Fic 5: link
Macaroni and Cheese and Pancakes
Prompt: Prompt: Arthur decides to surprise Gwen sa pamamagitan ng making the pasko dinner, now he regrets it...
“Arthur, what are you doing?” Guinevere’s groggy voice calls down from the bedroom. The noise of pots and pans jostled her from her drugged sleep.
“Nothing, love, go back to sleep,” Arthur calls up, quietly cursing the stack of pots that came tumbling forth from the cupboard like an extraordinarily boring piñata.
“Sprained ankle, badly bruised hip, dislocated shoulder, and a broken wrist, Mrs. Pendragon,” the doctor had unceremoniously declared the araw before in the emergency room. Gwen had taken a nasty spill on a patch of ice that had resulted in rendering her entire left side essentially useless.
Arthur paced, helpless in the face of his beloved wife’s pain, furious with Starbuck’s for not having their walkway salted, on pasko Eve of all days. After hearing his beautiful Guinevere swear madami loudly and madami vulgarly than anyone he’d ever heard in his life – and he played football – when the doctor wrenched her petite shoulder back into its socket, he demanded that she be ibingiay pain medication immediately. He even invoked his father’s name, something he never does. Ever.
“Send the bill to the Starbuck’s on Tenth and Walnut,” Arthur had snapped upon their departure, pushing Guinevere carefully to their car in a hospital wheelchair while she struggled to stay awake long enough to climb into the seat.
So now, on pasko day, with Merlin and Morgana coming for dinner, Arthur had decided to make dinner. Even though Morgana had offered to order an expensive takeaway meal (neither of them could cook either, living from restaurant takeaway), even though Merlin had sinabi don’t worry about it, Gwen’s health was madami important, and they would stay home.
Arthur, in his pride, had insisted. And now he was experiencing regret. Deep regret. The turkey was still half-frozen. The stuffing was dry, and, from the smell of it, Arthur had mixed up the tim and oregano, so now it had a decidedly and unintentionally Italian flair. The only thing about which he was certain was the cranberry sauce, and that was because it was tinned.
And now something was burning. Arthur opens the hurno door to discover his hapunan rolls turning black on the bottom. He takes the tray out and chucks the rolls in the bin, tossing the tray in the sink, where the hot metal hisses as it hits the small puddles collected in the sink.
This. Is. It, he decides. If I can burn brown-and-serve rolls, I’m doomed.
“Arthur? Is something burning?”
He rushes to the window and opens it, the cold winter air flooding in through the kusina window, and he waves a magazine in the air, attempting to herd the smoke out the window while he mutters a string of half-formed obscenities.
Arthur glances at the clock and fetches a glass. He fills it with water, dispenses two pills from a prescription bottle, and takes them up to his wife.
“Hey, love, how are you feeling?” he asks softly, sitting on the edge of the kama while she gingerly scoots up to a somewhat seated position to take her medication.
“Sore,” she says, taking the pills and the water. “What is going on down there? You’re not… trying to cook, are you?”
“Maybe,” he admits, leaning over to halik her forehead. “You’re warm. Are you all right?”
“Arthur, I just woke up, of course I’m warm,” she says. “I don’t have a fever, no. Can you sit with me a minute?”
“I can sit with you for two minutes, if you like,” he says, climbing fully onto the bed, on her right side.
“How generous,” she says, starting to lean over against him. “Ow,” she says, straightening back up again.
“Here,” Arthur helps her lie back down, and he lies down as well so she can lay on her right side, her head on his shoulder. She carefully rests her casted arm, festively crafted in red and white kendi cane stripes, on his chest.
“Your fingers aren’t as puffy,” he observes. “That’s good.”
“Hooray,” she says listlessly. Arthur strokes her hair, her soft cheek, careful not to balutin his left arm around her because his hand would land right on the large purple bruise on her hip.
“Would you like anything? Some toast? Tea? Should I turn on the telly?”
“I would pag-ibig a hot bath, actually,” she says with a sigh.
“I think I can manage that. Just keep your cast out of the water,” he says, starting to ilipat carefully out of the bed.
“In a minute,” she says, holding him. “I want to stay here with you a little longer.”
“Okay.”
“What did Morgana say?”
“About?”
“Today, silly.”
“They are still coming. Unless you don’t want them to.”
“No, I do. I can’t stay in kama all day, now, can I?”
“Well, technically, you can, but I know you won’t,” Arthur chuckles. “I’ll go run your bath now,” he says, halik her forehead again.
“Nice and hot,” she reminds him.
“I know, two degrees shy of scalding the flesh from your body, I remember,” he says, strolling into the en suite bath and the large sunken tub.
Arthur helps her into the tub, threatening to put a garbage bag over her cast if she can’t keep it dry.
“I’ll be fine, Arthur. I’ll call when I’m ready to get out or if I need anything, I promise.”
“Okay. Don’t fall asleep,” he tells her, kisses her, and heads out, back downstairs. To the mess he’s making of the kitchen.
She’s going to kill me when she sees this.
He stares, assessing the situation. Okay. I admit this was a bad idea. Turkey? Not happening. So what can I do?
Arthur pulls open the drawer hiding the trash bin, and chucks the stuffing in on tuktok of the burned rolls. He puts the cranberries back in the pantry, and contemplates the turkey.
Can’t re-freeze it. I’ll leave it to finish thawing and maybe Guinevere can talk me through what to do later, and we can just cook it and live on turkey for the susunod two weeks.
He shoves it aside, out of the way, and washes everything he’s dirtied. That way she can’t yell too much.
“Arthur,” Gwen calls a short time later, and he jogs up the stairs again.
Later, Gwen is settled on the sopa with the telebisyon remote in her hand, in sweats instead of the cute grey striped sweater dress and leggings she had intended to wear. Arthur’s brought her some tsaa and mag-ihaw with marmalade, and she munches, bored, watching a ipakita about crop circles and extra-terrestrials.
madami clatter from the kitchen. “Arthur, what on earth are you doing?”
“Never mind,” he says. “Just relax.”
Maybe Merlin and Morgana are bringing dinner, she thinks, idly wondering from which Chinese restaurant they’ll be bringing the food. I hope King’s Wok. They have the best dumplings.
Arthur bustles around the kitchen, confident now. He’s got this hapunan thing sorted. Even though it will not be a traditional pasko dinner, it will definitely be memorable.
The kampanilya rings just over an oras later, and he runs to the door, opening it for his best friend Merlin and his very pregnant sister Morgana. Morgana strides (waddles) in, heading immediately for Gwen on the sofa. Merlin staggers in behind, his arms full of gifts.
“Too much, Morgana,” Arthur calls, taking some of the packages from Merlin and carrying them to the tree.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she snaps back, angling her head up so Arthur can halik her cheek when he passes her.
“Gwen, how are you?” Merlin asks, crouching down beside the sopa while Morgana scowls at him because she can no longer crouch. She hovers nearby on a soft chair instead, near Gwen’s head.
“Half-busted, you?” she asks, and they all laugh.
“Worried that I’m going to have a baby on Christmas,” Merlin answers, his eyes darting to Morgana.
“Yes, you’re going to have the baby,” Morgana says, sarcastic but smiling at her husband.
“What’s dinner?” Merlin asks, standing.
“Come on,” Arthur yanks his shoulder. Morgana makes to stand, and both men turn and order her to sit.
Moments later the ladies hear Merlin’s laughter from the kusina and they look at one another.
“He’s been in there all day,” Gwen says quietly. “I’m madami than a little worried.”
“As well you should be,” Morgana agrees.
About ten minutos later, Arthur and Merlin bring small folding tables out to the living room.
“We’ve decided to bring hapunan to you,” Merlin declares, setting a mesa in front of Gwen while Arthur helps her ilipat so she is sitting up. They set another mesa in front of Morgana and then set two madami for themselves before disappearing again.
“Dinner is served,” Arthur announces, a plate in his hand, followed sa pamamagitan ng Merlin with Morgana’s plate. He sets it in front of Gwen, and she looks at it.
Macaroni and cheese. Applesauce, from a jar. pancakes and sausages, already cut up for her. And ginger ale to drink.
Gwen’s puso actually swells at how ridiculous, cute, and sweet this all is. She looks up at her husband, who now looks rather nervous. She smiles and tears well in her eyes. “Thank you, Arthur,” she says. “I pag-ibig it.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do. I pag-ibig it because you tried. I’ll even forgive whatever it was that you burned in the kitchen,” she laughs, holding her hand out to him. He comes over and she tugs him down to halik him.
“This is great, Arthur,” Morgana says. “Definitely unforgettable,” she says, smiling at Merlin as he comes in with two madami plates for them.
“This is going to be the best pasko hapunan ever,” she says, then looks at her plate. “Except for one thing.”
“What?” he asks, his face falling.
“Syrup?”
Fic 7: link
Macaroni and Cheese and Pancakes
Prompt: Prompt: Arthur decides to surprise Gwen sa pamamagitan ng making the pasko dinner, now he regrets it...
“Arthur, what are you doing?” Guinevere’s groggy voice calls down from the bedroom. The noise of pots and pans jostled her from her drugged sleep.
“Nothing, love, go back to sleep,” Arthur calls up, quietly cursing the stack of pots that came tumbling forth from the cupboard like an extraordinarily boring piñata.
“Sprained ankle, badly bruised hip, dislocated shoulder, and a broken wrist, Mrs. Pendragon,” the doctor had unceremoniously declared the araw before in the emergency room. Gwen had taken a nasty spill on a patch of ice that had resulted in rendering her entire left side essentially useless.
Arthur paced, helpless in the face of his beloved wife’s pain, furious with Starbuck’s for not having their walkway salted, on pasko Eve of all days. After hearing his beautiful Guinevere swear madami loudly and madami vulgarly than anyone he’d ever heard in his life – and he played football – when the doctor wrenched her petite shoulder back into its socket, he demanded that she be ibingiay pain medication immediately. He even invoked his father’s name, something he never does. Ever.
“Send the bill to the Starbuck’s on Tenth and Walnut,” Arthur had snapped upon their departure, pushing Guinevere carefully to their car in a hospital wheelchair while she struggled to stay awake long enough to climb into the seat.
So now, on pasko day, with Merlin and Morgana coming for dinner, Arthur had decided to make dinner. Even though Morgana had offered to order an expensive takeaway meal (neither of them could cook either, living from restaurant takeaway), even though Merlin had sinabi don’t worry about it, Gwen’s health was madami important, and they would stay home.
Arthur, in his pride, had insisted. And now he was experiencing regret. Deep regret. The turkey was still half-frozen. The stuffing was dry, and, from the smell of it, Arthur had mixed up the tim and oregano, so now it had a decidedly and unintentionally Italian flair. The only thing about which he was certain was the cranberry sauce, and that was because it was tinned.
And now something was burning. Arthur opens the hurno door to discover his hapunan rolls turning black on the bottom. He takes the tray out and chucks the rolls in the bin, tossing the tray in the sink, where the hot metal hisses as it hits the small puddles collected in the sink.
This. Is. It, he decides. If I can burn brown-and-serve rolls, I’m doomed.
“Arthur? Is something burning?”
He rushes to the window and opens it, the cold winter air flooding in through the kusina window, and he waves a magazine in the air, attempting to herd the smoke out the window while he mutters a string of half-formed obscenities.
Arthur glances at the clock and fetches a glass. He fills it with water, dispenses two pills from a prescription bottle, and takes them up to his wife.
“Hey, love, how are you feeling?” he asks softly, sitting on the edge of the kama while she gingerly scoots up to a somewhat seated position to take her medication.
“Sore,” she says, taking the pills and the water. “What is going on down there? You’re not… trying to cook, are you?”
“Maybe,” he admits, leaning over to halik her forehead. “You’re warm. Are you all right?”
“Arthur, I just woke up, of course I’m warm,” she says. “I don’t have a fever, no. Can you sit with me a minute?”
“I can sit with you for two minutes, if you like,” he says, climbing fully onto the bed, on her right side.
“How generous,” she says, starting to lean over against him. “Ow,” she says, straightening back up again.
“Here,” Arthur helps her lie back down, and he lies down as well so she can lay on her right side, her head on his shoulder. She carefully rests her casted arm, festively crafted in red and white kendi cane stripes, on his chest.
“Your fingers aren’t as puffy,” he observes. “That’s good.”
“Hooray,” she says listlessly. Arthur strokes her hair, her soft cheek, careful not to balutin his left arm around her because his hand would land right on the large purple bruise on her hip.
“Would you like anything? Some toast? Tea? Should I turn on the telly?”
“I would pag-ibig a hot bath, actually,” she says with a sigh.
“I think I can manage that. Just keep your cast out of the water,” he says, starting to ilipat carefully out of the bed.
“In a minute,” she says, holding him. “I want to stay here with you a little longer.”
“Okay.”
“What did Morgana say?”
“About?”
“Today, silly.”
“They are still coming. Unless you don’t want them to.”
“No, I do. I can’t stay in kama all day, now, can I?”
“Well, technically, you can, but I know you won’t,” Arthur chuckles. “I’ll go run your bath now,” he says, halik her forehead again.
“Nice and hot,” she reminds him.
“I know, two degrees shy of scalding the flesh from your body, I remember,” he says, strolling into the en suite bath and the large sunken tub.
Arthur helps her into the tub, threatening to put a garbage bag over her cast if she can’t keep it dry.
“I’ll be fine, Arthur. I’ll call when I’m ready to get out or if I need anything, I promise.”
“Okay. Don’t fall asleep,” he tells her, kisses her, and heads out, back downstairs. To the mess he’s making of the kitchen.
She’s going to kill me when she sees this.
He stares, assessing the situation. Okay. I admit this was a bad idea. Turkey? Not happening. So what can I do?
Arthur pulls open the drawer hiding the trash bin, and chucks the stuffing in on tuktok of the burned rolls. He puts the cranberries back in the pantry, and contemplates the turkey.
Can’t re-freeze it. I’ll leave it to finish thawing and maybe Guinevere can talk me through what to do later, and we can just cook it and live on turkey for the susunod two weeks.
He shoves it aside, out of the way, and washes everything he’s dirtied. That way she can’t yell too much.
“Arthur,” Gwen calls a short time later, and he jogs up the stairs again.
Later, Gwen is settled on the sopa with the telebisyon remote in her hand, in sweats instead of the cute grey striped sweater dress and leggings she had intended to wear. Arthur’s brought her some tsaa and mag-ihaw with marmalade, and she munches, bored, watching a ipakita about crop circles and extra-terrestrials.
madami clatter from the kitchen. “Arthur, what on earth are you doing?”
“Never mind,” he says. “Just relax.”
Maybe Merlin and Morgana are bringing dinner, she thinks, idly wondering from which Chinese restaurant they’ll be bringing the food. I hope King’s Wok. They have the best dumplings.
Arthur bustles around the kitchen, confident now. He’s got this hapunan thing sorted. Even though it will not be a traditional pasko dinner, it will definitely be memorable.
The kampanilya rings just over an oras later, and he runs to the door, opening it for his best friend Merlin and his very pregnant sister Morgana. Morgana strides (waddles) in, heading immediately for Gwen on the sofa. Merlin staggers in behind, his arms full of gifts.
“Too much, Morgana,” Arthur calls, taking some of the packages from Merlin and carrying them to the tree.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she snaps back, angling her head up so Arthur can halik her cheek when he passes her.
“Gwen, how are you?” Merlin asks, crouching down beside the sopa while Morgana scowls at him because she can no longer crouch. She hovers nearby on a soft chair instead, near Gwen’s head.
“Half-busted, you?” she asks, and they all laugh.
“Worried that I’m going to have a baby on Christmas,” Merlin answers, his eyes darting to Morgana.
“Yes, you’re going to have the baby,” Morgana says, sarcastic but smiling at her husband.
“What’s dinner?” Merlin asks, standing.
“Come on,” Arthur yanks his shoulder. Morgana makes to stand, and both men turn and order her to sit.
Moments later the ladies hear Merlin’s laughter from the kusina and they look at one another.
“He’s been in there all day,” Gwen says quietly. “I’m madami than a little worried.”
“As well you should be,” Morgana agrees.
About ten minutos later, Arthur and Merlin bring small folding tables out to the living room.
“We’ve decided to bring hapunan to you,” Merlin declares, setting a mesa in front of Gwen while Arthur helps her ilipat so she is sitting up. They set another mesa in front of Morgana and then set two madami for themselves before disappearing again.
“Dinner is served,” Arthur announces, a plate in his hand, followed sa pamamagitan ng Merlin with Morgana’s plate. He sets it in front of Gwen, and she looks at it.
Macaroni and cheese. Applesauce, from a jar. pancakes and sausages, already cut up for her. And ginger ale to drink.
Gwen’s puso actually swells at how ridiculous, cute, and sweet this all is. She looks up at her husband, who now looks rather nervous. She smiles and tears well in her eyes. “Thank you, Arthur,” she says. “I pag-ibig it.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do. I pag-ibig it because you tried. I’ll even forgive whatever it was that you burned in the kitchen,” she laughs, holding her hand out to him. He comes over and she tugs him down to halik him.
“This is great, Arthur,” Morgana says. “Definitely unforgettable,” she says, smiling at Merlin as he comes in with two madami plates for them.
“This is going to be the best pasko hapunan ever,” she says, then looks at her plate. “Except for one thing.”
“What?” he asks, his face falling.
“Syrup?”
Fic 7: link
