Hey guys, I’m terribly sorry for the lack of updates lately! I’m moving out of my hometown and everything is a mess, so instead of new art have two old sketches that I posted on twitter and then forgot about lmao
He’s mapped out every freckle on her skin, the distances and
angles between them as familiar to him as the constellations are to an
astronomer. The soft dip between her shoulder blades holds a tiny mole, almost
microscopic. It’s something she hates: she feels like it ruins the plane of her
back, that it stands out and draws attention. But he loves it. To him, it’s the
sun the rest of her freckles revolve around.
The first time he kisses it, mouth closing over the skin in
quiet adoration, she lets out a low gasp and tilts her head backwards. His
hands slip lower down her waist, thumbs tucking into the top of her jeans, the
tips of his fingers resting over her hip bones. With her back pressed into his
chest and his arms containing her, Jughead feels like he could define her very
shape at that moment.
Betty twists herself around so that she’s facing him. Her
eyes are full of unspoken things and he slowly intertwines their palms and
lowers her so that she’s lying on her back, surrounded by her fluffy pillows.
“My mom will be home soon,” Betty whispers as Jughead leans
in to kiss the spot just under her ear.
“I know,” he replies, catching her lips with his and kissing
her so gently she feels like her soul might break. When he pulls away, his eyes
are so sincere, her heart feels full. She raises a hand to his face and traces
his cheekbones with a fingertip.
“Juggie –“ she starts, her breath catching with the weight
of what she’s about to say. It’s not like she’s never said it before. She has. To
Archie. To Veronica. To her parents. Even to Polly. But this time it’s
different, this time it means more than it ever has.
“Juggie, I love you.”
Jughead’s face breaks into a smile so genuine and happy that
she can’t help but pull him in for another kiss.
“I love you too, Betts,” he breathes against her mouth,
repeating it with each kiss he trails down her neck while she tries to stop
herself from smiling madly by biting down on her lip.
And at that moment, in the waning afternoon sun lighting up the
soft waves of Jughead’s hair and his safe presence enveloping her, Betty knew
that she’d found something she never wanted to lose.
“Cooking is at once child’s play and adult joy. And cooking done with care is an act of love.” ― Craig Claiborne
Nalu | Chef/RivalsToLovers AU part 1/? words: 1475 rated: M read: all
I can’t even believe it myself, but I am… back?! And it feels great. :’) I know I haven’t written in ages but I hope you haven’t forgotten me entirely my pals my buddies my frends… and this time around I’m writing about one of the great loves of my life: food. ;) Well, maybe not only about food. But there will be food. Yum.
Cooking, despite what some might try to tell you, is an art.
It is art, and it is magic. There is art in an idea, in the careful execution, in the swirls and patterns of thoughtful arrangement on a simple plate. There is magic in old, scribbled recipes that endure time, in the love you pour into your creations, in that first bite. It is in the smiles of the people who taste your food, in the way they come to know you without ever having met you, because you took a part of your soul and held it to their lips.
The art of cooking—
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
Resisting the urge to hurl her pen against the next wall, Lucy Heartfilia leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Maybe this was why she had not become a food critic in the end. As much as she loved writing, it did not come easy to her. It was hard. What she could do, however – what she had taught herself to do with passion and endurance – was to create dishes that spoke for her. Or at least she hoped that was what she did. Some days, she didn’t know anymore.
Maybe this wasn’t the best time in her life to be writing an article for a renowned food magazine, when she wasn’t even sure if she deserved to be in it. With a heavy sigh, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and tried to focus on the task at hand.
But she did not finish it that night, or the night after.
“Chef, appetizer for table six is ready to go.”
“Thanks, Cana. Gajeel, ready to go on the main?”
“Cana, send it out. Gajeel, start in five. I want this energy to continue, alright team?”
Lucy was in her element. She was in control. Everything happening was happening as it should; the magic (as she liked to call it) was flowing splendidly tonight. Yesterday’s doubts were still in the back of her mind, the anxiety over that new restaurant across the street a thorn in her side, but for tonight she pushed it all away. This year, she reassured herself, would be the year she would finally earn her first michelin star.
There was no one who could do it like Lucy Heartfilia. No restaurant that could rival The Fairy’s Tail, not in this street or this city or the entire fucking country. She had to believe this.
“Chef. Chef! Lucy!”
Blinking away her stupor, Lucy gave a start. She found herself confronted with the stern face of her head waitress, Aquarius. She swallowed. The scowl on her face bode nothing well.
“The guest at table seven asked to speak to you.”
All that Lucy heard in her tone and bearing was ‘What did you do wrong now, silly girl?’ but she merely nodded and skidded away from the woman’s likely wrath. Lucy might be her boss, but god, could Aquarius still be scary after all these years.
Scary, too, was the prospect of meeting that guest. It didn’t help that Aquarius had not hinted at the nature of the request. Would she be met with a complaint or a compliment?
Pondering this simple yet nerve-wrecking question, she made her way through the kitchen doors and out into the dining area, into her restaurant. For Lucy, it was the kitchen which felt most like home: this was where she lived as much as she worked. But here, amidst neatly decked tables and careful arrangements, amidst the sound of conversation, softly clinking cutlery and low laughter, here was where the soul of her restaurant lay. It felt good to remember that from time to time. Here, what she did felt easy and joyful and right. The blood, sweat and tears that had brought her to this point lay behind her, forgotten easily in the face of what her work could accomplish. Steaming plates, inviting dishes, colourful details… it all looked so simple, despite the hours of thought so many people had put into it. Her food brought people together; it made them smile.
And that was all she had ever wanted, in a way.
The table she was headed for was one of the small ones close to the wall, with the soft emerald cushions. There was only one person sitting there, comfortably lodged between table and wall, looking entirely at peace with the world. Some of the tension dropped off Lucy’s shoulders. His eyes moved and caught her approaching, and the smile that spread across his face lit up his eyes in a way that was, she found, entirely pleasant. A very good, content smile.
Her initial impression, however, was quickly redacted when she arrived at the table and he opened his mouth.
Top Tip: take notes when you’re reading about astrology, don’t trust your memory. It really helps when it comes to readings later on for charts that you don’t commonly use or practise like Solar Return/Synastry.