The Fae That Trapped You In A Groundhog Day-style Time Loop Is Extremely Frustrated That You’re Taking

"Merlin, if I die -"

"If I need a servant in the next life-"

"Don't ask me"

"No man is worth your tears"

"You're certainly not"

"I'm happy to be your servant, until the day I

die."

"Just.... Take it."

It startles me sometimes, how often they'd talked about death. How sure they were that the other would someday die.

And it's poetic that Merlin denied Arthur's mortality so often, while Arthur was always afraid to lose Merlin.

And then Arthur dies,

And Merlin cries

And Merlin's death is nowhere near in reach.

There is no next life.

But by the gods, he wished there was.

for the @merlinmicrofic prompt "harvest" Gaius/Geoffrey, G , no warnings, 290 words, ao3 link

seedling

You'll want to wait for the grain to wither, to go brittle-dry, before you take the scythe to it. Not meant to be cut are stalks still full of sap, unless nature made them weak. Or so Death would reason if it had a voice.

By Uther's wrath though, old and young alike fell before the reaper. The king's most trusted were tasked to ensure bountiful yield. There were lists.

Gaius felt sick. He had sworn, he'd sworn to leave his old life behind and all that came with it. Magic. Tradition. Conscience? “I couldn't bear it,” the king had said, “if any harm came to you,” and Gaius had cowered before the threat.

There were lists, and Gaius felt sick. “So many souls.”

Geoffrey looked up, gaze sharp, quill idling. “Do you not love our king?”

“And do you not love me?”

It was as much as either of them could say out loud. The moment lingered, then something broke between them. The quill resumed its scratching. The reaper bound sheafs.

Sneaking out in the night was not something that came easily to Gaius. He cursed this bout of courage as fear constricted his throat, a premonition of the hangman's noose.

Up in the tower over the courtyard, there was a light in the window. The infant prince must be keeping his wet nurse up again. Would he one day have to pick the fruit grown from his father's bitterness, and choke on it? Had fate, moving its playing pieces into place, already entrapped him in its vines?

“Gaius?” The blonde girl's eyes shone bright with fear and magic both. “What of my sister?”

“Don't be afraid. She will be safe.” Gaius took her hand. “Come, Morgause, let's go.”

Constantly obsessed with the concept of a man forced to be a myth. What do you do when every step you take is embedded into the text. Every word you say prose to read. You're part of something bigger than yourself. The narrative tugs you along like water currents. There is no time to rest, to be human. You must be great, you must be legend

sir gawain would do numbers on tumblr

life is so ruthless so i must love you as hard as i can. basically

Why I Should Have a Dragon (a personal hypothetical philosophy in zine format)

Okay but what if I snap and write a full-fledged fic of Arthur becoming king in s1 and how it could have changed the entire course of the show.

arthurian gothic

there is scratching in the woods. they tell you it is the questing beast. you’ve never seen the questing beast. you don’t even know what it is.

a knight introduces himself. he is a cousin of gawain. you have never heard of him, but no one thinks anything of it.

there is something wrong with the lake. everyone whispers that there is something wrong with the lake. no one will say what.

everyone keeps telling you the queen is the most beautiful woman in the world, but you can’t get past her eyes. they are dead.

there are footsteps in the hall. there are always footsteps in the hall. there are not always people.

you have never seen the king. some say he is the man in velvet. some say he is a war hero. some say he is a sad old man. he is a roman, someone tells you. another one insists angrily that he is a knight. a third says he is gone.

no one sits in one of the chairs at the round table. you ask if you can sit down. a knight crosses himself.

you are on a horse. you can’t remember how long you’ve been riding. “where are we going?” you ask. “on a quest.” it is always a quest.

the queen is no longer the most beautiful woman in the world. there is another girl, under the pavilion in the forest. her eyes are black.

the red coat of arms on the back of a chair has been removed. there is a different coat of arms, now, and a new knight sits. no one remembers the old one.

castle carbonek is beautiful, they tell you, but be careful. you see a door cracked open. the light that streams through blinds you.

you are speaking with a woman who insists she is elaine, but you know better. elaine was a different woman yesterday. all the women are elaine.

you see a telescope in the castle. you are confused. you have never seen anything like it, but they insist it has been here since the time of the romans.

one of the knights is missing. you ask what has happened, but all anyone will tell you is that it was a fit of madness. he is back the next day.

there is blood on the rose bushes outside the queen’s window. they are trampled.

everyone wears black in may. you ask why everyone is wearing black. no one answers.