We want to say a big thank you to everyone who participated and who wrote the wonderful fic, made amazing gifs, edits, art and other fanworks over the past week!! It was a joy to see all of your creations every day and your creativity with the prompts! We hope you had fun as well making your works and seeing everyone else's. :)
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She smiles sweetly, sweet like her pretty yellow dress, vibrant even in the darkened shadows of the dim-lit house. Sweet like the soft skin of her hands as she gently clasps Morgana's in her own, eyelashes fluttering down.
Notes: This was originally posted anonymously for the Summer Pornathon week three challenge: Trades & Professions. It fits the theme for the last day of Merlin Femslash Week so well though, that I couldn't resist also re-editing this and posting it onto AO3. So here's some historical AU with BAMF ladies and happy endings :)
Summary: Mithian hummed to her left and cracked one eye open. "Are we sure Will isn't trying to poison Arthur? This might be his last opportunity before we all go off to uni."
Arthur sat up, eyes wide with panic as he looked down at them from the other side of Merlin. "Fuck, I can't die. I'm too young to die."
With a derisive snort, Merlin smacked him in the stomach. "Oh shut up, you big baby. While I'd never put it past Will to try and poison you after the fiasco last summer, he'd never do it in a way that would kill me in the process," Merlin said smugly. He paused. "Well, I'm mostly sure he wouldn't."
Notes: This was originally written for the summer bonus challenge during week one of Summer Pornathon. I didn't have time to do as much for Merlin Femslash Week this week as I'd wanted, but I've cleaned up and re-edited and posted this now onto AO3 in honor of the challenge!
Summary: It's been hard enough for Morgana to cope with her sudden gay epiphany, but now she has to make a move on the girl in her class who caused it.
Pairing: Morgwen
Note: This is late, I'm sorry it's late, I'm slow. I hope you enjoy, one part more to come!
part one
~
The last time Morgana could remember being this nervous, she was twelve and standing in the darkened wings of an imposing stage. Eleven year old Morgana wanted to play football, but at twelve she decided instead on ballet. It was all fine, even fun, until that first concert, when all of a sudden her leotard was too tight and her tutu too pink and the crowd’s stares too much. She held the nausea until her music stopped, then ran off stage a little less daintily than the other girls to wretch into a bucket placed by the sound desk in preparation of just this occurrence.
This was just a girl. A girl shouldn’t have the power to make her stomach pirouette. But this girl did, and in the two weeks since her emotionally turbulent dinner with Morgause, the world had simultaneously opened and fallen apart around her. It was like her brain had gotten the go ahead to unleash every gay thought she never knew she had. The girl next door had nice skirts, and also nice legs. The redhead on the bus laughed when she read and it was adorable. The barista working on Tuesday mornings wore pink lipstick this week, instead of her usual clear gloss.
It was madness. Morgana had finally made it to her lecture theatre and sank with a relieved sigh into a seat in the middle of the room, then made the mistake of looking at the powerpoint prepared on the screen. This was economics.
Not thirty seconds later, Gwen slid into the seat beside her, as she had taken to doing. She’d apparently decided that Morgana seemed friendly and normal. She said hello; Morgana blushed and coughed and searched her messenger bag for her notebook.
She almost hadn’t noticed that Friday had popped up again. Usually that would make her put her feet up and ignore half of the lecture, but today she almost fainted instead. The first week, Morgause let her have some breathing space to fret and hyperventilate her way through the whole gay panic thing. But on Monday afternoon she got a text saying she wouldn’t be let in to Morgause’s flat if she hadn’t asked Gwen out by Friday night.
She was screwed.
She pulled her notebook and course outline from her bag, but came up short for a pen. Damn. There was a part of her mind that told her to do it now, work it in when she asked Gwen for a spare. The rest of her brain said that was ridiculous, and you can’t fit ‘date’ and ‘ballpoint’ into the same sentence.
Can I have a pen, and also you?
If you lend me a pen, I’ll buy you a drink.
Could I borrow a pen? I need to write down your number.
That last one wasn’t terrible. She turned to Gwen and went for, ‘Do you have a spare pen?’ The girl handed it to her with a smile, and Morgana almost said something more, only to have the lecturer call their attention. Fifty minutes to plan what exactly to say. Fifty minutes to learn to breathe again.
A Friday afternoon class had never passed so quickly. Morgana swore Gwen leaned closer to her, possibly just shifting her weight, but Morgana needed every bit of reassurance she could conjure. She needed the hope, even if false. She had to be cocky, or the words might not come out at all.
And so every movement Gwen made was for her. Brushing her curly dark hair behind her ear—so Morgana could see more of her slightly flushed face, the theatre more tropical than usual this day. A glorious pink tinge stained her creamy dark skin, and Morgana chose to think, just for now, that in part it might be credited to her.
When Gwen leant forward, resting her forearms on the swinging desk over her knees, it made her pale yellow shirt gape a little at the top. As much as Morgana refrained from looking, she knew the view was right there, knew it was obviously in her line of sight. Gwen must have known too.
It was all ridiculous, but damn if it wasn’t working. So, after the lecturer ended his session, she turned to hand the pen back to Gwen.
She spoke before releasing it. ‘Do you have plans tonight?’
Gwen faltered, a hand grasping the pen but not making a move to tug it towards her. ‘I don’t think so. Is there something on?’
‘Well, no, but I was hoping there might be,’ Morgana said, strong, although she felt the blush blooming again. ‘Would you maybe like to come and get a drink with me?’
Gwen smiled, and the air rushed back into Morgana’s lungs. ‘Could this drink lead to dancing?’
There was a spark between their eyes, and Morgana let the false confidence fall away.
‘I’ll ask you to dance if you promise to say yes.’
‘Then I’d love to.’
Morgana lingered in packing away her things, flicking a message to Morgause.
