#once he actually cured himself because merlin will probably find a way

[gdn7-dollopole]

I can’t stop thinking about a poisoned Arthur, who’s not sick with just any poison. Maybe he’s hit by someone with magic and he has no collateral effects, except that of his body slowly dying.

It doesn’t matter if takes years or months or weeks or days, Arthur knows that one day, he will die. He does not get weaker or unable to do things, he just dissipates, and he knows the moment when he’ll be forever gone.

Everybody knows.

Although, there is a cure to his poisoned body, the only one, but Arthur refuses to take it.

Because if he cures himself of the deadly poison, the price to pay is too high:

he will forever forget the person he loves the most, and will never be able to love them again. His memory will be wiped out each time it comes back.

And Arthur doesn’t want to forget Merlin.

Arthur would rather die in the knowledge that he loves him and has known him, than live a life without Merlin by his side, and without his love and care.

[poisonedfate]

curious. what do you think would have *happened* if gaius actually died in 4x07 ^^

woof. now that's a question.

i really had to sit down and think about this question because there's both so much and so little that i can see his death affecting.

first of all, i want to say that the show is notoriously 'bad' at dealing with deaths. if gaius were to die in 04x07, i'm sure that the implications i'm about to discuss wouldn't actually be addressed - especially because i can't see them killing off gaius for any other reason than the actor wanting to leave the show. his death would be unnecessary, an emotion-pulling sacrifice at best. they would probably do one of two things: use his death as a way to bring more danger/betrayal into the show (something similar to 'a remedy to cure all ills') or simply replace one with another, essentially giving merlin someone similar to gaius. i'm personally more inclined to lean towards option one, though merlin would still need someone who knows his secret and that someone would need to have some sort of knowledge that could be helpful to merlin, as well as a similar quality to gaius - a way to question merlin's decisions. i think it would be…too on the nose to simply replace gaius and this being set at the second half of s4, i think merlin could be more than capable of doing most things he usually does without a physician on his side.

that sounds harsh, but know that i'm currently referring to the technicalities and not the emotional side of things. i think he'd be fine sneaking in and out and using his magic to heal if necessary etc etc. i also want to add that i cannot see merlin becoming the court physician either. i don't think it would really cross arthur's mind, and even if it did, i don't see merlin wanting that position. kid's got enough going on as it is. overall, there are quite a few different options as to how the show would deal with it, but it's neither here nor there. so let's move on to the actual implications of his death. the first thing to point out here is that merlin would absolutely blame himself. it could, potentially, drive a wedge between him and arthur, but at the end of the day, he would know gaius was only in that position due to morgana wanting to find emrys, and thus would have no real reason to blame arthur. however, this is where one of the bigger issues comes in - agravaine. at the end of 04x07, merlin and gaius have the little exchange about agravaine, merlin wanting to tell arthur, despite arthur having ignored his attempts earlier in the episode. not only would that exchange not happen, but merlin's emotions would be about 10 times more intense if he had lost gaius. now, that could drive a wedge between arthur and merlin, however, again, arthur has enough mind to understand the loss of a parental figure, and although he might dislike the accusation, i don't think any real harm would come from it. i also can't imagine merlin going after agravaine. admittedly, s4, especially the second half, shows merlin as a darker character, so the potential for some genuine rage is there, but i want to believe he'd act as his own voice of reason in that moment - all is not yet lost, and the memory of gaius would not be easily overshadowed.

again, as far as the show goes, i don't think the emotional aftermath would be as pronounced, but as i see it, merlin would, of course, struggle with it greatly. gaius was his one ally, his parental figure, someone who he protected and cared for immensely. and, just to highlight it once more, gaius was the voice of reason. he wasn't always right, but he often made merlin see the other side of things. so i think the simple answer here is that merlin's arc of becoming a 'darker' character would simply come to reach its climax much sooner. a loss such as this is about as heavy as they come.

another point i want to make is that merlin and arthur's relationship would change eventually. arthur does eventually find out agravaine was the one who betrayed him and would then know gaius wasn't the traitor. again, this is playing on the point that i don't actually think merlin would continue pressing the agravaine issue, despite gaius being labelled a traitor (although, this also depends on when in the episode gaius dies). arthur would feel powerful guilt, both for gaius himself and for merlin.

overall, i think gaius dying would, mostly, have an impact on the emotional side of things and not so much the actual main sequence of events. he's an important character in merlin's story, but he isn't a key person in the storyline itself. i want to believe merlin would find someone else to put his trust into (and i can't see it being arthur), even if it would only bring a fraction of that same back and forth him and gaius had. if not, again, he would perhaps make worse judgements, but he was never one to listen to gaius very often, especially later in the series. he'd put himself in more danger, and he'd have to battle a lot that he shared with gaius alone instead. merlin would run himself dry quicker than you could count to ten, and it would reflect in his character. he would no longer have the helping hand and that anchor to ground him. the very fundamentality of merlin would suffer greatly.

[czenzo]

On the Hunt – Chapter I

[ao3] chapter links: [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ]

summary: After Simon gets bitten in an unfortunate run-in with a werewolf, he and Penny desperately search for a cure before the upcoming full moon can force him to undergo an excruciating transformation. Lycanthropy comes with many other side effects, however – and not only is Simon soon to experience them, but Baz will surely be dragged into the mess, too.

words: 1685 rating: M

note: it's funny how my brain can only provide me with multi-chap fic ideas when I'm procrastinating something. sorry to the half-written essay that had to watch as I churned this baby out in one sitting!

BAZ

It’s a little after eleven p.m. when Snow shows up at our room covered in blood.

He stumbles inside, a complete and utter mess. It’s awful timing, because I was just about to make a really good point in my essay on 1930s Magickal History before the door slammed open and I lost my train of thought.

“Baz,” he says.

“Snow,” I reply, and then the thick scent of the blood makes my fangs pop. It’s Simon’s; I can tell straight away. My mouth is uncomfortably full as I turn with a grimace and say, “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Wolf,” he pants, and I hear him stumble over to his bed as I take deep breaths and practically beg for my fangs to retract – I know Snow is already fully aware of my vampirism, but I’m not giving him the damn satisfaction of getting solid proof.

He’s probably a bit too preoccupied to notice either way, though.

I slowly turn around in my chair to find him sprawled out on his bed, chest heaving. I scan the length of his body to find the source of the blood, and the second my eyes fall on the wound, I wonder how the hell I hadn’t spotted it before – it’s a bloody nasty sight (pun unintended). Beneath where Snow’s hand clutches at the torn fabric at his waist is a very obvious bite mark, surrounded by a plethora of scratches of varying depths. With every rapid breath Snow takes, more blood gushes out, and– Merlin, it’s fucking abysmal.

There’s a knock at the door, and before I can even turn to look at it, Penelope Bunce walks in, wearing her pyjamas.

“Penny?” Snow gasps.

“Bunce, what in the world are you–”

“Simon!” she cries, and rushes to crouch at his bedside. I stand and make my way across the room to look over her shoulder, and I can’t help but notice that the punctures in Snow’s skin look significantly smaller than when I just last saw them.

“Penny, how– why–?” Crowley, he can’t even finish a full sentence.

“I knew something was wrong. I can’t explain it, I just knew I had to get over here. Now sit still.”

Bunce becomes an encyclopedia of healing spells, every single one under the sun spilling from her mouth as she leans over Snow – Get Well Soon, Early to Bed and Early to Rise, Good As New – she says them so fast they almost sound like one singular incantation. They do little to heal the wound itself, but Snow admittedly looks considerably better once he’s no longer caked in blood. It also helps that I’m no longer fighting for my life with my fangs.

“Care to share the mess you got yourself into tonight?” I ask, one eyebrow raised. I’m surprised at how calm I’m able to remain, but Snow’s breathing has steadied now, and when he slowly moves his hand away from his waist, I wonder if the blood made the bite look far worse than it actually was. It barely looks like anything now.

“Wolf attacked me,” Snow says simply. He’s staring at the ceiling, blatantly avoiding eye contact.

“A wolf?” Bunce says incredulously.

“I think it was were.”

“A werewolf?”

“I mean– I think so,” Snow hauls himself upright with a helping hand from Bunce, and for a moment he just sits and stares at his shredded shirt. “It’s not a full moon, though. Maybe it was just a wolf.”

“Werewolves don’t need a full moon to transform,” I scoff, and at the same time Bunce says, “Watford doesn’t have normal wolves, Simon.”

“Oh.”

“How in Morgana’s name did you get yourself bitten by a werewolf, Simon?”

“I was following Ba–” He stops talking mid-sentence and makes eye contact with Bunce.

“I know you follow me to the Catacombs and back, Snow. Don’t start getting all coy about it.”

“You took a detour on the way back to Mummers and I lost you and then… got lost. And then I bumped into a wolf – a werewolf – whatever it was, I don’t care, but it fucking bit me.”

I took a detour because I knew he was behind me and thought it would be funny to mess with him, but I don’t admit this out loud. I’m feeling more guilt than amusement, now. I look back down to the bite on his waist.

“Snow,” I say, slowly. “Where’s the bite mark?”

“It’s–” He looks down to where it is – or rather, where it was – and pauses.

“It’s gone,” Bunce says. Way to state the obvious.

SIMON

Well, that confirms it.

I got bitten by a bloody werewolf, and its effects have already kicked in. I’ve got to admit, rapid healing is a pretty cool feature, but the whole transforming-into-a-rabid-animal thing doesn’t sound so appealing.

It was a nightmare trying to make it back to Mummers House in one piece, but now that I think about it, the wounds had probably already started healing themselves before I scrambled up off the floor of the Wavering Wood. The pain reached its peak as I climbed the stairs and then faded into numbness by the time I burst through the door of our room.

I didn’t miss how Baz’s mouth looked unusually full as he spoke to me. It’s funny that he thinks dramatically turning away would distract me from the fact his actual fangs just descended out of nowhere. He’s always doing things dramatically, it’s ridiculous.

Speaking of dramatic – that’s exactly what I’m bordering on once we realise that it was an actual werewolf that sunk its teeth into me. I try to remember when the next full moon is, then realise I know absolutely nothing about the moon’s cycles.

“Six days,” Baz says, as if he read my mind. (Can vampires read minds?) (I should ask Penny. Some other time, though. Preferably not one where I’m losing my humanity.) “Until the next full moon.”

“Didn’t need to say it so ominously.”

“I don’t think that’s what you should be focusing on right now, Snow.”

“Shut up, the both of you.” Penny loosens her hair from its sleep-messed bun and goes through the motions of retying it. She messes with her hair a lot while she’s thinking, which explains why it’s never really that neat. “We need to come up with a solution to this. Find a cure, or something.”

Baz scoffs. “A cure?”

“We’re not leaving Simon as a bloody werewolf, Baz. The library will be full of relevant information, but it’ll take me an age to get through it all myself even with the help of magic. We’ll split up the responsibilities, and hopefully we can sort something out before the full moon.”

“What’s the rush?”

“I don’t want to transform into a fucking wolf, Baz.” He holds his hands up in a pathetic pretence of an apology. I scowl at him and turn to Penny. “There’ll be quite a bit of stuff online, yeah? Isn’t worth looking at that, too?”

Penny gives me a look, then turns and exchanges one with Baz. That’s never happened before, and it makes me feel a bit queasy.

“The internet is full of rubbish, Simon. The library is the place to be.”

“Will the library tell me how the hell a werewolf was roaming about like that when it isn’t a full moon?”

Both Baz and Penny are prone to rapidly answering questions to prove how smart they are, so for a second there really is a toss-up as to who will beat the other to it.

Baz does. “Adrenaline,” he says. “During the days surrounding a full moon, spikes in heart rate can trigger a premature transformation. They’re preventable if emotions are kept in check, but the final one on the night of the full moon isn’t. Obviously.”

Obviously. I’m looking straight at Penny, but I can still feel Baz’s eyes boring into me.

Spikes in adrenaline, eh? Perfect. I bet it’ll be a walk in the park for me, of all people, to avoid one of those. (I’m being sarcastic, if you couldn’t tell. Bursts of energy, going off – that’s sort of my ‘thing’.)

I reach for the cross around my neck, hoping to grab it and ground myself with the feeling of its edges digging into my skin, but my hand closes around thin air. I look down to find it’s gone, I must have lost it in the woods. Brilliant.

“I hate to say it, but we’re not going to get away with sneaking into the library at this hour,” Penny says with a sigh as she looks at her watch. “I’ll head back and see what I can find in my own books, and then tomorrow we spend every waking hour between lessons combing the library. Okay?”

Baz blinks. His eyebrows are halfway up his forehead. “We?”

“Yes, all three of us.”

“The more, the merrier,” I grumble.

“May as well invite Wellbelove along at this point.”

The yelp that escapes me is proper embarrassing. “No!”

“Steady on, Snow,” Baz frowns down at me. “What, did you end things on bad terms?”

“Agatha just… doesn’t need to know.”

“Enough about Agatha,” Penny says. “Maybe we can find a way to get her to help without explicitly telling her the reason. I don’t know – we can think about it in the morning. For now, Simon, you need rest.”

Sleep had been the last thing on my mind, but now that Penny’s mentioned it, I realise I’m completely shattered. It’s like my eyelids had forgotten they were supposed to be feeling heavy until the word ‘rest’ was spoken aloud.

Penny leaves soon after, and Baz retreats to his side of the room to be all gloomy and mysterious and whatever – I don’t care. I’m still pissed off at him for getting me lost in the woods earlier. I don’t know how, but I bet he did it on purpose.

Baz Pitch has done a number of shitty things to me in the past, but making me get bitten by a werewolf takes the cake.

[pippin-katz]

Ooooo I’m in the minority for picking “Merlin with Arthur”

Lemme explain my reasoning:

Arthur definitely fell in love with Merlin right before or during 1x04 because duh, did you watch the episode?

But I think Merlin fell in love faster because he was already showing love signs by 1x02. The way he smiles when Arthur says he believes him is precious.

He seems a combination of surprised, impressed, and affectionate; he probably expected Arthur to brush him off but he didn’t. I think it’s the first time Merlin sees the “good person” in him; the prince who has no reason to listen to him or hold his words at any value actually believes him.

Merlin is also already willing to risk exposing himself to save Arthur. He tries his hardest to convince him not to fight, even after Arthur yelled at him, because he believes he’ll die.

Then he spends the entire night learning that spell, literally not sleeping. Once he gets it, he sprints down to the dueling pitch and uses it.

Boy if you don't put your damn hand down. You weren't pointing at the dog when you successfully casted the first time, you had your eyes freaking closed!!

Literally anyone could've seen this shit, and he would've been screwed.

I do think that Arthur started falling in love here too, but was far too busy with his daddy issues to truly fall in love until 1x04. I think these GIFs kinda sum it up pretty well:

Merlin insults a fucking knight right in front of him:

Arthur genuinely fucking laughs despite that pretty much being a crime:

Merlin sees him laugh and smiles, which makes Arthur immediately go back to "prince talking to peasant" mode:

Everything about Arthur's body and facial language in the last GIF screams: "Shit, he caught me laughing at him and he's smiling at me, quick, pretend like you don't care."

And I am serious about him being busy with daddy issues this episode. Uther pretty much called his own son a liar and a coward in front of the royal court. Arthur's definitely hurt and upset by it, because his own father didn't trust him, and actually believed that he would make up an accusation of magic to get out of a duel.

I think they were definitely both in love by The Poisoned Chalice. That whole episode makes so damn sense when you try to ignore all the implications.

Merlin drinks what he knows is poison just to stop Arthur from drinking it. I honestly don't know what his plan was, because he knew he was going to either get sick or literally die from whatever kind of poison was in there. Did expect Gaius to be able to cure him? Or did he straight up not care if he died, just because Arthur lived? Given that he tells Arthur to leave the flower behind when he's in the cave, I'm thinking it was the latter.

Arthur goes on a suicide mission by himself to get the cure. When he finds out from Gaius that the only way to save Merlin is to get the flower, he immediately chooses to do it, but I think what's interesting is the scene after this where he's arguing with Uther about it. He says "Let me take some men", implying that he wasn't going to go alone. Having knights with him pretty much would've guaranteed he would survive, but obviously Uther says no. He decides to go anyway, and by himself.

What was his plan? Go and get the flower or die trying? And he would have died if Merlin hadn't been able to help him with his magic! Despite being that close to dying himself, he still gets the flower before escaping.

This is the kind of dedication to another person that is used in canon couples of every genre. They haven't known each other that long at this point. At the most generous estimate, maybe a month. Episode two takes place the day after the first because it's Merlin's first day as his servant. Between episodes two and four, it's probably been a few weeks. That is not a long time to know someone, and yet these two are legitimately okay with risking their lives for one another.

This post ended up going for way longer than I meant it to. To summarize: Merlin fell first, Arthur fell harder. Thank you for reading!

[trellwords]

fic scrap, douxie & merlin, 2200 words; cw: background homophobia

How utterly stupid he’d been, thinks Douxie as he meets Merlin’s eyes over Guerdred’s shoulder, to assume that Merlin wouldn’t be back before late.

In which Douxie gets caught with a boy.

———

Two years into his stay at Camelot, Douxie meets a boy.

The boy is one of Lancelot’s squires—Guerdred, tall, dark, and handsome—and Douxie is stupid, stupid when Guerdred talks to him, stupid when Guerdred looks at him, stupid in the songs he starts writing just for Guerdred to hear. (He doesn’t tell that to Guerdred, of course.) Archie notices and asks, “What’s the matter with you?” but Douxie just shakes his head and says he doesn’t know, because he doesn’t; he’s never felt like this before. Never gotten tongue-tied at someone’s smile, never spent hours distracted by the thought of the next time they’ll meet, never had dreams about someone that make him blush just to remember, for no reason he can readily name.

He’d like to blame it on magic, but he’s felt magic, and magic isn’t like this. (Music is, sometimes; when he’s alone with it in his head, when there’s nothing between him and the strings—those times feel a great deal like this. Like he’s soaring, weightless and glowing, racing ahead of himself.)

He finds it in himself to be even more stupid when he and Guerdred spend an evening up on the battlement trading a bottle of wine, meandering through hours of conversation. Guerdred watches the sun sink against the water, but all Douxie remembers from that evening is Guerdred: Guerdred bathed all over in gold, Guerdred’s lips around the mouth of the bottle, Guerdred’s hand mere inches away from his own. If someone were to ask him what time of day it’d been Douxie would have to deduce the answer from circumstance, because surely he didn’t look away from the other boy once.

When he gets back to his room that night he puts Archie firmly out in the hall, and jerks himself off with shaking hands, his back against the door. He tries not to think about what he’s doing, but all that does is make him think about Guerdred: Guerdred’s lips, Guerdred’s hands, Guerdred doing this to him instead of himself . . . Douxie comes hard enough that it leaves him weak in the knees, and afterward feels dirty and disgusted and really unspeakably good.

It’s a little hard to face Guerdred again after that.

Even if Douxie tells himself it must’ve been the wine, or something in the air, or any number of other excuses he invents for himself, he can’t quite escape having had that particular fantasy. He knows now why Guerdred makes him feel giddy and flustered and high, and it’s surely because there’s something wrong with him, because he shouldn’t feel this way about a boy.

But then, there’s always been something wrong with him. Douxie has magic in his veins and music in his head, and maybe wanting a boy in the way he’s supposed to want girls is just part of whatever went wrong in him at the start. He thinks he could live with that; it’s much the same with his magic, after all. Magic is difficult, and he can’t even reach it without his bracelet, and still every time he casts a spell all the suffering is worth it, because there’s nothing in the world that feels the same. If he only feels this way about boys he’ll take it, and it’s only what Guerdred might think that makes him worried. Guerdred already has reason enough to deride him (not that he does); Guerdred is training to be a knight, and Douxie is trying to become a wizard, and what would Guerdred think if he found out about this?

He tries to watch what he says and does around Guerdred, after that, to not be so terribly obvious now that he knows what he knows. He’s not very good at it. Try as he might Guerdred still brings out the fool in him, makes him laugh and blush and want to write more songs, determined to translate Guerdred into sound. The chiming ditty that came to him the other night, that’s Guerdred’s smile; the slower plucked melody, that’s the way Douxie feels when Guerdred declines joining the rest of the squires for a night on the town in favor of drinking alone with him, as if Douxie’s company is worth all of theirs. How can Douxie hide how he feels, when it keeps escaping out through his lute?

And then—four months into their knowing each other—Guerdred drags Douxie behind the stables, and kisses him.

Douxie is so startled he actually drops his lute, and has to break away from the kiss (the kiss, Guerdred’s kiss, kissing him!) to make sure the instrument isn’t damaged. “Sorry,” he gasps, “sorry, I really do want to, I just need to make sure it’s all right—” and Guerdred laughs and promises to make him forget the lute, nearly causing Douxie to drop it again.

The instrument is fine, and Douxie has his first time right there behind the stables, lute set aside and arms wound around Guerdred’s neck. He’s so nervous and excited he’s trembling, and when Guerdred jerks them off together Douxie buries his face against Guerdred’s shoulder and comes embarrassingly fast, unable to hide how Guerdred affects him.

It’s amazing, and after that he’s so caught up in the rush—in the discovery that Guerdred feels about Douxie the way Douxie feels about him; that he wants Douxie in the same way, even though he’s a boy—that Douxie doesn’t do much thinking at all. Every time he has a free evening he sneaks down to the squires’ barracks or the stables or wherever Guerdred might be that day, and Guerdred returns the favor, wandering past Merlin’s workshop and sneaking inside if a cursory glance confirms that Merlin is out. Now that the line has been crossed they can’t keep their hands off each other, and Douxie spends his days in a rosy haze, drifting dreamily between stolen kisses.

Archie knows, of course. That much is inevitable, even given that Douxie sends him away when he goes to see Guerdred, and Archie clears out if Guerdred arrives himself. But Archie is Douxie’s familiar, not to mention a cat; whatever else might happen, Douxie knows that he can trust Archie with his life, with any and all of his secrets. Archie won’t give him away, won’t think less of him for what Douxie and Guerdred are doing—even if he does make sardonic comments about how much more often Douxie drops things when Guerdred is around.

Merlin, though—

Maybe being around Guerdred makes Douxie stupid, but he still knows better than to let Merlin find out about them. He can’t let any other human in Camelot know, and however much he may trust Merlin in everything else the thought of what the wizard might do if he finds out about this scares Douxie witless. Probably Merlin wouldn’t send him to the executioner—Douxie would like to believe that much—but he’d surely throw him back out in the street, refuse to teach him a minute longer.

Douxie doesn’t want to lose his shot at becoming a wizard for anything, not even Guerdred.

So he does try to be careful; sends Guerdred away if he ever comes by when Merlin is near, and never lingers with him at the workshop, stealing away elsewhere for their intimate sojourns. It works, for a while.

But, well.

Guerdred does make him stupid.

Thus it comes to pass that when Guerdred comes around one summer night when Merlin is out conferring with Arthur Douxie decides to take the risk, and lets Guerdred inside the workshop. Merlin and Arthur will likely be busy for hours yet, and Merlin will doubtless go back to his quarters after; the chances that he’ll come back here tonight are slim. Douxie has work yet to do—putting away newly-arrived jars of herbs in the stores—and so for a while Guerdred merely sits on a nearby crate and talks to him, watching Douxie work. (Watching Douxie, and Douxie likes that, too: likes the way Guerdred looks at him, the places where Guerdred’s eyes linger, the way it makes him feel altogether different from the awkward lanky mess he knows himself to be.)

He finishes his task quickly, and Guerdred stops hanging back. He gets into Douxie’s space, and Douxie slings his arms across Guerdred’s shoulders and laughs as Guerdred walks him back against the wall, tilting his head to let Guerdred kiss at his neck.

And if Douxie were thinking at all—if he were capable of thinking, with Guerdred’s hands on him—he would have stopped them there, and escaped with Guerdred to somewhere truly secluded. But in the gathering dusk the storeroom feels perfectly safe and out-of-the-way, miles distant from the bustling courtyards, the well-lit workshop; no one comes down here besides Douxie and Morgana and Merlin, and Merlin’s busy with Arthur and Morgana is out of Camelot altogether, away on a trip to Rheged. Tonight, this place is surely for Douxie and Guerdred alone.

He’s cured of that illusion by the creak of the storeroom door.

Its terrible sound cuts through the warm haze of Guerdred’s kisses, making Douxie freeze. Guerdred’s right hand is under his shirt, his left working open the third button at Douxie’s collar, and there is—Douxie realizes in the awful, crystal-clear moment before the door swings open—no way to pretend they’ve been doing anything else.

How utterly stupid he’d been, thinks Douxie as he meets Merlin’s eyes over Guerdred’s shoulder, to assume that Merlin wouldn’t be back before late.

The weight of the door makes it bang against the wall. Guerdred jolts back from Douxie like he’s been burned, eyes going round; Douxie stays frozen in place, unable to move or think or breathe. His back is pressed against the stone wall behind him, his half-undone shirt hanging askew, and Merlin is just as frozen as he is, staring at them from where he’s towering in the doorway.

Douxie is done for. He knows it, and somewhere far away the part of him that’s still capable of cogent thought is screaming hysterically that he’s thrown away everything, just for this, all because he can’t control himself around Guerdred.

Guerdred, the only one among them who seems to have retained the capacity for speech, stammers, “I—we—we weren’t—” He puts his hands up, then sharply drops them, as though where he puts his hands now might change the fact that he’d had them all over Douxie.

Merlin looks at Guerdred, and says, “Get out.”

Guerdred doesn’t have to be told twice. He throws a glance back towards Douxie, which Douxie avoids, and bolts for the door. Merlin steps aside to let him through; Guerdred sidles past in a rush, plainly trying to keep the maximum possible distance between himself and the master wizard. Douxie and Merlin are left alone in the room, Douxie motionless against the wall, Merlin still at the entrance.

Out in the workshop the outer door slams, and that’s when Merlin turns on him. “You idiot boy,” he hisses, and the furor in his voice makes Douxie shrink back against the wall. “What if it had been anyone other than me?”

Which—isn’t the tack that Douxie’s expecting. “What?” he croaks, in a very small voice.

Merlin barrels on. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Had I suspected you were so eager to have your head separated from your shoulders, I would have let Galahad do it back then, and saved us both the trouble!” His staff bangs against the floor, furious emphasis. “Damn it, boy, there are some kinds of stupid you don’t have to be!”

“I—” Douxie struggles to scrounge up anything more complex than monosyllables, barely able to process what Merlin is saying. He’s not at all sure that he’s heard correctly. “Sir, I don’t . . .”

“I don’t give a whit as to what, or whom, you do in your spare time,” says Merlin bluntly, and Douxie is overcome by a wave of embarrassment so hot that for a moment it drowns out even the cold tide of his fear, a flush racing up his neck into his face. “But I expect you to have the good sense not to get caught, never mind getting caught here! Have you any idea of the danger you’re putting all of us in? Of the repercussions on wizardry, if you’re found to be doing what you’ve been doing while you are my apprentice, and in this very tower?”

The words are like being doused with ice water. Fear regains the upper hand, and Douxie gets out, “No—no, sir,” stricken. “I’m sorry, Master, I wasn’t—I didn’t—” He can’t seem to catch his breath, squeezed into a vise between terror and humiliation.

“Didn’t think? Yes, I can tell that much.” Merlin is savagely acerbic. His gaze flicks down to Douxie’s collar, and Douxie is suddenly, excruciatingly aware of the bruises that Guerdred has left there, no doubt already turning dark. (He wishes his hands would stop shaking, so that he could do up the buttons. He wishes he could melt through the floor.) “Next time you decide to risk everything for a halfwit with a sword, perhaps you’ll do more of that.”

[...]

[dancingsparks]

Make It Better

Thank you at the amazing @fictional for beta reading this as well as your comments and title ideas! 💙

Also on Ao3

Draco has the hiccups. Harry has the time of his life.

“Would you stop—” hiccup, “laughing? I swear to Merlin, Potter, I will—” Hiccup, again, and Harry is still laughing, immune to Draco’s glare. He gives up on talking, it’s not worth the effort since it’s clearly not working. While he usually thoroughly enjoys making Harry laugh, it’s a different matter entirely if it’s at his expense. Draco glares harder.

“You look adorable though, like a disgruntled kitten.” Harry looks far too pleased with himself at the comparison. Draco throws a pillow at him. He catches it easily, but he has enough grace to tone his laughter down to a wicked smirk.

“I might have some ideas, if you want this to end.” Draco wants that, desperately, and is about to say so when another hiccup reminds him to keep his mouth shut. Instead he settles on nodding, trying to make it look like he is the one doing Harry a favour in entertaining his ideas, but it’s probably too enthusiastic to be convincing. It doesn’t matter in the end; Harry knows him far too well to fall for even his most credible mask. It’s one of the things Draco loves about him, even if it does have its disadvantages.

Mercifully, Harry doesn’t tease him about his eagerness, although the still prominent smirk starts to worry Draco. It could mean great things, but if the smirk is aimed at him, like he is prey and Harry’s ready to pounce, it mostly means that Draco is going to seriously question why he hasn’t broken up with the git yet.

“A sure-fire way to cure you of this, or anything really, is to hold your breath for ten minutes.” Harry grins at him, waiting for Draco to get it. This is not what he expected at all, did he — ten minutes, of course. Hilarious.

Harry laughs again, enjoying his own joke more than Draco did and this time anticipating the pillow and ducking away. He delights in Draco’s suffering far more than would be decent. Draco tries to tell himself that his joy is not infectious, absolutely not. It doesn’t stop his own smile growing.

Until the next hiccup, that is, when Draco is rudely reminded that this is not fun and robbing all his amusement.

“Alright yes, in all seriousness though.” Draco doesn’t buy Harry’s sober face for a second. “Holding your breath is supposed to work.”

Yeah, right. As if Draco would actually — another hiccup.

This is becoming more and more irritating, testing Draco’s nerves. Draco has never been the most patient person; he was ready for this to end five minutes ago.

“No come on, we can do it together if you want.” Harry takes an exaggerated gulp of air, cheeks full and making him look like a greedy hamster. It’s stupid and adorable and Draco doesn’t mind playing along. But he refuses to puff up like this, he will do this with dignity or not at all.

It turns out rather more boring than Draco thought it would be, sitting here with nothing to do but keeping some air in his lungs.

Harry still looks ridiculously charming, staring right back at him.

Draco really should be over this by now, but every once in a while he is stunned by how beautiful Harry is. There are his eyes of course, that thrilling green sending chills down his spine; his messy hair that is exactly as soft as it looks, and Draco could spend hours braiding. His lips permanently chapped because Harry can’t stop biting them; the scar on his forehead from when they got incredibly drunk and thought fiddling with hair straighteners would be a brilliant idea — Draco is ripped out of his reverie by another hiccup, shooting through him and breaking his focus.

“Well that clearly didn’t work.” Such a shame, Draco would have been perfectly fine with that darn pest quietly disappearing.

“Don’t pout, we can try again, and you can gaze at me some more.” Smug prick, as if Draco had been the only one somewhat caught up.

“It clearly didn’t help, so unless you want a chance to stare at me some more, I don’t see why I should have to do this again.” That was either the best or the worst thing to say, because Harry lights up at it, grinning at him full of promise.

“You know I always love staring at you.” They have been dating for five years now, and Draco is still getting flustered when Harry flirts with him. It’s supremely unfair, considering Harry never blushes in public just because Draco kissed him on the cheek.

“Oh! Do you know what I would love to watch you do?” He is back to smirking, that smirk that means that he intends on making Draco blush and stutter and lose all composure. Harry has a delightfully filthy mouth and a vivid imagination — Draco is pretty sure he knows where this is going. “Pull on your tongue.”

Draco was wrong. He had no idea where this was going. Still doesn’t really. “Excuse me?” (Draco hopes that hiccup sounded indignant and didn’t ruin the effect.)

“I thought you wanted to get rid of them,” Harry gestures vaguely at him, mildly insulting actually though he clearly means the hiccups. “This is how you do it.”

“That’s what you said about holding my breath, too.” There is no way Draco is going to pull out his tongue, Harry would never let him live it down.

“Yeah but I have more data now. I can judge the situation better.” It sounds almost convincing when Harry says it like that, as if curing hiccups is a science and easily done when enough clues are gathered. More likely he just wants to see Draco make a fool out of himself.

“You will forgive me when I tell you that I highly doubt that.” Harry’s smile falls and he affects a heavy sigh. And people call Draco dramatic!

“Fine, not that one then. What else, let me think … yes! Take a deep breath, close your mouth and nose, and then exhale!” Draco is sure that will look even more ridiculous than the breath-holding-thing Harry suggested.

Maybe, if he approaches this right, Draco won’t be the only gathering blackmail material today.

“Not sure I understand that one, how are you supposed to close your nose — and then exhale?” Keeping the smirk hidden under an innocent expression is something Draco mastered long ago, he only hopes Harry won’t look too closely. He doesn’t, almost bouncing in his excitement that Draco appears to be considering his idea. Good.

“It sounds more complicated than it is, you just have to — I’ll show you, then you’ll get it.” This time Draco allows himself a triumphant smirk, almost not bothered by the hiccup reminding him of why they are doing this.

Just as before, Harry takes a deep breath, cheeks blown wide. Then he pinches his nose, closes his eyes and seems to blow up even more. That is probably the exhaling part of it then. As hoped, this is better than the hamster from before, much more entertaining. The only thing missing is steam shooting out of his ears, otherwise the picture is perfect.

Draco can’t keep his laugh down anymore, bubbling up in him and breaking free as he watches Harry trying harder and harder, forehead wrinkling and hunching in on himself.

The sound startles Harry out of his trance-like state, looking around with wild eyes until they settle on Draco. Harry is flabbergasted for a regrettably short moment, before melting into a fond smile that Draco doesn’t mind either.

“Glad to see you had fun.” Harry’s tone is dry, but it doesn’t conceal his affection.

Draco is about to answer, when he learns that laughter and hiccups don’t mix well, leaving him gasping for air and unable to think of a suitable comeback.

“You deserved that I’d say. Had you just done what I graciously proposed you could be free and, like me, completely unplagued.” Of course Harry would find a way to turn this on Draco, of course.

“Well since I am already plagued, and now know with certainty how stupid it looks,” Harry rolls his eyes at him, “there is no chance to convince me to do this.”

Harry frowns at him, either in thought or in discontent, before his face clears and he jumps up, shouting a be right back over his shoulder and runs out of the room. Another insipid idea, most likely. Draco really hopes this one works. He’s grown tired of these hiccups.

When Harry comes back, holding a glass up triumphantly, Draco feels his hopes sinking. He doesn’t know what mysterious cure-all he expected, but surely one glass of water cannot be of much help.

“You have to drink this, tiny sips and nose pinched. And you better do it too, because I can’t be the only one looking like a moron.” Harry grins at him, that charming grin no one can say not to, and holds the glass out to him. Draco takes it, begrudgingly and sure to let him know that.

Drinking while pinching one’s nose is easier said than done. It’s practically impossible to drink without tilting the head in an extreme manner, because the hand is in the way of lifting the glass high enough. It results in a lot of spluttering and coughing and does absolutely nothing against the hiccups.

It is also vastly entertaining to Harry, convulsed with laughter while Draco tries to reach the water. Draco might have played the struggle up a little, just to see him laugh.

“This isn’t working, Potter.” He didn’t expect it to, not really, and no matter how much he enjoys hearing Harry laugh, he does want to get rid of this.

“Maybe if you would actually give it some time it would. This could take a while, you know.” Harry might have a point there, but Draco doesn’t have the patience to try stupid things for an hour just in case they stop being stupid later on. He also suspects Harry doesn’t want him to keep going because he seriously thinks it will help.

“I’m sure this has nothing to do with your desire to laugh at me some more.”

“Absolutely not!” Harry doesn’t even pretend to believe that, grinning widely and clearly more than fine with laughing at Draco for the entire day. “But you could also try drinking normally, of course, just from the opposite side of the glass.”

Draco doesn’t know why he tried, he doesn’t believe that it will work and he is aware it will look ridiculous, but he tries it anyway. Maybe because it’s Harry suggesting it, maybe because he is that desperate, maybe because he, despite everything, quite enjoys their experiments. Not that any of this matters; none of it is a new discovery and while never said out loud, Harry is well aware of his influence on Draco.

Apparently strong enough to be directly responsible for Draco spilling an entire glass of water on his shirt. There’s a very good reason people don’t usually drink like that, tipping it up under ones chin feels awkward, looks even worse and will only result in the water flowing down the neck at the first hiccup to rattle the fragile construction.

Draco should have expected that. He didn’t. Harry did, though, completely unsympathetic and laughing again.

That’s it, no matter how much Draco loves to make him laugh, there has to be a line somewhere. There are also more dignified ways, he has a weakness for terrible jokes that Draco usually refuses to tell but look rather appealing now.

“Don’t pout, Draco. I’m sorry, alright? I promise I will stop laughing.” Harry does an admirable job of trying to suppress his laughter. He doesn’t succeed, swinging between manic giggles and a somber expression. Draco is not going to forgive him that easily.

“I’m going to get a new shirt and you better think of a way to make this disaster up to me.” Harry sits up straight, laughter replaced by a smirk. Draco freezes.

“I already have an idea for that. There is something else they say cures hiccups.”

As if summoned, Draco hiccups. They both ignore it.

“If you still want to try, that is.” When has Harry gotten this close? He is leaning far into Draco’s space, breathing on his face, staring at his lips. Well, Draco is not going to give up trying now.

He leans forward to meet Harry in a kiss, not even caring if it helps with the hiccups. It probably will. There is little Harry’s kisses can’t fix.

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Ooooh!! # 21 again plz and thanks!

Here is Part 2 of a request I had received and written before! You can find part one in the link below:

Part One

Continuation of #21

"No, I want to speak with Hermione Granger. Floor four, her office number is four fifty s- no I dont want to speak with a consulting Healer I want Hermione!"

Harry was currently bent over, yelling into the floocall he had with St Mungos, getting more frustrated than he really should've. Hermione was not only one of the best Healers in the hospital, but was still hounded by people who only wanted to meet her for her part in the war. There were security measures in place for her own protection, which Harry understood, but he needed to see her now.

"Harry," Draco began in a sing-song tone, and Harry whipped his head around quickly. He was currently standing on a stool with one foot, the other kicked upward as if to help him balance or reach, and he had his hands searching the very top of the bookcase he was standing in front of. Harry was pretty sure the only thing up there was dust, but Draco seemed pretty happy. "Harry, look! I found it!"

"You found what, Draco?" Harry asked, also listening with one ear as the nurse explained for the third time why she couldnt just fetch The Hermione Granger. Draco began to wobble on the stool causing Harry to shoot up quickly, racing over and catching Draco as he fell from the stool. Once Draco was safely in his arms, the man began to giggle profusely.

"You- ha- you caught me!" He giggled again, standing before leaning against Harry and placing a hand against his forehead. "Like I was a damsel in distress!"

"You're not exactly a damsel, Draco," Harry mumbled before hearing 'Hello? Sir? Is this a good time?' from the floo. Harry took a deep breath, pulling Draco to sit on the couch before kneeling back down in front of the floo. "No, it's not a good time! That's why I need Hermione Granger!"

"Sir, it's just that-"

"I understand the rules! But I'm Harry Potter, I am her best fucking friend and I have an emergency!"

"Harry, dont you want to know what I've found?" He glanced back quickly to see Draco standing with his hands behind his back, pouting.

"Why do you keep getting up?"

"Sir?"

"Sorry, just, please. Just deliver the message. Immediately. It's an emergency and Harry needs her. I'll be at my house." Harry reached up, pulling the lever closed quickly and huffing loudly. He stood up, turning to see Draco's pout once more. "Of course, I would love to see what you have found, Draco."

Draco's face lit up as he pulled his hands from behind his back, shoving the item forward. He held a black picture frame with dust covering the glass, and Harry took it from him gently, his brow furrowing. Slowly, he wiped the dust from the frame and took in a deep breath.

He took a seat on the couch near him, placing a hand over his mouth as he studied the picture. It must've been one Sirius had when he lived here that had fallen and was forgotten, or was placed there to be out of the way. He watched a loop of all four mauraders, his father, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, all arm in arm. They were smiling and waving to the camera before tackling each other and yelling audioless words at each other. They seemed so happy, and so young. Probably just before their last year of Hogwarts.

"Did I make you sad?" Harry glanced up, only just realizing he felt tear tracks on his cheeks and that Draco was sitting very close next to him. Draco raised a hand and began rubbing his back, a small sad expression on his face. "I didnt want you sad. I wanted you to be happy like I was." Harry blinked a few times before clearing his throat and rubbing at his cheeks to clear them of tears. "That's your dad right?"

"Yeah, that's my dad. I'm not sad, but the way. It's- uh, its happy tears." He watched a bright smile cross Draco's face before the man quickly leaned over and gave Harry a full body hug.

"Harry Potter, I swear to Merlin- if you've harrassed my poor nurse just because you want to complain about your incessant pining- what the fuck?" Hermione was stepping through the floo, speaking before she even fully exited the green flames. Her hair was a mess (or more of a mess than usual), and her clothes were wrinkled as if she just finished another 24 hour work shift at the hospital- and her current facial expression was a mix of tired, surprised, and guilty. "Malfoy is hugging you?"

"Oh! Granger! You look so tired, I think you should get some sleep!" Draco jumped up from the couch, rushing to her and smoothing his hands against her shoulders to smooth out some wrinkles. She looked incredulous, studying him for a moment before looking back at Harry.

"What happened to Malfoy?"

"I think someone put some kind of drug or potion in his coffee. He's been acting-" Harry hesitated, watching as Draco wandered off and picked up a knick knack from the shelf, beginning to play with it. "Well- yeah."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, shaking her head at him before rushing back over to Draco and plastering on a large smile. "Oh, Draco darling. I don't need sleep, I'm perfectly fine!"

"Oh you're so happy!" Draco cheered, grinning, before hugging her. She held him tightly, leaning in to smell his neck before pushing him away and withdrawing her wand.

"You know what would make me so happy?" Draco widened his eyes, nodding for the response. "Waving my wand around and scanning for people's well being! You know, since I'm a healer and all."

"Of course!" Draco agreed, smiling brightly and setting the knick knack back down.

"May I?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows as her smile calmed a bit, her demeanor shifting more serious.

"Yes, please!" He spread his arms out, grinning as she waved her wand in front of him. Draco suddenly glanced at Harry, smiling wide. "Look Harry! We're having so much fun!"

Harry stood, unable to keep a smile from his face while seeing Draco so happy. "So much fun, Draco." He walked closer as Hermione finished her scan, letting Draco know he could drop his arms. Draco bounced on the balls of his feet like an excited child, and Harry felt a rush of strong affection for the man. He loved seeing Draco so happy, but it hurt knowing that this wasn't actually him. Harry reached forward suddenly, wrapping his arms around Draco and holding him tightly against his chest. Draco responded positively, wrapping his arms around Harry and burying his face into Harry's chest.

"I've found it. It's an overly strong variation of a cheering potion, with added hawthorn." She glanced up at Harry, nodding. "It takes away impulse control, and reverts someone's consciousness to a simple childlike state. He wants to do what makes him happy, and he wants everyone else to be happy too. Though, I'm sure you've figured the symptoms out already."

Harry nodded quickly, moving one hand to make a 'hurry' gesture before replacing his hold on Draco. "Okay so the cure. A spell, a potion? How long will this take? Any long term effects?"

Hermione huffed, waving her wand to dissipate a floating chart and then nodded. "They brewed the potion poorly, and a typical cheering potion can be counteracted with the antidote. We have those on hand at the hospital. I'll run over and grab it and head back immediately. Give me a few minutes."

Hermione immediately left through the floo, and Harry took a deep breath. "Alright, Draco. We'll fix you soon. You'll be okay." He rubbed Draco's back for a moment, but after no response he decides to back up slightly and glance down at Draco. "Did you... want to do something? To like- make you happy?"

"I am happy," Draco mumbled, snuggling closer into Harry's chest. Harry took a deep breath, glancing up and trying to will the heat he felt in his cheeks to calm down.

"Let's go sit, okay?" He heard a mumbled reply and then nodded, pulling Draco over to the couch. Draco snuggled closer into Harry, and Harry found it hard to deny him this. It was only for a little bit anyway, right? Just until Hermione was back with the potion.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm the racing he felt in his chest. Draco's shampoo invaded his senses, making him dizzy, and he held Draco tighter to his chest. He felt butterflies in his stomach and heat in his cheeks, but kept repeatedly telling himself to calm down. Draco would never actually want to do this. Once he was back to normal, everything will be fine.

The floo wooshed again, Hermione stepping out of the flames. She took one look at them, raised an eyebrow, then set the bottle on the mantel and left. Harry sighed, shaking his head before reaching down to pat Draco's shoulder.

"Hey, Draco, I have something I need you to drink." Hatry glanced down, tilting his head when Draco didn't move immediately. "Draco?" He slightly pushed the man, who in return whined loudly and snuggled closer to him.

"I don't want to move! This is the best thing ever!" Draco tightened his hold, and Harry took a deep breath once again.

"Would you please drink it? For me?" Harry waited, and after a moment Draco lifted his head and nodded. "Alright, good. It's on the mantel over there."

"And after I drink it we can do this again?" He asked, pouting slightly. He sighed, smiling softly in return.

"If you still want to, of course." Harry spoke quietly, but Draco heard and smiled brightly, jumping up quickly. He raced to the mantel, taking the shimmering blue potion and uncorking the bottle, downing the whole thing.

It took a few moments, but Harry saw the reaction once the effect wore off. Draco calmed down infinitely, no longer looking like he was about to fall over or tackle someone. His face took on his typical masked expression, and Harry wondered what exactly he was thinking now.

"Thank you for your help," Draco mumbled quietly, placing the bottle down without looking back. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Draco grabbed a fistful of powder and flooed away immediately.

"Fuck." Harry let his head fall into his hands, clutching his hair between his fingers. "I'm so fucked."

[wordsablaze]

3~ Delirium

Magic and Misery Merlin might use magic to help Arthur but he rarely uses it to help himself, which leads to an awful lot of misery… written for whumptober, enjoy!

A/N: Second fic chapter but third day’s prompt, sorry for any confusion :p

-

Arthur was not having a great day.

Uther had lectured him about the competency of his knights for half an age over breakfast and naturally, that had put him in a terrible mood. Which meant that training with said Knights went terribly and his patience had worn thin by the time they’d returned from hunting.

On top of that, his stupid horse had decided to ride directly through a large puddle and soak his clothing, sending shivers down his spine every few minutes. 

All he wanted was a nice warm bath and a change of clothes.

But no.

He’s met with the rather disappointing sight of nothing when he pushes the doors to his chambers open.

No warm bath, no clothes laid out, and most annoyingly, no Merlin. 

“Merlin!” Arthur yells, frowning at the perfectly made bed.

No reply either. 

Arthur groans and stamps his foot in annoyance, scowling when that only results in water spraying over the floor underneath him. Enough is enough: if Merlin was too much of an idiot to remember his job, Arther would find him and forcibly remind him. 

“Merlin!” Arthur yells again as he marches through the castle, painfully aware of the wet trail he’s leaving behind him. 

He’s about to give up when he remembers Merlin’s earlier rambling about some new infection that Gaius wanted him to investigate. Taking a chance, he makes his way to Gaius’s study, absently grumbling the whole way there to try and make himself feel better. 

“Merlin?” he calls yet again, pushing the door open.

He sighs when there’s no reply, only the hint of worry settling into his mind as he steps inside and looks around. 

Undoing the clasp of his gauntlet, he frowns at the paperwork lying around until one piece of parchment catches his eye: a note of some sort. He almost feels guilty about intruding but then remembers that he all but owns the castle and gets over himself, picking it up.

It’s a note directed to Merlin, telling him Gaius is out of town to look for a remedy.

Weird.

If Gaius was out of town, why would Merlin be anywhere but attending to Arthur’s chores? 

With a frustrated groan, Arthur throws his gauntlet to the floor with an awful clanging noise that makes even him wince. 

But there’s something else.

He thinks he’s imagined it at first but no, someone had definitely whimpered at the clanging noise. Maybe it was Merlin from wherever he was hiding and Arthur can finally teach him how to do his job properly and not be so incompetent. 

“Merlin, out you come. I have had a downright terrible day and you are making it worse,” Arthur says, glancing around.

He’s met with only another whimper and what sounds like rapid mumbling. Frowning, he follows the sound and discovers his manservant curled up under a desk, hands over his ears and eyes squeezed shut.

Arthur blinks. “Merlin?”

Merlin curls further into himself and shakes his head. “No, no, please- go away!” 

“What kind of nonsense is that?”

Visibly flinching, Merlin rocks slightly. “Stop it, make it stop, I can’t- can’t help.”

“Uh, you can get me some warm clothes and a nice bath, actually.” The words feel wrong on Arthur’s tongue; something doesn’t feel right.

Merlin whimpers again, and something inside Arthur’s heart cracks a little. No matter how incompetent Merlin might be, he should never have to make such a dreadful noise because he’s bubbly and patient and pain doesn’t suit him at all.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks again, softer this time.

Again, Merlin refuses to acknowledge him and shakes his head. “No, no, stop it. Don’t pretend… I know Arthur’s not here, I know that much, please-”

The nagging worry from earlier expands to pure concern in Arthur’s mind and he kneels down as gently as possible for someone wearing armour. 

“Merlin, come on, it’s actually me. I’m-”

“-Not here. Not here, just like last time!” Merlin interrupts, abruptly throwing himself out from under the desk and darting out of the room. Arthur’s not even sure if he opened his eyes at all.

“Wait!” Arthur shouts, but Merlin doesn’t even slow, even as Arthur runs after him, his armour rattling as they make their way around the castle… back to Arthur’s room.

Even more confused, Arthur watches Merlin slip through a crack in the doors and slam them shut behind him, still talking to himself.

“Open the door, Merlin!” Arthur pushes but Merlin seems to finally found strength from somewhere inside those lanky limbs of his. Of all the times…

“Leave me alone! You’re not real!” Merlin yells back at him.

Arthur stills for a second as something occurs to him. 

Merlin must have caught the infection. Or whatever it was that he and Gaius were trying to cure. There’s no other explanation for Merlin to suddenly be acting so delirious. 

“Alright, then. If I wasn’t real, how would I know that you once tried to poison me with a rat that ate my boots?” 

Merlin whimpers from behind the door and Arthur hears a thudding sound, presumably Merlin sliding to the floor. 

“I don’t know, I don’t- I don’t know what I know!” Merlin cries, desperation laced in his tone. 

Arthur nods, even though there’s a door between them. “I know, you must have caught the sickness. But it’s okay, I can help. Just… Just open the door, will you?”

For a second, he thinks Merlin will listen, but then he hears another thud a muffled groan of pain. Followed by intense footsteps, as if Merlin is pacing, fast. 

“Merlin, please?” 

“No. No, no. You’re just… you’re in my head, of course you’d know that! I won’t let you in, I won’t let you kill me…”

Arthur’s blood freezes for just a second and he wonders what possible reason there could be for the idea of Merlin’s death to cause him so much panic. Probably because he’s freezing and no Merlin would mean no warm bath. It’s just the cold getting to him.

Either way, he needs to somehow fix this. 

“Enough of this!” Arthur clenches his jaw and steps back before kicking the door with everything he’s got. 

Merlin’s frightened yelp means he’s managed to throw the door open. 

Without missing a beat, Arthur storms over to Merlin and grabs his arms to stop him from lashing out in his panic. His eyes stay shut but Merlin struggles, another whimper falling from his lips as he tries to pull away from Arthur’s grip.

He looks awful, pale and unhealthy and close to toppling over. Arthur hates it. 

“Merlin, stop. I’m here, I’m not a hallucination,” Arthur whispers gently. 

Merlin shakes his head and opens his mouth to argue but Arthur clears his throat. “None of that, I’m not just in your head. Don’t be an idiot, Merlin; if I wasn’t real, how would I be touching you?

At that, Merlin freezes, his frown disappearing and his breathing slowing a little. Arthur doesn’t move until Merlin cracks his eyes open, blinking blearily. 

“Arthur?”

Arthur smiles. “Yes, you idiot. Were you expecting someone else?”

His eyes focusing, Merlin swallows nervously, heavily. “I- No. I thought- It wasn’t you last time and I… I don’t know to stop this.”

“Well, since you seem incapable of doing anything by yourself, maybe I should help?”

“Help?” Merlin questions blankly.

Before Arthur can make an indignant comment, Merlin’s eyes roll back and his arms go limp, his knees folding and his body slumping to the floor.

“Merlin!”

Later, Arthur would be embarrassed to think of himself sounding like a weak and worried girl but in the moment, all he thinks of is making sure Merlin doesn’t hurt himself as he hits the floor. 

He slides himself under Merlin and catches him so no harm comes to his head. It’s clear that Merlin has only fallen asleep, his skin still pale but his breathing normal. It’s a small relief to know that Merlin can’t suffer from any delusions when safely unconscious. 

As he shifts to pull Merlin closer - only to make himself more comfortable, of course - Arthur decides that if delirium were a person, he’d have murdered them in seconds. 

-

not proof-read due to lack of time so do lmk if there’s any blaring mistakes! 

-

like/reblog but please don’t repost, thanks! masterlist

[pufflyhallows]

Firestorm

Pairing: Sirius Black x reader

Request: Request?? If you do DO requests (haha doodoo), can you do one where any of the harry potter characters goes to the muggle world, and their is a mutant? I know, must be a stupid cross over, but they are completely fascinated by the mutant?? Thanks, ❤️❤️

a/n: Thank you for requesting, sweet anon. I really enjoyed writing this one, It’s probably one of my favourites. And I am really sorry but I couldn’t control myself, I had to add a tiny little bit of angst. What can I say? I’m a sucker for it. Hope you forgive me and still enjoy this :D 

Summary: Sirius meets a very special girl.

Warnings: language, alcohol

Word count: 3,438

*******

Sirius shut the door of his room as loud as he could. His mother was the biggest bitch he ever met in his entire life. He couldn’t handle that anymore, he needed some fresh air. After grabbing his jacket and his wand, he left the room shutting the door again. 

“Where are you going?” his brother asked when he walked down the stairs.

“It’s none of your business,” Sirius replied, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.

The cold wind of December brushed his face gently but sharply as he stepped on the sidewalk. He reminded himself mentally of never listening to his brother again. What was he thinking when he said yes to Regulus and went home for Christmas? He should’ve stayed in Hogwarts.

He walked in the dark night without a destination. Thoughts would come and go inside his head. He didn’t know where he should head to. It was impossible to go to Godric’s Hollow on foot and he also didn’t want to disturb the Potters with his problems during the Holidays. 

Sirius walked for hours, or at least that’s what it felt like. The wind was starting to stiffen his muscles and the tips of his fingers were becoming numb. Instinctively, he pulled the sleeves of his leather jacket in a failed attempt of warming his hands. He crossed his arms. He didn’t want to go back but he started to think he didn’t have a choice. It was too cold. But then it hit him. What was better than fur to warm up someone? 

As soon as he spotted an alley, Sirius transformed. It felt so much better. Every little part of his body was warm now and he could stay longer in the muggle London. When he was about to leave the alley, a girl walked past him into the lane. She was probably the same age as him, which would make him frown if he had that capacity. The young girl looked around and saw him. She looked relieved when he sat down, maybe she was afraid of dogs. She was shivering from the cold, so she approached an old barrel and opened her hand above it. Sirius would gasp if he could: fire came out from her hand, burning whatever there was inside the barrel. She lit a fire.

The girl stretched her arms around the fire, almost hugging it. Sirius was shocked but happy to find someone like him. She was just a witch, a very talented one, enjoying the muggle London night. So he transformed back.

“Hey,” he said behind her. 

The sudden noise, and so close to her, startled the girl. She turned around and met his eyes, visibly scared of him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said with a shy smile, “I’m just like you. I was that dog over there,” Sirius pointed at the spot he was sitting before.

The girl’s expression softened. She looked... excited.

“You’re a mutant too?” she smiled in disbelief, “I never truly believed there were others like me.”

“Mutant?” Sirius frowned, “No, I’m a wizard. What is a mutant?”

“Wizard?” the girl frowned as well.

They looked at each other and the girl stepped back. 

“How did you do that?” Sirius pointed at the barrel, “You’re telling me you’re not a witch?”

“Of course I’m not a witch,” the girl scoffed, “I just... do that.”

“You don’t have a wand?!” the boy asked like that was the most impossible thing in the world. 

“A wand?” she shook her head trying to put her thoughts in order, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this!” he took his wand from his pocket, “This is what allows me to do the same thing you did seconds ago. But I have to say a spell to do so.”

“A spell? Like magic?” she asked, starting to understand.

“Exactly! Magic is what makes it possible for me to turn into a dog or set things on fire,” he explained, “I’m sure it’s the same for you. Maybe you just gave it a different name.”

“But I can’t do both,” the girl whispered, “I can only do that,” and she pointed at the barrel.

Sirius was very confused but he was trying his best to understand the girl in front of him. 

“Maybe... Maybe it’s because you don’t have a wand," he guessed. However, the girl shook her head. 

“No. It’s because I’m a mutant,” she explained, “Each mutant has a special power and it’s always only one power. At least, that’s what they told me.”

“Who?”

“The doctors. They’re not really doctors but that’s how I call them,” she shrugged. 

Sirius didn’t know what to say. That was a very strange girl.

“What else can you do?” she asked.

“Anything, really,” he realized, “But I can’t outside of school.”

“School? You mean like a magic school?”

Sirius nodded. 

“Why can’t you do magic outside of school?” the girl questioned.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I guess they don’t trust us,” he replied, “Maybe they’re right because I was about to do it just to show you,” he chuckled lightly, “If a muggle saw it... Merlin, that would be a mess.”

“Muggle?” 

“Yeah, people who can’t do magic.” 

“So I’m a... muggle?” 

“I’m not sure,” he thought for a couple of seconds, “I guess you’re a mutant.”

The girl smiled. So did the boy. 

“I’ve heard there’s a special school for people like me too,” she told him, “But not here.”

“And why don’t you go there?” Sirius asked.

“Because it’s too far and my parents... they... my parents don’t understand me,” she mumbled.

“That makes two of us,” he gave her a sympathetic look.

They stared at each other until he realized. 

“I’m Sirius, by the way,” he held out his hand. 

“Y/N,” she shook it. 

“So, Y/N... what were you doing here alone?” 

“I needed some fresh air. My parents were arguing because of me again,” the girl sighed. 

Sirius couldn’t believe he could relate so much to someone he had just met.

“What about you?” Y/N asked. 

“Basically the same,” he replied.

“Your parents... they can do magic too?” 

“My entire family can. I’m a pureblood,” he told her.

“A pureblood,” she repeated, “I’m guessing that means you have no muggle relatives.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he smiled at her fast thinking. 

“Does that mean there are wizards with muggle parents?” 

“Yes. Muggleborns,” Sirius nodded.

“So that would be me,” she thought out loud, “Because my parents aren’t mutants.”

“There are also the half-bloods. They are the children of wizards and muggles,” he explained.

“I thought muggles couldn’t see magic,” Y/N said.

“They’re not supposed to but... I don’t know. I’m not the best person to explain it to you. You should meet my friend Remus.” 

“I’d love to, actually,” she smiled, “It feels so lonely, you know? I have to hide my gift from everyone. Only my parents and the doctors know. And now you. But the problem is: I can’t control it completely. Sometimes I set things on fire by accident. It’s terrible.” 

“It’s why we go to school. You should try to talk to your parents about it,” Sirius told her, “And that’s how you call it? Gift?” 

“That’s how the doctors call it. I don’t really know how to call it. ‘Power’ sounds too... scary,” she admitted.

“It’s your magic then,” the boy smiled. Y/N felt like someone finally understood her. 

“Do you wanna go somewhere less... dark and dirty?” she proposed.

“I would like that,” he nodded.

“I know a place where they don’t ask for your ID,” she started walking towards the street.

“ID?” 

“It’s a... you don’t have IDs?” she frowned but shrugged it off, “Well, that’s the least strange thing here. The ID is a document that tells your name, date and place of birth, etc. It’s how we prove we are old enough to go to a bar and stuff.”

“Oh. I think my wand works as my ‘ID’ but I’m not sure.”

When the two teenagers stepped on the sidewalk, they could finally see each other properly. Sirius was astonished. Y/N was certainly one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen in his entire life. He definitely didn’t expect her to be that gorgeous. 

Y/N didn’t expect Sirius to be so good-looking either. He had a very ‘bad boy’ style with his black leather jacket and his dark long hair, and she wasn’t gonna lie: she was into that. 

“So... Which way is it?” Sirius asked the girl. 

“This way,” she quickly started walking, being followed by the most interesting boy she ever met.

During their walk, they talked about their worlds. Sirius explained to her all about Hogwarts, his friends, his family, the Ministry, everything. And Y/N told him what being a mutant meant, all the science involved, how some mutants wanted a ‘cure’, everything. They were both mesmerized by each other’s existence but Sirius was feeling the affection growing inside him. 

“This is it,” she stopped. 

“A rock club,” Sirius read the sign, “I’ve heard muggleborns talking about places like this. They never went inside though.”

“It’s because we’re not old enough,” Y/N explained, “But they don’t ask for IDs here, so you just have to look old enough.” 

Y/N started messing her hair a little and told Sirius to do the same. Then she tied a knot on her shirt, making it short enough to show her bellybutton. She felt cold immediately but she knew it would be hot inside. 

“It’s a bummer I don’t have any lipstick with me. Red lips work their magic,” she joked. 

Sirius couldn’t talk, let alone laugh. He was too flustered by the view. Could that girl get any hotter during the night? 

“I think we’re good,” she said, “Now we just have to act cool to pass through the guard. Once we’re inside, no one will care.” 

Sirius assented and they walked through the door. The guard looked at them and Sirius nodded at him, feeling relieved when the guard nodded back without saying a word. They entered a hallway where muffled music could be heard and the excitement took over Sirius’ body as he realized it was the kind of muggle music he liked. When they finally got to the actual club, Y/N pulled him by his hand straight to the bar. 

“What do you drink?” she had to shout at his ear since the music was really loud.

“Firewhiskey,” he answered aware that she wouldn’t know what it was.

“Two beers!” she shouted at the bartender, who quickly grabbed two bottles and gave them to Y/N. She handed him the money and turned back to Sirius. 

“I don’t have any muggle money with me,” he said when she offered one of the bottles. 

“It’s okay. It’s on the house,” she winked at him. 

Sirius took the bottle from her hand quite hesitantly. He opened it and took a sip. Y/N did the same.

“Wow,” he said, “This is unexpectedly good.”

“Unexpectedly?” she laughed. 

“One day I’ll show you what Firewhiskey is and then you’ll understand,” he took another sip.

“You will?” Y/N looked at him. Sirius nodded.

“Hopefully,” he replied. 

Y/N gave him a shy smile. 

“Do you wanna dance?” she asked. 

“’Course!” 

They went to the dance floor and Y/N had fun like never before. She always came alone to that club since she didn’t have any friends, but the two of them danced together like they knew each other for a very long time and it made both of them forget about their problems and why they were there in the first place.

Talking wasn’t an option due to the really loud music, but they laughed at each other’s dance moves and spilled beer. Sirius couldn’t stop smiling at Y/N and neither could she. 

After dancing to at least eight songs, Sirius had to go to the restroom. He told Y/N and left the dance floor. The girl stayed there dancing and taking sips of her second beer while he quickly found the door to the lavatory. 

Y/N closed her eyes and moved to the beat of the song, feeling the alcohol loosening her up. She didn’t really drink, so when she did, the smallest of cups was enough to make her lose some of her insecurities. She was having a good time until she felt a hand on her waist and a very alcoholic breath say to her ear: 

“Hey, baby.”

She opened her eyes and saw an older guy staring at her body. The panic paralyzed her. 

“Dance with me, baby girl,” he grabbed the bottle from her hand and took a sip.

That was enough to scare her. She could feel her hand heating up when she felt an arm around her shoulder.

“She’s not alone, dick,” Sirius said. 

“My bad, brother,” the guy walked away. 

“I’m not your brother,” Sirius mumbled disgusted, “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yes,” the girl breathed, “Thank you.”

Sirius nodded as an upbeat song started playing. The boy took a while to recognized it, but got really excited when he did.

“This is The Rolling Stones, isn’t it?” he asked, starting to dance again.

“It is!” she smiled, happy that he knew it, “Rip This Joint!”

The two friends danced happy that both of them knew the words to the song being played. They danced and sang together, laughing while doing so. Sirius grabbed Y/N’s hand and tried to spin her around, but ended up making her collide on another girl. 

“Sorry!” she said to the girl, who looked annoyed. 

“My bad,” Sirius said laughing and Y/N rolled her eyes jokingly. 

Y/N gasped when she heard the intro of Stairway to Heaven. 

“I love this song!” she smiled, “You have no idea of how beautiful and symbolic this song is.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” he chuckled. Y/N closed her eyes and started rocking her body slowly from one side to the other. The boy in front of her swallowed hard at the view. She looked so beautiful like that.

Around them, couples started to dance holding each other. It was a slow dance, after all. Sirius didn’t know what to do and felt really embarrassed when Y/N opened her eyes and saw him standing still. She looked at how the people around them were dancing.

“Do you want to...?” she asked timidly.

“Only if you want to,” he replied. 

“I do,” she nodded. 

That was all Sirius needed to know. He moved closer and placed his hands on her waist while Y/N placed hers on his neck. Soon enough, the pair started dancing slowly to the rhythm of the song. 

“I could never think I’d end up here when I left home hours ago,” Sirius thought out loud.

“It was on my plans to come here tonight,” Y/N replied, “But I could never think it wouldn’t be by myself.”

They smiled at each other.

“This way is so much better,” the girl admitted.

Sirius agreed and another song started playing but they didn’t dance. Their eyes were locked together until his went down to her lips. Y/N felt her face heating up as the boy moved closer and closer. Wait, her face wasn’t the only part of her body heating up.

“Ouch!” Sirius said suddenly and the girl realized what she had done. 

“I’m sorry!” she said desperately, “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” he said rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Come with me.” 

Y/N grabbed his hand and took him to the lady’s room. Once they were inside, she locked the door.

“Let me see it,” she asked softly. 

Sirius could tell she was feeling bad, so he turned around and let her look at his neck. It was as red as a tomato and his shirt was burnt a little. Luckily, his jacket was intact, but that must’ve hurt so much. 

“Oh, God,” she moaned, “I’m so sorry, Sirius.”

“It’s okay, Y/N ,” he turned back and smiled at her, “It wasn’t so bad.”

He was lying, it hurt very much and it was still stinging. And Y/N knew that. She had burned classmates at school before. That’s why she didn’t have any friends. No one trusted her because they all thought she carried a lighter with her.

Tears filled up her eyes and she looked the other way, trying to hide it. But Sirius noticed and she knew it.

“You probably think I’m stupid,” Y/N said, wiping one persistent tear that had rolled down her cheek.

“No, I don’t,” he replied firmly, “I think you’re really kind if you’re that worried about me.”

The girl sniffed, still looking away. 

“Hey, look at me,” he asked. Y/N hesitated before looking up and meeting his eyes, “It’s okay,” he repeated.

She nodded slowly, still feeling bad. 

“I can’t control it. Especially when my emotions are too... Well, you know,” she blushed. Sirius pretended he didn’t see it.

“I already said it’s fine, Y/N. In fact, I think it’s fascinating what you’re capable of.”

Y/N looked at him curiously. 

“You can’t do magic and yet you can... control fire. That is badass,” he admired, “Can you get burned?”

The girl shyly shook her head. 

“Even if it’s not a fire that you lit up?” he was amazed by that information. 

“I used to put my hands on the gas hobs when I was exploring my ‘magic’. It doesn’t hurt. It’s actually a really nice warm feeling,” Y/N explained. 

“So wicked. I wish I could do something like that.” 

“What are you talking about? You can turn into a dog, fly, teleport, be invisible... You can do anything,” she said.

“But if I don’t have this stick with me or I don’t know the right word, I can’t,” he showed her his wand, “And you can do it whenever you want. It is a gift, Y/N. You should never feel sorry for yourself. Your parents, the people from school... They are the ones who don’t understand. It’s their problem, not yours.”

“Where were you all this time?” she whispered to herself.

“What?”

“Do you wanna go for a walk?” Y/N proposed, “I mean, if you want to go back there, we can, it’s just-”

“I’d love to go for a walk,” he smiled.

As soon as the two friends left the club, the cold wind reminded them it was winter. Y/N crossed her arms and started shivering immediately. 

“Are you okay?” the boy asked.

“Yes,” she nodded, “I just feel cold a bit easier than most people. But don’t worry, it’s totally fine.”

Sirius put his arm around Y/N’s shoulder and pulled her closer to him. 

“Better?” he whispered.

“Y-Yeah,” she replied. 

They walked in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. It didn’t take long for them to get to the alley where they met. The fire Y/N had lit up was still there and the girl ran towards it, stretching her arms around it again. 

“It feels so good,” she sighed with her eyes closed. 

“It does indeed,” Sirius agreed, doing the same but in a safer distance. 

“Thank you for tonight,” the girl said, “I wasn’t okay back home and now I feel... happy.”

“Me too,” the young wizard nodded.

“It’s late... I think I should go now,” she stepped back. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah...” Y/N thought for a few seconds, “How can I talk to you again? Do you have a phone at home?”

Sirius shook his head and explained all about the owls and letters to her. They exchanged addresses and he promised he was going to send her an owl so they could keep in touch.

“It was nice meeting you, magic boy,” the girl held out her hand, but the wizard in front of her ignored it and pulled her for a tight hug. 

“It was nice meeting you too, Y/N,” he spoke, smelling the beautiful scent of her hair and feeling sadness take over him, “It wasn’t a bad idea, after all.”

“What?” she asked as they let go of each other.

“Coming home for Christmas,” he smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Regulus Black woke up in the morning with Kreacher knocking on his door.

“This note was on your door, sir,” the elf put a small piece of parchment on his nightstand and told the boy breakfast was ready, leaving the room right after.

Regulus sat up on his bed and rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the blurriness on his vision. He grabbed the note and saw only two words written on it.

Thank you.

It was his brother’s handwriting.

********

Bonus Part

[thelastarchangelaskblog]

Michael Takes the Pottermore Sorting Quiz

@the-grey-hunt came into my messages saying she’d taken the Pottermore sorting quiz as she thought Michael would and ended up putting him in Slytherin with Hufflepuff as the last option. So I decided to take it myself and ended up thinking about Michael’s thought process for each of the questions.

I’ve done the same for Gabriel/Tony and Samael as well and will also proceed to do the same for Raphael. I’m thinking of eventually putting this on AO3 as an extra story just for fun.

Also the mention about Dummy wanting to be in Ravenclaw but always ending up in Hufflepuff is 100% @the-grey-hunt‘s idea.

**

(Read more for mobile users.)

“I was already Sorted. Why are you asking me to take a quiz that will Sort me again?”

“You were human, then,” Gabriel pointed out, smirking. “Maybe it’ll Sort you differently now.”

“This isn’t the Sorting Hat,” Michael said, looking down at the pad in skepticism.

“As good as according to the author who penned the books of this universe.”

“Hm.” Michael tilted the pad in Gabriel’s direction. “Have you taken it?”

“Oh yeah.” Gabriel grinned. “Hat stall between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Samael’s taken it, too, and Raphael as well. So it’s just you we’re missing.”

It was clear Gabriel wouldn’t let this drop, would probably stalk Michael with the pad in hand if Michael refused to do it. And if Michael did it now it wouldn’t be that bad, would it?

Resigning himself to his fate, Michael pressed the START button and read the first question.

Which of the following would you most hate people to call you?

Ordinary

Ignorant

Selfish

Cowardly

Gabriel wasn’t looking over his shoulder, but Michael had no doubt that he was somewhat aware of what answers he would select. He glanced at Gabriel and then deliberately veiled the tablet from Gabriel’s senses.

His brother made a face but didn’t otherwise argue, settling back to give Michael more space.

It didn’t really matter if people called him ignorant or ordinary. He had been ignorant at one point. As for ordinary…he wasn’t exactly ordinary, but it didn’t matter if people thought he was.

Selfish? If someone called him selfish - if someone said that he’d been selfish with what he had done… When he hadn’t ever really, truly wanted to fight his siblings and had only ever done so because his Father ordered it--

He hadn’t been selfish.

Cowardly?

No, that slightly annoyed but not like…

So “selfish” it was.

The second question read:

After you have died, what would you most like people to do when they hear your name?

Miss you but smile.

Ask for more stories about your adventures

Think with admiration of your achievements

I don’t care what people think of me after I’m dead; it’s what they think while I’m alive that counts

Clearly not B or C. Michael hadn’t had any adventures worth speaking of and his achievements weren’t anything to admire.

D? Perhaps at one point but… Michael knew his other siblings had thought of him as dead for a long time and had cursed his name for what he had done. He cared about that; it mattered.

But A? That wasn’t… Well…of the options it was the most palatable. If he only garnered fond thoughts after his (unlikely) death, then that was a good thing to hope for.

After selecting A, Michael read the third question.

Given the choice, would you rather invent a potion that would guarantee you

Glory

Wisdom

Power

Love

A and C were instant no’s. Michael had never wanted glory or power. And Michael had been Created to fight, but he had also been Created to love. So, really…

But if he had been wise from the start? If he had known what to do? Then so many mistakes might have been averted.

The fourth question was

How would you like to be known to history?

The Wise

The Good

The Bold

The Great

Ideally he wouldn’t be known at all. What good was an angel who smeared their accomplishments over everything? Some things hadn’t been helped given the Bible, but everything else?

Michael wasn’t bold; he wouldn’t want to be known as bold either. Nor great; that way led madness. He wasn’t wise; he wouldn’t be known as wise either. But good? Perhaps…if he redeemed himself enough… people might think of him as good instead of cursing his name.

The next question read:

You enter an enchanted garden. What would you be most curious to examine first?

The silver leafed tree bearing golden apples

The fat red toadstools that appear to be talking to each other

The bubbling pool, in the depths of which something luminous is swirling

The statue of an old wizard with a strangely twinkling eye

Well, that was a singularly useless question. If he entered a garden blind with no idea what was there, the first thing Michael would notice would be the tree. Every living thing was able to talk in some sense, so the toadstools weren’t that odd. The pool was curious but wouldn’t draw his attention first as it was set in the ground. As for the statue?

He’d perhaps wonder why Dumbledore had decided to put himself there.

The tree would be first, and everything else would follow after.

What kind of instrument most pleases your ear?

Violin

Drums

Piano

Trumpet

Michael stared down at it for a long moment, then looked up at Gabriel, who had an unusually patient expression on his face. “Instrument?” he asked flatly. “Is there no option for ‘none of the above’?”

“Nope,” Gabriel said cheerfully. “Pick your poison, brother.”

Human instruments sounded terrible. There were no good options here. The only one Michael found remotely pleasing was the trumpet and that was because Gabriel had one, but as for when the trumpet would sound…

No, Michael didn’t think the trumpet would ever sound pleasing to his ear because of what it meant. For lack of any other option, he just picked violin.

Four boxes are placed before you. Which would you try to open?

The small tortoiseshell box, embellished with gold, inside which some small creature seems to be squeaking.

The gleaming jet black box with a silver lock and key, marked with a mysterious rune that you know to be the mark of Merlin.

The ornate golden casket, standing on clawed feet, whose inscription warns that both secret knowledge and unbearable temptation lie within.

The small pewter box, unassuming and plain, with a scratched message upon it that reads “I open only for the worthy.”

Michael resisted the urge to snort as he read the last option. Worthy? Well, that one was right out. The third one sounded vaguely tempting but he didn’t think he’d do all that well with it.

He had no interest in anything of Merlin’s, and even if he could resurrect whatever poor creature was in the first box, it would still be in pain. So A it was.

Four goblets are placed before you. Which would you choose to drink?

The foaming, frothing, silvery liquid that sparkles as though containing ground diamonds

The smooth, thick, richly purple drink that gives off a delicious smell of chocolate and plums.

The golden liquid so bright that it hurts the eye, and which makes sunspots dance all around the room.

The mysterious black liquid that gleams like ink, and gives off fumes that make you see strange visions.

He had no interest in diamonds or sweet things. Let alone strange visions. That had never been in his purview. But C? His nature had always been heat and fire.

Once every century, the Flutterby bush produces flowers that adapt their scent to attract the unwary. If it lured you, it would smell of

A crackling log fire

Parchment

Home

The sea

Heaven had no scent, but that hadn’t been Michael’s only home, had it? And even so… Michael selected C mutely.

The next question was just bizarre and had Michael staring at it for a minute, wondering just what?

A troll has gone berserk in the Headmaster's study at Hogwarts. It is about to smash, crush and tear several irreplaceable items and treasures, including a cure for dragon pox, which the Headmaster has nearly perfected; student records going back 1000 years and a mysterious handwritten book full of strange runes, believed to have belonged to Merlin. In which order would you rescue these objects from the troll's club, if you could?

1. Dragon Pox Cure 2. Merlin's Book 3. Student's Records

1. Cure 2. Records 3. Book

1. Book 2. Cure 3. Records

1. Book 2. Records 3. Cure

1. Records 2. Cure 3. Book

1. Records 2. Book 3. Cure

He could theoretically recreate all of these if they were lost. Was there nothing more important to rescue instead?

“Think like a human,” Gabriel advised idly, who was now balancing his chair precipitously on the back legs and staring up at the ceiling.

With a small sigh, Michael selected the first option. If he had none of his abilities, he would certainly value health over knowledge first. As for the records…records weren’t that much use, were they?

Which would you rather be?

Trusted

Liked

Imitated

Praised

Envied

Feared

This one… This one didn’t require much thought. Michael didn’t have to be praised. He didn’t have to be liked (although wouldn’t that be nice?). But trusted? He’d lost the right to be trusted years ago.

Even so…

Which of the following do you find the most difficult to deal with?

Hunger

Cold

Loneliness

Boredom

Being ignored

The cold… Michael hated the cold, but he could deal with it. He was heat, even if at the end it had been--

But loneliness? Michael had never been lonely before until finding himself in this world. Even in the Cage, shut off from the connection all angels shared and only feeling Lucifer’s presence and not his thoughts… Michael hadn’t actually been alone.

His friends had helped but they were nothing compared to the company of another angel.

What are you most looking forward to learning at Hogwarts?

Every area of magic that I can

Apparition & Disapparition

Transfiguration

Flying on a broomstick

Hexes & jinxes

All about magical creatures and how to befriend them

Secrets about the castle

As Wayne Hopkins he’d been so eager to learn about absolutely everything he could. That hadn’t changed even now as Michael found himself looking for differences between what he had known in his old world and the rules of this world.

If you could have any power, what would you choose?

The power to read minds

The power of invisibility

The power of superhuman strength

The power to speak to animals

The power to change the past

The power to change your appearance at will

If he could have any power of the ones that he already had?

Only…no. He could travel back in time, but he couldn’t change the past. And if he could change the past? Knowing what he knew now?

Michael kept his face blank as he selected his answer and moved on.

Which of the following would you most like to study?

Centaurs

Goblins

Merpeople

Ghosts

Vampires

Werewolves

Trolls

Absolutely none of the above but if he had to select one he’d just go with ghosts because they were different here.

One of your house mates has cheated in a Hogwarts exam by using a Self-Spelling Quill. Now he has come top of the class in Charms, beating you into second place. Professor Flitwick is suspicious of what happened. He draws you to one side after his lesson and asks you whether or not your classmate used a forbidden quill. What do you do?

Lie and say you don't know (but hope that somebody else tells Professor Flitwick the truth).

Tell Professor Flitwick that he ought to ask your classmate (and resolve to tell your classmate that if he doesn't tell the truth, you will).

Tell Professor Flitwick the truth. If your classmate is prepared to win by cheating, he deserves to be found out. Also, as you are both in the same house, any points he loses will be regained by you, for coming first in his place.

You would not wait to be asked to tell Professor Flitwick the truth. If you knew that somebody was using a forbidden quill, you would tell the teacher before the exam started.

That was another easy question considering free will and students having to learn. He’d give the classmate the opportunity to confess. But why was there no option to confront the classmate yourself?

Michael selected B irritably.

You and two friends need to cross a bridge guarded by a river troll who insists on fighting one of you before he will let all of you pass. Do you:

Attempt to confuse the troll into letting all three of you pass without fighting?

Suggest drawing lots to decide which of you will fight?

Suggest that all three of you should fight (without telling the troll)?

Volunteer to fight?

Why would Michael suggest drawing lots if his companions were humans? C made sense if they were all humans, but even so trolls were tricky for humans to take care of as a group. D was just suicidal.

Even if Michael wasn’t human, he wouldn’t immediately suggest fighting the troll. There were other options, so A it was. Even if he didn’t have Gabriel’s flair with words.

Which road tempts you the most?

The wide, sunny grassy lane

The narrow, dark, lantern-lit alley

The twisting, leaf-strewn path through woods

The cobbled street lined with ancient buildings

He’d walked shrouded in shadow long enough with the decisions he’d made. Why would he do so again?

Michael selected A and moved on.

Which nightmare would frighten you the most?

Standing on top of something very high and realizing suddenly that there are no hand- or footholds, nor any barrier to stop you falling

An eye at the keyhole of the dark, windowless room in which you are locked

Waking up to find that neither your friends nor your family have any idea who you are.

Being forced to speak in such a silly voice that hardly anyone can understand you, and everyone laughs at you

The first three were objectively rather frightening. (The fourth was laughable and Michael discarded it immediately.) But all of them…

“How far did you fall?”

Michael swallowed, picked A, and moved on quickly.

Late at night, walking alone down the street, you hear a peculiar cry that you believe to have a magical source. Do you:

Proceed with caution, keeping one hand on your concealed wand and an eye out for any disturbance?

Draw your wand and try to discover the source of the noise?

Draw your wand and stand your ground?

Withdraw into the shadows to await developments, while mentally reviewing the most appropriate defensive and offensive spells, should trouble occur?

If he were human… Even now, Michael would investigate such noises carefully, as there wasn’t a need for angelic abilities every time. So if one considered a “concealed wand” to be his more specific abilities…

There was no need to remain back and do nothing. That way led to something going wrong.

Definitely A.

A Muggle confronts you and says that they are sure you are a witch or wizard. Do you:

Ask what makes them think so

Agree, and ask whether they'd like a free sample of a jinx

Agree, and walk away, leaving them to wonder whether you are bluffing

Tell them that you are worried about their mental health, and offer to call a doctor

This was…actually an amusing question. And certainly one plausible enough.

If a Muggle came up to him right now?

“You’re a wizard!”

“Am I? What makes you think so?”

A it was.

The last several questions seemed to serve no purpose so Michael just picked dawn (because everything started anew), stars (because they held life), forest (he just picked this one randomly), white (as it was closest to his own Grace), heads (again randomly), and right (once more randomly).

Once he finished, the quiz results beamed up at him with a proud HUFFLEPUFF (at 77%?). Ravenclaw was underneath that at 64%, followed by Gryffindor at 50%, and then Slytherin at 15%.

“Huh.” Gabriel was now looking over Michael’s shoulder. “I suppose that shouldn’t be much of a surprise with all the books you scribble in, but your Slytherin friends were insistent that you would’ve done well in Slytherin.” He tapped pointedly at the 15%.

Michael refused to comment. “Happy now?”

“Very,” Gabriel said cheerfully. “Now I’m going to let the bots do what they want with this info. I think Dummy’s still a little put out it keeps putting him in Hufflepuff; he wanted Ravenclaw.”

Michael considered what he knew of Gabriel’s eldest and drew a blank at seeing Dummy in Ravenclaw. “No,” he said flatly.

“Yeah,” Gabriel sighed, taking the pad back from Michael. “I love him, but he’s not, eh, the brightest tool in the box sometimes. Now You on the other hand…”

There was no way Michael was involving himself in that discussion.

[elizaxspears]

So, here’s another try at Hartwin! I’m still testing grounds with them, so why not go for a post Golden Circle, fix it, sick fic? Because that’s exactly what this is.

After everything was said and done, things weren’t as bad as they seemed. Granted, yes, they were still bad but there was some good luck crawling out of the shadows. Not only had Merlin survived the mine, equipped with bionic legs that looked wicked awesome, Roxy escaped the mansion before the missile hit and the Statesman offered their resources to help rebuild Kingsman. Harry was appointed as Arthur and Eggsy got to keep the title of Galahad. Finally, there was some semblance of normality Eggsy thinks, as he sits on the couch in his and Harry’s new flat. What he had now with Harry was probably the only truly good thing that came out of this whole mess. Once they’d released the cure to the world and they were finally able to shed those tears, it came easy to admit how they felt in their rawest state. Of course, he had to tell Tilde about this and, while it hadn’t gone down easy, and honestly when was anything in eggsy’s life ‘easy’, she let him go. She even said she suspected he felt that much to his mentor considering he lived in Harry’s house and never changed a thing. It was just, no one expected Harry to come back.

Now he had. An eye missing and still dealing with the horrors of what he’d done at the church, he was back and so were Merlin and Roxy. While he still lost Brandon and JB, this was probably the best outcome that could have happened. He, Jamal and Ryan had closure over Brandon and JB the second helped ease the hole of losing his beloved pug. Having Hamish around helped as well and Eggsy pretends not to know that’s Merlin’s real name.

He’s gotten back from visiting mum and Daisy with Harry—Arthur’s—permission. While he tells her he’s no longer dating a princess but Harry Hart, the tailor who was meant to be dead, she just shakes her head, ending his stories. She doesn’t know what her son has gotten himself into; expecting the life of a tailor to be a simple job, but as long as he returns home to her and Harry alive, she’s not asking questions. Eggsy doesn’t like the tension between his mother and Harry and hopes maybe one day they can finally make amends over his father. Daisy, at least, was over the moon for Harry since the very first time they’d met. The darling thing already had Harry wrapped around her little finger.

He flicks through the news articles on his phone; they don’t hold his attention much as he keeps an ear out for the door. Since he hasn’t seen Harry for nearly a month, Merlin’s set him on a mission, one he took personally. As Merlin’s informed him, Eggsy had been Harry’s, well, a lot of things. He’s made sure Harry takes the breaks he needs, help avoid any eye strain from staring at the contrasting small black letters on a blanched white paper, that he doesn’t suddenly throw himself into being Arthur without a good head on his shoulders and food for gods sake Harry, people need to eat! Since Eggsy’s, been gone, Harry’s nearly gone off the deep end. Not even Merlin’s nagging made him budge and now he’s gone and worked himself ill. His sleep schedule was non existent with late nights and even earlier mornings; all of it catching up to him and Merlin knows Eggsy has this way of getting the stubborn pillock to listen (Merlin’s words).

Which is why when Eggsy hears the door open, he puts on his best disappointed face. It doesn’t match Harry’s, never could rival the look he got when Harry was chastising him about not shooting JB, but it should, maybe, work. “‘Arry.” he greets at the door and hell if Merlin wasn’t joking when he mentioned Harry looked as sick as he probably felt. He’d gone pale again except for the slickly flush on his cheeks, with large dark circles under his eye, a slight sheen of sweat covered his skin and his hair was just that bit out of place, his suits as well. His hands are even slightly shaking as they close the door. “Fuckin’ hell Harry.”

Harry gives him that mock smile before shredding his coat and hanging it up. He’s also got a briefcase which Eggsy takes. “I need that.” he says like he’s actually going to work. His voice is scratchy and a little croaky.

“No you don’t. Instead, why don’t y’ come sit with me for a bit? Missed you.” Harry must not be feeling well if he’s not up for arguing. Instead he goes along easily.

Eggsy sets the briefcase down and put his arm around Harry’s shoulders, taking his hand to lead the way. “I’m not brittle, Eggsy.”

“Just come with me.”

He’s sure Harry expected them to return to the living room but Eggsy instead leads them upstairs. Harry looks frustrated and just as a protest is on his lips, he’s whipping his head to the side, snapping a hand to his mouth to cover the horrible cough. His shoulders shake with the force of it and Eggsy’s frowning even worse now. “You okay?” he asks softly when Harry breathes deeply once the fit seems over.

“Fine.”

Though Eggsy isn’t, and won’t be, convinced, he continues to help Harry toward their bedroom. The older man takes a seat on the edge of the bed; he just sits there, staring up at Eggsy with as much heat as a sick man can muster. “Hey, you’re not gonna get better if you work yourself to the grave.”

“I’ve been dead once already. I’m sure another trip won’t be that horrible.” Eggsy crosses his arms and looks away. For once, it’s Harry who knows he’s crossed a line. Despite the time between Kentucky and now, it’s still a sore subject for the younger man so Harry reaches out, his warm hand resting over Eggsy’s bicep. “I’m sorry my boy. That was in poor taste.”

Eggsy takes a deep breath, his eyes finding Harry’s hand before the takes it in his own. “Dunno if I’ll ever be okay with it. I…saw you die, ‘arry. I saw that bullet.” the memory is surfacing but he does his best to shove it away. Especially when he reaches for Harry’s glasses, pinching the arms between his fingers. “…can I?”

“You may.” Eggsy slowly removes the glasses from Harry’s face and for as long as Harry lives, their both going to be reminded of what was lost that day. Where they both weren’t the best to each other, where that should have been the end for their relationship. But, it’s also proof Harry’s a tough old bastard and it’s going to take more than a bullet to kill him. “Eggsy.”

His eyes flick to Harry’s working one and instead of apologizing, he leans forward, kissing just above his eyebrow of the damaged eye. “Harry.”

Harry has his arms around him and Eggsy returns the hug. It’s warmer than normal with Harry’s increased body temperature but it’s still a comfort Eggsy finds himself searching for more often than not. “You’ve made me proud, Eggsy. You’re exactly what Kingsman needed.”

He’s heard Harry say that before and every time there’s that slight doubt but he trusts Harry; he always trusts Harry even when he doesn’t. Like Whiskey. Maybe the entirety of Statesman being double agents was wrong but Harry had been right about Whiskey. “They need you more.” Eggsy replies as he pulls away. “Now, get changed for me. I wanna see you outta this suit and into your robe or something. I’m gonna make you something to eat.”

“Just soup will do, my boy.”

Eggsy stands for a few minutes as he watches Harry slowly undress himself, making sure he’s doing what he asked, before giving him one more kiss to his temple and making his way back downstairs to the kitchen. He knows what recipe to make; the same one Harry had told him about during those twenty-four hours together. He remembers standing in the small kitchen, watching Harry go about making their dinner with a little book full of recipes sat out ready for use. Out of curiosity, Eggsy skimmed through the book, asking Harry about the ones that looked delicious or had really weird names. He asked about the soup recipe and Harry told him his mother had made it up and always cooked it for him when he was a sick lad. It was one of the few things she would do for him personally instead of having someone else tend to Harry.

Now, Eggsy has only his memory to rely on. That’s something that makes him pause. While he lost quite a bit because of Poppy, Harry lost his entire livelihood. His home, his butterfly collection, Mr. Pickle, all his knick knacks that probably held some sentimental value. He even nearly lost his oldest friend because of Eggsy’s mistake. He knows he can’t blame himself for Harry’s townhouse blowing up but he feels he’s lost everything too. He lived in that house for a year. He’d seen all what Harry hid away, the things that made him man rather than a hardened spy. All of it was gone now.

Harry had taken this news better than Eggsy expected, at first. When they were in that diner, after they’d save the world and they could be two men mourning for a friend, Eggsy saw Harry’s true grieving. There were no sobs or shouting or anger at all, but a constant stream of tears from his closed eye. Eggsy cried with him and like the cell, embraced him, both letting everything go.

Eggy’s brought back to his mission when there’s scratching at the back door followed by tiny barks. He sets down the knife and opens the door. Hamish rushes in with JB the second trotting along behind him. Eggsy wants to get on their level but he has dinner that needs to be prepared. Instead, he sends them upstairs, hoping seeing Hamish will give Harry more motivation to relax. JB on the other hand stays at his side; the smell of food too tempting for the pug.

The soup is finished in the next half hour to the best of Eggsy’s abilities. While he’s not a grand chef like Harry, he thinks he did pretty well. He’s had a taste and he’s satisfied with it. So he takes the bowl upstairs, JB following behind.

When he returns to the bedroom, Harry’s thankfully listened. His pyjamas on, the blanket over his lap with Hamish curled on top the blanket. Harry's’ hand continuously soothes down Hamish’s back, a fond smile on his face. Eggsy can only imagine what memories this must bring back. “Dinner.” he speaks up.

Hamish lifts his head as Harry’s attention is now on him. Maybe it’s the aroma wafting from the bowl, but Harry’s eyes go even softer. “Please tell me you didn’t make what I think you did.”

Eggsy is suddenly very nervous. “If I did?”

“Oh Eggsy.” Harry says and Eggsy swears there’s moisture gathering in his good eye, “you didn’t need to go through all that trouble for me.”

Eggsy sits on his side of the bed, passing the bowl to Harry. “Of course I did. You woulda made the same for me, yeah?” Harry nods as he takes the spoon, stirring the contents of the bowl before lifting the spoon. He blows on it; Eggsy waits eagerly as Harry takes the first bite. “…well?”

Harry sighs. “It’s good, thank you.”

“Should help your throat too.” they sit there in silence for a moment as Harry eats until they hear a bark. Eggsy looks down at JB before picking up the pug and putting him on the bed with the rest of them. “Was watching me cook.”

“Have they eaten yet?” Harry asks, setting down the spoon to rub over JB’s head.

“Yep. But, JB ate Hamish’s leftovers again.”

Harry just smiles. “You’re lucky.” he says to the pug, “if Mr. Pickle were still alive, you wouldn’t have had anything to steal.”

Eggsy sports the same smile, reclining back against the bed. Harry slowly finishes off the soup, Hamish still on his lap while JB is at his side, waiting to see if he’ll get anything. While Harry has been known to give both dogs scraps from the table, there’s nothing here for Harry to share so once the bowls done, JB huffs then takes his normal spot next to Eggsy’s feet, stretching out. “Feel better?” Eggsy asks, taking the bowl and putting it aside.

“Far too early to tell yet.” Harry replies, reclining as Eggsy had, his hand returning to stroking over Hamish’s back. “But, thank you Eggsy. I’m sorry I’ve been a little hard on you lately.”

Eggsy shrugs. “Arthur’s a big job. Don’t blame you for gettin’ stressed like that.” this time he sets Harry with a pointed glare, “but I can blame you for lettin’ yourself get run down like this Harry. You know you gotta keep your health up.”

Harry closes his eye. “I know. Believe me, I do.”

“Then why just throw yourself into nothing but work while I was gone?”

“It was better than coming home to an empty flat.” Eggsy’s brows draw together and Harry continues. “For years after Mr. Pickle, I would come home alone. I’d grown used to it, I’d expected it. Then you called in my favour. I’m not so much as an old fool to believe in love at first sight but I did become increasingly fond of you. It wasn’t until we spent that night together that I realized I was an old enough fool to fall in love. I woke up next to you and I thought, I’d love to wake up like this every day.”

Eggsy frowns. “And I had to go and fuck it up, right?”

“We both fucked it up.” Harry counters. “I shouldn’t have gotten as angry as I did. I shouldn’t have left without finishing our conversation.” he looks at Eggsy again. “And now, after all that’s happened, nearly losing you to a princess, nearly losing Merlin, then having you leave for a month so soon after, I couldn’t stand it. The longer I was away from this place, the better.”

“Why’d you let me go then if it bothered you so bad?”

“Because I’m not going to prevent you from living because I have some demons I've yet to concur.”

Eggsy thinks then scoots closer, wrapping his arms around the older man’s shoulders from the side. “This is home Harry. Our home. Remember that okay?”

“It’s only home when you’re here with me.”

Eggsy hugs him tight, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I know.” and they’re able to enjoy this moment, this comfortable silence for a little longer until Harry turns his head to cough again. It sounds better than the last one at least. “C’mon Harry. Lay down, get some rest.”

“You forget I have paperwork I have to do.”

“You forget that I’m not lettin’ your arse outta bed until you’re not coughin’ anymore.”

“Don’t make me order you as Arthur.”

“Don’t make me order you as your boyfriend and I think that has a higher rank right now.” Harry narrows his eyes. Any other time, he’d try Eggsy much like Eggsy does with him except, there is something very tempting about bed rest.

Finally, he relents. “Fine. Because my boyfriend demands it of me.”

“Damn right he does.” Eggsy is grinning proudly as Harry shifts, carefully enough to avoid jostling Hamish off his lap. He’s laying down now. “Close your eye.” Eggsy says and Harry does.

Then there are fingers pressing just enough on his temples, rubbing in slow circles. “Eggsy—”

“Sh. It’s okay Harry. Let me do this for you.”

Harry fights for a bit; fights to keep conscious. He’s still a little terrified sometimes of that creeping darkness but there are three different things that help ease that fear away. He can feel Hamish still on his lap, the dogs weight a nice comfort, he can hear JB the second snoring from Eggsy’s side of the bed and best of all, he has Eggsy hear with him. “I love you.” he says softly, hardly audible to his own ears.

Eggsy doesn’t skip a beat as he replies, like he’s been waiting to say it since the night they spent together, “I love you too.”

[justmickeyfornow]

I just read your valentine one shot and your are natural at writing ✍️ Can you do another one where Kara is surprised because Lena doesn’t have a Netflix account and Lena been Lena buy Netflix the next day

Glad you liked the Valentines one-shot! It was super fun to write even though fluff is definitely not my area of expertise. I usually would much rather dabble in angst and heartbreak if I say so myself. This was also really fun to write, I wanted to make it a bit longer but the longer I write for this, the more I’ll be ignoring PI (Hello, my procrastinating ass -_-) 

Also, credit to this prompt goes to @karalovesallthegirls​ (if I’m not mistaken) for this post that they made a while back. Hope you don’t mind I kinda played around with it a bit.

“Ms. Luthor, this isn’t something you can just… Buy out of the blue.”

“I suggest you don’t tell me what I can or cannot buy. Get me whoever owns the company at the moment on the phone or so help me God I’ll find someone who can.”

Lena slammed the phone down on yet another board member who was stupid enough to question yet another one of her investments.

“Isn’t something I can buy,” she mumbled to herself before scoffing, “I can buy whatever the hell it is I want.”

So there has been a list.

A list of investments that Lena isn’t exactly proud of. Investments that had absolutely nothing to do with L-Corp whatsoever. A list of investments that Lena wouldn’t have even considered prior to a certain blonde walking into her life.

Over the course of her friendship with Kara Danvers, Lena had bought various donut shops for the sake of them rethinking their rash decision of discontinuing one of Kara’s favorite donut types.

Who do they think they are? Discontinuing THAT donut type and putting a pout on Kara’s face where there should only ever be a smile!

That same pout resulted in Lena’s decision of buying 13 - or was it 16? - chinese restaurants within the vicinity of Kara Danvers’ usual route. Her only demand as their new boss was to open until midnight and serve potstickers at any given time of the day.

This was all a result of Kara one day saying “Awww It’s past 9 and that Chinese place I told you about is probably closed by now” . And of course there was that domineering, mind controlling and oh so fascinating pout.

And that was it for Lena.

The next thing she knew she was buying not one, not two, but all the Chinese places within the area and demanding they stay open - with an exceptional raise of course - as well as serve potstickers on their breakfast, lunch, and dinner menus.

The list continues with various restaurants bought, specific donut types doubled, flower shops purchased, and a few random investments that Lena couldn’t even begin to remember.

And now, here she was again. Buying Netflix. Because Kara Danvers used that pout when she found out that Lena didn’t own Netflix.

“What do you mean Bruce Wayne has already made an offer on it?” Lena’s patience was running thin. She had a million other things she needed to do but she still pushed this to the top of her list because well…A crush is a crush and she can’t help herself. “Well how much is he offering? Anything more than any other offer? Is that what he said?”

Bruce Wayne and his cocky way of conducting business.

Lena pressed the intercom on her phone, “Get me Bruce Wayne on the phone now please,” she ordered, exasperated.

She sighed and clicked her pen repeatedly, “Bruce Wayne. Why on Earth would that man need…” she muttered under her breath before her assistant’s voice sounded over the intercom.

“Bruce Wayne on the line for you Ms. Luthor.”

Lena picked up the phone a little too quickly, “Bruce,” she greeted rather hurriedly.

“Lena,” he greeted back politely, completely unaware of the clicking pen in Lena’s hand, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you. How’ve…”

“Bruce I’d really love to catch up but this is more of a favor kind of call.”

That seemed to surprise Bruce, but he composed himself quickly, “Alright. What do you need?”

“I want to buy Netflix,” Lena blurted out. She didn’t have time to waste on pleasantries.

There was a long silence on the other line and then, “Oh.”

“You have an offer on it.”

Lena could almost sense a hint of nervousness coming from Bruce’s voice coming from the other end of the line, “Umm yeah I do.”

“I really need to buy the company, Bruce. And I’m sure Wayne Industries doesn’t truly need an entertainment company to add to its…”

“Lena, you know I’d love nothing more than to help. But this…” Bruce seemed reluctant.

“But you don’t need this.”

“Neither does L-Corp. Aren’t you all about curing cancer and matter reconfiguration?” He retorted.

“Yes, but…” Lena was finding it harder to keep the real reason she needed the company at bay, “Well what do you need the company for anyway?”

“I umm well it’s a really good investment and it makes good money for my company.” Bruce replied.

Lena sighed, “Ok fine. I’m buying the company because someone I have a tremendously ridiculous crush on asked me to.”

Bruce was silent for a few seconds, “I see.”

“It’s quite embarrassing I know. I never have crushes. I haven’t the slightest clue as to where this one had shown up from. But it somehow did, and this crush has more than once been somewhat of a…

“I’m buying Netflix because of someone I like too,” Bruce suddenly blurted out.

Well, that was unexpected.

“Oh,” she found herself simply saying.

Just then, the image of her infatuation walked into her office being all bubbly smiles and beautiful sunshine. Lena waved for Kara to come in. Bruce was explaining how ‘like’ was such a strong word and that he much rather call it something far less serious.

“Bruce,” Lena hissed into the phone, resulting in him shutting up, “Listen I really need this. I really think this is my shot at finally getting the girl. Look I promise i’ll help you with your thing if you do this one thing for me. I gotta go, now. Bye.”

And with that she hung up and looked up at Kara who was still smiling like she had just gotten a puppy.

“Kara!” Lena got up from behind her desk to do the thing she thinks way too much about. Hugging Kara Danvers.

“Lena,” Kara wrapped her arms around her shoulders, the embrace tugging on Lena’s heartstrings. “You didn’t have to end your phone call on my account. I could’ve waited.”

“Nonsense. I was finished with that call anyway.”

They both went on there usual routine of sitting on the couch and passing lunch orders between them.

Lena cleared her throat before speaking, “I was just getting Netflix actually,” she mentioned casually.

Kara’s head perched up, looking at her, “Oh, really? That’s great! This is huge!”

“It is. I mean it sure costs as much.”

Kara laughed as though Lena had just made the funniest joke, and Lena was too shocked and embarrassed to ask what was funny, not to mention she was a tad bit proud of herself for making Kara laugh in a heartfelt manner. She was not about to put a stop to it by asking what exactly was funny. She found herself adding in her own small laugh into the mix.

“But it’s worth it I promise,” Kara finally said.

Lena looked at her longingly, “I sure hope so,”

“You know what’s sad, though?”

Lena dug her fork into her salad, her focus on catching that small piece of tomato, “What?”

“Netflix doesn’t have all the Disney movies out there.”

The CEO’s head suddenly snapped up at the sound of Kara’s pout, “Oh? It doesn’t?” and surely enough there it was: the famous pout that tore at Lena’s heart.

“Mhmm. There are so many good ones that aren’t on Netflix,” Kara nodded, taking another bite out of her own plate.

“And that… umm that saddens you?” Lena’s hand on its own accord began slowly sliding towards her phone on the sofa beside her.

“It does,” Kara replied, completely unaware of Lena’s thumb typing on her phone, “I mean you can’t have a movie marathon with only some of the Disney movies, now can you?” she shrugged.

“No, you absolutely cannot,” Lena said distractedly, most of her attention on the words she was typing on her phone.

Jess, get me whoever is in charge of Disney movies on the phone after my lunch break with Ms. Danvers.

Satisfied with the message, Lena focused back on finding out more about how to erase that pout off of Kara’s beautiful face, “And what… umm what else isn’t on Netflix that you would want added to the company?”

Kara gave her a look that Lena had absolutely no clue what it meant, but she said nothing and instead looked up in thought, her fork hovering in the air, “Well, definitely that show Merlin. I heard it’s really good. It’s got dragons and stuff. And a really really pretty princess that turns evil.” Kara suddenly clasped her hand on her mouth, “Oops, I just ruined it for you!”

Lena smiled at Kara, “A pretty princess that turns evil, hmm? Sounds intriguing to be honest,” she commented, taking a slight peak at where her thumb was typing at her phone.

Also, Merlin.

“That’s what Alex said. I still haven’t watched it.”

Lena felt her phone vibrate at the reply coming from her assistant.

Merlin who?

“Anything else?” Lena arched a brow, her face showing none of the frustration she was feeling at her assistant not understanding immediately what she wanted. Her thumb skillfully typed away quickly at the screen while her eyes never left Kara’s.

Get me Merlin on the phone. The show. Something about a pretty princess turning evil.

Kara chuckled after taking a sip of her juice, “I don’t know. There are plenty of things that aren’t on Netflix that I wish were there. I would just bore you with endless…”

“Oh no, please. I’d like nothing more than…” Lena felt another vibration from her phone and smiled when she read Jess’ text.

I’ll… look into it Ms. Luthor.

“So, tell me more about this pretty princess that you seem to really like,” Lena said.

I might complete it later on with Kara’s reaction, who knows!

[pendragonsandbuckleys]

Dark waters caving in

Summary: Merlin rubbed his forehead as he tried to focus on the words on the page instead of his steadily worsening headache. He was no help to Gaius while he felt like this so the sooner he cured himself, the sooner he could save everyone else.

-

Set in s01e03. Merlin gets sick after drinking the infected water.

Word Count: 1,677

[Also on AO3]

It started out with a cough. Though to be completely honest, Gaius wasn’t sure if the coughing was actually due to the overwhelming smell of his latest potion concoction that had been brewing at his desk for hours. It was a chest-tightening, tickly kind of cough that likes to sit in the back of your throat, threatening to suffocate you completely. Then came the headache and the chills running through his entire body and the bone-deep tiredness that would never normally be felt after a fairly restful night’s sleep.

Ever since he and Merlin had discovered the source of the disease, they had been hoping that the water wasn’t an immediate death sentence for everyone who drank from it. The town’s water supply was used by hundreds of people every day and considering the entire townsfolk hadn’t been killed yet, it surely wasn’t affecting every person who drank from it.

But now, hours later, they were no closer to finding out why the water was causing this disease - let alone any kind of cure - and Merlin looked terrible. All he’d had was a few mouthfuls from the pump whilst he and Gaius had visited the lower town and it seems that was all it took.

Gaius could barely contain the frustration he felt as he watched Merlin from across the room. It was the physician’s very nature to help those who needed it and here he was being forced to watch Merlin suffer through this with no way to remedy the sickness. Merlin’s complexion was concerning. Not yet the ghostly white of the deceased victims they had seen to, but his paler than normal skin was shining with sweat and the grey-blue of his veins was beginning to creep to the surface.

Merlin had been sitting on the concrete steps with the magic spell book for a while now, trying to find anything that would help. The sunlight streaming through the window was accentuating his pallor and the thin blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders was doing little to combat the cold he felt within. Gaius had suggested that he try to rest in bed for an hour or two, but predictable as ever, Merlin had refused to leave Gaius in the lurch to figure it all out on his own.

“Ge hailige.” Merlin muttered under his breath before tutting to himself and turning the page. He had attempted that one several times now and it clearly wasn’t working. There were hundreds of healing spells he could try, all notoriously difficult to master, but there was no proof that any of them would be effective against this mysterious illness.

Merlin rubbed his forehead as he tried to focus on the words on the page instead of his steadily worsening headache. He was no help to Gaius while he felt like this so the sooner he cured himself, the sooner he could save everyone else.

Taking a deep breath, he focused on the magic he could feel thrumming under his skin and slowly read the incantation. “Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare.”

He barely got the full spell out before he felt it drain all that was left of his energy and Gaius watched as the gold of Merlin’s irises barely flickered before his eyelids were fluttering and he was tilting to one side. Gaius wasn’t exactly a man known for his speed but he barely took a second to rush over to Merlin just in time to stop him from falling off the step completely. Merlin’s head lolled against his chest for a moment before righting itself.

“Woah.” He mumbled softly between shallow breaths, his half-lidded eyes glancing down to where Gaius was still holding him upright. He knew he felt terrible, but maybe he was more sick than he thought. He couldn’t give up now though, if it was spreading this fast within him, he wouldn’t be able to do this for much longer. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.” Gaius gave him a stern look, eyebrow raised in disbelief. It was a wonder the boy had lasted this long if this is what his survival instincts looked like. He longed for something he could do to aid him. “You’re in no state to be doing this much magic. I wish I could help but I’ve never been very good at healing spells.”

“Me neither.” Merlin smirked up at him, still leaning heavily against Gaius’ arm. He swallowed a few times against the dryness of his throat before pushing himself upright. The blanket had fallen off one shoulder and Gaius wordlessly wrapped it around him once more, watching him warily for any further signs of deterioration.

“I think I’ve only managed to heal myself three or four times growing up.” Merlin continued, delicately running his forefinger across the words of the spell written on the page. “Small wounds are fine, but actual sickness was practically impossible to heal. It used to annoy me so much when it wouldn’t work. My mother would always scold me for trying, she thought I’d just make myself worse. But every time, when it was clear that I wasn’t giving up, she would sit down with me and tell me to just take a breath and try again.”

“Did that work?” Gaius asked gently, not missing the way Merlin’s hands had gained a slight tremor.

Merlin chuckled lightly at the question and rubbed at his forehead once again. “No. I never exactly had the patience for taking it slowly. I thought maybe it didn’t work because I wasn’t using any actual spells, but clearly that wasn’t the problem at all.”

He gestured to the book with a huff before closing it forcefully and placing it beside him on the step. Evidently healing himself was no longer an option, so maybe he should return his focus to eradicating the disease from the water. He hadn’t come across anything in the spell book that could help them, but then again he didn’t fully know what he was supposed to be looking for.

There was someone who would probably have the answers he needed, but he was still debating whether it was worth visiting the dragon or not. Getting a straight answer from him would be a miracle and Merlin really didn’t have time for the riddles right now.

Without thinking, he stood up suddenly, gasping as his knees buckled and his vision went black for a second. If Gaius hadn’t have been there to support him he definitely would have fallen down. He could feel the coldness inside practically wrapping itself around his magic and as he looked down it was hard to miss the veins on his hands growing darker. He was running out of time.

As soon his legs felt steady enough to carry him he patted Gaius’ hand as a signal that the man could let go. Maybe he didn’t have a choice. Every other victim had died within twenty-four hours and he could feel in his heart that he wasn’t going to last much longer. If the great dragon could provide the help they so desperately needed, he was just going to have to suffer the long-winded, cryptic clues.

“I need to go out. I think I know something that could help us.” Merlin tried not to cough as he spoke confidently, walking towards the door. If he didn’t make eye contact with Gaius then he could just pretend that the inevitable scowl wasn’t being directed towards him.

Gaius took a moment to process the stupidity of his words before he came rushing up behind him. Merlin could barely stand up a moment ago, there was no way he was letting him go anywhere Gaius’ couldn’t keep an eye on him.

“Not a chance.” The physician remarked as he blocked Merlin’s exit. “You are in no fit state to be wandering around the castle not to mention the sight of you will undoubtedly raise a few suspicions. Whatever it is you need, I’ll go and get it.”

Merlin could see the concern shining bright in Gaius’ eyes and he felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. Despite the trouble he often caused, Gaius truly cared for him, more than anyone else ever had besides his mother, and it was heartwarming to know that he had that support. But under all that gratefulness there was a slight pang of guilt at the worry he had caused. Gaius wasn’t wrong. The longer Merlin was on his feet, the more he felt like he was going to pass out at any minute, but he needed to do this and he needed to do it alone. With a little difficulty, he swapped his blanket for one of the cloaks draped near the door. “I’ll be okay, just keep looking for some way to decontaminate the water. I won’t be long.”

Gaius let out an exasperated sigh as Merlin lifted the hood to shadow his face. If he had learnt anything since Merlin’s arrival it was that once his mind was set on something, there was no stopping the boy. He was more than aware of how strong-willed Merlin was and if he said he needed to do this, then Gaius was just going to have to trust him. As much as every fibre of his being was telling him not to.

It was bad enough that Merlin had become gravely ill under his watch, if something were to happen because Gaius had let him leave he would never forgive himself. But still, he moved out of the way and watched as Merlin closed the door behind him. A powerful sorcerer with such a great destiny didn’t need Gaius watching his every move, protecting every step of his journey. He was going to be fine.

In the meantime Merlin was right about one thing, he could either spend his time worrying or he could be productive and continue looking for a cure. And if he kept glancing at the door every few minutes, hoping for Merlin’s safe return, well, no-one needed to know.

[wingsofanillyrian]

Grief (Feysand + son)

Anonymous asked: “A fic where Feyre is dead (more like the funeral time not her actual death) and they have a let’s say 19 or something year old boy. So basically a man which means he did get to know his mother. Rhysand and his son stay after everyone leaves the graveyard (or somewhere else) and they have a heart to heart. Nothing cheesy just sharing stories about Feyre or something.”

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I was so tired of shaking hands and accepting everyone’s condolences. I’d kept a brave face on during the wake and the burial, but now that I was alone, everything came pouring out.

I cried for the loss of my mother, whom I’d only known 19 short years. I mourned the loss of what could have been; the battles and victories we wouldn’t get to share.

I knelt in the dirt once everyone had left. It had rained this morning, which was fitting, I supposed. Moisture seeped into the dress pants I wore, soaking my knees and chilling my very bones.

“Oryn.”

My father’s voice rang through the crisp fall air, disturbing the silence. Leaves crunched beneath his black leather shoes as he moved to stand at my side.

“I’m sorry about the suit,” I mumbled, knowing it was likely ruined by the fresh mud. I brushed the heels of my hands over my reddened eyes and sniffled.

“Don’t worry about it.” He knelt beside me, placing his hand on the intricately carved gravestone. “I miss her too, you know. But your mother… She wouldn’t want us to be sad.”

“She’d want us to tell stories about all her epic adventures,” I finished for him. Despite myself, small smile tugged on the corners of my lips, because it was true. The last thing she would have wanted would be for us to mope around.

I pushed a hand through my honey-colored locks and let out a breezy laugh. “Remember last year when the three of us wreaked havoc on the Summer Court?”

Rhysand barked out a bellowing laugh. “Oh, Gods, I’ll never forget the look on Tarquin’s face when he saw us out drinking with Varian that night. I don’t think I’ve ever seen another Fae so drunk before! I wonder if Tarquin has forgiven his cousin for breaking that precious vase yet.”

“Probably not,” I grinned, recalling the drunken stumble that had caused the centuries-old antique to crash to the floor.

Rhysand shook his head and smiled. “Tarquin was so close to banishing the three of us.”

“But then mom saved the day by concocting that vile, gross green tonic to cure Varian’s hangover the next day.” Varian had woken up ready to fight someone, but as always, mom had been able to salvage the situation. That was one of the many things she was good at.

“Yes, that woman saved us all.” He sighed, running his fingers over the letters engraved in the stone.

“Before you were born, your mother and I used to get into a lot of trouble.”

“Oh, really?” I quirked a brow. “Do tell.”

“You know that she always had a thirst for adventure,” he murmured, and I nodded.

“There was one night, about thirty years ago, that it snowed four feet in the space of a few hours. Fluffy, white powder up to our chests when we opened the door. It was cold as all hell too, but Feyre-” his voice caught, and I looked up to find silver lining his eyes.

This wasn’t easy for either of us. Tears blurred my vision, but I wrapped an arm around my father’s shoulders. We had each other, and though no one would ever fill the holes left in our hearts, we would support each other.

He drew a ragged breath and collected himself as best he could. “She decided to have some fun.”

“Oh boy,” I said, smiling despite my sadness. Mom was always thriving on adrenaline, and had often encouraged me to do dumb, harmless little stunts. I could only imagine where this story was headed, if mom had spearheaded the endeavor.

“Yeah.” He smiled the slightest bit. “After pouring Cassian and I each a shot of the strongest liquor she could find, she decided to convince us males it was an excellent idea to jump off a balcony.”

I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing. “Really? And you guys fell for it, obviously?”

“You know how persuasive she can-” he winced and corrected himself, “could be. ‘Don’t be babies,’ she told us, 'I’d do it, and I don’t even have wings to catch me!’ Of course, Cass and I were still skeptical at the softness of the fresh snow, even with the alcohol in out veins.”

“Oh, but your mother really knew how to push Cassian’s buttons. She poked and prodded at his pride until he eventually agreed.”

“The three of us moved to the second story balcony, where the midnight wind whipped at us. Cass teetered as he climbed up on the rail and stripped off his shirt.” He glanced at me then, and seeing my smirk, he added: “Your uncle takes every chance he can get to show off.”

“Anyway, Cassian was standing on the rail, spewing nonsense about how it wouldn’t hurt him at all. But he wouldn’t jump, despite all his rantings about how he was a 'brave Illyrian’ and all that.”

His violet eyes sparkled with a mixture of pride and longing as he turned to me. “Would you care to guess what your mother did?”

I grinned. “She pushed him, didn’t she?” Rhys nodded.

“She pushed that bastard right over,” he said with a watery smile. “He screamed the whole way down. Lucky that he tucked his wings in tight though, and he basically cannonballed right into one of the drifts.”

“I fully expected him to crawl out of the snow with at *least* one broken bone. But no, he shot up, flew back up to where your mother and I stood, flabbergasted by his energy. The three of us spent the rest of the night jumping into the drifts, leaving huge Fae-sized holes in the snowy lawn.”

“That actually sounds kinda fun,” I said, closing my eyes to picture it. 

“Oh, it was a great time.” He smiled wistfully as another tear slid down his cheek. “It became a sort of tradition, until you came along.”

“I think… I think this winter we should start it up again.” Because mom would want us to. She would want us to enjoy life; seize the day.

“That-” he clapped a hand on my shoulder- “sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and we both glanced to the sky. Lightning flashed in the dark clouds and it started to drizzle.

Even the sky was mourning mom’s death, it seemed.

I leaned forward to press a kiss to the three-mountain sigil at the top of the stone. “I love you, mom.”

“C'mon, let’s go home.” Dad smiled sadly and squeezed my shoulder as we rose to our feet. “She loved you too, son. More than anything.”

“I know.”

It would take a long time to heal from this staggering loss. But I wouldn’t be alone. I had my family, and they had me. We would lean on each other, and it would be hard to fill the gaps left by mom’s death, but we would all work through it together.

@eternallyautumnal @mydarlingwhitethorn @spegetty @marabarrow@photofeesh @districtsimonlewis @kybaeza @andreywasnthere@bookaholic1012 @a-court-of-ruin@xsannesmitx @starzablaze@thereitisthatfamousscowl @tog-trash@highlady-of-slytherin @tntwme@queen-archeron @rkjar1646 @howtotameyourillyrian@urbisie @acourtofstoriesandthings @thelaughingzeebra @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @keladrym99thefangirl @stopthisrightnow12345 @feysans4life@missing-merlin @fandoms-everywhere-united @avap12 @vilya1 @ignite-my-love @emilyshi101emu@aelinashgalathynius @heyyitsangie @filthycorrade@mywritingbox @longlivetheweird @youngsweetonlyseventeen@alicethelonerabbit @emily10501 @princesslysandra @limeie02 @eli-ong-hello @fanwhore99 @panicatendovier @rhysand-darling @mickle-the-pickle@jennifer2430 @nerdy-stuff @heyheyheylemonade @kingrowangalathynius@feysandiseternal

[pottercrew]

Study Pt 2

Hey guys! It’s been a while since I posted something for my Pottercrew Snippet Series and I apologise for that but here’s part 2 of Study.  (Right click on these links and open them in a new tab cause I’m crap at linking to open to a new tab lol) 

I hope you enjoy <3 They shared an awkward walk back to the eighth year common room and separated to grab the things they needed from their rooms. Harry couldn’t quite pinpoint how he felt, just that he needed to be as quick as possible to meet Malfoy in the common room. He huffed, why did his mouth have to speak before his brain thought about it? To ask Malfoy, of all people, if he wanted to study with him.

It wasn’t that he hated Malfoy, no it was quite the opposite, him and Malfoy, to everyone’s surprise and some horror, had come to some sort of unspoken truce. Maybe it was the pressure of their last year, what with their N.E.W.T.S, or maybe it was the fact that the war had changed things between them. Nothing too big, but something had just shifted, when Harry had seen Malfoy for the first day back two months ago, he was surprised at himself that he had felt nothing when he had looked at him, his mind had flashed to a skeletal terrified looking boy gazing horrified at him.

That had been the change, he no longer saw Malfoy as the same boy how had terrorised him and he back throughout their school years. Now, he just saw Draco Malfoy, blonde posh attractive smart Draco Malfoy who was trying to make amends.

Harry quickly grabbed the rolls of parchment strewn haphazardly across his desk and swore as he upended his open inkwell across the wooden surface and down it’s front right leg. Why had he left that open?

He cursed himself, then snatched his wand from his back pocket, cast a cleaning charm, and summoned his bag. Stuffing everything he needed to study, he cast one quick glance around the room, nodded once, and left, closing the door a bit too loudly behind him.

Out in the common room, Malfoy was standing with his back to Harry and looking out of one of the two large windows overlooking the forbidden forest. Harry keep his eyes on Malfoy’s back, refusing to look at the expanse of brown and green tree tops stretching to the horizon.

There was something about the way the light hit Malfoy’s hair and his face that had Harry pausing mid step, forgetting what he was about to say. Malfoy looked like he could quiet have easily been a moving painting painted by an artist long dead who aimed to capture an angel.

Harry had never seen anything like it. Since when did Malfoy look so beautiful and yet so handsome at the same time? He had always been beautiful, even Harry could admit that, what with his pointy features and aristocratic cheekbones. But here, he looked different.

Harry was snapped out of his thoughts when the portrait to the common room slammed open and two obviously drunk figures stumbled in. Dean and Seamus were laughing loudly, Dean holding onto an open bottle of firewhiskey in one hand and his other thrown around a much drunker looking Seamus.

Malfoy turned his head to look at them and they both tried to shush each other before Dean spoke

“Harry mate, can’t talk, got to escort this drunken chap to bed”

Seamus laughed loudly, “Chap when have you ever said chap. Oh hey Malfoy, got to talk to you about the charms work later” Seamus was slurring, and he pointed at Malfoy at every second word, sending his body tipping and swaying every which way.

Malfoy nodded, “Probably best if you do that tomorrow Finnegan, it looks like you’re about to throw up”

Dean laughed and grabbed Seamus by the hand “Come on you, let’s get you to bed”

Seamus looked at him “You can take me to bed anytime you want Thomas” Seamus purred and Harry had to stifle a laugh at the look at surprise on Dean’s face. It was common knowledge for Harry, Ron and Neville that Seamus had fancied Dean since third year, they all had to deal with his moaning about Ginny and any other girl Dean got with. None of them however, had felt they had the right to tell Dean.

Dean didn’t say anything, just looked at Harry and Malfoy mumbled a goodnight, and helped Seamus down the corridor towards the boys bathroom.

Harry turned back to face Malfoy to find him staring at him. “I don’t think it’s a good idea studying in here” Malfoy said, and Harry felt a slight panic that Malfoy might have changed his mind. “People are going to be stumbling in all night” He explained.

“Oh yeah, right” Harry said “How about the library?” Malfoy nodded at this and pulled the strap to his bag higher on his shoulder.

“Okay” He said and walked towards the portrait and swinging it open. Malfoy looked back at him as if expecting him not to follow but Harry did, the sudden realisation that he and Malfoy were going to be alone in the library making his throat dry. Merlin he hoped he didn’t put his foot in it.

Draco really didn't know why he had said yes to this, but here he was, sitting next to Potter, seeing the face he pulls when something confuses him, the slight wrinkle between his eyes, hand clenching slighting around his quill.

Draco would on no means, under no circumstances admit to liking the way Potter acted when he understood something, the small smile of triumph, the focused look in his eyes as he put his head down, almost too close to his quill, (Draco did have to hold in a snort when it did actually hit one of his lenses) and wrote sentences and sentences, seemingly on the roll.

Not only that, but somehow, in the few seconds they had separated to get their stuff, Potter had managed to spill what looked like an entire ink pot down the bottom of his blue shirt and to reasons that infuriated Malfoy, he found it charming. He didn’t say anything though, and the fact that Potter didn’t seem to notice it was there amused him greatly. 

He was utterly distracted and there was no cure for it other than kicking Potter out of the library, and that didn’t seem like an option. He ran his eyes over the dark shelves, wondering if Madam Pince was still here. He doubted it, he was never more grateful to Mcgonagall more than when she had told the small group of 8th years that the library was now open later just for them, their individual magical signatures allowing the doors to open and let them into both the normal section and the restricted section.

It seems now, that every teacher knew they had been through a war, they were given full access to the books that lay in there, knowing that nothing they would see would be as horrific as what they had witnessed during the fighting.

Potter let out a small sigh and Draco’s eyes bore into the top of his dark head then snapped down to his own parchment when Harry raised his head and threw his arms up in a stretch.

“I don’t think I’ve ever got so much work done in one session before” He yawned, pushing his fingers underneath his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I think it’s probably because Hermione's  not here and I have space to think” He snorted, flopping his head back. Draco didn’t know what to say to that so he said nothing, just looked down at his own unfinished sentence and tried to remember how he was going to finish it.

“What are you specifying in?” Came Harry’s voice and Draco looked up again, from the upward tilt of Potter’s lips, this wasn’t the first time he asked. It took Draco’s brain a few seconds to catch up before he realised Potter was asking about which type of transfiguration he was choosing to specialise in, in his exams.

“What?” Draco winced at how dumb he sounded.

Potter just smiled and nodded his head towards Draco’s transfiguration parchment “What are you specifying in this year?”

“Conjuration” Draco answered.

“Really?” Potter asked, eyebrows raising “Impressive”

Draco felt heat rising on his ears and forced himself to roll his eyes “If you paid more attention in class you’d get it”

Potter looked sheepish before sending Draco a wide grin “Yeah, that’s true, I’m specialising in vanishment”

“Of course you are” Draco snorted and leaned back in his chair when Harry let out a laugh

“What does that mean?”   

“Didn’t you vanish a plane of glass when you were 9? Of course you’d do vanishment, you’d be a fool not to” At Potter’s look he carried on “It’s better to play to your strengths, I saw your untransfiguration at the beginning of the year. Let's just say you picked the right thing”.

Potter let out a bark of laughter and Draco was again relieved that they were alone. If this had been in the day, they definitely would have been kicked out by now.

Draco dragged his eyes away from Potter’s face and looked back at his work. It was no use, he'd have to re read the chapter to get back into the roll of writing this. He stood up.

“I need to go find a book”

Potter just picked his quill back up and started writing, “Okay, call me if you get lost”

Draco tried to hide his smile as Potter’s laugh floated after him. It would do no good for himself nor Potter’s ego to react to everything Potter did. Draco ran his eyes down the main aisle, taking in the pitch black corners of the library, shadows dancing along with the flickering of the candles. 

He did like the library at this time of night, although yes, it was different having Potter at the table with him, it wasn’t a bad different, more...less lonely. He shook his head, less lonely, what was he, a child?

Draco carried on to the aisle he knew housed the transfiguration tomes, and yes they were tomes written by long dead wizards and witches with out of date views, boring long script on nothing but theory, in tiny black inked text. Draco breathed in deeply, taking in the smell of old parchment, leather and mildew and sighing in contentment.

Although nothing could beat the smell of a potions lab, there was something comforting about the smell of old books, maybe it just reminded him of being in the manor’s library, sitting in his mother’s lap and hearing her voice as she read any book that Draco liked the colour of, normally ending up being long scripted accounts of wizarding laws going back centuries, but he never cared, just liked the sound of his mother’s voice.

He ran his fingers down the spines of numerous books as he walked, the feel of leather to velvet to paper to fur leading him forwards. He knew where the book was, having taken it out a few times in the past. He stopped, tipped the spine towards him to read the silver lettering on dull red leather before pulling it out fully. He scanned the index then shifted through the book to the chapter he needed, nodded, closed it and walked back to their table. 

Potter was bent over his parchment again, quill moving furiously and Draco got a thrill out of making him jump as he dropped the large book down onto the table.

“Prat” Potter said, and to Draco’s surprised looked guilty about it, “Sorry” Potter said, looking back down at his work.

“Whatever for?” Draco found himself saying as he sat back down. Why was Potter apologising to him for calling him a prat, like they haven’t been calling it each other for years?

“Nothing” Potter said too quickly and Draco snorted.

“Out with it Potter, not all of us have the amazing ability to figure out what you mean like Weasley and Granger”

Potter looked at him “I didn’t...I didn’t want to offend you” He mumbled, looking thoroughly embarrassed now.

“Why would you offend me Potter?” Draco asked, perplexed. What was wrong with Potter? But Draco had a small feeling he knew what it was, and he didn’t like it.

“It’s just” He took a deep breath before continuing “You just seemed different, in the common room and I didn’t want to upset-”

“You didn’t want to upset me” Draco cut in, “Why would you calling me a prat upset me? You are aware we have been calling each other it for years now Potter, unless someone has obliviated those particular memories?” he drawled. Part of him was furious that Potter would treat him with kiddie gloves, but another deeper part, was slightly happy that Potter had been worried enough about him or something to do with their acquaintanceship to censor himself.

“No” Potter shot out looking defensive before huffing slightly “I just, don’t want to fuck this up” He breathed.

“Fuck what up?” Draco asked.

Potter motioned between them “This...this truce or whatever”.

Draco felt his ears return to being red and had to look away. “Just don’t be weird”

“I wasn’t being weird” Potter said, but at Draco’s look he continued “Okay I was, but so were you!”

“What are you? Four?” Draco said raising his eyebrows but he could feel the smile on his lips.

“Maybe, still older than your mental age” Potter shot back. Draco tried to look offended but he had missed this, more than he realised and all he could do was smiled down at his parchment.

“Shut it Potter, we have work to do” Was all Draco said back, feeling a feeling of normalcy he had not felt in years.

[shazyloren]

The Room: Chapter 50 - Being the Teenager

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710496/chapters/32504565

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

Jon was baffled.

Theon had his mouth wide open and was stood on the other side of the hall while Robb flung chicken strips his way. He'd caught two, just missed one and yet the rest (all fifty something strips that Arya had counted) were pilling up near Theon's feet. How am I related to such idiots? He thought as his eyes rolled and he and Sansa continued their conversation over lunch about the dream she'd had in which Jon had been eaten by a Hippogriff in the third task.

"Sansa, there are many things likely to happen in the second and third task, me being eaten by a Hippogriff if not one of them" He said plainly. Sansa went to speak again, as if she was concerned that this was a possibility that could happen but Jon interrupted her. "Hippogriff don't eat humans, they can't digest us. They only eat small animals such as ferrets and squirrels and fish. The most likely thing to happen in the second and third task is that I lose because I have no clue what is going on"

"Maybe I can help?" Jon felt a shiver go down his spine as her voice made him melt. Collecting himself, he turned to see her smiling brightly. In his eye line, he just noticed Missandei was there too, but he did not care. Daenery's eyes were smiling, he couldn't help but be so fucking excited about that fact. For so long this year she'd been smiling with only her mouth that it was so good to see she was finally happy. Well, almost. They still had the task looming over them and all their head duties so who could ever really be happy with all that going on too?

But as her he remembered their kisses they'd shared since the one on Christmas day, a few small ones and other more meaningful ones. His favourite by far was when they'd been studying together and while taking a lunch break had engaged in a near fifteen minute long kiss that had completely obliterated his senses. As he remembered it, he couldn't help but let a small smile creep onto his face, it was a memory he would never forget as long as he and Daenerys lived. Which given how unprepared he was for the Second task could be any day...

What did she say? Something about help...

Jon shook his head as he watched her sit opposite him with Missandei and grab some sandwiches from the 'tuna and cucumber' pile. Her bags were already on the floor and she looked stressed about something despite the smile on her lips. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Can we talk later?" She asked looking around at prying eyes and ears, Theon and Robb noticing she'd come and sat at their table and had stopped flinging food. Jon found his heart in his mouth, every time they were around they said something really embarrassing and he'd end up having to apologise to Daenerys later on. "Who knows what Barnabas would think if I started talking about him where other could hear"

Jon understood, it was code for meet me in our room later on, the room being the room of requirement that is. They still went into the room on the odd occasion, but it was more the emotional support the room gave than anything which made it a perfect hiding place for the two of them. Since she'd revealed her story to him, she'd come to him upset  couple of times about dreams she'd had of it happening again and so they'd go to their room and just sit by the fire and cuddle. Or they'd read interesting books and dance to Celestina Warbeck music.

"Sure, I get ya" Jon said coolly but Sansa he could see, out of the corner of his eye, was looking at him as if he'd just tried to sniff lacewing flies under her nose. He didn't look at the redhead, she was such a snoop she'd probably ask him a million questions the next time ti was just the two of them. "How's the library?"

"Insufferable" She sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I get that nothing of note happens in this school in secret without it being broadcast to the entire populous within hours. However, will people get bored of talking about us eventually? It's all 'I saw them kissing while they were suppose to be patrolling the corridors' and 'I thought they hated each other'. I mean, firstly, I don't break school rules while working, I take patrolling very seriously. Secondly, do they have better things to do with their lives then spread gossip?"

"I wouldn't worry about it, they'll get bored and move onto Arya and William sooner or later" Sansa snickered as everyone else sat down. "I heard Margaery Tyrell saying she caught them practising kissing in the greenhouses. Not my first choice if I'm honest"

"I was not kissing him, that's disgusting!" Arya pretended to make retching noises.

"Who would kiss a pip-squeak like you?" Gendry had suddenly appeared and Sansa, leaping up like she'd suddenly been possessed by a demon flapped her arms around muttering something about Divination study. Arya, flushed redder than the tomatoes in Jon's sandwich.

Jon was confused by the sudden chain of events that had occurred. Daenerys had arrived looking beautiful (which was the only thing he actually cared about), Arya had been kissing boys? To be honest, Jon was surprised at this more than mad as she'd always described men and boys as scum of the universe. Gendry, the only Hufflepuff friend he had, had turned up and insulted his sister before taking his other sister away for Divination study. If Theon started singing and if Robb started doing his homework he wouldn't actually be surprised.

"I'm not a pip-squeak!" Arya growled.

"Sure thing, pip-squeak" Gendry winked before nodding at Jon as a small acknowledgement of him being sat there. Arya's fists were while as her shoulders hunched up and she glared at the Hufflepuff until both he and Sansa left. Jon turned to look at his sister who shoved her plate of food away and began to stalk off angrily towards the exit.

"Can anyone tell me what just happened?" Jon said furrowing his brow.

"Women" Robb laughed as he shoved and entire ham and pickle sandwich into his mouth in one. Missandei, who had remained quiet at this point had a vivid reaction to this. She scrunched her nose up and turned away as if she did not know anyone currently on the table. Jon didn't blame her, he was wondering if he should do that himself. There was a small silence then where Jon wondered about the nature of Arya's relationship with William.

He better not be running his slimy, snivelling hands over her, Jon thought abruptly. He shocked himself with this thought, like Arya would let him do that?

"So, Daenerys" Jon heard Theon say and suddenly, anger flared in him. He knew what was going to happen, and as his eyes traced Daenerys, she did too. Theon looked like he was going to regret what he said, and he was so right. "I heard you two have been making out on patrol, a little unprofessional of you don't you think?"

"Say that again and I'll turn you into a lampshade" Daenerys snarled between mouthfuls of her sandwich. Jon knew this game, it was best not to get involved just yet. They'd both fling insults at each other before Daenerys indeed did the thing she'd threatened to do. She always turned him back or undid the curse she put on him, but just once, Jon wouldn't mind if she left it on there as a punishment for being rude.

Jon tuned out the arguing, favouring his Daily Prophet while he ate lunch. Nothing new seemed to be happening in the wizarding world, the prophet hadn't even reported Viserys being fired by Minister Lannister. But that would change once everything came out. The fact it still hadn't happened worried Jon a little bit, but Professor Lannister had showed him the process off authenticating a memory. It was delicate work and while Veritaserum would make him confess, they needed the memories to make the courts take the case on to be able to get him to confess in the first place.

The news in the prophet of the day was about the lead singer of popular folk band 'The Brotherhood' having taken a religious sabbatical following the end of their forth world tour and a trip to wizarding rehab. Apparently he said that while high on muggle drug, Cannabis, he was approached by one of their gods and asked to convert. There was no word on what it meant for the hugely popular band but given the way the article was written the writer, one Lancel Sparrow, he wasn't too happy about this development.

There was also news of a weird new disease been discovered by a Senior Healer at St. Mungo's. The patient was in quarantine while the heals there worked around the clock to find a cure. There was news of scaling and puss leaking in this new disease and Jon felt queasy for reading while eating, so he skipped to the sports section. The Holy-head harpies had gone the entire season undefeated now and one more win would secure them the championship this season. Their star player, the beater, Brienne Tarth, had crushed the opposition with a total of two hundred and twelve successful redirected bludgers at opponents, more than any other player in one season.

Jon was distracted from his prophet by the sound of hooting and screeching. Mail was here, and so, with it came the fear of a letter from home of the punching incident. Professor Lannister had said he'd written home but the response had not come back yet. Jon had written to them explaining his side of the story and everything that led up to him breaking the pricks jaw.

And so, as he looked up and saw Hodor, the family owl, carrying four letters, he inwardly cursed. Robb, Sansa, Arya AND him. "Drat to Merlin in hell"

"What's your problem?" Daenerys chuckled at him cursing.

"Letter from home" Jon grumbled. "Not had one yet since the Joffrey incident"

They had all got a letter on Christmas day, a generic one for the whole family along with their presents but Jon had not really been fussed either way. But suddenly, he felt like since he'd been head he'd been so good with his anger and his immaturity that this was a step back for him. His sudden rage was against the grain of the year he'd had. Daenerys, understood and all she said was "oh".

The letters landed and he passed Robb's over to him. Keeping Arya and Sansa's letter to give to them later, he opened his with a ferocity and speed he'd never had before. Opening the pages which smelt of their study back home, he read it.

Son,

I have received your letter as well as an interesting open from Professor Lannister. He explained that his nephew, while very much indeed a dismal person at best, you still went against school rules and caused him to have a night in the hospital wing. The story from both sides is not very differing and while I understand your motivations it was indeed reckless of you to jeopardise your position as Head Boy that you've earned.

However, the letter did bring a few things to light which you had not stated before which was your relationship with Miss. Targaryen. When you said at the beginning of the school year that you'd both been made head boy and girl, I feared the worst. At the least I was expecting a letter home every week saying you'd killed each other or worse both been expelled!

But none of this has happened, and I wonder what the cause of this is? Could it possibly be that you are actually now friends with Miss. Targaryen, the very girl you've been competing with for four years? The very girl who also happens to be a Hogwarts champion along with you at this years Triwizard Tournament? The world works in ways I cannot understand, and whatever the reason for this sudden kinship I encourage it.

But please son, try not to punch anyone else in the face so hard they break their jaw. Even if they deserve it!

This brings me to my next point, we'll be coming to the Second Task. I regret not being there for the First one, particularly as I'm on the school board but I did not know how Catelyn would react. If we went, we'd be cheering you on, and as you know, she still has not forgiven me for you.

But as I say many times, you are my son. You may not have my name, but you have my blood, and I will be coming to support you!

All the best,

Father.

Jon exhaled coolly as he realised he got away with murder pretty much. He was expecting a lot worse from that letter, but he had been lucky. However, the news that he was indeed coming to see his second task just meant he had more pressure on himself to do well and he did not like that. Daenerys' honey voice pulled him out of the letter. "All good?"

"Slap on the wrist" Jon sighed, folding the letter up and putting it into his bag. He returned to his lunch and looked as Daenerys glanced around at the owls. "Anything for you?"

"No, but that's a good thing" She changed the subject. "So, meeting today. You got the agenda ready?"

"Always, I wanted to bring up the notepads again. People are not being specific enough with the detail, also a few are abusing the power to write down people they hate" Jon said as he pulled out his own notepad and began writing down a few additional things on the paper. "I mean we all want to write Joffrey down for every crime under the sun but the past few weeks he's actually kept to himself"

"You're right" Daenerys pulled her own notepad out, but Jon recognised it as the one that he uses to commune with her when they had just head business to talk about when they didn't want anyone else to read it. She winked at him before writing something down on her notepad. Jon sideways glanced at Robb who was still reading his letter from home and Theon had gone over to the Slytherin table to give his sister her letter.

He took his notepad out and read the message that came through to him. You look very handsome with your hair down and the curls out.

Jon felt his eyes widen. What was he supposed to say back? Daenerys hair was not in a braid today, but it was running free and loose all over the place. He could compliment it, or would he just be copying? And did he write a short sentence or did he write something detailed? There wasn't a manual for this, that was for sure! He sighed and wrote what came to mind.

Your voice is like honey and your hair is like silver clouds.

Alright poet, calm down.

Sorry, your hair is nice too.

Thank you, you want to kiss later?

Do you need to ask me?

Always, you might change your mind and go back to hating me. Please don't ever do that, I think we're too involved for that to not and well if it was the case.

Daenerys, I could live to be a hundred and I'd still care for you. But yes, after our meeting, we can have a kiss.

Do you feel weird planning this out on a notepad?

You're the one who asked.

True, see you at four for meeting. X]

Suddenly, Daenerys got out of her seat and collected her things. Jon blinked as he watched her swiftly leave and her hair trail down her back. It was then he noticed her bottom, it was curvy and round, and in her jeans it looked like a perfect peach. He realised however, that if she knew he was looking at her bottom she'd get nervous and scared and run off which was understandable given everything that happened. So he tore his eyes away and tried to focus on what he had to do before the meeting.

What did he have to do?

With Daenerys around he didn't know anything anymore, she was his one and only focus.

Screw school.