Life Is Not A Song, Sweetling

Fair warning: I have no real idea what this is supposed to be. The first few lines just popped into my head and I went with it. If you don't like Sansa and The Hound you might not like this even though it is in no way explicit or even romantic in any way.


The song of Sansa Stark and The Hound was not one of love and romance. It was not a song to be sung by epicene boys with harps in royal courts. It was a song sung in shadowy places. There were no shining knights and fair maidens. Only a boy king’s dog and a traitor’s daughter. And it was a song of something altogether darker, stranger and, ultimately, something nameless. Something hidden deep in the shadows of the soul.
It was a song that spoke of a beautiful young woman and a burned man, of looks shared across opulent halls. Of whispers and whimpers and secrets and feather light touches. Of hymns sung softly in the night while fires burn just outside. Of a stained and bloody white cloak left behind. Of running.
Life is not a song, sweetling.
A girl with auburn hair, and a head full of romantic ideas. Ideas that he didn’t fit. A man with no desire to be a knight, no desire for honor, who enjoyed only killing, the fire in his eyes a terrible irony. A man who became the closest thing she’d get to a knight from the songs.
Life is not a song, little bird.
A bird trapped in a cage, large and beautiful but with heavy iron bars. And the only one who could set the little bird free.

Horror Stories On Top of a Pretty Blond Man

Stupid Terrorist Boys from heyitsalyssa on 8tracks Radio.

Another fanmix. This one is for Gnomon, an amazing fanfic by luchia on AO3.

A Nick and Jess one shot

I started watching New Girl and now I'm in love with Nick and Jess and I wrote a thing. I came across a fanfic challenge with 50 different phrases. Then you write a story that contains a phrase and do this 50 times. I am horrible at explaining this. Whatever. The phrase for this one was, "He fought for her, and he came out bruised and battered and broken and bloody, but victorious." And now to the story.

A Poem

I wrote a poem for this ExR fanfic (Novelesque Diary) by Ryssabeth on AO3.

You blink your eyes open

As sunlight pierces you

And see wisps of black

Heavy strokes on your pale

Perfect

Skin

Graceful inky swoops decorate you and,

Grasping in smoky memories,

You can just remember him—

Lamplight sparking off his hair

His fingers warm

As they brush your body

Softly

Deftly

And the cool sensation

As he writes of you

Worships you

Creates you

And you read—

"Perfect for writing stories"

On your fingers.

One shoulder blade holds

"A world made of books,

Sadness and

Shitty movies"

And a shoulder blade holds

"A world made of books

And snark

And decent literature"

You wonder what he'd write on your tongue

You think of what you'd write on him

You think he'll be the death of you

On the Riverbank

I wrote a short Athelstan/Gyda story, here's quick snippet.

The plague came quickly and unexpectedly. And it was almost certain to be fatal. A fever on the first day led to a painful sickness so severe one was bedridden. At that point it was only a matter of time before death took them.

Lagertha Lothbrok was worried but thanked the gods that Ragnar, Bjorn and even Gyda were gone on a raid and so were safe. Her only company was Athelstan. Thyri had just passed and Siggy fell ill not long after. Lagertha and Athelstan spent most of their time taking care of the sick and the dying. So when Athelstan fell ill as well, it was a tragedy but not exactly a surprising one. She prayed over him as often as she could. The man had become like a son to her. She sent word to her family about Athelstan’s condition and his probable fate. Ragnar and Bjorn decided to stay. But Gyda, little Gyda, rushed home. She only hoped she would not be too late.

Gyda stayed at Athelstan’s bedside constantly, only conceding to leave when her mother gently forced her to eat something or sleep in her own bed. She fetched him water and food on the rare occasions he was awake and hungry. In the nights when she couldn’t fall asleep she would talk, sometimes to him, sometimes the gods (hers and his), sometimes simply the universe.

“Oh, please don’t make Athelstan die,” she asked no one in particular in an inarticulate prayer. “He can’t die. Please make him better. He can’t die. I love him.” At those three little words that she’d had no plan of saying, her mouth dropped open, then she snapped it shut again. She’d been speaking quietly but in the silence it felt like a shout and she glanced around to see if there was anyone around that could have heard. But no one was there. She looked back down at Athelstan and brushed his dark hair off of his pale, sweaty brow, when she noticed his eyelids flutter open. He said her name weakly.

“Hi Athelstan,” she said timidly, hoping he hadn’t heard what she’d said. I love him. She hadn’t meant to say it, had never even thought it to herself. She thought he was good-looking, she admitted to herself. And he was sweet and listened to her as other people did not. She loved their talks late at night, the moonlight turning the world to shades of black and white and grays, when she’d teach him about their gods and their stories and songs. And he’d do the same, telling of all the places he’d traveled to and the people he’d met. But she hadn’t known she loved him—as anything other than a friend or a brother—until she’d said it aloud and now she knew it to be true.

“Um, I have some water. Here.” She handed him a cup and he drank.

“I’m going to die,” he said, his voice betraying no fear, but a certain sadness.

“No you’re not!” she said desperately, with a ferocity that made him think that already she had something of the shieldmaiden in her. “You’re not,” she said again, quietly, but he’d fallen asleep. And she hadn’t noticed immediately but he had managed to slip his hand around hers. She yawned and fell asleep resting on his chest.

A few nights passed this way, though Gyda did more silent praying from then on, when it seemed as though Athelstan was getting better. He ate a proper meal for the first time in over a week, and then he had only a bit of a headache. Soon he was back to normal. He never brought up what she said so she assumed he hadn’t heard her. Her embarrassment dissipated, things went back to normal and time passed. Ragnar returned with a very pregnant Aslaug who gave birth to two boys. Bjorn got married at 16 to a bastard daughter of King Horrik. When he was 17, the girl gave birth to a daughter. Gyda turned 15—the age of womanhood.

You can read the rest here.

Pylades Dreams

There’s blood and the color of it surprises him—a deep and profound red. It runs around him in rivers, warm and unnerving, drowning him. And then it’s the red of Enjolras’ coat. He emits a light so pure it blinds. He calls out to him, Enjolras silhouetted against the sun. He alights on his damned barricade with awe-inspiring white wings. Unseen guns go off and he falls through blackness and is gone. There’s a flash of gold and scarlet and white light in the darkness and, though he is blinded, he stretches his hand and feels something brush past his fingers. But he is clumsy and cannot quite grasp it. He knows he has failed again. Then he is falling through a world of red, stomach flipping and body tensing, waiting for the bone-shattering impact of earth and there is nothing but blood.
But it smells like alcohol.
I have no idea what this is. I was thinking about the fact that, in the brick, Grantaire is sleeping through most of the activity of the barricade and only awakes just before Enjolras is shot. This is, apparently, a dream sequence. Don't even ask.

A Snippet From a Story With No Title

Here's a very short little bit from an Enjolras/Grantaire fic I'm working on.

“Is that what you most desire? Ah! I don’t believe it so but alas! I shall go anyway. Until next time,” he said, bending in a bow with a surprisingly graceful flourish, the whole time holding his bottle and spilling not a drop. Then, turning away from Enjolras and to the room at large, “Oh! Pity me fellow mortals! Our fearless leader has kicked me to the street, in the cold—” “Get out of here, Grantaire.” Enjolras gritted his teeth but a few of the others were smiling. Grantaire walked out of the back room of the Musain (though “strutted” would be a more accurate term—the alcohol in his system showing no trace in his balance), planting a sloppy kiss on Louison’s cheek before he disappeared. Louison, who was used to his behavior, went on about her business, smiling good-naturedly. Grantaire, for his part, could hear Enjolras immediately delve back into whatever he had been saying, as if the whole incident had not happened. Though he would never admit it, it hurt a little that Enjolras could just skip over his existence so easily. But then, he supposed that was how gods were. For he felt certain that Enjolras must be some ancient god who deigned to walk among mere mortals. A god of truth and light and all that was righteous and good. Of course this only made Grantaire want to challenge him. Logically, it made no sense, he knew, but he was not a logical man and he simply could not help himself. He didn’t know why. He simply wanted to ruin that perfection. To be fair to Grantaire, as to Enjolras earlier, he did not feel romantically for Enjolras, not in any way that he understood. He wanted to kiss bruises into that marble neck, drag his nails across achingly perfect collarbones and hipbones. he wanted to tug on golden hair and whisper prayers against those damnably pink lips. Each man worships differently. But as it is that gods do not acknowledge those who worship them so it was with Grantaire and his Apollo. Perhaps, he thought wryly, that was why he argued with him so; angry words were better than none at all to the man whose thoughts are much too loud in the silence. And it was much too quiet tonight in the streets of Paris.

OTP Challenge Day 6 - Wearing Each Other's Clothes

Technically not clothes but whatever. I don't really like this one all that much but then I always feel that way after I write something and I never feel like it's "good" or "done" so I suppose it's pointless to say, isn't?

Kissing in this one and suggestiveness of other things...

"Is that my neckerchief?"

Arthur smiled.

"You can't wear my neckerchief."

"And why not?"

"Because it's mine. Won't people ask questions?"

"I don't care."

"Fine," Merlin said, hopping off the bed like a sprite, "then I'll just wear your crown." And he put the gold circlet on his head. Arthur's mouth gaped open, though he'd deny it later - kings didn't gape.

The gold of the crown shone brightly against Merlin's ink pot hair. And though it slipped down a bit further than it should have and was held up by his ears, Arthur couldn't help but think that it suited him perfectly. And he wondered, for the first time, what it would be like to rule beside Merlin.

"You're staring, Arthur,"Merlin said as a blush stained his cheekbones.

"That's because you look ridiculous," Arthur said, regaining his composure. "You can't wear my crown."

"I dunno," he said. "I think it looks better on me."

"You do, do you?" Arthur said, rising from the edge of the bed and going to stand behind Merlin who was looking at his reflection in the mirror. "Well maybe you'll have a crown of your  own someday." It was the first time he'd said anything that really hinted at a long term future. Arthur was the sort of person that cared deeply but didn't always show it. He realized what he'd said and, even though he had meant it, felt a knee jerk reaction to make a joke.

"Idiot," he said, smiling, the word a term of endearment but a feeble joke. He leaned down and started kissing and biting Merlin's neck, who gasped, then chuckled, then sighed.

"Arthur?"

"Hmm?"

"If you keep doing that I'll have to wear my neckerchief today. And you won't make it to your training session and your other kingly duties."

"I don't care," he said, his voice low so that it seemed to physically pluck a string in Merlin.

"Arthur." He tried to sound stern but it was impossible.

"Are you complaining?"

"Certainly not. But you are king."

"Fine," he pouted. "And take my crown off, idiot."

"Fine," Merlin said, taking it off and setting it back on the blood red cushion where it had been laying. "I want my own."

The King simply smiled and shook his head as he left the room.

OTP Challenge Day 5 - Kissing

This one takes place after S4 E3 The Wicked Day so spoilers for that. Kissing in this one, obviously.
I don't think this one is all that great and I'd like to keep working on it but I'm tired so I shall post it. I picture this taking place before all the previous things happen. Or in an alternate universe where they haven't happened. Whatever. I'm also probably playing up Arthur's sadness quite a bit. Oh well! It's my story!

Drunk Arthur was Merlin's least favorite Arthur. As stubborn and obnoxious as he was naturally, alcohol only tended to make him more so. And with the fact that Merlin would have to practically carry him back to his chambers, well, it was just a good thing that Arthur didn't drink often.
But one night, not long after Uther had died and things were uncharacteristically quiet in the kingdom, he insisted they all go to the tavern. Merlin had noticed he'd been painfully quiet for a few days and he was worried about him. So he was hoping that a night out with friends might help.
And it did. At first. He'd seemed to forget. A genuine smile adorned his face and his laughs were boisterous with life. Gwaine told his drunken stories while everyone listened. And when he broke out in song, Arthur even sang along, something he'd no doubt be mortified about and vehemently deny in the morning. But Merlin was just glad to see him so happy.
With more ale, though, he soon grew morose and retreated into himself. No longer smiling and laughing. It was clear to Merlin that getting him up to his chambers and to bed was probably best.
"Come on, Arthur. I think you should probably get some rest." He pulled Arthur up and started to half-drag him along, struggling with the stairs especially.
"Goodnight Arthur," Merlin said, several minutes later, and turned away from the large bed. As he reached for the latch on the door he heard Arthur whisper or whimper and turned back.
"Merlin?" he whispered.
"Arthur?"
"I want a goodnight kiss."
"You're drunk," Merlin said, gently, not daring to hope.
"No I'm not."
And for a little while he wasn't. His voice was clear and his eyes were sober. Merlin looked down at him, his blue eyes intense in that way that was currently turning his knees to noodles. And those lips that he couldn't stop thinking about. They would ruin him. Perfect pink destruction.
He sat down on the bed and leaned towards Arthur, slowly, wondering what exactly would happen at the end.
But before he could think more about it, Arthur moved to bring them together and suddenly, finally, Arthur was kissing him. And he was kissing Arthur. It was soft and lazy and warm and lovely. And when Arthur pulled away and looked at Merlin he felt his heart clench. The King lay back in his bed, eyes closed and smiling dreamily, a peacefulness in his expression that Merlin hadn't seen in a long time.
He smiled and said, "Goodnight Arthur."
"Goodnight Merlin."

OTP Challenge Day 4 - On a Date

Sorry that this is late again. I'm bad at this.

Merlin was mucking out the stables when he heard someone coming up behind him. But still, he jumped when he felt someone slip their hands over his eyes.

"Guess who?" Arthur whispered, his lips brushing Merlin's ear and making him shiver deliciously.

"Gwen?"

"Merlin!"

"Oh Arthur it's you," Merlin twisted in Arthur's arms. "You better get out of here before my boyfriends finds you." He grinned.

"Still not funny," Arthur said but the smirk brightening his face contradicted him. "Come on," he said, grabbing Merlin's hand and pulling him along.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"You'll see when we get there."

They were headed down through the lower town and towards the woods at the edge of Camelot. When they left the boundaries of the town the sounds quieted quickly and they were very alone. It was quite a warm day but it was perfect in the shade of the trees. Sunlight fell through leaves, dappling their faces in strange patterns and, Merlin thought, making Arthur look positively ethereal. Merlin's breath caught in his throat and Arthur looked over.

"What?"

"Nothing."

They walked on another minute or two when they came across a picnic. A red blanket was laid out on the grass, a wicker basket sat on top.

"You hungry?" Arthur asked.

"Starving! I've been mucking out stables all morning."

The two sat down on the spread blanket and ate a lunch of chicken sandwiches with a bit of wine. The two fell into an easy conversation of teasing and laughing and flicking food at each other, spurred on by the feeling of freedom afforded by their being away from Camelot.

"Did you make this?" Merlin asked. Arthur gave him a guilty look, causing Merlin to laugh.

"Don't worry. I'll teach you to how to cook some day."

"You can cook?" Arthur said, looking at him skeptically.

"'Course I can cook. It's not hard, really."

"Well I look forward to learning then if you'll teach me."

"We'll just have to make sure you don't blow up the kitchen," Merlin said, grinning, "and we'll be fine."

Arthur threw a piece of chicken at him that got stuck in his hair. Merlin threw a piece back and the resulting food fight quickly dissolved into a wrestling match, the two rolling around for several minutes before flopping on the ground laughing and out of breath. Arthur looked over at Merlin and moved closer, bringing their lips within inches of each other's. He moved torturously slow, knowing exactly what he was doing. Merlin's heart raced in his chest but he stayed still. Arthur reached up and pulled a leaf from Merlin's dark hair, held it in front of him and said simply, with a wicked smile, "You had a leaf in your hair." Then he jumped up and dashed away.

"Arthur Pendragon!" Merlin shouted. "You awful tease."

OTP Challenge Day 3 - Watching a Movie

Modern AU for obvious reasons. Mild kissing in this one. In case that bothers you. For whatever reason.

"I'm bored," Merlin whined. He was sitting on a small, ratty couch with his long legs thrown in his boyfriend's lap in the cozy apartment they shared.
Arthur chuckled. "Well, what do you want to do?" he asked with a suggestive smile, causing Merlin to blush, the color so brilliant, splashed across his pale cheekbones.
"I was thinking we might actually get out of the house for once. We could go see a movie or something."
Arthur grinned, that had given him a wonderful idea. "Alright," he said, "but I get to pick."
"You picked last time! And it was a horrible, terrifying thing." Arthur jumped up, pulling Merlin up by the hands after him and planting a kiss on his forehead.
"I've never met someone who is so scared so often."
"I'm not scared," Merlin said, affronted. "I just don't like scary films."

As the commercials and previews started in the theatre Arthur had his arm around Merlin, whose heart was pounding. You'd think a warlock who had faced all manner of medieval evils would be a bit braver but horror films never ceased to startle and frighten him.
And when the lights went down he snuggled into Arthur's chest who smiled down at him. He had wanted to see the movie just for this reason. He wanted to protect Merlin from all the monsters. But he was starting to feel kinda bad about it.
"Do you wanna go? We don't have to watch this."
"No it's okay," Merlin said, trying to be brave.
"Alright idiot," Arthur said, the term one of endearment. "I shall protect you from all manner of horrors," he said.
"I know," Merlin said and leaned up to kiss him.
Neither of them ended up watching much of the movie. Rather than watch the movie, Merlin spent his time watching Arthur instead. His fingers on this thigh, his lips on his neck, well Arthur was very easily distracted.

Yes, there are Americanisms in this one (which I usually make at least some sort of attempt to keep out) but I didn't feel like thinking about which words are different and changing apartment to flat and z's to s's and such. So I know that Britishisms are different but there you go. And it's very short. I'm tired. Sorry.

OTP Challenge Day 2 - Cuddling Somewhere

I'm sorry this is a few hours late. I had it written in time but I didn't get a chance to post it. This one is much shorter than the last, as I said they'd be. I'm also not very happy with it. But I hope you don't find it too terrible.

It wasn't often that Arthur Pendragon got sick. But when he did, it certainly wasn't pretty. Merlin hated to see him feeling so horrible but it was difficult to feel too bad for too long. Arthur tended to get whiny when he was uncomfortable or bored. And being sick meant both. It also meant he had plenty of time to send Merlin to all parts of the castle for ridiculous and outlandish things. He'd spent a good portion of the day making the journey between the kitchens and Arthur's chambers, trying to keep him in a warm blanket. Bring the blanket from the bed down to the kitchen. Bring the one hanging in the kitchen back up. Wait about an hour. Repeat. Merlin would do anything for Arthur but that didn't mean he had to like it.
"Merlin," Arthur said, his teeth chattering horribly. "I'm so c-cold."
"I know, sire. I'm sorry. I wish there was more that I could do."
He looked forlornly at Arthur. This man he loved, usually so regal and strong, huddled in a ball shivering slightly, teeth chattering. His eyes were squeezed shut that the bruising of his eyelids looked like lilies floating on a pond of moonlight. A violent, rattling cough took hold of him and shook him.
Merlin had contemplated using magic to help him but Gaius had promptly warned him against it. While it was a miserable illness, he'd said, Arthur was sure to recover in a few days. So, as much as he wished he could, he knew magic simply didn't make sense. It was too dangerous. But, perhaps, there was something else he could do.
He dropped the armor he'd been polishing, more to have something to do than because it actually needed it, and strode purposefully to Arthur's bedside. Acting for all he was worth as if his heart weren't pounding and his knees gone soft.
"Alright, dollop-head. Move over." Arthur looked up at his manservant, confusion crinkling his brow and coloring his eyes. Darkening them.
"What are you doing?" he rasped.
"You said you're cold, right?" Merlin crawled under the covers and wrapped his skinny arms around Arthur, feeling even more awkward than he'd thought he would. Arthur was tense but he must have begun to warm up because, after a little while, he loosened up. And even snuggled closer into Merlin's chest, making a noise like a small animal. A noise which did strange things to Merlin.
All the awkwardness was gone and the two realized that they were cuddling. The prince and his servant. Arthur and his best friend. And neither had any intention of going anywhere for quite a while.

OTP Challenge Day 1 - Holding Hands

Before I start this, just a few things I want to mention. I've only seen seasons 1-4 of Merlin so that's what I'm going off of when I write this. I don't think any of it'll be specific to, or have spoilers for, any specific episode or season but if you haven't watched up to that point you may not want to read. If I mention Morgana it'll be season 1 Morgana even if Arthur happens to be king or the timeline otherwise doesn't line up with that.

Also, constructive criticism. I am well aware that I am not a great writer and the reason I'm doing this is so that other people can read it and tell me what I'm doing wrong so I can get better. So, I'd much prefer a criticism or suggestion to just a gushing compliment (although gushing compliments are nice).

As for ratings, I'm not really clear on what ratings for fanfiction are so I'll just let you know what you can expect from each story - kissing, nsfw, etc.

And lastly, this one is much longer than probably all the other ones will be. I don't know how it got so relatively lengthy.

"Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not scared are you?"

Merlin tramped through the snow silently for a few seconds before answering. "'Course not, sire."

"Yeah, of course not," Arthur chuckled. "You know you haven't said more than two words the whole time we've been out here?"

"I just don't like hunting. And I don't understand why you always insist on me coming with you; I'm certainly not good company. I'm cold and the bottoms of my trousers are damp. Oh and being your manservant isn't a bunch of fun either." He breathed a heavy sigh and whispered an apology. All those things may have been true but Merlin was really just in a sour mood.

"Someone's awful grumpy. Look, the reason I insist on you coming is because I need to eat and, well, I can't be expacted to make my own food, now can I? But as much as it pains me I also enjoy your ridiculous prattling. And you're my friend. I don't totally detest having you around."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. Arthur simply smiled lazily.

The knights (and Merlin) were to spend the night in the forest and then set off for return to Camelot in the morning. But Merlin couldn't seem to get to sleep so he quietly left the group of snoring knights, taking care not to step on any outstretched limbs. Gwaine was clutching an apple to his chest which made Merlin smile and wonder where he kept all these apples.

Once out of earshot, and after taking a good look around, he used a quick spell to dry the bottoms of his trousers which were totally soaked through, and cast another to keep them dry. And then he was trekking through the shin deep snow. Merlin quite liked the snow but it was much harder to appreciate its beauty when one was so cold. Several minutes passed and Merlin was shivering when he came across a small clearing, almost perfectly circular. The trees around were especially densely packed so there was very little snow on the ground. If he'd spared it any thought he might have figured that the clearing had been made my magic.

Instead, he simply flopped on the ground ungracefully, his left arm bent under his head and his right stretched out to his side, and simply let his thoughts run away with him. He thought of his mother and how he was always worried about her. And how he wished his father could have gotten to know him and seen his mother again. He wondered what his life would have been like if he'd never come to Camelot or if he'd never stepped in for the poor kid Arthur had been terrorizing when the two had first met. Mostly he thought of Arthur. How nervous and incompetent he was feeling as king. He wished he could do something for him, wished Arthur felt he could talk to him. More and more often he'd found himself wishing that he could simply squeeze Arthur's hand. Just to show him that he was still there and always would be. Merlin had started noticing other thoughts like these since Gwen had been banished. The King just seemed so broken and Merlin wanted to hold him and fix him. What started as not wanting his friend to be in pain had slowly started to become something else. A feeling that, if he were completely honest with himself, had always been there to some degree.

Arthur was beautiful. There was no denying that, with his golden hair and impossibly blue eyes. But it wasn't right to want anything from him. He was King and Merlin only his manservant. And both of them men. At least, this was what he had tried to tell himself, that it wasn't right. Being friends with Gwen, and knowing how much each of them loved the the other, had made things easier. He'd believed that the two of them were destiny. But now he wasn't so sure about anything.

Merlin's thoughts had only started to make the days harder. Arthur seemed to take every chance he could possibly find to take off his shirt and, at the sight of his bare chest, Merlin could feel an inexorable blush creeping along his cheeks. Attending to Arthur's bath was a nightmare of pounding pulse and shaking limbs.

His thoughts were interrupted by the snapping of a twig, causing Merlin to sit up and twist his head around wildly. The nature of his thoughts made him feel vulnerable, exposed, as if anyone nearby could have heard them. A tall figure was emerging into the clearing but the darkness hid them from him, until suddenly the clouds shifted and the full moon shone perfectly and clearly down to earth. Its silvery light dripped through the trees like water and cast the new person in a mercurial glow. It turned his golden hair white and his tan skin pale. His blue eyes became even bluer. No crown could make him look more royal than the moonlight did that cold and snowy night.

"Arthur?" Merlin said, ruining the moment and causing it to fall all around them like the shards of a smashed looking glass, sharp and bright and colorless. "What are you doing creeping 'round the woods at night?"

"Following you. What are you doing creeping around the woods at night?" The two smiled, thinking of a time when they'd had a similar exchange.

Merlin lay back down. "Couldn't sleep," he said. Arthur walked over beside him, took his sword belt off and lay next to him.

He looked perfectly comfortable, which Merlin couldn't help but be surprised at, since the frozen ground was a far cry from his soft kingly bed. Far from comfortable, Merlin felt this was either unbelievably awkward or unbelievably wonderful. He couldn't seem to reconcile his feelings. But the longer they lay there the more he seemed to think it was alright. Good, even. The snow and moon had stolen all the colors and made everything surreal. And that surreality made it safe. They were in a time separate from time. Emboldened by this realization, Merlin noticed that Arthur's hand was lying, palm up and fingers partially curled, only inches from his own and, in a gesture both simple and complex, reached out and laced their fingers together. He bit his lip. Arthur didn't move but, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw that his eyes were closed and the corner of his lips had curled up just a little.

Merlin closed his own eyes then and soon fell asleep. There, in the middle of clearing in the dark woods, two boys slept, hands linked loosely and identical smiles adorning their dreaming faces.

I am quite proud of this one but I know as this challenge goes on they will get shorter and sloppier. Anyway hope it was alright.

Alyssa

From My Livejournal

My First Foray Into Fanfiction

Confession time: I've only been reading fanfiction for about a year or so. I used to dislike fanfic for some reason, I dunno why. A few years ago, all I was really aware of was Harry Potter fanfic and I think I didn't like it because usually it wasn't written well or didn't stay true to the characters. I can't really remember though. But anyway, since reading fanfic, I've really wanted to write something. I've had several ideas over the months but nothing that...inspired me. So I've decided to stop waiting to be inspired and just write something. I read this post on Cassandra Clare's website and it really made me want to write some Clary/Jace fanfiction. So that's what I'm working on now...
It will, almost certainly, be a one-shot as I don't think I'm prepared to write a chaptered fanfic story yet.
However it turns out, it should be posted within the next couple days...

From LiveJournal: What does NC stand for?

I'm working on a fanfiction. I decided I wanted to write one finally and an NC-17 one to be exact. Try my hand at writing a sex scene. I can just tell that'll be awkward...
And trust me, if you knew me, you'd probably be a little shocked.
Anyway, it's about Fleur whom I quite like and it takes place during Harry's fourth year. I'm putting Fleur in her seventh year and assuming that Beauxbaton starts school the same year Hogwarts does. We don't know this so I just figured that'd be the easiest way.
So if that bothers you, well get over it (or give me a better idea, I'm always open to those).
I'd tell you more but I can't. Because I have no idea where the story is even going. I'm flying by the seat of my pants here.
And I'll probably post chapter by chapter as is normal.
Okay I think that's everything.

Always,
The Mudblood Princess

Oh hey. I started a LiveJournal.

I do believe I have a problem. Say the words "blog", "journal", or "diary" and I'm there. Oh yeah, or "notebook". Buy me a pretty journal and I'm yours.
But anyway, I started a LiveJournal because I decided I wanted to start writing fan fiction and I wanted a specific place to post it. But I'll also post it here. I just wanted a place that was just my writings.
So there you go...
Sorry for the, mostly useless, post.

I love my two followers. That's more than I ever expected to have.

P.S. Why is it that fanfiction can be one word or two and both are okay? It's really annoying.