Friday, June 26, 2009
A/N: written for an AU prompt.
Warnings: language, if you have a thing against F-bombs; general crackiness, obviously.
Disclaimer: own everything, except the pix. (http://www.flickr.com/photos/14735632@N07/2531618778/)
She is unburdened by an intense need to be liked and with enough provocation, makes every sorry sound like fuck off and die. A baker with a tattoo of a dragonfly on her left hip, she’s friends with people, who never resent her for lacking sense and in some cases, a conscience.
She listens to a lot of Anti-Folk and Dream-Pop. She’s convinced her cupcakes would taste like moldy toenails if she didn’t have The Last Time I Did Acid I Went Insane playing in the background while she bakes. She tells everyone her cookies aren’t exceptional, but her L'Opera gateaus are from Satan’s pâtisserie. Secretly, she loves Martha Stewart. Julia Child, not so much.
Of the people in her life, she’s closest to Zach, a reformed bad boy, who oozes charm like a maple tree bleeds sap. Tall, articulate and a bit of a sex fiend, the guy is not called Commander Sexypants for nothing. They’re planning to get married soon, but with a bun already in the oven, maybe it would be sooner.
Today, she’s thinking how her dog, an Irish Wolfhound/Airedale Terrier named Spock, would take to the baby. As it is, Spock doesn’t even like the Commander that much. She wonders if she would be happy in her new home, a duplex with four bedrooms. She knows that with the money she and Zach spent on the house, it would be sometime before she can open her own bakery. In a few hours, she would force herself to stop worrying about these things. But she still goes to bed dreaming of mansions and muffins.