Hidan2342

Francis Bonnefoy, a world-renowned chef originally from France, whistled a merry tune as he walked into his self-owned restaurant. He lived close enough to the restaurant that he could walk or bike to work - it merely depended upon how he felt like getting there on any given day. Almost as soon as he stepped into the building, Francis was assaulted by one of his favorite employees. "You may be the bloody owner of this establishment, but you could at least arrive at a decent time," Arthur Kirkland, one of Francis' oldest friends and the bartender for his restaurant, groused. "I trust all of you to run the restaurant responsibly, even when I

"So, I've finished up all of my work for the week, how 'bout you, eh? Will you be able to make it out here this week?" Matthew asked, pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he added sugar to the cookie mix he was making. Stirring the bowl of ingredients together with an old wooden spoon, Matthew dipped his index finger into the sticky dough and gave it a quick taste-test. "Mm~" "I'm driving up to your place right now, actually," Ivan replied in a light tone. "Really?! That's great! We didn't get a chance to meet up all of last week, so we'll have to make up for a little lost time, hm?" Matthew hummed suggestively, holding back a

It was raining heavily, the chill in the air seeming to seep into your body and corrupt your bones. Lightning would occasionally light everything up in a brief, brilliant flash; but darkness always returned to further impede one's sight in the curtain of rain and fog. Gilbert hurried from one slight source of dryness to another, not even caring that he felt like a waterlogged rat trying to escape a sinking ship. The thin coat he was wearing offered no solace in the freezing downpour, but it reminded him of who he had been not so long ago, so he kept it despite its dwindling value of use. His snow white hair plastered to his skull from the r

Today, Arthur and Francis were making a trip into the Greater city of London; so, naturally, Ivan was tagging along with them. Since the six-year-old boy was still incredibly wary of other people, they didn't feel comfortable with having someone baby-sitting him while they were gone, so he was often brought along on errands that took both Arthur and Francis out of the house. Ivan didn't seem to mind being dragged from one place to another by his adoptive parents, his purple eyes taking everything in with guarded curiosity. His parents were trying to use these little excursions to help teach him English; they would point out very simple thing

It hadn't been her fault. Nope, not one bit; she was totally, completely, absolutely blameless in this. She wasn't the one who drank through a bottle of expensive vodka, she wasn't the one to throw a childish fit and rampage through the apartment like an enraged bull elephant, she wasn't the one to blame for ruining the entire evening. He was all to blame. For everything. It was his fault for getting piss-poor drunk, it was his fault that he got angry at her for having had coffee with an old friend earlier that day, it was his fault that he had thrown the vase from her mother at the wall, and it was all his bloody fault for ruining their

Alfred groaned when his alarm woke him up, the blonde teen rolling over in bed so that he could fumble to turn it off. He really didn't feel like getting up this morning, but Alfred knew he only had five minutes before Matthew started pounding on his wall for him to get up, and another five before their mother snuck into his room and switched his self-made radio on to max volume. Letting out another loud groan, Alfred kicked out of his Captain America bed sheets with an awkward and uncoordinated flail of his scrawny limbs. He laid in a crooked position for a little while, running his tongue over his braces until the pink mass of muscles bum

Ivan shifted uncomfortably in bed, Francis' unconscious cuddling adding to the already stifling heat of the sweltering summer night. The air conditioning in Francis' apartment didn't really reach the bedroom, so it only ever felt marginally better on the off chance that a small wave of cold air made it into the room. Francis dealt with the heat much better than Ivan did, but even he was being forced to sleep in only his boxers to stay relatively cool - not that the wavy haired blonde was complaining, mind you. And even though Ivan felt like he was melting from the summer heat, he was still stubbornly clad in his favorite hoodie and a pair o