#the alternate title was fluffy in the land of dreams

[dovesick]

the opposite of heaven is nothing at all

[tallulahneale]

Title: Who really lives their dream?

Summary: Vince as a pharma tech, alternate reality!

A/n: This is a fluffy wuffy story.

Part Nine

It’s been 2 months since Lula left for Haiti and even longer since she left p-p with Vince to handle. How tf did she grow this so quickly? he asks himself. P-P had become a six figure profit business and Vince was having trouble keeping it organised. New clients came in weekly, new drop off points were made and the joining fee was more of an incentive for them.

He gets a call from his mom.

“Hey Mom”

“Hi Son. How’s everything going?”

“Not great Ma.”

Vince explains the situation to her with hopes of advice on how to manage the business.

“Son, you know what you need to do.”

“I don’t want to bother her. We spoke last week and she’s having a great time over there.”

“Who else knows how to handle it better than Lula? Y’all were partners before said she was done.”

“I know, but-“

“Vincent just speak to her. In person preferably. You remember when I told you that you’ll-”

“Ma I’m not tryna hear that righ-“. Anita cuts the call before he finishes but sends a text;

‘Just go Vince’

Time is of the essence, so Vince books his flight for the next day. Time is money and I can’t waste it, he reminds himself. He post an update on the forums to his clientele, informing them of a temporary hiatus which will be sorted out by next week earliest.

Packing light, he heads to the airport sending a text to Lula.

‘Hey boubout, I’ll be flying in tomorrow night. Need to run something by you’

She replies almost immediately.

‘Hey Vince! Omg, for real?! That’s amazing!! Aunty called me and explained everything, don’t sweat it. Also… you can’t be calling me boubout anymore 🤭’

He replies back.

‘Yes, I expect you to be my tour guide too. Y’know I’ve never been there before. And why not? You got a Haitian nigga or something?’

She responds

‘It’s a surpriseee! I’ll see you tomorrow!’

Vince laughs and puts his phone on airplane mode, No way she already has a nigga he snickers to himself before closing his eyes.

——

He lands in Port-au-Prince around 7pm. Damn Cali heat has nothing on Haiti, he said to himself. The scenery is beautiful, from the scent of the water and plantation to the smiles on the faces of citizen and the few tourist. He collects his check-in luggage, his mom had more gifts for the family, and walks to the pathway for arrivals. He gets a few stares and smiles “Women are super fine too” he said smiling back at them. He reaches the immigration border, shows his visa and keeps going till he gets to the exit where family members are waiting for their loved ones.

“VINCENT!” Lula shouts excitedly, she sees him before he sees her. Next to her is a man holding a sign board ‘Mr. Staples’, Of course her bougie ass got a chauffeur, he laughs as he waves walking down towards her.

“Hey Lula Tallulah” he smiles hugging her.

“Look at you! Have you been hitting the gym or is your grown man body just getting here? You look buff!”

“You a trip.” He says shaking his head. “You’ve put on a few pounds too, but inna good way.”

“Right! Work stress did not have me glowing this hard.”

The chauffeur takes his luggage and they follow towards the car.

“So you got a chauffeur now? You living good out here cuh.”

“Yes, I am!” She beams “Did your mum give you the snacks and froot loops that I like?”

“Wait that was for you?!” He snickers “I should have known with your sweet-tooth self. Everything’s in the checked luggage.” He reassures you.

Once they settle in the car, Lula points out a few historical facts and tourist attractions around Haiti that they were going to visit. As she reaches for a pack of chips, Vince glimpses at her left hand.

“Wait… you actually got yourself a nigga!” He does a double take.

“Huh?” Lula looks at her hand “Oh yeah! I forgot to mention” she giggles “Your girl got engaged!!!”

“That’s what’s up. Congratulations sè.”

“Thank you Vince! This was meant to be the surprise but hey.”

“I don’t think you know how surprises work” she rolls her eyes at him.

“Anyway, we’re heading to our place for the night. You can stay at the other house in the yard or my apartment if you want.”

“Whatever, I don’t mind” He shrugs “As long as we have a private place to talk. You know why am here, Lula.”

“Damn nigga take a break and enjoy the sights! You’ve been working so hard and so much.”

He nods, she’s right. He has not been on a vacation in over two years.

——

They pull up to a huge yard with three house and a security quarter round the front. A shirtless man dressed in black linen pants walks down as the car parks.

“Mon kè” He says opening the door for Lula. “And you must be Vince Staples.”

“Yeah. Hey.” Vince replies stepping out to get his luggage.

“I remember you from the airport when Lula first flew in” he says. So that’s how they met Vince thinks to himself, how convenient.

“I’m Pierre. Don’t worry about your luggage, the girls will take it.” He says inviting Vince inside the main house “Come, Lula made some food before she left.”

She giggles knowing Vince will have something to say.

“If it’s BBQ anything, I’m taking her off your hands.”

“Try and die.” Pierre laughs.

“Amou!” Lula cautions “No swinging dicks will be tolerated. Souple e Mèsi.”

Lula walks to the kitchen to make a plate for Pierre and Vince serving them, before making a plate for herself.

Once they’re done eating, Vince and Lula walk around the yard as he explains his reason for visiting.

“To put is simply Lula… I can’t run p-p alone.”

Lula freezes.

“Vince…”

“I’m not asking to you join just want you to demonstrate how I can manage it better.” She nods.

“Tomorrow. It’s already late.”

“Alright.”

She gives him a hug as she walks towards the main house, leaving Vince in his thoughts.

Part Ten link

~~

Translations: (n/b not fluent in Creole)

Sè = Sister

Mon kè = My heart

Amou = My love

Souple e Mèsi = Please and thanks

~~

[celestemagnoliathewriter]

2022 wrapped

Tagged by the lovely @ginnyw-potter:

Post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular):

The Time Traveling Nymph, Alternate Ending - the last part of my time traveling Tonks series. I was so proud of how this whole series came together. It's my most popular work and the one I enjoyed writing the most.

Cariad - my postwar AU of Tonks and Remus surviving the Battle of Hogwarts. The question gets posed often - would they have stayed together had they survived? The short answer, yes, but this fic is the long answer (not without significant pain and growth in their relationship).

Call Me Edward - the least popular of my longfics, but one I'm so proud of. Teddy travels back in time. I put that small bean through so much. This is the kind of time travel fic I love (along with the others) - it's not perfect, it's messy, and it's painful.

Unforgettable - a fluffy one-shot I was especially proud of. I thought I did a nice job with the prose. I normally don't write prettily but I thought this one was nice.

Twelve Birthdays - I wrote this for a fest, a look into the life of Tom Riddle. It was a collection of 100-word drabbles. Writing that tightly is a challenge, especially when trying to make a whole narrative. I was very pleased with how it landed and it's inspired me to keep doing this exercise with other fics.

your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year:

Andromeda's Sacrifices - it's the title for the Andromeda series I'm going to write/am currently writing. I'm thinking it's going to be two parts. We'll see. Either way, I'm super pumped to post it.

A Changing Pack/title tbd of my Remus raising Harry series - I'm going to finish this. I am. I AM.

My "Death of" Series: it's an exploration of the wizarding afterlife. My next character is Fred Weasley, but I've got a few more in the works: Remus, Sirius, Harry, Nymphadora, Andromeda, and Molly.

Platonic Draco & Ginny time travel fic: I've had this germ of an idea on my mind of Draco and Ginny time traveling together and becoming reluctant friends. Still working out the details & ending.

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year:

From my first fic, Collide, to its second part, Cariad, you can see a HUGE shift in my writing and its progress. Better dialogue, prettier prose, more cohesive narrative, stronger characterization - I'd say all of these are improvements. (More than 3 improvements, but I'm proud of how much my writing has improved in the last year.)

your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year:

I want to finish my current WIPs before I post the Andromeda fic. Probably a pipe dream, but it's a resolution.

I want to get better at figurative, pretty language. I'm not a metaphorical person. My prose is good but straightforward, not super poetic either. I do understand that poetic prose is harder with longfics (and I admire anyone who can write a longfic in a pretty way), but that's why I started writing one-shots, to hone my writing skills and apply what I've learned to the longfics.

and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year:

Okay, so I'm unbearably proud of one of the last one-shots I wrote in 2022, The Death of Teddy Lupin.

I can't pin it down to just one line, but there's this bit at the end that made my heart so happy to write:

“Where’s home?” Teddy asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Where love ends,” Gran replied simply, putting her hand on his heart. “As long as there’s love to give, we’re not home yet.”

Teddy gaped at them, confused. “Won’t that take forever?”

Nymphadora and Remus smiled brighter than anyone else.

“The more time you spend here,” said Nymphadora, taking Teddy’s hand, “the more you’ll understand. Forever is all the time we need.”

I'll tag @mumka-fanfic and @messrmoonyy

[thelattechronicles]

"Any Trope but You" by Victoria Lavine

Disclaimer: this is an unsponsored review of an eARC provided by NetGalley and Atria Books.

Calling all my Emily Henry book lovers, and perhaps also Ali Hazelwood fans!! If you were a fan of fluffy romance stories that you outwardly rolled your eyes at and proclaimed it cringe, but secretly loved and re-read at home in private (hi, this is me) and you want an easy commitment, this book is for you.

Here's the book description:

A bestselling romance author flees to Alaska to reinvent herself and write her first murder mystery, but the rugged resort proprietor soon has her fearing she’s living in a rom-com plot instead in this earnestly spectacular debut by a stunning new voice. Beloved romance author Margot Bradley has a dark secret: she doesn’t believe in Happily Ever Afters. Not for herself, not for her readers, and not even for her characters, for whom she secretly writes alternate endings that swap weddings and babies for divorce papers and the occasional slashed tire. When her Happily Never After document is hacked and released to the public, she finds herself canceled by her readers and dropped by her publisher. Desperate to find a way to continue supporting her chronically ill sister, Savannah, Margot decides to trade meet-cutes for murder. The fictional kind. Probably. But when Savannah books Margot a six-week stay in a remote Alaskan resort to pen her first murder mystery, Margot finds herself running from a moose and leaping into the arms of the handsome proprietor, making her fear she’s just landed in a romance novel instead. The last thing Dr. Forrest Wakefield ever expected was to leave his dream job as a cancer researcher to become a glorified bellhop. What he’s really doing at his family’s resort is caring for his stubborn, ailing father, and his puzzle-loving mind is slowly freezing over—until Margot shows up. But Forrest doesn’t have any room in his life for another person he could lose, especially one with a checkout date. As long snowy nights and one unlikely trope after another draw Margot and Forrest together, they’ll each have to learn to overcome their fears and set their aside assumptions before Margot leaves—or risk becoming a Happily Never After story themselves.

Readers, when I say that I devoured this book- I really do mean that I devoured this book. This was the fluffiest winter romance story that I needed, and a fantastic break from the long series I had recently finished (anyone also coming out of an ACOTAR binge?)

As the title makes it blatantly obvious, Lavine packs in every possible romance trope that you can think of into this story.

Unexpected meet cute? Check.

One bed only available? Check.

Need to get naked for survival? Check.

Misunderstanding because of a lack of communication? Check.

Love triangle, specifically 2 Male Leads and 1 FL? Check.

Lumberjack-esque flannel wearing ML? Check. (Bonus points for the sleeves rolled up.)

..... and there are quite a few more.

You get the gist: you name it, this book has got it.

Any Trope but You was such a quick read that I couldn't put the book down until after I finished it. Just like Margot herself wields the power of writing from the heart, Lavine goes beyond just simply telling a story with the goal of stuffing as many tropes as possible in a book, with little-to-no character development or complexity. Instead, Lavine tells a tale of a yearning love between two people who understand each other, and respect each other's past and priorities.

I particularly loved the way immunocompromised people and caregivers were addressed and included in this book; not as a neglectful and dutiful responsibility, but one borne out of guilt, appreciation, regret, and truly above all- love.

Was it a touch predictable? Yes. As someone who devours and have devoured too many of these romance books, I spotted these tropes coming from a mile away. However, that isn't to say that it was still enjoyable to read, as Lavine's FL Margot calls them out as well for readers to spot, and it's fun to be along for the ride. The only thing I am upset at about the book, is that Forrest had made the decision that he did towards the end (what a damned shame). Overall, it was a great feel-good read.

★★★★

J

[paperstarwriters]

Betwixt Your Lips and My Dreams

Based off of this post

Muriel x reader fluff.

That's it that's the fic.

Warning: Lots of kisses.

─────・✿・─────

It was a rather lazy day.

Fluffy little bees bumbled in the morning's light, splattered through the forest in sporadic beams of gold, rearranged with every breeze blown in from the ocean only half a day’s walk away. It was warm but not too warm. Cool, but not too cold. With all of his chores done long ago, and awaiting your return from town, Muriel lazed about under a sprawling oak tree.

So warm, so lazy. It was like a honeyed blanket coating him on all sides. It reminded him of you in a way. Luring him away with soft touches and sweet sounds. He fell asleep under the tree, dreaming of little more than pressing a kiss to your lips.

"Little more," hah. As if a kiss from you wouldn't be something that could both make and break his world in the slightest fraction of a second. It could turn him selfless and selfish in an instant, greedy and giving all at once. The soft way you fit against his own lips, how yours brushed so gently and tenderly against him, how sometimes you'd dive right back in for another as soon as you finished the last, or how, so selfishly, he'd dig his fingers into your hips, just a little, just to keep you there a little longer, just to try and ask for another kiss. Sometimes he'd actually ask too. He got used to asking around you, he knew you'd listen. He'd ask, but deep in his heart he knew he was practically begging with the way he was already leaning back for another taste of your lips.

He'd ask as clearly as he could muster for another on some days, on others he resorted to alternative methods.

Trails of sweetness left on your lips or his, he grew into the habit of asking, "are you sure you got it all?" or "I think there's a little more" whenever you kissed the mess off of his lips or he did the same to you. You always graced him with another taste.

Sometimes you kissed him for what he felt was a lifetime. Long languid sessions of "making out"— that was an awful title. "Making out" hardly described how his heartbeat grew so dependent on yours as you held him so close. "Making out" hardly caught the the way your lips just seemed to fit against his own, hardly alluded to the feeling of your tongue wrapped around his or tracing patterns along his lips. It could not even capture the feeling he got when you held his bottom lip between your teeth and nibbled. And the ache – oh the ache – even pulling away from a single breath felt like he was being torn apart, like he was drowning in the air he didn't share with you.

But he was getting better at breathing as you kissed. You were too, of course you were, but he was the one so concerned about it. Every second he spend trying to catch a breath was a second less of your lips on his.

In his dreams breathing was no such issue. In his dreams he could press his lips against yours for as long as he wanted, breaking apart only to appreciate the way you looked, eyes dazzled by him. So needy and begging for more.

And while in his humble, personal, self-centered and biased opinion, your lips were the best to kiss, they were not the only part of you he loved to kiss. Nor was his own lips the only place he'd love to feel your lips.

He can recall the first time you kissed his neck as vividly as he could recall the day he first met you. You had been sitting curled up in his lap, tracing the faint and faded lines left by the collar he used to wear, while he worked away at a carving. Ever so slowly, and ever so gently, you leaned closer towards him, and after asking an ever so soft "may I?" and letting him nod, you placed a fluttering kiss on the column of his neck. He gasped then, so loud and sharp, all else he was doing, all else he could see or hear, faded like fog under the heat of the sun.

And ever so slowly, ever so carefully, you placed another kiss, this one landing at the soft spot between his neck and collarbone, softer still from the sensitive skin left battered under that collar.

He moaned.

Oh, he couldn't help it. He had wanted so desperately to muffle the sound, so embarrassed that you had heard him elicit such a cry so quickly, but it spurred you on for another kiss, then another and another. His breaths became labored, as he all but melted around you, carving abandoned, as he wrapped his arms around you trying to gain purchase in the real world, because he felt like his soul was about to burst up and into the sky from the feelings you gave his tender, tender heart.

An ever so slight tug against his shirt tore Muriel from one dream to another. The world still blurred around him, the sun just a hint too bright in it's sparse beams, the shadows unfocused and blurry in his wavering vision, but he didn't notice or care for any of that.

You stood beside him, a smile curling your sweet, sweet lips, a little question bubbling behind your eyes about to ask for the thousandth time if he was alright.

His eyes fluttered back closed – he couldn't help it, he was tired – and he leaned into the dreamy softness of your lips and gave you a kiss. It felt so soft, so soft he could almost imagine it was real. His lips caressed yours and yours parted so pliantly in reply. It wasn't all that long of a kiss, it would have lasted only moments in the real world, but it was enough for him.

His eyes fluttered open once more, searching for your face. Your expression was different now, your eyes wide, your question wiped form your face entirely, and your lips were parted ever so slightly that had him yearning for another kiss—

Wait.

Another?

Realization hit him like a bolt of lightning, and his face burned with the knowledge. His reaction only served to make yours worse. Warm cheeks now burning so hot he could almost feel it radiate off of you.

"Sorry!" he blurted, and he really, truly was.

He was so, so sorry, yet he couldn't help the way his eyes lingered a breath too long on your soft lips, nor how he leaned in ever so slightly back towards you. He couldn't help the warmth that bloomed in his chest, or the way he already felt like melting.

The softness of your own expression faltered, falling to worry and concern, so painful and aching. It hurt so badly to see your face twist into such an expression, it felt agonizing that he was the one who placed it there.

"Why?"

Muriel blinked. His brows furrowed, but you asked again before he could even speak.

"Why are you sorry for kissing me?" And he lost his breath all over again.

You leaned up to him this time, placing yourself beside him and curling up into his embrace, bringing your face so close to his neck, so close he could feel your breath against the tender spots on his neck.

"Muriel?" His head was spinning, delirious with longing, with want and need, and all he wanted was to kiss you all over again. He wanted to hold you close and kiss you again. It would be so much easier to just kiss you rather than talk.

But you asked him a question, and he didn't want you to worry.

"I… didn't…. ask."

"You don't…… You don't always have to ask."

Muriel frowned. What were you talking about? Of course he did! Your consent mattered, and he wanted to respect that. He really did. You always asked him whether or not he wanted something, and he loved that you considered his feelings all the time. Why couldn't he do the same for you?

As if reading his mind, you continued, "I mean… I wouldn’t mind getting surprise kisses from you sometimes. If you don't mind getting some either." He must have looked confused because you had begun to ramble. "of course, not always! I'll still ask you if you want a kiss, and I would still like if you ask, but there are ways we can ask without speaking as well! You could squeeze my hand and I could tell you yes or no— or I suppose we already do that a lot but… uh…." you trailed off your words too twisted on your tongue for even you to make sense of.

"I'd like… surprise kisses….."

You nod a little absentmindedly at first, but your hand comes up to cup his cheek, as you leaned away from his touch, giving him space to better lean down to you. He closed his eyes, feeling warm held in your hands, feeling safe within your embrace.

Your hands were so nice against his skin, he loved the feeling of you pressed against him, as wonderful as your kisses were, being held in your wonderful arms was just as magnificent. It was nice. Soft, sweet. Grounding. He loved your hugs as much as he did your kisses and—

And then he felt your lips against his and his eyes fluttered open.

You pressed your lips against his and kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and kissed. It melted him immediately, how could he not? You were kissing him, this was exactly what he wanted, what he longed for. Although it was a little unexpectedly –

ah...right. A surprise kiss.

His lips curled against yours, a smile pressed against your own grin.

"I love you," you say.

It sounds loud in this soft space between your lips, pulled apart just to speak.

"I love you too," he replies in a whisper, breathless from all the air you've stolen from his lungs by your kisses – and those words – he's surprised he can even speak under your sweet ministrations.

And then he kisses you again, and again, and again.

[silentprincess17]

Sometimes Things Have To Get Worse Before They Get Better

This is essentially a darker, heavier alternate take on Memory #7 - Blades of the Yiga. I wanted to write a fic with a competent Yiga Clan. (Yes you read that right). It is very angsty in the beginning and then becomes fluffy (hence the title!)

Summary: Link and Zelda have returned from Vah Naboris with Urbosa and have spent the night in Kara Kara Bazaar Inn. Link wakes up and finds her missing.

Cue the angst.

This story is complete and I will post each chapter daily on here but you can read the whole thing on AO3

Rating: Mature (Graphic descriptions of violence) Pairing: Link/Zelda (Zelink) Characters: Link, Zelda, The Yiga Clan, Master Kohga

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3: So what do we do now? (or the fluffy chapter to the previous angsty one)

Link awoke and immediately questioned it, because he felt like he was still dreaming, in a Castle Courtyard where, as a child he’d snuck through a small canal to get in to see the Princess, and as an adult he’d waltzed in as Captain of the Guards. Because he could hear her lullaby. It had been so long… He slowly opened his eyes, disorientated because he was staring into the familiar vivid green eyes of His Princess, not the blue of other, so she wasn’t her, and he wasn’t him, but the lullaby? And she was smiling at him, albeit weakly. What- smiling? His Princess? At him?! What had happened?

There was more to add to his confusion though, because she was humming. She was the one humming the lullaby, but it wrong, because it wasn’t her lullaby, but really who was he to say otherwise, it probably was the lullaby for all the Princesses named Zelda. It- it was achingly familiar, but disturbing because all the times felt wrong and messed up. This wasn’t his, this wasn’t meant to comfort him, but it was anyway.

But why was he –

He blinked, waking up properly this time. He suddenly realised where he was exactly. He was in the Princess of Hyrule’s lap. His head was resting on her thighs. She was stroking his hair. His ponytail was gone. She was humming her lullaby to him. And she wasn’t angry at him.

Everything about this situation screamed wrong.

And then it all came hurtling back, and Link felt like he’d been stabbed all over with those darts the Yiga had aimed at her stomach. They’d been captured by the Yiga. Goddesses above. He rapidly sat up and felt a burst of pain all the way across his right shoulder and down his arm, and his vision swam, from the remaining drug in his system or from the pain he didn’t know.

“Link! Don’t get up so fast you-”

She gently pulled on his good arm, and he didn’t put up much resistance, mainly because it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He felt so disjointed, and he knew this was wrong, but he wasn’t feeling well enough to protest.

And okay, maybe he was a little glad she didn’t seem to hate him anymore. Just a little.

He raised his eyebrows at her, hoping she’d understand. She did. “After they drugged you asleep, because I guess they figured they’d never beat you otherwise, they did the same for me- I got caught barely a few metres from where you fell. And then I presume we both got carted to their Hideout. I woke up before you because I had a lower dose, and I, um, well.”

She awkwardly pointed to his right shoulder. “You know, I’m no Mipha, and it’s not like we have any healing resources, but I needed to close your wound in case it got infected- I believe they wrenched the sickle out of you before they dumped us in here. And I thought it best to at least try to sew it together whilst you were asleep and couldn’t feel much. It, went well, surprisingly- you didn’t bleed excessively considering they removed the object that was effectively acting as a tamponade, but I think because it landed squarely in your trapezius, it didn’t hit any major blood supplies, thankfully. I cleaned it as best as I could. And it was a good thing I had my mini sewing supplies in my pocket, Urbosa’s skirt had a small cut she wanted me to- uh- never mind. It was lucky that I forgot to put the kit in my pouch, which they took so.”

She paused, “Anyway, just as I put in the last stitch, thinking I could, maybe, relax a little, you started to thrash around, flailing all your limbs everywhere. With hindsight, I think the draught was fading by that point…” She took a short, sharp breath, “And I obviously couldn’t risk you ripping the wound open so in an attempt to calm you I held your head down and started humming and it, uh, worked. So that is why. I was. Doing that.” She fisted her hands awkwardly, bunching the material of her shirt in her hands, between her fractured phrases. Her eyes flittered around, looking everywhere but him. “And I didn’t want you to open that wound again, we don’t have many supplies so, so I guided you to lie down again.” She was clearly uncomfortable. And was that- Farore. She was blushing, he realised. Because of him.

That felt incredibly wrong, no Princess should ever blush at her Knight, so he readied himself to move off her and give her some much needed space.

He nodded, putting her out of her misery before sitting up much more slowly this time. He looked over his shoulder trying to see how bad the wound was, but she’d done an excellent job in sewing him up. Perhaps the embroidery skills she’d learnt were amenable to medical stiches too. He scooted away from her, trying to clear his head a little, and forget how comfortable it felt. How much he’d enjoyed her deft fingers working through his hair. How she'd still smelled of lavender, honey and just a hint of Gerudo spice –

He shook his head, clearly, he was still somewhat delusional following the heady sleeping draught. He needed to apologise to her and he needed to try to find a way to get out. He suddenly remembered her neck, and he dashed over, scanning across her whole body quickly, trying to see if she was okay and if any other wounds had been inflicted on her whilst he was asleep.

“Link!”

What? He had to- why was she bending her neck? He could guess why, and his gut twisted on itself. He’d let her get hurt. He hesitantly raised his hand, and placed it close to her chin, not quite touching, but Zelda tracked his movement and slowly nodded. He ever so gently touched the tips of his fingertips onto her jaw, and pressed upwards and she elongated her neck in compliance.

He gasped. She’d wiped it down, but there was a red, clearly inflamed, scabbed over, curved, line across her neck. He screwed his eyes shut, half wanting to throw up, even though he knew he had nothing in his stomach. He couldn’t look at her, this was his fault, he’d allowed her to get hurt. Some Appointed Knight he was.

He was so lost in cursing himself and his inability to protect her that he missed her hand moving and pressing down on his own, still softly holding her jaw. His eyes flew open at that, but he still couldn’t meet her gaze, looking everywhere but her. “Link.” He knew what she was going to say, and he didn’t want to hear it. It was his fault.

“Link, look at me.”

He couldn’t deny an order from his Princess.

“It wasn’t your fault. You were not the one to draw the sickle against me, okay?” He reluctantly nodded, seeing where she was coming from. “If anything, it was mine for running away. And I should be the one apologising, because you got hurt- and your wound is much more severe compared to this simple scab that will heal with time. And that’s notwithstanding the whole infection risk of using embroidery thread and not actual medical sutures.”

She sighed, patting the ground next to her. He reluctantly let go of her and sat down as she wished, his vision swirled a little, from all the abrupt movement.

She fiddled with her fingers, before turning to him, a determined look in her eyes. “I truly am sorry Link. For- for everything. From running away all those times, to being childishly jealous of you and your success, to… even shouting at you.” She sighed, “Not to mention taking out all my petty frustrations on you, whilst you were only trying to do your job. For, well, letting you get hurt because of me. For ending up here…” She shoved her head in her hands. “Goddesses above, the list never ends. I-”

Her voice went quiet. “I apologise, Link, for not being the Princess you deserve.”

He was shocked. He hadn’t been expecting that to say the least. Words had never been his forte, so he did the best he could.

He tenderly tilted her head towards him, and then shook his head. The vulnerability he saw in those verdant eyes struck him. She was serious, she genuinely regretted it, and he tried to smile reassuringly. How could he ever remain upset with her anyway? Not when he understood and related to her so well.

He placed his other hand on his heart and bent his head towards her. “You accept? No, you forgive me? So easily? No, I insist you give some punishment Link.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he raised both hands up, shrugging slightly. He was never one for punishments and he forgave her, because he understood, he truly did. He just needed to think through his words, and he’d tell her properly.

“You're too kind. I'll find a way, to earn my forgiveness, even if you've already accepted. Although... perhaps being here is punishment enough.” She hugged her knees to her chest, and he closed his eyes for a second, just trying to get his bearings. He still felt dizzy and sitting up so fast as soon as he had woken up, and then rushing to Zelda to look over her had not helped matters. Most likely, this was due to a side effect from inhaling such a high concentration of the drought. He’d have to wait for a bit before moving again, and he spread his palms out on the ground next to his thighs to try to get over the remaining queasiness, keeping his eyes shut so he wouldn’t be further disorientated.

He felt her slip her hand just next to his, her pinkie finger barely touching his thumb.

And Link felt his heart speed up a little. He couldn’t help but feel pleased they’d finally made some progress and were no longer at odds with each other. For the first time, the silence that descended on them was a comfortable one, not fraught with tension like every other time they’d been left alone together. And for that, he was immeasurably glad.

After taking a few minutes to recover his bearings, Link slowly opened his eyes, and was pleased to find his world was not tilting on its axis. He took several deep breaths, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his shoulder.

Okay. He was ready now, to start thinking of a plan.

He motioned for Zelda to wait as he heaved himself to stand, very slowly. And nothing happened, everything was still balanced. Good. He headed over to the bars, first, before realising they were made, in fact, of fairly hardy steel and it wasn’t at all rusted. There would be no hope of breaking them directly, not by hand anyway. And where was the door? He belated realised the metal on one side was different to the others. It was darker in shade. He flicked his index finger at it, but it came back just as hard and resonant. Well. Clearly whatever it was wouldn’t be easy to break either. He tried to stemmy the rising panic when thinking about how the hell they were supposed to break out. He moved to the bottom of the bars, but it became rapidly obvious to him that the mongrels had drilled the bars a significant distance down, too low for them to try to dig out. She shuffled over.

“I had a quick check over the cell too, before, I um, realised that you were hurt. They sort of left you with your back to the wall, so I didn’t actually see the bleeding until I got up close and- well. You know the rest of it. There really isn’t much other than the toilet in the next cell that we can go into.” His eyes lit up, “But no, it’s the exact same thing as this one. More bars, just with a curtain for decency I guess.”

He decided to check everything anyway. Alas, it was an airtight cell. There wasn’t a single thing they could manipulate. Clearly the Yiga had been planning for this.

He cast his eyes out, looking beyond the bars and realised that it in fact looked out to what seemed to be a gigantic circular hole in the sand. The landscape itself naturally moulded into a giant cylinder, perfect to keep the Yiga hidden, and impossible for them to climb out without being seen. If they could even get out of the cell to begin with. Although, eerily, everything seemed quiet.

He turned back to Zelda, motioning to the space outside and then pointing to the banana symbol engraved in the wall. “I found it surprising too. I have no idea where they’ve gone. It’s all very calm. I’m not sure why... Well, this sounds morbid, but I don’t understand why they’ve kept me alive. Surely their intention was to assassinate, and yet, now we’re locked up, and they haven’t come yet. Although I can only assume this is a good thing, time to plan an escape… maybe… well hopefully, anyway.”

He fought a smile off his face. She always did talk too much. Perhaps that was a good thing though, it balanced him out quite nicely.

He sighed, moving to sit down again, it was best to conserve his strength. And looking at the red lanterns and those weird orange wooden planks linked to each other was freaking him out a little. He wasn't sure what the symbolism was, but he was wary. There wasn’t much else they could do, other than wait for one of the Yiga to come, and make the mistake of opening the door, then Link would go into hand combat, and they would have to scale the cliff out of the here. The section to the right actually appeared the least steep, so hopefully Zelda would be able to manage that. However, he could see the snow from here and that meant there was risk of hypothermia, and they didn't have their normal stock of elixirs. Goddesses above, his head hurt from thinking through all the ways this could go wrong.

“You’re looking at the end cliff face. Do you think-”

He nodded.

“I think I can do it. Will you be okay with your wound?”

He nodded again.

She exhaled heavily, coming to sit down next to him. “The chance of a rescue team coming to find us is also depressingly slim, at the minute, because according to Urbosa, we’ve left the desert. According to my father, we’re in the process of travelling to the Spring of Power, and whilst we’re in the vicinity we’re supposed to go visit Daruk again to see if he’s has any progress with controlling Vah Rudania. Therefore, we are not due back at the Castle for another three weeks at least to account for travel time, so he won’t be suspicious of our continued absence. And Daruk thinks were going to Spring first and I don’t think he knows that you are only supposed to stay a day there- he might assume I’ve succeeded and so stayed for longer, or even that we were delayed in Gerudo Town…”

He nodded. Basically, all that meant external help was not coming any time soon.

“How long do you think it’ll take them to realise we’ve been captured?”

He thought about it for a few seconds. It would take at least another two weeks for Daruk to realise something was up, and by the time he relayed that over to Urbosa and the King, it will have been at least three. And then they still needed to search over Hyrule as to where exactly the Princess and Link were, before tracking them down to the Kara Kara Bazaar Inn, and hopefully realising they were, in fact, abducted by the Yiga Clan. And as to the actual rescue itself, he doubted it would take more than a couple of days simply because it involved the Princess and the Hero - the two people who were truly capable of fighting the ever-approaching evil. So overall that was what? Four and a half weeks?

He held up four fingers. Best to not dash her hopes too much.

“Hylia above! A month?!” She slumped against the wall. “I can see why though. It- it’s just so inconvenient that we decided to combine three separate outings into one. And that is why no one will actually realise we are in trouble.”

Link didn’t point out that this was, in fact, a common occurrence. The Princess often fabricated another couple of reasons to delay going back the Castle. He understood why of course. Facing her father with repeated failures was hard and being out in Hyrule meant she could at least be of some use in terms of her research. Frankly, if he’d been in her position, he would have done the same.

“Another thing that I didn’t mention before, but you should probably know, is that they took the Sheikah Slate.”

Oh crap. Purah would kill them both, but she’d go all out on Link, fond as she was of Princess Zelda. She’d skewer him alive and then Robbie would sprinkle on his various guardian parts on top for seasoning and the two of them would roast him slowly for committing such a crime. And then they’d recover the guardian parts because those were precious and were not likely to burn, unlike his mortal form, into ashes anyway. Why was thinking of this and how did he come up with this much detail?

He must have had a look of apt horror on his face because she chuckled slightly, “Yes, I know. Even if we survive this whole abduction, we will probably not live for long afterwards.”

He shook his head. No, they would survive. He would make sure of it. She smiled a little in response.

Something was unsettling him though. It felt like a there was a gnawing hole inside him. At first he thought it was because of Zelda getting hurt, and then because of his dizziness but it suddenly hit him what was missing. His heart skipped a beat in fear. He glanced over, looking at his shoulder again, in vain because he knew it was empty and the confirmation terrified him. He looked at her with wide eyes, not daring to think of the implications. “I- I don’t actually know what happened to the Master Sword, Link, it was – um, in that Yiga’s head and then I was knocked out. I don’t know if they took it, or left it behind…”

And there went Link’s last hope of killing the darkness.

[profoundnet]

Header by @cryptomoon and is available on merch from her redbubble store. You can use all those fancy emojis (and more!) on our Discord server!

The masterpost is open for all creations by ProfoundBond members which are posted in their entirety during that month.

MEMBER CONTRIBUTIONS FOR JUNE 2020!

Featuring works by @blueraven06, @castielslostwings, @delo0821, galium, @goldenraeofsun, @imbiowaresbitch, @jemariel, @masterofevilmonkeyness, @multifandom-fanatic, ravens_tell_stories, @saywhatjessie, @shadowkat-83, shikaro, @spnsmile, tiamatv, @thefandomsinhalor, @vulfmert, and @wookieefucker under the cut.

Redamber79 - @imbiowaresbitch - Redamber79

Free Hugs (E, 2.6k)

Castiel is moving into his dorm for his first year when his older brother Gabriel trips him into the arms of a half-naked hunk holding a sign reading FREE HUGS. Then Cas meets his roommate...

Tags: No Archive Warnings apply, meet-cute, explicit, roommate AU

The Fall of Castiel (E, 5.8k)

Another fight, Castiel's blue eyes flashing as he pinned Dean to a wall for his stubborn refusal to accept his role. A desperate attempt to convince the angel to join Team Free Will. Dean could never have anticipated how well it would work.

Tags: no archive warnings, explicit, canon-adjacent, wing king, grace powered orgasms, claiming, confessions

“Yes, Sir.” (E, 3.8k)

Dean's earned himself a spanking, but keeps losing the count. Cas decides it's time to up the ante for his punishment.

Tags: no archive warnings apply, bdsm, explicit, safe sane consensual, safewords, top cas/bottom dean

Pizza Man (E, 3.4k)

Dean and Castiel are roommates in their third year of college. Cas frantically shows his best friend a horrible typo on the latest ad for the pizza place where he works, just knowing it's going to ruin his night.

Tags: no archive warnings apply, roommates au, explicit, PWP

Grow For Me (E, 20k)

Dean is desperate for a housemate after Charlie moves out. After interviewing several potential tenants with near disastrous results, he meets Cas. Can the lawyer with the strange habit of talking to plants fit into Dean's life?

Tags: no archive warnings apply, omegaverse, POV Dean, explicit, Roommate AU, Complete, Happy Ending, mating cycles/in heat

FriendofCarlotta - @delo0821 - FriendofCarlotta

Adventures in Demon Summoning (E, 10k)

When Dean's friends get high and decide to summon a demon, it seems like a monumentally bad idea. Of course, even Dean couldn't have guessed that the whole thing would land him with a grumpy, sarcastic angel who seems dead-set on following him around.

Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Time, Meet-Cute, Soft Boys

JessJesstheBest - @saywhatjessie - JessJesstheBest

Five Times Dean felt Out Of His Depth and One Time He Definitely Was (G, 10k)

It was with a sore shin and a broken model P-51D Mustang that Dean began to consider he wasn’t quite ready to be a foster parent. Or it's exactly what is says in the title.

Tags: Human AU, Fluff, Parenthood, foster parent au, Established Relationship, 5+1 Things

castielslostwings - @castielslostwings - Castielslostwings

Fire and Ice (E, 165k)

Firefighter Dean Winchester has somehow tumbled headfirst into a whole new kind of relationship with his quirky paramedic best friend, Castiel Novak. What was only meant to be mutual relief from their high-stress jobs is quickly developing into something more, but with all the missed signals and crossed wires, can these two ever figure out that they're so much closer to being on the same page than they think?

Tags: Firefighter Dean, Paramedic Castiel, Dom Castiel, Sub Dean, Friends to lovers, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, BDSM, all the sex.

multifandom-fanatic - @multifandom-fanatic - multifandom_fanatic

We Can’t Keep This Undercover (T, 5k)

Cas and Dean have been dating for a month, but Sam is clueless, despite the fact that they haven't been hiding that they're together. Or so they thought. After reflecting on Sam's obliviousness, Dean deviously suggests he and Cas try to be as obvious as possible to see how long it’ll take for Sam to realize. Cue Dean and Cas' escalating attempts to prove they're together, and Sam mistaking every scenario until Dean just can't take it anymore.

Tags: Oblivious Sam Winchester, Clueless Sam Winchester, Fluff, Feels, Teasing, Idiots in Love, Sneaky, Flirting, Domestic Fluff, Plotting

Put a Ring on It (T, 3.2k)

After non-stop researching, Cas is in the Bunker's kitchen making Dean lunch with the radio on when he hears Single Ladies by Beyoncé. Suddenly he's stuck by the lyrics and realizes just how much he loves Dean and therefore needs to put a ring on him. Cas goes out and buys a ring, and a week later he proposes to Dean in the library of the Bunker. Will Dean say yes?

Tags: Marriage Proposal, Proposal, Engagement, Castiel Proposes Marriage to Dean Winchester, Inspired by Beyoncé, Crack, Song: Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It), Romantic Fluff, Love, Fluff

galium - galium

scents & sensibility (M, 5.7k)

There are three things Dean knows about betas: (1) Betas are boring. (2) Betas can be passive. (3) Betas have a mediocre sense of smell (well, unless you're Cas).

Tags: AU, A/B/O

ravens_tell_stories - ravens_tell_stories

i’d rather drown (E, 3.7k)

Was there anything weird that you noticed?” “Weird? Other than the fact that I could see you while you were several states away?” “Yes, Dean,” Cas sounds impatient now, which is never a good sign. “Weirder than normal.” Dean tilts his head, weighing his options, then sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I, uh… I could see your wings.” ~~ wing!kink destiel oneshot.

Tags: No archive warnings apply, smut and a little fluff, pwp, handjobs, set season 8

Jemariel - @jemariel - jemariel

Cas is a Tummy Sleeper (T, <1k)

A short fluffy ficlet. Cas is sleepy and snuggly. Dean is smitten. Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

Tags: Cuddles, bedsharing, human!Cas, fluff

MasterOfEvilMonkeyness - @masterofevilmonkeyness

“Ah yes. Me. My brother. And his Angel who sneaks in his bed when they think I’m asleep” (SFW)

Art created for Meme about Sam, Dean and Cas.

Vulfmert - @vulfmert

Ghost Road (SFW)

Art created for the fic Ghost Road by Kris-Kenobi in the Bottom Dean Big Bang and it’s lovely.

Tags: Michigan, Canon Compliant, Human!Cas, Only One Bed, Case Fic, Post Series. Collaboration with fic by Kris-Kenobi.

spnsmile - @spnsmile - spnsmile

Undercover in the Bunker (M, 3.5k)

Castiel invites an angel to the Bunker to 'observe' the Winchesters in order to change Heaven's view about his charge, only to end up making Dean just a little miserable and himself a little jealous.

Tags: Domestics,  Castiel in the Bunker

Devastatingly Yours (G, 3.9k)

When almost everyone—demons included— all but told Dean that his angel is the hottest, most devastatingly handsome angel in the face of the seven seas, he not only believed them, he’s secretly and most exclusively Cas’ number one fan. So when the angel is recruited as a model in the middle of a case, what is Dean to do?

Tags: Established relationships, domestic, fluff

Saved by a Stranger (E, 43k)

Rule One: Never change the deal. Rule Two: No names. Rule Three: Never look in the package. Ex-Special Forces operator, Alpha Castiel Novak adheres three strict sets of rules, which he never breaks as a mercenary "transporter" who moves goods—human or otherwise— from one place to another. No questions asked. Until his new delivery contains a deal-breaker pretty face hot-headed Omega—who turns out to be his true mate— Castiel knows rules have to be changed especially with a dangerous group intent to get their hands on his Omega. Castiel wants to see them try. Destiel x The Transporter AU

Tags: Non-con,  Graphic Depiction of violence

The Room Service (E, 39k)

‘Hands off, Pants on!’

Dean Winchester has groomed himself to be a professional room service staff providing hotel guests with all the necessities they need while catering to all mundane whims and complaints except one: keep hands off the staff. Until a mysterious blue-eyed guy enters the 7th heaven floor and shakes Dean’s steamy dreams. And after saving Dean from one dangerous stalker, it seems like the restriction is practically flying off the window for his grumpy blue-eyed hero.

Hotel x Destiel AU

Tags: Romance,  Fluff,  First meeting,  Jealousy,

Baby Plushie (G, 1.1k)

A Baby. Who says Dean doesn't need it?

Tags: Romance,  Fluff. Inspired by art by @gabester-sketch.

Shadowkat83 - @shadowkat-83 - Shadowkat83

Better Than I Know Myself (T, 1.1k)

He had to make a choice; he didn't want to. The choice was between the two people he cared about the most: Cas and Sam. They both knew him so well but on different levels. How could he possibly go through with this?

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Songfic, Fluff, Love, Confessions, Mutual Pining, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Shikaro - shikaro

Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome (E, 1.5k)

the one where Dean comes untouched for the first time

or the one where they meet at a bar

Tags: PWP

blueraven06 - @blueraven06 - blueraven06

College days (G, 1.2k)

It's Castiel's first day of college and he is already late.

Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University

goldenraeofsun - @goldenraeofsun - goldenraeofsun

Magic Quarantine Ride (M, 1k)

“Cas,” Dean growls as he stalks past the hospital's general information desk. “What the hell are you doing here, you psycho? Go home - where it’s safe!” Cas whirls around. “You forgot this,” he says hurriedly as he rushes forward with the necklace he made for Dean. “I told you, it will provide protection.” He waves it in the air like a crazy person trying to ward off demons. “You are insane,” Dean says flatly.

Tags: They were quarantined, witch!cas, college nurse!dean, fluff and angst, mentions of COVID-19, mutual pining, emotional hurt/comfort, discussions of PTSD

thefandomsinhalor - @thefandomsinhalor - thefandomsinhalor

A Driver Worth His Salt (E, 68k)

Twenty-year-old Dean Winchester hates fixing up stolen cars on the side for Gordon Walker. But with his grandfather’s dry-cleaning business slowly dying, medical bills piling up, and his younger brother Sam abandoning the prospect of attending college because of their grim situation, Dean convinces himself that it isn’t as reckless as it seems.

When everything goes belly up, leaving him in a troubling position with the wrong people, a representative of the Garrisons, the city’s most powerful and notorious family, offers Dean to help him with his situation in exchange for his employment.

The job is simple: drive the passenger a few times a week to yet-undisclosed locations and return with said passenger without fail. Don’t ask questions. Be on time. Be discreet.

And never interact with each other outside of work.

Shady, but simple.

So, he accepts.

But once he meets the passenger in question—the sharply dressed and rough-looking Castiel Novak—Dean finds that abiding those rules may be more complicated than he had anticipated.

Tags: Graphic Depiction of Violence, Alternate Universe - Modern Settings, Crimes & Crimes & Criminals, BAMF Castiel, Slow Burn, Hurt Sam Winchester, Trauma

wookieefucker - @wookieefucker - wookieefucker

The Eye of the Storm (T, 8.5k)

“Only fifteen miles to the highway,” Dean said cheerfully, reading from a sign on the side of the path. Bobby groaned loudly. “Shoulda known I’d get my body back only to put it through its paces right away.” Amara left with Chuck, promising that she was going to give Dean what he needed. Maybe what he needed was different than her first impulse.

Tags: eventual Castiel/Dean Winchester, season 12 AU, canon AU, canon-typical violence

tiamatv - tiamatv

Spicier Ginger (G, 4k)

Kevin held out a flat piece of dough and spooned in a teaspoon of pork mixture. “You can’t put too much in them or leave any air bubbles inside," he explained, folding up the dumpling. "‘Cause they’ll explode.” “So kind of like packing shotgun shells,” Dean joked. “Uh, yeah. Sure, Dean,” Kevin agreed, very dubiously. “Sure.”

Tags: Cooking, Domesticity, Kevin Tran Lives!, Winchester Family Fluff

To Sleep, Perchance (T, 3.4k)

Dean wasn’t used to good dreams. But he was used to taking what he could get—so when he dreamed of a lean, compact body pressed against his back, an arm heavy over his waist, he settled into it, hazy and comfortable.

Tags: Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon Compliant, Dreams vs Reality, Mark of Cain

Ephelis (E, 1.8k)

“I think someone has sent me a picture of their genitals.” Castiel looked down at his phone. “Erect.”

Tags: AU-Canon Divergence, Dick Pics, Plot What Plot, Fluff and Crack, Season/Series 09

Phaleonopsis (E, 4.8k)

“Here, let me.” Cas’s long fingers plucked away a dead leaf from a calathea, and Dean watched helplessly as Cas rubbed the bare spot where the leaf had come away with a fingertip. “See? Isn’t it nice to let someone touch you now and again?” “Goddammit, Cas ain’t the creep, I’m the creep,” Dean muttered, and put his head down on the desk.

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gardening, Roommates, Fluff And Smut, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean

(Atypical) Love Story (E, 13.k)

“Are you… scenting me?” the man in an oversized beige trench coat asked, suspiciously, in a deep gravel voice that ran down Dean’s spine. "Why? I really don't smell like much." Dean’s mouth sagged open. “Dude,” he answered, honestly, “You smell amazing.” He’d never seen anyone look so shocked at a compliment before. “O-oh.”

Tags: Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics; Scenting; Top/Bottom Versatile Dean/Castiel; Alpha Dean/Omega Castiel; Enthusiastic Consent

Pigment (G, 1.6k)

Dean wasn’t ashamed of what he was doing or anything. He didn’t think he had any reason to be, hell. So what if he liked to spend a little of his downtime just putting little blobs of paint inside neat little lines?

Tags: Canon Compliant, Hobbies, Painting, Fluff

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Froggydarren!

To Jen: Merry Christmas!  In this story I hope you find a few of your favorite things.  May your holidays be filled with love and joy, great food, relaxation, and GREAT FIC!  

Title: stepping out of body

Rating: T

Word Count: 7K

Tags: Hypothermia, Hurt/comfort, Bed sharing, Accidental baby acquisition, alternate reality, parallel universe, dreams, hallucinations, Hobrien, Tyler Hoechlin/Dylan O’Brien, swearing, sexual innuendo, kissing  

Read on AO3

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄

steppin out of body

Stiles is ninety-seven percent sure he’s going to die out here.

The violent shivers and chattering teeth ceased ten minutes ago, and not even the line of Derek’s werewolf heat down his right side makes any difference. It turns out the discount boots he bought last year from Bob’s Bargain Bin aren’t such a bargain; frigid water seeps through the seams, turning his toes to ice, to fire. He wiggles them regularly as they trudge through the thickening carpet of heavy snow, fearing the numbness he could easily succumb to.

Stiles isn’t stupid. He can decipher the messages his very-human body broadcasts loud and clear.

“No,” Derek commands, slapping at his cheek with a gloved hand, the impact dull and muted against his frozen skin. “Eyes open, Stiles. Stay with me. Stay with…”

Damn the Nemeton, screaming out to every worthless supernatural pain-in-Stiles’-ass. This time it called down a Chenoo, a man-eating ice giant from the Great White North. The demon slid down the west coast like an avalanche, bashing through the border, ushering in plummeting temperatures, a torrent of wind-driven snow and sleet slashing Stiles’ face like werewolf claws.  Vicious gusts of icy wind followed, slithering inside Stiles’ thin jacket to coil around his heart and crush his lungs. Stiles would have preferred it brought Kraft dinner and Molson Canadian, like a typical tourist.

A California boy born and bred, his genetic makeup lacks an adoration of arctic temperatures. He’s ill-equipped for a blizzard in November.

Even Derek’s nose glows Rudolph-red from the chill.

“You can kill a Cheeno by melting its heart with salt,” Deaton supplied earlier that afternoon, “but a few legends claim you can save the man within the monster.”

“Save a cannibal? Yeah, fuck that noise,” Stiles had said, tossing down the magazine he’d been reading and grabbing the cannister of Morton’s Iodized, slipping his feet into his crappy boots. It seemed like a good idea at the time, he and Derek against the latest monster of the week. Nothing new. But now a blanket of white makes it impossible to see ten feet in front of them, flakes floating down from the sky like errant feathers, dancing in front of his eyes like a whirl of stars. It blinds him, envelopes him. Every minute lasts an hour.

He should have taken the FBI assignment offered when he attended the academy. Memphis. It didn’t snow in Memphis. Why hadn’t he taken it? Oh yeah. Scott. His father. Derek.

The sun dips below the horizon, adding insult to injury.

Stiles can’t feel his nose anymore, or his toes. He inhales broken glass with each breath. The longer he stares into the white void, the more everything starts to feel peaceful and pointless. Stiles closes his eyes.

“Do you hear that?” Derek hisses. Stiles’ eyes snap open in time to see the breath billowing out of Derek’s windburned lips in rolling clouds of steam. “It sounds like…”

Stiles hears the violent wind rattling dry, bare branches of winter-dead trees, and the random song playing on repeat in his head. Going down with my wings on fire, guess I’ll see you in another life. He prays that in a few years, in a decidedly less stark and frozen landscape, the lyrics will blast through Roscoe’s shitty speakers, and Stiles will stop and listen, say “ah yes, that time I almost froze to death,” just another moment unfolding in the supernatural shitstorm of his life, and not the soundtrack to the end of it.

But Derek cocks his head, eyes narrowed into slits, frost clinging to his bushy black eyebrows, so Stiles tugs up the ear flaps on his hat, strains to hear past the snow’s white noise, so like a chorus of howling werewolves. Yowling, squalling, wailing…

“A baby,” Stiles gasps, voice rasping through blue-tinged lips, knees threatening to buckle in shock. Who would ever bring a baby out in this storm? He was tired, drained, and dispirited before, and now, a thin film of desperation stretches over it all like saran wrap. “I hear a baby crying.”

Derek pulls Stiles impossibly closer, abruptly turning them to the left and floundering through calf-deep snow mounds and crushing darkness. Derek blunders toward the cries with steps as uncoordinated as a newborn foal, his confident gait lost to the storm. Stiles grits his teeth and slogs on.

Mother nature pummels him into a Popsicle.

“Oh,” Stiles says some indeterminable time later, “I see something.” Up ahead, a small cabin materializes, rising from the bleak isolation like a desert mirage, windows alight with a dim glow. Every blink of his heavy eyelids brings the cabin into better focus; green tin roof, stainless steel chimney pipe puffing out grey clouds of smoke, two rickety steps leading up to a narrow porch laid with red cedar planks.  

Derek takes Stiles under the armpits and hauls him up over his left shoulder, heading toward shelter with Stiles bouncing clumsily into Derek’s back with each step. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, going statue-still.

“Wha?” Stiles mumbles toward Derek’s ass.  

A moment of hesitation. “I only hear one heartbeat.”

The desperate mewling raises in pitch. “Derek, can we please go inside? If the damn Cheeno has somehow lured us here, at least I’ll be warm when I die.”

Derek drags them both through the front door, leaving a track of icy puddles and slushy clumps of snow as they stumble over the threshold. Stiles finds himself dumped unceremoniously onto an oriental rug in front of a slowly dying fire. “Get your clothes off!” Derek barks at him as he kneels in front of the weak flames, pulling off his gloves and reaching for the stack of wood next to the stone fireplace.

Stiles always wanted to hear Derek say those words, and he’s honestly a little pissed they’re wasted on a life-or-death situation.  

Stiles isn’t capable of finesse on his best days, but his numb fingers fumble pathetically at the snaps and zippers of his clothes. Each new piece of blue and purple dappled bare skin he uncovers sets alarm bells peeling inside his skull. “Wh-wh-where is the b-b-baby?” The chattering teeth return, his neck swollen and stiff as he turns it this way and that until his gaze lands on a bassinet in the corner.

“Fire first, then I’ll get the baby,” Derek says, blowing on the growing blaze. “Take everything off. All your wet clothes.” He closes the wire mesh curtain across the hearth and stands, shedding his own clothes piece by piece as he crosses the small living space. Derek blows warm breath into his cupped hands before he reaches into the bassinet, pulling out a wiggling red blanket and clutching it gently to his bare chest. It’s a sight to behold, but Stiles can barely keep his eyes open.

Unable to stand, Stiles reaches for the corner of a quilt thrown haphazardly over a worn plaid couch, dragging it down and pulling it across the floor. Derek keeps the baby in one strong arm and hoists Stiles’ limp body onto the quilt with the other, settling down next to him on the carpet.

“Come here,” Derek says, reclining with one arm around Stiles’ shoulders, maneuvering him, so Stiles’ backside faces the fire, and Derek’s werewolf body heat blazing down Stiles’ front, the baby a warm weight on Derek’s ribs.

“The parents?” Stiles slurs, imagining the bloodbath that will ensue when an unsuspecting mother and father find two butt-naked grown men cuddling their kid.

“I can’t detect any other scents. It’s just us.”

“Hmmm.” The heat of the fire and the safety of Derek’s body make Stiles’ eyelids very heavy.

“Don’t go, Stiles,” Derek orders. “Stay with me. Please.”  For a brief moment, a white halo frames Derek’s beautiful face.  He cups Stiles’ jaw, and Stiles could swear his fingers feel like scratchy wool mittens.

“I’m always with you, dumbass,” Stiles replies and promptly falls asleep.  

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄

Stiles wakes with the luxurious Saturday morning feeling of having slept in with no alarm, despite early dawn light seeping into the room through sheer curtains, casting everything in soft dream-like shades of gray. He’s so warm and content he buries his face back into the plush pillow under his head, determined to retreat once again into sweet oblivion.

“You know I adore your mom, but she was wrong about this co-sleeping thing. Best decision we ever made,” murmurs a tender voice behind him. The words get emphasized with some semblance of a kiss, all hot, soft lips and tongue leaving goosebumps in their wake as they travel lazily down the back of Stiles’ neck. The easy-going morning disperses like mist as Stiles blinks open his eyes to see the tiny, angelic face of a baby–presumably the same one from the cabin–wrapped in a thin red muslin blanket and sleeping next to him. It lies in a strange contraption attached to the bed with three breathable mesh sides, atop a fitted sheet adorned with fluffy dancing sheep wearing nightcaps. As Stiles watches, the baby’s tiny bow mouth makes adorable little sucking motions.

Wait a minute.

Stiles knows he’s in trouble when the baby makes sense, but the king-sized bed he’s woken up in doesn’t.    

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Stiles has run with wolves since age sixteen and can keep a tight lid on a furiously beating heart. “Pretty sure this place did not look like this last night,” he says, words falling from his mouth in a smooth line as his stomach ties itself in knots.

A huffed laugh. “I’ll do the laundry today, I promise. Who knew a baby could go through so many clothes?”

Not me, Stiles thinks, sitting up in bed and kicking away a blue sheet. He’s wearing unfamiliar light-gray sweatpants and a maroon t-shirt. The man next to him grunts at the loss of body heat, and Stiles glances over. Yup, it’s Derek, black hair sticking up every which way like he stuck his head in a blender.  

Stiles crawls to the foot of the bed, tip-toes to the sliding glass doors leading to a balcony, and parts the curtains an inch. Pre-dawn light paints the curving facade of the U.S. Bank Tower mellow orange. Stiles has only ever seen it in movies. Free from alien encounters and earthquake damage, the staggering architecture looks like a staircase up into the pink morning clouds. He puts his hand up to the cold glass. “We’re in L.A.”

Another grunt behind him. Stiles’ head pivots back and forth between the skyline and the majestic view of Derek sprawled on his stomach, broad shoulders tapering down a smooth, naked back. He follows the line of Derek’s spine to his boxer-brief clad backside on full display. The cotton clings to every dip and curve of Derek’s perfect ass.  

“How did we get to L.A.?”

Derek’s head rises from the pillow. “Huh? Come back to bed before you wake Conor.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing.” He scrubs a hand down his face, huffs out a breath. “The bed. That wasn’t here before. Or the fancy baby crib, or your underwear, or the god-damn city of Los Angeles.”

Derek twists, sitting up in bed and rubbing crust from his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?” He asks. Then he does something so crazy Stiles thinks he just may have died out in the snow.

Derek smiles.

Not just any smile. Stiles’ has seen Derek produce some mean ones, some faux-flirtatious ones, some blood-thirsty ones, but he’s never seen one like this: huge, happy, full of white teeth. It lights up Derek’s whole face, makes his green eyes go adorably squinty.  

“No, nope, uh uh.” Stiles tries to take a step back, but his shoulders collide with the slider. What imposter wears Derek’s flawless butt and happy face? Stiles has a mini heart attack.

“Who are you?”

Now the smile falls away, leaving behind comically-wide green eyes and an arched brow. His Derek would never show this level of befuddlement. He’d school his face into an impossibly hard mask.

“Dylan,” he answers, very slowly, “I’m your husband.”

———-

Imposter-Derek’s name is Tyler, and he remains unfailingly patient and positive in the face of his husband’s epic freak out and insistence that a mythological creature in an alternative universe cursed him.  ”I should have paid more attention to Deaton when he talked about annihilating the Chenoo, but there was a fascinating article in Entertainment Weekly.”

“This better not be a ploy to get out of diaper duty,” Derek-Tyler says with a smile.  Honestly, the guy’s demeanor baffles Stiles. This level of sweetness doesn’t exist outside a candy store.  

Baby Conor wakes up with a chortling wail, demanding food and a clean butt, which Tyler supplies as Stiles does a convincing imitation of a lost puppy and follows him around.  “You’re good at this whole thing. At parenthood,” Stiles praises. The sight of Derek–or a Derek look-a-like–gently cradling a tiny infant in his massive beefcake arms, holding a warm bottle of formula in his meaty fist, makes Stiles want to swoon.  Even the greedy pig-like noises Conor makes causes a strange effervescent bubbling behind Stiles’ ribs. What in the world is happening to him? Gas? Or did he show up in this parallel universe with a uterus and a biological clock? He pulls the waistband of his sweatpants away from his torso.  Well, at least the equipment on the outside remains the same.

Stiles and Tyler get dressed, and migrate into the kitchen through a narrow hallway and spacious living room; walls painted the color of buttery suede. Books and baby toys litter the floor, framed family photographs, and baseball paraphernalia hanging on nearly every wall of their home.  Upon closer inspection, Stiles finds one of the pictures is of Tyler in a Sacramento River Cats uniform, mid-run, right arm slung back, ready to throw.  

“Dude, do you play professional ball?” Stiles asks, impressed, fingertips tracing the edges of the black wooden frame.

Tyler blushes, becomingly, one muscular arm cuddling the baby closer to his broad chest.  “Yeah. I played baseball in college and got drafted, but I injured my hamstring a few years ago. I doubt I’ll ever get called up to the major leagues. Want some water?  Juice?”

The seamless transition of conversation, the quick, subtle deflection onto Stiles and away from himself is such a Derek move it leaves Stiles dizzy, struggling for balance as he straddles two worlds.

“Water,” Stiles croaks.

Tyler opens the refrigerator, reaches for the Brita with his free hand, and at least twenty glass bottles stacked on the door shelves clink together like Christmas bells. “Uh, why do we own so much root beer?”

Tyler shrugs.  “You’re a big root beer guy.”

Huh.  Stiles can’t remember the last time he had root beer, but his mother adored root beer floats “Actually, I’ll take one of those.”  

At the kitchen table, Tyler leaned his chin into his hand, gazing at Stiles while he sips his carbonated sugar. A shaft of late-morning light catches the fizzing bubbles surging up the neck of the bottle, sending little sun sparks dancing across the wood between them.

“I don’t know how you can remain so calm in the face of all this,” Stiles says for the millionth time in the few short hours they’ve been awake.  “Does your husband typically try to convince you that he’s someone else?”

Tyler props Conor on his shoulder, gently rubbing and patting his back. “Only when we role-play.”

Root beer sprays from Stiles’ mouth in an inelegant arc, splattering all over the tabletop.  Fantastic, now his overactive brain supplies him with enough jerk-off material to last a century.  It’s just his luck to land in a universe where Derek smiles and laughs and is kinky to boot.

“But seriously, Dylan, we’ve been through worse than a little memory lapse.”  Stiles lays his head down on the wet surface, resolutely refusing to ask. He doesn’t want to know.  Knowing would mean caring. “Though I do wish you’d reconsider going to the hospital. They could run some tests and-”

Stiles holds up a hand.  “No. No tests. At least, not today.  If we wake up tomorrow and nothing has changed, then yes, I promise I’ll go to the doctor. Just…” He remembers having an MRI, the fear and panic before rolling into the claustrophobic tube, the loud clunks and bangs, of what bad news the results will bring.  Because it’s doubtful skipping universes like a pebble on a lake produces anything positive. “Not today.”

Tyler nods.  “Okay. I have an idea.  Here, hold Conor.” He passes Stiles the baby and walks into the living room, opening the doors on a TV stand and pulling out an old DVD player.  Stiles watches as he fiddles around behind the flat-screen television, plugging it in and powering it up. “I’m going to grab our wedding DVD,” Tyler says, heading toward the bedroom.

Stiles is left alone with Conor for the first time.  “Hi, little man,” Stiles whispers into the crook of the baby’s warm neck.  He smells sweet and powdery, and the unique scent kind of makes Stiles feel high.  He’s adorable and small, and fragile, and now that Stiles thinks about it for half a second, completely panic-inducing.  Who in their right mind would leave Stiles in charge of a baby?! He breaks everything. Hopefully, this Dylan guy is a bit less accident-prone than Stiles.

Tyler pops in the video, and they lay the baby on a blanket in the living room with a few toys, and Stiles gets to watch two hours of footage of himself marrying Derek.

Half-way through the reception Erica and Boyd waltz by, and Stiles sees Isaac in profile, standing at the bar laughing at something Jackson says. He desperately wants to ask, but doesn’t think he could handle it if these pack members, lost to lies and danger and that merciless bitch the Grim Reaper, are just phantom faces with different names.

“That was sweet and kind of funny,” Stiles says after listening to himself recite his vows.

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees.  “You’re pretty amazing.”

Is this who Derek would be if there’d been no Kate? No Jennifer?  No Paige? Seriously, it’s like a case of the body snatchers. Fuck Stiles’ life (but not this one! This one’s pretty perfect).

“Did it jog any memories?” Tyler asks when the TV goes black.  

Stiles hates letting down someone so earnest.  “Sorry, man.”

“It’s all right.” Tyler squeezes one of Stiles’ shoulders in a firm grip.  “I have one more idea if it’s okay with you. Then we can give it a rest until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay.  But first, do you mind if I shower?”  A phantom layer of dried sweat from his trek through the snow yesterday still sticks to Stiles’ skin.  

Dylan and Tyler’s shower has soapstone walls, duel jets, a rain massage showerhead, recessed lighting, and a cedar plank ceiling.  If he ever gets home, he’s convincing Derek to build a replica of this shower, and let Stiles use it any time he wants. Derek’s trust fund should go to something other than tight pants and dark colored shirts. Something that benefits Stiles directly (since the clothes benefit his eyeballs indirectly).

After he’s dressed, Stiles leans against the sink, wiping the fog from the mirror with the corner of his damp towel. He studies his reflection—same number of moles on his cheeks, same wide amber eyes.  Fingertips poke at his cheeks, eyebrows, forehead. A hand rubs between his eyes. Why do you get to keep him in this universe, but not your own? his reflection asks.

Hushed voices filter in from the living room, and he sneaks a peek around the door jamb. A pretty middle-aged woman stands by the front door, shooting a frown at Tyler, her head tilted.  “What do you think it is?” She asks, shrugging out of her cardigan sweater and draping it over the oversized recliner. “Stress? PTSD?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler replies.  Wait, PTSD over what?  “If the memory loss persists, we’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.  I thought maybe seeing you would help him.”

Stiles steps into the living room, capturing their attention.  The woman isn’t familiar, he’s never seen her in his life, but he knows her face the minute she looks at him.  Stiles’ father has filled his life with love, but there’s no substitute for a mother. And that’s who this woman is, his mother.  No one’s looked at Siles this way since he was eight years old. A razor edge of pain cuts into his heart.

His eyesight blurs, and red, blotchy heat creeps up his cheeks. Stiles swipes a thumb under one eye and tries to make it look like he’s scratching his cheek.

“Oh, Dylan, sweetheart,” she says.  “I’m your mom, Lisa.”

—————

Halfway through Lisa filling him in on Dylan’s early life growing up in New Jersey, their move to California when he was twelve, and his stint in a band, Stiles’ stomach lets out a growl loud enough to rival a werewolf.  

“We haven’t eaten anything all day,” Tyler says. “Root beer doesn’t count.”

“Why don’t you both go out for dinner,” Lisa offers.  “I’ll watch Conor.” She makes kissy faces at their son, who yanks at her brown hair, and warmth swells in Stiles’ chest.  He’s missed being part of a family, and this one sits gift-wrapped like a present just for him.

They walk outside, shoulders bumping. “We could drive into downtown,” Tyler offers, “but the traffic will be terrible, even at this time.”

Stiles shoves his hands into the pockets of his borrowed jeans, scoping out the view of the city skyline in the distance. “Whatever, dude. I’m game for somewhere local.”

Tyler eyes him, weighing the options, then graces him with another one of those megawatt smiles. “I think this day calls for The Coop.”

Stiles finds himself at a hole-in-the-wall, family-run pizzeria, scarfing down the best-tasting pizza ever. They split a large pie, ordered off a red menu adorned in green and white writing that makes Stiles think of Christmas.

Tyler wipes the grease off his lips with a paper napkin and leans back, resting his elbows on his chair arms. “You love eating here,” he tells Stiles. “We don’t often come here because I’m usually trying to stay in decent shape for baseball, but when we get here, we always order the works, hold the pineapple. You’re known to demolish an entire pie by yourself.”

At least this Dylan guy has good taste in pizza.  Slow roasted tomato sauce and melted cheese punched him in the nose as soon as he walked in.  

Stiles throws down his napkin, a white flag signaling his defeat to the single slice left on the pizza pan. He picks up the red plastic cup half-filled with root beer–turns out this stuff is pretty addicting– and gnaws on the cardboard straw between sips. “So, how’d we meet? Did I accidentally traipse across your yard, and you tell me I was trespassing?”

Tyler blinks. “That’s weirdly specific.” He picks up his beer bottle, takes a swig. “No. You’re a sports broadcaster, and you came to one of my games to interview me.”

“Love at first sight?” Stiles inquiries, tongue chasing his straw across his lips.

Tyler raises a brow, gesture a mirror-image of Stiles’ Derek. “That’s very distracting. Who taught you to use a straw?”

Stiles places the cup back down on the lacquered tabletop. “Sorry. D-” he pauses. “My friend back home complains about that too.”

“This friend who looks suspiciously like me?”

“Yeah. Him.”

Tyler laughs. “I’m sure he finds it distracting, too. Give the poor guy a break.”

“Anyway…” Stiles doubts he’s ever the person to steer a conversation back on track, but today is a day of firsts. First time I woke up in bed with Derek.  There’s more, but his brain keeps getting stuck on that one. “Was it love at first sight for you and your husband?”

Tyler’s eyes go soft, unfocused. “We clicked right away, but no. Every date we went on just got better and better until we eventually moved in together.”

“When did you know he was the one?” Stiles asks, trying to imagine a world where he and Derek didn’t immediately clash like oil and water.

Tyler’s cheeks bloom apple-red. Oh, there’s a story here, and I want it.  “I knew the first Christmas we spent together when I watched you hump an artificial tree. I said to myself, ‘Tyler, you’ve gotta keep this one.’”

Laughter bursts out of Stiles’ mouth. “Please,” he wheezes, “tell me more.”

Tyler does.  

“How’d we end up an old married couple with a kid?” Stiles asks as they push through the doors of the restaurant, spilling out onto the warm pavement. Stiles thinks of the freezing temperatures of the blizzard he trudged through with Derek the day prior and shivers despite the sun’s heat.

Here Tyler hesitates, shoulders pulling high and back, spine lengthening. It’s Derek’s ’going into battle’ pose. Stiles has seen it enough times to know it by heart, his own body reacting on instinct, stepping closer to Tyler, creating a united front.  

“We were going along great,” Tyler says, “having a good time. We both figured we’d get married, eventually. Our careers kept us busy; we didn’t rush into things. But one day, I’m in Sacramento, practicing at Raley Field, and my manager calls me off second base to tell me I’ve got to get home; you’d been in an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” Stiles asks. Just as disaster-prone, I see.

Tyler’s hands clench at his sides. “A car hit you at work.”

“Huh,” Stiles says, stupidly. I’m usually the one running over people.

“You had a terrible concussion, the doctors worried about brain damage, and pretty much the entire right side of your face needed reconstructive surgery.”

“Jeez.” Stiles presses fingertips to his right cheekbone. “I can’t imagine your terror.” Derek’s reactions every time Stiles gets hurt is bad enough; he can’t imagine what Tyler must have gone through watching the man he loves lay injured in a hospital bed.

“All of a sudden, things didn’t seem so carefree. The thought of losing you was-” Tyler stops, takes a deep breath. Before he registers the movement, Stiles grabs Tyler’s hand, entwining their fingers and squeezing reassuringly. Tyler smiles shyly, presses back, and air stalls in Stiles’ lungs. Quicksand paves the road they’re walking down; the more Stiles flails around in memories of a life that isn’t his own, the deeper he sinks.

“We got married a year later after you’d recovered from surgery. We know we’re lucky to have this nearly stolen life, and we wanted to share that with someone. Now, we have Conor.”

Tyler stops walking, turns to face Stiles—to face Dylan. “It took us a long time to get here.” He pulls Stiles into a tight hug, and Stiles willingly goes, lets himself get wrapped up in arms he never thought he’d feel around him. “But we got here.”

———-

They dismiss Lisa with a round of hugs and promises to call in the morning if nothing has changed. Conor gets a bath in a tub they place in the ample kitchen sink, gurgling happily over the plastic bath toys Stiles flies around his bald head while Tyler scrubs him down. “My mom used to wash the Thanksgiving turkey in the sink,” Stiles tells them.

“Are you comparing our son to overstuffed poultry?” Tyler honest-to-god giggles. Did Derek ever giggle? Could Stiles help him find that much joy?

Stiles pokes at one of Conor’s adorably chubby legs, earning a gummy smile. “The resemblance is striking.”

Tyler does the bedtime routine, and they eat a quiet, amicable dinner of grilled chicken and baked potatoes at the kitchen table.

“I don’t know about you,” Stiles says around a yawn, “but I’m freaking beat, man. This day has been an emotional rollercoaster.”

“Agreed,’ Tyler replies, rolling his shoulders. “Sleep?”

“Totally.”

“I can take the couch?” Tyler offers when they walk into the darkened bedroom. Stiles eyes the bed between them, bathed in the milk-light of the moon streaming through the curtains. Conor is a tiny lump in his bassinet, soft snores echoing around the room.

Stiles shakes his head. “No. It’s totally fine. Married people sleep in the same bed.”

Tyler smiles, shoulders dropping from where they’d migrated to his ears. Stiles has stared at that smile all day, but he’s still not immune. It’s a flash of lightning, bright and dazzling, rolling through him like thunder. He’s shaken. “I’m glad. Honestly, I always sleep better when you’re with me.”

I’m always with you, dumbass.

Stiles can see why. As soon as they slide under the covers—Stiles in the sweatpants and T-shirt ensemble from the morning, and Tyler in his boxer-briefs and nothing else—Tyler cuddles up next to him, sighing deeply. He’s a comforting line of heat and weight, and Stiles turns toward him, instinctually. Tyler’s already drifting off, blinking sleepy half-lidded eyes at him.

“Goodnight,” Stiles whispers.

“Mmm, goodnight,” Tyler replies. He leans forward, rubs the tip of his nose against Stiles’, and brushes his mouth against Stiles’ lips, tongue lazily surging, tasting like mint, fresh and sharp. Is this wrong? It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels right. Tyler threads his fingers into Stiles’ hair, pulling him closer, cradling the back of his head like he’s something precious, beloved. Large, strong hands skim across Stiles’ skull, cup his face, thumbs brushing featherlight over his cheekbones. Stiles hums contentedly into the kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler slurs, pulling away just far enough to look into Stiles’ eyes. “I know you don’t remember, and I-”

“Tyler, kiss me again.” The next few moments simmer between them, threatening to boil over, but they dial back the heat, let it cool until their foreheads pressed together, lips and noses gently rubbing.

Stiles closes his eyes and lets himself believe that Derek Hale, the king of drawing lines in the sand and chasing Stiles back to the other side, cards long, gentle fingers through Stiles’ hair as he falls asleep. Stiles could get used to this; he wants this. And because Stiles lies to himself on the daily, he refuses to acknowledge that he has desired this for as long as he can remember knowing Derek.  

Would it be so wrong to stay here and keep this life? It’s a luxury he hasn’t dared to allow himself to ponder since he woke up in this alternate reality.

Conor lets out a couple of guttural, cranky sounds. Tyler grumbles and starts to stir, jerky, half-asleep movements, “Shh,” Stiles says, running a long-fingered hand down Tyler’s back. “I’ve got this. You sleep.”

He carries Conor—his son—to the changing pad atop their dresser, and flicks on the lamp. It casts the little corner of their world in a soft golden glow. “We got this, buddy,” he tells Conor in a sing-song voice. “I’ll be a diaper changing expert in no time.” Conor blows spit bubbles at him. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Stiles answers. “We’re both doomed.”

Changing diapers is a little more involved than Stiles realized, and he ends up with baby pee all over his shirt and Conor’s onesie. He divests Conor of his wet suit and takes a moment to plant a few raspberries against the soft soles of the baby’s feet, earning delighted squeals and flailing limbs. “This little piggy went to the market, and this little piggy stayed home,” Stiles recites, wiggling Conor’s tiny toes. “This little piggy ate roast beef, and this little piggy had none. And this little p—”

Stiles rubs his eyes frantically, blinks hard a few times. Counts. Counts again. One, two, three, four, five…

Six.

He studies the other foot. Six toes. Heart in his throat, he takes Conor’s grasping little hands in his and counts. No, no, no. Six fingers on each side.

How do you tell if you’re awake or dreaming?

Your fingers. You count your fingers. “You have extra fingers in dreams,” Stiles tells Conor, and then he wakes up.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄

Stiles wakes in a panicky stupor, faces of nurses, doctors, and the Sheriff, who looks like he’s aged ten years, staring down at him, blurring together like paint on a canvas.

He flings out one hundred-pound arm, reaching for his child, for Tyler, for a world where his pack is alive and well and happy.  I’ve only had the perfect life for a day and a half, but if anything happened to it I’d kill everyone in this room and then myself. A giggle hiccups out of his dry throat.

“…nerve damage…dead tissue,” the surgeon explains, but some morphine-derivative courses through his system and he listens to it all from the deep end of a warm tunnel. “The bad news is, you lost the one toe to frostbite, but I saved the others. And the loss of a pinky toe doesn’t impede balance at all.”

Stiles nods. The conversation hangs around him like a dense fog. “That sucks,” he croaks out, words lengthening as the drugs pull his tongue like taffy. “But…where is my husband?”

Behind the doctor, two nurses exchange glances, eyes wide over their surgical masks. His father shakes his head back and forth. “Stiles… you’re not married.”

”I am, ” he insists.  ”And my baby. I have a baby.”

“Completely normal,” the doctor consoles. “Nothing to worry about. Some patients experience hallucinations and dreams as the anesthesia wears off.”

Oh yeah. Conor’s happy squeals, Tyler’s glorious smile, having a mom again. None of it was real.

“Recovery time typically takes between two and six weeks. You’ll have to keep the incision clean diligently and the stitches covered, but before you know it, you’ll walk again,” the doctor tells him. “You’ll run.”

Laughter gallops up his throat like a wild horse. He’s shaking again as he did in the snow, bones rattling and teeth clicking audibly together even as he desperately tries to clench his jaw and keep them still.

I’ve been running since I was sixteen. I don’t want to run anymore.

His father plucks a Kleenex from the box on his hospital tray, hands it to him. The thin tissue is sandpaper between Stiles’ raw fingertips. “Wh-why are you g-giving me this?” Stiles asks between gasps of air.

“Son,” his father says softly, “you’re crying.”

———-

His hospital room smells like a funeral parlor. Lily of the valley, morning glory, and peony. Scott charges in the moment Stiles can receive visitors outside the pathetic roster of family members, carrying a vase of blue dicks. “Get it?! Because you had hypothermia! You were freezing your-”

“Yeah, buddy. I get it.”

Get Well Soon the generic message on the flower card commands, but the problem is, Stiles isn’t sick. He’s grieving. But how can I mourn a life I never had?

By lunchtime, the snow stops, the sun shines, and Derek saunters into his hospital room as if he owns it. He looks stoically handsome in his black leather jacket and signature scowl, calm and composed, and smells like fresh air. Stiles’ emotional state soars dangerously from elation to despair, settling somewhere in the realm of weary acceptance.  

“They obliterated my toe,” Stiles tells Derek when he approaches the bedside, pulling back the sheet to reveal his foot wrapped up in a mountain of gauze.

“I know,” Derek replies, pulling up a folding chair and falling gracefully into it. He props his sneakers up on top of the room’s air-conditioning unit. “I brought you here and stayed until your Dad could come. The doctor said he’d try his best, but…” Derek shrugs. He knows all about good intentions.

“Scott told me you went back out after I got out of surgery, killed the Chenoo.”

Derek grimaces. “I have salt in crevices where salt should never go.”

“I’m ah, I’m sorry I was wea-”

Derek holds up a hand. “Stiles, stop. Never apologize for your humanity.”

But it’s more than physical feebleness.  It’s the mental weakness that settles on Stiles’ shoulders like a villains cloak—stitched with shame, edged in anger, dyed red because he looks damn good in red, and no one can tell him otherwise.

Stiles pulls a flat hospital pillow into his arms, holding it across his chest like armor, curling tighter around it with each word. ”Scott said you know about the hallucinations.”  Might as well get this over with now, when the wound is still fresh enough to heal with a minimal amount of scarring.

”I do, ” Derek replies.  ”Did Scott tell you I stayed the entire time? I only left this morning to kill the Chenoo.”

”He may have mentioned something along that line.” It’s the sole reason Stiles is brave enough to tackle this conversation now.  Dude, Scott had said, Derek stood outside the ICU for hours.  Your dad totally thinks you’re boning him.

“Derek?” Stiles fidgets with the sheet covering his leg. “I need to ask you something.”

Gold-flecked green eyes bore into him. Lacking Tyler’s delicate laugh lines, they feel sharper than a knife. “You can ask me anything, Stiles.”

He already grilled his father in every detail, but he needs to hear it from Derek’s mouth. “Did we find shelter from the storm in a cabin in the preserve? Was there a…” He stumbles; Conor’s face flashes before his eyes. “Was there a baby there? A baby boy in a red blanket?”  

Derek’s punctuates his gentle but firm statement with a shake of his head. “No, Stiles. You passed out, and I carried you here.”

“From the preserve? Dude. That’s like… Miles.”

Derek nods. He doesn’t say it, but somehow Stiles can hear the unspoken And I’d do it again because he’d do the same for Derek. Sadness surges like a wave, sudden and powerful, the words pulled from his mouth in the tide. “I dreamt we were a family.”

“We are family, Stiles. Pack is family.”

“No.” Stiles bites his lip. “I imagined it all, made it up in my head, but it felt so damn real. We were a family; you, me, and our son.”

Derek’s feet drop back to the floor, his spine a tautly pulled string. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me more.”

Stiles tells him everything.

“Wait,” Derek says after Stiles finally stops speaking. “This sounds vaguely familiar.” Derek unfolds from the chair and moves toward the hospital room door.  

“It does?” Stiles asks, hope igniting inside his chest. Maybe Derek’s dreamed about this before too.

“Stay right there,” Derek commands, eyebrows furrowed as he walks out of the room.

“Where do you imagine I’m going to go?” Stiles calls. “My foot is—”

“Yeah. I thought it sounded familiar!” Derek declares as he rushes back into the room, waving a magazine in front of Stiles’ face.

“What the heck, man?” Stiles struggles to sit up. “Did the nurses at the desk see you using werewolf speed?”

“Look,” Derek says, ignoring Stiles as usual. “Your surgery took two hours, and your father was scrambling for coverage so he could get over here. I sat in the waiting room, reading every magazine they had. I read this one.” He flips open an Entertainment Weekly and holds it under Stiles’ nose. There’s a handsome, dark-haired man in profile on the cover, looking down at a baby in a red blanket nestled in his arms. Another man flanks the infant; a smiling face turned toward the camera. The cover line reads, Tyler and Dylan may have ended their run on Teen Wolf, but their story is far from over.  

Oh my god, you are such an idiot.

“Oh my god, I am such an idiot!” Stiles squeals, snatching them magazine out of Derek’s hand. No. No, it can’t be. Stiles did not almost die of hypothermia just to imagine he Freaky Friday-ed with a couple of actors.  

“I knew Tyler and Dylan sounded familiar. They’re those actors who got married in real life, the ones on that stupid teenage werewolf soap opera you and Scott loved. And then they—”

“Adopted a baby last month,” Stiles finishes, flipping through the familiar pages. He’d perused the same magazine in Deaton’s clinic while they discussed how best to destroy the Chenoo.

“It makes perfect sense, Stiles,” Derek says, laying a hand down next to him on the bed. “Your brain latched onto the last thing you focused on before we left to hunt the Chenoo. It’s almost like that one episode of the show where Dylan’s character ends up in the Phantom Train Station between dimensions.”

“Hey,” Stiles gives Derek the stink eye. “You swore you never watched the show.”

An overly exaggerated eye roll. “I may have caught a couple of episodes.”  

Stiles’ eyebrows smugly say, I told you so, and Derek’s answer, shut the fuck up, Stiles.

“Which one were you again?” Derek asks. “Which guy?”

Stiles looks at the happy face of the actor. “Dylan.”

“So I was Tyler?” Derek grimaces. “That guy looks like he’s thirty-five.”

“Yeah, but in the best way,” Stiles insists.

He huffs, but Stiles sees the tips of his ears burning bright pink. Derek looks down, rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “You know I’m not him, right?” Derek asks, pointing to the handsome, besotted face on the magazine cover. “I’m not some happy-go-lucky ray of sunshine.”

Stiles tosses the magazine to the window ledge, where it falls between two flower vases. “Yeah, I know,” Stiles softly replies. Butterflies flutter in his stomach; they tingle at the ends of his ten fingers and nine toes. “Doesn’t stop me from loving you, though.”

Derek climbs into Stiles’ hospital bed, presses his face into Stiles’ throat and sighs, warm breath fanning over Stiles’ skin, words vibrating. “The entire trek to the hospital, I was terrified.”  Derek brushes an errant lock of hair from Stiles’ forehead. “Then we got here, and they wrapped you up in this insulation, trying to raise your body temperature. It took hours, and I spent every minute thinking I might never get the chance to tell you…I don’t know for sure what’ll happen; marriage, kids, all of the above, none of the above. But I know I never want to lose you.”

And he remembers Tyler, standing on the busy streets of Los Angeles, looking like a lost little boy when he talked about almost losing his husband.  It’s the same face Derek wears now.

“I’m always with you, dumbass,” Stiles answers.  Why did he think this would be hard? It’s as natural as breathing. “Important question, though.  This might make or break everything, so think hard before you answer. How do you feel about bathroom makeovers?  I have some ideas.”

“I feel strong to very strong about dual shower jets.”

“Dude,” Stiles says.  “There’s a definite possibility we’re soulmates.” And then, Derek smiles. It’s not as big or as bright as Tyler’s, not nearly as all-consuming as his subconscious conjured, but Stiles thinks, with time and love, it will get there.

They’ll get there.

[raccoonwritings]

A Drink Away from Honesty Chapter 2

Childhood Friends AU (angst with a happy ending, be warned)

Lucas is an oversharing drunk, Eliott is both desperate and dramatic, and everyone is trying to just keep everything straight.

Or alternatively, Lucas and Eliott were childhood best friends until a storm tears them apart and brings them back together.

(Title from “Don’t Miss Me?” by Marianas Trench)

Chapter 2: Meet Choupi

Lucas (16) and Eliott (18)

Samedi 11:34

Lucas wakes up with a headache that thumps and a need for water that is overpowered by the desire to get more sleep. He shouldn’t have gotten crossed, he knows, but it was all he could do to keep himself from thinking about Eliott. Meeting him again after this long must have been a dream, right? Ugh, thinking about it makes Lucas’ head pound more. He just needs to sleep.

 Samedi 13:02

Lucas definitely hasn’t slept enough when Mika abruptly opens the door, shouting at Lucas to get his lazy ass out of bed, and pulling the blinds up to allow sunlight into the room.

“Up, kitten, up! You live in that bed!” Mika enthusiastically chants while crawling into Lucas’ bed with him. How ironic.

“Hnggg,” Lucas responds intelligently with his face smushed up against his incredibly flat pillow. He should really buy a new one. If his dad ever sends him money, of course.

“Well, aren’t you just the master of words this morning,” Mika sing songs. He snuggles up next to Lucas and receives a glare and another unintelligible noise. He soon finds Lisa joining the both of them in bed.

“You know what would get him up, Mika?” Lisa ponders knowingly.

“Why didn’t you mention sooner?” Mika extracts his phone from his pocket and pulls up Tinder. Lucas sees him clip the app icon and he is out. Despite having no energy and the pounding headache from before, he frantically detaches himself from the mattress and climbs over Lisa to reach the door.

“Sorry Mika, I have no desire to see the dicks of your Tinder hookups, or pictures of your dick,” Lucas grumbles, pushing down on the door handle and heading towards the bathroom.

Maybe a shower would help. Plus, he does smell a little of weed and shitty beer. A shower it is.

He walks out of the bathroom 20 minutes later, toweling his hair dry. Opting to grab some water before crawling back into bed, he makes a beeline for kitchen and searches the cabinet for a clean glass. There are used glasses in his room, on his desk, that he could wash and reuse, but that is far too much effort. Rearranging the far-left cabinet leads Lucas to find the secret set of nice glasses Mika must use for special occasions? Maybe they belonged to Manon and she left them here when she moved? Who knows. All that matters is that Lucas has a glass and can finally retreat back into his room.

With a half full glass of water – he chugged the first half – and a slightly damp towel, he treks back into bed. Finally, he’s alone. The water has helped his headache a little, but a pain killer couldn’t hurt. He downs a store brand equivalent of Tylenol and pulls out his phone for the first time that day to check his messages. Most were from the boys, just talking about the party last night, asking Lucas how far he went with Chloe, which he ignores with his entire being. He doesn’t want to talk about Chloe, who – of course – just then sends him a friend request on Facebook. He hates that he accepts, but he has to keep up the façade that he’s into her. This is enough to make him toss his phone aside and curl up in his singular blanket. Glancing around his room for something, anything to distract him, his eyes land on the recently empty cage that’s perched on his dresser. He really doesn’t want to think about that or anything else for that matter and actively ignores everything until his phone pings a short time later.

From: Unknown Number

Hey

 To: Unknown Number

Who is this?

 From: Unknown Number

How was your night with that girl?

 Lucas couldn’t help but let out a huff. Who the fuck was this person asking about yesterday? He didn’t want to talk about it.

To: Unknown Number

Who is this?

 Lucas isn’t answering any questions until he knows who he’s talking to. Unfortunately, he was waiting for a good hour before he discovered who has his number.

From: Unknown Number

You never gave me back my orange marker

 For the love of God. Lucas is over this. He has no desire to talk to Eliott at all, except Eliott is obviously not feeling the same.

From: Don’t Answer

I was really attached to that orange marker, Lucas. It meant a lot to me!

It broke my heart when you never returned it.

 It broke his heart? The audacity of him, honestly, to say that Lucas broke his heart. His sympathy and any naïve thought to respond was gone in an instant, only to be replaced by an all-consuming anger. A deep-seated sadness. This was the person who changed everything for him and left him to deal with the aftermath. The person who left him to retreat back into a skin he craved to shed. The person who forgot about him and was back again only to remind him of that.

 Lucas (9) and Eliott (11)

Mercredi 15:19

“Mom says I can get a dog!” Lucas exclaims as he sits on Eliott’s bed. They had both gotten out of a class not long ago and it was tradition that they head to Eliott’s to watch movies and goof off.

“That’s cool! Except, dogs are so last year,” Eliott replies, sitting across from Lucas in his neon yellow desk chair. Lucas huffs.

“What do you mean “so last year”? All the kids in my class are getting dogs for Christmas this year!” Lucas defends his desire for a fluffy companion. Dogs were, are a classic.

“They were like all the craze last year. You know what animal is on the rise this year?” Eliott responds animatedly. Lucas loves seeing his best friend like this even though he sounds like a complete idiot.

“What animal is on the rise this year, Eliott? Please, enlighten me,” Lucas rolls his eyes and emphasizes the ‘enlighten’. If Eliott didn’t get that he was being sarcastic, than he would really wouldn’t understand people at all.

“Obviously, my sarcasm has rubbed off on you, and normally I’d say that you following in my footsteps is the way it should be, but considering you’re only nine, I’d say maybe dial it back a bit. Okay?” He smiles, crooked and genuine. Lucas nods and returns a toothy smile, encouraging Eliott to continue since he still hasn’t unveiled what animal has become the most popular. “Alright, so a dog is great, yeah, but what about a hedgehog?!” Eliott finishes his question with another smile and jazz hands, causing Lucas to burst out in laughs.

“A hedgehog? Really? How are they better than a dog?” Lucas crosses his arms over his body and awaits the other boy’s response.

“They are! They’re cute, don’t require walks, or are ridiculously needy. I don’t know, they just remind me you a bit, too.” Lucas’ heart warms at Eliott indirectly calling him cute. He doesn’t understand exactly why, but it makes him feel good. He knows his cheeks are reddening, but luckily Eliott has turned around to face his laptop and is in the process of searching for pictures of baby hedgehogs. He finds a particularly cute picture and beckons Lucas to his side, which he immediately follows.

Lucas can’t not admit that the baby hedgehog is quite cute, but he’d never admit that to his friend. He would never admit to him that he wanted one now, slightly because of the fact that these small animals reminded Eliott of him and very much because of the idea of not having to put forth a ton of effort in walking it and cleaning up its shit.

Lucas also wouldn’t admit, at least right now, that when he arrives at home that night for dinner, he asks his mom, pleads with her, to let him get a hedgehog. She denies him for the moment and asks him why he’s had a sudden change of heart, considering he had been pleading for a dog for months on end. He wouldn’t admit the real reason to her either.

Months later, after Lucas’ 10th birthday, Eliott is bounding up the stairs leading to Lucas’ bedroom and knocking open the door with clumsy force. Lucas is standing in front of his dresser, which dons a shiny new cage, with his arms wrapped around something small. He turns and smiles wide at his best friend.

“Meet Choupi!” He exclaims, removing one of his hands to reveal a baby hedgehog. Eliott’s grin is wild.

“You took my advice!” He says, bouncing his way over to Lucas on the other side of the room. He leans down to get a closer look at the small animal when he makes a revelation. “Wait, Choupi?! Really, Lucas?” Eliott laughs with his body and looks to see his friend blushing.

“I’m not that creative, okay! There’s no need to make fun.” Lucas says, turning away from his friend. He’s a bit embarrassed now.

“Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it to be mean. It’s cute, I like it. It reminds me of you,” Eliott says, smiling tentatively. Lucas’ is no longer embarrassed when he meets his friends eyes, eyes that are full of nothing but warmth.

“Want to hold him?”

“YES!” Lucas giggles at the excitement. He tells Eliott to open his hands and slowly glides Choupi into his palm. It’s not a surprise that Choupi takes an immediate liking to his best friend. He totally understands.

 Lucas (16) and Eliott (18)

Samedi 14:06

Lucas just stares at his phone. He can feel the anger bubbling. How dare he come back into his life like this. How dare he up root all the damage control he’s done. Well, he hasn’t exactly done anything yet, but Lucas knows a storm is coming. Eliott left with a storm and he’ll come back with a storm, Lucas knows. He used to love those storms.

He loses himself in his thoughts and doesn’t feel his phone ping again.

From: Don’t Answer

Please talk to me.

 Lucas feels torn. A deep part of him, a part he has worked so hard to push down, wants to talk to him. He wants to feel connected to him again, but he knows that it is only going to hurt more in the end. He’s just going to leave again and Lucas can’t survive another one of that. He’s out of tape to piece his heart back together.

To: Don’t Answer

Leave me alone

 From: Don’t Answer

Aha!  You’re talking to me!

 Lucas rolls his eyes.

From: Don’t Answer

So, how are you?

I’m good, thanks for asking

I could go for a coffee though

Wanna join me?

I’ll be down at the coffee shop

You know the one

The one we always went to

Our coffee shop

 Lucas is dumb found. ‘Our coffee shop.’ They weren’t a ‘we.’ There was no ‘our.’ At least not anymore. Lucas contemplates for a several minutes before another ping from his cellphone makes the decision for him.

From: Don’t Answer

Shit, I forgot. I have to see Lucille later. I’m really sorry. Raincheck?

 Lucas laughs bitterly, tossing his phone to the side. Yeah, raincheck.

[dreamdaddydutch]

Title: Coming Undone

Pairing: Javier x John - Word Count: 3k (just over)

Warnings: Smut - 18 and over only - Control/degradation/humiliation (consensual)

Summary: Javier and John decide to spend a night in a hotel to get out of a storm, there’s only one room left, with one bed. After bathing Javier returns to the bedroom and witnesses John in front of a mirror, coming undone.

This is complete trash, I just really wanted to write some dirty filth for these two, I ended up making it a little fluffy at the end. Once coming up with this idea, I decided I wanted to write it for and dedicate it to @nastycowboys. Dante is literally one of the most lovely and supportive people I’ve met on here and his writing is amazing! So if you’re not already following, please go follow :) 

There was nothing different about the day, or about checking into a hotel. They were a far distance from home, sure, they could have camped, but the rain was heavy and the night cold. Both weary and covered in mud, they decided to get a room. They were too tired to argue when the hotel said they only had one room available, at least it had a bathroom attached.

Javier had gone into the bathroom after John and had taken a long soak in the bath-tub. The feel of the warm water against his skin was a relief after the harsh sting of the elements. He was reluctant to get out of the bath but knew that both himself and John would need a decent night’s sleep, as they had a long day ahead of them the following day.

He used a fluffy towel to dry himself, relishing in the moment of comfort and softness. He secretly hoped that when he went back into the bedroom, John would already be in bed asleep, to avoid any awkwardness that might ensue. Or even just to avoid any potential small talk that he really wasn’t in the mood for. Him and John had never exactly been close, despite Javier saving John’s life. They got on just fine, but they hadn’t shared any close moments like they had with others.

Javier sighed as he hung up the towel, he couldn’t be bothered to let the hotel know they were done with the water and to have it emptied, it could wait till morning. Who knew, if they were particularly groggy, they could have a quick cold dip to wake themselves up.

Javier pulled on his pants and a loose white shirt and slowly opened the bathroom door. A candle was flickering in the other room, he couldn’t see John in bed, instead the other man was stood in front of the mirror. What Javier saw, took his breath away and he was washed with a mixture of confusing emotions.

John was stood, naked, cock hard, his right hand pumping away slowly. John was watching himself in the mirror, his eyes fixed on his hand moving up and down his shaft, squeezing the head gently every now and then. His face, red and sweaty, was a contorted mess of concentration, pleasure and pent up frustration.

Javier leant against the door frame, trying to steady his breath and the growing want as he watched the other man. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, this was something he had never imagined happening… Well, he had never imagined it would happen. Had he thought about John in this way? Sure. Javier had thought about many of the women and men in camp, the nights were long and cold… but he would never want to take advantage of anyone. Since the woman he had loved back home, he had vowed not to let himself fall for someone like that again. So he would indulge his passions sometimes with strangers, but never with someone close to him.

But now, now Javier felt like a King surveying his lands, he was afraid that making a move might ruin everything, but he figured he had nothing to lose. But still, something held him back, the fear of rejection, the fear of frightening the other man off, tales of his sexual prowess getting back to camp. No. Javier would not make that mistake.

Javier took a step back into the shadow of the bathroom, he felt guilty for even watching, voyeurism wasn’t something he had given much through to before, but with the growing bulge in his pants, it was difficult to tear his eyes away. He closed them instead, took another step back, retreating from the scene in front of him to save John from any embarrassment. He rest his head on the doorframe, frustration coursing through his body.

But then he heard it, in between John’s barely audible gasps and sounds falling from his lips, he heard it, his name. “Javier…”

Everything changed in that moment, his gut twisted, so John wants this too? In order for his name to spill so easily from John’s lips, he had to of been thinking about this for some time… It wouldn’t just be on a whim.

Javier looked back out into the bedroom, cocked his head, watched John’s movements with interest, watched the expression on his face change, becoming more tense. His muscles tensed, his arm shot out to the wall to steady himself. He was panting and cursing, muttering words Javier couldn’t hear apart from his own name. His name rolled off John’s tongue several times.

Javier made a decision, it was too good an opportunity to miss, he took a step into the room. He knew that if they were going to do this, he would have to be firm, level-headed, commanding, or else they’d both fall apart.

As light as he was on his feet, Javier walked slowly across the room to John, then at the last moment stepped into full view in the mirror.

John’s eyes were closed momentarily, but when he opened them, he saw Javier stood behind him, arms folded, a wicked smirk on his face.

“Javier!” John exclaimed, clearly mortified at having been caught in the act.

Javier smirked, “John… couldn’t you go one night?”

John’s hands flew down to his cock and covered it as best as he could in it’s erect state, “I-I…I’m sorry,” he hung his head in shame.

“Now, there’s no need for that…. You wanna do something, you do it with conviction.”

John looked up, the other’s eyes were dark with lust.

“If you wanna stop, go into the bathroom and finish, clean up, calm down…whatever you need, then please, don’t let me stop you,” Javier moved to the side to allow John access to the bathroom. “Alternatively, if you wish to continue, I will not protest.”

John looked down at Javier, looked at his crotch and understood then that Javier had a similar desire, was he…was he enjoying this? John blushed furiously and bit his lower lip, his hand, without realising it, had slowly started to stroke himself again.

“See, you can’t help it can you?"

"No…” John confessed, “But I…I don’t know if..I can,” the words were spoken so slowly, drawn-out, pleasure pouring from between his lips. His hips involuntarily bucked a few times, his strokes getting faster.

“But you’re doing so well,” Javier encouraged him.

John was still flushed red, his hands trembling partly with desire and partly nerves, “I don’t know if I can…” he choked.

“It’s down to you,” Javier said simply, he didn’t want to push the other man into anything he didn’t want, “But I think you can do better.”

John gulped and nodded, “Yes, for you, anything f-for you…” he stuttered.

“Turn around, you can look at me, but only in the mirror,” Javier commanded.

John turned without a word, his eyes fixed on Javier’s reflection, he marvelled at how perfect the other man was. Thought about what he would give for Javier to pound him into the hotel bed matress, to pin his hips to it, to hold his hands above his head so all he could do is squirm underneath him. John’s eyes looked at the bulge between Javier’s legs, he marvelled at how disciplined Javier was, at his own control when so clearly aroused.

“You have no idea how good you look, do you?” Javier asked.

John tried to slow down, to savour the moment, but now Javier was there, watching so intently. In the reflection of the mirror he saw the other man lick his lips greedily and stare with hunger at his hard member.

“Fuck Javier…I can’t,” John moaned, his hand rapidly pumping himself, feeling the pleasure build inside him and wanting nothing more than to cum whilst screaming the other’s name.

“Buen Chico, you want to cum for me, Si?”

John grunted in response, “Yes…Javi…”

Javier took one step closer to John, so close now he could have wrapped his hand round John’s cock, so close that John could feel his heat. Javier pressed up against John’s back so that his bulge pushed against him.

John let out a low guttural moan and Javier knew he was close, John’s hand shot out again for leverage, his knees buckled with the building pressure, his hand moving rapidly, wanting nothing more than to reach climax.

Javier leant round and whispered in John’s ear, “Cum for me John.”

His breath was so hot against John’s skin that John could take it no more, he let out an almighty cry as he came. His body shuddered, fist clenched, nails digging into the frame of the mirror as he spilt his seed over the floor. His hand still gently stroking his cock as the waves of pleasure washed over him, making sure he had milked every last drop from his cock.

He stood for a moment still trembling, cock twitching in his now still hand, trying to regain his breath. His eyes were closed, partly now in embarrassment that the act was over. John was acutely aware of Javier still behind him, body still flush with his own. How he ached to hold and kiss the other man.

“John, look at me,” Javier said softly.

John turned round and when he looked up into Javier’s eyes, he knew this hadn’t been a mistake, there was no disgust in the other’s eyes.

“Tsk, what a mess you’ve made,” Javier scolded as he gently grabbed hold of John’s chin, holding it firmly in place he said, “Clean it up.”

John bowed as Javier let go, “Yes, of course,” he was blushing furiously now he had reached orgasm.

John moved in the direction of the bathroom, “Ah ah, not like that.”

John turned, wide-eyed to Javier. Javier looked at the floor and then back at John.

“Then what?”

Javier closed the gap between them and roughly kissed John, John gave a little yelp, the kiss had been so unexpected, but he found himself melting in Javier’s arms. The kiss was sloppy, rough, full of teeth and tongue, it made John feel wanted.

When Javier pulled away he bit down on John’s lower lip for a second, “With this dirty, pretty mouth of yours.”

John looked terrified for a moment, embarrassed by his own arousal at what Javier was suggesting.

“Do you trust me?” Javier asked, suddenly a little concerned that he was going to push John too far.

“Yes, absolutely.”

Before Javier had a chance to respond, John complied eagerly, got down onto his hands and knees and started to lick, lapping up his own cum. There were a hundred thoughts going through his head, confusion, the fact that he was enjoying the salty taste of his own seed, enjoying being the humiliation at the hands of the other.

Javier sighed as he watched John at work, “Such an obedient thing, but….”

Javier lifted his right foot and gently pressed his boot to John’s head, he pushed it down into the pool as if he were a dog for training.

John gave a grunt as Javier’s boot pushed his head down and didn’t allow him to come up for air. His tongue worked tirelessly, making sure he had cleaned the floor completely, the humiliation was a new sensation but he found himself enjoying every second, wanting to be commanded by Javier. He found that the pressure of Javier’s boot made him feel safe, he knew he would be well looked after.

Javier’s boot lifted from John’s head, “Hmmm let me see, is that every last drop?”

John looked up, hoping for approval, his lips glistening, Javier pressed his thumb to John’s lower lip and wiped it clean.

“Now, seeing as you’re down there,” Javier unbuckled his belt with a wicked grin and pulled out his already erect cock, the tip gleaming with pre-cum.

John didn’t wait for instructions, he just looked up at Javier with need in his eyes and took his length into his mouth a little too keenly and gagged almost immediately when Javier’s cock hit the back of his throat.

Javier pulled out, “Hey, hey I know you’re a greedy little thing but slowly now…slow is okay,” he encouraged and stroked John’s hair.

John did as he was told, slowly taking Javier into his mouth, just the head at first, enjoying how it felt to have another man’s member in his mouth. He swirled his tongue round the head and sucked gently, his tongue flicking over the tip, eliciting moans from Javier.

John let Javier’s dick spring from his mouth and took a moment to lick the length, his tongue running along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. This action made Javier shudder, one of his hands gripped John’s shoulder.

“Hmmm so good,” he moaned.

John, encouraged by Javier’s words, licked him slowly several more times, getting a little faster each time, one of his hands gently massaged Javier’s testicles. Javier’s body responded to his touch as he shuddered again. John licked the pre-cum that was leaking from Javier’s cock.

“How does it taste?”

“So good, so, so…” John didn’t finish the sentence, he wrapped his lips round Javier once again and started to suck the head, but this time he begun to move his mouth, bobbing a little in a gentle rhythm, taking more and more of his lover’s length into his mouth.

John moaned into Javier’s flesh, muttering words as he continued to suck with more convinction.

Javier could hardly make out what John was saying, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to talk with your mouth full?”

Javier didn’t give John a chance to respond, he grabbed hold of his head instead and started to fuck John’s mouth instead.

“Ahhhh,” Javier’s moaning became louder as he bucked his hips wildly into John and he found himself forgetting the world in the warmth of the other’s mouth.

His hands were nestled in John’s hair, fingers digging into the larger man’s scalp.

John became sloppy with his mouth, his tongue all over the place, saliva dripping from his lips and the tip of Javier’s cock when Javier suddenly pulled out.

Javier watched as the spit fell to the floor, “Ahhh tut,” he bent down and kissed John on the lips, “You know what you need to do.”

John nodded, obedient, he bent down and licked up the liquid.

As Javier watched John lap up the liquid on the floor, he placed his calloused hand round his cock and gently pulled himself off.

John gave a whimper as he sat back up on his heels, “What is it pet?”

John gulped, “Please…”

Javier cocked his head to the side, “Please what?”

John struggled to put into words what he wanted to say, he was terrified in that moment that he was no good with his mouth, that Javier would rather cum with his dick in his hand rather than in his mouth. Maybe he wasn’t any good at this?

Javier cupped John’s chin so he was looking up at him.

“I….I just,” he stuttered.

Javier sighed and stroked the length of his cock slowly, “You like watching me touch myself?”

John nodded, “Yes but…I’d rather.”

Javier smirked, “Buen Chico.”

He moved to the side of John’s face and slapped his cheek with his member.

John moaned, so unbearably turned on by the act of degradation.

“Suck.” Javier ordered.

John nodded, taking it slower again he poked his tongue out and licked the tip, then slowly he took the other man’s length in his mouth again gently sucking as he did so. Javier moaned in appreciation, it was better this time, John seemed a little more skilled, less nervous. Javier’s hands massaged John’s scalp once again, gently tugging on his hair, his hips gently rocking forwards so that it wasn’t too much for John to take.

Javier felt himself getting close, his hips moving more erratically, John seemingly more eager now and able to take far more of his length in his mouth. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, he could feel it building in his core, the need to let go of everything and give in to the sweet release.

“John,” Javier moaned, his lidded eyes looking down in amazement as John’s mouth worked so tirelessly to bring him to orgasm. He muttered now, a mixture of English and Spanish, words John couldn’t understand, barely audible as his hips bucked into John’s mouth a final time. His eyes closed his finger nails dug into John’s scalp, knees buckled a little as he came undone.

“Merida!” He cried out as he came into John’s mouth, shooting his load at the back of his throat.

John swallowed greedily, wanting to impress Javier to the very end.

There was a moment of silence, as his cock twitched inside John’s mouth, John obligingly suckling gently to make sure the other was clean before he released him from his mouth, but wanting to make sure he didn’t over-stimulate him. Javier’s eyes remained closed as he enjoyed the final waves of pleasure that trickled down his spine.

Finally, when he knew he was truly spent he pulled out of John’s mouth, then without words he pulled John to his feet and into his arms.

He held him tight and played with his hair, neither of them said a word, they just stood entwined, hips pressed against hips, chest to chest. It was only now they realised just how cold the room they were in had become.

“You are wonderful you know,” Javier said quietly.

John smiled into Javier’s neck and kissed the soft skin there, “You mean that?” He asked quietly, afraid to look into Javier’s eyes as he answered the question. Afraid that this might have just been some drunken thing that the other man would live to regret in the morning. Not that he exactly minded if he had been used, he had wanted it just as much and enjoyed every moment, but he wished it meant something more.

Javier pulled away, “I mean it mi amor,” he pressed a gentle kiss to John’s forehead.

“No one will know will they?”

Javier took John’s hands in his own, “No, no one…and….if you’re good, we can make a habit of this,” he shuffled uncomfortably for a moment and seemed almost nervous for the first time that evening, “That is if you want to.”

John nodded a little too quickly, “Yes, a thousand times, yes.”

Javier kissed John’s knuckles, “Come on hermosa, the night is cold, lets warm each other up in bed?”

John smiled and pulled Javier into a tender kiss, “Let’s.”

[capmerthur]

THE BODY SWAP (final chapter)

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

Excerpt PART XV:

" Do you feel any different, Merlin? Please tell me it's gone."

The words stab through Merlin like a knife.

"I do feel like myself", Merlin asserts in the most joyful tone he can master while his heart splits in two, answering only the first question because at least then it's *not* a lie - even knowing the words mean the contrary of the truth in Arthur's opinion.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDERS CHAPTER XV)

XV. TELL ME IT’S GONE (MERLIN POV)

"Do you feel any different, Merlin?"

Merlin had pondered the night before about how things could turn out, after having lifted the spell - if it worked, of course. And he cannot deny that he had thought, if only briefly, about how Arthur might simply come to accept his magic afterwards, as a new part of him; at least, Merlin wouldn't have to hide such an intrinsic part of himself from Arthur anymore, huh. It would have been a lie, too, though - even a greater one than simply keeping the original truth secret; and Merlin had felt guilty for having even ever entertained the wish for the easy way.

But now, Merlin understands that it isn't even an option anyway to start with. Arthur looks definitely worried. And there is no doubt in Merlin's mind about the answer Arthur wishes to hear, even before Arthur actually pleads for it:

"Please tell me it's gone."

The words stab through Merlin like a knife.

Admitting he has (no matter always or still) magic would only create distance between them now. Not even distance because Arthur might grow to mistrust him (you bet Merlin would never give him reasons to to start with); but simply, literally, a physical distance. Arthur would send him away. Arthur would not allow him to stay - not at his service, not in the castle, and not even within the borders of Camelot. Not because he might be a threat; simply because he wouldn't accept Merlin endangering himself - especially as he would feel responsible in the first place for having brought the trouble upon Merlin. In Arthur's eyes, Merlin going along on risky patrols is acceptable because it is, in fact, Merlin's own decision; but Merlin daily having to risk death in his own home for having magic meant to be Arthur's doom wouldn't be something Arthur would simply let be. That much is crystal clear.

And Merlin just doesn't want to, cannot, won't be sent away.

Which means he will have to lie then, anyway. And even worse: Merlin will now NEVER be able to tell the truth; Arthur will never get to know him - at least not fully. There would be no going back. Confessing the truth later on would only put a spotlight on the fact that he lied now...

Merlin though doesn't even hesitate. It's not only that he doesn't want to leave Arthur's side. It's also, simply, that he can't and won't have Arthur worry on his behalf.

"I do feel like myself", Merlin asserts in the most joyful tone he can master while his heart splits in two, answering only the first question because at least then it's *not* a lie - even knowing the words mean the contrary of the truth in Arthur's opinion.

/

For about three weeks, Arthur tests him - tests *it*. Making Merlin fall, throwing things his way - anything to trigger a defensive mechanism reaction. It's lucky Merlin has years of practice about refraining his magical surges, or he probably wouldn't have lasted an hour.

It settles though finally, once Arthur allows himself to believe Merlin is 'his usual self indeed'. The smile on Arthur's face as he speaks those words is both the most heartwarming and the most heartbreaking thing Merlin has ever seen.

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THE END

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THANKS AGAIN FOR YOUR AMAZING SUPPORT EVERYONE :) I HAVE SO MUCH FEEEEEEEEELS FOR/ABOUT THOSE TWO IDIOTS AND I HOPE I MADE THEM JUSTICE...

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BACKSTORY : WHO THE HELL DID IT ? (I'M SURE YOU ALL WONDER...)

1) I could have gone fluffy (Merlin thought about having Arthur truly knowing him, or understanding what it is to be him, or something, before falling asleep, and his magic interprets it poorly and messes up. BUT Merlin is too attuned to his magic, he deals with it since his birth, that sort of magic blunders clearly belongs in the past...

2) I could have gone naughty (Merlin dreams about Arthur being inside him and him being inside Arthur in a physical way, and his magic interprets it poorly and messes up. But 1) see 1, and 2) Merlin imo just DOESN'T permit himself that sort of thoughts about Arthur. No way. He is so DEVOTED to Arthur, it would feel like disrespect, especially as soon as in S1. (He will long as time goes by for more contact and closeness though - but I think Merlin never permits himself to think further than the fact that he longs; instead of the specifics of what exactly he might long for). Also, to begin with anyway, imo Merlin doesn't permit himself that sort of thoughts about anyone in general too. I think he's honestly cautious about sex, because it includes losing control, which means his magic getting revealed somehow (how do you think Will ever found out, huh? Headcanon time: Will is older and tells him once about masturbating feeling like magic and Merlin tries and makes a butterfly and the next time he sees Will he's like 'wow, you were right, i made a butterfly' and Will is like ?); so it's just a BIG NO, with everyone and all the time. (It also explains in part too imo why he falls for Freya - she knows magic too, therefore not only does she understand him without need for justification and explanation, but also she is a potential mate, physically too - with her, it's safe. And as the prophecy says Arthur *will* be king, as long as Uther lives he should be alright, technically, so Merlin thinks maybe he CAN have it all after all, somehow - go with Freya until the time comes for him to return at Arthur's side...)

SO: IT'S NIMUEH.

The boys got it all wrong. No one is after Arthur, neither his body, neither his mind... It's just Nimueh coming for *Merlin*.

She understood Merlin has magic in 1.03, and decided he must be gone, in order for her to have her revenge on Uther = 1.04

But Merlin survived (as she realizes by 1.09)!

So to be rid of Merlin she switches Merlin and Arthur (=this fic) - that way, Merlin can't use his magic (and Arthur neither, because you don't learn how to deal with magical abilities overnight... normally at least, she has no idea about how powerful Merlin's magic is) - and she sends the Questing Beast (begin of 1.13) after ARTHUR'S BODY (because it is in fact Merlin) (and it's not kiling Arthur, as he can live on in Merlin's body...)

But, when later in 1.13 Merlin comes to her to beg for Arthur's life, she realizes that Merlin is still in fact in his body, which either means that he is too powerful for her to put a spell on him, or powerful enough to have find a way to reverse the spell even without his magic, which can only means that Merlin is Emrys, and she wants to bring him on her side more than kill him, now that she knows of his importance. And as she wasn't as she says supposed to be the one killing Arthur, she agrees to help (but cannot take Merlin's life, knowing he's the almighty Emrys, so takes his mother then Gaius instead as she doesn't really mind who goes anyway...)

SEE? IT MAKES (SOME) SENSE (And gave me the perfect opportunity to use Bradley's idea, because honestly - WHY DIDN'T THEY USE IT IN THE SHOW! I'm not that much into body swap in general, but in this MAGICAL universe to start with, and with those two idiots? It just works. SO, for the last time, everyone, say: THANK YOU BRADLEY :))

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(By the way, as we're at it, another headcanon: it is more guilt than love that drives Uther / Ygraine. The questing beast was supposed to come for him - a price he had been ready to pay to have a legitimate masculine heir. But Ygraine sprung in between or something, saving him and dying. I cannot buy the love of my life thing knowing he cheated on her behind her back; and guilt is enough of a vicious motivator on his own too...)

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(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

I. AWAKING (ARTHUR POV)

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

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

In disbelief, he eyes his surroundings…

Where is he? Has he been abducted?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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II. AWAKING (MERLIN POV)

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

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

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

Whaaaaaaaat?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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(*AN) Headcanon time :

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

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

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III. DISABLED (MERLIN POV)

But soon, Merlin is terrified.

And not because of the puzzling body swap.

*HE HAS NO MAGIC!?*

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

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

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

No, no, no, no, nooooooooooo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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IV. PLANNING (MERLIN POV)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

/

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

Arthur makes a face - with his face; except it still looks somehow like a typical outraged Arthur face (damn, this is just too confusing…): “Merlin!”

“He! Do not look at me like this is my fault! It’s *YOUR* body! Maybe you shouldn’t have drun-”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have brought a full pitcher at dinner then!”

They eye each other, both unrelenting over who is at fault.

And Merlin can’t help but think that somehow he is, indeed, no matter what. Because there are levels in intimacy; and he IS definitely crossing a line. There is a difference between being around and trying to avoid his gaze when Arthur walks in and out of his bath, or applying Gaius’s healing balm to bruises on Arthur’s back because it’s a place Arthur can’t reach on his own, and, well… watching and touching Arthur’s *manhood*, even if only for urinating, technically ensuring no mess is done while doing it?

Arthur suddenly sighs though, and his voice sounds kinder as he offers: “This will surely happens a few times before we sort it all out, huh. To the both of us. So. How should we proceed?”

Merlin scratches his head, summoning some courage: “Do you want to… hold-”

“Your hand, Merlin!”, Arthur demonstrates, lifting the would-be-culprit in the air and wiggling its fingers for good measure; and that’s a 'No way’ if Merlin ever heard one…

“Would you rather it to be your hand-”

“It’s *your* hand right now!” Indeed. So. Another 'No way’.

But suddenly Merlin has a solution, of sort: “What if I… go sit into the stream? There’s a quiet spot not so far from the castle I found while collecting herbs for Gaius… If I hurry I still can make it back before the pleas.”

Arthur actually claps his hands, obviously relieved: “Sometimes, I swear, you are a genius.” He hurries over, handing Merlin his tunic and grabbing the Pendragon red doublet before marching out: “Let’s go!”

“You’re coming?” (hastening to put the tunic on and grabbing a towel before following)

“Well, as I just said, it’s bound to happen to me - you - so I might just as well tag along, and know where it is.”

/

Once out of potentially spying ears reach, they plan the day further.

“We HAVE to tell Gaius, at the least, about our situation: no one will contest his word if he says you’re not to train for a while - because honestly how am I supposed to spare with your Knights? They will notice right away that something isn’t right. And, well…”

Merlin hesitates, not wanting to incriminate Gaius in any way. As it turns out, he doesn’t have to:

“You’re right. Besides, Gaius has heard about a lot of… stuff, in all his years. I was planning to go around Jeffrey and look for the forbidden books, but I have no ideas how many volumes are hidden down here, nor where they even *are* to start with… If anyone we know might have even the slightest clue about how to fix our problem, it’s him; even if it’s only about finding an adequate book.”

Merlin nods, relieved: “So. After the pleas, I stage a fall, and we go to Gaius, who tells you’re not to train for the time being. That leaves the rest of the day free, both for looking up about our situation, and briefing me on what I should be aware of for tomorrow’s concil. Do you address things in an established order; who’s whose specialisms; what you discussed by the latest concils which might be brought up again tomorrow; and so on…”

“I’m supposed to make the battle plans, Merlin? But as far as plans go, I have to admit this isn’t a bad one. Except I’m not you; I do not trip on my feet twice a day. So. I’ll make you fall. That’s more plausible.”

“No way! You’ll end up in the stocks!” Merlin realizes how - no matter what he might have been thinking just a few months ago - he simply doesn’t want Arthur in the stocks. Ever. “Which is NOT where you should be spending your afternoon.” Merlin quickly amends; hiding his concern under logic’s sake, knowing it to be the best way to persuade Arthur anyway. “So. You fall. I try to help you. But we both fall. I’m clumsy, as ever; you’re noble, as always; everyone get to laugh at me, and praise you; and your father might skip punishing me for you getting hurt in the process, as you obviously didn’t want me hurt to start with?” (pause, before adding earnestly, yet fiercely, as Merlin isn’t able to tone back the surge of threat in his eyes at the mere idea of having anyone disrespecting Arthur in that way) “If he doesn’t though, I’ll stand guard next to you.”

“Would you?” Arthur seems surprised; but touched: “Well, who knows, maybe I’ll return the favor the next time.”

Merlin can’t refrain a whine: “The next time?”

“Even I can’t save you from my father’s wrath every time; it’s bound to happen, either from your two left foots or your snarky mouth.”

They can hear the water now, and Arthur accelerates towards it, as Merlin lags behind, unable not to smile:

“I guess I’m supposed to say 'thank you’?”

“I might have forgotten to mention I’ll probably throw something in your face myself at the last moment. Prince’s privilege and all that…” - Arthur even turns towards him, giving him one of his goofy faces to boot (Merlin didn’t know *his* face could do *that*, by the way).

Merlin just keeps on smiling anyway. He probably hasn’t felt that brightly, positively, ridiculously happy since “I’m rehiring you - because someone needs to muck out my stables”. Arthur has a particular way to express fondness, and Merlin wouldn’t change it for the world.

.

V. THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MERLIN (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur is the first to reach the stream, and crouches down to test the water with his hand.

“It’s cold”, he warns, while Merlin walks in a straight line towards a tree with a low hanging branch and starts undressing - he does come here often, clearly.

Merlin shrugs: “Be grateful it’s not winter yet. Try bathing around Imbolc - that’s cold.” Merlin goes on; stating an afterthought while hanging his pants on the branch: “Still worth it though; everything here is just more… alive, you know. You don’t get that indoors.”

And Arthur has bathed on patrols enough to know that, honestly?: he prefers his warm baths. He can’t help but feel a smile on his face though at the words; they are so intrinsically Merlin.

/

Arthur had been struck, when they had met. No one had ever defied him, in any way. And it had stung; Arthur could admit. So. He had not been displeased at all when he had overmastered the fool and turned him over. The affront had been too public to be allowed to slide, and Arthur had decided he wouldn’t dwell a further thought about the goodhearted fool (Arthur knew terrorrizing people wasn’t right. He tended though to react badly whenever anyone acted cowardly (which was, well, all the time, around him); especially as he was actually *praised* for it somehow), but fool nonetheless, who should have known to mind his own business…

It had been nothing though in comparison to his surprise when their paths had crossed again. Arthur hadn’t been able NOT to taunt him - hoping, somehow… But the last thing Arthur had been actually expecting had been for Merlin to act *exactly the same*. Surely, now that he knew who he was, he would just scrabble around him as anyone else - not defy him again, knowing it would get him in chains again, right? Arthur had been *delighted* by Merlin’s untamable fire - the words, and then the look he had thrown at him while taking his jacket off? (Maybe Arthur had just been waiting all his life for someone to finally stand his ground to him, indeed…) Of course Arthur had let him go without punishment that second time - and any time since then (which was honestly difficult, as Merlin - always fighting for what was right more than for himself Merlin - frequently got riled up, be it in private OR IN PUBLIC, by literally anyone and anything).

Since he has been to Ealdor though, Arthur can’t help but see things under a new light.

Hunith is everything Arthur believes a loving mother to be. But there had been no father at home, nor any mention of one. (Arthur knows the sting of this kind of wound - missing a parent; and he had been saddened, as he had realized that Merlin bore such a wound too.) Arthur hadn’t dared to ask, but he had wondered: did Merlin ever got a father to start with; or had he been abandoned - intentionally or not? (Arthur knows how even an accident still feels akin to a betrayal in a child’s heart.) Which would be the worst anyway? But what if Merlin had been bullied through his childhood because of it? - children could be particularly malicious, when they intended to… Was it how Merlin had learned, the hard way, that fighting - both with his words and his fists - was the only way to end the pestering? And had decided it wouldn’t be only for his own sake, but for the sake of anyone who might ever need help? Was it what had brought Merlin close to Will - the fact that they both had lost their father? Was it the reason Will had wanted to learn magic to start with? (Arthur knows the near constant anger, too. As does Merlin, obviously.)

Arthur can’t help but feel grateful anew, somehow, and no matter what, still, that Merlin has had Will around: surely, no matter how bad the fights Merlin had jumped into, Will must have kept him safe - at least safe enough - *with his magic*. The thought had been unbidden the first time it had occured, and had definitely surprised Arthur; but he hadn’t been able to deny that it was what he truly felt indeed.

/

Because of course Arthur had come to care for Merlin. Isn’t it why he had gone to Ealdor to start with after all…

Merlin.

Definitely not an ordinary manservant. And probably not the champion manservant by any book (fast learner, and smart, and hard working, he was; but only about what *he* deemed important - hence for example his total disregard for any kind of storage? - but Arthur generally agreed with what Merlin deemed important or not anyway). But honestly the only manservant Arthur now could imagine ever having - or ever want to have.

Because Arthur likes Merlin as his manservant exactly just the way he is, and would now never wish for another - no matter (and specifically because of) how well-schooled and zealous to satisfy his every need (and whim) that hypothetic other might be… Arthur now sees what others might judge flaws as assets (Merlin’s clumsiness and chattiness are more endearing and uplifting than unefficient, especially as his opinions always sound reasonable; his sarcasm and insults are a sure way to keep Arthur’s head from ever getting inflated; and his challenging manners push Arthur to do and be better - from training with the knights to saving people’s lifes), and what others might judge insubordinate as being treated, for once, finally, as an equal, somehow (even though they both know and acknowledge they aren’t) - no matter whenever it comes out at Arthur’s expanse too, food getting shoved into his mouth and getting unceremoniously pulled out of bed included in their everyday banter, as Merlin can give just as much as he gets indeed. But that’s maybe what Arthur values the most: how Merlin’s respect feels earned and honest; neither forced by birthright or fear for repercussions, nor cajoling nor calculated.

Arthur has never had a private servant for longer than a year - his Father’s rule; but you bet Arthur is decided about keeping Merlin at his side when the year would end. He will have to strategize; he will need irrefutable arguments. But if he plays his cards well - and Merlin never ceases to hand him over cards to play - Arthur has no doubt that his Father will actually allow it: it’s in the best interest of the Kingdom after all.

Merlin.

A whirlwind. Always animated, always busy; never still, even when he’s doing nothing. But always so expressive - so easy to read - a fact Arthur has come not only to appreciate after decades around perpetually guarded scheming faces, but even to *trust*.

A chatty nature-loving poet with dangly limbs, gentle heart, and the brightest smile Arthur has ever seen - Arthur has come to know. Yet the sassiest mouth and the most unrelenting fighter Arthur has ever met; his utter lack of skills balanced by sheer defiance - Arthur has learned right from the start. (Merlin just never backs off, no matter the odds; which is very stupid, but also very brave.)

A confusing, clashing mess of contraries. But an admirable man, with a beautiful soul.

And you bet Arthur wouldn’t have him be any different.

Arthur shakes his head. Maybe - just like with his two left feet - it isn’t Merlin’s choice to be such a poet all the time. Arthur hasn’t been inside Merlin’s body for more than a few hours, and already he is turning into a maudlin bard himself, huh…

/

Arthur sighs; bringing himself back to the present - only to be struck by Merlin yet again.

Merlin has by now disrobed of everything except for the leather, which he has rolled up to his chest (logic; it would take too much time to tie it up all once more), and the tunic, which he now holds tightly in a bundle against his chest too, even if (and no doubt exactly because) it must get in his vision range as he enters the water. The lengths Merlin now goes again, simply to avoid to *see* - treating his body with the utmost respect, even when it is betraying him?

It should be insignificant, but the whole endeavour screams once more just how *devoted* Merlin always is, to him; and it is honestly dumbfounding.

He has been willing to die for me. And more than once.

The thought slices through Arthur’s mind; as usual charged with guilt, and heartbreaking, yet oddly sweet.

Arthur doesn’t understand: he has truly done very little to earn such high esteem - and that’s an euphemism. Getting the man in the stocks? Letting him drink poison destined for him? Having his only friend die?

But you bet Arthur cherishes it all the same. And he wants - oh, he WANTS - to be worthy of it. Not because it’s what he ought to do, repaying kindness with kindness, loyalty with loyalty; and definitely not because he owes Merlin a friend - you can’t replace a friend (even if Arthur never actually had a friend, he knows that it’s supposed to be a special, powerful, unique bond). Not even because Merlin does indeed makes him want to be a better man - even if that’s true, and definitely positive for the future of Camelot. But simply because HE. WANTS. TO. Arthur has realized by now how he is always tempted, whenever they are together: either to act silly in order to cause a smile; or to provoke Merlin until he bites. Both reactions feel peculiarly satisfying; spreading a pleasant warmth through his whole being - and Arthur just always has to smile…

So.

On impulse, Arthur disrobes Merlin’s lower half and enters the (indeed very cold) water while holding his tunic bundled up too, keeping his eyes stubbornly fixed on his own body sinking until the water reaches up to above its waist, as Merlin sits on his knees in the middle of the stream. And yes, the fact that Arthur has just chosen to abide by Merlin’s stubborn dedication on that matter, instead of letting his perpetual interest about literally everything run free, for once, (because yes, if he hadn’t witnessed Merlin’s commitment, Arthur might have taken a look at Merlin’s body, out of sheer curiosity; he wouldn’t though, not from now on…), is both a pledge and a self-serving whim.

Merlin, drawn by the sounds, turns to him with questioning eyebrows, and Arthur sheepishly drops on his knees next to him: “I thought it unfair to let you have all the fun on your own. Now, ready to scare the fish?”

Merlin howls with laughter. Arthur decides it’s definitely worth playing silly while freezing his ass off.

.

(Imbolc = 31 january)

Feel free to come and fangirl with me over 1.01 and then scream with me over 1.10 !

On a side note, I’m sorry but not sorry about that fish line? It was *totally* unplanned but then it just rolled out and I went 'yep, sure, arthur would, totally; it stays!’ ?

.

VI. THE PRINCE’S PART (ALTERNATE ARTHUR/MERLIN POV)

They get out; get dried; put their clothes back on. Merlin ties the towel to the branch, for future use.

Then, on their way back to the castle, Arthur asks Merlin about his agenda for the day.

Merlin gives him a look - like he’s unsure whether Arthur means it. Arthur gives him a look back - meaning he isn’t joking indeed.

Merlin smiles, eyes full of mirth: “Your chambers are a complete mess, your clothes need washing, your boots need cleaning, your dogs need exercising, your fireplace needs sweeping, your bed needs changing and, oh, *someone* needs to muck out your stables.” Merlin sobers up. “But we have more pressing matters at hand; so I think you can consider yourself free for the day.”

Arthur is taken aback. He recognizes his own words, of course. It’s both baffling and humbling - that Merlin can quote him, months later? and that Merlin has omitted one part and one part only in his old speech, because they both know his armour doesn’t need any repairing (the devotion Merlin shows those metal pieces echoing the devotion he shows to Arthur himself)? Arthur had first planned to give a playful thankful bow; but it would feel wrong.

“So. I’ll go bother Geoffrey. Try to get him to show me where the secret books are hidden. I’ll tell him Gaius has found a strange herb and wants to make sure it isn’t dangerous or something…”

/

Merlin has to give Arthur that: he is indeed insightful.

The mention of Gaius’s name though has Merlin slightly panicking again: Gaius doesn’t know yet about their current situation. What if he mentions 'something’ upon walking on Arthur thinking he is him? No. Merlin has to be there when they’ll get to see Gaius.

“Speaking about Gaius? Stay clear from his chambers. I doubt he’ll be as magnanimous as I am. He’ll do that thing with his eyebrow and have you pick herbs and brewing healing potions and concocting ointments before you even got a chance to tell him about our predicament - he’s really dedicated in my education as a physician, you know…”

“And I believe you rather enjoy it.”

“I do, indeed. I mean… It’s fascinating - do you know that the same stuff can cure you or kill you sometimes, depending on the dosis? Anyway, who wouldn’t want to know how to save lives?” Merlin can’t help but twitch. “I’m not sure I’m any good at it though…”

/

There is a flash of guilt in Merlin’s disheartened eyes, and Arthur realizes two things:

1) Merlin feels responsible for having been unable to save his friend Will. Which is understandable, because Merlin must have gathered by now some knowledge from Gaius’s lessons; but heartbreaking - because Arthur has seen enough arrow’s wounds to know that Will’s could never have healed - and perplexing - because Will has died to save *him*, not Merlin; so why would Merlin think the guilt was his to start with? and how come Arthur has never felt like Merlin might blame him for it either?

2) Merlin’s face is always *transparent* - a fact Arthur truly appreciates on Merlin’s face - but a fact that could turn out problematic, now that it’s on his own face…

“Let’s get back to my chambers. There is still something you should master better before the pleas.”

/

And that’s how Merlin finds himself positioned by Arthur in front of a mirror.

“What do you see, Merlin?” Arthur asks.

“Well, you?” Merlin feels he’s missing Arthur’s point, but he has no clue…

“Do you? Because I see my body, I see my clothes; but I do not see the Prince of Camelot - I’d like to think I play it better than that - and I must be, because my Father would not allow *this* I assure you - at least I hope or the kingdom is doomed.” Arthur ends on a sigh, shakes his head, and then turns commanding eyes back towards Merlin via the mirror. “Close your eyes, Merlin. Think of me. I mean, *picture* me; and more especially, picture me at any official activity you’ve served me through. See how I walk, how I stand, how I sit, how I move, how I look?”

Merlin does as asked, searching through his memories. After a while, he nods.

“Got it?”

“I think?”

“Then open your eyes, Merlin. What do you see?”

Merlin understands now. He can’t help but sigh helplessly. “Not the Prince of Camelot. Obviously. I’m sorry, Sire, I guess I’m just not… majestic enough to play you.”

“It’s not that hard, Merlin. Come on; I’ll explain. Ready?” Arthur grins at him via the mirror, exuding confidence - trust in him?; and Merlin would face (has faced) monsters to earn it indeed.

Merlin nods, their eyes still linked via the mirror.

“First thing first? You’re slouching.”

“Yes. (Merlin tries not to slouch; but is still not satisfied with the result) I think though the biggest problem is- There’s something wrong with your face.”

“Because you wear your heart on it, Merlin; and you mustn’t. Believe me, you do not want to be lectured for hours about this by my Father…”

Arthur moves away, and Merlin can’t see him anymore in the mirror. His voice is directing though, and Merlin focuses on the words to school his face.

“You’re a prince, so you *must* always look like one. No matter what you do, you must always, *always*, look confident. That’s the first strength of a kingdom - the strenghth of its ruler. That’s what keeps your people safe. So. Chin up, Merlin. Square your shoulders. Stand tall - stand *proud*.”

Merlin realizes the words are not Arthur’s; they’re Uther’s. He wonders how often indeed Arthur has heared those words - most probably often enough to give himself a internal pep talk before any official anything apparently…

“That’s better; but still not good enough. No matter how you feel inside must not show, Merlin. When you’re tired, hide it. When you’re sick, hide it. When you hurt, hide it. When you’re stressed, hide it. When you worry, hide it. When you doubt, hide it. When you’re bored, and even more when you disagree; hide it - it’s disrespectful; and we do not want wounded pride to fester, don’t we Merlin? When you’re afraid, definitely hide it. When you’re sad, hide it. And the trickiest part maybe: when you’re happy, hide it too - or risk whatever is making you happy to be taken away: weakening you is weakening the kingdom; and its enemies will never hesitate to bring you down, if you let them see even an inch of an opportunity.”

Merlin is shaken. He feels guilty, somehow. This is, certainly, too intimate. Merlin feels like he’s intruding. This feels even more trespassing than being in Arthur’s body. It’s like being forced in Arthur’s head, without his consent. It’s nauseating.

“Again, Merlin. Your eyes; focus. It’s a part; but it’s part of your job. So for the love of Camelot, Merlin, please try harder. Your people reckon on you to lead them and protect them; so it’s your duty to be a leader, and to be strong. Work hard; harder than anyone else. You *must* be an example, an inspiration. You must be admirable in everything, so that your people will follow you everywhere. But you must lead, Merlin; never follow. A ruler is alone - *must* be alone. Do not trust anyone; at least do not trust anyone more than anyone else, and surely not more than you trust yourself. Your own judgement must *never* be clouded.”

Merlin can’t help but turn towards Arthur at the words, both in disbelief and in ache… Because Merlin has grown up hiding, but he had never realized that Arthur had, too; and maybe even more than him. Arthur must not only always pretend and perpetually watch over his shoulder; he must pretend and watch over his shoulder *alone*. And Merlin can only imagine how hard that must have been, and be. Back at Ealdor, Merlin had (and still has) his loving mother, and he had Will. Even here, now, Merlin has Gaius. And somehow, yes: he has Arthur too, Merlin suddenly realizes; and then feels ashamed, because he can’t help but feel blessed - Arthur trusts him. Because Arthur is definitely less guarded around him, isn’t he? When it’s just the two of them; Arthur and Merlin? Arthur laughs, Arthur doubts, Arthur *shows*; maybe not everything - but that’s probably not possible as he is so trained - but something at least always shines through; even if it’s by putting his feet on his face… But Merlin knows now, how rare and precious it truly is. They can never be friends, maybe; but Arthur trusts him. That’s undeniable; and that’s everything, somehow.

“Do not look at me; look at the mirror, Merlin. Harden your eyes. Smile; always politely, even when you don’t want to smile at all; more genuinely, when it’s true - but never let it go up to your eyes. First thing about tomorrow too; as we’re at it. Hear everyone out. Listen with your full attention to everyone; whether you agree or not. Never decides right away; except if it’s necessary, in war time. Your decisions must be thought upon; never a spur of the moment. If something is unclear, do not let it show during concil. If you favor a position, do not let it show during concil. If you disagree, do not let it show during concil. You need further advice, or even only further information? Seek the appropriate person in private; ask man to man. They will see the honor in it if it’s positive, and be thankful you kept it private if it’s negative. Also. You must be ready to be impartial, Merlin; because you do not need to be kind, but you must always be fair. You may - and you will, unfortunately - make mistakes; but never ackowledge them. Fix them. If you can’t; repair as much damage as possible. Learn from your errors, in order to never make the same mistake again. But never apologize. Come on Merlin; I’m sure you can do it. You’re nearly there.”

More over, Merlin realizes the Arthur he gets to see nowadays - the true Arthur - has always been there already, even under the pretense of the moron. Kilgarrah is wrong. His destiny isn’t to change Arthur; because there is nothing to change. Arthur already has everything to be a great king, the greatest king, all on his own.

And so, Merlin is *angry*. He has now yet another reason to despise Uther, it seems - scarring his child on the inside in such a way. Of course Arthur always feels inadequate; of course Arthur feels lacking; of course the only bond Arthur values is the one with his fellow knights - ride to glory or death, together? It’s the only bond Uther has authorized him to authorize himself to ever have… But Merlin’s anger is a good thing, apparently - because whenever Merlin thinks about Uther, Arthur finds that he’s playing the Prince’s part better.

“There Merlin, you have it. See? Right there. Lock it; just like that. That’s good enough for anyone looking today; because believe me, someone *will* be looking, even if only my Father and not the one who switched us or anyone else with ill intentions - there is *always* *someone* looking, Merlin.”

Fine. Think about Uther; until the pleas are done. Merlin can do it; and he’ll gladly do it. He’ll probably gladly do anything; for Arthur. He can still have a cry or hit a wall afterwards, right…

.

Arthur needs a hug. I volunteer. Anyone with me? (besides Merlin, obviously…)

.

VII. DOOMED (ARTHUR POV)

With a last commanding yet encouraging nod, Arthur leaves Merlin by the Great Hall’s entrance and starts to make his way towards the Library.

He is stopped by Merlin’s name being called out twice - because he has failed to react right away; Arthur chastises himself. It is the headmaster recruiting hands: his Father wants his bath ready when the pleas end.

Arthur doesn’t want to bring Merlin in trouble, of course; so he takes on the ordered job - after all, how complicated can it be?

He is paired with a newcomer answering the name of George who looks up to him as if he holds the sun: the Prince’s manservant! Which isn’t that bad. Until he starts, seemingly embarrassed but curious all the same, to ask questions like “Is the Prince as terrible as they say?” or “Is it true he throws knives?” and such? Arthur tries to explain that the training field is, well, to train? He isn’t sure the message gets across though, as George only holds his eyes with a perplexed gaze…

Arthur can’t help but hope that Merlin at least understands that he’s not only training himself but also trying to get Merlin to know how to defend himself if not to attack whenever he comes at him with a mace or anything… He should maybe make his intentions clearer, apparently…

Anyway. After yet another round of carrying buckets full of cold or warmed-up water up and down and left and right, Arthur realises there is more to it than it looks; and the bath is only half full still…

And when they’re nearly done? His three coworkers and the headmasteer seem satisfied, but Arthur can’t help but think while bringing up the last two buckets that they achieved nothing more than a luke warm bath with a clean but no particular scent. Merlin’s baths are definitely of a superior category on both accounts, and Arthur doesn’t know if he should feel guilty and spoiled for regularly enjoying better baths than the king himself, or more amazed or worried about Merlin’s bath-preparing skills (is he even thinking about his safety? he wouldn’t actually carry boiling water up the stairs, would he?)

Arthur decides he should address the issue. And maybe take baths downstairs from now on just in case - a little backroom near the kitchen would be more practical than his chambers, wouldn’t it? When the space isn’t needed for banquets preparations and such of course…

Arthur misses the first step towards the second floor (it’s actually the eleventh time today that he misses a step - he still isn’t used to Merlin’s feet). This time though, his balance is too lost for him to compensate and he falls backwards, landing on his butt and ready to get soaked and hit by the water and buckets he has released when instinctively freeing his hands (one to help catch his fall; one to protect himself from the falling projectiles). Except nothing comes: no water, no hit - and no falling sound either. And when Arthur takes a look? The buckets and water are… floating above his head?

Arthur gasps in surprise, his mind going both blank and reeling…

Then only does Arthur finally get drenched and hit on the shoulder.

Arthur blinks. Twice.

What has just happened isn’t normal, at all. Only - only magic could make such a thing possible!

Arthur looks around, instinctively - scanning for a threat.

He is alone; the corridors are empty as far as he can see, and he hears no voices, nor steps.

Which is good, because no one is attacking him then.

Which is the worst though - because if there is no one around… then the only person responsible for what he has just witnessed must be - is - HIMSELF?!

Arthur gasps again; this time in panick.

His first instinct is denial. But he knows what he saw. And somehow, it just makes sense, doesn’t it?

It’s not the body of the Prince that whoever switched him and Merlin is after. It’s his mind…

Put him in the body of a servant, give him magic, and sooner or later (and most probably sooner) he is bound to die by his Father’s law. What is he supposed to say in his defense? That he IS the Prince, in another body which had been given an ounce of magic on the sole purpose of getting him executed? Who would ever believe him…

In the meantime, the schieming sorcerer must have judged that a servant in his body may be too delighted by the upgrade in status to be a threat to his plans and would gladly unknowingly collaborate, on top of being totally untrained and incompetent at any of his duties.

Then? One only has to kill the King, either by making him ‘ill’ or using the same trick again and - for sure - Camelot is doomed to get wiped out from the map by the first band of Saxons passing by (and most probably enticed to pass by very soon after its King’s death): its only true heir gone, and the supposed one obviously improper to defend it. All of it without casualties on the attacking side, and without anyone knowing how it all came to be, which means no one, even loyal to Camelot, would have a reason to stand against the new regime put in place.

Arthur is more afraid than he has ever been - and he has been in combat enough for that fact to mean something. He feels crushed; defeated, even before the battle - and honestly? He has never despised himself that much. No matter that he has never felt both so unprepared and so intrinsically useless - and not even able to trust himself: surrender is simply inexcusable. Camelot depends on it.

Besides, Arthur owes it to Merlin to fight, right. It’s after all Merlin’s body that’s to die along his spirit. Oh! The villainy, the cowardice in this attack! Use an innocent victim as a vessel to be sacrificed. Sorcerers definitely have no sense of honor indeed.

So. Arthur is angry now. A much more suited mindset, he decides - as long as he doesn’t allow it to blind him. And he won’t. Merlin’s body depends on it too.

Arthur takes a deep breath. He has been taught strategy even before he could talk, right? Time to make a plan of action.

First. He is not as alone as Camelot’s enemy has calculated him to be. He is, in fact, not alone at all. He has Merlin.

Loyal Merlin; not only willing but even devoted to getting back into his own servant body rather than happily playing the prince. Magic familiar and open-minded Merlin - which means Arthur has not only someone who won’t judge him nor fear him to confide in about his new endangering (and in so many ways) abilities, but also someone who might have some basic understanding of it; since he was Will’s friend? Heart-in-the-right-place Merlin: too kind, maybe (but he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it); but naturally just and fair Merlin. Brave, fierce, tenacious Merlin; too reckless though (but again: he can at least get aware of it enough in order not to be lead only by it). Ressourceful Merlin, fast-learning Merlin: he would master his body’s strength, eventually; and Leon would be here to lead the Knights in the meantime… Arthur takes an oath. Even if they fail to find a solution to their problem, Camelot won’t be left unprotected. Come what may; even the worst? Merlin *will* be ready to take his place. Having Merlin’s unique edges smoothed out feels wrong; but it just has to be for show, right?

Second. Well, there is no really second yet; at least not more than what they have already planned. They need to find some books - and pray that they will be useful. And Arthur will just have to be particularly attentive about not repeating the kind of blunder he just did with witnesses present.

Yes. Merlin. Books. Start at the beginning; and with luck, it might just work out in the end.

Arthur cleans up as best as he can, using and wringing his soaked tunic in the buckets, then runs to Merlin’s room for a set of dried clothes. Turning up to retake his place at 'Arthur’’s side while drenched would only draw unwanted attention…

.

So. Basically? Yep. This is a magic-reveal unreveal fic. But. I mean… It’s Arthur? Also: this fic (to me) is canon (fitting) - so it just can’t be a reveal fic. Bonus: it explains too why Arthur doesn’t get the courage-magic-strength trio hint later on. He thinks Merlin is magic; but only because there is some residual trace to sense from when his body had magic (aka this fic), not that he actually has magic still at the time… Arthur can be at the same time very aware yet very unaware, and he can be so very biased and decided to see things his way, no matter how circumvoluted, right? (Also, of course Arthur thinks in fact then that HE is magic in the trio: he was after all the one inside Merlin when his body had magic; and Merlin IS courage - Arthur has such a low self-esteem to start with…)

On a side note: Arthur would actually trust Merlin with Camelot (even despite his limits). If that doesn’t tell you all there is to tell then I don’t know how to express it. *SIGH* *GROSS SOBBING* (Gwen though is  innately  made to be Queen - but Arthur doesn’t know that yet. He isn’t wrong about Merlin though - for Arthur’s memory? Merlin would do his best to be a great King too, you bet…) *GROSS SOBBING AGAIN*

.

VIII. MERLIN’S CHAINMAIL (ARTHUR POV)

“Merlin! My boy! You’re soaked! Did you provoke Arthur again and end up under the well for it this time?”

Great. Gaius sounds half amused half concerned. Does actually *everyone* think him to be a brute?

Well; nevermind. Merlin knows better, right - and that’s what matters. Merlin is never backing away, Merlin is never really complaining; Merlin just watches him with mirth in his challenging eyes: I dare you. Of course Arthur HAS TO then… It’s like… kind of a private wordless conversation only the two of them understand. But honestly? Arthur wouldn’t trespass Merlin’s limits - if anything, Arthur would probably even feel guilty, if Merlin actually ever made one known…

But then, Gaius is patting his shoulder, pushing him towards 'his’ room; and Arthur is stunned silent, as he can’t help but relish on the (for him unusual) affectionate paternalistic small gesture.

“Get changed. Get warmed up. You’ll tell me later. I haven’t heard the bell signaling the end of the pleas, it is already so late? I’ve just finished Sir Kay’s potion, and it should be drinken warm, as you know; so I’d better be on my way. We’ll prepare Uther’s draught and the balm for Little Kathleen’s knee when I’m back. Also, I’m afraid I’ve ruined my coat; if you could work your magic on it next time you’re mending Arthur’s clothes, I’d be very much obliged?”

And then Gaius is gone, and Arthur is still stunned, but now for another reason - it was but a polite turn of phrase, of course, and Arthur knows Merlin just isn’t capable of miracles, as proven by the state of some of his shirts - beyond mending; but Gaius would better not use some idioms that carelessly around the palace - who knows who might hear and takes things the wrong way… Arthur shakes his head as he hurries to change, feeling sorry for letting Gaius down, but not planning to stay around until Gaius comes back - he wouldn’t know anyway how to prepare his Father’s nor Kathleen’s medicine, right…

Arthur opens Merlin’s cupboard.

There are only two folded set of clothes (neckerchief included indeed), and Arthur just takes the one on top.

He’s about to close the door when his eyes fall on Merlin’s chainmail.

/

The first time Arthur had told Merlin that he had been assigned to lead some patrol, Merlin had right away asked:

“When do we leave?”

Arthur had been surprised, then had tilted his head, apprehending Merlin while explaining that coming along was to be Merlin’s choice; and not per se his duty as palace manservant. They usually asked for volunteers; there was extra coin to be earned and such.

Merlin had only repeated:

“Sire; when do we leave?”

Arthur had been surprised again, but definitely pleased:

“Tomorrow at first light.”

“I’d better start packing right away then. What do you need?”

After having listed their necessities, Arthur had mentioned that he would have a chainmail sent to Gaius’s for Merlin to wear. Merlin had countered that he had no wish for carrying extra weight around as it would only slow him down in his chores; and that he would rather wear his everyday clothes. Arthur had said it was folly to go unprotected - they would patrol the borders, and thiefs and saxons could fall on them - and Merlin had finally relented some and agreed to wear a chainmail he would self adapt as he wished above some clothing but under his tunic. Arthur had been suspicious when Merlin had turned up the next morning without even a cap showing out, and had actually moved his neckerchief aside to make sure Merlin was wearing metal under his tunic…

/

Without hesitation, Arthur takes the chainmail out too, deciding he should wear it under his clothes. After all, the longer Arthur might succeed in hiding his new abilities, the more chances there are that the one responsible for their troubles might choose to turn to more expeditive measures of his own. Killing a servant might go unnoticed for awhile, and would work just as well in case whoever had planned this got tired of waiting for Arthur to betray himself and get executed. Which means that Merlin’s body is just walking around as a mark waiting to get hit… and Arthur should do his best to protect it. Merlin’s chainmail is barely worth its name; but it does cover his chest, belly and back, at least.

Arthur makes it back to the Great Hall right on time for the end of the pleas. It was the moment they had planned to stage for Arthur’s injury; but Arthur discretly but authoritatively signals 'no’ with his head. It would be too risky; what if while falling he instinctively uses magic again - in front of the whole court? Merlin gives him a curious look but follows his cue anyway, thanksfully. There is still enough time to create an excuse before training; and they can still tell he fell even without witnesses anyway. It would have been a nice added touch at make-believe, but Gaius vouching for them should be enough on its own, right?

As they walk in silence back to Gaius’s quarters, Arthur feels Merlin’s eyes upon him, boring and questioning. So when they pass by his chambers, Arthur takes the opportunity for privacy. Once behind closed doors, Arthur leads them to the most private corner, as far from the door as possible. Then he takes a deep breath, and turns towards Merlin to explain… everything.

He hasn’t got the time to start though before Merlin hushes out, worry evident in his voice, pointing to Arthur’s side where a hint of metal is visible if you pay attention - and Merlin always pays attention, doesn’t he:

“Sire? Why are you wearing my chainmail?”

.

AN: It’s canon after all that Arthur doesn’t force Merlin to come along - he lets him leave before Camlann, right? But yes, this is just me giving some sense to the 'just let’s Merlin accompany us everywhere without any kind of protection’ unacceptable general policy. So. Merlin *has* some protection. We just don’t see it. Okay? And the few times he’s actually in armor on patrol, it’s because they need a decoy or something… Also, just so you know: Merlin of course thought that Arthur would probably think that he didn’t want to be seen in a chainmail because he didn’t want to look like a soldier in order not to seem a danger nor a target, but Merlin just couldn’t care: he HAD to be an unconspicuous nobody - it made it easier to protect Arthur with his magic if no one really paid attention to him. And to end with a cute note: whenever they ride out ? Arthur always checks that Merlin wears his chainmail - a fact Merlin can’t help but always secretly revel in…

.

IX. REVELATIONS (MERLIN POV)

Arthur looks anxious - which only makes Merlin worry more.

“I found out… why I was put into your body. I’m sorry, Merlin. I wear your chainmail because your body is in great danger; and it’s all because of me… again. ”

“Wha-”

Arthur cuts him with an imperative gesture from his hand, voice hushed - even though it echoes in Merlin’s ears like a shout:

“I have- I mean you have… Magic!”

Merlin’s breath catches; panick rising. Arthur knows! Arthur knows?

Arthur seems to read his struck expression though as simple denial.

“Yes, Merlin; you heard right! Magic! I saw water and wood floating above my head - floating, Merlin! - That’s the only way to explain it! But I have no idea how it gets triggered, I have no idea how to control any of it - I fell and it happened, I guess, instinctively? Now you understand why I couldn’t have us stage a fall… If people find out? *When* people find out? My Father will have me - YOU - beheaded!”

Merlin’s eyebrow furrow. He doesn’t understand. If Arthur knows he has magic? How come Arthur looks *contrite* instead of angry; afraid *for him* instead of afraid of him? Not that Merlin is complaining about the fact that Arthur obviously doesn’t wish to see him beheaded, of course; his evident worry is even heartwarming, in a way… but heartbreaking, too, as Merlin can’t help but feel that Arthur’s reaction must be induced by some reason that he doesn’t comprehend yet but that has little to do about him having magic at all…

Arthur then fully explains his theory about their attacker using his body to get to Camelot by erasing Arthur, then Uther, and marching against a Camelot lead by an unprepared servant playing Prince. Merlin is shocked, and shaken. Because indeed Arthur’s reaction isn’t about him having magic at all, but about Arthur feeling responsible for his body’s impending doom. But what hurts the most yet is the heavy guilt that settles upon Merlin’s chest - crushing, constricting, inescapable - as he realizes that in fact everything is his fault! Arthur’s thinking may be flawed on one account; but the rest of it makes sense, indeed. And so Merlin cannot deny that Arthur has been targeted and put into his own body because whoever did this actually knows that he has magic.

And so Merlin feels panick rising again, and even worse than before. It is already complicated enough for Merlin to hide his powers - and he has had practice at it since his birth. How could Arthur ever successfully hide them for long… And to think that *HE* might be the cause of Arthur’s death? It’s worse than anything; worse than everything. And it’s devastating. Merlin can’t hold Arthur’s gaze anymore.

Arthur probably thinks he is overwhelmed by the surprise of his body being a target though.

“And I’m sorry - again, Merlin - but I can’t go and hide at some random remote place until I’ve worked out how to subdue it at least, if not suppress it. There is no time. I can’t leave Camelot; not when it’s so endangered.”

Merlin feels like screaming: Arthur shouldn’t apologize; Arthur shouldn’t feel guilty - It’s all on him!

“It’s all right, Sire. I know you’re right: we have to stay here. After all, our best shot to end this mess is to find guidance in some books; and our best shot to find said books is staying here.” (Also, you bet Merlin isn’t willing to leave Camelot either because he is going to consult with Kilgarrah… Merlin had planned to go to the Great Dragon at the first occasion right when he had realized they had switched bodies; but he now can’t help but wish for the night to come even sooner.)

Arthur looks surprised by Merlin’s easy acceptance as he lets out: “I was going to point that out too?”

Arthur seems to hesitate an instant, taking a deep breath; but then, probably finally enticed by the fact that they still are on the same page apparently, he hushes out words that Merlin had never imagined he would ever hear, even in his wildest dreams.

“Now that’s settled… Do you have any idea that might help me keep it in check? I mean… Back in Ealdor? Did your friend Will maybe ever share something with you that we could use? Anything?”

Merlin’s mouth falls open; but nothing comes out of it. He realizes just how surreal it must have been for Arthur to utter those words. But Arthur looks decided, as always. He means it. And that’s when Merlin realizes Arthur is in fact ready to *learn*. Arthur still doesn’t trust magic, and definitely doesn’t trust his magic now that he has some; he only sees it as a treacherous condition. But he is willing to face it outright, instead of wishing or pretending it isn’t even there to start with. And Merlin realizes that this isn’t only proof of Arthur’s mighty heart; but that it also might actually be their saving too, with some luck?

And so Merlin just HAS to take a chance. Anyway, Arthur *needs* him; and how could Merlin ever let him down to start with… Besides, what if it made Arthur realize that magic isn’t only to be feared; that magic can be good, too, actually?

“Maybe you shouldn’t learn how to keep it check, but how to have it *work*?”

Arthur opens his mouth now, either in shock or to retort - or both; so Merlin hurries to push his point.

“Hear me out, please. Even when we do find an helpful book? The spell we’re under must be very powerful - I mean, have you ever heard or thought this could even be possible? - so we might still require magic too in order to perform whatever will be mentioned in the book? So yes, your new abilities are supposed to be our doom; but maybe we can turn them to our advantage? You have MAGIC, Arthur. If you can control it and use it - on your terms? Maybe that’s just what we need to solve our problem?”

Merlin waits. And Arthur isn’t taking the opportunity to repel his idea. Silence goes on; and still, Arthur isn’t refusing. If anything, he looks… thoughtful, even if doubtful. But there’s resolve, too; and maybe, even, a spark of hope? So Merlin just takes the final plunge.

“As you said… I might have… some basic notions about it? It’s worth a try, Arthur. What do you say?”

Merlin’s heart is pounding so hard it’s going to break his chest for sure, as they hold gazes for a long time - Merlin silently pleading for Arthur to just trust him. Then Arthur gives him a firm nod.

“I say this is probably folly but we have to try, indeed. So. You train me? And I train you.”

Merlin tilts his head, unsure about the second part.

“There are things I want to teach you, Merlin”, Arthur explains; pleads even. “In case we stay stuck in each others body no matter what we try; in case your body should- I know it’s a lot to ask, especially as I apparently keep making your life a hell just by existing? But will you please let me prepare you to take my place, if necessary?”

Merlin’s breath is knocked out of him. Arthur would trust *him* with *Camelot*? But Merlin cannot even contemplate it. Arthur cannot be gone; musn’t be gone; will not be gone. Merlin’s voice is fierce as it simply refutes the prospect.

“Sire, it won’t come to-”

Arthur lays a hand on his shoulder.

“It would mean a lot to me.”

And what can Merlin do then, but promise - and mean it:

“Anything, Arthur.”

The hand leaves his shoulder, but Arthur’s eyes stay fixed on him.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

And Merlin takes another oath - this one to himself. They’ll work it out. They’ll make it work. They will.

.

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

.

X. TRAINING (MERLIN POV)

Gaius is working on finishing Uther’s draught when ‘Arthur’ surprisingly comes in without knocking.

“Sire? Do you need-”

Merlin hasn’t prepared a speech on their way (how do you announce this anyway?) So he just blurts it out, as Arthur comes in after him and takes place at his side.

“We need your help, Gaius. Our bodies have been switched. (pointing to himself) Merlin. (pointing to his body) Arthur. We awoke like this this morning.”

Gaius looks stunned - of course. Then, for the shortest of times, he looks unconvinced; but this is after all Camelot, where strange things always happen, indeed - and not only Arthur would most probably have better things to do than playing along with Merlin’s pranks; but also Merlin wouldn’t have the heart to make *such* a prank to start with - not to him. So Gaius looks concerned now, gaze jumping with worry between Merlin and Arthur, holding Merlin’s eyes with a question in his eyes - and Merlin knows what’s worrying him.

Merlin can only give Gaius though a fragile smile to assure him that he is all right along with an apologetic look in return. He isn’t sure Arthur would want anyone else knowing about the magic too, so he will have to wait for a private occasion to explain everything to Gaius. For now, he just sticks to the plan.

“Arthur is expected to train soon, and we thought you could give us a way out of it. No one should be aware that Arthur isn’t Arthur until we’ve fixed this.”

Gaius doesn’t even hesitate.

“Of course (nodding to Merlin). I’ll go and tell you injured your sword arm (nodding to Arthur).”

/

Gaius goes out, mentioning coming back later to make Little Kathleen’s balm. Once the door closes, Arthur says he wonders what Merlin has in mind for 'training’. So Merlin decides he should help them both at once.

Merlin looks around for something basic, and his eyes light up when they fall on two bowls - not only basic but also potentially useful, if it works? He sets them on the table in front of Arthur: one stays empty, the other one get filled with water.

“Here. Try to make the water move into the other bowl.”

Arthur looks at the bowls, then at Merlin; incredulous.

“I’m not sure- I mean, even if I make this work, how am I supposed to put ourselves back into our bodies that way? How can I perform whatever must be performed if I am out of the performing body?”

“This is just a beginning, Sire. This is just a way to have you… feel your magic? Find it, and use it as you wish, when you wish. But if you need a valid reason, I promise this will be useful too, when you’ve mastered it.”

Arthur seems perplexed. Merlin confides, voice low as if sharing a secret: “We won’t have to disturb the fish anymore?”

Arthur is apparently too stressed out to even smile, sadly. But he gives Merlin a satisfied nod. “I’d better start trying then, huh.” A helpless sigh follows though. “Any hint about how to feel it to start with? Where to find it?”

Merlin hesitates. Not only because he wonders how much he can tell without Arthur realizing he knows too much, but also because he struggles about how to put into words what he has always simply felt. He has never had to search for it; it had always just been there. But maybe he can describe it by telling what he doesn’t feel, since he’s in Arthur’s body?

“Don’t search for 'where’. It’s not in one place; it’s everywhere. Not only in your body; literally everywhere - earth, air, water, fire. Like a… warm… tingling… flow? When you’ve found it, try to concentrate on it, focus on it, in order to direct it towards what you want - with your hands, your eyes, your voice; whatever works?”

Arthur’s brow has only deepened from the explanation, and Merlin can’t help but sigh:

“I’m sorry. It’s gibberish. I don’t know how to explain-”

“What you can’t know”, Arthur cuts him with a wave of his hand. “Of course. I have to find it on my own. Thank you for trying, at least?”

And so Arthur goes to sit at the table, facing the two bowls, while Merlin starts on the balm for Little Kathleen’s knee (hopefully for the last time, as her recovery seems to be going well, thanksfully) - both to feel useful and to give Arthur some kind of privacy. His moving around though must be disturbing, because Arthur switches place, turning his back to him. But it gives Merlin the freedom to check over his shoulders from time to time without risking to meet Arthur’s eyes.

/

This isn’t working though, Merlin can tell, by the time he’s done preparing Little Kathleen’s balm (he waits for Gaius to check if he got all doses and ingredients right though before finishing; he has only done it once) and a sleeping draught (for the guards guarding Kilgharra’s tunnel) (Gaius has had him prepare Morgana’s draught several times already, and has explained how to up the doses while keeping it safe): Arthur looks nothing but tensed, when he would need to be relaxed in order to feel… Trying too hard is nothing but counterproductive.

That’s when Merlin realizes he’s been going at it the wrong way. Arthur is not him. Arthur is *Arthur*. And when Arthur is at an impasse and needs a clear head? He trains. Activity helps him focus. Exhaustion helps him forget. To find his inner ground, Arthur must be physically busy; not sitting hunched over a table looking at two bowls.

Merlin eyes again his surroundings: spoons should work. Gaius has them in lots of size, both wood and metal. Merlin bundles them all in his tunic, and calls for Arthur as he passes in front of him.

“Let’s try something else. You can work on the water later on.”

Arthur’s eyes follow him questioningly up the stairs. Merlin sets his collection down, then holds a spoon up.

“Try to stop it from falling to the ground.”

Merlin let the spoon fall. It hits the ground, of course; but Arthur surely looks now interested by the new challenge. Merlin smiles, and lets another spoon fall.

After five rounds, Arthur gets up and gathers the spoons before handing them over to a crouching Merlin, instead of having Merlin going down, and up, and down, and up… A few rounds later still, Arthur picks up a spoon he has missed on his way and calls out for Merlin to catch it instead of walking back. Merlin misses it though, and it lands on his arm. And that’s when Merlin thinks his new idea can even be perfectioned.

He takes the offending spoon off the ground and holds it at the ready, eyeing Arthur, waiting for him to understand. And Arthur does, of course.

“Merlin? Are you threatening me with a spoon?”

Merlin grins wolfishly. He throws, and Arthur easily dodges, laughing.

“How long have you been waiting for such an opportunity?”

“Forever?” Merlin lies, before throwing another spoon, which Arthur blocks with an upraised arm.

Merlin can’t help but scowl: “You’re supposed to make the spoon divert its course; not block it or move out of its way.”

Arthur has actually the decency to look apologetic: “I know. Sorry. Reflexes.” Then he smirks. “But please, indulge yourself and do go on.”

And Merlin does. And it’s glorious somehow, how they are suddenly both intent and carefree, spoons clattering everywhere on both sides as Arthur now throws the spoons back to Merlin too. Hits land on both sides too, as they both throw quicker and harder.

/

At some point, the door opens and a spoon hits… Gaius.

“Sorry”, Merlin lets out, hurrying down to check he hasn’t hurt Gaius.

Gaius looks at the both of them with incomprehension, but Arthur explains even before Merlin has even opened his mouth.

“We’re actually working on something, Gaius; not destroying your chambers. (the slightest hesitation - but if Gaius is to be their ally then Arthur has decided he should know, well, everything, it seems) I have been jinxed too, on top of the body swap. It appears I have been given… magic; to be my doom - and well… Merlin’s body end.”

Gaius looks sort of disapprovingly to Merlin at the M word, but his gaze softens somehow, even though it turns outright anxious, as Arthur further explains his theory about their attacker’s plan.

“So, now you know it all, Gaius. And we also need your help for something more than giving me an excuse not to train… We need… information. I thought… You and Geoffrey go way back, right? Maybe you could persuade him to lend you a few special books?”

Gaius nods, eyeing Merlin.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Arthur nods back.

“In the meanwhile, I have to understand how it works, in order to prevent anyone finding it out until we’ve found a way to lift the spells?”

“Of course. Just let me take what’s necessary and I’ll leave you to it.”

Merlin then shows Gaius his previous work (safely tucked away in his room after the first round of spoons throwing - and yes, it also gives Merlin the opportunity to silently let Gaius know where his book is hidden, so that he will be able to retrieve it later on and present it to them as coming from Geoffrey or something). Gaius proudly tells he got everything right and gathers it all into a bowl.

“I can finish the balm in the kitchens. I’ll be back to bandage your arm though later on, Merlin; our Prince is supposed to be injured, and our King will want to check on his son right when he comes back from today’s hunt and hears about it.”

/

They start again where they had left, but nothing magical ever happens still, and after some time, Arthur exclaims in annoyance: “Maybe you should use knifes?”

And Merlin understands the logic; but Merlin just… can’t. He counters with an idea of his own.

“Maybe I should tie you up on a chair so that you can’t dodge them anymore?”

And Arthur gives a shrug… then goes to sit.

Merlin finds some rope and tie Arthur’s legs and chest to the chair. He hesitates, then tie only Arthur’s left hand behind the chair.

“In case it helps if you aim”, he explains.

Then Merlin is facing Arthur again. The spoons hit; one at a time. But Arthur glares at them - never at Merlin; and so Merlin goes on.

And then… (they’ve been going at it for so long that Merlin has stopped counting rounds) a spoon finally *stops*, mid-air, before simply falling vertically to the ground instead of keeping its course.

Merlin’s mouth falls open as Arthur keeps looking at his hand in wonder.

“Did you see-”

“Yes!” Merlin can’t help but shout happily.

Arthur meets his eyes, looking even more resolute than before.

“Again.”

Arthur doesn’t stop lots of spoons (yet, hopefully); but he regularly stops or redirects one.

And then, Arthur looks at his hand, and then at him, both in wonder.

“It *is* warm!”

And that’s definitely progress in the right direction, if Arthur has *felt* it.

The look they share is actually hopeful, for the first time since this began.

/

After some time, Merlin decides they should take a pause. Arthur still has to prepare him for tomorrow concil too, right?

So Merlin starts asking about what he should know for the coming concil right while untying Arthur’s legs.

“Will was definitely lucky to count you as a friend.”

Merlin’s eyes jump to Arthur’s in surprise; not only from the compliment, but also from the repeat mention of Will. Before today, Arthur had never mentioned Will, since they had left Ealdor.

Arthur doesn’t notice. Or - more probably - Arthur notices but goes on anyway; he is nothing but brave after all.

“I never had a friend, but I believe friends are supposed to help each other out, right? And well, you’re good at helping out, is all. And I know I have little to no right to talk about him; but I think you should know that I’m grateful, and that he has my respect, Merlin.”

Merlin is utterly speechless. Arthur has finally found, it seems, a way to shut him up. And to get him teary-eyed to boot. Merlin lowers his eyes to the ground.

“I believe he was a kind man. I mean- He must have been, of course - I don’t see you befriending someone cruel or-… But even taking only my own judgment into account?  I suppose he could have probably done more harm than a whirlwind. But he didn’t. He wanted to defend, more than to attack; there is nothing malicious in that. It’s unfair his kindness caused his end though. Sometimes, maybe, it’s necessary to be the first to strike; even if you can never know how actually well-founded that decision then is; and you have to live with it.”

Merlin feels guilty, again. And angry. Does Arthur have to remind him that Will’s death is his fault? For all his magic? Merlin is indeed nothing but *useless*, indeed. He works on finishing to untie Arthur as quickly as he can.

Arthur must have read the inwards directed angry shake of his head for something else though, as he lets out a somewhat apologizing sigh.

“I realize I’m very biased, Merlin; because if he had used his powers in a harmful way? I would probably have been the first to accuse him of being a monster. (pause) But he hasn’t. And I haven’t searched for any magical powers - yet here I am.”

Another sigh; nothing but helpless this time. So Merlin *has* to look up. He has failed Will. He won’t fail again. He won’t fail Arthur. Arthur’s gaze is lost inward though.

“Sire”, Merlin pleads, hunting Arthur’s eyes then locking onto them.

Arthur fidgets; Merlin can’t help but note the oddity and rarity.

“I just- I realize this is the strangest thought to have while we are yet again under a sorcerer’s threat, but… Maybe not everything is always as black or white as I’ve been told all my life? Maybe not everyone with magic is actually evil? … Will? Me? … Again, maybe I’m only very biased. Because who knows then how many might have been wrongly punished- (a heavy sigh; wondering and remorseful this time, as Arthur shakes his head, apparently thinking about his Father’s deeds as his own - as he has allowed them to come to pass without opposition for so long…) But I *have* to believe that it’s possible to have magic without being corrupted by it. I mean… What if it sticks? Even after…”

“Arthur”, Merlin starts again as Arthur’s voice falters - even though Merlin still has no exact idea about what he wants to say; at least not in what order. Arthur’s genuine regrets and palpable fear are boring a hole right through his heart; just as Arthur’s words about Will and about magic (it is a step in the right direction; no matter how small) spread warmth through it too. Merlin’s possible soothing or grateful words in return all feel just tangled and messy and worthless and not enough and-

Arthur clears his throat, then softly exhales as he finally looks away: “I don’t really know what I’m trying to say, Merlin. Except… I’m glad you’re here?”

Maybe Merlin has conveyed what he couldn’t put into words through his eyes after all…

/

And then Arthur stands up, and his voice is back to his usual, assured tone.

“Now. One problem at a time, right? About the concil tomorrow…”

And Merlin listens, you bet.

.

So yep, yet another 'I’m glad you’re here’ (MY HEART). And spoons just had to be involved, indeed (I’m weak, blame 5.03)

.

XI. DESTINIES ARE TROUBLESOME THINGS (MERLIN POV)

Merlin can’t help but be on his guard. He has no idea, he realizes as he enters Kilgarrah’s cave after having successfully put to sleep the guards in front of it (after a shortened dinner with Uther and Morgana), about how the Great Dragon will react to a stranger’s presence in his lair.

But Merlin needs some guidance; and so, he calls out to him…

/

“Young warlock, what has happened to you?”

“You know it’s me?”

“Of course. Even though I am surprised indeed by your current appearance.”

“Arthur and I- Our bodies have been switched.”

The Great Dragon straightens up.

“So this is Uther’s heir’s body?”

“Yes. And I need - we need - help. Do you have any idea about how to reverse such a spell?”

“I do not have such knowledge. I can only tell you what you already know; that there is some very powerful magic at work here. (pause, tilting his head) But maybe you are not supposed to reverse it to start with.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are now *literally* two sides of a coin - both at once in the same body. Maybe this was the intent of the prophecy all along.”

(helpless, shocked sigh) “No.”

Merlin cannot believe his ears. But the idea is not only incongruous; it’s also outright enraging, and simply *impossible*.

“No”, Merlin repeats, firmly this time; a denial.

“You would throw away the opportunity to fulfill your destiny? You would carelessly discard the chance to bring forth the greatest time for Albion?”

Merlin doesn’t even flinch under the Dragon’s ire. *Arthur* is his destiny; and only Arthur. Albion’s welfare is in Arthur’s hands. And Arthur *will* be its greatest King; not Merlin. The notion only makes him sick. It’s not even about a possible guilt at cheating Arthur’s crown (which he doesn’t want to start with). It’s simply that Merlin wants - needs, and will not (and never) accept anything less - Arthur to be Arthur, intrinsically. Besides, Merlin knows the burden of pretending already; and he wouldn’t wish for anyone, and certainly not for Arthur, to have to shoulder it too. How can Kilgarrah not realise any of it?

“This just cannot be the way. It only feels wrong.”

“You should at least think about it, Merlin.”

“It is all decided. I cannot and will not abide to the belief that this masquerade could ever be our true fate. And if you don’t - can’t or won’t - help, we’ll look for a solution on our own - no matter how long it might take.”

They hold each other’s gaze; and Merlin won’t relent.

“I can only hope you will not come to regret your choice, young warlock”, Kilgarrah finally says as he flies away.

/

Merlin is still fuming as he enters Arthur’s chambers.

His fingers itch, longing to search through his spells book. He hasn’t had yet the opportunity - between being a Prince taking most of his day, and Arthur being at his side when he had been off duty. Unfortunately, it will have to wait until tomorrow - it would look suspicious if he went out in the night.

So. He should rest. After all, a clear mind will be necessary in the morning, both for council and for finding a way to break the spell they’re under, right?

Only looking at the bed though makes Merlin’s entrails twitch in disgust. This is wrong indeed; and will never feel otherwise. And no matter how comfortable that bed is, Merlin now knows (he might grow understanding of Arthur’s lack of will to leave it on some mornings from now on, huh), you bet he will never even contemplate sleeping in it.

Merlin makes his bed for the night on the floor, wondering if Arthur has been able to fall asleep yet.

.

Bear with me. The Dragonlord bond is an intrinsic link between souls, which is why it isn’t affected by the body swap. Whereas magic inhabits everything it’s in, and is therefore by nature anchored in physicallity. It explains too somehow why magic in general can be learned/found, but that the Dragonlord bond can only be inherited. Oh well, it makes sense in my head, at least…

Also :( I’ve really hurt myself with Kilgarrah’s last line :( Because of course Merlin *will* wonder about this, *for centuries*, later on (my heart:(). Anyone willing to hold me while I cry, pretty please?

.

XII. SOMETIMES, YOU PUZZLE ME (ARTHUR POV)

“Sire, you should rest.”

“Just a little bit longer, Gaius. Until the candles are out.”

“As you wish.”

A respectful bow; then Gaius is on his way to Merlin’s room, giving Arthur space and quiet - and only when the door closes does Arthur realize that he just kicked an old man out of his own bed?

Well, let it be worth it then, right! Arthur closes his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to connect with the magic inside. He actually feels it, now that he knows what to search for. He has no idea still though about how to have it work, apparently…

He can’t help but wonder briefly if Merlin has been able to fall asleep yet, before concentrating again on that damn water…

/

Arthur awakes, wincing, still at the table. Gaius has left bread and jam out for him, and he hastily eats before running out to help Merlin prepare (both physically and mentally) for concil. It is still earlier than he thought it was it seems, luckily. The kitcheners have just begun their work; Gaius does prefer to pick herbs in the early morning indeed. Arthur takes some bread and jam for Merlin, as little else is ready yet, and makes for his chambers.

When he gets in, Merlin is putting his clothes on. He is nearly finished; only the tunic and the coat are still laid out on the already made bed. Arthur approaches to help him with fastening the ties, and so notices the spread-out covers and pillows on the floor behind the bed.

“Merlin? Did you actually sleep on the floor?”

“Well, that bed of yours is way too soft”, Merlin retorts (even though Arthur DID see him getting out of said bed just the morning before: it hadn’t been too soft apparently, when Merlin hadn’t known it was Arthur’s, huh…), trying to cover his embarassment before walking out, heading for the stream. And Arthur has no choice but to follow, shaking his head while wondering if there would ever come a day when Merlin would stop astonish him…

/

After having left Merlin at the concil’s door, Arthur gets back to his bowls and water.

He has no progress to show though still when Merlin comes in and gives him a very detailed summary of what has been discussed. Arthur is thankful - even though he hasn’t doubted Merlin’s capacities (Merlin acting like an idiot or being clueless about etiquette doesn’t mean Merlin isn’t clever, indeed).

Then Merlin takes up the spoons, and helps Arthur train more actively about his magic again. They are both pleased to discover that Arthur is now able to divert about a third of the projectiles.

“Why am I getting better with the spoons and not making any progress with the water?”, Arthur wonders aloud.

“I am certain you will figure it out, Sire”, Merlin only has time to pledge as Gaius walks in, holding out a book and placing it on the table - which definitely ends the spoons training as Arthur and Merlin come to gather around it.

Gaius and Merlin seem to be waiting for his cue, so Arthur is the one to open the book, feeling both hopeful (this book might contains the answer to their predicament!) and worried (what if this book is simply full of evil?).

Arthur starts to read silently, both cautious about eventual passers-by overhearing and unwilling to invoke any probable further disaster on themselves by reading what could be spells aloud, a finger tracing along the opening line.

“Magic is potential, and possibilities. Its use is a choice, and a responsability”, Merlin whispers, echoing what Arthur is reading.

Arthur is stunned, and can’t help but blurt out in disbelief, turning his attention on Merlin:

“You know how to read?”

Merlin only shrugs.

“Sure I do. My mother taught me, along with the other kids from Ealdor. You know, the fact that it surprises you that a peasant can read probably says more about Camelot’s rampant illiteracy than about me?”

And Arthur can only admit it’s true:

“You’re right. We should probably ask Geoffrey to organize something about it.”

Then Arthur points at the book:

“But of course you may read along; it concerns you too. It might be safer though not to read aloud, you know…” (gesturing around, waving a hand)

“I can do that too”, Merlin assures.

So Arthur sits down on the bench, motioning for Merlin to do the same next to him. Gaius sits on the opposite bench - ready to give advice or help if needed; or ensuring they do not damage the book before it gets returned to the vaults?

They read further in silence, two pairs of eyes following the path of Arthur’s finger.

Arthur quickly realizes though that the first part of the book focuses on magical creatures, and skips through it - it might be handy, but it’s not what they need at the moment (he can’t refrain from briefly pausing though passing by the unicorns page)…

Then they reach the spells section, and Arthur turns tense.

And rightly.

When he understands what the first spell is about, he can’t help but shout out, pushing the book away:

“This is what Valiant did! How can we trust this book of tricks?” - this is nothing but evil indeed.

.

Of course Merlin just HAD to read that opening line aloud while in Arthur’s presence, huh…

.

XIII. PROGRESS (ALTERNATE MERLIN/ARTHUR POV)

“This is what Valiant did! How can we trust this book of tricks?”

There is fire in Arthur’s eyes - an anger at Valiant’s deeds that Merlin doesn’t wish to see grow blinding. Gaius gives Merlin a look, and Merlin understands that Gaius wants to be the one explaining - to protect him, surely. Merlin signals ‘no’; but Gaius is speaking anyway before Merlin has even opened his mouth.

“Sire, Valiant’s actions were definitely condemnable indeed; but the book is not to blame. It simply explains how to animate figures - it doesn’t tell *why* the spell should be used; that intent is entirely the responsability of the one using the spell. So yes, Valiant used such a spell to kill; but such a spell can be used to save or help too; can be useful and good.”

Arthur doesn’t seem convinced at all, judging by the growling tone in his voice:

“How could such a spell ever be used for good?”

Let’s say you need to animate snakes out of a shield at your will to confound an evil man and save a noble one; Merlin thinks but does not say, pleading Gaius to let him deal further with Arthur’s ire. Merlin has often pondered of course, even if with little success, about the best way to explain it all to Arthur. But he realizes, suddenly, that using Arthur’s own words and opinions might be the most helpful in that regard.

“Remember what you told me, Sire; about Will? So. Having magic is *not* having a weapon. It’s simply having *a tool*. You can use an axe to build a shelter or to break down a door - and even then, you might only be breaking that door to save blocked-in people from fire. You can use a shovel to plant an apple tree or to dig a grave - and even then, it might be out of respect and love, in another culture. The axe or the shovel have nothing to say about why they are used for. In the end, maybe, the only thing magic actually reveals is what’s truly in one’s heart.”

This approach works better, apparently. Palpable facts he experienced himself weigh more than rethorical theories in Arthur’s thoughts process. Arthur tilts his head, actually considering now, instead of refusing it all at once.

“So. This spell? Let’s say you badly injure yourself while alone and away, and you conjure a horse to carry you back home quickly enough to be saved? Let’s say a child is crying and you create a butterfly or something, to bring up a smile?”

“A butterfly, Merlin?”

Arthur looks incredulous but sounds, if anything, teasing - which Merlin interprets as a sign of progress, a smile growing on his face. He only shrugs though, playing along.

“What’s wrong with a butterfly?”

“Nothing, I guess, indeed. Let’s go on then.”

They read further for about an hour, Gaius preparing potions behind them. Arthur never shouts out again, but expectantly looks at Merlin on the few occasions he apparently feels like he might maybe be missing the whole picture. And Merlin just goes with it; the surprised yet somehow satisfied glow in Arthur’s eyes each time in some way worth the risk of possibly divulging too much…

Until dinner time comes, and Merlin has to go. He takes his leave, telling Arthur he should read on. Arthur’s answer leaves him breathless.

“I’d probably see things only one way on my own; who knows what I’ll miss… I’d rather bring the book to my chambers while you eat, and you can read further later. Besides, I should work on my water, you know… Be ready for it, in case you find something.”

Merlin can only nod, speechless from Arthur’s obvious trust.

As he opens the door, Arthur surprises him yet again, talking to his back: “And just so you know, I wouldn’t put you in the stocks for sleeping in my bed while you’re, well, me. What would the guards think if they saw me sleeping on the ground? ”

The tone is more gentle than gloating, and Merlin feels warmed up as he realizes Arthur is being simply honest. It doesn’t change his view on the matter though.

“I told you, Sire; I do not find your bed comfortable to start with.”

He doesn’t dare to look at Arthur as he walks out.

/

Gaius has proposed to bring the book to his chambers. He said he had to bring Morgana her sleeping draught anyway; but Arthur couldn’t help but sense that there was more to it - maybe he’d rather not have 'Merlin’ seen with such a book, maybe Geoffrey has made him sworn an oath to never let it out of his sight… Anyway, Arthur doesn’t have it in his heart to deny Gaius the demand.

Once alone, Arthur sits again in front of his two bowls. He closes his eyes, reaching *inside*.

It’s a tool. He tells himself when he senses the flow. Not a weapon.

There had been something in the way Merlin had talked. It had sometimes felt more like mentioning actual events than thinking aloud (Had Will ever performed any of the spells they read about?); especially - even though surprisingly - about…

It’s harmless. Merlin says it can be used to make butterflies.

Arthur takes a deep breath; focuses - visualizing in his head what he wishes to achieve.

When Arthur opens his eyes, the water has switched bowl.

Arthur blinks.

Then a loud “Yes” echoes in the room.

.

Arthur makes several times the water switch from bowl; then the books on the shelves from order (size, alphabetical, themes (as it was originally)) - he doesn’t dare mess with Gaius’s ingredients though, of course. At some point, he eyes the chamberpot and tests it too, like Merlin had mentioned they could once Arthur would have gotten how to. And indeed, it works too! Arthur can’t help but feel proud, trying to imagine the look on Merlin’s face come morning…

Then Arthur realizes maybe they do not have to be under the spell to start with any longer! What if he can just wish it away? Sadly, though, it doesn’t work; no matter how much nor how hard Arthur tries. Feeling a bit defeated now, even though he knows he definitely booked progress, Arthur decides he should go to sleep. With any luck, he might need all his energy tomorrow, if tonight turns out to be as fortunate for Merlin as it has been to him…

Gaius hasn’t come back yet - he probably stayed with Merlin to study the book; after all, as Court Physician, no one would question how long he stayed by his injured Prince… Arthur opens the door to Merlin’s bedroom - he doesn’t intend to keep Gaius out of his own bed tonight too…

/

As soon as possible, Merlin excuses himself from Uther’s and Morgana’s company to get to his book.

Since Gaius has given it to him, he hasn’t really had time to study it - mostly, he’s called forth through his magic the necessary spell or information when he needed any. He hopes though that the book will help them again, as it has in the past, and that he will find something useful in the over two thirds of the spells section he hasn’t read yet…

It’s late into the night when Merlin’s heart skip a beat. A spell-breaking spell? This might work, right! After all, one doesn’t have to reverse a spell to have it undone! Merlin rereads the pages again, and wishes the morning to hurry in order to show his finding to Arthur and Gaius.

.

Arthur saw magic as a weapon, of course. Which was sort of getting in the way of having his magic work for more than blocking the spoons attacks, because he felt still somehow that he *shouldn’t* use it, no matter the need to use it to fix their problem. But now that Merlin has had him understand, at least for a while, that it isn’t by definition a weapon, Arthur somehow feels like it is all right to use it. Which is why it works this time? It makes sense in my head, at least?

And imo Merlin wound’t link magic to a weapon both because he wants to unmake that precise link existing already in Arthur’s mind; but mostly because, well, he doesn’t see it that way - HE USES IT TO MAKE BUTTERFLIES, RIGHT (and I love him for it, HUGE sigh…)

.

XIV. THE SPELL (ARTHUR POV)

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

“This is real, right?” Arthur can’t help but ask, still in disbelief.

“I told you you’ll do it,” Merlin answers, beaming at him - proud of him, even.

They exchange a winning grin. Then Arthur howls.

/

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

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

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

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

[w-m-blake]

I’m very proud of the writing I’ve done this week! Mortal Truth; and You Wish You Didn’t Ask the Question came out on Sunday; You Are Dead, My Life, and I Still Breathe came out yesterday; and I just posted the fifth chapter of The Sands of Titan! This week has been very productive! To celebrate (and because I want to know what people are interested in reading next), under the cut I’m putting the titles and short synopses of fics I’ve got on my to-do list. Message me if you want more information/want to weigh in on what to write next.

If Even Death Were Grace: “we begin in the dark/and birth is the death of us,” Anne Carson, “antigonick.” Anthony Stark, son of Howard Stark, Titan of the Forge, and Maria Carbonell, Titaness of Family and the Hearth, God of Invention, finds himself like Iphigenia, a sacrifice—a pawn—to placate the furies of other deities, for transgressions he didn’t commit. Nevertheless, he holds his chin up and walks the path to Hel, averting a war and agreeing to a marriage both. Better this than the alternative. Frostiron, retelling of Persephone and Hades (at least inspired by) with Tony in the place of Persephone and Loki as Hades.

I’m Not Playing God: (All this time, I’ve been playing human.) Frostiron, ThorBruce. Tony Stark walks out of the abandoned bunker in Siberia having awakened, realizing he was a god born to walk with humans. Rewriting from about the end of Ragnarok to Endgame.

I Hear You Whisper underneath Your Breath/I Hear You Whisper You Have Nothing Left: Tony wakes from nightmares of a life he can hardly imagine, a life where he’s left behind in a freezing bunker by an enemy wearing Steve Rogers’ face. Loki tries to comfort him, to distract him from these visions, but they become harder and harder to ignore—until something has to give. Frostiron.

Desiring More Yet: Harley Keener is always hungry, always starving, always looking for the next thing to drive his teeth into. He burns through ideas, through petty lovers, through inventions and motivations and addictions, looking for something—anything—that will satisfy him. He was hungry before leaving Rose Hill, his hunger driving him to New York, and he's still hungry even now, even cared for and loved by Tony and Pepper, even in this place that was supposed to be everything that he wanted. Perhaps it was some kind of idle dream, expecting thing new place to be all that he wanted, all that he needed.It did, at least, provide more distractions from his hunger than Rose Hill, Tennessee did. Peter Parker is content with what he has. Most of the time, at least. Sure, sometimes he's a little lonely—but Aunt May, Ned, MJ, Tony, Pepper, they're all there for him, just a phone call or a text away at their farthest. Sure, sometimes he carries this guilt from not doing enough, not being enough, failing people—but he's Spiderman, and he can't afford to get too down, because he's got other people counting on him. He pulls through. Sure, sometimes, the night is so big and dark and he feels like it's so empty it's going to swallow him whole, but Karen's in his ear all night, keeping him going. He's fine. Really. Maybe he's not as fine as he wants to be. Parkner.

One-Part Sadness, Two-Parts Tragedy: a Harley Keener character study told in three parts: the first is his time in Rose Hill, the second his transition from Rose Hill to NYC with Tony and Pepper’s help, and the third NYC post-Endgame. Major character death, no happy ending.

Warfare and a Man at War: a Tony Stark character study that will be a series, beginning with Warfare and a Man at War, followed by Of Gods and Men and concluding with In Hope and Fear. Warfare and a Man at War will focus on human conflict, the struggles of human war and its effects. Of Gods and Men will be the introduction of aliens and Other threats, justified paranoia, and how one fights an outmatched battle to win. In Hope and Fear will conclude the series; it will be the end results, the conclusion, what happens to civilians once the threat is “gone.”

Brinesoaked Bodies: mermaid!au. Chapter titles: “Left Broadside onto Breaking Seas;” “The Black Hurricane;” “Worn by Winds on Every Sea;” “The Whole Uproar of the Great Sea Fell Silent;” “Serenity that Calms the Weather;” “Brinesoaked Bodies.”

Insensible Shades: a Rapunzel/Tangled au meets Orpheus/Eurydice. Harley is the stolen child of King Anthony and Queen Virginia. Peter, a thief/vigilante dubbed “Spiderman,” is on the run from the kingdom’s guards—a misunderstanding, he insists—and comes across a tower. He takes Harley to see the lanterns, initially rather unwillingly, only to accidentally drag Harley into the mess of his non-legal affairs. Peter sacrifices himself to save Harley; Harley, in turn, becomes like Orpheus and travels to Hel to trade for Peter. Parkner, angst with a happy ending.

Boyfriend Clothes: Harley Keener lives in the same dorm as his friend, Peter Parker. They aren’t the closest—Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones definitely take up more of Peter’s time than Harley does—but they share physics and engineering courses, and both work as personal interns for Tony Stark—which is kind of code for Tony pseudo-adopting the young geniuses. Harley’s best friend is Shuri. She laughs at how Harley gushes over Peter—so long as he isn’t around. In turn, Harley teases Shuri for how she stammers around MJ. They’re both disaster gays. One night, Harley sees Peter walking to/from the bathroom (or something similar in the dorm) in pajama bottoms (shorts, which barely come past the shirt he’s wearing over them) and a giant fleece button down. It reached down almost to his mid-thigh and hung off his shoulder a little, the top button undone so the shirt was open to about his mid-sternum. Harley took this as obvious evidence that Peter now had a boyfriend (maybe even staying in his room that very night) and had to get to the bottom of it; he had to at least know who Peter was with—if only for the purposes of moving on. Parkner, college!au, no powers, silly fluff & humor, shenanigans.

Untitled #1: In order to keep the Time Stone from Thanos, Stephen Strange liquefies it (the way that the Reality Stone becomes Aether) and places it inside the only one on Titan who has withstood an infinity stone before: Tony. Thanos retreats temporarily to plan again; Tony must learn to use his newly-gained magic before he returns in order to save the universe.

Untitled #2: Disturbances occurring in the magical “ley lines” or Circumstances lead to Stephen investigating the multiverse; the disturbances aren’t coming from within this universe, or perhaps even any specific universe. They seem to be coming from all universes and none of them at the same time; it’s the roots of Yggdrasil, shaking with anticipation for whatever is on its way. A horror lurks in the void between Yggdrasil’s roots, and Stephen has to locate and banish it. Frostironstrange, Ironstrange, multiple universes, alternate timelines, horror/lovecraftian horror.

Untitled #3: Space pirates. The Ironfam (Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, Bruce, Peter, Harley, Morgan) are on the run from the imperial rule of the SHIELD system upon Tony, Rhodey, and Bruce discovering the way their military employers maintain and gain power. They’re pursued by a small task-force (Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Sam; Phil is their handler) from SHIELD and the Winter Soldier, a ship from the HYDRA system (once a colony of SHIELD which revolted and is now in the throes of a Reign of Terror, French revolution style) commandeered by a (brain-washed) captain proficient at hiding his ship using comets and ice rock fields. (The Winter Soldier is captained by James Barnes, a spy sent by SHIELD to keep an eye on HYDRA, only to fall into their hands.) The Winter Soldier has commands to capture Tony, Rhodey, and Bruce for their military & scientific knowledge. Yggdrasil is a system far enough from SHIELD and HYDRA that neither know of it; it’s ruled by Odin, king of Asgard and conqueror of Jotunheimr, Vanaheimr, Alfheim, Muspell, Svartalfheim, Niflheim, and Nidavellir. Loki was taken from Jotunheimr when it was the last planet to be subdued by Asgard, being the furthest planet from the system’s star; Odin intends on making Loki the ambassador for the Jotuns, knowing that they still mourn the loss of their prince. Loki doesn’t take this well when he finds out; his mother Freyja helps him to flee. Odin sends Thor after him to capture him “on grounds of treason.” Stephen Strange flees the Sanctum Sanctorum System when his planet, Kamar-Taj, is invaded by the rapidly-spreading empire Dormammu. The Ancient One had been grooming Stephen for taking her position as the protector of Kamar-Taj once she had stepped down, but Kaecilius, a jealous pupil of hers, aided Dormammu in infiltrating Kamar-Taj’s defenses as what he saw as retribution for being looked over for the position. The Ancient One, worried for the fate of the people she protects (not necessarily governs, though almost every government on Kamar-Taj recognized her as an influential power), sent Stephen away, having one of her trusted advisers, Wong, take him from the system. Kaecilius hears of the plot to sneak Stephen off the planet before the Dormammu forces could invade, and he attempts to prevent their escape. This fails, but Stephen does gain the favor of the Cloak of Levitation in this fight. Stephen and Wong escape, bringing the Cloak. Stephen intends on someday returning to rid Kamar-Taj of Dormammu rule, but he has a lot to learn from Wong and the universe first. All of these plotlines intersect, threading through, around, and with one another. Polycule: Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, Bruce. Eventual additions of Frostironstrange and ThorBruce

Untitled #4: sick!fic; I have the list of headcanons/ideas here. Parkner. Cute & fluffy, featuring trans Peter with an unidentified but minor sickness and Harley being a good boyfriend.

Untitled #5: Stardust!au. Part One: Tony Stark leaves Wall to explore the land beyond it which beckons him, but only for a short time, with people depending on him back home. He falls for an imprisoned fae, attempts to free him, but ultimately fails and must return to Wall. Not long after, the watcher of the wall brings him a child in a wicker basket named Harley. Part Two: Eighteen years later, Harley Keener is infatuated with a girl named Victoria. He, trying to win her hand over her other suitor, E.J., promises to bring her a star that they see falling from the sky. He expects something like a precious stone; he, instead, meets Peter. They get dragged into an adventure running from star-eating warlocks, meeting lightning-catching pirates—who always make sure to dock frequently, so their captain can see his alchemist spouse—and a wild scramble for a throne that seems to have no viable heir. (Whether the fae is Loki or Stephen, I haven’t yet decided. Weigh in if you have a preference.) Parkner, ThorBruce, either Frostiron or Ironstrange.

Beyond these, I have my NaNoWriMo story (rough hands//soft hearts) and my Clint Barton Bingo card.

[reigensarataka]

Have you ever made a fic rec list you could link me to?? If not what are ur fave fics???

what’s are ur fave klance fics overall?

do you have some nice fluffy klance fic recommendations? pls i need sustenance

ive been putting this off for so long now bcs i never save/bookmark the fics i read nd i can never remember the titles BUT i managed to dig some of them up so!!!!!!! under the cut bcs its kinda long wuwhwuhw

Cut to the Feeling by usernicole

“Let’s do it again,” Keith says breathlessly. “Here and on every planet we come across. Let’s get married on every planet we can.”“Are you joking?” Lance asks, incredulous. “You really want to get married to me on every planet we land on?”“Yes,” Keith says, voice high pitched and shaky with residual adrenaline. “Yes. Every planet. If it feels like this every time, let’s get married ten, twenty, a hundred times.”

 “Let’s break records. I want the universe to see us and be jealous.”

Or: Five times Keith and Lance get married, and one time they don’t.

my good bitch. my dude. if u havent read this then PLEASE do urself a favor nd read it asap…. like i shit u not this is probs my all time fave and its just them getting married on every planet nd. its just. idk just rly gives u that warm feeling in ur heart u know……

call me, beep me by orphan_account

(00:31) Do you think she gave me the wrong number on purpose?(00:31) Or was it a genuine mistake?(00:32) Like maybe she writes funny and I misread it?(00:32) Some of the numbers do look a little dodgy…(00:33) Cause, you know, her threes could very easily be poorly formed eights? And maybe she writes her sevens like her ones?(00:45) What(00:46) The(00:46) Fuck???(00:47) Oh good, you are awake!

where lance messages the wrong number and things kind of snowball from there

a classic from the early fandom days, rly popular so yall probs read it already but text fic nd just. yah its cute…..

A Light In The Dark by usernicole

Far away from his friends at the castle, Keith’s only way of communicating with them is a battered old phone. This is maybe going to be harder than he thought.

A long-distance, friends-to-lovers fic, set during season four.

u might not know of this but i am one huge slut for these kind of fics nd all i gtta say is this shit rly changed my goddamn life (i think there r two parts but im not sure if i read the second one so!!)

blue notes by mothpoem

This laughter, here and now, is hushed, and soft as rain, and Lance can feel it against his face, in warm puffs of air. It’s a laugh reminiscent of a furtive secret, like something only Lance is allowed to see. He watches it run its course in the near-pitch black of the observatory, with starlight gleaming weakly against Keith’s pale face, and that’s right about when Lance’s heart gives a few foreboding throbs, heavy on the bass, as if to say, they’re here (they being romantic feelings for Keith Kogane, Lance’s former mortal enemy and current friend).

Oh, he thinks to himself, with sudden and startling clarity. I’m Fucked, capital F.

its not finished nd i havent even read chap 2 yet but its a rly good take on lances pov from all the moments from s1 (also the garrison *eye emoji*) with keith nd. yeah.. its good……

and we dream of home by mothpoem

“Then come see me,” Lance murmurs, and it makes Keith’s heart pound behind his breastbone. “Us, I mean. Once a week or something? Like mental health check-ins. We can just hang out, or…or go on low-priority, low-stress missions? Scouting, or flower-picking for Coran, or supply runs. Dumb stuff. Just…so we know how you are. I don’t want…I mean, we all miss you. And I don’t want to sound presumptuous, but…it feels like you’re not…not okay, Keith.”

Well, Keith thinks, a little weakly. He never really stood a chance, did he?

“Okay,” he says, right away. No fight. No refusal.

His life is a hell of a lot easier when he lets himself cave under all the ways he wants Lance’s luminous attention, and company, and friendship. All the ways he wants Lance, full stop.

another one of those fics set during s4……… once again nothing to add just. please read it…… i loved this…….. sm………………

Moonset Deep by MilkTeaMiku

  All his life he’d been told to make sure he was never seen – it was what all the children were taught from the moment they were born. Never let a human see you, never fall in love with a human, and most importantly, never kiss one.

For Lance, humans were a mystery. He’d lived beneath the surface of the ocean with his shoal his entire life, and had intended to remain there. He knew the danger humans posed to his kind, and what would happen if he came close to one. That’s why, when he found one drowning, his first instinct was to save him.

He’d never been good at following the rules anyway.

mer au!! i started reading this a rly long time ago and im on chap 27 i think…. but this ones good…….

can we burn it slow by saltylances/stereostars on tumblr

“Sweet dreams, pilot.” A wink. “Make sure not to drool over me too much.”

Keith thrusts his middle finger over his shoulder as he steps out of the room, but he can’t hold back the smile that kicks up the side of his mouth. When he dares a look back, just before the doors are about to slide shut, he sees Lance kiss his fingertips and blow air over his palms at Keith.

It makes Keith wonder if it’s possible to fall any harder.

In which alternating snapshots between Keith and Lance lead to their eventual relationship.

WUH i love anything saaj writes….. a masterpiece…. also please read ‘so what are you waiting for’ too………..

under your feet the dirt turns to gold by laallomri

“I like you,” Lance says in a rush.

Keith blinks.

“That is—” Lance clears his throat, shifting his weight uncomfortably. His hands are still in his pockets, his shoulders still hunched. “I like you—I like-like you. Like, in a more-than-friends-way like you.”

For a long moment Keith can only stare at him, astonishment and disbelief and cautious delight warring for dominance. And then, because he’s an idiot, because he spent a whole goddamn year in a goddamn shack in the middle of the goddamn desert and has no idea how to be a socially competent person, because he’s Keith, he says, “That was a lot of the word ‘like’ in one sentence.”

In which Keith has about a dozen chances at happiness, and sabotages (nearly) all of them.

yummy……….. this one rly hit the spot my dudes……… i think there r 2 parts too!!

Sweet Quiznak by CheckeredCloth

“You’re really into him,” Hunk mutters, and wow, Lance’s face is on fire.  Hunk is killing him.

“Look, read into how you like, Freud, just make sure that if I die Keith knows I totally would’ve mowed his ass like grass.  That way, I can laugh hysterically at his emotionally-constipated expression from the afterlife.”

Or: Lance is badly injured and has a few skeletons in his closet.  Or maybe just the one.

a classic…. one of the first fics i read so i dont rmmbr much but yeah……

Stormchasing by sinelanguage

This isn’t how Lance intended to spend his vacation, chasing after Keith’s premonitions. But here he is, and he’s one hundred percent blaming Keith for all the trouble they’re about to get into. Keith makes bad decision, Lance makes mistakes, and both of them are stuck together on a space pirate adventure neither of them asked for.

if im not wrong i think this is one of those handcuffed together fics… also rly cute……

we’ll make it, you and me by asexualrey

“Keith, if we make it out of this alive, I’m going to kiss you.“ 

the description gives it away….. yall know what tf goin on……..

Public Displays of Affection by VaraderoBeach

Lance held his breath. He knew, at this rate, they’d have two options: fight with what they had (which was Keith’s knife and team spirit) and hope they can skirt by with the help of the locals, or submit and become prisoners to the Galra. Neither situation was ideal. Lance looked to Keith, at his eyes and his eye lashes, the curve of his nose and the pink in his lips. He knew it was bad timing, but he really wanted to kiss Keith before whatever happened, happened.

But when Keith turned his body to face him and said, “Kiss me.” With the same amount of emotion one would say, “Hand me that stapler,” it threw Lance completely off guard.

ft that scene from the winter soldier (i think??) yeah…… good food………

something as true as this by astrolesbian

“You better fucking call me,” Lance says, and reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder, and smiles, sad and bright all at once. “I’m not taking no for an answer on this one. Okay?”

“Okay,” Keith says.

and lastly yall shld know since this is the THIRD TIME im putting a fic like this on this list that i love this shit nd just….. yeah……….. op snapped

[cxncxrcrxw]

ey is the personal imagine req still up?? i hope it's still up :" if it's still up, my name's Immanuel, my friends call me Imani, and my close friends (+ parents) call me Morgen/Morg bc I was born in the morning (p obv lol). I have black short but fluffy hair, dark brown eyes, I'm currently about 5'6, and I'm kinda pale. I like know new people but I'm super awkward irl, and I'm super outgoing when i'm around my bestfriends! I'm into Joji af btw. thank you!!

Title: If You Only Knew

For Joji, things had always been different when it came to you. 

Sure, he’d make gay bants with his other friends, like Ian and Max, but with you, they was always some sort of sincerity in his jokes. He’d find himself thinking about your eyes, no matter how similar a color to his he found them magical. He’d catch himself fantasizing about living up to the laughs he put into the camera’s view, he thought about how they would escalate, dreaming of being intertwined with you, to call your scent familiar. 

He wished every day for another night like the night like the night you all filmed Deadly Twister 2. 

You were pretty much a shoe-in for dressing up as Marshall Lee, and costumes were itchy and uncomfortable, so you were definitely not having that.So you played it simple with ripped jeans, a flannel, and fake fangs. Although the costumes were obviously supposed to be a gag, you just looked adorable. You knew this, Joji damn well knew it. 

Scattered across the mangled twister pad, swallowing down drinks like it wouldn’t be legal tomorrow, this already bad decision was being sprinkled with more, and the influence of a l o t  of alcohol was not helping your brains. Joji and you had ended up in a.. well.. twist, with his leg across yours and his left hand, holding him in a hover over your body. When he realized exactly how close the two of you were in of a predicament, he chuckled, nervously kidding when he said. 

“Well this is..” When he finally thought of something funny, he snorted before evening spitting out the joke. “Isn’t this.. Immanu-swell?” He bursted into laughter, along with the others. You were only slightly amused. Even you could notice a change in the tone of his voice, however. It wasn’t exactly in tune with the ‘Filthy Frank’ persona. The next time Chad spun for George, he knew he was fucked. Left hand blue. 

His left hand being the only thing keeping him up, and not being able to think of an alternate route, he moved his hand and slammed into you with a grunt, the shocked expression on your face caused him to pause, that nervous laugh returning. You giggled, a blush appearing on your face when you heard ‘jake’ yell out; “NOW KISS.” 

“He won’t do it, pussy.” Ian, or ‘finn’ remarked. 

Joji wanted to prove them wrong, after all, if it didn’t go well, he could blame it on being drunk or the camera. Leaning his head up from your shoulder and propping himself up with both arms, knowing he was probably crushing you, he wanted to try and make this quick, a pop kiss, but he couldn’t do it. 

“BET.” he said to the boys, before looking back at you, taking off his sunglasses, and raising his eyebrows as if to ask for permission. 

With a small smile, you only raised your eyebrows back. Joji leaned his forehead against yours, the attempt at being fast at this faded, gently he pressed his lips to yours, the taste of the two of you’s intoxication combining, as sloppily he bared his lips to yours. With the hand not covered in salt he cupped your face, getting completely lost in the moment and the soft feeling of your lips.

 He was snapped back into reality by the sound of Max nearly shrieking, to which he pulled away and stood up, landing you a wink before returning his glasses to his face. “Well well, boys. We have a game to play.” He said, bringing Frank back into the video. 

The two of you didn’t actually speak about what happened that night, you pretty much fell asleep afterwards. In the beginning, Joji had began to think that you didn’t remember it, as if you were too drunk to recall, nervously theorizing that it was the worst kiss you’d ever had, that you were repulsed by him. Au Contraire.  

George was sunk into his chair thinking about that night, oblivious to his surroundings. For fuck’s sake, his hair could of been on fire and wouldn’t of known it. The overwhelming, unsaid feelings were killing him, eating at his thoughts. He knew he wouldn’t rest tonight if he didn’t know. 

That was it. He was gonna find out.

 Opening the messaging app on his phone, he scroll quickly over to contact and pressed impatiently at the ‘compose’ option. Now he was faced with the task of figuring out what the hell he would say. “Hey, Immanuel? I have a question..” He wrote, pressing send without giving much thought. 

When your cellphone buzzed, you were surprised to see a text from ‘Joj’, the contents of the text giving you a sinking feeling. Were you falsely accused of something? Did something happen? What if he was texting about the kiss? That kiss.. it had meant everything to you, you didn’t think it meant shit to him. Every night, you feared a text explaining that it was all a joke. The way he kissed you, it couldn’t be a joke, right? 

People can’t find comedy in the way your lips pressed together, the look in his eyes. It couldn’t just be for just humour!

 Reluctantly, you texted back. “What’s up?”

Joji sighed in relief. That wasn’t hostile or annoyed, maybe it was a good time. He had already been typing before you had answered. “Do you remember the night we filmed Deadly Twister 2? Well, I just wanted to say that I actually really enjoyed that part where we kissed and I-” There was a gap in the text where he had decided finally what he wanted to say. “fuck, not even just that night.. I really fucking enjoy being around you and shit, idk what it is but I just wanted to know if you.. wanted to meet up for a drink or some shit.. just me and you?” He sent it, feeling his heartbeat skipping, sinking with the fear of rejection. 

When you finally read the text, ten minutes after you had actually got it, you felt dizzy. Blood rushed to the top of your head, as your eyes fixated on the words on the screen. How did would you reply? How could you? You didn’t want to sound desperate, or anxious, but you didn’t want to appear uninterested. Running your free hand through your short, black tufts, you texted back a simple;

“I’d love too, Joji. 💞💞”

The two of you made arrangements for the next day, you have dinner somewhere, have, what Joji was referring it to in his head as, ‘an official date’. You saw it as the beginning of something beautiful. He saw it as the continuation of something already great. 

I hope this fits everything you could of wanted. You seem like an awesome person. Thanks for everything! -Lans //

[huacheng-zhu]

BARDUIL MINI BANG

ARTISTS CLAIM

It’s time for Artist Claim!

If you hadn’t signed up as an artist before, it’s okay, just reread the information post before following the instructions below and then you’re good to go!

There are 9 stories to claim:

1# Title: Drowning in Dreams Rating: General Audiences Tags (will probably be later added to): Reincarnation AU, angst, fluff Summary: Now, if these goddamn dreams would just leave him alone, that would be great. ~*~ All his life, Bard has been plagued by visions similar to flashbacks and similar to dreams. In the visions (or are they hallucinations? Bard isn’t sure of the correct terminology, but he knows that they can’t possibly be memory) he is with an elf. An elvenking that he loves with all his heart and one that he is positive that he’s never met before. Bard brushes the visions aside as best he can. They had no purpose, after all, besides from distracting Bard from reality. But then, what if the visions weren’t fake?

claimed by: piyo-13 claimed by:

2# Title: Paper Crowns Rating: G Tags: #post-botfa #letters #letter writing #developing romance #angst #character death #sfw #kind thranduil #white gems of lasgalen #negotiations #allegiance Summary: How long the days, how short the months. Winter is fast approaching, and exchanging letters help Bard and Thranduil bear irritating Dwarves and troublesome spiders until they can see each other again.

claimed by: angstyourwayin claimed by: flurgburgler

3# Title: Under the Flowers (working title) Rating: G Tags: Fluffy, One-shot, drabble, post-Hobbit, the very earliest moments of a relationship really Summary: Thranduil and Bard each remember past springs under the flowering trees, and a flowering tree in Dale provides them with a chance for a brief meeting.

claimed by: homeiswheretheheartsare claimed by: lucianaella

4# Title: The Mind Of Love Rating: T Tags: cw: drowning, fluff, some angst Summary: Five times Thranduil renders Bard speechless and one time Bard returns the favour.

claimed by: drappersky claimed by:

5# Title: Soulmark Rating: PG Tags: soulmates, soulmarks, soulmate-identifying marks, cultural taboos, Thranduil/OFC, Bard/OFC Summary: Soulmarks are a decidedly mortal phenomenon. The Valar give humanity assistance in finding their soulmates, something that elves don’t need. However, there are a few exceptions to this rule. Thranduil is one of them, and he’s waited a long time to find the man who matches the mark on his hand.

claimed by: homeiswheretheheartsare claimed by: trans-cassianandor

6# Title: In Flagrante Delicto Rating: Explicit Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; False Accusations; Exhibitionism; Humor Summary: Bard helps Thranduil shop for a pair of jeans that may just be a bit too tight for him. A busted zipper and a tumble down the floor later, the couple find themselves accused of shagging inside the fitting room by an irritable salesclerk who won’t listen to rhyme or reason.

claimed by: drappersky claimed by:

7# Title: How The Mighty Have Fallen (And Just Keep Falling) Rating: T Tags: Ice skating au, rivals au, Legolas is a trouble maker, bardlings, reunions, fluff, you can’t land a quad at forty thrandy I’m sorry but you just cant Summary: Sometimes Bard stayed at the rink after everyone else had left and skated as long as his muscles could stand. He could almost hear the crowds roaring, see Thranduil smiling at the challenge, feel his muscles screaming. God he missed it. Fourteen years now, since his last competition, since he had vanished from professional figure skating. Sometimes commentators would still bring up his mysterious departure, Bard only wondered if Thranduil still thought of him too. He couldn’t go back now though, he was far too old to compete, had no excuse to suddenly show up after so many years away from the circuit.

Or at least he didn’t until a young blonde boy with a fierce determination to beat the infamous Thranduil Oroperion’s records walked through the doors to his ice rink and asked Bard to be his coach.

claimed by: absoluteabsolem claimed by: piyo-13

8# Title: All These Common Things (working title) Rating: G Tags: Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Single Parents, Slow Build, Pining, Dancing, Dancing lessons, Kissing, shmoop, Wedding Planner Thranduil, Truck Driver Bard Summary: When his daughter Sigrid gets engaged to Fili Durin, Bard wants to support them in any way he can. Unfortunately their wedding planner is ridiculously attractive, and Bard finds it harder and harder to keep his feelings professional. Could it be the other man feels the same? Well everyone knows the best place to find romance is at someone else’s wedding.

claimed by: piyo-13 claimed by: valinor-chronicles

9# Title: blue remembered hills Rating: mature Tags: dystopia, end of the world survivors AU, grief and guilt, emotional intimacy, facial scars, altered world, build-your-own-family, ace!barduil Summary: The world ends, not with a bang but with years of war and the extensive desolation of an earth that has finally had enough. One day, man will be gone from its surface, but in the meantime the survivors live, as best they can, among the wastes of it all. In which Bard decides to help some strangers, and is helped in return.

claimed by: absoluteabsolem claimed by: shippingagenda

To claim a story, simply reply to this post saying which one(s) you’d like to make art for. I’ll send you a message with the author’s tumblr so you can contact them. Then, it’s between the two of you! :) I’ll also ask your email address if you hadn’t signed up before so I can contact you later for the check-up.

Since we’re short on artists, you can claim more than two stories, BUT I’ll block claiming on stories that have already two artists until all the other stories have at least two artists as well. If all stories get two artists, then you can come back to claim more!

Keep an eye on this post for updates on how the claims are going!

Reminder that illustrations must be at least clean coloured sketches, and Artists Check-Up is on June 1st. Posting starts on June 15th! A week before the check-up, I’ll send both authors and artists a reminder by email.

You can post your story anytime between June 15th and June 16th using the ‘barduil’ and ‘barduil mini bang’ tags, just make sure you’ve found an arrangement with your artists to make sure art and fic are posted on the same day.

Let me know if you have any questions, and thank you for participating! :D

[femslashhistorian]

10 More Great and Long Kara / Lena Fics - SuperCorp Fic Recs

In this SuperCorp (Supergirl) Femslash Fanfiction Recommendation, I have collected ten long and excellent stories / series.

This is my contribution to Lena Luthor Appreciation Week in April 2017. @lenaluthorappreciationweek Day 3 (April 19): Favorite Headcanon/AU/Fics/Art/Videos

This is the second part, I did a first recommendation for nine Supercop fics in February 2017 [even more of my Supergirl fic recs here]

All of the stories were finished in early 2017 – before Supergirl episode S2E18 Ace Reporter aired. I did not include real AU (Alternate Universe), soulmate AU or stories dealing with (red) kryptonite - which I might come back to separately.

Overview of the ten Kara / Lena stories (scroll down for the detailed recs and links)

Firsts by writerstealth: The one that is a collection of firsts

Only Human by Khrat9: The one that is told twice

Sleep-flying by D_writes: The one in which Kara sleep-flies to Lena

I Just Want to Love You in My Own Language by lynnearlington: The one that is told through flowers

When You Least Expect It series by fritokays: The one that warms your heart and brings a smile to your face

Of Quirks, Eccentricities And Oddities series by jt4702: The quirky and funny series that starts with Kara being outraged and Lena does not understand why

We are what we pretend to be by C_AND_B: The one that is the ultimate fake-dating romcom

Unavoidable Dreams by C_AND_B: The one in which Kara has sex dreams about Lena and it’s awkward.

Two stories in which Lena has sex with Supergirl before she realizes she is falling in love with Kara Danvers: Not Afraid to Fall by prettyaveragewhiteshark

Exquisite by Cartecka

1. The one that is a collection of firsts

Title: Firsts

Author: writerstealth - @writerstealth on tumblr

Link to fic: [AO3]

Setting: Supergirl TV 2015 (DCU) AU-ish (canon divergent)

Relationship: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (Supercorp / Karlena) (f/f)

14 Chapters, 18k words (completed)

Published: 2017

Rating: Explicit

A love story told as a chronicle of its firsts.

Kara's and Lena's life together told by a series of firsts: covering first sight, first date, first kiss, the first time Kara cried on Lena's shoulder and many more. This fic is a bit in the middle between a series of short stories with a common theme and continuous short novel. Another great story by one of my favorite authors.

2. The one that is told twice

Title: Only Human

Author: Khrat9

Link to fic: [AO3]

Setting: Supergirl TV 2015 (DCU) AU-ish (canon divergent)

Relationship: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (Supercorp / Karlena) (f/f)

2 Chapters, 16k words (completed)

Published: 2017

Rating: Mature

Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

“Ah, well… I am human,” she says jokingly, cheekily looking at Kara’s blue eyes. She grabs the paper bag, Kara’s token of friendship and Lena’s joke feels like a confession. An admission of sorts or maybe a flaw. Because Kara laughs and Lena can’t help the smile from stretching across her lips. Kara brings her donuts and Lena feels content just to bask in Kara’s warm light. “Thank you, Kara.”

Begins with 2x12 Luthors and then it's AU

It's basically the same story told twice: First from Lena's and then from Kara's point of view.

Great, romantic and angsty. Both chapter give a unique perspective and are so well written, that I loved basically reading the same story twice.

3. The one in which Kara sleep-flies to Lena

Title: Sleep-flying

Author: D_writes - @thatsgaydanvers on tumblr

Link to fic: [AO3]

Setting: Supergirl TV 2015 (DCU) AU-ish (canon divergent)

Relationship: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (Supercorp / Karlena) (f/f)

3 Chapters, 9k words (completed)

Published: 2017

Rating: General Audiences

Stress and exhaustion are catching up with the Girl of Steel. So much that when she falls asleep, she starts sleep-flying though National City sky to land on a certain CEO'S bed, and it becomes a habit.

or

Kara sleep-flies every night to Lena's bed, and discovers they are both art hoes.

What if Kara was not sleep walking but sleep flying? To the one person she is secretly in love with? To Lena? This idea went round tumblr a while ago and I thought this could be a hilarious premise for a fic.

This story delivered everything I ever wanted about sleep-flying Kara - and so much more. Loved it.

4. The one that is told through flowers

Title: I Just Want to Love You in My Own Language

Author: lynnearlington -  lynnearlington on tumblr

Link to fic: [AO3]

Setting: Supergirl TV 2015 (DCU) AU-ish (canon divergent)

Relationship: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (Supercorp / Karlena) (f/f)

1 Chapters, 14k words (completed)

Published: 2017

Rating: Teen and up

 "In the center of it all, on her desk, is a gorgeous glass vase full of over two dozen lavender roses. “Pretty,” she murmurs as she comes around to look at them. In the middle of the light purple flowers is a small card, thank you written in elegant script over the surface.

There’s no name, but there doesn’t need to be."

A love story, told with flowers.

A beautifully written love story between Kara and Lena. No action and no saving the world, no distractions. It is very romantic and the flower themes works very well without feeling forced.

Considering that the story is less than 14k words long, the story spans a long period of time.

5. The one that warms your heart and brings a smile to your face

Title: When You Least Expect It series

Author: fritokays

Link to series: [AO3]

Setting: Supergirl TV 2015 (DCU) AU-ish (canon divergent)

Relationship: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (Supercorp / Karlena) (f/f)

2 parts, 14k + 9k words (both parts are completed, the series not)

Published: 2017

Rating: Teen and up / Mature

1) When You Least Expect It

This is basically just tooth rotting fluff. It's the start and the beginning of a relationship between these two dorks. It's a bunch of snapshots of their early relationship. It's fluffy and it's cute and it's a lot of words because I couldn't stop writing it, but enjoy?

2) On My Mind

Follow up to 'When You Least Expect It'. It's more fluff and there's also smut because why not? And there's a little angst thrown in for good measure. It's basically just more snapshots of their lives together and of their relationship.

Well written, fluffy, romantic and cute. No action.

This is the perfect story when you had a bad day and want a sweet love story with warm feelings. Probably my favorite fluff Supercorp series.

The second part is episodic and fluffy and great.

6. The quirky and funny series that starts with Kara being outraged and Lena does not understand why

Title: Of Quirks, Eccentricities And Oddities

Author: jt4702 -  @jt4702 on tumblr

Link to series: [AO3]

Setting: Supergirl TV 2015 (DCU) AU-ish (canon divergent)

Relationship: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (Supercorp / Karlena) (f/f)

2 parts, 6k + 10k words (both parts are completed, the series not)

Published: 2017

Rating: Teen and up

1) I’m The One From Outer Space, But My Girlfriend Is The Alien

In the months since Kara and Lena have been dating, both have discovered little quirks about the other that while funny or odd, it has never rendered either of them speechless.

That is until now.

2) Try To Remember

Kara and Lena's relationship takes another step forward, leading Kara to find out that Lena, ultra-modern woman that she is, likes to use post-it notes for reminders to herself; which leads to Kara sneaking her own little reminders amongst the sea of post-it from Lena in order to get her girlfriend to relax a bit more and take time off.

Kara can't believe Lena is doing this ... this is outrageous ... Wait till you find out what Lena is actually doing. I couldn’t stop laughing for a minute.

Both parts of the series are well written, lovely, cute and funny.

I saw this wonderful gifset from dracoharry that noted that “supercorp is a romcom” (check out the original post – it is much longer).

The next two stories form C_AND_B are definitely fantastic romcoms. Fantastic and romcoms; and this comes from someone who usually is not into romcoms.

7. The one that is the ultimate fake-dating romcom

Title: We are what we pretend to be

Author: C_AND_B

Link to fic: [AO3]

Setting: Supergirl TV 2015 (DCU) AU-ish (canon divergent)

Relationship: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (Supercorp / Karlena) (f/f)

1 Chapter, 25k words (completed)

Published: 2017

Rating: Teen and up

After the unrestricted office access, and the flowers, and the surprise visits to Catco, everyone just kinda starts to assume Kara and Lena are dating, and maybe they should let them. (AKA, Lena and Kara really just date whilst pretending they're fake dating).

No distractions, no action or side plots. Just a few scenes with Eliza and the Superfriends, otherwise the story exclusively focuses on Kara and Lena and is told from Lena’s POV.

While there is some, this is not an angsty story. Some very funny moments, very romantic.

Great. Brilliant. Amazing. Very well written. This might be the best Supercorp romcom.

8. The one in which Kara has sex dreams about Lena and it’s awkward

Title: Unavoidable Dreams

Author: C_AND_B

Link to fic: [AO3]

Setting: Supergirl TV 2015 (DCU) AU-ish (canon divergent)

Relationship: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (Supercorp / Karlena) (f/f)

2 Chapters, 12k words (completed)

Published: 2017

Rating: Mature

"Kara had sex dreams. About Lena. Kara Danvers had extremely vivid sex dreams about Lena Luthor and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. It comes in snippets, and flashes, and visions and then it slams into her all at once, so fast she can barely breathe through the palpitations in her chest. Then it lingers. It’s there when she blinks, and when she sleeps, and every time she turns and finds Lena by her side (which seems to be increasing with every passing day)."

Or, Kara has sex dreams and then just awkwardly fumbles through interactions with Lena.

Hilarious and super funny, more on the comedy side of romcom. One of the best awkward Kara depictions I have read.

In the next two stories Lena has sex with Supergirl before she realizes that Kara Danvers is Supergirl and that she is falling in love with Kara. The two stories are great and different enough - read both. Maybe not right after each other, but do read them.

9. Not Afraid to Fall

Author: prettyaveragewhiteshark  - @prettyaveragewhiteshark on tumblr

Link to fic: [AO3]

Setting: Supergirl TV 2015 (DCU) AU-ish (canon divergent)

Relationship: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (Supercorp / Karlena) (f/f)

12 Chapters, 38k words (completed)

Published: 2017

Rating: Mature

Lena Luthor has a strictly sexual relationship with Supergirl, but when her feelings for amateur journalist Kara Danvers begin to grow, everything gets a lot more complicated. See inside for smut, feelings, rogue DEO agents, feelings, explosions, angst, and more feelings!

This story starts where many other stories end. It starts with sex. Great sex with Supergirl. Sex that is not supposed to mean anything for Lena, while she is falling for Kara. But Lena is too afraid to tell Kara bout her feelings. Lena nearly dies and Supergirl saves her, but even this is not enough to bring them together.

Cadmus and action are not a major focus of the story, but what is there is well written and constructed. This is an incredible fic. Very well written. Hot sex, well written feelings, so much angst and hurt. I love the scenes where Supergirl takes Lena flying - and they have sex while flying.

10. Exquisite

Author: Cartecka

Link to fic: [AO3]

Setting: Supergirl TV 2015 (DCU) AU-ish (canon divergent)

Relationship: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (Supercorp / Karlena) (f/f)

3 Chapters, 23k words (completed)

Published: 2017

Rating: Teen and up

Just another mistaken identity fic. Kara falls in love with Lena, but how could a junior reporter ever compete with Supergirl?

A wonderful, beautiful, romantic fic. Lots of angst that they can never be together because they really started this the wrong way: by Lena sleeping with Supergirl without being aware that Kara is Supergirl.

If you liked this, you might enjoy more of my SuperCorp / Supergirl femslash fanfic recs:

9 Great and Long Kara / Lena Fics - SuperCorp

5 Kara/Lena Christmas Fics

6 Angsty (with Happy Ending) SuperCorp Fic Recs

Or all of them

To find out more about my f/f fanfiction recommendations or for more ... f/f fic recs | Korrasami | KiGo | DCU & Supergirl | MCU | PoI | Buffy | f/f history