inkatiel



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    Arthur watched, unable to fully comprehend the events that had seemingly just crashed and burned in front of him rather than calmly unfold. He turned to look at the other knights who only shrugged as Mordred sank lower into his seat, lips pressed into a pout as he picked at his food.

    “I…” He started and paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts “Why do you want Merlin to like you so badly?” He finally sighed. Mordred stopped playing with his food, glancing up before looking at the door the servant in question had exited through

    “Because he’s Merlin.” He said as if that provided any sort of answer.

    Arthur didn’t deserve this. He did his best to be a good person. Maybe this was some kind of divine intervention saying he needed to up his charity game. He needed to give the lower town a bigger tax break or something. Perhaps ride out and save three more damsels than usual.

    "He has a point," Gwaine piped up as he inhaled another mead "He is Merlin."

    Or
     
    Merlin hates Mordred and Mordred is determined to put an end to that. Arthur is convinced that this child is after his man.

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    04 Mar 2026

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    “So let me get this straight,” Arthur said, folding his fingers together as the man in front him awkwardly shifted. “You are under the impression if you win the favor of my servant that you will then win my favor?” he asked and the nobleman shifted again.

    “Well, sire,” he said “That is the common consensus among… the chatter.”

    “The chatter,” Arthur repeated and his mind flashed to all the kindness Merlin had received from other nobles. Dear God.

    Or

    Merlin has all of Camelot (and neighboring kingdoms) wrapped around his finger and Arthur is beginning to resign himself to the fact his servant somehow has more power than he does.

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    03 Mar 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    When they try to hang him, he floats.

    *

    They put him on the pyre at dawn.

    He doesn’t burn.

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    03 Mar 2026

  4. Public Bookmark 87

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    He's sitting on the edge of his shitty couch, staring at the buckles of his boots that have been halfway undone. He should be shedding himself of scuffed leather and damp socks, but he—can't. His fingers won't cooperate, sitting listlessly in his lap. For a second, Jason has to pay attention to the rise and fall of his chest, just to make sure it's still working the way it's supposed to.

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    02 Mar 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Three, two, one—

    (But nothing ever stays dead, right? Nothing ever goes the way you want it to.)

    Boom.

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    25 Feb 2026