Livre De La Vigne Nostre Seigneur; France, 15th Century; Bodleian Library, MS. Douce 134, F. 49v

Being a flop changed my life. The world is not my oyster, I am glowing. I walked into a pole this morning. There's very little I wouldn't do for $1,000

Came across this on the cover of an old magazine at work today. It was published in Epic magazine in the early 1980s. It’s called ‘Self Portrait, with Wings’ by Barry Windsor-Smith.

@camlannpod has already become very special to me! Go listen to it!

Sleepy merthur sketch 💛

(References under the cut)

... eepy

Leaving them in silence, lower me down

|| Merlin x Arthur ● T ● WC: 315 ● No Warnings ||

Summary: The day after you both run out of words: a board of splinters, your sheaf of lifetimes, and near a dozen languages canyon between you. // When Arthur returns, he and Merlin no longer speak the same language. Inspired by ‘Words Are Dead’ by @mightybog.

my three favourite genders of podcast protag: Can Never Do Anything Wrong Ever™, Oh God They Do So Much Wrong And I Hope They Get Worse™, and Miserable Wet Cat Begrudgingly Discovers Friendship™

Behold! Dragoon the Great pondering his orb!

I wonder, what secrets of the universe is he peering into?

Merlin/Arthur | Mature | No Archive Warnings Apply | Word Count: 500

Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Survival | Injury Recovery

For @merlinmicrofic with the prompt "starting over"

Merlin and Arthur find refuge in a small broken down cottage

☾ ☾ ☾

Before Arthur knew what was happening, his hand was on the hilt of his sword. He almost evicted Merlin from the mildewed thing they called a bed. 

Cold hands found his neck, his face in the dark. “It’s just thunder, Arthur.”

He lay back down and Merlin lay on his chest. Their hearts slowed together. The rain on the broken roof went on.

“I’ll work out the spell, I promise.”

Gone, for now, were Merlin’s entreaties for Arthur to return to Camelot. They would face whatever came next together.

Arthur drifted, until water dropped down on his forehead. He groaned.

Arthur strode across the small, disused field, carrying a hare by its ears. It was dusk and ahead of him was their temporary salvation, a little lopsided cottage, with a field of its own taking root on what was left of the roof. 

When he let himself inside Merlin was there to greet him, making no secret of the fact he had been peering anxiously though the little window. 

“I caught a hare,” Arthur told him.

Merlin grimaced but nodded. “I heard it screaming.”

They needed more than the meagre meals they had made of fried hazel catkins and cleavers.

Merlin was making use of a sturdy ash rod they had found while they were still running, the burns on the outside of Merlin’s right leg and his feet were still healing and the tightened skin gave him a limp. But he was dispelling any illusions Arthur had of his frailty, advancing on him now like a storm.

Arthur dropped the rusted hoe he’d been using.

“I told you! There’s no use in planting when we’ll just have to run again!”

“Your spell...”

“There’s no spell!”

“There could be if-”

“If I try? You do it, if it’s so easy!”

The ground was uneven here in the green wood. Merlin told him that this place had been used by a charcoal maker, he had no doubt that the earth here had once smoked hellishly. He checked their traps. The woods went on. But where was Merlin? Where did he leave him? Feelings of temporary safety, images of holding Merlin in a suntrap somewhere fled from him. He panicked, called his name.

Then an answer. “-thur! Arthur!”

He saw him, ran, caught him.

“Arthur! I’m sorry, I'm sorry,” he soothed, then he grinned. “My spell worked a little too well, then?”

Their little shelter was golden with the morning sun and so, just for a moment, were Merlin’s eyes. Arthur found he couldn’t let go of his hands, feeling they might just fall to their knees in relief otherwise. They were safe, anyone who tried to find them now would be gently guided away.

“Promise me this isn’t forever, Arthur,” Merlin beseeched quietly. “Promise me we’ll return and you’ll be king.”

“We will return, when the time is right, when you’re healed and we have a plan.” He pulled him close. “Until then…”

“Until then…” Merlin’s eyes fell to Arthur's lips.

Flamberge Greatsword: Ideal for fending off multiple opponents and longer polearms like spears or pikes. It relies on momentum and dexterity to flow around its wielder, filling the space between with death.