love," she said, her voice warm and comforting. “Hello.”

Even her voice down the phone had that warm embracing tone of motherhood.

But all she heard on the other end was shouting she actually recognised. Her own mum, clearly in whatever addled state, her loud screaming crackling against Mrs Washington’s ear. 

“Yes, she’s here- can she not finish her dinner first -” Val murmured, her back turned to both children sat at the table still, as if to shield them from the onslaught of verbal abuse, “-I understand she’s your daught- yes - yes, I’ll bring her home after she’s had her tea-”

The way the phone was placed back on the charging dock made her stomach flip with nerves. Combined with the solemn expression on Billy’s mum’s face, she heard the words before they were even spoken.

“That was your mum, darling,” she said quietly, carefully, her eyebrows arched in worry, “take your time having your tea, alright.”

And she did. She always would. 

“Hiya sweetheart!” Val's voice was wobbly as she greeted her at the front door, giving her a bruising hug that pressed right against her ribs, “you're early.”

She nodded with a tight lipped smile, “thought I'd come and help with dishing up.”

“Oh, don't be silly, duck. You're our guest!”

Armed with her first cup of tea in the Washington household, it didn't take Val long to be completely overwhelmed with everything she had going on, and resorted to accepting her help anyway.

Clearly, Billy's mum had been excited for this. A notion that warmed her heart. Val had gone all out, roasted parsnips, Yorkshire puddings, roasted veg, roast and mash potato, sausages and a cut of beef. Enough to easily feed six. And she found herself biting back a smile wondering if Val had realised just how much food she'd done.

Like most mothers, this was her love language. Making sure everyone was fed.

She felt a lightness that hadn't been there for quite some time. Billy hadn't arrived yet, and she knew that the second he did, the mood would flatten, become suffocating. Like a hug that is too tight.

His arrival was made worse by the fact that he was late, and his dad didn’t miss a beat in telling him off, both of his parents already on his back in different ways the second he walked across the threshold. Shoulders slumped in depression, dragging his body around on long limbs like he was walking through honey.

Jeff had no hope of noticing the rift between them, but Val certainly did when Billy and her locked eyes across the hallway, for a moment not knowing what to say. And it likely would have stayed that way, until Billy eventually cleared his throat and let his mum take his coat, nodding.

“Alright?”

She herself had to force her voice out, “Yeah, thanks. You?”

Conversation didn't improve further than that at the dinner table, though the warm, familiar smell of roast potatoes and meat flavoured with herbs filled the intimate space, she found herself restless, sat beside Billy, with Mr and Mrs Washington opposite them.

Thank god for Val. For if she didn't try, the entire evening would be dead silent and just the sound of clinking cutlery would be enough to drive someone mad.

“How is your new flat, chick?” She asked sweetly, eyes wide and genuinely caring, “settling in alright?”

“Yes thanks, it needs the little niceties but it's a good roof over my head.”

Val nodded approvingly. "Good to hear.”

“Yeah it's about time you got your own place,” Jeff gruffed, not even looking at her to see the sinking look on her face, nor the one of his disgruntled wife.

Billy felt the awkwardness. The skirting around what his dad really meant. And he sat, picking at a stick of roasted carrot, when his dad asked the fated question, “any luck on the job front?”

She could feel herself wince. And even saw Billy tense up in her peripheral vision.

Billy sighed, pushing his chair out, “gonna go for a smoke.”

“But you're not finished with din-”

“I'll be right back, Mum,” despite his mother's protest, he slipped out the French doors, searching his pockets for a cigarette. 

She watched him for a moment as Val elbowed her husband, “do you have to fucking start?”

“What? I was just asking!”

She felt the smile threaten, stabbing a honey-roasted parsnip as she listened to them bicker. But also a dull ache in her chest at Billy's retreat back into himself, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. It wasn't just the rejection from his friends; it was the sense of being ganged up on by his own parents, compounded by Lana's absence.

“How is it, love?” Val asked.

“Lovely, Mrs Washington,” she smiled kindly in return, “parsnips never disappoint.”

She'd never tire of the way Billy's mum smiled. “Well, take your time.”

She could've laughed. Some things never change.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. Jeff retired to the living room, half asleep with a belly full of Sunday dinner and god-knows-what episode of Faulty Towers on the tele. And when it was time to leave, Billy gave an ingenuine, tight-lipped smile as his mum handed him his coat, “did you drive?” she asked.

“Nah, walked. Got a mate fixing up my car.”

It was near-comical, the way Billy’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice, as if startled she’d been there listening, “do you need a lift?” she asked, pulling her bag over her shoulder, car keys bundled in one hand.

Billy’s eyes lowered slightly and then rose again to her face, not replying immediately, which made her heart race fast in her chest.

“It’s on the way so…” she hated the desperation in her voice, and tried hard to will the tone of it away. But Billy looked forward to her, a slow, gentle recognition and a reluctance in his expression, shocked she’d even offered.

“Yeah, alright.”

After a slew of friendly ‘thank yous’ and goodbye hugs, she let out a shaky breath as soon as she sat in the driver’s seat, fingers curled around the leather steering wheel as if to keep them from shaking as Billy slid into the passenger seat, spreading his long legs into the footwell once he’d adjusted his seat all the way back.

Neither said a single word for what felt like a lifetime.

As she halted at a red traffic light, the harsh glow accentuated the lines of tension etched on her face, mirroring the fading twilight. Billy broke the silence, his voice barely a whisper against the hum of the blowers set on the lowest setting.

“Thanks for the lift.” 

One arm rested on the window frame, their eyes locked for a split second before the light shifted to green, “anytime.”

The silence that followed deepened the pit in her chest, making her feel antsy and nervous in equal measure. Billy wasn't faring much better, twirling his thumbs in his lap, and bouncing his left leg just to have something to do.

Pulling into the vacant spot behind Billy's battered Vauxhall, she felt a surge of apprehension mingle with the hollow pit in her chest. The engine's persistent hum seemed to mock their inability to bridge the growing chasm between them. 

And he didn't move to get out the car.

Billy sighed, his fingers rubbing his temple, “How do we do this then.”

“Do what?” she countered, her voice betraying a trace of defensiveness

He gestured between them, frustration simmering beneath the surface, “This. Us,” he answered simply, his throat bobbing as if stressed.

“I don’t think that’s really a question you should be asking me, is it?” 

Billy shook his head, a mirthless laugh escaping his lips. "I just don't want this anymore," he confessed, his voice raw with emotion.

Her heart clenched at his admission, the reality of their crumbling bond hitting her with devastating force. "Neither do I, Billy," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the din of their shared silence.

“Can we just talk,” he asked, a shaking tone invading his voice, “please?”

For a fleeting moment, she gazed out at the street through the windscreen, her eyes scanning the darkening sky. It felt as though a weighty conversation had perpetually lingered between them, and now, in this moment, it seemed inevitable.

With a simple, wordless gesture, she twisted the key in the ignition, silencing the engine's persistent hum. The abrupt cessation of sound plunged them back into the suffocating void of silence, where unspoken words hung heavy in the air like an oppressive fog.

Billy sat in the heavy silence, grappling with the weight of unspoken words. He knew he needed to apologise, to bridge the chasm that had grown between them, but the fear of looking foolish held him back.

Taking a deep breath, he shifted in his seat, his fingers drumming nervously against his thigh. He searched for the right words, ones that would convey his remorse without undermining his pride.

"I just... I want to make things right."

She was quiet, her eyes looking down at the gearstick, without the strength to look at him directly. 

She shook her head, “why Billy?” she asked, “do you know how fucking heartbroken Abi was when he heard what you’d done?”

It was a mistake to glance over at him, the way her heart squeezed when she saw his head was lowered in shame, a whirlwind of emotions going off inside Billy’s head. Like he wasn’t sure what he should think for himself. 

Billy's heart sank as her words pierced through him like daggers. He couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze, his shame weighing heavily upon him. Each syllable she uttered felt like a blow to his already battered conscience.

"I... I didn't mean to," he stammered, his voice tinged with remorse. "I was drunk, I wasn't thinking straight..."

His voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words to convey the depth of his regret. He knew he had hurt not just Abi, but their entire community, with his reckless actions.

Frustration bubbled in her chest as she shook her head, “being drunk isn’t an excuse. Last time I saw you, you were all ‘these people are stealing our jobs and ruining this country’ etc etc. What’s happened to that?” she countered, trying to control the steadily rising anger in her voice, “who are these people you’ve got yourself involved in? Because I know…I know this isn’t you, Billy.”

His throat constricted as her words struck him with the force of a sledgehammer. Shame burned hot in his chest, mingling with the simmering anger directed inward. He knew he had no excuse for his actions, but facing her condemnation made it all the more unbearable.

"I know," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the rush of blood in his ears. “I don't know what to believe anymore.”

For a split second, she felt the crush of his admission choke her with its oppressive weight, her throat closing up with emotion. The dread of being so utterly lonely radiating off him like a miasma. A barrage of emotions, memories, feelings threatened to overwhelm her at that very moment. 

“I've not been completely innocent in this either,” she choked out, though it was difficult to say. And she knew he was looking at her, so she stared at something, anything else, to avoid the horrible feeling she was being pitied.

“I'll say it how it is, because nobody else wants to. My mum is shit, has always been, my dad is god knows where, I was impossible at school and I moved far away to uni to get away from that horrible sick feeling that everyone had seen those fucking pictures of me.”

The words tasted like venom, even to herself, at the heartbreaking predicament that was her life. She shook her head, wetting her lips nervously, “turns out running away didn't fix a single thing.”

Billy sighs, “I feel shit that I wasn't there for you.”

“We were barely adults, Billy. That's not on you.”

“Even so,” he argued, “If I had pulled my head out the ground for one second I would have seen,” he says, “you deserved better.”

She chanced it then, and glanced over at him, swallowing thickly with something weighing heavily on her shoulders. A smile tried to find its way to her face at the expression she was giving him, so, so similar to how he looked as a boy and a teenager, but with the roughened and sharp edges that defined him into adulthood.

“You know I’ve always been jealous of you.”

Billy’s eyes were tinged with confusion when she said that, the blue of his eyes barely noticeable in the low amber glow of the streetlights outside the car.

She tried to swallow whatever bubbled up, “I remember the first time I ever felt it…that first day of school.”

His lips parted, and eyebrows drew together as he looked into his lap, “please don’t-”

“No, let me speak,” she insisted, her voice tinged with pain, face clouding up with barely-contained grief, “I just-I saw you with your mum and couldn’t help it. You were so happy. So loved.”

Silence fell between them, her words strained by her strength to hold back tears hitting him to his very core. Billy remembers so clearly, he’d be embarrassed to admit. Leading her into the girls toilets and using blue tissues to wipe off the mud. Her face wet with tears. He very nearly smiled at the memory of it, and what bond was formed from that day on.

“You were the only one who ever really saw me,” she admitted, “and it made me feel that to someone I existed…and that I mattered.”

It felt painful, this bridge between them, aching to be rebuilt.

“Now it feels like I’m losing you…” she whispered, “...when I had hoped I’d given you that feeling back somewhere along the way.”

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the rift that had grown between them. Billy felt the ache of regret settle deep in his chest, knowing that he had failed her in more ways than he could count.

But she kept going, the words spilling out of her like she had kept them locked up for too long, and they were yearning to escape. 

“So if these…right-wing, George Cross-waving twats make you feel like you matter then I have massively fucked up somewhere..”, the words nearly made a smile rise to his face, but the seriousness of the conversation made him simply just glance up at her, “..and for that I’m sorry.”

Her words cut through the tension like a knife, raw with emotion and self-recrimination. Billy's heart clenched at the pain in her voice, the weight of her apology hanging heavy in the air. 

He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering in the space between them. "I'm sorry too," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "For everything."

She wet her lips, drawing in a needed breath to fuel the tears that were now rolling down her face, her throat feeling raw when she slid her hand into his, fingers interwoven, the foundations of that bridge feeling all the more heavy, but manageable. And for a long moment, neither said a word, but it felt easier to bask in it, knowing that it was slowly piecing together the broken bonds that had once scattered about their lives.

“Promise me,” she utters weakly, “promise me you’ll stop this, whatever you’re doing with them. Apologise to Abi, Ami, everyone…I know you’re hurting but you’re better than this.”

Her honesty was appreciated but stung all the same.

"Promise," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Her eyes searched his, hope mingling with uncertainty. Slowly, a tentative smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a glimmer of relief illuminating her tear-streaked face.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for trying."

She felt something warm shimmer pleasantly in her chest when Billy’s thumb stroked against the back of her hand, along her knuckles.

“Sorry,” attempting to lighten the mood with a weak laugh, she wiped one cheek, trying to smear the tears away to make way for relief. 

Billy smiles boyishly, and there’s something light and nostalgic about it, “nothing changes,” he starts, a hint of playfulness in his voice, “you still look ugly when you cry.”

She laughs despite her tears, brushing them away gently as she responds, a softness creeping into her tone as their old connection flickers back to life. “Fuck off.”

It felt nice, laughing again, with the lingering hope that Billy desired real change.

“‘m only joking,” he murmured, leaning over the centre console, his other hand reaching out to brush her hair out her face in a motion that made her heart clench and warmth pool in her stomach, “you look beautiful.”

As soon as the words left his lips, the atmosphere in the cramped space shifted, charged with an undeniable tension. Their proximity felt electrifying, every inch of space between them tingling with unspoken desire. How many years had led to this moment they were sharing now, quiet and dark, their eyes alone communicating the depth of this impulse to inch closer?

Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them, as if words were no longer necessary in this charged atmosphere. But the tension demanded some kind of release, some acknowledgment of the emotions swirling between them.

Billy's gaze softened, his hand lingering on her cheek. "I've missed this," he confessed, voice tinged with vulnerability. "Being with you like this.”

When she wet her lips anxiously, she swore she saw his eyes flit to them briefly, her reply taking longer than usual to form, "It feels like coming home," she agreed, her voice barely a whisper.

In that moment, the weight of their shared history and the promise of a future filled with possibility hung in the air between them like a tangible force, crackling with tension. Each heartbeat echoed in the silence, a drumbeat urging them forward into the unknown.

It reminded her of that night at Cranstead Fields. She can still hear the clinking of glasses, Libby’s high-pitched drunken confessions to Abi, sat on his lap, Paddy and Harry wrestling on the grass, white shirts smudged with green as they argued about who should go and fetch the football while Ami pulled at their shirts to separate them.

But what she remembers most about that night, was the taste of WKD on Billy’s lips, the warmth that bloomed in her stomach and flipped with nerves and the flush that rose to her face when Billy had turned his face, to press his lips flush to hers and parted them with the swipe of his tongue.

And that is what she felt now, bar the taste of cheap vodka, as once again, however many years later, it was sealed with a sweet but urgent kiss.

She felt his thumbs on her cheeks, fingers threaded through her hair to pull her close to him, and just like she had that night, her hand found its way to his chest, to feel his heart thrumming beneath his skin, the material of his shirt caught in her palm. And Billy felt her eyelashes against his cheek, it was a delicate dance, a balance between desire and restraint, as they navigated the uncharted territory.

But as their lips lingered, a silent understanding passed between them, a silent agreement that this was just the beginning of their journey back to each other.

When they parted, pulling air between their now disconnected lips, all they could do was look at each other, the waves of realisation that the lines between friendship and whatever this was were rapidly blurring was heart-clenching.

“Sorry-”

She shook her head lightly, “No…it's alright, really.”

They both knew that they had just crossed a line, blurring the boundaries of their friendship in a way that couldn't be undone. But despite the awkwardness, there was also a sense of relief in finally acknowledging the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

"We should... probably talk about this," she suggested, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, we should," Billy agreed, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and longing.

And as they sat in silence, grappling with the newfound complexity of their relationship, they both knew that their friendship would never be the same again. But whether that was a good thing or a bad thing remained to be seen.

He cleared his throat, the sound breaking the heavy silence that hung between them like a tangible barrier. “Do you wanna come in? For a cuppa?”

She felt her heart race at the invitation, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. This was familiar territory, yet everything felt different now, charged with an electric tension that crackled in the air between them.

The offer of a cup of tea seemed mundane, almost laughable given the charged atmosphere that enveloped them. But neither of them made a move to acknowledge the unspoken truth lingering beneath the surface.

"Um, yeah, sure," she managed to reply, her voice barely above a whisper. Her tongue suddenly feeling too big for her own mouth as she undid her seatbelt and followed awkwardly behind him as he unlocked the street-level door and lingered behind once they ascended the stairs to his flat.

His flat had changed little from the last time she'd seen it, albeit the clothes were put away. The kettle remained untouched, forgotten amidst the unspoken desires that pulsed between them like a current.

Every breath felt like a struggle, the air charged with a palpable longing that neither of them dared to voice. But for now, they remained frozen in place, suspended in a silent dance of desire and hesitation. She felt so small, standing in his lounge, that when she glanced up and saw Billy leaning against the doorframe, near-filling any void space of it, hands tucked in his pockets.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. "I don't want to ignore what just happened between us. It's... it's different now, isn't it?"

She nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the floor as she struggled to find the right words. "Yeah, it is. I mean, we've been friends for so long, but..." Her voice trailed off, the weight of their unspoken desires hanging heavy in the air.

"But things have changed," he finished for her, his voice barely above a whisper.

They both knew that there was no going back to the way things were before. Their friendship had evolved into something deeper, something more complex and fragile than either of them had ever anticipated. She felt her heart flutter sickly in her chest, the same way it had the last time they had kissed all those years ago.

"I don't want to ruin what we have," she said softly, her voice tinged with fear.

"Me neither," he agreed.

There was a long pause as they both grappled with the magnitude of what they were feeling. They had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, and now they had to figure out how to navigate this new terrain together.

"But I can't ignore the way I feel," he admitted, his voice trembling with emotion.

Her heart skipped a beat at his confession, her own feelings laid bare in the raw vulnerability of the moment. 

And as they stood there in the quiet of his living room, their eyes locked in a silent understanding. The tension growing thick the longer they remained this way, and her heart lurching into his chest when Billy pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room to her in a few strides alone. So close, she could smell his fabric softener.

“I'm sorry I just can't,” he added swiftly, closing the space as she parted her lips to reply.

And just let go.

His fingers curled around her waist tightly, lips clumsily crashing together with desperation, years and years of denial, of longing, of sheer stubbornness, pouring out of each of them in crashing waves.

For a moment, she felt as if she didn't know whether she should touch him, hold onto him by his shoulders, and very much felt like he knew what he'd wanted to do much, much sooner than she had.

But the moment he pulled their hips flush, chests brushing, and her fingers slid up the nape of his neck to grasp the hair that touched his neck, it had felt right. The short, unshaven hair at his jaw scratched perfectly against her fingertips, and tickled her face the more he moved to capture her lips again.

His touch ignited a fire within her, sending shivers down her spine as she surrendered herself to the intoxicating whirlwind of desire. With every brush of his lips, she felt herself unravelling, melting into him with an urgency that bordered on desperation.

In that moment, there were no words, no thoughts, only the raw, primal need that consumed them both. And as they finally succumbed to the passion that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long, they knew that there was no turning back.

Her heart twisted in excitement as his hands made their way north, sliding up her sides beneath her shirt, thumbs drifting over her ribs to touch her in places she had secretly hoped he always would. 

And she couldn't help the cringeworthy slip of his name as he grunted breathily into her mouth, his palms moulding her breasts through the frustrating layer of her bra, but pleased at the way her body reacted to it.

“Billy -” 

How many years had he wanted to hear that?

She allowed herself the briefest touch of his skin, her fingers against his flesh made him tremble, and she saw the rush of feelings rise to his cheeks as he swallowed whatever he was thinking by pressing his lips fervently to hers instead.

The mere thought of being pressed close to her like this would usually have his body responding in tandem. But now, as his own hand paused at the waistband of her jeans, barely dipping beneath her underwear, he sighed to himself, embarrassed somewhat, and sorely regretted downing three cans of beer in two hours earlier in the evening when his body didn't reciprocate how his mind felt about her.

His forehead rested against the crook of her neck, hot breath batting against her collarbone. The pull of wanting to touch her like this, to just do it and make her feel every bit the way she deserved, was all-consuming.

But after a few empty seconds, he peeled his fingers away from the waistband of her jeans.

“Fuck- sorry…” he managed, out of breath, apologising for what felt like the millionth time that night, “can't…I've had too much to drink-”

“It's okay,” she smiled, the heat on her face feeling tight against the rise of her lips. She gave him a reassuring smile as she righted her clothes, still feeling the burning mark of his hands where they'd touched her bare skin. And as ashamed as she was to say it, the warm pooling of desire tugging at her belly.

“It's late, I should-” 

“Yeah, yeah…” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

She deflated once she saw the alerts pop up on her screen, “fuck- road’s closed. Gonna take me ages to drive home.”

While she scrolled, agitation growing at the idea of being stuck in her car for another hour, Billy eventually spoke, “stay here for the night,” he said, it came out more of a desperate plea than an offer at first.

He quickly shook his head of a trance when he saw her face, “U-uh, I mean, no funny business, you have the bed, I can have the sofa-”

“I couldn't ask that of you, Billy.”

“Well, you're not asking, I'm - offering,” he smiled boyishly, in a way that made it difficult to refuse.

She sighed through her nose, “I've got to go into Central London tomorrow.”

“Well…” he sighed, rubbing his palms nervously against his thighs, “I was supposed to meet the lads at Farringdon Tube Station tomorrow, I'll take you down - get you into London and…I'll break things off with them. For Good.”

Swallowing nervously, she met his gaze, her eyes pleading for reassurance. "Promise," he urged, his baby blue eyes wide with sincerity, pleading with her to believe him.

She hesitated, uncertainty clouding her features as she searched his face for any hint of doubt. She clicked off her phone and nodded, with a hopeful smile, “Okay.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires-deactivated20 @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

#billy washington x oc #billy washington x y/n #billy washington fanfic #billy washington #trigger point series #trigger point itv #trigger point fanfic #billy washington x reader #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington x fem!reader #billy washington x you #billy washington smut #billy washington trigger point #trigger point billy washington #billy washington angst #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters

[petermorwood]

This is a fun watch.

J. Draper gets SERIOUSLY nit-picky about "The Muppet Christmas Carol", and as a nit-picker myself, I enjoy seeing how others do it.

I can also see why some of her nit-picks were subordinate to the requirements of a different medium, though I second her curiosity as to why the development of Scrooge's youthful character was changed between book and screen.

It would have been easy to retain the original book character (Scrooge didn't always hate Christmas, but a succession of Bad Things happened at the holiday season and soured him on it). The change is as mysterious as that decision to delete one song ("When Love Is Gone") while leaving its complementary book-end song ("When Love Is Found") in place.

That at least has been corrected on Disney +, though AFAIK it's still not the Official Version and the corrected movie needs selected down among Extra Features.

*****

Funny thing, a large proportion of the YouTube comments are about Christmas Pudding and US ignorance of same. If Christmas Pud is mysterious, wait till they start finding out about Yorkshire Pudding, Pease Pudding and Black Pudding... :->

Check "pudding" in my tags And Learn More...

#The Muppet Christmas Carol #J. Draper #The London History Show #Christmas pudding #Youtube

[mykneeshurt]

hi!! happy new year!! 💗

I love ur writing, and I was thinking to drop this request;

so may request some hc’s of cod task force 141 (+ alejandro, könig, graves and rudy) :))

feel free to skip this if youre busy, just wondering, happy new year :)

Sorry this one took me some time, I got too in my head about it. It was so hard to not be bitchy to Graves lmfao, Soap is my favourite enjoy! SFW. Let me know if you want NSFW ones

Price 🥃

He supports Liverpool FC, no I won’t hear any different

His favourite non-alcoholic drink is ‘builders tea’

Glenfiddich 18 is his Whisky of choice

Favourite colour is khaki green

Is the father figure of the group, strong, reliable, approachable (everything my dad wasn’t lmfao, I still love him)

He wears a plain t-shirt pyjamas to bed, sleeps on his side, one arm under his head, absolutely snores

His favourite breed of dog is a Collie, or any working dog he can walk for miles for in the country side

He absolutely loves Bargain Hunt on TV

His favourite smell is fresh gingerbread

He’d make an excellent grandfather tbh

Soap 🧼

Despite being Scottish he supports Blackburn FC, an underdog (I refuse to comment on the Celtic vs Rangers, far too much history there. And I’m Welsh, it ent for me to say haah)

He absolutely loves winding the boys up about being English

His text tone is SCOTLAND FOREVVAAAA *aggressive bagpipes*

Soap 100% sleeps in the buff

His favourite dog would be a Labrador, nice active family friendly dog

He’s a chatterbox but a good listener when he needs to be, will often give some surprisingly good advice

He’s an iPhone wanker

Absolutely a mummy’s boy, would do anything for her - he’d love to pay off her mortgage for her

His favourite smell is the cheesy paws of his dog for real

He’s not a morning person, he loves a lie in when he can

Ghost 💀

Ghost supports Manchester City, he just gives me those vibes ok?

His favourite weather is rain/storms

When he’s home from a mission he’s a bath guy, he showers all the time on base, so when he’s home it’s hot ass bath with an audio book and his bourbon

He has two cats that his neighbour looks after when he’s away, two British blue shorthairs. Called Foxtrot and Whiskey

He also loves rabbits

He loves helping beginners at the gym

His favourite tv show is The Simpsons, something easy and colourful to watch to distract him from what he’s seen

He smells like Dior Suvage (anything musky and heavy)

He’s ambidextrous

He loves a cooked dinner, beef, roast potatoes, all the veg, stuffing and all the Yorkshire puddings

He’s got his tongue pierced, I’ve seen the fan art. You can’t tell me other wise.

Gaz 🇬🇧

He gives me Arsenal vibes, so he supports them

But also supports Chicago Bears in American Football

He’s gentle, reserved so he’d have a rat as a pet, highly intelligent

Fish and chips with curry sauce is his favourite meal, a proper British geeza

He smells fresh, think a bright spring day, fresh linen and cut grass

He loves the sunshine

He’s a keen gardener, grows his own herbs and vegetables

His house is spotless, minimalist, but has a huge book collection

He loves caramel lattes despite the banter from the boys, he has a sweet tooth

Loves meeting the boys down the pub on a Sunday for a carvery

Alejandro 🌹

He’s an excellent cook, his favourite hobby when not on a mission is trying out new recipes for Los Vaqueros

This man sleeps in silk sheets, tell me he doesn’t?

He’s fiercely loyal his country, he loves Mexico and is passionate about it through and through

He’s got a great sense of humour, enjoys making people laugh

He runs marathons for charity in his spare time

His favourite subject in school was history

If you’re sad this man gives the best hugs, he’ll make you a strong ass coffee and give one hell of a pep talk

His favourite smell is fresh cocoa beans, always stealing the nibs to eat

Him and Rudy have film nights with their families when they’re home

He’s 100% a girl dad, teaches her how to shoot with nerf guns in the garden

Rudy ❤️

He has a German Vizsla called Pollito, because her legs look like chicken drumsticks

He 100% has an android phone

He’s an armature photographer in his spare time, he loves nature

He and Alejandro have personalised ringtones for each other

His favourite food is Seafood paella

He owns a small farm, sells the produce to the local area, he loves animals

He once won a poetry competition

His favourite colour is orange

Sorry but he wears lynx Africa (I like it sue me)

He likes to game in his spare time, anything from farm simulator to RPGs

König 👑

He loves drawing, anything creative, he’ll draw/paint the Austrian countryside to de-stress

He grew up on a small farm in the Austrian mountains, he has a very close family

He doesn’t like large crowds, worried people stare at him because of his height, feels claustrophobic sometimes

He bites his nails when his hands aren’t busy or covered by gloves

He’s a cat guy 100%

He’s left handed, 100% a lefty but holds his gun right handed (its a struggle, I’m left handed)

He’d like a family one day, he’s got a lot of love to give

He smells like leather, sandalwood and vanilla

He loves eating raw cookie dough, vanilla and chocolate chip

He holds the record for the hardest punch in his home town

Graves 🇺🇸

His favourite holiday is July 4th, he does a huge fireworks display whenever he’s home

His favourite food is Gumbo

He smells like Paco Rabane Invictus

He’s got 3 Dobermans, whom he loves with all his heart. Ben, Jacob and Molly

He has a white picket fence - obviously

He doesn’t have a good relationship with his father, daddy forced him into the army to gain approval

He sleeps in red plaid pyjamas and has matching slippers

He’s fluent in French, he learnt it to pick up girls

He loves hiking in his spare time, with his 3 dogs

He runs support groups for veterans on a Thursday a local library

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #john soap mactavish #soap mctavish #phillip graves #alejandro vargas #Alejandro #rudy mw2 #rudolfo parra #könig modern warfare #könig #könig cod #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick #captain price #captain john price #john price #headcanon #call of duty ghost simon riley #modern warefare 2 #simon riley

[brainrotbrainrotbrainrot]

Captain John Price relationship headcanons that are rotting my brain. Mostly fem but can be read as male.

Also just little British things I don’t see much of?

sfw and nfsw (under the cut)

-

He still has a season ticket for his favourite football team despite not being able to attend any matches. He refuses to give up his seat.

Disappointed that he’s always deployed when the Ashes and cricket are on. Will teach you to understand cricket so you can keep him updated when he gets time to call you.

A man of simple pleasures, please take him to a Greggs when he’s home. Though he’ll complain about the price increase of sausage rolls for about five minutes.

Teaches you the differences between IPAs and stouts when you’re at the pub and likes your opinions on them, even if you hate all beers. It’s just a thing between you two that you do together when he’s home.

If you ever get McDonald’s, this man puts his chips in his burger and will hold the bun up till you rid his burger of gherkins. Only keeps them on his burger if you’re a fan of them, otherwise he’ll always order them without. He will not let you tease him about his hatred of gherkins.

Wants to adopt a retired police or army dog if gets to retire with you. On that note, he wants to settle down with you, but can’t commit to the idea till his enemies are gone and he knows you’ll be safe.

Absolutely makes the best gravy and Yorkshire puddings ever for a Sunday roast.

Loves nothing more than sitting on the couch with you with a drink, watching a TV show or movie. But he always falls asleep and his head rests on your shoulder. It’s like a little routine between you two.

Always buries his head in your shoulder for a good few minutes and holds you to decompress when he’s home.

Loves coming home with fresh flowers to see your reaction every time.

This man snores when he’s home. At first you weren’t sure how you were going to deal with it, but realising that it meant he was in such a deep sleep around you and was getting rest, you forgave the snoring. You know now that it means he’s having a good night. If he’s not snoring, then something is probably troubling him.

Builders brew, has to be Yorkshire tea. Absolutely hates PG tips. You know how to make his perfect cup and he always reminds you and gives you a kiss when you bring him a cup.

nsfw.

Loves putting his hand on your thigh when he’s driving. If you take his hand off for whatever reason, the glare he gives you immediately makes you instantly put it back.

If you ever say a bad word about your body, he’s instantly ready to worship you and show you that he loves every part of you. He loves to worship your body, especially thighs. He loves marking your thighs since you can hide the marks and only he knows they’re there. But your thighs? Did I mention thighs? He’s obsessed. He loves to bury his face in them and would happily let you suffocate him. Loves to fuck your thighs too (especially male partners).

Hand always on the small of your back when you’re out and about, not too much of a hand holder. He knows it makes you feel safe and he’s the only man you felt like that with.

Won’t fuck you till he’s made you come at least once. Hands, mouth, whatever it takes. Your pleasure first and always. He definitely knows how to use his hands on you but his mouth is divine. Will always eat you out like a starved man.

Loves good old missionary, loves making eye contact and being able to hold your thighs in that position. Also loves it when you’re on top for obvious reasons again. Cannot ever keep his hands off of your thighs. But he’ll make sure you don’t do all the work when you’re on top, he loves to help out. He hates feeling like you’re doing all the work.

Sleepy spoon sex before bed and in the morning if you’re in the mood.

Hand jobs, he loves hand jobs. Almost more than you being on his knees for him. Loves it when you press against him and put your hand in his trousers and jerk him off that way. Goes mad for it. Loves it when you make his knees feel weak.

Please squeeze this man’s balls more. It’s the only way he’ll whimper for you.

#john price #captain price #captain price hc #john price x reader #john price headcanons #captain john price #john price x female reader #cod mw #cod headcanons

[ineffablelunatic]

The Great British Bakeoff but it's Ghosts

This is going to be a longer post but here goes: (if you're British like me you'll understand this, if not you'll probably be confused)

Signature:

Pat - does something simple but wonderful that links back to his Yorkshire roots. (I feel like he would be a good baker.) He gets the Paul Hollywood handshake and immediately befriends the comedian hosts.

Mary - burns it.

Captain - does something from the time of rationing. He makes a very small cake with minimal ingredients, but for what it is it's quite good.

Fanny - makes something old fashioned, such as fruit cake or figgy pudding. It doesn't taste of much and she gets very offended when the judges say so.

Thomas - pours his heart and soul into the cake. Starts crying halfway through and has to take a break. He probably makes something fancy with pineapples or other unusual ingredients, just because he can.

Julian - brandy. He puts lots of brandy in the cake. He must have luck on his side, because it turns out surprisingly well. Maybe he bribed the judges.

Kitty - does something cute and pink and heart shaped. It's not that tasty but the judges don't want to be mean to her, and so they say it's delicious.

Humphrey - fairly average. He makes a two tier cake, and the top tier keeps falling off. At one point he leaves his head in the freezer.

Robin - Doesn't really know how to make cake, but he tries his best. He gets excited about the oven and messes with it just enough that the cake comes out perfectly cooked.

Technical:

1st place: Captain. Unsurprising, given he's good at following (and giving) orders.

2nd place: Humphrey. A little more unusual, but he seems to have a knack for baking now that he's reattached his head.

3rd place: Julian. Bribery, probably.

Last place: Mary. She burnt it.

Showstopper:

Pat - makes a scouts themed cake with marshmallows and chocolate. It's very tasty.

Mary - crème brulée. It's quite good, possibly because it's actually supposed to be burned.

Captain - makes Havers's favourite cake. Gets sad but won't tell anyone why. At least he didn't bury any explosives in it.

Fanny - very extravagant tiered cake. It has a replica of Button House on top, and it looks a little like a wedding cake. One of the windows keeps falling off. Strange, given it's the one she was pushed out of.

Thomas - Red velvet cake. He writes his poetry on the sides in food dye. It's decorated with small chocolate beads that look surprisingly like musket balls.

Julian - adds more alcohol. In fact, he spends so much time adding alcohol (and drinking it) that he runs out of time and isn't able to ice the bottom half of the cake.

Kitty - it's heart shaped again, and it has tiny fondant dolls on top that she made. They depict her, Alison, all of the ghosts, her father, and her sister - herself and the people she loves (even if not all of them deserve it).

Humphrey - he makes a french cake. It's very nice and all, but the instructions that his wife used to use are in french, and once again the top layer keeps falling off. Couldn't think why.

Robin - blows everyone away with an incredible Moonah Ston cake. It's very accurate, and there's something almost... electrical about the flavour. It's also perfectly cooked thanks to his fiddling with the oven.

Star baker:

Robin! Despite having no prior experience, he really managed to wow everyone with his showstopper. To celebrate he blows all of the fuses in the tent.

#bbc ghosts #great british bake off #they're able to interact with things in this #and eat #but they still died when they died #just don't question it #Alison would probably be a guest judge #Mike would sneak around and try all the cakes

[writingkitten]

Re: silly asks . . . do you have any HCs for the boys re: their coffee orders, favorite meals, and/or alcohols of choice (if they imbibe)? I suppose I think about these sorts of things because feeding people is one of my love languages. (No pressure to answer if it isn't your jam!)

ALL THREE

Ricky: black coffee with cream; his mom’s enchiladas or my steak and potatoes; extra añejo tequila, neat

Robert: light roast with cream and brown sugar; pot roast; vodka (I think that’s canon too)

Harold: black with cream; beef wellington; Malbec

Otto: light roast with a hint of cream and sugar; salmon and asparagus; Moscato

Doc Ock: stale black coffee, probably cold; probably still salmon and asparagus; gin

Harding: light roast with a bit of cream; a nice roast; probably also gin tbh

Edelweiss: 10% coffee, 45% sugar, 45% cream; dinosaur nuggets; cotton candy flavored vodka

Chandler: dark roast with whole milk; really really rare steak, like bloody rare; bourbon

Big Boss: black coffee with whiskey; pork chops and au gratin potatoes; whiskey

Andres: dark roast with a hint of cayenne pepper (yes he likes spicy coffee); chilaquiles; reposado tequila

Boris: black coffee but with sweet cream and sugar; crumpets; Chardonnay

Dunlop: mocha; bangers and mash; champagne

Arden: hazelnut brew with soy milk; fish and chips; beer

Jim: black coffee; chicken pot pie; whiskey

Jimmy: black coffee with cream and sugar; a nice juicy hamburger; beer

Armand: dark roast with sweet cream; spaghetti bolognese; Merlot

Manuel: a rich dark roast with fresh cream; spaghetti with a creamy red sauce; red wine, probably Merlot

Maxim: dark roast plain; Yorkshire pudding; Cabernet

Hank: black coffee with sugar; either steak or a really thick, juicy hamburger; gin and tonic

Frank: dark roast plain; prime rib; straight vodka

Oswald: dark roast with sweet cream; shepherds pie; Pinot Noir

Dick: pistachio latte; lasagna; chocolate Irish cream

#molina-verse #ask #answered #HCs

[muzzzzle]

Aesop Sharp/Garreth Weasley 🙈🙈🙈

Ok, I know what you lot might be thinking, but HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE! Or just give this little mischievous story a read 🌝

NSFW 🔞 MDNI

Voyeurism | "Forbidden" love | Teacher/Student relationship

— Minus twenty points to Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. And detention. Again.

Cressida hears the heavy sigh of the Potions Master and looks at her classmate with dislike. Stupid Garreth! For seven years, he hasn’t managed to learn just to follow the recipe, almost every lesson still ends with a nearly blown-up cauldron and a sigh from Professor Sharp. And how many points has Weasley cost Gryffindor over the years! It must have been because of him that her house hadn’t won the Hogwarts Cup for a long time. However, it doesn't matter anymore. Blume adjusts her round glasses with thick lenses and shakes her head. The last year. She should focus on her research!

Cressida proudly raises her head and walks towards one of the closed, "out of order" restrooms. She likes Hogwarts, but there is definitely not enough space for independent practice here. She has to be sneaky if she wants to continue testing her theories. Previously, Professor Sharp allowed her to use his office to practice potions additionally, but after the incident in the Great Hall, when Blume was training Depulso and accidentally sent a Yorkshire pudding right in the face of the Potions Master, he changed his views on favoring her. Oh boy, did it cost Gryffindor points back then!

Cressida importantly pushes the wooden door, muttering a spell of her own composition. No one would have been able to find her cauldron under these charms — the Gryffindor was insanely proud of herself, but so far she kept these achievements secret, trusting only her diary, which she also decided to enchant from prying eyes after a certain incident in the fifth year. A cauldron is bubbling in a narrow booth on a tiny station — lately, Blume has switched exclusively from spells to improving potions. And unlike restless Weasley’s concoctions, none of them have ever exploded. However, none of them have ever improved properly either. But Cressida did not despair and persevered in her experiments.

This time, the silvery flare on the walls is cast by an invisibility potion, the effect of which usually lasts for a very short time. Blume is determined to fix this glaring flaw and extend the effect. After many attempts, she finally calculated the necessary proportions and figured out what affects the duration. Now, with a sinking heart, she pours a not-at-all-hot, playfully bubbling liquid into a prepared vial.

The girl lifts the narrow tube to the light and carefully examines its color and consistency, nodding satisfactorily and ordering the quill to make notes. The potion in the vial sparkles invitingly and Cressida, crossing her fingers on her other hand, knocks the contents into herself. It's quite dangerous to test experimental potions right away, on yourself, but Blume is ready to do anything for the sake of research .

A second later, the girl notes with pleasure that the potion still performs its function — her arms and torso are now nothing more than a slight ripple in space, much less noticeable than the usual effect of the Disillusionment charm. For the beginning, everything is going pretty well, but Cressida does not allow herself to rejoice prematurely. She marks the time to assess how much the effect has been prolonged for — the enchanted hourglass, swaying with pot-bellied sides in the air, began counting down exactly at her command. The only thing left to do is to wait a little.

Ten minutes! This is already an incredible success, the Gryffindor describes her sensations, and the quill, obediently rustling on the parchment, writes down the data. Twenty minutes. Hour. One and a half. Cressida is still invisible, the sand in the clock has long ceased to fall, the quill hovering in the air in bewilderment. Something's wrong. For some reason, it lasts for too long. Blume, worried, raises her wand and, pointing at herself, confidently says “Finite Incantatem”. Zero effect. Of course, counter-curse usually works against other charms, not potions, but it was worth a try. The girl has a spare antidote, but she is clearly not poisoned — will it work?

Three hours. The Gryffindor begins to worry a lot and gives up in an internal struggle, takes the notes and a sample, and heads to the dungeons. It's very funny to watch how students behave without noticing her. Although not everything went strictly according to plan, Blume is still pleased with herself. Surely Professor Sharp will be impressed! Maybe even let her use the potions room again.

Having got close to the slightly open doors of the classroom, Cressida slips inside, intending to raise her voice — the only thing that can give away her presence, but freezes when she sees the familiar red hair. Of course, it's already evening, and Weasley has earned himself detention. There is no sign of Potions Master within her sight — it looks like he is rummaging in his small office, and Garreth, pushing the knot of his tie a little lower, unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, exposing a sharp Adam's apple. A mischievous thought flashes through Blume's head — to make fun of a fellow student by introducing herself as the voice of conscience in his head. The fact that there is no other voice of conscience there was absolutely undoubtful to her. Almost shrieking from her own brilliant idea, she sneaks up to Garreth, but the sound of creaking hinges makes her stop — the professor, without his usual jacket and coat, in only a shirt and vest, leaves his office, raising his eyebrows at the troublemaker.

“Mr. Weasley!” the teacher's voice is not as gloomy as usual, it even seems to Cressida that there is a hint of light sadism in it. “For several weeks, classes have been held without incident, I was hoping that I wouldn't have to leave you for detention anymore!”

Garreth turns to face the professor and squints, smiling slyly. What impudence! Cressida holds her breath, waiting for the Potions Master's reaction and completely forgetting why she came here. It is unlikely that the professor will appreciate the fact that she has been shamelessly eavesdropping, taking advantage of the situation. The girl is about to open her mouth to announce her presence, but Weasley is ahead of her, for some reason raising his wand and waving it somewhere to the side.

“It seems to me, Professor, you have never really regretted it,” the door of the Potions room closes with a soft knock, light sparks run along the ornate handle — the entrance is sealed. Cressida looks back at the scene unfolding in front of her with mouth open, trying not to breathe.

The Potions Master smiles like a predator and with a frolic that is difficult to expect from a person with his injury, shortens the distance between him and the student, grabbing Garreth by the bare neck with a sinewy hand and squeezes slightly, lifting student's chin up and forcing him to back away to the professor's desk. Weasley, resting his hips on the table, exhales with a strangled wheeze, teasingly looking into the teacher's eyes, literally devouring him.

Has Sharp just attacked a student? Blume can't even move, not knowing what to do: whether to grab a wand and help Garreth — no matter how much he annoys her, the guy clearly does not deserve such a fate! But she doesn’t even have time to put her hand in the pocket to find the usual rough shaft of the wand there, as the red-haired freckled devil does something that does not fit in the head of the seventh-year — sweeping away papers and bottles behind him with one hand, he jumps onto a round table, with the other hand pulling the professor by the edge of his vest closer, so that the groins of both touch, and wraps his legs around Sharp's hips, pressing even harder, forcing the professor to loom over him. Aesop is still squeezing the student's neck, rubbing his hips against Weasley's groin, breathing noisily, and glaring at Garreth's flushed cheeks with a clouded gaze.

“You're forcing me to take serious measures, Mr. Weasley," the professor mutters hoarsely, feeling a hard lump in the other’s trousers, but not taking his eyes off the cunning squint of the Gryffindor.

The student, fidgeting with his hips on the classroom table and still throwing his neck back, squeezed by Sharp's strong hand, with dexterous long fingers Garreth fumbles for the buttons of the professor's vest and releases them one by one, brazenly withstanding the gaze boring into him. When he is finished with the buttons, Weasley rises in one sharp movement, throwing an unnecessary garment off the teacher's hunched shoulders, and presses his body against the chest of the Potions Master.

"I'm ready to accept any punishment, Professor," Garreth breathes into the teacher's face, and the next second Cressida's eyes crawl to her forehead.

Professor Sharp, a Potions Master, and an ex-Auror, pulls her classmate by the neck closer, and furiously, greedily covers Weasley's lips with his own, keeping pushing his hips forward. Both are breathing heavily and moaning hollowly, not looking away from each other, aggressively kissing and burying themselves in each other's hair. Blume is still standing a little apart, not daring to budge and realizing that she shouldn't be seeing all this, but an unfortunate (or, on the contrary, rather fortunate) viewing angle lets her see almost every movement, touch and every glare in the crazy eyes of both. Their eyes are actually quite strange as if they both had too much firewhisky. Right, maybe it's some kind of hallucination? Of course, the professor realized long ago that she was here, and now he is punishing her for her mistake with some sophisticated potion that causes visions. But if so, why is that what she sees?

Garreth greedily penetrates the teacher's mouth with his tongue again and again, unbuttoning snow-white shirt of the professor with his hands now. Sharp pushes off with a groan, removing his fingers from the red curls, and puts his palms on both sides of the student's thighs, forcing the redhead to rub against his crotch with even louder moans.

"What are you saying, Mr. Weasley?" the professor exhales in his ear in a deep, soothing voice, allowing the student to undress him, biting the lobe of his ear and feeling a shiver pass through Gareth's body from his breathing and touch. “Do you repent of what you did?”

The Gryffindor raises his clouded green eyes to the teacher and smiles ecstatically, already running his fingers over ex-Auror's chest and collarbones, and stroking his broad shoulders. Aesop catches his every move, continuing to frantically squeeze his narrow hips.

“I think you'll have to punish me a little more,” Weasley's fingers got to the heavy buckle of the professor's trousers, and now they are in full possession, greedily touching hot sensitive flesh.

Sharp whines softly, throwing his head back, letting the student take control with teasing movements for a second, but very soon pulls himself together and, gripping the burgundy tie with golden stripes, pulls it behind Garreth's back, admiring the open, sparsely freckled neck. Weasley obediently follows the insistent movement of the teacher's hand and, throwing his head back again, trembles slightly when the hot tongue of the potion maker slides up his protruding Adam's apple, leaving shiny tracks, circles his chin and, again, penetrates into his mouth.

"You don't know when to stop, Mr. Weasley. I'm afraid I'll have to teach you a lesson," the ex-Auror mutters hoarsely, tearing himself away from his student's swollen, flushed thin lips, and suddenly pulling the ribbon of his tie even tighter, squeezes the lump in the other's pants.

Garreth lets out a hoarse moan.

“Yes,” he breathes out in euphoria, feeling a frenzied excitement from the manipulations of the teacher and from the silk strip pressing on his throat slightly. “Harder.”

Sharp, smiling smugly, pulls his tie even more down, listens attentively to every wheeze, and, squeezing Weasley's crotch tighter, feels that he can barely contain his excitement himself. Releasing the burgundy strip of fabric, he takes a couple of steps away, admiring the hot young body, and throws off his trousers, revealing an impressive rock-hard cock, covered with a net of swollen veins. Cressida, who has been on the verge of fainting for a long time, barely restrains herself from crying out, covering her mouth with a sweaty palm. At the bottom of her stomach, a feeling unfamiliar to her before pulls with heat, from which her heart starts pounding faster, and her breathing quickens. Fortunately, with all the loud sighs and groans that these two make, she is the only one who can hear her breathing.

The professor, wearing only an unbuttoned shirt now, sinks into his chair, spreading his legs wide, and, wrapping a tight ring of fingers around his penis and not taking his eyes off the student, begins to move them up and down. Weasley, catching his breath and jumping off the table, immediately puts himself next to the Potions Master and kneels in front of him, his face very close to Aesop's groin.

“Let me make it up for you, professor,” having slid with his palms from the knees to the bare thighs of the teacher, he suddenly swallows the bright pink shiny head and, repeating Sharp's movements before, with wet sounds starts sucking his organ in, helping with his tongue.

Aesop, allowing the student to caress him, leans back in his chair, rolling his eyes and breathing unevenly with a muffled whistle, squeezes the armrests of the chair so that the veins on his hands seem about to burst. Weasley, who seems to be doing this not for the first time, playfully draws circles around a sensitive penis with his tongue, rising from the bottom up, paying special attention to the head, and abruptly swallows the organ as deeply as he can, knocking out an indecently loud moan from the professor. Gasping, Garrett tries to free his airways, but Sharp grabs him by the hair and holds him there, thrusting his hips deeper into his throat. After a few seconds, during which he almost finishes, he lifts the student off himself, barely allowing him to take a deep breath, and immediately kisses him hotly on the lips, insistently groping for the tongue that has just almost brought him to orgasm. But the Potions Master knows what the red-haired devil is waiting for, and has long learned to control himself. They haven't finished yet.

“Well, Mr. Weasley, I must say that you definitely know how to make amends,” the teacher gets up from his chair and, again grabbing the student by the tie, slowly lifts him up and, as if by a leash, leads him back to the table. “But your punishment is still ahead.”

Garreth, excited and ready, jumps back on the table, allowing Aesop to pull off his trousers. Sharp spreads the student's legs slightly to the sides, almost licking his lips, examining the view in front of him. With a slight movement of his hand, he opens a drawer inside the table and takes out a small bottle with a translucent viscous liquid. Generously dripping the substance directly on the student's groin, the Potions Master runs his thumb down the scrotum with reddish hairs, distributing the lubricant around the heated hole. Weasley, leaning back on the table, trembles from the cold touches, but the professor, wrapping his other hand around the student's cock, begins to slowly drive over it, forcing Garreth to relax. Aesop gently circles the edges of the shrunken rim with his thumb and, not seizing to work with his other hand, gently inserts his fingers inside, forcing the Gryffindor to emit a guttural moan of pleasure. Careful at first, finger movements are accelerated, slightly stretching everything inside. Sharp can't stand it anymore, his fingers wrapped around Garreth's organ start flying faster on it, while the ex-Auror, helping himself with his other hand, finally gets his cock in, forcing Garreth's flexible narrow back to arch towards him. Aesop, at first cautiously, but increasingly confidently driving himself into a tight hot space, feverishly wanders with his eyes over the freckled face of Weasley, who, completely surrendering to the caresses of the professor, stands up on his elbows and trustfully pushes forward.

“Yes, Professor," he whines, feeling the approach of orgasm. “I am already…”

Sharp, having accelerated, feels the penis throbbing in his hand and erupting sperm in all directions, and, now grabbing Weasley's clenched thighs with both hands, impales him on himself in a few more strong thrusts, until with a long moan of happy devastation he starts to tremble all over, fingers digging into the student's skin, undoubtedly leaving traces on it.

Like this, they stand for a few more minutes, recovering their breath. Aesop, wiping the sweat off his forehead, comes out of Garreth and, helping him up, pulls him by the hand, this time gently catching his lips. He steps aside, picks up the wand that has rolled to the side, and directs it to the sperm spreading over the sunken stomach with a few ginger hairs in the bottom. Weasley, rising after him, busily pulls on his clothes. The Potions Master, still breathing heavily, sinks into a chair, watching as the student tucks his shirt into his trousers with an expression of pleasant fatigue.

"Garreth, I'm certainly very flattered that you so often look for an excuse to get a detention with me, but maybe we should be careful," Sharp says softly, thoughtfully lowering his chin on his fist. “Let's have a couple of classes without incidents, okay?”

Weasley, pushing back the red curls stuck to his forehead with his palm, approaches the professor and, lifting his stubble-covered chin, kisses him again, slowly and sensually.

“As you say, Professor," he replies with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, hastily adding. “But this time the explosion was unintentional – it turned out that adding pickled growths of Murtlap to the Forgetfulness Potion was a bad idea.”

Sharp shakes his head kindly and watches the student's back. Cressida, flushed and pressed against the wall, prays only for the dust, that has been tickling her nostrils for several minutes now, not to make her sneeze, giving away her presence. What will the Potions Master do to her if he finds out, that she witnessed his secret meetings? At best, he will put an Obliviate on her. However, Blume would probably gladly prefer to forget about what she just saw.

After regaining his breath, the professor rises and with a wave of his wand beckons the clothes scattered on the floor to him, and returns the documents dropped by Garreth to their usual places. For a second, Cressida thinks his gaze is directed right at her, but Aesop calmly walks towards his chair again, pulls on his trousers, and heads back to his office. Seizing the moment, she takes off from her hiding place and runs out of the classroom, finding herself at the other end of the castle in a matter of minutes. It's a miracle that the ex-Auror did not notice her presence — for sure, he was too caught up in other thoughts. Cressida is still invisible, and it seems that another visit to the professor is inevitable.

But there's nothing wrong with staying invisible for a little longer. As long as she doesn’t get to witness somebody else’s secret. As for this one – she will just try to forget about it, and will definitely not tell anyone. Except for maybe her diary.

Ok, so if you got to this point, please let me know what you think, so I don't die of embarrassment 🌚🌚🌚

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #fanfic #aesop sharp #professor aesop sharp #daddy sharp #garreth weasley #weasley wednesday #sharp saturday #garreth x aesop #aesop x garreth #garraesop #?? #aesarreth #??? #omfg #cressida blume #pwp fics #voyerurism #hl fanfiction #ai artwork #ai art

[jamiesfootball]

15 and 16!

15. Do you have any unwritten scene that you think about a lot?

So. Many. In fact, so many I shall do a scattershot:

oh god, you're gonna get it (you have not been given love) - (much much later) Roy admits to Isaac that he's started seeing Dr. Fieldstone. Him and Isaac have a discussion about the kind of pressure that comes with feeling like you have to live up to this idea of Being a Man About Stuff around your family, and the pressure Isaac still gets when he goes home, being the only son out of a group full of daughters.

i still feel like the same person i've been - Jamie's reaction to Roy's retirement speech. It is loosely drafted right now because I am waiting to the first half finished before I go full steam ahead on the rest because I want all the raw intensity

the vacant house behind our home - Ted and Rebecca talk about why they think she's stuck in Richmond

you're gonna go far kid - the abominable thing I'm about to do to a yorkshire pudding

Bonus gift fic mention - Colin helps Jamie rinse beer out of his hair while they speculate what's going to happen while Zava joins the team

There is also another Answer that you will be receiving as part of your holiday gift. <3

16. Is there any written scene that you think about a lot?

The. fucking couch scene from chapter 1 of oh god, you're gonna get it (you have not been given love). I think I retooled that for like a straight month. Half of it almost got cut. There was so much I wanted to get across and so much that needed to get brought up. Just. Yeah.

The other one that has been living in my head is the Jamie and Dani playing in the rain scene from the next chapter of the vacant house behind our home.

I have also written the more gutting parts of the end of you're gonna go far, kid where it finally hits Jamie that playing football is something that's gone from his life now. I devastated myself there, but even in grief there is hope and joy. I really channeled my sports feelings in there too. We'll see how the reception goes.

#ask game #ask box is always open #writing progress #jamie tartt #roy kent #isaac mcadoo #colin hughes #writing update

[faithhopeloveandtherapy]

Life with the 2 yr old triplets (not actual triplets) continues at a whirlwind pace. With some careful scheduling with friends, I’ve been able to improve the adult to child ratio most days and we’ve been out and about all over the place.

This weekend, H and I took them to a playground yesterday, and then in the afternoon d3 came with us (one toddler per adult!) and we went on a bus ride adventure into town. Today we braved a local pub for a carvery - it was basically in, eat, out…. 50 minutes start to finish - but we all enjoyed our roast dinner. The 2 yr olds ate yorkshire puddings and veg and sausages. We came home for toddler naps, then went out to another playground. I find H quite frustrating in playgrounds tbh, he is not as attentive as I think he should be. These 2 yr olds are not competent enough to just watch them from a distance, you have to be right there at arms length.

The twins have three more days with us (they’ve been here for seven so far). I’m going to miss them when they go. I don’t want them in long term placement with us, but I also see issues in them that I would love to have a chance to try and impact. I think we’ve been good for them, they’re calmer, more settled, sleeping better. I don’t know what it is that we (I) do that makes the difference. Something to do with connection and attunement I think.

[prettyboykatsuki]

i'm not sure i'd count it as from my culture, but my grandma used to make us dutch babies for breakfast when we stayed over at her house growing up! although they are of german origin, and her side of the family is german, so you never know.

anyway, they're super easy:

preheat oven to 425*F

combine 1 cup flour, 1 cup milk, and 3 large eggs

melt 4 tablespoons butter in a cast iron skillet

pour the batter into the skillet, and bake at 425 for 20 minutes or until golden brown at the edges

lower the temperature to 300 and bake another 5 minutes. serve in slices, like a pie

the edges and center should be puffed up into peaks, and they will deflate quickly once removed from the oven, so it's better served hot.

you can add anything you want, like veggies and cheese, or cinnamon and sugar. we normally had them with maple syrup:) they're like very dense pancakes! total nostalgia food for me<3

A WHOLE RECIPE!!!!!!!

dutch babies!! i feel like ive heard of them but at the same time unfamiliar.... it sounds very pantry friendly which . HUGE FAN!!!! i just looked them up and the way they puff up reminds me a lot of yorkshire puddings wsdkjsdkjd but that is unrelated it is simply the visual

i love pancakes also.... like love ill rmb i can make them at home and eat them for a week straightfsdlsdl. mayhaps i can try this for breakfast tmmrw... i would love for some fruit also....WILL BE LOOKING INTO IT.. EITHER WAY THANK U!!!

#return to sender #a.fe #the pictures of them look so delicious... #theyre very similar to a bangladeshi dish called pita. not the bread but a different thing fdkjsjd

[catb-fics]

I love that this has turned into a full convo but I also agree he’d be an easy pull, feel like he’d love confidence and also if someone had like an artsy quality he’d be interested pretty quickly and also he doesn’t seem to have a particular type that’s at an unattainable level - also agree w the anon saying the hurdle is getting the chance. Feel like it’d have to be DMs, a chance encounter or mutual friends/industry people cause if it was at after a show or meet n greet I don’t think he’d wanna cross that line

Didn’t he meet his ex through DMs or something after she tweeted about the band? I’m sure I heard that. I might be wrong. It’s a long time ago too!

Yeah I think he’d be wary about hooking up with fans, it’s not good for the image to get a name for yourself for doing that!

I guess you’ll have to start hanging around the Yorkshire pudding shop anon for a chance encounter 😂😂

#catb asks

[lilrathands]

Ministry Days: Oui, Chef!

Genre: Pure fluff, comfort, kitchenalia, some foreshadowing of future events, an attempt at comedy was made.

Rating: The swears, simulated wanking

WC: 2438 (I have no idea how this happened)

Warnings: A little sappy, threats of violence, light Chapter 16 spoilers. Copia suffering, no door, too many tax receipts, Seestor being a big meanie.

A/N: All HCs are my own damn fault, or taken from various bits of the Chapters, interviews, Tender Father’s ramblings. Also may have been absorbed by osmosis and exposure to the fandom. You are welcome to use them.

The kitchen was Mountain's happy place. The rhythm, sounds and organised chaos was very much like being on stage, his steady heartbeat moving things along, suffusing each dish with a bit of that ethereal ghoul magic. He could be found here most evenings, amongst the polished copper pots, his head deftly bobbing between the battery of cooking implements hanging from wrought iron racks.

There had been a few teething problems involving chipped horns and swollen lumps that had to be soothed by Aether. Even though Aeth had tisked and chided Mountain each time, he was tickled by his new found love for cooking.

The road to hell, in fact, was paved with dinners. Some lavish to the point of obscenity (particularly if the ministry was hosting high-ranking clergy from abroad), some as simple as a bowl of warming soup and dark bread fresh from the ovens. It would of course be slathered with butter made from the milk of Primo's prized dairy cows who doubled as the resident lawn trimmers. Every ghoul was threatened under penalty of death - fuck with the cows and find out at your peril. As such, the ministry kitchens were equipped to feed a small (unholy) army.

The ghouls, however, kept stranger hours- often more active at night and sleeping after dawn crept its fingers over the spires of the ministry chapel. Once the kitchen had cleared of the daytime staff, it was Mountain's preferred spot. A fire would be lit in the hearth again, kicking up embers to light new tinder and carefully stacked logs. Then there was the large bay window that had become home to a variety of potted herbs and trailing ivy - all courtesy of him. The day staff had delighted in the addition, never needing to venture outside in the bitter chill of winter in Lincopia to harvest herbs from the ministry greenhouse.

The one exception to this was Sundays. Papa insisted that he make the ghouls a communal dinner, from scratch, all by himself (unless Dewdrop decided to force his involvement on the former cardinal). Papa had a paternal streak a mile wide, and loved tinkering with old recipes until they were just right for his little band of hellspawn. Dinner on Sundays was usually late, even by ghoul standards.

Oddly, Dewdrop was an occasionally curious kitchen hand, very adamant that he be shown things step-by-step and in great detail. Whenever Mountain would gently inquire, why exactly Dew was so keen, he would be admonished with a sullen stare that hinted at acts of future violence.

On this particular night an English roast dinner had been requested, with Aether claiming he had developed an affinity for them after spending some time in Britian in an earlier century. Under a different, unnamed master.

He had conjured up visions of tables laden with joints of roasted meat, stuffings, potatoes roasted with drippings or lard, vegetables glazed or creamed into submission, sauces aplenty and those strange little puffs of air called 'Yorkshire puddings'.

Mountain had practically galloped to the library - Dew madly scrambling to keep up with him. The library had a considerable collection of antique cook books and treatises on the culinary arts. The siblings of sin had helped him find a volume titled 'Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management', from around the time Aeth said he had been in service.

The book was bound in red linen, with gilt lettering and counted among its charms a stained title page, several pages of the 'Cakes' section glued together by Satan-knows-what and, curiously, an entire chapter on 'Carving at the Table' had been unceremoniously ripped out.

Walking back into the kitchen Mountain set the book on the long wooden trestle table that graced one side of the main kitchen and sat on the well-scrubbed bench seat.

"Well, looks like we're a little fucked on the pomp and ceremony bit but at least we can scrape together some of the easier recipes."

Dew stood behind him, peering over his shoulder, making a range of faces that covered everything from abject disgust to confusion and back to dry wretching.

"It's all so fucking BROWN! How could Aeth even stomach this stuff much less want to eat it again?" Dew hissed through gritted teeth.

Mountain knew that Dew also had questionable taste in food, once having caught him eating spoonfuls of dry spices, but decided to keep that thought to himself. Dew had nearly choked to death in a puff of cinnamon when Mountain had opened the pantry door looking for the fancy fleur de sel Terzo had brought up from France.

"Well, they say that brown equals flavour, buddy. Millions of people can't be wrong, well I mean they can, but let's just go with the former. Alright, let's gather everything we need up, I'll head to the root cellar, can you crank the ovens? Let's do roast pork with crackling, glazed root vegetables, crispy roast potatoes, apple and onion gravy, horseradish cream and maybe some of those yorkshire pudding things?"

"Oui, chef!" Dew practically yelled, puffing his chest out and standing as tall as he could (he was still very small, but the effort was what counted).

Mountain gave an awkward thumbs-up, wondering what the fuck had gotten into him lately? Everyone knew he was a raging perfectionist that mastered every task he was given, but this was just extreme.

There was a door adjacent to the pantry that led down into the root cellar, Mountain practically doubling over to avoid concussion as he descended the narrow stairs. The ministry had long sat unused until the 1930s, and was a former abbey dating back to the 1400s with an extensive network of catacombs,  underground chambers and cellars. This was just one storage cellar, the ministry being dotted with them, some still sealed and unused.

The cellar room itself was large enough for Mountain to stand up in, with a small, vaulted ceiling from which hung braids of garlic, onions, dried peppers and woody herbs. The door was always tightly sealed to keep Copia's rats from infiltrating the stores.

Mountain collected his root vegetables (wintered carrots, parsnips and yellow turnips) from wooden boxes and grabbed a large burlap sack of potatoes, still dirty with sandy soil. He relished the smell of soil in winter, even if it was long dry and devoid of the rich aroma of life and death that all healthy earth has. A braid of garlic, a few stray apples (these would need replenishing from the larger store cellars) and six onions were added to his basket.

Upstairs, Dew had collected a pair of ancient roasting tins that would hold two racks of pork, which he was salting and oiling. Mountain tipped his basket out onto the table and brought the onions and apples to Dew.

"Alright, slice these thinly and make a bed for the pork after you put down a little oil. Toss a few sprigs of rosemary underneath the pork as well."

Dew relished the knifework, his fingers flying adeptly just as they did on-stage. Soon sounds of sniffling and cursing could be heard from his corner of the kitchen.

"Mounty, can you pass me some paper towel? Please?"

Mountain dutifully ripped off a few sheets and handed them to Dew. Tears were streaming from his eyes, and they had gotten incredibly red, much more than any human Mountain had seen chop onions.

"Buddy, are you ok? You don't look so great..."

Wordlessly, Dew picked up the knife and pointed it at Mountain's chest.

"I...am...fine...I'm...not...crying. If you tell the others, I will end you."

Dew slowly turned to face his stinky nemesis again, his knife now pointing down at the alliums.

"I am the lord and master of these onions and will prevail. SUBMIT TO ME, YOUR ONION LORD!" Dew exclaimed as he began furiously slicing the onions again.

Mountain stiffly turned back to his own cutting board while questioning the choice of giving Dew access to a large, sharp knife. Maybe he should just give him the vegetable peeler next time...

Soon there were neat piles of chopped veg, minced herbs and bowls of coarse salt and freshly ground pepper in front of Mountain. A large tray lined with baking paper stood ready, as he tipped and mixed everything together. A final flourish of honey from the pantry was drizzled over everything.

Dew had indeed conquered the onions, and the pork was sizzling in one of the large, furnace-like ovens. Little sparks of fire magic were floating around him like orange fireflies, and Mountain could tell that Dew was manipulating the fire, willing the ancient oven to get hot enough to properly cook the crackling roast.

"Thanks buddy, you're doing a great job there."

Mountain gingerly patted him on his shoulder, to which Dew blushed and fumbled a "Thanks, chef."

While the roast was cooking, the pudding batter was assembled, the horseradish grated and gently folded into cream with a little vinegar, salt and pepper (more tears from Dew, Mountain wordlessley handing over paper towels).

It was time for the potatoes to be tipped into hot fat, and the tray of vegetables to be placed into the now less-furnacey oven. Dew had opened the oven and with his golden crown of hair blowing around him, had drawn the heat into himself, then promptly run outside and exhaled vast quantities of steam. Mountain marvelled at how strong his magic could be when he was focused and calm, something he noticed was happening more often these days.

Returning to work, they scrubbed the boards, knives, bowls and utensils, and set the table for Papa and the ghouls. They had a little time to have a cup of tea and biscuits, as the meat had to rest before carving. The siblings of sin always kept a tin of biscuits around for the ghouls, as it was an easy way to barter with them - they had become fond of earthly delights.

Mountain loved the little heart-shaped  linzer cookies filled with jam, while Dew enjoyed the dark chocolate shortbreads dotted with orange zest and redolent with spice. They missed them while on tour, and would often request that the kitchen send along a tin or two to fix any cases of homesickness.

The smell of dinner had clearly wafted through the abbey as Aether poked his head through the huge wooden double-doors of the kitchen.

"Almost dinner time, lads? Want me to fetch the others?"

"Yes, and make sure to get Papa as well, I don't care if you have to tear him away from his bloody tax returns, Sister can get fucked for once. Every time I walk past his room he's either playing video games and eating Pocket Coffees from a giant bowl or wringing his hands over a pile of paper and swearing in Italian." Mountain's brow creased in worry - Copia needed a solid meal and some companionship, this work schedule was killing him...

It was time to pour the batter for the puddings into their screaming-hot moulds. Mountain carefully distributed the liquid and then immediately shoved them in the oven to bake.

Dew was already moving the vegetables onto large platters, and pouring the gravy into the Ministry's bizarre collection of animal-shaped gravy boats. His personal favourite was the puking cat.

Mountain was left to carve the pork, quietly working the slices from the rack, the crackling sublimely crisp and shattering. He heard the scrape of a chair behind him and suddenly felt a hat being negotiated over his horns.

"Gotta look the part, hey chef?" Dew proclaimed, as he slid the chair back and stood beside him, wearing a floppy, old-fashioned chef's toque like some bizarre character from an 80s children's show. It was fucking adorable.

"Absolutely bud, only the height of professionalism around here."

The other ghouls began drifting through the doors, excitedly chatting and sniffing the air. The girls coo'd over Dew's hat while also trying to dip their fingers in the gravy boat as he fended them off with a slotted spoon. 

Aether and Papa were last, with Aether holding Papa up with an arm while he shuffled in, still wearing his little rat slippers and looking positively dreadful.

"Amici miei....my beautiful children, you are a sight for sore eyes. Sister, she is relentless, she has removed my door! I can't even, you know, ehhh..." he made sad, unenthusiastic wanking motions with his hand.

Suddenly, Copia closed his eyes as his nose began to twitch. He inhaled deeply, a flush of colour returning to his cheeks.

"Quell'aroma meraviglioso...Mountain, Dewdrop, you have outdone yourselves...my mama, she could have never..." Aether sat Papa down at the head of the table, gently tucking a napkin into his burgundy hoodie and pouring him a small glass of wine.

Dew held up his own wineglass, tapping it with his gigantic slotted spoon.

"The chef would like to say a few words..." he announced, chest puffed out again and wiggling an eyebrow at Mountain.

"Uh yeah, Aeth requested this one, so, uh, enjoy this surprisingly delicious brown food."

Everyone clapped, while Mountain's hat slid forward as he bowed. Suddenly, he bolted upright -"Fuck, the puddings!"

Without a hint of hesitation Dew jumped up and ran to the oven, pulling the pan of crispy puffs out with his bare hands. "Got 'em! Nice and golden, sneaky little fuckers."

"CAZZO! Put the fucking pan down, you're going to have terrible blisters, mamma mia!" Papa yelled while clasping his hands over his face, elicting a gasp from the other ghouls.

"Nah, I usually wear oven mitts just so the siblings don't lose their tiny minds when they realise I'm unburnable. Don't want to give them the brain scramblies, ya know?"

The ghouls uttered a collective sigh, of course a pan wasn't going to burn him. They all suddenly felt a little foolish, like they'd been living amongst humans a bit too long.

Swiss, however, looked contemplative, while shoving a hot yorkshire pud in his mouth he began, "The brain scramblies are bad news, like that time Rain dove into the lake and didn't come up for 20 minutes in front of the novices..."

Soon enough, laughter echoed through the hall. Mountain was content, his family was here enjoying the fruits of his labours, while their collective magics mingled in the warm air. Dew offered up a crinkly-eyed smile in his direction, which he returned with a nod and subtle grin.

They would all sleep well, with full bellies and comfortable dreams of warm hearths, surrounded by good friends.

#ghost band fanfic #the band ghost #ghost fanfiction #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #cardinal copia #papa iv #sodo ghoul #ghost band headcanons #ghoul headcanons

[putuponpercy]

Am I alright to ask for a full list of food/cravings HC's for the characters?

It seemed like it'd be a really fun ask!

-

Does anyone have allergies?

Who hates Marmite?

Is anyone vegetarian?

Anything food related!

-

Love your art and little HC's!

Your little comic was all kinds of "Awwwww!"

First off - thank you so much ;u; your kind words really mean a lot!! 💖 Secondly, my goodness you were right this was such a fun ask to write for - it really got me stuck in and thinking about how different the characters eating habits are. I’ve only listed No.1 through 12 plus Diesel as I feel I haven’t had the chance to flesh out a lot of other characters as of yet 🙏

Thomas: A human hoover, will consume pretty much anything put on a plate in front of him. Has given himself food poisoning from his own cooking on multiple occasions, probably from the medium-rare chicken he specialises in. Not a big fan of tea.

Edward: Has a strong sweet tooth. His lunchbox probably contains more dessert than dinner. Snacks on some of those little wrapped hard-boiled sweets he keeps in his breast pocket - which he’ll sometimes give out to Bill and Ben if they actually behave.

Henry: Henry still struggles to maintain a healthy relationship with food after his time being so unwell and may need a gentle reminder to have something to eat during the day. Sometimes makes mac and cheese at 3am. Probably one of the few to admit that they enjoy fish. Is also allergic to peanuts. 

Gordon: Big lover of meats and protein. Typically has around 12 toppings on his sandwiches. Willingly starts arguments over which is the superior flavour of crisps - favours salt & vinegar. Probably the marmite enthusiast of the Tidmouth lot. 

James: Claims he can handle spicy foods but absolutely cannot. Tuna sandwiches are his guilty pleasure that not a single soul must ever learn about. Keeps a pack of polo mints on hand to hide the fish smell from his breath.

Percy: A coffee addict, prefers bitter tasting things. Not a fan of sweet foods at all such as chocolate, jam, honey etc. Lactose intolerant but that doesn’t usually stop him from enjoying pizza night with Thomas. 

Toby: Strikes me as the type of person who will eat the same meal for tea every single day for several weeks. He always insists on helping Henrietta cook in the kitchen. (Bonus I found this video shortly after writing that and it is absolutely them)

Duck: Dislikes eggs. Goes full-on with the roast dinners every Sunday, usually makes enough to feed the entire Little Western fleet and then some. Makes the best yorkshire puds.

Donald & Douglas: One prefers savoury, the other prefers sweet. People often have a hard time remembering who prefers which. Both are hearty drinkers and can pretty much always be found in the pub after work.

Oliver: Would probably eat around 10 packets of noodles in a day if given the chance.

Emily: The only one who seems to remotely care about her physical health and what sort of food she consumes. Mostly sticks to a plant based diet. Big lover of tea. Also Irn Bru - she has a secret stash of the stuff.

Diesel: Likes fast food or anything greasy. Not a fruit or veggie lover. Has probably deprived his body of water for some time. Similar to Henry, will make cheese on toast at around 3am for no reason other than he wanted cheese on toast.

#askbox #ttte #ttte humanized #thomas is also the type of person who willingly licked coal to see if it was any good #spoiler alert #it wasn't #pup's headcanons #TJP AU

[mccall-muffin]

Little Kitty Christmas Special // Babe Heffron x Reader

Summary: How Christmas is in the Heffron-Household.

Warnings: Just a lot of fluff!

A/N: This came to my mind cause I didn't want to make a third part actually, but this was fun.

Tagging: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @brassknucklespeirs

December 24, 1946 - South Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA  

Humming, you stand in the kitchen preparing the stuffing for the turkey that will be on the table tonight. You've been in the kitchen for hours anyway, getting everything ready. Pigs in Blankets, Yorkshire Pudding, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, and a few other odds and ends. Also, the English Christmas Pudding has to be prepared, for which the fruits have been pickled in rum for several weeks.

As you look out the kitchen window, you see Babe standing in front of your house but staring into space. You take a deep breath, briefly washing the potatoes off your hands before stepping outside. Babe doesn't even seem to notice this because he flinches when you put your arms around him from behind.

He quickly realizes it's you and visibly relaxes. He sighs, and you rest your head on his shoulder. "What's wrong, my darling?" you ask him. He puts his hands on yours and leans his head against yours.

"It's just... This time. It's - especially hard," he says after a while. You sigh and bite your lips before stroking his hands. "I'm sorry about that, love," you whisper, "It's okay, dear. I'm afraid it can't be helped." You both stand there, looking out at the street for a moment. "Christmas used to be my favorite time," Babe tells you, and you listen intently. "The family was together, the food was excellent, and there were presents." Babe chuckles. "The atmosphere was always very nice, but now... All I can ever think about is that God-forsaken forest."

Babe lowers his head, and you break away from him to wrap your arms around his neck. "Hey," you say, forcing him to look at you. Tears glisten in his eyes, nearly tearing your heart out. You know you can't take away what he's experienced, and it's incredibly hard for him, but you can only be there for him.

"I know I can't take away the pain, love, but I'm here for you; I hope you know that," you say, putting a hand on his cheek. "I love you, Babe. Eddie loves you, and if I can bring even a little joy back to you, I'll do anything to do that." You lean in and kiss your husband tenderly. Babe takes your hand in his and smiles gently at you. "I love you more than anything, Y/N. You don't even know how much." He kisses you again, and you pull him towards you.

"Daddy!"

You break away from each other as you notice little Eddie standing on your porch, being led down the two steps by Babe's mom. "Hey, my little man," Babe says happily, taking his son into his arms. He lifts him, and Eddie laughs happily. You stand by and smirk with one hand in front of your mouth.

Babe walks up to you with Eddie in his arms and kisses you again.

"There now, you two. We know how in love you are, but save it for the bedroom, will you?" Anne, Babe's mother, now interferes. "I wouldn't mind having more cute little angels like that," she laughs, taking Eddie out of Babe's arms as you and Babe exchange looks. "Ma," the latter then says, annoyed. "What? You can't blame me for wanting more grandchildren," she justifies herself. "It's not like you don't already have eleven," Babe laughs, and his mother smacks him on the arm. "Edward James Heffron, don't get cocky now."

Babe rubs his arm playfully. "Very well, I must return to the kitchen," you say, giving Babe's hand a quick squeeze. "Dinner's not going to prepare itself." Babe gives you a pat on the butt as you walk past him. You turn around in surprise and look at him, startled, but Babe shrugs innocently, which makes you laugh.

When the food is ready, you stand in the kitchen frame to watch Eddie and Babe play with each other. The sight keeps putting a smile on your face.

"You're fortunate."

As you turn around, Anne smiles at you. "I know," you agree with her. "You guys gave me quite a scare when Babe came back from the war, and he suddenly had a son. But that shouldn't have surprised me that much. What surprised me was that he also had a girl with him, whom he was determined to marry by all means in the world." You look at Anne, frowning.

"He's so damn happy with you. It warms my heart to see my son like that." You take a deep breath. "I'll do what I can." "He needs you, Y/N." You look at Anne, then nod slowly. "I know. And I need him. I love your son, Anne." "And I know that, my child."

Suddenly your front door opens, and you look up in confusion. "Hello, fellas; Uncle Bill is here," you already hear the familiar voice of Babe's best friend. You give Anne's hand a quick squeeze before walking into the entryway, where Babe, with Eddie in her arms, is already greeting Bill.

"Y/N," Bill then says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Bill, good to see you," you speak with a smile before greeting his wife, Frannie. "And Frannie. It's good to have you here. How are you?" you ask, pointing to her round belly. "Oh, been better, if I'm honest," she says, out of breath, and you take her coat from her. "It's getting close to the end, and I can tell." "Yeah, and then I finally get to meet our rascal," Bill grins before walking up to Frannie and kissing her.

"So, how's my godson?" Bill then asks, nudging Eddie to the side. Babe hands him off to Bill and smiles. "He's getting bigger, that's for sure." Babe smiles at you.

It's not long before the rest of Babe's family arrives, which means you have a full house. His three brothers with their wives and children and his two sisters with their husbands have come. Babe's dad also followed when he was done with work.

The mood at the dining table is boisterous, and you enjoy the family together. Now and then, you squeeze Babe's hand when you notice his gaze becoming absent and then smile at him encouragingly. You see, it's no different with Bill.

"Don't you miss home, Y/N? Your family?" Jimmy, Babe's brother, asks you, and you look up. "Of course I do," you reply with a smile. "But my parents are arriving soon, and I'll see them then. Traveling that far with Eddie isn't a good idea yet." "I guess that's true," Jimmy's wife Vera agrees with you. "And when is baby number two coming? Eddie is 18 months, after all," Joey laughs now, earning a nasty look from Babe. "Can't you just leave her alone?" he asks, looking at his brother.

"What, Babe? Martha was pregnant again after only six months." "Yeah, but not everyone has as pronounced a reproductive urge as you, Joey," Jimmy now laughs and smacks him on the back of the head. "Hey!" the latter exclaims and wants to retaliate, but their mother intervenes. "Stop it, boys, and behave!" she says sternly, looking at her boys. "Sorry, Ma..." Jimmy and Joey mumble meekly, which brings a smirk to your face.

When it's time for the gift-giving, you're sitting on the sofa next to Frannie and Vera, sipping your wine glass. You're all sitting around the beautifully decorated Christmas tree, and some have already started singing cheesy Christmas carols.

Then suddenly, Babe gets up and stands in front. "Okay, okay. Before you all pounce like vultures on the presents, I want to say something," he says and then looks at you. "Hear, hear," Jimmy calls out, raising his glass. "He hasn't even started yet, you idiot," Joey says, and you shake your head in amusement.

"My very dear wife Y/N. Please come forward," Babe says, and you blush slightly before walking forward to join him.

Babe takes your hands in his and looks you in the eyes. "I wanted to tell you that you are the most wonderful person in my life. You are the best mother to our son. You are the best wife to me. I love you with all my heart, and I couldn't imagine my life without you," Babe says as tears start to well up in your eyes.

"Hey Babe, you know you already married her, right?" exclaims Bill, and everyone starts laughing. Babe looks at him for a second and then nods. "I know, but that's why I still want to say thank you. After probably the most horrible and difficult time in my life, you gave me the most beautiful and loving time, and for that, I am forever grateful!" Babe leans down to you and gives you a quick kiss. "I love you, Y/N. I always will. And as a token of that," he then says and takes out a box.

Confused, you look at him. "What's this?" you ask, and he smiles. "Open it."

Carefully, you open the lid and what's inside the box melts your heart. "Oh my God!" you exclaim, dropping the top to the floor before reaching into the box and pulling it out.

It's a little white kitten.

"Oh my God, Babe," you then say, giving your husband a big hug. "The first time I saw you, you were petting a little thing just like that on the streets of Aldbourne. That was almost three years ago, but I've thought about you every day since. Whether I've seen you or not." You hold the little thing in your arms and stroke it gently.

"It's perfect," you breathe then, kissing Babe passionately. "I love you," you say, smiling at him.

"Hear, hear," Jimmy repeats and raises his glass, which you all do to him now.

You and Babe are cleaning up the mess his family left behind together. Eddie is already in bed, and Anne and Joseph, Babe's parents, have also said goodbye.

Tired, you put the dirty dishes in the sink while the kitten jumps around your legs. "Well, you little one? You must be hungry," you say, petting the little one before giving it some food.

"Have you decided on a name yet?" asks Babe, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. "Not yet, but it can wait," you whisper, then look at Babe. "How about April?" he asks, and you look at him questioningly. "April?" "Well, it's a girl, and that month, I got to marry the greatest woman in the world." You smile, bend down and pick up the little cat. "Are you an April?" you ask her, and as if to confirm, she meows. Then you look at Babe with a smile before putting the little thing back on the ground. "April it is."

You walk past Babe and start clearing more plates before you hear him doing something on the gramophone and look up as the song 'Have yourself a merry little Christmas' by Judy Garland plays.

Surprised, you look at Babe, who holds out his hand to you. "No, honey, we should finish this," you say, pointing to the mess still on your dining room table. Babe walks up to you and hugs you from behind as he kisses your neck. "That can wait," he whispers, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. "Babe," you say again, but he's already taken the plates from your hands and placed them on the table.

He pulls you into the middle of the room and then toward him. He begins to move slowly with one hand on your back and one in your hand. You look at him before sighing and resting your head on his shoulder.

Slowly you move to the rhythm of the music, and Babe gently strokes your back. You breathe in his all-too-familiar scent and then sigh happily.

"You know, I thought of something today," Babe says, pushing you off him a little so he can look at you. "Uh-huh, and what's that?" you ask, and he grins. "Well, I've been thinking about what Ma and Jimmy said. About - well, about having a second baby." You widen your eyes. "What?" "Well, Eddie's getting big enough now, and I'd like him to have a little brother or sister."

After the initial shock, you smile at Babe before touching his cheek. "You know I would do anything for you, sweetheart. And if you want to have a big family... Then let's have a big family. I didn't know that's what you wanted." Babe kisses you passionately. "I'd have a hundred kids with you," he says, and you laugh. "You're not serious, are you?" "No, but one or two more wouldn't hurt." "Well then, Babe Heffron, let's make another baby," you say, and he grins.

Babe lifts you without waiting any longer and throws you over his shoulder. "What right now?" you ask with a laugh, but Babe doesn't give you an answer, instead carrying you up the stairs. Once in your bedroom, he lays you on the bed and places himself over you.

"You just keep surprising me, love," you're still laughing, and Babe kisses you tenderly. "I should hope so. Otherwise, it would be boring."

You look into his eyes again and bite your lips. "I love you, Babe. I hope you don't forget that." A big grin appears on Babe's face. "If I should, I hope you'll remind me again immediately." He brushes a strand of hair from your face, then places his lips on yours.

"I don't think I'll ever call Christmas a favorite holiday again, but I can tell you that as long as you're by my side, at least one light will shine." He kisses you again, more passionately, before pushing himself away a little. "I love you, Y/N. Nothing in the world can change that ever. And now... Let's get to that Christmas miracle," he grins, and you laugh. "Well then... baby-me, love." "Oh, you don't have to tell me twice."

Even though it will take some time until you get pregnant again, the love between you and Babe still is as strong as ever. He is the rock in your life and will always have your back. Times will be challenging, but he will be there for you and your children. You couldn't wish for a better husband or father of your children in your life.

You love him with all your heart.

#Band of Brothers #Babe Heffron x Reader #Babe Heffron #Christmas special #Band of Brothers fanfic #Band of Brothers Christmas #BoB fluff #Little Kitty #I WISH YOU ALL A MERRY CHRISTMAS!