see unfortunately I have this condition where if I am not explicitly told that I am a part of the ingroup then I will assume I must be part of the outgroup
Arthur held up a hand. It was a gesture of peace. Of good faith. To stop the flow of Tom's frantic explanations and, perhaps, offer mercy. But Gwen had watched the last king raise his black-gloved hand up high against a white sky: for the attention of a black-hooded man: and make a fist to tell the axe to fall. She bit her lip so hard she tasted iron.
rain:
The rain did not seem to bother Nimueh. She had cast off her outer layers, arms and shoulders bare and blue-white like a drowned body.
smile:
Arthur laughed, and when Merlin dared glance at him he was wearing the boyish smile Merlin remembered from the day they met. At least any frostiness from their lingering argument had thawed; but there was a very real chance the Questing Beast ended that smile for ever with a single bite, and Merlin could think of little else.
banner:
We aren't family, Morgana said of herself and Arthur, but Gwen had laid out two gowns for her consideration tonight: one a dove-grey satin to match the banners of House Gorlois, and the other the deep red velvet Morgana currently wore.
freya/sophia for @morgwenmicrofic prompt "flowers", 242 words
âAll this time and you still wonât talk to me?â
The girl drapes herself over a broad, flat stone, her head pillowed on her folded arms. Below the water, Freya knows, her legs are kicking lazily swathed in gauzy golden silk. Her face, sweet with mischief, is tilted up to catch the sun on her pale cheek.
Freya pulls her knees tight to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins. The afternoon warmth ripples all across the lakeâs unclouded surface and sloshes through Freyaâs veins or what passes for them now. In some part of her the clinging ribbons of the girlâs skirt billow to and fro and Freya wants to snag them, pull them, tangle her up, just because she can.
The other Sidhe never talk to Freya. She is beneath their notice, outside their realm, neither flesh nor spirit: more like the sunlight than the water or the lilies or the mist. But Lady Sophia is an exception, nosy and pestering; and Freya, who never had much company in life and certainly never the company of fairy ladies, hasnât mustered the courage to answer her endless questions.
âWell, youâre not very nice,â Freya reasons, and at the sound of her voice, Sophia perks up.
âItâs not very nice to ignore people, either,â Sophia teases. âSo, whatâs your name, rude girl?â
â...Freya.â
Eyes twinkling, Sophia holds out her hand, palm down, for a kiss.
I think the thing that annoys me most about AI on a personal, day to day, level is what it has done to grammar checkers. If you've never done a lot of editing, or used to 5+ years ago but haven't really in the last couple years, I can't even begin to describe how fucking BAD this shit has gotten. And as an author it is EXHAUSTING.
I just want to catch spelling errors and accidental double spaces and repeated phrases and whenever I use the wrong too/to or affect/effect and shit. But no. They've shoved AI up the ass of every grammar checking software out there and now they all fucking suck and make the most random, obnoxious, nonsensical suggestions.
And yeah, I can ignore all the times it's trying to get me to cut out any semblance of my own voice, or shove things into the wrong tense, or make the most random suggestions on comma usage. But if it's getting all that WRONG, what is it just straight up missing that I SHOULD be correcting? What real spelling and grammar errors are still lurking in there?
I get why people keep saying this (and other versions of it like "Use Adobe alternatives" and "Use Google product alternatives."). But here's the problem: I do not create in isolation. Even my own 100% personal projects are getting sent to other people whether it's editors or printers or beta readers and unless every single person in that train is using the same products, things can get wonky.
Libre Office and Word handle formatting differently on the back end, which can completely break documents if you move them back and forth between the two. So if I write in Libre Office but my beta readers are still using Word, when I send them a manuscript for review there's a good chance things won't look right and my beta reader will not actually be reviewing what I sent them.
Industry standards are industry standards FOR A REASON. Having everyone on the same workflow can be crucial to getting things done effectively and correctly without creating a lot of extra work. And those things are not going to change overnight, as much as we might want them to.
Yeah, Word, let me just leave this whole chunk of dialogue without the closing quotation marks. That's the thing to do. How dare I have two punctuation marks in a row. It's not like that's how closing quotation marks fucking work.
And you know, for young writers, this has got to be so detrimental just from the perspective of opening your document and seeing a million corrections that, frankly, don't need to be there. If you're a young writer you're likely not going to have the background knowledge to know what is and isn't a good suggestion, you're just going to see a document that makes it look like you made every mistake possible so clearly you must be a terrible, stupid writer and should just give up.
â Jandy Nelson, I'll Give You the Sun // Murder by Death, Brother // Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes // The Crane Wives, Icarus // author unknown // Suzanne Collins, Gregor and the Code of Claw // Lindsey Drager, The Archive of Alternate Endings // Barbara Davis, The Keeper of Happy Endings // Lin-manuel Miranda, Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story // Rebecca Makkai, The Great Believers // Trista Mateer, Is it Okay to Say This? // Euripides, tr. by Anne Carson, Antigonick
#oh⊠gwenâs gentle love for merlin leadinf to the gift of excalibur⊠#and to her own rise as the eventual wielder ie the queen of camelot #while freyaâs tragic love for merlin led to its sheathing #and her own fall into an inevitable death #that was then ecclipsed by her rise as the lady of the lake #guardian of excalibur and forever itâs âsheathâ #in a way⊠#that initial crush from gwen was âcast awayâ or cast /into/ something stronger #that defined the rest of their friendship #while freyaâs love was took up as an oath just as he laid her down⊠(via @groundbreakingdot872)
âWelcome, everyone, to the final episode of season 12 of Exile. And what a season it was: from seeing inevitable champions fall to unlikely heroes rise, this has been a journey none of us will soon forget.â
Merlin bounced his leg, sheathed tighter than heâd prefer in his suit trousers, and tried not to roll his eyes at Kilâs dramatics. Of course the producers sat him right behind that little asshole, Mordred. The fact that he was sitting here at all instead of in a cell somewhere made Merlin wish they were back on that stupid goddamned island, somewhere the cameras werenât looking.
âTypically, our first questions go to the seasonâs victorâand what a victory it was.â Kil gestured to Gwen, across the semicircle of contestants from Merlin and looking radiant in a light blue dress, sweetheart neckline, her curly hair loose and free around her sweet face. Not to mention the sparkling engagement ring newly adorning her finger.
Kil went on, âBut, given the circumstances, I think it might be best to start with the breaking news. All right with everyone?â
âPlease, Kil, go ahead. I understand completely,â said Gwen.
âThank you. Arthur,â Kil said his name warmly, like everyone didnât know he was a cold-blooded reptile beneath that television-ready white-toothed grin. âTruly, weâre all so glad to see you here in good health.â
âNo one is gladder than I am.â
Arthurâs reply, in that smooth golden voice, media-trained long before Exile like no one else was, broke over Merlinâs ears and sent goosebumps shivering up and down his body. Heâd almost forgotten what Arthur was like in front of the camera, the way all the light in the room cozied up to him, the way every eye was unable to look away. It was an easy thing to forget when the same man was texting him in full sentences with salutations and sign-offs, shedding actual tears over football scores, or snoring on Merlinâs couch after a single pint.
But not everyone was as enamored as poor pathetic Merlin. In front of him, Mordred had tensed, fists clenched in his lap. Merlin let a smirk take over his face. Good. Merlin hoped he was absolutely seething, seeing firsthand that he hadnât actually done Arthur any permanent damage.
âAnd youâre regaining full use of the leg, is that right?â Kil was saying.
Arthur nodded, but tapped his own left leg with the cane he carried. âThereâs still a ways to go with physical therapy, but yes, the doctors have assured me itâs within my grasp.â
âWonderful. Truly wonderful, that such a tragic accident can still have such a happy ending.â
Merlin twitched, but rapidly schooled his face into stoic disapproval as one of the side cameras moved to focus on him. Accident. Maybe it would be an accident if he kicked Mordred right in theâ
Kil carried on, âBut, of course, your recovery is only one of the topics our viewers and contestants want to hear from you tonight. Right beside you is another one of our final six contestants: Ms. Morgana Gorlois. Morgana, you found yourself on the wrong side of one of this seasonâs most shocking twists, when Merlin broke your alliance and voted you off to save Arthur. But since our show finale, youâve faced an even greater twist in your personal life, isnât that right?â
Still in full view of the camera, Merlin winced. He hadnât wanted to betray Morgana, exactly, it was just that she had Gwen and Mordredâs total loyalty and was on the verge of converting Leon tooâŠ
And Merlin hadnât been ready to say goodbye.
Morganaâs mouth twisted down, in a sneer that was too ethereally beautiful to be as rude as she clearly meant it. âI would definitely characterize the latter as a betrayal rather than a twist,â she said coldly.
âOf course, I donât blame you. And the two of you really had never met before you met on Exile?â Kil asked.
âOur families were acquainted,â Arthur said.
âBut neither of us knew how closely,â Morgana finished.
Kil pushed, âBut it seems like, despite everything, the two of you are pursuing a connection outside the show, now that you know the truth.â
Arthur and Morgana exchanged a glance. Then it was Arthur who spoke, âMy father passed away shortly after Morgana learned he was her biological father and before he had a chance to explain himself. Weâll never know what drove him. But if something good can come of it, well.â
Unexpectedly, his eyes left Kil and sought out Merlin. Those eyes were so brilliantly blue under the filming lights that even from across the stage, Merlin could drown in them.
Arthur continued, âWe all competed on a show called Exile, but despite the title, we are stronger for the bonds it forged between us.â
âThatâs beautiful, Arthur. Thank you. And it gives me a perfect opportunity to return the spotlight where it belongs. Morgana, why donât you tell us all about your connection with our cunning, stalwart champion? When is the wedding?â
The interview carried on, but Merlin was way ahead of it. He hadnât cared about Exile since the day Arthur had left by helicopter instead of vote. Soon enough, the cameras would stop rolling, and Arthur would be his again, outside the mediaâs eye.
Merlin trailed his fingers along the berry-bushes and new blossoms followed in his wake. It wasn't the season for berries, but Arthur was well ahead of him and would never notice. Ever since the spell he'd cast in Ealdor, Merlin couldn't help but reach for his magic again and again in small ways everywhere he went, only taking his next breath when he felt the world reaching back.
As boring and distasteful as hunting could be, Merlin would be lying if he said he wasn't pleased to be out of the castle. Work had been relentless ever since his return from Ealdor; kings, it seemed, had an endless amount of papers to organize and meetings to schedule and speeches to compose, and where any regular sort of king might have employed secretaries and scribes to do half that work, Arthur had only Merlin.
Arthur had declared he wanted quail for his supper, so he went out to catch himself one. This was the first hunting trip they'd taken since Arthur's coronation, and there could hardly be a lovelier day for it. The sky was a clear, searing blue; summer still lingered in the world, the scent of warm earth glowing all around them, yet a gentle breeze cooled the air on every breath.
They'd been out since late morning. No quail had yet shown themselves, but Merlin was getting the impression that Arthur, mighty hunter he was, was not looking especially hard. He hadn't ordered Merlin to go out beating the bushes, and he hadn't taken so much as a sporting aim at any of the harvest-fat squirrels or pheasants idling in the trees and brush. More or less, they were out for a stroll, if not precisely arm-in-arm the way he might have strolled with Will when skiving off work. Like a sort of woodland creature himself, Arthur would range and then return to Merlin's side, and his palpable relief at the freedom of the day was wearing off on Merlin.
So it was a fine day, and Merlin was in a fine mood when he wandered into a particularly mossy glade and was hit in the face with a miracle.
With all his attention focused downwards, into the lake, Merlin hadnât noticed the slow and steady creep of electrified nights until, suddenly it seemed to him, there was only skyglow above his head instead of the Milky Way.
He had panicked at first; the stars were meant to be a constant, a certainty, a universal companion through the endless ages. How could they have left him?
If Arthur returnedâno, when he returnedâthese stars would be the only familiar sight in this new world.
He needed to make sure they could be found.
So, for the first time he could recall, Merlin willingly went hunting.
And it hadnât been too hard once heâd worked out where to look. He saw them again on Exmoor, and in Eryri; Kielder offered many, and Galloway even more. They were preserved in tiny pockets of darkness that almost felt like before, when starlight had blazed and the constellations had guided their footsteps across Albion.
The unease in his body began to ebb away, and instead he found a strange reassurance: the stars hadnât completely abandoned him after allâso maybe Arthur hadnât either.
annaxmalina
dededos
blakekathryn
stormborns
germansingergirl
izzy806
baratheonpilled
