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#.// ruled the waves (arthur)
brassandblue · 3 months
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Sketch dump of Arthur.
We’ve got uhh Tudor teen, 17thc teen sailor, 14thc baby teen, Tudor again, 18thc smug lad, the rest are 19thc to modern day mix.
Which is ur fave??
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oliversrarebooks · 4 months
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fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace pt. 1: morgan fucks up
the story of the barely tamed feral villain and the hero team determined to protect him
This first part is an edit of an earlier story of mine, to add actual names and additional context.
TW: injury, concussion, sedation, medical whump, abuse mentions
Oh, he'd really fucked up this time. Already so weary, at the end of his rope, he failed to notice the energy blast coming from the youngest member of the hero team, the one who struggled to keep her powers under control. He knew how badly he'd fucked up when his back hit the wall, pain exploding from every muscle, especially the parts of his back where his boss had already punished him. His head impacted the concrete with a sickening crack that made him see stars.
Morgan, the city's second-most menacing villain and public enemy number two, sank helplessly to the sidewalk, his body refusing to obey his commands. Through his blurred vision, he could see the painfully bright costumes of the hero team, and he tried to struggle to his feet. He couldn't fail here. It simply wasn't an option. Failure meant risking the wrath of his boss, or worse, being captured and at the mercy of the heroes.
Pain radiated from his knee as he tried to stand. It was broken, maybe. Even more urgently, every tiny movement of his head caused a wave of dizziness, the world tilting and spinning in a nauseating blur. He searched for the word. Concussed, he was concussed. Shit. This was bad.
"Oh god oh god oh god." That was the high pitched voice of the young hero. "Oh god, are you okay? I didn't mean to hit that hard -- oh no oh no --"
Morgan tried to answer, but his tongue was thick in his mouth.
"Step aside."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt him that bad --"
"It's okay, Julie. Step aside and let me take a look."
Morgan would know that voice anytime, anywhere, the smooth and confident voice of his nemesis, the city's most beloved superhero. Powerful, upstanding, and disgustingly rules-abiding. Morgan hated him. Hated that he had so much power and had the luxury of helping people with it.
"Morgan, speak to me," said Arthur. "Stay awake. Talk to me. How bad is it?"
Arthur's sickening face swam into view before Morgan's eyes. Fuck, this was really bad. He tried hard to focus. He had to slip away, couldn't let himself be captured. Salcedo would be furious. He'd hurt Morgan so much worse than he'd already been hurt.
"Let me go," Morgan managed, but it sounded weak and pathetic.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Morgan. You're severely injured. I'm going to get you medical attention."
Morgan tried to shake his head no, but all it did was make him twice as dizzy. He felt on the verge of passing out.
"Stay awake, Morgan, please, keep those eyes open. Can you see my fingers? How many fingers am I holding up?"
The fingers were nothing more than an indistinct blur. Morgan couldn't answer. All he could think of was his boss's unquenchable rage when he learned Morgan had fucked up so badly. He could feel it now, power suppressants strapped to each of his limbs, the way the smooth metallic floor of the lair felt against his face as his boss mercilessly beat him for his failures.
"Get up, Morgan," said the cruel voice of Salcedo, delivering a kick to his ribs. "Get the fuck up. I don't pay you to cower on the floor." 
"I -- I can't --"
"Yes, you can, Morgan. You can keep your eyes open," said a much gentler voice. "You can stay awake for me, please, stay awake. The medic is almost here."
It sounded nice. The voice was familiar. He felt himself nodding. A medic. That sounded good. 
"That's good, Morgan. Stay awake. Just a little more." 
His head felt heavy, his eyes strangely drowsy. He wouldn't mind going to sleep, but the voice was telling him to stay awake, echoing inside his head. Stay awake, stay awake.
A strong hand squeezed his, warm and comforting. Everything hurt except for that. He tried to squeeze back.
"Yes, that's good. I'm here. You're gonna be okay, Morgan, we're gonna keep you safe."
Safe. What the fuck was safe? When had he ever been safe? Safety was for people like -- like -- His sluggish mind placed the voice and face --  Toshiro. His nemesis' crafty sidekick -- Fuck. He instinctively backed away. 
"No, no, it's okay! Just try to relax. I'm not going to hurt you."
"No -- no --" If the punishment Morgan boss doled out was bad, he couldn't imagine what the hero team might do to him. He'd been a thorn in Arthur and Toshiro's side for years.
"The medic's here, Morgan. Just try to stay calm. I've got you."
Before he could protest further, Morgan felt arms picking him up and laying him down on a gurney. His struggle against them was fruitless, his limbs weak and uncoordinated. 
"Should we strap him down?" said a voice.
"I think you'd better. He doesn't seem to be all there. And even if he was..."
"Please -- don't --" said Morgan, too quiet for anyone to even hear, as he felt pressure against his chest and legs, holding him down. 
"The concussion seems to be very serious, and there are multiple fractures at a minimum, not to mention the possibility of organ damage and internal bleeding," said a serious voice. "We'll have to administer painkillers and sedatives, and prepare an OR for emergency surgery."
"No!" Morgan called out, a surge of adrenaline giving him the strength to fight. "You can't -- you can't capture me -- don't drug me -- let me go!"
Arthur's firm hands pinned Morgan's shoulders to the gurney. "You're going to hurt yourself, Morgan. We're getting you medical attention. We're not going to hurt you, I swear it."
Incoherent nightmares filled Morgan's foggy mind. "Yes, you are! Yes, you --"
His voice was suddenly muffled by a black rubber mask, and he gulped down a chemical-smelling, drug-laden breath before he realized it. He fell back against the gurney, his head much woozier and dizzier than it had been even a moment before.
"Just try to relax, Morgan," said Toshiro. "It's just going to ease your pain and make you drowsy, okay?"
Morgan shook his head in a vain attempt to get the mask off his face, but Arthur's hand was holding it firm. Incapacitating him. Placing Morgan at the mercy of the man who must hate him more than anyone. And his struggles were useless, the mask not budging an inch. 
Exhausted by his attempts, Morgan stopped struggling for a moment and allowed Arthur's face to come into focus. He didn't look angry. He looked... sad? Morgan blinked, and he realized that his eyelids were so heavy. The sedative was kicking in. He was utterly helpless. And he should be terrified of that, but his fear was starting to feel foggy and far away, almost as if he was watching himself from a distance.
"That's good, Morgan, you're doing okay. Just keep breathing," said Arthur.
He sounded so... reassuring. Morgan wondered briefly if that was how he sounded when he rescued civilians. Sometimes, on particularly bad nights, he wondered how that would feel. Being rescued. Being safe.
"You can shut your eyes now," said Arthur. "You can go to sleep if you're tired. It's okay. You're safe."
Morgan wanted to laugh. He never got to sleep just because he was tired. He was so, so tired, all of the time. And he was so impossibly, incredibly tired now. His knee hurt, his back hurt, his head felt like it was being jackhammered. His heavy eyes wanted so badly to close and stay shut. He just wanted to sleep. But he was in danger, wasn't he? He couldn't sleep here. Boss would kill him. He couldn't... sleep...
"...stronger sedative to put him under..." a voice was saying. 
There was the unmistakable feeling of a cold needle in the crook of his elbow. Morgan wanted to fight it, stop it from happening, but all he could do was blink his heavy eyelids. "Don't..." he muttered. "Please don't... please..."
"Ssh, Morgan, it's okay, I swear," said Toshiro. "I swear no one here is going to hurt you. You're just going to go to sleep, okay? The drugs are going to make you feel really warm and nice and then you'll go to sleep, and nothing bad is going to happen. I promise."
That strong hand squeezed his again. Morgan felt so safe, so comforted, and he was so sleepy now, so sleepy and relaxed. The world was just a fading blur beyond his half-closed eyelids. He couldn't feel the pain as much any more. All he wanted to do was sleep. He never got to just sleep. Sleep would make him feel so much better.
"It's okay to sleep," said the reassuring blur. "I'll be right here."
Morgan remembered the reason he couldn't go to sleep. "Salcedo...?" he said weakly. "Salcedo is gonna fucking kill me."
"He's not here right now, Morgan. I'm here. And I'll protect you while you sleep. No one is going to hurt you."
This had to be a dream. A dream where he got to sleep and someone was going to protect him from his boss. But he never got nice dreams like that.
"Is it..." His mind was so hazy. He couldn't think of what he was trying to say. "I'm..."
"You're going to sleep, now, Morgan. You need to rest. Go to sleep. Shut your eyes. Rest."
"Mmm." He was too tired to argue. It felt so, so good to close his eyes. He could feel his pain fading as he relaxed onto the gurney.
"...surgery... gonna have to..."
"...can't just let him..."
"...right thing to do."
That was the last thing he heard before the sedatives pulled him down into a dreamless sleep.
Thank you for reading this story of a villain who needs some sleep.
Part Two
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guinevere-if · 11 months
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Demo: TBA
Guinevere is a text-based interactive fiction that draws inspiration from the rich tapestry of Arthurian Legends.
You will play as Guinevere and witness the journey toward gaining power and the struggles to keep your reign secure in a kingdom filled with political intrigue and external threats.
In the future, I plan to make Guinevere gender-selectable, and also make Arthur the opposite gender of the MC. However, for the time being, I would like to keep the story as it is until I can better determine the direction in which the narrative is heading.
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For many years, people believed that dragons were untamable creatures until one man proved them all wrong. Armed with a mighty sword and a formidable dragon by his side, Arthur set out with his army to conquer all of Britain and bring it under his rule. Unfortunately, your kingdom has found itself standing in the way of Arthur's quest for a united Britain.
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Choose Guinevere's gender (Soon!)
Customize your MC’s physical appearance.
Make tough and important decisions that affect you and everyone around you.
Four romances that the story heavily focuses on.
Have a dragon by your side and fight Arthur in the skies!
Form a family.
The fate of the realm rests on a knife's edge - it can either flourish under your leadership or crumble to its ultimate demise.
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"To achieve the greater good, one must first attain the power to make it a reality."
Arthur Pendragon: King of Camelot and the founder of the Round Table Order.
He is a man of few words, with a cold and aloof demeanor that can make him seem unapproachable. He prefers to keep to himself and often retreats into his own world. Despite his reserved nature, he is a strong leader who inspires loyalty and devotion in those around him.
His golden blonde hair and piercing grey eyes add to his air of regal authority and make him a striking figure. Though he may seem distant at times, he has a deep sense of honor and duty, and will stop at nothing to protect his people and his kingdom.
Will you be able to crack his armor and discover what hides beneath?
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"Your ignorance is truly awe-inspiring. I can only hope to one day reach your level of blissful unawareness."
Morgana Le Fay: She is a mysterious and intriguing woman, known for her use of sarcasm to keep others at bay. Her sharp wit and biting comments often serve as a shield, protecting her from anyone getting too close.
Despite her sarcastic demeanor, Morgana is an intelligent and perceptive individual. She has a keen sense of observation and is quick to pick up on the nuances of the people around her. Her green eyes are piercing and seem to see right through anyone who tries to deceive her.
Morgana's inky black hair is often styled in loose waves that frame her pale skin. She has an ethereal beauty that can be both captivating and intimidating. Her presence commands attention, and it's clear that she is not someone to be trifled with.
She's been hurt in the past and is hesitant to let anyone get too close to her. But for those who are willing to take the time to get to know her, Morgana can be a true and loyal friend or even something more.
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"When the going gets tough, the tough get going. I don't know what that means, but I, Sir Lancelot du Lac, never back down from a challenge."
Sir Lancelot du Lac: A knight is known for his charm, boldness, and impulsive nature. He has a reputation for being a ladies' man, with many admirers who swoon at his feet. Standing tall with a strong build and chiseled jaw, he is a man who commands attention wherever he goes. His dark brown hair and deep blue eyes add to his allure, making him a true heartthrob among the ladies.
Sir Lancelot is a skilled and dedicated knight who takes his duties seriously. He is fiercely loyal to his king and the Round Table and will stop at nothing to protect the people he cares about. His impulsive nature can sometimes get him into trouble, but his quick thinking and bravery always manage to save the day. His bravery and courage have earned him respect among many.
Before meeting you, he never found duty to be burdensome. Now he feels it weight more pressing every day.
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"I hate you with every fiber of my being, but I can't seem to shake the strange pull you have on me."
Hey, just so you know, you could totally have a poly thing with both her and Arthur. Just throwing it out there. 🙈
Argante: Merlin's daughter and Arthur's childhood friend.
Argante is a complex and intriguing woman, born of the union between a fae and a half-human, she possesses unique abilities that she often uses to aid Arthur on his various journeys and battles. Her loyalty to Arthur is unwavering, and she is always ready to lend her formidable powers to his cause.
Despite her fierce loyalty, Argante can be possessive and quick to anger. Her emotions often run high, and she is not one to back down from a challenge. The complete opposite of her father, Merlin.
Argante's appearance is just as striking as her personality. Her snowy white hair and purple eyes create an otherworldly picture, the very air shimmering around her presence adding to the mirage. It's no wonder that many are drawn to her, be it out of fear or admiration.
Argante despises you with a fiery passion that burns deep through her every time she catches a glimpse of your face. In her eyes, you are the thief who stole the man of her dreams - the one she had loved for years.
And yet… there is another side to her that sometimes emerges whenever she catches glimpses of you. This side of her seems to yearn for your attention and affection, creating a peculiar dichotomy that is difficult to comprehend.
If you could somehow break through the wall of anger and resentment that Argante has built, and show her that you are not the enemy, there might be a chance to win her over. You might even be able to establish a relationship with both her and Arthur.
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ivorydice · 15 days
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Last sentence tag game
RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.
I was tagged by @omgfloofy for this a little while ago, thank you!! (I also made a new post because that other one was getting a bit too long lmao)
“Besides,” Arthur waved his hand dismissively, “as shocking as it may seem, Merlin does have his uses.”
Alas, I can't think of 17 people to tag lmaooo, but I'm gonna no-pressure tag: @wrencatte @kaelinaloveslomaris @zanarkandfayth @quartzguts @amiyade @r3zuri @raftersomefood @avianscribe and anyone else who wants to do it *bonk* you're tagged.
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klbwriting · 2 months
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Surface Tension
Chapter 8: Shot at the Night
Fandom: Aquaman
Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader
Warnings: none
Summary: Orm can't do much to help Y/N but he does find someone who can
Note: song is 'Shot at the Night' by the Killers
Taglist: @hyperagitatedcydonian13 @gabrieleskywalker @philiasoul @duchcess
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We’re breaking all the rules To find that our home Has long been outgrown Throw me a lifeline Cause honey I’ve got nothing to lose Once in a lifetime
“Why did you settle by the ocean if you’re so afraid of water?” Orm asked, sitting on the back porch with Y/N, watching the waves under the moonlight. She was strumming, singing one of her songs. He was starting to recognize them by now and he knew she sang this one because he liked it. She looked at him and shrugged.
“I used to love the water, felt free and happy in it,” she said. “I told you I was accused of something that I didn’t do. I do bare some responsibility for it though, even though it was an accident. Ever since then, I don’t want to go back into the water, but I can’t let myself forget that day. Part of me wonders if it was my fault.” She stopped strumming and set the guitar aside, wrapping a blanket around herself.
“Did you want someone to get hurt?” he asked. She shook her head. “Not your fault, you shouldn’t stay here feeling guilty. What I did…I wanted to hurt people, all of the pain I caused was because I was angry. You didn’t have that malice.” He looked at the water before looking down at his hands. She reached out and put her hand on his arm, instantly calming him.
“Do you remember feeling like that?” she asked. “Do you ever feel like that now?” He shook his head. “Have you tried to make things right?”
“Yes, I’m trying,” he whispered. She smiled at him and squeezed his arm.
“You’ll get there, let the guilt go, but keep becoming better. I’ll help you, we are better together,” she said.
Orm startled awake, the memory fading from his dream to his waking nightmare. He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, sometime right before dawn. Last he remembered his mother and Arthur were still there making plans on finding some kind of proof of who tried to kill Orm. The footage was enough to clear Y/N of active treason, but she still could be held for conspiracy. Conspiracy to commit treason was a capital offense in Atlantis and she could still be executed if they didn’t find and get a confession from the culprit.
He was alone now with a note from Arthur that they had left to find proof in Atlantis. Arthur planned to talk to Hendrix and Atlanna was going to talk to Y/N. Orm went over to Y/N’s place. He hated to invade her privacy but maybe she had something. He started searching, trying to ignore that her bed was still unmade from where they had been together, her same clothes from her birthday on the floor around it.
“There has to be something,” he muttered to himself as he went through her closet. He moved some boxes out of the bottom and saw a small door, probably another small storage area behind the wall. He was able to pry it open and inside was a bag. He pulled it out and sat on the floor, looking through it slowly. He pulled out the mosaic of her and her father. It was cheap but well made, a product of the lower city where technology to film wasn’t as widely available. He set it aside carefully. Next came out a flyer for Atlantis for All, listing their goals as equal status, better living conditions, and fairness in the workforce. Orm remembered his father telling him that all those below the nobility were lazy, they just wanted people to hand them money and food without doing anything for it. At the time he had agreed, but this notice listed things that anyone would need to survive and thrive, which is what he thought his father wanted for all Atlantians. He set it aside also and pulled out a stack of papers. This was what he needed, letters to and from different people in AfA.
I work from morning until night, I never see my family, yet they still starve…
My mother died because we couldn’t get her a proper doctor, the nobility never have to worry…
My father died of the sickness King Orvax released when I was a child. King Orvax made me an orphan…
We can fix this. There is a way. King Orm’s coronation is on the first day of the Great Migration…
Here is what he needed. He read through the letter, it laid out a plan to protest, nothing else. They were to have Y/N sing, and Hendrix volunteered to bring the cracker. This was almost enough, but Orm needed something else. Aria was mentioned as one of the leaders of the group. He had to find her; she might have more proof.
Orm wasn’t sure where else to go so he went to the café. It was empty except for Y/N’s friends when he arrived. They were all glaring at him. When he walked in Dean came up and punched him in the face. It didn’t hurt, but Orm wasn’t expecting it and stumbled back a step. Dean was shaking his hand, wincing. He had probably broken a couple fingers. Aria pushed past him.
“Get out tyrant,” she demanded. Orm stood his ground. “We know you did something to her, no one can find her.”
“I didn’t do anything, but Hendrix took her back to Atlantis to face trial for treason,” he said. Aria froze.
“You’re lying, you gave her up,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.
“If I gave her up I would be on my way to trial too. I’m a fugitive just as much as the two of you,” he said. “We need proof that Hendrix was the one who tried to kill me. I found a letter in her things with the plan for the coronation day, it says Hendrix was to get the cracker, but we need more than that, anything that makes it sound like he alone planned the attempt.” Aria was breathing deep, trying to remain calm.
“How do we know you won’t just take the evidence and destroy it?” Vincent called out. “What if you want to use her to get yourself pardoned?” Orm didn’t have time for this bullshit.
“Because I love her!” he yelled. “Because she is everything to me and I won’t stand by while they execute her. I can’t go back, no one will believe me if I say she is innocent, I’ll just get thrown in a cell next to her, but my brother is king. If I am able to get proof to him he can set this right.”
Aria watched his speech and nodded before motioning for him to come with her. She lived only a few houses down from the café and she also had a bag full of letters. She kept meticulous records and correspondence, including from Hendrix. Hours later she jumped up.
“I found something,” she said, setting the letter down in front of Orm at her kitchen table. By then everyone had joined them, watching. “This is from Hendrix, the day before the coronation. I think I received it by mistake. I never read it because well, I hated Hendrix and anything he had to say was worthless to me.” She pointed to a spot that clearly incriminated him.
“These people are idiots. They’re going to give me the crown and not even realize it. Tomorrow Orm will be dead and I’ll be king,” Orm read. This was perfect.
“Bless that asshole’s giant ego,” muttered Amanda from the couch. Orm stood and hugged Aria.
“I know you hate me but thank you,” he said. He looked between her and Dean. “I am sorry for the tidal wave, for everything. I was wrong and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it.” He left it at that, hurrying out of the house and calling Arthur to tell him he had proof.
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pherelesytsia · 2 years
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I may forgive him,
Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/Pregnant/Reader
Summary: Finding out Thomas has been secretly seeing Grace, Y/N leaves with Charlie.
Warning: Pregnancy, fear, anxiety, Angst, Fluff,
Word Count: 2.7k      
a/n:. Requests are open.
Part One Part Two Part Four
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Eyes of vigour and the chant of thunder broke the darkness. Hatred swirled, sinister and vicious. The boy folded his hands in front of his chest. The world was motionless. Eyes, otherwise glowing like stars, were as dark as the night reigning beyond the windows. Tears adorned the cheeks, painted in pain, and streamed down the face in torrents.
The youthful glow had died. There was a coldness in his gaze and Thomas rooted into the ground, stood motionless in the middle of the endless corridor, a tunnel whose end was slightly luminous. Gulping, he thought he dreamed. Thomas could not believe his eyes, thought whiskey and rum fooled his senses. A wave of poisoned arrows, dark feathered, pierced through his skin. Hatred and agony clouded his mind. Eyes so similar to his were seething with rage and not even the faint voice, broken like a shield of wood, echoing faintly through the house, could banish dooming clouds announcing a storm.
            "Charlie?" Thomas whispered.
Thomas slowed to a halt, trying to read his son, and realised if Charlie held a gun, he would use it against him without batting an eye, forcing him to his knees and making it impossible to take a step. Wide-legged Charlie stood in the doorway. Thomas took slower and shorter steps and thought he could see the blood pumping through the little boy's body. A faint sparkle of pride filled his pained heart. Thomas had often heard from his brothers how his eyes sparkled, how unreadable the Shelby was if he faced the enemy and Thomas saw exactly what his brothers were always talking about in his gaze.
            "Charlie?" Thomas repeated, snapping the boy out of his thoughts.
Charlie clenched his hands into fists and stood wide-legged, nearly lost balance, trying to take up the whole doorway to forbid his father to get into the bedroom.
            "Go away father, you hurt mum and she is in pain because of you. All because of you, I heard it, Ada and Arthur were talking about it and now mum is going to die because of you." yelled the boy, angered.
Thomas swallowed. His heart ached. He knew pain; it was once his daily companion, a loyal hound, and he remembered the days when he was alone in the shadows shaping into wicked evil faced creatures.
“Go away. You are not my dad anymore. I don’t love you anymore. Go away.” Charlie screamed.
The wave of trillion of arrows pierced the howling wind. Gradually, Thomas walked towards the end of the endless tunnel. He fell like a warrior. Angered, Charlie starred at his father, let him feel the hatred dwelling in the depths of his heart, not regretting his choice of words, would never regret them, hating the man who had dared to find another family.
            A voice shattered into tiny splinters broke through the gloomy mist, tearing the dark curtain like a sword, but no answer came.
Colours faded and winter ruled heartless and merciless. His heart ached and Thomas swallowed noticeably. Slowly he arose and went forward, ignoring the words laced with the darkest of poison, an ancient chant killing witches.
            "Charlie, what are you talking about? I would never hurt your mum. I love you and mummy." Thomas breathed.
His voice broke. He never showed weakness in front of his son, tried to stay strong, but the façade crumbled like an attacked walls of defence in the midst of war, and a lone tear slid down his cheek.
            “You don’t love my sister. You hurt her. I love her. Yes, she is a girl and she will want to play with dumb dolls, yet I love her and I promised mummy I will stay home from kindergarten. I will take care of her. I won´t need your help. You will hurt mummy so go away. We will have a sleepover without you. You are not invited.” Charlie sobbed.
Wider he stood, knowing it must be his father's fault why his mother was in pain and Thomas saw himself, recognised the hateful expression in his gaze and looked down at his son in confusion.
            “Charlie,” he said.
"Yes, you did. You are lying. You met another woman. You can´t do that. I'm not looking for another mum either. I already have one and I know I wouldn't find a better one. You have mum and me and my little sister.” Charlie cried out loud and silenced his father harshly.
Thomas gulped.
“You are married to my mum and you have me. Ada said it too. You don't love mum and there was a doctor, and I wanted to cook tea. I listened, I heard it all. And my mum said you can't lie that lying is bad and you are lying.” Charlie continued without reflecting on his words.
He pressed his lips to a fine line and looked his father without fear.
“You can't go to my mummy. You'll hurt her, and I don't want to see her in pain. She was crying. Mummy never cried because of me." Charlie whispered in pain.
Shaking his head, he brushed the tears away from his cheek.
“I heard everything. I am a big boy. I know where babies come from. And I heard everything. You will not hurt my sister. I have to protect her. Go away, you are not going to mummy.” he continued without fear.
The words echoed loudly through the house and a chant of murmur arose from deep slumber. Tears clouded his eyes.
"Charlie, believe me, I would never hurt your mum. And if I promise I won't hurt her, will you allow me to see her? I have to talk to her. Please. Thank you for taking care of mummy, I'm sure you took good care of her, but I have to see her." said Thomas.
His voice was breaking, shattered into tiny splinters. Remorse welled up in his heart. Carefully, Charlie scrutinised his father and pressed his lips to a fine line.
"I don't know. You will hurt my sister and I have to protect her." Charlie said with uncertainty in his voice.
Lovely words destroyed the last wall. Eye grew in horror and words escaped. Forcing a smile Y/N clawed her fingers into the frame of the door, unable to stand on her feet, could no longer listen to the words of mind dulling anger. A soft gasp escaped Y/N, searching for support and pairs of eyes shot open and before Charlie realised what had happened Y/N was in the arms of the man he had tried to banish from the house with harsh words.
His heart was in broken pieces. Her eyes were lifeless, yet they twinkled like fading stars on the horizon. Her shaking fingers slid over the unmade hair of Charlie, crying softly, having heard the words about his father he could no longer forget and clung to the long nightgown.
Nauseated, Y/N couldn’t stay strong and dropped into his arms, resting her aching head on his chest and closed her eyes for a moment, and a faint smile graced her lips as no feminine scent lingered on his clothes. A soft wheeze escaped her and immediately he embraced her body. Thomas tried to stay strong but the last wall of defence grumbled as he witnessed the exhaustion veiling his wife's eyes for more than ten years. He gazed from his wife to his son, clawing his fingers into the long nightgown, and soft soothing words escaped him in hope to heal the wounds he had caused.
            "Charlie, could you make mum some tea, please? I'm sure it will do her good. I'll take care of her. You don’t need to fear and if you need any help, then Arthur or Ada will be happy to help." Thomas said.
            “No. I not leaving mum and my sister.” Charlie interrupted his father rudely. “You can be glad I allowed you to hug mum.” he continued in a sharp tone, sounded bolder than a man of many glasses.
A faint whisper arose and again the hatred and anger faded away.
            “I don´t know if I can trust you.” Charlie breathed.
Thoughtfully, the boy looked at his mother and waited for an answer, wanting to know if he was allowed to go or if he should stay and Charlie was ready to stand between his father and mother, would protect her even if harsh words were spoken.
            "Please go, Charlie. The tea you made was the best I have ever tasted in my life. Nothing can happen to me. Your father would never hurt me." Y/N breathed weakly.
            “He has hurt you, mum.”, “Yet I love him, Charlie. I know your father for a long time. Arthur called your father, and he came to help me. He feared for my health.” Y/N whispered.
Weakly, Y/N smiled, feeling his fingers slowly letting go of the long material of the flowing dress.
            “Promise me, dad you will not make mummy cry. You have to swear,” he said in a stern tone, commanding like a king.
The features softened and the dooming clouds announcing a night full of terror were carried away.
            “I promise Charlie. I will help mummy; you don’t have to fear.” Thomas assured softly.
            “I trust you and you have to say sorry to my little sister, you made her cry too.”, “I will, Charlie. I will.” Thomas answered, barely audible.
Slowly, Charlie walked away, turning over and over as he did so. Footsteps echoed loudly through the house. Charlie wiped the tears from his cheeks and fixed his eyes over his shoulders as he rushed in great haste along the long corridor.
No sound crossed her lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck. Her feet swung, no longer touching the cold floor. As if she weighed nothing, Thomas carried his wife back into the bedroom they shared, straight towards the unmade bed, and Thomas realised Y/N had slept on his side of the bed. Loving words lessening the pain escaped the man in the dark suit, moved closer to the bed and Thomas lowered her slowly as if he feared his wife would shatter like glass if he wasn't careful enough. The soft gasp escaping Y/N caused his heart to ache in pain. Smiling faintly, he covered her with the blanket but did not dare sit down on the edge of the bed nor to lie down by her side. He clenched his fingers into fists, saw what he had caused as his eyes fell upon the empty suitcase.
Y/N placed her hands on her stomach in a protective gesture. Widened eyes gazed at the pregnant woman and she let him know she was fine.
            "I would never dare to betray you.", "You didn't wear your ring." Y/N breathed.
She wanted to believe him, tried to, but her mind told her a different story.
            "I lost it. You know I never take it off, never in the past ten years, nearly eleven." Thomas explained.
He bit his lower lip, not wanting to continue. He wondered why she was still in the house they called home and he swallowed, realising he was certainly not the reason she had stayed.
            "I will not force you to stay, Thomas. I can leave, you only have to tell me. If you want to leave and start a new life with Grace, then I won't stand in your way but I want you to know that even if you don't want a divorce to ruin your image, I will take the children with me." Y/N said, unable to face her husband.
His lips no longer touched and his striking features paled and aged.
            "I didn't cheat on you Y/N. I saw Grace twice.", "You supposedly hugged her and you went to a restaurant." Y/N continued.
"Yes.", "So you admit you saw her, your old flame." Y/N breathed.
            "I did, this woman contacted me for almost three months. She called me every hour, twenty times a day. I ignored her, and she contacted a friend, a businessman. I thought it was going to be a meeting. My love, please believe me. I told you about the meeting. You were sick, and I wanted you to come with me, but you couldn’t and Arthur was out of town. When I arrived at the bar, I saw her and before I could do anything she hugged me as if we were old friends," Thomas reported.
Wordlessly, Y/N listened, letting him speak even if the desire welled up to silence him harshly. His right hand twitched, but he did not reach for her hand resting on the barely noticeable bulge.
            "Please believe me. I don't know what you've heard, but I am convinced it was something unpleasant. She knew I would be in London today, how she found out, I don’t know but I confronted her and told her to leave me alone and she informed me she had called you too, that she spoke to you about us, but why should I exchange you for someone like her? I have only seen her twice." Thomas reported.
The words weren’t twisted, and relief spread through her heart. She could read the man like an open book, fear rooted in her heart, but then she saw the tears, the pain and knew her husband wasn't lying, telling her a twisted tale.
            “And you saw her today?”, “Yes, I told her I don’t love her, that I have a family, a wife I have been married to for almost eleven years," Thomas said.
Agony veiled his striking features.
"I didn't look at her the way I look at you. The day I fell in love with you I forgot about her. I know she must have told you a lot of things and that you read all those letters, but you are the only woman I have slept with, the only woman I carry in my heart." Thomas confessed boldly.  
Y/N lost herself in his eyes of blue, unable to tear her glance away from him.
            "You, Charlie, all of you are my family, something Grace can never give me." Thomas continued.
Hearts called out. Slowly Thomas slid closer to his wife, found strength and clasped carefully her hand, squeezed it gently.
            "Why would I leave my family for a woman like her? She left me when I needed someone and you were there. You were by my side. I have everything I need. I have you and our beautiful children." he breathed.
The words healed her heart and tears veiled her vision.
"I think it's going to be a girl. I hope you don't mind.” she whispered weakly.
His eyes sparkled and he knew she trusted his words.
            "Next week I'd like to go into town to buy a pram," Y/N said.
Colour returned and a slight smile spread on his lips kneeling beside the bed and Y/N saw it immediately, knew he had understood the message. Y/N guided his palm nearer to her and placed his hand on her stomach. A tear danced across his features. Thomas felt nothing, no movement, but proudness flowed in every fibre of his body.
            "You'll stay?", "I trust you, Tommy." Y/N answered.
His eyes sparkled in screaming colours.
            "May I kiss you?", "You are my husband, Tommy and the father of our children, the man I trust the most. You don't need to ask for permission." Y/N said with a faint smile.
Slowly, Thomas rose from the cold ground. The bed sagged beneath his weight. The pain ceased. The lovers were lost, and the stars were shining. Slowly, Thomas settled at his wife's side on the bed, wrapping his arm around her body and she lowered her head on his chest. Lips sealed the promise, and the storm passed and the moon glowed in all its beauty.
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helloalycia · 7 months
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the king’s ward [two] // morgana pendragon
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summary: as you continue to hide the truth about your identity, your final round is against the Prince of Camelot himself.
warning/s: mentions of violence, injury and kidnapping.
author's note: so glad you’re all enjoying this one! here’s the second part 🥰
one / three / four / masterlist / wattpad
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The next few fights went about as smoothly as the last one did, but without a doubt I pulled through and eventually made it to the finals. Morgana didn't tell anybody about who I really was, which I was very surprised at, and I toned down my flirting with her massively. Partially for the fact that she now knew it was me, and also because it certainly wasn't impressing Uther. I couldn't risk it, especially if he found out the truth about me.
When I found myself facing off Arthur in the final match of the competition, I was nervous to say the least. Everybody wanted their future king to win, of course, but I only wanted to see if I could beat him. He was the best of the best, but I could be, too. Couldn't I?
After the King made a short speech that essentially hinted at Prince Arthur kicking my butt, the fight began and I was thrown into the deep end. He only fought with a sword, as did I, and we both had many close calls, pinning each other down with ease. This fight was the longest I'd had with anybody, the blonde proving to be quite the challenge. But unlike his other opponents, I was keeping up with his every move.
He was bigger, physically, which made it easier for me to sneak around him, avoiding his sword. When his did clash with mine, he had the upper hand with strength. But it didn't take long for me to use his own strength against him and flip him over me. Before I could make the winning strike, he rolled off the ground and pulled his helmet off, throwing it to the side like it was a mere inconvenience. I swallowed hard, keeping mine on and trying not to let his focused expression deter me.
He stalked toward me, swinging his sword with might and keeping me on my toes. I didn't falter under his constant strikes, but my arms were growing tired with his considerable speed. My only option was to disarm him, and when he least expected it, I managed to flip his sword out of his hand and land it my left one, immediately holding him at the end of my sword. He froze, jaw clenching when he realised I'd got him stuck, and everybody waited for me to make the final strike. After all, there were no rules.
But I was no villain, and I gave him a curt nod before dropping both of my arms, lowering both swords. He pressed his lips together but nodded respectfully, accepting his defeat. The crowd erupted into cheers as I tossed him his sword back, and then I began to smile to myself because I'd done the impossible. I'd beat Arthur Pendragon.
When I turned to see the King's reaction, he did not look impressed in the slightest, still seated and staring at us both with shock. Morgana, on the other hand, was stood up and clapping with amazement, grinning down at me. I waved at her, grateful, and then glanced at Prince Arthur who was now smiling graciously.
"You did good," he said over the noise of the crowd, and then smacked my back with pride, but it was a lot harder than I expected and I tipped forward at the force, my helmet flying off before I could catch it.
I froze, my eyes widened with panic, and the crowd went quiet in unified shock. I feared looking up, but when I did, Arthur was staring at me with a slack jaw.
"You're a girl?!"
I looked up at the King, only to see the pure anger and shock written across his face. I facepalmed mentally, knowing I was screwed.
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Y/B/N and I were kneeling before the King as he yelled at us about how we had made a fool of him, Camelot's traditions and everybody who took part in the completion. I tried to pay attention, but all I could think about was how close I'd gotten to winning. So close, yet so far.
"...and I could have you banished from Camelot forever!" he was saying, pacing back and forth before us.
Arthur was stood behind him, still in disbelief that I'd beaten him, and Morgana was there too, listening to his verdict. Once he'd finished, she suddenly stepped forward.
"My lord, was it really that bad? Maybe Y/N just wanted to compete," she tried to reason with him, but he wasn't hearing it.
"Women can't fight!" he snapped at her, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
"This one can," Arthur mumbled.
I fought a smile from my lips, which Y/B/N detected and nudged me with warning. Uther was glaring down at us both, irrationally angry.
"You," Arthur suddenly said, looking down at me, and I met his gaze. He seemed conflicted. "You're extremely talented. Nobody has ever bested me."
I wasn't sure what to say, so I stayed quiet.
"It's not right what you did," he said thoughtfully, "but it wasn't fair that you couldn't compete in the first place."
"Arthur!" Uther scolded him.
"Father, a win is a win," Arthur said in a pleading tone. "She deserves the prize and the praise!"
"The whole of Camelot cannot see their future king be beat by some– some woman!" Uther said with disgust.
"But I was!" Arthur argued right back, certainly surprising me. "And that's okay!"
"No," Uther muttered, before pacing again. A silence fell upon us as he decided what to do with us. And then he stopped suddenly, beginning to relax. "We will tell everyone you saw her hair before she disarmed you. That you faltered at the deception and couldn't beat a girl. That you let her win."
At this blatant lie and disrespect, I looked up. "But that's not–"
"You can keep the prize money if you keep quiet," he said to me with a scowl. "Fair?"
I blinked, swallowing hard.
"Father, that's an outright lie!" Arthur disagreed before I could answer. "What's the harm if they know the truth?"
Uther glared at him. "I don't expect you to understand." His gaze fell back to me. "So. Do we have a deal?"
I frowned, glancing at Y/B/N. He mirrored my frown, but nodded. I sighed then nodded to Uther.
"Deal," I agreed reluctantly.
Relived that the discussion was over, Uther nodded. "Finally. Good. I tire of this."
Not sparing us another glance, he walked past us and out of the throne room. Arthur sighed and nodded to my brother and I.
"Please, stand," he said. We did, and he continued, "I'm sorry. Y/N, you should've been able to fight as is. It's a shame no one will know the truth of your abilities and talent."
"Maybe you can change that when you become king," I said disappointedly. "For now, this will have to do."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose with discomfort. "You'll both still be attending the banquet this evening. At my invite. It's the least you deserve after winning."
"We'd be honoured, my lord," I said with a nod.
"Great," Arthur said, relieved. "I shall see you tonight then."
We both bowed respectfully before leaving the throne room, following the knights out of the castle. Once we were finally alone, Y/B/N and I embraced with relief.
"I can't believe you beat the bloody prince," he said with a pride-filled smile.
I laughed, the overwhelming joy of it all – winning and somehow getting away with it – getting to me. "I did."
He pulled me into his side as we began to walk through the city. "So, what are you gonna do with the prize money?"
"What are we gonna do with it," I corrected him. "I couldn't have done any of this without you."
"But we were caught," he reminded me.
I shrugged. "Doesn't matter."
He smiled. "Maybe we can buy some clothes for the party tonight. Got to look our best after all, don't we?"
"Not a bad idea, brother, not a bad idea at all."
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Despite Arthur having invited my brother and I to the party this evening, Y/B/N and I still felt a little unwelcome. Word had spread about my deception, including how Arthur had let me win – a story I really hated but knew I couldn't argue – so many eyes were on us when we entered.
"You sure you don't want to leave now?" Y/B/N asked, half joking.
"If I can't get the credit, I can at least enjoy some free food," I retorted, making him smile.
Before we could even think about where to start first, a servant boy approached us with a friendly smile. I recognised him, certain I'd seen him waiting after Arthur throughout the week.
"Y/N, congratulations on your win!" he exclaimed. "Your fighting was just incredible. Not many people can beat Arthur, but you just..." He made a punching gesture with hand, amazed.
"Thank you, but as I'm sure you know, Arthur let me win," I told him, managing not to grimace at the lie.
He snorted as if he didn't believe it. "Right. Well, either way, you're a very talented swordswoman."
I smiled for real, appreciative of his compliment and also the fact that he seemed to believe I'd won by myself and not by Arthur's right.
"Merlin, stop bothering my guests please," Arthur suddenly came out of nowhere, patting the servant boy on the back.
The servant, who I now knew was called Merlin, rolled his eyes playfully before shooting me a final smile and leaving us be
"Y/N, Y/B/N," Arthur said, eyes falling to us. "You both look great. Do enjoy tonight. I've already told my father not to bother you. It's your night as much as anyone else's. Especially mine."
"Thank you, my lord," Y/B/N said, nodding his head, and I nodded, too.
"We appreciate it," I added.
Arthur pursed his lips, staring at me for a moment longer than usual, before mumbling to himself as he walked away, "Beaten by a woman."
My smile grew as I sensed he still wasn't over the defeat. Even if nobody else knew, it was still enough to know I could actually do it.
"C'mon, let's go get a drink," Y/B/N said, already heading towards the table full of drinks.
We both grabbed a goblet each, cheering to my win subtly, before taking a sip. Talking about what we might do next, we almost didn't notice Morgana approaching us.
"Y/B/N, Y/N," she greeted with a warm smile.
"My lady," Y/B/N returned, bowing respectfully, and I followed suit.
"Please, it's really not necessary," Morgana said in jest.
Y/B/N and I exchanged smiles, knowing it was, but we didn't want to offend Morgana and say otherwise.
"I'm going to track down some food," Y/B/N suddenly said, and he shot me a look before leaving Morgana and I alone. I supposed I was grateful he did.
"I never got the chance to say it before," I started, meeting Morgana's gaze, "but thank you for sticking up for me earlier. With the King. You didn't have to."
At the reminder, her smile faded slightly. "I did. I'm just sorry you were caught. You almost had everyone fooled."
I smiled disappointedly. "Yeah, well... Arthur has been too kind, letting me off so easily."
Morgana glanced out at the prince as she spoke, "He has a good heart. Better than his father's." After a moment, she looked back to me with a sad smile. "I'm sorry nobody will know good you really are. It's not fair."
I shrugged, downing the rest of my drink before putting the goblet to the side. "I'll know. That's enough for now. It's all people like me will ever get so... I'll take it."
Her eyes softened. "You deserve more, Y/N."
I didn't know what to say, and stupidly enough, her attention was making me more nervous than usual. I avoided her gaze, hoping my face wasn't turning pink.
"So, what will you and your brother do now?" she asked curiously. "Stay in Camelot perhaps?"
"I would have loved that," I admitted, "but it's probably not for the best. What with the King wanting to kill me and everything."
She rolled her eyes, suppressing the urge to laugh. "A bit dramatic, Y/N."
I tilted my head, quirking an eyebrow. "Is it?"
This time, a laugh escaped her and, gosh, it was quite literally music to my ears.
"You have a pretty laugh," I told her, and this only served to make her hide a shy smile as she looked away. I admired her for one of the last times, before answering her previous question. "Y/B/N and I will figure something out, I'm sure."
"Involving a sword?" she asked playfully.
"No doubt," I agreed. "I love it too much."
She nodded. "Good. A talent like yours deserves to be used."
I exhaled quietly, insides warming at her words. "Thank you, Morgana."
"Where did you learn to fight like you do, may I ask?"
"My father taught Y/B/N and I when we were young," I shared, surprised she'd asked. "We were farmers in our village, but it was raided one day. We had to leave and fighting was all we had afterwards. I took to it better than Y/B/N, but he is plenty good with a sword, too."
"Where are your parents now?" she asked.
"They died in the raid," I said awkwardly, unsure how to say it without sounding like I needed her pity.
Frowning, she shook her head. "I'm sorry to hear that."
I shrugged. "Don't be. It doesn't make me sad to talk about it. Honest."
She looked between my eyes, smiling sympathetically. "I'm sure they'd be very proud of you and how good you are a fighter. Or at least, to know you beat the Prince of Camelot."
I smiled, which soon turned into a laugh when I realised she was trying to lighten the situation. "I hope so."
"It's unfortunate you'll be leaving after tonight," she said with a disappointed sigh, "but I do hope our paths will cross again soon. I was beginning to take a liking to you, Y/N."
My own smile widened, my heart fluttering a little at her words. I bowed once more, saying, "My lady." And when I put out my hand, she gave me hers and I kissed the top of it gently. I looked up and saw she was smiling down at me, green eyes bright and dazzling and making me second guess leaving Camelot.
Suddenly, somebody moved into the side of me, forcing me to drop Morgana's hand and straighten up. I realised it was Y/B/N, looking unimpressed.
"Seriously? In front of everyone?" he muttered, referring to my overtly flirtatious behaviour.
I couldn't help but laugh, too overjoyed to care. "Everybody is distracted by the party."
He grumbled to himself before the two of us faced Morgana. She was tempted to laugh at our encounter, but hid it behind a smile.
"I'll miss the both of you," she admitted, looking between us. "Good luck with what's next. And enjoy tonight."
Y/B/N nodded, smiling appreciatively, and I let my eyes linger on hers for as long as she'd let me. As she turned and walked away, I watched after her dreamily, wanting so badly to grab her hand and whisk her away.
"I wish I could ask her to dance," I said with a sigh.
"You're so stupid," Y/B/N said, used to my behaviour when I was like this.
I grinned, looking at Morgana once more before letting Y/B/N drag me away to find some food. I was certain I'd never forget her, no matter where I ended up.
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6 months later...
"We seriously need to invest in a good horse," I complained to Y/B/N as we trekked through the forest. "My feet are giving out on me."
"All you do is complain," he said disapprovingly. "The exercise is good for us!"
I rolled my eyes, adjusting the cotton mask tied around my head and covering my nose and mouth. "Tell that to my swollen feet, mate."
He chuckled beside me, his eyes creasing over his mask, the only indication in addition to his obnoxious laugh that he was amused. "I promise that I'll pay extra for a nice hot bath at the next town so you can soak your feet. Sound good?"
I grumbled to myself as I used my sword to cut away at an annoying branch. "You better bloody do. I'm too young to be limping like I–"
"Shut up!" he whispered suddenly, cutting me off.
I fell quiet, detecting the seriousness in his voice, and my ears perked up to hear what he had. There were male voices in the distance, too far for us to make out specifics. I kept my sword in hand as Y/B/N unsheathed his quietly, exchanging looks.
"Could be bandits," he muttered with caution.
"We'll avoid that way then," I told him, sticking to our usual plan.
He nodded in agreement. "There's a way that leads around the stream and will–"
But he was cut off by a short girlish scream, followed by grunting and laughter. My expression hardened when I realised the bandits must have taken someone, an innocent woman no doubt. We couldn't leave her to fend for herself, and as soon as my gaze met Y/B/N's, he was already nodding in agreement.
"You got your knives?" he asked, looking as peeved as I did.
"Uh-huh. Let's go teach these arseholes a lesson."
The two of us moved quickly and quietly, having moved around in these woods for long enough to know how to keep silent and blend in with our surroundings. The bandits' voices grew louder as we approached and we realised it was a small camp. There were a few tents set up, a campfire in the middle and half a dozen or so men hanging about, either sharpening their swords or having a quick drink.
Y/B/N and I waited, eyes taking in the scene to see what we were dealing with. Seven men were present, with three standing on the outskirts and keeping guard and the rest milling around the camp. I scoured the campsite for any sign of a woman, certain I'd heard one, and that's when my eyes widened at a familiar sight.
Y/B/N grabbed my arm, signalling that he could see her too. It was the Lady Morgana and her handmaiden, the two of them bound with rope and sat back to back on the ground. Their clothes were dirty and raggedy, like they'd put up a fight, and there was a single bandit circling them like a predator does with its prey. His sickening smile put them at unease and I so desperately wanted to slice him to pieces there and then, but we had to be tactical.
Tugging me back, Y/B/N motioned for me to follow him. We backtracked, a fair distance away so that we could coordinate quickly.
"How did they get here?" he asked what I was thinking, before shaking his head. "Never mind. We need to get them out of here. If they've managed to kidnap the King's ward and have set up camp, that means they're making a trade."
"I know," I said with discomfort. "We can make this quick and there'll be nobody left. No trade."
He nodded in agreement. "Okay, so this is what we're gonna do..."
After discussing a quick plan, Y/B/N and I split up to circle the camp on different sides. He was dealing with the bandit guarding one side, whilst I dealt with the other two. Thankfully, we didn't have to get close just yet as we had throwing knives. All I had to do was line up my shot and...
His body hit the ground like a sack of potatoes and I immediately moved onto the next guard. This one was trickier considering he wouldn't stand still, constantly pacing. I almost had my throw perfected when there was a shout on the other side and both the bandit and I turned to see what it was.
"We're under attack, you idiot, help!" one of the bandits called to my target, and I groaned inwardly, knowing Y/B/N had been unfortunately noticed.
Running forward, I was able to take one bandit by surprise as the six others tried to circle Y/B/N. I stabbed one with ease before they began to realise there was two of us, and then I was suddenly fighting three bandits at once. The past six months of taking up odd jobs, plus years of training with a sword, put me at an advantage and I was able to move around without faltering once. In under a minute, all three of them were either dead or bleeding out. Y/B/N had managed the same and we both let out a deep breath, lowering our swords.
The muffled screaming from my left made me turn to see Morgana and her handmaiden, Gwen, staring at us with wide, terrified eyes. They were scrambling backwards on the ground, still sat down and tied back to back, and I tried to step forward to untie them, but they weren't having it.
"It's okay, we're not going to hurt you," Y/B/N said calmly, bending down to pull the pieces of cloth from their mouths. "Just let us–"
"Stay away from us!" Morgana yelled, teary eyed and protective of her handmaiden. "Don't touch us!"
I wondered why she was so scared, and then realised she'd just watched Y/B/N and I murder a bunch of bandits and couldn't see who it was.
"Y/B/N, our masks!" I said to him sharply, and his eyebrows raised with realisation before we both pulled them down to our necks. I looked back to Morgana and Gwen, saying, "It's okay, it's just us! It's Y/N!"
Their fear faded instantly, replaced by shock, and thankfully they let me lean down to cut their ropes from their hands. Y/B/N and I helped them to stand, before I looked over them both with concern.
"Are you hurt?" I asked worriedly. "They didn't touch you, did they? We heard a scream."
"They were teasing us, but no, they didn't touch us, thankfully," Gwen answered, wiping at her eyes. "Thank you. Both of you."
"Are you?" Morgana asked, eyes looking me up and down.
"Am I what?"
"Hurt, you idiot," Y/B/N mumbled, and then I widened my eyes.
"Oh, right! No, no I'm fine, don't worry," I assured her, a little embarrassed and flustered from her tense stare, before looking to Gwen. "I don't believe we've officially met. I'm Y/N."
"The one who beat Prince Arthur in the tournament, right?" she asked, recognition flashing across her expression.
I began to grin. "Why yes, that is–"
"Y/N, not the time or place," Y/B/N cut me off with a knowing look.
I sighed, unfortunately knowing he was right, and changed the subject. "Right. We need to get you both out of here. There could be more of them and we don't know who's going to meet them here. It's not safe."
They nodded in agreement, but before I could even think to lead them out of there, Y/B/N suddenly let out a groan and hit the ground. My eyes widened when I saw an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, and both Morgana and Gwen let out a scream, eyes staring ahead. I didn't waste a second as I grabbed my throwing knife and turned around, throwing it in the direction of the arrow. One of the bandits, heavily injured but not quite dead, had retrieved his bow and arrow. Now he was bleeding out from his neck thanks to my great aim.
"Y/B/N," I rushed out, leaning down to see if he was okay, but his injury didn't look great and my heart was beating way too quickly. "Y/B/N, talk to me!"
"I'm okay," he mumbled, voice strained with pain. In an attempt to push himself up, he hit the ground again and let out a sigh.
"Don't move– just– just wait," I told him, needing him to stay still so I could think.
The arrow was only stuck halfway, not too deep, but if I removed it he would bleed out. We had some time, maybe enough to get him back to Camelot with the others. But not long.
"Can you walk?" I asked him, before attempting to help him stand.
Morgana and Gwen helped on his other side, standing him up before he leaned against me for a moment. His face was scrunched with discomfort, but he looked well enough for now.
"If we're gonna go, we need to go now," he said with a nod. "I'm good. Let's go."
I worried, glancing over him, hesitant to get moving like this. He couldn't hold a weapon in this state, and I couldn't protect him and the others.
"Here, lean on me for support," Gwen encouraged, already moving to his uninjured side. Shooting me a look, she said, "I'll help him walk. Let's get out of this horrid place, please."
I nodded in agreement, pulling my mask back over my face. Unsheathing my sword, I motioned for them to stay behind me before leading the way, on high alert as we carefully walked through the forest.
When I was certain we had cleared enough distance between the bandit camp and us, I stopped fretting and began to ease up a little.
"You okay back there, Y/B/N?" I called, glancing over my shoulder.
"Just peachy," he quipped with half a smile.
I returned it, though his clammy, paling skin was worrying me. Trying to distract myself, I faced forward again, though felt Morgan's presence at my side.
"I'm glad to see you again after so long," I said to her with a quiet voice, so the others couldn't hear. "I do wish it were under better circumstances however."
She glanced at me, a small smile on her lips. "Me too. Gwen and I... we're lucky you and your brother were here. We were out riding when the knights watching us were ambushed. Then we were taken and that's when you found us. That was a day ago."
I frowned. "That's horrible. But don't worry, it'll all be okay now. We're gonna make it back to Camelot and you'll be safe again in no time."
"Thank you," she murmured.
"I'm only sorry I don't have a horse and carriage to help ease the journey," I joked, wanting to lighten the mood.
Her smile grew, a genuine, beautiful one that warmed my heart, and gosh, had I missed seeing it all this time.
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rayeee10101 · 7 months
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𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐮 𝐑𝐃𝐑𝟐 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬
(might do another one for the girls in the gang idk and if this doesn't exactly match the characters were going to pretend it does so don't come for me)
Characters ~ Arthur, John, Javier, Dutch, Hosea, Sean, Charles, and Kieran (this is not in order lol)
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Arthur Morgan
Ok, as we said in another post he's definitely a truck driver.
He always has his dog with him no matter where he goes and he most likely has one of those giant bloodhound dogs or a bird dog. Maybe even a stray cat he found in a parking lot, who knows with him?
He probably pulls over on the side of the road to sketch some of the scenery he sees and it most likely causes him to be late to places he needs to be but oh well.
LOVES to put different stickers on his truck and to blow the horn for little kids that wave at him sometimes.
His dog is absolutely spoiled, having a giant bed in the passenger seat and probably over 20+ toys because Arthur can't help himself when he sees new toys or treats.
He's always uploading poorly taken selfies of him and his dog onto facebook (lets be real he's almost 40, he's most def uses facebook)
Dutch Vanderlinde
Let's be real, Dutch owns one of those fake gold shops that try to scam you and sell you fake jewelry, I don't make the rules that's just how it is.
But Dutch is good at his job, even if what he's selling you is fake he'd probably be able to convince you it was real by the end of the conversation.
Takes major pride in his business
Actually makes pretty good money considering he's a good liar lmao.
He def talked John into buying a fake diamond necklace for Abigail, John didn't realize he'd been scammed until Arthur pointed it out lol
Probably would give his S/O fake jewelry from his shop because he is cheap
"It's the thought that counts," he would tell his S/O when they point out that the ring he gave them wasn't real.
Somehow has managed to avoid countless law suits, no one really knows how though
He probably uses his shop as a cover up for money laundering ngl
Hosea Matthews
This ones difficult
lowkey feel like he'd work in a bank
Doesn't question where the large sums of money Dutch deposits comes from because he doesn't want to know lol
Has a picture of John and Arthur hanging up in his office
always having to lecture John on not falling for internet scams because this is like the 5th time he's had to freeze his bank account for fraud.
Always turning Dutch away because he tries to take out loans for stupid things that he doesn't need
Has to help John get back the money Dutch scammed from him ofc
Hosea likes his job though, it pays well and he gets his own office so what is there to complain about? 
John Marston
I wanna say he works in a zoo and has to deal without wolves just to be funny but I honestly see him being a mechanic
Always working on Arthur's truck when something happens to it.
Likes to teach Jack how to work on cars also, he considers it their "father, son bonding time"
Buys Jack the nicest truck when Jack is old enough to drive.
Has had to fix Sean's car after he drove it into a tree because he thought it was a good idea to drink and drive.
Drives around a classic car that no one else is allowed to touch or he'll have a stroke right there and then.
Everyone in the town comes to him when they need work done on their car, he even opened up his own show eventually
Javier Escuella
Ok, so I see him working as a singer in a bar, like with a cover band or something
he even performs his own songs that he wrote some nights
people love him
he actually has a lot of followers on social media from posting his music and videos of him playing guitar
if him and his s/o have a kid he definitely teaches them how to play guitar from a young age.
writes songs for his s/o
all the guys come and watch him perform some nights when they are all in town at the same time.
makes youtube tutorials on how to play songs on the guitar.
the other guys are convinced that he's going to become famous one day
Charles Smith
I see him working in an animal sanctuary for endangered animals or hurt animals
Definitely becomes best friends with a literal bear and treats it like your everyday normal pet.
Forms strong bonds with every animals he works with, something about his aurora is calming to be around
Doesn't allow John near the wolves when he visits.
Has had to stop Sean from trying to climb into the lion enclosure more times than he can count
He lets Dutch, Arthur, and Kieran come to visit some of the horses he takes care of.
He does volunteer work with animal shelters and other things like that.
Major animal lover in general, probably dog sits Arthur's dog whenever Arthur can't bring him somewhere
Sean Mcguire
This man CANNOT hold a job
Its not that he's lazy (he is) he just gets bored quickly and hops from job to job.
No one actually knows how he affords his apartment, Hosea is convinced he's selling drugs
He usually works in fast food places for a little bit just to make some quick cash.
Has shown up to work drunk a few times ngl
if he has an s/o he probably shows up to their job whenever their working to annoy them
Tried to get hired at a bar but that most definitely didn't last long considering he got plastered on the first night of the job
He probably is selling drugs but I mean, money is money?
Kieran Duffy
We already know the answer to this, he works at a stable
Tried to get a job with Charles but they didn't hire him :(
LOVES working at the stable, he basically gets to play with horses for most of the day
If him and his s/o have a kid he's definitely teaching them how to ride a horse before they can even walk
is always showing his s/o pictures of different horses he gets to work with
probably is in facebook groups for horses
he's a horsegirl
he owns his own horses too and always makes sure they look pristine and perfect
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the-pen-pot · 6 months
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SNEAK PEEK! (Coming.... somewhen?)
Summary: Prince Arthur Pendragon, Captain of the Llamrei, would far rather spend his days patrolling Camelot's waters than assume his place on the throne. Yet when he finds the wreckage of a vast ship and one lone survivor on board, nothing can prepare him for the path his life will lead.
Nor the demands his heart will make.
(A 4k word first chapter to a Merthur age-of-sail fantasy AU, because I'm weak for world-building)
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The waves boomed against the Llamrei's hull: a steady rhythm like the heartbeat of the ocean. The breeze hummed through the rigging, plucking tunes upon the sheets and swelling the sails. Under Arthur's palms, the wheel rested easy, their bearing steady and sure: homeward bound, back to Camelot.
They had been at sea for two long months, patrolling the boundaries of their waters, seeing off pirates and incursions alike. Their hold lay heavy with the loot of those ships who had surrendered their cargo in recompense for trespass. All-in-all, their voyage had been a success.
He knew his men craved solid land, good company and a drink with more flavour than the mead ration or water, but for him there was little joy in his home-coming. More and more, his father expected him to put his sea-faring days behind him and take on the burden of his role as Crown Prince. He thought a kingdom could be ruled from a throne and was content to let others ride the waves.
The thought of that, of land-lock and narrow horizons, made Arthur's breath catch in his throat. He understood his duty, the one he had been born to. He would not shirk it when the time came. He only wished he were free to rule how he wanted, rather than being forced to follow his father's edicts. It was not as if the man had any intention of letting go of his power in the near future. Uther Pendragon would live forever if he could.
'You could always hope for war, Captain.' Leon Delgrace narrowed his eyes against the sun, his hair bleached bright bronze and his face scattered with freckles. 'That would see us back to sea soon enough.'
Arthur huffed. 'And with whom should we fight? Lot, fat and useless to the east, but with more ships to his name than most? Bayard, to the North, who rules his waters with an iron-fist, or Caerleon to the West, who would block trade and starve us rather than raising a finger towards our annihilation?'
'Any one of them would shit themselves to face down Camelot's fleet,' Gwaine said from where he was adjusting one of the sheets, shifting the angle of the sail to better catch the breeze. 'Lot's got more ships, but half of them are in splinters. Bayard's men are in a constant state of revolt against his admirals and Caerleon… All right, Caerleon's a swine who's got every other kingdom by the balls since he's got control of the Strait of Caerdor, but he won't hold it for long. Not against the Wildwash.'
Arthur glanced down at his bosun where he stood on the quarterdeck. Gwaine wasn't wrong. The Albion Sea existed in a constant state of teetering balance. At the moment, there was a reluctant truce, each kingdom too busy dealing with their own strife to turn their mind to war. Still, all it would take was a tiny shift to send it all plunging into calamity.
Caerleon was an obvious target. The other kingdoms looked upon his control of the strait with greed because it meant he could restrict and tax the flow of trade along the Southern Way: a rare safe route of good water. It was a ripple-road that led to the MittelMer, the sea that was encircled by the remnants of the old-lands, where the Romans had once dwelt.
They conveniently forgot, however, that he also bordered on the Wildwash, the vast stretch of open ocean to the west that brimmed with legendary creatures, roaming sorcerers, mad gods and vengeful spirits. The sailors who ventured out into those waters rarely returned, and if they did, they came back changed.
Worse, the denizens of that vast, fathomless ocean – lawless and unruled – were constantly encroaching on the Albion Sea, finding their way past the towering reefs and ocean mountains that had once protected them. They sought the relatively tranquil, warmer waters and the wealth they had brought the Five Kingdoms, and they sowed death and destruction in their wake.
'I do not envy him being so close to the frontier.'
'I fear that, one day, we will hear the news that he is overcome,' Leon admitted, raising his voice to call out an order before resuming a more normal volume. As Quartermaster, he was of almost equivalent rank to Arthur's Captain: his right-hand man and, in the event of a calamity that took Arthur's life, his successor – at least where the Llamrei was concerned. If Arthur died at sea, Camelot would fall to Morgana. Sometimes he was tempted to abdicate and let her have it. He suspected she would do a better job than he.
Except that Uther would never permit it.
'No, we pray Caerleon holds fast against the Wildwash. Let some other political strife call us back to the waves. The goddess knows my father is good at stirring up conflict when it suits. Or even when it does not. We will enjoy our time back in Camelot. I will play the obedient prince, and in a week or two, he will grow bored and we'll be back at sea.'
'Better be,' Gwaine muttered. 'Don't think there's enough beer in all Camelot's taverns to keep me happy on land.'
'Captain!' Elyan's cry was as clear as a sea-bird, carrying with ease. He had a spyglass pressed to his eye. A sextant hung from his belt and one foot was braced on the top of the crow's nest, as if he were about to take flight. Arthur hated it when he did that. A fall from that height, onto deck or into the water's embrace, would be the death of him. If the grief of that did not gut Arthur hollow, then Guinevere's pain at losing her brother surely would.
'What do you see?'
He squinted, noting the way Elyan swayed, a shift of his weight back and forth. He was too high to make out his expression, but that small tell had lost Elyan many a card game. It meant he was uncertain and questioning himself.
'Wreckage, Captain, off our port bow. Sharp turn!'
Arthur picked up the order, calling it out and watching the crew come alive as they set about their duties, tending the yard-arms and spanker as they tacked the Llamrei, altering her course in a stately sweep. The sails slackened as they turned through the eye of the wind before filling anew, the thick cloth swelling as they caught the edge of the breeze.
Almost immediately, Leon gave the order to reef so that they could slow as they approached whatever it was Elyan had seen. They could circle if they had to, scouting the area in large sweeps. Arthur would rather not bring the ship to a full stop until he was sure what they were dealing with.
'Bugger me,' Gwaine breathed as he squinted at the water. His unease was a living thing among the rest of the crew as they took in the flotsam: broken spars and tattered sails like bridal veils upon the waves. It covered a large area, yet it had not dispersed with the currents, and Arthur surrendered the wheel, moving to stand with Gwaine and Leon as they stared.
The Llamrei was a Destrier class, a medium sized warship with good manoeuvrability perfect for patrols and privateering. Whatever had once sailed the waves before them was far bigger, and the possibilities spilled from the lips of the men around him.
'Too much wreckage for even a first-class Charger,' Leon pointed out, speaking of the behemoth four-deck war ships that were the jewels in any kingdom's fleet. They carried more than a hundred cannon each: floating fortresses.
'Not much left that's bigger than that,' Gwaine muttered, folding his arms across his chest and making room for Lancelot. The ship's surgeon's hands were white-knuckled around the rail. Where they saw the carcass of a mighty vessel, Arthur knew that Lancelot would be thinking of the souls lost on board.
Arthur ducked his head in agreement, looking over his shoulder as Elyan's bare feet hit the deck. His quick stride brought him to the rail, and he took up the space to Arthur's left. The only one not with them was Percival, and that was because he would not leave the cannons until he knew he would not be called upon to put them to use. No doubt he was watching out of the hatches as the debris drifted by and the Llamrei continued her steady circling.
'A merchant Draft, maybe?' Elyan sounded doubtful even as he said it. He was fully aware that he was wrong. They knew what this was, but none of them wanted to say it out loud.
This was all that remained of A Stables – a colony ship. They were huge, used for moving large numbers of people: evacuations, refugees – that sort of thing. There weren't many left, any more. One fewer, now. The last resort of the desperate. This was all that was left of the sort of event that went down in the history books.
A Desolation: a wreck that was akin to an extinction. One that wiped out hundreds, if not thousands of lives at once.
Arthur swallowed down the low nausea of heartbreak as he stepped back, calling out commands to bring the Llamrei to a complete stop. Those who were not tending the sails and rudder instead watched the water, searching both the surface and its depths for any dangers.
'Colours!' Someone cried. There was a flurry as they reached for poles to pull the pennant from the sea's clutches. It hung, sodden and torn, squelching as it hit the deck. Immediately, the men got to work unfolding it. They clustered around, Arthur with them, the chill biting at his fingertips as he straightened out the flag.
'It was Lot's,' Leon murmured, indicating the black serpent on the white shield that represented the kingdom of Essetir. 'A long way from home.'
'In Camelot's waters.' Arthur grimaced, a trickle of horror rushing down his spine. This was a political powder-keg, and suddenly their jokes of war seemed like a poor showing. 'If we're not careful, we'll stand accused if its destruction.'
'The Llamrei couldn't take down a Stables alone, even Lot would know that,' Lancelot murmured, shaking his head. He looked as if he had aged five years in moments. 'They're too big. Base crew to manage a ship that size is more than a thousand souls.' He pressed a curled fist over his heart, this thumb pointing up towards his collarbone in a traditional symbol of mourning: a mute plea to whatever gods might lurk beneath the waves to carry them safely into the afterlife.
'Where are the bodies?' Gwaine asked, shifting back to the rail and peering around. 'That many crew, plus whatever refugees and passengers they carried… there should be some afloat. Even if the hull dragged them down as it sank, there should be some trace of 'em.'
Arthur caught the glance Gwaine shot in his direction, one grim and shadowed with fear. It was enough to make him turn his eye back to the water, reading the evidence that wrote itself in the wreckage.
Some bits of wood showed evidence of cannon-fire: round shot, the kind used by raiders. They'd disable the ship, take its cargo grab those they could to sell as slaves and kill any who put up too hard a fight. Raiders were like wolves; they gave chase in packs, and a Stables ship was a gold mine for them – a slow, easy target.
But that didn't answer the question of why it was out at sea in the first place. Many of the colony ships were in dry dock and had been for decades. There had been no conflict or boundary change that would mean people needed to move en-masse. It didn't make any sense. Not unless these people, whoever they were, were chased out of port by some threat – but what?
Arthur sighed, shaking his head. That was the problem with being at sea. As much as he relished the freedom, it left him disconnected from news of the kingdoms. Answers probably awaited him in Camelot, though whether he would wish to hear them was another matter. A Desolation was the kind of thing that would have the Five Kingdoms at each others' throat, eager to place and dodge the blame in equal measure.
'Spread those out to dry,' he ordered, indicating the colours on deck. 'We'll take them back with us as proof. Man the row boats, set up a search.'
'What are we looking for?' Elyan asked, raising his voice to be heard over the cries of the crew carrying out Arthur's orders, reaching for ropes and pulleys as they prepared to winch the twelve-man row boats down towards the surface.
'Survivors.' Lancelot did not sound hopeful, but he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin as he crossed his arms over his chest. 'Bodies, if not. We need to know where these people came from. Their families…'
'People deserve to know what happened.' Arthur rested a hand on Lancelot's shoulder. 'Anything that can tell us what fate had in store for this ship will be of benefit. A figurehead, if we can find it.'
All ships had unique carvings upon their prow, something to mark out their identity so that even the illiterate would know what vessels lay at harbour or had gone to sea. Some were panels with carved symbols, others were creatures, flowers or objects, each with its own significance. The ships of royal houses, like the Llamrei, stood out amidst any fleet thanks to the gold paint that coated their prow and flared back along the hull in sweeps and whorls: a blessing for strong winds and good tides.
The ship that had sunk here had a name, once, Arthur did not wish for it to be forgot – lost to the obscurity of the ocean depths.
'Leon, the helm is yours. Gwaine, you take the other boat. Keep your eyes peeled.'
'Aye aye, Cap'n.'
The boat eased into the waves, the oar tips pressed briefly to the Llamrei's hull to ease them away from her embrace before they set forth. This close to the water's surface, the ocean was a living, breathing thing beneath them. Brine flavoured Arthur's top lip and roughened his hair as the wind caught in the linen of his shirt and plucked at the laces of his collar like an eager lover. On a better day, he would have relished it, but he was too absorbed in the carnage before him.
It was every sailor's nightmare: a risk they all took but prayed to forever avoid. Wrecks were a messy affair, made worse by the voracious hunger of the sea. Within a day, all sign of what had happened here would be scattered, carried off by the currents or pulled beneath the waves. Death, he fancied, rode the breeze here, and he reached into his belt pouch for a gold coin before tossing it overboard: payment for the ferryman.
Behind him, he heard his men do the same, keeping one hand on their oars as they gave up whatever trinkets they may have: copper, silver or stone, it mattered not. None of them would leave a debt standing.
'Captain!' Pellinor's pointing finger thrust out to the east, and Arthur narrowed his eyes against the sun, taking in the section of hull that bobbed like a cork off the starboard bow. It was a fragment not much smaller than the craft in which they currently sat, but that wasn't what mattered. He knew what had caught Pellinor's eye. This debris did not bear the scars of shot that splintered the other pieces of wood he had seen from the Llamrei's deck. Instead, gouges raked the planks, parallel lines that sheared through the wood, exposing the timber beneath.
Arthur swore. Bandits and cannon-fire were one thing, but this?
'Leviathan. Keep a sharp eye.'
'In these waters?' Pellinor's voice was faint, and Arthur could not blame him. Leviathans were meant to make their homes in the Wildwash. They were huge creatures of the deep, bigger than any ship that rode the waves. According to the old salts, those few who had made it back from beyond the western horizon, they came in many shapes, but they were all monstrous in size and temper. They lived only for their hunger and sated it with neither thought nor conscience. There was a bounty, never claimed, for any sailor who could bring back the eye of one such beast.
No one had ever managed it.
'Watch the depths. Hold your tongue.' He could not risk a panic, not among the rowers nor aboard the Llamrei. Yet if there was a Leviathan that had made its home in the Albion Sea, then all Five Kingdoms needed to know of it. It would care not for the boundaries of their realms. If vengeance took its fancy, it would drag down any vessel that crossed its path.
Arthur scanned the water before him, looking for anything moving down in the murk as they rowed, slow and cautious, past the floating piece of hull. A thick silence lay over the men at his back, tar-black and gilded at its edged with the flash of fear, but they were stout souls all, and they did not forget their purpose. Not that their search yielded much to speak of, at least not until the rise and fall of the ocean pushed them closer to the centre of the wreckage, and Owain gave a bellow from the port side.
'Survivor!'
Arthur whipped his head around, scanning the flotsam until he saw it: a flat piece wallowing in the water, threatening to go under with every wave that washed over it. The figure sprawled upon it did not stir, and Arthur wondered if Owain was too optimistic. From here, the man looked dead, pale and limp, yet he had clearly had the strength and savvy to climb atop the makeshift raft. He lay on his back, insensible to the cold water that still threatened, even now, to grasp him in its clutches.
'Haul him in!' Arthur ordered. 'Be quick about it!'
Some of his men reached for hooks and poles while the others tilted the oars, guiding their boat as close as they dared. Arthur lifted a foot onto the boat's side, braced and ready to jump in if it were necessary. Dead or alive, he could not lose this soul to the seas. At least one deserved to be buried with proper rites, if that was all he was good for, and if he yet lived?
Perhaps they'd get their answers after all.
He reached out and down, tangling his fingers in the sodden fabric of the man's tunic the moment he could reach. The others joined him, half the crew shifting to counter-balance the craft as they wrestled with the suck and swell of the tide. Arthur tried to ignore the coldness of the body beneath his touch as they manhandled him into the boat, laying him on the deck as they panted from the effort.
'Back to the Llamrei. Double-time!'
Arthur's fingers pressed to the hollow of the man's jaw as the oars dipped and splashed, his crew grunting as they threw their all into skimming back towards the safety of their Destrier. It took a moment, but at last a flutter of life stirred against his skin, thready and weak, but there all the same. It seemed Owain was right. They did have a survivor after all.
'Hey.' Arthur tapped the man's cheek, noticing his youth: younger than Arthur, if he had to guess, though perhaps only by a year or two. He had the rangy, lanky look of someone who'd lived a life on the uncomfortable cusp of not enough to eat, and the wet fabric of his clothes was simple and home-spun. 'Hey, come on. Open your eyes.'
Those dark lashes didn't so much as flutter, and Arthur whispered a curse as he patted down long limbs, checking for breaks and blood. The sea could batter a person to a pulp in a heartbeat, but there was no trace of harm. Not until he pressed his fingertips to the wet, black hair and drew them away to find a crimson stain. There was an impressive knot there, up high behind his ear. Something must have struck him, though he was otherwise in one piece.
Arthur only hoped it hadn't addled his wits.
The ropes were secured to the prow and stern, the pulleys squeaking their protests as the row boat was winched back up to the main deck. Lancelot was there immediately, thrusting the spyglass back into Elyan's grasp before he reached out, helping Arthur and Pellinor get their human salvage to safety.
He wasted not a moment, checking for a pulse as Arthur had done as others hurried to find a stretcher. Honestly, Arthur thought he was light enough to carry without breaking a sweat, but on a shifting ship it was all too easy to overbalance, and he had no wish to drop the newcomer on his already brutalised head.
'Well?' he demanded.
'Doesn't look too bad,' Lancelot decided. 'Skull seems sound, though he'll probably wake with a nasty headache. He's chilled through though. We'll get him out of these wet clothes and under some blankets, see if he doesn't come back to us before day's end.'
'See it done. Come and get me the moment he wakes.'
'Aye, Captain.'
Arthur stood back, watching Lancelot and Elyan lift the man's lax body onto the stretcher before bearing him away, a strange, still figure amidst the bustle of the Llamrei's crew.
'Your orders, Captain?'
He turned, blinking his way free of his thoughts to stare at Leon. Over on the starboard side, Gwaine's row boat had just settled into its cradle. Their time here was done. The remnants of the ship that had once sliced through the waves had given up all its secrets, and in Arthur's mind, none were so intriguing as the survivor.
Questions itched at him, but they would have to remain unanswered for a while yet. Until he awoke to tell his story, the newcomer would hold his silence, and Arthur would have to bear it as best he could.
'Resume our course for Camelot,' he said at last, tapping his hand on the ship's rail. The ring he wore chimed against the hardwood, and to Arthur's ears at least, it sounded like a death-knell: a final farewell to all who had found their watery grave here. All souls, it seemed, but one.
'Let's go home.'
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Preliminary Round Wave 5:
Sir Arthur (Kirby: Right Back at Ya'!) vs. Glunk (Kirby's Dream Land)
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Wiki/music:
Sir Arthur
Glunk
The winner will be placed in the official bracket! The 5% rule will not be in effect for this round.
67 notes · View notes
trekscribbles · 3 months
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Prompt: Thief
From the Land of Myth Discord Server: One Word Writing Prompt Game
Word prompt provided by BronteHeart
"That boy is a thief!"
The accusation echoed through the courtroom, unchallenged and unanswered. The cook who'd hurled it stood red-faced before the throne, with Merlin looking uncharacteristically meek beside her. He waited with his head bowed, his hands clasped firmly before him, not daring to lift his gaze from his feet. 
Arthur didn't like it. 
"What has the boy stolen?" his father asked, signaling his own servant to bring more wine. He was distracted today, and disinterested in such a petty case. Both boded well for Merlin, as long as the idiot didn't say anything to incriminate himself. 
"Three rabbits," the cook said. "The very best in Camelot, raised by my own hand and intended for the king's table."
"And what proof do you have against Merlin?" Arthur cut in. It was a good moment—his father had turned to have his goblet filled, and he liked it when Arthur took charge of things. 
"He was the only one who had access to their cages after I left last night," the cook said. Her manner was haughty, which would have set Arthur against her even if he hadn't known the accused. She was one of the most important workers in the castle, after all, and Merlin had only been there a few weeks. Uther would have taken her word over Merlin's and been done with it. 
Arthur should have done the same. Instead, he folded his arms and said, "Merlin. Did you steal the rabbits?"
"No, sire."
At least he had the sense to use titles in front of the king. Arthur returned his attention to the cook. "Were his quarters searched?"
The woman hesitated. "Yes, but—"
"And were the rabbits found?"
"No, but—"
"Do you have any idea where Merlin might be keeping them?"
She swallows. "No. But I'm certain he—"
"I'm afraid that, without proof, I cannot issue a punishment." Arthur kept his head turned away from his father, trying not to read into the continued silence from the throne. "Should new evidence be found, I shall reconsider my ruling. Until then, I must dismiss this accusation."
The cook stared at him, but she had more sense than to argue. With a somewhat sullen curtsey, she mumbled an acceptance of his judgement and turned away. 
"You are too lenient," Uther said, and Arthur suppressed a wince. "A night in the stocks would have wrung the confession out of him."
Arthur let his hands fall to his sides. "That was the last case for today. If you do not require my presence here any longer, I am due at the training fields."
His father dismissed him with a wave, and Arthur strode from the room. Merlin, who had stayed where he was in the middle of the room, hurried silently after him. Arthur led the way into the hall, nodding to the guards to close the great doors behind them. 
"Thank you," Merlin said softly, once the guards had shut themselves in the throne room and left him and Arthur in the empty hall. "For believing me, I mean. I wasn't sure you would."
"I don't believe you," Arthur said, crossing his arms again. 
Merlin blinked at him. "But... you—"
"I don't think you stole the rabbits," Arthur said. "But I'm sure you had something to do with it. So go on, out with it. Where are they?"
Arthur expected sheepishness, or possibly guilt. Maybe another attempt at a lie. Instead, Merlin raised his chin and said, "I released them into the forest."
Now it was Arthur's turn to blink. "You..." he said weakly, but was unable to think of anything else to say. "Why?"
Merlin looked away, a petulant expression crossing his face. "You wouldn't understand."
"Merlin."
"They were just... the cook kept saying how she was going to kill them, and they just kept looking at me, and their eyes were so big, and..." He trailed off, still not meeting Arthur's gaze. 
Arthur took a calming breath. "So you released what was meant to be the king's supper because you thought they were too cute to eat?"
There was a pause, and then Merlin made a motion that was half nod and half shrug. 
Arthur wanted to be angry. He wanted to feel the righteous wrath the cook had felt—which his father would have felt, had Merlin confessed before the throne. Instead, he felt a bubble of something light and unfamiliar rising up in his chest, something which may have turned to laughter if he didn't choke it out quickly enough. 
So he twisted the sound that wanted to be a laugh into a cough and started down the hallway. "Fetch my armor," he said, clearing his throat for good measure.
Merlin took an unsteady breath. "You're not going to bring me back to your father?"
"You didn't steal the rabbits," Arthur said. "That's the crime I was asked to judge, and I've given my verdict. There's no use revisiting it now. But Merlin..." He turned to look over his shoulder, taking in Merlin's bright eyes and disbelieving smile. 
"Yes?" he said eagerly. 
Arthur sighed. He had a feeling he was going to regret the inexplicable fondness threatening to attach itself to his new manservant.
"Maybe avoid the rabbit cages from now on."
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brassandblue · 3 months
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Who are your muses best friends?
Arthur's best friends are: @bertievi's George VI; @admiraltyspride's Lord Nelson; @ageofxail's Daniel/America (husband!!!), Noel/England & Royal Navy; my Jack/London; & @xbasilrp's Toni/Spain (spicy boyfriend).
Not quite besties but very close platonically (unless otherwise noted) are @terrorcaptain's Crozier (very father-son tbh); Thera at @therapardalis; Mycroft at @governmentofficial (also husband!); @hope-on-hope-ever's John Franklin (friends/colleagues in general but also estranged father and bastard son in THAT ONE AU); endearingly fond of @imprvdente's Fish; & Pris at @herstoriies
@honorhearted gets an honorable (ha!) mention because of how complicated Ben and Art's relationship is. Arthur admires Ben but also wants to punch him in the nose. Arthur enjoys punching things though, so take that with a whole spoon of salt. He genuinely wants the Americans to win and believes Ben to be a properly good man--part of the reason he razzes Ben like he does is because there's really no other way (in Art's opinion) to try and shake Ben out of seeing the war as a largely black and white problem. He sees a lot of himself in Ben--they are both educated, stubborn, hot-headed, and courageous in stupid ways, and they both have a heart. Arthur doesn't want to see America get its start as a country with all of the kindness burned out of all its founders. They are... complicated.
I don't like to go godmode people, but Art's "default" is that he is besties with Portugal, France, India, U.S. America. However, I handle that on a case-by-case basis because, again, it would be shitty of me to force that decision on other writers.
Goodsir's besties are: The Henry Collins that lives in my head; @tooxldtorememxer's John Irving; @herstoriies' Priscilla (big fat crush on her too tbh!!!!!); @therapardalis; @terrorcaptain; Silna at @tatteredxsails; @bertievi of course; he's also pretty close with @ageofxail's Noel; & @imprvdente's Fish; & he has........ complicated feelings about @honorhearted's Ben.
Thomas Blanky's besties are: @wantsusdead's Francis (I mean we just started threading but LISTEN-); oh also @terrorcaptain's Francis (+ husband); he's also super fond of @admiraltyspride too; can't forget about the Sidebear, thank u @tatteredxsails; & if I get my way he's going to continue to 'Dad' at @imprvdente!!!!!
The Railroad Man has no besties because he's an abject piece of sh oh wow, Moriarty actually!! @multipleoccupancy
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elisysd · 9 months
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Boat - Ed Sheeran
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Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter
The more that I love the less that I feel The times that I jumped never were real
Lyanna had woken at dawn. Like Charles, she had had a bad night. She had spent the hours after the door closed letting the tears flow until she was exhausted. She knew she had been hard on him. But she hadn't been able to stop herself. The Ferrari project seemed incredible and in other circumstances she would have jumped at the chance. But all her fears and doubts had resurfaced at breakneck speed. For a moment, she remembered why she didn't want to get involved with famous people. Her self-confidence was fragile, and a single grain of sand could shake the whole foundation she had built up. She loved Charles but she didn't want to live in his shadow, she didn't want to wonder if she was being offered great things just because she was associated with him. Her career was her baby, her purpose, her escape. A place where she had always felt free and for the first time, it was as if someone had suddenly taken the wind out of her sails.
So she contacted the last person she thought she'd contact one day, who arranged to meet her in a café not far from the station.
“I never expected you would use my phone number.” Told her Charlotte, sipping her cappuccino.
“Yeah, well never did I.” confessed Lyanna. “It’s just… I didn’t know who could understand. Beside Arthur. But I don’t want to put him between his brother and me.”
“You did the right thing. I know what it feels like. I understand you. But… can I be honest?”
“Go on.”
“Charles can be blind, can be stupid, can be too caught up in his little world sometimes, can be stubborn and can be naive but he is also the most loyal person I know. He has your back. He will always have it as long for as you want him. Because that’s how he is.”
“I just don’t want to live in his shadow and spend my time questioning everything.”
“That’s seems to be something that has more to do with you than with him. Listen, I’m going to be frank here. Whenever you’ll go out in Monaco with him, people will look at him and won’t care about you. You will always be his girlfriend. You are going to be seen with him at a GP, you will be talked to as his girlfriend. You attend an event sponsor related; you will be looked upon as his girlfriend. These are facts and you can’t do anything about it. The sooner you accept it, the better it will be for you. But he has no control over it. It’s not his fault. He didn’t dream to be a famous racing driver, he just wanted to drive an F1. Just like you didn’t dream of being a mega famous actress, you just wanted to make art. There are things on which you have control and others you don’t and have to learn how to let go. Of course you are going to have different opportunities now that you are with him. But does it make you less worthy if you take them? I don’t think so. As long as you make your choices with the heart at the right place, I don’t see the problem. You are not using him. He knows that. So chill girl.”
Her conversation with Charlotte had been strangely good for her. She felt calmer. Not more reassured, but at least she felt understood, that what she was feeling was normal and valid. Now it was up to her to decide how she wanted to handle the situation. Was she going to let her head rule her relationship or was she finally going to learn to let her heart do the talking? With her head full of questions, she made a diversion to the port and then to the beach, where she took off her shoes to feel the sand beneath her feet and the gentle crash of the waves tickling her toes.
She eventually returned to the residence with the firm intention of apologising. When she opened the door to the flat and expected to see Charles rushing towards her, she was surprised not to hear so much as a sound that she wondered if he was there. She found him sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee by his side, tapping away on his phone. He saw her out of the corner of his eye but didn't move in her direction. Lyanna approached gently, opening her arms, silently asking for the comforting warmth of Charles's arms, but he remained still.
“You ran away again.”
It was not a question. It was a bitter fact. When she did not react, he continued.
“You promised that you were done with the running away when things get tough.”
“I needed some air. I did not run away.”
“You slept in the guest room because you did not want to face me, Lyanna.”
“I did not sleep well if it can make you feel better.”
“No. It doesn’t. Because you should not have slept there in the first place.”
“We were both angry.”
“We did not have to be.”
She lowered her head in shame before taking her place opposite him. His sea-green gaze locked with hers.
“I love you Lya, but I don’t know how long we can keep going like that. We need to learn how to communicate. You need to let me get through to you. I’m trying to but you are not letting me. We promised to stick to each other during good and bad times but, at the smallest difficulty you panic and you run away. That is not how relationships work. That is not how I want our relationship to work.”
“Are you breaking up with me?”
“Oh my god, Lyanna, no! See, this is what I’m talking about. It’s not because we face hardships that it means that it will be over for us. Communication and trust are what matter the most to me and lately it seemed that we are both failing at that.”
“Most of the time it comes from me… I’m still insecure about so many things. Maybe I should try to contact my therapist and schedule a few session to work on that. It could do no wrong.”
“If you think that it’s something that you need, I won’t stop you.”
“It’s just…” she sighed, trying to find the right words to explain her thoughts. “You know how important my job is, how much it’s a part of me, how hard it has been for me to get back to it after… you know. The last thing I want to feel is what I felt yesterday… To feel like a pawn.”
“I’m not saying that I understand what it feels like. I don’t think I can but, I don’t want to ever feel like I’m an obstacle to your career. I don’t want to be one. And yesterday it felt like that. I didn’t choose to be a public figure, it just happened. We both have very demanding careers, we both made a lot of sacrifices to be where we are at today, but our jobs don’t define us. You are much more than just an actress or my girlfriend and I wish you would see that. I did not fall in love with you because you were Lyanna Michel, we both know that I had not the slightest idea of who you were. I fell in love because you are compassionate, you are kind, you are funny, you are smart, and brave, and driven, and I could continue the list because it’s a long one. I believe in you Lya, and I’m your number one supporter, but I need you to believe in you too.”
Tears streamed down the young woman's face and Charles did his best to resist taking her in his arms. She had to understand. He might have been hard on her, but if this was the wake-up call she needed to move on, then it was the right thing to do.
“I’m sorry I keep letting you down. I’m trying to be enough. I’m trying, really hard.”
“You are enough, Lya. You are putting too much pressure on you. I don’t need you to be perfect, I just need you to be you. A happy you. You are letting me down when you shut me out, not when you doubt yourself or you are getting scared. I wish you would have talked to me about the movie and your fears and concerns. We would have found a solution. Together.”
“Sophia still sent me the script… she won’t tell the production I said no until I’ve read it.”
“And are you going to do it? Read it, I mean.”
“I… think so. You are right, I overreacted and got scared.”
“Okay. I’m glad. I have to leave for a few days to Maranello. Ferrari wants to shoot some things for the social media. It will do us good, I think. We will have time to think things through on our own.  And I was meant to ask, Silvia and the media team want to shoot some things with me here. They want you also in the video… I haven’t said yes to them, I want to know how you feel about it…”
“Maybe that if we do it, they will leave us alone…”
“Only if it makes you comfortable.”
“I’m an actress Charles. I can put on a show if I want to.”
In the end, what was supposed to last a few days turned into a week and a half for Charles. He was dragged back and forth between photoshoots, interviews and shooting stupid challenges with Carlos for Ferrari, clinical tests, and simulator work to make sure he hadn't lost any of his reflexes. In the end, he had very little time for Lyanna. He'd only spoken to her a few times on the phone, but the very few occasions he had, she'd told him that she'd actively taken up the sessions with her therapist, who'd decided to schedule consultations for her twice a week. Charles was pleased to hear her say that this was doing her a lot of good and that she was already seeing progress.
What Lyanna had not mentioned to Charles, however, was that her psychotherapy was not the only thing helping her to move forward. Surprisingly, she had become much closer to Charlotte, to whom she could confide her doubts and anxieties, because the young woman had gone through more or less the same things.
“The only big difference between you and me, is that you already have a successful career and no one can accuse you to use him for fame.”
“People find other things to criticize.”
“As always and there is nothing you can do about it.”
“How did you handle that? The expectations that come with being his girlfriend.”
“As cliché that it is going to sound, by trusting him and our relationship. There is no miracle solution. Our relationship went down because we did not love each other anymore, we were just comfortable with one another at some point but there was no spark. We were making each other content, not happy.”
“That’s another thing that scares me… to wake up one day and just feel that we are not in sync anymore.”
“It will happen eventually, I won’t lie. But if you really love each other and from what I’ve seen it’s the case, then there is nothing you won’t overcome. But you need to communicate Lyanna. I should not be the person you ask these questions. You should talk to Charles about it.”
“I will. My therapist said that it’s better to overshare than keeping things bottled up, even if it’s something that I think is no use.”
Charles returned a few days later. December was already well under way and Lyanna had started thinking about Christmas presents. She loved this time of year. Christmas romances, hot chocolate, silly jumpers, decorations, and festive entertainment. She just thought it was a shame that Monaco wasn't covered in snow. So when Charles pushed open the door to his flat and saw large boxes strewn about the floor with garlands of every colour, and the smell of biscuits coming from the kitchen, surprise and doubt could be read very clearly on his face.
He stepped forward cautiously, avoiding getting his feet caught in anything lying on the floor, and a smile spread across his face when he saw her humming a Christmas carol as she meticulously decorated a tray of biscuits.
“I feel like I'm entering Santa's world.”
“Charles! You are back!” she exclaimed as she was throwing her arms around him.
“I see you kept yourself busy.”
“I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t find any Christmas decorations at your place so I bought some… maybe I went a little overboard. Sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s nice. I never decorate the flat because I’m never here during Christmas but if it made you happy, that is what matters the most. Speaking of Christmas… I gave that some thoughts and was wondering if you would like to spend it with me and my family in the mountains in Italy… that’s where I spend it generally so I can also prepare for the season. I would love to have you there but if you would prefer to spend it with your family I would understand.”
“I… well… I was not expecting you to ask me that. I did not make plans yet, but I guess I could come yeah. I would love to, actually. But in that case, maybe we can spend New Year’s Eve with my family? What do you think? We compromise. This year Christmas with yours and next year at mine?”
“It’s perfect for me.” He said while giving her a light kiss on the forehead. “I like when you talk about the future and I’m included in it.”
“Yeah, me too. It feels nice. I took the time to go through the script and to talk to Sophia about what I feared.”
“Yeah? It’s great, Lya. I’m proud of you.”
“I’m glad I did. Turns out we were both right… They don’t specifically want me because I’m your girlfriend, they wrote the character while having me in their minds which is very flattering. But they don’t hide the fact that since I’m your girlfriend it’s going to give a nice promo to the movie.”
“Okay. And what do you want to do? Are you still hell bent on saying no?”
“I said I was interested. I’m going to do some camera testing in the beginning of January in LA and they are hoping to start filming in late February. And the nice thing is that it will be shot in Italy, in Modena so I won’t be far from Maranello. You are definitely going to see me around.”
========================
author's note: Oh and a wild chapter appears! At least someone put some senses into Lya's head.
As usual, I can't wait to hear your thoughts! Don't forget to leave a comment, a like or a reblog, it is the best way to let an author that you support their works
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touchedbyfire-if · 2 years
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Touched By Fire is an Arthurian Legend inspired IF using CScript.
Genre: Drama, Adventure, Fantasy, Romance, and Action.
Warning(s): This story is rated 18+ for depictions of violence, blood, torture, sexual themes, profanity, alcohol consumption, and death.
DEMO (TBA)
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Magic had been outlawed within England, within Camelot, for as long as you could remember. The Fae— mythical beings that were able to harness the arcane arts— disappearing into parts unknown; only Merlin stayed behind in order to advise the ruling family.
You had never understood why your father was so against magic. Why he seemed so adamant about you never getting your hands on anything regarding the arcane arts. It wasn’t until his death that you finally realized the secrets he had been withholding from you— the truth of your birth and heritage.
That Fae Blood, that magic, coursed through your veins and you had no idea how to stop it from consuming you.
Not without the help of the very people your father had banished from the realm.
Play as a Morgana!MC that comes to terms with everything that had been kept from them their entire life— for reasons that are both noble and not so much. Will you be able to find your roots? Harness the magic that now sings within your veins? Or will everything turn to ash before you ever get the chance?
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Play as Morgan(a) as you try to figure out how to control the powers that have suddenly awaken within you. Will you be able to find the secrets to the past? Discover why your father had keep so many things from you? Or will everything be lost to the passage of time?
Customizable MC: name, nickname, sexuality, appearance, hobbies, and a smattering of other things that will crop up as the story progresses. Play as male or female.
Harness the magic that’s beginning to well within you in whatever form it manifests: battle, healing, alchemy, or the dark arts.
Will your perception of Uther change as you begin to learn more about him? About who he was before events he could have never stopped unfolded before him?
Bond with your older brother— Arthur.
Spend time with the people within Camelot, and the surrounding villages, if you’d wish to get interesting perspectives. Or spend time with the castle hounds and steeds.
Romance 1 of 5 Romantic Options— one being only for Female MCs and one being only for Male MCs.
Will you find your way to the truth? Or will everything turn to ash before you can?
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Lancelot [M] - The Knight
28 [6’3” | Hazel Eyes | Dark Brown Hair]
Arthur’s best friend and loyal right hand. You rarely ever see the two apart, but Lance always made it a point to make sure that you were doing all right. Where Arthur was outgoing and energetic— reminiscent of a few hounds within Camelot— Lancelot was stoic and rarely let his guard down around strangers; he was the grounding anchor that your brother needed. Maybe he’s supposed to be yours to. (Male MCs Only.)
Guinevere [F] - The Queen
26 [5’11” | Crystalline Blue Eyes | Golden White Hair]
There isn’t much to be known about Arthur’s prospective bride— the soon-to-be Queen of England. All that you could have ever possibly learned would never have prepared you for the tidal wave that was Guinevere, however. Compassion and warmth was something she shared with Arthur, but the cold, almost calculating, way she stared at those she perceived as a threat? It just made you glad she was on your side. Will you be able to break down the walls surrounding her heart? (Female MCs Only.)
Joseph/Josephine [M/F] - The Healer
27 [5’4” | Light Brown Eyes | Onyx Black Hair]
The Healer within Camelot wasn’t one to interact with everyone, but they’re gentle nature and compassionate air soothes even the most frightened of souls. They’ve always been willing to lend a listening ear— no matter how busy they might be— as they always make sure you know they’re never too busy for you. Will you be exactly what they need to heal their broken heart?
Isaac/Isolde [M/F] - The Rogue
24 [5’8” | Emerald Green Eyes | Dark Auburn Hair]
With a mischievous air, flirtatious smile, and easygoing approach to life, it was no secret that the spymaster for Arthur was a popular topic of conversation within Camelot. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them with anyone for long— even less so when they’re actually smiling. You’re just fortunate enough to know the person beneath the mask— and thinly veiled advances— as they also happened to be your best friend. Will something more than friendship grow between the two of you?
Caelian/Caelia [M/F] - The Guide
Unknown [6’2” | Violet Eyes | Dark Golden Blonde Hair]
You never anticipated to get the answer to your silent prayers in the form of a rigid, spitfire of a person. Anger was something they seemed to be well versed in as they interact with you— for good reason as they’re part of the very people that your father had banished from the realm; a pure blooded Fae. Will you ever be able to find common ground with them? Or will everything crumble before you ever can?
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kephas-rolling · 10 months
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The first European depictions of Muslim flags as examples of early Orientalism
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I'm currently reading Edward Said's book, Orientalism. Admittedly, a complex read for someone who has no finer academic background in history, literature or sociology. Truth is, some passages fly high above my head
Nevertheless, I keep going. I reached a section in Said's book that really resonated with my interest in flags and shone a new light upon the development of flags and the representation of early Muslim states
A few word on Orientalism
One of Said's main point in his 1978 writings was that Orientalism is a reduction of a greater ensemble. It was - and still is - a digestible representation by the West of the Great Other. It helped Europe make sense of complex geographical, political and religious entities by grouping them in sets and subsets.
Regardless of their relevancy, truthfulness and adequacy, these reductions were a tool to understand, grasp, seize, tame and control these "Barbaric" lands and their cultures.
The height of Orientalism in arts, academia and politics, according to the author, was reached in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Said highlights and analyses the rhetoric of the British dominion in Egypt to justify their presence and mission. He quotes several times Arthur Balfour, a Conservative PM (1902-1905), who believed that British rule in Egypt was justified by the decline of the previous prestigious dynasties, by the "backwardness" of modern Egyptians and by their lack of interest in their own history. All of these ailments that afflicted Egypt, the British Empire could and should heal - so believed Balfour.
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The quest for knowledge of the East acted as the bedrock for Europe's "mission" in the East; these are backward places whose inhabitants have lost their way and only Europeans can access the deeper and older knowledge of their culture, language and society. Europeans could understand the East better than those who live there:
On August 17. 1787, [William Jones] wrote unassumingly to Lord Althorp that "it is my ambition to know India better than any other European ever knew it." Here is where Balfour in 1910 could find the first adumbration of his claim as an Englishman to know the Orient more and better than anyone else. Orientalism (1978:79) - Edward Said
The phrase oft repeated in Game of Thrones; "Knowledge is Power" actively applies to the Orientalist mindset. Not only does knowledge consolidate power, it very much as well allows the knowledge-holder to control that which they study. In other words, when in a situation of cultural dominance, knowledge is enjoying the privilege of controlling the narrative of others.
Knowledge of others - or The Other - turns what is outside of the observer's categories and structures into something that can be understood and stored in these pre-existing boxes.
Early flags of Muslim polities
This phenomenon undoubtedly applied to the first flags of Muslim polities in the Eastern and Southern Mediterranean. Flags have a long and complex history but vexillologists generally agree that the first standards and flags were waved in China and slowly spread westward. These early forms of flags are nowadays called vexilloloids.
Though Europe is one of the earliest places to heavily regulate and standardise the use of flags, their symbolic charge, value and usefulness were inherited from Eastern societies.
While Europe put a lot of emphasis on the correct use of flags - influenced by the heavy heraldic tradition - the eastern Mediterranean polities didn't as much. When Europeans and "Easterners" met, it was predominantly during violent clashes on the battlefield, it was rarely via diplomatic canals. When diplomatic canals actually arose, it was much later, thus the European vision of Muslim imagery had long been cemented.
Paintings recounting the events of such battles required both sides to be easily identifiable with distinctive symbols. While the early Muslim dynasties used solid colours (black, white, red, yellow sometimes accompanied by the inscription "There is only one God and Muhammad is the Messenger of God"), the war banners featured crescents and stars.
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The crescents and stars have a complex history. Though deeply tied to Islam nowadays, its origins and associations with Islam is not as straightforward as it is for the cross and Christians. Sir Hassan Suhrawardy, in a 1941 conference given in Caxton Hall (London) - transcribed in the February 1942 issue of The Islamic Review - explained that the association of the crescent and star with Islam originates from erroneous interpretations by Europeans of Ottoman and Muslim imagery:
When the Ottoman Turkish Sultan, Muhammad the Conqueror, captured Constantinople, the crescent was on his flag, and by confusion of names it became associated with Muhammad the Prophet. Like the Crusaders, the Christians of Europe were misled into a belief that the crescent was the religious symbol of Islam. Whenever a Christian nation conquered a Turkish province, the first thing they did was to replace the crescent by the cross.
While the crescents and stars were interpreted by Europeans as religious symbols equivalent to the Christian cross, culturally, these symbols carried far less religious weight than Westerns thought. It was, according to Sir Hassan Suhrawardy, merely military symbols.
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In the top left corner of the illustration from the 10th century account Tarikhnama, we can indeed see the use of a crescent and star sitting atop a military banner.
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These two pages from the 14th century Castillan Book of knowledge of all the kingdoms, lands, and lordships (English translation from 1912) illustrate 1) the need to convert Islamic symbols into European models 2) Crescents have indeed been associated with Islam for a long time
Acculturation through vexillological change
Michel Pastoureau (1993:102-106) echoes Sir Hassan Suhrawardy's 1941 comment, explaining that as early as the 11th century, Christian Europe inadvertently contributed to the growth in importance of the crescent and stars symbols in Islam. Furthermore, Pastoureau goes into detail about the process of "westernising" Muslim flags:
"Everything is "westernised": Quranic inscriptions are removed, the contours become rectangular (like banners) or scutiform (shaped like coat of arms), figures foreign to the European coat of arms repertoire are replaced by others, and last but not least, the religious and political colours of Islam are reorganised according to the strict rules of western heraldry. As such, red can't be in contact with neither green or black, and has to be separated by white or yellow. Something that is unknown to vexillological practices in Islam."
This process of replacing a culture's symbols by different ones - deemed more appropriate by the dominating party - is a clear example of acculturation. A culture changes - by choice or by force - upon prolonged contact with another. In the case of flags, Muslim vexillological traditions, semiotics and symbolism have been re-imagined by foreign powers and, due to the West cultural and military dominance, reflected this manufactured perception back to the original cultures. This is exemplified in the Ottoman Empire "auto-correction" of their own banners and flags based on European interpretation
Pastoureau adds that the acculturation phenomenon has always been a one-way process; "Europe imposing on Islam - and the rest of the world - its own system of values and symbols." It started with war, then commerce and diplomacy. Europe's cultural dominance led to the re-evaluation of Islamic symbols by Muslim-majority countries
Bearing in mind Edward Said's concept of Orientalism, it becomes more obvious how the modifications brought by Europeans on Muslim flags match this tradition of instrumentalising knowledge of others to fit into one's own pre-existing system of values and symbols.
Sources
Genèse du drapeau. Etats, couleurs et acculturation emblématique autour de la Méditerranée, Michel Pastoureau (1993)
World Religions - Their Contrasts and Resemblances, Sir Hassan Suhrawardy in The Islamic Review (1942)
Orientalism, Edward W. Said (1978)
Flags: Through The Ages And Around The World, Whitney Smith (1975)
Second volume of a Tarikhnama (Book of history) by Bal'ami (died ca. 992-997)
Robert II at the Siege of Antioch, painting by J.J. Dassy, 1850
Book of knowledge of all the kingdoms, lands, and lordships that are in the world, and the arms and devices of each land and lordship, or of the kings and lords who possess them, Markham, Clements R. (Clements Robert), Sir, 1830-1916; Jiménez de la Espada, Marcos, 1831-1898
Fleur des histoires de la terre d'Orient. by Winfrite Hayton (1301-1400)
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cillianscrybaby · 1 year
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Everything is for sale...There is always a price
(A part 2 of a Peaky Blinders fic I've started. If you're a fan of the show you know the themes and violence so that's your WARNING.)
Things changed a bit after Tommy put you to work directly in his home, keeping you more so around his office and bedroom to make sure things are tidy. Barely anyone looked at you and it was rare anyone but Tommy spoke, he had seemed to have gotten used to reading your expressions or gestures so you didn't have to bother with attempting to speak.
Tommy was a mix of both, quiet a lot in his own mind but stern with others along with yelling at times he was angry. You've been observing him as much as he's observed you, a silent agreement that he's never raised his voice or struck you and you listen and keep things tidy. You assumed there was a rule that no one touches you after you knifed one of his men two months ago.
Things might seem good but you didn't forget who's house you're in. Tommy Shelby. Peaky fucking Blinders.
"You keep her around for a fuck now and then, Tom?", Arthur asks, laughing a bit as he downed a glass of whiskey.
"No. No, she keeps the place tidy.", Tommy sighs.
"At least she don't talk or make much noise. Probably fun to have without all the bullshit chatter.", Arthur adds in, refilling his glass.
"She can talk.", Tommy says bluntly.
Author sends a sideways glance, "Oh?"
Tommy nods, content.
Clicking the door open as quietly as you could, you paused slightly at the sight of Tommy and Arthur sitting around Tommy's desk. It wasn't allowed for you to clean when there were meetings and honestly you didn't care for any of the business as long as you knew enough to keep yourself alive.
Tommy waved his fingers at you, signaling it was okay and you gave a small nod, making yourself busy to gather empty glasses that needed washed.
It was silent, only the sounds of them drinking, your steps, and if their eyes watching you could make noise you were sure you could have heard it. Tommy picks up his glass, downing a big gulp of gin before placing it on the table.
"That'll be enough staring, Arthur.", Tommy clears his throat, you didn't even look up as you take the glasses away.
"What's your name?", Arthur asks, your eyes flicking up to him and then Tommy before looking at the glasses you had gathered on the tray.
Tommy drums his fingers on the desk, a light smile on his lips that he hid, it was bold of you to not reply, especially to a Peaky Blinder, although he knew you could handle yourself after you knifed a man for touching you.
Arthur sighs, rubbing his face, as much as the silence was interesting it unnerved him too, not used to a woman not answering him.
"Y/N...", Tommy rasps, "Her name is Y/N."
Again, a sideways glance from Athur, amused that Tommy knows that, "She told you?"
Tommy raises his eyebrows, shaking his head no. Your back was turned to them, tidying up another table in the corner, your own hidden smile on your lips that begins to fade as Tommy contuines speaking.
"I asked her father. I paid him a visit to ask a few questions and her name was one of those questions.", he speaks like you aren't in the room and maybe it bothers you, "Another question was why did he beat her voice out of her."
Maybe you picked up the tray a little too hard, a glass falling over and clinking against another but thankfully it didn't break. You could feel their eyes on you as you were making your way out of the office without being dismissed, again, a bold action but one Tommy let you do. You remember the bruising on Tommy's knuckles after he had been out one day not long after you had started work in his home, he must have went to see your father, you know that now.
Blinking back tears, it ashamed you of what you've dealt with but every day you've tried to convince yourself it made you stronger. How many women would knife a man, right? As your shoes clicked the hardwood floors, taking the tray to the kitchens, a man in a suit almost bumps you as he's wandering the house.
"Excuse me?", he looks down at you, eyes scanning to see that you're a servant. He's not a Peaky Blinder, the hair is all wrong, you can tell, but he wears a fine suit. No doubt someone in business with Tommy.
"I'm looking for Tommy Shelby.", he tells you, his accent thick.
You point him towards the office, walking away.
Alfie Solomons walks himself into Tommy's office, opening the door with the confidence of seeing an old friend and an old enemy that things are familiar with, "Tommy, my boy, you've got nothing but rude staff.", he tuts.
Arthur snickers to himself, getting up to get a fresh glass, "You've met the new staff."
Alfie shifts on his feet before walking himself to sit down where Arthur had been, "I asked a simple question an all she did was point. Didn't even offer a drink."
"You asked a simple question. You get a simple answer.", Tommy shrugs, steepling his fingers.
"Let's just get this fucking meeting over with.", Arthur grunts.
"No. Absolutely not.", Tommy tells him.
Arthur was silent.
Alfie staring back.
"Not for sale. I've made that clear. She's not part of the deal.", Tommy doesn't like repeating himself.
"Everything's for sale. Everything has a price. Isn't that what you always say?", Alfie asks.
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(I'm sorry this was so long. I'm honestly surprised anyone read the first part. So, thank you all.)
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