#and his master was way harsher than he was prepared to handle

[canisalbus]

I find little Machete being happy over bread baking to be so endearing, especially because I can imagine a world in which helping with baking was one of the few childhood joys he had (due to the lack of art of him happy as a pup), and then remembering the art you did months back of modern Machete making a souffle, I can see reincarnated Machete being drawn towards baking in his free time due to those residual feelings from his past life.

.

#aww dang #it's funny you remembered the souffle and made that connection #I didn't even think of that but it's very fitting #to be fair the part of his childhood he spent as an oblate in the monastery was relatively worry-free and uneventful #small children are good at making their own fun it often doesn't take much to make them happy #Machete was nervous and sensitive as a kid that's just part of his innate personality but that doesn't mean he was miserable all the time #things started to get difficult when he was old enough to start his apprenticeship #and his master was way harsher than he was prepared to handle #answered #lunalemures #his life would've been less turbulent if he had chosen to stay in the monastery and become a monk instead of pursuing a clerical career #baking bread or tending the library #with bland regular meals twice a day and bedtime at 6 pm #but he would've never met Vasco of course

[animeyanderelover]

How would some of the Black Butler characters react to their darling having successfully escaped? (Not a request)

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, paranoia, manipulation, blackmailing, mentions of kidnapping

Darling escaped

Sebastian Michaelis

🐈‍⬛A part of him is genuinely surprised, he dares to even say impressed, that you actually managed to escape him. Sebastian is highly confident in his abilities to keep his darling safe and with him, he’s a demon after all and naturally labels humans as weaker. You having managed to flee is unexpected and he finds himself impressed, he might even be a little bit amused by your rather adorable attempt to escape his grip. Sebastian isn’t completely opposed to a small chase, he gets some thrill out of it which doesn’t mean that he’ll slack off. There are worries that you might end up in a tricky scenario or even hurt yourself since you already know what you have chasing after you and that wasting time will be fatal. Part of him is even already chiding you mentally for not being obedient and going through all those troubles.

🐈‍⬛He has his contract with Ciel which might prove troublesome, Sebastian most definitely finds a way to handle that if he shouldn’t be able to detect you within the time he has the moment he doesn’t find you home. Being separated from his mate whom he has claimed as his is the closest thing to nerve-wrecking he can get. You’ve left traces though in your desperation to escape, even if you tried to conceal yourself, your scent and any plans of where you want to go now. He collects all of them, deduces and heads soon after out. He most likely won’t let you get away very far since he works and hunts down smoothly and his darling should prepare for a punishment where he will let his sadistic side shine slightly through. His wrath is fairly slow though, he’s more displeased that you still don’t accept your position as his darling mate.

Claude Faustus

🕷The amusement of one demon is the utter annoyance of another one. That’s basically Claude, he’s not amused at all and just frustrated and annoyed that even after all the lectures and punishments, you still don’t understand. He likes a small challenge when it comes to courting since he has his charms but he hates his darling being difficult in the relationship he tries to establish. Blame it on his childish and exhausting little master that is so incredibly time-consuming, the spider demon blames Alois for all of this. The blonde constantly demands his attention and wants his approval and time so he keeps the demon fairly often longer there than Claude wants. He can’t let Alois know about you either since differently from Ciel who doesn’t mind as long as Sebastian does his job, Alois will care and try to interfere.

🕷There is no doubt that Claude would be ready to simply ditch his master to track you down in which case he’ll leave it to Hannah and endure the tantrum afterwards. He doesn’t believe that he needs it though since even if annoyed with you, he’s still a demon with a fair amount of experience on his shoulders. He isn’t rash either, he takes his time to collect clues and traces you left to narrow options down before he instantly goes after you. Claude has a fair confidence that he will have you before he has to go back to Alois and he will be most likely able to fulfill that expectation of his. His punishment is harsher than Sebastian’s simply because he didn’t enjoy that little game of cat and mouse at all and warning, he’s sadistic as well.

Hannah Annafellows

🟣Hannah’s first thought is going to be that she’s disappointed and sad. Disappointed that you still are unable to accept her, her love and that she has to punish you for your escape attempt and sad because you choose to fight her so vehemently. She won’t wallow on her emotions too long though, the lady will act swiftly soon after. Her darling luckily left all sorts of small clues which she can pick up easily with her enhanced senses, your enchanting smell is only one of them. The fact that Alois is not so fixated on her is an advantage since it means that she can dedicate her time into searching for you. She wouldn’t forget about Alois and leave him hanging for too long though nor does she believe you to be able to run for away from her for too long.

🟣Tells the triplets to take over her duties whilst she is gone and in the next moment she is already going out to hunt you down. Hannah is very controlled with the way she expresses her feelings so she remains stoic during the entire ordeal, she’s in reality worried about her darling mate though. Humans are so fragile and something might happen to you and she wouldn’t be able to protect you then. Despite her possessing a soft spot for her s/o, she won’t let them off the hook even if they beg for it. She’s unforgiving and will carry out a punishment fitting for your escape attempt. Lessons have to be learned after all and having a sadistic side herself, she takes some enjoyment to push you into despair to have you searching comfort in her.

Timber, Thompson & Canterbury

🤫Those three are just sort of confused at first and unable to wrap their heads around the fact why you escaped them. All three of them are sort of naive and delusional in the sense that you are theirs and they’re yours by a natural decision of nature and fate. Why resist and fight that when they were meant to have you, to protect you, take care of you and love you? Isn’t it just the easiest to accept them and their affection? Their stunned reaction had them not doing anything for a bit before they jump right into action after the confusing feeling of betrayal has settled in. They’re not quite as efficient as their other demon fellows are when it comes to collecting hints, they have the advantage in numbers at the end still so they count more on that. That and they’re desperate to have you back in their arms, even if they won’t show it on their faces, keeping the usual blank look.

🤫It’s difficult to escape three demons at once since they can just split up and corner you from more sides at once. Those three are in comparison to the other demons more messy in general, they leave a little bit damage here and there during their run, not like they care at all about collateral damage. They just care about you and even if they make mistakes, they’re still demons and three on top of that so they have you sooner than later back again just as desired. You can’t necessarily label them as sadists since they don’t take pleasure in hurting s/o, they just see it as a way to have you trust and depend on them more which is all they want. So their punishment will most likely be something from which they hope you’ll learn to accept and love them.

Grell Sutcliff

🟥Grell tears the whole house apart at first since she desperately hopes that you’re just playing a trick on her and will pop up magically from somewhere. She knows she’s just trying to kid herself though and when she finally concludes that you have indeed used her work as a way to escape, she’s heartbroken and saddened. She does know to an extent that kidnapping you is wrong, is yet firm to believe that you’ll come to eventually learn to love her as well. Everything she does, she does out of love after all. She’s panicking a bit at first since she can’t help but fear that someone will attack you, she’s ready to quickly collect herself and go after you though. She might be willing to search for clues left from you or not, the Grim Reaper is in a rush and most likely doesn’t have much patience in the end.

🟥That doesn’t mean that she goes in blindly, don’t forget that Grell used to stalk her darling quite a bit before she snatched them away for herself. So she knows of certain places they might try to find help or people they will run to if they are in a crisis. She checks those places out, hoping to find you in every single place. Grell can’t just get rid of people who’s time hasn’t come yet differently from demons who can do what they want and don’t have a superior watching your every move so if her s/o should be under humans, she’ll have to proceed more carefully. Grell is a determined and strong-headed person so she will get you back one way or another. Isn’t much into punishing you so she goes really mildly at you.

Undertaker

⚰️Undertaker is taken by surprise as well since he didn’t expect that he’d ever be so careless as to actually let you get away from him. He’s more of a jokester very often but his possessiveness and overprotective side is from serious nature so once he has you, he won’t let you leave anymore. Had mixed reactions about this all. On the one hand you can cover him impressed that you were sneaky enough as to actually get away from him, a small part of him might see this as quite entertaining. You’ve always been full of surprises though. The other half of him doesn’t react well to this all since Undertaker is protective and the aspect of you escaping despite knowing that he’ll go after you and that he will punish you if you do so has him left disappointed to top it all.

⚰️Undertaker is very patient which comes to his advantage. He doesn’t fall into instant panic, searches for possible leads you left behind and tries to pinpoint your next move and how you plan to move from now on. If he’s lucky you’ll run back to those you care about to let them know that you aren’t dead because he kidnapped you one day just like that. That would make things quite easy and he doesn’t know if he should feel happy or be a tad bit disappointed since he somehow wants a tiny chase as well. In either case, Undertaker will have you found soon after and bring you back to him. Punishments are for him a method to teach you how to behave and live under his rules and he’ll punish you until he believes that he’s managed to bring his lesson over.

Pluto

🐺Pluto is completely unable to comprehend why you’d leave him simply because he’s more animal than he is human. He can just concentrate on the fact that you left him, your scent is gone and with that his cherished mate is gone as well. Let’s out a heart-crushing yawp the moment he comes home, crying in animalistic whimpers and cries for you to come back to him. He’s far too attached and Pluto starts suffering from separation anxiety instantly so he goes after you just as fast after his cries were left unanswered. Admittedly, his ability to think and come up with plans is limited since he acts and behaves like a dog but his senses safe him. Specifically his sense to smell helps him tracking you down. Your scent is committed into his memories until the end of times and so he can detect even the faintest brush of your aroma and so his nose leads him to wherever you are.

🐺Since Pluto doesn’t even understand truly that he has to keep himself hidden, it might as well happen that people see him in his Hound form or naked human running after you. He can’t really pay attention to any of this since the only thing in his mind is you, you and you and you’ll notice that he’s behind you long before you see him because he calls in pleading and whimpering yawps out to you as if hoping you’ll come back to him like this. Eventually outruns you and carries you back in his wolf form. Pluto doesn’t understand the concept of punishments nor does he fully get that you ran away because you didn’t want to be with him so he just dedicates himself to clinging more to your hip and never letting you leave his view.

Ash Landers

▫️Ash just has a complete meltdown once he discovers that his precious little darling has decided to run away. Ash is insanely paranoid and terrified of the thought that s/o is running around somewhere outside where all sort of people are, evil and impure people who could lay their dirty hands on their precious skin. Next to that his own insecurities mix in that you wouldn’t have been able to run away if he would have been with you and that you wouldn’t have run away if you would have felt safe in the first place. He just goes down on his knees, clutching his chest tightly as he starts to hyperventilate for a short moment. He’s failed in his duty as your guardian angel yet knows that he can’t effort to ruin it even more and for that forces himself to calm down enough to start searching for you.

▫️Being the one to control the Queen of England, he could easily use her influence to hunt you down. The thing with Ash is that he wants to get you back on his own account since he believes that if he isn’t even able to do that, he doesn’t have the right to call himself a guardian angel at all, yours especially. He just completely discards the Queen since she is a mere tool for his goals to achieve, you on the other hand have become his purpose and his life by now so you take priority over everything else. He’s diligent and even if extremely terrified, quite smart if he pulls himself together so he is most likely able to get you back quick as well. Ash could never punish his darling, instead he just cries out of relief and self-blame once he brings you back and apologizes for his inability to properly protect you.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere sebastian #yandere sebastian michaelis #yandere claude #yandere claude faustus #yandere hannah #yandere hannah annafellows #yandere triplets #yandere timber #yandere thompson #yandere canterbury #yandere grell #yandere grell sutcliff #yandere undertaker #yandere pluto #yandere ash #yandere ash landers

[glowingbadger]

I've been having major thoughts of Dimitri and Seteth dealing with a brat. Like they're laid back, do what they want, tease, and break rules sometimes on PURPOSE to bother them. Nsfw or sfw or both just anything from you is fine bc it's always chefs kiss

Well now, those are two VERY different ways of taming a brat I'd say :3 ((also thank you ^^))

cw: sub-dom dynamics, brat taming, some degradation

Dimitri, Seteth x Brat!Reader (GN)

NSFW 18+

Dimitri:

- Dimitri doesn't instinctively lean into power play, and if you begin to introduce him to it, he does enjoy it, but primarily as a softer Dom. As a result, getting bratty and teasing him for a while is just about the only way to see the harsher side of what he could be capable of in bed. In a way, that can be quite enticing in its own right; what self-respecting brat doesn't just adore pushing their lover until their restraint cracks and they show what they can really do?

- He can tolerate and even laugh off a good amount of bratty behavior- you're his beloved after all, and your more feisty nature is refreshing, and part of what drew him to you to begin with. To a great extent, it could be assumed that he even enjoys indulging your more willful behavior. That said, Dimitri is also well aware of a certain measure of appearances that must be kept to maintain public opinion of him as King, so every now and then, an infraction of yours here and there may need to be punished. Sliding your hand up his thigh during a banquet with visiting nobles, or pulling him aside just before a meeting to whisper a few lewd words to deliberately rile him up will both result in a loving yet firm scolding later.

- For such every-day naughty behaviors, you're likely to be gently reprimanded, yet with the slightest hint that perhaps Dimitri enjoys your teasing a bit more than he lets on. Usually, he prefers to make love by easing into you, allowing you to adjust to his size gradually, and in a position where he can face you and enjoy your beautiful expressions and luxurious moans. When you've been pushing at him a bit, however, he'll turn you onto your stomach and snap his hips aggressively against you, stuffing you full of his cock and stretching you out around him. Though even as he steadily pounds into you, he nuzzles the back of your neck and murmurs, "Darling, you know that I can't withstand that sort of teasing..."

- In general, Dimitri is far more likely to coax you into behaving with promises of time together that night. He catches you rolling your eyes when he tells you he'll be meeting with a particularly irritating and arrogant member of the nobility that night, and he laughs, brushing your cheek, then kissing your forehead and saying, "I know his kind tend to test your patience, my love- but if you can be good for me and behave during our talks, I promise I will spoil you as much as you like this evening. Anything at all that you ask of me."

- It takes a lot to really break Dimitri's restraint- he wants so dearly to be kind and soft towards you. While he never wishes to strike you, even at your worst behaved (need I remind us, the man is fully capable of breaking bones by accident and he would never forgive himself if he did anything eve close to that to you), he will instead use his near-inhuman strength to manhandle you on his bed into any position he wants to fuck you in for a full night of punishment. Dimitri has a good deal of stamina and takes a while to cum to begin with, so when you need to be well and truly put in your place, he'll fill you with his cock over and over until you're an over-fucked, incoherent mess beneath him.

- He's not very talkative when punishing you- in fact, the worse you've behaved, the more Dimitri relies on primal grunts and moans, rather than words. The most you're likely to hear from him is a low, rumbling, "I am not finished with you yet," as he lifts your leg against his body, spreading you for him as he fucks into you, with you merely laying limp on your side. That all said, once he's sated for the night, he'll carry your trembling body to a hot bath and massage away any lingering aches and pains. He dotes on you and praises you for taking your punishment so well, and after how hard and deep he fucked you and how sweet your darling lover always is to you, it's hard to not want to behave for him.

Seteth:

- We're basically on the opposite end of the Dom spectrum here; Seteth is ready and willing to punish you to the fullest extent for any number of misdemeanors. I've said before that he thrives in power play, and I stand by that (though I do see him as a switch over all). There's plenty that gets under his skin- risky behavior that could bring you to harm, flagrant disregard for Monastery rules or decorum, and of course, teasing him during work. While to others, he may just stiffen and clear his throat, you'll always catch the spark of warning in his eyes, telling you silently that you're toeing a dangerous line.

- Seteth is more than comfortable with experimenting with you until he discovers the full range of what you can handle (and not-so-secretly enjoy) in a punishment session. He'll learn exactly how hard he can spank you, how firmly you want his hand around your pretty neck, and how deep you can take his cock. His usual style of punishment is stern and uncompromising, but fair, and you may even catch him slipping into his "school disciplinarian" voice as he lectures you about your unacceptable behavior, spanking you across his lap while forcing you to keep count of each strike.

- One of his favorite ways to put you in your place- especially if you've been pestering him during his work day- is to force you to sit still with his cock nestled deep inside of you while he catches up on the paperwork your antics distracted him from earlier. He'll remind you that it's your own fault that he's too busy to spend time with you now, then slap your thigh or your ass if you dare to try moving even an inch. Then, if you're very, very good for him and stay perfectly still until he's done, he'll lift you and carry you to his bed.

- Boy can Seteth compose a lecture, even in the bedroom. When you've been especially bad, he'll tie your wrists behind your back and force you to your knees. Then, as he pushes his impressive length into your throat, he'll go on about how shameful your behavior has been, how you're "evidently no better than some common whore," and so on. If you're the type who likes verbal degradation, Seteth is almost unintentionally a master in the field. It may even get to the point that overhearing him reprimanding a student at the Monastery intensely arouses you, simply because of how your body naturally responds to that tone of voice.

- Okay hear me out. Calling Seteth 'sir' completely by accident while he pounds you against the bed for being especially badly behaved. And it just does something to him that he was not prepared for. He's gripping onto the headboard for leverage and slamming his full length into you so hard you lose your breath. Your eyes roll back, and he's scolding you, but you can hardly even make sense of his words anymore, so you just mumble out, "Ye- Yessir..!" and he groans, grabs your hips in both hands and says, "Again. Louder."

#seteth #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #seteth x reader #dimitri x reader #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #feh #fire emblem smut #fire emblem x reader #sub dom #bratty sub #fire emblem headcanons

[giorno-plays-piano]

Forgotten Promises

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x reader

Warnings: yandere, noncon, kidnapping, mentions of torture, Shigaraki being a creep.

Words: 1.2k

Summary: You were well aware one day he would catch you, a traitor who was ought to be his confidante but chose to abandon him instead.

________

"Long time no see."

You didn't shiver when you heard his voice, your arms and legs tied tightly to some kind of bedstead where you laid helpless like a sacrificial lamb on the altar. You knew this was going to happen one day even with all that crowd of heroes surrounding you to protect you from Shigaraki. Of course, they only bought you some time because those who betrayed the League lived very shortly. As for those who betrayed its psychopatic leader personally the way you did...

Oh, you were long prepared for what was coming for you.

"Hi, Tomura."

You didn't see his figure in the darkness of the room - or whatever this godforsaken place was - but you could clearly feel his presence somewhere close. Shigaraki must have waited for this moment for so long he was savoring every second of it now, watching you lay defenseless in front of him, unable to even move a finger, left completely at his mercy. You could imagine the expression on his face, the things he was going to tell you, pointing out how incredibly stupid it was of you to betray All For One and become one of the Heroes' squad instead.

The things he shouted when he saw you leaving in the middle of the battle were much harsher.

"You're a fucking whore!" Face distorted with hatred, he tried chasing you despite knowing you had already been out of his reach. "I'll break your every bone and skin you alive when I get to you!"

You kept seeing him in your nightmares for months after that, shivering from the thought what would happen if he really caught you. Too bad you weren't just one more member of the gang, some simple criminal Shigaraki would pay no mind - on the contrary, being the only one who could handle his deadly touch thanks to your Quirk, you were given to him by All For One personally. You were supposed to be some kind of confidante for him just like Kurogiri, but with time you realized your master wanted you to be Tomura's personal toy, a girl he would keep for his own comfort. Although neither of you confided in each other, you knew Shigaraki had been slowly developing feelings for you day by day for years as you served him like a companion, following him everywhere, playing in his games, figthing alongside him if you needed to - even if Tomura was twisted and corrupted, he still longed for intimacy despite all his hatred, and you were his only possible option.

It wasn't hard to imagine his reaction when he found out you were leaving the League of Villains, abandoning him.

You wondered how vengeful he was going to get after all these years, having so much time to plan your punishment, imagining how you were going to cry and plead him for forgiveness. Well, it was very likely you would, tortured to death by him, but it didn’t change the fact you did a lot to help the heroes, ruining so many plans of All For One you certainly had been his personal headache for years. Nothing would change it even if Tomura tormented you as much as he wanted.

As you finally saw him coming from behind, his figure blocking the light coming from a lonely bulb hanging from the ceiling, you flinched, grimacing as you saw Shigaraki's red eyes staring at you intently. The son of a bitch was smirking while he looked over you as if you were his trophy.

His light blue hair changed its color and grew longer than you remembered them; the skin around his eyes had twice more wrinkles, making Shigaraki look like a century-old teenager, and his neck was bruised just like when you were still a part of the League. While you thought he didn't look too different, Tomura matured. He was no longer a raw-boned video kid, and the change made you think you had no idea what he had become and how he was going to treat you. You were certain about a single thing - he was surely going to make you suffer.

"Do you like what you see?" You asked, annoyed he was staring at you for so long and saying nothing.

He let out a chuckle, leaning over until he brushed his nose against your cheek, making you shiver, "I do."

As he inhaled deeply, you realized he was sniffing you. What a creep, you thought as you clenched your teeth.

You hated this uncertainty, not knowing what he was planning to do, and soon it was impossible for you to stay silent, "What are you-"

But before you could finish, you felt his warm, slimy tongue licking a long stripe from your chin to your cheek, leaving your skin wet from his saliva. Quickly squeezing your eyes shut, you held your breath, hoping it was all a bad dream. What the fuck was he doing? Sure, he reached puberty a long time ago, but you thought he was going to do something more violent to you - in the end, you hurt his pride more than anyone else did.

"You're awfully quiet now," you could feel his smirk with your skin. "But, I guess, you'll be pleading me to stop a little later. Or rather not to stop?"

Cringing, you opened your eyes only to stare in the face of Shigaraki right above yours as he held your bound wrists, clenching them painfully, "I expected you'd be more creative with my punishment. Last time you promised to skin me alive."

"That would be boring and pretty useless," he rolled his eyes in irritation, his hand touching the fabric of your shirt only to decay it immediately. "Are you so desperate for your punishment? Maybe that's why it was so easy to catch you."

You wanted to tell him he needed years to get close to you, but you kept your mouth shut. Only god knew what this creep had planned for you, and it was stupid to provoke him when Shigaraki was already drooling on your face. You just hoped he did it only to scare the shit out of you.

"I knew you'd get me one day."

"Then why did you run?" His sharp eyes made you froze as he loomed over you, his expression frightening.

You turned your head away, "You know why. You wouldn't follow me anyway, so I did what I had to."

"No, I wouldn't," strangely satisfied with your answer, the Grand Commander finally took a step back, giving you space, and you remembered how to breathe again.

There was this unnerving silence again, and you tried to toss and turn on the bedstead, exhausted from the run earlier and being tied for far too long. What was in his head? Was he really going to rape you as a way of demonstrating his dominance over you? It sounded insane, but you reminded yourself you had no idea how much Tomura had changed. Maybe that was what All For One told him to do to you... although this was rather questionable. It almost looked like Shigaraki was taking something he thought had always belonged to him, a way to make you remember all your efforts had always been futile while he held real power over you.

"So, what's next on my menu?" You asked loudly, unable to hold your tongue. "Breaking my bones, was it?"

You heard him chuckle.

"No, but it'll hurt," he whispered as he left his hooded coat on the floor, standing in front of you so you could see him getting undressed, his deeply bruised skin making you nauseated. "It'll hurt you just right."

#shigaraki tomura x reader #bnha shigaraki #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #my hero academia shigaraki #tomura Shigaraki x reader #mha shigaraki #yandere

[demonsandco]

Can I request C, D, W and Y for Satan and/or Lucifer? Thanks!!!

Satan

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Satan tends to cum a bit more than average. It’s not enough to be genuinely shocking, but it’s definitely still noticeable. Surprisingly, he loves being made to cum all over himself. He leans more towards being submissive, and just the humiliation of his partner forcing him to coat his own abdomen with his cum is almost enough to get him hard again. He also wouldn’t be opposed to licking their fingers clean if he ended up getting their hands messy.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Satan has multiple, very cliché, erotica novels hidden in his room. He’s read through all of them multiple times now, to the point where he’s marked specific scenes for future reference. And yes, he’s touched himself while reading through them many times. He always feels so ashamed after, and rushes to hide the books away from prying eyes. Considering that he can’t even look at them without feeling embarrassed, Satan feels like he might actually die if anyone ever finds those novels in his room.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Satan is the only one out of his brothers who isn’t a masochist. He can handle more pain than the average human, but he’s still very sensitive. Even something like a light spank or some love bites is enough to make him whine and whimper. Anything harsher than that, he starts to feel overwhelmed by, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes he’ll enjoy it more, but it always ends up making his experience a pretty bad sub drop.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Satan has quite a high libido, but he’s extremely good at hiding it and controlling himself. He’s not ashamed of it, though, and he has no problems dropping flirty hints to his partner, to let them know how he feels. It’s not uncommon for him to encourage them to head somewhere private for some one on one time if they have the time to spare. He won’t get in the way of something important, like schoolwork, but he has no issues putting aside less time sensitive things in favor of some more… fun activities.

(Lucifer is under the cut)

Lucifer

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Lucifer cums a pretty average amount, but he can do so quite a few times in a row. His favorite place to cum is in his S/O’s mouth or on their face. Marking them in such a way feeds into his pride, and he can’t help but admire how wonderful they look covered on his seed. He would never force them to swallow it when he does this, but if they choose to, he is left feeling awed and even hornier than before.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Lucifer is more than prepared to take this secret to his grave, but he has, on more than one occasion, fantasised about having a pact master use their pact with him during sex, with consent of course. It’s the idea of trusting his partner to the point where he puts his life in their hands and gives them complete control that gets to him. He’d be able to just lay back and stop thinking for once, while they use him however they see fit, without him needing to make a single decision. If his actual S/O ever suggests something like that, he’d be overjoyed internally, but he plays it off as simply playing along with their idea. He refuses to let anyone know how much he enjoys the thought because of how embarrassing he finds it,

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Answered over here!

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Lucifer’s sex drive isn’t very high. He’s always so pent up, however, that you’d never be able to tell that. He’s always busy, and when he does have time to spend with his S/O, he wants to do something romantic with them first, constantly pushing aside his need in favor of something else. By the time he’s finally alone and in the mood with them, he's so desperate and sensitive that he comes across as constantly horny, when he’s actually just denying himself until he can’t handle it anymore.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me smut #smut alphabet #lime time

[darknessisafriend]

Commodus the whore of the Empress Part 3

I felt inspired to write part 3 thanks to a wonderful dream I had (which I described here with photo references) Part 1 and 2 here!

“I have organized a party tonight. To celebrate my arrival to power and the success of my rule.” You spoke as you worked; your eyes focused on your hand signing some papers the scribes handed you. You were devoted to your duty towards the Senate, but you hated paperwork, you much preferred concrete actions, just like your predecessor. Commodus had been standing by your side, his hands clasped in front of him, waiting to satisfy your every desire, making sure you stayed hydrated and didn’t forget to eat, and of course, quietly listening to you.

“The Empress deserves to celebrate her victory. In the corridors, the People speak very well of you.” He replied respectfully but with some kind of softness showing through his tone. You smiled at this revelation; you appreciated how devoted to you he was, how he listened in every corners to what the People talked about; despite everything he had proven himself to be one of your most loyal subjects.

“Oh, one more thing…you will assist to the celebration. I have personally selected the most beautiful slaves and servants to make the night even more enjoyable.” You smirked, you were looking forward to your first party as the Empress of the Roman Empire, and the former emperor now your whore by your side. “You should be flattered I chose you to be among them.” You added towards the young man; was it an attempt to flirt? neither of you knew why you had let this out. But then, you sighed as you felt tension in him, more like apprehension; you closed yourself again because of the semblance of affection you had let out “What is Commodus? Speak or leave but stop vexing me.” Your tone came out harsher than you meant it to be, but paperwork annoyed you to the highest point and sometimes you couldn’t help but remain on your guards. He slightly danced on his feet, unsure but not daring to disobey you.

“There will be people who will recognize me and it-it’s…I fear how they will treat me, Your Majesty.” He slightly stuttered, ashamed to be nervous in front of his Empress.

“Your presence is precisely because they will recognize you. We need to show them your new status, don’t we?” you hid a smirk, leaning back in your chair as you detailed his god-like face; you took a real pleasure in this decision “But don’t worry, I won’t tolerate them to disrespect me by mistreating, mocking or even touching my favorite whore.” You heard him sigh in relief, that was all he needed to hear, that he remained under your protection and at your service.

“I am grateful Empress; I do not deserve such kind treatment.” He still said, he could have expected to be humiliated and abused in public by the one who took his place but he was starting to know you and somehow he hardly believed you would hurt him, as long as he fucked you well at least….

“Did I tell you that you could give me your opinion on the way I treat you? Perhaps you would prefer to be beaten by the guards and badly fed? You have been a good and docile whore, and never disappointed me; quite the contrary. Hardly any man made me come like you do. So, you deserve to be rewarded. Don’t question my generosity again, Commodus.”

“Yes, Empress. Forgive me.” He apologized, you waved your hand dismissively, not holding it against him and then sighed annoyed by the work in front of you.

“How could you handle this much boring paperwork?” you finally asked, for once referring to his past position; you leaned forward on your desk, resting your elbows on it, looking at him expectantly and ready to listen to him.

“I agree it is not the most exciting thing to work on, but it is essential to the duty of Emperor… or Empress in your case.” He gave a small and barely hidden affectionate smile “I told myself I was enduring all of this for the People, my children. It might sound foolish, but this only thought made the task less boring.” He remembered, wondering what you would think about such answer. A pleased smile formed on your lips.

“I appreciate the advice Commodus. Now leave; I don’t require your services for the rest of the afternoon. You shall wear clothes made especially for tonight’s event.” You dismissed him casually; he bowed to you, and it always amazed you how it didn’t feel mechanic with him, like most people…it felt as if he really wanted to bow to you, show respect and love for his Empress. And that was how he felt, since he had become your slave, he had never been so well treated and cared for, he was happy to serve you, nothing to worry about but please you, and in one of the most exquisite way. And in return he had a beautiful Empress looking at him, sometimes even smiling or dropping hints of affection in her words…just for him.

The evening finally came and the time for the celebration as well. You were covered in compliments and other socialites talks. But of course, many talked about the fallen Emperor; you could hear the muffled laughs and excited hushed whispers of the guests, hoping to see your famous slave, the defeated Emperor Commodus. How humiliating they imagined it to be; and how far they were from the truth.

“If any of you dares to disrespect me by mocking the slaves I generously provide to entertain us tonight; you will be punished.” You warned the guests, keeping a charming smile. And all knew that it was even more dangerous when you did that, like the former Emperor. Your eyes scanned the room, making sure all had understood before gesturing to the guards to make the beautiful minions, concubines and others who were part of the harem of the former Emperor enter. Except that this time, he was one of them.

And you finally saw him enter the dining room, barely dressed; of course, he didn’t wear the famous golden laurel crown nor his rings…you wore them. You had him wear a gorgeous long necklace made of gold and red rubies which covered part of his sculpted chest, perfectly matching with the golden tone of his skin. The only piece of clothing he wore was a short tunic, only covering his hips and manhood; that was only a sight for you. But it wouldn’t be fun if there wasn’t a bit of edge and provocation in his outfit, no, his tunic barely covered his ass, the fabric almost transparent to let imagination run wild and it was for all to see, and what an incredibly nice view it was…Commodus may have the most skilled tongue in all Rome but he also had the most beautiful bottom of the Empire.

Of course, the moment he had entered the dining room, all eyes were on him, the guest blown away by the beauty of this beautiful slave, how lucky was the Empress to have him as her personal slave. You couldn’t help but grin at the effect he had on them; it was indeed an exceptional sight, the once much feared Emperor, barely clothed and ready to serve the new Empress.

You could feel anxiety radiate off him, he tried to avert his gaze and look at the ground as much as possible, but he couldn’t help but look for his master, his Empress…you; you found it truly adorable. As if he felt your eyes on him, he finally found you among the crowd, the both of you looked at each other for long seconds. Until you gestured for him to approach and he couldn’t have been happier, he felt protected by your side, and comfortable as if it was his natural place…maybe it was, he thought.

And you didn’t expect to enjoy his presence by your side so much, somehow you felt stronger, perhaps because it reminded you of your victory or perhaps because you trusted him, since that night where he suggested a better pillow for you and simply slept without any attempt for revenge.

“Commodus. I want you to look in front of you. You are serving the Empress and as such you can be proud of the privilege you are granted.” You instructed him; you didn’t care if it wasn’t following the custom. The young man instantly obeyed, his eyes scanning the room like he used to “They fear me and seeing you standing proud by my side, they will fear you too. Now…turn around, I want to make sure you are perfectly prepared.” You request, turning your head to detail him.

“I hope the empress will find me to her liking.” He spoke respectfully but with a discreet hopeful smile on his lips as he turned around, letting you detail his toned skin and muscles shinning at the light of the torches. And indeed, you found him very much to your liking…probably the greatest victory gift you could have ever received.

“I am pleased indeed. Now, parade for me, my whore. And serve them well.” You shamelessly looked at his ass as he walked away, taking a tray of cups of wine and serving the guests. Despite a situation prone to humiliation, he couldn’t help but feel pride as he felt your eyes fixated on him, he didn’t dare to think you would feel any affection for him and yet, there had to be something more than just being pleased with his servitude. He was probably the happiest servant, and under your protection he felt his usual defying attitude come back as he faced the guest, he was untouchable.

As the night started you went to sit and enjoy a few mundanities with chosen guests; actually you had invited only women at your table, the senators and other nobles were placed elsewhere; otherwise it wouldn’t be a fun night.

As you enjoyed the night, you noticed many of the guests had only eyes for your Commodus and that it wouldn’t take much longer for them to touch him, and you didn’t want that and even if he did his best to play his part, he couldn’t stop but throw looks at you, aching to be standing close to you. Having pity of your boy, with your fingers, you gestured for him to join you; he respectfully bowed his head as he came to stand by your side, your hand came up to caress his ass, doing it naturally like anyone would on their slave.

Then, you smiled mischievously as you took off your laurel crown, your fingers slowly brushing over the golden leaves; Commodus’ eyes were following your fingers, he was completely at your mercy.

“Kneel, slave.” You ordered him, not even looking at him and you could feel how he craved just for you to look at him. From the corner of your eyes you saw him execute himself, dutifully waiting for your next move. You played a bit more with the laurel crown before putting it on top of his head like he usually wore it.

“Aren’t you pretty with this crown…right little Caesar?” you teased him, the guests silently chuckling and Commodus blushing; there was a time where he would killed anyone who dared to treat him this way but not anymore, especially with you.

“I live to please my-…the Empress.” He replied realizing too late that he had made a mistake and in return he received a slap in the face from you; his face blushing even more as he looked at the ground; it was humiliating but it send butterflies down his belly ‘now wasn’t the time to get aroused’ he thought. Sometimes you tolerated it in private, but in public? No, you couldn’t show your weakness. Still, you couldn’t help but gently stroke his cheek afterwards, he leaned into your soothing palm.

“Next time, it will be spanking. Go get me a cup of the best wine we have.” You ordered him almost too softly…as for Commodus ‘spanking?’ Coming from you he would certainly enjoy it. He nodded before getting up, eager to please you again and hoping for your forgiveness.

“For you Empress, wine from Lutetia.” He bowed his head, presenting the cup to you which you took and tasted. A smirk escaped your lips, flavorful, strong, deep…a bit like him actually; of course, he knew the perfect wine for you.

“Your majesty, do you know that the People are still talking about Maximus the Spaniard? He is like a hero to them…” asked one of your guests, knowing well it would bother the fallen Emperor. You felt him tense, clenching his jaw but keeping his eyes on the ground, closely listening to the conversation; he wondered what you thought about Maximus, you were part of the uprising that lead to his fall, after all it wouldn’t be surprising if you were a fan of the gladiator.

“The People always need a hero, let them honor who they want. I have to admit I rather enjoyed his fights in the Coliseum. My predecessor was right, it was unlike anything seen before. I might even grant them a celebration in honor of his death…” You replied taking a sip of your wine; Commodus face was red with anger, how much he hated Maximus, and his death hadn’t changed anything.

As you continued to talk about Maximus, your hand gave a push to his lower back, making him understand that you wanted him to sit on your lap. To your greatest pleasure he didn’t hesitate. Of course, he was rather heavy, he was well built after all but you didn’t mind, to have this once powerful and strong man at your orders was truly exciting. Commodus enjoyed being at your mercy, he didn’t have to think, he simply had to obey your orders and satisfy all your needs and what better to do than please his Empress? And in return your cared for him and pampered him if he was a good boy…he would have never imagined, in his wildest dreams to be allowed to sleep by your side.

You loosely wrapped your arm around his hips, your hand resting on his thigh. You could feel goosebumps form on his skin under your touch. With your other hand, you took an olive, presenting it to his mouth, Commodus was a gourmand and you wanted him to enjoy the food tonight “Open your mouth.” You asked him; his eyes met yours, with you he was allowed such affront; and his eyes never left yours as he obeyed, letting you slowly slide the food between his lips, the tip of your fingers brushing against his tongue.

“Thank you, Empress.” He breathed; the words barely audible to anyone else but you. His eyes left yours to linger on your lips in a moment of wandering; until he realized what he was doing and averted his eyes, looking away. Of course, it didn’t escape you, but you let it go, it was flattering. You brought your mouth close to his ear.

“For once I will ask you to be quiet, Commodus.” You mysteriously asked him, he briefly looked at you confused, but slowly nodded.

It was when he felt your hand slide underneath his short tunic that he understood what you meant. The table hid what was going on, but his whole-body reaction, it will be hard to hide. He took a deep breath when your hand reached his manhood, lightly brushing over his soft pubic hair, then his inner thigh. He couldn’t help but slightly wiggle on your lap, hoping for more.

“I do remember Maximus, what a man of great entertainment he was. The way he provoked the Emperor, turned his back on him…what a wonderful sight.” You knew those words would pique Commodus, but what could he say or do when you pronounced those words and finally grabbed his member, slowly getting hard under your teasing. He pinched his lips together in anticipation.

“It is true that many ladies would have paid for a night with the Spaniard, but Lucilla kept him all for herself. How selfish!” Replied one of your guests, oh yes his sister was another sensitive subject for him. You slowly started to stroke him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive tip making him swallow back a moan.

“Maximus wasn’t too bad to look at, but I did enjoy his adversary just as much. Very nice fighting skills for an emperor…according to his reputation I never expected him to actually have the courage to fight a gladiator.” It was a backhanded compliment that made some guests laugh, but he took it as just a compliment and how good it was to be appreciated by his master.

“The dark brooding looks and icy eyes that didn’t hesitate to kill…rather exciting.” You tightened your grip on his throbbing cock, he squeezed his eyes shut, slightly arching his hips against your hand ‘more, please more!’

“A dangerous man is exciting not like our old senators of husbands!” replied one with a scoff

“And look at him now, he is a very good boy.” You purred increasing the pace ‘Oh yes, I’m a good Empress, only for you…’ a strangled moan escaped his mouth, with that pace, he was close, so close and it was so hard to keep silence.

“Be quiet, beautiful boy.” You whispered as you leant closer to his ear, he tried to nod but is whole body was in ecstasy, his breathing fast, just a bit more, that’s all he needed. Another moan escaped his lips a second time, a desperate whimper which made you stop; he didn’t play by the rules and was noisy.

“Is he alright?” one of the guests couldn’t help but ask. It is true that he might have looked in pain, maybe he was, but a pleasurable one, he was so close to climax, completely at your mercy.

“Are you?” you repeated, making him whimper in need, he hated this denial and yet it was extremely exciting.

“I-I am very much okay…my Lady. Thank you for asking.” He answered not meeting her eyes, his voice trembling with desire. You guests smiled, so that was the fallen emperor, not so threatening anymore, he could be used for anything.

“You surely have the most beautiful slave in the whole Empire, your majesty. I wish you would grant me a bit of time with him, but I would perfectly understand if you wanted to keep him all for yourself.” One dared to ask, that was a daring request and you didn’t especially appreciate it. Yet, you smirked amused by Commodus nervously and lightly wiggling on your lap, waiting for your decision.

“Wouldn’t that be amusing little Caesar?” you teased him, slowly caressing his muscular thigh, you won’t bring him satisfaction, not yet.

“I am only your slave, not theirs, Empress” You retained a chuckle, to them he sounded condescend but that’s exactly what you wanted to hear; you placed a feather-like kiss on his shoulder to reward him and he let out a shuddering breath in return.

“He is mine. Nobody touches him. I am generous enough to allow people to look at him in such a lustful way. Don’t dare to ask for the property of Empress again.” You replied firmly but keeping a sweet and dangerous smile. You felt Commodus sigh in relief, glad that you wanted him only for yourself, perhaps it meant you care about him more than you shown?

“Of course, my Lady. Forgive my bold request.” With a wave of your hand you dismissed the guests from your table, you had enough of them, and you were much more interested in Commodus.

“Kiss me, my whore.” You looked at Commodus in the eyes, and the blush that formed on his cheeks was a wonderful sight. He leaned towards your face, giving you a quick kiss on the lips, he was careful, not knowing what you expected and aware of many guests witnessing the scene. You chuckled at the kiss, he felt like a shy young man kissing for the first time; you seized his chin, making him look at you in the eyes.

“Kiss me like you mean it. Use that gorgeous tongue of yours” You ordered him a second time…the glow in his eyes changed, something darker, animal; one of those looks he sometimes gave you when you had sex and you loved feral Commodus, always the best. His eyes lingered on your lips before he leaned closer again, slowly placing his lips on yours but the pressure against your mouth was very real. Soon, you felt something wet, his tongue caressing your lips, and how could you resist to such request? You opened your mouth, letting him in, tasting, feeling his tongue against yours; the kiss wasn’t all sweet, no, it was full of desire, fierce and filled with…affection; you couldn’t say how exactly you could tell but you felt it and it sent butterflies down your belly. You didn’t want this to end but you couldn’t show to the senators and guest that you were having growing feelings for the fallen Emperor.

“Go to my chambers, strip down and wait for me…my lo-…Commodus.” You whispered affectionately against his lips; your face going back to an indifferent mask, hiding the feelings that had started to grow for him for the past days. He blinked a few times and hid a soft smile, but his eyes couldn’t hide his happiness for your words.

“I shall be waiting and ready to serve you, Empress.” He answered on the softest tone, leaving your lap to head to your chambers that it seemed we would share with you permanently from now on.

Commodus harem:

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#commodus #Joaquin Phoenix #commodus x reader #emperor commodus #commodus imagine #commodus/reader

[iblameashley]

Shoker - Day 1

Part One of my MShep|Joker fan fic. It takes place at the end of Mass Effect 2 as the Normandy FTL’s out of Collector Space.

Six days and nine hours; that was how long it was going to take to FTL back to the nearest Mass Relay. The collector base was destroyed and most of the crew had made it out safely. John exit the lift and looked around the empty CIC. He had opted for slapping some Medi-gel on the worst of his injuries and letting Dr. Chakwas handle the traumatized crew. Tali and Kaiden were assisting, Garrus was likely working on the weapons systems, and the rest of his squad was nowhere to be found. Likely handling ship repairs on their own. It was quiet, and made the ship feel hollow and cold.

As he made his way towards the bridge, he took note of the damage, of which there was plenty. Systems were beginning to shut down, consoles had been destroyed and the lights flickered.

EDI and Joker were talking as he entered the bridge.

“My apologies, Joker.” EDI said in her synthetic voice.

“For what?” Joker replied.

John looked around but didn’t see Joker immediately. He wasn’t at his station. Finally, John saw a pair a legs jutting out from under a console.

“Cerberus was able to initiate self-destruct protocols on several systems before I was able to disconnect from them.” She replied. John noted there was a genuine hint of remorse in her voice.

“No worries, EDI. They panicked when they learned you were unshackled, they tried to take back control and when they failed, they hit the ‘end it all’ button.” He shuffled under the console. “I’m just glad you were able to stop them from before they hit any major system. Shepard would have been pissed if we blew up just after kicking the Collectors’ asses.”

“Damn right.” John interrupted.

Joker jolted, smacking his head on the underside of the console. “Fuck.” He shouted.

John gave a half smile. He knelt down to get a better look at what his pilot.

“You OK?”

“Fine, Commander.”

“What are you doing?”

“I have been getting EDI to scan the ship for Cerberus system-raze devices. She detected one in the bulkhead here. It seems to have damaged our communications systems.”

“Guess they didn’t want us calling anyone for help.” John mused. He joined joker under the console.

“Pass the pliers?” Joker held out a hand.

John grabbed the pliers and passed them over. He watched as Joker worked at the device.

“When did you learn to do this?” John inquired.

“Disabling terrorist sabotage devices? What, you missed that class at the academy?” replied with his usual sarcasm. He glanced over at John who was just smirking. “I kinda felt like I needed to learn all the skills I could…” He continued. “To, make up for…”

John propped himself up on his elbow. His head nearly grazing the underside of the console. “Your medical condition?” John questioned.

“Is this really time for pillow-talk?” Joker remarked.

“Are you mad I mentioned it? Or are you mad I forgot the pillows?” John shot back.

Joker felt his heart skip a beat, and his face became hot. He wasn’t prepared for that remark.

“Well, if you cared so much about my condition, the least you could do is bring me a pillow.” Joker mumbled.

“Joker, I’m sorry.” The smirk on Johns face was replaced by a neutral-but-serious look.

“For what?” Joker looked over at him confused.

“When we first met, I was an ass to you about your Condition. It was inappropriate and unprofessional of me.” He pursed his lips, and then continued. “Truth is, you really are the best damn pilot in the fleet, and I’m proud to serve with you.”

Commander John-fucking-Shepard was proud to serve with him? Jokers thought. Him? For the first time in his life he had no witty or sarcastic remark.

“I won’t lie; it was inappropriate and unprofessional.” It came out harsher than intended. “I forgave you a long time ago, Commander. If I hadn’t, why would I have joined you on this mission?”

“Thanks.” There was still a hint of sadness in Johns voice.

Joker finished snipping the last of the wires, gripped the round device with both hands, and pulled as hard as he could. There was a high-pitched sound of metal on metal before the razing device was dislodged. Joker tossed it to the side and made some quick repairs.

“That should do it.” He said. “Mind resetting the system, Commander?”

John was still watching him from his perched position.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Top of the console, far right. There is a master reset, I need you to flip the switch.”

John slid out from under the console and rested on his knees. He looked the console over and found the reset. “Excuse me, Joker.” He said as he straddled the pilot.

Jokers face became hotter. He was getting a good look at the Commanders abs as his tank top lifted up from under his pants. The little trail of hair. He closed his eyes.

Think of something else. Elcore, they’re not sexy. Well, maybe the are to someone, but not me. He thought to himself.

John flipped some buttons before opening the cover to the master reset. He typed in his command access codes and hit the button. The few lights that had lit up the console went dark. There was a pause, and then Shepard began to worry.

Suddenly the console lit up and the holographics came back online. A self-diagnostic kicked in and a moment later the system report popped up.

John continued to straddle Joker as he tapped away at the interface.

“Looks like the long-range communications are down; Cerberus was able to fry them before EDI shut them down. We have short-range, but that doesn’t do us any good until were in, what, ten light years?” He commented.

“Twelve if we’re lucky.” Joker replied. “Hey, Commander, do you mind?” Without thinking, Joker tapped John’s thigh twice.

John looked down. “Sorry.” He said.

He pulled himself to his feet and stepped aside.

“I guess you and EDI are doing fine up here. Since you already have her scanning for more Cerberus devices, I want you to compile a list of what you find. Since most of the crew are in various states of trauma, I’d appreciate a damage report on all systems too. Bring it to my quarters when you’re done.”

“Aye, Commander.”

John began to walk out of the bridge, not noticing Joker struggling.

“Uh, Commander?” Joker called out.

John stopped and turned around.

“Yeah?”

“This is embarrassing, but,” Joker sucked in a deep breath, and shoved his embarrassment as far down as he could. “I can’t get up. I need some help.”

His face was red with anger now. He hated asking for help, but he hated asking the Commander even more.

Without a word, John leaned down and grabbed Joker by the legs – gently, of course – and pulled him slowly out from under the console. “Put your arm around my shoulder.” He ordered.

Joker complied and John slipped an arm around Jokers back, resting his hand on the man’s waist, and – again, gently – pulled him to his feet. Both men winced in pain, shocking Joker.

“Are you OK, Commander?” He inquired.

“Nothing major. Just had a ceiling fall on me in the collector base.”

“Typical day in the life of Commander Shepard.” Joker smiled.

Joker realized he still had his arm around Shepard, and Shepard was still gripping his waist. He cleared his throat.

“I think I’m good now, Commander.”

Shepard slowly removed his hand, and backed away. He eyes Joker to ensure he had his balance. Dr. Chakwas was already busy tending to the rest of the crew, and Joker really didn’t need to break his legs, or worse, his back.

“Get on those reports.” He ordered.

Shepard turned around and walked back towards the CIC. Joker watched him the whole way. Those shoulders, that ass. Joker swallowed hard.

“Well, fuck.” He grunted.

“Is something wrong, Jeff?” EDI inquired.

“Promise me you can keep a secret?” Joker stared at her holographic image. There was no way to tell what she was thinking or feeling, she was just an orb of light.

“Of course, Jeff.”

She sounded sincere.

“EDI, I think I’m falling for the Commander.”

“I don’t understand, Jeff. What do you mean falling for?”

“I think I’m falling in love with him.”

“Jeff, you’ve been in love with him since we left the dockyard.”

“No I haven’t!” Joker yelled.

“Would you like me to list the physiological changes I have noticed in you when the Commander is present?”

“I would not.” He remarked snidely. He made his way back to his station and plopped down in the chair. “Now let’s get to work on those reports.”

“Of course, Jeff.”

#MShep #Male Shepard #Joker #Jeff Moreau #Mass Effect #FanFic #Gay #Gay Romance #Romance #Mass Effect 2 #Scifi #Bioware

[sol-tinyrayofsun]

Zutara Week Day 5 - Hesitancy: What Am I To Say?

Alright, this was actually the first thing I wrote for Zutara Week. It’s angsty as hell, but with a nice ending. I love fluff but angst just gets me every time. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy it as much as I do.  As ever, thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated! <3

Also on AO3!

Title: What Am I To Say?

Rating: G

Summary:  “Choices, Katara,” he continued to say, noticing her silence. “It’s all about choices.” Zuko was telling the truth. She had unfortunately made sure to push him away five years ago. One stupid decision that had shattered every last bit of her existence. Even worse, it had also damaged many others. On a split second, all those moons ago, Katara had managed to secure heartache for them both.

------

She wasn’t sure how long it had been since the last time she had properly faced him. Their last conversation dated from months ago. And what a dull chat had it been. The frigidity caused by a choice she had made five years ago had ultimately marked the fallout of their relationship. But everything was different now. She knew he was aware of it. Still, she felt hesitant. The idea of owning up her mistakes to him terrified her. Maybe focusing strictly on the reason why she had been summoned there would be her best bet. 

Katara descended from the carriage that had brought her all the way to the gates of the Fire Nation Royal Palace. The humid weather took her by surprise. She had gotten too used to the cold air of the South Pole. After all, the last few months had found her recluded to her duties within the Southern Water Tribe. Her family had unsuccessfully tried to get her to go out into the world on multiple occasions. Nothing had worked, she just wanted to figure out things by herself for a while. 

Still, there she was. Back to where their undoing had started. She shook her head as she tried to put on her brightest smile. Lifting up her sight from the concrete courtyard ground, his golden eyes met hers. This was it. The moment she had dreaded for more than a week. She felt her heart skipping a beat. It was him.

“Master Katara.” His voice was raspy, sharp. “A pleasure to see you again. May I ask how was your trip?” He extended his hand to her. 

There it was. That ice-cold attitude. It killed her, destroyed her to the very core. She wanted to scream, to make him drop his ridiculous act. Really, after all we have gone through? When are you going to stop shutting me down? she thought as she remembered an answer was expected from her. Right, diplomacy. What a tricky little thing. 

“Fire Lord Zuko,” she greeted him as she took his hand. That simple touch was enough to make her whole body flinch. “The trip was fine, thanks. I assume the rest of the delegates have arrived already.”

Both of them dropped their hands. She hated every second of that awkward and impersonal interaction. It seemed like things had only gotten worse with the passing of time. 

“Well, let me and my guards escort you to your room. The meeting is at five in the afternoon, sharp,” Zuko said as he gestured her to start walking. “Be sure to let me know if there’s anything else you might need.” 

Following his lead, she looked him in the eyes. His gaze was puzzling, apparently impossible to decipher. Still, she could’ve sworn she perceived a strain of warmth somewhere behind the nervous batting of his eyelashes. 

“Thank you, Zuko. I’ll make sure to be there on time.”

Katara felt as if her words had no real meaning. There was simply so much more to be said. She wanted to tell him to stop the nonsense, to ask how he was feeling, to question him about how he found out about what had happened in her life three months ago. But it wasn’t the time or place. It never seemed to be for the two of them. Her mind kept vacillating, completely disoriented, and as clouded as a stormy sky. It wouldn’t be the first time he messed with her judgment. 

Repressing a frustrated sigh, she hurried into the Palace. The sooner she could be done with her visit, the better. That way she could go back to her quiet routine at the South Pole without any delays. Every single moment she spent there felt like a dagger sinking down on her chest. There were just too many memories, too many shadows of what it could have been. She wasn’t in the mood for an annoying “What if…?” to come waltzing into her life. Real life wasn’t as easy as a fairytale. She had made her choice years ago. Now, she was trying to live with its consequences. And to get through her visit to the Fire Nation without breaking down. 

The council room was packed with delegates. Katara couldn’t help but curse the timing of the meeting. Just when she was starting to get back some sense of normalcy into her life, business had dragged her there once again. 

The international collaboration between the Fire Nation and the Water Tribes had run smoothly for years. What a brilliant moment for Blaze Industries to start questioning the price of the oil the Southern Water Tribe provided them with. Of course, once one company inquired, the rest of them followed. In no time, a council was needed to discuss whether the terms of the economic alliance should be reviewed or left alone. 

She had enough on her plate already. Being the first functional year of the Southern Water Tribe Waterbending Academy, work was as hefty as ever. Not to mention the most recent occurrence within her personal life. It had left her in a muddle, questioning her judgment. She had even isolated from all her friends. All because of her unwillingness to be honest with herself, or with anyone for that matter, until it was too late. Way too late to avoid any harm to be made. 

Katara shook her head, making sure to be grounded enough before the meeting began. She wasn’t about to let her private dilemmas interfere with her work. 

Everyone stood still as the doors opened one last time before starting. Fire Lord Zuko made its way to his usual seat. All that time and she still remembered to perfection where he used to seat at every meeting. With a polite nod, he saluted the attendees as he prepared to speak. 

“Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for being here today,” he greeted them. “I understand that Blaze Industries wanted to be the first one to present a statement. So without further ado let’s allow them to start. Chief Executive Kian?”

The chairwoman didn’t take long to comply. The assembly had officially started. If it went well she could be on her way home by the next day. She prompted herself to drop her concerns about her relationship with Zuko. The economic future of her Tribe could be jeopardized in the case the oil issue wasn’t handled properly. She could get sentimental some other time. 

The nocturnal breeze caused her hair to sweep across her cheeks. Stars lit up the sky like snowflakes dancing around the darkness of the night. The light wind made the water ripple softly across the turtleduck pond. Silence hung in the air that surrounded the courtyard of the Royal Palace. As she strolled around the gardens, Katara wondered what on earth was she doing there. 

Maybe she had just gotten tired of the solitude of her room, a place so impersonal that it felt almost insulting. The walls of this palace had once been like a home to her. Now the place was suffocating her, reminding her of why she was in that position in the first place. Or perhaps she had been drawn there by all those memories. Ghosts from brighter times. 

It wasn’t like the outcome of the assembly had provided her with a reason for feeling so uneasy. She had managed to keep Blaze Industries and the rest of the companies at bay without harming their economic alliance. All that fuss for nothing. It only took for her to remind them of all the benefits of having her tribe as the primary oil supplier alongside a slight warning that a price increase might be necessary if they didn’t hold their end of the bargain to get them to stand down. 

Of course, Zuko had backed her up. Despite everything that had happened between them, one thing had always been clear: they would do their best to support each other no matter what. Anyways, aside from that detail, she was sure Zuko knew how outrageous Blaze Industries’ claim was. He would never allow anyone of his Nation to take advantage of outsiders, not under his watch. After all, it was that attitude that made him such a good leader for his people. Peace had remained intact around the world thanks to leaders like them.

Seems like some things just don’t change, Katara thought as she sat by the turtleduck pond.  Nothing was the same anymore, but there she was, back where it had all started to fall apart. That place brought back too many memories, good memories. She couldn’t help but smile, staring at the clear night sky, thinking about the time the entire gang had hosted a theater evening right in that same courtyard. Her heart felt bittersweetly warm from the vivid evocation of happier and easier days. 

“What are you smiling about?” a familiar voice asked her. 

A flinch. A heartbeat. A realization. He was right there, wasn’t he? Katara lowered down her sight, tilting her head to be able to look at him. 

“I’m not smiling, Zuko.” Her words came out a little harsher than expected. “I just needed some fresh air.” 

Well, that’s a great way to greet someone you care about, isn’t it? 

They stared into each other’s eyes, paralyzed. He was still meters away from her, analyzing her from a cautious distance. Katara wasn’t sure if he would come any closer. His cold facade probably included ignoring her to death. 

Still, Zuko took a step forward. And another. All the way up to where she was sitting. 

“Has the outcome of the assembly brought you any relief?” He was standing right before her, with a puzzling expression on his face. 

Of course, he would only come near to torture her with even more politics. She brought her knees closer to her chest, in an unconscious attempt to shield herself from the torment she was feeling. She couldn’t take it any longer. 

“The outcome of the assembly was expected. What a shame I had to come all the way here to calm down some dull businessmen.”

“I’m sorry, aren’t you the primary Ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe?”

Shocker. As if he didn’t know what she did for a living. Though, she hadn’t been acting like a proper ambassador for the last three months. At least regarding the traveling.

“Yes, Zuko, I am! Spirits, know you’re going to pretend we don’t know each other?” She hadn’t expected to be on the verge of screaming. Still, she didn’t care anymore. Things couldn’t get any worse, could they?

His eyes widened. Guess he wasn’t expecting her to get so loud either. 

“Katara, you’ve been a complete ghost for three months. None of our friends were able to reach you,” he said as he let out a sigh. “We might as well be strangers at this point.”

“But we are not!” That’s it, her tone couldn’t possibly get any louder. “You didn’t even try to look for me! And don’t even pretend you didn’t know. Everyone knew. Everyone knew what a fool of myself I had made.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware of the fact that I was the one who had to come running up to you after what you decided!”

She abruptly dragged herself to her feet. “But you knew! You knew what it meant for me to decline Aang’s proposal! Spirits, Zuko, you probably saw that one coming!” Her voice trailed off in an exasperated scream. 

“Of course I saw it coming, but it wasn’t my place to interfere anymore, was it?” His voice started to shake.

Katara stayed quiet, unable to react to his statement. Looking at him now, at the way his eyes reflected a great deal of resentment, she felt more regret than ever before. 

“Choices, Katara,” he continued to say, noticing her silence. “It’s all about choices.”

Zuko was telling the truth. She had unfortunately made sure to push him away five years ago. One stupid decision that had shattered every last bit of her existence. Even worse, it had also damaged many others. On a split second, all those moons ago, Katara had managed to secure heartache for them both. 

“What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you how sorry I am for tearing us apart? Do you want me to break into tears and confess how ridiculous I feel?” She felt a lump on her throat. “What do you want from me, Zuko?! Please, drop your act. I know in some corner of your heart you still care about me.”

“I’m not performing any kind of act!” He looked exhausted, worn out, defeated. “You were the one who told me we shouldn’t be together, or have you forgotten about that? You said I should go with Mai and you had to accept to be with Aang. A whole year, Katara, a whole year we sneaked around in the shadows, all because you were afraid of admitting the truth to yourself!”

He was right. Spirits, every word that came out of his mouth broke her walls down a little more. 

Five years. Five miserable years since she had broken them up to be with someone else. To be with Aang, and for Zuko to be with Mai. All for what? Right there, standing in the courtyard, screaming at the person she had managed to push too far away, she had no clue.

“Zuko… I - It was all - I know, alright?” she mumbled, a treacherous tear streaming down her cheek. “It was the stupidest decision I’ve ever made.”

“Then, please, don’t look at me like I was the one who broke your heart. Because all I wanted to do was to be with you.” He sat down, staring at the ground. “That’s why I ended things with Mai so soon, unlike you, I wasn’t ready to wake up every day knowing I was lying to myself.”

He must’ve known his words were utterly harsh. But they uncovered an awful truth. She had been lying to herself for years. And the result had been more than clear. Three months ago she had rejected Aang’s marriage proposition, to everyone’s surprise. Except for a certain firebender that was familiar with every single one of her rough edges. As Aang pleaded for her to spend the rest of her life by his side, she had realized that was not what she wanted. Not who she wanted. Too late. Repeatedly too late. What a mess she had made. 

Katara plummeted to the floor, sitting next to him. The nocturnal breeze caused her to shudder. No one else was there. It was only them, finally saying what they had wanted to confess for years. 

“You know why I rejected Aang, right?” She finally asked, hoping her question would get him to look at her. 

“Because you were never in love with him? Katara, why are you doing this? Your failed relationship is none of my business anymore. Plus, Aang told me all about it. I would prefer not to have to endure that torture once again.”

Wait.

“Aang talked with you about our breakup?”

“Don’t you realize that while you were hiding from reality the world kept turning? We’re friends, of course, he told me all about how you broke his heart.” He chuckled, bitterly smiling. “Little did he know, you broke mine first.”

“No, you don’t get to do this,” she blurted out, feeling her voice getting louder once again. “You don’t get to pin this all on me. You should’ve stopped me! If you were so certain we had to be together why on earth didn’t you do something about it?”

He finally lifted his sight, his eyes were puffy. “What did you want me to say? I practically begged you, Spirits, I told you I loved you. And you said you loved me too, but that you had to go. You left. I didn’t. I’m sorry for thinking that was what you wanted.”

“Zuko, I’m sorry too, alright? What am I to say now? I can’t turn back time.”

“You’re right, you can’t. Guess we’ll both have to live with it.” He started to get up from the ground. “Goodnight. I´m sorry, I can´t bear this any longer”

“Wait!” She grasped his arm with such intensity she thought she might’ve hurt him. “Please, don’t leave. I….”

“Katara, you asked me if I knew why you rejected Aang.” His voice was shaking. “Anything you want me to know?”

“It’s true, I rejected Aang because I didn’t love him,” she started to say, feeling her heart pounding on her chest. “Because I still love you, Zuko. I never stopped loving you.”

There. The secret was about. Five years of burying the truth deep inside her, endless days and nights of finding herself crying for no apparent reason. But the reason was there, it had always been there. It was him. She cried because of him. She cried for the love she had lost. For the person she had pushed away in an attempt of selling a lie to herself. She loved Zuko with every fiber of her being. It had always been there, burning in the back of her mind. And now he knew it too. 

Silence. That was all the response she got from him. Silence and a pair of golden eyes looking thoroughly at her. 

“Say something,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “At least have the guts to say you don’t love me anymore. Because I’ve just told you something that’s been killing me for years. I love you, and I’m sorry.”

Nothing. For a moment, there was nothing. Not even a blink.

Then Zuko grasped her shoulders and kissed her. It took her by surprise, almost making her question if perhaps their entire interaction was just a dream. But it wasn’t. It was real, crazy, unexpected. He was kissing her like they were running out of time; like somebody might pull them apart at any second. 

Needless to say, she was kissing him back. She was kissing him like she had never kissed anyone before. Desperately, emotionally, and with a newfound intensity. This was the most alive she had felt in months. Right there, glued to the person she had once let go of. 

Almost out of breath, Zuko pulled apart first. His eyes were glistening in the moonlight. A mysterious grin had taken over his face.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “Katara, I’ve always loved you.”

Spirits, she couldn’t believe her luck. 

“Then why did you shut me down like that?”

“Because you were with Aang! I had to keep my distance or it would have destroyed me.” He brushed his fingers against her cheek. “When I found out you had rejected him I… I wanted to go after you, to tell you that it was the right decision. I was dying to make you feel less alone. But I couldn’t do that to you, to Aang, or to myself. You needed to figure out what you wanted.”

“I want you, Zuko,” Katara said as she felt herself crying again. “I screwed up. Big time. I never should’ve made us go our separate ways. There´s nothing I regret more.”

“So what now, then?” 

“Can we start over, please? I know there’s no way to erase the last five years from our memory. But we could make this right. We can make this work the second time around. Together.”

“I suppose we could do it. But, don’t you care what everyone else would think?”

“No, not anymore. I won’t make the same mistake again.” She cupped his cheeks into her hands, pressing her forehead onto his. “If you let me, I’ll prove to you that you’re all I want.”

His eyes showed he wanted it, too. Katara was sure of it. They had never stopped loving each other. 

“Of course I’ll let you,” he replied, placing a soft kiss on her nose. “Does this mean you’re not leaving tomorrow? Because I really should let the coachman know whether he has to prepare the carriage or not.”

Katara chuckled, considering his teasing an invitation to stay a little longer. 

“I think I won’t be leaving until we figure this out.”

“Good, then you’ll add it to your schedule and I’ll add it to mine,” he joked. 

“Are you going to keep chatting or does kissing me sound like a better idea to you?” 

“Why don’t we wait another five years and I’ll see how it suits me then?”

“Sure,” Katara planted a kiss on his lips. “Whoops, five years are over.”

Zuko’s response seemed to agree with her since it only consisted of multiple kisses all over her face. She kissed him back, burying her fingers into his hair, making a mess of his Fire Lord looks. Neither of them cared anymore. They were finally together. 

One choice had been her undoing. Yet, somehow, a single assembly had also pushed her to make things right. She couldn’t turn back time, but she could make the most out of the mess she’d caused years ago. And, Spirits, she had every intention to do so. 

------ See? I promised you the ending was a happy one. I hope you enjoyed it! <3  @zutaraweek

#zutara #zutara week 2020 #zutara fanfiction #zuko x katara #every week is zutara week baby

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leave a light on

Read on ao3. Third part.

Death Eater! Sirius Black AU

Euphemia Potter, a retired Healer, is woken up in the middle of the night - quite rudely, according to her husband - by someone she thought wanted her dead. Dragging along his near-dead brother. And, well, she always has had a soft spot for Sirius Black.

Word count: 4557

___

September 1979

Euphemia Potter violently jerks awake when a shrill alarm, sounding like someone is tearing a Hippogriff’s guts out and doing a very bad job of it, blares through the house.

Beside her, Fleamont, always a heavy sleeper, awakes more slowly, but his eyes are sharp when he opens them. He checks his pocket watch, carefully deposited on his bedside table in the evening, and glares. He’s always appreciated sleep, her husband. “It’s nearly two in the morning,” he grumbles but reaches for his wand anyway. “Any Death Eater who’s attacking us now better have a damn good reason.”

“I really don’t think they care, dear,” Euphemia says with a pat on his back, reaching for her own wand. She climbs out of bed and wraps her dressing robe around herself, slipping her wand into its pocket, her fingers still closed around the handle.

“Still impolite,” Monty, who has always been rather set on politeness, says, white brows furrowed. Then, “Linsy,” and with a pop their loyal house-elf materialises in front of them, bowing deeply.

“What can Linsy do for you, Master?” she asks, big brown eyes blinking up at them.

“Please check if all our wards are still intact and prepare to notify St. Mungo’s if we are attacked,” Monty says, as breezily as he might order some breakfast. Then again, death really isn’t scary to them, not anymore. They both know they don’t have much time left, anyway.

Linsy’s eyes get even bigger, as impossible as it seems, but she bows and disapparates with a quick bow and a murmured, “Sir.”

“Come now, Effie,” Monty says as he walks out of their bedroom, wand held in front of his to light his way.

Euphemia follows after him, counting on the light of his wand and her familiarity with the house to get her to the front door without having to pull out her own wand.

The portraits along the walls, depicting various Potter ancestors, are unsettled but dignified as ever, quietly moving from one frame to another and murmuring amongst themselves rather than shrieking all over the place. Euphemia used to detest their reserved manner but with time (and with age) she’s learnt to appreciate their quiet presences, always ready to offer a kind word or a wise anecdote. Her son has yet to agree.

She skips the fifth step on the way down the stairs, the one that swallows your whole foot for three hours and sixteen minutes before abruptly letting you go—James made them time it, once—and stops at the end of the staircase when Monty opens the front door.

He raises his wand to eye level and says loudly, “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

There is no answer but for a horrible scraping sound as if someone is dragging something across their paved path.

“Show yourself,” Monty says again, voice harsher.

There is only that sound for another second, two. Then, “Help us,” says a voice, so startlingly young and so terribly familiar, and Euphemia, tying her robe securely around her waist, walks up to the front door just in time to see two silhouettes outline in the edges of Monty’s light, one leaning heavily on the other.

As they come forward, slowly, she barely holds in a gasp of horror.

It’s Death Eaters, all right, but that’s not what makes a strange clump of bile rise up in her throat.

They’re both tall and thin, one more so than the other, pale in the face of Monty’s harsh light, with dark hair wet and tangled. What she’s sure must have been beautiful robes are now soaked through and torn haphazardly, as if someone had not let go of them until they ripped.

“Please,” says Sirius. He’s in better shape than his younger brother, but that can only be said because he’s still conscious and the blood tainting his robes seems to not be his—well, mostly.

Regulus, on the other hand, is white as a sheet, head leant against his brother’s shoulder as he drags him forward, his eyelids fluttering. His hair is black as the night, drip-drip-dripping wet and there are several deep gouges along the line of his jaw and one longer one down the column of his neck, bright red streams running down from them. They look strangely like claw marks.

“Not another step forward,” Monty says, voice deep and firm, but Euphemia can hear the undertone that tells her he’s just as rattled as her. “Or I’ll hex you.”

Sirius stops, both arms wrapping around Regulus to keep him up. “Help him, please.”

Monty surveys them with hard eyes, just like James’s when he told them about Sirius’s betrayal. He clenches his jaw and says, “We can’t do that.” He points his wand at them, level and unwavering. “You should leave before I send for Aurors.”

Sirius’s grey eyes are wide, but not exactly from surprise. “He needs urgent help,” he says, nothing but pleading in his voice. “He’ll die otherwise.”

“Take him to St. Mungo’s.”

Euphemia’s heart constricts. Regulus is just a boy, just a year younger than James. She touches Fleamont’s shoulder blade. “Monty.”

“We can’t take them in, Effie,” he answers, softer than to Sirius. When he turns to look at her, she can see in the lines around his eyes, the tightness of his mouth that tell her he’s torn. “It might be a ruse.”

“It’s not,” Sirius says. They both turn back to look at him, finding him slowly sagging underneath his brother’s weight. “It’s not, I swear it on Regulus’s life. You’re the only one I know who can help him.” His voice takes on a raspier note, desperation evident in his whole posture. “You can take my wand, tie me up, I don’t care. I’ll do anything. Just, please, save him.” His eyes meet Euphemia’s and she sees not an adult, self-assured and brave, in front of her, but a little boy who shrunk away from her when he broke a glass the summer after his first year, fearing the consequences more than cutting his hand hurt. “Please, Effie.”

Something in her screams and heaves and then melts. She nudges Monty aside, ignoring his noise of protest, and holds out a hand to Sirius. “Come inside.”

Sirius sags, this time not only from Regulus’s weight, and Euphemia finds nothing but pure, unadulterated relief in his eyes when he rasps, “Thank you.” If he’s acting, he’s doing a brilliant job at it.

Euphemia turns on her heel and hurries to the kitchen to fetch the potions she’ll be needing, but not before she can hear Monty ordering firmly, “Give me your wands.”

She rummages around the cupboards, levitating potions onto a tray as she goes, and deposits a pair of muggle bandages she has found most useful when the wounds are cursed and won’t close up on it as well. She levitates the tray into the drawing room, where Monty and Sirius have already managed to manoeuvre Regulus onto the sofa.

Monty is standing by the fireplace now, wand not pointed at anyone but held firmly in his hand all the same, and is surveying Sirius with sharp eyes. Two wands lie next to his other hand, resting on the shelf.

Sirius is sat on one of the armchairs, though it can hardly be called sitting as he’s leant so far forward that he’s barely touching the edge of the cushion. He must have shirked off his cloak and is now in only a pair of light robes, blood soaking the material over his shoulder and Euphemia wonders if she was wrong in her initial assessment of him.

He looks up from Regulus’s ashen face upon her entrance and she can clearly see now how hollow his cheeks are, how dark the bags under his eyes. He draws himself up and there is no trace of that frightened boy in him now. “What can I do?” he asks, calm, collected.

Euphemia sits down next to Regulus, who’s moving and whining on the couch, his eyes jumping around underneath his eyelids. He is deathly pale and the blood from his wounds shows no sign of stopping. His cloak has been taken off too, and his robes opened up to reveal a pale heaving chest so thin she can count his ribs. When she touches him, his skin is cold as ice.

“You can tell me what happened to him,” she says to Sirius, already hearing herself slip into her Healer’s voice, even and soothing.

“Inferi,” Sirius says immediately. Euphemia doesn’t allow herself to flinch. Dark, dark creatures, Inferi. “They dragged him underwater and nearly drowned him.” He pauses, his swallow audible. “He stopped breathing for a couple minutes. I had to resuscitate him. And he—” Another pause, and she turns to see him rummaging around his robes’ pockets.

Monty moves away from the fireplace, wand slowly coming up, but Euphemia shakes his head at him and he stops, though he doesn’t lower his hand.

Sirius, oblivious to their exchange, pulls out a small vial, barely bigger than his thumb, filled with a glowing green potion. “He drank this,” he says, handing the vial to Euphemia.

She holds it up against the light. It’s a brilliant colour, like emeralds, but the sight of it reminds her of the Killing Curse and makes something in her stomach turn uncomfortably. “What is it?” she asks, looking back at Sirius, who shakes his head.

“Voldemort’s creation,” he says, eyes like steel even as he uses his master’s name as so many fear to do. “It guarded—something important to him and Reg had to drink it in order to obtain it. I think he had hallucinations. Actually—Kreacher.”

There’s a crack of apparition and the Black family elf, even more wrinkled and unkempt than the last time she saw him—she called on Walburga Black a long time ago, back when she still thought Sirius could be saved; she didn’t leave on her own accord—appears in their living room, wailing like Euphemia has never heard from anyone, and drops on his knees toward to the couch, next to Regulus.  

His spindly fingers touch and grasp onto whatever they can reach of Regulus—his hair, his cheeks, his robes. “Master Regulus!” His voice is higher than the last time she heard it and intermittently interrupted by his hiccupping sobs. “Wake up, Master Regulus!”

“Kreacher!” Sirius snaps, eyebrows knitting together as he looks down at his servant. “Pull yourself together. I need you to answer some questions.”

Kreacher turns his eyes toward Sirius, his expression visibly darkening with it. It’s obvious which master the old house elf prefers. Nonetheless, he takes in a deep breath and his voice is back to his deeper tone when he croaks, “How can I be of service, Master Sirius?”

“The potion in the cave,” Sirius says, pointing to the vial in Euphemia’s hand. “Tell her what it does.”

Kreacher faces her and she can see the tear tracks down his cheeks. He seems to recognise, his ears laying down against his head, and for a moment, she thinks he might refuse. “The potion, blood traitor,” he starts and Sirius looks like he might hit him, already halfway out of his seat, his face a mask of fury, when he seems to catch himself.

He settles for growling out, “Don’t call her that.” He tilts his head, eyes glittering, as he settles back into the armchair. “She’s saving his life.”

Euphemia studies him, trying to find a hint of insincerity in his expression, but she finds none. His anger seems to be real and she can’t, for the life of her, figure out why. She is forced to avert her eyes when Regulus starts violently coughing.

He bolts up, heaving and gasping for breath at the same time, his skin as white as a paper.

Sirius is already pushing out of his seat but Monty points his wand at him and growls, “Don’t.”

Sirius glares, looking vaguely like something out of a nightmare with a halo of dark matted hair and blood on his hands, but sits back on the edge of the armchair, glancing at his brother before he looks at Euphemia and asks, “Can you help him?”

Euphemia looks at him, at the way his eyes trace the lines of Regulus’s face, gently, painfully, as if losing him might break him, at the way his fingers twitch forward: to reach out for him and never let go, or to brush his hair out of his eyes, she can only guess. She isn’t sure if she can heal him, but the love so obvious in Sirius, the devotion written in the lines of his face, is enough to make her want to try.

She turns to Kreacher, who stands silent beside Regulus, his large eyes full of tears. “Tell me what he drank.”

*********

Euphemia leans against the counter in the kitchen, sipping her much-needed tea and enjoying the way its warmth spreads through her body.

A soft crack of apparition alerts her to Linsy’s presence, finding her standing only a few paces away when she opens her eyes. The house-elf bows, even though she’s told her a million times it’s unnecessary. “Good morning, Mistress,” she says in her light, almost-squeaky voice, “the Black boys are sleeping, Master Monty is sitting with them now.”

“Thank you, Linsy,” she answers, noticing the way the elf seems to sway on her feet, “you may take the afternoon off.”

Linsy bows. “You are too kind, Mistress,” she squeaks and disappears with another crack.

Euphemia swallows down the last dregs of tea and makes herself another cup before she dares brave the way to the drawing-room. It had been a long time since she had to perform healing magic as she did the day before and it has drained her more than she expected. Without Linsy’s help, she’s sure she wouldn’t be standing now.

In the drawing-room, she finds the men in much the same positions as she did the night before – Regulus lying lifelessly on the sofa, Monty in an armchair by the fireplace, and Sirius in the armchair right next to Regulus.

Monty looks up as she enters, giving her a small smile, and she crosses the room to press a brief kiss to his lips.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, voice low.

“Tired,” she says, aware that it is well past noon. “I could sleep for another day.”

He gives her a soft look, fingers brushing against her outer thigh. “That’s normal. You had to use powerful magic yesterday.”

She looks at Regulus, swathed in no less than three blankets, his eyelids’ fluttering the only sign that he is even alive. “How is he?”

“No better than yesterday, but no worse either,” he answers, shrugging slightly. “Linsy redid his bandages before she left and she said he didn’t writhe so much after you healed him.”

Euphemia nods thoughtfully, then looks at Sirius, curled tightly into the armchair he’s occupying, a blanket pulled snug around him. Most of his face is covered by his hair, dry and tangled, but what little is visible seems even paler now in the daylight. He looks so impossibly small, so young, and she cannot reconcile the sight before her with the rumours of what he’s done. Twelve dead in a suspected Death Eater attack. Three more missing. The most charming of You-Know-Who’s followers revealed.

“He didn’t cause any trouble,” Monty says, answering her unspoken question. “He let me tie his hands and sent Kreacher away without one complaint. He only fell asleep a few hours ago.”

“He cares about Regulus more than anyone.”

“Indeed,” Monty agrees and Euphemia wonders if he’s thinking about the same thing as her; wasn’t James that person too? Weren’t Remus and Lily and Peter?

She sighs. Wondering will get them nowhere. She moves towards Regulus, reaching out to sweep aside his hair and check for fever.

A hand shoots out from the abundance of blankets and closes around her wrist, causing her to drop her mug of tea. It bounces off the floor, its contents spilling all over the fluffy rug. Regulus’s grey eyes are wide and panicked, but his grip is strong, almost painful. “Where am I?” he asks, voice like sandpaper. “What did you do to me?”

She feels more than hears Monty shoot to his feet and pull out his wand, but another pair of hands is there faster—a pair of hands still specked with dried blood and bound with a thin cord that take ahold of Regulus’s and draw it away from Euphemia’s with fragile tenderness.

“Reggie, hey, Reg,” Sirius says in a soft voice, then continues in a language that Euphemia needs a few seconds to recognise as French. She’s far from well-versed in it but what he says seems to calm Regulus down, for he sinks back into the sofa with a few murmured replies. Sirius holds onto his hand for a moment longer, then lets go reluctantly and steps away, back toward his armchair.

He reaches for his hair, but his bound hands seem to prevent him from brushing it back smoothly and he lets them drop back down in front of him. He’s in the same light robes as yesterday, the material now thoroughly soaked with dried blood, and Euphemia feels a stab of guilt when he winces at the movement.

She steps forward, reaching slowly for her wand. “Let me look at your shoulder.”

He looks her up and down, expression somewhere between unsure and pained. He reminds her a little of a cornered stray dog. “You’ve done so much already,” he says. He turns to pick up his coat, but Euphemia steps forward and touches his uninjured shoulder. He faces her again, his eyes wide. They are Walburga’s eyes, she notices, steel-grey and willow-harsh, but there has always, always been a softness to his that Euphemia would never dream of seeing in his mother’s. A warrior’s eyes. A survivor’s. She wonders if there was ever anything she could have done to help him. There might have not been then. But there is something now.

“Sirius,” she says. “Let me.”

He sighs, though it is more of a breath of surprised air. She has to ask herself when was the last time anyone’s offered to help him. “Alright,” he says. He shrugs off his right sleeve, revealing the long gash from his armpit to the line of his collarbone. It’s mostly scabbed over but there is a too-light tint to his blood and she can see any movement or touch to it pains him.

She doesn’t have to ask who caused it. It matches Regulus’s.

As she gets to work on it, tapping her wand and summoning bandages, Monty says, “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

Sirius winces, whether from a particularly strong poke to his wound or Monty’s words. “I know.” He looks at Monty, face open, earnest. “I had no choice. Voldemort would kill Regulus if he knew he was still alive. I couldn’t bring him to St Mungo’s and there are no other wizards I trust to keep him alive.”

Euphemia doesn’t need to look back at Monty to know his hazel eyes are dark, that his wrinkled forehead is creased in a frown. “Why are you two in his service in the first place?”

Sirius swallows, the line of his pale throat bobbing with it. “Regulus was a fool. He was desperate to please our parents and I joined to protect him.” He glances at Euphemia and she sees herself in his eyes, exhausted, messy-haired, but attentive. “To protect—James.”

Euphemia straightens, her bones snapping in place at the sound of her son’s name.

But it’s Monty that says, in a low, harsh voice, “How does your shooting Unforgivables at our son protect him?”

“My mother—” Sirius’s eyes dart towards Regulus, sleeping peacefully now. He’s wringing his hands, biting his lip. She’s certain he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. “My mother threatened me when I came come the summer after 5th year. She threatened his life and Regulus’s and Remus’s if I didn’t behave. If I didn’t follow her instructions.” He touches his Mark, through the sleeve of his robes, absently. As if reminding himself of the pain. “Regulus still believed then and I joined with him. To keep him safe. He only recently came to a realisation that Voldemort isn’t what he makes himself out to be. He tried to—” He cuts himself off, swallowing.

Euphemia stays quiet, putting away her wand in her pocket. So does Monty. She can feel his defences slipping, melting away for this boy that has only ever known fear and violence and taught himself to be brave in the face of it.

“You have to believe me,” Sirius says, voice hoarse. “I would never deliberately attack James. Whenever we met in the field I did my best to get him out of there alive.” He cracks his fingers, the sound sharp in the bated silence of the room. “But I cannot defect now, even if Regulus has. The Dark Lord trusts me and I am in a perfect position to pass on information.”

“To whom?” asks Monty.

“I cannot say. I will not endanger h—them.” A tense pause, considering. “But you know them. You trust them.”

Monty exhales, a long breath of air that seems impossible with his failing lungs. Euphemia looks over her shoulder, meets his hazel eyes. Her husband, her dearest companion through all of life’s hardships. They have taken their toll on him, as they have on her, and they are both tired of it. She knows his heart better than her own and they are both too old not to have faith in people anymore.

“Alright,” she says, softly, barely above a whisper.

Sirius smiles, as quick and bright as a flash of lightning, but it is gone just as quickly.

Somehow, Euphemia knows exactly what weighs on him. “James will not find out from us,” she says, bending her head toward him until their foreheads are almost touching. She can hear his sharp intake of breath.

“I cannot possibly ask of you—”

“You’re not asking,” Monty says, his voice firm. He rises and joins them, wrapping an arm around Euphemia’s waist; she leans into his warmth, the broad, solid form of him. She’s glad he’s here, that he’s always been here. “We’re trying to protect James, too. We trust you to do so the best you can.”

Sirius’s eyes crinkle, mouth curving up, and Euphemia can see a fraction of the boy that used to send her Mother’s Day cards in him, the one that only knew to live and laugh and love as if the world would never let him do otherwise. Oh, I missed you.

*********

The last dusk of September is just beginning when Euphemia Potter stands with Sirius Black on the porch of the Potter estate. The final dregs of sunshine catch in his hair, turning it near-brown, and paint long lines over the hollows of his face. It’s hard to believe he is only weeks away from his twentieth birthday.

“I cannot thank you enough,” he says, looking down at her with a strange sort of pain. He is in formal black robes, embroidered with threads of grey and green, as is customary for the Black scions to be dressed to funerals of one of their own, but his dapper appearance is disturbed by a new, just-healing slash across his right cheekbone. She offered to heal it and he refused.

“You know you don’t have to,” she answers, giving him a small, downturned smile.

“Still.” He reaches inside his coat pocket and pulls out a small silver locket, engraved with the Black insignia, and lined with the tiniest of emeralds. He holds it out to her, but she doesn’t take it. “It contains a sort of concoction that will aid you in escape if Death Eaters attack you. It will give you a few precious minutes if you open it.”

Euphemia’s heart feels heavier than her limbs, which is a feat in itself, these days. She reaches out but not to take the locket—instead, she closes his fingers over it. She smiles at him again, a sad, slow thing. “Monty and I—we will make do without it.” She pauses, considering, then adds anyway, “If it comes to that at all.”

He frowns but before he can reply, there is the sound of two pairs of footsteps from inside the house. Monty and Linsy emerge a second later, both tired-looking, the latter’s magic holding up the body of a sleeping Regulus Black. He looks better than he did a week ago, but then he did look like death then.

“He’s ready,” Monty says.

Sirius steps to him, touching the side of his relaxed face. He stopped crying out in sleep just a couple of nights ago. “It’s not every day that you get to take a dead man home just after you’ve buried him,” he says, looking down at his brother. The wound on his cheek gleams and Euphemia counts to herself the number of people who could have inflicted it on him.

“Not everyone is so lucky, no,” agrees Monty. His white hair is awash in the dying light, the creases of his face smoothed out. He looks—calm.

Sirius looks up from Regulus’s face and at them. His eyes are sharper now, fiercer, but no less kind. He crosses the space between himself and Monty and offers him a hand. Monty looks down on it as if Sirius has just caused him a great offence and uses it to pull him into a hug. Sirius goes rigid, then relaxes into her husband’s arms.

“Thank you,” he says, a note of surprise in his voice.

When they separate, he is immediately engulfed by Euphemia, her arms coming around him in a fierce hug, a kind she’s sure he’s never had too many of. His own are strong around her, fierce. They pull back and he looks down at her, eyes searching her face. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He only closes it and offers her the locket again, the question, the plea in his eyes clear. She shakes her head.

“Remember to give Regulus the potions I prepared for you,” is the only thing she says.

He doesn’t argue. Even though she knows he would like to, he doesn’t have the time. His absence, like the ones over the past week, could be questioned at any time and can be blamed on the distress upon his brother’s death only so many times.

Regulus dips a little when Sirius’s magic replaces Linsy’s with a swish of his wand. “Thank you,” he says again and walks down the paved path, Regulus’s sleeping form drifting after him, the same way they came on that night. He turns at the end, where the protective enchantments end and he is free to apparate. He takes Regulus’s limp hand in his and uses the one with the wand in it to wave a greeting.

The last one, if Euphemia’s bones tell her right.

The Black brothers disappear just as night settles, warm and comforting. Beckoning.

#harry potter #sirius black #euphemia potter #death eater sirius black #not really #but technically #fleamont potter #regulus black #kreacher #regulus black lives #post hogwarts #first war with voldemort #in a world three degrees north

[unfortunate-arrow]

The July Ball

[A three part story, with other mcs (belonging to @danceworshipper, @daniella-gisele-rys & @hufflepuffs-honor) introduced in part 2.]

Part 1: Preparations 

Doyle Lynch cut a tall, imposing figure. His frame was cloaked in black dress robes that gave him a rather sinister vibe. He was not conventionally attractive in the way that his “filthy mudblood” brother-in-law had been as Seán O’Donnell, with his pale skin, dark hair, and light eyes, had represented the best of the Black Irish. Doyle had only met his brother-in-law once, at the funeral of his “blood traitor” parents, when his sister had been pregnant with their oldest son, Cian. Cian’s obsession with the Cursed Vaults at Hogwarts and subsequent disappearance had stained the O’Donnell name. Luckily, though, most people forgot that one branch of the powerful Lynch family was associated with those filthy O’Donnells. Although, Doyle did have custody of all five of his nieces and nephews. He had been granted custody as the only living relative after the death of his mudblood brother-in-law’s parents. He terrified his four twelve-year-old nieces and nephews. 

Doyle Lynch towered over the four quadruplets as he stood at the large desk in the center of his office. “I expect each one of you to present yourselves admirably at my ball tonight. As this shall be the first one that I am graciously allowing you to attend, I have asked a few of my guests to bring their children. Now, if you misbehave…” Doyle snarled, his unsaid threat hanging ominously in the air. The quads nodded furiously, all four too paralyzed to speak. “You are all expected to wear dress robes properly. Ryan, Cara, Sara, you are dismissed. Get out of my sight.” 

The three named children stood up. Ryan dropped what he hoped to be a reassuring pat on his brother’s shoulder. Cara offered him a small smile and Sara squeezed his hand tightly. Once they exited the room, Doyle turned his full attention on his youngest nephew, Conor. 

“I expect you to speak and to speak properly. I do not want any speculation that you are a dimwit or challenged mentally because of your inability to speak properly. Merlin only knows how you got into Ravenclaw with that ridiculous goddamn stammer. You will speak the same way that Ryan, Cara and Sara do. Do you understand me?” 

“Yes, s-s-sir,” Conor answered, cursing himself in his head as he tripped clumsily over the word ‘sir.’ 

“Get out of my sight. And remember that I don’t want to hear your ridiculous stammer.” 

Conor nodded and basically ran out of the office. He found Ryan, Cara, and Sara in the alcove between their rooms, on the other side of the manor. Ryan was laying on his back, his legs and feet resting up against the wall. Cara had a similar position, but on the window bench. Sara sat in one of the dusty armchairs. 

“What did Uncle Doyle want with you?” Cara asked. 

“My st-st-st-stammer,” Conor answered. 

“Well, Uncle Doyle’s an asshat.” Ryan said it so matter of factly that Conor and Cara both broke into a grin.

“Ry! You need to be careful. I don’t want to see him hurt you again,” Sara said softly. 

“Sara, he’s on the other side of the manor in his chambers. He rarely frequents here.” 

“I know that, Ryan! I just don’t want to see you hurt.” 

“When’s this stupid ball, anyways?” Cara asked, interrupting before Ryan and Sara could have a full blown argument. 

“Tonight, s-s-six th-th-thirty,” Conor answered, his cheeks flaming as the words got stuck. 

“How do we handle Conor’s stammer, then?”

“Can you avoid your trigger sounds?” Ryan asked. 

“No! It’s impossible to avoid th-th-them,” Conor answered, annoyance easily creeping into his voice. 

“Talk as little as you possibly can, then. Don’t offer anything other than a greeting and only answer the questions that they ask. Although, they will probably ask about what houses we’re in.”

“Well, Gryffindor’s easy f-for me. But I’m not in Gryffindor!” 

“Just be yourself, Conor. Your stammer isn’t who you are,” Sara snapped glaring at both her brothers. 

“Yeah, I’m with Sara on this one. The only problem is Uncle Doyle, so maybe talk slower than normal. It might help,” Cara said. 

Conor nodded and ran his hand through his brown hair. The four siblings passed the next two hours trading jokes, insults and possible ways for Conor to avoid stammering in front of the people that their uncle wanted to impress. At precisely five-thirty, a loud pop drew their attention. It belonged to one of the three house elves their uncle owned. 

“Master says Ryan, Cara, Sara and Conor O’Donnell are to prepare for the ball,” he said, in his squeaky little voice. 

“Of course, thank you, Colby,” Sara said, smiling at the small elf. 

The elf nodded and then vanished. Ryan flipped himself over and stood up, dusting off his jeans with his hands. 

“Well, guess it’s time to get ready. Off to the gallows!” Ryan exclaimed, throwing his arms out. His siblings rolled their eyes. 

The two boys split off to one side to their shared bedroom on the left side of the hall. Ryan dropped himself onto his unmade bed, before turning to Conor. 

“So what color dress robes are you going to wear?” he asked, tapping his fingers in a random pattern against the headboard of the bed.

“I don’t know. Maybe navy,” Conor said, rummaging through their shared wardrobe to find the dress robes their uncle had purchased. 

“Uncle Doyle would probably prefer the darker colors. What if I do green? Sara says it compliments my eyes.” 

“S-s-s-sure, if th-that’s what you want.” 

“At least we don’t have to do hair. Are you going to wear your leather bracelet?” 

“No. What about you?” 

“Nah. I will wear Dad’s watch though. But, I won’t wear my sneakers either. Uncle Doyle would throw a hissy fit and then hex me just for fun.” 

“Yeah. I’ll h-h-have Dad’s other watch on, too. I j-just don’t want to st-st-stammer.” 

“He’s a jackass. You can’t control it and didn’t ask for it.” 

Conor shrugged, pulled a set of dark green dress robes out of the wardrobe and threw it at Ryan, who just grinned. Then he grabbed another set of dress robes at random and threw it onto his bed. It didn’t take the two brothers long to change into the dress robes. 

Ryan ran a hand through his hair and then dragged a comb through it, trying to make it look better. He glared distastefully at the black loafers that he had put on underneath the dress robes. He stood up and then glanced at Conor. His brother was dressed identically, just with navy dress robes and black dress shoes. Together, they stepped into the hall to wait for their sisters. 

Meanwhile, in their shared room, Cara and Sara were staring at the four sets of dress robes their uncle had purchased for this occasion. 

“I can’t have anything that clashes with my hair. Uncle Doyle would have a conniption,” Cara said. 

“Take the black one or the navy one, then. After all, we don’t want to kill him,” Sara answered. 

“I wouldn’t mind getting a few licks on him.” 

“Wouldn’t we all. Conor should have the first go at him, though. Ryan could maybe have it as well. After all, Uncle Doyle’s much harsher on them.” 

“Yeah. The nerve that he has to tell Conor that he can’t stammer. It’s not like it’s something he can control!”

“Yep. Do you have any idea who could be attending?”

“No. Uncle Doyle did mention that most of them would be our age, though. Maybe Barnaby Lee will attend with his jackass parents.” 

“Who’s Barnaby?” 

“He’s a Slytherin in our year. He’s not exactly the brightest, but he’s certainly tough. He’s one of Merula’s cronies, though.” 

“Oh. He can’t be too bad though. Can he?” 

“I don’t know, we haven’t really spoken all that much.” 

“Ah. So, black or navy?” 

“Let’s say navy. I’ll be bold tonight.” 

“Okay. I’ll do the purple one. It’s so pretty.” 

“It’ll look great on you, Sara.” 

“The navy will look good on you too, Cara.” 

“Thank you. Are you going to wear your claddagh?” 

“Of course. What about you?” 

“Nah, I think I’ll leave it with my bracelet.” 

The two sisters smiled and quickly changed into their respective set of dress robes. After they finished getting dressed, the two girls braided each other’s hair as braids were much easier to do in a hurry than other hair styles. 

They stepped into the hall and quickly spotted their brothers. Ryan was fiddling with one of the curtain tassels, while Conor was reading a book on the history of Donegal Castle. Both girls grinned. 

“Hey, guys! Looking sharp,” Cara called out, startling both boys. Ryan yelped as he yanked a little too hard on the tassel, causing the curtain to come crashing down. Conor’s head snapped up from his book, his eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to assess the situation. 

“Let’s head down before Uncle Doyle comes up and discovers the curtain is broken,” Sara said before her siblings could say anything.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #ryan o'donnell #cara o'donnell #sara o'donnell #conor o'donnell #doyle lynch #my writing #O'Donnell quadruplets #gryffindor mc #hufflepuff mc #slytherin mc #ravenclaw mc #hphm mc #hpma mc

[dogbearinggifts]

I find your metas on Vanya and Luther and their reaction to trauma enlightening. You bring an interesting perspective I don’t hear a lot. I am curious as to your thoughts on Five and how he reacts to trauma and his family. Thanks 😄

Thank you! I love writing them. 

Five, I think, is impatient with his family because he believes he survived worse. And, in some ways, he has a point: He ran away too young and found himself in a world far harsher than anything he’d been taught to prepare for. He was the last person alive, so there was no one he could ask for help. There would’ve been stores to loot for canned goods and nonperishables in the beginning, but even canned food goes bad eventually (and botulism poisoning would’ve been a danger with any cans that were dented or otherwise damaged) so he would’ve had to learn to hunt and forage. The latter skill especially is difficult to master, because there are so many plants that look edible but aren’t—water hemlock looks like wild parsnips, fool’s parsley looks like regular parsley, and that’s not even getting into things like elderberries which are edible, but only if cooked or prepared properly. I imagine Five finding a book on edible plants and another on plants to avoid, poring over the pictures for hours so he’ll be able to tell an edible mushroom from a poisonous one, only to give up and go hungry because he wasn’t 100 percent sure. He would have had to purify his own water, set up shelters in a way that shielded him from the elements and any wild animals that happened by, and he would’ve had to do all of this perfectly because nature doesn’t give a shit whether you live or die. One mistake would’ve meant death. 

So he’s definitely earned bragging rights, to say the least. But I don’t think he’s earned the right to look down on his siblings, because they didn’t have it better than he did. Oh, sure, they had easy access to food and shelter and would’ve been able to ask others for help if they needed it, but they were also under the thumb of a cruel man who saw them as nothing more than tools in his experiment. They had to undergo experimentation, dangerous missions (or, in Vanya’s case, being told they weren’t good enough to go on missions) and constant mind games from the man they called Dad. They all endured the trauma of Ben’s death. Five was off fighting his own battles, but there were thousands more battles raging at the Academy. 

However, his impatience with his family is…complicated. I think he sees them as lagging behind, like they’re caught up in petty things that don’t matter while he’s survived the apocalypse; but he also cares deeply about their safety. He held onto that copy of Vanya’s autobiography for decades because it was his last link to his siblings. He remained alive for forty-five years after his disastrous jump because he thought he could find a way to get back to them. Think about that: He was the last man on Earth; he’d seen his siblings’ bodies and found a book confirming that yep, even Ben had died some years back; he’s completely alone and without help; no one will notice if he lives or dies. I’d be surprised if he didn’t contemplate (or even attempt) suicide more than once. But he stayed alive, because he had that slim hope of getting back to them. As someone who has battled depression in far less dire circumstances, I’m in awe of that perseverance. 

He calls his siblings emotionally stunted, excluding himself from that categorization even as he acknowledges that their circumstances are what led to them being the way they are. That’s a pretty complex view to hold of his own family, but it conveniently ignores the fact that he too is emotionally stunted—just in a different way. Instead of breaking down when he learns the apocalypse is going to happen after all, he immediately latches onto anything that might help him stop it (which works out well when he decides to time-travel with his siblings, but not so well when he follows the Handler’s lure). He’s no drug addict, but there are many clues that point toward alcoholism. Instead of flying off the handle when his siblings do something that pushes his buttons, he seems to withdraw, tossing off a few parting shots before returning to whatever he deems more important. And he not only seems allergic to asking for help; he outright refuses to accept it until Luther literally threatens him into accepting. I mean, Luther gets a lot of flak in that scene for dangling Delores out a window, but Five was about to go off and kill a random gardener because the math said it might maybe hopefully prevent the apocalypse. It’s not a matter of “Five right, Luther wrong;” at this point, we’re looking at who was wrong and who was less wrong. (It’s Luther. Luther was less wrong. Five was more wrong.) He might not have the same flawed outlooks and toxic coping mechanisms as his siblings, but that doesn’t mean he lacks them entirely. 

I think his appearance also plays a role in how he behaves toward his siblings. He’s a 58-year-old man in a teenager’s body, but that’s a pretty spot-on metaphor for people who left abusive homes, and not just at a young age. You leave home, you have to survive in a world your parents didn’t prepare you for (either because they were neglectful or because they wanted to keep you dependent) and you make do. Maybe you even thrive. You grow up fast and overcome challenges you didn’t even know existed…but when you return home, your family sees you as the same dumb little kid they remember. At that point, you have two choices: Grin and bear it, or overcompensate. Five chose the latter. 

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves #number five #five meta #suicide mention #depression mention #anon #answered

[1-1snailxd-art]

Libraries are for Meetings

Master List --- Chapter 1 

Chapter 2 - The Librarian in the Closet 

Warnings: mild panic

Summary:  Logan wants to repay Virgil for his help with the laptop.

___________________________________________________

Virgil had been at the library for three months, and in that three months it had never occurred to him that Roman was gay. Heat rose to Virgil’s cheeks as he pictured Roman dancing in the library, and he shook his head to erase the thoughts.

“Are you ok, Virgil?” Logan questioned, watching the other jolt out of their thoughts.

“Ah, I’m fine. A tad overloaded, but fine.” Virgil turned to check on the computers progress, eager to return to some normality after recent events. “It’ll take around 20 minutes for the files to finish copying. You’re welcome to use the kitchen at the back to make yourself something to drink while you wait. I’ve gotta get back to work.”

 Virgil left the office, expecting Logan to head towards the back, so he was surprised to sense the man still following him.

“Um, the kitchen is that way.” He gestured to the room behind the reading area, but Logan shook his head.

“I would feel terrible if I were to sit and relax while you work. I did distract you from your usual tasks. Allow me to help.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Virgil started busying himself by searching through books on a random shelf. “I can handle everything. Tuesday’s are quiet and I can’t start the actual cleaning for another 40 minutes when the library officially closes.”

“Oh, well, um…” Logan knew nothing about the role of a librarian and didn’t want to cause any more trouble for Virgil. “Would you like something to drink while I’m back there?”

“Coffee, please. Black.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

   Logan turned towards the kitchen, pausing in the reading area to lay his lab coat on the couch before continuing. Finally alone, Virgil lent on a support beam and allowed himself to relax. His hands trembled slightly, and he closed his eyes to try and steady his suddenly irregular breathing. In the span of 20 minutes he had gone from preparing to defend an acquaintance from a vicious deviant, to salvaging a ruined laptops data, to watching a friendship crumble before him. That was a lot of social events for one person to deal with in a short time span.

 ********************

 The kitchen was set out for basic communal use. The fridge was covered in notices about an honesty system and ensuring money was deposited in the jar to cover the cost of what was used. Logan opened a cupboard to retrieve two mugs and set to making two cups of instant coffee. Curiosity itched at Logan, and he found himself opening and inspecting the contents of all the cupboards. Plates, platters, cutlery. The kitchen was clearly capable of presenting a large array of foods, though none could be cooked without a stove or oven. In the final cupboard, Logan was shocked to find a collection of old phone books.

“Odd place to store these.” Logan whispered aloud as he pulled one of the books out to inspect it.

He was shocked to find the space behind the books was full of instant noodles, granola bars and biscuits. Logan’s mind ticked over as he recalled the items in the office. Suddenly the number of boxes of materials and duffel bags in Virgil’s office appeared suspicious, and the hidden food had Logan questioning. He knew Katie and she was not the sort to eat food like that. Returning the book, Logan finished making the coffees and headed back to find Virgil.

 “Virgil?” Pausing at the main desk, Logan was surprised to see the librarian on the floor behind the desk. “What is going on?”

Virgil had been so focused on trying to maintain control of his breathing, that he hadn’t heard Logan approach him.

“You’re shaking.” Logan dug into his jean pocket and pulled out a roll of candies. “Here, take one of these. I’ve found sugar helps in cases of many ailments, and I think it applies to your case.”

Gratefully taking the candies, Virgil felt his cheeks heating as he realised how close Logan was to him.

“Ahem, thanks.” Keeping his gaze low, Virgil tentatively stretched before attempting to stand.

“Was that a result of the overload you mentioned earlier, or something else?”

Virgil stared up at Logan before turning away, shaking his head and taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re a skilled person, Virgil, but lying isn’t one of your skills unfortunately.” Logan made no attempt to move as he watched Virgil’s back, carefully reading his body language. “Is there any way I could assist you with your predicament?”

 Virgil almost choked on his coffee at Logan’s words.

“What are you talking about? Why do you care? You don’t even know me?”

The words came out harsher than he had intended, and Virgil was glad he still had his back to Logan.

“I understand that my earlier behaviour may have led you to believe otherwise, but I am a rather caring person. You come across as the sort of person who gives plenty to others and expects very little in return, which is what has led to your cur-“

“Stop. Please, just stop.” Virgil pushed away from the desk and headed back into the aisles of the library.

 Logan didn’t follow. He merely watched the young man as he wondered the aisles, finding all manner of jobs to distract himself. It was like looking in a mirror, only when Logan had been avoiding all manner of help, he was younger than what Virgil was now. Taking a page from Patton’s book, Logan sat back and gave Virgil his space to process.

 ********************

 Finally, a clock chimed, marking the closure of the library. Virgil jumped at the sound, realising that time had slipped away from him. After locking the front door, he headed back to his office to collect the USB for Logan.

The sound of a vacuum starting had Virgil scrambling to grab the USB as it jumped from his hand. Exiting the office, he found Logan was in the process of vacuuming the reading area.

“What on earth are you doing?” Virgil called over the sound.

Logan looked back and smiled at Virgil before returning to his work, until the vacuums power plug was pulled, and the library was plunged back into silence.

 “Well that was incredibly rude,” Logan remarked, “I was working.”

“A, you don’t work here and B, here’s your USB.” Virgil tossed the drive to Logan and pointed towards the door. “You can go now.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere. I still have to repay you for your efforts.”

“You’ve already paid me. I asked you not to dissect anyone and you haven’t.”

“A service deserves payment. So, allow me to pay you, Virgil.”

 “Logan? It’s great to see you.” Katie’s voice echoed from the front of the library as she locked the door and headed towards where Logan and Virgil were.

“Always a pleasure to see you too, Katie. How’s the main library?”

“Back on track now. Thanks for taking over, Virgil, but I can take it from here. You’re free to go home now.”

It suddenly occurred to Virgil that with Katie staying back to clean, he wouldn’t be able to stay, and he hadn’t arranged to stay with anyone else.

“Oh, um, yeah. Thanks, Katie.” He quickly went back to his office to start packing his things and make a plan for the evening.

 “Roman filled me in on the afternoons events,” Katie commented as she took the vacuum from Logan’s hand. “Honestly, Lo, don’t you think you went a little overboard.”

“Considering my general demeanour, it would appear so, but I assure you it was entirely justified.”

“Sure, it was, sweetie. So, what do you think of Virgil?”

“What do you mean?” Logan squinted at Katie in confusion as he took in her mischievous look.

“You missed out on Professor Keils extra tutorial to hang out in a library. You’ve never missed a lecture or tutorial for anyone. So, what do you think of Virgil?”

 Logan was at a loss for words as he considered why he had stayed with Virgil. He needed the data from his laptop, that was important, but he didn’t have to stay to retrieve it. He could have gone to the tutorial and come back later to collect his things, there was no reason to stay. So why had he?

“I think he… is lost.”

“Sound familiar.” Katie smiled and pulled Logan into a hug. “I’ve given Virgil space, but I think he needs someone to give him guidance.”

“I hardly know him, and he sees me as a stranger.”

“Jason hardly knew you.”

“That was different. We were younger and Jason was-“ Logan choked on his words thinking of the person he had lost.

“Don’t over think it, Lo. Just act.”

 “See you tomorrow, Katie.” Virgil called from the front as he left.

Logan looked down at Katie, who nudged her head to the side and mouthed “go”.

“You are a very manipulative and quick-witted woman.”

After planting a kiss of thanks on Katie’s forehead, Logan grabbed his coat and rushed out the door to catch up with Virgil.

 “You’d be proud of him, Jason.” Katie spoke to the echoes of the empty library. “Admittedly, you would also be jealous, and a little concerned at how he reacted, but proud nonetheless.”

 ********************

 Pulling his hood up to block out the evening breeze, Virgil headed down the road; his mind ticking through his possible options for the evening. So far, his best option was to find a place to chill until Katie finished at the library so he could return to do his usual process. The reading area couch wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but it was better than any outdoor options.

 “Virgil!”

Logan’s voice snapped Virgil out of his thoughts, and he turned to see the man jogging towards him.

“You have a very swift walking pace,” he noted, quickly catching up to where Virgil had paused. “I never expected you to be so far away.”

“What happened to cleaning the library?” Virgil questioned, adjusting the straps of his backpack and duffel bag. 

“A, I don’t work there and B, I was only cleaning to repay you.” Logan mimicked Virgil’s earlier body language and noticed the slight smile pulling at the other's cheeks. “Can’t repay you if you aren’t there, so allow me to treat you to dinner instead.”

“Wha-What?” The duffel slipped off Virgil’s shoulder and hit the ground with a soft thud.

“Dinner.” Logan replied, reaching down to pick up Virgil’s bag, “The meal you eat in the evening.”

“I-I know what dinner is but-“

“Well then, let’s go. My car is on the other side of the University; it will be necessary to take you to make favourite restaurant.”

 Patton wouldn’t approve of Logan’s methods; talking over Virgil and forcing the man to follow him as he walked away with his bag. Initially, Virgil didn’t move, stunned into silence, but he soon found his feet and was following Logan towards the University. The pair walked in silence, Logan slightly ahead and Virgil a step behind and trying to work out what Logan’s endgame was. He couldn’t work the man out and he seemed to be going to a lot of effort over repaying him for a simple data transfer.

Slipping his phone out of his pocket, Virgil quickly typed out a message to Katie.

 Virge: spill. What is this guys deal?

Reelest: what ever do you mean?

Virge: Im serious. Im currently walking the streets with a guy who was threatening to dissect someone earlier today.

Reelest: Logan is harmless.

Virge: what is his fascination with repaying me.

Reelest: you just saved months worth of research for him. He’s grateful. Let someone do something for you for a change.

Virge: I don’t know how I feel about this, Katie. This is all just so weird.

Reelest: trust me, Sparks. Logan is a good guy. Relax and enjoy yourself. I expect pictures and for you to fill me in tomorrow.

Virge: you’re acting like this is a date. This isn’t a date!

 Virgil sent the message but felt his breath catch in his throat. His mind raced with cruel thoughts and memories. The vibration of his phone pulled him back to the present, and he gasped; realising he had stopped breathing altogether.

 “Are you ok back there?” Logan questioned, realising that Virgil had fallen more than a few steps behind.

“Um,” Virgil quickly cleared his throat and pulled his hood down to hide his face. “I’m fine. I was just distracted by my phone.”

“Well, we are almost there. Sorry I parked so far away.”

“No worries, it’s fine.”

Virgil looked down at the message in his phone and felt confusingly calmer.

  Reelest : don’t worry. Logan doesn’t date. I still want all the details though.

 ********************

 "Um, isn't the car park that way?" questioned Virgil, as Logan suddenly veered towards a nearby building.

"I need to collect my bag from the lab."

Pulling a keycard from his pocket, Logan let himself into the building and stepped inside; letting the door swing back to Virgil's outstretched hand. Virgil remained nervously in the entry as his mind reminded him of the furious man he had met hours earlier. He couldn't shake the feeling that he would do something wrong and make Logan just as mad at him.

 Peering over his shoulder, Logan noticed Virgil's hesitation and decided not to push him to follow. His footsteps echoed through the halls as he headed up the stairs and swiped his card again to enter the first room on his left.

Sighing, Logan stood in the doorway and took in the mess that he and Patton had left behind. A microscope was still set up on a bench with a box of slides set out, Logan's notebook hadn't moved from where it had been laid open and was thankfully safe from the pool of coffee that had spread from a fallen mug. Wiping his hand down his face, Logan groaned at the reminder that he would have to clear the lab to ensure his access wouldn't be revoked.

 "Honestly," Virgil suddenly appeared behind Logan, "I expected it to be worse."

Logan chuckled, "It seemed a lot worse to me at the time."

"Care to point me in the direction of a cloth or something. Cleaning is kind of what I do."

"No." Logan started walking to the storeroom to collect some supplies, "I'm the one repaying you, remember?"

Shrugging, Virgil hoisted himself up onto another bench and looked down at the laptop power cable snaked across the floor.

"I'm guessing Patton pulled your laptop down by the power cord?"

"Precisely," Returning, Logan dumped a handful of paper towel on the coffee spill to soak the liquid up. "He was practicing some dance Roman had taught him when his foot snagged on the cord. I can't count the number of times I've told him labs weren't a place for dancing."

 “I imagine he’s not as graceful as Roman.”

Logan chuckled, “No, he isn’t. You watch Roman dance often?”

“Yea-no. Not rea-. Well…” Virgil stumbled over his words, thankful that Logan’s back was too him. “I usually -um- only see the end when I’m shutting up the library. I don’t, like, watch him or anything.”

 Logan nodded and took no more than a side glance at Virgil. The man was on edge, barely able to keep still and there was a slight blush to his cheeks. He recognised that look and that talk. It was painfully familiar.

‘Katie said he needed guidance. Perhaps it is in more areas than I thought.’

Returning the microscope to the cupboard, Logan turned to find Virgil had packed his notebook and slides in his bag and was using a cloth to wipe the bench top down with disinfectant.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he commented, taking the supplies out of Virgil’s hands to return them.

“Annoying, isn’t it,” Virgil gave Logan a smug smile and picked up his backpack and duffel. “Can we get this dinner over with now so that we are all squared up.”

“Aren’t you enjoying my company?”

“No offence, or anything,” Virgil was working hard to come across as nonchalant and hide his true feelings. “I don’t enjoy the company of people in general.”

“Relatable.”

 Logan strode out of the lab, leaving Virgil lingering alone for a moment.

‘Who on earth is this guy?’

Virgil had never experienced anyone quite like Logan. It didn’t make sense that he could be irrationally emotional and quick witted one second, and then deadly serious the next. As Virgil caught up and continued to follow Logan out towards the carpark, he considered the way he was presenting himself.

‘Mentally unstable, antisocial, loner, computer freak. Why hasn’t this dude run for the hills yet?’

 “Here’s my car”

The lights of a scratched-up Honda Civic flashed as Logan unlocked the car. Considering how professional Logan came across, Virgil had pictured a modern, well-kept car. The grey machine before him was anything but well kept.

“You can put your stuff in the boot if you want.” Logan offered, placing his own bag in and walking around to the driver’s side.

Slamming the boot shut, Virgil slid into the passenger seat just and the engine spluttered to life.

 ********************

 “So where is this elusive restaurant?” Virgil asked, glancing over and noticing how the streetlights reflected on Logan’s glasses.

“It’s on the east side. Considering how quiet it is on the roads right now, we should be there in 10 minutes.”

Virgil paled slightly, realising he would have to make the journey back to the library later. He only hoped the weather was on his side.

“I will of course be able to drop you back at your place afterwards,” offered Logan, quickly sensing Virgil’s discomfort. “I wouldn’t whisk you away and then expect you to find your own way back.”

“Oh, no. That’s fine. You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I will.”

 Virgil turned to stare out the window, reassessing his plans. He couldn’t get Logan to drop him off at the library; that would scream “I’m homeless and illegally living where I work.” He instead settled on using his old address; it was only a 5 minute walk to the library from there.

 For some, the silence of the drive would have been uncomfortable, but both Logan and Virgil found it comforting. They each had their own thoughts to process. Virgil focused on his housing dilemma and trying to understand Logan’s motives. While Logan on the other hand, was thinking about what Katie expected him to do and wondering how Patton was. The two were so different and yet shared much in common. Logan was starting to see it, but it would take time for Virgil to feel the same.

____________________________________________

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Let me know if you have any feedback, questions or concerns. 

💜🐌

____________________________________________

Chapter 3   ---  Master List

What else have I done:

The Perfect Ring (oneshot - analogical proposal)

You Promised (oneshot - prinxiety angst/injury/near death) 

Sides of a Hero (Completed Fic - sides are fusions of impulses and aspects of Thomas. Virgil has a depressing past that he is forced to face thanks to Deceit and Rage. Was canon compliant at the time of completion)

The Shield to your Sword (WIP - A fantasy/magic au - Prinxiety (Royal Roman and orphan Virgil - they’ll admit to their love eventually), Virgil angst, non binary, healer Logan, *spoiler* Patton) 

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles

#libraries are for meetings #LAFM #the librarian in the closet #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides au #alternate universe #ts logan #ts virgil #Logan Mars #Virgil Sparks #orignial character #analogical #self discovery #fanders #famders #sanders sides fandom #my writing

[tragedybunny]

The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 12

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

Inara rolls her eyes. “If you’re done with your dramatic entrance, can we get started?” She gestures impatiently to the ponderous house below us. 

“My apologies, I must have mistook myself for the one in charge of this mission.” I give her a flat look and she finally cracks a smile as Lark sighs at us. “Don’t worry Lark, banter is over. You both know who we need to move on if this doesn’t go in our favor. Wait for me, we’ll move as one in that case. If I don’t come back at all, leave, pretend none of this ever happened.”

Inara gives me a dark look. “Should one of us let him know, in the case that you don’t come back?” 

It hadn’t crossed my mind that he would need to be informed if I should fail. Nothing that happened in the city seemed to escape his knowing. Yet suppose he didn’t know this time? Would he believe the worst of me, that I had betrayed him and vanished into the night? “Go to the servant’s door, ask for Gwen, my maid, she’ll see that he’s told.” 

“Your what now?” Oh, gods. At least that’s brought the mirth back to her expression. 

“What? Am I supposed to get into those fancy dresses all by myself?” I know she’ll laugh at that, I need to hear it just now. The weight of this moment is starting to settle onto me and I drag my hand through my hair.  “Come on, let’s get this over with.” 

“Of course, whatever you say...Madame Swain.” That even manages to draw a chuckle from Lark. It catches me off guard though and I feel a blush creep up my cheeks. I’m granted a reprieve as neither of them offer a comment on it. 

I ready myself at the edge of the roof. One well placed jump and I’ll be on the house below us. “See you on the other side.”

I take a few paces back and give myself a running start. I spring off the roof, for a moment it feels like flying, and the other roof rushes toward me. As I land, I roll, spreading the force and breaking my momentum. The darkened turrets make an ideal entry point. They, much like the House guards, belong to a bygone era, and many, like Jericho’s, ended up as neglected spaces. 

The archaic window gives way easily, admitting me into the blackness within. She should be just returning from the festivities at the arena, bloodshed for the masses, the condemned dying in the most spectacular fashion, and a lucky few winning pardons. Cobwebs and dust have gathered over crates and bits of furniture, as I suspected, it’s been abandoned to time. I put my foot out and test the spiral staircase that leads downward, it seems sturdy enough. I descend, stepping lightly to avoid the groaning of the ancient wood, passing the attic, and stopping at the next floor. I lean down to the keyhole, holding my breath, there’s every chance this door has been sealed over. Light shines through, one small victory. I put my ear to it and listen, there’s no noise emanating from the house beyond. I crack it ever so slightly, holding my breath as it creaks in the emptiness. No movement, no signs of life. Perfect, I slip out and shut it softly behind me. 

Voices begin the carry up from the stairs, she’s in the company of her guards, as expected. I only need to be patient for that to be remedied. I slip through the gaudily furnished hall in shadows, the Ingritts apparently have a deep need to display their wealth. I make for the master suite, another exercise in ostentatiousness, entering the bedchamber to lay in wait. 

She gives her final orders to the guards for the night before she enters, unaccompanied. Her back is to me as she shuts the door presenting me with a temptation to end her and avoid bothering with persuasion. But no, her support would be valuable. “Hello, Lara.” 

“So you’ve finally come.” She laughs. “Your whole absurd operation has become too easy to anticipate”

I feel a spark of anger, we’ve been exposed. I reach for my daggers, preparing for this talk to go very poorly. “Then you know what I’m here to offer.” 

  She turns toward me, confidence making her movements unhurried, her features imperious. “Join this ill-advised coup and hand the Guild over to the Usurper’s little pet? No, I don’t think I will. There’s a reason your father rejected you.” The chain whip coiled at her side suddenly sings through the air. I leap back, avoiding the sharp blade at the tip, drawing the daggers I had gripped. “You’re weak Katarina, you need to be led. With your father gone, you simply found someone else to do that.” 

She touches a deep well of rage that roils at her words, I feel something inside me snap. How many times will my past errors be weapons against me? How much more will I have to hear about my disgrace, my father’s disappointment?  There’s only been one person, despite his failings, who has seen more in me. “I’m taking the Guild, it belongs to me. If you choose to stand in my way then so be it.” I let a dagger fly in her direction, her chain whip flashing out to block it, predictable. I use the moment she’s committed herself to that action and I close the distance between us, coming to her side. 

She tries to change the momentum of her weapon, recovering faster than I anticipated. I leap back as she succeeds in bringing it back toward my direction. The blade catches me though, rending open the flesh of my thigh. Through the adrenaline, I can’t tell how deep it goes, but I feel the hot trickle of blood working its way down my leg. 

I draw another dagger and feint to my left, keeping my eyes locked on her weapon. Her hand makes the slightest movement, I wait. The whip begins to fly towards me, I dive to the other side, hurtling myself full speed at her. Her weapon, committed to where she thought I’d be, is useless to her. The blade in my hand tears into her throat, ripping it open. Blood erupts and she uselessly grasps at the wound. “Tell me again about my weakness, Lara.” 

Her hands still and her knees buckle. She gasps her last breaths as she collapses to the floor in a sanguine pool. I finally become aware of a stinging in my thigh and look down to find a wound several inches long. I withdraw a bandage from a pouch on my belt and staunch the flow of blood as much as possible, I don’t need to leave a trail. We’ll need to move on the others now before word of Lara’s death gets out. I push open one of the windows, gritting my teeth against its whine of protest, must everything in this house sound like it’s falling apart. I take a blind leap into the space between this house and the next, haste is more important now than secrecy, and sprint at full speed to the temple. 

Lark and Inara await me in silent anticipation. They know as soon as I appear that the recruitment wasn’t successful. “Our other three need to be done, now. We’ve been found out somehow, keep your wits about you and show no mercy.”

Inara shoots a glance at my leg, the blood now darkening the bandage. “Are you sure you can handle this?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

“I’m fine!” It comes out harsher than I expected. Her eyes widen, but she says nothing. “Fucking hell.” I tear off the reddened bandage and replace it quickly, tying it tighter than before, while giving orders. “Use our next agreed on rendezvous. Approach it cautiously, we don’t know who knows what.” I take a breath as I finish. The steady flow of blood is concerning, but I won’t let them see that. 

We scatter, each moving with lightning pace. It’s only a matter of time before the body is discovered and we lose the advantage of surprise. My last target tonight brings the saga of me, my family, and the Guild full circle. My father’s cousin, Marius, he’d taken primary leadership of the Guild when my father “disappeared”. He’d nearly begged me to assume a role by his side with Talon leaving on his doomed search.  It had nothing to do with familial loyalty though, I was the best chance he had to secure his position. I’d told him what I’d told Jericho initially about all this, and it had been the truth at the time, I wasn’t a leader. When I left home for Jericho’s he’d dared to come howling at the gate, demanding a word with his “dear cousin”. It was one of the rare times I was thankful for Moira’s bullheaded tendencies, demanding was not an attitude that would get you nowhere with her. Instead, he’d left me a letter filled with rage and curses. He even dared to guilt me about mother being all alone, I’d tossed it in the fire as soon as I read it. 

I never told her I was leaving, I just did, and let the gossip circles tell her where I was. It was satisfying to rip that control from her hands. She’d hated me for as long as I could remember. Her political scheming and maneuvering meant everything to her, and my birth went wrong, keeping her out of society for longer than it should have. At least that was the tale told to me by my nurse. Or maybe it was the whispers I heard when I was older that she never wanted children, but I was thrust on her by duty and expectation.  Either way, the result was the same and none of it mattered much now.

After the revels at the Arena, Marius would be in his favorite brothel, Father and I had collected him from there a number of times. The well-appointed mansion in Goldstone that looked so ordinary from the outside and yet within the upper class of the Capitol indulged their every fantasy. It had been built when Goldstone was established for that very purpose, rising as a hidden playground among the newly constructed buildings. This whole area had once been a slum that was razed by fire. The new money moved in after and made their own enclave in direct opposition to the nobles shuttered away in Old Town.  Of course, everyone knew that the fire was intentional, but for the poor who lived here, there had been no justice. With his endless wars needing endless resources, Darkwill was uninterested in the crimes of the rich. 

Tonight it works in my favor, the two districts being intentionally close, giving me not far to run. The gash in my thigh is a constant stinging and I feel the bandage growing moist again. The modern aesthetic had every building in Goldstone built to nearly the same height and I easily glide from rooftop to rooftop, closing the distance to my target. A figure looms before me, standing on a roof, still as a statue, clad in red, pale and unearthly. Him. I stop short, reaching for a dagger. “Far from home tonight, aren’t you little Kat?” His voice is haughty, yet rich and seductive at the same time. 

For a moment I wonder if he was the stalker, but no, that wouldn’t be his way. This fiend rarely deigns to involve himself. “What do you want?” The dagger slips from its sheath. 

He laughs, a cold and mirthless sound. “You would try to challenge me, you hopelessly fearless child. I’m only here with a warning, from her.” She must be desperate to impress me if she convinced him to act as a messenger. “There is no going back from what you plan to do. So far you have been considered merely a pawn in this game, but this will change your standing, make you a target. Turn back, return to your family. You would not need to fear vengeance from him, the Black Rose will protect you.”

I roll my eyes at his words.“Like they protected Cass and my father? I’m through with others deciding my fate.”

“Yet you do this all for the man who made you a pawn in the first place, his personal weapon. In the Black Rose, you could command a greater destiny.” He holds out a hand, the invitation awaiting my response. 

I’m out of time for this. I know what loyalty to them means and I’ve had enough of it in my life. “Fight me or let me pass, either way, shut up.” 

He sighs in an intentionally dramatic manner. “As you wish.” Then he bows gracefully and takes a step back off the edge of the roof, vanishing into the night. Fantastic, another vague happening to worry about. We’ll have to figure out what his appearance portents later. 

With the way clear, I fly across the last few buildings, making a clean leap to the roof of the brothel. Fortunately, Marius usually makes use of a suite on the top floor. I’ve lost too much time to worry about subtlety. I drop down, grab the edge of the roof and propel myself forward, kicking in the window. The glass shattering in the still night sounds more like an explosion. I land and immediately draw blades. There’s a couple of frightened cries as both a young man and woman scamper from the bed. “Two cousin? Your greed really is boundless.”

He scrambles about, looking for a way to defend himself. “This is how you choose to do this Katarina?”

In truth, Marius has always been enough of a warrior that I’d rather it not be this way. But if I want the Guild there is no choice. “Get out!” I snarl at the two confounded whores and charge him. I don’t need them being a distraction. They’re quick to comply, but I won’t have long before they alert the house’s guards. 

He finally retrieves a single dagger and brings it up to block my downward slash. I over-committed while he was unarmed and can’t get away as his fist slams into my face, knocking me off balance, I lose my grip on my dagger. I reel backward, tasting blood in my mouth, as he gets his feet under him. Changing tactics, I reach for another dagger, balanced for throwing. Marius no longer knows me as he once did, I doubt he’ll predict what I’m doing. I throw it, intentionally sailing it to his right, leaving myself an open target for him. 

He takes the opportunity, pouncing at me, dagger ready for the kill. I spring out of the way, preparing my own strike. He reads what I’m doing, changing trajectory, managing to drag his blade along my stomach. It’s not deep, more of a scratch, but still, I feel a warm trickle coming from it. I’ve had enough. 

I don’t fall back, taking him by surprise. I spin, and land a kick to his knee, knocking it to the side with an audible pop. He brings the knife up in a wild defensive gesture, but I’m no longer there. Now I’m at his back, and my dagger drives deep into him, piercing a lung. He turns when I withdraw it, still trying to fight me. I plunge it into his heart, ending this. 

He falls backward, eyes wide in shock, the second of my family that I’ve stolen the life from. No time to contemplate now, I hear the thud of boots on the stairs and put my fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. Nothing. I make my exit quickly just as I hear the door behind me start to open. 

Our last meet is at one of Lark’s little hidden homes, this one a suite of rooms at the heart of an abandoned manor in Old Town. Instead of an ancient, crumbling mausoleum deserted ages ago, this one seems to have been cared for until fairly recently. The family was very likely targeted in one of Jericho’s purges. Lark is already there, casually perched on a faded damask sofa. “Oh, your poor face, good thing we waited until after Solstice. I take it you succeeded with your cousin?”

I smile, it feels hollow somehow, but I need him to feel confident in what we’ve done. “Of course, and it looks the same for you.” 

The door crashes open with Inara’s entrance, her body language exudes rage, but her eyes are strangely calm. “Somebody fucking warned him, he’s in the wind.”  There’s blood spattered everywhere on her and she clenches and unclenches her fists in rapid succession. “He had his people covering his escape, I tried to get through them.” 

I need to get her calm and rational. “Still, he’ll go to ground, he won’t be in the way while we secure our position. We’ll deal with him if he returns.”

“Whatever. Now what?” Both of them turn to me. 

“None of them will act without leadership in place. They’ll be scrabbling around to take it for themselves. Lark, you need to make sure they meet tomorrow night, that’s when we take what’s ours. For now, we part, keep yourselves secure.”

The adrenaline has started wearing off as we part ways into different ends of the city and without it, I feel the icy air razor sharp against my skin as I make my way back home. The burning in my thigh has never let up and I feel a thudding ache across my face. And yet, I am triumphant. And what of Marius, another of my kin, dead for mine and Jericho’s ambitions. We had trained and sparred together once. He was not quite as old as my father and served as a mentor when I was young. He too though turned on me when my father sought to replace me. And they all turned away from the greater good of the Empire when the finally relented to mother and chose the Pale Woman. Let him rot, he clearly was informed about what I was after and didn’t make the least effort to even contact me. Unless it was him that’s been following me. Time will tell. 

For now, I need to concentrate my efforts on finishing taking control of the Guild. Despite my initial hesitation, this would have been the path meticulously laid out for me as a child. I’m tired of being just Du Couteau’s failed daughter or the Grand General’s whore. I want to make my own fate, to leave my own legacy, to make the Guild truly mine. Despite it being for his own ends, I do owe Jericho for pushing me in this direction. His ability to read me so well is still deeply unsettling at times.

I sneak through the house as silently as possible, no windows this time. My lamps have been left on, that was kind of him. The sting of the wound demands my attention and I dig through my wardrobe to withdraw a small box. As I cut away the remnants of my clothing around it,  I realize that the best way to truly see it is to perch on my dressing table and use the mirror. It’s deep, but no major vessels have been torn, although blood still slowly drips from it. No way around it, it needs to be stitched. I growl to myself as I clean it and dab it with a numbing agent. 

I thread the needle while I wait for it to do its work. When it’s a good as it will get, I draw a deep breath, I’m still going to feel some of this. “I distinctly remember telling you to be careful.” 

“Seriously, right now! Shut up, for once, Jericho.”  The last thing I need at the moment is a smug I told you so. 

I go back to attempting to start the stitches. “You’re going to butcher that. We should get a healer.”

“No healers.” I spit through gritted teeth. I hate healers. 

He storms over and rips the needle out of my hand, dropping into the chair in front of me. “Turn around.” He motions for me to turn the wound towards him. 

 “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do this, I don’t know about him. 

“Don’t you trust me?” He echoes my words from earlier in the day, is he really teasing me right now? I make a frustrated noise, give in and turn for him to look at it. “Already numb?” I nod. “Don’t flinch.”

He drives the needle through my flesh, I clench my jaw and dig my fingers into the edge of the table. I still feel each puncture and pull, somewhat muted, but I’m still clearly aware of them. I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing, inhale, exhale. Finally, I feel him stop and tie off the last stitch. “There, not bad at all.”

I look down, from what I can see, he did a better job than I would have. I’m loathe to admit it though. “Only slightly crooked.” He doesn’t respond, instead, he begins wrapping it in gauze. A small pang of guilt tugs at me, that was unnecessarily mean. I look anywhere but at him. “Sorry.” I nearly whisper. 

“Don’t worry about it Kitten.” He kisses my leg softly, just above the line of gauze, my heart thuds. “Tell me how it went.” I think about everything that transpired and realize how truly, deeply tired I am. All the adrenaline has finally worn off now that I’m home and no longer bleeding and a slight foreboding- for the future takes its place. My life has changed inexorably.  Without much thought, I slide down into his lap and lean my head against his chest, yearning for that comfort I feel in his arms. For a moment he doesn’t respond and I worry he’ll push me away again. Then I feel his arms wrap around me and he kisses the top of my head. “I hope you don’t start expecting to be spoiled like this all the time.”

“No, just most of the time.” He doesn’t retort as usual for us, instead, he quietly strokes my hair for a few moments. Sometimes, I’d give anything to know exactly what he’s thinking. “Anyway, it’s been a hell of a night.”

I stay leaning against him as I detail the night’s events and I hear as he sharply inhales when I mention the warning I was sent and the messenger. “I wasn’t expecting him to be bothered to get involved.”  

I look up at him, feeling a little betrayed. “You knew it was possible though. Be honest with me, there is more to this than you’ve let me know and the Black Rose is involved.” 

He hesitates, how deep does his trust in me go. “The visions indicate there is a conspiracy of some sort. It has been endlessly frustrating trying to flush them out. Putting the Guild in your hands was one of the many steps I took to get Black Rose loyalists out of power. Other than that, I’ve been chasing shadows and waiting for them to make a mistake.” I can feel the animosity and irritation in his words, but still, he’s kept this from me. 

  “He let me go and I ended Marius, but we were exposed before we started tonight. And I’ve been followed, as you know. If I had all the information I may have planned this differently. If you want me in this with you, no more secrets.” The steel in my tone surprises even me. 

He considers my words and then lets out a sigh. “I suppose it was unfair to keep it from you.” My eyes get wide, that was entirely unexpected.  “Don’t look at me like that, I can admit when I was wrong.  I will remedy that in the future.  But for now, go get some sleep, you look tired.” 

Reluctantly I stand, gingerly putting weight on my leg. “Coming?” 

“No, I...” I glare at him, I’m not the only one who looks tired. “I’ll get the lamps first. Be right along Kitten.” 

#swain #jericho swain #katarina #swain/katarina #league of legends fanfction #League of Legends #katarina du couteau #the blade's edge #swain x katarina #my fanfiction #katarina league of legends #swain league of legends #my writing

[untcdstsofsmsh]

Midoriya always seemed fine. So, when he was found dead in his dorm room. Everyone was at a total loss. It had to be fake. There was no one the new holder of All for One could be gone just like that. There was no sign of force entry nor that he did it to himself. Izuku Midoriya had just simply passed away in his sleep.

It should’ve never happened.

He remembered the morning he found out, running breathless to the dorms, passed shocked, terrified, crying students and a few teachers who had made it before him. Passed Mic, Eraserhead, Lemillion, Nezu--

All Might had seen death. Despite all his efforts, he’d seen the pale, unmoving bodies of the dead and the telling stink that followed. How his skin and hair lost color and movement. How he laid too still.

He had to be carried out of the room. Apparently, Bakugo was there earlier, made to leave in much the same way.

Inko cried. She knew. Somehow, she knew. The second she entered the office, she looked like she was expecting the worst. Aizawa had to tell her, had to explain everything that they learned since Izuku’s body was picked up. How they don’t know what caused it, but that general trauma from hero training still held the risk of death in some students. Head trauma, extreme stress -- especially with this year -- and a small collection of other things could’ve killed the boy.

Aizawa speaks and he speaks very matter-of-factly, almost coldly.

How he could, Toshinori would never understand.

At the end of it all, Inko just looks at Toshinori, shoulders slumped, eyes red and puffy, lips quivering. The question behind her eyes shakes the veteran hero to his bones.

Why couldn’t you save him?

His cremation and funeral are held a few days later. All of the first years are there to pay respects, as well as a few teachers, older students, Eri...

Eri doesn’t stop crying for the whole service. Aizawa holds her tight to his chest in his suit, whispering how it wasn’t her fault, how she couldn’t have saved him, how she can’t save him now, he’s gone.

Toshinori can’t stand being near the memorial, turns to leave, tries to find somewhere he can be alone to grieve again--

Bakugo stands, leaning against the large doorway, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. Weak. His hair is barely styled at all, his suit worn properly but dirty from him lingering outside.

When Bakugo finally looks up at Toshi, that same question echoes in his eyes.

Why couldn’t you save him?

Toshi’s quick to leave the church.

The school closes for a week. The police insist on doing an investigation. The school encourages parents and guardians to give their children updated check ups, vaccines, everything they can to ensure their children are healthy.

Nezu tries to contact Toshinori. He refuses to answer his phone. Refuses to go back to the school grounds.

Instead, he rents a car.

He can’t drive.

He rents one, anyway.

Not being able to drive is half the point, after all.

Still, damn him, he manages to figure out just enough to drive to the underside of one of the smaller, lesser used bridges. Drive to it, under it and ram the box of fiber glass and rubber hard into a support beam.

He blacks out for a while. Just long enough to hear cursing. The door’s ripped open, there’s coughing -- the smell is terrible and he notes there’s no airbag smothering him -- and a familiar voice calls out for him.

“All Might! ALL MIGHT!”

Eraserhead scrambles to cut him free of the seatbelt, checking him over before wrapping his arms around Toshi’s long body. Despite the difference between them being just over a foot, Eraserhead manages to cradled Toshi’s head and spine while carrying him to the cleared ground.

He’s furious.

“What the FUCK did you think you were doing!?”

Toshi couldn’t wrap his head around it. Probably because of his own growing head trauma. Probably because he’s still stuck on how the underground hero found him. Probably, even more so, that he was stuck trying to read the hero’s expression beyond his anger.

Half the angry words don’t register. He’s mad. Mad Toshinori would try and take his life. How he couldn’t kill himself because his ‘favorite’ died. How he couldn’t do this shit and not expect it to impact the kids -- HIS. KIDS.

“I killed him.”

The words are just enough to stop the raging river of rambling.

“... What?” There’s a warning there. Whatever Toshinori would say next better not be some bullshit self-deprecation. It better make the most fucking sense out of everything he’s ever said or done, or else.

“I killed him.” The words nearly choke him the second time. Tears well up in his eyes. “I... I’m responsible for Midoriya Izuku’s death.”

“Idiot.” Barely restrained anger is spat out in just one word before Eraserhead wills himself to calm down. “He died from unknown causes. The best we have to go off of is stress from that’s happened this year. You couldn’t control any of that.”

“It’s stress from his quirk.”

That catches his attention. Toshi breathes deep and explains everything. Each question is answered simply. Every secret about his quirk -- the quirk he’d given to Midoriya -- is laid out for the boy’s teacher to know.

When everything is said and done, Aizawa sits there, dumbfounded and ignoring the distressed calls over the small radio at his hip. He turns down the volume of Present Mic yelling for confirmation of locations, sits down next to Toshinori and stares at the car wreckage.

“... He was a child.”

“They’re all children.” Toshi pushes himself up from the ground, reasonably sure that nothing vital was broken or punctured and... well, if it was, it still served his purposes. “We expect the same out of all of them. This one just took a different route.”

“You gave him a power no child could ever hoped to master,” he presses, standing to follow the tall, slouching man. “And now that he’s shown he couldn’t have handled it, you try and dismiss it?!”

“If you have such deeply held issues with what I’ve done, then leave. Pretend you didn’t find me.”

“And then what?” The snap in Aizawa’s voice is harsher than usual. “Let you wallow in your self pity as you try and off yourself again?”

“Let me be, Aizawa-san.”

“So you can run away from this?”

“There’s no USE for me, Aizawa!”

The shorter man stops, lips pressed tight as Toshi’s voice raises to a shout.

“I had... One fucking job. To protect that quirk. To pass it down to a hero worthy of it. To train and protect them until they had it mastered. I was it’s keeper for well over thirty years, and just when I thought I could say I’d done at least a half decent job at this one thing my life was set up to do, I lose them both. One for All, a quirk with no equal, and Young Midoriya...”

The closest thing to a son he’d ever have.

He breathes deep. It hurts to breathe. Hurts to move. The adrenaline from the crash starts to lessen and he can finally feel the headache, the familiar ache of his ribs, a growing pain in his leg and arm.

Aizawa moves to catch him as he finally buckles under the pain.

“I’m useless,” he continues on. “This life... it has nothing else to live for.”

“Idiot,” Aizawa hisses to him. “You have forty other students waiting for you, at least half a world full of fans who’d worry--”

“All of who wouldn’t forgive me for what I’d done to that boy.”

“God DAMMIT, ALL MIGHT.” Pale fists bundle into piles of clothing, calm facade broken again to show his growing anger. “Fuck your self-righteous pride for one god damn minute and think beyond yourself!”

Toshi can’t help but flinch. Between his growing headache, vulnerability and Aizawa’s diminishing patience, it’s hard to put on a brave face. It’s hard to want to.

What was the point anymore?

“The amount of god forsaken hubris,” he hisses, “it takes to think so highly of your bad decisions is mind boggling.” Aizawa breathes, his dark eyes burning into Toshinori’s skull. “To think, your stupidity and grief can absolve you from everything else you’ve committed yourself to. You’re not done here, not with students who need your guidance, not with people who look up to you. And if you can’t see the worth in a life where you’re still needed, then consider it fore-fitted to me.”

Aizawa leaves him on the ground to stand, Toshinori blinking up at him incredulously. “What?”

“Your life belongs to me, now.” The pale man breathes deep and slow before pulling out the radio at his side. “You don’t get to decide how it ends, anymore.”

Not giving the blond a chance to argue or protest, Aizawa turns to report their location. Within minutes (tense and quiet) an ambulance arrives and carries Toshinori to the nearest hospital.

He hates hospitals. It doesn’t matter, though, because Aizawa makes it clear his threat isn’t just for show and tells Recovery Girl to call him as soon as Toshi starts acting like a fool. She seems surprised, but doesn’t question it.

X-rays. Casts. Oxygen. More x-rays to make sure his already jumbled and incomplete organs were as good as they could hope to get. It was a horrible visit, punctuated by Gran Torino’s and Recovery Girl’s very quiet visits. All Might doesn’t speak when given their rare inquiries: what happened? How? When? Why? He doesn’t speak and he doesn’t stop their assumptions: they know enough to know what he’d say, don’t they?

Aizawa comes in like a force of nature, anger simmering just below the surface the second his eyes land on Toshinori. Then he raises a bag of food.

“You will eat, All Might.” The forcefulness of his voice is a little startling, but his motions to prepare his meal are slow and careful.

Their visits continued on like this for a while, either with Aizawa bringing food or him coming with the accompanying nurse sent to help him eat. His anger came and went, but was always quiet and blunt.

It continued when he arrived to school again, Aizawa not leaving his side for a minute or otherwise forcing him to follow the other around. Paperwork, meal breaks, lesson planning -- anything short of restroom breaks meant Aizawa was there.

“I meant it when I said your life was mine, now.”

Toshi couldn’t help feeling like he had just burdened Aizawa with another responsibility. An entire other life to have to guard for however long he could. A fool to guide out of self-destruction.

It would just have to be that way, for now...

#death #child death #trauma #grief #grieving #long post #suicide #attempted suicide #((hey so this ask fucked me up)) #((like legit man I got so upset)) #((But I finally answered)) #((I'M SO. FUCKING SORRY.)) #((don't look at me this is all crap)) #((sorry I can't write Aizawa)) #((bad end AU here we go)) #ask to tag #Anonymous

[capmerthur]

THE BODY SWAP

It’s all in the title :) Somewhere end S1 (after 1.11 Labyrinth, but pre 1.13 Morte). In a land of myth, and a time of magic, Arthur awakes inside Merlin’s body (and no, not in that way). Alternating Merthur POV. Bonus Gaius. Mentions of Will and George.

Excerpt PART XIV:

Arthur reads the pages Merlin just put under his nose with the utmost attention. A spell to break any spell? That sounds promising indeed! Arthur can't help but worry though, as he realizes that the primary condition for the spell to work is that the enchanted person(s) has to be truly, entirely, honestly willing to see the spell lifted for it to work. And it is not about Merlin (positively-glowing-from-hope-right-now Merlin, sleeping-on-the-floor Merlin) Arthur has doubts about; it is about himself.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDERS CHAPTER XIV)

XIV. THE SPELL (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur reads the pages Merlin just put under his nose with the utmost attention. A spell to break any spell? That sounds promising indeed!

Arthur can't help but worry though, as he realizes that the primary condition for the spell to work is that the enchanted person(s) has to be truly, entirely, honestly willing to see the spell lifted for it to work (AN: which explains why Merlin cannot use that spell later on whenever Arthur is bewitched by the way...). And it is not about Merlin (positively-glowing-from-hope-right-now Merlin, sleeping-on-the-floor Merlin) Arthur has doubts about; it is about himself.

The truth, Arthur realizes with a shock, is that he likes it now, somehow - having magic!? Since Merlin told he saw it as a tool - not a weapon; and since Arthur has been proven that he could master his new abilities? Arthur has started considering apparently, at the back of his head, how it could turn out handy, how it could turn out good, for his people? What if he could multiply crops on bad years, ensuring no one would starve that winter? What if he could protect the borders, ensuring no one with ill intent could pass? *What if he could*- And that? That is the most dangerous, treacherous thought Arthur could ever have. Not only because it would be ill advised to rely on something that might disappear just as quickly as it has appeared to start with, but because the fact that he feels *tempted* to use it at all might be a signal of its luring, corrupting qualities. Who knows what he might get tempted to use it for, in time? Will there even come a limit? And that is what frightens Arthur the most - to succumb to its call. It would start with a genuine heart, but who could know how so much power might ever alter his first intentions?

So. No; indeed. He mustn't entertain those thoughts. He should use magic to fix their current situation, and he will, simply because it is the only way to fix it to start it; but it would be for the best if it just disappeared along with it the moment their problem is solved. Besides, he owes it to Merlin, right. Because what if the magic stayed in Merlin's body, instead of staying with his mind after they get back into their own bodies anyway? He would never wish to see such a risk, and a burden, on Merlin's shoulders - particularly as he would know he would be responsible for it...

Arthur takes a deep breath, letting go of what could be, to focus on wishing for what must be.

/

The preparations are quite quick - Gaius already has everything they need in stock. It's merely a mix of relaxing herbs, Merlin says as he aligns several pots of herbs in front of Arthur, that Arthur will have to crush into his hands. If anything, it smells nice, Arthur can't help but notice with satisfaction. Somehow, the fact that it isn't nauseous makes it feel not-evil.

The incantation is more tricky. It's about six lines of text Arthur has to memorize and chant; and most of the words Arthur has never heard, so... Again, why can't he simply wish for the spell to disappear - like with the water? Merlin explains that Arthur has to make the words his own while focusing on what he wishes - because it's not only about working his own magic but also about lifting their attacker's magic control on their bodies (even though it's all a bit unclear whether the words of the spell are actually what makes it happens, or if they only help him achieve a certain level of inner focus that makes it happens - but Merlin might not know everything anyway, and whatever the reason, Arthur just HAS to master the incantation then anyway.)

It doesn't seem to work, though. Hours later, and still nothing has changed; no matter how often Arthur has recited the spell nor the amount of herbs he has crushed into his hands. It's not only frustrating and disheartening - it's simply infuriating: Merlin and him were both so hopeful this might be it!

"It will work. *You* will make it work, Sire," Merlin swears, voice steady, clear eyes unwavering, each time Arthur starts again.

Arthur closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries again. He owes it to Merlin's faith in him to keep trying.

/

And then, suddenly, it's done. Arthur has no idea what finally did it but he knows it's done: he hears HIS voice chanting as Merlin gasps. And when Arthur opens his eyes, he sees Merlin, and not his own body. And the crazy thing? For a split second, it feels weird.

"This is real, right?" Arthur can't help but ask, still in disbelief.

"I told you you'll do it," Merlin answers, beaming at him - proud of him, even.

They exchange a winning grin. Then Arthur howls.

/

The surge of victory and relief ends quickly though, replaced by crushing worry.

"Do you feel any different, Merlin?", Arthur has to ask, as he doesn't feel any warm tingling when searching inward. He is relieved to feel free from it; but not if the cost is that Merlin is tied to it now.

Merlin blanches, most probably from realizing the danger he could be in, and doesn't answer right away - which is good, because it means that Merlin is actually doing an internal thorough check; but the silence is simply excruciating.

"Please tell me it's gone," Arthur can't help but whisper, as if speaking the words could make it truth, even knowing he's lost any ability to make it so.

.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

I. AWAKING (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur awakes; lying on his back - unusual - and rolls over automatically.

He surprisingly falls, down, hard; and jerks fully awake now - on the floor, near a so very tiny bed, tangled in an unknown blanket (harsher than his standards, even while on errands, he can’t help but notice).

In disbelief, he eyes his surroundings…

Where is he? Has he been abducted?

Think, he admonishes himself - trying to clear his mind; to remember what must have happened, to guess who has dared to commit such an act, and, most important of all right now: Find a way out.

His eyes then suddenly meet Merlin’s, and relief surges through him somehow - Merlin is alive - before his anxiety returns; and double: because poor faithful, loyal Merlin has obviously been taken too; and it’s Arthur’s fault - he must have failed to save them both from being taken, even though he cannot remember anything…

Except when Arthur reaches out to Merlin for him to come closer (they need to share information and plan, but must be quiet as a mouse), he realizes with fright but indeniable certainty that Merlin is in fact a reflection in a mirror; and worse: *HIS* reflection!?

It his NOT his hand indeed that is stretching out in front of him; NOT his clothes on his person; and definitely NOT his own hair falling upon his eyes, as he notices the black strings in his vision range…

Arthur is dumbstruck. He sees Merlin’s mouth shaping a silent O, and he sees the dread in Merlin’s eyes… except they ARE - he feels - *his* mouth, and *his* eyes; and everything is just plainly wrong, and plainly impossible - but undeniably REAL.

He is… Merlin? Or better said, *inside* Merlin? How can such a thing have even come to be?

Sorcery, Arthur understands with horror: Camelot is under attack!

But now armed with the knowledge of his predicament, Arthur realizes he is actually in Merlin’s bedroom. He’s been in here before, once; and he recognizes it all now.

So. Not abducted. All things considered, that still counts as something, right…

And, as it surely doesn’t feel as if Merlin is still somewhere in his own head too while Arthur is inside of it, well… Maybe? Logically? Merlin might then be in return inside his own body?

Arthur suddenly finds himself praying for this to be true. It would be for the best, if Merlin was in his body - if they were the only ones concerned by this unnatural situation; because what if *everyone* was awaking inside someone else’s body this morning? That would be… precarious - the general panic leaving Camelot completely vulnerable to whoever must have plotted this? The worst though would be if the one responsible for this was right now in control of his body, and acting as Crown Prince to do, well, evil deeds… So yes, you bet Arthur truly wants to find Merlin to be the one inside his own body when he finally finds it.

Arthur jumps on his feet, ready for action. Luckily (even though Arthur feels a bit guilty, as he notices his armour in pristine state against the opposite wall - apparently Merlin has been polishing it late into the night then) Merlin hasn’t bothered to undress before falling asleep.

So. First thing first: he has to go to his chamber.

Picking some weapon on the way for good measure, you bet …

/

Simply walking the few paces to open the door though turns out to be a challenge. His limbs are too long, and dangly; it feels like he has two left feet, and he has to try thrice before actually getting a grip on the handle - because he isn’t used to this body, of course - but maybe it is truly NOT Merlin’s fault if he trips over his own feet that often after all…

Gaius is already out - hopefully looking for herbs and not wandering out of his mind… Arthur would have preferred to be able to test right away his theories about how many people were affected by the damn body change; but unfortunately, it would have to wait some more.

The corridors are empty too, except for a stray black cat who walks at his side long enough for Arthur to start questioning himself about asking to the cat if he *is* Merlin - because Merlin HAS to be somewhere, right, as he obviously isn’t where he should be to start with; but then the cat takes another turn… Arthur feels stupid for worrying so much about his silly manservant - but he cannot deny that he definitely will worry less only after having indeed finally found said silly manservant.

Arthur relaxes slighthly though when he enters the kitchen: people are working as usual, apparently not in shock, apparently in their right bodies. He picks up the first tray he finds, along with an extra knife that he hides in his pocket for good measure.

He tries to put on a confident grin as he walks (with the most assurance he can muster in this awkward-feeling body) towards the guards at his bedroom’s door - and can only hope it will look the same as usual to them. They let him pass without trouble, and Arthur isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing. On the one hand, he *doesn’t* doubt Merlin - he simply, intrinsically doesn’t; and would never want him to feel like he did if his guards were to search him whenever he was about to enter his chamber. On the other hand… well, it isn’t Merlin right now entering his chamber, with knifes at the ready… This time, it’s only him; but what if it happens again, and if the one then inside Merlin’s body has ill intentions…

Deciding not to dwell on this for the time being, Arthur enters his bedroom - hoping to find Merlin doing whatever Merlin always does, but preparing for a fight, if need be…

.

II. AWAKING (MERLIN POV)

Merlin awakes as if in a cocoon; literally. He is surrounded by softness, flush, warmth; he cannot remember ever feeling so comfortable - and the world can wait for just another few seconds before he opens his eyes, right… Merlin wriggles, shifting on his back, sighing softly as he nestles some more into the cushions…

When Merlin awakes for the second time - culpability sinking in as he realizes he has overslept - his eyes open to a Pendragon red canopy he would recognize even among hundreds. Merlin freezes: what the hell is he doing, sleeping IN ARTHUR’S BED?!

Merlin sits upright at once - blankets falling all around him to reveal that he wears ARTHUR’S NIGHTGOWN too ?!

Whaaaaaaaat?!

This… just DOESN’T make any sense. The last thing he can remind is sitting on his own bed, polishing the last bit of Arthur’s armour before letting himself fall down to sleep (*AN). He surely doesn’t recall walking to Arthur’s chamber, and even less…

Merlin’s mind is reeling as he shuffles out of bed as swiftly as he can. Oh my… What is Arthur going to think? And come to think of it - true panic now creeping down on Merlin at that thought: *WHERE* is Arthur to start with?

His attention is drawn out right then by Arthur calling out his name (Merlin feels relief, no matter his current embarrassing situation) - in one of those thousands yet unmistakably always Arthurian ways to say his name: a myriad of moods and meanings in those simple two syllables - the voice sounding odd though this morning (is Arthur sick?), and tensed (well, he just found his manservant in *his* bed, that might explain it!).

Merlin turns to face his sovereign, trying to feel less self conscious because he mustn’t look guilty, while wishing for inspiration, and buying time until it hits: “There is actually a perfectly valid explan-”

But it is NOT Arthur he sees: it is… himself? His breath catches as ‘utter confusion’ gets a new meaning, you bet…

At the same moment, Merlin notices suddenly just how *not his* his voice has just sounded, and how he’s wearing a very particular ring around one finger of what’s NOT his hand, and how *blond* hair is falling upon his eyes… And still nothing makes sense; but at least it *does* explain how he awoke in Arthur’s bed in Arthur’s clothes: he *is* Arthur?; and… Arthur… is him? MUST be him. He has been calling his name right the right way, right?!

“Sire?” Merlin barely dares to breathe out, both in wonder and in plea (because Arthur CANNOT be gone - the fear and pain and simple *impossibility* of such a concept slicing through Merlin’s mind like a knife).

There is a bright smile then appearing on his face - a smile that doesn’t entirely look like his own though - “Yes, Merlin. It’s me,” followed by a relieved sigh: “And it’s you”. And, despite the shock about them having apparently switched bodies (?!?!), Merlin can’t help but feel warm all over - because Arthur (and yes, it is so clearly Arthur, even in HIS body!) has apparently been worried about him.

.

(*AN) Headcanon time :

Merlin uses magic to clean Arthur’s armour in the beginning, indeed. And he still uses magic for most of the chores, as much as he can, of course (washing clothes, mending clothes, emptying chamber pots, sweeping fireplaces, preparing baths, refreshing beds, cleaning floors, cleaning everything, really (except for mucking the stables, because there are always others around, grrrr). But he quickly grows nearly *maniac* about Arthur’s food (picking at it as a way to make sure it’s not poisoned etc…) and about Arthur’s armour: it’s one of Arthur’s protections - so you bet Merlin definitely cleans and polishes and repairs and oils the leather ligaments that hold it together and EVERYTHING the hell out of it, with extra ardor and fervor, with his own two hands, all the while continuously trying to put on it any protecting spells he ever finds, and repeating those over and over at each occasion…  Also, mirrors were probably not so advanced at the time… But let’s say Merlin has an enhanced one, after all he has magic, right…

On a side note, I’m never going to be over Arthur’s priority-thinking (I’m in trouble = CAMELOT IS UNDER ATTACK (babyyyy let me hold you - being Camelot Prince/King is NOT your only worth) and Merlin’s priority-thinking (what the hell is happening = WHERE THE HELL IS ARTHUR (babyyyy let me hold you - your devotion to The (brave, kind, admirable (shut up Merlin)) Prat doesn’t have to mean that you always must come second (and a bit self-preservation cannot be harmful)) *SIGH* I just love those two idiots so much !!!

.

III. DISABLED (MERLIN POV)

But soon, Merlin is terrified.

And not because of the puzzling body swap.

*HE HAS NO MAGIC!?*

(Not that Merlin knows of any spell to reverse their current situation at once, mind you; so he doesn’t actually try anything about it. But Merlin simply knows: there is nothing but blood running through his veins now - no vigorous warmth, no energic flow; there is simply nothing singing under his placid flesh, as he focuses on it.)

He cannot help but wish he’s wrong though, and desperately tries to move a quill on Arthur’s desk behind Arthur’s back - the simplest of things, really; yet he fails, indeed…

His magic is tied to his body. Not to his mind.

No, no, no, no, nooooooooooo.

Merlin is, to his core, *terrified* - as he has never been. Not only because he feels more powerless and utterly helpless than he has ever felt - and worse, unable to protect Arthur! But also because the longer Arthur stays in his body, the more chances he has to find out that he has magic!? (And even though Merlin has nearly told Arthur, once? He is still not ready for him to know right now… Will after all didn’t lie to protect Merlin’s secret on his deathbed for Merlin to take chances with his life so soon after…)

Merlin though decides to push his panic aside for the moment: he simply MUST focus. No matter which sorcerer has this week decided to deal with the Pendragon line once and for all, Arthur’s life is undoubtedly in the balance; and that’s dearer to Merlin than all the magic in the world - included his own.

Because Merlin’s life *has* tilted, on that rocky beach by The Great Seas of Meredor.

Merlin’s earnest readiness to lay his life down to save Arthur’s had been instinctive, beyond doubt visceral; and the concrete force of the impulse had surprised him. Because it hadn’t been related to his first supposed then anyway indeed wished upon destiny. It had merely been a reflex, a spontaneous reaction: what he had wanted to do; more than what he ought to do. And Merlin had realized right then that he had, somehow, but undeniably, actually come to *LOVE* Arthur? He had known, for some time, that he liked him. And he had felt oddly pleased when Arthur had turned up at Ealdor - maybe Arthur liked him too? But if your first thought when someone is threatened is ‘I’d rather die than see him die’? Well, there is a kind of selfishness, even in seflessness, that goes beyond ‘liking’, right…

It shouldn’t have been such a shocking revelation though. Sure, Arthur could be a spoiled, royal prat; an irritating, pompous ass; an arrogant, moronic bully - to list but the top of the iceberg of his massive shortcomings, and without even mentioning the complete dollophead he could sometimes be. But Arthur could also be truly brave, honest, and kind; willing not only to trust but also to actually defend the words of mere servants, ready to defy his father’s orders in order to save a child’s life, and volunteering to help a village not even belonging to his Kingdom, to note only a few examples. Also: at some point, Merlin had realized how what could at first appear as near manhandling tactility was in fact just Arthur’s disguised way to show (or ask?) affection (because one probably just doesn’t walk around asking for cuddles while growing up between Uther’s judging cold glares and Morgana’s sharp witty tongue; and the physical occasional playfulness of the knights training must have seemed like the only way to go…). And last but not least: Merlin owed Arthur his life - if Arthur hadn’t gone looking for a Mortaeus flower… So, in short: of course Merlin had gotten fond of the man. For his own values; and not because he was meant to be the other side of his coin or something. And notwithstanding how so annoyingly beautiful he always was (for the record on that particular subject: Gwen is so adorably beautiful, and Morgana so petrifyingly beautiful).

But, as Arthur - bound to be King one day Arthur - hadn’t even hesitate before choosing to sacrifice himself, in order to fix what he had recognized to be his error, instead of using the (even offered) life of a simple servant? Well… There is a difference still between having the conviction that Arthur is a good man ready to fight for the greater good, even knowing it could be his death; and knowing as a FACT that Arthur *is* a good man ready to *die* for the greater good, even knowing it *will* be his death. And you bet having been proven *exactly* how pure of heart Arthur intrinsically is has only cemented that burgeoning love deeper into Merlin’s heart - simply; truly; and maybe irrevocably. Merlin would now willingly die a thousand deaths to save his Prince.

.

(Feel free to shout with me about 1.11 because *MAJOR FEELS*!)

(And then hug me as I shamelessly cry because this is still NOTHING next to what’s to come - aka Arthur becoming ACHINGLY beautiful, as Merlin turns ready to KILL a thousands times to save his King, blackening his own heart in the process and thinking himself then unworthy of Arthur’s love because Arthur is just so BRIGHT; but wishing for it nonetheless?)

.

IV. PLANNING (MERLIN POV)

Arthur, miraculously (even though understandably; because he must be shaken too, right), is unaware of Merlin’s internal crisis as he shares what he’s uncovered until now: “It seems to be just us. The kitcheners and the guards all seem to be themselves.”

“So. Whoever has done this is targetting you - personnally.”

“Nice to see your wits are still so very particularly sharp, Merlin. Is there any reason for the one behind all this to be targetting you?”

It is beyond odd to *hear* Arthur’s usual tone in his own voice; but Merlin still has the grace to sigh, before pushing his point further: “But why you?”

“Well, obviously *you*’ve forgotten, but I am Camelot’s Crown Prince, responsib-.”

“Which is exactly what’s bothering me!” Merlin can’t help but interject. “Why take on the Prince when you can take on the King?”

“Oh… Do you think… Could someone be… training on us, then? Before attacking-”

“I honestly have no idea. Maybe you got targetted indeed because you’re head of security. We shouldn’t rule anything out.”

Arthur brings his fist down on the table, determinedly: “Well, whatever the evil plan might be, we just cannot permit for it to work. We’ll have to find a way to stop this nonsense - no offense. In the meantime, we must act as if nothing unusual is going on. It might be for the time being our best chance at keeping Camelot safe - making whoever planned this think the spell didn’t work?”

Merlin can’t help but let out a helpless (yet realistic) sigh: “That’s… a lot; on both accounts.”

Arthur echoes with a helpless sigh of his own: “I know.”

/

But if they are to keep up pretenses, Merlin is going to need to be prepared: “So. What’s on your agenda for today - besides the monthly open pleas this morning and the daily training this afternoon?”

“Nothing particular. And there are no coming feasts nor abroad visits planned for the coming time, thankfully. (worried sigh) But there’s concil, tomorrow.”

“Well, let’s start at the beginning. I should do fine enough for the pleas. It’s mostly your father’s duty; your presence is required, of course, but mostly you’re to hear and listen…” Fear grips Merlin at once: “But it’s public; so it would be a great opportunity to try to murder you!” He MUST protect Arthur’s body: “Will you please go fetch your chainmail in my room?”

“No.”

The tone is definitive, and Merlin is torn between begging, or growing impatient - because Arthur can be so obtuse sometimes (now really isn’t the time for Arthur to be feeling indignation about being ordered around like a simple servant; even though he *is* one at the moment - not that Merlin would ever think he was one, of course - but what if Arthur thinks he does and enjoys the chance at some payback?): “Arthur, please (again?). It’s the expected type of errands of the body you momentarily (because it MUST be momentarily, right?) inhabit - I can’t - You’re the target. I need your chainmail. I have no fighting skills, nor any kind of skills really to protect yo-”

“I cannot be seen wandering the castle in my chainmail without reason, Merlin; it would attract attention”, Arthur interrupts in a somehow gentler tone; and Merlin realizes that Arthur hadn’t registered at first how Merlin’s concern was about him, more than himself - and is obviously humbled by the thought. “Court clothes are required, anyway. We’re not supposed to look threatening, nor threatened, when our subjects come to present their wishes,” Arthur pursues, killing any possible protest in the bud. “Besides, the guards will be present. So don’t worry too much about anything happening to us”, Arthur ends in a lower voice; as if the last part had been more a thought to reassure himself than a phrase meant to be uttered - and Merlin just has to savour that precious 'us’…

Merlin though isn’t reassured enough about his Prince’s safety: “Please (yes, that’s thrice; adamant much?) Sire, at least allow me to wear your thickest leather under your tunic” - willing his voice to make it sound like a not-to-be-denied demand more than a true question.

Arthur holds his gaze; and it actually feels like a blessing when he finally relents: “As you wish; but it won’t be comfortable against naked skin.”

“I’ll manage.” Merlin can’t help but fidget some before pursuing - asking Arthur to do what is and should be *his* work feeling not only weird but even wrong: “But I’ll need your help to tie it in the back?”

Arthur dimissively tousles his hair, grumbling: “I *know*, Merlin.” 'My clothes’ going unsaid.

Merlin can be relieved about one thing, at least: Arthur obviously isn’t piqued about doing a servant’s work…

/

Merlin picks out the largest fitting of Arthur’s clothes. He puts on the braies and trousers while still wearing the gown, respectfully tying the belt blindly around his waist. He puts on socks, and shoes. Then only does he take the gown off, and turns his back towards Arthur so that he may help with adjusting the leather’s straps.

A surprised but definitely pleased whisper (“Impressive, ain’t I?”) echoes in Merlin’s ears, as the Prat Prince seems apparently unable not to comment about his damn broad back, angling Merlin shortly that way and this way as if to assess it even better.

'Believe me, I know’, Merlin can’t refrain from thinking; feeling a blush coming over his face, and thankful that Arthur is too busy looking at his own back to notice any of it.

“I think I might even have outgrown Sir Leon - in width at least if not in height”, Arthur concludes proudly before finally starting to work the ties - leaving Merlin suddenly ashamed of his initial internal reprimand, and oddly upset. Of course Arthur would only wish to see in his physique the strength of a warrior. Of course his first thought, when finally able to actually see his own back, would be to compare it to his given models - the Knights; and most of all among them, to his own chosen model, Leon - both the noblest and strongest of them all, yet young enough to play the part of the older brother Arthur could look up to while growing up… No one has probably ever told him that he is beautiful, Merlin realizes sadly. But the fact that Arthur is so unaware only makes him even more beautiful in Merlin’s eyes…

Merlin forces himself to tease Arthur, hiding his turmoil under their usual banter: “Well, I could ask Gabriel to take measurements, if you so badly wish-”

“Shut up, Merlin”, accompanied by a rewarding hit in the back of his right shoulder, which Merlin gladly revels in, no matter the unusual fist size. This, no matter their predicament, feels normal.

And in that short moment of normalcy, when everything feels just right as Arthur ends tying the leather, Merlin notices something he hasn’t noticed before, when all he could feel was STRESS.

Oh no.

/

“Sire?” Merlin can’t help but wince at the intimidated tone in his voice as he turns around; and Arthur is eyeing him now with furrowed eyebrows. “I think I need - I mean you need… to… have to go?”

Arthur makes a face - with his face; except it still looks somehow like a typical outraged Arthur face (damn, this is just too confusing…): “Merlin!”

“He! Do not look at me like this is my fault! It’s *YOUR* body! Maybe you shouldn’t have drun-”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have brought a full pitcher at dinner then!”

They eye each other, both unrelenting over who is at fault.

And Merlin can’t help but think that somehow he is, indeed, no matter what. Because there are levels in intimacy; and he IS definitely crossing a line. There is a difference between being around and trying to avoid his gaze when Arthur walks in and out of his bath, or applying Gaius’s healing balm to bruises on Arthur’s back because it’s a place Arthur can’t reach on his own, and, well… watching and touching Arthur’s *manhood*, even if only for urinating, technically ensuring no mess is done while doing it?

Arthur suddenly sighs though, and his voice sounds kinder as he offers: “This will surely happens a few times before we sort it all out, huh. To the both of us. So. How should we proceed?”

Merlin scratches his head, summoning some courage: “Do you want to… hold-”

“Your hand, Merlin!”, Arthur demonstrates, lifting the would-be-culprit in the air and wiggling its fingers for good measure; and that’s a 'No way’ if Merlin ever heard one…

“Would you rather it to be your hand-”

“It’s *your* hand right now!” Indeed. So. Another 'No way’.

But suddenly Merlin has a solution, of sort: “What if I… go sit into the stream? There’s a quiet spot not so far from the castle I found while collecting herbs for Gaius… If I hurry I still can make it back before the pleas.”

Arthur actually claps his hands, obviously relieved: “Sometimes, I swear, you are a genius.” He hurries over, handing Merlin his tunic and grabbing the Pendragon red doublet before marching out: “Let’s go!”

“You’re coming?” (hastening to put the tunic on and grabbing a towel before following)

“Well, as I just said, it’s bound to happen to me - you - so I might just as well tag along, and know where it is.”

/

Once out of potentially spying ears reach, they plan the day further.

“We HAVE to tell Gaius, at the least, about our situation: no one will contest his word if he says you’re not to train for a while - because honestly how am I supposed to spare with your Knights? They will notice right away that something isn’t right. And, well…”

Merlin hesitates, not wanting to incriminate Gaius in any way. As it turns out, he doesn’t have to:

“You’re right. Besides, Gaius has heard about a lot of… stuff, in all his years. I was planning to go around Jeffrey and look for the forbidden books, but I have no ideas how many volumes are hidden down here, nor where they even *are* to start with… If anyone we know might have even the slightest clue about how to fix our problem, it’s him; even if it’s only about finding an adequate book.”

Merlin nods, relieved: “So. After the pleas, I stage a fall, and we go to Gaius, who tells you’re not to train for the time being. That leaves the rest of the day free, both for looking up about our situation, and briefing me on what I should be aware of for tomorrow’s concil. Do you address things in an established order; who’s whose specialisms; what you discussed by the latest concils which might be brought up again tomorrow; and so on…”

“I’m supposed to make the battle plans, Merlin? But as far as plans go, I have to admit this isn’t a bad one. Except I’m not you; I do not trip on my feet twice a day. So. I’ll make you fall. That’s more plausible.”

“No way! You’ll end up in the stocks!” Merlin realizes how - no matter what he might have been thinking just a few months ago - he simply doesn’t want Arthur in the stocks. Ever. “Which is NOT where you should be spending your afternoon.” Merlin quickly amends; hiding his concern under logic’s sake, knowing it to be the best way to persuade Arthur anyway. “So. You fall. I try to help you. But we both fall. I’m clumsy, as ever; you’re noble, as always; everyone get to laugh at me, and praise you; and your father might skip punishing me for you getting hurt in the process, as you obviously didn’t want me hurt to start with?” (pause, before adding earnestly, yet fiercely, as Merlin isn’t able to tone back the surge of threat in his eyes at the mere idea of having anyone disrespecting Arthur in that way) “If he doesn’t though, I’ll stand guard next to you.”

“Would you?” Arthur seems surprised; but touched: “Well, who knows, maybe I’ll return the favor the next time.”

Merlin can’t refrain a whine: “The next time?”

“Even I can’t save you from my father’s wrath every time; it’s bound to happen, either from your two left foots or your snarky mouth.”

They can hear the water now, and Arthur accelerates towards it, as Merlin lags behind, unable not to smile:

“I guess I’m supposed to say 'thank you’?”

“I might have forgotten to mention I’ll probably throw something in your face myself at the last moment. Prince’s privilege and all that…” - Arthur even turns towards him, giving him one of his goofy faces to boot (Merlin didn’t know *his* face could do *that*, by the way).

Merlin just keeps on smiling anyway. He probably hasn’t felt that brightly, positively, ridiculously happy since “I’m rehiring you - because someone needs to muck out my stables”. Arthur has a particular way to express fondness, and Merlin wouldn’t change it for the world.

.

V. THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MERLIN (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur is the first to reach the stream, and crouches down to test the water with his hand.

“It’s cold”, he warns, while Merlin walks in a straight line towards a tree with a low hanging branch and starts undressing - he does come here often, clearly.

Merlin shrugs: “Be grateful it’s not winter yet. Try bathing around Imbolc - that’s cold.” Merlin goes on; stating an afterthought while hanging his pants on the branch: “Still worth it though; everything here is just more… alive, you know. You don’t get that indoors.”

And Arthur has bathed on patrols enough to know that, honestly?: he prefers his warm baths. He can’t help but feel a smile on his face though at the words; they are so intrinsically Merlin.

/

Arthur had been struck, when they had met. No one had ever defied him, in any way. And it had stung; Arthur could admit. So. He had not been displeased at all when he had overmastered the fool and turned him over. The affront had been too public to be allowed to slide, and Arthur had decided he wouldn’t dwell a further thought about the goodhearted fool (Arthur knew terrorrizing people wasn’t right. He tended though to react badly whenever anyone acted cowardly (which was, well, all the time, around him); especially as he was actually *praised* for it somehow), but fool nonetheless, who should have known to mind his own business…

It had been nothing though in comparison to his surprise when their paths had crossed again. Arthur hadn’t been able NOT to taunt him - hoping, somehow… But the last thing Arthur had been actually expecting had been for Merlin to act *exactly the same*. Surely, now that he knew who he was, he would just scrabble around him as anyone else - not defy him again, knowing it would get him in chains again, right? Arthur had been *delighted* by Merlin’s untamable fire - the words, and then the look he had thrown at him while taking his jacket off? (Maybe Arthur had just been waiting all his life for someone to finally stand his ground to him, indeed…) Of course Arthur had let him go without punishment that second time - and any time since then (which was honestly difficult, as Merlin - always fighting for what was right more than for himself Merlin - frequently got riled up, be it in private OR IN PUBLIC, by literally anyone and anything).

Since he has been to Ealdor though, Arthur can’t help but see things under a new light.

Hunith is everything Arthur believes a loving mother to be. But there had been no father at home, nor any mention of one. (Arthur knows the sting of this kind of wound - missing a parent; and he had been saddened, as he had realized that Merlin bore such a wound too.) Arthur hadn’t dared to ask, but he had wondered: did Merlin ever got a father to start with; or had he been abandoned - intentionally or not? (Arthur knows how even an accident still feels akin to a betrayal in a child’s heart.) Which would be the worst anyway? But what if Merlin had been bullied through his childhood because of it? - children could be particularly malicious, when they intended to… Was it how Merlin had learned, the hard way, that fighting - both with his words and his fists - was the only way to end the pestering? And had decided it wouldn’t be only for his own sake, but for the sake of anyone who might ever need help? Was it what had brought Merlin close to Will - the fact that they both had lost their father? Was it the reason Will had wanted to learn magic to start with? (Arthur knows the near constant anger, too. As does Merlin, obviously.)

Arthur can’t help but feel grateful anew, somehow, and no matter what, still, that Merlin has had Will around: surely, no matter how bad the fights Merlin had jumped into, Will must have kept him safe - at least safe enough - *with his magic*. The thought had been unbidden the first time it had occured, and had definitely surprised Arthur; but he hadn’t been able to deny that it was what he truly felt indeed.

/

Because of course Arthur had come to care for Merlin. Isn’t it why he had gone to Ealdor to start with after all…

Merlin.

Definitely not an ordinary manservant. And probably not the champion manservant by any book (fast learner, and smart, and hard working, he was; but only about what *he* deemed important - hence for example his total disregard for any kind of storage? - but Arthur generally agreed with what Merlin deemed important or not anyway). But honestly the only manservant Arthur now could imagine ever having - or ever want to have.

Because Arthur likes Merlin as his manservant exactly just the way he is, and would now never wish for another - no matter (and specifically because of) how well-schooled and zealous to satisfy his every need (and whim) that hypothetic other might be… Arthur now sees what others might judge flaws as assets (Merlin’s clumsiness and chattiness are more endearing and uplifting than unefficient, especially as his opinions always sound reasonable; his sarcasm and insults are a sure way to keep Arthur’s head from ever getting inflated; and his challenging manners push Arthur to do and be better - from training with the knights to saving people’s lifes), and what others might judge insubordinate as being treated, for once, finally, as an equal, somehow (even though they both know and acknowledge they aren’t) - no matter whenever it comes out at Arthur’s expanse too, food getting shoved into his mouth and getting unceremoniously pulled out of bed included in their everyday banter, as Merlin can give just as much as he gets indeed. But that’s maybe what Arthur values the most: how Merlin’s respect feels earned and honest; neither forced by birthright or fear for repercussions, nor cajoling nor calculated.

Arthur has never had a private servant for longer than a year - his Father’s rule; but you bet Arthur is decided about keeping Merlin at his side when the year would end. He will have to strategize; he will need irrefutable arguments. But if he plays his cards well - and Merlin never ceases to hand him over cards to play - Arthur has no doubt that his Father will actually allow it: it’s in the best interest of the Kingdom after all.

Merlin.

A whirlwind. Always animated, always busy; never still, even when he’s doing nothing. But always so expressive - so easy to read - a fact Arthur has come not only to appreciate after decades around perpetually guarded scheming faces, but even to *trust*.

A chatty nature-loving poet with dangly limbs, gentle heart, and the brightest smile Arthur has ever seen - Arthur has come to know. Yet the sassiest mouth and the most unrelenting fighter Arthur has ever met; his utter lack of skills balanced by sheer defiance - Arthur has learned right from the start. (Merlin just never backs off, no matter the odds; which is very stupid, but also very brave.)

A confusing, clashing mess of contraries. But an admirable man, with a beautiful soul.

And you bet Arthur wouldn’t have him be any different.

Arthur shakes his head. Maybe - just like with his two left feet - it isn’t Merlin’s choice to be such a poet all the time. Arthur hasn’t been inside Merlin’s body for more than a few hours, and already he is turning into a maudlin bard himself, huh…

/

Arthur sighs; bringing himself back to the present - only to be struck by Merlin yet again.

Merlin has by now disrobed of everything except for the leather, which he has rolled up to his chest (logic; it would take too much time to tie it up all once more), and the tunic, which he now holds tightly in a bundle against his chest too, even if (and no doubt exactly because) it must get in his vision range as he enters the water. The lengths Merlin now goes again, simply to avoid to *see* - treating his body with the utmost respect, even when it is betraying him?

It should be insignificant, but the whole endeavour screams once more just how *devoted* Merlin always is, to him; and it is honestly dumbfounding.

He has been willing to die for me. And more than once.

The thought slices through Arthur’s mind; as usual charged with guilt, and heartbreaking, yet oddly sweet.

Arthur doesn’t understand: he has truly done very little to earn such high esteem - and that’s an euphemism. Getting the man in the stocks? Letting him drink poison destined for him? Having his only friend die?

But you bet Arthur cherishes it all the same. And he wants - oh, he WANTS - to be worthy of it. Not because it’s what he ought to do, repaying kindness with kindness, loyalty with loyalty; and definitely not because he owes Merlin a friend - you can’t replace a friend (even if Arthur never actually had a friend, he knows that it’s supposed to be a special, powerful, unique bond). Not even because Merlin does indeed makes him want to be a better man - even if that’s true, and definitely positive for the future of Camelot. But simply because HE. WANTS. TO. Arthur has realized by now how he is always tempted, whenever they are together: either to act silly in order to cause a smile; or to provoke Merlin until he bites. Both reactions feel peculiarly satisfying; spreading a pleasant warmth through his whole being - and Arthur just always has to smile…

So.

On impulse, Arthur disrobes Merlin’s lower half and enters the (indeed very cold) water while holding his tunic bundled up too, keeping his eyes stubbornly fixed on his own body sinking until the water reaches up to above its waist, as Merlin sits on his knees in the middle of the stream. And yes, the fact that Arthur has just chosen to abide by Merlin’s stubborn dedication on that matter, instead of letting his perpetual interest about literally everything run free, for once, (because yes, if he hadn’t witnessed Merlin’s commitment, Arthur might have taken a look at Merlin’s body, out of sheer curiosity; he wouldn’t though, not from now on…), is both a pledge and a self-serving whim.

Merlin, drawn by the sounds, turns to him with questioning eyebrows, and Arthur sheepishly drops on his knees next to him: “I thought it unfair to let you have all the fun on your own. Now, ready to scare the fish?”

Merlin howls with laughter. Arthur decides it’s definitely worth playing silly while freezing his ass off.

.

(Imbolc = 31 january)

Feel free to come and fangirl with me over 1.01 and then scream with me over 1.10 !

On a side note, I’m sorry but not sorry about that fish line? It was *totally* unplanned but then it just rolled out and I went 'yep, sure, arthur would, totally; it stays!’ ?

.

VI. THE PRINCE’S PART (ALTERNATE ARTHUR/MERLIN POV)

They get out; get dried; put their clothes back on. Merlin ties the towel to the branch, for future use.

Then, on their way back to the castle, Arthur asks Merlin about his agenda for the day.

Merlin gives him a look - like he’s unsure whether Arthur means it. Arthur gives him a look back - meaning he isn’t joking indeed.

Merlin smiles, eyes full of mirth: “Your chambers are a complete mess, your clothes need washing, your boots need cleaning, your dogs need exercising, your fireplace needs sweeping, your bed needs changing and, oh, *someone* needs to muck out your stables.” Merlin sobers up. “But we have more pressing matters at hand; so I think you can consider yourself free for the day.”

Arthur is taken aback. He recognizes his own words, of course. It’s both baffling and humbling - that Merlin can quote him, months later? and that Merlin has omitted one part and one part only in his old speech, because they both know his armour doesn’t need any repairing (the devotion Merlin shows those metal pieces echoing the devotion he shows to Arthur himself)? Arthur had first planned to give a playful thankful bow; but it would feel wrong.

“So. I’ll go bother Geoffrey. Try to get him to show me where the secret books are hidden. I’ll tell him Gaius has found a strange herb and wants to make sure it isn’t dangerous or something…”

/

Merlin has to give Arthur that: he is indeed insightful.

The mention of Gaius’s name though has Merlin slightly panicking again: Gaius doesn’t know yet about their current situation. What if he mentions 'something’ upon walking on Arthur thinking he is him? No. Merlin has to be there when they’ll get to see Gaius.

“Speaking about Gaius? Stay clear from his chambers. I doubt he’ll be as magnanimous as I am. He’ll do that thing with his eyebrow and have you pick herbs and brewing healing potions and concocting ointments before you even got a chance to tell him about our predicament - he’s really dedicated in my education as a physician, you know…”

“And I believe you rather enjoy it.”

“I do, indeed. I mean… It’s fascinating - do you know that the same stuff can cure you or kill you sometimes, depending on the dosis? Anyway, who wouldn’t want to know how to save lives?” Merlin can’t help but twitch. “I’m not sure I’m any good at it though…”

/

There is a flash of guilt in Merlin’s disheartened eyes, and Arthur realizes two things:

1) Merlin feels responsible for having been unable to save his friend Will. Which is understandable, because Merlin must have gathered by now some knowledge from Gaius’s lessons; but heartbreaking - because Arthur has seen enough arrow’s wounds to know that Will’s could never have healed - and perplexing - because Will has died to save *him*, not Merlin; so why would Merlin think the guilt was his to start with? and how come Arthur has never felt like Merlin might blame him for it either?

2) Merlin’s face is always *transparent* - a fact Arthur truly appreciates on Merlin’s face - but a fact that could turn out problematic, now that it’s on his own face…

“Let’s get back to my chambers. There is still something you should master better before the pleas.”

/

And that’s how Merlin finds himself positioned by Arthur in front of a mirror.

“What do you see, Merlin?” Arthur asks.

“Well, you?” Merlin feels he’s missing Arthur’s point, but he has no clue…

“Do you? Because I see my body, I see my clothes; but I do not see the Prince of Camelot - I’d like to think I play it better than that - and I must be, because my Father would not allow *this* I assure you - at least I hope or the kingdom is doomed.” Arthur ends on a sigh, shakes his head, and then turns commanding eyes back towards Merlin via the mirror. “Close your eyes, Merlin. Think of me. I mean, *picture* me; and more especially, picture me at any official activity you’ve served me through. See how I walk, how I stand, how I sit, how I move, how I look?”

Merlin does as asked, searching through his memories. After a while, he nods.

“Got it?”

“I think?”

“Then open your eyes, Merlin. What do you see?”

Merlin understands now. He can’t help but sigh helplessly. “Not the Prince of Camelot. Obviously. I’m sorry, Sire, I guess I’m just not… majestic enough to play you.”

“It’s not that hard, Merlin. Come on; I’ll explain. Ready?” Arthur grins at him via the mirror, exuding confidence - trust in him?; and Merlin would face (has faced) monsters to earn it indeed.

Merlin nods, their eyes still linked via the mirror.

“First thing first? You’re slouching.”

“Yes. (Merlin tries not to slouch; but is still not satisfied with the result) I think though the biggest problem is- There’s something wrong with your face.”

“Because you wear your heart on it, Merlin; and you mustn’t. Believe me, you do not want to be lectured for hours about this by my Father…”

Arthur moves away, and Merlin can’t see him anymore in the mirror. His voice is directing though, and Merlin focuses on the words to school his face.

“You’re a prince, so you *must* always look like one. No matter what you do, you must always, *always*, look confident. That’s the first strength of a kingdom - the strenghth of its ruler. That’s what keeps your people safe. So. Chin up, Merlin. Square your shoulders. Stand tall - stand *proud*.”

Merlin realizes the words are not Arthur’s; they’re Uther’s. He wonders how often indeed Arthur has heared those words - most probably often enough to give himself a internal pep talk before any official anything apparently…

“That’s better; but still not good enough. No matter how you feel inside must not show, Merlin. When you’re tired, hide it. When you’re sick, hide it. When you hurt, hide it. When you’re stressed, hide it. When you worry, hide it. When you doubt, hide it. When you’re bored, and even more when you disagree; hide it - it’s disrespectful; and we do not want wounded pride to fester, don’t we Merlin? When you’re afraid, definitely hide it. When you’re sad, hide it. And the trickiest part maybe: when you’re happy, hide it too - or risk whatever is making you happy to be taken away: weakening you is weakening the kingdom; and its enemies will never hesitate to bring you down, if you let them see even an inch of an opportunity.”

Merlin is shaken. He feels guilty, somehow. This is, certainly, too intimate. Merlin feels like he’s intruding. This feels even more trespassing than being in Arthur’s body. It’s like being forced in Arthur’s head, without his consent. It’s nauseating.

“Again, Merlin. Your eyes; focus. It’s a part; but it’s part of your job. So for the love of Camelot, Merlin, please try harder. Your people reckon on you to lead them and protect them; so it’s your duty to be a leader, and to be strong. Work hard; harder than anyone else. You *must* be an example, an inspiration. You must be admirable in everything, so that your people will follow you everywhere. But you must lead, Merlin; never follow. A ruler is alone - *must* be alone. Do not trust anyone; at least do not trust anyone more than anyone else, and surely not more than you trust yourself. Your own judgement must *never* be clouded.”

Merlin can’t help but turn towards Arthur at the words, both in disbelief and in ache… Because Merlin has grown up hiding, but he had never realized that Arthur had, too; and maybe even more than him. Arthur must not only always pretend and perpetually watch over his shoulder; he must pretend and watch over his shoulder *alone*. And Merlin can only imagine how hard that must have been, and be. Back at Ealdor, Merlin had (and still has) his loving mother, and he had Will. Even here, now, Merlin has Gaius. And somehow, yes: he has Arthur too, Merlin suddenly realizes; and then feels ashamed, because he can’t help but feel blessed - Arthur trusts him. Because Arthur is definitely less guarded around him, isn’t he? When it’s just the two of them; Arthur and Merlin? Arthur laughs, Arthur doubts, Arthur *shows*; maybe not everything - but that’s probably not possible as he is so trained - but something at least always shines through; even if it’s by putting his feet on his face… But Merlin knows now, how rare and precious it truly is. They can never be friends, maybe; but Arthur trusts him. That’s undeniable; and that’s everything, somehow.

“Do not look at me; look at the mirror, Merlin. Harden your eyes. Smile; always politely, even when you don’t want to smile at all; more genuinely, when it’s true - but never let it go up to your eyes. First thing about tomorrow too; as we’re at it. Hear everyone out. Listen with your full attention to everyone; whether you agree or not. Never decides right away; except if it’s necessary, in war time. Your decisions must be thought upon; never a spur of the moment. If something is unclear, do not let it show during concil. If you favor a position, do not let it show during concil. If you disagree, do not let it show during concil. You need further advice, or even only further information? Seek the appropriate person in private; ask man to man. They will see the honor in it if it’s positive, and be thankful you kept it private if it’s negative. Also. You must be ready to be impartial, Merlin; because you do not need to be kind, but you must always be fair. You may - and you will, unfortunately - make mistakes; but never ackowledge them. Fix them. If you can’t; repair as much damage as possible. Learn from your errors, in order to never make the same mistake again. But never apologize. Come on Merlin; I’m sure you can do it. You’re nearly there.”

More over, Merlin realizes the Arthur he gets to see nowadays - the true Arthur - has always been there already, even under the pretense of the moron. Kilgarrah is wrong. His destiny isn’t to change Arthur; because there is nothing to change. Arthur already has everything to be a great king, the greatest king, all on his own.

And so, Merlin is *angry*. He has now yet another reason to despise Uther, it seems - scarring his child on the inside in such a way. Of course Arthur always feels inadequate; of course Arthur feels lacking; of course the only bond Arthur values is the one with his fellow knights - ride to glory or death, together? It’s the only bond Uther has authorized him to authorize himself to ever have… But Merlin’s anger is a good thing, apparently - because whenever Merlin thinks about Uther, Arthur finds that he’s playing the Prince’s part better.

“There Merlin, you have it. See? Right there. Lock it; just like that. That’s good enough for anyone looking today; because believe me, someone *will* be looking, even if only my Father and not the one who switched us or anyone else with ill intentions - there is *always* *someone* looking, Merlin.”

Fine. Think about Uther; until the pleas are done. Merlin can do it; and he’ll gladly do it. He’ll probably gladly do anything; for Arthur. He can still have a cry or hit a wall afterwards, right…

.

Arthur needs a hug. I volunteer. Anyone with me? (besides Merlin, obviously…)

.

VII. DOOMED (ARTHUR POV)

With a last commanding yet encouraging nod, Arthur leaves Merlin by the Great Hall’s entrance and starts to make his way towards the Library.

He is stopped by Merlin’s name being called out twice - because he has failed to react right away; Arthur chastises himself. It is the headmaster recruiting hands: his Father wants his bath ready when the pleas end.

Arthur doesn’t want to bring Merlin in trouble, of course; so he takes on the ordered job - after all, how complicated can it be?

He is paired with a newcomer answering the name of George who looks up to him as if he holds the sun: the Prince’s manservant! Which isn’t that bad. Until he starts, seemingly embarrassed but curious all the same, to ask questions like “Is the Prince as terrible as they say?” or “Is it true he throws knives?” and such? Arthur tries to explain that the training field is, well, to train? He isn’t sure the message gets across though, as George only holds his eyes with a perplexed gaze…

Arthur can’t help but hope that Merlin at least understands that he’s not only training himself but also trying to get Merlin to know how to defend himself if not to attack whenever he comes at him with a mace or anything… He should maybe make his intentions clearer, apparently…

Anyway. After yet another round of carrying buckets full of cold or warmed-up water up and down and left and right, Arthur realises there is more to it than it looks; and the bath is only half full still…

And when they’re nearly done? His three coworkers and the headmasteer seem satisfied, but Arthur can’t help but think while bringing up the last two buckets that they achieved nothing more than a luke warm bath with a clean but no particular scent. Merlin’s baths are definitely of a superior category on both accounts, and Arthur doesn’t know if he should feel guilty and spoiled for regularly enjoying better baths than the king himself, or more amazed or worried about Merlin’s bath-preparing skills (is he even thinking about his safety? he wouldn’t actually carry boiling water up the stairs, would he?)

Arthur decides he should address the issue. And maybe take baths downstairs from now on just in case - a little backroom near the kitchen would be more practical than his chambers, wouldn’t it? When the space isn’t needed for banquets preparations and such of course…

Arthur misses the first step towards the second floor (it’s actually the eleventh time today that he misses a step - he still isn’t used to Merlin’s feet). This time though, his balance is too lost for him to compensate and he falls backwards, landing on his butt and ready to get soaked and hit by the water and buckets he has released when instinctively freeing his hands (one to help catch his fall; one to protect himself from the falling projectiles). Except nothing comes: no water, no hit - and no falling sound either. And when Arthur takes a look? The buckets and water are… floating above his head?

Arthur gasps in surprise, his mind going both blank and reeling…

Then only does Arthur finally get drenched and hit on the shoulder.

Arthur blinks. Twice.

What has just happened isn’t normal, at all. Only - only magic could make such a thing possible!

Arthur looks around, instinctively - scanning for a threat.

He is alone; the corridors are empty as far as he can see, and he hears no voices, nor steps.

Which is good, because no one is attacking him then.

Which is the worst though - because if there is no one around… then the only person responsible for what he has just witnessed must be - is - HIMSELF?!

Arthur gasps again; this time in panick.

His first instinct is denial. But he knows what he saw. And somehow, it just makes sense, doesn’t it?

It’s not the body of the Prince that whoever switched him and Merlin is after. It’s his mind…

Put him in the body of a servant, give him magic, and sooner or later (and most probably sooner) he is bound to die by his Father’s law. What is he supposed to say in his defense? That he IS the Prince, in another body which had been given an ounce of magic on the sole purpose of getting him executed? Who would ever believe him…

In the meantime, the schieming sorcerer must have judged that a servant in his body may be too delighted by the upgrade in status to be a threat to his plans and would gladly unknowingly collaborate, on top of being totally untrained and incompetent at any of his duties.

Then? One only has to kill the King, either by making him ‘ill’ or using the same trick again and - for sure - Camelot is doomed to get wiped out from the map by the first band of Saxons passing by (and most probably enticed to pass by very soon after its King’s death): its only true heir gone, and the supposed one obviously improper to defend it. All of it without casualties on the attacking side, and without anyone knowing how it all came to be, which means no one, even loyal to Camelot, would have a reason to stand against the new regime put in place.

Arthur is more afraid than he has ever been - and he has been in combat enough for that fact to mean something. He feels crushed; defeated, even before the battle - and honestly? He has never despised himself that much. No matter that he has never felt both so unprepared and so intrinsically useless - and not even able to trust himself: surrender is simply inexcusable. Camelot depends on it.

Besides, Arthur owes it to Merlin to fight, right. It’s after all Merlin’s body that’s to die along his spirit. Oh! The villainy, the cowardice in this attack! Use an innocent victim as a vessel to be sacrificed. Sorcerers definitely have no sense of honor indeed.

So. Arthur is angry now. A much more suited mindset, he decides - as long as he doesn’t allow it to blind him. And he won’t. Merlin’s body depends on it too.

Arthur takes a deep breath. He has been taught strategy even before he could talk, right? Time to make a plan of action.

First. He is not as alone as Camelot’s enemy has calculated him to be. He is, in fact, not alone at all. He has Merlin.

Loyal Merlin; not only willing but even devoted to getting back into his own servant body rather than happily playing the prince. Magic familiar and open-minded Merlin - which means Arthur has not only someone who won’t judge him nor fear him to confide in about his new endangering (and in so many ways) abilities, but also someone who might have some basic understanding of it; since he was Will’s friend? Heart-in-the-right-place Merlin: too kind, maybe (but he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it); but naturally just and fair Merlin. Brave, fierce, tenacious Merlin; too reckless though (but again: he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it). Ressourceful Merlin, fast-learning Merlin: he would master his body’s strength, eventually; and Leon would be here to lead the Knights in the meantime… Arthur takes an oath. Even if they fail to find a solution to their problem, Camelot won’t be left unprotected. Come what may; even the worst? Merlin *will* be ready to take his place. Having Merlin’s unique edges smoothed out feels wrong; but it just has to be for show, right?

Second. Well, there is no really second yet; at least not more than what they have already planned. They need to find some books - and pray that they will be useful. And Arthur will just have to be particularly attentive about not repeating the kind of blunder he just did with witnesses present.

Yes. Merlin. Books. Start at the beginning; and with luck, it might just work out in the end.

Arthur cleans up as best as he can, using and wringing his soaked tunic in the buckets, then runs to Merlin’s room for a set of dried clothes. Turning up to retake his place at 'Arthur’’s side while drenched would only draw unwanted attention…

.

So. Basically? Yep. This is a magic-reveal unreveal fic. But. I mean… It’s Arthur? Also: this fic (to me) is canon (fitting) - so it just can’t be a reveal fic. Bonus: it explains too why Arthur doesn’t get the courage-magic-strength trio hint later on. He thinks Merlin is magic; but only because there is some residual trace to sense from when his body had magic (aka this fic), not that he actually has magic still at the time… Arthur can be at the same time very aware yet very unaware, and he can be so very biased and decided to see things his way, no matter how circumvoluted, right? (Also, of course Arthur thinks in fact then that HE is magic in the trio: he was after all the one inside Merlin when his body had magic; and Merlin IS courage - Arthur has such a low self-esteem to start with…)

On a side note: Arthur would actually trust Merlin with Camelot (even despite his limits). If that doesn’t tell you all there is to tell then I don’t know how to express it. *SIGH* *GROSS SOBBING* (Gwen though is  innately  made to be Queen - but Arthur doesn’t know that yet. He isn’t wrong about Merlin though - for Arthur’s memory? Merlin would do his best to be a great King too, you bet…) *GROSS SOBBING AGAIN*

.

VIII. MERLIN’S CHAINMAIL (ARTHUR POV)

“Merlin! My boy! You’re soaked! Did you provoke Arthur again and end up under the well for it this time?”

Great. Gaius sounds half amused half concerned. Does actually *everyone* think him to be a brute?

Well; nevermind. Merlin knows better, right - and that's what matters. Merlin is never backing away, Merlin is never really complaining; Merlin just watches him with mirth in his challenging eyes: I dare you. Of course Arthur HAS TO then... It's like... kind of a private wordless conversation only the two of them understand. But honestly? Arthur wouldn't trespass Merlin's limits - if anything, Arthur would probably even feel guilty, if Merlin actually ever made one known...

But then, Gaius is patting his shoulder, pushing him towards 'his’ room; and Arthur is stunned silent, as he can’t help but relish on the (for him unusual) affectionate paternalistic small gesture.

“Get changed. Get warmed up. You’ll tell me later. I haven’t heard the bell signaling the end of the pleas, it is already so late? I’ve just finished Sir Kay’s potion, and it should be drinken warm, as you know; so I’d better be on my way. We’ll prepare Uther’s draught and the balm for Little Kathleen’s knee when I’m back. Also, I’m afraid I’ve ruined my coat; if you could work your magic on it next time you’re mending Arthur’s clothes, I’d be very much obliged?”

And then Gaius is gone, and Arthur is still stunned, but now for another reason - it was but a polite turn of phrase, of course, and Arthur knows Merlin just isn’t capable of miracles, as proven by the state of some of his shirts - beyond mending; but Gaius would better not use some idioms that carelessly around the palace - who knows who might hear and takes things the wrong way… Arthur shakes his head as he hurries to change, feeling sorry for letting Gaius down, but not planning to stay around until Gaius comes back - he wouldn’t know anyway how to prepare his Father’s nor Kathleen’s medicine, right…

Arthur opens Merlin’s cupboard.

There are only two folded set of clothes (neckerchief included indeed), and Arthur just takes the one on top.

He’s about to close the door when his eyes fall on Merlin’s chainmail.

/

The first time Arthur had told Merlin that he had been assigned to lead some patrol, Merlin had right away asked:

“When do we leave?”

Arthur had been surprised, then had tilted his head, apprehending Merlin while explaining that coming along was to be Merlin’s choice; and not per se his duty as palace manservant. They usually asked for volunteers; there was extra coin to be earned and such.

Merlin had only repeated:

“Sire; when do we leave?”

Arthur had been surprised again, but definitely pleased:

“Tomorrow at first light.”

“I’d better start packing right away then. What do you need?”

After having listed their necessities, Arthur had mentioned that he would have a chainmail sent to Gaius’s for Merlin to wear. Merlin had countered that he had no wish for carrying extra weight around as it would only slow him down in his chores; and that he would rather wear his everyday clothes. Arthur had said it was folly to go unprotected - they would patrol the borders, and thiefs and saxons could fall on them - and Merlin had finally relented some and agreed to wear a chainmail he would self adapt as he wished above some clothing but under his tunic. Arthur had been suspicious when Merlin had turned up the next morning without even a cap showing out, and had actually moved his neckerchief aside to make sure Merlin was wearing metal under his tunic…

/

Without hesitation, Arthur takes the chainmail out too, deciding he should wear it under his clothes. After all, the longer Arthur might succeed in hiding his new abilities, the more chances there are that the one responsible for their troubles might choose to turn to more expeditive measures of his own. Killing a servant might go unnoticed for awhile, and would work just as well in case whoever had planned this got tired of waiting for Arthur to betray himself and get executed. Which means that Merlin’s body is just walking around as a mark waiting to get hit… and Arthur should do his best to protect it. Merlin’s chainmail is barely worth its name; but it does cover his chest, belly and back, at least.

Arthur makes it back to the Great Hall right on time for the end of the pleas. It was the moment they had planned to stage for Arthur’s injury; but Arthur discretly but authoritatively signals 'no’ with his head. It would be too risky; what if while falling he instinctively uses magic again - in front of the whole court? Merlin gives him a curious look but follows his cue anyway, thanksfully. There is still enough time to create an excuse before training; and they can still tell he fell even without witnesses anyway. It would have been a nice added touch at make-believe, but Gaius vouching for them should be enough on its own, right?

As they walk in silence back to Gaius’s quarters, Arthur feels Merlin’s eyes upon him, boring and questioning. So when they pass by his chambers, Arthur takes the opportunity for privacy. Once behind closed doors, Arthur leads them to the most private corner, as far from the door as possible. Then he takes a deep breath, and turns towards Merlin to explain… everything.

He hasn’t got the time to start though before Merlin hushes out, worry evident in his voice, pointing to Arthur’s side where a hint of metal is visible if you pay attention - and Merlin always pays attention, doesn’t he:

“Sire? Why are you wearing my chainmail?”

.

AN: It’s canon after all that Arthur doesn’t force Merlin to come along - he lets him leave before Camlann, right? But yes, this is just me giving some sense to the 'just let’s Merlin accompany us everywhere without any kind of protection’ unacceptable general policy. So. Merlin *has* some protection. We just don’t see it. Okay? And the few times he’s actually in armor on patrol, it’s because they need a decoy or something… Also, just so you know: Merlin of course thought that Arthur would probably think that he didn’t want to be seen in a chainmail because he didn’t want to look like a soldier in order not to seem a danger nor a target, but Merlin just couldn’t care: he HAD to be an unconspicuous nobody - it made it easier to protect Arthur with his magic if no one really paid attention to him. And to end with a cute note: whenever they ride out ? Arthur always checks that Merlin wears his chainmail - a fact Merlin can’t help but always secretly revel in…

.

IX. REVELATIONS (MERLIN POV)

Arthur looks anxious - which only makes Merlin worry more.

“I found out… why I was put into your body. I’m sorry, Merlin. I wear your chainmail because your body is in great danger; and it’s all because of me… again. ”

“Wha-”

Arthur cuts him with an imperative gesture from his hand, voice hushed - even though it echoes in Merlin’s ears like a shout:

“I have- I mean you have… Magic!”

Merlin’s breath catches; panick rising. Arthur knows! Arthur knows?

Arthur seems to read his struck expression though as simple denial.

“Yes, Merlin; you heard right! Magic! I saw water and wood floating above my head - floating, Merlin! - That’s the only way to explain it! But I have no idea how it gets triggered, I have no idea how to control any of it - I fell and it happened, I guess, instinctively? Now you understand why I couldn’t have us stage a fall… If people find out? *When* people find out? My Father will have me - YOU - beheaded!”

Merlin’s eyebrow furrow. He doesn’t understand. If Arthur knows he has magic? How come Arthur looks *contrite* instead of angry; afraid *for him* instead of afraid of him? Not that Merlin is complaining about the fact that Arthur obviously doesn’t wish to see him beheaded, of course; his evident worry is even heartwarming, in a way… but heartbreaking, too, as Merlin can’t help but feel that Arthur’s reaction must be induced by some reason that he doesn’t comprehend yet but that has little to do about him having magic at all…

Arthur then fully explains his theory about their attacker using his body to get to Camelot by erasing Arthur, then Uther, and marching against a Camelot lead by an unprepared servant playing Prince. Merlin is shocked, and shaken. Because indeed Arthur’s reaction isn’t about him having magic at all, but about Arthur feeling responsible for his body’s impending doom. But what hurts the most yet is the heavy guilt that settles upon Merlin’s chest - crushing, constricting, inescapable - as he realizes that in fact everything is his fault! Arthur’s thinking may be flawed on one account; but the rest of it makes sense, indeed. And so Merlin cannot deny that Arthur has been targeted and put into his own body because whoever did this actually knows that he has magic.

And so Merlin feels panick rising again, and even worse than before. It is already complicated enough for Merlin to hide his powers - and he has had practice at it since his birth. How could Arthur ever successfully hide them for long… And to think that *HE* might be the cause of Arthur’s death? It’s worse than anything; worse than everything. And it’s devastating. Merlin can’t hold Arthur’s gaze anymore.

Arthur probably thinks he is overwhelmed by the surprise of his body being a target though.

“And I’m sorry - again, Merlin - but I can’t go and hide at some random remote place until I’ve worked out how to subdue it at least, if not suppress it. There is no time. I can’t leave Camelot; not when it’s so endangered.”

Merlin feels like screaming: Arthur shouldn’t apologize; Arthur shouldn’t feel guilty - It’s all on him!

“It’s all right, Sire. I know you’re right: we have to stay here. After all, our best shot to end this mess is to find guidance in some books; and our best shot to find said books is staying here.” (Also, you bet Merlin isn’t willing to leave Camelot either because he is going to consult with Kilgarrah… Merlin had planned to go to the Great Dragon at the first occasion right when he had realized they had switched bodies; but he now can’t help but wish for the night to come even sooner.)

Arthur looks surprised by Merlin’s easy acceptance as he lets out: “I was going to point that out too?”

Arthur seems to hesitate an instant, taking a deep breath; but then, probably finally enticed by the fact that they still are on the same page apparently, he hushes out words that Merlin had never imagined he would ever hear, even in his wildest dreams.

“Now that’s settled… Do you have any idea that might help me keep it in check? I mean… Back in Ealdor? Did your friend Will maybe ever share something with you that we could use? Anything?”

Merlin’s mouth falls open; but nothing comes out of it. He realizes just how surreal it must have been for Arthur to utter those words. But Arthur looks decided, as always. He means it. And that’s when Merlin realizes Arthur is in fact ready to *learn*. Arthur still doesn’t trust magic, and definitely doesn’t trust his magic now that he has some; he only sees it as a treacherous condition. But he is willing to face it outright, instead of wishing or pretending it isn’t even there to start with. And Merlin realizes that this isn’t only proof of Arthur’s mighty heart; but that it also might actually be their saving too, with some luck?

And so Merlin just HAS to take a chance. Anyway, Arthur *needs* him; and how could Merlin ever let him down to start with… Besides, what if it made Arthur realize that magic isn’t only to be feared; that magic can be good, too, actually?

“Maybe you shouldn’t learn how to keep it check, but how to have it *work*?”

Arthur opens his mouth now, either in shock or to retort - or both; so Merlin hurries to push his point.

“Hear me out, please. Even when we do find an helpful book? The spell we’re under must be very powerful - I mean, have you ever heard or thought this could even be possible? - so we might still require magic too in order to perform whatever will be mentioned in the book? So yes, your new abilities are supposed to be our doom; but maybe we can turn them to our advantage? You have MAGIC, Arthur. If you can control it and use it - on your terms? Maybe that’s just what we need to solve our problem?”

Merlin waits. And Arthur isn’t taking the opportunity to repel his idea. Silence goes on; and still, Arthur isn’t refusing. If anything, he looks… thoughtful, even if doubtful. But there’s resolve, too; and maybe, even, a spark of hope? So Merlin just takes the final plunge.

“As you said… I might have… some basic notions about it? It’s worth a try, Arthur. What do you say?”

Merlin’s heart is pounding so hard it’s going to break his chest for sure, as they hold gazes for a long time - Merlin silently pleading for Arthur to just trust him. Then Arthur gives him a firm nod.

“I say this is probably folly but we have to try, indeed. So. You train me? And I train you.”

Merlin tilts his head, unsure about the second part.

“There are things I want to teach you, Merlin”, Arthur explains; pleads even. “In case we stay stuck in each others body no matter what we try; in case your body should- I know it’s a lot to ask, especially as I apparently keep making your life a hell just by existing? But will you please let me prepare you to take my place, if necessary?”

Merlin’s breath is knocked out of him. Arthur would trust *him* with *Camelot*? But Merlin cannot even contemplate it. Arthur cannot be gone; musn’t be gone; will not be gone. Merlin’s voice is fierce as it simply refutes the prospect.

“Sire, it won’t come to-”

Arthur lays a hand on his shoulder.

“It would mean a lot to me.”

And what can Merlin do then, but promise - and mean it:

“Anything, Arthur.”

The hand leaves his shoulder, but Arthur’s eyes stay fixed on him.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

And Merlin takes another oath - this one to himself. They’ll work it out. They’ll make it work. They will.

.

They both feel guilty for endangering the other more than they are worried about themselves *heavy sigh*

.

X. TRAINING (MERLIN POV)

Gaius is working on finishing Uther’s draught when ‘Arthur’ surprisingly comes in without knocking.

“Sire? Do you need-”

Merlin hasn’t prepared a speech on their way (how do you announce this anyway?) So he just blurts it out, as Arthur comes in after him and takes place at his side.

“We need your help, Gaius. Our bodies have been switched. (pointing to himself) Merlin. (pointing to his body) Arthur. We awoke like this this morning.”

Gaius looks stunned - of course. Then, for the shortest of times, he looks unconvinced; but this is after all Camelot, where strange things always happen, indeed - and not only Arthur would most probably have better things to do than playing along with Merlin’s pranks; but also Merlin wouldn’t have the heart to make *such* a prank to start with - not to him. So Gaius looks concerned now, gaze jumping with worry between Merlin and Arthur, holding Merlin’s eyes with a question in his eyes - and Merlin knows what’s worrying him.

Merlin can only give Gaius though a fragile smile to assure him that he is all right along with an apologetic look in return. He isn’t sure Arthur would want anyone else knowing about the magic too, so he will have to wait for a private occasion to explain everything to Gaius. For now, he just sticks to the plan.

“Arthur is expected to train soon, and we thought you could give us a way out of it. No one should be aware that Arthur isn’t Arthur until we’ve fixed this.”

Gaius doesn’t even hesitate.

“Of course (nodding to Merlin). I’ll go and tell you injured your sword arm (nodding to Arthur).”

/

Gaius goes out, mentioning coming back later to make Little Kathleen’s balm. Once the door closes, Arthur says he wonders what Merlin has in mind for 'training’. So Merlin decides he should help them both at once.

Merlin looks around for something basic, and his eyes light up when they fall on two bowls - not only basic but also potentially useful, if it works? He sets them on the table in front of Arthur: one stays empty, the other one get filled with water.

“Here. Try to make the water move into the other bowl.”

Arthur looks at the bowls, then at Merlin; incredulous.

“I’m not sure- I mean, even if I make this work, how am I supposed to put ourselves back into our bodies that way? How can I perform whatever must be performed if I am out of the performing body?”

“This is just a beginning, Sire. This is just a way to have you… feel your magic? Find it, and use it as you wish, when you wish. But if you need a valid reason, I promise this will be useful too, when you’ve mastered it.”

Arthur seems perplexed. Merlin confides, voice low as if sharing a secret: “We won’t have to disturb the fish anymore?”

Arthur is apparently too stressed out to even smile, sadly. But he gives Merlin a satisfied nod. “I’d better start trying then, huh.” A helpless sigh follows though. “Any hint about how to feel it to start with? Where to find it?”

Merlin hesitates. Not only because he wonders how much he can tell without Arthur realizing he knows too much, but also because he struggles about how to put into words what he has always simply felt. He has never had to search for it; it had always just been there. But maybe he can describe it by telling what he doesn’t feel, since he’s in Arthur’s body?

“Don’t search for 'where’. It’s not in one place; it’s everywhere. Not only in your body; literally everywhere - earth, air, water, fire. Like a… warm… tingling… flow? When you’ve found it, try to concentrate on it, focus on it, in order to direct it towards what you want - with your hands, your eyes, your voice; whatever works?”

Arthur’s brow has only deepened from the explanation, and Merlin can’t help but sigh:

“I’m sorry. It’s gibberish. I don’t know how to explain-”

“What you can’t know”, Arthur cuts him with a wave of his hand. “Of course. I have to find it on my own. Thank you for trying, at least?”

And so Arthur goes to sit at the table, facing the two bowls, while Merlin starts on the balm for Little Kathleen’s knee (hopefully for the last time, as her recovery seems to be going well, thanksfully) - both to feel useful and to give Arthur some kind of privacy. His moving around though must be disturbing, because Arthur switches place, turning his back to him. But it gives Merlin the freedom to check over his shoulders from time to time without risking to meet Arthur’s eyes.

/

This isn’t working though, Merlin can tell, by the time he’s done preparing Little Kathleen’s balm (he waits for Gaius to check if he got all doses and ingredients right though before finishing; he has only done it once) and a sleeping draught (for the guards guarding Kilgharra’s tunnel) (Gaius has had him prepare Morgana’s draught several times already, and has explained how to up the doses while keeping it safe): Arthur looks nothing but tensed, when he would need to be relaxed in order to feel… Trying too hard is nothing but counterproductive.

That’s when Merlin realizes he’s been going at it the wrong way. Arthur is not him. Arthur is *Arthur*. And when Arthur is at an impasse and needs a clear head? He trains. Activity helps him focus. Exhaustion helps him forget. To find his inner ground, Arthur must be physically busy; not sitting hunched over a table looking at two bowls.

Merlin eyes again his surroundings: spoons should work. Gaius has them in lots of size, both wood and metal. Merlin bundles them all in his tunic, and calls for Arthur as he passes in front of him.

“Let’s try something else. You can work on the water later on.”

Arthur’s eyes follow him questioningly up the stairs. Merlin sets his collection down, then holds a spoon up.

“Try to stop it from falling to the ground.”

Merlin let the spoon fall. It hits the ground, of course; but Arthur surely looks now interested by the new challenge. Merlin smiles, and lets another spoon fall.

After five rounds, Arthur gets up and gathers the spoons before handing them over to a crouching Merlin, instead of having Merlin going down, and up, and down, and up… A few rounds later still, Arthur picks up a spoon he has missed on his way and calls out for Merlin to catch it instead of walking back. Merlin misses it though, and it lands on his arm. And that’s when Merlin thinks his new idea can even be perfectioned.

He takes the offending spoon off the ground and holds it at the ready, eyeing Arthur, waiting for him to understand. And Arthur does, of course.

“Merlin? Are you threatening me with a spoon?”

Merlin grins wolfishly. He throws, and Arthur easily dodges, laughing.

“How long have you been waiting for such an opportunity?”

“Forever?” Merlin lies, before throwing another spoon, which Arthur blocks with an upraised arm.

Merlin can’t help but scowl: “You’re supposed to make the spoon divert its course; not block it or move out of its way.”

Arthur has actually the decency to look apologetic: “I know. Sorry. Reflexes.” Then he smirks. “But please, indulge yourself and do go on.”

And Merlin does. And it’s glorious somehow, how they are suddenly both intent and carefree, spoons clattering everywhere on both sides as Arthur now throws the spoons back to Merlin too. Hits land on both sides too, as they both throw quicker and harder.

/

At some point, the door opens and a spoon hits… Gaius.

“Sorry”, Merlin lets out, hurrying down to check he hasn’t hurt Gaius.

Gaius looks at the both of them with incomprehension, but Arthur explains even before Merlin has even opened his mouth.

“We’re actually working on something, Gaius; not destroying your chambers. (the slightest hesitation - but if Gaius is to be their ally then Arthur has decided he should know, well, everything, it seems) I have been jinxed too, on top of the body swap. It appears I have been given… magic; to be my doom - and well… Merlin’s body end.”

Gaius looks sort of disapprovingly to Merlin at the M word, but his gaze softens somehow, even though it turns outright anxious, as Arthur further explains his theory about their attacker’s plan.

“So, now you know it all, Gaius. And we also need your help for something more than giving me an excuse not to train… We need… information. I thought… You and Geoffrey go way back, right? Maybe you could persuade him to lend you a few special books?”

Gaius nods, eyeing Merlin.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Arthur nods back.

“In the meanwhile, I have to understand how it works, in order to prevent anyone finding it out until we’ve found a way to lift the spells?”

“Of course. Just let me take what’s necessary and I’ll leave you to it.”

Merlin then shows Gaius his previous work (safely tucked away in his room after the first round of spoons throwing - and yes, it also gives Merlin the opportunity to silently let Gaius know where his book is hidden, so that he will be able to retrieve it later on and present it to them as coming from Geoffrey or something). Gaius proudly tells he got everything right and gathers it all into a bowl.

“I can finish the balm in the kitchens. I’ll be back to bandage your arm though later on, Merlin; our Prince is supposed to be injured, and our King will want to check on his son right when he comes back from today’s hunt and hears about it.”

/

They start again where they had left, but nothing magical ever happens still, and after some time, Arthur exclaims in annoyance: “Maybe you should use knifes?”

And Merlin understands the logic; but Merlin just… can’t. He counters with an idea of his own.

“Maybe I should tie you up on a chair so that you can’t dodge them anymore?”

And Arthur gives a shrug… then goes to sit.

Merlin finds some rope and tie Arthur’s legs and chest to the chair. He hesitates, then tie only Arthur’s left hand behind the chair.

“In case it helps if you aim”, he explains.

Then Merlin is facing Arthur again. The spoons hit; one at a time. But Arthur glares at them - never at Merlin; and so Merlin goes on.

And then… (they’ve been going at it for so long that Merlin has stopped counting rounds) a spoon finally *stops*, mid-air, before simply falling vertically to the ground instead of keeping its course.

Merlin’s mouth falls open as Arthur keeps looking at his hand in wonder.

“Did you see-”

“Yes!” Merlin can’t help but shout happily.

Arthur meets his eyes, looking even more resolute than before.

“Again.”

Arthur doesn’t stop lots of spoons (yet, hopefully); but he regularly stops or redirects one.

And then, Arthur looks at his hand, and then at him, both in wonder.

“It *is* warm!”

And that’s definitely progress in the right direction, if Arthur has *felt* it.

The look they share is actually hopeful, for the first time since this began.

/

After some time, Merlin decides they should take a pause. Arthur still has to prepare him for tomorrow concil too, right?

So Merlin starts asking about what he should know for the coming concil right while untying Arthur’s legs.

“Will was definitely lucky to count you as a friend.”

Merlin’s eyes jump to Arthur’s in surprise; not only from the compliment, but also from the repeat mention of Will. Before today, Arthur had never mentioned Will, since they had left Ealdor.

Arthur doesn’t notice. Or - more probably - Arthur notices but goes on anyway; he is nothing but brave after all.

“I never had a friend, but I believe friends are supposed to help each other out, right? And well, you’re good at helping out, is all. And I know I have little to no right to talk about him; but I think you should know that I’m grateful, and that he has my respect, Merlin.”

Merlin is utterly speechless. Arthur has finally found, it seems, a way to shut him up. And to get him teary-eyed to boot. Merlin lowers his eyes to the ground.

“I believe he was a kind man. I mean- He must have been, of course - I don’t see you befriending someone cruel or-… But even taking only my own judgment into account?  I suppose he could have probably done more harm than a whirlwind. But he didn’t. He wanted to defend, more than to attack; there is nothing malicious in that. It’s unfair his kindness caused his end though. Sometimes, maybe, it’s necessary to be the first to strike; even if you can never know how actually well-founded that decision then is; and you have to live with it.”

Merlin feels guilty, again. And angry. Does Arthur have to remind him that Will’s death is his fault? For all his magic? Merlin is indeed nothing but *useless*, indeed. He works on finishing to untie Arthur as quickly as he can.

Arthur must have read the inwards directed angry shake of his head for something else though, as he lets out a somewhat apologizing sigh.

“I realize I’m very biased, Merlin; because if he had used his powers in a harmful way? I would probably have been the first to accuse him of being a monster. (pause) But he hasn’t. And I haven’t searched for any magical powers - yet here I am.”

Another sigh; nothing but helpless this time. So Merlin *has* to look up. He has failed Will. He won’t fail again. He won’t fail Arthur. Arthur’s gaze is lost inward though.

“Sire”, Merlin pleads, hunting Arthur’s eyes then locking onto them.

Arthur fidgets; Merlin can’t help but note the oddity and rarity.

“I just- I realize this is the strangest thought to have while we are yet again under a sorcerer’s threat, but… Maybe not everything is always as black or white as I’ve been told all my life? Maybe not everyone with magic is actually evil? … Will? Me? … Again, maybe I’m only very biased. Because who knows then how many might have been wrongly punished- (a heavy sigh; wondering and remorseful this time, as Arthur shakes his head, apparently thinking about his Father’s deeds as his own - as he has allowed them to come to pass without opposition for so long…) But I *have* to believe that it’s possible to have magic without being corrupted by it. I mean… What if it sticks? Even after…”

“Arthur”, Merlin starts again as Arthur’s voice falters - even though Merlin still has no exact idea about what he wants to say; at least not in what order. Arthur’s genuine regrets and palpable fear are boring a hole right through his heart; just as Arthur’s words about Will and about magic (it is a step in the right direction; no matter how small) spread warmth through it too. Merlin’s possible soothing or grateful words in return all feel just tangled and messy and worthless and not enough and-

Arthur clears his throat, then softly exhales as he finally looks away: “I don’t really know what I’m trying to say, Merlin. Except… I’m glad you’re here?”

Maybe Merlin has conveyed what he couldn’t put into words through his eyes after all…

/

And then Arthur stands up, and his voice is back to his usual, assured tone.

“Now. One problem at a time, right? About the concil tomorrow…”

And Merlin listens, you bet.

.

So yep, yet another 'I’m glad you’re here’ (MY HEART). And spoons just had to be involved, indeed (I’m weak, blame 5.03)

.

XI. DESTINIES ARE TROUBLESOME THINGS (MERLIN POV)

Merlin can’t help but be on his guard. He has no idea, he realizes as he enters Kilgarrah’s cave after having successfully put to sleep the guards in front of it (after a shortened dinner with Uther and Morgana), about how the Great Dragon will react to a stranger’s presence in his lair.

But Merlin needs some guidance; and so, he calls out to him…

/

“Young warlock, what has happened to you?”

“You know it’s me?”

“Of course. Even though I am surprised indeed by your current appearance.”

“Arthur and I- Our bodies have been switched.”

The Great Dragon straightens up.

“So this is Uther’s heir’s body?”

“Yes. And I need - we need - help. Do you have any idea about how to reverse such a spell?”

“I do not have such knowledge. I can only tell you what you already know; that there is some very powerful magic at work here. (pause, tilting his head) But maybe you are not supposed to reverse it to start with.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are now *literally* two sides of a coin - both at once in the same body. Maybe this was the intent of the prophecy all along.”

(helpless, shocked sigh) “No.”

Merlin cannot believe his ears. But the idea is not only incongruous; it’s also outright enraging, and simply *impossible*.

“No”, Merlin repeats, firmly this time; a denial.

“You would throw away the opportunity to fulfill your destiny? You would carelessly discard the chance to bring forth the greatest time for Albion?”

Merlin doesn’t even flinch under the Dragon’s ire. *Arthur* is his destiny; and only Arthur. Albion’s welfare is in Arthur’s hands. And Arthur *will* be its greatest King; not Merlin. The notion only makes him sick. It’s not even about a possible guilt at cheating Arthur’s crown (which he doesn’t want to start with). It’s simply that Merlin wants - needs, and will not (and never) accept anything less - Arthur to be Arthur, intrinsically. Besides, Merlin knows the burden of pretending already; and he wouldn’t wish for anyone, and certainly not for Arthur, to have to shoulder it too. How can Kilgarrah not realise any of it?

“This just cannot be the way. It only feels wrong.”

“You should at least think about it, Merlin.”

“It is all decided. I cannot and will not abide to the belief that this masquerade could ever be our true fate. And if you don’t - can’t or won’t - help, we’ll look for a solution on our own - no matter how long it might take.”

They hold each other’s gaze; and Merlin won’t relent.

“I can only hope you will not come to regret your choice, young warlock”, Kilgarrah finally says as he flies away.

/

Merlin is still fuming as he enters Arthur’s chambers.

His fingers itch, longing to search through his spells book. He hasn’t had yet the opportunity - between being a Prince taking most of his day, and Arthur being at his side when he had been off duty. Unfortunately, it will have to wait until tomorrow - it would look suspicious if he went out in the night.

So. He should rest. After all, a clear mind will be necessary in the morning, both for council and for finding a way to break the spell they’re under, right?

Only looking at the bed though makes Merlin’s entrails twitch in disgust. This is wrong indeed; and will never feel otherwise. And no matter how comfortable that bed is, Merlin now knows (he might grow understanding of Arthur’s lack of will to leave it on some mornings from now on, huh), you bet he will never even contemplate sleeping in it.

Merlin makes his bed for the night on the floor, wondering if Arthur has been able to fall asleep yet.

.

Bear with me. The Dragonlord bond is an intrinsic link between souls, which is why it isn’t affected by the body swap. Whereas magic inhabits everything it’s in, and is therefore by nature anchored in physicallity. It explains too somehow why magic in general can be learned/found, but that the Dragonlord bond can only be inherited. Oh well, it makes sense in my head, at least…

Also :( I’ve really hurt myself with Kilgarrah’s last line :( Because of course Merlin *will* wonder about this, *for centuries*, later on (my heart:(). Anyone willing to hold me while I cry, pretty please?

.

XII. SOMETIMES, YOU PUZZLE ME (ARTHUR POV)

“Sire, you should rest.”

“Just a little bit longer, Gaius. Until the candles are out.”

“As you wish.”

A respectful bow; then Gaius is on his way to Merlin’s room, giving Arthur space and quiet - and only when the door closes does Arthur realize that he just kicked an old man out of his own bed?

Well, let it be worth it then, right! Arthur closes his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to connect with the magic inside. He actually feels it, now that he knows what to search for. He has no idea still though about how to have it work, apparently…

He can’t help but wonder briefly if Merlin has been able to fall asleep yet, before concentrating again on that damn water…

/

Arthur awakes, wincing, still at the table. Gaius has left bread and jam out for him, and he hastily eats before running out to help Merlin prepare (both physically and mentally) for concil. It is still earlier than he thought it was it seems, luckily. The kitcheners have just begun their work; Gaius does prefer to pick herbs in the early morning indeed. Arthur takes some bread and jam for Merlin, as little else is ready yet, and makes for his chambers.

When he gets in, Merlin is putting his clothes on. He is nearly finished; only the tunic and the coat are still laid out on the already made bed. Arthur approaches to help him with fastening the ties, and so notices the spread-out covers and pillows on the floor behind the bed.

“Merlin? Did you actually sleep on the floor?”

“Well, that bed of yours is way too soft”, Merlin retorts (even though Arthur DID see him getting out of said bed just the morning before: it hadn’t been too soft apparently, when Merlin hadn’t known it was Arthur’s, huh…), trying to cover his embarassment before walking out, heading for the stream. And Arthur has no choice but to follow, shaking his head while wondering if there would ever come a day when Merlin would stop astonish him…

/

After having left Merlin at the concil’s door, Arthur gets back to his bowls and water.

He has no progress to show though still when Merlin comes in and gives him a very detailed summary of what has been discussed. Arthur is thankful - even though he hasn’t doubted Merlin’s capacities (Merlin acting like an idiot or being clueless about etiquette doesn’t mean Merlin isn’t clever, indeed).

Then Merlin takes up the spoons, and helps Arthur train more actively about his magic again. They are both pleased to discover that Arthur is now able to divert about a third of the projectiles.

“Why am I getting better with the spoons and not making any progress with the water?”, Arthur wonders aloud.

“I am certain you will figure it out, Sire”, Merlin only has time to pledge as Gaius walks in, holding out a book and placing it on the table - which definitely ends the spoons training as Arthur and Merlin come to gather around it.

Gaius and Merlin seem to be waiting for his cue, so Arthur is the one to open the book, feeling both hopeful (this book might contains the answer to their predicament!) and worried (what if this book is simply full of evil?).

Arthur starts to read silently, both cautious about eventual passers-by overhearing and unwilling to invoke any probable further disaster on themselves by reading what could be spells aloud, a finger tracing along the opening line.

“Magic is potential, and possibilities. Its use is a choice, and a responsability”, Merlin whispers, echoing what Arthur is reading.

Arthur is stunned, and can’t help but blurt out in disbelief, turning his attention on Merlin:

“You know how to read?”

Merlin only shrugs.

“Sure I do. My mother taught me, along with the other kids from Ealdor. You know, the fact that it surprises you that a peasant can read probably says more about Camelot’s rampant illiteracy than about me?”

And Arthur can only admit it’s true:

“You’re right. We should probably ask Geoffrey to organize something about it.”

Then Arthur points at the book:

“But of course you may read along; it concerns you too. It might be safer though not to read aloud, you know…” (gesturing around, waving a hand)

“I can do that too”, Merlin assures.

So Arthur sits down on the bench, motioning for Merlin to do the same next to him. Gaius sits on the opposite bench - ready to give advice or help if needed; or ensuring they do not damage the book before it gets returned to the vaults?

They read further in silence, two pairs of eyes following the path of Arthur’s finger.

Arthur quickly realizes though that the first part of the book focuses on magical creatures, and skips through it - it might be handy, but it’s not what they need at the moment (he can’t refrain from briefly pausing though passing by the unicorns page)…

Then they reach the spells section, and Arthur turns tense.

And rightly.

When he understands what the first spell is about, he can’t help but shout out, pushing the book away:

“This is what Valiant did! How can we trust this book of tricks?” - this is nothing but evil indeed.

.

Of course Merlin just HAD to read that opening line aloud while in Arthur’s presence, huh…

.

XIII. PROGRESS (ALTERNATE MERLIN/ARTHUR POV)

“This is what Valiant did! How can we trust this book of tricks?”

There is fire in Arthur’s eyes - an anger at Valiant’s deeds that Merlin doesn’t wish to see grow blinding. Gaius gives Merlin a look, and Merlin understands that Gaius wants to be the one explaining - to protect him, surely. Merlin signals ‘no’; but Gaius is speaking anyway before Merlin has even opened his mouth.

“Sire, Valiant’s actions were definitely condemnable indeed; but the book is not to blame. It simply explains how to animate figures - it doesn’t tell *why* the spell should be used; that intent is entirely the responsability of the one using the spell. So yes, Valiant used such a spell to kill; but such a spell can be used to save or help too; can be useful and good.”

Arthur doesn’t seem convinced at all, judging by the growling tone in his voice:

“How could such a spell ever be used for good?”

Let’s say you need to animate snakes out of a shield at your will to confound an evil man and save a noble one; Merlin thinks but does not say, pleading Gaius to let him deal further with Arthur’s ire. Merlin has often pondered of course, even if with little success, about the best way to explain it all to Arthur. But he realizes, suddenly, that using Arthur’s own words and opinions might be the most helpful in that regard.

“Remember what you told me, Sire; about Will? So. Having magic is *not* having a weapon. It’s simply having *a tool*. You can use an axe to build a shelter or to break down a door - and even then, you might only be breaking that door to save blocked-in people from fire. You can use a shovel to plant an apple tree or to dig a grave - and even then, it might be out of respect and love, in another culture. The axe or the shovel have nothing to say about why they are used for. In the end, maybe, the only thing magic actually reveals is what’s truly in one’s heart.”

This approach works better, apparently. Palpable facts he experienced himself weigh more than rethorical theories in Arthur’s thoughts process. Arthur tilts his head, actually considering now, instead of refusing it all at once.

“So. This spell? Let’s say you badly injure yourself while alone and away, and you conjure a horse to carry you back home quickly enough to be saved? Let’s say a child is crying and you create a butterfly or something, to bring up a smile?”

“A butterfly, Merlin?”

Arthur looks incredulous but sounds, if anything, teasing - which Merlin interprets as a sign of progress, a smile growing on his face. He only shrugs though, playing along.

“What’s wrong with a butterfly?”

“Nothing, I guess, indeed. Let’s go on then.”

They read further for about an hour, Gaius preparing potions behind them. Arthur never shouts out again, but expectantly looks at Merlin on the few occasions he apparently feels like he might maybe be missing the whole picture. And Merlin just goes with it; the surprised yet somehow satisfied glow in Arthur’s eyes each time in some way worth the risk of possibly divulging too much…

Until dinner time comes, and Merlin has to go. He takes his leave, telling Arthur he should read on. Arthur’s answer leaves him breathless.

“I’d probably see things only one way on my own; who knows what I’ll miss… I’d rather bring the book to my chambers while you eat, and you can read further later. Besides, I should work on my water, you know… Be ready for it, in case you find something.”

Merlin can only nod, speechless from Arthur’s obvious trust.

As he opens the door, Arthur surprises him yet again, talking to his back: “And just so you know, I wouldn’t put you in the stocks for sleeping in my bed while you’re, well, me. What would the guards think if they saw me sleeping on the ground? ”

The tone is more gentle than gloating, and Merlin feels warmed up as he realizes Arthur is being simply honest. It doesn’t change his view on the matter though.

“I told you, Sire; I do not find your bed comfortable to start with.”

He doesn’t dare to look at Arthur as he walks out.

/

Gaius has proposed to bring the book to his chambers. He said he had to bring Morgana her sleeping draught anyway; but Arthur couldn’t help but sense that there was more to it - maybe he’d rather not have 'Merlin’ seen with such a book, maybe Geoffrey has made him sworn an oath to never let it out of his sight… Anyway, Arthur doesn’t have it in his heart to deny Gaius the demand.

Once alone, Arthur sits again in front of his two bowls. He closes his eyes, reaching *inside*.

It’s a tool. He tells himself when he senses the flow. Not a weapon.

There had been something in the way Merlin had talked. It had sometimes felt more like mentioning actual events than thinking aloud (Had Will ever performed any of the spells they read about?); especially - even though surprisingly - about…

It’s harmless. Merlin says it can be used to make butterflies.

Arthur takes a deep breath; focuses - visualizing in his head what he wishes to achieve.

When Arthur opens his eyes, the water has switched bowl.

Arthur blinks.

Then a loud “Yes” echoes in the room.

.

Arthur makes several times the water switch from bowl; then the books on the shelves from order (size, alphabetical, themes (as it was originally)) - he doesn’t dare mess with Gaius’s ingredients though, of course. At some point, he eyes the chamberpot and tests it too, like Merlin had mentioned they could once Arthur would have gotten how to. And indeed, it works too! Arthur can’t help but feel proud, trying to imagine the look on Merlin’s face come morning…

Then Arthur realizes maybe they do not have to be under the spell to start with any longer! What if he can just wish it away? Sadly, though, it doesn’t work; no matter how much nor how hard Arthur tries. Feeling a bit defeated now, even though he knows he definitely booked progress, Arthur decides he should go to sleep. With any luck, he might need all his energy tomorrow, if tonight turns out to be as fortunate for Merlin as it has been to him…

Gaius hasn’t come back yet - he probably stayed with Merlin to study the book; after all, as Court Physician, no one would question how long he stayed by his injured Prince… Arthur opens the door to Merlin’s bedroom - he doesn’t intend to keep Gaius out of his own bed tonight too…

/

As soon as possible, Merlin excuses himself from Uther’s and Morgana’s company to get to his book.

Since Gaius has given it to him, he hasn’t really had time to study it - mostly, he’s called forth through his magic the necessary spell or information when he needed any. He hopes though that the book will help them again, as it has in the past, and that he will find something useful in the over two thirds of the spells section he hasn’t read yet…

It’s late into the night when Merlin’s heart skip a beat. A spell-breaking spell? This might work, right! After all, one doesn’t have to reverse a spell to have it undone! Merlin rereads the pages again, and wishes the morning to hurry in order to show his finding to Arthur and Gaius.

.

Arthur saw magic as a weapon, of course. Which was sort of getting in the way of having his magic work for more than blocking the spoons attacks, because he felt still somehow that he *shouldn’t* use it, no matter the need to use it to fix their problem. But now that Merlin has had him understand, at least for a while, that it isn’t by definition a weapon, Arthur somehow feels like it is all right to use it. Which is why it works this time? It makes sense in my head, at least?

And imo Merlin wound’t link magic to a weapon both because he wants to unmake that precise link existing already in Arthur’s mind; but mostly because, well, he doesn’t see it that way - HE USES IT TO MAKE BUTTERFLIES, RIGHT (and I love him for it, HUGE sigh…)

#merlin #merthur #bbc merlin #bbcmerlin #merthur fic #merlin fic #the body swap #the once and future fic #text post #fic #fanfic #my own two spells

[fortitude-sakura]

Noir [6/?]

AO3

Previous

“No.” Tenten says, snatching the eyeliner out of Sakura’s hands. “You look better without it. Here. Lots of this. I wish I had your eyelashes.”

Sakura rolls her eyes and takes the tube of mascara Tenten offers her. They’re in the midst of preparing for a night out. Tenten said that she had been invited by to Neji’s birthday and that she wanted some moral support. What that moral support would entail, neither of them knew but it was better than Tenten going alone and Sakura stewing at home watching reruns of Game of Thrones on a Saturday night.

Tenten has her hair up in the twin bun hairstyle she likes so much, her pretty upturned brown eyes accentuated with a flick of eyeliner and her full pouty lips a bitten cherry red. Sakura is envious of her roommate - Tenten had a seductive look to her that was easy and effortless. Tenten had pulled out a black oriental brocade dress that she had sewn herself - the silhouette was inspired by the traditional qipao, but Tenten had altered the design so that the dress was sleeveless, the hemline was (much) shorter, the split (indecently) higher than the traditional. Of course, Tenten understood her body and knew what she looked best in and only Tenten could get away with such a risque dress without looking like a hussy (as her mother liked to put it).   

Nonetheless, Sakura enjoys the primping even more than actually going out. She had read in a book that one should make themselves feel pretty or sexy everyday, starting with her underwear (of course, the author was French - and who better qualified to comment on lingerie than the French?). As such, every single undergarment she owned was made with the most gorgeous lace and satin and Sakura took a lot of pride in her collection. Today, she decides to wear her favourite set (one that featured exclusively ribbons of soft pink satin, just enough to cover her modesty and not much else) with a garter belt and thigh highs stockings. She picks out a deep red dress, just tight enough so show off her slender waist but keeping her arms and chest covered. The dress is just long enough so that her thigh high stockings don’t show.

“Red is definitely your colour.” Tenten nods in approval. “If I were that way inclined, I’d want a piece of you.”

Sakura giggles. “I could say the same for you. Let’s show Neji what he missed out on.”

It’s RnB Saturdays at Master Collins and Naruto can feel the deep beat in his chest. Hinata looks really pretty wearing that purple top and black shorts (and secretly he can’t wait to get them off her later). The bottle girl brings over some shots - vodka to start and he nudges Sasuke, the bastard, to take it.

“Come on! It’s your birthday. Oi Neji, you too!”

“I’d rather not spend another birthday face down in an alleyway.” Sasuke says, irritated.

Naruto and Neji snicker and Sasuke shoots them a venomous glare which makes Hinata hit him on the arm.

“What? It was funny, Hina-chan!”

It really had been hilarious. They were 21 at the time, fresh out of university and Naruto thought it a good idea to celebrate dear Sasuke-chan’s 21st at a club. Kiba had the decency to order a few rounds of ABC shots for them (before disappearing and buying shots for a group of girls) and Sasuke had almost thrown up on the girl that was crawling all over him that night. They found him later when he had made an escape from the club, face down in the alley, a pool of vomit next to him. The great Uchiha Sasuke, taken down by 5 ABC shots. Even his brother found it amusing when they finally hauled him back to his brother’s home.

“Besides, these are just vodka. Those ABCs shots are pretty lethal.” Naruto grins before knocking back his own. He nudges Sasuke a few times before he reluctantly takes the shot, Neji following suit.

“Oh! There’s Tenten!” Hinata says, standing up.

“Oi! Tenten! Up here!” Naruto calls out to Tenten and her friend, signalling them to come up to their private booth.

Between the strobe lights, music and adrenaline, Naruto doesn’t notice Neji or Sasuke tense.

The descriptor he used for Tenten had varied over the years. His memories of her are abundantly clear - sweet Tenten who shared her weird but yummy snacks with him, determined Tenten who refused to let her being a girl stop her from playing rough and tumble games with the boys, beautiful Tenten who danced with a kind of grace that seized his heart all those years ago.

This Tenten in front of him was no longer the girl he once knew. His eyes rake over her and the descriptors he used to use vanish from his brain. Instead they’re replaced by new words and his heart starts to beat faster.

He feels Sasuke beside him stiffen and he’s staring at Tenten’s pink haired friend like he’s about to devour her but at the same time he looks rather annoyed (which could be misconstrued as his default facial expression, but tonight he looks really annoyed). It didn’t help that the friend had a look of shock on her face, like prey.

“S-Sasuke?”

“Oh? You two know each other? What a small world!” Naruto says loudly over the music. “I’m Naruto, this is my fiance Hinata and that’s her cousin Neji. Thanks for coming! Come on sit down. I’ll get us more shots! Hina-chan, do you want one?”

Her friend introduces herself as Sakura as the shots arrive - an oddly appropriate name all things considered. The girls drag Hinata to the dance floor not long after (not that Hinata was unwilling, just a bit shy) and Naruto takes the chance to sidle up to him.

“So, you and Tenten have history don’t you?”

For an idiot as Sasuke likes to call him, he’s an awfully perceptive idiot.

“We were friends when we were in school.” he says, throwing back another shot.

“Yeah yeah. But you liked her, right? Don’t deny it, the tension was so thick in the room, it was suffocating. ” Naruto probes and Neji chooses not to dignify it with an answer, choosing to look down the balcony. Their private booth affords them a view of the dance floor and instead he watches the three girls dancing, laughing and singing along to the music.

“You know, Tenten’s friend looks really familiar.” Naruto ponders out loud, and before Neji can say anything, Sasuke shoves a shot at him.

Naruto takes it and downs it quickly and his eyes widen. Naruto after a couple of drinks is slower than usual - which is hilarious to Neji and Sasuke (if he wasn’t already passed out). You could see the cogs turning in his head and the proverbial light bulb light up in his eyes.

“She works for you!”

Neji looks at Naruto as if he’s lost his mind.

“What?” Sasuke snarls. If Sasuke was annoyed earlier, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now.

“That-that-that girl. Tenten’s friend! You had a picture of her! In a folder! At Ichiraku’s!”

Neji turns to Sasuke, an eyebrow quirked, asking for an explanation.

Instead, the only answer he gets is of Sasuke taking yet another shot before walking off in a huff.

What a small fucking world.

It's bad enough he'd had indecent dreams about his executive assistant. Now, seeing her here, in that red dress. It's too much for him to handle. Dream he could deal with because they weren’t real.

Not to mention the fact that Naruto actually fucking remembered her from that dossier he had stupidly brought out to lunch.

This wasn't his intention when he made her his EA, not in the slightest. She was annoying attractive. Annoying good at her job which made her even more attractive.

He spots her break away from Hinata and her friend to squeeze through the crowd. The shot he downs fires liquid adrenaline through his veins and he stands up to head down to the dance floor.

“Oi, teme! Where are you going?” he hears Naruto call but he ignores his best friend.

He grabs her hand before she turns the corner to the bathrooms.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses. It comes out a lot harsher than he intends but he feels the alcohol take over.

“I came because Tenten invited me.” she says evenly, unaffected by his tone of voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I’m just here to support my friend.”

What does that even mean?

She scrutinizes his face for a moment and he can feel her eyes meet his, before travelling down his nose and to his lips. He feels his ears and the back of his neck heat up (it’s the alcohol, he swears). The dress she’s wearing is too short. His fingers could probably find their way underneath the hem to find...

“I need to go to the bathroom, Sasuke.” she says gently and it’s then he realises he has her hand in his. He lets go and watches her as she goes to the bathroom.

More alcohol, he decides against his better judgement.

Sakura had thought Hinata to be meek and an unwilling dancer but when Tenten suggested that the girls go dance, she had been surprisingly keen.  

The biggest surprise though was Sasuke’s presence here tonight. She had been worried for a flash second as she had only ever interacted with him in a working context. He had startled her on her way to the bathroom and had asked her what she was doing here. She had stayed calm - the few shots from earlier chasing away any nerves she would have felt completely sober.

His face had caught the strobe lights just so and she had traced his features with her eyes - his narrowed eyes, his straight nose down to his cupid’s bow and lips. The way he looked at her set her on fire and she had to remind herself that this was her boss and whatever the hell this feeling was, it was highly inappropriate and unprofessional.

She notices Neji staring at Tenten and smiles. And Tenten’s milking the hell out of it and making a show of it. She lets a couple of guys buy her drinks at the bar but not much more. She flashes a smile at them in thanks before walking away (and they’re too stunned by her willingness to walk away from them to do much more). She dances without inhibition and without care and she coaxes Sakura to do the same and Hinata follows suit and before long, she’s having so much fun that she forgets that her boss is at the same nightclub.

They take a break to play a few drinking games. Naruto acts as Hinata’s black knight and consequently takes almost half the shots because Hinata is so very bad at these games. Sasuke proves to be equally bad - subsequent shots making it even more likely for him to lose. Neji, Tenten and herself lose a few rounds themselves and feel the warm burn of tequila run down their throats as punishment. After all the shots are gone, Naruto drags Hinata down the dance floor again and disappears into the crowd.

Sakura decides some water would probably be wise to try and sober up a little and heads to the bar downstairs (the bottle girl from earlier was nowhere to be seen). She manages to squeeze herself in at the bar when the guy next to her turns to her.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She recognises him to be a guy that had bought Tenten a drink earlier. To be honest, the stranger isn’t handsome enough to tempt her into accepting his offer. Unlike Tenten though, she wasn’t comfortable with accepting drinks from strangers knowing what the intention behind the drink was. She declines politely before asking the bartender for a jug of iced water.

By the time she gets back, Tenten’s gone.

“She went down to dance.” Neji says and he thanks her for bringing the water.

Sasuke manages to grumble something incoherent as he takes the water and leans back into the leather of the booth seat.

Neji doesn’t seem like much of a talker and she hardly knows what to say to her boss so she leaves them to join Tenten.

They dance and sing to a few old school RnB songs. Naruto and Hinata are nearby but they were in their own little world. Someone comes up behind Tenten to put their hands on her waist.

“What the-” Tenten turns around to see it was the stranger from bar again. She pushes his hands away. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asks. It’s not aggressive - more confused than anything.

“Hey Chun Li. I bought you a drink. I think you owe me a dance.” he says, pulling his hands on her waist again and pulling her towards him.

“Just because you offered to buy me a drink, doesn’t mean I owe you anything.” she says loudly, squirming out of his grasp.

Sakura sees that he’s clearly intoxicated and angry at Tenten’s rejection. He grabs her arm and Sakura worries that he’s hurting her. She tries to pull Tenten away by latching onto her waist.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” she snarls, trying to push him away. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Stay out of it, bitch! You think you’re too good for me, huh?” he slurs loudly, turning his attention to Sakura and grabbing her wrist with his other hand. “You know you’re lucky I even paid attention to you.”

“Let go!” Tenten yells but it only spurs him to hold on tighter.

“She said no.” a voice cuts in behind them and Sakura sees a hand push against the stranger’s chest hard, making him stumble backwards, letting go of them.

They turn to see Neji behind them, he appears calm but his eyes have a fiery determination that Sakura doesn’t think she’s seen all night.

“What’s it to you?” the stranger spits out petulantly, sizing up Neji. “Whatever, these sluts ain’t worth it.”

Before any of them can blind, a fist flies out hard and fast and it connects with the stranger’s jaw.

“Oi! Sasuke-teme! Comon’! He’s not worth it.”

All of a sudden she sees Naruto holding Sasuke back, Hinata’s hands are holding hers, Tenten is corralled behind Neji, who has arm in front of her protectively and a burly security guard approaching.

“Alright, all of you! Out! One more punch and I’ll call the cops.”

#fs-ficlet #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #ssfanfic #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #nejiten #hyuga neji #tenten #hyuga hinata #uzumaki naruto #naruhina