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peopleandrhythm · 7 years ago

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Deleted Scene: “What a Wicked Thing”

Characters: Hope Mikaelson, River Monroe Time: Approximately one year before 1x01 Location: Tallahassee, Florida

Dressed in an old pair of jeans and a brand new, stiff T-shirt—bright red with a slice of pizza on the breast pocket—Hope approaches her new workplace, her ponytail slipped through her black baseball cap. Her car is lost in the sprawling parking lot of the strip mall, where the pizzeria is wedged between a pool supply store and an abandoned K-Mart. She takes a deep breath as she walks up to the glass door, lets it go, and enters.

The restaurant is small, with room enough only for six tables and a short counter. There’s a cutout in the wall behind the counter, and a slice of pepperoni pizza sits on the ledge. The place is a ghost town, save for the tall, reedy person standing behind the counter. Hope watches as they pull a circle of pepperoni off of the slice and pop it into their mouth. Their eyes widen as they realize they’re being watched. “Oh shit!” They swallow quickly. “Hey, welcome to—” They notice her shirt, and drop their overly-friendly tone. “Oh, you’re the new girl.” They turn, lean through the window into the kitchen, and yell, “YO RIVER! NEW GIRL!”

The person steps out from behind the counter, revealing a shirt covered in flour, throws up a peace sign to a startled Hope, and disappears through a swinging door. The door immediately swings back, and a young girl with light brown skin and long, curly hair enters, smiling. “Hey! Sorry about that.” She walks up to Hope, who’s still hovering by the door, and extends her hand. “I’m River.”

Hope stares for a moment, mouth slightly ajar, before shaking her head and grabbing River’s hand. “Hope,” she introduces herself. She can barely put together a coherent though; this girl is cute.

Once the handshake is over, River turns, beckoning Hope to follow her. “I hope Rowan didn’t put you off,” she calls over her shoulder. “They’re not a huge fan of talking.” She stops when they’re both behind the counter. “So, let me start by saying that you are saving our asses. Our last guy got arrested for selling MDMA to his law professor.” She snorts. “That’s Tallanasty for ya.”

Hope laughs. “Yeah, well, I’ll try to keep my flourishing drug enterprise on the DL.” River’s eyes narrow slightly, and Hope scrambles to clarify. “I’m totally kidding. I don’t sell drugs.”

“Good. Not that I’d care if you do, but I really don’t want to have to train someone else.” She picks an iPad up off of the counter, one long, thin crack marring its screen. “You’re going to be taking orders on here. You give each order a number, give that number to the customer—” She gestures to a small army of metal stands, each about a foot tall, holding numbers, lined up on a shelf below the counter top. “—and bring the right food to the right table when its ready. Pretty straightforward.”

“Yeah.” Hope’s barely listening, distracted by the way the lights of the neon ORDER HERE sign above their heads dance in River’s eyes.

“I’ll give you a tour of the back a little later; Drew’s scrubbing the floors back there and I don’t want you slipping and dying on your first day.” She gives Hope a playful smile, and Hope’s heart skips a beat.

Giving herself a minute to clear her head, Hope looks out at the restaurant. Every chair is empty. “So...where is everyone?”

Laughing, River says, “Yeah, we’re dead. It’s still early, though. We don’t usually get busy until people start coming over from the pub three doors down.”

“Um. We’re teenagers.”

“Oh, we’re just here to hold down the fort until Thor gets here.”

Hope’s head turns slowly back to River. “Thor.”

“Yeah.”

“Like, Thor.”

“Well, his name is Connor, but he’s huge and blond and helps us keep the drunks from flipping over tables.”

“Ah.” They stand in silence for a while, Hope trying to seem cool around this holy-shit-cute girl. She’s got butterflies in her stomach, but she’s never been one to shy away from a challenge, so she strikes up a new conversation. “So, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Oh cool, me too!”

River smiles. “Where do you go to school? Leon?”

“Oh, um.” Hope always forgets that small talk leads to explaining her weird life. “Actually, I do online school? My mom and I move around a lot, so I’ve been taking classes online, well, forever.”

Eyebrows raised, River says, “Wow, that’s actually super cool. At least you don’t have to deal with high school bullshit.”

Hope laughs. “True, but when you move around so much, it’s hard to form friendships, y’know?”

“Oh, true. Why do you move so much?”

Hope rattles off the lie she learned years ago. “My mom’s an independent researcher. We go from place to place, depending on what her research needs. So far we’ve been to forty-six states and three Canadian provinces—well, we went to Manitoba twice, and we also went to Nunavut, but that’s a territory—and we’ve gone down to Mexico a couple of times.”

River stares at Hope as if she has three heads. “That is...a lot. I was born in Georgia, but I’ve lived here almost my entire life. Since then, I’ve only left Florida twice, and both times we just went up into Georgia.”

Hope preens ever-so-slightly, glad she’s impressing her new coworker. “It gets lonely sometimes, but I’ve gotten to meet thousands of super cool, super interesting people in my life.”

“So if you’re mom’s a researcher, what does your dad do?”

Hope freezes. This is another lie she’s learned, but this one is infinitely more painful. “Um. He died.”

River’s eyes blow wide. “Holy shit. I am so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it.” He’s not actually dead, just a prisoner of a super vampire. “He died when I was two, so I’ve had time to adjust.”

“Oh.” Eager to move on, River says, “Well, my mom’s a teacher. Elementary. And my dad’s an adjunct at the university.”

“Seems like everyone here is connected to the university.”

River snorts. “You have no idea.”

“So do you live around here? This is...”

“College Town. Yeah, we live in Frenchtown, not too far from here.”

Hope’s face lights up. “Hey! That’s where we just moved in!” She pauses. “Maybe, you know, we could carpool when we have the same shifts. You know, save the planet and all that.”

“Oh. Um.” River shrugs. “I don’t actually have a car? I’m saving up to buy one.”

“Well I can drive!” Hope offers, perhaps too eagerly. “I don’t mind!”

River’s smile is one of genuine surprise. “Oh, well...yeah, I guess, if you don’t mind. I’ll definitely chip in for gas, though.”

Hope almost says, Don’t worry, I have a stupid amount of money, but catches herself. “Sure.”

The restaurant is still empty, and Hope’s starting to think that this job is going to involve a lot of standing around. River asks, “So, if you don’t go to school-school, what do you do for fun?”

What Hope doesn’t say: Magic. Studying grimoires. Hanging out with the family members we keep in coffins in our attic. Recently, talking to cute girls who work in pizza places. What Hope does say: “Oh, you know. Reading. The Internet. Reading on the Internet. I also like to paint.”

“Well painting’s neat! I love to run.” River’s face softens. “Running is...freedom. It’s strength. When I’m running, nothing can touch me.”

Hope stares at her like she’s the sun. “Wow.”

Wrinkling her nose, River says, “Sorry, I’m a dork.”

“No!” Hope’s protest is a touch too loud, so she says more calmly, “No, that’s not...you’re not a dork.”

“Well...thanks.” River’s skin colors a bit.

Through the glass door, the girls can see customers approaching. River motions for Hope to watch how she interacts with them, but before they come inside, Hope blurts out, “Do you want to catch a movie sometime?”

River looks confused. “A movie?”

“It’s just...I don’t know anyone here, and you seem, well, totally awesome, and, I don’t know.” The door opens and the customers, undergrads coming to carbo-load before a night of drinking, walk in. “I’d just like to hang out with you.”

Hope has no idea what she’s doing, no clue if this girl is even queer. She definitely don’t know how long her mother plans to keep them in this city. Still, when River quirks a little half-smile and says, “Sure,” Hope feels like she’s going to float up off of the ground and right into the moon.

#the originals #originals #tvd #tvd fic #originals fic #people and rhythm #deleted scene #what a wicked thing

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adoredykelano · 8 years ago

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pairing: jasmine cephas-jones x reader

summary: reader and jasmine are long-time friends, who one day decide to hook up. no strings attached. it was a good idea in theory.

warnings: swearing, alcohol mention, D/s, bondage, temperature play, a tiny bit of spanking, sex toys (? is that something i need to warn about i don’t even know), i vaguely mention a couple details about the movie “remember me” which deals with 9/11 so if you’re very sensitive to that this might not be for you. i don’t mention any real specifics about 9/11 itself but better safe than sorry if this is a topic that triggers you.

word count: 5,014

a/n: ah yes day two of the @hamwriters write-a-thon!! here this is my inbox is open for comments concerns complaints etc love u happy reading

The soft patter of rain on the window of your apartment fades into the background as you hit “play” on the remote. Friday night movie nights with your best friend are even better when it’s raining, so you’re perfectly content with the storm outside. You pull the fluffy blanket up to your chin and settle into the back cushion of the couch.

“Really?” Jasmine sighs as she walks into the living room, bowl of popcorn clutched against her chest. “You had to pick the saddest movie on Netflix?”

You roll your eyes and stick an arm out of your blanket, making a grabbing motion at the popcorn. “It isn’t the saddest movie on Netflix, and I’m not the one who decided that on movie nights we could only watch movies set in New York.”

“I don’t see how that is the issue here,” Jasmine hands you the popcorn and flops down on the couch next to you, sliding under the other side of the blanket. “There are plenty of movies set in New York, it’s not like I picked some obscure setting like Buffalo or Manitoba.”

“Okay, you don’t get to judge my movie choice. Last week you picked that terrible mid 2000’s chick-flick with a fortune teller in it.” You pick up a handful of popcorn and shove it very ungracefully into your mouth.

Jasmine lightly backhands your shoulder as she frowns at you. “Just My Luck is a gem!”

You raise an eyebrow, popcorn crunching between your teeth loudly.

“Okay, Chris Pine is a gem,” she rolls her eyes and veers her attention to the television.

A hush falls over the two of you as you get simultaneously sucked into the film, Robert Pattinson’s voice and the occasional shuffle of popcorn the only sounds to be heard.

“Oh that’s fucked up,” Jasmine muters when a classroom bully targets the main character’s sister.

“Poor baby,” you lament. “She didn’t even see it coming.”

Jasmine shifts closer to you, her legs draped over your lap.

“Comfortable?” You snicker, looking over at her face.

“Shh,” she scolds, eyes glued to the television. “Tyler’s about to- oh my God.”

You squint at her for a second before turning back to the movie. The silence returns, and eventually Jasmine’s head leans to rest on your shoulder.

“No,” you shout as the main character heads toward the window of the office building. “No, get out of there, Ally needs you, Caroline needs you!”

Your lip quivers as the shot zooms out, revealing that the building shown is the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

“Whatever you do in life will be insignificant, but it’s very important that you do it, because nobody else will,” Robert Pattinson’s voice narrates over the characters in the film looking distressed.

The screen fades to black and you sniffle, trying to hold in your tears.

“I told you this movie was a bad idea, [Y/N],” Jasmine says, holding back a smile, laughter playing in her eyes for a moment.

“You always have to swoop in with the ‘I-told-you-so,’ don’t you,” you mutter as tears start to pour down your cheeks. “I- fuck, what the fuck,” you wipe angrily at your face.

“Hey, are you- come here,” Jasmine’s eyes soften with concern as she places her hands on either of your cheeks. Her thumbs brush away the salt water trails and her stare locks onto yours.

“It’s just so sad and- God, I’m an idiot, it’s a fucking movie,” you laugh once, averting your eyes. “It’s just a movie- a very predictable movie, really. And I’m over here sobbing.”

“You’re not an idiot, you’re just...soft. It’s okay,” she murmurs. There’s a brief pause before she leans forward and presses a gentle peck to your forehead.

Your gaze flits back up to her, “W- what was that for?”

Jasmine drops her hands from your cheeks and shrugs. “Um- I don’t know. You just looked really sad,” she gives you a small smile. “I thought it might help. I read this article that said physical affection helps with feelings of sadness.”

“Well,” you laugh lightly and wipe the corners of your eyes, “thank you, then.”

Her eyes look down at your smile before looking back up to you, “No problem.”

You tilt your head almost imperceptibly, a little confused at her expression. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just- well…” she trails off, gaze darting around your face.

“Jazzy?” Your concern grows a little. You’ve known Jasmine a long time, and she isn’t usually at a loss for words. “Are you sure you’re-”

You’re cut off by her lips brushing timidly against your own. Your body reacts before your brain can register what’s going on, kissing her back with a bit more certainty. Your lips move together tenderly for a moment before the kiss becomes a bit more heated.

Jasmine’s hands find their way to your hair, tangling in the strands. You turn, angling your body more toward her while you grasp her hips, pulling her to straddle your lap.

Her tongue brushes gently against your lower lip, and you’re about to let your jaw drop open when your brain kicks in.

You pull back suddenly and look up at Jasmine. “W- wait, what’s-”

“Fuck, oh my God,” she shakes her head and quickly stands, feet getting tangled in the blanket momentarily, almost causing her to fall. “I should’ve asked first, that was- I don’t know what that was, I’m so sorry. What the fuck,” she mutters.

“I...I didn’t mind,” you say quietly, glancing up at her.

“You- what?” Jasmine asks incredulously.

“I said I didn’t mind,” you repeat, a bit louder this time. You stand and take the few steps it takes to reach her. “I mean, there’s no harm in two friends hooking up.”

“Are you...are you sure about this?” She asks, scanning for something in your face.

You smirk and put your hands on her waist, pulling her closer to you. “You’re my best friend, you’re hot as hell, we’re both single, and sex is fun. I don’t see what there is to be unsure about.”

“I thought you were dating Finn,” she squints at you.

“Fuck Finn,” you huff. “Finn, and Matthew, and Aaron, and however many other men I’ve been with who don’t give a fuck about me. This could be good,” you insist. “A detox from a long line of romantic and sexual tragedies.”

“Well…” Jasmine thinks for a moment before wrapping her arms behind your neck. “I think this could be the start of a beautiful thing, [Y/N].”

---

“Are you sure the rest of the cast don’t mind me crashing your bonding time?” You wonder, tugging your shirt back over your head.

“I’m positive,” Jasmine laughs as she shimmies into her skinny jeans. “You’ve been around the theater so much in the past few weeks that most people forget you’re not part of the cast, anyway.”

“Oops,” you snicker. You pull your ankle boots back on and zip them up.

“You’re not even sorry,” she tsks and shakes her head.

“Hard to be sorry when I have good reason to be here all the time,” you shrug.

“Oh? And what might that reason be?”

“It just so happens,” you begin, stalking toward her. “That my hot best friend is in the cast, and that they have an insatiable sexual appetite.”

Jasmine giggles, turning to fix her hair in the mirror. “I’ll tell Daveed to calm down, then.”

“Oh shut up,” you smirk at her. “Though, if you wanted to invite him I wouldn’t be opposed…”

“Right,” her smile falters briefly and she wipes the smudged lipstick from the corner of her mouth.

“You ready?” Daveed asks, peeking his head in through the door.

“Yeah,” Jasmine answers before you have a chance to. She grabs your hand and pulls you down the stairs and outside to the cab, where you settle in between Daveed and Jasmine.

“You look so hot tonight,” Daveed smirks, eyes raking over your figure.

“Thanks,” you blush lightly, fingers fiddling with the hem of your faux suede skirt. “You don’t look too shabby yourself, for an old man.”

He laughs heartily, head thrown back. “I’m not that much older than you, [Y/N].” His hand, once positioned on his own thigh, slides just a bit. His warm pinky grazes the exposed skin above your knee.

Daveed is a lot of things, among them being hot, kind, intelligent, and very talented. Subtlety, however, is not his strongest suit.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Jasmine mutters. She leans forward to look around you at Daveed. “I love you like a brother, Daveed, but if you’re just looking for someone to write more clipping songs about, pick someone that isn’t my best friend, mkay?”

Daveed smirks and raises his hands in surrender.

“Good boy,” Jasmine nods, flopping back against the leather seat.

You fish your phone out of your bag and send a quick message from the interior, not wanting Daveed to see the message.

Feeling a little bossy tonight, are we?

Jasmine looks at her phone and bites down lightly on her lower lip. Your phone buzzes a few seconds later.

Come home with me later and see.

The cab pulls up to the club before you have a chance to reply. Daveed takes one hand while Jasmine grasps the other, and you’re whisked inside past a sea of flashing cameras held by shouting men.

Daveed, the self appointed conductor of your daisy chain, steers the three of you toward the bar area where the rest of the cast is waiting.

“[Y/N]!” Pippa squeals, standing from the tall stool to throw her arms around you. “I missed you.”

You catch a whiff of tequila and stifle a laugh, patting her on the back. “I missed you too, angel. Even though it’s only been,” you glance at your watch, “an hour and a half.”

Pippa pulls back, a somber look on her face. “An hour and a half is much too long to be separated from my favorite person ever.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Pippa locks eyes with Daveed and squeals again.

“Daveed! I missed you!”

Jasmine shakes her head, laughing a little. She threads her fingers through yours and leads you to an open spot at the bar, leaning across the counter to order you a drink.

An amused grin spreads across your face as glance at her feet. She’s stretched up on her tiptoes to be tall enough to talk to the bartender.

“You know,” you remark as Jasmine hands you a vodka cranberry. “We’ve been friends since, what, freshman year of high school? And I still consistently forget how short you are.”

“Oh my God,” she huffs exasperatedly. “I get it, I’m short. You have this revelation every two months.”

You try to suppress your smile, sipping at your drink.

“You’re so annoying,” she groans, hopping up to sit on an empty barstool. “If you weren’t so good at eating me out I’d cut off all contact with you. Leave you a note saying I moved to Thailand to find myself or something.”

You laugh, nearly choking on your drink in the process. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Pippa forcing an astonishingly reluctant Oak out onto the dance floor. “Oh my God,” you turn to get a better glimpse of them. “Pippa is so...gone.”

“She’s a lightweight,” Jasmine says, setting her now empty glass on the countertop. “Anyway, dance with me?”

You down the rest of your drink and hop down from the barstool, holding out your hand for hers.

You’ve been dancing for a quite a while before the DJ starts a remix of a Rihanna song, which makes your eyes light up right away. ANTI had been the soundtrack to many of your escapades with Jasmine, so whenever a song plays you’re reminded of her. The two of you have taken to texting each other if a song from the album comes on when you’re not together.

Jasmine smirks, drawing your body impossibly closer to her. Your bodies move in sync, her hands finding your hips.

“What are you willing to do?” She sings teasingly, slotting her leg between your knees. “Oh, tell me what you’re willing to do?”

The flesh of your bottom lip sinks under your teeth as you tilt your head to the side, allowing her lips to press against your neck just under your ear.

“Kiss it, kiss it better baby.” Her hot breath fans out over your neck and you shiver slightly at the sensation, goosebumps trailing down your arms.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You tighten your grip on her waist, giving her a suggestive look.

“Depends,” she raises a brow at you.

“On what?”

“If you’re going to be good for me tonight,” she declares plainly.

“Shit,” your brain stops working for a moment and you blink a few times, surprised at her no-nonsense tone. “Fuck. Jasmine, I’ll be so good for you tonight, I promise.”

“I don’t know,” she laughs, letting go of your hips and weaving through the crowd with you. “The swearing isn’t very convincing, but I suppose you can have another try when we get back to my place.”

The wooden heels of your booties thump against the concrete as you make it outside, Jasmine hailing a cab.

“Your place, huh? What if I wanted to go to mine?”

“That would be too bad,” she turns to you with a mischievous look in her eyes as a taxi pulls up to the curb. “A surprise I ordered came in this morning, and I think you’d really love it. But if you want to go to your apartment instead…” she trails off as the two of you settle in the backseat.

“A surprise? What did you do?”

She turns lackadaisically to survey the busy street through the window. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

The two of you hurry through the lobby of her apartment building, navigating the three flights of stairs to her fourth floor walk-up.

“Fuck, I hate that you don’t have an elevator,” you sigh, leaning against the wall by the door.

Jasmine’s hand reaches out and swats gently at your backside, eliciting a shocked yelp from you. You clamp your hand over your mouth for a second before squinting at her.

“What was that for?” You whisper angrily, worried you’ve disturbed her neighbors.

“I told you no swearing,” she informs you coolly as she unlocks her front door. She makes a gesture to invite you inside when the door swings open and follows behind you.

“Sorry, ma’am,” you tease, rolling your eyes.

Jasmine raises both of her eyebrows as she drops her bag on the floor near the door. “Are you mocking me, baby doll?”

There’s a fire in her eyes and an edge in her tone that lets you know that she means business. You swallow harshly before responding, “No, ma’am. I’m sorry for swearing and disrespecting you.”

“As you should be.”

Your eyes are glued to her retreating figure before she spins on one heel to fix you with her gaze.

“I’ll call you when things are ready, and you’ll make your way into my room quickly. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you nod eagerly.

“Good girl,” she smirks, pushing the door closed behind her.

While you wait for further instructions, you set your bag down on the coffee table and lean against the back of the couch. You consider stripping down at least partially, but Jasmine hadn’t told you to do so and you’d tested her enough for one night.

“[Y/N],” she calls. You stand quickly, nearly running down the hall and into the bedroom.

Jasmine is standing at the foot of her bed, a red lace teddy just barely covering her body and a black satin blindfold clutched in her hand. You sweep your eyes up and down her body, taking in the strappy lingerie and the black lace thigh highs before tearing your gaze away to look around the room. You gasp as you take it in.

She’s covered the top of her dresser in flickering candles and-

“Is that a...”

“A steel suspension bar? Why yes,” she props a hand on her hip, a smug look on her face. “Yes it is.”

“You remembered?” You stare at up at it wistfully, judging the distance from the bar to the floor.

“Of course I did. How could I forget my baby doll admitting that she’s always wanted to try standing bondage?”

You feel heat creep onto your cheeks as you continue to stare at the steel bar.

“Now, why don’t you be a good little toy for me and strip?”

Without hesitation, you follow her order. You slip your feet out of your shoes and unbutton the top of your skirt, letting it fall to the floor. The white blouse joins the pile of discarded clothing, leaving you in just your pale pink bra and panties.

“As much as I love that color on you, I meant all the way.” Jasmine takes a few steps forward to center herself in front of you.

You nod and slide your panties down your legs, tossing them and your bra into the pool of clothes.

Jasmine holds up the blindfold, but makes firm eye contact with you. “Before we go any further, what’s your safe word?”

“Pattinson,” you give her a sly smile.

“Very good.” She closes the short distance and wraps the blindfold over your eyes, moving around to stand behind you and tying it gently.

“Since we’re not actually suspending you, these are the normal cuffs that you’re familiar with,” Jasmine explains as she fastens them to your wrists.

She jerks your left arm upward and you hear the clinking of metal on metal, and then her warm hands disappear from your skin. She speedily repeats her motions with the other arm, leaving you with both of your arms held above your head.

You tug lightly, testing the strength of your restraints.

Jasmine pulls you back against her, her hands roaming the expanse of your abdomen before reaching up to knead at your breasts. As soon as you get accustomed to the feeling of her body pressed against your back, she’s gone.

You’re dazed by her absence for only a moment and then her lips find yours, hands tugging lightly at your hair. Your tongues tangle together before she breaks away, lips, teeth, and tongue grazing over your neck. Her hand slips down, fingers ghosting over your slit as she sucks a hickey onto your collarbone.

She disappears again and you let out a small whimper, hips bucking forward to search for contact.

“Now, now,” she slaps your ass, a hint of laughter in her voice. “You’ll take what I give you and be thankful.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply meekly. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. You’re so good to me.”

“I am,” she affirms, fingers crawling over your hip.

A cold sensation presses into the skin between your shoulder blades and you gasp, jumping slightly, your arms jerking against the restraints. Jasmine trails what you soon recognize as an ice cube down your spine, dropping a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

The ice cube resurfaces on your left nipple, then your navel before returning to your right and goosebumps shimmer over your chest at the chill.

There’s another moment of breathless anticipation, your mind racing with thoughts of what might happen next. You inhale sharply as her fingers dip easily inside of you, still chilled from the ice cube.

You moan as she thrusts two digits into you, her thumb pressing against your clit.

“You like that, baby doll? Does that feel good?” Jasmine purrs into your ear.

“Yes, ma’am,” you whimper while she picks up speed. “Feels so good.”

She hums lightly, continuing her ministrations. Your knees begin to tremble as your orgasm starts to build in the pit of your stomach. You let your head fall back, a loud moan tearing from your throat. You feel your thighs twitch, signalling that you’re incredibly close to coming- you’re so close you can taste it.

And then her fingers are gone.

“Wh-” You begin to question, but then she’s behind you, removing your blindfold.

“You’ve had your fun,” she sashays over to the end of her bed, settling on the edge of the mattress. At some point she’d removed her lingerie, leaving her in just the black thigh highs. “It’s my turn, now.”

A quiet hum fills the air as she switches on a sleek black vibrator, lounging backward onto the bed while she does so. She runs her tongue around the tip of the toy before dragging it over her breasts, giving attention to her nipples. Her head falls back as she moans softly, her hair fanning out on the duvet behind her.

You’re captivated by her movements, completely enthralled as she trails the vibrator down her abdomen and over her clit. Jasmine gasps faintly, her other hand reaching up to paw at her breast.

You don’t realize you’re trying to reach out for her until you hear the jingling of the metal chains, your eyes snapping up to the restraints.

“Eager to please, are we?”Jasmine smirks at you before slipping the toy into herself, eliciting a mewl from her lips.

“Please, ma’am,” you whimper, eyes raking over her body. “Please, please, I just want to make you feel so good. With my mouth, with my hands, however you want me to, whatever you want from me. Please, I need to touch you.”

“Mm,” she hums, tilting her head at you. “I suppose if you’re so desperate for me to use you…”

“So desperate,” you agree quickly, nodding. “So desperate, please let me make you feel good, please use me ma’am.”

Jasmine turns off the vibrator and stands, setting it down as she makes her way over to unbind your wrists. You quickly put your arms around her waist, pulling her close to kiss her passionately.

When you finally wake up the next afternoon, Jasmine is already gone. You stretch and roll out of bed, heading into the bathroom where there’s a sticky note attached to the mirror.

Sorry I had to leave early, had a yoga class early this morning. Last night was amazing. Coffee in the pot is fresh, there are pancakes in the fridge to be heated up.

You shrug and continue about your morning, showering and borrowing a pair of leggings and a sweater from Jasmine’s dresser. Padding out into the kitchen, you warm up your food and flop down onto the couch, catching up on your Twitter feed as you eat.

You nearly choke, eyes bugging out of your head when you see an article linked in your mentions.

‘Hamilton’ Star Steps Out with Longtime Friend—Or Are They More?

Jasmine Cephas-Jones, known best for originating the roles of both Peggy Schuyler and Maria Reynolds in the Broadway smash-hit Hamilton, was seen entering a nightclub in Hell’s Kitchen after last night’s show holding hands with none other than longtime friend [Y/N]. Patrons of the club say the two were very close, dancing only with each other the entire night.

Our inside source insists that the gal pals look at each other with “undeniable fondness in their eyes,” and notes “They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They have indisputable heat and chemistry between them.”

You read the article twice, scrolling back to the top of the page to look at the picture of you and Jasmine outside the club. You copy the link and attach it to a message.

To: Jasmine — 11:47 AM

Lol look at this.

From: Jasmine — 11:50 AM

I’ve already seen it. I’m sorry.

To: Jasmine — 11:51 AM

Sorry about what? It’s hilarious. They think we’re in looooove.

From: Jasmine — 12:14 PM

Right, haha. Hilarious.

To: Jasmine — 12:16 PM

Anyway, today’s a two show day, right? Want me to bring dinner...and dessert? ;)

From: Jasmine — 12:32 PM

Nah, don’t come. I’m tired today. Think I’m just gonna nap between shows.

To: Jasmine — 12:34 PM

Are you okay?? When have you EVER been too tired for me to go down on you?

From: Jasmine — 12:47 PM

I’m just tired, okay? I have to go warm up for the show. I’ll talk to you later.

To: Jasmine — 12:48 PM

Alright, break a leg!!

You click the tv off and go back to Jasmine’s bedroom, gathering your clothes from the night before. It isn’t like Jasmine to tell you not to come to the theater, even if she’s tired and doesn’t want to have sex. You’ve spent a lot of time at the Richard Rodgers with her, eating and laughing and just having fun.

Something is off, and you’re not sure what. Could that article really have made her feel that awkward? They called you “gal pals,” for Christ’s sake. Gal pals. The two of you have often joked about the entire “gal pal” concept and how ridiculously heteronormative the mainstream media is. And now a stupid article is making her clam up because she feels weird that a couple people in the comments think you’re dating?

If Jasmine’s tired, you don’t want to leave a mess for when she comes home. You straighten up the bedroom, shoving your clothes into your bag and making the bed. When you’re done with the bedroom, you move to the living room and toss your bag on the couch, before marching into the kitchen to wash the few dishes that are stacked in the sink.

You make sure all the lights are turned off and you leave, heading back to your own place.

---

Jasmine doesn’t return any of your texts or phone calls for the next three days, leaving you no option but to show up at the theater to talk to her. You can understand being busy, but she’s never been so busy that she doesn’t have time to text you back. You’re best friends, after all.

Something’s not right.

“[Y/N],” Daveed beams when you walk in the back door. “It’s been too long since I saw your bright shining face around the Richard Rodgers.”

“Hey, Daveed,” you give him a small smile. “Yeah, it’s been a while. Have you seen Jasmine?”

“Dressing room,” the stage manager says from behind Daveed.

“Thanks Jason,” you dash up the stairs and knock on the dressing room door.

Renée’s eyes scan your face as she opens the door. She looks back at Jasmine and over to Pippa.

“Pip?” She remarks. “Let’s give them a minute.”

Pippa gives Jasmine a look and Jasmine responds with a curt nod. The two other girls file out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Uh, hey,” Jasmine smiles pitifully at your before turning to the mirror, fingers fiddling with her hair.

“What’s up? Where’ve you been?”

“Nothing’s up,” she defends too quickly. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy?” You laugh, shaking your head.

“Is that so unbelievable to you?” She turns toward you, fire in her eyes.

“You’re never too busy for me, Jasmine. You’re always there. You texted me in the middle of your fucking Hamilton audition!”

“I have a life outside of our friendship, you know.” She snaps.

You can’t do anything but stare at her for a moment, speechless.

Jasmine turns back to the mirror, pulling the top half of her hair back.

“What happened? Something happened, Jasmine, and I need to know what.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but you know she can hear you.

“Nothing happened,” she says coolly. “Like I said, I’ve just been busy.”

“Bullshit,” you snarl.

She whips her head around to glare at you, “It’s the truth.”

“No it isn’t,” you insist. “Tell me what happened.”

Jasmine doesn’t say anything, but you swear you can see her fingers shaking.

“Tell me, Jasmine. Tell me why everything changed.”

“Because I fell in love with you!” Her hands fly up to fist in her own hair.

Your heart stops and your breath catches in your throat. You can’t have heard her right. There’s no way.

“You- you what?”

She hangs her head, wringing her trembling hands together. “I fell in love with you. And I know this wasn’t supposed to be- this isn’t anything. I know that.”

You don’t say anything, you can’t. This is too much for you to process.

“That’s why everything changed,” she confesses. “And after your reaction to that article, I knew you didn’t feel the same. I just needed some time.”

“You’ve always been able to tell me everything,” you shake your head. “Time? Why did you need time? You could’ve told me. We could’ve worked through this together, and instead you-”

“Instead I tried to respect your feelings?” She chuckles darkly. “Are you really blaming me for that? This isn’t your battle, [Y/N]. If you don’t feel the way that I do, that’s not your fault.”

“You should’ve just fucking told me! I could’ve helped you get over this-”

“How? How would you have done that? I’m trying, isn’t that enough for you?”

“I-” you shake your head. “I don’t know. This wasn’t supposed to go like this. This was supposed to be fun and easy, just sex, no strings attached.”

“You know what, [Y/N]? I’m sorry I fucked up so badly,” she huffs, taking a few steps toward you.

“You didn’t-”

“No, let me finish,” she cuts you off. “I’m sorry I wasn’t what you wanted. I am. So why don’t you just go find someone who is what you wanted?”

You furrow your brow. “What?”

“Jesus,” she shouts in frustration. “Just, go fuck Daveed or something! Go back to fucking people who don’t give a shit about you, okay? I don’t even care anymore.”

Your gaze follows her and she strides behind you. She yanks the door open.

“Jasmine-” you call out, but it’s too late. The door slams behind her and you’re left alone in the middle of the dressing room.

#jasmine cephas jones #jasmine cephas-jones #jasmine x reader #jasmine cephas-jones x reader #hamilcast #hamilcast x reader #hamilcast imagine #hamilton cast imagines

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networkingdefinition · 5 years ago

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Firewood Quotes

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• A man may plant a tree for a number of reasons. Perhaps he likes trees. Perhaps he wants shelter. Or perhaps he knows that someday he may need the firewood. – Joanne Harris • As a child I drew objects that caught my eye outside the window of my room – the dry twigs, leaves and lizard-like creatures crawling about, the servant chopping firewood and, of course, and number of crows in various postures on the rooftops of the buildings opposite. – R. K. Laxman

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Firewood', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_firewood').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_firewood img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Cassoulet, that best of bean feasts, is everyday fare for a peasant but ambrosia for a gastronome, though its ideal consumer is a 300-pound blocking back who has been splitting firewood nonstop for the last twelve hours on a subzero day in Manitoba. – Julia Child • Centres, or centre-pieces of wood, are put by builders under an arch of stone while it is in the process of construction till the keystone is put in. Just such is the use Satan makes of pleasures to construct evil habits upon; the pleasure lasts till the habit is fully formed; but that done the habit may stand eternal. The pleasures are sent for firewood, and the hell begins in this life. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge • Cows provide approx 100 million tonnes of dry dung a year costing Rs 5000 crores which saves 50 million tonnes of firewood which again means that many trees saved and more environmental damage prevented. It is calculated that if these 73 million animals were to be replaced, we would need 7.3 million tractors at the cost of 2.5 lac each which would amount to an investment of 180,000 crores. In addition 2 crore, 37 lakh and 50 thousand tonnes of diesel which would mean another 57,000 crore rupees. This is how much we owe these animals, and this is what we stand to lose by killing them. – Maneka Gandhi • Do you know anyone who hasn’t changed his mind? This door was a tree, then it will be firewood for someone, then it will return to air and earth. We’re all like that, constantly changing. It’s simply honest to report that you’ve changed your mind when you have. When you’re afraid of what people will think if you speak honestly, that’s where you become confused. – Byron Katie • Fire and light compete today in the East. But there is a lot of green firewood in this fire, and there is a lot of smoke in that light. – Ameen Rihani • Frightened of change? But what can exist without it? What’s closer to nature’s heart? Can you take a hot bath and leave the firewood as it was? Eat food without transforming it? Can any vital process take place without something being changed? Can’t you see? It’s just the same with you – and just as vital to nature. – Marcus Aurelius • From the fallen tree everybody makes firewood. – Barbara Kingsolver • Here we grow the flax and grain; here we raise the meat they eat, and the wool to keep them warm; we cut trees to build their houses and firewood to heat their stoves. – Ernest Poole • How miraculous and wondrous, hauling water and carrying firewood! – Layman Pang • However much you study, you cannot know without action. A donkey laden with books is neither an intellectual nor a wise man. Empty of essence, what learning has he whether upon him is firewood or book? – Saadi • I knew the tree when it grew, and the tree is now gone. The farmers cut it up, and it’s become firewood. And there’s this tremendous sense of absence and shock and violence attendant to that collapsing tree. – Andy Goldsworthy • In all this welter of women I still hadn’t got one for myself, not that I was trying too hard, but sometimes I felt lonely to see everybody paired off and having a good time and all I did was curl up in my sleeping bag in the rosebushes and sigh and say bah. For me it was just red wine in my mouth and a pile of firewood – Jack Kerouac • In Kenya women are the first victims of environmental degradation, because they are the ones who walk for hours looking for water, who fetch firewood, who provide food for their families. – Wangari Maathai • It is only great pain–that slow, sustained pain that takes its time, in which we are, as it were, burned with smoldering green firewood–that forces us philosophers to sink to our ultimate profundity and to do away with all the trust, everything good-natured, veil-imposing, mild and middling, on which we may have previously based our humanity. I doubt that such a pain makes us ‘better’–but I know that it makes us deeper. – Friedrich Nietzsche • It is quite affecting to observe how much the olive tree is to the country people. Its fruit supplies them with food, medicine and light; its leaves, winter fodder for the goats and sheep; it is their shelter from the heat and its branches and roots supply them with firewood. The olive tree is the peasant’s all-in-all. – Fredrika Bremer • Like in Africa, if somebody doesn’t have fuel, they’re still going and collecting firewood. If they get an oven, that’s a huge difference. You can do things to reduce the inequities by making sure that they can get clean energy, safe energy. To make sure they’re not having to collect water every day. That’s huge for women in the developing world. – Melinda Gates • My father had been a forester and I had grown up on those hills. I had seen forests and streams disappear. I jumped into Chipko movement and started to work with the peasant women. I learned from them about what forests mean for a rural woman in India in terms of firewood and fodder and medicinal plants and rich knowledge. – Vandana Shiva • My men have suffered greatly (from boredom), much blood has been shed (by mosquitoes), and I have swung my ax mightily (chopping firewood). Surely we have earned our place in the annals of history—for never has there been so little war in a war. – Seth Grahame-Smith • My wife, Daniela, and I live in an old house from 1810 with three fireplaces at the end of a dead-end dirt road on Cape Cod, so I turn the trees into firewood for us and a friend of mine sells the rest. – Sebastian Junger • Rural American families who depend on firewood to heat their homes will be hit just as hard as those who use oil and natural gas. – Richard Pombo • The greatest gift of life on the mountain is time. Time to think or not think, read or not read, scribble or not scribble — to sleep and cook and walk in the woods, to sit and stare at the shapes of the hills. I produce nothing but words; I consumer nothing but food, a little propane, a little firewood. By being utterly useless in the calculations of the culture at large I become useful, at last, to myself. – Philip Connors • The joy of late love is like green firewood when set aflame, for the longer the wait in lighting, the greater heat it yields and the longer its force lasts. – Chretien de Troyes • The landmine cannot tell the difference between a soldier or a civilian – a woman, a child, a grandmother going out to collect firewood to make the family meal… once peace is declared the landmine does not recognize that peace. The landmine is eternally prepared to take victims. – Jody Williams • The piano is not firewood — yet. – Regina Spektor • The thrust of continuous action is the firewood which fuels motivation. – Steve Backley • The value of the things is not in themselves autonomously, but that God made them, and thus they deserve to be treated with high respect. The tree in the field is to be treated with respect. It is not to be romanticized as the old lady romanticizes her cat (that is, she reads human reactions into it). This is wrong because it is not true. When you drive the axe into the tree when you need firewood, you are not cutting down a person; you are cutting down a tree. But while we should not romanticize the tree, we must realize God made it and it deserves respect because He made is as a tree. – Francis Schaeffer • There is a legend of an artist who long sought for a piece of sandalwood, out of which to carve a Madonna. He was about to give up in despair, leaving the vision of his life unrealized, when in a dream he was bidden to carve his Madonna from a block of oak wood which was destined for the fire. He obeyed and produced a masterpiece from a log of common firewood. Many of us lose great opportunities in life by waiting to find sandalwood for our carvings, when they really lie hidden in the common logs that we burn. – Orison Swett Marden • We as children went up the mountain to find feed for livestock, like goats, cows and horses, and because in the winter time we would light the fire in the house, we would climb the mountain to collect firewood as well. Because of that, I suppose I became used to climbing mountains. – Tamae Watanabe • What is it that dies? A log of wood dies to become a few planks. The planks die to become a chair. The chair dies to become a piece of firewood, and the firewood dies to become ash. You give different names to the different shapes the wood takes, but the basic substance is there always. If we could always remember this, we would never worry about the loss of anything. We never lose anything; we never gain anything. By such discrimination we put an end to unhappiness. – Swami Satchidananda • When she looked at herself in her wedding photographs, Ammu felt the woman that looked back at her was someone else. A foolish jewelled bride. Her silk sunset-coloured sari shot with gold. Rings on every finger. White dots of sandalwood paste over her arched eye-brows. Looking at herself like this, Ammu’s soft mouth would twist into a small, bitter smile at the memory – not of the wedding itself so much as the fact that she had permitted herself to be so painstakingly decorated before being led to the gallows. It seemed so absurd. So futile. Like polishing firewood. – Arundhati Roy • Why should anyone be afraid of change? What can take place without it? What can be more pleasing or more suitable to universal nature? Can you take your bath without the firewood undergoing a change? Can you eat without the food undergoing a change? And can anything useful be done without change? Don’t you see that for you to change is just the same, and is equally necessary for universal nature? – Marcus Aurelius • your culture has become sophisticated, like a computer, or a drug that you take for a headache. You can use it, but you cannot explain how it works. Certainly not to girls who stack up their firewood against the side of the house. – Chris Cleave • Your mother sounds like a formidable woman,” Valek said into the silence. “You have no idea,” Leif replied with a sigh. “Well, if she’s anything like Yelena, my deepest sympathies,” Valek teased. “Hey!” Leif laughed and the tense moment dissipated. Valek handed Leif his machete. “Do you know how to use it?” “Of course. I chopped Yelena’s bow into firewood,” Leif joked. – Maria V. Snyder • You’ve gotten drunk on so many kinds of wine. Taste this. It won’t make you wild. It’s fire. Give up, if you don’t understand by this time that your living is firewood. – Rumi [clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago

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Firewood Quotes

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jenniferfaye34 · 5 years ago

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#Giveaway + Excerpt ~ Movies, Moonlight, and Magic by January Bain... #books #mystery #amreading

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. January Bain will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Book two in the Manitoba Tea and Tarot Mysteries series Charm McCall can solve a small-town murder, but can she figure out how to stop a man-stealing interloper? A movie production company has come to town…and so has an old family friend of the town’s sexy new Mountie, Ace Collins. His “old pal” turns out to be a scheming long-legged blonde who throws Charm right off her game. Even Auntie T.J. playing the bagpipes down Main Street to drive the trespasser away doesn’t work. Between catering for the world’s hungriest film crew, trying to solve the murder of the unit accountant who hired her and dealing with her new magical gifts, Charm’s a tad busy. But too bad, because she’s soon facing off against a bigger threat when more people become ill with suspected poisoning—and her own sister’s in the crosshairs. Charm’s left wondering if even Agatha Christie could have seen this one coming. But with so much working against them—including the whole town being dead set against them consummating their relationship—do Charm and Ace stand a chance?

AVAILABLE ON

KINDLE

Read an Excerpt: He stuck out his hand for a shake and I was blessed with the dampest paw on the planet, accompanied by a zinger of an image. Howard cared about every penny because he was embezzling company funds, meaning there would be less to steal if I made a decent profit. Sometimes I wished Granny Toogood hadn’t banned swearing—I had a few apt descriptors for this weaselly dealer. I also hoped she was feeling better. The doctor had advised a few days of rest and that had me worried. Instead, I narrowed my eyes at him and he slid his hand from mine. Yuck. I dried my palm by rubbing it discreetly down the side of my jeans, half hidden by my Tea & Tarot apron. “Can you start tomorrow?” he asked, his desperation leaking through, making his face shiny with sweat. Probably because the only other quote he most likely got today far exceeded ours. Guaranteed. The Husky Service on the highway did some catering, but they didn’t come cheap. And their bakery goods came out of pre-frozen tubs and boxes. We prided ourselves on everything fresh baked, from scratch—my fingernails were reduced to rubble from constant work. Proof positive. “Tomorrow! So soon?” All the nerves in my body slammed into high gear. There was so much to do to prepare for such a large undertaking. Could it even be done that quickly? “We’d really appreciate it. Might even find you a bit part in the movie.” It wasn’t the incentive he expected—I just shook my head, giving his start date some thought. Sometimes it was best to jump into things, otherwise I’d never do it. I just prayed I could pull it off and do my family and our town proud. “Okay, but minus the movie walk-on.” The relief on his face made me smile, despite his weaselly-ness. The café door opened abruptly and in strode a young man dressed in expensive dark-wash jeans and a tight black T-shirt clothing a wiry, thin body, his face a study in annoyance. “Howard, I need to speak with you right now. Don’t think you can just get up and walk out on me, mister.” His hand on his hip pressed his case. Howard’s face darkened to a dull red. “Chace, this is not the time or the place. Go. I’ll catch up with you later.” The man looked as though he was going to object before he about-faced and left. His one-finger salute, reflected in the front window before he pranced away, was not in the best taste. Hmm. Good thing Granny wasn’t around to cut him down to size. In the nicest, politest way of course—she could make the worst villain tippy-toe around her. Probably ask him if he needs the finger for anything other than being rude. “Please excuse my friend. He’s not himself today.” “Oh, who is he then?” Howard gave me a blank stare. Baby Ling Ling sauntered in, grabbing my attention as she always announced her arrival with a loud greeting, or warning, depending on how her day was going. Our spectacular white Himalayan with her adorable squished-in face and apricot-colored ears, fluffy tail raised high, proceeded to choose her steps with the utmost care across the tiled floor of the café. I’d guess it was in case we’d had the bad manners to add a trap door since yesterday’s saunter. She deigned to notice the new visitor, striding over and giving him a quick sniff. She jumped a couple of feet in the air with a loud howl, her fluffy white fur standing straight on end as though she’d placed her paw on an electrical charge. “Hiss.” She made herself as big as a tiny eight-pound cat could make herself, arched her back and continued the hissing. “Nice cat,” Howard deadpanned. “Careful what you say to her. Ling Ling’s officially multi-lingual since our librarian, Miriam, added Portuguese to her weekly slate of free language lessons.” I just couldn’t resist, not liking his look of disdain. Or his cheapness that was certain to affect our bottom line. His look of confusion was quite satisfying. He gave Ling Ling a wide berth and headed for the door. “Okay, then, we’ll expect you tomorrow? You’ll get paid once a week, just come by my office and I’ll cut you a check. Oh, and the camp’s out by Spirit Springs.” He paused, his hand on the doorknob, obviously needing confirmation. “Yes, I know where the camp is, and the food will be there. You can count on the McCall family. We never go back on our word.” I gave him a level look that he declined to return. A nervous twitch of his nose and he hopped out of the café. “That guy has a blackish aura with streaks of gray,” Tulip said, pursing her lips. “Yeah, no surprise—he’s working under a brain cloud.” I didn’t want to say the words embezzling cocaine addict out loud and sink the project before it started. “And since when did you start seeing auras?” And what was I going to do with the unwanted knowledge that the guy was stealing company funds? A moral dilemma. I shouldn’t think that was business as normal, even for the movie industry. About the Author:

January Bain has wished on every falling star, every blown-out birthday candle, and every coin thrown in a fountain to be a storyteller. To share the tales of high adventure, mysteries, and full blown thrillers she has dreamed of all her life. The story you now have in your hands is the compilation of a lot of things manifesting itself for this special series. Hundreds of hours spent researching the unusual and the mundane have come together to create books that features strong women who live life to the fullest, wild adventures full of twists and unforeseen turns, and hot complicated men who aren’t afraid to take risks. She can only hope her stories will capture your imagination. If you are looking for January Bain, you can find her hard at work every morning without fail in her office with her furry baby, Ling Ling. And, of course, she’s married to the most romantic man! Who once famously remarked to her inquiry about buying fresh flowers for their home every week, “Give me one good reason why not?” Leaving her speechless and knocking her head against the proverbial wall for being so darn foolish. She loves flowers. If you wish to connect in the virtual world she is easily found on Facebook. Oh, and she loves to talk books… Blog: http://januarybainjourney.blogspot.ca/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/JanuaryBain Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/january.bain Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6437282.January_Bain Totally Bound: https://www.totallybound.com/book/movies-moonlight-and-magic Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Movies-Moonlight-Magic-Manitoba-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B07VQ8S65W/ref=sr_1_4 a Rafflecopter giveaway

#Movies Moonlight and Magic #January Bain #cozy mystery #Goddess Fish Promotions #Hearts & Scribbles

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