#puncook

[burnselfs]

@puncook​    —    “ who said you could come in? ”  ( to peter ) 

𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧  𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙨  —  𝙛𝙖𝙧  𝙩𝙤𝙤  𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡  𝙞𝙣  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧𝙬𝙖𝙮.   he doesn’t say anything to the cook for awhile, the two of them alone in the kitchen, just staring at one another. 

“  𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹 . . .  ”    when he finally speaks, it’s in a slow, deliberate drawl, stepping further into the room.    “  𝗶𝗳  𝘆𝗼𝘂’𝗱  𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲  𝗺𝗲  𝘁𝗼  𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲  𝗮𝗻𝗱  𝗮𝘀𝗸  𝗵𝗲𝗻𝗿𝘆  𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁  𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻,  𝗶’𝗺  𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲  𝗵𝗲  𝗰𝗮𝗻  𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹  𝘆𝗼𝘂.  𝗯𝘂𝘁  𝗶’𝗱  𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝗻𝗼𝘁  𝗱𝗼  𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁.  𝗶’𝗹𝗹  𝘀𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲  𝗳𝗼𝗿  𝗮  𝗯𝗶𝘁𝗲  𝗼𝗳  𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁  𝗽𝗶𝗲  𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺  𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿.  ” 

[burnselfs]

@puncook    —    “ cover it in mustard and call it a day. ”  ( to peter ) 

𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧  𝙝𝙖𝙨  𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨  𝙘𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙  𝙛𝙤𝙧  𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛.   he’s got a couple memories of mum being well enough to scrape together some dinner or breakfast for him and dad, but most of the time it’s peter managing to pull together whatever odd ingredients they’ve got in the pantry to fix up something edible.  the good nights are when it’s just him, alone to figure out if the concoction he’s tossed together is better than going hungry. 

he’s gotten better as he’s gotten older, fending for himself in his own flat.  still not up to a culinary standards, it seems. 

“  𝗼𝗵,  𝗶  𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁  𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸  𝗶𝘁’𝘀  𝗮𝘀  𝗯𝗮𝗱  𝗮𝘀  𝗮𝗹𝗹  𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁,  ”    he replies, smile always a little too biting when shot in the cook’s direction.  against owen’s advice, he nudges miles a bit more towards the condiments.    “  𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆  𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳,  𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗲.  𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲’𝘀  𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆  𝘁𝗼  𝗴𝗼  ‘𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱.  ” 

[melnchly-a]

@puncook​ said:  ‘ what’s the deal with you two? ‘ to REBECCA!

            sitting at the kitchen table, morning light streaming through, but becs is still half-asleep. (luckily, both flora and miles are both still sleeping, themselves, and she does not have to try to wrangle them without this first cup of tea. but she does, it seems, have to wrangle this question. the only sign of any discomfiture comes with an extra little clatter of the spoon against her cup, the flutter of a blink. 

            the truth is that she knows exactly what he means - - of course she does. she knows that none of them are blind, all of them can see the way she and peter look at each other, can feel the way the air changes when the two of them are together in a room. 

            “i don’t ask you about hannah, owen,” she says, and though it’s spoken gently there’s still a reprimand there, somewhere. too long she’s spent with other people prying into what should only be her affair, she doesn’t want to let that start happening here. “besides, it’s much too early for such things. will you pass me the marmalade, please?” 

A MEME I THOUGHT I REBLOGGED BUT DELETED INSTEAD