Cosmic Babe :)

Lydia! (she/her) 23 | i have genuinely Lost the Plot | Header image by @raspbi |

[amomorii]

Yule Ball, 1994

"Can we talk?"

[thereindeerlady]

This art bewitched me and now i have an unedited unbeta’d fic loosely inspired by it…. This fic is brought to you by very little sleep and a whole lot of rambling.

So uh, enjoy?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/75412241#main

( @amomorii sorry in advance if you ever see this 😬🫩)

[konoko]

[bianc0re]

Super long night

[timbersdeep]

making my debut on here 🤪🤪 i literally dont know how to use this app but i like hpdm sooo (this was a gladiator au i made a few months ago that i posted on twt ( im gonna slowly post my other drawings on here and make a small archive teehee))

[midnightssea]

Why do I kind of want them to. They have the opportunity to do the funniest thing.

[dorian-they]

[bobthebenevolentpirate]

Notes on this post are genuinely incredible

[answrs]

ao3 changing their header to omega from beta as an April Fools, then the next day instead of switching the header back they announce they're officially no longer in beta anymore is absolute peak 👌

[arcandoria-archived]

crossposting from bsky - glad I stopped using spotify when I did and that I unlinked it from my discord, but still

[ reddit thread | bsky post ]

[chuckonmycheese]

Who up merthur posting? #wip

[julia-with-luv]

for @merthurmicrofic ︱"dragon" ︱1052 words

When Arthur goes looking for Merlin, he's already bruised his knuckles on his dresser in rage.

"Merlin! Where the hell have you been, you were supposed to—" And then Arthur stops dead in his tracks in the doorway, taking in the scene around him. "What on earth—"

"It's gone!" Merlin spits, eyes flashing gold, because he can't hold it in. "It's gone, someone took it all, they took—" His heart lurches with hurt, like someone had stuck their hand inside his chest and pulled.

Merlin flings the sack he's holding to the side. He had clung to some desperate hope that maybe his chambers had been rearranged, or maybe someone would take only the items that held some monetary value— devastating nonetheless, but at least he would have something left.

But no. In truth Merlin had known what had happened from the moment he dragged the chest out from underneath his bed and found it empty. Matching the hollow in his heart.

"Took what?" Arthur asks, utterly bewildered.

"My hoard!" Merlin shouts, and then sinks to the ground.

He's going to cry, he can feel it from the pressure behind his eyes, and he doesn't want to. He tries to lean into the anger that flickers red-hot across his teeth. "I'm sure it was Adrian," he mumbles, staring into the floorboards. "Just got let go yesterday after some other staff caught him going through their stuff. I'm so stupid, I didn't think to check until now…."

His nails dig into his palms, the sting grounding him as he pulls his knees up to his chest. There's a creak in the floor as Arthur shifts his weight, and Merlin suddenly remembers that the King of Camelot is indeed still standing there.

Arthur seems to realize that he should probably say something. "I didn't realize that you had. Well. a hoard."

Had. The past tense stings like an arrow. "I didn't always," Merlin mumbles. "'think it just started up when my magic started getting stronger. Couple years ago I just started picking things up and just… I always kept it in my room. Under my bed." Where it was safe goes unsaid.

Merlin still hasn't brought himself to look at Arthur. "I'll reimburse any coin you had," Arthur says, stiff, but Merlin's known him long enough to hear the sincerity underneath. "Consider it a bonus—"

"There wasn't anything of value in there," Merlin says, cutting Arthur off. "At least, not to anyone but me."

His fingers trace the lines in the floorboards. There's a scratch where he dragged his chest out every night, and then pushed it back under. He'd place a new object with the others, or just hold them in his hands, feeling his skin warm the surface.

Merlin hears a thump, and looks up to see Arthur sitting down on the floor across from him. He leans back against the dresser, propping a leg up and resting his hand on his knee. "What did you have in there?" Arthur asks.

Merlin inhales. "Gloves my mum knitted for me before I left for Camelot," he says. "Flowers I'd find while gathering herbs for Gaius. Or rocks from the rivers to the southeast— the round ones that shine when the sun catches them."

It sounds so childish even to Merlin's ears, this animalistic part of himself he still barely understands, but no mockery crosses on Arthur's face. He's still listening, so Merlin continues. "A few dropped buttons or broken pieces of jewelry I'd found." A golden embossed button from Lancelot's doublet. A tiny shard of moonstone chipped off from the hilt of Gwaine's dagger. "Gwen made me a casted leaf from scrap metal from the forge. A couple of glass vials from Gaius's collection. A— a gift from my father."

And now there are tears rising to Merlin's face, and he quickly scrubs at his eyes with his sleeve. Arthur graciously doesn't comment upon it. "Was there anything of mine?" he finally asks, quietly.

Merlin drops his head to half-hide his expression. "The Pendragon patch off of a cape you'd torn and told me to get rid of. And—" His stomach lurches. "Gods, Arthur. I'm so sorry. Your mother's— the sigil's— I should have kept it on me, I'm sorry—"

"You kept the sigil in your hoard?"

Merlin cringes at the surprise in Arthur's voice. He never wanted Arthur to discover how his own possessiveness latched on to the only remaining relic of Ygraine Du Bois. That Merlin wrapped it over and over in Arthur's cloak until it was nestled just right, where Merlin could keep and care for it. "I'm sorry—"

"No, don't apologize, it's—" Arthur sighs. "It's not your fault, Merlin."

Merlin knows that. He still feels miserable.

But Arthur sits with him, and Merlin supposes that being miserable with another person is better than being miserable alone. When Arthur finally has to leave, he does so by gently ruffling Merlin's hair, which turns into his hand sliding down to cup the nape of Merlin's neck. He tells Merlin to take the next day off, and when Gwaine finds Merlin later in the evening and drags him to the tavern, Merlin's sure it's at Arthur's suggestion.

The drink numbs the grief, and the hangover distracts him from it, but Merlin can't help the gnawing emptiness he feels in the space under his bed, where all he loves is kept safe and warm.

That emptiness stays until a week later Merlin enters his chamber to find a plain sack resting on his bed. There's a small rolled note tied up with it, which Merlin curiously opens.

Tracked Adrian down to the Northern Plains. He swore he hadn't had the chance to sell anything yet. He's still in the dungeons if you find otherwise. - Arthur

Merlin's hands are shaking when he opens the sack. His flowers are slightly crooked, small chips on the corner of his rocks, but as he carefully takes every item out and places it on his bed, there's not a single scrap of fabric or shiny button out of place.

He saves his most precious treasure for last. The sigil tumbles cool against Merlin's palm, slipping out of the red drape that surrounds it. Merlin holds the sigil right against his heart, and breathes freely once more.

[julia-with-luv]

for @merthurmicrofic ︱"regret" ︱854 words ︱also filling "kissing" for my @merlinbingo square!

It takes three days to track the mercenaries to their hideout, and things go arse-up immediately.

Arthur breaks down the barred door, and instantly fixates on the sight of Merlin tied to a post with a gag in his mouth. His eyes are furious and he's shouting something muffed by the gag— and Arthur realizes at the last second it's a warning, and drops down right as the crossbow bolt whizzes over his head.

It was an obvious trap, something that Leon had pointed out to Arthur many times on the ride over. The mercenaries had thought they could get the drop on the King of Camelot hunting in the woods with only his manservant, ambushing them with over a dozen men. They must had even heard of the rumors that Camelot had a powerful magician in its employ, carrying iron shackles that suffocated the use of magic. But it was as Arthur himself was pinned to the ground with a boot in his back that he saw Merlin wrench a hand free, eyes flaring a brilliant gold, and the ground dropped out under Arthur's body until it caught him again, gasping on the floor of his own chambers.

The ransom demand for Merlin's safe return had come the next evening. Arthur gave the scrap of paper the dignity of being thrown into the pig slop.

Which led to his current position of kicking an unwashed mercenary in the teeth, hand wrapped tightly around Excalibur's hilt. The melee rages fierce and furious around them, and while the mercenaries may have had the benefit of preparation, Arthur and his men have skill. He plunges his sword through a man's chest and yanks it out with a ferocious motion, whirling around—

— and freezes. There's a man holding a dagger to Merlin's throat, other hand fisted in black hair and yanking his head back. He smiles when he sees that Arthur has stilled. "Drop your blade, king. Or I'll rip your pet sorcerer's throat wide open."

Arthur's eyes flicker down to the iron shackles around Merlin's wrists, then back up. "Draw his blood," Arthur says softly, "and you'll regret it for the rest of your miserable life."

The man laughs, fixated on Arthur. "All bark but no fangs to carry the threat. You don't have the power here, Pendragon. Now, if you want his pretty head to stay attached to his shoulders, you'll—"

There's a clang as the iron shackles fall to the ground, undone by the lockpick pin Gwaine had slid to Merlin in the fray. The next heartbeat, Merlin's eyes glow gold.

It's less of a battle after that, more of a drubbing. The mercenaries' weapons turn to feathers, some of the men turn to goats, and at the end of it all Merlin is lazily stretching, complaining about the crick in his back from being tied to the post for hours. And Arthur—

Arthur's words get caught in his throat, and he's turning on his heel, storming out of the hut.

He barely takes ten steps away before there's a pair of gangly legs following him. "What's your problem?" Merlin demands. "Don't tell me you're actually cross with me about this?"

Arthur turns back around, fists clenched. "You can't be serious."

"Yeah, I am!" There's high spots of color on Merlin's checks, hair still tousled from where the mercenary yanked his head back. "So sorry I disturbed your schedule because we got ambushed on a hunt that was your idea, I might add—"

"You sent me away," Arthur interrupts, his teeth clenched. "You had a chance to use your magic and you— you sent me away."

"Yes, and I don't regret it." Merlin's chin juts out defiantly. "It was you they wanted, not me. They weren't prepared to capture a sorcerer, judging by the shoddiest pair of cold iron manacles I've ever seen—"

"And what if they decided you weren't worth the hassle?" Arthur's heart is pounding, and something that tastes traitorously like fear builds in his mouth. "What if they decided it would be better to just—" his chest stutters "—kill you, and be done with it? Gods, Merlin, do you have any idea what it would do to me if you—"

His mouth slams shut at the same time Merlin's drops open. He turns away, flushed raw with humiliation. He's said too much, he didn't mean to.

There's a hand on his shoulder, spinning around with more strength than Arthur was expecting, and then Merlin throws himself at Arthur. His arms loop around Arthur's shoulders, and his mouth is hot on Arthur's, wanting, claiming. Arthur takes a step back to steady himself, and his hands instinctively rest on Merlin's waist. He must forget to breathe with Merlin's assault on his lips, because they're both flushed and panting for breath when Merlin pulls away.

There are wolf-whistles and cheers from the knights behind them, and from the sheepish expression on Merlin's face it seems he wasn't planning on declaring his affections in such a forward manner. But, as Arthur steps forward to kiss him again, he doesn't think Merlin regrets it one bit.

[theobjectlesson]

👑 for @merthurmicrofic | prompt: REGRET | word count: 821 *sigh*

They've been pushed back to the beach, and Arthur is definitely going to regret this.

Not for long, at least, with how the battle is going. The sounds of its violence surround them, clashing swords and bloodshed above their heads, the crashing waves behind.

"Merlin -"

Merlin immediately scoffs, indignant.

"Don't, don't you 'Merlin' me."

But Merlin's classic "I'm warning you, Arthur" voice is weakened somewhat. Probably by the arrow lodged between his ribs.

"You're hardly in a position to argue with me," Arthur shoots back, glancing down to where the shaft disappears into Merlin's shirt, now caked with seeping blood. Arthur can hear the gasp in his shallow breaths - it might've hit his lung. Arthur can't tell, and that's the problem.

"I always h-have, why change now?"

The temptation to roll his eyes is almost overwhelming, but he's not letting Merlin pull him off course, back into their normal rhythms. Not this time.

Arthur peeks up over the low cliff face, and pulls back just in time for the arrow from the tree line to spark off the stone instead making purchase in his head.

"Here's what we're going to do," Arthur says, shooting for his best "I'm the king and you're not" voice. He sticks Excalibur into the small, smooth rocks that roll up and down with the tide, wet with ocean spray, and turns to face Merlin where he's slumped against the ledge.

Arthur wraps his hands around the shaft jutting from Merlin's side. Merlin gasps. The black feathered fletching quivers like a warning. She is coming.

"I am going to break this off," Arthur says, and he cinches his grip close, wet fabric of Merlin's clothing cold even through his gloves.

"And then you are going to run."

"You're s-seriously demented if you think I'm going to just leave -"

Arthur snaps the arrow shaft, as close as he can to Merlin's skin. Merlin's cry comes through clenched teeth that dig into Arthur's heart.

"You will, because this is all I can do. I can't heal you, and right now, you can't heal yourself."

Not without losing more blood - he's already watched Merlin try, and all they have to show for it is the ghostly, hypoxic complexion of Merlin's already pale skin, the darkened, blood-bruised circles under his eyes. There was a time Arthur didn't know what those meant, hadn't learned the signs of magic exhaustion, of Merlin pushing himself too hard for Arthur's sake.

These days, he's all too familiar.

"Morgana's men approach from the west, so head south until you can't hear the battle, then inland towards camp. Whoever - whoever is still out there will have regrouped, they'll get you the rest of the way to Gaius. You need to go, you need a physician."

"No, you absolute prat, I need you -"

But before he can finish, Arthur brings his hands up to Merlin's angry face and kisses him on the mouth.

And, given the circumstances, that'll have to do. Arthur will have to pretend that's what Merlin was actually trying to say, that there was nothing else coming after it. He'll have to cut the words off and hold them in isolation, away from any interfering context, locked in the same box where he's kept his own all these years.

At least he'll only have to delude himself for a minute, though maintaining the fantasy for even that long might be difficult in light of the abject horror on Merlin's face when he pulls back.

Then again, Arthur's always been good at lying to himself.

So he pulls his sword out of the cobblestones and readies it, smiling as he risks one last glance at Merlin's eyes.

"Come now, Merlin, you must know - you can't address me like that."

And he leaps to vault himself up over the top of the cliff.

The first arrow he knocks away, and the second. The wall of his sister's legion breaks through the low scrub brush that covers the hillside, flailing and gnashing and desperate. A few have mistaken their speed for an advantage and broken the line, and Arthur cuts them down easily. Two, three, four of hundreds. Not enough.

Salt ocean air fills his senses as a harsh, cold breeze shifts, blowing in off the water. Sunlight fades and shadows spread. A ringing in his ears narrows his focus, blocking out all other sounds.

Almost all other sounds.

"Arthur."

He shouldn't turn, but he does. Is powerless not to, drawn as ever by Merlin's voice. Merlin, who has backed up towards the sea, icy waves of the Morimaru licking at his boots. Merlin with his arms outstretched and aloft, hands bloody, broken arrow falling from his fingers

Merlin, with his eyes blazing gold. Brighter and brighter, rays searing skyward, burning like captured stars finally set free.

Arthur starts towards him.

"No, Merlin, don't -"

And then the sea erupts.

[staff]

we fucked up

[count-pudding]

procrastinating assassin, turned bodyguard/lover

@merlinbingo square fill: assassination

[ancientdreams-in-a-modernland]

Harry: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU AREN'T A DRAGON ANIMAGUS!!

Draco: WHY WOULD I BE A DRAGON???

Harry: idk your name is draco so I figured-

Draco: name doesn't equal anything potter, are you an idiot?

Harry: in my defense I had an uncle named werewolf mc werewolf, and guess what was he???

[secondstar-acorn]

He’s tugging Merlin’s ear in a fit of what some might call “desperation to touch”— but which Arthur would call Boyish and Manly Taunting— when he feels a small divot between his forefinger and thumb.

“Ow!” Merlin protests as Arthur draws him in for a closer look. “Ow ow ow!”

“Don’t be such a girl,” Arthur says automatically, but he’s too preoccupied by the hole in Merlin’s earlobe to really mean it. Though he ought not to mean it, or Morgana will trounce him in front of all his knights and leave him humiliated for the rest of his days. In her words.

“What the hell is this?” Arthur asks, going for teasing and winding up somewhere around affronted-there’s-a-part-of-Merlin-he-doesn’t-know. There are actually many parts of Merlin that Arthur doesn’t know, but he does his best not to think about that, in a last ditch effort to preserve his dignity and sanity both.

“Are your ears pierced?” He continues, because Merlin is still making very dramatic ow noises and not answering his question.

Merlin finally swats his hand away and escapes his grip. “Will did them when we were kids.”

Merlin reaches up and smooths his own finger over the hole. “I sort of forgot they were there.”

“How?” Arthur asks, ignoring the guilty twist in his stomach at the mention of Will. “Don’t they hurt?”

“What?” Merlin stares at him, a grin beginning to bloom on his face that tells Arthur he’s just said something prattish. “No! Do you think Morgana walks around in pain all the time?”

“It would certainly explain her personality,” Arthur mutters darkly.

Merlin rolls his eyes at that. “They hurt for the first few months after they were done, but not constantly. They’re healed now.”

“How did they heal like that?” Arthur asks, giving up on princely pompousness. After all, princes aren’t meant to know about things like this, so he supposes he’ll give himself a pass.

“As holes?” Merlin asks, and doesn’t wait for Arthur’s nod. “Well, I kept earrings in them, you see. To keep from closing up.”

Arthur scowls at the teasing lilt of Merlin’s voice. “Shut up, Merlin. It’s not as though I was there when Morgan’s got her ears pierced.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were. You never pay attention to anyone but yourself, after all.”

Arthur’s mouth drops open in offense. “I am a warrior! On the battlefield! I’ll have you know I notice everything!”

Merlin pats him on the back. “Of course you do, sire. Red or blue for today’s tunic?”

“Blue,” Arthur says absentmindedly. A new thought has just entered his head—which, being rare for him, thus demands attention. “Wait. Does that mean you wore earrings? For months?”

Merlin raises an eyebrow at him and helps him pull the tunic over his head. “That is generally what happens when a person pierces their ears, yes.”

Arthur pokes his head out of the neck to find Merlin smiling at him indulgently, as though he’s a child.

“But—“ he wrestles his arms through the sleeves. “What kind?”

“An old pair of my mother’s,” Merlin says slowly, eyeing Arthur as though he’s lost his head. “Is that alright with you?”

“Why don’t you wear them now?” Arthur blurts, and promptly flushes crimson.

Merlin stares at him. Arthur busies himself with the laces of his tunic.

“Not many men wear earrings. It would draw a lot of attention.”

“I thought you liked attention,” Arthur says bitterly, thinking of the flowers Merlin gives out willy-nilly and the bright beam Arthur stupidly thought was reserved for him, once upon a time.

Merlin snorts. “Like you, you mean?”

Arthur steps into the trousers Merlin holds out for him. He keeps his gaze on the ground. Something about what he’s asked feels oddly vulnerable, and he’s not sure what to do with it. He sort of wishes he could erase this whole conversation.

“I got plenty of attention for it as a kid,” Merlin says as he bends to lace up Arthur’s trousers. “Every kid in Ealdor treated me like a chivalric maiden for months.”

Arthur’s nose wrinkles. He’d hate that. In a rare attempt at empathy, he says:

“I understand why you don’t wear them anymore, then.”

“Are you kidding? It was great. Boys did my chores for me for weeks! I didn’t have to lift a finger.” Merlin grins slyly and looks up at Arthur through his lashes. “Hey, you think if I wore earrings now you’d give me a day off?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur chokes out, and quickly hauls Merlin to his feet in a bid to get him away from…sensitive areas. “Beauty hasn’t earned you a day off before, and it certainly won’t now.”

Merlin pauses his attempt to wriggle out of Arthur’s grip. Arthur clamps his mouth shut and wishes for death.

“You think I’m—“

“You’re passable,” Arthur interrupts, heart pounding, “when you’re not speaking, anyway. A pair of sparkly dangles won’t change that. Is what I mean. Meant.”

Merlin studies him for a moment, gaze steady and dark. Arthur fights the urge to fidget.

Then a slow, evil little smile quirks Merlin’s lips. Arthur looks away. Lips are dangerous.

“How would you know?”

Arthur blinks. “What?”

“I haven’t worn any. You wouldn’t know if they increase my passable beauty or not,” Merlin says.

Arthur doesn’t like where this is going. “That’s—“

“I’ll wear some tomorrow,” Merlin cuts in. “And you can decide if they help my looks or not. And whether it’s enough for a day off.”

Arthur wishes he had never found that hole in Merlin’s earlobe. He wished he hadn’t been so determined to engage in Boyish and Manly Taunting. He especially wishes he’d been smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“I’ll ask Morgana if I can borrow a pair,” Merlin continues. “Explain the situation.”

Which is preposterous, because servants should not be borrowing jewellery from the King’s Ward. It’s also bone chilling, because if Morgana puts two and two together—which she no doubt will, because she’s Morgana—then Arthur will be obliged to shuffle off this mortal coil.

“I don’t—“ Arthur tries.

“It’ll be fun! Now hurry up with the belt, sire. You’ve a long day ahead.”

Somehow, Arthur thinks tomorrow will be longer.

for @merthurmicrofic ‘s prompt hole | 1,040 words

[my-castles-crumbling]

infatuation - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 459

“Can we talk now?” Sirius demanded, nearly making Remus fall backwards out of the portrait hole as he entered the Common Room.

“Jesus, Sirius–” he swore, grasping at his chest and finding his way to a couch, collapsing into the overly-stuffed cushions. 

“Dramatic,” Sirius chastised, lips curling upward. “Listen, Moons, you’ve been avoiding me all day. If I hadn’t been told otherwise so many times, I’d think I was a shit kisser or something.”

Blushing scarlet, Remus looked down, avoiding his best friend’s eyes. “No, I…no.”

“Then why the fuck won’t you talk to me?” the shorter boy asked, more gently now. He moved to shit next to Remus, grabbing one of his hands. “D’you…regret it? Because if you do–”

“No. No, it’s not. It’s just…” Remus gulped, trying to find the courage to look at Sirius. He never wanted the other boy to think he regretted the kiss they’d shared, but he had to make sure Sirius realized. “Sirius, you’re just…this is just some infatuation for you. You’ll get over it. Find someone better, someone who deserves you. I don’t want to waste your time, hold you back. You…there’s so much better than me.” And it was true. Sirius was the most amazing person he knew. Remus could never forgive himself if he weighed him down with all of his baggage for even a few weeks. Sirius could get over this silly crush, could move on. It was better this way.

But instead of nodding in understanding, the other boy just gave him a sad smile. “Remus, how long have you fancied me?” 

The question took him off guard. “Erm. That’s not…” He was embarrassed by the answer.

“Just say it. Promise I’m not judging,” Sirius pushed.

“Fourth year,” he whispered, slightly mortified.

The shorter boy grinned, then turned away. “Oi, Prongs!”

Remus gaped. Was Sirius going to tell James, and everyone else in this room, exactly how long Remus had liked him? Was he that cruel?

But James, who was across the room, called back. “Oi?”

“How old were we, the first time I told you I wanted to snog Moony?” Sirius yelled, ignoring Remus’s gasp of shock.

James grinned. “Must’ve been….what, in third year? Yeah, because by the end of that year you wouldn’t just up about how he looked shirtless, and then the year after you said you loved him, so–”

Now Sirius was pink. “Alright Prongs, that about answers the question!” he interrupted, turning back to Remus. Then, softer: “Infatuation? Remus, you’re…fuck, you’re it for me. There’s no ‘better.’ You’re everything.”

Speechless, he allowed his instincts to guide him, pulling Sirius’s face towards his, cupping his cheek as their lips connected. 

“Get a bloody room!” James yelled gleefully.

Both of them ignored him.

[pandalikeelf]

season 2, episode 8: the sins of the father