#Castleton Corners | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dabisbratz · 1 year

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KISS ME THRU THE PHONE — eren jeager x male reader

w.c: ~4.2k

WARNING: dirty talk (a lot of it), degradation, dumbification, camboy!reader, twitch streamer!eren, nerd!eren, parasocial relationships, crossdressing(? reader wears bikini lingerie), amab reader, use of the words ‘pussy’ and ‘cunt’ as synonyms for (ass)hole, fingering, phone/cyber sex, praise, butt plugs, dildos, mutual masturbation

“Fuck,” Eren’s voice crackles loud in your headphones, staticky and grainy as you wriggle the wire until his voice is clear again. It pops in your ears, but you don’t mind, because the next thing you hear is the melodical chime of Eren’s maniacal laughter. He’s streaming a playthrough, about three hours in, and stuck on a certain mission. You can’t help it, his voice is smooth and comforting, like a blanket fresh out the dryer… Even as he yells. It’s easy to imagine how he sounds above you, glasses discarded and his silver chain dangling over your face as you blink away tears. “Fuck! Fuck you! I had it!”

His eyes are a striking type of blue-green; set ablaze by his PC screen and sparkling with shades that remain nameless to this day. His glossy, rosy, lips curl into a frustrated sneer.

It’s not your fault, you ration, failing to wipe away the lewd thoughts somersaulting in your brain. It’s not your fault, the tightening of your pants as you wriggle in bed, laptop illuminating in the dark room. It’s not your fault, the twitch of your dick when Eren’s grainy lips let out an unimpressed grunt. It’s not your fault, the way you’re quick to squeeze the base of your cock in an attempt to satiate the need bubbling in your stomach.

There’s just something different about Eren, something that makes your body tingly and needy.

Okay, maybe it’s your fault.

You inhale sharply, fisting the soft material of your blankets until you glance at the time, digital numbers ticking in the right-hand corner of your laptop screen. Fuck was right, you had your own stream to do and you were running late, too busy focused on the pretty boy reading his chat messages. Heat prickles your neck, the realization of your erection standing strong and determined at mention of the man. You quickly rip the headphones free from your ears, ready to close the tab with an exasperated sigh. At least you didn’t have to pretend to be riled up.

Before you leave, though, you donate a generous amount, giggling to yourself when the streamer pauses to read it aloud, thanking you for the money.

Truthfully, being a camboy was hard work. You had to pick out cute outfits, keep up a cheery voice to satisfy whoever was watching, and… think of something to get you going on the spot. There’s only one thing— one man — occupying your state of mind, making your stomach drop and fill with rocks during normal, mundane tasks.

That stupid, stupid streamer. He’s ruining your career!

Him and his brown tufts of hair that swirl around his head like a makeshift halo, messy and unkempt as if he’d just rolled out of bed to interact with his viewers. His hair that melts like chocolate, warm as it cascades down his cheeks and rests just above his shoulders.

You wish you could see him up close, study the curve of his lips as they pull into a mischievous smirk, watch the way his emerald irises turn into bottomless pools of rich, deep sacramento. With gangly limbs and unruly hair, fingers tousled between chestnut bundles as he groans in reaction to your terrible joke, responding with the energy only an animation could portray.

You wonder what he’s like at home, just as Eren. The nerd, the nobody, the offline ‘soulmate’ to many— his chat was living, breathing evidence. Is he just as funny? Does his voice crack when he speaks, or does he make that up too? You stare into your reflection, pulling at the skin of your cheeks in an attempt to free yourself from his digital grasp. The distorted image of Eren stares back at you, castleton eyes wide and prominent, twinkling at you like he wants to reel you in. You try to ignore it, the tugging feeling in your chest that mocks you endlessly. At the end of the day, you’re just a fan.

Shit, you’re late.

You can’t help but pout, jutting out your bottom lip, shiny and plump as you rearrange your tripod in the direction of your bed. Flopping back onto the pillowy mattress with a quiet ‘humph!’, you shimmy out of your clothes to retrieve new, cuter ones, settling for striped (blue and white) panties that were much too small for practicality and a thinly veiled, matching bikini.

The straps are silky against your skin, hugging your shoulders until the fabric dips between the middle of your chest, divided and exposed, with a cute, white bow barely bigger than the pad of your thumb to hold it together.

You look pretty. Angelic, even.

‘AngelzConnect: bunnyboo is live..! Tap in 2 spread ur wingz!’

Eren squints his eyes, vision darting to the notification on his phone. He’s almost four hours into his own stream, and honestly… He could use some time to himself. His skin ends up flushed, a blotchy shade of pink that clashes with the rest of his face.

“Look, guys,” He starts, tired fingers already maneuvering his mouse to click the “end livestream” button. His tone falls flat, thick with fatigue as chat flies by, understanding the tone almost instantly. “It’s getting late… I gotta go!”

“Hi, guys!”

You wave to the camera, apples of your cheeks fattening as you smile, bright and warm. Enough to supply an entire solar system. Your boyish face relaxes, softening as you lean forward to read the influx of messages sprinting across the screen of your old laptop. The catchlights make your eyes look wobbly, bright and doe-eyed as you respond to a few questions, readjusting your spot in bed out of a nervous habit.

You look so sweet in your revealing outfit, arms flexing as you make hand gestures while you speak. Eren wonders how you keep your hands so soft, clearly flawless and callous-free.

With his PC screen large and high quality, he can take in your every detail. An excited tremor racks Eren’s body, forcing blood flow straight to his groin. The upward angle makes shadows meet to frame you perfectly, a realistic display of standing above someone while they sit at your knees. The curve of your face, the slope of Adam's apple, the dips and bends of your silhouette as you shuffle in bed, shy.

He can see an array of pillows behind you, soft and plush as they’re propped up against your headboard. You also have an arrangement of toys places biggest to smallest, beside you. They’re just as cute as you, decorated and sparkly in the camera. His heart stutters in his chest, loud in his ears as he audibly gulps.

“How was your day?” You speak like it’s natural, as if you’re talking to every viewer personally. Like you genuinely mean it. Like you’re talking to Eren himself. He sighs, heavy and hot as he shuffles to pull his cock out the confines of his black sweatpants.

Your thumbs loop around the white spaghetti straps of the bikini until the fabric stretches and snaps, landing against the soft skin of your chest. Your whine is breathy, barely audible as you push yourself back, sure to get the rest of your body in frame. You can’t exactly imagine how you look right now, spreading your thighs as you sit on your knees, staring into a camera with pleading eyes. But you feel good about it, fluttering your lashes as your computer chimes with donations.

You’ve hit your first goal, which earns an excitable laugh that Eren can’t help but coo at. Your eyes curve and crinkle, a sweet smile that’s all teeth and glossy lips. He watches you reach for the glass dildo beside you, moderately sized and gleaming under the soft ring-light that traces your body off camera.

He watches you trace its edges with your fingertips, pretty eyes scanning the chat as users tell you (in great detail) what they’d like you to do with it. Call him parasocial if you must, but it makes Eren’s blood boil. His fit doesn’t last long, because the next thing he knows, you’re suckling on the glass, pink tongue circling what would be the head of a cock had it not been fake.

Eren doesn’t miss a beat, spitting a thick glob of spit into his palm to start at his head, inching his hand further and further down until he’s palming his balls. He’d like to imagine the dildo is his dick, thick and veiny as he pushes it into the aching insides of your throat, feeling it contract and convulsive around him. Oh, fuck.

“In n’ outta that fuckin’ throat… let me use it…” He groans, just a low whisper to himself as he watches your eyes glaze over with tears. “Fuuuck, let me use it while you sit there n’ take it for me.”

You sputter around it, loud and pathetic as your eyebrows knit together. It’s obvious you’re trying to deepthroat it first try, your tongue rolled out of your mouth as drool slides down your chin and into your lap. Your skin is slick and wet, shining in the camera.

“Damn,” Eren gasps, the sound caught and strangled in his throat as he spits down on his cock again, imagining it as your drool. There’s something charming about it, the way you gag and choke, just to blink harshly and try all over again. “Bet you crave it.”

“Gonna be my good boy..?” Eyes glued to the screen, Eren watches you turn to the side, showing off just how deep you can take the makeshift dick. It bulges in your throat, the pretty area stretched out and swollen with the more cock it takes. Your eyes flutter shut, handsome face relaxing as you concentrate on burying it to the hilt, back arched. “Knew you could do it. Mmh, good b—oy.”

He sighs, shaky and tilting into a desperate whine. His heart is stuck in his ears, beating loud as he pumps his cock with more vigor, pressing his thumb into the underside of the pink head, massaging the beading precum into his shaft.

You’ve moved to expose your lower half, slowly inching the striped underwear until you’ve exposed your winking hole to the camera, pretty cock dangling just below frame. Even after all this streaming, you still never got ahold of the framework. Cute. But you’re not empty, whining as you press a cute, bunny-tailed, glass plug into your hole, whimpering loud enough to have Eren’s cock leaping.

His climax is approaching embarrassingly fast, but Eren feels the urge to hold on gripping the base of his cock so he can direct his attention to the ‘donate’ button. He wants to save his cum for you, keep himself pent up so he’ll have plenty to shoot deep inside you.

Your dick weeps, a thin trail of precum connecting itself to the panties around your thighs, and the bashful look you gift to the camera has Eren re-entering his credit card information ten times over.

“Oh my God!” You shriek, voice shrill and surprised as you stumble over your own limbs, tears and drool still running down your face. “Holy… Thank you! Wait, hold on—”

There’s visible embarrassment on your face, eyes wide and mannerisms frantic as you click around, apologizing under your breath. You can barely read the chat, viewers either complaining about being unable to top the donation or claiming it’s a scam.

“Is this.. Are you real, jeagerbomb?” Your eyes scan the donation over and over, pretty and still hazy from your earlier display. The username ticks in the back of your head like a clock, continuous and gnawing as you try to shake the thought. The thought of Eren— your Eren, watching your streams. “I can’t accept this!”

‘im real.’ Eren types, one handed. It’d be awfully embarrassing if he’d just paid to video chat with you for no reason— your acknowledgment almost has him blowing his load over your pixelated face.

‘and you will.’

Your jaw goes slack, lips forming a wide ‘o’ in response to the question. He’d paid the maximum amount, bought a private session with you. Paid to be your ‘Daddy’ for the night.

You’re much more shy one-on-one. It’s the first thing Eren notices. Your demeanor has completely changed, a little less confident and saccharine, much more shy and hesitant. Still, you look like the perfect pornstar, the cutest display of a boy who’d be plastered under a sketchy hentai site. He supposes your coyness adds to it, your shaky hands nervously playing with the strap of your underwear.

Stained with a wet patch of precum that has yet to dry, and he watches you cuddle a pillow, big and distorted as you hug it to your chest. You’re shifting your weight, sinking into the mattress and looking a lot more vulnerable than he expected. Still, you nervously laugh, a small giggle of a thing that has Eren’s lungs filling with water.

Before you’d started to chat, Eren made sure to fix his hair and straighten out his sorry excuse of facial hair. He’d even kept his contacts in, hair tied back so none of his hair could obstruct his vision. He wants to burn

“Hi, jeagerbomb,” Hearing it come from your lips never gets old, and Eren finds himself once again squeezing the base of his cock. He’s glad you have yet to see below his belt, your eyes squinting into crescents as you take in his familiar background and steady the curve of his lips. His camera cuts just above his top lip, but you can still see the memorabilia in his room. Dedicated to Marvel comics and anime characters, it’s charming, a shelf holding up figurines from some of your fondest videogames. “Is there something else I should… Call you? Or.. Or is Daddy okay?”

Butterflies flutter in your stomach. He reminds you so much of Eren, and the username certainly isn’t helping.

His frame looks comforting, a large t-shirt draping his body as he lifts his hips, careful not to expose himself. As he lifts himself up with his forearms you notice the veins in his arms, snaking up his wrists and disappearing into his large, skinny hands. He has a few tattoos littered across his knuckles, a cursive ‘Carla’ cascading up his ring-finger. Just below the area that disappears beneath the shadow of his dark t-shirt’s sleeve, there’s a bird tattoo, flapping its wings oddly and fitting for the stranger. Funny, your favorite streamer has that, too.

Wait. . .

“Eren,” He breathes, and your world crumbles. “I’m Eren.”

His voice tilts, breathy and hitched. You’ve dreamed of moments like this, of hearing his voice in your ears while he spreads your legs, sinking deep inside your velvety walls with the click of his hips. It’s nothing compared to the real thing.

“Eren,” You purr, sweet and gentle as you smile at him through the camera. “Thank you for the donation, Eren.”

It’s only a matter of time before lust catches up to you, grabbing you by the throat as you watch Eren’s pretty hands in motion. Every noise he makes is audible, the small pants and sighs when you say his name, the ruffle of fabric when he has to grip his cock to stop himself from cumming early. It was innocent at first, a sweet talk that had the two of you bouncing back witty quips and flirtatious glances.

There’s a bite to your lip, heat flaring in your tummy as you open the chat box.

‘You look pretty.’ Was he too nervous to say it aloud?

“Thank you!” Your grin spreads, body lighting up from the praise.

“My bad, I’ve never…” His mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, as he scrambles to rearrange his words. He is not a pent up virgin. You’re so used to hearing him yell, his natural speaking voice sounds much more relaxed.

“I’ve never done this before. I jerk off to you all the time, just never, you know… With you.”

You nod, clear as day on his large screen as you shyly trace stars on the exposed skin of your thigh. Eren looks like he regrets telling you that, hands curled up into fists before releasing, again and again. But you can feel the tension, thick and palpable even through computer screens. So you swallow down your nervousness, your fear of embarrassing yourself in front of your favorite streamer, and wave away his stubborn outlook.

“We can guide each other! Mhm?”

“Wanna give you sweet kisses… all around your hole… run my tongue down it…my…warm, fuck, wet tongue…” Guide you, he does, and you can’t take it, a moan flowing from your mouth as your fingers melt into your sopping entrance, lube spilling onto your thighs as you work it inside, slippery and wet. “Bet you taste perfect.”

Eren’s rambling to himself now, legs spread wide and in-frame as he twists his fist around his fat cock and spits down onto it.

“Bet my boy’s hole tastes so fuckin’ good.” He reiterates. Shaking his head, unsteady groans float into the air as he watches you finger yourself, hole opening and closing over the digits like it’s too shy to fully present itself. Your eyes are heavy, legs kicked up into the air as you keep yourself as open as possible, holding onto the back of your knees so Eren can clearly see inside of you.

“Please, mhmm, Rennie...” You whimper, and Eren swears he blacks out. You’re not entirely sure what you’re begging for. It’s the implication because you being his. His boy. His to fuck, his to use, his to hold. So, what is it? His presence? His dick? His hands? His cum? Whatever it is, he wants more. And he wants to give it to you, fast and deep and ruthless.

There’s something about your eyes, the way they stay in contact with Eren’s cock as he gently squeezes his balls and bucks up into the air with increasing desperation.

“Yeah, look up at me while I spit on my cock,” Hes breathless, lowering his face into frame and gathering saliva in his mouth. This spit should be yours.“You like that? Such a good boy for me.. so pretty.”

You nod profusely, though he’s not sure if it’s because you like the nicknames or if you’re answering his question. But it’s good enough for him, watching your head bob eagerly as you fuck yourself on your fingers, lube occasionally squelching and shooting straight into the camera.

“That’s it, pretend like you’re fucking my cock.” His pupils are blown wide, lips parted as he watches you scramble for the dildo beside you, patting your hand against the arrangement of toys until you’ve found the one you like. The glitter is green, this time, and the toy has a slight curve to it. It’s thick, too, and he can’t wait to see it splitting your pretty hole open.

“Re— Rennie, can I.. Want you here.” He watches your fingers slip out, slick and sticky as you spread yourself open. Your gooey hole throbs against your fingertips, achy and needy as you struggle to see past your balls. You press a small tap to your gaping entrance, puffy and empty as you whine and beg for something to fill it back up. “Want you in here.”

“Yeah, pretty boy, you have permission,” He twists your words back to you, punching you right in the gut as your eyes roll back and your brain short circuits. You have his permission. “Get my cock wet for me.”

His cock. You’re quick to nod, squirting more lube onto the toy with something a little more pitiful than grace. A little more desperate. But Eren doesn’t seem to mind, instead lifting the hem of his shirt to pin the fabric down with his chin, dick fully exposed and pulsing on camera. He’s waiting.

“Ohh, ‘Ren,” You mewl, your rim expanding around the glass toy as it slides inside, pushing past the band of your puffy hole and sliding obscenely from the lube. Your eyes burn with unshed tears, wrists working to push it deeper and deeper, aiming for that spot that’ll have you seeing stars. “You’re… inside…”

“Keep takin’ it for me. That’s it, let your brain go empty,” He groans, swiftly reaching to the side to grab a toy for himself. Under different circumstances you’d laugh at the implication of Eren streaming to a huge audience with a fleshlight just beside him and out of frame, but this time it makes you moan. “Don’t have to think, just go dumb on this cock.”

You admit it. It feels better to think with your dick, tears spilling from your eyes as you fuck yourself like a whore, whimpering and moaning around the glass. It should be Eren, warm and wet and real. You should be able to feel him pulsate inside you, burying himself against your prostate until you’re babbling on his dick, holding onto him for dear life while he desperately ruts into you

“Feel how hard I am inside of you? Feels so fuckin’ good, pretty baby. Just hold on.”

You look pathetic, spread open with drool painting your face as you moan on his cock, quickly timing your thrusts with each rapid stroke of your cock, loud and messy and so fucking greedy.

“Pound that hole for me… There you go.. You look so good like this.” Eren can’t wait to shoot his load, watch the thick ropes shoot around his fist and hopefully onto your face, he can’t wait to hear you thank him for his cum. It’s all for you, after all.

You’ve always made the prettiest noises, high in your throat and whiny. Your voice comes out in tiny squeaks, barely comprehensible as you gurgle on your own drool and keep your cheeks spread. Jesus wept, he wished he could hold you open with his own hands.

“Stro— Stroke that cock with that pretty fuckin’ hole.”

Eren can feel himself getting closer, the sight of your eyes rolled back and blank while you fuck yourself into oblivion, helpless and frenzied. You can’t look at him, not when your brain is derailed and hijacked by the thickness of Eren’s dick.

“F—aster? Oh, fuck, go dumb on my cock.” The brunette’s voice cracks, cute and high as he struggles to keep his eyes open, thighs trembling and burning. “Keep moaning for me, keep pounding that pussy, s’all your little whore brain can tell you to do, huh? You got it.”

“Uh huh, uh— Rennie! M’gonna cum, wanna cum on your cock! Ican’tIcan’tIcan’t!”

“Gonna take care of you, gonna make you feel good.” His fist and just as sloppy as your hole, arm tensed up and tight as he cums with a gasp. Thick, milky ropes of cum spurt from his cock, dribbling down the crown and painting itself on his PC screen. “Just keep listening to that cunt, s’telling you to keep pounding, don’t stop.”

“I can’t.” You sniffle, overstimulated and sensitive as the glass cock shifts inside you. Your voice comes out wet and staticky, but despite the shakes of your head, you’re grabbing the toy again, and slowly pushing back in and out.

“I know, baby,” Eren’s voice comes out soft and quiet, barely audible as he tugs his cock tantalizingly slow. You can see him growing softer in his hand, so he must be riding the wave of an afterglow. “Not gonna hurt you, just milk my cock for me.”

It’s weird. You’re fully capable of pulling yourself free from the searing hot grasp of overstimulation, you could easily pull the toy out and end it there. But you feel the desire to please, the need to listen to Eren’s calm voice as he catches his breath.

So you listen, rocking your hips back and forth with tiny moans that clash perfectly with Eren’s labored breaths, until you’re both soft and melting into your collective seats.

“See? So fuckin’ perfect..” Eren grins with a breathless laugh, the clarity of what he’s just done hitting him like a pickup truck. Heavy shades of pink dust his cheeks, pooling at his ears as he averts his intense gaze.

You look cute even like this, fucked out with a head full of cotton as you aimlessly wipe your face with the backs of your hand. Your underwear is haphazardly pulled back up to your hips, and there’s an obvious cum stain on the matching top. You don’t seem to mind all that much, a sleepy murmur erupting from your throat as you try your best to direct your attention to Eren, who you expected to be gone.

“ ‘Ren?” You ask, reverting back to that sweet shyness from earlier. Your handsome face contorts into something of uncertainty, but he’s not sure what you have to be nervous about.

“Yeah?”

“Could we.. Stay ‘nd videochat ‘til my laptop dies?” There’s a beat of silence, no longer than twenty seconds, but it has backtracking apologies ready to spill over.

“Yeah,” There’s a giddy glint in his eyes, bright and familiar— like he’d just received a successful hype-train. That’s the Eren you recognize, all smirks and knowing eyes. “Y’know, I stream sometimes too. We should collab sometime.”

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diopho101 · 2 months

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Place #5

Date: 02.25.2024

Time: 17:06

Place: Castleton Corners — antique store

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paulbeal · 10 months

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🚶 A few days back, I embarked on a little jaunt along a tiny portion of the Esk Valley Walk, a delightful stroll that stretches between the villages of Danby and Castleton. The entire route was approximately 3½ miles, there and back, on a lovely sun-kissed day in the heart of our delightful North York Moors countryside.

🌟 My adventure began in the village of Danby, a place that whispers history in every corner. I made sure to have a look at Danby Methodist Church before setting off. The church, a relic from 1811, boasts an extension called the Victoria Jubilee School, a tribute added in 1887 to mark the golden jubilee of Queen Victoria.

😍 No sooner had I stepped out of the village than I was greeted by the breathtaking vistas of Danby Dale, cradled within the arms of Danby High Moor. The River Esk was quietly going about its business below, carving its lazy trail through Esk Dale.

🌿 My journey soon led me along a lush grassy path towards Danby Park. And when I say 'grassy,' I mean this path was so well-kept, you'd think a groundsman from Lord's had been tending to it with a lawn mower and roller.

🌳 Before I knew it, I found myself in Danby Park, a sanctuary of Silver Birch woodland. The trees stretched upwards to create a light, airy canopy, allowing the sunlight to dance on the bark, making it shimmer and glisten.

💚 The bracken was standing tall, strong, and oh-so-green, a sight so vivid that it was even greener than the nugget of purest green discovered by Lord Percy in Blackadder II. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkZFuKHXa7w)

🏞️ Every now and then, small gaps in the foliage offered sneak peeks of High Castleton, perched on the hillside. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of envy for the fortunate individuals residing there; the views from their living rooms must be something extraordinary!

🔁 And just like that, my little adventure came to an end. I retraced my steps, once again enjoying the beauty of it all, but in reverse. It was an afternoon well spent.

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foodblogparul · 2 years

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Students and parents rejoice: international tea day is here!

International tea day is celebrated on 21st May. It is a day to pay tribute to the aromatic and flavorful beverage that has been enjoyed by billions of people around the world for centuries. On this day, people from all corners of the globe come together to celebrate their love for tea. There are many events and activities organized on international tea day, including tea parties, tea tastings, and special tours of tea plantations. One of the most popular events is the international Tea Day organized by International Institute Of Hotel Management (IIHM). This event takes participants on a journey through the history and culture of tea, from its origins in China to its current status as a global beverage. The tour also includes visits to some of the most famous tea plantations in India, such as Darjeeling and Assam. Whether you're a seasoned tea drinker or just starting out, international tea day is the perfect opportunity to explore the world of this wonderful beverage.

What is international tea day?

International tea day is a chance to celebrate all things tea. This includes enjoying different types of tea, learning about the history and culture of tea, and sampling different teas from around the world. Many events are held on this day, so there’s sure to be something for everyone.

Where is international tea day celebrated?

International tea day is celebrated in many countries around the world, but it has particular significance in India. This is because India is one of the world’s leading producers and exporters of tea. In fact, Kolkata (formerly Calcutta) is home to the International Institute of Hotel Management (IIHM), which offers a unique Tea Day tour. This tour includes a visit to a local Tea plantation, as well as a chance to sample some of the best teas in the world.

Did you know that international tea day is celebrated on 21st May? Every year, IIHM organizes a special event to commemorate this occasion. This year, we have planned a special event, where you can learn all about the fascinating history and culture of tea. You'll also get to sample some of the finest teas from around the world and participate in a traditional tea ceremony. So whether you're a tea lover or just curious to learn more about this popular beverage, join us for a truly memorable international tea day experience.

International Institute Of Hotel Management (IIHM) is celebrating International Tea Day with a series of events. These events are a hybrid mode tournament that will be held online via the Zoom platform.

The Itinerary goes like this:

14:00 - 14:01 Hrs

International Tea Day celebrations Motion Graphic start

14:01 -14:15 Hrs

Host( Ms Sanchari Chowdhury) opens the session and welcomes Dr Suborno Bose for his address. Sirs's Intro Video to run before he is in the spotlight for his welcome speech.

14:15 - 14:20 Hrs

SC( Ms.Sanchari Chowdhury) introduces Ms Sushmita Das Gupta from Bangalore Campus and AM ( Mr. Abhijit Mitra) introduces Ms. Sangeeta Kichlu And Mr Ajay Kichlu from Kolkata Global Campus.

14:20 - 14:40 Hrs

AM opens the Talk Show

1) Growth of Tea industry in India - Ms. Susmita DasGupta

(2) Sustainable practices in tea making - Ms Sangeeta Kichlu

(3) Latest Innovations on Tea Infusion -Mr.Ajay Kichlu

(4) Tea packaging and branding – Mr.Madhav Sarda

(5) Tea Career & Job Market -Mr. Pravin Shah

(6) The art of Tea Blending - Mr Rittik Chatterjee

( 14:20 Hrs -14:40 Hrs duration per speaker :4 mins)

14:40 - 15:00 Hrs

Pan India Tea Tour Student Presentation -

Sequence:

(1) Hrusikesh from Hyderabad speaking on Mayfair Darjeeling Afternoon Tea Session

(2) Nirmitee Ramteke representing Pune speaking on Rohini Tea Estate

(3) Dhariya Mangal representing Del-Jaipur would be speaking on Makaibari Tea Estate

(4) Vaishnavi from BLR speaking on Mayfair tea resort Siliguri, tea tasting

(5) Sakshi Sanghvi from Kol speaking on Castleton Tea Estate

( Duration per student : 3 mins)

15:00 - 15:01 Hrs

AM handovers to SC. SC informs on Tea Session by Ms Susmita Dasgupta after showing a glimpse of IIHM Tea Education Tour 1st Season for 10 mins

15:01-15:10 Hrs

Video snippets of IIHM Tea Tour as a filler as the Tea Room gets ready.

15:10 - 15:55 Hrs

SC announces the Tea Session by Ms. Susmita Das Gupta, Tea Artist. Topic : India Tea Recipes & food pairing - Healthy Variation of Indian Tea. Three Teas being discussed 1) Kolkata Lemon Tea, 2)Regular Indian Masala Tea , and 3) Pudina Chai from Gujrat.

15:55 - 15:59 Hrs

SC welcomes Ms. Sanjukta Bose for her address and Vote of Thanks. SC Thanks everyone and announces the Opening to the traditional Afternoon Tea service & Refreshments across all Campuses.

15:59 - 16:00 Hrs

End Of Event

Final words

Today is a perfect day to enjoy a cup of tea. But don’t just stop there – why not explore all the amazing ways tea can benefit your life? From weight loss to cancer prevention, tea has something to offer everyone. And if you’re looking for an exciting new career in the hospitality industry, look no further than IIHM Kolkata. Our world-class institute offers excellent training and job placement opportunities in some of the best hotels and restaurants around the globe. So what are you waiting for? Book your seat today!

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rynnrose · 3 years

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CASTLETON [PART SIXTEEN]

Your eyes widen as soon as you step into the common room.

This isn’t a party. It’s a fucking disaster.

The celebration only commenced twenty minutes ago, and already you can tell that it’s gotten way out of hand. Drunken students wander aimlessly about the area, packed so uncomfortably close together that just looking at them makes you feel a bit claustrophobic. Multi-colored lights flash overhead, no doubt one of the Muggle contraptions your housemates snuck in for this very purpose. The stereo system you helped set up just a few days prior is blasting music so violently loud that you can feel the ground shake beneath you with every beat. Aside from the occasional house elf, it seems as though every non-human frequenter of the common room has chosen to stay away tonight. Even the mermaids have elected to swim away from the windows.

Most of the unnaturally sweaty bodies blend together, a mix of faces you’ve seen dozens of times but can’t quite place. The vast majority of them are Slytherins, undoubtedly elated at the prospect of celebrating such a momentous victory. A good portion of them don’t even like you — your blood status was more than enough to get you ousted from the more elite circles, something you discovered early on in your first year — but the promise of free booze and bragging rights seems to have been too much for them to resist. A handful of visitors from other houses have made an appearance, even a few Hufflepuffs, but not nearly enough to puncture the sea of green attire. Part of you is proud. The other part is anxious.

Of course, there are more than a few familiar faces. Benjamin and Leo are playing butterbeer-pong in the corner, shouting at the top of their lungs every time they miss a shot (which, for two members of the winning team, seems to be quite often). Emilia and her girlfriend Abbey are downing shots of firewhiskey at the bar with smiles that make even you a bit uneasy. Anthony is passed out drunk on one of the couches, arms hanging limply at his sides and mouth wide open. Oliver is making out with a rather familiar-looking blonde on the far side of the room; you have no idea when he and Hannah Abbott got so close, but you suspect it’s better if you don’t ask.

And, of course, there is the matter of your friends.

For all the lectures they’ve given you over the years about drinking in moderation and being responsible at parties, they seem to be (for lack of a better phrase) absolutely fucking plastered. The four of you have been to your fair share of celebrations together over the years, yet you can’t recall a single time they’ve gotten quite this level of drunk. You’re already thinking of sarcastic comments to throw at them tomorrow morning while they’re nursing their hangovers. For now, though, you simply lean back against the wall and resign yourself to watching the chaos unfold with an endlessly amused expression.

Yoongi has planted himself firmly in the middle of the dance floor, shaking his hips and waving his arms like there’s no tomorrow. He’s attracted a bit of a following, actually, baffled onlookers scrambling to get a look at the notoriously stoic Seeker dancing to a Ricky Martin song. It’s easy to spot the newcomers among them. The more senior members of Slytherin have grown accustomed to Yoongi’s drunken dancing, having witnessed it up close and personal during the infamous Halloween Rager fourth year. Most of you have learned to tune it out by now. He seems to be enjoying the attention at least, grinning from ear to ear as he grinds to the beat of “Living la Vida Loca.” It takes every ounce of strength within you to stop yourself from recording it.

Jungkook is planted firmly at the bar, drunkenly singing along to the music while he tosses darts at a blank wall. He’s got a rather large bottle of whiskey — Muggle whiskey, which you’re quite sure they don’t sell in Hogsmeade — clutched in his free hand, the contents of which appear to be almost entirely missing. He sports a goofy grin as he throws a handful of darts at the opposite wall, entirely unconcerned by the fact that he almost takes a Hufflepuff’s ear off. No one seems at all bothered by his rather raucous display. A few of the younger Slytherins have gathered around him, probably hoping that he’ll keep them safe should the other Gryffindor show up. You know that even in this miserable state, he will.

Hobi, of course, is the most hopelessly wasted of them all. The man’s chugging a bottle of butterbeer as he dances atop a nearby table, not at all bothered by the odd looks he’s getting. In fact, he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world beyond moving his hips in time with the music and finishing his drink. You used to scoff and hide your face in embarrassment when he pulled stunts like this, terrified that it might get you on the wrong person’s radar — after all, you weren’t keen on taking chances when Umbridge was sniffing about. Now, though, you simply laugh and cheer him on from the sidelines, endlessly amused by the antics of your dearest friend in the world.

His lips quirk into a lazy smile as soon as he notices you. Rather than wave you over or shout for you like a regular person, he elects to jump off the table, throw his empty bottle over his shoulder, and sprint through the crowd to reach you. A few disgruntled patrons shout at him as he shoves them out of the way, but he pays them no mind. All he cares about, it seems, is you.

“There you are!” The man practically cheers once he finally reaches you, grinning from ear to ear. Hobi normally isn’t one to overdo it on affection — the kindest thing he’s ever said to you in public is that your company is slightly preferable to Jungkook’s — but drunk Hobi is another story entirely. He pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, one that leaves you gasping for air as you rock back and forth. Your struggle only seems to amuse him further.

“Here I am,” you cough, awkwardly patting his back as he squeezes you. “What’s going on with you? Last time you hugged me, I’d just saved you from a Death Eater attack.”

Hobi releases you from the hug with a contended sigh. “I’m just so happy, y/n,” he slurs dreamily. “We’re finally celebrating! No more Voldemort, no more creepy skulls, no more Umbridge. Now we can just have fun, like we’re supposed to! Isn’t it amazing?!”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

You have every intention of pulling him towards the bar to grab a drink with you, but he seems to have other plans. Rather than join you on your quest for alcohol, he wraps his hand around your wrist and tugs you firmly towards the dance floor. The logical side of your brain urges you to pull away, to lock him in your room until he sobers up so he doesn’t end up doing something he (or you) will regret in the morning.

The other side already knows that he’s going to find a way to rope you into his schemes no matter what, so you might as well just go along with his plan now and get it over with.

A few of your housemates pat you on the back as you weave your way through the crowd, still reeling over the high of your victory — and though you hate to admit it, it’s actually kind of nice to receive some positive attention for once. You’re no stranger to high-spirited Quidditch after parties, but it’s been so long since you had a chance to play that you’ve almost forgotten the exhilaration. For a few precious hours, no one cares about your reputation or your propensity to find trouble; not even the prefects can find it within them to hand out detentions and ruin the mood. These little ragers are perhaps the only opportunities you have to completely let go, to forget the pain and stress and heartache and just enjoy yourself. You can’t believe you’ve gone this long without them.

You just barely manage to contain your smile as he stops point blank in the middle of the crowd; never one for avoiding the spotlight, that boy. It would be easier to shuffle in place, to simply move along with the music and blend in with the crowd — but when have you two ever gone out of your way to avoid attention? Without a care in the world, Hobi discards his drink, pulls you in as close as humanly possible, and rests his hands firmly on the dip of your hips. You don’t even bother holding back your laughter.

He’s so close that you can smell the cinnamon on his breath, the last remnants of his hastily-guzzled butterbeer. His grip on your hips is both gentle and firm, a silent reminder that he has no intention of letting you scurry off back to your room before the “guest of honor” arrives (which he already knows you’ve thought about doing). The space between you is so small that the beat of sweat trickling down the side of his face actually lands on the curve of your cheek. Your noses are less than an inch away from each other. To the untrained eye, you’re only seconds away from kissing.

Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. Appearances can be deceiving, and in this case, they’re simply unequivocally false. A few new faces might wonder whether or not there’s anything going on between you and your best friend of almost seven years, but most everyone in the room knows that this is the closest you and Hobi will ever get to crossing the boundary between friend and lover. Such intimate acts of physical affection are rare between the two of you, particularly with you being so fond of showing your love through thinly-veiled insults, but they’ve been known to happen. Fortunately, your housemates know entirely well that such interactions hardly leave the dance floor, and certainly never lead to anything else. You’ve never had eyes for Hobi in that way, no matter how handsome he is.

As for him, you’re simply not his type.

Still, that doesn’t stop you from tossing your arms around his neck and pressing your body flush against his. He catches on quick, carelessly pulling you closer with a drunken grin. The pair of you move in perfect sync, lips quirked into easy smiles and heads thrown back in laughter. You shake your hips and wave your hands entirely out of tune with the music, probably coming across as idiots but too elated to care. His hands hold your hips so tightly that you suspect you’ll have bruises there in the morning, but you don’t mind; he’s an affection drunk, and you’ve learned to pick your battles.

You can’t help but chuckle as you dance. The air in this room is absolutely electric, and you can’t get enough of it. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten to let go like this that you’ve actually forgotten how addicting it is. In your early days at Hogwarts, before things really got out of hand and you started to split your time between pranks and dueling practice, this was practically all you did. You and your friends would sneak out every weekend to party with the older kids, nevermind the odd looks a group of thirteen year-olds got whenever they snuck into a seventh year celebration. It wasn’t even about the alcohol; there’s just something about the roar of the music, the enthusiasm of the crowd, the laughter in the air that intoxicates you. It feels better than words can describe to be back here again.

A few of the new partygoers, namely your Hufflepuff adversaries, shoot some odd glances your way as they watch you and Hobi practically drape yourselves over one another. He’s got his head laying on your shoulder and his arms wrapped firmly around your middle, teetering somewhere between enthusiastic and unconscious. You’re holding him as close as your body will allow, practically keeping him upright as the two of you sway along to the music. It’s a rather comical sight, you’re sure. It must look odd to them, your best friend clinging to you like a toddler, but you don’t care. It’s just nice to be together like this once more.

You’re just beginning to fear that he’s drank himself to the point of blacking out when a pair of familiar voices pipe up from behind you.

“Nice moves!”

“Think we can get in on this action?”

An amused scoff escapes your lips at the sound of Yoongi and Jungkook’s exaggerated cheers. They’ve somehow managed to drag themselves to this side of the room, though you can smell the booze on them from five feet away. Jungkook’s got one arm resting lazily on Yoongi’s shoulder as he shoots you a suggestive glance. The typically reserved Seeker is giving you a rather adorable smile, over the moon in his rose-tinted drunken state. They’re the picture of wasted, tripping over their words and wobbling on their feet, but you don’t even care. You simply lean over, grab them by their hands, and pull them towards you and Hobi.

You’re fairly certain that the moves the four of you are pulling don’t even deserve to be called dancing. All three of your friends are so drunk that they can barely keep themselves upright, much less will their limbs into performing any actual routines. Yoongi is just lazily waving his arms around, bearing a striking resemblance to those inflated plastic tube-men that stand in front of car dealerships. Jungkook is trying to do the robot, but he looks more like a toddler trying to learn sign language. Hobi is still holding you close, one hand planted firmly on your waist and the other trying to spin you around without losing his balance. You’re just content to sway your hips along to the music and try to catch them when they inevitably lose their balance.

Just a few months earlier, none of this seemed possible. The thought of dancing the night away with your closest friends after a Quidditch game was more of a pipe dream than an actual goal, what with everything going on. You’d resigned yourself to never again experiencing this sort of unadulterated happiness. As much as you tried to retain some shred of optimism, there came a time when you genuinely thought your best days were behind you, that you’d never get to spend time with the people you love most ever again.

You’re so glad you were wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taehyung hears you before he sees you.

He’s just barely managed to find his way into the common room. The route to Slytherin House isn’t particularly convoluted, but the halls are packed to the brim with drunken partygoers tonight, most of whom paid very little mind to his pleas for them to move out of his way. It took fifteen minutes just to push his way through the intoxicated mob, and even then he had cling to Jimin’s back while his best friend unceremoniously mowed down anyone unlucky enough to find themselves in their path. Jin and Namjoon followed reluctantly, already exhausted simply from the idea of going to the celebration. They’ve never been big on partying; honestly, no one in their friend group has. Taehyung would much rather curl up in his bed and catch up on the latest book he’d stolen from Jimin’s personal library.

But for you, he’s more than happy to brave the unimaginable horrors of a Slytherin rager. His friends wasted no time in teasing him for his eagerness to see you again — particularly Jimin, who’d been sporting a rather unsettling cat-like grin since the end of the Quidditch match. They were all keen to point out how excited he was to hang out with you, particularly when they know how much he despises parties. He doesn’t have the energy to tell them that there’s nothing going on between you two anymore; they’re clearly not listening.

Of course, he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t started to take some of their words to heart. Did you two really appear so lovey-dovey to everyone else? He’s not sure if your friends have jumped to the same conclusions as his, but judging by the way you glared at them after they introduced themselves in the stands, he’s guessing they have. He honestly has no clue why people would think such things about you two. Sure, you’ve spent a fair bit of time together lately, and sure, he spends most every waking hour texting you, and yes, he pushed through his social discomfort specifically to watch you at the Quidditch match earlier — but that doesn’t mean he likes you.

Because he doesn’t.

At least that’s what he tells himself, anyway.

He’s genuinely caught off guard by the potent scent of alcohol wafting throughout the room when he walks in, so much so that he actually has to hold his breath for a moment. It’s not the first time people have drank around him, but he’s never seen anyone take it to this level of extreme. Students of all houses are drunkenly shuffling about the common room, yelling and laughing and attempting to dance through the inebriation. It seems as though every single person here is intent on drinking to the point of blacking out. It’s an odd scene to him; Hufflepuff parties have nothing on this.

It’s not just the booze that throws him off; everything about this place is overwhelming. The strobes flash so quickly that he can barely make out his surroundings, differing hues of red, green, and blue bathing the dance floor in uncomfortably bright light. Unfamiliar music blasts through a set of speakers in the corner — no doubt from a Muggle band he’s never heard of — with such force that the floor is actually shaking. A few people are haphazardly throwing darts (and missing horribly) at a nearby wall, while a group of couples nearby have retreated to the corner to make out in plain view of everyone else. It’s easily the most rambunctious celebration he’s ever attended. Is this how Slytherin parties always go?

There’s so many bodies packed in together that he can’t even begin to discern where you’re standing — but thankfully, he doesn’t have to. Even over the incessant blare of the music, he can hear your familiar laugh echoing from amidst the crowd. The sound has his lips tilting into an easy grin. Jimin is already tugging him towards the beer pong table, but he has no interest in joining him; rather than get plastered with his friend, he wrenches his arm out of Jimin’s grip and follows the sound of your voice. Namjoon is shouting a few playful remarks as he walks away, but Taehyung can’t find it within him to care. He just wants to see you.

Despite his eagerness, he can still vaguely hear his friends laughing behind him. Jimin is naturally the loudest, evidently tickled pink by the doe-eyed look on his best friend’s face. Namjoon snickers with a shake of his head, both entertained and exhausted. Jin is trying to muffle his amusement, always the nicest of the group, but his chuckling is still audible from within the depths of the crowd. He knows they just want the best for him, but part of him wants to turn around and boot them out of the party before they can embarrass him again. Who knows what they’ll say when they see you?

Surprisingly, it takes him less than a minute to find you; your laughter is loud enough to guide him with ease. A few drunken dancers bump into him as he pushes his way through the crowd, but he isn’t bothered by it — how can he be, when you’re only a few feet away sporting the brightest smile he’s ever seen on another human being?

Dear God, you’re a sight to see.

Your head is thrown back in joyous laughter as you dance in a circle with your friends, entirely lost in the rhythm beneath your feet. Laughter slips easily past your lips. Hobi stands to your left, Yoongi to your right, and Jungkook on the other side of the makeshift ring. The four of you are holding your hands together so tightly that your knuckles have turned white. None of you can dance to save your lives, but you don’t seem to care — you just close your eyes, smile, and allow yourself to enjoy the moment. Your friends have wrenched their eyes shut as well, which Taehyung cannot even begin to comprehend. How could they not be entirely mesmerized by the image of you? How is it that every single person in this room isn’t absolutely hypnotized by you?

The poor boy actually forgets how to breathe for a moment as he watches you twirl around Yoongi. He’s been surrounded by all manner of fantastic things for as long as he can remember — flying brooms, talking animals, evil wizards with their souls locked away in fragments scattered across the country — but nothing has ever looked as magical as you do right now. Everything he’s learned seems pointless now. Why has he spent six years studying potions and spells when the most miraculous creature in the world has been walking around the castle this entire time? How had he never seen you before that night in detention? Merlin help him, how has he never noticed how incredibly beautiful you are?

He must be quite a sight, he thinks, standing stone still in the middle of the dance floor while he stares at you. The logical part of his brain urges him to move, dance, do something besides watch you like a creep, but he can’t bring himself to do any of those things. He can do absolutely nothing but watch you: eyes scrunched up in laughter, sweat glimmering in the light as it rolls down your cheek, lips curled into an incandescent smile. Everyone else looks dull next to you. Every painting in the castle is worthless when compared to you. You are an absolute dream, and he hopes he never wakes up.

His heart swells in his chest with such intensity that it actually catches him off guard. For a moment he worries that he’s having a heart attack, because there’s simply no way that this is normal. No one should be able to make him feel this way, so insignificant and horribly out of control. His very existence seems worthless next to yours. Everything is too much — the lights, the music, the stench of firewhiskey and cinnamon — but he can’t bring himself to leave. Truth be told, he can’t bring himself to do much of anything besides stare at you. He could stand here forever, he thinks, and be perfectly content. As long as you’re here.

Even if he wanted to ponder why you were suddenly making him feel this way — and he really doesn’t — he never gets the chance. Your eyes land on him in the midst of one of your spins, and before he can even comprehend that you’ve caught him staring, you let go of your friends and jog across the floor to meet him. His breath hitches when he notices that your smile has only grown. Again, he tries not to think about what that might mean. It takes every ounce of strength within him not to pass out when you reach forward and playfully jostle his shoulder.

“There you are! I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

He doesn’t miss the joy in your voice, though he isn’t arrogant enough to think that he’s the reason it’s there. Still, he can’t help but notice how happy you look to see him. Your enchanting grin only grows wider as you take him in, eyes raking down his body so subtly that he barely notices; Slytherin sneakiness, he supposes. He’s sure he looks rather unremarkable in his blue jeans and Hufflepuff sweater, especially compared to you (though at this point he’s convinced that you could wear a garbage bag and still be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen). He writes off the glimmer in your eyes as curiosity rather than excitement.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he confesses, hoping you know just how sincerely he means that. “Are these parties always so...wild?”

You chuckle. “Not really. Usually they’re pretty tame, but it’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to celebrate that we decided to go all out. Is it too overwhelming?”

“Not at all! Just different from what I’m used to. It looks like you’re having fun, though.”

The mere mention of amusement has you looking over your shoulder towards your friends. Jungkook shoots you a suggestive glance, brows raised and lips quirked into a smirk. Hobi whistles at you, and Yoongi shoots you a rather obvious thumbs up. You scoff and raise your middle finger, which only serves to make them laugh harder than they already were. As much as they seem to exhaust you, Taehyung can’t help but smile as he watches you interact with them. It gladdens him to know that you have such a close relationship with your friends. You deserve it.

“Ignore them, please,” you insist, just barely managing to suppress your smile. It breaks through a moment later, though, as your eyes light up with a sudden epiphany. With no warning whatsoever, you reach out, grab Taehyung’s hand (which doesn’t help calm his racing heart at all), and gesture towards the dance floor. “Let’s dance!”

The very thought of dancing with you has his palm sweating against yours. He’s managed to hold it together so far, but he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to make it through the first song without embarrassing himself somehow. You probably know everyone at this party, and the last thing he wants to do is humiliate you by letting everyone see you dance with a no-name Hufflepuff. Slytherins value their reputation, that much he knows, and he doesn’t want to risk ruining yours. He’s so scared of making things hard on you that he almost refuses — but funnily enough, you seem entirely unbothered.

Despite the fact that being seen with him so publicly could spell trouble for you, you don’t hesitate to pull him further into the crowd. He hasn’t even agreed to join you yet, but he isn’t surprised by your impatience; if there’s one thing he knows for sure about you, it’s that you don’t waste time when it comes to getting what you want. He just doesn’t understand why you want to hang out with him. There are dozens of cooler, smarter, and far more interesting people you could spend your time with. Why are you so intent on being around him? He’s not complaining, of course — he’ll gladly take any chance he can get to be around you — but it doesn’t make sense. He can just add it to the list of things about you that confuse him.

He’s still reeling over your invitation when you come to a stop on the edge of the dance floor. An unfamiliar song blasts through the speakers, but it’s upbeat enough that he doesn’t have to worry about slow dancing or anything of that nature. Still, you don’t hesitate to reach out and take his hands in yours. All of your friends are staring at you, and he’s fairly certain all of his are doing the exact same thing, but you don’t seem to notice. You simply smile, pull him closer, and lead him in a frenzied dance of waving arms and shaking hips.

Taehyung’s never been particularly good at this sort of dancing, but apparently, you couldn’t care less. Rather than poke fun at his corny moves, you cheer him on, entirely unbothered by the odd looks you get. Your moves aren’t exactly coordinated either — you’re basically just flailing your arms around and attempting to move your hips in time with the beat — but it doesn’t seem to bother you. All you care about is having fun. You’ve been that way ever since he met you, completely uncaring of what others think of you. It’s just another thing he admires about you.

Your friends hover a few feet away, caught up in the music but still throwing the occasional glance your way. He suspects they’re hanging around to make sure you’re safe, which he understands; he’d never even dream of doing anything to hurt you, but it’s always good to be cautious. If anything, it makes him happy to know that your friends care about you so much. The two of you don’t spend that much time together in public like this, so it’s nice to know that you’ve got people watching your back when he isn’t around. That’s not to say he thinks you can’t take care of yourself — you’re easily one of the most formidable people he’s ever come across — but he worries about you more than he cares to admit. He hasn’t told his friends about this, of course, and he doubts he ever will. Some things are better left unsaid.

You two probably look a bit ridiculous right now, though neither of you have any interest in changing that. After everything that’s happened in the past few years, he’s fairly certain that you’ve earned a little reprieve. Rather than stress over what the other partygoers think of your improvised routine, you simply smile at each other and continue to move along with the music. He’s fairly certain he can see Hobi grinning at you from the corner of his eye, but he hasn’t the slightest clue why. He suspects that you do, though you probably aren’t keen to share it.

“See? Isn’t it nice to come out of the background every one in a while?!” You shout through your laughter as he spins you around.

Taehyung can’t help but laugh as he answers. “I guess so. But only because I have such a good dance partner!”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Kim!”

He snickers and pulls you back towards him. You’re still grinning ear to ear, absolutely delighted with the little routine you two have going. He can take or leave dancing, but he’d do just about anything to keep that smile on your face. You could ask him for the moon right now and he’d find a way to give it to you. Anything for you.

You’ve only just finished doing an improvised foxtrot when music cuts off rather abruptly. A chorus of groans sound out from the crowd, a sea of drunken teens annoyed by the loss of their entertainment. He suspects it’s just a routine glitch of the sound system, a mechanical error that can be fixed given a few minutes of tinkering — but when he looks over to the stereo and sees Jimin and Jungkook grinning at him, he realizes that this is anything but accidental. He’s tempted to march over there and demand that they put an end to whatever it is they’re planning, but he doesn’t get the chance; Jimin pops another disk into the machine, and a needlessly romantic slow song begins to filter throughout the room.

Most everyone seems perfectly content with this development, eagerly falling into each other’s arms to sway in time with the music, but both you and Taehyung freeze in place. He doesn’t even know this song, but the tender undertone of the piano doesn’t leave much up to interpretation. You two are the only ones that haven’t joined in, and it is glaringly obvious how awkward the air between you has become. Whereas a moment ago you were bouncing around and laughing without a care in the world, you’re suddenly rather sheepish, biting your bottom lip and staring intently at the floor.

He curses himself for being too scared to act. Truth be told, he’d love nothing more than to dance with you like this, he’s just terrified of the thought of you rejecting him — and make no mistake, he fully expects you to reject him. Why wouldn’t you? You’re the most incredible person he’s ever met in his entire life. You’re passionate, creative, funny, intelligent, caring, beautiful; you’re a force of nature, and he’s just...Taehyung. He’s average in every way, an unfamiliar face adept at blending into the background. You command attention when you walk into a room, whereas most people in this school don’t even know who he is. You could have anyone you wanted. Why would you waste your time with him?

You’re going to shoot him down, and he knows this, so he just doesn’t ask. He simply looks down and shakes his head, awaiting your impending refusal. He’s already thinking of excuses to run back to his room and avoid you, to hide beneath the covers and never emerge ever again. Perhaps you’ll be merciful and spare him a passing glance in the halls next time he sees you. He’d be happy with a slight nod of the head, honestly. Just let me down easily, he thinks. Hopefully he’ll have enough courage to show his face around the castle after you —

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

His head snaps up so fast the room actually starts to spin for a moment. You’re giving him a nervous grin, shaky hand outstretched before you. You still seem a bit caught off guard, but you don’t look away, even when his eyes meet yours. This is the most anxious he’s ever seen you, and it honestly takes him aback. To see the most fearless person he’s ever met look at him with such worry in their eyes...it doesn’t seem natural. He shouldn’t be able to make you feel this way. No one should be able to make you feel this way.

The two of you stand there for a good thirty seconds, just staring awkwardly at one another as you wait for him to take your hand. He’s sure Jimin and Jungkook are shaking their heads as they watch you two freeze like deer in headlights. Part of him is still reeling over your invitation, convinced that you’ve made some sort of mistake, but he pushes those fears aside. Better to take a leap of faith and get it over with, he supposes. So, despite the fact that he’s fairly certain this is a dream, he reaches out, takes your hand, and pulls you close.

And has to stop himself from passing out in the middle of the dance floor when you smile at him.

Countless other couples surround the pair of you, giggling and whispering and pressing little kisses to one another’s faces. Jimin has found a (rather unlucky, in Taehyung’s opinion) girl to occupy his time, while Namjoon has elected to simply hum the tune below his breath while he reads. Yoongi and Jungkook are dancing together, albeit not the least bit seriously, what with the way they snicker and flail their limbs about in an overly-exaggerated fashion. Neither Hobi nor Jin are anywhere to be found, which strikes him as odd, but he doesn’t have time to worry about them or whatever they may or may not be doing — not when you’re standing so close that he can feel your breath fanning against his face.

He’s almost certain that he’s blushing, and silently prays that the lights are concealing the tint of his cheeks. Still, the boy’s doing a rather good job of keeping himself composed, all things considered: he hasn’t thrown up all over your shoes, said something horrendously embarrassing, or even stepped on one of your feet (all of which he was sure would have happened by now). You seem a bit anxious as well, lower lip caught between your teeth as your eyes wander around the room. You go out of your way not to look into his eyes. He does the same.

His mind is going absolutely haywire. How on Earth has he managed to end up here, slow-dancing with the most notorious troublemaker in all of Hogwarts? A girl that, not even a month ago, barely knew of his existence? Someone that he has told his friends time and time again that he has absolutely no interest in? Someone who has been popping into his head more and more frequently over the past couple weeks? Someone that makes his heart threaten to beat out of his chest every time she walks into the room? Someone that, though they’ve only known each other for a short time, he considers one of his closest friends?

Nothing about this situation makes sense. He left his room twenty minutes ago with every intention of keeping to himself at this party, and now he’s got you wrapped up in his arms in front of the entirety of Slytherin. He knows this is foolish, that whatever monumentally stupid part of his brain that convinced him to do this is going to get you both in serious trouble, but he can’t bring himself to care about that. He can’t bring himself to care about much of anything besides you.

“You’re uh...you’re pretty good at this,” you mumble, mercifully distracting him from his racing thoughts. “Do you dance a lot?”

The nerves in your voice actually manage to pull a smile from him; at least he knows you’re as anxious as he is. “A few times, yeah. My parents host these fancy galas every couple years, and they didn’t want me to embarrass myself, so they made me take dance lessons.”

The idea of him taking dance lessons is obviously outlandish to you, given the puzzled expression on your face. “Really? That doesn’t really sound like your thing. I had you pegged as more of a wallflower.”

“I am,” he chuckles, subconsciously tightening his grip on your hand as the two of you twirl in place. “I hated those classes. I convinced them to let me drop out when I was fourteen.”

“Not keen on being in the spotlight?”

“Not even a little bit. Well...not usually, anyway.”

You smile at his comment. Perhaps he’s just fooling himself, but he can swear that it looks like you’re blushing, too. You’d never admit it, of course; if there’s one thing he’s learned about you over these past few weeks, it’s that you’re incredibly gifted when it comes to burying your emotions. You once mentioned that it was a skill you learned early on. He still isn’t sure exactly what you meant by that.

Rather than question you about it and drag up old feelings that are probably best left forgotten, he smiles, steps back, and lifts your hands in the air. You get the hint immediately. With a grin so bright it almost hurts to look at, you wrap your hand around his index finger and spin. Jovial laughter escapes your lips as you twirl over and over again, entirely unconcerned by the odd looks you’re getting from the other dancers. You couldn’t care less. Neither could he, really; how could he be anything but gloriously happy when you’re smiling like that?

You stumble into his arms as soon as you finish twirling, more than a bit dizzy. The two of you chuckle as he grabs you by the shoulders and helps steady you. It would be easy to walk away, to use your dizziness as an excuse to leave and avoid more awkwardness between the two of you — but you don’t. You simply grab his hand, pull him close, and continue on with the dance. He’s more than happy to let you do so. Right now, he’d let you do just about anything if it meant keeping that merry look on your face.

And so the two of you continue, laughing and spinning and swaying back and forth with your fingers intertwined and your eyes glimmering. A smarter person would notice the glares you two are getting from the Gryffindors that had snuck into the party. A smarter person would think about how bad it looks for a Slytherin to be dancing with a Hufflepuff. A smarter person would realize how incredibly dangerous this entire thing is. But right now, you two are absolutely dumbstruck by one another.

It isn’t until you unlace your fingers to wrap your arms around the back of his neck that Taehyung realizes just how much trouble he’s in — because when Jimin is right about something, it’s never good.

I’m telling you, his best friend had drawled as their group hurried towards the Slytherin Common Room, he’s falling in love.

——————————————————————————

A/N: HOLY SHIT Y’ALL I AM SORRY THIS TOOK SO MF LONG PLEASE DON’T HATE ME🥺I posted the last update literally two days before I started college and have had next to no time to do anything that isn’t school related. It’s been hella stressful, not gonna lie, but I think I’m finally getting the hang of things, which is why Castleton is BACK BABY! I sincerely hope you guys enjoyed this extremely mushy update (which you deserve after waiting for so long adjdjdj). The next update *should* be coming shortly. Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist💕 — Rynn

tag list: @wannabestark @lele-bb @hxseok-honee @burningupp-replies @taeshuworld @deepseavibez @livorna @lovelytaes-blog @theclawofaraven @missmadwoman

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houser-of-stories · 3 years

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My art for @smallmediumproblems’s fic for @podcastbigbang, Library Pseudoscience! This fic is so well-written and I absolutely adore every word of it.

[IMAGE ID: a digital drawing of a yellow corkboard with many yellow sticky notes and newspaper articles attached to it with yellow pins and dark red string. there are two pictures clearly displayed. one is titled G. Robinson and depicts a white woman wearing large round, white glasses. her hair is dark gray, with many light grey streaks, tied up in a bun. two strands of hair curl around her ears. the second image shows a brown man wearing large, rectangular, white glasses. his hair is completely black, with greying hair streaked throughout it. his hair is long, and is worn down. both the images are headshots, and have an off-white border.

a sticky note above the first image reads "Which is REAL?" with the last word underlined, in blue font color. another one next to it reads "1945-???" in the same font color. A sticky note diagonally above the second picture reads "HAUNTED BY WHAT?" in the same blue font color. A newspaper article is placed next to the image, and reads "ARCHIVIST WANT-". the rest of the letters are obscured by the red string. Another note next to the second image reads "1987 -" in the same blue font color. there is a newspaper article next to the first image, titled "KILLED". the rest of the words are again obscured. this clipping, along with two others whose writing is not clearly visible, are connected to the first picture by red string.

there is red string connecting the two images. on the string there are words, which read "Disappeared. Deceased. Abducted. Murdered." in black handwritten font. A little below it is another sentence, written "Possibly now a cryptid in the greater Castleton area." in the same font and font color. there is a sticky note on the top of the page, half of which is visible. It shows an eye, in blue color. there is an image on the lower right corner of the picture. it shows a series of tunnels in shades of green and yellow. the rest of the picture is not visible. this picture, along with one other, not visible, is connected to the sencond image with red string. At the bottom of the image, the phrase "-Library Pseudoscience. smallmediumproblems" is written in black handwriting. END ID]

#podcast big bang #podcast big bang 2021 #the magnus archvies #tma #kane and feels #doodles on a sunny afternoon

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wanderingnewyork · 5 months

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A house in #Castleton_Corners, #Staten_Island.

#nyc #staten island #statenisland #Castleton Corners #newyorkcity

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wub-fur-radio · 3 years

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Wiped Out by the New New Wave

We tried to hang ten (times 2), but this eclectic mix of twenty excellent 21st century new new wave and post-post-punk tunes wiped us out (in a good way, d’uh) and now it can wipe you out (in a good way) too. Featuring the modern rock music talents of Drenge, Dry Cleaning, Hierophants, Gang of Four, Black Midi, Fontaines D.C., Lithics, and 13 more bands who might have cool boots but probably do not wear skinny ties.

Listen ▶︎ 8tracks | ▶︎ Mixcloud | ▶︎ YouTube | ▶︎ Spotify * (or scroll down to use one of the embedded players below)

Running Time: 59 minutes, 48 seconds

Tracklist

Scratchcard Lanyard (4:06) — Dry Cleaning | London ‡

Beta Boyz (3:37) — U-Bahn | Melbourne †

Tethered (3:15) — Versing | Seattle †

Falling Forward (2:28) — Sweeping Promises | Boston ‡

Speedway (3:17) — Black Midi | London †

Pool Dizzy (2:58) — Dummy | Los Angeles ‡

Closer (2:50) — B Boys | Brooklyn †

In the Corner (1:58) — Woolen Men | Portland †

Space Grrrl Blues (2:55) * — Yacht | Los Angeles ‡

What I Mean (2:17) — Baby’s Berserk | Amsterdam ‡

Citizen (2:16) — Hierophants | Geelong, Australia †

Wet Concrete (3:38) — Flat Worms | Los Angeles ‡

Televised Mind (4:08) — Fontaines D.C. | Dublin ‡

Beat Fall (3:05) — Lithics | Portland ‡

You're Being Laughed At (3:38) — Public Eye | Portland ‡

Faith (2:37) — Sneaks | Washington, DC ‡

Teenage Love (3:44) — Drenge | Castleton, UK †

Paper Thin (3:38) — Gang of Four | Leeds †

No 82 (2:24) * — Neutrals | Oakland ‡

Wax On (1:05) — Imperial Wax | Manchester †

All tracks released in 2019 † or 2020 ‡.

* Spotify version substitutes different songs by Yacht [ “Scatterhead” (3:12) | 2019 ] and Neutrals [ “Angst Reflex” (2:01) | 2019 ] for the tracks by those bands listed above.

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#new wave #post punk #new new wave #[post post punk #alternative rock #indie rock #music mixes

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howsyouredge · 4 years

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So... during lockdown I got some writing done.. here’s some of what I’ve got so far :D

Prologue

Darkness swallowed her as she sat in the corner of the cell, her knees drawn up to her chest, taking slow and measured breaths to steady her nerves. The events that lead her to this raced through her mind. Now was not the time to fall apart, there would be a time and a place for that later. This situation was not ideal but they had planned for it, not the outcome they had hoped for but one could not argue with what the fates desired. Footsteps echoed down the hallway and River jumped smoothly to her feet. Feeling her way around the edge of the dark cell she positioned herself by the door. An earlier visit from her gaoler had proved the door opened inwards (a poor design choice by the architect) it allowed some cover when the door was opened. Grasping the hidden dagger she kept on her at all times River waited. The time to dance was drawing near and she was not going to ask her partner politely…

One: A Quick History Lesson

It’s easy to go unnoticed when you are small and slight and plain. You fade into the surroundings and nobody pays you any attention. The wealthy and privileged don't concern themselves with what or who lurks in the shadows. They should, if they did they would notice that their fat coin purses were no longer attached to their shiny belts or that the timepiece daddy bought for them was no longer on their wrist. The heirloom necklace would still be clasped safely on their fat neck and not fetching a pretty penny on the black markets. On the other side of the coin, without their blatant complacency the ghosts of the world would not be able to eat or feed their families. Sometimes the stupidity of the wealthy worked in the favour of the forgotten. Still, it required some level of skill to blend so seamlessly with the shadows. River flowed through the crowds like her namesake, always there but overlooked, unnoticed, forgotten, invisible. Castleton was a bustling market city. The capital of Gallo, stuck on the wrong side of the Thorn Wall (if there even was another side). River was too young to remember a world where the wall didn't exist.

The legend had been twisted and re-written over the years, there were no books left to confirm or deny the rumours. Some thought it was a punishment, erected by the Mages and Sorcerers of old to trap the greedy and power hungry inside. Others thought Gallo was the safe haven and the wall was keeping out the terrors of the world. River didn’t bother herself worrying about the wall. An orphan abandoned on the streets of Castleton, the seedy dark underground was all she had never known. Plucked out of the gutter by the Sisterhood of Shadows when she was just a babe, she trained and excelled as a thief, pickpocket and assassin. The band she built was her family, the Sisterhood itself offered a place to lay their heads and a way to put food in their bellies. Yes they trained them all but that was about all they offered. The Sisterhood of Shadows. Sounds ominous, on the outside it is an orphanage for girls run by nuns. Not that scary, sounds pretty innocent right? Wrong. Sometime after the wall was erected magic died within Gallo and along with it went any kind of structure. The legends say that the first few years after the Thorn Wall appeared were filled with in-fighting and civil wars. To survive you had to be ruthless and the Nuns of the Sisterhood went from innocent god-fearing women to savages. Doing all they could to survive, they became the lords of the underground. Factions spread across Gallo, the biggest being in Castleton as the capital with smaller units in the few towns and cities that survived. No one messed with the Shadows, not if you wanted to live anyway. The Council of Elders came later and managed to restore some order and laws.

They built a wall (yes another one) around Castleton and created The City Guard to police its streets. They tried to take down the Sisterhood but it didn’t work, they were too well established by this point and the good people of Gallo turned a blind eye to their less savoury dealings. They took in the orphan girls and gave them a home, just sweet old lady nuns doing good work for the community (no assasins here, no thieving or pick-pocketing or whoring). Anyway, while this brief history lesson was fun, the past is not why we are here today. River. Not her real name, she has no clue what her parents named her or who her parents are, the nuns named her that because that's where they found her, by the river. Raised in the sisterhood she was deadly by age twelve. Now age twenty-one messing with her was your own peril. The girl had daggers hidden all over her body, not to mention the ones visible on her belt. A master assassin and a master thief she didn’t care much for people. The only ones who mattered were her Band (it's a sisterhood thing) usually made up of four girls of the same age Rivers band was a bit of an oddity. His name is Lynx, but more about that later.

Small, slight and plain. River summed up in three words. Short in height, slight (starved) with no exceptional features. Pretty but not beautiful, not one to stand out from the crowd. Her face was forgettable which for her was perfect. Big brown eyes, mousy brown hair and her nose and lips were in proportion to the rest of her face. Men were not throwing themselves at her which was fine, Lynx was the only male she could tolerate. Calcifer was OK too she supposed (again, more about that later) but the Band didn't need him as often anymore. They were the best and that is exactly why River was currently making her way to see the head of the Sisterhood in Castleton to take on a job. Summoned by the Mother Superior with the promise of an extremely lucrative job, the band could retire; not that they would, they all loved what they did. River stood outside the grand doors before her and allowed herself a moment to be nervous. The woman inside was terrifying, her reputation was cruel and vicious and she was the closest thing River had ever had to a mother. Taking a deep breath she stepped forward and knocked. “Enter”.

River slowly pushed the door open and walked into the large room. The high ceilings were vaulted and the walls were shining bright marble, matching the floors. There was hardly any furniture in the room, just the large mahogany desk and two chairs in front. Behind the desk sat Mother Superior, her aged face surrounded by her blood red habit which flowed seamlessly from the top of her head to her feet leaving only her face and hands uncovered. The image she gave was imposing and intimidating, for someone who was called ‘Mother’ motherly was not the aura she presented. “Mother Superior, you summoned me?” “Yes child, please have a seat. This conversation could be a long one.” She gestured to one the chairs before her and River stepped forward, throwing herself into the chair. “I find myself needing to call upon yourself and your band for a job of utmost importance to the Sisterhood, and I would imagine yourself as all of your band are strong Remnants.” Rivers interest was immediately peaked. The more Mother explained the more tense River became. This job was important and close to her heart. The last sentence from her mouth was the one to seal the deal though. “My child, I hate to be the one to deliver this news, but Lynx is missing. No one has seen him in a number of days, I know he was on a scouting mission for yourself but he missed his last check in.”

It’s a work in progress but if people are interested I can post more chapters :D

#writing #story #fantasy #reading #young adult #fun #cool

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themindfulnessmagpie · 5 years

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Crystal Corner with Magpie!

This week is...

Fluorite!

Type:

Fluorite is a halide. This is when an element reacts with a halogen (a group of elements on the periodic table, in this case Fluorine.) Fluorite is when Fluorine has reacted with Calcium, making Calcium Fluoride. It is typically white or colourless but when impurities occur it becomes deeply coloured.

Correspondences:

Fluorite is a water crystal. Therefore its affinity is Neptune and is a crystal for the Pisces' out there. In regards to Chakra correspondences, I would match the colour of fluorite to the colour of chakra.

Opinion:

Fluorite is a very adaptable crystal. The varieties of colours makes it great for a range of uses. However, if I required a crystal for a specific use I would not use fluorite. It is good however for when you can't pinpoint what you want from a day.

Fluorite is a gentle crystal and acts like a quiet whisper.

Uses:

Clear Fluorite, also known as Pure Fluorite, is used to bring order. It can calm emotional turmoil and soothe chaotic personalities. It can enhance intuition and spirit and so is good for meditation.

Blue Fluorite is a relatively rare version of Fluorite. The most famous version (Blue John) can only be found in Castleton, Derbyshire, England. It is a stone used to accept reality and increase the ability to communicate.

Green Fluorite can help with bereavement and is used to bring personal growth. It is rumoured that placing this in your garden can help attract butterflies. A crystal of nature.

Yellow Fluorite is a less common Fluorite. It is used to overcome self-defeating behaviours. It can also help you overcome jealousy and stop comparing yourself to others.

Purple Fluorite is incredibly calming. It was known to protect someone from evil spirits and can help people de-stress. A crystal of peace.

Let Fluorite show you its true colours!

Magpie x

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thebeautiebar2-blog · 4 years

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The Beautie Bar Blowdry, Laser & Facials

The Beautie Bar located at Urby in Staten Island is a luxury Blowdry and Beauty bar, also specializing in custom facials and laser hair removal. We are proud to be the only facility in Staten Island that has the Oxygeneo 3in1 facial system along with the Lumenis Splendor x laser for hair removal, skin tightening and much more! Contact information: The Beautie Bar Blowdry, Laser & Facials 36 Navy Pier Ct, Staten Island, NY 10304 (718) 581-9881 https://www.thebeautiebar.com/. Beautie Bar clients come from neighborhoods all over Staten Island including Stapleton, St George, Grymes Hill, Todt Hill, Grant City, Grasmere, South beach, Old town, Dongan Hills, Dongan Hills Colony, Lighthouse Hill, Heartland Village, Willowbrook, Tottenville, Richmond Town, New Dorp, Westerleigh, Princess Bay, Great Kills, Rosebank, Tompkinsville, Fort Wadsworth, Midland Beach, Bulls Head, Bay Terrance, Eltingville, Annadale, Rossville, New Springville, Graniteville, Arden Heights, Castleton Corners, West Brighton, Randall Manor & Huguenot. To simplify it even more, our Beauty Bar is located near the 10305, 10304, 10301, 10314, 10306, 10308, 10309, 10312, 10303, 10310 10302, 10307 & 10307 postal codes. https://www.thebeautiebar.com/

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abzilp · 5 years

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Sooner or later, somehow, anyhow, I was bound to write a novel. It seems vain to ask why. Men are born with various manias: from my earliest childhood, it was mine to make a plaything of imaginary series of events; and as soon as I was able to write, I became a good friend to the paper-makers. Reams upon reams must have gone to the making of ‘Rathillet,’ ‘The Pentland Rising,’ ‘The King’s Pardon’ (otherwise ‘Park Whitehead’), ‘Edward Daven,’ ‘A Country Dance,’ and ‘A Vendetta in the West’; and it is consolatory to remember that these reams are now all ashes, and have been received again into the soil. I have named but a few of my ill-fated efforts, only such indeed as came to a fair bulk ere they were desisted from; and even so they cover a long vista of years. ‘Rathillet’ was attempted before fifteen, ‘The Vendetta’ at twenty- nine, and the succession of defeats lasted unbroken till I was thirty-one. By that time, I had written little books and little essays and short stories; and had got patted on the back and paid for them — though not enough to live upon. I had quite a reputation, I was the successful man; I passed my days in toil, the futility of which would sometimes make my cheek to burn — that I should spend a man’s energy upon this business, and yet could not earn a livelihood: and still there shone ahead of me an unattained ideal: although I had attempted the thing with vigour not less than ten or twelve times, I had not yet written a novel. All — all my pretty ones — had gone for a little, and then stopped inexorably like a schoolboy’s watch. I might be compared to a cricketer of many years’ standing who should never have made a run. Anybody can write a short story — a bad one, I mean — who has industry and paper and time enough; but not every one may hope to write even a bad novel. It is the length that kills. The accepted novelist may take his novel up and put it down, spend days upon it in vain, and write not any more than he makes haste to blot. Not so the beginner. Human nature has certain rights; instinct — the instinct of self-preservation — forbids that any man (cheered and supported by the consciousness of no previous victory) should endure the miseries of unsuccessful literary toil beyond a period to be measured in weeks. There must be something for hope to feed upon. The beginner must have a slant of wind, a lucky vein must be running, he must be in one of those hours when the words come and the phrases balance of themselves — EVEN TO BEGIN. And having begun, what a dread looking forward is that until the book shall be accomplished! For so long a time, the slant is to continue unchanged, the vein to keep running, for so long a time you must keep at command the same quality of style: for so long a time your puppets are to be always vital, always consistent, always vigorous! I remember I used to look, in those days, upon every three-volume novel with a sort of veneration, as a feat — not possibly of literature — but at least of physical and moral endurance and the courage of Ajax.

In the fated year I came to live with my father and mother at Kinnaird, above Pitlochry. Then I walked on the red moors and by the side of the golden burn; the rude, pure air of our mountains inspirited, if it did not inspire us, and my wife and I projected a joint volume of logic stories, for which she wrote ‘The Shadow on the Bed,’ and I turned out ‘Thrawn Janet,’ and a first draft of ‘The Merry Men.’ I love my native air, but it does not love me; and the end of this delightful period was a cold, a fly-blister, and a migration by Strathairdle and Glenshee to the Castleton of Braemar. There it blew a good deal and rained in a proportion; my native air was more unkind than man’s ingratitude, and I must consent to pass a good deal of my time between four walls in a house lugubriously known as the Late Miss McGregor’s Cottage. And now admire the finger of predestination. There was a schoolboy in the Late Miss McGregor’s Cottage, home from the holidays, and much in want of ‘something craggy to break his mind upon.’ He had no thought of literature; it was the art of Raphael that received his fleeting suffrages; and with the aid of pen and ink and a shilling box of water colours, he had soon turned one of the rooms into a picture gallery. My more immediate duty towards the gallery was to be showman; but I would sometimes unbend a little, join the artist (so to speak) at the easel, and pass the afternoon with him in a generous emulation, making coloured drawings. On one of these occasions, I made the map of an island; it was elaborately and (I thought) beautifully coloured; the shape of it took my fancy beyond expression; it contained harbours that pleased me like sonnets; and with the unconsciousness of the predestined, I ticketed my performance ‘Treasure Island.’ I am told there are people who do not care for maps, and find it hard to believe. The names, the shapes of the woodlands, the courses of the roads and rivers, the prehistoric footsteps of man still distinctly traceable up hill and down dale, the mills and the ruins, the ponds and the ferries, perhaps the Standing Stone or the Druidic Circle on the heath; here is an inexhaustible fund of interest for any man with eyes to see or twopence-worth of imagination to understand with! No child but must remember laying his head in the grass, staring into the infinitesimal forest and seeing it grow populous with fairy armies. Somewhat in this way, as I paused upon my map of ‘Treasure Island,’ the future character of the book began to appear there visibly among imaginary woods; and their brown faces and bright weapons peeped out upon me from unexpected quarters, as they passed to and fro, fighting and hunting treasure, on these few square inches of a flat projection. The next thing I knew I had some papers before me and was writing out a list of chapters. How often have I done so, and the thing gone no further! But there seemed elements of success about this enterprise. It was to be a story for boys; no need of psychology or fine writing; and I had a boy at hand to be a touchstone. Women were excluded. I was unable to handle a brig (which the Hispaniola should have been), but I thought I could make shift to sail her as a schooner without public shame. And then I had an idea for John Silver from which I promised myself funds of entertainment; to take an admired friend of mine (whom the reader very likely knows and admires as much as I do), to deprive him of all his finer qualities and higher graces of temperament, to leave him with nothing but his strength, his courage, his quickness, and his magnificent geniality, and to try to express these in terms of the culture of a raw tarpaulin. Such psychical surgery is, I think, a common way of ‘making character’; perhaps it is, indeed, the only way. We can put in the quaint figure that spoke a hundred words with us yesterday by the wayside; but do we know him? Our friend, with his infinite variety and flexibility, we know — but can we put him in? Upon the first, we must engraft secondary and imaginary qualities, possibly all wrong; from the second, knife in hand, we must cut away and deduct the needless arborescence of his nature, but the trunk and the few branches that remain we may at least be fairly sure of.

On a chill September morning, by the cheek of a brisk fire, and the rain drumming on the window, I began The Sea Cook, for that was the original title. I have begun (and finished) a number of other books, but I cannot remember to have sat down to one of them with more complacency. It is not to be wondered at, for stolen waters are proverbially sweet. I am now upon a painful chapter. No doubt the parrot once belonged to Robinson Crusoe. No doubt the skeleton is conveyed from Poe. I think little of these, they are trifles and details; and no man can hope to have a monopoly of skeletons or make a corner in talking birds. The stockade, I am told, is from Masterman Ready. It may be, I care not a jot. These useful writers had fulfilled the poet’s saying: departing, they had left behind them

“Footprints on the sands of time,

Footprints which perhaps another—”

and I was the other! It is my debt to Washington Irving that exercises my conscience, and justly so, for I believe plagiarism was rarely carried farther. I chanced to pick up the Tales of a Traveller some years ago with a view to an anthology of prose narrative, and the book flew up and struck me: Billy Bones, his chest, the company in the parlour, the whole inner spirit, and a good deal of the material detail of my first chapters — all were there, all were the property of Washington Irving. But I had no guess of it then as I sat writing by the fireside, in what seemed the spring-tides of a somewhat pedestrian inspiration; nor yet day by day, after lunch, as I read aloud my morning’s work to the family. It seemed to me original as sin; it seemed to belong to me like my right eye. I had counted on one boy, I found I had two in my audience. My father caught fire at once with all the romance and childishness of his original nature. His own stories, that every night of his life he put himself to sleep with, dealt perpetually with ships, roadside inns, robbers, old sailors, and commercial travellers before the era of steam. He never finished one of these romances; the lucky man did not require to! But in Treasure Island he recognised something kindred to his own imagination; it was HIS kind of picturesque; and he not only heard with delight the daily chapter, but set himself acting to collaborate. When the time came for Billy Bones’s chest to be ransacked, he must have passed the better part of a day preparing, on the back of a legal envelope, an inventory of its contents, which I exactly followed; and the name of ‘Flint’s old ship’— the Walrus — was given at his particular request. And now who should come dropping in, ex machina, but Dr. Japp, like the disguised prince who is to bring down the curtain upon peace and happiness in the last act; for he carried in his pocket, not a horn or a talisman, but a publisher — had, in fact, been charged by my old friend, Mr. Henderson, to unearth new writers for Young Folks. Even the ruthlessness of a united family recoiled before the extreme measure of inflicting on our guest the mutilated members of The Sea Cook; at the same time, we would by no means stop our readings; and accordingly the tale was begun again at the beginning, and solemnly re-delivered for the benefit of Dr. Japp. From that moment on, I have thought highly of his critical faculty; for when he left us, he carried away the manuscript in his portmanteau.

Here, then, was everything to keep me up, sympathy, help, and now a positive engagement. I had chosen besides a very easy style. Compare it with the almost contemporary ‘Merry Men’, one reader may prefer the one style, one the other —‘tis an affair of character, perhaps of mood; but no expert can fail to see that the one is much more difficult, and the other much easier to maintain. It seems as though a full-grown experienced man of letters might engage to turn out Treasure Island at so many pages a day, and keep his pipe alight. But alas! this was not my case. Fifteen days I stuck to it, and turned out fifteen chapters; and then, in the early paragraphs of the sixteenth, ignominiously lost hold. My mouth was empty; there was not one word of Treasure Island in my bosom; and here were the proofs of the beginning already waiting me at the ‘Hand and Spear’! Then I corrected them, living for the most part alone, walking on the heath at Weybridge in dewy autumn mornings, a good deal pleased with what I had done, and more appalled than I can depict to you in words at what remained for me to do. I was thirty-one; I was the head of a family; I had lost my health; I had never yet paid my way, never yet made 200 pounds a year; my father had quite recently bought back and cancelled a book that was judged a failure: was this to be another and last fiasco? I was indeed very close on despair; but I shut my mouth hard, and during the journey to Davos, where I was to pass the winter, had the resolution to think of other things and bury myself in the novels of M. de Boisgobey. Arrived at my destination, down I sat one morning to the unfinished tale; and behold! it flowed from me like small talk; and in a second tide of delighted industry, and again at a rate of a chapter a day, I finished Treasure Island. It had to be transcribed almost exactly; my wife was ill; the schoolboy remained alone of the faithful; and John Addington Symonds (to whom I timidly mentioned what I was engaged on) looked on me askance. He was at that time very eager I should write on the characters of Theophrastus: so far out may be the judgments of the wisest men. But Symonds (to be sure) was scarce the confidant to go to for sympathy on a boy’s story. He was large-minded; ‘a full man,’ if there was one; but the very name of my enterprise would suggest to him only capitulations of sincerity and solecisms of style. Well! he was not far wrong.

Treasure Island — it was Mr. Henderson who deleted the first title, The Sea Cook — appeared duly in the story paper, where it figured in the ignoble midst, without woodcuts, and attracted not the least attention. I did not care. I liked the tale myself, for much the same reason as my father liked the beginning: it was my kind of picturesque. I was not a little proud of John Silver, also; and to this day rather admire that smooth and formidable adventurer. What was infinitely more exhilarating, I had passed a landmark; I had finished a tale, and written ‘The End’ upon my manuscript, as I had not done since ‘The Pentland Rising,’ when I was a boy of sixteen not yet at college. In truth it was so by a set of lucky accidents; had not Dr. Japp come on his visit, had not the tale flowed from me with singular case, it must have been laid aside like its predecessors, and found a circuitous and unlamented way to the fire. Purists may suggest it would have been better so. I am not of that mind. The tale seems to have given much pleasure, and it brought (or, was the means of bringing) fire and food and wine to a deserving family in which I took an interest. I need scarcely say I mean my own.

But the adventures of Treasure Island are not yet quite at an end. I had written it up to the map. The map was the chief part of my plot. For instance, I had called an islet ‘Skeleton Island,’ not knowing what I meant, seeking only for the immediate picturesque, and it was to justify this name that I broke into the gallery of Mr. Poe and stole Flint’s pointer. And in the same way, it was because I had made two harbours that the Hispaniola was sent on her wanderings with Israel Hands. The time came when it was decided to republish, and I sent in my manuscript, and the map along with it, to Messrs. Cassell. The proofs came, they were corrected, but I heard nothing of the map. I wrote and asked; was told it had never been received, and sat aghast. It is one thing to draw a map at random, set a scale in one corner of it at a venture, and write up a story to the measurements. It is quite another to have to examine a whole book, make an inventory of all the allusions contained in it, and with a pair of compasses, painfully design a map to suit the data. I did it; and the map was drawn again in my father’s office, with embellishments of blowing whales and sailing ships, and my father himself brought into service a knack he had of various writing, and elaborately FORGED the signature of Captain Flint, and the sailing directions of Billy Bones. But somehow it was never Treasure Island to me.

I have said the map was the most of the plot. I might almost say it was the whole. A few reminiscences of Poe, Defoe, and Washington Irving, a copy of Johnson’s Buccaneers, the name of the Dead Man’s Chest from Kingsley’s At Last, some recollections of canoeing on the high seas, and the map itself, with its infinite, eloquent suggestion, made up the whole of my materials. It is, perhaps, not often that a map figures so largely in a tale, yet it is always important. The author must know his countryside, whether real or imaginary, like his hand; the distances, the points of the compass, the place of the sun’s rising, the behaviour of the moon, should all be beyond cavil. And how troublesome the moon is! I have come to grief over the moon in Prince Otto, and so soon as that was pointed out to me, adopted a precaution which I recommend to other men — I never write now without an almanack. With an almanack, and the map of the country, and the plan of every house, either actually plotted on paper or already and immediately apprehended in the mind, a man may hope to avoid some of the grossest possible blunders. With the map before him, he will scarce allow the sun to set in the east, as it does in The Antiquary. With the almanack at hand, he will scarce allow two horsemen, journeying on the most urgent affair, to employ six days, from three of the Monday morning till late in the Saturday night, upon a journey of, say, ninety or a hundred miles, and before the week is out, and still on the same nags, to cover fifty in one day, as may be read at length in the inimitable novel of Rob Roy. And it is certainly well, though far from necessary, to avoid such ‘croppers.’ But it is my contention — my superstition, if you like- -that who is faithful to his map, and consults it, and draws from it his inspiration, daily and hourly, gains positive support, and not mere negative immunity from accident. The tale has a root there; it grows in that soil; it has a spine of its own behind the words. Better if the country be real, and he has walked every foot of it and knows every milestone. But even with imaginary places, he will do well in the beginning to provide a map; as he studies it, relations will appear that he had not thought upon; he will discover obvious, though unsuspected, short-cuts and footprints for his messengers; and even when a map is not all the plot, as it was in Treasure Island, it will be found to be a mine of suggestion.

#robert louis stevenson #treasure island #map

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liv-andletdie · 6 years

Text

PUPPY LOVE

Author: liv-andletdie Rating: Teen and up Pairing: TP Zelink Modern AU Notes: Link is a vet at Ordon Veterinary surgery. Zelda is an Aristocrat with a dog who is sick… surprisingly often. Though nothing seems to be wrong with them

Available on Ao3

Chapter 7: The Reunion

Days at the surgery were, in a word, tedious. Depending on the time the building could be flooded with a never ending stream of patients. Cats, dogs, mice, hamsters, birds, gerbils, even reptiles were all frequent visitors to the small country clinic. And as such this made work very difficult for the small team of veterinarians who worked there. Some days it would a be a challenge to get everyone seen and make it through the day without cat scratches or pecks from annoyed parrots.

And then you had some days where it seemed like nothing happened, like the goddesses had met up for tea and decided that,“No, Ordon shall not face any great medical disaster with its animals today,” and given everyone the day off. Days where the only people to enter the building were delivery men and staff returning from their lunch break.

Link hated the quiet days.

He’d never normally hated them. Sure, he used to get a little restless with nothing to do, but he’d never go so far as to say he hated them. Mild dislike yes, but never hate.

But then, he supposed, he’d never normally had the need to distract himself as much.

Every free second was spent thinking about Her. The way she walked, the way she talked, the perfect curl of her smile, the dazzling blue of her eyes! He’d half expected himself to be over her by now. Iit had been four months since Zelda Harkinian was last in town, and yet his every waking moment was devoted to wondering about her, and wondering if she was thinking about him too.

He wanted to blame Rusl. The elder vet had put that ridiculous mantra in his head, There’s always a chance, even if that chance grew less and less with each turn of the minute hand that he was currently staring at.

Link was sitting in the waiting room, his white coat thrown over one of the chairs as he fixed his eye on the clock. The monotonous ticking marked the slow march of the day. Half past four, only three and a half hours left to go. In the corner of the room Ilia sat at her desk, methodically reading through her coursework, the sound of paper turning breezed through the air in rhythm with the never ending thud of the clock. It would have been almost peaceful if it hadn’t been so warm.

“I thought you had a summer break?” Link asked, his voice shattering the fragile silence of the waiting room. He watched Ilia jump, accidentally flinging her pen up in the air. She scrambled to try and catch it, wincing as it hit of the rim of her mug and fell to the floor.

“I do,” she huffed, leaning down to rescue her pen. “But there’s nothing wrong with trying to keep my mind sharp. Better than just sitting around in this heat”

Summers in Ordon were known for their warmth. A damp humid air from Faron rolling across the winds, only made worse by the unrelenting sun up above. The storms offered little respite from the omnipresent heat, only really clearing the air for a day or two until the Faron winds choked them once more.

“I don’t know how you can concentrate,” he muttered, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He’d already unbuttoned the top two buttons, unbuttoning the third would just make him look silly. Well… sillier than he already did. The heat had no doubt turned his cheeks and ears bright pink.

“I can’t,” Ilia sighed. A soft thud indicated that she’d shut her book, apparently giving up on studying for the time being. Link would have laughed if he didn’t feel so lethargic, doing nothing was exhausting. At least I don’t live in Gerudo, he thought as he wiped a hand across his brow, I don’t think I could handle this kinda heat all year round. The Gerudo desert would be unbearable right now, but maybe Castleton would be better.

He wondered how hot it got in Castleton. Would the pavements sizzle? Would the smell of exhaust hang heavy in the air? Would people flock to the park in their lunch breaks? Would Zelda’s office have functioning AC?

Zelda… how was she dealing with the summer heat?

Tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling, Link let out a mournful sigh, all air leaving his lungs in a defeated rush. He was doing it again, thinking about her. He needed to stop otherwise he was going to drive himself mad. Zelda was gone and there was nothing he could do to change that.

“What’cha thinkin bout?” Ilia mumbled, her voice pulling him from his thoughts. He turned his head to look at her, taking in the way she slumped over the desk, her cheek resting in her palm while she fanned herself with a pamphlet on, what looked like, deworming cats and dogs.

“Nothin,” he lied, eyes turning back to the clock on the wall. Four fortyfive. How has it only been fifteen minutes?

“You’re not thinking about Zelda again are you?” Ilia sighed softly, the arm holding her makeshift fan landing against the desk. She looked as tired as he felt, shoulders sagging and eyes drooping. Even the curl of her hair seemed to have given up the ghost as it hung against her neck.

“Why would I be thinking about Zelda?” he scoffed, trying not to choke on his sarcasm.

“Because you’ve got the biggest crush on her in the history of Hyrule,” Ilia huffed. It wasn’t a secret. At this point practically everyone in Ordon knew of Link’s feelings towards the brunette heiress. They’d all agreed it was a damn shame to see him so heartsick, some even going as far as to call it cruel. Link disagreed with that; afterall, it wasn’t Zelda’s fault that he’d fallen for her as hard as he had. “Honestly Link...it’s been months. I don’t th-”

“I know,” He cut in, wincing at the acid in his tone. “I’m sorry, Ilia… I just… I know it’s been ...I can’t stop wondering...” Where would I be if she’d never left?

Ilia pushed herself back in her chair, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “I know,” she sighed, fingers tugging at the hem of her T-shirt. “I know, Link, I do. But maybe it is time to move on. Get out there, meet someone new”

Link sighed. She was only trying to help, he knew that, but the idea of going out and trying to find someone else to fall for… it all felt rather empty. Though he couldn’t bring himself to admit this to Ila. He saw the way she looked at him, worry causing her shoulders to go tense, a false smile always plastered to her lips. She just wanted him to be happy.

Closing his eyes, Link let his head fall back against the chair. All energy leaving from his body with a deep and tired sigh. “Maybe it is,” he murmured, trying not to notice how heavy Ilia’s silence felt now.

Quiet filled the air once more, the repeated ticking of the clock seeping into the spaces left by the absence of conversation. Outside the sun beat down against the dried earth filling the room with a blazing heat. Not for the first time that day, Link wondered if this was what the evil realm was like.

His wondering was halted when Ilia gave a loud sigh from across the room, throwing her makeshift fan at the desk with a ferocity that he’d never seen from her before. “How does Rusl do it?!” She cried, red faced from exertion.

Rusl was one of the lucky few who rarely seemed affected by the heat. Every year the Faron winds would blow and every year the elder vet appeared to ignore them. It was one of the great unsolved mysteries in the surgery as to how he managed to accomplish such a feat (along with “who’s sandwich is that in the fridge?” and “why are there never any gummy worms in the vending machine”) Link’s money was on the theory that Rusl was part Goron and was therefore used to the heat, Ilia didn’t seem to agree.

“You know my theory,” he sighed running a hand through his hair.

Ilia ignored him, pushing herself away from the desk. “I’m gonna go find a fan,” she declared “Watch the desk for me? I doubt anyone’s gonna show up but, y'know, just in case.”

Link gave a small nod of his head, watching as Ilia fled down the staff corridor. With a sigh he pushed himself from his seat, grimacing at the feel of sweat rolling down his spine.

The desk was placed right in front of the door, open and vulnerable to the blistering sun. No wonder Ilia was so uncomfortable, he thought reaching a hand up to tug at his collar. It was much warmer in this part of the room. He hoped she’d be back soon as he dropped into her chair, he didn’t think he could stand sitting in the sun for too long.

Now I just need to find something to do.

There was only three hours left of work and Link doubted that anyone would show up in that time. Five pm wasn’t exactly their most active hour at the best of times, let alone on days where nothing happened. Running a hand through his hair, Link searched the desk for something to do. It would be better to keep busy he reasoned as he rifled through the drawers, maybe he’d find something interesting?

His heart sank at the sight of paper, bills, and a bag of hard candy that had gone sticky. Nothing he could use to entertain himself! Well… he could make a paper airplane? It had been years since he’d last made one but he was sure he could figure it out if he had enough time. But then again… Ilia probably needed the paper for something, he couldn’t just use it all up without asking.

Resigned to boredom, Link gave the drawer a sharp kick. It made an almighty thud as it collided with the desk, slamming shut and then opening again from the force. He could feel his frustration grow the longer he sat in the sun. It seemed that everything was going wrong, he couldn’t even kick a drawer back into place without having that backfire!

Link debated just leaving the drawer open. If it didn’t want to close that wasn’t his problem, and there was no way he was going to lower himself to the level of disobedient furniture! He wasn’t going to fight with a desk, he was not! He refused! Why should he get down on his knees to close a stubborn drawer when a kick would have sufficed? It was unnatural, the desk was getting ideas above its station if it thought it could treat him this way.

I’m going mad, he thought sliding to his knees under the desk. He pulled the drawer open fully to inspect it, frowning at the sight of the sticky candies littered against the bills and papers. Suddenly every complaint Ilia had ever made about ants made sense, if this was how she stored her sweets no wonder she was popular with the insects. Swallowing his discomfort, Link began sweeping the candies back into their bag. He really needed to have a word with Ilia about how she organised her desk drawers.

“Hello?” A voice called out, musical, romantic, and achingly familiar. “Is there anyone there?”

Link jumped, electricity arcing through his body with every word that passed the strangers lips. Power charged through his legs and he rushed to stand up, the stubborn drawer and the disgusting candy all but forgotten to his frantic mind. Pushing himself upwards with all his might, Link tried to hold back a yelp as his head cracked against the underside of the desk.

Smooth one, Wolfe, he thought, a hand pressed against the steadily growing lump on his scalp, his eyes shut tight at the pain. From the otherside of the desk he heard the voice again, beautiful and soft and tainted with worry. “Oh my goodness! Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Link breathed, standing up slowly this time to preserve his remaining brain cells. “My dignity took the worst blow.”

The laugh that followed was nothing less than magic, a pure symphony. Wonderful lilting notes hung in the air around him as he straightened, soothing his injuries and his pride. He could listen to that laugh all day and never get tired of it. He eased his eyes open, trying to find the source of such an enchanting giggle, and his heart stopped.

He knew the voice was familiar, why it caused such a powerful reaction in him. He’d heard it before, he’d listened to it in his dreams, he’d spent months replaying the last words she’d ever said to him. He’d recognize her voice anywhere.

She stood in front of him, brown hair piled in a messy bun at the back of her head, her face and neck flushed pink with the summer heat. At her side sat a large husky.

Zelda was back.

“H-hi,” he gasped, suddenly lost for breath. It felt like all the air in the world had vanished, leaving him floundering like a fish out of water.

“Hi,” she sighed, a heart stopping smile curling over her lips. Screw suffocating, he felt like he was drowning! This couldn’t be real, there was no way! The heat had finally gotten to him, he’d hit his head to hard, he’d fallen asleep and this was all just a dream.

“How have you been, Link?” She asked and he wanted to faint. She was here, right in front of him!

“Swell,” he lied. “Just...great.” He could feel his cheeks begin to ache from how wide he was smiling. “A-and you? How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good,” She said, nodding a little too enthusiastically. “Busy...work’s been a little frantic”

“Yeah,” he breathed lamely. Why was it so difficult to talk around her? She was just a person it shouldn’t be so hard to just open his mouth and make conversation like a normal person! Comeon, Link. Think! get back on track. “What uhh..what brings you here? Is Naru okay? What’s up?” Perfect.

“Oh! No, she’s...she’s fine.” Zelda started, her eyes flashing quickly to the Husky at her feet. Naru sat on the ground, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she panted through the heat. “She’s good there’s nothing wrong with her. I just thought that...it’d be a good idea to get her checked over just in case. I mean what with the… heat…” Zelda trailed off, lifting a hand to pull at the messy bun at the back of her neck. She looked… nervous? “I-I can come back later if now’s not a good time”

Link gave the room a quick glance. He took in the still chairs resting in the sunshine, the gentle and never ending tick-tocking of the clock, the fine dust motes floating in the air around them illuminated only briefly before fading away again. It was utterly devoid of life, save for the three of them. Ilia hadn’t even returned yet.

“Now’s fine,” He practically cried as he moved away from behind the desk. “Now’s a great time. Examination room three is open, I’ll take you in there…” The double entendre fell from his lips I’ll take you in examination room three, come on, Link be subtle at least! “I didn’t mean like… I’ll just show you the way”

Link wasn’t sure but he thought he saw a blush rise across Zelda’s cheeks, the already pink skin turning rosy as he moved past her towards the chairs to collect his coat. He’d rather not wear it in such warm weather, but it was always best to appear professional. Biting back a grimace he tugged it over his shoulders before ushering Zelda towards the small examination room.

Pushing open the door Link revealed the modest space. A long metal table took up most of the room, behind it sat a series of cabinets, the tops littered with jars filled with cotton and boxes of latex gloves. A small sink sat at the furthest end from the door, a small trash can placed beneath it. An old computer sat in the corner, it’s screen lighting up as Link pushed at keys to wake it up. With one hand he directed Zelda to sit in the only chair in the room whilst he pulled up a small plastic stool.

“Right, so, just a couple of routine questions,” He started, pulling up Naru’s medical charts.

“Lay them on me,” Zelda smirked, making herself comfortable in her seat. Naru curled around her legs, the strange and unfamiliar environment making her feel anxious.

“Have there been any changes to her eating or drinking habits?”

“No.”

“Good, any weight gain or-”

A sharp howl cut through the air, halting Link in his tracks. He saw Zelda flash him an apologetic look as she reached down to try and calm the animal. “I’m sorry, I know it’s impolite but I gotta ask,” Link continued, earning a smile from Zelda that made his chest feel tight. Ignoring the feeling he asked again, “Any weight gain or loss?”

“No,” she giggled, her hand scratching behind Naru’s ears.

“She up to date on her vaccines?”

“Yes, she got her boosters just last month.”

“Any coughing or Diarrhea?”

“No, thank goodness.”

“Balance issues?”

“Steady as a rock.”

“Excellent, let’s get her up on the table.”

Naru was not a fan of being lifted it seemed as Link wrapped his arms under her. She squirmed in his grasp, letting out another howl as she did so. Zelda stood to the side, muttering apologies and assurances that normally she’s much more well behaved, offering a hand to help calm or distract the wriggling canine. Eventually the two got her on the table, Naru letting out an indignant whine as her claws made contact with the cool steel surface.

Link began with checking her vitals, starting with her pulse and respiration rate before moving onto her temperature (and apologising profusely while he did so) all the while rolling back and forth on his stool between the computer and Naru.

“Vital signs are good,” he murmured half to himself as he stared at the screen. He could hear Zelda behind him blow kisses to her furry friend, the mental image causing him to smile. How was it that she was able to make him feel so happy with the simplest of actions?

Rolling back to the husky, Link started to conduct his physical examination. Naru seemed calmer than she had before, probably soothed by Zelda’s kisses and pats. He watched as she tilted her chin skyward, bright blue eyes sliding shut in pleasure as Zelda scratched at her neck, her tail creating a steady drumbeat against the table.

“I take it she ain’t a huge fan of vets,” he joked, reaching his own hands forward to press against Naru’s abdomen.

“Just the examination rooms,” Zelda confirmed as she pulled her hands back to her lap. “This is the fastest I’ve gotten her to calm down though, there must be something in the room that’s putting her at ease.”

“Could be the wallpaper?” Link snorted jerking his head towards the garish blue and green diagonal stripes that decorated the room. Zelda rolled her eyes at him but she laughed, rewarding him with another heart stopping smile.

Swallowing he turned back to the task at hand. Pulling a stethoscope from the wall behind him, he began listening to Naru’s heart and breathing. She gave a quick twitch at the feel of cold metal against her ribs, blue eyes snapping open to glare at him silently. shrugging his shoulders in a half hearted apology, Link couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up at his throat.

Across from him, Zelda sat back in her chair. She’d taken the messy bun out of her hair, running through the strands with her fingers to tidy them. Naru’s check up was forgotten as he watched her, nimble fingers pulling the hair into a perfect plait, a serene expression on her face.

He knew he’d missed her, the entirety of Ordon knew that he’d missed her! He’d thought about nothing but her for the past four months, just praying he’d get the chance to see her one last time. Having her here, now, in front of him, he hadn’t realized how desperate he’d been for that prayer to be answered.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he said, so quiet he wasn’t even sure that he’d said the words out loud. Zelda’s eyes turned towards him, the beginnings of a blush painting her cheeks and ears a light pink.

“Well…” she swallowed, hands dropping to her lap. He watched as she clutched at the fabric of her skirt, her knuckles going a bright white. She tilted her head towards Naru on the table. “She missed you”

“I wasn’t talking to the dog.”

Zelda's eyes grew wide, cheeks turning scarlet and lips parting in a quiet, surprised gasp as she lifted her eyes to his. All air seemed to rush from her lungs and for a moment Link was scared that she was going to faint or curse him out. But instead she seemed to gather herself, eyelashes fluttering as she searched for something to focus on that wasn’t him. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and Link felt his chest grow hot.

“It’s nice to see you again too,” She’d gone bright red, her nerves masterfully hidden as she gazed up at him through her lashes. The room seemed to grow warmer but he couldn’t bring himself to care, her words were echoing around his head like the chimes of a cymbal. Maybe… just maybe, she’d missed him as much as had missed her?

Naru’s sharp, annoyed, howl wrang through the air, shattering the moment and drawing his attention back to her and the stethoscope still pressed against her ribs. Fighting back the rising flush of embarrassment he felt at being called out by a husky, Link quickly returned to his work as he examined her eyes, teeth, and ears. Once he was satisfied that she was alright, Link pulled his stool over the computer.

“Naru looks fine,” he murmured, hands moving across the keys. “She’s recovered well from that cold she had a couple months back, so that’s good. As for dealing with the heat I’d recommend just brushing her a whole lot to get rid of any excess fur, but don’t trim her. Also, if you’ve got a pond in your garden she might like to swim in that to keep cool? A kiddie pool would also work. I actually knew a guy who’d freeze fruit for his dog so she could play with it. Just took an old ice cream tub and filled with water with an apple in it”

“Thank you,Link - uh Doctor Wolfe.” He watched, out of the corner of his eye, as she showered Naru with affection. Pressing loving kisses against her forehead and gentle scratches under her chin and ears.

“Just doing my job,” he sighed, as he shut the computer down. She turned to him, something shining in her royal blue eyes that made him weak at the knees. It really was good to see her again. “I’ll walk you back to the desk.”

<><><>

The lowering sun cast a deep orange light over the waiting room. Tall shadows of the trees outside curled over the room through the windows like the cracks in a vase. The clock continued it’s resolute march and somewhere nearby an electric fan whirred, pulling and pushing the heavy air around the space.

“How long have you been back in Ordon?” Link asked, holding the door open for Zelda and Naru to walk past. Her perfume tickled his nose as she got close, lingering in the back of his throat. The scent of fresh roses following in the air after her.

“Not long, I just got back really,” she said, pulling her braid over her shoulder. “I’ve not even been up to the estate yet, I just... came straight here.”

“Worried about Naru?”

“No...I…” She trailed off, a hand coming up to tug on her braid, a nervous smile curling over her lips. “I just wanted to come here first”

It was impossible to hold back the goofy, idiotic, grin that plastered itself across his face. Even the most miserable of people would have failed when faced with the knowledge that Zelda Harkinian had wanted to get to the surgery before anything else. He’d managed to compose himself earlier when she had said that it was nice to see him again, but she was quickly breaking down his defences. He’d be a dribbling pile of nerves by the time she left and all she had to do was smile at him!

Turning towards the desk, in an attempt to at least hide his grin, Link began drawing up her bill. The fan that Ilia had placed on the desk only worked to increase his discomfort, blowing hot air directly into his face as he tried to work. The secretary herself, however, was nowhere to be seen. A small yellow note stuck to the computer monitor was the only clue to her whereabouts.

Uli’s stuck at the bakery, Rusl’s at the ranch. I had to take Colin to cricket club, desk is all yours. -Ilia x P.s. don’t root around my stuff!

Suppressing the urge to rub his eyes, he fished a pen out of the pot she kept there to write his reply.

Clean your candy. Ants love it, I don’t. -L P.s. the fan is useless

“That’s forty five ruppees for the consultation. No other charge because she’s a perfectly healthy dog.” He held the card reader out towards Zelda, looking away as she typed in her pin. He could hear the sound of Naru’s tail thumping against the floor in time with the clock on the wall in the otherwise silent room.

“How long are you in Ordon for?” he asked, pulling back the reader as it began to print the receipt. He’d been aiming to break the silence before it got too daunting, to make casual conversation like two friends do. And yet his mind had leapt to the first question he’d wanted to ask. He felt the tops of his ears grow warm as he handed her card back to her. No turning back now.

“I’m here for a month,” she explained, seemingly not noticing his sudden nerves. She tucked her card back into her purse. “I’m taking a break from work for a little bit.”

“Cool, cool.” Now what? He’d hit a dead end. Cool wasn’t a way to continue a conversation, nor a way to end one properly. He couldn’t just stop talking, but then what should he say? You’re gonna love the weather? No, he doubted anyone could love this weather. She might take it as sarcastic, but what if she didn’t? Then he’d have to explain himself and that would be awkward. Not to mention that it was a pessimistic statement to make for no reason! Talking about the weather was off the table. Any plans? might be a good choice. Unless she thought he was asking her out… would that be such a bad thing? He could ask her out right now! It’d be easy, just say Well if you’re here for a month do you wanna hang out sometime? There was nothing stopping him! That’s it! Link decided I’m going to ask her out.

“We might see each other around.”

You coward.

“We might,.” She agreed, pulling her hand bag up higher to her shoulder. He couldn’t tell, and he didn’t want to assume anything but… she seemed disappointed. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“You too,” idiot! idiot! idiot! “Take care.” By Farore, he was stupid! Saying goodbye to her now? Well she probably had somewhere to be, shopping to do or something. There’d been no one at the estate so she’d need to air it out and clean the sheets maybe. He couldn’t keep her here any longer than he already had. He was a veterinarian, he’d done his job, she had no reason to stick around.

“I will,” She smiled, taking a step backwards towards the door. She was almost hesitant.

Realistically, when am I gonna run into her again? I don’t even have her number.

“Uh, wait...”

She stopped. Bright, royal blue, eyes staring at him. The whole situation was vaguely familiar, only this time they were standing in a sweltering waiting room instead of her driveway under freezing cold rain. Back then, all he’d wanted was for her to stay. That wasn’t an issue now, she was staying albeit only for a few weeks. But a few weeks would have to be enough time.

“Yes?”

Screw half-cooked Ramen. It was now or never.

“Would you… I mean it’s… there’s a… do you wanna get coffee sometime?” He choked. He’d envisioned this moment before, except he hadn’t been stumbling over his words and he’d swept her off of her feet in a display so romantic that cheesy romcom movies would look tame in comparison. But he’d done it now, for better or worse. He couldn’t even look at her, his eyes staring at the pen he’d left lying out on the desk. She was probably going to say no, maybe she’d let him down gently if he was lucky.

“I’d love to.”

Wait, what? His heart skipped a beat in his chest. Had she just… she’d said… she wanted too…

“Great. Great! I’ll… uhh give you my number,” He began patting down his pockets in a frenzy, searching desperately for his phone. His mind and heart still reeling from the revelation that Zelda-Goddess-Damned-Harkinian had just said yes to going on a date with him. Only one problem remained… his phone was charging in the break room. Resisting the urge to slam his head against the desk he continued. “I don’t...I don’t have my phone with me. Uhh I could run back and-”

Zelda reached forward faster than he could comprehend, a hand expertly wrapping around his forearm, keeping him still as she pushed up his shirt sleeve. He watched breathless as she grabbed the pen from the desk and began writing on his skin in short, elegant, cursive.

0145 712598 - Miss Harkinian x

“You’ve got my number,” She breathed, a coquettish grin pulling at her lips. Link felt faint at the sight of her smile and the feel of her hand on his arm, her thumb tracing small circles over his skin.

“I do,” He said dumbly, his heart kicking back into gear at the realization. “I have your number so I’ll call you and then we can arrange something.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Her smile is gonna be the death of me, he thought as she pulled away. But damn, what a way to go. Zelda’s hand dropped from his arm, her attention drawn towards Naru as she gave a low howl.

“I gotta get her home,” Zelda giggled, leaning down to pat her husky on the nose. “I’ll hear from you later?”

“Absolutely,” He gasped, nodding his head so fast he was sure he was going to do himself an injury. “You’ll hear from me later, 100%.”

“Goodbye, Link,” she sighed, her lip caught between her teeth in a way that made his heart race.

“Bye, Zelda.

And just like that she was gone, walking out of the door, her husky in tow. He watched her till he couldn’t see her anymore,till she was nothing but a spec on the horizon, till the setting sun began to shine in his eyes and the clock struck the hour. Pushing away from the desk, he ran to the break room with all the power he could muster.

His phone was right where he’d left it, plugged in next to the toaster of all things. He practically ripped it from the wall in his haste. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins as he punched her number in, causing his whole body to shake with anticipation. Pressing the phone against his ear he waited, counting the rings until she picked up.

Ring ring

It was torture. Two seconds felt like five hours. He couldn’t stop moving, constantly tapping his feet against the floor. He thought he was going to explode until he heard her voice, sweet and melodious, echo down the phone line.

“Hello, Zelda Harkinian speaking.How can I help you?”

“Hi, yeah, I’m Doctor Link Wolfe with the Ordon veterinary surgery. I was wondering if you were free this friday?”

~Fin~

<><><>

The final chapter? What? no? Yes. This marks the end of the FIRST installment of Puppy Love. I'll be taking a short break after this but when I'm back I'll be starting work on the Puppy Love Short stories and lots of new fics as well. I'll write a sappier Authors note for the Epilogue which I'll be posting up in a week I promise haha

Massive Thanks to @zeldasdiaries/ @missdellarosa, @andelynk, and @electragoob for helping me so much during this process. I couldn't have done it without them. And thank you all so much for sticking by me through this, I'm so grateful to each and every one of you

#tp zelink #zelink #tp zelink fanfiction #puppy love #tp zelda #tp link

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