Skill Swap

When Artoria (Caster, she who chants, unfortunate sucker who still can’t not try to save the world) stumbles out of the rayshift, her first instinct is to take a step forward. Hopefully so she can take multiple others afterwards, preferably to head back to her room where she can sleep for twenty years and then take a shower.

Artoria takes a step, and at this second, becomes acutely aware of the following:

• Her shoes, for some unfathomable reason, no longer have heels, fucking up the way she sets her foot down
• Her center of gravity is not where she expects it to be
• Her arms, shot forward to regain balance or possibly break an upcoming fall, are absolutely not the length they should be
• She’s going to hit the floor.

And she does. Painfully so.

“Senpai!” Mash’s voice rise, background noise to the sudden pain rippling through Artoria’s nose, and she sounds anxious and worried and so so very-

Blank.

Hands come to her shoulders. Someone props her up. Mash looks at her, frowning and fussing. “Are you alright?”

How does one describe an absence of something? How does one give shape to a void? She doesn’t know how to explain this. There is nothing to Mash’s voice. No truth and no lie, no color of any kind.

Artoria doesn’t respond right away, because she has no idea what Mash means by this and that means she has no idea what is expected of her. What the fuck. What the fuck is going on. She brings a hand up, to touch her face, check if anything is wrong with her eyes, if she got- fuck, hit in the head or something- and that’s when Artoria sees.

Three red marks.

Right there.

On her hand.

Command spells. There are command spells on her hand. Why are there command spells on her hand.

No. No, that’s wrong. Look closer; her fingers are charred black. There’s an old ache in her joints she doesn’t recall ever feeling. That palm is much bigger than it should be.

This is not her hand.

She whirls her head around, looking right, then left. There it is; her own body, standing like a pole, slowly blinking like it just woke up. For a second, she fears that her body is currently abandoned and soulless, but she sees them raise a tentative hand to touch her ear, and so she understands who exactly is in her body.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck.

For a second, she feels a very familiar sensation- like stepping outside of her body, the world turning into an elaborate theater play she has no part it. Before the dissociation can really settle however, something pulses inside of her, a brief hyperawareness of every vein and sinew and bone and nerve that makes her, and she’s forcefully dragged right back to the present as if dunked in cold water.

It’s probably for the better, but it’s still very disorienting for a moment.

“Senpai?” And Mash is still looking at her. Fuck. Artoria can’t tell her intentions. She can’t tell her intentions. Her entire life she’d managed to avoid the worst of troubles by going along with what people want of her, and she can’t do that anymore. Panic bubbles at the back of her throat. The one thing stopping her from bolting is a stronger, almost instinctual feeling wrapping around her fear like a fist, squeezing it with I know Mash. I know Mash. She does not wish you ill. I know Mash. I know Mash. You do too.

So Artoria looks at her, and smile. “I’m fine, Mash. I just misstepped.”

It’s disturbingly easy to pretend to be Ritsuka. Mash has a light frown, but all the other servants around you are already sighing in relief, clearly fooled by her impression. Anger joins up with fear at the bottom of her stomach, how can you claim to care for them when you can’t even tell they’re lying, how can you claim to care for them when you can’t even tell they’re not them, but this, too, will have to wait for later.

The Kouhai, though, does not give up that easily: “Are you sure-”

There is a loud intake of breath. A sharp exhale. And another. And another. The unmistakable sound of hyperventilation.

“Caster?!”

Fucking hell.

Artoria jumps on her feet. She sways for a second, still unused to this body, but this time she catch her balance before she can fall, as if a strong hand came to steady her. She rushes as far as that body lets her towards Ritsuka- Ritsuka, Ritsuka, Ritsuka whose pupils are blown wide and whose hands are slapped over their own mouth in a practice attempt to slow their breathing down-

“Move.” She shoves Gawain out of the way. He blinks up at her, clearly surprised by her behavior, but right now she has bigger fish to fry. “I’ll handle it.”

She grabs Ritsuka’s arm. Much stronger than she intended to, as evidenced by her nails digging into that skin (shit, fuck, she hadn’t meant to hurt them-) but at least it has the benefit of drawing Ritsuka’s attention to her. They look up at her, eyes wide, short of breath- and when she pulls, they follow. People are speaking in confusion, someone even reaches out to them. Artoria doesn’t care. She rushes as fast as her hazardous control on that body will allow, heading straight to the closest safe place she can think of- Ritsuka’s room.

Locking the door behind the two of them takes a frustratingly long time- she just can’t fucking seem to get the key inside that lock- but as soon as she’s sure no one else can bother them she runs to sit by her friend’s side.

“Ritsuka. Ritsuka.” She sets a hand on their shoulder and another under their chin, making them look at her. “Breathe with me. Breathe with me.”

It’s an extremely uncanny experience, seeing her own face wracked by terror. She wishes she could blow their hurt to smithereens, cradle her charge inside her maw where no one could ever hurt them- but she also knows that trauma isn’t so easily solved, so right now she focuses on steadying their breath.

It’s a slow process- but eventually, they calm down. Their- her- face is pale and their body is still tense, but they’re not at risk of passing the fuck out, so she’ll count it as a win.

“Ar… Artoria…?” They ask, very quietly, like a small trembling animal.

She nods. “Yeah. That’s me.”

She means that as a comforting sentence, but they flinch at her voice, bringing a hand to the upper half of their face. It takes her a second to understand why- but when she does, she can’t help a sympathetic wince. “Fairy eyes?”

A brief pause. And then- a nod. “Everything is so… bright. People keep speaking and their words are full of colors it’s overwhelming I feel like I’m drowning like… like… like this one scene in Pagemaster, where the kid is being swallowed by melting paintings, I can’t process that much information at once.”

Yeah… She understands. She Understands. Her whole life she’d suffered from the torrent of intentions around her. Right now though, she would kill to have these back, because if she thinks (knows) that Ritsuka is saying the truth their voice sounds so hollow and it’s so incredibly jarring.

“And- and everything’s so quiet, inside of me, I hear my thoughts and nothing else, this skin itch so bad it’s too big for me to wear I haven’t been alone in my body in years it’s like my spine has been ripped off I don’t know how I’m supposed to stand like this.”

This doesn’t make sense to Artoria. This shouldn’t make sense to Artoria. None of these words have been set in a way that can be understood by anyone without context, and she so clearly does not have that context-

And yet, something deep inside her bones get it. She’s lonely, too, tossed in a body that isn’t hers. She yearns to go back, more than anything else, to crawl into their skin and curl around their soul-

Something clicks. “… Your god is inside me.” She whispers in horror.

She almost panics again. But once more, the moment the terror rises, a stronger feeling chokes it, a bone-deep certitude that this god is not an enemy- “Don’t tell me how to fucking feel!”

“Artoria?” Ritsuka reaches out, taking her hand in theirs. They feel cold. No, it’s not that they’re cold; it’s that she can’t feel their heat. Suddenly, she thinks back to her struggles closing the door, to her inability to grab Ritsuka without hurting them. She’s always been aware that Ritsuka’s had issue with their hands, but now she’s fully realizing just how much of their disability they’ve hidden from Chaldea. This prideful idiot, who won’t seek help and won’t let me heal them because they’re too attached to the idea of being human- “I said, get the fuck out of my head!”

“Artoria.” Their hands come up to cup her cheeks. “Artoria. Calm down.”

“I am calm. I am nothing but calm. They won’t let me be anything else.” Fuck, fuck, fuck- what can she do? What can she do?? She can lockpick a door. She can blow a barrier up. She can cajole a person through words. She can heal a wound and amputate a limb. But how is she supposed to deal with something that takes root from within her?? If she tears her belly open, if she digs with her bare nails, can she even take it out?? Or is it too deep, too-

“ARTORIA!” That blank voice, spoken by her own face, brings her back to the present. “Look at me. Focus on me.”

Credit where credit is due- the situation is bizarre enough to distract her from the fact that a divine parasite is curled around her soul.

“Breathe. Follow me. Like you did for me just now, right? Follow my breathing.”

It’s weird. It’s so weird to see her own face up close, without the help of a mirror. She’s never really paid that much attention to her appearance- was too busy surviving for that luxury- but now she can’t do anything but pay attention; follow the curve of her button nose, the trails of freckles on her cheeks, the short tuffs of blond hair crowning her jaw. She’s always considered herself kind of plain; and objectively, she stands by that opinion. Yet, that is unmistakably hunger brewing inside her chest. There isn’t any other way to interpret the sudden desire to grab her own face and kiss it until she runs out of breath, to claw those clothes off and run her fingers on that skin, to close a maw around a shoulder and another around an ankle, tongues out, teeth bared, digging holes into that flesh to bury herself in- “For fuck’s sake, shut the fuck up.”

Ritsuka, still wearing her face, winces. “They’re loud?”

“They are so incredibly annoying.” And disturbing and creepy. But mostly annoying. Is that what Ritsuka deals with on a daily basis? How do they get anything done with Horny McGuro doing a live commentary in the background?? “How do you- how can you tell their thoughts apart from yours?”

“Oh. I, uhm.” They pause for a second. “I underline their thoughts?”

She blinks. “Come again?”

“I don’t… I don’t know how to explain that.” They click their tongue. Which is bad, because it draws attention to their mouth, and Artoria and that god both have Opinions on that. “They’re not- they’re not a physical being. That’s why perceiving them is fucky. But if you give something to give them a shape, it’ll help see them as apart from you. I go with underlining because that’s what I do when I want to mark a part of a report as important. Do you have anything like that?”

“I don’t know how to write.” She responds automatically, which might be one of the stupidest things she’s ever said.

“… You don’t.” Ritsuka blinks. Ah fuck. That rang as truth. “You- you don’t know how to write.”

“Look, that’s not relevant right now.” She cuts them hastily. Her education, or lack of thereof, is so far from relevant right now. And it’s not like she needs to write anyways, she can read just fine that’s the most important part. “I just need a way to not merge with an eldritch abomination from outer space before I try to solve the problem with a bomb.”

“Okay it- doesn’t have to be underlined specifically, but you do need to give them a shape of sort. A voice. A color. Whatever you want, but you have to give them something.”

Colors? She can do colors. She’ll hand it to Ritsuka- her charge is extremely resourceful and- her friend is extremely resourceful, and good at rolling with punches. She feels grateful and relieved by their advice, as well as proud.

“Okay, I think I’m getting the hang of it.” It’s extremely weird, but at least she can keep her thoughts in order.

Ritsuka shoots her a relieved smile. They look adorable breaking down, but this soft, genuine look is also dangerous to her heart. After the rollercoaster of emotions they both just went through, she just wants to cuddle them under a blanket and not move for a week. Maybe quick breaks for kisses and food but that’s it. No mission, no rayshift, just heat against heat and skin against skin and their sweat against her tongue-

Okay, this is distracting. “Sorry, I need to get this out of our system.” She reaches out, wrapping a hand on the nape of Ritsuka’s neck, and presses her lips against theirs.

She means for it to be a quick peck. Honest. Just enough to satisfy herself and her involuntary headmate. But nothing could have prepared her for the avalanche of desire that follows through. It’s hunger, but not in the way a wolf hunger; it’s hunger in the way a flame does, hot and all-consuming, an endless feedback loop of her own thoughts and that god’s ending up with a single yes spammed through her synapses.

She slides her tongue in, and it’s less about contact than it is about taste, about feeding, about devouring. Ritsuka makes a small noise against her like, like a helpless prey animal, which is extremely cute and does absolutely nothing to calm her down. She holds onto them as tight as she can, and for a second, it really feels like she’s going to swallow them whole-

Then they part ways, and she’s back to herself, panting, shoulders heaving.

Her body is smaller than Ritsuka’s. That means that, in their current circumstances, they look even more frail than they normally would. They look up at her with wide eyes, lips bleeding from- fuck, she hasn’t even noticed she’d bitten. Hell. This old god is really getting off pathetic people, huh. What a fucked up creature.

“… Uhm. Sorry.” She says a little sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to go that far-”

“I felt them.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“On the tip of your tongue. The- the old god. My friend. I felt them. Like they were trying to drag me in.” Was that- was that what was happening? This feeling like sinking her teeth into juicy flesh? Was this that god taking hold, pulling with all its might? “If, if we do this again… maybe we can swap back…?”

Perhaps. Most importantly: they can do this again. And Artoria really, really, wants to do that. And so she does.

The kiss is as ferocious the second time around. She tries to watch the teeth, she really does, but- can you really blame her? Can you really blame her for forgetting herself when making out with a dear friend? Probably yes. They are wearing her face. But she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to mind when they climb on her lap and sit right on her cock.

She swears out loud at the sudden weight, making her weirdly aware of the way the muscles of her mouth tense and flex around her words. This is- this is nothing like she’s ever experienced before. It’s not that Artoria has never had a dick (she’d experienced a couple times in Gloucester) but Fairy Britain wasn’t exactly rich in safe places to jack off, so she’s never used one for fun. The closest sensation she can think of is having a thumb on her clit, and even then, it’s still widely different.

She’s about to comment just on that, when she sees Ritsuka’s eyes widening. “Artoria. Your- your mouth.”

Her mouth…?

She brings a hand up, to touch her cheek- only to find it split in half.

Well, not quite in half; she still has lips, and about an inch of flesh surrounding them. But from that inch to the articulation of her jaw- it’s like her cheeks have been sliced clean, showing off all her teeth. Teeth which are- she quickly runs her tongue over them- yes, much sharper than human teeth.

So that’s what she was feeling when she spoke out earlier. “Has that… Ever happened to you before?”

“No.” They shake their head. “That god, uh, shows up sometimes when the lights are off, but not- not from inside of me.”

That checks out with everything she knows about that god (fuck this bitch, but she’ll admit they give some mean head.) The logical thing now would be to stop, figure out if that bout of body horror will go away on its own, and maybe go back to the body swap issue afterwards. She intends to say just that, disheartening as this would be for her boner-

But Ritsuka crashes against her first, kissing her with reckless abandon.

Oh. Oh, okay, this isn’t a dealbreaker to them, good to know. Kinda worrying for their survival instinct, but really good to know.

She can’t help it. She topples them down, pinning them against the floor. They should move to the bed, but that implies slowing down for a second and that thought is unbearable. She wants them, she wants them, she wants them against her skin in her mouth she wants to make them squirm and cry and beg she wants to snap them in half like a twig.

The more she kisses them though, the more difficult the endeavor becomes. Her lips don’t lock as well against theirs anymore. She thinks it’s because she’s too eager, too clumsy- but when she brings a hand against her jaw, she discovers that her mouth has morphed into a snout. “Ritsu-”

Ritsuka wraps both arms around her neck and drags her down again.

Ahhhh fuck, fuck, fuck. The more excited she becomes the more their body responds. She can’t keep track of all the changes; she hears ripping clothes, feels shifting bones, but that’s as far as she can notice. There’s a fire burning bright in her belly, like hands clawing at her ribcage, and she’s certain that if this keeps going a new pair of limbs will actually sprout out of her chest to hold them too.

Ritsuka doesn’t seem to care. Their hair is messed up, their eyes are slit, there’s a thin line of blood at their thigh where a stray spike bursting from her knee sliced at them, and still they’re holding onto her like she’s a lifeline.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Her pants are straining under the weight of twin hard cocks, which are definitely not what Ritsuka’s body should have but which are driving her insane nonetheless. Fuck fuck fuck she needs to bust a nut inside her old body or she’s going to die.

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