#there’s nothing more natural than slipping into my warlock

[glacierbash]

Our dnd group is back after a 3 month break and it feels so GOOD to be back

[legrandepapillon]

Hi! I saw you are taking prompts for Wyllsrarion fluff!

Such a shame there is a lack of content compared to other Astarion pairings (i.e. with Gale or Durge).

Prompt fluff ideas, first kiss where Astarion realizes the depth of his feelings for Wyll. Or Astarion confessions to Wyll. His realization.

Wyll playing with Astarion's hair.

Wyll letting Astarion see himself through Wyll's eyes via tadpole and feeling how much Wyll loves him.

Astarion being fiercely protective of Wyll which may or may not surprise him (depends how early it is in relationship)

Since your say you are fine with NSFW then by all means go for it, I won't say know to Wyllsrarion spice. But it's also not entirely necessary because their fluff is just *chef kiss*

Asking anonymously because I am bashful...

Rating: T

hi anon, thanks for all the prompts you gave me!! i chose to use this one to respond to your ask, but i still put the others in my requests so keep your eyes peeled for those. one of them might be the spice you were looking for 👀

i think there’s something super intimate in hair care/trusting someone else with your hair care and i wanted to explore that here. i’m thinking maybe a part 2 to this where astarion tries to figure out wyll’s hair care & it goes disastrously bc i can't reconcile a universe where astarion is good at doing wyll's hair lol

Wyll had noticed that vulnerability did not come easy to the pale vampire in their party. He could hardly blame him for the matter either; after two-hundred years spent being ground into nothing by another man’s heel, he might begin to recoil at the idea of showing any weakness himself. Hells, it’d only taken seven with Mizora’s claws in his soul for him to begin to tremble at the thought of anyone seeing him at his most vulnerable in the same humiliating ways she had.

It was probably easier for their pale companion to lean into the more bloodthirsty, power hungry nature expected of a vampire spawn. To cast aside fickle things like sensitivity or emotion or fragility. He kept every single of his defenses up, the tripwires and traps in conversations with him deterring most of the others from prying down to the white meat of who he is.  If it could be even remotely related to the feeling of helplessness, he would never want it associated with himself. Better to put on the armor of his more vicious traits, leave some of the softer stuff tucked in a well-armed chest at the back of his mind.

And yet. 

Yet he obviously had never bargained to meet anyone just as dexterous and twice as charming. In all his efforts of keeping others out with his sharp tongue and sharp blades and well-placed traps, he’d never accounted for the possibility that there might be someone out there able to parry each strike and disarm every obstruction. Wyll could tell he had Astarion on the back foot more often than not. And at first the man had scratched and kicked and hissed at the idea of being seen and surreptitiously cared for. Of someone seeing all of his breaks and tears and taking the time to mend them rather than grinding salt into the wounds. It was truly a sight, watching as he braced himself for impact and then immediately melted against tender touch. He marvels at it.

A quarter way through their journey, surrounded by the glowing unfamiliar flora of the Underdark, and Wyll has already weaseled his way past so many of those traps and alarms. He hasn’t quite gotten Astarion to trust him, but it’s a very near thing now.

It shows in the way he slips into his tent every night, back from his hunts for more duergar and drow blood. He would half-stumble past the flaps of Wyll’s tent, illuminated in the shadows only by the odd glow of the vegetation surrounding their camp. Prop himself up awkwardly across the tent until the warlock arranged himself in a way that’s satisfactory to him. Wyll would always be ready for him—taking Astarion’s head on his lap, and placing one of the trashy adventuring novels they shared in his hands. The elf would read aloud from their novel, sniping at the dialogue and rolling his eyes at the prose wherever he desired whilst Wyll tended to the night routine for those rakish silvery curls of his. 

All of it done with hardly a word these days, a tradition started after Astarion had gotten too drunk on a bear and kept for the sake of companionship. For the sake of having someone that understands intrinsically the fears of being vulnerable, the breath of a monster on your neck at each waking move, the exhaustion of being strong and the desire to be weak for a while.

It wasn’t trust, but it was as close to it as he could get.

Wyll begins rummaging through the small pouch of items Astarion keeps for his personal hygiene whilst the vampire flips through to the page they’d left off on. He daren’t bother with the intricate routine of the man’s morning care, the scrunching and twisting and styling a bit beyond his own proficiency. But he knows this act well enough, separating rows of hair gently with a comb and moisturizing both scalp and curls in a pattern. He does it himself, every two ten days—sometimes four, if he was too caught up with adventuring to tend to it sooner. His own hair is wild at the roots now, the fresh new growth peeking out from formerly tidy canerows. Since Mizora had given him his horns and claws, he’d been too afraid of attempting to navigate re-braiding with the foreign appendages. The thought of undoing the style, only to be stuck fighting with his hair in his face because he couldn’t redo it kept him off the task. Perhaps he’d be vulnerable enough to ask Karlach, when they got her touch fixed. Or maybe teach Astarion, so that their nightly routine could be reciprocated every now and then. 

Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone treat him as tenderly as he does them?

Surfacing with Astarion’s cream and comb, Wyll readjusts the older man’s head in his lap before starting on his work. Parting the row of hair closest to his ear, before dabbing some of the moisturizer onto his scalp and then combing it through his curls. He’d once offered up his oils, the first time Astarion had run out of conditioner and the next merchant was another four-days trek back. But he remembers the way the vampire had recoiled—first at the genuine gesture of kindness, and then at the reality of it. He’d batted off the offer by insisting Wyll’s oils would only make his hair greasy and unattractive, but had managed to thank him anyways.

That had been before their little routine. Had he known then what he knows now, he might not have been so put out by the clear dismissal of help. 

Another row, more of the conditioner. When he combs through the curls, he marvels at how they immediately shrink back into their perfect shape. It was the first thing he’d noticed about him, back at the grove. The sunlight that filtered through the halo of his silvery locks, the way they seemed to fall into place no matter which way the elf shook his head. Well-coifed and obviously tenderly cared for, he’d been utterly transfixed. Perhaps obviously so, with the way Shadowheart had snorted at his mention of it and Gale had given him one of those ‘I’m-going-to-find-out-what-you’re-up-to’ stares. There’d been no ulterior motive, of course.

Except for maybe this.

“Wyll, I can’t believe you read this drivel, darling,” Astarion complains, gently tugging him from his thoughts. Wyll doesn’t take his eyes off of his task, but he does make a noise to inform the other man he’s listening. “The young maiden hurried to cover her perfectly hairless body, squeezing her arms across her ample bosom. It did naught to help maintain her chastity though, as her full breasts spilled over her clutched arms. I mean, really. Talk about an author’s thinly veiled fetishes.” 

“Ah, The Lusty Luskan Lordess,” he responds, comb delicately parting one section of Astarion’s hair so that his finger can swipe a bit more conditioner along his scalp. “I didn’t pick that one, remember? You stole it from that Zhents pack back at their hideout.”

“I did?” Astarion flips the cover to reveal the front art. It’s a rather lewd painting of a young woman, half-dressed in finery and throwing herself at a tall, broad and beastly mercenary come to steal from her tower. The vampire makes a snort of acknowledgement after a moment. “So I did. I thought the mercenary looked disturbingly like Halsin, you know.”

Wyll’s hand stills briefly in Astarion’s head, confusion written expressly over his youthful features. He scrunches his nose. “You wanted to read smut about Halsin?” 

“No. I wanted us to read smut about Halsin. I thought it would be terribly funny,” Astarion lowers the book to get a good look at the other man—though upside down—and furrows his brow. “Don’t stop. That felt nice.”

“Your wish is my command, Lordess,” Wyll chuckles, before returning back to the small puddle of curls splayed in his lap. “Skip the smut if it bothers you so much, I want to know what her father will do now that he knows someone’s found her tower.”

“Skip the smut? And disgrace the artistic integrity of whatever pervert wrote this garbage? Absolutely not! We’ll read every bit of the smut, and I’ll add footnotes to correct it into something more realistic.”

“As if you’re the expert on sex,” snorts Wyll, walking face first into one of those many aforementioned conversational traps that Astarion had laid. The vampire stiffens in his hold a bit, and out of courtesy he withdraws his hands from his hair. It’s times like this, moments of levity followed by the crushing reminders about reality, that Wyll wishes they could’ve met in one of their fairytale books. With no Vampire Lord or Cambion Mistress to answer to, he wonders how their story might’ve gone. Would he have been able to sweep Astarion delicately off of his feet and off into the sunset? Would Astarion have allowed him to?

He laments how he’ll never know, and then puts those thoughts aside himself. Astarion is not the only one with a tightly guarded chest of fears and dreams and desires that he kept away from the rest of the world, hidden to where nobody—not even the devil that lives in his eye—could ever see it.

“After two hundred years, dear, I quite think I am,” Astarion hisses. Fair enough; Wyll had perhaps earned that one. The punishment for his misstep is not so bad, though. There’s a marked tension in the words of the man as he reads through the next line, and he lays stock still in Wyll’s lap. Curls half-moisturized by now, the damp bits chilling a spot on Wyll’s camp clothes. But he doesn’t get up and storm out, like he might’ve done in the early weeks of their odd arrangement. Nor does he curse the man to the planes of Avernus and back. Small mercies and little victories, the younger man takes what he can get and returns to his task.

Astarion does wind up skipping the smut scenes, grumbling that even he couldn’t wade through all that hogshit on a full stomach. Wyll isn’t perturbed either way, parting and moisturizing in methodical turns. They manage to finish two more chapters before his fingers half-abandon their task to merely run through the soft, silvery curls. Whether to placate Astarion or soothe himself is unknown, but it certainly does make him feel a bit calmer. He leans back against his tent, careful not to put too much weight on the precarious fabric. But with the gentle droning of Astarion’s voice and the steady, repeated motions of carding through his hair, Wyll feels like he could just doze off right there. His misstep in conversation goes all but forgotten as his eyelids get heavy, his ministrations against the vampire’s scalp slowed to a syrupy pace.

It isn’t until he feels Astarion move that he jerks back to alertness, adding a hurried, “I wasn’t asleep!” to make sure Astarion didn’t think his presence was at all boring or exhausting. The last thing he’d want is for these nightly rendezvous to come to an abrupt conclusion because he was rude enough to doze off in the middle of them.

“Ah-hm, that’s very convincing, sweetling,” Astarion mocks, before sitting up to run his fingers through his own hair. They come back slightly shiny with the conditioner, but even if Wyll fell asleep with a quarter left to do, the vampire seems satisfied enough with his work. “Come now. Before you wind up with a crick on your neck.”

He tries to protest, even as Astarion is already helping to arrange him into his bedroll. “I wasn’t done with your—”

“It’s fine, Wyll. More than fine. You did wonderfully; cut my morning routine in half, practically,” Astarion placates, though they both know he’s lying through his teeth. No matter whether he and Wyll finished their little night tradition, Astarion always took the same amount of time in his tent every morning. Gale had a running bet with the others on whether he was actually that self-conscious about his appearance or if he did it just because he knew Lae’zel preferred to get moving as quickly as possible.

Whether he’s being fed platitudes or not, Wyll gives him a warm half-smile. Astarion arranges the thin blanket of his bedroll around him in turn in order to give him a more comfortable rest. Their routine wraps up here the same every night. With Astarion’s hair seen to, and Wyll’s adventure romance novels read, company kept so that the others vulnerabilities would remain safe from the rest another day… the end of the evening would creep upon them. 

Wyll never fully remembers the moments between consciousness—Astarion’s head in his lap and lily lilt of his tone reading the novel droning on—and unconscious—waking up drenched a cold sweat to an empty tent, the leftover laughter of Mizora chilling him down to the bone. How he gets from one point to the other. Sometimes he’ll doze off still in his padded armor and awake in his camp clothes. Once even fell asleep across the tent, and woke up tucked sweetly into his bedroll. Only faint memories of silver curls illuminated into a glowing halo by moonlight, and crimson eyes that track forlornly over his form. 

And every night, Wyll would sleepily shoot out one hand to clutch at his companions’. Delicately wrap his warm digits around that frail death-cold wrist and give one half-hearted tug. His voice, laden with both exhaustion and deep yearning, he asks, “Astarion? Stay with me?”

And every night, Astarion would purse his lips into a line. As if he’s almost considering it for a moment. As if perhaps rummaging for a key to one of his chests that he’d long tossed aside, some sort of magic word that could make Wyll understand why he dances so hesitantly in and out of their… this… whatever it was. 

“Perhaps when we finish the book,” he says, like he does always, patting Wyll’s hand gently. “Go to sleep—you need more of it than I do.”

“Goodnight, Astarion,” Wyll responds, already half there, letting his head loll to the side and eyes flutter closed.

The next evening, when he approaches his tent at camp, a fresh book awaits him… and a new tin of the conditioning cream. They hadn’t quite finished the Lusty Lordess, with a handful more chapters before she and her mercenary were able to achieve their happy ending. But there’s a new book for them to start all the same, the last one probably long-discarded between the days’ events.

It isn’t a ‘no’. Just a ‘not yet’. Wyll sighs and settles down on his bedroll to wait for Astarion to come to him. It’ll hardly be while there are still others awake, able to see him slip in and out of the other man’s temporary lodgings. But he knows that’ll it come, and neither of them will mention the fresh start to a book when one still went unfinished between them.

It seems there’s a few more traps he’d have to disarm before he could reach the man behind them. No matter to it; Wyll is a patient, tenacious sort of fellow.

[shimmerbeasts]

TEMPTING – VERY TEMPTING. Such an offer, but this one has slipped through her claws once before, and how others had been punished for such bold and daring actions to try and read between the lines. That was her job, her contracts were ironclad and always tilted the scales into her favor, always. She cannot be cheated, she cannot be tricked, she cannot be robbed of what she is owed and this one, well let’s just say that her interest was there and that was free for the time being, everything else afterwards .. well that was going to become costly and this little mortal was already within serious debt, no point in adding to the collector and having countless fight all over the pieces once it comes time to carve her up. “Is this a bad time darling, do you need another forty winks to get some beauty sleep.” A hand on her chest and a coy smile upon her lips, false flattery and mocking words aplenty, but it is the nature of such dealings.  She already had her claws in many little pets within the land, why on earth would she want for anymore than what she had, but then again.  A deal was a deal and a contract was almost mouth watering to cut out her useless debtors and merely go right to the person causing her so much trouble and offer them, well what everyone wants, the deal of a lifetime.  No tricks, no little back doors, just a simple deal, what she wants, in exchange for what she wants, it was truly so simple. She had the blade, a hero, a legend within the land, but how he fights and denies, time and time again, how this ought to work. “I am here, to see if you wish for more from me, your sample, is it not to your liking, and that is nothing compared to what you can have, if you only ask for it.”

"Ha ha ha", Jinx called out, feigning amusement at the joke, "I cannot contain my laughter. Ha ha ha."

Her mismatched eyes drifted over towards Mizora's large, bat-like wings. Bats had hollow bones. It allowed them to fly. They also were particularly fragile and the leathery skin, too, was something, which ought not be damaged. Jinx idly wondered whether or not Mizora would be robbed of the power of flight if she yanked just hard enough, twisted her bones by a joint and caused it to snap. Or perhaps she should take out her dagger and cut into the leathery skin that way.

The thoughts felt good like dipping your bare feet into the warm waters of a boiling spring. They coaxed a sly smile out of Jinx's lips and her tail flicked from one side to the next. Still, she forced the contemplation down. As much as she wanted to do it - and that desire burned to the point her muscles cramped -, she knew it would jeopardise Wyll's safety and hers. The tiefling could not let that happen.

Hearing Mizora ask her what she wanted, if she wanted more power, the warlock began to pace back and forth like a displacer beast in a cage, large tentacles flicking back and forth. Powder peered after her, the familiar's tail matching her tail's slow curls and flicks. Jinx closed her fingers around her chin as she thought long and hard. Finally, she stopped and looked at Mizora.

"Here is the kicker", Jinx admitted, "I am not really after more power, so I really do not know how to ask for what I want. I am more invested in what's going on in here." She tapped a clawed finger against her temple. "Not the tadpole, mind yah! I am more interested in the whole other stuff. All these images and intrusive thoughts... I do not wanna get rid of them. But I do wanna understand them better. I think in the past, I specifically chose to become a ranger to understand what goes on in my head, but it didn't lead to the result, I wanted. Hunting game in the woods and even hunting people is different than the way people are, well, diabolical. Soooo, do you think you can help me on that front? Or is that out of a devil's skill book?"

@fallesto cont. from here.

[echosong971]

GOOD EVENING. YOUR "VOID FRENZY" HEADCANONS. HAND THEM OVER 🔫

GEEZUMS OK-

so um.

for me to talk about my headcanons for Void Frenzies, I gotta first talk about the Void and how it relates to Nightstalkers especially, cause, y'see-

The Void is a quirky lil thing.

There are numerous accounts and lore bits that talk about how the Void is, even though it's technically Light, almost like an entity unto itself.

"...I've discovered another little trick to getting in good with that yawning mouth of nothing we call the Void: exhaustion. When I start slipping into that twilight, where I'm not sure if I'm awake or dreaming, I can feel the absence. It's close enough to touch. I guess it doesn't matter if it's literal or metaphorical. The Void just likes it when I'm running on empty." - Nightstalker

"The Void ain't special. It sure is creepier than Solar or Arc, that's for sure. But it isn't special. Just show it respect, thank it for a lovely evening, and make sure you always pay your bill. So to speak. Then you've got nothing to worry about. See?" - Shard of the Traveler (Nightstalker)

"There are those who see the Void as dark. It is the folly of the simple mind, unable to perceive the brilliant richness of nothingness. The Void is not only the absence of Light, but Dark..." - Apotheosis Veil

Even further, countless lore tabs talk about the risks of using the Void and the reasons why it can be detrimental to use, especially for Nightstalkers, who balance on the knife's edge of powers and abilities that could prove to be exceptionally dangerous if not exercised with paramount discipline:

"I've had a dozen Hunters ask me why it's so hard to summon a Dusk Bow. I asked 'em what they thought of the Void, and their eyes told me everything. You can't be afraid. That's the secret. No fear." - Tevis, Log Entry 19338

"Picking it up is the easy part, Hunter. Putting it down again, well, you’ll find that it’s addictive, that power. This weapon is something special. Your Light gets twisted. Changed. You find the power to punch through and borrow something from the other side. The Void opens up a hole, and draws from the deep. Go ahead. Carry it a while, Hunter. You’ll feel how heavy it can get.” - Cayde-6, The Nightstalker's Trail

"Doesn't matter how good you are—you stay out there too long, you're not coming back. Not the same way you left, anyway." - Tevis Larsen, Graviton Forfeit

So I asked myself, what happens when a Guardian does go too far into the Void? What happens when the Void they take from finally decides to take something back?

And that's when the idea of Void Frenzies came to me.

So, how do they work?

I imagine they happen to Nightstalkers more often than Sentinels or Voidwalkers just due to the nature of their class and how it works, as well as my own personal knowledge being more expansive when it comes to the Void subclass for Hunters compared to Void Titan and Warlock. So for brevity's sake, I'm going to solely be referring to Nightstalkers for this. Although y'all can feel free to add on your own thoughts on how this might happen for Sentinels and Voidwalkers!

There are a few ways that Void Frenzies can be triggered, but more often than not they tend to be caused when a Nightstalker overtaxes themselves and overuses their Void without giving themselves room to breathe or time to calm down. Huge bouts of emotional turmoil and/or copious amounts of stress can also make a Nightstalker more susceptible to snapping thus triggering a Void Frenzy.

The telltale signs of a Void Hunter experiencing stress that, if it becomes uncontrollable, could lead to a Void Frenzy are as follows:

Living things such as trees, flowers and grass begin to die and wilt around them and any living creature feels like its energy is being siphoned from their body, mirroring the effects of the power we know as Devour.

The temperature of the air around them suddenly drops and turns stagnant. It's not just cold, it's also thick and musty. Unnaturally still. Entropic. Dead.

Void energy begins to course along their arms and face. It creeps under their skin like dark tendrils that they seem to be unable to control, as if it's infecting their very body. The Light underneath the skin of Awoken Guardians turns a dark purple. Their eyes, and the lights in Exos' mouths and optics, turn a brilliant violet, and their sclera—the whites of their eyes—turn black. Energy seeps from their eyes like thick, smoky tears. Purple smoke also can escape from their nose and mouths, even billowing up from the hollow cheeks of Exos.

They seem distant. Hungry. Tired. They become far more prone to spacing out. More often than usual. The Void likes when they run on empty, and the emptier they are, the stronger their connection to the Void becomes until, without proper discipline and control, it consumes them.

When a Void Frenzy occurs, it begins with the Hunter expelling a MASSIVE amount of Void energy around them as if they were casting a Super. Void Light bathes their form and often times will manifest in bladed weapons that look much like Spectral Blades, or in some cases, claws. This varies from Hunter to Hunter.

After this point, they have slipped into the grasp of the abyss and it will refuse to let go. They're only goal will to be to kill and consume as much energy as they can to feed the insatiable appetite of the emptinesses gaping maw. They cannot differentiate between friends and enemies and will attack anything that they see. The Void does not discriminate between energy sources and now neither do they. They do not control the Void anymore. The Void is in control of them. They are ferocious, insatiable, and extremely dangerous and will not stop consuming everything in their path until they either pass out or get shot.

The only ways to combat a Void Frenzy is to wait until their own energy has become exhausted and they burn out (which is not recommended as trying to contain Hunters in a Frenzy has proven to be nigh impossible), by suppressing them with the very energy that is controlling them and thus severing their own connection to the Void, or by killing them and allowing their Ghost to rez them so that the Light bathes and grounds them. The Vanguard tends to opt for killing Guardians in Void Frenzies on sight as it acts as a sort of hard reset that has proven to be the most effective and reliable method for quickly snapping a Guardian out of a Frenzy without causing too much extraneous stress, trauma or damage.

Guardians that have suffered from Void Frenzies are often given a one to two week mandatory leave of absence from their duties—the length being determined by the severity of the incident—and are encouraged and given the resources to take care of themselves until they have recovered enough and feel fit for duty.

In the fight against the Darkness, the last thing they need are Guardians losing themselves.

[foundtherightwords]

Sunlight Through the Mist - Chapter 7

Pairing: Hellcheer (Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham) Regency AU

Summary: Having witnessed the broken marriage of his parents, Edward Munson, Baron Hurstfield, always regards love with a cynical eye. When circumstances compel him to marry and produce an heir, he quickly proposes to Christine Conyngham, a debutante whose reputation is hanging by a threat after an ill-fated affair. All Edward wants is to save his family estate, but as beautiful, fragile Christine finds her way into his wary heart, their marriage of convenience may become something neither of them ever expects - a union of love.

Warnings: angst, past domestic violence, suicide attempt, smut (non-explicit)

Chapter warnings: smut (non-explicit, but a little more detailed than "Love in a Mist", simply because my confidence in writing smut has grown a lot since then 😏)

Chapter word count: 4.6k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

Chapter 7

When he came out of his daze, Edward found himself half-lying, half-sitting near the bottom of Wild Boar Hill. All around him were mud and rocks. A large boulder had stopped his fall, and it was a miracle that he'd managed not to get his skull dashed to pieces against it. He tried to get to his feet and felt a stabbing pain all along his right leg. There was a heavy weight on and around his leg, preventing him from moving.

Wiping the mud from his eyes, Edward realized that the weight was from a pile of rocks. When he fell, his leg must have slipped into some shallow ditch. The rocks from the landslide had then piled up around his leg, not crushing it thanks to the ditch, but trapping him there all the same. He sat up and tried to lift the rocks, but they must weigh a ton, and he was too weak from a night out in the rain and the cold. He strained and strained until his arms gave way and he slumped back against the boulder, exhausted. It was no use shouting for help; nobody could hear him. Well, there was nothing he could do now. He prayed that Warlock would have the sense to run back to Hurstfield Hall, and they would come searching for him. He prayed that it would stop raining soon and that there would not be another landslide. He prayed that his leg would survive.

As he closed his eyes again, the thought of Christine entered his mind unbidden. He'd hardly thought of her since taking her leave the previous night, so preoccupied he was with the flood and the safety of his tenants. But now his head was filled with her—Christine laughing and dancing at the feast, her hair coming loose under the wreath, Christine snuggling up to him during the drive home under the relentless rain, her shape fitting exactly into the curve of his arm as if she were made to be there, Christine standing in the hall, her dress clinging to her body, the fear in her eyes when he told her he had to go. He was seized by a sudden longing to see her, to hold her in his arms as he had done so briefly during the dance. This time, he would not let her go so soon. No, he would not let go at all, if he could. What a fool he was, driving her away all those months, when he could have held her close...

He loved her. The realization came to him as abruptly and clearly as a bolt of lightning in an otherwise clear sky, yet to his surprise, he accepted it with little wonder. He had tried not to think about it, afraid of the implications and the consequences, but now, at the foot of this desolate hill, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. He didn't know when he'd begun to love her. Perhaps he'd loved her from their first encounter, from the moment he'd seen her little smile, a smile shared between them like a secret. Perhaps in trying to care for her after her illness, he had come to genuinely care for her; what had started as pity and guilt had blossomed into love and affection. Or perhaps he'd only fallen in love with her since the feast, after seeing her so radiant and alluring. It didn't matter. All he knew was that he loved her.

The longing became almost physical and drove him to strain against the rocks once more, until a sharp edge cut into his shin, forcing him to return to his position for fear of worsening his injuries. With this fear came more gloomy thoughts. Suppose Christine did not feel the same way? It was true that she had warmed toward him a great deal lately, and he'd often seen her blush when they accidentally touched or caught each other's eyes. But was he attaching too much significance to those little gestures? Suppose they meant nothing to her?

And then there was Joshua Craven... Edward had never given much thought to Christine's past, firmly believing that her choice to marry him was enough for him to trust her. But now, the light of love also brought with it the dark shadows of jealousy and doubt. He did not know what kind of man Craven was. What little he had seen of Craven's letter to Christine was affectionate, if a little clichéd and bland. All he knew was that Christine had loved Craven enough and was heartbroken enough by their parting to want to take her own life. Such a love could not be easily forgotten. Such a love could not be competed with.

If only he could see her now! If he could only look into her eyes and tell her—no, perhaps not tell her. How mortifying and painful for both of them if she didn't feel the same. It would ruin the precious companionship they had managed to build over the last few months. Perhaps he could try to guess...

A shuffling sound made him open his eyes.

It was Christine.

For a second, Edward couldn't believe what he was seeing, thinking he was dreaming, or his thoughts had manifested themselves into some sort of hallucination. But no, she really was there, picking her way through the mud and the rocks, holding on to Starlight's reins with one hand, her dark cloak sodden and splattered with mud. She walked right past him, then stopped mere feet from where he sat and looked around, apparently at a loss. She didn't see him, as he was partially hidden from view by the boulder, and dusk was falling.

Why was she here? Had she come after him? If so, why was she all alone?

"Christine?" he croaked.

There was a gasp as she spun around, and then she ran to him and knelt down next to him, careless of the mud and the sharp rocks. "Are you hurt? What happened?" He felt her trembling hands on his face, his shoulders, his arms, and let himself luxuriate in their softness and miraculous warmth for a moment, before giving her a brief version of his accident and showing her where his leg was trapped.

To his astonishment, Christine wrapped her hands around the topmost rock on the pile, trying to lift it.

"It's too heavy for you," he said, trying to hold her off. "Best go and get help."

"The nearest farm is Hopper's, and old Jim just broke his arm," Christine said shortly. "I don't want to leave you out here in this cold and wet for any longer." So she had stopped at the Hoppers'. His heart swelled when he realized she must have been searching for him.

"It's no use if you get hurt as well..." Edward said, but she ignored him and kept pushing, her lips pressed together into a determined line. He put his hands over hers, adding his strength to the push. The rock shifted infinitesimally. They both felt it and pushed harder, Christine's face turning red with the effort. Edward tried to push with his leg from underneath as well, biting back a scream as the rock pressed into his wound again. "Almost there... That's it!" He stood up, pulling his leg free of the ditch at last. He stumbled, his legs weakened after hours of sitting on the ground and unable to take his weight, but Christine's arms shot out, holding him steady.

He leaned against her, waiting for his breath to return to normal, listening to the sting of the cuts and scrapes on his leg and the ache of his muscles. Then his eyes settled on Christine smiling at him through her tears and the mud stains on her face, and all of his pains fell away in the light of that smile.

***

Edward thought Mrs. Wayne was going to have a fit when he and Christine were brought into the hall, covered in mud and blood. She did gripe and grouse, but she also had them cleaned and warmed with alacrity while they waited for the doctor. Edward, who was used to the housekeeper's ways, was worried that Christine may take offense with how Mrs. Wayne ordered them about, but Christine didn't seem to mind. If anything, she seemed to be enjoying Mrs. Wayne's nagging. Then there was a bit of fuss when Sinclair arrived, as Edward insisted that the doctor took care of Christine's hand, which was cut by the rock, before seeing to him, while Christine insisted that Edward's leg must be attended immediately. The doctor threw his arms up, exasperated, but after a quick glance at both of them, he relented and attended to the lady first, cleaning and wrapping Christine's hand under Edward's watchful eye.  

And then all was quiet again as Edward stretched out in front of the fire in his room, with his leg, which had suffered no worse than a sprain, elevated on a little stool. Now he could mull over his thoughts more carefully. In the commotion of their return, he'd had no moment alone with Christine, no opportunity to watch and observe her for evidence of her feelings for him. He could go into her room, he supposed, but her door was shut, as usual. At the foot of the hill, when he was facing certain death, his courage had burned high and he had dreamed of embracing Christine and telling her he loved her, but now, in the safety and familiarity of his old domain, he couldn't bring himself to cross the short stretch of floor that led into her room.

Which was why he almost jumped out of the chair when there was a knock on his door. Not the main door, but the door of the dressing room separating his and Christine's bedroom. It was her.  

Edward opened his mouth to answer, only to discover his throat had gone dry. He swallowed. "Come in," he said and was annoyed with himself for sounding so shaky.

Christine opened the door but lingered on the threshold. She had on a shawl, though he was a little disappointed to see it tightly wrapped around her body instead of loosely draped like the last time she'd come into his room.

"What is it?" he asked. He tried to compensate for his quivering voice earlier, and now it came out too harsh.

Christine hesitated, then held out the handkerchief he'd used to bind her hand earlier. "I want to return this to you," she said. Edward frowned. That is all? Why would she come to him in the middle of the night only to give back a stained handkerchief? "And to see if you are comfortable," she added. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Thank you, I'm fine," he said slowly, watching her. "The swelling has gone down. Just a day or two and I'll be back on my feet. How's your hand?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a scratch, really."

"That's good. I'm glad."

She dropped the handkerchief on a table by the door but made no move to leave. Both lapsed into silence again while Edward watched her openly, almost hungrily, searching her face and her posture for any sign of a woman in love, the fluttering eyelashes, blushing cheeks, and heaving bosom he'd read about in so many novels, but there was none. She looked a little flustered, to be sure, but that could mean anything or nothing at all. He did not know enough about women to understand their every little gesture and expression. He tried to recall her demeanor toward him over the past few months, but it was all a blur in the face of his newfound love for her, and he only felt a heavy thumping in his chest, drowning out everything.

Perhaps he should just ask her...

They began to speak at the same time and interrupted each other. Both stopped, abashed. "Please, go on," Edward said, gesturing at Christine.

"I was just going to say goodnight," she said quietly. "To let you get some rest."

Edward could feel himself deflated with disappointment. But no, he couldn't let her go like that. This was an opening, a chance. He must seize it. So, as she turned away, he called, "Christine?"

She turned back expectantly. Edward squeezed the tapes of his dressing gown between his fingers, trying to find the right words. He couldn't just ask outright if she loved him, could he?

"Why did you go after me today?" he blurted out. Seeing Christine's puzzled look, he explained, "I mean, why did you go yourself? You could've sent someone. You should have."

Apparently his question offended her, for it took a moment for her to answer, and when she did, she sounded cold, brittle. "There was no one else. All the men were exhausted by the time they returned. I suppose I could have sent for someone from the village, but when I saw Warlock come back with an empty saddle, I panicked and did the first thing that came into my head. I'm sorry if I've made another blunder."

That said, she turned on her heel to go back to her room.

You're driving her away again, you fool!

"No, Christine!" he said, a little too loudly. "I didn't mean to reproach. I am grateful to you for risking your life for me. I simply wanted to know... what you were thinking. Why you panicked."

Some of the coldness left her face, replaced by bewilderment.

"I was frightened that something might have happened to you, of course."

He got to his feet, holding on to the mantelpiece for balance, so he could better read her countenance. "But why should you care?"

"What, do you think me heartless?" she exclaimed. "After all that you've done for me..."

Those last few words dashed his hopes again. "So that's why you came after me, because you felt... some sort of obligation?" he asked, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"No!" she said, indignant. "It wasn't like that! I told you, I wasn't thinking anything. Why did it matter, anyway?"

An abrupt sense of exhaustion overwhelmed Edward, in both body and heart. "Yes, you're quite right, it doesn't matter," he said, turning away from Christine. They had both been through an ordeal, and this wasn't the right moment to pester her about her feelings for him. He looked back at her and forced himself to smile. "You should get some rest as well."

She stayed for a moment longer, perhaps waiting for him to say something else, but Edward remained silent. "Good night," she said, turning away for the third time.

With a sigh, Edward hobbled toward his bed. In his agitation, he forgot his injured ankle and put his weight on it. A spear of pain stabbed through his leg, sending him stumbling sideways and crashing into the footstool.

"Damnation!" he muttered.

In a blink of an eye, Christine was beside him, putting her hands under his arms to help him up.

"I'm perfectly capable of getting up myself, thank you," he grumbled, pulling away. He didn't want her to be gentle with him. It would only raise his hopes, and the disappointment would be too crushing for him to bear.

"Would it kill you to accept assistance sometimes?" she scolded, and he meekly allowed himself to lean on her while she helped him to the bed.

They collapsed onto the mattress. It bounced up, inadvertently pushing them closer together, so close that their foreheads nearly touched, so close that he could feel her breath across his cheeks, so close that if he could just stretch out and brush his lips over hers...

"Thank you," he said softly.

"You're welcome."

She tried to pull her hand free, but he didn't want to let go, wishing they could stay like that forever. It was only when she let out a little yelp that he realized he was gripping her injured hand. He let go just long enough for her to put her hand into her lap, and then he took up that hand again, afraid that she would get up and leave if he didn't hold on to her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, cradling her hand in both palms like it was the most precious thing in the world—and for him, it was. Christine didn't say anything, but her fingers moved in his hands for a moment, before she returned his grip, just as she had when she was ill. It was as though she were savoring his touch and reminding herself that he was really there.

And with that memory, Edward realized there was no waiting for the right moment. Any moment they were together was bound to be right.

He lifted Christine's hand to his lips and kissed the cut on her palm.

Her hand trembled once, then stilled, and he heard her exhale with the smallest, slowest of breaths. He didn't know if it was from pleasure or pain, but she didn't pull her hand back. Emboldened, he skimmed his lips over the bandages, to the soft skin on the inside of her wrist, where he could feel her pulse beating like that of a wild bird.

She let out a gasp, more audible this time, and Edward looked up, afraid that he was holding her too tightly again. But Christine didn't look in pain. The look on her face was akin to longing, just like that awful night she'd come to him, only this time, she was looking at him rather than past him, and the sparkles in her eyes were not harsh and wild as they had been that night, but misty, tender.

Then, pressing her other hand to his cheek, she drew him close and kissed him.

When he proposed to her, Edward had wondered what it would feel like to kiss Christine. They had kissed only twice since then, and both times had been so disappointing that he had stopped wondering... until the previous night, after they rushed home through the storm, when he'd watched that single raindrop clinging to her lips. And now he knew. Those kisses had been disappointing before because they weren't true. They weren't a kiss like this, gentle and languorous, an exercise in taste and feel and discovery. That was the difference—before, she hadn't been kissing him, he could have been anyone for all she cared, but now, he could feel her attention solely on him, like a single ray of sunshine that broke through the cloud and shone down on the meadow with blinding intensity. He parted his lips for her, and the kiss turned ravenous, as she took his lower lip between her own and pulled on it, the pressure of her mouth setting his blood on fire.

His arms came up to wrap themselves around her, the better for him to return the kiss. She twisted under him, and her shawl fell off, and perhaps more than that, for he could feel the scorching heat of her bare skin through his shirt, the hard points to her breasts. He wriggled out of his dressing gown for easier movements and brought his lips down her neck, pressing them trembling to her satin-smooth skin, breathing in her scent of lavender and sun, feeling rather than hearing the pleased little sound she made deep in her throat, and continuing down, down...

He could go no further. Her nightdress was in the way, stuck over one of her shoulders, and she was fumbling with a knot to untie it. The pause brought his doubt rushing back. What should he do? Help her untie the dress? Tear the damnable thing off? And once it was off—what? What then? He pressed his face into the crook of her shoulder, trying to rekindle the fire that had been coursing through him, hoping that he could lose himself in it and take her with him, so she wouldn't notice his inexperience.

But she had noticed. He felt her hand in his hair, gently tugging on it so he would look at her. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Her sweet voice brought a flush of shame to Edward's face. No, he couldn't go on deceiving her. He had to come clean, and let her decide if she still wanted him after all. "I have a confession." He risked a glance at her and saw that she was still looking at him with that gentle glimmer in her eyes, though now there was a trace of concern as well.

"I've promised to be honest with you, and I haven't kept my word." Christine swallowed but said nothing, and he forced himself to continue, "Our wedding night... that was my first time. Or it would have been. I suppose this is my first time."

"Oh" was all she said, but he could feel her pulling away from him. Her body, so warm and responsive under him a minute ago, had gone stiff, as she gathered her shawl about her.

Damnation. Why did he have to choose this moment to be truthful?

"I've ruined it, haven't I?" he asked ruefully.

"No, no, no, it's perfectly alright," she replied, and the sympathy in her voice made Edward want to throw himself into the center of the sun. "Do you... do you want me to leave?"

"No!" he said. Then, realizing it may sound as though he was forcing her to stay, he hastened to correct himself, "Well, that is... if you want to leave, I won't stop you." Dear God. He was making an absolute mess of everything. Just stop, you pathetic, blathering fool! He turned away from Christine and buried his head in his hands, unable to look her in the eye.

The mattress sprang up, and there was a soft swish of fabric. She's gone. He twisted his fingers into his hair. Fool. Fool.

Then he heard her voice.

"Edward. Look at me."

He lifted his head. The swish of fabric hadn't been her leaving. She had managed to untie that pesky night dress, and the sound had been the dress dropping to the floor in a puddle of white fabric, and there she stood, in all of her glories, like Venus rising out of the foam. The light he'd seen on her face at the feast was now back, and miraculously, improbably, it seemed to brighten as she looked at him.

He sat, transfixed by that light, and only noticed she'd taken a step toward him when she took his hand in hers and pressed it to her body. She was showing him how to touch her, where to touch her. There was nothing to it but to follow her. With his hands and his mouth and his heart, he learned and mapped her hills and valleys, her perfections and imperfections, while his mind sang out in relief and gratitude. She does not mind. As his mouth traversed downward, her hand was in his hair again, not so gentle now, urging him on, but he took his time, savoring every touch, memorizing every detail, letting the fire inside him shimmer instead of burning out too quickly.

And then he was on his knees in front of her, and he wasn't sure how to continue—this was a new territory, one he'd read about, but reading and discovering were two very different things. It was made for more intrepid, or perhaps more blessed explorers, and he didn't know if she trusted him enough to accept him. He looked up at her, questioningly, and to answer, she gave a little nod, and her hand in his hair pressed him a little closer.

That was all the blessing he needed.

He kissed her then, placing his mouth on the heat at her core, letting her little sighs and shivers tell him what she liked and where to go next, marveling at how she opened up for him, reveling in her feel, her taste. She collapsed onto the mattress, while he remained at the foot of the bed, his mouth never left her, never stopped worshipping her. Her thighs shook and writhed in his hands, her hips arched against him, while his pleasure built along with hers, and when she came apart under his tongue and a fevered cry escaped her, it sent him over the edge as well.

Damnation.

He looked up at Christine, but she didn't seem to notice anything amiss, stretched out as she was on the bed, her whole body still heaving as her breathing returned to normal. This lessened his mortification somewhat, but it didn't stop the blood from rushing north to his face. Carefully, gingerly, praying that she wouldn't look up and wonder why he was taking so long, he removed the rest of his clothes and joined her on the bed, trailing more kisses all the way up her body until their faces were level with each other.

"What do I do now?" he asked.

She was looking at him through eyes heavy-lidded but sparkling, her lips quirked up in a smile, her hair a mass of molten gold on the pillow, her skin rosy in the firelight. "Are you sure this was your first time?" she said, a little breathlessly, while she reached out to caress his cheek.

Edward felt himself stirred again, aroused by her touch, by the look in those eyes, deep, deep blue like the summer night sky, and by that half-tender, half-playful smile. If there was anything that could drive a man wild more effectively than the sight of a breathless and flushed woman in his bed—no, not just any woman, but my wife, mine, he thought with relish—and the knowledge that he had brought her such pleasure, then he didn't know it.

"Well, perhaps I've had some tips from the ladies of Covent Garden, but never a chance to put them to practice." This was true, though they were not exactly tips, more like eavesdropped conversations and lots and lots of teasing allusions whose meaning only became clear later, after some intensive reading on his part. He could use more hands-on guidance.

He leaned down, brushing his lips along her jaws, her ears. "What do you want me to do?" he whispered. "Show me."

Her hand moved from his cheek to his chest and lower and lower, guiding him toward her, into her. Their hips met—fitted together perfectly, not painfully as they had on their wedding night—and he plunged in, only to withdraw, afraid he was going to embarrass himself a second time.

She gave a little gasp.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, alarmed.

"No, no," she said, catching her breath. "Do that again. Please."

If he was in need of encouragement, that little frantic "please" was more than enough. And so he complied, again and again and again, each time pushing a little closer, while he felt her clutch at him with her hands, her legs, her entire being, and heard her gasps quicken into throaty moans, until they both shivered in exquisite exhilaration.

Later, while he nestled his head between her breasts and was listening to her heartbeats, the words spilled out of him, as unexpectedly as his realization earlier that afternoon, as tenderly as her hand running through his hair, "I love you."

There was no reply, only her steady breaths causing her chest to rise and fall softly under him. Perhaps she was asleep and didn't hear him. No matter. He would tell her again the next day, and the day after, and every day for the rest of their lives.

Chapter 8

[bonniebird]

Sara Lance x Reader

Requested by @imapotatao​

Masterpost

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You’d tailed your target into a dingy bar. It was filled with smoke and old music that Ray had been listening to on the Waverider. Hurrying off to prepare before you’d get an earful on why he thought the music in this latest era was so great you’d prepped and headed off.

Now the giant monster that would supposedly pop up out of nowhere, according to Gideon, didn’t seem problematic to you. It was something that you could naturally just deal with. All in a day's work. What you were struggling with was the sleazy gentleman who sat down next to you, reeking of cheek bourbon and cigars. Ignoring him hadn’t worked nor had turned your back on him. He’d caught the attention of the creature who, according to Constantine, was hiding in a mortal form to experience the perils of man. Though you imagined it was more to do with the fact that it was easier to hide in a mortal body than it is to walk around a nine-foot man-eating monster. But then you weren’t a warlock. If you were, you'd open up a portal beneath him and send him somewhere like the top of an icy mountain or the middle of the ocean. You hadn't noticed Sara through your daydreaming. You would have broken the man’s face on the table for his persistence but Ava had specifically told you no fighting. 

“(Y/N)!” She said cheerfully and sat down on your other side.

“Excuse me darlin’. We’re having some fun here.” The man on your other side said.

“You’re having fun being gawked at?” She asked you. Before you could answer he spoke up.

“Gawked at. She’s being seduced!” He insisted and a foul smell of cigar smoke wafted over to you. Fanning it away from your face you rolled your eyes.

“At the rate he’s going. The only thing he’s seducing me into is a homicidal rage and a prison cell.” You answered and raised your eyebrows when he grabbed at your shoulder and almost pulled you off your chair as he leaned forward to sneer at Sara who looked nothing short of amused.

“Listen here, missy. You run along and leave me to have my fun. Unless you plan on joining us.” He said and smiled at her in a way that showed all his teeth and wrinkled his face unpleasantly.

"With all due respect, I am gonna completely ignore everything you just said." She said as she grabbed his hand from his shoulder. You got up without looking back at them, hearing his grunts of pain and knowing that Sara had things under control.

“It’s on the move.” you said as she let him go and he fell against the table.

“Well, then we should hustle on.” Sara said in a terrible accent that was supposed to fit the era.

“Shame. We could have had such a nice bar fight here.” You muttered. She chuckled as her arm slipped into yours, twining them together as you tried to casually follow the beast as it clearly stalked its prey into an alleyway. 

Sara tags:

@linkpk88 @babypink224221 @lisainhell @spiderwebs-blog @gryffindorqueensworld @rockyrascal @twerp8999 @supernatural-wolfie @love1deandra @archaeologydigit @im-eating-rn @bucketbunny

@littlefreakingfangirl @bluejaysaysstuff @kaitieskidmore1 @thebaileybugle @bluejaysaysstuff @slxthxrxn-sxmp

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Twin!AU Part 3:

Hunith and Uther alike have to face the consequences of their actions, Merlin (and everyone, really) decides that family doesn’t end in blood.

Part 1   Part 2

TW: Suicidal ideation (mostly past, but it sort of... flairs up a little here I guess)

Hunith’s face falls and she physically recoils at Merlin’s harsh declaration.

His hard gaze doesn’t leave her, even as she glances at Arthur, a little behind Merlin and to his side. The blonde has his gaze fixed on Hunith, but he looks away the moment they make eye contact, unable to stand the confused pain in her expression:

“Merlin? What happened?”

Lancelot and Percival approach slowly after handing the horses off to a couple of stablehands, and Gwaine puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not that The Warlock notices; he clenches his jaw tightly before speaking, but continues resisting the urge to look away:

“You lied to me. About everything.”

Hunith’s eyes go wide and she gulps, opening her mouth and shutting it again as she struggles to think of a response. It’s then that Merlin finally looks away, gazing over the top of her head at the empty courtyard. Arthur quietly intervenes, his authoritative voice full of warring emotions despite it’s low volume:

“We should take this somewhere more private.”

Merlin doesn’t even nod, just turns around and walks back towards the castle, hands clenched tightly at his side before he pushes the doors open and stalks in without looking back. Gwaine and Arthur share a concerned look before the older knight rushes after him. Arthur gestures for Hunith to go first, but not without stopping her with a hand on her shoulder, and a muttered, almost teary:

“You had no right.”

Her face falls even further, but The Regent steps back and looks away before she can reply, and she timidly hurries through the door after Merlin and Gwaine. Arthur gives Lancelot and Percival a pointed look:

“I imagine we’ll be in my chambers, make sure we are undisturbed. I don’t want anyone interrupting unless the world is about to end. Let Leon and Morgana know that they can take charge of any meetings today.”

They both nod, but Lancelot jogs up the steps to stop Arthur before he can leave:

“I... know what she did was wrong, but don’t let Merlin be too harsh. He’s always been close to his mother, he’ll regret it later if he pushes her away completely.”

Arthur almost snaps out something about how Hunith isn’t Merlin’s mother, but he keeps it to himself, sighing and nodding:

“Yeah, I know, but she... she needs to know what this has done to him, how much he’s suffered needlessly because of this. There isn’t... I know she probably just did what she thought was right but... she needs to know. Merlin deserves an apology, and he certainly deserves the truth.”

Lancelot nods hesitatingly, but doesn’t say anything else, stepping aside to allow The Regent through. He catches up to the others just as Merlin slams the door open to his chambers, continuing to not look back as he heads over to the large dining table, leaning his hand against the back of one of the chairs and staring towards the window.

Gwaine and Arthur approach slowly, standing either side of him but not touching him as they wait in suspense for someone to start the conversation. Hunith already has tears in her eyes as she stands on the other side of the table, trying and failing to get Merlin to look at her. The harsh glare he laid on her before was horrific, but this... him being unable to look at her at all, that is worse:

“Merlin, please, I only did what-”

She’s cut off by Merlin’s harsh instruction:

“Sit.”

She glances to Arthur once more, but he just nods wordlessly at the chair in front of her; the only sounds in the room are the scraping of the chair on the stone floor and Merlin’s laboured breathing. He was evidently trying very hard to hold his anger in, and when he says nothing more once she’s sat down, Gwaine puts his hand back on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, finally turning to face Hunith but remaining unable to look in her eyes:

“Why?”

A tears slips loose from her eye and she sniffles, taking a deep, shaky breath and fiddling with her hands on the table. Arthur absent-mindedly wonders if Merlin would still do that too if he’d been raised with his actual family, if it was natural, or if he’d picked it up from her:

“Please, Merlin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

Merlin takes in a sharp breath, tightening his gip on the chair in a way that looks painful, shaking his head:

“No. No apologies, no excuses. I want to know exactly why you lied to me, why you took this from me.”

His voice is deadly in a quiet kind of way, like he could snap clean in two and set the world alight at any moment. Gwaine looks worriedly between the other two men, clearly thinking on the same lines as Lancelot, but neither of them notice, Merlin’s gaze stuck to the table and Arthur’s stuck on Hunith:

“I would have told you one day, Merlin, you-”

Merlin finally looks up at her, the blazing fury in his eyes contrasting in a rather horrific manner with the steady stream of tears on his cheeks:

“One day when? Arthur’s known about my magic for ages. I’ve been in Camelot for years, you have had every opportunity.”

Hunith lets out a low sob, but doesn’t look away:

“I didn’t think you were ready, Mer-”

Merlin bites his lip and turns away, running his hands through his hair harshly before turning around again, quick as lightening, and pointing an accusing finger at her:

“No, you weren’t ready! You weren’t ready to face the fact that you lied to me about who I am, because you knew you had no right, because you knew I would be angry!”

Hunith stands, but doesn’t make any moves to approach Merlin at Arthur’s harsh glare and Gwaine’s worried gesture. He doesn’t think Merlin or Arthur would hurt her, he’d never even consider the idea, but he knows that his partner needs space to be angry:

“I didn’t want you to be upset,-”

Merlin scoffs and lets out a sob of his own, wiping his face harshly before responding loudly:

“Gods, I wonder why I would be upset! Maybe because you lied to me about everything?!-”

Hunith shakes her head desperately, but Merlin carries on without pause:

“-You had no right to keep this from me! I grew up alone, with no one but you to rely on because you made me think I was some kind of beast! Keeping me from Camelot, I understand, keeping it from me as I child even, I understand. But you’ve had years of opportunity, you are selfish, a hypocrite and a coward.-”

Hunith looks horrified at his admission, mainly the sudden reveal at how her treatment of Merlin had effected him independently of the lie:

“-I hated myself, I was terrified, I didn’t want to exist, because of you! You made me think I was some kind of unnatural monster and then you sent me to Gaius under the guise of teaching me control, so he could carry on the lie for you! He promised me I wasn’t a monster, that I wasn’t born evil, over and over, but he’s lied to me from the moment I met him, how am I supposed to trust anything he says?! How am I supposed to trust anything you say when I was just some unwanted, throwaway thing that you never asked for, and got rid of at the earliest opportunity?!-”

Gwaine and Arthur stare at Merlin with matching heartbreak in their expressions; it seems that Merlin is upset at more than just the base lie. The New Prince doesn’t even try to stop the tears, his breathing quick and ragged, and after a few moments of thick silence, he takes a deep breath and quietly continues:

“-I didn’t have to be so alone, that was all you, and Gaius, and Kilgharrah, and everyone else who lied to me. When I had nothing, I had you, and you lied to me.-”

Merlin’s voice cracks, his breathing shaky and his face pale as his entire world seemingly crumbles down around him:

“-You took my brother from me and you had no right. You’re not my mother, you’re just as bad as Uther.”

With those last words, he storms from the room, Gwaine hot on his heels. Arthur stays however, feeling the need to comfort the crying woman, but also feeling, maybe slightly cruelly, that she deserves this. He sighs, pushing the though from his mind and moving around to put a hand on her shoulder as she buries her face in her hands, sobbing:

“I... you did your best, I think he knows that, but that doesn’t change what you took from him, from both of us. He needs time.”

She just about manages a nod, and Arthur sighs again, standing awkwardly for a few minutes before he realises she isn’t going to stop any time soon. He gently pushes her to sit back in the chair before heading to the door, following Gwaine and Merlin.

They’re not in the corridor when he shuts the door behind him, but he’s not surprised at that. Merlin has always been private about his true emotions, always kept them close to his chest, he wouldn’t want anyone to see him having a breakdown in the middle of the hall. Months ago, Arthur would have thought it was left over fear of his magic being discovered, but now he bitterly thinks that it probably has more to do with the way he was raised.

He runs a hand through his hair, sparing a glance to the—previously unnoticed—worried looking guards. Thankfully, they were two of the men that had been trusted with the truth (Arthur reminds himself to thank Leon later for paying attention to who was stationed where), so Arthur isn’t too worried at the fact that they had likely overheard the one-sided yelling match. He fixes them with a commanding stare and clears his throat:

“Escort the Lady Hunith to the physician’s chambers when she emerges, leave her with Gaius, but don’t rush her.-”

They bow briefly in acknowledgement of his orders, and his question comes out quietly:

“-Do you know where they went?”

They needn’t ask who, and one of the guards answers lowly, matching Arthur’s volume:

“I think they headed to Sir Gwaine’s chambers, Sire.” 

He nods and mutters a quiet thank you, slowly heading in that direction, knowing he had to go see them but also wanting to give them few extra minutes of privacy. They still had a lot to take care of, they’d missed several council meetings over the last few days, and whilst Arthur trusts Leon and Morgana to keep things rolling, he really should be making regular appearances. That, and they still haven’t dealt with Uther; to be perfectly honest, Arthur is surprised that rumours haven’t started spreading about The King’s disappearance and Arthur’s sudden growth of responsibilities, but he’s grateful. Don’t look a gift Griffin in the mouth or... something.

He finally stops outside the knight’s room—nodding at Lance who wordlessly stands guard in the corridor—before flinching at the quiet crying he can hear from inside. He knocks a few times softly before entering, shutting the door behind him and approaching the bed. Gwaine sits leant against the headboard, tears in his eyes as he holds a shaking Merlin in his arms. The Warlock lays besides Gwaine, in the middle of the bed, his face buried in the knight’s chest and his hands twisted into the fabric of his tunic.

Arthur lets out a deep, mournful breath at the sight of his brother so distraught, and he moves around to the other side of the bed, raising his eyebrow in question at Gwaine and settling next to Merlin at his singular nod. Merlin doesn’t seem to notice his presence, not until Arthur settles a hand on his back and whispers his name. He instantly calms a little, and Gwaine mentally scolds himself for the slight flair of jealousy; Merlin had discovered he has a brother, that his best friend is his brother, it’s no surprise that he calms easier in his presence, especially considering the reveal unburied so much hidden trauma.

After a few more minutes, Merlin turns to be laying on his back, though he makes sure to stay in Gwaine’s embrace. The knight leans down to press a kiss to the top of his head, and though he can’t see it, he can almost feel the slight smile on The Warlock’s face. Arthur moves his hand back to his lap, looking at the two of them out of the corner of his eye; he sees nothing but worry and utter adoration on Gwaine’s face, and he wonders just how he hadn’t approved of their relationship. Gwaine’s whispered words just solidify Arthur’s newfound belief in the man:

“I love you, Merls, no matter what.”

Merlin lets out a quiet, choked laugh, and Gwaine considers that a win, even more so when Merlin responds in kind:

“I love you.”

Despite their relationship not being a particularly new thing, Arthur hadn’t even considered the possibility that they’d reached that far, that their partnership was that solid; perhaps that had something to do with their general lack of PDA, which he had always wondered how Gwaine had put up with. He grimaces with a quiet realisation, but it catches Merlin’s gaze and he raises a questioning eyebrow, his tears thankfully dried. Arthur glances up at Gwaine, who smirks at him knowingly, before looking back down to his brother:

“Making you Crown Prince is something I’m actually quite looking forward to, but I’m going to have to crown Gwaine as well.”

Gwaine snorts in amusement but Merlin turns pink and coughs slightly:

“Well.. we haven’t really discussed marriage, Arthur.”

Arthur looks to him with an apologetic expression:

“Merlin, royals have different courting rules. Royal partnerships tend to be incredibly short before a marriage has to happen. Back when me and Gwen were courting, we hid not only because Uther wouldn’t have approved, but also because we didn’t want to rush things. I’m especially glad we did now, otherwise we would have had to be married by now. The whole kingdom know that you two have been together for at least a year, the moment you’re crowned...”

His voice trails off as he comes to a second, horrifying realisation. He stands from the bed and stares at Gwaine with wide eyes and a pale face:

“Oh my God. Oh my God. If neither me, you, or Morgana have children... once you two have been married... Gwaine will officially be third in line for the throne. Oh... fuck.”

Merlin and Gwaine freeze for just a moment before they burst into loud laughter, and Arthur shakes his head, pacing slightly and not paying attention to the knocking at the door. Lancelot walks in slowly, an amused smile of his face despite his confusion:

“Do I even want to ask?”

Arthur fixes him with an almost distraught gaze before glaring half-heartedly at Merlin:

“Why? Why couldn’t it have been Leon, or Lancelot?? Elyan or Percival?? Hell, I would have been happier with fucking George.”

Gwaine’s laughter gets even louder but Merlin calmly wipes the tears (of laughter, thankfully) from his face and looks to Lancelot with bitten lips and held in hysterics:

“Arthur just realised that once all the crowning ceremonies happen, Gwaine will be third in line for the throne, if I’m the last one to die and there aren’t any children.”

Lance’s eyes go wide and he clamps a hand over his moth in a poor attempt to hold in his laughter. He fails miserably, bursting just like Gwaine and Merlin had moments earlier. Arthur fixes an annoyed glare on him and waves a desperate hand:

“This is not funny.”

Gwaine just shakes his head as he finally manages to calm himself, wiping his face clean and sitting up straight, one hand still on Merlin’s shoulder:

“It’s hilarious, Princess. God imagine Geoffrey’s face. Imagine the council.”

Arthur just takes a deep breath and looks to the ceiling again:

“Fuck. Ok, alright, whatever. That is a problem for another time.-”

He looks back down to Merlin with an apologetic smile, after shooting one last withering glare at a still-smirking Gwaine:

“-You feeling up to council? I’ve missed a fair few, and I think it might be a good idea for you two to start making appearances as well. That and... as much as we’ve told them you have magic, it might be worth showing it off a little.-”

At Merlin’s wide, fearful eyes, Arthur holds his hands out placatingly and hurries to continue:

“-You don’t have to, but they're working on the ban repeal. Obviously not anything huge, but passing jugs or paper or whatever with magic might help desensitise them to the idea. Plus, now that you’re semi-officially royalty, and you have Gwaine or Leon trailing you almost everywhere, no one would dare attack you. And if they do, you have every right to defend yourself in whatever capacity you deem necessary.”

At Merlin’s still nervous face, Lancelot quickly tacks on:

“And they all know that Arthur would go ape-shit if anything were to happen to you.”

Arthur gestures at the knight and nods in agreement, nodding further at Gwaine’s quiet “He’s not the only one.” . Merlin takes a deep breath and shuffles off the bed, standing and straightening his clothes out with unsteady hands:

“Let’s go. You’re right, I’m going to have to get used to stupid council meetings at some point if you’re insisting on crowning me, might as well be now.”

Arthur and Lancelot smile proudly and Gwaine moves to stand at his side, straightening his own clothes before running his hands through Merlin’s hair, flattening and neatening it. Merlin stands still and lets himself be assessed and fixed with a soft smile on his face, and Arthur feels almost as if he were intruding on something personal and domestic, even more so than when they were professing their love for each other; he looks away awkwardly and Lancelot raises an amused eyebrow at him.

The four of them finally exit the room, Arthur and Merlin falling into step besides each other, Gwaine slightly behind them, and Lancelot trailing the three of them with his face pulled into a blank mask and his hand on his sword.

This time, there is no hesitation before they enter the council room, and no raised eyebrows when Merlin takes his rightful place alongside Arthur at the head of the table. Flanked by Morgana, Leon, Lancelot, and Gwaine, Arthur effortlessly takes control of the meeting, hurrying things along with a proud confidence and an easy authority that was slowly but surely being taken on by his brother, at his side.

~

The council session lasts for the remainder of the day, and though at least half of the councilmen yelp, Gaius obviously not included, when Merlin first starts floating things about or magically highlighting words or moving the room’s lighting around with a flick of his wrist, most of them are used to it by the time the sun touches the horizon.

Arthur finally calls an end to the meeting when it gets dark. Though he was in a slightly manic mood and desperate to get as much work done as possible now that he was actually free to attend meetings, he could see that the others, Merlin especially, were flagging. He knew it would happen eventually, he can’t imagine The Warlock has been sleeping much, and he definitely came to some sort of private, horrifying conclusion around half a candle-mark ago. The hitch in Merlin’s breath, the widening of his eyes, and the slight, tiny flair of every candle in the room thankfully went unnoticed by everyone bar Arthur, Gwaine, and Lancelot.

When the room empties of councilmen, Merlin stands and paces away from the table, hands fiddling roughly with his sleeves. Arthur waves Morgana and Leon away, thanking them briefly before nodding pointedly at the door. Lancelot follows shortly, and Arthur has half a mind to send Gwaine away as well, but he knows that would be somewhat selfish as the other man approaches his partner’s turned back:

“Merlin? Something wrong? I thought that went remarkably well.”

Merlin’s head turns quickly, his furrowed brows confused:

“What? What went well?”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, glancing briefly at the neatly stacked paperwork on the table:

“The meeting? About planning your coronation and the legalisation of magic? That we’ve been in all afternoon?”

Merlin untenses slightly, turning around properly and using one hand to rub at his eyes tiredly:

“Oh, yeah right. It did go well. They didn’t freak out too much at my evil sorcery, did they?”

He tries to go for a joking smirk, but it falls flat, and Arthur walks towards him to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder:

“What’s on your mind?”

Merlin sags even more and Arthur quickly steps forward, gathering the suddenly distraught man in a tight hug. Merlin easily accepts, burying his face in Arthur’s neck and clutching the back of his tunic with shaking hands:

“I compared my mother to Uther. I told her it was her fault that I didn’t want to be alive. She’s never going to forgive me.”

Arthur shuts his eyes, stroking a hand through Merlin’s hair and muttering a quiet:

“Oh, Merlin, she loves you more than anything in this world, there’s nothing to forgive.”

Merlin doesn’t look up, but shakes his head roughly; before he can argue, Gwaine steps around the two of them, pressing a kiss to the nape of Merlin’s neck before stepping back and stroking a soft hand over his back:

“What she did was wrong, Merls, you’re allowed to be angry. And now you’re not so angry anymore you can go sit down with her and talk it out, ok? There was no way that first conversation was going to be anything other than difficult and heartbreaking, but you got through it, and now you can sort it out properly.”

Merlin relaxes just a touch, and Arthur gets the disturbing feeling swelling in his gut that Gwaine knew of Merlin’s (hopefully, former) despairs before the whole... twin thing. When The Warlock finally pulls away, he thankfully looks a little more confident, despite the drying tears on his cheeks; Arthur gives him a soft smile and nods towards the door:

“Tonight, or tomorrow?”

Merlin takes a deep, fortifying breath, and walks towards the door purposefully, wiping his face clean before taking Gwaine’s offered hand in his own:

“Tonight, now. I should... I need to talk to Gaius as well. I’ve been unfairly punishing him for long enough, I think.”

Gwaine smiles understandingly, though Arthur, who rushes to catch up and walk on Merlin’s other side, shakes his head with a frown:

“Not unfairly, Merlin. It would be well within your rights to cut them out of your life for the foreseeable future for this. But I also understand wanting to forgive them so you have more... support. They may not be blood, Merlin, but... they are family, and that’s ok.”

Gwaine gives him an annoyed look at his first words, over Merlin’s shoulder, but doesn’t say anything. Merlin stops in the middle of the hallway, suddenly and without warning, and Gwaine grunts slightly when his arm is pulled back. The Warlock spares him an apologetic smile before turning his gaze to Arthur. Arthur raises an eyebrow, but Merlin tilts his head and frowns:

“Arthur you do know that... I consider you family above all others, right? you’re right, family doesn’t have to be blood,-”

He squeezes Gwaine’s hand, almost subconsciously, and receives a gentle squeeze back:

“-but after what we’ve found out, after all of this, all that we’re doing to... fix it, to fix what was done to us... you’re everything, you’re my brother. Me forgiving Hu... my mother, and Gaius, doesn’t change that I trust you above them, I consider you before them. They’re family, but you’re family first.”

Arthur’s eyes widen slightly at Merlin’s stern assertion, but he wills the tears in his eyes to disappear as he nods once, his jaw clenched with emotion. Merlin smirks slightly and rolls his eyes, muttering something about an “emotionally repressed idiot” before pulling him into an eagerly returned hug. Gwaine just snorts at both of them, happily leaning against the wall with crossed arms as he waits. They pull away fairly quickly, hyper aware of the fact that they were in the middle of the corridor, and whilst basically the whole citadel had picked up on the fact that something had changed, is changing, they didn’t want to let on too much until official public announcements were made.

They hurry in their journey to the Physician’s chambers, it was getting late and they wanted to sort this out as soon as possible; Gods know Merlin isn’t going to sleep a wink until he's spoken to his mother again.

They pause momentarily outside the door, taking deep breaths as they attempt to block out the hushed conversations coming from inside, not wanting to eavesdrop. Merlin turns to Gwaine with a nervous frown:

“Would you mind... waiting out here? Just for a minute?”

Gwaine gives him a soft smile and nods, pressing a kiss to his forehead and muttering “Call for me when you want me to come in, alright? I’m not going anywhere.” before giving Arthur an encouraging clap on the shoulder and stepping back to lean against the opposite wall.

Arthur sends a grateful smile the knight’s way, receiving a respectful nod in return, before he turns to the door. After a nod from Merlin, he raises a hand that shakes only slightly, and knocks. The murmured conversations stop immediately, and Gaius’ voice calls out:

“Enter.”

With one last look to each other, the brothers open the door and walk in together, shutting it gently behind them and turning to face the shocked pair. Hunith stares at Merlin with tears in her hopeful eyes, but Gaius quickly clears his throat and stands straight:

“How can I help, My Lords?”

Arthur sighs and Merlin shakes his head at the Physician’s formal address of them, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes before taking a small step forward :

“Don’t... I’m not... just Merlin, please.-”

His voice is quiet and tired, and the pleading tone it takes on deepens Arthur’s frown. He lets out a shaky breath, biting his lip before looking up to Hunith and continuing:

“-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. And I didn’t have any right to say those things; you’re... you’re nothing like Uther, and you did your best in a terrifying situation. You didn’t know any better, I shouldn’t blame you for how I turned out.”

Hunith’s tears overflow once again, and she takes in a shuddering breath as she steps hesitatingly towards the Warlock:

“Oh, my boy, you were right. I wasn’t ready to lose you, and I let that fear overcloud my judgement of what I knew to be right. I’m so sorry sweetheart, I should have told you who you were a long time ago, and it wasn’t fair of me to expect Gaius to carry on the lie, especially when you met Arthur, and especially when he found out about your magic.”

With that, Merlin pulls her into a tight hug, height difference be damned as he buries his face in her neck and shakes. Arthur gulps as he looks upon the scene, sharing a small, mournful smile with Gaius, the Physician understanding The Regent’s forgiveness in the small nod of his head. The hug doesn’t last quite as long as Arthur was expecting, though he supposes that forgiveness is more than just saying it aloud, and Merlin still has a great deal of self-worth related issues to get over, thanks to Hunith’s overly cautious raising of the boy. The Warlock clears his throat, his hands still on his mother’s shoulders as he gives her a weak smile:

“Igraine says thank you, by the way, for raising me with so much love.”

Hunith lets out a small chuckle, wiping away Merlin’s tears with soft hands:

“It was my honour,  I’m glad that your... mother, is pleased.”

Merlin’s frown is brief, and he responds quickly:

“You’re my mother.”

Hunith’s smile grows, as does Merlin’s and she nods shakily, almost whispering:

“Ok... I... ok.”

Merlin lets go hesitatingly, but turns to Gaius after a moment or two. The Physician quickly interrupts anything the younger man could have said with a shake of his head and a soft smile, pulling him into a hug as he softly speaks:

“It’s alright, my boy. You were well within your rights to be angry, we had no right to lie to you in such a way.”

With Gaius and Merlin’s soft conversation happening to the side of the room, Hunith turns to Arthur with a hopeful smile on her face. He returns it faintly, and she pulls him into his own hug. He stiffens in her hold, wide eyes darting around the room as he clenches his hands at his side. It only takes her stroking a hand through his knotted hair for him to relax and hug her back:

“I’m honoured to have been able to raise your brother, Arthur, and I am sorry for keeping him from you for so long, it was selfish of me. I didn’t consider what you were losing, in not knowing that you weren’t alone, only what I would lose should I tell the truth.”

Arthur gulps and nods, but tightens his hold on her as the tears come to his eyes:

“It’s... ok. I understand, I think. The danger you put yourself in to raise and protect him was immense, I just wished I’d known sooner, so I could have done all of this sooner.”

They pull back, but Hunith keeps a tight hold on Arthur’s shoulders, an assessing frown on her face as she raises a hand to cup his cheek. Arthur leans into it, blushing slightly under her motherly gaze:

“I know. But you’re doing wonderfully, Arthur. You and Merlin will be the saviours of this Kingdom, I’m sure of it. Your mother would be so proud of you.”

A tear slips loose from Arthur’s eye as he harshly bites his lip. His voice comes out small and unsure, and Hunith has to resist the urge to pull him into another hug:

“You think?”

She just smiles and nods instead:

“I’m sure.”

Merlin and Gaius look upon the scene fondly, and Arthur’s blush deepens when he catches them staring. He steps back from Hunith who smirks at him knowingly as he frowns at Merlin:

“Shut up, Merlin.”

He just laughs and shakes his head:

“I always knew you had a soft spot for my mum.”

The Regent shakes his head and rolls his eyes, ignoring Merlin’s continued laughter:

“Either of you eaten? I’m starved.”

Gaius and Hunith’s smiles come a lot easier at that, and they shake their heads. Arthur leads the way out of the chambers, smiling and nodding at Gwaine’s raised eyebrow. The knight returns the smile, quickly sidling up to Merlin and re-taking his hand as Arthur speaks:

“I’ll let the kitchens know to have five meals sent up to my chambers, I’ll see you there in a moment.”

They part ways in the corridor, all of them with easy smiles and lighter hearts, especially when Gwaine eagerly regales his interpretation of Arthur’s reaction to having to crown him.

~

The next morning was once again tense. Arthur’s assertion late last night that he intended to finally deal with Uther weighs heavy in everyone’s minds.

Hunith and Gaius are once again tucked safely into the Physician’s chambers, and all of the King’s most trusted knights are called to stand guard in the corridor. Merlin and Arthur wear their smart clothes (a suggestion by Morgana that Gwaine thought was funny enough that he begged and begged until Merlin gave in), and they take in with them Leon and Morgana. 

Uther looks manic, his hair unkept, his face unshaven. His clothes are clean at least, but they’re rumpled, likely due to the near constant pacing of the former King. The room is dark, the curtains obviously haven’t been opened in several days, but the dim candles highlight the mess throughout the room. Uther may still be being passed meals by the guards, but out of concern for the staff’s safety, no servants were granted access to tidy or otherwise serve. 

His head whips around when the door opens, his enraged face turning red at the four people stood smartly by his door. He storms towards them, but Morgana, no longer scared of the consequences, holds a hand out and mutters a few golden words, halting him in his tracks. He apparently hasn’t lost his voice though, as he turns to Merlin:

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY DAUGHTER?! YOU-”

Merlin rolls his eyes and clicks his fingers, his eyes also turning golden as Uther’s mouth shuts with a clack. Leon manages to hold his smirk in, just stands still as the perfect guard, his hand on the hilt of his sword, but Morgana doesn’t even try, smiling openly. Merlin holds Uther’s furious gaze for a few more moments before looking to Arthur at his side, tilting his head in question. The Regent nods at him before stepping forward, his back straight and his face and voice Kingly:

“You will listen, and you will listen well, because I will not repeat myself. You are the only abomination in this room, and you will live with that for the rest of your days. How long that is, is up to you. I am Regent, soon enough I will be King, Myrddin will be Crown Prince, and Morgana will be Princess; when that happens, magic will finally be fully legalised, and the public will be made aware of your crimes. I will not hide things from my people, not like you have. No matter what you deserve, I struggle to bring myself to sentence you to execution, and you’ll be humiliated to learn, I imagine, that Merlin argued in favour of letting you keep your head when I brought it up.-”

Uther glances angrily at Merlin, but looks back to Arthur when he realises that he’s still incapable of speaking:

“-Therefor your options are as follows: You may go to the summer home on the coast, where you will be under constant guard, but will otherwise have a semi-free life. You will stay in Camelot, but live out the remainder of your days in this room only. Or me and Merlin will take a week long trip away to, say, Nemeth, whilst Princess Morgana and Sir Leon announce, organise, and undergo your execution. You have today to decide, we’ll be back this evening.”

Arthur doesn’t bother waiting for a reaction, turning his back on Uther and gesturing the others to lead the way through the door. He pauses momentarily, one hand on the door frame as he turns back, a mournful frown on his face as he quietly speaks:

“If you had just told the truth, if you had just owned up to making a mistake, you, me, Myrddin, Morgana, we... we could have been a family. You’re the one that ruined that, you’re the one that tore us apart, and I swear to you now, that whatever option you pick, I will never forgive you.”

That only seems to enrage Uther more, but Arthur isn’t quite sure why he bothered to hope for another reaction. He shuts the door behind him, waving at Merlin to reset the magical locks as he sighs and rubs tired hands over his face:

“Well at least that’s over and done with.”

Leon pats him on the shoulder consolingly, and Elyan raises an eyebrow, glancing around at the others and sighing when he realises no one else is going to ask:

“He didn’t take it well then, I’m guessing?”

Arthur takes a deep breath and stands straight, shaking his head. Morgana is the one to answer however, and Arthur appreciates the way she makes a genuine attempt to keep the humour out of her voice:

“No, he wasn’t best pleased, but I think he’s accepted that he has well and truly lost this battle. Something he’s not entirely used to, I suppose.”

The knights nod in understanding, and Merlin lets out a deep breath, tilting his head slightly:

“Weird to think that he’s my... dad... ugh.”

They all chuckle at that, even Arthur, though they all stop with concerned frowns when Merlin suddenly straightens up with wide eyes and an open mouth:

“Oh... my God... how did I...- What?!”

Arthur puts a hand on his shoulder, his frown deepening:

“Merls?”

The Warlock just ignores him, turning to Morgana with still wide eyes:

“You’re my sister! I’ve been focusing so much on how Arthur’s my brother that I didn’t even consider the fact that you’re my sister!”

Morgana takes in a sudden breath, and all bar Leon (who just raises an eyebrow and then rolls his eyes when he realises that he’s the only one unsurprised by this) stare at the two of them in shock. Morgana slowly pulls Merlin into a hug, and the two of them clutch each other tightly as a grin grows on Arthur’s face. Leon gives him another clap on the back, this one more congratulatory (if a little confused. Honestly, how did they miss that?), and the others cheer just as Gwen turns the corner into the corridor. She smiles confusedly at Merlin and Morgana, still hugging, as she sidles up to Leon, whispering:

“What’s the occasion? They find Uther dead?”

Leon laughs but shakes his head, leaning down to mutter his response:

“They only just now figured out that they’re siblings.”

She looks up to him quickly with a disbelieving raise of the eyebrows:

“Wait, just now as in, just now?-”

Leon smirks and nods firmly, and Gwen shakes her head as she laughs:

“-It’s been almost a week.”

Leon laughs as well leaning against the wall as the others chatter excitedly among themselves:

“Yeah, apparently you and I are the only ones who had considered the idea. These are all the smartest people I’ve ever come across...”

He trails off, but Gwen looks up at him with a teasing smirk:

“And yet sometimes...?”

They both laugh quietly, shaking their heads when Percival catches their eyes and tilts his head in question.

The group walks away soon enough, heading to one of the smaller dining rooms for an early lunch and a chance to discuss their intentions for this afternoon’s council meeting. Morgana, Merlin, and Arthur walk together, and conversation flows between all bar Gwaine, who stares at the back of his now betrothed’s head with the quiet adoration and lowly simmering excitement of someone that knew the man he loves is finally getting all that he deserves.

~

END of Part 3!!!

Part 4 will be VERY short. Will be just about post coronation and public announcement, will probably contain Merwaine’s wedding, some casual magic, some more family bonding.

I hope y’all enjoyed this!!! I wrote it surprisingly quickly once I set my mind to it

[nonotnolan]

Fiverr Warlock: On The House

“I like to meet up in person with all of my potential clients,” Calvin said, ushering me inside with a wide smile.  “If nothing else, it keeps people from wasting my time with inane questions.  If you’re willing to meet with me, it means that you’re serious about paying for my services.  Soda?”

He snapped his fingers, and a guy wearing a tuxedo walked into the room, holding a silver tray balanced with a few cans of Mountain Dew.  Was this... his roommate?  They looked to be the same age, but the blank expression on the servant’s face seemed to be due to more than just acting.  “Umm, no thanks,” I said, trying not to stare too hard.

“Suit yourself,” Calvin said, shrugging his shoulders.  He snapped his fingers, and the butler left the room.  “So, tell me more about the guy that is bugging you.  He’s your roommate, you said?”

I took a deep breath.  “Yeah.  His name is Jake, and he’s making my life hell right now.  I’m... not completely out of the closet.  My father threatened to not pay for college if I didn’t rush Sigma Epsilon Chi, and so now I’m surrounded by a lot of hot guys all the damn time.  Which... I know it sounds like a dream, and it almost would be, except for Jake.  He’s aggressively homophobic, and I’m afraid what he might do to me if he finds out.  Umm, here’s the photo of him you requested,” I said, sliding my phone over to him.

Calvin’s eyebrows shot up at the sight of him.  “I was not expecting him to be so large,” he admitted.  “And you’re telling me you just want to have the threat removed?  You don’t want to make him gay, you don’t want to steal his muscles for yourself, you just... want him to stop being homophobic?”

“That’s right,” I said, nodding my head.  “Less angry in general would also be nice, but I don’t know if I can afford that.  I know warlock magic can get expensive.”

Calvin handed me back my phone.  “I have to admit, most of the requests people pay me for are usually more... revenge based in nature.  This might actually work out in your favor.  I assume you’re not attached to the guy in any way?”  He smiled, noticing the look of confusion on my face.  “My magic has a hard time with subtle.  It’ll be easier to slip in a few curses along with removing his anger and homophobia.  So, if you agree to let me steal his strength for myself, I’ll give you a massive discount.  Say... $50 for the whole job?”

“That low?  You’ve got a deal!”  I was expecting to spend a few hundred on this spell-- drinks were going to be on me this weekend.  “He’s usually outside on the smoker’s balcony on Saturday afternoons.  With any luck, he’ll be alone out there.  Can... can I watch you do it?”

————————————————–

Jake looked up from his spot on the bench.  “And who the hell are you?” he said, as Calvin walked out onto the balcony.  “How did you get in the building?  Don’t tell me you’re friends with him,” he added, as I walked out behind him.

“You really are a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Calvin said, rubbing his hands together.  Jake started shifting in his seat, probably preparing to try and get up into Calvin’s face, but the warlock had other plans.  He tapped Jake lightly on the forehead, causing the lumbering brute to slump backwards.

“This is my favorite part,” Calvin said, as a wide grin flashed across his face.  “Let me know if you see anyone coming, alright?”  He stood over Jake’s unconscious body, with his right hand extended out over the jock’s chest.  For a few moments, I wasn’t sure if anything was even happening.  I was expecting something quick, like a balloon deflating.  It wasn’t until the wet spot started to form on his shorts that I realized what was actually happening.

“Is he... getting a boner?” I asked, unable to keep my eyes away from what had to be at least seven inches as it strained against its fabric prison.  Jake was starting to leak precum, based on the spot on his shorts.

“I mean, there are other ways to steal someone’s strength, but... personally, I’m a big fan of any spell with unusual visuals.  Besides, I figured you might like to see this method.”  Jake’s body slumped down further against the wall as his body started to orgasm.  His erect cock bobbed up and down with each spurt of jizz, causing the wet stain to grow larger and larger.

The smell of sweat, salt, and sex permeated the air, and it took me a few moments to realize that Jake’s muscles were finally deflating.  Was he... jizzing his muscles away?  I didn’t understand what was happening, but I couldn’t deny that it looked hot.

“Alright, that’s the entire spell,” Calvin said, once Jake’s cock had stopped moving.  “I’ve taken as much muscle mass as I can take without creating bigger issues.  As far as the reason you came to me... all of his homophobia, and most of his quick temper, has just been splashed against the fabric of his boxers.  He’s going to be disoriented for a day or two, but he shouldn’t remember anything.  As long as you lie in a consistent way, you should be able to tell him whatever you want.”

Jake began to stir, as if being roused from a deep sleep.  “Why are you... oh, shit!” he cried, suddenly aware of the massive stain on the front of his shorts.  He leapt to his feet, vainly covering the spot with one of his hands as he fumbled with the door.  “Gotta change, sorry!”

“Did he just... apologize?” I asked, looking at Calvin.

He merely smiled at me.  “I mean, we did just remove a lot of anger out of his body.  That’s going to have a major impact on his personality.  You’re probably going to notice a lot of changes, hopefully most of them being for the better.  Also, don’t be surprised if he starts hitting on you.”

I blinked a few times, trying to process that last sentence.  “I thought you said that you weren’t going to make him gay.  Why would he hit on me?”

Calvin laughed.  “I said I wouldn’t force him to be gay.  But any time someone shows that much homophobia... well, he might have been a repressed gay who was lashing out.  If that’s the case, he might be more open to coming out and accepting himself.  But honestly, it’s also possible that the old Jake was just that much of an asshole.  Either way, if he decides to come out of the closet soon, I had nothing to do with it.”

I thought about the large, massive douchebag that I used to be forced to share a room with, and compared him to the slender guy who rushed past me, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.  “Well, if he does?  I’m sure I could do worse.”

[chibi-tsukiko]

Five More Minutes

A Malec fic inspired by the song "The End of the World" by Billie Eilish because it’s all over TikTok and I can't get it out of my head.

I hope you like it 🙈

click on title to read on AO3 or scroll below

Tag list : @legendofconsullightwood @themostawesomehuman @littleturtle95 @tobeornottobetequila @morgnstern @zfoxdraws @bookworm-jedi @magnus-the-maqnificent @banesbitch @fair-but-wilde-child @beclynn-herondale @khaleesiofalicante @my-archerboy @youngreckless @thomaslightwood @runecarstairs @high-warlock-of-brooklyn @itsdaughterofthemoon

Magnus wakes to a high-pitched beeping. He flicks his wrist to silence the sound, keeping his eyes closed. The room is dark, but he can feel the warmth of the sun on his back as the first rays peek through the curtains. For a second he thinks the sound was an accident, a hallucination even, but then he feels the bed shift beside him. Guilt pinches him as he realizes he unconsciously shut off Alec’s alarm, but he shakes it off. He’s exhausted. They both are. Life has never been easy for them, but this past month has felt like every obstacle got together and hit at once. It’s been nonstop. Quality time has become getting dressed together, a quick kiss goodbye at the door, dinner, when they can both manage it, and the few brief moments before sleep takes hold. Neither of them are ungrateful for the roles they’ve earned, Magnus couldn’t be prouder, but they have needs too. Alec isn’t the only one who gets grumpy without his morning cuddles. They’re in desperate need of a vacation, and the second Magnus finds a window amongst the chaos, he’s whisking them away. Far away. Someplace tropical, with no cell service.

He feels a gentle press of lips on his temple, he hums, and presses his face into the pillow, hoping the bed will swallow him. And then more beeping starts. This time, from his own cellphone.

Magnus groans as he reaches to shut the accursed noise off right as the water from the shower starts. He flops back down onto his stomach, muffling a whine. He’s not ready yet.

Five more minutes.

——————————————————

He should really take a break, Magnus thinks as he summons two more books from his library. He’s been at this for days. When was the last time he slept? Tuesday? What day is it now? It doesn’t matter. He slides the plate of food Alec had left him this morning aside so he can set the books down; it clinks against the other plates. He should really just move them to the kitchen. Stepping around his desk towards the cabinet on the other side of the room, he nearly trips over himself. You need sleep. But he can’t stop. It’s been almost a week now since Catarina had come to him about a strange sickness she’d been encountering at the hospital. A week since Alec had been tracking a series of magical explosions that had been occurring throughout the city. A week since they’d started discovering the bodies of children in the streets. Almost a week since Magnus finallyconnected the events. Too long. Now he was in a race against time. He adds more ingredients to the potion and gives it a quick stir.

They haven’t found the coward whose chosen to experiment on these children. When they do, Magnus hopes to have a moment alone before Alec hands them over to the Clave. For now, Magnus can at least put his skills to use and create a cure for the illness before it claims more lives while his anger festers.

He flips through another book, while simultaneously sending one back to the library, and summoning three more. He barely registers the press in his wards, the shuffling of feet, or the hand on his shoulder. Alec says something to him, but he doesn’t really hear. He nods, answering to what, he’s not sure. He leans back over the cauldron, giving it another stir. He’s so close.

Five more minutes.

————————————————

They’ve been here for hours. Magnus is nursing his third drink of the night, his eyes never losing sight of the server as he weaves around the other guests. Despite how often he complains about attending High Warlock meetings, he’d rather listen to those old fools reminisce than another false retelling of the Claves’ accomplishments. Magnus does his best not to correct them, he even bites his tongue when they slip in a snide comment or two. It’s not worth it, he tells himself. Alec stays by his side the whole time, unwavering, but Magnus doesn’t miss the way his shoulders sag in relief each time their conversation with officials gets interrupted. Or how he squeezes Magnus’ hand whenever someone remarks about the company he keeps.

It’s nothing Magnus hasn’t heard before, nothing he doesn’t prep for before these gatherings, but that doesn’t mean Alec deserves to hear it. He can’t do anything too outlandish, but he can cause a few drink spills. Alec catches him a few times and Magnus hides his smirk behind his glass while Alec nudges him with his shoulder.

By drink number four, Magnus is at his breaking point. He’s counted the tiles on the floor a dozen times and he’s got a tension headache forming at the back of his skull. Suddenly, Alec is tugging him away, mid-conversation, cutting through the crowd, unconcerned by the sideward glances. He finds a quiet corner at the end of the hallway and Magnus starts to ask what’s wrong, but Alec kisses the question from his lips, crowding him against the stone wall.

Magnus gasps when they part, his fingers curling into Alecs jacket as he presses their bodies together. Alec’s breath is hot against his throat and Magnus has to stifle a moan. Alec shifts to cup Magnus’ face with his hands, sliding their lips back together. It’s gentler this time, slower, and Magnus hums into it. Then all too soon Alec is pulling back, Magnus keeps his eyes closed, leaning forward to chase after the kiss. Alec mutters something about returning to the event, but Magnus isn’t ready yet.

So he wraps his arms around Alec’s neck and kisses him, soft and languid.

Five more minutes.

——————————————

Magnus’ ears are ringing. His once quiet loft, now echoes with a cacophony of shrieks and giggles. He leans against the door frame of his bedroom, a warm smirk spreading on his face. He watches his heart as it twists, turns, and jumps on the massive king sized bed. A tangled mess of ivory, chestnut, and cerulean. In his hundreds of years, he never imagined he would have this. He longed for it, hoped for it, but never expected it. Yet here it is, right in front of him. Who knew the world could fit on a single mattress. Who knew that centuries of life would pale compared to moments like this: Sunday afternoons watching his husband play with their sons.

Sons. He has sons. He’s married. The words send fireworks through his body, he never tires of saying them. He feels so full.

Alec flips both boys onto their back and moves their shirts subtly before blowing raspberries on their stomachs. The room explodes with laughter, and god Magnus wants to drown in the sound.

Alec catches his eye and sends Magnus a knowing smile. Their boys immediately tackle the distracted Shadowhunter, chanting for Magnus to join them. He knows that this time is fleeting. He’s heard from Catarina’s experience, seen it himself each time Jocelyn brought Clary to his door. Children grow fast. Soon they’ll be moving on and moving out, starting their own lives. If Magnus blinks, he might miss it. So he relishes in these moments where he can step back and soak it in. He leaps onto the bed, basking in the euphoria he’s found, gripping it like a vise.

Five more minutes.

—————————————

Magnus can’t breathe. He’s dizzy with nausea, and there’s a throbbing sensation at the back of his head. He’s vaguely aware of the surrounding commotion. His mind registers voices around him, but they’re muffled as if he’s being held underwater. He feels heavy, like someone has tied anchors to each of his limbs. Everything seems to move in slow motion, and Magnus can’t make heads or tails of it.

Amongst the haze, his focus finds his husband’s face. He’s beautiful, Magnus thinks. Not just in his features, the softness of his skin, the hue of his eyes, but in his soul, his stead-fast nature, and the way he loves. Magnus can’t believe how lucky he is. His vision tunnels, fading black from the corners, and he closes his eyes to gain composure, only to snap them back open in a panic. Afraid he’ll miss something.

How did they get here? It was supposed to be their day off. Magnus had planned a full day of lounging on the couch, but the universe had other plans, it seems. He should have silenced Alec’s phone.

The world tilts on its axes, and Magnus wills himself to stay in the moment. The hand in his is hot, he squeezes it, desperate to commit the feeling to memory. Alec’s face blurs and Magnus is quick to blink, tears smearing the kohl around his eyes. He looks disheveled, he’s sure, but he can’t care. He just needs to focus.

Please, he begs as another wave hits him.

Five more minutes.

[rax-writes]

Full Circle

Fandom:  The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Pairing:  Nicholas Scratch x Reader

Warnings:  None

Notes:  This is based on a song that’s become popular very recently, so you could try to determine what it is as you read, if you want. I’ll link the song at the end in case you didn’t figure it out, or to listen to the song if you’ve never heard it. ☺

Being a hopeless romantic was practically a curse for a witch. Your kind wasn’t made for love. Lust, desire, sex – all of those things came easily for witches and warlocks. But love was a different matter entirely. You knew it was foolish to allow that particular emotion to creep into your heart, but all the mortal romance novels you’d read left you willing to be foolish.

A few months after engaging in a strictly sexual relationship with Nicholas Scratch, you confessed to him that you no longer wished to continue the affair unless he was willing to incorporate romance into the mix. He was hesitant at first, but didn’t want to lose the way your attention and affection made him feel important, valued, and cared for, so he complied. He took you on dates, bought you flowers every Tuesday, let you wear his jacket, cuddled together as you watched movies and read magical novels. He even wrote a poem for you, which he turned into a song with some assistance from the acoustic guitar he borrowed from the choir instructor. The dashing warlock swept you off your feet, and you had never been happier.

Then Sabrina Spellman came into the picture.

You truly had nothing against the plucky, young, promising witch. It was Nick who posed a problem. Ever since she arrived at the Academy, you felt him slipping away from you. He stopped buying you flowers. The dates became few and far between. He slowly took each of his jackets back. But all the while, he used that enthralling, silken voice of his to supply you with thinly-veiled lies of reassurance.

“There’s nothing between Sabrina and I, babe. And besides, she has a mortal boyfriend. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, alright?”

It wasn’t long before his story changed.

“Being with you has been amazing, and you’ve opened my mind to the possibility of love for our kind. I love you so much, and I always will, but…. I won’t lie to you, there’s someone else. And I can’t, in good conscience, stay with you while having feelings for another person. That’s not fair to you. I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry.”

The contradiction of Nick’s lie of reassurance and his words as he crushed your heart never left your mind… nor did your love for him. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake how much your heart yearned for his touch, his kiss, his scent, his voice. It felt like a knife in the chest when you saw him and Sabrina together, shortly after the break up, and you weren’t the least bit surprised that she turned out to be the “someone else.” Nick constantly looked at her with more love and adoration than he’d ever shown you, and it never ceased to hurt.

Nevertheless, you did the only thing you could: you carried on. Ignored the pain. Shoved your unyielding love for him to the back of your mind. You continued your studies, and your dedication to the coven. You aided your cohorts, even Sabrina, in all of the coven’s efforts. Unfortunately, that included helping Nick become a flesh Acheron for Satan, then saving him, and watching from the sidelines as he struggled to cope with the lingering effects of being trapped in his own body with the Devil. Eventually, there came a time when the coven experienced a small dose of reprieve. Hecate became your new deity, the coven’s powers were restored, the Pagans had been driven out of Greendale, and all seemed to be right with the world. Drinking away your troubles, alone in your room with a hundred-year-old bottle of Scotch, had sounded like a fine way to spend a Monday evening – until Nick walked up to you, as you sat outside on the stairs of the Academy, enjoying the cool night air.

“Hey.”

One word. One, simple word was all he mustered up to say to you, despite the fact that it was your first private exchange since the break up. So, you merely echoed it.

“Hey.”

Nick just stood there, before joining you on the stairs, a few feet away from you. The two of you sat there in silence for several minutes before you became the first to speak again.

“Don’t you have some pretty blonde to be hanging out with right now? You know, the one who always made me doubt, yet you constantly assured me I had nothing to worry about?” you retorted, the liquor in your system acting as a conduit for your raw truth. You let out a dry, bitter laugh. “In all honesty, I suppose I can’t blame you for choosing her over me. She’s so much more powerful and skilled than I am. Now that I think about it, she’s the personification of everything I’m insecure about.”

Nick looked at you with sorrowful eyes, before looking away again, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you and see how much pain you were in, even after all this time.

“Sabrina and I broke up.”

The hot mess mixture of feelings that flooded you was practically dizzying. Admittedly, his statement initially filled you with hope. Perhaps this meant he’d give being with you another shot? This was immediately followed by anger – first toward yourself, for being so stupidly optimistic and naïve, then toward him. Did he come here to tell you that, assuming you’d forgive him and everything would go back to the way things were, as if you would be excited to be the consolation prize?

Too dazed by the dichotomy of your thoughts, you said nothing in response. He took your silence as an invitation to continue.

“Turns out, we were a lot less compatible than I originally thought. I thought she was the one. I was willing to die for her…” Nick mused, then trailed off before exhaling and continuing. “I didn’t die, but I did do something much worse – all for her. It didn’t matter in the end, though. We just weren’t meant for each other.”

“You have a lot of nerve to come to me thinking I give a single, solitary fuck about your feelings for her,” you snapped, and your eyes met for a moment then, but he averted his gaze. There was a poignant and tense silence before he spoke again.

“Can I ask you something?” Nick inquired, appearing extremely pensive. “Did you ever stop loving me?”

“No. Not for a second, despite my best efforts,” you replied honestly, and he smiled sadly at your quip as he looked down. “I know we weren’t perfect, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone. That’s why I can’t imagine how you were so okay when I was gone, after we’d broken up…. I guess you didn’t mean what you wrote in that song about me. Because you said ‘forever,’ now I spend every day alone and missing you.”

“I meant every word of that song,” Nick replied earnestly.

“Please don’t, Nick. Let’s just end this conversation here. I don’t even know why we’re discussing this,” you whispered, shaking your head and closing your eyes, as if that would somehow prevent his words from sinking in. You stood and took a couple steps toward the door of the Academy.

“Will you please just hear me out?”

“Why should I?” you yelled, turning to him with a blend of hurt and rage written all over your face, although the rage was what overcame your voice.

“Because I still fucking love you!” Nick shouted, his voice ripe with conviction. He exhaled loudly, then ran his hands over his face and leaned back on the staircase. “In that song, I wrote that I’d love you forever. And you may find it hard to believe, but I’ve never stopped loving you. I won’t deny that I loved Sabrina too, but I’ve realized with hindsight that it was a combination of infatuation and love – more so infatuation. But with you, it was only ever love. A deep, genuine, natural, true love.”

You found yourself somewhere between confused and shocked. What he said made no sense to you, because you’d spent this long believing that he hadn’t given you a second thought since getting with Sabrina. Yet here he was, pouring his heart out to you, and telling you that he still loves you.

Nick stood and took a couple steps toward you, now arm’s length away.

“I know I don’t deserve it, so I won’t fault you in the least if you say no, but…. Would you be willing to give me another chance?”

You looked at him then – really looked at him. You studied him thoroughly, and stared deep into those big, brown eyes of his, which held so much vulnerability, contrition, pain… and love.

“Don’t fuck it up this time, Scratch. I’ll take your life if you do. That’s a promise.”

The very next morning, a beautiful bouquet of blood red roses awaited you in the hallway outside your bedroom door.

Driver’s License – Olivia Rodrigo

[blu-archer]

Forgive?

Right...

I have these moments in writing when I get hit with a sudden realization that I have no idea what relationships are like, so if you notice anything that doesn’t quite add up... it’s because I’m winging the shit out of this

Standardly, there will probably be errors because its a common occurrence with me and I’m just embracing it at this point

anyway..

Sickie: Tae

Caretaker: like Jhope/Jin/Kook 

Cold/Snz based [although I feel like I drifted on things]

AU: Magic and hybrids exist

[mild language]

word count:  4560

*

*

*

*

Jungkook had to force himself to not snap at Taehyung when the witch had decided to follow him into the kitchen after Jungkook had specifically said he was going there to study in silence. He had to bite his tongue when his thought pattern had been abruptly cut off by Taehyung complaining about how his throat hurt or how tired he was.

If he was tired he could go sleep, and leave Jungkook in peace, but that seemed too much to hope for.

Feeling a warm weight press up against his back as he hunched over his notes, Jungkook let out a low growl. The weight didn’t disappear, then again he hadn’t really expected Tae to abide by his study rules when the elder had woken up in a much similar state as their universal favourite cat hybrid had been in just a few days prior. Jungkook felt awful for him sure, and concerned and empathetic, and a huge part of him wanted to just leave his work and hold the elder until he was content, but he had a paper that needed to be written up within two days that he had completely forgotten about as well as continue studying for his art history exam that was the following week. His jaw ached from how much he had been grinding his teeth and his head pounded with the beginnings of what he hoped wouldn’t lead to a migraine. He just couldn’t focus and Tae’s noise making and constant need for cuddles was distracting him from his work.

 “Taehyung.” Jungkook pushed back against the other so that he could relieve himself of the body weight, not bothering to look up from his notes to see the witch giving his signature sick-pout at him. “Can you please stay away from me right now, why don’t you go lie down or something. You are literally one big germ and I can’t afford to get sick again so soon after the last time. Especially not in the middle of my exams. I need to focus.”

 Taehyung sniffed thickly before collapsing into the seat beside the bunny, wiping his nose on the edge of the blanket that he had wrapped around him. He kept staring his boyfriend, coughing miserably only to be ignored. Yet neither of them were willing to complain about the others lack of helpfulness, rather it became a test of who would cave to the others vibes of annoyance first.

Tae was progressively getting more and more whiny, and Jungkook was gnawing down on the back of his pencil to keep from saying anything that he would regret later. He wanted to go lie down with his sick boyfriend just as much as said boyfriend did, but he didn’t have the time nor the ability to risk his health – not when he was so close to being finished with his finals for the year.

 “Kook…” Taehyung coughed softly before hooking his finger in the side pocket of Jungkook’s sweatpants, continuing with a strained voice. “You’ve been here for hours…. It’s cold in the bedroom alone.”

 Jungkook ran a hand through his hair,  giving a harsh tug on his one long, black ear to keep from letting out the frustration that had built in his throat. “Hobi should be back soon and while I’ve been here for hours, Tae, you have successfully made sure that my focus has been on everything except my work. So I’m going to be here for hours more.”

 “Uh..” Taehyung sniffled and pulled away. “Sorry, you’re right. I’ll just…”

 He stood up and shuffled from the kitchen without another word, realising that the bunny hybrid had returned his focus to his laptop and the pages scattered on the table.

*

Jungkook hadn’t even realised how much time had passed by the time he gave in to the aches of hunger in his stomach. In fact, he had thought that Taehyung would have wondered in asking for food or cuddles well before he would have decided to call it a day, but he hadn’t seen or heard of the elder since earlier that morning. He had probably managed to fall asleep, which was good. The witch had definitely been overworking himself to try and improve on what Namjoon and Yoongi had been teaching him, it was almost frustrating to watch Taehyung push and struggle through things that always seemed to come naturally to others. It’s not like he did bad at everything, once he is able to decipher and control his magic properly everything will come to him easier than the common witch or warlock – he was technically a mix of both, he’d be more powerful than a lot of people. He just needed to over come a few things first, and perhaps take a step back from experimentations until he actually had the control needed for it – but Jungkook was willing to stay and support him no matter what methods or route he took to achieve what he wanted. Even if that meant having to deal with a few potion after effects or a mass clean up after a spell went haywire – he’d come back to a flooded apartment more than once, one time Tae had even accidentally made it snow in their home for the three days straight and it had only been fixed through the help of Yoongi.

In any case, he was glad that the elder was resting now. Feeling relieved at how much work he had managed to get finished – he just needed to proofread and edit some sections of his essay before submitting – Jungkook decided to get started on making some food. It was a little early for dinner, but considering how tired he was, and no doubt after a day of teaching with extra class sessions after school Hobi will be too, it was probably for the best that a meal was made earlier so they could go to sleep quicker. Taehyung never really had much of an appetite when he wasn’t feeling well, so it would be much easier to get something in him before it got too dark.

He called Yoongi for the recipe of japchae that elder had shared with himself and Tae a couple of times, which had taken a while to connect and he’d been chewed out for apparently waking the elder – another person succumbed to sickness – but it was worth it. Taehyung had become obsessed with it, claiming that the only thing that could top it was his mother’s food and maybe Jin’s famous bibimbap, so hopefully he’d eat without too much of a fuss. Jungkook felt a little bad at having ignored the elder so blatantly earlier, but on an upside he’d managed to get a huge chunk of his work done, so when Tae woke up Jungkook would just have to make up for his actions earlier. Maybe if he made some of that tea that the witch enjoyed so much as well… and something to watch while laying together. Tae loved dramas. Cuddles and dramas. A solid plan.

He got to work on chopping up various vegetables while he waited for the water for the noodles to boil, his mind flicking through the series of tasks he’d set to make his boyfriend feel better.

 **

 Taehyung had given himself exactly fifteen minutes to cry, which was as long as he’d managed to walk before he’d caved and waved down a taxi to take him the rest of the way to his friends place. From then he had scrambled to try dry his eyes and blow his nose into the handful of tissues he’d stuffed into the deep pockets of his coat before having left. Doing anything to seem remotely okay in case Jin was busy and couldn’t let him stay, he didn’t want the elder witch to feel pressured into keeping him company.

The warmth of the taxi had caused his stuffy nose to start running at an annoying rate and he was regretting not bringing a mask. Although he hadn’t given his actions much thought besides tossing on a sweater and coat, switching his pajama bottoms for a pair of black sweatpants before slipping on sneakers and walking out – he hadn’t even tried to be quiet but Jungkook hadn’t seemed to really care what he did, as long as it wasn’t around him.

Taehyung shook his head, burrowing deeper into his coat and training his eyes on the blurring world outside as he got closer to Jin’s house. He didn’t want to think about how his chest had pained worse than anything he’d felt that morning when Jungkook had told him to leave. A part of him understood, his boyfriend was probably stressed and had just been saying whatever he needed to in the moment, but Taehyung had still been upset by it.

He sniffed deeply, the thick icky sensation in his throat made him want to do nothing more than be back at home, in bed with his boyfriends gently running their hands through his hair or down his back or just being close to him – the bare minimum at least. Anything.

The car gradually pulled to stop. Tae got out and thanked the driver quickly before needing to cough into his sleeve. The wind whipped at him and his nose twinged as the cold air bit at his now heated skin. If anything, his nose had begun to run even more. He took a moment to blow his nose again, dragging out more than a few bothersome itchy sneezes that had left him leaning heavily on the front gate of Jin and Namjoon’s house to catch his breath.

The blowing hadn’t helped much, his head was heavy and congested, and he just wanted to sleep now. He was so tired.

Coughing downwards as he huddled against the cold and welcomed himself into the couples yard to get to their door, he could only hope that he didn’t look as dreadful as he felt. He didn’t want to be a bother. He just wanted to be around someone, and Hoseok was working, Jimin too, and Yoongi had also been booked off sick and probably wouldn’t even be awake – so this was his last resort.

He knocked on the door, praying that either Namjoon had closed the shop early or Jin had already arrived home from the school days exam schedule. It was a bit of a long shot, but he vaguely remembered Namjoon mentioned during that week that Jin hadn’t been needing to stay as late as usual, and some days didn’t even have to go in to help the second nurse at the school. Taehyung rubbed at his nose and knocked again when the wind shook him with a particularly cold breeze, his breath hitched inevitably once more. Defeated, he hovered a single hand in front of his face and waited, panting desperately with furrowed brows.

..hh..hehh..snff.. .. hhh’Heh’HESHH.. HE’ITSH’UHhh… he’hh..hEHH’TSHH’uh..

 “Taehyung?”

 …heH’HEESHH – HEH’EESH’AH!  

He felt a sturdy hand grip his shoulder and pull him out of the wind, into the warm safety of the house. Jin – because it had to be Jin, even if he wasn’t quite aware of his immediate surroundings with how his head was spinning, Namjoon had never been able to craft the level of concern that Jin was able to put into his voice and touch – kept his hand on Taehyung’s arm as the younger had bent forward to catch  another wet double into his hands, even when he made sure to push his front door shut once more.

Breathless and dripping, Tae was led to the familiar family sized couch that Jin had purchased upon moving into their home. He had claimed it was for guests but Tae had always had a suspicion that it was bought in case Namjoon tried to stay up late and ended up falling asleep while working. It was incredibly comfortable. Taehyung couldn’t help but sigh as he dropped into it with a tired cough.

 “Tae… What are you doing here?” Jin ran a hand through the young witches hair, carefully running his eyes down the mans form as if he could figure out what was happening through sight alone. “Joonie messaged me saying he was working alone today… I would have thought that meant you’d be at home?”

 Taehyung sniffled thickly, blinking away fresh tears before he grabbed the last few of his unused tissues and blew his nose once more. It was beginning to pulse in time with his throbbing headache, and he just knew that it was probably all red from its recent activity. It wouldn’t be much longer before his blowing would make his skin raw.

 He scrunched a tissue into his fist to wipe at his nose gently before he managed to give Jin his full attention. Thankfully the man was patient. “I just.. had to leave. *snf*.  Jungkook needed… space. I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind me coming over..”

 Jin’s lips pursed tightly. The congestion was sinking into Tae’s words in a way that made him think the younger witch definitely shouldn’t have left home. He ran a hand over Taehyung’s cheek to swipe away a stray tear that had slipped out and then leaned in closer. “Well it’s a good thing I love having company. I was just about to go fetch Namjoon, but how about I ask Seokie to do that for me and we can drink some tea and watch a movie.. hmm?”

 Taehyung nodded, letting Jin tug off his coat and shoes before following the momentum from Jin’s hands – pushing him to lie down on the soft couch with the gentle promise of ‘being right back’.

The elder retrieved a pink, fluffy blanket that he tucked around Tae’s body, ‘like a warm hug’, Tae had smiled and pulled it closer to embrace its warmth. Vaguely Taehyung could hear Jin on the phone, once the man had moved to the kitchen to fix up the tea, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus completely on what was being said. His mind was mostly being entertained by the hopes of sleep and trying not to sneeze again, but a part of him was aware that it was probably Hoseok on the other side of the phone. He smothered a cough into the blanket, the force shaking him and paining his throat. He would have groaned if he didn’t know that it would just hurt him more. Just a little more time, and then Hobi will be there with him. That’s all he could wish for.

 He was woken up by a gentle hand shaking his shoulder, and upon blinking his eyes into the light of the afternoon sun,  immediately crumpled forward with  a harsh ‘hehH’ESHEW!’.

 “Bless you…” Jin set down the cup he had been holding to help pull Taehyung to sit upright without the blanket falling from around his shoulders. “I let you sleep for a little bit, because you looked like you needed it, but I want you to drink and eat something too.”

 “mm ‘ot hungry.” He mumbled, letting out a yawn that shifted into an irritated cough that grated at his throat. He took a hold of the cup Jin offer, holding it through the material of the blanket and pulling it closer to rest on his chest.

 “It’s not a lot,” Jin promised. “Just some crackers with your tea.. It’s not negotiable, unfortunately.”

 Jin sat next to him with his own mug of tea and a plate a crackers’ settled on his lap, pointedly being pushed closer to Taehyung. “Tae…. I love having you here, but I want to help if you need me too. Did Jungkook really tell you to leave?”

 Tae hesitated, sniffling thickly as the steam from his tea worked its way to his sinuses. “Not exactly, but… I didn’t feel.. okay.”

 He spoke about how he had woken up sick and what he had been feeling, as well as all of the things Jungkook had been going through with his studies – breezing over vaguely of what had been said that morning – then finally speaking about his decision and plan to come where he would be accepted. Jin listened intently, every so often handing him a tissue or a cracker, depending on what he felt Tae needed more as he snuffled through his words. He didn’t say anything either, just letting Tae lean into him and occasional letting out a soft grunt of disapproval – mainly towards Jungkook’s actions and Tae having thought walking would be a good idea.    

 “I’ll put on a movie, okay?” Jin said softly after Taehyung had admitted to ‘just wanted someone to hold him’ and ‘be there’. If he needed comfort then Jin would provide, he just couldn’t believe Jungkook had shunned his boyfriend. Even if the bunny had needed to focus, he usually always had time to spare for Taehyung. “Eat a few more and then we can finish our tea and get comfortable. Hobi should be coming here soon too, so you can look forward to that.”

 Taehyung couldn’t stop a small smile tugging at his lips. While Jungkook gave great cuddles, and Jin gave amazing hugs, there was an atmosphere so uniquely ‘Hoseok’ that made Taehyung crave him. He was warm. There was no better way to describe it. His presence was enough to be satisfying.

For now, he made do with his friend. Letting himself be pulled down to rest on Jin’s chest once he’d finished his drink. The elder had set a box of tissues within grabbing range so that Tae could catch each flurry of damp, heavy sneezes into the soft tissue – his nose growing brighter with each passing minute until he had merely lay his head onto Jin’s lap and held the tissue in a ball against his nose, fighting his eyes to stay open and watch the action movie Jin had found, but eventually falling to darkness.    

  It hadn’t taken long for Hoseok to leave work – calling his afterschool class to a close earlier than usual so that he could pick up Namjoon and go see Taehyung. Jin hadn’t told him much of anything, mostly just explained that Tae was sick and Jungkook had said some stuff that had hurt his feelings – which was absurd because those two never intentionally hurt each other, especially not with words. It was one of the things he had envied about them, how well they worked. His next concern was that Tae was sick and had still left the house. His homebody boyfriend felt better leaving their home because he didn’t want to be around Jungkook?

Nothing was making sense.

Namjoon had had to tell him to slow down three times before they’d finally reached his stylish home. Hoseok had left his car parked partially in the street and had moved past Namjoon to get into the house first. He’d swung the door open so hard it had slammed into the wall, but thankfully the only reaction that was given was Jin’s startled yell and Namjoon’s complaints about Hobi breaking things. Taehyung was asleep on the chair with his head nestled int Jin’s lap and soft congested snores sounded from him. Thank goodness he hadn’t been disturbed.

 “Sorry.” Hoseok murmured as he moved to kneel by his boyfriend. Jin’s face softening a little bit. “Is he alright… he looks like he has a fever…”

 “I think he does.” Jin agreed, stroking his fingers through Tae’s hair. “He’s been getting warmer, but other than that I think he just wanted someone to be with him. Jungkook had apparently told him that Tae was distracting him from work and that he needed to stay away because he was sick? Or something? I don’t know, it seemed like a small thing.”

 “It’s not.” Hoseok said, his voice hardening.

Jungkook had told Tae to stay away from him because he was sick? The same Jungkook that would cling to either of them every chance he got whenever he possibly could? Not to mention that he said that when Tae was clearly not well…

A heat spread through him that made his jaw clench.

“I should probably get him home.”

 “I didn’t give him any medication, but just take some back with you. Joonie?” Namjoon stepped behind the chair and lent down to lay peck on Jin’s lips and cheek. “Hey… can you fetch a few immunity boosting potions, as well as some of the cold and flu  ones that I made earlier?”

 “Sure, I’ll put a variety in. I have some balms and ointments that will help with any fevers or raw area’s.” Namjoon added before trailing off further into the house, muttering about what else could help.

 Jin smiled with reassurance and Hobi let out a sigh as he moved to retrieve a balled up tissue from Tae’s hand. . “He’s fine. The worst of it really was that he seemed lonely but was afraid of being a bother, which is unlike Tae.”  

 “I know. I just – Sorry.” He stood up abruptly as he searched his pockets for his phone that had started blaring. Tae shifted in his sleep and Hoseok scrambled to find it faster, answering as soon as it was out. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to speak before Jungkook started rambling on in a state of panic.

 “I don’t know where he is! He was here and then I thought he was asleep but he’s not asleep because he’s not here! And he’s not answering his phone, please tell me you have him?!”

 That heat from before amplified. If Jungkook was going to be sounding that scared of Taehyung not being around then why the hell did he send him away in the first place?

“You asshole.” Hoseok hissed, then lowered his pitch to avoid waking the sick witch. “You basically told him that he was being a pest! What the hell is wrong with you Jungkook? You didn’t even know that he left until now? He tried to walk to Jin and Namjoon’s place. In this cold weather, because you couldn’t be bothered to spare an hour with him.”

 “I-I didn’t realise –“

 “You didn’t realise?  You have been dating him longer than I have Jungkook, you should have fucking realised! What the hell is wrong with you?”

 “I’m sorry!”

 Hoseok bit his tongue as he heard the choking tears in the hybrids voice. He shouldn’t be snapping at Jungkook. He shouldn’t be picking a side. They were supposed to be open and honest and understanding with one another. Clearly something had gone wrong, but he had a feeling that Jungkook understood his mistake, even if it wasn’t understood as quick as it should have been.

 “Okay. Okay, I’m going to bring him home. He’s safe – just… he looks plain exhausted.”

 “I’m sorry..” Jungkook repeated softly. “I didn’t think he’d leave.”

 Hobi took a deep breath. “We’ll see you at home Jungkook… Just hang on there.”

**

  Taehyung had woken up about halfway home, coughing deeply into the blanket that Jin had lent to them. It was harsh and crackly and overall, just didn’t sound good. Hoseok had sped up just a bit to get him home faster, so that they could get him medicated and in bed… maybe a bath would help.

 “Sleep well, Baby?”

 He got a rough, undecipherable mumble and Tae struggled to push himself upright from where he was lying down in the back seat.

 “We’ll be home soon.” He promised, watching Tae rub at his eyes and then his nose in the rear-view mirror. Then added. “Jungkook was worried about you.”

 “He told me to.. to le-ehh hh’-ve…. hh’HE’HEITCHh… HUH’HRESHH’uhh…ugh.”

 “Bless. And I know, I don’t think he realised the impact his words had.”

 Tae sniffled and rubbed his nose with the edge of the blanket. “He’s jus’ stressed. I over reacted,”

 “I don’t think you over reacted.” Hobi answered honestly, that heat from earlier still present even after he’d tried to stamp it down. “He said something wrong when you needed him, perhaps if it happens again then it might be wise to talk about it instead of leaving without telling anyone though, or at least take your phone with you. But the three of us are in this together, neither of us like seeing you sick and Jungkook shouldn’t have taken his stressors out on you.”

  He didn’t get an answer. Taehyung just stared blankly out of the window at the dying light out the world until they pulled up at their complex.

After wrapping him tightly in the blanket and draping his coat over Tae’s shoulders, they began their climb to home.  Hoseok kept a steady arm around the witch and had to catch him once when Tae had snapped forward into a bout of surprise sneezes that had almost caused him to slip up the stairs when heading to their apartment. They went a bit slower after that. It wasn’t much of a surprise to see Jungkook waiting outside the door for them. He had been perched on the ground with his back to the door chatting politely to their neighbours six year old daughter, and by chatting the conversation had probably mostly been about wanting to play with Jungkook’s floppy ears and asking when he could teach her to draw ‘like a real artist’ again. He didn’t seem as invested as he usually was, and after having glanced up and seen his boyfriends, had almost burst into tears. Taehyung had actually started crying, both choking out apologises.

Hobi smiled. They’d all be fine it seemed. He greeted the child and encouraged her to get out of the cold, waiting for her to be inside before he opened their door and gently tugged his boyfriends inside. The smell hit him first and he sent Jungkook a questioning look.

 “Did you make food?”

 “Yeah,” he swiped at his face with a sniff. “I thought if I made japchae then Tae would want to eat something.”

 The news only caused the witch to let out a sob that had him coughing for breath.

 “Tae, baby… please calm down, you’re going to make yourself worse…” Hoseok laid a kiss to his burning cheek and reached to squeeze Jungkook’s hand. “Why don’t you and Kookie go take a bath? I’ll fetch you some water to drink and get the food reheated, okay?”

 “Will you join us?”

 “I think you two should be alone for a bit, I want to read over everything that Joon and Jin gave us for you.” The dancer placed kiss gently on the tip of Taehyung’s nose, grinning widely as the witch’s tears were halted with a hitched breath. “Don’t take too long though, I missed you both so much today. These extra classes are going to kill me.”

 Hoseok took a moment outside the bathroom door to listen to his boyfriends whisper soft words to one another, a flurry of apologies made a second appearance from Tae but was cut off abruptly. Hoseok took that as his cue to get everything ready for when they got out.

Everything would be worked out by tomorrow and yet he was definitely still going to be leaving his classes early to join in on whatever mess was going to be happening here. Taehyung had never learnt the ability to not share anything in his life.

[liron-ao3]

Who are you?

Reverse AU Malec oneshot

Alec looks after the archer, who has just saved his life with a well-aimed arrow. The shadowhunter takes his breath away and makes his heart clench in near-forgotten ways. Without a glamour, no one would be able to look past a man like him. The make-up, the striking colours on the tip of his hair, the flamboyant style of his clothes—Alec has never seen a shadowhunter like this in his very long life.

Who are you? he thinks, catching himself immediately before it can slip out between his lips and make him an even bigger joke in the other two shadowhunters' eyes. No matter his powers, it is clear that the blond only holds thinly veiled disdain for him, and the redhead he had grown to like over the years is unimpressed with him at best. And the third only saved him because the others want something from him. Clary's memories. Which he doesn't have any longer.

Alec's hand wraps around the pendant that he once bought for Camillo after selling his London townhouse, a courting gift of sorts. One he wants back to spite Maryse, if he's honest. The Banes simply don't deserve what used to be a token of his love. What a fool he had been. Maybe true love cannot die, but Alec stopped believing in true love at least a century ago. Nobody likes a plain warlock. If internal fights in the warlock community hadn't created clear fronts and the urgent need of a High Warlock, who had never alienated a single one of his fellow specimens, Alec wouldn't have the title to call his own.

He tries his best, but he knows that especially those older than him don't see him as much more than a useful tool. He tries his hardest to prove them wrong, works day and night, his magic equal parts based on bloodline and constant training.

Yes, he is respected due to the position he holds, but there is always someone breathing down his neck. And if it isn't another warlock or one of the Clave's brave soldiers, it is Valentine.

Speaking of which. Alec has to leave. He hasn't survived nearly four centuries just to be killed for a stupid pendant and the look of a handsome, styled shadowhunter.

He walks up to his portal, but Clary stops him. "Alec, wait! You're my only hope."

The warlock looks at her. He has to save his people even if it is the last thing he'll do. Not that the young woman would understand such duty.

"Valentine found us. I warned your mother this might happen," he says and steps out of the nightclub into his lair. He breathes a sigh of relief and shakes off the vision of dark runes and black kohl against caramel skin.

***

"Well done," a warm voice comes from behind as Alec looks down on the Circle member he took out after someone pierced the guy's leg with an arrow. He knows this voice can only belong to one man.

"More like medium-rare," he replies and winces. What a stupid thing to say. That joke was stale even before the young shadowhunter was born. But even after walking the earth for so long, spontaneous talk isn't Alec's forte.

He schools his face into a smile and turns, hoping it is somewhat believable. Once again, the sight knocks all the air out of his lungs. How can one human being, even one with angelic blood, be so beautiful?

He can't get a word out and nearly misses the man introducing himself way more chivalrous than he would expect from a nephilim towards a downworlder.

Magnus. The name befits the man, and Alec manages to stutter out his own, blushing fiercely as he stumbles over his failing attempt of an appropriate conversation opener.

Magnus smiles at him sweetly, and it makes everything so much harder. And so much more wonderful. "We should join the party," the shadowhunter says, sending a last mischievous grin Alec's way before he leaves the room. The warlock takes a deep breath and follows him to the battle.

***

When Alec's hand clicks into Magnus' as they start summoning Valak, he can already feel the energy pulsing from the pentagram through his veins, merging with his magic. Touching Magnus, there is a whole other current involved, though. Maybe it's the blatant innuendos of the young man or the confidence such a young mortal simply shouldn't possess in the face of a magical being like him. But why would Magnus see in him what no one else does? It's ridiculous, really. He's just toying with him for sure.

Of course, the unconventional shadowhunter loves his parabatai the most in the world. It's always the pretty boys who others fall for, no matter how self-absorbed they might be. Sadness spreads through Alec's chest as the other memories are pulled into the demon's vortex. Who will his heart choose?

***

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Alec," Magnus says as he finds the warlock on his balcony. Alec doesn't answer. There's no way to explain his memory away. It's pathetic and fills him with shame.

One look. It took him one look, and Magnus was the person he loved the most in the world. How pathetic! And he nearly killed the man Magnus truly loves as he broke the circle in a knee-jerk reaction. If it hadn't been for Clary's brave action...

Magnus leans against the balustrade and watches with Alec the night-dipped skyline of New York. "Do you believe in soulmates?" the shadowhunter asks.

Alec snorts. "Is that the pickup line that you and your siblings use to get downworlders into your beds?" Magnus lets out a wounded sound, and Alec regrets his choice of words immediately.

"I laid my fair share—I've been with men, women, seelies, shadowhunters, vampires…"

"I get the drift," Alec stops him curtly. He doesn't need more proof that his heart is foolish once again, giving itself into hands bound to break it. Magnus probably just wants to tick off warlocks from his to-do list. Alec, for sure, won't give his virginity to such a man. There had been hundreds of suitors over the years. Alec has never given in. He isn't that lonely or desperate that he would do it now. If he is good at one thing, then it is self-discipline, saying no to emotions and carnal urges his second nature.

Magnus shakes his head and smiles. "What I wanted to say was, I'm ready for something real, and you unlocked something in me. Given that I wasn't out for love when we met, it might as well be Cupid's magic if it hit you so hard in such a short time."

"It doesn't matter. Shadowhunters always end up with one of their own," Alec grinds out, finding it hard to keep his composure. The shadowhunter is just too unsettling. It's hard to stick to his rules and plans. Magnus is like a black hole, and Alec is gravitating towards him, thrown off his track.

"Do I look like a shadowhunter, who gives a damn about conventions?" Magnus asks.

Alec can't help but smile. The young nephilim definitely doesn't. But he can imagine what Magnus thinks about him. "No, but you look like a breaker of hearts."

Magnus chews his lip at that. "Sometimes, those are the ones whose hearts need mending the most," he says quietly and presses his palms firmly against the cold stone of the balustrade.

Alec pulls his gaze from the city and to Magnus. He looks vulnerable, his eyes shining in the moonlight. The warlock isn't sure if it is the silver eyeliner or tears glazing the shadowhunter's eyes. Magnus looks so soft. There is no teasing, no posturing, no lothario facade.

The warlock smiles shyly. Maybe, just maybe, Magnus Bane would not break his heart.

[lit-in-thy-heart]

I'm so excited you've jouned in!!! 💕

You owe Merwaine some happiness after your VERY angsty episode analyses so I would love those two and Sleepy hug please!! 😍

@little-ligi i hope this makes up for the angst!!! thank you for sending a prompt and have merlin and gwaine falling asleep together when with the knights and arthur on a trip thing (unspecified) between s4 and s5 💕

once again, under the cut because this is the longest one yet...

Rearranging his cloak so it provided greater coverage from the brisk wind, Gwaine glanced over at the group who were gradually drifting off amongst the fallen foliage. Despite the undiluted thoughts that inevitably streamed through his head when on watch, Gwaine relished the uninterrupted opportunity to softly observe Merlin without having the eyes of the other knights on him. If he had an apple for every time one of them – usually Percival or Arthur, despite Elyan’s quiet requests for them to shut up – had called him out for supposedly undressing Merlin with his eyes, he would certainly have a bushel of them by now. Granted, Gwaine sometimes did have the habit of mentally undressing Merlin with his eyes when he looked at him, but more often than not the knight was simply gazing in wonder at how such a beautiful being had chosen to devote his life to Gwaine of all people.

Merlin had been out of his sight for the past couple of hours, having accompanied Elyan to retrieve firewood, but Gwaine knew that they were both exchanging new spells that they’d learnt over the past few weeks. Elyan had told Gwaine about his magic before Gwaine had even had his suspicions about Merlin confirmed. Or, rather, Gwaine had stumbled in on Elyan, when the call of nature had echoed in his head on the night they had first met, and had witnessed him throwing all five of Gwaine’s knives without touching a single one. Gwaine had been more bothered by the fact that he hadn’t even noticed that his knives were missing than by the fact that Elyan was a sorcerer. And then, several weeks later, after Merlin had confessed to Gwaine on the night they had found themselves in bed together after an evening in the tavern, Gwaine had told both Elyan and Merlin to meet him in the Darkling Woods, greeted them with the statement that they both had magic, and had left them to it. Although he forced his unwavering support onto Merlin at every given opportunity, Gwaine knew the value of having someone close who knew precisely the struggles being faced, and he was grateful that Merlin had that in Elyan, and vice versa.

With a smile, Gwaine’s gaze slid over to Merlin, cocooned in a blanket and laughing at some remark that Elyan had sleepily murmured, and he settled himself against a tree trunk, moving his eyes back to the space in front of him as he withdrew his sword and positioned it across torso, the point of the blade hovering dangerously close to his neck. It was probably best that he was keeping watch alone, so he wouldn’t get distracted by talking to someone – but it also meant that there was nobody to check him when his attention slid, as it always did, to Merlin. He squinted up at the sky, seeking out the moon. At least he wasn’t expected to keep watch all night. Not that there was much need. Perhaps it was somewhat of an invincibility complex but, ever since donning the cloak bearing Camelot’s emblem, Gwaine had felt untouchable. Almost. The cloak hadn’t made Lancelot untouchable. Setting his jaw, Gwaine took a deep breath and focused on the lazy wave of the leaves opposite, on the stars splattered across the deep canvas of the sky like a bloodstain, on the soft melody of the wind.

‘Come on, now, Gwaine, you know full well how hot you look when you hold a sword like that.’

Perhaps Gwaine, who had not noticed Merlin – Merlin, of all people – approach, had not been the best choice for watch. He looked up with the smile that always graced his lips whenever the warlock was near, eyes dropping with Merlin’s body as he settled himself next to him. ‘I am by no means opposed to making out right here, right now.’

To satiate his desire, Merlin scattered a trail of kisses along his hairline. ‘I don’t think the others would appreciate it.’

‘Mm, you’re probably right there,’ Gwaine murmured, his fingers tracing Merlin’s face. ‘And you should sleep.’

‘I’m okay.’

Gwaine’s hands found the shadowed purple beneath Merlin’s eyes and he fixed him with a look. ‘I know that you haven’t slept properly for the past two weeks. I can see it written all over your face.’

Scowling, Merlin pushed his hand away. ‘Well that’s rude.’

‘But not a lie.’

Expression softening, Merlin wrapped the blanket tighter around his body.‘That’s because you’ve been on night patrol for the past two weeks and haven’t slept next to me.’

‘I don’t enjoy it.’

‘No, but at least you get to talk to Elyan. I’m left alone with the ceiling and my thoughts, and you know how much I hate that.’ Realising how he sounded, Merlin leaned closer into Gwaine. ‘I’m not trying to guilt-trip you. I know full well there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Just as Merlin knew that, Gwaine knew full well that he shouldn’t do what his arm had already started to do but, noticing Merlin’s poorly-concealed shivers, he set down his sword and drew Merlin in so the warlock was resting his head in Gwaine’s chest. Then, kissing the top of his head, Gwaine pushed him away as swiftly as he’d pulled him in. ‘Go to bed, love. If you fall asleep here then your neck will not be thanking you in the morning.’

Looking up, Merlin held his gaze for several moments. With a sigh, he lifted his head and kissed Gwaine on the mouth before reluctantly standing and stumbling back to the makeshift camp. Gwaine watched as he settled himself at a slight distance from the other knights and Arthur, his back turned. The flickering embers cast subtle shadows across Merlin’s back and Gwaine’s gaze remained turned towards him for several moments more before he forced his eyes to travel away from the warlock’s form. Gwaine didn’t need to see it to know how it moulded to his palms when they were alone.

When around other people, Merlin always seemed to skirt around Gwaine, always leaving at least several inches between their bodies, as if afraid of causing Gwaine to shatter as a mirage if he made even the slightest contact with his skin. Gwaine had started wearing gloves more frequently in the hopes that Merlin would be more liberal in brushing against him then, but it had all been to no avail. Then Gwaine had continued to wear gloves anyway, just so that his bare hands wouldn’t have the nerves numbed by grazing surfaces before they reached out for Merlin’s skin. The result was a warm tingle that, to some, would be more of a scald, but Gwaine savoured every moment that his skin was set alight by Merlin. Having a particular skill with fire spells also helped him not feel the agony of burning so much, too.

When they were alone, though, Merlin was the one to remove Gwaine’s gloves and, every time his fingers skimmed the bones in Gwaine’s hand, the knight had to focus so as not to release skittering flames in Merlin’s direction. There seemed to be a ritual with Merlin when they were alone. The warlock would gently draw the gloves from Gwaine’s skin, toss them to one side, and then dedicate a substantial amount of time to tracing the marks on the knight’s hands, no matter how many times his fingers had already followed the cellular paths that day.

First, he always looked for new scalds or burns, disregarding Gwaine’s protests that they didn’t hurt in the same way that their ancestors had when he had first started learning magic, skimming his fingers over the marks as if the touch formed a mental note to treat them at a later date. After assessing the damage, Merlin’s lips always trailed behind his touch, silently reassuring each of Gwaine’s imperfections that they were so wonderfully loved and successfully sending shivers up Gwaine’s spine. Though those shivers always were abruptly severed when Merlin’s touch made its way to the thick scar just below the fold of skin between his right thumb and forefinger. Merlin had never once pushed him for more information about his childhood amongst bandits, but there was always a part of Gwaine that worried Merlin would one day get sick of the sight of the small branded letter, not quite concealed by the path the knife had taken so long ago, and would abandon him to the abyss he had been lost in before meeting the warlock.

But that hadn’t happened yet.

After studying Gwaine’s hands, Merlin then moved to stripping him of his knighthood and it was a death that Gwaine would gladly watch again and again if it was at Merlin’s hands. The chainmail was cast aside, the cloak thrown over a chair, and the sword noisily skimmed the floor until Gwaine was stood in only a shirt and his trousers, equal to Merlin. The only armour Gwaine had ever wanted covering him, since that day at the tavern, was Merlin’s hands. Arthur hadn’t really given him an opportunity to turn down the knighthood and, even if he had, there was always the possibility – in Gwaine’s mind, at least – that Arthur would have been offended enough to maintain his banishment, and then Gwaine never would have seen Merlin again. Being a knight did have its advantages, though: Gwaine never went hungry, nor did he have to sleep with one eye open, and he had been getting into fewer and fewer brawls over the years. Though that last one was perceived as more of an advantage in Leon’s eyes, who had always been the one to drag him out of any frays and then let him cool off in the cells on the odd occasion. Even when that had happened, though, Merlin had always slipped in and spent the night with Gwaine, heating his body up to unnatural temperatures to keep Gwaine warm. The first few times that had happened, Gwaine had been terrified that Merlin would spontaneously combust, but Merlin had frequently assured him that such a trick was not possible.

So they would stand there, facing one another in silence, Gwaine’s materialistic armour strewn across the room, and then Gwaine would take Merlin gently in his hands, tracing segments of the form he knew so well, and then their souls would fuse together with their lips.

 

When the stars had shifted substantially, Gwaine hauled himself from his position and shook out his legs in the vain attempt to rid himself of the cramp in his limbs, slowly advancing towards Leon’s form. He gently prodded him awake, instinctively lunging backwards as the reflexive swipe came from the blankets, and held out his arms to receive said blankets when a thickened voice quietly called out his name. 

Turning around, Gwaine could just make out Merlin’s hands stretching out in a half-hearted wave in the heavy darkness and, telling Leon to forget about the blankets, picked his way through the sleeping knights, guided by the dropping syllables of his name. By the time he reached Merlin, the warlock’s hands had fallen to the ground and, smiling fondly, Gwaine hastily stripped down to his gambeson and slid into the nest Merlin had made.

There were significantly more blankets than Merlin should have had – not that Gwaine was complaining – and Merlin drowsily pushed several layers towards him, turning around to face Gwaine. His eyes flickered in the darkness as his hand fell against Gwaine’s chest and, from the point where Merlin touched him, the knight could feel a comforting heat pushing into him like a blade. Gwaine realised he probably should have tied back his hair so Merlin didn’t accidentally try to eat it in his sleep, but he was too comfortable to do that. With a smile, Gwaine encircled the warlock with his arms and rested his mouth against Merlin’s forehead as his eyes closed.

‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you, too,’ Merlin murmured.

Gwaine frowned, one eye cracking open. ‘You were asleep. You couldn’t have missed me.’

There was a pause. ‘You know I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I couldn’t sleep properly without you next to me, right?’

‘I did not.’ Gwaine waited until he felt five of Merlin’s exhalations drape themselves around his throat before speaking again. ‘Whatever did you do before I came into your life?’

‘Had a decent night’s sleep, because I wasn’t aware of your existence and consequently didn’t have to constantly worry about preserving it.’ Merlin shifted against him, hands crawling under Gwaine’s shirt and settling themselves on his stomach. ‘It’s so strange to think that we didn’t even know that the other existed. That we had no idea that one day we would be right here, in this moment.’

Merlin, when tired, always became philosophical. And usually when Gwaine was tired he couldn’t make head or tail of what his significant other was saying, but perhaps the cool night air had cleared his head more than ale usually did. ‘I think I prefer it that way,’ Gwaine murmured. ‘If we’d known that the other was out there, then I think we would have spent all our lives searching. We would have pinned our entire existence on the other person and that’s...That just doesn’t feel right. Not that I’m saying I don’t love you.’

‘No, no, I know...I know what you mean,’ yawned Merlin, pushing his head into Gwaine’s chest.

Tightening his arms around Merlin, Gwaine listened to the rhythm of the warlock’s breathing pattern, trying to match his own to it, and gently kissed the top of his head. There was a slight mumble, and something that might have resembled an ‘I love you’ and Gwaine murmured it back, just in case. It had been too long since the two of them had drifted off together, wrapped in one another’s beings, and Gwaine would forever bind himself to the soft form that was quite literally touching his heart.

[alecmagnuslwb]

Isn’t It Demonic

(There’s a bit at the end of this all for @izzymalec who gave me an interesting fic idea that sadly I couldn’t make into a whole fic, but I wanted to give a shout out to it. Without further ado, enjoy Demon Alec and Ghost Warlock Magnus.)

Read on AO3

“You son of a bitch!”

Alexander stands at the edge of the house just inside the door, rage and fire burning through his veins. The warlock who’d summoned him stands outside a smug grin on his face.

“Did you really think I would be stupid enough to not recognize the wording you used in our deal,” Lorenzo says standing there with a pompous attitude he’s nowhere near earned. Alexander is good at what he does, he’d very carefully worded their deal, a series of hard to find ingredients for freedom on earth, no time windows, an open-ended stay. In hindsight now he’s realizing he technically left an opening; an opening that sadly this prick has taken full advantage of. It’s still a broken deal though, free reign this isn’t. “You wanted free and free you are.”

“Maybe you caught on to my slip up, but that doesn’t mean you’re smart. You still broke a deal with a demon, I said free reign, not just free,” Alexander snarls. “This isn’t free, this is a trap, you violated the deal. I’ll come for you.”

“Good luck with that,” Lorenzo says straightening his jacket and slipping away with a smug grin unbothered. The door to the house he’s stuck in slams shut and Alexander seethes. He’s not sure how long he stands there kicking at the door and yelling, but he knows no one is going to hear him. The little bastard isn’t that powerful definitely not powerful enough to kill him, but evidently he’s powerful enough to bind a house and Alexander’s powers and he’s done it well.

It’s going to take some time and some work to get out of here and kill Lorenzo. Luckily Alexander has all the time in the world.

Alexander turns around stalking through the house and into the library. There’s dust everywhere, he doesn’t know who this house belonged to, but they had taste. Clearly it was never actually Lorenzo’s place.

He finds a dusty old drink cart and picks up a well-aged whiskey drinking directly from the bottle. He goes over to the wall of books picking ones off the shelf and tossing the ones that don’t interest him over his shoulder.

“Could you not do that,” a voice says from behind him. “I’m no neat freak and I’ve been known to toss around a book or two, but I do hate to see quality first editions thrown about.”

Alexander turns around and there in a deep red sitting chair is probably the most attractive man he’s seen in his many centuries of existence. The man is sat lazily across the chair like a lounging cat, a very attractive lounging cat. His lean, chiseled chest and arms are a vision in a black button up mesh shirt with a floral pattern, his strong legs in a pair of well-tailored navy pants send Alexander’s eyes trailing up and down his form.

He’s not shy about his interest and the man clearly isn’t either as he gives Alexander’s all black suit ensemble an appreciative up and down glance as well.

Alexander is so thrown by the man’s appearance that it takes him a full minute to realize he doesn’t know who he is or how he’s here.

“Who are you?” he says with a teasing smirk before turning to put the book in his hand back on the shelf properly.

“I should be asking you that question,” the man says suddenly right by Alexander’s side. He didn’t even hear him move. “You are in my house.”

Alexander hums in understanding eyeing the man up and down once again now that he’s standing, he’s only a bit shorter than Alexander and up close he can now admire the sharp line of his dark eyeliner and the deep blue streak at the front of his dark hair. He looks around the room next, the style matching.

“That makes sense,” he says stepping closer, but not quite touching the other man. “Lorenzo must be a pretty good friend if you’re willing to have a demon roommate.”

The man makes a disgusted face, his brown eyes switching to bright yellow cat eyes that glow with anger. He’s a warlock too.

“Never call Lorenzo Rey my friend,” he says stepping away from Alexander. The suspenders dangling from his waist move tantalizingly as he goes and Alexander has to hold in a growl at the view. He may be a demon, but he also likes to be a bit of gentlemen which is the only thing that keeps him from grabbing the suspenders and pulling the man close.

“The bastard did kill me after all,” the man says with unbridled rage. He bends down, Alexander appreciating the view for a moment despite his surprise at the man’s words, and attempts to pick up the book on the floor. His hand goes right through it.

Alexander sits his drink aside and bends down beside him picking up the book. He reaches over the man sitting it on the table beside the chair.

“I’m Alexander,” he says holding out his hand.

The man looks at it skeptically.

“You know I’ll just go right through that right?” he says gesturing at Alexander’s offered hand. “Plus, I wasn’t born yesterday, never shake a demon’s hand you never know what deal they’re cooking up in their heads.”

Alexander smirks drawing his hand back. He had no ulterior motives, this time, other than to hope that maybe a ghost of a warlock and a demon can touch.

“Smart and beautiful, huh,” he says standing to his full height. The man joins him an imperceptible bit of flustering in his cheeks that he recovers from quickly.

“I’m Magnus Bane,” he says walking with grace back over to the chair and draping himself across it once again. “And the only thing I can touch is furniture.”

Alexander unbuttons his jacket and takes a seat in the opposing chair.

“Nice to meet you Magnus Bane,” he says grabbing for his bottle again. “So, you hate Lorenzo too?”

Magnus snorts at that. “Hate is an understatement; he was a thorn in my side for centuries and then when he couldn’t win over enough people to take my High Warlock post he killed me, which for the record had he not caught me off guard by weaseling into my home after I’d been on a night out drunk off my ass and stabbed me in the neck from behind he would have never pulled it off. Then he trapped me in my home with no magic and no way out.”

Alexander tosses the last of the whiskey in the bottle back.

“Well he just trapped me here,” Alexander says crossing his legs.

“You aren’t the first,” Magnus says running a hand through his hair. It draws Alexander’s attention to his biceps. “He’s used my home for this before, you must be stronger than the others though because he just killed them to get out of his deals.”

“I am,” Alexander says with bravado, the bravado that he uses to intimidate, but not to scare, a bravado that clearly doesn’t intimidate Magnus if the way he rolls his eyes are anything to go by. Alexander likes that he’s not intimidated, it’s different from everyone else’s reactions. “I’ve worked very hard to make sure warlocks think me a lower level demon without a face, not a demon somewhere in the middle with this killer physique.” He finishes gesturing to his body; his eyes slip to their natural black seductively.

“And yet you’re still trapped here,” Magnus says with a sardonic smile and Alexander can’t help but grin in response.

They talk for a little while longer. Trading basic information about the house and how they got here. As far as the outside world is concerned Magnus died in a horrible potion gone wrong accident nearly two years ago, the once vibrant potion room still blown to smithereens.

Where Lorenzo lacks in technical skill or raw power he makes up for with dirty tricks, leaving no trace of anything for anyone to find. Even Magnus’ closest friends who’d worked hard to poke holes in the story couldn’t find a single thing to question about his death.

“As far as I can tell only demons can see me, Lorenzo only figured out I was still lingering because the first demon he trapped here had a big mouth,” he explains wandering in circles around the room passing through the walls occasionally. “He worked up a spell to bind my spirit hear just in case after that.”

Alexander tests his powers coming up with almost nothing at every snap of his fingers, it’s a far too damn good binding. Lorenzo had to have had some help, there’s no way someone with a ponytail that slimy could do this by himself. When Alexander poses the theory Magnus is already ahead of him with a list of possible accomplices.

“He’s built up enough dirt to blackmail plenty of people over the years, but those three are the prime suspects, the weakest in backbone, but strongest in power,” Magnus says.

Night turns into day and into night again as they talk, neither the ghost nor the demon requiring sleep. It’s after all those hours that Alexander feels it’s time to pose a deal.

“Make a deal with me,” he says and he can see the no on Magnus’ lips already. He continues quickly before Magnus can fight it. “I’m sure I can muster up enough power to seal a deal, make you corporeal again and grant you access to your magic, all you’ll have to do for me is get me out of here in exchange.”

Magnus looks like he’s considering it for a moment, like the prospect of having his magic again is enough to make him say yes.

“Not a chance,” he says, putting his hands on his hips and for the first time in hours not pacing. “There’s always a catch when you deal with a demon. Especially one as pretty as you.”

Alexander smiles, a real smile at the pretty comment, but doesn’t love the rest of what he said.

“There’s no catch,” he says as genuinely as he knows how to sound.  Magnus doesn’t buy it though.

“Bullshit, there’s always a catch,” he says and with that he’s out the door, or through it more so off to some other part of the house.

Alexander lets out a frustrated groan, pushing his hands through his hair.

***

Alexander determines quickly that pushing the deal idea will only make Magnus more opposed to it, so he steps back. If Magnus is hesitant to help him well he’s just going to have to bide his time.

He doesn’t mention getting out of the house or Lorenzo at all, instead he just asks about Magnus. It starts as a game, a game to get Magnus to go along with his plan, but quickly he finds himself interested in who Magnus is not just how he looks and how he could help him.

He tells Magnus about himself in return, about his style of being a demon, how he’s called on more often by bad people than good and he happily takes their souls. How he’s kinder to the kids who stumble on things and call upon him for vengeance or something of the sort. He’s not trying to soften himself to Magnus necessarily, but he’s trying to show him how he deals, how Magnus lands on the side of good and he wouldn’t screw him over.

“What are you playing at?” Magnus asks him late one evening when Alexander starts off the night trading off stories of deals gone wrong. Magnus doesn’t flinch when he tells a story about a mundane that asked for a pet hellhound that ultimately ate him, so Alexander pushes and asks for a little more than just the surface Magnus and gets a few stories in return. Stories about how he grew up, about some of his wilder adventures in the 50’s and 60’s, even one about the 1480’s which Alexander is fairly certain isn’t true.  

“I’m not playing at anything,” he says meaning it, he’s really not anymore. Or if he is it’s on the backburner of his mind. “Well, I do play piano though.” He says swerving the subject and gesturing to the piano at the corner of the library, he’s explored a bit, but in the two weeks he’s been stuck here he’s rarely left this room.

He walks over to the piano and sits down playing his fingers over the keys.

“Do you play?” he asks as he plays out a quick short melody.

Magnus joins him sliding over to sit on top of the piano and lay across it on his side. He leans over between where Alexander’s hands are and goes right through the keys. Alexander’s hands move in closer to Magnus’ and he quickly jumps his hand back. He keeps doing that, never letting Alexander get close to even see if they could touch, like he’s scared what it would mean if they could.

“Nope, not even when I could touch the keys,” he explains. “A friend of mine does, I bought it for him when he was staying here for a while.”

“A good friend?” Alexander asks playing another soft melody. He’s a little jealous at the mention of a man who lived here, he’s figured out Magnus is bisexual by now so there could be an implication there. It’s ridiculous even if they were more than a friend it’s not like Alexander has any right to be jealous of an ex, he’s not exactly a blushing virgin demon himself or that he and Magnus are anything more than unwilling, ridiculously good looking roommates.

“More like a brother,” he says and Alexander feels a little relieved. “Or a son I guess considering how young he was when he was turned.”

Alexander raises an eyebrow in question.

“Vampire,” Magnus explains. “He struggled a bit with the change and I took him in.” He sounds sad thinking about the people he’s left behind, Alexander has a feeling this vampire he’s talking about is one of the friends that fought to question if Magnus was really dead.

Alexander nods in understanding, he’s always been a fan of vampires, they’re smart enough to never coming calling on the likes of him for favors.

He goes back to playing, a melody he only barely knows from at least four centuries ago the last time he spent longer than a few short days on earth. This time is far more enjoyable though, that had been a few days of watching the mayhem mundanes caused without any divine intervention, this has been an admittedly frustrating time of being trapped, but being trapped with a man who intrigues him to no end.

***

Weeks pass and Lorenzo never dares show his face in the house again. He makes do though, spending time with Magnus, reading some of his favorite books both in the quiet alone and occasionally aloud just to see Magnus smile.

Despite contrary belief, demons do feel emotion, not easily and not often, but they do feel. Alexander has a fondness for another demon he thinks of as a sister, he’s cared for lovers in the past even if he’s never truly fallen for them, but Magnus Bane makes him feel even more.

Demon’s fall in love rarely, but when they do they fall hard. Their names get echoed in whispers forever about the things they gave up for mere love. The more time he spends with Magnus the more he thinks he’s going end up being one of those whispered names.

Magnus is tough to get a read on sometimes though, he’s open as a book with no binding one moment and then locked as tight as a safe that no one knows the combination to the next. Alexander understands it though, end of the day he’s a demon and getting close to a demon is always to be done with caution.

It doesn’t stop Alexander from flirting to his heart’s content and hoping that his more genuine side shines through.

He spends the time he’s not wooing Magnus wandering through the house, he never goes anywhere Magnus asks him not to, respecting his privacy, but he searches around nonetheless. He even cleans, getting the two years worth of dust off of every surface.

Today he finds himself in the basement, a large empty space it seems aside from the big freezer off to left. He sighs, running his hands along the freezer before lifting it open.

His eyes go wide when he looks inside, there nestled between a few bags of ice is Magnus, or Magnus’ body at least, eyes closed, the hole in his neck from where Lorenzo stabbed him unmissable.

“Holy shit,” he says staring down.

“Such a cliché right?” Magnus says suddenly appearing over his shoulder. “Murdered and tossed in a freezer.”

“This fucker is a regular Hannibal Lector, huh?” Alexander says looking at Magnus now, not his frozen body.

Magnus chuckles. “Blissfully, he’s never cooked any part of me,” he says with a smile.

“Why’d he keep your body?” Alexander asks cocking his hip and leaning against the freezer.

Magnus shrugs mirroring Alexander’s position.

“Not sure, at first I thought he was going to use my blood for some ritual or something, it’s not every day you get your hands on the blood of the son of a greater demon,” he pauses eyeing Alexander like he’s trying to gauge his reaction about the casual reveal. Alexander’s a demon himself, he’s not about to judge. “But instead he just keeps me down here instead of getting rid of the evidence, he doesn’t even bother with glamouring the freezer anymore.”

Magnus stares down at his frozen form longingly. Alexander could probably muster up the power to get rid of it if Magnus asked him to, but he also knows that if they ever plan to get their revenge on Lorenzo having Magnus’ body still here could be an advantage.

There’s also the completely selfish reasoning that if Magnus’ body still exists Alexander could possibly touch him one day.

He shuts the freezer tightly, careful of Magnus’ fingers even though he wouldn’t even feel a pinch if they landed on him and slides down to sit on the floor his back against it. Magnus joins him keeping a good distance between them, but not nearly as much as he usually does.

They sit quietly for a while just sharing space.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Alexander says after a while. He’s genuine and he can tell from the look in Magnus’ eye that he recognizes that now.

Magnus isn’t a perfect person, there’s a darkness in him, in his past, but he’s good down in his core. Far too good to end up dead and stuffed in freezer, trapped as a ghost in his own home spending his days with a demon.

“You’re awfully nice for a demon, Alexander,” Magnus says tilting his head back against the freezer and then towards Alexander.

Alexander huffs. “I wouldn’t exactly call me nice.”

Magnus shakes his head. “You are,” he says lifting his hand like he wants to reach out but can’t. Which technically he can’t Alexander guesses. “You try to hide it, but you’re not one of those demons who just kills indiscriminately. You’ve said it yourself you take deals with bad people and take everything you can, you take deals with good people and go a little easy. You may be a demon, but there’s a good heart in there.”

Alexander doesn’t know what to say to that, he’s always considered himself a demon with a conscious at best, not one with a heart, so he just lays a hand on top of Magnus’ that sits on the cold floor in thanks. Magnus’ hand flickers for a moment almost like it wants to be solid, a brief rush of warmth passing through them both before Alexander’s hand hits the cold floor.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he says knowing from the surprise on Magnus’ face he felt that too.

Magnus meets his eyes, the yellow cat ones always present now, and a smile pulls at his lips just barely concealing his amusement at the unintended pun.

***

They don’t really talk about the moment in the basement. The physics or magic behind how it could feel almost like touch between them probably isn’t recorded anywhere anyway, it’s not like demons and ghosts of warlocks historically spend a lot of time together.

They’re probably the first duo of their kind in history.

But it is like a silent agreement has been made, a barrier has been broken. Magnus doesn’t shy away anymore or disappear for hours on end without a word, he talks a little more, telling stories that don’t feel like they’re made up and Alexander does the same in return.

They get each other, and it’s clear that not many have ever gone out of their way to get who Magnus is, Alexander wants to find them all and curse them. A plan that he knows Magnus wouldn’t judge him for, he’s a demon there’s no getting around that he’s done diabolical things and he likely will again, but Magnus seems to understand him. To understand his motivations and the fact that he’s not all bad, he’s more gray than anything else.

He warms up a little more to Alexander once he understands how he operates, especially when he tells him he loves to give counteroffers to people who are the targets of other vicious dealers.

“Just because I’m designed to be wicked, doesn’t mean I think other people should be allowed to be,” he says one night lying on the floor, Magnus draped across a nearby couch.

“Kind of like the way they say Lucifer doesn’t make man evil, he just punishes the ones who do it,” Magnus says in thought and Alexander smiles a real smile, because he gets it.

Through it all he almost forgets about the fact that he’s trapped, that they’re both still looking for revenge until Magnus brings it up again one day.

Alexander steps out of the bathroom attached to Magnus’ bedroom, a room he’s now been granted access to. The water still runs, and even though he doesn’t necessarily need to he loves a good shower from time to time in the same way he loves a good nap even if it’s not needed either.

He steps out his hair still wet wearing the same pants he’s been wearing since he got stuck here and a dark red shirt with a gold embroidered collar that is actually Magnus’, a little big in the arms he rolls up the too short sleeves when he spots Magnus lying flat on the bed one leg bent up.

His eyes trail down his form, aside from the few pictures he’s been shown and seen around the house, he’s only ever seen Magnus in this one outfit and damn is it a good outfit. The lines of his abs are visible underneath his sheer shirt and Alexander loves to soak up the image.

Magnus lifts up when he notices Alexander standing there moving to sit cross legged with a smile.

“You never asked?” he says out of nowhere no context provided.

“Asked?” Alexander questions moving to sit next to him on the bed.

“About my father, I said the whole blood of a greater demon’s son thing and you just never asked,” Magnus explains.

Alexander shrugs. “To be frank, I don’t give a fuck who your father is, I give fuck who you are,” he says letting that emotion he feels more and more of these days slip through. It’s probably doomed to fall in love with a ghost, but he’s gone and done it anyways. “Plus, honestly most greater demons are assholes.”

He says the second part as a joke, but Magnus doesn’t laugh. He just looks at Alexander stunned and if he’s reading him right grateful.

“Asmodeus,” he whispers and Alexander purses his lips in thought.

“Yup, absolute asshole,” he says with a smirk.

Magnus laughs finally, the laugh that Alexander was hoping to get out of him.

“So you’ve met then,” he says still laughing.

Alexander shakes his head, they’re from different hell dimensions so they don’t exactly run into each other at bars.

“Sort of, only in passing once about three centuries ago when I got into a bit of a scuffle with one of Lilith’s lackeys, and I wasn’t impressed,” he says. “I’m far more impressed with his son.” He adds with a smile reaching out and running his hand along Magnus’ jaw. The same thing that happened in the basement happens, a moment of solid warmth that’s almost real before his hand falls through and back to his own side.

Magnus stares at his fallen hand his face twisted in thought before he lifts his eyes back up.

“What exactly would your terms for a deal be?” Magnus asks and it throws Alexander for a second. He’s barely thought about the idea of a deal between them in months. “Could you really make me corporeal and put my magic back?”

“Well, when I first posed it I’ll admit the second part was a theory, your magical essence lives in your body not your spirit,” he explains. “But, that was before I knew your body was still here, it’s even easier, I just put you back where you belong.”

“You mean like raise me from the dead?” Magnus says skeptically. It’s good he’s skeptic, necromancy is no joke for anyone.

“Not exactly, I don’t fuck with necromancy it always goes bad in the end. But your body and your spirit could reconnect, as could your magic,” he explains, he’s done it once before, so long ago he barely remembers. A deal made for a young warlock who’d lost her adoptive warlock mother. As far as he knows they’re still happy and alive-ish.

“And since he only bound my spirit in these walls, put it back in my body and he can’t hold me or my magic here anymore,” he says, then pauses. “Is it permanent?”

“It can be,” Alexander nods, hoping Magnus wants it to be. He deserves to be as alive as he can be for as long as possible. “It’s not exactly like being a vampire or a zombie, but somewhere in between. You’d essentially be like me, blood in your veins, heartbeat in your chest but no need to live by the rules of any downworlder or mundane anymore. Your immortality will return, but let’s just say it’ll take a lot more than a sneak attack to kill you. Food, sleep, all these things become optional.”

Magnus considers him for a moment scrunching up his face adorably in deep thought.

“What would you need in return?”

“Nothing,” Alexander says. It’s completely unconventional, but it’s true. Revenge against Lorenzo is still important, but Magnus has become far more important.

“Nope,” Magnus says and Alexander goes to defend himself. Magnus cuts him off a finger hovering above his lips. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, I do, but a deal needs to be just that a deal.”

Alexander rolls his eyes, but concedes.

“Fine, dinner, you and me, one dinner, one date, no requirements except I’m buying,” he says with a wicked little smile.

“Just dinner?”

“Yup,” he says popping the p and licking his lips. He’d also like a few things after dinner, he’s spent many a night thinking about getting his hands under that sheer shirt and into those tight pants, but he’s confident enough to believe those things can be given freely and willingly whenever Magnus is ready.

“Okay, then we have a deal,” Magnus says after a few long moments of silence and consideration. He holds out a hand and Alexander takes it best he can, the almost touch must be enough, because Alexander feels the ties that bind a demon’s deal lock into place.

He stands from the bed gesturing for Magnus to follow and goes to the basement swinging open the freezer. Magnus looks down at his frozen form and gulps.

“Ready?” Alexander asks summoning all his accessible power to one point. He hasn’t used a bit of his available power this entire time, saving it for a moment like this. Magnus nods gripping the edge of the freezer. Alexander wishes he could hold his hand. He snaps and Magnus’ spirit disappears, for a deafening few second he’s worried it didn’t work until slowly the color returns to Magnus’ face the ice on his eyelashes and fingertips melting away and the gaping hole in his neck healing back together.

Magnus sits up gasping in a deep breath of air that he no longer technically requires.

Alexander reaches out placing a hand on Magnus’ jaw, there’s no flickering, just solid, freezing cold skin beneath his hand. He runs his hand down to where the neck wound had been, now just a slightly raised white scar against tan skin.

“I’m fucking freezing,” Magnus says reaching up a hand to grip Alexander’s. He laughs pulling back and holding out his hands for Magnus to take. He helps him out of the freezer. Magnus shivers as Alexander closes the freezer tight before pulling Magnus into a hug. They stay there for a long time just holding onto one another, reveling in the touch before Magnus declares he absolutely needs to change his clothes.

“I love this outfit, and clearly you do to,” he says with a shivering smirk. “But I’ve been wearing it every day for two years and I’m over it.”

He snaps his fingers tentatively, uncertainty in his eyes at the prospect of his magic working again, and the outfit Alexander has enjoyed the view of for months now disappears replaced with a whole new equally as stunning ensemble.

He looks down at himself with an unbelievable smile that turns into a wicked smirk on his lips that Alexander wants to kiss when he meets his eyes.

“So, revenge or dinner first?” he asks cheekily.

It takes everything in Alexander not to say dinner first.

***

Watching Magnus work his magic is more mesmerizing than Alexander could have ever imagined it to be.

His arms move swiftly, an entrancing spell of their own and Latin spills from his lips easily, the dep lilting tone of his voice executing each word more perfectly than the demons who invented the language eons ago.

Two years of not a single spell and it’s like it’s only been a few days since he last casted. Magnus eyes are alight with power, his strong shoulders carrying the weight of it all beautifully and with total grace. Alexander watches in awe as Magnus works his way into the walls breaking down the binds that hold Alexander here and limit his power.

A wave of blue magic spirals over the walls of the house and then cascades across Alexander’s skin. The burn against his skin soothes instantly, like Magnus’ magic is healing him even as it burns.

Magnus staggers a bit for a moment after he’s done and Alexander is instantly at his side. He rights himself quickly, his body clearly still acclimating to all being united once again.

“You okay?”

Magnus smiles at him and holds out a hand, “Better than ever. Shall we?”

Alexander takes his hand, now all warm to the touch with magic and blood flowing through him once again. Alexander gives a wicked smirk as he feels his own power flow through him and he snaps his fingers.

***

On the other side of his snap they land in Lorenzo Rey’s living room. His house is more like a castle and it’s hideous, Alexander is not surprised.

They don’t have an exact plan, per se, but they’ve agreed that he deserves a long game of torture, a miserable life trapped as something humiliating, not an easy death.

Lorenzo must feel the disturbance in his wards, he immediately rushes in hands glowing with balls of yellow magic. Magnus and Alec just roll their eyes, he’s no match for the two of them at full power.

“How the hell are you two here?” he says throwing a ball of magic at each of them. Alexander reaches out in front of Magnus and himself and catches the two balls easily in his hands. He shoots them back at Lorenzo’s feet causing him to yelp and jump back.

Magnus smiles and steps forward binding Lorenzo’s hands and feet in burning ropes. He tips over no longer able to keep himself standing. Magnus and Alexander walk over to where he struggles against his burning bonds, each of them standing on one side of Lorenzo.

Magnus twists his hand the ropes getting tighter.

“You really should have gotten rid of my body,” Magnus says crouching down. Alexander joins him.

“And you should have gotten some friends together to kill me,” he says with a no doubt evil smile. It’s a reminder that they still need to figure out who was helping him, he adds it to his mental checklist somewhere after this revenge show, dinner with Magnus and if he’s lucky some other fun with Magnus. “Not that you have any friends.” He adds, a little sharp burn just for fun.

“You can’t kill me, you kill me and the warlocks won’t ever let you have your position back,” Lorenzo spits out.

“Laws don’t apply to me, I can still kill you,” Alexander says gripping Lorenzo’s jaw in a painful hold. His eyes slip into their natural black from the hazel they often sport and he outright growls in anger. Fear lights up Lorenzo’s face.

“Alexander,” Magnus says softly reaching out to circle his wrist. He loosens his grip on Lorenzo and sighs.

“You’re right,” Magnus says diverting his attention to Lorenzo. He tightens the ropes once more just a little, tears forming in the corner of Lorenzo’s eyes. “I can’t kill you, at least not directly, but that’s okay, because I know for a fact that despite your murderous powerplay, Catarina still got the votes for High Warlock and I think she’s better suited for the job than anyone.”

“So no,” Magnus says going to his full height. “You won’t die today, not even by Alexander’s hand. Even though he doesn’t have some of the qualms I do about it,” he pauses smiling at Alexander who’s still crouched on the ground. He lifts a hand floating Lorenzo upright. “But you do have to pay, and I don’t think anyone warlock or otherwise is going to disagree with that.”

Magnus snaps his fingers again and Lorenzo screams. His body convulses, the scales he must hide behind a glamour showing through and then he drops to the ground. His bonds fall the burning ropes settling around a small ugly looking little lizard on the floor.

Alexander stands.

“Hm, he doesn’t look all that different,” Alexander muses eyeing the lizard on the floor. He tries to scurry away and Alexander steps out a foot catching him by the tail. Lizard Lorenzo shrivels back in pain.

Magnus chuckles and waves his hands a cage appearing before him. Magnus picks Lorenzo up and tosses him in unceremoniously, sealing the lid with a small gap for air. He waves his hand again sending Lorenzo off to the basement of his house, right on top of the freezer where he left Magnus’ body all this time.

“So, dinner?” he says stepping back over to Alexander and slipping an arm around his waist.

“Don’t you want to do a dramatic, I’m alive again reveal to your friends?” Alexander asks, knowing Magnus loves a thrill of dramatics every now and then.

“Sort of alive again,” Magnus corrects. Alexander waves the correction away, semantics. “And while I do love the idea, I want to seal this deal first.”

Magnus moves so he’s standing in front of Alexander. Alexander is back in his all black suit and Magnus reaches out fixing the collar of his jacket. He stays put cat eyes looking up directly into Alexander’s still black pools.

Alexander takes the silent invitation and leans in. Their lips meet and Alexander feels like he’s on fire in the best possible way, and he would know he’s been on fire literally before. Their lips and tongues do a dance that feels practiced like they’ve been doing this for centuries not just kissing for the first time. It’s crazy to realize this is only the fourth maybe fifth time they’ve even fully touched.

He’s not sure how long it takes for them to pull back but Magnus’ cat eyes are dilated and he’s sure if he went back to his own hazel ones they’d look much the same.

“Maybe we should skip dinner,” Magnus breathes leaning in to peck Alexander on the lips on more time.

Alexander shakes his head and even though it pains him to say his next words he does.

“Nope dinner first, a deal’s a deal,” he says with a smirk.

***

Six Months Later

Despite the deal being a mess Alexander’s deal with Lorenzo is still technically in place. Alexander does have free reign to stay on earth and stay he does. Dinner with Magnus is great, just being outside of the house is a freeing thing for both of them, but ironically they can’t wait to go back.

He ravishes Magnus’ body that night surrounded by deep red silk sheets and resolves to never sleep anywhere else. Not that either of them have to sleep anymore, it’s just nice to indulge in the act every now and then.

Magnus reveals his rebirth to his friends in particularly dramatic fashion, Alexander’s fairly certain that if a vampire had a still beating heart Raphael’s would have stopped dead in the moment. They welcome him back easily and welcome Alexander in a little more hesitantly.

He gets it, he still is a demon. He still makes deals and collects favors and souls from wicked people along the way there’s good reason to be wary.

They eventually warm up to him though, if for no other reason than the way Magnus looks at him.

They get to work on finding the warlock that helped Lorenzo. Ragnor turns out to be the one with the best lead. They don’t give Malcolm Fade the same fate as Lorenzo though, Lorenzo who last Alexander checked had been turned into a rat for a change Magnus torturing him a bit with a wheel and a treat on a stick he couldn’t reach. A good threat from a demon and a powerful warlock is more than enough to put Malcolm in his place.

Touching Magnus, being able to feel him, not just hear him and see him is like a revolution. Alexander just can’t get enough, life as a demon has left him touch starved and he craves Magnus like a plant craves the sun.

“Morning,” Alexander grumbles reaching out across the sheets. Magnus is already alert sitting up in bed with a book in his hand. Alexander’s fairly certain he didn’t sleep at all.  

“Good morning, love,” Magnus says running a hand through Alexander’s messy black hair. He sits up settling next to Magnus and resting his head on his shoulder.

“I had a weird dream,” Alexander says once he’s settled in comfortably. He doesn’t sleep often and he dreams even more rarely, but the more time he spends on earth the more dreams come. “You were a cyborg and I was a merman and we fell in love, but because you couldn’t get wet without malfunctioning we had to find a way to make it work, so we could be together.”

Magnus makes a face and twists away a bit, he grabs Alexander’s chin lightly and examines him. Alexander drops the hazel eyes and goes to full black and Magnus’ breath hitches just a bit, but always one to tease right back he drops his own glamour cat eyes shining with mirth.

“Because being a demon with a conscious and a ghost warlock, turned into an undead warlock isn’t a weird enough love story,” Magnus says, he leans in kissing Alexander once quickly before letting go of his chin. “No more late-night b-movies for you.”

“But I love them,” Alexander grumbles putting on his best big black puppy dog eyes, literally rolling the hazel ones he sports for the world away.

Magnus just rolls his eyes before tossing his book to the side and maneuvering himself so he’s sat on Alexander’s lap. His legs bracket his hips and he leans in pressing his forehead to Alexander’s.

“I love you,” he says bringing his arms up around Alexander’s neck.

“I love you too,” Alexander says, a feeling he never thought he’d feel like this. He pulls Magnus closer, locking their bodies tight together, forever.

[bgnmagic]

It’s About Time

Arthur was sure he was seeing things. Rubbing his tired eyes for good measure he looked again. Sure enough, a pair of boots was standing empty in a patch of grass next to a tree. Never one to leave anything alone Arthur urged his horse further into the vegetation to investigate. That’s when he spied a body on the forest floor.

A familiar one.

The exhaustion Arthur had been feeling left his limbs in an instant as he practically threw himself from his horse. Rushing forward Arthur knelt down and tried to see what was wrong. “Merlin, are you hurt?” The man in question didn’t look injured, but he was sprawled under a large tree barefoot, his feet submerged in a small creek. Trying again he attempted to rouse Merlin. Reaching forward he shook the warlock’s shoulders. “Merlin! Come on please wake up.” They were so close to Camelot, bandits didn’t dare come this near. That thought did little to comfort Arthur as he waited for a response.  

After a moment Merlin stirred at this and groaned softly. “Gaius, not nooow ,” he mumbled.

His manservant’s response calmed him somewhat. Perhaps Merlin had literally been napping. Given the week they’d all had he couldn’t blame the man. Seven days straight of visiting nobleman combined with excessive summer heat had worn them all out. Merlin included. Taking stock of the situation Arthur noted that Merlin’s tunic was pulled up slightly revealing a section of his pale stomach.

Rolling his eyes at his own foolishness Arthur finally understood. Merlin was trying to cool himself off. The streams cool water had to feel good along with a breeze over his exposed skin. Plopping down in the grass Arthur nudged Merlin with his boot. “I’m not Gaius.”

A few seconds passed before Merlin furrowed his brow. Tired blue eyes opened a moment later and looked around. “Wha’r you doing here?” he slurred.

“I was attempting to escape the stifling heat of the castle since our guests have all left.  You can imagine my shock at finding a body in the woods instead.”

“Huh, where?” Merlin blurted as he sat up quickly. “I didn’t see anybody when I arrived earlier. I swear I’ve only been out here for an hour tops.”

Sighing Arthur shook his head. “I was referring to you Merlin. I saw your body and thought you were hurt.”

“Oh.”

“Wha--.”

“Why would I be hurt?” Merlin interjected with a puzzled look.

Arthur blinked slowly, given the amount of adventures they had together that shouldn’t have seemed like an odd excuse. “Must I remind you of what you constantly tell me? Something about shared destinies and having to protect me. You have an uncanny ability to get hurt more than the average person.”

Merlin shook his head and yawned widely. “I do not, you attract too much trouble, and therefore I get hurt.”

Barking out a laugh Arthur shoved Merlin for good measure. “It’s gotten better though right?”

“By a hair,” Merlin griped as he scratched his head and stretched.  

Seeing Merlin slightly disheveled was causing his mind to wander. They’d had a discussion in the past about their feelings for each other. Merlin had unhelpfully suggested they try and remain friends only. His reasoning had been focused around Arthur’s new role as king. However, that had been nearly eight months ago and Arthur wanted to revisit the topic.

Everyone already knew about their feelings, there was nothing left to hide even Merlin’s magic had been revealed. That had been a trying time, Arthur had known deep down why Merlin had lied to him but it still hurt. If anything the revelation made his desire to be with Merlin even stronger.

Taking in Merlin’s still flushed cheeks and sweaty brow Arthur decided they both needed a better way to cool down. “Would you like to take a swim?” he offered without any preamble.

Merlin’s eyes widened at the suggestion. “What, right now?”

“Why not, it’s hot and the water will feel good.” Arthur could tell Merlin was working to find a suitable answer. Though, admittedly he looked cute sitting there moving his lips but not saying a word.

“Is it alright? Won’t we be missed? I wasn’t planning on being gone for so long.”

“I’ve informed Leon about my general intent so he knows where to start looking if something comes up. I think after this week everyone is too tired to make a fuss.”

“Will you go swimming too?”

“Of course, I’m melting simply sitting here in the shade. We don’t even have to walk there,” Arthur offered as incentive.

“You brought out your horse?!”

Shrugging Arthur looked over at the animal nearby, “I wasn’t sure how far I’d go and honestly I assumed the breeze from riding fast would help.”

“The horse will get hot too!” Merlin exclaimed.

“I know I realized that after I left. That’s why I was able to spot your boots when I rode by, I was going slowly. So, are you up for a swim?” Arthur tried again.

Merlin nodded and slowly stood up. “You don’t think it’ll be warm do you? That would be such a letdown.”

Arthur snorted, “will you shut up and grab your boots, if we doddle anymore it’ll be dark by the time we get back to the castle.”

“Dollophead,” Merlin spat back without hesitation.

Playfully shoving Merlin on his way over to his horse Arthur swung up into the saddle and waited. Merlin didn’t bother to put his socks and boots on he simply picked his way through the foliage towards them. A gentle grip on his ankle alerted Arthur to Merlin’s intent. Taking his foot out of the stirrup he waited as Merlin swung onto the back of the horse. The warlock’s body giving off a pleasant heat despite the weather, as they slowly rode along towards the lake.

The idea of discussing their feelings again prodded at Arthur’s brain. They were together and alone, it was perfect. Taking a breath to speak gave Arthur pause. Maybe waiting until they were in the water would be better. Merlin couldn’t run away from the topic as easily then.

Companionable silence fell between them as Arthur guided the horse along the path. When the lake came into view Arthur could feel his tired body relaxing already. How long had it been since he’d been able to simply take a swim. He couldn’t remember.

Once stopped, Merlin slipped off the back of the horse with ease and dropped his boots under the shade of a tree. His manservant could be graceful if he wanted, why he chose to hide that side of his nature was a mystery to Arthur. Merlin calling out to him broke his stupor.

“I know you’re not shy, what are you waiting for?”

“Shut up Merlin,” Arthur huffed as he dismounted. Once the horse was comfortable he joined Merlin in the shade. “You’re one to talk, get on with it,” he gestured towards Merlin.

“You first,” mumbled Merlin with a pout.

“Insufferable,” groused Arthur before bending over to take off his boots, looking up revealed Merlin finally taking his own clothes off. Once they were both down to their breeches Arthur decided to have a little fun. “Come here, you have something in your hair.”

Merlin must have been overly tired because he pulled a face and traipsed over. Alert Merlin would have never fallen for that trick. The second he was within striking range, Arthur raced forward and tackled his friend, lifting him up over his shoulder.  Merlin shouted something rude but it was drown out when Arthur bodily threw him into the lake. The splash the warlock made was enough to get Arthur wet.

Caught up in the moment and honestly laughing so hard he couldn’t stand up straight Arthur forgot one thing. Merlin could openly use his magic. The wave of water that came flying back at him a minute later soaked him immediately.  The water felt so refreshing he couldn’t be bothered to care. Feigning exhaustion he stepped forward and flopped into the water.

The joy of seeing Merlin so relaxed made Arthur forget his plan. They lazed about swimming for nearly half an hour, too tired to really talk.

Merlin broke the calm some time later, “my fingers are getting pruny we should probably get out.”

Suddenly worried they would pack up and leave without talking Arthur tried to think of anything to keep them from heading home. “We could dry off under the tree.”

“I might fall asleep again, you’ve been warned.”

“Not a problem, remember we’ve got a horse to get us back. You can pass out; I’ll simply tie you to the saddle.”

Shaking his head Merlin swam towards shore and slowly walked out. Arthur followed closely and they both sat down to rest in the shade.

“You know I could magic us dry and then we’d be able to go home now,” Merlin offered as he yawned.

Arthur nearly agreed but panicked. He still wanted to talk to Merlin about their relationship. Granted he could do that in his own chambers but that setting didn’t seem private enough, despite being behind a locked door.  

“Merlin, I wanted to ask you something before we head back.��

“No, I didn’t make sir Marwen trip with my magic, he’s just naturally that clumsy.”

“What? No, that’s not – really you didn’t?” Arthur checked disbelieving. “He fell all the time.”

“Yeah, he’s always drunk Arthur. I told you.”

“Sure, of course, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong all week and you know it, and no one harassed me. I would have told you like you asked.”

“Will you shut up for moment? I’m trying to ask you if we can court!” Arthur blurted. “I don’t think I want to take no for an answer this time.”

“Really?” Merlin asked softly.

“You know I love you, right?”

“I know, and I – I love you too.”

“Then why the hell can’t we be together?!” demanded Arthur.

Merlin actually laughed and ducked his head. “Arthur I want to be with you now, I have for a while. I wasn’t sure if it was the right time, you needed to focus on filling your father’s shoes and running a kingdom.”  The warlock paused to make eye contact. “Are you ready to make everything that much more complicated? I’m not a queen, I can’t give you an heir, and I’m a royal consort at best.”

“I’d be proud to show you off as my royal consort,” he replied quietly. “Merlin, I did as you asked I gave this,” Arthur motioned between them, “space. I’m ready to have you in my life wholly. The idea of you not being there with me – makes me – I can’t, please.”

“You sure?” Merlin checked.

“Yes!”

“Does this mean I still have to be your manservant?”

Sighing at his cheeky warlock, Arthur figured now was as good a time as any to tell Merlin his grand plan. “Actually, no. I’ve been working with the council to repeal the bans on magic, meaning I could, and I will appoint you court sorcerer.”

Merlin’s eyes went comically large, “Really? I knew you were debating, but you stopped talking about it with me a couple months ago, I figured --.”

“That I forgot or changed my mind?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t forget Merlin I was hoping to surprise you. To show you how much I cared.”

“Well, it worked,” Merlin offered with a grin.

“So I can court you? You accept my offer?” Arthur checked.

Merlin nodded and smiled, “Yes, I accept. When can I quit?”

Arthur knew exactly what Merlin was doing and laughed despite himself. “Idiot, I still need help. Can’t you do your chores faster with magic anyway?”

“Oh, low blow Pendragon.”

“Fine, you can’t really be a servant and the court sorcerer anyway, that’s odd.”

“Exactly, but I don’t mind helping you.”

“I’ll try to be mindful of what I ask of you. Let’s head back it’s getting dark and I’m getting hungry.”

The ride back to the castle was peaceful. Merlin’s head would occasionally hit his shoulder as they ambled along. Arthur assumed he was trying not to fall asleep. The moment they’d entered the courtyard Arthur sent word to have George sent to his chambers. Merlin made a small noise at the request but kept silent.

“Don’t get any ideas, and run off later, you’re mine tonight,” Arthur whispered as they walked through the halls towards his room.

“I take it I’m not to be doing any of my regular duties for the rest of the evening?” Merlin shot back with a smirk.

“Nope.”

Merlin didn’t question him further and easily went where Arthur directed him. He even kept quiet when they arrived and Arthur pushed him towards the window seat. George appeared ten minutes later and was given instructions to bring food up for them. While they waited Arthur went and opened all the windows to get a nice breeze. “Take off your boots, the floor will feel cool.”

An unintelligible noise was the only response Arthur received as Merlin pried off his footwear and relocated to the table to wait for food. It was obvious he was tired. Merlin had been run ragged the whole week attending to everyone’s needs. The warlock might not be prime servant material due to his constant sass, but he was loyal. That alone made Arthur always willing to offer up Merlin for any task. He’d have to get used to finding others for those sorts of things. Merlin was to become his official court sorcerer among other things.

Happy to think of the future for once, Arthur finally took a seat and waited in comfortable silence for dinner. Merlin had fallen asleep with his head pillowed in his arms when George returned. He awoke with a start when George placed a hot plate of food under his nose. Unable to keep from laughing Arthur waited for George to leave before he leaned over and shoved Merlin in the arm.

“Ow, why’d you do that?”

“Suck it up, you can handle it.”

“Mmpratmm,” Merlin grumbled with a mouth full of food.

“What color should your hat be?”

“For what? The magic job?” Merlin asked in between bites. “Red, obviously, I want a tassel off the side, no feathers,” he finished with a glare.

Snorting at the memory of Merlin in a ridiculous hat, Arthur continued to eat while asking him silly questions. Before long all the food had been devoured and Merlin went to lay his head back down on the table.

“Oi, come on, let’s go sit by the window. The breeze will feel good.”

Arthur manhandled Merlin to get him up and out of the chair. As they walked together Merlin draped an arm around his shoulder and leaned to brush a kiss against his neck. Arthur sighed happily, he was exhausted and wished they could do more but this was enough for now.  The remainder of the evening was spent entangled together on the window seat watching the moon rise.

--

Merlin woke with a start; the sun was streaming across the bed and around Arthur’s chambers, casting everything in a perfect golden glow. He was in Arthur’s bed, how the hell did that happen? Looking around in a panic he sat up quickly to assess the situation. That was when the Arthur shaped lump in the bed next to him spoke.

“You’re safe, we’re courting, n’you’re my sorcerer. Not dreaming, m’kay.” The king mumbled sleepily.

Laughing nervously Merlin tried to think of a witty comeback. Nothing came to mind, Arthur had covered it all. Expect one thing, “do I have to grab breakfast?”

Arthur opened his eyes at that question and stared. “No, I mean if you want, but no, no, stay here, fuck breakfast, not forever though I’m going to get hungry,” Arthur babbled.

“How’d I get in the bed I don’t remember anything but watching the moon.”

“I carried you cause you deserve to be treated like a queen. I mean a consort. Damn.” Arthur worked his arm free from the confines of the sheets and blindly reached around until he landed on Merlin’s wrist. “Shut up Merlin, sleep with me.”

“Uh right now?” Merlin asked incredulously. “The servants might find us in the act and I’m still tired, are you su--.”

“Fuck. No, sleep as in actual sleep not fooling around. That comes later, I promise. Shhhhhhh you need to lie down and sleep.”

Laughing Merlin took a deep breath and reclined into the bedding, he could get used to this. They had lots to figure out with everything changing, for now Merlin was content to simply be with Arthur. Going back to sleep sounded like the best idea ever. Closing his eyes Merlin drifted off holding Arthur’s hand.     

ao3 link in comments

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- WILL AND WON’T

Sirius took the book from James and idled a bit before starting. Torn between wanting to get back to Harry already and yet not wanting to just as much, for they'd find nothing more but depression if the way he was acting now was anything to go by. Yet all these extras just kept delaying it more than anything. Finally he took a deep breath and just jumped in, the dragging silence was worse than anything.

Harry Potter was snoring loudly.

Then Sirius comically snorted, grinningly lovingly at his godson who was blushing just slightly, but finally. Just being back to chatting about him for even one second had them all smiling at something again!

He had been sitting in a chair beside his bedroom window for the best part of four hours, staring out at the darkening street, and had finally fallen asleep with one side of his face pressed against the cold windowpane, his glasses askew and his mouth wide open.

"I hope that was a very fascinating cat," James chuckled.

"Oh, that wasn't what I was watching," Harry corrected, the smile slipping away at once into an uneasy frown. His headmaster hadn't left a very good impression on his family because of his last year, and he wasn't looking forward to their reaction of him showing up again so soon. So for now he feigned ignorance of anything else just for a few more seconds of peace.

The misty fog his breath had left on the window sparkled in the orange glare of the streetlamp outside, and the artificial light drained his face of all color, so that he looked ghostly beneath his shock of untidy black hair.

Lily made a noise of distaste for that description, she'd had far to many details already of how that could have come true.

  The room was strewn with various possessions and a good smattering of rubbish. Owl feathers, apple cores, and sweet wrappers littered the floor, a number of spellbooks lay higgledy-piggledy among the tangled robes on his bed, and a mess of newspapers sat in a puddle of light on his desk.

"I mean, you can't even really blame him," Sirius smirked at Lily's eye roll. "He's had people cleaning up after him all his life."

"The exact excuse he uses to never clean up his mess at home," Remus tragically bemoaned, waving him quickly on before he could go into a detailed account about how it wasn't really a mess until you couldn't see the floor anymore.

The headline of one blared:

HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?

Sirius' face flipped to agitation at once. Harry had more than enough press in his life, so of course he just had to mock what was clearly making his pup uncomfortable. "Yes, because the Boy Who Lived wasn't memorable enough! Let's brand him with another title!"

"I'm surprised they didn't call it the Boy Who Lived to be the Chosen One." Remus quietly snarked.

"That's a mouthful even for them." James heard anyways and poked them along.

Lily sighed heavily, but tried her best to get them to keep going. If they were already going to be like this just over the title of the article, they were going to be here for awhile.

Rumors continue to fly about the mysterious recent disturbance at the Ministry of Magic, during which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was sighted once more.

"We're not allowed to talk about it, don't ask me anything," said one agitated Obliviator, who refused to give his name as he left the Ministry last night.

Nevertheless, highly placed sources within the Ministry have confirmed that the disturbance centered on the fabled Hall of Prophecy.

Harry shivered heavily for just the name of that place again, honestly still wishing he could go back and erase the whole place from his mind all over again. For a moment his only solace was the reassurance he tried to grasp at least he'd never have to go in there again.

Then Sirius gave him a comforting nudge and refused to let his own voice crack, and Harry had to come back to here and remember he did have more to take comfort in. So he put on a smile again and insisted waving Sirius on like he really was getting over it so easily.

The others didn't buy it, but could no more force Harry to admit that than let him harm himself remembering anything before he should.

Though Ministry spokes wizards have hitherto refused even to confirm the existence of such a place, a growing number of the Wizarding community believe that the Death Eaters now serving sentences in Azkaban for trespass and attempted theft were attempting to steal a prophecy. The nature of that prophecy is unknown, although speculation is rife that it concerns Harry Potter, the only person ever known to have survived the Killing Curse, and who is also known to have been at the Ministry on the night in question.

Harry grumbled a bit about how he wished they'd been smart enough to piece this all together a year ago, while Sirius just scoffed but pointed out, "only makes them seem stupider the longer they take to catch up to us."

"And I didn't think it was possible for them to be going any slower before all this," James agreed.

Some are going so far as to call Potter "the Chosen One," believing that the prophecy names him as the only one who will be able to rid us of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"That is quite a leap," Lily snapped.

"A true one," Harry reminded in a less biting tone. He regretted the words the moment they came out, tensing and avoiding all eyes, not wanting to go anywhere near that conversation again. To his relief they didn't force him to, his parents just brushed him reassuringly while waving Sirius on.

The current whereabouts of the prophecy, if it exists, are unknown, although (ctd. page2, column 5)

A second newspaper lay beside the first. This one bore the headline:

SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE

"Why on earth was the first part of this necessary if we're getting all of this information again anyways?" Remus groused.

"Since when do you complain about learning more," Sirius demanded.

"When you're the one giving it," Remus snipped back.

"Oh well then be my guest," Sirius mocked, trying to pass the book to him, but Remus smacked him instead.

Most of this front page was taken up with a large black-and-white picture of a man with a lionlike mane of thick hair and a rather ravaged face. The picture was moving â€" the man was waving at the ceiling.

Rufus Scrimgeour, previously Head of the Auror office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has succeeded Cornelius Fudge as Minister of Magic. The appointment has largely been greeted with enthusiasm by the Wizarding community, though rumors of a rift between the new Minister and Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, surfaced within hours of Scrimgeour taking office.

"Can't be any worse than what Fudge was going through," James said blandly.

Scrimgeour's representatives admitted that he had met with Dumbledore at once upon taking possession of the top job, but refused to comment on the topics under discussion. Albus Dumbledore is known to (ctd. page 3, column 2)

Sirius made a face at that particular bit being cut off, so supplied himself, "known to cause misery and hope all at the same time, truly a gift of a man we've never had before-"

He ducked this time and used the book as a shield as Moony made to smack him again, then pouted at his grumpy friend who'd been refusing to play along all day. Prongs was being of no more help and he was going to have an aneurysm if he couldn't get some proper laughing in before lunch!

To the left of this paper sat another, which had been folded so that a story bearing the title ministry guarantees students' safety was visible.

Newly appointed Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, spoke today of the tough new measures taken by his Ministry to ensure the safety of students returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this autumn.

James mock yawned and even Lily couldn't pretend much enthusiasm for this. They'd never feared the safety of their school before they found out what all Harry went through, and didn't have much hope this Scrimgeour would clear it up any better than Dumbledore's lack-less attempts.

"For obvious reasons, the Ministry will not be going into detail about its stringent new security plans," said the Minister, although an insider confirmed that measures include defensive spells and charms, a complex array of countercurses, and a small task force of Aurors dedicated solely to the protection of Hogwarts School.

"Well the Aurors are new," Sirius pointed out happily, wondering if at least Harry would get a treat out of that. He hadn't mentioned it for a while, but as far as they knew he still wanted to be one.

"Though I'm blasted what enchantments they think they've added that haven't already been inlaid in the school already," Remus rolled his eyes.

Most seem reassured by the new Minister's tough stand on student safety. Said Mrs. Augusta Longbottom, 'My grandson, Neville' a good friend of Harry Potter's, incidentally, who fought the Death Eaters alongside him at the Ministry in June and-

Sirius was as glad as anyone that had been cut off. He adored Neville and now respected him as highly as he would with Ron and Hermione for all he'd done, but that coming from Augusta, especially after the way she'd spoken back in St. Mungo's, felt more like bragging than the praise he deserved for those feats.

Not to mention the increasing amount of times this had been mentioned already still made Harry look likely to be sick again any moment. They hadn't expected it to never be spoken of again, but clearly repetition wasn't helping Harry to move past that memory.

But the rest of this story was obscured by the large birdcage standing on top of it. Inside it was a magnificent snowy owl. Her amber eyes surveyed the room imperiously, her head swiveling occasionally to gaze at her snoring master. Once or twice she clicked her beak impatiently, but Harry was too deeply asleep to hear her.

A large trunk stood in the very middle of the room. Its lid was open; it looked expectant; yet it was almost empty but for a residue of old underwear, sweets, empty ink bottles, and broken quills that coated the very bottom. Nearby, on the floor, lay a purple leaflet emblazoned with the words:

-ISSUED ON BEHALF OF-

The Ministry of Magic

PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES

"I wonder if those were kept in storage all these years or something," James sighed heavily. His infant enjoyed gumming on the bright pamphlet now, and it had been quite something his elder counterpart had never had to be anywhere nearer to it. Now that was as gone as surely as all his baby teeth.

The Wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack.

1. You are advised not to leave the house alone.

2. Particular care should be taken during the hours of darkness. Wherever possible,

arrange to complete journeys before night has fallen.

3. Review the security arrangements around your house, making sure that all family members are aware of emergency measures such as Shield and Disillusionment Charms, and, in the case of underage family members, Side-Along-Apparition.

Harry frowned uneasily at this one like he had all those summers ago. Now with someone to ask, he glanced at his mum, but his mind was on another. "Are Muggle-borns allowed to use magic to put those up then?"

Lily hesitated too long in answering, which was answer enough before she tried to explain, "yes and no. We were still told not to use magic, but if we contacted the Ministry they would come over and place some up if requested. My parents allowed it, but I know some who never invested in the idea and...paid for it." She finished softly.

Harry tensed uneasily as he glanced out the window. He'd never felt safe at the Dursleys, but that was for a wholly other reason than his inability to do magic there. It occurred to him for the first time though, if Hermione had been attacked while she was at home, her parents were defenseless. What must that feel like, to be the sole person, the child having to protect your parents? It scared him to think about, but could come up with no honest solution either, you couldn't force the parents to just accept someone coming into their life from another world even if your child was in it, all in the name of a protection they didn't even understand.

4. Agree on security questions with close friends and family so as to detect Death Eaters masquerading as others by use of the Polyjuice Potion (see page 2).

5. Should you feel that a family member, colleague, friend, or neighbor is acting in a strange manner, contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad at once. They may have been put under the Imperius Curse (see page 4).

6. Should the Dark Mark appear over any dwelling place or other building, DO NOT ENTER, but contact the Auror office immediately.

7. Unconfirmed sightings suggest that the Death Eaters may now be using Inferi (see page 10). Any sighting of an Inferius, or encounter with same, should be reported to the Ministry IMMEDIATELY.

Harry heard this in the same detached way he had read it the first time in the Dursleys house. While all straight forward advice, he couldn't feel any real fear, or safety, or whatever that pamphlet was suppose to impress upon him. With no one in his life at the time and only a bitter reminder of something he no longer had an option for in a secure home, he'd cast it aside after only briefly scanning the information.

In here felt no better, only a bitter reminder of something he hadn't even been able to dream about at the time.

Lily watched his mood continue to spiral down, and clinging to anything to keep his mind in here she asked, "Harry, whose nickname did you hear first?"

Distracted by the odd question, he looked over at her but easily cast his mind back to the first conversation he'd heard with the four of them. "Er, Padfoot. Him and Remus were snipping while you two were talking to me." It worked at once, he smiled again. At the time the soft brush of warmth for hearing those names, seeing these faces and voices again had all been far too muddled with everything else going on. Now he could look back on that moment with a clarity he never would have believed possible.

"Works as well as any other security question we could ask," James chuckled for his wife. He knew she was doing it to keep him involved in the here and now, but it was rather a mute point considering they couldn't leave the premises for the time being.

"What about yours?" Harry asked curiously.

"We each have one for each other," Lily began happily, though Sirius cut her off in mock outrage-

"It would defeat the point of sharing them though!"

Lily rolled her eyes while Sirius grinned at Harry who was laughing just a bit at his godfathers antics again. He honestly would have told Harry if he'd asked again, but now he was waiting patiently for Sirius to keep going so he knew he could bring this up later.

Harry grunted in his sleep and his face slid down the window an inch or so, making his glasses still more lopsided, but he did not wake up. An alarm clock, repaired by Harry several years ago, ticked loudly on the sill, showing one minute to eleven. Beside it, held in place by Harry's relaxed hand, was a piece of parchment covered in thin, slanting writing. Harry had read this letter so often since its arrival three days ago that although it had been delivered in a tightly furled scroll, it now lay quite flat.

Dear Harry,

If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays.

Sirius scrutinized that, thought again about the description of the handwriting, and said in a flat, cold voice, "Dumbledore eh?"

Harry uneasily nodded his agreement, tense and waiting now for a new row of insults to come the headmasters way. With everything else that had gone on that night, Harry just had not been able to hold onto the same anger of blaming what had happened to Sirius on anyone but him. He knew they disagreed, they blamed the leader of the Order as much as Snape for trying to insist Sirius stay shut up, for not telling everything to him and Harry in the first place.

To his immense relief though, Sirius kept going without further comment. Whatever they were chewing on in regards to this, there was just no point shooting it at anyone in here, when their real target was still at Hogwarts and waiting for all of this to finish.

If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.

Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,

I am, yours most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

"Sounds, fun," James struggled to say with some lightheartedness. He'd admit he was curious what Dumbledore was up to, but already this wasn't starting off well. Dumbledore was clearly using Harry for something. Again.

"Hey, he's actually the one escorting you out of that place though!" Sirius did say cheerfully. "I think some good finally came of something, and he's not trying to keep you there all summer!"

"For once," Lily grumbled. It had taken the man six years what the Weasleys had done for him in his second, but she supposed she'd have to take what she could get here.

Though he already knew it by heart, Harry had been stealing glances at this message every few minutes since seven o'clock that evening, when he had first taken up his position beside his bedroom window, which had a reasonable view of both ends of Privet Drive. He knew it was pointless to keep rereading Dumbledore's words; Harry had sent back his "yes" with the delivering owl, as requested, and all he could do now was wait: Either Dumbledore was going to come, or he was not.

"I can't imagine why he wouldn't," Remus muttered, "it's not as if he's disappointed him lately or anything."

Sirius gave him a sideways look for that, but remarkably held his tongue and instead kept himself going rather than forcing Moony to address that right now.

But Harry had not packed. It just seemed too good to be true that he was going to be rescued from the Dursleys after a mere fortnight of their company.

"Miracles happen," Lily drawled.

"No, no, the miracle would be if he hadn't had to go back at all," Sirius happily corrected.

"I take what I can get," she snapped.

He could not shrug off the feeling that something was going to go wrong, his reply to Dumbledore's letter might have gone astray; Dumbledore could be prevented from collecting him; the letter might turn out not to be from Dumbledore at all, but a trick or joke or trap.

"I like that you listed trap last," James nodded, "obviously it's the least concerning option."

"Technically a trick and a joke are the same thing, so it was only fifty fifty," Sirius said fairly.

"Don't be so crude Padfoot," James wagged his finger at him. "Undermining the intricacies between a prank, a ploy, a ruse-"

"Keep going, or he will for an hour," Remus grumbled while Harry and Lily watched with honest fascination to see how long he could go.

Sirius took their distraction to hiss at him, "if you don't lighten up I'm going to use Lumos Maximus on what little of your brain is left."

Remus just raised a brow, unimpressed, while Sirius let Prongs keep going until he started making up words just to prove his point.

Harry had not been able to face packing and then being let down and having to unpack again. The only gesture he had made to the possibility of a journey was to shut his snowy owl, Hedwig, safely in her cage.

The minute hand on the alarm clock reached the number twelve and, at that precise moment, the street-lamp outside the window went out.

"The magic of timing," Lily giggled. Didn't need to worry about traffic when you could apparate.

Harry awoke as though the sudden darkness were an alarm. Hastily straightening his glasses and unsticking his cheek from the glass, he pressed his nose against the window instead and squinted down at the pavement. A tall figure in a long, billowing cloak was walking up the garden path.

Harry jumped up as though he had received an electric shock, knocked over his chair, and started snatching anything and everything within reach from the floor and throwing it into the trunk. Even as he lobbed a set of robes, two spellbooks, and a packet of crisps across the room,

"Can't forget the snack for the road!" Sirius laughed outright.

"Sirius, you're just describing the way you pack, so I don't know what you find so funny," James snickered along as well.

"I can admit to my flaws, if I had any. This is much faster than whatever that nonsense folding is," Sirius stated with his nose in the air.

the doorbell rang. Downstairs in the living room his Uncle Vernon shouted is surprise who would be here this time of night.

"Darn, and here I was hoping the hour would have them in bed," Lily grumbled.

No one disagreed with her. It was finally happening, someone even closer to Harry than Mr. Weasley was on the premises, could give these Dursleys a piece of their mind...and the stale taste in their mouth it was anyone but Sirius would linger until they got out.

Harry froze with a brass telescope in one hand and a pair of trainers in the other. He had completely forgotten to warn the Dursleys that Dumbledore might be coming.

Remus couldn't help an involuntary snort at that. This could be more than they'd initially thought for this reaction alone. Lets see Vernon try to stand his ground against Dumbledore. The only person this could be funnier for was Voldemort himself, and that led to far more complications than payback, so this was honestly the better option.

Feeling both panicky and close to laughter,

"A feeling I wish you'd have more," James sighed, that was perfectly reminiscent of how it felt to pull off a prank.

Harry ran down the stairs two at a time, coming to an abrupt halt several steps from the bottom, as long experience had taught him to remain out of arm's reach of his uncle whenever possible.

Harry flinched, though not for the reminder of that. He just hated watching the expressions it caused in those around him, that terrifying murderous look as they recalled why exactly this was. He still wished they'd never found out about that, but instead he forced himself not to rub at his neck and just told, "to be fair, most any person learns that after the first five seconds."

The joke gave Sirius a surprised snicker at least, though his voice was no less venomously laced as he kept going.

There in the doorway stood a tall, thin man with waist-length silver hair and beard. Half- moon spectacles were perched on his crooked nose, and he was wearing a long black traveling cloak and a pointed hat. Vernon Dursley, whose mustache was quite as bushy as Dumbledore's, though black, and who was wearing a puce dressing gown, was staring at the visitor as though he could not believe his tiny eyes.

"It is a sight to behold," James grudgingly tried for a laugh at these circumstances.

Then Dumbledore judged by his look of stunned disbelief Harry had not in fact warned of this, but he assumed he was graciously invited inside anyways. It was unwise to linger on doorsteps in these troubled times.

"Or just rude, but take your pick," Lily sniffed.

Dumbledore stepped inside and Vernon still seemed to thunderstruck to react, even when Dumbledore spoke of his long absence from here, but mentioned the agapanthus were flourishing.

"Of all the things to notice while dumping a child on a front porch, the flowers would stick out!" Sirius harshly snapped, making even himself wince for a comment no one needed reminding of.

Vernon Dursley said nothing at all. Harry did not doubt that speech would return to him, and soon, the vein pulsing in his uncles temple was reaching danger point, but something about Dumbledore seemed to have robbed him temporarily of breath.

"If it were permanent I may even start to like him again," Remus grumbled.

It might have been the blatant wizardishness of his appearance, but it might, too, have been that even Uncle Vernon could sense that here was a man whom it would be very difficult to bully.

"I'd say a combination of both, but that implies far more sense than those three could put together," Lily snipped.

Then Dumbledore caught sight of Harry and greeted him with an excellent.

These words seemed to rouse Uncle Vernon. It was clear that as far as he was concerned, any man who could look at Harry and say "excellent" was a man with whom he could never see eye to eye.

"Considering he can't see eye to eye with anything more than the deranged female version of himself he calls a sister, this isn't surprising," James agreed.

He began he didn't mean to be rude, in a tone that threatened rudeness in every syllable.

"And he even blatantly contradicts himself, again." Sirius huffed, wishing he'd kept a tally of how many times he'd done so, but at this point it would be redundant, he didn't need more reason to hate this idiot.

Dumbledore finished for him that rudeness often occurred even by accident, and it was best not to say anything.

Sirius couldn't help it this time and full out laughed. He knew his friends resented Dumbledore for the way he'd treated Harry, and himself, last year, but even while being an arrogant old man he'd done something only Moody had previously done, shut up Vernon!

The kitchen door had opened, and there stood Harry's aunt, wearing rubber gloves and a housecoat over her nightdress, clearly halfway through her usual pre-bedtime wipe-down of all the kitchen surfaces.

Her rather horsey face registered nothing but shock.

Dumbledore introduced himself when Vernon failed to.

"He didn't introduce himself to Vernon," James pointed out with mischief finally lighting his eyes again. He couldn't believe Dumbledore and the Dursleys were causing it, but he always had tried to find fun in the bleakest of places. "He'd just stepped over the doorway and told Vernon to shut his trap, not that I'm arguing the point."

While reminding they had corresponded. Harry thought this an odd way of reminding Aunt Petunia that he had once sent her an exploding letter, but Aunt Petunia did not challenge the term.

"I'm honestly still blasted at that," Lily said harshly. Of the many things wrong with Harry's fifth year, that was at least in the top five.

Dudley had that moment peered round the living room door. His large, blond head rising out of the stripy collar of his pajamas looked oddly disembodied, his mouth gaping in astonishment. Dumbledore waited a moment or two, apparently to see whether any of the Dursleys were going to say anything, but as the silence stretched on he smiled.

He presumed he was invited into their sitting room.

"No," James said flatly, honestly he wouldn't be doing any such thing to Dumbledore right now. He had far to many things needing to be shouted for a place like his living room.

Dudley scrambled out of the way as Dumbledore passed him. Harry, still clutching the telescope and trainers,

"A conversation starter at least," Sirius' smile grew as he did wonder why Dumbledore was choosing to linger and make a show of this.

jumped the last few stairs and followed Dumbledore, who had settled himself in the armchair nearest the fire and was taking in the surroundings with an expression of benign interest. He looked quite extraordinarily out of place.

Harry asked weren't they leaving?

Dumbledore agreed that was soon on the agenda, but they needed to attend to something first best not done in the open. So they were too trespass on his aunt and uncles hospitality just a little longer.

"Catch up with the Order?" Lily demanded, this being the only thing they could think of, and not at all missing the fact that if this were true, something had come of last year if Dumbledore was really, finally, going to be so open with him. They wouldn't deny they'd prefer it to be done anywhere but there, but they'd take what they could get right now.

Vernon demanded he would, would he?

Dumbledore simply said yes, he shall.

Remus still couldn't help making an agitated face no matter how much he tried to hide it, refusing to admit what he'd been thinking even as the thought lingered in his head. 'A man after my own heart.'

He drew his wand so rapidly that Harry barely saw it; with a casual flick, the sofa zoomed forward and knocked the knees out from under all three of the Dursleys so that they collapsed upon it in a heap. Another flick of the wand and the sofa zoomed back to its original position.

Sirius read all of this with an increasing smile, he wasn't going to deny anymore he was starting to enjoy this. Watching the Dursleys be flicked around their own house, and Harry wasn't even going to get in trouble for it! The Ministry would have been informed of this going on by Dumbledore himself most likely. His only thought now was how far could they go with this.

As he replaced his wand in his pocket, Harry saw that his hand was blackened and shriveled; it looked as though his flesh had been burned away.

Sirius at once felt his nose crinkle up in disgust, but it did nothing to hide the flash of concern. It sounded impossible in his head Dumbledore would get anything resembling an injury, let alone one that would leave some kind of mark.

He looked around in concern when Harry started muttering to himself, never a good sign.

James had already noticed and was already babbling at top speed about how even wizards didn't have a magical cure for everything, though he was confident it wasn't anything the man couldn't shake off. Even while holding a flare of hate for the man, he seemed able to push that aside instantly to help his son with the worry for that same person. Harry in no way looked convinced, but smiled anyways for the attempt even if his eyes lingered with that fear.

Harry tried to ask what had happened to his hand, but Dumbledore simply said he'd explain later.

"Oh, well apparently we still haven't quite gotten over that nasty habit of not explaining everything," James snapped.

Lily sighed, not arguing the point aloud, but thought her husband was just looking to pick a fight now. Not every aspect of Dumbledore's life, such as injuries, were of their concern.

He instead turned back to Vernon and told evidence suggested refreshments coming would be optimistic to the point of foolishness.

"Evidence used to suggest honesty was your strongest point, but that was foolish as well," Remus muttered.

A third twitch of the wand, and a dusty bottle and five glasses appeared in midair. The bottle tipped and poured a generous measure of honey-colored liquid into each of the glasses, which then floated to each person in the room. He told this was Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead, while Harry took a sip.

Lily made a little face at her son drinking, though sixteen wasn't an unreasonable age, for a moment she almost wished her biggest concern was her child acting like a teenager and slipping into the liquor cabinet from time to time.

He had never tasted anything like it before, but enjoyed it immensely.

"As you well should, Rosmerta can make a man go broke buying that from her," Sirius grinned.

"Trust him, he's tried," Remus rolled his eyes.

"You certainly don't try to stop me," Sirius challenged, his eyes gleaming at finally getting a normal response from Moony.

"I'd be a hypocrite if I did, considering how often I nick a glass," he shrugged without remorse.

"Aha! You admit it!" Sirius cheered with triumph.

"I never denied it, you just never asked," Remus huffed. Sirius frowned at him now, his moment of fun clearly having passed as quickly as it had come for Remus was refusing to play along anymore, so Sirius kept going with his own little huffs.

The Dursleys, after quick, scared looks at one another, tried to ignore their glasses completely, a difficult feat, as they were nudging them gently on the sides of their heads.

At least that got a collective snort of laughter, all of them having imagined hitting them upside the head with something far heavier than a drink, but it was a start.

Harry could not suppress a suspicion that Dumbledore was rather enjoying himself.

"At least someone is," Sirius said good-naturedly.

Finally Dumbledore turn to Harry and explained the Order had located Sirius' will this past week, and its contents were relatively simple, he'd left everything to his godson.

Then Sirius felt like his throat had been clogged shut and he couldn't remember how to breathe for it. This was the opposite of what he was going for, more depressing reminders! Even he couldn't find a way to put a spin on this to make it in any way funny!

Then what he'd said really ran through his head, and he did release a childishly rude giggle.

Lily quickly brushed her hair out of her face, cleared her throat loudly while she shifted next to James, purposely brushing against him to keep his attention while snipping at him, "just what was so funny about that?"

"My inheritance, my mums precious Black house and heirlooms, all going to a halfblood. The only thing to make it better would be giving it all to Moony, or you Lils."

Lily rolled her eyes even as she'd expected the answer, while Harry shook his stinging eyes and forced them to focus back in confusion of that. Why hadn't anything been left to Remus? Then he really considered this, and recalled some earlier statements from them how Remus wasn't even supposed to be here right now, nor allowed to adopt Harry, or any child. Was it really possible werewolves were so forced outside their own laws they weren't even allowed such a thing as possessions left by the dead? After all he'd heard, Harry believed it.

James still couldn't bring himself to join in this, he couldn't look at Sirius or anyone or he'd break down again for this future hanging over his brothers life. Not to mention Dumbledore nor anyone had ever said what became of his things. The vault of gold Harry had now was not the only thing in the Potters line, was it really too much to ask who now owned his parents house? This one? Aside from the cloak, Harry still had more from Sirius than him, and even when they were in the same boat now, or well, afterlife, Sirius was still managing to give more to him.

Sirius didn't press the issue onto anyone else, but he certainly hoped Harry got to the Weasleys soon now, or even another cutaway chapter to anyone else who wouldn't mention him for once!

This should leave matters straightforward. A reasonable amount of gold had been added to his vault, as well as all of Sirius' possessions should fall to Harry-

Vernon interrupted to demand his godfather was dead?

"Timing," Lily snarled in disgust at anyone so blatantly stating this, as if it hadn't been done enough already today. She didn't know how Sirius had managed to say that with a straight face, she and James had only gotten through it on constricted confidence it wasn't yet true. He tried to brush right past it like he did all things Vermin, related...or Vernon, same thing.

Dumbledore answered a simple yes.

"I would have given him a one word answer as well, but it wouldn't have been that," James snapped.

"Don't be daft Prongs, the only single word you ever use is for a spell, and even then you flourish those for show," Sirius happily corrected.

James made a face at him and actually looked to give a colorful response back, just for the simple bliss he still could and would hold onto that as long as possible, before Remus snapped, "I'm surprised you two never read a dictionary for all the words you use, but we don't need to hear every one of them now!"

James made an annoyed, slightly confused face at him as if just noticing for the first time what a mood Moony was really in, but Sirius had no want to test it right now when he still had to get back to something so unpleasant so kept going anyways.

He did not ask Harry why he had not confided in the Dursleys.

Lily stopped eyeing Remus and went back to the despicable and never ending thoughts for these circumstances going on. Dumbledore himself had admitted last year how aware he was of the situation going on there and still they got more evidence how little he cared!

Then continued as if uninterrupted this should also mean Harry was in possession of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The problem was-

"That is indeed a problem," Sirius couldn't help making his own disgruntled face at that. "I never wanted Harry stepping back into that place even while I was in it, now I don't want to even think of him being on the same block as it!"

Harry tensed and shifted with unease for this particular comment. Everything in him wanted to agree with Sirius, but at the same time the words wouldn't come out. He never wanted to be near that place again, but the idea saddened him the same as if he was never allowed in this home again. Home...such a strange word choice, he just couldn't imagine it ever applying to such a grim house, and was sure it was simply his mind slipping up with something else.

Again he was interrupted by Vernon greedily demanding he'd been left a house?

"Actually, I take it back," Sirius said at once, his eyes narrowing maliciously. "If giving it to Harry in any way leads to Vernon stepping in and never stepping back out, I'll arrange this myself-" he stopped with a hiss of pain and glared at Moony.

"Do I need to point out why that was in poor taste," he hissed for his ear while the other three winced and pretended like they hadn't heard him anyways.

"Is this what's got you so round the bind? I'm not going to stop saying whatever I please thank you."

When Remus just made a face and turned away muttering about nonsense, Sirius realized he hadn't guessed right and kept going without almost anyone noticing for a moment, which was lucky with the next few lines.

This time he was ignored, and Harry supplied they could keep using it as headquarters, he never wanted back in that place again where Sirius had once prowled, so desperate to escape.

Dumbledore thanked him for the generosity, but explained they had temporarily vacated the premises.

"Of course the only good that place has ever got would be taken away," he muttered purely for himself.

Harry asked why, both of them ignoring the Dursleys predicament of the glasses now rapping the Dursleys over the head and sloshing the drink everywhere.

That got a surprised snicker out of everyone, leaving at least Sirius pleased one thing could still make them smile during all this constant black depression.

As Sirius was the last, than tradition would instead have it go to the next available pureblood in the line.

A vivid image of the shrieking, spitting portrait of Sirius's mother that hung in the hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place flashed into Harry's mind.

"I'm almost saddened he knows the place so well," James said in disgust.

He agreed that didn't surprise him, and Dumbledore supplied this meant Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Would be a touch more fitting than it ever was on me," Sirius shrugged without any real care.

"The only thing she should have is a cell, not anything you once did." Harry snapped at once.

Sirius eyed him but chose not to argue the point, thinking he was far too worked up about it.

Without realizing what he was doing, Harry sprang to his feet; the telescope and trainers in his lap rolled across the floor. Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius's killer, inherit his house?

Dumbledore agreed it would not be helpful to the Orders cause, but there was a very simple test to now know who it truly was in ownership.

Sirius paused to scratch at his ear, but he couldn't really think of one. He supposed there was some blood magic to be worked, he vaguely recalled something of the like going on with house-elf ownership and quarrels about that in the past of who it should go to when the eldest chose otherwise. However, the very idea of Harry drawing blood for anything only reminded him of more pink, and far from it being worth that waste of space, he skipped on and hoped Dumbledore literally meant the word simple, for once.

Before he could explain, Vernon interrupted again to get these off!

Harry looked around; all three of the Dursleys were cowering with their arms over their heads as their glasses bounced up and down on their skulls, their contents flying everywhere.

"That, is the best mental imagery, I've heard all day." James declared at once.

"Wasn't much contest," Remus rolled his eyes.

The other four gave a lighthearted laugh in agreement anyways, it just wasn't as satisfying as Sirius arriving and cursing them all where they sat, or even Dumbledore doing more than sloshing some drink on them with cups.

Dumbledore did indeed vanish them after pointing out it would have been better manners to drink it.

Lily shook her head, politely incredulous at Dumbledore's incredulous politeness.

It looked as though Uncle Vernon was bursting with any number of unpleasant retorts, but he merely shrank back into the cushions with Aunt Petunia and Dudley and said nothing, keeping his small piggy eyes on Dumbledore's wand.

Then he turned back and flicked his wand for a fifth time.

"Why is it keeping count?" James randomly muttered.

"For the Dursleys benefit I'm sure," Harry gave a slight smile, knowing he'd seen them flinch uneasily every time.

There was a loud crack, and a house-elf appeared, with a snout for a nose, giant bat's ears, and enormous bloodshot eyes, crouching on the Dursleys' shag carpet and covered in grimy rags.

Sirius' face drained of blood, while his mind consumed with a shocking amount of hatred he thought he could only feel for a rat. It seemed to extend to the thing that got him killed as well. The others may blame Dumbledore holding information over Harry's head leading to it, but Sirius couldn't forget the kicker, or what he'd like to be kicking! That no good, infested vermin who'd done everything his whole life to treat him as if he were lower than the filth cleaning their floors!

"Sirius?" Remus spoke softly, the first time this morning he'd really come back to himself as he leaned towards him in concern, grabbing for his shoulder, but Sirius shook it off just as quickly. He no more wanted to linger on that wretch than he did the veil, none of it mattered, least of all the soon to be headless elf.

Aunt Petunia let out a hair-raising shriek; nothing this filthy had entered her house in living memory. Dudley drew his large, bare, pink feet off the floor and sat with them raised almost above his head, as though he thought the creature might run up his pajama trousers, and Vernon bellowed what was that?

The twisted expression upon his godfathers face could never be described as a smile, but the pleasure was certainly there Kreacher was getting some use in scaring the Dursleys for a moment at least.

Dumbledore pointed out if Harry owned the house, than he also owned Kreacher.

Kreacher was clearly none to happy about this, stamping his feet, and shouting he won't, won't, won't, go into the Potter brats care! He wanted his new mistress! He wanted miss Bellatrix!

Lily had half a mind to get up herself and smack Sirius for the tone he was using. She still wished he'd understand he'd never helped the situation by showing nothing but cruelty to his elf, but it would do no more good than blame the way Snape treated Harry on his godfather. The elf was his own actions and was as responsible for them as the Potions teacher was for abusing his students. She like the others wished more than anything Sirius would release the elf now and avoid all future problems with this.

Harry at once protested he didn't want him!

Harry rubbed painfully at his ear, Sirius shouting that with increasing volume was starting to hurt, so he shot a question that occurred to him instead. "How was Dumbledore keeping him away? If Elf's have their own magic and can apparate, or I assume disapparate from wherever they want."

"Oh there are still ways of blocking them," Sirius viciously explained, and Harry instantly regretted asking as it only seemed to fuel his desire to be stamping on the elves head right now. "Magical blockers, outsmarting the little blighter which isn't hard, Merlin just knocking him unconscious or poisoning him or-"

"Alright Sirius," Lily snapped, "I don't need to hear the entire list!"

He scowled at her but kept going simply because he actually didn't want to linger on all the things he'd considered doing in his past which were suddenly a far more real threat to that things life.

Dumbledore reminded to turn him away would send him to Bellatrix just as fast, with the knowledge of all the Order.

Harry stared at Dumbledore. He knew that Kreacher could not be permitted to go and live with Bellatrix Lestrange, but the idea of owning him, of having responsibility for the creature that had betrayed Sirius, was repugnant.

"Responsibility isn't the right word," James snapped. "Just tell him not to set foot outside that place again until his dying day, which hopefully will come soon enough anyways! Problem solved, you never have to see the scum again."

Dumbledore prompted Harry to give him an order, and if he complied, than the matter was settled. If not, they'd have to find other methods to keep him from his new and rightful mistress.

Through all of this Kreacher's shoutings had only gotten louder, so Harry said the only thing that came to mind, shut up!

Sirius' satisfied little smirk was the closest thing he was going to get to congratulating Harry for that right now, he certainly wouldn't have been so kind with this test.

It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet (Aunt Petunia whimpered) and beat the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.

"Well, we can no longer say Sirius doesn't think ahead," Remus tried in vain for a joking tone even if his face was too pale to pull it off.

Sirius did give him a real smile for the attempt anyways even as he mock pouted for the jab.

Cheerful now, Dumbledore said that settled it all.

Harry asked if he had to keep him with him?

"Malfoy didn't keep Dobby on his heels," Sirius rolled his eyes for Harry's random question.

"I certainly didn't want him at the Dursleys place, as if I needed another reason to loath it," Harry reminded, thinking more along the lines Kreacher would have to relocate to wherever he called home, no matter how loosely.

Sirius nodded that made it a fair question then.

Dumbledore gave the idea to have him working in the schools kitchens, where the other elves could help keep an eye on him.

"Yes, because there's not enough slave labor going on in there, another was really needed," Lily couldn't help but scoff at that, honestly thinking that's more what Hermione would say so felt like somebody should.

Harry however frowned and demanded, "Dumbledore couldn't have suggested that for Sirius? Have him out of the house to begin with?"*

Sirius opened, then closed his mouth. It wasn't ideal, and still left the house-elf open to much vulnerability without someone keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn't spread something he wasn't supposed to, but if this had been done at the beginning there would have been little to nothing to start with! He had no good answer for Harry, none of them did.

Harry agreed to this at once and instructed the house-elf to do as such. Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished.

"You didn't even order him not to seek out Bellatrix, or otherwise do much of anything," Sirius frowned in unease at once. "You're leaving that thing far to loose after what you now know he can do."

Harry winced at this overlap, but Lily pacified, "I'm sure whatever Dumbledore was doing before to keep him away from Bellatrix he's continuing now. It may not be permanent and he'd have Harry go back and enforce it later, but it worked for a fortnight, it should last them a while longer."

Sirius was honestly just disappointed Harry hadn't clothed the thing and be done with it, but as that would only circle them back to the problem with the Order he chose to let it all go instead and hopefully move on.

All that was left now was the matter of Buckbeak.

Here he actually sobered, for the first time realizing he'd had something in his care. It was as if someone were telling him what was being done to his owl Buggle when he went to Azkaban. He'd somehow grown distantly fond of Buckbeak and he'd never even met him yet.

Hagrid had been looking after him, but if Harry wished other arrangements-

He perked up all over again, a lighthearted chuckle escaping a throat he wouldn't have thought possible a moment ago. At least Hagrid got something out of this!

Harry at once said that was perfect.

"I am wondering now why that wasn't done anyways," James ruffled up his hair at such a simple explanation. "It's not like the Ministry was going to swing back by and accuse him of having the same hippogriff that had gotten away so many years ago."

"I'm sure I kept him around for a quick get away," Sirius shrugged, not liking the idea of how long he probably went without a wand on the run, and had probably still been afraid of being unable to apparete so Buckbeak was just an extra security for it at the time.

They had rechristened him to be Witherwings just in case, but no one should ever suspect a thing about the hippogriff to die those years ago was the same now.**

"I'm sure that makes him completely invisible to them," Lily couldn't help a giggle.

Now, was his trunk all packed?

Harry muttered err, eyeing his fallen shoe and telescope.

"That means yes, I just have to finish up one or two things," Sirius lightly interpreted.

"Like the rest of it," James snorted.

Harry ran off to finish this, but came back to find Dumbledore was still waiting in the sitting room. So he reluctantly came back and found Dumbledore waiting for him to finish by addressing the Dursleys that Harry would come of age in a years time.

Petunia spoke up for the first time he would not, he was a month younger than Dudley who didn't turn eighteen until the year after next.

"What does that have to do with anything?" James asked. He'd just thought Petunia had completely forgotten how old Harry was, which was honestly a likely answer.

"Muggles are considered of age at eighteen," Lily shrugged.

James looked baffled at what he saw as a random number but didn't press her for more.

Dumbledore corrected wizards were of age at seventeen, and ignoring Vernon's mutters of preposterous.

"I would too," Sirius nodded.

"Honestly, a year is so preposterous?" Remus rolled his eyes.

Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions,

Sirius made an agitated noise at just how casually that was said.

was still in danger from Voldemort, though the protection invoked fifteen years ago when he'd been left here would be broken at that age.

Sirius finished through gritted teeth, the hate curling tight in his chest never having left since the moment he'd heard that and still somehow convinced if they could just fix that one thing it would all be worth it!

Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.

They had not done as asked, had never treated Harry as their own. He'd known nothing but cruelty and neglect at their hands.

James twisted violently in his seat for the reminder, his will prepared to launch him back at that door right then to continue retribution for that, but this time Harry was there, more sure of himself than ever to keep them close to him while he still could. He scooted close to his dad and nudged him with a small smile he didn't really feel, but it worked. For all the reminder it was that had happened to Harry, looking at him was just as much a reminder he shouldn't leave him now.

The best that could be said was that he had not suffered the same damage as the boy between them now.

Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked around instinctively, as though expecting to see someone other than Dudley squeezed between them.

Lily scoffed in more disgusted disbelief than she would have thought possible. She really just couldn't believe anyone was so daft before she was forcefully hearing about them.

Vernon furiously tried to protest they'd never done anything against their Dudders,

"Yes, because that was the accusation you should defend," Remus snarled none to quietly even if he did try to keep that one under his breath.

but Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.

He continued the magic keeping him safe would end when he turned seventeen, but he asked that he remain back here until then.

Lily was already fuming by the time Sirius got to that, and couldn't stop herself all but shouting, "Ask? Since when has he had to ask before? He's been forced back whether he wanted it or not! If you hadn't told him they'd have no reason to think otherwise until he was eighteen and could finally kick him out themselves!"

Harry did the same for her, wrapping a gentle arm around her in a hug. She merely patted his arm but refused to really let herself be comforted while this monster of a sister was permitted to act dumb about this.

James had agreed with every word, and wanted more than anything to add on this magic protecting Harry seemed more confusing the more he heard of it. Why would the protection end when he turned of age? Couldn't it simply be reset so long as he was living with Petunia he would remain safe? Not that he in any way wanted that, but if Dumbledore were there the moment it happened and reset it up again, his son would remain safer for just that little bit longer until they came up with a true plan to rid Voldemort once and for all. Apparently though it just vanished once he was an adult, which wasn't unbelievable as the age broke many spells upon one such as the trace, but he had more questions about this that no one was around to give an answer to.

None of the Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been mistreated.

"Honestly the fact that he even has brain cells he hasn't eaten is the miracle," Remus said dryly.

Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.

So was Lily still, though the comparison between the two had never been less obvious.

He finished with a polite until they met again, the Dursleys looked as though that moment could wait forever as far as they were concerned,

Harry cocked his head to the side with a nasty frown in place, though he was sure that was simply because he was wishing it had happened again and it was likely Dumbledore had simply never gone back.

and after tipping his hat, swept from the room.

Harry waved goodbye and hauled his things to the curb, where Dumbledore asked he extract his cloak before vanishing the lot to the Burrow so as not to cumbersome them on their further outings tonight.

Harry made sure to duck low so his headmaster couldn't see the mess of his trunk as he did this.

Sirius did make a little 'pfft' noise, erasing some tension back in the room as he not so subtly laughed at how little anyone cared about that.

When he had stuffed it into an inside pocket of his jacket, Dumbledore waved his wand and the trunk, cage, and Hedwig vanished. He told Harry they were now going to step out into the flighty temptress of adventure.

He finished with a greatly attempted curious tone, but even he couldn't deny he wasn't looking forward to whatever he was passing along to Harry. Dumbledore's idea of an adventure very likely wasn't the same as theirs.

HPHPHPHP

Random note, I keep wanting to have James call Harry buckaroo. I've been fighting off this compulsion for ages and even catch myself doing it and deleting it in a few drafts, but you all know for a fact if this had been based in America Harry absolutely would have been called that! Or is that just a Southern thing...

*I feel like there were a bunch of points where characters just casually drop ideas that could have done so much good in the last book but are never mentioned again!

**Why didn't Sirius just use polyjuice potion, Transfiguration, or any number of things to leave Grimmauld place at his leisure, or go adopt Harry, or anything? I never brought it up in fic because I don't have a good answer. Hell, they just gave Buckbeak a new name and no one ever bats an eye. All Sirius would have to do was pick a new name, change his hair color and make his nose a little longer and so long as he didn't do anything to draw attention to himself again, I sincerely doubt anyone would have given it notice ever again. I still don't get why he didn't go to school with Harry last year as Padfoot. There was almost no reason for him to be locked in that house except a headcanon I have that will be revealed in the seventh book, but that's at the end, and this was on my mind now, so please discuss!