#its called 'MER~LIN~'

[men-in-knights]

Masterpiece~

[lets-all-calm-down-a-bit]

Magic of the Mundane

I wanted to post this because even though it’s not Christmas, these two are tearing me to pieces and I needed an outlet. Also I wanted to add a nice fluffy fic to the pile of sad or sexual ones. I’ve never done this before so please be patient.

Summary: Merlin comes home on Christmas Eve to Arthur waiting for him

Warnings: Some mild cursing but that is it.

Words: 1217

    It was Christmas Eve, and Merlin was feeling like horse dung. He did every year when this day came around. The day Arthur died.

    He’d waited centuries for Arthur to come back to him, and 3 years ago, he did. Exactly 3 years ago. Pretty on the nose to send Arthur back on the day he died, right? But Merlin wasn't complaining. He had him back, Gods he had him back and it felt so good.

    But Merlin couldn't shake the uneasy feeling he had. Arthur was back, but he had left so easily. What if some higher power decided it was time for the story to come full circle, and Arthur would die once again? No. Even if Merlin got him back on this day, he would not forget this was the day he lost him. He will never forget.

    As people chattered with their families and friends in front of brightly lit shops of red and green, Merlin shuffled past at a brisk pace, brushing snow from his hair to no avail. The thick blanket of shiny white crunched under his boots as he made his way back to his home. Their home. He let out a huff of warm air and watched as his breath became a white cloud in the cold winter sky. He let out a slight smile. Now that was magic. The earth was astounding in so many ways, and he wasn't about to forget it. 

    When Merlin finally turned down the winding gravel road that lead home, he was beginning to feel tired, lonely, and not at all fond of the cold weather. A freezing, wet, stinging sensation met his head as slightly melted snow dripped from the canopy of bare branches above him. He cursed and muttered a quick incantation to melt it off.

 “This bloody weather wouldn't be so bad if Arthur would get his fat arse up and come with me,” He thought, but he didn't mean it. In fact, Arthur had offered to come with him, but Merlin had insisted on him staying home, worried he might catch something and be taken away again.

    Once he reached the end of the gravel path and was thoroughly soaked, he made it home. The house wasn’t small, but it wasn't too big either. Perfect for two, and maybe a guest every once in a while. It was sturdy, with stone walls, and charming, with a moss-covered roof and window boxes with flowers. Of course, there were no flowers right now, but you should see them in spring—the garden surrounding the house combined with the vibrant window boxes made for a beautiful sight. Merlin built the house himself.

    He stomped the snow from his boots on the doormat and turned the brass knob, sighing as the warm air his face. Quickly he stumbled inside, taking off his boots and placing them by the door. Reaching up to hang his coat, he lifted his voice enough to be heard around the house.

    “Arthur, I’m home!” He called, walking toward the living room, shivering. Arthur was sitting in an overly extravagant red armchair next to the fire, looking up at Merlin with reading glasses on and a book in hand.

    “Well, you don't have to shout, Mer-lin. I heard you come through the door with all your stomping and carrying on.” He drawled, placing a bookmark in between the pages and snapping the book shut. Merlin rolled his eyes, but internally breathed a sigh of relief. He was here. He was ok. He was still a prat, but he was ok.

    “What have you been reading? I'm scared for you, your brain might just burst if you force it to do something so out of its comfort zone.” Merlin quipped, sitting on the arm of the chair and peering over at the cover. Arthur scoffed and shoved him away, holding the book out of reach and hiding the cover from his sight. 

    “It’s a nice book called none of your damn business, Merlin. I think you could have a lot to learn from it. I should give it to you when I'm finished.” He retorted, concealing it beneath a pillow at his side. Merlin let out a frustrated puff and plopped down on the couch.

    “Fine then. Keep your secrets. I’ve just been freezing my arse off outside trying to find milk while there's a shortage. Didn't even find any, by the way, the shelves were empty. I went all the way out there just for nothing, and you won't even tell me what’s on your current reading list.”

    Arthur’s eyes softened, and he reached out for Merlin’s hand. Despite his best efforts to suppress a smile, it played on the corners of Merlin’s lips.

    “Oh, you know it’s not like that. I’m just planning something, that’s all. You’ll find out in due time, you mad old man.” Arthur said fondly. It turned out that knowing just how to rub Merlin the wrong way resulted in the eventual easy knowledge of how to do it right. Merlin relented and grinned, squeezing his hand and watching the way the light from the fire flickered and reflected on Arthur’s golden hair, giving the impression of a halo, or a crown. Or magic. Merlin thought, moving his thumb back and forth over Arthur’s. He sighed.

    “Why don't you come over here? I’m cold and it's uncomfortable holding hands over the coffee table.” He murmured, giving Arthur that half-goofy, half-unbearably mushy grin that he can never bring himself to refuse. After a moment of apparent contemplation and a quick fight between reluctance and exasperation, he gave in and got up, settling down next to Merlin on the small couch. Merlin laid his head on Arthur's shoulder and looked up at him with an expression so warm he thought for a moment he could see the slight gold to his eyes that appears when he does magic. Arthur blinked and realized it was a reflection of the firelight. Regardless, it was beautiful. He was beautiful. He closed his eyes and felt the soothing repetition of Merlin brushing his thumb over his own, taking in the moment.

    “You know, your eyes are breathtaking when you do magic. It's like sparks of reflected firelight.” He whispered, feeling Merlin press a kiss to his temple and catching his breath. He’s had 2 years to get used to being touched, to being loved in such a sincere way. But the tenderness of it still catches him off guard. To think that a man such as Merlin could love him after everything he's done was unfathomable. He slowly breathed out as Merlin pressed gentle kisses in the corner of his mouth, on his forehead, and on the bridge of his nose. He was loved. He was loved.

    Merlin echoed his thoughts aloud as if he had known what he was thinking. “You are loved, Arthur. You deserve love.”

Arthur shivered and tightened his grip on Merlin’s hand. “I-I know. Don't be daft.” He muttered painfully. Merlin traced Arthurs's face with his free hand, cradling his cheek and pressing another soft kiss between his drawn-together brows.

“Thank you for coming back,” Merlin whispered, his voice wavering. Arthur let his mind slip away, and replied before surrendering to sleep,

“Thank you for waiting.”

[thatwitchrevan]

Still haven't quite finished the fics I've been working on but I finally started working on the design for one of my Revan's tattoos that I've had in my head forever. I waffled on this tattoo for a while but I think I've finally decided it 'fuck it, give them the lily.' This is probably also her first tattoo ever as the other two I've decided on she gets way later on.

[pencildragons]

musical merlin hc

im backkkkkkk

ok SO 

i have established here that merlin plays what’s pretty much medieval kazoo. merlin has now also learned to play a lute and calls himself a bard

he knows like 3 chords

does this stop him?

no

heresssss the thing though: his magic responds to music because it creates such a strong reaction in the chemistry of the brain, so while our boy’s strummin along, his magic is there rubbing its hands together going ‘ah yes dELIGHTFUL MORE POWER’

so he starts playing at the tavern in the evenings when he’s not manservant-ing or emrys-ing, bc Goddamnit gaius Will Not Stop telling arthur that’s where he is when he goes to kill the big bad of the week, so he may as well cement the excuse that he isnt a drunkard and is, instead, entertaining the people

arthur, of course, makes fun of him as soon as his hears this, because ‘you already entertain them, merlin, by being such an idiot’

all is well and good within camelot, for the king is once again insulting his best and only friend

theres a reason merlins his best and only friend

until he actually sees merlin playing, then he’s like 👀

gwaine is sitting next him like ‘i know what u mean’

merlins magic very subtly makes his singing better

for he cannot sing for S H I T

somehow his lute is always in tune i am very envious of this

and then he and the queen and the queens brother make a band!!

gwen singing, elyan playing viol, and merlin on lute

is this a jazz band?

yeah this is a jazz band.

he can also use his magic to reshape reality!!

one time he’s out in the woods on tour and arthur’s tagging along because he can and all the knights are there bc they’re the supportive friends who turn up to every concert and BOOM attacked by bandits and merlin just swings his lute around to his front and starts strumming and then BOOM the bandits are swallowed by the ground

nobody is much fazed by this except arthur, because merlin TRUSTS them enough to tell/ya boi isn’t as subtle as he thinks he is and he found out

(they’ll figure it out eventually)

his music also influences people

i have now decided it is a form of mind control, even though he doesn’t know it

i MEAN he figures it out eventually, when he and gwen have to go undercover in an enemy kingdom

(trust me when i say he’s AWFUL at improv)

merlin, frantically strumming: the queen of camelot is NOT HERE, no one from camelot is here, please everyone ignore the pretty lady in yellow~

literally everyone in the tavern: yeah ok sounds legit

merlin: hmm.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

End of His Rope

Prompts: Don't know if you're in the mood to write some Merthur but if you are, being the hurt/comfort royalty that you are, may I humbly request a little "shatter my soul" misunderstanding? If not that's fine too. - alittletoo-obsessed

So, I've been rereading some of your Merlin fics, and I was wondering if you could maybe write something where Merlin's experienced some sort of trauma before he came to Camelot, and so he's always avoiding things or reacting strangely, but Arthur assumes that's just his personality, but then something seemingly innocuous happens and he just breaks down completely in front of Arthur, & Arthur can't understand why. Cue Arthur trying to help him and Merlin eventually having to explain everything. - anon

Our BOYS i did miss them

Read on Ao3

Warnings: childhood trauma, flashbacks, drowning

Pairings: merthur, platonic or romantic don't care

Word Count: 3682

It’s always the water in his dreams.

Dark. Lapping at the stone walls. Bottomless.

The chain clanks heavily against the sides.

It’s so deep.

The rope is never long enough.

—————

Arthur has no idea why he had to get assigned the weirdest servant in Camelot.

Sure, it’s not like he asked for Merlin to be his servant—and he’ll kill you if you tell him this, but he’s not changing Merlin for the world—but come on, he could’ve at least gotten someone normal.

But no, he has to get this clumsy fool of a bumpkin that insists on tripping over his own feet, stumbling into walls, spending days at a time who knows where—he’s good friends with the tavern owner so he knows Merlin’s not there—and occasionally spouting great wisdom seemingly off the top of his head. And to top it all off, he’s endearing enough that Arthur panics whenever Merlin’s not right next to him.

It’s terribly annoying.

But that—well, most of that—he can forgive. Merlin’s a clumsy fool but he’s a good distraction. He’s a forgetful sod but he’s witty enough to make up for whatever time he’s lost with some sort of solution. He’s a disrespectful clot pole but it’s a welcome relief from all this ‘yes, sire,’ ‘no, sire,’ ‘would you prefer pork or poultry, sire?’ It gets a bit grating every now and then.

And alright, maybe Merlin’s not entirely to blame for how endearing Arthur finds him. Maybe.

But the whole thing about water Arthur will never understand.

The first time he asked Merlin to draw him a bath he thought the man was about to fall over. Merlin had gone pale and stammered out that yes, he would do that, how does he do that? He’d assumed it was because Merlin was shirking from his duties or whatnot but he hadn’t asked any of the other servants to help him, instead drawing the water for Arthur all by himself. Bemused, Arthur had told him he’s allowed to get help, only for Merlin to go on one of those impressive rants about how servants were people too, and interrupting their jobs seemed rude. Which, alright fair enough but it didn’t erase the pale and shaken expression from his face.

The first time he walked in on Merlin trying to clean the floor, he stopped and stared at the bucket sitting in the farthest corner of the room.

“You know it’s more efficient to keep the bucket with you, right?”

Merlin shrugs. “You have an issue with how I clean the floor, you are more than welcome to do it yourself.”

Arthur had scoffed and turned to leave but the tension in Merlin’s shoulders had stayed.

The first time he met Merlin in the courtyard and tries to walk past the well was the first time Merlin had strayed from his side.

“And of course, you’ll need to make sure all of my armor is…” Arthur trails off, looking around for Merlin, only to notice him a few paces away. “What the hell are you doing over there?”

“Walking.”

“Get back here,” Arthur barks, “I’m not done.”

“I can hear you perfectly fine over here.”

“Merlin—hey!”

“Sorry, sire!” A carriage blows right by them, Merlin reaching out to yank Arthur closer by his sleeve as it goes by. “Didn’t see you there!”

Arthur mutters a curse and brushes himself off.

“That’s why,” Merlin says, helping him dust himself off, “don’t want you to get run over by a wagon, now.”

Arthur cuffs him half-heartedly over the head and keeps walking.

He tries again a few times but Merlin studiously avoids the well with a grace that he scarcely applies to anything else.

It hits him when they’re out hunting once that Merlin might just hate getting wet.

So he pushes him into a pond.

Merlin splutters and curses at him and purposefully dumps all the arrows into the pond with him so they’re useless for hunting but he knows how to swim and if the way he slings his sodden neckerchief at Arthur is any indication, he’s not entirely opposed to the water.

And yes, the day was hot and maybe a water fight was the best way to cool off.

It only ever happens when they’re in Camelot. Sometimes Merlin will accidentally kick one of the buckets and it looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin. Arthur chuckles at him and calls him a delicate pansy but it’s only ever that loud noise. Not when the bells are going off—they really need to get better security for the dungeons—not when Merlin drops another tray, only the bucket.

And he still won’t go near the well.

Merlin must just not like it. That’s fine.

Doesn’t mean he’s going to get out of his chores, though.

He watches Merlin go about his day, watches him change the sheets, do up the rest of the room, get the laundry, but he never goes into the courtyard. He frowns when Merlin does ask someone else—Lilian, he thinks her name is—to go get a bucket of water for him, but there’s nothing quite like the way that Merlin lingers at the very edge of the courtyard, his gaze on a constant swivel, trying to see something that isn’t there.

It’s unnerving.

But it’s Merlin, and Merlin is strange, so Arthur just shrugs and moves on.

—————

Merlin wakes up in a cold sweat.

He wraps his arms around himself and scrambles to the floor. Dust cakes itself over his shins and forearms and he heaves a sob.

The hand on his shoulder that branded him so many years ago hums with the feeling of Arthur’s glove.

—————

“Leave it,” Arthur says, patting Merlin’s shoulder as he walks by, “we’ll get the next one.”

He steers Merlin away from the well toward the castle door, the dropped bucket rolling across the stones. Behind them, Lilian lowers another bucket into the well, the soft splash-thunk of the water and the creak of the handle. Arthur shakes his head.

“Why does it have to be so bloody hot?”

“It’s summer,” Merlin mumbles, clearly feeling the heat too by the sweat beaded on his brow, “it’s supposed to be hot.”

“Not this hot.” Arthur shakes his head, dismayed when his hair sticks to his forehead. “We should be inside.”

“You’re the one that dragged us out here, sire.”

“Enough. Come on. I’m sure there’s somewhere cooler we could be sitting.”

They make their way back into the castle, Merlin immediately going to draw the curtains to block out the hideous light of the sun as Arthur flops down onto his bed and scrubs his hands over his face.

“You’ll get your sheets all sweaty.”

“Everything in this castle is already sweaty,” Arthur mumbles, “what’s a few sheets?”

“Well, when you have to sleep on them tonight, that will be your problem.”

“Please. I’ve slept in worse.”

“Mm.” Merlin swats him with a pillow. “You’ve also complained about your room being too hot more times than I can count. Move.”

“You move,” he manages as he peels himself off the bed and onto the floor. “Why is it so hot, Merlin?”

“I told you, it’s summer.”

Arthur squints. “You’re wearing so many clothes.”

“It is polite to wear clothes, Arthur.”

“But you’re wearing a jacket and long sleeves and a scarf and long trousers! How are you not hot?”

Merlin shrugs. “I run cold.”

“C’mere then.” Arthur holds out his hand. “I’m too hot. Cool me off.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You’d have better luck sticking your head in a casket of mead.”

“Merlin.”

“You would,” Merlin sings, “but then you’d be even stickier than you are now.”

“Fine.” His head falls back against the bed with a thud. “Maybe I’ll just jump in water next time.”

He’s too hot to notice the way that Merlin stiffens.

—————

Merlin pants and heaves and scrabbles at the floor. It’s real, he’s really dry, it’s safe, there’s nowhere to go down.

He shivers on the cold floor and reaches for a blanket, wrapping himself in it tightly and clutching the fabric to his face. It scratches horribly and he rubs his cheek into it.

Rough is safe. Dust is safe. Warm is safe.

There’s nowhere to go.

High above Camelot, dark clouds begin to swirl in the sky, carrying with them the promise of rain.

—————

Arthur sighs as he slumps under the edge of the stable. Really, a rainstorm? Right now? The air had a weight to it, hanging over the courtyard like a dirty rag, right up until the heavens burst open and decided to pour over the city. They’d barely made it to the safety of the stable in time before it looked like the storm was doing its best to wash the courtyard clean.

“Well, there goes the plan for the rest of the day.”

Merlin huddles against the stable, shying away from the gutter. “Are we going to try and make it back inside?”

“Unless you fancy a mad dash through the storm, I’d say we’re better off waiting it out.”

Merlin glares at the water like it’s personally insulted Gaius in front of him. Arthur follows his gaze to watch one of the horses finally drag its cart under an overhanging section of roof.

“Seems everyone wants to get out of this rain.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Arthur sighs before something hits him in the forehead. He glances up.

A raindrop hits him square in the eye.

Biting back a curse, he glances around and spies a bucket.

“Aha!”

“What’re you—Arthur?”

“This should show you,” he mutters, shoving the bucket under the leak, “there. Now try it.”

He looks up to reassure Merlin that he’s fine, he just got hit in the eye with a raindrop, only to see Merlin’s face.

“…Merlin?”

Merlin’s face is ash. His mouth hangs open, his lips dry despite the rain and his lower lip starts to wobble.

“Merlin!”

And Merlin is gone, tearing through the rain like a bat out of hell. Arthur mutters another curse and races after him, barely flinching at the deluge as he tries to keep his eyes on Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, as they dart into the castle and up the stairs.

“Merlin, where are you—slow down, you’re going to—Merlin!”

Merlin trips. He falls.

Arthur reaches out and wraps an arm around Merlin’s waist, just saving him from careening down a staircase.

“Merlin, shh,” he tries, only to have to grunt and struggle to keep a hold of the man as he claws at the air in front of him, “come on—Merlin!”

His room. They need to get to his room.

“Sorry, Merlin,” he mumbles, before swinging the man up—why is he so light?—and making a break for his chambers.

The door slams shut behind him and he lets Merlin go, his chest aching as he watches him fall to the floor, scrabbling madly at the stone until his fingers start to bleed.

“Merlin,” he cries again, dropping to his knees and taking Merlin’s hands in his, “Merlin, look at me!”

His…his eyes…

Arthur has never seen Merlin look like this. He’s never seen him in so much pain.

“Merlin,” he tries, softer this time, “Merlin, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m right here.”

Finally, finally, Merlin stills. Though still is almost worse, he looks frozen. He swallows.

“…’rthur?”

“Yes, Merlin, it’s me, I’m right here, it’s alright.” He gives Merlin’s hands a gentle squeeze. “What’s—oh!”

Merlin throws himself at him, all but knocking him over as he wraps his arms tightly around his waist. Arthur catches him with a huff, letting him bury his soaking wet face in his jerkin.

“Easy, Merlin, it’s alright,” he laughs nervously, “you’re—well, alright, you idiot, if you…if you need to…”

He says as if he’s not cuddling Merlin already.

Arthur sighs, the dampness of their clothes making it more than a little uncomfortable but not caring in the slightest when Merlin starts to sob into his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, Merlin, it’s alright, I’m right here. You’ve got me, I’ve got you, we’re not going anywhere.” He rubs Merlin’s back firmly and presses his cheek to his wet hair. “I’ve got you.”

Poor Merlin is still shaking like a leaf. Arthur frowns, glaring at the storm with the intent to stare it down until it tells him why the hell it thinks it can hurt his Merlin like this.

“The rain can’t hurt you anymore,” he growls, “we’re inside. You’re safe. Everything’s alright.”

Merlin hiccups. “We’re—it’s—over?”

“The storm isn’t quite through yet, but we’re out of the rain, yes, Merlin, you’re safe.”

“Don’t—want—fall—“

“You can’t fall here, I’ve got you, we’re on the floor.”

“Rope—too short—won’t reach all the way—hurts—“

The roaring protectiveness in his gut starts to give way to confusion, what rope? Where is Merlin trying to go?

“Calm down, Merlin,” he says instead, rubbing his back, “it’s alright, there’s no rope—“

Merlin lets out a howl.

“No, no, no! That’s not—there is a rope,” Arthur tries desperately, “and it’s long enough, we can reach, it’s alright, everyone’s safe, you’re safe, shh, shh…”

The howl buries itself in some soft part of Arthur’s chest. His hands are itching for his sword, something, anything to fight what’s causing Merlin this much pain but he can’t, there’s nothing, so he wraps his arms tighter around Merlin and glares at the storm.

After a long, long time, when their tunics have done their best to meld with their skin, Merlin stills. There’s one more soft hiccup before a cold nose presses itself to Arthur’s neck.

“…Merlin?”

“‘Rthur? Arthur?”

“It’s me, Merlin, I’m right here.”

“Arthur…” Merlin tenses and before Arthur can protest, pulls away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Arthur says sharply, only for Merlin to flinch. He softens his voice and reaches for him. “Don’t pull away, don’t apologize. Are you hurt?”

Merlin lets him wrap an arm around him, thank god. “No. Not hurt.”

Arthur opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it. “Come on, let’s get you out of these wet clothes. Get dry. Yeah?”

The word ‘dry’ seems to unlock something, Merlin’s limbs flowing looser around his body. “Yeah…”

“Dry it is then,” Arthur says quietly, “come on, there are towels for us to dry off, we can get dry, we’ve got dry clothes here.”

Concern chases its tail around Arthur’s chest as he carefully tousles Merlin’s hair dry as Merlin peels himself out of his soaked clothes. They end up in a sodden heap in the corner, ready to be taken to the laundress’s as Arthur offers Merlin one of his nightshirts.

Merlin looks like a drowned puppy, blinking warily at the proffered shirt.

“Just put it on, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, “it’s dry and warm.”

There’s the magic word again. Merlin tugs on the shirt and wraps his arms around himself. Arthur glances behind him at the bed and prods Merlin’s shoulder.

“Under the covers now,” he murmurs, smiling a little at Merlin’s confusion, “come on, I want to be warm too. And if you still run cold you’re going to need more than that to warm you up.”

Merlin lets him tug them both up to the other end of the bed, under the covers, pulling the sheets up to their chins. Arthur reaches out to take Merlin’s hands and examine them.

“You’re hurt,” he murmurs, “but it shouldn’t last very long. We can go to Gaius if you really need it.”

He glances up to see Merlin’s exhausted little face.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tugging Merlin a little closer, “are you alright?”

“Tired, now,” Merlin mumbles, “and embarrassed.”

“It’s okay.” Arthur pulls him closer. “C’mere.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Warming you up.” And hugging you because you’re still looking like a drowned puppy.

“Oh.” Merlin is all elbows and knees and wet hair, scrunched up under Arthur’s chin, but he relaxes a little. “Thanks.”

“Mm.” Arthur runs a hand over his back. “Want to talk about it?”

Merlin hums. “Not really.”

Arthur bites back a curse and takes his lip between his teeth. “Can I ask what it was that set it off? So it…doesn’t happen again?”

Something warm flares against his neck. “It’s stupid.”

“You just had a breakdown in my arms, Merlin, it’s not stupid.”

“They can both be stupid.”

“Well, they aren’t.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“It makes you upset,” Arthur says firmly, “it’s not stupid.”

Merlin is quiet for a few moments. Then: “you can ask.”

Good. “Was it the storm?”

“Not really.”

“Was it the rain?”

“Not really.”

Arthur frowns. Then what could it have been? Merlin had been glaring at the storm like he wanted it to go away.

But he was the one to suggest they make a run for it.

As a matter of fact, he’d been fine up until…

Up until Arthur had moved the bucket.

“…Merlin?”

“Yeah?”

“Was it the bucket?”

Merlin stiffens. Then he lets out a long sigh and tucks his face deeper into Arthur’s chest. “Yes.”

“…can I ask why?”

“Do you have to?”

Yes. “No, I don’t, I just…” Arthur takes a deep breath. “I don’t like seeing you like this, Merlin, it…you’re upset and I can’t help and I can’t do anything. It hurts.”

He holds Merlin a little tighter.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he confesses in a whisper, “I want to help.”

Merlin shudders in his arms. “Well that’s not fair,” he says hoarsely, “but…thanks.”

And the story comes spilling out of him.

There is a well on the outskirts of Ealdor. It is old, built before Merlin’s mother can remember, and it has one metal bucket on the end of a long, fraying rope. When there is a drought, the bucket has to be lowered further in order to reach the water.

One year, there was a very bad drought. The well was running dry. So the people of the village decided to build a new well closer to the river with a much longer rope. The old well was not used.

Merlin’s job used to be to fetch the water for the animals at the end of the day. So he would walk to the well. One night, he forgot that the old well wasn’t being used.

He found a pack of the village boys around the old well.

They were laughing and pointing at something inside.

Merlin wandered closer to figure out what was going on.

The bucket sat useless outside the well.

There was a boy inside the well.

Merlin couldn’t see him, it was too dark.

The splashing sounds were getting weaker.

The cries were getting quieter.

The other boys laughed at him when he threw his own bucket down and raced for the other one.

One of them grabbed his arm.

“Don’t, or we’ll throw you in too.”

Merlin had to watch.

The boys left when they couldn’t hear the cries anymore.

Merlin threw down the bucket.

The rope wasn’t long enough.

His mother found him the next morning, the metal bucket by his side long forgotten, his hands all but frozen to the old crank, still peering down into the water.

Arthur’s mouth runs dry as Merlin keeps talking. Unbidden, his arms tighten around the man mumbling into his chest.

He couldn’t have known.

He couldn’t have known.

How cruel those boys must have been, how awful it must be for Merlin to keep seeing that, over and over and over…

“I’m sorry,” he says in a strangled whisper when Merlin’s finished. “I’m so sorry.”

Merlin is quiet.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he continues, “it wasn’t, Merlin, it’s—it’s not your fault.”

“The rope wasn’t long enough,” comes the mumble, “I couldn’t save him.”

“Shh, shh, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself for the cruelty of others.” Arthur holds him tighter. “I’m sorry, Merlin, you don’t have to go near the well ever again, I promise, we can get someone else to do it.”

Merlin just curls further into his chest.

“You’re safe, you’re dry, everything’s alright, you’ll be fine—“ Arthur can’t stop blabbering on, trying to reassure the poor man in his arms— “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur too and holds tight. “Don’t have to go near the well?”

“No, no, Merlin, never.”

“Don’t have to use the buckets?”

“No. Only wooden buckets and only when you need to.”

“Don’t have to be wet?”

“You’re dry, I’ll keep you dry.”

“Is there still rope?”

“The ropes are long enough, they’re always long enough.”

“Good,” Merlin mumbles, the exhaustion finally bleeding into his voice, “good…good…”

When they wake up, they’ll have to talk about what else Merlin needs, how to deal with this. Arthur will have to grit his teeth and resist the urge to storm back to Ealdor and teach those boys a lesson. Merlin will curl his fingers into Arthur’s jacket every time they walk past the well.

But for now, Merlin will drift off to sleep in Arthur’s arms, Arthur will hold him, and they’ll stay safe and dry out of the rain where they don’t need a bucket to stop any leaks.

[aftertheskyy]

The Little Mer(lin)maid

Don’t take this seriously, I’m just tired (@ilovemosss @gayfirebender and @ursus-mari omgggg ty and ily bbs🥰)

Despite the title of this post, Arthur is the merman prince of Camelot, a kingdom under the sea

His father is obviously King Uther, who hates the human (and magic) world

But Arthur is obsessed with it

He collects human things and spends his days talking to Kilgharrah (Scuttle the seagull) about human things (cause they both give inaccurate advice, yk?)

Uther just hates magic because his daughter Morgana turned to it and became known as the evil sea witch

Anywho, instead of singing, Arthur, Gwaine, Lancelot, Elyan, and Percival are like the knights of the mermaid world

(Gwaine loves being a merman cause there are no shirts required)

They protect the castle and citizens from any potential magical dangers from Morgana

Leon is Sebastian, ordered to watch over Arthur

So one day, Prince Merlin’s ship gets caught in a storm and Arthur rescues him

And he pulls Merlin up to the shore (“Come on you idiot”)

He kind of watches over Merlin at first, making sure he’s still breathing

But Merlin starts to stir and Arthur swears that he could see his eyes flash gold

Frightened that Merlin would see him, Arthur leaves

Merlin doesn’t forget the voice (It called him an idiot, how could he forget it?)

Meanwhile Arthur becomes more and more fascinated with the prince whose eyes turn gold

(Let’s also imagine Merlin in that billowy shirt and the cape)

Also on a side note, Gaius is Quimby (that one dude who’s “responsible” for Eric in the actual movie)

Back to Arthur-- he’s completely infatuated with the prince

Uther is disgusted

(”BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM!!”)

Gwen as Flounder is comforting him

Meanwhile, SebastainLeon tries to sway Arthur into thinking that the mermaid world is much better than the human one

And SebastianLeon sings Under the Sea at this point in time

Fed up, Arthur goes to his sister Morgana for help

She tells Arthur that she can get him to the human world, but he has to give up his voice 

If Merlin and Arthur don’t kiss after 3 days of Arthur being on land, Morgana will take the other knights under her control (changing things up here slightly)

Arthur quickly obliges, eager to see the prince again

So he gains his legs and ventures off to Merlin’s castle

Merlin is confused as to why this gorgeous man in front of him won’t talk

But they spend lots of time together over the next few days

Meanwhile, Morgana goes above shore and disguises herself, hoping to win over the affection of Prince Merlin

Arthur is quickly pushed to the side, but not before Merlin takes him on a small boat ride around the area

For the “Kiss the Girl” scene, Leon cues the song and the rest of the knights join in (except its “Kiss the Prince” or smt)

Edit: Kiss The Merl ( @gayfirebender‘s idea and I'm screaming)

Mordred and Morgause as Flotsam and Jetsam sabotage the boat ride, toppling Arthur back into the ocean

Right before Morgana and Merlin’s wedding on Merlin’s ship (I hate that I just wrote that), Arthur, ScuttleKilgharrah, SebastianLeon, and FlounderGwen team up to stop the ceremony

It’s a giant mess of ScuttleKilgharrah flying into the boat and FlounderGwen offering encouragement while trying to create some big splashes of water to topple the boat

Somehow in the process, Arthur gets his voice back

“You idiot!” He says to Morgana

And Merlin recognizes the voice instantly

But they don’t have time to reunite-- Morgana is too busy winning this mini-sea battle

But, ah, don’t forget that Merlin has magic

And he uses it to save the day (Arthur melts at the sight of the golden eye flashes)

Uther is thankful to Merlin for defeating Morgana, and immediately approves of him

Arthur keeps his human legs

And he and Merlin get married and everyone is happy

[dustinnnaaa]

allies birthday part 2

allie and ray about to walk in the forest*

the rest in the house*

emma: now we have to make a gift and we need to make it quick!

norman: theres no need to rush well find gifts in time

lisnday: yea, i got the perfect gift in mind,well me and meridith its very special >:]

meridith: mhm 

nyssa: u have that look on ur faces where you two are plotting something and i dont like it

dei: dont be shyyy tell us what it is

lisndaya and meridith: its a secret!

dei: okaay?

while in the forest*

ray: sorry about that situation this morning,i should of looked where i was going heh

allie: oh nah thats my fault dont worry

*awkward silence*

allie: so i heard your singing the other day an-

ray: YOU HEARD? DAMMIT I KNEW I WAS LOUD I-

allie: ray calm down! i just wnated to say that your voice is amazing how come u never told me u had a voice of a angels

ray *blushes* wow im flattered heh i guess i just like keeping to myself

allie: but you can tell me anything you know that right

ray: of course...to be honest i-

linsday: oh there you two lovebirds are

allie: wait how did u find us

linsday: its called footprints

allie: oh right heh

lisnday: anyway you guys can come back to the house now we were just setling some stuff

*back at the house*

nyssa looking in the window* there coming back!

emma: right guys get ready

linsday,allie and ray walk ino the house and then they open the dining room door*

everyone: SUPRISEE!!

allie: aww you guysss

isabella: right children r u ready for to give ur gifts

children: yes mom

nyssa emma and dei gives allie a batchet of flowers and a art set from the attic*

allie: tysm guys this is so sweet

*rest of the children giving their gifts*

ray: here you go allie

allie recieves a scrapbook full of pictures of ray and her together

allie: aww ray this is hoenstly so sweet *gives ray a hig and ray starting to turn red* 

ray: ehh its ok hehe

isabella: ok children time for cake 

all gather at the table and isabella gets the cake and places it on the table while everybody is singing happy birthday and allie then blows out her candles

phil: so what did you wish for allie?

allie: well thats a secret

eerybody eating cake and talking and ray and allie are staning and talking after finishing cake

ray looks to se that lin and meridith are giggling*

ray: oi tweedle dee and dum whats so funny

linsday: oh we thought this would be the perfect time to give you guys your gift

meridith: 3 2 1

linsday: NOW

*linsday behind rays back and meridith behind allies back tring to push them together to kiss btu insted hit eachothers head*

allie: ow! 

ray: ALLIE R U OK? GUYS WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!

l and m: dang we thought that would work!

allie: im fin r u ok your hed hit pretty hard

ray: im fine now, now, *looks at lin and mer* your both deaddd

lin and meridith: crosses their hearts and then start to run away and ray chasing them*

allie: here we go again :/

@abi-scribbles @a-pastel-unicorn @anto-19-nella-blog @crazyaboutart15

[min-sugar-7]

DAY 4: “What are you hiding, Merlin?” + Fun

    Merlin clenched his fist, hiding it behind his back. He stood, silently fuming, as Agravaine continued prodding Arthur’s feelings, manipulating them. Merlin sent silent glares towards Agravaine as Arthur let his uncle manipulate him.

    How dare Agravaine doubt Arthur’s rule? Arthur is a better man than he will ever be, that lying, gold-digging, backstabbing bastard. He is using Arthur’s father against him- making Arthur doubt his self-worth.

    Agravaine finally met his eyes over Arthur's shoulder, freezing. Merlin glared harder. Arthur followed Agravaine’s eyes and turned back. Merlin schooled his expression and morphed it into a bored one. All he had to do was think of the grain reports that they discussed at the beginning of the meeting.

    Tomorrow, Agravaine would enter the council room with a black eye and a limp. He would explain how an old man ambushed him on the stairs, punching him and sending him toppling down.

    Merlin silently chuckled. Arthur’s back was in a tense line, clearly not believing the story. Little did he know, the story was one hundred percent true. Arthur looked like he was trying not to smile, asking Agravaine to describe his old assaulter.

    Merlin denied having anything to do with the encounter. Arthur gave him a disbelieving look but let the matter drop. It could have been anyone. It’s not like Merlin’s the only one that can turn into an old man. Morgana’s almost mastered it too. So who knows what exactly happened?

...

    While Merlin’s and Morgana’s magic remained a secret to the court, he knew that Arthur had already started drafting and revising the magic ban. Agravaine just had to find it, which led to him questioning Arthur’s morale.

    He used the oldest trick in the book: bringing up Arthur’s parents. Merlin was already drafting his next attack.

    Merlin muttered a single spell, one that he had found hidden in the library. The Goblin’s section (as he’s come to call it) was a door to endless possibilities. It contained books on everything from dark magic to light, protective spells to offensive enchantments, and the best of them all: pranks.

    Agravaine was in for a treat.

    Not an hour later, Agravaine pounded Arthur’s door, almost knocking it down. He dragged Arthur, and by extension, Merlin, to his room, all the while spouting nonsense about how his furniture was stuck to the ceiling.

    “Uncle,” Arthur began, “I see no problem here.”

    All three men stared at the perfectly normal and appropriately placed furniture. Agravaine gaped like a fish. Merlin pinched his own arm to keep from laughing.

    “Perhaps a visit to Gaius, my lord?” Merlin perked in. Arthur didn’t turn around. Agravaine shot him a dirty look.

    “There will be no need for that. Good night, Arthur,” Agravaine bit back, embarrassed. He strode into his room, slamming the door behind him.

    “Wonder what that was about,” Arthur said, barely concealing his amused look. Merlin simply shrugged.

    Merlin once again stood behind Arthur, silently fuming. It wasn’t directed to Agravaine this time.

...

    Instead, it was Prince Karl, visiting Prince from the North. What started as a night of friendly fun and talk dissolved into very unfriendly jabs and gloats.

    Prince Karl had no sense of manners. He dared to compare Arthur’s rule to Uther’s, calling him soft. Arthur was not soft. Arthur is a fierce warrior, honorable Knight, and a renowned King, adored and respected by all.

    Well, perhaps Arthur was a bit soft, but in an honorable way. He is righteous and just; sentencing punishments that fit the crime. Arthur is fair and compassionate when the occasion calls for it. Arthur is Merlin’s King, the only one he will ever serve, ever love.

    Merlin sunk back into the shadows, blending in with the darkness. He let his magic take over, looking straight at Karl. An obnoxiously loud burp left the Prince’s mouth. And then another.

    Morgana turned back, as if she knew, and caught Merlin’s eyes. He couldn’t get rid of the evidence fast enough. A knowing look crossed her face.

    She smirked and turned back, lips moving in a silent spell. Her eyes flashed gold, but nothing happened. She caught Merlin's eyes again and winked.

    Prince Karl excused himself later that night, saying he was required back in his kingdom, immediately. He didn’t make it far into the courtyard before his hood got knocked off, revealing a flashy mop of pink hair. He hurried into his carriage, but the damage was already done.

    Merlin passed Morgana in the hallway, giving her a nod and a high-five. It wasn’t long before the two dissolved into laughter, clutching each other for support, trying and failing to look cool.

...

    “What are you hiding, Merlin?” said Arthur’s voice from behind him. Merlin jumped and, in a moment of panic, magicked away his beautiful work of art. Dammit.

    “Fuck- Nothing!” Merlin turned around. A glance in the armory told him that his spectacular self-sabotaging crossbow wasn’t magicked into the abyss. It was hanging from the ceiling. How the hell is it still hanging on?

    Arthur raised his eyebrow, seeing through Merlin’s lie.

    Merlin shrugged and stepped aside, presenting the empty table. A bit too empty. Very empty. It seemed like Merlin had magicked Arthur’s swords along with the bow. Merlin trailed his eyes towards the crossbow, but Arthur’s other weapons were nowhere to be seen.

    Arthur, on the other hand, let out a long-suffering sigh, following Merlin’s line of sight. He eyed the crossbow hanging from the ceiling with an exasperated look.

    “Context, please?” Arthur asked, all straight-faced and unamused. Merlin swallowed nervously, his mind racing with excuses he could use. “The truth, if you will,” Arthur added.

    Merlin sighed, resigned. “Well, as you can see, it is a crossbow.” Arthur gave him a pointed look. “A crossbow that backfires on the fifth shot.”

    “Why would it do that, Merlin?”

    “To make it look like an accident.”

    Arthur placed his hands on his hips, waiting for an explanation. Merlin refused to give in. Arthur finally barked out, “Why?”

    Merlin pursed his lips together, nodding. “Well, Lord Marco called you unfit to rule because you knighted commoners and then invited you out for a hunt, so I thought it was a great opportunity. Since knighting commoners was the best thing you’ve done. Not because he insulted you, obviously.”

    Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his face afterward. “What will I ever do with you?” he asked, and Merlin tried not to feel offended.

    “Well, you can start with helping me get that crossbow down-”

    Arthur interrupted him with a chuckle, which then turned into full-blown laughter. “Agravaine? That was you, wasn’t it? Also, Lady Annabel and her feathers! Oh, and Prince Karl and his pink hair. And Sir Laurve’s flimsy sword!”

    Merlin ducked his head, feeling his face heat up. “Prince Karl was Morgana,” he protested.

    “Should have known,” Arthur said, voice laced with delight? When Merlin looked up, he did not recall being this close to Arthur. He still had a stupid grin plastered on his face.

    “Um- Well, they had it coming!” Merlin frowned. “Being a prat is no excuse for them to insult the King-”

    “And you’re allowed to?” Merlin didn’t get to answer because the next thing he knew, there were soft lips pressed against his. All that he could think of was the fact that Arthur’s pressing his lips against his, kissing him-

    Arthur’s kissing him. Oh, Gods, Arthur’s kissing him.

    Soon the initial shock wore off, and Merlin remembered that kissing is a two-way street. Merlin brought his hand up to thread it through Arthur’s hair, marveling at its silky texture.

    Arthur broke off the kiss sooner than deemed acceptable, according to Merlin. So Merlin pulled Arthur into another kiss, letting it drag a bit longer.

    “God, you’re like an angry adorable cat,” Arthur mumbled against Merlin’s lips, providing no further explanation. Merlin snapped out of his post-kissing cloudy haze, realizing that Arthur’s tormenting him again.

    “I am not adorable. I am the greatest warlock to ever-”

    “See?” Arthur cut off, “adorable.” Arthur pulled back far enough to boop Merlin’s nose. “Now, promise that you won’t kill nobles? I don’t pay them much mind, you know?”

    Merlin was about to say yes because he can’t deny Arthur anything right after he managed to compliment and insult Merlin in the same sentence. No matter what he says, Merlin is not adorable. And Arthur should not have to go through such treatment from other nobles. He deserves better.

    “Fine,” Merlin conceited. Arthur never said that he couldn’t injure them. Plus, Morgana has promised no such thing, and Agravaine is still strutting around the castle, acting like he owns the place…

    Whatever happens, Merlin can confidently say that Agravaine had it coming.

[bellamyblakru]

recently followed and have been reading all your fics- can I request the bad things bingo “reopening an old wound” with Arthur being too tough to stay in bed like gaius said and Merlin taking care of him 🥺

HELLO OMG. this is so kind🥺thank you for following and reading my fics!! it truly means a lot to me🥺💞 i hope this doesn’t disappoint!! (also you sent this like over a week ago ajsmaja im so sorry it took me so long. i wrote this instead of sleeping tonight just for you😌🙌🏻)

here it is on ao3 and down below!! thank you so much again🥺

Merlin was going to strap Arthur to his bed—and not in the fun way. The dollophead was just so adamant in joining this stupid tournament he was hosting for the dignitaries that came from Nemeth.

“Merlin,” Arthur drawled out in that totally-not-endearing-way he does, “we’ve been over this! I must participate. I am King for a reason! I cannot back down. How would I look to them? Cowardly?” He scoffed at Merlin, who was scowling at the fireplace to refrain from magicking the king to another land for the entirety of the tournament.

“Stop that.” Arthur demanded, coming to sit down next to Merlin.

“I didn’t do anything.”

Arthur huffed, “You’re thinking about doing something illegal to get me out of this.”

Merlin frowned, “No. I wasn’t.”

“Hmhmm,” Arthur sang in disbelief, “I’m sure.”

Merlin sighed in defeat, “Arthur, you just started healing from the hunting accident and you know Gaius will be crossed that you directly went against his advice to stay in bed.”

Arthur folded his arms against his chest, “I’m not scared of going against Gaius, Merlin.”

Merlin smirked, “Now who’s lying?”

Arthur slumped against the front of the chair, “Alright, Gaius can be scary. But I’ve already made up my mind. And if anything does happen to me, you’ll be there anyways, right? What’s to worry about?”

Merlin conceded to that, “Fine, but just know I’ll be mad the entire time.”

Arthur let out a light laugh, placing his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “I can live with that.”

Merlin fake scowled at him, making Arthur laugh again, so, just because he could, he magicked a pillow to hit the King’s face—this led to a very dignified pillow fight that both will profusely refuse happened later.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur wouldn’t say he regretted participating per se, but when his shoulder started pounding and, if he looked at it for longer than three seconds, blood may be seeping through his tunic, he can’t really say he was happy with his early choices.

Not that he would tell Merlin this, of course, who was giving him a waterskin with narrowed eyes.

“Arthur.”

“Hmm?” Arthur was staring at the two men fighting in the arena, each wielding quarterstaffs, who were amateur fighters at best.

“You’re favoring your right side, did you know that?”

Arthur’s head snapped to Merlin, “What? No I’m not.”

Merlin scowled at him, “You’re lying!”

Arthur pouted, “No I’m not.”

Merlin gasped, pointing a finger in his chest, “You’re doing it again! Arthur, you have some tells, you know.”

Arthur swatted away the finger, “No I don’t.”

Merlin, the idiot, laughed, “No? You always raise your eyebrows a bit when you lie, sire , and I know this for a fact.”

Arthur frowned, he thought he grew out of that, “No one can ever tell! I have to lie all the time in court and no one ever calls me out!”

Merlin sighed, rather dramatically, “Arthur, they also didn’t spend every godforsaken second for years memorizing your emotions as I did.”

Arthur tilted his head, contemplating that, “Why did you do that?”

That took Merlin off guard, which Arthur had hoped for, giving his servant a sly smile, as Merlin went violently red, a flush coming up from his neck to his ears, “What else was I supposed to do? I look at your face for the majority of the day, Arthur. I’m sure you know all my tells as well.”

Arthur hummed nonchalantly, “Whatever you say, Merlin.”

He did know all of Merlin’s mannerisms and what they meant, but he wasn’t going to say that nor was that his goal here.

Merlin shook his head, the momentarily forgotten anger returning, “That wasn’t the point! You’re hurt!”

At the same time Arthur opened his mouth to lie again, he was called out for his next match. That was his goal—to distract the mother hen of a servant until it was too late.

With a what can you do? shrug, that made Merlin frown more, Arthur quickly spun and walked onto the field, ignoring the burning stare of his worried warlock at his back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin groaned as Arthur won the match, again. The idiot was hurting himself. Merlin could tell by the subtle weight changes to his right side, the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes, the way he paled slightly when Gwaine slapped him on the shoulder in congratulations.

He couldn’t believe this was the man he fell in love with. Destiny was a cruel thing indeed.

Merlin watched as Arthur let himself be manhandled by his knights, and Merlin couldn’t help but realize that put the entire gaggle of men in armor between them. Merlin narrowed his eyes at the rather clever tactic by his king.

As if sensing his disappointing glare, Arthur’s eyes found his. At least this time Arthur looked marginally apologetic, but not enough for Merlin’s taste. Was it really so bad that Merlin actually cared for Arthur’s well-being more than a stupid tournament?

He couldn’t fathom this. How was hitting people worth the pain Arthur must be in? Merlin grimaced when Leon slung his arm over the king, who imperceptibly winced at the movement.

When the next round called up, Merlin wanted to slam his head against the fence. Arthur was going against a sorcerer this round, because apparently the Merlin didn’t have enough to worry about as it was.

The sorcerer bounced on her heels, smiling at the king. Arthur smiled back, if not a little perplexed at the bubbly nature of the woman, and they shook hands.

Maybe this won’t go horribly wrong?

But when it began, Merlin recanted his statement vehemently. Of course it would go horribly wrong, it was Arthur he was talking about.

When the woman swung her quarterstaff at Arthur’s injured shoulder with her eyes glowing, Merlin jumped out of his seat. He ran into the field the second the staff hit its mark: Arthur went even more pale, and with a loud pained gasp, let go of his sword, landing roughly on his knees, grasping his shoulder.

Merlin didn’t hesitate. He took a stance between his king and the sorcerer, making Arthur’s blade fly into his own hand.

“Sorry, this ends now,” and with a swing of his sword, his eyes glowing the deepest golden, he attacked. Relentless, hurried, and cursing, Merlin had the woman at sword point in the matter of seconds—without breaking a sweat.

The woman’s eyes widened at the sword, hastily backing away with “I yield, my lord.”

Merlin wasn’t a lord, but he didn’t care to correct her as he handed the sword to Lance and went to Arthur’s side.

“That was a little overdramatic, don’t you think?” Arthur sighed out, pain clearly seen on his face, trying to make eye contact with Merlin.

Merlin grumbled, “Not remotely enough.”

Arthur let out a breathless, and delirious, laugh, “I think I’m bleeding out.”

And before anyone came closer, Merlin’s magic flared up.

The second he looked up, he realized that his magic brought them to Arthur’s chambers. With a small sigh of relief, Merlin made all the armor fall off and lifted Arthur’s tunic from over his head gently—hissing at the reopened wound pouring out blood.

“Arthur! You should have said something,” Merlin scolded, placing his hands of the opening and imagining the skin stitching itself back together—this would hold until Gaius came up and fixed Arthur himself.

Arthur looked at Merlin through clouded eyes, smiling softly, “Yeah, but what’s the fun in that?”

Merlin couldn’t help but soften at the look on Arthur’s face, “Careful, sire, keep looking at me like that and one could think you were besotted.”

Arthur murmured, “Indeed.”

Merlin was about to say something, not knowing what it would be, when Gaius crashed through the room with his healing bag in tow.

“Thank gods,” Merlin pushed himself out of the way as Gaius worked, helping him move Arthur to his bed when he was all patched up once more.

Arthur was lightly sleeping when Gaius made Merlin swear to magic the king down if he tried to move at all, and when Merlin swore his life on it, the old healer left them to their own devices.

An hour or two later, Merlin still hadn’t left Arthur’s chambers. He was currently sitting besides the king, placing a cool cloth to Arthur’s forehead, running his fingers through the golden sweat-soaked hair.

Merlin was singing softly when Arthur slowly opened his eyes.

“Merlin?”

“Arthur! How do you feel?”

Arthur groaned a little, trying to sit up, as he answered, “Not too good, I have to say.”

Merlin snorted, “Well serves you right. I told you that this was an idiotic plan. Why did you even do it? You have nothing to prove.”

Arthur was quiet for a minute as Merlin placed more pillows under him to make the king more comfortable, “I have everything to prove.”

Merlin sat back, confused, “To who? Camelot already adores you Arthur, and you’ve only been king for less than a year!”

Arthur sighed, leaning his head back, “To you, to myself, to my knights.”

At Merlin’s continued confused silence, Arthur made himself look at him, “To my knights, to show them that I can persevere. To myself, since this was the first tournament as King. And, to you, to show you that your devotion was worth it. That I was worth it.”

Merlin gaped, “Arthur! You have nothing to prove to me. Ever.” but when Arthur scoffed and looked away, Merlin lightly grabbed Arthur’s face and turned it to make Arthur see the truth written in Merlin’s eyes.

“Arthur, you are my king, now and always. I chose you because I knew that you are everything beautiful in this world. I give you my magic, my heart, and my life, because I know, in my soul, that you are the best person I will ever know. I never doubt my devotion to you because you prove time and time again how worthy you are of every title you bear. You are not only the best King to grace this land, but you are the very best of us. I know you, Arthur Pendragon, inside and out—so, please, never doubt your worth to me.”

Merlin lightly rubbed the tear off Arthur’s face that had slipped out, and Merlin muttered, “And if you ever try to fight with a recently closed wound again, after I specifically tell you not to, then I will find a way to strap you here and never let you leave my sight again.”

Arthur let out a small wet laugh at that, grabbing Merlin’s wrist. And while rubbing small circles there, that had Merlin’s pulse quickening, “I don’t know,” Arthur whispered, “when you defended me like that on the field, it was quite attractive. I would have appreciated it more if I hadn’t been bleeding out and delirious.”

Merlin laughed under his breath, “I should apologize to her, huh?”

Arthur shrugged his good shoulder, “You can after.”

Merlin quirked an eyebrow, “After what?”

Arthur gave a playful smile as he pulled Merlin into a kiss by his neckerchief. Merlin gasped, quickly reciprocating, a small smile forming at his lips.

And when they pulled back, foreheads resting on each other, Arthur quietly breathed out, “I love you too.”

[merlindynasty]

Ok, so my friend said something yesterday after reading my fanfiction (called love me you monster (the pain that takes the longest to fade) and its on AO3) about Arthur and I just wanted to put my thoughts here about him to see what others think.

So, Arthur’s the King of Camelot and is mostly seen, especially in earlier seasons, as a prat. He’s generally pretty rude, narrowminded and snobby in the first season, (um I’d like to see you walk on your knees anyone?) especially to those that are of lower status.

Until he meets Merlin.

Then he’s still pretty arrogant, but then only really to Merlin in the next season. Merlin’s changed him, and I don’t think this was intentional on his part, but now Arthur’s a bit more polite— he’s still a bit lazy, but now he’s treating people with more respect. Before he was just a prince, sick on power that he’s been spoon-fed as a baby, but he’s an adult now.

Of course, we see him many times throughout the show being portrayed as a little arrogant, and this was probably a bit for laughs, because admit it, it’s hilarious watching the banter between Arthur and Merlin. But what does he feel on the inside?

Arthur goes through some shit in the series if we’re being honest. The dangers he’s been placed in, the decisions he’s had to make, the loss of his loved ones (including Uther, Morgana, Lancelot, and Lancelot again, Gwen for a while, and then literally everyone in the last episode) are all accountable for how he feels, I guess.

Now here’s the contraversial bit: what if Arthur could be depressed? Now, I haven’t actually watched the show in about a year so I can’t pinpoint any exact moments where this is shown, except for a lot of groaning in bed while throwing stuff at Merlin.... there was a lot of throwing stuff at Merlin. Maybe he’s not depressed... but I think at least he’s a little unconfident in himself?

His father dies before he thinks he’s ready to lead and he’s thrust into the position of King; Gwen leaves him for Lancelot (it’s not her fault of course but it did happen) and that must have hurt like hell and then has to be banished from the kingdom; I think you see the point?

And a particular scene I want to point out; the scene where he’s drawing Excalibur from out of the ground. Beforehand, he’s wrapped up in his own self-doubt about whether or not he’s fit to be king. This is where we see him battling with his raw emotions and inner conflict. Then Merlin comes along, tells him a story and leads him to the sword, and even then he’s still feeling a little ‘down in the dumps’ and until he restores faith in himself and pulls out the sword with ease. (but what’s with that magic, Merlin? Something that I will never understand from that scene...)

So. I think Arthur’s pratliness is a shield he puts up, and always has, and on the inside he’s terribly self-conscious and doubting.

What do y’all think? Does what I’m saying remotely make sense? Talk to me about it! I’m very passionate.

[dollophead-merlin]

Therion Doe part 1

"It still baffles me how you can enjoy killing helpless creatures for fun. I understand doing it for food but after the fifth deer or so it just for sport."

"And it baffles me, Merlin how you can be such a girl's petticoat after going on countless hunting trips with me. Just man up already. I--"

"Shh!" Merlin shushed harshly when he saw a head of light brown hair through the trees. He quickly and quietly made his way over to the girl, ignoring Arthur's constant blabbering.

She bolted for the trees before he could take in her appearance, but he did see a white symbol on her brown cloak as she dashed away.

"Sire! A doe!" One of the knights said, pointing in the direction the girl ran off in.

"Stop! Arthur, get your men to stop. There was a girl that ran off in that direction I'm afraid you might--" The doe cried out and Merlin's heart broke. It had so much emotion to it. Almost as if a human had imitated a doe's cry.

Merlin rushed over to the wounded doe and soothed her as she whimpered. As he broke the shaft off the arrow sticking out of the poor creature's ribs, he saw the same symbol the girl had on her cloak imprinted on her coat.

"Well Merlin are you just going to stand there in wallow in pity or are you going to actually make yourself useful?"

"Wait..." Merlin muttered as he outlined the symbol with his finger.

"We don't have time, Merlin. What in the world has you so caught up anyway?"

"The girl I saw had this same symbol on her cloak."

"What are you suggesting, Merlin?"

"I think she might be a Therion. Gaius has mentioned them before. It means "wild animal" or "beast" but I have heard that they can be peaceful animals such as birds, or in this case a doe, but they're extremely hard to find." Merlin said with amazement but also worry, "Please Arthur, let me see. It won't hurt her. I promise." Arthur sighed.

"Fine you great girl. If she is a-- whatever you said she might be, ride ahead and take her to Gaius for immediate treatment."

"Thank you." Merlin returned his attention to the beautiful doe in front of him, being gentle and cautious. He whispered an incantation and slowly, the doe slowly shifted back to the young girl who now had tears rimming her bleary eyes. "Shhh... You're okay now. You're safe. We're going to take you back to Camelot and help you get better, okay? What's your name?"

"R-Rue" She murmured weakly, a wheeze escaping due to her punctured lung.

"Hello Rue, I'm Merlin. That man over there is King Arthur of Camelot." She wheezed heavily before passing out, probably due to pain. Gently picking the girl up, she positioned her on the horse before getting on himself and bolting for Camelot.

Once they got to Gaius' chambers, Merlin immediately got to work on taking the arrowhead out, cleaning, and bandaging the wound. He was almost done when Gaius walked in.

"Merlin, my boy , why are you back so early, you're supposed to be on a hunting trip with the King." Gaius scolded, not seeing the poor girl he was working over.

"Now's not the time for scolding Gaius." He said sluggishly, voice laced with concentration, "Pass me the needle and thread, would you?" He held out his arm, waiting for Gaius to place the materials in his outstretched hand, when finally, Gaius saw the girl.

"Whatever happened?" Gaius asked as he gave Merlin the needle and thread, sitting down next to him on the bench.

"I think she's a Therion. I saw her in the forest and when she dashed, I caught a glimpse of a symbol on her cloak. Not two seconds later, the knights shot a doe with the same symbol on her coat."

"I'll go do some research and let you finish up."

"Thank you Gaius."

After Merlin had finished up, he had taken Rue to his chambers for some privacy. When he had come back out, Gaius waved him over.

"From what I've read so far, Therions shift usually into great beasts like bears, gryphons, and oxen although some can shift into gentle creatures like birds and deer although it is very rare. Because of their instincts to run at any sign of danger, when therion does trust someone, they become emotionally attached to them no matter their current form. When they lose the one they trust, they cry for days, even weeks, like a fawn calling for its mother. They're also very fragile creatures. Their bones are very weak to allow them to shift easily and painlessly. I fear that if we let her go back into the wilderness, she won't last very long."

"I'll ask Arthur about it when he returns. I'm going to read up on some magic before he gets back."

Merlin quietly snuck into his chambers to see Rue clutching the blanket to her chest. He walked over and attempted to slip the blanket from her hands to cover her back up as it was winter and quite nippy on this day, however, he was unable to when Rue tightened her grip on the blanket and looked up at Merlin with her big, almost black eyes.

"Stay?" She whispered innocently. Merlin smiled and nodded.

He slipped behind her in his bed to which Rue curled herself up against his chest and nuzzled into his neck as Merlin layed the blanket over the two of them. He gently rubbed her back and stroked her hair which elicited a pleasured rumbling sound from her chest which lulled him to sleep.

[hlupdate]

A hand­shake can quell polit­i­cal unrest and sti­fle impend­ing war. It can, with a bit of spit, val­i­date a gentleman’s agree­ment, end a years-long roman­tic rela­tion­ship or send a young heart rac­ing. But it all depends on the two par­ties involved.

Daisy, 21, felt a seis­mic jolt when Har­ry Styles, 25, wear­ing a striped jumper and rings on three of his five fin­gers, clutched her hand two days after this year’s Met Gala in New York, when she served him gela­to at the shop where she worked.

“He decid­ed on a small mint choco­late gela­to and I made his and the one for his friend and I said, ​‘Can I just say I absolute­ly loved your Met Gala look’ and he said ​‘Thank you very much! What’s your name?’ And I said, ​‘Daisy’ AND HE FUCK­ING EXTEND­ED HISHAND AND REACHED TO SHAKE MY HAND AND I ACTU­AL­LY FUCK­INGSHOOK HIS HAND WHAT THE FUCK,” she wrote on Insta­gram after The Shak­en­ing. ​“Like I didn’t even say any­thing to gas him up besides ​‘I loved your met gala look’ and his fine ass went and shook my hand! WHAT A BEAU­TI­FUL FUCK­ING HUMAN BEINGTHAT HE IS GOD BLESS HIM AND I HOPE HW [sic] LIVES FOREVER.”

For Har­ry Styles, a hand­shake can be a roman­tic ges­ture, con­jur­ing a potent rev­er­ence in its recip­i­ent, like the time he met Gucci’s cre­ative direc­tor Alessan­dro Michele. ​“He was as attrac­tive as James Dean and as per­sua­sive as Gre­ta Gar­bo. He was like a Luchi­no Vis­con­ti char­ac­ter, like an Apol­lo: at the same time sexy as a woman, as a kid, as a man,” Michele told me, has­ten­ing to add: ​“Of course, Har­ry is not aware of this.”

No, Styles has no idea the pow­er he wields. In per­son, he’s tow­er­ing, like some­one who is not that much taller but whose rep­u­ta­tion adds four inch­es. Styles has a seda­tive bari­tone, spo­ken in a rum­my north­ern Eng­lish accent, that tum­bles out so slow­ly you for­get the name of your first born, a swag­ger that has been nursed and per­fect­ed in myth­i­cal places with names like Pais­ley Park, or Abbey Road, or Grace­land. Makes com­plete sense that he would be up for the role of Elvis Pres­ley in Baz Luhrmann’s upcom­ing biopic. He was primed, nay, born to shake his hips, all but one but­ton on his shirt cling­ing for dear life around his tor­so. Then the part was award­ed to anoth­er actor, Austin Butler.

“[Elvis] was such an icon for me grow­ing up,” Styles tells me. ​“There was some­thing almost sacred about him, almost like I didn’t want to touch him. Then I end­ed up get­ting into [his life] a bit and I wasn’t dis­ap­point­ed,” he adds of his ini­tial research and prepa­ra­tions to play The King. He seems relaxed about los­ing the part to But­ler. ​“I feel like if I’m not the right per­son for the thing, then it’s best for both of us that I don’t do it, you know?”

Styles released his self-titled debut solo album in May 2017. The boy­band grad was clear­ly unin­ter­est­ed in hol­low­ing out the charts with more for­mu­la­ic meme pop. Instead, to the sur­prise of many, he dug his heels into retro-fetishist West Coast ​’70s rock. Some of the One Direc­tion fan-hordes might have been con­fused, but no mat­ter: Har­ry Styles sold one mil­lion copies.

Despite its com­mer­cial and crit­i­cal suc­cess, he didn’t tour the album right away. He want­ed to act in the Christo­pher Nolan film Dunkirk. To his cred­it, his por­tray­al of a British sol­dier cow­er­ing in a moored boat on the French beach­es as the Nazis advanced wasn’t skew­ered in the press like the movie debuts of, say, Madon­na or Justin Tim­ber­lake. Per­haps he was fol­low­ing advice giv­en by Elton John, who had urged him to diver­si­fy. ​“He was bril­liant in Dunkirk, which took a lot of peo­ple by sur­prise,” John writes in an email. ​“I love how he takes chances and risks.” Act­ing, unlike music, is a release for Styles; it’s the one time he can be not himself.

“Why do I want to act? It’s so dif­fer­ent to music for me,” he says, sud­den­ly ani­mat­ed. ​“They’re almost oppo­site for me. Music, you try and put so much of your­self into it; act­ing, you’re try­ing to total­ly dis­ap­pear in who­ev­er you’re being.”

Fol­low­ing the news that he missed out on Pres­ley, his name was float­ed for the role of Prince Eric in Disney’s live-action remake of The Lit­tle Mer­maid. How­ev­er, fans will have to wait a bit longer to see Styles on the big screen as that idea, too, has sunk. He won’t be The King or the Prince. ​“It was dis­cussed,” he acknow­ledges before swift­ly chang­ing the sub­ject. ​“I want to put music out and focus on that for a while. But every­one involved in it was amaz­ing, so I think it’s going to be great. I’ll enjoy watch­ing it, I’m sure.”

The new album is wrapped and the sin­gle is decid­ed upon. ​“It’s not like his last album,” his friend, rock ​‘n’ roll leg­end Ste­vie Nicks, told me recent­ly over the phone. ​“It’s not like any­thing One Direc­tion ever did. It’s pure Har­ry, as Har­ry would say. He’s made a very dif­fer­ent record and it’s spectacular.”

Beyond that, Styles is keep­ing his cards close to his chest as to his next musi­cal move. How­ev­er, the air is thick with rumours that his main wing­man for HS2 is Kid Har­poon, aka Tom Hull, who co-wrote debut album track Sweet Crea­ture. No less an author­i­ty than Liam Gal­lagher told us that both big band escapees were in the same stu­dio – RAK in north-west Lon­don – at the same time mak­ing their sec­ond solo albums. Styles played him a cou­ple of tracks, ​“and I tell you what, they’re good,” Gal­lagher enthused. ​“A bit like that Bon Iver. Is that his name?”

Har­ry Styles met Nicks at a Fleet­wood Mac con­cert in Los Ange­les in April 2015. Some­thing about him felt authen­tic to the leg­endary front­woman: ground­ed, like she’d known him for­ev­er, blessed with a win­ning moon­shot grin. A month lat­er, they met back­stage at anoth­er Mac gig, this time at the O2 in Lon­don. Styles brought a car­rot cake for Nicks’ birth­day, her name piped in icing on top. By her own admis­sion, Nicks doesn’t even cel­e­brate birth­days, so this was a sur­prise. ​“He was per­son­al­ly respon­si­ble for me actu­al­ly hav­ing to cel­e­brate my birth­day, which was very sweet,” she says.

Styles’ rela­tion­ship with Nicks is hard to define. Induct­ing her into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in New York as a solo artist ear­li­er this year, his speech hymned her as a ​“mag­i­cal gyp­sy god­moth­er who occu­pies the in-between”. She’s called him her ​“lovechild” with Mick Fleet­wood and the ​“son I nev­er had”. Both have moved past the pre­lim­i­nary chat acknowl­edg­ing each other’s unquan­tifi­able tal­ents and smooth­ly accel­er­at­ed towards play­ful cut-and-thrust ban­ter of a witch mom and her naughty child.

They per­form togeth­er – he sings The Chainand Stop Drag­gin’ My Heart Around; she sings the one alleged­ly writ­ten about Tay­lor Swift, Two Ghosts. One of those per­for­mances was at the Guc­ci Cruise after­par­ty in Rome in May, for ​“a lot of mon­ey”, Nicks tells me, in a ​“big kind of cas­tle place”. She has become his de fac­to men­tor – one phone call is all it takes to reach the Queen of Rock’n’Roll for advice on sequenc­ing (“She is real­ly good at track list­ing,” Styles admits) or just to hear each other’s voic­es… because, well, wouldn’t you?

Fol­low­ing anoth­er Fleet­wood Mac con­cert, at London’s Wem­b­ley Sta­di­um, in June, Nicks met Styles for a late (Indi­an) din­ner. He then invit­ed her back to his semi-detached Geor­gian man­sion in north Lon­don for a lis­ten­ing par­ty at mid­night. The album – HS2or what­ev­er it’ll be called – was fin­ished. Nicks, her assis­tant Karen, her make-up artist and her friends Jess and Mary crammed onto Styles’ liv­ing-room couch. They lis­tened to it once through in silence like a ​“bunch of edu­cat­ed monks or some­thing in this dark room”. Then once again, 15 or 16 tracks, this time each of his guests offer­ing live feed­back. It wrapped at 5am, just as the sun was bleed­ing through the curtains.

Even for a pop star of Styles’ stature, press­ing ​“play” on a deeply per­son­al work for your hero to digest, watch­ing her face react in real time to your new music, must be… what?

“It’s a dou­ble-edged thing,” he replies. ​“You’re always ner­vous when you are play­ing peo­ple music for the first time. You’ve heard it so much by this point, you for­get that peo­ple haven’t heard it before. It’s hard to not feel like you’ve done what you’ve set out to do. You are hap­py with some­thing and then some­one who you respect so much and look up to is, like: ​‘I real­ly like this.’ It feels like a large stamp [of approval]. It’s a big step towards feel­ing very com­fort­able with what­ev­er else hap­pens to it.”

Wad­ing through Styles’ back­ground info is exhaust­ing, since he was spanked by fame in the social media era where every god­dam blink of a kohl-rimmed eye has been doc­u­ment­ed from six angles. (And yes, he does some­times wear guyliner.)

Deep breath: born in Red­ditch, Worces­ter­shire, to par­ents Des and Anne, who divorced when he was sev­en. Grew up in Holmes Chapel in Cheshire with his sis­ter Gem­ma, mum and step­dad Robin Twist. Rode hors­es at a near­by sta­ble for free (“I was a bad rid­er, but I was a rid­er”). Stopped rid­ing, ​“got into dif­fer­ent stuff”. Formed a band, White Eski­mo, with school­mates. Aged 16, tried out for the 2010 run of The X Fac­torwith a stir­ring but aver­age ren­di­tion of Ste­vie Wonder’s Isn’t She Love­ly. Cut from the show and put into a boy band with four oth­ers, Louis Tom­lin­son, Liam Payne, Niall Horan and Zayn Malik, and called One Direc­tion. Became inter­na­tion­al­ly famous, toured the globe. Zayn quit to go solo. Toured some more. Dat­ed but maybe didn’t date Car­o­line Flack, Rita Ora and Tay­lor Swift – whom he report­ed­ly dumped in the British Vir­gin Islands. (This rela­tion­ship, if noth­ing else, yield­ed an icon­ic, can­did shot of Swift look­ing deject­ed, being motored back to shore on the back of a boat called the Fly­ing Ray.) One Direc­tion dis­cussed dis­band­ing in 2014, actu­al­ly dis­solved in 2015. They remain friend­ly, and Styles offi­cial­ly went solo in 2016.

It’s been two years since his epony­mous debut and lead sin­gle, Sign of the Times, shocked the world and Elton John with its swag­ger­ing, soft rock sound. ​“It came out of left field and I loved it,” John says.

After 89 are­na-packed shows across five con­ti­nents grossed him, the label, whomev­er, over $61 mil­lion, Styles had all but dis­ap­peared. He has emerged only inter­mit­tent­ly for pub­lic-fac­ing events – a Guc­ci after­par­ty per­for­mance here, a Met Gala co-chair­ing there. He relo­cat­ed from Los Ange­les back to Lon­don, sell­ing his Hol­ly­wood Hills house for $6mil­lion and ship­ping his Jaguar E-type across the Atlantic so he could take joyrides on the M25.

“I’m not over LA,” he insists when I ask about the move. ​“My rela­tion­ship with LAchanged a lot. What I want­ed from LA changed.”

A great escape, he would agree, is some­times nec­es­sary. He was in Tokyo for most of Jan­u­ary, hav­ing near­ly fin­ished his album. ​“I need­ed time to get out of that album frame-of-mind of: ​‘Is it fin­ished? Where am I at? What’s hap­pen­ing?’ I real­ly need­ed that time away from every­one. I was kind of just in Tokyo by myself.” His sab­bat­i­cal most­ly involved read­ing Haru­ki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chron­i­cle, singing Nir­vana at karaoke, writ­ing alone in his hotel room, lis­ten­ing to music and eaves­drop­ping on strangers in alien con­ver­sa­tion. ​“It was just a pos­i­tive time for my head and I think that impact­ed the album in a big way.”

Dur­ing this break he watched a lot of films, read a lot of books. Some­times he texts these rec­om­men­da­tions to his pal Michele at Guc­ci. He told Michele to watch the Ali Mac­graw film, Love Sto­ry. ​“We text what friends text about. He is the same [as me] in terms of he lives in his own world and he does his own thing. I love dress­ing up and he loves dress­ing up.”

Because he loves dress­ing up, Michele chose Styles to be the face of three Guc­ci Tai­lor­ing cam­paigns and of its new gen­der­less fra­grance, Mémoire d’une Odeur.

“The moment I met him, I imme­di­ate­ly under­stood there was some­thing strong around him,” Michele tells me. ​“I realised he was much more than a young singer. He was a young man, dressed in a thought­ful way, with uncombed hair and a beau­ti­ful voice. I thought he gath­ered with­in him­self the fem­i­nine and the masculine.”

Fash­ion, for Styles, is a play­ground. Some­thing he doesn’t take too seri­ous­ly. A cou­ple of years ago Har­ry Lam­bert, his styl­ist since 2015, acquired for him a pair of pink metal­lic Saint Lau­rent boots that he has nev­er been pho­tographed wear­ing. They are exceed­ing­ly rare – few pairs exist. Styles wears them ​“to get milk”. They are, in his words, ​“super-fun”. He’s not sure, but he has, ball­park, 50 pairs of shoes, as well as full clos­ets in at least three post­codes. He set­tles on an out­fit fair­ly quick­ly, maybe changes his T-shirt once before head­ing out, but most­ly knows what he likes.

What he may not ful­ly com­pre­hend is that sim­ply by being pho­tographed in a gar­ment he can spur the career of a design­er, as he has with Har­ris Reed, Palo­mo Spain, Charles Jef­frey, Alled-Martínez and a new favourite, Bode. Styles wore a SS16 Guc­ci flo­ral suit to the 2015 Amer­i­can Music Awards. When he was asked who made his suit on the red car­pet, Guc­ci began trend­ing world­wide on Twitter.

“It was one of the first times a male wore Alessandro’s run­way designs and, at the time, men were not tak­ing too many red car­pet risks,” says Lam­bert. ​“Who knows if it influ­enced oth­ers, but it was a spe­cial moment. Plus, it was fun see­ing the fans dress up in suits to come see Harry’s shows.”

Yet tra­di­tion­al gen­der codes of dress still have the minds of mid­dle Amer­i­ca in a choke­hold. Men can’t wear women’s clothes, say the online whingers, who have labelled him ​“trag­ic”, ​“a clown” and a Bowie wannabe. Styles doesn’t care. ​“What’s fem­i­nine and what’s mas­cu­line, what men are wear­ing and what women are wear­ing – it’s like there are no lines any more.”

Elton John agrees: ​“It worked for Marc Bolan, Bowie and Mick. Har­ry has the same qualities.”

Then there is the ques­tion of Styles’ sex­u­al­i­ty, some­thing he has admit­ted­ly ​“nev­er real­ly start­ed to label”, which will plague him until he does. Per­haps it’s part of his allure. He’s bran­dished a pride flag that read ​“Make Amer­i­ca Gay Again” on stage, and plant­ed a stake some­where left of cen­tre on sexuality’s rain­bow spectrum.

“In the posi­tion that he’s in, he can’t real­ly say a lot, but he chose a queer girl band to open for him and I think that speaks vol­umes,” Josette Maskin of the queer band MUNA told The Face ear­li­er this year.

“I get a lot of…” Styles trails off, wheels turn­ing on how he can dis­cuss sex­u­al­i­ty with­out real­ly answer­ing. ​“I’m not always super-out­spo­ken. But I think it’s very clear from choic­es that I make that I feel a cer­tain way about lots of things. I don’t know how to describe it. I guess I’m not…” He paus­es again, piv­ots. ​“I want every­one to feel wel­come at shows and online. They want to be loved and equal, you know? I’m nev­er unsup­port­ed, so it feels weird for me to over­think it for some­one else.”

Sex­u­al­i­ty aside, he must acknowl­edge that he has sex appeal. ​“The word ​‘sexy’ sounds so strange com­ing out of my mouth. So I would say that that’s prob­a­bly why I would not con­sid­er myself sexy.”

Har­ry Styles has emerged ful­ly-formed, an anachro­nis­tic rock star, vague in sen­si­bil­i­ty but des­tined to impress with a dis­arm­ing smile and a warm but firm handshake.

I recite to him a quote from Chrissie Hyn­de of The Pre­tenders about her time atop rock’s throne: ​“I nev­er got into this for the mon­ey or because I want­ed to join in the super­star sex around the swim­ming pools. I did it because the offer of a record con­tract came along and it seemed like it might be more fun than being a wait­ress. Now, I’m not so sure.”

Styles – who worked in a bak­ery in a small north­ern town some time before play­ing to 40,000 scream­ing fans in South Amer­i­can are­nas – must have wit­nessed some shit, been invit­ed to a few pool­side sex par­ties, in his time.

“I’ve seen a cou­ple of things,” he nods in agree­ment. ​“But I’m still young. I feel like there’s still stuff to see.”

[stylesnews]

The Face - Volume 4 . Issue 1

A hand­shake can quell polit­i­cal unrest and sti­fle impend­ing war. It can, with a bit of spit, val­i­date a gentleman’s agree­ment, end a years-long roman­tic rela­tion­ship or send a young heart rac­ing. But it all depends on the two par­ties involved.

Daisy, 21, felt a seis­mic jolt when Har­ry Styles, 25, wear­ing a striped jumper and rings on three of his five fin­gers, clutched her hand two days after this year’s Met Gala in New York, when she served him gela­to at the shop where she worked.

“He decid­ed on a small mint choco­late gela­to and I made his and the one for his friend and I said, ​‘Can I just say I absolute­ly loved your Met Gala look’ and he said ​‘Thank you very much! What’s your name?’ And I said, ​‘Daisy’ AND HE FUCK­ING EXTEND­ED HIS HAND AND REACHEDTO SHAKE MY HAND AND I ACTU­AL­LY FUCK­ING SHOOK HIS HAND WHAT THEFUCK,” she wrote on Insta­gram after The Shak­en­ing. ​“Like I didn’t even say any­thing to gas him up besides ​‘I loved your met gala look’ and his fine ass went and shook my hand! WHATA BEAU­TI­FUL FUCK­ING HUMAN BEING THAT HE IS GOD BLESS HIM AND I HOPE HW[sic] LIVES FOREVER.”

For Har­ry Styles, a hand­shake can be a roman­tic ges­ture, con­jur­ing a potent rev­er­ence in its recip­i­ent, like the time he met Gucci’s cre­ative direc­tor Alessan­dro Michele. ​“He was as attrac­tive as James Dean and as per­sua­sive as Gre­ta Gar­bo. He was like a Luchi­no Vis­con­ti char­ac­ter, like an Apol­lo: at the same time sexy as a woman, as a kid, as a man,” Michele told me, has­ten­ing to add: ​“Of course, Har­ry is not aware of this.”

No, Styles has no idea the pow­er he wields. In per­son, he’s tow­er­ing, like some­one who is not that much taller but whose rep­u­ta­tion adds four inch­es. Styles has a seda­tive bari­tone, spo­ken in a rum­my north­ern Eng­lish accent, that tum­bles out so slow­ly you for­get the name of your first born, a swag­ger that has been nursed and per­fect­ed in myth­i­cal places with names like Pais­ley Park, or Abbey Road, or Grace­land. Makes com­plete sense that he would be up for the role of Elvis Pres­ley in Baz Luhrmann’s upcom­ing biopic. He was primed, nay, born to shake his hips, all but one but­ton on his shirt cling­ing for dear life around his tor­so. Then the part was award­ed to anoth­er actor, Austin Butler.

“[Elvis] was such an icon for me grow­ing up,” Styles tells me. ​“There was some­thing almost sacred about him, almost like I didn’t want to touch him. Then I end­ed up get­ting into [his life] a bit and I wasn’t dis­ap­point­ed,” he adds of his ini­tial research and prepa­ra­tions to play The King. He seems relaxed about los­ing the part to But­ler. ​“I feel like if I’m not the right per­son for the thing, then it’s best for both of us that I don’t do it, you know?”

Styles released his self-titled debut solo album in May 2017. The boy­band grad was clear­ly unin­ter­est­ed in hol­low­ing out the charts with more for­mu­la­ic meme pop. Instead, to the sur­prise of many, he dug his heels into retro-fetishist West Coast ​’70s rock. Some of the One Direc­tion fan-hordes might have been con­fused, but no mat­ter: Har­ry Styles sold one mil­lion copies.

Despite its com­mer­cial and crit­i­cal suc­cess, he didn’t tour the album right away. He want­ed to act in the Christo­pher Nolan film Dunkirk. To his cred­it, his por­tray­al of a British sol­dier cow­er­ing in a moored boat on the French beach­es as the Nazis advanced wasn’t skew­ered in the press like the movie debuts of, say, Madon­na or Justin Tim­ber­lake. Per­haps he was fol­low­ing advice giv­en by Elton John, who had urged him to diver­si­fy. ​“He was bril­liant in Dunkirk, which took a lot of peo­ple by sur­prise,” John writes in an email. ​“I love how he takes chances and risks.” Act­ing, unlike music, is a release for Styles; it’s the one time he can be not himself.

“Why do I want to act? It’s so dif­fer­ent to music for me,” he says, sud­den­ly ani­mat­ed. ​“They’re almost oppo­site for me. Music, you try and put so much of your­self into it; act­ing, you’re try­ing to total­ly dis­ap­pear in who­ev­er you’re being.”

Fol­low­ing the news that he missed out on Pres­ley, his name was float­ed for the role of Prince Eric in Disney’s live-action remake of The Lit­tle Mer­maid. How­ev­er, fans will have to wait a bit longer to see Styles on the big screen as that idea, too, has sunk. He won’t be The King or the Prince. ​“It was dis­cussed,” he acknow­ledges before swift­ly chang­ing the sub­ject. ​“I want to put music out and focus on that for a while. But every­one involved in it was amaz­ing, so I think it’s going to be great. I’ll enjoy watch­ing it, I’m sure.”

The new album is wrapped and the sin­gle is decid­ed upon. ​“It’s not like his last album,” his friend, rock ​‘n’ roll leg­end Ste­vie Nicks, told me recent­ly over the phone. ​“It’s not like any­thing One Direc­tion ever did. It’s pure Har­ry, as Har­ry would say. He’s made a very dif­fer­ent record and it’s spectacular.”

Beyond that, Styles is keep­ing his cards close to his chest as to his next musi­cal move. How­ev­er, the air is thick with rumours that his main wing­man for HS2 is Kid Har­poon, aka Tom Hull, who co-wrote debut album track Sweet Crea­ture. No less an author­i­ty than Liam Gal­lagher told us that both big band escapees were in the same stu­dio – RAK in north-west Lon­don – at the same time mak­ing their sec­ond solo albums. Styles played him a cou­ple of tracks, ​“and I tell you what, they’re good,” Gal­lagher enthused. ​“A bit like that Bon Iver. Is that his name?”

Har­ry Styles met Nicks at a Fleet­wood Mac con­cert in Los Ange­les in April 2015. Some­thing about him felt authen­tic to the leg­endary front­woman: ground­ed, like she’d known him for­ev­er, blessed with a win­ning moon­shot grin. A month lat­er, they met back­stage at anoth­er Mac gig, this time at the O2 in Lon­don. Styles brought a car­rot cake for Nicks’ birth­day, her name piped in icing on top. By her own admis­sion, Nicks doesn’t even cel­e­brate birth­days, so this was a sur­prise. ​“He was per­son­al­ly respon­si­ble for me actu­al­ly hav­ing to cel­e­brate my birth­day, which was very sweet,” she says.

Styles’ rela­tion­ship with Nicks is hard to define. Induct­ing her into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in New York as a solo artist ear­li­er this year, his speech hymned her as a ​“mag­i­cal gyp­sy god­moth­er who occu­pies the in-between”. She’s called him her ​“lovechild” with Mick Fleet­wood and the ​“son I nev­er had”. Both have moved past the pre­lim­i­nary chat acknowl­edg­ing each other’s unquan­tifi­able tal­ents and smooth­ly accel­er­at­ed towards play­ful cut-and-thrust ban­ter of a witch mom and her naughty child.

They per­form togeth­er – he sings The Chain and Stop Drag­gin’ My Heart Around; she sings the one alleged­ly writ­ten about Tay­lor Swift, Two Ghosts. One of those per­for­mances was at the Guc­ci Cruise after­par­ty in Rome in May, for ​“a lot of mon­ey”, Nicks tells me, in a ​“big kind of cas­tle place”. She has become his de fac­to men­tor – one phone call is all it takes to reach the Queen of Rock’n’Roll for advice on sequenc­ing (“She is real­ly good at track list­ing,” Styles admits) or just to hear each other’s voic­es… because, well, wouldn’t you?

Fol­low­ing anoth­er Fleet­wood Mac con­cert, at London’s Wem­b­ley Sta­di­um, in June, Nicks met Styles for a late (Indi­an) din­ner. He then invit­ed her back to his semi-detached Geor­gian man­sion in north Lon­don for a lis­ten­ing par­ty at mid­night. The album – HS2or what­ev­er it’ll be called – was fin­ished. Nicks, her assis­tant Karen, her make-up artist and her friends Jess and Mary crammed onto Styles’ liv­ing-room couch. They lis­tened to it once through in silence like a ​“bunch of edu­cat­ed monks or some­thing in this dark room”. Then once again, 15 or 16 tracks, this time each of his guests offer­ing live feed­back. It wrapped at 5am, just as the sun was bleed­ing through the curtains.

Even for a pop star of Styles’ stature, press­ing ​“play” on a deeply per­son­al work for your hero to digest, watch­ing her face react in real time to your new music, must be… what?

“It’s a dou­ble-edged thing,” he replies. ​“You’re always ner­vous when you are play­ing peo­ple music for the first time. You’ve heard it so much by this point, you for­get that peo­ple haven’t heard it before. It’s hard to not feel like you’ve done what you’ve set out to do. You are hap­py with some­thing and then some­one who you respect so much and look up to is, like: ​‘I real­ly like this.’ It feels like a large stamp [of approval]. It’s a big step towards feel­ing very com­fort­able with what­ev­er else hap­pens to it.”

Wad­ing through Styles’ back­ground info is exhaust­ing, since he was spanked by fame in the social media era where every god­dam blink of a kohl-rimmed eye has been doc­u­ment­ed from six angles. (And yes, he does some­times wear guyliner.)

Deep breath: born in Red­ditch, Worces­ter­shire, to par­ents Des and Anne, who divorced when he was sev­en. Grew up in Holmes Chapel in Cheshire with his sis­ter Gem­ma, mum and step­dad Robin Twist. Rode hors­es at a near­by sta­ble for free (“I was a bad rid­er, but I was a rid­er”). Stopped rid­ing, ​“got into dif­fer­ent stuff”. Formed a band, White Eski­mo, with school­mates. Aged 16, tried out for the 2010 run of The X Fac­torwith a stir­ring but aver­age ren­di­tion of Ste­vie Wonder’s Isn’t She Love­ly. Cut from the show and put into a boy band with four oth­ers, Louis Tom­lin­son, Liam Payne, Niall Horan and Zayn Malik, and called One Direc­tion. Became inter­na­tion­al­ly famous, toured the globe. Zayn quit to go solo. Toured some more. Dat­ed but maybe didn’t date Car­o­line Flack, Rita Ora and Tay­lor Swift – whom he report­ed­ly dumped in the British Vir­gin Islands. (This rela­tion­ship, if noth­ing else, yield­ed an icon­ic, can­did shot of Swift look­ing deject­ed, being motored back to shore on the back of a boat called the Fly­ing Ray.) One Direc­tion dis­cussed dis­band­ing in 2014, actu­al­ly dis­solved in 2015. They remain friend­ly, and Styles offi­cial­ly went solo in 2016.

It’s been two years since his epony­mous debut and lead sin­gle, Sign of the Times, shocked the world and Elton John with its swag­ger­ing, soft rock sound. ​“It came out of left field and I loved it,” John says.

After 89 are­na-packed shows across five con­ti­nents grossed him, the label, whomev­er, over $61mil­lion, Styles had all but dis­ap­peared. He has emerged only inter­mit­tent­ly for pub­lic-fac­ing events – a Guc­ci after­par­ty per­for­mance here, a Met Gala co-chair­ing there. He relo­cat­ed from Los Ange­les back to Lon­don, sell­ing his Hol­ly­wood Hills house for $6 mil­lion and ship­ping his Jaguar E-type across the Atlantic so he could take joyrides on the M25.

“I’m not over LA,” he insists when I ask about the move. ​“My rela­tion­ship with LA changed a lot. What I want­ed from LA changed.”

A great escape, he would agree, is some­times nec­es­sary. He was in Tokyo for most of Jan­u­ary, hav­ing near­ly fin­ished his album. ​“I need­ed time to get out of that album frame-of-mind of: ​‘Is it fin­ished? Where am I at? What’s hap­pen­ing?’ I real­ly need­ed that time away from every­one. I was kind of just in Tokyo by myself.” His sab­bat­i­cal most­ly involved read­ing Haru­ki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chron­i­cle, singing Nir­vana at karaoke, writ­ing alone in his hotel room, lis­ten­ing to music and eaves­drop­ping on strangers in alien con­ver­sa­tion. ​“It was just a pos­i­tive time for my head and I think that impact­ed the album in a big way.”

Dur­ing this break he watched a lot of films, read a lot of books. Some­times he texts these rec­om­men­da­tions to his pal Michele at Guc­ci. He told Michele to watch the Ali Mac­graw film, Love Sto­ry. ​“We text what friends text about. He is the same [as me] in terms of he lives in his own world and he does his own thing. I love dress­ing up and he loves dress­ing up.”

Because he loves dress­ing up, Michele chose Styles to be the face of three Guc­ci Tai­lor­ing cam­paigns and of its new gen­der­less fra­grance, Mémoire d’une Odeur.

“The moment I met him, I imme­di­ate­ly under­stood there was some­thing strong around him,” Michele tells me. ​“I realised he was much more than a young singer. He was a young man, dressed in a thought­ful way, with uncombed hair and a beau­ti­ful voice. I thought he gath­ered with­in him­self the fem­i­nine and the masculine.”

Fash­ion, for Styles, is a play­ground. Some­thing he doesn’t take too seri­ous­ly. A cou­ple of years ago Har­ry Lam­bert, his styl­ist since 2015, acquired for him a pair of pink metal­lic Saint Lau­rent boots that he has nev­er been pho­tographed wear­ing. They are exceed­ing­ly rare – few pairs exist. Styles wears them ​“to get milk”. They are, in his words, ​“super-fun”. He’s not sure, but he has, ball­park, 50 pairs of shoes, as well as full clos­ets in at least three post­codes. He set­tles on an out­fit fair­ly quick­ly, maybe changes his T-shirt once before head­ing out, but most­ly knows what he likes.

What he may not ful­ly com­pre­hend is that sim­ply by being pho­tographed in a gar­ment he can spur the career of a design­er, as he has with Har­ris Reed, Palo­mo Spain, Charles Jef­frey, Alled-Martínez and a new favourite, Bode. Styles wore a SS16 Guc­ci flo­ral suit to the 2015 Amer­i­can Music Awards. When he was asked who made his suit on the red car­pet, Guc­ci began trend­ing world­wide on Twitter.

“It was one of the first times a male wore Alessandro’s run­way designs and, at the time, men were not tak­ing too many red car­pet risks,” says Lam­bert. ​“Who knows if it influ­enced oth­ers, but it was a spe­cial moment. Plus, it was fun see­ing the fans dress up in suits to come see Harry’s shows.”

Yet tra­di­tion­al gen­der codes of dress still have the minds of mid­dle Amer­i­ca in a choke­hold. Men can’t wear women’s clothes, say the online whingers, who have labelled him ​“trag­ic”, ​“a clown” and a Bowie wannabe. Styles doesn’t care. ​“What’s fem­i­nine and what’s mas­cu­line, what men are wear­ing and what women are wear­ing – it’s like there are no lines any more.”

Elton John agrees: ​“It worked for Marc Bolan, Bowie and Mick. Har­ry has the same qualities.”

Then there is the ques­tion of Styles’ sex­u­al­i­ty, some­thing he has admit­ted­ly ​“nev­er real­ly start­ed to label”, which will plague him until he does. Per­haps it’s part of his allure. He’s bran­dished a pride flag that read ​“Make Amer­i­ca Gay Again” on stage, and plant­ed a stake some­where left of cen­tre on sexuality’s rain­bow spectrum.

“In the posi­tion that he’s in, he can’t real­ly say a lot, but he chose a queer girl band to open for him and I think that speaks vol­umes,” Josette Maskin of the queer band MUNA told The Face ear­li­er this year.

“I get a lot of…” Styles trails off, wheels turn­ing on how he can dis­cuss sex­u­al­i­ty with­out real­ly answer­ing. ​“I’m not always super-out­spo­ken. But I think it’s very clear from choic­es that I make that I feel a cer­tain way about lots of things. I don’t know how to describe it. I guess I’m not…” He paus­es again, piv­ots. ​“I want every­one to feel wel­come at shows and online. They want to be loved and equal, you know? I’m nev­er unsup­port­ed, so it feels weird for me to over­think it for some­one else.”

Sex­u­al­i­ty aside, he must acknowl­edge that he has sex appeal. ​“The word ​‘sexy’ sounds so strange com­ing out of my mouth. So I would say that that’s prob­a­bly why I would not con­sid­er myself sexy.”

Har­ry Styles has emerged ful­ly-formed, an anachro­nis­tic rock star, vague in sen­si­bil­i­ty but des­tined to impress with a dis­arm­ing smile and a warm but firm handshake.

I recite to him a quote from Chrissie Hyn­de of The Pre­tenders about her time atop rock’s throne: ​“I nev­er got into this for the mon­ey or because I want­ed to join in the super­star sex around the swim­ming pools. I did it because the offer of a record con­tract came along and it seemed like it might be more fun than being a wait­ress. Now, I’m not so sure.”

Styles – who worked in a bak­ery in a small north­ern town some time before play­ing to 40,000scream­ing fans in South Amer­i­can are­nas – must have wit­nessed some shit, been invit­ed to a few pool­side sex par­ties, in his time.

“I’ve seen a cou­ple of things,” he nods in agree­ment. ​“But I’m still young. I feel like there’s still stuff to see.”

[quietlyapocalyptic]

*poking one of your old merthur fics* "To Truly Love (There is More Than One Way)" has me curious over what happened after the ending? Do you mind if I ask what happened after Olaf and Viven left Camelot?

I definitely don’t mind, but ngl I had to just go read it over again myself so, bear with me I guess 😆

And, okay, so I guess there’s a feast of some kind after the fight, to celebrate the two kingdoms’ renewed friendship. And it’s a little tense, but it’s important, and Merlin notices that through the whole thing Arthur keeps… looking, lingering glances that– well, maybe they are longing, Merlin hopes they are, but the thing is– Arthur doesn’t even speak to him the whole evening. Not until he finally retires, and he orders Merlin to follow him to help him get ready for bed.

When they get to Arthur’s rooms there’s tension sitting heavy between them, and Merlin’s so nervous his mouth feels dry– because he had been so sure, but what if he’d been wrong? What if Arthur had been riding the end of the enchantment and he was just about to rip into Merlin, yelling and shouting and not able to forgive what he did?

But then the doors close and Arthur’s staring again– but this time, it’s definitely gentle. And Arthur says something, awkwardly because he isn’t used to this, but he tells Merlin again that he’s grateful for how Merlin broke the enchantment– not just because it saved Camelot, but because of what it meant to him. And then maybe, because ew emotion, he brags a bit about how well he won that fight– “You see Merlin, you should have known that there was nothing to worry about”– so then Merlin, of course, calls him a prat in that fond tone of voice he’s perfected, and the tension just snaps and falls away, the atmosphere turning soft. Arthur comes forward and it looks like he means to clap Merlin on the shoulder in a friendly manner but, his expression is sweet, gentle but almost hesitant, and he cups Merlin’s cheek instead. Merlin’s eyes widen, because surely Arthur isn’t leaning in?

Their kiss is soft, short, not that much different from the first save the fact that this time its Arthur who started it, and this time it’s something that they both want. That’s all it is, though, short and sweet, and then Arthur steps back and says he meant it when he said he was tired, Merlin, and they fall back into their routine.

And nothing feels like it’s changed, not on the surface– because after that, they still tease each other mercilessly, still bicker and complain, but between all of it there’s now soft touches that linger against their skin. And when they’re alone and the doors are locked they can kiss each other and know that no matter what everyone else would think, this is where they should be.

There’s problems of course, because Arthur is going to be king and Uther is never going to approve. I think Merlin would come to tell Arthur about his magic, knowing that it would be accepted, and once Uther is gone, they end up ruling Camelot as king and court sorcerer. But until then, they just enjoy what they have, because even though there are moments when it’s hard, they’ve got each other, and they know that’s worth it.

The knights, of course, know all about it– it’s obvious when they join up that Merlin is special to Arthur, and vice versa, and they all recognise that from pretty much the first moment they meet them. There’s a running bet on how long it will take for Arthur and Merlin to actually tell them– but they don’t ever, really, because those two know what they are to each other, and the whole world knows that they’re each other’s most important person. They don’t need a bigger announcement than that.

(Also. Messing with Gwaine by ‘almost’ admitting it on a daily basis is just too much fun.)

[poppyknitt]

Mischievous Magicians- A JSE Egos Fanfic

Recap: Marvin has returned to the egos, however, he did so recklessly, and is spending his time in the hospital, occasionally drifting into unconsciousness as he waits for his injuries to heal. More recently, however, Jackieboyman’s son, Liam, was finally born, on the eve of the one-year anniversary of Overnightwatch, and they found there was one more baby than expected, who was named Brandon. Meanwhile, Seán finished recording his video for the day, only to find that Merlin, whom is actually just a Marvin, belonging to a different universe, was sitting in his home and enjoying what little of himself he could, since, as it turns out, he has been chasing his world’s Anti, and believes that he came to our universe, looking to destroy it.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[December 17th]

Seán ran after Merlin, who was happily bouncing around the streets of Brighton, basically showing off his “skills”, which, Seán had a feeling were just being temporarily boosted by his magic.

“Hurry up, Jackaboy! We’re gonna be la-ate!” Merlin taunted him in a sing-songy voice, a big, dopey grin plastered on his face, as Seán finally caught up to him.

“Please don’t call me that.” He wheezed, looking up at the childish magician, who was sitting on an outcropping, much like how Spiderman probably would, “Also, what the hell are we even doing?!”

Merlin’s grin dropped for a moment, as he probably had to think about it, but he smiled softly, and shrugged, making an “I dunno” noise.

Seán facepalmed, “Of course you don’t. What are you trying to do, anyways?”

“Uh... Explore Brighton..? We... don’t exactly live here in my universe...”

“... You don’t..?”

“Nope. Ours, uh, is kinda geographically different..? I-I don’t even know if we have a Brighton. You can probably pretty much forget ‘England’ as a whole.” He paused, putting on a mild poker face, “But now that I think about it, I may actually live in some kind of pocket dimension, which could explain why our Anti resorted to attacking and destroying other universes... Not very easy to destroy a pocket dimension you didn’t make..”

“... I have many questions.”

“That’s understandable.”

“... Did... Did you just... UwU..? In- In real life?!”

“Mayyyybeee...”

“For the love of god, stop making that face.”

Merlin’s dopey grin returned, “Hmmm... Nah. Don’t feel like it.”

The mischievous magic man practically leapt back into action, darting around a corner so quickly that Seán figured it would be useless to try and run after him or make him calm down.

~~

Marvin darted away from this strange world’s version of Seán, his eyes lighting up with pure childish joy as the thrill of running and jumping around Brighton like it were a playground or trampoline kicked in. He didn’t even notice that Seán had stopped following him until he finally landed himself on a lamppost, balancing exactly how Jackie had taught him. He looked around the city, his eyes wide with curiosity and wonder. His attention snapped downwards, as a familiar voice with a thick Scottish accent called to him.

“Hey, what on earth are ya doin’ up there?!” It was none other than Jackie’s friend, Oliver! Or, at least, this world’s version of him. He could tell that this Oliver hadn’t met Marvin quite yet.

“Oh, y’know. Just... Hanging around!” Merlin grinned childishly as he swung down, hanging upside-down from the lamppost now. Oliver snorted in amusement, probably not expecting him to do that.

“What’re you even dressed as?”

“Oh, this isn’t a costume, I’m just a magician.”

“Aye, okay... Guess it kinda makes sense..” He paused, “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Oliver!”

He dropped down, and stood up, “Marv- I mean Merlin.”

Oliver was obviously a bit suspicious now, but he didn’t say anything, “Aye. ‘Sa good name, lad.”

“Yours, too!”

“... You know, you kinda remind me of a good friend of mine. You don’t happen to know an Irish lad by the name of Simon, d’ya?”

“Yep! Dunno if he remembers me, though.”

“Well, that’s easily fixed, lad! I was actually on my way to see him. Why don’t ya come with me?”

“Sure thing! Sounds fun to me!”

~~

Merlin had no clue where they were now. All he could tell from this was that Jackie didn’t live with the other egos anymore in this universe. They were at a small apartment complex, waiting for someone, presumably Jackie, to answer the door.

The doorknob turned, and the door opened, revealing Jackie, whose face lit up when he saw his friend, “Oh! Oliver! I didn’t expect to see you today! ... And... uh... Who..?”

“Aye, this guy calls ‘imself Merlin. Says he was a friend of yours at one point?”

“Uh, h-hey, Simon.” He waved nervously, knowing Jackie could tell what his actual name was.

Jackie put on a smile, and let them in, “Well, no matter! Come on in, you guys.”

Merlin’s face lit up, and he practically hopped into the apartment, “Sweet!”

The three spent an hour or so laughing and having a good time, until Oliver said he had to go home, for obvious reasons he didn’t need to say.Once he left, and Jackie had closed the door behind him, the hero turned slowly to face him, eyes narrowed slightly.

“Who are you? Why do you look like him?!” His tone was... less than favorable.

“Because... I’m him..? But? From another universe..?”

“... Well, that explains the difference in temperament..”

“What?”

“... Nothing.” Jackie paused, “Why are you here, exactly?”

“... Cuz I sorta chased after my world’s Anti when he found out he could leave it..? I think he came here in his most recent expedition...”

“... That’s not good.”

“Yeah, that’s what you Seán said, too.”

“Wait, you’ve spoken to Seán? H-How long have you even been here?!”

“Uh, yeah... I’ve been here a couple of days now... Went to Seán’s place yesterday to try and cool off or something, and, uh, he found me. I didn’t realize your Seán was woken up already...” He started fidgeting nervously again.

“Ah, okay. That’s fine, i guess. Just as long as you don’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“Oh! No, no! No, I’m only here to try and help you guys fight my Anti.”

“... Why would we need help anyways?”

“.... Because my Anti isn’t your everyday anti who doesn’t give a shit if his plans are a little last minute. He spends every waking moment plotting his every move, and the only thing to keep him from it in the first place is the rare occasions where we get a new ego. On those occasions, he usually sits back a while, and watches how they act, so he can predict them better.”

“How do you fight him if he knows your every move?!”

Merlin paused, and shrugged, making a bit of a poker face, “I dunno. My jackie doesn’t usually let me fight him.”

“And... You think you can help us fight him... How?”

“Because I know his fighting style better than you. And it was an excuse to get my Jackie to let me leave.”

That last comment got a laugh from the Hero, much to Merlin’s delight.

“God, you’re so childish.” Jackie laughed, putting his hand to his face, “I can see why he’d be so protective of you.”

“Hey, don’t think you can hold me back, old man! I have magic powers!” Merlin joked, a playfully determined look on his face as he pulled a hand back, pretending to wave an imaginary wand in the air, as though he were holding only one end of a pair of nunchucks or something. He almost lost his grin when he started feeling a slight shift in the world around him, and he realized that Jackie hadn’t taken any notice of it. He had a feeling that his Anti was preparing for something big, and he almost regretted trying to befriend the egos of this world. He wanted to save them, but... What if he was already too late..? He tried not to think about it, especially because he knew this world’s jackie had kids, just like his own Jackie did.

“... You okay, Merlin..?” Jackie’s features softened as he looked at the slightly smaller ego.

“... I’m... really worried about what my Anti will do with this world... I... I really like this place... I don’t want it to be destroyed... And..! And not to mention what could happen to you and the other egos from here, if he succeeds..!” He tried his best to keep his voice from breaking. He almost flinched when he detected Jackie hugging him, not expecting that.

“Hey, it’s okay, Merlin. He’s not gonna do anything to us, I promise.” They both knew it was a lie, but neither seemed to care, as if trying to convince themselves that it was true.

~~

[December 21st]

Merlin happily bounded through the park, making sure he didn’t stray too far from Jackie and Ava, since he’d came to help them (specifically Ava) be assured that nothing bad was gonna happen to them while they were taking their new sons to the park. He slowed down a little as he picked up more of their current conversation, wanting to make sure everything was alright.

“... Brandon... powers, Jackie...”

“Shit, he does..? W-What kind?” Merlin already knew the answer to the question, as, in his universe, Liam and Brandon were born much earlier in the timeline than they were here, and were 8 years old now. Though, they hadn’t started developing powers until they were toddlers...

“Well, right now, he’s just got really abnormal strength levels... I’m worried he might accidentally hurt his brother..” Yep, that was one of them, alright. He just wished he could tell them all the funny stories he had about their sons’ powers.

“Don’t worry, Ava, we’ll make sure he doesn’t. Promise.”

Ava was still clearly worried about it, but she didn’t say anything.

Merlin decided to change the conversation, and turned around, still bouncing, as he walked backwards, “Hey! Guys! Look, a rainbow!” He pointed to the multicolored arch behind them, and both glanced in its direction. Jackie laughed as soon as he saw it, getting a confused, yet amused glance from Ava.

“What’s so funny about the rainbow?”

“I dunno, it’s just weird, i guess. Such a weird time and place to have one, you know?”

“I suppose it is.”

“It’s just raining over there, you two.. It’s not that deep.” He joked.

~~

Merlin watched from afar as Thorn cautiously tried to approach Liam’s crib, amusement written all over his face, as the little snake creature shrank back from the small hands that grasped at the air in front of it. Jackie and Ava were out on a date, and Merlin had agreed to babysitting for them, until they came back.

A sudden thud on the patio brought his attention to the glass door, and he stood, carefully walking over to it, to look out and see what it was. He was surprised to see what looked like a person around his height, lying flat on the ground, wearing... a hospital gown?

He quickly opened the door, and darted to their side, turning them over to check for injuries. He had to hold himself from reeling back a few inches when he saw who it was- Another version of him! He must’ve been this world’s Marvin. That didn’t matter, though, because this version of him was clearly in no shape to be out of the hospital just yet, and had probably snuck out with a transportation spell. Hopefully it hadn’t backfired on him, because otherwise, he’d probably have just re-damaged several of his healing injuries.

“...J..ackie..?” The other groaned.

“Nope, sorry, Jackieboy’s off on a date. Girlfriend stuff, y’know?”

“... Then who...?”

“Uh. Long story. I’ll, uh, explain once I figure out what to do about this..” After that, the shorter-haired him passed out, presumably from the pain.

~~

Marvin ran through a dense woodland he didn’t recognize, breathing heavily as he tried to outrun something he couldn’t see. Then, to his surprise and horror, the world around him was consumed by darkness, and all motion stopped.

A brief moment of nothing but darkness and silence passed, and then, his vision began flashing with images that flew by so fast, he couldn’t even really process them. Someone or something started screaming in his voice, and as he slowly walked forwards, it got louder, and the images stopped, revealing a version of himself on his knees, roughly grasping his hair between his fingers as he screamed.

Marvin froze at the sight, as the words being screamed slowly became more and more audible.

“No! You can’t do this! They were happy! Put them back! Let them go! They don’t deserve this-!” The longer-haired version of himself sobbed, as Anti walked into view, holding a knife, with a sickeningly sadistic, psychotic look plastered on his face. Behind the glitch flashed in the scattered bodies of the other egos, and more surprisingly, himself. The demon was laughing hysterically at the magician’s pain, each passing moment leaving him seeming to be more and more deranged, as he loomed over the broken magician before him, knife raised, and ready to kill.

Then, it all stopped, and a small, 8-year-old boy, who looked a fair bit like Jackie, appeared in front of him, his face devoid of any emotion.

“It’s too late to save them. I’m sorry. He has already won. You’re all going to become His puppets. Please, when you see him, tell Merlin to come home. I am afraid that he may not make it back. Our Anti is much more dangerous than he thinks.”

“Wait, who’s Merlin?!”

“... He’s you.”

——————————————————

Next Chapter

Hehehehehee! Yay! More Merlin development! I love it! :D (I also hit the paragraph limit. Again. Lmao)

@antis-loyal-puppet @tiny-septic-puppet @rorald-spooks @chaoticcrimsonrose @septic-dr-schneep

[artemis-pendragon]

The Dragon’s Heart (Fem!Merlin x Fem!Arthur One-Shot)

There were one hundred and one ways that a casual evening hunt could go wrong. Possibly more, given the participants: Princess Arthur, the biggest danger magnet in all of Albion, and Merlin, who had her fair share of deadly and powerful enemies lurking in the shadows like vengeful ghosts.

Which made it even more ironic that the inevitable catastrophe that befell them had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Arthur was the Crown Princess of Camelot, and Merlin the most powerful sorceress to have ever lived. All it took was a misplaced arrow and a mad scramble through the forest just before nightfall, and Arthur found herself falling down a rocky ravine like a pebble kicked loose on a steep path.

She struck the bottom of the ravine and lay there, gasping. Her armor was dented. She could feel wetness, warm and sticky, blooming across the plane of her stomach. All around her, brambles and thick foliage closed in like a fence of thorns—a cage for a wounded beast. Lifting her head, she called out in the half-light of dusk: “Merlin!” No reply. She winced, shifting onto her side. Pain flashed up her spine like a lightning bolt. She gritted her teeth and fell back, head resting on a not-particularly-soft rock. She stared up at the sky as the stars blinked into view. A thousand restless, hungry eyes. Watching her as she lay alone, bruised and bleeding among the ferns and mosses.

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there. At one point she closed her eyes, hoping to collect her thoughts and gather her strength. But when she opened them again, the moon was shining overhead, a silver claw gutting the pitch-black sky. Clouds gathered, blocking out all but the brightest stars. In the distance, thunder rolled: the throaty roar of a hunting beast.

A storm was coming. And it was getting closer.

Arthur closed her eyes as the first drops fell. She turned her head to one side, raising her arm (the one that hadn’t taken the brunt of her fall) to keep herself dry. It was useless: within minutes, a few drops had turned to a downpour. She was drenched through in seconds.

“Merlin!” She tried again. Her voice was rough, battered, like the rest of her. “Where are you?”

Somewhere in the distance, a familiar voice called her name. “Arthur!” The desperation pierced her like a gilded arrow. Struggling against the wave of agony that tore through her at the sudden movement, Arthur sat up, blinking against the freezing rain.

“Merlin!” Her voice was stronger. The adrenaline rushing through her veins gave her momentary relief from the pain. “Merlin, I’m down here!”

There was no reply. Arthur fell back again, groaning aloud. Of course Merlin couldn’t find her. Merlin couldn’t find an arrow in an armory. Perfect.

Arthur was just beginning to think she’d have to spend the whole night alone in the thorn-fenced and rain-soaked clearing when she heard footsteps approaching. Instinctively, she reached for her sword. She grasped the hilt, struggling to pull it free. After a few seconds of angry swearing, she drew it. Flipping onto her stomach, she pushed herself into a half-sitting position. Holding her sword across her lap, she waited.

Merlin emerged from the thorns with her hands held out in front of her. Scratches covered her cheeks, hands, forearms. But the fire burning in her eyes was brighter than the silver moon. Determination like a storm showed in every tense line of Merlin’s lithe body. Determination that turned to blatant relief when she locked eyes with the princess. “Arthur!” she called. Her voice trembled with unrestrained joy.

Arthur flinched. She shook her head, trying not to let her own relief show on her face. “Quiet, Merlin. For all we know there could be a group of bandits hiding out in those caves up there.” She jerked her head toward a set of dark holes in the gray cliff-face overhead. “The last thing I need right now is a fight.”

Merlin knelt in front of Arthur. She reached for the princess’s face, then hesitated, frowning. Her hands fell like birds shot from the air. “That’s a first,” she said, with her familiar cheeky grin. Beneath the smile, Arthur read the worry brewing in Merlin’s eyes. “You, not wanting to fight. What’s the world coming to?”

Arthur rolled her eyes. She didn’t grace the verbal jab with a response. “Get me up, would you?”

“What, no ‘please?’” Merlin was in motion at once. She put both arms around Arthur, hoisting her to her feet.

Arthur let out a sharp cry. She gritted her teeth against a fresh barrage of pain as her leg, clearly broken, gave out under her weight. She leaned against Merlin, panting. Her vision went blank for a second; she thought she was going to black out. Merlin was saying her name, over and over, concern thick as the thorn bushes surrounding them. A warm hand pressed against Arthur’s cheek. She leaned into the touch, shuddering as the heat of Merlin’s skin contrasted sharply with the frozen wetness of her now-sodden hunting clothes.

“C’mon, Arthur. C’mon.” Merlin looped an arm around Arthur’s back. She half-carried, half-guided the princess through the thorns. It took Arthur a moment to realize that Merlin was using her sword to hack through the thicket. She wanted to protest but didn’t have the strength. Closing her eyes, she leaned into Merlin, trusting her companion to get them both to safety. She would never admit it aloud, but there was no one Arthur would rather have by her side. Despite Merlin’s tendency to get herself into trouble (or to forget her seemingly simple duties in favor of frequenting the tavern), Arthur trusted her more than anyone else in the world.

Merlin led them deeper into the forest. Past the thicket, the trees were thinly spaced. Farther in, the trunks grew wider, and the undergrowth closer. Arthur struggled to stay conscious, every painful step harder than the last. She was too tired to shiver. Her breath came in sharp gasps, each inhale like an arrow to the gut.

Merlin seemed to sense Arthur’s growing discomfort. She kept glancing at the princess, blatant worry written in every line and plane of her beautiful, slender face. “Just a little further, Arthur,” she promised. “There’s a stream up ahead. I came across it when I was looking for you. We can camp there.”

Arthur nodded. She leaned her head on Merlin’s shoulder, breathing as steadily as she could.

They reached the stream. Merlin helped Arthur lie down at the base of a massive pine, its thick, waxy branches serving as shelter against the storm. Arthur closed her eyes. It was a relief to be out of the rain. However, her clothes, scarlet and silver stained with the deep red of fresh blood, were soaked. Not that there was anything she could do about it. It wasn’t like she’d brought an extra set of clothes for what was supposed to be a casual evening hunt.

Merlin returned in seconds with a bundle of dry logs and twigs. Arthur tried to ask where she’d found such dry kindling in the middle of a storm, but Merlin just shook her head. “Don’t talk,” she said. “Save your strength.”

Arthur rolled her eyes. “Remind me, Merlin. Of the two of us, who should be giving orders, and who should be taking them?”

Merlin shrugged, turning away. She arranged the twigs and logs and crouched over them, her back to Arthur. There was a soft murmur like wind through the treetops. And then a fire blazed to life between Merlin’s hands.

Arthur raised her eyebrows. “That was quick,” she said.

Merlin prodded the fire with a stick, then tossed the stick into the flames. She returned to Arthur’s side. There was a small, mysterious smile on her lips. “There’re a lot of things you don’t know about me,” she said.

Arthur huffed. “Stop pretending to be interesting, Merlin.”

“If you insist.” Merlin pulled Arthur upright again. Arthur flinched, closing her eyes again the pain. When she opened them again, Merlin’s face was inches from her own, full of dark concern. Arthur blinked, surprised.

“Merlin, what are you…?”

“I thought you’d passed out again.” Merlin leaned back. Something flashed across her face: an expression Arthur couldn’t place. “We need to get this armor off you. You’re bleeding.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.” Arthur managed a dark smile. “Do whatever you have to do. I trust your judgement completely.”

The words were out before Arthur realized what she was saying. Merlin paused, tilting her head. There was an unreadable emotion in her eyes. “You do?”

If Arthur hadn’t just lost an obscene amount of blood, she was pretty sure she would’ve flushed bright red. Ducking her head, she avoided Merlin’s intense gaze, staring pointedly into the fire. “Just do it.”

Merlin was silent as she helped Arthur remove her hauberk, arm guards, gloves, and chainmail. She set the princess’s chipped and battered sword aside, laying out her clothes to dry. Once Arthur was free of her armor, Merlin’s slender, capable hands roamed every inch of Arthur’s body, gently testing for breaks and abrasions. “You’ve got a gash just beneath your ribs,” Merlin told her. Her voice was false-upbeat, which made Arthur suspicious. Whatever Merlin had found, it couldn’t be good. “It’s not long, but it’s deep. You’re still losing blood.”

Arthur nodded. She’d expected that. “And?”

Merlin sighed. She frowned. “I think you’ve broken a couple of ribs on your right side. Oh, and your left arm and leg are definitely broken.”

Arthur let out her breath slowly, carefully. It wasn’t good, but so far, it sounded like she would survive. “Oh, is that all.”

Thankfully, Merlin nodded. “Unless you’ve hit your head. You were unconscious earlier.”

Arthur leaned back against the pine tree’s trunk. She spread her hands: an invitation. “Go ahead. Check me.”

Merlin knelt in front of Arthur. She put her hands on either side of the princess’s face. The heat of her touch filled Arthur with warmth. The warmth was accompanied by a strange but pleasant tingling—a fresh, vibrant sensation that traveled down Arthur’s spine and radiated out into her limbs. Arthur inhaled sharply, her eyes fixed on Merlin’s face.

“Your eyes seem to be responding to the light.” Merlin’s hands moved around to the back of Arthur’s head. Her fingers carded through the princess’s light hair, fingertips gently tracing the contours of Arthur’s neck and skull. “That’s good. Means you’re probably fine.”

Arthur made a soft sound of confirmation. Despite the gash in her side and the ceaseless throbbing of her broken bones, she felt much better than she had a few minutes ago. And, although she’d never admit it, she owed it all to Merlin.

Merlin finished checking Arthur and pulled her hands back. Arthur immediately missed her touch.

“So?” Arthur cocked an eyebrow, looking up at Merlin as her servant rocked back onto her heels, cupping her chin in one hand and bracing her elbow on her knee. “Is that all?”

Merlin nodded. She had a strange, faraway look in her eyes. “If we get you back to Gaius by tomorrow, you’ll be fine. Unless hypothermia sets in.”

Arthur smirked. “What a big word, Merlin. Do you even know what it means?”

“It means,” said Merlin, straightening up and moving back toward the fire, “that if we don’t get you out of those wet clothes soon, you’ll literally freeze your royal arse off.”

Arthur scoffed. “Literally?”

“Figuratively.”

“Where do you learn such big words, Merlin?”

Merlin smiled. “I’d tell you,” she said, “but you ordered me not to be interesting.”

Arthur picked up the nearest loose object—a spiny pinecone—and threw it at her. Merlin ducked; the cone fell into the fire and went up in a burst of sparks. “Get over here,” said Arthur imperiously, “and undress me.”

Merlin blushed. Arthur raised an eyebrow. Merlin returned to Arthur’s side; kneeling in the moss and dirt, she pulled Arthur’s shirt over her head and laid it beside the fire to dry. She avoided meeting Arthur’s eyes as they both struggled to remove the princess’s boots and leggings. Once Arthur was free of her rain-soaked clothes, she looked up at Merlin with a small smile. “Now you,” she said. “Fair’s fair.”

Merlin blushed again, deeper this time. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m not even that wet, see?” She squeezed her scarf, probably hoping to prove her point. But a small river’s worth of water seeped out; with a sigh, Merlin pulled it off and set it on a rock next to the fire. “Fine,” she said. “You win.”

“I always do.” Arthur lay back, relishing the feeling of soft moss and leaves against her bruised and battered skin. She put her uninjured arm behind her head, propping herself up just enough to watch as Merlin peeled off her sodden layers.

“Well,” said Merlin, pulling off her boots and setting them next to Arthur’s, “I wouldn’t say always.”

Arthur gave her a look. “I would. Now hurry up and help me with my wound. What’s the point of saving me from hypothermia if I’m only going to bleed out anyway?”

Merlin rolled her eyes in plain sight. Which, given Arthur’s current state, was acceptable only because the princess didn’t have the strength to retaliate. “What do you want me to use for bandages?”

Arthur jerked her head toward Merlin’s scarf. “Make sure it’s dry,” she said. “It should work fine.”

Merlin looked like she wanted to protest. But then her gaze flickered down to Arthur’s wound, still seeping blood, and she swallowed hard, nodding. She grabbed her scarf off the rock and returned to Arthur’s side. Without warning, she pressed the fabric down hard over the gash. Arthur let out a harsh cry. She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth and throwing back her head. Involuntary tears leaked out onto her bloodless cheeks. She breathed in rough, ragged gasps, fighting to control the pain.

“I’m sorry,” said Merlin with heartbreaking sincerity. “I’m sorry, Arthur; it’ll be over soon.”

Arthur reached out, searching for something to hold onto. Merlin caught her hand and held on tight, not even flinching when the princess squeezed so hard her bones must’ve been grinding together. They stayed like that for a long minute, both breathing hard, until Arthur’s heartrate slowed and her pain dipped back to a manageable level.

“That was horrible.” Arthur’s voice broke on the last syllable. She cleared her throat, swallowing hard.

Merlin let out a shaky laugh. “I’m surprised you didn’t faint again.”

Arthur scoffed. “I don’t faint, Merlin.”

“You do. You’re a princess, and you faint like one.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Whatever you say, My Lady.”

Arthur was suddenly hyperaware of the fact that both she and her maidservant were mostly unclothed, and that Merlin’s hand was held tight in her own. She knew she should let go. But she couldn’t bring herself to. Although the worst of the pain had passed, the physical contact was immensely comforting.

Merlin moved away first. She flashed Arthur half a smile, worry still visible in the oceanic depths of her eyes. “Our clothes should be dry in a few more minutes,” Merlin said. She turned around, facing the fire.

That’s when Arthur saw the bruises covering her companion’s slender shoulders like spilled ink on parchment.

“Merlin.” She sat up, staring at the patterns of blue and brown scattered across Merlin’s pale skin. She felt suddenly sick. Her heart beat faster as possibilities raced through her mind. “My God, what happened to you?”

Merlin glanced over her shoulder. For a moment her eyebrows contracted in an expression of confusion. And then her eyes cleared, and she offered a forced half-smile. “Oh. I tripped.”

“You tripped?”

“I tripped.” Merlin turned back to the fire. She fed twigs into the flames. There was tension in the lines of her bare back, her shoulders hunched slightly. The fire caught in her sleek black hair, gleaming like burning raven feathers. She avoided Arthur’s searching gaze. “At least I didn’t fall off a cliff and almost die like some royal prats I know.”

Arthur pushed herself into a fully-upright position. She leaned against the pine tree’s broad, rough trunk. “Merlin.” Her tone was gruff, commanding. “Come here.”

“Your clothes will be dry in a minute, My Lady, if you’d just let me—”

“Merlin, now.”

Merlin huffed. She straightened up. Turned back toward Arthur, crossing her arms over her chest. A silhouette against the leaping, dancing flames. “Why?”

“Because I said so.” Arthur lifted her chin. She stared Merlin down, refusing to blink or look away.

After a few tense seconds, Merlin sighed. She moved away from the fire, back toward the pine tree. She stood beside Arthur, looking off into the dark, rain-soaked forest. “Is this close enough, My Lady, or do you want me sitting in your lap?”

Truthfully, Arthur wouldn’t mind that one bit. But she couldn’t say so aloud; instead, she reached up and grabbed Merlin’s wrist. She pulled her maidservant down to eyelevel. “I need to know that you’re alright.” She left no room for argument in her tone.

Merlin, always the rebel, made her own room. “I’m fine. I told you—”

“I heard you.” Arthur let go of Merlin’s wrist. “Turn around and sit down. I promise it’ll just take a moment.”

“Oh, you promise?” Despite her clear reluctance, Merlin followed Arthur’s command.

“I’m the First Knight of Camelot, Merlin. I’m honor-bound to keep my promises.”

Merlin flinched as Arthur’s fingers traced the edges of her largest bruise. It was right between her shoulder blades, directly over her spine. “Right. Well promise me this, then: no more falling off cliffs.”

Arthur snorted. She gently poked the bruise; Merlin made a sharp sound of protest. “You seem alright. ‘s long as nothing hurts more than it should, I’d say they’re superficial.”

Merlin glanced back at Arthur. She was smiling. “Superficial?”

“You seem fond of big words.” Arthur shrugged. She expected Merlin to move away again, to stand up and return to the fire. Merlin didn’t move. Arthur hesitated for a long moment, then gently pressed her hand to the base of Merlin’s neck. Merlin shuddered under her touch. Holding her breath, Arthur traced the ridge of Merlin’s spine with one finger. Merlin’s skin was hot, burning under Arthur’s hands. Dragon scales beneath the summer sun.

“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice was soft. Low. There was half a question in her tone. The same nameless emotion Arthur had seen cross Merlin’s face earlier was laced through it like a golden thread.

“Merlin.” Arthur brought her hand up to Merlin’s neck. She slid her fingers through her companion’s thick dark hair. “Look at me, Merlin.”

Merlin turned slowly. Hesitance showed in every tense line of her body. Her gaze locked with the princess’s. They were so close that Arthur could see the firelight dancing in Merlin’s blue eyes. A strange golden hue that rose and fell like sunlight on ocean waves. Arthur couldn’t help it—her gaze fell to Merlin’s lips, and in that instant, she gave herself away.

Merlin smiled. She put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, sliding it over her collarbone until her fingers wrapped around the princess’s throat. Arthur’s heartbeat spiked at Merlin’s soft touch. Under Merlin’s thumb, her pulse beat like a dragon’s wings. “Do you—?” Merlin started to ask.

“God, yes,” Arthur breathed, and pressed her lips to Merlin’s. She closed her eyes, sliding her fingers through Merlin’s hair, pulling her closer. The pain in her side lessened. Adrenaline and endorphins flooded her brain. She felt light, elated, timeless. The world shrank around her, condensed into the single point where their lips met.

Merlin pulled back first. Her expression was unreadable. And then she smiled, brighter than dragonfire. Brighter than the sun.

“I think,” said Arthur slowly, still reeling from the force of emotion raging in her like a maelstrom, “I might be in love with you.”

Merlin laughed. Arthur fell in love with the sound of her breathless joy. “Well, that’s good to hear. Because I’m definitely in love with you. Even though you’re an arrogant, stuck-up, hot-headed, royal pain in my—"

Arthur shut her up with a second kiss. She smiled against Merlin’s lips, tracing the high crests of her cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. She cupped Merlin’s face as she pulled away, tilting her head slightly as she took in every sharp line and smooth plane. “You were saying?” she challenged.

“Was I?” Merlin ran her fingers through Arthur’s golden hair. She moved closer, until their chests were pressed together. She leaned in and kissed Arthur’s forehead, moving down to the tip of her nose, her lips, her chin, and the sharp line of her jaw. But then the hand pressed to Arthur’s stomach brushed the makeshift bandage beneath the princess’s ribs, and she stopped, pulling away. She frowned. “It’s getting colder. You need to get dressed. And you need sleep.”

“We should sleep,” Arthur said, “together. I don’t need clothes for that.”

Merlin’s eyebrows contracted. “What?”

“I said, I think we should sleep together.”

Merlin sighed. She pressed another kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth, then stood up. The firelight illuminated every inch of her slender body. Like an ageless moon goddess, pale and lithe and gorgeous. She paced around the fire, picking up their scattered clothes. “I want to, Arthur. You know I do.”

“Then why not?” Arthur frowned, wincing when she shifted, her side throbbing in protest.

Merlin gave her a look. “You’re hurt.”

Arthur shrugged a shoulder. The one not connected to a broken arm. “So? There’s a lot I can do with one hand.”

Merlin blushed. “I’m sure there is, My Lady.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Merlin smirked. “Whatever you say, My Lady.”

“Merlin.” Arthur pouted like a petulant child. “Why not?”

Merlin put on her leggings, then her boots. She pulled her shirt—the blue one, the one that brought out the sapphire in her eyes—over her head, tightening the laces before throwing on her worn brown jacket. She avoided Arthur’s eyes as she mumbled, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Arthur laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” Merlin returned to Arthur’s side. She dumped a heap of red cloth and brown leather beside the princess. Leaning down, she put a hand on Arthur’s forehead. “I’m serious, Arthur. You need to rest. I think you’re developing a fever.”

Arthur, sensing she was getting nowhere with her current approach, switched tactics. “Did you know,” she said, rather imperiously, “that getting off is a natural way of relieving pain?”

Merlin raised her eyebrows, blushing again. Without a word, she shook out Arthur’s undershirt, holding it up. With a resigned sigh, Arthur lifted her arms and allowed Merlin to work the garment onto her body. Merlin smoothed the fabric around the princess’s body. Mysteriously, the cloth was entirely clean and dry. The bloodstains had vanished. The dirt and thorns had disappeared. Arthur would’ve been suspicious, if her head hadn’t been so clouded by blood loss and desire.

Once both girls were dressed, Merlin helped Arthur move closer to the fire. She spread her coat over the moss, despite Arthur’s protests.

“I’m a knight, Merlin. I don’t need to be coddled.”

Merlin ignored her. “I’ll keep watch. You sleep.”

With a frustrated huff, Arthur settled down on the makeshift bed. She stretched out, careful to avoid putting pressure on any of her broken bones. “I’m the Crown Princess of Camelot, Merlin. Don’t tell me what to do.”

Merlin flashed her a cheeky smile. “I’ll stop telling you what to do when you stop doing what I tell you,” she replied.

Arthur rolled her eyes at her maidservant. She rolled onto her back. The rain had stopped; overhead, the crescent moon sunk in a sky full of stars. “When we get back to the castle—” she began, but Merlin cut her off.

“When we get back to the castle, I’m taking you straight to Gaius. Once he treats you, then we can talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Alright. We won’t talk. We’ll go back to your chambers and spend the entire day not talking to our hearts’ content. But first, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time, but never have. I just hope you won’t chop my head off when you hear it.”

Arthur grinned. She turned her head just enough to meet Merlin’s gaze. “You’re doing it again.”

Merlin frowned. “Doing what?”

“Pretending to be interesting.”

There was a long moment of silence. And then Arthur said, “Nothing you say could ever make me hate you, Merlin. I promise you that.”

Merlin smiled. The special, radiant smile that made Arthur’s heart beat harder and her mind spin. The kind that felt like staring at the sun. “You can’t take it back now,” Merlin said. “Knights and their promises.”

“I mean it.” Arthur scooted over, making room on the makeshift bed. She patted the space beside her. “Now come here. You’re warm, and I’m freezing.”

Merlin sat down beside Arthur. Arthur curled around her like a cat, her stomach pressed against Merlin’s back. They sat there in silence as the seconds turned to minutes. A comfortable calm fell over their little campsite. After a while, Arthur’s eyes drifted shut. Her thoughts were foggy with approaching sleep. Even so, she felt it when Merlin’s fingers threaded through her hair, a gentle reassurance that Arthur was not alone. That she would never be alone.

The moon set behind the distant hills. The stars blinked out as the sun rose in a robin’s-egg sky. At dawn, Arthur and Merlin rose together. Each supporting the other, they retraced their path back through the woods, up the gravelly slope, and back toward the worn gray castle that they called home.