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lewkwoodnco · 3 months

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Be More - George x Reader

"Er...I think this dough's ready to be cut into the strips."

"Yes, chef."

He coughed awkwardly, too uncomfortable to come up with any decent sort of response.

a/n: am soooo salty i fell sick in the middle of my 12 days of fics '23 for xmas last year :((( so im giving myself a lil treat by doing a short series of valentine's fics! i SO don't know how souffles work if you can't tell so pls don't come for me, and a special special thanks to lisa @neewtmas for the apron idea heheh. all fluff, which is why I got all my angst fics out of the way beforehand if you'd like a lil palate cleanser :) also totally didn't make this a songfic cuz i was struggling to find a title :} btw I headcannon that george randomly zones in and out in everyday life and this has nothing to do with how much I may or may not do this myself ALSO was strongly influenced to post this earlier by the multiverse of George aka @oblivious-idiot @bella-rose29@bobbys-not-that-small heh

warnings/tropes: lockwood and george bromance supremacy!!! baking, lots and lots of valentine's day fluff, awkward georgeeeee

word count: 2.8k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Lucy handed George a steaming cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted. The three of them were having breakfast as usual, and with the last strains of winter fading, Portland Row's kitchen was entirely too bright. He closed his eyes, pretending he didn't see the way Lockwood's hand lingered on Lucy's when taking his mug. They were bad enough on any normal day, but even worse nowadays, with Valentine's Day drawing achingly closer. He felt himself begin to nod off again from the gentle and comforting steam.

He felt a mild rap against his cheek, which he turned to see is from a well-aimed sugar cube launched from across the table by Lucy. He looked up to see her staring hard at him and Lockwood poorly concealing a snigger with his cup of tea.

"George. Have you or have you not got any plans for Valentine's?"

He takes his time wiping his glasses on his shirt sleeve before responding. "Nothing much. Though I've promised Y/N I'd spend the day with her."

He watched Lucy's expression carefully, and she seemed to be watching his. Truth was, with Valentine's drawing closer and closer, George was going into a mild panic. He hadn't exactly arranged it intentionally. They had been having a quiet chat on a morning when George had been too tired from the previous night's case to strictly follow, and suddenly she was waving goodbye, promising to see him next on Valentine's Day.

He had no idea what kind of a Valentine's Day he had agreed to, or how much of a filter he had had, and he had been dropping Lucy desperate cries for help, with decreasing subtlety. Was it a date? Was she expecting a date? Sure, they had went to that play together after Lucy fell mysteriously ill, and maybe they met up for lunch once a week. But she never referred to

His eyes slowly drifted close as Lucy and Lockwood's conversation morphed into gentle white noise, enjoying the warmth of the little sun streaming through their kitchen window. It felt nice to have a little break from his intense week of baking -

Baking! George snapped wide awake, clumsily climbing out of his chair and feverishly counting the stacks of meticulously wrapped, frilly pastry goodie bags lining the kitchen counter. It had become an annual Valentine's Day tradition for George to construct these small goodie bags of baked goods for a sizeable chunk of his extended family. He even roped in Lucy and Lockwood, and as Valentine's Day approached they'd all gather around the kitchen table at night, even if it was after a case, packing the delicaices George had spent the day baking, until one of them started dropping off.

It was tedious work, but they enjoyed it and were well invested in it - Lockwood fiercely so. When a cousin had remarked that perhaps the tradition was becoming a little tired at a family gathering last Christmas, Lockwood had accidentally-but-not-really smacked his head. George relaxed as he neared towards the end of the pile - just one more day of baking, and he'd be ready to send them off.

Lucy and Lockwood were mostly finished with breakfast anyway, so he chased them out of the kitchen and got to work. Once George had his first batch of cookies in the oven, he started planning for the supplementary baked goods. For instance, he was going to make a chocolate souffle for the three of them to share over a midnight supper tomorrow.

So when the kitchen door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air, George spun around scathingly, ready to threaten Lockwood with deflated souffles. But the hiss at the tip of his tongue withered when he saw who it was.

"...Y/N?"

"Hello. Baking, are you?"

George suppressed the urge to shield the vast volumes of confectionary goodie bags littering the kitchen's surfaces.

"...yes." With some difficulty, he slowly resumed his movements, explaining how this was something he did every year. In a way, he was grateful to have something to do with his hands, because the last minute or so reminded him that he had no idea what he normally did with his hands while standing.

"Oh. Need any help?"

It took George another half-minute to process her question. "With what?"

"With the baking, obviously."

"Uh...s'alright, I've got it all handled."

"No, please, I'd love to help."

George paused mid-stir, looking comically perplexed with a smidge of flour on his nose. "What for?" He bit his tongue, hastily back-pedalling since his tone sounded aggressively suspicious. "What I mean is, you wouldn't want to spend your day here, sweating like a pig - not that you sweat, and definitely not like a pig, no - I'm the one sweating like a pig..."

What he wanted to say was, their oven was ancient and so made the kitchen stupid hot every time he baked, but failed miserably. He set down his mixing bowl in defeat. Almost instantly, she stifled a giggle, trying to pass it off as clearing her throat, and George followed her gaze to his apron in horror. What the mixing bowl had previously been hiding was the horrendously cheesy 'kiss the cook' graphic on his apron.

It had been a ridiculous gag gift from Lucy, one that he had never intended to use but was forced to after his last apron caught on fire from one of his experiments with the skull. Bursting into flames would have been more useful now, He stood there, eyes watering from the heat, determined in his refusal to acknowledge both the apron and the smile she was doing a poor job of suppressing.

"Fine. You can start with the cookie batter."

About a minute or two later, it occurred to George that perhaps it would have wise to ask how much experience she had with baking. Not a lot, he soon discovered, when her bowl nearly flew off as soon as she switched on the egg beater. He dropped his mixing bowl instantly, waving away her apologies.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't expect it to be so powerful."

He cautiously adjusted her grip on the bowl, gently guiding her fingers to a better hold.

"No, no, it's my fault. Not much of a baker?"

"...no."

"Okay, so what you do is, use one hand to hold the - other hand - hold the bowl, and the other holds the egg beater like - no, not quite."

He took a step closer, placing his hands over hers, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from her body, and the smell of her shampoo.

The last time they had been this close was on their way home from that play. With Lockwood out of town for a client meeting, and Lucy developing a mysterious case of the flu, it was only the two of them crouched under a tiny umbrella as they walked home after the play. George would have been more than happy to walk in the rain, but she was the one holding the umbrella, and was firm in her resolve to not send him back to Lucy with a head cold. With the little space between them, their cheeks brushed against each other occasionally, sending a jolt running through the side of George's face.

"Well...this is me."

George nodded dumbly, staring hard at the chips in her front door's paint, agonisingly aware of her looking at his face. He didn't dare turn to meet her gaze; they were far too close.

"I had fun today, George."

He sighed and briefly zonesout. As short as their chat was, he remembered very little, his focus only returning when she pulled her key out.

"We should do this again sometime," she was saying, as she turned the key in her lock. When he finally looked at her, there were the tinies raindrops on her eyelashes. There was something so pure and unassuming about the sight that it tugged at his heart. It made him want...more. More with her. With a brief smile, she disappeared into her home, leaving him standing alone in the rain. He stood there for a minute, prolonging the moment for some unidentifiable reason. It was a nice door. She had a nice smile.

It was as though she had read his thoughts from his eyes, for a faintly embarrassed air hung in the kitchen after that. For the next better part of an hour, they engaged in this delicate dance as they floated through the kitchen, carefully staying out of each other's way, never in the same area for long. It wasn't until she was sifting the dry ingredients that they next spoke.

"Hang on, that might be too much flou-"

As George touched her elbow, her hand jerked, sending a sizeable chunk of flour into her mixing bowl, along with a cloud of it directly in her face. He was sorry, of course, but as she spluttered and tried to blink through it, he couldn't stop the amused twist to his features. When she caught his eye, she rolled her eyes and sent a fistful of flour into his eyes. Now it was her turn to laugh as George groaned through the smarting.

"You're right, Mr. Cook, it IS hilarious!"

George scoffed, struggling to maintain his sanctimonius, above-petty-acts front as he wiped his glasses clean with as much dignity as he could muster. But on the inside, his defences were crumbling fast.

"You're acting like a child."

She looked mildly apologetic for a moment, and George felt a flash of truimph, before she raised both her flour-coated hands and resolutely streaked them across George's face.

"Egg on your face. Or should I say, flour?"

With that, all pretenses of civility were thrown out the window. The both of them swept up as many ingredients as they could and migrated to opposite ends of the kitchen table, pelting each other with everything that could be pelted. George landed a few well-aimed chocolate chips into her hair. She soaked the front of his apron with half a jug of milk, which was nearly enough to send him into hysterics. So it went on and on and on, until they ran out of supplies in their immediate reach, before resorting to shoving each other's faces into bags and tins of baking soda and powdered sugar. This, it occurred to George as he was rubbing cornstarch into her red, wheezing face, is strangely intimate.

Again, there was this tugging sensation in his chest, the kind that made him want to sit in his armchair for anywhere from half a minute to half an hour. The kind of sensation that could not be held in words. The closest he could get was the wish for a never-ending summer, or perhaps orchards full of cherry trees as sweet as the first pick. But even that fell short.

Just as she raised two fistfuls of sprinkles, the kitchen door swung open. Lockwood wandered in, looking sharp as ever in his too-small suit. The two of them smoothly parted, their faces burning under the flour, and George suddenly became very interested in the pastry dough he was kneading. He felt rather than saw Lockwood looking back and forth between the two of them, wishing that he'd just take whatever he needed from the kitchen and got out. But of course, he knew better than to engage in wishful thinking, especially with Lockwood's mildly gormless smile plain as day. "Hang on. George, you do realise that-"

Whatever it was that Lockwood was wondering if he had realised was cut off by the jam tart George shoved into his mouth, because the answer was probably yes, Lockwood, of course I realised that completely inane observation.

"Out. Out. I won't have you compromising the integrity of my kitchen." With a little difficulty, George wheeled a spluttering Lockwood littering soft pastry flakes all over his clean kitchen floor out into the hallway. He shut the door firmly and turned back apologetically, only just seeing the flour in her hair as she watched on amusedly.

"I sure hope I'm not starting up a ruckus - or was it compromising the integrity? - of your kitchen."

George felt his cheeks warming as he returned to the kitchen table. "No, of course not. You never know where Lockwood's been, is all. You're different."

Had he been standing this close to her the whole day, he wondered, close enough to see the pretty flakes in her eyes, softer than any pastry he could make? How was he supposed to look away? And how did he stand it?

"Er...I think this dough's ready to be cut into the strips."

"Yes, chef."

He coughed awkwardly, too uncomfortable to come up with any decent sort of response, embarrassedly muttering something along the lines of how there was no need for any of that. As she got absorbed into getting the strips of dough just right, George glanced at the kitchen door, to see Lockwood silently making exaggerated kissy faces at him. George picked up his rolling pin and Lockwood fled immediately, without so much as a creak from the floorboards.

Now, they finally returned to their baking with proper focus, now that they were all tired out. She seemed to have picked up some skills pretty quickly, though he still kept an eye out in case she might do something that would, say, set her hand on fire.

An hour or so later, the phone started ringing obnoxiously in the hallway. With some difficulty, George peeled off one of his disposable gloves on his way to it. When he picked up the phone, he almost wished he hadn't, because it was that same cousin from last Christmas' gathering. As his voice wore on and on, George started wishing he had let Lockwood give him another punch or two, just to set him straight.

Suddenly, he picked out a few startling words from his cousin's nasally voice, which made his heart plummet, as the calendar in the hallway came into startling focus. He wandered back to the kitchen door, numbly hearing his cousin's complaints of why no one's goodie bags had reached yet. He blankly stared at her, and she stared back confused, slowing down her cutting of the strips concernedly. After a second or two, he hung up the phone, but was in too much shock to lower it.

"Today's date," he whispered.

"Hm?"

"Today's date. It's not the 13th. I thought it was the 13th. Today is the 14th. Valentine's day was today, not tomorrow."

Even as he was saying those words, the calm look on her face told him exactly what he had feared - that she had known all along.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought this was what you wanted to do!"

"Unpaid labour."

"What?"

"You spent your Valentine's Day doing exhausting, difficult, unpaid labour." He clumsily placed the phone down on the kitchen counter, struggling to find the right words as he fought against the embarrassment. "I am so sorr- just a minute, I might have some loose change somewhere here-"

"Don't." George was spiraling with shame, kicking himself for his oversight, and she still had the gall to look that pretty and kind. "I didn't mind any of it one bit, I promise."

"I promised you something fun."

"George, this is the most fun I've ever had baking, and I've been making pineapple upside down cakes since before I could - oh."

She broke off when she finally looked up to see the growing shock on George's face. She nibbled at the inside of her cheek nervously, trying to gauge his reaction.

"So you do know how to bake."

"Only a little?"

He took in the sight of her apologetic smile, the careful dusting of flour on her face and her suspiciously clean clothes. "You could have said."

"Oh, but I was having so much fun." George rolled his eyes. "I spent the day learning how to construct the most adorable pastry goodie bags I have ever seen, and I did it all with my boyfriend. Believe me, it doesn't get more fun than this."

Not for the first time that day, George stared at her in wonder, like he couldn't quite figure out how she was real. Even now, when all she was doing was merely existing, words failed him. He had a feeling he'd spend lifetimes chasing shadows, trying to pin what was gone before it bloomed, and he still wouldn't be able to find the right words. There was no other way to put it, or colour it - he wished they were more.

He hesitantly extended his hand, brushing just a speck of the huge handprint of flour on her face with his thumb. He turned, walking out into the hallway, but then just as immediately wheeled back.

"Your WHAT?"

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

#if i had a nickel for everytime i wrote a george x reader fanfic where pastries were a siginificant part i'd have 2 nickels #which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened twice LMAO #also in case its not clear i meant the your WHAT to be referring to the reader calling him her bf sdfhajfalskf #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #fanfic #george karim x reader #george cubbins #george karim imagine #george karim x you #george x reader #george karim #valentines day #fluff #Spotify #be more #stephen sanchez

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p4nishers · 9 months

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let me just say this: if crowley EVER makes an actual move on aziraphale and aziraphale gives even a HINT of reciprocation it's over for him in SECONDS bc u know aziraphale half asses nothing so it'll be like crowley tries to brush their fingers together and aziraphale fully beams at him and interlocks their fingers in seconds. crowley stares speechlessly at their hands for 5 minutes, looks up at aziraphale and faints. crowley gets aziraphale flowers and aziraphale puts them in the very center of his shop where everyone can see and keeps them alive for months. crowley fights a giggle every time he sees them. crowley offers his jacket on a cold night and aziraphale wears the jacket everywhere for weeks and gushes about it to everyone he meets. crowley chokes on his breath every meeting aziraphale is in it without fail. crowley slyly asks aziraphale on an actual romantic date and aziraphale SLAMS down their wedding invitations infort him of like "im so glad u asked, dear, i've been waiting for this" then launches into a rant about flower arrangements and table cloth colors and crowley is left blinking at him and trying not to explode. poor snake.

#i want yall to know that i spent a full 2 minutes tryna spell reciprocation im not kidding #i dont even know if this actual makes sense bc reading it back makes me wanna kms i articulated this so badly im so sorry #i literally just woke up and the coffees hasn't kicked in yet #anyway what i meant by this is crowley is the biggest simp alive with a weak nervous system when it comes to az and aziraphale is #just like 'marry me already u fucker' everytime crowley is agonizing abt if az loves him like that he puts his hand his hips and gestures #wildly their wedding rings then is like 'oh shit i forgot to give u that' and crowley discorporates #bro im so excited for s2 im shaking out of my skin every single minute km not watching it i cant focus on anything other than these idiots #send help PLEASE #good omens #azicrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens headcanons

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ditch-lily · 3 months

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everyday on this website fighting for my life trying to figure out if jeff is going through heat or not

#screaming #i keep reading pitbabe posts and Not Comprehending #the amount of head empty i have right now #EVEN THOUGH I KNOOWWW #the posts get me everytime #i'm not tagging this but we all know which jeff i meant okay

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domsaysstuff · 11 months

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I love the trope of Eddie knowing he's meant to die in the upside down, i love him being aware of his own doom by the narrative, I eat this shit up everytime but I've been thinking a lot about greek mythology and steddie and what if it was reversed?

What if Eddie, well versed in greek mythology, in the tropes and myths and tragedies looks at the always the hero Steve Harrington and sinks with the impending thought of heros don't get happy ending?

What if Eddie says "we're not heros" and means we're not going to die like ones, he means only heros die

What if Eddie says "Steve" and means please don't be a hero, please don't let it be a tragedy, please be just Steve

What if when the bats come he comes to the realization there needs to be a hero in this story and there needs to be an ending worthy of one and deciding it can't be Steve?

What if his sacrifice is not an impending looming thing on the narrative of his life but a choice? What if- what's then huh?

#idk been thinking a lot about greek hero steve #how steve is prometheus with the upside down being the eagles meant to hurt him everytime thay come around but not kill him #thinking of how tragic hero achillies he is indestractable godly and yet still so tragic #and also aware of the narrative eddie munson is just my fav and mete fic writing is just so chief kiss #also eddie munson is such a greek gods gay i cant even begin to explain #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things

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plan-3-tmars · 5 months

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Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart.

Hey I think the framing of this scene is really fucking cool and I wanna talk about it because I haven't seen anybody do that. yet so. yahooo!! let's get into it

BUT FIRST. Symbolism:

an empty chair can symbolise the absence or memory of someone dear who has passed away. This is very obviously meant to represent Hinako in this scenario

In my interpretation, this scene is Kazui saying goodbye to Hinako and apologising for the circumstances of her death.

The lyrics that play are:

"I’m sure nothing will change and we’ll laugh together and call each other stupid names, so many things I wish i hadn't known, I'm just a coward."

The first part of this verse sounds like he's wishfully thinking about what could've happened after he told her the truth - if anything a bit naively.

Kazui wanted (and still wants) to get the weight of his lies off his chest, but he wasn't ready to face the consequences of that confession, most likely making Hinako's death hit even harder.

Here, he bows to the chair before turning around leaving, a silent goodbye.

But what about what's going on in the background of this scene? Well!

As Kazui leaves, these two scenes flash in the background. On the table in the first shot is our good friend the green apple, and Background Kazui picks it up, analyses it, before biting it.

So let's go for another symbolism refresher!!

Green apples can sometimes represent platonic relationships, like friendship, but in Kazui's case this takes the form of a sin - as not loving Hinako romantically is what he's lying about - making it a reference to the Garden of Eden story.

Going from that, biting into an apple can represent feeding into temptation.

My interpretation of this scene is Pre-Marriage Kazui indulging in his 'sin', which in my opinion is the fact he's gay.

Let's go back to that lyric shall we:

"I’m sure nothing will change and we’ll laugh together and call each other stupid names, so many things I wish i hadn't known, I'm just a coward."

So many things you wish you hadn't known huh.. Not knowing you were gay would sure make lying to your wife a whole lot easier wouldn't it?

"What I gave up a long time ago, why is it questioning me now? So many things that I should now have known, I'm just a coward"

Woohoo evidence for Background Kazui being Pre-Marriage Kazui!!!

I think this scene is the last time Kazui let himself be free before marrying Hinako. This could possibly have been when he noticed she had a crush on him at their work.

He's indulging one last time. Embracing his sin instead of hiding it away one. last. time. before giving it up for good, almost like a. goodbye.

So. I think this scene is framed this way in order to show the parallel of Kazui giving up his sin, and Kazui mourning Hinako's death.

As established, they both have a "goodbye, I'm sorry things turned out this way" atmosphere to them. Kazui is apologetic, in a way, that he has to give up on being his true self and he is apologetic of his lies murdering Hinako, so Milgram conveys this by showing the two scenes posed the same way in front of one another.

This framing also gives the scene a Beginning Vs End feeling that I think is really cool, and the use of Dark Vs Light colours only heightens that! (Though that's slightly off topic rip)

Conclusion? I love this scene it's awesome and amazing and super cool

#take a shot everytime i say the word frame and you might get a little tipsy #anyway hi i was meant to post this like 3 days ago but then that patho post kinda blew up and i didnt want it to get overshadowed #or fill up my notifications cuz god damn that was. alot #so im re-uploading this 3rd times the charm baby #milgram #kazui mukuhara #this scene is also one of the biggest pieces of evidence for the gay kazui theory imo especially before Cat's release #also no podcast reference in my milgram analysis?!? what is this anarchy?!?? (i couldnt think of one) ((sad face))#milgram analysis

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orallech · 5 months

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they should add an option where if you sign the contract with Raphael you can grab him by the waist and dip him low and kiss him so sweetly and he’s just more confused and then disappears for a while so you can’t contact him and then shows up days later like nothing happened and it’s never addressed. Until he maybe sends you a letter at the epilogue camp or something but you have to do several weird steps to decipher the writing and once you read it it catches fire and turns to ash immediately. Where’s that addition, larian?

#bg3 #raphael #OR if you don’t take the letter and just get with haarlep and don’t take his deal he sends a letter that’s like if you must know everytime #you feel the affects of haarlep little deal that’s me #and there’s a 😈 emoji or something #the it turns to ash #I think I meant take the hammer**#I don’t think any sorta of thing you can have with the way that he is could be normal #it’s funnier to me if he just gets completely disarmed by being kissed cause it’s like stopping dead in your tracks on a bike while a dog #chases you and then the dog stops and stares at you like well what do I do now?

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sainzinnorris · 5 months

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oscar's answer of lando being a golf player.. beaten by carlos when asked what would lando be if not for a formula one driver. which directly implies that oscar believes that even if they weren't racing together, they'd find a way to find each other in a completely different sport unrelated to motorsports altogether.

#in this essay #so much to unpack in that answer tbh #the dots be connecting too food sometimes.#but i like this narrative...#finding each other everytime because it's truly meant to be...#oscar piastri #carlos sainz jr #lando norris #carlando #stella's textposts #formula 1 #las vegas gp 2023 #vegas gp 2023

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welcometogrouchland · 1 year

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if you're asking for drawing requests, maybe Willow in her timeskip look or Luz with the Collector??

[ID: a digital illustration of Luz (in her titan form from watching and dreaming) and The Collector. Luz stands on a small hill of red grass, waving at The Collector, who's off-screen but depicted to the audience as a closeup inside a star shaped panel. Luz is waving at the off-screen Collector with a smile, while The Collector smiles tearfully at her. Small uncoloured doodles of Eda and King are depicted waving at the collector in the background. End ID]

This was meant to be a doodle anon but unfortunately I went off the shits. Anyway, collector sees Luz post-resurrection and cries big gross happy tears bc he's so happy she's alive