#i kind of want to bake them cookies and have a pitcher of lemonade for them next time

[sapphixxx]

Mom subscribed to a maid service to come in occasionally to get things really clean cause she's getting older and having a hard time with all the dust and crouching and odd corners, and today was the first time they came and oh my God I was not even remotely prepared for how pretty and kind all of them were 🥺

#big crush on all of them #covered in tattoos #starstruck at real live maids at work... #i like to think i clean pretty thoroughly but i am genuinely in awe at their work #i kind of want to bake them cookies and have a pitcher of lemonade for them next time #but idk that might not be cool in covid times #i did chip in for the tip at least

[ambrossart]

PAPER MEN

— CHAPTER 21

SUMMARY: All Evelyn Tozier wanted to do was make Derry High School a safer place for her kid brother. Well, somewhere between kissing Patrick Hockstetter and telling the principal to go f*** himself, things got a little off track. Now she’s stuck in the middle of a bizarre love triangle with two of Derry’s most troubled teens while her little brother and his friends hunt down a creepy, child-eating circus clown. This year, summer can’t come fast enough. PAIRINGS: Henry Bowers x Tozier!Sister; Patrick Hockstetter x Tozier!Sister WARNINGS: violence, profanity, sexual content (not smut), bullying, physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, all kinds of abuse, trauma, mental illness, implied/referenced self-harm, child death, angst, lots of angst, recreational drug use, underage drinking, love triangles, unrequited love, toxic relationships, slow burn, slow build

WORD COUNT: 5,485

MASTERPOST

Inside a crystal lemonade pitcher, clumps of ice melted, broke apart, and fell with a splash.

Evelyn sat at the table, stunned and silent, with a half-eaten plate of spinach quiche in front of her. Mrs. Criss was still in the guest bathroom. She had locked herself in there a while ago, and now she was sobbing into one of her decorative towels—the plush white ones with gold embellishments, Evelyn's favorite—while the vent fan droned at full blast. Evelyn's chest clenched at the sound. She'd never heard Mrs. Criss cry before.

That was usually me, wasn't it? 

Of course Victor was gone too, not that Evelyn had really expected him to stick around. Yeah, he bolted out of there first chance he got. Now he, in an act of predictable teenage angst, was blasting punk music through the LXI stereo system he got last Christmas. The system his mother bought him.

Wow, Vic, when did you become such a cliche? 

Evelyn had intended to scold him. "Victor," she wanted to yell, "you can't speak like that to your mom!" But when the moment came—when Vic appeared, perfectly framed inside the dining room archway—she bit her tongue and let him go. This was a private family matter, she decided. She had no right to get involved.

Instead, Evelyn stuck her fork back into her apple-and-arugula salad, ate a few bites, then pushed it away.

The Crisses' dining room had changed significantly over the years. Mrs. Criss painted over the tacky wood paneling, ripped out the green shag carpet, and restored her walnut furniture to its original luster. Now all the little dings and scratches on the tabletop were gone, but Evelyn still groped for them like she used to. Her tiny fingers had fit so perfectly in the grooves.

How many afternoons did I spend here? she wondered. Probably too many to count. 

Every time Victor shut her out, every time he slammed the door in her face, Mrs. Criss would come to her rescue. "Don't you mind him," she would always say. "He'll come around, eventually. Until then, how 'bout we have some fun, just us girls?"

She taught Evelyn how to bake cookies and cupcakes, how to pipe the perfect buttercream swirl. (And to think, this whole time I just assumed Mrs. Criss was taking pity on me. It never occurred to me that, maybe, she was lonely, too.) In the summer, they had tea parties in the garden and slurped homemade popsicles on the porch. Sometimes, when Evelyn seemed especially pouty, Mrs. Criss would drag out her old scrapbooks and photo albums, and they would spend hours flipping through them together. Evelyn could as many questions as she wanted; Mrs. Criss answered them all.

Evelyn supposed that was when she discovered her love of postcards. Mrs. Criss kept a collection of letters and postcards that her parents had exchanged from the winter of '43 to the summer of '45. There were no cheesy wish-you-were-heres, no passionate declarations of love, just little snippets of their everyday life. When Evelyn read them, she felt her heart swell with intense emotions that a child couldn't possibly understand, but they stayed with her, nevertheless. Hannah-Beth's novels weren't able to replicate that feeling. Evelyn wondered if anything ever would.

Mrs. Criss came out a moment later, smiling like everything was sunny and lovely, like she hadn't just received the full brunt of her son's pent-up teenage rage. She smoothed out the back of her skirt before sitting down at the table. Evelyn pretended not to notice the tiny flakes of mascara clinging to her bottom lashes.

"I'm so sorry you had to witness that, Evelyn. What happened back there, that was very inappropriate. I hope we didn't make you uncomfortable."

Evelyn sat up in her chair. "Oh, it's okay, you don't have to apologize. I mean, families fight, right? It's nothing to be embarrassed about. My family, we argue all the time, usually about stupid stuff like what to watch on TV or what to eat for dinner... My dad says it's because we're all so opinionated, but I think we just like to hear ourselves talk. I swear, it's like a sitcom over there sometimes. Everyone's a comedian, you know?"

Mrs. Criss's smile was sad and full of envy. "You have a wonderful family."

Evelyn felt her face flush. Then she remembered the talk she had with her mother earlier that morning. Embarrassing as it was, how many parents would've handled that situation with such humor and grace? Not many, she thought, and the corners of her mouth rose beautifully.

"Yeah, I'm really lucky."

After lunch, Evelyn helped Mrs. Criss clear the table and then announced that she was going upstairs to check on Victor.

"I mean," Evelyn quickly amended, "if that's all right with you."

Mrs. Criss rolled up her sleeves while the kitchen sink filled with water. "Of course. Go ahead, I'll finish up here."

Evelyn turned to leave, but before she could, a voice shot out like a phantom hand and grabbed her by the elbow, asking a question Evelyn did not expect:

"Does he seem... unhappy to you?" Mrs. Criss asked. "Or am I just being crazy? Please, tell me I am. David says I'm overthinking it, that Victor's just being a normal teenager and all my nagging is pushing him further and further away. He's probably right about that. He understands Victor a lot better than I do, always has. I don't know if it's a guy thing or... well, I don't know, maybe I'm just the odd one out." She shrugged helplessly, a depressing gesture. "Anyway, three years ago I would've agreed with him and let it go. But now, with everything that's happened, I just... I can't help but think of sweet little Tammy Duncan standing in her kitchen, making breakfast for her family like she does every morning, waiting for her son to come downstairs and say good morning."

Evelyn's throat tightened when she tried to swallow. That phantom hand was on her again, pulling her down, down to a dark, cold place she didn't want to be, where Tammy Duncan, a blue dish towel clutched tightly in one hand, was staring through a glowing crack in her son's closet door.

Thankfully, Mrs. Criss didn't finish. Her jaw got painfully stiff and her brown eyes filled with tears. Before a single one could fall, she spun around to turn off the running faucet, but a few drops trickled out anyway, and landed with a quiet plop. For a while, that was the only thing Evelyn could hear. Then Mrs. Criss said,

"Truth is, I'm scared, Evelyn. I'm scared because I don't know if my own son is depressed or not. Most of all, I'm scared that he wouldn't tell me even if he was. I don't wanna be like Tammy Duncan. I don't wanna go through what she did."

Evelyn hugged herself tightly, grounding herself in the present.

"I don't think Victor's depressed," she said, "not seriously, anyway. I think he's just sorting some stuff out on his own. He's not like us, you know? He doesn't like to talk things out. Give him some time, and he'll come back around. Vic just needs some space, that's all."

Evelyn said that, but she couldn't take her own advice. Leaving someone to suffer alone just never felt natural to her.

Upstairs, Victor's music drowned out the sound of Evelyn's knocking.

This song differed from the ones he'd been listening to earlier. The melody was deeper and darker, and the tempo had collapsed into a slower, almost sludgy speed. The anger was still there, of course, but it wasn't the same in-your-face, flip-off-your-parents kind of anger. This anger was more subdued, reduced to a sort of bitter discontent.

A few years down the road, when everyone suddenly became obsessed with plaid and denim and Evelyn started wearing her hair just like Claire Danes in My So-Called Life (the cut, not the color; Crimson Glow didn't suit her complexion), Evelyn would immediately identify the style as grunge. But this wasn't 1994. No, this was 1988, and grunge was still practically unheard of outside Seattle, never mind a small town like Derry. For now, Evelyn was pleasantly perplexed. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

Victor Criss, dressed in an oversized blue-and-grey sweater and ripped jeans, sat slouched over on his bed with his elbows on his knees, completely absorbed in the music. Evelyn sat down beside him and hunched down to his level.

"Who's this?" she asked. She was dying to know.

Victor leaned in until their shoulders touched. "Hmm?"

"The song," Evelyn said, raising her voice in order to be heard over the music. "Who is this?"

"Oh... It's Green River."

"Green River." She repeated the name a couple more times under her breath and thought it fit perfectly. "Nice."

Vic threw her a skeptical look. "Why? You like 'em?"

Oh, not at all. Or at least that's what Vic was probably expecting her to say. It just sounds like a lotta noise. 

Instead, Evelyn waited for the song to finish; then, during the lull between tracks, she said rather studiously, "I'm still deciding, actually. But I can say it's absolutely nothing like the music I usually listen to. It sounds... dirty, almost."

"Dirty?"

"Yeah, dirty, like it was recorded in a basement or something." She supposed it could have been, and the possibility delighted her even more. "And the lyrics are really twisted, but they say a lot, you know?"

Each track told its own story, tackling subjects like religion, patriotism, and drug addiction. Evelyn couldn't stop listening... and talking about it. She pointed enthusiastically toward the stereo.

"And this one, this one's really interesting because he's comparing his friend's relationship to a demonic possession, which is so absurd, but also kind of perfect when you think about it. It's almost poetic, in a way. And then he tops it off by performing an exorcism. An exorcism! Who even thinks like that? Speaking of exorcisms, have you seen The Exorcist? I'm pre-screening a list of horror movies that Georgie Denbrough wants to watch on Halloween, and yeah, that one's getting crossed off the list. It was so disturbing, I couldn't even finish it."

Vic got up and walked across the room. Scratching his head, he mumbled, "Yeah, that movie's pretty messed up."

Evelyn went quiet, suddenly very aware of the silence—and the mess at her feet. She nudged a pile of dirty clothes with her socked foot and wondered when the floor had last been vacuumed. Judging from sticky brown goo permanently fused with the carpet, she figured quite a while, possibly never, and wished she had kept her shoes on.

While she did that, Victor was sitting on top of his desk and shuffling through a stack of CDs like it was a deck of cards. He'd pluck one out, give it a quick glance-over, then send it to the back and pick out the next one. Evelyn spotted a coffee cup by his left elbow and said, "You drink coffee?"

"I do."

"Wow... and I bet you drink it black, don't you? Because you're so hardcore now."

"Cream and sugar, actually, but I appreciate the sentiment."

"Oh, so you're a fraud." For a second Evelyn thought she caught Victor smiling, but it was hard to tell with the better half of his face hidden behind plastic. "Don't worry, Vic, I won't tell your friends."

"I'll deny it if you do."

And that made Evelyn giggle. She pulled her legs into a criss-cross position and started rocking side to side. "So what, is that one of your favorite bands or something?"

Vic glanced up from the stack, a crease in his brow. "You mean Green River? No, that was my first time listening to them."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, so thanks for the commentary."

Evelyn blushed. "Oh... I'm sorry, I just assumed you'd heard them before."

A smile crept up the right side of his face when she said that. This time, Evelyn could see it perfectly.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm glad you like them... glad and a little surprised, to be honest."

Evelyn pouted. "Why? Because I only listen to bumble-gum pop?"

"And the B-52s," Vic threw back at her. "You know, you don't have to pretend to like them just because you think I do."

"I'm not... and I wouldn't!" But maybe she was, a little. "Hey, I can appreciate all kinds of music, even... well, what do you call this, anyway? Punk? Metal?"

"I honestly couldn't tell ya. Chris just sorta shoved it at me after school."

"Chris?"

"Oh, right... Christie Gibson."

"Oh," Evelyn said, and swallowed.

She knew Christie Gibson. Everybody did. Christie used to hang out with April Nilsen and Steph Price back in elementary school, but they must have outgrown one another somewhere during the transition to high school. A lot of childhood friendships went that way. Now Christie didn't really hang with anyone; instead she floated around from clique to clique, coming and going as she pleased. Christie Gibson made friends easily, probably because she stood out so much—or at least her hair did. Every semester it was a different color: red, green, pink, blue, or some rainbow-like mixture. This semester it was blonde, a very pale blonde, almost like...

Evelyn's eyes focused on Victor's bleach-blond hair. "Oh," she said again.

Meanwhile, Vic had returned his attention to the CDs. "Yeah, she's always pushing new music on me. I think she's trying to figure me out or something."

"You guys seem pretty close," Evelyn observed, but it came out sounding more like a question.

Vic shrugged. "Eh, she's pretty annoying, actually. But I guess there's no getting rid of her now."

"Oh," Evelyn said for the third time, whispering it now. She glanced at the door and wondered if maybe she'd outstayed her welcome. After all, she really didn't fit in there, not with her pastel sweater and light-wash jeans. She felt like an Easter egg trying to blend into a Halloween display. 

Find the one thing that doesn't belong in this picture. I'll give you three guesses. 

She stretched out across Victor's unmade bed, her legs unfolding, head settling naturally into the dimple of his pillow. Vic shampooed with White Rain now. Weird, but not surprising. Fruit-scented shampoos were way too kiddish for teenage boys, who would rather sit in their stink than shower with something even vaguely childish or, worse, feminine. And Evelyn considered that a great shame because Suave Green Apple had always been her favorite. It made Vic's hair smell like a Jolly Rancher.

His bedding had changed too, and that was a greater tragedy. It used to be space-themed, his bedding. Yeah, space-themed. Hard to believe, right? It was black and blue, like a starry night sky, full of planets and shooting stars, and all the constellations—well, some of them, anyway. Evelyn could only ever recognize the Big Dipper, but Vic knew a lot more. His dad had taught him all about astronomy. You could say it was his life's passion. When Vic was younger, Mr. Criss would load his NexStar 8SE into his pickup, and they would drive down to the quarry and observe the stars together. Mr. Criss invited Evelyn to come along once (because his wife forced him to), and it was the first time she was ever truly speechless. She'd never seen anything so beautiful.

When she returned home that night, Evelyn ran straight into the living room, where her parents were watching television, and swooned at their feet.

"His eyes are endless," she proclaimed like a trained Shakespearean actor, "and I wanna drown in them!"

Evelyn was nine then and had the heart of a poet, but little interest in astronomy.

Anyway, the Crisses' celestial obsession burned out rather quickly. Mr. Criss sold his truck after he got his big promotion (Vic was in the seventh grade), and he sold his telescope the following spring. Prior to that, it had just been taking up space in the garage, and Mr. Criss needed the room for his golf clubs—his new life's passion.

Now Vic's bedding was black and grey and smelled like weed.

"It's funny," Evelyn said after a moment of deep thought, "when we were kids, I used to wonder what we'd be like at this age. How we'd look, how we'd dress, the sort of things we'd be into... all that kinda stuff. I had a very clear picture in my mind. Sometimes it was hard to think about anything else."

The quiet shuffling of plastic stopped. Evelyn turned her head and found Vic staring at her.

"And...?" he said.

"And..." Evelyn propped herself up on her elbow to get a better look at him. "I thought you'd be taller."

Vic raised an eyebrow, seeming to ponder this statement for a second. "Honestly, so did I," he said, bemused. "I dunno what happened there."

Victor Criss used to be the tallest kid in class, head and shoulders above all the other boys. After the sixth grade, he just stopped growing.

"It's probably all that coffee," Evelyn teased.

"Probably," Vic agreed, and for a minute they laughed like little kids—heartily and without a care. But then something changed. The atmosphere in the room shifted, thickened, and everything stopped being funny. Vic picked up his CDs again and buried his face in them.

"Sorry I'm such a disappointment," he said.

The words went straight to Evelyn's heart and dug in like a barb-tipped arrow. If she tried to rip it out, she would have bled out on his bed. So now she had to leave it there, try to breathe with it there, and die quietly.

"Why would you say something like that, Vic?"

"Because it's what you're thinking." He said this plainly, like he was observing the weather outside his window.

Evelyn sat up, angry now. "No, it's not! It's not what I'm thinking, not at all!"

"You sure, Ev?" He slammed the CDs down; one of the discs slipped out of its holder and rattled inside its plastic cage. "This is how you thought we'd end up? This is what you imagined while you were doodling away in your stupid fucking diary? In all those letters? This is what you pictured so clearly?"

Evelyn swallowed hard. There was a click in her throat. "No," she said in a whimpering voice. "Of course it isn't, but that doesn't mean I'm disappointed. That's so... That's like the meanest thing you've ever said." She turned away and folded into herself, hugging her knees into her chest, crossing one ankle over the other. "Maybe you're the disappointed one... ever consider that?"

Vic hung his head. "Oh, shit."

Evelyn's nose started running. She wiped it on her sweater sleeve and snuffled. "I hate your hair."

"Huh?"

"Your hair, I hate it. It's weird, and it's ugly, and it doesn't suit you at all!" She dragged her wrist across her nose in an aggressive sawing motion. "And your carpet is filthy. Why don't you vacuum every once in a while, huh? What are you, some kinda slob now? You can't be bothered to clean your room? I mean, look at this!"

She grabbed a fistful of dirty clothes and hurled it at the hamper in front of Victor's closet, missing it by a mile.

"You feel better?" Vic asked, smirking.

"No," Evelyn said in a stuffy, miserable voice. "I feel horrible." And now her sleeve was covered with snot and tears. She felt like a child.

Vic came to her with a lazy stride. "All right, scoot over, crybaby," and he sat down on her left. "I swear you cry more now than when we were kids."

He pulled open his nightstand drawer, felt around inside it, and offered Evelyn a box of Kleenexes.

"Thanks." She took a sheet and blew her nose into it. "I'm sorry for saying your hair's ugly. Only part of me meant that." A part she wasn't too proud of.

"You really don't like it?"

"Your hair? No, I really do hate it."

Vic's head rocked back like he'd just taken a punch. "Ouch."

"Sorry," Evelyn said, and reached for another square... only to draw her hand back slowly, her eyes fixed on the open drawer. "Hey, Vic," she started, but he pushed the drawer closed before she could finish.

"I have allergies," he told her.

"Allergies, sure... and I bet that bottle of lotion is for your dry skin."

The apples of Vic's cheeks filled with color. "I dunno what you're talking about."

"Oh, really?" said Evelyn with a coy smile. "So if I peek in there, I won't find a half-empty tube? Well, let's see..."

She acted like she was about to open it, but then a big red stop sign appeared in front of her face, and warning lights started flashing, sirens started blaring: DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!

Wait, she thought, what if he has condoms in there? Is that something you're prepared for? Because that's exactly where they'll be if he has them. And he probably has them. They'll be lying at the bottom of that drawer like little packets of candy just waiting to be opened. If you see them, you might see the size, and if you see the size, then you'll basically know the size of his...

Her eyes wandered, unbidden, down the zipper fly of his jeans. Oh god, she thought as a furious blush swept over her face. She covered it up with a tissue and blew hard.

You know, Hannah-Beth had once shared on the bus ride home, I've heard a person's sneeze face looks exactly the same as their you-know-what fa—Oh my god, Evelyn, WHY? Why are you thinking about that right now? Jesus, Hannah, you've turned me into a total pervert!

A moment later, after her initial discomfort had worn off, Evelyn tossed her head to one side and said without thinking, "You know, it's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Vic cut her off brusquely, shaking his head. "Nope, nope, don't even start that."

"Okay, sorry."

Then a minute after that: "Just out of curiosity, what does the lotion even do?"

Vic let out a long sigh, like a boiling pot hissing steam. "Yeah, we're not talking about that right now, Evelyn."

And finally: "So is there a garbage can around here? I need to throw these... Wait, never mind, I see it."

She got up and tossed her tissues into the wastebasket beside Victor's desk. In it, she saw about a dozen used Kleenexes.

Yeah, that's definitely gonna take some getting used to... 

Eventually, Evelyn found her way to the electric guitar propped in the corner of the room.

"Okay, I've gotta ask... do you even play guitar, or is this just for show?"

Victor blushed again, though not as deeply as he had during the tissue incident, which Evelyn was currently scrubbing and bleaching out of her mind.

"My mom got that for me, actually. Just another desperate attempt to buy my affection, prove that she's totally down with my lifestyle now. I'm pretty sure she was eavesdropping on one of my phone conversations. It was just one of those random things I said in passing. Wasn't even that serious about it, y'know? But you know my mom... she gets an idea and runs with it. When I came home from school the next day, there it was. I didn't even know what to say."

Evelyn scoffed. "Pretty sure a simple 'thank you' would've been enough, Vic." She crouched down and blew some of the dust away, but it didn't help much. "That was really thoughtful of her."

"Yeah, well, she tries too hard."

"Only because you don't try at all." She spun around. "Your mom loves you a lot, Victor."

"No, she loves you a lot. I think she'd adopt you if she could."

Evelyn shook her head to show she didn't believe him.

"You don't think so?" Vic said. "She has newspaper clippings of you on the fridge. Haven't you seen them?"

"Yeah, I have... and I bet she'd have some of you too, if you ever did anything."

Vic smirked at that. "Pretty sure if I made the paper, it'd be for something bad, so..."

"Right, because you're such a rebel now... a regular James Dean."

"You don't even know who that is."

"Yes, I do."

"Oh yeah? Name one movie he was in."

Evelyn's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.

"Thought so," Vic said, and absorbed the sock on the arm that immediately followed.

Once Evelyn sat back down, she began to study him with a sharp, inquisitive eye. "So, any tattoos or piercings I should know about?"

"Nope, no tattoos... but I did get my eyebrow pierced once."

Evelyn gasped. "You're kidding..."

"Yeah, I did." His face scrunched up like he was embarrassed to admit it. "Early last year, I was at a party and I got really, really wasted and let Christie pierce my eyebrow in Jace Whitman's bathroom."

Evelyn put her hand over her mouth, suppressing the urge to giggle. "So, what, you woke up the next morning and realized you hated it? What happened?"

"Well, Christie was drunk as shit and didn't sterilize the needle, so it got horribly infected and I had to take it out."

That sent Evelyn over the edge. She tipped over and fell onto her side, laughing until she was in tears.

"Go ahead and laugh," said Vic. "I was stupid."

"Yeah," Evelyn echoed, breathless and blissfully content. "Yeah, you were." She pulled herself back up and wiped her eyes, stopping briefly to surrender the occasional giggle. Her face hurt from smiling so much.

"So did it leave a scar?" she asked.

"Yeah, probably."

"Really? Can I see?"

Before Vic could answer, Evelyn put her hands on either side of his face and pulled, guiding him into what little light was shining through his bedroom window. "Hold still," she said, pushing his bangs away from his forehead. When she did that, she caught a glimpse of the natural brown roots growing along his hairline.

They had been there all along.

"You find it?" Vic asked after what felt like forever.

"Huh?" The sound came from deep in Evelyn's throat, startling her. "Oh, yeah, yeah I did. She, uh, really did a number on you, huh?"

Her curiosity now appeased, Evelyn released his hair and watched it fall back into place, covering up the scar she had never found.

"I see you didn't take my advice," Vic said afterward.

"What do you mean?"

He tapped the outer corner of his left eye. "The scar. I told you not to scratch them, dummy."

Evelyn pressed her fingertip against the tiny crater beside her left eye and smiled, remembering her bout of chickenpox in the third grade. Vic warned her not to scratch at the rash because it would leave horrible scars and she'd be ugly forever. Then he taped oven mitts to her hands with electrical tape. Evelyn was really grateful... until she had to go the bathroom and realized she couldn't get the mitts off. She cried in the hallway until her mom came home and cut them off. Vic's mom assumed he did it on purpose, so she grounded him for a week, but Vic was only trying to help.

Evelyn bumped his shoulder with hers. "You lied, you know. You said you already had chickenpox, but you didn't. You got them right after I did."

"Well, I wanted to get it over with," Vic told her. "They say it's better to get them when you're young."

"Right," Evelyn said, a little disappointed. "Yeah, I've heard that, too."

It took Evelyn three hours to ask the question that had been bothering her for the past three years. She hadn't gone there planning to do it. The question just popped out while they were listening to Christie Gibson's Aerosmith album. Steven Tyler was singing his heart out, telling them both to dream on, when Evelyn instantly felt compelled to ask,

"Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?" Vic said, only half listening to her.

"Dream On" just happened to be one of his favorite songs, but it probably wouldn't be after this conversation. When Vic finally turned, he was shocked to find Evelyn glaring at him. Her eyes were hard, hard and hurt.

"Why'd you disappear like that, Vic?"

If they had been listening to records that day, you might have expected to hear the cringe-inducing sound of a needle scratching against vinyl right about now. Since they weren't, the song just kept playing until Vic got up to turn it off.

"It's complicated," he said. The typical non-answer.

"So simplify it, Vic. Break it down for me. I deserve an explanation, okay, and I'm not leaving without one."

Victor met her stubbornness head-on. "I don't know what you expect me to say. Things changed, Ev. I got sick of hanging around you guys, so what?"

"Oh, don't do that. Don't lie and take the easy way out. That's not fair, Vic, not to me and definitely not to him." Her voice was getting raspy now. She had to stop to clear her throat. "Look, I'm used to it, getting rejected all the time, but Jimmy... he didn't deserve to get iced out like that, not in such a cruel and horrible way. You never even went to go see him. Never, not once. Jimmy was in the hospital for two weeks, and when he came out, he had no friends."

"What are you talking about? He had you!"

"I WASN'T HIS BEST FRIEND, VICTOR!"

Downstairs, while dusting the living room bookshelf, Mrs. Criss stopped and looked up at the ceiling with a worried frown. She went to the staircase and called out: "Everything okay up there?"

By then, Evelyn was doubled over, nearly in tears. "I was just some girl," she said, with no strength at all. "I... I wasn't enough. I tried to pick up the slack when you left, I did, but I just had too much going on. Between school and student council, I didn't notice he was struggling."

"It's not your fault," Vic said. He sounded so removed from the whole thing, and that broke Evelyn's heart even more.

She sucked back some snot, grimacing as it rolled down her throat. "Yeah, I know that, but... I just wish I'd known, you know? I wish he'd said something, before it got that bad. How long had he been dealing with it on his own? It couldn't have been that long, right? We would've noticed if something was... I would've—" She stopped to dry her eyes on her sweater collar. "It just doesn't make any sense. I've read every pamphlet on depression. I know all the telltale signs, and Jimmy didn't have any of them. Was he that good at hiding it?"

Vic's shoulders went up and down. "I don't know, Ev."

That was all he said.

"He's doing better now, in case you were wondering. He likes his new school, has a lot of friends—probably way more than either of us do." She smiled at that. Yeah, she hoped he had tons of friends. "We used to talk on the phone every day. A couple times, I even took the train down to visit him. We kept that up for about a year before we both got too busy, but we still talk occasionally, when we have time. This past summer, his class took a trip to Paris, and he sent me a postcard of the Eiffel Tower. It's hand-drawn, one of my favorites. And then every year I send him one of my class shirts, of course. He always says they're great."

Vic cracked a small smile. "Yeah, well, Jimmy likes to indulge you. Every little whim you had, he catered to them all. I think he was just afraid to say no to you."

"Or maybe he was trying to balance you out," Evelyn said. "I have his number, if you ever wanna give him a call. I know he'd love to hear from you."

Vic's answer was swift and came as no surprise. "I don't really have anything to say."

And that was the end of it.

Evelyn glanced out the window and saw the setting sun. "I should probably go home," she said under her breath. It was getting late, and her mother was probably wondering where she was. So Evelyn said her goodbyes, told Vic she'd see him at school tomorrow, and headed for the door.

That's when Vic suddenly spoke up from his desk: "Isn't there something else you wanna ask me?"

Oh, she could've slapped him. 

Evelyn stopped briefly in the doorway, her temper rising in her chest. "Yeah, there is, actually, but I think I've heard enough of your bullshit for one day."

And she went out. 

______________________

PREV // CURRENT // NEXT

#it fanfiction #henry bowers #henry bowers fanfiction #patrick hockstetter #patrick hockstetter fanfiction #bowers gang #victor criss #belch huggins #the losers club #it chapter one #it chapter two #paper men

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Breaking Down Walls

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Derek Morgan x GN!Reader

Summary: You’ve watched Derek fix up the house next door all by himself for days at a time. He looks upset and exhausted, one day, so you decide to introduce yourself and treat him to lunch. 

(gif source)

This is the fifth time in the last two weeks you’ve seen this man. It’s usually early in the morning or late at night that he’ll appear and start working on the house next door to yours. 

For the years that you’ve been there, that house has been an eyesore to the neighborhood. It’s had a rough history of owners and renters who just can’t seem to maintain the house. 

Then last month, he started appearing. A tall, fit black man who looks some years older than you, hauling construction supplies out of his truck. He was never accompanied by anyone, no construction team in sight. Just him. And you’d hear him working on the house. The crashing of walls and ceilings too loud to ignore in the middle of the night. You’re not a very confrontational person, so you just choose to mutter complaints about the noise to yourself. 

You saw him every once in a while and then, two weeks ago, you started seeing him more and more. From your window, you could see he was tense. There was often a frown on his face and you couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong. 

It isn’t until the fifth time you see him in the past two weeks that you muster up the courage to speak with him. 

You see him sitting on the porch, a water bottle in hand. He looks upset. So you quickly grab the pitcher of lemonade you made earlier that day as well as the slutty brownies you made the night before. With the tray in your hands, you make your careful journey to the house next door. 

The man doesn’t even notice you, as he’s staring at the ground. It isn’t until you clear your throat that he looks up, “Oh. Sorry. Hi.”

You give him a polite smile, “Hi, sorry. I’ve seen you here a lot recently and you looked pretty upset, so I figured I’d bring over some lemonade and baked goods to lighten your mood?” he stares up at you questioningly and you stammer out, “I-I-I mean, if you want. If you don’t that’s okay. I just thought you’d need a pick me up or-or something. I can go, if you want.”

He chuckles at your embarrassed state and shakes his head, “No, no. It’s okay. I was just taken back is all,” he smiles up at you and you swear you’ve never seen a more heartstopping smile. 

He scoots to his left to make room for you, “I don’t have any furniture set up yet so I hope you’re okay with sitting here.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” you set the tray beside him and sit on the other side of it, “I’m Y/N, by the way. I live right next door,” you offer your hand out to him and he shakes it, “I’m Derek. Derek Morgan. So, whatcha got here?”

You grab a class and start to pour the lemonade, “Homemade lemonade made this morning. I grew the lemons myself.” you hand Derek his glass and then gestured to the baked goods, “And these delicious goodies are my slutty brownies!”

He cocks a brow and grins at you, “Slutty brownies?”

You shake your head and hands at him, “Trust me, I didn’t name them! I don’t know who, but that’s what they’re called! They’re part brownie, part cookie, and part oreo.”

Derek gulped half of the lemonade and then picked up a slutty brownie. He chewed it for a few seconds and then moaned, “Holy shit! These are delicious! You made these yourself?!”

“Yup!”

“Damn! Is there a chance I can order some from you? I know the guys at my work would love these.”

You snicker, “Sure.”

He finished the one in his hand, gulped down more lemonade, and then grabbed another brownie, “Consider my spirits lifted.”

“So Derek...”

“Hm?”

“Are you like a one man construction team or something? Ever since you started working on this house,” you gesture to the building, “I never see anyone with you.”

He finished the last of his second brownie, and then downed the rest of the lemonade from his glass, “It’s kind of my thing. I’m an FBI agent and the job can get pretty draining, so I buy houses, fix them up, and then put ‘em on the market. The reconstruction is my way to cope with all the exhaustion from my job.”

You slowly nod your head, “Wow. That’s pretty cool. What do you do at the FBI? Or is that classified information?”

Derek snorts, “Not everything in the FBI is classified.”

“Okay, so what do you do?”

“It’s classified,” he answers with a grin and you roll your eyes while he laughs, “I’m kidding. I’m kidding. I work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The BAU. Been with them for a little over a decade?”

“Wow. What does the BAU do?”

“We help catch serial killers, for the most part. But sometimes law enforcement will ask for our help on a case they can’t seem to solve.”

Your eyes widen with excitement, “That’s awesome! Well, not the serial killer and death part, but the fact that you go around catching some really dangerous people. You’re like a modern day superhero!”

“Thanks. And like I said, it can get pretty draining, but knowing that I’ve taken a lot of bad people off the street is really what makes it all worth it.” 

Rrrrring! Rrrrring!

“Speak of the devil,” he murmurs, pulling out his phone and answering it, “Hey, babygirl....Yeah. Okay, give me about thirty minutes and I’ll be there. Alright. See you soon.” he ends the call and looks at you, “Duty calls,” he stands up and dusts off his jeans, “Hey, thanks again for this Y/N. It really did cheer me up.” He picks up the tray as you stand and hold it out for you. 

You pick up the plate and hand it to him, “For the road.”

“You serious?”

“Yup! Take some for your coworkers.”

“You’re an angel, you know that?” he says with a beaming smile and you just shrug, “No biggie. I guess I’ll see you whenever then.”

“Guess so.”

“See ya!” you take your tray and start to head back to your house, but then you stop, “And Derek?”

“Yeah?” he turns back around to face you.

“Can you maybe not hammer down walls and ceilings in the middle of the night? I need my beauty rest.”

He chuckles and gives you a nod, “Sure. Sorry about that. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

“Good luck on your case!”

“Thanks!”

A week later, you see Derek again. This time, you bring a different dessert.

“Sex in a Pan?! What is with you and these weird dessert names?!”

“I didn’t name it!”

This would turn out to be an often occurrence with you and Derek. He comes to fix up the house, you come by with lemonade and an obscurely named dessert, and you’d chat until he has to get back to construction.

It isn’t until he’s finished with the house a month and a half later that he asks you out to dinner. 

#derek morgan x reader #derek morgan #derek morgan imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Girl Next Door (Part 12) - Fourth of July

Summary: Dean spends some time bonding with Jack and he and the reader share a special fourth of July night with one another...

The Girl Next Door Masterlist

Pairing: Neighbor/Mechanic!Dean x baker!reader

Word Count: 4,000ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Enjoy!…

Reader’s POV

“Hello boys,” you said, smiling as you saw Dean and Jack slip out of Baby next door around lunch the next day. You sipped on your lemonade, taking another bite of your sandwich. “I got more inside made up if you want some.”

“I think I like this having a girlfriend thing,” said Dean as he walked across the grass. “Sammy behaving this morning?”

“Perfect angel,” you laughed, looking to Jack when he hopped up the front step. “You’re off baking duty this afternoon, Jack. Go enjoy the sunny day, have your talk with Cas.”

“Kicking me out?” he asked.

“I think your sister is saying take a ‘me’ day, Jack,” said Dean, climbing over the railing and plopping onto the bench next to you.

“Can I borrow your car?” he asked.

“My car is in a scrap yard, Jack,” you said with a laugh. “Sorry.”

“Mine too,” frowned Sam, carrying out a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade. “Still need to get a new one.”

“Are you wearing an apron?” grinned Dean, already reaching into his pocket for his phone.

“I will go destroy that pie, Y/N, made for you,” he said. Dean narrowed his eyes but leaned back, grabbing a sandwich. “That’s what I thought.”

“Why do you need a car, Jack? Gonna buy a big screen for your room?” asked Dean.

“I got a big screen in the family room,” you said.

“Yeah but-“ said Dean.

“No,” said Jack, taking a seat on the railing, taking a few bites of his meal. “I wanted to go to the art store. Buy a canvas.”

“Here,” you said, popping into the house, coming out with an envelope. “Money for your art supplies.”

“I got it...and that’s a lot Y/N,” he said as he looked inside of it.

“Supplies are expensive and I’m the one that asked you to make something after all,” you said.

“Fine,” said Jack, tucking the envelope in his pocket. “I still need a car though.”

“Alright. I guess we’re going shopping after lunch,” said Dean, sipping on his lemonade.

“I could borrow your-“ said Jack, Dean already shaking his head.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no no, no-“

“I guess you’re driving me then,” said Jack,

“Awesome. Benny and I’ll take you to a buddy of ours sometime soon so you can get your own wheels. He’s got plenty of used cars in good shape, sells to car guys at a discount,” said Dean.

“No,” you said. Dean cocked his head, Jack opening his mouth but you held up a finger. “You’re in a new car, something safe. God knows we need safe cars around here.”

“She’s got a point,” said Sam.

“Alright. We’ll go car shopping soon. Y/N should be getting a new one soon herself,” said Dean. “You sure you two got your baking stuff handled today?”

“Mhm. You boys take the afternoon off. We got this.”

Dean’s POV

“Woah, that’s big,” said Dean, Jack carrying the long canvas he’d picked out around the back of the store. “Whatcha going to do again?”

“Y/N asked me to paint something for the wall by the front door,” said Jack, turning down the paint aisle, leaning the canvas against the shelf while he tossed a few brushes in the basket.

“Cool. What are you going to paint?” he asked.

“Well, a lot of the house is white downstairs. White kitchen, white walls, light colored furniture. I want it to match you know?” said Jack.

“Yeah. It kind of looks like it’s out of some home magazine or something. It all fits together so well,” said Dean.

“I’m pretty sure she had a home designer decorate for her,” said Jack. “One of our parents friends did that sort of thing. We’re from Kansas City so I wasn’t sure why she moved out to Lawrence really or how she even found it. It’s very beautiful inside though, like Sam’s.”

“Yeah but I like that the houses aren’t cookie cutter on the street,” he said, Dean picking up a few bottles of paint. “Don’t let me tell you how to work your craft or anything but I think you should do something colorful.”

“It’ll stand out. I think something muted would be better for the house,” said Jack.

“So you want it to blend in with the rest, not stand out?” asked Dean, cocking his head.

“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m five, Dean. I’m only a few years younger than you, you realize,” he said.

“Alright then, big guy,” said Dean, lifting his chin. “I’ll shut up then.”

Jack rolled his eyes and stared at the paint, Dean crossing his arms while he waited.

“Stop staring at me,” said Jack.

“Well don’t take all day. You got Cas’ soon,” he said.

“She didn’t ask me so I could make some perfect picture for her. She only asked so I would get back into painting, something I used to really enjoy, like Y/N and her baking,” said Jack.

“So why are you so worried about making sure it fits in with the house then? If she asked you to paint so you get some enjoyment, I think you paint what you want, hm?” said Dean.

“...I get why Sam calls you the most annoying older brother in the world,” said Jack.

“Yeah, well. You’re stuck with me, Jack,” said Dean with a smile.

“And if you and my sister ever decided to call things off?” he asked.

“If she does ever come to her senses, and I sincerely hope she doesn’t, we can still be friends. You’ll still have your job, still go to Cas. My relationship with you might have started because of your sister but that don’t mean it has to end there,” said Dean.

“Benny says you always took in the strays,” said Jack.

“He doesn’t understand,” said Dean with a smile. “I love him, but he doesn’t.”

“What doesn’t he understand?”

“I was never friends with the new kids because they needed me, Jack. I was friends with them because I needed them. They didn’t know me. I might as well try to be friends before they changed their mind,” said Dean. Jack stared at him, blinking a few times.

“Would you want to come to therapy with me today?”

“Dean,” said Cas, raising an eyebrow when he walked into his office. He gave Jack a smile, spotting the guest tag on Dean’s shirt. “You’re here as Jack’s guest?”

“Yeah but don’t be shrinking me buddy. I’m just here cause Jack asked,” said Dean.

“Alright,” said Cas, taking a seat in his chair. He flipped open a new page on his notebook, setting it down on the table beside him before he crossed his legs. “So. Jack. To be honest I was expecting Y/N to be your first guest.”

“Yeah,” said Jack, glancing at Dean. “Dean’s uh-”

“Again, we ain’t shrinking me,” said Dean.

“Dean,” said Cas, lifting his chin and closing his eyes. “Jack, perhaps you can better explain the rules and relationship we have in this room versus outside of it, seeing as we are friends outside of it. I think that will help Dean understand what I expect when he’s here, guest or not.”

“Excuse me? You want me to give you a noggie over-”

“You may refer to me as Dr. Novak the reminder of the session, Dean. I think that will help you understand that for the next 58 minutes, we are not friends as you think of us,” he said.

“Alright, angry spice. I got it,” said Dean.

“Cas, Dr. Novak,” said Jack, “...he has a very strict confidentiality rule so he never shares anything in here that’s said with anyone, even if it’s about people he knows. He never brings anything up outside of the room either. We have to be honest and there’s nothing wrong with being honest with how we’re feeling. It helps us grow.”

“Alright. I ain’t drinking the kool aid but alright,” said Dean. Cas gave him a glare but turned back to Jack with a smile.

“Please continue Jack.”

“So like I was saying...Dean made a comment today and it made me think...maybe he’s not the guy I thought he was,” said Jack. Dean turned to his left, Jack ignoring his gaze. “You know, perfect.”

“No one is perfect, Jack,” said Cas. “Including Dean.”

“I know that. Dean just...he takes care of everyone. He does everything. He never complains or gets mad. He knows the right thing to say and...I guess I realized that he’s as scared as everybody else deep down,” said Jack.

“Would you like to respond to that?” asked Cas.

“No thank you, Dr. Novak,” said Dean, looking around the room. Cas snapped his fingers, Dean’s eyes landing back on him.

“I’m going to cheat a little,” said Cas.

“Shocker,” said Dean.

“Dean,” said Cas, leaning forward in his chair. “Jack’s not saying anything I didn’t already know. You have put yourself below others your entire life. I’m not saying you need therapy or to talk about why that is or any of that stuff. I just want to know, knowing all it is that you do about Jack, do you want to say anything back to him about what he just said?”

“I’ll tell you that life is shitty. And hard, Jack,” said Dean, leaning forward in his seat. “And I do all of those things because it makes me valuable, and needed, and I like taking care of my family. I got scars, just like you. You grew up rich, I didn’t, but we’re very similar. You had problems with your folks, I have problems with my folks. You got a little sibling you’d do anything for. I remember at the hospital. I know you snuck off to donate blood. I know you think you’re less than her too, that she’s more important than you. I think you feel like you disappointed her, broke something between the two of you after what happened last year. I know that, Jack.

“I don’t know what happened after that accident back then. I don’t know if you two fought or what but I don’t imagine it was good. I think that cute little thing next door that I love could destroy someone if she wanted to without even thinking twice. I do think she’s capable of it. I think she feels guilty though, like she let you down the past year. I think she was sad about your parents and even worse when she realized the kind of place she left you in to recover. I think she was lonely and you were lonely and you’re both learning it’s okay to trust each other again.

“People aren’t perfect Jack. Most of us are fucked up and we just hide it from everybody. Hell, two months ago my life was on auto-pilot. It wasn’t a bad life but I lived with that shitty feeling all the time. Last night, your sister made me feel like I was this amazing person. She was proud of me and she made me happy, still makes me happy. She’s in love with me and I love her. So you know what you do when shit happens? You pick yourself back up and you keep going, cause someday, someone’s going to walk into your life that’s going to change it. Somebody is going to come in and change it and it’s going to happen again and again and someday you’ll look back and think wow, look at what I got going for me now, look how different things are. I’m still not perfect but it’s not so bad anymore and I’m still learning that I’m important too. You get that, Jack?”

“So I shouldn’t...so when lift gets shitty, I should keep going cause it’ll get better eventually?” asked Jack.

“Sure,” said Dean, leaning back in his seat.

“Well. Okay then,” said Cas with a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about your day so far, Jack?”

“Hey, hold up,” said Cas when Dean and Jack were leaving. “Just you, Dean.”

Dean held a blank face as Jack left the room, rolling his eyes the second the door shut behind him.

“Do not go therapist on me, Cas. Seriously,” said Dean.

“I’m not. I just wanted to say...I really like Y/N,” said Cas. “It takes a special person to get through to you.”

“Okay...you aren’t gonna be weird or anything about the stuff I said in here…”

“About what? You told Jack to keep going and that life can be good. I think that’s pretty good advice,” said Cas.

“You’re not going to try and get me to talk to someone?” said Dean.

“Not unless you ever wanted to. You and Jack have different needs. Yours are being taken care of elsewhere. The fact you haven’t ripped my head off yet tells me it’s not just your relationship with Y/N that’s changing, it’s all of them,” said Cas with a smile. “Your friends are starting to notice you’re happy, Dean.”

“I really hate shrink you,” said Dean with a smile.

“Mhm. Go on. I got another appointment. I’ll see you Thursday at Benny’s for the party?” asked Cas.

“See you, buddy.”

Two Days Later: Reader’s POV

“Dean, I’m glad you enjoyed the pie but I really don’t think I should make you another one so soon. You’ve eaten two in two days,” you said, pressed up against him on your porch swing.

“But it’s so good. When do I get to have one of those Fourth of July cookies?” he asked.

“The second we get to Benny’s place for the party, you can dive in, babe,” you said.

“I am a babe, aren’t I?” he said, pecking a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m still not convinced Y/N isn’t the one without a brain injury,” said Sam. Dean turned behind himself with a scowl, Sam chuckling as he stood up.

“She’s still got a concussion,” said Dean. “Hey, you’re not done with your yoga crap. Get back down there.”

“I’m cutting it short today,” said Sam. “Eileen’s driving me and Avy so we’ll catch you guys at Benny’s?”

“Mhm,” you hummed.

“Avy, let’s go home and cool off for a minute before we head out, okay?” called Sam. She popped her head up from your driveway, ditching her chalk in her bucket and picking it up to bring home.

“See you, Sammy,” said Dean. He stood up from the seat and stretched, walking into the garage where Jack was working. “Painting’s looking good.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I should wash up before we leave.”

“Probably. Never know if there’ll be a cute girl there,” said Dean, flashing Jack a wink.

You heard Jack laugh as he picked up the hose in the driveway, spraying off his hands.

“I’m not quite ready for that yet,” said Jack.

“Benny’s got this cute cousin, Maggie, your age apparently. She’s gonna be there,” you said.

“I don’t need a girlfriend,” he said.

“No. But she’s just moved back to town. Could be a friend,” said Dean. “I’ll be back to pick you two up in thirty.”

“Jack!” you called, standing by the top of the stairs. He appeared at the bottom, half a cookie in his mouth. “Why am I not surprised...can you help me down when you’re done stealing cookies?”

“So you aren’t going to sneak down the stairs like you did this morning?” he laughed. He hopped up the steps, throwing an arm under your shoulder and got you down quickly. “Leg feeling any better?”

“Yeah. The skin is forming together some. Lacerations were always cool to me in school. One time I got to stitch up a guy that had a stabbed himself with a Bowie knife. It was all curvy and...” you said, Jack blinking at you. “I didn’t hate every aspect of med school, just most.”

“You always did like operation when we were little,” he said, looking you up and down, the cut on your cheek and your bruises faded away now. “Your face looks less revolting than normal at least.”

“Thanks, dick,” you laughed. You slipped on a pair of flip flops, Jack smiling when you grabbed your bag off the front table. “What?”

“You look nice, Y/N,” he said.

“So do you,” you said, fixing a piece of his hair. “You always looked good in light blue mom said.”

“I never heard her say that,” he said.

“She said it to me plenty. It’s very true,” you said. “Goes with your hair.”

“I miss them sometimes,” said Jack. “They weren’t great but they were still ours.”

“I do too,” you said, rubbing your hand down his arm. “But then I remember how tense life used to be. Everything. All the time. It was like everyone was pretending we were one big happy family all the time when we weren’t.”

“Tense...that’s a good word for it,” he said.

“Still feel that way?”

“No, not really. Still learning that this is what normal feels like I suppose,” he said.

“I’ve been thinking...you don’t need a curfew Jack. You’re older than me. If you’re gonna be out late or stay over somewhere, just text me and say you won’t be home. Deal?” you asked.

“I can agree to that,” he said, glancing behind you. You heard Dean whistle, popping inside and picking up a platter of cookies off the table.

“One of these is missing,” said Dean, raising an eyebrow at you. “Trust me. I know. I counted.”

“Oh my god, just take one,” you laughed. Dean shoved a cookie in his mouth and another, humming as he carried the rest out the door.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that Benny lives out here near the lake,” you said, walking off a burger and all the other party food you’d spent the afternoon and evening gorging on.

“It’s pretty nice,” said Dean, holding your hand, slowly keeping pace with you. “Let’s let you rest your leg for a minute.”

He turned right and popped onto an old dock, taking a seat along the edge with you, your legs dangling off the side.

“This may or may not be a pretty good spot for watching fireworks,” said Dean. “Not that I would know of course.”

“You take all the girls out here?” you teased.

“No. Not at all. I might actually be kicked out of the club for bringing you here. Club members only,” he said.

“Well how does one become a club member?” you asked, leaning over, brushing your lips over his.

“Well ordinarily you gotta jump over the barrel in the woods back there but I think given your current situation, a kiss would be more than enough,” he said.

“You win this one,” you said, pecking him on the lips. “So what kind of club did I just join?”

“The one three idiots and their baby brother made up in fifth grade,” said Dean. “Benny’s folks live in the neighborhood, you met ‘em earlier. Well, Benny convinced his parents to let me and Cas and even Sammy sleep over that Fourth of July. Our parents were going at it so I think Benny knew I didn’t want to leave Sam home alone that night. So us four idiots snuck out when his parents told us not to and we came to the lake cause the real good fireworks are so close and we got this great view of them from this dock, right here. It was awesome. We all got reemed out a new one when we snuck back in but it was worth it.”

“I see. So I’m the first girl to ever come out here?” you asked. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“With me, yeah. But my boys...I think Cas had his first make out session out here and Benny got to second base somewhere around the lake. He brought a blanket even. Very classy,” he said with a laugh.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little makeout session,” you said. “I mean, I don’t even get a blanket.”

“I took you here to watch fireworks, dork,” he said, throwing his arm over your shoulder. “And a little kissing.”

“That’s my boy,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“You’re a special girl, Y/N. Special to me,” said Dean, smiling softly at you. “I want to do that stuff. You got no idea how attractive you are. But I need a little more time for me first. Sex turned into this bad thing for me. I know you don’t think I’m a piece of meat but I got to convince myself of that first.”

“Dean,” you said. “I’m only teasing. I don’t have the most experience but...I don't want to do it until we’re both ready.”

He smiled and nodded his head, pressing his lips to your temple for a long moment.

“Thank you for being understanding,” he said.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” you said. “I do find you very attractive, Dean. I’ll even admit to purposefully watching you wash Baby in your driveway. You are freaking handsome and hot and your body makes my brain forget how to function at times. You’re attractive, don’t get me wrong...but that’s not what attracts me to you, if you get that.”

“I get that,” he said quietly. “Took the words out of my mouth. I mean...you’re a pretty girl. A beautiful girl. But you aren’t beautiful because of what’s out here. You are but you aren’t. The stuff you can’t see is what makes you beautiful. If you get that.”

“I get that,” you said. “You’re like a hallmark card, but I get it.”

“Not even gonna ask what makes me think that?” he asked, brushing his knuckles over your cheek.

“Maybe someday. Not tonight,” you said, scooting closer to him. “I got a feeling I wouldn’t believe you anyways.”

“S’okay. I’ll believe enough for the both of us,” he said. You wanted to roll your eyes but he turned your head just so in his direction, bright eyes looking back, a loud few pops in the air going off, the sky lighting up in your peripheral. “Fireworks started.”

“Okay,” you said, neither one of you turning away.

“Okay,” he said, another one going off, a smirk tugging onto his lips.

“You know...I could get used to these little dates,” you said.

“You asking me out, Y/L/N?” he asked, moving forward a few inches.

“For sure. Tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be there,” he said, closing the gap, kissing you with a hum. “Always taste like sugar.”

“You still like it?”

“I still like it, sweetheart.”

A/N: Read the Final Part here!

#spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean fanfiction #au #mechanic!dean #spn reader insert #fluff

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The hand That Reaches for God, Chapter 3

***Sometimes staying away is the easiest move. Keeping a safe distance, especially for Emerson and Dean Winchester. So, when the Maklen twins come home again, they don’t anticipate the feelings that Emerson will get having to see him again. When tragedy strikes, the Winchester brothers and the Maklen twins are forced to face, not only their feelings, but each other. In a story about pain, family, abandonment, and desire, the couples have to decide if survival, without love, is enough.***

Warnings: Angst, language, illness, mutual pinning

Chapter Three

“Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.” - Emily Dickinson

-8 Hours After-

The rain had stopped sometime during the night, leaving the boat oddly quiet. It barely rocked with the movement of the sea, and if there was any commotion outside, the group didn’t hear it. Sam and Pheli were still asleep, curled together like a fist protesting god. Emerson’s head was on Deans lap, and his fingers were in her hair. He fell asleep absentmindedly stroking her blonde hair. They kept finding themselves like that, unknowingly stuck in an intimate gesture.  

Dean woke with a start. His eyes trailed down to Emerson sleeping in his lap and he smiled a little at her. She was less of a pain in the ass when she was sleeping. She almost seemed peaceful. He snorted, because he knew better. There was no peaceful bone in her body.

He turned a bit, the circle window on the door was letting the morning sunshine into the stairwell. He squinted, and considered the possibility that everything that happened the night before was a really bad dream. It wouldn’t be the first time, after he came back from Afghanistan he had constant nightmares. Sometimes he just didn’t sleep at all.

Emerson looked up at him with a sleepy expression, her eyes still heavy from the night. “You okay?”

Dean shrugged in response. “Yet to be determined. Let’s check out the deck.”

“Okay.” She sat up and stretched, her elbows popping in response. She was sore from sleeping on the stairs, but she knew that she was lucky for being able to get any sleep, no matter how terrible it was.

The two stood up and Dean slowly opened the door. The sun spilled over them, surrounding them in an almost holy light. Emerson covered her eyes to block out the bright sunlight. Maybe it was from laying in the dark cabin for so long, but the sun seemed brighter and harsher than it had the day before. The deck was covered in standing blood red water, which had yet to be evaporated by the suns blinding rays.

Dean crouched down and touched the water with his index finger. “It’s not hot anymore.” He said cautiously, before stepping out onto the deck.

Emerson followed behind him. “God, does the sun feel brighter to you?”

“Yeah, actually.” Dean squinted. “Wasn’t even this hot in Afghanistan, and fuck that’s sayin somethin.”

Emerson pressed her lips together. Dean never talked about his time in the military, not even to Sam. She turned her body toward the shore and squinted. Black plumes of smoke danced toward the sky. The world was on fire. The ocean looked like it was bleeding from the rain, everything was red as far as her eyes could see, and when they reached the shore… everything was ash and fires. The world was hazy from all of the smoke, it was like the smoke was behind her eyes, in her nose, her lungs. She gasped. It was too much. Her mother was over there, helpless. She couldn’t reach her. Emerson didn’t realize how close she was to passing out until Dean grabbed ahold of her arms. “Hey, I’ve got you.”

Her head rolled to the side, resting on Dean’s chest. “Dean.”

“There’s something in the air.” He said, confirming her thoughts. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her back into the safety of the space below deck.

“Em?” Pheli called sleepily from below deck, before a little more urgently. “Emerson?”

“We’re over here.” Dean said, as he helped the half-conscious Emerson down the stairs.

“What happened?” Ophelia sat up on her knees on the bed in alarm. Her usually perfect hair was sticking out on one side, and flattened on the side that was snuggled against Sam.

“Dean?” Sam asked, his eyes mirroring his girlfriends.

“She’s okay.” He said through clenched teeth. He laid her down. “Right, Em?” He leaned over her, pressing two fingers to the pulse point on her throat.

“I feel a lot better now that I’m inside.” She agreed weakly. “What the fuck was that?”

“There’s something in the air.” Dean said quietly.

“Why weren’t you effected?” She asked, trying to sit up.

“Hey, cool it.” He pressed a hand to her chest, urging her to lay back down. “I was effected.” He said quietly. “Just assuming it takes more for me since I’m bigger than you.” He pushed her hair behind her ear. “So just relax.”

“What do you mean there’s something in the air?” Pheli asked, moving to Emerson’s side. She took her sisters head and rested it in her lap. “Like poison?”

“Or a toxin, from the bomb.”

“So what now?” Sam asked. “We obviously can’t go outside.

“It may not matter. We are still breathing the same air.” His eyes flickered to Emerson’s.  “Last night it rained blood red, hot rain, and I’m talking Mom’s dishes water hot.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.” Dean admitted. “I really don’t.”

Pheli grabbed Emerson’s hand. “What are we going to do?”

“I think we have to go outside.” Emerson said, sitting up. “We are sitting ducks in here.” Her throat was a little raw and she cleared it a few times.

“How? Look at you, Em! You were barely outside.” Pheli’s voice was small, and weak.

“Hey.” Emerson smiled, touching her sister’s cheek. “We will figure it out. Right Dean?” Her eyes flickered to the older brother. She wasn’t sure what moment they became partners, but it was clear that they had.

“Yeah.” He offered a weak smile. “Of course we will.” He met Sam’s eyes. His younger brother didn’t look too convinced. Dean made a mental note to reconvene with Sam once they had the girls secured. He didn’t plan on this being a permanent set up.

“Maybe we just need some kind of filter to protect us from the air?” Sam offered. “Like a gas mask?”

“That could work.” Dean admitted.

“I don’t think we have gas masks in a sail boat.” Pheli said weakly. She looked afraid, and she brought her finger to her mouth and bit on the skin around her nail.

“No.” Emerson said, looking around. “But we may have surgical masks in the first aid kit.”

“It won’t work as well, but fuck, Em. You may be a genius.” Dean grinned at her.

She shrugged in response, before hopping up to help him look for the first aid kit. “Bingo.” She said, pulling the white box out from under the bed. She opened it up and pulled out a plastic bag full of surgical masks. “What about hats? The sun was so hot. We will sunburn really quickly.”

Dean got up and opened the closet door and rifled through it before pulling out some clothes. He tossed a pair of rain jackets at the girls. “Ready to forge forward?” He grinned widely.

“May as well.” Emerson said, slipping into the jacket, and taking her sisters hand. “Don’t worry.” She murmured. “We got this.”

-7 Years Before-

Ophelia sat with her legs crisscrossed on the porch swing on the front porch of her house. It rocking gently back and forth as she stared intently at the book in her hands for school. Out of the two Maklen sisters, Pheli was not the most studious. It took her twice as long to finish things as it did for Emerson, her head was always in the clouds. She was reading Jane Eyre for class, and while it should be entertaining for her, being the romantic she was, all it was doing was causing her head to spin out of control. She was imagining her own Mr Rochester.

She folded the corner of her page down to mark her place when she noticed Sam Winchester slowly approaching, with his hands in his pockets. He was the short, scrawny boy who lived next door to her her whole life. He seemed really shy, and despite being her neighbor, he had barely spoken to her. “Hey.” She said, cautiously.

“Oh, uh, hi.” His face was bright red and Pheli grinned in response. Even at age fourteen she was a bit of a narcissist.

“Can I help you?” She asked, batting her eyelashes.

“I was...no.. that’s okay.” Sam turned on his heels to leave and Pheli quickly stood up.

“Do you want some lemonade? Mom made some. She has cookies too.”

“Sure.” Sam pushed his hair behind his ears. It was shaggy. He looked at her from the bottom step of her porch, his dimples popping up on his cheeks.

“Come on.” She gestured for him to step inside. “I hope you like cinnamon sugar cookies.”

“I do.” He smiled even wider. “It’s cool that your mom bakes, mine can’t cook at all.” He laughed dryly. “She buys them from the store and pretends she baked them.”

“My mom can’t cook either, but she can bake.” Pheli said handing him the plate of cookies. She went to the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade. “Ice?”

“Okay.” He reached forward and took a big bite of cookie. “Holy crap, thats delicious.”

Pheli grinned proudly, and handed him the glass of lemonade. “Here.”

“Thank you.”

She leaned on the counter across from him and took a bite of her own cookie. “Emerson said I’m going to get fat if I eat too many of these.”

“Is that your sister? I’ve seen her around.”

“Yeah.” Pheli chewed, and eyed him suspiciously. “You’ve seen her around?”

“Mmhm.” He mumbled, before swallowing his bite of cookie. “Outside, around school.” He shrugged. “I have her in biology.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” Pheli asked suddenly, before covering her mouth with her hands. What the hell is wrong with you?!

“What?! No!”

She wished she could curl into herself and disappear. She’d seen Sam around, too, and his older brother. “Just making sure... because... uh... I think she likes your brother and that’d be weird.” Pheli said. It came out like word vomit, she didn’t mean to say it, and her sister would kill her if she found out. They’d never talked much about the boys next door, let alone liked either of them. So why was Pheli being so dramatic? Why was her stomach flipping now that she was in the same room as the younger Winchester?

“She does?” Sam asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Yeah. He’s all mysterious. She eats that stuff up.”

“Huh.”

“But don’t tell him! She will be so mad at me!”

“Right, I won’t.” Sam promised. He reached for another cookie, but the plate was empty. They’d eaten the entire thing while they were talking. “Wow, I see what you mean. These things are addicting.” He grabbed a crumb off the plate and stuck it to his tongue.

“That’s an understatement.” Pheli laughed nervously, biting at her cuticle.

“You were reading when I walked up. What book was it?”

“Jane Eyre. It’s for class.” Pheli took a sip of her lemonade. It was a little too sour, and her nose wrinkled in response. “Why did you walk up?”

“I...” Sams cheeks turned even more red. “I’ve been trying to get the nerve to talk to you for awhile.”

“Really?” She squeaked.

“Yeah.” He laughed, taking a sip of his own lemonade just to have something to do with his hands. “Wow, that’s really sour!”

Ophelia busted into a fit of giggles, covering her mouth. “Yeah, it is really bad!”

Sam laughed in response. Every time they would slow down they’d meet eyes and roll into another fit, until they were both holding their stomachs and begging the other to stop.

“Told you she was terrible at everything other than baked goods.” Pheli said breathlessly.

“You weren’t wrong.” Sam agreed, wiping the tears away from his eyes.

She grabbed both glasses and dumped them down the sink. “Why... why were you afraid to talk to me?”

“You’re intimidating, Ophelia.”

“You can call me Pheli.”

“Okay.” Sam said, softly. His eyes were glued to his lap.

“I’m not.”

“Not what?” His eyes flickered up to hers.

“Intimidating.”

He laughed lightly. “Yeah, you are.”

“You can talk to me any time you want, Sam.”

“It isn’t just talking... I actually had something to ask you.” He let out a breath.

“Okay. What is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s probably stupid, forget it.”

“Just ask, sam.”

“I... ugh, fine okay.” He looked like he was going to pass out before he quietly mumbled, “Will you go to homecoming with me?”

A grin grew on Opehlia’s face. It almost hurt to smile that widely, but when he met her deep brown eyes he saw the night sky in them. They sparkled like they were full of stars. “Yes! You cute little idiot. I’d love to!”

****

“Was that Sam Winchester in our house earlier?”

“You saw that?” Pheli asked, from her bed. She had her book light on, trying to catch up on her reading before her due date the next day, but in reality she was day dreaming out homecoming.

“Yeah.” She laughed. “I was coming downstairs for a drink, and I figured I should leave you two alone.” She shrugged, rolling over onto her side on the bed so she could get a better look at her sister in the darkness.

“He asked me to homecoming.”

“What?” Emerson sat up. “Really? Have you ever even talked to him before?”

“No.” She laughed. “Not really... but he’s cute, Em. Really cute.”

“I guess.” Emerson laughed quietly and rolled her eyes.

“What if he is my Mr Rochester?”

“That book is kind of dysfunctional, Phel.”

“I think it’s romantic.” She cooed in response. “He could be my Romeo. We could be soulmates.”

“Phel, they both died. That’s not really romantic... it’s tragic.”

Ophelia shrugged in response. “He has a brother, you know. It’s always been my dream for us to marry brothers. We could have a double wedding!” She sat up with a wide grin. “You have to take Dean Winchester to homecoming.”

“I would rather eat Mom’s pot roast than take Dean Winchester to homecoming.” Emerson said flatly. “He wears too much Axe, and I’m pretty sure he smokes. No way.” She flipped over to face the wall to go to sleep. “I will never like Dean Winchester, so you may as well let go of that dream now, Phel, before you get too disappointed.”

-8 Hours After-

The group looked ridiculous in their boat hats, rain jackets, and surgical masks. Dean went up on deck with Sam to sail back to the mainland, leaving the Maklen sisters below deck.

“I can’t believe this.” Pheli said, plopping on the bed, with her face in her hands.

“We will figure it out. We have each other, that’s all we’ve ever needed.” Emerson said, resting her hand on her sisters shoulder.

“I need a distraction, or I’m going to start crying.” She sucked in her breath before her eyes flickered to her sisters. A perfect reflection of herself. “What was going on with you two on deck last night? Before everything happened. It looked intense.”

“It... it was a little intense.” Emerson admitted, leaning against the wall. “He is a little intense.”

“What were you talking about?” Pheli asked, quietly, glancing at her sister.

Emerson looked far off, as if she could see through the walls of their tiny cabin. “The sky.”

“The sky?”

“Yeah.” She glanced down at the tiny blisters on her palm, before curling it back into itself. She wasn’t much of a talker. She wasn’t a romantic, like her sister. She didn’t watch the stars, or find shapes in the clouds. She didn’t dream about a boy who would sweep her off her feet and change everything. She didn’t believe anyone had that power, and if anyone could, it was God, and he’d obviously left the building.

—————

Chapter Four

Get caught up!

#fanficiton #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn #writing #mine #apocalypse #apocalypse!AU #Dean winchester #sam winchester #deanxofc #samxofc #mutual pining #dark #violence #love #otp #slow burn

[foodtheywrote]

food+drink from IT’S NOT ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE by Terry McMillan

(these are all Kindle highlights. please let me know in the comments if you have other mentions of food and/ or drink in this book.)

1. buffet of fried chicken, BBQ ribs, baked beans, au gratin potatoes, some kind of salad, collard greens, and cornbread.

2. chocolate cake

3. angel hair pasta with prawns, some garlic bread, and a good salad

4. We could have some raspberry sorbet and not too many glasses of wine so that we still have energy...

5. glass of water with a slice of cucumber resting between tiny ice cubes.

6. ...a large plate of figs, squares of dark and white chocolate, green grapes, and four or five different types of cheese. Beige crackers are spread out like cards on a blackjack table.

7. ...all kinds of casseroles and bowls of fried chicken and a honey-baked ham and macaroni and cheese on the table, and all four burners had pots with steam bursting out of the tops of them. I saw squares of yellow cornbread and collard greens and sweet potatoes in chafing dishes.

8. ...two glass pitchers of lemonade and iced tea.

9. We both laughed, and I remember throwing a piece of French bread at him and missing. B. B. King—who still was very quick at the time—grabbed it in his mouth and took off. Carl was lucky I didn’t grab a handful of my delicious spaghetti and meatballs, or he’d have been covered in it!

10. ...candied yam.

11. ... fried chicken and collard greens. Lucky also had macaroni and cheese, which I passed on.

12. She then bit off a big piece of honey cornbread. “Neither one of us should even be in here,” I said as I looked down at my plate. The chicken was fried. I could see the ham in the collard greens. The candied yams had brown sugar and butter oozing out of them. And then there was my beautiful cornbread. Did I really need to eat all this?

13. ...double cheeseburger, some soft fries, a diet Coke, and three farewell Twizzlers.

14. “I made lasagna and a salad and as you can see, French bread and steamed asparagus.”

15. When I went to put my registration back inside the glove compartment, staring at me was a brand-new package of Twizzlers.

16. “I’ll have the pizza with ground beef, but with no beans, no sour cream, and no avocado.” “Anything else?” “I would like to try the fried ice cream.” “To drink?” “I’ll have a virgin margarita.” “What kind, sir?” “A normal one.” I winked at her, so she knew I wanted my regular: combination chicken tacos and chicken enchiladas with sour cream. All the combos come with beans and rice and I almost always end up taking something home. I ate guacamole and chips and Kwame drank what was really just lemonade...

17.  I grabbed the tasteless granola, some raspberries, and low-fat milk...

18.  ...string beans and that stuff with the scrambled eggs in it again?”

19. ...pot stickers and various types of chow fun

20. ...the white boxes that we knew were pot stickers and brown and white rice, and the fortune cookies, at least ten of them.

21. But I ordered a low-fat mocha latte with no sugar instead.

22.  I just made a strong pot of Peet’s Sumatra and I baked a delicious apple pie for Joe.

23.  I could hardly eat the stroganoff, which was terrible, and also because I had snuck a hamburger (not cheeseburger) with small fries before I came over...

24. “I got lasagna and sourdough bread, and a Caesar salad and asparagus for you...

25. Kwame lifted the wide lasagna noodles and let them fall back on top of the red meat sauce. Then he pulled on the cheese to form a string...

26. ...from about eight different salads, we chose four and a bowl of chunky homemade vegetable soup.

27.  ...red miso short ribs, Thai chicken meatballs, and shredded jerk chicken floating in thick golden sauce...

28. We had to order the seasoned rice and bread. At checkout, we decided to get the salad and soup to go and bought two of those little round macaroon cookies that come from France. I ordered watermelon mint lemonade...

29. ....finest halibut for you along with baked sweet potatoes and a salad and brown rice.

30. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a drumstick and a wing on hand for a late-night snack.

31. ...last two kosher hot dogs and a few French fries and a half hour later, I scraped the vanilla out of the ice cream sandwich and put it on a saucer...

32. ...sweet potato pies, peach cobbler, bread pudding, and apple pies—

33. ...I sliced apples. I opened ten cans of peaches. I boiled sweet potatoes and mashed them with cinnamon, nutmeg, sugar, eggs, vanilla flavor, and a drop of bourbon. I made bread pudding that was so fluffy it almost floated out of the little baking dishes I bought. The peach juice boiled onto the aluminum foil I knew to put under the cobbler because it happens every year.

34. lobster tails with butter and baked potatoes with chives, sour cream, and butter and a salad and sourdough bread

35.  I did not want to go out for cake and ice cream.

36. I was overdue for a cheeseburger and fries. I had been good. I could count how many I’d had since I got back from Las Vegas, which was almost two months ago: five. I could also count how many times I went to Carol’s and had their French toast with bacon: three.

37. ...once she had it, she would have to pretend fried chicken and candied yams and honey cornbread would kill her.

38. “Yes, I would like to have a double cheeseburger with a purple onion and a small order of fries.” “What kind of cheese would you like on that burger?” the voice said. “Cheddar. Oh, and can you also put pickles on it?” “You got it. Any of our delicious desserts strike your eye? Our apple pie is killer and our ice cream sundaes are made with the best chocolate syrup. And there’s a new flavor of ice cream to choose: strawberry cheesecake.”

39. ...two thick pieces of French toast with butter, drenched with maple syrup, two strips of bacon, a glass of orange juice, and a cup of coffee. With two packets of Splenda.

40. We’re having marinated rib-eyes, steamed brown rice, no bread, a salad with oil and vinegar, and sparkling water for me and Loretha, right, Lo?”

41.  “And for dessert?” Sadie asked suspiciously. “Fruit salad. Take it or leave it.”

42. ...bought a slice of pepperoni pizza, a salad, a Diet Coke, and a chocolate chip cookie.

43. ...cottage cheese, scrambled eggs, a small piece of chicken breast, and a peach that she was already cutting.

44. I took a long sip of my detoxifying apple-cucumber-celery-spinach-cranberry-pomegranate drink, and then stared at my steel-cut oatmeal with no raisins and definitely no brown sugar.

45. ...that Hawaiian French toast with the rum-battered Kona-coffee whipped cream and pineapple marmalade

46. I ate an apple. And half of a whole wheat English muffin that I toasted and spread this stuff called ghee that Jonas told me to buy instead of butter. It tasted like butter but better. I wanted a glass of orange juice so bad

47. ...chocolate chip cookie or a juicy cheeseburger with fries and a vanilla shake.

48. ...did not put any sugar in my coffee but I did put in cream. I was starting to get used to it. And instead of eating French toast or pancakes topped with bananas and hot syrup or waffles with hot syrup or eggs and bacon with hash browns and toast with butter and jelly, I had plain yogurt with berries and whole wheat toast.

49. ...salad with a thousand different vegetables and cooked prawns and then chunks of chicken and oil and vinegar dressing. I did eat a breadstick.

50. ...baked chicken. Brown rice. A salad. Steamed vegetables. I passed on the sourdough bread and butter.

51. Jonas has made an amazing tofu stir-fry if you’d like to have dinner with us.” “No thanks.” “It’s also got ginger, carrots, string beans, and garlic, and a little soy sauce. You won’t even know it’s good for you.”

52. ...chipotle grilled pork tenderloin with strawberry-avocado salsa. And this is spicy brown rice. That’s spinach and onion couscous. Those are salmon fishcakes. And the salad is spinach, feta, and goat cheese.

53. ...triangle turkey sandwich...

54. ...eat the savory teriyaki beef I ordered along with a cup of hot water and lemon

55.  purple sweet potato, almond milk, and ginger smoothies

#e-book #library book #It's Not All Downhill From Here by Terry McMillan #Terry McMillan #Food in Books #Drinks in Books #Food and Drink