#like its so counterproductive and exhausting to see at some point.

[xtruss]

The Way Out of Burnout! A Psychoanalyst Explains Why For People Feeling “Burnt Out”, Simply Trying to Relax Doesn’t Always Work

— 1843 Magazine | August 12, 2023

Illustration Izhar Cohen

A patient of mine named Elliot recently took a week off from his demanding job as a gp. He felt burnt out and badly needed to rest. The plan was to sleep late, read a novel, take the odd leisurely walk, maybe catch up on “Game of Thrones”. But somehow he found himself instead packing his schedule with art museums, concerts, theatre, meetings with friends in hot new bars and restaurants. Then there were the visits to the gym, Spanish lessons, some flat-pack furniture assemblage.

During the first of his twice-weekly evening sessions, he wondered if he shouldn’t slow down. He felt as exhausted as ever. Facebook and Twitter friends were joking about how it all sounded like harder work than work. “I’m trying to figure out how I’ve managed to be doing so much when I didn’t want to be doing anything. Somehow not doing anything seems impossible. I mean, how can you just…do nothing?!”

When Elliot protests that he can’t just do nothing, he is seeing and judging himself from the perspective of a culture that looks with disdain at anything that smacks of inactivity. Under constant self-scrutiny as to whether he is being sufficiently productive, he feels ashamed when he judges himself to have come up short in this regard. But this leaves him at once too drained to work and unable to rest.

As I describe in my feature for the August/September issue of “1843”, this is the basic predicament of the burnout sufferer: a feeling of exhaustion accompanied by a nervy compulsion to go on regardless is a double bind that makes it very difficult to know how to cope. Burnout involves the loss of the capacity to relax, to “just do nothing”. It prevents an individual from embracing the ordinary pleasures – sleep, long baths, strolling, long lunches, meandering conversation – that induce calm and contentment. It can be counterproductive to recommend relaxing activities to someone who complains that the one thing they cannot do is relax.

So what does it take to recover the capacity to do nothing, or very little? I might be expected at this point to leap to psychoanalysis as an instant remedy. But psychoanalysis is emotionally demanding, time-consuming and often expensive. Nor does it work for everyone (a basic truth of all therapies, physical or mental).

In less severe cases of burnout, it is often the case that difficulties inducing nervous exhaustion are more external than internal. Time and energy may be drained by life events (bereavement, divorce, changes in financial status and so on) as well as the demands of work.

In such cases, it is worth turning in the first instance to more external solutions – cutting working hours as much as possible, carving out more time to relax or for contemplative practices such as yoga and meditation. This is as much a matter of discovering a remedy as the remedy itself. Merely listening and attending to the needs of the inner self as opposed to the demands of the outside world can have a transformative effect.

But such solutions will seem unrealistic to some sufferers both practically and psychologically. Practically in the sense that many of us are employed in sectors that demand punishing hours and unstinting commitment; psychologically in the sense that reducing working hours, and so taking oneself out of the highest levels of the game, is likely to induce more rather than less anxiety in someone driven relentlessly to achieve more.

So while there are many means by which we can be helped to relax, the predicament of severe burnout is precisely that you cannot be helped to relax. Where burnout has psychological roots, psychoanalysis may be able to help.

One way is its “form”. The nervous exhaustion of burnout results from their enslavement to an endless to-do list packed with short- and long-range tasks. In a psychotherapy session, you sit or lie down and begin to talk with no particular agenda, letting yourself go wherever your minds takes you. For portions of a session you might be silent, discovering the value of simply being with someone, without having to justify or account for yourself, instilling an appreciation for what the American psychoanalyst Jonathan Lear calls “mental activity without a purpose.”

Another way is the “content” of psychoanalysis. Talking to a therapist can help us discover those elements in our own history and character that make us particularly vulnerable to specific difficulties such as burnout. In my feature for “1843”, I discuss how two patients came from early childhood to associate their worth and value with their levels of achievement. Under constant pressure from within to “be their best”, they were liable to feel empty and exhausted when, inevitably, they felt they’d failed to live up to this ideal self-image.

This was very much the case for Elliot, and goes some way to explaining why the idea of “just doing nothing” so scandalised him. Even today, as they approach old age, Elliot could never imagine his parents putting their feet up talking, reading or watching tv. He remembers family meals taken quickly, with one or both parents in a hurry to rush off to one commitment or another. His own life was heavily scheduled with homework and extra-curricular lessons, and he was never more forcefully admonished by either parent than when he was being “lazy”. “They were kind of compulsively active”, he said, “and made me feel it was shameful to waste time. You could imagine the seats of their chairs were rigged to administer a jolt of current if they sat on them for more than ten minutes.” Only now is he beginning to ask why they, and he in turn, are like this, and why being at rest for any length of time is equivalent in their minds to “wasting” it.

Insight like this can be helpful to challenge our unthinkingly internalised habits of working and our dogmas as to what constitutes a “productive” use of our time. It encourages us to think about what kind of life would be worth living, rather than simply living the life we assume we’re stuck with.

[lipstickontheglass1985]

let it be known that i generally am not a blacklister like i have maybe five tags filtered in total (and those are mostly just spoilers) cause im nosy as fuck and generally am not super bothered even if i come across something somewhat annoying on the dash BUT. at this point im starting to wonder what combination of keywords would i have to blacklist to not have to see people gerard way gender discourse on my dash ever again

[dopepoisonivyoncrack]

We wouldn't exist without plants in more than 1 way, aside from an evolutionary stand-point. We wouldn't survive without plants that do so much for us every.fuckin.day and its taken for granted. From the air we breathe, to food, drinks, cleaning and cosmetic products, medicines, furniture and other objects and supplies, clothes, dyes, rubber, art, being base material or ingredient in more things than I can count, ornamentals that bring to life any landscape or room, improving our mental and emotional state, all the ecosystem services that literally keep our world together and without which we would literally all suffer and die (and we do suffer and many die when these services are affected by harming and destroying plants). This is not even an exhaustive list. And people can't even meet the bare minimum of consideration that these are alive beings and treat them with care.

They are alive, they move, they see, they feel, they communicate, they recognize and care for their kin, they learn, they can transmit the knowledge to the next generation (although I bet the new generations get more isolated and vulnerable not having old plants around them anymore) they hurt, they get sick, they get wounds that can get infected.

Yet people complain about being bothered by them. Treat them like annoyances, disposable objects. Mass deforestation without a single fuck given about the consequences. Daily cutting and mutilation of trees and vegetation in the most grotesque, incompetent, inconsiderate and, I can't stress this enough, unnecessary ways (for urban projects, laziness to not have leaves to clean up and what not). Its damaging, no matter what excuse they bring, its counterproductive.

Yes, some, species can grow new branches if cut. No, not all species can do that. I've seen fir and thuja horribly mutilated with their top cut. It will stay like that forever, hollow half-pyramid like. And it always comes at a cost, sometimes at the cost of its health and even life. The cut branch doesn't regenerate, it remains cut, it just gives branches in other parts... if some leaves or mix buds remain. The fresh cut is registered by the plant, they know its been cut. They can even alert nearby plants that someone is cutting, and they might be next. It is a stress factor for them. It leaves them vulnerable to microbial and fungus infections, parasites, to environmental factors like drought and extreme weather. Usually the factors act simultaneously. The regeneration requires them to consume their reserves that got accumulated throughout the previous year(s). If the frequency at which the tree is harmed exceeds its capacity to restore its supplies and feed itself, it dies. All the energy that was supposed to go on growing, blooming, making fruits, is now redirected to regeneration and healing and battling infections. (Think of a human getting a bad open wound, a limb cut off)

There is a time and precise way, sometimes species-specific, to cut OLD or UNHEALTHY branches, or to direct the way of the crown growth like some bonsai owners do. It's done with care and consideration and at least some basic knowledge for godsake. It can't be done any time, cutting like a blindfolded fool with a chainsaw.

I've seen in my town the audacity of calling the all-year round of trees topping (cutting whole branches or the whole crown) for urban regeneration. Some were cut down even in bloom, leaves and flowers and all. Cut in very unsightly way too, to the point the town looks desolating and depressing. In summer there is no shadow, or breeze, just suffocating heated concrete. Planting a few frail trees that might not even survive cannot make up for the damage. Cannot replace tall, old trees with big crowns and experience and strength build in decades. Did you know that what counts for the benefits offered by trees (air purification, oxygen,protection from heat, dust and pollution etc) is the leaf surface?! Less branches, less leaves, less services. And it severely diminishes the plant's capacity to restore the reserves it consumes for regeneration and all its functions. Also, asphalting every m2, or covering it with plastic and rocks means rain can't get in the ground. Not only it leads to flooded streets and houses, the trees and nearby vegetation can't get enough water. A few cm around the tree trunk doesn't allow enough water to sustain it.

They cut and harm trees and other plants every fuckin day, in more ways than I can count, and when trees get sick and fall at the first little storm, they get hysteric and cut even more.

We don't have forest curtains anymore so in the winter the snow and ice gets on the road, the wind feels stronger, more accidents happen. In summer, the heat is unbearable and the crops are not protected. When its not straight land, it leads more often to landslides.

Also plants in summer must be watered either early morning or late evening, when it cools down, not when the sun and heat is high, it just fucking steams them dead.

Honestly, I could go on all night. I've been going on for years along other scientists in conferences and more professional settings. For what? when most people can't find it in them to be the least bit considerate. To come on mf blr and see people joking at the sight of trees being cut in the most stupid, dangerous, illegal ways, and getting more worried about some lines, assumed to be power lines, that were not cut (there was only the risk of being cut) while the trees were massacred as a fact. My only worry about the lines was that if electric and cut, might start a fire, that, again, would burn the vegetation. Yes the people at the end of the cable MIGHT suffer some non-life-threatening inconveniences. The trees however were already suffering and no one care. God forbid I make a tag that I CARE and retreat for a few days so I wouldn't have to stand any more crap on a website I come for fun. Also people not liking plants, both irl and now online. Idc what motive for actively disliking or hating plants, its wrong. I hate you. I don't trust you. I wish all people that hate plants a very die.

[creacherkeeper]

im getting a little too in my family feels today and so INSTEAD of feeling those im just going to ramble for a second about why i fucking love paladin!aelwyn because. im. just like this i guess im coping leave me alone

cw for discussions of child abuse, maladaptive coping, drugs and alcohol, self harm, destructive tendencies, basically everything we see in canon and the implications

aelwyn is ... SO interesting to me because for as much of her interiority as we see, as much of her as we think we understand, as much as i could ramble about her character for hours, we know ALMOST NOTHING about her in actuality?? (besides ... one key thing)

(this is like 2k and probably incoherent someone please stop me)

okay. listen. almost everything we see aelwyn do in s1 is maladaptive rebellion against her parents and home life. the drinking, the drugs, the partying, perhaps some of kalvaxus (though i dont think we fully understand how much of that was forced on her as well, kalina WAS watching her when she was talking to adaine about it). you can say like, oh aelwyn is a party animal, she's impulsive, she makes risky decisions, she's bitchy and rude, and its like. okay but IS SHE ACTUALLY. because under her parents thumb she had an EXTREMELY limited amount of freedom, and usually when people are suffering from very little control over their life, they WILL act destructively over the tiny bit they can, either harming themselves or their environment or people lower than them in the pecking order, because in a way, that feels like a reclamation of autonomy. saying "you have so much power over me but can you stop me from hurting myself and destroying what you havent managed to claim yet?". its just like, kind of what human brains do and frequently has little to do with a persons actual personality or impulses, its just. desperate brains trying to control SOMETHING because autonomy is a fundamental human need and when thats taken away we get. very bad off. (this is one big reason eating disorders are SO common with abused kids.) so i think a lot of the s1 aelwyn we see is like. this is a very desperate, abused teenager "acting out" in the only way it is possibly somewhat safe for her to do so because, on a psychological level, the self destruction is weirdly the only emotional tether and its either this or just dissociate all the time (something we do see she has problems with in canon)

and yes, she did treat adaine horribly in s1. she fully did. obviously what we get in canon is what happens but a moment thats interesting to me is in episode 1 where adaine has attacked aelwyn several times, who either does nothing or just bounces it back, when she says "i never cast spells at you" and siobhan immediately retcons it and says "yes you do, all the time" (i havent gone back and watched this bit so i might be wording this wrong). obviously its an improv show and the canon is built between performers as they go, but that was interesting to me. that brennan hadnt intended for her to have fought back in that way. she definitely feeds into the emotional abuse from their parents and participates in all the toxicity there, but we know in canon that she did that because of overwhelming fear and self preservation. and that her self hatred because of it just fed back into the cycle and made her feel like she wasnt good enough to even try to break free from it. this is very common in golden child/scapegoat sibling relationships where the golden child SEES what the parents are capable of and becomes a participant in the abuse out of fear for their own standing. in any way siding with the scapegoat child not only directs abuse at themselves as well, but frequently makes things WORSE for the scapegoat because the parents will take out the challenge to their power on them even more. so, if aelwyn DID ever try to defend or help adaine when they were small, she would have VERY QUICKLY learned that made things worse for everyone. and just. sectioned that part of her brain off, as she's done with so many other things. (and i dont think im reading too much into the forest scene with the abernants to say their parents were VERY QUICK to turn abuse towards aelwyn if she stepped out of line even a little. like, you dont flinch when a hand moves unless. you know. dont need to say it just something to think about. as far as we saw in canon, she had done everything they asked of her leading up to the forest, and we DONT KNOW what happened in it but we do know brennan specifically called out how in broken spirits she was when adaine was summoned, even though they did the ritual to avoid all of the nightmare bullshit)

(the house party is literally a whole separate post but i think its fair to point out that 1) she was super under the influence when that was happening which DEFINITELY is in no way an excuse for her behavior but worth remembering when trying to analyze that 2) her losing that fight did canonically have DRASTIC consequences for her and even if she didnt know exactly how that was going to turn out, i think she knew how bad it might be. and she did not know adaine or any of the bad kids were going to be there in the first place)

all that said, it feels in some ways counterproductive to say that aelwyn is an extremely devoted and protective person (yes we're getting to the paladin shit i know i've been rambling a while) but i think that thats strangely ALL WE ACTUALLY KNOW ABOUT HER. because we've established that her self-destructive and abusive behavior in s1 is almost entirely psychologically scripted for her by her parents, we dont know how much of her villain shit in s1 was LITERALLY UNDER THREAT OF DEATH because we know at least killing the oracle was and we dont know how much of the rest of it was mandated by either her parents or kalina other than that she probably was under orders not to tell adaine the truth, and we know participating in all of this caused extreme self loathing in her that she refused to show to anybody and was too terrified to act on in any way

so, like. what does that actually leave us?

here's what we do know about aelwyn:

- of all the schools of magic, she went into abjuration

- the entire bbeg plan from season 1 hinged on aelwyn's complete faith that her level 1 sister was the most prodigious diviner in the world

- right after (?) the house party, she locked her memories where only adaine could find it with a note basically saying "theres so much bad blood between us but i know only you could find this"

- she desperately wanted to protect adaine and the fact that she was too afraid to do so made her hate herself (and her knowing that adaine now knows this is the turning point in their relationship)

- despite everything, even in the nmk forest, she still loved her parents

- the SECOND she is shown genuine love and affection and care from adaine, and adaine says whatever you do, i am here with you, all her actions from there forward are just about protecting adaine from their father, very nearly at the cost of her own life

- with what she probably thought were her last words (and would have been if adaine hadnt given her the tincture), all she wanted to communicate was how to help adaine and the bad kids, and how despite everything she had always believed in her

- at five levels of exhaustion, unconscious, she used her first spell slot after nine months of torture to build a shield around adaine

NOW we get to paladin!aelwyn. because, once everything is stripped away, the abuse and the control and the maladaption and the threats and the torture, EVERYTHING we ACTUALLY can glean about aelwyn's personality and inner core is that she's protective and devoted. and of course classes arent locked by personality, but that just screams paladin to me. its her WHOLE THING. adaine even says "wizards dont have heals, we dont care about other people" and of COURSE that isnt true for either of them, but? mechanically? aelwyn chose the wizard school that DID let her protect, and DID let her help, but i dont think, at this point, going forward, thats really going to be enough for her (and we could also talk about the parallels between them, how often adaine uses her portents to help other people)

i think a lot of the different reads on aelwyn come from this fundamental disconnect between her actions and displayed personality vs who she actually is and what she actually wants. and i think there are very different interpretations of what thats going to look like for her going forward. but i think, for a girl who's most hated characteristic about herself was her self preservation at the detriment of others, her perceived selfishness, and her fear ... isn't choosing to be braver and more selfless and more protective and shedding that self-preserving instinct for the betterment of others ... and MECHANICALLY being able to act on all those things ... the logical next step? i think its going to be a LONG TIME before aelwyn can love herself, but what other way is there to try? if adaine loves her, and adaine believes she can be better, isnt being better because she trusts adaine kind of a form of self love? saying, i dont believe in myself, but i believe in the person who believes in me, and maybe, in a roundabout way, thats the same thing. she was never able to TRY to be better before, because trying to improve even a little, even when people arent watching, when a harmful force has so much power over you and your actions ... like, the mental dissonance is honestly TOO much to even try, thats WAY more terrifying than letting yourself be bad, to the point where thats psychologically impossible for a lot of people. but now she actually has space and freedom and CHOICE and she CAN embrace the instincts she always had to shove down, she CAN be the person she knows her sister needed her to be

i dont know, i think theres an inherent love letter to yourself in wanting to be better and wanting to improve, even if you justify it by saying its for someone else. and now aelwyn actually CAN improve, and thats probably going to be extremely awkward and scary and there will be set backs and backslides for sure. but. i dont know. i think she wants to make up for lost time. because she never wanted the time to be lost in the first place. and if a protector is who she always wanted to be, whats stopping her from being that now?

[dreamboatmomota]

PLEASE YOUR OCS ARE ALL SO CUTE! CAN I ASK FOR SOME SMALL DESCRIPTIONS OF ALL OF THEM?? IM SO CURIOUS-

OMG THANK YOU AND OF COURSE!!!!!! i'll write them as short as i can but that's usually not in my skillset EHEHEHE so some of these might get long-winded, bear with me. also all but 2 dont have names, thats still very much a work in progress SO FOR STARTERS my KG takes place in a simulated dome, kind of like. the hunger games 2 if that comes to mind HAHA but its mostly a campsite in a dense forest, but other shit can be added to manipulate the killing game as motives ultimate astronomer: his name is Hohodzuki Tentai, he's very sheltered because he grew up in isolation, specifically in an observatory in the middle of nowhere. he's well meaning, but he lacks proper social skills and sometimes comes off as weird to the others because he gets very curious about them and their lifestyles and sometimes asks boundary-crossing questions. he loves star maps, astrology, and mood rings; he constantly walks around putting them on the other participants ultimate pack leader: his name is Masashi Choko. everything about him points towards being a werewolf, and even though they aren't real, the cast is constantly questioning it because of choko's behavior. in reality, choko earned his title of pack leader because he has a delusion that he's on a spiritual level with the dogs he rescues and is the alpha of his pack and refers to them as his brothers. him and tentai form a close bond where choko eventually refers to tentai as having the same spiritual wavelength. overall he's super loud and friendly and generally just kind of comes off as an overexcited dog ultimate evel knievel impersonator: he's not an impersonator on purpose, he actually hates the title but anyone only ever sees him as an impersonator because he's only been able to reach evel knievel's personal bests. his only goal is to beat those records so he can be the best, but he's so invested in being better than evel knievel that he ends up dressing like him and doing the exact same stunt work so that when he bests him, he will be above him. he does not realize this is counterproductive. he's super hot headed and will bite you if you call him an impersonator ultimate prosecuting attorney: she's my antag. she's stiff and no nonsense, and she doesn't believe in supporting the weak; basically, get with it or get out of the way. she runs the trials, but since she's my antag she usually ends up pinning it on the red herrings of each case and demands someone dare to prove her wrong, constantly forcing the trials to have to be redirected to the right track. shes also extremely hard working to the point of exhaustion, as you can see by her eyebags HAHA, but its ok bc she saves time by manipulating others to help her with tampering evidence. she is heavily inspired by ace attorney, i came up with her while getting into the series :^) ultimate fisher: shes VERY loosely based on tom sawyer. shes kinda lazy and indifferent to what goes on, usually hoping someone does the work for her. she fishes for leisure rather than sport, so she prioritizes relaxation and is stubborn about it when someone criticizes her for it. she's usually off on her own napping or daydreaming ultimate puppeteer: LOUD. keeps NO secrets. the second you tell her something in private she will loudly repeat it. shes nosy and crude and uses her puppets to carry this out. she tries to be sweet and well meaning though, but she's just kind of insensitive with her comments and pokes fun at people with her puppets ultimate ice figure skater: elegant and poise, but has a secret competitive streak that brings out a playful vulgarity. he has a lighthearted rivalry with the ult. hockey player to see who's better on the ice, but a lot of his wisecracks go over poor hockey's head. they both watched each other on TV pre-KG, but theyre too embarrassed to admit watching the other's sport so they play it off in person and slowly become very.............very bromosexual

ultimate hockey player: bigggg dumb, stupid softie. his favorite things are meat, hockey, and his mom. he's not a lot of help in trials but he keeps people in good spirits and usually tries to cheer people up by asking if they want to play games or join him in hockey. the rest of the cast has decided he's impossible to hate ultimate demonologist: loves the occult and is a huge conspiracy theorist, but mostly uses his knowledge of spooky shit to scare everyone else. he gets defensive if you do the same sort of stuff to him though and is in general very difficult to get along with or take seriously. he takes the occult very seriously and has a small pet snake with him :^)

THATS ALL SO FAR, im still working on fleshing the other out but i worked on designing them today so hopefully they'll be posted soon !!

[emily-the-fae]

Sound of a Heartbeat

Part 6. The Devil's Hospitality

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

And I am back from celebrating the summer solstice. Mosquitoe-bitten, red-haired and with a new chapter. Thanks for following the story if you still are, I'm very sorry that editing takes me so long. (STILL IN NEED OF A BETA). So yes, please enjoy and like&reblog&comment, because interaction with readers makes me extremely happy. Also please write in comments if you want me to tag you so that you don't miss the new parts.

Pairing: Dracula x OC

Warnings: none, a little bit of death threats and the usual tuberculosis part

"Maps used to say there'd be dragons here. Now they don't, but that doesn't mean dragons aren't there." ~ Lorne Malvo, "Fargo"

Shari began to open her eyes hesitantly, slowly when nothing rushed at her in the first few moments of her presence inside the castle. The healer was still extremely tense, ready to jump aside and try to fight off anything that tried to attack her. Nothing. Dark, still, terrifying, but also quiet and…empty. Lisa hadn’t told her a complete lie. Apparently, Dracula wasn’t home. Shari looked around the dark place she found herself in - she was standing in the middle of an enormous hall, columns going way up, she needed to raise her head to see the gothic arcs of the dark ceiling above her; two large round marble staircases in front of her led to the opening on the second floor and behind that space she could see a darkened entrance to an inner corridor. Shari could hear nothing but her own heartbeat and Rodo's husky breathing, the silence was almost ideal, her own quiet breathing echoed around the wide halls - the castle appeared to be completely empty, apart from her, Rodo and her ghastly companion. Lisa seemed frozen in awe for a while, looking around too, but with a kind of familiar melancholic look on her face - staring once again at the place she had spent so much time in must have felt odd. Odd and slightly painful. All the memories of her life, all the “what if”s of her never leaving this peculiar home or never finding it in the first place rushed in, frustrating her for a few moments. The ghost quickly recalled she needed to keep collected – for the sake of her new guest and the adventure she was planning ahead.

- Wait, Lisa! - Shari rushed to her side, afraid to be left alone even for one moment. Rodo hopped behind her easily. - We will go and grab books, yeah I get it, but... How do I... Where do I rest? I mean I need a bed and preferably next to a chimney and then after I wake up, I can study through whatever we need and search for whatever other materials I can need, sure, but I'd there... I mean it's kind of a vampire castle... - Shari trailed off and in a moment she was coughing again, heading to the supposed library entrance, but barely seeing her way.

- Wait, Lisa! - Shari rushed to her side, afraid to be left alone even for one moment. Rodo hopped behind her easily. - We will go and grab books, yeah I get it, but... How do I... Where do I rest? I mean I need a bed and preferably next to a chimney and then after I wake up, I can study through whatever we need and search for whatever other materials I can need, sure, but I'd there... I mean it's kind of a vampire castle... - Shari trailed off and in a moment she was coughing again, heading to the supposed library entrance, but barely seeing her way.

- That is quite funny of you, - Lisa responded, when Shari quieted down a bit. - To be asking me if you can have a normal bedroom in a vampire castle, especially since you know I've lived here for quite a long time.

- Yeah and married the host, - Shari argued breathlessly.

- What do you think vampires sleep in?

- Coffins?

- Don't be shallow.

- Well, sorry if didn't live with them for twenty years and didn't realise they may as well use beds... - Shari hesitated. - They do, right? Because if you were implying that you want me to sleep in your old room, then thanks I'd better sleep on library floor.

- You'll take one of the guestrooms, - Lisa rolled her eyes. - And you have to get there soon, otherwise you'll collapse and I am in no form to drag you up the stairs.

- Oh, you've finally noticed, - Shari huffed. - I hope there will be a very - no, extremely - warm chimney, - she added, shivering.

- As you wish, - answered the ghost, pushing the heavy door. They walked into the library together, careful not to make any noise and Shari had to catch her breath: of course she had expected something like this, but neither the size of the room nor the abundance of different apparatuses and strange objects could have ever been embraced by her imagination - it seemed like one lifetime would never be enough to study through all the centuries of knowledge kept in these walls.

- Wow.

- Well, that… is one way to place it, - Lisa laughed, amused with the healer's surprise. - Come, - she beckoned. - Take this, this... oh, and this, - she walked to one of the tall shelves, pointing to several books for Shari to take. - Oh, wait, I forgot, can you...?

- Read? You ask only now? You offend me, - Shari threw the ghost an unamused glare, her hands loaded with heavy foliants. Lisa laughed, obviously the question was only poorly hidden sarcasm. Rodo behind her back was running around the room, smelling the air with curiosity - if he ever visited the castle before, she doubted that he was let anywhere near the living areas.

- Well, you never know with people these days, - Lisa replied. - These must have something on your lung disease, as far as I remember - or some similar things - you'll need to go through lung sections, compare the symptoms and check what might work for you.

- Will try to, - the girl nodded, weighting the books in her arms and already estimating how much time she may possibly have for all that study.

- Come on now, don't waste time, - Lisa was too enthusiastic to be a ghost inside of an abandoned vampire castle. Far too enthusiastic. Something must have been off, but Shari couldn’t place what and couldn’t possibly be able to do so in her exhausted state.

Shari followed her down another large door and out of the library; there was a narrow staircase leading somewhere upstairs, dark and empty, just like the rest of the place – the golden lights of the library couldn’t reach into its curves, so Shari had to watch her step carefully. She was not sure how many floors they passed before they finally left the stairs and turned into a dark corridor lit only by the moonlight, falling from a small window way in front of them. Shari felt cold and slightly anxious for no evident reason - the whole place had an intense, intimidating mood to it – as expected. Lisa made a few more steps and stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. Shari hesitated once more, but Lisa nodded towards it encouragingly; the girl then freed one of her hands from underneath the books and pushed the door open, stepping into the room more confidently.

A big four-poster bed, a fireplace, a wardrobe and a table with a chair placed by the window. Old, slightly dusty, but more than enough for her to rest her head. Shari threw the books on the table and lit the fire in no time, sinking down on her knees to warm her freezing fingers. After several days of survival and freezing, she could finally heat and rest. Rodo crawled to the corner of the room and lay down there calmly, hiding his clawed paws beneath himself and seemingly beginning to drift off, Lisa stood by the window, facing away, staring into the darkness, seemingly already detached from what was happening within the walls of the castle. The door was locked - pointlessly, as a bow to paranoia - the fire was burning nicely - how good it was to finally feel its warmth - the room was silent apart from its creaking and Shari knew she herself was starting to fall asleep.

She stood up from her place by the chimney, checked the door once more and threw herself on the bed, kicking off her boots and crawling under the heavy blankets. Now she wanted nothing more than sleep - sleep and warmth of the chimney to ease her cold, the soreness of her limbs and the pain in her lungs. Lisa slowly dissolved in the corner of the room, but even that didn't seem to be a problem to the healer - she would catch up with the ghost tomorrow, get to her reading and preferably medicine. Now - rest.

Shari rolled into a ball under the covers and surrendered to the long awaited sleep.

***

Dracula was returning to his home after two days of absence; following his son proved counterproductive - apart from assuring, that the boy didn't have it easy with the demons, there was not much more he could do. The group held together, never separated - not after they became three instead of four. That was almost a pitiful chain of events. Though it did make them less vulnerable to his attacks and he decided not to rush things - the speed at which they traveled bought him more than enough time for any further proceedings.

The world outside was crushed and burned by war. The world inside his castle was dark and hollow as usual. At least it was so normally - but surprisingly, not that night.

Dracula knew there was an intruder in his castle the moment he entered – there was no way he wouldn’t have noticed; the vampire had to stop on his tracks, trying to detect what caught him off guard, and then he finally felt it - the smell of the human was very subtle, but still there. He tracked her down(undeniably this one was a female, he could almost recognize that mix of cinnamon and lavender as if he had encountered it before) - from the main entrance to the library - pausing by the shelves for a moment, a few foliants were missing here and there with the traces of her human warmth still hovering around the place - and upstairs to one of the rooms - just like the guestroom Lisa stayed at when she first found him.

The door was expectably locked, but as soon as the vampire's nail trailed along the keyhole, the lock clicked by itself, opening up. Dracula expected a lost and tired stranger or a hopeful witch seeking out his help and teaching, but when he opened the door, letting himself inside, he finally understood why her smell seemed so familiar to him. The girl from the forest camp, his son's willing helper, witch and healer by her own words. The vampire was surprised to say the least. He had been quite sure she was gone for good; in the end he had tried his best to give her a peaceful death and yet here she was: alive, breathing and in his castle. Sleeping peacefully, having willingly crawled under his roof and left herself at his mercy.

The vampire entered the room quietly, shutting the door behind him and sitting down in the chair by the table, his eyes observing the human figure on the bed. Petite, blond haired and pale - the girl looked so similar to Lisa, but yet was nothing like her - no, the darker tint to her hair and the weakness of her tired body drew the distinction quite clearly, as well as the reddish mark standing out against her pale neck. A mark he left on her.

He briefly wondered how that weak creature managed to survive his bite, but he would set the question aside for the time being. He needed to decide what to do with his guest: the easiest option was to finally enjoy the remnants of her sweet living blood without interruption now, but one look at the pale sleeping form made him suddenly feel doubtful: her chest heaving as she breathed, her heartbeat slow and peaceful, she coughed in her sleep dryly and turned on her back, her arms spread across the bed, she faced away from him with the crook of her neck so temptingly open to his view - so calm and vulnerable. How are you still alive? Dracula suddenly for himself felt rather than decided that he would not end her, not yet and not here, that he wanted to know more: how she found him, what she wanted and what may come of her - after all, he hadn't had such bold human visitors, ever since...

***

Dim light was shining through the window, strands of it falling onto her face and disturbing her peaceful sleep. Shari moved about a bit, wincing at the pain in her limbs and the full ache somewhere deep in her chest, letting a few (thankfully) dry coughs pass her lips, trying to hide away from the morning rays, hoping for a few more minutes of the blissful unconsciousness, then finally stilled, opening her sleepy eyes and sitting up. The instant she did so, she knew something was very wrong: the room was identical to how it looked the evening before, but she felt it still – even the air seemed denser, more dangerous and alert. She felt a shiver run down her back – as she finally noticed it, on the wall before her, next to the door, she could see a large dark shadow of something standing in front of the window, cutting off the light. Please let it be something outside. Shari turned her head slightly to the left and saw Rodo crouched on the ground - worried and tense, looking in the direction of something behind her back; the healer suddenly had absolutely no wish to turn around. Maybe if she would stay still the thing - whatever it was - would go away and leave her alone.

The sound of movement behind her back announced her that her stillness would most probably not protect her - whatever it was, it was inside of the room and very much uncaring of whether she moved or not.

- I think I have already killed you once this week, - Shari jumped on the spot and turned abruptly to finally face her host: Dracula was leaning against the table and staring down at her, his sharp face unreadable. - You are quite persistent for a human, I dare say. And bold.

Shari leaped out of the bed, as if a bucket of ice cold water was spilled over her, and backed away from him until her back hit the stone wall, her eyes searching for Lisa frantically – but the ghost was nowhere to be seen. Not this again. The vampire crossed the room in a swift, undetectable motion, his figure appearing in front of her in a matter of seconds. Rodo growled at his master, but remained motionless, still afraid to step out against the vampire.

Shari tried to move away, slip out of his grasp before he could properly get ahold of her, possibly even reach the door and run down the stairs - anything - but a large clawed hand grabbed her throat suddenly and firmly and the healer found herself unable to breathe properly, gasping and coughing in his hold, trying to wriggle away. Where was Lisa when she was so needed? "Oh no, Dracula is rarely visiting this castle nowadays!" Sure, like there was ever any point in believing that.

- How did you find this place? - Dracula growled rather than asked. His grasp was tight and Shari felt panic rise inside as if she was already in the claws of Death itself. Not far from truth.

"Your dead wife dragged me all the way here."

- Rumours. Mostly. And a bit of luck, - she rasped, out of breath.

- What do you want?

"Out."

- Shelter. And knowledge. I know there are books here that can help me heal, - she coughed and tried to free herself, once again unsuccessfully.

- And you expected the castle to be empty? - he almost laughed.

"No, but your beloved wife is a big liar."

- I recognize it was incredibly stupid of me, but back then it seemed like a plan, - oh yes, a plan of a very annoying and untrustworthy ghost.

- Are you alone here?

"Apart from a mean ghost and your demon..."

- Yes! - she gritted her teeth, as his hand pressed her farther into the wall.

- Give me one reason, human, not to finish now what I started a few days ago, - he was growling now even deeper, his face close to hers and she wondered how painful it may be this time. She did not want to find out.

- When I'm here I can't help Adrian! - she replied quickly, rasping each word.

- Same as when you are dead, - came the answer, his head leaning down to the crook of her neck. She shrieked.

- Repeating the same action and awaiting a different outcome of it is the definition of insanity, - Shari blurted out, not fully aware of her own words. What the hell was this even about? - You have ready killed me once, remember? I should have died back then, but something kept me going. You killed me and it didn't work. And you are not insane, are you?

Dracula suddenly removed his hand from her throat, laughing and took a small step back - as soon as he did so, she could feel against herself the growling form of Rodo who jumped in front of the human, protecting her from his master. Shari slid to the floor and threw her arms around the creature's neck, holding it to herself and caressing the dark fur. The vampire stared at the demon with a dissatisfied gaze, but the beast held his ground firmly now.

- You are a particularly peculiar human being, healer, - the vampire laughed. - That was the most unsettling answer you could have given.

- Was it? - she rasped, catching her breath. He smirked, knowing well he would not eat her now; he was too amused to make her his meal. - I can leave if you want, I will... - Shari searched for words. What exactly was she going to do if he made her leave? Crouch down on his porch and die?

- You are a curious specimen... Besides it likes you for some reason, - Dracula nodded towards Rodo. - You may stay until you annoy me out of my patience, - he stated blankly, instantly hating how welcoming he was being towards the human.

- Thank you. Making me leave would have been unfortunate and embarrassing to no limit, - Shari spoke quickly with no intonation, calming her rapidly beating heart. That was unexpected, but appreciated and she tried to be as short and non-annoying as possible as to not make him change his mind.

- Rest, use the library, and try to stay out of my line of sight. And remember I could still decide to draw a conclusion to our previous meeting, - he walked out of the guestroom, almost slamming the door behind him. So much for hospitality, but at least she wasn't being kicked out. Or eaten, for that matter.

Shari breathed in deeply and caressed Rodo's head and neck. What has she gotten herself into? Where the hell did Lisa disappear to?

[horansqueen]

Stuck With You - Chapter 18

Chapter 18: I Want You

🡪chapter 1  🡪chapter 2  🡪chapter 3  🡪chapter 4  🡪chapter 5  🡪chapter 6   🡪chapter 7  🡪chapter 8  🡪chapter 9  🡪chapter 10  🡪chapter 11 🡪chapter 12 🡪chapter 13 🡪chapter 14 🡪chapter 15 🡪chapter 16 🡪chapter 17

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

Any time I need to see your face I just close my eyes and I am taken to a place Where your crystal mind and magenta feelings taken shelter In the base of my spine, sweet like a chica cherry cola

I don't need to try and explain, I just hold on tight And if it happens again, I might move so slightly To the arms and the lips and the face and the human cannonball I need to, I want to

Come stand a little bit closer Breathe in and get a bit higher

Ooh, I want you I don't know if I need you But, ooh, I'd die to find out Ooh, I want you I don't know if I need you But, ooh, I'd die to find out

But a look, then a smell of perfume It's like I'm down on the floor And I don't know what I'm in for

click here to be on the update list

NIALL

                                                      My phone had been ringing and beeping constantly in the past hour. Every time I checked, though, it was a new call or message from Mandy and I was desperately trying to avoid talking to her. I knew I wouldn't be able to run away from her for too long but I was determined to at least try. I marked all her text messages as 'read' and got out of my car again, getting inside Lewis' apartment building for the second time on that day.

I felt nervous and I was not sure why, but I kept twisted the insides of my jeans pockets as the elevator moved up. My heart skipped a beat when I glanced at the spot where Devon and I kissed but I swallowed my feelings and quickly walked out of the elevator. It didn't take long for Lewis to open the door and when I walked in, I noticed he had cleaned up everything. I was impressed, especially when I remembered the mess we had made, but I didn't mention it.

"You know you don't have to come visit many times a day, mate." Lewis pointed out before his lips curled. "No need for me to get used to your ass in this apartment, your girlfriend messaged me and said it was too expensive for her."

I wanted to point out that she was not my girlfriend and never would be but the words got stuck in my throat and I decided it was better to ignore it and not fuel the fire. I took my hands off my pockets and passed one in my hair with a sigh.

"Look, Devon really needs a place to stay."

"I thought you'd be happy to keep her with you in your room." Lewis wondered with a frown.

I took a seat on the other couch, close to him and shook my head. "She wants out, okay." I explained, shaking my head slightly before sighing again and leaning my back on the couch. "I mean, she really wants to leave."

Lewis stared at me, frowning slightly more, and finally moved his upper body closer. "That's how much you love her?" he asked in a soft tone, making me shrug. "Enough to let her go?"

"Don't say stupid things."

"No, you say stupid things, Horan." he added a bit louder. "Instead to love her enough to let her go, why don't you love her enough to be honest with her? I've seen the way she's been looking at you. She's literally waiting for you to make a move."

"I've hurt her enough already okay?" I replied a bit rudely. "She wants out and if that's what she wants then that's what she'll get."

This time, Lewis didn't answer but he rolled his eyes at me, letting his back fall on the couch. "You're a fookin' idiot."

"Thanks, I know."

"You let one girl fuck you up, and then you fuck the others. Nice move." he replied again with sarcasm.

"Fine, sue me!" I let out, now getting angry. "I'm just here to ask you to send her a message again, and tell her you'll charge her half of the rent you proposed first."

Lewis raised his eyebrows at me, blinking a few times. I knew he was getting annoyed but I didn't care. "Why would I do that?"

"I'll pay you the other half." I explained, closing my eyes. "But you can't tell her! Ever."

My friend stared at me and I knew he wanted to add something about the girl that broke my heart and fucked me up to the point where I rejected any form of romantic love, but he didn't and I felt grateful for that. It's not like I was not aware that it was not a normal thing. I knew people fell in love, fucked up other people, hurt them, got their heart broken... and started all over again. Most people had this urge and this need to love and be loved, knowing they could get hurt but hoping they won't. I didn't have that need, because I felt like the happy times were not worth the pain. I couldn't lie and say Devon didn't make all my principles falter, but I was trying hard not to do to anything about it, despite how bad I was craving it... how bad I was craving her.

"Propose her a ride to school every morning." Lewis finally said, taking me out of my thoughts. I blinked a few times and frowned before shaking my head. "Seriously, do it." he continued. "If you do that, I'm good with you paying half the rent and not telling her."

I stared at him for a few seconds before looking down. I liked the idea but I was not sure she'd agree to it. I also was pretty convinced it was a bad idea. How could I stop feeling all these things for her if I spent time with her every single day? Anyway, the reason she wanted to move out of our room was because she didn't want to be around me anymore, and picking her up for school every week days sounded counterproductive.

"Why does it matter so much to you?" I finally asked, looking up at him as he got up but totally resigned to do what he asked me to do.

"Because even if you pretend the opposite, it really matters to you." Lewis confessed, making something stir in my stomach. "So, we have a deal?"

I got up too, glancing at the hand he was holding out before looking up in his eyes. I would never tell him, but if Devon agreed to let me give her a ride to school every morning, it would make my heart lighter. As much as I hated to admit it, I took so many decisions with my heart recently that there was no doubt I'd end up in deep shit very soon. Did the fact that Devon was about to move out make me change my mind? Would it turn me into the pathetic human being I was whenever she was near? The same one I used to be around my ex girlfriend right before and even after she broke my heart?

"Deal." I just let out firmly, grabbing his hand and shaking it hard once before letting it go.

"I want my money every saturday and you're the one driving here to give it to me, making it your problem."

"Ever heard of bank transfers?" I asked with a scoff.

"I want it cash."

I knew he just wanted me to come over and I understood why but I was too mentally exhausted to argue and maybe it would also give me the chance to see Devon. I should run away from here and break all the deals I had made with Lewis but I couldn't. I was tired to fight, I was tired to repress everything I was feeling in hope it would disappear.

"Okay, but you don't ask for the money in front of Devon."

"Who do you think I am? An idiot?"

I chuckled but rolled my eyes before nodding, grateful for what he was doing. It was tough to push away someone who made me feel so many things. It felt like every fiber of my body, everyone around me, and even fate and destiny made it impossible for me to stay far from Devon. I knew deep down that I couldn't stay physically away from her forever. It felt like my own body was going to rot or die if she'd stay far, and I knew it was a stupid example but those were the only words I could come up with. Perhaps it was not really that. Perhaps it was just that my heart would stop beating, but either way, I was not ready to let go. Not completely.

I wanted to thank Lewis for everything but just as I was about to, someone knocked at the door, making me jump slightly. I moved away to let Lewis pass but when I heard the voice on the other side, I felt my heart jump in my chest.

"Lewis, are you there?" Mandy's voice let out in a soft tone. "I forgot something last night!"

I placed my hand on Lewis' chest as he walked past me and looked up in his eyes, shaking my head. "I'm not here." I mouthed, making him frown and throw his hands up.

"You're gonna have to face her at some point, right now is perfect." he replied in a whisper, walking up to the door and opening it before I could think of something else to do or a good place to hide.

As soon as her eyes met mine, I pushed my hands in my pockets and her face lighted up.

"Niall, hey, tried to reach you all day!"

"Yea, sorry my.. phone was on silent." I lied, sending her a small smile. "I was about to call you back as soon as I left."

"I just feel very lonely today." she pointed out, sending me puppy eyes as she took a step closer, putting her hand on my chest. "Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?"

My eyes roamed on her face for a few seconds as she gripped my shirt. I knew looking at her should make me feel something, but nothing happened. It was not because I was used to her, or because I had had too much sex encounters with her, no. It was simply because I felt nothing for her and probably never felt anything except lust. The fact that i didn't feel any desire for her anymore was a shock and my lips parted as I blinked a few times.

"I'm busy... tonight." I cleared my throat and took a step back, turning to Lewis to hug him lightly and tell him goodbye. I could feel Mandy's eyes on my back and it suddenly made me feel uncomfortable. When I turned back to her, she raised her eyebrows and I smiled. "Do you need a ride?"

"Yea, thank you! Let me just grab my bra really quick."

I frowned, turning to Lewis who just shrugged as Mandy disappeared in the hall only to reappear a minute of two later as she pushed her bra in her purse. I didn't ask because I didn't want to know and as we left, I glanced at Lewis' phone and moved my chin in its direction. He just nodded and I followed Mandy to the elevator.

I watched as she leaned against the wall in the exact same spot Devon and I had kissed but closed my eyes as images invaded my brain, appearing behind my eyelids like a movie I could never get tired of.

"Are you okay, Niall?"

I got out of my thoughts, trying to push away the thoughts in my head where Devon was straddling me and I was kissing her lips gently after a claustrophobia crisis, to turn to Mandy. "Yea, I'm good."

We walked together until my car and I drove in silence. She put her feet up on the dashboard and I felt my lips curl into a small grimace at how annoyed it made me but when I parked, I turned to her with a serious face.

"Look, Mandy, I think we need a break."

"A break?" she let out before chucking. "Niall, we're not dating."

"I know I just.. I can't do this anymore."

She tilted her head to lean it on the bench before turning her body slightly my way. She sighed low and a sad smile appeared on her lips before she licked them. For some stupid reason, it made me think of Devon. Again.

"It's because of that girl, right?"

"No." I lied, shrugging both shoulders and looking away, making Mandy laugh.

"I didn't even name her and you knew who I was talking about." she pointed out, making me grimace again. "It's okay, Niall, I see how you two look at each other. I didn't think she was your type but hey," she shrugged. "I get it."

I stared at her for a few more seconds, just trying to process what she was saying and when I frowned, she started laughing, rolling her eyes.

"Don't make this face! What did you expect?" she asked, an amused smile spread on her lips. "It's not like I was in love with you or anything!"

Without waiting, she got out of my car and I finally did the same. We walked together near the building and when we were about to part, I turned to her and sent her an uncomfortable smile.

"So... bye?"

She laughed again, shaking her head, and took a step closer. "I'm really gonna miss your ass." she let out, pinching it and making me tense immediately. She got on her tiptoe and pressed her mouth on mine, taking me my surprise, before taking a step back and raising her eyebrows. "Bye!"

I stood there, motionless, a sensation of relief washing over me as some of the stress I wasn't even aware I had disappeared suddenly. I pushed my hands in my pockets and when I turned back to get inside, I noticed Devon not so far from me, staring at me. My lips parted and my heart dropped when I realized she had seen what had just happened with Mandy and I was tempted to tell her it was not what she was thinking but instead, I swallowed my words as she walked closer.

"Your friend Lewis messaged me." she explained, glancing in Mandy's direction before looking back in my eyes.

I looked down at her, my eyes roaming on her face and lingering a bit too long on her lips. Why couldn't I get her off my mind? Why was it so tough for me not to grab her and kiss her right here and right now?

I started thinking about my ex girlfriend and the feelings I had whenever she was near, and it made me realize how different the two emotions were. The way I loved my ex girlfriend was needy, pathetic and ugly. The way I would do anything she wanted just because I was scared she would leave, the way she made me jealous on purpose, or simply did anything she wanted without caring if it would hurt me. I fell in love with someone who used me and it was for that same person that I had given up on love. Even now, after months of her breaking my heart, she still had an impact on me. She was still controlling me without even knowing. I was letting what she did to me ruin my life and I had no idea how to get out of it.

"Oh yea?"

"Mmhm, he said he cut the rent in half, and I think I can afford it."

"Alright." I just said, sending her a small smile.

"You don't seem surprised." she asked with a frown, tilting her head.

"No I mean, I know Lewis, he's cool." I shrugged, sending her a sincerely smile that she slowly sent back.

The way Devon made me feel was different. She made me feel good in a way I was not sure I understood yet. I could relate to her, and even if she didn't talk much about herself, she still let me in, somehow, by allowing me to look at her art and tell her how it made me feel. She allowed me to kiss her whenever I wanted and push her away after, as if she was always ready to give me a chance... a chance that I never had the guts to take. I was just realizing that maybe I was wrong and she was leaving.

"Oh, by the way, one of my friends has a mattress he doesn't need, so if you're interested, I can bring it to Lewis' apartment this week?"

Her eyebrows raised and her lips curled on the right. "Really?"

"Mmhm, oh, and since you don't have a car, I propose a ride to school every morning, how's that?"

This time though, she shook her head. "No, I can't accept that."

"Come on, I drive near there every morning anyway for breakfast, so it's all good."

It was not a complete lie but it was not the whole truth either, but I didn't care.

"No really, I can't."

"So you can accept Lewis cutting half the price of the rent, and a mattress from a guy you don't know, but when it comes to accepting my rides to school, it's too much?" I asked jokingly, a bigger smile on my face.

It made her chuckle and roll her eyes. "Fine!" she gave in, making my heart jump in my chest. "But let me pay you, okay?"

"Okay, but I decide the price." I explained, taking an other step closer. Her body was so close to mine now that if I moved, It could brush against hers. "I want that painting."

"My.. my painting? The one I wanted to throw away?"

"Mmhm," I admitted, nodding gently. "I want you to sign it, and give it to me. In exchange, you get rides and breakfast every mornings of the week."

She shook her head slightly, still smiling, and brought her shoulders up, near her cheeks. It was so endearing I almost kissed her right there.

"Niall, this painting is horrible. It'll never be worth anything."

"Deal?" I asked, ignoring her short rant.

Her traits softened and I brought my hand up, running my thumb on her cheek gently. I didn't know why I was doing that, I didn't know why I felt the need to touch her. All I knew was that feeling her skin against mine brought in me a feeling I was trying so hard to suppress, and I immediately felt the need to write a song. I let my arm fall back on my side, realizing she was not smiling anymore. Her lips were parted and she just nodded very slowly.

I suddenly got scared of everything this could imply. Would I just close off again and hurt her? I knew it was a possibility. I knew I could wake up in the morning realizing my mistake and turning into the cold hearted man I was with her only a few days ago. What would happen, then?

"Okay." she whispered. "Deal."

[arcticdementor]

Kayfabe is a treasured part of pro wrestling culture. Kayfabe refers to the commitment of everyone involved (the wrestlers, the refs, the announcers, and to a certain degree the fans) to maintaining the shared fiction that pro wrestling matches are unscripted. (Wrestling is real, in the sense that the athletes are taking real punishment and risk really getting hurt, and there is a degree of improvisation, but the outcomes are predetermined.) Kayfabe has had a kind of mythical importance to many in the pro wrestling community: you keep kayfabe no matter what, even in the event of serious injury, out of a sense of sacred commitment. Crucial to understanding kayfabe is that it is not an attempt to deceive the audience. Modern wrestling is in some ways perfectly open about the scripted nature of the matches. Fooling people is not the point. If every fan signed an affidavit saying they knew the outcomes were predetermined the wrestlers would still keep kayfabe, out of commitment to the culture. Kayfabe is a mutually-approved illusion. It is artifice, but it is mutually agreed upon artifice, a consensual fantasy.

Our current political culture is kayfabe.

The illusion that we pretend to believe is that we are in some sort of uniquely politically fertile moment for progressivism and social justice, that we are experiencing a social revolution or “Great Awokening.” Further, we keep kayfabe by acting as if we believe that certain policies like police abolition or abolishing border enforcement (or if you prefer utterly meaningless sloganeering, “abolishing ICE”) are tangibly viable in anything like the near future. I say that these are kayfabe to emphasize my belief that most people who endorse these beliefs are well aware that they are not true, and to underline the sense in which the commitment to unreality is mutual, an expression of a strange kind of social contract. Most thinking adults comprehend the current moment and understand that the hand of establishment power and the influence of social inertia are as strong as ever. (Why would you feel otherwise?) But because people have understandably been moved by recent righteous calls for justice, they feel they must accept the fiction of a new awakening to show solidarity with the victims of injustice. This is emotionally understandable, but strategically counterproductive. And indeed one thing that has defined these new social movements is their relentless commitment to the emotional over the strategic.

…

Living in a culture of political kayfabe is a strange experience. It feels the way that, I imagine, it feels to live under a truly authoritarian government, where you’re constantly having exchanges where everyone involved knows that what they’re saying is bogus but you push right through the cognitive dissonance with a smile on your face. Only you’re not compelled by the fear of torture or imprisonment but of vague-but-intense social dictates, of the crucial priority of appearing to be the right kind of person. So often political conversations today have this dual quality where you feel forced to constantly evaluate what your interlocutor actually believes even as propriety compels you to take seriously what’s coming out of their mouth.

A major negative consequence of our commitment to kayfabe lies in our acceptance of behaviors we would ordinarily never accept, under the theory that this is such a special time, we need to shut up and go along with it. Take our broken discourse, as frequently discussed in “cancel culture” debates. My experience and my intuition tell me that almost everyone in the progressive/left/socialist world knows that our discourse norms and culture are totally fucked up. Trust me: most people in liberal spaces, Black and white, male and female, trans and cis, most certainly including people in academia and media, are well aware that we’ve entered into a bizarre never-ending production of The Crucible we can’t get out of. They’re probably just as sick of Woko Haram as I am.

But they’re either empowered and enriched by this state of affairs, and don’t want the party to end, or they’re holding on for dear life trying not to get their lives ruined for speaking out of turn. Look past self-interest and self-preservation and you’ll find that everybody knows that the way left spaces work now is horribly broken and dysfunctional. The problem is that thinking people who would ordinarily object don’t because they’ve been convinced that this is some sort of special moment pregnant with progressive potential, and that is more important than rights, compassion, or fairness. So we maintain a shared pretense that things are cool the way you go through the motions on an awful date where you’re both aware you’ll never see each other again.

If I say “cancel culture,” normies indeed don’t know what I’m talking about, because they are healthy, adjusted people with a decent set of priorities who value their own time and lives too much to get caught up in all of this horseshit. But if I say “cancel culture” in front of a bunch of politics-obsessed professional-class shitlibs they will pretend to not know what I’m talking about. They’ll put on a rich fucking show. They do an impression of Cletus from The Simpsons and go “cancel culture?!? Hyuck hyuck what’re that? I’m not knowing cancel culture, I’m just a simple country lad!” These are people who have read more about cancel culture in thinkpieces than I read about any topic in a year. But pretending you don’t know what cancel culture is happens to be a key part of the performance, a naked in-group signifier, so they pretend. The “I don’t know what cancel culture is” bullshit performance is kayfabe at its most infuriating. I know you know what cancel culture is because you’re currently using it to demonstrate your culture positioning by pretending you don’t know what it is. You fucking simpleton.

People say and do weird shit and it’s all wrong but you just pretend like it isn’t. Who wants to be the one caught making waves? When you’re in a group of people and someone engages in something patently ridiculous - when, for example, someone says “AAVE” in an ordinary social situation with no academic or political reason to use jargon, even though everyone there knows the phrase “the way Black people talk” is more elegant, useful, and true - and the moment passes and there’s this inability to look each other in the eye, when everybody starts studying their drink and clearing their throat, that’s life under kayfabe.

Getting to this is not normal. It’s not a healthy state of affairs. It can only happen when people come to believe that self-preservation requires pretending things are OK.

…

It is at this point that people say that “defund” does not mean “abolish,” which is true, and Defund the Police indeed does not mean “abolish the police.” Defund the police means nothing, now, though I’m sure that the people who started using it had noble intentions. At this point it’s a floating signifier, an empty slogan that people rallied around with zero understanding of what semantic content it could possibly contain. If it’s meant to be a radical demand, why use the vocabulary of an actuary? If it’s meant to mean a meaningful but strategic drawdown of resources, why use it interchangeably with “abolish”? I cannot imagine a more comprehensive failure of basic political messaging than Defund the Police. Amateur hour from beginning to end.

I take the political concept of alternatives to policing seriously, in the same way I take many political ideas seriously that are not likely achievable in my lifetime. I know there are deeply serious people who are profoundly committed to these principles and who have thought them through responsibly. I appreciate their work and become better informed from what they say. But their ideas did not reign last year. A faddish embrace of a thoughtless caricature of police abolition reigned, pushed with maximum aggression and minimal introspection by the shock troops of contemporary progressive ideas, overeducated white people with more sarcasm than sense.

Policing will not end tomorrow or next month or next year. And whoever you are, reading this, you are well aware of that fact. The odds of police abolition in any substantial portion of this country are nil. Indeed, I would say that the likelihood of meaningful reduction in policing in any large region of this country, whether measured by patrolling or funding or manpower, is small. Individual cities may reduce their police forces by a substantial fraction, and I suspect that they will not suddenly devolve into Mega-City One as a result. (Though I can’t say initial data in this regard is encouraging.) I hope we learn important lessons about intelligent and effective police reform and more sensible resource allocation from those places. But the vast majority of cities will not meaningfully change their policing budgets, due to both the legitimate lack of political will for such a thing - including in communities of color - and broken municipal politics with bad incentives.

…

Living under kayfabe makes you yearn for plainspoken communication, for letting the mask fall. The professed inability of progressives to understand why woke-skeptical publications like this one keep succeeding financially is itself a slice of kayfabe. They know people are paying for Substacks and podcasts and subscribing to YouTubes and Patreons because it’s exhausting to constantly spend all of your time pretending things that don’t make sense make sense, pretending that you believe things you don’t to avoid the social consequences of telling the truth.

When you’re someone who spent the past several decades arguing that the American university system is not hostile to conservative students, that it doesn’t try to force extremely contentious leftist views onto students, and then you watch this video, how do you react? I think many people, most people, even most people committed to the BLM cause, see that video and wince. That is not how we get there. Browbeating 20 year olds for not parroting your politics back at you is not how racial justice gets advanced. But if you’re caught in this moment, how do you object? Acknowledge that, yes, in fact, it is now plainly the case that many professors see it as their job to forcefully insist on the truth of deeply controversial claims to their students, berating them until they acquiesce? Well that would be an unpleasant conversation with the other parents when you pick up your kid from Montessori school. So you just choose not to see, or keep you mouth shut, or speak in a way that maintains the illusion.

I mean there is the absurdity of what she’s saying to contend with - the now fairly common view that policing was literally invented in the antebellum South purely to enforce slavery, because in ancient Rome if someone came in your house and stole your stuff you’d just be like “oh damn, that sucks.” Is there a relationship between modern policing and slavery? Of course. Does the legacy of slavery and Jim Crow infect modern policing at every point? Sure. Should we make political and policy decisions that recognize that historical influence on policing, especially given the racist reality of policing right now? Yes. But what good does it do anyone to pretend that the concept of “the police” is 250 years old? Why on earth would we get the correct shit we do believe tangled up with this bizarre shit we don’t believe? (The professor in that video does not herself honestly believe the police were invented to support African slavery in 18th and 19th century America.) Because this utterly ahistorical idea is being promulgated by people who claim to speak from a position of justice, we are forced to assign seriousness to it that it hasn’t earned, seriousness that it could never deserve. Because we live in a world of mutual delusion. Because of kayfabe.

…

And the fact that some will wrinkle their noses about this piece and its arguments, go about their days of progressive performance art, and pretend they don’t believe every word they just read? That’s kayfabe, my friend. That’s kayfabe. And we’re trapped in it, all of us, you and I. You know it’s all bullshit. Will you keep the code anyway? I’m willing to bet that the answer is yes.

[csidesummit]

Does EVERYONE know Humans are Weird?

What Caperion 443 considered the most surprising discovery of his long career occurred within his 18th galactic revolution.  For humans, this amount of time would be nigh incalculable as it required the extremely long lifespans of the Caperion 443 to fully comprehend.  It was, in his species’ opinion, the most accurate measure of time as it sprung from the best estimate of galactic formation any species had put together.

Ostensibly, this mission was to study and contrast immigrant plant life on the six terrestrial planets and twenty-seven habitable moons of the Vichara.  The Vicharans had, in the brash youth of their species, recklessly colonized the remainder of their solar system.  Their efforts at terraforming often displaced natural ecosystems and, tragically, one civilization which would now never fully develop.

Modern Vicharans were far more amicable, and displayed a sense of regret over the past actions of their species.  For that reason among others they had granted Caperion 443 and his human crew permission for his study.

They were in the longest transit of their mission.  It would take them from the inner terrestrial planets to the large moons of the outer gas giants.

“Hey!  That’s just like Earth!” Engineer Nadir Lamonte had said when Caperion 443 had briefed them prior to their departure.

“That is not just like Earth,” Caperion 443 had corrected him, “The Vichara system contains two more internal terrestrial worlds than Earth, and Earth’s collection of moons vastly outnumbers Vichara’s.  Further, the ratios differ, as Earth possesses four gas giants to Vichara’s one.  In addition…”

“Okay it’s kinda like Earth,” Nadir Lamonte had interrupted.

“It also lacks a suitably comparable rubble belt,” Caperion 443 had continued, determined that his engineer would have accurate information.

Then Courtney King, his assistant, put her hand on his bulky shell, “He understands.”

Caperion 443 rotated his head towards her, then back to Nadir.

“Very well,” He said, “It is...kinda...like Earth.”

It was well understood that of all the species in the galactic concordance, humans were the most prone to outliers of...of nearly anything.  The concordance kept an exhaustive, ever growing study of the physiology and culture of every member species.

Humans added to it at a rate nearly double those of other species.

This was why Caperion 443 had chosen humans for his crew.  Caperions delighted in discovery.  Even if his study of Vicharan plant life achieved little, he would likely learn something he could add to the Human study simply from interactions with his crew.

“I felt a vibration thirty minutes ago,” Caperion 443 said to Nadir.

“We got some weird magnetic spikes coming from Vichara 7,” Nadir said, “Pretty big pull for something so far off, huh?”

“Vichara 7’s tendency towards magnetic fluctuations is known to me,” Caperion 443 said, “They are rare.  Is there any risk to the ship?”

“From a giant fridge magnet?  Nah, we got this.”

“Very well,” Caperion 443 said, “Nadir Lamonte, what are these?”

“Oh, the little fellas?” Nadir smiled and picked one off his console and handed it to Caperion 443.  

The object appeared to be a distorted facsimile of a human.  It was small enough to fit in his hand, and was composed of a basic hydrocarbon polymer.  Its hands and feet were very large, as were its eyes.  A plume of brightly coloured hair follicles sprouted from the top of its head.

“Check it out,” He said, picking up another one and twisting its hair into a spiral, “neat, right?”

“What is it?”

“Troll dolls,” Nadir said, “Used to be some kind of toy back on Earth, way back.  Easy enough to make them if you’ve got a mold and a fabricator on hand.  I make one for every mission I’ve been on.”

Caperion 443 fiddled with the hair, “This is...customary?”

“Nah, just my thing.  I think they’re good luck, you know?  Little fellas go with me everywhere.”

Caperion 443 handed it back, “They do not interfere with discharging your duties or the ship’s function?”

“Don’t see how.”

Caperion 443 examined the row of dolls on his console.  Seventeen, indicating seventeen missions.

Then he looked up and noticed an object that was familiar, “Is that an Earth Calendar?”

Nadir swung in his seat, “Oh yeah, that’s Chandra Vive.  She’s Miss February.”

The human female on the calendar was not dressed in any uniform Caperion 443 was familiar with.  In fact she did not seem to be clothed much at all, “You...have placed images of females you wish to mate with on the wall of my ship?”

“Oh hell,” Nadir said, “Yeah, I’d love that but I think Chandra’s a bit out of my league, you know?  Wouldn’t that be something, though?  You know she’s an engineer, too.  Designed the Vive Coupler, we use a couple of those on the ship.”

“Could you not simply mate with Courtney?”

Nadir’s mouth dropped open, “Yeah, don’t suggest that to her, okay?  I cover that thing up if there’s even a chance she’ll be at the engines.”

On the other side of the wall there was another calendar.  This one displayed starships.

“That’s a Vrul shifter,” Nadir said, “The propulsion system on that thing is amazing.  She’s got these amazing dampening fields that basically compress an hour of deceleration into a minute.  Not so fast as some, but at least you don’t have to slow down for a week before you get where you’re going.  Also look at that sleek aesthetic.”

Strangely, Caperion 443 detected the same vocal tones in Nadir’s description of the Vrul ship he had used when describing an ideal mate.

“Carry on,” Caperion 443 said, turning around.  When he saw Nadir’s sleeping quarters towards the back he paused, “Why have you altered the ship’s construction?”

“Oh that?” Nadir said, spinning in his chair, “I just installed a bar up there so I can get some exercise.”

Caperion 443 continued looking upwards, “And the bits of scrap metal welded onto the walls?”

“Makeshift climbing wall,” Nadir pointed out, “Lets me burn some real calories.  You don’t get guns like these from running diagnostics, you know.”

At this, Nadir flexed his arms, “Don’t worry I always use a rope.  I’m not going to get hurt.”

“And...is that a refrigerator affixed to the ceiling?”

Nadir nodded, “Cupcakes.”

“Yeah, that’s Nadir for you,” Courtney said.  

She was using the bio-accelerator.  It was a device which could accelerate the biological actions of plant-life provided they had adequate resources to draw from.  It allowed them to perform experiments on plant life that would take years under normal growth.

“But why?” Caperion 443 asked, observing the timer on her experiment, “The density of simple carbohydrates within his ‘cupcakes’ would surely negate the effort of retrieving them.  His ‘troll dolls’ cannot possibly provide the favorable probability he seeks.  Placing desired objects and mates within constant viewing range could only distract him from achievements which might make them obtainable.”

Courtney shrugged.

The timer on the bio-accelerator went off, and Courtney opened it to pull out a fully formed tree, but barely five inches tall.

“What have you done?” Caperion 443 asked.

“I love bonsai trees,” Courtney said, “We had some spare time, so I thought I’d see if I could use the accelerator to speed up making them.”

“You have deliberately stunted the growth of an otherwise healthy plant for aesthetics?”

“I guess you could see it that way.”

Caperion sat down on his chair, which was twice the width of hers, “Why do humans do such illogical, pointless, and counterproductive tasks?”

Courtney shrugged, “You know humans.  We’re weird.”

Caperion’s mouthparts spread open in shock, “Wait, you know this?”

“Well yeah, have you met us?”

[tsipasce]

Same Difference, Ch.11

A/N: Couple easter eggs in this one. Definitely one of my favorites since.. things are happening~ Also, TW: for some graphic violence per usual. Let me know what y'all think and thanks for reading as always <3

Chapters: 01  |  02 |  03 |  04 | 05  | 06 | 07 | 08 |  09 |  10

AO3 | Fanfic

With the first round of sampling completed, they were able to establish a few facts to be true, “One,” Nanami began as she stood at the whiteboard, “Though we’re aging, our health isn’t declining. It seems like our growth patterns are relatively normal, but overhaul seems to be preemptively fixing any of the normal degradation that comes with aging.”  

“Sounds too fantastical. It almost implies the quirk makes us immortal.”

“Well, considering the world we live in, nothing seems too fantastical anymore, really. I mean, I personally know a guy with a dog head.”

“Point taken. However, this type of ‘immortality’ is better described as ‘quasi-mortality’.”

“Is that even a thing?”

“You and I exist so I’d say it is now. Our aging may be drastically slowed if not halted, but it would be a stretch to say we’ll never die.”

She shrugged in acceptance as she wrote the new term on the board. “Two, our blood had some odd property to it that I haven’t seen before. Like there’s some extra protein-coated cells/structures just floating around—I have no idea what they do. We’ll have to compare more in the next round of control samples from people with high-level quirks, but I didn’t see it in the last batch of control samples, so I’m betting this is unique to us.”

“’Protein-coated structures’? Sounds like a vi…”

“Don’t…” She raised a hand, bringing it to rub the bridge of her nose, “Don’t say it.”

“You’re right, the data speaks for itself. Continue, doctor.” He replied smugly, Nanami letting out an exasperated sigh. If she heard the v-word one more time out of him today, she was sure she’d lose it.

“ANYWAY, onto three: there are no anomalies or strange reactions between us.”

“False. In fact, it’s time you held up your end of the bargain.” interjected Overhaul.

Feigning innocence, Nanami continued writing on the board, “What ever do you mean?”

“Don’t play games. Teach me how you negate overhaul.”

She still wasn’t very excited to teach someone who was already dangerous how to become even stronger, but a deal was a deal. “Fine, I’ll bequeath you some of my vast knowledge,” she said as he rolled his eyes at her, “and immediately after, you’re going to teach me a new move.”

“…Fine.”  He relented.

“Perfect. Roll up your sleeves and let’s head to the arena.” She strutted over to the coat rack, hanging up her garment, wearing a sleeveless blouse underneath.

Once in the room he raised his brows expectantly, “Well, start bequeathing.”

“So, I was equally confused when it first happened but after trying to replicate my reaction while monitoring my vitals, I noticed a blip but couldn’t explain it at first. Then I heard something interesting while they were rerunning one of those old hero documentaries: ‘Whole-Hog’.” He listened intently, beginning to piece together where she was going with the explanation. “It sounds a bit silly, but what it really means in this context is a full body application of your quirk. In essence, when you... attacked me,” at this she could see the slightest bit of regret in his features as he shifted his weight, glancing away when her voice became small, remembering the incident. “when you attacked me, my fight or flight response was triggered, and so was my quirk.”

“But nothing happe… Oh.” He said as he caught her drift.

“Exactly! They cancelled each other out. You can’t disassemble something that’s already disassembling and reassembling itself.”

“Hm. I see.” He said, nodding, his interest now very piqued. “…You know what my next question is.”

Taking a deep breath, Nanami composed herself, “Well I didn’t wear this shirt for nothing. Let’s do this.” She said, holding her arms out, palms facing upwards. The Nanami from a couple of months ago would have doubled over at the irony of willingly offering her arms up for his experimentation, but even she had to acknowledge things had changed. She could defend herself, and though his motives were still a up for debate, she was certain that they were equal allies in this. Though his word was reason enough, he was logical above all else and to be frank, hurting her had become… counterproductive. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them taking off his gloves. He paused, inspecting her arms, “and yes I sanitized them thoroughly before this.” She responded to the question he hadn’t voiced yet.

Waiting for a final nod from her to ensure she was ready, he grabbed both of her forearms, “On three, activate it. One… Two… Three.”

She felt him grip slightly tighter at three, yet nothing happened just like before. She looked up at him triumphantly, now confident it was a tried-and-true method. “Now, it’s your turn—If you don’t mind me touching, that is,” she quickly corrected. He had allowed her to touch him before, but it felt wrong to take it as precedence. What if he’s changed his mind and finds it unbearably repulsive? She would be the first to admit she didn’t understand the mysophobia, but knew if she had it she would want people to at least try and be respectful, Hardened criminal or not, trauma’s still trauma~.

A look of gratitude flashed across his features before he could suppress it, his face returning expressionless as he offered his forearms to her, mirroring her gesture. He was seldom surprised, but she managed, frequently. Very few people had willingly shown him consideration. To be given it without inciting fear or threats—it was foreign, but far from unappreciated. It was a respect borne from a place he’d never been to. Realizing she was still waiting for a response, he shook off the moment, responding simply, “Do what you must, I shower immediately after all of our sessions anyway.”

“Great, I’ll give you a countdown, ok?” She said, trying not to take his comment personally.  “One… Two… Three…” She said as he winced ever-so-slightly. If they weren’t so close, she might not have noticed. “Hey, nerve fibres, remember? It doesn’t have to hurt.” She encouraged. He studied her for a minute before giving a subtle nod. “Let’s try again. One… Two… Three.” This time, it worked, neither of them feeling a thing. She looked up and caught a glint in his eyes Is he smiling under there? She found herself wishing she could see it fully, committing the features she could see to memory. His messy brown hair, the squareness of his jaw, the subtle wrinkle between his brows from frowning so regularly, his piercing gaze as he was looking right back at he—omg how long have I been staring she realized, now a bit embarrassed. She quickly looked away, letting go of his forearms, resisting the urge to maintain contact.

He studied her for a beat longer before slowly lowering his arms and clearing his throat, neither aware that the urge had been mutual. “Now, for my part. Go stand in the corner.”

“NOBODY PUTS BABY IN THE CORN—”

“I swear if you do another pop culture reference, I will lock you in here until Monday.” He said sternly, though the threat was meant to be playful.

She flinched ever-so-slightly at thought of being confined, a genuine look of terror in her eyes for a split second before she could remember to respond normally, It was just a joke. Calm down. No one is ever going to do that to us again… We’re safe now. She thought, shaking off the memory his joke had triggered, “Ok, Negative Nancy.” She said rolling her eyes as she walked to the other side of the room.

He silently took note of her reaction, now curious. Deciding it was best not to pry, he began, “This is useful for both evasion and combat. It’s relatively simple, but the scale is large so be mindful of your stamina when using it. Watch and study the structures carefully.” He walked back to the opposite side of the room, turning to face her as he neatly pulled up his pant legs to kneel. Inhaling deeply, he pressed his hands to the ground and dozens of very large spikes erupted from the floor and across the room, stopping a safe distance from her. She walked up the one of the structures, studying it with her hands to gauge its dimensions. They looked simple enough, but she could tell they were modeled after wave breakers; one intertwining to reinforce the other. She walked back to her spot, and he deconstructed his work and waited.

Focusing, she mimicked his movements, quickly realizing he hadn’t been exaggerating the stamina requirement. After creating the first 5 or 6 she began to feel the fatigue.

“Take your time. You can pick up speed once you’ve mastered the first dozen.” He coached.

Wait, was that… encouragement? She commented inwardly. The thought that he might be manipulating her crossed her mind as it always did, but this interaction felt different. Enjoying this side of him and not wanting to risk him clamming up again, she accepted the encouragement in stride. She nodded thoughtfully, practicing again and again and again. She figured he’d be too impatient to wait for her to get it right since it only took him two tries to learn her technique, but instead he regarded her quietly, giving hints and critique when needed.

After an hour of this, she was finally able to fully replicate his example. He gave the structures an appraising look before nodding in approval. Nanami deconstructed them, reverting the room to its original state. Breathing heavily, she knew she was exhausted enough to pass out then and there, but still wanted to press on and return to the lab to work.

Exhaling, she began to walk back to the lab as he followed behind. Once in the main room, she went to the large sink at one of the lab benches to scrub her hands, realizing she’d been rubbing her hands on the floor for the past hour. He came beside her, doing the same, but of course more vigorously. As he stood beside her, she wondered why he decided to be so close. He’d seemingly tolerated the proximity before, but never sought it out. As they continued to scrub in silence, she accidently brushed up against his hand with her own. “Oh, I’m so sorr—”

“It’s fine.” He said cutting her off, though it didn’t feel rude.

“Oh. Ok.”

Clearing her throat, she continued washing, biting her lip as she tried to think of something to say. Usually the silence wasn’t a big deal, but today, there was a tension in the air. She felt hyperaware of him and that they were alone as she could feel him stealing glances in her direction. She went to grab a paper towel to dry off, deciding to try and fill the air, “I know it was a trade, but thanks for being so patient with—” she stopped short realizing they’d turned towards each other at the same time, making them much too close, her nose almost brushing against his chest. Against her better judgment, she craned her neck to look up. His eyes boring into hers as he remained silent. She felt her heart racing as they stayed seemingly frozen in place, close enough to feel the other’s body heat. There was a shift in the air, his expression unreadable, but far from blank. Nothing was happening at present, but she felt whatever situation they were in was coming to a head and the thought of the outcome had her heartbeat creeping up her throat.

“I should go home and get some rest.” She blurted out.

“Yes, you should go.” He responded, but it wasn’t as convincing as it should have been.

What the hell is going on here… she thought incredulously though they were both equal participants in the tense exchange, whatever it was. Composing herself, she gathered the strength to look away, hurrying over to dry her hands and create distance between them. She hurriedly gathered her bag and notes, rambling as she went about various lab work and their schedule for next week. She began briskly walking towards the door, continuing to fill the air with words, his eyes never leaving her.

“… and then we can move to the next set of samples for testing and—”

“Watanabe.” She immediately got quiet upon hearing him say her name without the usual formality and in a tone she wasn’t used to.

“…Yes?” She cautioned a glance to see him struggling to respond, his usually calm expression now conflicted.

“… Never mind. It’s not important. I’ll see you on Monday.” He said, seemingly trying to convince himself. Of what, she wasn’t sure.

“Oh, alright. See you then.” She managed to get out. Why do I feel…disappointed? Whatever…This is just one of those awkward moments. I just need a nap. She reassured herself before promptly leaving intent on ignoring the warmth coming to her cheeks.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Rushing to her car, Nanami tried her best to take her mind off of whatever the hell that was back there… she thought, shaking her head. Turning up the music in her car, she began making a weekend checklist of all her errands. She was planning on eating in more so she’d have more control over her diet, wanting to maintain the great shape she’d gotten in since training with Rappa. After their second life or death battle, he’d come to respect her and they became like workout buddies. Workout buddies who almost killed each other a couple times, but hey, at least he’s upfront and a great spotter.

Considering what she’d been through, Nanami thought she would have gone mad already, but found herself adapting instead. Maybe it was because her career exposed her to a lot of brutality on a regular basis. Being a doctor in a world with quirks meant the injuries and illnesses grew more inventive and vicious with each generation. Or maybe it was simply normal human adaptation, and consistency informed her new “normal”. Either way, she promised herself not to let it change her for the worst. She’d been through too much to give in now, or ever. She confirmed to herself.

Lost in thought, she had arrived home in a flash. Walking up to her door, she felt something was off and immediately went on guard, glancing around for any signs of disturbance before she opened the door. Thinking it was best not to be in the open if her feeling was correct, she hastily grabbed her keys. As soon as she turned the lock, someone large came up from behind, covering her mouth and forcing her inside, the door slamming closed after them. She was dragged in, thrashing about as the hand on her mouth continued to stifle her.

“This her?” asked the man restraining her.

Another man had followed them inside. He scanned her up and down before pulling out his phone, looking between her and a picture he had of her on his phone. “Yup, definitely her… Clip her wings. She’ll travel easier that way.” He said, a smile creeping across his face.

“I’d love to. Those Shie Hassakai bastards are gonna  regret underestimating us,” the man from behind her began before whispering in her ear, “I dunno what your quirk is, but the boss wants you something fierce. Be a good girl and cooperate and it won’t hurt…too much” he chuckled. “Now hold her arms out.” He asked the other man as he approached.

Nanami knew if she let panic set in, it would be over. So instead, she chose rage. It’s just like biting a tough carrot…In the next moment, she opened her mouth wide behind the assailant’s hand, clamping down like a vice. Blood gushed into her mouth and as the other man lunged forward, she did her best llama impression, spitting the thick, coppery substance into his eyes. She ducked as the men toppled over each other. She saw them both clearly now and was able to size them up. They both wore black jumpsuits and black knit caps. She didn’t recognize them, but they certainly had an idea of who she was.

“You bitch…”  one seethed as he was rubbing the blood from his eyes, the other still writhing on the floor. He went to grab her and she dodged, quickly grabbing and transforming her kettle, landing a blow under his ribs, hearing them crack under the pressure... Someone her size usually wouldn’t be able to cause so much damage, but she’d made metal gauntlets on the fly to mimic Rappa’s, adding another layer of force. They weren’t nearly as fast as her workout buddy and she landed another to his gut, causing him to double over. Just as she was about to strike again, the other man began to charge at her having given up the search for his fingers for the time being. He was twice her size and his quirk gave him the look of a rhino with a large horn and stocky built; she knew taking him head on was out of the question. As he charged, she redirected his momentum, moving aside as he landed harshly on the couch, breaking it in half under his weight. Both men arose, now very angry with her. She was trying to strategize as they stalked closer backing her into a corner by the entrance. Panic was beginning to set in until the door blew off the hinges and into the assailants, knocking them across the room and into the kicthen. Hyperventilating she didn’t know who would be at the door, but a sense of relief like she’d never felt before came over her as she saw her least favorite lab partner. Overhaul glanced over at her, and she tried to steady herself against the wall to rise and continue fighting. Giving her a grave look, he commanded” Stay right there.”

The men groaned, trying to shake off what had to be severe concussions from the impact. A look of recognition, then fear came across their features as he stalked towards them, removing his other glove. As he reached out to touch them, Nanami found her voice, “Wait! Don’t kill them. Please.”

“This is not the time for weakness.”

“Not wanting to kill people is not weak, j-just stop and think for a second.” She pleaded trying to figure out how to best reason with him,” you can’t interrogate dead guys!”

He paused. “Which one spoke the most to you?”

Trying to answer the question quickly she stammered,” I—I—The rhino-looking one?”

“Be certain.”

Clearing her throat, she was beginning to calm down,” I’m sure. It was that one.”

“Good. Now look away.”

“But I—“

He turned and gave her a look that said negotiations were over. She hesitantly turned away before hearing the other man “No, no, n—” then a splatter and silence.

She heard Overhaul exhale before discarding his gloves and pulling out a new pair. He speed-dialed someone, calmly explaining he needed some “garbage picked up”. In the next couple minutes, a van arrived driven by some familiar faces she’d seen around the hideout as they nodded to her, dragging out the other man who was now gagged and very traumatized. After they left, he turned to her, walking over calmly. From behind him she could see the corner completely covered in blood. She was grateful not to have seen it happen.

“What are you doi—why did you come here?” was the first thing that came to mind. She knew he knew where she lived, but never imagined he’d make a casual house call.

He went back by the door, bending down to pick up a mass of white fabric, “You practically ran out of the lab today leaving your jacket. I was going to ignore it, but then your phone started ringing. Your carelessness saved you.”  

“Pfft..haha.. hahaahahahahahah. Oh my gosh…bahahaa”

“… What’s so amusing?”

Catching her breath, Nanami tried to stop laughing. It was probably partly exhaustion, but the whole situation was just so bad she had to laugh. “It’s just… I almost got kidnapped by a couple dudes who wanted to ‘clip my wings’, my lab partner is a yakuza head, and my apartment is trashed. It’s not particularly ‘amusing’ per se, but I just had a brawl in my living room and I gotta clean some dude off my wall now. And it’s just… it’s just a lot and I—I don’t know how to react. I’m not like you, I’m not used to this” She ended, swallowing heavily.

He studied her for a beat, “Where is your bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing can be done about the other things you mentioned, but your apartment is filthy. Let’s start by fixing that.” He replied plainly.

Sniffling, she agreed, “Under the sink, to the left.”

For the next hour Nanami fixed her furniture, the sound of scrubbing and the presence of another person the only things keeping her together. Looking around, the place was good—well better than new. Examining the wall, she couldn’t find a trace of evidence that a man had been splattered across it earlier.

“Wow you’re really good at this, how’d you know how to get out blood stai—Ah. Forget I asked"

He gave a quick huff, and she made a B-line to her bag, grabbing her planner and a pen. He narrowed his eyes at her in disapproval. “Is now really an appropriate time for that? I didn’t even laugh.”

“One, that may not count as a laugh for a normal person, but it certainly does for you. And two, I feel like just for tonight, we can set aside the pretense of ‘appropriateness’.” She hummed, marking down another tally mark. Suddenly realizing it could be taken another way she corrected, “I mean as far as joking and stuff, not like…”

“Like what?” He asked innocently enough but she remembered their weird moment earlier that evening and suddenly the room felt much smaller.

“N-Nothing. Nevermind. I dunno what I’m saying.”

“Hm.”

Suddenly a car honked from outside and Nanami flinched like she’d been hit. She was taking it well, but she’d be lying if she said tonight hadn’t been jarring. Regaining her composure, she took deep breaths, trying to hide how shaken she’d been from the attack. Being alone sounded terrifying at the moment, but she knew she couldn’t ask him to stay. Accepting reality, she decided to rip off the band-aid.

“Hey… Thank you. You know you don’t have to –“

He ignored her, surveying the place, “I’m going to check for bugs and any tracking equipment. They seemed to have been watching you for a while to have timed this so well.” He glanced, giving her a once over, “In the meantime, you should take a bath. You’re filthy.”

Looking at the bloodstains on her clothes and general dishevelment, she wasn’t in a position to disagree, “Sounds logical to me,” she responded quietly as she made her way to the bathroom. She stopped in the doorway “And when I get out…”

“I’ll be here.” He said simply though his gaze was softer than she was used to.

She nodded, giving him a small smile, grateful to have a partner.

[feyleviathan]

On the North Wall

The Brooklyn skyline peeks from under a curtained window. A 1997 flip calendar is set to August, each day leading up to the current date—the twenty-first—ironically adorned with a single Lisa Frank sticker. Pale white walls serve as a tapestry for iridescent band and movie posters, long-forgotten relics of a nonextant Golden Age. The same evergreen plaid pattern splays across the curtains, the bed fabric, and the countless flannel shirts collecting dust on the pinewood floor. The north wall is noticeably blank, pale white but for several conspicuously light rectangles. A neon trashbin near the door contains a high stack of rolled-up posters and played-out 45s, all from the same band: The Honeyfuckles.

Reposing on a beanbag chair opposite the north wall is a seventeen-year-old boy with puffy eyes and a reddened complexion. A heap of newly wet tissues lay on the floor beside him, a shoddy mockery of his furniture choice. A red cord, winding from a MacBook Pro, ends in the Dr Dre headphones that rest on his ears, blaring Meat Loaf’s Bat Out of Hell loud enough to scarcely reach the next room. The laptop, sprinkled with fresh tears, shakes from anxious legs as the boy viciously deletes all traces of The Honeyfuckles’ discography from his laptop. The year is evidently not 1997, as the calendar indicates, but some millennial year of which this boy denies the existence, as surely as he has begun to deny the existence of The Honeyfuckles.

Their affair began in a deep recess of the Internet when he was just starting to develop his musical tastes. He had requested bands similar to another favourite of his (which, oddly enough, he only listened to for ironic value), and received a single recommendation for The Honeyfuckles.

He fell in love instantly. After listening to them online, he went to his favourite record shop and custom ordered The Honeyfuckles’ entire discography on vinyl. The boy soon became sure that he was one of the only people in the world who listened to the band, as even the record shop owner—usually familiar with such obscure bands—gave him a questioning look when the boy made his order. A smile developed on the boy’s face, widening as the realisation became clearer: he was The Honeyfuckles’ sole audience.

He felt closer to them knowing he was one of the esoteric few Honeyfuckles fans. Each lyric, each melody, spoke to him privately. It was as if every track were recorded for him personally, rather than for a world of potential listeners. The Honeyfuckles seduced his ears from their musical virginity, showed him shades of melody never before experienced. They were the first band he didn’t have to listen to ironically.

They became his daydreams and his lullabies. He covered his walls with their posters; lived, breathed, and worshipped The Honeyfuckles. His bedroom, wardrobe, and electronics—indeed, his existence—became a shrine to the band. He decorated the north wall with as many posters and images of the band he could find, though there were so few that he had to fill in the gaps with self-made fan-art and handwritten lyrics. A single backstage ticket for the band’s upcoming tour sat framed on his desk, an idol to his passion. Having never seen them perform, he anticipated the gig like none other—that is, until yesterday, when he had received the vinyl of their tenth studio record, From the Ground Up.

As with all their other work, the boy had excitedly pre-ordered a vinyl copy of From the Ground Up months in advance. The shipping was late by several days, and given the band’s obscurity, he couldn’t listen online yet—his experience of the album was limited by the arrival of the 45s.

When the record finally appeared at his doorstep, clothed in bubble-wrap and a cardboard sheath, he anticipated a record comparable to all the others. He wanted his ears to be seduced again by his familiar, yet fresh, lover. He delicately eased the side A 45 out of its cover and placed it on his gramophone.

Instead of The Honeyfuckles, however, his ears were met with a strange, confounding sound—synthetic, superficial, contemporary. It was undeniably their work, but there was an eeriness about it, as if it lurked in the musical equivalent of uncanny valley. The boy found himself denying this dissonance, and listened to half of the album until he began to go mad from the cacophony. He snatched the record from the gramophone and repeatedly perused the label to ensure that the work was genuinely from The Honeyfuckles. The trademark, insignia, and production labels were all there—it had to be theirs.

He began to hyperventilate in indecision, curling up in his bed. In hopes of curing his disillusion, he stuck an earlier album of theirs onto the gramophone, but his efforts were counterproductive. He could now identify the style and tones of the new record in all their old work. With increasingly irregular breaths, he replaced the records on the gramophone, one by one, but all became indistinguishable from the newest record. They were the same album.

Horrified, he rushed out the door and rode his Dutch bicycle to the nearest Starbucks. Sipping on a tall mocha, he heard the DJ of the café’s radio station proclaim that the next tune would be from the newest up-and-coming band in America, a hit chosen by a local record shop owner. The voice was followed by a familiar tune: the first track from The Honeyfuckles’ new record. Abandoning his drink, the boy fled to his bicycle, pedalling home in wide-eyed, aching exasperation.

Once he reached his room, he began tearfully ripping down poster after poster of The Honeyfuckles. The north wall became more and more stripped until it was finally naked, left only with shadowy remnants of the torn posters. Lastly, the boy reached for the framed Honeyfuckles ticket. After a wild movement of the arms and a crash, he snatched the ticket from the broken glass, nicking himself as he did so. His hands, now bleeding, tore the ticket repeatedly until it became a shower of flakes. Exhausted, he fell to the floor and drifted into dreamless sleep. The next evening, he was sitting in his beanbag chair, blaring Bat Out of Hell, choking back tears and furiously deleting all things Honeyfuckle from his MacBook.

By winter, From the Ground Up had become the number one album in America. The Honeyfuckles’ fanbase was no longer just the boy and a few random Internet users from around the globe—its fanbase was the world. He could no longer enter Starbucks, for they’d inevitably be playing or otherwise promoting The Honeyfuckles. His other haunts, the underground record shop and radio station, had become renowned as starting points for The Honeyfuckles’ fame. They, too, had become overtaken by the band.

The Honeyfuckles were the object of every musical discussion; their discography was praised in retroactive Pitchfork reviews, they’d been on the cover and centrefold of Rolling Stone, and they even had a multi-section Wikipedia article, all signs of mainstream popularity they never had before. Whereas the members were previously anonymous, the boy now saw their faces everywhere. They viscerally repulsed him, and yet there was a curious quality to them all that the boy recognised in himself. Every image he saw of them was like gazing at a photograph of himself as a child: familiar, yet remarkably distant.

Now the boy spends his every day caged in his room, futilely searching for a band whose music can provoke the feelings once inspired in him by The Honeyfuckles. He maintains a backup disc on which he shamefully stores their discography, keeping it under the excuse that he’s too lazy to delete the songs. And yet, on lonely days, in bouts of tired sadness, he will sometimes slide the disc into his laptop and listen to a few songs until embarrassment brings him to delete the contents of the disc—which yearning emptiness causes him to resurrect just minutes later.

After one such episode, the boy decides to venture about the city in hopes of finding a lieu free from The Honeyfuckles’ fame. Boarding his Dutch bicycle yet again, he pedals until, in a previously unnoticed corner of an otherwise empty block, he sees a sign bearing the symbol of a record. He rides towards it, hope in his heart, and enters the shop nervously. Though small, he gasps in delight at detecting no signs of Honeyfuckle influence and begins to sift through the shop’s selection. He spots a tattered cassette tape from a band he’d never heard of before, The Rustic Eels, and brings it to the shop’s counter. As soon as the sallow-faced owner appears, the station changes to a song from The Honeyfuckles’ very first album.

The boy’s expression freezes as his hands drop his find onto the counter. All the feelings of the past few months flood into his mind as the song plays at an achingly slow pace, magnified by the shock of his experiences. He recalls his distraught rage of that night when the radio station first revealed his possession to the world. As images of the tattered ticket and the disposed records and the freshly bare walls pass through his memory, he becomes increasingly aware of the gap in his heart from where The Honeyfuckles were torn in those tragic few moments. Zombie-like, he pays for the Rustic Eels tape; by the time the transaction is complete, the emptiness has overtaken his soul.

Rushing out of the store, he haphazardly slips the cassette from its sheath and shoves it into his boombox, turning the volume up to eleven. He jumps on his bike and rides all through the streets, playing The Rustic Eels for everyone to hear. He needs the distraction, but the new band is so painful to listen to that it only forces his mind towards The Honeyfuckles. Tears mottle the street as he contemplates the end of their music, relegated among the masses to forgotten iTunes purchases and middle-school romance mixtapes. For all the countless mp3 players The Honeyfuckles are featured on now, for all the current magazine coverage and contemporary fame, it will all disappear in a month when they fall out of favour. The current fans will all go on to cherish another unsuspecting band until they throw it, too, into the graveyard of discarded musicians, all deflowered into fame.

The boy sobs even louder, overlaying The Rustic Eels with his tears. The Honeyfuckles were not just a placeholder on some transient pop playlist of his. They were not just another hit to him, or even another band to listen to ironically and pretentiously brag about to imagined music connoisseurs. They were an intimate part of his soul, a fundamental part of his identity. And now? Now they had been taken away from him, stripped of their value by ignorant conformists. It was as if the secret grounding his soul were presented to the universe, and now he was nothing, nothing but another consumer who had taken part in the short-lived Honeyfuckle fad.

Disillusioned a second time, the boy pedals home in a passionate frenzy. In his room, he pants wildly, filled with rage and anguish. Although he has the instinct to tear down posters and rip up his ticket—to relive that fervent ecstasy of destruction yet again—none of these artifacts are to be found. Nothing is left for him to destroy but that last CD, which he listens to only in his most desperate times. He rushes to his MacBook and ejects it, and, gripping it tightly, flings his arm towards the ground... yet he cannot let go of the CD. His hand is locked in its position, as if the CD had welded itself to it. He screams and tries releasing his grip, yet his fingers do not move from the disc. He is interlocked with this relic of his tastes, with the culture of the masses and the music of the world.

Hoping that gravity might separate him from the monstrous thing, he wildly heaves his arm every which way. Yet the more he struggles, the stronger the CD’s fusion with his skin. After much fruitless effort, he settles down, breathing heavily, and looks to his hand as he momentarily glimpses a shard of opalescence dissolving into his skin. Before he can register the illusion, however, it is gone.

Sitting on his beanbag chair, he tries moving his fingers and is finally successful. Exhaling in relief, he decides that he must have released the CD somewhere into the depths of his room. For a moment he contemplates searching for it, but then decides that it’s perhaps just as well if he lost it. Either way, he’ll never encounter The Honeyfuckles again—at least, not in the privacy of his bedroom.

And yet, strangely, he does see The Honeyfuckles again. Not a day after his curious brush with the disc, he has the urge to go to his favourite old record shop—the one overtaken by The Honeyfuckles—and re-purchase all their albums, perhaps on vinyl, and even a poster or two. Stranger still, while he does precisely this at the record shop, he also feels the desire to purchase products from other contemporary musicians. A song playing on the shop’s radio catches his attention, and he ends up purchasing that band’s entire discography too, as well as a few posters.

* * *

Springtime. The bedroom is recognizable, and yet different from how it used to be. While the same tartan fabric still enshrouds the fabrics, the walls have been coated with pop poster after pop poster. Due to the temporary nature of each band’s popularity, the posters have been plastered over so that images of the latest musicians overlay the discarded ones. Such is this cycle of popularity and decay that the posters now form an inch-thick film over the boy’s walls which slowly closes in on him. The north wall, once barren, is a renewed shrine to The Honeyfuckles’ extended period of popularity due to the success of an album following From the Ground Up.

A day ago, a song had leaked from the newly developing Honeyfuckles album. The world over agreed that it was simply not equivalent to their previous work, and journalists unanimously predicted that The Honeyfuckles’ fame was to end with the release of this next album. The boy, too, had listened to the song, and shared the public consensus: The Honeyfuckles were on their way out. In response, he had bought some posters of a new band that, according to these same journalists, was gaining wild popularity.

Today, he is reworking his Honeyfuckles shrine to support the likeness of this new band. With a deft hand and copious tape and glue, he mechanically covers up each outdated Honeyfuckles poster, symbolically denying their existence—current as well as past—in the musical world.

In a few minutes, he is finished. Satisfied with his piece, he backs up to view the north wall in full, covered with image after image of The Rustic Eels.

[punkscowardschampions]

James & Ava

James: Good morning, how are you? Ava: 😊 All the 🌞 for hearing from you Ava: how are you, James? James: I'm happy to hear that James: meanwhile I'm busy, but unfortunately not solely with hours dedicated to missing you, which is in itself dangerously close to a regret Ava: I know what you mean Ava: the universe doesn't allow nearly enough opportunities for pining at open windows or reflective musing whilst staring into bodies of water, or mirrors, depending on the mood Ava: impressive you can think up any beautiful words in such circumstances Ava: what are you busy with? James: I can't remember the last time I looked into a reflective surface that wasn't a kitchen appliance, but considering how few hours of sleep my present universe allows, that's perhaps for the best James: there is only so much a caffeine fuelled bloodstream can produce and therefore no new paragraphs of the novel are forthcoming either James: I'm steeping your in disappointments to begin your day, I'm afraid James: and you're not the only one, as what I am overwhelmingly busy right now is cancelling plans Ava: I'm sure I'll survive them all though Ava: as you will the lack of sleep and caffeine jitters, with a bit of help Ava: what can I do? Ava: Which is to say, what plans are worth keeping cancelled, and which ones should be salvaged from the ❌🗑 James: all I am left with are the activities which I cannot bear to erase from the schedule, therein lies my dilemma in its entirety Ava: Lay it on me Ava: two heads are better than one James: she is supposed to be here & isn't, which is of no surprise to me & wouldn't be of any consequence if I were capable of being in two places at once James: but I am not, nor do I have words to spin this into a story that doesn't end with a child having even less routine or structure when what she wants is more of both Ava: Right, and naturally, she's left it too late to contact any grandparent to be a stand-in? Ava: is it something I could do or not? James: I did try my mother but her reaction to being asked to enter the swimming baths was as hilarious as it was unhelpful Ava: I can imagine Ava: if that wasn't a waste of imagination James: I should have foreseen that they'd end up sharing the same unwillingness to get their hair wet Ava: but swimming caps are so fetching Ava: 🙄 James: of course James: & it's entirely about them, not the children's enjoyment Ava: or that swimming is actually a pretty vital skill Ava: you think people who like to spend so much time doing water-adjacent activities, yachting, sailing etc, would realize said importance but half my friends can't swim, only take the poolside pictures Ava: but seriously, if you think they'd be okay, I'm happy to keep watch on whichever kid would be more agreeable with me doing so James: Jay loves swimming, but I'm sure she'll outgrow it & prefer to pose apathetically on a lounger in designer sunglasses given a few years & the force of my wife's will James: that's how things work in this universe Ava: Not everyone is like that Ava: and your wife's will can be broken by the horror of damp hair, it can't be that much of an unstoppable force James: her will isn't the one being tested, but point taken Ava: No, I know Ava: I bet none of her yummy mummy friends take their kids though, do they? James: all of her friends have foreign au pairs that they barely have to financially compensation for raising their children full time Ava: so Ava: we can pretend I'm your enthusiastic...Swedish is perhaps a little too cliche Ava: Dutch? Ava: au pair James: what language do you actually take in school? James: they might hypothetically try to voice their complaints to you & expect you to respond in kind Ava: Such a shame the obligatory Latin won't come in handy, as per with dead languages Ava: I take French though, some of them might be Swiss James: it's inconsequential really, I can't ask you to help me when I haven't even asked what your plans are Ava: I offered, you didn't ask Ava: and I wouldn't have offered if I was busy with anything of consequence James: yes you would Ava: Nothing in my life is that important, not currently James: this isn't important to you James: & it doesn't have to be Ava: It's a life skill, like I said Ava: I don't mind doing it James: what am I supposed to say? Ava: if you think it's a bad idea, it's not like I'll be offended or anything silly like that James: it isn't that it's a bad idea Ava: What is it? James: it's that I feel bad, if this is what I can offer you James: because ours isn't supposed to be a sob story & it seems like I've only started a conversation with you to file my complaints Ava: it's not all you can offer me Ava: or all you do Ava: you have responsibilities, plenty of them, I knew that before Ava: and it's not a negative, even with it meaning we spend more time missing each other than we'd like James: it is however painfully stereotypical, 'my wife doesn't understand me' & so on Ava: well, yes Ava: at least you aren't alone in that pain Ava: 2/3 marriages, isn't it James: you're not supposed to be a sounding board for my mistakes, or hers, is all I'm trying to say Ava: I don't feel like one, I promise James: I just wish we could exist independent of this James: but there's no way not to feel equally as bad for wishing for a different world as I do for dragging you into this one Ava: I know Ava: but that wouldn't be a real world at all Ava: it could only exist within the pages of the novel Ava: it'd be perfect but James: I know that too, all of it James: ignore me, I'm tired Ava: I couldn't if I wanted to Ava: and I don't Ava: maybe you'll find a lilo to catch some 💤 on James: sadly I'm not taking any of you swimming at the villa Ava: You would have to tell me if I needed my passport as well as my swimsuit James: one day Ava: yeah? James: if you want to Ava: I don't need to pose apathetically in another sun lounger Ava: but of course, I'd like to be anywhere with you James: you won't be, that isn't even the hypothetical holiday I have in mind James: you know I want to experience things with you Ava: Then we will Ava: and it'll be much more than a photo opportunity James: okay, good Ava: Where would you most want to go together? James: I don't know James: but I like snow Ava: We can work with that Ava: top of a mountain, maybe James: that would be an undeniably good photo opportunity Ava: okay, so the view doesn't count 😅 James: I'll be relying on that, taking mental pictures is all well & good for now but you're a very lovely view Ava: oh 😌 Ava: you're lovelier James: no, you're impossibly beautiful James: all I can do is my best to put suitable description to it Ava: you're just Ava: I want to help you today Ava: but it's undeniably a bonus that I will get to see you James: I'll make some time purely for you James: I don't know when, but as soon as I can Ava: I'll take it Ava: whenever it is James: there's a chance I can use my mother's unwillingness to help me now as a insistence to do so later Ava: potentially Ava: promise her hair won't get wet, that'd be a start James: thank you, I'll open with that Ava: 😏 Ava: there must be something she'd like to do with them Ava: that won't also be entirely torturous for them, because certainly counterproductive James: I'm not sure there is James: but at the very least she's capable of feeding & putting them to bed Ava: then I can do the same for you Ava: more or less James: by then, it'll be my turn to do something for you Ava: which would you rather 🛏 or 🍽? James: it's not my decision, it's yours Ava: I'll cook for you James: I think that's wise Ava: I just want to see you, we don't need to go anywhere unnecessarily Ava: my place is often empty James: I'm happy to hear that in this instance, because of how much I want to see you too Ava: It has its perks Ava: you can take as long as you like putting me to bed, also James: can I? Ava: Yes Ava: I very much hope so James: I don't think you've anticipated how long I would like to spend doing so James: in a perfect world Ava: in this world Ava: we can go to bed very, very early, so you'll still be home by the time you need to be James: & if I don't need to be anywhere else, can I stay? Ava: yes Ava: you can stay as long as you can James: I'll try & stay until we can say good morning face to face Ava: I'd really like that James: me too Ava: You make me smile, you know James: I look forward to seeing it, should traffic ever allow Ava: Oh, I could've got myself there James: I know but I want to spend as much time with you as possible, just in case James: it's already been highlighted how unreliable all of my childcare options are & just how dependent on ridiculous whims Ava: I'm not going to complain, trust me James: you'd be entitled to, when you see how much energy these girls have compared to me James: they make me appear a level of exhausted that I haven't yet reached, honest James: it's horrifically unjust Ava: If I know anything about having kids, it's that any complaint I might have doesn't even register in comparison Ava: and you're still beautiful, even if you're very, very tired James: in theory possibly, but actually, your every sound & silence registers with me Ava: in that case, I'll make every one count James: I believe you Ava: not that I promise my words will be as good as yours Ava: that would just be foolish James: I don't doubt your vocabulary either, you're extremely eloquent & capable whatever the circumstances James: a very worthwhile skill in a protagonist Ava: you could make me the swooning type and it'd be valid Ava: perhaps not very likable or inspirational though James: unless you've changed your mind about seeing me, I don't have the time for such a drastic & unnecessarily out of character rewrite James: there aren't enough hours in the day to finish the saga, never mind turn us into the next Bella & Edward James: what a great disservice that would be to you anyway Ava: That would be so out of character, I couldn't possibly, we'd find ourselves in the same situation regardless Ava: and whilst I'm happy to miss you and do some pining for the cause Ava: I'll be happier to see you, of course Ava: no need to exile yourself to Italy, though I can see the pluses of that for you/Edward James: not to mention, the age gap is already enough of a potential concern Ava: at least you aren't re-doing high school for the nth time Ava: that would be alarming James: there's an argument to be made that I should Ava: if you picked a better school, maybe James: at the top of a mountain, perhaps Ava: yes Ava: though, distracting as you would be, I wouldn't be mad at an excuse to see you every day James: there is nothing more distracting than the thought of the blush of your cheeks in the cold air, which is what I'm considering right now Ava: James James: Ava Ava: I'm going to have to be cool when I see you, aren't I James: yes Ava: okay Ava: then I better compose myself James: such a heartbreaking sentence will never make it into the final draft Ava: it's okay, I like swimming James: you'll enjoy it when I can promise you a hot spring Ava: I'll love it then James: I hope so Ava: I will Ava: but I could be anywhere with you and feel 🌞 James: I can't help but feel as though this swimming lesson will put that to the test Ava: screaming kids are nothing Ava: I'm 💪 James: you can have the baby then, there's more heavy lifting involved Ava: alright Ava: I can do that Ava: she must be like a little 🐠 James: she looks like one with her 🐠 hooded towel on Ava: that's adorable James: [sends her a picture from a previous swimming lesson of that adorable bub wearing it because that's not cheating evidence Chlo, we're safe] Ava: Bless her Ava: she's precious James: you'll do fine, she enjoys a compliment Ava: I feel that James: well, it'd be amiss if I didn't flirt with my au pair & we don't want any raised eyebrows Ava: Exactly Ava: got to play your role James: if there was ever one I was seemingly born to play Ava: you don't want an actual au pair? Ava: not for flirting purposes, obviously James: I'm not allowed one, for flirting purposes or otherwise Ava: Ahh Ava: I see James: yet another cliche Ava: you shouldn't need one Ava: she doesn't work, right Ava: or uni, or anything James: of course not, but we would hypothetically need one because, as you just highlighted, she doesn't do anything Ava: yeah Ava: maybe you could find a man Ava: or a really unappealing woman James: I'm not handing her someone else to sleep with, least of all someone who's supposed to be busy watching the children James: & I don't think a woman unappealing enough exists given that my imagined track record clearly surpasses the actual Ava: and it would just be cruel to force any queer guy to be her built-in gay BFF Ava: 🙁 James: oh god, that would be the cruellest fate imaginable Ava: couldn't wish that on anyone Ava: I just Ava: wish I could help more long-term James: all you have to do is be here, that is helping me both short & long term James: more than you know or I could feasibly let you know Ava: but you can try Ava: and I will very much enjoy you doing so Ava: later James: I miss you James: I want you to know that now Ava: I miss you too James: I'll be there soon though, whether or not that helps or makes the feeling worse for you Ava: we'll see Ava: at least I can let you know 💬 James: I'll take my own opportunity to compose myself before you do Ava: 😇 James: 😈 Ava: it will be hard not to be James: it always is Ava: yeah Ava: one day, you won't have to be James: but this morning, I'll try to please everyone Ava: and you will James: you're the 😇 darling Ava: but you are very, very good Ava: you should know, I want you to James: thank you Ava: you're 🥇 James: I will only accept the accolade if I can share the honour with you Ava: you're too generous Ava: you deserve it James: so do you Ava: nah, not really James: yes really James: I don't deserve you happening to me James: I'm in awe of everything about you, Ava Ava: That's not true Ava: you deserve me Ava: and a lot more besides James: irrespective of the difference of opinion, I don't want anything more than you Ava: anything? James: what could I possibly desire more than you? Ava: you're Ava: are you nearly here? James: yes, but I can take some kind of impromptu detour if you'd rather the answer was no Ava: I can definitely compose myself again Ava: becoming quite an expert James: which is why you deserve a 🥇 James: I know how difficult it is to do Ava: at least we share in it Ava: that makes it, not easier but at least worthwhile James: still, I wish there was something I could do to make it easier for you Ava: it'll help when I get to see you in the pool Ava: or make it a lot worse in a kinda fun way, anyway James: oh James: I haven't stopped to consider what you're going to be wearing for this Ava: It's probably best you don't Ava: forget I said anything James: hm, what you're done is, you've essentially guaranteed I can't & won't Ava: it's okay, you have the whole ride there to think about it before you really need to concentrate James: except I meant it when I answered yes to being nearly there & as soon as I am, time will speed up as it tends to do James: around you there are just never enough moments Ava: I miss you before you've even got here too Ava: no amount of time seems suitable James: I'll write us days, weeks, months & years but there's every chance you'll still feel cheated by it Ava: that's just life isn't it Ava: there's no time for half the things we want to do, but we have to carry on in earnest anyway James: the fraction alters from person to person, depending on the life lived & what gets prioritised but I don't believe there's anyone satisfied that they've experienced enough of anything they still want Ava: right Ava: the best you can hope for is doing some of it and having no regrets about if you could've done any more with your allotted time James: in not doing regrets, I'm halfway there Ava: could be worse James: I'm aware it could also be better, don't worry, I won't make you say it Ava: who's couldn't though James: anyone I care about, if the 🖋 were mightier than the ⚔ or indeed intentions counted for more than words on paper in the 1st place Ava: good intentions might not exactly be doing good, but it's still much better than doing bad James: they might also be dangerously close to a fool's errand but I've definitely made a fool of myself for a lot less Ava: I think its noble James: do you? Ava: Yes Ava: of course Ava: I mean it, really mean it, when I say I think you're lovely James: it's just that I'm not used to hearing it James: give me days, months, weeks & years Ava: Done Ava: the only reason I'd stop was if you wanted me to Ava: even then, I might try again, a few more times James: I have no intention, be it good or bad, of stopping you from doing anything you want to Ava: as long as you want it too James: even if I don't Ava: I wouldn't want that James: give yourself days, months, weeks & years James: the point is, my limitations aren't yours, you can do whatever you want & I won't be something that prevents you Ava: I'll still have time and space to say and mean it, whoever I am, because it will still be true and you'll still deserve to hear it James: okay, I'll work on accepting that James: but I make no promises about getting that work done during this particular car ride James: nonetheless, if you're still willing to, you can get in Ava: [come through gal, say hello to them babies] James: [depending where we're putting this on the timeline it could be the first time you have] Ava: [very well could be, Jay just like whaaa] James: [she's like new phone who dis] Ava: [just like I too wanted to swim so I'm coming with, is that cool?] James: [cue excited chatter about swimming and all the other sports and activities she likes because she's a sporty bitch from cradle to grave hence her personal trainer future] Ava: [just taking an interest like your own mother never, so rude] James: [I like to imagine the baby joining in by making excited sounds like she's trying to chat too] Ava: [just replying like yeah girl, same, like you understand] James: [I love it when that's a thing] Ava: [so do babies] James: [already better with her than her actual mother is] Ava: [sad but true] James: [we know the bar is that low, no shade Ava we also know you'll be an amazing step mum and mum so] Ava: [but seriously, we aren't being that extra rn that would be weird, we're just being not shit lol] James: [exactly dr phil and we know this swimming lesson will go great cos I'm only gonna be evil after and not let him get away to spend the night with her cos forever rude] Ava: [that's real and fair] James: [you lowkey don't get to have anything you want rn lads it's just the era we're in] Ava: [true tea, can skip to that] James: the later we wanted is going to have to happen moreso than we thought James: I'm really sorry James: I've tried everyone, both my siblings even Ava: Oh, okay Ava: that is a shame James: It's not okay, you were wonderful earlier & I James: well, I'm hardly that, unless we're giving out marks for effort in the last hour Ava: I'm definitely counting it Ava: if it can't be done it can't be James: not tonight Ava: then it's, not okay but just a fact Ava: we'll find time James: what are you doing tomorrow, maybe we can find some time then? Ava: I'm going to another Uni taster day thing James: which uni is it? Ava: LSE, so I will be about the day after on James: & you'll tell me what you think of LSE when it's over, right? Ava: Of course Ava: it's 1st for journalism but I'm not sold quite yet James: the tour might swing it for you if they take it more seriously than the one I gave Ava: I happen to be fond of the tour you gave, thank you very much James: Yes, The Vault will forever hold a special place in your heart Ava: Exactly Ava: be swinging by whether I'm alum or not 😏 James: I'll bear that in mind should I ever need to find you Ava: you only have to ask James: or whistle, not your namesake's immortal line, but I'm sure it'd be effective Ava: I have two, should you ever like to try again James: I'll bear that in mind as well Ava: Are you named after your dad, or granddad? James: II not III Ava: might've skipped a generation, if he was feeling particularly ruthless James: that would be a fun anecdote, but no Ava: that's a shame Ava: how do they pick the second boy's name James: I assume my mother just named Teddy what she would have named me if my father's ego hadn't got in the way Ava: that makes sense James: how they chose me sister's name would be anyone's guess, were it not stolen from the royal family Ava: surprised they'd commit the faux pas Ava: never have you 'round now, very awkward James: or very much a relief Ava: Poor Charlotte is pretty awkward looking James: looking like your grandmother can go one of 2 extremely different ways James: the more greats you add, the more you're rolling the dice Ava: 😅 Ava: at least there is some mystery in that Ava: no prizes for guessing who I come from James: but hand on heart I can profess to being thrilled that neither of my daughters resemble any of their grandparents Ava: they look like you James: Jay does Ava: yeah, moreso Ava: little ones change so much James: yes, she's an unfinished work Ava: that's a good way to put it James: it's better than being a shelved one, as I am Ava: I can deploy tiptoes if necessary James: thank you for what will be a cherished mental image Ava: it'd be cuter if I was smaller but in relation to you James: you couldn't be any cuter, in relation to anyone Ava: I'm glad you think so James: of course I do Ava: no of course about it Ava: you're totally gorgeous yourself James: first you're comparing our heights & now follows the rest of our attributes James: it's okay, I'm sitting down Ava: well I'm glad to hear you're getting somewhat of a break Ava: I'm just saying, it was still very unlikely, if not star-crossed James: you don't think we looked right together earlier? Ava: I love how we looked James: is there a but coming? Ava: only in the sense I wish it wasn't such a predictable cliche scene around here Ava: but it's neither of our faults that employment is seen as an actual form of flirtation by some James: it was a convenient excuse, I couldn't have wished for more than that under the circumstances Ava: I know Ava: it did the job James: if you want to come again, we know it works Ava: do you think I'll be invited back? James: I don't see why not Ava: I did okay then James: you did better than okay, we're all in agreement here Ava: good James: you haven't been worrying about this since you left, have you? Ava: not worrying Ava: but I don't want to mess that up, so I'm glad I didn't James: I understand, but I meant what I said about being in awe of you, you know James: this wasn't any different Ava: You really do always know what to say Ava: I know it was only swimming, but I'm glad they got to go James: well it's obvious that you always know what to do because you were perfect James: I was worried I shouldn't have agreed to you coming with us, but I'm glad you did James: they would've missed out for no reason if I'd panicked needlessly Ava: it wasn't needless panic though, you were left properly in the lurch Ava: and on paper, does not sound like the best idea James: I'm used to that, but less used to us existing off the page, particularly when it isn't just the two of us James: I asked you what you thought about how we looked, but it's something I try not to think about Ava: because of what other people might think Ava: or because you don't like the thought James: because of everything about my life that makes it difficult for us to be an us James: & because of your age & theirs Ava: You aren't that much older, even if your life means you have to act it Ava: but I understand Ava: thinking about it too much makes you think it might only ever be a nice thought, a daydream on the page and in our heads James: I know but Jay is 6 & you aren't old enough to have a child of that age James: which is why you don't James: I can't help thinking about that Ava: Well, yeah, I don't get having kids, there's no denying that but I'm not trying to say I do Ava: most people your age don't have kids either James: of course they don't, that's the thing, there's not an excessive age gap but there is a huge discrepancy when it comes to our lifestyle Ava: I know James: I don't want to alter yours, that's all Ava: You aren't just going to Ava: my lifestyle is up to me James: okay, just don't let me rewrite you Ava: you won't Ava: you don't want to, and I won't let you Ava: don't worry, okay James: I'll try not to Ava: it's needless, we can use that word here instead James: it's only a worry because I like you exactly as you are Ava: those aren't your words, sir James: do you only accept original speeches? James: it's very much a sentiment that applies to you and how I feel in this instance Ava: as long as you stick to the classics Ava: Mark Darcy, Edward Cullen James: an easy promise to both make & stick to Ava: then I'm happy Ava: 😊 James: I'm happy to hear that Ava: I like it when you're happy James: I'm happy with you Ava: good Ava: that's a good start Ava: we'll see each other soon, but maybe we can call before then James: I'd like that James: when? Ava: whenever you can Ava: I'm going to have a quiet night in James: as soon as I can then Ava: perfect Ava: what are you doing now? James: everything you would if you were my actual au pair Ava: Awkward when I am just a pretty face James: you're not but you're also not on my payroll thankfully because that would be more awkward James: what are you doing? Ava: making some dinner Ava: then I'll see how long I can make a bath last, I reckon James: are you making the same thing for yourself as you were going to make for me? Ava: I would've made you something special James: you've earnt special too though Ava: I'll do a different kind of special then Ava: comfort food James: I normally can't stand compromises but that admittedly sounds like a lovely one Ava: aren't compromises key in kid negotiations though? James: I think that depends what kind of parent you are Ava: and you're the structure and routine, so you're the boundaries and rules that aren't up for discussion too James: whether I wish I could just give in sometimes or not Ava: you're the love too though Ava: you can tell they both adore you James: for as long as being everything doesn't wear me down to nothing, I'll keep being exactly what they need me to Ava: does anyone help Ava: like, give consistent help James: her parents are the closest I've got Ava: sounds really fucking stressful James: it was easier with one Ava: yeah Ava: now you're outnumbered James: & everyone helped more when Jay was younger because we were too James: I'm expected to know what I'm doing by now Ava: don't reckon anyone ever does though Ava: cop-out response, I'm aware but genuinely Ava: it's just everyone has the responsibility of fucking up their own kids James: every child is different & I'm not remotely the same person I was either James: an additional cop out response but true anyway James: the way I handle things now, or don't, is a world away from how I coped then so James: new challenges Ava: well, I can't say about then Ava: but you're nicer now than lots of dickheads 'round here that wait 'til they're 30-40 odd to have theirs James: thank you Ava: whatever missteps, having a parent that's a decent person is an advantage lots of kids don't get James: are yours? Ava: yeah, I think so Ava: like, they aren't storybook parents and they never have been that type, they're too fucked up for that Ava: but they did and would do anything for us, nothing we could bring at them would be too much, and my siblings have definitely put that to the test in recent years James: storybook parents tend to lead you into the woods using a trail of breadcrumbs or do nothing while you're placed under a curse anyway James: which sounds more like the school of child rearing my parents would subscribe to Ava: oh you're right Ava: the ones that aren't dead are usually terrible James: I need to write some better bedtime stories once the novel is finished Ava: you'd be perfect at that Ava: I can tell Ava: you can turn me into whatever animal sells best but it better be cute or I won't be able to help being slightly offended James: you'll be adorable & clever & kind, of course James: the good ideas can come from your animal counterpart as they always do from you when you're yourself Ava: very 🦗 Ava: she likes 🐕 a lot though, and I can handle that James: I was considering a water creature because you love swimming & are intending to be in the bath as long as you possibly can James: perhaps 🦦 Ava: see Ava: you're amazing at this Ava: that would be so cute James: you haven't seen the pictures yet, an amazing artist I am not Ava: we'll get you an illustrator James: male or unattractive? Ava: I'm not your wife, I don't need to make those sort of stipulations James: strictly hired on their ability to draw an adorable 🦦 it is then Ava: 👍 thinking James: [I was thinking he should send her some totally beautiful and expensive pudding because she said comfort food so that needs to arrive before she's in the bath otherwise that'd be annoying instead of sweet] Ava: James James: Ava Ava: how am I ever going to thank you? James: oh good, I thought you were say you didn't like it James: *about to Ava: I love it Ava: how are you just as sweet Ava: it's ridiculous James: it's ridiculous that I can't see you for days at a time James: I want you to know that you're in my thoughts more often than that Ava: if she knew how lucky she was, none of this would even be an issue, that's what's ridiculous Ava: but I'm sort of glad she doesn't Ava: selfishly James: she isn't lucky to have me, that's the obvious issue James: because to say that we don't work as a couple or aren't sweet to each other is an oversimplification Ava: did you ever? James: no Ava: I'm sorry James: I don't deserve any sympathy, I haven't always tried very hard Ava: It's still sad James: It's sad for them, I'd like to think that maybe one day they'll describe me as 'fucked up but...' as you did your parents though James: I'd happily settle for that Ava: I don't know how thrilled they'd be Ava: but there's not really a higher compliment so Ava: as far as goals go, it's a good one James: realistic goals are the only way forward Ava: I'll drink to that James: 🥂 since I can't actually Ava: I'm just eating my pudding, obviously James: very amiss of me not to send you 🍾 as well James: noted Ava: Shh Ava: it was perfect, you are Ava: there's always enough 🍾 'round mine to bathe in, should I feel so inclined James: I remember Ava: yeah Ava: I remember too James: I won't ask you to fill in the ensuing gaps in my memory, don't worry Ava: I tried not to pay that close attention, naturally James: 😇 naturally Ava: Hardly Ava: Buster was just pretty embarrassing James: I remember that as well James: though I took the 👑 in that regard so there's little room for me to say anything Ava: you aren't my brother so I guess it didn't really register James: it may have more closely registered had we stayed friends, I suppose Ava: He didn't stay, period James: precisely Ava: 🤷 James: if he had & we were still friends, there wouldn't be a you & I so Ava: depends how good friends you were Ava: think you'd have to be much better than you were, right? James: it would be an added complication regardless & there are more than enough of those Ava: very true James: no offense to your brother but I would rather have your company than his Ava: 😂 I should hope so James: you could improve your ⚽ skills but James: Jay'll help you Ava: Slander Ava: I could be semi-pro, you don't know 😏 James: 😂 Ava: I'm not though, don't want to get anyone's hopes up here Ava: definitely come back to bite me if I try and impress you with my dribbling skills 🙄 James: I won't wait for you to indignantly explain the off side rule to me, it's okay Ava: we're both better than that cliche James: I hope so Ava: besides, I have ZERO interest in being a sports journalist thank you Ava: not putting that out into the universe James: or a WAG presumably Ava: not unless he has an interesting personality to go with the ball control James: some of them must Ava: probably be better going with a female player but I doubt they're girlfriends go in for the WAG label Ava: not invested enough to champion it solo James: it'd be a slightly less stereotypical existence Ava: except every lesbian is either a footballer, cop or farmer James: I'll have to take your word for it Ava: yes, I'm very reliable James: well I'm sorry, you can't be the novel's narrator Ava: I like your words too much, that's fine James: you're too kind to me Ava: no James: yes James: because it's another failing of mine that I can't get inside your head in order to write those words Ava: I like when you tell them to me Ava: with your voice James: can I call you? Ava: yes James: [does and I vote it lasts for hours and hours because they are cute and high key] Ava: [agreed]

[gusenitsaa]

Whumpetition / @badthingshappenbingo prompt #6: Tortured for information.  

(the latest in my growing collection of whumplets in the universe of ‘the darling affair’ verse by @icecubelotr44) 

1. I know you’re in there     2. Buried Alive     3. Ambulance Ride     4. Sadistic Choice     5. Outnumbered     (All these whumplets are also in a collection on FF ) 

_____

He knew what they were doing. Softening up. That's what they called it. The questions would come later…

Liam didn't say a word, didn't let out a sound, just let the blows fall, closing his eyes against a growing nausea and dizziness until a strangled cry echoed from next to him and his eyes snapped open. Killian.

Killian.

There was a blade lodged in Killian's shoulder, a stream of scarlet dripping steadily down his shirt and puddling on the floor. Killian swayed on his feet, already a shade or two paler than he should be. Liam charged forward, the metal cuffs cutting into his wrists and wrenching his shoulders back painfully. "No!" Liam cried, tugging against the the chains desperately.

"Now that we have your attention," the man nearest Killian commented... "here's what's going to happen."

"I'll tell you what's going to happen," Killian broke in, slowly raising his head. "Our people are going to find us," he locked eyes with Liam and Liam knew it was meant to be reassuring. It probably would have been if Killian weren't white as a sheet and swaying on his feet. "-and you are going to spend the rest of your miserable excuse for a life in a damp, dark hole."

The man sighed in exasperation and bent, pulling a wet rag from a bucket behind him. Without another word he knotted the rag tightly over Killian's mouth and nose. There was a moment of panic in Killian's eyes before he shuttered it away and allowed himself to fall limp. He hung, motionless, from his shackles and Liam's heart clenched in his chest. It was a smart choice and not an easy one. Conserving oxygen might be a wise choice but it's bloody hard to convince a panicking nervous system of the fact. Liam knew all this. Still, seeing Killian hanging limp from those chains made his own breath come short in panic. He held his breath instinctively so he'd know when too much time had passed.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. What is going to happen-" the man paused pointedly and Liam's lungs burned. "You are going to give us access to JR solutions secure server from that computer." The man nodded towards the desk. "Once we have administrative access confirmed we will lock out your people and let you and whatever is left of your brother go. Simple as that."

The panic returned to Killian's eyes and Liam felt himself take a breath. Killian fought weakly for a moment, the panic finally taking over the rational side that knew he was no better able to escape the chains than he had been earlier. The man moved to release the knot, Killian's struggles counterproductive, making it take a moment or two longer than it should have. The cloth hit the floor with a heavy slap and Killian gasped and choked, lungs desperate for air. Then Killian was laughing and Liam wanted to smack him himself.

"The server-" Killian's laugh turned into another fit of coughing before he looked up again. "You think he's going to give you the server, you think he's going to give you the lives of all our agents in the field, all our informants, all our players? You're out of your bloody mind."

Liam knew that little speech was intended for him, not for their captors and he shot Killian an exasperated look. He knew what letting access fall into enemy hands could do.

"Or," the man continued as though Killian hadn't spoken at all. He reached up and gripped the knife in Killian's shoulder, twisting it until Killian screamed in agony.

"Killian!" Liam shouted, surging forward again, straining at the farthest reach of the chains that held him back. The man stopped twisting the knife and Killian slumped against the chains. He stopped screaming when the man let go of the knife in his shoulder, but his breathing was still ragged.

Killian took a moment to compose his breathing before he looked up, meeting Liam's worried gaze and managing a lopsided smile. "They always trail off after 'or'," Killian mumbled.

"You want me to finish the sentence?" the man asked and Liam shuddered at the chill in his voice. He wanted to tell Killian to be silent, but he knew now it wouldn't make a difference. Killian was leverage, and until he gave them what they wanted no amount of prudence from his brother would make a difference. The man met Liam's eyes as he continued. "Give me what I want, or I take it out of your brother's flesh." He twisted the knife again, dragging another scream from Killian.

Liam winced, closing his eyes for a moment.

Administrative access.

It was everything.

It meant safehouses and cover identities. It meant informants and operations reports. It meant real names and emergency contacts and addresses. Liam sagged and shook his head.

The man smiled, leaving Killian where he hung to approach Liam. There was something predatory in that smile. He'd be willing to bet that this man was an… independent contractor of sorts, doing the wet work for whoever actually wanted this information from him. He showed no disappointment that the information was not forthcoming. In fact, he seemed to relish the opportunity of resistance.

"I have to admit," he drawled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

_____

Killian's screams ripped through Liam and he could swear the knife was cutting through his own flesh. Killian fell limp when the twisting stopped, his sarcasm yielded to quiet exhaustion what felt like hours ago. His breathing was ragged and heavy and blood dripped down his arms from wrists too long made to support his whole weight. Liam's stomach churned and he swallowed hard, praying he wouldn't be sick.

"What kind of a man lets his own brother die for a few letters and numbers?" the man asked, his fingers resting lightly on the blade. He left Killian's side and approached Liam again. His hands were covered in Killian's blood and it was all Liam could do not to lunge at the man. It didn't help. His chains were too solid and all it accomplished was to send him laughing back to his torture of Killian.

Bloody hands grabbed Liam's face and pulled him forward. Liam could smell Killian's blood, could taste it now and his stomach threatened mutiny again. "Give me something" the voice from behind him implored, "I don't want to kill him, but you have to give me something"

"Liam Jones, Captain-"

"I swear, if you give me your name, rank and serial number one more time I will pull out his intestines through his throat."

"If he dies," Liam hissed, "You'll never get into that server. And when my men come and take off these shackles there will be no cell for you. I will strangle you with my bare hands."

The man chuckled. "Your men sure are taking their sweet time, aren't they Captain? There was a flash of silver and the man cut deep gouges into both of Liam's palms. He felt nothing at first, his hands having begun to grow numb from the pressure around his wrists. Then pain bloomed and Liam's jaw tightened as warm blood trickled down his arms. "Just in case, I best be sure you're in no condition to use your hands."

"Come on now-" Killian called from across the room. His voice was weak and Liam stiffened.

Don't… Killian, please don't.

"I thought we had somethin' special. Don't tell me you slice up just anyone." The man turned back towards Killian and Liam lunged, desperate to keep the man's attention on him for just a moment longer.

Liam managed to catch him off guard and knocked out his feet from under him. Before the man could blink Liam was bearing down on him, as far as the chains would allow. There was a snap as Liam stomped on the man's leg and a cry of agony that wasn't Killian's echoed across the room.

"I don't need my hands, you bastard!" Liam seethed, "Touch him again and I'll use my bloody teeth. I swear. Touch him again and I'll rip-" he didn't get much farther, stiffening abruptly as pain arced through him from behind, straining every muscle to its breaking point while the man with the broken leg was dragged away. When his vision cleared his legs were bound as tightly as his wrists. They hadn't bothered with Killian's.

That didn't surprise him. Killian looked like he could barely lift his head much less stage an attack. For a few blessed moments they were left alone. Killian slumped in the chains that suspended him from the ceiling, too weak and exhausted to hold himself up. The knife was still in his shoulder though it had been twisted so frequently that it was doing little to stem the flow of blood. If the chains had allowed Killian to fall he'd probably have bled to death long before now. As it was, the chains held him upright, held the muscles taut and stiff and kept the wound above his heart. He still bled sluggishly and was horrifyingly pale but he'd survive it if he got medical attention soon.

Soon.

What the bloody hell was taking Scarlet so long.

They weren't in some cave 5000 miles from headquarters. They had been attacked less than a block from JR Solutions. The drive couldn't have taken them more than a few hours from the city. He'd tossed his phone in a dumpster after texting scarlet, and though his memory was foggy from the drugs, he didn't think they'd found it. That meant Scarlet had a point of origin. It should have been a simple matter of following the vehicle on the cities myriad of cameras…

Where was he?

Liam leaned toward Killian, the chains on his wrists frustrating his attempts to reach for his suffering brother.

"I'm sorry, Killian," Liam murmured quietly. He didn't dare say much, knowing the walls doubtless had ears.

"Not your fault," Killian mumbled not raising his head.

Their wounded tormentor's groans grew more distant and a new face took center stage. It was vaguely familiar though a bit swollen from the broken nose Liam had graced him with so many hours ago now. The man struck Liam hard, smashing a fist into his nose. He probably should have seen that coming… The blows rained down faster after that and it was damn near a relief to not hear his brother's screams. It didn't last.

"Boy, your mother must have dropped you on your head as an infant. I'm over here, moron." Liam cringed. Killian's voice was quiet but Liam's attacker looked up. "Was she drunk? Too busy with the mailman? I bet she didn't give you enough hugs as a child. Or maybe she gave you too many. Maybe she likes little b-" The man shoved a dirty rag into Killian's mouth and once more the odd sense of relief swept over Liam. Killian was trying to get their attention off him again, and he was bloody good at it.

He nodded to someone behind Liam and there was a whoosh air and a sudden heat. Liam twisted to see and winced back from the wall of flames. With a deliberate movement the man picked up a pipe that had already met his ribs once and Killian's far too many times and tossed it into the bonfire.

"What is it going to take?" their new lead questioner asked, circling Liam. "Your own pain isn't enough, clearly." He struck Liam again in the side where he was pretty sure there was already at least one broken rib. "Your brother's pain isn't enough.." He pressed on the knife in Killian's shoulder and Killian moaned through the gag. "So we're gonna have some fun," the torturer said. "Clearly you aren't empathetic enough. So I'm going to help you."

He pressed the heated pipe against Liam's leg. Pain overwhelmed him, burning through the fabric of his pants, through skin. He thrashed and screamed, trying to pull away from the agony burning through him. The chains held him firm and what retreat he managed was easily matched by his tormentor. Liam couldn't stop himself from screaming until the bar finally was pulled away. Distantly, he could hear Killian yelling through the gag.

"That... tickled," Liam bit out through his gasps.

He heard Killian groan and saw him glare. Clearly he considered taunting their captors his domain.

"It's a good thing it wasn't too bad for you," the torturer said. "Because I'm about to do the same thing to your brother."

Liam's stomach dropped. "No. No, that's not... that's not necessary."

"So you're ready to let us in to the server?" the man asked.

Liam's eyes shut, the burn on his thigh radiating pain and throbbing mercilessly.

"No," he whispered through clenched teeth.

"You're killing him," the man hissed, "this is your doing. Every drop of blood is borne of your poor judgement." Then he spun towards Killian and pulled the gag from his mouth. "Can't let your brother miss hearing your screams," he said reasonably.

"That'd be a real shame," Killian said. He tried to steel himself, tried not to scream, but when the burning metal touched his leg, he can't bite back a howl of agony.

_____

Liam really had no clue how much time passed, but they'd both been beaten, burned, shocked... And Killian was starting to fade. His cries had less strength. He was barely making an effort to anger their tormentors.

"Killian, don't," Liam whispered. His voice was hoarse from his own screams and weak from his own exhaustion. He was shaking from pain and fear and sorrow. "Don't give up on me now. Alright, little brother? Don't leave me alone here." One of their torturers ripped the knife from Killian's torn shoulder and pressed heated metal to the wound. Killian didn't even manage a scream, just a broken sob. Liam thinks that sound hurts worse than anything else he has endured.

"Stop!" Liam begged. "Please, just stop."

"Ready to give us access?" one of the men asked, not the broken nosed man who was busy pulling the heated metal from Killian's shoulder. Killian didn't even react to the relief, just stayed slumped in the chains, shuddering in pain.

"I..." Liam started, not even sure what he was planning to say. 'No. Go ahead and keep hurting us. Hurting him.? Yes. Give my brother a clean death and then you can capture and torture everyone else who trusts me?'

Killian coughed and mumbled something, too quiet and broken to for Liam to understand what he was trying to say.

"Killian?" Liam asked.

Killian managed to raise his head enough to meet Liam's eyes. He was shaking and covered in bruises and burns and his own blood, but there was still fire in his eyes. "Alice," Killian managed to say. He slumped back in the chains, like that was all he was really holding on to say.

And Liam understood. Few even knew Emma was pregnant with a girl, let alone that Killian and Emma had been discussing naming the baby after his and Liam's mother. If Liam revealed the codes, it wasn't just his agents that were in danger. It was Killian's wife and unborn child, Liam's sister in-law and unborn niece. And Liam couldn't place them in danger, not even to spare Killian this. Whatever torments were in store for either of them, Killian would endure any of them gladly for the sake of his family, just as Liam would endure anything for Killian.

"You can kill us if you want," Liam said, his eyes fixed on Killian.. His voice was shaking, but he was firm in his decision, in Killian's decision. "But no matter what you do to either of us, I am never giving you that code."

Whatever else happened, Emma and Alice would be safe. There wasn't much Liam could do to protect Killian now, but he could give his little brother that comfort at least.

It should have been a relief when they released Killian from his chains. It should have been an opportunity. But Instead of fighting back, running, anything, Killian simply collapsed in a shuddering heap, whimpering softly.

"Fine. Bring it," their captor called, and two of the men came into Liam's sight with a shallow tub of water.

"No," Liam whispered, his terror climbing as he watched the sloshing of the water in the tub. Water was dangerous. More dangerous than anything they'd faced yet. A few seconds too long. A slight miscalculation... Water meant they were willing to up the ante, to risk accidentally drowning Killian to get what they wanted. "Stop," Liam cried. "I can't give you what you want, I can't. But we can talk about this, we can come to some kind of arrangement..." He was stalling. Badly. And they knew it. "Don't do this," he pleaded, "You'll kill him-"

The man gave a little half smile that made Liam's blood run cold. "Then stop me."

_____

Tagging the ‘competitors’ and the peanut gallery! @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable @pirate-owl@icecubelotr44@hollyethecurious  @killian-whump @cocohook38

If you’d like to be added or removed from the whumpetition tag list aka the peanut gallery! let me know

[kontextmaschine]

am i imagining it or is there a bit less anger towards the left from you about the death of 90s Culture recently? Not that you’re not still melancholy about it, but it seems like in recent months you’ve moved from “Horny 90s Secular Culture was my rightful birthright that was DESTROYED by Gawkerites” to “Horny 90s Secular Culture is worth mourning but it collapsed under its own contradictions that have only become visible in the wake of a lot of Internet Feminist Discourse.”

>  [same “less anger toward the left” anon] Even more speculatively, it seems like you’re less sympathetic toward the Right than you were, set, a year or so ago, less in the sense that you now back the actual agenda of the Left than that you briefly expected that the Right’s pushback would take a form more compatible with your own preferences than it has. Any of this onto something? [2/2]

You’re seeing something real but you’re not seeing it right.

If I’m more sanguine about the culture wars lately it’s because the wave already broke. In 2015 I was saying the other side walked off a cliff and just hadn’t looked down yet, well by now they’ve looked down.

And on the one hand meep meep, motherfucker, on the other hand this means the dumbest and gone-too-far stuff is gonna be coming in the other direction now as the backlash sets in.

Like, what’s the last time the cultural “left” tried to sieze new territory, and not just struggle to hold the line? MeToo? At the time I called it as feminism biting the hand that fed/off more than it could chew, and yeah, by all reports the “targets” there are being welcomed back and people notice that they were still viable all along, meanwhile the supporters are getting blackballed as risks.

(Meanwhile, the Republican supremes are expected to rule that no, protections against sex discrimination do not just imply protections for sexual/gender minorities, and wouldn’t you know it most “sexual harassment” law is leveraged out from similar implications.)

The next step in the culture war is just to make people realize this is already happening, the woke order’s plummeting, and all the stuff that’s been growing underground poised to benefit from their fall is going the other way.

I point out Stupidpol stuff to draw attention to how the new young avant garde in pretty much every subculture - even explicitly leftist ones - is increasingly anti-woke, and the invention of a typology - “radlib”, “wokescold” – by which their rivals don’t even have to be refuted, just identified, mocked, and dismissed.

I point out how all the woke take factories are exhausting their funders’ patience, pivoting to video and selling out to Bryan Goldberg (who made his name by founding a women’s vertical that wasn’t shrill feminist, an online Cosmo when everyone was trying to build an online Sassy), and how meanwhile the hot rising thing is a bro site with an editorial line somewhere between rape culture-tolerant and -positive.

I point out how not so much opposed but underneath consent culture there’s a flourishing ecosystem of Fsub kink as lifestyle (which was the other side in the ‘80s feminist sex wars, after all) and the rising smartphone generation grew up with “catering to the male pornographic gaze” as a popular hobby.

And I’m not just wishcasting here, even the perceptive people on the “other side” have noticed this – Sady Doyle’s looking back over ’00-’10s internet feminism and wondering if it even changed anything deeper than superficial fashion that will cycle back before too long (subtext here is she was a half-step behind the Marcotte/Valenti/McEwan coterie and tbh a better writer/thinker/intersectionalist but now she’s in upstate New York scrambling for enough child care to crank out work for lower-and-lower-profile outlets; if you’ve read her work long enough you know she’s acutely aware of how in the 80s second-wave feminism and radical feminists weren’t so much defeated as just… gave up on and left to wither.)

Like, “this too shall pass”, y’know? It’s passing. Which doesn’t mean the stuff that takes it down or replaces it won’t be dumb and fucked up. To the extent I had identified with the “cultural left” to begin with it was cause I came of age in the 90s after the ‘80s backlash had run through and the reigning “cultural right” was pretty dumb and fucked up. Weirdly sour in a sunny time, in retrospect I realize they were trying to drive a stake through the ‘70s so hard it never got up again and that excess probably did buy me some more time of comfort, but could get counterproductive too, you know if these are the guys trying to maintain their hegemony through suppressing left voices…

Plus honestly yeah I was invested in the fun-for-all ideal of Horny 90s Secular Culture as it portrayed itself, and if more modern revelations are that it was premised on hierarchies of power… Well, at some level I’m “ohhh, hierarchies of power, so THAT’S how you create the good times, they should’ve told us, no wonder we’ve been fucking it up”. But I’m still eagerly receptive to plans to bring things closer to the ideal, or at least avoid some of the worst failure modes and rig the hierarchies right by going in eyes-open.

[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 X:

"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."

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDERS CHAPTER X)

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)

.

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?!

“Arthur?” 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.

/

“Arthur?” 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 Arthur, 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; for sure - and that’s what matters. Merlin is never backing away, Merlin is never really complaining nor saying no; 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 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…

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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, Arthur. 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.

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They both feel guilty for endangering the other more than they are worried about themselves *heavy sigh*

[comp6841]

Tutorial - Week 5

Now this is why I don’t like getting behind because trying to remember a tutorial from over a week ago (in detail) is difficult, but I’ll try and catch the main details.

Open Source Software

Apparently there use to be age when we all worked cooperatively on open-source software, however this began to die off the in the 1980s. Manufacturers wanted to gain a competitive advantage against their rivals so they stopped distributing source code and blanketed everything with restrictive licenses. The specific example Jazz gave was of Richard Stallman (a free software activist) was refused access to the software of a new Xerox printer. He wanted to provide an addition to the software so that it would message a user when their print job is completed.

Stallman strongly believed that users should be able to control (and modify) the code they run and led to him founding the Free Software Foundation; an advocacy group for users to have control over their hardware and software. However, for open source software to survive it needs the support of the community; a growth in the commercialisation of software has meant that this freedom of use Stallman is fighting for, is under attack.

Now you are probably all wondering, what the hell does this have to do with security? To understand this, think about the process software goes through when it is audited - basically you have many eyes pen testing, debugging and trawling through the code looking for vulnerabilities. Now if the source code is private, you only have a limited number of eyes that are viewing it. If you’re a user of the software, your relying on that company investing the time and money to properly security audit their software. That is, you’re relying on one body (’a single point of failure’) to spot every defect in the code.

Compare this to the scenario where you have open source software to which hundreds or thousands of people are contributing. Everyone is improving and performing audits on the software and for most people that is because it is in their best interests (i.e. they use and rely on the software). Now you can clearly see how this differs from closed-source where you have audit firms working a set number of hours and are rarely held to account. I’ll give some of the examples we looked at, which could potentially have been fixed a lot earlier if open source had been used.

BlueKeep

This was a particularly damaging bug to the family of Windows operating systems which allowed a user to gain remote access. The bug relied on the “virtual channel” system in the RDP protocol; if you bound the unused “MS_T120″ channel to a static channel (other than 31) it would create a heap corruption which you could abuse to run whatever code you wanted.

The funny thing about this one was the fact that the NSA knew and been using the exploit for years in the form of EternalBlue. It was only when they got hacked into that they decided to advise Microsoft of the damaging flaw. Perhaps Microsoft was in on it already to some extent, who knows? It’s probably pretty fair to say they have a heap of other exploits they can use anyway.

Intel IME (Intel Management Unit)

Basically this is a subsystem which has been included in all of Intel’s chipsets since 2008 which is primarily used by system administrators. This allows them to perform tasks remotely or turn the computer on/off at a level of privilege higher than the OS itself. Breaking into the IME would basically be the ‘jackpot’ for any hacker as it has top-level access to everything and completely bypasses the OS.

The fact that everything is closed-source makes it difficult to assess the security of the IME (we just have to rely on what Intel says). There has however been a number of security flaws discovered in the past and I would not be surprised if the NSA knows of unpatched flaws in this. The main problem I find with this situation is why are individual users slammed with this component in our CPUs? We don’t need remote system admin access and if we ‘wanted’ a secure system, why would we leave something unnecessary like that there as a target for hackers? This all links back to the core principles behind the Free Software Foundation.

Rootkits

The basic idea is that rootkits operate at the same level of privilege as the operating system. This basically means they can do almost anything they want (don’t worry guise the good ol’ IME can wreck him) - they can completely conceal themselves from the view of the OS, however luckily in most cases this is imperfect. I think this is an important principle in most scenarios, however I think its worth mentioning that it’s impossible to build a secure system on top of something which has been compromised. (like building a house on sand) If your system is busted by a rootkit, then anything running at user-level (no matter how secure the code) is almost certainly going to be bust.

Case Study - Autonomous Cars

Basically the class was split into 2 parts: we had to assess the risks and make recommendations regarding self-driving cars from either the perspective of a business (i.e. should we invest in this) or the government (i.e. regulatory framework). I thought the government interests being separate from business interests was a ‘bit of a meme’, but lets just be naive for once!

The assets I thought were particularly important from the perspective of business were:

(1) Reputation

(2) Car firmware and servers

(3) IP (Intellectual Property) and employees

(4) Physical cars and users

The main threats I considered:

(A) ‘Buggy’ software and ‘dumb’ users -> (1) and (4)

(B) Hackers -> (2)

(C) Corporate espionage -> (3)

(D) Government regulation -> (3)

I had a number of mitigations in mind, however obviously they are not exhaustive:

(A) -> invest in design from the ‘get go’

(A) -> teams assembled to review ‘correctness’ of software code

(A) -> thorough on-road testing

(A) -> high levels of redundancy

(A) -> thorough edge-case analysis for how misuse of systems and vehicle may occur

(A) -> extra protections (encryption) in place for accessing and handling customer data

(B) -> dedicated penetration testing teams

(B) -> layers of redundancy for servers; backups

(B) -> thorough auditing and logging; so everything is traceable

(C) -> financial incentives to remain within the company

(C) -> incentives to report people who ‘leak’ information

(D) -> number of individuals dedicated to following relevant government discussions and regulations

(D) -> money allocated to lobbying to prevent regulation and legislation which would be counterproductive to project goals

My conclusion was basically that provided the mitigation policies are implemented, it is reasonable to consider an investment in a project in the field. This is because it is a rapidly growing market with very high RR (risk-reward) if the associated security risks are controlled appropriately.