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mimiswitchywrites · 3 years

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Not A Burden: Chapter 3

TW: SH references, attempted s****de and references, child/s***al a**se references (not graphic but enough that could be triggering). Vague r**e scene at the end.

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2.2k words

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Percival, sat with Elyan and opposite Arthur and Lancelot’s bickering, kept tabs on Gwaine and the girl. He didn’t miss the way his face lit up with glee and, if he understood correctly, mischief. It made him happy to see his friend on his way back to normal, but he still felt the pit in his stomach filled with anxiety. Why had his joyous little friend been in such a state in the first place? He had initially dismissed the thought that he was spooked by seeing the girl looking so unwell as he was well versed in bloody bodies, but that was the only explanation he could find.

“You see it too?” Elyan asked from his spot next to the giant. He could only grunt in response, too caught up in his concern for his friend. “Maybe he just needed some rest like he said last night.”

He understood the suggestion, but Percival had seen Gwaine when he was tired, and this wasn’t it. Unless, the cynical side of him thought, you don’t know him as well as you think you do. He tucked that thought away into the back of his mind to deal with at home. The woods with an injured woman and the king are not an appropriate setting for a crisis.

“We should help Merlin pack everything up and get a move on. I think it’s best that Lancelot and Arthur are separated as soon as possible.” Elyan said, knowing that things could only get more heated if they stayed where they were any longer.

With the horses all loaded up and the argument currently settled (Arthur was wrong, regardless of his pitiful defences) Lancelot mounted his horse and helped Percy lift Miriam up to him again. He was looking forward to riding with her now she was fully back to the land of the living. She seemed like an interesting young woman and reminded him of Gwen, somehow. The whole party – bar Arthur, if that morning was anything to go by – seemed to look at her in a sisterly manner. They wanted to help her, but no one knew how to treat her. They knew not talk walk on eggshells around her, but she was still a stranger, and they didn’t know the appropriate limits yet. Hopefully, they would figure them out soon, for everyone’s sake. That was the one good thing that came from Arthur’s outburst last night: they knew shouting was not a wise idea.

Well duh, he added.

“Are you comfortable, Miriam?”

“As comfortable as one can be on the second day of riding with a head that won’t stop spinning.” She quipped back. It took everything in him to not laugh at the way she made her remark.

“We can go slowly if that would help. Or I have water. Or you could sleep again, maybe more sleep is what you need?” She shook her head but leant back against his chest anyway. He could feel warmth spread through him and his cheeks heat up.

“It is okay. I would like to get to still, stone ground as soon as we can anyway.” He understood the feeling – it was often one he experienced on the return from hunting trips. While not quite as against them as Merlin, they always drained him and he found he slept far better the first night back. He hoped it would be the same for her as, judging by the bags under her eyes, she hadn’t got much sleep the previous night. “And I wanted to hear more of your stories.” She tilted her head back to look at him as she said this and he couldn’t help but notice how the freckles that littered her face reminded him of the constellations his mother taught him when he was but an infant.

“I suppose there are a few more I could tell you. Anything in particular you are after?”

They sat in silence as she pondered the question. Just as he was considering asking again, she answered: “tell me about Camelot. Is it truly as free as they say?”

This was not the topic he was expecting. He mulled the question over, what did she really want to know with one like that? Was it, he worried, that she wanted to know about the attitudes towards magic? He had enough to worry about with Merlin and his magic (that isn’t to say he isn’t grateful that his friend still confided in him, but he was quite the chaotic individual and more than once he had feared for Merlin’s life and the likeliness of him getting himself killed) and the prospect of befriending another magical individual did not do his heart much good.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer, I am sure you don’t want to disrespect your home or king.”

That was curious, she didn’t expect the answer to be positive, then? Deciding to brave it, he asked her to elaborate.

“When I was younger, maybe eight summers, a woman passed through the village I was living in. She wore armour of leather and steel and carried curved swords – like I’ve carved into the handle of my knife that your large friend has taken from me,” Percival turned on his horse at this, and gave her a small, apologetic smile, “and she told the most curious stories of lands she had visited. One such land – Camelot, she told me – had women like her. Women that wore armour and…” She paused to take a deep breath. She was getting rather warm; Lancelot could feel it on his arms as they curved past her to hold onto the reins. She began again, voice lower this time, “Women that would do unto each other as a man might his wife.”

She stopped, hoping her riding partner might catch onto what she was asking. Her head was so foggy that she was no longer sure that she knew what she was saying, really, but she had to ask before they arrived at their destination. She had been watching the way the King interacted with his manservant since she awoke the day before and she needed to know if they were what she thought they were.

If they were like her.

Gwaine watched as the girl slumped against Lancelot, clearly exhausted. He remembered the first time he was in her position and how it drained him. The thought of riding for days before finding a bed, while in that condition, was not a pleasant one and he certainly didn’t envy her.

He had enjoyed their conversation that morning. Having yet another person that could see Arthur as the ‘prat’ he was (he really needs to thank Merlin for introducing him to that word) was nice but the moment they stopped talking, he noticed his mind drifting back to why she was with them in the first place.

He hated it, plain and simple.

He thought that those days were far behind him and that, wearing the royal red and gold cloak, he was free. To have years of repressed memories hit him at once like this did not do him well.

The pounding behind his eyes grew. He really should have eaten dinner last night. Serves you right.

He sighed, rolling his eyes at himself.

The sun was directly above them before the pearly walls came into view. It was getting swelteringly hot, and all Arthur could think of was his large wooden tub in the centre of his room. And, though only a brief thought that he shoved away as quickly as possible, what Merlin would look like in it with him. He cleared his throat and raised his hand.

“I can see Camelot; we should be only another half of an hour.”

He heard Percival cheer, possibly sarcastic but probably not. Internally, he was reacting the same way. With Merlin by his side, he led the party back home.

Miriam insisted that she could walk to the Physicians chambers herself and that she didn’t need carrying. After reaching the top of the entrance steps, she began to reconsider. She could hear the sea in her ears, and her vision was fuzzy. I’ll just rest against Percival for a second, she thought.

She woke in a small cot with a blanket pulled up to her neck. She was so hot, sweat pooling in every crevice. Her head was pounding worse than it had the night of Anabella’s wedding and her arm was burning again. This isn’t ideal. She can’t die right and now it seemed as if she can’t not die right either. What a cruel irony. The ocean in her head was quieter and she could hear distant voices. One sounded like Merlin and the other someone old – the Physician, perhaps? After a few attempts, she pulled her eyes open and waited for them to focus. She could see ointments lining shelves, herbs drying from the ceiling, and more books than she had ever seen before. A woman with beautiful brown skin sat beside her, rinsing a cloth in a bucket on the floor.

She opened her mouth with the intention of greeting this stunning stranger, but could only make a quiet, choked sound. She brought her hand up to her throat as if that would make it better. The woman, noticing her distress, jumped up and retrieved a goblet of water. She lifted the back of Miriam’s head and helped her take a few sips, before setting her back onto the feather pillow.

“I’m Gwen. Guinevere. I’m a friend of Merlin’s.” She smiled and Miriam couldn’t help but notice the way it made her eyes sparkle.

“Miriam but you can call me Miri.” She forced out, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.

“’Miri’, I’ve never heard a name like that before. It’s cute.” Gwen looked down at the goblet, red seeping into her cheeks.

Miri began to push her hands on the bed, attempting to sit up. She could feel the torn skin protest, but she couldn’t bear to lie down any longer. Merlin rushed over, helping Gwen push her back down onto the bed and the old man – Miri could see him properly now – made his way to the empty chair beside her.

He had white hair that reached his shoulders, more wrinkles than she would expect on a man that could move as well as he could, and an impressively judgemental look on his face. One eyebrow seemed to be permanently raised and, feeling small, she obeyed Merlin and Gwen’s direction for her to lay back.

“You need rest, my dear.” He spoke gently, but she could feel the order behind his words. She sighed and, giving up, closed her eyes again.

It took a while to get to sleep, as it always does for the broken girl. She could feel Gwen put the wet cloth back onto her forehead which was quite a relief for a little while, and she listened to the trio talk. The old man said that she was too stubborn for her own good and that she reminded him of Merlin when he was sick (she wondered if he was often sick, she hoped not for the man’s sake if Merlin was truly as stubborn as he said) and Gwen asked what happened to her. The room went silent at that and Miri felt herself freeze up. She knew people would talk, especially while she was being treated, but she had hoped that she would at least not hear it. She wondered how she would explain it when she was allowed to talk again, and if she even wanted to explain it. What would they think?

Secretly, she thought that Gwaine fellow would understand. There was something about the way he watched her that made her feel like he knew what had been going through her head when she made her way into the forest that day. For his sake, she hoped he didn’t, but she resolved to talk to him about it when she could. Even if she was wrong, he seemed fun and she was in dire need of someone fun right now.

When she finally did get to sleep, thinking of plaiting daisies into the knight’s hair, she met her nightmares. It shouldn’t have surprised her but a part of her had expected them to leave her alone for a little while after such a traumatic event had happened to her body. Gods, did she hope they would leave her alone.

It stared as they normally did. The fire was burning, casting a warm orange glow against the back wall of the hut. Miriam, around five summers, was sat on a stool, occasionally throwing sticks onto it. She looked behind her and she was in the village hall, bodyless hands traveling over her body. One made its way up her dress, softly tracing the inside of her thighs, and a laugh sounded in her ear. A body formed next to her. It had the same brown eyes and curly black hair as her – his cropped close to his scalp – and that smile that she had seen everyday since she was born.

All she could do was gasp “No, please. Please stop.”

But she knew it wouldn’t do anything.

It never did.

She was pressed against the mud, one hand holding her face down and the other gripping onto her hips. Please, not again, she begged her mind to stop showing her this.

Fabric teared, bruises formed, and tears poured.

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crimsonrevolt · 7 years

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Congratulations Liz you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Molly Weasley!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

I’m so happy you decided to reapply for Molly, Liz, and give yourself a fresh start! I think what came across the most in your app was Molly’s passion, and I absolutely loved seeing that side to her. So often we know of her as simply the mother she is in the books, but your para sample showed how she’s truly someone who goes after what she cares about and is fiercely determined. So excited to see what you do with her and how you develop her further! *your faceclaim change to Sarah Drew has been accepted!

application beneath the cut

OOC

Name/Alias/Pronouns: Liz

Age: 25+

Timezone: CST

Activity: I have been garbage but I think with a fresh start that I will be a solid six or seven.

Triggers: *removed for privacy

How Did I Find You? The promo blog. I follow Molly in the tags and I have missed playing her something fierce and I was in search of a solid place to play her.

In Character

Full Name: Molly Fae Weasley nee Prewett

Faceclaim: I would love to have Sarah Drew considered because she just has something so Molly about her to me, and I think that she fits within the Prewett sibling look. If you don’t agree though, I am happy to use Emma Stone

Birthday: October 30, 1949

Why Molly Weasley: I love Molly Weasley. Which perhaps seems like an obvious statement considering I'm applying for her, but nothing could be more true. I think that she is fierce, full of flaws, while being the embodiment of family, warmth, and love. I think she’s developed a bit of a bad reputation in parts of the fandom, but as a wife and mother myself, I feel like I really connect with even Molly’s flaws. Being a mother turns you into almost a new creature you hardly recognize and certainly sometimes you seem quite the contrary creature, but at the heart of it all the only thing that matters is your family. Beyond the personal connection, I feel with Molly I just feel like she’s an anchor in this war and in the second war, but I think that being that anchor takes it wear on a person.

Sexuality: I am absolutely a Molly/Arthur shipper. However, I also am not opposed to pre-Molthur relationships if the chemistry is right, but for me, Molthur will always be endgame.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it: Oh Merlin! One spell? That is so difficult there are so many options, but I think for sure it would be a tracking or locator spell. There have been far too many people missing these days and if I could just have a way to know where they are even when they aren’t where they are supposed to be would be the most useful.

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you: If I’m going deep in the forest there’s only one person I want with me and that’s Arthur. Between the two of us, there’s nothing we can’t face down.

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make? Decisions that I know have the possibility to create a ripple effect. Decisions for myself are simple, but when it can affect my family or the people who I love it becomes more complex and complicated.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you? I would never want anyone to say that I didn’t fight for what was right. I am on the right side of this awful war and no matter what I will see it through because we have to fight for what is right.

Extras:

Mock Blog: http://mock-molly.tumblr.com/

Wand: Rowan, Unicorn Tail Core, 10 ¼

Rowan wood has always been much-favoured for wands, because it is reputed to be more protective than any other, and in my experience renders all manner of defensive charms especially strong and difficult to break. It is commonly stated that no dark witch or wizard ever owned a rowan wand, and I cannot recall a single instance where one of my own rowan wands has gone on to do evil in the world. Rowan is most happily placed with the clear-headed and the pure-hearted, but this reputation for virtue ought not to fool anyone - these wands are the equal of any, often the better, and frequently out-perform others in duels.

Order of the Phoenix: Molly can feel the world around her changing, she knows that it is becoming less safe with each passing day, and she finds this to be completely unacceptable. Never has Molly been one to sit on the sideline and let life happen to her. The fact that she has small children is only more of a driving force behind her desire to be a part of things and make a difference. She is determined to make this world a better place for her children and her siblings. She may not be the one going out on missions, but she provides a safe house, meeting space, an ear to bed or just a cup of tea, sandwich and a baby to hold.

Boggart: Molly’s boggart is never consistently the same person. Always the person who is on her mind with worry the most. It is always the same scene through Arthur on the floor lifeless and dead. Or one of brothers. Even one of her children. Despite having mastered the incantation at school since she’s graduated and lost her mother she is almost always incapable of vanquishing the boggart on her own.

Patronus: The panda is a resourceful animal, and those with it as a patronus are the same. They are good at using whatever is around them and incredibly creative and bright. They are friendly and warm, and many may go to them for advice or help, which the panda will willingly give. They are a bit of a healer by nature, enjoying company around them and using it to enhance themselves. They love to explore many areas of knowledge and the world, trying to broaden their horizons and keep their minds open. They can be very spiritual people, but will not push their views on others, as they are comfortable with whatever a person chooses to believe.

Writing Sample:

September 2, 1965

A water balloon exploded on the side of Molly’s face and the outrage was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Her wand was out to settle the score it may not be her most mature move, but she was suddenly drenched and furious. The fire was blazing from her eyes as she searched the horizon for the culprit. As he came into view he, at least, looked sheepish about the mistake. Pointing to his mate laughing about ten feet to the left of Molly’s spot under the tree. Explanation and apology or not a girl who lived with Gideon and Fabian the charm to soak him in the same fashion was on the tip of her tongue. She knew it would sound absolutely ridiculous but something shifted inside of her. The fury was replaced with butterflies even though she narrowed her eyes more to make up for the sudden shift. She couldn’t put her finger on it in that moment. It was only, Arthur Weasley, after all, they’d been in the same house for the last four years she’d been at Hogwarts. In classes together, and while she had never disliked him the truth was that she had never paid much mind to him. There was something about the sunshine in his hair or that lopsided smile on his face or how his laugh carried through the space between them, or no, it was certainly the way he was playing with his hair nervously. He certainly wasn’t her first crush, but there was something different about him. He apologized quickly, even pulling his jumper over his head to offer it as a towel for Molly to dry off with.

While she’d refused the sweater using a drying spell instead cringing a little inside at what drying her hair with wool would make her hair look like. He’d certainly never see her the way she was him if she dared to let him see that frizzy mess. She had offered him a seat on her freshly dried blanket under the tree, and a cookie from the tin her mother had sent her. It may not have been love in that moment, but smitten was a bit of an understatement. On Molly’s behalf at least, Arthur hardly seemed to notice her more at all. She angled things with Slughorn and convinced him to put her at Arthur’s table during potions and she might have “accidentally” run into him more than usual, and while a warm friendship started to develop he never seemed to catch onto the crazy crush she was developing on him.

Molly decided that there was no greater moment to be the one to step up and take the bull by the horns than just before they were all headed home for holiday break. So when mistletoe happened to magically appear above Arthur’s head with all the fake confidence in the world and several flocks of butterflies in her stomach she was the one who stepped up and kissed him as if he was going to enjoy it as much as she would. She felt like every eye in the Great Hall was on them when she took a step back and whispered “Happy Christmas.” She had seen it all in her mind’s eye the slacked jaw look that was on his face her triumphant walk back down the Gryffindor table to her spot near her friends. It had all gone exactly as planned in her mind until she was suddenly pulled back from her triumphant walk away. Her feet were sliding out from under her and she thought she was going to fall on her butt until she felt a pair of arms around her preventing her fall and pulling her back to Arthur. “You can’t just walk away after that.” Molly felt her heart melt inside her chest at his words as she met his eyes with hers.

#Accepted App

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