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@arsethur
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for @merthurmicrofic ︱"man" ︱1810 words
It wasn't surprising that Merlin's attire hadn't come up as of yet. Merlin's life had been thrown so upside down recently that for a while he could scarcely acknowledge what his own name was, let alone give space for aesthetic concerns. From the moment his crew had been called out to check in on a man passed out along the riverbanks, expecting a drunk, and finding instead a very familiar blonde head and aquiline nose, Merlin's heart had both frozen and exploded, caught high in his throat and never settling back down.
There was Arthur's confusion, and Merlin's joy, but there was also grief and anger and panic and a change that Merlin had spent his centuries praying for and now that he was here, entirely did not know what to do with. He hated the fear in Arthur's eyes when a car drove by on the road, the sorrow when he read through Merlin's history books, the insecurity when he quietly asked Merlin what he was to do in a world that no longer needed kings.
So Merlin's mind is understandably distracted as he dresses, pulling on an oversize sweater that was a gift from a coworker, his favorite flowy maxi skirt, a loose scarf for the early fall chill. And really, it was Arthur's fault too, for he had something to say about the ring in Merlin's lip and the length of his hair and the size of his platform boots, and yet nothing about his dress. But when they left Merlin's terrace house with Arthur charging out the front door and insisting that Merlin was lagging behind, as always, Merlin thought no more of his clothes than what he always wore off-duty.
And how could he, when it felt like the sun had finally returned after an endless winter? He knew the terror of being a man out of time, he saw it reflected so clearly in Arthur's eyes. He was prepared to protect Arthur against it all, to feed him the world in bits and pieces, morsels he could swallow.
Arthur didn't want a morsel. He was wide-eyed at indoor plumbing and email and matcha lattes and antibiotics and travel documentaries and Duolingo and breadmakers. He insisted Merlin take him to the local cafe, the thrift stores, the library, the high-end shops, the parks. He was ravenous (at times literally, when anything containing the taste of vanilla or citrus was involved) to take in the world that fate had thrust him back into.
Merlin could never deny his king anything. Every time Arthur smiled at some new flavor or appliance or disease now neutralized, Merlin felt the sun reflect its warmth on him, too. And it was impossible not to smile back.
Even when he was being a brat.
Happy pride month to these two specifically I can’t believe that Merthur is real
gwen was already under morgana's control when elyan was killed trying to save her. can I just-
gwen holding her dying brother in her arms but her brain was already warped and twisted against him. did she know? was the real gwen in there watching, screaming, wailing - did her tears come from a very real place within her, that morgana's lies couldn't drown out? how much grief did she need to fake? was it all pretend - or did it burn up inside of her, real, raw, unable to be kept below the surface. did she notice how it badly it hurt seeing her only remaining family slain in front of her. did she feel frustrated at her old self, or confused at her new self, when those tears came far too easily?
i can't work out if it's worse if she never knew. what if it only hit later - standing in that lake, in the arms of her husband, only then did the true loss of elyan sink in, her knees buckling, clinging onto arthur like she would keel over otherwise, let the water take her. her grief was stolen from her, her last moments with her brother lost forever to someone else's memory, a part of her that was never real
is this anything
og
If pain's endless
Your obsessions a thousand thousand
I cut the red thread again and again,
你的执念万千千千,我把红线折折剪剪。
just hold me tighter—
don’t fall into the whirlpool of fate.
inspired by a chinese edit i love—if you look up “merlin 超度我” on bilibili, you might find it :)
No but seriously what the fuck did Merlin and Arthur talk about on the way home from the Labyrinth of Gedref. Did the two of them just ride back to Camelot in dead silence waiting for the other to bring up that they're now seemingly prepared to to die for each other no questions asked ???
merlin & animal crossing dialogue
@merthurmicrofic prompt: pain :) Word count: 592
“I told you it’s just a sniffle, Merlin; you really don’t have to do all of that.”
“Hush, you,” Merlin said, and continued fluffing his mother’s pillows. “You were halfway to comatose and burning up with fever last night when I got in.” He gave her a stern look. “You’re lucky you have a medically-educated and doting son to nurse you. Lie back, I’ll get the tincture.”
Hunith rolled her eyes, but as he moved away, she gave his hand a conciliatory squeeze.
“And what about you?” she called, and sniffed.
“What about me?”
“Who looks after you when you’re poorly?”
He glanced up from where he was swirling around the murky liquid. “Are you saying you wouldn’t come look after me if I was sick? And after all I’ve done for you.”
“I wouldn’t if you were being a bastard.” Merlin snorted. “Of course I would, you tit. But I’m an old woman and I can’t travel as I once could.”
Merlin sat down again by her bedside, frowning. “What are you saying?”
“I’m just saying it might be nice to—you know. Have someone a bit closer to home.”
He handed her the medicine, saying, “Get it down fast, and don’t ask what’s in it. Hold your nose if you have to; it tastes like arse.”
She gave him a wry look, full of questions he wouldn’t disturb her by answering, but she did as she was told and got it down in one with only a grimace and a polite burp.
Merlin was still frowning. “You mean like a lover?”
“Like a companion,” she said dryly, wincing as she set the vial down.
Merlin sat back in his chair and looked down at his hands, worn with calluses and fine wrinkles.
“What would I need with a companion?” he said, his voice quiet. “I get by just fine.”
“Liar,” his mother scolded. “I have letters from Gwen. She says she hasn’t seen you in over a year. You spend all your time alone; I just—don’t want you to be lonely, love.”
“I’m not,” he said, smiling thinly. “I have you.”
She gave him a sad smile and took his hand.
“Besides,” he said, looking away, “he’s coming back.”
“You don’t know that, Merlin.”
“I do.”
He didn’t say that he couldn’t imagine taking a companion without the taste of disloyalty burning bitter in the back of his throat, nor that he couldn’t so much as have his hair ruffled by another without picturing the blond head smiling down at him.
Each night he took the pain of it to bed with him, and nestled down beside it like a lover, so that it was now as much a part of him as the love. And on those nights, he dreams of a time where he will wake with the bed warmed by the body beside him, and he will be held, and they will have time.
“It’s been a long time,” she said, looking down at their hands, old and older, intertwined, “you know that. I just don’t want you to spend the rest of your life waiting around. There’s still a whole lot of good out there that you might miss out on.”
He looked up at her then and saw the beseeching look, and gave it a reassuring smile in return, with a squeeze of his hand for good measure. He stood, pulled up her blankets and planted a kiss on her forehead, all the while saying nothing at all, so he wouldn’t have to lie.
"No man is worth your tears." escape pod by Paris Paloma, 5.13x5, theme, 5.13, 5.05, 1.13, 5.05, 1.12, 4.2, 2.23x2.
prompt: pain
write a fic in 50 words (or more if the mood strikes you) and tag @merthurmicrofic so we can all enjoy your work! art, gifsets, essays, mood boards and so on are also welcome.
just me and my shit yaoi from a thing thats bad
@merthurmicrofic prompt: party. 999 words
Blinking, Arthur read the next sentence of the letter, found it didn't make any sense, and went back to the previous sentence, then the one before that, and the one before that too, and found himself sighing. He was rereading the start of the letter, some lord grumbling about how he needed a new physician, when his vision was overcome by something blue, with gold embroidery — his tunic, it turned out, flung into his face.
"You need to get ready," Merlin told him, in his usual cheerfully treasonous tone. He was already dressed in a dark blue tunic and black hose, which had the combined effect of making Arthur swallow back all sorts of promises.
Every time I crochet a new Merlin bean he's gradually shrinking for some reason, and now he's only 3cm... ONE INCH 🥹 help
I had to use thread to sew his eyes instead of blue yarn sob
for @merthurmicrofic | party | 383 words
When their party is captured by Saxons, Merlin doesn’t say I told you so. He thinks it, certainly, shooting a look at Arthur, but keeps his mouth shut.
Gwaine, unsurprisingly, has no such qualms. He leans back against the cold stone of the dungeon, lips curling into a crooked smirk despite their circumstances. “Go ahead, Merlin. Whatever it is you’re thinking, I’m sure we’d all love to hear it.”
And, well, if he’s being invited, it would be rude for Merlin not to share.
“I,” Merlin says, full of righteous annoyance, “told you so.”
The look Arthur gives him from across their cell is deeply unimpressed. Merlin can’t imagine why; after all, it’s not Merlin’s fault that they went galavanting through the Valley of the Fallen Kings. As a matter of fact, Merlin is the one who explicitly told everyone that that was a horrible idea.
“Is that all?” Arthur asks, almost challenging.
Merlin pretends to consider it. “Hm. No. You’re also a cabbagehead.”
Arthur’s pursed lips turn into a proper scowl. “Just get us out of here, Merlin, before your prattling makes us all go mad.”
Merlin rolls his eyes, lifting a hand towards the cell door. “Is that any way to treat someone who was right?”
The door flies off of its hinges, but Arthur doesn’t so much as blink. “Is that any way to speak to your king?”
“Well, is that–”
“Ladies,” Gwaine says, placating, “perhaps we could save the flirting for later, after we’ve escaped?”
Arthur goes bright red. “That wasn’t— we weren’t—“
Merlin wants to protest, but, well. Just because Arthur is oblivious doesn’t mean that he is, too.
Footsteps echo thunderously down the corridor. Unsurprising, since they haven’t exactly been quiet in their escape attempt, but inconvenient nonetheless.
Arthur and Gwaine both reach for swords that aren’t there.
When the Saxons come into view, Merlin’s eyes burn gold, and the men drop like puppets whose strings have been cut.
Merlin surveys the scene, shaking his head and only partially pretending to be annoyed. “I’m just doing all the work today, aren’t I? You know, between this and having told you so, I think I deserve a raise.”
Arthur pushes past him, shoulders knocking together as he makes for the door. “Shut up, Merlin.”
Merlin grins and follows.
The Golden Age That Never Was The Truth About Grief, Fortesa Latifi + BBC Merlin Episodes 1.10, 1.12, 1.08, 1.13, 5.12, 2.12, 2.08, 5.05 (repeated), 4.10, and 5x13.