I fagged out emotionally and bodily

Arthur doesn’t speak for a long time.

Merlin sits across from him, hands trembling in his lap. He watches Arthur carefully— not the way the firelight dances over his features as he normally would, but the slouch of his shoulders and tightness of his jaw.

He has imagined this moment countless ways since Arthur began to mean something to him, but not once did Merlin ever envision silence.

The seconds stretch excruciatingly, until at last, Arthur speaks.

“So,” Arthur says, sounding so very tired, “you were… bound to my side by destiny? This—“ he gestures at the impassable space between them, “— was never your choice.”

Merlin knows Arthur better than he knows himself most of the time; he hears Arthur’s words for what they are. I was never your choice, he means, and horror and hurt and panic claw at Merlin’s throat.

“Arthur,” he chokes out, not caring about the desperation that colors his voice, not caring about anything but the words that he can’t seem to drag to the surface and the pained resignation in Arthur’s eyes.

“Well.” Arthur’s expression smooths over, an impersonal, kingly mask sliding into place before he turns away, as though he can’t bear to look at Merlin. “Consider yourself a free man. I won’t hold you to your post any longer.”

Merlin’s throat is too tight to speak, and the pressure at the corners of his eyes is building; there’s everything to say but no words with which to say it. He can’t let Arthur think that he doesn’t care— can’t let Arthur think that he was ever anything but a choice Merlin made again and again and again and will keep making, because what good is destiny if he doesn’t have Arthur to share it with? — so he reaches out, a hand moving to clutch at Arthur’s.

Arthur flinches away.

It’s like a blow to the chest. It leaves Merlin reeling, and he could swear that if he looked down, he would be able to see a physical wound, blood oozing from it like waning hope; if he put a hand to his chest, it would pass through his skin to find a hollow space between his ribs, beating and aching like a phantom heart.

“Arthur,” he says again, barely more than a croak. It’s all he can say. It’s not enough.

He wants to reach out once more; to throw himself into Arthur’s arms and beg. He wants Arthur to shout at him or throw something at his head, to roll his eyes and call him an idiot, to call for the guards— anything but this detached dismissal. He wants—

“Goodbye, Emrys,” Arthur says, and whatever was left of Merlin’s heart shatters.

chark phone before bed time <3

this vexes me

this bisexes me

In a lot of fanfics she's only there to act as a cheerleader for the popular m/m ship, one half of whom is her husband. and that's if she's even included at all

My eyes only see you. My heart beats only for you.

For @merlinbingo - Feast

I become sappy when it is about this two.

Artist