#writing: lancelot

[inca-oc]

Not Ready

She just wanted to help, it was so close to dying, but she was the one who took the fall instead. She's not ready to die, she can't. She won't.

CW: (brief) character death, description of death

It was becoming increasingly clear that the mithril construct was becoming rather worn down from the barrage of attacks levied against it, its silvery form losing some of its previous stability, but it wasn’t down yet. It was still a deadly threat, but hopefully not for much longer.

Seeing little else for her except an opportunity to strike, Keeva lunges forward and tosses her starknife with everything she has, the construct offering a sudden, unlucky strike in return that would have knocked the air from her if she’d had lungs to breathe it. The weapon soars through the air regardless of its owner’s plight with effortless grace, flying between Lancelot and Iris before striking true to its target, but as her weapon returns faithfully to her outstretched hand, she realizes it seemed to have no effect on the construct despite what she’d hoped. It did do one thing, however: she had lost one of the few defenses she’d had, the invisibility that had once cloaked her falling away. She has little time to consider what she should do next before the construct moves to attack again with deadly accuracy.

There’s a faint thunk as she feels the impact against her, a sharp, sudden loss of control of her mannequin, and then… quiet. Everything around her seems to fall eerily silent as the world suddenly goes hazy, her friends becoming less defined, then vague shapes and colors, and then not even that as intense light consumes everything. There’s a faint thought as it all fades, a hope that everyone was okay. Were they all going to die? She’d just wanted to help, and now it was all over.

She’d just wanted to help.

The next and only thing she feels is a sensation like falling, so sluggish and yet so very, very fast at the same time. It wasn’t the kind of falling she was used to, like the countless times she’d flown through the skies with Lancelot and he’d let them both plummet weightlessly before catching her safe and sound again. No, here it felt as though everything was heavy and dark and dreadful. She was a tiny stone dropped into a pool, the current threatening to pull her apart and sweep her away, and there was nothing to catch her here. She was alone.

No, I’m not ready.

I don’t want to die.

Please. I don’t want to die now. I can’t die.

There’s the faint sensation of fear that threads through her being, slowing her descent as she clings to them with urgency. Despite the weight that tries to pull her further down into the dark, the threads somehow hold.

I can’t die right now! I can’t!

The fear tightens its hold on her as it morphs into pure terror, stronger and stronger, overwhelming the sensation of falling until it all but disappears. Everything seems to stop completely, as though the presence around her was holding a breath, watching, waiting.

No! I can’t die! I won’t!

There’s a sickening, painful lurch as she claws her way back to the precipice she’d fallen from, this desperate need to survive, everything in her screaming to live, to please live, and all at once every sensation comes back to her as she painfully crashes to the side. It’s overwhelming and bright and loud and cold, and she’s alive. She shouldn’t be, but she’s alive.

She’s suddenly pulled from the cold embrace of the wall and into the familiar feeling of someone’s arms, although in her dazed state she can’t figure out who, and only vaguely can she make out the words, "Keeva, are you okay?" Despite her best efforts, however, she’s unable to answer. Although it had previously served as the lifeline from which she climbed back, that terror still has a chokehold on her, although slowly it begins to abate. Once the worst of it fades away, she realizes it’s Lancelot who’s holding her.

I guess you caught me after all.

His hold on her tightens the slightest bit as his urgency grows, and she can feel him holding back as though he’s afraid of crushing her. "Don't die on me," he says, his voice pained and wavering.

Keeva’s unable to tell just how much of the fear coursing through her is from herself, or from her eidolon. Regardless of where it originates, she tries her best to push it back just enough to where she can finally speak. "Can't kill me that easily," she manages, followed up with a rough, half-hearted laugh that she can’t quite keep from catching.

There’s the vaguest sense of relief from Lancelot, matched in intensity by the faintest of smiles, but both quickly drop into intense seriousness. "I'm the one who's supposed to take the hits," he says after a moment, unable to match even the scant hint of humor Keeva had attempted to offer up.

It’s now that she finally notices the tears streaming down his face, sudden concern for him overwhelming any worry she had for herself in that moment. "Are you okay?" she quietly asks as she brings a hand up to his face, but of course she knows the answer to that already. They both know he’s not okay, just as they both know she isn’t okay.

She isn’t okay, but she is alive. She’s alive.

‘Please let me protect you,’ Keeva feels through their link. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’

She’s alive.

‘I won’t leave you,’ she promises.

She’ll stay alive. For him. For all her friends. She has to.

She wasn’t ready to die yet.

[justaz]

country bumpkin merlin not knowing anything about city life and accidentally courting arthur without knowing

merlin, watching gwen give lancelot her favor: why do you do that

gwen, heart eyes at lance and not paying that much attention to the conversation: so he knows i’m rooting for him

merlin, with an Idea: ah.

gwaine, lover of chaos, pisser offer of nobles and royals alike, ultimate wingman: merlin…you have such lonely lips. shall i introduce them to mine?

merlin, unaware of the game gwaine is playing: so you can steal my breath away? i think not, scoundrel

arthur, crushing his goblet in his hand:

merlin: arthur’s been in a bad mood recently :( i should cheer him up

merlin, remembering when arthur was put out when merlin brought morgana flowers and not him: i know just the thing

merlin, bringing a bouquet of carnations, roses, and tulips and setting them on arthur’s table while he’s eating breakfast: good morning, sire

arthur, trained on flower language in hopes that one day when he was to take a queen he could woo her easily, trying not to audibly choke on his sausage as he reads merlin’s declaration of love sitting in front of him:

arthur, who recently found out about merlin’s magic and was trying to find a way to bring it up, catching him in the act and watching merlin panic to explain himself:

merlin, Freaking: and i swear to you arthur, i have only ever used it for you. my magic is yours. my life is yours. i am yours. i would never do anything to harm you. i have protected you for years and will continue to do so at your side if you’ll have me

arthur, already believing them to be courting, desperately trying to figure out if that was a proposal for marriage or not but tired of being confused and deciding fuck it: here.

merlin, taking it: i…uh…huh?

arthur, watching merlin with hawk eyes and trying to figure out what he’s thinking and feeling: it’s my mothers sigil

merlin, confused as FUCK but is focusing on the fact that arthur is handing him something of his mother rather than a death sentence: my…my lord?

arthur, realizing how scared merlin’s must be about him finding out about his magic and trying to comfort him while also proposing, killing two birds with one stone: i will always keep you at my side, merlin, so long as we both shall live. if you’ll allow me.

merlin, almost collapsing with relief and tearing up, smiling at arthur as if he had parted the storm clouds to allow sun to shine down on them in that moment: of course…of course, arthur. always and forever.

merlin, watching the castle staff rush this way and that: wow. this banquet must be incredibly important

sir leon the long suffering, day one ride or die, one of the original merthur shippers: banquet? merlin, this is for your wedding

merlin, overworked and exhausted: my WHAT? to WHO??

leon, regretting everything he’s ever done in his life that led him to this moment: to…arthur?

merlin, over joyed but also absolutely befuddled: i’m getting married to ARTHUR?????

leon: you two have been courting for the past year or so, have you not?

merlin: i’ve been COURTING ARTHUR?????? FOR A YEAR?????????

[biblicalviolencee]

One Condition // PT. 1

next

-

-

-

Sassy banter between these two makes me Incredibly happy

[fibbonarti]

(Merlin, the knights, Arthur, Gwen, Morgana sitting in a circle chatting)

Merlin: I grew up without a father and had to leave my mother for fear of her being hated for my magic

Arthur: omg no way I grew up without a mother and my father hated me lol

Gwen: what the hell this is crazy, I grew up without a mother and my father got executed

Elyan: omg I had to leave my home when I was young and didn’t even find out about my father dying until 3 years later!

Lancelot: woah, my entire family got killed by bandits

Percival: whattt me too!

Morgana: damn my parents also died when I was young

Mordred: I never had any parents !!

Gwaine: my father died in battle and my mother was broke!

Leon: …

Merlin: what about you Leon? :D

Leon: … my parents are alive and well and I visit them every other week..?

Arthur: do they hate you?

Gwen: get accused of magic?

Lancelot, Percival, Gwaine and Morgana: almost killed?

Merlin: cursed?

Leon (who’s getting increasingly worried and frantic): No! No! Are you guys okay? Should I call Gaius?

Elyan: I’m confused, you mean to say… your parents loved you, supported you, live close by… and are safe?

Leon: YES!

(lol I realised literally no one in Merlin has any good family relationships) (not even sure about Leon but it seems about right that he’s the only sane one around) (I need a fic like this, any Recs?!? I might have to write one)

[merlinmylove]

Dragonlord reveal: The Darkest Hour rewrite

Bamf Merlin

The Prince Regent faces the Cailleach. “I am willing to pay whatever price is necessary” Arthur spoke, his voice steady with determination.

Merlin pushes him out of the way. “No. You will not”

“Merlin, stand down! This is not your time to play hero” Arthur pleads, trying to keep his wayward manservant at bay, desperate to keep the situation under his control.

But Merlin ignores him. He keeps his eyes focused on the Cailleach as he walks closer to the stone alter in front of the torn veil. “We know what price must be paid for the veil to close. A blood sacrifice”

“Indeed” The old crone smiled a wicked smile, “The witch killed her own sister upon the blessed alter, and tore open the veil between the worlds. A similar sacrifice must be paid to close it”

“Then I give my life to repair the damage my sister caused” Arthur tried yet again to step forwards, but once more Merlin interrupted him.

“A blood sacrifice, yes. You did not specify that a life must be taken. And I willingly give my blood”

“Merlin!” Arthur groaned indignantly as his servant ignored him.

The Cailleach moved closer to the pair, taking them in. Her eyes looked calculating as she observed their odd behaviour.

“And what would the blood of a servant be compared to the life of a prince?” she mocked. She knew of course that he was Emrys, she knew what powers he possessed. Perhaps she wondered how he would challenge her.

Merlin steadies himself, shoulders tighting and back straight, “I am the last dragonlord”

The Cailleach smiled.

“I am the son of Lord Balinor Ambrosius, third of his name, Duke of Elmet and descendant of the Fisher King.” Pausing for just a moment to gather his courage, he continued;

“I am the last of my kind, the last man in a lineage that predates the Roman Invasion. You ask what my blood is worth…Dragonsblood flows through my veins: the ancient creatures of the Old Religion, venerated and revered all over the world. My blood is that of dragons.”

Merlin could not keep his eyes off the torn veil in front of him. He could feel Arthur looking at him, probably distraught and angry, but he knew had to keep going. But then, In his peripheral vision, he could see Lancelot nearing the veil — no!

Merlin could not stand by and watch as another friend looses his life when he knew he could prevent their death. He is Emrys, magic incarnate, and the Cailleach knew it.

The magic inside him flared up. It’s not the first time he’s used his powers to speak change into existence. If he says his blood is worth the same as a life given willingly, then it is.

“A single drop of my blood is worth more than the life of a High Priestess.”

A moment to silence passed before the Cailleach nodded her head in acceptance.

«How brave, young dragon. So you do challenge me after all. Very well. But are you sure you’re willing to part with such a precious thing? You might save your Prince’s life tonight, but tomorrow when you return to Camelot he will demand that you burn at the stake for your powers”

Arthur’s breath hitched and he tried to lift a hand and reach Merlin. He ignored his hand as he raised his voice again.

“Then so be it”

Merlin kneeled down to get the dagger he always kept in his boot. Handy for all sorts of occasions; cutting herbs, whittling firewood, stopping assassins, and apparently, sacrificing his own blood.

Holding his hand up and over the alter he spoke “I willingly give my own blood to heal the veil that Morgana tore open. May the spirits find their rest and return to their rightful home”

The blade cut into his palm and he squeezed hard. A single drop of red fell down onto the alter already tainted with Morgauses’ blood.

A warm and soothing wind rushed through the Isle of the Blessed as the torn veil stitched itself back together. The silence that followed was deafening as the haunted screams of the spirits disappeared and the wind stopped howling.

A few moments passed before the Cailleach spoke. “It is done. The veil is closed, and the spirits will no longer torment the living. Your sacrifice was accepted by the gods and goddesses.”

Her eyes leered form under her hood

“But will it be accepted by your Prince? He is, after all, the son of the man who eradicated your entire family”

She disappeared into thin air before he could reply. Not that he knew what he would’ve said. Neither does he know what Arthur will say once he turns around.

But he knows what he will see.

The face of a man who’s been lied to for years. The betrayal and fear will be clear as day, and there is nothing he can do about it now. He made his choice, and now he must stand by it.

Merlin knows he ought to be executed or exiled simply for existing. All the knights surrounding him has sworn an oath to uphold the laws of their kingdom — and the law says he must die. They’re all expert killers, carrying swords and dressed in battlearmour. If they were not his friends, he would be petrified.

Merlin can only hope Arthur is kind enough to allow him a moment to say goodbye to Gaius and Gwen before he’s banished.

And perhaps Arthur had been right all those times he’s called him a coward. Because when he turns he does so without looking at Arthur or the knights, instead keeping his eyes on the stone floor at all times.

“We must hurry back. Camelot will be happy to see their Regent alive and well”

- - - - - - -

Read it on AO3 here

[adageyer]

Prologue of Destiny Rekindled

-> A fan-comic im working on :)) Can't wait to post

[escespace]

Gwaine: Man, I'm fed up with these two, we have to do something.

Elyan: What are you talking about?

Gwaine: Arthur and Merlin and their stupid desperate flirting

Elyan: What? Flirting?

Gwaine: Are you blind?!!! Of course they flirt. If not, what would you call that?

Gwaine: *turns elyan's face to where Merlin and Arthur are being separated by Lance and Leon while they yell at each other*

Elyan: Social incompetence?

[gazpachoandbooks]

Currently imagining Arthur + Gwen + the knights asking someone (maybe druids?) who this famous "Emrys" is and they proceed to do a version of "We Don't Talk About Bruno" while Arthur, Gwen and the knights grow increasingly more distressed with each line and Merlin hyperventilates in the background

[earthshine-moon]

So you know how Gwaine, Elyan and Lancelot all canonically (or at least implied) travelled around a lot and never settled down before they became knights?

Well my headcanon is that their paths crossed in some degree before the season 3 finale and then once they’ve all met again because of Arthur and Merlin they recognise each other and it’s like

[purrfectkarma]

⚔️BETWEEN DUTY AND DESIRE⚔️

PAIRING — sir lancelot!shadow x fem!reader

WARNINGS — NSFW • MDNI 🔞

PROMPT — a late-night escape to a hidden forest lake leads to a confession years in the making. beneath the stars, he sheds more than just his armor—for one night, he lets himself love you. moonlight. tension. and a love that defies duty.

WORD COUNT — ~ 2.7k

ART CREDIT — @ toolsusu on X

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Been wanting to do a sir lancelot x reader since I started this account. Hope you like it!

💫🔥"I would break every code in the kingdom if it meant holding you… even once."

“Then hold me, Lancelot.”

@cherryfcola this is for you, pookie 😘🔥

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It was a warm summer night in the kingdom of Camelot. The air was thick with the scent of blooming wildflowers and fresh earth, stirred only by the occasional breeze. You, a humble maid of the castle, had decided tonight was the perfect time to escape the weight of your duties—to steal a moment for yourself beneath the stars.

There was a hidden lake deep within the woods, far from the reach of patrolling guards and castle gossip. You knew the way by heart. The narrow path wound between towering trees and twisted roots until it opened up to a secluded glade where a slender waterfall spilled gently into a glassy pool below. Isolated. Quiet. A secret sanctuary known only to you.

You’d come here many times before. It was your favorite place to unwind, to breathe. But lately… something had changed.

For the past few visits, you’d felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched—like eyes were lingering just beyond the trees. You’d dismissed the feeling, told yourself it was nothing but nerves, shadows, or a restless forest spirit. Still… that prickle on the back of your neck never truly went away.

Setting your clean garments on a smooth, flat rock by the water’s edge, you began to undress. The night air kissed your bare skin as you stepped into the cool lake, the water rising slowly up your body until it lapped at your collarbone. You let out a long breath and tilted your head back, eyes fluttering shut.

The rush of the waterfall, the rustling leaves, and the chirping of crickets formed a gentle lullaby. You melted into the moment, muscles relaxing beneath the surface.

Peace… finally.

With the tension of castle life clinging to your bones like dust, this calm was a balm. Rumors had been swirling among the servants—talk of the Knights of the Round Table preparing for battle. Tensions were high. If the whispers were true, nights like this might soon be rare.

Just as your mind began to drift, a sudden crack of a branch echoed from the forest behind you.

Your eyes snapped open. Your arms wrapped tightly around your chest as you turned toward the sound, heart thudding. Moonlight glinted off something in the trees—metal. Movement.

A figure stepped out from behind a tall, sweeping willow.

He was clad in sleek, silver-gray armor, worn like a second skin. A long, flowing crimson cape fluttered behind him, almost weightless in the night breeze. His helm, smooth and angular, concealed most of his face save for the faint crimson gleam behind the visor. But even without seeing him fully, you recognized him.

Sir Lancelot.

The infamous knight of shadow and silence. You’d seen him before in the castle halls—always distant, always composed. His presence was unmistakable. Beneath the armor, you could see the distinct silhouette of his sharp, upward-curving quills, almost like a crown of dark flame. They framed him like a warning, or a promise.

He didn’t speak. He stood at the edge of the lake, still as stone, eyes locked on you.

You weren’t sure if it was the cold water or his gaze that sent a shiver down your spine.

“…You were watching me,” you whispered, barely audible over the waterfall’s murmur.

He said nothing. But the silence said everything.

Then it hit you.

All those lingering glances when you passed in the corridor.

The way he'd stand near the kitchens under the pretense of needing something—yet never asking for anything.

How his presence would appear suddenly, silently, while you swept marble floors or fetched water from the courtyard well.

You had always brushed it off. Told yourself he was simply cautious, vigilant—as knights were meant to be.

But now, standing beneath the moonlight, with the lake wrapping you like silk and him watching with eyes like burning garnet through his visor… it all made sense.

The air between you trembled with something unsaid.

He took a slow step forward, the soft crunch of leaves beneath his armored boots the only sound aside from the waterfall.

“I’ve been watching… for a while,” he finally said, voice low—measured—but undeniably sincere.

Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the way he said them. Not like a confession of guilt—but of longing. Of restraint worn thin.

The knight before you—stoic, feared, unshakable—sounded almost… vulnerable.

Your arms remained wrapped around yourself, but your posture eased just slightly. Your heart, however, beat fast against your ribs like a war drum.

“…Why?” you whispered, unable to mask the quiet ache in your voice. “You’re a knight. I’m just… a maid.”

The words felt too small for the way you’d felt about him. The way your eyes always found him in a crowd. The way your chest tightened when he passed. You had buried those feelings deep, knowing such a thing could never be. A knight and a servant—what future could they have in Camelot?

But now, with the stars watching and no crown nor duty between you…

Lancelot lowered his visor.

His face, now bare to the night, was striking. Sharp features softened by shadow. His red eyes glowed faintly, but not with fury. With something gentler. Something like… yearning.

“You were never just anything,” he said.

You swallowed hard.

“I am sworn to the code,” he continued, voice a touch quieter now. “To duty. To honor. But even the strongest code begins to crack… when a heart betrays it.”

Your eyes widened. He stepped closer, the edge of the lake barely separating you now. The reflection of his armor rippled over the surface.

“I’ve tried to ignore it. To pretend I did not feel it,” he confessed. “But I would see you—smiling while you worked, humming in the gardens, brushing flour off your cheek in the kitchens—and it would undo me.”

You blinked, heat rushing to your face despite the cool water. A thousand thoughts collided in your mind, but only one made it to your lips:

“…I feel it too.”

The words trembled out of you like a secret finally freed.

“I always have,” you admitted, voice small, raw. “But I thought… it wasn’t allowed. That even if you felt the same, you’d never say it.”

A beat of silence stretched between you.

Then, slowly, he knelt at the edge of the water, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes.

“I would break every code in the kingdom,” he said, “if it meant holding you… even once.”

Your hand lifted, trembling slightly, and found his cheek—bare and warm beneath your touch. The world fell away in that moment. There was no Camelot. No titles. No rules.

Just him. Just you. Just the quiet hum of longing that had been buried for far too long.

You leaned in, heart pounding, and kissed him—deeply, hungrily—like you had waited a lifetime to do so.

When you finally broke for air, lips brushing his, you whispered, “Then hold me, Lancelot.”

His name on your tongue made something in him break. He shed the last of his armor, letting it fall with soft, hollow clinks onto the mossy bank. And then he stepped into the water, slow and purposeful, until he stood before you—unburdened, exposed, and utterly yours.

Strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. His lips met yours again, this time slower—savoring.

When he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice was low, reverent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, almost in awe. “Even the stars seem dim compared to you.”

You gasped softly as he pressed kisses to your jaw, then down the curve of your neck. His mouth was hot against your skin, every touch making the water feel colder in contrast—each kiss sending a ripple of heat through you.

Without a word, he began to guide you toward the shallower edge of the lake, where smooth stone and soft moss met beneath the water’s surface. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, lifting you with ease. You wrapped your legs around him.

“Lancelot… what are you doing?” you whispered, breathless.

He looked up at you, eyes dark and tender all at once.

“…Something I’ve dreamed of far too many nights,” he said. “In case this is the only time I’m allowed to have you… I want to taste every moment of it.”

He lowered his mouth to the inside of your thigh, trailing slow, burning kisses along your skin. You let out a soft moan, your fingers threading through his damp quills as your body trembled under his touch.

Every kiss left your skin buzzing, your heart racing. And when his lips found their way higher—closer to where your heat pulsed for him—you arched toward him instinctively, a shiver tearing through you.

When his mouth finally found the sensitive center of your desire, your entire body jolted with pleasure.

“L-Lancelot—”

His name broke from your lips like a prayer, unbidden, raw.

The sound made him pause for only a moment. He looked up at you with fire in his eyes and the faintest smile tugging at his lips, pride and hunger mingling in his expression.

“Say it again,” he murmured against your skin. And then—he licked.

The sensation was like nothing you’d ever felt. Heat coiled low in your belly, your back arched instinctively. You gripped his quills again, gentle at first, but as his tongue moved in slow, rhythmic strokes, you tugged, overwhelmed by the wave building inside you.

He groaned softly in response to your touch, as if your pleasure fed his own.

Every movement of his tongue was calculated, focused entirely on you—on unraveling you piece by piece. He devoured you like he’d been starving for you, like this was the only way to remember what it meant to live.

Your breaths came fast and broken. His hands gripped your thighs, grounding you as your body trembled under his worship.

Your legs tightened around his shoulders, your moans rising in pitch with every flick, every suck, every teasing pause of his tongue.

And when he flattened his tongue and dragged it slow and deep, right over the spot that had you seeing stars—you broke.

Your release hit you in a blinding wave, a moan of his name spilling from your lips as your body arched and shuddered. He held you firmly, mouth never leaving you, drinking in every moment of your pleasure like it was sacred.

You collapsed back against the mossy stone, chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm, thighs still trembling against his shoulders. He looked up at you again, lips glistening, eyes full of devotion and desire.

“As I thought,” he said softly, voice thick with affection and heat. “Even more divine than I imagined.”

Lancelot rose slowly, his armor long forgotten at the water’s edge. The moonlight caught the sharp edges of his frame—his strong chest rising and falling, droplets of lake water clinging to his skin like silver. He moved toward you, his presence both commanding and gentle, a storm wrapped in stillness.

Your breath caught as he pressed his body against yours, heat radiating from him even in the cool water. His need was unmistakable—every inch of him straining with the desire he had kept buried for far too long.

He hooked your legs over his shoulders, lifting you effortlessly against the smooth stone behind you. You gasped softly at the position, at how perfectly you fit around him.

Then he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I want you,” he whispered, voice raw, low, trembling with reverence. “Tonight… I want to make you mine.”

Your heart raced. “Yes,” you breathed. “Please.”

His hand guided himself to you, the head of him brushing just barely against your entrance. Then—slowly, tenderly—he pushed forward, filling you inch by aching inch. Your breath hitched, arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding on as he rocked into you with a rhythm that was deliberate… worshipful.

His hips moved with purpose, each thrust smooth, deep, precise. He was lost in the feeling of you—your warmth, your softness, the way you clenched around him like your body was made for him.

“You feel… incredible,” he murmured into your neck, voice tight, choked with restraint. His quiet moans, his breath stuttering against your skin, only fueled the fire within you.

He kissed your throat, then bit gently—just enough to make you gasp, just enough to leave a mark that would linger.

Your moans echoed through the glade, soft and urgent, urging him on. His name left your lips again and again, a broken hymn of need and want.

And when your walls clenched around him again, when your cries met his ears with unguarded ecstasy—he couldn’t hold back.

With a groan muffled into your skin, his body tensed, movements faltering as he spilled into you, deep and full. He held you tightly as he came undone, forehead pressed to yours, breaths mingling in the cool night air.

For a moment, everything was still. Only the sound of the waterfall, your shared breathing, and the heartbeat thudding in both your chests.

Then he spoke again, softer this time.

“If this truly is the only night we have…” he said, brushing your damp hair from your cheek, “…then I will treasure it until my last breath.”

[yourfavecharacterisqueer]

Lancelot: So... who's the big spoon and who's the little spoon?

Arthur: We're chopsticks!

Lancelot: Well... that's cute! Does that mean you two snuggle together perfectly?

Merlin: No, it means that if you take the other away, the only thing the other is good for is stabbing.

[inca-oc]

Try Again

Keeva's world seems to be in a constant state of falling apart and it's become too much. Lan tries his best to get her through, unwilling to watch her become an echo of himself.

Apprehension had been as constant a companion to Keeva as her own eidolon when she’d initially made her way to the upper floors of the Avalon. An excruciatingly awkward encounter with Fiona had only put her further on edge after the unexpected appearance and battle with Móirín, and coupled with her witnessing Fiona’s brush with death, and adding even further to that with Keeva’s frantic effort to save Lancelot from a similar fate during that battle… It was so much. Too much. She could scarcely keep her thoughts from toppling over themselves in how dizzyingly overwhelmed she was. At the very least, she’d wanted to do something useful in her effort to escape her guilty conscience, and ensuring Tiarnán was actually okay seemed like the most reasonable option given everything that had just happened. So here she sat, begrudgingly holding a cup of tea she was too embarrassed to refuse while stuck in a place she hardly wanted to be in.

And then, as if fate found her circumstances to be funny and wanted to send her on one final push towards utter ruin, her eyes fixate on Tiarnán and Móirín’s joined hands, sending all of her thoughts crashing down around her as every façade she’d haphazardly thrown up shattered in a single instant. Her attention turns to their faces, seemingly unbothered, then their words, the final blow that cuts as sharp as a knife right through her soul.

It was love. It was always love.

This isn’t fucking fair.

She can feel herself wanting to crumble on the spot, further adding to the guilt that had made a fine home within her soul. Shouldn’t she be happy that Tiarnan can hold his beloved’s hand? That their love for one another is enough to overcome any discomfort they might face? Shouldn’t she be supportive, rather than filled with bitterness? Envy?

Had all of her love been devoured by hate?

Her world becomes a blur, her thoughts racing as everything around her seems to slow to a crawl. Nothing felt right, a cacophony of color and sound that meant nothing to her. She needed to get out. Get out, run as far away as she could.

I can’t do this anymore.

She’s only vaguely aware that she’s speaking, but she can’t hear anything over the sickening buzz of her own guilty thoughts, so intense it’s blinding. A tiny part of her hopes there was an apology thrown into whatever she said, that she didn’t accidentally break one of Tiarnán’s teacups, but the rest of her is too upset to care, and then more upset that she doesn’t care.

I’m sorry.

Every footstep is like a jolt of thunderous noise in her mind as she sprints away from Tiarnán’s room, but even that is not enough to drown out her thoughts.

I’m so sorry.

In one moment, Keeva had been sitting at Lancelot’s side, relatively fine considering the circumstances if not understandably anxious, and in the next she’s suddenly on her feet and shouting something he can scarcely understand in a near frantic state. By the time Lancelot realizes what’s going on she’s already gone, but the eidolon is quickly on his feet and out the door after her, leaving no time for even a scant apology.

She’d already made it a significant distance down the hall by this point, but he quickly gains on her. "Keeva?” Lan tries to get her attention, speaking first out loud, then through their mental link. ‘Keeva, talk to me.’

She speaks, not in response to his worried call, but rather with a quiet hiss of words he cannot quite hear and a sudden jerk of her hand, an action he instantly recognizes as her casting a spell. In the next moment he can feel their link go muted, her constant presence more distant in blatant evidence of what she had cast.

"Keeva!" he exclaims, quickening his pace to close what little distance remained between them. As he reaches for her arm, his gloved hand closes around nothing but empty air where Keeva stood not a second before, the distinct sound of a pop ringing in his ears. She’s gone, leaving him standing alone in the hallway.

With him now unfettered from her, she could theoretically be anywhere within Hadreon, and all at once he feels panic seize him. Lancelot was well aware of just how emotionally fragile she was right now. If she decided to do something stupid, he wouldn’t be able to protect her.

He needed to find her.

‘Keeva, please. Please,’ The eidolon mentally pleads, trying to choke back his anxiety long enough to keep from adding to her own overload of emotions. ‘Keeva. Keeva, where are you?’ His attempts to reach her through their link are met with a brief jolt of guilt, of sadness that is quickly stifled, and then silence. Despite the absence of words, her message was clear: leave me alone.

Lancelot slams the side of his fist into the wall, uttering every curse in every language he knew. He’d encouraged her to come here, and like everything else lately, of course something had to go catastrophically wrong.

“I’m so fucking stupid.”

It was going to do him little good to stand there and curse. After overcoming the worst of his initial panic and frustration, the next few minutes are spent frantically running through the Avalon as fast as his legs will allow, looking everywhere that Keeva could be on the ship. He figures that it would be most likely for her to stay where she was most familiar, so after checking the usual spots — the kitchen, the shrine, and then their house — he then spends the next hour looking all through the forest layer in the faintest hope that she might be somewhere within. If not, if not… In the least of things, he would possibly feel a pull from their link once the unfettering ends if he was close enough, or be killed outright if she were even farther than that, but in any case he would have confirmation of her whereabouts at that point.

Whether she would be willing to resummon him is a different story, however, and although she was nearly always willing to comply with his requests, she may not be so inclined if she’s feeling bad enough. The situation with Fiona comes to mind immediately; even when she was stabbed, she would not let him out and forced him to remain in her soul, unable to do anything. He couldn’t protect her if he was trapped in her mind. No, he had to find her before time was up. He had to help her.

It was a vow he had taken as an eidolon, but one he honored as her friend. To protect her, always. He would not fail her again.

Running through the plants and trees was proving to slow him down far too much for his liking, so he eventually makes the switch to flight. Time seems to fly alongside him all too quickly, however, and he can feel that panic returning, building upon itself more and more with every passing second. Any mental prodding he attempts is met with continued silence from Keeva, but he tries regardless. If nothing else, it lets her know that he’s thinking of her. At least, he hopes it’s what she takes from that.

Somehow, despite all the terror screaming inside him, there is a sudden thought that occurs to him amongst the noise; he recalls a faint memory of a trek they’d embarked on one day when she’d expressed interest in exploring the forest layer, and then Keeva’s quiet voice. She’d pointed out to him a specific group of flowers and vines, commenting that the arrangement of them, they’d reminded her so distinctly of the plants she’d had growing on her home in Tír na nÓg, and how much she missed those flowers sometimes. It had been a brief exchange, one he hadn’t given too much thought to at the time, but given how much she’d expressed feeling homesick lately… Perhaps she would be there. He hopes his hunch is right. It’s the only idea he has left.

Please be there, Keeva.

It doesn’t take much longer for him to arrive at that spot once he gets his bearings, retracing the journey to the best of his recollection. As he lands amidst the overgrown flowers, his eyes quickly scan his surroundings but to his dismay, she doesn’t appear to be there after all. Fuck.

Fuck.

Maybe she was still somewhere on the ship, but there was always the possibility that he was completely wrong about that too. What if he was wrong? Was she really somewhere else in Hadreon? Where could she be? What if she was in danger somewhere and he couldn’t do anything?

His thoughts suddenly come to a screeching halt as he happens to catch the subtlest trace of movement from the corner of his eye, and all at once his attention is caught on the last bit of hope he has. He turns fully to catch a better look and finally, finally he spots her; blended in amongst the foliage lay Keeva’s still form, her the slightest quivering of her wings the only observable movement. Laying there she looks as though she could be a flower herself.

In that moment, the sight of her was sweeter than any flower he’d ever seen.

The relief that washes over him in that instant is so intense he would cry if he had the capability to do so. It takes every ounce of willpower in his body to not scoop her up in a crushing hug right then and there, but startling her was not going to do her any favors. Instead, he slowly approaches, stops to move the plants, to make an open space in the plants, then lays on the ground facing her. An eye opens as he settles in place, sees him, then closes again as she curls even tighter into herself as if to make herself invisible within the blanket of flowers. He makes no attempt to speak, and neither does she.

There aren’t words he can say that would give her the comfort she deserves, so he waits.

Eventually their link is restored in full as the spell that unfettered him fades away, and although she was still shielding her thoughts and feelings from him, it isn’t much longer after that when she steals another glance as though checking if he were still there. He offers a blink, and the faintest trace of a smile.

“Are you ready to talk?” he asks, finally ending the stretch of silence between them.

The hesitation in her is obvious, but does not last long. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she counters flatly, what little expression he could see betraying how gloomy she still was despite her empty tone. “Why don’t you check on someone else? I’m fine.”

His eyes narrow the slightest bit, then close as he feigns a sigh. “Well, you see, I would,” he says, waving a hand almost dismissively, “except you’re the only person left for me to check on.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she mumbles, turning her back to him.

He frowns, dropping the carefree façade that was clearly more irritating to her than helpful right now. “Keeva,” he urges as he pushes himself upright, staring steadily at her tiny form, “you are the only person on this ship who needs me to check on them. That is a fact.”

“What about Iris?” she counters sharply, glancing at him from over her shoulder. “Or Alex, or–”

“What about you, Keeva?” He gazes at her with obvious concern. “When are you going to let someone care about you for a change? Your friends are worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

She grimaces, letting her head drop back down so he could no longer see her face. He waits in silence, and just when he’s about to speak, she finally replies, “I’m fine, Lan. I’m fine.”

“If you were actually fine,” he chides, “I wouldn’t have felt the need to search half the Avalon to find you.”

Her wings twitch, and in the next moment she’s turned back to face him, pushing herself up to sit upright. “You didn’t have to do that, Lan.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly telling me where you were! I was terrified for you, Keeva.” Lancelot runs his hand through his bangs, gripping at his head so tight some of the hair comes undone from his ponytail. He tries to keep his emotions tamped down, but frustration bubbles to the surface despite his best efforts. “What was I supposed to do? Sit on my ass and pray to every single pretender that you were safe? You teleported away! I count my fucking blessings that you were still on the ship instead of the middle of Hadreon somewhere!” He stops, noticing a strange look of fear that flashed across her face. “What?” he questions flatly, an uncomfortable knot forming in his chest. She doesn’t immediately respond, averting her eyes, and he presses with sudden urgency, “Keeva, please answer me.”

She falters, but complies with his request for an answer. “I…. I did. Leave the ship.”

His entire body tenses, and any self control he had slips as he shouts, “What? Keeva, you what?” He instantly regrets his loss of composure as she winces away from him. You fucking idiot, she’s not the one you’re angry at. Do better. “Keeva,” he tries again after a brief silence, voice dropping to a pained whisper. “Keeva, what if you’d gotten hurt? Would you have called me to you? Where did you even go?”

Her fingers dig into her arms so hard they meet her mannequin, her face scrunched up so much her eyes are slivers of green. She can’t bring herself to meet his gaze, her words coming so haltingly she has to stop, try to recompose herself, but even still her voice is frail as she forces herself to reply, “I-I went… I went to, um, Ellara. Near where we… we came here. Hadreon.”

“Keeva,” he starts, but she swiftly interrupts.

“I just… I just wanted to go. Home. I wanted to go home! But I… I couldn’t do it. I thought about it. A lot. Almost did, but I… I couldn’t. You kept… talking to me, and I felt more guilty about it, and I… I-I just… I came back to the ship. Here.”

Every word is like a vice that chokes him more and more. “Home?” he repeats, to which she nods. Her homesickness was even worse than he’d known, but to go that close to the loyalist sidhe, to potential danger that he knows she’s well aware of… “You– We can’t go back there, Keeva. You know we can’t.”

That seems to set something off within her, and all of a sudden the restrained emotions within her explode all at once. “And I can’t do this anymore, Lan!” she screams, burying her face in her knees. “Everything was better back home! Everything! I was helpful there! I was happy there!”

“They… Surely they must know you’re a rebel now, Keeva. They might kill you if you try,” he tries to explain, but the moment the words leave his mouth, he feels nothing but the still building frustration and distress from his summoner.

“Like what you already said you would do to me?” she snaps, lifting her head to stare pointedly into his eyes. “What does it matter if they kill me, Lancelot? I’m never going to be able to help anyone like I am now! Not since I’ve changed into this!” She gestures angrily to herself. “At least I’d still have a chance at being what I’m meant to be if I was reborn now! You said it yourself, it’d be better if I do it before it’s too late for me!”

A stab of guilt makes him feel suddenly sick. Why did he ever tell her that? What the fuck had he been thinking? "Keeva, not every word I say should hold weight, especially if you’re only going to take them and place them upon your shoulders like it’s your burden to carry,” he says, but Keeva appears unswayed by his words.

“If I can’t hold you to your word, how can I trust anything you say?” she shouts.

His gaze is firm, but his voice strained as he answers, “I know what you’re asking for, and I won’t do that, Keeva. I refuse.”

That flame that had been ignited within her wavers like a candle in the wind, and he can clearly see the conviction that had been fueling her fading fast with his refusal. “If… If I commanded you?” She suddenly cuts her hand through the air as one would with a sword, leaning forward with the movement. Her eyes are more frantic but steadily staring into his own with expectation. “You… Would you do it then? Lan?”

His sword hand tightens into a fist, and he makes a concerted effort to move it even further from the weapon on his hip. “No.”

She looks at him helplessly, shoulders slumping. “I… I want to go home, Lancelot. Please.”

His voice is sharp but pleading, consumed by a pain he can’t bear any longer, “Stop it, Keeva! I can’t lose you too!” He suddenly reaches for her hand, gripping it so tightly he’s trembling from the effort. “I can’t. I can’t do it, Keeva! I was a fucking fool to even suggest I could before, but I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

Finally, this seems to be enough to break through her adamant desire as she can’t bring herself to demand more from him, instead staring with wide, scared eyes. Realization at how far she’d pushed Lancelot.

"You're doing the exact things you discouraged me from doing, Keeva,” he continues, earning a pained wince from the summer sidhe as her head drops to stare at the ground. “It isn't right! It wasn’t right when I would do it, and it’s not any more correct when you do it! Would you not be worried for me if I were doing exactly what you are currently? I know you would be, because you have been!” He pauses for a single moment, but does not wait for her to respond. “I care about you, Keeva, and I’m not going to help you make the exact same mistakes I’ve made. You're never going to move forward if you continue following the footsteps left behind me."

What little fire that had remained within the summer sidhe dies completely, and within the broken pieces that made up Keeva in this moment, he could see slivers of himself staring back at him. The isolation, pushing anyone away no matter how much they wish to help because he’s not worth the effort anyway. The spiraling self-loathing. The disregard of his own well-being for the slightest taste of helping someone, of redemption. All of it a reflection of what his influence had imprinted on her.

His hands had once been gentle, many lifetimes ago. Perhaps he had fooled himself into believing they might still be yet, but a hand wielding a sword was always bound to cause harm. He had sworn to protect Keeva and instead he had pushed her blindly into the very danger he meant to save her from.

His eyes soften with shame, and for a brief instant, he finds himself unable to meet her gaze. “This is all my fault.”

Immediately she’s put on the defensive, unwilling to relinquish her burden of guilt to him. “No, no you… You didn’t do anything wrong, Lan, it’s my own fault–”

“No, Keeva,” he interrupts, frustration of his own clear in his tone. Keeva quickly goes silent, and Lan continues, “This is my fault. I put that idea in your mind when you never once would have considered it before, all because I–” His voice falters, his eyes betraying just how pained he is as he continues, “I was… afraid. Afraid of losing you in the same way I lost another I cared about. It was wrong. I was wrong, and all it did was make the very thing I feared all the more likely.”

“But… But I–”

His voice softens as he gently takes her hand in his own, eyes filled with a sincerity he reserved for save few in this life, or any life he’d ever lived. “I’m sorry, Keeva. I’m so sorry.”

Her shoulders stiffen, eyes flitting from side to side as though looking for something. An excuse, an argument, anything to dispute him, but there was nothing to be found. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but stops herself, and for a moment Lancelot is certain she might retreat completely in the absence of a defense. To his surprise, however, the uncertainty gives way to the most pained look he’s ever seen in Keeva’s eyes before she throws her arms around him in an agonized wail. Her form is unstable under his hands, somewhere between wispy and melting, almost as though her entire soul had become tears that barely held themselves together under the weight of her sadness. He would wait as she crumbled to pieces, ready to help her put them back together again no matter how long it may take.

It takes a long time before she begins to come down from the height of her anguish, but eventually she falls silent, face buried in his shirt as her form slowly stabilizes into something slightly more solid. He gives her a slight squeeze as she puts her hand over his, weakly returning the gesture.

“I know I cannot take it back as much as I wish I could,” he says quietly, “but I will do all I can to do better by you in the future. I promise.”

“You’ve been better.” Although her voice is faint, there’s a certainty in her words. “Already. You have been, Lan.”

His embrace tightens around her, face buried in her hair. “Then if someone like me can do better, believe me when I say that you can too.”

He feels her wings twitch against his arms, and she whispers, “What if I can’t?”

“Then I take your hand, help you to your feet, and we try again. Just as you’ve done for me. Just as you do for your friends.”

There’s a brief shudder of uncertainty he feels from her, but despite this, he also feels her nod.

“Try again,” she repeats softly. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

hello!! I'd like to request a Sir Lancelot (Shadow?? I don't know much of the game idk why his name is changed) x Reader sneaking out together to go be all lovey dovey and stuff? Thank you!

“Secrets in the Flower Field”

Pairing: Sir Lancelot x Reader

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: It wasn’t easy getting to see your beloved knight, with him being, well, a knight of the Round Table. But when you did get to see him, it was lovely.

Notes: My first Sonic and the Black Knight request!! Since you were curious, anon, Sir Lancelot is essentially the best Knight of the Round Table (Arthurian Legend stuff) and he happens to look like Shadow. He has a very different personality but they basically look the same! Anyway, hope you enjoy!

(Reader will be gender-neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Being a maid for the king was surprisingly an easy job. Clean each room, clean the knights’ armor, tend to any injuries from battle, and don’t touch Excalibur.

Pretty simple, right?

And you were lucky; your room was near the Knights of the Round Table’s rooms, and part of your job was bringing them breakfast each morning.

During your stay at the castle, you came to fall in love with Sir Lancelot Du Lac, the strongest knight of the Round Table.

How could you not? He was strong, smart, good-looking, kind-hearted…

You had fallen head-over-heels for him.

Luckily for you, he loved you, too, and the two of you started a (not-so) secret relationship.

Today was one of your lucky days off, and you were spending it outside, tending to your flower garden.

But…you’re lonely. You miss your knight.

You head back towards the castle, seeing Lancelot cleaning his armor.

“Lancelot!” you say happily, approaching him.

He lets off a smile seeing you, setting down his helmet. It was rare you saw him without it, and gosh was he beautiful.

“Hello to you as well, my love,” Lancelot says, kissing the back of your hand.

“Would thou like to accompany me to my flower garden?” you ask him.

“I would,” he says. “Let me put my armor on first, then we shall depart.”

“Must you really keep it on when off of your duties?” you ask.

“I must,” he replies. “If I wish to keep you safe, then it must be worn.”

“That’s fair enough, my knight,” you state.

Lancelot puts his armor back, grabbing his sword, the two of you heading to your flower garden not long after.

You take a seat, laying down on your back, with Lancelot doing the same, laying down by your side.

“Thank you for accompanying me, my knight,” you tell him. “I always enjoy your company.”

“As do I,” Lancelot replies. “You make me happier than I could have ever dreamed.”

“I love you too, Lancelot,” you tell him. “And I’ll love you until the end of time.”

[perplexingly]

I barely remember any of the Vulgate cycle so I checked some chapters about Galehaut and by god I forgot that it was written Like That

Galehaut, trying to convince Lancelot (in disguise) to stay with him Forever, soon after meeting him:

Lancelot promised he'd stay only if Galehaut (who at the time was battling Arthur, and was very much victorious) withdrew his army, to which Galehaut's entire attitude was like: "this pains me not at all, since it is your wish". Lancelot's reaction to this:

Galehaut planning to keep Lancelot aaaall to himself:

Galehaut answering to the question what would he do to keep Lancelot's company forever:

Galehaut's grieving out of love for Lancelot:

Lancelot and Galehaut so worried about each other they're afraid to do anything not to hurt the other (and in the second screenshot both of them almost die because they're so worried)

Lancelot and Galehaut's Romeo and Juliet-like ending:

[chaosblasphemy]

Remember this?

So I originaly only wanted to draw for my Black Knight AU but uh.

The brainworms win

Ive started on a chapter of What Could Have Been :))

Nimue the escape artist ♡

[partlyironic]

every episode, the writers of bbc merlin sat down and decided who was going to be inexplicably uncaring or actively unpleasant to merlin for absolutely no reason.