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clarawatson · 3 years

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It Only Takes A Taste (3)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded stuff, but I’m not sure where this is going as a larger work so we’ll say Fem!reader to be safe) Summary: Jack comes for dinner, I guess. W/C: 2345 Warnings: none yet! A/N: this one got a little long, oopsies. AO3 Where am I in this series? 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

The bed had been so warm and comfortable you hadn't wanted to get out, but the thought of seeing Aaron again made your heart grow three sizes. You'd been texting back and forth for the last couple of days, just small awkward stuff. He likes to text emojis. He's precious. Of course he's precious.

He comes in as you're serving your first customer of the night—a sobbing thirty-year-old man who can't even order his pie without spluttering in tears. Is it favouritism to get excited by Aaron turning up? Yes. Is it worth it? Yes.

"Hello," you smile. There's a hundred things you could have called him, but he's too cute and your brain doesn't want to work.

"Hi," he grins back. "Can I have a coffee, please. Here."

"Yes you can." Aaron splits his bill between the counter and the tip jar. "How was your day, Aaron?"

"Boring paperwork. Couldn't concentrate."

Concern furrows your eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"

"Huh? No! I kept thinking about seeing you." There's that sunshine smile again. You might even match it yourself. He points to the cake that's still in the display tin. He's in earlier in the night than usual, so there's a lot more range to choose from. "Is that carrot cake?"

"Sure is. Do you want some?"

"Please."

You serve him a slice and let the coffee machine splutter and fight with you. He stabs his cake with his fork and looks like he has an out of body experience the moment the cream cheese icing hits his tongue. That's a face you want to see again under different circumstances.

"Joe?"

"Me! And Joe's recipe. I sort of mixed it together and prayed."

"Then mark me a religious man." Aaron smiles. You can't held but smile back at him.

"It's a bit early for you to be in," you say. It's not an issue, just means you got the earlier shift. Finishing at 1am instead of 7am. Plus, Aaron looks nice in the daytime. Very nice. The afternoon light suits him.

"Didn't have a case," he shrugs.

You've googled him since getting his business card. “Supervisory Agent Aaron Hotchner, Section Chief of the BAU”. The fuck did that even mean? BAU was the Behavioural Analysis Unit, which was still mainly a mystery, but you think it’s maybe just an over-glorified way of saying ‘they look inside people’s heads and hope for the best’. He’s got a handful of news reports that you’ve practically memorised.

Okay, that’s a little obsessive. Don’t admit that to him.

He wasn’t the ‘untouched by darkness’ that you’d thought of him before, his work face held all the darkness his smile did not. You hoped you never had to see the serious man who stood before the cameras.

“How’s Rita?” Aaron asks. He’s cut the top off his carrot cake, saving it for later. He looks at it longingly every now and then, then he scoops just a little bit of the cream cheese and lets it rest on his tongue.

“She’s good. Restless. She’s happy for the due date to arrive.” She’d also asked you to be the baby’s godparent. Rather forcefully, actually, it had felt a bit strange. That was the only reason you hadn’t jumped at the opportunity. You’d do anything for Rita, but saying yes in that instant would had felt strange. Almost… wrong, maybe.

Aaron knows you’re thinking about it. He puts his fork down and shifts in his chair, waiting for you to continue. He doesn’t fill the silence between the two of you. You think about telling him, but then Lola’s bustling through the door and grabbing her apron.

“Hot stuff, when can I go for a smoke break?” is the first thing Lola says to you. She pulls chewing gum out of her mouth (yes, pulls. She sticks her fingers in her mouth and pulls it out as far as it will go without snapping) and Aaron moves his cake around his plate a bit. Does he not like it? Don’t be silly, he asked for it. Requested it. Whatever. You put his three cookies into a plastic bag and slide it across the counter to him.

“Lola you only just came in.”

“But I want to know,” she whines like she’s a teenager with an after school job, not a thirty-five-year-old woman who works at the diner full time. “Hey, Rita’s been acting weird, right? Is that a pregnancy thing, or?” Lola rubbed her nose on the back of her wrist and sniffs. An action you’re all too familiar with by now, and of course she was doing illegal substances in the bathroom before she started her shift when there’s a legitimate federal agent in the diner.

“Oh,” Lola says as she looks at Aaron. She looks at you, raises her eyebrows, and nods like she’s impressed. “I take back telling Rita she was a liar." Even without knowing the context of Rita and Lola's conversation, you know Rita had told Lola how pretty/handsome/gorgeous Aaron is. "I’m going to go clean some tables.”

She grabs the cleaning supplies and heads out into the dining area. The door swings open, banging against one of the booths, and you’re immensely glad Lola doesn’t scream 'watch it’ at them. A curly haired blonde woman (gorgeous, mind you) touches Aaron’s shoulder and he sits up straight, smiling, and your heart plummets a little bit. Just the tiniest amount.

“Jack insisted we switch over here before I go to parent/teacher interviews.” As if on queue, a well mannered, sandy-haired boy sits next to Aaron and grins too much like Aaron. Aaron’s son. You can put two and two together. Profiler or not.

“How was school?” Aaron asks. Jack shrugs.

“It was school.” He learnt that from his dad, there’s no question.

“Well, in that case. Jack, this is my friend Y/n. Y/n, this is Jack.” Jack extends a hand to shake in greeting and looks really shy about it. You shake it quickly so he doesn’t feel like a kid who’s been roped into doing adult things. There’s a pile of colouring-in pages Joe’s printed off at the local library beneath a cup of crayons that Jack’s eyeing off.

You grab a sheet and a crayon, raising an eyebrow in invitation as you turn around to Jack.

“Yes please,” he says, grin growing across his face. “Thank-you.”

“You’re welcome. Wonderful manners.” Jack grins even bigger and you think he, too, might combust just like his dad. Stardust! That’s the movie you were thinking of. When Yvaine sees Tristan she shines, literally, the star inside of her just can’t be contained. That’s Aaron and Jack, and the way they look when they smile.

Aaron’s sister-in-law looks at you with a cocked head, like a curious cat. Like she’s waiting to pounce. But… curiously pounce. Like she's sussing you out. She extends a hand in greeting.

“Jess. Aaron’s talked about you.”

There’s no response but to look sheepish. This seems to greatly please Jess, who smiles softly and rubs the back of Aaron’s head affectionately. They have a long history together, it’s too familial to be just a relationship born through marriage.

“I’ll see you later then, Rockstar,” Jess says.

“Bye,” Aaron and Jack say together. Aaron rests his cheek on his hand, watching you as Lola hands you three orders she’s taken while you’ve been talking to Aaron. Jack leans over and whispers to Aaron about his homework (it’s a whisper that belongs on a stage) as you wrestle with the coffee machine.

It’s been grinding it’s way down to not working for a while now. Ever since you met Aaron, actually. Joe’s said he’s going to fix it, or get a new one, but everyone’s in a state of non-commital until Rita has her baby.You’ve got no idea why, it’s just the way things are. Good luck, maybe? Or luck in general?

Somehow you get Aaron talking about Shakespeare. It might have been Jack’s doing, to be completely honest, but one moment you’re trying to make the froth… well, froth… and the next you're listening to Aaron talk animatedly about Othello. Jack's young enough to not think his Dad's passion is embarrassing.

"Have you watched Othello?" Jack asks, a question that Aaron's neglected to ask you. "I'm not old enough to yet."

"I haven't seen that one yet, but I've seen Much Ado About Nothing."

"Is that the one with the olive gardens?" Jack asks. Aaron frowns, eyes searching for the answer in that big beautiful minds tonight.

"Yes," he says finally. "That was the one with the olive trees."

Jack giggles. "There was kissing in that movie."

"Lots of it," Aaron agrees. You're not sure you're talking about the same film, but it's cute to see the two of them interact.

"With the guy who plays Lockhart in the second Harry Potter movie?" You ask. Jack laughs just like his father. It's all light and mirth. He nods in confirmation.

"His name is Kenneth," Jack says like he's familiar with him. When Aaron smiles, you know Jack's his whole world.

It’s not long before Aaron realised he’d brought Jack in without asking if he wanted anything. The afternoon rush had died down, leaving you in the space between out-of-work and dinner. You make the most chocolate-y hot chocolate you can for Jack when Aaron says he can have one. Well, Jack says the best bit is the froth, so it’s more child-size-hot-chocolate-in-an-adult-mug-full-of-froth. Jack loves it. He slurps at the chocolate, which leaves a giant frothy mustache over his top lip that won’t go away no matter how much he licks at it.

When he’s done you let him come around to the kitchen to wash his face, because no amount of wet napkins is going to fix that mess. Jack can’t reach the sink, so you fashion a step out of old milk and bread crates. Joe gives him cake batter to taste before realising that he actually has no idea who Jack is. Aaron watches from the kitchen door with a smile on his face. You don’t catch it until Jack jumps off the crates and takes your hand, leading you back out. Aaron’s fingers brush your hand as you pass him. Electricity sparks between the two of you that's completely unavoidable. The two of you recoil involuntarily.

Aaron gives you a small smile of apology. You give exactly the same one back. Lola legitimately gasps like she too felt the electricity between the two of you. Surely that was just something that happened in movies? Or in books? That’s not a real thing, right? But Aaron brushes past you again, as if he’s making sure as well, and it’s there again. Only it’s like your whole arm becomes pins and needles, not just a quick lightning spark.

If it’s like that every time you’re with him, your not sure you could even go beyond lusting after him and giving him coffee and meals every now and then. Aaron drops his gaze, then follows Jack to the front of the counter.

They stay for dinner (because Jack insists, he wants the nachos) but the rush comes early and there’s really not much time to talk to them, so you almost miss them leaving. Almost. You’re serving the angry couple at table three (are they angry at you, or each other? Who knows, you don’t, but they’re taking it out on you) when Jack taps your hip.

He’s very patient as you finish the order (somehow you figure out what they want between the curse words) and bend down to him. He hands you a folded piece of paper.

“This is for you,” he says. “I did it.” You’re about to unfold it, but he insists that it belongs in your apron pocket until you can look at it with no rush. That’s a kid who knows what it’s like to have a very busy parent. So you tuck it away safely and mess with his hair, which makes him grin from ear to ear.

“See you later!” Jack yells as he runs to Aaron, who’s waving goodbye with a doggy bag full of Jack’s unfinished dinner.and his keys between his fingers.

“I’ll see you later,” he mouths as the noise in the diner starts to rise. Without thinking you blow him a kiss, which he catches effortlessly and kisses the fist closed around it before slipping out.

When you get to the kitchen Lola’s already in the midst of teasing you.

“You like him,” she says with all the confidence in the world. There’s not point denying her, so you just nod. It’s met by a chorus of ‘ooo’s which, to be honest, you really didn’t need. It made the diner feel far too small.

When everything dies down you remember the paper Jack had given you. You wipe the milk and spaghetti sauce off the counter, then make sure it’s dry, and unfold Jack’s page. It’s the generic colouring page Joe’s printed out, but Jack’s tried to make the generic waitress look like you. Well, you if you had purple hair and green skin. It’s a start, you guess, there’s an apology from Aaron on the back. Makes it worth it.

You move a couple of postcards on the corkboard aside and put Jack’s picture there instead. Joe pretends not to notice, but when Lola goes out the back with one of her customers, Joe comes round the front and presses a finger to the page.

“Good kid,” Joe says. He nods a couple of times then turns to you. “You know he and his dad come as a package, right? You fuck up one, you fuck up both.” Joe’s first wife had three kids that weren’t biologically his. He’s still mad at himself for not taking the kids seriously and only turning up for their mom.

“I know,” you say.

Joe strokes your cheek as he passes and kisses your forehead. It’s all the praise you need.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist (if you want to get added, just inbox me, and if I’ve missed you I am so sorry): @willowrose99 @genevievedarcygranger @maryosprinkle @kleff03 @yoshigguk @samanthareid06 @typical-leo @leilanixx

#It Only Takes a Taste #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #Diner!AU

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treba-neco-napise · 4 years

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List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last 10 people who reblogged something from you - learn to know your mutuals and followers! :]

ok, at this point i don’t really remember because i’ve just spent three days stressing over some work for school. but being happy is important so:

1. snow - it has been snowing in the czech republic for two days now (and i hope it won’t end anytime soon, even though our rabbits in a closed coop in our garden don’t really enjoy the white, soft and freezing thing and jump like they have springs on their paws. yes, i know they’re rabbits but this is a different style of jumping. anyway,) and i always smile like an idiot when i see the whole world around covered in white. i don’t know if it’s because it almost doesn’t snow in the winter in our country like it used to (global warming...?) or i just like winter because i don’t have that much work to do outside or because i can put on some cosy sweater and drink tea with lemon and when i look outside the window, i feel like i was in a cabin in the mountains with my family on a skiing vacation and i didn’t have schoolwork to stress about. i live in a log cabin in a village so it’s easy to get those feels.

2. tea with lemon. all the time. terribly missed in summer.

3. old, yellow paper and books and those really thin pen tips and christmas lights.

4. knowing i’ve done a good job.

5. getting feedback, comments and questions from people, overall notice and people being happy with what i’ve created.

now, with the next part i’m heading somewhere else so if you don’t want some heartspilling today, just go on scrolling. have a nice day.

i’m a brutally honest person (which probably isn’t that visible here on tumblr because here, nobody gives a shit what other people think) so i’ll say something that i’ve probably said before and people who follow me have noticed - i have pretty low self-esteem mixed up with perfectionism complex (because every time my parents weren’t satisfied with my work, i had to go back and do it properly. this is the first and last mention of my parents in this answer, i swear.) so every time i get noticed, i pull off a huge internal celebration that someone actually knows i exist and doesn’t mind. so i’ll cover that person in “thank you”s and these days i’ve battled my masculinity complex enough to use heart emojis. a lot. but when it comes to bread breaking (translated czech idiom to you who aren’t czech. if there are any of you.), i don’t return that stuff. this is the second love-spreading ask thread i’ve received and the last time, i said “thank youuuu” and didn’t even pass it on because i didn’t have enough will to copy the text and paste it in someone else’s mailbox. (i will pass this ask on. because i do want to get to know people around me.) my friend sent me a beautiful letter with some trans pride stickers and some more really neat paper stuff and what have i done for her? when i was at summer school in england, two friends bought me a gorgeous bookmark and a notebook because they noticed i liked books and notebooks. and i never paid that affection back before we went back home. don’t get me wrong, i love to create stuff for people to make them happy and i’m kind of proud of last year’s choices of gifts for my family. but often when it’s not expected, i rarely put together enough will or it takes too long and when i want to pay back, it’s too late.

what i’m trying to say? it might just be my low self-esteem and paranoia but if i ever didn’t return the affection you sent me, i’m really sorry. i am selfish even though i am terrified of being selfish and i’m trying to work on it.

(while writing i remembered multiple variations of the thought that love isn’t something to be obliged to pay back and the friend who sent me the letter said it’s fine and you probably don’t even care and don’t know why the hell i’m writing this but every time i realize i’ve been selfish or careless, it just makes me feel like i should hide under the table and not come back until there is an alternative universe, where i didn’t do those things, created. have a splendid day, folks.)

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artisticestheticreads · 5 years

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ROXANNE: Chapter Three

A/N: Haiiiiiii, Loves. So,I know my third chapter is late but I been sick while working some crazy, long hours and was depressed all at the same time BUT I feel better now. So, here is chapter three.

Warning: Mentions about death, weed and drug use, sexual innuendos and more.

Song Recommendation: I listened to Hey There, Lonely Girl by Eddie Holman.

Word Count: 4884

*Gun shot noises*

Erik was at the gun range, getting target practice trying to kill time before his “appointment”. He took his ear guards and shades off while pressing the button to bring the wounded paper closer to him. He placed the paper between his hands and smirked at the shots he made into a cross. He took the sheet placing on the ground beside him and adding a new sheet to the mix. He put his head phones back on with his shades, played his music and continued.

He soon found himself at a cemetery with peonies in hand. He walked up the deep hill; to a graveside with a tomb stone molded into the ground, two sat by one another.He stood with his hands in front of his pelvis and look down to see the names, Annie Marie Stevens and N’Jobu Udaku. He cleared his throat to stop the tears and said “uh, hey, ma. Hey, pop. I’m here for our monthly talk. Y’know like when I was younger. Well, life been coo lately and what not but, uh, I’m just trying to still figure out life I guess.” He looked around and all the tombstones and sighed. “What is the point of leaving life? We just all gonna end up here anyways. When we are long gone, is there actually heaven and hell or are we just done for? Do we become something or someone else or do out corpse just rot and decay away?” He shook his hand, stating “I still don’t get this shit, y’all. Life’s hard especially with y’all not being here. I mean y’all here but just... just not physically. There was so much y’all didn’t get to teach me. Like love and shit. I just wished we all had more time. Y’know I always wonder how life would be if y’all were alive, man. Would we be happy? Would I still be an angry ass person? Maybe not since ma was into self love and meditating.”

He smiled at the thought of his family sitting on the ground, meditating early in the morning. He began thinking about Roxanne too out of no where and uttered out “I met a girl. Her name is Roxanne. This woman is bad and beautiful too. Her voice is like, is like honey drizzling onto some toast. Her eyes, they got so much passion and fire into them. Her smile is just like freshly cleaned diamonds and she just so beautiful. She strong too, y’all. She reminds me of…” He looked at his mom’s grave and sighed again, missing her more and more.

Erik placed the flowers down on their graves and kissed his fingers to place by their names. “I hope I make y’all proud. See ya next month.” He began walking away when he noticed a golden miniature motorcycle that sat on a grave plot; something told him to stop and read the headstone. “To, a brother who made others smile. To, a son who warmed his mother’s heart. To, a friend who made people calm and to, a man who lived his best life. Here lies…” He stopped and knelt down when he read the last part. He read it again while holding his hands together. “Here lies, D’Angelo Fosters.” He shook his head while holding his hand to the grave and closed his eyes, mentally saying his hi and goodbye.

______

Roxanne was in her kitchen, in a wife beater, no bra and booty shorts cooking lunch for herself and Raymond. She had her hair wrapped in a towel to dry it as her hips moved to her reggae playlist. She was in the middle of making ox tails, with dirty rice and corn bread. She was winding her hips to the beat of Bonafide Love by Beenie Man. She was feeling herself as she turned the music up louder.

“I don’t why. Ooooh whyyyy”, she sung with her hands out and wooden spoon tossing in the air. “Aye, sis. I’m ba-“, Raymond said but stopped when he saw his sister vibing. He chuckled as he gently put the bag on the ground. He slowly walked behind her and began dancing like her until she turned around. “Bumbaclaat! Ray, you scared the shit outta me”, she said holding onto her chest to catch her breath.

“You was gettin’ it. girl. I was like aight then”, he said chuckling as she turned around. “You idiot. Anyways, how was the gym”, she asked, stirring the rice. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and said “ah, man. It was whatever. Just like every other day. Of course, niggas was crowding up in there. Tryna pretend to be healthy and shit knowing damn well they ass gonna quit that shit in mid February.” Roxanne couldn’t help but laugh at that. Ray went over to the fridge to grab a water bottle and chugged it in one sip, shooting the bottle in the recycling bag. “So, how was the race since I can’t go up there?”

“Fine, 12 almost caught me but you know me. Gotta thank Erik for that.” Raymond looked to her with a rose brow and asked “Erik, Erik Stevens is back?” Roxxx nodded and said “yep and breathing too.” Ray slightly smirked and said “Damn, I ain’t see E in a minute. How he doing?” Roxxx checked the rice. “Good, I guess. He pretty cool. Just like bro said.”

“Invite him over”, he said as he took a spoon, dipping to the rice and eating a chunk before tossing it in the sink. Roxxx was mixing the cornbread batter as she spoke. “RayRay, he probably busy. Probably in some pussy right now.” Ray Ray smacked his lips looking her up and down. “Then he can come for dinner, Roxxx. C’mon I ain’t seen him in years. If you love me, you’ll invite him.” She looked at him and down and said “fine, I will try and invite him for dinner. No promises he will be here though.” RayRay kissed her cheek and ran to his room, leaving Roxxx with a smile.

_______

“Uh shit, daddy. I can feel you in my gut. Fuck”, said the light skin girl, nude and behind in the air. Erik held his fist into her lower back as they fucked to DaBaby in the background. He bit on his lip as he watched her pussy stretch around his dick, creaming all over. Yes, her pussy was good but he would get turned off when she ran. He would have to hold her in place.

All of a sudden, the ding from his phone caught his attention. He tilted to his right to see a text from ‘Roxxx’ with emojis of a chocolate and a yam . He began thinking about her so much at that moment. From her eyes, her frame to when she touched his marks. The way she smelled even made his dick hard. He smacked the girl’s ass, pretending it was Roxanne. He began pounding into her pussy as he thought about Roxanne. The way she took control in every situation got him about to explode all over. He muted out the girl’s moans and heard Roxanne’s voice in his head. He pounded in her harder while holding her hips close to him. He then released into the condom in one pump.

Minutes later, he locked up the house and lied in bed, freshly showered. He grabbed his phone and began dialing the number; he then heard “hey, baby boy. What’s up?” Erik chuckled and said “you like calling me that huh?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Anyways what you doing?” He sat up in bed, back against the headboard and said “shit nothing. Why? You wanna see me or something?” He chuckled when he heard her say “boy, hush.” He smirked as he rubbed his abs. “Well, I was wondering what you were doing tonight. You remember D’Angelo’s little brother right?”

“Ray Ray? Yeah, I ain’t seen him since graduation.”

“Yeah, well he wants to see you and invite you for dinner and whatnot. If you can’t come, I understan-“.

“Nah, I can come. What y’all plan on having”, he asked sitting up, feet planted on the floor. “I was thinking about making some pot roast, with potatoes and greens and rolls. Ray Ray wanted a cheesecake so of course I made one for later. Then I made some iced tea and what not.” The line got so quiet until Roxxx asked “you still there?”

“So when we getting married”, he said making Roxxx laugh. “Boy, I’ll send you the address.” He soon hoped in the shower again and threw on a crisp black tee, jeans and of course some all black Timberlands. He finished the look with his father’s chain and his matching watch. He looked in the fridge and grabbed a bottle of chilled Jack Daniels before heading out; he placed the address in the GPS and was off.

Erik soon pulled up to the matcha toned home and saw the garage door open. Once he parked in front of the home, he grabbed his gift and looked around as he got out. Coming from the garage was some Doja Cat playing; Streets to be more specific. As he made his way to the front door, he saw a pair of female legs under a car with her right knee bent. The car was lifted up as she worked. Erik walked up to her right side, biting his lip. He can see her print under her shorts and thick thighs slightly jiggling.

“Are you gonna say hello or are you gonna keep checking me out”, Roxanne said catching him off guard. He chuckled and asked “can ya blame me?” She rolled out carefully and looked up to him with her brown eyes. Erik liked seeing her natural beauty where he can see her beauty marks and apple cheeks more clearly with her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. Roxanne sat up on her elbows with a slight chuckle and said “do I have something on my face again?” He rolled his eyes with a smirk and helped her up. She wiped her hands on the towel beside her, clean and dusted her legs off. He looked down at her frame then back to her eyes.

“So, what you doing there”, Erik asked as he watched her. She looked back to the car and let it down before opening the hood and propping it open. “Eh, just doing a monthly check up for RayRay. He had some gas leaking so I fixed that up. Had to clean out the AC vent so the air got a lot cooler.” She bent down over the edge slightly with her flash light as Erik checked her out more. Her cheeks looked so nice and plump enough to bite and never let go. “Now, I’m just checking the alternator and making sure the car won’t overheat easily.”

“How you know so much about cars”, he asked once she turned around and wiped her hands again. She leaned against the car and explained. “My pops. Used to do a lot of work on cars, detailing and shit. He used to tell me ‘baby gyal, ya will neva need a man for any ting. Make dem need you.’ ” She smiled at the memory and Erik saw that twinkle again. “Is he still around or nah?” She was about to speak until they heard “aye, Roxy. Have you seen”, Raymond asked as he walked to the garage. His eyes grew big as he walked up to the pair and looked Erik up and down. Erik smirked and said “damn you got big, Ray.”

Raymond gave him a brotherly hug and said “welcome back, bruh.” Erik patted his back as Roxanne stood back watching. Erik looked at Ray and said “damn, you gotta be at least-.”

“16.”

“Yeah, ain’t seen you since you was like three almost. How Momma Dukes doing?”

“She’s good. I mean she in the hospital again and is in a home to be watched more but she doing better.” Erik looked to Roxanne then back at him. “Why she there?”

Roxanne looked at Ray and saw the hurt in his face as he looked at her. She rubbed his back and looked to Erik. “Ma losing her memory. Between me working every so often and baby boy in school, we couldn’t watch her all the time. She had slipped and fell apparently and was unconscious for hours until I got back from work years ago. She was out cold for like hours then when we took her to the hospital, we found out she had dementia.”

Erik looked to the pair and shook his head while saying “I’m sorry to hear that.” RayRay looked to him and smiled a little before he saw the bottle in Erik’s hand. “Is that for us?” Roxxx smacked the back of his head and he rubbed it. “Damn, bruh. I was kidding, sis.” Roxanne folded her arms and said “Ima kid my foot up ya ass. Go take the bottle and put in the fridge and clean up for dinner.”

“You ain’t the boss of me.”

“I promised ma I will be and I ain’t breaking my promise any time soon. Now go.” Erik chuckled as he passed the bottle to him and watched him walk away. “Mean ass”, Ray muttered under his breath and Roxxx threw a basketball at his back. “He must forgot I can hear anything.”

Erik followed her into the house and removed his shoes before placing them at the front door. Roxanne looked back at him and said “I see you was raised right.” He smiled and sat on the couch watching her in the kitchen as he got a text from the last jump off. Daddy, I miss that dick, he read in his head. He looked over at Roxanne as she grabbed the mitts and removed the pot roast, making his stomach grumble more. He made his way over and leaned against the corner as she stirred the greens. “You got it smelling good in here”, he complimented. She thanked him with a grin. “Who taught you how to cook?”

“Well, it was a combination of ma and my mom. Taught me all my life. I would just watch ‘em and all”. Erik looked around to see frames of multiple people but one caught his eye more. In the photo, looked to be an younger Roxanne with two other people. One was a man with soften ginger head of hair with medium brown skin. He wore a polo shirt with jeans and flip flops; the bottom was cuffed. The other person was a woman with skin like Roxanne and long braids down her back. She wore a long flow sundress that showed her frame; her and Roxanne could easily pass for twins.

Roxanne took noticed and said “those are my folks” as she drizzled juices over the roast. Erik looked back to her, with a wondering mind. He wondered if he should ask or not; he left it be.

Once they finished eating, Roxanne and Erik sat on her couch as Ray sat in his room. Roxanne came back from her room with a pencil case. She sat beside Erik as he poured the chilled dark liquor into the glasses. She opened the case to reveal a snack size baggie if weed, plenty of blunts and a R shaped lighter. She began rolling as she leaned her back against the couch. Erik took a sip of his drink and watched her. The concentration she had was immaculate. “So, what was the Navy like”, she asked as she lit the thick blunt and taking a hit. Erik took another sip and said “awe well. Kinda reminded me of MIT. Niggas tryna be all big and bad and shit. We trained a lot. I bulked up and grew my hair out.” She nodded as he thought to himself.

“Where are they now?”

“Who?”

“Ya folks”.

Roxanne still was rolling her blunt when she said “back home in Jamaica. We, uh, we got separated when I was thirteen. They ain’t had their papers, some folks found out and they were gone when I came back from school.” Erik noticed how her shoulders slumped but her demeanor stayed the same. “Sorry to hear that.”

“It is was it is. Niggas were upset to see a woman with her business of owning a restaurant and a man with a car appreciation business basically. I was put up for foster care and hopped around from home to home”, she said before stopping in mid memory. She looked to her dagger as Erik sat closer and rubbed his shoulder. “When did ma take you in?”

“Took months. I was hopping from Malibu to Vegas, the ATL and every where on this hell hole. My last name changed so much but then D’Angelo reconnecting when he saw me at the mall out here. I was down the way around that time. Been through some dark times, even thought about taking my own life until I got away. I was 17 and in a real dark place. Then ma took me but wasn’t able to be released until 18; but still stayed around.”

Roxanne passed the blunt to him so he can take a hit. Erik let the air out through his nose as he asked “when was the last time you saw them?” Roxanne took a shot of her drink and said “last year. I go out there every once in a while but since ma got worst, I gotta stay back and watch RayRay.” Erik leaned his head back looking at her face as she let out some air. “I race because my mom did it.” She smiled at the memory and said “I remember when my mom and ma was actually competing one another. My mom was a biker and that’s when I fell in love with it. She was incredible. Seeing her decked out in all black leather was like inspiration for me. My pop and I used to go a lot with her. Every race, she called us her lucky charms.” Roxanne looked over at Erik’s eyes and asked “tell me about your folks.”

Erik’s demeanor changed slightly but he pulled his eyes away from hers to look at the ceiling. “They dead. My, uh, my moms was murdered in prison and my dad was murdered in our apartment. They found these deep ass marks in his chest while I was playing basketball. Not sure what happened but when I ran up to get something to drink, he was drowning in his own blood. It was everywhere. Niggas took my dad out and I never found out who. I was just like you, hopping from place to place. Some were what ever and some was bad as hell. Had one family where they adopted all kinds of kids and made us food that was worst than the food my moms had when she was locked up. I had some dark times until my last guardian took me in. Some young cat, about 32 to at the time. Taught me how to be book and street smart.”

Roxanne looked over at him then at the tv screen. “Where he at now”, she asked folding her arms. He looked to her and then where she was looking. “Died years ago. When I was in service over seas.” She closed her eyes and took a hit of the blunt again, letting the smoke out. She shook her head as she opened her eyes and handed the blunt to Erik. “Life’s a strange thing, E. We are put on this world just to get hurt, to feel then to die. Makes no fucking sense. Never will. Like seriously what is the point of living if we just gonna rot in the ground anyways.” He looked at her to see her eyes on him and nodded, agreeing.

“So, E. How come you single anyways? I mean you seem like a cool dude”. She asked folding her legs together and looking at him. “It’s simple. Never could find the one. I like being myself. I like being to myself. Like staying lowkey. I mean I fuck from time to time but that’s just fucking to me; no strings attached.”

“Same here. I mean yeah I got my crew and Ray but sometimes I just like being alone. I can think clearly with a book and some bomb ass music while smoking or drinking ya know? It’s just that when I by myself, I feel like-“

“You can breathe with focus “, he interrupted to add and looked over at her as she smiled small. They continued smoking for a while listening to old school music. “Aight, let’s see if you got good taste. Top three old school r&b artist, go,” Roxanne said before passing him the blunt. “Easy, Joe, Tyrese, and Usher,” he said all confident before she smacked his chest. “Nigga, I said old school not 90’s r&b. Just for that you get no more weed”. He kissed his lips and said “fine, muthafucka. What’s your top three?” She looked at him and said “Marvin Gaye, Eddie Holman and Donny Hathaway, boom!” Erik shook his head chuckling and said “aight, but picture this. You get high as fuck right? What will be your playlist? Top 5, any genre of music, any decade.”

“Awe damn, E. Shit. Let’s see, um, ok I got it. Yearning for Your Love by the Gap Band, Frontin’ by Pharrell, It Was A Good Day by Ice Cube, Computer Love by Zapp and Roger and Time Machine by Willow. Your turn.”

“Aight, of course we got It was a good day, Hands on the wheel by Schoolboyq, Gangstas Paradise by Coolio, Passin Me By by the Pharcyde, I wish it would rain by The Temptations and , I guess, Stairway to Heaven by the OJays”, Erik said rubbing his abs through his shirt. Roxxx took noticed, bit the corner of her lip away from before taking a deep breath. “So, Erik. About ya marks, are they everywhere?”

He looked to her to see that she was looking at the ceiling. Her legs were wide enough for him to see her mound print. She looked good enough to eat, literally. “Nah, they not.” As he looked away biting his lip, Roxanne turned her head to him. “Did they hurt?”

“Nah, well only for like a second but the more I did it, the less it hurt.” Roxanne nodded in agreement as she started to play music, rolling another blunt. She hit shuffle on her phone and The Gap band played. She placed the blunt between her lips and lit the end waiting for the spark to pop up. She placed her lighter inside the box and leaned her head back on the couch playing the air guitar with closed eyes and tapping her feet. Erik watched her as he chuckled making her look at him with a smirk; she handed the blunt to him. He noticed the scars underneath her left forearm tattoo; he counted at least twelve. He took a hit letting the smoke leave his nose. Roxanne was too busy lip syncing the lyrics to notice Erik’s glare. Roxanne was a beautiful woman who was a boss all in one. She had everything he was looking for but it was too early to mention it. They only knew each other for like a couple of weeks or so. With eyes like the glass of Jack Daniels she held in her hand. Her lips would look like two plush pillows around him and with a body like hers, she would be the only woman he fucked with. Erik always had a thing for independent women because it showed they didn’t need a man or anyone to be around so it made him feel special in a way.

For hours, they just sat in comfortable silence, enjoying one another’s company. Roxanne was hanging off the couch with legs on the wall while Erik rested his head on her legs looking at the window, at the dark skies. “Aye, Roxxx?” She looked up at him like in slow motion and said “yeah?” His eyes fell on hers and said “we been getting fucked up all day, ma.” He smirked and she started laughing, agreeing with him. “Shit, the sun just said fuck y’all niggas, I’m going to bed”, she commented making him laugh. “Like I’m out this bitch. Y’all with the shenanigans”; they laughed again out loud enough for Ray Ray to come out. He was dress in a clean tee and sweats as he rose his brow to them. “Y’all niggas fucked up, man.” Erik and Roxxx looked at him and started laughing again.

Ray Ray rolled his eyes as he made his way to the door and he opened it, he reached out for a slender woman’s waist. Roxxx looked towards the door when she took in the faint smell of Bath & Body Works’ Japanese Cherry Blossom body spray, making her sit all the way up. The woman had icy blonde hair and medium brown skin. She wore a green tube top, jeans that hugged her curves and matching fuzzy slides. “There go my baby”, RayRay said kissing in her neck. She giggled while trying to get out of his grasps. Erik looked over at Roxanne who held a stank, irritated face; he chuckled while leaning back. RayRay looked into Erik’s face and said “Erik, this is my baby, Angelica. Angel, this is my brother, E.”

Angel saw Erik on the couch and said “hello, Erik. I see Roxxx finally found a man instead of acting like one.” Roxanne was about to hop off the couch with her knife but was pulled back by Erik. Erik whispered in her ear low enough for the others to not hear. “Chill. We good, aight.” She looked back at him then rolled her eyes leaning forward. “And it look like ya finally got some good hair instead of that dusty crusty one you been rocking since Obama was in office the first time, huh?” Raymond chuckled but waved it off. “Sis, chill. My baby still looked good.”

“Since when has she every looked good. I’m amazed her pussy ain’t start a huge as tornado with all that hot air going in and out. More niggas ran through her than a white bitch in an all black porno gang bang.” Erik spit out his drink before covering his mouth. Angel placed her hands on her hips and said “you got jokes, huh? Well, I got one for ya. What you call a bitch that ain’t had dick since the ‘incident’?” Roxxx looked up at her with an irritated look then to Raymond. “You told her about that?” Raymond looked to her and said “nah, she probably over heard-“.

“Over heard what”; he was silent looking at Angel. Roxxx leaned forward picking up a new wrap as Erik watched. “Raymond, you need to go pack a bag. You need stay with that bitch for the week.” Roxanne began wrapping the blunt as Ray shook his head before looking to Angel, signaling her to go to the car; she went as he went to pack a bag and leave, slamming the door shut. Roxanne’s lit the blunt between her lips and lied back. Erik wondered what they all meant but decided it wasn’t his place. “You good, Roxxx”, he asked with a rose brow. She looked to him and said “I’m good. Just-“, she stopped and blinked away a tear he couldn’t see on the other side of her face. She stood up and handed him the blunt before saying “you can stay the night if ya want. We been drinking all day and I can’t let anyone get hurt drinking and driving out here.” He nodded and said “I’m down” She took a deep breath, clearing her throat and said “I’ll go get you some blankets and shit. I- uh- just washed so you good.” She smirked a little before straightening her face again and going to fetch the new sheets.

Hours later, Erik was lying on the couch with his tall frame knocked out as Hey There Lonely Girl by Eddie Holman played from her room. Roxanne looked up to the ceiling in deep thought, right arm behind her head and left head arm resting against her stomach. Her lips were tight as she bit on her bottom one, nostrils flaring and eyes red, soaked with tears and brows stitched in anger.

I hope y’all enjoyed this chapter because the next would definitely make ya emotions stir up.

*𝕋𝔸𝔾𝔾𝔼𝔻 𝕃𝕆𝕍𝔼𝕊*

@muse-of-mbaku @im5ftbutmythroat66 @chaneajoyyy @melanin-samii @theunsweetenedtruth @doux-ciel @unicornluvin8765 @vikkidc @wakandantings @thadelightfulone @mzamethystp @simbiann @tropicalsun10 @babydoll756 @notoriouslynay @vminax @quinsly @pinkdemolition @quietstorm-73 @chaoticcashfancroissant @bugngiz @chocolatedippedinhoney @yafavcocoa @lostgalaxies @mbakuwife @youreadthatright @babygotl01292003 @acceptyourselfloveyourself @madamslayyy @yoyolovesbucky @theogbadbitch @wakanda-inspired @bitchacho25 @toniilaney @wakandascrystal @girlsneedlovingfanfics @raysunshine78 @melodyofmbaku @hearteyes-for-killmonger @silenceisplatinum @thickemadame @shookmcgookqueen @heykillmongerluhme @fonville-designs @cutewylie @allhailqueennel @10bsatatime @nickidub718 @lildashofmelanin @allhailqueennel @amirra88 @hakunalive4eva @thickemadame @ghostfacekill-monger @cherrystainedlipsbaby @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @fd-writes

#Erik Stevens #Erik Killmonger #erik stevens x reader #Erik Kilmonger #Erik killmonger x Reader #erik killmonger x oc #killmonger x reader #black panther #killmonger imagine #ROXANNE SERIES

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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king of the world (Branjie) - ohhthereuare

AN: We thought the picture Vanessa posted (and then fastly deleted) was in a drunken, sad haze. But what if it wasn’t? A conspiracy theory based on the screenshot Brooke posted on Twitter proving they’re happily together and both in on the shadiness.

I– My dumb ass thought my laptop randomly didn’t save this fic after I wrote it exactly a day after their exchange on Twitter, turns out I just saved it in a different folder and found it today while looking for my resume. I hope it’s still not too late to share my conspiracy theory about this “drunken” picture posted by V. Let me know what your thoughts are!

AO3

The phone was pretty much already glued to Brooke’s hand for the past ten minutes, vibrating non-stop with the endless twitter and Instagram notifications, so when she got an incoming FaceTime call, she answered comically fast.

“Hiiiiii babyyyy! You busy or somethin’?” Vanessa’s blurry face appeared on the phone screen and Brooke’s heart automatically started beating a little faster. She must’ve just finished her gig, a bright yellow wig, and sparkly makeup still on. Brooke had already gotten rid of her stage persona and was already getting ready for bed. The not-so-harsh time difference made it possible for them to catch up.

“Hi, Papi. No, just winding down after the show. What’s up?”

“Just missed ya stupid face, that’s all.”

Vanessa was still in the club. The music was playing somewhere in the background, mixed with incoherent conversations and laughter. Her smile was so broad it was contentious. She was swaying a little bit and her words were slurring together from alcohol no doubt. There was a sheepish glim in her eyes.

“I’ve seen the picture that you posted of us. And the song.”

“Mmm” Vanessa looked away from the phone for a moment, trying to look like she was looking for something, distracted, not paying too much attention but Brooke caught how the corner of her lips quivered when she tried not to smile. It must have meant more to her than what she tried to let on. Sometimes words weren’t their strongest suit but they already knew each other to well to not know how to read the signs.

“I really liked it. Why did you delete it?” Henry settled by Brooke’s side, purring with his eyes contently closed while Apollo laid in a bread-like position by her feet. She was late-night snacking on some sweet potato chips, that she had found in the cupboard, and the crumbs were getting all over the bedsheets.

“The management was all up my ass the second that it went up, these hoes. Keeping tabs on us 24/7 and shit. They told me to take it down. So it don’t mess their whole theme of—”

“—keep watching the show. Yeah” they finished in unison. There was a slight bitterness to their tones, but there was not much they could do. They were already bending the rules and the money mentioned at the bottom of their NDA contract was good enough for them to make it through just a couple more months.

“I meant it, y’know. The song I mean. The lyrics and shit.”

Now it was Brooke’s time to look away to hide her face, afraid of revealing too much. It’s been over a year. A year of feelings so new and wonderful sometimes it felt like her body could not contain all of them with how her heart swelled in her chest and made it hard to breathe. A year of being so happy but having to keep all of that a secret when all she wanted to do was scream it at the top of her lungs for the world to hear. There was a reason why every single time someone as much as mentioned Vanjie during the interviews Brooke instantly turned into a grinning, blushing, lovesick puppy.

“Would you, um… Would you send me the picture though? The one of us that you used with the song? I don’t think I have it and I’d like… I mean I didn’t really get a chance to look at it before you had to take it down.” The whole two minutes that it was on Instagram she kept refreshing the Story time after time to stare at it just a bit longer. Beside the point though.

This time neither looked away. Despite the shaky connection and blurry vision, the two queens locked eyes and the moment felt strangely intense, as if that gaze conveyed everything that they didn’t know how to put in words. They were already past the point of having to prove something to one another.

“Yeah, I’ll do– do that when I get home. I gotta go now though. Other people want to get some of Miss Vaaaanjie.”

“Okay, just remember that that ass is already taken.”

“Not like I could forget. Taken and taken care of. Okayloveyabyeeee!”

“You, too.”

Almost two hours went by and Brooke kept tossing and turning in her bed, reaching for her phone every five minutes. When it finally binged with a new message she reached for it so hard she almost pulled a muscle. The top notification read “Jose” with an orange heart and a bunch of their favorite emojis that they loved to use and confuse the fans with. Maybe they’d explain it during the Reunion episode. Or maybe not.

Did u get it

Under the message, there was a blank, grey square indicating an incoming picture.

Still loading, Brooke typed back.

Fuckit

A second later it finally got delivered and Brooke had to close her eyes and hide her smiling face into the pillow before she could look at it again. She remembered the night that it was taken during their stay in Toronto. How comfortable, happy, at home she had felt. Vanessa’s back warmly pressed against her arm, her neck smelling like fresh hotel sheets, menthol cigarettes that Brooke had kept smoking, and cologne. Brooke’s hand placed at her waist, keeping her closer. Vanessa’s own palm resting on the Canadian queen’s thigh and their pinkie fingers linked together, a little detail cut off by the picture frame.

She reached for her AirPods and opened Spotify, looking through Natalie Grant’s discography until she found the right song. The melody filled her headphones and she took a last look at their picture before closing her eyes and smiling like an idiot. God, she couldn’t wait for when they’d be able to openly talk about all of it. For now though, you’d just have to keep watching the show.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #fluff #ohhthereuare #submission

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fanfic-scribbles · 6 years

Text

Building Bridges, Trying Not To Drown: Foundation

I actually wrote this last year but in going through my masterlist I realized I hadn’t posted it here, only to Ao3. It’s...hm. I like it but it’s not for everyone. Mind the trigger warnings (for the love of god or who or whatever please read the trigger warnings) and read the general warnings. If you’ve seen this on Ao3, sorry for the repeat, but I like to put everything on both places because I am Paranoid. Also, I’m sort of on-and-off working on a part two, which may one day get posted here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Two sad people, trying their best in different ways.

Quick facts: Friendship – Steve Rogers & Reader – Nondescript (I think) Reader

Trigger Warnings: Depression, suicidal ideation, mention of self-injury (specifically cutting), thoughts of being nothing/worthless

General Warnings: Ups and downs can be jarring, first-person PoV, tense-shifting between past and present depending on scene, time and location are vague, kind of a crummy depiction of texting because I couldn’t make up my mind on how I wanted to do it, written in chunks over months and kind of reads like it

Words: 5465

A/N: One of the reasons I like fanfic so much is because I like the idea of being able to experiment with stuff. That said: this is a weird one. Not necessarily a bad one but strange and definitely an experiment. Part venting and part not. I don’t have evidence on hand, it’s purely an emotional reaction to watching the MCU character, but I just look at Steve Rogers and think he is, at heart, a sad dude, and whether through him or at him, I always want to play around with that. So I do. This is my second story using Steve Rogers to comfort a vague character that I’m leaving open as a reader insert. A lot of this is vague, actually, so don’t look too hard at the plot (if there is one). If you like it, great, if not, that’s fine too; you’ll probably know pretty quick if this is your thing or not.

The water was black in the night, only revealing its shape with the aid of wind and reflected lights. It looked nice. Endless. Oblivion. I wanted so badly to sink into it. I wanted…

“Cold night.”

I flinched at the sudden voice, and glanced to the side. He was big, bundled up, and facing me with his body while he leaned on the railing and pretended to look elsewhere. I should have been concerned for my safety– he was huge and looked strong– but I was so far past caring that I didn’t even respond. I just went back to staring out at nothing. And being nothing.

“Is that jacket warm enough?”

Great. Mr. Chatty. Still, I had no energy to engage, so I didn’t. He was a stubborn one though; he didn’t leave, didn’t seem bothered by my lack of response. “As cold as it is, though, I love the air when it’s like this; it’s refreshing.”

It would have been polite to make a sound. To nod. But I couldn’t manage any of it. All I could do was stare. And so I did. For hours, until the world around me began to stir. A runner skimmed by, the sky began to lighten. I stood straight, turned away from the man, and walked home.

I tried.

When I couldn’t sleep, I put on comedy shows. Movies that were normally comforting. Music that I liked. Nothing could make it through the cloud. My tongue was locked in place and tasted sour in my mouth.

I ventured out to the bakery I liked. It was in a small area with a mix of food places and at this time of morning it would be lively, but I could handle the background noise. The people behind the counter weren't that talkative, and that was the important bit.

I picked out a lot of things, enough to last a couple of days, paid, and left.

And saw the man from just a few hours previous, sitting at a table with some other people. In the daylight he looked…familiar somehow. But I didn’t look hard enough to examine why. He noticed me staring and smiled brightly, and I left immediately, my chest curling into a knot at the idea of having to talk to him.

That wasn’t the last time I saw him. I went back to the bridge to look at the water, to try and draw some calm. To fantasize.

I wasn’t surprised when he showed up. I still wasn’t…much of anything, really. He leaned next to me, closer, but faced the water like I did.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” he asked. I didn’t know why he bothered. It was like talking to a doll. Or a floor. A doll probably had more life than me.

“The forecast said it’ll rain soon, but it looked so clear today I can’t–”

The first few drops fell as soon as he said ‘rain’ and more followed so quickly that there was a steady stream by the time he stopped talking. Rain was…nice. But even that wasn’t enough to lift me.

“I guess I’m bad luck,” he chuckled. It wasn’t so bad, really. It helped me stay awake. But the man shifted anxiously, like he expected me to leave. I could have told him he’d be disappointed. I could have told him to go home. But all the same, I couldn’t.

“Aren't you cold?”

He’d be surprised to find out what I couldn’t feel. Cold was– well, physiologically, yes, of course it must have, but at the same time it didn’t register. Nothing did. Nothing. Nothing.

I was nothing.

He was talking but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. A void was crawling across my mind, drowning everything with dark, rushing water.

I went to the bagel shop the next morning and only looked around as much as I had to to make sure no one was there to bother me. He wasn’t there at all, thankfully, so I got my breakfast in peace.

Later on I passed out and it was good. I slept. Until I couldn’t.

After two hours of tossing and turning I got up, got dressed, and got out.

I was so tired that the water looked like a nice, inviting blanket. A nice, inviting blanket that would swallow me whole.

“Getting an early start?”

This was a different strange man. In running clothes and breathing heavily. So at least he wasn’t as strange as the other one.

I turned my head back to the water. Soon it would be light and I would have nowhere to hide but home.

I didn’t want to go home.

“Steve said you weren't much of a talker,” the man said and leaned against the rail next to me in a familiar manner. Steve? I frowned. Who was–

Oh. That guy.

I looked back across the water for another handful of minutes, then turned and left. He followed me down streets, around corners, all the way to my home. It should have been concerning, how easily I had accepted two stalkers, but I still…didn’t…care.

That night I got up the energy to take out the garbage. Well, the garbage already in the trash can, if not the scattered bits across the apartment. Still, it was something.

When I opened the front door something fell. I stared at the piece of paper for a moment, then went to retrieve it. On the little bit of cardstock were two phone numbers– belonging to ‘Sam Wilson (the handsome devil from this morning)’ and ‘Steve Rogers (big blond puppy).’

I could have thrown it away. The trash bag was in my other hand. I would never call them anyway. But I slipped the paper in my back pocket, shut the door, and trudged out with the garbage. The other garbage.

When I got back I put the names and numbers into my phone. It felt strange to have actual contacts in my phone. Strange and…

Oh.

Feeling.

Well shit.

“I haven’t seen you for a few days.”

The streetlight is far but so bright it almost hurts. It’s sharp against my eyes, like a knife just beginning to slide in. I haven’t slept at all and I’m already twitchy, but the fresh wounds on my stomach-chest-legs-arms sting with every little movement. They keep me in my body, in this complete void of night and nothing.

I’m still here.

Still here.

Still.

“Did you get hurt?” Steve asks, concern and all and everything he is. Why. Why. “You're moving a little stiff.”

I bite my tongue, just in case, and stare resolutely out at blank water. Eventually, he will tire of this; he’ll get frustrated, or angry, or bored; he will mutter, or call me names, or walk away in silence and forget. I will come here everyday until I have the courage to jump. I will bring something heavy in case I lose my nerve. The world will continue to exist without me.

One day I won't hurt anymore.

“I used to come look at the water a lot. When I first…came back.” He sighs. “It seemed like a nice idea. To be gone. But drowning didn’t stick the first time either.”

That’s interesting. The water looks so nice that it’s also disappointing. Maybe drowning isn’t the way to go. But with weights, no witnesses, and no nosy stalkers to see me home (or not), I can do it better.

I hope.

The next day, a black hole sat on my chest and kept me in bed. I felt wrung out. My cuts itched and were stiff, but did nothing for me. Scabbing was the worst.

I drifted in and out of sleep. That night I picked up the phone and stared at it. And stared.

And then.

‘Not going to the bridge tonight,’ I sent to Steve.

I put my phone on the charger and turned to face it so I could keep browsing. Steve replied fairly quickly.

Steve: Okay :) Get some sleep :) :) :)

Great. King Emoji now had my number.

Steve: Hey what should I save you as?

I turned away from my phone and shut my eyes.

One day.

Two day.

Three day.

“I was a little suspicious of that bakery– green tea bread just sounds weird– but the éclairs were amazing. I think I could eat a hundred of those,” Steve said, gazing at a menu pamphlet.

I leaned over and pointed at the custard bread.

“Is that really good?”

I pointed at it again. The fruit tarts. And the cream puffs. Then I sat back in my place on the bench and went back to not interacting.

“Noted,” he laughed and marked them with his pen.

It was…quiet. Peaceful.

I should have felt good. I should have…

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I stared at the sky, bright sun that seared into my head and made it throb, like the light didn’t belong there. Or like I didn’t belong in it.

I only realized I was leaning too far when he pulled me back. “Sorry,” he said and took his hands off right away. “It’s just– come on; you wanna sit on the bench?”

I pulled away from him and slid to the ground, my back against the wall. “Okay. Okay,” Steve said, but he was too unsteady to be soothing. He sat next to me, but a few inches away.

I didn’t care. Again.

Again.

I pulled out my phone and texted. Steve’s phone vibrated– no ringtone– and he pulled it out of his pocket.

“‘Why?’” he repeated. “Why what?”

I texted again. It was slow with one hand, but I did it. And I didn’t even have to send it; I just showed my phone to him.

‘Why do this. It’s not fun for you. Can’t feel good. Why. Why.’

He scrutinized the words. “That’s a lot of ‘why’s. Something tells me they’re not all for the same thing.”

I blinked. That was…perceptive in a way that made my stomach itch and bubble. But he sighed and looked elsewhere. At nothing. At the nothing that wasn’t me. “Some things just feel right, and some things just feel wrong,” he said after a minute. “Staying with you feels right. Leaving you alone feels wrong. And it’s not an obligation. It feels…peaceful, I guess. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Well.

At least one of us was at peace.

It’s a bad night.

Beyond bad.

To be fair it’s been a bad day too, but it’s easier to talk yourself out of bad ideas when it’s a bright, sunshine-y day. I had played into the mindgame of it for as long as I could.

And then the sun went down.

It’s quiet and dark and I had put about three lines in myself before realizing that it wasn’t going to work. And now I’m lying on the floor, wondering if the shower frame can hold my weight, or if it’s possible to drown myself in the tub. I don’t have enough pills.

My phone buzzes. With a Herculean amount of effort from limbs weighed down by darkness, I manage to get it to the floor where I can curl around and poke at it.

Steve: No bridge tonight?

I forgot about that. Should I say goodbye? It’s polite. But his friend knows where I live and might have told him; he might try to stop me and I haven’t even decided how I’m going to go.

‘No, sorry; too tired. Good night, Steve,’ I reply.

A short time later it buzzes again, I expect ‘good night.’ Enough emojis to make a twelve-year-old roll their eyes. But.

Steve: Where are you

I squint. I want to ask why, but I’m suspicious. So I ignore it and go back to considering my options.

Which all go out the window when someone knocks on my door.

I am too tired, too sad, too pathetic and ugly and awful to deal with this right now.

They knock more forcefully. My phone goes off again.

Steve: Please I know you’re not all right and I’ll break down the door if I have to

I sigh. That would be inconvenient. So I roll out of my blanket and go unlock the door.

Steve is there, blond hair mussed, breathing heavily. Absently I wonder if he ran from the bridge. He looks me up and down. “You look…like you’re having a bad day.”

I lean back, grab the handheld mirror from the entry table that’s currently covered in all sorts of shit (like the rest of my apartment) and I hold it up to his face. He laughs, but it’s weak.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

I shrug and open the door further. He steps gingerly, avoiding trash and…stuff. I note that it’s dim in here compared to the hall, but his eyes dart around and look at everything. Like he can’t believe the hellhole he’s crawled into.

Believe it, buddy.

“It’s…homey,” he says, standing in the main room. “Well-lived in.”

I snort, but then we’re back to awkward silence. Since I’m up and at ‘em, I go to the floor lamp to turn it up for more light than the single faint bulb I have going, and–

crunch

I whimper in reflex– it hurts– but I turn on the light so I can see what’s going on. Big blond puppy Steve is almost unbearably concerned. “What happened?” he asks.

I look up at the ceiling where the lightbulb used to be. I mime it falling, dropping to the floor (like a bomb going off), and then…I shrug. I’d lost the energy and will to fix it when that had happened, but I don’t know how to convey that in a way he’d understand.

I use the ball of my foot to get back to the couch, and I cross it over my leg to see a large shard stuck almost dead center.

“Oh geeze, that’s a big one,” Steve says, leaning over my shoulder. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

I shake my head and rip out the biggest piece of glass. The blood flows pretty well for something that stings too much to be deep. It’s…mesmerizing.

“Oh– shit,” Steve says, concern etching into an otherwise steady voice. “Do you have any clean towels?”

I point to the hall closet without taking my eyes away from the red. Even with the lights on, the world is dim, but this, this is as vibrant as it gets. Life leaking out in the most non-metaphorical way. I can bleed. I can die.

But…do I want to?

“Sorry for going through your bathroom, but I found enough supplies to clean up,” Steve says and sits on the ottoman in front of me. He gives me a hand towel. “Staunch the bleeding, then we’ll clean it up with this–” a wet hand towel, “–okay?”

I follow his orders, unthinking, unfeeling. Trying to be unfeeling at least, which– odd. It’s always too much feeling or not enough. Not enough. Never enough. Too much. Too…

“Hey.” Steve grips my shoulder and he is so warm he’s hot and the hold is so tight it tingles and he is so alive it makes me realize how dead and yet painfully alive I am too and the cavern in my chest crumbles and pain blooms everywhere and I can’t breathe.

Everything comes back and I’m…in Steve’s arms, actually, technically his lap, and I raise my head from his chest in a daze.

“Are you with me?” he asks. I look at him, confused, and he breathes out a heavy sigh. “Thank God. That was a pretty bad panic attack; I thought you were actually going to pass out.”

Pass out. Sleep. Now wouldn’t that be nice? I’m so tired. So fucking tired. But nothing ever eases the ache, the desire, the need for sleep. Even dreams offer no respite; not anymore.

I say my name. My voice is barely a whisper but, somehow, Steve hears it. He repeats it. He looks at me, though, and says, “Are you telling me because you don’t plan to use it much longer, or because you want to be friends?”

He says the second part with a weird mix of sarcasm and hope and I can’t even begin to parse it. “I don’t know,” I whisper and hang my head.

He brings me to lean against his chest and his hand, large and wide, cups around my shoulder. I sit, and try not to wonder.

‘I got out of bed and brushed my teeth this morning.’

In retrospect, I shouldn’t have sent something like that to someone who had just learned my name. But it was there and I sat– not dressed, but awake and aware and minty fresh– and waited. Which was stupid; he was probably busy–

My phone chimed with a notification and I scrambled to pick it up. Pathetic, I thought but read the message nonetheless.

Steve: That’s great!

And about a gazillion smiley faces.

Steve: Shit Steve: Sam says a lot of emojis are sarcasm Steve: I’m not being sarcastic Steve: I’m proud of you

That was…it took my breath away. Because Steve knew how pathetic I was and still…

Me: It’s okay Me: I believe you :) Steve: <3 Steve: Now Sam is saying hearts are inherently romantic Steve: I don’t know how to text

I smiled.

Me: Not inherently Me: I think your friend is fucking with you Steve: Damn it Steve: He is Steve: Brb have to beat him up

I snorted and set aside my phone. I was standing in my kitchen, thinking about maybe eating, when it chimed again.

Steve: Are you hungry? Me: ? Steve: Do you want to meet at the bagel shop near your apt?

It was a lot. It felt like a lot.

Me: sorry Steve: It’s okay Steve: Maybe some other time Steve: But if not that’s okay too

And that was that. The rest of the day was quiet and peaceful. But I was walking along an edge. Despite my aching foot, I made my way to the bridge that night, and I cracked. Just a little; enough for a few tears to slip out. They dried on my face, making my skin feel cracked and brittle.

Steve wasn’t there. I was relieved.

Steve: I had a hard time getting out of bed today

I actually stopped what I was doing to acknowledge the sudden thought that Steve seemed to understand, at least in a few places, and was never overbearing even when he was insistent. And yet I had never thought to…

It was like getting hit with a brick made of guilt. I quickly texted back, ‘did you?’

Steve: Yeah :) Steve: Even went to the grocery store and finished a book Steve: Little victories

I rolled my eyes. Fucking overachiever.

Me: Sounds like a lot Me: Gold star for you Steve: Haha, thanks

I hesitated.

Me: Do you have someone looking out for you? Steve: Yes Steve: A few people Steve: One of whom literally pulled out the sheets to drop me onto the floor this morning

I smiled. Just a little, but…well…‘little victories,’ and whatnot.

Me: Good Me: About the people, not the bed thing Me: That one’s ‘ow’ Steve: It’s okay Steve: I needed it

Fair enough.

“Here.”

I stared at the cup, and then I stared at Steve. He smiled like it wasn’t fucking cold as shit and held the coffee cup closer. I took it and sighed at the warmth seeping into my skin. It was only fall but the weather didn’t seem to know that.

“You're going to have to find a new place to spend your nights when winter comes,” Steve said and sipped his own drink.

I blew a raspberry. He laughed. When he looked at me he seemed happy. “Is it good?”

I nodded. “Th-…thank you.”

“No problem.”

I cleaned.

Not much but a little.

A little was something.

‘I picked up 13 pieces of trash and washed two dishes,’ I texted Steve.

He sent back thirteen thumbs-up, and two smiley faces.

I squinted at my screen.

Me: I’m beginning to suspect you know exactly how annoying that many emojis are and play dumb for your own amusement. Steve: I’m sure I :) don’t know :) what :) :) :) you :) mean :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

Yup.

Asshole.

I am rocking back and forth.

How fast can I dive off the edge?

Footsteps approach and I stop moving. Instead I dig my nails into my arm and let my foot shake out my nervous energy. The person sits next to me and Steve says, “Bad night?”

I almost try to answer, but I’d just vomit if I did.

Bad. Stupid. Awful. Evil. Dumb.

It hurts.

“I don’t know if I’m gonna make it,” I croak, bent over myself and holding tight. “And I don’t know if it even matters.”

He’s quiet. At first. “Sometimes I wonder that myself.” He shifts. “I…help people, technically, but sometimes it feels like drops into a bucket. And someone else would take that place, if I left it.”

“You don’t know that,” I mutter and keep staring at the ground.

“I don’t,” he agrees. “But it’s just about impossible to think anything else, in that state.”

That it is.

That night I dream of being consumed.

When I woke to the sun, my chest ached.

I couldn’t get out of bed until the light went down.

“How’s tonight?”

I shrugged. He nodded and sat next to me, but he seemed stiff. Here it was, then. I couldn’t blame him. He was dealing with his own shit; he didn’t need–

“I have to go away tomorrow,” he said and cast a concerned look at me. “I’ll be gone for maybe a week. I’m…worried. I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

I looked at him for a few moments, gathering my thoughts. “My personal responsibility index starts and ends with goldfish,” I said. “And even goldfish are…” I put my hand flat and tilted it from side to side like a pinball board.

He barked a laugh and then covered his mouth. “Sorry,” he said and took his hand away to reveal a big smile. “No pets, I promise. I just was wondering if you could…if things get really bad, could you text me? I don’t care if it’s coherent or not, but if you need to get something out, if it’ll help you get through the day or night, then please…contact me. I won't be able to reply, but I’ll read it if you want and I won't if you tell me not to.”

I had to think about that. I didn’t know what to say, at first. “I can’t promise anything.”

“I know. And I can’t tell you what to do– it’s your life and in the end my word doesn’t mean as much as what you truly want.” He looked out at the sky and his sigh showed in a temporary burst of white before it faded and merged with the air. “But you’re trying, and I want to help. It’s nice to have a friend who…understands.”

I could sympathize. Sort of. “Work thing?” I asked, also staring out and away. The moon was nice; almost full. It was the kind of light that didn’t hurt, didn’t expect too much; that felt like it accepted the tired and the weak. Me. And Steve.

“Yeah,” he said regretfully.

I tried not to think of how he might not come back. I would… “Be safe,” I said.

“You too,” he said softly.

I looked down at the bench. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” he said, sounding relieved. He shifted and brought up his hand, but quickly put it back down.

I scooted closer, and after a moment he put his arm around me.

It was okay.

Trying was hard.

So hard.

I was going to call Steve but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I word-vomited into a journal until my hands shook too hard to hold a knife. I was still too wired, though, so I took a walk. I walked and walked and walked until I ended up at my bridge.

I breathed a little easier then. For better or worse, this was my safe place. It was either where the water and sky would soothe me enough to watch me slink home, or where I would eventually launch myself into them.

Footsteps sounded nearby and I let my eyes flick in their direction. A man, older, not as big as Steve but still decently sized, was walking in my general direction. I watched him long enough to see that he was coming for the bench.

I didn’t want to deal with people. Steve was an anomaly. I stood up and started to walk away.

“Wait!”

I didn’t.

He grabbed me.

I hit back at him and couldn’t quite make it; he had a tight grip on my jacket and though I kept him from getting a good grip on me, he had just enough hold to drag me towards the side of the bridge.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he cooed, like he was trying to soothe me. “I’ve watched you, I know you’re just afraid; it’s okay. I’ll help free you. It will be okay!”

I hit his arm and dragged my feet, but I glanced at the water. Could I…could I just–

No.

I had held on for too long to have some creepy asshole swoop in and try to kill-steal. My life was mine and no one else’s.

But he was stronger than me and though I hit and kicked and pulled, we tussled and suddenly I was weightless.

I thought I heard Steve scream my name just before I hit the water.

Dark.

Cold.

It hurt.

I opened my eyes and the darkness stung. Alive still, but I felt weak and I couldn’t tell where the surface was. I heard something, like water breaking, but I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t even tell where it really came from. It wasn’t fair. My arms grew too heavy and my chest wanted to explode. I let my eyes shut. It wasn’t fair.

Dreamlike, arms wrapped around me and pulled. I could do nothing to help.

The next thing I knew, I was throwing up water on the bank and there were so many lights, so many people…

“Easy,” Steve said.

“Steve,” I groaned and grabbed at him. He helped me sit up and held me without question. Those arms were– oh. Right. Made sense. Sometimes I just forgot how big he was.

“Hey Steve, let the paramedics in,” another familiar voice said. Sam? It must have been Sam.

“Okay,” Steve said and reluctantly started to let go. “I’ll just–”

I gripped his hand, terrified to be left alone with a bunch of strangers.

“–move over here,” Steve said, squeezed my hand, and kept a firm hold on it even as the paramedics moved in to poke and prod. One of them tried to stay cool and professional but ended up gushing over Steve. It was kind of cute. So cute that even Steve seemed reluctantly amused.

They let Steve ride with me and we were with two of the other paramedics. One of them cleared her throat and looked at Steve. “I, uh, I’m really sorry about Timothy; he didn’t mean to, uh…”

“It’s all right. He seems nice, it’s just…maybe not the best time,” Steve said and looked at me with a strained smile.

I shrugged. “I thought it was funny.”

He shook his head. “You had a crappy night; I’m pretty sure you just have a low bar.”

“I’m pretty sure ‘low bar’ is my default,” I said. “How– how did you know to come?”

“I didn’t, I just–” Steve visibly swallowed. “I got back a little while ago and Sam had left me a message, saying there was someone committing murders and making them look like suicides. You didn’t answer, so I went to the bridge first, just in case.”

“Good call,” I said. But he still looked so miserable. “What’s wrong?”

“If I hadn’t come back when I did–”

I pinched him and he jumped. “What was that for?” he asked and rubbed his arm.

“I once had a friend with anxiety who used to pinch herself when she started thinking of worst-case scenarios,” I said. “Maybe not therapist-approved, but it works in a…” I mimed a crab with my hand.

Despite his best effort not to (and oh how he tried), Steve laughed. He shook his head. “You can do better than that.”

I shrugged. “The worst could have happened. But it didn’t. Don’t focus on that; you’ll only hurt yourself.”

He stared at me for several moments, then leaned in and hugged me tight. “That sounds like something you might know about,” he murmured too low to be heard by anyone else.

I dug my head into his chest so hard it hurt. “I try. I try,” I said so low that I barely heard.

“I know,” he whispered and held me tighter. “And I’m proud of you.”

“Low bar,” I muttered. I was tired.

“Maybe,” he said and ran his hand over my head. “But it’s our bar, and as long as we make it then what else matters?”

I couldn’t argue with that.

Thinking about the apartment as a whole was overwhelming, so I compartmentalized. And then I compartmentalized some more.

First I opened the blinds and curtains, and one window– ‘cause it was pretty chilly. The fresh air was good though. Even slightly energizing. I could do this. I could do this. And if not…my bed still had sheets on it I could crawl into. But I promised myself first to give it my best shot.

As I surveyed my kingdom of dirt, someone knocked on the door. I was wary, even with Mr. Murder locked up in jail, but a peep showed me Steve and his friend Sam. When I opened the door, though, I almost knocked my head into a bunch of flowers.

“Oh, um…these are nice. Thank you,” I said and took them to the counter. They were light blue and yellow and white and even came in their own vase.

“Wow; I’ve never seen this place with sunlight before,” Steve said and stopped to hug me.

“It shows the dust pretty good,” I said. I wasn’t sure how to greet Sam but he opened his arms and I went in for it, because what the hell. It was a good choice; Sam gave an excellent hug.

“I can’t believe you’re cleaning just a couple days after you were almost murdered,” he said.

“It’s nice to curl up in bed when things are picked up and it doesn’t smell so bad,” I said.

“I can see that.” Steve looked around. “Do you need help?”

“For the record, he’s offering that,” Sam said and hopped onto a stool at the counter. “I can only offer you eye candy and sarcastic commentary.”

He was a man of his word, sitting there like he belonged in a magazine and firing off quips like he was getting paid per line. One of his jokes made Steve laugh so hard he doubled over and couldn’t get straight for almost half a minute. I smiled at the sight.

It was exhausting though, pleasant as Steve and Sam were, and I got to the point where I had to stand and assess myself. How did you politely tell someone to get lost?

“Tired?” Steve asked.

I nodded and accepted his and Sam’s hugs. Sam actually grabbed the trash bag and went on ahead, telling Steve he’d be waiting outside. And then it was just Steve and me.

“Thanks. Again,” I said and initiated a hug of my own.

“Anytime,” he said. As we pulled back he added, “You have my number. If you want to leave the house, just text. I’ll walk with you.”

I nodded, and after one small squeeze of my shoulder, he left. I stood there, taking in the moment. Then I went around dimming the light– not blocking it out entirely, just making the space more comfortable. Then I got into my pajamas, crawled into bed, and turned on the TV as I swiped through my phone. But all of that happened after I had cleaned my home, socialized, and had a little food. Now it was time to rest.

It was a low bar.

But it was mine.

#steve rogers & reader #captain america fanfic #captain america reader insert #reader insert #depression #hopeful ending #trigger warnings

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fungalhoof-qiriq · 6 years

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Lair Review for @pumpkin-bread!

First and foremost, of course, an honourable mention must go to Zima:

The mans. The myths. The legends. Inseparable bastards, they both confuse and delight me with their existences.

Now on to the real review:

*Eyes emoji* at Reika! Loving the colours on her, especially the little pop of bright gold that really stands out. She looks like she’d be capable of crushing literally anything, 10/10

Admittedly it was Asimov’s name that drew me to him (who doesn’t love some classic sci-fi?), and I’m so glad it did because LOOK. AT. HIM. Perfect accent, on ideal colours, with minimal apparel to interfere with it. Good stuff, 10/10!

At first I thought Cinnamon was gonna be a Halloween derg, because of her colours! Okay she’s not, but purple and orange is still a GODLIKE colour-combo and you should be proud to have this majestic creature in your lair. 10/10, a premium dragon.

Iska is one SOFT PASTEL DELIGHT! The skincent goes perfectly with the fest apparel; excellent use of blues and yellows and pinks, he looks very gentle. 10/10, would trust him with many thing.

Solveig can have my heart now. Pink and green feels like a very underappreciated combo, so I love how their Noxtide gene ties those colours together and makes it all WORK. A beautiful plant lad, 10/10.

Wouldn’t be a review by me without mentioning a Mirror, and Espen is one premium little fight-y gremlin! The oranges and blues in her genes go so well together, tying in with the greys and blues of her apparel. 10/10, if she asked me to play I’d say hell yeah!

A Nameless dragon is always intriguing, and oh boy this intrigue comes with pain too! Congrats, you’ve made me have emotions over dragon lore! Aside from that, I love the slightly ominous effect of combining a mane with the skull part of the tatters, and just his overall look in general. 10/10, I cry.

No idea what drew me to Magni. No, really. Maybe the colours, maybe the interesting mix of apparel that somehow genuinely works, maybe the fact that he’s got his butt hangin’ out... I don’t know, but I love him. 10/10, someone get this man some trousers.

Really liking Lucille’s autumnal aesthetic! That, and how her Arcane eyes tie into the pink tones on her secondary! 10/10, whatever she’s selling, I’m definitely buying.

A Tundra boy to wrap things up! Atratus carries off the classic red-gold combo with ease. He looks strong, dependable, and like a good solid floof-friend. His gijinka’s super-cute too! 10/10, would let him lift me over his head for the fun of it.

Thanks for letting me review your lair! Had a ton of fun looking through all these dragons and reading all that lore. Now I’m going to go buy Asimov’s son Isaac, bc I need to.

#Lair Review #pumpkin-bread

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alextravelstojapan · 6 years

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Thursday, Nov 22nd, 2018

We woke up and got ready for our day trip to Universal Studios Japan. Then we went our in search of breakfast and were surprisingly unsuccessful until we saw a sign for Viede la France that was on the 11th floor of the station. We got some bread and some nice coffee and then caught the bus to Universal. It was a pretty short bus ride and we arrived right at the site. Well first was a long strip of all of the restaurants and souvenir shops that you can go into free of charge. And we were trying to meet Meda, Kevin, and Therese that were also staying in Oosaka for the weekend so we stood by a Lawson’s for a little while Carson connected to the WiFi and tried to contact them through FB messanger. They actually came to USJ very shortly after us so it didn’t take us long to see them also standing near to Lawson’s.

We walked all together to the studio entrance and when I saw the 7900¥ price my heart hurt a little bit and I was having second thoughts but I bought a ticket anyways. When we got into the park our first stop was the bathroom and then we did some loose planning about what we should do first. Well since we all wanted to go to the Harry Potter world we decided that should be our first adventure. I bought some butter beer for 600¥ which was yet another purchase that made my heart hurt a little. After I bought it, I set it on a ledge nearby while I got out my camera and Meda hit my cup with her elbow and almost knocked it over but luckily most of the drink remained in the cup. The butter beer was delicious which I already knew, having tried it at the Universal Studios in Florida three or four years ago. We walked around for a short while before stopping to take some pictures of the castle. The line for the castle ride was about 110 minutes so we were all like hell no but went into the line anyways. We opted for the castle walk instead of the ride which was no wait and really cool to me because I didn’t go into the castle at US Florida.

Dru, Kevin, and I decided to go check out the other parks while Meda, Therese, and Carson stayed behind to scope around for some souvenirs. Dru, Kevin, and I wandered into Jurassic Park which was kind of a let down because there were no dinosaurs. All three of us were checking out the food options as we walked because even though everything looked good, it was also all ridiculously priced. I was in a sour mood for pretty much the whole day because I didn’t feel the money I had spent was worth the experience. And even though I was trying hard to stay positive, it was difficult for me because I wanted to buy things but couldn’t rationalize spending that kind of money, nor could I rationalize standing in a line with over an hour’s wait just to be on a ride for 1 minute. So that’s why I don’t like theme parks and don’t plan on going back to one for at least another 5 years.

Because Jurassic Park didn’t have much to offer us besides long lines for rides and overpriced food, instead we waited for the rest of our friends for quite a while outside of Jurassic Park. In the meantime, I got crabby brooding over my quickly emptying wallet and my hungry stomach. So I ended up saying to hell with it and got in line to buy a 500¥ churro. While in line I started to doubt whether it was going to be a good purchase, and unfortunately it wasn’t, which made me even more frustrated. It was also at this point that my feet started hurting so I was just not having a very good day. Yeah I guess I should’ve warned you earlier on but this post is basically just full of complaints lol.

Anyways after we had all met up again, we walked over to the area designed for little kids which had Snoopy, Hello-Kitty, and Sesame Street themed parts. We accidentally got split up and then met up again while waiting in line for a Snoopy ride. The ride was one of those ones that has a cart for two people extending from a connection point in the middle. So all of the two-person carts are positioned in a circle but have different attachements to the center so that each cart can independently move up and down vertically as the center point spins clockwise. I think I took a picture of the ride so if my description is lacking that should help give a visual of what I’m talking about. Anyways, even though this ride was designed for kids it totally made my stomach drop a few times as we moved up and then down. It was fun and I was happy we got to finally go on a ride. Then we entered into this large building that was also Snoopy themed and got in line for another ride. This one was a regular rollercoaster and was only a 30 second ride so it was a short distance and really fast but a lot of fun.

Next we walked around and eventually made our way to the minion-themed area. I said I hated minions right before we entered the park but after walking around for a little while they started to grow on me lol. I’ve seen a lot of people dressed up in minion costumes too so they’re really popular and I never really got why until Dru said that she also came to like minions because they’re always happy and just wanna have fun. We then walked to this place where an original short-film about Shark was showing, mainly because Kevin really wanted to see it. We didn’t wait in line for that long but we were ushered inside this small room and had to stand for what seemed like forever while these two ladies just talked in Japanese to kill some time and I about screamed. That seems a little extreme but I just really wanted to sit down because my back and feet were hurting me. Then this weird short clip that I couldn’t understand played as we stood there. I was so happy when some doors opened and we were finally seated in a large theatre. The movie wasn’t very good but it was an interesting experience because the chairs would move along to when the characters were doing things like riding on a horse or jumping and landing on a something. And then water would be sprayed from these mist machines when Donkey spit or someone was splashed by water. And air was released from some openings near our heads and legs when a character was launched into the air. I felt a lot better after sitting down for a while but we left USJ shortly after that anyways.

We got dinner in the free-admission area outside USJ at Mos Burger which is just a fast food place and I was yet again disappointed with another purchase :/ But after that, Dru, Carson, Kevin, and I went into a souvenir shop and I bought a little octopus stuffed animal for 900¥ which was a great purchase in my opinion 😁 He looks exactly like the octopus emoji 🐙 Octopus in Japanese is tako and so I call him Tako-chan or Taquito.

Carson, Dru, and I then returned to our condo and I took a little nap, during which, Mike had left a note on our door telling us to stop by for a chat when we can. We had told Kevin, Meda, and Therese to meet us in Oosaka station at 6:30pm but our talk with Mike and Hitomi ended up making us not leave the apartments until about 6:45. We got to Oosaka station about 30 minutes late but I only Kevin was waiting in the agreed upon spot because navigating around Oosaka station proved to be much harder than expected. We eventually found Therese and Meda, and afterwards we decided to walk around the area and look for a place to get drinks. We went to the same area that Mike had shown Carson, Dru, and I the night before because the alley ways had been lined with bars and karaoke places. We wanted to do karaoke but knew that drinks there would be over priced so we searched for a long time before we could all decide which bar we should go into. We ended up choosing this strange place that had very eccentric employees and games like billiards, darts, Mario kart, one karaoke room, and that golf game where you hit the ball against a screen onto which the course is projected. I was disappointed when I discovered that we had to pay a cover but none of the games were free but why I should have learned by now that nothing in this capitalistic world is free -.- The drinks were also expensive and I was convinced that all of the mixed drinks would not be very strong so after we ordered a round of mystery shots, I ordered myself a glass of straight tequila. I ended up paying like 1700¥ for everything so it might have been better to just get drinks at the karaoke place.

We left the bar after a short while and then went to the convenience store next door to buy some more drinks before we went to the karaoke place. I got an Asahi beer and hid it in my backpack until we were safe in our karaoke room. We sang for an hour and it was a lot of fun! Karaoke should be more popular in the US. I would definitely love to go again but I don’t think I will have the chance to :c After that, Carson, Dru, and I returned to our apartment and Kevin tagged along to see our place. He left after a little bit to catch the last train and then we all had some much needed sleep.

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lilibug--xx · 7 years

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Lemon Drops and Chocolate Chips

CHAPTER 3

ao3 - chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3

Tumblr - chapter 1 // chapter 2

Huge thanks to @diokomen and @strix for beta-ing this chapter for me. They helped so much with advice, suggestions, and punctuation. I feel this is the most polished of everything I’ve ever written and I am so thankful for them! And as always @a92vm, who is always so supportive. This story is for you after all! ;)

Saturday night was usually the day that Betty treated herself. To quote one of her favorite shows, “treat yo self.” It was something she didn’t have a problem doing. She didn’t have a lot of extra money for frivolous things, but it was usually something like a bottle of her favorite cherry wine and a bubble bath. Or maybe take out from a restaurant she really fancied, because she didn’t really have anyone to go out with. Occasionally, she would do some online shopping.

She was going to cook a meal for Jughead on Sunday, so today she was spending her night grocery shopping. Betty actually really loved going to the store, it must have went along with her love of cooking. Otherwise, she preferred online shopping for everything else.

Last week after she and Jughead exchanged phone numbers, they texted briefly the following days. Short, snippets of conversations. Jughead worked a varied schedule depending on the type of thing he was photographing. Whereas Betty was typically home after 5pm every day. They hadn’t really talked about much of importance; just about their days, weird things that happened to them, or Jughead’s woes of unpacking. Jughead was always asking Betty what she was cooking.

Most of the time she didn’t have such an eloquent response for him. She ate homemade, but most things were fairly simple. She did cook or bake for her blog at least once a day and he was always interested in that. One time, when she had told him she just bit into a crunchy peanut butter sandwich his response was a series of emoji’s that she had raised an eyebrow at. A shocked face, hands over mouth, a peanut and a slice of bread, a tongue, and raised hands.

Another text followed after, in which she almost choked on said peanut butter sandwich.

J: stop talking dirty to me

She couldn’t help the laughter that escaped her. If she had learned anything about Jughead so far it was that he loved food (literally any food) and also innuendos. She rolled her eyes, and sent him the corresponding emoji. He sent a winking face back at her.

He was cute, to be honest. He texted the exact same way as he spoke in person – smooth and confident. She wondered if he knew what he really sounded like, if it was a conscious effort or not.

So she had followed that up with a promise to make him something worth talking dirty over and it had kind of escalated from there. They were both free on Sunday from their obligations, so Betty was going to cook. Easy. Simple.

So why had Betty deliberated over what to make for three days? She was at the store now, list loaded up on her phone as she cruised the aisles. Her cart had already been loaded up with some fresh veggies. She was going to force them down Jughead’s throat, having been appalled at his lack of fruits and veggies intake. He claimed he “couldn’t make them taste good” to which she had scoffed.

She was going to do oven roasted veggies, pan seared steak, and a side salad with balsamic vinaigrette. Dessert was trickier. So far he had tasted several baked goods from her over the past two weeks. Starting with the cookies she had brought him, then the brownies. Over this past week she had dropped off some homemade sugar dusted donuts, raspberry macaroons, and half of a pecan bourbon pie. He had called her a goddess and moaned (causing her cheeks to heat every damn time) as he tried each item, intent on telling her just how much he loved it before she could leave.

Betty was browsing the baking aisle after selecting the package of steaks she wanted. Looking at her phone, she scrolled through the dessert tag on her blog to try and find something from someone else that sounded good. She was leaning on her cart, thumb scrolling the screen when she found it. A recipe on chai carrot pie, a play on pumpkin pie and carrot cake. She thought it sounded really good and would go well with the meal. Maybe some white chocolate matcha bark too. She’d save the lemon verbena buttermilk sherbet recipe for next time.

Next time? She was really getting ahead of herself.

Glancing at the ingredient list, Betty grabbed the things she needed that she didn’t have on hand. Sliced almonds, evaporated milk, white chocolate, dried cherries, and a pre-made pie crust (she wasn’t about to hand make that); and then doubled back to grab carrots, and pick up cream cheese and fresh milk.

She froze in front of the yogurt when she noticed a man in a dark denim jacket, his back to her. The embroidered snake on the back looking at her with piercing red eyes. He was looking at the cheeses, grocery basket in hand. Harmless, despite the prickly feeling at the base of her neck. She took a deep breath and focused on her task.

Not only was Betty shopping for tomorrow’s dinner, her fridge had some empty spaces. Being the type of person who loved snacking, she was filling her cart up with various snacks. She turned to the yogurt, the man still in the corner of her vision. She gazed over the shelves with discontent, the amount of Greek yogurt vastly outweighed everything else.

She didn’t really care for Greek yogurt, it just felt dry in her mouth (why did everyone like it so much?) She was searching for a plain vanilla. She liked to mix it with almonds and granola, the perfect mix of crunchy and creamy.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a deep voice to her left brought her attention up from the yogurt cups she was now juggling. It belonged to the man in the denim jacket. He had long brown hair, pierced nose, and startling green eyes. She side stepped closer to her cart, dropping the yogurts in and glancing over to where he was picking up a box of kids frozen yogurt tubes. Then, he was gone.

Betty breathed out a sigh in relief. He didn’t seem to recognize her, for which she was grateful. She supposed her hair being up in a messy bun and the paint-splattered hoodie she was wearing over yoga pants wasn’t really making her an attractive target. Not that she wanted to be a target. God, she needed to go home. The snake from that man’s Southside Serpents jacket was haunting her the whole way as she walked with her grocery bags down the block back to the apartment building.

She stopped briefly to check her mail and shove it into one of the bags clutched in her hand. She had set her groceries down by her door and had the key in the lock when Jughead’s door opened behind her.

“Betty.”

He looked dressed up, white colored shirt under a tight fitting black sweater. Black slacks and dress shoes, no beanie. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his arms and she tried desperately not to stare at them. Betty tilted her head at him, a hand tugging at the thigh of her yoga pants as she judged the vast difference in their appearances right now.

“Jughead.”

He gave her a little grin, he was pulling a hand through his hair and then stepping out into the hallway. “You look cozy,” he looked her over briefly, eyes lingering on her legs.

“Yeah, compared to you? I look like a bum,” she snorted, gesturing to his outfit. He looked pleased, faking dusting off his spotless shoulder.

“Well, trust me. I would rather go the bum route, but I think Veronica would straight up murder me,” he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning up against his door. “She’s dragging me to some fancy dinner on the Upper East side of town — the only good thing about this is the food. I hate socializing with her parents, but Archie and her dad need a bit of a buffer. So that’s me.”

Betty began questioning her dinner choices for tomorrow. How was her food going to compare to the fancy meal he was having tonight? She tried to brush off the feelings of inadequacy, as she hadn’t even made the meal yet.

“Sounds… fun,” she scrunched her nose up. The idea of a super fancy dinner party with a best friend’s girlfriend’s parent’s? Yeah, fun.

Jughead chuckled at her, eyes dipping down to her grocery bags. “You need some help?”

“Oh. I mean, not really. It’s just a few things for dinner tomorrow,” she shrugged a shoulder, toeing one of the bags with the end of her converse.

“Speaking of, what time do you want me?”

Her heart was fluttering. Why did everything he say have to sound so… sexual? Was it just her brain being completely weird?

“You should come over about six,” her voice was steady despite her sweaty palms about the situation.

“Should I bring anything?” he questioned, a hand rubbing over his jaw. She had to look away from his hands.

“No. Well, unless you really want to. A bottle of wine or beer? Or is that silly? I don’t even know if you drink.”

“I do. Drink. I’ll bring something that goes good with…” He trailed off, raising his eyebrows, looking down at her grocery bags at the same time.

“Steak,” that was all he was getting from her.

He gave a little nod to her, turning around and locking his door, keys going into the pocket of his pants. “I’ll see you at six.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she said with a small wave as he started to head down the short hall. He raised a hand back to her, and she watched him turn to head out the door. Her eyes wandered down to his backside, where she made a note that his pants were exceptionally tailored. Among other things.

Betty had put the groceries away and found a frozen meal in her freezer to heat up for dinner. Once she finished her spaghetti dinner, she decided to relax with a bubble bath and set up Netflix on her laptop to take in with her. She filled the bath with a mix of stress relieving salts and eucalyptus and peppermint essential oils. She loved letting the bathroom and water get hot and steamy, the oils working to relax her as they filled the air.

She watched two episodes of the newest season of Stranger Things while she browsed her own blog. After almost two hours spent in the tub, her fingers and toes were turning pruny. Betty let the now chilly water drain, making sure to clean the tub of the slippery oils after she got out. Once she was in her shorts and tank top she slipped on a dark blue silk robe. She switched Netflix over to the TV in her bedroom and lay propped up against her headboard as she turned the next episode on. She glanced at her phone on her bedside table, checking the time. She was about to snuggle underneath the covers when she a thought made her bolt up in the bed and reach for her phone.

Betty had been replying to follower comments and questions on her blog while in the bath. She had just answered a question on allergies and substitutions to make to certain items. It seemed everyone had a food allergy nowadays. Most people would say something about it to someone who was cooking dinner right? She chewed her lip, deciding to send a quick text to Jughead or else her anxiety would consume her through the night.

B: you don’t have any food allergies do you?

She glanced at the clock, realizing it was almost midnight and she wondered how late he liked to stay up, if she was bothering him. She supposed he might even still be at that fancy dinner party sipping cocktails or something.

J: if I had any food allergies I would be a sad, sad person

Betty breathed a sigh of relief, weight leaving her shoulders. Another text came in, a picture attachment. She clicked on the little symbol, it was a picture of the wine aisle at the grocery store. It had some text scribbled across it, like he wrote it with his finger in the camera app: Help me?

She clicked on the picture, zooming in to see what he was standing in front of. She tapped her lip with a finger and started to think. Maybe she could also work this into her blog. She was definitely going to post about the carrot pie and white chocolate matcha bark she was making, but she supposed she would do the whole dinner including wine pairings. She texted him a couple of choices, including malbec, cabernet sauvignon, and pinot noir. When he texted back that there were a thousand brands and that he was never going to pick the right one, he sent another picture. He had moved on to the beer aisle.

J: I hope you don’t mind?

She shook her head, despite the fact he couldn’t see it. She liked wine, but her favorite was a cherry wine that was pretty expensive for him to be buying for their meal. She could always blog about beer and wine choices.

B: do they have any Raison D’Etre?

Another picture, a selfie of him holding up the six-pack of the beer she had asked for. He was licking the side of the cardboard carton. She laughed, sending him a couple laughing emojis.

J: this is my favorite fucking beer

Well, that explains it a little. Betty didn’t respond, not quite sure what to say. She also loved Raison, and it went great with steak. Maybe she should just say that? She sighed, leaning back against her headboard. A couple minutes went by and she was still unsure of herself.

Her phone dinged and she looked at it, Jughead’s text asking if she fell asleep on him. She responded with a ‘nope, not yet’ even though it was followed with a yawn, her hand covering her mouth. He sent her a sleepy emoji which started an emoji war between them. They traded texts back and forth, Jughead complaining about his uber driver’s taste in music.

When he arrived home he told her so, and she assumed that was the end of their conversation. She was about to tell him that she was going to bed when another text popped up.

J: I can’t wait to see you tomorrow

Her heart must have skipped a beat. She was also sure that her blood was pumping too fast, too loud in her ears.

B: you just saw me earlier, Jug

J: that was for like 2 minutes

J: I’m looking forward to spending the whole evening with you

Okay, why was he so sweet? She didn’t want to think about the last time she felt this excited to spend time with someone. Someone she was interested in. Jughead seemed different, genuine. She was also really looking forward to tomorrow, so she told him just that.

He sent her a sweet goodnight text, and she sent the same back. She drifted off to sleep after their conversation, still on top of her covers. The warmth of her feelings like a glass of milk making her sleepy.

When Betty woke the next day, she realized she had slept in far longer than she usually did. It was already almost noon, but she felt really well rested. She went about her apartment, doing some chores. Once she was finished doing some dusting and sweeping the hardwoods she decided to get started on the matcha chocolate bark. It was really easy to make – melted white chocolate, matcha powder, sliced almonds, and dried cherries. Once it was poured on the tray, she would let it cool a little before adding the flake salt on top. She padded to her closet while munching on a granola bar.

She browsed the clothes hanging up, fingers brushing the edges of a dark plum sleeve. Dark colors were still somewhat new to her, but she loved the color of this cashmere cardigan. She pulled it off the hanger and laid it out across her bed. Deciding she would wear a cream colored tank underneath, tucked into a pair of medium wash skinny jeans. Slipping the clothes on, she cuffed the bottom of the pants and looked down at her bare toes.

There was a perfect shade of purple to match this cardigan in her nail polish collection, so she dug it out. After her toes were painted with careful precision, she looked at herself in the mirror. Betty ran a hand through her hair, catching on some tangles. She fastened a button at the center of her chest to keep the cardigan closed and then turned around in the mirror to look at her backside. Not bad.

Running a curling wand through her hair briefly, she created some soft waves. Jughead had seen her without makeup several times, so she just decided to apply some mascara and leave it at that.

A thought struck her as she was appraising herself in the mirror. Was this a date?

Betty’s stomach clenched uncomfortably. What if he thought it was? What if he thought it wasn’t? She wasn’t sure which one she wanted to think about more. Just that the implications of this might be more than she had originally intended. She still hadn’t known Jughead for very long, at all. Yes, she was attracted to him, but she didn’t known anything about his character yet. And she had judged wrongly based on first impressions before.

Taking a deep breath, she loosened her shoulders. She needed to go with the flow, not be so uptight. And definitely not awkward.

She went back out to the kitchen, throwing a dark green apron on and started on the chai carrot pie. Peeling the carrots was the hardest part, but once they were boiled and mashed the kitchen was smelling really good – the cardamom, ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg made it smell like Thanksgiving. After sticking the pie in the oven she started prepping the veggies for their meal. She fixed up brussel sprouts, red skin potatoes, squash, and broccolini. She coated them in a mixture of oil, rosemary, thyme and balsamic vinegar. Seasoning the steaks with just some cracked black pepper and salt, she got out her cast iron skillet. The salad was easy, she had bought a bag of mixed greens.

With the pie cooling on a trivet, she stuck the vegetables in the oven. Then pulled the matcha bark out of the freezer and used the end of a butter knife to crack it. Displaying it on a decorative platter, she started taking pictures of all the items. She made notes in her little book of things she wanted to say in her post. She was still scribbling things down when she heard the knock on her door.

Straightening up, Betty turned her eyes to the clock on the stove. It was 5:30, so Jughead was a little early, not that she minded. Her palms turned sweaty and she rubbed them on the front of her pants. She pulled her apron off and slipped her feet into a pair of grey house slippers and went to answer the door.

Jughead was looking incredibly attractive (she had yet to see otherwise, actually) in dark blue jeans and forest green cable knit sweater that was pushed up to his elbows. He was wearing black combat boots and his signature beanie, a charming smile on his face. He looked her up and down, eyes appraising her just as she had done to him.

He had a hand behind his back. He held a bag of flour tucked under his elbow and a six-pack dangling from his fingers. He stretched it out toward her and she took it from him, hand curling around the cardboard handle. “This is going to go so well, thank you, Jughead.”

He then shifted the flour from his elbow to his hand, hefting it up and giving her a grin. “I don’t really know how to cook, but flour is a cooking item right? I thought I’d try to help,”

She gave a little laugh. “Yes, you cook with flour. But I don’t need any for our meal, nor did you have to buy a new bag just for me.”

“Shit, maybe I read that article wrong… I could have sworn it said something about… Oh, right,” he pulled his other arm from his back, a bouquet of colorful lilies wrapped with a delicate silk ribbon. “Sorry, the word was flowers, silly me,” he smirked, holding them out towards her.

Her heart was practically bursting. She felt this intense sunshine ray of happiness blinding her thoughts, and she wanted to throw her arms around his neck. Instead, she smiled, free hand touching the base of her throat gently.

“Well, you certainly know how to impress,” she collected the bouquet from him and motioned him inside so she could shut the door.

She stuck the six-pack in the fridge and searched under her sink for her jadeite vase. Jughead had set the flour down on the counter and looked over the food already out on the counter. She pulled the ribbon off the bouquet and tied it around the vase after sticking the flowers in.

“Damn, Betty. This looks incredible,” he leaned against the counter, close to her side. If she moved just a little she could press herself into his side. She realized she felt herself tipping that way and quickly turned, taking the bag of flour and sticking it a cabinet a little ways away.

“Thanks, I thought steak sounded really good. I’ve got vegetables you are actually going to like,” he threw her a look that threatened to make her giggle. “roasting in the oven, salad, and this really amazing pie. Plus some white chocolate matcha bark,” she held out the platter to Jughead and he picked a piece up.

Jughead bit into it and closed his eyes. He threw his head back, shoulders dropping. “Everything you make is so good,” he took another bite and Betty followed him, nibbling on her own piece as she set the platter down.

“Thanks, it’s really not very hard if you just follow directions though,” she shrugged, pulling a couple plates out of the cabinet above her and knives and forks from the drawer. She clicked the heat on under the skillet on the stove.

“Yeah, tell that to my sister. At least I know better than to even try,” he was still standing close to her side when he placed one hand on her lower back and reached around her, chest pressing against her back lightly as he grabbed another piece of the candy she had pushed to the side.

“So, is your sister older or younger? I have an older sister myself, Polly,” she offered, her palms getting sweaty again, even as he moved back away from her to lean his back against the counter to watch her work at the stove.

“Younger. Jellybean, or JB. She’s in school for fashion design at FIT.”

Betty pondered what school he was talking about before it popped into her thoughts. Fashion Institute of Technology. That was a really good program.

“Jellybean?” Betty questioned, getting the steaks ready for the pan. She sliced a pat of butter from the stick in front of her, dropping it in the skillet with an immediate sizzle. She thought the name ‘Jughead’ was odd, but she had found it endearing.

“Yeah, our real names are way worse though, trust me,” he didn’t seem to want to elaborate and she just nodded, curious though. The thought that he might share something like that with her one day made her inexplicably happy.

“Can I ask how old you are?” They hadn’t really talked about age, but she had figured they had to be pretty close.

“Just turned 26 last month,” he had crossed his arms over his chest, and she couldn’t help but feel like it was a defensive move. Just like he didn’t say the actual date of his birth. She hmm’d at him, using a pair of tongs to place the steaks in the sizzling pan.

“I’m 25. I didn’t think you were much older than me,” she moved back to peek at the veggies in the oven. Jughead was staring at the steaks in the pan, lips parted. Betty rolled her eyes at him and boldly brought a finger up to push up on his chin to close his mouth. His eyes shot to her and she almost shivered at the dark look reflected in the blue.

“No drooling,” her voice was not as strong as she had intended and she turned back to the steaks, trying to ignore his intense gaze. Clearing her throat, she pulled the towel from the bar of the stove and set it on the counter. “So, how was the party last night?”

Jughead didn’t answer her right away. He dropped his arms away from his chest with a sigh, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. He seemed like he wanted to run his hand through his hair, but settled for tugging on the edge of his crown beanie.

“Better than usual. Archie is getting more comfortable with Veronica’s parents, so maybe I won’t even have to go soon,” he gave a shrug, even though he sounded a little far away. Betty supposed he actually did like going, despite his saying otherwise.

“Well that’s good then, but I’m sure they would still enjoy your company. I know I am,” her cheeks were burning and she turned back to the sizzling pan, poking the middle of the steak with the edge of the tongs. “How do you like your steak?” she had squeaked out, trying to change the subject.

His grin at her was infectious and she couldn’t help the goofy smile she was sporting. “I like them medium,” he looked down at the pan, and she nodded.

“Do you want to know a trick to checking how they’re done?” she offered, not sure what else to say at the moment. She turned the steaks over in the pan, the sizzle in the pan releasing a wonderful aroma that sat in her lungs and made her belly want to rumble.

“Sure, even though I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be cooking steak anytime soon.”

“You press your thumb to the tip of your middle finger,” she demonstrated with her left hand and motioned him to do the same. “and press on the ball of your palm with your other hand, that’s what the steak should feel like if you want it medium. Index finger is medium rare, ring finger is medium well, and pinky is well done,” she had moved her hands to Jughead’s, her fingers guiding his as she went through the motions of her words, pressing her fingers softly against his palm and letting him feel as well.

Betty looked up to him but he was watching her, not his hands. His fingers capturing her hand and holding it within his own as he pressed his thumb to her palm. She hoped he couldn’t feel how quick her heart was beating. She turned back to the steaks quickly, pulling her hand from him and picking the tongs back up to press against the steaks.

“See? They’re about medium rare right now, one more flip should do it. About 2 more minutes,” she was just filling the air with words now, speech a little rushed. She pulled the veggies out of the oven and placed them in a serving bowl. “Set the table?”

He took the veggies from her and picked up the silverware and the salad bowl in his other hand. “Of course, my lady,” he gave a little bow to her and moved to her small kitchen table which she had previously cleared of stacks of bills and various books.

Betty finished up the steaks and plated them, snapping a quick couple of pictures with her phone. When she was finished, she realized Jughead had been watching her. She blinked and parted her lips to ask ‘what?’ but he was already speaking.

His tone was low and gruff. “I don’t know what’s hotter: those steaks or the way your tongue pokes out when you’re working.”

“Um, I am flattered, but did just compare me to a piece of meat, Jughead,” she was smiling at him though, his words making her more confident.

“Well, I told you that food is the way to my heart Betty,” he tsk’d playfully at her, taking the two plates from her and setting them on the table. She grabbed two beers out of the fridge and cracked them open.

They settled down for dinner, Betty giving Jughead a stern look when he only put one scoop of the veggies on his plate. He added another and she smiled. They ate and sipped their beers, Jughead’s compliments overflowing.

“So where did you go to university?” she decided to ask, curious. This was about getting to know each other, after all.

“I went to Columbia, did the photography BA with a focus on fine art and fashion,” he took a drink of his beer, and she couldn’t help but watch the way his adam’s apple bobbed with his swallow. “I kind of want to go back and get my MFA, but I’m still not sure if it’ll really help or just be a money sink.”

“Oh, I get that. I’m still paying on my student loans, I couldn’t afford to go back even if I wanted to,” she paused, fingers running down the side of her bottle, collecting the condensation forming. “I did English lit, with a minor in creative writing at NYU,” she elaborated, his curious eyes watching her fingers.

“Nice. Well, not about the loans, that sucks,” he paused and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand again. Nervous habit? “I had a scholarship, so I got lucky.” No kidding. She couldn’t help feel jealous for a split second before realizing that he surely deserved it and must have worked really hard in high school.

“That’s great, Jug. I am, however, jealous that you don’t owe a third of your life to the government. But beggars can’t be choosers,” Betty finished up the rest of her beer. She swirled the dregs around in the bottle and motioned with it to the fridge. “Want another?”

“Please,” Jughead pulled a long drink from his bottle before standing and collecting hers before she could get up. He went to her fridge and pulled it open, staring inside. He grabbed the bottles, but was still looking inside. “Damn, Betty. Your fridge is like heaven. I’m pretty sure all that’s in mine is beer, cheese, water, and lunchmeat.”

She shook her head at him, her fridge wasn’t that stocked, but compared to his it sounded like it. “Typical bachelor,” she responded, taking a bottle from his outstretched hands, her fingers grazing lightly over his. She looked up at him, smiling coyly before taking a drink.

“Ah, yes. Bachelor life. So fun,” he rolled his eyes, settling down in his chair again.

They were finishing up their food by now and Betty gifted Jughead with the third of her steak she hadn’t been able to finish. Whether it was from the constant fluttering in her stomach or her claim that she was saving room for dessert, she wasn’t sure.

“So, what’s for dessert?” the way he said the words made her mouth go dry. His tone husky and sweet, eyes gazing at her like he wanted her for dessert.

tbc

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead fandom #bughead fic #bughead fam #betty cooper #jughead jones #betty x jughead #jughead x betty #riverdale fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #what i'm writing #wip

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somewhereapart · 7 years

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BIn41 Sneak Peek, by request...

I had a CuriousCat request to post a BIn sneak peek, so here ya go:

Robin texts her on Friday around noon, when he finally wakes up: Hope you got some sleep last night. Dreamt of you all morning.

She answers a few minutes later, telling him, I did. Thanks.

Robin frowns. That was a bit… short, particularly for someone who'd had him balls deep inside her last night. Then he remembers just why, and that she’d said she needed a few days to work off her anger, so he texts: Still pissed?

Mmhmm. It’ll pass.

He sighs, and tells her, I’ll leave you to your work then. Call if you need anything.

He considers it a small consolation that she replies at all, even more so that she tells him, Thanks, I will. And thanks for last night.

So not all bad, then, he deduces with a little smile, unable to resist the urge to text back: Your knickers were thanks enough luv, with a devilish little emoji as punctuation.

Speaking of… He rolls over, fishing her thong from the pocket of the jeans he’d left crumpled on the floor when he’d fallen into bed early this morning, then flops back onto his mattress with a sigh just as his phone buzzes again.

It’s another text from her, three words that make him laugh out loud: With. Your. Life.

On my honor, I swear to protect them, he shoots back and then he tosses the phone aside, and lifts the little scrap of fabric. He hooks a fingertip in either side of the waistband and holds them up, finally getting a good look – he hadn’t really had much of a chance last night, now, had he?

It’s just a small triangle of pale grey, not cotton, something softer than that, with lavender lace along the waistband. Her bra had been lavender, too, come to think of it – quite possibly this exact lavender, and lacy, just like this. It occurs to him then it was probably a set, and no wonder she hadn’t been keen on parting with them.

Alas, too late now, he thinks with a smirk and very little remorse.

She has such a bloody tiny waist, he muses, giving the lace a little stretch and turning her knickers around to appreciate the back side – or lack thereof. God, she must have looked bloody incredible in this; he almost regrets not taking her skirt off altogether so he could enjoy the view.

Almost.

Not quite.

The view had been pretty spectacular as it was. Really, incredibly fantastic.

He’s just settling in to enjoy the memory of it, of her on top of him, all wild and fierce (and yes, angry, but it appears it’s an anger that will blow over, so he’s willing to overlook that for now), just starting to mull over the lovely details, and feeling his cock start to stir when he hears the pounding scamper of feet up the stairs, and a voice calling his name – “Robin?”

His heart lurches when he realizes it’s Henry, and he has just enough time to shove the boy’s mother’s knickers (Christ, she’d absolutely murder him) under his pillows before his door swings open, and Tuck comes bounding in, Henry behind him.

Nothing has ever killed a boner faster. Thank God he’d still had his shorts on.

Henry skids to a stop and scowls at the sight of Robin still in bed, asking, “Why aren’t you up yet? It’s lunchtime.”

“For you, maybe,” Robin tells him, sitting up and hoping he doesn’t look nearly as panic-stricken as he feels. “Some of us work late and sleep late.”

“Oh,” Henry remembers, with a look of regret. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, I was awake,” Robin assures him, swinging his legs off to the side and pulling on those same jeans, because, well, they’re there, and they’re clean enough. He spies the open condom wrapper that he’d pocketed on the floor where it must have slipped free at some point, and sends up another prayer of thanks, this time for the fact that Henry is on the other side of the bed.

“What did you want?” he asks, as he toes it surreptitiously under the bed and fully out of sight.

“I was bored,” Henry shrugs. “I thought maybe you could show me some new stuff on the guitar. Or we could go to the park or something.”

One of those sounds like it takes a bit too much brainpower for his newly awakened self, the other a bit too much energy. So Robin suggests instead, “How about we start with some lunch?”

.::.

The flaw in this whole lunch plan becomes apparent as soon as they get to the kitchen. He and John are, to put it plainly, shit at keeping a full fridge. With John away so often for work, and Robin eating half his weekly dinners at the bar, they don’t need to keep a whole lot of food in the house – not proper food anyway.

And he’d meant to do some shopping today on his day off – refresh their stores of white bread and cold cuts and cheese. Pick up some proper fruit and veg for the weekend with Roland, and restock his supply of mac and cheese, maybe get some hot dogs to throw in, or one of those ready-made rotisserie chickens.

But as he’s just rolled out of bed, he hasn’t exactly had a chance to do that yet, so they’re left to fend for themselves with what they’ve got: a tomato that’s starting to wrinkle a bit, some eggs, a carton of milk he pulls out and takes a whiff of – and then regrets with a wince, setting it back on the shelf with a stern reminder to himself to dump the little that’s left down the drain later. Some three-day-old take-out pork lo mein, and a lime.

Well, then.

Robin zeroes in on the eggs, suggesting, “How about some fried egg sandwiches?”

He has enough bread, and there’s a half-spent jar of ketchup in the fridge door. It’ll do for lunch.

And Henry is game, tells him, “Sure,” with an agreeable shrug, so Robin reaches in and pops open the carton to find one lonely egg resting inside.

Right.

He looks at Henry and asks, “I don’t suppose your mum has eggs?”

She does – of course she does – so they head next door, dog in tow, and take advantage of Regina’s decidedly fuller fridge.

She’s down to the last egg in the carton as well – but there’s another full dozen resting underneath it. The ketchup he pulls from the door is organic, the bread they find in the breadbox is a hearty seven-grain – not ideal if you ask him (there’s something nice about the bland, pillowy softness of WonderBread when it comes to an egg sandwich) but it’ll do.

She’s also got a crisper full of apples, a half-full carton of raspberries, two cartons of milk (a quart of skim that he imagines is hers, and a half gallon of 2% for Henry), a small pyramid of yogurts, some fresh-from-the-deli shaved turkey, and a packet of pork chops. There’s one of the plastic cartons of ready-made mixed greens for salads, a carton of cherry tomatoes, and a cucumber.

It’s a well-stocked pinnacle of health that puts his paltry bachelor pad selection to shame, and he’s half-tempted to beg her guidance for his own shopping. But then, half of it would probably just go bad on the shelf, and that’d be a waste, wouldn’t it?

And it’s neither here nor there at the moment, so he puts the thought aside, and gets to making their eggs.

Henry watches, and helps, pulling out four slices of bread at Robin’s urging, and cutting up a couple of apples for them with this corer-slicer thing that is handy enough Robin makes a mental note to look into getting one himself for Roland’s snacktime.

Before too long they’re settled at the table, munching away at their sandwiches and apple pieces, Robin occasionally tossing Tuck bits of that turkey from the fridge (he and Henry have sworn a pact of secrecy about feeding table scraps to the dog).

Two bites in, Henry declares, “This is really good,” and Robin discovers the boy has never had a fried egg sandwich before in his life.

“You’re joking,” he tells him, and then he decides, “No, you're probably not, are you? Now I regret making it with fancy bread – you should have had a proper one.”

“Mom says that white bread is a waste of calories, unless it’s homemade or from France,” Henry tells him, and Robin snorts a little laugh.

“That sounds like something your mum would say,” he chuckles, adding, “I bet she’d have a stroke if she saw my fridge.”

“Probably,” Henry shrugs munching away. “Why don’t you buy better food? Or more food.”

Robin smirks and tells him, “To be honest, I’m rather a lazy git, or at least – when it comes to food only I’m going to eat, I don’t care as much. I was going to go shopping today – for Roland. But during the week, I don’t really cook all that much, so I don’t need a lot of food.”

“If you don’t need very much, then you should buy better stuff than just eggs and beer,” Henry tells him, and Robin snorts.

Touché.

“Maybe I’ll ask your mum for some pointers,” Robin tells him, taking a bite of his sandwich after he adds, “She seems to have things pretty put together.”

Henry answers, “Yeah,” but then he’s frowning into his plate a bit, something clearly on his mind.

The boy’s never had trouble speaking his mind, though, so Robin waits him out, lets him gather his thoughts. After a few seconds, Henry says, “I’m worried about her.”

“Your mum?”

“Yeah,” he confirms. “She hasn’t been, y’know… Mom the last few days? We had a bad weekend, and then she had that headache, and she looks kinda sick. And last night, she went to bed before I even did.”

“She’s having a hard week,” Robin tells him, adding, “She’ll be alright, though; she’s tough,” before taking another bite of his sandwich.

Henry just frowns at him, and then asks, “How would you know? You were here for like five minutes on Tuesday.”

Robin freezes mid-chew.

Right.

All their other visits were a bit more… nocturnal. Henry has no idea – nor should he – that he’s seen Regina nearly every day this week.

He half-finishes chewing, then swallows heavily, and tells the boy, “We text sometimes.”

“You do?”

“Mmhmm,” Robin confirms. “About you, most of the time – if she needs me to take you for a bit, or has a question about your lessons, or whatever. But sometimes just about… life. How our days are going, what’s on our mind. Stuff like that.”

Henry lets out a surprised little Huh, and takes a bite of his own sandwich.

He seems to leave it at that, so Robin counts his blessings, and takes another bite of his own – and then nearly chokes a bit when Henry asks, “Are you my mom’s best friend?”

#breaking in #sneak peek #breaking in sneak peek #somewhereapart writes

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christenpressing · 7 years

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you should do all 154 questions

“were you just trying to be annoying” -me

“yes, but I still want you to answer them” -camryn

1: Name- Julia

2: Age- 16

3: 3 Fears- heights, loneliness, failure

4: 3 things I love- horses, soccer, writing

5: 4 turn ons- passion, honesty, eyes, hair

6: 4 turn offs- egotistic, boasting, slob, straw hats

7: My best friend- @vanillabeanniall

8: Sexual orientation- gay af

9: My best first date- my only first date was when I went to panera bread

10: How tall am I- 5′6″ (”not” -Vasi)

11: What do I miss- playing soccer and @fantomedulivre

12: What time was I born- sometime in the morning idk

13: Favourite color- pastel pink

14: Do I have a crush- if you count the person I’m dating, then yeah

15: Favourite quote- she believed she could, so she did

16: Favourite place- the barn

17: Favourite food- mac n cheese

18: Do I use sarcasm- sarcasm? me? never

19: What am I listening to right now- “Vasi reading all my answers and laughing at me” -Vasi

20: First thing I notice in new person- their tone of voice

21: Shoe size- 9 (“big. then you put the smirking emoji in cause, you know, you’ve got a big dick.” -Vasi”)

22: Eye color- brown

23: Hair color- brown

24: Favourite style of clothing- athletic

25: Ever done a prank call?- I’ve witnessed a few but I’ve never done one myself

27: Meaning behind my URL- I love the uswnt and fifth harmony the end

28: Favourite movie- “The Lorax” but only with Grandma Norma (aka the only good parts)

29: Favourite song- Miss Movin On by 5H

30: Favourite band- Fifth Harmony

31: How I feel right now- amused (by Vasi, specifically)

32: Someone I love- Coach Crain

33: My current relationship status- taken

34: My relationship with my parents- I’m really close with my mom, but I still have good relationship with my dad

35: Favourite holiday- Christmas

36: Tattoos and piercing i have- I have my ears pierced

37: Tattoos and piercing i want- I want a tattoo of the female sign but a heart instead of the circle

38: The reason I joined Tumblr- Caylee told me to

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other?- yes

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts?- yes (thanks @kellexohara) update: vasi just sent me a text saying “good morning bitch”

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?- no (it was @atypicaltomato)

42: When did I last hold hands?- Vasi pulls me by my hands a lot “because I’m slow”

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?- like thirty minutes

44: Have you shaved your legs in the past three days?- I shaved them last night

45: Where am I right now?- in creative writing class at school

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me?- my sister probably and maybe Vasi if she’d feeling nice enough

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?- reasonable

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad?- I’m a child

49: Am I excited for anything?- for this week to be over

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?- @nowickipedia

51: How often do I wear a fake smile?- ALL THE TIME

52: When was the last time I hugged someone?- yesterday probably

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?- I would run away cause I avoid her at all costs

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?- myself

55: What is something I disliked about today?- I HAVE SO MUCH WORK TO DO

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?- Christen Press

57: What do I think about most?- the future

58: What’s my strangest talent?- “being a fuckin nerd” -Vasi “That’s not a strange talent. Lots of people are fuckin nerds” -me

59: Do I have any strange phobias?- no

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?- behind

61: What was the last lie I told?- that I don’t know about my last lie

62: Do I perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online?- video chat

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?- both

64: Do I believe in magic?- no

65: Do I believe in luck?- yes

66: What’s the weather like right now?- cloudy and 73 degrees

67: What was the last book I’ve read?- The Inferno

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline?- no

69: Do I have any nicknames?- jj, jules, the wife, princess, “jack and the beanstalk” -Vasi

70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had?- I sprained my ankle playing soccer

71: Do I spend money or save it?- save it

72: Can I touch my nose with my tounge?- no

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feet from me?- my pen and some girl’s shirt (Vasi says the shirt is red and it probably is cause I’m low key colorblind)

74: Favourite animal?- horse

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM?- working on english homework

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is?- Smith

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?- Top Down by 5H

78: How can you win my heart?- by being nice and honest

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone?- Alex Morgan is the offsides queen

80: What is my favorite word?- iconic

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr- @vanillabeanniall @kellexohara @alexa-gamboa @christenpressure @tobogganssmile

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say?- it’s britney, bitch

83: Do I have any relatives in jail?- no

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power?- teleportation

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on?- What are your scars from?

86: What is my current desktop picture?- Christen Press holding two soccer balls

87: Had sex?- no

88: Bought condoms?- no

89: Gotten pregnant?- no

90: Failed a class?- no

91: Kissed a boy?- no

92: Kissed a girl?- yes

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?- no, but I’d like to

94: Had a job?- no

95: Left the house without my wallet?- yes

96: Bullied someone on the internet?- no

97: Had sex in public?- no

98: Played on a sports team?- I played on a soccer team named the Cyclones for ten years

99: Smoked weed?- no

100: Did drugs?- no

101: Smoked cigarettes?- no

102: Drank alcohol?- in moderation

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan?- no

104: Been overweight?- no

105: Been underweight?- yes

106: Been to a wedding?- yes

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?- probably

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight?- I once watched six hours worth of Bob’s Burgers with Vasi

109: Been outside my home country?- I’ve been to Jamaica, Mexico, and the Bahamas

110: Gotten my heart broken?- no

111: Been to a professional sports game?- I’ve been to a few football games, the 2016 nwsl championship, and a uswnt victory tour game. I’m going to the friendly against Russia on April 9th

112: Broken a bone?- no

114: Been to prom?- no

115: Been in airplane?- too many times

116: Fly by helicopter?- no

117: What concerts have I been to?- Train, Pink, Shania Twain, Idina Menzel, Kelly Clarkson/Pentatonix, and Fifth Harmony. I’m also going to Ariana Grande/Little Mix in April

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex?- so many

119: Learned another language?- Soy en la clase de español tres

120: Wore make up?- only for horse shows

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18?- no

122: Had oral sex?- no

123: Dyed my hair?- I dyed the ends red in 7th grade

124: Voted in a presidential election?- IM A CHILD

125: Rode in an ambulance?- no

126: Had a surgery?- yes

127: Met someone famous?- Alex Morgan and Kealia Ohai

128: Stalked someone on a social network?- who doesn’t

129: Peed outside?- when I was little out at the barn

130: Been fishing?- I used to go with my grandpa a lot

131: Helped with charity?- no

132: Been rejected by a crush?- yes

133: Broken a mirror?- I don’t think so?

134: What do I want for birthday?- a ticket to Okinawa

135: How many kids do I want and what will be their names?- a daughter and I like the names Jessica, Olivia, and Lucy

136: Was I named after anyone?- no

137: Do I like my handwriting?- I love it

138: What was my favourite toy as a child?- my little ponies (the classic ones though)

139: Favourite Tv Show?- Girl Meets World, Parks and Rec, Brooklyn Nine-Nine

140: Where do I want to live when older?- Portland, Oregon

141: Play any musical instrument?- I used to play trombone

142: One of my scars, how did I get it?- I got one from playing soccer on artificial turf

143: Favourite pizza topping?- just cheese

144: Am I afraid of the dark?- no

145: Am I afraid of heights?- yes

146: Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad?- nothing that bad

147: Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?- every chemistry test ever

148: What I’m really bad at- chemistry

149: What my greatest achievements are- I’m a three time national champion for horses

150: The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me- everything ***** said to Vasi and it applies to me too because I love her

151: What I’d do if I won in a lottery- save it

152: What do I like about myself- I’m not lazy and work hard at everything I do

153: My closest Tumblr friend- I have no friends (the closest would be @kellexohara but she’s my girlfriend so I don’t think it counts)

154: Something I fantasise about- the future

#asks

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tebbyclinic11 · 6 years

Text

17 New Spring Cookbooks We Can’t Wait to Stain

New Post has been published on http://kitchengadgetsreviews.com/17-new-spring-cookbooks-we-cant-wait-to-stain/

17 New Spring Cookbooks We Can’t Wait to Stain

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It’s no coincidence that spring is one of the greatest times of the year to cook—and one of the greatest seasons for cookbook releases. These are the 17 new cookbooks we can’t wait to stain.

When Rogers Gray Italian Country Cook Book was published in 1995, it launched a food moment, the ripples of which are being felt to this day. The seductively elemental Italian recipes from Ruth Rogers and Rose Gray—untrained chefs who had started London’s River Cafe as a commissary for the architects in Richard Rogers’s practice on Thames Wharf—sent me and countless others scrambling for ingredients like lacinato kale and salt-packed anchovies. Many a dinner party was built around their pumpkin risotto, and many was foiled by a failed Chocolate Nemesis cake. While the dishes at the fabled restaurant—home to such young cooks as April Bloomfield, Jamie Oliver, and Clare Deboer and Jess Shadbolt of NYC’s King—were flawless, the published recipes were rather loosey-goosey. The stunningly designed 30th-anniversary edition of the beloved blue book corrects that, as the recipes have been tested and updated. Like the restaurant, the dishes in River Cafe 30 feel as vital and vibrant as ever.

Cake by Maira Kalman and Barbara Scott-Goodman

Sweets have always figured in Maira Kalman’s jaunty paintings. Now she has created Cake, a cookbook that delights the palate and stirs the heart, with narrative, nostalgic illustrations followed by recipes, created by her friend Barbara Scott-Goodman, for favorites like coconut layer cake, plum torte, and the honey cake that her cousin Tali always puts into her suitcase before she returns home to NYC. Especially poignant is the image of the pink “philosophical cake” that her family made while living in Rome in the ‘80s, iced with the words, “A day without dancing is a wasted day.” It’s Love, Loss, and What I Baked.

“Elbow deep in dough, I surrendered.” North Carolina baker Tara Jensen achieved Instagram fame first for her artful, post-latticed pie crusts and masterful bread, then for her raw breakup posts and Deep Observations from the remote countryside. Her fearlessly honest—some might say way oversharing—book, A Baker’s Year, is part diary, part artisanal baking manual, with recipes for New Moon Cake, Broken Down Berry Pie, and Bloody Butcher Pancakes. In short, millennial gold. The instructions lean toward the minimalist and intuitive, meaning you might need to watch a YouTube video to master that crust or know if your starter—excuse me, (A) Culture (of Resistance)—is really kicking. While you’re online, check out Julia Kramer’s excellent profile of Jensen for BA.

Variations on the Full Moon Cake from A Baker’s Year.

British blogger Meera Sodha’s debut cookbook, Made in India, was an instant classic, creating authentic Indian flavors by using what most people have in the fridge. (In fact, I have some of her cilantro-coconut chutney in the freezer right now, waiting to be added to chicken.) Her vegetarian sequel, Fresh India, is just as dog-earrable, with recipes like Sri Lankan dal with coconut and lime kale and the addictive shredded Brussels sprout thoran, or stir fry, which prompts you to shred them in the food processor. (Light bulb/forehead-slapping moment.) Like Sodha, with her bangs and red lipstick, these recipes feel both relaxed and spontaneous, taking much of the intimidation out of Indian cooking.

(Right) Photo by Jennifer May

Japan: The Cookbook is an essential, authoritative, approachable guide to the country’s cooking by expat Nancy Singleton-Hachisu, author of the cult favorite Japanese Farm Food. The condensed history of Japanese food alone is both humbling and endearing. (We Americans can surely learn something from a cuisine that began around 12,000 B.C., when the creation of earthenware pots and the use of ash to remove toxins or bitterness from mountain vegetables first began—both still used today.) The recipes are brief and simple, with big payoff once you’ve stocked your pantry. Get ready to make fried chicken meatballs with nori; flowering greens with sake-soy; and crispy greens with sesame part of your repertoire.

Anissa Helou’s Feast: Food of the Islamic World provides an insightful, lushly depicted journey into millennia-old cuisines many of us know relatively bupkus about. Helou’s chapter on bread alone is a travelogue, seducing with recipes for flat and filled breads from Yemen, Somalia, India, Morroco, Iran, Turkey, and more. (The Zanzibari savory doughnuts and Arabian date bread are particularly appealing). This being a celebratory book, recipes for whole beasts—or just their humps, legs, and breasts—elaborate rice dishes, and spice mixes combine with more makeable pleasures like meatballs in sour cherry sauce, baked rice cakes with lamb, and Ramadan date cookies. Helou is both scholar and hedonist, which makes for the best kind of guide in the kitchen.

BA contributor Brooks Headley not only runs Superiority Burger, the best vegan-leaning burger joint in NYC, his punk ethos and deadpan humor make for some of the best cookbook reading ever. Now he brings his “modest, non-fancy” ethos, as well as recipes for hippy wraps, tofu-fried tofu, burnt broccoli salad and, dear lord, that gelato, home with Superiority Burger: The Vegetarian Hamburger Is Now Delicious. Even if you don’t make his signature burger, you’ll enjoy reading the recipe, in which he proclaims, “The un-likeness to the real thing is uncanny… They are absolutely recognizable as food, and are meant to be a Luddite response to the modern gaggle of vegetable patties that bleed and squirt and ape.” Vegans—no, humans—rejoice.

Sam Hodgson

The oh-so-famous veggie burger at Superiority, coming to a kitchen near you.

Food writing—that is, good writing about food—ain’t what it used to be. Posts and feeds can’t compare to the confident, informed words of M.F.K. Fisher, Elizabeth David, or Patience Gray. They were actively cooking and researching (and living), then weighing each phrase, producing lasting works that no emoji can summarize. Editor and Chez Panisse cook turned author Tamar Adler has set herself in their footsteps, producing books with cooking in them rather than straight-up cookbooks. Her debut, An Everlasting Meal, made leftovers seem quite lovely, a dinner of toast and beans a quiet moral victory. With Something Old, Something New: Classic Recipes Reinvented, she strives to revitalize fusty classics and long-forgotten dishes, bringing them into this century with verve and ease. And so this spring might find you serving—without air quotes—Waldorf salad and Charlotte Russe; A Respectful Omelet and braised lettuce on toast. To get to the recipes, you will clamber past tightly crafted sentences like “This [shrimp] bisque is for fishermen and boat builders, for falconers, toll collectors, bricklayers, cooks, floor cleaners, window washers, bakers, bookbinders, gas pump attendants, metalworkers, and teachers, a most noble if not royal collection of humanity indeed.” It’s bookery meets cookery.

Other books of note:

Aska by Fredrik BerseliusThis season’s prettiest entry in the “collectible, not cookable” category is from the excellent Brooklyn restaurant Aska.

Jam Session: A Fruit-Preserving Handbook by Joyce GoldsteinThe former Chez Panisse chef has just the right touch.

Repertoire: All the Recipes You Need by Jessica BattaglianaThe title says it all: The perfect one-stop cookbook that builds kitchen confidence to boot.

Food52 Any Night Grilling by Paula DisbroweFinally, a grilling book that’s not bro-y. Pass the grilled cauliflower with green harissa!

How to Eat a Peach by Diana HenryThe unstoppable Ms. Henry does it again.

The Flavor Matrix: The Art and Science of Pairing Common Ingredients to Create Extraordinary Dishes by James BriscioneRemember that IBM Watson computer? Well, it helped form the basis of this book, which scientifically determines foods with complementary flavor compounds. Strawberries with mushrooms? You betcha.

Sweet Laurel: Recipes for Whole Food, Grain-Free Desserts by Laurel Gallucci and Claire ThomasThe women behind the popular L.A. bakery have mastered delicious GF treats that require fewer than 10 ingredients—none hard to find.

Session Cocktails: Low Alcohol Drinks for Any Occasion by Drew Lazor and the editors of PUNCHGreat recipes for when you need to ease into your evening (or day).

Eat a Little Better: Great Flavor, Good Health, Better World by Sam KassFormer food policy advisor and, hey, Obama chef Sam Kass brings you simple, doable ways to eat (and feel) healthier and shop more sustainably without driving yourself nuts.

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