things that have brainwashed me

@missfaber’s review blog. if you wonder why I call myself an obsessive and emotionally invested fangirl, wonder no more.

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by @bonearenaofmyskull 

Summary: 

While isolated from the rest of humanity as they escape the United States on their own sailing vessel, Will grapples with what he wants out of his renewed relationship with Hannibal.

Comments:

God, what a lovely, perfectly measured, somber post-fall fic. This is one out of maybe three perfectly executed post-fall fics that are my personal canon. This one... oh, THIS one!!!.... A somber sailboat fic composed of quiet moments and introspection, surprisingly short considering the amount of emotion and resolution it packs in its small real estate, it's the perfect fic to read the very night after you finish the last episode of Hannibal for a good, cleansing cry and a full heart before you go to bed.

Will had been afraid those few weightless moments: afraid and at peace, warmed by Hannibal’s body in his arms, and it had been so right. Right that they should die there together, right that they had killed together, right that Hannibal had known what was coming and still given himself over to Will as they stood on the eroding edge together. It was right when Hannibal’s arms tightened— desperately, compulsively— around Will. In those moments, Will had loved him more than he could reckon.

But here was Will, only a few feet away from him, his fingers thoughtlessly caressing the silver circle of wheel with just the pads, gripping, releasing. There he was, the toes on one foot curling and pressing into Cetus’s decking, his bare feet peeking out from new linen pants, slightly too long without shoes on. There—impossibly there, undeniably there, inconceivably there. Close enough to touch, if Hannibal reached for him. Hannibal stored him up in his mind, in a room encompassing all the oceans of the world.

“You are so consistently insistent," Will said. Hannibal smiled. "And you so persistently resistant."

TLDR: The writing is exquisite— the tone belongs to the show, pairs perfectly with it. It’s full of restrained sensuality, has an amazing grasp on nautical terminology, a mastery of setting the scene in the loveliest way possible, and a real grasp on Hannibal-esque dialogue that was so, so satisfying. It treats both Hannibal and Will individually with such respect; Hannibal’s yearning and penchant for manipulation and his constant pushing, Will’s reservations and melancholy and frustration. Both of their fears and their pain. Hannibal is allowed to be vulnerable and afraid (while giving us heaps of pining and possessive Hannibal) and Will is allowed to be strong in a way that rings true to both their characters. It highlights the bitterly circular nature of their relationship, the way pain and tenderness seem to always be intertwined. The fic has so much angst and little resolution (just how I like it—  a bitch likes blue balls). What’s unique about this fic is how it refuses to shy away from any facet of the twisted, tremulous place Hannibal and Will would be post-fall — the immense confusion, the yearning and learning and re-learning, the sea of blood and betrayal between them. This fic is not an ending; it’s a beginning, and that’s its true strength.

(much) more detailed review below the cut!

I'll talk about the writing first! (I'm being shockingly coherent here considering how much I incoherently screamed while reading/ in the fic comments). The TONE! is literal perfection. IMMACULATE. Only a few paragraphs in and I felt like I was watching the show, I FELT the bond between the show and the fic. The aesthetics matched — a feat, as the author manages to do that with such tight, contained writing while the aesthetic of the show is outrageously, extraneously beautiful. At no point does this author resort to flowery writing or extraneous detail— every word is measured, purposeful, bare, yet bursting with feeling.

This translates to one of my favorite aspects of the writing: its restrained sensuality. I say “sensuality” instead of “sexuality” because that’s what it is— gentle, but roiling eroticism, barely communicated in the slightest of details: 

He became slowly conscious of Hannibal’s steady gaze on him as he moved. He halted as he came to his door, hand on the latch. Somewhere in the back of his mind those words echoed again—Is Hannibal in love with me?—and Bedelia’s measured tones as she answered... Will turned his head but did not quite look at him. Hannibal’s attention remained steady, intent, curious. “Will?” he asked. Will went inside. Thereafter the association had him and would not let him go. He became aware of Hannibal’s attention in a manner he had never thought about much before.

... but instead he stayed with Hannibal, watching Hannibal’s face just inches from his own. Hannibal licked his lips and continued to apply pressure, watching Will watch him. They remained in this tableau, waiting for deliverance.

Hannibal peeled the shrimp and removed the veins with deft turns of his wrists, his sleeves rolled up halfway to his elbows. “I can help with that,” Will said.

Will could not resist testing his hand’s movement and felt it brush against the seam on the inside of Hannibal’s thigh. “Try to be still,” Hannibal murmured. He ran his warm palm over the muscles of Will’s shoulder again, much the same as he had smoothed the blanket fifteen minutes before, and as he had once drawn a blanket over Will’s chilled form and caressed him, Will thought idly, mere hours after shoving Abigail’s ear down his throat.

Hannibal’s lips were parted, and Will could feel his warm breath. He knew the look without needing to see it clearly: admiration and ache warring equally over his chiseled features. Consuming, as always. Drinking him in. Taking. He wondered what Hannibal saw in his own face.

What’s glorious about this style of muted sensuality is that the power is all left to the implications — which are infinitely more than a scene in which a finite ~thing~ happens—  to what’s unsaid, not done (but yearned for). Yearning (oh, there is so much yearning) takes a front seat. As a huge fan of Hemingway’s iceberg theory and contained writing in general, I loved this style.

The physical descriptions of the boat and the beauty of the sea were always lovely and anchoring. This author has a ridiculous command of the nautical world, and even if I didn’t understand all of it I deeply appreciated the attention to detail —

Hannibal had been a long time indoors and not a molecule of this natural beauty was lost on him. But mostly he watched Will. Will did not see this world of ultraviolet glare and sunblind desaturation as Hannibal did, but rather with the eye of a mariner and a fisherman. In the previous week, Hannibal had coaxed him into voicing some of his observations, and seeing life through Will's eyes had been in its way as fascinating as viewing death. A loon's laughing cry rose and passed on more than one occasion, and Will commented that it was a good sign for the fishery, that there must be a good number of menhaden, a baitfish, in the Bay that year...

A diffuse glow of sunlight illuminated his face from below, as the sun peeked through the skylights and lit up the woodwork and white upholstery in the saloon. It warmed the recesses of Hannibal’s sculpted face and made his eyes glow, more amber than brown.

There was no word on the weather, of the hot and unnatural stillness that held Hannibal and himself in its unrelenting grip.

The quotes at the beginnings of the chapters were also a really nice touch!

Hannibal's voice, his elite brand of dialogue— cyclical, cutting, seemingly random but never actually so— is captured perfectly; a difficult feat. It was so satisfying to read: 

“Moments are all that we need, Will. Enough moments, strung together, make eternity.”

"To feel intensely is not a symptom of weakness, Will. It's the mark of the truly alive."

This makes the hannigram conversations feel so authentic, so classically them, with Hannibal's philosophical overtures, the religious imagery, the refusing to shy away from previous interactions/conflict between them, and prodding and digging into Will as he loves to do, as he can't resist doing. Combined with Will’s insolence and the way he can surprise Hannibal, can (briefly) render hims speechless, the conversations could be scenes pulled from the show. 

I deeply loved and appreciated the instances of Hannibal pushing, of refusing to let things go (more on that later), of behaving instinctually (especially when Will pulls strong emotion from him). It rings so true to the character—  Hannibal’s worst vice (with Will at least) is his inability to control his black impulses when he's overcome with feeling when it comes to Will, especially if it's negative, burning emotion like betrayal, jealousy, or hurt. (See: Mizumono, Dolce). Then Hannibal becomes a viper, lunging and striking without thinking, poisoning the space between them.

Hannibal’s continuous pushing was a product of the author refusing to ignore the latent issues that would lie between our favorite murder husbands post-fall. A lot of fics jump straight into murder-husbands epilogue or Will-is-immediately-as-bloodthirsty-and-happily-cannibalistic-as-Hannibal (and I'm not gonna lie there's a couple of those that are favorites, writing makes all the difference for me) but this fic doesn't do that. I’ll admit that it’s very much not a focus of the fic, there is absolutely no exploration of how Will feels about killing or cannibalism, if he felt powerful, if he wants to chase that feeling, no exploration of “it’s beautiful”. It’s not a weakness of the fic, just very glaringly not a part of it. This fic is severely focused on Hannigram’s complicated feelings about each other, in a dreamlike isolated place. The fic doesn’t bother itself with morality, doesn’t place judgement, positive or negative, on any of those acts. It also doesn’t dismiss them from the future, and any realistic future would involve such acts. As I said before, this fic is a beginning. 

But, yes, back to my point! The fic touches on issues such as Abigail, Molly and Walter, and even the fall off the cliff by having Hannibal push Will again and again (even literally). I’m hesitant to say “explores” rather than “touches on” because it doesn’t do that, doesn’t provide a full resolution— it acknowledges these issues, establishes that they would be part of a continued conversation, and moves on. (Like I said; a beginning). 

Although Will rarely (or may actually never) bring up any of his own issues— he only engages when forced to by Hannibal— he does display strength in typical Will ways, through resistance and insolence. 

What Hannibal wanted was what Will had shared with Molly and Walter... He did not want to give these things to Hannibal. 

A lot of fics will have Will either shy away from any discussion of Molly and Walter, because they’re ugly and difficult to execute well, and so they are erased as if they never existed— or they will simply have Will completely demote and reject Molly and Walter and the life he lived in Maine. But in this fic, Will is still protective of them, even as a memory, even as something that exists completely in the past, even as he moves forward with Hannibal. It’s a display of strength, of non-compliance, that I love.

Will shows strength in other ways, too. While he doesn’t start many of the difficult conversations as Hannibal does (as only insightful Hannibal can do), once engaged he’s present and sharp, sometimes unyielding and even hurtful. Will doesn’t shy away from the bitterness of the walls placed between them, walls that aren’t made of matter but of space— space Will placed between them, space Hannibal took (and continues to try to take) from him.

The result are many (beautiful) references to their past, to the rivers of blood between them: 

The grief of their years apart flooded after, with the weight of what they had done to each other and what they had suffered at each other’s hands. The shadows of pain and stains of blood surrounded them, filling the boat, threatening to sink it and carry them both to the bottom of the sea.

He had been sure, and he was still sure- they had to deal with each other, to grope their way through their shared maze of long-stored griefs and the dead ends of failed trust.

Hannibal had awoken, and Will’s peace fled.

This last gutting quote takes me to another hallmark of this fic for me— a truly beautiful and mature display of their mutual unhappiness, a living example of “be careful what you wish for”. Both men have wished for this (for different lengths of time and in different degrees, yes, but they wished for it)— to be alone together, which is to not be alone, finally (“we are both alone without each other”). But now that they have it, they learn that they have to actually be together, and that perhaps they don’t know to do that, or at least how best to do that. They learn that there’s so much pain and unresolved emotion to contend with, when faced with the nothing but the other and time. 

And so, after the story ends, they don’t leap into happily-ever-after. Instead, they leap into explorations of their unresolved feelings and their own failings. There’s such a deep understanding of both men’s failings, the unique ways in which their hearts are broken — there’s even a beautiful mirror where both men (separately) reflect on the ways in which they’re not enough for the other. 

As then, Hannibal knew he had little with which to fight this enemy. He had no secrets left to reveal, no curiosity to exploit, no monsters to fight, no daughter to share, no one left to save but Will himself. He had only Hannibal Lecter, and that had never been enough.

Will wondered what equally tender and ravenous urge had brought Hannibal forward to watch over him while he slept... He tried to imagine if there might ever be any way he could give Hannibal enough to sate him. Maybe there was, if Hannibal had succeeded in sawing his way into Will’s head and eaten his brain after all. Will could not see it otherwise. The whole of Will’s entire life and being was not enough. It had never been enough.

This whole thing is both gorgeous and tragic, both of them harboring imagined shortcomings and impossible desires. Will wonders if literal consumption, to be eaten or allowing himself to be possessed in every other way, is the only thing that will sate Hannibal. And this Will is, very definitively, not willing to do that. (I’m not averse to fics where Will is— when done well, it’s supremely good). And Hannibal has always used Something Else to hook Will, to keep Will, and so the tragedy is in the hypothetical— what could have happened had he resisted some of his own worst impulses? Did Hannibal behave this way because of Will’s resistance, or would Will not have resisted him, rejected him, had he not been so manipulative, coercive, demanding, taking? *Sigh.* I also love that Hannibal is allowed to acknowledge his own failings and betrayals in this fic; it doesn’t always exists in post-fall fics  (again, it's usually Will apologizing for his false life with Molly, etc). It makes for some delicious angst.

And my god, is the angst good! Striking, painful, gutting, love that for meee!!!! (I genuinely do!) 

Will did not speak, not even to thank Hannibal. It stung. 

BABEYYYY NOOOO why do the SIMPLEST sentences fucking destROYYYY me?!! 

Does that make you feel better?” Will asked in a low voice. “It’s not enough that you take everything else—you have to take even the symbols of anything I had that wasn’t about you?” 

Reaching out, he gripped the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt in his hand, closing his fist around it slowly. “Maybe that should tell you something.” Hannibal twitched slightly—Will had caught some of his chest hair—but he remained passive. It was Will’s weak arm, his right, and so the gesture was just that: a gesture, made for no better reason than emphasis. But it felt good to have Hannibal under him, looking surprised.... “What should it tell me, Will?” “Some things”—Will breathed deeply through his nose, trying to steady himself—“do not belong to you.” His voice came low and quiet. Hannibal’s hand came up and touched his arm, moving up to the recently injured shoulder, running his palm over Will’s shirt, passing his fingers over the roughness of scars beneath. “I only wish to know you.”

literally SCREAMING INCOHERENTLY!!! I haven’t even used the worst (best) angsty bits — gotta save something for the actual fic! so go go go!!! 

This deep understanding of both Will and Hannibal as separate individuals shines throughout the fic, but I’d like to showcase some really strong character lines. On Hannibal:

Hannibal was pleased with his age and the experiences that fueled it: every moment he lived he had snatched from God’s own sticky fingers. 

He knew that Hannibal could and did partition his mind against such associations, that his affection was every bit as real as his violence... He could only find and explore this newly tender and painful place within him, like a man who cannot keep from tonguing an aching tooth.

... the mercurial author of both his pain and his relief. 

He had probably investigated all of Will's belongings at some point. 

Hannibal could believe, but he could never know. 

(^ one of my favorite parts of the fic; the recurring explanation of Hannibal’s desire to possess Will is a product of his fear of not knowing him. This line is so simple and well done, yet full of anguish.) 

Will had seen Hannibal’s heart break enough times to recognize it in his stillness, in the slight thrust of his jaw beneath closed lips, in the shifts between denial and acceptance in his brown eyes, which could find no safe place to rest in the landscape of Will’s face.

(i’m EMO.) Okayokay, Will’s character lines are just as fantastic:

He would be unable to tend his right arm well with his left hand, and Hannibal would insist, and he would be forced to give in. Will wished it did not matter.

(THIS. LINE. So much communicated about Will's mingled frustration and acceptance, about the power imbalance in this relationship, in just six words.?

He was so tired of it-tired of the vulnerability, of dependency, tired of the torture of needing comfort, of wanting comfort from his tormentor. 

Will had adopted his trademark flat affect by the second of these sessions. He would stare ahead, at the pulse at the base of Hannibal’s throat, following Hannibal’s instructions to the letter, but he might as well have been the walking dead for all the emotion he expressed. He spoke when spoken to and offered nothing. (my chest hurts, oh will)

Will was a dark presence near him, slim and sharp as a cutlass.

And then he smiled, gray eyes lifting to Hannibal’s, bringing Hannibal’s heart into his throat. He smiled that sad smile of his, the smile that could contain oceans of sweetness and bitterness all at once. 

✨  and this line, that encompasses both of them: 

It still hurt, to be so vulnerable. It hurt that Hannibal had turned on him and could have drowned him or let him drown, yet again after so many times down this path. It hurt that Hannibal lived day to day and moment to moment, awaiting Will’s next betrayal.

and oh, oh this fic is rife with lovely hannigram passages: 

Hannibal seemed to sense his weariness. “We’re always braver in the face of our own pain than in the face of the pain of those we love,” he said quietly. He turned his attention back to Will’s arm and let the conversation rest.

Is Hannibal in love with me? he had asked... Will had been enormously afraid of either answer. Hannibal continued to cut the bell pepper in to a twisting spiral of red, his face and body still, only his hands working. “I thought of you,” Will said finally. “Often.” Hannibal’s breath released in a slow sigh. Will watched the words fill him up, set him to rest, with no outward change in his demeanor. He wished it were always so easy. Or had it always been?

His movements were slow and deliberate, less like a doctor at work than a supplicant at prayer. 

(^ okokok i'm NOT going feral i'm NOT! supplication/worship/devotee imagery in tender moments between lovers/from a hopeful lover to the object of his/her devotion is my WEAKNESS)

What would you give me?” Will asked finally. “What would you have of me?” “Would you give me”—Will articulated slowly, deliberately—“Bedelia du Maurier?” Hannibal felt a thrill of surprise in his chest. Will was steady, studying. Hannibal watched the gray-blue of his irises. His pupils were constricted in the harsh daylight. “Do you want her?” Hannibal asked curiously. “No.” “I would deny you nothing.”

But, there is resolution. (Some). There is peace to be found. It comes in the form of Will letting go of the desire to ever kill Hannibal:

... dim memory of the thrill he used to get while imagining killing Hannibal came and went, just a phantom—powerless, soon forgotten. There was something freeing in the knowledge that he could not kill Hannibal even if he tried.... Will held himself over Hannibal for several long seconds. He imagined hurting him, pressing a knee to his throat and crushing his voice box, silencing that voice forever. No thrill accompanied the thought now. No pain, either. Nothing. He would never do it, he knew; he had taken his opportunity at the top of the cliff, and it would never return.

and is completed when he lets go:  All of it was lost to the sea. 

There is such tangible relief in Will’s deciding to let go of any illusions of killing Hannibal, and in releasing his pain to the sea. (And remember, the entire premise of this fic is Will deciding what he wants from Hannibal in this new life they find themselves in... and he decides.) With it comes such hard won, painful freedom. I literally felt a surge of relief and a burden dropped; Will’s. He is freed from having to "seek justice" or do the right thing. It's over. He can just, BE (whatever that looks like). 

ps: I haven’t quoted too much from the last two chapters, as that’s where the most “plot” happens and they’re phenomenal and I can’t just copy and paste the whole chapters here. Please, just go read it! And I will link my comments: chapter 13 | chapter 14 

I just... can’t say enough good things about this fic, but I’ve thoughtfully laid out everything major. It’s tremendous, satisfying, lovely. Go give it a read. 

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by Candymacaron

Summary:

Arthur, an all American boy fresh out of the Midwest, is thrust head-first into college life in San Francisco. He'd expected moving in with his girlfriend to be a change, but what Arthur hadn't counted on was the Merlin, the handsome fashion design student he'd be sharing their apartment with (and just how strongly he would feel about him).

Comments:

This is an adorable college/America modern AU. Well written (some lines were so pretty they grabbed me). However, warnings apply for infidelity (I thought I could handle it but I couldn’t, haha, learned to avoid that tag in the future!) and instances of homophobia. Not just from parents/non-accepting family members, but also internalized homophobia within in a closeted gay man (which can be even more difficult to read) as well as many, many instances of microaggressions. Everything is properly tagged, just letting readers know beforehand! 

I absolutely loved Merlin’s fashion expertise/insight, and Gwen’s, and Arthur’s painting. I really love when a fic is heavily rooted in the practice of an art form, and we get heaps of that here. I loved many of the character choices-- vegan-but-has-the-gross-habit-of-smoking-cigarettes-Merlin, eats-fast-food-but-draws-the-line-at-smoking-genius-painter-Arthur, goth-barista-Freya, etc etc. I loved Merlin and Arthur’s characteristic banter (and when it was oh-so-appropriately described as flirting) as well as how damn confident and seductive Arthur was. (God, I loved that last bit. Everything he said to Merlin was just *chef’s kiss*) 

The descriptions, whether they were of Merlin or a space or a feeling, were so pretty and whimsical and added a really lovely touch to the most ordinary event. Examples:

The sun hung low in the sky, so orange and ripe that Arthur imagined plucking it and taking a bite as if it were a fruit. 

No wonder men and women alike looked to Merlin, their eyes studying his face and immaculate dress as intimately as any of the paintings. 

Merlin’s gaze struck fast like an arrow in its mark, making Arthur’s palms feel uncomfortably moist. They were unflinching pools, eyes that didn’t pass over anything, but drank in what was set before them. 

spoilery comments below the cut:

The first half was difficult at points, what with Arthur’s outwardly-homophobic comments and the pain of his suppressed sexuality, then his choice to lie to Gwen (god i tee-totalled between feeling such pain for Gwen, then Merlin, then Gwen, then merlin, and occasionally Arthur). God, reading him make out with Gwen in the car while Merlin sits in the front seat moments after kissing him for the first time???! Arthur, you dick. Yeah, I definitely can’t handle infidelity fics. It didn’t help the keen sting of betrayal that we didn’t know much about Gwen outside of who she was as Arthur’s girlfriend. But I will I think Arthur handled everything very, very well once he decided to start telling the truth. And I will also give him tremendous credit for being so damn sexy. Every instance of confident seduction of Merlin just slayed me every time. 

The Nimueh plot made me sweat (I hate blackmail) but I’m very happy that the author didn’t go the route of Merlin hiding he was being blackmailed and quietly suffering. I love how much Merlin stood up for himself in this fic, it made a lot of sense for a modern Merlin. The way the school handled it made me very happy. And omg the best payoff when Arthur ripped that damn bitch’s dress IN HALF and placed the fragments at Merlin’s feet. The romance???? the POETRY??! the RIGHTEOUSNESS!!!! 

In a violent motion he ripped the blue silk gown down the back with his bare hands.... “That’s my review of Ms. Evienne’s work,” Arthur said, his tone heavy as a sledgehammer.... Arthur scooped the shreds of cloth and combed through the crowd, placing the fragments ceremoniously onto Merlin’s lap. Merlin barely knew how to receive such a gift, staring up at Arthur with thinly veiled shock. 

Merlin’s parents were adorable, and once the relationship was out of hiding everything was just lovely. 

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary:

Merlin knew Arthur's trust wouldn't be unlimited, but he wished it hadn't run out now.

Comments:

warning for non-con!

Ughhh I am literally disgusted with Agravaine. (I haven’t watched the late seasons of Merlin in a while so I don’t remember the ~details~ of Agravaine’s character but I remember hating him/being repulsed by him, and this fic doesn’t help). I liked how Arthur reacted when Merlin asked to leave (I also appreciated seeing Merlin draw a line in the sand that I never see him draw-- usually in fics like this he bears his abuse to stay close to Arthur, which don’t get me wrong is in character, but seeing him stand up for himself and choose his own well-being and refusing to accept this was fantastic to read). 

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary:

Merlin has a poetry blog and Arthur believes that it is an illegitimate form of publishing but begins to follow Merlin's obsessively.

Comments:

Cute! I love whenever Arthur can’t help being obsessed with Merlin / admires him helplessly, it’s one of my favorite tropes in merthur modern AUs. The Rupi Kaur style poetry added an authenticity to this, I can’t explain it haha. I have to say the involvement of the ~writing egotistical~ dirty talk while they got down made me cringe and giggle at the same time, but the rest of it was sweet. 

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by dante_s_hell

Summary:

Merlin returns to work after the events in The Poisoned Chalice. However, he actually needed a few more days to recover from his ordeal. Arthur ensures that he does.

Comments:

Adorable. Merlin is recovering after the effects of the poison and Arthur is very, very concerned. And he has to recover in Arthur’s bed, of course. Because of reasons. (And it was nice to see their relationship progress so much so early on in the show, which I don’t see often in fic).

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by i_claudia

Summary:

Lionel is the first, approaching Merlin one late summer afternoon as the sun slants through the dust in the stables and turns the air into heavy fire.

Comments:

please read the warnings!!! it’s a tough one, explicit non-con

A decent fic where, after Merlin is cast out of Arthur’s protection after an angry post-magic-reveal reaction, poor Merlin is importuned quite harshly and regularly. (It doesn’t last very long, I would say that’s about the first 15% of the fic). But idk, I think it was too much for me, and the rest of the fic didn’t really have anything that hit a sweet spot for me (especially lacking in the h/c department considering the premise of the fic) and I wasn’t able to enjoy it much. It was definitely well written and I’d definitely read more from this author, but this particular fic was just not my thing.

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by fuzzytomato

Summary:

Merlin is stuck in an abusive relationship, he meets Arthur and they become friends (would love it if one of them or both fall in love with the other), Arthur finds out and tries to help.

Comments:

I love when Morgana is the reason Merlin and Arthur meet/start dating in a modern AU. Merlin’s boyfriend was a dick, and Arthur was a fantastic friend and later a fantastic partner. It was emotional for me personally to read Merlin’s recovery, moving away to his mother’s to take time to heal. 

Eight months since Merlin had left to go home with his mother. Eight months of therapy and medication. Eight months with only emails, text messages, and late night phone calls to sustain him and the occasional short visit, marked by tentative kisses and light touches, that served only to increase the depth of Arthur’s longing, not diminish it. It had all culminated into Merlin moving back to the city, finding a flat he could afford and starting his life over.

(It was the same for me. A year instead of eight months, and I moved back to my home city when I was ready, too. That just made me so emotional, in a good way.)

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary:

Arthur notices the blisters on Merlin's hands. (From fighting with Excalibur.)

Comments:

I have a hands kink, so this is my cup. of. tea. Not a direct merthur fic, as in there’s no action between the boys, but still loving. 

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by maggief

Summary:

5 times someone hit Merlin and he didn't tell. And one time he didn't have to. 

Comments:

warnings for (brutal) child abuse, violent reaction from a parent post coming out, and domestic violence!

POOR MERLIN. The early stuff was hard to get through, not gonna lie. (I’m glad that Hunith was not named as Merlin’s mother because I cannot imagine her behaving that way). But I liked how Arthur sort of crept in there, I loved his position as the charismatic leader of the college LGBT youth group (love a confident, out of the closet Arthur) and the smooth transition to their relationship. Also appreciated Freya’s role in this fic. 

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by newkate

Summary:

Arthur Pendragon is captured by the bandits. While he waits to be ransomed, he slowly gets to know Merlin, the prisoner being held in the next cell.

Comments:

read warnings!

this fic is FANTASTIC. At first I thought it was merely interesting to read this unique premise. I thought they were strangers sharing neighboring jail cells. I did NOT know this was an entirely different beginning for canon!! And I'm in love.

"I don't want to die here. I don't want to die here," Merlin cried hoarsely, sounding muffled. He kept speaking, but the words choked into coughs and half-swallowed sounds Arthur couldn't make sense of.

Arthur pushed against the bars and reached out, pawing for Merlin and unable to reach him.

"Hush, hush now. I won't leave you here. I told you. You have my word."

Arthur's rage on Merlin's behalf and his tender care for him-- trying to the best of his ability despite not being a physician, saving him sips of water, checking his damn PULSE-- god, my heart. It's also darkened in the usual gorgeous way, of Merlin knowing Arthur wouldn't treat him this way if he knew he was a sorcerer. I loved their back-and-forths in this regard.

"Are you sure you're a prince?" Merlin giggled, tracing his fingertips over Arthur's palm. "You have farmer's hands."

"Those are sword calluses," said Arthur proudly as he touched the soft pads of Merlin's hands. "And why don't you have farmer's hands? Yours are as soft as a girl's."

He didn't actually know any girls with hands this soft. Morgana's palms were almost as firm and strong as his own, and her maid's hands were always red and rough from work...

Arthur smiled and stroked up Merlin's arms, pushing his sleeves back. Merlin skin was fine and very white under the black hair on his forearms. That only made the overlapping bruises look uglier.

"This will stop now," Arthur said, rubbing his thumb over the swollen dark marks....

"You really are a lovely prince," Merlin mouthed, his lips hot at Arthur's throat. Arthur considered shifting their positions so that every little word Merlin babbled out didn't feel like a kiss.

I loved the cleverness (but also the oversight) of Merlin’s plans to escape their captors. Arthur’s reaction was realistic and well done, and the way they work together and the “action” of the climax was fun to read. I loved the aftermath and I SCREAMED when they kissed. It was perfect. I love the possibilities of the open ending and the realization that this is a different kind of start for the boys.

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by Shinybug

Summary (by me):

When Morgana tells Merlin he must not save Arthur on the coming hunt or else he will surely die, Merlin finds his devotion to Arthur and faith in Morgana tested.

Comments:

It was a perfectly ordinary day, no more likely to be the day Arthur died than any other.

I adore this fic! The concept is naturally tense in the most wonderful way. Morgana tells Merlin of her dream and her warnings, and  by asking him to not jump in and save Arthur she’s asking him to trust not only her, but Arthur. That he can survive on his own. I love how she accompanied Merlin on the hunt to physically keep him from acing. I am a huge fan of this kind of mergana relationship— and god I get so happy whenever I see this direction for Morgana in canon. (If only Merlin had taken her under his wing and helped her! Ugh, I lose my mind thinking about the possibilities.) Also, I loved the little resulting spike of Arthur-jealousy and simultaneous Arthur-protectiveness. 

The merthur scene was amazing (can I just say I love when Arthur is a bottom). The whole “promising discretion” thing was so sweet... once again I say, I. Love. Protective. Arthur.

"As the crown prince of Camelot I am not permitted to love a servant, but if I was, I would love you," by which Merlin understood that Arthur did in fact love him, and which was really what Arthur had meant in the first place.

The best fucking line (I was squealing).

I also adored the last interaction between Morgana and Merlin. I got chills. What a great ending— so full of hope. 

[grandcollections]

Summary (by me):

When Merlin offers to help distract a persistent lord so that Prince Arthur can get some much needed rest, the lord strikes him. Arthur doesn’t take that well.

Comments:

“When we are together, Arthur, we are exactly who we are and we don’t belong to anyone or anything else. You can have what you want.” 

Once again I say I love protective Arthur! Both Merlin and Arthur are hurt in this fic and take care of each other.  

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by gh0strobin

Summary:

Merlin gets in a lot of fights, but this time something is different and Arthur has to find out what it is.

Comments:

warning for reference of sexual assault!

Poor Merlin! but caring boyfriend Arthur is the best! And I always love the appearance of a strong, fabulous, Merlin-biased Morgana. The punk Merlin concept who loves to get into fights is fascinating, I could read a hundred fics with him!

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by sometimesophie / crookedassembly

Summary:

So this is what it felt like to be normal. Merlin opens his eyes to the cool, shining metal of Arthur's unsheathed blade.  

"Sorcerer," Arthur spits.

Comments:

BEAUTIFULLY written. Intense. This kind of ansgty magic reveal (where Arthur reacts violently) hurts my stomach, but like, it's JUICY and i like juice. Though short this is a burst of feeling-- so deliciously ANGSTY and full of PAIN. 

And Arthur turns so tender so quick?? the biscuits? the "careful? the vow??? it’s just so GOOD.

Caught between the warmth at his back and the intimate touch at his throat, Merlin feels ready to shatter into pieces. Heat floods the hollow emptiness within him and he sobs - just once. A dry, broken sound.

“It’s okay,” Arthur says, warm breath at his ear. “You’re safe. I give you my word.”

Merlin has never doubted Arthur’s word.

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by shinybug

Summary (by me):

Merlin visits Arthur in his chambers; post episode 1x13.

Comments: 

The hair at Arthur's nape was as soft as unspun wool, curling around Merlin's fingertips, reminding him of warm summer nights after supper when he would comb and card piles of virgin roving for his mother to spin. "Someone told me once that my destiny is tangled up with yours. That we're two sides of the same coin. That I was put on the earth to help you be a good king."

Arthur snorted. "By teaching me patience?" He sounded lazy and amused, but the furrow in his brow bespoke another emotion entirely, and Merlin knew he was listening now with his whole body, really hearing.

Right off the bat there was something SO sweet about this fic. I just rewatched episode 1x13 so the context was fresh in my mind. (I always wanted Arthur to know how close Hunith came to death during that episode. One of the many things I wish Arthur came to know.)

Merlin went to stoke the fire in the hearth, as much as an excuse to step away from all that vulnerable skin as to warm the room. It was beyond dangerous to think of Arthur as vulnerable, as dangerous to Merlin as the secret of his magic.

There is a loveliness and intensity to this, the writing is great. A wonderful one shot.

His lips were parted slightly, indecently red when contrasted against pale skin.

Beside her, Arthur was as fragile as bone china, frighteningly delicate skin and bones showing in sharp relief.

"Merlin," Arthur said, the same way he'd said 'God,' pressing his forehead to Merlin's and breathing unsteadily.

"Sire," Merlin replied, hand still moving slowly under the water in time to Arthur's breaths.

Arthur groaned. "Of course, now he defers to me."

"Would you rather I didn't?" Merlin twisted his grip just under the head of Arthur's cock, wringing a harsh sound from the prince.

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary:

Arthur notices something’s not right with his manservant.

Comments:

warning for threat of non-con!

“Take a look in the mirror, boy, and do not look at your ears. Look at your mouth and think about what it’s good for except whispering spells.”

One of my favorite tropes is when Arthur knows something serious is wrong with Merlin because he's suddenly calling him "sire" a lot, treating him with respect and deference and being a competent manservant. I also love whenever Arthur is intuitive, and Arthur figures out everything that's happening in this fic through mere observation. Kudos, Arthur!

The writing is passable-- some modern phrases pulled me out of immersion, but it's still an enjoyable little fic. Though the premise is not a new one, Merlin's position was truly frightening. I'm just so glad that Arthur, Morgana, and Gwen came through the way they did. Arthur handled the magic reveal so well, and was so protective and kind and displayed some true cleverness and creative problem solving.

[grandcollections]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

by myashke

Summary:

When Arthur pushes Merlin away to protect him, what lengths will Merlin go to to remain in his life?

Comments:

I read this seven years ago. And although I couldn’t remember much about the fic, seeing the name struck a chord in me— so cliche, but it felt like an electric shock. Instant recognition. I remembered it was one of my favorite fics ever. I remembered images of freezing cold and bonfires, and lots of delicious hurt/comfort, probably the best you’ve ever read, my mind told me. And I remembered the tale centering around Merlin, on how much everyone loves him— I saw more images, snippets of the knights and Arthur trying to protect him— one of my favorite parts of the show and something I love to see in fics. 

Arthur laced his gloved fingers through Merlin’s bare ones and lifted them up to his lips. “They’re gone,” he said, lowering their hands to rest on his thigh again, hoping Merlin’s ice cold fingers would warm beneath his own.

Merlin took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest pressing tightly against Arthur’s back. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispered, squeezing Arthur’s hand.

“Yes.” Arthur looked down at their joined hands, wondering if it would always be like this, Merlin touching him, their attraction sparking and being smothered over and over under the weight of duty for as long as Merlin stood at his side.

I am so, so glad I decided to reread this now. I needed it. I took my time with it, watching the page count anxiously, not wanting it to ever end. 

To be able to read something like this is a gift. Truly. This fic is not only one of the best merthur fics I’ve read, but one of the best pieces of writing. 

TLDR: Merlin risks his neck to save Arthur without thinking, of course, nearly freezing to death afterwards. Along with the knights (who play a very active role), they revive him and nurse him back to health slowly. Merlin and Arthur’s feelings come to the surface, along with plenty of angst and big sacrificial energy from both boys. Featuring: hurt/comfort, magic reveal, angst (so much angst) the best characterization of every character, Ealdor shenanigans, wonderful smut and delicious sexual tension, the whole gang of knights and a smattering of mergwaine. And my goddamn favorite thing, the best way I’ve ever seen it: Arthur recognizing everything Merlin has done and truly, truly valuing him.

the rest of my long-ass review below the cut lol!

Everything I said in my first review holds true. It’s beautiful and heart-wrenching. It’s pure, sickening hurt/comfort— if that’s your jam (and it sure is mine), oh boy you’ll be in heaven. It’s full of tenderness— the way Arthur, Gwaine, and Lancelot care for Merlin, the depth of Merlin’s feelings for Arthur, the supremely physical nature of this fic— the first half is a mess of tender touches and skin-to-skin, bodies trying save Merlin’s, described in excruciating detail. 

"It’s just me,” Arthur whispered, brushing his hair back from his forehead, his hand slowly rubbing down Merlin’s neck and back, fingers ghosting along his spine, settling finally on his hip. 

Arthur held him tightly in place. He brushed slowly, gently back through Merlin’s hair, whispering in his ear, soothing him. “Shh, it’s alright, Merlin. I’m right here. You’re safe. Sleep now... you’ll feel better in the morning... I promise I’ll be right here...” 

This is the stuff of hurt/comfort *dreams*. It’s achingly tender and beautiful and full of angst as Merlin stays near death, ice cold, goes through fever, and says and does things as his mind isn’t fully presence in his fever-addled state.

Arthur whispered prayers to God Almighty, to the Gods of the Old Religion, to Merlin himself. Be alive. Be alive. 

He’d give up his right to the throne for a blood curdling cry from Merlin right now.

Arthur spends so much of this part of the fic panicking over Merlin, desperate for him to be alright. (One of my favorite merthur tropes)

“Trust me, he’ll thank you for it tomorrow.”

“Gods allow he has breath to thank me with tomorrow,” Arthur whispered, shaking his head as his own words stabbed into his chest. He lowered his cheek to Merlin’s again, whispering,” Gods allow he has breath to rant and rave, if he wants.” 

I really love the characterization of everyone in this fic, but I want to focus on Arthur. The entire time I was reading I believed it was him, I believed I was reading about Uther’s-son-the-prince-of-Camelot, First Knight, all of it. I felt his burdens and his pain, the weight of the heavy choices (and one specific heavy choice, the main plot of this fic I suppose) he made. 

Arthur pressed Merlin harder against the tree and he opened his eyes, gasping.

“I’m choosing Camelot over you, Merlin. An entire kingdom’s welfare. My bloodline’s future. My gods-damned destiny. And yours, if you stand by me.”

This sort of realism may not be every shipper’s cup of tea, but god is it mine. Because it doesn’t lessen Arthur’s love, need, longing for Merlin. It just incorporates the rest of Arthur into that, alongside it. And produces so much goddamn pain.

Arthur is not always gentle, he is possessive and jealous, but always quick to bury those feelings— unless he can lash out with his authority at his back. And if he does that, he apologizes.. sometimes. If he regains control quickly enough. If it’s one of the knights. (Not always if it’s Merlin). He misunderstands things often and is quick to believe the worst. But he never fails where it’s important— he tries, and that’s key. But he can be intuitive, too— I love how the magic reveal is handled, how it marinates in his mind for a while. How he knows before the reader even knows he knows, and long before anyone else does. It’s a credit done to Arthur we don’t see often— sometimes he reacts badly, or is shocked above all else.

“I thought you’d want rid of me,” Merlin said... “Someone who lied about who I really am.”

“Who? Oh, you mean the Merlin that is actually brave, intelligent, and loyal to the death?” he heard, low and close to his ear. “I’ve known him for a while, too.”

This is JUST.... everything I’ve ever wanted. The way Arthur values Merlin and sees everything he’s done post-magic reveal is one of the primary reasons I love this fic so much, as I’ve said, and I’ll talk about it more later. But another result of the magic reveal is Arthur becoming so protective of Merlin once he does realize. It’s the backbone of this fic.

Merlin grinned as everyone laughed, the light in his eyes a gift Arthur wouldn’t soon forget. 

He would have to extinguish it, he knew, but he wouldn’t ever forget what Merlin had looked like in that moment, so entirely at peace with himself and everyone around him....

Pressing his leg harder against Merlin’s, Arthur clenched his jaw on the scream of frustration that welled in his chest. 

^ this is Arthur’s reaction as he watches Merlin practice magic, glowing and happy and powerful and whole, because he is afraid that magic is the reason Merlin will die. 

Had Merlin watched the executions and thought of himself tied to that post? Had he thought he would be able to escape before the fires were lit beneath him?

The very image of Merlin bound there made Arthur’s stomach curl into a tight knot.

The way Arthur would doom himself to be the villain, to deny himself happiness and even SAFETY— because now he knows he’s only lived this long because of Merlin— to protect Merlin, to prolong his life. 

Merlin backed away as Arthur stepped forward again, reaching out to him. He didn’t know how to do this, to push Merlin away when his body felt half-empty with the desire to touch him.

The way he uses his authority as prince and what he is to Merlin to ensure it. (The way Merlin refuses to comply.) I love it so much.

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reigning in his anger. “You’re right. I would defy my father and my king to protect you... but it wouldn’t be enough.... it makes me ill to think of how close you’ve come to the pyre.”

“I don’t care. I belong in Camelot, even if I end up a pile of ash.” 

excuse me while I scream

“I have my company of knights to protect me.”

“They follow you, they don’t protect you,” Merlin whispered, letting go of Arthur’s arms and worrying the edge of his tunic, then looking into Arthur’s eyes, pleading. “Please don’t ask this of me.” 

He’d expected a fight, defiance, but not this, not what amounted to begging.

DELICIOUS. ANGST. Arthur’s protectiveness coupled with Merlin’s stubbornness means we get a whole lot of angst and longing. They have to stay away from each other, but they can’t. 

“I should never have let you,” Arthur whispered, shaking his head, “You’re enough of a distraction as it is.” 

As they stared at one another, Merlin felt as if something irrevocable was slipping between them. “Arthur, I--”

“Enough,” he breathed, the word a plea more than a command. “We cannot-- I’m not free to--” Arthur sighed, brushing his thumb across Merlin’s lops, shaking his head. “This cannot happen again. Do you understand?” 

... “Yes, sire.” Merlin pushed at Arthur’s arm, unwilling to wait for Arthur to let go, unable to lie there, so close, touching, when Arthur was already through with him.

.. Like a bucket of cold water, Arthur’s words had shocked him back into reality, holding up in front of him what he’d tried so hard to forget. 

He was a servant, and he would obey.  

excuse me?? do you see why you have to go read this fic right NOW, do you SEE?!!

“I knew. I knew and it still feels like I’m splitting open,” Merlin whispered.

ugh.

If anyone else had put that look on Merlin’s face, Arthur would have laid them out flat.  

ughHH

“Your life is worth more than this,” Arthur said, smoothing the pad of his thumb across Merlin’s kiss-reddened lips...

Arthur clenched his fists and stared after him, desperate to follow. They couldn’t keep tearing each other to shreds like this. Something had to give.

God this fic is full of GOD-TIER PAIN. It’s genuinely baffling. amazing. groundbreaking, never been done before!!!!

And now I must, I must, discuss the clowning glory of this fic. The thing I wanted most from the show, that pained me the most when I was denied, that frustrated me most about the ending. Arthur seeing Merlin as the hero he is, the powerful sorcerer who did so much for Arthur, Arthur’s family, Arthur’s kingdom. But more than that. Arthur seeing and valuing Merlin, the man. Gaius, Hunith, Gwaine, Lancelot, the knights— they don’t value Merlin because of his magic, or because what he has done or can do for them. It isn’t gratitude they feel. It’s love. And it’s the same for Arthur, here. And I can’t tell you how dear that is to me. How lovely it is to read. 

And despite knowing him so well, Merlin had believed in his ability to become a better man from the beginning. Arthur wasn’t blind; he could see that Merlin had reshaped his attitudes over the years, had taught him to think for himself instead of blindly following his father’s example. He learned from Merlin to see beyond pride and the nobility, to be a servant to the people instead of ruling them as his father did. 

From the very first moment they’d met, Merlin had encouraged him in gentlest, surest way to seek out the right thing and do it, say it, help it to happen if he could.

again:

Merlin listened even when Arthur couldn’t say a word. Especially then, in fact.

and again:

“I’ve never know someone like him. He’s so... selfless. How many times has he saved us without our knowing? He never asks for reward or recognition. He’s a servant when he could-- he could do anything. Does he not want anything for himself?”

Gwaine chuckled softly. “He wants one thing with all of his being, but you and I both know he would never presume to ask for it.”  

and again:

Being alone with him was Arthur’s escape, his sanctuary, no matter where they were.

and again: 

“This isn’t negotiable,” he whispered, stepping closer, wanting to comfort Merlin but knowing it would neither be welcome nor fair, given what he was ordering. “You shouldn’t be a servant, Merlin. You shouldn’t have to give up your gift and you shouldn’t waste it on a kingdom that would murder you for it.”

There, he’d said it. Camelot wasn’t worthy of Merlin.

I can’t even react to that line— it’s too wonderful. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted from Arthur. and oh, Merlin returns the favor tenfold. Arthur is Merlin’s existence. 

“Please, Arthur,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t do this.”

Hands sliding up to either side of Merlin’s neck, Arthur leaned closer, not quite daring to press their foreheads together. “I won’t watch you die.”

“Then close your eyes, but let me... stay with you.”

One of the most GORGEOUS, pain filled lines I’ve ever read!!! The way Merlin swallows his pain over and over again and does what’s best for Arthur is so hard to read but so Merlin. But I do love how this fic balances all that classic devotion and sacrificial energy with a few instances of Merlin taking a stand, standing up for himself and being selfish, without sacrificing the integrity of the character. 

Now, let’s talk about mergwaine. Because it’s definitely a side-ship in this fic and I have NO problem with it!!! It’s so well done, and only adds another layer of pain. First of all, Gwaine is just perfect in this fic— shameless, cheeky, all-about-Merlin. A good friend to both Merlin and Arthur— and I loved every time he called Arthur out on Merlin’s behalf, while also saying nothing but good and reassuring things about Arthur to Merlin— but he shines in his scenes with Merlin. His presence allows Merlin to show his pain, something he desperately needs as he can’t always do it with Arthur. I love this depiction of them; a close friendship, one Merlin feels completely comfortable in and full of trust and safety, one that could be something else, but. But. As Gwaine himself puts it, he’s not Arthur. That doesn’t take away from the extreme tenderness he displays with Merlin. It’s truly touching. 

Emotions stripped too raw to accept either without the tears starting again, Merlin closed his eyes and pleaded softly. “Don’t let go of me.” 

“Never,” Gwaine swore. He laid his forehead against Merlin’s inhaling deeply before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, my friend.” 

and:

“Arthur is hurting too, and he is alone.”

“And I have you,” Merlin whispered, tears threatening to spill from his over-full eyes. “I always have you and he always had me.” 

and:

Gwaine kissed his shoulder and hair, arms tightening around his chest. “You deserve him, Merlin. Don’t ever believe that you don’t,” he whispered, drawing out the tears that Merlin had been desperately holding back.

and, for a bit of levity:

“But we’re all better off with me clothed,” Merlin said 

Gwaine shook his head disbelievingly. “You really have no idea how handsome you are, do you?... Ah, well, it’s probably for the best. You’d be impossible to live with if you did know.” 

There’s so many more wonderful parts of this fic. Arthur and Hunith’s lovely, heartbreaking scene (I was thoroughly crying throughout). Arthur’s loneliness upon return to Camelot. The incredible explicit scenes between Merlin and Arthur. But just do yourself a favor and read it. We’re so lucky to have it.