the best of musical theatre.
Benedict Cumberbatch at the Star Trek #IntoDarkness press junket on Saturday.
He looks like he’s sitting around in his weekend comfy clothes. Yep. I could deal with waking up next to that on a Sunday morning.
okay, Maia and I wrote a thing for that outfit…
You’re ill, like you have the flu or something, and your kids are giving you a right headache and jumping up and down and bothering you. So when he comes home, with a little shopping bag under his arms, and he sees you trying to calm the children down, he drops everything and hurries over and checks your temperature, because he can see you’re flushed and dizzy and he knows you’re being an idiot. And he tells you to sit down and stay sat down and to wait a moment, and you hear him hurrying around in the kitchen and upstairs. Then he comes back into the room with a huge blanket and chivvies the children out as he tucks it round you. He tells them mummy needs some peace and quiet, so why doesn’t daddy play with them for a bit, so mummy doesn’t get grumpy and turn into a dragon and eat them. He kisses your hair and whispers to stay sitting and relax, and brings you a mug of tea, in the biggest mug with exactly the right amount of sugar and milk and it warms your fingers and calms you down instantly.
You hear the children outside the door asking if mummy’s alright, and he tells them that mummy needs a nice rest, and that daddy would cook for them and play with them tonight. The kids start loudly declaring what they want for dinner and he laughs and says we’ll see what they can find; it’d be a surprise meal tonight!
You settle down and drink the tea. He pops his head round the door and asks how long the fish fingers go in the oven for, and you laugh because you know he’ll probably burn them.
After he burns the fish fingers and the kids are eating, he comes into the living room with a tea towel over his shoulder and a plate with a bowl over the top. You pretend to be curious and ask what he’s cooked. He flourishes the plate and takes the bowl off the top, saying that he’s made you his signature dish. The fish fingers are burnt and so are the chips, and you start laughing at his mock-serious face. He pretends to look offended before putting the plate on the coffee table, and bows down to nuzzle your nose and whispers, asking you to try to eat something, even if it’s just the charcoal off the edges. You giggle and he kisses your forehead before running back to the children because it sounds like they might have thrown something.
You finish half of the food, and your tea and your head starts hurting again. He comes in, looking tired already, and asks how you’re feeling and you tell him your head is aching. Immediately he offers to run out and buy some paracetamol, and you have to head him off instantly because he’s already heading towards the door. You tell him instead to go and make sure the kids hadn’t set the table on fire while he’d been gone. He hurries off because actually it’s best not to take chances given whose kids they are.
A little later, you get up with the blanket draped around your shoulders and position it unattractively so it won’t fall and take your plate and mug into the kitchen to wash up. As you walk in, you see him and the children at the sink. He is carefully washing the dishes before handing them to the children to dry. Both have their own job, drying the cutlery and the crockery. He has managed to splash the sleeves of his shirt, even though they’re rolled up. One of the children spots you and calls out to tell the others that mummy’s awake now. He turns round and asks you what you think you’re doing walking around and helping. He strides over and takes the plate and mug from you and tells the children not to give mummy any hugs because she’s being stupid and walking around when she should be resting. The children ask if they can watch telly if they don’t give you hugs. You ask them if they’ve done their homework and they shuffle guiltily, not looking at you. He tells them it’s fine, they’ll do it now, and he’ll help them, and then they’ll cuddle up on the sofa and watch something together, if they can decide what to watch. The children grudgingly agree and he frogmarches you back to the living room and forces you to snuggle down with a fresh cup of tea.
You hear him complaining that maths work was a lot easier when he was a child, and the kids laughing and telling him he’s an idiot. You then hear him loudly exclaim that no child younger than seventeen could possibly need 60 watermelons, and where was the logic in a question like that, to which there is an audible collective sigh.
Later on you are joined, with the children looking smug and tired. He looks grumpy and confused, but breaks into a smile when he sees you lying forlornly on the sofa. The children climb onto your legs and squish your feet, so you shuffle uncomfortably until they’re seated next to you. He wriggles in on your other side and you lean into the crook of his neck and he rubs his cheek against your hair. The children squabble for a while about what to watch, and he tries to mediate and fails spectacularly, so they settle on that children’s film that you’re embarrassingly fond of, and he knows it. Ordinarily, you’d watch it to the end, but tonight you feel your eyes fluttering shut around the middle. He notices and kisses clumsily on the forehead, asking if you want to go to bed. You shake your head and say you’ll stay for the rest of the film. You fall asleep about two minutes later.
You wake up in your bed in the dark, and feel sick and dizzyingly hot. He’s next to you, wide-awake, and rushes to the kitchen to get you a glass of water and a cold flannel. He brushes your hair away from your forehead and gently presses the flannel to it to cool you down while you try and drink the water. He whispers to you, telling you he’s right there, he’ll take care of you, you just go back to sleep and he’ll be there when you wake up. Eventually, you drift off again.
You wake up; sun hurting your eyes a little, and stretch, feeling considerably better than yesterday. You turn to see him sleeping next to you, looking worn out and uncomfortable. You reach out and stroke his cheek briefly, and it’s boiling hot and sweating. He’s managed to give himself the flu and you’re reminded what an idiot he is.
And this is perfect.
I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FOR SO LONG OMG
5 year old Robert Downey Jr. in his first role.
AU: Daleks attack Hogwarts.
Omg this is amazing
HOLY HELL HOW.
I think this is witchcraft in a nutshell.
It’s the greatest night of that pizza delivery mans life
Just in case people don’t know - that’s Andy. Ellen always dresses him up in ridiculous costumes and gets him to do ridiculous things on her show all the time. Although Andy was probably still super excited.
ACTUALLY THAT’S NOT ANDY, I read an article about the planning for the oscars. And it included how ellen warned a few stars about how she’d go into the audience and talk to them (though they had no clue what would happen exactly). And It also mentioned that she talked to the people in charge of the oscars and she told them that she wanted to have pizza delivered and they wanted to put a security guard in the uniform but she refused saying it had to be a actually delivery guy. And they told her he’d have to go through a background check and she said “Fine, but he can’t have a clue what’s going on, I want him to have no idea that he’s delivering to the academy awards.”
That’s an actually pizza delivery boy