#like the third son of arthur that i hallucinated when

[marksbear]

Hey Mark! I just finish watching Joker for the third time or so and was wondering if you could do Male reader x Arthur fleck. Just bit angst and large amount of fluff. Reader and Arthur are boyfriends but one day while having a visit with his therapist Arthur told his thearpist about reader, however his therapist convince Arthur that he is just hallucinating to the point where he really think that reder is not real. Arthur have a breakdown when he got back to his apartment. reader comforts arthur.😊

-B

Hey B! Hope you enjoy my friend.

Warnings! Fluff to angst back to fluff, Y/n is an uncle in a big family, Old lady manipulate Arthur/

ARTHUR FLECK X MALE READER

Y/n and Arthur truly did love each other. Y/n was always with him during his good and bad days. He always made sure Arthur felt good and happy for almost everything. Y/n supported Arthur during everything even when he tried to be a comedian he was still there for him. Y/n even fought for him but Arthur doesn't know that!

Right now the couple is bowling with Y/n family. Arthur was a bit nervous at first with Y/n family but was quickly accepted by the family. Y/n parents calling Arthur son and Y/n siblings and their kids calling him "the extra L/n" Which was cute to the couple.

Arthur didn't realize what was the time until Y/n dad asked his wife what was the time. "Uhh its 3:45 hun." She says to her husband. Arthur quickly freaks out and walks to Y/n who's talking to his niece that's on his lap. "Y/n.. I gotta go to y'know..." Y/n looks at his boyfriend and nods "Okay kid go to your other uncles." His niece hops off his lap running to her other uncles to bother them. Y/n takes Arthur's hand gently tells his family. "Okay everyone I know yall are gonna miss Uncle Arthur and I but we gotta go." They all say bye to the couple and the couple leaves the building going into Y/n car. Arthur gets into the passenger seat while Y/n starts the car and drives to his boyfriend's appointment. As they drive Y/n places his hand on his boyfriend's small thigh turning to him a little with a smile before kept focusing on the road.

Once the couple gets there Y/n stops the car and turns it off and gently wakes up his sleeping boyfriend. "Hey Art we made it." You whisper into his ear before tickling him awake. Arthur quickly wakes up giggling and gasping Y/n to stop. Y/n finally stops when he sees Arthur's eyes begin to water. "Good morning handsome." Y/n says teasing his boyfriend leaning to him kissing him.

Y/n leaves gentle and soft kisses all over Arthur's face as encouragement for him during his session. Arthur gladly takes his boyfriend kisses. "Okayy! Y/n I have to go!" Arthur makes sure he has all of his things with him and gives Y/n one passionate kiss on the lips before getting out of the car. "Wait Art!" Arthur turns around facing his boyfriend about to shut the door. "I love you!~" Y/n sings to him with a loving smile. "I love you too!" Arthur says back closing the door.

Y/n watches Arthur enter the building before starting the car again driving back to the shared apartment.

Arthur walks to his therapist room apologizing for being late. The session starts as regular questions and all that. Like "How are you Arthur have you been taking your medication?" and "What have you been doing this whole week." And Arthur answers with his usual short answers. But the woman notices some of the stories are missing some things and asks "Who were you with during this past week. Some of your stories are missing something or well really someone." Arthur stares at her for a while before a small smile appears.

A real smile escapes from his lips and mumbles under his breath. "Y/n and his family." The woman almost didn't hear it but she caught it. "And who is this Y/n?" Arthur face beams with a smile of the mention of Y/n. "Hes my boyfriend." Arthur says all giddy about his boyfriend. "When did you two meet?" She asked. "About six or seven months ago...but we just got together about like three months ago." He answers fidgeting with his hand and smiling down.

The woman opens her flies about Y/n and scans through them. "Arthur are you sure hes real. I mean you'd never mentioned him once and all of a sudden hes here now." Arthur gets taken back by the question but quickly answers with "Yeah hes real! i'm not that crazy... Hes my Y/n I even met his family!" "Arthur. For the past months you've been saying that you felt alone in this world. Maybe now your mind is making you imagine this "Y/n" guy as a defensive reaction so you won't go fully mad." Arthur stares at her before quickly standing up pacing around the room mumbling "Liar" and "No,no,no" The woman tries to get Arthur to sit back down but fails once Arthur runs out of the room.

Arthur goes to the bus stop still repeating "No,no" under his breath shaking and almost crying at the point that he actually is mad. Once the bus comes he goes to the back crying to himself on the window that Y/n his perfect Y/n isn't with him. Once it's his stop he rushes off the bus going to his apartment. He looks around for Y/n car but doesn't see it anywhere. He quickly gets in the apartment rushing to the elevator and basically smashing the buttons to go to his floor. Once they arrive at the floor he runs to his room unlocking the door and closing it and locks it behind him. "Y/n! no no noo! Y/n where are you!" He walks around the apartment looking for anything that proves that you're actually real.

But he sadly doesn't find anything and falls to the ground crying and beating the floor. He lays there for hours crying onto the floor not noticing the door being unlocked and a "Art you here?" Y/n walks around the place looking for his boyfriend but once he finds him almost half passed out gasping for air and crying. You quickly wrap him in your arms and your hands running up and down his back. "Shh. Sh. Baby don't cry what's the matter?"

Once Arthur hears your voice he immediately brings Y/n into a tight hug whimpering and crying onto him. "Y-you are real..." Y/n hears him cry into his shoulder. "Yes baby... I am real and I don't plan on going anytime soon.

THE END

#joker x male reader #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x male reader #x male reader #dc x male reader #the bear club

[wat-the-cur]

Okay, so. Absolutely nobody cares about this except me, but I cannot stop thinking this over.

If Trigger’s biological dad is Donald Turpin (Reenie Turpin’s brother) as “He Who Dares...” suggests, then that leaves us with a few questions. First and foremost is how exactly is Reenie, and by extension Donald, related to Trigger’s mother, Elsie Ball?

Okay, to understand what I’m babbling about, let’s run down what the original series tells us about Trigger’s parentage and family.; Trigger’s mother, Elsie Ball, was known, seemingly by the whole of Peckham, to be promiscuous. Where she was supposed to write his father’s name on his birth certificate, she wrote “Some soldiers”. Neither she, nor Trigger, know who his father is. When Elsie presumably died (she is always referred to in past tense, implying that she died, rather than left) Trigger and presumably his younger sister where taken in by their grandparents, Arthur and Alice Ball. Trigger seems to have a large family, but we only ever meet two members in the series. One is his niece, Lisa, and the other is his aunt, Reenie Turpin.

Now, Del Boy’s autobiography, “He Who Dares...” apparently sheds a bit more light on the situation. We are given to believe that Elsie Ball was either a liar, very naive, or not at all mentally well. While there is an implication that the entire Ball family are not too clever, the third option seems very likely. It is canon that Trigger has visual and auditory hallucinations, though it is referenced very sparely. This is relevant, because when she fell pregnant, Elsie insisted that she was impregnated by an Angel. This is either a lie, or a delusion.

This seems like a tangent, but I bring it up, because Del Boy asserts that the most likely candidate for Trigger’s father is actually Trigger’s uncle, Donald Turpin. Apparently, the time, place and actions he bragged about matched up with Elsie’s pregnancy. Why is this relevant? Because if Reenie and Donald are Trigger’s biological aunt and uncle, then which of his parents are they related to?

Elsie’s last name being Ball leads us to automatically assume that she is the daughter of Arthur and Alice Ball. How then, would the Turpins be Trigger’s aunt and uncle? As far as I can tell, there are three possible explanations.

First, is that Elsie married into the Turpin family, to the brother of Reenie and Donald, but he died before Trigger was born. This lines up with what Trigger says when first asked about his father. That he “died a few years before (Trigger) was born.” He may not have been Trigger’s biological Dad (as Trigger later admits that he does not know who his real dad is), but because he was married to his mum, Trigger thinks it right to call him his dad, regardless.

The second, and most distressing theory, is that Elsie herself is a Turpin, and married into the Ball family, to the son of Arthur and Alice, who then died. This would mean that she had a child by her own brother. The reason I raised Elsie’s story about the Angel, earlier, is because it could have been the result of such an event. Elsie is either lying to cover up what had happened, or the trauma of it caused her to believe a fantastic, but blameless alternative. I am not asserting that Donald molested Elsie, but such a thing can well be traumatic, regardless. Two things that do not support this theory, however. It is unlikely, if he had sex with his own sister, that Donald would have bragged about it in the pub. However, if we go with the implications that mental illness and naivety run in Trigger’s family, he may well have been as delusional as Elsie about the whole thing. That said, he never mentioned her by name. Another thing is that if this were the case, and it was a known thing, Trigger would undoubtedly have been exposed the truth by adulthood, regardless of how protected he was.

The third possibility, is that Reenie and Donald are either not really Trigger’s aunt and uncle, or they are not related to Trigger by blood, at all. It was not uncommon then to refer to close friends of the family as aunt, or uncle. But, the reason I do not stand with this theory, is because it stated several times, in so many words, that Reenie is Trigger’s biological aunt. He, not Del who was very close with Reenie through his mother, calls Reenie “Aunt Reen”. Lisa, Trigger’s niece, gives Reenie strict instructions not to embarrass her in front of her new husband’s family, something you would most likely put to a relative, not a friend. And when the lads make rude jokes about Reenie, Trigger snaps at them, “That’s my Auntie you’re talking about!”. To which Boycie replies, “It must run in the family.”

But, the most likely theory of all, is that the person who wrote Del’s autobiography (not John Sullivan), simply made a mistake. There are one, or two errors in the book, which makes me think that the logistics of making Donald Turpin Trigger’s dad, where simply not thought through completely. John Sullivan, himself, was not immune to this. For example, in the prequel series, “Rock & Chips”, it is implied that Trigger’s sister had sex in a coal shed, in spite of the fact that, going by the ages given in the original series, she would have been pre-pubescent at the time.

So, I don’t know. I think I’m overthinking it.

#only fools and horses #ofah #colin “trigger” ball #colin ball #trigger (ofah) #meta #fan theory #tw hallucinations #tw delusion #tw incest

[gringolet]

I have a question about your namesake, Gringolet the horse! He’s described as having “distinctive ears,” though I can’t find anything more descriptive than that. Were they distinctive in color? Size? Shape?

If it’s shape, could Gringolet have been inspired by the curly-eared Marwari and Marwari-adjacent breeds in South Asia?

Sincerely,

your local horsewoman

ohhhhhhh thats a really neat question! i believe he has red ears and a lighter body, presumably a grey? hes described that way in one of the french romances and im cursing myself for not remembering which one. its either perilous cemetary or knight with the sword. which is interesting bc the cwn annwyn, dogs in welsh mythology, have a white body and red ears, so there must be some connection. i wish i could remember what text that was in.

on the other hand that would be SO cool i just looked up pictures of these dudes and they are so cool looking.i do know in terms of origin that in the vulgate he was stolen by gawain from a saxon warrior. the saxons engaged in extensive trading, including from places like constantinople, so its very possible a breed from south asia could have ended up in the hands of a powerful saxon leader

#ill skim lepee later even though it sucks #though i could b making that description up #like the third son of arthur that i hallucinated when #i read the morte w a high fever #i just made up a boy.... a whole ass boy.... #falconfate

[theroundbartable]

Dragon Island

“Absolutely not.” Sometimes, Arthur Pendragon was not only a prat, he was a downright Clotpole. Not that Merlin ever failed to mention it.

“Arthur, I am going with you!”

“And what exactly can YOU do against dragons, Merlin? This is THE dragon Island! My father has been searching for this place for over a decade! There are rumors that there will be dragon lord's there as well! Do you even know how many knights have died since the purge started? Since my father fought these monsters and erased them from this part of the world? If we find this Island, we can end this war! But this is too dangerous for a servant. I can not waste my time consoling you, when the sea is making you sick, Merlin. I have battle strategies to discuss.”

Merlin huffed and crossed his arms. They were standing at the shore, far far away from Camelot. Uther Pendragon had a ship army remaining here in position. He regularly send out spies to find the home island of the dragon lords. Not that there were any actual dragon lords with dragon lord powers left. They were wiped out in the war. But their families remained. Those who valued their traditions and taught each other magic. But weren't the first son's and therefore had none of the abilities their kind was so proud of. But magic was another reason to have them wiped out.

About a week ago, one of Uther's spies had found a trace that lead them to an underwater cave. Barely shallow enough to have a narrow boat sail through. They had found runes engraved in the walls. And the spy was pretty ecstatic that this MUST be the entrance to the secret island.

Well... Since Arthur was the only knight known to have actually killed a dragon (which he didn't), his father found it absolutely logical to send his only son and heir on another suicide mission. Into unknown terrain, with unknown enemies and not one dragon, but a whole army of those impossible-to-kill-except-you're-a-dragon-lord creatures.

It was truly perfect. Arthur could finally proof his worth as crown prince.... again. And almost die.... again. Heroically of course. Uther was a genius.

And apparently Arthur was just as smart, because the idiot prince had decided to go on that mission WITHOUT Merlin. The only ACTUAL dragon lord left in the entire known universe. Not that they knew about that.

“Just so you know – I do NOT get sea sick. And I already know how to use the sails and stuff. Will and I often went out with the fisher of our town. Other than you who grew up in a fancy Castle with perfect temperature in every single room and hundreds of servants working for you. You may train, but you have NO idea how to deal with the weather, with the tides. You barely know how to dress yourself!”, as Merlin exclaimed the last part, he could basically feel the steam of anger from Arthur's nostrils flaring at him, while a few knights were snickering behind them.

The knights were, by the way, currently occupied readying the boat.

“Fishing on a boat and Sailing on the open sea is totally different.”, Arthur argued, causing Merlin to roll his eyes and facepalm himself. “Fisher's... sail, Sire.”, he muttered, causing Arthur to frown as if that confused him for some reason.

“I don't care. You cannot stop me. I'll come with you.”, Merlin's expression was final.

“I'm the crown prince of Camelot, Merlin. You have to do what I say.”

“I never listen to what you say. Why would I start now?”

In the end, Gwaine and Leon were ordered to drag Merlin away from the boat. All while Arthur ignored the very obvious argument (provided by Merlin and confirmed by at least two other knights), that he NEEDED Merlin. If as a servant or a navigator or maybe a warning radar for obvious danger that Arthur was certain to ignore. He NEEDED him. So, Merlin would definitely find a way.

“Hey, buddy. I gottcha.”, Gwaine winked at him, while Merlin was still trying to make up a perfect strategy, how he could sneak on the ship. Merlin blinked up at him, while Leon just rolled his eyes and pretended not to listen. “What?”, Merlin asked, confused.

“I got a few barrels of water and wine and stuff for the ride. Leon and I have already prepared an empty one for you. You get in and we'll sneak you on.” Merlin had never wanted to hug Gwaine more. “Thank you!!!!”, he beamed at them. “Wait, Leon? You're IN on the plan? You're not going to rat me out to Arthur, are you?”

Gwaine cackled. “It was HIS idea.”

“Huh?”, Merlin looked at the blond knight in confusion.

Leon was still looking away, as if embarrassed by his treason. “If you're not there, Arthur will focus all his attention on US. And I did not sign up for this.”, he was frowning. As if he was already dreading the following days.

“But... how long have I to stay in the barrel? I mean... If I step out too soon, Arthur will insist to turn around.”

“I can survive five days of Arthur being a whirlwind of emotions. You have FIVE days. Gwaine will sneak you out at night. Lancelot has agreed to help. I can distract Arthur, until you're in. Other than that, I was never involved.”, Leon was grimacing the entire time. He seemed exhausted, as if he had already had five different yet similar arguments today and wanted to throttle someone.

“Wow, thank you Leon.”, Merlin looked at him amazed. But Leon's frown only darkened. “Don't thank him.”, Gwaine whispered. “He originally asked, if we could dress you up like him, so he can stay in Camelot and have a vacation until we're back. You may not get sea sick. But HE does.”

“Why.... And he's still allowed on the ship? Wait, why don't we try that? Doesn't sound like a too bad plan. If Leon's sea sick anyway, people would leave him alone to suffer in silence, right?”

Leon sighed with exasperation. “As if that ever stopped Arthur from discussing battle strategies.”, he made a dramatic pause. “If I don't make it -”, Leon made a sound that reminded Merlin of a creaking door. “It was nice knowing you.”

“Don't be so dramatic, Leon.”, Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Honestly, what's with you? Since Uther announced this mission, you've been nothing but a drama queen.”, he scolded. Leon pouted a little. “I'm being realistic if anythikng. If the sea doesn't drown us, we don't freeze to death or a sudden storm destroys our boat, and we don't get horribly lost in that strange cave and starve to death, then we arrive on an island full of dragons who probably hate Arthur for killing the great Dragon. And being the son of a man who ordered the murder of all dragon kind. Not to mention him indirectly causing the death of the last dragon Lord as well. So we either die, or we die. I'm just planning ahead.”

“So dramatic.”, Gwaine mumbled. But Merlin frowned. Leon got a valid point.

“Be positive. What if we meet a bunch of mermaids?”, Gwaine winked at Leon. Leon frowned even further. “Which kind?” “The hot kind, duh.” “Which is?” Gwaine blinked. “Not this again. You're no fun.”

“No, no, Gwaine. Go ahead. Tell me. Which is the hot kind of mermaid? The Siren one's that lure you in with magic voices and then drown you, so they can rape your dead bodies and make more Sirenbaby's; The manatee's that only start to look appealing when you're so starved and Vitamin C deprived that you start hallucinating right before you pass out and die or the classic one's with boobs and a fish tails that make NO SENSE in their anatomy. Which I will be hearing you complain about for days. When all I want is peace and quiet.”, Leon closed his eyes – yet again- dramatically.

Gwaine was about to open his mouth to counter, when Leon added: “Also, we're knights of Camelot and mermaids are magical creatures. It's your job to kill them, regardless of how hot they seem to you.”

With that, Leon had set Gwaine's brain check mate and left him and Merlin standing there with their mouths comically wide open. Half in shock, half with laughter and amazement. “Holy shit, I think he's finally lost it.”, Gwaine laughed as he watched Leon slump down at the next tree and saying goodbye to the dry unshakable ground.

“Maybe we should ask George to come as well. Or convince Arthur to get him off the ship.”, Merlin muttered. After all, Leon was always a lot calmer when George was around. Maybe because George didn't bully him, did what he was told and was also a good person to be quiet with. George also seemed to prefer Leon as the one ordering him around, because Leon wasn't chatting endlessly. He was precise in his orders and didn't talk around the bush. They got along well. Because they didn't have to get along at all. They had the ultimate work-efficient dynamic. It was horrifying.

“Are you kidding? This will be hilarious.”, Gwaine grinned.

“Don't you think Leon deserves a break?”, Merlin asked, still startled by Leon's obvious irritation. “From work? Yes. From me? NEVER!”, Gwaine winked again. And Merlin already pitied the poor knight.

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

Leon was indeed... sick. The moment the ships left the haven, Leon was slumped over the reeling and holding on for his life. He was suspiciously green in the face and tried to avoid Arthur. Who was continuously ignoring Leon's condition and decided to ask him for how many days they had planned to be on sea. How many weapons they had and discussed whether or not they were actually suitable to kill dragons. And if there was enough food and water and so on and so forth.

He did not realize that the barrel Gwaine had decided to sit on had a few holes in it, that should not be there, were wine in it. Gwaine was chatting with Lancelot and occasionally Merlin, albeit in third person like... “I wonder what Merlin would think of this.”, and then get a hushed answer from underneath him.

The sea was relatively calm for the first three days. And Elyan, who was assigned to steer the ship, had no trouble finding the right path. Arthur seemed content too and left Leon alone on day two.

Leon was hardly eating. And if he ever did, he puked it out ten minutes later. By the third day, he was leaning against the reeling once again. Eyes closed with an obvious headache and ready to drink poison to free him from his misery.

Merlin was still sitting inside the barrel. Except for at night, when Lancelot would let him out, while Gwaine annoyed the prince. It worked surprisingly well. Yet, Merlin was a bit worried. Not necessarily to be found out. That was kind of part of the plan. No... By the way Arthur behaved.

The first two days, it was hardly noticeable. Arthur had focused on talking to Leon. Or Elyan or Gwaine and Lancelot. But after they had run out of conversational topic, Arthur had started to isolate himself. Merlin could see him through the holes of his hiding place. He was often standing at the reeling and staring out towards the horizon. He was eerily quiet. And appeared to be melancholic. If not slightly sad.

“Hey, Merlin.”, Lancelot whispered at an afternoon on day four. Merlin was still shocked that his disguise had apparently worked well so far. Then again, Arthur was terrifyingly oblivious to most of his secrets. “Can't you like... use magic to heal Leon's sickness?”

Of course. If anyone had it bad these days it was Sir Leon. Gwaine was currently occupied with drinking. Otherwise Lancelot would not have dared mention Merlin's illegal existence to him. “Do you think that's wise? What if they all notice? After all, Leon has been sick for three days now. If he was suddenly fine, wouldn't they ask?”

“And you think they'd explain it with magic? Merlin. Leon could have just gotten used to the sea. I'm sure no one will notice.”

“Are you sure?”, Merlin asked back and tried to focus on Leon's pitiful form. “I'm positive. Even if they think it's magic, they don't even know you're here. And what sorcerer would just appear on this ship, just to heal Leon?” “Good point.”

Merlin took a shuddering breath, as he strained himself to look through the barrel once again. Leon had his eyes closed and he was breathing harshly. Arthur was standing right next to him. Deep in thought. As if on cue, he suddenly straightened up, pushed himself from the reeling and went under deck.

Merlin nodded to himself. And then whispered a silent spell in Leon's reaction. There was a flash of gold for barely a second. But in that moment, Leon opened his eyes and looked at Merlin. Merlin froze. They locked eyes. Merlin caught his breath. “Lancelot. I think he saw.”, Merlin muttered, panic was slowly sinking in, along with the realization of the situation. Lancelot frowned. “What?”, he asked. “Lance, I think he knows.” “Merlin, stop mumbling. I'm certain you're imagining things.”

Leon's eyes flickered shut for a second and he took a deep breath. Then he held his head in slight irritation, before looking in Merlin's direction again. He ….. sighed in relieve. Slowly, he pushed himself up. Still holding his head, as he took a deep breath. He nodded at Merlin. Like he was... thanking him? Was Merlin really imagining this? But Leon smiled, stretched himself and rubbed at the dark circles under his sleepless eyes. As if to say: “finally.”

Soon enough, he was gone as well. Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head to himself, while Lancelot had a firm hand on his barrel.

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

It was night, when Merlin was finally let out of his barrel. The knights were asleep. All but the one on watch. Which was Gwaine, fortunately. Meaning, Merlin could safely leave the barrel, chat with him and eat in peace. He had slept through the day mostly. He trusted that Lancelot and Gwaine would stop anyone from opening this particular barrel during the day.

And if anyone got to close, he could always hear one of them say, this was the “victory wine.” Like this was the finest wine of them all and reserved for the day they managed to defeat the dragon lords. It was a good excuse. Albeit difficult to maintain, because nobody believed Gwaine could hold himself back from wine for that long.

Either way, for now it was fine. Merlin's legs were dangling off the watch tower, while Gwaine leaned against the rod behind him. The sails were up, because the wind was in their favor.

It was then, that suddenly, someone crawled up from under deck.

Even in the dim moonlight, Merlin could make out the shine of Arthur's armor. Everyone had already told him, wearing armor on a boat was absolutely insane. If he ever fell off the boat, he'd drown immediately. Because the weight would just drag him down. But the clotpole was too stubborn to listen. And right now it was as useful as a warning signal to them. 'Why is he up?', was all Merlin could think, as he nearly shrieked through Gwaine's mindless chatter and hid underneath a blanket that lay around behind them. Gwaine, surprised at his reaction, finally noticed the prince as well and waved at him, while Arthur gave him a startled expression. Merlin could have kicked Gwaine for drawing Arthur's attention to them.

“Gwaine? What are you doing?”

Gwaine rose both his eyebrows in amusement. “Oh, I'm on watch. You know. Talking to myself. Looking at the stars. Nice weather out, don't you think?”, he laughed suspiciously.

Arthur frowned and sighed, before climbing up the ladder with a sigh. He shook his head, as if used to these antics and hardly caring for them at all. Merlin hurried to shuffle behind Gwaine, so that Arthur wouldn't notice him. And Gwaine did his best to position himself in a way that Merlin was mostly covered by his frame. In a practiced manner, Merlin steeled his heart and his breathing and went completely still. A method he had accustomed to during his time out in the barrel.

By the time Arthur got up to them, Merlin might as well have vanished. That's how invisible he was. Though, to himself, he felt extremely obvious.

“So, er... Sire. Can't sleep?”, Gwaine asked. It was pretty late. Too late to still be up. Too early to have woken up again. Gwaine pat the ground beside him, so Arthur could sit down. It would be suspicious if he send him away. But Merlin was certain Gwaine did it to taunt him. “Not really.”, Arthur said and yawned. If Merlin could see through the blanket, he would see that the circles under Arthur's eyes were nearly as dark as Leon's had been.

His voice didn't really leave room for conversation. He sounded tired, as if he really didn't want to talk. And despite Gwaine's usual annoyance, he didn't press the matter. He hummed instead. For one, because it was Gwaine. Who would he be, if he wasn't drinking ale and doing noisy things all the time? However, this also served the purpose of covering up all unintentional noises Merlin could have made in the dead silence of the still night. It was too still. But they weren't used to the ever changing weather of the sea. Else, they would have been alarmed.

“It's funny.”, Arthur said after a moment of hummed silence. “What is, Sire?” “I would have thought Merlin would have sneaked on to the ship and come out by now.”

Gwaine laughed comically. Startled by the sudden comment. Arthur ignored him, but Merlin nearly smacked Gwaine for that obvious reaction.

“Well. That surely sounds like Merlin. But we would have found him in no time.”, Gwaine assured him.

“Yeah I know. Still.”, Arthur sighed and shook his head, before running a hand through his face. “I mean... Now that he's not here, I can't stop thinking that I basically left him alone with my father. You know my father. If Merlin doesn't behave, the king will certainly have him flogged. Or worse. I mean... he has these moments when he accuses random people to be sorcerers. What if I left him to one of those antics? Did I make a mistake leaving him home?”

Arthur sounded worried and he was suddenly found playing with his own hands.

Gwaine opened his mouth in surprise. “Huh?”, he asked. “I thought you didn't want him to come? ”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “He's still saver with my father than he is raiding a dragon infested island with us, isn't he?” That was.... an actual question. Not a rhetoric one, like one would expect. No. Arthur was seriously asking. His tone was probably supposed to be rhetoric, but he sounded too emotional. Too concerned. Too guilty.

Gwaine's mouth dropped open. Merlin's heart stilled. “Since when are you so worried about Merlin?”, Gwaine asked and sat up straight. After all... Arthur had never really shown his emotional side to Gwaine. Not like this. Not verbally. There would be lots of teasing, surely. Later on, of course. And Arthur should know that. But Arthur was sleep deprived and concerned and he needed to vent. That may not be wise. But since when do people do reasonable things?

“I'm not worried.”, Arthur denied immediately. Gwaine raised an eyebrow. Which Arthur noticed. “Look -”, Arthur started. “I couldn't take Merlin with us on this trip. Merlin is a servant and he's always unarmed-”

“That never stopped you from taking him on hunts.”, Gwaine raised both eyebrows now.

Arthur groaned. “That's different. We're knights. We can protect him from bandits. Dragon's are.... a whole different story. I faced one and I passed out and I still don't know HOW we survived. I know I killed it, but it was incredibly close. And this mission... I'm not sure we'll make it.”, Arthur let his head sink.

Gwaine paused for a moment. “Wait... you think we'll all die?”, he asked, eyes wide and suddenly terrified. “Of course not.”, Arthur said absently. But it was clearly a lie. “Jesus. You're in a good mood.”, Gwaine mumbled to himself. For the first time, he sounded worried too.

“So... you left Merlin in Camelot because -”

“I don't want him to die.”, Arthur confessed. Albeit reluctantly. “But … you said you thought he'd be here?”, Gwaine pointed out. Arthur breathed. Then he turned to look at Gwaine. “Is it selfish to wish he had ignored my orders?”

Gwaine blinked. “Huh?” To be fair, he had wanted to tease Arthur about the fact that nothing Arthur just said opposed the idea that he was – indeed – worried about Merlin in any way. But that last comment confused him and changed the focus of this conversation.

“I don't want him to die with us. But -”, Arthur bit his lip. “If I die, I'd rather die at his side. Is that weird?”

Gwaine glanced at the blanket, where Merlin strained his ears to hear every word Arthur was saying. Merlin's breathing was getting rigid. This conversation.... was unusual. Very... unusual for Arthur.

Gwaine blinked, then he forced himself to grin and make a more joyous expression. As he always did. Because positive energy was his thing. “Now now, princess.”, he put an arm around Arthur shoulder, which Arthur let him do with a disapproving frown. “Sounds like someone here got a small crush on our dear Merlin.”

Merlin fought the urge to kick him yet again, worried that this would reveal him from underneath the blanket. Gwaine was clearly overdoing it. He was clearly out to annoy Arthur. Merlin knew that. And he really wanted Gwaine to stop. This was humiliating and mean.

Arthur stared at Gwaine. At the laughing face. The poking and joking and attempt at humiliating him expression. But Arthur's stare didn't waver. And Gwaine's expression lost itself on the realization that he actually hit a mark.

“Wait – seriously?”, he asked and pulled his arm back. Merlin behind him froze. Merlin's inner turmoil was at Gwaine's antics. He had been so focused on cursing Gwaine, that he was completely startled by that sentence. He had not expected for Arthur to just.... not deny it. Which was basically a confession. Merlin's eyes widened. And he stared at the blindness in front of him. Once again, he was completely still. 'Huh?', he thought.

“You think it's weird.”, Arthur turned away, still fumbling with his hands. And had the little snide remark from Gwaine not been, maybe they could have pretended this sentence didn't mean so much. That this was simply about hoping his friend was here. That they just continued their conversation from before, without the additional information that Arthur – indeed – liked Merlin more than he ought to.

“I- what? No!”, Gwaine was quick to retaliate. “Of course not. I'm just surprised, is all. I mean... it's Merlin.”

“And?”, Arthur was frowning. As if ready to defend his friend. Which in itself was news to Merlin. Since when did Arthur defend him behind his back? Either way, this was Merlin they were talking about. And it was Gwaine he was talking about him with. There was no need to get defensive. “I didn't think you'd admit it! Especially to me.” The 'everyone loves Merlin, so of course I'm not surprised' was left unsaid. Needless to say. It was only Merlin who didn't recognize that implication.

Arthur let his shoulders slump. “Yeah well. If we're dying anyway, even you teasing me and telling everyone can't make it worse.”

“First of all. Rude. You underestimate me, Sire. You have no idea what I'm capable of. Second of all. Why are you all so dramatic these days? First Leon, now you? We haven't even arrived at the island yet and you're all planning our funerals! Who is to say we even find the island? Or the dragons?”, Gwaine flailed his arms, before putting a soft hand on Arthur's tense shoulders. His tone turned soft. Very unlike Gwaine. But it was not the first time he had worn that expression. He'd acted like this before. Tender and soft and fond. Mostly for Merlin, because Merlin was his first and therefore best friend. And he worried about him too. “And last, but not least. You'll see Merlin again, Sire. And even if he found out, he wouldn't tease you for this. Merlin has a good heart.”

Arthur looked up. Surprised by the comforting tone of Gwaine's voice. After all, Gwaine was not exactly the go to type, when it came down to emotions.

People often underestimate the clown friend. Radiating joy and fun doesn't always come from ignorance and obliviousness. It doesn't always mean they are secretly depressed either. Often, these kind of people have gone through much more than they let on. Often, they have learned to deal with their own emotions and come to the conclusion that having fun, being truly blissful brightens not only the world of others. It brightens their own as well. That doesn't make them less empathetic. It doesn't make them less understanding. Quite the contrary. They have a deep understanding of such situations and decided not to take it seriously. Because not everything has to be. And sometimes it's smarter not to think about stuff too deeply.

“You think?” Arthur's own voice was strangely hopeful. Like knowing he'd see Merlin again was all that mattered. Like the other comfort about surviving wasn't nearly as helpful. Or dare say, important.

“I'm certain.”, Gwaine grinned knowingly. Arthur smiled in relief at that. There was a pause between them, before Arthur added. “If you ever tell him about this conversation, I'll drown you in the ocean.”

Gwaine laughed at that. “No promises, princess.” Truth is, he could. He could easily promise it. But he wouldn't be Gwaine if he said that. It would be too obvious that he was hiding something as well. Arthur laughed.

“Nuts?”, Gwaine asked, suddenly and held out a can full of salted nuts. Startled by the question, Arthur almost bend over from laughing. “You're unbelievable.”, Arthur shook his head. Suddenly embarrassed that he confessed all this to Gwaine. But he accepted the nuts anyway.

The rest of the night was spend almost quietly. Which wasn't for long and Gwaine did his best to just distract Arthur. Which meant, it was just Gwaine and Arthur chatting about Merlin. It was mostly Gwaine. Because Gwaine's mindless babbling often meant talking positively about Arthur's servant. Arthur was already used to this.

For once though, Arthur was just as deeply into the conversation. “I think, if Merlin was here, he'd feel guilty.”

“Why is that?”, Gwaine asked, encouraging Arthur to continue. He barely concealed his grin, because Merlin was witness to all of this. Unable to move which would lead to exposure.

“Well... the last dragon lord died for him. And now we're visiting the last remains of his culture. Even if they have magic. I can't imagine Merlin be anything but devastated, when he meets them. I suppose the idiot would apologize to them. Like it was in any way his fault! Merlin can be such an idiot sometimes. One would think he wants to die, so often as he drinks poison for others or jumps into mid battle, unarmed. I'm honestly glad he has the decency to hide most of the time, while we handle things. I don't think I'd be able to concentrate on fighting, if he just -”, Arthur exhaled a deep breath and flailed his arms to imply Merlin running into knifes. “He's too brave for his own good.”

“Merlin is the bravest.”

“The bravest man I ever met.”, Arthur agreed and got a chuckled clap on his shoulder for that. “Look at you, Sire. Saying all these nice things about Merlin. Wait till I tell him about it.”

Arthur immediately recoiled. “Seriously, don't.”

“Why? What's so bad about him knowing that you care?”, Gwaine frowned in amusement. Thinking, that Arthur was just shy.

“He knows that I care. I'm pretty damn obvious about it. No need to put any more attention to it.”

Gwaine scoffed in disbelieve. “YOU? Obvious that you CARE? Really? This is what you call obvious?”

“What do you mean?”, Arthur frowned, honestly confused, while Merlin was trying to breathe even slower. Because somehow Arthur had shifted closer to the blanket. A hand was put on it. If Arthur himself made the wrong move, he'd accidentally pull the blanket off of him.

“Arthur. I don't think Merlin even knows you appreciate him at all.”

Arthur was stunned with silence. “You're joking.” Merlin blinked underneath the blanket. Just what on earth was Arthur talking about?

Gwaine stared at him. “Sire... what exactly do you understand about being obvious about this?”

Arthur frowned. “Well... Erm. I'm the prince of Camelot. My father has never allowed me to have friends that are not royal enough to be of knightly status. Merlin is a servant. Yet, he's my best friend.”

Gwaine stared back at him. “Have you told him that?”

Arthur blinked. “No... because my father would ground me, if I ever did. But I have...”, he slowly swayed to the side, searching for the right words. “I treat him like a knight. I take him on hunts where servants are not allowed. I used to punch him, too, like I would a knight, to cheer him up. Though I stopped that, because he said he doesn't like it. And I mean... I stopped. I wouldn't do that for just anyone!

My guards have been ordered to let him into my room, even if I ordered them to let no one in. If I don't want him around, I have to tell them that specially. I er... let him steal my food. He loves blackberries. So do I, but he doesn't need to know that.

He's always insulting me or my father behind his back, but I don't really throw him in the stocks for that. Which I should. That kind of talk is treason. He could be hanged for that, you know?

I give him unnecessary chores, just so he has a reason to hang out with me. And he doesn't get punished, though what he does is a really shabby job. Now that I think about it, I think I mostly pay him for insulting me.

I've defended him in front of my father. I have used my word as knight for him more than once. I have trusted him with my life and drank poison because he told me it was a good idea. Or because the choice was either him or myself. And I trusted him with the antidote or with taking my royal seal back to Camelot to whoever I want to precede me. I have saved his life and protected him in battle...”, at this point, Arthur was counting on his fingers and it looked like he was about to go on for hours.

However, Gwaine looked at him oddly, which made Arthur pause as soon as he noticed. “What?”, he asked, clearly confused with Gwaine's reaction.

“Well... just. I see what you mean.”, Gwaine was talking slowly. Realizing that yes... from Arthur's point of view, all of that was actually extraordinary behavior. But for anyone else... “But you do realize that most of that is just... Look. The things you describe...

Half of the stuff happens behind his back, which you don't tell him. So how would he know? Other stuff is like.... Merlin probably thinks he's just stealing your stuff. Defending someone innocent is not something you do for someone you like. It's something you do for strangers, if their life depends on it. It's something Merlin himself would do for anyone.

And... treating him like a person when he argues with you and taking him seriously is hardly an expression of love, Arthur. I know in your position that's different. But to anyone else. Jesus christ, how do I put this?

The only extraordinary thing about all this, is you risking your life for him. Which he would do for you – for anyone really – without even thinking. And YOU would die for your own people too. I hardly think he sees a difference in your behavior towards him and your general behavior to your people.

Merlin would risk his life for anyone. He doesn't even demand thanks for it.

What you do, is... for a prince.... extremely … er... let's say affectionate. But for Merlin, it's... how do I put it … less than the minimum.”

Arthur blinked. Finally Merlin shifted underneath the blanket. His eyes blinking rapidly now. Gwaine was right. This WAS how he saw things. But the way Arthur described the way he acted.... that wasn't just Arthur trying his best to be a good prince or person. This was Arthur trying his hardest to show he cared! Cared for Merlin! Merlin felt... touched? Kind of. The crush thing aside. That was a whole different level of work in process. (1) He felt his own face heat up with the knowledge that these things... These things that Merlin had guessed were normal for Arthur... that Arthur had done them on purpose. That he had actually thought about Merlin to make sure he was cared for. That this was a far as he could push himself and did it despite the risk of being scolded by his father.

Arthur's mouth was open now. Unable to retort or add on to his previous examples. “But -”

“You do know, Merlin still doesn't believe us, when we tell him that you risked your life getting him a flower, because he thinks we're messing with him, right?”

“That's ridiculous. That flower was needed for an antidote! What is there to doubt about it?”, Arthur exclaimed, almost furious. Merlin shuddered in surprise. 'Huh?', he thought to himself, his face flushing hard.

“Yeah. I know. He does not.”, Gwaine nodded eagerly.

“But... I thought I was so obvious? I mean... Even my father noticed! He's told me I was getting too close to Merlin. So I tried to hold back, but... I thought Merlin knew.”, Arthur appeared shocked. Like someone had just turned his entire world upside down.

“The king noticed?”, Gwaine raised both eyebrows in shock.

“Yes, I mean. When I came back with that flower, he threw me in the dungeons for it. He keeps reminding me that I'm not supposed to be friends with Merlin. He keeps offering me new servants! I've turned down five offers last week!”

Gwaine's mouth dropped open. “Woow.”, he made impressed. “If Uther thinks THAT's a lot. What kind of childhood did you have?”

Arthur looked up, surprised. “I dunno? A normal one I guess? I mean. I didn't have a mom and my father was always busy and Morgana and I were fighting all the time, so....”

Gwaine's eyes squished a little. “Have you ever even been hugged?”, he asked with suspicion.

Arthur straightened his back. “I'm.... not supposed to get close to people until I get married.”, he muttered. Gwaine stared and his mouth dropped open again. “I meant Uther. Did you father never hug you?”

“Was he supposed to do that?”

Gwaine's jaw dropped. “And here I always thought you just were a stuck up royal like anyone else. But your father abandoned you. No wonder you have no idea how to deal with emotions.” Arthur flushed and tried to retort, but then he closed his mouth. Embarrassed.

Gwaine hurried to correct himself. “I mean... considering all this, you're doing a lot, actually. You're a good man, Arthur. I wouldn't be your knight, if I didn't think you were worth dying for. Just. God damn it, I'm getting so mad right now. Your father is an asshole. I mean, I already knew that. But holy shit.”

Arthur frowned. “Don't talk about my father like this!”, he growled, but Gwaine stopped him again. “Nope. You don't get to decide that. You're in denial. He abandoned you. He keeps sending you on quests that could get you killed. He didn't even show you that he cares if you come back!”

“He cried when he thought I was dead though!”, Arthur commented, remembering the troll Catrina accident.

Gwaine blinked. “Good to know where he draws the line. What the fuck, Arthur.”

Arthur bit his lips. He felt defensive for his father. But... wasn't it bad... that he couldn't see a single flaw in Gwaine's accusation?

“Merlin is your exact opposite, you know.”, Gwaine suddenly said and slowly patted Arthur's shoulder. This time highly aware of the fact that this was probably the closest contact Arthur allowed for anyone. Apart from the fact that Arthur had a crush on Merlin and Merlin was the guy who dressed him.... Let's not get into that.

“I know.”

“He grew up with a mom who hugged him every day. Arthur, Merlin is the most affectionate person I know. He's extremely emotional and he's not afraid to show it.”

“I know.”, Arthur said again, but this time softer.

“Compared to that your way of dealing with things probably looks more like you're pushing him away.”

Arthur's head sank and his shoulders dropped. He grabbed the blanket tighter. “I know.”, he said yet again. Frustrated this time. 'I'm trying.', he didn't say, but they all knew it.

“You should talk to him.”

“I know.”, Arthur was defeated.

It was quiet between them once again and Arthur stared out on the sea. And from the distance, you could see the first sun rays of the day illuminate the wooden deck of the ship. Arthur stared at it, as long as it was possible to look into the direction. While Gwaine watched him with worry. Gwaine had almost forgotten Merlin was still there. Merlin, who was trying his hardest to appear invisible. And quiet. And still. Nobody could hear his loud heart beat, but Merlin himself. Though he could swear someone had to notice at some point.

“Rise and shine.”, Arthur suddenly said and smiled to himself. For the first time, the conversation went beyond Gwaine's understanding and he could just stare at him in confusion.

But Merlin could hear what Arthur was actually saying. It was the sentence Merlin always woke Arthur up with. In this context, it meant, Arthur was thinking of that. Of early mornings and Merlin in it. The way his smile slowly fell, Merlin could feel that Arthur was actually missing him. And hoping he was here. Unaware that his wish had already come true.

It took Merlin everything he had in himself, to not jump up from underneath the blanket and just hug him to death. Which he now knew would equal a marriage proposal to Arthur. Oh god, all those love potion incidents …. where Arthur hugged and kissed random women. The boy must have had a mental breakdown afterwards. Now that Merlin thought of it, Arthur used to behave really strange after those incidents.

Meaning, he wouldn't talk to anyone. He would excuse himself a lot. Would be anxious around everyone he was forced to talk to. And he'd be especially awkward around Merlin. Merlin's eyes widened once again with a start and it paralyzed him as he realized precisely WHY that had been. He flushed. And he was glad Arthur couldn't see him like this.

“Sire?”, Gwaine finally asked, still uncharacteristically gentle. Arthur shook his head. “Nothing. I'll go back to sleep. Leon should be up soon. I think he's already feeling much better.” Arthur sighed and pushed himself up. He let go of the blanket, making Merlin exhale a deep breath. Then he took the ladder down again.

One last time, he was stopped by Gwaine. “Wait, Arthur.”

Arthur stopped for a moment. “What is it?”, he asked.

“You like Merlin right? As in, you're in love with him.”

Arthur flushed, but he answered with a hesitant “yes.”. Which was like a major blow in Merlin's guts. Because being in love was an entirely different thing than having a crush. And yet, to have this confirmed... Merlin struggled to breathe.

“What will you do, if he doesn't like you back?”

There was a pause. A heavy one. Then Arthur sighed. “Gwaine... It's not like anything can happen between us anyway. Even if Merlin did like me back. I can't tell him. Merlin is the best friend I have. I couldn't bear to loose him. I won't let anything or anyone, not my father, not a potential wife, not even my own feelings get in the way of that. I won't ruin what we have. I couldn't live with myself.” And with that, he disappeared under deck. Leaving Gwaine behind, completely stunned.

Finally, Merlin pulled the blanket off of himself and dramatically breathed the fresh air around him. It had started to get really stuffy under that.

Gwaine turned around, almost startled. As if he had truly forgotten that Merlin had been there. They looked at each other for a moment. Unsure what to say.

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

The storm hit the boat without any warning. Maybe, if they had known about the “calm before the storm”, they would have noticed that there was – indeed – a warning. But they didn't. Because Uther didn't care that these knights had no idea about sailing. Or rather, most of them. The one's who did know about it, had been asleep, as Arthur had assigned none of them to keep watch.

They were lucky they made it in time to get the sails in. But as soon as the storm was raging, they had to hold on to everything for dear life. They had no time to fixate any of their belongings to the ship. Which meant that now, barrels and bottles and cups and knifes and anything they had lying about, was now thrown around their ears.

Those who had the great misfortune to get knocked out by a barrel, got thrown of the ship. But through all that, you couldn't hear the screams and the shouts. The storm was so loud, it deafened everything that was further than two steps away.

In a strange way, the storm came over them silently. Merlin had never managed to get back into his barrel. But he had shushed Gwaine to bind himself to the watchtower. The entire thing was about to be blown off, was it not for Merlin's magic.

In fact, while Gwaine closed his eyes, praying the storm to be over, Merlin used his magic to keep his friends safe. Albeit, there were too many of them. He couldn't safe everyone. But he DID manage to keep Arthur safe. Who was running around in that blasted armor and shouting orders to his subordinates. He was not lucky to be okay. He was lucky to have Merlin to keep him that way.

That was, until Merlin saw his own barrel being thrown off the ship. And Lancelot saw it. But Lancelot didn't know Merlin wasn't in there. Oh fucking hell no.

Lancelot screamed his name. And he managed to shout so loud, that Arthur turned around, totally confused why one of his knights would shout out the name of his servant in the middle of a storm. But Arthur, foolish, kind, love deprived Arthur, made the connection. And when Lancelot shouted at him to explain that Merlin was supposed to be IN that barrel that was now about to drown on the ocean. Arthur did the most foolish thing a prince could do.

He gave Leon the authority.... and – in a panic- jumped after Merlin.

Who was not in that barrel, but on the watch tower. Who watched and stared and couldn't believe what he saw. Because Arthur had just JUMPED of the ship for him. Fully armed with his sword and knife and wearing armor.

'That fucking idiot.”, Merlin mouthed and now panic washed over him as well. In a moment decision, Merlin yelled at Gwaine to stay where he was. And then he slid down the ladder. Not even bothering to use the steps. His hands already burned from the heat of the fraction. And splinters of the cold wood edged into his skin. But he didn't give a damn.

He ran over the deck, seeing panicked and confused faces everywhere and then he directly jumped after Arthur.

The storm wouldn't stop for another five hours. Thanks to Merlin, the casualties were little to none. But even after the storm had calmed and the sea lay still around them, while the knights tried to catch their breath.... Merlin and Arthur could not be found among the wrecks. And Leon's headache was returning. (1) The sentence: work in process is a mix of work in progress and processing something. I found that creative. It’s intentional :)

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First (you are here) <<Masterlist >> Next

#merlin tv #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #fanfiction #my writing #I'll try to post here too now #dragon island #chapter 1 #The calm before the storm #merthur #merlin #arthur #freya #edit later

[smolawkwardkidlat]

Fic First Lines

I saw this on @catsafarithewriter 's blog and thought it was nifty, so uh. yeah. all the apologies if this wasn’t your intention, Cat. 

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Tagging: anyone who wants to do this because I have honestly forgotten every Tumblr URL I ever knew. seriously, if you want an excuse, I tag you. 

these are all stories I’ve posted to AO3, in chronological order from oldest to newest, under whatever pseud. one is a WIP, and some of them I’m not proud of at all. I’ll put the line (and by line I mean like the first paragraph?), then the title and the fandom, like Cat did. 

small note, I omitted texting/message fics because the format made it difficult to pick the line, and I omitted Nothing Left and Whatever Remains (The Impossible) because the first lines were lifted from someone else’s work, the canon and the fic that inspired it respectively.

1. Lizzy had never minded what other people thought of her, especially because she was only six years old. (More Than My Dearest Friend. Pride and Prejudice. baby’s first fic, lol.) 

2. No one knew where they came from. [...] Any theories about their origins were pure speculation. However, they were there, the Sun and Shadow Summoners; always full of power and fire, just to the side of the foreground. Only they were rare, incredibly rare, so rare that for a while people wondered that they even still existed. (The Sons of Darkness. The Grisha Trilogy.) 

3. Dazai doesn’t much feel like doing anything today. (the moonlight on the water (is beautiful tonight). Bungou Stray Dogs.) 

4. Samael should not have come home. Heaven was full of angels who looked at him and his light silver-grey wings warily, never mind that the accursed things had been silver-grey since God had created them and Heaven couldn’t be full of angels because half of them were gone. (Destruction Follows In His Wake. Good Omens.) 

5. Cad wasn’t exactly what one would expect, if one only had his nickname to go by. He wasn’t tall or short, but he was lithe, with stormy grey eyes that sharpened almost to silver when he was angry or when he was excited, and a shock of thick, slightly curly, translucent hair that the doctors had pronounced mousy brown upon his birth. He had thin, expressive eyebrows and hands and a prominent, somewhat upturned nose. He looked curious, which he was, and he looked gentle, which he wasn’t. (a bit of a cad. The Graveyard Book.) 

6. “Cecil Jacobs is a big wet he-en!” Scout’s voice yelled suddenly. Arthur started at the noise. Was she walking home alone? In this darkness? Everyone in Maycomb but him would have difficulty seeing their hand in front of their face, even if they painted it white. No—even if he was growing up, Jem wouldn’t let his sister walk home alone, even just from the grammar school. Especially not on a night like this. (Boo, Arthur. To Kill A Mockingbird.) 

7.  It was a bad idea last time and this is the first glimmer of hope he has that it’s any less of one now. He hangs on to the sheets, to Ibarra’s hips, as if he can grasp that glimmer and gasp it to life. Maybe Ibarra can feel it, because his mouth curves into a smile where it touches Elias’s. Is it derision or delight? Elias doesn’t know the difference, when it comes to Ibarra; either one drives him wild. (Difference. Noli Me Tangere.) 

8. Ibarra falls in love when he is twenty-two, sitting in a boat on Laguna de Bay. (Third Time’s the Charm. Noli Me Tangere.) 

9. Ibarra startled awake to a dark sky and the chill of night in an open space [...]. His breath cut sharp against the sounds of the woods as he curled in on himself and raised his shaking hands to his face. There was no blood on them. The night was so still any sound louder than a footfall would be heard clearly. There were no gunshots. There were no screams. (i did not think to live this far. NMT.) 

10. The last day of the fiesta dawned promising and happy; the day brought with it the laying of the cornerstone of Ibarra’s new school, and if the town of San Diego was not perfectly content, they at least donned some semblance of the garment to go to morning mass. Padre Damaso forgot his sermon and frightened Padre Martin. Padre Sibyla adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. (a lilac sky. NMT.) 

11. The twilight came on chilly and brisk, the sun lingering watchfully at the edge of the horizon as Elias strode home, trembling with fury. He was done. He was done with this town and he was glad he and the family he had left would leave it forever in a few hours. They could all go to hell and he would laugh as he dragged them there. (our twilight universe. NMT.) 

12. The crack of someone opening the door roused Elias from his restless, shallow slumber. (pillow talk. NMT.)

13. Elias doesn’t know if he’s hallucinating or dreaming. (a simulacrum of companionship. NMT.) 

14. Ibarra’s sigh melted into the near-total darkness of his room. Thirteen years on, and the nightmares still came, the anger still burned, just when he thought they had gone. He was beginning to suspect he might never be free of them, which seemed to be fair enough, considering all that had happened. It would have been stranger for him to come out of that maelstrom completely unscathed. (permets-tu? NMT.)

15. Elias took a breath, shallower than he liked. He flexed his fingers experimentally, and made a fist. It did not close quite as tightly as he was used to. “Haven’t you tied the knots too tight?” (So Help Me, God. NMT; WIP.) 

and this wasn’t posted to AO3, but in honor of the TCR fandom: 

16. The only excuse he has is that he is young and wild and stupid. He was raised by wild things and so knows no fear, not even of the things he should be afraid of. Cat is old enough to know what a car in the driveway means, but he’s also soft enough to let his friend watch excitedly from his ruff as the woman unlocks the door and airs out the abandoned house that has an owner after all. (the happiness i’ve found with you. The Cat Returns.) 

#turns out i post a LOT of noli me tangere fic #it's not that big a percentage of my actual work #but *i* can see my wips and yall can't lmao #... #looks like i have a tendency #to GO OFF #lol #i actually cut number 1 it was so long #and i had to cut some of the others too #i also tend to write third person limited #even sons of darkness and lilac sky are third person limited #hmm #oooh no #my style is all over the place lmao #i tend to try to imitate the canon narrative style #but even with tcr and nmt #it varies A LOT #only fics in the same continuity seem to have any kind of consistency #if even that #kidlat writes #wish i could do first lines of my WIPs #even just the other tcr borrower au #but i'm re-editing the first chapter of that so #oops

[wordsablaze]

13~ Adrenaline

Magic and Misery Merlin might use magic to help Arthur but he rarely uses it to help himself, which leads to an awful lot of misery… written for whumptober, enjoy!

A/N: okay, this seriously got away from me and ended up double the intended length but here’s a hopefully satisfying continuation of my last piece x

-

Merlin rarely screams.

He’s so used to being quiet and hiding his pain to maintain his reputation as a bubbly manservant who always smiles at everything and cracks endless jokes. Even in front of Gaius.

The last couple of days have made up for all of that.

He easily loses count of how many times he’s screamed in pain during his sentence with the witchfinder, both due to internal agony related to the magic-suppressing shackles and the inflicted external wounds.

And the third day’s morning sees him screaming yet again, albeit weakly this time, as freezing water is unkindly poured over him; it’s a shock and a half.

“I thought you might be dehydrated,” the witchfinder explains, even though it’s more of a taunt.

Merlin just glares up at him, not even bothering to try and straighten his posture from where he’s awkwardly slumped against the wall because his limbs feel like the mud he usually has to clean off the horses after it’s been raining.

“What? No thanks?” Aredian’s son crouches down and lifts Merlin’s chin with his hand, smirking. “Do you need more incentive to show your gratitude?”

Naturally, Merlin doesn’t reply.

He’s too busy trying to figure out if he’s now freezing because of the unwanted shower or if the burning in every atom of his magical being is just so intense that it only feels as though his soul has frozen over and is now shattering into tiny fragments, fragments that are slowly piercing his organs.

Within seconds, the witchfinder’s other hand presses down onto the stitched wound on his arm, eliciting a sharp, broken whimper from Merlin, who can’t help but also flinch away from the pain.

“Much better!” Aredian’s son beams brightly, as if he were a child getting his way.

A lack of sleep means Merlin doesn’t even have the energy to mentally form a comeback to that, never mind actually say one out loud. He just waits until Aredian’s son is satisfied and lets go of him again so he can exhale softly, pulling his arm closer to his chest protectively.

“I had so many fun things planned for today but I might have to change them if you’re so unwilling to talk,” Aredian’s son announces.

Merlin just waits, blinking water out of his eyes.

“I think we’ll go for a ride,” he announces eventually, making Merlin groan.

He knows what’s coming but it still hurts - it hurts so, so much - when Aredian’s son unfastens the chain and yanks him to his unsteady feet, not bothering to let him steady himself before starting to march towards the door.

Merlin almost falls over in his haste to stumble after Aredian’s son, his numb feet just about managing not to let him fall until they arrive back at the cart. Only then does he stumble and end up on the ground, groaning softly as the witchfinder grins down at him.

“Pathetic,” he comments gleefully.

Merlin flinches from the word, using his less injured arm - that is, the one without the stitches - to push himself upright as he bites down on his lip to stop himself crying out.

Aredian’s son just grabs his ruined t-shirt and hauls him up, practically tossing him back into the cage before securing the chains to the cart once more. He’d lost his jacket and necktie at some point, probably when all those blades had gotten involved, so he can’t stop himself from shivering when his skin touches the cold metal of the cage.

“Comfortable?”

Merlin lets his eyes shut and refuses to acknowledge the question, but regrets that when Aredian’s son bangs on the cage, the reverberation echoing through his bones and drawing out yet another whimper.

He feels himself slide down until he’s not touching the bars anymore, curling into himself to make himself smaller, less noticeable, less of a target.

Aredian’s son just angrily grumbles something about a confession and, soon enough, the cart starts moving. Hitting as many rocks and bumps in the road as possible, it seems.

When they stop, Merlin doesn’t notice.

What he does notice, however, is the chains rattling and the shackles rubbing against his bruised wrists, where the skin is raw from when he’d found the energy to struggle.

He hisses softly, his eyes blearily blinking themselves open.

“Merlin?”

Arthur.

Merlin gasps, pulling himself upright with newfound strength, carelessly lifting a hand to rub his eyes, ignoring the pain that shoots down his arm.

“I can’t- Merlin, stop moving!”

Definitely Arthur.

But Merlin obeys anyway, his gaze finally focusing on a familiar face as Arthur draws out his sword. Despite the familiar face, however, Merlin flinches as light glints of the sword, pulling himself into the opposite corner.

“No, Merlin, I wasn’t-” Arthur cuts himself off, sighing sadly, and swallows before sheathing his sword almost guiltily and turning to the menacing chains once more.

Merlin lets his eyes fall shut again regardless of how much he wants to see Arthur, how much he wants to see if Arthur will stay.

He’s missed Arthur.

There’s about a minute’s silence before an almighty, metallic noise rings out and Merlin abruptly feels alive.

He gasps, ducking his head to hide his eyes as they widen because he can feel, actually feel the powerful golden glow that radiates from them. He covers his head with his arms as his heart blooms again, as his soul finally starts to thaw and comfort him again, as his magic roams free under his skin again.

He breathes.

Inhales.

Exhales.

Simply breathing.

He’d forgotten how liberating it feels to be able to breathe normally.

He waits until he feels his magic settle, nestle inside him where it can’t be found, before looking up.

Arthur’s tears greet him.

He frowns but no, he’s not hallucinating, Arthur Pendragon is in front of him, is crying in front of him.

“Arthur…” Merlin breathes, a small smile blooming on his face.

Arthur looks conflicted but he beams as Merlin smiles, letting them share their relief for a moment before clambering onto the cart and unfastening the bolt on the cage, practically throwing the door open.

“Come on, Merlin, I have to get you out of here,” he says quickly, hushed.

Merlin nods, pushing himself towards Arthur and letting himself be swiftly but kindly guided off the cart.

Instantly, there are arms around him.

Merlin’s smile only lasts a second before Arthur’s hand brushes the stitched wound on his shoulder and he cries out, wincing enough for Arthur to pull back in concern. “Merlin?”

“S- sorry,” he manages, unable to stop smiling despite the pain.

“Oh, Merlin. I’m so sorry,” Arthur tells him sincerely.

Someone starts yelling somewhere behind them - apparently, Aredian’s son hadn’t missed the commotion - and Arthur’s eyes widen, glancing around frantically before settling back on Merlin. “I’m sorry if this hurts,” he whispers.

Then Merlin’s feet are leaving the ground and his head is suddenly on Arthur’s shoulder.

He whimpers but clings to Arthur as he bites down on his lip, forcing himself to stay quiet, focusing on his magic, trying to see how much of it he can use to help them escape, to help prevent Arthur having to face the witchfinder too.

Not much, apparently.

But just enough.

With the help of Arthur’s strength and a sprinkling of Merlin’s magic, they manage to make it far away enough that they can’t even hear whoever it was chasing them anymore. Only then does Arthur stop and let Merlin down, making sure there’s a tree behind him that he can lean on.

“I’m so glad you’re alive.” Arthur smiles.

When he doesn’t continue with how he’d be losing someone to use as target practice or something of the like, Merlin lets himself smile properly for the first time in days.

“Why… I mean, how did you…?” Merlin stops suddenly, unsure of what exactly he should be asking.

Arthur understands anyway.

He shrugs. “I persuaded my father that three nights was far too long to result in a genuine confession and then I simply followed the tracks to find you.”

“You followed the tracks?” Merlin echoes, unsure where his energy is coming from but unable to resist an opportunity to tease Arthur.

Arthur clears his throat pointedly. “I may have, uhm, asked… everyone… if they’d seen a witchfinder.”

Something soft, something like happiness, spreads through Merlin as he imagines Arthur questioning so many people just to look for him. It means more to him than he can care to admit and it makes his suffering at the hands of the witchfinder just a little more tolerable.

“Arthur, we can’t stay here,” Merlin finds himself saying, despite his heart wanting to do just that.

Arthur nods solemnly. “I know, we have to get you back home- Uh, that is, to Gaius. So he can heal you. Because you don’t look good at all.”

Merlin has questions but he makes a note of and saves them for another time.

When Arthur moves to pick him up again, Merlin holds up a hand and steps back just enough to prove a point. He ignores the way Arthur looks horrified at the bruising on his wrist and swallows. “I can walk.”

“Merlin…”

“We’ll be faster this way,” Merlin argues.

Arthur takes a moment but nods once more, pausing briefly before grabbing Merlin’s hand and starting to run.

“I only said I could walk, Arthur!” Merlin yells as they start moving.

“You also said you wanted to go faster!” Arthur yells back, his voice laced with equal amounts of amusement and concern.

Merlin had anticipated himself falling but he does nothing of the sort, a strange sort of strength pushing him forward, allowing him to keep up with Arthur as they sprint their way towards Camelot.

They don’t speak but they don’t need to.

If Arthur’s hand wasn’t firmly gripping Merlin’s as they ran, Merlin would have thought he was imagining this as some kind of fever dream. It just seems unreal that Arthur would search so desperately for him but he’s not complaining; if this is the reward for maintaining his end of destiny’s bargain, he’ll gladly accept it.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asks breathlessly at one point, glancing sideways.

Merlin nods, not even lying when he manages to reply, “Never been better!”

They carry on, through the forests and over the mostly deserted roads, stopping for nothing and no-one as they move, their fingers firmly intertwined as if their lives depend on it.

Eventually, the castle comes into view and the two of them share a slightly exhausted but still exhilarated grin as they somewhat carelessly navigate their way through the streets until they burst into the courtyard.

Coming to a stop, Arthur looks over to Merlin, pure relief in his expression.

Merlin sends him a lopsided grin in return.

But then the blistering pain of the last few days catches up to him and he whimpers again, his hand falling from Arthur’s as he doubles over, his body aching all over.

Agony burns and dances across his skin, creating nonsensical patterns between his wounds and connecting the dots of all his bruises. It hurts and although it's slightly better than before because his magic is trying its best to help dull his pain, it still hurts a little too much for him to bear.

“Merlin!”

He can hear Arthur’s concern but it seems that his adrenaline could only last so long.

Satisfied that he’s back in Camelot, back where he’s safe, back home, Merlin offers Arthur a soft smile before letting the soothing comfort of darkness take over, take away his pain.

He just about registers himself collapsing before he sinks into unconsciousness.

At least Arthur's there to catch him this time.

-

I legitimately haven't read this through properly so my bad if it read a bit strangely! I hope it was okay though :)

-

like/reblog but please don’t repost, thanks! masterlist

#whumptober2019 #no.13 #adrenaline #whumptober #merlin fanfic #merthur #merthur fanfic #merlin whump #hurt merlin #merlin emrys #merlin #arthur pendragon #protective arthur #merlin x arthur #bbc merlin #fanfiction #fanfic #hurt comfort #angst #my writing #mam

[twistedrunes]

Angelic

Hello friend, thanks for the request. Sorry, it’s taken a little while to get done. I hope you like it. I would love to hear what you think.

Warnings: None (this is some tooth-rotting sweet and wholesome stuff)

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/16892463

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

Michael had seen you for the first time on a Sunday morning. He was on his way home from a long snow fueled evening and you were on your way to church. It was the golden glow of the early morning sun catching in the loose wisps of hair around your head that caught his attention. Making you look for all the world like you had a halo. Transfixed he had followed you all the way into the church. He hadn’t even seen your face but he knew you were beautiful. 

He lost sight of you as you stepped into the church, but he followed anyway. Standing dumb in the aisle as he looked for you until a woman cleared her throat firmly. Looking around dazed he quickly took a seat on the end of a pew while he continued to scan the backs of the heads in front of him trying to find you. Just starting to think you had been a hallucination, he toyed with leaving but didn’t want to draw attention to himself now the service had started. 

Then, a voice so pure and clear it brought tears to his eyes began to sing. All around him, people stood with their hymn books and mouths open but no-one made a sound. The entire congregation transfixed. It was you he was sure, the angel he had followed to church. You were a beautiful as he had imagined, more if that was even possible. 

Once the service ended, again you seemed to disappear. He had waited, hoping to see you again. After half an hour he had floated home. Polly had asked him where he had been. He simply replied “Church.”  Polly had thought he was joking but he had gone up to his room before she could question him further. 

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

All the following week at work he had been daydreaming. Gazing out the window hoping for a glimpse of the angelic creature he had seen on Sunday morning. He’d been oblivious to John and Arthur teasing him about his distraction. 

“It’s gotta be a woman don’t you think Arthur.” John had said standing in the door of Michael’s office.  “Gotta be and I’d say the boy is fucked.” Arthur agrees. 

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

The following Sunday Polly had been surprised to find Michael up and dressed in his best suit. When he had suggested they go to church she had nearly choked on her tea. But not wanting to discourage him, she had dressed quickly and gone with him to the church. Michael didn’t talk the whole way there, looking around intently. 

Polly says nothing. As they find their seats Michael continues to look around. 

“Looking for someone?” Polly asks slyly. “No,” Michael says far too quickly. 

The first Hymn begins and Michael’s face lights up as the haunting voice begins to sing. Polly recognises the voice instantly having known you most of your life. She knows your mother and had always liked your sweet nature and calm temperament. She smiles as Michael’s face positively beams. Looking towards the front of the church she see’s you through her son's eyes. No longer the quiet, meek, girl she knows. As the sun breaks through the clouds and streams through the stained glass behind you, she see’s you bathed in light and looking positively angelic. 

After the service, she introduced Michael to you and your mother. Michael had been nearly mute. But had managed to repeat your name when you gave it to him. 

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

It took Michael two months to build up the courage to ask you out. Convinced that you were too pure and beautiful to associate with someone like him. He would see you each week at church. After you were introduced you sought him out and spoke to him afterwards. It was you who suggested he walk you home. 

Your first date was dinner at Polly’s he invited both you and your mother. You thought it was cute. Your mother’s had offered to do the dishes while you and Michael retired to the lounge. Michael was very sweet and asked your appropriate and proper questions. 

Your second date was the movies. Michael didn’t even try to hold your hand. 

You suggested the Garrison for your third date. Michael seemed genuinely surprised that you even knew it existed. Michael had taken you to the snug. He was finally brave enough to take your hand. But he dropped it promptly when his cousins turned up and tried to hurry you out. 

“Who’s this then?” Arthur had cried. “Must be the girl he’s been mooning over.” John had commented.

You’d thought it was cute that Michael had blushed at his cousins teasing. You’d caught their hushed conversation when you had excused yourself to the ladies.

“She’s a real looker Michael.” Arthur had said “She’s lovely, a real angel like Polly says.” Finn had added. 

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

You can’t help but beam as you walk up the aisle towards Michael, the light coming through the stained-glass behind him bathing him in warm light. He seems to be glowing. He wipes a tear from his eye as you reach him, he shakes your father’s hand before taking both of yours in his. 

“You look like an angel.” He whispers. “You too.” You reply

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

Did you like this? Hate this? Have an idea you want me to do? Send me an ask! Interested in my other work? Find them on my MASTERLIST

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#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #michael gray #michael gray imagine #michael gray fanfic #request #ask

[classicfilmfreak]

New Post has been published on http://www.classicfilmfreak.com/2018/05/31/the-keys-of-the-kingdom-1947-starring-gregory-peck-and-thomas-mitchell/

The Keys of the Kingdom (1947) starring Gregory Peck and Thomas Mitchell

“All atheists are not godless men.  I knew one who I hope may now be in heaven.” — Father Chisholm

With its resources as one of Hollywood’s three most prestigious studios of the 1940s, 20th Century-Fox would occasionally, often successfully, go all-out on certain productions, utilizing its very best directors, cinematographers, screenwriters and composers—among composers, there was only one.  These films were usually long, lavish and expensive, with large casts, and on a monumental, sometimes portentous subject, based on famous, certainly popular novels.

These extravaganzas were spread out over the 1940s.  The Grapes of Wrath and Brigham Young were released in that first year.  In ’41 another John Ford film, How Green Was My Valley, then The Song of Bernadette in ’43.  After a brief respite, The Razor’s Edge in ’46.

With the advent of television, with theater receipts rapidly decreasing, in ’47 Captain from Castile lost about a million dollars on its initial release.  This marked something of an end to the traditional Fox prestige picture—temporarily anyway until the next decade, beginning with The Robe (1953).

The four directors represented in these six films were top echelon—at the pinnacle, of course, John Ford in two of the films; Henry King, Tyrone Power’s perennial director, in another two; Henry Hathaway, ideally suited for “outdoor” stories, in one; and Edmund Goulding, the director of five Bette Davis films, in the last.  No runts of the litter here.

And among the cinematographers?  Arthur Miller in all but Valley, which was shot by Gregg Toland (Citizen Kane, 1941, and The Best Years of Our Lives, 1946), and Castile, partly shot by an uncredited Joseph LaShelle.

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The list of screenwriters in these movies, again, includes some of the finest in the business: Nunnally Johnson, Philip Dunne, George Seaton and Lamar Trotti in two of the films.

The one artist these six films have in common?  They were all scored by the studio’s resident composer, the creator of the 20th Century-Fox fanfare, Alfred Newman.  He was Oscar-nominated for three of these, and won for Bernadette.

Fox respected and guarded its famous trademark—that towering art deco company name and the gleaming searchlights thrust forward by the fanfare—and The Keys of the Kingdom is one of only a few of the studio’s films which begins without the fanfare, though the logo is shown.

With this kind of talent and resources, The Keys of the Kingdom began production in February of 1944.  Strongest ingredients first.  From the already excellent source material, A. J. Cronin’s best-selling 1941 novel, screenwriters Joseph L. Mankiewicz and Nunnally Johnson crafted natural, yet aesthetic dialogue.  The key asset of the pair was Mankiewicz, who had a sensitivity for words—witness his scripts for A Letter to Three Wives (1949) and All About Eve (1950).

The cinematographer was, again, Arthur Miller and the composer of the score one Alfred Newman, of some repute.

Although the film was nominated for four Oscars, including best score and black and white cinematography, director John M. Stahl was something of an odd man out, and unheralded—and not without reason.  His biggest flop, Parnell (1937), and M-G-M’s biggest up to that time, turned its star, Clark Gable, against costume dramas, a main reason for his reluctance to tackle Gone With the Wind (1939).  Stahl, in this case however, marshaled all the various aspects of the film—religion, humor, tragedy and war—into one cohesive whole.

In only his second film—following the war-set Days of Glory (1944)—the young Gregory Peck proves himself as the dedicated and humble missionary-priest to China.  In the two-hour plus film, in which he is on screen most of the time, he renders a sincere, believable performance, ranging from soft-spoken compassion to almost retaliatory loathing.

As the film begins, Monsignor Sleeth (Cedric Hardwicke) has come to the Scottish village of Tweedside to visit elderly Father Francis Chisholm (Peck), who has, only a year before, returned from a lifetime in China.  Having already shaken a disapproving head when Francis appears from a fishing excursion with rods and reels, Sleeth later informs him that he should retire, that the “peculiar” managing of his parish has raised concerns.

When the monsignor retires that night, he finds Father Chisholm’s diary, which initiates a flashback. . . .

Young Francis (Roddy McDowell) is orphaned when both his parents (Ruth Nelson and Dennis Hoey) are swept away in a raging river.  Francis lives with distant cousins, whose little daughter Nora (Peggy Ann Garner) he later loves as an adult (Jane Ball).

When, as a young man, he leaves for the Holywell seminary, two old friends, carefree Willie (Thomas Mitchell) and proud Rev. Angus Mealey (Vincent Price), see him off at the train station.  Willie is dismayed when Francis throws back the bottle of whiskey he threw to him.

At Holywell, another old friend, kindly Rev. Hamish MacNabb (Edmund Gwenn), counsels Francis’ doubts about becoming a priest.  They go fishing together.  “It was fine of the Lord,” MacNabb says, “to put all the little fishes in the brooks and to send me here to catch them.”

Soon, news arrives—something is wrong concerning Nora, and Francis rushes home to find she has died.  Back at Holywell, when MacNabb suggests Francis would make an ideal missionary to China, he accepts.

Arriving in Paitan, the naive priest believes the waving crowds and cheers are for him, only to discover they are for the town’s mandarin.  Francis finds the church has been destroyed by a flood and left unrebuilt by the so-called converted Christians.  His weakened faith is restored when a young traveler, Joseph (Benson Fong), offers to help.

The mandarin, Mr. Chai (Leonard Strong), sends an envoy that his son is seriously ill, the Chinese medicines having proven ineffectual.  Francis’ operation on the boy’s infected arm cures him.  When Francis goes unthanked, he ends a brief personal prayer with “ . . . but they are ungrateful and You know it!”

When Mr. Chai eventually arrives to thank him and offers, favor for favor, to become a Christian, Francis rejects him, saying Christianity is not a “habit” one puts on without belief.  Later, Mr. Chai offers, free and clear, land on the Hill of the Brilliant Green Jade and the workmen and material to build a Christian school.

Later arrive an arrogant reverent mother, Maria-Veronica (Rose Stradner), and Willie with medical supplies.  During a battle between the Republic and Imperial forces he is wounded and dies, thanking Francis for not trying to convert him.

With the mission nearly destroyed, Francis joins a local army general (Richard Loo) in destroying the enemy’s cannon.

Soon arrives Angus, now a monsignor and grown arrogant with his new position.  He announces that the church cannot pay for a new mission, that Francis’ conversion rate is the lowest on church records.  Maria-Veronica apologies to Francis for her “shameful” behavior and says, compared with Angus’ condescending regard for the Chinese, his is the true faith.

As time passes, the mission flourishes, only now Francis has competition—a Methodist church comes to Paitan.  He sets out to meet the minister (James Gleason) and his wife (Anne Revere) and finds them friendly and agreeable.  At last, the time comes for Father Francis to leave.  In a grand farewell, this time the crowd’s waves and cheers are for him. . . .

The flashback over, the next day Monsignor Sleeth tells Francis that he has spent the night reading his diary, and that he will relay to the bishop nothing that could in any way affect his hopes for his parish.

While supported by a perfect cast, Gregory Peck makes the film his own.  His Oscar nomination for Best Actor was the third for the film.  Not an especially strong year for actors, Ray Milland won—it could be said easily—for The Lost Weekend, with the Academy’s proven penchant for alcoholics and dying people.  What chance, then, could a saintly, unglamorous priest, however well acted, have against the histrionic, hallucinating role of a drunk?

After three more nominations, Peck would finally win, in 1962, for playing another compassionate man, another kind of “father,” that of Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird.

It should be remembered, 20th Century-Fox’s gamble on Peck, with a single previous film credit, was no greater than Warner Bros.’ on Errol Flynn in their big production of Captain Blood (1935).  The newcomer had had only five previous roles, two uncredited, in five insignificant movies.

Against the current trend for quite different films, The Keys of the Kingdom is all things today’s films aren’t—slow-moving, patient, expository, with long scenes of dialogue and character building.  The soft-hued scene, for example, between the elderly Francis and Maria-Veronica as they sit at a table and discuss his accomplishments and forthcoming departure lasts over six minutes, with little cutting and no moving about to “enliven things” with various camera set-ups.  Some viewers may think the film sentimental, which maybe it is, but this scene is most moving, and it’s only one of many like it in an inspiring film.

#Gregory Peck #Thomas Mitchell #Vincent Price

[trevorbailey61]

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Motorpoint Arena, Nottingham

Thursday 28th September 2017

The train was waiting as I made my way down the stairs and onto the platform. I had checked the display in the concourse and the man in the hi-vis orange jacket standing by the ticket barrier had even given me directions as I went through but stepping through that open door still felt like a leap of faith. I couldn’t see the board on the platform, there was nothing on the train to indicate its destination and the display in the carriage was blank, as was the one above my seat that should have confirmed my reservation. I took my place and shuffled uncomfortably, desperately awaiting confirmation that the journey I was taking was the one I had booked. Taking out my book, I tried to read, my eyes scanning across the words but their meaning was obscured by uncertainty. I gave up and putting the book down, I noticed that the lady next to me was shuffling through her tickets whilst staring at the same blank board that offered me no reassurance. I never used to have a problem striking up a conversation on a train; I quite enjoyed the forced intimacy of spending a few hours next to or opposite a complete stranger and I had usually at least exchanged pleasantries before the journey had started. Now, however, I use the time to listen to the music that is demanding my attention; the headphones inserted into my ears isolating me from my fellow passengers. I am not alone; the carriage is in silence, each person bringing along their entertainment or happy spend the time with their own thoughts. With both of us in a similar state of agitation, however, I decide there is enough common ground to broach the subject of our destination. Having offered each other some reassurance, the conversation quickly moves onto the reason for our journey before we share a few things about ourselves. It quickly becomes apparent that life has dealt my companion a tough hand. She has had to acquaint herself with public transport following a recent diagnosis of MS, her sister had suffered a brain haemorrhage about a year ago leading to her untimely death at the age of 48 and her daughter’s first two children both died in infancy. Despite the grief that she carries with her, however, she was a remarkably uplifting person to talk to; determined not to let these shattering events define her, she presents them as a statement of fact. She is neither looking for sympathy nor to place some of her burden onto the shoulders of the of the stranger next to her. Her life will go on, she is proud to talk of her daughter’s recent wedding and excited that at the third attempt, she now has a healthy grandchild on which she can dote.

At one time, the loss of two children would not have been unusual. In the late 19th century, infant mortality was a staggering 15%, young bodies with limited immunity no match for the bacteria that lurked in the insanitary conditions and contaminated water. Now, however, we expect things to be different, mothers are regularly monitored during pregnancy and even if things do go wrong, the expectation is that the care is there to make it alright; pushing the very boundaries of life as premature babies weighing just over a pound and born two-thirds of the way through the normal term have a very good chance surviving. The death of children, therefore, is the one thing most parents will feel that they will never have to prepare for which makes the grief harder on the rare occasions that it has to be faced. For an artist, the grief will be absorbed into their creativity, showing itself in what are often uncompromising or harrowing pieces of work. Following the death of his two children from scarlet fever, the writer Friedrich Rückert frantically wrote a series of poems called “Kindertotenlieder”. Never intended for publication, they only came to light many years after his death where they attracted the attention of Gustav Mahler who decided to score them. It seems a strange decision; Mahler, whose own children were very much alive at the time, had more than a passing acquaintance with the hammer blows of fate, his sixth symphony ends with three, and his wife pleaded with him not to tempt providence so brazenly. He remained resolute; he was no stranger to the death of children having lost eight siblings of his own and there was certainly a practical reason for finishing the work in providing songs to soothe the passing of so many infants. Needless to say, his wife’s fears proved all too prophetic and four years after completing the work, his daughter, Maria, died, again of scarlet fever. As an artist he wrote the songs by placing himself in the position of a parent who had lost a child, as a father who had lived through it, however, he reasoned that he would not have been able to write them.

Nick Cave is certainly no stranger to oppressive cruelty of fate. As far back The Birthday Party, his music has shown an unhinged emotional intensity with his lyrics built on Old Testament imagery of sin, debauchery and the inevitable damnation; there was always a violent price to be paid for the few pleasures in life. Skeletal thin, jet black hair against pale white skin and always dressed in a black suit, he became the embodiment of gothic rock, although unlike those who slavishly followed, he was never confined by the ridiculous conventions of this. Darkness, therefore, has always enveloped his work and death his companion on this road. No stranger to loss, his mother informed him of his father’s death in a car accident while she was bailing him out of jail following his arrest for burglary, there was little that could prepare him for when fate decided to deliver him the cruelest blow of all. His son, Arthur, had taken LSD for the first time and during the hallucination had wandered too close to the edge of the cliff, falling to his death; he was just 15. Cave describes the after effects of this trauma in the film “One More Time With Feeling” and the sadness that pervades the album that followed sees the separation between his art and reality at the narrowest it has ever been. The songs from “Skeleton Tree” all but one feature in the set and the tragedy of their origin could make this a bleak and harrowing evening; in fact the opposite happens, building on the raw emotion of the music, Cave delivers a show that is uplifting and life affirming.

"All the things we love, we lose” Cave sings on “Anthrocene”, the sparse jazzy rumination on loss with which he opens. Seated at the front of the stage, he quietly half sings, half speaks the lyrics, the clarity of his voice and the emotional honesty of the words startling in an artist who is accustomed to disguising his meaning. Cave has been keen to distance his work from his grief but it is difficult to view “Jesus Alone” as anything other than highly personal and direct; how else to interpret "You fell from the sky and crash landed in a field” and the harrowing cry of grief “With my voice I am calling you”. Delicate percussion flits beneath the words, a few notes from the piano search for a melody and there is the odd hint of scratchy guitar but the main accompaniment is from the deep swells of bass, unnerving and desolate. With “Magneto” the sound is at its most stark adding a frightening intensity to the anger he feels when words of condolence from a well-wisher make him consider whether he has become a figure of pity. There is only so long, however, that this brooding intensity can keep the fury in check and with “Higgs Boson Blues” it is finally unleashed, Cave prowling very front of the stage, staring at the audience so that arms reach upwards and hands stretch out towards him. He teases, staying just out of reach until, with arms below him stretched to the limit, he leans forward and lets them bear him, half crowd surfing, words directed straight at the person standing just behind those supporting him. From Robert Johnson’s encounter with the devil via the motel room where Martin Luther King was assassinated to Miley Cyrus floating in a swimming pool, high and low culture, significant and insignificant events, entwined in their fate, a God particle to determine their path. Once released, The Bad Seeds, are formidable, “From Her to Eternity”, is frightening; sharp, irregular and discordant whilst the ferocity of “Tupelo” is suitably apocalyptic.

The storm subsides; wonderful harmonies enhance the beautiful melody of “The Ship Song” which is followed by a sublime “Into My Arms”, a simple ode to love done, it appears, without a hint of irony. The pain, however, returns, unbearable on the repeated plaintive cry of “nothing really matters any more” from “I Need You” whilst “Girl in Amber” again shows that the consoling words of others offer no respite. Having once again taken us to the depths, the single bell that introduces “Red Right Hand” provides the relief and is magnificent. Seeing a girl sitting on the shoulders of the person with her, Cave approaches her, raising his hand but keeping a small gap between the ends of his fingers and hers. For a while they look at each other, the words of the song directed straight at her and adapted to take into account the person bearing her weight. Then another ferocious outbreak of noise breaks the moment before the story can continue, a incredible and magnetic stage presence impeccably controlled. The vicious urgency of “The Mercy Seat” is similarly stunning but the final two songs manage to find their way into even the hardest of hearts. The soothing organ gives “Distant Sky” a weightlessness, enhanced by the celestial voice of Else Torp whose image appears on the backdrop. “They told us our gods would outlive us; But they lied”; the moment at which all hope has been lost but Torp’s calming voice begins to offer reassurance; “See the sun, see it rising; See it rising, rising in your eyes”. With “Skeleton Tree” there is finally a path forward, the grief may not be over, there is no set time beyond which you emerge fully recovered but the darkness has gained some definition, an acceptance of the different way in which life will go on, “And it's alright now”.

The stage invasion started during “The Weeping Song”; hordes clambering to find somewhere to stand obscuring the band for most of the encores. Cave himself, however, had left, heading out into the audience and climbing the aisles in the tiered seating at the side. “Stagger Lee” saw him move to the other side, stopping about half way along the hall to deliver the savage vocal. Finishing with “Push the Sky Away”’ he gets those on the stage to crouch so that he can introduce the Bad Seeds who have been in blistering form all night, an extraordinary end to what had been an extraordinary concert. Whilst Cave’s music is something I have listened to since he was in The Birthday Party and I have several of his albums sitting at home, I have never seen him live before which has always made me more of an admirer than a fan. Talking to a couple before the concert, they remarked that now in their late fifties they are making up for lost time, taking the opportunity to see the acts that have been there through their life while they still can. I nodded in agreement with this, I have certainly had the opportunity to see Cave before but for one reason or another have never taken it. Part of the reason for this is that he rarely seems to venture into the West Midlands so when the Nottingham date was announced it was right to take the plunge. Having do so, I made the transition to fan, the songs are intelligent, emotional and thought provoking whilst remaining hugely entertaining, the Bad Seeds provide tight and inventive backing and Cave can command a huge arena with the the same magnetic charisma as Springsteen or Bowie. If my first concert had been back in the eighties then I could have become completely obsessive, a fan the like of which Cave already seems to possess in abundance. Maybe then, both for my sake and for his, it was right to bide my time.