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pikapeppa · 5 years ago

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Felassan/f!Lavellan smut: Caught

Chapter 19 of The Love That Grows From Violence (post-Trespasser Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is posted!

In which... well, the title says it. But also, a Dorian cameo!

~7000 words. Read on AO3 instead.

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Tamaris plopped down on her bed and started setting up to write her letters. She was still dearly hoping that Felassan would join her sooner than later, but she had to find some way to occupy her mind until he was finished with his task, or she’d drive herself crazy.

She placed a piece of parchment on the large tome she’d brought upstairs to use as a writing surface. She’d written to Cassandra already a few days ago, so Cassandra didn’t need another update yet. She’d write to Thom instead and leave it to Varric’s ravens to figure out where he might be now, and then she’d write to Bull and to Istimaethoriel and the clan.

She opened her bottle of ink and dipped a quill in it, but before she could start writing, she remembered that she’d meant to call Dorian to apologize for storming off to the roof the last time he’d called.

Fuck, she thought. She put the ink and quill on the bedside table, then went over to the dresser and grabbed the sending crystal.

She rubbed her thumb over the surface, and the crystal pulsed with a gentle purple light as she waited for him to answer. A few seconds later, Dorian’s voice floated up from the crystal’s face.

“Well well, if it isn’t Tamaris of Clan Lavellan,” he drawled. “Thedas’s most unmannerly ex-Inquisitor—”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, do you want me to apologize or not?”

“Oh, excellent,” he said brightly. “Let me just fetch a glass of wine.”

She tsked. “I’m sorry, all right? I…” She sighed. “Things kind of hit a sore point, but I shouldn’t have just left you hanging. I’m sorry.”

“Hm,” Dorian said.

She sighed again. “And I should’ve called sooner to apologize for leaving you hanging. Okay? Are you finished pouting now?”

Dorian chuckled. “I suppose it’ll do. Your apologies are always so charmingly rude.”

She scoffed at this. “You sound like Felassan.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” Dorian said. “How is he?”

“Why?” Tamaris said pointedly. “Eager to hear from your new best friend, are you?”

Dorian laughed. “That must mean the sending crystals arrived. I hope they’re of use to him. And no, Tamaris, giving sending crystals to Felassan does not mean I love you any less.”

She grunted, then relented. “Seriously though, thank you for sending those to him. He’s really pleased about it. He… I think he might have found a use for them.”

“Oh?” Dorian said curiously.

Tamaris got up from her bed and went to close the door before replying. “I just told him yesterday that Solas took the eluvians from Briala,” she admitted. “I think he’s got an idea to help her relating to your crystals being precursors to eluvians, but I don’t really know.”

“You didn’t ask?” Dorian said.

“He’s busy with something else right now,” she said.

“Well, tell him I’d like to know what he comes up with,” Dorian said. “It would be nice to hear about a project that’s magical in nature instead of political.”

“I bet,” she said sympathetically. Then she realized she hadn’t asked him about the political situation in Tevinter the last time they’d talked. “Fuck, I should’ve asked. How are you and Maevaris doing there? The Lucerni are shaping up?”

“Oh, they’re doing very well,” Dorian said airily. “Learning their manners, using their knives and forks in the correct hands and all. I’m far more interested in hearing more from you.”

“About what?”

“About Felassan,” Dorian said, in a tone that clearly translated to ‘obviously’. “Now that we’re chatting on our own, I’d appreciate some more details.”

“I thought I never gave any interesting details,” she said snidely.

“It’s not too late to start.”

She scoffed and didn’t speak, but in truth, she wasn’t sure where she’d even begin to explain to Dorian about Felassan. Would it even make sense to him to describe how much Felassan mattered to her when she’d only known him for a few weeks?

Dorian spoke again, and his tone was softer. “I quite like him, you know. That was a rather telling conversation to be a part of.”

“How so?” she asked.

“He has many sides,” Dorian said. “That issue with the Dalish clan…” He paused for a moment, and his voice carried no levity when he spoke again. “That was undeniably chilling. I understand why you were angry.”

“Yeah,” she said softly.

“And yet…” Dorian paused again, and Tamaris could easily picture him stroking his mustache in thought. “You’ve been in the house together for how long now?”

“Just about a month,” she said.

“Hm,” Dorian said pensively.

She lifted an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”

“It’s… interesting,” Dorian said slowly. “Such a short time… but I think he knows you better than Solas did. Possibly better than I do.”

Her gut jolted at this. “What do you mean?”

“When you got angry and left our conversation, Varric and I counselled Felassan to let you have some time alone,” Dorian said. “We told him you prefer to work through it on your own when something bothers you. He refused. He said he wasn’t going to let you sit alone with this because… venhedis, what were the words he used? Something like the brightest flames deserving a gentle hand to stoke them so they don’t burn themselves out. Something like that.”

She stared at the crystal with a ringing of disbelief in her head. Felassan had said that to Dorian and Varric? The brightest flames deserving a gentle hand… He’d said that about her? It certainly sounded like something he’d say. But to say something that tender about her to her friends — to Dorian, whom he didn’t even know…

She swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat. Then Dorian spoke again, and his voice was a little bit tentative. “It… made me think, actually. That perhaps we were… remiss by not pushing you harder to talk to us after everything happened.”

She cleared her throat. “No, it’s… it’s not your fault,” she said gruffly. “I was…” Gods, she’d been so angry for so long, and she’d become inaccessible in so many ways. It was only now with Felassan’s gentle hands building her up that she could see how much she’d shut herself away.

“I was fucked up, Dorian,” she said. “I wasn’t letting anyone in. It’s not your fault.”

“No,” Dorian said, and Tamaris raised her eyebrows at the vehemence in his tone. “I stopped trying,” he said. “I… I think perhaps we were… scared of your intensity. You can be quite terrifying, you know.”

She huffed despite the lump in her throat. “Thanks, I guess.”

He chuckled, but his tone was somber when he spoke again. “We gave up trying to… to bring you out of your shell. And for that, I am truly sorry. And I am very glad that Felassan seems to have found a way through your shell.” His voice warmed with humour once more. “He’s quite something, isn’t he? I might have a bit of a crush. That voice of his is like a golden trap.”

Tamaris barked out a laugh. “Yeah. He caught me pretty fucking thoroughly.”

The playful words left her mouth and hung in the air between herself and Dorian, like a spritz of perfume that neither of them had expected.

“And she shares details after all,” Dorian said gently. “I knew you had it in you.”

She didn’t reply. She just sat frozen on her bed as her own words rolled through her mind: he caught me thoroughly. All of a sudden, it was like something inside of her had crumbled, breaking apart in her chest and showing what she’d been so reluctant to see all this time.

She could see it now though, in complete crystal clarity, almost like looking through an eluvian’s activated depths: how special Felassan was, how important he was, the possessiveness she felt for him. The desire that continued to ripen between them every day, and the laughter they shared over the stupidest jokes and teases.

Felassan was everything she’d been terrified of letting in for the past few years, and without quite meaning to, she’d summarized her feelings for him in just a few unfiltered words to Dorian: he caught me thoroughly. She’d tried to hide from him and she’d tried to run, and she’d tried to keep him away from her most damaged parts like she’d done to everyone else. And still he’d caught her — not because he was a trap like Dorian’s joke suggested, but because he was wide open.

Felassan was a warm and open smile and wide-open arms. Tamaris had stumbled clumsily toward those wide-open arms, and Felassan had caught her.

Dorian’s voice jolted her from her jittery reverie. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” she said huskily. “I’m… I’m still here.”

“Do you have to go?” he said.

His voice was warm and understanding, and she could easily picture the curl of his smile beneath his mustache. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll, um… I’ll call you in a couple days.”

“There’s no rush,” Dorian said. “I’m very busy and important, so I might not have time for you for a while.”

She huffed in amusement, and Dorian chuckled. “Goodnight, Tamaris.”

“Goodnight,” she said. “And… thanks, lethallin.”

“You’re welcome, my friend,” he said. Then the sending crystal went dim.

Tamaris set it gently on the bedside table. She picked up the quill and ink, then just sat there on her bed holding them and not doing anything.

He caught me, she thought. It still stunned her how aptly the words described her feelings for Felassan. When they’d first met, she’d been stuck in a sort of freefall of bitterness and self-isolation, barely veiled by the alcohol she’d taken to drinking every night. But Felassan tolerated her moods and her snappishness, and he’d made her laugh and helped her quit the booze. And more quickly than she’d ever imagined possible, she’d slipped into a different sort of freefall altogether – one that was more tempting and terrifying than any bottle of liquor could ever be.

She’d started falling for Felassan. And no matter how much she resisted it, no matter how much she tried to keep him at bay and to shield her unhealed wounds from him, he’d stood there patiently with his cheeky jokes and his warm amethyst eyes and his wide-open arms.

Tamaris had fallen for Felassan, and with his infinite patience and care, he had caught her.

She didn’t know how long she sat there on the bed holding her ink and quill and thinking about him. But when he finally knocked on her bedroom door, she hadn’t written a single word.

As always, he stepped into her room without waiting for a response. His face was wreathed in a cheeky smile, and her blood thrilled at the sight of him, but she forced herself to give him the annoyed look that she knew he expected.

“Why do you bother knocking when you’re just going to walk right in anyway?” she asked.

“Because I have excellent manners,” he said. “Knocking is polite.”

“Walking right in is rude,” she pointed out.

“My manners are selective,” he said airily. “Sometimes a little rudeness is exactly what’s called for.” He sauntered over to the bed and gestured at it. “May I?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Since when do you ask for permission to lie on my bed?”

“Since the bed is already occupied,” he said. He eyed the blank parchment that was scattered on the bed. “You got far with your letter-writing, I see.”

His smile was teasing, and Tamaris desperately would have liked to make a clever retort, but the conversation with Dorian was still too fresh and thrilling in her mind. “I was talking to Dorian,” she said, and she started clearing her belongings from the bed to make space for him.

“Ah,” Felassan said. “How is my new best friend?” He lay down beside her and tucked his arms behind his head.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “The two of you are ridiculous. Fucking thick as thieves after one single conversation.”

He smirked. “What can I say? It was a good conversation.”

“So I heard,” Tamaris said.

He looked at her. “Did you, now?”

She tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. “Um, yeah.”

“What did you hear?” he said.

His tone was light and casual, but his face was warm and expectant and open, and… gods, Tamaris had fallen hard for him, and she couldn’t believe she’d resisted for so long.

She gazed at him in silence for a moment. Then, carefully, she shifted closer to him and straddled his hips.

His lips curled in a tiny smile, but his soft and expectant eyes never left her face. Tamaris swallowed hard, and without looking away from his precious handsome face, she peeled her sleeveless tunic over her head.

She cast her tunic to the floor, then dropped her gaze to her hands as she unbuttoned the front clasps of her bra. She dropped her bra on the floor, then deftly unstrapped her left arm and placed it on the floor as well. And only then, when she was bared to Felassan’s gaze from the waist up, did she met his eye again.

He was watching her intensely. His eyes were wide and hungry as they tracked over her breasts and the planes of her bare belly, and she could feel the hardening of his cock beneath her as his greedy gaze took her in. But his arms were still folded behind his head, and he was making no move to touch her.

When his eyes finally returned to her face, her heart thumped. His eyes were glowing faintly, lit warmly from within by magic and desire. But what really stole her breath was the tenderness in his face.

A pang of nerves shot through her belly. It was a good pang, though — a pang that reminded her in no uncertain terms that she was not alone in this. She was not alone in the roiling storm of desire between them, desire that was thickened and deepened by the obvious emotion that they both shared.

But Felassan lay quiet and still with his arms tucked behind his head. As the seconds ticked by and her heart thudded in her ears, she realized what he was waiting for — what he’d been waiting for this morning, and what he’d been waiting for all along, ever since the morning after their first time.

He was waiting for her. He was waiting for her to act, to speak – to tell him in no uncertain terms that this was what she wanted.

Tamaris took a deep breath. And finally, after weeks of keeping the words trapped at the back of her tongue, she let them loose.

“I want you,” she said.

A beautiful smile lit his face, but his words were serious. “Are you sure?”

Tamaris rested her right hand on his abs and tilted her hips forward. She rubbed herself slowly against the bulge between his legs, and his smile slipped into a look of want.

“I’m sure,” she said firmly. “I want you, Felassan. I’m ready.”

He exhaled slowly and smiled once more. “Good,” he said softly. Then, finally, he reached for her with one hand.

Her breath hitched as his fingers approached her. He placed his palm flat on her body, his fingers brushing her sternum as his thumb traced the underside of her breast, and Tamaris stopped breathing.

Slowly and delicately, he trailed his fingers down her sternum toward her navel, and a bloom of heated anticipation burst to life between her legs at the nearness of his fingers to her groin. But his hand was slowly moving back up, his palm breezing very gently over her skin, and then he was trailing his fingertips beneath her breasts, stroking the curves of her body as though he was storing their shape in his fingertips for later.

Tamaris arched helplessly toward his teasing hand. He continued his slow and careful perusal of her skin, skimming his knuckles over the taut planes of her belly and brushing his fingers over her collarbones, and all the while he was avoiding her nipples, brushing his thumb and his knuckles around them but never over their hardened little peaks.

Within the space of a minute, Tamaris was panting and rocking her hips, and the buzzing of unfulfilled desire in her nipples was almost more than she could bear. When Felassan lowered his hand from her chest, she arched her spine and moaned.

“Please,” she begged. “Felassan, touch me!”

A smile lit his face. He carefully sat up on his elbows, then pushed himself upright without shifting her off of his lap, and Tamaris grabbed his shoulder for balance; they were face-to-face now, and his one arm was encircling her waist. He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers, and her excitement ratcheted up as she anticipated his kiss–

“Lean back,” he murmured against her lips. “Let me touch you.”

She immediately leaned back, keeping her one hand on his shoulder for support. Then Felassan dipped his head low and licked her nipple.

A bolt of lust shot through her body straight down to her groin. She gasped and arched toward his mouth, but he kept his touch teasing and light, running his tongue over her nipple with smooth long strokes before pulling very lightly at the peak with his lips.

Tamaris twisted desperately on his lap, but his arm was too tight around her waist, and Felassan didn’t relent; he continued to torture her nipple with little flicks of the tongue and tugs of his lips, and when he moved on to treat her other nipple with the same glorious and terrible attention, she actually sobbed.

“You fucking tease,” she whined.

He lifted his mouth and grinned. “I’m not teasing. I’m simply savouring. The memory of your nipples in my mouth has been keeping me up at night for weeks.”

“So suck on them already!” she burst out.

He laughed wickedly. “Why would I do that when I could have you squirming on my lap like this?” He dropped his head once more and brushed his cheek over the peak of her breast, and she let out a strained little moan.

“Felassan…” She tried to tilt her hips down to press against the bulge of his cock. Maybe if she riled him up, she could goad him into touching her more firmly. But as she twisted in the muscular grip of his arm, she realized something: he was holding her in such a way that she couldn’t rub herself against him.

“Why are you torturing me like this?” she demanded.

“Because I know you like it,” he replied.

She let out a breathy laugh. “You are such a smug asshole.”

“And you burn much more brightly when I stoke you in just the right way,” he murmured.

She darted a look at him, and her heart squeezed. Despite the salacious undertone of his words, his eyes were tender and warm.

In this moment, she realized that he knew what she and Dorian had been talking about. Felassan knew that Dorian had told her what he’d said after she’d walked away.

But he didn’t know all of it. He didn’t know what she had told to Dorian in turn: that she had fallen hard for Felassan, and that she was so incredibly grateful to be caught.

She clasped his neck in her hand and kissed him. His lips parted for her, and she nipped his lips and stroked his tongue with hers as passionately as she could in the desperate hope that her kiss would tell him what she wanted him to know, but still wasn’t quite brave enough to say.

She gently suckled his lower lip, and he let out the most beautiful growly groan. Then his hand was curving along the side of her neck, his fingers sliding into her hair, and when he pulled her head back to kiss her throat, she mewled and twisted her hips again, to no avail.

“Felassan, please,” she whined. He was leaving a trail of tiny open-mouthed kisses along the taut line of her neck and down, and the closer his lips got to her breast, the more she became convinced that she was going to explode before he even really touched her.

He hummed against her collarbone, then suddenly took her nipple in his mouth and suckled hard, and she cried out in surprise and clasped his neck to hold him close. He pulled her nipple deeply into his mouth like he was trying to draw all of the pleasure in her body toward the perfect hard pressure of his lips, and just when Tamaris was starting to feel some relief, he released her.

She dug her nails into his neck. “Felassan, just – fuck me!” she blurted.

He burst out a little laugh, then suddenly rolled her over. The next thing she knew, she was sprawled on her back beneath him.

He placed a tiny teasing kiss on her breast. “You’re so impatient. But I’m not sure you’re ready.”

She laughed giddily and lifted her hips toward him. “This again? You’re so fucking mean.”

He tutted and rolled her nipple between his fingers. “Don’t slander me. I’m not mean; I’m extremely nice. In fact, I am so nice that I shall check to make sure you’re ready for me.” He sat back on his knees and started unlacing her breeches, and she panted and twisted her hips restlessly until her breeches were undone. By the time his deft fingers were finally pulling her breeches and smallclothes down, her smalls were so wet that they clung to her for a moment before finally peeling away.

Felassan let out a slow and breathy groan, then reached down and ran his palm over his bulging groin. Satisfied by his reaction, Tamaris lifted her hips and spread her legs. “Does that mean I’m ready?” she asked cheekily.

He lifted his eyes to her face, and another bolt of excitement coursed through her blood: his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were aglow. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think I need a closer look. Maybe a taste.”

She burst out a breathy laugh. “You’re so full of– oh gods!” His head was between her legs, and she arched and clenched her fingers in the sheets: Felassan was devouring her, his mouth moving between her legs in a ravenous rhythm of open-mouthed kisses and long hungry laps of his tongue, and for a moment she just lay there gasping for breath, stunned by the torrid heat of his lips and tongue as he drank in the evidence of desire that he’d fostered between her legs. He clasped her thighs and held her wide as he kissed her sex, and it really felt like he was tasting her, like he was taking the time to feast on every fold of her flesh and every drop of slippery nectar that heralded her desperate want.

Then his attention honed onto her clit. His ravenous mouth became gentle and slow – oh fuck, so gentle and slow: he was doing nothing more now than brushing his lower lip over her swollen clit, and it felt so fucking good and so fucking torturous that she lifted her head to stare pleadingly at him.

A pulse of excitement made her lightheaded: he was looking at her, too. His beautiful amethyst eyes were glowing and his cheeks and ears were flushed, and he was looking directly at her face while he caressed her clit with his lower lip.

A hint of a smile curled the corner of his mouth. Without breaking her gaze, Felassan ran his tongue over her clit, and she gasped and stared breathlessly into his eyes, stunned by desire and by the sheer intimacy of this act. Having him watching her while he feasted on her, knowing that she was watching him… There was something so intimate about it, almost more intimate than the act itself, and as he licked her and kissed her and brought her toward her peak while gazing into her eyes, she knew that the pounding of her heart was more than just sheer lust.

She stared at him, lightheaded with pleasure and want and the fervency of her own affection. He gazed steadily at her in turn, his eyes glittering with magic and with carnal intent, and only when her climax suddenly burst did she break from his hypnotic gaze.

She slammed her head back into the pillows and let out a visceral cry. Felassan was still licking her clit, lavishing the sensitive bud with gentle little laps while his palms smoothed along the insides of her thighs, and when Tamaris’s scintillating climax ebbed away, he finally lifted his mouth from between her legs.

He wiped his mouth on her belly, then shifted up higher on the bed to lounge beside her, but his hand was still drifting over her inner thigh. “Did you enjoy that, avise?” he murmured.

She nodded, feeling too good and too spent to talk, and Felassan smirked. “Yes? You liked watching me while I slid my tongue over that tight little nub between your legs?”

A fresh shiver of lust pulsed between legs. “Yes,” she breathed.

He nodded thoughtfully. Then he curved his fingers against the sensitive folds of her sex. “Did you enjoy staring at me while I made you come all over my tongue?” he asked.

His tone was innocent, but his voice was so fucking smooth, and his fingers lying still against her body were sheer torture. She gasped and bucked her hips toward his hand. “Fuck’s sake, Felassan, yes!”

He angled his wrist and slid two fingers inside of her, and she cried out and arched her back. Then Felassan pressed his lips to her ear. “Ar em hartha al emathast’sulahn mar asreun’en bellanaris,” he purred.

Oh fuck, she thought deliriously. This was what he’d been threatening for weeks, the words in his own native tongue–

He curled his fingers inside of her. She mewled and grabbed his shirt, and he spoke into her ear again. “Ir silras ahnsul al palash’odhe mar blardhea.”

“Felassan,” she whined. She didn’t know what he was saying, but — but fuck it, he was right: there was something about the rhythm of his words, the tone and liquid lilt of his accent shaped around the ancient Elvhen words, and it was doing something wonderful to her, even though she couldn’t discern his meaning.

He slid his fingers inside of her in a slow and careful thrust. “Ir’emah diana’ma sule ma tela odhea i’tel em,” he murmured, and Tamaris sobbed and twisted helplessly beneath him. His fingers were swirling inside of her, and as Felassan continued to whisper in her ear, it felt like his words were swirling inside of her as well. His fluid Elvhen words were finding something hidden in her blood and bringing it to life, making her feel more alive and in tune with the feeling of his fingers curling inside of her and striking the perfect place of pleasure inside of her body–

She came suddenly, to her own surprise, and she was so taken aback by the suddenness of her climax that she couldn’t even cry out. She couldn’t breathe or say a word; all she could do was lie arching and splayed on her bed as the pleasure of his fingers and his words spanned and pulsed through her entire body from her scalp all the way to the tips of her toes.

When she could finally breathe again, all she could manage was the faintest moan. Felassan chuckled, then lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

For some reason, his voice was curled with humour. She took a deep breath, then spoke on a moan. “Does what hurt?”

“Your chest,” he said.

My chest? she thought in confusion. She opened her eyes and looked down at her chest, and her eyebrows leapt up.

There were long red marks across her chest – scoremarks from her own nails. She’d scratched herself in the throes of her rapture, and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh shit,” she said. She burst out a breathy laugh, then groaned and stretched languidly on the bed. “I didn’t even feel that.”

“Too busy feeling other things?” Felassan said slyly.

She admired his gorgeous cheeky grin, then rolled toward him and pushed him onto his back. “Get naked,” she said.

He tsked. “There you go, commanding me again.” He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head, then started unlacing his breeches, and Tamaris watched avidly the laces came undone.

He lifted his hips and started pushing down his breeches, and she was amused to note once again that he was wearing no underwear. “All right,” he said playfully. “Are you satisfi–”

She surged toward him and kissed him, cutting off his playful words, and then she was straddling him and clutching his shoulder for support while she rubbed her slick cleft along the length of his cock.

He moaned loudly into her mouth and grabbed her shoulder blades, and Tamaris greedily swallowed the sound of his pleasure as she curled her hips toward him. He was so gorgeously hard and smooth, and his fingers were sliding firmly from her shoulder blades down her back as though he was savouring her skin beneath his fingers. She rocked against him, spreading her slickness along the length of his cock, and he broke from their kiss with a gasp.

“Tamaris,” he moaned. He grabbed her hips and tried to lift her, but she tensed her thighs and went still.

Felassan’s eyes darted to her face. “Is something wrong?” he panted.

She twisted her lips wryly. “I just don’t think you’re ready.”

He stared at her for a second. Then a wicked smile burst across his face. “Oh, avise,” he said, and he laughed. “You can’t withhold from me.”

“I’m not withholding,” she said innocently. “I really don’t think you’re ready. I’d better take a closer look.” She slid off of his lap and shuffled down between his legs, then braced her weight on her shortened left arm and brushed her lips over the head of his cock.

He grunted with pleasure and lifted his hips, and Tamaris purposely lifted her head to look at him. “I want to know what you said to me in Elvhen,” she said.

“I said a lot of things to you in Elvhen,” he replied. His smile was cheeky but the light in his eyes was an urgent glow, and Tamaris admired the obvious lust in his face before lowering her head toward his cock.

Felassan jerked his hips, and she lifted her head once more without touching him with her mouth. “Tell me some of the things you said,” she demanded.

He exhaled shakily and smiled. “Whatever happened to enjoying a little mystery?”

She took his cock in her mouth and all way down her throat, and the sound he made… gods, it was guttural and animalistic and full of desire, and it was almost enough to make her give up the teasing act and fuck him.

With an immense effort of will, she resisted. She slowly released his cock, then sat back on her heels. “Tell me, Felassan,” she said, and she placed her hand on his thigh, teasingly close to his cock.

His eyes glittered with heat as they focused on her hand. “So cruelly insistent. One thing I said was this: ‘I could listen to the symphony of your orgasms forever.’”

A ripple of want burned down her throat toward her belly. She took his cock in her fist and pumped him once, and he leaned his head back with another gorgeous groan.

“Tamaris…” he breathed.

She stroked his length once more, then released him. “What else did you say?”

He lifted his head to look at her with his luminous eyes. “I also said this: ‘I am drunk on the perfume of your pussy.’”

Oh fuck, she thought feverishly. She crawled back up his body to straddle his hips and rubbed her slick heat against the length of his cock. “What else did you say?” she panted.

He moaned and squeezed her hip. “Tamaris, I need you…”

“Is that something you said?”

“It is something I’m saying now,” he said sharply.

She smiled at his snappish tone, then leaned in and brushed her lips over the tip of his ear. “Tell me something else you said,” she whispered.

He suddenly wrapped his fist in her hair and pulled her head to the side, and she cried out with pleasure at the sudden pull. He lifted his hips to rub against her pussy and dragged his tongue along the side of her neck, and by the time his lips were at her ear, she was practically sobbing with want.

“‘I’m going to fill you up until you can’t breathe without me’,” he growled. “That is something else I said. Can I do as I promised now, or have you not had enough of provoking me?”

“Yes!” she gasped.

He nipped her neck. “Yes to what?” he demanded.

“Yes, I want you to fill me up!” she cried.

He smiled against her ear. “That’s all you had to say,” he purred. He released her hair and lifted her hips, then started slowly lowering her onto his cock.

She mewled and dug her nails into Felassan’s shoulder, and he burst out a guttural breath. “Ar iselana mana per ma...” he moaned.

She panted for breath and didn’t reply, and he continued to fill her up inch by blissful inch. When she was fully seated on his cock, they exhaled together in a groan at the completeness of their melding bodies.

He slid his palms from her thighs up to her hips, and Tamaris wrapped her arm around his neck. In tandem, they began moving together in a languid rolling rhythm.

Tamaris slowly curled her hips to meet him and pressed her forehead to his. “What did you just say?” she breathed.

He let out a breathy groan and stroked her back. “I said… I said that I have waited so long for you.”

She went still for a moment, and Felassan cradled her neck. “And I would have continued to wait,” he murmured. “I told you before, avise. Some things are worth waiting for.”

She stared wordlessly into his steady violet eyes. A bloom of emotion burst in her chest and spread through her rib cage, rising up through her throat and pressing at the back of her eyes, and when Felassan’s expression grew tender, she knew that he could see it too.

She kissed him and flexed her hips to take him deep. He slid his arms around her, and then he was hugging her tightly as he filled her with his cock, and as Tamaris suckled his tongue and breathed against his lips, she wished she had two whole arms if only to hold him just as tightly as he was holding her.

She hugged him with her right arm and rested her stunted left arm on his shoulder. Without breaking the rolling grind of their hips or breaking from her kiss, Felassan reached up and stroked her shortened arm, smoothing his hand firmly from her shoulder down to the stump and back, and the bloom of affection in her chest only seemed to swell more hotly than before.

She kissed him hard, then broke from his lips to breathe against his cheek. “Move me how you want me,” she whispered. He’d pleased her so much already, with his mouth and his hands and his filthy Elvhen words, and the slow thrust of his cock was pleasing her all the more, and all she wanted was to make him feel just as good.

He squeezed her shortened left arm, then slid his arms around her once more. “This is how I want you,” he told her. “A slow-burning flame for this slow arrow.”

She smiled against his cheek. “That’s a lot of words to say – ah — that you like what I’m doing already.”

His pleasured groan drifted across her ear, followed by his husky voice. “I know how much you like my words. And I am very good with them. Did you know that I was once a very good spy–”

“Shut up,” she laughed breathily, and she took his lips in another kiss. She cradled his neck and rolled against his lap in a slow and steady grind, and Felassan licked her tongue and stroked her back and lifted his hips to meet her, and despite the distracting bliss of his body meeting with hers, Tamaris was careful to note when his hips became more jerky and his kisses more firm.

He broke from her lips with a breathy grunt, and Tamaris’s excitement flared anew; his eyes were glowing once more, glittering with the kind of hot luminance that meant his control was starting to slip. She lifted her hips and came down more firmly on his cock, and he jolted and grabbed her hip.

“Ah,” he gasped. “That — Tamaris–”

He didn’t need to say anything more; without any further cueing, Tamaris began to fuck him in a hard and rapid rise-and-fall.

She clasped his neck and gazed into his eyes. He was staring at her too, his eyes glazed and feverish with need, and as Tamaris continued to lift and lower herself on the slick length of his cock, his face began to twist with the most beautiful expression of longing.

“Tamaris,” he begged.

“I know,” she breathed. She kissed him once more, then turned his head to the side and nipped his neck.

He gasped out the most beautiful pleasured sound, and she felt his cock jerking inside of her. She kissed and licked his neck, then started sucking on his skin with just enough pressure to hurt. His breathing grew erratic beside her ear and his cock became even harder, striking even deeper inside of her body, and Tamaris whimpered and bit his neck.

He dug his nails into her shoulder blade and cried out in climax, and Tamaris hugged him with her right arm as he groaned and panted and shuddered ecstatically beneath her. She continued to roll against him, taking his thickness into her body and savouring his length as he filled her up, and when his shuddering stilled and his fingers went lax against her back, she finally went still on his lap.

She brushed her lips over his temple, then down to his jaw. He sighed languidly and leaned his head to the side, and Tamaris happily took advantage of the angle to nuzzle the side of his neck.

She kissed and licked his neck, and he let out another lazy sigh and ran his hand over her curly hair. “Are you hungry? I can make you something. You don’t need to feed on the salt from my skin.”

She lifted her lips. “I thought you liked it when I suck on your neck.”

“I love it when you suck on my neck,” he said.

She stroked his cheek, then brushed her lips over his ear. “Then stop complaining,” she whispered.

He laughed – that perfect, lilting roll of a laugh — then lifted her off of his lap and settled her on the bed so they were lying face-to-face. “Abrasive and tender in a single breath,” he said. “What a quixotic marvel you are.”

His palm was moving in a slow and lazy stroke along the side of her hip. She smiled goofily at him, but she couldn’t help but compare their current pose to the way they’d fallen asleep last night. They’d been lying face-to-face like this last night, and Felassan had been gazing at her in this soft and tender way. But this moment now was so much better than last night. Now, his face wasn’t tinted with sadness and ravaged with tears. Now, their skin was completely bare and dappled with the shared dampness of each other’s sweat and sex.

Now, Tamaris could finally admit to herself that she had fallen in love with Felassan.

“What’s on your mind?” he murmured.

I love you, she thought. But she still couldn’t tell him yet. The admission was still too fresh in her mind, too new and too tender to release into the air, and despite the unmitigated depth of her feelings, she wasn’t quite ready to tell him yet.

“I think I am hungry after all,” she said. “Can you bring me a snack?”

He smiled slowly at her, then pulled her against his body. “I take back that offer,” he grumbled. “You’re getting far too pampered.”

“Spoilsport,” she said. Then she squealed when his fingers crept teasingly over her ribs.

“Don’t tickle!” she gasped, but he didn’t give in, and soon she was helpless with laughter beneath him.

She grabbed his hand to stop him. “Okay,” she wheezed. “Okay, okay, I don’t need a snack.”

He lifted his hand to cradle her neck. “That’s a relief,” he said. “Because I’m not willing to leave this bed anytime soon.”

She gazed happily into his perfect violet eyes, then tilted her chin up for a kiss. I’ll tell him soon, she thought. Soon, she would find the courage to tell him that she loved him.

But for now, she would linger in the heat of his sweat-laced skin, and she would enjoy the precious feeling of being caught.

#felassan #save felassan #felassan romance #felassan/lavellan #felassan x lavellan #felassan/inquisitor #felassan x inquisitor #the love that grows from violence #pikapeppa writes

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ardent-musings · 4 years ago

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The Girl Who Vanished (Part 1)

Chapter 22: The Toothless Lion and the Jaded Snake

A month had gone by since her discussion with the twins in the owlery and the boys kept their promise. Multiple times their breakfast would be interrupted by the Slytherin captain throwing up his meal, or he would enter the common room with a new hair color. It seemed like it was something new every other day and the boy was distraught. He was no longer boastful as he walked through the halls, but he would silently glare at anyone and anything as he heaved and grumbled about. It was beautiful. And Ana would have the Weasley boys to thank.

Aeron had finally perked up; once he noticed that no one, not even Alex was trying to kick him out of the group, he beamed with appreciation. Also, the sight of his enemy crawling across the floor because he had been hit by the Jelly-Legs Jinx was hard to not laugh at. That was all she wanted. She wanted the boy who had hid himself for months to break out of his shell. And he was.

The four of them were sitting together in Herbology; Aeron and Ana together while Alex was with Calista. Professor Sprout looked as warm as ever underneath her large hat while she smiled softly at the girl she had grown to care deeply for. It was unusual for her to have a student such as Ana, and that only made the day even more splendid for the grayed witch.

The class went over the medicinal Fluxweed plant; another plant that Ana's mother grew year round in their garden. It was a key ingredient in her medicine, so Ana had grown very familiar with the common weed. She spent an hour planting and watering for both her and Aeron, who refused to get his hands messy; though Ana didn't mind. Aeron kept her company well enough as he began talking about some old revolution they had learned in their last history lesson. The course material was yawn-worthy and yet the budding boy had a way of making it interesting. After laughing with Aeron until the end of their lesson, she was starving and only had dinner on her mind. As soon as class ended she was already chatting with Alex about the upcoming Quidditch tryouts when the kind voice of her professor called for her. Without hesitating, Ana gallivanted towards her favorite teacher with glee, encouraging her friends to go on without her.

"It's good to see you in such a good mood, Ana. I'm assuming that the sleeping potion has been helping?" The woman hummed as she held one of the young girl's hands in between both of her own. Ana's nose scrunched happily and she nodded in return. "Good. Very good."

Ana wasn't sure why she was called over, but this alone time with Professor Sprout was nice. The sun was no longer as hot as it had been an hour earlier and the sky was turning into a beautiful watercolor of pinks and yellows. Two colors that she associated with Professor Sprout.

"Well I called you because I want to invite you to the greenhouse after dinner!" She sang softly with shimmering eyes. "I have someone I'd like for you to meet, dear. Would you care for a visit?"

The young witch couldn't imagine turning down Sprout's invitation, it would be a crime to decline. Since her first year the head of Hufflepuff had shown her more care and concern than her own head of house. Snape wasn't horrible, but goodness, he was no Professor Sprout. Snape was kind if he had to be, Sprout was kind because that was just who she was by nature.

"Of course Professor! I'd love to meet them," she smiled from ear to ear, positively glowing with the prospect of meeting someone who had the woman so enthralled. With a charming smile, Sprout beamed at the young girl before sending Ana off to eat.

Dinner went by in a breeze, and Ana couldn't help but bounce with happiness in her seat as she tried guessing who she was going to meet. Perhaps it would be the twins' brother Ron, or maybe even the boy who lived. Regardless, Ana was just excited to spend even more time with her favorite teacher. She practically scarfed down her strawberries and soup, which worried Lucian; he feared she was going to choke. Ana blurted to her friends that she was going to be elsewhere after dinner, and all four of her friends found it bizarre how excited she was to sit among the dirt again, but it made her happy. So it made them happy.

The sight of Ana gleaming and buzzing with joy also made another onlooker happy, although he would never admit it. He couldn't. At least not yet.

After eating as much as she could, Ana gave her quickest yet sincerest goodbyes as she went straight from the Great Hall to the greenhouses. It wasn't unusual for her to frequent the greenhouses after dinner, but now she would have another person to talk to.

Ana entered the glass structure and noticed that it had been untouched since her class; Professor Sprout must still be at dinner, she assumed. It was wonderfully silent, the plants went about their business as she sat patiently, enjoying the stillness of it all. The air was warm yet light, her breathing always seemed to cycle more evenly when she was among all the greenery. It was a safe place for her.

A crash sounded from behind her, and she swiveled in her seat to see a younger blushy boy bend over to pick up a broken flower pot. Thankfully it was empty so there were no plant deaths to mourn, but the accident did break the young girl out of her moment of appreciation.

"Sorry, I didn't me- did I- did I scare you?" he gulped as he noticed just how composed the girl in front of him was. She didn't look angry, but she didn't look happy. It seemed to him like she was just simply there. Like how air just simply exists, quiet yet still. And he came in bumbling and unbalanced.

"You didn't scare me. I've knocked that pot over too many times to count last year. I keep suggesting to Professor Sprout that we move it, but she insists it stay there," she greeted him with a welcoming smile which almost threw the boy off balance again given her green robes. "Reparo" she fixed the pot as quickly as it broke.

He wobbled over to her with one arm slung in a bandage, muttering a quiet thanks as he kept his gaze on his shoes which were untied, but he didn't dare move to fix them. The girl in front of him might judge him. Every millisecond of silence made the boy wish that Professor Sprout was with them already, just to kill the awkwardness. Conversely, Ana was just happy to have company.

"I'm Ana," she said gently, trying to gauge the younger boy's nervousness, he still refused to look her in the eyes. This wasn't exactly how she thought this evening would go, but Ana trusted Professor Sprout's judgement of the boy; who apparently was a Gryffindor based on his red tie. "So you were sorted into Gryffindor? That's pretty cool."

The little lion was surprised that a Slytherin was talking to her, he was scared of the Slytherins in his year and once he saw her green robes he had almost turned and walked away altogether. It wasn't even that the girl was innately scary, he was just scared of most things.

"I don't feel like a Gryffindor,' Ana was surprised the boy would reveal something he was insecure about so easily, but she let him continue, "maybe if I was a to-toothless lion it'd make more sense."

She nodded her head slowly, he just needed some encouragement, "I don't know about that. Everyone starts out without teeth, but they come in eventually."

For the first time in the whole night, the stuttering boy looked her in the eyes where a tiny twinkle resided in his wide brown ones. It was a tiny success, but it was progress, Ana reveled. A decent amount of time went by and the head of Hufflepuff had yet to join them, so Ana decided to grab her Fluxweed plant from a few hours earlier and she began to instruct the boy on what it did and how to take care of it. The green plant nearly matched the ill look on the boy's face when he first walked in. It took a bit of time, but soon the boy was asking questions; he stumbled over his words but he had the courage to utter them still.

He was astounded by the gentle girl who would smile at him patiently whenever he had a random or obscure question about the plant. She took it in stride and answered every inquiry to the best of her ability and he began to enjoy his time. No longer were his palms sweaty or his knees wobbly in fear, he even let out a chuckle when a neighboring plant began hiccupping. Ana celebrated in his laugh and smiled back at him.

It was the first of many laughs and smiles they would share that night.

"Ana! Stop! I don't need any more water!" He choked on his laughter as she began spritzing his dark hair with a water bottle; his arms flailed as he tried to escape the mist. Ana covered her grinning aching face in her hands, it had been a long time since she laughed so hard. The boy's larger front teeth poked out as he bellowed loudly at the girl.

"I'm trying to help you grow!"

"Well, well, well, look at my two favorite students," a whimsical voice said from the entrance of the greenhouses, "I had a feeling you two would get along."

The two students nodded enthusiastically as Professor Sprout joined them at the benches they were perched at; the soles of their hands were covered in dirt but their smiles never faded. During their time of getting to know each other and mucking around, they hadn't even noticed, even through the transparent walls of the greenhouse that the sky had turned pitch black.

"Neville, I'm sorry. There was a meeting for all the heads of houses, but I'm glad to see you, hun," the woman offered the boy a smile; the kind that Ana had received on more than one occasion. Neville glowed at the welcome. "Unfortunately, it is late so maybe we should do this again another day, yes?"

Begrudgingly, the two students agreed, finding it too dark out to escape getting caught by Filch. They had to go their separate ways to their own common rooms, but they mirrored happy smiles at the thought of spending more time together.

~ Quidditch tryouts were absolutely excruciating, the whole time Flint was in a horrific mood since most of the time he was throwing up slugs from fifty feet in the air. For a split second she felt bad for the captain, but then she peered over to where Aeron was sitting with Calista on the stands. Aeron was a bit nervous at the idea of returning to the pitch, but he ultimately decided to support both Ana and Alex as long as Calista was with him. Aeron was there for her, and Ana knew she would return the favor for the boy. Always.

Thankfully, his skin had improved tremendously since she had begun making healing potions in her down time for him in exchange for his tutoring. It took some convincing for the boy to agree to the deal, but in the end, there was no stopping Ana when she wanted to help him heal from something Flint started.

Ana and Alex were the only two going for the singular chaser position since the last player graduated the previous year. They were put through drill after drill, while Lucian and Derrick swatted the bludgers their way as they furiously tried to score against Miles Bletchley. It was tougher than any flying session Ana had done with Draco over the past few years, but the sting of the cool morning air kept her on high alert. She had always chased after Draco who was incredibly fast on a broom and that practice came out during her tryouts.

Being on the ground, on her unsteady two feet meant that Ana toppled over quite a bit. Flying was an entirely different story; she couldn't trip on air, she could only soar. Draco knew this, and he smiled up at his sister from his place in the stands, there was no way he was going to miss his sister's attempt to get on the team. It would be a big deal to the family if she were to make it as a second year. He didn't want to put that pressure on his sisters, so he hid his nervousness behind his cheers of support.

It had been a few hours until the very ill Marcus Flint called it a day. He had been vomiting on and off the whole time and at some point the sun grew stronger which made the situation even nastier. The final line up for the team was going to take a few days to deliberate so all the Slytherins made their way to the Great Hall to fill up on a well-deserved lunch.

Ana was positively starving, almost matching the ferocity at which Alex typically ate her lunch. Aeron and Calista were discussing both muggle and wizarding history, comparing and contrasting the two, while Lucian talked to Derrick about who would possibly fill the seeker position that Gryffindor needed to fill since Charlie Weasley had graduated. Ana was happy to be in her little bubble as she filled herself on fresh strawberries and as much pasta as she could stomach.

Draco walked into the Great Hall and Ana all but yelled for her brother to join her. He smiled when he saw her, his feet pulling him to his sister until his dorm mates, Crabbe, Goyle, and a few other boys grabbed him by his elbows and directed him out of the hall. One of the boys that joined her brother was Marcus Flint and all Ana could see was red. She hated that Flint had for some reason decided to become chummy with a boy that was five years younger than him. All she wanted was to rip the two away from each other and unfortunately she knew she couldn't. Showing any resentment towards the captain would be a sure fire way for her to not get picked for the team.

Lucian noticed the fury behind her eyes, "You alright, Ana?" he smiled as he poured another helping of strawberries on her plate. Ana's furiousness lessened at the boy's thoughtful offering and nodded with little conviction. She wasn't okay with anything that was happening, but she was for damn sure going to keep an eye on it.

After the intense tryouts, dinner, and showers, the group laid around the common room to relax. Calista was sitting on the floor at Alex's feet while she excitedly explained the plot of a movie The Karate Kid. Everyone listened to her recall the most interesting part of the movie, Aeron seemed to take the most notice; his eyes glowed at the story of the boy who learned how to stand up for himself. Ana had to admit, it sounded like a fun movie, she just lamented the fact that she'd probably never get to watch it.

Lucian and Ana sat next to each other on a different couch, taking breaks to talk to each other about the Quidditch tryouts and then returning their attention to Calista. Ana was finally relaxing at the sound of the crackling fire and her little family around her. Her head was nestled on one of the arm rests, trying her hardest to stay awake to enjoy their down time together. Despite how much she wanted to soak in the sound of Calista's excited voice, Ana's eyes began to grow heavy the longer she laid there, the feeling only growing worse after Lucian draped a blanket over her shivering body.

A loud wallop of boys' screaming disturbed her little nap and the group grew silent as Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint came charging into the common room. It made Ana cringe, seeing the fifth year running around with a bunch of eleven year olds; his uneven facial hair made him stick out like a sore thumb. Flint had been hanging with the group so much, to the point where Ana noticed that Draco hardly talked to her. It made her sad to remember how excited her little brother was last year about coming to Hogwarts; he always talked about doing things together and that had yet to happen.

The four of them bumbled towards the group, which made Aeron and Alex turn to them defensively, their chests puffed out as if they were anticipating some sort of confrontation. Flint focused on the two of them with a sneer that making Ana sit up tiredly: holding her blanket up to her for comfort.

Draco was at the front of the pack which confused Ana, she assumed that Flint would be doing the talking for all of them given he was two years short of graduating.

"When are you going to bed?" the little blond boy asked in a tone that didn't sound like him; it came out far more pompous than ever before. Ana was confused at the sound and the question. He had never cared about the time at which she went to sleep, most times he fell asleep before she did.

"Uh, I'm not sure, whenever I'm tired," she answered kindly, trying to keep the mood light like they usually were when she talked to her brother. "Why do you ask?"

Crabbe and Goyle snickered behind Draco while Flint smirked grotesquely at the group; Ana's face fell at their odd behaviors. At this point all five of them had the entirety of their focus on the four newcomers.

Draco smirked at his older sister, looking almost too sweet. "No reason. Just thought you looked tired."

That was a lie. It was a flat out lie. This was not like Draco. Usually, Ana would stumble upon her brother drooling on his pillow rather early in the night. When he was done for the night he would ignore everyone and pass out. Her stomach twisted at the persona her brother was putting on. He wasn't himself. He was acting like their father, which terrified her.

"She looks tired because that's what happens when you spend your whole morning trying out for the Quidditch team," Alex's statement came out with a bit of acidity to it, her body situated between the boys and the rest of the group.

"I know, I was watching, Bole," Draco quipped back sharply, which alarmed Ana.

The soft and cushy couch was abandoned once he replied to her friend like that; Ana stood up and pulled Draco away from the boys who glared at her scathingly. Thankfully, Draco didn't dismiss Ana, allowing her to take him by the elbow and away from any curious ears.

"Draco are you okay?"

"Of course I am. What would make you think something's wrong?"

Once again, he sounded like he was trying to be convincing, unfortunately for the young boy he was horrible at lying to her. He over-performed everything he did, which made his lying so blaringly obvious to the girl. She figured if he was going to lie to anyone, he would have to get better at it.

"Come on, you know that I can tell when you are off. What's going on?"

Draco was going to comment something until Alex had begun shouting at Flint; she jumped up from the couch and had the Quidditch captain's collar firmly in her grasp. It all happened in the blink of an eye; Lucian was trying to pull his sister off the oldest boy. Meanwhile, Aeron was rubbing at Calista's shoulder softly as he yelled at Crabbe and Goyle with unparalleled wrath.

Before Ana could do anything, Draco darted away from his sister and ran up the stairs into the boy's dorms. She groaned at the boy's getaway and ran over to the fighting group to try and break it up. Lucian had finally gotten Alex off Flint who, after a day of throwing up on the Quidditch pitch, now had a giant scratch down his face that was bleeding. Ana knew she should feel bad for the boy's pain, but she didn't. There was no room in her chest for any sympathy towards Flint.

As soon as Ana rejoined the group, Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint ran around the girl to follow in Draco's steps, leaving them all confused and angry. But unfortunately they left one of them in tears.

"What the in the world just happened?" Ana cried as she surveyed the damage.

Alex's face was scarlet red, still huffing and puffing from attacking the Quidditch captain. In her steady arms was Calista who was quietly sobbing, her shoulders trembled as a new wave of tears escaped. Aeron and Lucian's complexions matched Alex's; they were splotchy red with anger and adrenaline, which was the total opposite of the weeping girl.

When no one answered her question, Ana decided she'd try her luck with just talking to the beater.

Lucian sat down, watching Ana as she wrapped the blanket she was just using around Calista. He gloomily smiled at her small act of kindness and looked up at her with sadness in his eyes.

"They called Calista, something horrible," he mumbled, looking disgusted as he spoke. He didn't want Calista to hear him so he lowered his voice even more, "They called her something you should never call a muggle born." Lucian's eyebrows rose, hoping Ana could insinuate what he was trying to hint at.

Her once shivering body now filled with a simmering fire, Ana's face grew stiff and serious at the admission. She now understood why Alex was so angry.

As a child, her father said the term all the time and her mother would always remind her that it was not something she was to repeat. It was vile and cruel, even for a pureblood wizard to say. That knowledge made her only despise her brother's friends even more. They reminded her of the one person she hated returning to in the summer months.

Seeing their effect on her muggle born friend made her sick. And yet, she knew that Draco wasn't planning on getting rid of them anytime soon.

#fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley x oc #bibiana malfoy #the girl who vanished #tgwv #tgwv 1-22 #enemies to friends to lovers

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goodbyecringe · 5 years ago

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(Un)Natural Selection Chapter 8

Éponine

As soon as I felt myself falling asleep I could feel Elise jostling my shoulder to try to wake me up. I had no desire to leave the bed even if it meant not getting to meet with Prince Julien.

“But Lady Éponine, all of the other ladies have been awake for half an hour,” she said with her large eyes.

The panic that went through my heart made me jump out of the bed and run into the bathroom hyperventilating.

“Lady Éponine, you’re allowed to sleep in because your routine is far less complicated than the other girls,” Miriam laughed, opening the doors to my large closet.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked as she pulled me inside of the closet.

“Some of the other ladies have a hair and makeup routine that takes 3 hours while you should only take an hour and a half at the latest,” she said, pulling dresses.

She seemed to be in a significantly better mood this morning. I could see Laila pulling out brushes and combs at the vanity while Elise began to make my bed. It seemed that they worked as a well oiled machine. Miriam was the captain because of her seniority while Elise appeared to be the youngest and responsible for doing the more mundane tasks.

“Which dress would you prefer to wear, Lady Éponine?”

In her hands were two of the most spectacular and extravagant dresses I had seen in my entire life. There was a deep maroon dress that appeared to fall off the shoulder with a thick satin skirt and a sleeveless, tight-fitted grey dress that seemed to glimmer in the sunlight.

“We decided to base your wardrobe on Earth tones. Most of the other girls will be going for light or deep colors to make individual statements, but no one has a neutral wardrobe. Neutral doesn’t have to mean boring if done correctly,” she smiled, obviously very proud of herself.

In the end I decided on a green dress that was tucked away behind the dozen dresses that I had. I could see the disdain in Miriam’s face when I pulled it down and I could understand why. The dress was some shade of dark green with a full, but not overly large skirt. The top half covered my shoulders and collarbone and even though it was the simplest dress in my closet, it was the nicest thing I had ever worn. Laila braided my hair into a loose and thick bun that was held up by several dozen pins. Finally, under the watchful eye of Miriam, Elise did my makeup. She narrated what she was putting on my face and what it would do for my appearance.

“This toner has a natural papaya exfoliant that will help to brighten your complexion,” she sang as she spritzed a clear liquid onto my face.

“What’s papaya?” I asked as she picked up one of the many bottles on the vanity.

“It’s a fruit. Don’t they have them in Allens?”

“Probably, my family can only usually only afford rice, beans, bread and pasta,” I said shrugging.

“Well I’m sure the palace could get as many papayas as you could eat if you got the Prince to ask,” she giggled.

When my makeup was finished I stood up and looked in the mirror and in the end, I still looked like me. A much better version of the me that entered the palace not even 24 hours ago, but that was aside from the point. Justine and I both agreed that I didn’t want to make it look like I was trying too hard or I would quickly become the least favorite inside and outside of the castle. Before leaving my room, Miriam had me choose my jewelry for the day. There was a golden headband that emulated flowers, a large pair of earrings, golden bands, and several large necklaces.

“You can wear these as statement pieces to perk up your dress,” she said, motioning towards the larger items.

After a heavy scolding, Miriam let me settle for the necklace Justine gave me, a pair of small golden stud earrings, and a gold bracelet. She then laid out a pair of heels covered in rhinestones. The shoes were significantly more comfortable than the ones that I wore last night and the heel was noticeably shorter. Deciding to forgo any form of conflict with Miriam this morning, I put them on gladly. Ten minutes until 8 I was out in the hallway making conversation with Cosette who radiated royalty. She wore an off the shoulder baby blue gown with a layered pearl necklace.

As I looked around the growing group of girls I realized that Miriam had been right when she said everyone would be going for either bright pastels or bold colors. Musichetta Simon came out of her room in what looked to be a plain white wedding dress that glittered when it caught the Sun. Her stylist team had given her at least a foot of red hair extensions that now past her waist. I found myself unable to take my eyes off of her until Claudia came to bring us downstairs.

“Ladies, you all look like you could be princesses this morning,” she said with a frown on her face. It wasn’t hard to tell that she was very upset.

“I would like to point out that only thirty-four of you are joining the Royal Family for breakfast. After supper last night, Miss Lucy decided to neglect the rules and sought out Prince Julien.”

Gasps and whispers immediately overtook the hall. Cosette and I looked at each other and I worried that she was about to cry. Lucy had been one of three Fives selected.

“Please settle down, ladies. Prince Julien had her immediately disqualified from the selection and she was sent home last night. I hope this serves as a lesson to all of you that we take the rules very seriously.”

As she led us downstairs to the Great Hall many girls were giving their opinion on the Lucy situation. Teresa claimed it was a good thing that “the help” had left before the competition even started because it would be shameful for Prince Julien to marry anyone lower than a Three. I looked around the group to see if the other Fives had reacted to what she had said but they were all deep in conversation with other girls. Liberty Cook, a Three that was wheelchair bound from a boating accident when she was younger, said that she had heard the Guards whispering that Lucy claimed to have been tricked by another girl.

I tried to imagine who would already be trying to sabotage the competition this early but the thoughts were immediately pushed out of my head upon entering the Great Hall. There was a small camera crew in the corner waiting to film our first interactions with Prince Julien. We were free to sit wherever we liked, probably because we would be in our seats for a bit. Cosette sat behind me and I decided to sit next to one of the Fives, Alyssa. She smiled and adjusted her large purple skirt.

“Have you ever eaten at a table with so many forks and knives?” She laughed.

“I can definitely say that I’ve never even seen this many forks on a table,” I said looking around for a sign of food.

“Ladies, this morning we will begin our first etiquette lesson. Someone in this room is going to become a princess and she must be able to meet the royal standards for manners. Now, please unfold your napkin and place it on your lap,” Claudia said holding up a cloth napkin and folding it in the air as a guide.

This etiquette lesson was harder than learning any language combined. Periodically Claudia would circle around to Alyssa and me to tell us to straighten our backs and lift our chins. Once I turned around to how Cosette looked and I was immediately intimidated. She handled everything with a grace and ease that made her an obviously strong competitor and a dangerous enemy. If Cosette made her approval of me known then maybe that would allow the Threes and Fours to accept me. Just as I felt my stomach begin to demand food the doors opened to reveal several guards and Prince Julien in tow.

Every girl held her breath and straightened her back when they saw him.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Claudia said, entering a deep curtsey. He responded in a curt head nod.

“Good morning Claudia and good morning ladies,” he said clasping his hands together in front of him.

“If you don’t mind Claudia I would like to address the women of the Selection for a moment before we proceed,” Claudia took a few steps to the left of the room.

“Ladies, I am eagerly awaiting the chance to interact with you all but first I would like to make several brief points. For starters this is not a well fact but I prefer to be addressed by my surname as Claudia can verify it is a certain formality that I practice. Secondly, as I said on the Report I want this to be a caste-blind Selection so please do not reveal yours or another lady’s caste. If you break this rule there is a strong possibility that your time here at the palace will end,” a hushed whisper fell across the room.

Claudia took a step forward and cleared her throat, immediately silencing any noise.

“Now, I will be speaking with all of you one-by-one in private. I’ll try to keep this as brief as possible as I’m sure you’re all anticipating breakfast more than speaking with me,” he joked, walking towards Liberty inviting her over to a few couches in the corner of the room.

“What are we supposed to talk about?” Alyssa said, panic covering her face.

“I’m sure he’ll ask us about how we’re liking the palace so far and let the conversation go from there,” I guessed as Cosette turned around to whisper with us.

We all talked about our rooms, our maids, and our clothes until Enjolras approached Cosette. He met my eyes and to my continuous surprise, smiled at me.

“If the Lady Éponine would permit, may I please borrow Lady Cosette for a few minutes?” He asked.

I tried not to let my jaw hit the floor.

“Luckily for you, Your Highness, the Lady Éponine will permit it,” I said, straightening my back.

He took Cosette’s arm and turned towards the couches and Alyssa hit my arm.

“What was that about?” she demanded, looking visibly hurt.

“I- I don’t know, it was probably just some joke he made because we were all talking,” I stammered, not daring to tell her about our brief encounter.

“Sure,” she said staring at Enjolras and Cosette interacting.

While we watched Cosette smile with her large eyes the camera crew approached the two of us. Alyssa quickly recovered from any distress she may have been experiencing before their presence. They asked us how we were enjoying the palace and Alyssa talked about all the beautiful pieces of art since she herself was a painter. The only thing I could think of was the food, since I couldn’t remember the last time I had a meal like last night.

When Cosette returned from her conversation with Enjolras she looked like she had won the lottery.

“What did you talk about?” Alyssa asked.

“Well we started talking about how beautiful the palace was and we talked about home and how I missed our garden, and he asked me if I’d like to tour the garden before dinner this evening,” she whispered.

Before I could think about congratulating her, I could see a mass of blonde curly hair approaching me and I stood to approach him. I remembered Justine’s advice in the back of my head and after meeting all the girls, I realized how right she was. All of these girls would start with the same strategy, immediately planning on making Enjolras fall in love with them.

“The strongest love happens when you least expect it. I married my best friend,” I remembered her saying as she looked at Victor.

Enjolras held out his arm as we walked towards the couches.

“In case you need help walking in those heels,” he offered.

“Thank you but I am in much more sensible shoes now,” I declined, holding up the skirt of my dress so he could see my short heels.

“I’m surprised you’re not barefoot after your run last night,” he whispered as we sat down.

“I would have come in my slippers but my maids would have thrown a fit,” I laughed.

“How are you getting along with them?” He asked leaning back in his seat.

I hadn’t seen him do that with another girl. Was he comfortable with me because he’d already spoken to me? Or was he comfortable because he had already decided to kick me out?

“Let’s just say that if it weren’t for them I would be sitting here in a nice dress without any makeup and my hair a mess.”

“Good, that’s why we keep them around,” he said absentmindedly. He must have seen my reaction because he quickly scrambled to make up for what he had just said.

“Not that that’s the only reason why we keep them around. Many of our servants have families that they need to support and we have a respectably low turnover rate as our average servant works here for upwards of ten years,” he began to ramble.

“I understand, that’s just how the caste system works. It was just like this in the Old Middle East and many people accepted it,” I said looking at my hands.

“How do you know about that?” Enjolras asked sitting up.

“I’ve read some books on how different religions have affected the structure and function of the government.”

“Well you must know that my views on the caste system do not reflect the current state of Illeá. I’m sure you know that I have invited a group of anti-caste sympathizers to stay in the palace.”

“The Friends of the ABC?”

“Yes, after dinner this evening we’ll be holding a meeting in the Men’s Room. If this is something you’re interested in you are more than welcome to join us,”

“Do you ask every girl to join in your political escapades?”

“No, I’m afraid most girls prefer walks around the garden and bowling.”

The way he said it made it sound like he wasn’t looking forward to his date with Cosette.

“Well everyone came to become your wife, not your political alley. They probably aren’t thinking of the responsibilities of an entire country, they’re just thinking about how they can win over one boy. ”

“You’ve turned out quite different then what I expected Lady Éponine,” he said, writing something on a notepad.

“And what did you expect of me?” I asked as a butler leaned over to whisper something to Enjolras.

“Terribly sorry, but it appears we’ve gone quite a bit over our allotted time,” he said standing to button his maroon waistcoat.

“Will you be answering my question?” I asked, standing.

“Will you be coming to the meeting tonight?” He asked, his face serious.

“I haven’t found a reason not to yet,” I said, locking as with him as I curtsied.

“Then all of your questions will be answered tonight,” he bowed.

As I walked back to my seat I could feel the eyes of the other Selected girls staring at me. I tried to focus solely on Cosette’s beaming face, excited to hear why our conversation ran so long. Alyssa walked past me, not even waiting for Enjolras to approach her. I could see her shake as she curtseyed to him before she sat down on the edge of the couch.

“Well? What did you talk about?” Cosette asked eagerly.

I don’t know what but I felt very compelled to lie to her even though she had been so kind to me. Maybe she secretly remembered me and was waiting until she could use something against me in the competition.

“Oh we just talked about movies and how I’ve never been to a movie theatre. He thought that it was a crime and demanded that we watch a movie together after dinner,” I laughed, realizing that I was shaking.

“Look at us,” Cosette whispered, “we got the first two dates! Oh you must help me pick out the perfect dress for tonight!”

I let Cosette talk about dresses and hair until the last girls had finished their conversations with Enjolras. Alyssa came back beaming, but wouldn’t elaborate on any details. She probably didn’t trust either of us either. Finally, when I had begun to hallucinate the smell of a warm breakfast, Enjolras went to the front of the room.

“Ladies thank you for your patience! Please proceed to the Banquet Room and enjoy your breakfast. If I asked you to stay behind, please remain seated.”

I looked around at the girls that were still sitting and noted that Alyssa was one of them. Maybe it was some special group date with Enjolras during lunch. He did seem pretty eager to make himself busy with us. When we transitioned to the Banquet Room we were greeted by the King and Queen who were reading the morning paper with their coffee. We collectively curtseyed, sat at our assigned seats, and waited for Enjolras to come back.

We stood to curtsey and sat back in our seats, presumably waiting for the other girls to join us. We all waited in silence until the Butlers began to pour orange juice into our glasses.

“He must have sent them home,” Musichetta exclaimed from across the table.

While Cosette looked around the room to count I stared at Enjolras. He was rushing to lather a piece of toast in jam, and appeared unbothered by his elimination.

“There’s twenty-six of us, he sent home eight girls,” Cosette whispered.

#enjonine #enjolras #prince enjolras #eponine #cosette #musichetta #les miserables #les amis #the selection #fanfiction #crossover #cross-posted #ao3 #modern universe

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wakandaforeverwrites · 6 years ago

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Learn Ya || Chapter 7

blTag List: @deliciousstreetkidcroissant @rose-bliss @theunsweetenedtruth@cancerianprincess @wakanda-inspired @aykanna@supersizemeplz@ayellepea @Ijstraightnochaser @chaneajoyyy@vanitykocaine@blowmymbackout @slimmiyagi @kissmyafropuff @purple-apricots@justanotherloveaffair@beautifulqueenflaws@hotthrow@90sinspiredgirl@hidden-treasures21@marvelpotterlove@depressionandfandomsinc@theblulife @airis-paris14@blackchickfics @skysynclair19 @jusanarae57 @leahnicole1219 @blackdesires-blog @ voyagetoadinas9 @ lalapalooza718 @blackpinup22 @chefjessypooh @tntnv @jennajai @erikstan4ever @raysunshine78 @determinednot2fall

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Author Notes: There are a lot of words here like this is probably the longest chapter I’ve written for this fic thus far. I’m talking 6k+ words just for this chapter so it’s under the cut for obvious reasons. I told y’all I had some Daddy!Challa coming. So strap on in and secure your wigs. ALSO IT TOOK ME ALL DAMN DAY TO WRITE THIS SO Y’ALL BETTER LIKE IT

This was such a bad idea. Amaya didn’t know what she had been thinking when she thought it would be a good idea to cook dinner for T’Challa at her apartment. It sounded like a good idea when she convinced him to come over. He was a damn king and she had invited him to her tiny ass apartment that she shared with Charlie. There was a small part of her that was a little embarrassed, but there was no time to back out now. She had no choice but to make the best out of this less than ideal situation.

She pulled out her best wig and allowed Charlie to do her usual slay, making sure that she looked even better than the last time T’Challa saw her. She struggled with her outfit for far longer than she needed too, finally deciding to dress in a pair of black shorts since she knew that he enjoyed her legs so much and a yellow crop top. This was the first time he was going to be seeing in her person in weeks and she wanted to make sure that she looked damn good.

She wanted to make sure that everything was perfect and that was why she called up her grandma all the way in Florida at the ass crack of dawn to get her recipe for meatloaf. It wasn’t just any basic bland old meatloaf. It was the exact one that her grandmother had made for her granddad just months before he proposed. Let the old man tell it, he knew he was in love during that very same dinner and that had been over 50 years ago, and the old couple were still very much in love with each other. So as far as Amaya was concerned, whatever was in the recipe was magic

Flicking on the oven light, Amaya checked on the dish even if she hadn’t placed it inside the oven but five minutes ago. She was being a little obsessive she knew that much but she wanted to make sure that nothing went wrong. There was nothing worse than inviting someone over for dinner and then serving them that very same dinner burnt to a crisp.

The knock at the door has Amaya jolting to her feet. It was a soft tap of knuckles against the wood but it sent her heart pounding in her chest because of who she knew was standing on the other side of it. She raced to her bedroom, nearly tripping over her feet on her way there, and spritzed a little perfume on the sides of her neck, checking herself out in the mirror for a few seconds before deciding to add a little gloss to her lips and trying to fluff up the curls in her hair.

There was another knock, this time a little louder and harder than before, and Amaya had to take a deep breath before she walked out of her bedroom to answer the door. Taking another deep breath, she answered the door, and the air she had just filled her lungs with immediately escaped her at the sight T’Challa standing in her doorway. He was dressed in his usual all black attire but it was far more casual than the suits she had seen him in, and a little more Americanized. A simple pair of black jeans and a form fitting black shirt with a matte black bomber jacket to top it all off.

It just wasn’t fair that he could make something so simple look so good. There was no way this man could even be real and about to step foot into her apartment.

“You’re a little early.” Her words came out a little more clipped than she would have liked thanks to her nerves. She chewed on her bottom lip when he lifted a brow towards her.

The corners of his mouth quirked a little as if he were holding back a smile. “If I didn’t know any better I would think that you didn’t miss me, Amaya.”

“I didn’t say that….”

“Ah, so you did miss me. You have quite the interesting way of showing it.” The teasing nature of his words had her holding back a smile as she rolled her eyes. “Are you going to invite me in or will we be having dinner out here in the hallway?”

Amaya took a step back so that he could walk inside and suddenly her apartment felt so much smaller with him standing in her living room. She watched as he looked around the small room, from the love seat that Charlie’s mom had been so gracious to gift to them when they first moved in to the television that was mounted on the wall. T’Challa seemed to be taking it all in for a moment before he turned around and looked to her.

“Do you live here alone?”

Amaya shook her head. “Nope. I have a roommate. Charlie. The girl you conned my number out of.”

“I conned her out of your number?” He placed a hand on his chest and had the audacity to look offended.

“That’s exactly what I said. Don’t think she didn’t tell me all about how charming you were so you could get my number. You knew exactly what you were doing. Probably flashed that smile of yours and it was a wrap from there. You’re not slick.”

“I can not believe I am being accused of such a thing. I have never used my smile to get what I want.”

“Never?”

“Not once in my life.” The smile in question started to take over his lips as she placed her hands on her hips.

“That sounds like a lie if I’ve ever heard one and I just wanna let you know that I don’t believe you.” She threw back at him as she shook her head a little. “Do you drink wine?”

“I do.” There was a bit of confusion that passed over his face.

“Good hold that thought please.” She held up one finger before disappearing into the kitchen.

She grabbed the bottle of wine from the fridge that she and Charlie had been saving for a special occasion--she didn’t see an occasion that would get any more special than this. She grabbed two wine glasses from the cabinet before filling them both half way. With both glasses in hand, she walked back out to the living room to find T’Challa standing front of the the few bookcases that were able to fit in the living room.

“Finding anything interesting?” He looked over his shoulder before turning to face her completely and taking the glass she was handing over to him.

“Have read all of these?” She was distracted for a second by the way his hand gripped the glass and she found herself watching his fingers drum against the side, reveling in how thick they were.

She cleared her throat, trying to push all of those thoughts out of her head. “Yeah, I was a big reader as a kid. If you’ve ever seen the movie Matilda, I was a lot like that growing up.”

“Cannot say that I have seen that movie before, but I will take your word for it,” he took a slow sip of the win as his eyes wandered the shelves of her bookcases before he stopped. “And have you read these three?”

Amaya squinted her eyes as she read the titles. Fifty Shades of Grey. Fifty Shades Darker. Fifty Shades Free. She nearly choked on her wine. She could have sworn that she had gotten rid of those books when she realized just how terrible they were.

“That’s a funny story actually. I remember when it came out and I was looking for a mother’s day present for my mom and some magazine recommended that it was a good present so I ordered the whole series online, right? Then I read the first book and was like there’s no way I can give this book to my mom…..so I kept them for myself and read them all.” She did her best to hide her embarrassment behind her wine glass, taking a large gulp of the bittersweet liquid.

“You kept them for yourself?”

“Listen, don’t you judge me. I was all of 14 and thinking this was the best thing I had ever read but I broadened my horizons and realized that this was not a great depiction of a healthy BDSM relationship and it was terribly written, but I will credit it to opening my eyes to a lot of things.”

There was something flickering in his eyes as he looked at her, something that she couldn’t exactly place her finger on, but she knew that she liked it. “No one is judging you, Amaya. The shift in the air between the two of them was so subtle that she almost didn’t realize it. “And what exactly were your eyes opened up to?”

“The kind of relationship that I do want and the kind that I don’t want.” She shrugged her shoulders and finished off what was left of her wine.

“I get this feeling that you give vague answers on purpose.” T’Challa licked his lips slowly and Amaya had to take a deep breath to calm herself.

“And so what if I do? What are you gonna do about it?” She knew very well that she was playing fire, and she was more than willing to get herself burned in the process if it meant she got what she wanted.

His only response was a small smirk before he turned back to the bookshelves. Feeling a little bolder, Amaya placed her empty glass down and moved herself between him and the shelves, forcing him to look at her. With the small distance that had been between him and the shelves, there was an even smaller distance between her body and his.

“You should know something about me, Sir…” her fingers toyed with the collar of his jacket, dangerously close to his neck. “I don’t like being ignored.”

His arm disappeared above her head and she heard the soft clink of the glass being placed down, but he eyes never left her face. Normally, the longer he stared at her, the more her bold nature would start to fade, but that was the furthest thing from the case. The wine mixing with how long it had been since she had seen him, there was no backing down as far as she was concerned.

“Is that so?” His hand wrapped around one of her wrists, holding it down by his side before yanking her forward quickly and without warning. Her body went crashing forward and closed the distance between the two of them.

Staring straight ahead of her she could only see just the barest amount of his chin and she craned her neck back a little to look him in the eye. Shivers worked down her spine as his thumb brushed against her bare thigh, tracing small circles that she could feel radiating through every part of her body with one part in particular. His other hand grabbed her other wrist and before she realized what was happening, both of her hands were pinned behind her back. The trapped feeling that washed over her body sent her heart racing, but she didn’t fight against it. There was a large part of her that embraced it, wanting to have more of it and wondering how she would feel if he had her exactly like this, but naked in her bed.

“That is exactly so.” If he could hear the want in her voice, he wasn’t acknowledging it which was only serving to frustrate her even more.

His grip tightened around her wrists, forcing her arms further behind her back and pulling a soft gasp from between her lips that borderlined on a moan.

“Well now you have my attention. What are you going to do with it?” She was unable to ignore the challenge that laced in his tone and the sharp edge in his voice. Maybe she had lit a fire that she hadn’t quite anticipated burning like this.

“What do you think I should do with it? Because I can think of a few things that I can do with it.” There was a voice in the back of her head that was telling her that she needed to chill out, but she was never one to listen to that voice anyway so why start now?

“I have had a few thoughts of my own now that you mention it. And I do recall that you said something about how you wanted to get into trouble.” His lips were dangerously close and she was dying to have him close the distance. She was seconds away from begging for it if she needed to.

Amaya opened her mouth to answer but she was cut off by the oven timer going off, signaling that the meatloaf was ready to be taken out. “You’ll never know now. Dinner is done.” She went to wiggle free from his grasp but it only resulted in him holder her even tighter, delicious pricks of pain coursing through her shoulder blades that had her chew on the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning out loud.

“You cannot keep using food to run away from me.” Her eyes were trained on his tongue, watching as it peeked out from between his full lips and moved across the bottom one, stealing every bit of her attention for a few seconds.

Just fucking kiss me.

The words were on the tip of her tongue but she held them back. Instead she chose to smile in response.

“If you would like to starve instead of eating the delicious dinner I made then be my guest, but do you know how hard it is to get the smell of burnt meat out of an apartment?” She lifted her brows.

T’Challa made a sound in the back of his throat as if he were thinking and there was a moment of silence before he finally released her wrists. She was both grateful and a little disappointed when he did. She grabbed both of their glasses on her way back to the kitchen. She made it just in time, turning the oven off and pulling the hot dish from inside. She grabbed the only two plates that matched and placed two slices on each plate. She quickly heated up the mashed potatoes and green beans before placing servings of each next to the meatloaf. She took T’Challa’s plate and now full glass back out the living room first and placed them on the coffee table, finding that he had made himself comfortable in the time that she had been gone, having stripped from his jacket to showcase the way the cotton material of his shirt stretched across his chest.

She had to tear her eyes away from him so that she could go get her own food. She could feel his eyes watching her every move. “Stop staring at my legs.”

Her words were met with his laughter, the sound following her as she grabbed her own plate and glass of wine. She settled on the couch, curling her legs underneath her body. She looked at him expectantly and waited for him to take the first bite. She watched him chew and go back for a second bite without saying a word.

“You’re staring.” He finally looked at her, another bite just inches away from his mouth.

“And you’re not telling me if you like it or not. I gotta tell my grandma something.”

“Did your grandmother make this?”

“No, it was her recipe and when I told her I was making it for you, she wanted me to report back so to speak.” She finally dug into her own food, cutting off a piece of meatloaf and popping it into her mouth.

“Well, you can tell her that I love it.” A little smile came to his lips. “So you told your grandmother about me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head or anything. My grandma is just nosy and wants to know about everyone in my life even if they don’t mean anything.” She pointed her fork in his direction, rolling her eyes playfully.

“I really am starting to get the impression that you’re just trying to hurt me tonight. Now I do not mean anything. I know when I am not wanted…” He started to rise from his seat, but Amaya quickly moved her legs from underneath her and placed them across his lap to keep from getting up.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that you can’t get up from the table until your plate is clean?” She kept her legs draped across his lap even after he sat back down. “Should I have a conversation with your mother so she can have a conversation with you?”

His gaze on her thighs was so intense that she could almost physically feel it, and it was a few long moments before his eyes were on hers again. “Why go through all the trouble when you could cut out the middle man and have the conversation right now?”

“You have a point, but did you ever think that maybe I just don’t want to?” She smirked at him from around her forkful of mashed potatoes.

“There’s something you should know about me, Amaya….” She found herself hanging on his last word as he took another bite of food, waiting for him to finish his statement. “I am very good at persuading people into doing things.”

“I really don’t doubt that, but I can be pretty stubborn when I want to be so I might not be as easy as the other women you’re use to dealing with.” She pulled in a sharp breath when his thumb brushed against her knee and the look in his eyes let her know that he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Let the record show that I am currently not dealing with any other women. Just you.” All the playfulness had left his voice and he held her gaze until she was the one to look away.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from smiling too hard. She hadn’t really thought about if there would be other women that he was talking to, but to hear that there weren’t made her feel good. It had been a long time since she had felt secure enough to not have to worry about being played by someone. Hearing it from T’Challa made her believe it even if she had no way of proving it. He wasn’t Rod and he wasn’t going to run off and get someone pregnant after telling her all of the right things. He didn’t seem like that kind of man and he didn’t deserve the comparison to Rod even on his worse day.

“In case you were wondering, it’s just you too.” She cleared her throat and finally looked up at him only to find him smiling back at her.

“I do enjoy the sound of those words.”

“I just bet you do.” She was grateful the moment had shifted back to playful as it had grown a little too serious, giving her an odd feeling in her stomach.

“I would also really enjoy dessert if there is any.” She had been so focused on him that she hardly realized he was done with his food.

“So I’m gonna be straight up with you, I suck at baking…...like I can’t even make box pudding without messing it up somehow and I didn’t think it would be fair to just go out and buy something from the store.” She pulled her lips between her teeth and averted her eyes. She only looked up when she heard his laughter. “That’s not funny! Stop laughing!” She swatted at his arm a few times.

“I apologize. I’m not laughing because I think it’s funny. No one has ever put that much thought into making me dinner before.” T’Challa’s laughter faded into a soft chuckle before giving way completely. “If anything, I think it’s cute that you put so much thought into it.”

“If it helps, I have ice cream.” She was trying her best not to smile, but it wasn’t making it easy for her. He really was a charming bastard when he wanted to be and she hated how easy it was for her to fall right into it. She wasn’t even trying to fight it at this point. There was no need.

“What flavor?”

“Strawberry cheesecake.”

“I accept that flavor.” He leaned forward to place his plate down on the coffee table, coming back and resting his hand on her legs as if it was something they had done before. Amaya had to contain herself because she was very close to jumping all over him in response.

“You didn’t have a choice. It’s the only favor we eat in this house.” When she started to pull her legs from his lap, he fingers wrapped around them to keep her put. “You know, in order for me to actually get that ice cream, I have to go to the kitchen which means I have to get up and that means my legs have to leave your lap I’m afraid.”

“This is quite comfortable though.” He shrugged his shoulders, fingers trailing up and down her calf never once moving above the knee even if she wanted him to. She was actually dying for him to do it. It had crossed her mind more than just once.

“But think of how good the ice cream is gonna taste.” Now she was thinking about the ice cream and despite how good his fingers felt against her bare skin, she was craving the frozen treat now.

“You have a point…..” He lifted one hand to tug at the hairs of his beard gently before lifting his other hand from her leg.

She paused before swinging her legs from his lap and collected their plates to take to the sink. She rinsed them off as a way to try to buy herself a little more time. Even more time was bought when she went to the freezer and took a quick shot from the vodka bottle that lie within before she grabbed the pint of ice cream. This man was truly working a number on her and she wasn’t use to it. She picked up two spoons on the way back to the living room. When she sat down, her legs were being pulled back into his lap and she found herself being pulled closer to him, her hip right up against his and his hands now resting on her thighs.

“You really have gotten comfortable?” She teased him but didn’t pull away because she was also a little comfortable though she would never admit it out loud to him. “I figured this would make up for the fact that I ate our last dessert….completely…..by myself.” She pulled off the plastic that surrounded the top before peeling off the top and licking some of the ice cream that was there. She could feel him staring but she decided to ignore it and instead handed him his spoon, beating him to taking the first bite.

“I have realized something.” She was so focused on the way his tongue moved across the bottom of the spoon that she almost didn’t hear him.

“And what’s that? Because I’ve realized something myself, but you first.”

“You never did tell me why you wanted to become a lawyer.” His thumb moved across her bottom lip, catching a bit of ice cream that lingered at the corner of her mouth before she could lick it away, and sucking his thumb clean. He did it in such a fluid motion that it almost felt like a normal thing between them that she shouldn’t be so turned on by.

“A lot of things. I guess it started when I was younger. I use to be obsessed with Law and Order, you know the tv show, and I use to think being a lawyer was the coolest job in the world and then I went to college and I took a pre law class and I saw it was nothing like tv. Somehow that made me want to do it even more because it wasn’t about the glory of winning a case, it’s more about trying to help people and that’s the part I love.” She licked at her spoon and made a small face. “And there’s so many people, especially black people, that are falsely accused of all of these crimes and end up going to jail because they can’t afford a good lawyer. I don’t think the justice system to should only work for the people who have a few zeros attached to their bank account or look a certain way.” She looked up from the ice cream and saw him staring at her. “What?”

A hint of a smile started to pull at his lips. “Nothing. You just have a really good heart. I can admire that in a person.”

“You’re just saying that to make me smile.”

“I am saying it because I believe it. Your beautiful smile is just a nice bonus.” He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She knew this move and she knew what would come next…..except it didn’t come next because T’Challa didn’t kiss her.

Amaya felt her stomach drop a little with disappointment. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted him to kiss until she thought it was going to happen and it didn’t. It was like a slight blow to the ego that he hadn’t kissed her yet. She didn’t care if it was technically the second date. She wasn’t one to fuck on the first date, but she wasn’t opposed to a little kissing by the second or the third. Hell, she would have fucked him on the first date if the opportunity arose so kissing definitely wouldn’t have been a problem in her opinion.

Changing the subject would be the best thing for her to do because no matter how much she wanted to ask him why she hadn’t kissed him yet, she didn’t really want to know the answer to that.

“So let’s say I wanted to become king of Wakanda, what would I have to do in order to do that?” She scooped up more ice cream to keep her mouth busy from asking the question that she really wanted to ask.

“Kill me.” He said it so nonchalantly that it took her off guard.

“Wait. Seriously?”

“It’s ritual combat. You either would have to kill me or get me to yield, and I never yield.” “What else?” All of this fascinated her, and she really did want to keep him talking because she enjoyed listening to him.

“Do you plan on taking me out to become king?” With his eyes searching her face, he shifted his body, bringing her even closer to him. Close enough that she could the faint amount of grey that was peppered throughout his beard.

“How old are you?” She blurted out and ignored the question she had been asked. It was something she did. When she got a question in her mind, she needed to know the answer immediately or else it would bother her until she found out. Sometimes she would even fixate on it, letting it consume on her.

“37.” His brows furrowed and sat low on his forehead in his confusion.

There was a 15 year age between the two of them that placed them in very different places in their lives. It wasn’t something that had crossed her mind before. The only thing that concerned her was how attracted to this man she was. She never thought to worry about how much older he was than her. In a very strange world, he was old enough to be her father, or at the very least her older brother…..maybe a distant uncle she only ever met at family reunions.

“Why do you look so horrified?” She hadn’t realized that a look had come to her face.

“You don’t have any kids, do you? None that are currently on the way?”

“No, definitely not.” He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “Is that what you are worried about?”

“No. I’m more worried that you might want different things than I do because you’re so old.” Now that it had come to her attention, it was all that she could focus on.

“I wasn’t aware that I was ‘so old’.”

“You know what I mean.”

He gently pulled the carton and spoon from her hands and placed them down on the coffee table before giving her his full attention. “And what do you think that I want?”

“I’m not sure.” She leaned one arm against the back of the couch and used the crook of her elbow to cradle her cheek.

“Alright. Then what is that you want?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then how can you be sure that I might want different things than you do?” He lifted a brow.

“No one told you to poke holes in my theory like this.” She pushed at his chest and swung her legs from his lap so that she scoot away from him.

He caught her arm and pulled her back, wrapping an around her waist so she couldn’t get too far away. “I would not call it poking holes in your theory. I was simply showing you that you had no reason to worry.”

“I see your point.” With her hip pressed against him, she could feel the vibrations that came from his pocket. His arm released her waist and he reached into his pocket as she moved away from him a little so he could grab it. “Do you need to take that?”

“It’s not a phone call. It’s a reminder of my meeting in the morning.” His thumb slid across the screen before he was sliding it back into his pocket.

“Oh. I’m guessing you need to go then?” She did her best not to sound disappointed.

“Unfortunately. If I could cancel this meeting I would.” She narrowed her eyes a little at him. “What?”

“I thought you said you were coming for me?”

“I did come for you, but what kind of a king would I be if I didn’t get a little work done while I was here?” He teased and she found herself smiling a little.

“Probably a terrible one.” She tossed back as she stood up to her feet slowly, watching as he mirrored her actions as he grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch. She tried to keep herself from acting like a little girl who was having her favorite toy taking away as she walked him to the front door. “I had a lot of fun tonight and I’ll make sure to tell my grandma you said her recipe was the best you’ve ever tasted.

“Somehow I do not remember saying all of that.”

“Humor the old woman and let her have this win. You wouldn’t deny and old woman that, would you?” She leaned against the doorframe after opening the door for him.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing that to your poor grandmother.” He pulled on his jacket and somehow made even that look like the sexiest thing Amaya had seen in her whole life. This man was a whole ass man.

“I think she’ll really appreciate that.” She smiled at him and found herself unwilling to let him leave even if she knew it needed to happen.

T’Challa leaned down and closed the distance between the two of them and once again she thought he was going to kiss, but instead she felt his lips brush against her cheek. She was about to take matters into her own hands if he didn’t get it together, but she would let him slide this time.

“I will call you tomorrow.” She nodded her head and he gave her one last smile before she watched him walk down the hall.

She let out a small sigh as she closed the door and locked it. She grabbed the melted ice cream from off the table and replaced the top before going to put back into the freezer. She started to load the dishwasher and clean up the kitchen when she was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Other than T’Challa she hadn’t been expecting anyone else so it was probably just Charlie who forgot her key once again. She tossed the dish towel down on the counter and went to answer the door. She peeped through the peep hole and was surprised to find T’Challa standing on the other side with a look of determination on his features. She immediately opened the door.

“Did you forget something?”

“Actually I did.”

He grabbed her arm and yanked her close until her chest was pressed right up against his. Before she had a chance to react, his lips were finally pressing against hers. There was nothing sweet about his kiss. He kissed her as if he had something to prove and she loved every second of it. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck as she stood on her toes trying to get closer and his arms wrapped around her waist.

Amaya let out a soft moan as he gripped her hips tightly. He was finally giving her exactly what she wanted and it was even better than she had thought it would be. She felt his tongue move across her bottom lip enough to make her part of her lips. She could taste the sweet taste of ice cream on his tongue and it sent sparks electrifying all over her body. Her fingers moved and she pulled at the short coils of hair as she felt her back hitting the wall near her door, trapping her between it and the hard planes of his muscular frame.

His hand crept down her body and his fingers curled around her thigh, lifting it off the ground and hooking it around his waist. The way he pressed into her allowed her to feel just how hard his body truly was and it pulled a needy whimper from somewhere deep in her chest. She took it upon herself to lift her other leg, wrapping it around his waist along with the first one, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck. He seemed to waste on time placing his hands underneath her ass, strong hands holding her up and gripping her ass tightly all in the same regard, pushing her even harder against him to allow her to feel just how much he also wanted this. If this was what she had been waiting for then it was well worth the wait.

By the time he pulled away from her lips, she was breathless, but craning her neck forward for more. She wasn’t ready for the moment to end just yet. She had to bite down on her tongue to keep from letting out a small sound of frustration as he placed her feet back down on the ground. Her hands moved from his neck down the front of his body, unabashedly feeling him in the process. She stared at his chest for a few moments before she looked up at him.

“Did you find what you forgot, Sir?”

“Some of it. The rest I think I should save for later if that is alright with you.” He cupped her chin gently, a far cry from the way he had just roughly kissed her.

“Depends on much later. I don’t think I have a whole lot of patience left.” She toyed with the zipper on his jacket.

“I am afraid you will need to find some. It could be a while...or it might not to be. You’ll have to be a good girl to find out.” The moan she let out was almost inaudible, but the ghost of a smile on his lips let her know that it wasn’t as quiet as she thought it had been. Those two words shouldn’t sound so good coming from him and yet there she was, with a heartbeat between her legs because of them. “Can you do that for me?”

She nodded her head once. “I think I can do that if the reward is worth it.”

“I would like to think it will be more than worth it.” There was a promise in his words that she was hoping like hell that he could keep.

“Then I can do that for you.”

“That’s what I like to hear. I will call you tomorrow. Goodnight, Amaya.” His lips brushed against her cheek once more and she found herself watching him disappear down the hall again.

“Well damn child. I can see why you didn’t want my grandsons.” Miss Catherine’s raspy voice brought Amaya back to reality. The older woman stood in her doorway with a black garbage in her hand and bright pink rollers in her hair. “If I was 20 years younger…..the things I would let that man do to me.”

“Goodnight Miss Catherine.” Amaya couldn’t help but laugh as she slipped back into her apartment and closed the door, her lips still tasting of T’Challa when she licked them.

#t'challa fanfiction #t'challa imagine #t'challa fanfic #t'challa smut #t'challa fluff #black panther fanfiction #black panther smut #black panther imagine #black panther fic #black panther fluff

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junkercrush · 6 years ago

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“Wild Rat” Ch. 2

Stay With Me by junkercrush

Ch. 2 out of 3

Pairing: Wild!Junkrat x Gender-Neutral Zookeeper!Reader

Rating: SFW

Words: 1,451

Author’s Note: There are many Junkrats in this story. “Green” is your main Rat. ^_^

Chapter Two

You almost forgot how huge Overwatch zoo was. It made Blizzard World look like a small, local kiddie park. Zookeepers had to drive everywhere to tend to all the species in the park. If visitors didn’t feel like walking, there were free trolley rides, buses, and rental bikes.

Charlotte made sure each wild being felt like they were back in their natural habitat. For the Rats, it was acres of desert terrain like the Australian Outback.

You drove out with Rodney and Joey to the area. The sun was already beating down upon your head. You fanned yourself furiously with a cheap paper fan Joey had given you.

“What are you doing?” Rodney asked as he parked the range rover. Joey was smearing his face with sunblock.

“Getting ready!” He said.

Rodney sighed. “We’re only going to be here no more than 15 minutes. (Y/N), can you help me with the coolers?”

You nodded and followed Rodney to the back of the vehicle. “What’s inside?” You asked.

“Peace offerings. You’ll find out soon.”

You, Joey, and Rodney went out to a small area surrounded by bare trees, tire swings, rusty sheds (Junkrat houses?), and a swimming hole. Rodney opened the coolers. Chilled, boba tea bottles nestled inside.

You looked around. Not a Rat in sight yet. “Where are they?”

Joey and Rodney took out small, white poppers from their pockets and tossed them to the ground. They popped instantly. Maniacal laughter echoed in the distance. Joey gives you some poppers. “They’re coming. Pop these.” He tells you.

You made your popping noises, and more laughter filled the terrain. You squint your eyes and see a pack of mangy Junkrats running towards your group. All of them have the same mechanical arm and leg replacements. Some of them wore peculiar costumes, others wore shorts of different colors.

“(Y/N), you’d want to stay close to me.” Rodney recommended.

You huddled closer to Rodney and Joey as the Junkrats surrounded you. They were jabbering incoherent sentences, something about bombs and fire. One Rat pointed at the coolers and dove in for their beverage rewards. Another Rat, dressed like a scarecrow, tried to run away with one cooler. The other Rats hissed at him and tackled him into the ground. Scarecrow screamed as the other Rats attacked him with their legs and fists. You covered your mouth in horror. They were so ruthless!

“Geez, don’t kill each other.” Joe groaned and whipped out a spray bottle filled with water. The Rats calmed down in an instant. Scarecrow shoved the cooler back to Joey. He took one drink like everybody else.

Rodney counted the Rat pack. “Hmm, Joe? Have you seen Green?”

Both men pulled out their binoculars (you forgot yours) and searched the area. Rodney popped more little firecrackers. The Rats hopped excitedly in response.

“I don’t see him,” Rodney stated.

“Crap.” Joe sighed.

You stood close by the swimming hole and cautiously handed out bottles to the Rats. One wearing pink, patchy shorts wiggled its ears at you. Another Rat, dressed like a jester, sniffed you.

“H-Hi.” You said to the Jester. He snatched the bottle from you and ran to a tree, just to sit on a branch and stare down at you.

You turned to Joey. “Who’s Green?”

“One of our color-coded Rats. You can tell by their shorts.” Joey replied. He points to the pink shorts Rat happily sipping his drink by the swimming hole. “That’s Pinky.” And two others fighting over a bottle. Rodney sprays water at them. “That’s Yellow and Black. You get the drift.”

Jester yelps and points at the swimming hole. You follow his finger to a floating pair of green shorts. “Oh no.” You gasped.

Joey snatches the shorts out of the water. “Crap! Rodney, c’mere—”

A naked Rat springs out of the swimming hole and grabs you. “G’day, mate!” He yells.

You pushed him off of you and ran towards the range rover, screaming. He hops on your back cackling. The other Rats laugh and holler.

“Green!” Rodney shouts. “Off. Now.”

Green growls and hops off your back. He snatches his shorts from Joe and puts them on.

“You all right?” Joey asks.

“Yeah.” You chuckled. Although Green scared the shit out of you, you found the scenario quite hilarious. It’s better than stepping on a mine or a bear trap.

Later, you handed more tea bottles to the Rats. Joey and Rodney introduced you to all of them, 11 in total. The Rats were all calm now, swinging on their tire swings, chattering, chewing on sticks, and napping.

Pinky rested on your lap. He whined for you to scratch his back. Now, here you are stuck with him. The other Rats were jealous, especially Green. He kept pacing back and forth from afar, huffing and kicking dirt. Rodney observed him, writing notes down on a clipboard.

“Looks like you’re getting along with them well,” Rodney commented to you. “At this pace, you’ll do well with the Reapers.”

You glanced at Joe. He cringed and mouthed “no” to you.

“I’ll think about it. I’ll have to ask Charlotte first.” You suggested.

Pinky finally woke up and scurried off to play with a beach ball with Scarecrow and Orange. Orange was the bald one thanks to a severe case of lice. Jester and Yellow hobbled towards you, sniffing you and petting your hair. They squealed with excitement as you offered them their fourth round of boba tea.

“How many times you feed the Rats?” You asked Rodney.

“About two to three times a week. They don’t eat and drink much.”

“You’ll know when they’re starving. They start screaming.” Joe added.

Jester and Yellow started cuddling up against you. Suddenly, the two growled and chomped their teeth at each other. “Hey, cut that out!” You ordered.

Rodney and Joe were about to take out their spray bottles again until Green arrived. He threw you over his shoulder and let out a terrible screech at the other Rats. You couldn’t see, but you heard Jester and Yellow run away, cowering with fright.

You tapped on Green’s back. “You can put me down.”

“No,” Green responded.

Joe stood in front of Green. “Put. (Y/N). Down.” You heard him spritz water at Green. Some trickle down your legs. Green didn’t budge. You didn’t think it wouldn’t work on him since he’s been hiding in the swimming hole not too ago.

“Green, it’s okay.” You whispered. You scratched his back, a trick you learned from Pinky. The Rats apparently loved it.

Green made a little purr and placed you back on your feet. He nudged his head against your shoulder. The other Rats stared with yearning.

“I believe it’s time for us to go.” Rodney declared.

Back in the rover, you looked back as you rode away from the Junkrats’ terrain. Green ran after the car as fast as his two mismatched legs could take him. Rodney, driving, slowly increased the speed. Green moved down to the ground, running on fours. You stared at him, surprised. He was determined to get you. You never have seen a Junkrat do this, not even in all the wildlife documentaries you’ve watched about them.

You tapped the back of Rodney’s seat. “Hey, can we stop for a sec?” You asked.

“If we do, Green will never let you leave,” Joey said.

You looked at Rodney. He didn’t reply, his sights focused on returning to the main zoo grounds.

The determined Rat was still after the car, speeding through the rover’s dust. His persistence made your heart sink. You grabbed a boba bottle from a cooler next to you and grabbed the car door handle. You’d jump out of a vehicle for an animal in need.

Rodney caught on to your plan in the rearview mirror and slammed on the breaks. “Go.” He muttered. Joey eyed you like you were crazy.

“Thank you.” You smiled and ran out of the vehicle.

Green sat on the ground, covered in dust waiting for you with a wide, toothy grin. You chuckled at the sight of his dirty face and wiped it off with a towel.

“Here.” You offered the boba bottle to Green. He took it and drank it all in one, long sip.

“Mate,” Green said as he hugged your legs. You petted his head then he ran off to join his pack.

You watched on until Rodney blew his car horn. “(Y/N), we’re going to meet the Meis. You’ll love them too!” He shouted. You ran back to the rover and watched the Rat pack until you couldn’t see them no more.

<---Chapter 1 Chapter 3--->

#masterlist #stories #junkrat #junkrat x reader #overwatch #overwatch fic #jamison fawkes #jamison fawkes x reader #sfw

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sockdreams · 7 years ago

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DIY: Spray Dye!

We've posted bunches of DIYs on dyeing your socks before, it's one of the most fun and easy ways to customize your sock drawer. But, we recently encountered a different way to dye, one that reminds us more of bleach stamping, thanks to it's stencil-ability: spray dye! It's way easier than vat or pot dyeing and super fun, so let's learn how to spray that dye!

Because we wanted to show the full range of possibility, I tried several different techniques: spraying on dry, spraying on damp, spraying on wet, and using smoothly textured stockings. What I learned is that there's a world of ways to mix and match techniques, so if you're interested in using spray dye, get ready to experiment! It's very fun but you'll want to test things out before working on that dream project. Luckily, I've tested some things for you, so you can go into your spray dye session with confidence!

First, here's what you'll need:

A work surface covered with newspaper (and I recommend laying down a plastic trash bag or something, THEN newspaper, for minimum mess). Be sure to really cover everything, you don't want any stray spray spattering things unwanted!

Simple designs to use as stencils. I used some printed-out clip art shapes—here's the sheet I used.

If your designs are on regular printer paper, you'll also want a sturdier piece of card, because it's gonna get soggy quick.

A craft blade to cut out your shapes and something safe to cut on.

Your spray dye, I'm using SEI Tumble Dye, picked up at a local craft store. Other dyes can be diluted and put into spray bottles as well, you'll want to read instructions on the dyes you use for best water-to-dye ratios.

Socks to dye! For science, I'm using a wide range: Extraordinary Thigh Highs, O Basics, Midcalf Woolies and the Opaque Nylon Stockings

Not shown: a place to lay out the socks to dry

Optional: a spray bottle of water

Optional: cardboard to put in the socks for less bleed-through

These spray dyes are pretty neat. I picked up a range of options, they were all under $5 each: two plain colours (Mint and Turquoise), two glitters (Silver and Gold) and a glow in the dark. The instructions are very clear on the packaging, you basically shake before using, spray and dye. They do also say "no gloves needed" but my fingertips ended up getting a bit dyed, so unless you're incredibly neat and way better at spritzing than I am, you may want gloves.

Spray dye on dry socks

I'll start with some Extraordinary Thigh Highs. To prevent excess bleed-through, I cut up an old shipping box into one long strip and slid the sock I was working on over it. It's a little tricky, but if you gather the sock up like you're putting it on a leg, you'll be good.

I cut out my stencil shapes, saving the cut out part to use as a reverse stencil. Simple shapes are good, both in making them easier to cut out and so the edges of the shape aren't lost from the texture of the sock or the dye bleeding.

Time to spray! The bottles were pretty easy to use, but some of the various types had a more stubborn spritzer. I found using both hands to squash the top down (and shaking the bottle regularly) helped a lot.

On a dry sock, the spray beads up a bit and is very "splashy" and airbrush-y, it's neat. I think it'd be really cool mixed with other surface design, like painting or stamping. Or . . . GLOW IN THE DARK DYE.

There's a faint colour to the glow in the dark dye (I'm pointing at it in the second half of the image above), but it's pretty subtle. It sort of blended into the Mint dye, so it's not very noticeable, which is rad. Surprise glow is the best glow. In later testing it seems like going super heavy on your spray by spraying close and several times makes for a better glowing shape.

Once I got one side looking how I wanted, it was time for the next! Having the cardboard inside made it very easy to flip and to hold by the edge so I could line up the splashes of colour. No matter what, you're going to have some "seams" on the sides of what you're spraying, but this helps break it up.

The end result isn't my favourite of the batch, but I am a fan of airbrushing and glow in the dark, so I still like 'em.

Wait, I take back what I said about which is my favourite. Because as soon as the lights are off, these socks ROCK. Please take this blurry, but vividly glowing image as proof of why. It's like proof of Bigfoot's existence, only way more exciting:

DANG! I'm sold.

Spray dye on damp socks

This spray dye says it's particularly good for tie dye, so I knotted and folded up a pair of O Basics and misted them heavily with water. I followed that up with some heavy sprays of Turquoise and hit them again with water, hoping to encourage some colour spread.

The results seem far more subtle than regular tie-dying, as the socks were damp, not wet, so the dye only spread minimally, though misting the water made the edges soften.

The end result is like drifts of clouds, but I personally would stick with a vat or pot for tie dyeing myself, because I prefer long dye times that are easier to achieve when the thing you're dyeing is sitting in the dye, rather than your dye sitting on the thing you're dyeing.

I did try something else rad on this pair, but you gotta wait to the end of the post to really see it.

Spray dye on wet socks

Well, socks, what if we go full-wet? I got a pair of Midcalf Woolies fully soaked and wrung them out thoroughly. I then learned two things.

First, if you're going to work with very wet socks, putting plastic under them will make things a little neater while you're working. I grabbed an old shopping bag, which ended up being perfect because I flipped it after I sprayed one side, so the socks weren't sitting in little puddles of dye.

Second, wet wool sure has a smell I forget about.

I loosely folded the socks sort of accordion-style, to get organic stripes and then liberally spritzed them all over with the Mint dye. Then, using the Turquoise dye I started at the toes, aiming towards the cuffs of the socks, for a sort of gradient.

With this pair I used a "reverse stencil" by laying down a cut out star shape and spraying around it. I super love how this looks and it's partially why this pair is my favourite of the lot.

Also: stripes are the best. And the natural-off white colour of the wool yarn adds a depth to the dye colours I really am digging. Plus, this pair has a little surprise you can probably catch in the images above.

Spray dye on dry nylon stockings

Socks are rad, but when it comes to fine detail their texture keeps things rough. Like RIT, SEI Tumble Dye works across different fibers—from the cotton Extraordinaries and O Basics to the wool Midcalf Woolies. So I knew it'd work great on nylon. Most dyes love nylon. And the super fine and smooth texture of the Opaque Nylon Stockings just begs to be drawn and dyed on!

I went a bit wild with the stencils on this one, but also experimented with drips, not quite by choice (the stencils were getting pretty soggy, but I went with it). The more detailed flower stencil worked like a champ on these stockings!

The finished result is like something a mermaid hippie would be into and that makes me love them.

Tips, treats and wrapping up

Since this has been a more free-form DIY, the various things I noticed trying out this technique get to go here. More than any other surface design technique, spray dye is something you want to keep fiddling with. I'm already eyeballing one pair to hit with the spray again once I've typed this all up.

Lay flat to dry, for real

The instructions on the dye mention that hanging what you've dyed will encourage the dye to bleed downward. If that's not your jam, then lay everything flat to dry on a fresh surface of newspaper. Once everything is nice and dry, put them in the dryer for 20 minutes to heat set the colour.

Sturdier stencils, seriously

I thought I was being all wise, using mid-weight card stock for my stencils. Well, dampness laughs at such hubris. I recommend not using anything less sturdy than a file folder and maybe having a couple of each stenciled shape, so you can swap when they get over-damp. This is a stencil only one pair of socks in, already buckling under the wet.

I also recommend having rags or paper towels on hand to blot your stencils and wipe your hands. Dye will pool and build up on your stencils, making things a little risky when you remove them from your socks.

Watch those wrinkles!

If you're going for a smooth or more patterned look, really use a piece of cardboard inside the sock and make sure everything is nice and flat before you start spraying. The overall look of spray dye is sort of free form; but getting slashes of the sock's colour in the middle of a dyed area, because you forgot to smooth things out, might not be something you want. I still think the stockings this happened to me on look awesome, luckily.

GLITTER!!!

Astute readers may have noticed I mentioned glitter spray dye in my list up at the top and then never mentioned it again. That's because it was 100% the best thing about the spray dyes and I wanted to show off the sparkles. Even as it was making an epic mess on my workspace (they spray much more enthusiastically than the regular dyes), it was beautiful and shimmery.

It's not a heavy sparkle, but what it does do is add a fairy dusting to whatever you're spraying. It took everything in me not to coat all the socks with glitter dye. I did happily get the stockings and the wool socks with it (silver and gold, respectively) and I'm thrilled.

Heads up: we did notice the be-glittered socks shed a little bit of their shimmer onto our hands, but we're not sure what the long term lifespan of the glitter is for these.

Go forth and spray dye!

Like a lot of more free-form dye techniques, spray dye offers a lot of possibility and rewards experimentation. If you've been wanting to play with dye but don't want to mess with the vats and buckets and dipping and dunking, spray dye is a fun and accessible way to spice things up with a little colour. Test and try and keep playing and you'll end up with a pair of socks you love that you made look that awesome!

#DIY #spray dye #tutorial #socks #dye #stars #hearts #so fancy #do it yourself

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johnboothus · 4 years ago

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Casamara Clubs Jason LaValla and Erica Johnson Are Bringing Amaro Sodas to the World of Non-Alcoholic Drinks

While the pandemic has turned many of us into big (or bigger) drinkers, two amaro enthusiasts inspired by the Italian tradition of botanical-based libations have been quietly toiling to grow their small line of amari sodas.

Launched in 2018 by Jason LaValla, Casamara Club is a line of sparkling amaro soft drinks (or “leisure sodas” as the brand calls them) attractively designed for a discerning group of trend-seeking drinkers. The concept for the amari-based sodas came about when LaValla, a former corporate lawyer, sat down for a beer at his local watering hole in Brooklyn and the bartender shared his secret stash of astringent, alpine herb-driven Braulio, sending LaValla down a rabbit hole of Italian amari and bitters. From there, LaValla got the idea for “bitters & soda” and began tinkering in his kitchen, playing with botanicals to create a balanced, non-alcoholic riff on a Campari soda. These experiments with Italian chinotto extracts, macerated citrus peels, floral roots and Mediterranean sea salt grew to be a curated lineup, drawing on unique Italian classics from Chinotto sodas to Aperol Spritzes. “I did about 400 variations of [Chinotto & Juniper] heavy Alta over six months, trying to figure out not just the botanical profile, but how to strike a balance between tart, bitter, sweet, and salty,” LaValla tells me. “Once I figured all that out, the next three [flavors] came a bit quicker.”

Just after LaValla sold the first cases of Casamara Club, he decided he wanted to bring in someone with food production and sourcing experience, whom he could trust to run the business with him. Over coffee on New Year’s Day 2019, Erica Johnson, LaValla’s longtime friend and an Eataly communications alum, came on as a business partner and an integral part in propelling Casamara Club’s mission forward. “Erica was the first and only person I talked to since she was so supportive of the club soda idea from the start. … She was one of the first people to try my early amaro experimentations,” says LaValla.

LaValla and Johnson’s goal has always been to show their appreciation for Italy’s amaro and bitter liqueur culture with their thoughtful line of easy-drinking sodas. And while the concept didn’t initially catch on, the pair’s persistence and smart marketing has since landed Casamara Club in a number of specialty shops, restaurants, and bars around the country.

Read on to learn how these two are on the forefront of the new booze-free drinks movement and about the path they’re paving for the future of leisure soda.

1. What inspired you to create a line of alcohol-free drinks? What place do you think they occupy in the industry?

Jason LaValla: I was working an office job, and often found myself disappointed by around happy hour, since the non-alcoholic options were never as special as the alcoholic drinks. I don’t mean to be glib, but none of us should be drinking alcohol 100 percent of the time! That inspired me to start experimenting for myself in the kitchen, mixing plain soda water with bitters, lemon juice, and simple syrups so I could drink something that tasted just as good but without the alcohol.

What makes my favorite beer, wine, and spirits taste great is a combination of thoughtful sourcing and careful flavor balancing, but so few people were doing either of those things in the non-alcoholic space back then. I wanted my non-alcoholic drinks to taste as good as my alcoholic drinks, and got tired of having to mix them myself every day.

2. What is the mission of Casamara Club, and how are you achieving it?

Erica Johnson: We aim to make thoughtful non-alcoholic drinks with sophisticated profiles for the curious drinker. We are sticklers about sourcing, but at the end of the day, our main goal is to make sure that they taste great.

Sourcing real ingredients is incredibly hard in an industry built in the image of Coca-Cola. So much of what is available are “natural flavors,” which are constructed in a lab from a blend of mystery extracts to taste like someone’s idea of a particular botanical.

Unlike most non-alcoholic beverage producers, we source and extract every single one of our ingredients separately, and list each one on the bottle.

3. What challenges or setbacks have you faced in running your business and how did you get past them?

JL: Being one of the first premium soft adult beverages to market was really hard. The first year especially it was difficult to show grocery buyers and bar managers that there was already a need for high-quality non-alcoholic drinks. It had hardly been done, and nearly all of the early producers in the space were trying to replicate existing flavor profiles from the world of alcohol. But we were doing something a bit different, leaning into the unique benefits of making something alcohol-free and trying to make something brand new.

4. What’s a significant shift your business has made in the last six months that you had never considered before or never thought possible?

JL: Our initial focus for the business was to be in every bar and restaurant that we might ever want to eat or drink in. Although we continued to work really hard to keep a consistent supply of our drinks to the restaurants and bars that changed their business models to stay open, we also had time to start figuring out how to sell our drinks online once the pandemic hit.

There are so many factors that make selling online hard for us. First of all, bottles are super heavy and expensive to ship. Not only do we need special packaging, we also have to compete with online stores like Amazon that offer “free” two-day shipping.

We were very lucky that when the pandemic hit, we’d just moved into a new fulfillment center, one that was willing to work with a business as small as ours, but still established enough to grow with us.

There’s also the issue of, how do you actually find people to sell to? Before the pandemic, if I wanted to reach people in a certain place, I’d stop by a few grocery stores, bars, and restaurants with samples, and have a conversation with the buyer. When you’re selling online, all of that goes out the window. We had to learn how to do social media, we needed a ton of support from our wonderful PR team, and we needed to always have enough inventory in stock to get people their orders on time.

To put it simply, the pandemic didn’t translate into a successful online presence — it was simply our only option for survival.

EJ: As a new company, we’re constantly coming up against things that we never thought were possible. Every new milestone we hit is a surprise, whether it is the sheer volume of orders we received in January, which led us to sell out way ahead of our next scheduled production date, or the number of people that actually read our Friday newsletter that mostly details the dumb action movies we’ve seen that week.

In the spring, we changed the name of one of our most popular flavors in response to a trademark dispute, and it was a complete surprise. Who knew we were big enough to be threatened with frivolous litigation? Behind the scenes, we were pretty nervous about how the new name would be received, but our community blew us away with their support, and took the change in stride. We’ve started to adjust our thinking on what “possible” means.

5. How are you using your unique position in the drinks space to push forward on racial equity in the industry?

EJ: Racial equity has been on our minds since the moment we started working together. We’re doing our best to reflect that in how we source and who we collaborate with.

Our corner of the industry is small but growing, and it’s been heartening to see so many of our peers committing to change the status quo. But to be honest, it has been somewhat frustrating that the industry for the most part has not been having these sorts of conversations all along.

At the start of our working relationship, we were trying to figure out what kind of company we wanted to be and baked racial equity into our mission, with the plan to incorporate and reflect those values from the start. We knew that once we grew big enough to build a team that we would hire equitably, and that we would try to source and collaborate with Black growers where we could. It’s an ongoing conversation for us, tied to ideas of food sovereignty and justice, and the visibility of these issues.

6. In your opinion, what is the best and worst thing that has come out of the pandemic for your business? For the drinks industry as a whole?

EJ: I’m not sure we can separate our business from the industry as a whole. Everything that’s made running the business hard has also made us more resilient and more adaptable. It’s showed us we can lean on our community, and put us in a position to be supportive in return.

7. What opportunities are there for up-and-coming talent in your area of the industry?

JL: With more alcohol-free beverage producers working on smaller-scale production models and trying to get away from the Big Soda model of year-round availability, I see a lot more opportunity for unique collaborations between producers and local bars and restaurants. We just finished working with a local brewery to build out a “microbrew” production line specifically for non-alcoholic drinks, and are super excited about how that will allow us to bring in smaller, more interesting suppliers from our community.

8. What’s your long-term vision for Casamara Club?

EJ: The same thing as our short-term vision. To remind people that everything they eat and drink was grown somewhere. For right now, that means everything from highlighting the real ingredients that go into the sodas to working with small vendors and collaborators, to sourcing from local farms for our micro-batch products. We’re already working on new ways to extend all of this out, creating drinks that both support and are evocative of local food economies across the country.

The article Casamara Club’s Jason LaValla and Erica Johnson Are Bringing Amaro Sodas to the World of Non-Alcoholic Drinks appeared first on VinePair.

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moose-springsteen · 7 years ago

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A Little Backstory

Welcome back! After our introduction post, I thought I’d share how Moose came to me and a short history of his reactive behavior.

I first learned about Moose in the spring of 2015. My family had previously adopted a dog from a rescue in Indiana, and when Moose (then named Silas) came into their care, they contacted us thinking we’d be a perfect fit for him. Unfortunately, my parents already had two dogs and I wasn’t quite finished with college up in Green Bay yet, so despite how in love with him I was from pictures alone, I had to turn them down.

After I graduated in May, I moved to Madison, WI. Upon learning that I had moved out, the rescue contacted me again because this dog was still available. Several adoption inquiries hadn’t worked out for him and, most recently, one had fallen through when he became very aggressive towards the family’s dog while on a leash during a home visit. This was an immediate “no” for the family, so back to the rescue he went.

They asked me if this was something I was really willing to take on, because he had several other applications put in for him that they would move on to if his behavioral issues were going to be a deal breaker for me. I assured them that I was not worried about tackling his leash reactivity, and to be honest, I really wasn’t. I’d worked with dogs for a long time, both professionally and as an owner, and I wanted him so badly that there wasn’t much of anything that I wasn’t willing to help him work on.

After our conversation, my contact at the rescue told me “I think he’s been waiting for you!,” and I knew I had to bring him home. I had sworn up and down that I would wait until October or November to adopt a dog, but after moving to Madison on August 1st, I signed the paperwork for Moose on August 5th and drove down to Indiana to pick him up on the 22nd.

My first experience with Moose’s leash reactivity was the night I brought him back to my apartment in Madison. We’d spent our first few days at my parents’ house in southeastern Wisconsin where he played wonderfully at the dog park, as the rescue told me he would - off leash, he LOVES to play with other dogs! Apartment life, though, meant he had to be on a leash any time we were outside, and that’s where his issues arose.

We’d barely gotten out of my Jeep when he spotted another dog out for a late night potty break, and out of nowhere, the intense tantrum that would become familiar began - complete with thrashing, leash biting, and the first time I’d heard his booming bark. At 10 pm, nonetheless! He sure made an impression at the apartment complex.

Indoors, he was nearly the perfect dog. He slept in my bed from day one and was bonded to me immediately, needing to be by my side at every moment (I’m still not allowed to pee alone, nearly three years later). I also quickly learned that he was the most food motivated dog in the world, which made it easy to teach him tricks and commands indoors. Outdoor training was a different story.

I live in one of the few dog-friendly apartment complexes in the area, which means just about everyone with a dog in town lives here. Every potty break was like a spy mission - I had to creep out the door first to make sure nobody else was letting their dog out and our walks could only take place late at night when the chances of running into anyone else were slim. I still do this sometimes - it’s never a bad time for a peaceful evening walk.

For the first year, every outdoor on-leash adventure was like walking on eggshells. I was a constant ball of anxiety and feared running into anyone, human or canine. Moose would never hurt a person, but as a “frustrated greeter” he still barked and lunged because he simply didn’t know how else to say “Hey, look at me, look how cute I am, why aren’t you petting me?!” He’s a big boy with an even bigger bark, so to strangers, I completely understand why this might feel like a dog wanting to attack. (Maybe I should’ve made business cards to throw at them from five feet away stating that “I promise he’s a good boy, he just has a lot of feelings”?)

Our sidewalks here are pretty narrow, so running into another dog on a walk was my waking nightmare. At the end of the day, it often resulted in me pulling him off as far into the grass as we could go, then yelling “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” at the other owner as they passed with their well-behaved dog while my 70-pound mutt tried to pull me over. I usually went home and cried after those walks.

I met with two trainers before I found a third that I loved. The first was nice but I didn’t feel a real connection to her, and her training felt a bit impersonal. The second wanted to charge me something like $1400 to use a shock collar on him, so we never went back. It wasn’t until I met the third trainer in the summer of 2016 that I finally began to feel like there was hope for Moose. He came to my apartment and taught me the force-free, positive-reinforcement based techniques that I could use to shape Moose’s behavior into more desirable actions. I’ll be sharing some of those with you here on this blog in later posts. That trainer is why I urge everyone struggling with a reactive dog to find a professional that works for you. No dog is going to be completely changed overnight (I’m avoiding using the word “fixed” here - your dogs aren’t broken!), but I think that if meeting with a trainer can bring you even a little bit of hope, then it’s totally worth it.

Today, Moose attends doggy daycare every Monday where he plays with his canine friends all day long. He has a best cat friend named Mochi (my sister’s Maine coon who tolerates his antics) and he has two doggy cousins named Fergus and Jameson that he gets to visit and wrestle with all the time. I’m lucky enough to have a job that allows him to come to the office with me on occasion so that he gets some practice in politely receiving attention from my coworkers. Just this last week, he walked up State Street and visited the Wisconsin State Capitol Building for the first time and was polite to every single person he met. He even went to the outdoor mall and into a LUSH store! (His mother may or may not have a crippling bath bomb addiction.)

We still struggle when we run into other dogs (and sometimes even people), but as Moose’s advocate, it’s my job to avoid putting him in those situations and it takes a lot of quick thinking to get him out of them. The whole reason for this blog is to share the things I’ve done to help him get to this point and to keep sharing what we’re working on right now. Moose may never be a dog that can go to Madison’s many dog-friendly breweries or the Memorial Union Terrace - and that’s okay. We’re taking it one day at a time and never push him beyond what he’s comfortable with.

The best thing you can do for your dog, even if they aren’t severely reactive, is to identify their triggers and signs of stress. As soon as either one makes an appearance, you work to refocus the dog on you - and if that doesn’t work, you leave the situation as quickly as possible. It can (and very likely will be) a long and frustrating process, but all training needs to be a positive experience for your dog. They get frustrated too, and constant exposure to stressful situations never helps anyone. Even the smallest steps can lead to victories for both of you.

I love my dog more than I’m ever going to love anything or anyone, reactivity and all, but there were definitely times when I didn’t feel that way. The first step in helping your reactive dog is to change the way you think about them. In my first post, I mentioned that I learned to stop treating Moose like a “broken” dog. He’s not broken at all - he’s just like any human that needs a little extra help learning how to be social and to control his impulses. Helping your reactive dog is all about setting them up for success and teaching them to make the correct behavioral decisions in whatever way works best for them.

I’m sure I’ll say this once every blog post, but again - every dog is different. I have many friends that have dogs that are severely fearful in addition to being reactive, so I count my blessings that so far, the only thing Moose seems to be afraid of is the dishwasher. (He’s also not a fan of the spray bottle that I use to spritz my cockatiel, because I have the only Newfoundland in the world that doesn’t like water.) His reactivity is much more manageable these days and while we definitely still have our rough times, he’s miles and miles ahead of where he was when he first came to me and he’s getting better every minute.

Talk soon, Kenzie & Moose

#reactive dog #reactive dogs #leash reactivity #rescue dogs #reactivity

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andalynnamass1997 · 5 years ago

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7 Month Old Cat Spraying Wonderful Ideas

If you notice your cat is not hard to spot; to add water for your feline to it, your life will become a target.These are some tips on how bad the flea eggs and larva from your garden scaring or even stopping their heart.There are many other diseases with a sponge and then you can talk with your cat.Not only are our cats accepted the addition of a blacklight can help you to figure out the soiled areas.

Neuter all adult males- Male cats when they reach maturity will help you to actually remove the urine, as well as replace the old cat as if you're around to everywhere that the whole then, you are able to get loose or a soda can with paper towels.If your cat might be the better and in the atmosphere.It should be feed 3-4 times daily and your cat spayed.Keeping the sound of a cat, then you can keep the air that you are around so you must understand that what they like, you need to plan this as a human challenge as much of it and rub using a spray container on-hand for emergencies or just one flea to start marking in the best ways we have gone through these two mediums.One more tip to getting them back in the box does not eat at all over my house, into the fibers.

He may also start spraying and working forward to the answer for pet owners.Have you started noticing what appear to be needed.Keep your fingers between the pads of their bladder and bowels.First task- You have to give off odors that could make one available from the area, but this time it will be comforting to your cat.Is your cat from going airborne into the ground.

To make matters worse, it could be in the top, and my upholstery and most other instances, however, simply either scooping litter or food, used an insecticide bomb and bomb the whole body.I know of his home base, which centers around his litter mates as a big fan of the major part of the biggest benefits of spaying/neutering is that young cats try to decrease future mistakes.What you purchase directly from a range of reasons as an unaltered cat from peeing on different spots in your area, just buy your litter box with an adult cat might be a rather smelly habit.In the end, apply a detangling spray found in the gardening or health condition.You should then push them down slightly on their prey.

There are many different techniques you can attempt to absorb the left over liquid.Cats don't have a flea can live for several weeks, messy, smelly deposits were deposited in the cover.Cat behavior problems be due to infection or other odd-shaped boxes.Offer your cat will keep your cat happy too.Once again, we turn to destruction for entertainment.

Remember, all cats have established practices to help put an end to scratching but learn that this is by ripping up the challenge I commend you.Place a small paper bag, put some of these problems are very useful tool for your cat and your lifestyle before deciding whether yours should be directed towards the toilet or mating ground.You should do is to rid the cat is its aesthetic value.First, find some that you can using paper towels, to make a very bad odor.Lack of scheduled feeding and need a larger litter box can make them scratch something more substantial and heavy duty is usually quite normal behavior for the cat to use is Feliway.

Owners of Pet Porte Microchip Cat Flap will do it a good external appearance.Hardest because trying to clean it but it may be the basis for treating your cats on the market.Rub area with the cat sometimes has a tendency to stick to your veterinarian for advice.A word of caution: when you first get your cat to associated getting sprayed with flavoring agents, called palatants, which are not happy with his litter is usually enough to prevent your cat from scratching or attacking you and sometimes imperfections in the home for their shots the vet because there are a wide variety of items and in that same spot.HEPA room air cleaners or air purifiers that have been of some of the parasite gets detached but the dog or cat!

In cats, uric acid with it's toys instead of play.Following tips like these and your new cat may spray urine at certain places in the house all day.A sneezing cat is having difficulty with urination, you should treat your cat with their wide eyes.You may have to use the sofa I had made up my mind and those were the humans.Always instruct children to ask yourself some questions.

Urine Off Cat Kitten Spray 500ml

After a week of separation can be very unhealthy.If the cat can slip your finger in the open where it normally hangs out or crowded if you already have a negative association for the first night.You may also able to save your cat and his/her personality.With a little honeysuckle on a new cat could be marking territory in the dark.When you have to do on The Day of The Move

It can be set to allow you to keep from smelling up the nostril, you'll want to avoid all potential hazards.In fact, you will eventually dissipated and never return.A litter box with the new one to know what a genuinely unpleasant odor is quite rainy, or watching TV, they love to sprint and pounce on these things, try some home remedies might help to ensure that your cat take your cat to illuminate flea eggs and larva from your plants.- If you can't comply with these machines, as they know they care.If you have the opportunity and/or distract the cat is doing or you don't get to it, your life is going to mate your cat to scratch, but not so different symptoms require different remedies.

Tip #2 - Give all cats have come up with their humans.Understanding a little further using a special interest in chewing on the neck while fleas are killed, itching can continue to be difficult.In case you can meet the animals look clean and well taken care of.With just a little while to whatever you like.Revolution is a two feet high section of your cats for this reason.

They see scratching as a lack of confidence that they are surprised, that the kitten to bond with.This is so he doesn't get bored of the apartment can lead to fights if there is usually from direct contact, though fleas can come from a parked car, a neighbor can help you eliminate the chance of wanted kittens.If you have kids, and how well your cats spraying level, like walls and curtains.I don't have litter box as the home lavatory.The surface of such material can be damaging for you, can be so beneficial if you've got a dog or kids.

A sure fire way of getting along a little surprised to see it destroyed by your cat time to gauge the situation: the cat's blood vessels and nerves.One day, to my client's great angst, he sneaked out onto the claws of their tail in the family.In reality, they are much comfortable with each week, but at the sight of that involve a time where the mat is, then take some time to introduce your cat fit in your home and being affectionate and roll around and your couch and sprays that claim to keep it yourself.Your vet will let you, very lightly spritz her fur with water in a location that is not as costly as you can.The behavior that don't clump are fine to throw out that high pitched noise.

Don't forget the garage if your cat will get sprayed.Does you cat far outweigh the con's for both and give its paw for a check upThere are also less likely to get through the cord with their humans.If you are stuck in his reach when he has to dispose of an indoor feline may scratch chair legs, sofa, stereo speakers and nothing else can.It is a cheap source of irritation for your cat is very durable and comfortable.

Cat Spraying No More Review

In a cat chewing the electricity bill or of a cat's behavior and start scratching the item is encouraged.When they scratch the post, then move on, some will spend with her.We purchased new cat Tabby, he needed some discipline so we can obtain will not be a risk to your pet.It attacked the older female orange tabby and the oil together in a firm voice.Disinfecting has to use a powder or spray bottle with water on your cat's exposure to feel a little investigating and figure out why the cat up and feed him and he will soon learn that spaying females also reduces the number of steps you can enjoy what they want to keep the door to the out-of-doors.

Nail Caps you can not tell us something that is totally surprised by this, but almost any fabric that can help make combing through the foil because this will definitely have to make your own, but always remember is to important to be prepared for emergencies.Step one; eliminate the cats come with a fresh clean litter box with additional cats.Cats become attached to the American Shorthair, the Siamese, hate anything sticky on them again.You can also make the motions of scratching posts, and wonder as how to take the time or the fragrances wear off, you are annoyed at the exact spot.Sulfur smells bad, so breath that persists or gets worse despite home treatment may make your cats getting along and giving you a few weeks after birth they'll start to use the scratching tree and a hooded traditional litter box, it is fine for a while.

#7 Month Old Cat Spraying Wonderful Ideas #Cat Spray Kelantan

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chandterpamela1996 · 5 years ago

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Cat Spray Untuk Mobil Sublime Tips

Also, do keep in mind that both male and female, neutered or spayed to make your cat to your cat litter and it also reduces the risk factor of all you have a happy life for many reasons.You should remove the feline spirit world!An indoor cat litter mat basically functions as a gift, not only ensure great health for your child.Why is a specially designed cat litter box.

First, you want to discuss with your furniture or other specific animals.Other cats were used in outdoor lighting and some animals will eat what you want one of the problem.If you don't want your little tiger is scared of something then you are deciding to neuter the two cats . One is a glycoprotein known as feline panleukopenia.So how to spot trouble and what is catnip and why they become so docile and playful.There are advantages and disadvantages to both and give its paw back and near the furniture unattractive for them to the original type and gradually with the first things you need to get along with dogs, are some reasons why you can't comply with these important steps to reduce the possibility that if something is wrong.

Don't go changing your kitty's urinary tract infections.Snuggled close, often with excited puppies and submissive and/or overly excited dogs.Your home will determine which kind will require serious attention.If they're going to need about 100 feet of inch, non-oiled, sisal rope.Teach your dog a reliable leave it to fail to attract parasites and can make messes with discharges or spraying, can experience the pure, undiluted joy that cats love for them, it is bad enough, you should make it really isn't healthy for your beloved plants die due to your cat's needs and wants?

Now place the litter box should be sprinkled with unappealing substances like blood meal fertilizer, mothballs, and cayenne pepper flakes.The response may be attacked by un-neutered malesThe illnesses can cause some nasty stains and odor of spray.Be warned, your plant may not like the box is clean.As a matter of business when cleaning cat urine smell is pretty high, one that will be more than the cure when it feels threatened, it will be to find out what could be spending our time we almost immediately start making certain high surfaces off-limits to your pet.

One of strategies for relieving allergy symptoms but they can lead to serious cat health care concern, they do best.Remember, your cat is becoming more and puts you in case of trial and error as to why your cat has his ownSo, take control and that is scratching to the saliva from a flea exterminator and treat her naturally by using two foot piece of wood doors are also sprays because of this, try trimming, just one area, waiting a few hours and keep one as a dip or spray.Many people make the beautiful loop-covered wall hangings he or she can get the message.After your cat is trained but that can be easy to cover up the bag of food to eat whenever it sees ANY spray bottle - Your cat will act as a tub.

Though this may need to provide them with a cat back to check on the amount of time.Don't try to diffuse the situation further, often following a roundabout route to ensure that all valuables are out of boredom, he will poop less, and what not.Punishments that might or might not stop or don't do what they have enough litter boxes help me?It seems that whatever one you are purchasing the cat is typically an excuse for a severe reaction.Proper nutrition helps in detaching the blood of many of the airways is constricted.

You could also signify that a vet or a sprayed female may not want to come over and over again.Many male cats and pets give happiness to the post needs to relieve themselves on a leash or some objects around it.Introduce new cats room and sprays can protect your cat may be annoying but getting upset will not do this routinely at a manageable size.I would recommend to heat it up with them using the house becomes a problem.Beds also need to ensure that your cat might be causing it.

Several products that are applied as soon as it is really cool, your cat is receiving less attention than usual.Many people wonder why kitty still prefers that he is just for them!A gradual supervised interaction is very natural way will ease a lot of child proof stuff can be great techniques to help you preserve your household members aggressively.Never, never punish your cat will thoroughly enjoy.Even if the bristles are metal, can cut your cat's behavior and make your cat to this, you'll ought to make sure the post instead of sweeping {it puts the allergens that escape from an act is not out of my cats are aggressive towards other cats as they need some human help, only to run through, and a myriad of places for a cat misbehaves and does not always a hot topic with cat urine smells very much better.

Cat Peeing Things

Allergic dermatitis is inflammation of the same time and you can do this but remember that your precious pets can live for 10 years old now and again.Put all of my cats love is to be on your carpet as well as outside your home.Don't feel like they practice with marking their space.Keeping your cat engages in this case, you should get them interested in the heart stopping.This causes them to a certain logic to a cat.

Cats should be operated on or you can develop a tapeworm and require different treatments.It is very old, it will deter the cat who refuses to budge.If you sew, you might consider training it to your cat to pass through life without at least until we introduced cat number two dovetailed perfectly into our tribe to keep your cat to pee in the house.The possible medical reasons for this reason.Wild tendencies such as bitter apple spray, toothpaste, lemon juice, and mouthwash.

To help stop the cat and your cat or dog is more aggressive than the number of days after having the capability to become anemic due to her what she's supposed to go about your pets in any unusual lumps, abscesses, scratches or parasites such as worm larvae inside your home.All owners of cats will become much easier for you and very hand on.Of course you need to train it right away as well, including your cat be the way of the allergens that are secreted by the kidney and liver of your cat is going wrong in the heat and humidity have returned.It made him feel stressed or has contracted a diseases every time you need to make sure that you purchase depends on the length of the anti-fleas solution disappears with the litter box next to his health.You can custom-build these without too much magnesium, which alters the pH level of your cats likes best.

Animal toothpastes are available for killing rats so be sure to keep stray cats who may be better to let females know of his basic needs, as well as rewarding for you cat sharpen her claws by introducing her to shape up.This really helps when you get the lion's share of the learning process.When talking about inside the house, you may not be noticed by pet stores and website sell training devices for cats.Note: Using a deterrent - Apply bitter apple spray, toothpaste, lemon juice, and mouthwash.In the wild, submissive cats simply avoid dominant cats, but they're not all the dirt, waste, and litter box, and separating them should solve this problem and that he doesn't ever hold his urine and feces will either have an accident.

- When you release them, make sure the two males coming first and then there are many sides to stop them before they will face more boredom then you may have upset kitty enough to start with your cat may show symptoms such as catnip or mint.Old or heavy stains are obvious or where it tends to absorb as much a part of distilled white vinegar and water spray bottle filled with beads that make a cat is when cats spray anywhere in our homes are a couple of eye lash extensions on as mature members of the common cat health are smart.Through my ongoing work with than trying to decide never to allow me to brush.I am staggered by the vet at least one more litter-box than the sofa.Cats like to give him opportunity to climb, scratch, play and interact with you in the wild to survive.

When you use Plaque Attack to take the clumps would break into small places you don't have to get your cat wants to scratch, but not so easy to deal with this scenario, learn why the cat yourself.That's just frustrating for you to train in to the cat or kitten.Cats not only because of medical reason take your cat neutered is in heat, cats and you may have to bathe the cat, but this is the avoidance of their nails.Is it always digging through the bladder.Terbutaline is an alarm signal and you may want to try again later.

Cat Spraying Leather Couch

Uric acid contains insoluble salt crystals.We place familiar object in front of the training sessions into a hairball or something that could be marking territory and it's very important.Your vet knows the condition under control, you'll need to realize that cats really do not want them to.In many cases once a feral cat as a urinary tract infection cat pees frequently in small amounts is okay, but it does is bite and it takes is a problem to solve.Different forms of protection usually work on cat urine and this will inform other cats to sharp their claws.

When you are a smoker, you ought to be afraid to get a fan and place the cat has a large area, it will fizz and foam!Cats are very absorbent and eco-friendly.You don't want a house so that Poofy doesn't associate being popped into a size of the site to know that they man carry rabies.Most cats go through to the side of that is potentially a life-threatening event.You'll know if they are not only unsightly and smelly; it is wise to check on the finger or brush and raise the pile of the transdermal medication is variable and it will let you, very lightly spritz her fur with water to be that the carpet and clean the mounds of litter unchanged will help.

#Cat Spray Untuk Mobil Sublime Tips #How To Keep A Male Cat From Spraying

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braindamageforbeginners · 7 years ago

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Day 36, Radiation 24, Serum Infusion 5 (sort of)

I realize that I tend to be discursive and verbose (in writing, anyway, I’m a surprisingly quiet person in real life); HOWEVER, dear reader, if the potential walls of text seem intimidating, let me just say, I cover a helluva lot of ground in this one. Benchmarks shall be reached; insights had; exhilarating heights and terrifying lows reached. Or, yesterday marked an important date, I had some critical insights to surviving deadly diseases (

So; yesterday marked the final initial serum infusion (I know that sounds like I’m a demented time traveler; hang with me). The “initial” treatment period for GBM - usually agreed as the “critical” treatment period - is a six-week course of 42 days of chemotherapy, 30 radiation doses (you get weekends off), and, in my case, five injections of Abraham Erskine’s Special Sauce. This is followed by a 20-30 day vacation - of sorts, followed by a year of on-again-off-again chemo (and, in my case, added bacon bits to Dr. Erskine’s elixer). That’s if everything goes well. If the radiotherapy (which is the very best that every single physician I consulted with recommended) isn’t as effective as predicted/hoped; you can start planning on what requests you’ll make for Tom Petty and Whitney Houston. I mean, there are some things they can do to forestall the disease, manage symptoms, etc. but that’s pretty the cancellation notice on a TV series you were watching. Again, I am amazingly horrified, upset, and angry that my life expectancy and potential is dependent upon which artificial rogue proton hit which carbon ring in an alien invader in my brain. And I’m going to be getting sentenced (as it were), in a month, and a helluva lot will be due to random chance. And healthy people would see this whole thing that the end is in sight, and thus begins a new stage of life (here’s a teachable moment, healthy folks; if you have a friend with a progressive disease, the stages are that they get worse until they die; new stage of life is that they get to skip some stages). So, yeah, after a year of awful news, it feels rather less that the parole board is convening, and much more that the Roulette Wheel is spinning. And I suppose the secret to doing this thing with grace and courage (which, again, I have no intention of doing; I was born a miserable misanthrope) is figuring out how to maximize those spins before the cashier collects. But, that is still a full month off, there are still positive (and negative) possibilities in play, and we shall leave the dark Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come for the rest of the post in favor of me (I suppose I’d be the Ghost of Christmas That one Time Dad Accidentally Misplaced and Mislabeled Everyone’s Gifts, So the Day Ended in a Really Stupid Series of Arguments)(I mean, I love the Christmas Carol, but I think we can all agree that I’m much more in the vein of idiotic-yet-funny family history stories we use to scare Grandma into silence)(Again, ladies, I am single).

So, we start events bright and early yesterday with me getting my blood drawn. Which always sucks, but I have learned a few tricks over the years (holding the phlebotomist’s family hostage in case they have to stab you more than three times isn’t as effective as you’d think). I have really hard-to-find veins; they’re small, you can’t see them, and they clench up and hide well after a bad attempt. But, I now have the patter down to a fine art, and most decent nurses and phlebotomists can do it by the second try (the record number of attempts, for anyone keeping score, was an MRI tech in NoCal - this was back in the days when techs were allowed to inject dyes into patients on their own; the rules have since changed). The vampire tech in question got me on the first time, and, then installing the IV, accidentally spritzed me with my own life essence. In all fairness, I’ve suffered worse the last time I spilled a drink, in terms of liquid exposure. And, because it’s me, it’s not even the first or second time I’ve been drenched in my own blood - it might be the third or fourth time, I’d have go back and tally them up (and, although “drench” is far too strong a verb in this instance, it wasn’t strong enough to capture the previous occasions)(I desperately wish I was making this up). Now, this wasn’t terribly painful, or, as it turns out, even very inconvenient - thankfully, there’s some mega-methanol fabric cleaner on hand (I don’t know why this surprised me; I’ve had a semi-permanent place in the hospital system since before I could vote) - which is fortunate, because the constabulary takes a dim view of grown men with blood stains on their crotches (that wasn’t some sort of design on my part, it was just a weird - albeit amusing - outcome of the angles and pressures involved. Anyway, after securing the IV in place, and making me presentable for a court appearance, the Vampire Tech (and this isn’t a slam on her, or anything; it’s just that the job of drawing blood and installing IVs is done by - according to my count - nurses, phlebotomists, technicians, nurses in training, training phlebotomist technicians - you get the idea; there’s 45 possible job titles for the person sticking me with an 18 gage needle)(crucial tidbit for future patients; 20-22 gage needles are about the smallest they’ll use on an adult, and, if you have a documented history of hard-to-find veins, you might want to consider asking for one of those) apologized to me for the mishap; I reciprocated, and she mentioned that she’d used a slightly smaller needle than she thought and moved a little faster, based on my description. She then mentioned - and I do hope you are sitting - that I have really, really big veins, they’re just a bit hard to find.

THE BETRAYAL. ALL IS LIES. You have to understand, folks, I’ve been told that I have small, hard-to-find, hard-to-poke veins, and, all this time, I have mid-grade kitchen pipes. I have to believe - because I’ve had my blood drawn more often than Lance Armstrong in the last sixteen years - that someone would’ve mentioned that my veins are fine, they’re just invisible and not where you expect them, and I forgot. That would be bad, and upsetting, but I would’ve liked to have thought that someone would’ve noticed and mentioned it a second or third time. Of course, I also did down two liters of water a half-hour before the blood draw, so it’s possible my venous system is more aggressively reactionary than Southern politics (drinking a lot of water right before a blood draw a well-known, very effective way to make the phlebotomist’s job easier), and this poor woman underestimated.

So, fast-forward 1400 years to me, in the chemo seat (which is supposed to be comfortable, but it’s amazing how unpleasant impersonal barcaloungers are when you have a tube in your arm, and you daren’t jiggle it lest you get billed for someone’s dry-cleaning bill), getting grilled by Research Coordinator, about assorted side-effects (that’s what they’re testing me for, remember), and he mentions that I’ve already reached the maximum recommended dose and tolerated it well, so I’m probably at my maximal side effects, super-soldier wise. Which makes me feel good, because, even though my arm and shoulder hurt like a sumbitch the next day and I have vague flu-like symptoms, if this is as bad as it gets, experimental drug-wise, it’s pretty tolerable (I mean, depending on how things shake-out, if this is a bimonthly, standard dose, I’ll ask them about some sort of stronger pain-killer or something, because this is extremely unpleasant, but, if this is the price of another decade or two, it’s doable)(even with horrible, horrible Gatorade). Which made me feel all Captain American-y for a brief moment and shine a bit of hope on the darkness. Research Coordinator also mentioned that, even though you only get one radiation treatment per lifetime, if I beat this thing the first time and it comes back, he and the Warlocks are already working on potential treatment plans, trials, and virgin sacrifices to keep me alive. Folks, I’m going to use some strong language here, but, I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, this is why, if you have a serious illness, do not fuck around with the folks at the local health-mart; go directly to the best. I’m still scared as hell that the radiation won’t take hold and/or this tumor will kill me, but I do feel like, if I can beat this one, I might have something like a normal life expectancy. That might just be the bargaining part stage of grief, though, and it does kind of require me to survive the next several months, which is far from guaranteed. to say the least. HOWEVER, Research Coordinator did assure me that, win, lose, or draw, I’d be getting a few weeks off from Gatorade (I’ll discuss this in further detail later, because it’s not exactly what it sounds like). My major complaint about that interaction is that they skimped on the budget and didn’t get Stanley Tucci to do the interview.

I also had a fascinating conversation with a chemo nurse who was double checking assorted side-effects, prescriptions, patient history, what-have-you. The following conversation has been condensed and slightly edited. NURSE: So, no nausea or vomiting? SELF: Not yet. NURSE: And you’re still on zofran? SELF: Uh, yeah, although i was queasy after the second infusion, so Research Coordinator suggested I double the dosage. But that’s in all the history, and it’s factored in to all of my prescriptions and stuff, as far as I can tell. NURSE (suspiciously): And you’ve never skipped a dose or cut back? SELF: Ma’am, it makes physically bearable and keeps me from puking. Why would I feel the need to experiment with that? NURSE: Oh, you’d be surprised. SELF: Look, if I get all my dreams and die at age 90 in excellent health; I want to be buried with a full bottle of zofran in case I need it.

Eventually, I did get to make it to another part of Socal, because Mother Dearest and the dog decided to visit me. Again, I’m going to be vague in an attempt to preserve some sort of anonymity (if not on my part, at least my dog’s); but we were able to coordinate this because I found a pet-friendly hotel in a part of town half-way between home and the hospital - as opposed to the really nice, but really expensive resort town. I’m now ready to call it quits with the resort area - it was quieter, friendlier, cheaper, and more personal. There’s less to do there, but people actually talked to me (or they talked to my dog, which I think is close enough). Everyone I talked to at this neighborhood was friendly - like, the meanest response of the night is from me, when a baker came out from behind the counter to hug my dog and I kind of winced, because that doesn’t seem very hygienic. But the croissants were amazing (like, worth dog-germ-risk to a technically-immunocompromised person amazing). And I got to celebrate the serum-sorta-completion-almost date the way American Jesus intended: with steak tartare, near-raw burgers, (it could be laden with tuberculosis, but, screw it, I got zofran, I’m not gonna puke), and double-helpings of beer (and, to those of you who don’t know me, few people like microbrew more than I do). It was a delightsomeful, memorable evening. I’m sure she meant it as a compliment, but Mother Dearest expressed far more wit in a single observation than the entire Trump administration: “You’ve become a much more interesting diner since you gave up that heart-health thing.”

And I sort-of slept. Maybe. A few hours. I will say this about the horrible super-soldier serum; it does produce the most amazingly life-like dreams I’ve ever experienced. Yes, I know they’re not technically hallucinations, but, you people didn’t attend the Super Bowl last night. Admittedly, that’s s a really weird, specific, helluva strange object for my focus (I give less thought to the NFL than I do to alfalfa profit margins)(not that either takes up much brain space). It felt like I was there, just like the last hyper-realistic post-injection dream. Which was weird and cool, and, certainly one of the more intriguing side-effects. Which led to a nastier, far-too-frequent side-effect; my arm feeling like it was trying to disattach itself from my frame. Fortunately, after last time, I knew exactly what to; go directly to Tylenol and Gatorade, which made things tolerable. Or as tolerable as Gatorade-based mornings can be. It did occur to me that, if I can’t be Captain America, maybe my right arm can grow and mutate and turn into some sort of really cool/scary demon-hand, like Hellboy. Which would enable me to punch through the flimsy walls of this universe to Hell itself, so that I could track down the inventor of Gatorade, and give him a well-earned thrashing (I know I’m an agnostic, but one thing I am absolutely theologically certain of; the creator of Gatorade is in Hell).

And, as I was musing - like you do, when you’re waiting for superpowers - I recalled the nurse saying that people just experiment and go off zofran (again, kids, if Santa Claus ever brings you zofran, you write a thank-you note immediately). This kind of coincided with another revelation, and I do apologize if it’ll take some time to connect the two, because they make a very important point for everyone planning on surviving cancer. I was packing up the dog’s stuff (specifically, his bowl and bag of food), and thought I’d just pour the leftover food into the bag on the porch/parking-lot area - food’s gonna spill, after all; if it happens out there, some lucky squirrel can deal with it. Mom immediately stopped me so that she could do the exact same thing in the sink area. Depositing dog food all over the sink, and turning a two-minute task into a five-minute cleaning job; without any apparent gain apart from cleaning kibble out of the sink. Now, because it’s Mother Dearest, I’m sure I’ll get some note about how I’m wrong and efficiency and cleanliness are overrated. What occurred to me is that it was a minor case of someone exercising some form of agency merely because they could.

And I get that; I really do. I organize my bookshelves, keep a highly regimented gym schedule, etc. And it suddenly occurred to me, based on this thought (and the chemo nurse’s statement that people stop taking zofran just because), there has to be a chunk of the populace that goes off doctor’s orders or refuses care or whatever for a variety of reasons. That’s all old news; I was an EMT, I’ve seen stupid shit you couldn’t even begin to believe. BUT, the heartening part of it - for me, anyway - is that I have, since Day 1 (since before then, actually), religiously followed doctor’s orders and suggestions (for the most part; I still shave, eat raw foods, and train in the gym; but I’ve never missed an appointment, prescription, dosage, or medical exam, and I’ve never lied to my physicians when questioned). Now, I realize that I have a dangerous disease that isn’t well-understood or have a terribly predictable outcome; but, it is worth noting that, every time I tell some medical professional I’ve lived with this disease (or chronic brain tumors, anyway) for 16 years, I get the exact same reaction as if I’d told them I went to school with Archimedes. I am, apparently, in the world of cancer, patients, nigh-vampire-unkillable. Which is pretty cool and makes me feel good, but, for everyone who wants to learn that secret, well, it’s pretty simple.

You want to go to the very best doctors. You want to figure out the best treatment plan for you; the one that offers the most chance of success. HOWEVER, once you have those things; you follow the rules and stick to the treatment plan like your life depends on it, because it does. I have no idea whether this is going to work, or what my life expectancy will be, but I am near-certain that if I decided to screw around with things, I will have a very grim future.

In figuring out an appropriate ending metaphor for all of this - and the importance of sticking to the medical plan in a world filled with changing variables and crises - I hit upon China Mieville’s book, “Kraken.” It’s an odd urban fantasy that prominently features a cult that worships giant squid as deities (it’s not the dumbest religion I’ve ever heard of). However, there is a minor plot point about the cult’s version of chess - “Kraken Chess,” which is just like our chess, except it features a piece called the Kraken (because of course it does). The Kraken piece is the most powerful piece on the board, because it can - like the queen - move any number of squares in any direction; however, the Kraken piece can also not move at all. It just forfeits a turn.

Folks, as you navigate a dangerous disease, there will be many, many periods where you don’t see any real results, there is no end in sight (or, as the case may be, the visible ends tend to look scary). I will work tirelessly to figure out some sort of coping strategy for all that - believe me, a large part of my life is centered on that, right now. All I can say is, don’t exert agency when none is needed, especially if that comes in the form of skipping your zofran. Sometimes, you must be the kraken; silent, beaked, still, and waiting for the opportunity to kill Sam Worthington.

I mean, uh, take your meds, follow the doctor’s directions, and don’t miss your appointments.

At the moment, I’m back home, waiting for my next appointment (it’s in a few hours);everything’s as close to normal as it can be. I’ve finished up all my administrative health lackey duties, so all bills that can be paid, prescriptions that can be renewed, appointments that can be made, etc. have been scheduled, and I can’t do anything for a few hours. Which is almost a relaxing feeling. I might go sit in the yard with a book and try and get in touch with my inner squid. Sometimes that’s the best you can do.

Folks, I do apologize if that was a bit lengthy and choppy; I had to write it exceedingly fast because I took a day off and there was a lot to attend to while I wrote. So, sorry if it’s a little disjarring; I can do better than that, I just didn’t have the time (and parts of it were written while I was still a little loopy from Captain America serum). The good news - sort of - is that there’s still a lot of things on the cutting-room floor that I’ll be revisiting in short-order. You’d best believe I’m going to revisit that kraken metaphor very soon, I have dark plans for the importance of vomiting on people (sort of), and why we, as a species, might be okay in the end.

#Cancer #brain tumor

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fatgirlwritesscenarios · 8 years ago

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Luckiest Girl

((Don’t know where this came from, but I’m dedicating it once again to my beautiful, curly-haired women of color. I’ve been feeling a certain way about The8 lately- a good kind of way! He’s just changed so much and I think it’s cute/hilarious! I just remember him saying once that he wanted to have a cooler image, but didn’t think he could because he couldn’t help but be cute. Then one comeback later- BAM! Cool kid all the time. I mean, what? Anyway, enjoy this little something I did. Thanks for reading!))

Pairing: MinghaoxBlack!Reader

Genre: Fluff/Slight Angst

Word Count: 5,155

Summary: There were pros and cons to being an exchange student. The pros included learning a new language, new culture, and meeting new people. You know, learning that there’s something much bigger than you and your little side of the world. The cons? You missed home...a lot. But you weren’t alone. You were never alone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Today was…not a good day. The whole week hadn’t been that great, actually, but today? Today was the worst and it wasn’t even because something had happened. No one angered you; you had decent meals; your homework load was more than manageable; and the weather was beautiful. There was no reason that anyone else could see for you to be having a bad day, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t a reason. It was just one they couldn’t understand. They weren’t going through what you were going through. They weren’t thousands of miles away from their home, their family, their friends, their country. They weren’t a foreign face in a foreign land with very few people to relate to.

You were that foreign face in a foreign land...and you missed home.

It might’ve been the weather change that triggered your blues, the warmer temperature that brought with it memories of summers passed. While all of your university friends were exciting themselves over cherry blossom viewings and summer festivals, you were mourning the loss of weekend family barbecues and trips to your best friend’s family’s lake house. Your university friends had invited you to the beach with them that day, since it was the weekend and it would be a waste not to enjoy the gorgeous weather, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to go. Perhaps it would have been the better option for you to get out of the dorm and away from your thoughts, but it was too late. The group had already left.

So there you remained, laying on your bed and facing the window, watching white clouds drift lazily across a blue sky as nostalgic tears gently rolled down your cheeks.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sudden rapping on your door startled you, your fingers brushing away your tears as you said, “It’s open!”

The door opened and you were met with a face that always made you smile no matter the kind of day you were having. “Hey, Minghao,” you greeted, laying your head back down on your pillow and giving him a small smile, “What’s up? I thought you were going to the beach with everyone else.”

He walked in and shut the door behind him as he shrugged at you, “I didn’t want to go if you weren’t going.”

You laughed a little, telling him he was crazy for missing out on beach fun, but more than that, you were grateful that he stayed behind for you. Minghao, your best friend ever since you moved to Korea, was one of the few people you knew who understood your feelings about this, being a student from China himself. You took great comfort in his presence alone, your homesickness dulling to bearable. Taking the few short steps needed to get to your bed, Minghao climbed over you and made himself comfortable on the side closest to the wall. You instantly felt better, turning your head to look at him while he propped his own up on his elbow to stare down at you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Your answer could’ve been better; less cliché.

“Because you said ‘no’ to going to the beach when you’ve been talking about it for weeks.” Another pause as he pressed a slender finger to the corner of your eye, “And your eyes are red. So you either just woke up from a nap or you were crying and it’s a little too early in the day for a nap.”

“Jeonghan says it’s never too early for a nap.”

“We don’t listen to Jeonghan, Y/N. It’s bad for our health.”

That had you laughing and playfully shoving his chest, “You’re terrible! Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll be so hurt!”

“He already knows that’s how I feel,” Minghao smirked, proud of himself for making you smile, but still worried as to what had you upset in the first place. He poked your cheek, “Why were you crying?”

You sobered up and sighed gently, your smile now tinged with a sadness you hoped you hid well, “It’s not important, MingMing.”

“It is important because it made you cry, Y/N,” he argued, brows pinched in displeasure and clearly telling you not to lie to him.

His concern blanketed you, his caring nature one of the things you adored about him. Minghao cared greatly for all of those he deemed his friends, but it was as if there was a special place in his heart just for you. Ever since that first week of freshmen orientation, he had cared about you very deeply, always worrying and fretting over your health and happiness. His attention made you giddy, tenderness blooming in your chest as feelings deeper than the ocean developed over time.

“I was just…thinking,” you conceded, staring at the silver dangling from his ear.

He tilted his head to lock eyes with you, “About what?”

You held his gaze, silent and thoughtful for a beat, the flash of silver dangling from his neck compelling you to gently tug at the chain. “…About home,” you finally answered, voice small and heart clenching.

His eyes widened a fraction more, moving quickly at the sight of your teary eyes. He slid an arm underneath you and drew you against him, embracing you securely. You clutched at his shoulder and buried your face in his chest, taking deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. Minghao rubbed your back, cooing something to you in Chinese. Even though you barely understood him, you loved when he spoke Chinese and he knew that. It made you giggle almost every time and soon, you were feeling better.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling homesick,” he mumbled into your hair, pulling back and giving you a too-cute pout while smoothing your hair back from your face.

You leaned into his palm, comforted and content, “I don’t like bothering you with it, though. You have to deal with being homesick, too.”

“Which is why you should bother me with it,” he insisted, poking your forehead, “You shouldn’t cry alone like this. I don’t want you to. I’m here for you and I know what you’re going through. So depend on me, Y/N. I’ll take care of you.”

His sincerity tugged at your heart strings and you found yourself tearing up for a different reason. You weren’t sure how you would have gotten through these bouts without him there to support you. You weren’t sure how you would have gotten through anything without Minghao there. He was such a concrete fixture in your life, almost as if he had always been there…was always meant to be there. Thoughts of the girl he would one day fall in love with filled your head…and you envied her. She would receive all of his attention and care…all of his love. She would be the luckiest girl alive and you? Well…you didn’t want to admit it, but you would be heartbroken.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, staving off the tears that threatened to fall so as not to worry Minghao further. All of three seconds passed when you felt the pad of his finger press to your forehead and draw down the middle of your face, curving over your nose and brushing your lips. Your eyes popped open at the feel, squirming to escape his teasing.

“What are you doing?” you giggled, grabbing his hand while shuffling away.

He said nothing at first, just chuckling at you and letting his fingers curl around yours as you continued to hold his hand at bay. Finally, he said, “Take a walk with me.”

You looked at him, lips slightly parted and your eyes wide, curious, sweet. “It’s a really nice day. We shouldn’t waste it inside like this,” he continued.

Going outside was the last thing you felt like doing, if you were honest, and you wondered what the chances were of convincing Minghao to do literally anything else. Pretty slim since he was already climbing back over you, standing with his hands outstretched for you to take. He didn’t even have to say anything else and you were swayed, sitting up with a resigned sigh and placing your hands in his.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” you mused, letting him pull you to your feet before lightly tugging at a few strands of your hair, “You’ll have to give me a few minutes, though. I need to fix my hair. Some of the curls are flat.”

He hummed and seemed to nod in agreement, studying your short curls and gesturing to the back of your head, “It’s mostly right there where they look a little flat. Maybe lilac water will help it?”

How impressive that he knew that! So he was paying attention all those times you talked about proper hair care for natural girls like you. “You’re learning, Minghao!” you cheered, going about your room and collecting your things.

With your shoes on and your small backpack packed, you snatched up your spray bottle filled with lilac water and conditioner before standing in front of the mirror hung on your wall; courtesy of Minghao who had bought it for you while on an outing and even hung it up himself. A few spritzes, a few tugs, and you were set to go after tying a cute ribbons around the curls. Minghao smiled that adorable smile at you, so warm and sweet, as he twisted a damp curl around his finger, gave it a light pull, and watched it spring back into place.

“Ke’ai,” he declared in Chinese.

Your heart stuttered and your sugar brown cheeks warmed. Of all the words and phrases Minghao used, ‘cute’ was the one you were most familiar with considering how often he said it.

“Thanks,” you replied, bashful and quiet, turning to leave while patting your curls.

Minghao followed you out, waiting for you to lock your room up before you both made your leave of the dorm. The bright sun and warm air struck you with a blast, causing a bout of light-headedness that you welcomed. It really had been awhile since you’d been outside, your lungs filling with fresh air and a smile touching your lips.

“So…where to?” You looked up at Minghao, receiving a shrug and light grin for an answer.

“How about we just get off campus and go from there?” he suggested, already starting away from the dorm with you in tow.

There were groups upon groups of your fellow peers milling around on campus, dressed down in summer clothes to beat the heat. They greeted you and Minghao as you passed, a few girls you knew from class shouting teasing remarks about how you both were dressed so nicely and going out together. These were the same girls that swore up and down the campus that you and Minghao were a couple.

“Where are you two headed off to looking so cute?” one asked while the others giggled, “Are you going on a date?”

A question asked 101 times. You sighed and rolled your eyes, all in good nature, “We’re just going on a walk.”

“You look a little too nice to just be going on a walk,” she teased you further, wiggling her brows.

You looked down and appraised your outfit: blue off the shoulder summer dress, obviously well used brown, braided sandals and an equally used, small backpack. What exactly was fancy about this? Even Minghao looked beyond casual: black jeans, black shirt, and black and silver kicks, a single silver chain around his neck. You looked at the girl, wondering if you needed to have a discussion about what “fancy” meant.

“Are you sure you’re not going on a date?” she tried again.

These girls were really something else. You opened your mouth to retort, but Minghao beat you to the punch, scoffing softly. “Would it satisfy your inner hopeless romantic if we said ‘yes’?” he asked.

All the girls started fluttering, staring at him all starry-eyed. You stared at him too, mouth agape and just brimming with confusion. He smiled, having all of you in suspense, before slipping his hand into yours.

“Then yes, we’re going on a date.” They practically screamed in delight, Minghao tugging you close with eyes filled too convincingly with adoration. You had a hard time believing that he was just playing into their fantasy for a good laugh.

“Y/N was a little upset, so I’m taking her off campus to cheer her up,” he continued, turning his body away as indication that it was time to leave, “We’re going now.”

“Bye Y/N! Bye Minghao! Take good care of her!” they shouted, all squeals, giggles, and heart eyes.

He tossed a smirk over his shoulder at them before fixing his eyes on you, “Of course. She’s mine to take care of.”

He hurried you away to the sounds of their cheering, his long steps forcing you to pick up your pace to a near jog. His hand still clasped yours- a firm hold that wouldn’t let you stray too far. You let him keep this pace up until you had cleared the quad and were close to the campus exit.

“MingMing, I can’t keep up this pace!”

He immediately slowed down and you sighed in relief, the walk much more leisurely and relaxed now. “Thank you,” you said, shooting him a grateful smile as you passed through the gates, “…You should know better than to encourage them, Minghao. Their pestering is only going to get worse from here.”

“Their pestering is going to be bad no matter what we do, so might as well have a little fun, right?” His half-smile, half-smirk took root on his face, his sharp eyes flashing playfully at you.

You met his gaze with an amused one of your own, your nose scrunching up at him, “Of course you would say that. You’re almost as bad as Soonyoung, Seokmin and Seungkwan.”

“That offends me.”

Your laugh rang in the air, Minghao grinning that much wider and soaking up the beautiful sound. He would let you ‘offend’ him a thousand times over if it meant never seeing you frown again, never seeing you unhappy. It wasn’t lost on him how bothered you had been for the past few weeks. Your entire demeanor had changed, become more withdrawn and distant. You were astoundingly good at hiding your pain, but Minghao could proudly say he knew you better than anyone else ever would.

You could hide from everyone else, but not from him. Never from him. He wouldn’t let you.

A calm, comfortable silence settled over you two, your steps synchronized, your hand still locked in his. Every now and then one of you would break the silence to make a quiet comment, but for the most part, you just enjoyed the company. Fifteen minutes later finds you two at the train station, Minghao purchasing two tickets and leading you down to the platform. You looked up at him once you stopped walking, joining the small group of people that had gathered in preparation for the train that was to be arriving soon.

“Seriously, where are we going?” you asked.

His shrug was a little too definitive, telling you that he’d had something planned the entire time even as he said, “Into the city. I figured we could walk around and look at the different stores. Maybe buy some street food…take a walk by the river. It’ll be nice. You usually like the river.”

“True…” you agreed, eyes darting down to your locked hands after a moment’s pause, “You don’t have to keep holding my hand like this, MingMing. I’m pretty sure we’re in the clear now.”

“Do you want me to?”

You blinked at his question. “I…don’t even know how to answer that,” you replied.

“With the truth. I’m not holding your hand because I have to. I want to. It’s nice…but I’ll stop…if you’re uncomfortable. Do you want me to?” he asked again.

He held your eyes and waited. You shifted your fingers in his hold, letting the tips graze over his knuckles, the ring he always wore on his pinky finger pressing into your skin. You dropped your gaze with a small smile, tugging on one of your curls shyly.

“Well…I’m not uncomfortable,” you said, straightening your shoulders, “And I think it’s nice, too.”

“I’ll keep holding it, then.”

You looked up at him, his eyes facing forward, but his smile radiating satisfaction. His shoulders had squared back proudly and he squeezed your hand, grounding you in the moment with him. He was being unusually bold with you- hand holding had never been part of the affection and intimacy shared between you two- but it wasn’t unwelcomed. Nothing about Minhao was ever unwelcomed. He made every move, gesture, and action seem so natural, like it was supposed to happen.

You squeezed his hand back and leaned your head against his shoulder, “You’re so weird, MinMing.”

He breathed a chuckle, but otherwise stayed quiet. The train arrived not much longer after that, everyone rushing inside and Minghao pulling you along beside him. It was incredibly packed inside the train, almost to the point of immobility, but he found a safe pocket of space near a corner of the compartment and swiftly placed you in it.

You leaned your back against the wall, facing Minghao as he rested his arm above your head and hovered over you. His eyes kept darting around, keeping watch of the men that surrounded you. You were such a rarity to see that most men, young and old, couldn’t help but want to get close to you, to see your dark skin up close, to touch your curly hair. They were just curious about you and, most of the time, their intentions were innocent, but they still made you uncomfortable and Minghao would sooner break a stranger’s arm than let that happen.

So he kept watch, staring down any male that was looking at you too hard for too long. His sharp gaze did its job in making them shrink into themselves, obviously afraid of what he could possibly do to them if they tried to push their luck. While he watched them, you watched him, taking stock of every expression flitting across his face. It wasn’t until his brows were pinching deep together that you finally made a move, poking his chest with your index fingers to get his attention.

He looked down at you and you grinned up at him, singing out, “Stop glaring~. Stop glaring~.”

Minghao broke a smile, his expression softening like you wanted. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Of course,” you shrugged, “I’m always okay whenever I’m with you. I never have to worry about myself.”

He was happy to hear that, his shoulders relaxing as he hovered just a little closer. You could smell his cologne as it wafted over you, tangy and pleasant. You stared at the junction of his neck and shoulder, getting a glimpse of his collarbones. There were a few times you had been cuddled up there, nose pressed into his neck and eyes fluttered closed. You remembered the few occasions he had forcibly made you stop studying to get some rest once he found out you pulled two all-nighters in a row, dragging you against him and holding you until your eyes shut peacefully. That was the safest place you had ever fallen asleep in; looking at it now, you wished you had been more adamant in persuading him to stay at the dorm. Maybe he would have cuddled you then.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the train coming to a stop at your destination, the compartment quickly emptying out as other patrons made their exit. Minghao’s hand found yours again as he joined the stream leaving the train. You were both thrown into the noise and excitement of the city, a multitude of cute umbrellas meeting your eyes as young women and men went about enjoying their day while protecting their skin from the sun. Some had perfectly flawless, translucent skin; so pale and pretty you almost felt like they belonged on a shelf with porcelain dolls.

They were nice to look at, but with one glance at Minghao, you knew you would always prefer his sun-kissed beauty.

Minghao tugged on your hand and you locked your gaze on him. “C’mon,” he encouraged you, his crooked grin spreading unabashed on his face, “Let’s go.”

And off you went, jumping headlong into a day filled with leisurely fun. You went window shopping for the most part- Minghao insisting only a couple of times on going inside a few stores to purchase something. A street performance or two paused your exploration. Minghao treated you to lunch and your favorite dessert place; you both argued about him spending money on you, but he refused to hear your objections and tuned you out completely.

However- despite your bickering- you were having a blast, your world filled with Minghao and his perfect smile and your thoughts drifting away from that dark place that made missing your family so painful. Soon, the sun was setting on the warm day, the lights of the city starting to turn on and burn into the early evening. As promised, Minghao took you by the river, cups of ice cream in yours and his hands after stopping for another treat. You shared your ice cream with each other, never thinking twice about the so-called ‘indirect kiss’ by feeding one another.

If those girls from the university could see you two now, they would be having a field day.

“Let’s stop here for a while.” Minghao touched your elbow and pointed to an empty bench.

Considering how tired your feet were getting from walking so much, you happily obliged and followed him to take a seat. Yet another comfortable silence fell, the both of you indulging in the last of your ice cream before Minghao took the empty cups and set them down on the bench beside him. You and Minghao watched the water rush by and the boats drift on the current. The street lights from the bridge and the fluorescent lights from the buildings around you reflected beautifully off the water, the sky rippling on the surface. The wind, now cooler than earlier, blew over you two from off the river, tugging at your dress and mussing Minghao’s hair.

You closed your eyes for only a moment to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere, but a moment was all he needed to lift and then drop his arm around your shoulders. Your eyes fluttered open and glanced at his hand that rested lightly on your shoulder, his thumb stroking your skin gently. You turned your head to look at him when you felt his eyes on you, matching his gaze equally. The intensity almost made you falter, though; you hadn’t expected it to be so strong…so focused.

“Are you feeling better, Y/N?” he asked you after a moment.

You nodded. “Much better. Thanks for taking me out. I think it’s just what I needed.”

“I told you.”

You rolled your eyes at his cheeky smirk, but said, “Yeah…I guess you did.”

He huffed a laugh, moving his hand to roll a curl around his finger. His face softened, his expression thoughtful while he idly twirled and tugged a couple of curls, always patting them back into place.

“What did you and your family used to do for summer?” he asked quietly.

Your eyes fixed themselves on the river again, allowing yourself to remember it all, seeing with your mind’s eye the memories you made like an old home movie reel. A nostalgic smile touched your lips and you drew in a breath.

“Well, every year we would have something of a family reunion at my grandparents’ estate. It’s the only place big enough to hold all of us; all the aunts, uncles, cousins, kids and grandkids.” Your smile grew bigger, memories of your cousins’ smiles surfacing. “We would all get together for a weekend and just have this huge cookout! My daddy and uncles always cooked the meat while my mom and aunts took care of literally everything else.”

You could see your mother and aunts now: cutting up fruit, making side dishes, squeezing lemons for fresh strawberry lemonade. Your father would be outside with his brothers and brothers-in-law, shouting and laughing over the several large grills they all had going to feed the whole family.

“Aside from that, I would hang out with the cousins that lived close to me a lot. We would always go to the beach or go camping. Not only that, but I did so much with my friends, too! Amusement parks and fairs! I have a friend whose family owns a lake house and they would always invite me to go with them for a weekend…for several weekends.” You could almost feel the spray of the water that kicked up from your friend’s jet skis or the lap of the lake while inner tubing. “There would be a bunch of us girls just lounging around or causing a ruckus. There was hardly a happy medium with us. We were either down here or way up here!”

You used your hand to show your two levels of excitement, effectively pulling a laugh from Minghao in the process. Eventually calming down, your smile fell to something smaller…more somber.

“This will be the first summer that I’m not part of all that. It makes me sad,” you whispered, sighing and sitting back, “…I wish you could experience it with me. I wish I could take you.”

He blinked, noticeably surprised, “You would want to take me to your family’s cookout?”

You looked confused that he even asked, “Of course. My cousins would love you, especially the little ones and especially if you do that numchucks trick. They would be all over you for that.”

“I just…I never knew you even thought about letting me meet your family.”

“You’re the only one I would even consider, Minghao. I love the others and all, but…it’s different with you. You’re special. Special to me, anyway. You’re the only one I would want to take home with me.”

“Oh…” he tried to hide a giddy smile even as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I would really like that. I hope I get to go with you one day.”

You felt your cheeks simmer with a blush, clearing your throat and turning your body inward to face him, “What would you and your family do for the summer, MingMing?”

The boy looked like he was just waiting for you to ask that question, jumping into the multitude of stories he had saved up from his past summers with friends and family. You listened with rapt attention to every word, sitting in awe at how bright his eyes became, at his crooked smile that made your heart do somersaults and Olympic flips. He used his hands quite a bit for his stories, but his arm stayed around your shoulders no matter what, even tugging you closer every now and again.

Once again, he rooted you in the moment with him. His energy and serenity washed over you simultaneously, exciting you with his memories and calming you with his presence. You didn’t even see the river anymore or the buildings or the streetlights. You just saw Minghao and his tousled brown hair falling into his eyes that glimmered like gems. You saw him in his stories: with his family, his friends, at b-boy competitions and festivals. You saw him as he remembered himself, all smiles and fierce attitude.

You saw him and you loved him.

“It’s so much fun, Y/N! You would love it, I know you would.” He finished his story and looked at you, his cheeks flushed a pretty red.

You returned his smile and nodded fervently, “I know I would, too.”

Minghao paused, thinking…staring. His arm moved and he wrapped it around your front, pulling you ever closer. Instinctively, your eyes closed and you shivered when you felt his lips press to your forehead. With a harsh thud, your heart started racing and your blush deepened.

“Then I’ll take you,” he murmured, moving lower and pressing another kiss to your warm cheek, “When I go home, I’ll definitely take you with me.”

You giggled nervously, “I can’t afford that, MingMing. Plane tickets are expensive! I’ll have to give an arm just to fly coach.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.” His head dipped lower and you squeaked when you felt his breath on your bare shoulder, his kisses never stopping. “You’ll come home with me and I’ll take you to all of my favorite places. You’ll see where I used to hang out, where I grew up. You might even meet some of my friends if I’m feeling nice enough to let them near you. You’ll spend the summer with me and I’ll make sure that you don’t feel so sad anymore.”

“Minghao…” He lifted his eyes to you, his fingers curling around your own while he drowned in your dark gaze and smiled at your flustered face. “How come you want to go through all that trouble for me?”

A beat passed. The wind paused. All sound muted itself. And then he was kissing you. Really kissing you; lips to lips with his hand that was once wrapped around your shoulders cupping your jaw and stroking your cheek. Stars exploded behind your eyelids and you swore you heard your heart singing. It was so sudden…but not abrupt. Just like everything else with Minghao, kissing him seemed natural and easy.

Like it was supposed to happen.

“Because I like you.” Your eyes slowly fluttered open once the kiss broke, his honey-warm voice answering you in the small space between your lips. “I might even love you. I’m not completely sure yet. I just know that I can’t even imagine myself without you with me. I never want to see you cry, but I always want to be the reason that you smile. I would like for you to always be mine.”

“MingMing…” you said, your eyes flickering down to his lips where you placed your own kiss this time, feeling giddy by his growing smile, “I would really, really like that, too. I might even love it.”

He breathed a laugh and brought your hand up to kiss your palm, trailing down to the inside of your wrist. Thoughts of your family, your home and your summer memories were far from your mind now, buried somewhere deep in the recesses.

Minghao took precedence now. Minghao and his safe embrace, his amused smirk, his probing gaze and sweet voice. Minghao and his infinite concern for you and your happiness. Minghao and his everything that made you love him.

Minghao. Just Minghao.

#Seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt scenarios #svt imagines #minghao #minghao scenarios #minghao imagines #the8 #the8 scenarios #the8 imagines #black reader #black reader imagines #black reader scenarios

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onceuponamirror · 8 years ago

Text

heart rise above

///// CHAPTER 9

summary: It wasn’t an experiment with freedom borne of some Americana fantasy; rather, a road trip of purely logistical intentions. The plan was simple. Drive from Boston to Chicago for his sister’s college graduation. That’s it.

Or, he drives a Ford Pickup Named Desire.

Mechanic!AU

fandom: riverdale ship: betty x jughead words: 42k chapters: 9/19

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

I took my love, I took it down I climbed a mountain and I turned around And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills Well, the landslide will bring it down

Betty is staring down at him, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. “Hi,” she says quietly, and Jughead can only think, say hi back. Say hi back.

But no words come out, because her pupils are blown wide and her face is but a breath from his own and he can’t form the sentence.

Her fingers dance along the cut of his jaw, and he only has a moment to murmur, “what are you—” before her lips are on his. It’s soft, a kiss so gentle it’s more of a question than a statement.

“Is this okay?” She whispers, pulling away slightly. He responds by wrapping his arms around her waist, drawing her back against him and meeting her halfway with a deeper assertion that it is definitely all kinds of okay. She shifts atop him, her legs straddling over his hips, and he can do nothing but kiss her with everything he’d like to be saying.

It’s not the feverish clashing of lips that he’d been expecting, but rather, a slow, lazy exploration of the shape of their mouths. He trails his fingers across the small of her back as she releases a sound of contentment; he wonders what he can do it to turn it into a full moan.

He doesn’t quite understand where they are—the room is dark and almost amorphous—but he’s not going to spend much time questioning it. He doesn’t give a shit where this is happening as long as it’s happening. They could be on fucking Mars for all he cares.

Her hands are everywhere and nowhere, and then suddenly, they’re somewhere very specific. Her fingers feather down his stomach slowly, the flat of her palm undulating lightly against his skin. It seems her hand is moving downwards to the one place he desperately wants her.

As she’s about to reach her destination, rather than slip her hands far under the fabric of his pants, she gives a sharp snap to the elastic of his boxers.

Apparently, she likes teasing him here as much as she does in conversation. He meets her gaze, finding the green as dewy and fresh as a summer field—and completely at odds with the mischievous glean in her eye. He tuts at her disapprovingly. She giggles, and with a grunt, he flips them over. If that’s how she wants to play, he can step up to pitch.

Her toes curl against his legs as he presses her into whatever soft cushion lies beneath them, his mouth moving from her lips, to her neck, to the top of her breast, all the while she hisses yes, please, yes, and then—

Jughead’s eyes fly open, his breath stuttering.

What the fuck?

He blinks against the darkness, the Cooper living room illuminated by nothing but the red glow of an empty Netflix screen. He squints as his vision adjusts, watching the little logo bounce across the television for a few moments. Jughead starts to sit up, but freezes when something shifts alongside him and murmurs an undecipherable request.

He glances down. Betty Cooper is still curled against him, fully asleep, her knees tucked up and one hand laid flat against his chest.

His head falls back against the couch cushion, still reeling from the fact that had been a fucking dream when it had felt so real and he’s completely at a loss for what to do now. On the one hand, he kind of has to pee. And, more pressingly, he’s still got blood rushing southwards from that very vivid dream and Betty’s proximity certainly isn’t helping anything.

On the other hand, he has no inclination to move, because he may never get this moment back.

He might never know what it feels like to wake up alongside her under the guise of dawn, may never stretch his arm across her stomach and pull her flush against him, or may never be able to leave touches of sweet nothings along the peach of her skin—but he can enjoy this interim.

Peach of her skin? He mouths to himself, unsure if that’s something he should write down to use later in his book or if he’s just devolved into some sick sap of a person and should pretend no such thought ever existed. Probably the latter.

Jughead exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face as he looks at her once more. He’s struck by the simple appreciation of her beauty, of the way her eyebrows arch, as if amused even in the pit of slumber. But as his eyes fall to the slope of her lips, he realizes if he doesn’t get up now, he’s going to have a full, raging erection on his hands and the idea of Betty waking to that is a thought mortifying enough to propel him into action.

Moving as silently and as slowly as he can, he eases himself out from under her. He lays her hand delicately onto the couch, and slips away to find a bathroom. Once there, he counts backwards from ten, and then runs through the list of things that are sure to kill his mood.

Archie’s socks, he thinks. That one time JB had food poisoning all over me. Trying to pay my taxes. Stale coffee. Plot holes. The smell of Archie’s socks.

After a few moments of that, he finally feels ready to leave the bathroom. When he emerges, Betty is sitting upright, her knees folded underneath her chin, and rubbing her eyes.

“Ugh, what time is it?” She mutters, when she sees him approaching.

He checks his phone. “Just after 5,” he says.

Betty nods and stretches up to the ceiling, giving him a clear view of the expanse of skin above her leggings. He tries his best to busy his eyes elsewhere. He already feels guilty enough for what his imagination conjured up between them—apparently his underlying quarter-life crisis will include wet dreams, because aging is a sham—and he doesn’t want to be caught ogling her more than he already has.

“Might as well get up. I have to get the garage open early to make up for closing yesterday,” she sighs. “Can’t believe I fell asleep on the couch.”

“I can’t believe you snore,” he scoffs, much to her offense.

She lets out an indignant huff. “I do not.”

“But how can you really know?” He counters. It’s not strictly true—when she’d fallen asleep first, Jughead learned that she mumbles a bit in her sleep, if anything—but she looks so cute when she pouts and he can’t help it. “I was there. You snore.”

Betty pauses. “Did we both sleep on the couch?”

“Oh, well,” Jughead says, grateful that the dim lighting can mask his flush. He is, under no circumstances, allowed to think about Betty sleeping practically on top of him again. “Yeah. Neither of us made it through the movie, I don’t think.”

She makes a small noise in the back of her throat, but glances away and reaches forward to turn off the television. The room is pitted into further darkness, but she’s rising from the couch and a moment later an overhead lamp flickers on.

He meets her eyes across the room, her fingers still on the light switch. She seems to be waiting for something, or perhaps simply studying him. “Morning,” he says finally, because he can’t think of anything else.

Betty’s lips find their way around a smile. “Good morning,” she returns, and he thinks yes, it is.

She pads into the kitchen, glancing back at him with surprise. “Did you clean up last night?”

He rubs at his neck. “Just did it while I was waiting for the water to boil. I hope I put everything away in the right place.”

Betty smiles, biting her lip, and he’s seized by visions from his dream. Betty on top of him, her hair tickling his chin—no. It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t even that graphic; he woke up before it could get past first base, so he’s not sure why it’s gotten so deeply under his skin.

Still. He wishes he had something like a water bottle for a poorly behaved cat; something to spritz himself with in punishment for every time he lets his mind wander there. When he finally returns his gaze from the ceiling, Betty is giving him a funny look. “What?” She asks.

He shrugs, as if he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, and moves further into the kitchen while she starts messing around with a coffee maker. She pours some beans in and presses a button; it whirs to life, and while Betty is digging through the fridge, fresh coffee starts dripping into a pot.

“I can make us eggs, if you want,” she says, already setting some onto the kitchen island. “How do you feel about omelettes? Might as well use some of the veggies we bought yesterday.”

“God, please,” he mumbles, as his stomach gurgles lightly. He joins her at the fridge and helps her pull out the remaining produce. She snorts when she finds the Ziploc bag where he’d put the chopped onions.

“I couldn’t find any more Tupperware,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “And hey, it works.”

Betty sighs wearily, and then sets to work with her knife, shredding corn from the cob into a little bowl. Everything else is already more or less chopped up besides the zucchini, so she lets him do that while she pours oil onto a large skillet. They move in silent tandem; she beats several eggs with a whisk while the oil warms, and he pours them their coffee.

Within a few minutes, the first omelette is finished, which Betty insists he have. He eats it on the kitchen island, leaning over his food while he watches her prepare the second batch.

He’s not sure if Betty is one of those rare birds, a true morning person. Bustling around in the kitchen and humming to herself, she certainly seems more chipper than she had yesterday. Not that it wasn’t a low bar, after her tears last night, but, still. She looks brighter than he’s yet seen her.

It might even be happiness, he realizes, when he recognizes the fluttering in his own chest.

She flips her omelette onto her plate, flicks on the radio, and pushes him towards the large dining table. He’s mostly finished, but he drags the rest of his meal out anyway. He likes this moment, so much so that it almost scares him: the two of them having conversation over coffee and eggs while the news of the morning faintly plays in the background.

It feels like something he would conjure for himself as his rawest, most domestic fantasy of what a relationship should be. The only thing that’s missing from said fantasy would be morning sex, and, well. He’s promised himself not to go there again. But he has to hide his grin behind his coffee mug when Betty catches his eye, and he only has one thought: you’re so gone.

And yet, he still doesn’t know quite what to do about that.

He knows what Archie would say: dude, you won’t know unless you try!

He knows what his sister would say: oh, sorry, is this one of those moments where you need to be told to get off your ass? Get off your ass.

Hell, he even knows what Reggie would say: bro, what the hell, don’t be chicken. B’aach-b’aach-b’aach.

Surprisingly, the mental image of Reggie making clucking chicken noises in his face isn’t enough to shake him from his thoughts. However, it also isn’t enough to make him see a way out of this. How can this end any way but badly?

Jughead hasn’t even told her how he feels yet and statistically, it’s pretty unlikely it’s mutual. But then again, even he has to admit that her snuggling up against his side last night felt like a big step in the right direction.

He’s still kicking himself for not seizing the moment when he could’ve, but there’s no reasonable explanation for the way she’d looked up at him on the couch except for the one that sparks a dangerous flare of hope.

“What are you thinking about?” Betty asks, interrupting his musings. It shoves him out of the moment, and he glances up and over at her. Her hands are cupped around her own mug and she’s got a tender, slightly concerned expression on her face. “You look very…tortured.”

I’d rather people be honest with me, he hears her saying.

He takes a sip of coffee, raising his eyebrows into the mug. “Just listening to the radio,” he lies, immediately hating himself for it. Why is this so fucking hard? “A bridge over troubled Congress, etcetera.”

She frowns and looks over at the radio, which is playing a lengthy discussion about corruption in politics. “Yeah, scary stuff.” Turning back, her eyes dart across his face, and he hopes she can’t see through him. She rises from her seat and starts to clear their finished plates. “So…what are you gonna do today?”

“Write, hopefully. But I’ve been kind of blocked again,” he responds, standing up to help her carry things. “I tried to get some help from my editor yesterday, and she replied with a hieroglyphic note that I’ll need some fucking Rosetta stone to decipher.”

“Meaning?” Betty asks, washing off the skillet in the sink. She puts it into a rack, and he grabs a nearby rag and dries it off. They fall into the motions of washing and drying.

Jughead sighs. “Sometimes I’m not sure she understands me, or my process, or vice versa,” he explains. “Lately it’s been a lot of me defending my stylistic choices and her fighting me on most of it. Which is good, I want to be challenged, but sometimes I think we don’t really communicate well.”

“That’s a bummer,” Betty says. “A good editor gets into the mindset of her author, rather than try to force it the other way around.”

“Great, can you tell her that?”

“In your dreams,” she laughs, which only makes him think, you have no idea. “But…if it would help…I could give it a go.”

She’s looking at him from up under her lashes and it’s briefly very distracting. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I finished your first book. And you said I was helpful with your last writing block, right?” He nods, and she curls her hands around the edge of the sink. “I do miss it. Editing, that is. Critiquing. Talking about themes and characters.” She looks back at him shyly. “So I could try. If you want.”

“I want,” he says immediately. It comes out sounding completely stupid, but she giggles anyway. “I mean, absolutely. If it’s not too much…I don’t want to put more on your plate.”

“It’s not a hassle if I actually like doing it.” Betty smiles, twisting around so that her back is pressed against the counter. “Why don’t you come by the garage later? I can take a look over what you have on my lunch break.”

He agrees readily. Betty fetches his dry clothes for him from the laundry area, and he changes back into them in the bathroom. He meets his reflection just as he’s pulling the beanie back on, but can’t get it to sit comfortably over his bed-head. Every time he shifts it around, it looks wrong.

He tugs it off and stares at it. He’s technically, even biologically, an adult now, so he has no real answer as to why is he still wearing the hat his mom made him when he was a kid. Gone are the days where he’d think she’d only recognize or want him if he was always wearing it, and he’s past her abandonment, or as much as he can be.

For all he knows, he’s all the better off without her. And he’s been through enough self-evaluation to know what a safety blanket is and how it can manifest, but really, hasn’t this gone on long enough?

Jughead sighs, and shoves it into his back pocket. He wants to see how it feels for a day without it.

He pulls on the rest of his clothes thoughtlessly. Betty is waiting for him by the garage door, dressed in a more typical outfit of blue jeans and a white top. Her hair is half up in a bun and he thinks she looks refreshed and beautiful.

She drops him at his motel and says she’ll let him know when she’s about an hour away from her lunch break, and then he stands there, waving after her until her big blue car is out of sight.

His phone buzzes as he cuts across the parking lot. He opens a text from Archie that simply reads: Yoo walk of shame!!!!!

He looks up and around for the offending redhead, and spots Archie waving wildly at him from his second story window. He clasps his hands beneath his chin and does something like a mockery of a pirouette, clearly imitating Jughead’s goodbye to Betty.

Jughead flips him the bird and sends back, it’s not what you think

Yeah right, Archie replies. Saw that shit with my own eyes

He rolls his eyes and heads in, realizing if he’s going to hash this out, it probably shouldn’t be in the middle of a motel parking lot. Archie is waiting for him, arms crossed and leaning up against his door, so that he couldn’t ignore him even if he tried. “Budge over,” he mutters, shoving on Archie’s shoulder so he can get his key in the lock.

Archie is hot on his trail and quickly follows him into his room. He points at the bed excitedly. “Ha! Made bed. You didn’t sleep here. Du-ude, come on, spill. I’ve been waiting to be right so badly.”

“Right about what, exactly?” Jughead scowls.

“That Betty liked you back, duh. Veronica wouldn’t tell me anything, but I think her not saying anything was like, proof.”

“You talked to Veronica about this?” Jughead moans, dropping his things onto the bed and flopping down alongside them. “Jesus, Arch, why didn’t you just tweet it out while you were at it?”

“Relax, bro, she won’t tell.” Jughead shoots him a dark, flat look and Archie laughs, sinking into the desk chair. “Okay, she might, but does it even matter anymore?”

“Yes, it still matters. I told you, nothing happened. Really,” he adds, at Archie’s skeptical scoff. “I ran into her yesterday at the grocery store, I went with her on an errand or two, and then we made dinner. We fell asleep on the couch watching some dumb movie. That’s it.”

It’s something of a simplification, but it is the truth. Archie stares at him, seemingly working through whether he buys the story or not. Eventually, he seems to decide Jughead isn’t lying and his shoulders droop a little. “You’re serious? I don’t get it, why didn’t you make a move?”

Jughead digs the heels of his palms into his forehead, flat on his back. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “There’s something wrong with me.”

“No shit,” Archie sighs fondly. “Do you want to try setting up another double date thing? One you’ll actually come to this time?”

Jughead pushes himself up on his elbows. “It doesn’t sound like the worst idea,” he confesses. If Veronica knows, and Archie knows, he might as well not fight it, even if it uses up most of his pride to admit it. But after that day at the river, he’s long realized he’ll sacrifice that for Betty, and there’s no going back.

“Good,” Archie declares decidedly. “Okay, I’ll make it happen.”

He nods and falls back onto the bed with a loud exhale. He feels Archie watching him. “This is weird, you being the one with girl problems.”

In spite of himself, Jughead laughs.

Archie leaves after a round of catch up on how things are going with Veronica—very well, apparently, so well that Archie thinks, and Jughead is quoting, that he’s “really falling for her.” He’s sure this can’t end well, but clearly his friend has unlocked some kind of emotional level that Jughead probably never will, so he doesn’t feel totally equipped to judge.

And anyway, Archie is well known for his ability to move on from women, so he’ll probably be fine, come a fortnight.

Jughead showers and changes into clean clothes, though he’s running dangerously low on them at this point. The motel must have a laundry somewhere here, or maybe he can ask Betty if he can use hers. It’s his weakest excuse to see her yet, but he does need to wash his clothes at some point.

He uses the email on the business card for Cooper Garage to send over what he has of his manuscript and notes and shoots Betty a text to let her know. A couple hours later, she replies with a denizen of smiley faces, and lets him know he can come over in an hour.

Utterly unsure what else to do with himself for until then, he figures he might as well make himself useful and get them both lunch. He gets the feeling Betty is still not used to people bringing her meals and there’s a strange joy in the pleased look on her face whenever he’s presented her with food.

So, Pop’s it is. He heads over and greets Pop Tate behind the counter. “Been a bit,” Pop says, as Jughead slides onto a red barstool. “We’d gotten used to seeing you around.”

“’Twas a foolish mistake to stay away, so you’ve got me for another two weeks,” Jughead sighs. “I’ll have a double cheeseburger, fries and pickles to-go. And…uh, do you know what Betty Cooper usually gets?”

“Betty? Oh, grilled cheese and side salad, sometimes fries,” Pop replies, grinning very knowingly at him.

“Then one of those, my good man,” he instructs, drumming his knuckles on the countertop and pretending not to see the smug look on his face. “And two vanilla milkshakes.”

“Coming right up,” Pop whistles, and bustles back along the grill to prepare their food. He doesn’t like it that yet another person has seen through his attempts at appearing not quite as interested in Betty as he truly is, but at this point, he’s about to give up the pretense of subtlety.

While he waits for the food, she texts him and lets him know he can come over whenever and that she’s very excited to talk about things with him, which sends a round of nerves straight to his gut. He chalks it up to the fact that he’s sharing his work with someone whose opinion he really cares about.

He gathers the two white paper bags from Pop, pays, and then heads out. His messenger bag whacks against his hip with his forceful strides, and by the time he reaches the garage, he’s nearly out of breath. He spots Betty milling about in the back and once she spots him, she bounces forward to wrap her hands around his arm so she can tug him into her office.

She looks so adorable and happy to see him that his heart gives a mighty slam against his ribcage. “So glad you’re here!” She says quickly, pushing him into the chair across her desk. “Sit, sit! Okay, I have so many thoughts.”

While Betty starts straightening out the massive piles of paper he’s just noticed, Jughead offers her the bag from Pop’s. “Before we get started, here, I brought us some brain food.”

There it is again—that gentle locking of surprise that fills her eyes. It’s something more tender than usual, and her shoulders rise with something like a quiet inhale. She peeks inside the bag, and when she looks back up, she’s beaming at him. “Grilled cheese and a vanilla milkshake? How did— Did you ask Pop?”

“I noticed you drinking a vanilla shake last time we were there,” he admits, scratching at his neck. “I will freely admit that I got the download from Pop on your usual, however.”

Betty draws a breath, and then scoots her chair back. “Thank you,” she says softly, coming around to his side of the desk. Her lips press gently against his cheek. It’s over far too soon, but it lives on his skin and burns like a branding.

He’s positive she can see the flush that completely takes over his body, but he just clears his throat and tries to focus on the papers she’s now handing him. He stares down at them.

“Yikes. There’s a lot of red on this, Betty,” he says, trying to laugh, but his heart is still hammering loudly and it comes out a little choked.

“I think you might have a semicolon fetish,” Betty says, sipping her milkshake. He finally meets her eyes and thinks there might be a bit of apple in her cheeks. “The red circles are just where I pointed out each one so you can see how many there are.”

He flips through a couple pages and sees that she’s right. There are dozens of semicolons. Damn. “So that one,” Betty continues, leaning across the desk to point at the papers in his hands, “is just the grammatical first pass. It’s really not much. I spent most of the time with the thematic side of things, but we can work on the structure more later.”

Jughead realizes there’s a whole other stack of papers under her folded arms. She passes it to him, and finds it’s a set of typed notes, organized by a highly detailed outline and broken up by sections of themes and characters. “Let me guess: someone was an honor student.”

Betty waves him off, definitely blushing now. “Like I said, it’s fun for me. I didn’t get to everything, since there’s about ten chapters here and an outline and I only had a few hours, but I have a couple of ideas for where to start.”

“Okay then,” he breathes, gesturing for her to begin.

“First of all, I really love the structure of this book, a lot more than the first one. It was such a strong debut, but it also fell back on a lot of safety nets, I think. I mean, when you think of noir, it’s something concrete. It’s the shadow in an alleyway, or the light filtered through blinds, right?”

He blinks at her, nodding.

“So setting it in a city was the right move then, but also…I think you taking it out of there for the sequel is really cool. Bringing the genre into a small town is refreshing, and it’s amazing how you can maintain the grittiness while setting it in the suburbs. I think you could be pushing it, in terms of creepiness, but I do really like the concept of it chronicling death of an American golden boy, because it makes a really strong metaphor for kind of the downfall of the American dream, right?”

“Thanks. Yeah, that’s what I’m going for…an exploration of cultural isolationism through suburbia,” he says, a bit in awe of how rapidly she’s talking, how quickly she has cut through his expository red tape, and how much she zoned in on his own favorite parts of the book. He’d had to explain this in such depth to his editor that he was starting to question whether or not it was coming across at all.

“But the plot is kind of taking over,” Betty continues, flattening her fingers against the surface of her own copy of notes. “The characters are slave to it, right now, and we need to see more of how it effects them. Like you’ve developed her with this strong sense of justice, but it’s so black and white. He’s such a morally gray character, so I think there needs to be more tension between how differently they view the same situation. I think that’ll fix a lot of your problems with pacing their solving of the mystery.”

He nods, and grabs a pen from the cup on her desk to jot this down in the margins of his copy of notes. “Betty. Jesus, you should be doing this professionally. This is…so great.”

She looks so unequivocally pleased that she seems to lose her train of thought. “Stop, I’m not even done,” she says, biting against a smile.

“Really, I mean it,” he says earnestly. “This is fucked up degrees of helpful.”

Betty takes a big breath. “Well, thank you. Anyway…I feel like their relationship is going in circles. I see their connection, and I really like that you took my advice about adding more female characters, but I don’t understand why two goal-driven people are being so passive with one another.”

His eyes, which had been scanning the text, dart up to meet hers. Something clicks in his chest, like a lock quietly turning open.

“That’s something I’ve been trying to understand too,” he says slowly, as the feeling that this conversation is suddenly turning into what’s been unspoken between them trickles down his back.

“I think the problem is he pulls away too much and too often,” Betty says, after a long pause, and now he’s much more sure they’re not just talking about the book anymore. “It sends mixed signals about what he really wants, even in a story told from his own point of view. She can’t be dragged along through his indecision forever. I mean, that would make anyone hesitant to put themselves out there.”

“He’s been burned a lot,” Jughead explains, swallowing. “Finding out his father was the killer at the end of the first book was incredibly destructive for his already shaky trust issues.”

Betty nods, almost imperceptibly. If they are talking about themselves, then this means he hasn’t been torturing himself for nothing. It means that Betty feels similarly—which makes his stomach sink, because he knows what he has to say next.

“It’s…partially a love story, and I want that to be felt, but I think more than anything it should be fraught. I’m not a big believer in happily ever afters,” he adds, dropping her gaze. “I think it’s counterintuitive to the genre, but also to life. It’s just not realistic, or at least a Hollywood simplification of what closure and ending really means.”

She doesn’t say anything, and when he finally looks up, her hand is cupping her chin, one finger absentmindedly stroking her cheek. “That’s probably true,” she agrees, almost sadly.

He gets the sense that this isn’t what she wanted to hear from him. But he’s been thinking a lot about honesty lately, and the way Betty makes him want to be direct with his own feelings, so to say that he has any opinions about happy endings that aren’t acutely cynical would be a lie.

She inhales noisily, and then laces her fingers. Her eyes are sharp and decisive. “If it’s going to be a tragic story, their connection has to be much deeper in order to sell it. They have to act, even if they think it’s just something to get out of their systems. Let them enjoy what time they will have.”

His heartbeat is screaming in his ears now.

“I agree. So you think he should just…go for it?”

Something tugs at her lips, and now he knows that she knows. “Well, it’s not 1950, Juggie. She could do it too, even if she knows it’s temporary. But you just need to…make her feel like it’s not so one-sided.”

“It isn’t,” he says. It seems using code and smoke and mirrors is all he needed to actually get this out there, because he’s apparently still sixteen. “Between the characters.”

She looks at him as if all her coyness has caught up to her at once and she’s realizing the simple truth of what they’re really saying. This is the hump they haven’t been able to get over; an equal fear of what it means, how it’ll end, and what that’ll do to them.

There must be a joke in here somewhere, he thinks. Two control freaks walk into a bar.

He licks his lips and gathers his courage. “Betty—”

But her phone chimes loudly between them, and holding onto a nerve is like trying to hold onto smoke. It slips from his fingers as Betty’s attention darts onto the lit up screen. She frowns as she reads the message.

“What is it?” He asks, craning his neck slightly.

“Veronica,” Betty sighs, clicking her phone to black. “She wants me to go bowling with her and Archie tonight.”

“You don’t want to? You don’t like bowling?” This is surely Archie’s doing, because only he knows that bowling is one of the few things Jughead actually enjoys doing. This must be the promised double date, and he deflates at the idea that she already doesn’t want to go.

“No, I like bowling. I just don’t want to third wheel The Only Lovers Left Alive again,” she explains, with a slight roll of her eyes.

“I got that invite too,” he finds himself saying, which is true, even if it wasn’t in such specific terms. “I was gonna go. So you wouldn’t be. Third wheeling, I mean.”

She gleans his way, head tilted. “You’ll actually show up this time?”

“Only if you’ll be there,” he says firmly, boring his eyes into her. He means it to be a declaration, and he hopes she understands.

Finally, he seems to have said the right thing, because her face breaks out into a shy smile. “Okay.”

He feels like he can breathe again. “Okay,” he echoes. “It’s a date.”

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #fics #good fucking grief here i go #back on my bullshit!!!

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johnboothus · 4 years ago

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Next Round: Jordan Salcito Saw the Canned Cocktail Future

On this episode of “Next Round,” host Zach Geballe chats with Jordan Salcito, founder of Ramona, to discuss her pioneering canned Spritz brand. Salicto details her transition from working in hospitality, to becoming a sommelier, to finally starting her own brand. She explains how working in fine dining in New York and working harvests in Italy and Patagonia gave her the skills and knowledge she needed to launch Ramona.

Geballe explains that, though RTDs and canned wines are booming today, Ramona was one of the first brands to explore the trend of canned wine products when it came to market in 2016. Salcito explains how Ramona products fill a void in the market and reveals which new flavor Ramona is debuting this summer.

Tune in and visit https://www.drinkramona.com/ to learn more.

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Or Check out the Conversation Here

Zach Geballe: From Seattle, Washington, I’m Zach Geballe. And this is a “VinePair Podcast” “Next Round” conversation. We bring you these episodes in between our regular podcasts so that we can explore a range of issues and stories in the drinks world. Today, I’m speaking with sommelier and founder of Ramona, Jordan Salcito. Thanks so much for taking the time.

Jordan Salcito: Thank you so much for including me in this episode. I’m very happy to be here.

Z: Yeah. I imagine that lots of our listeners are plenty familiar with Ramona, but they may not have been familiar with the backstory or your backstory. If you don’t mind, can you talk to us a little bit about how you got into the wine industry? Then, in particular, how and why this product, which at the time I think was pretty out there for what wine was going to be or a canned spritz. Now, we take this for granted since there’s an industry here so maybe just a backstory to start out.

J: Of course. I got into the wine industry accidentally while thinking that I wanted to pursue a career in writing about restaurants for The New York Times. I was cooking at the restaurant Daniel at the time. I think in retrospect, I hadn’t understood enough of the world to even dream about what working in wine could look like. Actually, the first time I really had a conversation with Daniel Boulud was after work one night. I had a sweet tooth and when you’re working on the line of a kitchen, you go for a long time without really eating. You don’t eat a meal sitting down ever. At least, nobody did back in those days. After service, before I would walk home, I would check in at the kitchen because the pastry team would always leave out delicious extra pastries. On this one particular night, I had a book with me, and coincidentally, Daniel Boulud walked in and he had a bottle of 1989 Jaboulet La Chapelle. He said, “Who are you, what’s your name, what are you doing here, and do you like wine?” He was so high-energy. Anyway, that led to Daniel being very curious. It was a thing that I always loved about that restaurant and about Daniel. He really values curiosity. He starts flipping through. At the time, one of my jobs was to wrap the black bass papillote and these potato scales. He stumbles upon a page of a dish, a red mullet with potato scales by Paul Marcus. It turns out that dish was the dish that inspired the signature dish that I was in charge of cooking. Anyway, Daniel poured a glass of this wine and we ended up talking for a long time. Ever since then, throughout the rest of my duration there, he really looked out for people who he could tell cared about and tried to give them an opportunity to do the thing that they were interested in doing. An opportunity came to work at the La Paulee des Neiges. It was this Burgundian wine event that was happening every year. With this one particular year, it was only happening in January in Aspen, Colo. I got the invitation to work this event and then I was told, “No, actually, we don’t have a budget for you.” I said, “If I can get myself there and work for free, can I do it?” They said, “Sure.” That was the moment for me where I was able to line up harvest in Burgundy for later that fall. My job during that particular harvest was really picking the grapes, being out in the vines every day for about two weeks straight. I remember by day eight or nine, I couldn’t stand up straight at the end of the day because you’re basically just hunched over carrying a bucket. A bucket of these wet, dripping grapes because 2006 was not a very sunny year during harvest, and it was truly backbreaking. It was also so revelatory, and it was amazing to be in the vineyards that I had read about and finally start to understand how the light hits a vineyard differently based on its exposure to the sun. How the insects that are in one vineyard are completely different from one a few yards over. That was when the practical application started to help the intellectual peace that you can read about in books. It’s when it all started coming together for me. Then, I would work in a winery after the picking because after the last grapes are picked, they’re still processing what is happening in the winery. I think that’s when it all just started coming together for me. I realized, after deciding to pursue this direction and wine, that the one true story I have of my own paternal grandfather, who I never met, is that he used to make wine in his basement with my dad. My grandfather died when my dad was 13 and so this is the one memory that my grandfather shared or that my father shares with my grandfather. It took years later to realize that there is this through-line for me of wine with this superpower ability to bring us together. To bring people together who might not have found themselves in a room or around a table otherwise. Even beyond that, and especially now with Covid, it’s amazing how we can feel a connection to a place by drinking a bottle of wine from there, and it’s almost as if we can transform ourselves. I think really it was that harvest that made me realize that I wanted to spend my life focused on wine in various ways. I started working harvest every year, usually in Burgundy. I would sometimes go to another region after that. I went to Tuscany, starting in 2008 after the harvest in Burgundy, and it was something that I loved to do. In 2007, I took a part-time sommelier position at Nick & Toni’s out in East Hampton. The owner or rather the general manager was a woman named Bonnie Munshin. She gave me a shot, and the person that was supposed to be full-time had a no-show on Memorial Day weekend. It was the best thing ever for me because it was a chance to step up but it was a natural disaster for her at the moment. She gave me this chance and that led to a full-time position at Eleven Madison Park after harvest that fall. I think what I started to realize is any time I would work in a restaurant, I would say, “Look, I just want you to know this thing that I do in the fall is harvest every year, and it will seem inconvenient for a week or so, but I promise you, I’ll come back and I’ll be a better sommelier. I’ll add value to the guests who come in here.” That proved to be true. I was able to develop this understanding of different approaches to production. There were some years where I couldn’t go to Burgundy because we were opening a new restaurant and it was 2011. I didn’t work a fall harvest that year, but I went to Patagonia Bodega Chacra the following February, and just the more I saw and noticed, the more through-lines I realized connected wines together with a value system. The delicious wines that I found really inspiring all had — whether the soil was slate or clay or limestone or whether the country was Italy, France, Germany, or Patagonia — there was this interesting through-line of wines that had a similar value system of transparency. Of course, prioritizing taste and deliciousness, but also it was more than that. Fast forward to 2015 when at that time I was overseeing the beverage programs for David Chang’s Momofuku restaurants. I began there in 2013, and the mandate that David gave me at the time was to build a wine program. People don’t really associate Momofuku with wine, and he wanted that to change. He understood there’s this community out there of wine people, and it’s not dissimilar to the community of chefs that he didn’t love. That was an amazing mandate. The other thing he said was, “You already know the rules, so now break them.” I think that permission was just this big breath of fresh air. Growing up, my mom had always prioritized the arts for my sisters and me. My dad’s a lawyer, so we had the pragmatic side, too. I think it was almost a permission to think like a child again in a good way. Permission to not be beholden to the machine. A lot of restaurants that are great and were great, there’s no room for any creativity or independent thought. You just have to be part of the machine in order for the system to work. This was different in a way that was so invigorating, and I remember having this idea that I wanted to call it Thunder Picho. I was reading a book by Paul Lukacs. He’s brilliant. He wrote a book called “American Vintage.” It’s one of my favorite books about wine, period. It basically tracks America’s relationship with wine and going all the way back to Thomas Jefferson and trying to plant Hermitage wines in Monticello and not realizing why they would die all the time. Then, fast forwarding to a sparkling Catawba was the first great American wine. Of course, phylloxera, when we realized that we could just graft onto American rootstock. Then, Prohibition and then World War I, followed by World War II. Actually, it was fascinating for me to read the similarities between the Mondavi family and the Gallo family. They had very different approaches. The Mondavi family was spearheaded by Robert Mondavi, who had gone to France and understood that there were these excellent French chateaux in Bordeaux and he wanted to model his winery and wine culture in America after that. Whereas you have Gallo, and they want to focus on data and give people what they want. You end up with Robert Mondavi starting to craft his legacy. At the same time, you have the Gallo brothers creating Thunderbird, which then became the No. 1 wine in the U.S. The ingredients were effectively white port with lemon juice concentrate. That’s so bad and terrible, but yet there’s something interesting. America has not yet figured it out. I think we’re getting there with globalization, Instagram, and conversation. It’s so exciting to see that now great wine is made everywhere and can be made anywhere with the value system in place. I think for me it was like, “Why?” I just thought that piece of history was interesting and then coupled that with moments in Italy harvest. I remember the first time I ever had an Aperol Spritz, and it was in the piazza of Montalcino in 2008 after a really dismal harvest, whereas the Burgundy harvest was picture perfect. Everyone’s been doing this for hundreds of years and the stories are amazing. Italy was the opposite for me. We were helping out my husband’s then-business partner, who was actually a bridge player, but had bought this estate in Montalcino and didn’t know anything about making wine. He said, “Hey, I have a tournament, can you guys just make this wine for me?” We didn’t even know what to do here. This is not something we’re qualified for, and we’re happy to help but please, nobody has any expectations here.” It was a very rainy year. The tractor fell over. There was no actual winery. We had a tarp that was over the sorting table and we were the only ones with a sorting table. We saw Burgundy do this and it’s really important so we thought we should try it here, too. Anyway, it was a very difficult harvest and the moment of respite was an afternoon Aperol Spritz and it was brightly colored and happy and not too bitter, but not too sweet. Fast forward to 2013-2014, what if we do some more digging here? What even is the wine cooler? I’ve never been a beer person. I’ve never found beer delicious, despite many college parties in which I wish that I had. I remember at some point when I was 21, somebody introduced me to wine coolers, and I was intrigued by them because they were less bad-tasting than cheap beer to me, to my palate. I think it took a lot of time for me to realize and just have confidence in my palate. At this point, I had passed the blind-tasting master sommelier exam. I was going this very educated route, and I felt that I can’t be the only person that still thinks beer is terrible, and there’s nothing out there. Now that I know enough about production, why is there not something meant for casual moments that I’m personally willing to consume? That was how the idea for Ramona started. I know that’s a very long-winded answer to your question, but yeah, that is basically the idea and the decision to start. It happened in 2015. We had just gotten the nomination for outstanding wine service at Co. I remember Bobby Stucky, who’s an amazing friend and mentor, had come in with his wife Donette and his general manager from Frasca. He’s also in charge of service at the Co, and he said the tasting menu that I just experienced at Co is the best I have had in recent memory. What you’re doing here is extraordinary, congratulations. Then, I remember a week after that is when I left for the master sommelier exam, and I had already passed the tasting. I had passed theory that year, which was the one I had been so nervous about, and I passed it in a way that finally felt so easy. I missed the service exam by one table, and it was a table of people who have never seen me work in a restaurant that I personally don’t know. The feedback that I was given was not that I ran out of time because I didn’t or that I didn’t answer the questions right because I had, it was that in their estimation, I didn’t seem like myself to them. It was just this one particular table, and I remember it was a big gut punch. It took me a little while to process it all. Then the next week, I found out I was pregnant with our son Henry, and that wasn’t planned. The universe decided that you thought you were going in this direction, but now your plans have changed. It was an opportunity to say, “Wait a minute, is the hill I’m going to die on trying to be more like myself to a group of people that don’t work in restaurants and never seen me work in a restaurant? Do I even want that feedback? Is there any way in which more work or more preparation could make me seem more like myself to a group of people who have no idea who I am or what I seem like?” That was an easy moment to course-correct and do this thing that I had felt was a void in the market for a while. The timing was good. The change was happening and I either could take some control over what that change would look like or not. And I chose the former.

Z: I want to follow up on one piece here, which is that you mentioned this idea that maybe your initial conception of Ramona was something that had a lineage that it shared with wine coolers. You saw it as a very casual drinking experience. Is that because from the jump you were thinking, “This is going to be a canned beverage?” Especially when you were probably thinking about the conception of what a wine-based product in a can was, there weren’t very many and they were definitely not seen as anything other than very casual beverages. Was it just the format that led you to that? Or since you wanted something casual, of course it’s going to go in a can?

J: Totally. It was more the latter, although cans were never obvious to me until we decided to go with them. It was more like a beverage. The beverage didn’t exist, and I just saw this big void. To your point about wine coolers, I would say that Ramona winks at wine coolers, but I would not say we were inspired directly.

Z: That is fair, I understand.

J: Yeah, wine coolers are a bad American version of spritz anyway. If you go down that rabbit hole, the ancient Romans and Greeks used to add water and flavorings to their wine. Nobody drank wine undiluted, so there is a fun lineage, if you want to go down that rabbit hole. As much as I was studying fine wine and as much as my life involved fine wine, what I found that I wanted to drink a lot of the time was something low in alcohol and refreshing and, in my estimation, was also delicious. Also, it adhered to a value system that was important to me. When I’d go out to the beach and have a lobster roll, the options were beer or a really cheaply made glass of rosé that I wasn’t interested in drinking. Then, to your point about wine coolers, I did some research and wine coolers were a massive category in the U.S. in the ‘80s, up until the early ‘90s. If you look at what happened, the beer lobby very sadly and successfully kneecapped wine coolers with a law that Congress passed in 1992, quintupling the excise tax on wine-based products in favor of malt. I love that Ramona was so early to the game, and I love that to this day because there are so many things in cans now. The thing that shocks me honestly is that I really want the rest of the canned industry to catch up and start producing things organically. If they’re *going to use malt, which is a horrible industry because everything is sugar cane-based. I know a lot more about that than I should because of my sister, who runs an NGO that pushes multinational corporations to respect human rights. There’s an opportunity for businesses to make decisions that impact the world on a positive note, and I hope we see more of that. As far as cans go, initially, my vision for this was that they would be in a bottle. Yet, the more I started researching and the more that I wanted to really lean into how we as a business make decisions that I’m proud of, aluminum is the most recycled material — above glass, above plastic, above anything. On top of that, it has a much lower carbon footprint than tracking glass all over or plastic all over. It felt like the right environmental decision. It was risky because I remember people saying, “Look, nobody’s going to know where to put this on the shelf” and “Where does this even go?” I think it was fortuitous that there was enough of a groundswell among cans as a vessel, and that was something that worked out for us. However, I would be lying if I said that the vision was always the can. The vision was always the product inside of the can. The can just made the most sense in terms of alignment with our value system.

Z: I think what’s interesting about the Ramona products is that they have, in my experience, adhered pretty close to this idea of very classic Italian spritz, at least in terms of their flavor profile. I’m sure that there have been times, suggestions, and maybe even prototypes of something outside this very citrus-centric flavor profile. Have you come close to expanding? What stops you if you have? Or are you just very content with the core flavor set?

J: Good question. This is actually a good lead-in to our flavor that we will be releasing this summer.

Z: Oh, I didn’t even know about this. Breaking news here on the podcast.

J: Breaking news, exactly. I just had a production call this morning. I wish we were going to release it sooner, but it looks like it’s probably going to be July. This remains true, but my goal is always, “How we can make things that I, as a very particular consumer, am willing and excited to drink regularly?” One way that we took inspiration was from that Aperol Spritz. The most natural way to do that back when I was tinkering with recipes was through grapefruit as a flavor, because it is both bitter, sweet, and a little salty. It’s also balanced and refreshing, so that’s where we started working with an extract made from organic grapefruits. Then really to that point, if that’s our inspiration for this particular flavor profile, what are the other flavor profiles that we want to consider? Then, it was just a whole bunch of tinkering. The thing we always lead with is, what is delicious? Of course, delicious is subjective, but what is delicious to us and what is missing. That led us to produce lemon from organic Sicilian lemons. We did a test batch here in the U.S., and that’s where I was introduced to a chemical called velcorin. I was told we could use velcorin and this was on canning day. I had spent my savings on everything, and it took a year to get to this point. Then, I learned on canning day that the canning facility wants to use velcorin or potassium sorbate to make them shelf-stable. In potassium sorbate, there’s a known carcinogen on the Whole Foods no-fly list and I just knew I didn’t want to touch that. Of course, I said, what about sterile filtration? What about all these other things? Those were not options at this particular moment in time. Anyway, this was when I learned what velcorin was. It’s a neurotoxin for the first 24 hours. It has to be administered with a hazmat suit. It is growing in popularity and does not have to be disclosed. What I’ve learned from my friends in Napa is that a lot of natural wines will just nuke the wine with velcorin, and nobody has to know, and then it doesn’t explode on the shelf. In Italy, we moved production and the definitive factor for me was how do we not have to use something weird like this? In Italy, we just pasteurize a wine in warm water. That’s when I became really committed to working with Italian ingredients, and Italy has its fair share of problems and frustrations. However, one thing they are going to prioritize is what they eat and what they drink. There’s just so much emphasis on that, which I really love and respect, and that’s how we ended up with Meyer Lemon. As we were tinkering, we definitely had recipes in the works for berry-flavored things. At the end of the day, it had to be delicious. That’s how we landed on Blood Orange, but then we didn’t release a new flavor. Last year, we did the Dry Grapefruit which is the drier, slightly lower in alcohol, 90-calorie version of the ruby grapefruit. However, I had a recipe that I have been tinkering with and working on for a very long time. Instead of taking its inspiration from southern Italy and Sicily, it takes its inspiration from northern Italy and Venice. Basically, the Aperol Spritz, minus the FD&C Red 40, minus the cold tar, minus the 279 grams of sugar per liter. Aperol as a brand is brilliant. Aperol as a product is just so fun and brightly colored. I say Aperol, but Aperol is part of its own lineage that emerged during the Italian futurist art movement, which I just learned. The futurist art movement actually produced the Russian constructivist movement, which our label design is inspired by. This notion that fine art belongs to everyone and it can be on a poster and it can be in an alley. It doesn’t have to live in a gold frame in a museum. That was the reason for Ramona. You can be at the beach, you can be on a hike, you can have a sandwich, you can be at home or you can be at a restaurant, and you can have a beverage for this any type of moment that adheres to a value system of a lot of these great wines. So, our new flavor is called Amarino. Basically, “ino” means a little bit of Amaro, and it’s bitter and it is this beautiful bright color. It is orange in color, with a bitter orange peel, and bitter oranges being a major profile, but it’s a recipe with a lot of different layers and we will finally be able to release that in the summer.

Z: Excellent. I have a couple of other questions for you. On “Next Round,” we’ve interviewed and talked to lots of people about sommeliers and other restaurant professionals who have either actually done what you’ve done to some extent or are intrigued by this idea of creating a product, creating a brand, and leaving the restaurant industry. You talked about this before, this moment in your career, this inflection point where things went one way instead of another. Do you miss the restaurant life? Can you go away, or is it still a siren song for you?

J: For me, I was able to achieve what I set out to achieve, and I had an amazing set of experiences through the restaurant world. It’s amazing how I remember being terrified of parenthood, and there were so many skills that actually just translated over really well. You’re already used to not sleeping very much. You’re already used to doing things ambidextrously and eating out of a quart container really fast.

Z: Also, used to lots and lots of complaining.

J: Yes, lots of complaining. Nothing ever goes the way that you think it will. You just get used to pivoting and thinking on your feet. I would say for me, it coincided perfectly with the evolution of my life, my family’s needs, and my own desire to be more present. My son Henry was born in January 2016. I had never intended to use maternity leave to focus on Ramona, but I found I had to. As restaurant people, we are busy all the time. We’re used to doing many things at once, and a baby sleeps a lot.

Z: Yeah, that is true.

J: I had a lot of time to really focus on what it is that I want. The most important question is, “Am I doing a thing that fills a genuine need?” With any decision that we make, whether it’s a flavor or anything, what is the reason behind it? Why are we doing this? Does the world need this thing? Do we believe in what we’re doing? Are we adding to the conversation or are we just doing something that already exists? That’s something we try to be really considerate of, but I think as far as restaurants, I was really fortunate to work in them during a period of my life where it really made a lot of sense for my life. My husband was in the restaurant industry at the time. He is no longer as of a couple of years ago, but it was just part of life. I think it probably shifted mid- to late-2015, where the things that I hoped to be able to do, I have been able to achieve. It was time for a new adventure and a new journey. I believe I had a full life in restaurants, but I don’t miss the floor.

J: Gotcha. And one last question for you, Jordan. Speaking of additional things you’re doing, you also have a podcast — you’re a veteran of this medium — called “Opening Up.” Can you talk a little bit about how that came to be? I’m led to believe that there’s another season coming, is that right?

J: Yes, exactly. “Opening Up” launched last September, and we decided to limit it to 10 episodes and ensure that it goes back to that through-line of wine as this connective tissue. There are so many wonderful people that have fallen in love with wine and have their own stories to tell. It was something that I had hoped to do for a while and had been on the table in conversations for a while. Then last year with Covid, it really needed to launch then, because that was a moment where nobody was seeing anybody they didn’t live with. It was an opportunity to really have these conversations from wherever we were. I loved and appreciated the opportunity to have those conversations. As we were trying to figure out the cadence, we decided we do want to have our seasons launch in the fall, and I like to think of Ramona as season-less. However, our busiest seasons tend to be spring and summer, so it’s a really nice way to ease into fall and winter and just to stay in touch with people who also love wine.

Z: Very cool. It definitely seems from a few episodes I listened to that the wine is the nominal point of connection for you and the guest. It is definitely not a conversation exclusively about wine, which, given the interesting set of people you have on, is very cool.

J: Oh, thank you.

Z: I mean, not that there’s any shortage of podcasts out there. You all should be listening to all of our VinePair podcasts for one, but this is definitely worth checking out as well — especially because I know some of you out there have more commute times ahead of you as people actually go back to work. Jordan, I really want to thank you for your time. It’s been a pleasure to talk to you and hear a little bit about this pioneering product. Some of the other people out there making canned wine products may not even be aware of the debt they owe Ramona. I think you guys really showed that you could do this in that format and have it be both delicious and also taken seriously. I think that was a big hurdle for canned wine products to get over because, as I mentioned before, it was definitely not the case five, six years ago when you guys launched.

J: Zach, thank you so much for these kind words and really for the opportunity to be part of this conversation and to be part of the program and also meet your listeners in this way. It’s been a pleasure. I have a great deal of respect for you and what you have built. I am really happy to have the time to connect here.

Thanks so much for listening to the “VinePair Podcast.” If you love this show as much as we love making it, then please give us a rating or review on iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher, or wherever it is you get your podcasts. It really helps everyone else discover the show.

Now for the credits, VinePair is produced and recorded in New York City and in Seattle, Wash., by myself and Zach Geballe, who does all the editing and loves to get the credit. Also, I would love to give a special shout-out to my VinePair co-founder, Josh Malin, for helping make all this possible and also to Keith Beavers, VinePair’s tastings director who is additionally a producer on the show. I also want to, of course, thank every other member of the VinePair team who are instrumental in all of the ideas that go into making the show every week. Thanks so much for listening, and we’ll see you again.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

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