JapethTheSnake
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Summary
Arthur falls deeper and deeper into love with each passing day, but he absolutely refuses to show it. They both know they're keeping secrets from another, but neither will say what. Things change when Merlin finally confesses to sorcery.
Bookmarked by JapethTheSnake
28 Jan 2026
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The King reaches into the drawer and grabs the cloth. It seems to be crusted and held into place, but once it is out of the drawer and in the glowing light of the fireplace, I can see it for what it is.
Oh, my King.Dried into a firm hold with a thick coating of blood, is Merlin’s neckerchief.
Or,
George takes care of Arthur after the final battle.**Now a prologue to my long-fic (but you don't have to read this first lol) (:
Series
- Part 1 of The Maenads' Final Chord
Bookmarked by JapethTheSnake
24 Jan 2026
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“Gwaine,” Merlin informed, and he was just teasing Arthur, trying to rile him up about his ego. “Is the whole package.”
“Gwaine has the concentration span of a newborn lamb.” Arthur declared, angry, and Merlin rolled his eyes.
Arthur has an unreadable expression as his eyes dart over to look at Gwaine, then back at Merlin.
He scoffed and grabbed his own sword before marching onto the field, Merlin watching as he dropped his hands off his waist, rolling his eyes exasperatedly at Arthur’s constant peacocking.
~~~
Inspired by that one deleted scene of Arthur defeating all the knights out of jealousy
Bookmarked by JapethTheSnake
20 Jan 2026
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Back in Camelot, Arthur and Merlin had a running joke between them in which Arthur had a list of absurd laws that he added to whenever Merlin pushed his buttons. In the 21st century, the documents are discovered and all the world-renowned historians can do is debate the context of the laws and the nature of King Arthur's relationship with his manservant.
Bookmarked by JapethTheSnake
19 Jan 2026
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Yuletide in Camelot was a complicated thing.
Merlin had grown up with simple winter traditions: small gifts left on windowsills, bread shared between neighbours, his mother humming old songs while the snow piled against the door. Ealdor’s winter had been cold, yes, but it had been kind — a quiet, honest cold that wrapped around you and sat beside you at the fire.
Camelot’s Yuletide, by contrast, was a spectacle sharpened to a shine. Crimson and gold banners layered every wall and archway, richer and heavier than usual. Courtiers drifted through the halls in velvet and fur, jewels bright at throats and wrists, their laughter ringing too loud, as if joy were something that had to be proven by volume alone.
Below, the lower town seethed with it all — stalls packed into every sheltered corner, merchants shouting over one another, the air thick with spice and smoke and roasting chestnuts. It was dazzling, overwhelming, impossible to escape.
And above it all, the castle tradition: the Gift of the Longest Night.
Bookmarked by JapethTheSnake
19 Jan 2026