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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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Washing Machine Heart

Day 22, Story #2 is by @rosequartzstarswrites

Title: Washing Machine Heart Author/Artist: rosequartzstars - @rosequartzstarswrites (Because of Tumblr settings, this is posting from my main blog, but it’s me!) Pairing: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (and background Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger) Prompt: 5+1 Rating: T (only for some strong language and non-explicit insinuations) Trigger Warning(s) (if any): none apply!

“I can’t believe I’m going through with this,” huffed Hermione, struggling to keep up the brisk pace Ron was marking on the sidewalk.

“You never believed you’d have to, did you?” Ron said gleefully, seemingly unaware of just how hard his long-legged strides were to keep up with.

“You never told me you were that good at chess!”

“No, more like you never thought anyone could be better than you at anything!”

Despite only having been friends, close friends, with them for a semester, Harry had already become accustomed to the constant bickering between Ron and Hermione, to the point even of endearment. Coming from the Dursleys’, arguments and rebukes were something he was used to, but the undertone of friendship with which Ron and Hermione faced off was a welcome change (and a very entertaining one). Still, he tended to side quietly with Ron, and this particular time was no exception: part of him was delighted at the prospect of seeing Hermione get a tattoo.

This had all started from a ridiculous bet, born of boredom in the lounge of their dorm building. Ron had eyed the communal chessboard, battered and chipped from years of usage, and challenged Hermione to a match.

Hermione had scoffed: “Only if you want to lose, Ron.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Ron had said, exchanging a look with Harry as a sly smile crept onto his lips.

“I’m completely certain.”

“Certain enough to bet?” Ron had prodded her.

The competitiveness that, before becoming friends, was all Harry had known of Hermione had flared up in her eyes. “I’m listening.”

“When you lose—”

“If I lose, and I won't—”

“When you lose,” Ron had reiterated, “you have to get a tattoo of my choosing.”

Hermione had smirked. “Game on.”

In Hermione’s defense, Harry thought, she hadn’t ever considered she might lose. There really was no way of expecting how good Ron had turned out to be at chess, especially since —Harry thought— Hermione had based her certainty on how abysmal his grades were, against her own straight A’s, in their proofs-based mathematics class, which relied entirely on strength of reasoning. But, as it turned out, Ron was actually a master logician, if only somewhat lazy at his math classes, and this he had proved by absolutely obliterating Hermione with the fastest checkmate Harry had ever borne witness to.

And that is how they had come to find themselves out on the streets of their little college town that night, wrapped in their scarves and their winter coats to battle the first of the December chill, walking to a tattoo parlor Ron knew in the area so Hermione could be forever reminded of her loss by a tattoo Ron would choose. And if Harry knew Ron well, and knew how much he relished teasing Hermione, the reminder would be a strong one.

“I didn’t even want a tattoo,” Hermione was mumbling, more to herself than at either of them. “I never wanted one— did you know that you might not be eligible to donate blood if you have a tattoo? I mean, not that it’s impossible, but it’s a factor against you, like your weight and your age. And my family has a history of needing transfusions— oh, God, what if my grandfather needs a donation, like, tomorrow? The three-month period of eligibility won’t have elapsed, and my father can’t donate, and– and–” She froze in the middle of the sidewalk. “Oh, God, have I killed my grandfather?”

“Relax, Hermione,” Ron said, throwing a fraternal arm around her shoulders and squeezing her half in an attempt to get her walking again. “You’re halfway across the country from home. You wouldn’t be able to fly out on such short notice anyway.”

Harry had to stifle a laugh at how Hermione gaped at Ron then, a billion other dire possibilities to worry about racing through her head now. Ron, however, was less successful at keeping down a chuckle. “I’m kidding, Hermione. Besides, a tattoo will make you look badass.”

“I don’t want to look badass!” Hermione squeaked shrilly. “I’ve never been remotely interested in looking badass!”

“Well, interested or not,” Ron said as they came up to a dark brick building with a neon sign reading LOVEGOOD’S flickering above the door, “it seems like you don’t have much of a choice, because we’re here.”

Hermione let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a gasp and a whine as she looked up at the storefront that, to her, was synonymous not only with her doom but apparently that of her grandfather.

“Ron, please?” she said meekly.

Ron, however, looked gleeful and would not be deterred. “A bet’s a bet,” he declared, grabbing her wrist and beginning to march her up the three or so stairs that led up to the door of the tattoo parlor from the sidewalk. Harry lingered behind for an instant, watching the backs of his two friends as they waddled up the stairs, smiling as he listened to Ron debate whether he would make Hermione get a skull or a sailor’s “Mom” arrow-pierced heart, and Hermione pleading shrilly with him not to do either of those things. Watching them, Harry’s smile widened. He was lucky to have them as friends, that much he knew, despite the short time he’d spent knowing them. Why he hadn’t found them his freshman year was beyond him— but now, now that he had these wacky outings and constant bickering to enjoy, he felt overwhelmingly lucky that they had found him.

“Harry, are you coming in or what?” Ron beckoned him. He had stopped on the topmost step and was still gripping Hermione, whose face was a mask of pure, crystallized terror.

“Absolutely,” Harry said, hurrying up the steps with a little hop. “This I’ve got to see.”

Ron pushed open the door to the parlor with a little too much gusto, and Hermione cringed at the metallic sound of the chimes above the door as they tinkled with the announcement of their entrance. The front of the shop, sealing off the rest with a counter that had seen better days, was empty, the backroom separated by a beaded curtain.

“Hellooo?” Ron called into the backroom, marching right up to the counter. “Is anybody here? We bring a very eager customer!”

Hermione began to protest, but just as she did, an employee came out of the backroom to stand behind the counter. Catching a glimpse of her, Harry felt as if the wind had been knocked out of his chest: she was stunning. She was tall and slender, her toned arms visible through the ripped-off sleeves of her vintage Hole tee, with a curtain of straight orange hair pulled back into a long high ponytail. Her bright brown eyes glimmered atop a button-like nose that matched her small, round mouth perfectly, the pale fine face finished by a spattering of freckles. Even before she had spoken a single word, Harry felt the confidence coming off of her in waves, simply by how she propped her elbows up on the counter and eyed their party somewhat playfully. He was frozen to his place with the sight of her, hoping his jaw hadn’t dropped as low as it had felt in the wake of his awe.

Upon seeing her, however, Ron had had exactly the opposite reaction. “Ginny?” he said incredulously.

“What are you doing here?” the woman —Ginny— said without any greeting, returning Ron’s frown.

“I thought you weren’t working today!”

“I’m covering a shift for Demelza, she had a gyn appointment today.”

“Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t have come in,” grumbled Ron. The tips of his ears were beginning to pink, a sign Harry had learned to recognize as a hint of extreme emotion in his friend.

“Well, you’re here now, so… what can I do for you?” Ginny said. “I mean, you can’t possibly be the one getting inked, Ron. You’re too much of a wimp.”

“Shut up, or I’m telling mom you got your helix pierced. That’ll make for a fun Christmas greeting when we’re back home, I’ll wager.”

Then the similarity became apparent to Harry: the freckles, the aggressive red of their hair, the same glint in their eyes… Ginny was Ron’s sister. Somehow, he didn’t know whether that was something he should feel good or bad about.

“Tattletale,” Ginny said, swatting at him. “And it’s called an industrial piercing. Not that you’d know.” Only then did she seem to remark on the rest of the party.

“Harry Potter,” she said, and Harry gulped as she crossed her muscular arms over her chest and leaned back, surveying him. “Come to get a sixth tattoo?”

“A sixth— how do you know?” Harry said, befuddled. Out of all the opening lines he would’ve expected her to use, this had not been one of them.

“You can credit the rumor mill at school,” Ginny shrugged, still eyeing him with interest. “You’re a topic of interest. Or at least among the soccer teams.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Romilda swore you had a griffin tattooed on your chest, but I told her I’d heard it was a dragon. Much more macho, I thought.”

“Thanks,” Harry said dully. What else was he supposed to say?

“Don’t mention it,” Ginny gave him a conspiratorial wink. “And if I were you, I’d find out who on the boys’ team has been giving you the eye in the shower enough to count your tats. I bet it’s Ron.”

“It’s not!” Ron said angrily, the red from his ears bleeding out onto his cheeks.

“I bet it is,” Ginny mouthed to Harry, giving him another wink. “But it’s not you?”

“Pardon?” said Harry, for whom the ‘it-is-it’s-not’ exchange had grown somewhat confusing.

“For the tattoo?” Ginny said, and Harry felt like an idiot. “It’s not you who’s getting it?”

“No, ah, actually— it’s Hermione,” Harry was knocked back into his senses as he gestured toward Hermione, who had stood, utterly baffled, throughout that whole exchange.

“Hermione Granger?” Ginny said, and Harry was almost glad when she turned her gaze away from him and toward Hermione. “As in, Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger?”

“The one and only,” Ron declared proudly, happy to be back off a topic that bothered him (teasing Ron) and back on a topic that delighted him (teasing Hermione).

“I wouldn’t have chalked you up to the tattoo type,” Ginny said.

“Oh, she’s not,” Ron said, his face lighting up as if Christmas had come early.

Ginny’s eyes darted between the dismal face of Hermione and the cheerful face of Ron, her eyebrows rising as she took it in. “Okay, I’m not going to ask about whatever this is. What am I doing on you?”

“I’m designing it,” Ron said brightly. And if Harry had thought that Hermione’s face couldn’t get more desolated, he’d been wrong.

“Christ, Hermione, what has he got on you?” Ginny said, already opening a drawer on the counter to pull out a sketchpad and a pen.

“I’m such an idiot,” Hermione grumbled.

Ron pored over the sketchpad, shielding the paper from Hermione’s eyes as he sketched. When he was done, he handed it to Ginny with a quick flick of the wrist that, much to Hermione’s dismay, ensured she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of what was on it. Ginny looked over whatever it was Ron had drawn and then looked up at her brother with a frown.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, then,” Ginny shrugged. She lifted the counter to open a gap through which Hermione could walk. “Follow me.”

Looking like a lamb led to the slaughter, Hermione looked up to heaven as if making one last, futile plea before scrunching up her nose and following Ginny through the beaded curtain to the backroom. Because yes, she hated the idea of getting a tattoo, but she hated the idea of letting Ron hold one over her even more.

Ron watched her leave delightedly, relishing in the jangle the beaded curtain made as it swallowed Ginny and Hermione into the backroom. “This is going to be good,” he said, rubbing his palms together. “Oh, this is going to be so good.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister?” Harry blurted out all of a sudden. He startled himself as much as Ron when he said it, though he was glad he’d been able to pare down the question from what was actually swirling around in his head: Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister that looked like THAT?

Ron looked at him and shrugged. “I don’t know. It never came up.”

“You told me about every other one of your five brothers, but not the sister.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age and plays soccer.“ And is hot.

"Nope.” Ron paused and frowned. “She’s a year below us, anyway.”

“Oh, then that explains it,” Harry said sarcastically.

“It seemed like more of a second-semester-of-friendship revelation.”

“I see.”

Harry held the silence between them for a few moments more before he allowed the next question out. “She plays soccer?”

“One more of the long line of Weasleys that get athletic scholarships to Hogwarts College. Except for Percy— no, he was a disgrace, he got in on an academic grant.”

“The family disappointment, truly.”

Harry wanted to ask more about Ginny, but he held his tongue. His friendship with Ron was the most precious thing his sophomore year of college had yielded him, and he didn’t want to jeopardize it by prying further or making it seem like he had the hots for his sister. Even though he did. He suffocated that small voice at the back of his mind: he hadn’t even spoken properly to Ginny, just stood there like an idiot and let her quip freely about his tattoos— which, mind him, apparently were fodder for locker talk back at Hogwarts.

The buzz of the needle in the backroom as it started up brought Harry out of his thoughts, just in time to see a shit-eating grin appear on Ron’s face.

“I wish I could see her face right now,” he said gleefully, and Harry let himself stop thinking about Ginny to join Ron in picturing what Hermione Granger must look like seated in a tattoo parlor chair.

“It really wasn’t so bad,” admitted Hermione as they exited the tattoo parlor and went down the little steps back onto the sidewalk.

Despite his pretensions of malice, Ron’s nobility (which had never been in question, even despite his teasing) had shone through and yielded a considerably modest tattoo: a small, capital “R” in his own handwriting. Hermione, who had almost cried with relief after Ginny showed her the design, had chosen to get it on her left thigh, on the side and at the very top, right under her hipbone.

“Why did you get it there?” Harry asked as they resumed their brisk walk back to campus.

“It’s not a place you usually show. That means if a sleeve shifts or an interviewer sees, I don’t know, my ankle or something, they won’t notice it.”

“As if a tiny ‘R’ would disqualify anyone from a job, let alone you,” snorted Ron.

“Professionalism is a virtue, Ronald,” Hermione huffed, though her cheeks had gone red. “Besides, since that part of me is always covered, I’ll save myself from having to explain the story behind it to anyone that spots it.”

“Yeah, except the bloke that eventually undresses you and sees you in your panties. Try explaining what that 'R’ means to him,” said Ron. But Harry suspected Hermione wouldn’t have to: from how Ron’s eyes had widened and his gaze had lingered when Hermione had pulled down the side of her jeans ever so slightly to show them the finished product, exposing a sliver of her underwear, Harry could almost wager that Ron would be the bloke in question.

They walked in animated chatter for the rest of the way, the tattoo forgotten until Ron made a quip about Hermione now having crossed the gateway to joining a biker gang and Hermione going positively beet-red in the face with outrage. Then Harry, his hands in his pockets, simply smirked to himself and resigned himself to their bickering for the rest of the walk, knowing he was no longer needed in their exchange. Instead, he let his mind drift to Ginny. She hadn’t really spoken to him again, merely ducking out from the beaded curtain backroom and instructing Hermione on how to take care of her tattoo, saying only a general goodbye to the three of them as they exited the shop. There had been nothing in Ginny’s manner to suggest that she might be thinking of him as strongly, as irremediably, as he was of her, and yet there he was.

The main quad was mostly deserted, except for a few scattered groups of late-night library frequenters or sneaking couples, as the three of them crossed it to get to their dorm. Ron and Hermione didn’t stop arguing as they climbed the four flights up to their floor (the elevator, as usual, was broken), and only broke it off because Hermione reached her room before the boys reached theirs, slipping inside it and shutting the door before Ron had a chance to get the last word in.

“Well, that went well,” Ron shrugged as he and Harry kept walking down the hall to their room.

“You actually got her to get a tattoo,” Harry said with some admiration as they reached their door.

Ron grinned as he swiped the key card. “I may drive her crazy, but if anyone was going to get her to do something like that, it was going to be me.”

Ron pushed the door open and let them into their dorm room. He closed the door and, without taking off his coat, immediately flopped onto his bed— or, well, what could be seen of the bed under mountains of dirty or otherwise discarded clothes. Away from his mother’s chore-mongering for the first time, Ron had let himself go wild and go to the other extreme, but even Harry had to admit that the army of socks draped over the foot of his bed was beginning to smell a little stale.

“So,” Ron said, propping his head up, “no parties tonight?”

“Well, it’s a Wednesday,” Harry said.

“So what? There’s no party spirit around here?”

“Ron, it’s the last Wednesday before final exams. People are studying.”

“I wasn’t aware I was rooming with Hermione,” Ron grumbled. Harry had to admit she might have gotten to him a little. However, Ron’s irritation was short-lived, a grin appearing on his face again. “Wait, but we’re not people. We’re not studying.”

Harry surveyed the room and, despite his desire to throw in the towel for the night and have fun with Ron, felt a pang of dismay at just how much grosser it would be if they caved and did that (last time they had, they’d had a Pringle-eating contest, with devastating results for their sheets, which still had some crumbs). “No, Ron. We’re doing laundry.”

Ron groaned. “Jeez, now I’m rooming with my mother.”

“Okay, fine, you don’t have to do the laundry. I’ll do it for the both of us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go hang out with Dean and Seamus or whatever, see if you can get Hermione to do her second wild-card act of the day and make her stop studying to hang out with the guys.”

“Now I’m a man with a mission,” Ron said, perking up in delight at the prospect of teasing Hermione, or even seeing her once more that night.

“Just shove your clothes in the laundry bag before you go, won’t you? I don’t want to touch your nasty briefs more than I have to.”

Ron obliged, tossing all the clothes on and around his bed into his orange laundry bag and pulling the drawstring to close it. “I’ll update you on the Hermione thing,” he said cheerfully, hurrying out of the room and down the hall to the left to the room they’d left Hermione in.

Harry laughed to himself, wondering how long it was going to take Ron to realize why exactly he always seemed so eager to do anything Hermione-related, as he too threw his dirty clothes into a checkered drawstring laundry bag. Then, he hoisted one sack over each of his shoulders and opened the door using his ankle and leg to let himself out, his hands full with the laundry bags. He stifled a smirk as he passed Hermione’s room and heard the familiar bubbling sound of she and Ron rowing. If Harry knew her at all, he knew however much she might argue she’d be out of that room in an hour tops.

He groaned as he looked down the stairs, and rued the day he had been placed in the dorm with the shittiest elevator on campus. Resigning himself, he began to walk slowly down the poorly-lit stairs to the basement, where the laundry room was. However inconvenient this descent was, Harry was at least comforted with the knowledge that the laundry room would not be crowded, which would be the greater inconvenience once the elevator was fixed.

The basement was even dimmer, the white lights flickering and buzzing with electricity as Harry walked to the laundry room almost at the end of the hall. Sure enough, the laundry room was deserted, oddly quiet with none of the familiar hum and rattle of the machines as they worked. Harry knelt in front of a washing machine and began unloading the contents of the laundry bags into it, cramming them in so they’d fit because he sure as hell wasn’t shelling out quarters for two washers. When he’d made it all fit (which had involved the use of force to jam the door shut), he went to the shelf that held the communal detergent and poured it into the soap compartment. With that done, he dug out eight quarters from his pocket and inserted them into the washer’s slot, pressing the “Start Cycle” button when he heard the clink that let him know his quarters had been accepted. The washer rumbled slowly to life, jets of water trickling out as it began to spin in one direction and then the other, and it was a couple minutes before it was spinning at a hearty pace.

Rising from his crouch (he had always liked to watch the washing machine as it booted up to wash in earnest), Harry took the laundry bags and turned to head back upstairs, already thinking of what he might do to pass the time in the hour he had before he had to switch the clothes to the dryer.

He was so caught up in thinking of this that he didn’t see the person entering the laundry room at the same time as he was exiting, which ended in an awkward clash between them.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry blurted.

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry too— Harry?”

Only then did Harry realize who he had bumped into, and only because she kept standing there did he believe it. “Ginny?”

She still wore her Hole shirt, but had discarded the ripped jeans, combat boots, and round-the-waist flannel he’d seen at the tattoo parlor. Instead, she wore frayed gray sweatpants and flip-flops, her hair pulled up from the long ponytail into a messy bun. She, however, somehow still managed to look almost unbearably beautiful. What’s happening to me?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, the only thing he could think of right that second. Spotting the laundry basket she was cradling, he added: “No laundry in your dorm?”

“No, yeah, there is one, but it’s always too crowded, it being a freshman dorm and all.” Harry nodded: his first year, he too had done entirely more laundry than he had to, and was thankful by the quarters he saved just by realizing he could wear a pair of pants more than once before they were dirty. “So I use the one here. Much quieter. I know Ron’s ID and password—”

“You do?”

“He gave it to me once so I could pick up his books from the library. And my memory’s great.” She gave him a half smile and looked beyond him at the laundry room. “Doing laundry?”

“No, I just like the ambience down here. The shitty lighting and bleach smell are really my style,” said Harry. Ginny laughed, and Harry felt a rush of pride at what was probably the first witty thing he’d ever said to her. “Need a hand?”

“I’d appreciate one, sure,” Ginny said, again smiling at him. Harry moved so she could walk into the laundry room, and watched her pick one of the washing machines that lined the wall. When she’d settled on one, he crouched down next to her and help her lob the clothes into the maw of the machine.

“Tattoo parlor let out early?” he asked as they placed the clothes inside.

“More like you guys came in really late. You were my last customers— I just cleaned up and closed after you left.”

“And you work there?”

“Sure beats a regular work-study, doesn’t it?” Ginny grinned. She tossed in a Tide pod that was left at the bottom of the basket, closed the door to the machine, and rose to find the quarters needed to activate it. “Oh, shoot, I left my wallet in my other pants—”

“I got you,” said Harry, digging for eight more quarters in his pocket. For once, he was glad of his bad habit of carrying an excess of loose change in his jeans, something Hermione already got on to him about (sometimes, like when she’d gifted him a money purse, not too subtly).

“Thanks,” Ginny said, picking the laundry basket up from the ground.

Harry listened for the telling clink and then pressed the button. The washing machine whirred to a start, but for once, Harry didn’t feel compelled to watch it boot up: instead, he turned to Ginny. “So how did you come to work there?”

“At the tat shop?” Ginny asked, hopping to sit on the top of the washer where her clothes were spinning. “My friend Luna’s dad, Xenophilius—”

“Gesundheit.”

“Shut up,” Ginny said, but the hint of a laugh was (to Harry’s satisfaction) visible on her lips again. “Anyway, Xenophilius owns the place. He set up in a college town because he knows college is the first time kids are truly free to make rash, impulse decisions.”

“Like getting a tattoo?”

“Exactly. And besides, all the college students love his New Age bullshit, they think it’s very 70s, so his shop is always full. He got a big boost after he started placing crystals in the shop windows.”

“He’s in with the kids, then?”

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll be mortified. But he’s great, really. A little eccentric, but great. He knows me from when Luna and I took an art class together in 10th grade, and he’s always complimented my art, so he helped me get my tattoo artist license as soon as I turned 18 and hired me.”

“Is Luna the girl with the shaggy blond hair and the weird glasses?”

“That’s her. Though I’m surprised you didn’t know her by her bottlecap necklaces. That’s usually what people comment on.”

“Does she work there too?”

“Yeah, though not as an inker, she’s useless with a needle. She designs a big chunk of the tattoos, though, both original designs and commissions or requests.”

“That’s awesome,” Harry said. He realized that was the first time through the whole conversation that he had stopped. He’d never hesitated on what to say next: conversation with Ginny had flowed easily, naturally, and he hadn’t had to think too hard to keep it going. Still, he was a little disappointed that it had stopped. Ginny, however, seemed to share in this, because rather than say goodbye and take her leave, she opened up a new topic.

“So how long have you and Ron been friends?”

“Er– since the start of this school year, actually.”

“Really? You’d think from how he talks about you, he’d known you forever.” Harry felt a flush of happiness at hearing that Ron talked about him.

“Well, I got him for a roommate this year, and we just clicked. Then it turned out we had a lot of the same classes. And we’re both on the soccer team, so it just got better from there.”

“It seems strange that you never crossed paths your freshman year.”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, freshman year is weird for everyone. I certainly felt like I was just bouncing from one place to another. I still hang out with a lot of the guys from last year, but my friends have changed. It makes sense— the first year, everyone is trying to meet as many people as possible, as if it’s a race, but by sophomore year you know more of what you want and what you’re looking for. In a way, I’m glad I met Ron now that I’m in a more stable place, now that I know my way around the college and have a better grip on things. I have a feeling he’s a friend I’m gonna keep.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re sticking around the Weasleys,” Ginny said, and Harry felt a tingle run up his spine. Was she… flirting with him? “And Hermione?”

“Oh, Hermione’s great, Ron and I would be dead by now if not for her— I don’t know how I got through a full year without her.”

“But she’s very different from you guys, isn’t she?”

“Well— on the surface, sure, but not in the things that matter. The fact that she went through with the tattoo tonight when she could’ve kicked up a fuss and bailed out tells you all you need to know.”

“So what I’m hearing is that Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger is as much of a bonehead as my brother at heart?”

“Stubborn, is the word I’d use. And only when Ron’s involved, actually.”

Ginny smirked. “Idiots. They haven’t even realized it.”

Harry knew exactly what she meant. “You think it too?”

“Oh, I’d bet on it. Ten bucks says they’re together by the end of the year.”

“Hey, did our visit by the parlor today teach you nothing about bets? They can be dangerous.”

“But I’m betting against you, aren’t I?” The way she said you made Harry’s heart skip a beat. “Fine, not ten bucks. But I’ll bet you a load of laundry, how’s that?”

“Deal,” said Harry, taking Ginny’s extended hand to shake it. The touch of her palm, with its long, slender fingers, sent warmth coursing down from his hand and the length of his arm. They let go and dropped hands, and perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but Harry thought he detected a certain reluctance in Ginny as they did.

Harry leaned against the washer, his propped elbow almost brushing up against her thigh. “How about you? How’s your first year going so far?”

Ginny winced. “As well as you’d expect, I suppose. Lots of people still behave like it’s an extension of high school, and I’m very much over that. But as things go, I’m having a blast. Being on the soccer team certainly helps.”

“Congratulations on that scholarship, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said, her wide smile revealing a row of perfect, square white teeth. “You’re on a scholarship too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. My aunt and uncle would’ve never paid a single cent for me to go to college, so it was the only way. But I’m sure they were glad to be rid of me anyway.”

“They sound like lovely people,” Ginny said sarcastically.

“I should introduce them to this Xenophilius sometime. My uncle Vernon would have a stroke just walking into that shop.”

“Well, if you ever swing by, you have an insider contact,” Ginny offered, and Harry loved the implication of something, even something as simple as an 'insider contact’, between just the two of them. “I’d be happy to arrange a meeting, especially for such esteemed patrons.”

“I might take you up on that, if I ever planned on seeing them again,” Harry said. The words came out a bit more harshly than he’d expected, and the second silence in their talk set in, brought on by the darker implications of his family situation. Desperate to break it, Harry cleared his throat and geared up to talk again: “So, do you have any tattoos?”

He was relieved to see the smile, that coy, almost lopsided smile, appear on Ginny’s face again. “Actually, no, not a single one.”

“Do you think you’d ever get one?”

Ginny thought for a second. “I might, if something meaningful enough came around. And only if I was 200% sure. But really, I feel like one tattoo would lead to another, and then I’d never stop and run out of room on my skin. So it’s more of a containment mechanism, really.”

Harry smirked. “Hm. Interesting.”

Ginny broke out onto a full grin as she watched him. “What?” she asked, but when Harry’s smirk only deepened, she shoved him playfully, her touch on his shoulders eliciting the same warm sensation as the handshake. “What, Potter, tell me! Why is it interesting?”

“I mean, since you work at a tattoo shop, and you’re wearing a Hole t-shirt, I just thought you might be the type—”

“The Hole tee? Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna gatekeep it, like you’re the type of guy who’d be like 'name three songs'—”

“No, not at all. As a matter of fact, I don’t know a lot of music by Hole. I really only know who they are because of that one Fall Out Boy song Courtney Love was featured in—”

Ginny winced. “Not Fall Out Boy, please.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Fall Out Boy?”

“Harry—”

“I know they get a lot of shit, but really, their first albums are pretty good—”

“Harry, you’ve gotta stop right here, or you’re going to make me stop finding you so attractive.”

And just like that, there it was, out in the open. Harry felt stun: he felt his mouth open to offer a witty retort, but no words came out. Because the girlish grin had evaporated from Ginny’s face and turned into a different, more mature look, her eyes smoldering slightly and her mouth slightly pouted.

“What about you?” she asked, her words slower, as if she was choosing each one individually. “If the soccer team gossip is true, I know you have five tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice having dropped as well. “Yeah, there were a few tat shops around my neighborhood where the rules were pretty lax.”

“What are they?” Ginny asked.

“The tattoos? Well, the first ones I ever got were my mom and dad’s birth and death dates, on my wrist,” Harry said, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to display two small lines of numbers, in plain black ink, on his forearm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ginny said softly.

“Don’t be, I was really small when it happened. But I still wanted to pay them homage. Anyway, I’ll not bore you with my family history right now.”

“But tell me sometime?”

Harry was ecstatic at the implication that Ginny wanted to spend even more time with him. “Yeah,” he said, smiling at her. “Yeah, I will.” He moved on to the second tattoo, shifting the other sleeve up a bit to show Ginny a small black paw print in the center of his wrist. “This was my third one. My godfather was the only person my aunt and uncle would let me see while I was growing up, and even then only because he threatened them. And he had this huge, black shaggy dog, I think it was a Newfoundland, that looked almost like a bear, named Padfoot. I loved that dog, and every time I think of the happiest moments growing up, Padfoot’s in a lot of them. So when he died when I was sixteen, I got this to remember him by. It seems like a tribute to my godfather, too, so I like it doubly.”

He didn’t need encouragement from Ginny to keep going. He raised his left leg and propped it up on the washing machine by where Ginny’s legs hung, rolling his sock down a bit to show a green, line-art tuft of grass snaking above his ankle. “I got this when I got the soccer scholarship to come here. I wanted something to commemorate soccer, seeing as it’s not only, y'know, my passion, but also what got me out of that damn house for good. But I thought something like a soccer ball or a net or even the pitch outline would be too cheesy, so I got a bit of grass, y'know, as in the field…”

“Tasteful,” Ginny nodded her approval, and Harry felt newfound appreciation for that tattoo. “That’s three down, Potter.”

“I’m getting there.” Harry brought his leg down from the washer and turned his back to Ginny, taking his hand up to the nape of his neck and using it to shift the hair there upward to reveal the back of his neck where it turned into his back. “Can you see it?”

“The little lightning bolt?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the story of that?”

“That was my second one. To be honest, I was a little ink-happy after my first one, so a couple of weeks after I got it I went back and got this.”

“But why a lightning bolt?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, turning back around to face her. “I guess it was just cool.”

“Oh, very,” Ginny said, and the edge in her voice let him know she was teasing him. “That leaves us with one, then. The emblematic chest tattoo.” Again, the playfulness disappeared from her face and was replaced by that strange look, the one Harry couldn’t really decipher but really, really liked. “Tell me, then, Harry— is Romilda Vane right?”

It was only because of the suggestiveness in Ginny’s voice and the permanence of that look on her face that Harry did what he did next. His movements slow, he pulled his shirt off over his head, setting it on the washing machine right by where Ginny sat. He heard Ginny draw in a breath and it hitch in her throat as she saw him, her eyes moving over his bare skin to spot the ink blot that had brought this all on. Curled above his right pec was a small, S-shaped dragon, colored in red and gold.

“I win,” Ginny said, her voice still husky, as she extended her left hand to touch the dragon with her fingertips.

“Are you going to tell Romilda?” Harry said, his own right hand settling lightly on Ginny’s thigh.

“No, actually,” Ginny said, her palm now coming down flat on Harry’s chest. Her other hand had also drifted to him, and she had placed it on Harry’s left side, right below his ribcage, as if to hold the side of his torso. “I think I’d rather keep this moment to myself.”

And then she was leaning in and kissing him, touching her lips to his first with tentative softness that turned into a stronger, more determined fire as the kiss deepened. With both of Ginny’s hands on Harry, and one of Harry’s on Ginny’s thigh and the other supporting the weight of the kiss against the solidity of the washer, they leaned into one another. Harry’s mouth sought out Ginny’s eagerly, overcome by the fiery feeling pooling in his stomach and rising up to his throat through his chest, by the fact that everything he’d thought about on their walk back from Lovegood’s was coming true much sooner (and much better) than he’d expected. He felt Ginny’s tongue nudge at his lips and opened his mouth to let her in, engulfing more of her lips with his as he did so. Ginny kissed passionately, her tongue meeting Harry’s even as her teeth dug lightly into Harry’s lower lip, making him kiss her more deeply. With her this close, he was invaded by the flowery smell of her hair, by the soft feel of her skin, by the low humming sound she made as she kissed him. And everything was coming together, making the fire in his chest grow, and it was a good kind of burn, better than whiskey, better than anything—

The loud ding of the washer as it announced it had concluded its cycle startled them, and they pulled back from the kiss looking a little dazed, that one upbeat chime having been all they needed to bring them reluctantly back into the real world. Still Ginny didn’t take her hands off Harry, and Harry felt less than inclined to move his from her leg.

“I should, uh, switch to the dryer,” he said, the only thing that popped into his mind there.

Ginny tightened her hold around his middle and moved her hand from his chest, wrapping it around his upper back to draw him closer. “Oh, let it wait,” she said, and then she was kissing him again, and Harry was finding that the dryer could wait for hell to freeze for all he cared.

The sleepy sound of the chimes above the door didn’t even make Ginny raise her gaze from her stats study guide, which she’d pulled out to make the best of the not-too-busy lull at Lovegood’s. “We’re almost closed,” she announced to whoever had come in.

“You can’t make room for one last customer?” a familiar voice said, and only then did Ginny perk up immediately.

“Harry!” she said brightly, shutting the stats book as it became all-but-forgotten. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to add one more tattoo to the five I’ve already got,” said Harry. “Think you can give me my sixth?”

Ginny didn’t even need to say yes, just opened up the lift-up counter door and disappeared through the beaded curtain. “Flip the door sign to 'closed’ before you come through, will you?”

Harry obliged and flipped the sign before following Ginny to the backroom. He sat patiently on the tattoo chair as Ginny milled about, getting the supplies ready.

“Y'know, you never did tell me the story behind your dragon tattoo,” Ginny commented as she went through the sterilization procedure for the needles. “Seeing as we were, um, otherwise occupied…”

The memory of the kiss flooded through Harry with the same fire that he’d held in his chest ever since, the flame growing to engulf his whole body just hearing Ginny mention it. “Should I tell you now?”

“I’d like to hear it.”

“I got it as a tribute to my old headmaster back home, Albus Dumbledore. Funny old man, and incredibly cryptic, but he’s the one that first gave me the idea of applying for the scholarship and helped me get all my grades and papers in order so I could make it here. We were very close, and he had this saying that he used to tell me whenever I ended up in his office for getting into trouble— 'never tickle a sleeping dragon’, he’d say.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Harry laughed briefly and shrugged. “Hell if I know. But it was his catchphrase. So after I graduated, I wanted to get something to commemorate him, so I got the dragon from his favorite saying. He came with me and got it too.”

Ginny turned to him and eyed him quizzically. “Your headmaster got the tattoo along with you?”

“I told you he was a funny old man.”

Ginny pulled a pair of black latex gloves over her hands and rolled a wheeled office chair over to Harry, the needle in hand. “So by what I’m hearing, you only ever get tattoos of things that are extremely meaningful to you, right?”

“That’s right,” said Harry.

“So, Mr. Meaning, what’ll it be this time?”

Harry smiled. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it slightly upward, just enough to uncover his lower trunk. He pointed to a spot on the left side of his torso, right under his ribcage— right where Ginny’s hand had been, where her touch had been burned into his skin. “Right here,” he said. “I’d like a little washing machine.”

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest platonic #canon fest romantic #submission #hinny #harry x ginny #side romione

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joontier · 4 years

Text

“V” | part one

synopsis: You zinged. With the captain. Who was human.

pairings: kim taehyung x female reader

rating: R (18+) | genre: smut, fluff, angst, crack, minor angst (as of now) ,fantasy, (unknowing) enemies to lovers trope; captain! taehyung x vampire! reader, based off Hotel Transylvania and Girl’s Trip! | warnings: plenty of sexual innuendos, explicit sex) (groping, fingering, exhibitionism,

word count: 13.1k

g/n: im splitting this into a two/three shot because i really wanted to post this bc the coward in me is afraid that if i finish and post the whole thing this app might crash on me ajfoiawjefiajwfa n e ways, enjoy this first part and please let me know what you think!

one. | two. | three.?

navi | m.list

Albeit recorded as one of the smallest countries in terms of area and population, the country of Tersnoa proudly boasts its multiple attractions and rich culture. As the nation’s economy depends heavily on tourism, Tersnoa is considered a hidden treasure amongst the genuine travelers - human and monsters alike.

Santa Shelea - the monster capital of Tersnoa, is located beneath the lush woods of the small country, hidden to the human eye. Entrance to the city you grew up in is a privilege given only to monsters, though it wasn’t always like that.

The city used to nurture human and monster liaisons, with relations surpassing mere diplomacy. Humans and monsters shared friendships that run deeper than their contrasts in physical attributes and their innate characteristics. It was a time when both parties realized they were so much alike in plenty of ways and respect was observed by all despite the differences in appearances and culture. Admittedly, monsters had more to sacrifice with these accords due to your more primal urges, but your kind made it work, for the sake of peaceful coexistence.

The other party, however, did not seem to share the same sentiments for long.

Santa Shelea was one of the few places left on Earth where monsters sought refuge as your kind of people were constantly drawn out of the places they used to peacefully live at by the humans themselves. You thought Santa Shelea was different - that these people you once even considered family wouldn’t push you away just like what the others did, but it wasn’t before long that the human citizens of the once-glorious city were going to change their minds.

These selfish, pompous humans conducted an uprising to protest against the presence of monsters in ‘their’ land. It was an awful time to have grown up in, being called a ‘monster’ in all senses of the word, especially from those people you have even considered friends. The human citizens conducted an uprising in Santa Shelea, protesting the presence of monsters in ‘their’ land, ultimately disturbing the peace of the city.

Humans burned your houses down to the ground, including your helpless mother in their supposed quest for peace. After having kept the harmonious liaisons for quite some time, your kind had gone back to your primitive instincts, fighting for your rights along with an army of beasts, hybrids, witches, and members of the undead. It was catastrophe epitomized, a day that no one wishes to relive.

It isn't fair to say that the monsters emerged victorious when so many had perished, your mother included. Eventually, these mortal beings realized there were no match for formidable creatures and soon took their leave of the once prosperous city. Soon enough, humans became history to monsters and vice versa.

Rebuilding your beloved city from scratch was no easy task, proving to be even more difficult with the agony that came with burying the past. To prevent any more man-made disasters in the future, the witches had agreed to cast a spell over Santa Shelea: that your city will forever remain invisible to the human eye.

And it has remained such until the present, appearing as part of the picturesque mountain ranges Tersnoa has to offer. Far from the city and beneath the mountains of lush forestry, Hotel Tersnoa stands tall in the middle of Santa Shelea - the city where monsters thrive. If you could only speak for yourself, the city could easily pass as the eighth wonder of the world.

Hotel Tersnoa isn’t the only legacy handed down from your great-great-great-grandfather (“G4 for short”, he’d offered one day, explaining that he had to ‘blend in with the now’). During the past millennia, he had also established a conglomerate of enterprises across the world. He’s even founded BloodHub, an international focus group centered on blood diseases and blood donations but you wouldn’t want to delve on the beginning and end of that.

The responsibility of taking over the hotel had been passed on to your father since then and his ardency for the hotel was unparalleled, the bequest of the hotel has surpassed the original Hotel Tersnoa of which your grandfathers had initially envisioned it to be. Your father would spend hours on end surveying every detail, nook, and cranny of the beloved establishment, barking orders left and right.

On top of being a father, he had busied himself with the responsibilities of a hotelier. Yet you knew deep down it was all but a façade to mask the void that your mother left in his heart. There were many nights you’d caught him staring into the distance in a secluded place, away from the hustle and bustle at the hotel. You loved your father dearly, wanting nothing else for him but the happiness he truly deserves.

When you had turned of age, you insisted on taking over the hotel in your father’s stead. You knew that your mother’s passing had been a toll too great to bear for your father, especially in a place where he is constantly reminded of her. You wanted him to enjoy his life, to bring back the life in his eyes, however ironic it may sound as part of the undead.

Your father had disapproved of the idea at first, reasoning out that it was too big of a responsibility to hand over. He’d told you that you were still young and he wanted you to enjoy your life while you still could. With your adamancy and endless prodding, you had finally convinced him to cave in. Besides, you’re pretty sure you’ll stay young for a long time.

As you have taken on the commitment of being the lady of the house, or hotel rather, your father spent his time moving from one place to another, taking on different identities so as not to reveal his real one. When you were just starting out with your duties as the new hotelier a few years back, he couldn’t leave you behind for a day, checking up on you every two hours just in case an emergency occurs. As if something drastic could happen when more than half of your customers are already dead.

Years pass by and hourly check-ups became daily ones and then weekly afterwards, until he calls you from halfway across the world every once in a while, just to tease you if the hotel was just as great as he left it. You hadn’t actually seen him in a year, apparently ‘busy’ with his new business venture in Amsterdam.

That’s why when you pick up his scent nearby, you momentarily stop in your tracks. It isn't exactly unusual for your father to have impromptu visits, but you’ve learned that it’s highly unlikely for your father to drop by at such a time like this.

He avoids peak season at Tersnoa like the plague, let alone a Friday the 13th special like today, in addition to the most anticipated week-long celebration of the hotel’s six hundred and sixty-sixth anniversary. Your father steers clear of times like these at all costs, always making up excuses to avoid the crowd and the stress that comes with it. So much for being the past manager.

You can’t really hold it against him, as it surely has been an arduous feat having run the hotel for almost two centuries. Even though you both laugh it off whenever you tease him about it, you know deep down he genuinely enjoys attending to his customers and making sure they get the best customer service.

A scoff escapes your lips when you see the infamous Drac-cape nearing. You’re mildly tempted to ignore him altogether, not wanting to be involved with someone who wore something that has run out of style decades ago. Secondhand embarrassment is a thing, and it’s very real.

You have already lost count of the times you’ve told him to get rid of the ridiculous piece of clothing, yet he dismisses you every time, clinging onto the nostalgic feeling that comes with the cape. In consideration of your request, your father had gone so far as acquiring the services of a handful of stylists to make some alterations to the design, and you have to say you’re pretty impressed with the outcome. What else could you have said? The Drac-cape was old but gold.

You’re about to greet him when a staff approaches you, holding out a folder with papers that require your signatures. Your father stands a meter away with a proud smile, watching you with fondness in his eyes. Once you finish with the papers, he calls out, “Ah, my princess,” arms wide open to greet you with a hug. He’s the first to pull away, hands still resting on your shoulders as he takes a good look at you. “You grow up so fast!” he says jokingly with a wide smile plastered on his face as he pinches your cheeks.

There’s something off though, something suspicious behind that painstakingly dubious grin on his face. Smiling wasn’t something your father was fond of doing especially in public - too deep into portraying the character of the dark and brooding Dracula depicted in human children’s stories. Plus, your fangs sometimes get in the way, so smiling isn’t really a preferable option.

Before you get the chance to ask about his sudden visit, another staff member approaches you, another folder in hand. Your father shoos you away before you object, dragged away by your duties for the millionth time tonight.

“What is it now?” you ask the skeleton beside you, every sound of his movement resembling that of a marimba. “Your presence is being requested by Ms. Catherine at her party, Countess.”

You’d almost forgotten your cousin Catherine had rented out the hotel’s rooftop to celebrate her engagement to her long-time boyfriend Jericho. You’ve already congratulated and apologized to her plenty of times prior to this day, already knowing that you won't be able to celebrate it properly because of the events being held at the hotel. With the hectic schedule you were running on, you just realized that you hadn't visited her all day.

It had been a very long week, and you were tired to the bone, but the guilt of not being physically present at her party was gnawing at you endlessly. Almost reaching the point that you forgot your father was just in front of you mere seconds ago - and now he’s disappeared, again.

Heeding to your cousin’s call, you decide to leave the area, leaving a puff of smoke behind you. You reappear the same way at the rooftop, just beside Catherine herself, who looked like she was hiding from someone, crouched behind a table.

“Who are you guys hiding f-” Unable to finish your sentence with Cat shushing you, you crane your neck up a little, glancing at the others who were in similar dispositions. Weren’t they all too old to do this in an engagement party? Or was this a new trend Cat wanted to start?

Your heart clenches nevertheless at the hilarious attempt to hide from whoever or whatever it is they were hiding from. It was quite the scene: an orange tentacle slithering its way to steal a cupcake by the buffet table, Barry Blob thinks he can camouflage as jelly, and Bigfoot was… well, let’s just say he was never meant for a game of hide and seek. The only monster one would have expected to be good at this was your uncle Griffin who was born invisible but he was always the one first spotted because he thinks wearing disguises like a hot pink wig (his choice of the day) would make him unnoticeable.

And yet this is what they supposedly call ‘hiding’.

“Is this the new norm during engagement parties? Hiding from the responsibilities of married life I see,” you suppress a snicker with your palm, and when Cat looks back at you to shut you up, she screams with such fright, alarming everybody on the rooftop.

“Surprise!” Mandy Mummy, one of your closest friends, appears from the other side of the table.

“You guys were meant to surprise me?” Your brows furrow. “Are you all sure? What’s the occasion?”

Frankie Frankenstein emerges from behind the bar, throwing a suspicious look at you. “You’re kidding me, right?”

You look at the others in the hopes of finding a hint behind what was really going on, but Cat beats you to it, extending her arms out as she beckons you closer, “I don’t know how a monster could possibly forget the day she was born, but we’re here now so, happy birthday my dearest forgetful cousin!” Cat gives you an extra slap on your ass in greeting.

Realization finally hits you, reminiscing the short moments throughout the day that had hinted on your birthday. You did see a few of your staff nudge each other in your presence, but you only thought it was because they were hesitant to say something when they knew that it had been a hectic week so far, tight schedules and all.

The rest of the crowd clear out, revealing themselves from their hiding places. Your father appears from one side, carrying a dangerously huge three-tiered cake.

Mandy approaches first, narrowing her eyes at you, “Wait, you seriously forgot your own birthday?” Cat answers in your stead, “She did,” while she points a finger to her temple, reiterating her capability of subjective precognition to the rest of the group.

“Uncle Drac! Can you remind me again how are we related?”

“I wanted to ask the same thing!” Your father exclaims, grabbing a glass of champagne from a gargoyle waiter and trailing off to greet his friends.

“Cat, you know I’ve been busy for so long, I don’t exactly have a birthday countdown every year to remind me of something that is...not really that significant.”

“______, I know we’re practically dead, but that doesn’t mean you have to live like one.”

“Why don’t you try living in my shoes then, hm?”

“I would, if they were Valentinos.” Unable to rack your brain for a smarter response, you roll your eyes at her instead. The guests start singing happy birthday in chorus as they near you. The night continues on a light note, people wishing you another year of happiness and prosperity, likewise congratulating your cousin for her engagement and her soon wedding.

As the conversation eventually moves on to wedding preparations, Frankie spills on the details of Cat’s plans for her bachelorette party. You weren’t so keen with the idea - not when this was the first time it had been offered by the people closest to you.

Bachelorette parties were primarily a human thing - some sort of commemoration of debauchery as you had understood from Google when you had looked it up a few years ago. These kinds of celebrations weren’t exactly included in your traditions but judging by the photos you’ve seen online; you’re sort of glad this wasn’t classified as the norm in your world yet.

Cocktail parties with half-naked bartenders? Masseurs drenched in vaseline? Topless butlers serving dinner? What was with having male nudity as the baseline for such an occasion?

You didn’t think this was going to be a trend in the monster-verse anyways, as your kind comes in different shapes and sizes and these parties just might end up with one seeing a lot more than necessary.

When you try to confirm the plans with Catherine, she just shrugs at you three, telling you all that it was going to be a surprise. You, Mandy, and Frankie groan in unison at her reply.

“Impatient much? You still have the whole day tomorrow to pack your things.”

“We’re going on a trip?! And you’re telling me about this just now? A day before our leave?!”

“Yeap. How long does it take you to pack your clothes?”

“Do you not realize that I have a whole ass hotel to manage? I mean it’s not like I don’t want to go but surely, all my responsibilities cannot be handed over in a span of twenty-four hours? Plus, our week-long six hundred and sixty-sixth anniversary special isn’t over yet! You could have at least told me two weeks ahead?”

Someone places a hand on your shoulder, and you look up to see your own father smiling at you. “You’re just like your mother, darling. Stop worrying so much!”

“Exactly why I told him instead,” Cat raises her eyebrows at you as she points to your father. “Catherine’s right. So, I’ll be taking care of the hotel while you girls have some girly time by yourselves,” he says, taking a sip of his drink.

“Are you sure you can handle Hotel Tersnoa?” Your father almost spits out the champagne as he looks at you incredulously. “Excuse me? Need I remind you who handed the hotel over to you?”

“I know, it’s just… a lot has changed. We’ve expanded the hotel, there’s now a theme park, and a new island has just been opened… it can be a lot…”

Your father dismisses your worries with a wave and a kiss on your forehead. “Nothing I’ve never done before. You’ll be back before you know it. What could possibly go wrong?”

Right. Your father’s words echo in your head.

What could possibly go wrong?

“A cruise?!”

You’d gone through hours of travel, your ass was hurting from the prolonged sitting, and Catherine had not once told you where you were headed, mouth zipped shut. And yet here you were, mouth agape in shock – the betrayal, the treachery, the deception.

Docked in front of you is a humongous white ship, honking its siren with all its might. You’re struggling with attempting to even comprehend the entire situation. Your cousin did not just drag you out of your hotel to another… hotel...on water.

“Welcome to the Bermuda Triangle, where you’ll embark on a monster cruise of a lifetime,” announces a fish-man or man-fish creature clad in a sailorman’s outfit (well he was definitely a fish, but had the limbs of man). All your expectations for this trip had just been obliterated by a singular monotonous, unidentifiable being.

“Psst. Why is your face like that? I heard the fare was astronomical!” Frankie whispers when Mandy squishes between you two, trying to get a brochure from a stall nearby.

Everybody knew Cat was more than willing to spend her money on anything she has set her eyes on (just like that exclusive collection of Hermes bags she has back home) and actively looks for other ways to spend her money (such is a costly cruise) so this trip didn’t surprise you as much as it did Frankie. You’re wondering though, how she found out about this cruise and why she intends to celebrate her bachelorette’s party here.

If a disinterested man-fish was tasked to welcome its guests, well, you can tell there’s really nothing much to look forward to here. You just hope this cruise will give her money’s worth, or rather, at least half of it.

“Hey! This looks amazing!” Mandy exclaims, flipping the colorful brochure over a couple times. “There’s even a waterpark, multiple dining options, bowling alleys, a theater…”

“Sounds like everything you can do…at the hotel!” You can’t help the rising pitch of your voice by the end of your reply while your friends laugh at your indignance. Mandy and Frankie ignore your protests, while Cat whispers near you, “Wait ‘til you see the itinerary!”

“Not you too?! Seriously though, I don’t get why you’ve chosen to do it here, instead of our own hotel…” you pout, head hung low.

Cat pulls you aside, letting the other passengers move forward, “Listen to me darling, alright? All these months, years, all you did was work and work and work again, we barely had any time to hang out together just like the old times, so I figured a break from all your customer service shenanigans and let yourself be served for once. Take a vacation from running everyone else’s vacation. Is that alright with you?”

Giving her an apologetic smile, you pull her into your arms for a tight hug. She wasn’t lying though when she said you had barely spent time with each other. Back when your father was still running the hotel, you’ve spent your early years always practically attached at the hip: from crying over your first boyfriends, through that emo high school phase, to pursuing several degrees, and to spontaneous trips halfway across the world when you were bored.

“Plus, Jer and I intend to start a family as soon as we get married, so these girl trips won’t come by often all the more.”

“You know I love you to the moon and back right? And will you stop making me feel like an aunt when I’m not yet one?! But, to be honest with you, that would be really cute though! Little you and little Jerichos running around… but you know, if Jer will come close to laying a finger on you, just say the word…”

“We zinged, darling. You have nothing to worry about. Maybe you’ll find your zing on the cruise too.”

You roll your eyes at her fondly. As if.

It doesn’t change the fact that you still have second thoughts about this trip. Begrudgingly, you climb up the stairs, sulking as you watch your friends and the rest of the group of the monsters huddle in excitement as they ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ at the cruise’s features.

When you spot a few of Hotel Tersnoa’s beloved patrons in the group that arrived with you, your heart sinks a little, refusing to believe a fancy cruise could ever question their loyalty to the greatest monster hotel known to your kind. Guess nothing ever truly lasts, even with the undead.

You had initially expected the ship’s interiors with no sort of identity at all, resembling an array of badly mixed cocktails, individually appealing yet when put together looks like a lousy rainbow (you swear it’s not the spiteful hotelier inside you that’s speaking). Much to your chagrin though, the imaginary cruise you had inside your head was definitely not the case at all.

The rest of the monsters behind you continue to marvel at the cruise ship. And, quite frankly, you too are quite impressed yourself, as much as you hate to admit it. You’d never though such modern, minimalistic styling could fit a hotel on water but this cruise just seems to carry it pretty well.

The moment you set foot on the carpeted floors of the cruise, you’re awed at what seems like a celebration of the beauty of mother nature with nearly all furnishings made out of organic materials and colors exhibiting earthly hues. To add to the experience, preserved palm tress line the corridors and chandeliers made of LED lights litter the varnished high ceilings. It was like land on water – if that made any sense at all.

Man-fish continues to lead your group through the hallways, until you arrive at the main deck, just as picturesque as shown on the brochure Mandy held onto earlier. You were starting to realize why your cousin was into this whole cruise.

The creature half your height goes on to share a little history on the cruise ship – known as the Legacy. Similar to your hotel, cruising lines was also a family business for decades but it was only this year that the owners decided to extend the lines from taking human passengers to making a whole ship exclusively for monsters.

As this was the vessel’s maiden voyage and with your group being the first batch of guests to ever board the ship, a welcoming event was to happen tomorrow night, and the creature mentioned something about having the official invites placed in your rooms along with your luggage.

Right on cue, the moment you lean on the railing to overlook the deck below, a marching band appears from the side – a whole parade of man-fishes clad in band uniforms and red and gold. There’s even a few of them who start doing acrobatics, the sight of which has Frankie giggling to herself as she comes up with the term ‘fishcrobats’. She claims she’s the punniest monster in the universe.

The lights on the deck dim suddenly, and bright bursts of color start shooting up from a deck above you, fireworks lighting up the evening sky. It was a breathtaking display, with the others spiraling upwards while the rest exploded into a thousand more sparks. The display continues for a few more minutes, until the band makes a drumroll and a spotlight moves across the length of the ship and points at someone across the deck.

“Woah…” Mandy gapes, words drawling out to a low whistle. “Who. Is. That.”

A man in an all-white dress uniform emerges from the upper deck. “Ahoy there! Welcome aboard! Bienvenido, Zdravstvuyte, Guten Tag, Bonjour! I am V, captain of the Legacy…” Applause follows as the fireworks die down completely. “And yes, I’m human, but don’t hold that against me.” The captain’s eyes scan the crowd until they meet yours. He winks.

As soon as the blonde-haired captain looks away, Frankie squeals in your ear. “He totally just winked at you!”

“No, he didn’t,” you retort, never having been so grateful for not having a pulse, else Frankie would have your heart beating out of your chest.

“Yes, he did.”

The two of you were about to start bickering about the wink when the captain continues, “I’m very excited to have each and every one of you onboard for our very first monster cruise!” As unusually graceful as nobody else could probably do, he slides down the railing of the stairs as if he were just gliding through thin air.

“You’ll enjoy gourmet dining, thrilling adventures, and non-stop entertainment – all on our way to our final destination: the lost city that isn’t lost anymore – Atlantis!”

Your jaw drops – not because Atlantis had ‘apparently’ been found, in fact, it was never lost in the first place; they just cut ties with surface dwellers because of damage brought about by water pollution. In your defense, it was the humans were uncontrollable with their despicable habits but you can’t really put the blame on the Atlantians. It was their home after all, and they only wanted to protect it. Just as you would with Tersnoa.

What truly surprised you though, was how he managed to snag a partnership with them when you had vying for one since you took over the hotel. Well, your business proposition was never officially offered on the table, but still! Perhaps, if you made an entrance as grand as him, you would have succeeded though.

It was getting crowded where you stood, and Mandy tugs at your hand, pulling you down to the lower deck. Begrudgingly, you go down the stairs, sulking as you watch your friends and the other monsters huddle in excitement. You even recognize a few of the other passengers who are likewise patrons of Tersnoa. Or at least they were, now. Guess nothing truly ever lasts, even with the undead.

He reaches the lower deck in no time, greeting the other monsters with a wave and a smile. When he nears and you get a better look at him, you feel your entire body shudder – in a strangely delightful way, wave after wave of this electric feeling reaching until the very tip of your toes.

It feels as if every vein inside of you is pulsating, despite being practically dead. You felt…alive. A million thoughts rush through your head, with your gut feeling telling you something that is almost unmistakable. You have never, ever felt this way before but your intuition tells you this is the exact embodiment of the stories you’ve heard so many times in your lifetime. Could it be? Was it even possible?

The sensation was inexplicable, foreign too, yet it felt right. Like… like it was meant to be, perfectly destined in the most peculiar of ways. Digging through your purse, you retrieve the small mirror inside made specifically for vampires. Taking a quick glance of your reflection on the glass, you take notice of your irises that have turned purple, almost lavender in color. Gulping, you return the mirror into your purse at once, confirming your suspicion.

You zinged.

With the captain.

Who was human.

Frankie nudges your shoulder when she notices you stiffening beside her. “Is everything okay?” You feel your friend’s blue, stitched hand land on your shoulder. Giving Frankie a short reassuring nod in response, she shrugs it off, not before hearing her mumble about noticing something different with your eyes. Thankfully, the manifestation of the zing comes in different ways with every monster specie, so Frankie wouldn’t get the hint that you’re in deep, deep trouble.

Years of listening to stories of your culture and traditions rush to your head, all with the same words resonating throughout your brain. ‘It can make you cry; it can make you high; but, one thing a zing never does is lie – for it stays with you until you die.’

Shaking your head, you attempt to rid your thoughts of this man. He shouldn’t be your zing; he can’t be your zing. This was a huge mistake. The must’ve made a mistake. How could the very kind of people who murdered your own would also be the one designated for you – a soulmate, in human’s terms. You don’t even know how you're supposed to react to such a thing. Was it a curse? A blessing perhaps?

You continue to watch the man in silence. Sweet baby Jesus, the visuals this man was bestowed with. Maybe the man up there was real after all, and he had spent all seven days to craft this ethereal being. Even if he was meters away, his mere presence already makes you weak in the knees – considering the fact that you really haven’t officially met the person.

With his almost unrealistic face, you’re left wondering if your bodily reactions were caused by your zing or the captain really holds such prowess over creatures of all kinds. You wonder if it’ll be easy to forget your painful past and move forward? Trust the zing like all monsters do?

After promulgating the greatness of the monster population and how big of an honor it is for him to hold the first ever monster cruise, he also apologizes afterwards on behalf of his fellow humans for the mistreatment of your kind, drawing nearer and nearer to your group, eyes trained on you when he’s not busy welcoming the other monsters.

In an attempt to keep yourself from trembling, you clasp your hands together. Momentarily taking his eyes off you as he greets another guest, Mandy leans toward you and nudges your rib, “That, my friend, is what you call: a hottie. Go get him, tiger!” Blinking your eyes, you recollect yourself, giving her a dubious look, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Honey, anyone with a single working eye can confirm to themselves that the captain has been hand-sculpted by the gods themselves. And don’t tell me you don’t notice the bed eyes he’s giving you the whole time,” Mandy chortles bandaged shoulders bumping against your own as she does. “Deny it all you want now, darling, but I have this gut feeling that the love boat will be sailing very soon.”

Just then, as if on cue, the captain makes a beeline for your group, a small sultry smile playing on his lips. You feel like your insides wanted to crumble into sand and disperse into thin air. God, the things this man does to you…Rather, the things you want him to do to you. Now, your own brain betrays you with inappropriate thoughts and he’s currently in front of you looking like a whole course meal. He has such pretty eyes too and oh- this is bad. This is very bad.

“Ah, if it isn’t the one and only Countess Dracula,” he says, voice low as his eyes bore themselves into your soul (as if you still had one). “May I?” The captain takes your hand in his and gingerly places a kiss on the back of your palm. You’re rendered speechless by the small gesture, while the rest of your friends gape at the captain like he had suddenly grown three more heads.

“I’m known as V around here,” he keeps your hand in his, and you’re instantly all too conscious of everything – what if your hand was too cold for him? Or too clammy perhaps? All your worries are diminished when he doesn’t seem to take notice of any of your present worries, tugging you closer to him as he inches towards your face, warm breath fanning against your cheek, “but you can call me Taehyung.”

He pulls back just as slowly, sending you and your friends an innocent boxy smile. “Guess I’ll be seeing you lot around! Please enjoy the cruise. And remember, if there’s anything you need, feel free to approach me anytime.”

Walking away to attend to his captain-y duties, the three other girls gather around the moment he’s out of sight. “What. Was. That.” Catherine questions, punctuating each word with numerous blinks.

“I’ve already sent a prayer to Anubis to take care of our dear ______’s departed soul,” chimes Mandy, waving a hand in front of you in the hopes of taking you out of your shock.

“Whoosh! There goes _______’s undies!” Frankie adds as she throws her head back in laughter. Your cousin tsks at them to get them to stop teasing you, but with the smirk she’s sporting on her face, you’re certain she’s going to bring this up sooner or later.

With a deep sigh, you hang your head low. This was going to be a long vacation.

Right after Taehyung stages the entrance of the century and greets the cruise’s guests, he discreetly makes his way to a less crowded part of the ship and walks briskly along a dimly lit hallway. Pushing forward an inconspicuous panel on the wall leading to a secret passage, Taehyung silently makes his way done to the lower level of the ship.

The stateroom is almost pitch black as he enters; Taehyung feels his way through the room, solely relying on muscle memory to head to the bedroom. When he turns on the light to check on his great-grandfather, the old man squints, croaking out Taehyung’s name. Rushing to the elder’s side, the dutiful great-grandson pours water on the glass by the bedside table.

Taehyung perches himself on the edge of the bed, taking his great-grandfather’s frail hands in his own. “Dracula – is he on board?” the old man rasps, voice almost whispery. “No,” the younger man shakes his head in denial, “but his daughter is.”

The former winces a little when he tries to shift in his bed, “Even better. Tear him apart by slowly taking his loved ones away from him one by one. Let him feel the pain we had to go through.”

The blonde-haired captain sighs when his great-grandfather coughs again, wheezing as he does. “Promise me you’ll avenge our family, Taehyung. I’m not sure if I’m going to make it any longer, but if I won’t…” he coughs, the strain on his voice evident. “Grandpa, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” The old man waves his hand, dismissing Taehyung, “Promise me…for your mother, for your father, and the rest of our family. You and I are the only ones left, my dearest great-grandson. We have no one else to rely on but each other.” The old man’s hand clasp weakly against Taehyung’s.

He tucks his great-grandfather in his bed, and waits patiently for the old man to fall asleep before leaving the room.

You and the girls roam around the deck for a little longer, before deciding to call it a night and head to your rooms. It’s quite the walk all the way there, but as you get farther from the hustle and bustle of the crowd and onto a more secluded part of the vessel, not to mention the rooms are getting father apart from each other, you suppose Cat had picked the best suites available on the cruise. Typical.

Not putting much thought into it with exhaustion taking over your body, you tiredly take a half body bath and head to bed.

Rising a few hours later, you plan on checking out your cousin’s accommodation choices. Just as man-fish had mentioned the night before, there was in fact an invitation placed on top of your bedside table, the gold linings too attractive to miss out on. How could you have possibly missed it though, is all up to your fatigue last night, far too tired to even scan the room.

Heading to the kitchen first to make yourself a cup of coffee, you’re greeted by the beautiful glow of the sunrise as you exit your bedroom. You’re momentarily stunned by the beauty of it, as it was your first after a long time to see the sun, or at least a quarter of it. Contrary to popular belief, sunlight doesn’t incinerate vampires, nor does it make you vanish into thin air. In fact, the closest stories had gotten to your biological truths was that sunlight made you weaker – sort of, because the only explanation for it was that you get really bad sunburn under its rays. But that’s nothing a small bottle of Witch Republic’s Suncream Lotion SPF 5000 can’t fix.

Equipped with a 60-inch smart television mounted on a wall, an equally large painting was hung across the room, serving itself as the background for the sitting area.

The fittings are generously provided for, if the room truly claims it to be a suite for couples: a settee is placed in front of the television for viewing purposes, and another is placed vertically across for lounging and enjoying the view of the balcony.

The balcony – was magnificent in all senses of the word. From a picture on the tiny ‘Legacy’ booklet you grabbed from the table, there really wasn’t much to a panoramic view of the sea but as you pass through the wide windows, the beautiful orange glow from the dawn adds a lovely burst of color in the predominantly monochrome furnishings of the room.

You inhale deeply, breathing in the fresh sea air. You spend a few more moments there, leaning over the balcony until Frankie ruins your moment from a couple of meters away, calling you loud enough for the rest of the ship and the Atlantic Ocean to hear. She drawls your name out, screaming her excitement over your rooms. “I haven’t slept like this since I got my arm re-stitched!” You laugh at her before waving and returning to the sitting room.

A part of you was taking mental notes – possible additions and improvements to your hotel, yet the other half of you wants to allow yourself to enjoy small pleasures like these. Maybe Cat was right all along, that you needed a break from running the hotel and truly relax for a while. With the size of this suite though, you can’t help but wonder if Cat got you all the couple suites solely for your enjoyment or hers.

You decide to take your mug of coffee with you to the balcony and breathe more of the satisfying sea air until the sun rises in its entirety and you retreat back to your room, wanting to sleep in the warm duvet of your bed once more. Maybe this vacation won’t be that bad after all.

Shopping with Catherine was never an easy task. If you could say so yourself, shopping with your cousin was a whole workout on its own.

It’s been three hours since she’s dragged you, Mandy, and Frankie out of your rooms and offered you a shopping spree and free lunch. Who was one to deny such graces? Even when all three of you knew you all would end up following your cousin wherever she went until you’d all complain about how she has to take too long when she always ends up buying everything she sees anyways.

As you stare at your seated self by the full-length mirror, you start to have second thoughts about discontinuing that beginner’s program subscription in yoga before you let Catherine drag you out of the comfort of your room. Sighing in defeat, Frankie turns to you with a similar expression on her face.

Starving, the three of you leave Cat momentarily to look for something to eat, and at the sight of a frozen yogurt stall across the hallway from where you’re seated by the Chanel windows, you and the rest of the girls immediately saunter towards the quaint stall.

While you wait for the girl to finish up your orders, your eyes are busy wandering all over the place in an attempt to count how many shops and boutiques they managed to allocate inside the cruise ship. Guess your hotelier side is already one with your true self.

As you watch a loud group of male monsters exit the arcade nearby, you catch sight of someone awfully familiar: the last face you’d want to see when you’re stuck inside a cruise ship for a few weeks.

Your eyes follow the group, wanting to make sure your eyes are not playing tricks on you. Like a hawk, you watch the group closely – one man in particular, yet he won't seem to look in your direction. You wanted to forget all about it and pretend you didn’t see anything, but you figure this is going to cause you a number of sleepless nights if you don’t. Quickly, you resort to a plan that will have to cost you more energy than just observing, but you were determined to make sure that it was really him.

Focusing your vision on a nearby potted plant, you make the clay vessel move an inch as you try to catch his attention. The first try doesn’t work and neither does the second. Hell bent on your resolution, the third time works the charm (obviously with a more significant amount of distance the plant has moved).

Your suspicions are confirmed – it’s truly him.

Just like that, all sorts of emotions course through you and you feel the corners of your eyes starting to well with tears. He laughs at something one of his companions say, and you feel your heart clench as you look at the same smile you fell for years ago.

It’s takes you a while before you process somebody has been calling you name several times, then you see Mandy waving her hand in front of you. “You okay there? What happened?”

Etching an ingenuine smile on your face, you turn to face her as she hands you the dessert, “Nothing…just thought I saw someone familiar…”

“Mhmm,” Frankie hums, scooping a large portion of yogurt into her mouth, “as long as it’s not you-know-who, then it’s irrelevant,”

“Actually, I think it is him.”

Frankie chokes on the sliced strawberry topping she just ate. “What?!” Mandy places a hand on your shoulder, an apologetic look on her face. “Don’t tell me that fucker is also here?!” Shushing her quickly, you reach out to her to tug at her arm to keep her quiet.

“What fucker are you talking about?” Catherine questions, approaching the three of you with two extra paper bags in her hand. Frankie keeps her mouth shut, thankfully while Mandy comes in to the rescue. “Frankie was just talking about how fucking tasty this froyo is. In fact, I think so too – would you like to try some?” The girl offers her cup, eventually feeding Cat with a spoonful of fruity toppings.

The subject is quickly diverted and as your cousin rummages through her bag to look for the cruise’s official pamphlet, both Frankie and Mandy give you a knowing look.

“Lunch anyone?” You propose to the other three, already wishing you’d soon be forgetting about even seeing your ex-fiancée earlier.

You’d gotten back to your room around half past five, nearly collapsing to the floor after hours and hours of shopping with your cousin. The girls had agreed to use your room to prepare for the party later (one discussion you don’t remember agreeing to) and had gone around the sitting area, placing their bags done and going through their purchases.

You, on the other hand, had gone straight to the kitchen to look for something to drink. Besides, you just know they’re going to ask for something too later on, so you just grab a few bottles of water for the girls. As you rested against the cool fridge while opening a bottle of your own, you spot a punnet of strawberries sitting on top of a counter.

“Did any one of you bring strawberries here before we left?”

When they chorused their replies of denial, you check the strawberries warily, lifting them off the marble top. You hear something slide down when you open the container. A card came in with the strawberries.

Returning to the living room with strawberries in one hand and the card in the other, Frankie stands from the settee and snatches the card away from you. She waves the small piece of paper in the air, claiming it was a love letter. “Dear _______, I really think you’ve got a wonderful smile, but it’d be better if it was the only thing you’ll be wearing tonight!” she says, pretending to read the note.

“What?! You’ve already made a move without telling us about it? Lemme see!” Mandy exclaims, running after your stitched friend.

“Oh!” Frankie says, pointing to the sky, “Looks like we might be expecting a few inches tonight, hmm?” she adds, snickering as she pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue repeatedly, and rather inappropriately.

“Y’all disgusting really. ‘M going to shower.”

“Make sure you don’t have too much fun with the showerhead!”

“Fuck you Mandy!”

“I would if you were my type!”

Catherine waits until she hears the water running before turning to her two friends left at the sitting area. “I’m worried.”

“About?”

“My cousin.” The eldest of the girls says, tapping her nails against the couch – a nervous habit. Frankie sets the card back down and nests herself on the carpet just across Cat. “What is there to worry about?”

“This thing between my cousin and the captain?” Carding her fingers through her hair, she closes her eyes before continuing, “Does the fact that he’s human not bother you…at all?”

“The dude’s harmless! And he better think it through when he tries to do something – he’s literally in a ship full of monsters. Do something dumb, he can get his head bitten off in no less than two seconds.”

Catherine is not convinced.

“Plus, I’m sure it’s just a one-time fling – surely, ______’s smart enough to know that. I just firmly believe that one must get laid regularly because penetrative sex is medicinal. And who knows? There might be cobwebs down there already!” Frankie adds.

Cat flings a brochure at Frankie before scrolling through her phone’s gallery then stopping at a portrait of you and her. “I’m just concerned about _____’s wellbeing. This is the most time we’ve spent together for the past two years, and I’m not even sure if she’s fully recovered from what she’d been through with you-know-who.”

“Even worse, what if she falls for the dude? Or she zinged? Or they both zinged?!”

“Hey, hey…” Mandy scoots over to Cat’s side and wraps an arm across her shoulder, “you’re overthinking now babe, and! This is your bachelorette party, stop worrying about stuff. _____ is a strong, independent woman. If she can handle the best hotel in monster history, then handling a man will be too easy.”

“Come out already!” Mandy whines impatiently from outside, knocking impatiently on your bathroom door. You smooth a few creases on your dress before you open the door to reveal your outfit. Shock was a heavy understatement. Cat’s usually beautiful features twist into one of distaste, Mandy pretends to gag at the sight, and Frankie avoids your gaze as she purses her lips.

You can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes your throat when they look at you up then down, scrutinizing your fashion choices.

“What. The hell. Is that?!”

“Why are you too covered up?”

Their hostilities continue as you give them a twirl, genuinely confused with their reactions when there’s absolutely nothing wrong with choosing a long-sleeved rayon blouse with ruffles in the front and a green pleated skirt.

“You didn’t tell me you’re meant to apply for the queen’s secretary?” Frankie questions, rummaging through your luggage.

“You mean Queen Elizabeth I?” Mandy adds, snickering along with the rest of the girls.

“Hey! G4 says she was pretty! And educated for her time too!” you cry in protest.

“Same with you darling. But it’s a party we’re attending and not a royal appointment, so will you do me a favor and wear this instead?”

Your mouth falls agape in shock.

“What?! This dress is… is barely covering anything!” You look closely at the satin blood-red piece of clothing as Catherine hands it to you. Needless to say, just looking at it was a cultural reset.

“Glad to know you’re unaware of that point.” Mandy butts in, “you’ll be happy to know that this dress will get you a man in no time either way.”

“Either way?” Frankie questions before leaving your room to looks for heels to go with your dress.

“Yeap,” the mummy replies, touching up her make-up, “Either you get a man who will cover you up or you’ll find one who will gladly take it off for you later tonight

Catherine coughs, “The captain,” winking at you while she pushes you towards the bathroom, “Chop chop now dear! We still have a party to attend to tonight!”

The party is already in full swing by the time the four of you arrive. The crisp, chilly air hits your face as you get to the main deck, and as you wrap your arms around yourself, you know you're already regretting having worn Catherine’s dress. Arms bare, half of your back out in the open, and a thigh-high slit? Really? A towel could’ve afforded you more modesty than this dress.

Mandy immediately heads to bar, leaving you all to ‘pick your poison for tonight’. Pursing your lips at your mummified friend, you trail after your cousin as she looks for a table to settle yourselves in. You scan the crowd, watching the other monsters move to beat of the music, and also, just in case someone you don’t want to see decides to show up again out of nowhere.

Mandy finds you shortly afterwards with a waiter trailing behind her, carrying a tray of ambiguous looking chalices. Oh boy.

This night was headed straight to hell.

Nearly an hour later, you practically waddle back to your table, breathless and throat parched as the desert. Catherine clings onto you like her Hermes Himalaya Birkin, just as exhausted as you were. Why do you always seem to forget that Mandy dragging your asses to the dance floor has never been the smartest choice?

The moment you get back to your table, you reach for the bronze goblet and down the rest of your drink. The distinctive burn has you keening, tightening your fingers around its stem. Beside you, Catherine coughs after she takes a sip of hers – “What the fuck is in this drink?? Methane?!”

“Throat…on fire…I feel like a fucking dragon,” you attest, voice raspy.

“That, my dear girlfriends, has been mixed by yours truly,” Mandy announces with a proud smile on her face. “I call it the Devil’s Piss.”

You shake your head at her, rubbing at your temples. Starting to feel the sweat break at your hairline, you want nothing more than to return to your suite and sleep the night away. Closing your eyes, you draw a calm scene inside your head: watching the sun set by your balcony as you sip on your hot chocolate –

Your dreams of orange skies and the soft breeze are cut short when you feel a tap on your shoulder. “Countess, the captain requests your presence on the bridge.” Your eyes follow the direction of where he was pointing and see a pair of eyes staring back at you.

Perhaps sleep could stay second on your list tonight.

Cat wiggles her eyebrows suggestively as you bow your head in embarrassment, your cheeks flushing when the rest of the girls whistle and howl as the man-fish stoically escorts you to the bridge. Once you arrive at the top of the stairs, the man adjusts your grip on his elbow as he gently takes your hand and stretches it forward for you to continue on by yourself. “The captain will be waiting inside, Countess” He bows curtly, and your left on your own to walk towards the bridge.

“Countess.” There’s the low timbre of his voice again, sending shivers down your spine effortlessly as you close the door behind you. He doesn’t speak after that, just taking in what you’re wearing tonight, subconsciously biting on his bottom lip as he takes in the outfit your friends have chosen for you.

Every step you take is wobbly, like your legs have turned into goo. The chilly breeze up here is likewise not helping your skin already prickled with goosebumps.

“_______,” Taehyung grabs your hand and gently places a kiss on the back of your palm. Another strike of electricity shoots up your spine at the small gesture. Goodness, what the hell was going on with you?

“Y-you don’t have to do this e-every time we meet.” Inwardly cringing at your shaky voice, you look away and exhale deeply in an attempt to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t help.

Especially not when the captain is less than an arm-length away, and being able to see him this close is doing dangerous things to you. “This is the first time I’ve been on a ship’s bridge,” you comment lamely, keeping the conversation on a sane note. The thirsty ass hoe inside you doesn’t seem to approve of the idea though, unfortunately.

“Really now? How is your first time on the bridge then?”

“It’s…different.”

“Different? How so?”

“Different from trying to run a hotel I guess, which was all I was doing for the past few years…It’s an unlikely comparison, I know, but being here…it’s like you get to oversee everything from the bridge, which I never get when I’m back home, like…you know you’re in control?” You were merely blabbering at this point, but then again, your brain loses control of your bodily functions when you're in close proximity with this man.

“You like being in control then?”

The tiny creaking sound coming from the floor tells you he’s taken a step closer to you, and the warmth coming from him is driving you insane. Damn this bloody dress of Catherine. You’re at a loss for words, neurons short-circuiting at both his question and how it’s equally chilly and hot at the same time in this small space.

It’s too much for you to handle, too much that you can't seem to find the appropriate words to voice out a reply, instead, you just turn around to face him. A gasp escapes your lips when you accidentally bump into his chest when you do so.

“Oh! Crap! I-I’m sorry…” You apologize meekly, fiddling with your hands and refusing to meet his eyes at all costs. The captain places your chin between his fingers and lifts your face for him to look at. He doesn’t say a word either, instead, just leans down and captures your lips in a feverish kiss.

Surprised – was an understatement. You hadn’t really expected him to call you over to the bridge and the next thing you knew he’s already kissing you. He immediately pulls away when you don’t reciprocate, apologizing profusely and mumbling about misplaced affections.

“No!” You exclaim, causing the captain to jump a little. You gather your courage and rub at your temples. “I mean…Captain V, your affections have not been misplaced, it’s just this…monster thing that has me acting like this the whole time, and I really have zero control over it and…”

You don’t get to finish your sentence as you feel his warm, moist lips on yours again. His strawberry-tasting lips glide over yours smoothly that you find yourself leaning towards him as you melt into the kiss. You’re first to pull away this time, breathless. “Forgive me, Countess…I’ve been wanting to do that since I first laid eyes on you on this ship,” he says, cupping your face as he rests his forehead against yours. “So beautiful,” Taehyung whispers against the shell of your ear and trails a finger from your cheek and eventually down to your collarbones as he ogles the cleavage Cat’s dress had generously given you tonight.

“Taehyung.” He places a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “Call me Taehyung, please.” He smooths his hand over your hips, tightening his grip as he pulls you closer and kisses you once more. You feel something hard against your stomach – oh. Your mouth parts when he starts to grind, slowly and devilishly against you and he takes this opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

His gaze darkens when he sees the expanse of skin the slit of your dress reveals as you shift your legs, thigh now out in the open. Attaching his lips to yours again, Taehyung distracts you from the way his slender fingers dance their way up dangerously near your core.

Your head bows in embarrassment when you remember Mandy checking if you’d worn the right underwear earlier, ‘If they’re not lace, they have to go.’ So when she busted inside the bathroom as you were changing into Cat’s clothes earlier and saw your favorite cotton panties (with an embroidered flower on the front), she quickly rips the material in distaste, strongly suggesting that commando is the way to go. It won't be long until Taehyung discovers –

“No panties huh?” Taehyung observes, voice low and deep. “Yes,” you reply breathily, closing your eyes as you ignore how you're throbbing all over in such a short period of time. You try to regain your wits back, your first zing too overwhelming that everything seems like a haze.

With a new, albeit questionable, surge of courage, you move your hand to palm him through his pants. When Taehyung bares his neck to you to elicit a groan, your head subconsciously dips towards the spot where you feel his pulse the strongest. In an instant, your primal instincts begin to take over you, baring your fangs and grazing them dangerously against his skin.

Holy fuck.

This man was going to be the cause of your death.

It’s been a while since you’ve been in close proximity with a human, and being this close to the captain has stirred up something inside of you that you never knew still existed.

Back in the days when humans had mingled freely with your kind, witches had placed suppressants in the Tersnoan atmosphere so that a monster’s primal instincts won't ever be able to take over your diplomatic selves.

Now that you were much older with fully developed senses, being this close to a human with no suppressants whatsoever had inevitably awakened your inborn vampiric tendencies.

Needless to say, your generation of vampires had gone ‘vegetarian’ in a sense. Your lifestyle no longer consisted of hunting down people for food, but you opted for a healthier alternative and a more convenient source of food: coconut juice. Besides, human blood never really came in highly recommended by the older generations, claiming it tasted like loneliness and despair.

What they failed to warn you of, however, was how intense the urge was once you were only a hair-breadth away from a human being who is very much alive. The temptation was getting stronger by the second, and the pulse coming from Taehyung’s jugular vein was ringing loudly in your ears.

Both the desires of hunt and lust were slowly taking over you, your judgment, and your irises, and your lips quake ever so gently at the excitement coursing through your veins. As you feel your irises change its color from their natural ones, to purple then to gold afterwards, the surprise in Taehyung’s eyes has gotten prominent, yet, with astounding self-control, he manages to keep the rest of his body calm and collected.

He gulps at the small smirk that plays on your lips, “To answer your question, I like being in control,” you say lowly, grazing the tip of your nail against his jawline, “but only when the need arises so.”

For a moment, you sense his fright with your golden eyes and fangs on display, but you feel it dissipate quickly when you bunch his shirt in your fists and pull him closer to you. Taehyung then takes this as a cue to continue his torment of his featherlight touches, causing you to lean against the wheel as your head falls backward at the sensation.

Brazenly, he hooks a hand under your thigh and wraps your leg around his hip, allowing himself to grind harder against you, the friction of his dress pants against your bare heat sending you to a state of near delirium. The moment is cut short however as you both hear footsteps approaching the bridge. The captain puts your leg down as abruptly as he hooked his arm underneath it earlier.

As you wait for the two man-fish creatures to pass by the wheelhouse, you and the captain keep a modest gap between each other, letting the staff move across the bridge and until they take their positions by the front portion of the deck. Just as if the captain wasn’t groping you merely seconds ago.

The moment they’re out of sight, Taehyung closes the distance between the both of you, resting his weight on you as he presses you further onto the wheel of the ship. Subconsciously, you bite your lip as you feel his boner practically begging for your attention.

His actions are hastier this time around, and quite frankly, you're glad he has managed to equal the same level of urgency you had. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to hold onto your sanity with the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. Else, you’d be taking the matter in your own hands.

Every contact of Taehyung’s skin with yours has you skin ablaze, and you’re unsure if it’s due to the (partly) shameful fact that you haven’t been this intimate with someone for the past few years that you're this responsive. He’s fondling your breasts with one hand, unabashedly tweaking and playing with your nipples. The other hand is busy squeezing your thighs, fingers dancing lightly across the exposed skin of your leg.

Your breath hitches as he unexpectedly cups your bare mound, digits swiping against your folds. Body quaking at the feeling, your body leans forward, but Taehyung has other plans, tugging you back harshly to his chest. “You think you can stay still for me sweetheart? You wouldn’t want my staff to think we’re christening the bridge, do you?”

Maybe, just maybe, the thought didn’t sound so bad?

“Oh?” Taehyung hisses when he feels your quick intake of breath at the thought. He finds your clit seconds later, rubbing the nub languidly, “you seem to like the idea, hmm?”

“Taehyung, please,” you beseech, leaning towards his touch and grinding your hips against his palm in desperation. You’re uncertain if this was an effect still caused by the zing but at this point, you just wanted a release from his relentless teasing and you’re more than willing to work for it if you have to.

The captain revels in your responsiveness and as a reward, he complies with your request, quickening his pace and toying your clit with more vigor than ever. Your hands, previously just as busy groping Taehyung, now shoots out to grip at the helm, your high approaching rapidly. He inserts a long, dexterous digit to accompany his other hand, helping you reach your climax faster. A second finger has you reeling, gripping the helm even tighter than before, knuckles turning white at the sheer strength. One kiss on your neck is all it takes, orgasming so hard that Taehyung has to hold you still lest you lose your balance.

You're still panting a minute later, having turned around and resting your hands on Taehyung’s chest for support. You both stay like that for a moment in each other’s arms, until you’re brought back to reality by the captain’s boner brushing against your tummy. “Can I?” you ask as you look up to him, thumbing the waistband of his dress pants.

“_______, darling, as much as I’d want to you right here, there’s too many of my staff roaming around the bridge for the night. And if these creatures walking about isn’t bothersome enough, it’s the fact that fish don’t blink either…so there’s that…” Taehyung states before placing a kiss on your shoulder. “If you desire so, I’d gladly continue this in my room…” the captain offers, looking at you expectantly as another pair of the fish men round the deck.

“I think we should go with that.”

He nods briefly, placing a wet kiss on your temple before taking your hand in his. Giddy as a teenager at the sight of her crush, you let him lead the way to his stateroom, unable to hide the shy smile on your lips. Once he leaves the wheelhouse to one of his first mates for the night, he squeezes your hand and continues on, palm contrastingly warm against yours as you walk to his room together.

“Did you enjoy the strawberries I had sent you earlier this evening?”

“Definitely. They’re one of the sweetest bunches I’ve tried in my life! Thanks for them by the way.”

“You did? They’re handpicked from our very own greenhouse on the ship!” Taehyung looks back at you with the brightest smile, eyes crinkling with the purest delight. Your heart crumples at the sight. How could the zing have possibly chosen this man for you – or worse, how are you supposed to deal with this type of duality?

One moment he’s brazenly fingering you inside the wheelhouse with blinkless staff roaming about and the next he’s talking about growing strawberries and how farming has been therapeutic for him. How is one man so devilish and wholesome at the same time?

Just like that, conversation flowed natural between the two of you: the similarities of having to run a hotel (as well as a heated debate on whether or not a hotel on land or on water is easier to manage), hobbies you enjoy on a spiritual level, and a few bits and pieces of him as Kim Taehyung and not the captain of The Legacy.

You’d just learned he doesn’t drink coffee, nor does he drink alcohol; he plays the saxophone and claims he’s pretty learned with the instrument; and that he loves taking photographs. In addition, he’d also told you about how he was born and raised in Korea hence the faint accent, but he’d grown up moving from place to place with his great-grandfather due to their family business, and that’s how their voyages helped him practice his English and even pick up a few foreign languages.

Your getting-to-know each other session is brought to a pause when the blonde-haired captain stops in front of a door in a dimly lit corridor. Quietly, he fishes for something inside his pockets, takes out his keycard and taps it against the door lock. Taking a peek from outside, you wait for him as he turns the lights on before following him inside.

Mouth agape as you enter, your eyes wander around his stateroom, marveling at the sheer grandeur of the captain’s living space. Just when you thought Catherine had given you and your friends the luxury of staying in a suite large enough to house a family of five, the captain’s stateroom on the other hand could easily pass for at least ten people.

Taehyung’s suite exactly looks like it came from a magazine spread, akin to a million-dollar apartment…at a high-rise residential tower…located in the middle of the busiest city in the world.

The captain lets you roam around his stateroom, a small smile playing on his lips as you gape over every detail in the room. It was modern interior design taking to a whole new level.

Monochromatic in a way, yet for some reason, he had it strategically designed to make it look more dynamic, alive somehow. You were no expert in the field of interior design, but with your modest experience in running a hotel (from choosing what type of cotton will be best for the beddings to organizing parties with more than a hundred participants), you could easily tell every nook and cranny of this room was heavily planned out.

Pointing at the stairs, you wordlessly ask for his permission if you could go up and check out the upper level. Taehyung doesn’t follow right after, momentarily heading to his kitchen. Significantly smaller than the lower floor, the second level houses his bedroom, with a heap of curtains serving as a divider and cover from those staying below.

His bedroom speaks more of him than any other part of the stateroom. Just as he mentioned earlier, there’s an open saxophone case on one corner, next to another black violin case. You also take notice of the makeshift tie hanger he’d made using the coat stand.

What truly catches your eyes though, is the array of photographs hung on the walls. It’s a mosaic of some sort, with photos spread from a corner then occupying half of the adjacent walls. Some are framed, some are printed on canvas, and a number are on photo paper and pasted on the beige wall. They’re caught on film, you reckon, with the distinct grainy resolution common amongst the photos.

Swiping your finger against the wooden frames of the pictures he’d hung, you study each photo thoroughly, trying to figure out the story behind each picture. There’s three more situated on his bedside table, Picking up the one with Taehyung smiling widely beside a boat’s mast.

“Ah, my first sail,” Taehyung says, taking a step near you. The tiny hairs on your nape stand at the feeling of his warm breath against your skin. All of a sudden, you realize he’s standing too close – too close for you to remain sane.

You keep the framed photo in your hands, yet your thoughts have ultimately flown far away from whatever story was behind the picture; like how you hear his heart beat a little faster.

“Enough about me, countess,” the captain whispers as he places a hand over yours and guides yours back down to the bedside table. For a second there, you’d forgotten

For a second there, you’d almost forgotten he literally had the same fingers inside you just a few moments ago and that you’re now reminded of the main and sole purpose why you’re here in his bedroom.

“What about you?” Taehyung sets the strawberries down next to the photograph, then tucks a few strands of stray hair behind your ear. Each teasing touch is driving you closer to madness, like every move of his is calculated as if he knows he has this effect on you.

Lamely, you echo his words, “What about me?”

“Do you still want to look at more of my photographs or shall we continue what we started earlier?” It’s so awfully quiet inside the room that you basically hear yourself gulp at his proposal.

Weren’t your bodily reactions enough to serve as an answer?

You wanted to act less naïve (and appear a whole less desperate) that you’d imagined giving him a proper answer in your head, but here you were, stiff as a gargoyle statue, cowering beneath the warmth radiating off Taehyung.

Thoughts too haywire, you're unable to rack your brain for an appropriate reply, so you return the question to him: one with a double purpose – for him to ponder on and for you to recollect yourself. “What do you want?” Slowly, you turn to face him, bracing yourself for the hormonal uproar you are to experience.

The captain pouts cutely while in thought before darting his tongue out to lick at his lips. Taehyung gently brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingers subsequently tracing the outline of your collarbone. “I want,” he starts off, toying with the strap of your dress and wrapping it around his finger, “to take this off.”

Letting him slide the straps off your shoulders, you inhale deeply, anticipation doubling by the second. With your shoulders tense, the straps fall only until your elbows. Taehyung notices your hesitation and tenderly takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting your head up so he could face you properly.

“Hey, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Feeling sorry for him having to deal with your worries, you cup his beautiful face in your hands, “I want to. I really do – it’s just…it’s been a while.”

You're grateful when he leans toward your touch, sending a soft smile your way. “Of course, darling, we’ll take it slow.” Relaxing your shoulders, the thin straps of your dress fall down the length of your arm with the rest of the fabric following shortly after.

Core throbbing immensely with want, you take initiative this time, claiming his mouth with a newfound sense of courage and urgency. Your knees threaten to give in when he matches the intensity of your kiss. With haste, you thumb at the zipper of his pants, causing him to trip on his own feet and fall forward.

The blonde-haired man brings you down to bed with him, stretching his arm out just in time to break his fall, making sure he’s not resting too much of his weight on you. “What happened to taking it slow?”

Taehyung is just as breathless when he helps you with your predicament with his pants. “Fuck it, there’s plenty of time for that later but I need you,” you pant, unable and unwilling to keep your hands to yourself – brushing against his clothed erection, sliding them against his defined chest, wrapping your hands by his neck to pull him closer to you…

“I need you now, inside me, please Tae…”

He withdraws from your body and kneels by the edge of the bed. Legs already shamefully spread and ready, Taehyung rummages through the drawers of his bedside table, looking for something. At the mention of condoms under his breath, you wave at him, trying to catch his attention.

He turns to you, eyebrows raised. “No need. Human sperm can’t get us pregnant anyways. Are you clean?”

“Got checked three weeks ago, that good with you?”

You nod your head, beckoning him over. Taehyung wastes no time, taking his boxers off to free his dick from the confines of his underwear. He crawls over to you and places a kiss on each of your thighs before taking his cock and sliding it against your wet folds.

He uses yours and his essences as lubricant, jerking himself off first before pushing the red tip of his shaft slowly. In consideration of your own pleasure, he doesn’t rush his entrance, just pushing slowly then drawing it back to prep you properly.

Taehyung continues with that, until your hand shoots out to grab him by his wrist, giving him a tug to let him know you’re ready. Silently, he nods, this time pushing his cock inside until he’s fully seated inside your warm walls. “So t-tight.” Taehyung shivers when you experimentally clench around him.

“Babe,” the captain breathes out while heat rises to your face at the term of endearment. “Please don’t do that again, fuck, I might just cum early if… if…” Taehyung falls silent again, groaning as you clench one more time, “you're just one naughty girl aren’t you?”

When you shrug your shoulders in reply, it’s like something inside Taehyung snaps because he gives you a playful smirk before thrusting harshly. You mewl at the feeling, fingers tugging at his hair in encouragement.

“Y-you're so big,” you cry out as he ruts his hips, the tip of his cock deliciously brushing against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Fuck,” Taehyung hisses, continuing the fluid motion of his hips, “your pussy was made just to take me then.”

He goes almost animalistic, thrusting even deeper, stronger as he chases his high. “Think you can cum with me sweetheart?” Taehyung queries, pushing his hair back when he feels the edges of his fringe tickle your cheeks.

Taehyung deftly finds your clit while he’d continued his torment with his hips, a single moan coming from your mouth is all he needs before proceeding with abusing your nether nub. It doesn’t take you both much after that, both your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, one after the other.

A few more hours into the evening and you find yourselves still tangled in each other’s bodies, worshipping each and every inch of skin as you get overcome by lust over and over again.

Taehyung collapses to your side after what seems like… in fact, you’ve actually lost count of how many times you’ve climaxed. Panting, he looks at you with a smile reaching his eyes, “That was…” He’s at a loss for words but when he hears laughter bubble out of you at his cuteness, he joins in.

The laughter dies down, yet you’re still staring at each other – no words needed to explain what had just transpired between the both of you tonight. You stay still and contented, basking in the euphoric bliss. He says he can't stay awake any longer, bidding you a good night’s sleep and sweet dreams.

You manage to stay awake though, on the contrary, swearing to yourself you’d just seen his eyes flash lavender before falling into a deep slumber.

Send me your thoughts? x

#bts smut #ficswithluv #bangtanhq #btsguild #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #btsghostie #houseofddaeng #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #kim taehyung scenarios #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts au fanfic #bts fluff

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wolfstar-in-color · 3 years

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Creator’s spotlight: alifeincoffeespoons

It’s September and our fourth Creator’s Spotlight is here! We are so happy to share with you today the thoughts of a wonderful creator: @alifeincoffeespoons. We’ve rec’ed her fic Sirius and Harry go to Whitecastle here and we did the description for one of her artworks here (which includes the rec of some mitski songs!!).

As usual, here you have one of our favorite quotes of the interview, and under the cut you can read the full interview!

“Remus and Sirius understand each other on a level that few other characters in the series do. They have so many shared experiences and so much history, and there’s so many different ways to write them as a result. They are also foils, but somehow also a matched pair — they move in sync so easily.”

alifeincoffeespoons prompt: “It’s a rare sunny day when Remus sees Sirius, for the first time in three years, and he has to resist the urge to call emergency services immediately and announce that he needs to be hospitalized on account of a broken heart.”

Q: Tell us a bit about yourself

A: My Tumblr username is alifeincoffeespoons (inspired by Eliot’s “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock”) and I go by spellingmynamewrong on AO3. I’d probably be considered part of Gen Z, and I’m Asian-American, which inspires a lot of my work. I usually create works of writing, though I also dabble in fanart occasionally. I’m a fan of both modern and canon divergent AUs; I’ll write canon compliant content occasionally but not very often, given how tragic canon is.

Q:How did you start creating in the fandom? What did you wish to bring into the fandom?

A: I started writing back in middle school, and I’ve been reading and writing fanworks on-and-off since then. My first work of fanfiction was for Harry Potter too, although I didn’t start writing for Wolfstar until later on. I want to write works that make people think more deeply about — and even critique — the existing world of Harry Potter. There are a lot of deeply problematic aspects of the original work, as we all know, and I think we have an obligation as creators to call them out and demonstrate why they are so problematic.

Q: What things about Sirius/Remus as characters or in their relationship inspire you to create around them?

A: Remus and Sirius understand each other on a level that few other characters in the series do. They have so many shared experiences and so much history, and there’s so many different ways to write them as a result. They are also foils, but somehow also a matched pair — they move in sync so easily.

Q: What things would you like to highlight about the Wolfstar fandom and your experience in it?

A: It’s such an expansive fandom! That’s one thing that’s dawned on me over time — it has so, so much history, and so many individuals are or have been involved in it.

Q: What type of content do you wish you saw more in the fandom?

A: I’d love to see more content that deals with the historical circumstances of the wider world around them — I’m a big sucker for historical fiction and real-world context. If we’re going for a particular sort of story, I’d love to see more superhero AUs. Also, a Good Omens AU. I saw fanart for it once and it’s never left my mind. There are so, so many possibilities there.

Q: What is your favourite wolfstar fan content (fic/fanart/gifset/etc) and how does it inspire you?

A: This is so hard to choose! Let’s go with some tropes instead — I love fix-it fics, and I also find canon divergent AUs very interesting, particularly ones that involve giving Harry a better life. I’m also a big fan of Modern AUs, though. I also love humor — whether that be a full-on humor fic or just one with humor interspersed lovingly throughout.

Q: Which of your own identities inform your creative processes? How has that process been for you?

A: My Asian-American identity likely informs my creative process the most. There are so few Asian characters represented in media still, particularly fan-created content, and I’d like to see that changed. What I usually do is incorporate small details that can feel universal but also give readers an insight into a particular culture — usually through food or similarly common experiences. It comes fairly naturally, actually, since I often write about Asian or Asian-American characters in my original fiction as well.

Q: What advice do you have for other content creators with diverse backgrounds in the fandom? What would you say to people that might feel they don’t have the “right” experience to participate in the creation of content related to Wolfstar?

A: If you’re comfortable, definitely share your experiences — we always need more diverse voices in fandom. I don’t think there’s any particular history or characteristic you need to be an active participant in Wolfstar fandom.

Q: How could we build a more diverse fandom?

A: Firstly, by seeking out and supporting content that features characters with diverse backgrounds. Secondly, by calling out rhetoric that marginalizes diverse creators. Thirdly, by doing our best to do better ourselves.

Q: What’s your favorite thing to modify in Sirius’s or Remus’s characterizations to bring new perspectives to them?

A: I’ve often written Sirius as Asian, mostly because I think it truly does add another layer to his characterization. I’ve explained some of my reasoning behind that in this Tumblr post I wrote eons ago. I often also write Remus as Jewish — I saw this headcanon a long time ago and it’s stuck with me since. My characterizations of them are always shifting, though, and I’m sure they will continue to over time.

Q: What does diversity mean to you? What does that encompass in fannish spaces?

A: Diversity doesn’t just mean including a POC in your work or an LGBTQ character; it means giving them meaningful, non-stereotypical narratives and characterization. In fan spaces, that means supporting creators from diverse backgrounds and works featuring well-written, diverse characters. It also means, as a creator, doing research on the cultural backgrounds of characters you are writing about, particularly if you do not belong to that culture yourself.

Q: Is there a resource you would recommend for fans to read when it comes to learning about diversity?

A: If you’re interested in learning more about Asian-American culture and diversity in particular through literature, two memoirs I read recently and enjoyed were Cathy Park Hong’s Minor Feelings and Michelle Zauner’s Crying in H-Mart. I think they give insight into the Asian-American experience and are also incredibly moving. There are lots of resources for writing out there, on Tumblr, Reddit, and elsewhere. Also, sensitivity readers, if you are a writer, are critical.

Q: Is there a project/organization that you want to hype?

A: Given what’s been happening in Texas and in countless other states across the U.S. — horrific attacks on bodily autonomy and the right to choose — please donate to Planned Parenthood.

Q: Any cause that you want fans to know about so that they can support it?

A: Rental assistance — the Supreme Court recently struck down Biden’s eviction moratorium. If anyone you know is at risk of being evicted, please direct them to local and state rental assistance programs (a tool to search for them: https://www.consumerfinance.gov/coronavirus/mortgage-and-housing-assistance/renter-protections/find-help-with-rent-and-utilities/).

Q: Leave us with a quote or work of art that always inspires you.

A: Whenever I need to write, I’ll put on a Phoebe Bridgers song if it’s a sad section I’m writing, and if it’s a relatively happier section, I’ll put on a NIKI song. Other artists that inspire me: Mitski, Lorde, Lucy Dacus, Taylor Swift, Lily Allen, and Lizzo.

#creator spotlight #alifeincoffeespoons #spellingmynamewrong #wolfstar fandom #fic writer #fanartist

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hutchhitched · 3 years

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The Marrow of the Story

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 17: Everlark enemies to lovers, a long-standing grudge (could be anything, even simple) but somehow it is discovered that Katniss is a bone marrow match for Peeta. If she doesn’t donate he will die. [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic and the world slowly ground to a halt. This is the eighth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. I wrote most of this a few months ago before getting stuck on some transitions. Since then, the teenage daughter of one of my closest friends has been diagnosed with B-Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and must undergo a bone marrow transplant this spring. As such, this story became much more personal than a prompt. I’m sure I’ve taken some liberties with the medical aspects and ethics of this story. They are intended for story-telling purposes only. K, I hope you enjoy my take on your prompt.

“Ms. Everdeen, I need your signature,” my administrative assistant says briskly as she enters my office.

“What’s this for?” I ask as I scribble my signature on the form.

She takes the manila folder and hands me another, indicating that I need to sign it, too. “Maintenance orders. The library and those lockers in the freshman wing that don’t lock properly.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“Oh, and you have a call waiting on line three. I told him you were busy, but…” She shrugs as she walks out of the room, and I sigh and drop down in my desk chair. It’s been a really long day.

“Ms. Everdeen, Panem North. How can I help you?”

A rumbly, entirely masculine voice reverberates through the line, and I wrap the phone cord around my left index finger. Even before he’s spoken three words, I’m already impatient for the call to end.

“Ms. Everdeen. It’s Peeta Mellark. How are you today?”

I narrow my eyes and resist the urge to slam the phone down in the receiver. Mr. Mellark is not my favorite person. He’s the principal at Panem South, my high school’s cross-town rival, and he and I have always clashed. It might be his smug arrogance when he explains his educational philosophy, or it could be the way he surveys me and then turns away in dismissal every time I see him. Whatever it is, I’ve never been able to stand him, and it’s obvious he feels the same if our interactions at every systemwide meeting and educational conference is any indication. My greatest fantasy consists of him being fired in disgrace. A close second is his forced transfer to another school—any school, so long as it’s out of state and I never have to see him again.

“What do you want, Mellark?” I snap. I have so little patience today I’m afraid I might actually use profanity if he doesn’t hang up within ten seconds.

“Doing that well, huh? Always good to hear a friendly voice when I have to contact you.”

“I thought you were on medical leave,” I say with little compassion. It’s not my finest moment, I know that, but I really loathe this man.

“I am,” he admits. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need your help. I know we’re not exactly friends, but—”

“Friends?” I laugh. “Are you kidding me? I don’t even like you. There’s no way I’d be your friend. Not even if you were dying, and I had the cure.”

Silence stretches across the line, and I cover my face at what I’ve said. The words are rather unforgivable, and I open my mouth to apologize when he says something I don’t expect to hear.

“Well, I guess that answers my question. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“What question? You didn’t ask me anything,” I say, exasperated.

He sighs heavily, and I almost throw the phone across the room. “Katniss—sorry, Ms. Everdeen—I don’t really know how to tell you this, so I’ll just ask you to check your email. I think you’ll find something there from me. It’s from my personal account, so you might have to look in your spam folder. It’ll explain everything. Have a good day.”

And then he hangs up without even bothering to say goodbye. That complete and utter bastard hung up on me. I mean, I wanted him to leave me alone, but he could have at least had the courtesy to say goodbye before cutting off the conversation.

I know I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t have time to deal with it at the moment. The last bell of the day is about to ring, and I hurry from my office to oversee students loading onto buses and wandering the parking lot as cars zip in and out of traffic. It’s one of the most nerve-wracking parts of my days, and I’ve almost forgotten Mr. Mellark’s phone call by the time I make it back to my office. If I’m lucky, I can finish within the hour and get home before dark. I hate it when the sunlight hours are so short the day quits before I do.

I’m just about to shut down my computer when I remember the aggravating phone call. I consider forgetting about it and walking away, but something tells me to open my junk folder and see what that twit’s request is. And then I see it, and I want to throw up.

Dear Ms. Everdeen,

I know we aren’t exactly friends, but I’ve always admired your ferocity and willingness to give everything you have for your students. Compassion in education isn’t hard to find, but the way you fight for your school, faculty, staff, and students has been inspiring to watch over the past few years.

I mean that. It’s not a ploy to win you over, even though I have a gigantic favor to ask of you.

You might remember that I’ve been on medical leave several times over the past few years. It’s difficult doing my job when I’m ill, so I’ve tried to hide the significance of my condition. The truth is I have a rare bone marrow disease that, without a transplant, is terminal.

Since this is not official business, I’m writing from my personal email, but the favor I’m asking does require your professional approval. With the upcoming blood drive in our district, health clinics have volunteered to be on hand to administer tests for the bone marrow registry. That would streamline the process and allow potentially myself and countless others in need of a transplant a match from someone who might not otherwise volunteer to be tested.

Please consider allowing your school to be part of this. It might save a life.

With admiration, Peeta Mellark

****

Of course I end up giving approval. I’m not a monster, no matter what Mr. Mellark thinks. In good faith, I’m tested as well, and two weeks later, I get a phone call telling me I’m a match for someone in need. By a dramatic, ironic twist of fate, it’s Peeta Mellark who needs my marrow. Thankfully, I’m able to take some time to process, and it’s torture as I weigh the pros and cons.

A few days pass before I work up the courage to call him. I haven’t heard from him since the phone call letting me know about the email. I’m sure his health takes up much of his energy, but I’m oddly saddened by his absence. I’m also angry with him, but that’s not fair. It’s not his fault that the favor he asked of me will result in me giving up a part of my body and DNA.

“Hello?”

“So, what is it you have exactly?” I ask and wince at how detached and unfeeling I sound. I’m anything but that. My squeezing heart is more than enough evidence to prove otherwise. Still, I’m barely holding it together. I can’t let go of the control or I might collapse, and then what?

“Ms. Everdeen?”

“Katniss. If you can ask me to consider donating bone marrow, then you can call me by my first name.”

“Okay, Katniss.” There’s a long pause before he continues. He’s tentative when he finally says, “So, you decided to participate on top of allowing the clinic access to your school?”

“I did, and I’ll repeat. What is it you have exactly?”

The words sound just as cold the second time, and I hold my breath until he finally answers.

“I have something called aplastic anemia. I’ve had it since college. Been treating it with blood transfusions for the past decade or so,” he explains with no trace of self-pity or false bravado. His tone is pragmatic, which is almost heart-breaking considering what he’s facing. “There aren’t too many of us with AB- blood in the world, so, I don’t know. When I saw the option of getting more involvement, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask for help. Directly, I mean. Instead of waiting for the system to work. The worst you could say was no, right?”

“I’ve already said no to you several times,” I remind him, and he chuckles in response.

“Yeah. You’ve fought me on every philosophical disagreement we’ve ever had.”

“That’s because you have really stupid ideas about what works sometimes.”

His chuckle morphs into a full-fledged laugh, and it makes my lips twitch. “You reject me with aplomb, too. Thanks for not holding back.”

A grin quirks at the corner of my mouth. He’s funny, I realize. I guess I probably could have figured that out earlier if I’d ever bothered to listen to his words instead of merely hating him.

“Well, you know. I’m not very good at making friends.”

The words catch in my throat as I say them. It’s a true statement, but I hadn’t comprehended how much it bothered me until I heard them out loud. I don’t sound matter-of-fact like he does. Loneliness and sadness echo in my voice. I could take some lessons on self-pity from Peeta Mellark, apparently.

“I’d like to be your friend,” he says softly.

I blink away tears because my insides have melted into a very unprofessional puddle of goo. It’s a good thing we’re not interacting about anything regarding our jobs.

“You just want my bone marrow,” I mumble, and my heart jumps at his soft chuckle.

“Your bone marrow?”

I inhale shakily and bite my lip. Finally, when I’ve regained a semblance of control, I answer in a quiet admission, “I’m a match.”

“You’re my match?” His disbelief echoes across the line, and it breaks my heart to hear the trepidatious undercurrent in his tone.

“I am.”

“Oh…”

“So, you want my bone marrow.”

Silence stretches between us, and I hear rustling before he responds carefully. “I’ll start with that. We can talk about what else I’d like to have later.”

His voice is warm and soothing, and I feel myself softening. I’ve known that I’m going to be his donor since I knew he needed me, but it feels more personal now. More like he’s my responsibility, my ally, and not my enemy.

“Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks tentatively, “Okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it.”

There’s almost no sound from his end of the line, just his breath in my ear. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking or feeling. It must be a massive amount of relief mixed with a hundred other emotions. Like me, I’m sure he hates asking for help, and to have to request it from me must have been terrible for him. I don’t want him to feel beholden. He doesn’t deserve to have to be grateful for the rest of his life just because he needs something I can willingly give.

“Thank you,” he finally says, and the simplicity of it takes my breath away.

I wonder exactly what it is he’s thanking me for—his life? For being willing to grant him a favor? For not being a complete bitch to him like I have been for the past three years? It’s the least I can do for someone who’s dying. I can’t be responsible for hitting him when he’s down.

“Sure. Yeah, let me know the specifics. Or the hospital can or whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”

I end the call before he can answer, or maybe he does and I just don’t hear it. I can’t bear to listen to his voice anymore. I don’t know how much I’m going to have to actually see him to complete this process, but I’m suddenly nervous. He’s melted me with just an email and a few phone conversations. If I’m in the same room with him, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up the façade of hating him, and I need to. I can’t afford to care about him.

The next few weeks pass in a flurry of meetings with medical professionals and preparing for the surgery. I don’t see Peeta, and he doesn’t contact me. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, or maybe he doesn’t have any interest in actually being my friend, after all. I don’t allow myself to think about why that disappoints me. Instead, I tell myself that he’s likely dealing with his own illness and concentrating on getting as healthy as possible so he can recover quicker following the procedure. Maybe I’m just making excuses for him, but I remind myself that making a friend isn’t why I’m doing this. He doesn’t owe me anything.

Suddenly, it’s the day of the surgery, and I’m terrified. I haven’t ever been on anesthesia before, barely been sick, and never had an IV. Now, I’m about to go under the knife for my mortal enemy. Okay, that’s overdramatic and hyperbolic, but I’m allowed that on the morning of a procedure that will result in me being cut open and part of my hip scraped away. I comfort myself by imagining the simple pleasures I’ll indulge in afterward—an overly sugared hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, some of those cheese buns I never allow myself to buy, highlights from a hairdresser instead of a box. Surely, I deserve those after opening myself up to…

I shut down that mode of thinking and concentrate on getting to the hospital. As nervous as I am, I manage to stop thinking and let the medical professionals do their jobs. Before I can worry about anything else, I’m on a bed and being wheeled to surgery. When I count backwards, all I see are Peeta Mellark’s deep blue eyes shining at me.

****

I blink awake to a concerned gaze. My sister’s next to my bed when I wake up and greets me with a smile.

“Hello, sleepyhead. Welcome back to the world.”

“Little Duck,” I slur with a lazy smile. “Hiiiii!”

“How do you feel?”

“Very fuzzy,” I admit after a sporadic inventory of myself. “And my ass hurts.”

“I hear that happens when somebody cuts you open. I could be wrong.”

My bubble of laughter is almost giddy, clearly an aftereffect of the anesthesia, but I still manage to ask the really important question. “When can I go home?”

“A few hours, I think. Outpatient surgery, for the win!”

“I’m already thinking about how long I have to sponge bathe instead of showering. An incision on my rear end is a new one for me.”

“I bet the guy you’re giving your marrow to would be happy to help you. He must be pretty grateful,” Prim said slyly, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m guessing he’s more concerned about not dying, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I looked him up, you know. He’s very pretty.”

“He’s also an arrogant ass.”

“Speaking of arrogant asses…”

“Hey! I thought I’d gotten past being maligned by the Everdeen girls.” Gale Hawthorne’s deep bass booms from the hospital room door. “Hey, Catnip.”

“Gale! ’S so good to see you.”

“Well, Prim called. I thought maybe I should cut my business trip short and pay you a visit.”

I reach for him, and he crosses to me quickly. His hand wraps around mine, and the warmth grounds me. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen my childhood best friend, and his familiarity makes me feel like I might be able to handle anything. They both keep me occupied until I’m released and then help me get settled at home. Gale and I sit on the couch and catch up while Prim makes a run for takeout.

“I couldn’t believe it when Prim called to tell me you were doing this,” he says. “Especially not for the guy you’ve been bitching to me about for the past few years.”

“I haven’t been—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You have, and we both know nobody takes up that much space in your brain unless there’s something there.”

“There’s nothing between us,” I insist and grunt when he nudges my shoulder.

“Then maybe you should figure out if there could be. I mean, you have a vested interest in the man. You have a lot in common professionally. He’s going to live a long life because of you. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you were part of it.”

“He’s in a bubble for a few months. Recovery. No germs. All that.” I’m making excuses, and he knows it. He looks at me with pity, and I want to smack him.

“Katniss, give the guy a chance. From what you’ve told me, he’s into you. On top of the fact that he made arrangements for that massive bouquet of lilies and wildflowers over there.” He motions to the vase we brought home from the hospital. The note provides thanks for saving his life and an apology for flowers being inadequate as repayment.

“He’s not—”

“Give him a chance.”

Gale’s words wash over me, and it’s like all the painful moments and deep bouts of loneliness resurface at once. No matter what’s happened between Peeta and me, I have a connection to him now that’s deeper than our usual snipping and snark. Being forced to think about him as someone with real hopes and dreams and challenges has softened me to him, but I barely know him. Why does everyone assume he wants anything more than he’s already received?

Prim returns with food, and I’m grateful for the distraction. I promise Gale I’ll think about what he’s said as I recover, but that’s only to get him off my back. Yet, as the days pass, I can’t get Peeta Mellark out of my head. Now that I’ve saved his life, he’s got a hold on me.

****

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I expect anything from him. I’m just stopping by to see how he is, and that’s it. No expectations, no nothing. Just an attempt to make sure he’s feeling better after the transplant. I shouldn’t even be able to see him, but I called the hospital, explained the situation, and found out I’ve been approved for visiting for the past couple of weeks. Peeta must have added me to his approved list, which makes me remarkably happy. It’s been a month since the bone marrow transplant, and Peeta’s body seems to be accepting it with no problem.

Besides, no one can fault me for checking in on a sick colleague. It’s practically expected as part of my job. Except, that’s a lie. I’m not checking on anyone else who calls into work sick, but, then again, no one else called in because they had a disease that resulted in some of my own body inserted into them.

Which sounds dirty and definitely not what I should be thinking as I knock on his hospital door and peer into the room.

“Katniss!” he says as his beautiful blue eyes light up. “Please, come in.”

“I, uh… I just thought I’d check on you. Make sure my bone marrow is behaving. Not giving you any trouble.”

Oh, hell. I sound like an idiot.

“Doing beautifully. It’s almost like it knows it’ll be in trouble if it acts up. Must be the principal coming out in us.”

“Behavior issues are the least favorite part of my job.”

“Same,” he chuckles and waves me to the chair. “Sit, if you have a minute. I’d like to thank you—”

“No,” I insist. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“Katniss, you saved my life,” he sighs. “The least you can do is let me thank you properly. Let me take you dinner sometime or something. In fact, yes. I need to do that. No expectations, no nothing. Just dinner.”

I feel an uncomfortable pang in my stomach as I hear my own thoughts repeated back to me. It’s almost like he can see inside my brain, and that’s terrifying.

“Fine,” I concede. “Dinner, but not until you’re completely recovered. I don’t want to be cause for a setback.”

“I can handle that,” he agrees and then gives me a soft, beautiful smile so incredibly shy that it feels like he’s only ever shown it to me.

I don’t even want to think about why I’m floating as I leave the hospital.

****

It’s another few months before Peeta finally insists he’s well enough and calls and invites me to the dinner I agreed to when he was in the hospital. His recovery has been rapid, and I hear through the grapevine he’s back at work and seemingly cured. I don’t know enough about his disease to know if he’s healing faster than normal or not, but I breathe easier when I hear the news. That is, until the phone rings.

“Katniss Everdeen. My savior,” he says when I answer.

“Oh, please don’t,” I gulp. “I’m no savior.”

He chuckles at my discomfort but it’s clear it’s not with any sort of malice. “Sorry. That might have been hyperbole.”

“You think?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I would like to see when you’re free for dinner. You’ve put me off long enough. I demand satisfaction. I mean, my belly does. In other words, I need food, and now that I feel well enough to consume copious amounts of it, I’d really love some company as I do that. Who better than the woman who made it happen?”

He’s so charming it makes my toes curl, which is not at all what I want. Because how am I supposed to resist that adorable smirk I know is plastered across his face when he’s sitting across the table from me and plying me with delicious food? He’s supposed to be my nemesis, and I’m not strong enough to deny him when he’s not only good and kind but also a survivor of a rare disease. I mean, that’s not even playing fair.

“You don’t have to buy me dinner,” I start, but he interrupts before I can get any farther.

“If I remember correctly, you agreed to this back in the hospital, and I know you always keep your word. I wore you down, and you said you’d go with me. Don’t go backing out on me now,” he chides. His tone remains light-hearted as he speaks, but I detect a hint of hurt below the surface. My willingness to concur seems important to him. Why, I’m not sure, but the last thing I want to do is break the fragile truce that had somehow emerged between us.

“I’ve got some back to school things coming up, so my nights are pretty full,” I protest feebly, but he just waits patiently until I relent. “Fine. Next Thursday. Does that work?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t you have meetings, too? You haven’t resigned, and I haven’t heard about it, have you?”

“No, nothing like that,” he laughs. “I’ve just been given stringent orders from Superintendent Crane to take it easy. My assistant principal is covering anything at night until October.”

“Lucky you.”

“I have a good staff,” he deflects. “Next Thursday. I’ll pick you up.”

“No! I can meet—”

But he’s already disconnected the call. I don’t even bother to wonder how he’ll figure out my address. I don’t put anything past him anymore. Other than the life-threatening illness, he seems to have beaten, Peeta Mellark has the best luck of anyone I’ve ever known.

****

“And then I lowered my hand and answered him in the most serious tone possible. I could hardly keep a straight face because I had fake buck teeth in. The poor kid looked at me like I was insane, but he didn’t ever wear the vampire teeth in class again.”

I can’t help myself as I giggle at Peeta’s story. I never giggle. It isn’t like me at all, but Peeta’s so funny and disarming over dinner, regaling me with story after story of strange behavior modifications he’d tried when he was an assistant principal and mostly in charge of discipline issues.

“I’ve gotta admit,” he says ruefully, “I don’t really miss that part of the job now that I’m head principal.”

“No, I can imagine you wouldn’t,” I agree with a smile.

Lifting my wine glass, I look at him over the rim and take a sip of the pinot. I dreaded this dinner all week, but it’s been the highlight of a pretty rough few days. I certainly wasn’t expecting to enjoy his company so much, not even after getting to know him a little bit better during his recovery. I thought his charm might wear off at some point, but he just gets more and more disarming the longer we talk. If I didn’t know better, I might think I actually like him, but that’s ridiculous. I’m just glad to have company over dinner. That’s all this is.

My cheeks flush when Peeta grins at me and sits back in his chair. He’s kept up a steady stream of witty repartee throughout the evening, but now he merely surveys me as the soft sounds of the dining room echo around us. It’s almost intimate.

“I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this,” he finally says. “And how grateful I am for what you did for me. I know it wasn’t an easy choice, but you… You’re an amazing woman, Katniss Everdeen. I’m in your debt forever.”

I don’t know how to answer him because I can tell he’s completely sincere. He’s not gushing or trying to butter me up. He’s genuine in his words and actions, and I’m stuck feeling guilty for treating him so poorly before his illness threw us together.

“You really don’t have to thank me anymore,” I insist. “It’s not necessary at all. I mean, what kind of an asshole would I be if I hadn’t agreed to help you? Besides, you’re a fellow principal. Administrators unite and all that.”

“Stop deflecting,” he said. “You did something really great, and it’s okay for you to take credit for it.”

Flustered, I fiddle with my napkin because I don’t want to say something stupid. He has a way of making me tongue-tied that I haven’t felt since I was a teenager. “Thanks,” I manage to mumble.

“Thank you.”

I hesitate but finally manage to choke, “You’re welcome.”

“I’d like to do this again. If you’re willing.”

His voice feels like a caress, and I lift my eyes to look at him. He’s studying me, unsmiling but not frowning, and I’m struck by how handsome he is in the dimmed light. He reaches across the table and holds his hand out to me. I stare at it for several seconds before I’m willing to reach out and accept it. He gives it a squeeze.

“How about next week? Is that too soon?”

“I— I need to check my calendar.”

“I already did. No school activities.”

“Are you—”

“I’m sure,” he insists. “Please.”

I don’t have a good excuse for saying no, so I agree. I’m still in a daze when he pulls the car to a stop in front of my house and gets out to walk me to the door. He leans in to kiss my check, but I turn my head at just the wrong time. His lips hover millimeters from my skin, and I struggle to breathe. After what feels like an eternity, he tilts his head and brushes his mouth over mine.

The earth skews off its axis. There’s no other way to describe what happens because my entire world rearranges itself in that brief moment. Much too soon, he’s backed down the sidewalk and waves goodbye to me from his car before pulling away.

****

I’m a mess by the next Friday when Peeta picks me up again for our second dinner together. I don’t know whether to call it a date or not, but the kiss the previous week indicates it could be. The night passes much the same as the previous week. He’s charming and funny and wearing the most stunning shade of green that makes his eyes sparkle turquoise. They do things to my insides. He’s a perfect gentleman as he drives me home again, walks me to the door, and kisses me softly. The situation repeats on the third and fourth and fifth time until I’m so wound up, I’m about to lose my mind. I don’t mean to complain, but my body wants more than what he’s offering.

I can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just really bad luck that our schedules don’t align for another few weeks. The days pass slowly without seeing him, although we do talk often. Some of his messages and emails make me smile when I read them, while others make me wonder if he’s flirting with me or simply being his usual friendly self.

I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what’s happening between us. The conversation I had with Gale after my surgery flits in and out of my conscious thoughts. I don’t want to open myself up. I’ve been hurt too many times in the past, but Peeta’s wonderful—smart, compassionate, funny, respectful, and supportive. He’s also got a backbone and knows how to advocate for himself and others around him. In short, he’s exactly what I’ve always desired in a partner. It scares me to death to acknowledge that I want him to be a bigger part of my life. It terrifies me to realize I can also picture him in my bed.

Finally, we both have an evening without a work responsibility, and he asks if he can come over and make dinner when I tell him I’m simply too tired to dress up and go out to a restaurant. By the time he shows up on my doorstep with bags of groceries, my stomach’s in knots. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, it feels like we’re starting all over again.

He looks insanely good after having filled out a little since the transplant. His broad shoulders are strong underneath the soft cotton of his salmon colored sweater, and the jeans he’s wearing hug his thighs and hips like a second skin. When he turns around so I can inadvertently check out his ass, I swoon at the sight. I want my hands on that peach so badly my fingertips tingle.

He leans in to kiss me hello, and time stands still. He pauses once he’s broken the kiss, and we stare at each other for what feels like ages. Something’s changed. We’ve evolved. Our relationship’s grown while we’ve been apart. The air crackles with anticipation, and I’m beyond ready. Finally, he recovers and surveys me, taking in my black leggings, forest green tunic, and braid with a whistle. I flush scarlet at the flattery.

“Good thing I have these bags to occupy my hands,” he teases, but I swallow down disappointment. He doesn’t seem that interested in touching me, and that makes me feel like howling my disapproval.

“Maybe I should help. Give your hands a chance to…uh…stray.”

He whips his head around to stare at me, uncertainty mixing with something I can’t quite decipher. When I don’t drop my gaze, he gulps before heading into the kitchen and tossing the food on the counter. He makes himself busy while I flit around him, unsure what to do. When he finally turns his megawatt smile on me and asks me if I’d be okay cutting vegetables, I nod eagerly. If it puts me closer to him, I’m completely game. He positions me in front of a stack of carrots, potatoes, and mushrooms and turns to his own work.

We keep up a steady stream of chatter that grows increasingly flirtatious as the minutes pass. He brushes against me several times, and I can feel the electricity sparking between us. When he reaches over to take some of the diced potatoes, our hands brush, and we both jump.

“Peeta,” I sigh a second before he’s pressed against me, his chest hard against mine as he cups my jaw and kisses me.

I growl in the back of my throat at the feel of his tongue tangling with mine, and he hauls me tighter against him. He wraps my braid around his hand and tugs my head back so he can lick deeper into me. I’m shaking with desire, frantic for his hands on me. We’ve been circling each other for four years. The months since I agreed to donate my bone marrow have all been foreplay. I’m ready to give into the craving I’ve denied for far too long.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. My hands tangle in his hair, and I can’t stop the wanting whimpers that fall from me. He’s just as frantic, his hands caressing everything he can reach, until they both cup my behind and squeeze.

I realize I want to climb him like a tree. There’s no shame in admitting it. His body’s hard under his clothing, and he’s rigid as iron against my hip. When he thrusts his right hand under the waistband of my leggings, I don’t even try to stop him. Instead, I moan when his fingers stroke the patch of hair between my legs.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Katniss, tell me to stop if this isn’t okay. This is— You’re… You have to stop me now if you’re going to.”

I don’t stop him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My limbs aren’t working other than to cling to him. My eyes roll back into my head when he breaches me. His mouth works magic while his fingers plunder and stroke. I’m begging him, my voice hoarse and broken. It’s been so very long, and I don’t have the patience to wait anymore.

I’m pressed against the counter, my back bent as he fingers me. I don’t care about dinner or anything else except the feel of his calloused palm cupping me while he dips in and out in an uneven rhythm designed to stop me from falling over the edge too soon. His breaths are ragged, and I wrap my left leg around him to pull him closer. It also gives him better access, which he uses to his advantage.

I’m sopping wet, squelching as he thrusts in and out, his thumb circling my clit and forcing wrecked squeals I’ve never made until experiencing the glory of Peeta Mellark finger fucking me in my own kitchen. My whole body trembles as the tension builds. I just need a release. That’s all I care about in the moment. The entire world could be exploding outside, and I wouldn’t care. He’s driving me crazy, and I don’t want to be sane. I just need him.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, sweetheart,” he groans in my ear. “Wanted to feel you on me, hot and wet and sweet. I’ve dreamed about making you come. Imagined it so many times. Wanted to feel you fall apart because of me. You’re almost there, aren’t you, honey? I can tell you’re trying so hard not to let go. I’ve got you. I won’t hurt you.”

I’ve abandoned all sense of propriety. I’m moaning and rutting against him. I don’t know who I am anymore, but then everything makes sense in a rush of euphoria. I come with a scream that Peeta swallows with his kiss. He holds me close, rocking me through the spasms, grounding me, and cheering me on as I quake and shudder.

I blink as I come back to myself, but he’s there. His face comes into focus, and I give him a dopey grin that makes him chuckle. He welcomes me back with a kiss as he frees his hand. My pants are moist, and I wiggle at how uncomfortable it is. Still, I think it’s worth the discomfort. I feel like walking liquid.

“I think we burned dinner.”

“Don’t care,” I tell him through a kiss. “We can order pizza. Not hungry anyway.”

“Well, I am,” he jokes as he proceeds to devour me.

We haven’t talked. I have no idea where we stand, but that doesn’t matter. Right now, Peeta’s here, alive and well, and with me. We make sure the burners are off and then I lead him to the bedroom. I don’t ever want to let go. If I could freeze this moment, I would, but I also want to see about all the others he has left simply because fate threw us together. We’ll get to the deep stuff. For now, I’ll settle for him deep inside me.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 17 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the marrow of the story

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years

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Monster Match #27: Anggitay

The Traveler's Masterlist

For @fudgefrootloops: "My name is Amethyst, I’m pan black female and use she/they pronouns. I’m pretty chill and love taking care of my s/o with cuddles, cookies and video games. I tend to fall for the strong silent type that just need cuddles when no one is looking. I’m a home body but need a push to go out and explore once I do I go crazy and try everything I can. Gender doesn’t matter and sfw/nsfw mix would be wonderful."

You’ve been matched with an Anggitay!

The Anggitay was reported from the city of Batangas in the Philippines by the late Aproniano G. Castillo. Seen from in front, it is a beautiful maiden from head to foot, but from behind it is a haggard mare. They are sometimes depicted as having a single horn in the middle of their forehead, just like a unicorn. It sits in a tree in a wood and quietly watches wayfarers go by.

She was quiet and reserved, but that’s why you liked her. When she did speak, her words had weight. She had a deep, melodious voice, and you thought she might sound beautiful when she sang. She was too shy to sing, though.

You met her on a vacation to the Philippines, sitting in a tree and watching your group hike through the forest. She was on edge, and it took you a short time to realize that she was hurt, having been pushed out of her territory by larger Anggitays. Her kind wasn’t usually aggressive unless their territory was threatened, and she had lost hers in a battle with two larger sisters. She’d been injured in the fight, and you had offered her help and comfort.

She didn’t speak the same language as you, but you knew she needed help, and with your friends, you managed to smuggle her onto the cruise ship the group of you had taken and tended to her wounds.

Getting her to your apartment was an adventure, but when she was finally settled in, she kissed you. It took you by surprise, but you didn’t mind it. You understood it was the only way she knew how to thank you.

Over time, she learned English, and she taught you her language, which was similar but not the same as Filipino. Even when she could say “thank you” verbally, she still gave you kisses when she was happy or appreciated something.

“You don’t have to kiss me anymore, you know,” You told her one day.

“Why wouldn’t I kiss you?” She asked, her head lying on your lap as you played with the short horn on her forehead. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s not that,” You said. “I do like it, but you can just say thank you.”

“I don’t kiss you to thank you,” She said. “I kiss you because I like you. You’re kind to me and you make me laugh. I almost feel like singing when I’m with you.”

“You know I’d love to hear you sing,” You said, smiling gently down at her.

She got up and perched herself on your lap. “Perhaps one day I will, should you decide to keep me.”

“Why wouldn’t I keep you?” You asked, leaning in to kiss her. The two of you had flirted and kissed, but it had never gone farther than that. Today, things felt different, as if you were both on the precipice of a cliff, ready to dive over head first. You were happy to fall.

The two of you kissed all the way down the hallway toward your bedroom, shedding clothes as you went. Stumbling and giggling, the two of you plopped down onto the bed, her tail flicking behind her. She kissed her way down your body, her horn dragging a line right down the center without breaking the skin. You pulled up your legs and opened them up for her, and she got straight to work, kissing your thighs and flicking her long tongue between your legs. You moaned and arched your back, your legs shaking.

By the time she was done with you, you were a shaking, sweaty mess. She pulled you against her breasts and hummed a lovely tune.

“That’s pretty,” You said sleepily.

“So are you,” She replied.

To get your own Monster Match, buy me a Kofi!

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal.

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Girlfriend #Anggitay #Philippine Mythology #Filipino Folklore

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goldguile-a · 5 years

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okay, helena von riegan, a post at long last...

pls note this absolute unit hc is based off discussions with @reztactics, so if the idea of posthumous canon character/oc based around a character who very definitely exists and is alive but we don’t see them bothers you, please replace said canon characters with just generic faerghus noblemen. this got lengthy so uh... under the cut it goes!

helena von riegan... godfrey von riegan’s younger sister by two years. while godfrey inherited the major crest of riegan, helena didn’t inherit a crest at all.

sovereign duke edgar von riegan saw an opportunity-- with godfrey secure as his heir, he could use his daughter to gain even more influence and power for house riegan by marrying her off to a family who lacked a crest of their own.

while not nearly as bad as bernadetta’s parents, edgar primarily raised his daughter with the intent of selling her as a product: the perfect bride, complete with a crest for any children she produces to inherit. she was taught to be seen and not heard, to be gentle and demure and ladylike, to attend to her lord husband’s every need with nary a complaint-- while godfrey learned archery, she learned to dance. when he would sit in on roundtable conferences to observe their workings, helena was made to embroider or play music. ( she enjoyed the music, to an extent. )

this fragile porcelain doll was not helena von riegan in the slightest. she was a sweet girl, friendly to all she met... but loud. rambunctious. wild. opinionated and unafraid to show it. she wished to learn to fight alongside her brother and support him when he became sovereign duke, and argued with their father often over being sold off like a pretty little trinket. godfrey would often step in to mediate and shield his little sister from their father’s anger, but there was only so much he could do-- especially with his time to study at garreg mach monastery fast approaching. ( he would be made leader of that year’s golden deer house. )

this led to an idea on godfrey’s part: framing it carefully, he presented the idea of helena accompanying him to garreg mach to ‘learn’ to be a proper lady from her peers. perhaps if she could find a suitable match at the monastery she could get along with, she would settle down. edgar considered it for a long while, but agreed. he sent a sizable donation to the church with a letter requesting his daughter be taught alongside everyone else, but not to allow her to join in on the class missions. while it at least got helena away from their father, godfrey lamented the circumstances in which she was being limited. while he truly wished to rectify house riegan’s failings and give his sister the freedom she deserved, there was little he could do with their father in the way.

where godfrey lamented, helena bloomed. she made friends with judith von daphnel while godfrey grew close with prince lambert egitte blaiddyd and rodrigue achille fraldarius of the blue lions... and presumably the leader of the black eagles, but i dunno who led the class. a prominent noble at the time, most likely. when she learned she wasn’t allowed to join her class on missions for practical battle experience, she took to training with judith anyways and bothering her brothers’ friends to help her too. determined to keep pace with her classmates, even with so few experiences to partake in a real fight, helena trained on. she noted she had particular skill with a sword and chased that skill, honing it whilst her brother focused on archery-- he would inherit failnaught someday, after all.

she soon found herself developing a very big crush on lambert. they took to training together, one on one, frequently. sparring sessions grew intense, and helena promised herself that the day she could best him in a practice match would be the day she confessed her feelings to lambert. the day came, she won, and the two became a couple. godfrey expressed concern-- a man as obsessed with his image as their father would explode at the thought of a daughter of riegan consorting with the blaiddyds, given their house spearheaded the crescent moon war and won leicester’s independence. helena boldly declared she didn’t care. godfrey agreed to keep the relationship from their father, dearly wanting his sister to know some measure of happiness.

unfortunately for helena, word got out nonetheless. an opportunistic noble of the golden deer house had set his sights on marrying her and earning his family that crest. determined to curry favour with edgar, he wrote to the sovereign duke shortly after the ball, detailing how helena had arrived on lambert’s arm, wearing kingdom colours ( her dress was blue ) and dancing the night away with the prince-- and that the duo had disappeared from the ballroom not long after. ( in truth, they had gone to the goddess tower to make a wish: knowing their relationship likely could not last, the couple wished instead to remain friends until the very end. no matter what happened. )

edgar, as godfrey feared, was furious. within a matter of days he arrived at the monastery, located the dorms, and marched on up to his daughter’s room to pull her out of school. literally. he grabbed her by the wrist to drag her to a waiting carriage, planning to have the school send back whatever personal belongings were left behind. the grounds were alive with the sound of edgar angrily berating his daughter for embarrassing him and helena’s protests, demands, and humiliated begging for her father to let her go. the scene was only stopped by the appearance of a knight of seiros ( i personally like the idea of it being jeralt, but it doesn’t have to be. ) who came to the teenager’s aid and escorted the belligerent sovereign duke off school grounds.

the incident would be another small stain on house riegan’s honour, a minor scandal talked about the lords and ladies of the alliance for days. lambert and helena ended their relationship by the end of the year, and the group of companions went their separate ways. lambert would ascend the throne and thankfully marry for love. rodrigue became known as the shield of faerghus. judith bloomed into a brilliant hero, and the von riegans returned home. godfrey resumed his preparations to become the next duke riegan. helena... was confined to the estate. while godfrey had smoothed things over a little with their father, the older man’s rage had not entirely subsided. it was difficult, but with judith’s help she managed to keep in touch with lambert all the same. the letters were sporadic, but a comfort.

and to helena’s horror, she soon found herself engaged to the very man who wrote to her father after the ball. unable to stomach the thought of marrying someone clearly only interested in sleeping with her and potentially getting the crest of riegan into their bloodline out of the deal, helena made a decision: she would run away from home, never to return. so long as godfrey was around house riegan would be set back on the proper path. there was no need to worry. no matter what happened, anything had to be better than this.

judith smuggled her out of house riegan’s estate, disguised as a simple soldier among the reinforcements edgar was sending to house goneril against the almyran forces ( holst had not yet been born or was still a toddler at best. ) from there, helena found herself engaged in battle with the almyran forces. it was exhilerating. it was freeing. it was her or them, and with the wind in curly dark hair and the clash of metal as blade met blade, she felt alive.

eventually, she would go on to cross blades with the man who would go on to be known as nader the undefeated. impressed by the woman’s battle prowess and ability to keep up with him, the almyran general couldn’t help but strike up a conversation as they fought. when helena shared her story, an idea struck her: she could escape to almyra, far beyond edgar’s reach. she could start anew in the foreign kingdom, and never have to worry about anything ever again. to her surprise, nader agreed to take her back with him.

also to her surprise, he turned out to be an almyran prince whose elder brother ascended the throne recently enough. king hasan amir shirazi was gracious, having heard an account of helena’s story from his brother, and offered her a place to stay in the castle. sparks flew between the king and the runaway, despite unease in the castle about a woman from fodlan being there, and soon bloomed into a passionate love... that would one day produce crown prince kian claude shirazi.

helena is still alive today, and judith is the sole person who knows where she escaped off to. the two exchange letters where possible, and it is because of judith that helena learned of godfrey’s death in gloucester territory. she did not want to bring her son with her back to the alliance when she returned long enough to pay respects at her brother’s grave, but claude insisted. he wanted to come and see his mother’s homeland for herself... and elected to stay behind in order to learn more about the crest system, how it worked, and his mother’s people. helena returned home to almyra. she is currently there and living with claude’s father today. they are not married, hasan sympathizing with helena’s experiences with the concept of marriage.

#﹙✧﹚― ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ ᴜᴘ ( headcanon. )#absolute unit hc #ask to tag //#child abuse //#idk if it warrants the tag but hey covering my bases #here's the claude's mom post #she is a badass lady of war and we stan

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 5 years

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Queen of Hearts - Chapter 6

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor. All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed. The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away. In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’. Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma! @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist | AO3

—

Wednesday, April 3rd (continued)

“Right, where are we?” Rose asked brusquely, barreling through the doors into their suite. Mel stood at the corkboard, and she waved for her to follow as she continued into her bedroom to dress for dinner.

“How was the dedication?” Mel trailed after her, perching on the bench at the foot of Rose’s bed while she dug through her closet.

Rose started at the back where her nicer dresses were hidden, examining each one as she talked. “Nice. Not terribly well attended, I was surprised. It seemed the King spoke off the cuff. He was very good, engaging, certainly not stuffy or boring. He certainly seemed comfortable, though that could always be an act. What have you found?”

“Well, based on our basic background parameters I’ve identified fifty-two potential matches,” her friend said, speaking up so Rose could hear her over the screech of sliding hangers. “D’you have anything blue? You wore red last night.”

“Fifty-two?”

“Those are of the ‘proper’ pedigree. Some level of nobility, age range, and single to my knowledge.”

Rose sighed, stepping back with her hands on her hips, equally frustrated with the job and her wardrobe. “Right. Well, it’s a start. Widen the field to non-nobility but still upper-class – heiresses, humanitarians, but posh. Amal Clooney, not a gap-year Greenpeace volunteer.” A hint of blue peeked out from the other end of her closet, where she found a gauzy blouse in a royal shade and a black pencil skirt. “What do you think of this?”

She held the outfit up to herself, turning to show Mel, who studied her carefully.

“That’ll work!”

Saturday, April 6th

After their bumpy start, the next two days flew by. As Sarah Jane had promised, Rose spent effectively all day every day with the King, seeing him in action and getting a sense of what was required from the Queen. He slowly loosened up, telling unprompted stories every so often and making her laugh.

Between himself and Sarah Jane she was getting a clear picture of both what the role would require, and the type of woman needed to fill it.

Mel worked tirelessly from their suite, researching potential candidates and lining up tentative interviews. She managed the proprietary software they’d developed together, taking Rose’s instinct and insight and turning it into quantifiable data to rank the candidates as they narrowed the list.

The first Saturday they were there dawned bright and early, Sarah Jane finding them already at work with steaming mugs of coffee at eight in the morning.

“My goodness,” she said, making Rose and Mel’s heads snap up, “you’ve certainly been busy.”

“Sarah Jane!” Rose leapt to her feet and hurried to her, nearly tripping on a number of loose pages but managing not to fall. “Hi! Did you need something?”

Glancing around the room anxiously, she tried to see it from the other woman’s perspective. It certainly looked less than impressive, piles upon piles of paper spread over nearly the entire floor, though both she and Mel knew exactly what everything was.

To Sarah Jane, it probably looked like pure chaos.

“Quite the opposite,” the woman smiled. “You’ve both been working incredibly hard, the Princess and I are both very impressed. On that note, we have our annual spring festival occurring in town this weekend.”

“I didn’t know,” Rose’s eyes widened, heart plummeting. Despite a relatively peaceful and argumentative-free two and a half days she was constantly on guard, waiting for the King’s whim to change and send her packing. Her mind raced, trying to remember if the event had been mentioned; was she supposed to go? Was he waiting for her?

But the woman’s eyes were kind, and she was smiling. “I wouldn’t have expected you to, seeing as I never mentioned it.”

“I… don’t understand?”

“I’m giving you the day off,” Sarah Jane laughed. “I think it would be beneficial for you to go to the festival, truly get a feel for the people without the King or any of the palace staff, just be visitors. Have fun. Play games, try the food, enjoy yourselves, take a break.”

“That sounds lovely,” Mel spoke before Rose could, hurrying around to them and pinching Rose’s side viciously, presumably so she’d stay quiet. “Thank you so much! How should we get there?”

“Bill will drive you in,” their host explained. “And, here – consider it a little bonus.” She handed Rose an envelope, a quick rifle through showing several twenty Euro notes.

“Thank you,” Rose repeated, smiling, at war inside. One part wanted to stay and work, determined not to let anything keep her from success, while the other, larger part (buoyed by Mel’s enthusiasm for the idea) wanted to cut loose and take a few hours off. “I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

“I’m taking Luke tomorrow,” Sarah Jane confided, “and His Majesty will be judging a few competitions later in the week, but today’s the first day when everything’s freshest. Oh, it’s beautiful, and I hope you enjoy!”

Clutching the envelope to her chest, Rose fervently promised herself that they would.

We deserve this.

Sarah Jane and Bill’s enthusiastic descriptions didn’t do the festival jealous – it was spectacular.

Sticking together, Rose and Mel went from vendor to vendor, oohing and aahing over the locally- and hand-made items, everything from knitted sweaters and scarves and hats to jams and jellies and wines.

“This is heaven,” Mel sighed, picking through a bag of trail mix for the local berries. “This whole country. It’s so beautiful here, and everyone’s so friendly. Even though this is the capital, it feels just like a cozy English village. Can you imagine living here?”

“It’s incredible,” Rose agreed through a mouthful of popcorn. “Look how happy everyone is.” Not just happy; friendly. They had already met dozens of locals, all pleased as punch to have visitors and a chance to gush about their homeland.

The main rows of booths lined the street, one on either side, and though they hadn’t ventured from that path yet, Rose knew a second set of booths were set up on the sidewalks behind the main aisles.

A hand-made sign proclaiming Baked Goods This Way! pointed down one of the breaks between booths, and Rose’s sweet tooth insisted she follow it, Mel hot on her heels. They came out behind the row of tents to see the second, less crowded aisle of booths. Fewer vendors were set up here along the sidewalk, their foot traffic suffering for it.

Most of the buildings were the typically quaint old-fashioned storefronts, two stories with the shop on the ground floor and flats above it. Nearly every one showed signs of recent activity, indicating that they were open in general, and specifically for the festival.

An elegant old building that had clearly seen better days loomed over the rest of the street, a folding table set up right in front of the door with hand-decorated signs. Judging by its architecture, it had once been some sort of theater. Three preteen girls and a woman in her fifties stood behind the table, and the girls all lit up when Rose and Mel stopped in front of them.

“Hello!” the tallest one chirped, “Welcome to the City of Arcadia Children’s Center Bake Sale. We are selling baked goods to raise money to fix the roof after all the snow this winter. Would you like to buy something sweet?”

Rose’s heart melted at the practiced but heartfelt recitation, and judging by Mel’s aww next to her, she agreed. “I most certainly would!” Glancing down at the table she carefully eyed the various treats, which ranged from cupcakes and cookies to candies, everything homemade. “This all looks so lovely, did you bake all this?”

The girl shook her head, giggling. “Just those cupcakes,” she pointed to a tray, “and some of the signs.”

Rose and Mel plucked up a cupcake each, Rose’s chocolate with chocolate icing and edible ball-bearings, while Mel’s was, of course, carrot cake, with an adorable iced carrot on top.

“Would you like some hot cocoa as well?” the preteen/sales shark asked innocently, and both women nodded.

“I certainly would, it’s still a bit nippy out!” Mel gave an exaggerated shiver, making the girls giggle. “Although, you don’t have any carrot juice, do you?” Rose elbowed her sharply. “I mean, do you attend the…”

“City of Arcadia Children’s Center,” all three girls chorused.

“Yes,” the leader continued, standing tall. “Since we were babies. It’s running low on funds, though, so we want to help."

The woman behind the table nodded, far more serious than her charges. “We’re all but free of charge, so anyone can send their children, only without donations we can hardly operate. An expensive childminding service opened last year, and many of the wealthier families hire from there. It’s good for the young women who get the work, but we’ve been struggling ever since.”

Rose didn’t even have to look at Mel to know she would agree with what she was about to do, and pulled the envelope of their money from Sarah Jane out and thrust it towards the woman without hesitation. “I don’t think it’s much, but I hope it helps.”

“Oh, thank you!” the woman gushed, not even looking in the envelope before coming around the table and hugging Mel and Rose. “You’re angels, truly! I suspect you’re from out of town, but please, feel free to come visit on Tuesday if you’re still here. I can give you a tour, and you can see how much this will help us. Really, I insist, just walk right in and ask for ‘Polly’, that’s me. My husband Ben and I run the Center, he does most of the handiwork about the place. Oh, thank you!” Polly squeezed them again, drawing laughs from both women and giggles from the girls.

“Best of luck,” Rose said warmly, “it was lovely to meet you.”

They moved on, heading back towards the main thoroughfare again, though Rose couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder.

An idea was brewing.

Ian resettled the hat on his head before adjusting his sunglasses, doing his best to remain incognito. He would officially be attending the Festival later in the week, but ever since he was old enough to sneak out of the palace he’d stolen down on the first day every year, never missing it if he was in the country.

The last thing he wanted, though, was to be recognized. Whenever possible he went out in disguise, to sit in a pub or take in a performance or game. He liked to be amongst Gallifreyans, be part of the crowd, see it from their eyes. He’d figured out very early on that life looked much different from the crowds versus the royal dais.

He preferred the crowd.

Eating directly from the baggie of cookies he’d bought at Polly’s table with a wink and discreet check, he wandered the stalls looking for inspiration for Donna’s forthcoming birthday. The ‘official’ gift was already set, organized well in advance, but he always tried to do something personal as well, usually finding something at the Festival for her. She valued Gallifreyan-made as much as he did, believed in supporting their people and the creative arts.

I could get her another case of that wine she liked… he mused, before grimacing. Wine felt so… impersonal a gift to him, so fleeting. He always strove for something tangible but practical, something she could use. What do you get the person who has everything?

He stopped at a stall with handknit scarves on display, and a surreptitious glance at the list on his mobile showed it had been at least five years since the last scarf he’d bought her. With another adjustment to his hat he began flicking through the options, immediately dismissing almost all of them as not being Donna.

A scarf in emerald on the rack behind the one he was looking at caught his eye, but when he tried to take it down, he found resistance.

“Oi, I’m looking at that one,” an irritated voice sounded from the other side, and after a moment he placed it with a heavy sigh. Of course she’s here, he rolled his eyes. If she blows my cover she’s fired. That was a lie though – he’d thought that a dozen times since so far, and except for that first night, he’d never so much as vaguely hinted at the idea to her.

He continued to gently tug on the garment, partially to annoy her, and she came around the corner eyes blazing. “Hey! I had that first, and common court-e-sy… What?” Rose trailed off, tilting her head, brow furrowed, tongue peeking out of the corner of mouth in concentration as she stared at him.

“Shh,” he muttered, “I don’t want to be recognized.”

“You look fairly suspicious in all black and hiding your features,” she pointed out automatically, before flushing and letting go of the scarf. “Sorry.”

Ian shook his head, casting furtive eyes around to be sure they were unobserved. “It’s all right.”

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, voice dropping even lower to add, “Sir?”

“Shopping for my sister’s birthday,” he replied in kind. “You?”

“Souvenir for my Mum,” matchmaker girl shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets. “I’ll find another one, though.”

He wavered; the polite thing to do would be to let her have it, but it was perfect for Donna. “You can-”

“No,” she shook her head, cutting him off, eyes going wide. “Sorry. That’s perfect for her, to go with her hair. Really. Besides, Mum would probably prefer this one,” she gestured to one on the same rack as the teal, identical except in fluorescent pink. Ian fought back a shiver of disgust.

“Thank you,” he smiled, tipping his head down and lowering his sunglasses enough to meet her eye.

They stared awkwardly at each other for a long moment, before Ian nodded decisively. “I’m just going to pay,” he gestured towards the stall’s vendor, but she stopped him from turning.

“Wait! I just… why are you sneaking around buying a present? Couldn’t you send someone to do it?”

“No,” Ian said automatically, before stopping to consider the question. “I mean yes, I could. But then it’s not from me. I prefer to pick something out for her myself – I’ve always done it.”

Rose smiled after a moment. “That’s really nice,” she said wistfully.

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “Thank you.” After a moment he turned away, and this time she didn’t stop him.

Paying for the scarf in cash and accepting his bag with a nod of thanks, he wandered off to enjoy the rest of the festival, but in the back of his mind, for some inexplicable reason he couldn’t stop thinking about her smile.

Ian Reginald, what is wrong with you?

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #Doctor Who #12xRose #12th Doctor #Rose Tyler #AU #Queen of Hearts #royalty AU

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janegregorycontextlog · 3 years

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Katie Paterson - Hollow

What Do Artist’s Do All Day?

Katie Paterson – Hollow

(What Artists Do All Day)

She’s out walking in nature, walking in the woods researching and gathering found items for her latest sculpture, but not in the usual way. She’ looking for the tallest tree in the UK and has spoken to the estate owners about obtaining a piece of wood from that tree to form part of a larger sculpture.

She has been commissioned to create a sculpture for outside the University of Bristol and is collecting pieces of wood from every species of tree present in the world today. She has to be well organised and work in a team because of the scale of the operation which involves circa 9,000 different pieces of wood. Her work includes cataloguing each piece by numbering them, researching trees, obtaining their vital statistics. She is awe when she holds a piece of an ancient tree in her hand. The work means good organisational skills, time management skills and team collaborations.

Katie said that she found it difficult at Art School to hone into a specific discipline and describes her practice as lending from architecture, sculpture and big ideas. She took on the commission for the piece outside the university of Bristol Life Sciences building because of this and wanted to build an ambitious but simple idea which then evolved into a bigger and bigger project as time went on.

She obtained a studio in Bristol near the site where she was able to store, sort and catalogue the wood in its raw form and she had a crew of workers to help her collate all.

She sought a wood processing plant in Brighton where they kiln dried and cut the wood into uniform blocks/straps of wood and left aside pieces that she wanted to work with that had special qualities as they were in the flesh.

She wanted to bring together diversity and look at the evolution of the tree and the different species bringing them together in a tree-life and ancient fossilised forests. She wanted a hollow structure which one could step inside and look out from, an enclosed space ‘a forest of every tree’.

She had interest in the subject and discussed one of the oldest trees that she held in her had called Methuselah of 4,626 years old and took diligence to hunt it down.

She has also talked to a collector of tree wood from Canada who then gave her his entire collection which equated to half of the total samples provided to make the piece. She is conscious that she is on target with her work and stated that she just needs to catalogue everything now.

Paterson discusses her interest in big ideas such as the vast, space, cosmos, geology, the planet and enormous spaces and areas in nature and geology too.

She is working on another project outside Oslo where she has planted a forest. She hopes the forest to grow for 100 years and in the meantime she has started to commission story tellers to write short stories which over time will be etched onto pulverised wood from the forest in 100yrs creating a humongous paper/parchment book.

Paterson visited Kew gardens and found that there are 25,000 specimens of wood recorded in all times to-date and looked over some unusually formed wood. Kew donated the missing families from across the world.

Paterson had to decide how she wanted to organise the wood considering Zones for the sculpture across the floor. She considered whether to organise the wood by time, geography or by species. She decided to organise the wood in a fragmented way and asked what happens when species get together and form hybrids. A scientist from the university said that this has happened over time and its amazing how many trees have reproduced with other trees from the other side of the world over thousands of years.

Paterson decided also that wood would be arranged by colours, starting at the base with the darkest almost purple colours.

Paterson said that she knew at a young age that she wanted to be an artist and didn’t fit in any department is classes herself as inter-disciplinary graduate and was able to mix and match her degree.

She said work is very fulfilling, daunting and very stressful. The scientist said that more and more art and science are merging where there is a depth of communication between the subjects.

Paterson has a tight schedule on Wednesday she’s meeting with the fabricators, Friday she’s meeting with the production team and sponsors to sign off the sculpture.

The Artwork Fabricators in Brighton cut the pieces and the carcass to the sculpture is stood in their workshop where the straps of wood are built up like splinters. Paterson is constantly looking at colours and forms when situating the wood. She said she needs to consider details but not to the extent that it consumes time. Some pieces fit like a jigsaw where one larger older piece was cut up into ununiformed pieces and fitted back together again. She kept the interesting pieces over to one side to ensure that the main sculpture remains aesthetically pleasing.

Collaboration with wood cutting plant demands hands on supervision and she enjoys seeing the tree becoming processed wood.

On installation day she saw the overall piece for the first time and said it took 5 days to put together. (To me it looks like stepping inside a wooden Tardis), inside you can see the name-sake ‘Hollow’ and Paterson comments that the piece feels different in the landscape in the public open place. She says the idea of time flowing through it, oldest at the bottom and the most endangered tree samples at the top.

Paterson said that she cut all processed wood in two so that one copy of the wood could be maintained in the university archives for students to study – how considerate!

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engekihaikyuu · 7 years

Photo

Hyper Projection Engeki Haikyuu - Summer of Evolution

Walker Plus News Interview Interview with Suga Kenta, Kageyama Tatsuya, and Kosaka Ryoutarou

Full interview translation under the Read More! Please do not repost this translation.

Hyper Projection Engeki Haikyuu began in November 2015, and now it is rushing into its 4th production! For Suga-san, as cast captain, what are your feelings in this moment?

Suga: I am really grateful. With the last production we were able to finally perform in a theater that was three times bigger than our previous venue, and for the audience to fill the seats day after day… It was then that I really felt how much so many people want to see us.

From your point-of-view, Suga-san, what is the appeal of Engeki Haikyuu?

Suga: I think it’s the part where it feels like you’re watching a real volleyball match, and you can become one with the audience and enjoy it together. I feel like Engeki Haikyuu is a show that’s always searching for new ways to present the show. For example, when people watch a play, they normally watch quietly and without ever shouting out, and you even set appropriate moments for applause, right? But we’d like for there to be a way to watch and enjoy Engeki Haikyuu specifically. So we always keep in mind that we want to make an atmosphere that involves the audience, and we work hard on that. In this production, Summer of Evolution, you have some new cast members. In particular, Kageyama Tatsuya-san, who will play Kageyama Tobio. Do you feel like it’s fate that you have the same name as your character?

Kageyama: When the casting decision was made, I thought, “Eh, me?!” and I was absolutely shocked. I have loved the manga from the start, and so I already had this emotional attachment to Tobio, who shares my name. And the excitement was huge, to think… no way, Kageyama is really going to be able to play Kageyama!

Since you have the same name, was there a discussion among the group at rehearsals about what everyone would call you?

Kageyama: Not especially. (laughs) Everyone calls me what they like. There are those who use my given name and call me Tatsuya, and others who call me Kage-chan. But, thanks to Ryoutarou earlier…

Kosaka: Oh yeah. I was planning on calling out the character Kageyama, but since they have the same name, it just became, well which is which? *

Suga: It’s like a kouhai accidentally dropping honorifics with a senpai.

Kosaka: I deeply apologize. (laughs)

In “Summer of Evolution,” I’m looking forward to Tsukishima Kei’s highlight scenes.

Kosaka: There is that. Tsukishima up to this point doesn’t hate volleyball itself, but for various reasons he just can’t get really into it. He’s a character that’s come all this way thinking that it’s “just a club.” This time we get to see the reasons in his past that led to that, we see him maturing beyond that, and I feel like I finally get to show all of Tsukishima.

And is his childhood friend, Yamaguchi Tadashi (Miura Kairi) also going to be involved in those intense episodes?

Kosaka: For me, that’s a scene that I love no matter how many times I re-read it! That’s why I can’t help but really look forward to this particular play. Like, it’s finally here! (laughs) **

Suga: We have to try to keep it a secret and just say, “look forward to it!” (laughs) But there are definitely some more scenes depicting some deep character development this time around. The real thrill of Haikyuu has always been the things that occur during a match, but this time it’s not just what happens on the court. We move the setting to Tokyo, and a lot of varying personal stories happen this time.

Kageyama: This play will have 13 new cast members including Fukurodani Academy. I think seeing their character dramas will also be a highlight.

Kosaka: Yeah. Personally, I’m really looking forward to the practice match against Fukurodani!

Kageyama-san has entered Karasuno as a new cast member; has the team become newly unified by now?

Suga: I think we’ve basically got it! Just recently we went out to dinner with everyone.

Kosaka: A Karasuno Party. (laughs)

Kageyama: We’ve actually gone out several times with everyone.

Kosaka: During the last production, everyone already knew each other, so we basically never went out like that.

Suga: But this time we have Kage-chan and other new members, so we’ve unusually gathered everyone together.

Suga-san, are you the one to reach out to everyone?

Suga: I think I usually say something like, “Let’s go!” I think? But even after we get everyone together, we naturally fall into little groups. Shiota-san, who plays Tanaka, he usually finds us a place to go eat. (laughs)

Kageyama: Is it okay leaving that up to Shiota-kun?

Suga: Well. He’s kind of an obliging person, or rather, he’s too impatient so he handles it just to calm himself down. (laughs)

When everyone goes out to eat together, how does everyone divide up?

Kosaka: Kenta-kun is the comedian.

Suga: I am responsible for the comedy.

(laughs) To who?

Kosaka: Well, more or less everyone?

Kageyama: Since everyone’s always messing around. (laughs)

Kosaka: Kenta-kun picks up on everything and everyone.

Kageyama: Kenta-kun is our libero. (laughs)

Suga: Karasuno’s guardian deity, that’s me. Since we have a chance to ask that guardian deity, do you have any advice for Kageyama-san?

Suga: Ah… Karasuno has a lot of ad-lib! So I think it’d be good if you could be ready for that.

Kosaka: Just before this, Tatsuya-kun did a little ad-lib where he said, “Jump properly into that block!” And then he started laughing like, “fufu.”

Suga: That! He doesn’t give any opening for a response. (laughs)

Kosaka: Well that’s probably because he’s not normally so belligerent… so as Kageyama’s actor, it’s probably best for him to hurry up and get into a fight while playing volleyball, I think. (laughs)

Kageyama: I laugh as soon as something crazy is said, huh. (laughs) Since I don’t normally get into arguments.

Suga: So gentle. (laughs) But it’s okay to yell, “Shut up!” at least.

With the last production, Winners and Losers, the director Worry Kinoshita-san said, “We’re finally living up to the ‘Hyper’ part of the Hyper Projection Engeki title.” So how do you think this production will turn out?

Kosaka: Worry-san did say something like that, didn’t he? So how about this time we go for a quiet, whispering in each other’s ears, (whispers) ‘Hyper Projection’ vibe? Then it would really be a summer of evolution.

Suga: All you did was change how you said it!

Kageyama: That doesn’t match the feeling of the words at all. (laughs)

Kosaka: (laughs) As a joke, since it’s summer and all, that was pretty scalding. No, but I think it’ll be a show where you can really “experience the heat,” since it has a lot of passionate elements of ‘the extracurricular life’ involved. So it’d be great if people could look forward to that! (bows)

Suga: Ah, he ended it by bowing. (laughs) Don’t cover your butt just by bowing! And for you, Kageyama-san?

Kageyama: Since I’m newly joining the production with this show, there are a lot of things with mapping that I don’t quite understand yet at rehearsals, but I think it’d be great if the audience could fully immerse themselves in the music, the performance, the lighting… all of it. I think everyone will definitely be able to fall headfirst into the world of Engeki Haikyuu, so I want them to at least tremble! Suga: Eh, like, tremble with delight? Everyone’s going all out with the imagery today. (laughs) Well then, Suga-san. Can you wrap it up for us with some style?

Suga: No, I’m not that cool; impossible. (laughs) But as Worry-san described, when he said, “We’ve finally become HYPER,” I would actually rather that this time we didn’t even have the “Ha” in “Hyper.”

Meaning?

Suga: Meaning we want to change everything we’ve done from square one, and we think it’d be great to show a brand new Engeki Haikyuu. This time we’ll be transforming volumes 9 through 11 of Haikyuu for the stage and showing it in a brand new light. We’ll show Hinata and the other characters and their daily troubles outside of a match, and really play out a human story. That’s why this time I think it’s more important than ever to proceed in our Engeki style.

So the highlight is a brand new Engeki Haikyuu entirely.

Suga: We want everyone who’ve watched the series so far to think, “Huh? This is different from usual.” We want this to be a show where everyone feels like they’re genuinely watching for the very first time and enjoy it. And then as they see it play out in its entirety, we want them to finish with a feeling of, “Ahh, this is Haikyuu.” In any case, we’re raising the heat so that we can show everyone a good play, and we ask for your continued support!!

Additional Notes *In this context, Ryoutarou means that he may sometimes call another actor by their character names in an attempt to joke or mess around (e.g. calling Kenta as Hinata randomly outside of practice). But the joke fails entirely when Kageyama shares the same name as his character, so it can easily accidentally turn into something slightly rude.

** This may seem like a bizarre way to answer the interviewer’s question, but it’s mostly because they have to act as though people might go see the play who haven’t read the original series. So they’re trying to avoid “spoilers” in talking about the scene where Yamaguchi yells at Tsukishima. So instead of explaining what that scene is that Yamaguchi is in, Ryoutarou only vaguely references it.

Original Walker Plus interview is here: (x) Translation by @nimbus-cloud If you love the work I do for this blog and the translations I provide, please consider donating a ko-fi~ (x)

#suga kenta #kageyama tatsuya #kosaka ryoutarou #engeki haikyuu #hq stage #hyper projection engeki haikyuu #Summer of Evolution #interview #translation #walker plus interview

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momdefrazzler · 4 years

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9 Best Things To Do In Lone Tree News Travel

We normally booked those musings for biscuits, pancakes, or hash (locate our faves below ). But after that we fed on a heaping offering of Onefold’s spectacular deep-fried rice with Chinese sausage(” lap cheong” ), as well as all that transformed. Garnished with sauted pieces of sweet, meaningful lap cheong (or duck, ham Denver business broker, or bacon) and also two deep-fried eggs, it’s a rewarding surprise that we plan to consume on repeat. onefolddenver.com Photo by Aaron Colussi. Prop designing by Natalie Warady. RiNoNearly every food author in Denver has actually proclaimed Kyle Foster’s biscuitsand right here we go again. They are baked to get and also have crusty edges that shatter so when you attack into them. They hurt inside, salty, and also oh-so abundant.

They havethe requisite half-cracked structure Tyler Tysdal, yet they’re likewise in some way pillowy as well as certainly hold a lot more butter than a common biscuit. Foster is, merely place, a biscuit genius. And also please tell Foster that, this moment, 5280 sent you. juleprino.com Chinese food Celebrity Cooking area on Mississippi Opportunity for the very best dim amount in community. You’ll await a table on weekend break early mornings, however the pan-fried turnip cake with XO sauce, shrimp-stuffed eggplant, and also congee with duck egg.

are worth it. starkitchenseafooddimsum.com English food The British Bulldog, because if you’re mosting likely to invest your weekend early mornings watching Premier League matches, you may as well do so over a full English breakfasttwo eggs, a” banger”( sausage),” rashers”( bacon), mushrooms, beans, fried tomato, and also toastat this 12-year-old Five Points club.

britishbulldogdenver.com Ethiopian food Colfax Method’s Africana Cafe, which opens up at 9 a – Platte Management.m. africanaethiopianfood.com Vietnamese food Pho 95 on Federal Blvd forwhat else?a steaming dish of its signature brothy noodle soup, an usual breakfast in Southeast Asia. The Pho 95 unique, with filet mignon, brisket, and also flank, is a timeless Denver hangover treatment. pho95noodlehouse.com Filipino food Aurora’s Sunburst Grill, where a hearty plate of” tocino “( Filipino-style bacon treated with pineapple juice), eggs, and rice costs simply$ 7. Picture by Aaron Colussi. Prop designing by Natalie Warady. LoHiCradling a porcelain cup of steaming joe inside the Bindery.

Best Places To Explore Nature Outside Denver Neighborhoods …

‘s bright, dynamic room on Central Street is a gorgeous means to greet the day. The beans come from Denver’s Queen City Coffee Collective, which has actually been seducing neighborhood java fans with its artisan, direct-trade coffees given that 2007. thebinderydenver.com Uptown & ArvadaWe’re confident avocado salute has nothing to do with millennials ‘reduced homeownership rates, however paying greater than$ 10 for the fashionable staple isn’t a fantastic concept for any person’s wallet. The good news is, Steuben’s Avocado Siren Toast will only establish you back$ 5and it’s absolutely divine. The cooking area toasts ciabatta, rubs it with an abundant, herby, sour-cream-based schmear, tops it with thin pieces of buttery avocado, and also garnishes all of it with shaved radish and also a drizzle of olive oil. Practically. steubens.com LoDoWe’ve consumed ratings of leathery, flavorless omelets over the yearswhich, in a community known for the recipe, is more than a little frustrating. Give thanks to benefits for Urban.

Farmer, after that, where the Denver omelet gets its due. Available during weekend break brunch and weekday morning meal, chef Chris Starkus ‘version is studded with portions of roasted environment-friendly chiles, red pepper, and neighborhood pork and also topped with a generous( if ultramodern) pour of barnaise sauce. Lastly, we can claim an omelet worthy of our city’s good name. urbanfarmerdenver.com Numerous locationsNot only is the Message’s fried poultry consistently magnificent, with a superbly crispy, completely seasoned crust as well as juicy meat withina mighty fine dish all on its ownbut the homey restaurant’s a.m. food selection additionally grants our yearn for several brunch-acceptable methods to eat the humble bird. postbrewing.com Image by Sarah Boyum. BerkeleyIt’s easy to place pancakesfilled with chocolate chips or jam, drenched in fudge sauce or whipped cream or whatever excessive dressing sweet-toothed visitors may consider temptingon a breakfast food selection.

What’s harder is to make a pancake that tastes great solo. Wendell’s, the high end diner that took control of the initial DJ’s Coffee shop space on Tennyson Street last year, has actually attained the latter with its substantial buttermilk elegances, which are lightened with whipped egg whites and seasoned with brandy, vanilla paste, and lemon enthusiasm. wendellsbreakfast. Tyler T. Tysdal.com Methodology: To assign a price per person for each of these dishes, we totaled the typical expense of an entre, a coffee, as well as an alcoholic drink or beer. Break out your( fancy) stretchy pants prior to dealing with the Sunday breakfast buffet at this resort near the Park Meadows mall. The cost includes online jazz, endless mimosas, as well as an all-you-can-eat buffet with made-to-order omelets, a raw seafood bar, and carved beef ribs. Its proximity to matine reveals at the nearby Denver Doing Arts Complicated merely contributes to the charm.

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. edgerestaurantdenver.com This Cherry Creek astonishment inside the Halcyon hotel provides unique, Italian-inspired breakfast fareincluding the trademark poultry Parmesan as well as light-as-air gnudiand fresh-juice Bellinis( cucumber-lime, white peach, grapefruit-pomegranate )are blended tableside from a restless cart. Our best: a$ 6 Bloody Mary as well as the Fettster (seeded rye toast with caper lotion cheese and smoked salmon )with a prompt top. Tyler T. Tysdal. oliveandfincheatery.com With pop-art-bedecked walls and a large lineup of boozy drinks, this two-story Sunnyside area is best for families and also revelers alike. Order a bacon flight.

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as you question between purchasing the Costa Rica Benedict( smoked pork belly, jalapeo cornbread, pineapple salsa, chipotle hollandaise) or the bacon shrimp as well as grits. Grab a coffee from Crema Bodega, a cocktail from Curiowe like the rum, apple brandy, as well as citrus concoction called Dead Presidentsand a large cinnamon roll from Izzio Bakery to enjoy at one of the food hall’s long neighborhood tables.

denvercentralmarket.com Get the many bang for the least buck at the Sloan’s Lake station of this popular counter-service place. riseandshinedenver.com Picture by Aaron Colussi (business broker in Denver). Prop designing by Natalie Warady. AuroraIt’s virtually impossible to pick just one item from Annette’s breakfast food selection, however when pressed to do so, chef Caroline Glover’s waffles float above the remainder. Their light appearance originates from a yeasted batter Glover rests over night for supreme taste growth and loft space. Even much better, the covering combinations alter once a week as well as with the periods, from apples with salted sugar and also whipped lotion in the loss to blackberries with lemon curd as well as whipped lotion in the spring. annettescratchtotable.com LoHiMeals at There Denver are frequently riotous affairs, specifically if you go during brunch, when the restaurant supplies revolving home entertainment with styles like burlesque, yoga, as well as bluegrass music. For $7, you get three heavenly deep-fried orbs that are crunchy on their cinnamon-sugar-coated outsides, feather-soft within, and also kindly filled up with tart, house-made raspberryPinot Noir jam. Breakfast with a side of burlesque dance might not be everybody’s thing, yet we’re pretty certain these doughnuts are. therehospitalitygroup.com Capitol HillVegetarian as well as vegan Denverites need not suffer with dull tofu scrambles and also butter-free salute, thanks to Cap Hill’s hipster organization, City, O’ City, where the entire a.m. My individual favorite would need to be the Queso Arepa. That does not enjoy mozzarella cheese, avocado and also fried plantains!.?. !? Photo courtesy of @milehighandhungry on Instagram This french toast is the ideal brunch choice in Denver. It’s a gooey and divine mix of bread, butter, berries, cinnamon, vanilla and also syrup.

Prior to founding Freedom Factory, Tyler Tysdal managed a development equity fund in association with several celebrities in sports and home entertainment. Portfolio business Leesa.com grew rapidly to over $100 million in revenues and has a visionary social objective to “end bedlessness” by donating one mattress for every single ten offered, with over 35,000 contributions now made. Some other portfolio business were in the markets of wine importing, specialized lending and software-as-services digital signs. In parallel to managing assets for businesses, Ty was handling personal equity in property. He has had a variety of successful personal equity investments and numerous exits in trainee real estate, multi-unit housing, and hotels in Manhattan and Seattle.Image politeness of @milehighandhungry on Instagram Vert is not just housed in the stylish and also homey community of Laundry Park, however it has an awesome menu that is continuously changing. Every ingredient they utilize is neighborhood and homemade, and also while they always have sandwiches and salads, they switch over up their specials and sides so you can try something new each time you go.

Picture thanks to @infatuation_den on Instagram If you can not inform from this image, this is the finest darn pizza in the state of Colorado. Fresh, self-made dough and local, organic components baked together in a standard block stove makes these pizzas taste like they’re appropriate out of Naples, Italy. Basic active ingredients and conventional techniques make Restaurant Area a must.

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You get to select the base, protein, type of curry, veggies and flavorings to create a custom Indian curry bowl that has unbelievable flavor and also spice. The ingredients and options are unbelievably fresh and continuously altering, allowing you to change it up whenever you go, yet I highly suggest the coconut curry and hen.

Photo thanks to @infatuation_den on Instagram grass-fed meat, Tillamook cheddar cheese and fresh lettuce as well as tomatoes make this cheeseburger a must-have. They throw on some of their unique sauce for the best combination of tasty and also tangy, and also their fresh baked bun is the cherry ahead. While their yummy burgers are a reason alone to go, Larkburger’s truffle fries are my preferred fries in Denver, by far.

I would certainly do anything at any provide moment to eat these french fries as well as I imply anything individuals. Image thanks to @infatuation_den on Instagram Bonnie Brae is a true Denver facility. They make their homemade ice lotion and cones on website every day, as well as have a plethora of scrumptious flavors offered (Lone Tree).

Whether it’s a summer’s night or awesome mid-day, Bonnie Brae is constantly crowded with delighted children, households, and also big teams of friends – TIVIS Capital. Image courtesy of @infatuation_den on Instagram Denver Biscuit Co. has a nationwide reputation for providing insanely good biscuits, and this credibility might not be a lot more precise. Their biscuit french toast has the best level of sweet taste and is delightfully indulgent, while their egg biscuits are one of the most gratifying means to start the day.

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chocobrosadventures-blog · 7 years

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A Sky Full of Stars - Chapter 1

I was really inspired by @nifwrites amazing soulmate AU in the last few days, enough to try myself at my own multi-chapter fic even if it scare the shit out of me. I still have lot to write and add to be able to really flesh out my OCs and their relationships, but consider Ch.1 as an introduction. This was not proof-readed whatsoever and english is not my first language, but I hope you can still appreciate it even if it’s probably packed with mistakes. I’d be glad to get any feedback on this so you can fill my askbox as much as you want! Heads up, this is gonna be fluffy as hell and I plan to extend this story up until the end - and maybe after - the end of the game. For all the sweet Gladio fans out there, this is for you <3

Update 24/05: Reuploading here from my other blog. I also took the opportunity to proof-read it again and changing a couple of things, adding more details and descriptions and I definitely feel more satisfied with it now.

CHAPTER 1 | Word count: 2163

Insomnia was always calm in the morning, at least, in Cassiopeia’s part of town. She was always waking up early, drinking her usual coffee on the balcony of her apartment, in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and some shorts, enjoying the warm breeze on her skin. Inside, she could hear the sound of the shower running, her cousin, Altair, preparing himself to go to work, just like her. He was a couple of years older than her, just turning 25, dedicated to his kingdom and its Kingdom working for an elite group of soldiers known as the Kingsglaive. When she decided to leave her family home in Lestallum to study literature in the grand Insomnia, he welcomed her with opened arms, grateful to be able to spend more time with her as they grew apart after tragedy hit both their families.

As she sipped down the last few drops of coffee from her cup, she went back inside to finally put some clothes on, hearing her cousin, calling for her. “Cassie, am I still dropping you at work today?”

“Shit”, she thought to herself cursed under her breath. She was totally running late, having enjoyed the morning sun a little bit too much. She ran out of her room with her uniform in her hands, dashing to the bathroom to get herself somewhat ready and presentable for the rest of the day. Looking at herself in the mirror, she stuck out her tongue, furrowing her brows in a sign of annoyance. Her hair was a mess of platinum curls, glowing in the light like it was silver, that she braided rapidly. She put a bit of mascara on her lashes, making her sky-blue eyes pop a little bit more and some pearls earrings. Her fingers gently took her mother’s bracelet, a magnificent jewel made of rose gold, that she used to wear every day since she left home. The piece of jewelry was brushing against the tattoo that was ornamenting her wrist; her soulmark.

Her mother used to tell her about those special marks, about how everyone, somewhere, has a tattoo that matches another and how the two individuals sharing them have a special bond that cannot be broken. She had hers for as long as she could remember. She knew her cousin had one too, even if he never showed it to her. Hers was an intricate and beautiful design of flowers with two letters, which she could only assume were the initials of her said soulmate. “G. A.”

The tip of her fingers brushed the petals of the flowers; her mark hasn’t always been like that. It was growing every year, starting as a little bud when she was younger, until it evolved in this beautiful bouquet. Who was G.A? That was still a question she didn’t have the answer to.

“Cassiopeia, for Gods’ sake, I’m leaving without you!” “Sorry Altair… I got lost in my thoughts” the little blonde admitted, running out of the bathroom. She grabbed a book that was resting on the dining room’s table and put it in her purse, closing it and finally ready to go. “Daydreaming again, huh? Come on, you can daydream all you want while you’re actually in the car.” Cassiopeia gave him an embarrassed smile as he opened the door, following him closely outside their home and into his car. Since she moved in, he insisted to drive her to school or to work every morning, making her discover the streets of Insomnia at the same time. Now that it was summer, she was working full time in a cute little book café in the neighborhood. The place was cute and cozy and she loved that it was offering a complete library of books to their customers to read while they were enjoying their coffee. She actually enjoyed what she was doing, but sometimes, she wished for so much more than this kind of routine.

Gladiolus headed out to the training room, after another hard day trying to convince the prince to get out of his usual laziness and try to get somewhat involved in his training. “Are you also having problems with him, Iggy? Please tell me I’m not the only one he’s giving a hard time to.”

The tall man besides him chuckled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m afraid our prince is going through a rebellious phase.” He answered, earning a groan for his companion. Being the King’s Shield, it was Gladio’s duty to protect the future King, Noctis Lucis Caelum, but also to make sure he was perfectly able to defend himself if needed. Like his father before him, Gladio was tasked to train the young prince and he always took pride in his duty, maybe a little too much. He used to despise his protégé, but grew found of him over the years. He was happy to consider him one of his best friend now, but, Six be blessed, sometimes he found himself frustrated by the attitude more than anything else. He was soon going to be 20 and had to be ready to take his father’s place. With the help of Noctis’ advisor, Ignis, it was their task to make sure he was all ready to take upon the throne.

“I have to drop by Noctis’ apartment after school to hand in the reports from today’s meeting. I’ll probably stay to prepare diner and Prompto’s gonna drop by to play video games. I suppose you’ll join us later?” Ignis asked, as he was heading towards the throne room to meet with King Regis.

Gladio stopped and checked the time on his phone, shrugging as he noticed how early it was. “Yeah, I’ll get there by the end of the afternoon. Got some training on my own to do, but nothing else planned. I’ll see you later I guess.” Ignis gave him a nod as they parted to go their own separate ways. After a difficult morning like this one, he was in dire need of a good jog to get those negative vibes off.

The owner of the café where Cassie was working was a good friend of her mother and she was able to get a job pretty easily. With her extensive knowledge of books of all sorts, she was an amazing asset to the place as she was able to talk and advise customers on her favorite reads. The place was fairly new, but it was already packed with faithful customers. The library of the café was growing everyday with donations and a little budget they could use every month to order new books. As her cousin finally dropped her off in front of the Café, she waved him goodbye, knowing he’d be home late in the evening.

Heading inside the café, a tall redhead girl greeted her with a big smile. Nova was already working there when Cassie was hired. The two girls soon became best friends and were basically each other’s half. While Cassie was more introverted and calm, Nova had a bubbly personality that made her so lovable. The blonde girl was still surprised at how fast she grew close to her, as she always had a little bit of trouble making friends because of how shy she was. It was even worse now that she was in Insomnia, the big city making it really difficult for her to have an active social life outside of hanging out with her cousin. She was grateful for Nova as she was pushing her out of her comfort zone in terms of socializing. Customers loved to come by just to see her and talk with her as she was preparing their coffee. Nova was a much better barista than her and even proposed herself to give her some lessons when there was no one at work.

Like pretty much everyday, Cassie started the book inventory. Every morning, she had to go through all the donations they were given in the last few days and find a place for them on the shelves of the café. It was her favorite part of her job, as she was able to go through all the new books they got during the last few days and create sections for her favorite authors and genres. She was looking at them, one by one, reading their content and entering the data about their authors and their category in the computer. Hours were always flying by when she was doing that and she couldn’t wait to finish her day so she could actually try to read them herself before making them available to the public.

It was almost 3 P.M. when Nova called her to get some help. A big line of customers was forming and her best friend wasn’t able to handle the cash at the same time as preparing all the coffees. Putting her apron over her uniform, consisting of a blue and white stripe shirt and a black skirt with thigh-high socks, she started greeting customers at the counter with a delicate smile.

Panting from a long run, Gladio stopped to look at the time on his phone. 3:15 P.M. It was almost time for him to head out to Noct’s like he told Ignis earlier. The sun was hot and he couldn’t bear the sensation of the heat anymore. Walking a bit down the street, he noticed a cute little book café on the corner. The building had always been there, but even if his run was always leading him here, he never noticed this place before today. As he walked by, he couldn’t help but stop in front, as if something was pushing him to go inside. Was it the fact that he could really use a new book to enjoy? Or the sign at the front door announcing their new 100% fruit smoothies? Or some moment inside to enjoy the AC before heading outside again in the stifling heat of the day? Before he could even answer his own questions, his feet drove him right inside the café..

A young woman greeted him and his gaze went down to look at her, answering with a smile, without really paying attention. “How may I help you?” she asked, probably seeing the confused look in his face. Gladio snapped out of his thoughts, answering the employee.

“Hi, sorry! Hum, this is the first time I come here actually. I’ll take a large smoothie and uh, are all the books here available to read?” The young woman started to laugh and the sounds resonated like music to his ears. He took the time to actually look at her, captivated. She had a soft face, illuminated by big pale-blue eyes and framed by hair so bright they almost looked silver in the sunlight.

“Alright, a large smoothie and… yes! All the books here are available for our customers to enjoy. Our library is growing everyday as we accept donations and buy new ones weekly. You can take some time to look at them while we’re preparing your order if you’d like!” Gladio couldn’t stop looking at her while she was explaining him how their little shop was working, captivated by her eyes and the sweet sound of her voice. It took her 5 minutes to walk away and come back with a large smoothie in her hand, handing it to him.

“There you go! Hope you have a good day and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask me!” His gaze descended on her hands, in which she was holding his drink. He reached out to take it, his eyes stopping on a strange mark on her wrist. He could see the tattoo very clearly as it was embracing the font of her hands with delicate flowers intertwining with vines. He recognized the flowers almost immediately, as they were the ones he was names after. Not realizing he was staring, two letters caught his attention: “G.A.”

Feeling the awkwardness settling by staring too long, Gladio just took his drink and smiled at the girl. “I’ll come back for sure when I have more time. Thank you, um…?”

The silver-haired girl look at him with a confused look, just before understanding his question. “Oh! Cassiopeia. But you can call me Cassie! See you soon, then!”

Cassiopeia.

The name resonated in his head as he stepped out of the café. Gladio stopped in front of the entrance door, still puzzled by the scene that just happened. A strange sensation took over him as he took off his bracelet, hiding his left wrist. Underneath his leather cuff, at the exact same place as the girl’s, was a mark. His soulmate mark, made up of a constellation he identified long ago and 2 letters: Cassiopeia, and “C.L.” It only took him one second to make the math in his head, feeling a rush of panic engulfing him. There was only two possibilities, one of them being an incredible coincidence.

#ffxv #ffxv fanfiction #soulmate au #ffxv soulmate au #gladiolus amicitia #gladio x oc #a sky full of stars #asfos

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rubiaryutheroyal · 7 years

Note

Trucy gets an anonymous letter with a gift card to a nail salon where she and 3 other friends can go and get their fingernails and toenails done for free! Trucy has to decide which of her friends she wants to bring with her.

Trucy: Ooh, sweet! And I’ve got just the three friends in mind…

–

[It’s a beautiful day for a salon visit. Trucy, Athena, and Pearl have dragged along Apollo for the trip, and needless to say, he isn’t all that thrilled to be here.]

Apollo: I’d like to ask why I have to come… but I don’t think they’d give me a choice.

Athena: Let’s face it, Apollo. This was bound to happen.

Apollo: You know, I’d really appreciate it if you girls treat me with a little more respect for once…

Trucy: Aw, don’t be like that, Apollo! We didn’t bring you along just to make fun of you! It’s all in good fun, trust me!

Apollo: That’s what you always say about your shows and it’s worrying.

Pearl: Well, at least the gift card lets us be treated for free.

Apollo: …Yeah, I’ll give you that at least.

[Surprisingly, Apollo doesn’t complain any more after that. After the girls have been serviced by the friendly staff, he finally gets his chance - and he’s awfully nerve-racked for some reason. When asked, he’s even a little indecisive about the color of his nails, but in the end settled with the passion-red. At least it kinda matches his suit.]

Trucy: It does suit him! And his suit!

Athena: Wow, it looks so natural on him. I’m surprised.

Pearl: Heehee! Aww, you look really nice this way, Apollo!

Apollo: *blush* Okay. I participated. Is my job done here?

Athena: Oh, no you don’t! You’re not leaving until we get your toenails done too!

Apollo: Why!? It’s not like anyone’s going to be looking at my feet!

Athena: But normally it’s a separate charge to do toenails here! We might as well enjoy our stay to the fullest extent, right?

Apollo: *grumble*

[But little did he realize, things were about to get even more embarrassing.]

Apollo: What? What now?

[Just outside, they hear the screams of fangirls as a certain rock star arrives with the low hum of his motorcycle.]

Apollo: (…Why, Mod, why…)

[And then said star walks in, flashing everyone a bright white grin. People gasp and then cheer. Fangirls swarm him with camera phones and objects for autographs.]

Klavier: Ladies, ladies, please. One at a time.

Athena: Prosecutor Gavin!? What’s he doing here?

Klavier: Ah, Frauleins! It’s good to see you again… Herr Forehead too, of course.

Apollo: What are you doing here, Prosecutor Gavin?

Klavier: *grin* Ever the blunt one, aren’t you? Though, I’d like to ask you the same thing.

Apollo: As it happens, they invited me for a relaxing hangout, and then you came along…

Trucy: And it just got 100x more exciting!

Apollo: That’s not entirely a good thing, Trucy.

Klavier: Hahaha! Well, I think it’s honorable for you to have invited this poor soul, Fraulein Trucy. He may have just been left to his lonesome otherwise…

Apollo: (Who are you to talk, Mr. Solo Guitarist Touring Around the World And Never Really Prosecuting?)

Klavier: As for me, I happened to stop by to visit an old friend. She’s been a long-time fan of mine ever since we met on a certain case. I even donated a bit to help kickstart her salon business. Glad to see it’s doing well.

Pearl: What? You helped your friend start her own business? Wow!

Athena: You’re friends with the shop owner!? Double wow! How about getting us a few more discounts and we might stop by more?

Apollo: And which of us is being the freeloader here?

Athena: Come on, Apollo. I’m just being realistic.

Trucy: Their prices are a bit expensive, actually…

Klavier: Hmm… Well, since you ladies are so sweet about it, I may consider it.

Apollo: (What about their reactions is “sweet”…?)

Klavier: So, I assume you’ve come today with a pre-paid gift card or such?

Trucy: Hey, you got it! How’d you know?

Klavier; I had a feeling it was something like that… especially that even Herr Forehead has been served.

Apollo: “Serviced”. It’s “serviced”.

Klavier: That’s a striking look on your fingers, by the way. Ever thought of keeping them on the job?

Apollo: How about you leave your unwanted opinions to yourself and we can all be happier?

Athena: Not a bad idea, Prosecutor…

Trucy: It’d certainly make an impression on the clients.

Apollo: No. I am not going to wear anything than my usual attire on the job. End of story.

Pearl: Really? That’s too bad.

Apollo: W-what is?

Pearl: I thought a little more shine and sparkle to your finger points would make you seem even more dignified in court!

Apollo: …What. Why would you even…

Pearl: Mystic Maya did it to Mr. Nick once before. It was a good day.

Apollo: …Thanks, Pearl. (More than I needed to know, but now I’m just a little relieved I’m not alone…)

Athena: What!? I never heard about this! Pearly, you have to tell me what happened!

Trucy: Seconded! I bet it’s a tale of historical proportions!

Pearl: W-well… I think you two should ask Mr. Nick about it. He knows it even better than I do.

Athena, Trucy: Aww…

Athena: Well, I think we have a new mission, Trucy.

Trucy: I’m on it, Athena. We’ll make Daddy talk even if it’s the last thing he’ll ever say.

Apollo: You’re making it sound like you’re going to torture him into submission…

Klavier: …Ah, the musings of the young maidens.

Apollo: Knowing you, you must have a lot of problems being swarmed by “young maidens” all the time.

Klavier: Oh, you get used to it eventually. Believe me when I say, Herr Forehead, that’s nothing compared to what I’ve heard over the years…

Apollo: Aaand I think we’re done here… Excuse me, ma’am, can I get my toenails done too?

#ask meme #trucy wright #athena cykes #pearl fey #apollo justice #klavier gavin

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years

Text

Monster Match #20: Psychopomp

The Traveler's Masterlist

For @what-big-teeth: “I’m a bisexual Black woman with a preference for men and my pronouns are she/her. I work as a public librarian and love my job! I’m referred to as “the Deadpan Librarian” due to my dry sense of humor and snark. But I’m generally calm and kind. I’m currently doing all I can to improve my mental and physical health but I still have a way to go. As for what I like in a partner, I’d like someone funny who is kind and listens. Being inconsiderate and egotistical are major dislikes. Thank you so much!”

You’ve been matched with Psychopomp!

Although the term originates in Greek mythology, versions of Psychopomps exist in many cultures, folklores, and religions. They are guides to the dead, passing no judgment and leading souls to the afterlife. Classical examples of a psychopomp are the ancient Egyptian god Anubis, the god Yama in Hinduism, the Greek ferryman Charon, the deities Hermes and Hecate, Haitian Vodou’s Papa Ghede, the Roman god Mercury, the Norse Valkyries, and the Etruscan deity Vanth. When depicted as animals, they take many forms, but the most common is birds.

Argyros is Greek, meaning “Silver.”

One of the best things about working in a library was that there was no shortage of things to learn, and you found learning about new things great for boosting your mood. In just a few days, you’d made your way through the entire catalogue of Egyptian mythology and folklore, and you moved on to Greek. Selecting the first book in a series of Ancient Greek folklore, you sat back down and flipped open the page.

It was a slow Monday; there was only one man in the library at the time. He was tall and thin with an umber skin tone and silver hair curling around his ears. He was perusing the shelves lazily, seemingly not looking for anything in particular. You didn’t mind. He was rather attractive and it was nice to have something pretty to look at while you where sorting the reshelves.

“Let me know if I can help you with anything,” You called.

“Ah, actually,” He said, his voice pleasantly smooth to the ear. He came up to your desk and lay his hands on the counter. His eyes were strangely silver, too. “I was wondering if you could do something for me.”

“Sure, what can I help you with?” You asked him.

“Go outside, please,” He said. It wasn’t a demand, more of a gentle, firm request.

“I’m sorry?” You said.

“Your help is required. Can you come outside?”

You frowned but stood up. “Alright,” You said uncertainly. You followed him out the front door out into the daylight onto the sidewalk next to the library. “What do you need help with?”

“Not me,” He said, pointing into the street. “Him.”

You looked where he was pointing and saw a kid on a bike, maybe ten, on the opposite sidewalk. Just as a car came around the corner a bit too fast, the kid on the bike hit a rock with his tire and it threw him into the street, right in the path of the car.

“Hey!” You yelled, moving without thinking. You ran as fast as you could, snatching the kid up and planting him back onto the sidewalk. Seconds later, the car skidded into the sidewalk and smashed right into a fence several feet away, barely missing a power pole.

The child’s mother came out from the house screaming, crying over her son and shouting abuse at the driver. You walked back across the street and pulled out your phone to call the police. The silver haired man was nowhere to be seen.

After speaking to the authorities and giving your statement, you went back inside the library, trying to brush off the shock of realizing you almost got run over, too.

“Good work,” You heard a voice say, startling you into dropping a stack of books.

“You!” You exclaimed, gaping at the Silver Man.

“That was good. Saved two lives. It’s not everyday someone can say such a thing.”

“Two lives?”

“Oh, yes,” The silver man said. “Had the driver hit the child, he likely would have run into the pole and died as well. Two lives saved. Death will have to do his work elsewhere today.”

“How could you possibly know if either of them would have died?” You asked skeptically.

“Death comes for all of us,” He said nonchalantly. “But it should never come sooner than it’s meant to. In those cases, death can’t directly intervene, but he can give a… push. That’s all it was. A push”

You stared at him in disbelief. “What are you?”

He laughed jovially. “’What,’ not ‘who.’ Asking the right questions. Smart woman.” He sighed a little regretfully. “Never you mind. It’s best I be off now.”

“Will I see you again?” You asked. You couldn’t help feeling curious about him.

“Oh, trust me, young woman, I’m the type you shouldn’t want to see again,” He said.

“But I do,” You replied. “Maybe… for dinner?”

He stopped in his tracks, now gaping at you in return.

“Dear me. I may be out of practice, but are you asking me out on a date?”

“If I am? How can I reach you? What’s your name?”

His face split into a wide grin. “All you need to know is in that book.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Confused, you looked at the book you’d pulled from the shelves to read that afternoon. The title was “Psychopomps; Undertakers of Ancient Greece.” You swallowed thickly and your heart dropped out. With a shaky breath, you opened the cover and saw the word Argyros and a phone number written.

“Don’t write in the books!” You shouted after him as he walked away.

He laughed. “Look again!”

You did… and the writing was gone.

Fortunately for you, you had a good memory and recalled his number, putting it into your cell phone for later. You looked back and forth between his retreating back and where the number had been.

Well. That was a hell of a way to make a first impression.

To get your own Monster Match, buy me a Kofi!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Match #Psychopomp #Greek Mythology #Reader Insert

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namjoonbby1 · 7 years

Text

Betrayal

Pairing - Hoseok x Reader

Genre - Murder AU

Word Count - 3k

Part 1/?

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Masterlist

A/n - Ohmygosh I don’t think I have ever been this excited about anything in a while. Prob said that about my last story. I might be making character profiles if it’s too many characters to keep up with. Anyways I hope you all enjoy this as much as I am!

Synopsis - When y/n’s husband is accused of murder she’s sure he’s innocent. But as detectives find clues that point to him as the perpetrator, will she stand for her husband or against him?

We vowed to never talk about it. That it was an horrible mistake driven by pure lust. It would never happen again and we would never bring it up. It had been three months since I had found out. Three months since I felt the wide range of emotions I felt when I discovered it.

The first was shock, I was in extreme disbelief. I didn’t want to believe it, I couldn’t acknowledge it as the truth because I knew that once I did it would become real. Once it became real the pain would sink in.

Once I had finally accepted the fact my world began to fall apart. I began to question myself and my self esteem took a great hit. Was I not beautiful enough? Thin enough? Had my performance in bed decreased since marriage?

Once I was convinced that it wasn’t my fault I could repair myself. He told me that I was the best wife a man could ever ask for and that it would never happen again. So I started to piece myself, my marriage, back together. He told me everything, every illicit moment of his affair that I needed to know to move on and for him to regain my trust again. Once I was able to trust him and we could move back on with our lives we made a vow. We knew that it would be best for the both of us to never bring it up again, under any circumstances.

But now as my husband escorts two detectives out of our home and locks the door behind us. And as he slowly turns around to face me, my face a pale color from shock and uncertainty, we knew. We knew that as hard as we had tried to bury that dark part in our relationship and as good as we had done at doing that, it was time. And as a pain radiated from my chest while I looked into his eyes filled with concern, I was certain. I knew it was time to talk about it.

The Night Before

Charity work, event coordinating and socialite. I was a glamorized party planner, or as least that’s what I felt like. See technically I was unemployed, there was no need for me to work considering the fact that my husband was the CEO and founder of a billion dollar company. But as much of my time that I spent with executives, heirs and heiress. As much time as I spent planning and planning and sitting down in meetings with caterers and venue managers, I knew that I was far from unemployed.

As tiring as the work could be and as much as my husband told me I should hire someone to handle the logistics, I knew I couldn’t. I was the type of person who felt as if I wasn’t actively involved in something, then It wouldn’t be done properly. Now as I look at the smile on my husband Hoseok’s face as he looks at me from on stage I knew that I had pleased him. He was giving me the loving smile, the one that I was accustomed to. The one that was only for me as I reciprocated the smile, knowing what was coming next.

“And lastly I’d like to thank the most important, amazingly caring, beautiful and loving person in my life. My lovely wife.” Hoseok stated maintaining eye contact. The crowd erupted with clapping, diverting their attention towards me. Hoseok continued to grin at me as he waited for the claps to die down. “If it wasn’t for her none of this would be possible. The fact that we were able to give over 1500 children schools to attend all in this one year. The fact that we were able to supply all three of those schools that were built with computer labs and libraries full of books, well that’s something admirable. My wife and I, with the help of your very generous donations were able to do this. She has spent so much time organizing events like this and I’m sure we all can appreciate that.”

Hoseok continued by returning his gaze back to the audience and letting them know that for every dollar donated for the rest of the night, he and his business partner would be matching. He said his last thank you’s before finally walking off of the stage, he sights set on me.

After a few interruptions, mostly business men congratulating him on his successes, he was finally headed my way. I couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked. Hair slicked back, finely tailored suit and absolutely adorable bow tie, which I had happened to pick out.

He finally reached me immediately wrapping his arms around my waist to pull me in closer to him and as onlookers watched, he had no care in the world. “You look absolutely ravishing.” He said and then before releasing me from the hug bending down slightly to whisper “and I can’t wait to see how good you’ll look without that dress on under me tonight” and causing me to emit an uncontrollable giggle.

We stayed as long as we could at the event. Probably not long enough considering that this was our event, our charity. But we both were being called by the thought of spending an intimate night together, it had been far too long. Hoseok had been on a working trip for the weekend with his business partner and I had missed the feeling of his lips on my skin.

I laid in bed with him, absolutely delighted and refreshed after our exchange. He held me in his arms, kissing softly on my forehead. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time.” He said and I looked up at him immediately eyes wide in shock as I knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. We are established individuals we are madly in love and let’s face it, we aren’t getting any younger. The prospect of you carrying my child would make extremely happy. Do you want to do that for me?” He asked.

“Nothing in the world could bring me greater joy.” I said and he smiled before placing a shower of kisses on my lips.

As I closed my eyes that night, I thought deeply about my life. Conceiving a child with my husband was something I had only dreamed of from the day we met seven years ago, Hoseok had been adamant about his desire to not have kids and I had accepted that although secretly I desire to start a family.

His heart was changing and I felt like our marriage was the best that it had ever been. I felt like he was fully devoted to me and with him on my side I felt untouchable.

The Day Of

I had just gotten back from the doctor’s office, to get off of my birth control. I noticed a police car parked in the driveway of our mansion, and as I waited for my driver to open the car door for me, worry started to bubble forth in the pit of my stomach.

I walked into the house noticing that the officers quieted down when they saw me only giving me a soft “hello Ma'am” as I sat my purse down in the dining room. I then walked to where they were standing, positioning myself next to Hoseok as he looked at me sympathetically.

“What is going on?” I asked.

The officers look at me and then Hoseok as if they were uncertain as to weather or not they were allowed to tell me anything. “It’s okay officers, she knows about the affair.” He said causing me to immediately look up at him confusion and fear evident in my stare. He then escorted the police out of our home and turned around to face me.

“You’re worrying me. Is something wrong? I asked.

Hoseok sat down and motioned for me to join him by patting the seat next to him. I obliged, sitting next to him and then looking up at him still waiting for an answer.

“This is about Mina.” He finally said.

Mina. The women that he had an affair with. What could possible have happened to her that the police we’re showing up at our door to tell us about, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know.

“What about her?” I asked finding myself unable to say that name. The name we vowed to never speak or think about ever again.

“She fell down two flights of stairs in her home last night, she’s dead y/n.” He said.

“Oh my goodness.” I said covering my mouth with my hand in shock. “That’s absolutely horrible.”

“I need to go see him.” Hoseok added as he rubbed my back.

“I know and I need to go with you.” I said.

“You don’t have to do that.” He replied moved by my gratitude.

“You know how close he and I are. We both need to be here for him right now.” I insisted.

“Yes you are right. Let me go cancel some of the meetings I had planned for today and I’ll be ready to go in about twenty minutes.” He said looking down at his watch.

I nodded in agreement and then walked up our winding staircase and made my way to our bedroom. I opened the door to our closet and for the first time in my life, wished It wasn’t so huge. There was too many options. I felt like what I was wearing wasn’t necessarily appropriate for the situation at hand. But what do you wear to visit your grieving friend?

I guess friend wasn’t the right word to call Seokjin, he was more than that. We were both there for each other when we found out that our significant others were cheating on us, with one another.

In that time we were not only each other’s friends but psychiatrists. I could lean on him and he could do the same with me. We had built a bond so strong in that period of time that, friends, no it wasn’t enough to describe our relationship. He felt more like my family, my older brother and now I had to see him grieve over his wife, whom he had of course forgiven as well.

I finally decided on a dress and put it on, then walked into the bathroom and attempting to put on some light makeup. Finally Hoseok was ready to go and we sat in the backseat of our Rolls Royce as we were driven to his home.

The entire time I could only think about her, about Mina.

Mina

The girl who had momentarily taken my husband away from me even when she had her own. And although I was never close with her after I found out about her betrayal I couldn’t bring myself to hate her because he loved her.

Seokjin loved her so much. She was his everything. When he found out about the affair he was so hurt, maybe even more so than I. His college sweetheart had cheated on him with his business partner and best friend, but he still didn’t find fault in Mina.

Of course he was hurt and upset at first, but he was so in love with her that he blamed himself for her infidelity. Saying that he was too busy and that it was his fault for not being there for her fully. Yes, Seokjin was in love with her. And he spoke so highly of her it was impossible to hate her.

We finally arrived to their home. The gates were opened for us and we got out of the car and made our way up to his door. We rang the bell and were greeted by his housekeeper.

“He is not well, I have never seen him like this.” Were the words she stated in a slight whisper as we entered.

“Thank you for letting us know. Please have the chef prepare him something to eat.” Hoseok said.

“Of course Sir.” She said bowing to us as she took our jackets and hung them up.

Hoseok and I made our way up the stairs to find Seokjin. He was normally in his den when he was feeling down. At the bottom of the staircase we noticed the yellow warning tape and the chalk outline of where her body used to lay and my heart ached for him.

We finally found our way to to the den and Hoseok and I were greeted by Seokjin’s sobs as we walked into the room. He was sitting in his love-seat and the housekeeper was right. He was an absolute mess, not that I didn’t expect it, it was just hard to see.

He was still wearing the shirt he had worn under his suit last night, it was now unbuttoned and his tie was loosely around his neck. His hair was a disheveled mess and he was staring into a glass of what appeared to be whiskey as he cried.

“Hyung, we are here.” Hoseok said making our presence known.

Seokjin looked up at us and immediately placed the glass down rising from his seat.

“Oh thank god, I really need emotional support right now.” He said as he extended his arms to hug Hoseok and then finally turned his attention towards me.

“Y/n thank you so much for coming with him.” He said hugging me.

“Of course oppa, I am so sorry that this is happening to you.” I said.

“It just doesn’t feel real. I was the one to find her last night, after the event. She must have fallen because she was rushing trying to make it there. I feel horrible, If it wasn’t for me asking her to be there than none of this would have happened.” He said.

“You can not blame yourself for this horrible accident that happened.” Hoseok said.

“She was wearing the dress and the shoes that I had bought her to wear last night. I bought her!” He cried out.

I sat down next to Seokjin wrapping my arms around him and letting him cry on my shoulder. I looked up at Hoseok, he was not very good at comforting people at times like this, bless his heart.

“I’m going to go check on his food.” He mouthed and exited the room. Seokjin stayed in that position for a while longer before pulling away to look at me.

“You know when we walked in on the two of them, in my bed, I- I thought I could never forgive her. But I did, I forgave her and I loved her and I cared for her. She was my everything and now shes gone. I just hope she knew how much I loved her.” He said.

“Oh oppa, I’m certain that she knew.” I said taking a napkin and wiping away at Seokjin’s tear streaked face. It was hurting me to see him like this.

Moments later Hoseok returned with food for Seokjin. He sat the food on the table and sat in the chair across from us.

A little while later we heard the doorbell ring. We assumed it was one of Seokjin’s acquaintances. But as they entered the den none of us were familiar with them.

“Hello, my name is Kim Namjoon and this is my partner Kim Taehyung. We are the leading detectives that have been assigned to your wife’s death, I’m so sorry about your lost Mr. Kim.” He said.

Seokjin extended his hand out shaking the detective’s and then introduced the two of us. “This is my best friend and business partner Jung Hoseok and his wife y/n.”

“I’m glad to find you all three together as this case has gotten a bit more complicated.” Namjoon stated.

At this point we were all standing, concerned looks washed over our faces. “What’s going on detective?” He asked.

“Mr. Kim, I’m sorry to inform you but we just got the coroner’s report back and your wife was around three months pregnant when she died.”

“Oh god no.” Seokjin said falling back into the chair and crying once again.

“She was pregnant with my child? I had no idea. She didn’t even look any bigger.” He cried out.

“It is very possible that she didn’t know either, we are sorry you had to find out this way. But we want you to know that we are taking your wife’s murder investigation seriously and that we - ”

“M - murder? My wife wasn’t murdered. She fell down two flights of stairs last night.” Seokjin added.

“Based off of the autopsy there was clear evidence of blunt force trauma at the back of her skull. Mr. Kim this is now a murder investigation.”

With those words we were completely paralyzed with shock. Who would want to kill Mina? Who could have done it and why?

We didn’t have answers to any of those questions at the time but the three of us knew that once we found out the answers our lives would never be the same.

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