Colin Morgan’s beautiful face in 5x05 The Disir appreciation [2/?]

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@fatheremrys-blog
Colin Morgan’s beautiful face in 5x05 The Disir appreciation [2/?]
❛ Is this a bootycall? ❜
“What? Bootycalls are for casual sex, Merlin“
“That doesn’t answer the question, my lord.” Merlin grinned mockingly. “I’m very proud of your defining skills though. You’ve come a long way.”
I present to you the greatest impulse buy of my life.
Has anyone seen a very small, very agile, and very green newt? It may or may not pulsate blue when alarmed.
Asking for a friend.
fatheremrys:
It was a sudden flash. Without warning, a sharp pain found it’s way into his head, taking residence against his forehead and behind his eyes. He looked at her and her face changed. He was back in the banquet hall, clutching Morgana’s body as his seized, her chest panting against the constrictions in her throat. Merlin could feel her body begin to sweat as it struggled for breath, and he wanted to clutch at her again.
Then just as quickly as it came; it was gone. The memory evaporated and in it’s place was Morgana’s hard glare. He blanched, then hardened, vowing from that point on he would not let his resolve fall. Merlin knew he couldn’t let her see his shame, it would only give her fuel to use against him.
“I don’t thing I ever said you were, just curious about why you’ve decided creepy seclusion is how you plan to keep up your facade with Arthur, “ He countered.
He leaned back against the wall; forcing his body to appear casual. He looked around and shrugged, “I like the views. Your turn. What are you doing back here, Morgana?”
Morgana felt her emerald eyes harden, almost completely fuelled with hatred as she watched him. Though in truth she didn’t actually hate him. It was more anger, after all there was a fine line between both Love and hate. Once upon a time she had loved him. He was her best friend, someone who she trusted and then he had betrayed her. “I like being alone Merlin. Much better than being around anyone here. After all people here are nothing more than liars and traitors. I suppose I am a liar being here but I’m protecting my own kind.” She drawled boredly. Then at his question she raised an eyebrow again. “I don’t think you have every right to question me Merlin. I am the Lady of Camelot. You do not question me.” Her voice was cold. Years ago she didn’t care what class they were, and in truth she didn’t care now, but when it came to Merlin she would do anything to make things awkward. “Like I said I prefer my own company than people here. I like to walk these parts of the castle when I want to be alone.”
“Right, protecting.” Merlin nodded feigning agreement but it was clear he believed the latter. “Define traitor for me,” He challenged, moving from his reclined position against the wall. “I’m curious if it applied to wards who wish to overthrow the kingdom in which they grew up?”
He took a step forward challengingly. His shoulders were back and down, rolled back to unintentionally make his chest puff out. Despite his clumsy stature, now, he looked threatening. He never really intended to turn so menacing, but found it happened more than he’d care to admit.
He suspected it was less to do with him and more to do with his blah-blah-Arthur-Destiny. Like the cosmos were fully aware that the great protector Emrys was sort of a new born colt who fumbled over his own legs and would rather run alongside the dogs than keep them as pets. Let’s give him some anger and looks to kill, probably help him in the long run.
So here he was, having a fierce staring battle with Morgana and he was fairly certain he was winning. (And he was also resisting to the urge to yell, “You blinked” in her face. Didn’t seem particularly appropriate.)
“No you’re not,” He said simply, voice dropping low into a growl. “You are nothing of Camelot, Morgana. Not any more.”
fayofavalon:
Morgana was beautiful there was no doubt about that, but she was a beautiful monster. Even seeing Merlin caused anger to pump through her veins, but there was also the hint of sadness, and an aching emptiness that was deep within her hollow vessel. She would never admit that though.
Could that be the old Morgana still buried under there? That she was still upset over the whole situation? It was something that she would never, ever admit, especially to him. She would never let him see her weak again. Hearing him say her name and then pause, caused a single brow to raise, and then taking a single step back, her emerald hues sparkling with mere curiosity. She then frowned, her arms crossing over as she waited for him to continue, getting all the more impatient as each moment passed. Then finally — he spoke. Thank the Gods. “I am not afraid of the backend of the citadel, Merlin.” her voice was firm, but quiet, completely aware that they could be in earshot of guards, knights or even Arthur himself. So she was careful. “Why are you here?” she demanded, gently tilting her head to the side.
It was a sudden flash. Without warning, a sharp pain found it’s way into his head, taking residence against his forehead and behind his eyes. He looked at her and her face changed. He was back in the banquet hall, clutching Morgana’s body as his seized, her chest panting against the constrictions in her throat. Merlin could feel her body begin to sweat as it struggled for breath, and he wanted to clutch at her again.
Then just as quickly as it came; it was gone. The memory evaporated and in it’s place was Morgana’s hard glare. He blanched, then hardened, vowing from that point on he would not let his resolve fall. Merlin knew he couldn’t let her see his shame, it would only give her fuel to use against him.
“I don’t thing I ever said you were, just curious about why you’ve decided creepy seclusion is how you plan to keep up your facade with Arthur, “ He countered.
He leaned back against the wall; forcing his body to appear casual. He looked around and shrugged, “I like the views. Your turn. What are you doing back here, Morgana?”
fayofavalon:
Things had changed since she found her way to Camelot again, and she herself had changed. Well, according to Arthur and Uther she was still the same Morgana, but no she was something else. Bitterness riddled through her veins, and her heart didn’t pump with love and kindness like it used to, instead it was full of Anger and Hatred.
Merlin had betrayed her. She trusted him more than anyone in Camelot, even shared her secret with him, and then he almost kills her, All for what? All because of Camelot. If he had found another way… like he perhaps would have if it came to Arthur — but no. She would never, ever forgive him for what she did, and one day she would make him suffer for what he did to her. For a long time her sister had to put up with her grieving, because that friendship that she cherished was dead – no more, and from that moment on she knew that she could only ever trust Morgause.
Her beautiful silk dress that was the colour of sapphire blue hugged her figure beautifully, whilst her long raven curls bounced on her shoulders as she walked. Crimson lips pierced together into a frown as she heard footsteps behind her. Instinct was to stop sharply, and quickly turned on her heels to see that it was none other than Merlin himself. Her whole being tensed, and she had to stop herself from doing something she would regret publicly. “What. Do. You. Want.” Her voice was a quiet hiss, voice dripping with venom as she locked eyes with him.
He stalled, hurt. If only Morgana had known the love he truly had for her, how much he had treasured their friendship, their camaraderie. If only she knew how Merlin held her failing body close to him, sobbing his own tears of regret, and had wished for nothing more than another answer. Too late now.
He was far too late for that.
His expression changed, taking over the oof-of-a-manservant grimace was a haunted look he wore so often in private. The visage of a man who had seen too much, done too much, required too much.
“Morgana,” He started, then deflated.
Merlin often acted on instinct, and frankly didn’t have the inclination or time to think things through. Such was the case for parading behind a venomous she-devil vendetta fueled witch. In retrospect, he could have attempted to maybe, I don’t know, tip-toe or something, but instead let his clumsy feet stomp behind her.
He had so much he wanted to say. Standing in front of her now, though, his throat was tightening like he had poisoned himself.
No. He was Emrys. He was not to blame, he did what he needed to. He wasn’t allowed to regret. She wanted Arthur dead. That made her his enemy. Toughen up, warlock, the world you long for means sacrifice and --- he swallowed the growing lump in his throat.
“Dark, damp, backend hallway of the citadel. Seems quite _unusual _a place for the King’s ward to take a stroll.”
Things were awkward with Morgana.
Okay, fair, that may be putting it lightly, but Merlin didn’t particularly want to put more thought into his description. As it was, every time he thought of Uther’s ward, his stomach churned and his chest burned with guilt. Shame. Anger. Refusal.... and dammit, see! Now he was thinking about it and gods, he felt sick.
Their half-arsed glances in the hall of Camelot were like flashes of war battles. They never opened their mouths or brandished a weapon, but the flickers of their eyes were enough to wound. He supposed they hated each other. But, then he would remember the beautiful should-be princess who stood beside Arthur at banquets, challenged Uther in solitude, and was forced into magic just like he was. He missed that Morgana. He wished he had helped sooner, had shared his secret.
But, no. Arthur was his destiny. Albion was his future. He couldn’t bring her comfort amidst her confusion. There was too much to risk.
He caught the tail-end of a royal blue dress dart behind a pillar - the expensive silk immediately alerting him to who it was. (Shut up, can’t a man admire dress textiles? Jeez. You sound like Arthur.) The bubbling in his gut was back. Acting on instinct, he followed her haste footsteps, barely trying to keep quiet. There was, he’d admit, some part of him that wanted Morgana to know he was there.
Looks weren’t enough. It was time to talk.
Reblog if you’re an indie Merlin RP account.
dear-indies :
We are creating masterlist for every Merlin roleplayer.
The list is here.
I think..... I want to RP as Merlin again.
A Visit || Merlin & Hunith
Hunith had started to lose track of the time of day anymore. It didn’t matter what schedule the rest of the world followed, for the foreseeable future, she would be following the schedule that Landon and Adela laid out. They were starting to sleep for longer periods of time, so Hunith was able to get more done around the house. In the days after they were born, all of the hard work she’d put in to get the house neat were almost for naught. There just wasn’t the time nor the energy to get things together. Landon and Adela had been asleep for almost two hours and Hunith had been able to get the kitchen back under control. She was sure they would be waking up soon, but until then, she might as well sit down and relax. She didn’t want to walk all the way upstairs so she sat down on the small couch in the living room and leaned her head back.
After what seemed to be only a few seconds, she heard a soft knock on the door. With a sigh, she stood up and crossed the small living room to the door. Whoever it was, she was thankful for them keeping the knock quiet so the twins didn’t wake up. She opened the door and gave a tired smile when she saw who stood on her doorstep. “Hey, Dad…”
Merlin just fancied playing with children. He loved giving them toys and then watching them cause a general ruckus toward Arthur. (Not that he directed to bother Arthur, except in all the ways that he did just that.) He loved telling them stories of his life, ones that sounded foreign, improbable, and fantastical even to his own ears. He loved the naïvety and innocence of children; nothing scoped out for them, or destinies to follow, just bright eyes and loud mouths. He admired them as much as he envied them.
True, not only had all his children grown past childhood, but two had passed. He'd lost the age of poking noses and helping tie breeches. Or so he thought! When Hunith's little pink-fleshed bundles arrived, Merlin felt like a kid himself. Giddy with apprehension, euphoric with pride, adhered to the idea of grandfatherhood. They weren't quite old enough to be taught that under any and all circumstances Arthur was to be called a "Great Clotpole Brute," but they were at the perfect age to coddle and adore.
He felt his lovely blossom deserved a break (and Merlin was more than anxious to see the little kiddies again) that he meandered his way to her door. "Turn that frown upside down and swallow back your yawn! Poppy Merlin is here!" He said in a whisper, but with all the enthusiasm of someone yelling across Avalon.
I don't...I don't feel so well.
Hey Dad...
Such a solemn tone.
I DO NOT HAVE A BALD SPOT!!!
I think he doth protest too much.
MERLIN'S BEARD!
I am as smooth and hairless as Arthur’s bald spot!
Just let me be a concerned daughter, okay? *sighs* I'm not sure if the good news is all that good now.
Only if I can be a concerned father. *Sits, motions for her to do the same* Tell me.
I'm not afraid for myself. I'm afraid for you. But Lot will be happy that you want to keep an eye on me...
Morgana is no threat to me, she fears me.