#arthur says “in all ways but one he was a man of honour”

[adhd-merlin]

okay listen. arlance. arthur x lancelot. the sheer flavour is immaculate. the two bravest and most noble and most dedicated knights... kissing. a prince who pretended to be a commoner/an ordinary knight x a commoner who pretended to be a nobleman. arthur wishes he were as noble and pure of heart as lancelot, and lancelot wishes he were like arthur and of noble blood so he could serve camelot. the once and future king and the most devoted knight, who "wishes only to serve." the man who set out to close the veil and save camelot and the man who actually did it. they want each other as much as they want to be each other. they think the world of each other and the worst of themselves.

their love is courtly and romantic because they're both noble men who adhere to the knights' code. they share looks across the room, exchange pretty words, both too nervous to risk expressing their feelings in certain terms. arthur fears for uther's reaction and failing in his duty to camelot, and lancelot fears for burdening camelot and arthur with his love. they're both so repressed and yet wear their hearts on their sleeves and care so very deeply about those around them. they are kindred spirits and feel a deep rapport due to their similar natures and goals. they can communicate in a way that doesn't require words; just as well, because they so rarely truly express their feelings.

to arthur, lancelot is everything the knights' code stands for. to lancelot, arthur is the perfect man under which to serve. they idolise each other as saintly figures and secretly worship at the altar of the other. they see each other as truly deserving of happiness and will do anything in their power to deliver it to them.

okay to break the waxing of poetic, my favourite canon moments are just every interaction they have in 1x05. lancelot was arthur's bisexual awakening. the homoeroticism of their fights?? the way arthur trails the tip of his stick over lancelot's bare chest while tonguing his cheek when they fight in the streets? bro you're lucky lancelot thinks no one could ever love him COULD YOU BE MORE OBVIOUS??? the admiration arthur clearly has for lancelot after he beats him and becomes a knight, and when he kills the gryffin. arthur would fight his father tooth and nail to keep lancelot around. lancelot so clearly admires arthur and is willing to risk it all for him. i feel like arthur begins by just thirsting over lancelot, but by the time he's knighted, he truly likes him, and lancelot likes him back. not that they'd ever do anything about it. did you SEE arthur's expression when lancelot left? *bart simpson voice* you can actually pinpoint the second when his heart rips in half.

anyway arthur is in love with lancelot and wants to fuck him so bad but is far too guilty to act on any of it, especially the latter part. lancelot loves arthur as his liege and wishes to serve under him, and buries the part of himself that loves him as a person, too. they're a sad repressed duo how could anyone not love them.

tl;dr: arthur and lancelot want to crawl inside each other's skins and become each other and one being.

what a marvellous analysis, I've got nothing to add really

[polakina]

how they fuck you

red dead redemption headcanons #2

hc masterlist // masterlist

on my third playthrough of rdr2 and i cannot bring myself to play low honour. why do i put myself through this?

also this is ridiculously long, got a little carried away but i shall not apologise

rating: explicit

-

is always gentle with you at first

delicate touches, lingering kisses, gazing eyes at your every movement or ministration

"what do you want, mi amor? tell me"

loves to hear you beg for him, want him

it just turns him on even more

dirty talk through the ROOF

this man knows how to talk you through it

"fuck you feel amazing, hermosa. yeah, just like that, huh? anything for you"

will eat you out for days if he could

never really tried it before, even when he lived in Mexico, he never really gave it a go

but with you, he wanted to try everything. whatever you wanted, he was up for it

so when you first asked him, he was nervous as hell, but willing to try

he found out he loved it and does it every single fucking time he had you all to himself

buries himself between your thighs like a man starved, his arms wrapped tightly around your thighs to keep you still

his tongue worked fucking wonders on your pussy, knowing exactly where to focus his attention, loving how you always moaned a little softer when his tongue dipped inside your cunt

fucks you slow, savouring the moment when he can

loves to have you riding him. seeing you on top spurs something inside him

his hands grip your waist fiercely, guiding your hips to grind against him, pulling sweet, elicit moans from your throat

loves to cut your clothes from your body with his knife

it's so much more satisfying than just taking them off with his hands

kinda likes quickies. prefers taking his time but there's something about pulling you away for a few minutes to have his way with you behind the protection of a tree or something that he loves

usually happens out on missions, so there's risk of the gang seeing you guys, but what's life without a little risk?

you could be on watch beside your tent while everyone sleeps, and javier will come over to keep you company

but it doesn't take long for his hand to slip into your pants as he whispers all sorts of things in your ear as he sits behind you while you try and continue your watch duty

was terrible at aftercare before, never really understood the in's and out's of it

but learned eventually with you, when you explained it to him

now he's at your beck and call whenever you need it

wear this man's hat around camp and that's all he needs to pull you to a secluded tent

but wear it while you fuck him? arthur would die happy in that exact moment

likes to call you 'cowgirl' when you ride him. you always roll your eyes at how stupid it sounds, but it doesn't stop him

the two of you don't have all the time in the world. being one of dutch's most trusted members, he's needed away from camp a lot more than anyone else

so you've both learned the art of being fast

and it doesn't take long for him to make you cum

never asks for them, but loves blowjobs

he likes to draw in his tent when he's got time to himself, so when he sees you come in and sink to your knees in between his lap, he can't think of a better sight

the absolute king of praises (have you heard how he talks to his horse?? imagine him talking to a woman oml)

not a fan of degrading, he never saw the appeal, but uses other methods to 'punish' you

"what do you want, darlin?" he'd say as he's fucking you from behind, your face pressed into the pillow to stifle your moans, your ass in the air held up by his hands on your hips. "oh babygirl, you wanna cum, huh? then you can beg me for it, can't you?"

will edge you for days

especially when he knows he's going to be away for a few days afterwards

definitely grabs the headboard

mainly for his own stability to be able to thrust into you harder as you moan his name into the room

has his hands on you at all times

holding your hands above your head by your wrists, holding your face against the mattress with his hand on the back of your neck, curling his fingers in your hair and gently yanking your head back when he pounds into you

when you do get a night away from camp, he wants to make it last the whole night

takes his time with you to the point where he's practically teasing you for hours

takes his time undressing you, kissing every part of your body, touching every part of you until his fingerprints were practically imprinted into your skin

give this man some guidance or it's like walking through a maze blindfolded

learned a lot with you

figured out really quick what you liked and what you didn't like, what places he could touch you that would send your head spinning

this eventually led him to learn how to be very sneaky in public

he could touch you in such simple places, in such an innocent way that no one else would think anything of it

but you'd know, and you wouldn't stop it

you like the way he touched your neck? he was all over that shit, cupping your cheek, his fingers tickling your neck

you liked his hands in your hair? his fingers tangled at the base of your neck, pulling your hair slightly to tease you

his hand would rest on your thighs, fingers slowly creeping up your thigh while you were all sat around the campfire

you'd always give him a little glare, which he would ignore, a goofy smirk on his face

and the way he fucked you was no different

he had mastered the art of teasing your body and your limits, and put that knowledge in every time he had you alone

"come on, marston. stop teasin' me like this"

he'd always smirk, working his way down your body in a painfully slowly manner

"i'm takin' my time with you, sweetheart. you just lay back and relax. lemme take care of you"

loved to make you feel good before he even thought about himself

but when he was too pent up, he came a lot quicker than he wanted

but he made up for it when tending to you afterwards until you were practically pushing him away, too sensitive for his expert fingers

not the best at going down on you, but makes up with experience

but what he's really good with is his hands

his fingers

they know exactly what they're doing when he pushes them inside your soaked pussy

curling at that devastating spot inside you that makes you crumble to your knees

loves to be on top of you, seeing your face contort when he pushes inside you slowly, deeply

he's basic, a lover of missionary, but seeing your face and watching your body writhe under his grip is really what turns him on

[messrmoonyy]

- Arthur Morgan hcs ( high honour vs low honour ) 18+

HH!Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader / LH!Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Request- LOVE your writing, can we get a high honor vs low honor Arthur in bed? HAVE A LOVELY DAY :D

A/N- ty to the anon for requesting this, I’m in one of those ruts where I’m struggling to write one shots more than like a few sentences here and there or hating everything and restarting a million times lol. So a HC request was a nice way to get me writing without thinking too hard 😭💀. I will say I have never and could never play low honour. So if it’s inaccurate well… it’s fanfiction. This is basically soft vs rough Arthur lmao

Masterlist

•Low honour•

- He’s a slightly selfish lover. If he comes first then he doesn’t particularly care if you haven’t

- Likes to use his size to his advantage. Hes taller. Heavier. Wider. Likes when he can pin you down and put his weight on you, trapping you in place. Size kink goes crazy

- Which also leads into his love of choking. And hair pulling. He just likes to manhandle you , he likes that he’s so much bigger and can just like… toss you around a bit. He likes knowing he can wrap his hand around your throat and have your literal life in his hands, and you just willingly let him.

- Of course he’s far tougher and rougher. HH!Arthur will spend ages working you up and relaxing you and making you come in the most blissfully world shattering way. LH!Arthur just wants to see how many times he can make you finish before you pass out

- OR. If he’s feeling particularly dickish. He’ll just edge you. For hours. Days. Simply because he thinks it’s funny. And he’s a jerk.

- Prone bone is one of his favs. He can trap you in place, press your face into his pillow and go to town.

- lip biter. Absolutely will tug your bottom lip between his teeth mid make out

- Possessive. Likes leaving hickeys all over you. Especially where others can see them. And he doesn’t like you hiding them either. He wants people to know you’re his

- He’ll praise you but it’s usually pretty degrading too. Like think ‘ who’s my good lil whore, hm? ‘

- Loveeeessssssss You giving him head. Loves it. And will actively ask for it unlike HH!Arthur

- The sloppier the better, roughly fucking himself into your mouth until you gag and choke and urging you to keep going? Yeah he loves that shit. ‘ that’s it. Good girl choke on it ‘ ‘ you can do better than that princess ‘

- DARE I SAY IT. DARE I SAY LH!ARTHUR HAS A GUN KINK. CAUSE- cue my silent war flashbacks to that one Tess gun kink fic I wrote.

- Ass man. Will smack it and grab it every chance he gets. Whether it’s in the bedroom or not.

- Finishes on your face, tits,ass. Likes the look of it it fills some possessive desire inside him. Like he’s marking you.

- And he ain’t tryna get you pregnant

- he may be an absolute dick but he does give you some aftercare. He’s not the cuddly type. But he’ll help you clean up and kiss you, tell you you did a good job. He’ll always make sure you’re doing okay because he loves you

•High honour•

- Treats you like you’re delicate. Even if he knows you’re not. He’s tender. Gentle. He worships you. There is not a single inch of skin unkissed, caressed. Loved.

- He always wants you to come first. And multiple times too. But in a different way to LH!Arthur. He doesn’t want to overstimulate you he just wants to give. Hes such a giver. And he would happily spend an entire day with his head between your thighs if he could.

- Like. This man is a munch. He is. Argue with the wall. He is

- And he’s damn good at it. And thorough. Buries his damn face in you. And you’ve seen the size of his hands, those thick fingers of his make an appearance too. He knows your body well and can hit the perfect spot with practiced ease ‘ that’s it darlin, right there yeah?’

- He’s sloppy with it and he doesn’t care. If his beard isn’t glistening with you when he’s done then he didn’t do it right

- He likes missionary. So he can see your face and kiss you as much as he wants, he just loves to watch you. He likes to see the way he makes you feel, likes to watch the way your face twists and relaxes with the pleasure he gives you.

- Praise!!! So much praise!!!

- ‘Doin so fell f’me darlin takin me so well ‘ ‘ look so pretty like this ‘ ‘ eyes on me darlin, wanna see that pretty face when you come ‘

- Loves you playing/pulling his hair. Whether it’s when he’s got his head between your thighs or when he’s buried deep inside you and you’re desperately clawing at him. He loves it

- He’s a boobs typa guy. Loves to grab them and and suck on them, especially if you have your fingers running through his hair at the same time.

- He likes to finish inside despite the risk. But if not he’ll wait until the very last second and pull out, just spilling onto your stomach. He doesn’t wanna… defile you. You’re a precious creature worthy of being worshipped and desired, not treated like some cheap saloon girl.

- But deep down he wouldn’t even mind if you did get pregnant. He wants nothing more than to have a family with you one day.

- the sweetest aftercare. Cleans you up and helps you get dressed again. The act of dressing someone rather than undressing them is so intimate and he loves it.

- he’ll cuddle you and pet your hair, tell you how much he loves and adores you. How beautiful you are, how good you made him feel. He literally is a never ending fountain of praise.

[gd-dollopole]

Just wanted to point out how interesting the choice of the directors has been here:

to shift the camera to very specific people when Lancelot makes his speech as to why he wants to serve Arthur as a knight in the episode, “The coming of Arthur” (season 3, episode 12).

When Lancelot says, “Justice” and, “Honour”, the camera immediately shifts to Arthur. That’s what the king stands for. That’s why Lancelot and Gwaine and everyone else, although sceptical, decides to serve their king. For these are his values:

Although Lancelot says that Arthur has thought him to fight for freedom, which is in part true, since he had shown him kindness and strength and mercy, even against the strongest enemy, the moment Lancelot says it, he turns to Merlin:

and the camera shifts to him:

Merlin looks at Lancelot with hope in his eyes, for he sees the future Arthur might bring, for he knows Lancelot understands what this might mean and bring for him and his people too, for those with magic, and Lancelot is more than happy to see it through, and help him along the way, and if that means to serve Arthur, for Merlin to be free, Lancelot is more than willing to accept.

They both know something the others don’t:

Lancelot is serving Merlin too, without saying it, simply because he can’t. To Lancelot, it was Merlin who thought him the value of freedom and courage: “You’re the one Arthur should knight. You’re the bravest of us all, and he doesn’t even know.”

But most importantly and heartbreaking at the same time, it’s the end. Lancelot says, “And all that’s good”,

and the camera shifts to Guinevere:

The choice of words is interesting.

Guinevere is, “all that’s good”. If her and Lancelot has to be like Arthur and Merlin, then they really are, “two sides of the same coin”.

Guinevere is the one who reminded Lancelot to fight, to live better, because he deserves it, because he’s a good man, because he loves her like no one ever did. He was there for Guinevere since the first moment. But it’s also not only referred to Lancelot, isn’t it? After all, Guinevere is more than an attachment to another character.

Once again, Guinevere is all that’s good.

Gwen is what remains of Camelot’s growth.

She is the daughter of a Blacksmith.

She is not only vital for the city, but she was thought to be patient, kind, generous and to be helpful towards those in need. She helped Camelot’s citizens during the siege with Morgana by sharing food that she didn’t have, and she never asked for any later.

She forgave Arthur’s sins and mistakes, although that would have meant a life of perpetual loneliness and worry towards those she loved.

She could have betrayed Arthur and Camelot in a second, if it meant she would have lived, but she had preferred to lose her friend and to stand for what was right.

She fought for Camelot, for her friends, with a sword, with her words, against Agravaine, and even Uther. She never backed down, and by doing so, she was able to help her father, her brother.

Merlin’s loyalty is admirable, but so is Gwen’s.

She is, and always will be, “all that’s good.”

And Lancelot is ready to serve Camelot’s queen, even if he may not be her king. He loved her enough to be able to do that, they respected each other, and that was all they needed.

Lancelot is such a brilliant character.

Not only he shows what he stands for each episode he’s in, but he brings with him everything that he learned in the past episodes too.

I must admit that among each character in the show, Merlin and Arthur included, Lancelot is perhaps the most constant one.

He knows what his values are, and he knows who he has to thank for them.

And it’s bittersweet to know that he died too soon, that he wasn’t able to see, even if small, the actual change Arthur brought to his reign, that he couldn’t be there for Guinevere as a friend when she felt lonely as a queen, to help Merlin with his destiny when he felt hopeless thinking everything he had helped Arthur build may have fallen.

The directors knew what they were doing, and this is one of the many reasons this show attracts me completely.

It may be wrong under so many aspects, but the way the choices for the camera movements, the little facial features, along the dialogues were made, are such an important part of BBC Merlin that makes this TV show stand out amongst the rest, and it has to be appreciated.

[tongjaitongjai]

CrypticGod!Merlin and Worshipper aka fanboy Mordred CRACK AU - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Merlin learns that being a god in semi-mortal form is very difficult when having a strong follower like Mordred.

Mordred, like many who pray to their god as some kind of anchor, will often pray something along the lines of ‘Emrys, give me strength and courage’ or ‘Emrys, please be with me through this difficult time’ unconsciously.

Except, unlike the normies, his commitment and belief are EXTREMELY STRONG, so when he prays strong enough, HIS GOD ACTUALLY SHOWS UP:

Arthur, charging him during sparring: Come on, Mordred! You can do better than this!!

Mordred: (anxiously praying) Emrys helps me

Merlin, suddenly appears between Arthur and Mordred, with Arthur about to smash him with the sword: THE FUCK—

Obviously, he is banned from praying during sparring, but occasionally Merlin will still pop up out of nowhere when he is anxious, and the knights eventually have to get used to it:

Arthur: Today, the neighbouring kingdom’s knights will join us for the practice, and there will be some competitions. I hope all of you are ready to protect and uphold the honour of Camelot’s knights. Any defeat is unacc—-

Arthur:

Arthur: any defeat is understandable, for one must lose before learning true victory, so please don’t get too stressed, especially you, Mordred.

Mordred: How do you know I am stressed?

Gwaine, carrying Merlin, who pop up above his head the moment Arthur said ‘defeat’, on his neck : Yeah, I wonder how

As their relationship improves, the power of Mordred’s prayer gets stronger. Not only can Merlin feels his emotions and more in-depth thoughts through the prayer, it also affects Merlin’s power, in both endearing and also straight-up ridiculous ways.

Lancelot, whispers: You are very upset because of that Lord Asshole’s shitty comment toward the Druids, aren’t you.

Mordred, calm and composed: No, I am a knight of Camelot and a grown man, I will not be bothered by something so trivial. I am not upset at all.

Lancelot: You aren’t praying to Merlin now are you.

Mordred: How is that relevant?

Merlin: *BARGING INTO THE MEETING* *SHOOTING FIRE BEAMS FROM HIS EYE, DESTROYING THE PATH AS HE WALKS* *GRABBING LORD ASSHOLE BY A COLLAR THEN PROCEEDS TO GERMAN SUPLEX HIM ON THE TABLE*

Arthur, watching this happens for the third time this week:

Arthur: Mordred, we talked about this, you have to express your thoughts and feelings verbally, not by praying to Merlin

Merlin: Don’t force him Arthur! He will talk when he is ready!

Arthur: STOP SPOILING HIM YOU ARE JUST HAPPY YOU GET TO PUNCH NOBLES

Also, when he is extremely happy, he prays to Merlin as well, like ‘Thanks Emrys for all the good fortunes that happen to me today’

Elyan: Arthur complimented Mordred at training today didn’t he? Maybe saying something like ‘you are going to be one of Camelot finest knights soon’

Percival: How do you know??? you were not there today????

Elyan, watching Merlin’s skin glows, not even in an oh so beautiful ethereal way but like a radioactive sun way: It’s .. hard to miss…

The first time Mordred wins a tournament, Merlin radiates for three days straight. His voice also sounds godly with all the weirdly smooth echoes and harp melody complimenting his every word. Mordred is exhilarated. Arthur is going insane. Merlin finally officially bans Mordred from praying to him.

[saintsonnet]

please expand on the lancelot x gawain i keep seeing on your blog 🙏

okay sorry i took so long i decided to shower after you sent me this because i knew that if i started then i would never end up showering today. and then it was an unfinished routine so i had to lotion and brush my teeth and floss and do hair stuff too.

so, obviously, it's lancelot du lac and gawaine of orkney. both knights of the round table, etc etc. you know who they are. i hope. they're not exactly similar to their bbc merlin counterparts---lancelot is of noble birth in classic arthuriana, gawaine is arthur's nephew (though bbc merlin doesn't exactly...keep the familial relations that canon does), things like that---but i'd honestly say that their character personalities are similar enough that it's verging on acceptable! just as a reference point for you, i suppose.

gawaine has lost a fair fight only to six knights in his time, launcelot being one of them (Le Morte d'Arthur, Sir Thomas Mallory. book IV, chapter XVIII) (the other five being sir tristram, sir bors, sir percevel, sir pelleas, and sir marhaus). he is mentioned to throw fights against lancelot because he loves losing to him (cannot remember the source for the life of me) and, of course, lancelot always notices when he does.

then there's this famous quote:

(vulgate II, p140) where launcelot tells galehaut (another man that he arguably has...something...going on with) that he would share with gawaine everything he loves, save guinevere, in order to have gawaine forever. gawaine then goes on to say that, essentially, he would wish to be the most beautiful woman so that lancelot would love him as a wife.

also, in Morte, which i don't have photos of because my copy is a physical book rather than a pdf like how i'm reading vulgate and i don't want to take photos with my laptop camera. there is this quote "and Launcelot with this sword shall slay the man that in the world he loves best, that shall be Sir Gawaine." which is engraved in the hilt of the red hilted sword, balin's sword that merlin encases in stone and which galahad, lancelot's son, eventually wields.

^this, also. from vulgate IV, p140. after launcelot accidentally kills gawaine's brother gareth (named here as gaheriet; all the orkneys have...many ways of spelling their names. look up a list of all of gawaine's names over history, i dare you) who was guarding guinevere's cell...he begs gawaine to forgive him and even promises to swear himself and all his men into subservience to gawaine if gawaine would only forgive him. "I want to be your companion just as I used to be." mhm...

and "I'll swear to you on 'relics that I didn't kill your brother Gaheriet intentionally" is a huge promise. swearing on a holy relic in such a deeply, fundamentally christian society was the vow that you could make. the reason why honour was so important in that time was because the grand majority of people were illiterate, so one's word was the most one could give, in the majority of situations! and here is lancelot, saying that he'll swear on a holy relic that he did not mean to kill gareth if it means gawaine will forgive him and love him again.

there is also, right before gawaine eventually dies (from a sword wound to the head from lancelot) he writes a letter to launcelot begging forgiveness for having been so horrible to lancelot before his death, and wishing he could see him before he dies, for he knows he won't live long.

And then when paper and ink was brought, then Gawaine was set up weakly by King Arthur, for he was shriven a little to-fore; and then he wrote thus, as the French book maketh mention: Unto Sir Launcelot, flower of all noble knights that ever I heard of or saw by my days, I, Sir Gawaine, King Lot's son of Orkney, sister's son unto the noble King Arthur, send thee greeting, and let thee have knowledge that the tenth day of May I was smitten upon the old wound that thou gavest me afore the city of Benwick, and through the same wound that thou gavest me I am come to my death-day. And I will that all the world wit, that I, Sir Gawaine, knight of the Table Round, sought my death, and not through thy deserving, but it was mine own seeking; wherefore I beseech thee, Sir Launcelot, to return again unto this realm, and see my tomb, and pray some prayer more or less for my soul. And this same day that I wrote this cedle, I was hurt to the death in the same wound, the which I had of thy hand, Sir Launcelot; for of a more nobler man might I not be slain. Also Sir Launcelot, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, make no tarrying, but come over the sea in all haste, that thou mayst with thy noble knights rescue that noble king that made thee knight, that is my lord Arthur; for he is full straitly bestead with a false traitor, that is my half-brother, Sir Mordred; and he hath let crown him king, and would have wedded my lady Queen Guenever, and so had he done had she not put herself in the Tower of London. And so the tenth day of May last past, my lord Arthur and we all landed upon them at Dover; and there we put that false traitor, Sir Mordred, to flight, and there it misfortuned me to be stricken upon thy stroke. And at the date of this letter was written, but two hours and a half afore my death, written with mine own hand, and so subscribed with part of my heart's blood. And I require thee, most famous knight of the world, that thou wilt see my tomb. And then Sir Gawaine wept, and King Arthur wept; and then they swooned both. And when they awaked both, the king made Sir Gawaine to receive his Saviour. And then Sir Gawaine prayed the king for to send for Sir Launcelot, and to cherish him above all other knights. (Le Morte D'Arthur, Sir Thomas Mallory. book XXI, chapter II)

(vulgate IV, p139). honestly? no comment here. it speaks for itself. this bit is where the ship name remarkable comes from.

of course, this is by no means a comprehensive post, just moments i can remember off the top of my head. and a lot of this can be attributed to today's view of male homosociality and how it's changed since the middle ages, skewing our view of what could have been, by all means, a platonic relationship. however it is my personal belief and interpretation that they were in love <3 muah the end i hope you enjoyed. i tried my best to explain both story and cultural context the best i could without going into irrelevant detail...i hope this is enough!

[time-is-restored]

do you guys every think abt death vs immortality as a thoroughline in like. literally all of the mechs albums.

old king cole is explicitly warped by immortality (never to forgive he would eternal live, his hands dyed red by gore - can be read a few ways depending on where u place the emphasis, but at the very least communicates that his wrath is facilitated By his immortality), and the olympians commit attrocities in order to hold onto their wealth and the immortality that it grants them (murdering arachne, yanking heracles' chain the second he tries to go freelance, having a monopoly on the acheron etc). the value they put on immortality and living forever, and the fear they have of ever possibly losing it, has completely warped their morals and priorities.

and while it comes up less in tbi, there's still significant emphasis placed on how odin has been in power for a century (both thor + the narrator bring it up, and there's also an emphasis on how long ago the bifrost project was started, and how 'no one left living' can explain its science). her villain monologue in rangarok iv places the extinction of asgard as an honour - a ruin that no one can possibly rebuild from is called 'apotheosis'. and as she says at the end, the idea that no one can possibly outlive her is a key draw for odin. asgard dies with her.

in hnoc, the only really immortal character is brian (and we only really know that bc of knowledge we get from outside the album), but the axis of life and death as a privilege vs a curse is still very present. 'mordred's gift to Arthur could be love in his own eyes / fating him alone to keep the life to which he clings', not only posits that the gift of survival isn't inherently good + kind (which the audience would immediately recognise as love, not possibly love), but places emphasis on the fact that arthur is now utterly alone. the station's death at the hands of mordred is hardly a happy one ('Its people damned, doomed by a man who's lost all his regrets'), but arthur's fate is arguably worse. severed from the finality and closure of death, what does he become? [insert that one cool theory abt hnoc arthur becoming old king cole here]

it's like. on a meta level, the reason we as fans don't put much emphasis on the depravity + cruelty of the mechs is bc the people portraying the mechs are all charismatic + skilled performers. in live gigs they're all portraying the fun side of their characters - roasting each other, bantering with the audience, making fun of the characters they're singing about, referencing off-screen violence - bc if they portrayed their lore too literally they'd be comitting felonies LMAOOO

but narratively, its like. literally every album is a meditation on the ways that the glorification of immortality can ruin civilisations - can ruin galaxies. whether its rooted in the fear of you specifically dying, or of being outlived, or overpowered or forgotten, or if its done for the sake of someone else's survival... it's all corrosive. if u refuse to accept the indisputable impermanence of life, you lose the ability to value it, and u numb urself to the reality of just how fucked up it is to cut another person's life short for any reason.

like. i do think some of the mechs started as good people, and some of them even might still have ethical standards, but i REALLY cannot stop thinking about how fucking. fascinating it is that this group of immortals who are KNOWN for basically considering nothing but how fun and/or violent any given activity will be, have basically filled their entire discography with songs about how their continued existence is corrosive and brings tragedy + ruin wherever they go.

so how self-aware are they? do you think those old morals + ethics still linger in their mind, when they're writing down these tragedies? they willingly self identify as liars + thieves + bastards, etc etc, and they seem to have no trouble identifying the 'bad guys' in the various albums (ie: humanising snow + cinders + rose, but not king cole), but do those concepts actually mean anything emotionally, or even theoretically, for them all beyond their dramatic potential? do they remember their lives before they were mechanised as it actually happened, or do they remember it as lyrics to a song? is it possible to be entirely self aware abt ur own capacity for violence (as jonny in paticular claims to be), if you no longer relate to violence as anything other than a narrative device - a means to an end, whether comedic or dramatic?

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞.

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

Warnings: swearing, some fighting - all in your honour though!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

After a long day, your s/o decides to take you to a nearby tavern and have a drink. It had been a while since either of you had gotten out without a duty to do. However, your evening was cut short when a drunken asshole insulted you.

𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍

・Merlin would never be able to keep such a big secret from his spouse; he'd want to give every part of himself to you. And so he had. You welcomed the secret with open arms.

・So when you made your way down to the tavern after a particularly challenging day, you were not expecting to be outright insulted.

・The bald fat (toothless) man let the words escape his drunken mouth without the hint of a thought of consequence.

・Big motherfucking mistake.

・A bewildered laugh came from Merlin. His mind already sifting through the many spells he was about to use.

・You looked at him, and simply nodded. This day had been too heavy, and the insult, no matter how untrue, was still hurtful.

・'Out of nowhere' (as some patrons would later explain it), the man flew from his chair and landed in the lap of the burliest man there.

・Strong man was furious and as he looked down, anger rose within him (you could physically see it ... he turned red...)

・Without even lifting a finger, your hater had been punched, and kicked straight out of the tavern. Not before Merlin made him land in a pile of dung.

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐓

・When your honour is in question Lancelot does not play around.

・As he hears the insult, automatically, his head moves to the left, and he blinks once.

・Without a word he unsheaths his sword and waits for the low life to do the same.

・When the low life doesn't, Lancelot makes someone give him a sword, and drags him outside.

"I'm going to make you think twice before saying such filth."

・And the high pitch ring of steel on steel rang out in the air.

・The whole time your head was in your hands, because truly, you had heard worse. You were tough, and all you wanted to do was get a bit sloshed with your hot ass husband.

・But no, he insisted on fighting for your honour ... like he always does.

・And low and behold, the Knight of Camelot won.

"Are you alright, my love?" Lancelot's lips were pressed against your ear, and you nodded.

"You know you don't have to do that for me-"

"Oh I know," he replies quickly, giving you a half smile. "But you are my spouse. And I will always protect you."

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑

・Scoffs, a smirk on his lips as his eyes narrow on the idiot who insulted you.

"Do you know who I am? Well... I guess not. Someone with a brain would never insult the King nor his Queen/Consort"

・Gasps were heard around the tavern

And the man went as pale as Gaius' hair

"Ah, I see you've figured it out. Thought I might have to spell it for you."

"Oh Arthur," you scolded, bumping his shoulder.

・You had heard it all in your lifetime, and one day you decided that the words of sheep do not affect a tiger.

"What would you like me to do with him, my love? The dungeons? The stocks?"

・You watched as the man quivered. He would have been in his mid-twenties, barely a whisker on his chin.

"Hmmmm," you pretended to think. Your mind already made up. It was a silly little comment, from a silly little boy.

・Arthur knew you too well, his gaze turned stern on the young man. A rusted sword hanging on his hilt. He had begun to shake.

"I think we should leave him be. Maybe he won't let his tongue wag so freely."

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋

"Excuse me? What was that?"

・Percival instantly shot up from his seat at the table. The candle flickered as he did so, and you reached out to steady it.

"Perci, it's fine, really." You mumbled, not wanting to draw more attention to yourself. But one of the positives of having such a huge husband is that he will win against nearly anyone in a fight.

・Well, most of the time, men are too scared to even fight him.

・As was your insulter.

・Whose bravado slowly diminished as he watched the large Knight loom over him.

"What I- what I meant was-"

"Apologise."

"Sorry, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean it!"

"Now leave."

"Yes, yes of course!"

・You were actually impressed by the cowardice of this man. He didn't put up one ounce of a fight. Just followed exactly what Percival said.

"Thank you," you whispered, a smile appearing on your face.

"No. Never thank me. I will always stand up for you."

𝐄𝐋𝐘𝐀𝐍

・A raise of his eyebrow, and a turn of the head. A cold, intimidating demeanour washing over him. Elyan noticed the clean face, shining armour and coat of arms on the man's cloak.

"Say that again. I dare you." His voice was a growl; low and rumbling.

・The man, no, knight, did not shrink or apologise.

"Oh what a match. The marred and the deaf. A great pair-" the knight turned around and laughed with his men.

"Mmm." Elyan looked at the arse like a snake deciding on dinner.

・Your hand itched to grab the dagger at your waist, but Elyan knew you too well.

・Looking at you, he put a hand on your arm and slightly nodded his head. I want to handle this, his eyes said.

・Folding your arms, you took a step back, 'be my guest,' you answered with a smile.

𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄

・Aggressive asf

・Doesn't even ask who said it first, he just throws himself at anyone and everyone who laughs

・Absolutely punching and kicking, grabbing heads and banging them together.

・You shake your head but join in, because that's part of the reason Gwaine loves you. You never let him have all the fun.

・And you would never let anyone talk crap about you. Especially to your face. That's not the reputation you wanted to hold.

・But who knew brawls could be romantic? With Gwaine somehow they are...

・Especially when he holds a man down so you can give him a few punches, Gwaine smiling at you.

"That's my girl/that's my guy"

・But it's not like you're allowed into many taverns anymore

・Only when Arthur, the King is there, that you're allowed to enter.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍

・Instantly his nose flares, invisible steam streaming from them.

"Apologise. This instant."

"Ooohooo," was the only reply he got. Along with the awful sound of drunk men's laughter. Well, more like coughing and wheezing.

"I'll ask one more time. After that, you'll be on the ground."

・The men barely looked in your husbands direction. Big mistake...

・Leon moved to block your view of what he was about to do.

・Because his word was truth.

・Within a second, the man who insulted you was on the floor, nose broken and bleeding.

・Once he's sorted it out, Leon turns to you and holds out his arm for you to take.

"Are you alright my love?" His concern falls on you and doesn't leave until you're feeling better.

[the-pen-pot]

Gwaine chortled as Percival tucked a silver coin next to his plate. 'Again?'

'Again,' he acknowledged mournfully. 'I thought you were exaggerating.'

'He was.' Leon spoke from where he sat to Gwaine's left, only for a pained expression to twitch across his face. Duty and honour meant the Knight Commander appeared to live in a happy world of denial, but even he could not ignore the evidence playing out at the High Table.

Gwaine ran his gaze along its length, not caring about the visiting nobles or Uther in his finery. Even Morgana, as lovely as ever, could not hold his attention for more than an appreciative moment. He was too busy watching Arthur and Merlin, who in theory were murmuring among themselves, but in practice were sharing some of the most prolonged, intense, indecent eye contact he had ever had the pleasure to witness.

'How have I never noticed?' Lancelot mused from the opposite side of the table. Feasts always started out with everyone facing towards the centre of the room, but it always dissolved into disarray as the evening went on. He and Elyan sat straddling the bench across from Gwaine so that, technically, their backs weren't to the High Table, but it meant they could all cluster together, rather than passing the conversation back and forth along a row.

'Because you're too busy making the same eyes at my sister,' Elyan teased, guffawing when Lancelot gave a quiet, wistful sigh.

'Lancelot's looking respectfully,' Gwaine pointed out with a grin. 'There's nothing respectful about that. They look like they want to ��'

'Quiet.' Leon's warning was fond and friendly, but it was one to heed. The court, loud and raucous as they were in that moment, still had ears, and Camelot's rumour mill was vicious. Not that it needed any help from Gwaine. Anyone who cared to look would see their prince staring at his manservant like he was trying to work out the quickest way to get him naked and spread out under him.

'Well, they do.' Gwaine shrugged, grinning into his cup. 'Don't know why they don't put each other out of their misery.'

'How do you know they haven't... you know?' Percival asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

'Too much tension,' he replied. 'It's a miracle they're not setting things on fire, looking at each other like that.

Elyan let out a pained sigh as he rubbed at the bruise on his shoulder from that morning's training. 'Arthur carries a lot of frustration into the duelling ring, if you know what I mean.'

They all winced at that, because he wasn't wrong. Arthur was still the best of them, and he was a punishing taskmaster.

'Maybe one of us should interfere?' Gwaine mused. 'You know, give them a nudge in the right direction?'

'Absolutely not. Leave them alone, all of you.' There was more than courteous respect in Leon's voice. Something thrummed, urgent, beneath his words. He picked up his cup and took a drink. 'They'll get where they're going in their own time. Not before.'

Gwaine sighed, setting his goblet on the table and spreading his hands in surrender. 'If you say so.'

'Some things can't be rushed. Especially not love.'

That made everyone pause, all of them giving Leon a sideways look before, slowly but surely, turning their attention back to Arthur and Merlin.

Leon was a practical man, not often prone to flights of romantic fancy. Maybe that's what made Gwaine search a little deeper and realise that he was right. If it was just about what was in their breeches, Arthur and Merlin would have been at it like rabbits years ago. Instead, their hearts had got involved somewhere along the way.

Maybe it was when Arthur had defied his father to gather his knights to him, indifferent to their lack of so-called nobility. Perhaps it was when the secret of Merlin's magic had come to light, confessed to his closest friends. Or maybe it had always been there, right from the very first day.

Either way, neither one of them would be the man they were today without the other's presence. If not for Merlin, Arthur would still be an arrogant, bratty prince, too wrapped up in himself and the lessons of his father to be the king Camelot needed. Without Arthur, Merlin would never have found his purpose. He'd have been forced to drift through the shadows of a half-life, always hiding, all the power that was his to command and nothing to feed it but his own loneliness.

The gods knew how that might have ended. Arthur would probably have become like his father, harsh and cold. For his part, Merlin may well have ended up as barmy as the other sorcerers they found, drunk on power and lacking in compassion, filled with nothing but hatred for a world that reviled him.

Instead, they brought out the best in each other. Together, they were the fulcrum on which the scales of Camelot's future hung. They were the ones who would tip the balance from greed and corruption. They'd rewrite laws and peel back decades of hardship, not just for the kingdom, but for each other. He was pretty sure they'd lay the whole world at each other's feet, given the chance.

Gwaine picked up his goblet again, letting his gaze sweep around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Already there were subtle changes. Normally the tables would be groaning beneath the burden of their bounty, but for once there were signs of moderation. While some lords were deep in their cups, loud and boisterous, others spoke companionably with each other, their expressions intent and lit with a hope that had not been there a year ago.

Uther may be present – living still – a man made of shadows and resentment, but he was no longer the one to whom the court turned. Gwaine knew how these games were played. He'd been noble once.

Now, people went to Arthur for help. They spoke to him, quietly, of their concerns, and he was not the only one. Maybe Merlin was nothing more than the prince's manservant, but the councillors listened when he spoke. They respected him. Maybe they, too, could see the future that awaited them.

One with two good men ruling side by side, rather than a tyrant standing alone.

'Love?' he asked, his voice little more than a murmur. 'Yeah, I can see that.'

'And so will Uther, if he looks closely,' Lancelot warned, all trace of his amusement fled. He stared at the King like he might an enemy on the battlefield, all anger and dread. 'He'll try and put a stop it.'

'Then we don't give him the chance.' Gwaine shrugged, draining his goblet and setting it aside, feeling his resolve settle in him. 'We keep him busy and let those two get on with it.'

'You think they'll admit how they feel?' Elyan asked.

Gwaine raised an eyebrow as Arthur leaned in to gain his father's attention, no doubt making his excuses for the night. He spoke quickly and respectfully, but Gwaine didn't miss the way that, when Uther nodded, Arthur cast a slow, hot look in Merlin's direction, nor that Merlin returned it, full of promise.

'Maybe sooner than you think.'

They watched them go, and not even Leon bothered to hide his subtle grin. Gwaine returned it with one of his own and wondered if they were all thinking of the future they hoped to one day witness.

He'd lived in bitter, corrupted courts. He'd seen first-hand the hardships that the powerful could rain down on the helpless, and he had promised himself he would never be part of it again. Yet he could see, with a clarity any seer would envy, how the world Arthur and Merlin would build together would be different – better. Not only a powerful citadel and a mighty throne, but a prosperous, peaceful kingdom that anyone could call home.

And Gwaine, who had never stayed in one place for long, would be happy to do just that.

[rabdom3127]

Arthur Morgan concept art appreciation post

I honestly love how evil he looks. One of my (minor) issues with the game is that Arthur looks too lovable, like he’s not a (semi) hardened outlaw.

This man here, though, looks evil. I remember looking at him and going “thank God we got our Arthur Morgan and not this bloke, he looks as sleazy as Micah”

But THEN I was like

Wouldn’t that make the redemption more impactful? In fact, he’d be great in comparison to Micah as they both look physically evil, but one is trying to redeem themselves and the other is unashamedly not. With Arthur, despite all the bad he says he does, he doesn’t *look* bad and therefore we side with him almost from the start. Even in low-honour I can’t bring myself to dislike him.

With this version, our bias would assume him to be bad from the get-go, so we’d understand how others in-game would perceive him this way too, so it’s more of a surprise when we learn he likes journaling, or is smitten and cares about Mary-Linton, or when that nun sees good in him. We would grow to like him over the course of the story as he redeems himself.

I don’t think he fits the exact character of present Arthur though, seeing as Arthur tries to portray himself as the muscle with no brain, and this man is quite slim and just has a menacing look. And I *do* enjoy Arthur’s redemption and his relationships and his overall character, Roger Clark did a very good job and I can’t imagine him voicing the man above.

If Red Dead 3 is ever produced in our lifetime, I would love for it to explore this type of character because it does intrigue me.

(Concept art source: Red dead redemption wiki gallery)

[gingersnaptaff]

A Chained Queen, A Bastard's Birthright

Bringing you all some fic on this here Wednesday night! Please enjoy this oldie but a goodie that I submitted for my university coursework way back when (in 2016!!!!). I've edited it heavily, so if you've read it on Archive of Our Own it's different (and a lot more grammatically correct.) This is chronologically separate from the Gwyn book, as well as being more medieval rather than Celtic, but still. I thought you might like to see something from earlier in the process when I was figuring everything out.

So, without further ado, here you go.

He prowled towards me, his inhumanly bright blue eyes alert and filled with fire. His steps rang out through the oppressive silence, every imposing peal containing the dolour of a funeral bell. A maniacal slash of a smile contorted his face and, as he loomed closer, I recognised the rich tang of iron enveloping him, the stench of it making me recoil. Mud encrusted his bloodied armour, an amber rust cocooning him like blood-choked sand, and he lovingly set his sword down on the floor as he crouched down to see me better through the gloom.

“Do you know what it’s like?” He hissed, a small frown creasing his forehead as he spoke. “To be born a bastard? To become collared by your birthright, lashed to fate, something you have no control over? To see your father treat his knights better than his son? To see him flaunt his power over your mother, over his first love? Have any idea what that’s like, my lady? It destroys you. I’m grateful to your sister for allowing a man such as I to marry her then, Gwyn. But perhaps I should address you as sister now? Or would you prefer me to address you as ‘step-mother?’”

“You’re insane.” I hissed. A cold chill ran down my spine, making me rattle in my chains. “You can’t be Arthur’s son. H- He would have told me, I’m sure. I knew my husband. I knew your supposed father, Medrawd, you scum.”

He tossed back his head and laughed amusedly before he shook his head. “Your words do wound me, my lady. Truly. Such ineffectual strikes.” His humour leached away, replaced with a cold mask that gave his skin a winterish chill. “Yet the same cannot be said for when you wounded my wife with your fists.”

“She deserved it.” I hissed, noting the way that he gritted his teeth at my answer, and how his breathing quickened. Every muscle was taut, a coiled spring, even as he deepened his breathing to try and calm himself so as not to strike me. “By the Gods, you both did! Fach deserved every slap she got.”

“Just as your husband’s pathetic tin soldiers deserved every slash and stab of my army’s swords. Your husband squealed like a boar when he died, I’m ashamed to say. I did so hope he’d have had a regal end, similar to the one my mother told me to enact. Alas. He choked on his own blood. But, perhaps, you might do me the honour instead? I have just breached your kingdom’s defences after all and - since I have no need for a wife now that I have your sister - I’m sure your death will suffice. I am sure that Fach will be delighted. And who knows, if I’m lucky, your death might even send Myrddin out of hiding. Is he taming dragons again, I wonder? He was always so foolish in that regard. An addled magician, cloud-headed and careless.”

“Watch your tone, boy,” I said, trying to ignore the way my voice wavered. “Or I will make you.”

He barked out a laugh and I wondered then if Medrawd had noticed the tears that pooled in my eyes. Or the way that I trembled again as though I was in the throes of a sickness? Gods, I prayed with all my might that he was as unobservant as Arthur had claimed before his untimely demise.

Alas, fate, it seemed, was not so kind.

“Ah, forgive me.” Medrawd’s voice was taunting. A smirk twisted his lips, breaking open the scab at the corner of his mouth. A thin stream of blood ran down his mottled cheek as he leaned closer, his rancid breath hot on my face. “I’d forgotten that you were still the ruler of this land. Of course.” He laughed, a harsh, grating sound akin to the clamour of my chains. “I suspect that you’ll punish me just as soon as you can get out of your restraints then, hmm? Don’t worry, Gwyn, I’ll wait for you. My mother always said that I was patient - as does Fach, as it happens.”

I growled, low and warning, my hands curling into fists. Without a second thought, I hurled myself forward in a vain attempt to reprimand him, only to find myself thrown off balance by the chains that still held me in their unyielding grip. With a shriek, I stumbled with my hands outstretched, only succeeding in righting myself at the last second.

The smirk that he had worn throughout our conversation only grew as he stood up, his blue eyes twinkling in my epicaricacy. “Oh, Gwynhwyfar, such ferociousness over a mere jape!” He waggled his finger at me, tutting. “I thought such a well-born lady like yourself would have impeccable manners, hmm? Gods, what did my father ever see in you? You're nothing more than a yowling bear cub, desperately clawing at the bars of her cage.” His armour clinked, singing mockingly like caged birds, as he picked up his sword. There was an air of carefulness upon him again, one that gave an implacable smoothness to his expression, and his eyes shone with childlike curiosity. “Please, don’t trouble yourself getting up on my account. Although, I do think your chains might prevent that, don’t you?” He tittered again, his eyes suddenly darkening, his voice demanding. “But, tell me, one last thing before I depart - do you think this sword suits me?”

My brow furrowed at his question and I found myself irked by his question. “Why, Medrawd? T'is a sword. A child could craft a more remarkable one out of Rowan.”

His jaw clenched as he took a step into the torchlight. It offered up a scant glow and did little in the way of affording me light with how far away the turncoat guards had placed it from my cell, and I had to strain my eyes to see him.

And then, with one fluid motion, he held out the sword for me to observe.

I leaned forward, curiosity hot in my blood, tempered though it was by my derision. Why was he so insistent on having my opinion? What need did he have to know what I thought? So he could taunt me again? Well, let him.

Let him.

I examined the blade and crossguard, finding both to be dull, covered in the mud of a battlefield. Scrutinising it further, I found that blood encrusted the groove down the centre, and further tracks of rusty red dribbled down it, adding to its morbidity. The hilt was caked in blood also – although the circular pommel was still free of mess, enough for the raided indent of a golden bear to shine through. Raised carvings of bears and winged, clawed creatures that I could not identify adorned the top of the chipped blade, crafted out of tarnished silver.

If only I could see them up close…

I strained against my chains again, gathering just strength and momentum to push them to their breaking point to reach a finger between the prison bars. Tenderly I traced one, feeling the cool metal beneath my fingertips, the raised edges of the designs warming beneath my skin. A wingtip slowly formed, my brain etching in the lines where the silver had been chipped away. And then, a forked tail. A raised leg, a forked tongue. A roar. And slowly, agonisingly, a dragon formed.

A blood-red dragon.

With a jolt of recognition - and I knew that Medrawd could tell that I recognised the sword for he gave out a small, gleeful laugh as I did - I sprang forward, flying off the bed, my chains rattling with taunts.

A bevy of memories swam through my mind, each piercing my heart. I recalled how Arthur had laughed giddily when I’d gifted him it as a wedding present.

How he brandished it with confidence, raising it high above his head as a lad, his dark eyes shining as he vowed to defend our land.

And then, the steady weight of it in my hands as Arthur had instructed me on how to defend myself, his sturdy body warm against my back, his musk thick in my nostrils.

Its blade sparkling in the firelight as I’d cleaned in our chambers, listening to Arthur vent his frustrations, his dreams, his wants as he paced about.

And Llacheu - bright, golden Llacheu, gone before his time - his laughter bubbling in joy as Arthur taught him how to parry in the courtyard…

And now…

And now my husband and son were no more.

Tears itched my eyes. I wanted to remain calm, to be the dignified queen that I was always told to be, but I could not stop myself. Rage suffocated me, constricting my chest with all the heaviness of a boulder.

“T’is Caledfwlch,” I answered hoarsely. “And you wield it with all the inelegance of an inexperienced slinger.” At Medrawd’s affronted huff I pressed on, the chink in his demeanour emboldened me.” What, you think because Arthur did not accept you in life you can mould yourself in his image instead? Brandish his sword in the vain hope that his kingdom will be yours?”

For a moment, he said nothing, his nostrils flaring in anger as he exhaled slowly. “My question, Gwynhwyfar. You have not answered it.”

I shook my head, gritting my teeth, biting my to guess. His eyes were alight, revelling in my grief. A glossy smoothness of pride broek over his sharp features as he chortled, the noise making me silently seethe. I am ashamed to say that at that I broke down, my queenly mask all but slipping off, crashing to the floor.

“I – You bastard!” There was a tightness in my chest as I fought to control my breathing, even as it hitched hysterically. Cold, shocked tears ran down my cheeks as I was suspended there, frozen.

That he would stoop so low…

That he would desecrate Arthur’s body…

With a guttural roar, I threw myself at him, forgetting that the chains were attached to my arms as well as my feet and I stumbled again, only regaining my balance at the last second. “You-!”

“You’re hysterical, my lady,” Medrawd’s tone was a physician’s. Honeyed with a warmth that was as deceitful as he was. He stared at me the way a mother would a simpering child and I wanted to curse him in frustration.

Instead, I spat at him, positively preening at his disgusted yell, “You bitch!”

I laughed loudly, the noise echoing around my dank cell, trying to hide my smirk at his reaction. “My apologies. I'm afraid that I don’t quite know what came over me. It’s just that I thought that you might like some water to clean your sword with. Forgive me if my actions were misconstrued, my dear brother-in-law. Only, you see, my chains prevent me from giving you a bowl.”

Medrawd glared in response as he set about wiping my gift away with a muddied gauntlet. With a displeased huff, he turned to leave, gracing me with a cold silence as he strode to the dungeon door.

“Goodbye, Medrawd,” I hissed, straightening. “May my husband’s sword give you the recognition you sought, for his kingdom will not. It’ll take time. But I’m a patient woman, brother. Don't worry. I’ll wait.”

He turned on his heel, offering me an icy glare, before, at last, he extinguished the torches and left me once more, his footsteps oddly quiet.

[adhd-merlin]

in all ways but one

Relationships: Arthur/Lancelot; background Arthur/Gwen Rating: Gen Length: 2,500 words Summary: The homosexual side of the classic Arthurian love triangle, featuring jealousy, repressed bisexuals, and Unresolved Sexual Tension. Literally just this:

(x)

Excerpt:

It's all easy enough to ignore, at first. A lingering glance here, a fond smile there – things easy to brush off and hard to notice, unless someone were looking for the signs. Arthur notices.

***

"In all ways but one, Lancelot was a man of honour." — Arthur in episode 4x09 (Lancelot Du Lac)

After Lancelot gets knighted for the third time, and for the first time properly, there is still a certain awkwardness between him and Gwen. From the sidelines, Arthur watches them soldier on and ignore it for the sake of courtly manners, and probably for his sake, too. That which resolve has started, time finishes, slowly wearing away the thin layer of stiff formality between them.

Given he loves them both, Arthur should be glad of their rediscovered friendship. Sometimes he is. Other times, he has to remind himself to be.

***

It's all easy enough to ignore, at first. A lingering glance here, a fond smile there – things easy to brush off and hard to notice, unless someone were looking for the signs. Arthur notices.

He trusts them both with his life, which is why he says nothing. Gwen acts with the ease that only a guilt-free conscience can grant, and Arthur is almost as sure of Lancelot's love as he is of Gwen's. Neither of them would ever cross the line.

And yet.

And yet, it's difficult for Arthur to keep his jealousy at bay when he knows, deep down, that he won that initial fight for Gwen’s heart not by his own strength, but by default. He has tried not to wonder whose side Gwen would be sitting at if Lancelot had not left, but sometimes he falls into temptation. He’s come up with different answers at different times.

***

For Gwen’s first anniversary as queen, Arthur arranges a great feast and a tournament. Not very original, according to Merlin, but Gwen seems pleased. Even more so when Lancelot kneels at her feet and humbly begs her to allow him to fight in her honour. She accepts.

The next day, Arthur fights Lancelot at training. His blows, perhaps, land a bit harder than usual, and he might throw Lancelot on the ground with more force than strictly necessary. Lancelot says nothing. Arthur's right arm is so bruised afterwards that it hurts to lift anything heavier than a goblet of wine for an entire day.

The day of the tournament, Arthur plasters on a smile as he watches Gwen tie her monogrammed silk handkerchief around Lancelot's arm. He thinks of the much humbler favour she gave him, years ago, right before he kissed her for the first time. As they sit on the royal dais, watching the tournament, Arthur has to endure every one of Gwen's soft gasps and sighs of relief as Lancelot works his way through his opponents with single-minded efficiency. He wins the tournament, of course. Arthur wasn't expecting any less.

***

He will not humiliate himself or wrong them by asking them to stop.

And to stop doing what, exactly? They haven't breached any law of propriety, unless perhaps in spirit, in the privacy of their own hearts, which Arthur prefers to remain ignorant about.

At times, Arthur thinks it would be easier to bear it if he did not care for Lancelot as much as he does. He still feels indebted to him for stepping aside, with his customary grace, when it was clear that Gwen’s affections did not lie where Arthur had hoped.

And he understands entirely what drew Gwen to Lancelot – he might not have been a prince, and he's not a king, but he's as valiant a knight as Arthur ever was, true-hearted, chivalrous, and with a spirit noble enough to make up for his humble origins.

He's a few more things besides, things Arthur could never aspire to be – patient, sensitive, modest. Lancelot would not throw his goblet at his servant in a fit of anger, not even one as disrespectful as Merlin. He would not brag about his fighting skills, even though he's the best swordsman Arthur has ever met. If he were to find out Lancelot reads poetry in his free time, Arthur wouldn't be surprised.

Lancelot is, in short, perfect in every way – with the singular exception of being in love with his king's wife, and even this he does with such selflessness that it is almost enough to wipe away the stain of blame. Almost.

Be it as it may, Arthur can hardly fault the man for loving Gwen. He, of all people, knows very well how hard it is not to.

***

Despite Arthur’s best intentions, his worry and irritation start to show. They manifest in mean and petty ways, unbecoming of a friend, let alone a king – picking Lancelot for the most unpleasant rounds of patrol, ignoring him in council meetings, being liberal with criticism and stingy with praise on the training field.

Lancelot accepts it all with resigned obedience, which makes Arthur feel even worse.

***

One afternoon, Lancelot knocks on the door of Arthur's chambers. Gwen isn't there, having left to go explore the market stalls in the lower town. Sometimes, she asks Lancelot to accompany her – not today, it seems.

“Have I displeased you in some way, sire?” Lancelot asks, cutting straight to the point.

Arthur doesn't even lift his eyes from the letter he was writing. “What makes you think so?”

“Your attitude, sire,” Lancelot says, levelly, but with uncharacteristic bluntness. Arthur lifts his eyes then, arching his eyebrows at him. Lancelot meets his gaze, undaunted. “Forgive me, but I must speak the truth. You have always shown me extraordinary kindness, and you have been most gracious in accepting me amongst your knights, despite… what happened in the past–”

“I do not care about your little ruse, Lancelot, I told you,” Arthur interrupts him, jamming his quill in the inkwell. “It's forgiven.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Lancelot looks at Arthur with the same determined expression he wears on the training field, when he's squaring up to an opponent. It is clear he won't be dancing around the obvious any longer. “That isn't what I meant, sire. I do not wish to come between you and the queen.”

Arthur snorts. “Don't be presumptuous. What goes on between Guinevere and me does not concern you.”

“But what goes on between her and me concerns you,” Lancelot says. The withering look Arthur shoots him is not enough to stop him from taking a step forward. “I can see it, sire. I know that Gwen's heart belongs to you entirely, but I fear that my presence here is giving you cause to doubt it, and I do not wish to trouble your peace.” He stands straighter before announcing: “That is why I decided to leave Camelot.”

Panic pierces Arthur’s chest, as sharp and unexpected as a strike from a friend’s sword. “Don't be absurd,” he sneers, trying to mask his agitation with arrogance.

Lancelot maintains his composure. “I'm sorry, sire,” he simply says, and he genuinely looks it.

Arthur springs to his feet so abruptly his chair topples to the floor. Neither of them flinches. He walks around his desk, coming to stand in front of Lancelot. He cannot explain the anger that sweeps through him at Lancelot’s cool resolve.

Suddenly he’s a young prince again, watching the best knight he’s ever met slip through his fingers, and powerless to stop it – an unbearable feeling for a king who’s since grown used to having things go his way. 

“You swore an oath to me and Camelot,” Arthur says, trying to keep his anger from his voice. “To protect us both, and to serve me. Is your word really of so little worth?” A strange leap of association leads him to think of Gwen, left broken-hearted and tearful without so much as a goodbye after a narrow escape from a harrowing ordeal. With a few years’ delay, he feels outraged on her behalf. “Of course, that's your solution to all problems, isn't it, Lancelot? Running away. Guinevere won't be surprised to hear it – you did it once before, after all.”

He can see in Lancelot’s eyes that his words have wounded him, as he intended.

“I did it for you, sire, as much as her,” Lancelot says, quietly. “And it's for the love I bear you both that I beseech you now to release me from my oath.”

Even with a mind clouded by anger, Arthur hears what Lancelot is not saying. “You don't believe she would have chosen me.”

For the first time since he entered Arthur’s chambers, Lancelot's assuredness wavers. “I cannot presume to know what was in her heart,” he replies, but he lowers his eyes as he says it.

“And yet you left.”

“I didn't want to put her in the position of having to make a choice,” Lancelot says, because of course he would be the better man and think of others first, when Arthur was only thinking about himself. “When she confessed her feelings for me, she thought she might not live long enough to see you again.”

Arthur scoffs. “So it didn't count?”

“I only meant that she might not have been as forthright if we had met again under different circumstances.”

“But you don't doubt the truth of what she said,” Arthur insists, like a dog with a bone, not knowing himself what mad urge is driving him to drag the truth out of Lancelot when he's been trying to ignore it for so long.

Lancelot takes a moment to reply. “I believe she meant what she said, at the time,” he says, carefully, “and that she still holds me in esteem, despite what happened. That is all I can hope for. That is more than enough for me.”

“It’s not, though,” Arthur says, shaking his head. “You love her.”

The truth, now bare and undeniable, stands between them. Some emotion, which Arthur cannot name, flits across Lancelot's face at that accusation, like a ripple on the surface of a pond.

“I love her, sire, as much as I love you,” Lancelot says, his eyes as earnest and guileless as they were years ago, when, in a damp and dingy cell, he pleaded Arthur to let him ride at his side on a suicidal mission.

Arthur lets out a single burst of bitter laughter. “No, you don't.”

As he says this, Arthur’s anger evaporates, leaving only hurt in its place. He's not sure what pains him more – that Lancelot's love for Gwen surpasses his commitment to him, or that he would lie to Arthur's face about it.

“But I do, Arthur,” Lancelot protests. “I do.” He looks and sounds distressed, as if Arthur were doing him wrong by not believing him.

Lancelot's eyes search Arthur's face, hoping to find some trace of understanding. There is too much in those eyes – too much trembling honesty, despite his lies; too much devotion, for a man who was threatening to leave a mere moment ago – something too naked, too telling, so much so that Arthur feels the need to avert his eyes, as he did once, years ago, in that dingy cell. When he does so, Lancelot places his hand on Arthur’s face, turning it towards him again – and then, before Arthur can react, he presses his lips to his mouth.

It's a frantic gesture; a last resort. Arthur can tell from the way Lancelot's hand trembles on his cheek, from the desperation with which he pushes his mouth against his, all passion and no grace. Even so, the kiss lasts right up to the point of endurance, as if Lancelot needed Arthur to believe him. Perhaps he does – he is a man of honour; Arthur is certain he hates to be taken for a liar almost as much as he hates to lie.

Arthur doesn’t pull back, but he does not respond, either. He stands still and stiff, merely closing his eyes as he submits to Lancelot's tender assault out of confusion.

At last, the kiss ends. Lancelot takes his hand away and steps back, his eyes downcast, his face pale. Arthur just looks at him, with his mouth slightly open, too shocked to speak.

“Forgive me,” Lancelot says, his eyes fixed on Arthur’s boots. “I… I must go.”

He makes for the door, but Arthur’s hand, moving with no input from his mind, grabs Lancelot's wrist and pulls him back.

“No,” Arthur says, almost choking on the word. “Please. Stay.”

He's not entirely sure what he's asking, if he means ‘don't leave this chamber’ or ‘don't leave Camelot’; he only knows that he means: ‘don't leave me’, that the thought of Lancelot leaving is unbearable, just as it was the first time he did it, when Arthur had to watch the best man he ever met – the first man who ever truly understood what it meant to be a knight, perhaps better than Arthur himself – walk out of his life, leaving him with a feeling of loss he couldn't fully understand.

But Lancelot pulls his hand out of Arthur's grasp. “I'm sorry,” he says. There is genuine sorrow in his eyes.

Lancelot turns and leaves, and Arthur lets him go.

***

That night, Arthur seeks comfort in Gwen's body with an urgency that leads her to ask him what is wrong.

“Nothing,” Arthur lies, with a kiss between her breasts, because he can't very well tell her, ‘Lancelot is leaving us, and it is all my fault.’

Gwen looks unconvinced, but she pries no further.

***

The next morning, Arthur wakes with a feeling of dread, surprised that he's slept at all. He goes through his usual morning rituals with impressive stoicism – he eats his breakfast, reads the patrol report, and has Merlin prepare him for his training session, all the while listening to Merlin's mindless prattle, and never once throwing something heavy at his head.

He walks onto the training field much earlier than usual, expecting to find no one – but someone is already there, practising with a sword on a straw dummy. The distance is too great to make out much of him, but the precision and the swiftness of his movements are enough for Arthur to recognise the man at a glance. He starts walking faster.

“Lancelot,” Arthur breathes out when he's but a few steps away from him.

Lancelot turns. He doesn't bow to Arthur, as he normally would; instead, he wipes his sweaty brow with the back of his hand and looks at him warily. “Sire,” he says. He shifts his grip on the hilt of his sword.

“You're still here,” Arthur blurts out – an observation worthy of Merlin's wit, but the obvious relief in his voice seems to put Lancelot at ease.

Lancelot sheathes his sword. “You were right, sire. I took an oath to serve you and Camelot, so I'll endeavour to do so.” He pauses and adds, hesitantly: “That is, if you'll still have me.”

Arthur smiles at him without even meaning to. “I wouldn't wish you to be anywhere else.”

Lancelot's face clears up. “Then I remain your loyal servant,” he says, with feeling, and he bows.

Of course he is, just as he ever was, and Arthur was a fool to doubt it. The realisation hits him with staggering force, and it's all he can do not to embrace Lancelot.

He claps his hand on Lancelot's shoulder and squeezes it, instead. “Think you can beat me today?” he asks.

“I'll do my best,” Lancelot promises, almost solemnly.

Of course. “You always do, Lancelot,” Arthur says with warmth through the odd tightness in his throat. He backs a few steps and draws his sword, adjusting his grip with a twirl of his wrist. “Come on, then.”

With a happy smile, Lancelot unsheathes his sword.

[eyeoftheheart]

“The word ‘chivalry’ comes from the French ‘chevalier’, which means ‘knight’ or ‘horseman’. Symbolically, the horse represents the body and its associated energies and emotions, while the rider represents the higher self of the human being, the best and noblest part of ourselves. The knight is not perfect, but is on a path towards perfection. Hence the trials that all knights go through. They sometimes fail, especially in the phase of the Quest of the Holy Grail, and sometimes they get another opportunity and then partially or wholly succeed. In the view of esoteric philosophy, the human being is perfectible; indeed, our destiny as human beings is to develop the divine part of ourselves. All this was symbolized in the esoteric art par excellence, namely alchemy: the transmutation of the man of lead (earthly, heavy and opaque) into the man of gold (shining, incorruptible, pure and endlessly giving like the sun). It is therefore not surprising that we will find many traces of alchemy in the tales of chivalry. As J.E. Cirlot says, “Knighthood should be seen, then, as a superior kind of pedagogy helping to bring about the transmutation of natural man (steedless) into spiritual man.”

The hallmark of chivalry is nobility – not of blood, but of character. And what is nobility of character but the mastery of one’s lower traits by the higher, not giving in to base impulses, always striving for the good? In this sense, it is not only a product of the European Middle Ages, but a universal ethical vision. However, chivalry is best known as a medieval phenomenon, with a historical aspect and mythological aspect.

Historically, the ideal of chivalry arose after the fall of the Roman Empire, in response to the increasing barbarism of the Dark Ages. This was the setting for the legend of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, which is widely accepted as having some basis in historical fact. As Ramon Llull writes in his classic Book of the Order of Chivalry, “There was once no charity, loyalty, justice or truth in the world. Enmity, disloyalty, injustice and falsehood came into being… [and when this happened] justice sought to recover its honour.” Thus, chivalry comes to restore justice, harmony and truth in an unjust and brutal world. The peak moment of the popular revival of chivalry, however, came around the twelfth century. Most scholars agree that it was inspired by the Islamic world, at that time a flourishing civilisation, which the medieval Europeans encountered through the Crusades.

From around this time came a massive revival and popularisation of the “Arthurian cycle” of stories, based on older sources but now put into literary form. The typical knight goes through trials and difficulties, often in the context of magical adventures, where he has to overcome impossible odds.

One example of this is the story of Sir Lancelot and the Dolorous Garde. This is the name of a castle which is under a curse. Many knights have attempted to lift the curse but none has succeeded. The test consists in having to fight his way through three gates, each of which is defended by ten knights. Lancelot (in this tale known as the White Knight) only succeeds because he has the help of a damsel who has been sent to his aid by the Lady of the Lake. She gives him three shields which will double, triple and quadruple his strength when it is failing.

Usually, in these stories, and in mythology in general, the damsel represents some higher element of the soul, a spiritual element which can help us in our hour of need. It is represented as a damsel, or virgin, to symbolise the purity of the spiritual element.

Then a strange and mysterious figure appears: Brandin, the “Copper Knight”, the ruler of the Dolorous Garde. He appears on a wall, disturbed by Lancelot’s success and, leaning over too far, falls on top of one of his own knights, killing him. Why copper? Each of the metals has a part to play in the alchemical process and is associated with one of the planets, in this case Venus. The symbolism of alchemy is highly complex and I will not attempt to decipher it here, but this “Copper Knight” is too incongruous to be anything but alchemical.

Finally, Lancelot triumphs and is led to a cemetery where the failed knights are buried. There he is shown a metal slab (metal again!). On lifting it he finds out the name of his true father, i.e. his real identity. In other words, the end of all these trials is to discover who we truly are – a question which I think many of us would love to be able to answer.

There are many such strange stories in the Arthurian legends. In the story of Parzival, by Wolfram von Eschenbach, at one point the hero finds himself in a room in a castle, when suddenly the floor begins to rotate. It gets faster and faster until he has to cling on for dear life in order to avoid being dashed against the wall. In some accounts of the trials to which candidates for Initiation were subjected, the trial of the rotating floor is not uncommon. In another Lancelot story, he has to cross a “sword-bridge” over an abyss, at the end of which two lions are waiting to devour him. His love for Guinevere (the spiritual soul?) gives him the courage to cross this painful bridge. But when he arrives at the other side, fully expecting to have to fight the lions, he finds that they have vanished; they were only magical illusions needed to try his courage. How many of our fears are illusions, created by our own minds?

There are also many intriguing images associated with chivalry. The one shown opposite, from the Manasseh Codex, shows a female figure with an arrow and a flaming torch above the head of

the mounted knight. The figure almost certainly represents Venus (sometimes shown in alchemical texts with the “arrow of the secret fire”), the inspiration for the courage of the knight. Below his horse is a kind of watery (inner/astral?) world in which two demon-like figures – or one demon and one man – are battling each other, the demon pointing the arrow and the man, or other demon, defending himself with his shield. This illustrates the fact that chivalry was not only about external battles and adventures, but also, and perhaps most importantly, about the inner battle between the higher and lower selves of the human being.

Ramon Llull states that the virtues of the knight (his inner conquests) are more important than his physical prowess: “Therefore the knight who practises these things that pertain to the Order of Chivalry with respect to the body but does not practise those virtues that pertain to Chivalry with respect to the soul is not a friend of the Order of Chivalry.”

There is also a rich symbolism of colours, again associated with alchemy. In Mallory’s Morte d’Arthur, Sir Tristram fights in a tournament and on different days and times arrives dressed in different colours, particularly green, black and red (generally in that order). Several authors believe that this is not just “for atmosphere”, but is related to the stages of the alchemical work. These could be: green – the universal solvent, as in the Green Lion; black – the nigredo phase associated with “germination in darkness”, and red – the rubedo phase, associated with the final stage of the work, or “exaltation”.

And what is the goal of alchemy? The Philosopher’s Stone, which symbolises the achievement of all powers, the mastery over oneself and nature; the power to heal, to make whole and even to prolong life. It is interesting, then, to note that in Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzifal, the Holy Grail is described not as a chalice but as a stone. The Grail, like a cauldron of plenty, has the power to nourish endlessly and, if the right questions are asked, to heal the King (the Self) and the Kingdom (the World).

Thus, to have a vision of the Holy Grail is equivalent to achieving the Philosopher’s Stone. And to get to that goal, the knight must become absolutely pure, like Sir Galahad. In the view of the esoteric philosophy, this is not impossible. It is the fruit of a long labour of purification, symbolised by the trials and adventures of the knight.”

The Esoteric Aspect of Chivalry By Julian Scott

[redemn]

very soon after waking up this morning ,   i saw a video discussing high honour arthur vs low honour arthur which really put into perspective my own thoughts and feelings on arthur's actions and the motivations behind my own characterisation .   naturally ,   now i'm sitting down to ruminate over why i ultimately write arthur as higher honour instead of lower honour ,   or even middle honour .   thought you folks might like to know ,   considering i place huge importance on arthur's internal motivations influencing his external actions . thank you for reading if you do . x

first and foremost ,   most people ,   at least from what i've seen on the internet ,   do tend to consider high honour arthur with a lot more nuance than they do low honour arthur .   a lot low honour content i've had the displeasure of seeing tends to characterise him as being just purely evil and immoral in all tendencies ,   killing for no reason ,   not helping people in obvious distress assumably just because he doesn't want to .   not entirely my thoughts on this one :   a fundamental difference between high honour arthur and low honour arthur stems from their ability ,   and perhaps even their own desire ,   to take accountability for their own actions .   high honour arthur acknowledges that he has done something that has impacted someone negatively and acknowledges that it ,   perhaps ,   was wrong of him ,   whereas low honour arthur isn't evil ,   he just doesn't see his actions as necessarily wrong ,   and not something that needs reform .   he still holds the same frame of mind as high honour when it comes to the care of the gang ,   but he accepts his path is coming to an end and he's decided he cannot change anything .   "my path is coming to an end ," he says to reverend swanson ,   while high honour arthur ,   interesting enough ,   says ,   "i'm worried my path is coming to an end" during that conversation .   high honour arthur realises he still wants to make a right in the world  …  and that he won't be able to .

now for my thoughts :   in the context of the above ,   my arthur is incredibly aware of how his actions impact others a majority of the time ,   and once he does ,   sometimes   ( but not every time )   works to rectify the wrongs he committed ,   even if his payback doesn't even come close to the bad that he did .   it will never come close to the wrongs he committed ,   and he knows that ,   but he tries .   i actually write arthur as lower honour earlier in his adult life ,   when he doesn't have as much experience and he's enjoying life for what it is before he gets hit with all those bad experiences and that trauma ,   whereas once he starts seeing the world for what it is around the time of rdr2 ,   his honour begins to climb around then to the point where he's pretty high ,   but not max ,   honour .   that sounds like a really superficial way of putting it :   the honour mechanic is far more intuitive and nuanced than simply   'he killed a lot of people and went on a 50-person massacre in st denis'   even though lots of people only see it that way .   sometimes he sees what he does as wrong .   sometimes he doesn't .   depends on the situation .

what i'm trying to say is ,   he's more reflective of his actions as more bad things happen to him ,   which in itself is a somewhat selfish reason to be doing good .   being hit with karma does that to a man .   he knows he cannot make up for everything he's done in his life ,   but he still strives to try and right what he can before his time is up ,   because he knows he can make a difference in a small way .   he's seen it himself in the way he helped that german family flee ,   in the way he helped the black travelling doctor get his wagon back ,   in every small task he does for strangers .   he takes accountability as much as he's able ,   for those things he thinks he was wrong about :   ie ; blindly collecting the debts ,   even going so far as to doom a man to death for pennies on the dollar .   as i've said before .   i do not believe the term 'good man' is quite true when it comes to arthur .   moreso that he is just a regular human being that does good and does bad ,   and he's done a hell of a lot of bad that gives people a hell of a lot of justified reasons to hate him .   he's not perfect .   but he knows .   and he's sorry .

[river-of-wine]

A little more on Molly and Grimshaw.

Grimshaw’s description calls her “the undisputed boss and arbiter of justice”. A line between her and Mary-Beth reveals that she has killed girls for betraying them before. That’s the rule. The traitors die. Molly declares herself as the traitor, and Grimshaw is the executioner. Except she doesn’t shoot to kill. Not really.

Molly is shot in the stomach, a wound she could have survived for several agonising seconds, left to bleed out in pain surrounded by people who detested her and the man she loved who detested her even more. A shot to Molly’s head would have been an easy one to make given both her skill with a weapon and how close Molly was, but Grimshaw chooses her stomach. There was deliberate cruelty in that. She chooses the potential of pain for Molly O’Shea over the immediate death of a traitor. It is justice. When Molly is gone, it is Grimshaw who calls to burn her. To destroy what is left of her after the girl already lost her mind and her life, to leave no memory that she existed behind. It is justice.

Molly’s lie was an obvious one to anyone who cared about her, but there was no one who did. Not enough. Not Dutch, who was rarely around. Not Arthur, who couldn’t get past his loyalty to Dutch to see how he was making a young woman suffer just yet. It was impossible for her to leave camp and she didn’t, spending her days on the floor of Shady Belle or smoking outside while talking to herself. But no one knew her well enough to attest to this, and that includes Grimshaw. She says she loves the girls, but Molly is not included in that statement. She never was. After all, Molly is not one of them. Molly doesn’t work and doesn’t think she has to. Molly doesn’t speak to the other girls despite her attempts, with her conversation with Tilly in chapter 2 ending with Tilly telling her to clear off while she is in the middle of a sentence and her conversation with Abigail hitting too hard, cutting too deep, showing her a blunt truth that she is not ready for and being too upset to keep talking to her. Molly doesn’t steal or kill. Molly is not one of them. Molly does not see it that way and neither does Grimshaw, even if Molly’s view comes from being raised in a different world and the eventual disdain from the rest of the gang that she picks up on, even if Grimshaw should know better than to build her opinion of this girl on her own lashing out. So she pays no attention to her, doesn’t keep track of her, and does not think that Molly may be lying when she states her guilt before serving the justice she believes is right.

Even without the proof that some care for her would have provided, not everyone believes Molly’s guilt so certainly. Karen didn’t, drinking and screaming at Grimshaw and calling her a murderer, telling her that she liked shooting Molly and that Molly was just in love. Karen didn’t like Molly, at least not outwardly, and yet she is the one to dispute the boss, the arbiter of justice, for killing an innocent girl. Arthur isn’t quite sure either, an attitude shown in how he holds Dutch back from her and tries to talk him down when Molly confesses, and antagonising Grimshaw after it happens (with high honour) will have him ask who she’s going to shoot today. 

Of course, it is later revealed that Molly was lying, protecting the gang rather than ratting them out. In the final stand off between Micah and Arthur, it is the real traitor who kills her. A shot to the stomach. A deliberately cruel place to wound somebody, not where you shoot to kill. Grimshaw survives it unlike Molly, who only had time to register she had been shot before collapsing. We hear the pain she is in, groaning in agony, and I wonder if in that moment she thought of Molly. The girl she killed who never said a word against them, who she shot instead of Micah, who must have felt this very pain before life left her. A miscarriage of justice carried out by her, only now for the same to happen to her.

Grimshaw and Molly are more similar than either of them would like to admit, women who love Dutch with short tempers and fierce loyalty. In Molly’s conversation with Arthur before she is pushed aside for a robbery, she is about to ask Arthur about loyalty. She mentions how Dutch says loyalty is everything, but she is cut off and we never hear the rest of what she was going to say. Even when she knows Dutch is being disloyal to her and him calling her delusional, she stays by him. It is only in chapter 4 when she truly gives up on them both. Grimshaw is loyal to Dutch until the end, staying with the gang no matter their circumstances. But Molly is young and Grimshaw is not. Molly, for a short period of time, gets Dutch’s attention and Grimshaw does not. Molly dies quickly and Grimshaw does not.

It is the extension of Grimshaw’s pain that really makes the death feel like the justice she failed to carry out. In addition to that, she was killed by the real traitor. Micah shooting her in the stomach only further highlights the intentions of Grimshaw shooting Molly, for pain over a kill. The arbiter of justice fails for perhaps the first time in her life, and it all comes back in the end.

[skloomdumpster]

Hello,

darling lilshitdumpster

Tell me who told you that your gift is going to be about Skloom?! I meant I love that ship as well as you so that's why I'd be happy to make something for you. I was actually heading towards making an angstish AU about Sebastian and Aisha. I thought you said you'd love any toxic dynamic to be in the center of the gift? Plans change then.

So, you did mention, in fact, several characters in the form, do you want any of them to be included in your gift as well apart from Skloom? As side or main characters, if any? And would you even love to get a multi-shipping content or do you want it to be solely focused on one couple?

Best wishes,

Sank Clothes 🎅

Hiiiiii 😀! Would you do me the honour of answering these? Your top 3 Fate characters are? And your favorite sentences of said characters? If you could put them together in a movie, which one would that be? And why? Which meme's would you associate with your top 3?

Hi Santa!! I'm sorry for the late reply once again 😭

I don't think I can accurately name my top 3 characters. Obviously Sky and Bloom, but they flip flop in order of whom I love more, and then the third spot is such a hard one! I really love everyoe except Farah lol. If I can name a couple: Riven, Stella, Terra, Saul, Grey, Sebastian, Andreas, Rosalind.... 🙈

My favorite sentences: Sky has multiple ones in my book, but these two take the cake FOREVER:

"I am a fixer. What'd you expect? I'm the son of a war hero, raised in Alfea. I've heard more stories about the great Andreas than I can count. It's almost like he's still alive. But he's not. He's an ideal. Do you have any idea how hard it is to live up to? Even Silva, it's like he's… It's like he's playing some role out of a sense of duty, when all I really want… I'm a fixer 'cause… I have to be. 'Cause I'm supposed to be. Because... When I fix others, I don't have to think about how fucking broken I am."

AND

"So, you wrote me a letter? You were gonna walk out of my life forever, so you wrote me a fucking letter." "I thought if I told you in person-" "That I'd try to stop you? You were right. Don't you dare walk through that thing, Bloom. There has to be another way to close it. - I don't think you wanna try. I think you've been looking for a way out."

I'll simply never EVER be over this interaction. Bloom's lines in the last one are also all bangers, but they break my heart too much to say they're my favorites. Sky's are righteous and angry, Bloom's are just SOOOO depressing, I can't think about it too much.

About the movies... I think I'd love to see estranged Skloom, would be a fun twist. I knooow they're lovey dovery af, but I love when they get nasty and they DO in canon, Bloom is constantly lying to this man and Sky is constantly angry lol. So I think any sort of romance where the two leads are ANNOYED at each other, like been there done that.

About the second ask! If you're to include any other side characters, I'd looove for some Andreas, Saul, Rosalind, Beatrix, Mike/Vanessa, Stella, Riven. Skloom + the people who are in their corner is my weakness. Does Rosalind like them? We know she sees Sky as a fuck up, but she does fish his ass for the banquet! What about Andreas? Does he agree that Sky landed on his feet with Bloom? Is he embarrassed of it, does he think his son is a wimp? Was he secretly impressed when Sky mouthed out Prince Arthur? Saul + Any Bloom interaction, she's the cause of so many of his white hairs, but she comes through!! for him!!! Skella as a platonic dynamic has my whole heart, same as brotp Skyriv and omg Beatrix thrown into this chaos...

What I don't want though, is for characters to be shoehorned in. If you wanna focus in only 1 of the couples I listed, that's perfectly fine for me, or just 1 brotp... I don't want it to become that meme like "why is Terra suddenly the bus driver" 😂