deck the halls with boughs of fanfic falalalalalalalala!
Title: Returns Policy
Fandom: Good Omens
Author: phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Messers Pratchett and Gaiman.
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for sadera992 with the prompt "something about the struggle with modern technology"
Summary A wrapped box can hold many surprises...
The thing is, once Aziraphale has got to grips with modern technology, he’s actually remarkably good at it. It took him a while to be able to get the hang of it, but now he’s into the twenty first century he’s happy to say that he’s mastered it, almost entirely. Although Youtube still gives him a headache, but he’s not sure if that’s because of the content of the comments or due to his prowess at the internet.
Crowley on the other hand was not proficient with modern technology.
In fact, mostly Crowley’s technology worked because he thinks that it should. It wasn’t even plugged in.
When Crowley mocked Aziraphale for his careful handling of his computer, and new mobile phone the angel had simply smiled and gestured to the drawer in his desk which was full of manuals. Crowley had scoffed, but had to admit that the angel was good at making technology work because it was supposed to, instead of having to coerce it.
Which made it even more ironic when Aziraphale presented Crowley with a small box, wrapped neatly in silver and blue tartan paper, for Christmas and looked at him with expectant but stern eyes and Crowley knew that he couldn’t turn the angel down.
It only took Crowley five months to give in to his inner angel and ring up Aziraphale, using his home phone thank you very much, and ask him through gritted teeth whether he would possibly oblige him and explain how this blasted iPhone worked.
“You mean to say that you don’t like it my dear?” the angel had asked innocently.
“I like it perfectly well angel, as you well know, I just can’t work the blasted thing.”
“You only had to ask nicely my dear,” and Crowley could hear the smirk, “and of course I’ll help you. On one condition.”
Crowley hissed quietly.
“What’ssss that angel?”
Aziraphale hummed as though Crowley’s hissing meant nothing to him, and after six thousand years perhaps it didn’t.
“Well, my dear, I was only wondering whether, in the terms of the Agreement if you’d explain the workings of that coffee machine that you bought me?”
Crowley held his hand over the mouthpiece and laughed.
Title: Fairy Tale of Vancouver
Fandom: Doctor Who- UNIT!Verse
Author: phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Colonel Alan Mace, Captain Marian Price.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Torchwood: Children of Earth
Disclaimer: Auntie Beeb.
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for bardingtide with the prompt "UNIT-Verse, Fairy Tale of New York"
Summary: quot;And the bells were ringing out for Christmas day…"
It was Christmas Eve babe, in the drunk tank, An old man said to me, won't see another one
and then he sang a song: The Rare Old Mountain Dew. I turned my face away and dreamed about you. Got on a lucky one, came in eighteen to one. I've got a feeling this year's for me and you, so happy Christmas. I love you baby. I can see a better time. When all our dreams come true...
Their love is different in Canada, than it had been in England. In England their love had been, if not pure, then at least put together with a grace that the Atlantic ocean has stolen from them. The ocean has taken their purity and the energy that they put into everything. Not only their jobs, but their r hearts. Their spirits.
Here, their love is on edge, rough and coarse. Rubbing up against their anxieties and the knowledge that this is not who they should be and not what they should be doing.
While there had been disagreements in England, they had always been amiable, and resolvable. But not here, something changed with their circumstance, and now they argue and throw accusations at each other as easily as if they were snowflakes in the breeze.
The world seems darker in Vancouver, the world has lost its charm and all there is left is death, despair and the empty gaping hole where there had been once been something, but they can’t quite remember what that was.
England had had Sontarans and Valiant filling up the sky, while Canada has the 456 and an honourable discharge. And they know that the 456 take place worldwide, but that if anything makes it worse.
The Doctor never returns, not to them. They hear rumours of course, but they all know that he will outlive them all, it is not hardship to avoid one small country of one very small planet for long enough for them to die. He has no faith in them. No faith in the human race.
But they stay together, him and Marian, because they remember that they once loved each other. Loved each other truly.
And it’s not what it used to be. But it’s what it is now.
And the memory is enough.
It has to be.
The boys of the NYPD choir were singing "Galway Bay" and the bells were ringing out for Christmas day…
Title: The Spark
Fandom: Merlin
Author:phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Mordred
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Possibly for The Drawing of the Dark.
Disclaimer: Auntie Beeb.
Warnings: Discussion of execution.
A/N: Written for babydracky with the prompt "Anything about Mordred will make me really happy"
Summary: quot;We didn't start the fire, it was always burning..."
It was only a small fire, with its one central log that had not been designed as a Yule Log, but no one objected to Mordred considering it as such. It made no difference to the warmth of the flame after all regardless of what they called it.
And they didn’t even mind that it had been lit by magic.
It made no difference to the warmth of the flame after all regardless of how they’d lit it.
There was probably something in that, but that wasn’t Mordred’s concern. He was a soldier now, as opposed to a hopeless romantic thinker. He did his duty and his duty was what was right. He had believed in Arthur. He had been a good man.
But the shadows were being thrown by the red light of the fire, and fire had taken the lives of so many sorcerers who had died for fate to take its course. And yet Arthur had saved him as a child, and he can never forget that. His actions, despite all that he had been faced against. The young Arthur had had no reason to trust the young Druid boy that Mordred had once been, he would have been anything.
Mordred could have so easily been among the numbers of those burnt at the heart of Camelot for the good of Uther’s nation. And yet he lives.
Instead of being a sacrifice of the Old Religion to the New Religion he sits crouched near the yule log, burning bright in the middle of the forest.
The Old Religion burns ever brighter, fuelled by the likes of Emyrs and Morgana. Their war glorifying making their religion both deadly and beautiful, outsiders had no concept of what it meant. They only saw the sparks of rebellion. And it was so much more than that.
The Old Religion burnt on. It would outlive Mordred, it would outlive Morgana, even Arthur and his eternal sleep. The Old Religion would out shine them all, sometimes dim, and sometimes smouldering, but forever there.
The shadows flickered and the Yule Log continued burning brightly with the flames of magic in the dark expanse of the forest.
Title: Queen of the Northern Snows
Fandom: Merlin
Author:phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Morgana
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Series 5.
Disclaimer: Auntie Beeb.
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for weekend with the prompt "something about Mordred, or Morgana. :D"
Summary: quot;But my heart has gone astray, I watched friendship slip away, But it wasn't s'posed to be that way, I lived my dreams today I lived it yesterday."
Morgana is alone as the seasons change, although in the northern wastelands there is no notable difference in the whipping winds and the punishing nights. Something deep within her knows that the seasons have changed however, and there is now a harsher quality to the long nights and she pushes aside thoughts of feasts and kind faces, as those days are far behind her.
The snows falls over where her footprints had once passed, hidden now by the passage of time and by the application of magic. And when she could not walk, that was when Aithusa had given her strength.
So she is alone when the winter dawns crisp and cruel. Aithusa is exploring the winds, and Morgana cannot begrudge her anything after her dedication, and the young dragoness has no such memories associated with the turning of the seasons as does she. And Mordred, Mordred, he has left her, forsaken her love for Arthur’s respect.
As though Arthur’s respect is anything to be sought for. He is the child of Uther Pendragon and it shows in his blood, she has Uther’s spirit, and that burns much brighter.
She has no use for a Druid who wishes to serve Arthur. He is a disappointment to her, to himself and to the old religion.
And yet her thoughts linger, as the sun sets over the horizon. It’s like an itch that she can’t quite scratch. The fact that she isn’t enough for him. After all that she did. That she’s never enough for anyone, not enough to be recognised by her own father to be Uther’s true heir, not enough to be Arthur’s confidant and to be trusted by the man who would be her brother, to be anything for her country and to be her own king.
But with the stars twinkling in the ink dark sky she knows that she owes no man.
She is enough for the seasons, and for the tides, and for the old religion.
Yes, sitting alone, watching the night sky, she is the woman who would be queen.
Title: Mistletoe and Crime
Fandom: Whitechapel
Author:phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: DI Chandler, DS Miles, Ed Buchan, DC Riley, DC Kent, DC Mansell, unnamed OC.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Based post-Series 3.
Disclaimer: ... If the BBC is Auntie Beeb then should I credit Uncle ITV?
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for xander2810 with the prompt "Something involving the office Christmas party....Kent brings along his boyfriend to meet the team, maybe? <3"
Summary: It's time for the office Christmas party, well, I say party...
It’s not much of a Christmas party they were too isolated from the other teams for there to be enough of them to make a party. There is the main team, of course, Chandler, Miles, Mansell, Riley and Kent, as well as Buchan, and the few secondary officers and constables who were provisional members of their team depending on case load and duration of the case.
So, all in all, the little gathering that they have to celebrate their Christmas is a small affair as opposed to the annual Christmas Dance and Dinner that being orchestrated by Commander Anderson. There had only been an invitation addressed to Detective Inspector Joseph Chandler and guest for the Metropolitan Police Christmas Dinner and Dance, and so Chandler had waved the opportunity by.
Instead, he’s standing by the door of his office, leaning against the door frame with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand as he watches Mansell pull one of new constables and she laughs as he spins her into a dance. He acknowledges that while off duty he should be thinking of his team as Ray, Finlay, Emerson and Megan but perhaps because they’re still in the office he can’t quite manage it.
Ed is bent over a newspaper with Riley by his side, and Joe suspects that they’re attempting to tackle the Christmas cryptic crossword and isn’t that going to go terribly wrong, especially with a few drinks in them.
Miles and his wife, Judy are smiling brightly, although the shadows under their eyes make it clear that this is a rare night out for the pair of them. But they both look happy, and when Joe catches Miles’ eye he raises his glass to him and Miles smiles and reciprocates.
The only member missing from their little gathering is Kent, who had phoned ahead to Riley, saying that he’d be a little late.
And as though summoned by Joe’s thoughts, the door was pushed open, and Kent stepped through, shaking the rain out of his hair. He was being followed. Behind him was a young man, taller than Kent- but most were- and similarly damp, wrapping his arm around Kent’s waist.
Riley looked up from the crossword and gave a sloppy wolfwhistle and winked at Kent before looking down. Ed raised his eyebrow looking between Kent and his companion. Mansell guffawed, “always knew you had it in you” and Miles nodded briefly at Kent, before turning to catch Joe’s eye.
Joe smiled tightly at Miles’ unasked question, and stood up straighter.
Title: Sun Kissed and Rain Drops
Fandom Whitechapel
Author:phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: DI Chandler/DC Kent(Tiny cameo from OC fro this fic)
Rating: PG.
Spoilers: Set post-Series 1.
Disclaimer: ITV.
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for Annabel with the prompt "Chandler/Kent summer picnic!!" Sorry, I had to make it a little Christmassy!
Summary "Driving home for Christmas..."
It’s not snowing , that would be far too picturesque for the East End of London for that sort of thing, instead it’s drizzingly faintly. It’s not all out raining, but it’s certainly miserable enough that Emerson does not enjoy his ride home. Locking up is the worst part of it, because he ends up getting wetter in those few minutes than over the entire ride home.
When he eventually pours himself into the house, it’s remarkably quiet for Christmas Eve. His flatmates are out partying, and had scoffed at him as he’d turned down the opportunity to join them.
Emerson dumped his helmet on the living room table- something that Louise would never stand for had she been in- and flicked the switch to light up the Christmas tree in a technicoloured whirl, and eased his phone out of his pocket.
It’s a relatively new phone, he’s had it for about seven months now but the lock screen is still the blank industry standard, as though it was brand new. However, once he’s tapped his password in -1850- another picture pops up.
They’d both taken half the day off, clocking off at lunch time and instead of going to either of their respective houses they’d simply walked into the nearest Tesco Express grabbed the components of a lazy picnic- crisps, a bottle of orange juice, a bottle of Dr Pepper, a tuna and sweetcorn sandwich, a sushi selection and a bag of malteasers - and headed down to the Tower of London Park.
It hadn’t been overly busy on a Wednesday afternoon and Emerson had stripped to his shirt sleeves and laid down on the grass listening to the sounds of the city and to the smile of his companion. The photo almost hadn’t happened, but a passing tourist, Canadian by her accent had accidently walked into Emerson’s shot of the White Tower and had offered to take a photo of the two of them in front of it before Emerson quite knew what was happening. It had come out as a good photo of the pair of them regardless.
He felt warm and safe just looking at that photograph, and Emerson grinned to himself as he pressed the flashing envelope icon to reply to Joe’s text.
Fandom: Good Omens
Author: phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Messers Pratchett and Gaiman.
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for sadera992 with the prompt "something about the struggle with modern technology"
Summary A wrapped box can hold many surprises...
The thing is, once Aziraphale has got to grips with modern technology, he’s actually remarkably good at it. It took him a while to be able to get the hang of it, but now he’s into the twenty first century he’s happy to say that he’s mastered it, almost entirely. Although Youtube still gives him a headache, but he’s not sure if that’s because of the content of the comments or due to his prowess at the internet.
Crowley on the other hand was not proficient with modern technology.
In fact, mostly Crowley’s technology worked because he thinks that it should. It wasn’t even plugged in.
When Crowley mocked Aziraphale for his careful handling of his computer, and new mobile phone the angel had simply smiled and gestured to the drawer in his desk which was full of manuals. Crowley had scoffed, but had to admit that the angel was good at making technology work because it was supposed to, instead of having to coerce it.
Which made it even more ironic when Aziraphale presented Crowley with a small box, wrapped neatly in silver and blue tartan paper, for Christmas and looked at him with expectant but stern eyes and Crowley knew that he couldn’t turn the angel down.
It only took Crowley five months to give in to his inner angel and ring up Aziraphale, using his home phone thank you very much, and ask him through gritted teeth whether he would possibly oblige him and explain how this blasted iPhone worked.
“You mean to say that you don’t like it my dear?” the angel had asked innocently.
“I like it perfectly well angel, as you well know, I just can’t work the blasted thing.”
“You only had to ask nicely my dear,” and Crowley could hear the smirk, “and of course I’ll help you. On one condition.”
Crowley hissed quietly.
“What’ssss that angel?”
Aziraphale hummed as though Crowley’s hissing meant nothing to him, and after six thousand years perhaps it didn’t.
“Well, my dear, I was only wondering whether, in the terms of the Agreement if you’d explain the workings of that coffee machine that you bought me?”
Crowley held his hand over the mouthpiece and laughed.
Title: Fairy Tale of Vancouver
Fandom: Doctor Who- UNIT!Verse
Author: phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Colonel Alan Mace, Captain Marian Price.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Torchwood: Children of Earth
Disclaimer: Auntie Beeb.
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for bardingtide with the prompt "UNIT-Verse, Fairy Tale of New York"
Summary: quot;And the bells were ringing out for Christmas day…"
It was Christmas Eve babe, in the drunk tank, An old man said to me, won't see another one
and then he sang a song: The Rare Old Mountain Dew. I turned my face away and dreamed about you. Got on a lucky one, came in eighteen to one. I've got a feeling this year's for me and you, so happy Christmas. I love you baby. I can see a better time. When all our dreams come true...
Their love is different in Canada, than it had been in England. In England their love had been, if not pure, then at least put together with a grace that the Atlantic ocean has stolen from them. The ocean has taken their purity and the energy that they put into everything. Not only their jobs, but their r hearts. Their spirits.
Here, their love is on edge, rough and coarse. Rubbing up against their anxieties and the knowledge that this is not who they should be and not what they should be doing.
While there had been disagreements in England, they had always been amiable, and resolvable. But not here, something changed with their circumstance, and now they argue and throw accusations at each other as easily as if they were snowflakes in the breeze.
The world seems darker in Vancouver, the world has lost its charm and all there is left is death, despair and the empty gaping hole where there had been once been something, but they can’t quite remember what that was.
England had had Sontarans and Valiant filling up the sky, while Canada has the 456 and an honourable discharge. And they know that the 456 take place worldwide, but that if anything makes it worse.
The Doctor never returns, not to them. They hear rumours of course, but they all know that he will outlive them all, it is not hardship to avoid one small country of one very small planet for long enough for them to die. He has no faith in them. No faith in the human race.
But they stay together, him and Marian, because they remember that they once loved each other. Loved each other truly.
And it’s not what it used to be. But it’s what it is now.
And the memory is enough.
It has to be.
The boys of the NYPD choir were singing "Galway Bay" and the bells were ringing out for Christmas day…
Title: The Spark
Fandom: Merlin
Author:phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Mordred
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Possibly for The Drawing of the Dark.
Disclaimer: Auntie Beeb.
Warnings: Discussion of execution.
A/N: Written for babydracky with the prompt "Anything about Mordred will make me really happy"
Summary: quot;We didn't start the fire, it was always burning..."
It was only a small fire, with its one central log that had not been designed as a Yule Log, but no one objected to Mordred considering it as such. It made no difference to the warmth of the flame after all regardless of what they called it.
And they didn’t even mind that it had been lit by magic.
It made no difference to the warmth of the flame after all regardless of how they’d lit it.
There was probably something in that, but that wasn’t Mordred’s concern. He was a soldier now, as opposed to a hopeless romantic thinker. He did his duty and his duty was what was right. He had believed in Arthur. He had been a good man.
But the shadows were being thrown by the red light of the fire, and fire had taken the lives of so many sorcerers who had died for fate to take its course. And yet Arthur had saved him as a child, and he can never forget that. His actions, despite all that he had been faced against. The young Arthur had had no reason to trust the young Druid boy that Mordred had once been, he would have been anything.
Mordred could have so easily been among the numbers of those burnt at the heart of Camelot for the good of Uther’s nation. And yet he lives.
Instead of being a sacrifice of the Old Religion to the New Religion he sits crouched near the yule log, burning bright in the middle of the forest.
The Old Religion burns ever brighter, fuelled by the likes of Emyrs and Morgana. Their war glorifying making their religion both deadly and beautiful, outsiders had no concept of what it meant. They only saw the sparks of rebellion. And it was so much more than that.
The Old Religion burnt on. It would outlive Mordred, it would outlive Morgana, even Arthur and his eternal sleep. The Old Religion would out shine them all, sometimes dim, and sometimes smouldering, but forever there.
The shadows flickered and the Yule Log continued burning brightly with the flames of magic in the dark expanse of the forest.
Title: Queen of the Northern Snows
Fandom: Merlin
Author:phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: Morgana
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Series 5.
Disclaimer: Auntie Beeb.
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for weekend with the prompt "something about Mordred, or Morgana. :D"
Summary: quot;But my heart has gone astray, I watched friendship slip away, But it wasn't s'posed to be that way, I lived my dreams today I lived it yesterday."
Morgana is alone as the seasons change, although in the northern wastelands there is no notable difference in the whipping winds and the punishing nights. Something deep within her knows that the seasons have changed however, and there is now a harsher quality to the long nights and she pushes aside thoughts of feasts and kind faces, as those days are far behind her.
The snows falls over where her footprints had once passed, hidden now by the passage of time and by the application of magic. And when she could not walk, that was when Aithusa had given her strength.
So she is alone when the winter dawns crisp and cruel. Aithusa is exploring the winds, and Morgana cannot begrudge her anything after her dedication, and the young dragoness has no such memories associated with the turning of the seasons as does she. And Mordred, Mordred, he has left her, forsaken her love for Arthur’s respect.
As though Arthur’s respect is anything to be sought for. He is the child of Uther Pendragon and it shows in his blood, she has Uther’s spirit, and that burns much brighter.
She has no use for a Druid who wishes to serve Arthur. He is a disappointment to her, to himself and to the old religion.
And yet her thoughts linger, as the sun sets over the horizon. It’s like an itch that she can’t quite scratch. The fact that she isn’t enough for him. After all that she did. That she’s never enough for anyone, not enough to be recognised by her own father to be Uther’s true heir, not enough to be Arthur’s confidant and to be trusted by the man who would be her brother, to be anything for her country and to be her own king.
But with the stars twinkling in the ink dark sky she knows that she owes no man.
She is enough for the seasons, and for the tides, and for the old religion.
Yes, sitting alone, watching the night sky, she is the woman who would be queen.
Title: Mistletoe and Crime
Fandom: Whitechapel
Author:phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: DI Chandler, DS Miles, Ed Buchan, DC Riley, DC Kent, DC Mansell, unnamed OC.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Based post-Series 3.
Disclaimer: ... If the BBC is Auntie Beeb then should I credit Uncle ITV?
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for xander2810 with the prompt "Something involving the office Christmas party....Kent brings along his boyfriend to meet the team, maybe? <3"
Summary: It's time for the office Christmas party, well, I say party...
It’s not much of a Christmas party they were too isolated from the other teams for there to be enough of them to make a party. There is the main team, of course, Chandler, Miles, Mansell, Riley and Kent, as well as Buchan, and the few secondary officers and constables who were provisional members of their team depending on case load and duration of the case.
So, all in all, the little gathering that they have to celebrate their Christmas is a small affair as opposed to the annual Christmas Dance and Dinner that being orchestrated by Commander Anderson. There had only been an invitation addressed to Detective Inspector Joseph Chandler and guest for the Metropolitan Police Christmas Dinner and Dance, and so Chandler had waved the opportunity by.
Instead, he’s standing by the door of his office, leaning against the door frame with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand as he watches Mansell pull one of new constables and she laughs as he spins her into a dance. He acknowledges that while off duty he should be thinking of his team as Ray, Finlay, Emerson and Megan but perhaps because they’re still in the office he can’t quite manage it.
Ed is bent over a newspaper with Riley by his side, and Joe suspects that they’re attempting to tackle the Christmas cryptic crossword and isn’t that going to go terribly wrong, especially with a few drinks in them.
Miles and his wife, Judy are smiling brightly, although the shadows under their eyes make it clear that this is a rare night out for the pair of them. But they both look happy, and when Joe catches Miles’ eye he raises his glass to him and Miles smiles and reciprocates.
The only member missing from their little gathering is Kent, who had phoned ahead to Riley, saying that he’d be a little late.
And as though summoned by Joe’s thoughts, the door was pushed open, and Kent stepped through, shaking the rain out of his hair. He was being followed. Behind him was a young man, taller than Kent- but most were- and similarly damp, wrapping his arm around Kent’s waist.
Riley looked up from the crossword and gave a sloppy wolfwhistle and winked at Kent before looking down. Ed raised his eyebrow looking between Kent and his companion. Mansell guffawed, “always knew you had it in you” and Miles nodded briefly at Kent, before turning to catch Joe’s eye.
Joe smiled tightly at Miles’ unasked question, and stood up straighter.
Title: Sun Kissed and Rain Drops
Fandom Whitechapel
Author:phantomreviewer
Pairings/Characters: DI Chandler/DC Kent(Tiny cameo from OC fro this fic)
Rating: PG.
Spoilers: Set post-Series 1.
Disclaimer: ITV.
Warnings: None.
A/N: Written for Annabel with the prompt "Chandler/Kent summer picnic!!" Sorry, I had to make it a little Christmassy!
Summary "Driving home for Christmas..."
It’s not snowing , that would be far too picturesque for the East End of London for that sort of thing, instead it’s drizzingly faintly. It’s not all out raining, but it’s certainly miserable enough that Emerson does not enjoy his ride home. Locking up is the worst part of it, because he ends up getting wetter in those few minutes than over the entire ride home.
When he eventually pours himself into the house, it’s remarkably quiet for Christmas Eve. His flatmates are out partying, and had scoffed at him as he’d turned down the opportunity to join them.
Emerson dumped his helmet on the living room table- something that Louise would never stand for had she been in- and flicked the switch to light up the Christmas tree in a technicoloured whirl, and eased his phone out of his pocket.
It’s a relatively new phone, he’s had it for about seven months now but the lock screen is still the blank industry standard, as though it was brand new. However, once he’s tapped his password in -1850- another picture pops up.
They’d both taken half the day off, clocking off at lunch time and instead of going to either of their respective houses they’d simply walked into the nearest Tesco Express grabbed the components of a lazy picnic- crisps, a bottle of orange juice, a bottle of Dr Pepper, a tuna and sweetcorn sandwich, a sushi selection and a bag of malteasers - and headed down to the Tower of London Park.
It hadn’t been overly busy on a Wednesday afternoon and Emerson had stripped to his shirt sleeves and laid down on the grass listening to the sounds of the city and to the smile of his companion. The photo almost hadn’t happened, but a passing tourist, Canadian by her accent had accidently walked into Emerson’s shot of the White Tower and had offered to take a photo of the two of them in front of it before Emerson quite knew what was happening. It had come out as a good photo of the pair of them regardless.
He felt warm and safe just looking at that photograph, and Emerson grinned to himself as he pressed the flashing envelope icon to reply to Joe’s text.