#wip progress post

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WIP Weekend!

Thanks for the tag, @diaryofatrekker ♥️

Based on @suraks-sweet-tits' post (here).

“What do you mean, you want to add sorcery to the tournament this year?” Merlin said, blinking across the table at the king. “You can’t do that. People might get hurt.” “People get hurt every year, Merlin,” Arthur said, dismissing this objection with a gesture. “It’s a fight to the death, not a ladies’ sewing circle. And I would’ve thought you’d agree that sorcerers have as much right to compete as anyone.” “But it wouldn’t be fair,” Merlin said. “You know the knights wouldn’t stand a chance against magic.” “Yes, they would,” Arthur disagreed. “I seem to recall having beaten a sorcerer or two myself easily enough.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I?” Sheepishly, Merlin rubbed the back of his head. “Well, actually…” The resulting shouting match could be heard from one end of the castle to the other. It had concluded only when, after considerable insults and accusations on both sides, Arthur had pulled off his leather glove and flung it down at Merlin’s feet. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s settle this properly.” To his credit, Merlin had done his best to get out of it. He said it was stupid, that Arthur had nothing to prove to anyone, least of all to him, and that the Knights’ Code didn’t apply to warlocks anyway. Then, when that didn’t work, he said plainly, “I don’t want to hurt you, Arthur!” “And you won’t,” Arthur said, smugly, and honestly, Leon was impressed that Merlin was able to keep from hexing the man there and then. “Come on, Merlin. I thought you were meant to be the most powerful sorcerer in all of Camelot.” “I am the most powerful sorcerer in all of Camelot,” Merlin retorted, folding his arms as Arthur pushed back his chair. “Which is why I have better things to do than to fight my own husband in a duel.”

no-pressure tagging @groundbreakingdot872, @nebulastars, @julia-with-luv and @chiralcuckoo :)

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WIP Wednesday Tuesday

Thank you @trombonechurchill for enabling me, lol.

“Since you’re so intent on being useful,” he said, dumping the lot onto one of Gaius’ worktables and dragging it towards Merlin’s cot. “You can start by reading these. This is everything we have that survived from before the Purge.” “Everything?” Merlin blinked at the towering mass of documents in front of him. “That’s…a lot more than I was expecting, to be honest.” “Me too,” Arthur admitted. “I had to sign an official dispensation for Geoffrey before he’d show me them, so for God’s sake don’t spill anything on them or he’ll be next in line to commit regicide. I have no idea whether any of it will be useful, but since he took the trouble to hide them from my father for so long, I assume there must be something in there that he considers valuable.” “Probably a fair assumption,” Merlin agreed, nodding, and then his eyes narrowed as he realised what was going on. “Hang on, are you distracting me?” Arthur smirked. “Gaius might have mentioned that you were getting a little restless,” he said innocently. “I believe his exact words were, ‘if you don’t give him something to do, sire, I’ll have to tie him to the bed myself to save his stitches.’ I thought having a project might keep you out of trouble for a while.” “Hm,” Merlin said, pleased but not at all interested in showing it. “So you decided to give me chores to do while I’m on my deathbed. How chivalrous.” “I can't think of anyone better suited for the job,” Arthur said—sincerely, which disarmed Merlin more thoroughly than if he’d said he was expecting him to get up and dance a jig. “It’s about time someone started sorting through all of this mess, and out of all of us, you probably stand the best chance of finding something useful. You’d be doing me a favour,” he added, cocking his head like he knew exactly what that particular expression did to Merlin’s resolve. “I’m already bogged down negotiating this deal with the Druids or I’d do it myself, but we both know I have no idea what I’m looking for anyway.” “Oh, go on then,” Merlin sighed, because he knew a lost cause when he heard one, and when Arthur beamed back at him, clearly delighted, he blamed the lingering effects of the poison for the way his heart fluttered.

tagging @fluffypotatey, @aemelia, @mykingdomcomeundone and anyone who wants to join in :)

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First Lines of WIPs

Tagged by @koffeinkaos, who requested the first lines of some of my WIPs ♥️ Go ahead and cast your vote for which one you'd like me to work on next!

🌡️ An Incurable Affliction

“Are you sure you have everything you need?” Merlin asked, adjusting the buckles on Gaius’ knapsack for what was probably the dozenth time.

🐾 Puppy Love

“No,” Arthur said. “Absolutely not.”

💔 Knave of Hearts

They woke him in the dark with a hand over his mouth, the light of a torch near to blinding as it dipped too close to his face.

👻 between the shadow and the soul

“I did try to warn you,” Merlin said, when they were alone.

🔥 through the desert repenting

The first time, Merlin dies.

Consider this me tagging anyone who wants to join in!

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MERLIN ANNIVERSARY SHARE YOUR WIPS CHALLENGE

@theobjectlesson tagged me ♥️♥️♥️

✨

“I’m not angry,” Merlin says, and he’s shoving clothes into a bag looking the way Arthur had looked that morning, his face drawn and pinched with suppressed emotion. “I know you meant well. I just—I can’t—”

“You can,” Gwen says firmly, and it’s loud enough to get him to look up from his packing at least. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s not an either/or situation. You can have both.”

Merlin looks at her—just looks, for long enough that Gwen starts to feel a little nervous. She’s not a particularly vain woman, but she likes to think she knows when a man wants her, and it’s not as if she hasn’t been on the receiving end of her fair share of Merlin’s glances over the years. But perhaps that’s not enough. The one thing Merlin, with all his powers and his secrets, has always wanted to be is normal, and this is a relatively unconventional situation so far as she knows.

“Are you sure?” he says finally. “I mean—really sure. You’re not going to kiss me and then decide it was a mistake and stop talking to me, are you?”

She really is going to kill Arthur.

“I’m sure,” she says, infusing her voice with as much authority as she can manage. As the queen, that amounts to a fair bit, and she pauses momentarily. “Obviously, though, you don’t have to if you don’t want—I mean, this isn’t—we’re not ordering you to—”

“I know that,” Merlin says, and now he’s smiling, tiny creases appearing around his eyes. “You know I never do what I’m told.”

“Good,” Gwen says, satisfied. “Because if you didn’t—we wouldn’t be angry. You don’t have to leave, whatever happens. Please don’t leave.”

This time, when he kisses her, it’s short and sweet and entirely voluntary.

“I suppose I could be persuaded to stay.”

✨

Tagging the person reading this!

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MERLIN ANNIVERSARY SHARE YOUR WIPS CHALLENGE

(tagged by @aemelia and @diaryofatrekker)

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The following morning, Merlin was woken by a peremptory knock on the door, and a decidedly too-cheerful voice calling, “Get up, Merlin, I know you’re in there! Are you going to leave your prince waiting on the doorstep?”

“I’m going to turn my prince into a toad if he doesn’t shut up,” Merlin muttered, rolling out of bed with a reluctant groan. Fortunately, Arthur was too far away to hear him, and Merlin tugged on his tunic and hose quickly before stumbling over to open the door. “What are you even doing here?” he asked, as Arthur shouldered his way inside without so much as a by-your-leave. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“I’m here to help,” Arthur said, folding his arms. “Given your abysmal performance yesterday, I spoke to my father and he agreed that I should supervise you in my free time, to make sure you don’t end up poisoning anybody again.”

“I didn’t poison anyone,” Merlin retorted, watching in disbelief as Arthur began collecting ingredients from Gaius’ shelves and setting them on the table. “I told Sir Olwin not to drink the whole lot at once; it’s not my fault he didn’t listen.”

“Then you should have explained it better, shouldn’t you?” Arthur said patronisingly, dumping an armful of comfrey into a nearby cauldron. “Honestly, Merlin, you’re lucky that the only side-effect was an hour or two spent on the privy. He could have died!”

‘Help’ in Arthur’s world obviously meant something different than it did in Merlin’s; it was possible he had confused the term with ‘be as much of a condescending prat as possible.’ Taking a deep breath, Merlin said as evenly as he could,

“Arthur. Sir Olwin always drinks his potion all in one go—he’s blind as a bat and never listens to directions, so Gaius has given up trying to make him. We always give him a diluted version of the purgative to be on the safe side. He would have been fine without your ‘help’.”

“Oh.” For a second, Arthur only blinked at him, looking—of all things—almost disappointed. Then he shrugged. “Well, at least someone has the good sense to plan for these things, I suppose. But so long as I’m here, I might as well supervise you anyway. Lord knows what you might get up to if I left you to your own devices.”

He smirked at Merlin then, clearly daring him to argue, and Merlin wondered darkly how Arthur would feel about being turned into a fish. At the very least, not being able to breathe above water might shut him up for a while, and Merlin was bound to have far less desire to kiss him if he were all wet and scaly.

“That really isn’t necessary, sire,” he said, with as little inflection as he could manage. “I wouldn’t want to take you away from your duties.”

“Don’t be silly, Merlin.” Arthur, still smiling, clapped him heartily on the back. “A good ruler should take the time to understand everything that goes on in his kingdom. Even the mundane, inconsequential parts.”

✨

tagging YOU, and also @makesoneteam, @secondstar-acorn, @merlinlikethebird, @slantedknitting, @gyrhs, and @thesongistheriver

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WIP Weekend!

Thanks for the tag, @shana-rosee!

He watched Arthur consider this, turning it over from all angles before weighing it in his mind to see how it felt. “Duty, then,” he said at last, a wry twist to his mouth, and Merlin felt an unexpected pang at the bitterness in his voice. “Not just duty,” he said, softly. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Can’t we just start there, and let the rest take care of itself?” Arthur studied him for a long moment, perhaps gauging his sincerity, perhaps trying to decide whether it was worth trying to contest this assessment of their relationship. At last, he seemed to make up his mind. “All right,” he said, setting aside his wine. “Come here.” The note of command in his voice made something in Merlin’s belly tighten, overlaid as it was with the knowledge of what he had just agreed to do, but he nevertheless contemplated staying where he was for a moment just to be contrary. Then Arthur met his eyes again, raising one eyebrow in silent challenge, and suddenly Merlin’s feet were moving without his conscious volition, coming to a stop within arm’s reach of the king. “This,” Arthur said, his eyes never leaving Merlin’s face, “is how you kiss somebody.”

tagging @trombonechurchill, @aemelia, @cbk1000, @swanfloatieknight and @fluffypotatey (no pressure!).

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Straight as a Rush, So!

Also known as my long-abandoned Merthur version of At Swim, Two Boys (because what this fandom needs is MORE tragedy, amiright? 😂)!

Snippet:

They come for Will at dawn.

At the creak of the door, Merlin wakes out of a light doze — impossible to call it sleep — and lies for a moment unmoving, staring at the uneven lines on the ceiling above him. He hears Will’s voice, sharp with something deeper than fear, then the familiar hushed whispers and rustlings in the cell beside his, the sound of feet being dragged over stone. Merlin gets up and moves to the door, pressing his hands flat against the damp surface. Through a chink in the wood he watches as Will is hustled out into the corridor, his wrists handcuffed behind him. He looks back only once, his face obscured by the shadows cutting across the hall, and then he’s gone, the door to the courtyard slamming shut behind him. In his mind’s eye, Merlin imagines what happens next. A row of uniformed men with solemn faces. The glint of sunlight on the barrel of a gun. He thinks of Will refusing the blindfold, standing with his head tilted up towards the soft grey sky as he breathes through the impersonal, “Ready…aim…” The silence seems to stretch on for hours, until it is broken by a sharp report that makes Merlin cry out and slam his hands against the wood. The silence that follows is even worse, full of things that can never be said and never taken back. Will is gone. A long time later, there are footsteps in the corridor, the sound of voices and a jangling of keys. The hinges of Merlin’s cell door groan as one of the prison guards pushes it open. “You,” he says, pointing at Merlin and crooking his finger. “Come with me.” The corridors of the gaol are a drab off-white and smell of fear and sweat, the pent-up aggression and filth of those locked up in here for days, weeks, months at a time. The guard doesn’t bother to tell Merlin where they’re going and he doesn’t ask. All roads here lead to one of two places: freedom, or death. And he’s pretty sure they’re not going to let him go. Up ahead, a door opens. Cold spring sunshine washes over the flagstones at Merlin’s feet, and he thinks of Arthur’s hair in the afternoon light, the same soft, impossible gold. His footsteps slow, then stop. He can hear the sound of his heart thumping in his ears, hard and frantic, as if to squeeze as many beats as it can into the next few, final seconds. Everything is suddenly, dazzlingly bright. A hand lands between his shoulder-blades, shoving him forward. “Go on, get a move on then.” Merlin closes his eyes, and steps out into the light.

Ask me about my WIPs!

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:)) thanks

Thanks for the ask! A funny, fluffy snippet for you:

“What do you mean, the Druids want to name me as their royal liaison?” Merlin demanded, sitting up so fast he almost pulled his stitches. “I’m not a Druid.”

“That doesn’t seem to bother them,” Arthur said mildly. He sat back in his chair, regarding Merlin with the same level of amusement that he usually directed at hapless squires who had no idea they were about to be trounced within an inch of their lives. It was not at all endearing. “They want you to have an official title. I suggested perhaps you ought to be the Royal Jester but for some reason they didn’t take to the idea.”

“Very funny,” Merlin said. He eyed Arthur narrowly, trying to judge whether or not he was serious. “You know I’m not interested in being promoted.”

“Yes, I know.” Arthur’s face softened. “But someone has to do it, and who better than someone they already know and trust? And I know you must have questions—things you want to learn. This way, you can feel free to ask whatever you want to know, with the assurance that they will do their best to answer.”

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