#come on now morgana was wearing like sacks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Not Bad

Prompts: Hihi, i have a Merlin prompt if you're interested. Merlin thinks he's a bad person bec he was taught that magic is bad, but also Bec of all the stuff he did/does to keep Arthur safe and ig throw in some touch starved!Merlin too for fun. But the knights compliment/hug/etc all the time and Merlin just doesn't understand what he's supposed to do with this, so the solution is to breakdown crying and try to convince the knights he's the bad person he sees himself as and the knights are just like "but you're wrong and he's 25 reasons why you're wrong" Plz, thx, love your writing - anon

im a fuckin sucker for soft knights & arthur w merlin so, if ur still takings reqs, i would love to see when the knights realize merlin still views himself as a "monster" like is hinted in first ep (? i thinkk, im rusty on my merlin trivia)- is it a passing comment he makes and they realize all together? knight cuddle pile? just give the poor boy some love - anon

if you'd want to write it i'd love to see the collective moment that the knights realize that merlin is self-harming in some way (in my brain this is probably in like a denial-of-things type thing that he probably doesn't even see as self-harm bc he's an idiot, could even be something like healing everyone else w magic but refusing to heal himself... idk feel free to do whatever you see fit!). i can only imagine they'd be frustrated with him and themselves but theyre just loving large idiots (': - anon

ahh yes all the prompts

Read on Ao3 Part 2

Warnings: implied/referenced self-harm in the form of intentionally depriving oneself of physical contact because THAT COUNTS

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic I don't care

Word Count: 3462

Arthur is confused, very upset, and nothing is alright anymore, thank you very much.

Because you see, despite the image that he tries to present—emphasis on the word ‘try’, there, according to his knights—he does care an awful lot about his people, especially his one particular person that happens to be able to say an awful lot without saying anything.

Merlin. He’s talking about Merlin, in case you hadn’t noticed.

The problem is that for all the man can ramble on about seemingly anything, at any time, he’s remarkably good at saying absolutely nothing about himself. He claims he’s an open book, but he’s certainly in a language that Arthur doesn’t know how to read.

He does know how to read, just to clarify. That isn’t the issue here.

No, no, the issue is that after months, years, almost a decade of Merlin by his side, watching his back, taking care of him, he’s discovered that there’s a secret that Merlin’s keeping from him. One he never intended to tell Arthur.

And before you panic, no, he’s not talking about Merlin’s magic.

Come on, it’s not like it’s not obvious, the man isn’t exactly good at hiding it. Does he seriously believe Arthur can’t see the tree branches that miraculously pick themselves up and fly at the nearest bandit or the spears that fling themselves at the foe about to behind Gwaine? Or the chores that mysteriously get done too fast for Merlin and far too efficiently? Or the way certain magical ailments seem to vanish mysteriously along with his idiot of a servant only to be greeted with a soft shrug when he pokes?

Merlin’s eyes also turn gold, that’s pretty neat.

So Merlin has magic.

Yes, we know, we had a small tantrum over the fact that he told Lancelot first, but it’s fine. Quite frankly, a lot of things make more sense now.

Except for this. Not this.

Merlin is hiding the secret that he believes he’s a bad person.

Now, Arthur’s not sure if you’ve met Merlin, but the man isn’t exactly the image of the evildoer that springs to mind when someone says ‘bad person.’

The Witch Finder, now there’s a bad person. Storming into Camelot, preying on the fear of the people, bribing and threatening and drugging people, torturing them, and condemning them to death just for the sake of a few coins.

Merlin did storm into Camelot, that is true, but he decided to pick a fight with the crown prince and then save his life. He’s not here for coin—if he were, they wouldn’t have had that small, er, issue about the steward not paying him anything for his work for the past eight years, honestly—and he’s certainly not preying on anyone’s fears. Except perhaps Arthur’s fear of losing his dignity.

The look on his father’s face when Merlin dodged the pillow…

Speaking of his father…there’s another one.

His father did not prey as openly on the people’s fear—or as obviously as Aredian, but prey on them he did. He was a strong king, sometimes too strong. He was a blind king, saw the people as nothing more than subjects, not the living breathing humans they are. He remembers Morgana’s voice, saying that authority should derive from the consent of the governed, not from the threat of force.

He always wanted to see Uther’s face when his ward—when his daughter said that to him.

And what he’s done to Morgana…

Arthur grimaces and shakes his head. Perhaps the very truth that he resents the idea of thinking about what Uther did to Morgana, to him…perhaps that is enough.

Those are bad people. At least to Arthur.

Merlin, on the other hand…

Merlin came into Camelot, knowing that if it was discovered that he has magic, he would be burnt at the stake. He came, not with any aspirations of glory, simply because he trusted his mother when she told him to come to Gaius. He came and he was given a job he never asked for, one he had no idea how to do, and stayed.

Merlin learned. Slowly, perhaps, but he learned. Now he has enough knowledge on what a servant should do to break the rules in the most spectacular fashion. Arthur smiles, biting back the chuckle at seeing George dressed up like Merlin and acting perfectly proper and the urge Arthur had to throw him out of the room.

And that’s not even mentioning what he does when he’s not following Arthur around.

Merlin learned. Merlin stayed.

Not just for Gaius, but for Arthur.

Arthur leans onto his desk, staring out into the courtyard where Merlin is tending to the knights’ horses as they mount up for patrol. He watches Leon step a little closer, lowering his head to mutter something to him, watching Gwaine clap Merlin on the shoulder.

Watches Merlin flinch a little too hard.

Watches Leon’s brow furrow and Gwaine take a step back.

This. This is the problem.

Merlin believes he’s a bad person. Which is wrong, but for some reason, he does.

And because Merlin believes he’s a bad person, he believes that anytime one of the knights touches him—or anyone touches him—it will be to hurt him.

How did they come to this conclusion, you may ask?

Arthur bites back a snarl as he turns away from the window.

It had started with the complements.

Gwaine, to no one’s surprise, was quite fond of flirting with anyone and everyone that would let him, Merlin no exception. Talking about Merlin’s looks, his personality, his work ethic, anything, and everything. Merlin would flush, bright red, ears and all, mumbling to himself.

But then Percival had said something and Merlin pushed him away—well, prodded his arm, no one really moves Percival without Percival letting them—and shook his head. Percival had shrugged but the rest of them had noticed the tension in Merlin’s shoulders.

Then Elyan complemented Merlin’s tracking abilities and Merlin hadn’t even acknowledged it, instead insisting that they keep moving before it got too dark to see and they’d be forced to make camp in the woods. They’d agreed, pressing on, but noting the way that Merlin refused to say so much as thank you.

Leon’s perceptiveness should be considered magical. Seriously, Arthur’s not entirely convinced the man can’t see into people’s heads, what with the information he’s able to produce out of nothing more than the twitch of a finger or the slightest huff of breath. But he sees the way Merlin shies away from any display of affection, even as he gently repeats it, watching Merlin turn his back and get back to work.

Arthur never saw what happened with Lancelot. All he knows is that one night, out in the woods, the two of them had gone off to collect firewood and Merlin had been hiding red-rimmed eyes when he returned, a few paces ahead of Lancelot, not ten minutes later. Arthur had glared but the forlorn confusion on Lancelot’s face had given him pause.

Then it was the touching.

One would expect Merlin to be a quite tactile person, and he is. He’s all shoulder nudges and pokes and prods and gentle shoves to get people to move where he wants them to go. And it’s not like the man has much concept of personal space.

No, some of that is not Arthur’s fault, how dare you?

But when someone else tries it, Merlin tenses reflexively, already moving before their hands make contact. He gives everyone he can a wide berth, scuttling around the outside of rooms until one of them breaks and tells him to come here, Merlin, it’s alright, we won’t hurt you. His face never quite believes them.

The strangest thing is how much of it Merlin makes small adjustments for.

He always wears those god-awful tunics, that he won’t let Arthur replace with fabric that doesn’t feel like it’s a burlap sack, with the sleeves pulled all the way down and those kerchiefs tied around his neck. Arthur’s seen his sleeves rolled up before, but only when Merlin’s working and he hasn’t realized Arthur’s there yet. It’s not like Arthur doesn’t know Merlin has forearms, but Merlin will always jump and guiltily roll his sleeves down.

He doesn’t notice why until he accidentally brushes Merlin’s bare skin once and Merlin all but tears away like he’s been burned.

He doesn’t know why.

Merlin has a secret. The secret is that he believes he’s a bad person. That means he can’t accept compliments and he can’t let them touch him.

This is a problem, because Arthur would very much like for Merlin to believe that he isn’t a bad person.

This is also a problem because Arthur has no idea how to do that.

He looks up when there’s a knock on the door.

“Enter.”

“Sire?” Leon steps through. “May we come in?”

Arthur nods, his eyebrows raising as all of his knights spill into the room.

“Shall I assume you’re on the warpath again?”

“Nah,” Gwaine grumbles, throwing himself into a chair, “know this isn’t your fault.”

Leon shakes his head. “It’s Merlin, sire, we’re…concerned.”

Arthur just sighs and tells them what’s been buzzing around his head for the past…however long it’s been. The knights nod.

“He doesn’t like to be touched when he doesn’t expect it,” Lancelot offers, “but when I ask…he doesn’t seem to want to agree either.”

“But he does,” Gwaine argues, “you’ve seen the way he stares at us when we hug each other, he looks like a poor child that’s never had a hug in his life!”

“Which isn’t true.” Elyan folds his arms. “Gwen’s hugged him.”

“We’ve all hugged him.”

“But he still thinks we’re going to hurt him.”

“Well,” Arthur mutters, “we can’t exactly blame him for being paranoid, can we?”

“If you lot are going to talk about me behind my back like it’s a war council, then yeah, I reserve the right to be paranoid.”

“Merlin!”

“Thank god, where’ve you been?”

“I thought we were meeting by the stables.”

“Did you get hurt?”

Merlin raises his hands and takes a step back. “Whoa, can I get through the door first before the interrogation starts?”

“This isn’t an interrogation,” Arthur says, glaring at the knights, “we’re concerned.”

“Uh-huh,” Merlin mutters, weaving through them to the table so he can set down the thing hooked over his arm, “yes, I’m all too familiar with your concern.”

Arthur frowns. “What does that mean?”

Merlin waves a hand. “Oh, just that it’s a prelude to more chores and things to do.”

Is that…true?

“Yes.”

Did he say that out loud?

“Also yes.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Merlin, we’re not coming up with lists and lists for chores for you to do.”

“Really? With how many you all constantly give me, here I finally thought I’d cracked the code as to why.”

Leon steps forward. “We’re not coming up with things to give you, Merlin, nor are we intending to gossip behind your back.”

“So what are you doing?”

“We’re worried,” Lancelot repeats, “about you.”

“Well, I’m right as rain, no need to worry.”

“Lie.”

Merlin’s eyes go wide and he stares at Leon. The knight smiles ruefully and takes another little step forward.

“Lie,” he repeats gently, “you don’t have to lie to us, Merlin.”

Merlin’s mouth thins. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you, then.”

“Why not—“

“No,” Arthur breaks in, causing Merlin to swing his head around again, “no, if Merlin doesn’t want to tell us he doesn’t have to.”

Gwaine looks on the verge of protest, but another look from Lancelot is enough to quell him. He sinks into the chair and tosses an apple to Merlin.

“At least eat something,” he says by way of explanation, “you’ve not eaten anything since lunch.”

Merlin looks very confused—good, now he’s just like the rest of them—but bites into the apple nonetheless. His gaze travels around the room before coming to rest on Leon.

“Why are you all concerned?”

“Because you won’t let us complement you, Merlin,” Leon says softly, “you believe that every time we touch you we intend to hurt you, and you believe that this is deserved because you are a bad person.”

The flabbergasted look on Merlin’s face is almost enough to make Arthur laugh. Almost.

“How…”

“We notice things, Merlin,” Leon says patiently, “we notice you.”

Lancelot snorts. “Good going, mate, you’ll freak him out.”

“Um—there’s nothing worth noticing about me—“

“Not we all know that’s not true,” Gwaine says, and if it had been any other time it would’ve sounded like the next pick-up line at the tavern, “you’re worth noticing, Merlin.”

Merlin’s gaze darts back and forth, finding no disagreement in any faces.

“What—what were you concerned about?”

“Aside from what we just told you?”

“But I don’t—why is that a problem?”

Arthur swallows a curse. “Are you asking why we’re upset that you believe you’re a bad person and you deserve to be treated badly?”

“…yes?”

“Because you’re not a bad person,” Elyan says, “and you don’t deserve to feel like everyone’s about to hurt you.”

Gods, the look of disbelief on Merlin’s face hurts.

“You don’t know that,” he says lowly, setting the apple down, “you don’t know that.”

“Sure we do.” Elyan uncrosses his arms. “We know you, Merlin.”

“I don’t think you do.”

A look passes around the group of knights. Elyan smiles.

“I know that Gwen came home and told me she’d made a friend the first week you arrived in Camelot. I know that you’ve reminded us what family means. I know that you care, Merlin, about your friends, because they’re important to you.”

Merlin blinks in confusion.

“I know you’re a strong man,” Percival says, “and not just because you can lift the packs for the horses without complaining. But you work hard, because you know you can, and so that people don’t have to. You provide what you can because you know what it’s like to have nothing.”

“I—I—“

“I know you’re brave,” Lancelot says softly, standing, “I know you feel the same fear that we all do and you stare it straight in the face.”

He pauses, takes one step closer.

“I know you don’t chase the glory of being brave, but the feeling of being brave and using it.”

“Guys, I—“

“I know what you’ve done.”

Merlin’s face goes pale at Leon’s words.

The knight tilts his head to the side and smiles.

“I’ve been around the longest,” he says in a near whisper, “and I have seen the changes from when you arrived in Camelot until now. I’ve seen the differences, not just in the other men in this room but in Camelot.”

He lays a hand on his chest.

“I know that you’ve made me prouder to serve this kingdom than many others that have tried.”

Poor Merlin is shaking right now, his fingers trembling on the edge of the table. He looks around in confusion, terribly frightened, sending more aches through Arthur’s chest.

“You wouldn’t say that—“ he gasps— “you wouldn’t say that if you knew the truth.”

“And what truth is that?”

“That—that I—“ Merlin’s breaths start to ring in the chamber— “I—I—“

“That you have magic?”

Merlin’s head jerks around to stare at Arthur. Arthur raises his hands and takes a step closer. Merlin flinches.

“It’s alright, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, “I’m not angry. I’m not going to hurt you. You have magic, though, right?”

“Yes—yes, I—but I’ve only ever used it for—for you Arthur, I—“

“Easy,” he soothes, fighting the urge to reach out and pull him close, “I know. It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not,” Merlin all but whimpers, “it’s not okay, it’s bad, it’s bad and I’m bad, I’m bad—“

“You’re not.”

“I am!”

Merlin yanks his arms to his sides, curling them tightly around himself, much to the protest of the knights. His fingers whiten as he clutches the sides of his tunic.

“I’m bad, bad people get hurt, you don’t—you don’t touch bad people.”

“Merlin,” Arthur breaks in softly, “Merlin, sweetheart, I’m going to come over to you.”

He can hear the quickly stifled gasps and Gwaine’s ‘oh shit’ as he inches towards Merlin. The poor man doesn’t move, but the tremors get worse and worse the closer Arthur gets.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs, “I won’t hurt you, sweetheart, do you believe me? That I won’t hurt you?”

“I—I—“

“Because I won’t,” he promises, still fighting the urge to swoop the poor thing into a hug, “I’ll never hurt you, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not bad, Merlin, and you certainly don’t deserve to be hurt.”

“You don’t know that,” comes the strangled whisper, “you don’t know what I’ve done.”

“But I know you, Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, “and that’s enough.”

He can’t stop the concerned noise at Merlin’s huff of disbelief.

“It’s enough, sweetheart, it’s—hey! Easy, easy,” he soothes as Merlin’s knees buckle and he catches him before he can hit the ground, “I’ve got you, shh, shh, you’re alright.”

“Oh,” Lancelot murmurs as Merlin starts to shiver terribly, “oh, Merlin, you’re touch starved.”

“Touch starved?”

“He’s not been touched for a very long time,” Lancelot murmurs, hustling to join them on the floor, scooping Merlin’s legs into his lap, “and so he’s not used to it, but he needs it.”

“We all need touch?”

“Yes, otherwise our bodies get…unhappy.” Lancelot shakes his head. “I’m sure Gaius could explain it more. The short version is humans aren’t built to hold each other at arm’s length.”

Arthur tightens his grip on the lapful of shaking Merlin he has. There’s a cold nose buried in the crook of his neck, arms looping awkwardly around his shoulders. Distantly, he hears the scufflings of the other knights as they move closer.

“We’ve got you, sweetheart,” he fins himself whispering, “we’ve got you, we won’t hurt you, you’re safe, you’re good, we have you, it’s alright, now…”

Poor Merlin is still shuddering terribly.

“Shh, shh, easy, just try and relax, we have you…”

Since when has Merlin been this cold?

“Oh, I’m definitely hugging you every day,” Gwaine mutters, helping to prop Merlin up away from the table.

“Why—“ Merlin swallows— “why are you all so warm?”

“You’re cold,” Arthur says, “we’re helping.”

“I’m—I’m—what is it? Touch—touch—“

“Touch starved,” Lancelot offers gently, “yes, Merlin.”

“You’re helping?”

Gwaine shifts behind him. “We’re helping.”

“You’re not…mad?”

“No, Merlin, we’re not mad.”

“I’m not bad?”

Arthur tightens his grip. “Never, Merlin.”

“You—I can—I can stay?”

“Yes, Merlin,” comes the chorus of knights, “for as long as you like.”

Arthur is still upset, very confused, and more than a little overprotective right now.

But so is Merlin.

And they’re…they’re starting to figure it out.

One thing’s for sure: Arthur’s definitely pulling Merlin into bed to cuddle with him instead of getting up in the morning.

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #merthur fic #merthur #fic #dragonbabbles

67 notes · View notes

percyjacksonfan3 · 3 years

Note

46. "Dance with me" for Merthur please 💖

Ah, Tay, thank you so much <3 Send me a prompt from this list!

I’m sorry, this one had to be at least a little angsty. And waayy longer than a simple ficlet, but who’s shocked? Not me. It’s Merthur, how could I not?

Takes place in between seasons 1 and 2, and thus before the weird reset of Merthur’s relationship the writers pulled in 2x01.

46. “Dance with me.”

________________________________________________

After this long Merlin has gotten used to taking care of Arthur.

And he doesn’t just mean the secret saving-his-life-every-two-seconds part of taking care of him either. The Crown Prince of Camelot seems to have a special knack for getting involved in trouble and life-threatening situations. Which of course means Merlin is also involved in those situations.

Honestly sometimes he wonders why he ever wanted to leave Ealdor for Camelot.

But not tonight.

No, tonight there are no mysterious threats. No poisonings, no love-spells, or strange sorcerers who are out to cripple Camelot through hurting Arthur. This is the summer solstice, which means feasting and partying. It means roast pig and plenty of food leftover for the servants to nibble on and still have enough left over for meals tomorrow.

It means drinking and dancing while music and laughter fill the great feasting hall of Camelot’s castle.

But of course Merlin can’t take part in any of that. No, as Arthur has repeatedly reminded him in the week leading up to this, Merlin only needs to do one thing tonight; and that is to run after Arthur’s every whim.

“Dish me some of those lovely looking roasted potatoes, would you Merlin?”

“Go and fetch me that juicy haunch of pork that’s left, Merlin.”

“I’ll take a refill of that wine, Merlin.”

“More, Merlin.”

“To the top, you incompetent sod.”

Merlin had looked away from the near-overflowing goblet to raise an eyebrow at Arthur, whose face was flushed a light pink and whose eyes were far too bright to convey complete sobriety.

“Are you quite sure, sire?”

Arthur frowns at him with what Merlin thinks should be annoyance. Any other noble would be annoyed with Merlin- but then again, any other noble would have sacked him long ago.

Arthur isn’t like any of the other nobles. Which is probably why Merlin is able to convince himself that Arthur’s look is fondness instead.

“Are you questioning an order from your prince?”

“Never.” Merlin says back with a completely straight face.

Arthur nods back in complete satisfaction and swipes up his goblet to drink another long mouthful, apparently forgetting that he had wanted said goblet filled higher only a second ago. Merlin wisely pulls back to stand behind Arthur’s chair.

Not before Morgana catches his eye and smiles in exasperation, making Merlin’s lips twitch before he can school his features once more.

Her eyes sparkle with good humour as she leans back in to talk to Arthur- or more likely tease him. Merlin watches as Arthur rolls his eyes and bites back his own retorts but the enjoyment on his face doesn’t fade and after a few moments he and Morgana get up to dance.

“Does this mean I get a break?” Merlin asks Arthur hopefully as the pair passes him and Gwen, and Arthur barks out a laugh.

“Hardly. You better not move an inch.”

Merlin isn’t surprised but he still sticks his tongue out at Arthur’s retreating back. After making sure neither Arthur or Uther are looking of course.

He hears a giggle beside him and looks down to see Gwen has appeared.

“Don’t worry I won’t tell,” she says conspiratorially and Merlin grins back at her. “How are you doing, Merlin?”

“Oh, just great.” He pouts. “I don’t understand why I have to serve Arthur tonight and you don’t have to serve Morgana.”

Gwen shrugs. “Morgana told me that Arthur volunteered your services for the entire high table. Luckily Uther was nice and decided you only had to wait on the two of them.”

And Arthur had told Merlin that of course, crowing it at him in victory earlier today when Merlin had asked him whether he would at least have Gwen to talk to all night.

Merlin’s grip tightens on the wine jug and he sighs before looking over to where Arthur and Morgana are dancing.

They’re gorgeous together of course. Probably the most stunning pair on the dance floor.

For a moment Merlin feels a pang of jealousy but he pushes it far, far away. That is the last thing he needs to worry about right now.

Still, he’s filled with sudden inspiration and turns to Gwen. “Do you want to dance, Gwen?”

She blushes. “Oh! No.”

Merlin blinks.

“Not that I mean- of course I want to, of course, I would never say no to a dance with you, Merlin, it’s just- well. Uther doesn’t let servants dance at the feasts.”

Which.

Right.

Merlin knows that, of course.

“Yeah.” He says in disappointment. “Silly me. I forgot for a moment.”

He hadn’t, but he doesn’t know what he’d expected. That he would just lead Gwen onto the dance floor and everybody would turn a blind eye? This is Uther and he’s anything but forgiving. Especially when it comes to servants.

Even Arthur would have been mortified, and though he’d feel bad about it, Merlin knows he would have ordered Merlin back to his position the moment he caught sight of him.

Maybe if Uther retired early that might be different. Feasts are usually more relaxed once the king goes to bed and leaves them all to it. But tonight Uther seems wide awake, if the way he’s laughing uproariously with Lord Daniels is anything to go by.

Merlin catches Arthur’s eye and the prince grins at him smugly. But where normally Merlin would have rolled his eyes or glared back, now he just looks away.

“Oh Merlin.” Gwen touches his arm. “We can dance later?”

“No it’s alright Gwen,” Merlin tries to smile at her. “It was silly.”

Gwen opens her mouth to say something else but Arthur’s voice cuts across them before she can.

“Guinevere I think Morgana has something she wants to say to you.”

Gwen pulls away from Merlin with a start and bows her head to Arthur. When Merlin looks at Morgana he sees nothing but confusion on her face, and that doesn’t disappear when Gwen moves the few feet away to go and stand with her.

When Merlin looks back he sees Arthur still watching him carefully. It’s enough to make him clear his throat and paste on a false smile.

“What can I get you, m’lord?”

His words make Arthur frown as the prince retakes his seat. “Another refill please Merlin.”

Merlin does as he asks without hesitation. “Anything else, sire?”

Arthur’s frown deepens.

Luckily Merlin doesn’t have much time to dwell on his melancholy because, surprising everybody, Arthur chooses to retire not long after. Truthfully, Merlin barely notices the passing of time, too caught up in his own thoughts about nobility and destiny, and the things he’s give up and lost to be where he is today. However it seems to be enough time for the effects of the wine to leave Arthur, because when he announces that he’s going to bed he seems almost completely sober again.

“Come on, Merlin.”

Though Uther, Morgana and Gwen are all shooting Arthur nonplussed looks, Merlin hurries to do as he’s bid. The last thing he wants is to stand in the hall for any longer.

The rest of the castle is eerily quiet because of the feast. Though there are guards patrolling the hallways and treasure rooms as always, the lack of servants running on errands or nobles sneaking around to escape tutors and lessons and responsibilities is stark. Merlin and Arthur make it to the stairs without seeing another soul, and it is once they begin climbing that Arthur finally breaks.

“Right, what’s wrong with you?”

Merlin continues to stare straight ahead as he picks up the pace, actually hurrying ahead of Arthur to reach the prince’s rooms first. “Nothing.”

Arthur lengthens his stride to catch him, taking the stairs two or three at a time. “I know there’s something.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Merlin goes about filling the bed warming pan with coal and placing it with the fire that he starts like it’s second-nature.

“Come on, what is it? You’ve been sulking ever since I went and danced with Morgana.” Arthur badgers him, falling into one of the wooden chairs at his table as if the last thing he intends to do is sleep. “You weren’t jealous, were you Merlin?”

Merlin yanks Arthur’s coverlet back with a vengeance as he readies the bed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he mutters.

He notices when Arthur goes quiet then, his teasing fading momentarily as the prince looks at him more seriously, his gaze intense.

“What then?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to your prince, Merlin.”

Merlin’s eyes slip closed and he presses his lips together tightly, taking in a deep breath before he’s able to shake off those words. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Of course I would.”

He snorts before he can help it and his voice becomes a bit harder. “Right.”

“Well what could possibly be bothering you that I wouldn’t understand? Remember that I’m the one who’s had a formal education between the two of us.”

“How can I forget,” Merlin retorts before finally straightening up from the bed to begin moving towards the door. “If that’s all-”

“Hey.” Arthur’s arm darts out and he stands up so he can grip Merlin’s forearm and stop him. “Seriously, what’s the matter with you?”

Merlin finally looks him in the face again. “It’s just me being stupid.”

Arthur snorts. “Of that I have no doubt.”

But when Merlin doesn’t return his smile Arthur’s brows furrow. He actually almost looks concerned. “Just spit it out, Merlin.”

Merlin’s patience wears out. Maybe if he just tells Arthur then Arthur will laugh at him for a few minutes and let him leave. Hopefully it will be the end of this conversation at least.

“I asked Gwen to dance and she said no.”

Arthur’s hand falls and he leans back against the table, his face going blank. “Oh.”

Merlin sighs again. “Told you it’s stupid.”

“I...” Arthur doesn’t seem to know how to respond but it appears he’s making a concerted effort not to make fun of Merlin. He supposes he appreciates that a bit. “You have a crush on Gwen?”

“What? No!” Merlin denies. “It’s not about Gwen, it’s about the dancing.”

Arthur frowns again. “You’ve lost me.”

Merlin decides to give up and moves to sit in the chair that Arthur’s just vacated. Arthur remains standing at his side. “Back at Ealdor we used to have parties sometimes. Not like this, we didn’t have feasts or decorations like Camelot, obviously. But we did save up a deer or pig to share. Some of the locals had old instruments passed down through their families that they could play. Fiddles and drums, that sort of thing. And we would all get dressed up and go to the grassy pasture and light a bonfire and dance for most of the night.

“It wasn’t often, of course. Nobody could afford to waste time and food like that more than once or twice a year. But if we’d had a good harvest... well. That was cause to celebrate.”

Merlin closes his eyes briefly in remembrance. “I used to love dancing. There were a few girls in towns, farmer’s daughters mostly, and though they wouldn’t look at Will and I twice the rest of the year, on those nights they’d dance with us when we asked. Sometimes they asked us. Or I’d dance with my mum.” He smiles a bit sadly. “She used to love dancing with me, her whole face would light up. And when I wasn’t dancing with any of them I’d dance with Will.”

Arthur makes a noise in his throat. “That’s hardly proper.”

Merlin opens his eyes to glare at him. “Just as friends, you arse. But anyway, no one really cares about that sort of thing back home. That seems to be a hangup just for you nobles.”

The prince frowns but doesn’t say anything so Merlin takes the chance to continue.

“We would all dance together and drink a bit and just... have fun, I suppose. For a night we wouldn’t worry about how much we could spare for our next meal, or about Cenred’s soldiers coming through because the excess profits and crops had just been paid to him and he was happy for a while.” After Merlin pauses the room is quiet. Arthur is staring at him intensely and Merlin feels a small flush work its way through him.

“It was fun. Good memories.” He clears his throat. “I just miss it, I guess. It’s strange, not being allowed to dance here.” He licks his lips when Arthur continues to stare at him. “Not that I’d know the steps to any of your fancy dances.”

Now Arthur looks carefully blank before he sighs and seems to come to a decision, giving in to some internal struggle. “Alright then.”

He pushes off of the side of the table to stand in the middle of the empty space in his room. With a slight bow he stretches out an arm with an open arm.

“Um.” Merlin stares at him, wondering if he’s lost his mind. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Arthur snaps. “If it will stop you looking like I kicked your favourite puppy I’ll indulge you this one time and teach you to dance.”

Merlin laughs nervously, not entirely sure this isn’t a joke. “Arthur-”

“Merlin.” Arthur meets his eyes and Merlin forgets whatever it was he’d been about to say. For a second all of the air leaves his body. “Dance with me.”

Any protestations die on Merlin’s lips and he gets up without another word to move towards Arthur slowly. With a hand that is absolutely not shaking- Merlin ignores the twitch of Arthur’s lips when the prince notices- he puts his hand in Arthur’s.

“Uh. What now?”

“Your other hand goes here.” Arthur puts Merlin’s hand on his own shoulder. “And mine go here.”

“Oi! Why am I the girl?”

Arthur gives him a look. “You cannot honestly think that I’m going to take the girl’s position, do you?”

“If you’re trying to teach me then shouldn’t I learn in the role I’ll actually need to know?”

“You’ll probably never use this dance lesson a day in your life!”

“You don’t know that!” Merlin rebuts. “What if I’m invited to a really nice wedding?”

“Who would invite you to a wedding like that?” Arthur snorts.

“People.” Merlin says valiantly. “Come on, if we’re doing this then isn’t it worth doing right?”

Arthur purses his lips unhappily and stares at him for a few beats before glaring. “Fine. Fine. But if you breathe a word of this to anybody-”

“As if, I like my head right where it is, thanks. Attached to the rest of my body.”

“Idiot,” Arthur mutters but he does readjust their positions so now their original positions are reversed. “But I’m still leading.”

“Obviously,” Merlin rolls his eyes at the idiocy of the statement and Arthur actually blushes.

Falteringly they begin to move. Merlin trips over his own feet and then Arthur’s, making Arthur stumble and curse at him colourfully. Then Merlin steps on one of Arthur’s feet and Arthur inhales sharply through his nose and glares so cuttingly that Merlin wonders how he isn’t actually physically injured from it.

“Merlin, how on earth have you not tripped over your own two feet and broken your neck for this long?”

Merlin grins. “Just talent I suppose.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and tightens his grip, bringing them in closer to each other. In fact there’s only a couple of inches between them now.

Merlin notices for the first time that he and Arthur are the same height, or close enough that any difference isn’t noticeable. Their eyes meet easily, holding for a bit too long before Arthur clears his throat.

“Usually there would be music.”

Merlin nods. “I could hum?”

Arthur’s face twists. “Please, Merlin, if I wanted my ears to bleed I would pick up a knife and do it myself.”

Merlin pouts. “No need to be rude.”

Arthur’s eyes flick down to Merlin’s lips. Merlin’s breath catches again.

And it’s not like he hasn’t noticed that they do this- hell, the way his heart hammers relentlessly against his rib cage whenever he’s around Arthur didn’t come from nowhere. Merlin doesn’t indulge crushes that have absolutely no foundation.

But usually the two of them are more than a breath’s span apart from each other and Merlin can easily look away, or shrug it off and pretend he’s seeing things. Or Arthur will look away immediately and they brush it off and pretend it never happened.

Usually.

But this time Arthur’s eyes flicker back up to meet Merlin’s without either of them saying anything. And their gazes hold and they get closer just a tiny bit, enough that their chests brush lightly.

Merlin feels Arthur’s hand clench on his shoulder.

There’s a lot of things Merlin could have done then. A lot of things that he’d wanted to do, things that even later that night he’ll regret not doing.

But instead of doing those things he does this: he steps on Arthur’s foot.

Arthur jerks back instinctively, letting him go and taking a step back. “Ah! Merlin!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Merlin cries, taking pains to look amused. He ignores the crash of something inside of him and blinks with a huge grin. “Although really, as my teacher, that was partially your fault. Inept instruction.”

Arthur glares at him before shaking his head. If Merlin thought he’d seen a flash of disappointment in the prince’s gaze, well, obviously he was mistaken.

“You’re hopeless.”

Merlin grins. “A little less hopeless thanks to that brilliant lesson. I reckon that now I could make it a turn about the room without killing me or my partner.”

“She’d be lucky.” Arthur bites back easily.

The strange heavy tension in the air between them breaks then, when Merlin grins at him and Arthur grins back.

“Right then, ready me for bed,” the blonde instructs. “Then you can go.”

Merlin does and quickly. He keeps up a stream of chatter but if anyone asked him later he wouldn’t be able to recall a single thing he’d said. Arthur seems to be paying just as much attention, only grunting here or there to show signs of life.

Finally Merlin banks the fire and blows out the candles. He gathers Arthur’s clothes from the day and heads to the door.

He stops just before leaving though. When he speaks there’s nothing but simple honesty in his voice.

“Goodnight Arthur. Thank you for the lesson.”

Arthur replies after a moment. “Goodnight Merlin.”

And Merlin hesitates, just for a second, but enough that his heart begins to race and a lump starts to form in his throat.

But then he shakes his head at himself in the dark and opens the door to leave.

#gosh this got long huh #anyway I hope you guys like it cause i made myself sad :(#alright on to tagging #merthur #merlin #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #fanfiction #look it's me!#my writing #taylor tag #tay i hope you're happy #merlin is a goddamn tragedy

28 notes · View notes

hayleysstark · 3 years

Text

a comprehensive list of everything i flat-out forgot and/or straight-up didn’t process about Trollhunters because the first time i watched it, i binged it in a weekend while i was high out of my damn mind and now i’m finally rewatching it and losing my shit

“my friends call me Walt.” “what do your enemies call you?”

Vendel’s entire existence

“HE REWROTE SHAKESPEARE”

“put your hand in the Soothscryer.” “um, I’m going to get it back, right?”

Coach Lawrence deadass has a coffee cup that says “#1 Butt Snack” on it

Blinky just eats whipped cream directly out of the can. this man fears no god.

ARTHUR-SAN

“where IS that contact lens???”

apparently there was an undead assassin named Angor Rot and the entire fandom collectively thought he was very sexy????

no no i canNOT stress this enough. the man is literally a pile of bones. he looks like a deformed ram. he wears nothing but a loincloth. and y’all were STILL horny for this man???

literally i went into the AO3 tag and there was just wall-to-wall Angor/Gunmar smut??? sometimes the occasional, slightly classier Angor/Strickler or Angor/Morgana but iT WAS ALL ANGOR ROT SMUT

in conclusion: y’all need jesus

remember that episode when the amulet starts randomly producing clones of Jim and they’re all different aspects of his personality and they’re all in color-coded jackets??? because i sure didn’t

to atone for this, here are some true highlights, in no particular order:

when NotEnrique sees all the Jim clones fighting in Claire’s bedroom and says, out loud, “I’m not dealing with this” and just fucks off out the window again

“THAT MOVE’S NOT LEGAL!”

“[through tears] they overcharged you on your cable bill??”

“YO YO YO HOLLA!”

“what crime have i committed but from yearnings of the heart?” “unsanctioned use of troll magic, hindering a Trollhunter in his duties, and altogether wussiness”

okay okay i’m done i’m normal again

“girls don’t pee! they conspire!!”

when the undead assassin named Angor Rot coats his knife in poison and then licks the blade. that’s really not a good habit to get into, buddy

“if EVERYONE believes it, then it MUST be a conspiracy!!!”

everybody calls Morgana “eldritch queen” which is hands-down the funniest fucking name i have ever heard in my entire life, i would literally be so flattered if someone said that to me??? call me an eldritch queen. tell me i’m the most eldritch queen you’ve ever seen

Gunmar’s voice is really just Like That huh

Blinky was a human for a little while???

when all the teachers accidentally drink the Changeling dust coffee and Jim calls Strickler in a panic and asks what to do only he lies and says it’s Toby’s cat that got into the dust and so Strickler tells him “just put the cat down” and Jim is like “wELL WE CAN’T DO THAT--”

and then Strickler comes into the school and sees Ms. Janeth eating out of the garbage and he’s not even angry with Jim he’s just like mildly disappointed. you can literally hear him thinking “wow i am really hedging my bets that this idiot is going to defeat Gunmar okay wow”

when Jim and Toby get arrested for breaking into the museum and there’s that montage of all their mugshots and Toby is just having the time of his short teenage life and then it flashes to Jim, who just looks miserable and humiliated

Gnome Chompsky asking the plastic doll to marry him (you know what??? i ship it)

“i told you, i don’t care about my dad!” “you do now”

when Jim gets shrunken down to like two inches tall to go after that gnome but then it doesn’t wear off so he spends the night at Toby’s house and when he falls asleep, Toby really just deadass puts him in the dollhouse

Senor Uhl

Toby’s weird obsession with the mole???

“birthing day”

“wait, you ate cat food????” “and i LIKED it!!”

when Toby gets arrested and shoved into the cop car but when the officer steps out for one (1) second, Toby jumps into the front seat and drives off with the car and then he calls Jim in a panic and screams “I’M IN A HIGH-SPEED CHASE” but when it zooms out he’s literally just going like 2 mph

that whole episode where Barbara says she’ll be at the hospital all weekend so Jim, Strickler, and Draal decide to set all those traps for Angor Rot but then Barbara comes back early and pepper sprays Jim and Draal

when Steve and Eli have to raise that sack of flour together

when all the kids are stuck in Saturday detention together and that girl with the glasses (Shannon??) talks about how they should all be kinder to each other and Claire goes “what are you in for, anyway” and the girl says “embezzlement”

when Toby pretends to be Vendel to steal the Heartstone staff and even though he fucks up spectacularly, he still gets away with it

“keep it ✨ crispy ✨”

when Blinky’s human and he comes to the school and overhears all the kids calling Jim a wuss. and he AGREES with them

when Claire gets possessed by Morgana in the middle of her double date with Jim and Toby and Darci and she is literally trying to murder Jim with a steak knife but Toby insists it’s just because she’s totally into Jim. and Jim believes him.

when they’re searching for Merlin’s tomb, and Jim and Draal are being chased by Gunmar, the Gumm-Gumm king, and Angor Rot, the deadliest assassin known to trollkind, and they are in a cave that is collapsing around them, and Jim and Draal deadass look at each other and go “race you”. chaotic stupid.

“hey, guys, i taught myself bass guitar in the band room. this one goes out to my Juliet--”

Blinky is really just out here hating Merlin for no reason and Merlin is really just out here not even giving a fuck. iconic.

“our Trollhunter is fearless, gallant, courageous--” “BLINKY THERE’S THIS CRAZY TROLL TRYING TO KILL ME AND I’M TERRIFIED”

in conclusion i’m sorry that i wasted my first watch of Trollhunters on post-op prescription painkillers

but i still don’t understand why everybody wants to fuck Angor Rot. y’all please read a Bible.

#trollhunters #i heard they were coming out with a movie soon and i didn't remember anything abt Trollhunters so i decided to watch it again

43 notes · View notes

sennextheassasinkingoflight · 3 years

Text

Redemption, My Love

Chapter 8 update Cross posted to AO3 Rated Explicit Important tags: In depth tags warning can be found on AO3) Lancewain, Slowburn, Found Family, Eventual smut, Warnings for abuse (emotional, physical, mental) of a child, Rape/ Non Con, Self harm, and the rest of the tags that come almost implicitly with an Lancelot/Weeping Monk centered fic. Side note: Everything happening with NImue and Merlin and the Fey takes place at the same time as the events from chapters 1-6.

++++Arthur++++

Arthur is locked in discussion with the Red Spear. It is vital they become allies, he knows this, without her and her warriors the Fey would have been wiped out today. There would be none of them left in this group. He would have failed to protect them as Nimue requested. He must convince them that the Fey are worthy warriors, capable of returning the support of the raiders. For now the most important aspect of discussion is the vulnerability of the beach. If a storm blows in or the tides change, they could be trapped here. Tonight, remaining on the beach is their only option with so many wounded, but tomorrow they must find a more formidable location. Perhaps they can go back to the woods. “We should send scouts at dawn. Then we may burn the dead. When the scouts have returned we will move our injured.” “Aye.” The Red Spear agrees, then continues, “ Supplies will be short with so many mouths to feed. What would you recommend for it?”

“We should ration, immediately. Send out hunters into the woods to bring back whatever they can to offset the difference. And send those who can pass for humans into the nearest town with funds to buy what we can.” He stands firm beneath the intensity of her gaze. He could swear it's as if she is looking through him, or perhaps she is looking into him. Setting his jaw he forces himself to meet her gaze and finds himself captivated by the angles of her face and the odd jewelry she wears. Shouting pulls him from his distraction and he turns to face a young boy running towards him. “Arthur! It's Nimue, she’s returned with Merlin and Morganna. Hurry, she's been injured!” He follows the boy across red sand, feet pushing against a malleable surface, slowing him as he attempts to reach his lover as quickly as possible. When he turns to call an apology to the Red Spear he finds that she is keeping pace with them. The boy slows to a halt and pants just ahead of him. Pushing through the crowd he comes to a stop, nostrils flaring as he inhales and chest rising and falling quickly. He watches as Yeva sends Pym to gather something for her and ushers two boys carrying Nimues limp form into a tent. The Moonwing casts a glance and Merlin and despite her obvious disdain for the man, nods, then shakes her head and enters the tent. Pym passes by him and he reaches out grabbing her arm in a vice-like hold. She meets his eyes and he loosens his hold minutely. “Will she be alright?” “We don’t know yet. I have to go and help.” She pushes his hand away and moves quickly towards the tent. Not quite a run but far from a walk. Her red hair flies freely in the breeze where it has fallen out of its braid, and for a moment he is taken back to the first moment he met these two girls, singing in Hawksbridge. That day feels so long ago. “The girl they carried into the tent. She is Queen of The Fey?” “Yes.” “And is she more than that to you.” He nods, throat to dry from lack of water to speak, and constricted with fear to function. Frantic voices draw his attention and he glances towards Merlin who is speaking urgently with his sister. His feet drag in the sand as he makes his way to their side. “Morgana what happened? Why are you dressed like that?” “It’s a long story Arthur. Nimue was shot twice by Iris. There wasn’t… we couldn’t do anything. She fell off the edge of the walk and into the waterfall. Arthur, we barely found her. She’s freezing cold, cold as death.” “Yeva, is skilled. She will heal Nimue. I am certain.” Merlin suggests, voice shaken but firm in its conviction. “What about you? You're thousands of years old. You're her father. Why don’t you do something?” Morgana snaps back at him furiously, face drawn tight, and arms wrapped tightly around herself. “ I have not practiced my magic in almost two decades. I'm not sure I can help her. Even if I was certain I wouldn't do more harm than good, Yeva will not let me work beside her. When she is done I will do my absolute best to repair any remaining damage. For now, we must be patient.” The wizard says, inclining his head and leaning heavily on the sword pushed into the sand. His staff gone missing in the fray. Arthur bares his teeth, ready to say something else, to argue, start a fight, but it leaves him just as fast when a hand rests gently on his bicep. His sister looks up at him and he pulls her into an embrace. “Are you hurt?” “No. No I am not. But I have done something I fear cannot be undone.” She trembles in his arms and he can do nothing more than pull her closer, he never could shield her from the world, and now less than ever. He wants to help, but without knowing what has happened he cannot.

“Morgana? Morgana, what is it?” “Later my brother. Later. For now let us worry about Nimue.” He mutely agrees and looks between the two as he formulates what needs to be done next. The next thing is the only thing he can think of at this moment or he will go mad. There is so much to consider, so much still to do. Instead he begins to lead them towards the center of the camp. They linger a moment looking at the healers tent before he speaks.

“You two must be hungry. Let us get you something in your stomachs and dry clothing.”

None of them will sleep tonight. Not well at least, even with dry clothes and full bellies. So, as they sit around the fire in silence, waiting for whatever news the morning may bring, Morgana and Merlin take their turns explaining what occurred at Uther’s camp. Morgana tells him about Nimue’s plan for her to flee with the sword and how she decided to come back. He listens as she tells him and Merlin about how she had met the widow, and that she had killed her. As he listens to his sister speak, the belief that she is hiding something from him rears its ever present head and settles low in his gut. Their relationship is tenuous at best and he knows it, so he does not press for clarification or more answers. Just listens silently, idly drumming his fingers against his leg and casting furtive glances at the tent whose walls hide Nimue from them. Neither Pym nor Yeva nor the others have come to tell them anything. Eventually Morgana stops speaking and Merlin begins to explain what Uther has done. “Guinevier, The Red Spear, should hear this as well. She and her troops have agreed to help us, if we in return help them against Cumber’s men. It seems we have a common enemy in him, and now Uther as well.” “And the Paladins?” Morgana inquires looking between them and towards the direction of the raiders. “The raiders have been sacking their camps as repayment for raiding the cities before they get a chance. It is to our benefit.” He offers a small smile to his sister. “Nimue left you in charge, did she?” Merlin adds, looking into the fire. “Yes. She did, is there a problem with that?” He raises his eyebrow in question and stares at the exhausted looking man. “No. I just find it curious is all.” He aches to slap the smirk off his wine drinking grin. Instead he sends someone to fetch the Red Spear. As they wait the sounds of the camp fill their ears. It is the sound of a war camp. The moans of the injured surround them on all sides in the dark of the night. The chill of the sea breeze billows the tent walls around them and carries the sound of death up the cliffs and over the fields. Whetstone on steel is a comfort against the cries of the heartbroken and injured. Morgana shifts to his right and he turns. “You wish to go help them?” “I would be more useful trying to save a life than sitting here worrying.” She agrees as she stands and disappears into the shadows. Merlin shakes his head and drinks deeply from the goblet in his hand.

When the raider joins them the three discuss the political game they have found themselves in. The Fey have their backs against a wall. If the Paladins, Uther, and now Cumber have sided with each other against them their only real hope is to side with the Red Spear and her raiders. Even then, there is little guarantee that any of them will survive.

++++Pym++++

Even inside the tent it is cold. She shivers against the breeze and watches as Yeva sets up to begin working. She swallows away the tightness in her throat and approaches cautiously. “I want to help.” “Get her hair dry and get her out of these clothes. The last thing she needs is to catch cold.” The Moonwing bites out as she turns half way around to size Pym up. Half blind eyes meet hers and she wonders how this woman can still see to be a healer. Jumping at Yevas sudden proximity over the table she starts to unlace Nimues bodice with trembling fingers. It takes far too long to undress her friend and get her covered by blankets. Yeva works around her with little difficulty. She is grateful for that small mercy. If she were in the way she isn’t certain she could live with that. For now she stands at the head of the table they’ve laid Nimue on and towels long chestnut locks.

She doesn’t take her eyes off Yeva as she works. It is inspiring to see old hands, twisted with time and tipped with talons work so delicately with the skin beneath their touch. The shoulder is the most logical place to begin as the arrow has already come loose but Yeva ignores it, looking instead at the bruising forming on Nimue’s head, and sides. She runs her hands over the young Fey’s arms and legs, feeling for broken bones, then down her ribs. “Feel this.” She speaks, low and raspy and Pym jumps again, not having expected for such a request to come from the matron. She extends her shaky hand and Yeva takes it, presses it against Nimue’s ribs and slides it up and down letting her feel just how real the damage is. “She must have hit a lot of rocks when she fell.” The whisper falls from her lips unbidden. It’s stupid. Surely, Yeva has already thought the same thing, but instead of telling her off the woman looks at her and asks, “Why do you think I haven’t started with the arrow wounds?” With hesitation, Pym considers the options carefully. She isn’t really certain, but there is not a lot of blood which means she should be concerned about infection. “They aren't bleeding? So, it gives you time to look for other injuries?” Yeva meets her eyes and gives a nod. “Now what should we do first?” “Why are you asking me? You're the healer.” Frustration fills her voice and she tries her best to keep it out but can’t. Her friend is dying and Yeva is standing there asking her questions instead of healing her. “You wanted to help. I am teaching you.” The old woman answers calmly, turning her back to the girls and reaching for several supplies. Indignant, Pym comes to stand by her, crossing her arms and jutting her chin out. “Well then teach me something!” The glare Yeva sends her way makes her spine tingle, slowly she steps back and lets her arms fall to her sides. “Sorry.” She looks to the ground. “Do not apologize to me. Do better.” The woman says thrusting a bowl half filled with water at her. “Clean the wound on her shoulder.” “Shouldn’t I add something to the water?” “I already have. Now go on.” She doesn't waste another moment to do as instructed and sets about cleaning the wound as best she can. It isn’t very deep into the tissue of the shoulder but she can see the edge of the bone when the debris has been cleared away. “Yeva, I can see the bone of her shoulder. And the skin is hot to the touch.” The Moonwing healer looks up from her concentration on the arrow lodged in Nimue’s stomach and lets out a long sigh. “Prepare a poultice of yarrow, beeswax and pepper for now. Apply it thickly and wrap it.” Moving away from the table, she finds the ingredients she needs on the table, the flickering light of the candles dancing ominously at the periphery of her vision. Focusing on her task she wills away the tears seeking to fall from the corners of her eyes away and mixes the ingredients. When she turns back around to apply the salve to the wound she finds Yeva cleaning the one on Nimues abdomen. This one does bleed. A lot. She knows from her time on the raider ship that the arrow was keeping the wound sealed. Applying the mixture to Nimues shoulder she watches the matron wipe blood from the entry site and flush the wound out with a mixture of herbs and water. When done she packs the wound with yarrow leaf and applies the rest of the poultice to the outside of the wound and wraps it tight.

“We cannot stitch these, they are puncture wounds and there is infection in them. We must leave them open to drain. We will check them twice a day. Keep them clean and dressed until she is well. Until then we must keep her warm, and when she wakes keep her from pain as much as possible. Her lungs will ache, as will her leg.” “Her leg?” The look Yeva gives her could curdle milk, still she does not look away. “What is wrong with her leg?” “It is broken.” “What can we do?” “Thankfully the bone does not need to be set. We must keep it still, until it has mended itself. Go and get the supplies for a splint. You know what's needed?” “Yes.” When it is done, the bone splinted, the wounds wrapped, Pym sits beside Nimue. She holds her cold hand in the darkness of the tent and weeps, keeping vigil until she falls unconscious with the first rays of morning light rising over the sea. ++++Percival++++ “What do we do?” He casts his eyes forward to The Green Knight, then turns to look up at The Weeping Monk. He can feel his blood run cold at the thought of being captured. He remembers the smell of hot iron and burning flesh, old blood and vomit that lingered in the tent he found Gawain tortured in, the one Lancelot rescued him from, and his heart hammers in his chest at it. He remembers the sight of blood, old and dried and cracking, splattered on every surface. The way Gawain looked, bloodied and half dead, slumped against the ropes in the chair. He blinks. Head spinning, he tries to settle his stomach. Someone is speaking but it's like they are miles and miles away and he can barely hear them screaming over the rapid pulse of blood in his ears. He feels like he’s drowning. He closes his eyes against the onslaught of noise and it makes it so much worse. He feels like he’s falling over. “Percival! Percival.”

There is commotion around him and his right shoulder hurts as if someone has wrenched it behind his back but he can’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet.

“Squirrel? Are you alright? Squirrel.”

He blinks and looks up at The Green Knight and The Weeping Monk, hand on his side and face screwed up in pain, both standing over him. He swallows and tries to take a deep breath as he attempts to sit up. “Careful,” Gawain says, voice steady and calm, though Percival can see the worry creased between his eyes. The Weeping Monk, looms over them both like an ominous statue, watching, he turns, takes a deep breath and winces. “They’re getting closer.” He says turning to look back at them. “Sorry,” Percival starts, looking between them as he runs his sleeve over the sweat on his brow, “What happened?” The shouting in the background grows louder. “We will talk about it later. We need to go. Come on, up you go.” Gawain pulls him along and he climbs up on the mare. He watches him turn to Lancelot. “You said five or six?” “Yes. But it's not exact. It’s never been exact.” “If we need to engage can you fight?” “Yes.” “Alright. We will try to slip away unnoticed. If that fails…” The Weeping Monk nods at him solemn and dark beneath his hood and they both return to the saddle.

“Are you going to give him the sword?” He whispers as he leans back against Gawain. He raises an arm up to block a low hanging branch, and The Green Knight does the same. “If I have to.” The response is breathed against his ear as they lean low. “Left!” Lancelot calls from behind, Gawain glances over his shoulder and Lancelot has already cut to the inside, putting himself in the lead. They follow another trail into a valley. Gawain hot on his heels. When they reach the center, Lancelot breaks off and pulls his horse in a circle. It almost seems like he is looking for something. “Why is he circling like that?” “I don’t know yet.”

The Weeping Monk comes to a halt facing them, both horses stepping side to side in excitement.

“The woods are teeming with Paladins. The only way I don’t smell them is directly behind us, and that direction is about to be cut off.” Percival swallows and tries to keep himself calm. The Green Knight tightens his hold on him for a moment before releasing him. “Then you recommend we fight our way out?”

Lancelot only nods, eyes never leaving Gawain's face. Percival inhales sharply and looks around the spot they have found themselves in. It’s not very defensible. “We need to get up higher.” He says automatically. Both the men with him know this, but he can’t help himself. They should be moving. “You’re right.” Gawain inhales sharply behind him and they fall into unmoving silence. “What are you waiting for, we need to go.” He feels Gawain shift behind him. “Here.” The Weeping Monk eyes the sword for a moment, before nodding slowly. Once the blade is in hand, they climb the otherside of the valley and lead the horses into a thicket. “Percival. Stay here with the horses. Do you understand?” The firmness in Gawain's voice is almost frightening as a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. “Yes. Green Knight.” He nods urgently and tightens his hand on the hilt of his knife.

Lancelot whispers something softly to Goliath and hands him the reins. “We should cut back across the valley and take them by surprise.” He watches as Gawain stands and meets the monks eyes again. The two stand at arms length to speak, they can’t give away their location now. “How many now?” Lancelot adjusts the sword on his belt. “The initial six behind us, another four ahead, and two or three to the right.” “And further this direction?” Gawain points south. “A camp, from what I can tell. Too many to be a scouting or hunting party.” The Green Knight opens his mouth to say something but the monk moves quicker covering it with his hand and using the other to push Gawain further into the brush. Gawain retaliates quickly drawing a knife and pressing it against the others ribs poised to pierce his heart. Lancelot doesn’t flinch. Percival watches in horror as it unfolds to fast for him to help. When they’ve come to a stop barely a foot from him, Lancelot removes his hand from Gawain's chest and holds up an open hand, defensively and tilts his head to the opposite side of the thicket. Gawain, eyes wide, does not move the knife, but gives a slight nod. Lancelot takes a single step backwards and they listen in silence for what seems an eternity. “Good catch today?” Someone asks. “Good catch? Those are the scrawniest rabbits I’ve ever seen. Barely fit for a stew.” Another supplies gruffly. “At least I caught us something” Another paladin says followed by laughter. Lancelot tightens his grip on the sword hilt and Gawain does the same, dagger still not lowered, attention caught between the possible enemy and the certain enemy. Percival swallows, they can’t see how many there are. It would be reckless to attack now, but as time drags on the voices grow quieter again. He takes a deep breath. Looks between the two who are watching him and nods. He’s okay. He’s okay. He repeats the line over and over again in his head until he begins to believe it. “What if we wait till nightfall?” He whispers when there have been no signs of the paladins for a while. “Horses could give us away any minute. We need to move.” Gawain murmurs into the air between them. Lancelot nods once in agreement. Slowly the three of them start for the exit of the brushwood. Gawain lets Lancelot lead and Percival doesn’t understand why, but he trusts the Green Knight to know what he is doing. They make it back to the other side of the valley they had crossed before anyone speaks again. “Well then, Monk?” “It’s getting hard to sense their locations. It’s all bleeding together. Two of the groups must have come together here.” Lancelot says turning in a slow circle. “I do not know which way is safest.” He shakes his head at them. “We need to continue southwest. We should press on, get as far from here as possible before nightfall.” The Green Knight states firmly. There is no room for either of them to argue, not that they would have anyways. The monk mounts his horse and follows beside Gawain in silence. Percival keeps his eyes peeled as they move slowly through the woods. He thinks they should be moving much quicker.

Eventually they pass by a small stream and rest for a moment. It's at the edge of the woods. The sun is beginning to fade from the sky. Percival drinks deeply from the clear stream and stretches. He feels a little better, still uncertain, still sick to his stomach, and ignorant of how he got on the ground earlier. But the pounding in his head has stopped and while he hates to admit it he hopes he never has to see a paladin again for a very long time. “Should we keep going?” He finally asks when the horses have been fed, watered and tethered and the other two have had a moment to sit. “We will be too exposed in the field.” “We’re too exposed here.” The Weeping Monk counters, softly, voice low enough it would be easy to miss in the commotion of a camp.

Gawain shakes his head in frustration. Even Percival knows The Weeping Monk is right. “What are the paladins doing all the way out here anyways?” Squirrel asks, trying for casual, but the waver in his voice gives him away and he shrinks under the appraising gazes of the warriors to either side of him. “Search parties most likely.” Lancelot responds offhandedly taking a sip from a waterskin. “Not a main camp then.” “No. More likely, it is a base they spread out from, but it would have no more than 15 or 20 men. Three to five forming a party.” “Hunting Fey.” Percival looks at the ground, even he flinches at the venom in Gawain's voice, but Lancelot does not shy away, “Yes.” The admission slips from his mouth like ash thrown in the air. Percival stands abruptly, panic flooding his body with adrenaline. “What about our prints?” He looks desperately between the two men who also make their way to their feet. They share a knowing look. In its wake Percival feels a stab of betrayal low in his gut as he looks up first at the Green Knight and then at The Weeping Monk. How dare they share something with each other and not him? Hasn’t he known Gawain longer? Besides that, they are supposed to be protectors and they’ve left him vulnerable. They are supposed to protect the fey. Protect each other, now. Protect him. “Percival.” Gawain starts, kneeling to look him in the eye, he pulls away from the hand that tries to rest on his shoulder and inhales harshly. The ring of steel forces him to turn, Lancelot stands facing them, sword in hand. Gawain is too slow. Percival feels a burn like fire across his face as blood soaks his hair and clothes. The ground meets his face and he rolls, instinctively getting to his feet. He turns and draws his knife from his belt but he can't see through the blood in his eyes.

#Cursed Fanfiction #Cursed TV 2020 #Fanfiction #Lancewain #Lancelot #the Green Knight and The Weeping Monk #The Weeping Monk #The Green Knight #Gawain #Percival #Found Family #Redemption #Chapter 8

11 notes · View notes

sourcherrymagiks · 4 years

Text

Carry on Countdown 2019

Day 18 - Crack!

Lamplight

Ao3

Simon

He’s trying to avoid talking to me. That’s how it happens. There was kissing. Amazing kissing. Merlin and Morgana, he’s beautiful and when he kisses me back.....

But anyway. He’s also a stuck up twat who can avoid the shit out of anything. We were back in the room after the kissing (Great Snakes,that kiss though) and he was taking forever to hang his blazer up so he didn’t have to look at me or talk to me. What was I going to do but come up behind him and kiss his neck? I ask you, what else could I have done?

Which is how we came to stumble and fall into the wardrobe. And then straight out of the back. Into a drift of snow.

“Erm Baz, this is going to sound pretty stupid but I think we just fell into...”

“Narnia”

“Yes”

Baz

I know that this is somehow his fault. Why does he always have to involve me in his ridiculous heroics. Although, to be fair, this is well outside of his usual remit.

“Snow, might I suggest we go back? From memory Narnia has its own set of chosen ones. Lots of them. They can probably get by without you”

“I’m not sure that’s how this works, the path has gone”

I look around and he’s totally right. It’s just us, in the snow, under a lamppost.

I can’t keep the petulant tone out of my voice as I say “But you are our chosen one, you belong to the world of Mages”

He laughs and kisses me. “Didn’t know you cared you big softy” I briefly toy with the idea of snapping at him but instead I pull him back into another kiss.

When I pull away to catch my breath and try to get a hold over my treacherous body, Simon gets up. I grumble a bit under my breath but then I decide to co operate a bit. Grudgingly. It seems very unfair that we are here and not snogging in our room. Even though I was the one avoiding the snogging (Why?, I’m such an idiot)

Snow’s sketching in the snow with a stick. It looks like nonsense until I’m standing right next to him. Then it hits me at once, he’s drawn a map of Narnia. From memory.

I must be staring at him because he starts laughing.

“I know you think I’m a thick urchin who’s only ever read cereal packets but I’ve loved Narnia my whole life”

“Me too, that part is not quite right” I alter the shape of the western forest slightly so it ends further from the frozen lake. “I would definitely remember if you were the hero in it. I suppose you do have a bit of Peter about you”

“Fuck off Caspian” he throws a snowball at me. I throw one back. Then I kiss him again because this is all unbelievable.

He’s sketching plot points out now, trying to work out the timeline.

“Right you gorgeous villain, we need to get to the camp here in time for the battle. There’s enough footprints and sled tracks here to show they’ve all been through fairly recently. I don’t think we can help at any point up until the end, do you agree?”

“I do, excuse me while I try to absorb the shock of you being a reader.” He lightly punches me on the arm, he’s blushing. “Is your magic working?”

We both laugh

“As well as it ever does, yours?”

I take out my wand and cast ‘lights out’ at the lamp post. It blinks off.

“Cool. Let’s get moving. Keep your wand out. I don’t want to draw my sword until I need it and I, Erm, can I hold your hand please”

“Come here” I grab his hand and before I can stop myself I’ve kissed his knuckles.

“I like this, you,like this” he bumps my shoulder with his.

Simon

I’m really excited. I dunno if it’s the Baz thing or the Narnia thing but I’m so amped up I’m practically skipping.

“So, Caspian then?” Baz asks with his eyebrow up.

“It’s possible that I might have been not entirely straight for a while”

“You think?”

“There’s no need for that tone you wanker”

Then I’ve got him up against a tree. This want is everything. I need to touch him, kiss him, press myself against him.

He doesn’t just let me, he right there with me, pulling my hair, licking my neck, moaning into my mouth.

He pulls away gasping “Right Snow, let’s get back to the mission and stop debauching the pristine Narnian forests”

“But I like it, I like you” I’m whining a bit.

“You aren’t completely intolerable either Snow”

We seem to have been walking forever. I slept about ten minutes last night. I would kill for some Turkish delight.

“In the books it doesn’t seem this far”

I moan to Baz

“Heaven forbid that the made up world is larger than the children’s book made it appear”

“I get your point, even though you’re a twat, but its hardly made up is it?”

He shrugs. I’m rubbing off on him. That makes me smile. I nearly don’t hear the crack of the twig, I’ve disarmed the guard before I’ve had chance to worry about my sword or magic. They aren’t the best written soldiers.

“Take us to either Peter or Aslan please” I ask the battered looking Narnian as politely as I can be arsed to. I’m not great at manners when I’m hungry and tired.

Baz

Peter is beautiful, not a patch on Snow obviously, but still. The two of them together are blinding. Simon offers our assistance and Peter accepts a little unwillingly. I’m not sure he would at all if not for the wonderful Lucy. She never sees herself as the protagonist so she doesn’t have the same struggle as Peter. To be fair I wouldn’t want to share my story with Simon bloody Snow if I already had three siblings and a lion muscling in on the action. Poor fuck.

The two of them spend the afternoon practicing, Snow is better trained and in great shape but Peter is faster and lighter in his feet. It’s glorious.

When Simon fights Edmund it’s a different thing. No longer a master class in heroic swordplay fought by two golden leaders. Now it’s like a cunning bar fight. Simon has to stop himself from head butting Edmond. When he throws an elbow at Edmond’s face,then stops before it connects, Edmond is not so polite and punches Simon in his exposed ribs. It’s very feral.

When they’re done he comes over and presses his sweaty lips to mine. I don’t know how I avoid making a scene.

Obviously it’s still a bit of a scene. Uncomfortable coughs and averted eyes abound. Then simultaneously everyone decides to ignore it and peace is restored.

I leave to speak with Lucy. She’s got magic and I want to see if I can help her use it. It doesn’t work like ours though. She can’t harness it. I advise her to go to Watford as soon as she can when she returns home. She probably won’t.

She gives Simon a small banner embroidered with a dragon holding a blazing sun. He tucks it into his pocket because the courageous fuck won’t wear armour. He kisses her head. I’m completely flabbergasted when she gives me one emblazoned with a flaming moon. I must be allergic to it because my eyes are watering.

After dinner we talk tactics. Simon keeps quiet about upcoming plot points and focuses on the battle. Simon and Peter lean over the map, blond hair and copper curls tumbling together as the argue over every inch. From his plan I deduce that Snow’s aim is to kill the witch while keeping all the kids well out of the way. This goes down like a sack of shit with Peter. It’s his story and he is the king. Gorgeous (and capable) as Simon is he can’t lead this army. They aren’t loyal to him. Also he won’t play by their outdated battle rules, fight in a line and die, because he knows better. They finally agree on enough compromises to keep everyone happy and save lives. A lot of lives.

In spite of the protests I hold my ground. I will stay by his side regardless of what he thinks he’s going to order me to do.

It’s fun. Really. I mean there is an impending battle but, Crowley, I’ve read that battle so many times. It’s going to be brilliant. I catch Simon’s eye and I know he feels it too.

Simon

I can’t fucking sleep. This is going to be epic. I’m traipsing around the camp looking for anything to take my mind off the combination of wanting to get into this battle and wanting to do unspeakable things to Baz.

It’s not the time though, right?

We still haven’t talked. It’s possible we’ve managed to bring a fictional world to life to avoid talking. But I’m going to tell him after the battle. Hopefully it will be dead romantic.

Baz

The battle starts off early and badly, not quite as badly as I remember because Simon is genius at this and Peter listened to about a quarter of his suggestions. Plus there are two of them.

The absolute confidence of them helps keep up the morale that’s been damaged by Aslan fucking off.

Simon hadn’t mentioned that he was the bearer of a flaming sword or that he had a particularly impressive brand of violent, pulsing magic so when he calls his sword, the fear it causes slams the first wave right back.

I cast quickly and use so much magic that I’m nearly spent in moments but I have taken down most of the ogres and a couple of hags. Peter, Edmond and Simon smash through line after line of the White Witch’s army. Simon is actually grinning, the prat.

I wait for Simon’s signal to disarm the White Witch. Then he’s on her in a moment with Edmond and Peter. She never stands a chance.

By the time Aslan arrives back with the girls there’s only cleaning up and healing to do. He growls at Simon and Simon shrugs at him. He turns his back clearly as pissed off as a magical lion gets.

“This was not your battle Mage”

“Explain how it just was then wise one?”

Simon is brillant at one liners, when he’s not fighting me. I guess it’s in the job description. Aslan grunts and continues back to his tent. What a prick. I guess he’s not willing to let the homoerotic subtext turn into the story.

It’s very clear we’ve outstayed our welcome.

Simon

That was mega. But now it’s time to go. I don’t want to fuck with these guys and I also don’t want Aslan to eat me.

It’s a pretty shitty deal those kids have got anyway. Kings and queens in one land but not able to stay. We hug them goodbye. At least I live where I live. Except for right now obviously.

I grab Baz and we set off back to the lamppost.

“That was amazing, you were amazing” I say to him

He looks at me like he thinks I might he taking the piss.

“You did an ok job yourself Snow. You’re not as pretty as Peter though”

I’m glad he catches me when I jump on him. “Take that back Pitch”

“It’s an objective fact Snow, he is more dashing, I just prefer you”

“You do?”

“Yes you attention seeking numpty, I have appalling taste so I prefer you to most people”

“Good. Because, well, I’m, I think I might be, falling, you know, for you” Merlin. I doubt he’s even going to understand that.

Then he kisses me and I know he does.

Baz

I’ve been kissing Snow for hours. We don’t know how time works here relative to Watford so we should get back. But it’s complicated there and easy here under a lamppost in a forest full of spring.

It’s also not our story.

Simon still has his own story to finish.

“Ready Sweetheart?”

“Not really love”

“Shall we do it anyway?”

“After you”

#coc 2019 #carry on countdown #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #narnia #gay narnia

12 notes · View notes

farplane · 4 years

Text

to the horizon, part one

octobre 2019: morgana and sairsel arroway, freedom, and the future; a direct continuation of for hearth and home. ffxiv:stormblood (4.1) spoilers. 3,172 words (part one)

“I was told there was an urgent matter for me to attend to,” said Raubahn.

Morgana shrugged, her tone coming surprisingly lofty. “Well, I didn’t raise my son to be a liar.”

Raubahn thoughtfully narrowed his eyes, considering the integrity of his retort, then dared it: “You didn’t raise your son.”

“Oh, so the Bull plays dirty, then,” Morgana said, dropping her voice as she stepped closer to him and put a hand on her hip—only the right. Her left arm was still almost entirely bandaged, and for the most part, completely useless.

They made a fine pair.

“Is it fair to involve my son in whatever machination this is?” Raubahn asked. He matched her tone, met her eyes.

“When I mentioned to young Pipin—the vice marshal, my apologies—that I had a bottle of arak waiting for you to celebrate, he all but threw a sack of gil at me to contribute and made it his personal mission to usher you towards it. Thinks you ought to rest,” Morgana said, primly patting his chest. “So, really, this ‘machination’ is rather more his doing than mine.”

“There is much to do.”

“Ala Mhigo will be no closer to being whole again no matter how many nights of sleep you miss. If one man was all it took, we wouldn’t be a nation.”

Morgana turned around and walked to the table where she had set down the bottle of arak before he could offer up any more protests, pouring water from a jug into two goblets before adding the arak and watching it turn milky white. “One drink, Raubahn,” she added, picking up one of the goblets to hand to him. “You have to raise a glass to our freedom.”

“I ought to celebrate,” Raubahn said as he plucked the goblet out of her hand, making no effort not to let his fingers brush against hers, “but should you be?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at her arm.

“I’ve spent almost every second since the fighting stopped in so much pain that I thought I was going blind,” Morgana said honestly. To anyone else, she might have diminished her own suffering in the days since their victory, but there was no point in it with him. He knew pain better than most. “I think three different healers have exhausted themselves making it better. If I’m able to stand on my own two feet, I owe it to them to make the most of it.”

“And your son?”

“Healthy and whole. Keeping busy. Likely doesn’t want me to talk about him about as fervently as I don’t want to talk about him, right now.”

Morgana held up the second goblet, and Raubahn knocked his against it; they drank in unison, eye to eye. She was taken with the urge to make a contest of it, but it would be a waste of good arak—better to save games for whatever piss the Ul’dahns might have brought with them.

“Gods, the taste,” Raubahn said as he looked down at the goblet in his hand. “I think I’d forgotten how much I missed it.”

Morgana nodded, then tapped her nose. “I felt the same about the salt from up here. The westerly winds.”

“Would that it were so easy to bottle up the wind,” Raubahn said with a small smile.

“Might be easier to do than finding good arak these days. You wouldn’t believe how much this cost.” Morgana glanced down into her goblet, drumming her fingers against it. “Have you heard? Word in Ala Ghiri is there’s to be the first date crops in decades. In Coldhearth.”

Some manner of nostalgia flashed across Raubahn’s face as he drank. “No, I hadn’t heard. I’m glad for them.”

Between their newfound freedom and her burns making her near delirious with pain, Morgana had not spent much of her recovery worrying about the future like a lovesick little girl—and she didn’t intend on starting now that she was on her feet. Still, it was near impossible not to wonder: Raubahn had fought for Ala Mhigo because the Alliance had finally chosen to involve itself; what chains wouldn’t pull a man like him back to Ul'dah?

“I’ve been trying to imagine you as a date farmer,” she said with a tentatively wicked smile, instead of asking the question that lingered at the back of her mind.

“Is that so?”

“Mm,” she hummed into her goblet, raising a telling eyebrow at him before dropping her gaze to his chest. “Date farmers don’t wear shirts all that much, do they?”

“Perhaps you ought to go to Coldhearth and ask,” Raubahn said, smiling despite himself.

“Will you?” she asked, dropping the act like the snapping of a drillmaster’s whip. “Go back.”

“There isn’t much left for me back in Coldhearth,” he said simply. “I’ll never renounce my home, but there never really was.”

Morgana hummed again as she drained the last of her goblet and set it down; the sweet warmth was spreading through her, but she’d had enough of the haze the healers had put on her to manage the pain these past few days to drink any more.

“What of you? Once a sellsword, always a sellsword?” Raubahn asked.

“Perhaps; I haven’t given it much thought yet. Was waiting to see how this heals,” she said, nodding her chin towards her left arm. “Chirurgeons keep telling me that they won’t know for certain how much strength I’ll regain until I can move without too much pain. Might be it won’t hold a sword or a shield ever again.”

“I’m sorry,” Raubahn said. He set down his goblet, too, raising his hand to her left shoulder—gingerly avoiding the vicinity of the highest bandages. He touched the braid that lay against her neck, then the familiar scars.

“Don’t be. I’ve survived everything that’s tried to kill me so far and I don’t intend on letting this stop me any more than worse has stopped you.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” Raubahn said, almost wearily.

“And you know I still have a fair few fights left in me.”

“I do.”

His hand shifted, palm coming to lay flat against the side of her neck as his fingers splayed and his thumb rested at the edge of her jaw. This time, he was the one who kissed her, bowing his head as though to some higher power; it was out of freedom that she sank against him, anchoring her good arm around his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked against his lips.

“Celebrating. Would you rather I stop?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, and kissed him again.

“The pain?”

“Bearable. Maybe I’ll even forget about it.”

Morgana wasn’t sure whether it was she who steered Raubahn towards the table or he who led, like a dance with steps so familiar she no longer realized how she even moved her feet.

“If it gets worse—”

“Missio,” she said, lifting middle and forefinger.

Even after twenty years, after the life-rending struggles, the words and gestures of the bloodsands were a shorthand she shared with him—without Gotwin, him and no one else. He needed no more words, no further explanation. From the first, surrender had been something between them that bore none of the shame that it might in the arena. Surrender and abandon; their meaning shifted, pulling down walls.

And she added, opening her knees and hooking her leg up around his waist to pull him closer: “It won’t get worse.”

For good measure, she grabbed a fistful of his cloak and gave a tug.

“I would not want to be that which battles against your will,” Raubahn said, smirking.

“No battles for today. Not for a while,” Morgana said; she smiled in spite of herself.

“Your braids are a mess,” said Morgana. Blessedly, it made Raubahn laugh.

“And whose fault is that?”

She had spent upwards of ten minutes running her fingers through his hair—pulling on it, sometimes—while he had his mouth on her, it was true, but she now wore an expression that completely eschewed responsibility.

“Do we need a culprit?” she asked, sighing lightly as she sat up. She combed her own hair back with her fingers, then nudged Raubahn’s shoulder. “I would rather look for a solution. Come on; sit.”

Raubahn grunted and all but rolled off the bed as Morgana pointed to the floor, sitting down with his back to her. She moved to sit over the edge, one leg dangling beside his shoulder, and began running her fingers through his hair.

“You didn’t have to bother,” he said quietly—a small courtesy, given that he was already leaning his head back, his eyes fluttering closed.

“And how exactly were you planning on fixing it with one hand?” Morgana asked, then snorted. “Gods—actually, I think I won’t bother. I would love to watch the great General Raubahn Aldynn skipping back to the Alliance garrison fresh from a tumble and looking like it. Do you think anyone will have the balls to comment?”

Raubahn grimaced. “Let us pretend I said nothing.”

“How long is the Alliance planning on staying here, anyroad?”

“Not much longer,” Raubahn said after a moment. “The Elder Seedseer has already returned to Gridania with a significant portion of Adder forces and the Knights of Ishgard in tow. Maelstrom Command is making preparations to sail home.”

“And the Flames?” Morgana asked, detached, as though getting a first braid back into shape was something so utterly demanding that it sapped her interest.

“We’ve made no preparations as of yet. The matter of the Ala Mhigan Brigade alone is a complex enough matter, and given our close working relationship with the Resistance, I’ve yet to…”

“You mean you’re still trying to solve every single problem that crops up.”

“Cut off one head and two more shall appear.”

Tensely, Morgana smiled. Already, she knew she shouldn’t have broached the subject, but it was becoming as difficult to ignore the looming shadow of Raubahn’s commitment to Ul’dah as it was uncomfortable to speak of it. And it wasn’t that she cared, really, not for herself—she hadn’t taken a lover with the thought of becoming partners since Ala Mhigo fell, and liberation wouldn’t change what had become her nature—but for his own sake. She knew she would sooner cut off her sword arm than return to that gods-forsaken desert now that the griffin standard flew over the walls of the city once more.

It made her ache, to think of chains pulling him back again as they had once bound him to the Coliseum; and it felt like half a betrayal, even after all the fighting, to imagine that they were not chains at all, but a true desire.

Raubahn’s fingers trailed idly along her calf. He seemed half a world away, too.

“I think this may well be my first time braiding someone else’s hair since my brother died,” Morgana said clumsily after a time—as though that were a more pleasant subject.

“Is that so?”

Morgana made a noise of assent at the back of her throat. “After our parents died, we—well, we’d trade to save time. I did his, he did mine. He had a knack for it. I could go days without having to touch them.”

Wordlessly, Raubahn turned his head—careful not to undo her work—and pressed a kiss to her ankle. “It’s not often you speak of him.”

“Dwelling on the past has made me want to die time and time again. I’m not fond of the idea of dying, so I don’t.”

To her surprise, a chuckle escaped Raubahn’s lips—rather mirthless and grim, for something of a laugh, but a chuckle nonetheless.

“How is this amusing to you?”

“I’ve had many opportunities to dwell, over the years. Oftentimes on you,” he admitted with ease. “I would always imagine you saying something much like this when I snapped myself out of it.”

Morgana finished the last of his braids, but didn’t move. “So I’m predictable.”

“Or perhaps I simply have a good memory,” Raubahn said simply. “It would always remind me of who I had once been—who we both had.”

“Sounds an awful lot like dwelling to me.”

Raubahn smiled, bittersweet, and looked down at his hand. “Aye, I suppose I did dwell, after all; I never stopped thinking of this land as my home. Then I came to realize that it may not think the same of me, for all that I had changed. Thinking of the past made it seem as though it might keep me from becoming unrecognizable.”

Silent, Morgana swallowed thickly. She dropped her hands back to her lap, only to shift with a shudder as the fingertips of her right hand brushed against the burn scars of her left—and then she slid off the bed, folding herself beside Raubahn. She looked at him.

“Do you recognize me?” she asked.

Raubahn did not need to even glance at her to know the answer, but he turned his head to meet her gaze nonetheless. “Aye.”

“I recognize you.”

It never ceased to confound Morgana that a boy born of a Highlander and an Elezen—regardless of how middling and slender Nimaurel had been—could be so short. Sairsel was of a height with most Midlander men, and she understood that Nimaurel’s girl, too, had more of a Miqo’te’s size, which was all the more puzzling. Still, Sairsel stood as a shadow against the building at the very edge of the Alliance’s temporary headquarters shared with the Resistance in the Ala Mhigan Quarter—and that shadow stretched long and tall on the cobblestones.

He’d taken to wearing Ala Mhigan archer’s attire along with his ranger’s coat, the deep green and brown tones as perfectly suited to his woods as the dusty Gyr Abanian highlands; now that he dressed to look as whole as he felt, he appeared five years older than he had but a year past. There was a nonchalance about the way he held himself that Morgana beheld with such fondness that it surprised her—she understood that her son’s mind worked in ways that made true assurance impossible, but he was a fighter, now. The set of his jaw, the length of his spine, the broadness of his shoulders all seemed to say he was strong enough to fight his own battles.

“You look busy,” Morgana commented as she stopped beside him. Without a word, Sairsel tore off a piece of the flatbread in his hands—buttery and still warm—and handed it to her.

“Your friend, the general—he’s just finished making his address to the Flames and the Resistance about how he’s going back to Ul’dah,” Sairsel explained around a mouthful. Sharp green eyes still on the crowd. “Caused some hells of a stir.”

Morgana breathed out a sigh through her nose, her shoulders tense as she willed them not to drop with the disappointment. “I imagine it would. He’s a hero and a legend even here, after all these years; the Resistance will be as disheartened to see him leave as the Flames will be glad to go home with him.”

Sairsel only met those words with a wordless hum.

“What?” Morgana asked.

“Suppose I just don’t understand it,” he said with a shrug. “I was born after the imperials came and I’d never even seen a malm beyond the Wall before the Griffin, and you’d have to drag me kicking and screaming out here, so soon after it’s just become ours again.”

Morgana opened her mouth to speak, but Sairsel went on: “Make no mistake: the Wood is still my home, it’ll always be, but I didn’t fight and bleed and—and lose so much for Ala Mhigo not to want to be a part of it.”

“You’re young; Raubahn is of an age with me. It’s easier to wander when you’ve only seen twenty summers.”

Sairsel made a face. “Sure, but it’s the words he used,” he said, scratching short nails thoughtfully against the stubble at his jaw. “Back to Ul’dah; not home. All the Flames are talking about going home—except for the Ala Mhigan Brigade, I suppose—but not him. It’s Ala Mhigo he calls home, and he’s still leaving.”

“Some people don’t want to die at home,” Morgana said coldly. “If he wants to spend the rest of his days with his sultana and waste away in the desert, it’s his choice.”

“That’s grim,” Sairsel said, looking at her.

Morgana shoved the piece of flatbread in her mouth.

“I heard Gundobald and a few others have decided to stay in Little Ala Mhigo, too.”

“True,” Morgana said. “Not everyone’s well enough to make the journey back. I’m not surprised he’d choose to stay; it was always about the people, with him. That’s why we chose him to lead us.”

Sairsel nodded, and watched the crowd in silence for a moment. “What about you? Have you thought about going back?”

“I bloody well won’t,” Morgana said without a second’s hesitation. “I’ve seen enough of Eorzea. When I die, I don’t want to be buried in the Tomb of the Errant Sword. I promised myself that a long time ago.”

The unrestrained look of relief on Sairsel’s face spoke volumes about his own intentions. A part of Morgana struggled to believe that he wasn’t running back to the Shroud now that the fight was over, but she now understood that it was all too easy to assume things about the young man in front of her and be wrong. Sairsel was bound to those woods, it was true—he’d been unhappy enough in Thanalan, as though he were himself a plant wasting away without water and rich soil and shade to nourish him in the desert—but he had wandering feet, too.

He looked upon Gyr Abania with a hungry wonder that elated her as much as it broke her heart to see not familiarity but novelty in the way her own son beheld her home.

It was strange, being a mother. She’d never known so many regrets, before—but she could console herself with the knowledge that they had all the time in the world, now, to build monuments to the future that might make up for lost time.

Unbidden, Morgana reached out to pat Sairsel’s shoulder. He had filled out over the last few moons: wider, firmer, stronger. “I’m staying here,” she assured him, with a gentler tone than she’d just used. Gentler than the way she spoke most of the time; however inflexible her nature may be, she was beginning to find that she had no love for the way she would speak to him until the Wall.

“So am I,” Sairsel said, nodding solemnly. “For a while.”

Morgana almost smiled. She spared one last look towards the Alliance headquarters, bristling at the over-familiar scale bearing flame and diamond upon its black banner, and made to go on her way.

“I’ve some business to take care of. I’ll seek you out later,” she told Sairsel in parting.

It was time, too—a return already overlate—to let go of what was lost.

#from the heart #c:morgana #c:sairsel #f:xiv

2 notes · View notes

airyseaknight · 6 years

Text

The Story Continues...

I loved Trollhunters and I look forward to more Tales of Arcadia! With Season 3 over and with so many feels that came from it, I thought I would share an idea of a fanfic that takes place right after the events of the last episode. Let me know what you think!

So imagine after Jim, Claire, Merlin and all the Arcadia trolls finally get to New Jersey after weeks of travel, they get to New Jersey and find the heartstone. They also find a troll market and trolls there too. The troll leader of the NJ troll market is a jerk and when he meets the gang he doesn’t allow Claire to stay, but then Jim is like “well if she goes, I go” and the jerk face leader quickly changes his mind, reluctantly, because Jim killed Morgana, Gunmar, and Bular, so he’s kinda a big deal among the trolls in NJ troll market.

So the Arcadia gang start to adjust to the NJ troll market and Jim faces a NJ troll champion and beats him up and maybe befriends him.

While that goes on, Claire wants to learn about wizardry from Merlin but he’s a buttsnack and doesn’t want to teach her. Claire figures that Merlin doesn’t want to train another Morgana, but Claire convinces him she’s pure in heart so Merlin, after much buttsnackiness, gives in and teaches her his magic spells.

Jim video chats/calls his mom and Toby a ton. Maybe Jim calls his mom and interupts her with Walt. Toby would update him about how the two new foreign students were aliens and now there’s an alien bounty hunter in Arcadia (or something like that) Toby would be all “JIM ALIENS EXSIST! And they’re NOT like E.T!” And Jim is all “why am I not surprised -_-”

As Merlin teaches Claire awesome spells, she and Merlin get a vision or something that there are bad wizards coming to New Jersey for some powerful relic or maybe for Merlin. So they all have to deal with these bad wizards and eventually learn that there are also good wizards in New Jersey. They win in the end and create a treaty of sort between wizards and trolls.

Also:

Claire helps home school Jim so he can technically graduate high school.

Jim learns more about troll food and becomes like a 5 star troll chef?

Merlin comes up to Jim and is all like “oh I forgot to show you how to take the suit off” and then says some phrase and his suit comes off. Course Jim is still half troll, but at least he can wear normal stuff, so Claire gets Jim some very nice fitting new clothes :V

Clarie would eventually go to college and start an awesome career as like a music/movie producer or something in the arts.

There of course would be lots of Jlaire moments. Like A TON.

Maybe even a quest were Jim tries to recreate the mishap that turned Blinky into a human so he can have a normal date with Claire. Cause they still haven’t had one of those yet.

Don’t know if this would be in the story but, I can’t help myself:

Anyway skip a few years down the road when they’ve fought wizards and possibly aliens and they’re in their early twenties. Claire career is starting to go down the drain because of all the work she misses, cause she’s been helping save New Jersey with Jim. So she and Jim are fighting about their future and Jim is like “I can’t give you what you want, you should go and live your life, play in the sun, build your career, get married….start a family”

And Claire is all like “You don’t get to make my decisions for me. I don’t want to start a family with anybody else, because I love you. and because…..I’ve already started a family with you” and he’s all like “wait what?”

And she‘s like “I’m pregnant” Jim flashbacks to when he and Claire were taking care of a sack of flour together as a school project. After processing this Jim says “I get to be...a Dad?” and she smiles and says “yeah, you’re gonna be a papá” Then he just goes over and embraces her in a half-troll hug.

End of story idea.

697 notes · View notes

tipsycad147 · 5 years

Text

Hecate Crossroads Meditation

You find yourself on a lonely country road. In your hands is a heavy knapsack. It is very dark and the night sky is filled with stars. It’s the night of the Dark Moon. You sigh, put on your knapsack, and begin to walk down the road. The knapsack is very heavy tonight and you have a long, long way to go.

As you walk you become aware of the night sounds. You can hear a hoarse creaking sound in the ditch beside the road. Soon you hear more croaking and creaking as the frogs fill the night with their chorus.

Suddenly the frogs stop singing and silence envelopes you as you trudge wearily down the road. The pack on your back feels even heavier than it did when you first put it on. The night is lonely and cold, the road barely visible in front of you. If it wasn’t for the starlight night you would be in total blackness.

You feel a breeze overhead and look up to see a huge barn owl pass over you, hunting for rabbits or mice that venture too close to the road. As you walk ahead, the trees growing on either side of the road seem to be reaching out towards each other, causing the road to become narrower and darker. The branches are snagging your pack, clothing and hair as you walk. You slap angrily at the branches and notice that the trees are Willows. The pack seems to be getting heavier with each step you take. The road becomes narrower and narrower, the trees closer and closer.

In the distance, a dog begins to howl.

As you continue to trudge down the road, you hear the dog again and it seems closer this time. The straps of the pack are digging into your shoulders, and your legs are getting tired. You have a very long way to go before you may rest. You must keep walking; you must carry your pack until the end. You shrug your shoulders, put your head down and continue on.

The dog howls again, and this time you know that it’s near. The hair on the back of your neck stands up in fear. You raise your head and see that you have come to a crossroads.

There is an old woman standing there, and in front of her is a coffin.

The woman is chanting and inscribing runes on the coffin lid, she does not look up from her work, but you realize that she knows you are there. Her hair is wild and black, streaked with grey. Her face shows the lines of one who has lived long and seen much. She wears a black robe with the hood pulled up. Beside her are three large black dogs, silently watching you.

The woman continues to chant, but you are unable to understand the words that she speaks. Curious, you move closer to her, but she doesn’t look up. You become aware of the scent of yew and cypress in the air. You move closer and closer until you are right beside the coffin. You put your pack on the ground and peer at the coffin and the runes that the woman is drawing upon it.

You look up at the old woman. She stops her work and looks you straight in the eyes. Wisdom and knowledge of the ages are reflected in Her eyes. You want to look away but you are held by Her gaze. You feel as if She is judging you and your worth. You feel as if She can see into your very soul.

Satisfied with what She has found, She nods and begins to draw another rune.

She begins to chant again, then stops.

“Do you know what this is?” She asks you, Her voice strong but soft as if She were speaking to a child. “I am called Hecate, and this is the Burning Coffin.”

She lets you think about this for a moment before She continues.

“You carry something you no longer need; a burden that is keeping you from fully experiencing life. I give you an opportunity to let go of it, to surrender it if you can, and let it die. You may place it in the coffin, close the lid and burn it. You may release your burden in this way. The Burning Coffin is a very useful tool.” She tells you with a chuckle in her voice.

She continues to draw runes on the coffin lid.

“Do you have a weight? Something that is no longer useful? Something that you have been unable to let go? Anger? Fear? Regret? Jealousy? Grief? Sorrow? You have been carrying it for a long time. It is with you even now, in that heavy pack beside you. Do you have something that you would like to surrender to the Burning Coffin?”

You pick up your knapsack. It feels even heavier than before. You open it and peer inside. You find that there are three heavy boulders inside the sack. Each boulder has a word chiselled into it. Anger…..Fear….Regret

Hecate opens the lid of the Burning Coffin and steps back.

You pick up the boulder marked “Anger” and look at it. What anger are you holding onto that you are ready to let go of and drop into the Burning coffin? When you are ready, drop the boulder into the coffin.

Reach into your pack and pick up the boulder marked “Fear”. What fear is holding you back from being the person you wish to be? When you are ready, drop the boulder into the burning coffin. It lands beside the first boulder

Pick up the last boulder in your pack, it is marked “Regret”. What regret can you let go of tonight, so that you may enjoy your life in the present? When you are ready, drop the boulder into the burning coffin.

As you drop each stone in the coffin it lands with a satisfying “thunk”. The moment the last boulder lands in the coffin, mists and fogs begin to form within the coffin. They begin to swirl widdershins, and as they swirl they begin to pulse with yellow light. Faster and faster the mist revolves around the boulders, turning orange, then red. Hecate steps forward and extends her arms over the coffin and it bursts into flames. You step back, expecting the heat to singe your clothing and Hecate laughs……..”The Fire of Transformation will not harm you” she explains.

You watch, fascinated as the coffin and rocks disintegrate, collapsing into a heap of grey ashes.

Then it is quiet. Hecate brings forth a knife and gently prods something out of the ashes. She pushes it towards you and you pick it up. Look carefully at the gift Hecate has given you. As you study it you realise that it’s just what you need to continue on down the road. You pick up your pack and put the gift inside. Your pack is so much lighter now!

Thank Hecate for Her gift and offer her a gift in return. If you wish, stay a moment and speak with Her.

Hecate steps aside and gestures to the road. You put on your pack and resume your journey. Behind you, the frogs again take up their singing. Ahead, you see the light of dawn. Your pack is light and your heart is bursting with joy.

http://sacredwicca.jigsy.com/hecate-crossroads-meditation

0 notes

merlinficreview · 7 years

Text

The Student Prince: Chapters 11-15 Review!

The Student Prince by FayJay

Word Count: 145222

Chapter 11

This chapter opens with Merlin guiltily thinking about how obsessed he’s become with Arthur. “All of which was clearly not healthy, and was also, when you got right down to it, kind of unpleasantly creepy, and made Merlin feel guilty as hell – because in spite of all the prattishness, and in spite of Arthur's complete failure to notice that Merlin kept right on saving his ungrateful arse from various supernatural uglies – well, they were becoming friends.” At least Merlin recognizes he’s being a total creeper.

In order to try and get over Arthur, Merlin has decided to go to one of his GaySoc Club meetings and pick up a one night stand. This will surely end super well.

“And that's how he found himself standing outside The Victoria Cafe, chewing his bottom lip nervously and wondering whether he should have worn jeans instead of battered cargo pants.” Definitely should have worn jeans instead of a gross ripped up pair of cargo pants, Merlin. I’m glad he’s getting out though, and meeting with new people.

There’s some super awkward and inappropriate “wand” jokes from Cedric. Gross. This is how Cedric is described by the way: “…the latter was whippet-thin and had a ratty little goatee and a very disconcerting gleam in his eye,” and, “Merlin looked back at Cedric, who was wearing a remarkable lime-green shirt that gave him the impression of a cadaverous weasel wrapped in a very large leaf, and sighed.” Pretty gross sounding, right?

Cedric then realizes he recognizes Merlin from the Sophia Falling off the Ladder Fiasco and freaks out. “’Fair play, Merlin,’ said Catrina, looking impressed. ‘Didn't think you had it in you.’ ‘Oh my God, have you had it in you, you jammy bitch?’ demanded Cedric, his eyes bulging. ‘Spill! Tell us everything! What does he wear in bed? Where did you meet him? Does that yummy policeman protect him in the bedroom too?’”

YIKES. Cedric JUST met Merlin and he’s been super gross every time he opens his mouth. Get away from him, Merlin.

Merlin excuses himself to go get a drink and I don’t blame him. Honestly, I probably would have just left if someone was talking to me the way Cedric was talking to Merlin. While at the bar, Edwin corners Merlin and hits on him in a much less creepy, but still side-eye worthy, way and asks him about the Kraken. This is like all supernatural tv shows where everyone is all, “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TELL NO ONE YOUR SECRET!!” but then like more people know the secret than people who don’t.

Merlin and Edwin go exploring some castle. It’s a pretty short scene and ends with Edwin kissing Merlin. Then Merlin is back at the dorm, drunkenly getting into his room.

Merlin knocks over a chair and wakes up Arthur. They have a really awkward conversation about Merlin going to his GaySoc meeting. Arthur asks Merlin if he hooked up with someone and Merlin gets super defensive about it. While, I don’t blame him because I’m sure he’s put up with quite a bit of homophobia, this is the passage: “’Did you cop off with somebody, then?’ Arthur asked, as if he just couldn't help himself. He was staring at Merlin's pink, spit-slick mouth and watching the motion of the toothbrush inside his cheek, and his breath was coming a little too fast. Merlin's eyes narrowed, and he spat out the toothpaste and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,” also: “Arthur swallowed. ‘Why would I have a problem with that?’ he asked, his voice sounding hoarse. ‘It's no skin off my nose.’ He looked away, his cheeks flushing a vivid, blotchy red in the lamplight, and lay back down.” That’s clearly not Arthur being offended but rather Arthur trying to restrain himself from getting into Merlin’s pants.

Arthur tells Merlin he was just trying to take an interest in Merlin’s life. Merlin apologizes and they go to bed.

Chapter 12

This chapter opens with Merlin and Arthur tied together for a three legged-race for charity. Merlin is less than enthused, “’No, seriously – I had to do this stuff at school,’ he explained. ‘I was pants. Honestly. Pants. Sack race, egg-and-spoon race, wheelbarrow race – I'm just not your man for this kind of thing! I always came last!’” You could always have told Arthur, “no,” Merlin. Arthur has a million bodyguards he could have teamed up with.

“Merlin looked around at the rest of the people in the room, trying to see a sympathetic face somewhere ready to help him out of his predicament. He could not possibly spend an evening getting progressively less sober, with Prince Arthur locked against him ankle-to-ankle and hip-to-hip. It was cruel and unusual punishment, and he was going to lodge a formal complaint. Somewhere.” This is just annoying Merlin, you’re been exceptionally dramatic and it isn’t endearing me to you at all. Just tell Arthur you don’t want to do it and leave. Calm down.

“Oh, God. If he'd had any idea that Lance's bloody Charity Pub Crawl was going to involve getting tied to the oblivious object of his sordid fantasies, he'd have stayed at home. Or had a cold shower. Or at least worn looser trousers.” Can we talk about this weird charity? Who does a three-legged pub crawl race for charity? What charity is it? AA? Also, Arthur said it was his charity at the beginning of the chapter so… I’m confused.

Anyways, Merlin asks Arthur why he won’t race with Gawain and Arthur says Gawain’s partner is Morgause. Which seems like a poor decision. What happens if someone tries to assassinate Morgana? I can just see Morgause comically trying to get to Morgana while still tied to Gawain and falling all over the place. Plus, this is a race. Morgause might be miles behind or ahead of Morgana. “’And isn't she – I mean, honestly, I kind of got the strong impression that she and Morgana were...?’ Arthur shrugged, his cheeks reddening. ‘Don't ask, don't tell,’ he said.” “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” because Morgana and Morgause are cousins?

“’Um. But – doesn't that mean that he's barking up the wrong tree?’ ‘He likes a challenge.’” Let’s talk about this. Now we don’t know what Morgause’s sexuality is. It’s implied she is with Morgana, so we assume she’s into women. She could either be a lesbian or bisexual, which the author of this doesn’t really seem to address (remember the Merlin/Lance fiasco from earlier). My point is, this whole, “straight guy going after a lesbian woman” troupe is super common and it’s annoying as fuck. “LOL she’s into ladies and I know it but let me harass her anyways!!!” Fucking stop.

Morgana and Gwen stumble over. They are partners for the most ill-conceived charity activity ever. “Merlin took one look at the efficient-looking man standing a few paces behind her, radiating that now-familiar aura of polite do-not-fuck-with-me, and did not need to be told that this was whoever was on Morgana duty this evening, while Morgause played at Happy Families with her Academic Grandson.” Ok, I feel much better knowing it’s not open season for assassins on Morgana since Morgause has decided to fuck off and do her own thing. Which is even weirder now that I think about it since Morgause has “long since graduated.” The fuck is she doing hanging around her alma mater for a three legged race? She’s giving me small town quarterback who still attends all the games, wears his letterman jacket all the time and lectures the current players about how he would have handled that pass, “in the good old days,” vibes.

Lance explains the rules, “’Remember, it's up to you which order you visit the pubs,’ said Lance. ‘You can choose any seven from the list – there are Charities Reps in all of them. Make sure you get your booklet stamped by the Charities Rep. They'll confirm that you were there, and what drink you had – to check that it was further down the alphabet than whatever you had at the previous pub. So if you order a pint of Guinness in the Cellar Bar, and go on to the West Port, you can't have an absinth – you'll need to order something that starts with a letter after G, like a Jack Daniels or something. Okay?’” I still don’t understand how this is raising money for charity. They aren’t paying for these drinks. Even if they were, they are going to 7 bars, that’s 14 drinks per team. If there’s ten teams, that’s 140 drinks, and I’m sure the bars aren’t giving these completely away for free, charity or not. So say each drink is $6 and half of it goes to charity, that’s $420 dollars. Is this actually a thing people do? Like are there spectators who bid money on each team? What a stupid thing to bet on. Who would do that? It’s not like those races where small children run/ walk miles and you bet on like $3 a mile. What sort of charity would endorse something like this? Running around drunkenly tied to someone seems so unsafe. THIS CHARITY MAKES NO SENSE.

“’I can't believe that you're supporting something like this!’ Merlin said reproachfully. ‘Isn't this kind of thing against the teachings of the Lord Buddha?’ Lance shrugged. ‘I'm a Buddhist, Merlin. I'm not a killjoy. And besides, it's raising money for an excellent cause.’” BUT WHAT IS THE CAUSE????? Seriously, is this a thing?

“He was all too conscious of the warm, hard line of Arthur's body pressed up against his side, and of Arthur's arm around his waist, and he really couldn't see how he was going to be able to successfully hide his growing arousal over several hours of being plastered up against the man. ‘Please?’ he added, in a small voice.” Ok, Merlin. I like you but fucking stop. You are protesting way too much and it’s getting annoying. You could have just walked away the second someone approached you with the scarf to tie you to Arthur. So dramatic. Damn. Also, Merlin needs to get better friends because they are all ignoring how clearly uncomfortable Merlin is. Lance FINALLY tells him he doesn’t have to do it if he doesn’t want to. “’Mer-lin,’ muttered Arthur, crossly. ‘Don't be such a pussy!’ He sounded oddly upset, and Merlin thought that was a bit rich, under the circumstances.” Lovely. Get new friends, Merlin.

“’Come on, Merlin,’ murmured Arthur against his ear, his breath brushing warm against Merlin's skin and his lips grazing Merlin's earlobe for just a second.’ ‘I'm not doing it without you, you git. You can't make me go with some stranger, who...look, I trust you, Merlin. I know we'll look out for each other. It'll be fine. Please?’” This is giving me an odd image because we just got a description of Merlin leaning his head on Arthur’s shoulder. So is Arthur leaning all the way over to Merlin’s other ear to do this? I know it’s supposed to be an “ooer Arthur is being super touchy feeley!!! He’s totally falling for Merlin!” moment but the image is just making me laugh.

“’Is everyone ready?’ asked Lance, looking around at the mass of couples standing arm-in-arm in front the Students' Union building in the last lingering pink-red-gold rays of the setting sun. ‘Everyone got their collecting tins?’” Ohhhhhh! So they will be harassing bar patrons for money for the charity. Got it. Is this taking place during the day? If they are getting money from bar patrons, how is this a race? Like a team could just go to every bar, ignore collecting any money, get their drinks, and leave to win the race.

The next scene is Merlin and Arthur at their, presumably, second bar. Arthur has ordered them brandy and Merlin refuses to drink it, ordering himself a pint of ale and decides he is going to order his own drinks from that point on.

Then we get this: “Merlin lifted the glass to his lips, watching Arthur's face all the while, and started drinking. And drinking. And drinking. He watched Arthur's eyes start to widen, and his glance skitter down to stare at the way that Merlin's adam's apple was bobbing while his head tilted gradually back so that he was looking at Arthur through his lashes, and Arthur started to blush. By the time Merlin put down his empty pint glass on the bar and swiped the back of his hand over his wet mouth, Arthur's eyes were bulging, and his fingers were digging into Merlin's waist quite fiercely. ‘That was – that was actually pretty impressive,’ he said, rather hoarsely, his eyes darting from Merlin's mouth to his throat and back again.”

Ugh. I see this cliché, Arthur getting hot over Merlin drinking something scene SO MANY TIMES in fanfic and it’s so annoying. This trope is so overused and so unrealistic. I’ve literally never had a dude get all hot and bothered by me drinking something. If they are intensely looking at me while I’m drinking something, they are probably thinking, “She drinks a lot of fluids. I hope she’s not diabetic. How do I casually mention she should get her glucose levels checked out?”

So Merlin and Arthur get progressively drunker. There’s some awkward flirting. “’Oh, bite me, Your Majesty,’ he said, and launched a spectacularly successful (if perhaps, upon reflection, not very well thought out) stealth tickle attack sent them both toppling off their chairs and had Arthur convulsing and yelling and flailing on the floor within seconds, to the fascination of the crowd in The Central. Merlin reflected, in the back of his mind, that it was probably a Very Good Thing that he UK press had signed that agreement to hold off on buying any paparazzi photographs or interviews relating to the prince until after he turned nineteen.”

Just some platonic tickling between bros. Where one character ends up straddling the other. Nothing to see here.

Also, don’t be stupid, Merlin. Just because the media is banned from taking photos, it doesn’t prevent the general public from taking photos and posting them all over the internet.

The chapter ends with Merlin awkwardly calling “Uncle” and then the two of them leave the bar.

Chapter 13

This chapter opens up with the beginning of Raisin Weekend. So we have no idea what happened with this alleged “charity.” Who won? Where did the money go? How much did they bully poor bar patrons into giving them? How many people died from accidentally drunkenly stumbling into the streets because they were tied to another person and lost their balance? The ending to that scene is super abrupt and I honestly feel like I missed an entire chapter somehow.

So Merlin occasionally obsesses over his near kiss with Arthur in the pub and wonders if he should have gone for it. No no no no. It’s a BAD idea to kiss your straight roommate who happens to be the heir to the throne in a very public place. Do not do that. You’re welcome.

Merlin thinks about the possible consequences of having done that, “Or possibly molesting the heir to the throne was one of those obscure laws that overruled the whole no-death-penalty thing – like the ancient and never-revoked ruling that said that anyone on the Isle of Man could legally shoot a Scotsman seen wearing a kilt on one of their beaches. There was probably some statute somewhere that said anyone trying to get their end away with the Prince of Wales would have their head chopped off and stuck on a spike in the middle of Tower Bridge, or something. Merlin made a mental note to look that up, just in case.” Well, yes Merlin. Good job for recognizing that molestation is illegal. A + It probably wouldn’t get you killed but don’t do it either way, no need to look it up. Don’t fucking sexually assault people. And don’t put jokes about it in your fanfics.

“Still, occasionally, when he watched Arthur chewing the end of a biro earnestly as he scribbled notes for an essay, or when he sleepily spied on Arthur stretching in preparation for his morning run, or when he lost himself in the sound of Arthur's voice rambling on about his latest lecture from Gabriella Slomp about ‘”Obbes and Grot-i-us and Nat-si-o-nal law and In-ter-nat-si-o-nal law,’ or the sight of his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of his back and the top of shockingly perfect arse as he leaned over to tie his shoelaces...occasionally, just occasionally, Merlin thought maybe it might have been worth it.” Ok. Several things to say about this section. Way to misspell national and international. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to represent Arthur’s accent by being spelled that way or something but it still makes no sense because you don’t pronounce hard T’s in either of those words so the s is unnecessary.

Now, let’s talk about this “shirt riding up to reveal a sliver…” part. This is yet ANOTHER ridiculously overused trope in fanfic that makes no sense. Ooer an inch of someone’s back/stomach (the stomach example is how I usually see it in fanfic). How sexy .Said no one ever.

If Arthur reaching over to tie his shoes is showing so much skin that Merlin can see, “the top of a shockingly perfect arse,” then Arthur needs to pull up his damn pants.

Lastly, but most importantly, IT WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN WORTH IT. No sexually assaulting people, damn. I don’t feel like I should need to spell it out.

“As Raisin Weekend got closer and closer, Morgana took to smirking at her Academic children in a very disconcerting fashion, and randomly producing a soft blue tape measure with which she measured wrists and ankles and waists and legs and various other bits and pieces, whilst chuckling to herself.” Just including this because it made me think of Katie McGrath’s ridiculous and excessive smirking in season three of Merlin.

So Merlin asks Arthur if his Academic Dad is someone in Arthur’s pilot club and Arthur tells Merlin he didn’t end up joining for various reasons which all make sense to me but Merlin is super dramatic and over the top about it. He makes a big scene about how it’s not fair and blah blah blah. Calm down, Merlin. Arthur tells Merlin he still goes to the air plane hangar once a week. “So – what, you sit there with your nose pressed up against the glass like Tiny Tim, watching all the cadets having fun without you? That's...creepy and weird, frankly.” Lol, Merlin. That was actually funny. Arthur tells Merlin he takes his own plane out.

So Arthur tells Merlin he doesn’t have an Academic Dad. “You don't have an Academic Dad yet?!‘ ’ Given that they'd both just stepped out of the cold, bright Autumn morning and into the University Library, shouting was probably not really the best of all possible plans. Arthur slapped his forehead in frustration, looked from Merlin over to the audience of intrigued students and unimpressed librarians, and turned on his heel and walked right back outside again.”

God Merlin is so tactless. He always has to make a giant scene about everything. I used to like you, Merlin but you’ve been really getting on my nerves the last two chapters. Have some self-awareness, damn.

Arthur turns around and leaves; Merlin runs after him, apologizing. Probably still yelling at the top of his lungs to continue attracting attention. Of course Merlin starts to fall so Arthur grabs him and saves him, holding on just a little too long. Just bros, people. Just bros.

Arthur then walks away. As he should. I would still be pissed too. “And with that he stomped off down the path, leaving Merlin standing there with a head full of questions tumbling like leaves on a blustery Autumn day.” I’m going to give that an unnecessarily dramatic, flowery language warning. You’re on notice, fic.

Later, Merlin goes back to the dorm and Arthur tells him that Lance called him up and asked him if he wanted Lance to be his Academic Dad. Arthur wonders if Merlin called him up and told him. He admits to it, though I don’t think it would have been strictly necessary considering how many people were in the library when Merlin screamed his comment. Word gets around. Lance probably just heard about the incident. Or maybe literally heard the incident take place.

Chapter 14

Merlin and Arthur arrive at Morgana’s house and Morgause answers the door. Arthur asks where her “deadly” kitten Mordred is. We learn that it’s Raisin Sunday Tea Party and everyone has to pick out a hat. Even though Merlin is no longer worried about drunkenly doing magic in front of people, he still worries about Arthur. “Which meant that all he had to worry about was being careful not to say or do anything inappropriate to Arthur – and by this time, he thought he could have earned a BAFTA award for his compelling portrayal of Platonic Best Friend. Bloody well done him. Fifty points to Gryffindor, damn it.” These lies Merlin is telling himself right now.

Morgana gifts everyone with their “Raisin Strings.” Arthur’s is the best one as it’s basically just a necklace with a plane pendant modeled after his real plane. Gwen gets a hip flask in honor of her and Morgana winning the pub crawl and her budding alcoholism, and Merlin gets a massive stuffed Kraken. On a string. To wear on his neck. And Morgana’s explanation is so cringey I want to die for Merlin, “Because Merlin's terribly fond of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. And I understand he has a thing for tentacles. Or was it testicles? One or the other. Possibly both. Anyway, that's enough of me talking – let's hand over to the lovely Helen!”

After their tea party, which was cups of whiskey, they start playing a bunch of ridiculous games, most of which involve more drinking. Then, they all get into groups of four for, you guessed it, Twister! In 3D! “But rather than placing your hands and feet on different coloured circles on the floor, you're supposed to put your hands, or face, or bum, on various different parts of the other people in your team. The aim of the game is to successfully obey the game master's instructions; so long as you've got your hands, face and bum pressed up against whatever they're supposed to be on, and your teammates have too, your team is still in the game. When your team drops out, you each have to down a cup of Grandma Morgause's Blue Meanie Punch. Any questions?” In case you were wondering.

Percy is on Merlin’s team. “Merlin grinned back appreciatively, and reflected that it might not be so bad; Perceval played a lot of football, and it showed. He was a smidgen shorter than Merlin, but impressively athletic, and strikingly good looking, with skin the richly burnished red-brown of a just-split conker, and dark hair in dreadlocks that fell down past his shoulders.” That description.

LOL I mean, it’s funny because Tom Hopper is like a million feet tall and massive. This was written before his character was introduced on the show but still. I’m laughing.

Merlin’s team loses and there’s two teams left. “Merlin, Andi and Percy all piled together on the sofa, Merlin wriggling down so that his back was on the cushion, his legs hooked over the arm rest and his head pillowed companionably on Percy's thigh.” Quite an interesting decision there, Merlin since you pretty much just met Percy. As long as he’s cool with you laying on his crotch, I guess. Kay’s team topples over so Arthur’s team wins, naturally, “…and Merlin was clapping and cheering madly as Arthur disentangled himself blushingly from his partners and then looked over in Merlin's direction with an expression that Merlin had not the faintest idea how to interpret.” I’ll interpret it for you, dumbass. Arthur is jealous of you being face first in some other dude’s lap.

The next came involves sucking chocolate balls onto a straw and dropping them into a glass. Kay makes a disgusting joke regarding Merlin’s sucking skills. Die in a fire, Kay, etc. etc.

So then this happens: “He was doing quite well, he thought, until he glanced up and saw that Arthur had frozen with his straw poised over his own pint glass, and was just staring at Merlin with an intensity that made Merlin flush suddenly scarlet. He looked back down at his box in confusion, but then had to look back up at Arthur again, through his eyelashes, and Arthur was still staring at him – staring at his mouth, in fact – and Merlin could feel himself getting embarrassingly turned on,” and “…and Arthur was licking his lips, like – like – but clearly Merlin was having some kind of alcohol-induced breakdown, because there was no way that Arthur was giving him any kind of heated come-hither-ish looks.” The secondhand embarrassment. I cannot. Arthur, be more obvious that you were imagining Merlin give you a blow job. Merlin, be more obtuse.

Later, Merlin once again brings up Gwen and Lance and he asks her if she’s finally going to get together with him. Gwen is annoyingly dense about it but, I have to agree with her getting annoyed with Merlin bringing it up over and over and over. Fucking stop.

Next is a jelly shot contest. Merlin is lying on the floor with his shirt off; Blanche, his partner, is blindfolded and will be eating the shots off him. Arthur sits and stares at Merlin the whole time. It’s awkward and weird.

The next game involves Chocolate Matchmakers. I have no idea what those are because we don’t have them so I just kind of imagine them as chocolate covered pretzel rods. So they have to pass them around through each other’s mouths and with each person, it gets shorter and shorter because the person passing the candy bites of the end that’s in their mouth. Arthur is of course sitting next to Merlin for this, so Merlin is understandably losing his shit. Poor Drunk Merlin. Oh and there’s a donut on the matchmaker so whomever gets the donut wins? Whatever. These games are weird, but very stereotypical drunk games.

So Merlin gets ready to pass to Arthur and it’s all very tense with the chocolate quickly melting in his mouth, Arthur grabs the end of the chocolate, “…but instead, he found Arthur was still moving towards him, closer and closer, his lips sliding down over inch after inch until he'd swallowed up chocolate and doughnut and all, and was pressing his mouth against Merlin's, swiping his tongue lingeringly over Merlin's startled lips as he stole the game.”

NORMAL BRO STUFF PEOPLE. NOTHING TO SEE HERE. MOVE ALONG.

Merlin freaks out and goes to the bathroom, for which I don’t blame him. Then he masturbates in the bathroom, which is really awkward because he’s at someone else’s house.

Chapter 15

So now we get to the part in the story where I accidentally hate Gwen even though what happens next isn’t her fault. Well not entirely. I also hate Arthur. A lot. Because he’s a complete ass. Stay tuned!

Merlin gets back from the bathroom and spots Arthur speaking to Gwen. Merlin is upset because he wanted to tell Gwen everything that happened; I would too. Then Arthur gets all flirty and up in Gwen’s space, “…and then Arthur was leaning even closer and pushing a strand of curls behind her ear, murmuring something, and she was stumbling over her words and going wide-eyed and startled, staring up at him...”

What in the actual FUCK are you doing, Arthur? Merlin has the best possible reaction, “’Oh,’ said Merlin, blankly, and he turned on his heel and went to find Mordred.” That is word for word what I would have done in the situation. Poor Merlin.

Merlin is playing with Mordred when Morgana finds him and they have a really sweet, though sad for Merlin, and honest conversation about Arthur. Morgana is really nice to him about it and she even acknowledges Arthur was flirting with Merlin. “I could shake him. He was definitely flirting with you down there, and it's not fair. It's really not fair.” DO IT, MORGANA. SHAKE HIM. DO IT NOW.

Later, Lance shows up to pick them all up for his portion of the festivities. “When Lance had shown up to collect his Academic kids Merlin had seen him watch the way that Arthur leaned into her space and wrapped his hands around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder, making her giggle – and Merlin had watched the light go out of Lance's eyes then and there.” Yikesapolooza. What the fuckering fuck are you doing, Arthur? Can you be more of a self-serving asshole? You know how Lance feels about Gwen and you clearly know how Merlin feels about you. Plus you JUST flirted heavily with Merlin. I don’t care if you are just asserting your straightness after the whole Merlin kiss because you’re having a big gay crisis. Fucking no. You’re hurting three other people with this nonsense.

Arthur spends the whole walk flirting with Gwen which ends up in a tickle fights on the ground. Hey, remember when he did that with another character earlier? Also, get up off the ground you idiots. Gross.

Merlin and Co are at Lance’s friends’ house and Arthur and Gwen are still grossly flirting in front of Lance and Merlin. Merlin confronts Lance about not asking Gwen out. “’Well – I mean, I've – um. Do we have to talk about this?’ ‘Yes,’ said Merlin, firmly. ‘Yes we do. Because it's driving me batshit insane, and because I really need a distraction this evening, and you, you lucky man, are it…’” Fucking finally. It’s driving me insane too, Merlin. Damn.

So basically, Lance used to be fat and ugly and that’s why he won’t do casual flings.

Which is stupid and doesn’t answer the question about Gwen whatsoever. “It's just that I don't really do casual flings, that's all. It's not my cup of tea. But when I met Gwen – it was like she was exactly who I'd been waiting for my whole life. I can't describe it. As soon as I saw her – I mean, she just walked in and the whole room lit up. I wanted to do something amazing for her – climb mountains, slay dragons, something. Just for her. She took my breath away.” That’s way too excessive, Lance. Calm down.

Merlin tells Lance to get his shit together because Gwen is super into him. Cue: “Gwen had got her arms around Arthur's neck, and her knees on either side of his lap, and was kissing the crap out of him.” Of course. Merlin gets up to get another drink. Probably not the best idea since he’s been smashed for about 6 hours at that point. He should really just go back to his dorm and sleep it off at this point. Poor Merlin.

As Merlin is in the kitchen, Edwin magically shows up and they start engaging in some inappropriate PDA against the fridge when Arthur walks in on them. Because of course he does. Merlin looks at Arthur, “At an Arthur who was blushing a shocked, blotchy scarlet and staring at Merlin like he wanted to punch him. Or possibly punch Edwin – Merlin wasn't entirely sure.” Arthur leaves. And fuck him, honestly. He has no right to be pissed off at Merlin for being with another guy when he was LITERALLY just making out with Gwen. In front of Merlin. Asshole.

So this section was ok. I don’t like Cedric being gross towards Merlin at the GaySoc meeting. The charity pub crawl really threw me off. Seriously, is this a legit thing that people do? I get just doing a three-legged pub crawl race with your friends for fun but charity? Really? What charity wants to be associated with drunken debauchery? Also, I’m getting real tired of Arthur being super obviously into Merlin, Merlin being deliberately obtuse about it and Arthur doing nothing. What an ass.

Now let’s talk about the Gwen/Arthur/Lance/Merlin love square. It’s stupid. Genuinely stupid. Gwen might be stupid about Lance’s feelings but there’s no way she doesn’t know Merlin, her BEST FRIEND, has feelings for Arthur. Plus, she insists Lance is too good for her and doesn’t have a thing for her and yet has no problem accepting making out with THE PRINCE OF WALES? REALLY, GWEN? REALLY? She is honestly so dumb. If I liked Lance, I would tell him to stop wasting his time and find someone better. Ok, I know I’m getting blamey towards Gwen but I do think she does hold some responsibility for her actions here. Obviously Arthur is also 100% in the wrong here. He knows Gwen likes Lance and Lance likes Gwen. He also has to know Merlin is somewhat into him or else he never would have gone for that kiss during the tea party. Arthur is just using Gwen, which is really fucking gross, to assert his straightness to Merlin (and probably himself but I don’t care about him and he can fuck off). I don’t care. Stop being an ass and purposely hurting everyone around you. Because that’s what he’s doing. Merlin deserves better than this asshole, prince or not.

Other than that, I liked the pub bar crawl just as a general scene, minus the charity stuff that makes no sense. I also liked the tea party chapters. All five chapters were pretty enjoyable to read. It’s some good Merlin/Arthur angst, particularly during the party, right up until Arthur fucks it all up. I also like Morgana actually being really sweet towards Merlin about Arthur. And three cheers for kitten Mordred. Flawless character.

Until next time:

#merlin #bbc merlin #the student prince #Merlin fic #review #stupidest charity activity ever #drunken platonic tickle fights #NOTHING TO SEE HERE #SERIOUSLY MOVE ALONG #NORMAL BRO STUFF #Morgana smirking #Gwen is stupid #Lance was fat so that's why he won't ask out Gwen #makes perfect sense #teaparty #cat Mordred #Merlin deserves better #Arthur can go away #Kay can get hit by a bus

4 notes · View notes

immortalave-blog · 7 years

Text

Lost Girls an Wild things (a ten page story)

I resented them. I hated them. I wished they’d never found us. They came, they saw our way of life and they tried to put a “Dr..ees..sss.ee” on it.

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

“The tribe of Sleeperentis overatus was an all-girl, No cooties, area. It’s a place where young girls can escape the troubles of stinky brothers, evil teddy bears, and broccoli.” Sinsin, the newest member of our tribe, followed me eagerly through the all you can eat candy buffet. “It’s a place of innovation and excitement. There is never a dull moment here, but if you find yourself not entertained, you can visit on of the many workshops located around the tribe grounds. For example, Sinestra teaches a workshop on finger painting every 30 seconds.” I pointed at Sinestra, who was laying back on a rock and snoring. A snot bubble grew and shrunk with her breath. “She looks like she’s on break right now, so it might be a while before the next class.”

We continued around the toadstool paint mixers and the braiding circles. I continued, “Sleeperentis Overatus is the place we come to in order to learn how earthworms feel when they are squished under our toes, how many crayons we can eat without being sick, and how to burn baby ants.” We passed the racecar tracks and the marble routes. We passed through the squishy frog pits and then we reached the edge of the highest hill.

I motioned to the view, “We are located on the outside edges of the Treehouse kingdom. On the opposite side from the tribe, “No girls allowed”. That’s where the boys are, and as shown by their group name, they are very uncreative. Our Kingdom is self-governed, self-sufficient, and self-….. I don’t remember what the third one was… But anyway,” I turned Sinsin to face the entirety of the tribe.

“As you can see our kingdom is made mostly out of what nature provided us with, and what we found around us. Blankets, stuffed animals, toothbrushes, pillows, and towels, were all put together for the betterment of our society. We built our mansions from the ground up, and we were all proud of it.” We took the soda pop slides down the big hill, which concluded our tour.

“My name is Cinder. I am one of the tribe council members her in Sleperentis Overatus. I have a degree is counting dust-bunnies, and I’m the tribe’s explosive/technical tantrums expert. Which makes me a leader in social justice throughout the community. I also have a strong inclination toward technical devices. Such as The Barbie cell phone, anamorpherators, and the G.I. Joe Jet plane. Ohh and don’t even try to build Legos better than me. I can tell you now, you can’t. I strongly believe everything a girl does should be messy, and if you aren’t covered in mud or finger paint, you’re doing it wrong. I have been in charge of this council for 15 min, and it has felt like years. The changes I have made have been beneficial to all. Especially me. What? Would you not create a drainage system out of Legos, fizzle sticks, and giant sponges that also double as a trampoline? I know I would, and I did. There is a story behind my name, but I’ll get into it later.

If you have any problems at all, contact Morgana. She’s the eldest, and she will know what to do.” I paused and looked at my watch, “Ohh popsicles, I’m late” I said aloud, and ran to the Council center. It was an important meeting place because I was running it.

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

“What’s a Dress?” Toranu asked. She was sitting on one of the cut up logs surrounding the elevated sandbox that functions as our round table.

“It is something that binds you,” I said as I stared into her eyes. ”It covers your skin, but not like armor. Its material is weak, and could easily be shredded by a winged worm, much less a Hanectin. It’s like they aren’t even accounting for them. They are stupid, primitive beings.”

“Is it true they wear armor on their feet?” Saratoni asked. She was sitting cross-legged, as always, on the log she occupied… show off.

“It is true,” I continued,” Their feet do not have the strength that ours do. They fear the hot ground. Sheltering their feet from their true calloused potential. Their worst offense is that these shoeeesss are for fashion more than they are for utility. But that’s just the beginning. Have you all heard their worst offense?” The council leaned forward. Their eyes wide. They leaned forward in anticip…

“That’s enough Cinder.” Morgana stood. ”There is no need to scare them.” She stood up and got onto the table. She did it with such grace and efficiency. Whereas when I had done it, I had stumbled and almost fallen. Her robes, made by silkworms and spiders shimmered in the afternoon light. My robes were made of an old potato sack and dental floss. They were covered in mud still wet from the Soda pop falls. Her hair was long and clean, whereas mine was short and choppy. Basically, she made me feel inferior just with her presence, and that’s why I respected her so much.

I took the seat she had left to silence me. I felt useless, all the attention that I had worked hard for was stolen away by Morgana. It didn’t help she was had been my BFF forever.

--------

Grizzledomor: (A.K.A: Bearded Dad) Known for Their facial hair, Often tells jokes that are only amusing to each other. Commonly known as “Dad Jokes”. They are not usually violent and spend most of their time with Hearthrops.

Hearthrops: (A.K.A. “the mom card”) these creatures are very much caring….until they are not, they despise messy spaces, and often clean them. They spend all day “Nagging” their partners.

Disclaimer: Any and all combinations of Grizzledomors and Hearthrops can exist. All is socially, economically, and politically acceptable.

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

“Why’d you do that? I had their interest. I could change their minds. I had them.”

“You had them in fear Cinder,” Morgana said. “That is not how you lead a tribe. Not through fear, through hope.”

“You’re wrong. They believed me.” I crossed my arms in my patented professional tantrum position.

“You are not pulling that malarkey on me,” I kept my pouty face at a prime. “You will never learn. How are you going to run this tribe? You are not ready” She said the last quip firmly.

“You BUTTERSCOTCH!” I screamed, and I stormed away. I went straight to my bed and grumbled until I pouted myself out, and I fell asleep

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

The next day the council met, but Morgana wasn’t there. It was weird because she was always 15 min early or 15 min late. This time she was neither. I went to her Victorian treehouse mansion. It took me 30 seconds, but when I returned with no Morgana, the council was asleep. When they awoke, they panicked.

“This is an outrage,” Hilenestra said. “That was the last straw, we are all scared.”

“I understand, but we cannot rush into action. We need to figure out where she is “

“But the tribe, Sleeperentis Overatus, Must prevail,” I said. “But without morgana who will take charge?”

“Does anyone have any ideas?” Toranu said.

The council hushed, waited for anyone to speak. No one did. Then all eyes turned towards me.

“What if we sent someone after her?” I said, “Find out where she went.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Saratoni “Is anyone willing to go?”

After a moment of silence, council members decided in the ancient traditional way. Their fingers snapped to touch the tip of their noses being careful not to smudge their war paint.

I was the last, but only by a millisecond.

“Wait but I’m not qualif…”

“Hush,” Saratoni said. “You are plenty qualified for this mission. If you require assistance you may take one other with you, but that is it. We cannot spare anyone else.” Everyone, except for me, stomped their feet and the session was adjourned.

What had I gotten myself into?

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

No one was brave enough to come with me, and I didn’t blame them. So instead, I took my teddy bear named Kenai with me. He was good company and seriously loved eating grilled cheese sandwiches. Which I packed in my backpack, along with juice boxes, some nerds candy rope, a hellomacdula for disguise, and my cocooned caterpillar Peeps. He was still in his cage so I put him in the bottom of my backpack for safe keeping. I was far from ready, but it was time to go. The Tribe was waiting for me at the tribe gates.

“You’ll do great,” Sinsin whispered and winked at me. Hannara was on her left. She was the officially official war paint artist. She grabbed some toothpaste from her bag; she mixed it with mud, berries, melted crayon, and glitter glue. She then took two fingers, scooped up some of the goo and put it on my face. I will not lie. It hurt, but I didn’t want to look as scared as I was. So I took a breath, my eyes watered from the toothpaste, turned towards the door, I inhaled some glitter glue, and headed out of the camp. I started walking, and after 2 seconds, my thoughts got the best of me.

Earlier I was talking about my name. My name is Cinder. It was given to me by Morgana when I was first accepted into Sleperentis Overatus. It’s a strange name, isn’t it? But I like it because it’s just as unique as I am. I think. It’s so weird to think about the tribe without Morgana. She had been a pivotal point in the development of the tribe, and of me. I used to not be able to control my explosive tantrums at all. Honestly, they kept me from a lot of things. Especially other people. But Morgana had taught me to control my power, and harness it for good. She and I used to practice, all the time. So that’s where I think I got my name. I was the Cinders left after an uncontrolled fire.

“Cinder? As in Cinderella?” a low grumbling voice echoed on the branches.

Ohh no, I thought

“Are you a girl? Or an Ember?” It grumbled, “Because IIIIII am hungry, and if you’re a girl I can eat you, but if you aren’t then I cannot.

What is it? I thought.

“C’mon, you know me. I can see that you know me. Come out and play”

“Ohh no,” I said.

“Ohh yesss”

Before the Gossishnuzzle finished its last “S”. I was running.

No, don’t talk to me. You don’t get to know me because my secrets are mine. You will not change them.

Vines seemed to grow up from the forest. They snagged onto my bare feet and I fell face first on a gray cement square.

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

Gossishnuzzle: A.K.A: Rumor Weed. This nasty little vermin will disguise itself as your friend until you tell it something it can use. Rumor Weeds once started, are difficult to stop. They tell everyone half-truths about you. That are usually quite embarrassing.

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

My veins were throbbing with the weight of my movements.

If I stay here, they’ll come and save me. Stay in one spot when you realize you’re lost.

Wait…what? No. No one will save you, you’re on your own

I should run….Run.

I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t. I turned over onto my back and looked at my foot. It was wrapped in vines. Lime green colored and smelled of dandelion, and somewhat disgusting looking.

“That’s not very nice,” It said. The vines molded and grew until it made a shape that resembled, well me except it looked older. Kinda like Morgana’s age. Which was weird. It also wore one of those “Dresssss” Things. Its grip was tightening.

“Do you like it?” The Rumor Weed asked.

“It’s so yellow,” I said.

“Yes, it is,” The Rumor Weed loosened its grip on my leg as it showed off its pale yellow dress. “It was dyed with Mustard, and soaked in dandelion juice.

“No, it wasn’t,” I said.

“Yes, it was.” The Rumor weed crossed her arms in my professional patented pouty stance and stuck up her nose.

Sockertoph, do I look like that? I thought. How Childish.

“It would be sticky and gross if that had happened to it,” I snapped at it. It stuck its nose higher.

“How would you know? Huh? You are a technical dress dying, expert.”

“You’re right.” I said,” but I do have common sense, and have eaten my fair share of both mustard and dandelion flowers. So I would say I know enough to say that your dress was not dyed with that.”

With this, the rumor weed turned towards me. She balled her hands into fists and flung them down by her side. Her shoulder then rushed up to her ears, and she took a big gulp in and held her breath. Her vines loosened.

“I bet you can’t hold your breath longer than I can stick out my tongue.” I teased. She accepted the bait, and the vines loosened even more. I stuck out my tongue. With a little squirming, and since the rumor weed wasn’t breathing I was able to kick my foot free. She didn’t try to stop me. She was too focused on winning. To focused on being better than me. So I stood up and gathered my things. She hadn’t moved the whole time. I turned towards her. Pointed at the tongue, that was now dry, but still sticking out of my mouth. I then turned and walked away.

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

Soon after my encounter with the Rumor Weed/Gossishnuzzle, I put my tongue back in my mouth. It was super dry so I grabbed a Juice pouch from my backpack, and after first giving some to Kenai, I drank it.

Respect the pouch, Respect it. I thought.

Then I blew up the pouch with the air in my lungs and saved it for later. You never know when you’ll need a good explosive. I was tired, and I was almost to where I thought Morgana would have gone. Why did I think this? You may ask yourself this, but let me tell you it’s for me to know and you to find ou….Just kidding I’ll tell you. The Candy Land trail, it was the game that Morgana and I Used to play between Pitshals, and Flabbernuggets. If she had gone anywhere, it would be the candy castle.

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

After I took an impromptu nap, I started on my quest again. I decided I was wasting too much time trying to feed Kenai grilled cheese sandwiches. He was hungry. I was sure, but he was mad at me because I made him miss his tea party date with Stratoni’s Pegasus.

Bears am I right.

After some wandering I found the trail, I had been looking for. It was the shortcut that would lead me directly to the palace, but I had to hurry because it was getting late. I walked up to the fork in the road and heard a grunt. Leaning against the arrow sign was a girl a little older than me. Her face was entirely covered in make-up, her hair was just as black as her clothes, and her boots squeaked when she moved them.

“Don’t bother” It said.

“Why not?” I snapped, “Why do you think you can tell me what to do?”

“I don’t care,” she said, “At least I’m not as bad as parents, am I right?”

“Parents?” I inquired.

“You don’t have parents? You’re lucky. All they do is yell, nag, yell, and I got sick of it. I’m my own independent woman, and they’re sitting like….”

(I censored the next few things this girl said. She used some language I am unfamiliar with, but I doubt is appropriate for young readers, you’re welcome.)

I left the, what I later found out was a Teenangster, with herself as she seemed to be self-destructing, and took the “Gloppy trail” This was the short cut the Candy Castle.

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

It was starting to get dark, and I didn’t have a plan.

Ohh numbnuts, I thought. You didn’t pack anything for sleeping. So I kept walking. Kept walking. Kept walking, until I yawned one too many times. Then I found my salvation. I saw an old cottage that seemed to be made of pillows. They looked nice, and warm, and comfy. So naturally, I knocked on the bedsheet door.

An Old lady opened it. “Caroline? Caroline? Is that you?”

“No, I’m Cinder.”

“Ohh thank goodness, Caroline. The McDonalds have been calling for hours saying that you just left the…..without a word…blah blah blah…”

The lady seemed to grumble on and on for hours. While she did this, I noticed something very peculiar.

I interrupted her, “Are you blind?” I said.

“Why yes, yes I am.” The old lady replied.

“Why are you blind?” I asked.

“Well,” she said. “I’ll tell you that when you’re older.” She then motioned for me to come inside.

“But wait,” I stopped her by grabbing her hands, “I am older, I’m older than I was when you said,” I mimicked her voice as best I could, which in my opinion, it was spot on, “’I’ll tell you when you’re older’ so tell me now.”

“Alrighty, but first let’s get you inside. You must be getting cold”

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

After some warm soup and a bathroom break, we sat down next to the fire. We were sipping hot chocolate, but it was too hot to drink so I set mine down and waited.

“Now will you tell me?”

“Alright fine Caroline,” I edged closer. “What do you see when you look at me?”

I was taken aback, “Ummm…” I struggled for words, “An older lady with blue tie dye dress, a scarf that doesn’t match, and sneakers with socks that also don’t match. Who likes sunhats, and is blind.”

“Now isn’t that interesting. Did you notice what you didn’t mention?” she paused,” No? What about my spunky attitude, my slight drawl when I say words with the letter W, what about what’s not on the surface?”

With this foreign idea in my mind, I sipped some hot cocoa, and then promptly realized it was far too hot. The old lady stood up and made her way to the wall mirror.

“C’mere Caroline.”

I obeyed. Tell me what you see when you look in this mirror.

“My hair is…longer than it used to be, and a lot less choppy. I stand up straighter and seem to look kind of like Morgana… MORGANA.”

Ohh my geez how could I forget

I knew what this lady was now, A Hearthrop. How could I have been so foolish? I moved slowly towards my backpack that lay on the side of the door.

“You want to know what I see.”

“You can’t see. You’re blind.” After that remark, I kept my mouth shut. I was almost at my backpack.

“I see a young lady who is growing up too fast and is going to lose her childhood. She’s scared of growing up, and she needs to know. She doesn’t have to…”

I snatched my back and ran through the bed sheet door. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore, and then I kept going. It was until I stopped that I realized I had been crying.

Potato, Potato, you idiot potato. What were you thinking?

Don’t cry anymore.

Don’t let her know she got to you.

You’re stronger than this.

I collapsed against a wall, my spine slid down the rough hard candy texture until my but collided with the soft candy sand ground.

She got to you, I thought.

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

Candy castle. I stood up and looked at the wall behind me. It expanded into a giant fortress. I, regardless of my other qualifications, was not an expert at infiltrating candy castles. So instead, I made my way around to the front door and knocked. A Grizzledomor answered the door.

“Hello? Who are you?”

“I….I… is M-oo-o-rrogan---…”

“Morgan!” He shouted at the castle behind him. “Are you babysitting today?”

“No?” I heard from the inside of the castle. “Why?”

“There’s someone here to see you?”

“That’s odd, why would someone be here….” Her face fell as she saw me.

“Caroline, your mom has been looking everywhere for you, what in the world. She’s worried sick.” I stood there stunned. “Well c’mon in” she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the house, she then motioned for her father to call my mother. She took me up the stairs and into her bedroom. Her hair was now a different color than it used to be, and her face was painted in a way that made her seem unfamiliar. It was make-up, I knew about that. Teenagers wore it to be unique.

“Listen, Caroline...”

“That’s not my name. My name is Cinder.”

She grimaced, “Cinder”.

I cut her off, “Why did you leave?”

“What do you mean?” She replied.

“You left the tribe, almost a day ago. Without saying goodbye.”

“Caro-…Cinder. You knew I was leaving early from our birthday party. I had horseback riding lessons in the morning. Don’t you remember?”

“Our birthday party?”

“Yeah, we celebrated mine late and yours early because both our birthdays is on a school day. I turned 13 last week, and you will actually be 13 right about…now.”

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

“Well? Cinder?” Megan asked, “Do you feel any different?”

I looked up at the mirror on Megan’s wall. I stood up and walked towards it. It wasn’t until I got closer that I noticed and stopped, and turned towards her and inquired.

“Who’s Cinder?”

0 notes