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#s. ► ❝ they say love is pain well let’s hurt tonight ❞ ┈ & mordred / fateweary
archivednimueries · 5 years
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The kiss is sweeter than sin and fiercer than temptation. I am not gentle, I am not kind; I am rough and wild and savage. I bite, I nip, I lick, I devour. I want and I want and I want and I want. I hold nothing back. [ x ]  // But who is the lamb and who is the knife? @fateweary
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generallynerdy · 5 years
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Our Little Secret Part 9 (Merlin & Child!Reader, Mordred X Reader)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
Summary: Despite the fact that Uther’s ghost is temporarily freed from the spirit world, there are bigger problems in Camelot. Mordred and (Y/N) have just been discovered-- and a few people are furious.
Key: (Y/N) - your name
Warnings: violence, choke holds, murder threats (probably joking but you never know), fluff, implied do-the-do, innuendos?
Word Count: 1,915
Note: lil short but it’s fun. sorry for inactivity, i’m at a competition rn.
The anniversary of Arthur’s coronation was always difficult for all parties. The king was grieving while his people attempted to celebrate, especially the knights. They held a large feast every year to celebrate and honour their king, but he was often times absent. He was grieving for Uther, as it was also the anniversary of his death.
Mordred and (Y/N) sat by each other during the meal, discreetly holding hands under the table. They had yet to share their little secret with the others and intended to keep it that way for a while.
“He’s always like this at the anniversary of his coronation,” said Elyan on Mordred’s other side.
Mordred glanced between him and Arthur at the head of the table. “I thought it was a cause for celebration.”
Elyan sighed. “It is. But it’s also the anniversary of Uther’s death.”
When he turned back to the food, satisfied that he’d said all he needed to, Mordred turned to (Y/N). “Did you ever know Uther?”
“Not personally, no, thank God,” she muttered. “He was everything they said about him; cruel, stubborn. But I know he loved Arthur with all his heart.”
“I don’t think that love excuses his actions,” Mordred whispered harshly.
(Y/N) shook her head. “You’re right, it doesn’t. But it does give Arthur a right to grieve tonight.”
“Hey!” came a shout from the end of the table. It was Sir Gwaine, slightly tipsy. “What are you two whispering about?”
“Just the spiders we put in your pillow!” (Y/N) answered before Mordred could stutter a reply. “Nothing to worry about!”
The other knights roared with laughter as Gwaine threw an apple at her, which she went to dodge. Unfortunately, she didn’t have to, as Mordred’s head blocked the projectile directly. The others laughed and she had to admit she did a little, too.
“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” she giggled.
He shrugged, a dorky smile on his face. “Maybe just a little.”
The day after the feast, neither (Y/N) nor Mordred had duties until the late afternoon. So, they both slept in. They had never shared a bed before, but chose that particular night to do so, unfortunately for the both of them.
The morning was quite nice. They both woke early, but ignored the sunlight coming in through the window. Instead, Mordred and (Y/N) drowsily held each other, snuggling deeper into the blankets. Perhaps they spoke in hushed tones every once in a while, but most of the time was spent in silence, both of them dozing away occasionally.
The afternoon was beginning to dawn upon them when (Y/N) opened her eyes with the intent to actually get up for the day. Her awakening was peaceful, feeling Mordred rest his arms around her and the sun streaming in. Well, it was peaceful until something struck the door repeatedly, making a clanging sound.
“Damn it,” (Y/N) muttered, tumbling out of bed and rushing to put on a shirt that lied on the head of the bed. “One moment!”
The clanging sounded like armour, so she assumed it was one of the knights. That said, she could not have any of them knowing about Mordred until both of them were ready to say something. She rushed around the room, grabbing his clothes and putting the necessities on the bed beside his sleeping form before stuffing the rest in a chest in the corner of the room.
“Mordred. Mordred, get up. Someone’s here,” she whispered harshly to her companion, begging him to get up.
He did so in a rush as he came to and realised what was happening. Once he had a pair of pants on, he dashed against the wall where the door would hide him once opened, waiting for (Y/N) to get rid of the visitor.
The second (Y/N) opened the door, she regretted it. Instead of a person standing there, knocking violently on the door, pots and pans were being flung at it, slamming against the wood at full force. She let out a sort of semi-scream and backed away when the door was entirely forced open. Mordred and herself snapped into action, grabbing their swords, though the person causing the disruption couldn’t be seen.
However, (Y/N)’s half hearted cry drew attention from the knights nearby in the armoury, which was attached to the knights’ quarters. One might think the assistance would be a good thing, until one noticed that Mordred was still in (Y/N)’s room and still shirtless.
When Sirs Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, and Leon finally discovered the source was coming from down the hall, they deflected pots and pans before chasing the cause. All went silent and they returned to the room, befuddled that no one had been found. Everyone sighed in relief, especially Mordred and (Y/N).
“What was that?” The latter asked.
Percival sighed. “Probably someone messing around. Bastard ran off before we could catch him.”
(It was later revealed to (Y/N) by Gaius that Uther’s ghost had been released from the spirit world by Arthur and was attacking her and Mordred because they were against everything he stood for when he ruled. This revelation brought her no relief, seeing as the damage it had done to her and Mordred’s little secret was worse than what the ghost itself had done.)
Suddenly, Elyan let out a shout. “My God!”
The others looked at him questioningly, only to see him staring at Mordred with wide eyes. Mordred flushed red instantly and (Y/N) felt her heart drop, cursing under her breath when Elyan looked toward her, too.
“What?” Leon asked, tilting his head.
“Do none of you see this!?” Elyan nearly squeaked. “I can’t be the only one!”
Percival looked him up and down worriedly. “See what? Are you alright?”
“You’re missing a shirt,” Gwaine muttered, frowning at Mordred. He then looked at (Y/N). “He was in your room.”
“I ran here when I heard her screaming,” Mordred quickly answered. “I sleep shirtless, so what?”
“THEN EXPLAIN WHY (Y/N) IS WEARING YOUR SHIRT!” Elyan screeched.
From there, everything erupted into chaos. Gwaine burst into laughter. It was heavy, tear-jerking laughter that no one paid any attention to, because Elyan tried to get his hands around Mordred’s throat. Percival held him back with relative ease while Mordred backed away, fear in his bright eyes at the furious little knight. Leon was red with pure embarrassment, listening to (Y/N) as she attempted to explain herself to him, her oldest friend of the knights.
Unfortunately for Percival, Elyan was a slippery little snake.
“Ow! Christ!” The gentle giant screamed as his tiny friend scratched at his face and ducked around him to get to Mordred.
“Sh--”
Mordred’s curse was cut off by his own feet as he ran around the other side of Percival and out of (Y/N)’s bedroom.
And thus a procession began. Mordred led it, chased by Elyan, who was a mere few feet behind him. (Y/N) followed directly behind them, shouting at Elyan to leave poor Mordred alone. Percival, Gwaine, and Leon struggled to keep up with the three, considering they were all smaller and largely faster than them, but they managed.
“I’LL KILL YOU!” Elyan screamed at Mordred. “I’LL KILL YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
They managed so until (Y/N) caught up with Elyan right in front of the throne room doors, tackling him to the ground with a shout. The others caught up, making sure Mordred was okay and warning (Y/N) not to hurt her victim so much.
She had just got him into a choke hold, his face against the ground, when the throne room doors burst open and four people walked out. The knights of Camelot all looked up with wide and guilty eyes as their King, Queen, Court Physician, and Court Jester caught them all in such a predicament. Of course, the court jester was just Merlin, but that’s what they liked to joke he was.
“What the devil is going on?” Arthur questioned, furrowing his eyebrows at all of them. His gaze lingered a moment on Mordred before shifting to (Y/N) and Elyan.
Gwen scoffed. “Elyan, what did you do?”
“Nothing! This morning--” He started, but (Y/N) tightened her grip around his neck with her arms.
She growled down at him. “Say anything and I’ll kill you, I swear it.”
“What are they on about?” Arthur asked the other three before looking to Mordred. “And why aren’t you dressed?”
Unfortunately for perhaps all parties involved, Elyan was a stubborn bastard.
“MORDRED SPENT THE NIGHT IN (Y/N)’S ROOM!” He cried, crying out in pain when (Y/N) dug her elbow into his back.
She hissed. “Elyan, you little--”
“He what!?” Merlin instantly reeled.
“Everyone just calm down--” Leon attempted, but was instantly interrupted when Merlin took steps toward Mordred.
He laughed darkly. “No, I think Elyan’s right! I think I should kill you!”
“Merlin, I swear,” Mordred said, trying to begin an explanation, trying to defend himself.
However, Arthur stepped in, separating the two with his arms outstretched. He stopped them from killing each other and nodded toward (Y/N). “Let Elyan go. And you two, stop it.”
They all did as he said, though Merlin looked like he wanted to leap right over Arthur’s arms and strike Mordred down where he stood. (Y/N) kicked Elyan in the shin as he stood, which made Gwaine snort as the man whimpered, but soon walked over to Mordred, standing firmly beside him.
“Is it true?” Merlin asked her. “He was in your room?”
“It shouldn’t matter to you!” She huffed.
Arthur sighed. “Alright, alright, drop it.” He looked at Merlin. “Merlin, it seems to me that this is their business. Nobody should get killed over it.”
“You’re serious?” Merlin let his jaw fall agape with betrayal.
Arthur cleared his throat. “They’re both consenting adults and it’s none of our business who they spend their time with.” He then looked to Mordred. “Though I should warn you, Mordred, that we all think of (Y/N) as a sister and if you do so much as make her cry...I will toss you in a cell and throw away the key.”
Mordred searched the king’s face for any sign of jest, but could find none and gulped. (Y/N) glared at both Arthur and Merlin, the latter of whom wore a victorious smile.
(Y/N) let out a huff and grabbed Mordred’s hand, storming off with him in tow. The others watched them as they went, except Elyan, who whimpered in his bruised suffering. Gwen gave him no pity, claiming that he had brought it onto himself, spilling (Y/N)’s secret like that. Meanwhile, Gwaine was in hysterics and Percival attempted to quiet him, but to no avail.
“That was the funniest thing I have ever seen,” he gasped.
Percival sighed. “You’re not the least bit worried for (Y/N)?”
“No, she can take care of herself,” Gwaine said, waving him off. “If he hurts her, we’ll just kill him. He’s outnumbered. And shirtless.”
That started up his laughter again, which echoed across the halls of Camelot. So, (Y/N) and Mordred had been caught. The knights were of no problem to them, nor were Arthur and Gwen. However, they had Merlin to worry about, because he did not trust Mordred one bit.
Merlin Tags: @pearlll09
Part 10
Masterlist
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dreamy--dolly · 5 years
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and i’m home
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angsty gareval fic incoming
(again, i should clarify: ive played around w/ the ages so that gareth is only two years older than percival - percival’s about twenty in this fic, gareth about twenty two.)
Percival does not know who he expects to come to his side after the funeral.
He is not sure if he expects anyone at all. That isn’t Galahad that lies in the casket - eyes closed and skin too pale and dressed in black. Black does not suit him, it is too dark and dull. This is not the world he is supposed to live in, this is not the way Galahad is supposed to die - not only twenty years old to buried in the catacombs. He should be growing old and gray, dying after years of changing the world a little bit at a time.
It is hot and sunny when Percival steps outside. He does not want to see Lancelot’s face - he does not want to see a father mourn for a son that he may as well not even have. Lancelot was never Galahad’s father. He never acted like a father should, at least. But the world is a grotesque place, and people act and things happen the way they ought not to. Percival learned that, and wishes he didn’t.
It is Gareth who approaches him afterwards, who sits next to him outside. Gareth is the one to reach out and squeeze Percival’s hand - just two years older than him, twenty-two. He does not know Gareth very well, save for the fact that he is supposedly the kindest of the four brothers from far far away in Orkney.
“Left early?” Gareth says. He speaks in code, but Percival does not quite know how to respond.
Percival nods. “It was hot and stuffy in there.” He knows what he really means, though - the words translate to the fact that he could not bear to look at the face of a false father or the face of someone who was the only person who believed the world to be what Percival thought it was. 
He is not sure if Gareth understands the code he speaks in. He does not know what sort of world Gareth sees. He does not know if it is the same world he sees. But he at least has one person to help him stand again so he does not drown.
He has to tell himself that Gareth is not a second Galahad for him. Gareth’s hair is red like fire, while Galahad’s was blonde like gold. The way they are is different, too - Gareth’s more closed-off. He is not unkind, but he speaks as if his kindness is a conscious choice and not a product of wistful believing that the world is not the harsh place it is. But he is someone that will not force Percival back down to Earth with gravity, and that is something Percival likes about him.
He is not sharp-edged like his younger brother Mordred is, all steel eyes and cold words towards Percival - Mordred does not say a word, yet somehow Percival thinks that the words “It’s all your fault” are always on the tip of his tongue. As much as Percival wishes to not believe it, Mordred is right. It really is all his fault. Were it not for him, Galahad might not be far away in the catacombs.
Percival tries to pick up the broken pieces and carry on, but it is hard. Gareth helps him, yet the shards of what he once believed in still cut his hands. He is still known as Percival, the most gentle of Camelot’s knights, but it is not the same.
“You need to hold still.” Gareth frowns at him. They have returned from patrol tonight like they have on other knights, and have defeated the beast they sought but not without gaining fresh wounds in the process. Percival tells himself he should be used to the feel of pain by now, yet the cuts on his back and arms still sting.
“Sorry,” Percival says. Gareth takes a deep breath before he continues cleaning the blood away, and Percival flinches again, letting out a yelp.
“Damn!” he curses. “Can you just hold still for a moment?!”
And then Percival sees Mordred - Mordred silently asking him why he could not have changed a thing, even though he’s thought that there would be a way past that - and suddenly he would prefer the pain of fresh wounds he can’t completely tolerate to something like this. 
Percival does not know what Gareth sees, but whatever it is he sees makes his eyes widen. When he raises his hand Percival backs away and wishes that he had not.
“...Sorry,” Gareth says. “Shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
Percival shrugs. “‘S fine. I should’ve stayed still and not gotten upset.”
Gareth shakes his head. He picks at the thin string of his eyepatch.
“There’s nothing wrong in crying, you know. If something’s hurting, I don’t see the need to keep quiet about it.” He gives Percival a smile, something shining and soft against all the rough edges and harsh outlines. Percival smiles back at Gareth, and can only think about how they both know it’s not true.
There is still rust that tarnishes the metal, but it can still work even if the beauty it once held is gone.
It is Gareth who pulls him away and moves in for the kill. He’s crying and laughing all at once - Galahad, Mordred, disappointment, failure, hate, love, no more, no more, pain, pain - the words all flash and clatter around in his head and his heartbeat and sobbing and laughter all rattle in his eardrums. Percival is trapped in a bloody tandem of hacking, slashing and crying and laughing - he cries for what he cannot get back and laughs because the pain of it all is something that he can just push away if he tries hard enough. The sword feels too big in his hands and he thinks that maybe he’ll be torn to pieces by the beast, and since he cannot feel the pain right now he does not care.
And then Gareth pushes him out of the way and moves in for the kill, his sword slicing through the beast’s flesh in a single, nauseating stroke that leaves it torn in two.
Kay reaches out to touch Percival’s blood-coated shoulders, ready to haul him back. “Percy-”
“Please,” he begs now that he does not have the hunt to take it all away, “Don’t touch me.”
Kay opens his mouth to respond but Gareth is the one who speaks up. His armor and sword are splattered red in the feeble torchlight.
“I’ll bring him back,” he says. Gareth lifts Percival off the ground and into his arms. “He’s exhausted and wounded - he needs to heal.”
Percival rests his head against Gareth’s chest as he is carried back, letting the quiet and constant beating of his heart occupy the silence that was once a chaotic symphony of things he shouldn’t have had to hear. There are stars out tonight, faint and glimmering in the near black sky. He’s got scratches and cuts all over him and if it weren’t for that one question he has on his mind he might just close his eyes and fall asleep here and now.
“Why are you so nice to me?”
No response, and Percival wonders if Gareth didn’t hear him.
“I try to show kindness to everyone,” he says. “Besides, you’re kind and you deserve kindness in return.”
“I don’t,” Percival says.
“Why not?”
Because I’m weak, he thinks, And I keep dwelling on the past long after I should stop thinking about it and just let it fade to memory. Because I’m stupid for thinking the fairy tales I grew up on were something real, something tangible. Because your brother hates me for not being good enough and he’s right.
But all of that can’t possibly be the right answer. He fumbles for a moment. “Because-”
“Well you’re wrong. Because you do deserve kindness. And I’ve already said why.”
Percival doesn’t know what to say. So he lets his eyelids droop and he dreams of struggling against the current of a river, struggling to stay afloat.
Gareth hands him a pear: Pockmarked, yellow-green, sinking a little when Percival presses his fingers too deep against it.
“Thought you might be hungry.”
Gareth always eats his food, Percival notices, as if he’ll never eat again. Crunching past the thin skin of the pear and tearing through the soft white flesh of the fruit underneath. It’s almost animalistic, and he has seen the look in Gareth’s eyes and the way his fist clenches when someone at the dining hall tosses their saliva-covered food to the ground.
He takes a bite and even though the fruit is bruised it is soft and sweet.
“Thank you.”
They eat in silence for a few moments. Summer is coming to an end; red and brown replace the green of the scenery, and the humidity dries away.
“You seem happy,” Gareth tells him. “I’m glad.”
“What makes you think I haven’t been happy?”
He and Gareth both know - because he’s still chasing after a dream that’s long been proven to only be a dream, because he still sees a glint of gold amidst the red that he shouldn’t see after all this time.
“I don’t know. But you seem so… relaxed now, so at ease. I’m glad.”
Then he leans over to press a sticky, pear-flavored kiss to Percival’s forehead. Warmth engulfs him in the coming chill of autumn.
“Hope that you really are happy.”
And for a little while after that, they are stolen kisses and wet leaves crunching under boots in autumn. There is something that they have and while it isn’t the dream Percival clung to for so many years, there is at least something tangible that he can hold onto in the waking world. Water may fill their lungs and they may drown in the river, but they’ll go down together. The hole in Percival’s heart is still there, seams jagged and unable to mend, but they are trying. At least they’re trying to mend what cannot be.
“D’you think Mordred hates me?”
They lie together at the crackling fire. They forgot the blankets, so Gareth spreads his cloak over the both of them, and if they can’t fall asleep they can at least gaze up at the bits and pieces of the night sky they can see through the maze of trees.
“I don’t think so. He’s sort of withdrawn, but I wouldn’t say he hates you.”
“Withdrawn” isn’t the word Percival would use to describe what he’d heard from Mordred’s mouth. Withdrawn does not capture the mutters of “It’s all your fault” and “You’re so weak” and “You are nothing” that sometimes he hears and sometimes he can almost hear. Withdrawn does not describe the icy cold Percival feels wash over him with Mordred.
“You’re certain? Because sometimes he’ll… talk to me and it seems like he does. He says things that I think are meant to hurt me, but I can’t say for sure. The thing is though, I still want to give him a chance, and I don’t want to hate him. But he still keeps saying those things.”
Gareth sits up. The warmth of the cloak is leached from Percival’s body.
“He doesn’t talk much about you. I didn’t know he says these sorts of things to you, and-”
“Really, it’s not something to worry about, not something you should-”
Gareth sighs and lies back down. “He’s far away from here, so you’re right. But when we get back I’m going to have to talk to him. I don’t understand why he hates you so much, or at least why he acts like does from what you said. It’s unfair. It’s no one’s fault, I thought things were at least stable for now. And yet he’s my brother - my little brother wouldn’t say or do those things. He’s just quiet and would rather not say a thing at all.”
He curls an arm around Percival, shifting under his cloak. “For now, though… I don’t know who to believe.”
Again, Percival cannot tell what is a dream and what is real. He can’t tell if it’s real or not when he finally returns all the kisses Gareth’s given him before, lifting his hair out of his face to press his lips to his forehead. Gareth never touches Percival’s lips - they both know why - but this is enough.
“Enough. We’re tired. Rest.”
He falls asleep tangled in Gareth’s arms that night. Or maybe he’s awake. Again, he does not know.
Gareth throws the letter into the fire when Percival sees him. They both watch the flames swallow up the crumpled paper, and it sinks into the ashes.
“I can’t do it,” Gareth declares. His voice is quiet and cracking. “I can’t betray the man who knighted me - the man who trained me-”
“Lancelot?”
“Him and the queen - Mordred and Agravaine told me - they want me to tell the king - I can’t, I can’t-”
He pulls Percival close and embraces him as if he will slip away under dark waters if he lets go. Percival knows the cold glares of Lancelot and how he’s drowning in his presence, knows a father that really isn’t a father. He thought that it was all Lancelot’s fault that his own son died, because he treated him as if he was never a son to him but a burden that weighed too heavy on his back. He still thinks that, but it is less knowledge and more thought. For if Gareth goes through and gives out the whole truth then Lancelot will be killed and the queen burned to ashes at the stake - even with what Percival knows of Lancelot, he does not want him dead.
“What are you going to do?” He says. There are tears wet on his shirt - Gareth’s tears. He’s never seen Gareth cry before now.
Gareth pulls away. His nose is red and his one eye blinks, watery and dull. “I won’t tell. I’m going to warn Lancelot - he ought to know. I don’t want him dead. I can’t bring myself to be the one with blood on my hands.”
Then he takes Percival back into his arms. “I don’t want to lose you, either. Let’s just run away - there’s no Grail to worry about, we can just leave and never come back, can’t we?”
They have nowhere to go. Percival’s dreams have taken hold of Gareth, again making them drift farther and farther away from what is real and plausible in the river’s current.
“We can’t. You can just warn Lancelot. We’ll stay here. We’ll deal with Mordred.”
He closes his eyes. He does not know how they will pick up the broken pieces and try to fix them - Lord knows if they even can - but there’s a tiny, flickering flame that won’t be snuffed out that says they can. They can fix this without any blood being shed.
Gareth kisses him, and it’s on the lips this time. He’s taller and rougher than Galahad, but he isn’t the thorns that make him bleed like Mordred does. He’s the leaves of the flower, not quite the soft petals but not as prone to tearing or bruising. Then he pulls away.
“Sorry, but I was worried I wouldn’t get to… kiss you like that.”
Percival leans up. Even though Gareth has pulled away, the feel of his lips still buzz on his. He ruffles Gareth’s faded red hair.
“It’s okay. Really, it is. I liked it.”
And then they are drowning again, and they wonder if there’s really a way to fight the river’s current before the end of it all.
They say nothing about the kiss, but they speak one last time.
Even though Percival’s legs struggle to support his body and the blood stains his cothes, he still drags Gareth away from it all as much as he can. He feels the blood dripping down his mouth, feels the ragged cut underneath his shirt that’s Mordred’s reminder of what he deserves. He remembers Mordred pulling out his sword amidst the chaos, and while he said nothing this time he knows. He knows that Gareth saying he could not bring himself to speak out of the person who’d trained him for all those years is what led Mordred to this, for how could his own brother pick the one responsible for it all over him?
They’re drowning and it isn’t a dream. It’s real. But they’ll be pulled into the watery depths together, at least.
He collapses at last and knows he will not get up. At least he stares up at the rising of the sun in its glory of reds and oranges and yellows cooling into blue. At least he will not die and fall into the dizzying abyss of stars.
“Are… are you alright?” Gareth’s voice is creaky at his side.
This is how it ends. He covers the blood soaking through his armor and reaches over to pat Gareth’s bloodied hand. Then he grabs hold of it, for it will be the last thing he feels.
“I’m alright. We won. It’s going to be alright.”
Gareth smiles at him, teeth coated with blood.
“I’m so glad… Wake me up when we get back, okay?”
They’re both lying to each other. But this is like the old days of playing pretend when they didn’t know. So Percival pretends that it is the truth, that they will wake up this time even though the darkness clouds his vision and the dull pain in his stomach is pulling him down.
“I’ll wake you up. I promise.”
And then he pulls Gareth into the waters with them. They’re sucked into a dream one last time. He plays pretend with someone else. 
Things aren’t going to change now that in death they’ve left it all behind.
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archivednimueries · 6 years
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●●●  ❝ this is where we’re supposed to be ❞  ⚔  Nimue && Mordred
i don’t think anyone has ever loved anyone the way i love you  // HD IS YOUR BEST FRIEND
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archivednimueries · 6 years
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DYNASTY ► nim & mordred
thought we built a dynasty that heaven couldn't shake thought we built a dynasty like nothing ever made thought we built a dynasty forever couldn't break up
❝ Nim, don’t do this. ❞
Blue-violet eyes flutter to a close, shoulders defiantly squared despite her inability to turn around and face the owner of that damnably tragic voice. It’s not cowardice, she’s told herself time and time again, it’s self-preservation. On the inside, Nimue is breaking into a thousand little pieces with only her strength of will to save her from giving way, from tumbling over the edge of oblivion and allowing the great, dark sea that is Gwydion - her Gwydion - to swallow her better judgment and wash all her rationality away.
Of course, she’d known that he would never be able to let her go on her own.
❝ Pelleas is a fine man --- a good man. ❞ She echoes to him the mantra that has played been played incessantly on repeat in her own mind. The derisive scoff that sounds off behind her is answer enough. ❝ He will make a good husband. ❞
❝ I thought that was supposed to be me? ❞
❝ You thought wrong. ❞
❝ YOU ARE MINE! ❞
His hand all but scorches the flesh her shoulder, nails digging in as she’s forced to turn around meet his feral gaze. There’s so much in those dark eyes of his --- anger, betrayal, pain...and that one truly damned emotion that eludes him whenever the words ought to be spoken. The blonde doesn’t bother attempting a denial; she can’t bring herself to utter such a blatant lie. Nimue belongs to him, it’s true --- she has always belonged to him in some way, for as long as she cares to remember.
But, it’s not enough. Not anymore.
❝ And if I don’t marry him? ❞ She bats his hand away angrily, meeting with fire with fire now that the battlefield has been created between their warring eyes. ❝ What then, Gwydion? Will we run away together, you and I? Will we live happily ever after? Does Cornwall await us once more? ❞ 
❝ Yes! Once I --- ❞ 
❝ Once you kill Arthur? Yes Gwydion, I know, I know. ❞ 
The stricken look on his face hurts her more than words can say, twisting in her chest like the hard edge blade of a knife. In that moment she almost relents --- almost falls into his orbit and wraps her arms around him, begging forgiveness for having ever thought to leave. Gwydion needs her, she knows. He relies on her loyalty, the weight of her lifting him up by those shoulders that carry the burdensome weight of the world. 
❝ You don’t believe I can do it? ❞
❝ No one on this earth believes in you more than I do, Gwydion! ❞
❝ Then why? ❞
❝ I will not stand idly by and watch you kill yourself! ❞ Her hands fly to her mouth as if covering her parted lips will somehow shove the words back in and silence them from hearing. She swallows thickly, taking an uneven step backward in the face of his advance. 
❝ Should I wait then for him to die, Nim? ❞ He asks, and not for the first time, the priestess finds herself frightened by Gwydion’s intensity. His hatred for Arthur - for Camelot and the rest - emanates from him like a fever, a contagious sickness that only threatened to spread. He meant to silence her argument with his loathing, with the bitterness that the world had thrust upon him.
❝ Should I wait for you to die as well? ❞ She tosses back defiantly, shoulders squaring once more in preparation for the storm to come.
❝ MY BROTHER IS DEAD! ❞
❝ AS IS MINE! ❞
❝ EXACTLY! YOU SHOULD BE ON MY SIDE! ❞
❝ I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN ON YOUR SIDE! ❞
❝ YES, BECAUSE MARRYING THAT PATHETIC WHELP IS THE ULTIMATE SIGN OF LOYALTY! ❞ 
The impact of her hand against the side of his face reverberates through her bones, shaking her all the way to her soul. Nimue can feel the hot tears of anger forming at the corners of her eyes, threating to spill over as she looks on Gwydion with a torturous mixture of sadness and contempt. Instead of letting her arm fall back to her side, she brings up the other, holding him still while cradling his face between her palms.
❝ There is nothing that I would not have done for you. ❞ She insists, refusing to allow him to do anything in that moment but listen - for once - to the words she has to say.  ❝ I have stood at your side, I have held you in the darkest moments of your life --- all without a word, all without a single complaint. Now, I’ve watched you distance yourself from me; I’ve watched you create this space between us in your pursuit of death and destruction. ❞
❝ No - ❞
❝ I MADE THE CHOICE TO LIVE FOR YOU, GWYDION! ❞ She cuts off his argument, blonde hair falling over her shoulders with the sharp shaking of her head. ❝ Can’t you do the same for me? ❞
❝ AFTER ARTHUR - ❞
❝ NO, GWYDION! HERE! NOW! ❞ Her lips crash into his as if her kiss might breathe life into the boy. Everything that she has, she gives to him --- all the words left unspoken between them, those ‘I love you’s that they were both too cowardly to lay out in the open.
❝ Nim, don’t do this. ❞ He pleads again, breathless as his hands tangle in her moonspun tresses. It’s hard to say if the wetness on his cheeks is from her tears or his. ❝ Nim, don’t marry him. Don’t. ❞
❝ Leave with me, Gwydion. ❞ She begs back, nails dragging through the coarse hairs at the nape of his neck. If she pushes herself any further into his chest they’ll become a mess of a creature, sharing the same wretched, beating heart.  ❝ Live with me. ❞ 
Desperately, they cling to one another --- pretending for a moment that their answers are exactly what they want to hear...that this embrace won’t be their last. Silently, wordlessly, they say all that they have to. // @fateweary
all I gave you is gone...
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archivednimueries · 6 years
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●●●  ❝ the other side ❞  ⚔  Nimue && Mordred ( @fateweary )
i don’t want to know who we are without each other, it’s just too hard. // HD IS YOUR BEST FRIEND
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archivednimueries · 6 years
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The weather outside is frightful but the fire is so delightful. ➝  nimue + mordred ( @fateweary ) + instagram + winter aesthetic
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archivednimueries · 6 years
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tag dump o4.
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