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circuscarnage · 4 years

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Picture Perfect.

Hello! I saw a picture of Rooks room and get inspired to write a yandere fanfic. Sorry if he seems out of character, I haven't written for him since the game released. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a yandere fic for a while so I hope you enjoy.

TW: Stalking. A lot of stalking.

Words: 2755.

Potions wasn't exactly a subject that you excelled at. It wasn't that you were bad at it... you just had trouble getting your head around the instructions. It's not everyday you are flung through a magical portal and expected to partake in activities meant for trained wizards who have been here for more than five seconds. So a little struggling here and there was to be expected. But to completely mess up and almost set half the school on fire? That was a new record of stupidity, even for you.

Divus was not impressed. The way he lightly tapped his cane over his crossed arms was enough of an indication. He was just about to teach this stray puppy some discipline. But thankfully for you, someone came to your hour of need. And that someone came in the form of the boisterous Rook Hunt. Sweet talking his way into your conversation seamlessly and rescuing this poor soul from punishment.

"Monsieur Crewel," He started. "You must forgive our petite colombe, they are not accustomed to this world, and still have much to learn." He placed his hands gently on your shoulders, firmly keeping you in place. "May I suggest some personally tutoring? After all, who better the guide this innocent creature through the hurdles of life than yours truly?"

So it was settled. Instead of being placed with a heavy detention, Rook would be you personal tutor. Helping recover your grades and ensuring that you never repeat your little mistake ever again. You both agreed to meet in the Pomefiore dormitory, where he would escort you to his room in order to study.

As expected from Pomefiore, their rooms were nothing short of elegant. The room was quite grand. Cream coloured walls lined with gold coating the exterior, giving the room a very regal vibe. They had the same satin sheets that matches perfectly with their uniform. And the bed canopy above only added an extra layer of elegance. The stained glass window embedded in the wall illuminated a section of the room with rainbow light. He even had his hunting equipment decorated on the wall. His trusty hunting bows seeming as casual as a family picture. It looked extremely glamorous, and extremely expensive.

You kept your books clutched to your chest as he invited you further into the room. "Thank you again, Rook. Without your help, there's no doubt Crewel would make me do one of his impossible tasks." You turned to face him. "How were you able to persuade him so easily?"

Rook smiled, closing the door behind him. "We share an eye for the divine. Fashion and beauty come second nature to us. I am also one of his top students. He places his trust in me to guide his little 'puppies' in the right direction." Rook laughed, finding it endearing that Divus saw himself as a trainer, rather than a teacher. He walked himself over to his desk, pulling out the chair, and gestured you to sit down. You placed your belongings on the table and sat down, thanking him.

Before you started, Rook removed his hat, and went to place it on the stand. "Let's start with the basics, shall we? Firstly-" Rook suddenly stopped mid-sentence. He stared off into the distance, thinking for a moment. His hat still sitting firmly in his hand, before he finally placed it down. He checked his pockets, patting them down gently at first, but then becoming a tad more frantic. He patted down his jacket as well, as if he was missing something. He breathed out a smile. "Ah... sacre bleu..."

"Is everything okay?" You queried, quirking your brow at him. It was unlike Rook to be disorganised. He always knew where everything was, so seeing him in a state of surprise was a first. Rook met your gaze again, giving you an apologetic smile before speaking. "You must forgive me, petite colombe. It seems I may have left something important in Monsieur Crewel's classroom. I hate to leave at such short notice, but I must retrieve this item of mine."

"It's alright." You reassured him. There was plenty of times where you had left something behind, it was perfectly understandable. "Take your time. I can go over some notes by myself if you want?" Rook clapped his hands together happily. Expressing his delight to your sedulous mind. "Tres bein! Such a diligent student. So eager to learn, yet has trouble expressing so. Like a flower yet to bloom yo-"

"Rook. Go." You ushered him out of the room with a smile. If you hadn't stepped in, he would have continued his rant on beauty for the rest of the day.

As Rook left the room to retrieve said item, you opened your book to a random page and started to reread over your notes. At least this way, you wouldn't bore yourself to death waiting for him to come back. Might as well do something productive. Before long, your eyes started to get tired. Without Rook being here to help you, it felt strange being in his room, like you weren't supposed to be there. Some time had already passed yet he hadn't returned. You sighed, leaning back in the chair. Whatever he misplaced must have been important. Not wanting the boredom to consume you whole, you searched the room for something to do.

Without a doubt, the hat on the stand had caught your attention. You stared at it, resisting the temptation to try it on. Just as you reached out your hand, you quickly retreated it back. Another time, you thought. Today was a day of no distractions. You were going to do work, and Rook was going to help... whenever he came back. Given the unpredictability of Rook, who knows how long he would take. He had left his phone in his room, so there was no way to contact him. Sitting back down in the chair, you let out a heavy sigh.

That's when you saw it. Hidden away in the very corner of the room. Something that was slightly off. A stray corner of wallpaper was peeling off the side of the wall. It was only a small section, easily overlooked by anyone who passed by. But for someone who was obviously looking for something, it wasn't hard to miss. Rook didn't seem like the type of person to allow his room to fall into a state of disarray. Suffice to say, it caught you off guard.

Something about how that one corner was different was completely throwing off your concentration. There was no way you would be able to focus with something that distracting in the back of your mind. It was decided, in order to gain a better working environment, something needed to be done.

You stood up from your seat and made your way over to the bed, removing your shoes before carefully stepping on top of the satin sheets. They sank under your weight, making you briefly loose your footing, but you manged to make it to the wall without falling over. The Pomefiore dorm really went all out with the bedding. Soft and smooth to the touch, yet emitting a sort of poisonous aura. It dragged you in, insisting for you to lie down. As if someone could lie in peaceful slumber, forever in a death like state.

You shook those thoughts from your head. Now was not the time to think about that, there was a wall in desperate need of fixing! Standing up on your tip toes, your hand glided up the wall to secure the loose wallpaper. Just before you sealed up the wall, something else caught your attention. There was something behind the plaster. A corner of a white scrap of paper was peaking out from behind it. Why the heck was there something behind the wall? Was it something that he didn't want others to see?

You looked towards the door, seeing that Rook hadn't come back yet. What was taking him so long? His lengthened disappearance might as well be a blessing at this point, considering the blatant curiosity that festered inside you was starting to eat away at your moral compass. It is awfully rude to look at someones personal things without asking, but it was basically staring you right in the face, begging to be looked at. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to take a small peek, would it? No longer being able to subside the pestering need to be nosy, you peeled back a little more of the plaster, surprised at how easy it came off.

There was no denying the cold feeling that started to creep it's way up your spine. Slow and sultry, like someone trailing their fingers up your back. What you had expected to be a simple joke to be laughed it, turned out to be much darker then you could have ever dreamed. You couldn't believe what you were looking at, blinding rapidly, praying that it was just a trick of the eye. But every time you opened your eyes, there it was, staring back at you. That's when you noticed that there wasn't only one. Another corner peeked out.

In a marvellous flourish of motion, you quickly tore the wall paper off, revealing an entire collage of horror behind a thin wall of plaster. There was more of them. Completely covering the back wall. But these weren't pieces of paper. These were pictures.

Pictures of you.

How Rook was able to capture them without you knowing baffled you. He had taken shots from all angles, close up and distant, capturing every moment perfectly. You studied the pictures closer, being able to remember the exact date of when they were taken. One was from the day you were having lunch outside with your friends, smiling and laughing in ignorant bliss, unaware of the danger that lurked just beyond your line of sight. Another was from one of your walks, going around Night Raven campus without a second thought. Enjoying the peaceful scenery away from the usual chaos. Oh my god. He even managed to snap a shot of you while you were asleep.

Your hands instinctively slammed on the wall as you felt your body lurch forward, suddenly feeling very disorientated, and extremely unsafe. Rook could be somewhat of a stalker at times, but this was just too far. The little games he would play with the other students were nothing more than playful motions, they never borderline on obsession. So why. Why this? Why now? And most importantly, why you?

"Beautiful, is it not?"

Hearing those words broke you from your bystander state and placed you back within the clutches of the predator. You completely froze. Standing still on his bed, not even being able to look him in the eyes. You knew that you were in the wrong by snooping through his things. But if you knew what was in store, you wouldn't have done it. Discomfort radiated off you rapidly, filling the room with unimaginable dread. Neither of you said anything for a moment. But when Rook spoke, it shot through you like an arrow.

"My collection." His voice had gotten louder. He was much closer than before. On the side of the bed just behind you. You didn't even know he moved. "I've travelled my entire life and seen beauty in all it's shapes and forms. The Savanaclaw students are beast-men, their animalistic instincts interest me greatly. The students at this academy are all so distinct with their unique magic. But you." The way he spoke, letting you linger on every word he said, unsettled you greatly. "You had your own beauty in being simple. Standing out because you blend in with the background. A simple buttercup in a world of exotic flowers. It's a wonder how you managed to catch my eye, more so than that of Roi de Poison." He placed his gloved finger to his chin, taking a moment to think about his next words. "You have a certain... Je ne sais pas... Vulnerability. Something that a hunter like myself can't resist..."

As he said that, he reached out his hand, gently twisting it around your wrist. You shuddered at his touch, not wanting to be here anymore. Whatever was going on, you wanted no part in it. You wish you never saw this. Wanting nothing more than to rewind time and remain oblivious to his obsessive actions. That would be better. Going about life without knowing of the danger that was always three steps behind.

Plucking up the little courage you had, cautiously you turned to face him. You expected to see him looking at you with a sour expression. But he didn't. He didn't look angry. Why didn't he look angry? You just exposed him for stalking. Someone in their right mind should have at least changed their expression, or do something. But Rook didn't. He just continued to smile at you as he always did. As if nothing was wrong. You looked back to the pictures, and then to him. His timing was too perfect. Leaving suddenly and then catching you in the act. Leaving you bored and in need to do something. He didn't plan this... Did he?

"Did..." It was hard trying to conceal the fear in your voice. Still uneven and shaking from the realisation. "...Did you want me to find this?" Your voice was only just above a whisper, yet Rook heard it clear as day. His keen eyes picking up the slightest of sounds. He clapped his hands together happily. "Tres Bien! As expected of my petite colombe, you were able to find the clues and uncover the mystery. Your beauty surely knows no bounds. All good hunters know how to cover their tracks and remain undetected. I wouldn't let something like a stray piece of paper cause my undoing." His eyes flickered to wall, scanning over the pictures once again. It was clear that he was proud to own such a collection, but his gaze never stayed focused on them for long. Too soon his eyes would return to grace upon your features, taking them in intensely. "Even though I was able to capture your beauty within these images, it can never compare to the real thing. A replication of a painting is worthless compared to the original. That's why I had to have you."

Gently he began to pull you towards him. You tried to fight back. Squirming under his touch, hoping to be let free. But no matter how much you wriggled, how much you battered your fist against his arm, or how much you protested, he was easily able to seal you in his arms. He didn't even flinch. Being able to pull you in with one wave of his hand, like it was nothing. He only chuckled in response. There was no where for you to run, you both knew that. You had accidentally cornered yourself standing on his bed. You considered making a break for it. But then you remembered how fast Rook could be. It was sometimes scary watching him in PE, being able to easily sprint past Savanaclaw members without breaking a sweat. There was no way you would be able to outrun him. Not like you could run anyway, being clutched to his chest. Smothered in unrequited love.

All thoughts of escape fled your mind as his grip tightened. Digging his gloved fingers into your skin without breaking his smile. He was enjoying this. Having you be at his mercy. It was like being a rabbit surrounded by traps. One wrong move and something would end up broken. With a delighted expression, he tilted your chin upwards, forcing you to make eye contact with him. Half-lidded emerald eyes that sparked with delusional longing. "I want to capture that look of your face forever. Belated innocence... Such a pretty face would be wasted on those who can't appreciate it's beauty. My heart pulsated with admiration. You've completely captured my heart. My mind, body, and soul sing for your embrace. Every action I have taken has been in your name. And every action I shall take will be laced with your image. Won't you be my personal muse?"

#twisted wonderland #rook hunt #pomefiore #twst yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #twst rook #yandere rook hunt #if anyone is wondering #Rook calls the reader his little dove #but I hope this was okay #Hi sometimes I wanna write #but we will resume shortly to our regularly scheduled bullshit

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pregnant-piggy · 4 years

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Secret Summer - part II

George Weasley x reader

Words: 3100

Warnings: my English? (cuz I found some mistakes in the previous part)

part one

A/N: So I wanted to post this yesterday but school and mental breakdowns are not the best combination. Specially not with exams all month. Anyway, have fun and I love ya!

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The rain was falling down on you but you didn't stop. You didn't even dare to look over your shoulder to see if George was still in the rain behind you. Something between you had broken. And it hurt, a hollow feeling spread in your chest. It got you numb, too sad and angry to cry.

You didn't know what George was to you right now. Did you break up? Was it just a fight? A fight that would lead to a break-up? You feared it was, but a part of you was relieved. This conversation had to happen eventually and at least you now knew where George was standing. The question was, where were you?

The wet ground sucked on your feet as you walked up the Weasley's land. On your way to the front door you tried to come up with excuses. In your concentration you kicked a gnome right in his face and he ran away cursing. It gave you some satisfaction but didn't help your problem. You didn't want to wait for George to return, but you also didn't want to worry the Weasleys.

However, you were completely soaked by now and started to shiver. You ran up the three steps to the back door and stepped into the kitchen. Hermione and Harry were sitting at the dining table and looked up when you entered. A similar expression of surprise appeared on both their faces, but where Hermione’s turned into worry, Harry's just stayed the same.

‘Are you alright? What happened?’ Hermione asked as she rushed over to you.

‘Was cold... decided to turn back...’ you muttered but when Hermione got closer you whispered: ‘I got into a fight with George and I don't know what to do.’ Your voice was shaking from emotion.

‘It's okay, we'll figure it out,’ Hermione whispered back and she put her arm around you. ‘But first we need to get you into something dry.’

She took you up the stairs to the bathroom. You were still feeling numb. Hermione helped you take you off your shoes.

‘I'll go to your room to get you dry clothes, maybe you should take a shower and relax,’ she proposed and you nodded; a shower sounded nice.

Hermione left the room and you started to undress and stepped in the shower. While the hot water fell down on your shoulders you thought back of your fight. George's empty eyes flew around in your mind. His words echoed in your head.

Was it true that he didn't want to tell his family because he was dating you? You were the reason, the one thing that made him keep all of it to himself?

The bathroom door opened and Hermione stepped in. You turned off the shower and grabbed a towel.

‘I told the others you are back because you were cold,’ Hermione said.

‘That's a good excuse,’ you mumbled while putting on your clothes.

Back in your room you fell on your bed. The pillow smelled like George and the numbness disappeared to make room for sadness. The tears started and didn't stop. Hermione pat you on your back.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked and suddenly you found yourself telling her everything. About how you met, how you kept your relationship a secret at Hogwarts and how hard it was for you not to be able to just go to your boyfriend whenever you wanted.

‘But I was fine with it. I trusted George and never thought it was me why he didn't want to tell,’ you told her.

Hermione shook her head. ‘That's not the reason. You know how I found out it is you he is dating? The way he looks at you... I just cannot describe it. His eyes are filled with hope and love and when you look back at him, the biggest smile appears on his face and his cheeks turn red. Believe me, you are not the reason why he doesn't want to tell.’

‘But what is?’ you asked desperate.

‘You should ask him and let him explain.’

- -- -

For the first time this stay at the Burrow, you were not expecting any company. George had ignored you at dinner completely and you had returned to your room right after, saying you didn't feel so good. The last thing you were in the mood for was a whole family wanting to talk with you.

But things we want the most, happen at the times we least expect them. While you were staring out the window someone knocked on your door.

‘Come in,’ you said thinking it was Hermione or Ginny. So when George's head came from the shadow you were shocked. You sat up in your bed and pulled up your legs to your chest. George stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed.

Silence filled the room until you broke it. ‘I'm sorry,’ you blurted out. ‘I know you don't want to tell your family for whatever the reason is. I misinterpreted your words and I thought that I- I was the reason...’

‘You're not the reason,’ George said and he sat down next to you. He took your hands. ‘(Y/N), I love you more than anything in the world.’

‘But why? Why won't you tell them?’

‘If I tell them, it's not our little secret anymore, I have to share you with everyone else. My family loves you, you know that, and when I tell them they will interfere with it. I'm afraid I will lose you, (Y/N). And I can't lose you.’

‘You will never lose me, love. I am all yours.’ George nodded and you put your arms around him. ‘If you're not ready, then we don't have to tell. But no matter what your family thinks or does, I love you.’ You planted a kiss on his lips. ‘I love every single thing about you. Your nose, your freckles, the way you light up when you tell a joke, your fingers, your enthusiasm, the cringe nicknames you give me... I could go on all night,’ you whispered and George wrapped his arms around you. He pulled you on top of him kissing you deep.

‘Then do,’ he whispered in your ear.

And you did; the whole night was filled with telling what you loved about each other. The love that you felt was almost touchable. All your insecurities came by and none of them seemed important at that moment. All that mattered were you and George, in that moment, without the interrupting from others, without opinions. Just you and him, in perfect harmony.

Every touch that he planted on your skin was soft and delicate, yet it showed how much he needed you. You gave in to this touches and soon the talking faded. It seemed like a scene from a film, everything was perfect. The sheets were light and soft, the stars in the sky bright and the room dark and safe. It was a mess of skin on skin, lingering fingers and passionate kisses.

- -- -

The next days were better than any other so far. You still didn't show anything, but the secret kisses in hallways when no one was around and holding hands when no one saw it, made up for it. With just one look you could communicate to George when you wanted to talk to him or just hold him.

The days were filled with games and happy chatter. The sun was shining again and most of the days were spent outside. From Quidditch to un-gnoming the garden to water fights to falling asleep in the sun with your head in George's lap, under the guise of being close friends. The water fights usually led to passionate make-out sessions in the shadow of the house. And every time you looked into your boyfriend's eyes you were reminded of that wonderful night and when you thought back of it, you got butterflies again.

- -- -

Everything was perfect and that was why it came as a shock.

Breakfast had been excellent every day and this day wasn't any different. You had gotten up later than usual. George had stayed late and you didn't fall asleep until an hour before sunrise. So when you stepped into the kitchen you weren't surprised to find everyone else, but Mr Weasley, who had gone to work, and George there. You sat down next to Fred and Ron and Mrs Weasley gave you a plate with waffles and bacon.

You dicussed with the others what you were going to do today and halfway though your tea it was decided to go to the village.

It seemed to be a normal day, just like any other. But the expectations were nothing with the reality.

Ten minutes after you sat down George entered the kitchen. Fred had stood up to bring his plate to the sink and George walked to the only empty seat, that seat, the seat next to you. However, instead of sitting down and following the rhythm of all the other mornings, George, before taking his place on the chair, bend over to you and kissed you.

‘Goodmorning, love,’ he said and turned to his plate with food, like nothing had happened. You were frozen in your seat, feeling the burning desire left by George's kiss on your lips.

Everyone else at the table was even more shocked than you. Ginny's eyes were so wide open, they could fall out of their sockets. Ron was stabbing himself with his fork and Harry next to him had his fork with food in front of his mouth but was watching George. Hermione and Fred however were both smiling.

The best reaction was undoubtedly the one from Mrs Weasley. In a span of fifteen seconds her face went from shock to confusion to realisation to joy.

The only one not affected was George. He was still eating his breakfast calm. You were unsure if it was a mistake or he actually planned for this. No matter, you were happy there was no more hiding from now on.

George's cheeks were red and he looked at you from the corner of his eyes. You shot him a smile and squeezed his leg under the table.

Ron was the first one to break the silence. ‘Is (Y/N) your... girlfriend?’

‘Has been for the past five months,’ George answered simply and took a sip from his orange juice. He kept looking at Ron until this one averted his eyes.

‘And no one knew?’ Harry asked. He had lowered his fork, but his face expression was still the same.

You nodded. ‘No one apart from Fred and since a few days Hermione.'

‘Hermione! You knew?!’ Ron cried and turned to his friend.

‘Yes and I am surprised you haven't! They haven't been able to keep their hands of each other since I came here!’

You and George both turned red at her words. Ron scoffed and shook his head.

Mrs Weasley, who hadn't said anything so far, moved in her chair. ‘I knew there was something going on between the two of you,’ she admitted. ‘But I didn't expect you to be dating for so long! Why didn't you tell us?’

George shook his head and muttered something incomprehensible.

‘We wanted to tell you in person and thus we waited for the summer vacation,’ you lied.

‘But you have been here for two weeks!’ Ginny said.

‘We just couldn't really find a right moment,’ you replied. ‘Until now, apparently,’ you added, more to George than to the others in the kitchen.

A grin appeared on his face and he looked up to his family at the table. He looked confident now it was out there.

‘So we're still on for the trip?’ he asked and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

Agreeing mumbles came from the people at the table while they continued to eat their breakfast, still thinking about what just had happened.

- -- -

You tried to talk to George, but Hermione and, mostly, Ginny were keeping you busy. Arm in arm with the two girls you followed the four boys to the village. They kept asking you about George and you patiently answered all their questions.

At walking into the main street, the four boys turned around to you, Hermione and Ginny, who were whispering and giggling as you told them about the first date George took you on. You looked up innocent to your boyfriend when you said his name a little too loud. His eyebrow rised and you gave him a sweet smile, that didn't answer his unspoken question. Ginny and Hermione also looked at George and giggled loudly.

‘Oh, don't worry babe,’ you said playful. ‘I only told them about your dinosaur-pyjamas!’

George’s head turned red and he muttered something incomprehensible. Laughing you took his arm and pulled him with you. He followed you but not before sending his brothers an angry glare for their chuckles.

‘What did you tell them?’ George asked insecure.

You smiled. ‘Really, nothing embarrassing. Besides we all have seen your pyjamas already.’ You reminded him of three days ago when he had forgotten there were other people in his house and he had entered the kitchen in his pyjamas.

‘Oh, yeah. I had forgotten about that,’ George mumbled.

The whole day is spent in the village. While the boys went to an old muggle magic shop, you and the girls sat down at the bakery. All with a steaming cup of tea and a raspberry doughnut in front of you, you told them about your last day at school.

‘Wait, you're the girl!’ Ginny exclaimed. ‘So that's why you weren't enthusiastic about the plan to intercept his letters.’

‘That's how Hermione found out,’ you said.

‘Why didn't you tell me?’ Ginny asked you waving with her pink glazed pastry.

‘I wanted to but George didn't,’ you answered while lowering her hand go prevent the doughnut from flying across the room. ‘He was afraid that he would lose me to you.’

‘How could he think that?’

‘Well, we are sitting here with (Y/N) while her boyfriend is off doing... whatever,’ Hermione pointed out.

‘Yes, but even if he hadn't told today we still would have sat here. Just talking about other things,’ Ginny said.

Hermione could only hum in response.

There fell a comfortable silence in the bakery that was interrupted by Fred and Ron, who were banging on the glass. Hermione choked in her tea and you hit your elbow painfully on the back of your chair in shock.

The boys entered and pulled chairs away from other tables to sit beside you. You were rubbing your elbow while patting Hermione on her back. Fred ordered a round of coffee, since there wasn't much else to order.

‘Why couldn't you have gone to the pub?’ he whined watching the waiter walk away.

‘Because we didn't expect our peaceful tea party to be intruded by four boys,’ you pointed out and took a bite of your doughnut.

Beside you George's eyes followed the pink pastry in your hand. You turned to him and held the doughnut in front of his mouth. He opened his mouth and bit a piece off. Around the table Ginny, Hermione and Fred ‘awh-ed', though Fred sarcastically, and Harry and Ron cringed.

‘Shut it,’ you said and ate the last piece of your doughnut.

The waiter came back a few minutes later with the coffee. George placed a protecting hand on your leg when the waiter looked a little too long at you. You took it and squeezed it, yet George wouldn't let go until the waiter had disappeared.

After the coffee it was time to go back home. The walk was the end of a perfect day. Though you really had enjoyed the secrecy, you liked this better. You could now look at George without fearing anyone would suspect anything. Now, you could hold his hand or put your arm around him. You didn't know what had gotten into George this morning but you were thankful for it.

When you arrived at the Burrow, Mr Weasley was home too. He glared at you with such piercing eyes you figured Mrs Weasley had told him. But he said nothing to you. He did however take George apart for a while after dinner and when the latter came back the colour of his face matched the banner of Gryffindor, so red he was. He sat down next to you and you rested your head on his shoulder.

‘So did you get the talk?’ you teased.

George was staring at the fire and it took him a while before he realised you had said anything.

‘What?’ he asked.

You chuckled. ‘Nothing, babe.’ You lifted your head and kissed him softly.

‘Hey! HEY!’ Ron cried and you looked at him. ‘I'm fine with you being his girlfriend and everything. But quit the kissing please!’

You stared at him and kept looking at him while you planted another kiss on George’s lips. Ron's face turned red and Harry laughed at his friend.

‘Shut up!’ Ron said and threw a pillow at Harry.

You watched Harry and Ron throw pillows back and forth until your eyes closed. Comfortable in George's arms and by the heat of the fireplace, you dozed off.

- -- -

You woke up in the dark. And in a bed. With someone in it.

You looked around the room. The curtains were closed so there was no light at all in the room. Next to you, you recognized George’s features. He was facing you, but his face was buried in the pillow.

Careful you changed your position to face George. He stirred at your movements and you shushed him.

‘Go back to sleep,’ you whispered and stroked his hair.

But George's eyes were open now and he was watching you. A smile broke on his sleepy face. You decided that, now he was awake, you should ask him about last morning.

‘Hmm, I hadn't really planned it,’ George answered. ‘I just saw you and you looked so pretty with your sleepy eyes and red cheeks I just had to kiss you.’

Even in the dark your blush could be seen.

‘I love you, George,’ you whispered and kissed him.

‘I love you too,’ he replied between kisses. ‘And-' he cupped your face with his hands and held you right in front of his ‘-I can stay here all night now! No more sneaking around!’

You buried your face in George's neck and hummed satisfied. This summer would be the best ever.

#george weasley x reader #george x reader #george weasley #george weasley imagine #harry potter x reader #weasley twins #harry potter #george weasley x y/n

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grailfinders · 3 years

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Fate and Phantasms #88: Brynhildr

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making the eldest of the Valkyries, Brynhildr! For this build, we need to be able to consume our enemies in the flames of our passion, carve runic magic into our gear and foes, and wield a spear that grows larger the closer our target resembles a loved one-no that’s not a metaphor for anything, stop thinking about it.

Check out Brynhildr’s build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Great muscles, even greater domestic policy.

Race and Background

You were made by the gods and can fly, so that’s pretty obviously a Protector Aasimar. That gives you +1 Wisdom, +2 Charisma, 60 feet of Darkvision, Celestial Resistance against radiant and necrotic damage, Healing Hands to heal a creature for your level in HP once per long rest, and the Light cantrip. You’ll also get even more stuff later.

You literally work for Odin, making you an obvious fit for the Acolyte background. This nets you proficiency with Insight and Religion. You work for a god, and your excellent judge of character is why you want to kill/bed so many people in Chaldea.

Ability Scores

Your Strength should be your highest ability score-your spear sometimes grows to be bigger than you are, and you still swing that around like it’s nothing. Second highest is your Charisma; your love is so passionate it sets people on fire. You were built by the gods, so you can probably take plenty of hits- that’s Constitution. Your Dexterity isn’t that great, but you wear pretty heavy armor anyway. You’re not stupid, but we needed abilities other than Intelligence more. Finally, dump Wisdom; if you were able to resist the temptation to turn on party members, you wouldn’t be Brynhildr.

Class Levels

1. Fighter 1: We’re mostly spending time in another class, but fighters have better hit dice and we can’t get heavy armor later if we don’t start here. First level fighters get Strength and Constitution save proficiencies, as well as History and Perception proficiencies.

You also get a Fighting Style; Dueling will empower your one-handed spear attacks, adding 2 to the damage. Your spear will get bigger, but it’s good to start with the basics off the bat. You also get a Second Wind, letting you heal yourself as a bonus action once per short rest.

2. Warlock 1: You technically have more of a cleric-esque relationship with the gods, but we needed a shapeshifting weapon and that’s 100% warlock territory. They’re still gods though, so you’re making a pact with a Celestial, giving you a Healing Light, a pool of D6 that recover on long rests that you can use as an action to heal a creature. Your total number of dice is equal to 1 plus your warlock level, but you can only use a number of dice per action equal to your charisma modifier. That means right now you have two and can use two. You also learn some Pact Magic, allowing you to cast spells using your Charisma.

Thanks to your patron, you get Light (again) and Sacred Flame for free, but you should also pick up Frostbite for an ice rune and Green-Flame Blade and Hellish Rebuke for fire runes. Also, grab Hex to make your fire a little more cursed.

3. Warlock 2: Second level warlocks get Eldritch Invocations, special little ways to customize your class. Pick up Eldritch Mind to give you advantage on concentration saves- you’re literally made from magic, you’re just a little bit better than mortals at fighting with it. You also get a second invocation this level, but as usual we’re swapping it out immediately at level 3. As an Aasimar, this is also the level your Radiant Soul kicks in, letting you transform once per long rest for up to a minute, gaining a flying speed of 30′ and dealing extra radiant damage equal to your level once per turn.

Also grab Cure Wounds. Stabbing party members is a big faux pas; the least you can do is make sure it’s not a lasting injury.

4. Warlock 3: Third level warlocks get a Pact Boon, and the Pact of the Blade gives you a cool magical weapon that you can summon as an action. Pick up Improved Pact Weapon to to add 1 to its attack and damage rolls and turn your weapon into your spell focus.

For your spell, grab Flaming Sphere to ram your love into the enemy over and over again. No that’s still not a metaphor, get your mind out of the gutter.

5. Warlock 4: At fourth level you get your first Ability Score Improvement. Use this to pick up the Fighting Initiate feat to learn a new fighting style. Great Weapon Fighting lets you re-roll 1s and 2s made on damage rolls with two handed weapons, meaning your big pointy stick is even more impressive now that you can make sure it gets a high number.

Now you can keep your spear as a spear, or you can upgrade it to a Pike when faced with someone who really reminds you of Sigurd. It takes up both hands, but you have a chance at dealing more damage.

You can also Toll the Dead like it’s your job (it kind of is...) and you can use Earthbind to secure the skies for your sisters.

6. Warlock 5: Fifth level warlocks get third level spells, as well as a new invocation. Thirsting Blade lets you attack twice per action like an extra attack would. You also pick up Fly, so you can take to the air yourself.

7. Fighter 2: Second level fighters get an Action Surge, letting you add an extra action to your turn once per short rest. It’s important to note however, that you can’t cast two leveled spells in the same turn.

8. Warlock 6: Sixth level Celestlocks have a Radiant Soul; you resist radiant damage, and you can deal extra damage equal to your charisma modifier when using a spell that deals radiant or fire damage. This only effects one creature per spell.

For your spell, grab Revivify from your expanded spell list to bring a creature that died in the last minute back to life with 1 hp. You might not be able to stop yourself from killing Sigurd, but this can help once you’re brought back to your senses.

9. Warlock 7: Seventh level warlocks get fourth level spells, as well as another invocation. Elemental Bane will help your fires burn even hotter, and ignore damage resistance. Since you’re really a magical machine made by the gods, it stands to reason that you should react to magic more easily than mortals. Eldritch Sight lets you do that by casting Detect Magic at will for free.

10. Warlock 8: Use this ASI to improve your Strength for better stabbing. You also get the spell Wall of Fire, which makes a wall. Of fire. The wall deals fire damage in one direction, great for protecting your loved ones. Or keeping them boxed in while you close the distance.

11. Warlock 9: At this level, you get your first and only fifth level spell. Flame Strike calls down a column of fire and radiant damage for the most powerful emanation of your love yet. You also pick up the invocation Otherworldly Leap, letting you cast Jump at will for free. Flying would be better, but sometimes you just don’t have the slots to do that.

12. Fighter 3: I know our trips to the fighter class have been infrequent, but it’s all worth it now; we finally reached our subclass, the Rune Knight. This makes you a Rune Carver, letting you carve two runes of your choice into a piece of armor, weapons, jewelry, or anything small enough to fit in your hand and hard enough to hold the rune, at the end of a long rest. Until your next long rest, these runes provide passive bonuses, and they can be invoked once per short rest for additional benefits.

The Fire Rune doubles the wearer’s proficiency with tool checks, and they can invoke it upon hitting a weapon attack to deal some extra fire damage to the target, as well as forcing a Strength save (DC 8 + proficiency + your Constitution modifier) to else they’re restrained for up to a minute.

The Stone Rune gives its wearer advantage on insight checks, as well as 120′ of darkvision. It can be invoked as a reaction to a creature ending its turn within 30′ of the wearer; doing so forces a wisdom save on the creature. If it fails, it’s charmed for up to a minute, during which it has a speed of 0 and is incapacitated.

We don’t have a lot more options to make your spear any bigger than a pike, but we could always just make everything bigger instead. We can do this with Giant Might; as a bonus action, you become large if there is available space, have advantage on strength checks and saves, and once per turn you deal 1d6 extra damage on a weapon attack. You can use this a number of times per long rest equal to your proficiency modifier, and each use lasts for a minute.

13. Warlock 10: Tenth level celestlocks have Celestial Resistance. After short or long rests, you gain temporary hp equal to your warlock level plus your charisma modifier. When this happens, you can also give some temporary hp to up to five other creatures as well. They only get half your level plus your charisma modifier, but it’s still nothing to sneeze at.

It’s a shame we can’t get thaumaturgy, but Prestidigitation is pretty close; you can use it to create a ton of minor magical effects- get creative with it and you’ll be fine.

14. Warlock 11: Instead of getting sixth level slots, warlocks get a Mystic Arcanum; This lets you cast a sixth level spell once per long rest while keeping your spell slots at fifth level. Your sixth level spell is Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise, allowing you to power up to Super Valkyrie form for up to a minute with concentration. During this time, you are immune to radiant and necrotic damage, you cannot be charmed, you have a flying speed of 40′, +2 AC, and a couple other effects that are already covered by your normal warlock powers.

You could also use this for the lower planes version, but that’s not really your style.

15. Warlock 12: Use this ASI to bump up your Charisma for more healing lights at once, stronger spells, and more temporary HP. You also get the invocation Lifedrinker, causing your spear to deal extra necrotic damage based on your charisma modifier.

16. Warlock 13: You get another Mystic Arcanum, this time for a seventh level spell. Plane Shift will be useful to visit your family in the upper planes, or to take some worthy warriors back with you.

17. Warlock 14: Your love never dies, and now neither will you thanks to Searing Vengeance. Whenever you have to make a death save, you can instead explode with radiant damage, regaining half your health and standing back up. This explosion only effects creatures you choose, and it blinds them until the end of the turn as well. You can use this once per long rest.

18. Warlock 15: Another Mystic Arcanum, this time for an eighth level spell. Power Word Stun carves a powerful rune into a creature you choose, stunning it if it has less than 150 HP. The spell is technically indefinite, but they’ll probably make the constitution save eventually. Probably.

You also pick up your last invocation, Master of Myriad Forms. This allows you to cast Alter Self at will for free, so you can invite your sisters to join your campaign. Sadly you can’t use this and the Otherworldly Guise at the same time so they’re not at full power, but they’ll get their own build eventually, so don’t feel too bad.

19. Warlock 16: Use your last ASI for more Constitution. This strengthens your rune magic, and also gives you an extra 19 HP for the heck of it.

20. Warlock 17: Our capstone level gives you your ninth level Arcanum, Blade of Disaster. At this point your spear is “as large as it has to be”, the business end moving independently of you, making two spell attacks on cast and as a bonus action. The attack deals force damage, but it also deals triple the damage on a critical hit instead of double. On a related note, the blade deals critical damage on 18s and higher. Also good to note, the blade can pass through anything, including a Wall of Force. Not even your hubby’s impenetrable skin will help him now.

Pros:

Gishes live and die on how good their Concentration is, and yours is pretty good. Advantage, proficiency, and a good constitution score combine for a solid shot at keeping whatever spell you need going for as long as possible.

As an Angel of Death, you’re also pretty good at dealing damage, with a suped-up spear and a variety of spells to avoid damage resistances. Also, flying around is really good in a fight. This is especially true for someone with effectively 15 feet of reach on command.

Thanks to your variety of magic, you can serve multiple roles in the party fairly easily. Your Healing Light, Cure Wounds, and Celestial Resistance help keep the party healthy, we’ve already gone over your fighting capabilities, and you can even help a little in social encounters and skill checks thanks to your rune magic.

Cons:

Just because you’re good at Concentration doesn’t mean using one spell at a time isn’t a pain. It also means there’s still a chance of wasting a slot, which is especially bad for you.

I know it’s one of the selling points of the build, but being good at fighting and bad at Wisdom saves is a recipe for disaster. One bad save, and suddenly your party’s in serious danger.

This is one of the few builds we didn’t supplement warlock with another spellcasting class, so you’ll have to put up with their limited spell slots, with three or fewer spells per short rest for a vast majority of the build.

#Fate grand order #fgo #dnd 5e #Brynhildr #Fate and Phantasms

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nvvermore · 3 years

Text

Think of Me

First meetings and offered lessons between Amaryllis and Beatrice. (Featuring @juliandev0rak’s Beatrice)

words: 2191

cw: none

accompaniment

—

It was an uncharacteristically quiet day at the palace, notably absent of any petulant counts or melodramatic doctors. As much as Amaryllis enjoyed their friends— not that they’d admit to such a thing— they could be awfully disruptive to their rehearsals.

But not today. There was a gap in their schedule, as were still a few hours before their meeting with Nadia before dinner. The countess wanted to discuss some of the entertainment for the upcoming masquerade

That was what Amaryllis was currently taking extra time to prepare for. They had been holed up in their typical rehearsal room for the better part of the afternoon, and had been gradually coming to terms with the realization they had hit a block. Now, being stumped musically was not something that happened to Amaryllis. They would never claim that they were a genius per say, but they were exceptional at what they did, and had never struggled so long with plain lyrics. Fully enchanted arias had been composed and performed in less time than this one simple love song.

That was likely the problem, love songs. Nadia had mentioned that it would be lovely if Amaryllis prepare something specifically for her and Portia, seeing as it was the first masquerade they would be spending together as a couple, and Nadia was a dedicated romantic. The request didn’t require that they had to compose something entirely new, but their current repertoire in regards to romance was lacking. What Amaryllis had prepared were pieces that were wholly insincere, and it wouldn't sit well with them to pass them off as otherwise in regards to Portia and Nadia.

So here Amaryllis was, toiling over the piano. Copious amounts of staff paper, unused and hastily scribbled upon alike, had been spread out across the shut lid of the baby grand that occupied the room. They had been using the piano as a temporary desk as opposed to the actual desk on the other side of the room. It was likely that doing such a thing wasn't proper etiquette, but that was of little concern to them currently.

As the candles that illuminated the space around them slowly burned themselves down, Amaryllis fell into an unbroken system. Playing various notes and chords, arranging a melody in their mind, penciling it down on the staff, all done carefully, measure by measure. The accompaniment came easy; searching for the wording to complement it was not. Time passed with little acknowledgement from Amaryllis, no distractions had pulled them away from their fixation as of yet.

Currently, they were pacing around the piano, scrawled upon staff paper in hand. Amaryllis was casting a simple projection spell to play the keys from a distance, fingers moving in the air as if they were actually at the keys, while the corresponding notes sounded from the instrument. Singing in time with music as they moved, despite the complete discontent they felt with the lyrics.

In the middle of a measure, Amaryllis’s concentration was finally broken by an indistinct sound from the doorway behind them. The music ceases and before they've even turned to face the origin of the disturbance, they're already speaking.

“I really don’t have the time for you right now L—” They chide, but freeze once they see who’s really at the door. It's definitely not Lucio, and in hindsight he would have never been so reserved in his entrance. Instead, a woman stands in the open doorway, looking awfully guilty and terribly nervous.

“I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt! I was just leaving!” She blurts out as she starts to turn away.

“Wait,” Amaryllis calls out, making the woman pause, “I apologize. I was expecting an interruption to be from someone else.” Their mouth moves before they have the chance to overthink the action. Now that she's facing them again, Amaryllis gets a better look at her. They’ve seen her before around the palace, and admittedly, she’s caught their eye on more than one occasion.

She’s strikingly beautiful, with brown hair and hazel eyes, but Amaryllis has never been able to tell much else due to the green cloak that’s always draped around her shoulders. Internally, they feel a pang of insecurity in her presence— as far as they know she's never seen them face to face— and instinctively reach to pull their veil over their face. But it's not there, they’d left it in their room not expecting not to face anyone new. Amaryllis simply shrugs the gesture off, instead smiling a little too sincerely at their guest.

“Still, I shouldn't have been eavesdropping—”

“You can come in, there's no issue. My rehearsals are typically closed, but I could make an exception just for you.” Amaryllis watches closely as she slips through the door, shutting it behind her with a soft click. She was still exceptionally anxious, standing awkwardly against the door and fiddling with the clasp of her cloak. It's unusual, typically people find it to be inconsequential to interrupt their work. But she was clearly genuinely regretful, and Amaryllis was compelled to save any quips about snooping or intruding. “There’s no need to stand all the way over there, you know.”

The woman begins to shuffle over, posture still stiff despite the friendly smile on her lips. Amaryllis remains on the other side of the piano for now, in an effort to leave her space. Her gaze, while pointedly avoiding Amaryllis, falls onto the instrument between the two of them.

“This is a lovely piano. Oh! Did you know that they were originally named ‘gravicembalo col piano e forte’, which roughly translates to ‘soft and loud keyboard instrument.’” She explains eagerly, laying her hands on the lid of the piano.

“No actually, I didn't.” Amaryllis reaches over the piano and extends a hand in greeting. “I’m Amaryllis.” The woman stares at the offered hand for a moment and then quickly takes it in hers.

“I know, I've, um, seen you perform a few times now.” A simple shake before she lets go and her hand is back to fretting with a button on her cloak. “I-I’m Beatrice.” She adds.

“Ah, a fan then, Beatrice?” Amaryllis teases, entertained by the way Beatrice stumbles to come up with a response. “I've seen you around as well. It's a shame we've never had the chance for a proper introduction before now.” Elbow propped on the lid, Amaryllis leans forward and casually rests their scarred cheek in their palm.

“Really?” Beatrice sounds surprised, and Amaryllis only grins in response. “Well, it's nice to finally meet you.” Her shoulders droop, but her fingers are still restless against her cloak.

“Was there something you needed from me?”

Beatrice looks up to them, still avoiding eye contact, confused. “What?”

“It seemed as if you were waiting at the door.”

“Oh! I- er, no I just let my curiosity get the best of me. I heard your singing and well, followed the sound all the way here.”

“Ah, then, did you enjoy what you were hearing?”

“Of course!”

“There's no need to flatter me, I’m well aware I’ve had better days.”

“No, no! You have a wonderful voice!” Beatrice looks so earnest, and Amaryllis has to hide their amused smile behind their hand. “I’ve always wished I could be better at singing, but I’m afraid I’ve never had proper instruction.”

“Is that so?” Beatrice nods. “Perhaps I could instruct you then?” The offer slips out before Amaryllis can muster up enough sense to stop it. Historically they were a terrible teacher, the concepts that made sense in their head never translate well. Why they would impulsively offer such a thing is beyond them.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Not. “I have a clear schedule for tomorrow, if you aren’t busy.” No I don’t. Glancing to Beatrice, she looked as visibly nervous as Amaryllis felt. They were almost a little guilty that they were so practiced at masking their nerves.

“I’d love to learn from you, but I’m um, a little out of practice.”

“Isn’t that the entire point of learning?” Amaryllis slowly steps around the piano, running a palm across the smooth top as they go. Standing next to Beatrice requires them to look down, but she doesn’t seem too keen to return the gesture. Amaryllis places a finger under her chin and lifts until her eyes finally meet theirs. “I’m sure we can make a prima donna out of you yet.”

As Amaryllis grins down at her, Beatrice flushes red and pulls away from their touch. She keeps eye contact for only a moment longer, and as soon as her gaze is gone Amaryllis finds they already miss it. “Ah, you really think so?”

“Without a doubt, I can already tell from your speaking voice that you’ll sound beautiful. Singing isn’t very different from speaking, at its core. It’s something anyone can excel at, provided the right tools and proper practice.”

Beatrice beams. “Then I’d be honored to take lessons from you.”

“Excellent, then we’ll start tomorrow afternoon.” Amaryllis retrieves their sheet music from where they had abandoned it when Beatrice first came in. “For now, you’re free to sit and listen in while I work.”

“Actually, I’m already running late for an appointment, so I shouldn’t stay any longer.” Amaryllis wondered if that was why Beatrice had been so nervous, she was already late and they had to go and make it worse.

“Then I won’t keep you any longer. If your tardiness is a problem, tell them it was all my fault. It isn’t a lie either, if my siren song hadn’t lured you here, you would have never been late.”

Beatrice flushes again and trips over her words. “I-I’m sure that won't be necessary!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you in here tomorrow, after lunch, then?”

“Yes, I’ll be there. Here.” She confirms, bounding back to the double doors. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Amaryllis.” Then, Beatrice clutches her skirts and curtseys awkwardly before rushing out of the room. Amaryllis is relieved that she doesn’t look back, because they couldn’t keep the wide-eyed smile off their face even if they tried. And they tried.

“Goodbye, Beatrice.” Amaryllis murmurs to the now empty doorway. Beatrice was entirely captivating, even after barely five minutes of conversation. They had seen glimpses of her all over the palace before, and if they had never had an excuse to meet before, who’s to say they ever would again? Even if it all goes awry, then at the very least Amaryllis could say they tried.

That was why they offered to instruct her, even though they had no experience— negative experience even— in doing so. Though, there were likely better established ways of socialising than vocal lessons, which didn’t really offer time for talking. But teas and lunches were boring and stuffy, and Beatrice seemed too sweet for a place like The Raven. It was probably better this way though, less opportunities for Amaryllis to mess up when delivering facts than when trying to figure out how to banter in a way that wasn’t completely fabricated.

Amaryllis plopped down on the piano bench with a groan, elbows very unceremoniously landing on the keys and in turn creating a cacophonous melody. Head in their hands, they rubbed at their temples out of habit, though truthfully they weren’t experiencing any pain or tension. Amaryllis may have been a fool— literally and figuratively— but they weren’t an idiot by any means. Clearly, they were interested in Beatrice. Had been fascinated by her long before now. She was alluring and bashful, most anyone would feel a similar draw to her. And as much as Amaryllis pretended they weren’t a human capable of emotions, unfortunately that was not reality.

People were drawn to them too, but it wasn’t genuine, it wasn’t Amaryllis they were captivated by. Perhaps these lessons would be useful to rid them of these feelings. It was likely they were only infatuated by a pretty face, and when she eventually saw Amaryllis for who they really were, she would push them away and it would be the end of it. Amaryllis wouldn’t get their hopes up by expecting anything but lessons.

The chiming of the grand clock in the corner pulled Amaryllis out of their head, signaling it was only an hour before their meeting with Nadia. They needed to refocus; they’d wasted so much time already and had now resolved to use up part of their day tomorrow. After a few moments of deep breathing and several sips of water, they stood from the bench, stretched, and prepared to resume their work.

Despite the trouble Amaryllis was experiencing earlier, now was an entirely different story. Now, they were able to easily conjure up the passionate lyrics and melodies they’d been searching for the entire afternoon, thoughts of a certain brunette hovering in the back of their mind.

—

#the arcana #apprentice amaryllis #apprentice beatrice #amaryllis leroux #beatrice viano #beamie #my fic #amie fic

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a-brainstorming-fangirl · 4 years

Photo

Firestorm (Young! Remus Lupin x Reader) Part 1

Part 2: The Party

Summary: James and Sirius learn about a rather interesting game that muggles play at parties, and they want to experiment its effects in no other than their best friend Remus, who really likes their fellow witch friend, Y/N.

Fandom: Harry Potter (Marauders´ Era)

Characters: Remus Lupin

Word Count: 1,675

Warnings: none

A/N: This quarantine is killing me! And also, my HP obsession got back haha

Please let me know if you want me to continue it so I can post Part 2 and a possible Part 3...

Enjoy!

Young Y/N’s eyes got lost into the almost complete sheet of parchment. Only one unanswered question left and then she would be free for the rest of the school year. Her leg started to shake uncontrollably and her breathing began to rush.

“C’mon...” she whispered to herself.

She put down her quill and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember the remaining answer. It didn’t last long before she started to get impatient. She excelled at Defense Against the Dark Arts, the professors reminded her a lot of that, and her friends were no exception. Especially her friend Remus...

Just as she thought about his tall friend, she opened her eyes and these began to discretely search for him, trying not to call too much attention. Remus was three roads ahead from her, two parallel to the right. She then concentrated on how focused his friend was. She could only see how his quill moved frantically, answering every single question with ease, his head down and still, blocking his face a little. She instinctively smiled, she liked his hair, it looked so soft.

“10 minutes!”, the professor said, causing everyone to startle, except for Lupin. “10 more minutes!”

Silence conquered the room once again and Y/N’s heart began to beat faster. She told herself to remember but she just couldn’t. She now tried to remember when she studied the subject in question...

--------------------

She was at the library, it was a little bit late, almost time to go to bed. There were only a few people left and almost everyone was falling sleep on their books, but not her, and neither her study buddy.

“Have you almost finished? You look rather a little tired Y/N,” Remus asked with a chuckle.

“What? No, I’m just stressed...” she said, suddenly nervous. “I don’t like O.W.L.s”

“Don’t worry, it happens to us all”, he responded with a calming voice and caressed her friend’s shoulder. The young witch smiled at him with a nervous chuckle and patted the hand that rested on her shoulder.

“Thank you for studying with me Remus,” Y/N continued to smile. “Unlike others...” she emphasized the last word before they looked at their remaining friends in front of them.

James Potter was sleeping soundly over a History of Magic book, his shirt was very wrinkled and loosened, while his glasses were at the back of his head, just about to fall. They then looked towards his other friend, Sirius, who was sitting down in a chair with his arms crossed and his head bouncing as he was just about to fall sleep. The last one, Peter, was straight laying down on the floor, snoring softly.

Remus and Y/N then turned to see Lily Evans, who walked past the two wizards before leaving.

“Goodnight guys! Good luck tomo-“ her pace suddenly stopped when she glanced at the others. “Did they study a bit at least?” She then focused on his boyfriend, “Merlin’s beard! Look at James.” She giggled.

Remus quickly took his hand off Y/N’s shoulder, making her return her attention to the book she was reading, “Yes,” he answered with a smile. “Just a bit.” Remus and Lily laughed quietly.

“You guys ready for DADA tomorrow?” Lily asked with a smirk, her eyes still fixated on James and her hands held the books she had before just a little bit tighter to her chest.

“I think so Lily,” Lupin responded again. “I’d say that it will be rather easy, don’t you think so Y/N?” He said and both Lily and himself turned to her.

“Yeah,” she said, a little distracted while still reading her book. This caused Lupin and Lily to chuckle. “At least the practical part will be an easy one.” She finished and returned her gaze to them, suddenly more confident.

Lily said goodbye to her friends again, not before getting close to James. She grabbed his glasses and put them in the table. She then caressed and kissed James’s head before whispering goodnight. He soon started to wake up.

“Lil... Lily,” James mumbled, tired. He then tried to compose himself, without accomplishment, “Damn you, Moony! We should have studied at the tower.”

Remus and Y/N chuckled and began to arrange their stuff to go back to their common room.

“Just for you to sleep on the couch instead of the book,” Lupin laughed and Y/N smiled. James complained silently.

“Come on... Padfoot! Wormtail!” James threw a book at Sirius, waking him up and kicked Peter’s legs. “Wake up, I want to go to sleep.” Peter just snored louder, as Sirius woke, sobbing his head. Y/N chuckled again and moved her head with disapproval as she arranged her books.

“You know,” Remus said once more. “You’re going to do great at your O.W.L.s,” Y/N continued to close and arrange her books but Remus put his hand over hers, making her freeze instantly. Her eyes froze on the page of the book she was currently going to close...

“Because Inferi are creatures of the dark, they dislike light and heat. The most effective spell against them is, therefore, a fire-summoning spell, such as Firestorm.”

“Actually," he whispered, "you’re one of the most talented witches I know.” He continued, shyly, without looking at her.

“Oh, Remus,” hearing his kind words and his warm hand over hers made her blush “you’re also really great, you know?” She finally looked at him, her cheeks a scarlet red.

Their eyes locked, staring deeply into each other. They could feel something special, something that they knew was there all along.

“Moony, Y/N!” Sirius said loudly and began to yawn. “Let’s gooo-ahhh,” he continued to yawn as he stretched.

Both of them immediately snapped out of it and continued to save their books, preparing to go.

--------------------

“5 minutes!”, the professor’s voice interrupted her thoughts again, her body startling another time. “5 more minutes!” she repeated.

Just as the professor stopped talking, her friend Remus got up his desk, his parchment, and quill at hand. He walked towards the professor and gave his exam, he was the first one to finish.

“Of course you’re finished,” Y/N cheekily thought to herself.

Remus then walked towards the door, not before passing his friend. His mouth was just a thin line before making eye contact with hers, he then smiled and continued to leave. She quickly grabbed her quill and answered the question left, now that she thought of it, it was rather an easy one. When she finished, she clumsily stood up her desk to deliver her exam, she was anxious to leave. Her pace was quick and nervous, walking towards the big door. When she got out the first thing she saw was Remus waiting for her.

“Inferi are creatures of the dark, they dislike-“ he began.

“light and heat,” she continued, breathing out loudly.

“Therefore, the most effective spell against them is...?” he smiled.

“The Firestorm spell,” she giggled proudly and ran towards him, hugging him.

It was a light hug, nonetheless very affectionate. They stayed like that for a very long moment. She took her time to smell his chest, he smelled of dark chocolate. Her immediate reaction was to chuckle. She could feel Lupin’s cheek resting on her head and her stomach felt a little bit tighter.

“You see?” Remus said. “I knew you could do it.”

They then were interrupted by the sound of the opening door. They quickly separated and saw their redheaded friend, Lily, getting out of the classroom.

“Hey guys!” she said to them, happy as always. “I thought it was going to be easier. Still, it was very simple.” The two wizards nodded nervously at the same time, still a little bit startled.

“Are you two okay?” she asked, confused. “You look like you’ve seen a gho-“ someone interrupted her.

“Moony!” Sirius yelled at his friend, running along the hall with James and Peter, towards their friends.

They were making funny noises, James was making barking and howling noises while Peter laughed and Sirius cheered.

“Shut up!” Lily shushed her friends, “there are still people doing their O.W.L.s”

“Evans,” James smirked and grabbed her by the waist, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “Hello Y/N!” he raised his eyebrows towards the witch.

“We thought we just saw our big Moony hugging little Y/N,” Sirius teased, making Y/N to instantly blush and his friend to become serious again. “Don’t we, Prongs?”

“Yeah!” James smiled, “Moony never told us about-“

“Oh, leave them alone!” Lily hit James' chest, making him laugh.

“James, tell him about the party,” Peter said anxiously.

“Party?” Y/N said, confused.

“Well, since we’ve just finished our O.W.L.s...” James began. “Padfoot and I thought it would be nice to have fun this evening,” he patted Sirius's shoulder, “show them, Padfoot.”

Sirius proudly opened his robe, showing two bottles of Firewhiskey.

“Merlin’s beard!” Lily smiled. “If someone sees that...”

“No one is going to find out,” Sirius reassured her. “Today, we celebrate,” he said with a proud smile. “Also, we’re going to play a little game.”

“A game?” Remus finally spoke, “what is it now, Sirius?”

“Glad you asked,” Sirius smirked. “But I’m afraid that it’ll have to wait, my dear Moony.” He teased with his eyebrows.

“A muggle game!” Peter let out with a choked laugh, making Sirius hit his arm while shushing him.

“A muggle game?” Y/N snorted, incredulous.

“You’re a git, did you know that?” Remus said with a sided smile.

“C’mon Moony,” James hit Remus with his elbow. “I promise that you’ll have fun.

“Yeah, lots!” Remus said, sassy.

“Y/N will come too,” Sirius surrounded Y/N’s shoulder with his arm, shaking her amicably. “Don’t you, Y/N?” he smiled at the witch.

“Sure!” she giggled, suddenly careless “What can go wrong?” she smiled at Lupin. “Right, guys?”

“Yeah!” James and Sirius replied at the same time, high-fiving one another.

Hope you like it :)

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wonkystank · 4 years

Text

Bad Decisions, Good Moments

By @wonkystank for @joyful-soul-collector as part of the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

WC: 3k

Rating: Everyone (no swearing, tw for some discussion of anxiety, a character forgets to eat for a while)

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, a bit of Tony Stark & May Parker

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, May Parker, and a few Midtown staff

Summary/Prompt: Peter forgets to eat breakfast and faints from hunger at school. Tony takes care of him, bringing him home to give him something to eat.

Notes: huuuge shout out to Marko for being there on a bad night when I barely knew them. I was really happy when I saw I was assigned to create for them and able to give back!!

Tony was idly fiddling on the newest StarkPhone model in his lab. He was in a concentrated daze when his phone suddenly rang, startling him out of his chair and onto the ground.

He cursed and rubbed his sore backside as he sat on the floor, somewhat frantically patting the desk to find his phone, which was out of sight. He located it on the fifth ring, right before it went to voicemail and spoke without looking at the caller.

"Stark. Who is this?" He panted, out of breath.

There was a long pause on the other side before, "Uh, Tony Stark? This is Midtown High, calling in regards to Peter Parker," the voice said, in a distinctly Southern accent. The voice then, continuing off to the side in a loud whisper, obviously not meant to be heard but failing spectacularly, "Tony Stark! I'm talking to Iron Man! I did not think this number would work."

Choosing to ignore that and spare the secretary some dignity, Tony asked, "Peter? What happened with him?"

"Oh, uh, of course. Peter was in gym class and fainted. He's currently in the nurse's office, and he's perfectly fine, but we recommend he go home for the last three periods of the day and rest. We called his primary contact with no answer so you were next on the list. Are you able to pick him up?"

Tony rolls his eyes at the kid's stupidity. Peter had probably forgotten to eat that morning and his metabolism screwed him over. He replied smoothly, "Should be no problem. I can make it there in 15, 20 minutes?"

"That would be excellent, sir, thank you."

"Great, see you soon."

Tony stood up off the floor, grumbling. He grabbed a suit jacket that was thrown over the back of a nearby chair, attempting to class up the t-shirt and jeans he was wearing.

"Friday? Shut down the lab for the night, I think the kid and I will just stick to my apartment."

Tony Stark lightly jogged up the front steps of Midtown High. He thought the security was a little lacking, and considered dropping by some other time and visiting the principal with his checkbook on him. But not today - he didn't want to bore Peter.

He strolled through the doors with a certain degree of the patented Tony Stark flair and glanced around, finding the office easily, continuing on his way.

The receptionist was on the phone when he walked in, and from her voice, she seemed to be the same one he had talked to. Not wanting to distract her, he lagged back a little from her desk as he waited.

When she set the phone down and looked up, he approached her and said, "Hi, Tony Stark, here to pick up Peter Parker?"

Her eyes widened and she said "Oh, uh, he's in the nurse's office right now - that's a little ways down the hall, first door on your left." Obviously having run through the whole spiel many times before, it seemed she forgot that it was Tony Stark in front of her and slipped into a monotone drone. She continued, "It's in the guidance office, the man at the desk there will help you. You'll need ID so he can make sure you aren't a kidnapper and that you're actually picking up the right kid."

Tony smiled, "Well, we wouldn't want that. Thank you for your time, Miss..?"

She startled, not expecting him to care about who she actually was, and replied slightly belatedly, "Miss Hodge. Pleasure meeting you, Mister Stark."

Tony turned and walked out the door, heading down the hall according to her instructions.

For a few moments, he idly wonders why the nurse's office is in Guidance. What kind of person would put the nurse's office there instead of the main office? He settled on the idea there was no explanation, but that it was decidedly stupid. As he walked, he fished out his wallet and pulled out his driver's license, just in case someone thought he wasn't Tony Stark. If that wasn't obvious.

He reached the doorway and wandered in.

Directing his request to the man at the desk, he asked, "Hi, Tony Stark, here to pick up Peter Parker?"

"ID please," the man droned.

He passed it over. The secretary glanced at it for half a second, handed it back with a form, and said in a bored tone, "The door behind you is the nurse's office, he'll be in there. Please sign this sheet to sign him out."

Honestly, the man not knowing him or not caring was kinda refreshing. At least Tony knew he wasn't a total bootlicker for nothing. He signed the paper a little less boldly than normal, because even though this guy didn't care, anyone who took a look at it after might, whether that was another secretary, a parent, or whoever, and he didn't really want to deal with that. It could end up putting a target on Peter's back if people realized they had a connection and that was the last thing Tony wanted. He already was in enough danger as Spider-Man.

Doing his best to shove all his fears and anxieties into a back corner of his brain, Tony slid the page back to the secretary and turned to the door behind him to get Peter.

He knocked twice and opened the door, stepping in. His attention turned to the brown-haired kid laying on the cot, and he smiled widely at the sight.

Peter was dozing away peacefully on the rubber-coated mattress. His hair was gelled back, but some of his curls had escaped and were flying away. He looked about three years younger than usual, carefree in a way that the teenager typically lacked.

Tony took in the sight for a few moments more and then plopped down on the cot beside him. He set a reassuring hand on the boy's ankle, then started, "Wakey-wakey, Mister Parker."

Peter slowly blinked awake, getting his bearings, but winced at the light.

"M'sser- Mister Stark? What are you doing here?"

"Hmm, well, I'll give you three guesses as to why," Tony replied, in a fake indifferent tone.

Much more aware then, Peter complained, "Don't try and be funny, your personal intern fainted today. Isn't that an emergency that deserves all your serious attention?"

"One hundred percent. On that note, how are you feeling?"

Peter tried to push himself upward and fell back, stifling a groan. On his second try, he fared better and managed to stay upright.

"Mmmph. Yeah, the nurse gave me an Advil, some water, and a pack of saltines before she went to go do a Sex Ed presentation or something. But you know me, that much doesn't really stick. Headache is still kinda killer."

Tony cupped Peter's jaw and rubbed his thumb over his cheek. His brow furrowed.

"Yeah, we really need to find a painkiller that actually works for you. And get some more food. Have you actually eaten in the past 24 hours?"

"Who can really say? Time is relative."

"Kid."

"Adult," came the response, just as dry.

"Y'know, I don't have to stand for this. I can just leave you here, bored and in pain. But I won't, because I enjoy you most of the time you aren't like this." Tony said, waving a hand dramatically. He continued, "Alright, let's break you out of here because there's no sense in staying in this broom closet."

"Agreed," Peter said firmly.

Tony offered him a hand up, steadying the kid when he started to tip. The mentor secured an arm around his shoulders just in case, and then they were off.

Tony tapped impatiently on the steering wheel as they waited at a red light. It had been silent for a few minutes, and Tony was thinking hard.

He broke the silence as the light turned green, asking tentatively, "Peter? Are you… okay? Because you need to eat, and you need to sleep, and if you aren't taking care of yourself, that's something we should talk about."

Peter visibly stiffened, and his voice was unusually hard when he scoffed back, "You're one to talk about taking care of yourself."

Tony blew out a breath slowly. In a calm voice, he said, "Peter."

The boy crumpled in on himself suddenly, wiping at his eyes and sniffling. His voice cracked and the dam inside him that kept all his feelings bottled up broke. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and said, "I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. That- that wasn't fair of me. It's… I dunno, it's been kinda hard lately. All my teachers are getting us freaked out about exams, and I'm still trying to keep up with patrolling, and MJ and I got into an argument and it's really, really just been a lot. And- and everything just swirls around in my brain at night and so I hardly sleep, and then I run out the door for school without grabbing any food. And the cycle just keeps going. May's been away for a work thing the past few days so she hasn't really been able to keep me in check. Today just sorta was my unlucky day, with the fainting thing. I just want to stop hurting. Is that not too much to ask?"

Tony wished he wasn't driving then, that he could devote 100% of himself to Peter in that moment. But keeping him alive by driving safely was also very important, so he made do with what he had and set a gentle hand on the kid's knee.

He glanced over for a second, making eye contact briefly before redirecting his attention to the road. "Pete, being completely honest with you, I can't help you all the way here. I can be here, listen, support you. And I'll be there, every time you need me. But I can't help you rewire your brain, in the way I think you know it needs. I think seeing a therapist would help you a lot, help you deal with your normal and night life stresses. I was where you were once, and I suffered alone like that for a really long time. It wasn't worth it. There's no shame in going to therapy. I go to therapy. If you're not ready yet, that's okay. But I swear to you, no matter what, it gets better. It always gets better."

Peter sniffed a few times, then cracked a small grin.

"Y'know, I'd hug you right now, but I'm pretty sure that'd be a really bad idea."

"Well, I think I can fit a hug into my schedule in a few minutes. But just a quick one, I have other stuff to do."

"Also, wow, when did you get so good at making impromptu motivational speeches? Has all that time with Captain America been rubbing off on you?" Peter wondered aloud.

"Kid, when you grow up famous, you learn a trick or two. Cap was very much in the ice when I learned all this sort of stuff."

"If that's what you say," the kid mocked.

"You're killing me, kid."

Back at the Tower, Peter stretched out on the couch closest to the kitchen.

"What are you making anyway? I thought you couldn't cook."

As Tony buttered a piece of bread, he replied, "Oh, a few years back, Pepper insisted on me becoming a sensible, capable adult, so she signed me up for cooking lessons. I'm no chef like Happy is, but I can hold my own."

Without looking over, Peter said, "So you're making me grilled cheese."

"Wh- yes, but how did you figure out that?"

"Well, I can hear you buttering bread because of my enhancement, but Tony Stark would not simply make a sandwich, ergo, you're about to turn on the pan and make grilled cheese. Easy, delicious, quick, and a step above average."

"What are you, a mentalist now?"

Peter popped his head up and stared eerily at Tony. He whispered, in a tone meant to be creepy but just reaching moderately weird, "I can read your mind."

"Sure kid. So, what happened at school today before your little episode?

"Well…" Peter trailed on about the exceptionally boring English class that morning, then moved on to telling him about Ned's latest obsession with some tech YouTuber. By the time he was finished talking about some idiot client May had at work, the grilled cheese was ready.

With an air of elegance, Tony waltzed over to Peter, plate balanced on one hand, and announced, "Apologies for the interruption, Mister Parker, but your food is ready. Bon appetit."

"Uh, merci, monsieur."

Tony lost the groomed facade and ordered, "Alright, now move your feet because I have to sit here too."

Peter scooched his feet back by one couch cushion. Through a mouthful of sandwich, he responded, "Wow, someone's bossy."

"I am going to ignore that and take the higher path - what are we going to watch?"

"Star Wars."

"You really didn't have to think about it at all, did you?"

Peter grinned, "You know how I said I could read minds? Well, your next question is going to be what episode. To that, I say, A New Hope, because it's the OG and that's what I feel like right now."

"You set me up for that one by purposely not saying which episode first."

"Still got it right, though didn't I?"

Pretending not to hear, Tony turned up to the ceiling. "FRIDAY? You heard the kid. Queue it up."

The opening music began and the text started scrolling across the screen. Peter shifted his legs again so that they were on Tony's lap.

Tony rolled his eyes, "Oh, you think I'm the bossy one? What do you call this."

Peter simply replied by shushing him loudly.

And who could say if Tony enjoyed the contact? (Well, FRIDAY probably could). He settled a hand on Peter's ankle and sat back to watch the show.

Halfway through, long after Peter's exhaustion had overcame him and made him fall asleep, Tony's cell rang. He did his best to slip out unnoticeably from under Peter's legs and went out into the hallway to answer the call.

"Hey May, I guess you heard?"

"Uh-huh. Fainted, right in the middle of class."

"Yeah, as it turns out, he hadn't eaten in a while, especially bad for his metabolism."

In a wry tone, May said, "The next time I go away, you're keeping our idiot kid at your place and taking care of him."

"Yeah, definitely don't want repeats on this episode," Tony replied.

"On second thought, I should make sure Pepper’s around, because we both know that you're almost as bad as Peter about that."

Tony let out a groan and whined, "I resent that. Why didn't I try harder to keep you two apart? I knew you'd swap stories and become more powerful."

May laughed. "You think you could've ever kept us away from each other? We're just trying to keep you in constant terror so you never step out of line."

"Y'know, I'm pretty sure that qualifies as abuse."

May smiles, then shakes her head, and her voice turns more serious. "Thank you, though, for being there for Peter when I couldn't. I'm glad he has someone else looking out for him again."

The unimaginable losses Peter had faced were woven into that sentence. First his parents, then Ben. It had only been May for far too long. But now, there was someone else to shoulder that weight again.

"Always, May. I'm always here." Tony says, in an equally somber tone.

Lightening the mood a little, May adds, "Hey, how about you come over to our place Sunday night? I'd say for dinner, but I'm sure Peter has told you stories about my cooking, so pizza? And a movie? As part of my thanks. I'm sure Pete would enjoy it."

"I think I can swing that," Tony said, "And hey, um, I was talking to Peter, and he seems to be struggling a lot right now. I can set him up with a therapist, get all the paperwork good for the secret superhero stuff. I'll take care of the money too, that's not something you should worry about."

There's a pause, and May's voice is low when she replies, "You're doing right by our kid, in case you ever doubt that. I'd really appreciate that, and I agree, I think he needs it."

"Of course. Uh, I should probably get back to the kid sleeping in the other room. Take care, May."

"See you soon, Tony."

"Buh-bye."

Tony walked back to the couch. He stopped, for a moment, taking a long look at the kid who turned his life around.

"I love you," he whispered. Peter wasn't awake to hear it, but Tony hoped he already knew. He'd say it some other time, when the moment was right and he had barely enough courage. He made a silent promise to himself to do that.

He sat back down, smiled, and basked in the rare peaceful moment he had. Life was good for Tony Stark because he had Peter Parker in his life.

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graciebirdie · 5 years

Text

blame all this on @twothumbsandnostakeincanon who keeps inspiring ridiculous fic ideas in me...

inspired by this...thing

IMPORTANT: the sheriff’s name is JOHN.

***

Stiles doesn't mean to summon a demon from the mirror verse, he really doesn't. Although in hindsight, trying to make a magic mirror ala the evil queen from Snow White should have been a give away that he could end up with something evil.

It's incredibly disconcerting to see himself in 3D. He wonders if this is what celebrities who get wax figures of themselves feel.

He blinks and his copy blinks back. He waves his hand...and his copy doesn't wave back.

Well, that's probably not good.

He reaches out and pokes at his? own shoulder?

His copy looks down at where they're touching.

"Huh." his copy says.

He's not sure if he likes knowing what his own voice sounds like.

"So how much of me are you?" he asks.

His copy blinks for a long moment and then shrugs. "All of you I think."

"Great!" Stiles says excitedly. He's always thought that his life would be easier if there were two of him. He might have actually thought about it more than a normal person...

He might even have a hypothetical division of labor spreadsheet he wrote at some point...

He prints it out and hands it to his copy who takes it and looks it over with a nod. He gets it.

Stiles hands over his keys and waves as his copy drives off to school, flicking on the 'find my keys' app on his phone as he closes the door because everything is going well and he's sure with the way his life goes that something will go wrong sooner or later.

For the time being he as research that's not on magic mirrors to do. He might even do laundry while he's at it...

***

School is...not very fun Not Stiles decides.

It's actually really boring. For some reason he already knows everything they're talking about in class.

"Am I boring you Mr. Stilinski?" the teacher asks with a sigh.

"Yes." Not Stiles says staring at her intently.

She just sighs and waves her hand at the door.

...that wasn't what he'd been expecting.

He gets up and packs away the things that aren't his. No one in class is looking at him. Nobody seems very interested in anything that was going on so he's not sure why he got called on specifically.

He walks out the door and although he knows he's supposed to go to the principle or maybe his counselor's office he wonders around the halls instead.

A couple people pass him but only a few give him exasperated looks. Nobody asks where he's supposed to be.

He ends up in the library, which is...good. Stiles likes to read.

The woman behind the front desk barely looks at him before she gives a half-hearted hand flip in his direction.

He wonders around the stacks until the bell rings. He doesn't leave.

Eventually the bell rings again and the woman appears to kick him out with a scowl on her face.

He wanders the halls again until he ends up at the door for the classroom he's supposed to be in.

He walks inside and the teacher glares at him and points aggressively at an empty desk.

He sits down and pulls out a pen.

He clicks the pen, over and over until someone behind him throws something at him.

He turns to glare at the person.

The guy glares right back and bares his teeth, hissing "Knock it off before I strangle you."

Not Stiles does not knock it off. If anything the clicking just gets louder.

The teacher shouts "Stilinski!" and he gets kicked out again.

He's trying to decide what he should do now when three people he recognizes walk up to him.

Erica slings her arm around his neck and grins at him "You coming with us?"

He doesn't know where they're going but he agrees.

They end up at Derek's loft. He gets home a few hours after they get there and he gives them a mildly disappointed glare but doesn't tell them they should be at school.

Eventually he figures he should go home.

The front door's unlocked and he walks right in.

Stiles is vacuuming the living room with an intense look of concentration on his face.

He jumps when he sees him and quickly turns the vacuum off. "Did you have a good day?" Stiles asks with a pleasant smile.

He shrugs.

Stiles just nods understandingly and hands him a duster.

They tidy up the living room together.

Eventually they make dinner and sit at the table and he tells Stiles all about his day.

Stiles just nods along and doesn't look surprised or upset.

It's... weird. Technically he didn't do what he was supposed to do but Stiles doesn't seem to care.

After dinner they hunt around the house for blankets and clean sheets for the guest room before they move the boxes that are usually in it down to the basement.

They both know what's in the boxes and why they were in the guest room just gathering dust but neither of them say anything about it.

He thinks it's kind of... nice that he gets his own bed.

***

The next day it's Stiles' turn to go to school and the day is pretty boring except for the waves Erica, Boyd, and Isaac give him.

That might be a small flaw in his plan but he can't exactly say 'don't talk to other people' because he's sure that would just mess everything up.

He's sure the spell isn't going to last much longer anyway so he can deal with having to pretend around his maybe friends.

***

After Stiles goes to school he's only alone for about an hour when Stiles' dad walks into the kitchen and stops in his tracks at the sight of him.

He looks him up and down for one long moment before he sighs very deeply and pulls out his phone.

Stiles must answer it because he sighs again, even deeper, and rubs a hand over his face.

He talks to Stiles for a minute before he hangs up and looks very pointedly at Not Stiles.

"Don't... murder me in my sleep or anything." he says sternly.

Not Stiles nods in agreement and goes back to doing the dishes.

***

Stiles tries not to wince as his phone goes off with his dad's ringtone. He might have... forgotten... one thing.

Shockingly his dad doesn't yell at him but does sigh a lot.

Disappointed sighing is so much worse than yelling.

He knows he's in for it when he gets home.

He slips back into English and apologizes to Mrs. Smith, who obviously continues to hate him.

School's okay after that, even lunch when Erica bodily walks him outside to sit with her, Boyd, and Isaac.

It's shockingly easy to act totally normal around them. They don't seem to think it's weird that he's not always sure exactly what they're talking about. They probably just caulk it up to Stiles being Stiles.

Maybe this is going to be an enlightening experience..

***

Stiles, his dad, and his copy all have dinner together before his dad's night shift.

It's slightly strained but his dad tries, and really when faced with there suddenly being two Stiles' in existence that's really all Stiles can ask of him.

When he leaves he doesn't even hesitate to give them both a shoulder squeeze of goodbye.

Stiles and his copy share dual smiles of understanding.

***

Things go on for a week. It's...weird.

Not Stiles feels weird.

He feels like he's... unfulfilled in a way that doesn't quite make sense.

He's acting even worse in school and Stiles keeps giving him mildly annoyed looks.

"We have to work together in this man." he says, worrying his lip. "Is there anything...I can do to help?"

And that's... not what he was expecting. He feels strangely warm.

***

On Saturday they both climb into the jeep and go a few towns over to try their hand at shoplifting at the mall.

They of course make an excellent tag team, one of them distracting the sales clicks while the other swipes little trinkets that won't be missed for awhile, a tiny bit of magic might have helped them here and there...

Eventually they got bored of that and escaped back to the jeep with their hauls. They emptied their pockets out into the center consual and giggled over the cheap little rings, plastic barrettes, and pins that stores kept in jars next to the cash register. That was what made it worth it for them, the challenge of getting away with it.

They split their loot up, arguing playfully over who got what until everything is evenly divided.

They get fast food and huge milkshakes and even feel charitable enough to bring one back for thei- Stiles' dad then just... drive around and eat and talk about nothing.

They get home late enough that the milkshake is mostly melted but Stiles' dad got home about a minute after they did. He eyed them distrustfully.

"What did you two get up to today?" he asked as he picked up the milkshake and took a sip. Stiles and Not Stiles smiled innocently at him. He shook his head and looked amused. "Never mind! I'm sure I don't want to know." he sends them a pointed look and adds "Nobody better call me about you two."

Stiles and Not Stiles share a grin.

***

Stiles knew it couldn't last forever, that the pack was bound to figure it out eventually.

He just hadn't expected them to think he was possessed.

Getting cornered in Derek's loft with the whole pack around him, Scott looking mulish and holding a cross was... a bit much, even for him.

"Uh, are you guys serious?" Stiles asked, trying to figure out a convincing way to get out of the situation he'd made for himself.

"Stiles..." Scott said, lip actually wobbling a little in emotion. "We're just worried about you."

Stiles wanted to make a break for it but then the pack would all just think that they were right. And Peter was standing in front of the door. Of course Peter was smirking at, leaning against the closed door and arms crossed.

Stiles is half sure that if he looked desperate enough Peter would let him out but then he'd probably owe Peter a favor and no one ever wanted to owe Peter a favor.

He sighs and flops out onto the couch and thinks about pulling his phone out so he can text Not him and ask him to come over so they can finally let the car out of the bag...or the twin out of the closet.

And honestly he's kind of interested in what they have to say. It's been two months and honestly he was expecting them to have figured out something was going on sooner than this.

"Alright." he says, spreading his arms out invitingly. "Lay it on me!"

He can see Peter smirking in amusement at him while the pack exchange wide eyed glances. Obviously they weren't expecting him to agree so easily.

Scott carefully shuffles over and picks up a water bottle off the coffee table. "Okay... first thing's first... I guess..." he says, uncapping the bottle. "Can I have your hand?"

Stiles rolls his eyes so hard it hurts but holds his hand out so Scott can pour some of the water on him. He has no doubt that the bottle has 'holy water' in it and he wonders how Scott got it. He'd probably chased down Father Brian for it. He was honestly sad he'd missed that. Father Brian was always going out of his way to sadly ask if Stiles was doing okay. He figured it was a pretty nice gesture considering Stiles and Scott are the only two kids he ever banned from Sunday school.

The water just makes his hand wet and leaves a puddle on the floor.

Scott looks relieved but he determinedly puts the cross he's still holding onto Stiles' palm. Stiles holds onto it reflectively and Scott's shoulders relax when the cross doesn't instantly catch fire or anything.

Stiles can see Peter out of the corner of his eye and it looks like he's trying to burst out laughing. Weirdly it kind of makes him feel better.

After Scott's failed attempt to prove that Stiles is possessed the pack all take turns laying out their proof that Stiles is losing time and Stiles tries not wince too much. He's starting to feel a little guilty...

And then he sees Peter suddenly straighten up and turn to pull the front door open. Everyone else wipes around to look at what's going on.

And... in walks Stiles' dad with Not right behind him.

Peter, of course, looks fascinated while everyone else is just confused.

His dad sighs and shakes his head at everyone. He pulls out his phone and reads off what is no doubt a text from Scott. "Please come over we need to talk about Stiles." he shoots Scott a mildly disappointed look. "Thank you for asking me if I knew anything about what's going on with my own son, Scott, very courteous of you."

Scott has the decency to look ashamed.

Everything turns into chaos after that.

The pack is shouting and pointing and asking questions over each other while Peter ushers Not over to sit on the couch next to Stiles.

Stiles and Not share a knowing look.

Peter is watching them through narrowed eyes, very obviously sniffing the both of them.

Not has met Peter a couple of times and Stiles knows he finds Peter... interesting. Is as interested in him as Stiles is. It's something that now that Peter knows, or will at least figure out, Stiles and Not can finally...play with.

"Everyone stop talking!"

Stiles and Not both jump in surprise at the- Stiles' dad shouting.

Everyone else looks shocked but they instantly fall silent.

"Stiles, why don't you tell them the story." he suggests with a barely suppressed eye roll that Stiles knows means he's judging them for taking so long to figure out that something had been going on.

Stiles and Not, because they're both assholes, take turns telling the story, making up some parts as they go because they can and by then it's practically expected of them.

The pack looks resigned and exasperated by the end. It's obvious to Stiles that they've all given up trying to deal with the situation before it's even really started.

Only Peter and their dad look amused.

Their dad had come over to sit on Not's other side, phone out and texting, probably with Malissa, and acting like he isn't paying attention at all but he's got a little smile so Stiles knows everything is fine there.

Peter had sat down on the coffee table right in front of them, arms on his knees and leaning closer and closer to watch them intently, each knee very conveniently bumping against one of theirs.

Half the pack leaves after Stiles says 'The End' while Not says 'For Now'.

The other half wonder off, having lost interest completely.

"So, two months, huh." Peter says, looking calculatingly at them. They smile sweetly at him. "So you're planning to stick around then?" he asks, looking Not right in the eye, which doesn't surprise anyone at all.

Not shrugs but he's smiling so that's probably enough of an answer for Peter who nods and says he knows a guy who knows a guy who can get a legit birth certificate, all Peter would need is name.

Stiles and their dad both look at Not questioningly. Not is very quiet for a few long seconds before he glanced shyly at their dad. "Grandpa's name was Noah, that would work, wouldn't it?"

Their dad wraps his arm around No- Noah's shoulders and smiles at him. "Being named after the good grandfather is probably a sign." he sends Stiles a wink and Stiles doesn't even try to stop himself from giggling.

He might have started this whole thing because he was thinking of the evil queen in Snow White but their dad was right, his twin was anything but evil. He might, dare Stiles say it, be pretty okay most of the time.

#my shit #my fics

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svgurl410 · 4 years

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fic: the right kind of wrong (clark luthor/lois lane)

Fandom: Smallville Pairing/Character/General Series: Clark Luthor/Lois Lane Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 1,455 Summary: Lois can’t stay away from Clark Luthor. Warnings: cheating Notes: AU, mild spoilers for 10.10 ‘Luthor’ and the Smallville Season 11 comics Disclaimer: don’t own anything; all characters belong to CW/DC Comics

Read on AO3

The hotel room was nondescript; one bedroom, with a king size bed in the middle, a desk in the corner; the floor to ceiling windows gave a view of nothing but an alley behind the building, but at the very least it was clean, and the walls were soundproof, which was all that she needed.

It was a far cry from the penthouse suite at the Ritz, which is what Oliver or even the man she was about meet preferred, but that was too showy. Lois couldn’t afford to be seen by anyone who knew or could recognize her. Or him.

She stared out the large window, gazing at nothing, unconsciously playing with the engagement ring on her left hand, when she heard the door click open. It could only be one person, the only other one who had access to this room.

“You’re late,” she remarked, without turning around.

Lois heard a deep chuckle from behind her. “And yet you’re still here, aren’t you?” came the answer.

She turned around, deliberately slow, raising an eyebrow. “Must be your lucky day then. Fortunately for you, I didn’t have anywhere else to be.”

“Last time I checked,” Clark Luthor drawled, as he made his way towards her. “You asked me here.” He was dressed in a dark grey pinstripe suit, and she was certain they both knew that he looked good. She wondered where he had been, or who he had been with, but that was none of her business.

Lois waited until he was reached her, refusing to take a step forward. “Didn’t exactly have to twist your arm, did I?”

“You never do,” Clark retorted, smirking.

Swallowing hard at the reminder and not wanting to pursue that line of conversation, she chose to tug at his tie forcing him to lean down, their lips meeting in a long awaited kiss.

Clark complied, realizing she didn’t have any interest in conversing, and deepened the kiss, pulling her body flush against his, as her hands made their way to circle his neck. He felt good, he always felt too good, and tasted just right. They fit in ways she refused to think further on, but right now, she didn’t want to think. It was easy to get lost in the kiss, and was able to focus on just him, as he lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist, walking them both to the bed.

Clothes fell to the floor, their bodies engaging in a now familiar dance. It was wrong, so wrong, but just for these precious hours, she could focus on him and forget everything else, the wedding plans, the stress of her life, all of that. What started out a meeting of chance and an angry one night stand when she realized her boyfriend was cheating on her with her own cousin was now something she couldn’t do without, even with Chloe dead and she having accepted Oliver’s ring. She never said anything then, for reasons that even befuddled her, and she had lost all moral high ground since, and all that was left were feelings tied up between anger and grief. Only more things she was avoiding.

Yet Clark Luthor was the last person she should be doing this with; he was a smug possibly corrupt asshole that she should be concentrating on taking down, but he somehow was the only one who was able to give her the release that she needed, and didn’t ask any questions afterwards. And he was so good at making her forget she had anything to question in the first place.

But the guilt set in much later, as it always did, as they lay twisted in the sheets, bodies cooling from what they had done. She fought the urge to check if he had left any marks, but she was fairly certain she was safe. Clark had done it once, and she had managed to stay away from him for a whole month after that. Message received. Now, he knew better.

“Rather quiet today,” Clark commented, breaking the silence, “Did my skills leave you speechless?”

“You think a lot of yourself,” she muttered. “And like you care. Pillow talk isn’t really your strong suit, is it? Isn’t this usually the time you leave?”

“Isn’t it the time you left?” he countered. “I’m sure your … fiancé will be waiting. What excuse did you give him today?”

“That would be none of your business,” Lois snapped, irritation replacing the satisfaction she had felt just moments ago.

“It was, after all,” Clark continued, as if he hadn’t heard her, “Such a delightful surprise running into you two the other day. What were you doing again? Oh, right, cake testing. So adorable. I was surprised to hear from you so soon after that.”

Pressing her lips together, she bit back a scowl. He loved drawing a reaction from her and she wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction, but she could tell from his expression that she had definitely failed to conceal her inner feelings completely. After all, she remembered their run in all too well, Oliver and Clark exchanging biting comments with straight faces, Ollie the more visibly agitated one, and how that conversation stayed with her hours after he had left.

“You didn’t say anything,” she ended up saying, the thought on her mind since they parted ways that day finally escaping.

“About what?” Clark asked.

Her cheeks heated, much to her frustration. “About anything, this. You hate Oliver, and yet you didn’t even do anything to provoke him or hint that something was going on.” It was her biggest fear while they interacted, and she hadn’t been able to get her heart rate back to normal until Clark was long out of sight. Fortunately, Ollie was too caught up with his own hatred of Clark to even notice anything was wrong with her.

She forced herself to keep her gaze trained on him and was surprised when his gaze turned thoughtful.

“I don’t like Oliver,” Clark acknowledged slowly. Tracing a finger down her arm, he added, “But I’m not doing this because of him. I’m well aware if I taunt him, it will all be over, and well, where’s the fun in that? I can find other ways to torment him.”

Lois licked her lips, the feeling of his touch still sending shivers down her spine. “At least I know you will keep quiet.”

“But of course,” he said, his lips curving into a smile, blue green eyes glinting with amusement. “The secrecy is half the fun, isn’t it?” Sliding off the bed, he stood up, unabashedly nude, and she tried her best not to openly admire his body, as he went toward his pants. She watched curiously as he pulled out a card and slid back into bed.

“Speaking of which,” he said, handing her a card, which she accepted and was even more shocked to see a name of a catering company. “Heard you could use this. My father’s third wedding was just as awful as the others, but the food was good.”

“How did you-?” Lois had been talking with Oliver about having a hard time finding a caterer, but that was long after Clark Luthor had left them. No way could he have overheard that conversation.

“I have my ways,” he replied smoothly.

“Why do you care?” she wanted to know.

Clark shrugged, picking at his immaculate fingernails. “I don’t. But we all need ways to entertain ourselves.”

“Dreaming of being a wedding planner?” she snarked.

“I’m sure I would be excellent at it,” he said without hesitation. She snorted, and he just let out a laugh. It wasn’t his usual mocking laugh, or smirk, and the sound felt so genuine that it resonated deep within her.

Pushing aside the feeling, she asked instead, “So do you have to leave?”

“Do you?” he challenged.

Lois wanted to keep her distance, knowing she couldn’t let him have an inch, or he would lord it over her, but she found herself shaking her head. “No.”

“Lucky me then,” Clark murmured, leaning forward, intent clear. She allowed him to kiss her, kissed him back, releasing the business card, as he pressed her back into the bed, the passion reigniting quickly.

Losing herself in his embrace once more, she told herself this would be the last time. Just a few more hours, and she’d let him go. Return to being the perfect fiancée and hard nose reporter, not someone who screwed around with a Luthor, with a man the man she was supposed to love hated more than anything.

But deep in her heart, she knew she would always come back. They both did.

#clois #clois fanfic #smallville #clark x lois #smallville fanfic #sv fic #clark luthor x lois lane #clark luthor #lois lane #fanfic

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justajjfan · 5 years

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Unmasked ~ Thirteen

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Also my thanks to @justajjfan and everyone else who has offered up their inbox for submissions. Please enjoy the thirteenth chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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

~~ Chapter 13 ~~

The house feels reborn as the fog of fear lifts with Father’s fever and the immediate worries of him not surviving his amputation dissipate.

It is strange to see my father with his arm truncated so, but having caught glimpses of Peeta’s limb in bed at night, I am neither shocked nor repulsed. As Peeta said, there will be obstacles to my father living his life should he awaken, yet it is not impossible. He will still have my mother, my sister, myself, and all of our love.

I wonder briefly how Peeta and my Father would get on. I think of Peeta’s kindness and patience, his wit in moments when no one else seems to know what to say, and smile to myself. I imagine they would get on splendidly, as soon as my father recognises that Peeta’s surname does not define his character. As my mother pointed out, Peeta is nothing like the man who sired him.

Even more so than the past few months when Father lay comatose with nothing we could do for him, the world has felt suspended the past few days. Now the immediate fear is gone, I feel as though I need to press forward with life, with tasks that fell neglected as we cared constantly for my father. To that end, I intercept Peeta in the study before we head out for our daily ride on the morning after Father’s fever breaks, I head to the study and find Peeta.

“I have a project I wished to discuss with you, husband. Several projects in fact,” I say as he lifts his head and startles at my presence. He stands and I smile at him.

“Shall we discuss your projects as we ride today?”

“I should think so. Bring your sketchbook and drawing supplies with you,” I tell him. He retrieves it from the desk, taking two sheets that hang loose and quickly stuffing them in the drawer that has become his.

As we move towards the stable, I briefly outline my idea, explaining how my mother and father are a wealth of knowledge on the plants in the area, both wild and cultivated, edible and medicinal and poisonous. I explain how the bath room made me realise just how much we stand to loose if my father perishes. For now, we can start with what he has passed on to me, and what my mother can provide, recording it into a book for safekeeping that we can always add to later.

“What do you think?”

“I think it an excellent idea,” Peeta says as we pause in the meadow, beneath a sprawling oak tree. Peeta uses the rope he now carries with him on his saddle at all times to dismount then helps me down as well. His hands linger on me for a few seconds longer than is necessary, but I find that I do not mind at all. We then spread the blanket beneath the tree to relax. “How can I help?”

“With the illustrations,” I say, surprised he did not realise. “Unless you do not wish to.”

“No, I would love to help. When shall we start?”

“How about now?” He laughs as I stand and hurry to gather a few samples from our immediate area. We are soon engrossed in our work, Peeta sketching as I explain uses and growing seasons, life cycles and distinguishing characteristics. I write as I talk. It is quiet, absorbing work and as we ride home, I feel a soft sort of contentment wash over me.

There is more work to be done that afternoon, and my father is not completely out of danger yet, and so I still spend late evenings on towards midnight by his side. It becomes an easier routine to manage now that the stark fear of death no longer haunts every corner.

Life continues. There is a lightness and happiness that permeates the halls as my father slowly recovers. We continue with our shifts, ensuring that his bed remains clean, his limbs exercised, and his body free of further infection. Doctor Aurelius visits and congratulates us on making it through the first stage.

During the days, there is always work to be done. We make excellent progress on the plant book. I rather enjoy watching Peeta’s hands while he works. As he draws, his face takes on an intense expression of concentration, as though there are thousands of worlds and thoughts of beauty locked away inside his head where only he might see them until he pours them onto parchment. I become fixated on those long lashes of his, so delicate and lovely in the sunshine. And also on his lips with their many different attitudes of expression. I attempt to catalogue each smile or frown or other look of his, much the way we do with the plants and flowers. And at night…

At night I share a bed with my husband, yet he maintains a distance between us. It becomes more and more difficult to respect that distance and what it represents. Perhaps this is what Peeta intended in refusing to touch me. To taunt me with his nearness and yet deny me what I truly want.

…What I truly want?

The question makes me sit up in bed and stare at the sleeping visage of my husband one night, nearly a week after my father’s fever has broken.

Do I truly want to consummate my marriage now? Do I desire Peeta the way he wishes me to do so? Granted, we have had a number of pleasant days together working on our record of plant life, and I feel completely safe and secure with him in not only my room, but my bed as well. He has lain beside me at least a fortnight without so much as presuming to kiss me. Such piety and abstinence! It is enough to drive a body mad!

Yet I feel as though there is still something missing. Peeta has done so much for me and my family, stepping up without question or complaint in every arena we have thus far faced together, all while asking little to nothing in return. A leather strap in the stables to make mounting his horse easier, a few loaves of bread to bake, and that is it. That is all he has asked for himself. It seems so…so wrong.

And yet it does not take me long to decide what exactly I can do for Peeta. It might be a failure, and so I do not mention it to him. I would hate to lift his hopes needlessly. Instead, I wait until the following night, as I sit vigil over my father.

By candlelight, I tap a quill on parchment, staring at my father’s motionless form and wondering how best to word this most delicate missive. I do not wish to…pry, nor to give the impression that I do not trust my husband. It is not a lack of trust that spurs me to do this. Not at all, and finally, I begin with that. The truth of the matter. I wish to help him as he has done for me.

Dear Uncle Haymitch,

Life in the country is as dull as ever. Do not expect a visit from us soon as Father is still unresponsive and I rather dislike all the smog the city seems to enjoy keeping close to her bosom.

Marriage is a curious thing, although I think I am succeeding quite well at it. In that regard, however, I have a rather large favor to ask of you. You, with all your connections in the city, are best able to see it done. I need your help finding someone who is dear to my husband and will likely be difficult to discover…

I fill the pages with as many details as I can recall Peeta telling me — his mother and father’s names as well as the estate where they were employed, a general timeline of when William passed, Nancy was let go, and Peeta was left at the Mellark household. It is possible that Peeta’s lack of success in finding his mother is due to his carrying of the name Mellark, a sure signal to Nancy that whoever it is inquiring after her can mean no good to her. Not even Peeta, as she did promise to never see him again. It is possible that she is too far into hiding in order to avoid her own son or to ensure her own employment, free from past “transgressions.” Inquiries from an unattached party — such as my uncle — may have better success.

When I finish the letter, I retrieve from my pocket a drawing that I pilfered earlier today from Peeta’s sketchbook. Given the number of pages he has torn from the book, I am hopeful he will not miss this one of his mother. I fold it together with the letter, seal it, address it, and take it downstairs to the table so that it shall be included in tomorrow’s post.

****************************

For the first time in months, I feel excitement with the arrival of the daily post. It is too soon to hear from Haymitch and yet I cannot help the quick trip of my heart nor the smile on my face as Horatio hands me the post after breakfast. He returns the smile and gives me a happy wish for a good day as he heads off to finish his chores.

I shuffle through the letters, dividing them into piles. There is yet another letter for Prim, from Rory Hawthorne. I gnash my teeth but set it aside for her, heeding the wise words of my friend for now, although I should speak to Peeta about perhaps funding a season for Prim soon. I would much rather she have a chance at several suitors – to be certain — before she settles on this one.

In addition to the normal letters of business for myself and a few for Peeta, there is another with a heavy crest in the wax seal…a crest I have become unfortunately familiar with. Gathering both of our piles, I seek him out and find him where I expect him, in the library, selecting a book to read later today in moments of leisure.

“Your post, husband,” I say and he accepts it with a smile, an expression that turns serious as he sees the seal of the Marquis de Vale on one.

“Thank you,” he says. We settle in to deal with our mail. When both of us are done, we walk together out to the stable.

It is a beautiful day and yet I cannot help but feel that Peeta is preoccupied. His smile is not as easy and his words more sparse than usual. When I mention it, however, he smiles brightly at me.

“No need for concern. I was, however, wondering more about harvest time around here. Are there any traditions we need see to?”

After that, he seems to be his normal self and we converse at length on what needs yet to be done to prepare for the late summer harvest as well as the fall harvest of our crops.

************************

Ennui strikes its hardest blow in the evenings, when the sun still lingers in the sky and yet the chores for the day are done and dinner consumed. We lounge in the drawing room until youth kicks up a disturbance.

“Mother, we’ve not been to a town assembly in ages. Why can we not go tonight?” Prim asks, a cajoling pout on her face.

“It is already late dear, and I cannot leave your father.”

“He is so much better!”

“We could have dancing here, Prim,” Madge suggests and moves to the piano. “I will play. You and Katniss can dance.”

“Oh yes!” Prim squeals. In a flurry of pink fabric and protests, I am pulled to my feet. Primrose is shockingly strong for her size. “You are married now, sister, so you must play the man. No excuses!”

Madge strikes up a lively tune and for one moment, I glance at Peeta, wondering how he must feel being left out of such festivities. He smiles at us, his hand resting on his open sketchbook and several dried flowers spread on the neighboring page. His work stops as we take the first few steps, and soon I am laughing and spinning with my sister.

At one point, my mother begins to clap along in time. We dance and dance into the night until I can hardly breathe. As Madge finishes the fourth or fifth tune with a flourish, I spin Primrose straight towards my mother and she falls laughing into her embrace. As Mother whispers loving words to Prim and kisses her brow, a sadness claims me. Yes, I think, something is missing and I make excuses, wandering out to the hall where it is dark, cool from the lack of bodies, and quiet.

Light from the drawing room makes an eerie slanted rectangle on the floor behind me as I stare out the window. Peeta’s uneven gait approaches me and I lean back into his touch as he rubs my shoulders in a soothing manner.

“Something troubles you?”

“I am not sure,” I admit and we stand there for a moment, our image a hazy reflection in the glass as the sun dips below the horizon and the sky shifts to a darkened gray-blue streaked with gauzy purple clouds. I do not know how to put into words the feelings inside me.

Mother’s laughter reaches me then and it occurs to me that my parents used to dance as a second couple with Prim and I on nights such as this. Before I can consider the implications of that thought, Madge begins to play a much slower tune. I listen for a moment and then turn to face my husband. “Will you dance with me?”

“I wish that I could,” he says, taking one of my hands in both of his, lifting it to his lips.

“The music is not fast, Peeta. You must have danced before and remember some of the steps. No one will see you save for me…please?”

He still looks uncertain, but shifts how he holds my hand and raises our arms over our heads. I cannot stop the smile from splitting my lips as we move through careful steps. It is not a complicated dance, the one he has chosen, in fact it is an older dance. Several years old as I recall dancing these steps with Madge, before the fire, before I was scarred. I hear distant echoes of memory, and while Peeta’s hesitant movements reflect the uncertainty in his features, he does not stop. Our fingers curl together, then apart. We step through a slow circle, close to one another and then back. Every so often, we must pause an extra beat or two for Peeta to regain his footing or shift his balance before we continue, but it is a forgiving song that allows such caution.

Madge plays on, the tune longer than the sequence of steps, and so we begin again from the start. Peeta and I dance in the growing moonlight. His steps falter once. I pause with him and wait a beat to catch the count of the dance on the next bar, and then we continue once more.

When the song comes to an end, he does not step back and bow right away, but we remain as we are, so close.

“Katniss,” he murmurs and leans towards me. My chin lifts, but his torso bends and I watch him bow over my hand. “Thank you for the dance, madame,” he says then returns to the drawing room. My heart beats far too fast in my chest for such a simple dance and I use the excuse to flee upstairs.

After I am changed for bed, I lay there and contemplate what passed between Peeta and I. He claimed to wish to court me, although my father’s infection and amputation caused that sentiment to wither for a time. One could make a case that the only normal aspect of Peeta’s courtship of me thus far has been our time together working on the plant book. Even our time spent baking in the kitchens is a bit unorthodox since we are usually dressed so casually or in night clothes for it. There is also the matter that it is more something I would expect from a married couple, not a couple that is courting.

Tonight’s dance was the first thing we have done that resembles a traditional courtship. And yet, as I drift into sleep, still waiting for my husband to join me, I am oddly tingling all over and wondering why I feel so… disappointed… It is in the fog between dreams and rest that the truth settles in my breast, never to relinquish me from its grasp.

I wanted him to kiss me. Almost desperately.

************************

I wake fully rested and refreshed. It is most welcome after the several weeks of long, hard days. Welcome until I realise that I have slept late. Far later than I am accustomed to doing. For a moment, I am annoyed at Peeta for allowing me to sleep so late, but as I rise and stretch, I see that he is not here. His side of the bed remains disturbingly tidy. I wonder if he straightened before he left our rooms for the morning or if he refrained from sleeping beside me entirely. I do not recall him joining me in bed last night.

Moving to the window, I enjoy the sunshine for a moment before deciding it is time to face the new day. It promises to be a glorious day and I have slept away too much of it already. At first, I attempt to dress myself so as to not bother anyone, as it is very late and Mary has likely moved on to other chores. I soon find myself paying for my indolence and calling for Mary. She hurries in only to make excuses.

“Of course, ma’am, I can’t find Miss Maysilee. She’s run off again on another sort of adventure. Countess is near beside herself this time. As soon as I find her, I can assist you in dressing,” she says, panic in her eyes.

“Find Mr. Mellark! She’s likely hiding in a game with him or some nonsense!” I shout but my cries fall on the door and not human ears. “Excellent. An excellent start to the day.”

I reach behind me, grasping for laces, but each tug tells me what I already know. I am only making a greater mess of this. Still, I refuse to yield. I feel behind me and make calculated pulls that only entangle the laces further. I growl in frustration and consider going without the damn thing to today. The door opens then and I sigh in relief.

“Oh thank God. Where was she, Mary? On an adventure with Mr. Mellark?”

“I – pardon, madame.” My head whips around and I find Peeta now making excuses to abandon me. “I did not mean to interrupt. I thought you already awake and out for the day.”

“I would be, could I reach the damn laces properly.”

“Excuse me,” he says and opens the door. “I shall send for Mary.”

“She left me like this! She is looking for Maysilee.” I shout and he pauses. “I am trying to do this myself and making a muddle of it. Could you please just–”

I am close to tears, ridiculous as it may seem, and am trying mightily not to let him see me shed them. Of all the things to make me cry after the events of the past weeks, I refuse to cry over corset laces. He nods once then shuts the door, stepping swiftly to stand behind me. His hands move over my back, loosening and untangling the mess I have made.

“You have done this before?” I ask and he stops.

“No. I have not laced a woman into a corset before.”

“But you have…you have removed a corset?” His hands resume their motions as he releases a strained chuckle.

“How am I to answer that, madame? If I say that I have, shall I be met with your fury or disapproval? And if I say that I have not, will you believe me?”

“Yes, then,” I say, a hot fury sparking to life in me.

“I am not as familiar with the workings of a corset as a ladies’ maid. In truth, I am guessing here. Perhaps some assistance, madame?” His words give me pause.

“Then you have not removed many?”

“No, I would not characterise it as ‘many.’ Do you wish me to recite the list or would you rather I focus on yours?”

“If the laces are now untangled, then simply draw them tight, one section at a time is easiest,” I tell him and grasp the bedpost with both hands. I feel small tugs and then he pauses again. “You are not done?”

“If I tighten anymore it shall hurt you,” he whispers, his breath warm over my scalp. “Will it not?”

A sudden laugh rises up in me as I look back at him. His cheeks burn a ruddy shade of pink and he cannot meet my gaze. Not so many corsets in his past after all then. Perhaps only one or two.

“I am not so fragile, Peeta.” Now his eyes lift to mine and a small smile curves up one side of his mouth.

“Fragile is never a word that I would apply to describing you, madame.”

“Then get on with it and do not worry about me.”

“You will tell me if I am too rough?”

“Yes, I will tell you if you are too rough,” I say with as much exasperation as I can muster. It strikes me then as odd that I am so at ease with him seeing me in naught but my undergarments. Then again, we have spent the past more than a month since our wedding dancing around one another’s partial or full nudity, sharing a bedroom and then a bed, yet he has never once taken advantage. He grasps the laces and I suck in a breath as he pulls tight. “Tighter.”

He does as I instruct, forehead creased in concentration. It is rather endearing actually, his concern for me as he laces me up and then ties the laces in place. I release a satisfied breath when he is finished.

“Thank you, sir.” Only he does not move as I expect him to.

I turn and startle at how close he still stands to me, grasping the post now behind me as a strange dizziness sweeps over me. His body sways towards me and his eyes roam over my shoulders, over the swells of breast pushed up and held aloft with the force of feminine underclothes. I am suddenly aware of how intimate this moment truly is, perhaps even more so than the removal of my garments might be, although I feel as though I am about to discover the veracity in that sentiment.

My heart pounds in my breast. My nails dig into the wooden bedpost, and I wonder what move my husband shall make next. His eyes darken and fixate and then his hand lifts my braid from where it has sat, draped over my shoulder and down my chest. His fingers caress over the twisted strands. His scent surrounds me, a now familiar element of my life as my skin awakens to his proximity, eager for his touch.

Our breaths sound strange in the quiet air, only a random creak of the house or song of the birds outside the open window provide accompaniment. I feel the tight embrace of the stays in my corset with each deep breath I take yet I cannot seem to calm it at all.

Peeta’s eyes slowly drift up to my face and I feel more undressed as he looks into my eyes than if I were completely naked.

He drops my braid, his hand rising and passing my ear to rest on the bedpost behind me. It is not so romantic as a dance in moonlight, and yet it is far more intimate to me, the morning sun turning his hair to a golden halo, his eyes a dark blue, almost like the cool waters of the lake where I learned to swim.

And his lips, open and inviting, a pale pink that makes me think of a fancy cake I once ate in Capitol. The hostess had called it chiffon frosting. Would Peeta’s lips be as sweet, gentle, and soft as that frosting? I lift my chin and I close my eyes, anticipating the feel of lips on mine.

The sounds of childish laughter and Maysilee racing down the halls outside our door reach my ears, followed by Mary calling after her and then… a low growl.

I open my eyes in time to watch Peeta slip away from me, using the bedpost to shove himself back. Cool air replaces what was warm beyond measure a moment ago. I stagger forward, following him with not enough speed to catch his retreat. There are five silent steps away from me before he halts and clenches his jaw.

“Forgive me, madame,” he says. “If you no longer require my assistance, I shall leave you in peace.”

“No more assistance needed. I can manage the rest well enough,” I say in a hoarse voice, and he bows then leaves me alone with my thoughts even more muddled than before.

A shuddering breath escapes me as realisation douses me in a chill. Here I have been operating on the assumption that Peeta wished to court me first, has refrained from touching me, out of some sense of nobility or chivalry, but in this moment, I wonder if perhaps as he has come to know me, now that he has seen my scars uncovered in full daylight, he has simply discovered that he can feel no desire for me. Perhaps I was the only one wishing for a kiss just now.

************************

“It seems so strange, to be out of mourning finally. I did not mourn the earl in my heart at all.”

“Hm,” I hum in agreement and scowl at the letter in my hands from one Mr. Gale Hawthorne. His concerns about my father and any potential marriage between his brother and my sister are the least of my worries right now. I toss his letter aside to deal with later.

“Even in his passing he controlled everything from who I might visit to where I might be seen wearing which colours. I feel so…so free and so silly all at the same time. It’s like I am sixteen all over again, whispering with my dear friend about sweethearts and first kisses.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Although now we’re grown and we both know that kisses can sting and love is not so easy and – listen to me, I am turning morose.”

“Hm.”

I focus now on a letter from my father’s solicitor in town. His concerns regarding the sale of our harvest are far more prescient to me right now, as the late summer harvest will begin in a matter of weeks, and then the fall crops just two months after that.

“Katniss? The pink or the yellow?”

“What?” I ask, lifting my head and scowling at Madge as she holds up one dress then the other.

“For my first day officially free of mourning.”

“Does it really matter, Madge? You shall be stunningly gorgeous in either.” I snap and Madge gasps.

“Oh. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

Only, I have disturbed her. It is her room that we are currently in, after all. I escaped here after an earlier than usual morning ride – without Peeta – left me feeling oddly queasy. He has been avoiding me, my husband.

During the day, he works harder than ever, throwing himself into every task I ask of him and more. From caring for my father, to the kitchens, to the fields, he is constantly busy. So much so that by the time he collapses into his chair at night for a drink with me, he inevitably falls asleep there. On nights when I attempt to wake him to encourage him to move to the bed, he claims he has already removed his false leg and it is therefore easier to remain where he is. I think it an excuse to sleep in the chair again rather than next to me.

Strangely, though, little has changed in the way that he treats me during the day. He is still kind, solicitous, hard-working, and thoughtful. Anyone watching would deem us an excellent partnership. There is, however, one notable difference.

Ever since our shared encounter with my corset laces, Peeta has avoided almost all physical contact with me. It would be quite comical if it did not hurt me so. Whereas before, I did not believe he found me hideous because he showed no reluctance to touch me, now I question that judgement. He flinches back from me and avoids contact as much as possible. His behavior in every other regard, however, remains unchanged.

These new developments with Peeta aggravate and confuse me. Once again, I find myself sleeping wretchedly and glaring across the room at his snoring form.

When I do sleep, my dreams are a tangled mess. Last night, after hearing a most detailed discussion in the scullery yesterday, I dreamt of an unspeakable carnal pleasure and the act the maids had described, only when I moved my skirts to gaze upon the face of my lover, I uncovered the man in the mask. I have barely given him a thought in the past few weeks and so his presence in my dreams, in such an intimate manner, confuses and disturbs me, enough so that today I rode alone, needing the time and space to clear my head and examine what is happening in my marriage. Perhaps if I could get my husband to kiss me, I would not be dreaming of a stranger who made me feel so desired and beautiful.

No, not a stranger, and that is the worst part of it. I could very well be having impure thoughts of his beloved brother. Shame does not even begin to describe how I feel at the possibility and yet I have no control over my dreams. The rub of it is…even in my dreams, I felt disappointment when I saw who it was. That disappointment revealed to me something I have been loathe to admit, given his recent change in affections for me.

I want Peeta to be the one to touch me so, to make me feel those things in our bed. Somewhere along this twisted road of our marriage, I have come to desire him for who he is and continues to be — warm, kind, thoughtful, generous, and brave. He has been a steady presence and a source of both hope and laughter, even in the face of darkness and adversity. Haymitch told me that I could do much worse where husbands are concerned, but I am not sure that I could have done much better.

And I fear that he now regrets marrying me, for surely he could have done much better where wives are concerned.

“I know you are quite busy with business,” Madge says, interrupting my musings.

“No, Madge,” I say and groan in frustration at myself. “It is not the damn farm business that has me so unsettled.”

“Then what is it?” she sets aside her dresses and moves to sit at my knee, her dressing gown a soft circle around her, a reminder of just how early I was out riding to escape Peeta’s frustrating presence.

“It is this being married business!”

“Tell me. Perhaps I can help,” she urges.

I spill the entire, humiliating story, even my dreams. As the words leave me, so too does some of the weight on my shoulders, the feelings of failure as a woman and a wife, the feelings of inadequacy and ugliness. A laugh escapes her lips when I am finished and then she shakes her head. “You mean he still has not touched you intimately…”

“Not so much as a bloody kiss. Which only confirms my suspicions that he could not be the man in the mask. That man had no troubles kissing the very breath from me and half removing my dress in the gardens.”

Another laugh escapes and Madge shakes her head at me again. “No, I think it supports his claim. He is already familiar with the effects of kissing you and wishes to avoid being swept away, given the promises he made you on your wedding night and again in promising to court you first. The poor man must be at his wits end trying to keep from touching you.”

I snort yet again as Madge rises and squeezes onto the settee next to me. I am overcome with fondness for my friend and realise how important today must be for her. She need pretend no longer.

“You will be lovely in whatever you wear. Pink has always made your hair appear lustrous, though. Almost like a halo. Would that I had your looks. Perhaps then I might not have such troubles convincing my husband to consummate our marriage.”

“Oh Katniss,” she says and shakes her head with a soft smile. “I think if you were truly trying to convince him to do so, you would have already succeeded.”

“You think him so weak willed?”

“No, I think him deeply enamored with you.”

“Preposterous.”

“Think of it, Katniss. He won’t touch you unless you desire him. He wishes the feelings to be mutual and is willing to wait. He has ceded control of your intimacy to you. In a way it is…well it is far more respect than the earl ever showed me.”

“So he respects me but does not desire me.”

“You are a fool if you think that. The man’s eyes are drawn to you at every possible moment. In truth, I have been jealous of you this past week. Enough time has passed since your father’s amputation that you should both be rested and yet you are not. I thought it due to all the vigour of your night time activities.”

“Margaret!” I shout and then sober as I think of that morning when he helped me with my corset. As soon as I begin describing it to Madge, her cheeks turn pink and her eyes brighten.

“See?” she breathes out. “He could barely restrain himself. And now, he is no doubt avoiding you in a desperate attempt to avoid temptation. All you need give him is a little nudge.”

“Do you think he might respond well if I wore nothing but a mask to bed one night?” I ask and we fall to laughing together.

Despite our mirth as I help her dress in her new pink morning gown – not mourning gown – a twisted knot of melancholy has taken residence in my heart. It is fine to discuss longing looks and the idea of love, quite another to bask in the glow of its certainty and reality.

************************

To be continued…look for chapter fourteen on the blog of @everlarkficexchange

#Springtime Exchange 2019 #EFE 2019 #Unmasked #Prompt 88 #~M~#Chapter 13 #submission

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jiminscaramel · 5 years

Text

at bay | mark [nct] | 02

[GENRE] fluff & angst

[COUNT] 2.6k

[PAIRING] fem holiday-rep!reader x holiday-rep!mark

[WARNINGS] not proofread

[AU] holiday representative au (is that a thing?)

⬸ 01 | 02

The next day is a scorcher, temperatures soaring and settling into the high forty’s, but it’s not enough to stop the horde of adults, in tow with their kids, from getting their desired holiday tan. You usually find pool duty the most insufferable job but not for the reasons some might think.

Lucas is at the head of the pool, throwing in beach balls and pool noodles at the kids and just generally making a fool of himself to keep them entertained. You roll your eyes but smile, because if you admired anything about that boy it was his ability to capture and hold anyone’s attention. He waves at you to join him but you pretend you can’t see, your sunglasses hiding where your gaze truly lies.

He’s usually a nightmare to get along with and you dread any shift you have to work together, but he’s been suspiciously kind today, saving his clownery for the intended audience.

“I knew I’d find you slacking off here,” you hear a voice chuckle behind you and swivel on your heel to find Mark smirking, clipboard in hand.

“I’m not slacking off,” you fire back, straightening your posture and trying to look alert. “It’s just hot. I needed a break.”

“Sure,” Mark laughs, sidling up beside you. “I’ve been meaning to ask you–”

Lucas turns up the volume on the outdoor speakers, gaining a cheer from the kids. He starts dancing a routine and encourages them to follow suit in the pool.

“What is he doing?” You whisper in exasperation. You shake your head and divert your attention back to Mark. “Sorry, you were saying?”

His cheeks flush and the tips of his ears turn bright red as he works up the courage to get the words off of his tongue. “Uh, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to hang out next week?”

“Next week?” You ask surprised, expecting him to have wanted to hang out today. You push your glasses up to sit atop your head and wait for him to continue.

He clears his throat and shifts his weight nervously to the other foot. “Yeah, it’s, uh– it’s my birthday next week. I figured we could just hang out or go for a drink or something. I mean– only if you want to, I just thought it would be a nice idea–”

You bite back a laugh at his shifty behaviour, his nerves allowing him to babble on. Mark was always, without fail, confident with his customers. He could sell an excursion to almost anyone, sweet talk even the most difficult customers into anything and it’s what made him excellent at his job. But around you, his confidence was almost non-existent. His confidence completely depletes and leaves him a jittery, nervous wreck.

But it’s sweet, you think, cocking your head to the side and observing him with curious eyes. You’d never let him, or anyone else for that matter, ever know that you feel exactly the same way. Something about him crumples your self-confidence and turns your insides into mush.

“Sure,” you reply with a simple shrug of the shoulders in an effort to hide your own nerves. “I gotta check the rota but it sounds great.” You smile at him and watch as his eyes light up in response.

“Thanks–”

You hear Lucas shout your name from across the pool, his voice getting louder and louder as he approaches. In the short space of time your attention had been focused on Mark, Lucas had somehow managed to shed his shirt. “The kids wanna see you dance.”

“The kids do, or you do?” You quip, folding your arms, a wry smile playing on your lips. “And do you ever keep your shirt on for longer than five minutes?”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, come on. There’s only so much I can do up there on my own. You could come and help me out instead of flirting back here.” He pouts playfully.

“I’m not flirting, I’m taking a break. Mark can help.”

He opens his mouth to protest but Lucas cuts in first. “Mark’s not on pool duty. Nice try though.” He roughly slips his hand in yours and pulls you along after him, leaving you no choice but to cut your break short.

“Next week, yeah?” You call over your shoulder at Mark.

“Next week!”

Mark can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy echo in his chest as he watches Lucas lead you away, hand tucked so brazenly in yours, without a care in the world. He figures it’s a long shot, asking you out on a date under the guise of a few birthday drinks but there’s no harm in trying, right? Besides, he sees the way you look at Lucas and something in him sours as he realises you don’t look at him with the same kind of sparkle in your eye.

Lucas twirls you around at the head of the pool, pulling you flush against him before spinning you around again. It could just be his imagination, his envy clouding his judgement, but he sees sparks fly when you meet Lucas’ eyes.

Mark second guesses himself and silently wonders why he should bother. Sure it was always going to be a long shot, but just how far is he willing to shoot?

“Hey shit-head, can you do me a favour?” You march onto the villa patio with your head buried in a sheet of paper; the all important rota.

“With that kind of attitude? Absolutely not.” Lucas mumbles around a mouthful of food. He chases it down with a swig of orange juice before continuing. “What do you need?”

“Can you swap days with me next week? I got something planned on Thursday but I’m scheduled in for a busy day.”

“So?”

“So,” you roll your eyes for nth time already that day. “How about you take the day off tomorrow and I work that shift for you and in return, you work my Thursday shift? Deal?”

Lucas pretends to think long and hard. “I don’t know. What’s in it for me?” His eyes twinkle with mischief and the corners of his mouth twitch up in a devilish smirk.

“Nothing.” You deadpan. “You get your day off earlier than usual. That’s it.”

He stands and stretches. “I don’t know...”

“Really?”

Sensing your growing levels of frustration he laughs it off. “I’m kidding. Sure, whatever. I’ll work your Thursday.”

You punch the air in victory, a genuine smile breaking out. “Thank you!” You lean in to give him a quick hug, pecking his cheek as he ducks low. He laughs in surprise and shakes his head as you run off, excited to break the news to Mark.

It was probably nothing, Mark tries to convince himself. He tries to remind himself that whatever he feels for you doesn’t necessarily mean anything and that until he makes those feelings explicitly clear, then there’s no way you can actually know.

You’re not bound to him, you’re not committed or obligated to him and you can do whatever the hell you want with whoever the hell you wanted. But the more he observes you and Lucas and compares the interactions with his, the more he doubts himself. Had he read you wrong? Had he jumped to conclusions, too blinded by his pining to realise that you might not necessarily feel the same?

He wanted to ask about you and Lucas, but couldn’t quite find a subtle way of addressing the matter. There was no way to bring up the little kiss without giving away his true intentions or feelings; no way to address the constant skinship between you and him and if it meant anything.

Perhaps it’s just you as a person and maybe Mark is worrying for no reason. As much as it could mean something, it could equally mean nothing. And it probably was.

Mark sighs as his thoughts come full circle again, the same worries spinning endlessly in his mind. He sets the game console down and huffs again in frustration, unable to quell the raging anxiety in his chest. He runs a shaky hand through his hair and stands up to fetch a pool cue, hoping the level of concentration needed to play will distract him from his thoughts.

He mills around the table for what seems to be the better half of an hour, sinking the striped balls into the pockets, focused and tuned out from the surrounding noises of the reps’ games room.

“Hey!”

Your voice startles him, his hand slipping, missing the ball altogether. He clears his throat to hide his start and turns to face you, though he can’t bring himself to smile.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Since when do you hang about here?”

“I just needed some space,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “The villa can get pretty cramped sometimes.”

“Tell me about it,” you agree, sensing something isn’t quite right. “Is everything ok though? You seem a bit... off?”

“I’m fine,” Mark replies a little too quickly. “I’m fine.” He repeats, more composed.

“If you’re sure... I just wanted to let you know I managed to get Thursday off next week for your birthday so we’ve got the whole day to hang out!” The excitement in your voice is genuine, Mark knows that for sure, but the incessant voice in his head tells him otherwise, further planting more doubt in his mind.

“About that,” he starts, but he’s not sure where he’s going with it. The words fall out quicker than he can stop them. “I think I’m just gonna have a quiet day in instead. Temperatures are gonna be sky high so I think it’s best if I just stay out the sun.”

Your face falls and your heart drops to your feet but you do everything in your power to remain composed. “Oh.”

Mark regrets the words the second they leave his mouth and your evident disappointment tugs at his heart. “Yeah.”

The wall mounted tv blares out a sports game, filling the momentary silence before you speak up again, clearing your throat to rid yourself of all emotion. “Well... if you change your mind, I’ll still be free, just... just let me know, I guess.”

“I will.” The two of you stand there awkwardly waiting for the other to make a move. “Wanna play?” He offers weakly in an attempt to mend things but you shake your head no.

“I’m gonna head back home,” you frown and swallow the ball in your throat, trying to keep the hurt at bay. “I’ll see you later.”

You turn and leave without waiting for a response, wanting nothing more than to be alone. You chide yourself for being so childish and try to reason that Mark cancelling had nothing to do with you. He was allowed to change his mind and at the end of the day, you weren’t exactly close friends yet, he didn’t have to report back to you or explain himself to you.

Yet you can’t help but feel at fault, one way or another.

In the days that follow, you notice Mark actively keeping his distance from not only you, but from Johnny and Lucas too. He was never in the same room as them, or you for that matter, and barely spoke a word to anyone.

You can’t help but feel responsible and so you feel an extra sense of responsibility to make him feel better.

Thursday rolls around quicker than you’d have liked and with both Lucas and Johnny gone for the day, you can’t say you’re looking forward to the time ahead.

“Have fun at that thing or whatever you have planned today!” Lucas calls over his shoulder with a wink as he rushes out the front door.

He doesn’t hang around to wait for an answer, so you don’t bother giving one. Mark rolls his eyes and tuts in annoyance, muttering under his breath as he tidies the kitchen.

“Can he make it anymore obvious?”

“Ok, Avril Lavigne,” you laugh softly, but the joke seems to fly over his head. “What are you talking about?”

“His shameless flirting. It’s getting pretty annoying.” He slams the fridge with a tad more force than necessary.

You blink, completely at loss. “You’ve been acting real weird lately and, I don’t know, it’s probably none of my business but what’s going on with you?” You lean on the back of the chair, quietly observing his scrunched up face.

His brows furrow further together, his frown deepening. “Nothing.”

“You plan on spending your birthday like this?” You fold your arms and raise an eyebrow in question.

“That’s up to me.” He tries to push past you but you grab his upper arm gently, your worried eyes searching his.

“Hey,” you say softly, your heart suddenly racing a hundred miles an hour. Up close he looks even more breathtaking and it takes an ungodly amount of composure to hold yourself together. His gaze is stormy, almost angry but it doesn’t deter you in the slightest. “Mark, what’s the matter?”

And for a second you expect him to shake you off and ignore another attempt to find out what’s been troubling him. But his eyes soften and beneath his tough boy exterior, he looks upset, hurt almost.

He figures just blurting it out is the best thing to do. What harm could it do now? “I was looking forward to spending time with you...” he admits, but your puzzled expression deepens.

“I was too. But you’re the one who cancelled. I thought maybe you didn’t want to.” You shrug. “No big deal.”

“It was a big deal.” He blurts out.

“Shit happens, you know?” You try and reassure him, thinking that perhaps some emergency had come up or something else he couldn’t avoid had stopped him from spending his birthday like he’d planned. “There’s always tomorrow, or next week, or next month. It doesn’t have to be today–”

“That’s not it,” his teeth worry his lip, chewing nervously.

“I don’t understand. Then what happened?” Your pulse thrums in your ears, blood rushing to your head in anticipation.

“You and Lucas...” he trails off, unsure now. Now that he’s voiced it aloud, it doesn’t seem to make sense.

“Me and that goofball? What about him?” You grow more confused every time he opens his mouth but you eventually put two and two together. “Ohhh,” you draw out the sound, realisation hitting. “You think me and Lucas...?” You gesture with your hands and Mark nods shyly.

You burst out laughing and although Mark doesn’t quite understand, he feels the tension lift from his shoulders. His jaw relaxes and he feels his own lips twitch as he tries to suppress a smile. His cheeks light up again in embarrassment. “What’s funny?”

“I’d rather eat bricks than ever date him. He’s insufferable!” You clutch your stomach as your laughter subsides. “Oh god, I swear, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just– the idea–” your burst into another fit of giggles and Mark starts to chuckle along.

“So you’re not dating?” He asks a final time for clarification.

“Never in a million years.” You shake your head. “He’s a nice guy, really, but we’re just very different. Me and you though–” you clamp your lips together before you let anything else slip, but the way Mark’s face lights up encourages you to continue. “Uh... me and you should totally go for that drink.”

“His about we go for dinner instead?”

“Dinner? As in, ‘a date’ dinner?”

He pauses for a moment, then nods, his mouth twisting into a grin. “A date dinner.” He pulls you into a tight hug and squeezes your shoulders, his heart beating erratically in time with yours.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” you exclaim once you pull away. You lean up on your tip-toes and gently press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Happy birthday.”

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escapingreality1992 · 5 years

Text

Secret Pen Pals ch. 2

Keira's POV

My alarm went off at 8 a.m. sharp and I groaned as I scrunched up my face annoyed at the early hour. My hair fell in my face as I pushed myself up from lying on my stomach. Unfortunately, I couldn't go back to sleep because a client of mine was coming by to drop off her two golden retrievers to be watched for a week; She'd be here at 10 a.m. and I'd go over a couple things before having to leave the pups in the apartment two hours later in order to meet my friends for lunch.

An outward groan left my throat again, dreading the conversation I would have with them. If they had seen the advertisement for the pen pal event, I was sure that they'd have their own opinions about it. If they hadn't...well either way I planned to keep it a secret from them. I considered myself to be a romantic; to them, I'd be nothing more than a hopeless romantic, the idea that two people might fall in love through letters ridiculous in their minds.

My job was already a joke to them, a disappointing career to anyone close to me. The thing is I enjoyed what I did for a living. Dogs brought me joy to my life and today I planned on taking them for a swim at a local pool strictly for dogs. I released a content sigh thinking about it. In addition, I also wanted to stop by one of those unique specialty stores which sold anything from antiques to dolls, but more importantly the one I wanted to shop in had those instant Polaroid cameras. The reason behind this being that I had wrote Steve about sending him a picture of the coziness of my room, capturing the many blankets thrown across my bed.

Making a mental note to clean my room, I strode to the bathroom to take a shower in preparation for the day ahead of me. I let the hot water pour over my body, taking my time to cleanse it of the sweat that clung to it from the heat of the apartment. Fall came quick this year, meaning cooler nights and I had yet to make a thicker blanket to envelop me in warmth. Once finished with my usual routing in the shower, I stepped out into the coldness of the bathroom; I constantly let the fan run to avoid paint peeling off the walls from the steam that encased the entire room from the hot water. I wrapped a fluffy, light blue towel around my body - my arms and lower legs still exposed to the cool air - and ventured to the warm air of my bedroom.

Making my way to my closet, I chose an outfit consisting of a violet t-shirt, blue jeans and sneakers laying it across my unmade bed before grabbing undergarments from my dresser. Slipping those on, I dried my hair, leaving it slightly wet and pulling on the t-shirt and jeans before continuing the drying process. Since I had longer hair, it took a little while for it to get fully dry; I pulled it up in my usual ponytail and grabbed my current read and phone to sit on the couch while I waited for my client to arrive. At 10, a knock sounded at the my door, prompting me to put my bookmark in my book and set it aside to greet Andrea and Mark Peterson, the owners of the two golden retrievers; Jamie age 4 and Sherlock age 6.

"Good morning Keira. Thanks again for watching them. This trip to Paris is very important," Andrea greeted me. They were business partners who were trying to get word out for the wedding cakes they crafted from scratch. Andrea was a petite, 5'2" woman with honey blonde hair and brown eyes, while her husband stood at 6'3" with broad shoulders, dark hair and hazel eyes. They had no children apart from the dogs whom they sort of treated as such. They were humble and our first meeting involved picking out a cake for a friend's - well former friend's - wedding five years ago. They were a sweet couple and had seen my ad three weeks before that wedding, never needing to use my services until a month after; they went to travel to England for supplies for more extravagant decorations for their many delicious cakes. Now in the present, they became a regular client as their business continued to propel forward. They paid well, but it wasn't about the money for me. I loved taking care of each and every dog I watched.

"No problem. I enjoy having Jamie and Sherlock around. You said you were picking them up Saturday?" I told them, taking the leashes and walking the dogs to the couch, setting them loose once my apartment door was shut by Mark, who set down their dog bags.

"Can we pick up Sunday actually? Sunday night if possible. We'll be getting in pretty late Saturday and I have a feeling the jet lag is going to be horrendous," Andrea replied, pulling out her checkbook.

"Sunday is perfectly fine. Are you okay if I take them swimming? I'd be taking them to an indoor dog pool a few blocks from here,"

"Yes that sounds like a wonderful idea. I imagine they might enjoy that very much. If they stay until Sunday, how much more will that be?" Mark stated.

"Only 30 dollars more. Anything else I need to know about this week? Any questions about anything else?" I responded.

"30 dollars? Really? You know what, I'll give you a little more. I think 4000 should suffice," Andrea commented.

"Oh, but I only charge 2000 in most cases," I stated.

"We don't mind. You take care of them so often and so excellent that you deserve a big tip," Mark commented, smiling politely. I returned the smile and rubbed the head of Sherlock who had padded over to me and nudged the fingers of my right hand. Andrea ripped out the check and handed it to me, both owners waving goodbye to both goldens. My apartment door closed again and I turned to the pups.

"What do you say? Want to go for a walk before lunchtime?" I asked them. At this both dogs circled me jumping up to place their paws against my body.

"Okay, okay. First you two have to sit and wait so I can hook up your leashes," I told them, slipping on my sneakers. I grabbed a few poop bags, leashes and keys in the other hand before going outside for a walk. While walking, I couldn't help but wonder what Steve was up to at this very moment.

Steve's POV

Another 5 a.m. run, another training session, and another debriefing on the latest threat. That's how my day began. Not at all exciting, especially with debriefing, which wasn't even about a threat at all. It ended up being a report about the last enemy we defeated, a couple of paranormal entities, which we had to enlist Stephen Strange's help with. What followed the report was Tony discussing plans for an upcoming benefit we had to attend. As he droned on, I found myself aimlessly drawing on a piece of printer paper to stave off my boredom. Well, at least, I'll have something to send to Keira, I thought, focusing on the curvature of a ball of yarn I drew. Funny, I'm letting details of her first letter influence my sketches. Weird how it happened, I thought, a small smile creeping on my lips.

"What do you think Cap?" Tony's voice cut into my concentration.

"About what?" I answered, not even looking up, too involved in sketching out a dog's paw.

"I thought about showing up in my birthday suit and dancing all night," he stated. My pencil froze and I glanced up to see Tony grinning in pure amusement.

"I'm only joking. The theme, Steve, would be dark tones. Not necessarily black tie but shades of gray, black, maybe even white," he stated.

"No white. If you served red wine or colorful cocktails, there would be obvious stains should you spill anything on yourself. Shades of gray? Like the movies? Isn't that a little inappropriate?" I told him, my hand itching to get back to my drawing. Snorts of laughter went around the room as my friends glanced at each other.

"No, not the movies. The benefit is supposed to be formal. I didn't want it to be black tie again," Tony answered.

"Oh, alright. What is this for? Remind me,"

"Saving the world from total destruction and as it turns out paranormal beings. We're giving back to the community as well," Tony explained.

"Of course with a huge donation on your end," Natasha commented.

"We work hard and Stark Industries is doing pretty well in the technology department,"

"Maybe Strange is right. I don't see how that ego fits in..."

I barely registered Nat's entire quip at Tony, resuming my drawing as they bickered back and forth.

"You know Nat and Wanda could be having sex on the table right in front of us and you wouldn't notice. What's got you all distracted?" Bucky asked me, getting my attention by waving a hand in front of my face.

"Nothing. I hate these kind of debriefings. They're important but I find them dull and boring. At least the ones with missions have more excitement," I responded, flipping the pencil to use the eraser, correcting a mistake I made with the dog's body.

"Nothing? Seems like it's something since you've become super quiet. You must be really bored if you're drawing. What is it this time? More monkeys?" Bucky stated. He leaned over to see and I immediately moved another sheet over it to block his view.

"No. It's not finished. I'd rather not let anyone see it right now," I said, causing him to furrow his brows.

"What is it for anyway?"

"No one...I mean, it's not for anything. You know how I get when I'm bored. I doodle things instead of letting sleep take over. Especially in this meeting," I stated, a slight panic coming over me at revealing my pen pal. It's not like I didn't want to tell him but I didn't want anyone to poke fun at the idea. My friends wouldn't judge but I couldn't have them deter me from the exchange anyway. Plus, I wanted someone to talk to - write in this case - about anything I felt like. I wanted to have someone to interact with that wasn't involved in my world. Although I still had a recurring though of Keira already knowing who I am, though re-reading the letter it seemed like she didn't. If she did...maybe she hadn't revealed that fact yet, afraid to drive me away when she could have me to herself. Shaking my head, I tried to shove it away from my mind. Relax, Steve. Have some faith in this girl, I thought. Turning my attention to my best friend, I managed a small smile.

"Honestly it's a silly drawing. I wouldn't worry about it. I don't mean to be secretive about the beginnings of the sketch but I want to make sure it's perfect before I show anyone," I told him.

"That's understandable. That being said, are you sure nothing else is on your mind?"

"I'm sure, Buck. Thanks for your concern," I stated.

"That's a wrap everyone. On your way out of the room, grab a packet so you can review details of the benefit later this week," Tony informed us.

"This week? I thought it was next week," I commented, inwardly groaning.

"If you had been paying attention, you would have already known it's happening this week. Why the long face Cap? Afraid you can't get a date?" Tony mocked me. I frowned, standing up to approach the table where our packets lay.

"I'm not going with anyone. I forgot to purchase a suit to match the colors of this benefit. If you'll excuse me, I must go out and do so. Especially if I'm to be presentable for your taste," I remarked, almost hissing the last part. Tony and I had a different relationship, agreeing on some things, disagreeing on most. Today happened to be a day where the littlest of things could set me off. I could admit stress definitely was a factor, the only thing calming my mood being my pen pal and the eagerness of sending another letter growing in my heart. I picked up the packet, walking out in as much a calm manner as possible. I retreated to my room to place the packet on my desk before venturing out to a department store in order to pick up a suit for the benefit a few days later. After trying on a few suits and deciding on a charcoal gray suit with a tie that matched it, I chose to stop by a small jewelry store and purchased a birthday gift worthy for Keira. Unaware to me, Keira happened to be in the same area eating lunch; our paths wouldn't cross with each other on this day. I returned home to finish the small drawing of a dog playing with a ball of yarn and began constructing another letter for her.

Keira's POV

The golden retrievers and I returned from the walk tired and hungry; I also had sweat that accumulated on various parts of my body, deciding that I needed to take a final shower before meeting my friends. I set out bowls of dog food for Jamie and Sherlock before taking said shower, quickly going through the routine and drying off. I changed into a dark green, long sleeve blouse and black trousers remembering the restaurant we were going to was really nice. Not an overly expensive one you could see the elite dining in but one in which the prices were in a medium range. Pulling on a pair of heels that matched my blouse, I made sure my furry companions had water, giving them both a treat before heading out for lunch with my friends. Since the restaurant wasn't too far from my apartment, I decided to walk to it instead of taking a cab, the subway station out of the question being on the opposite side of where I needed to go. As usual, I ended up being 15 minutes early having to wait on the other three women to arrive. Thankfully, I always carried a book everywhere I went; the current read being about magic and wizards, the genre of fantasy drawing me into its fascinating world.

"Why is it whenever we meet up, you manage to have your nose in a book?" a voice interrupted my reading. The next to arrive was Charlotte Mathers with her red pixie cut, long legs, and green eyes. She enjoyed her job, which happened to be a general manager at a high end retail store. She got paid well, enough to live near Central Park in an amazing, huge, studio apartment, plus she had been born into a family that had a little more money than the average middle class. I smiled, trying not to be annoyed with her comment.

"Well Charlotte, I enjoy reading instead of having my face rooted to my phone," I answered her. Like she even heard me, her face locked onto her phone...this being a normal habit of hers.

"She never escapes from her fantastical world. How have you been Keira?" another voice stated. Oh good. Of course, Lena would be the next to get here, I thought. A woman with long blonde hair, a petite figure that mirrored mine and blue eyes was an accurate description of Lena Morrow. Lena had a job as a receptionist to a law firm. It was rare that she could out to lunch and we enjoyed her company whenever possible. She stayed busy exactly like Jana Elliot, who was the last to arrive. Jana was a nurse which is her schedule almost never matched Charlotte's and mine.

"I'm good Lena. I've got two dogs to watch this week which is pretty cool," I responded to the question, catching Jana's eyes as she walked in.

"Didn't you have one last week? What is it with you and babysitting dogs? It can't pay all that well," Jana greeted us.

"It pays pretty well actually. I keep getting requests from a lot of people who don't mind paying a lot. Plus, I charge 2000 for an entire week. Though for a few days it's only about 1500," I explained.

"Yeah, but you must not have enough to live anywhere nice," Lena commented.

"I live in Brooklyn. It's nice enough and save most of what I earn. Not to mention people give me tips after I watch their dogs. I even charge a little extra for training them if they need it. Sometimes I have the same dog or dogs for two weeks which gets me a lot of money," I stated.

"You're still earning money from doing book reviews right? What do they pay? 1300 per review?" Charlotte asked, looking up from her phone for the first time since she got here.

"Yes. It's more like 1500. Enough talk about my income. I'm hungry," I stated, feeling all the judgment from my friends. I loved them but there time I wondered why they bothered hanging out with me. Their comments seemed to get worse every time we met up, but I didn't want to seem like a hermit staying in my apartment, so I put up with it. They didn't bother me too much; occasionally someone would say something that rooted in me and stung a little but I never showed it until I got back to my apartment. We were seated and ordered spinach artichoke dip as an appetizer until we figured out what to have as a main course. Looking over the menu, I decided to go with a tuna poke, Lena, went with steak, Charlotte chose a salad and Jana went with a club sandwich.

"Did anyone see that advert in the bookstore downtown? An event for pen pals. Sounds ridiculous if you ask me," Charlotte said. My blood froze as Jana and Lena both nodded.

"Who would e-mail a complete stranger? What do they expect will happen? Someone falls in love with another person. Not likely," Lena replied.

"I heard it's supposed to be handwritten letters instead of e-mailing one another," I commented, nervously wringing my hands under the table.

"Oh good. Nothing like going back in time. I wonder if they had anyone sign up. Or maybe if they had any of the Avengers sign up," Lena continued, a scowl on her face.

"Maybe some might say it sounds kind of romantic. Having a connection with someone through letters of course. It doesn't have to be romance though. Some people could meet new friends," I stated. The three of them turned to glance at me; if I hadn't been judged before, then their expression certainly had judgment clearly etched out on their features.

"Did you sign up? You've always been a hopeless romantic. Sweetie, you should go out and meet someone real, not write to someone you can't even see," Jana suggested.

"No. I missed the deadline. As for meeting someone while I go out, it hasn't really worked for me," I snapped. Their eyebrows raised at the anger in my tone and decided to drop the subject. It was a quiet lunch, not much to say; I suppose my annoyance at them prevented anyone from speaking and for the first time I was happy to leave one of our outings.

Returning to my apartment, the retrievers greeted me by letting me scratch their heads, following me around while I prepared for our appointment at the dog pool. I changed into a black one piece, throwing on athletic shorts and a tank top with flip flops and leashed the dogs before exiting my home. This time, I loaded them in car and drove to midtown Manhattan, parking in the garage of the pool building, taking the elevator down to the pool. We would be the only ones there and I could eliminate the lunch from my mind as I swam around with Jamie and Sherlock. I had unleashed them and let them jump in while I pulled off my shorts and tank top, joining them immediately. We stayed there for two hours, swimming and playing, the tension I had melting away.

Packing up at the end of our session, I remembered to stop by the specialty shop that sold the Polaroid cameras for the purpose of keeping an old-fashioned theme to my letters. The shop in particular, accurately named Unique Peculiarities, allowed pets so I toted Jamie and Sherlock inside, browsing the various colors of the cameras, selecting a royal blue one and grabbing some film to prepare for my idea. I returned home and let the pups do their business before letting them loose in my apartment. I set to cleaning up and arranged my blankets in such a way to capture the coziness. I decided at the last minute to snap a picture of my bookshelves and added one of favorite books, Pride and Prejudice, for another picture. Once I got the pictures out the way, I sat down to construct another letter to Steve.

Four Days Later

Steve's POV

I spent most of the week preparing for the benefit and when it came, I still felt like something was missing, or rather someone. Maybe I was lonely and desired a companionship. Even now as I looked around at my friends, I wanted someone to hold, to kiss, to love. Most of my friends had someone; Natasha had Wanda - a surprise to all of us but we supported it - Tony had Pepper, Thor had Jane. The rest of us remained single but I couldn't help but to dream of having someone to care for. I didn't know if Keira would be the one for me. I hadn't even met the woman but still imagined what it'd be like with her.

"Can I get a beer please?" I asked the bartender, sitting down on the stools contemplating my decisions in life. I spent most days avenging the world and missed out on several opportunities to be fixed up on a date. Natasha had tried many times a few years ago but I rejected them all, set on working on missions. There was a brief relationship with Sharon Carter but it fell through pretty quickly and now I regretted not taking more chances with dating someone.

"Everything all right? You seem a bit down," Natasha's voice interrupted my thoughts as I sipped on my beer. I turned, managing a small grin.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just thinking about some things,"

"Relationships you mean. What? I know you too well. Besides, I've been watching you tonight. You look at the couples and there's a hint of sadness in your eyes. Why don't you ask someone out?" she commented.

"I don't know. Sure, I'd like to date but the people I'm around are caught up in this world, avenging it and I don't want someone in the same line of work. I'd like to come home to some who can take my mind off this job. Other people see me as Captain America, not Steve Rogers. It's hard most days, seeing happiness of those around me when I can't provide it for myself,"

"Who knows? Maybe it'll happen to you one day. Don't give up hope,"

"Thanks Natasha," I told her. As the night died down, I wandered outside to get a breath of fresh air, hands in my pockets, the cool breeze of Autumn ruffling my hair. I reached the end of the drive and stopped by the mailbox. Mailbox. We haven't checked it in the last few days, I thought. Keira's name flashed across my mind as I opened the metal box and pulled out a stack of mail. I rifled through it on the way back to the compound. I was back inside the building when I saw it, the letter addressed to me. I set down the other mail on the coffee table and disappeared into my room, my fingers quickly opening the thick packaging of the envelope. I sat down on my bed, unfolding the letter, three Polaroid pictures facing me. One featured a bed with a multitude of colorful knitted blankets, the thickness of the material making me want to bury my body among them. The second picture had a view of three large bookshelves filled to the brim with all sorts of books ranging from fiction to nonfiction to young adult books. At the bottom of the Polaroid she had written - in Sharpie - 'Can you tell I'm a book collector?' followed by a winking face next to the question. A smile crept onto my lips as I picked up the final picture featuring Pride and Prejudice. The the end she had written 'My all time favorite.' Putting the pictures to the side, I began reading, kicking off my shoes and lying back on the sheets.

Steve,

As promised, I've sent you a picture of my cozy blankets. Don't they make you want to climb under them? They're ones for fall but there are more that I'm creating for winter. Definitely needing to stay warm, especially in this city. As a bonus, I've sent you a picture of bookshelves and one of my all time favorite book. I know, these are Polaroids but I thought it'd be kind of interesting to keep an nostalgic theme going here.

Pride and Prejudice is one story I've falling in love with ever since the eighth grade. I love the dynamic between Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy and the love that happened to always be there. I read it every Christmas curled up in bed or on the couch, a cup of hot chocolate, or tea, in my hand. The blankets surrounding me of course. You'd think after a few years of living here, I'd be used to the cold, but I'm still a southern girl at heart and desire warmth.

In my last letter, I realized I forgot to tell you I'm originally from North Carolina. Greensboro to be exact. When I used to live there, we had crazy weather too, one day it'd be hot as blazes, the next cool and comfortable. During the winter, we'd freeze, not used to it. My parents still live there of course, but we don't get to visit each other much. I miss them and I'll be visiting the some time next month and for Christmas, so if you get a letter from North Carolina, that'll be why.

Currently, I'm watching two golden retrievers named Jamie and Sherlock. We went swimming earlier and as I'm write this, my hair is still a tangled, wet mess. I hope wherever you are, you're having a good day. I was until I met up with a couple friends of mine. I think I've mentioned I'm a total romantic. If not, then now you know.

Well that makes two of us, I thought. She already had me wanting to cozy up in that bed as well since I already viewed the picture. The only difference being I wanted to be under there with her. It's only the second letter. Am I starting to crush on her already? Another thought popped up in my head as I continued reading.

Anyway, they saw the advertisement for this event and seemed to think it ridiculous. I rather think this is unique, a great opportunity to connect. Maybe all this could be is a friendship but maybe somewhere out there it could give someone to love. Is it silly? Maybe not ideal? Perhaps, but you never know. Things could miraculously happen.

No, it's not silly. I love the way your mind works, I thought. I sat up to remove my jacket and tie picking up the letter again, settling back on the pillows.

If that wasn't bad enough, they sought out to judge me on my job. They don't think it pays well but you'd be surprised at the amount of people who request me to watch their dogs. Sometimes they also pay to have me train them. Not to mention a side job (which I forgot to mention last time) as a book reviewer. Apparently in this city, it pays well and it's a lot of fun.

The only things that calmed me today was the pool time with the pups and knowing I could come back write to you. I wish that we have met already; I desperately need a hug at the moment. For the time being, I'll just hold the goldens close and pet them. Maybe next week will be better. It'll be my birthday after all. Nothing can go wrong on your birthday.

Sorry for the complaining but I needed to get it off my chest and my mind. Writing and talking is the best way I know how to do just that and since I can't talk to anyone about this, writing to you seems to be my only option. It's the best option, trust me.

Looking forward to your letter,

Keira

I ran my fingers over her name, a longing in my heart starting to grow. I would've wrapped her in a hug so warm she'd never feel sad again. I sighed, getting up and placing the letter and the Polaroids in a box I set aside for this very purpose. I stripped out the rest of the suit, except for my boxers and turned off the lights in my room. I slipped into the warmth of my bed and fell into dreams of one day meeting Keira.

Keira's POV

My week with Jamie and Sherlock wasn't over yet. I spent more time sitting on the couch reading, taking them out on walks or just to their business when they needed it. We went swimming two more days and I collected the mail, letting it pile up, not checking it because I got busy training the pups a few times during the week. Today my phone rang while I sat on the couch, Sherlock in my lap, Jamie on the other end sleeping.

"Hello?" I answered, not checking the ID.

"Keira, it's Andrea. We need to stay another three days in Europe. We've been requested to head to London to check on the shop there. Are you okay to watch Jamie and Sherlock for a little longer?" Mrs. Peterson greeted me.

"Yeah, no problem. I don't have any other dogs coming until next Saturday," I told her her pushing my stack of mail over to get to my calendar. I marked down Jamie and Sherlock until the Wednesday coming up. The pile tipped over, spilling to the floor and I sighed, bending down to pick up the envelopes that fell; my hands paused when I saw the new letter from Steve.

"Great. We'll pay you when we get back. is an extra 3000 okay with you?" she commented.

"Uh huh. Sounds good. Have a safe trip," I said, ending the call and standing up. I hastily threw the other envelopes I picked up back on the kitchen counter, returning to the couch. I ripped open the envelope pulling out a sheet of notebook paper, unfolding it and started reading.

Keira,

I just finished up picking out a suit for a benefit I have to attend later this week. I forgot all about it until one of my friends told me about it during a meeting today. This meeting was dull and boring, not exciting like others. In the other letter you sent, you wanted to know a favorite memory of mine. I don't have many but I always remember the one when my best friend made me ride on a roller coaster at Coney Island which made me throw up. Gross, I know, but it's the one that comes to mind first. That and the engagement of another friend of mine. He had never been happier than in that moment. Another thing about me is something we both have in common. Reading is a favorite thing I love to do. Other than drawing. Speaking of, I sent you a drawing this time. I mentioned I doodle when I'm bored. So, this took place during the meeting.

I stopped briefly to pull out the piece of paper that got stuck in the envelope. I unfolded it and smiled at the pictured of a realistic looking dog pawing around a ball of yarn. He was definitely talented, the details standing out and catching the eye. I looked back to the letter and continued to read.

It's not much but it made me think of you. Your job sounds interesting and I'm pleased you're following your passion. Now, things I like to do for fun besides reading and drawing are going out with my friends to a bar. We tend to have a good time. I like running and going to the movies, even though I'm behind on a lot of them. I love the smell of coffee in the morning and the smell of rain whenever I go out in it. The rain is almost tranquil and I feel I can escape among those tiny droplets. You should see my mood during a thunderstorm. I'm very calm throughout it. I love watching the lightning in the dark with the curtains drawn.

Oh, we'd definitely get along then, I thought, touching my free fingers to my lips.

The description of your blankets makes me want a creation of yours. No pressure though. We're still strangers after all. Your description of yourself, however, makes me want to see that lovely face. You're beautiful, though I haven't seen you yet. If we ever get to the point where we'd want to see each other in person, I know I'd have my breath taken away. That's only my opinion though. I hope this benefit goes well. I'm not going with anyone but sometimes I get this lonely feeling. I want someone to hold and to love but I haven't found the right person yet and the people I'm around are in my line of work. I;d love to come home to someone who doesn't deal with the same things I do. I would love someone who could pull me from it, to distract me from it, if only for a few hours.

I don't mean to sound sad but I feel as though I can tell you anything and not get judged for it or at least not pushed into anything. This a good way to open up indeed. To tell someone about things you wouldn't normally share with even your closest friends. I want to hear more from you. Your favorite movie? Your ideal date? Your ideal day? Maybe your favorite memory? Anything. Everything. I hope the drawing brought you joy today.

Write to you soon,

Steve

My smile spread wider at the words on the paper. A thought popped in my mind that very instant. The thought being that I might start to like him only not in a friendship way. Though the friendship was off to a good start, other feelings began to dance around in my heart. Try not to fall in love with him yet. It's too early for that, I thought to myself. I folded up the letter and the drawing, sliding them into the envelope carefully and set it aside, continuing my book well into the late night, Steve on my mind. I made a mental note to get a frame for the drawing as I got up from the couch, allowing both dogs to join me in my bedroom. I changed into pajamas and slid under the coziness of my sheets, drifting off into dreamland.

#avengers #captain america #steve rogers #steve rogers x oc #marvel #pen pals

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operatorsassociation · 3 years

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Life and Leadership Skills from the Art of War

Life and also Leadership Skills from the Art of WarExcerpts from background's most significant battle handbook as well as their modern-day applications. In spite of being alive over 2500 years earlier, Sun Tzu is among history's most identified armed forces planners, leaders, and philosophers. The manuscript that he authored, qualified the Art of War, is still as relevant to military strategy today as it was two centuries ago. It describes the laws and critical tactics of war, ranging from reconnaissance to guerilla and unique warfare. The manuscript has actually had an extensive impact on exactly how battle is dealt with as well as has actually been studied by generals, commanders, as well as military leaders for centuries. The Art of War is so ubiquitous amongst armed forces that it has even been added to the Marine Corps special forces training program. In this OA overview, we'll have a look at four excerpts from the Art of War as well as break down their value to contemporary civilian and also armed forces leadership. Lesson 1: Pick Your Battles " To win one hundred success in one hundred fights is not the pinnacle of ability. To suppress the adversary without dealing with is supreme excellence."

Visit right here In this quotation, Sun Tzu describes the relevance of looking for a swift as well as definitive victory. During Sun Tzu's era, military sieges and long, protracted projects prevailed in war. However he discovered that these prolonged armed forces campaigns would commonly do even more harm than good-- draining pipes resources and also destroying army spirits. In his projects, Sun Tzu would often avoid taking part in massive fights or sieges and also instead concentrate on assaulting tactical enemy positions like supply camps or compromising the adversary's diplomacy via propaganda. In a modern-day perspective, Sun Tzu's statement can be taken "selecting your fights." Don't hurry into dispute without thinking about the effects and making calculated decisions. Ask yourself, is there a more reliable means to accomplish my goals? Exists a much more productive method I can allot my teammates' strengths? Is it absolutely needed for me to take part in this problem, or can I still accomplish my objective if I prevent it? Lesson 2: Use Your Resources Wisely " In battle, use the regular force to engage as well as the remarkable to win." In several ways, Sun Tzu's trainings have pioneered and inspired much of the modern armed force's logistics and techniques. In a time when mass military fees and strength prevailed battle strategies, Sun Tzu instead focused on local attacks, specialized forces, and very early guerilla warfare. By doing this, he minimized his casualties while causing maximum damages to his adversaries. He would frequently focus on ruining adversary supply lines as well as spreading out propaganda over meeting militaries on the field of battle. While we may be far past the age of spears, arrows, and cavalry, many of Sun Tzu's war ideologies are still reflected in the modern armed force's special forces. In this passage, Sun Tzu makes a declaration against making use of strength. Instead, he urges armed forces to select as well as specialize their devices-- utilizing each for a various objective. Sun Tzu would certainly commonly utilize his routine foot soldiers to involve the opponent while "extraordinary pressures" (the Ancient Chinese equivalent of contemporary Special Forces) would certainly be utilized to win the battle with exact, damaging assaults. From a modern viewpoint, Sun Tzu's statement can be viewed as an advising to utilize your resources carefully. When assaulting a problem or attempting to get over a barrier, don't dedicate all of your push into one place. If working with a team, don't make every person perform the exact same task. Instead, learn more about everyone in your group and what makes them an "remarkable force." Then designate tasks that play into the person's specialty and take full advantage of everyone's efficacy. Lesson 3: Understand what Inspires Your People " In order to make the soldiers bold in getting rid of the enemy, they need to be stired to rage. In order to record even more resources from the enemy, they must have their incentives." Inspiring others as well as promoting development is one of the most crucial jobs of a leader. If you can't galvanize your individuals right into action, your group will certainly stop working to accomplish the purpose. When individuals rely on the purpose and also concept of their objective, they agree to run through gunfire to achieve it. Sun Tzu recognized the significance of inspiring his males and also leading armies not just with method yet also with emotion. A critical aspect of being able to inspire others is recognizing what drives them and also what emotions are required at any moment. In this quotation, Sun Tzu makes a point of revealing that males require various forms of motivation in different situations (Battle = Anger; Gathering = Greed). If you wish to become a much more efficient as well as inspiring leader, you should not only comprehend the circumstance that your team is facing but also what feelings as well as beliefs motivate your teammates. For more information visit:-Lesson 4: Understand Your Terrain " Know the enemy, know on your own; your triumph will never ever be threatened. Know the ground, know the weather condition; your success will after that be complete." If you have reviewed our other OA management overviews like How to Make Decisions Under Stress as well as How to Improve Your Strategic Thinking Skills,, you are currently aware of the suggestion of comprehending your terrain. In a critical management sense, your "running terrain" does not constantly refer to physical land attributes. It can include any kind of outside impact that affects your capacity to accomplish a goal (partnerships, national politics, business rivals, etc.). In his passage, Sun Tzu explains the significance of recognizing yourself, your enemy, and also your environment. If you can successfully analyze all of the internal and also exterior aspects that influence your success, you effectively have a "cheat sheet" that you can use to make informed strategies and choices. You can read all of the globe's manuscripts, however the very best way to discover exactly how to be a leader is to border yourself with leaders. That's where we can be found in. When you sign up with as an OA Aspiring Operator, you get instantaneous accessibility to special podcasts, live streams, responsibility groups, as well as a 900+ member neighborhood that will certainly press you to enhance. Get going today by seeing our membership bundles web page! Learn more

#special forces training program s

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thesteveyates · 4 years

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Once more dear friends……onto the workshop bench.

Also : my new facebook group page : https://www.facebook.com/groups/524455598277075/

I was going to follow that one up with a line or two from Macbeth ; “is this a dagger (board) which i see before me” and use that as an introduction to the next stage of my rudder repair….oh come on people it could be a daggerboard !.

However, before i can get the rudder cheek assembly on the bench to work out what the new problem is iv’e first got to sort the bench out, before that iv’e really got to move the alien queen and yes, before that iv’e got to clear all the crap off the bench, and the floor just to give myself space to work. Honestly, in the workshop nobody can hear the screams (that’s from Alien by the way )

Right then, lets try and make some sense around here.

It’s that time of year when i really need the workshop because iv’e got several boat jobs and projects to get on with : i really do need to get the rudder on the bench, it’s already off the boat and i think i can see what the problem is, aside from that iv’e got the new sprit-boom to make and modify the old mizzen-sprit, the engine box to build and then the new icebox cum fridge to design and build. Unfortunately i really do have to move the alien queen (pillar drill) first and she is a heavy old thing and i might have to modify the entire bench to really make it work.

Moving the alien then.

I really like my pillar drill but i made a bad decision when i fitted it on the second bench, which is the one at the low side of the lean-to workshop. Even after lowering half the bench that side and reinforcing it for that much weight i just can’t get really long work pieces , the sprit-booms for example, under the chuck. Each of the sprit-booms needs several holes boring through them as square as possible and i can’t do it with the one tool that is best for the job so this month i decided to bite the bullet and move her to the central bench to see if that will work.

I had to lower the side bench top about 100mm just to be able to mount the drill there and when i checked there was about the same amount of top clearance on the standard height central bench so it would just go. It would mean that the whole drill is mounted higher and would still be a bit difficult to access the gearbox, that is without modifying the main bench as well. At this stage iv’e got a feeling that i am going to have to alter the whole of the main bench as part of the job as i think that it needs to be wider and lower….the problem being that we’ve done all the wiring to that height and all of that would have to be altered as well…..not a big job for Sparky-Mark but it would put everything out of action for a while.

I did think about doing a more complex job than i have done ; basically in that i considered having a cut out at the far end of the main bench and building a new, lower section for the drill. When i looked at the job it would have been just about possible, although messy and would have entailed a lot of fiddly cutting and fitting so on the day i just went with the simplest solution i could, even that was a bit of a pain because i had to partially dismantle the drill before moving the very heavy bits and then put it together on the main bench as below. At end of day, day 1, the drill is back in use : the height is a bit too much although not extreme, i can just about access the gearbox and i think iv’e left just about enough space/clearance off the end….time will tell eh ?

My main job though is to clear the low side of the workshop (workshop left) and completely rebuild that side as dedicated storage and then i can dismantle the old, end wall storage rack and give myself the maximum length and width space that the floor can give me….just about big enough for a small boat project. As is my usual way i did too much thinking about what should be a simple job (make some storage shelves) and then hit the internet to see how someone who really knows what they are about would do the job. I just happened to be surfing my Youtube feed after finishing the Christmas cleaning and watched the very excellent Laura Kampf’s end of year video during which i got very excited by her heavy duty storage rack project, link below. I got so excited by that job that i rushed out, measured up, designed my own one and even made up a materials list which i would have taken into the builders merchant today….except.

Then i thought to check the floor because what Laura’s design seems to rely on is a level floor and then very accurate cutting of the components as it’s a partially cantilevered system : what i found of course is that the workshop floor is about as level as everything else around here ie not a bit !. I could spend a lot of time making custom bottom sections and boring lots of big holes through the block work or i could just build some shelves…..

Laura Kampf video.

youtube

I really like what Laura Kampf does but her rack design just wasn’t going to work without a lot of headache and at least one new expensive tool (radial chop/mitre saw) so i just took the simple approach of attaching rails all the way around the ‘U’ of the left side of the workshop.

My 2 bench set-up never really worked and all that happened is that the second bench, under the window, always just got covered in stuff that should be on a shelf : well there’s a shelf there now !. Instead i decided to concentrate on getting the maximum function out of the one central bench by making it as long and wide as i could and mounting the pillar drill in a dropped section just to the right of centre of the main bench deck.

The last part was a bit of a sod : if anyone has had to handle a 1″ sheet of plywood on their own in a confined space they’ll know how heavy and awkward the material is. On a dry day i would have borrowed my partner and we would have heaved the sheet outside to work with it on the outside bench (ex garden bench), however it wasn’t just raining but chucking it down here so i had to do it all inside ; luckily the workshop is just about at the stage where nearly everything is off the floor so i just about had the space to lay the 1” plywood sheet onto some sheets and get marking out.

The very last stage was heavy and tricky as i had to get the new bench top up and over the pillar of the drill, whose base had to be already bolted in place, and i had to get the cut-out for the shed roof support post in the right place as well. Finally with the new bench deck on and ‘looking good Houston’ i decided to completely go for it, finish the job etc etc, by heaving the drill’s motor-head back up and onto the pillar.

I thought about it, it’s a heavy lift, got the head up onto the bench, got myself into position, did a very big heave and just got the head up onto the pillar, carefully balanced it and dropped it down over the pillar……..great, done, i thought……and then looked around and realised that i hadn’t put the drill table over the pillar first and it took me 5 tries to get the motor-head off again.

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O.M.D.F. Once more dear friends......onto the workshop bench. Also : my new facebook group page :

#bench #Laura Kampf #Rolling tool storage #workshop #workshop storage

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ilyasvieltrevelyanshepard · 7 years

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Cullen Appreciation Week - Day 2

Second day, and here I am, enjoying myself XD yay for me hahaha

Day two: With the Herald! For your lives! - Commander CullenRedemption, romance, recovery- anything Cullen gets up to while with the Inquisition.

Is a fic of friendship between Cullen and Dorian, you have been warned :P Hope you like it!

I will nurse you

The trembling of his hands is getting worse, and Dorian finally can’t ignore it. They were sitting on the gazebo, playing their weekly game of chess, but Cullen is not even trying to win. Dorian stops his hand mid air when he raises it to move a paw, startling him. “Commander-- no, Cullen. What in the Void is happening to you?” The tremors on his hands are worse now that he can feel them instead of just seeing them, and his skin is on fire. The Commander tries to take off his hand, but Dorian didn’t buy it, fixing it against the table beside the chess board. Rising slowly from his chair, the ‘Vint move beside Cullen, hand still pinning his while the other moves to touch the Commander’s forehead. “Maker, you have a fever, Cullen!”

“I'm all right, Dorian.”

“Bullshit. I remained silent for so long waiting for you to come to me, but I’m tired of waiting. Now move your sorry ass to your tower and put yourself into bed. I’m going to ask Cassandra to take on your duties for the day.” Cullen is about to explode, but Dorian didn’t step back, just crosses his arm and looks intently into his eyes. “Don’t make me call Lavellan for this, Cullen. You know that she will be even worse than me. Fasta vass! Move, now!”

Cullen feels too tired and weak to fight him back. Instead, he drags the chair back, standing slowly and walking to his office at an unsteady pace. Dorian remains in the garden, storing the chess pieces on the box before following him.

The Altus leaves the garden, doing a quick visit to his room, where he picks the bag with his potions and a bottle of Antivan brandy. He still carries the chessboard, and his hands are full of items for when he leaves his room. The main hall is as crowded as ever, with the swarm of nobles roaming the big room, waiting for a moment to kidnap the Inquisitor’s attention. Varric is on his corner and gives Dorian a nod when the ‘Vint passes beside him. The sun is almost at its zenith when he leaves the main hall, going down the stairs.

Cassandra is on her spot near the forge, reading a book under the shade of a tree. “Seeker, may I have a word with you?”

She looks at him with a quizzical look. They are not enemies anymore, months of fighting side by side had helped to lose a bit their relationship, but Dorian didn’t seek her directly, ever. “Of course, Dorian.”

He stops in front of her, not bothering on sitting or putting down the items in his hands. “Cullen is sick. I’m tired of seeing him dragging his feet across Skyhold, putting a hard face and trying to look healthier. I will force him to be in bed for the rest of the day. Maker, he even let me win today, two times!” He shakes his head, but the lopsided grin on Cassandra’s face makes him stop his mumbling. “Anyway, can you take care of any urgent matter that comes today? I can tie him to the bed if necessary, but I’m sure that knowing that you will be doing his job will help to ease his mind.”

Closing the book, she stands, leaning against the tree. “Consider it done, Dorian. I will send orders to divert all the runners to me until you say otherwise. Take care of him. He can be a bit stubborn, as you already know.” He nods, stepping back to let her some space to move. “I’ll order that someone bring food for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Dorian gives her a half bow, “Thanks, Seeker. If I don’t survive, tell Lavellan that I love her.”

Cassandra tries to hide the smile on her face behind her book, before waving to him and walk to the barracks to talk to the Captains of the guard.

Dorian takes a deep breath and walks to the stairs that lead to the Commander’s tower, climbing them at a steady pace. The crystal bottles of his potions clink on the bag on his shoulder with every step. The door is locked when he tries to open it, and he has to give the other man some credit, trying to keep him away with this trick. But he is a mage, an excellent one, and a simple door can’t keep him away from where he wants to be. With an annoyed frown on his face, he stores the bottle under his arm, raising a hand and twitching his fingers while calling the powers of the Fade, letting the energy of it open the latch for him. The click from it makes a lopsided grin show on his face before pushing the door open and locking it again behind him. The office is empty, but the Commander’s armour lays scattered around the room, tracing the path he followed to reach the ladder. Putting the items he carries on the desk, Dorian proceeds to pick up the armour pieces, storing them on the desk’s chair. Recovering the bag of potions and the bottle of brandy, he moves to the ladder. “Cullen, I’m coming up, are you ready or not.” A grunt is his only answer, and he fixes the bottle in the bag before climbing the ladder.

The Commander is lying on his bed, arm resting over his eyes. Now that he isn’t wearing the armour, Dorian can see sweat covering almost all the tunic. Moving closer to the bed, he put down the bag near the floor and the bottle on the nightstand. Taking a last look at the prone form on the bed, he moves to the corner where he sees a washbasin and a pitcher of water, filling the basin with it. Searching around, he finds a pair of towels and a clean tunic. Moving closer to the bed, he put the items on the nightstand before taking off his armour, the shirt he wears under it more comfortable than his leathers. “Well, Commander. As much as I can enjoy having you sweaty and tired under my hands, I will not take any pleasure from it today. We need to put you on a clean tunic and move the little party of whimpers under the sheets.”

“You are insufferable.”

Dorian chuckles while pulling off his hand. “Probably. But I’m your insufferable friend, so lend me a hand with this. Hands up, Commander.”

Cullen grunts at him, but raises his arms, helping him to slip off the sweaty tunic from his body. Dorian let it fall to the ground before kneeling on the bed, potion bag with him. “I brought some medicines with me. Nothing fancy, but they will help you to deal with the so called secret you don’t want to share with me, but I discovered anyway. Do you mind?”

The Commander blushes softly, giving him a curt nod before avoiding to look at him, while he pours some embrium concentrated on the water. The scent of the plant filled the room as soon as he soaks one of the towels on it, wringing the excess of water before using it to wash as much as possible of the sweat from the Commander’s body. His hands never stop working while he talks. “I knew it from months now, Cullen. I’m a mage, I can sense the lyrium on the other Templars, just like I sensed it in you while we were on Haven. The scent of it on you has been disappearing gradually, while your symptoms started to be more noticeable. I will have loved to have you telling me the truth, you know.” He dries his skin with the clean towel before forcing him to turn over his belly to wash his back. “I waited, and waited, and waited a bit more, but you never came to me to talk about it. And you know what? I may have helped you. I believe I still can do it, but I need to know that you want my help besides of nursing you while you are at your worst.”

Ending with the cleaning, he turns Cullen on his back again, helping him to put on the clean tunic before forcing him to lay under the sheets. Sitting back while Dorian returns the wash basin to its place, Cullen rests his back on the headboard, patting the side of the bed when Dorian returns. “No one can help me, Dorian. I brought this upon myself years ago. Even after seeing what the lyrium can do to your body, I can-- I just got enough. Enough of my lash, enough of their control over me, enough of fearing to leave the Order and end drooling myself in a corner of my home on Honnleath.”

Dorian takes his hand, feeling the tremors on it and using his own hands to stop it. “There is where you are wrong, my friend. You know that our Templars didn’t take lyrium, Maker forsake us for giving them a tool to stop the magisters.” He shrugs, like thinking on the stupidity of his countrymen. “Anyway, the mages can get addicted to the Lyrium too, is complicated yes, because we synthesised it better, but is not an unheard feast.” Cullen just twitches his fingers a bit, tilting his head to the side. “I asked Mae for the recipe of the drought they use to calm the withdrawal symptoms. Nothing magical involved, not even lyrium on the recipe, just a lot of expensive ingredients that I already gathered for you. So tell me, Cullen. Do you want to give it a try and let me help you to survive this crusade?”

Cullen leans his head on the headboard, closing his eyes. “I’ve been scared of falling again to it. I didn’t want to come back to it, but the Inquisition is so important, my work so crucial, that I can’t be at least at 100%. My biggest fear is not dying, is failing. Failing the Inquisitor, failing Cassandra, failing Leliana and the Ambassador. I committed my life to the Inquisition, Dorian, and I’m ready to pay whichever the price it asks.”

With a sigh, Dorian let his hand go, cupping his face between his hands and forcing him to face him. Waiting until he opens his eyes, he gives him one of his annoyed looks. “Yeah, yeah. I know it, every word of it. You swore for your life and honour to be better, to do more, to work until your fingers bleed. I’m not asking about that. I know it perfectly, Cullen. What I’m asking is, do you want my help to deal with it and give you the chance to be a better version of yourself than you already are?”

“Maker, yes. Yes, Dorian.”

With a giggle, Dorian let his hands fall, “My oh my, Commander. You don’t know how long I wanted to hear those words from you. But I always imagined it shorter breathed and laboured, but I will have to work with it.” With a wink, Dorian recovers the bag of potions, picking up a little vial with a green liquid. Cullen is blushing deeply but is ready to answer him, so Dorian decides to use the card of ‘info about the potion’ to distract him. “It is made of crystal grace, felandaris, vandal aria and royal elfroot. You had to take one each day during a week. Then we have to move to a lower dose until you didn’t need it, for mages it tends to be around a month, but maybe you will need to do it a bit longer. It will stop the fever, the trembling and calm your anxiety, helping you to sleep.” He moves the vial closer to him but moves it away as soon as Cullen tries to pick it up. “I have a condition to give it to you and produce the rest you will need. You have to promise me to take better care of yourself. Jumping meals and having only a few hours of sleep will only aggravate the symptoms. If you can't promise me this, I will come here to keep you company until I nurse you into a healthy Commander, and you know how annoying I can be.” Cullen nods to him, face still blushed because of his words.

Just then, a knock at the door signals the arrival of their meal. Dorian stands from the bed, giving the vial to Cullen before moving near the ladder. “I’m coming!” Turning to face Cullen, he crosses his arms while the man keeps the flask on his hand. “Drink it, Commander. Our meal awaits downstairs, but I will stay here until you do it.” Rolling his eyes, Cullen opens the vial and drinks its contents in a long gulp, face grimacing at the aftertaste. “Good boy. Take a sip of the brandy while I pick up the meal.”

Picking up the bottle from the nightstand, Cullen takes a long gulp, washing away the bitter taste of the potion. He still had the vial on his hands when Dorian’s head appears on the hole. A tray filled to the rim of pots shows next, the clattering sound of it making Cullen ask himself how the mage has done it to climb the ladder with it on his hands. Picking up the tray from the floor, Dorian returns to the bed, pushing away Cullen’s leg to let himself fall on it. “You need to ask for a room in the Keep. I refuse to risk my neck every day to bring your food up there.”

Cullen is feeling the pressure that lived with him for the past months lifting from his head, the numbness of the potion doing its magic is a welcomed one. “You don’t have to bring me food, Dorian. I can take care of myself.”

“Sure! You have been doing very well since I meet you!” Cullen can swear that he can feel the sarcasm washing over him. “No way I’m going to leave you again under your poor care. You will ask Lavellan for a room inside, or I will do, and I will mortar the access to your tower.” Cullen is crossing his arms, retort ready on the tip of his tongue. “Don’t make me send a letter to Mia, Cullen.” That silences the Commander definitively, and Dorian can’t hide the grin on his face. “I will nurse you to health even if you hate me after that. I won’t let my only friend here go to waste for being the most stubborn man I ever knew.” He pushes the tray in his direction, lowering his gaze to look at the food. “Let’s see what Cassandra had sent for us.”

Picking up a piece of bread, Cullen waits until Dorian moves his hand closer to the food to grab it and squeeze it. “Thank you, Dorian. It will be my pleasure to let you nurse me.”

“My oh my, Cullen. I will remember you this words as soon as you are feeling well enough. But yes, it will be your pleasure, my friend.”

#fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #Cullen Rutherford #dorian pavus #BFF #friendship #Day 2

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