Merlin reincarnation AU for Ana

She loves them.

Somewhere along the line the uneasy armistice turned into an uneasy alliance, and all its nasty parts started to boil and rot until the three old souls found themselves tangled in a disturbingly co-dependant living arrangement.

It’s unhealthy, it’s triggering, and Morgana keeps reliving echoes of old betrayals too often to be able to consider herself a mentally stable person anymore. And it’s the same for them. She doesn’t remember the last time she’s seen Merlin asleep, but to be fair she sleeps enough for them both; constantly burdened with an unshakable fatigue that dulls her senses.

Morgana might not be able to cope with either of them standing behind her back for the fear another treacherous blade will lodge itself between her ribs, but she’d never let any harm come to them. She worries, she cares. That’s how they all ended up living together instead of parting ways all those months ago. Because Merlin might have killed her once but he lost everything too, and he cares. He cares like Arthur’s sweet, cheerful manservant used to care before he poured poison down her throat.

Now it’s Mordred who poisons his body and mind with alcohol and drugs, and Merlin and Morgana might not have been too happy to be forced to cooperate but neither of them would let Mordred drown in the guilt the druid boy carried with him from his past life. So they keep an eye on him, and they drink gallons of tea, and they pay bills, and they are talking about getting a pet, and they might never be able to trust one another completely and hurtful remarks will continue to fly through the air, but one thing she knows for sure.

They love her just as much as she loves them.

i just got my creative writing project back and got a really high mark and here are some highlights from the tutor’s commentary ‘cause i’m super proud and need to share :3

“There’s also believable dialogue throughout and some stunning imagery - something of a trademark for this writer. The reader would never guess that English isn’t this writer’s first language given the poetic mastery they display at times.”

i just

:3 :3 :3

heee

i think i’m ready to write some gay porn this summer

:3

omg

playing sims to see what it would be like if i put Georgia in that novel i pretend to be writing

and what did i expect, honestly

the shelves are gay too

srsly what did i expect with personality traits such as flirty and hot-headed

(for the rest of them i have no excuse. ps: those two are those characters of mine i relate the most to. *facepalm*)

remember that time I was writing an essay a part of which was to rewrite a text of my own choosing and I decided to create a feminist retelling of Sleeping Beauty in which one of the fairies stands vigil at the princess’s bedside protecting her from harm and waiting for her to wake?

here’s what i wrote:

If I’m to be honest, and pardon my French, it’s all a load of bollocks. A gift of virtue? Riches? The girl is a princess, for crying out loud. Way to wriggle out of having to spend your magic on real gifts, dear sisters. Oh, and thanks for throwing a spanner into my plans; the child could really do with my gift of intelligence, given that her very attractive parents did not see through the farce that was your gift of beauty. But no. Sorry, princess. Just hope you get good education both before and after you wake up from the enchanted sleep. That’s what I had to spend my magic on – modifying my theatrical and unhinged sister’s death curse. Goodbye insta-cleverness.  

One hundred years. Unconscious, and at any passer-by’s mercy.

It would be only fair if it were any of my sisters guarding the girl while she sleeps. But surprise, somehow that too is my responsibility.

Just had my final creative writing class which I am really emotional about. I’m writing this to remember what everyone said about me and my writing when we were asked to reflect on our term together and what each of us brought to the group. I need to remember this because these are strengths I was not really aware that I have.

• “you give really helpful feedback. very tough but it helped me so much.” (from Alana, the girl who I sent all those feminist articles to to help her flesh out her manic pixie dreamgirls) <3
• almost everyone commented on how much my feedback helped them. (i almost cried because i really love editing and i am so happy that i could help)
• Claire, our tutor: “Lenka approaches text like a scientist. She takes it apart and shows you exactly what is and isn’t working and why, and suggests what you can do to make it work.”
• Colleen: “You have a sense of how a story is supposed to work, you have a sense of structure. And your dialogue is great.”
• Harry: “It’s impressive that you’re writing this way in your second language… It’s actually scary.” lol
• Claire again: “striking poetic images”

Yup. Good. Remember this, Lenka. It’s good. When you’re more emotionally stable you can go through individual feedback on your Julie story. 

(Also Harry’s comment on what Matt brought to the group: “I think you and Will are really cute together, always finishing each other’s sentences. You should get married.” Claire: “Someone should write that.”)

no ok i just really love writing from morgana’s POV because she. is. my. girl.

i might just as well post this now because it’s quite possible i’ll never finish this but i’m determined to make up for the shit she suffered from the hands of bbc merlin writers. 

The sexual tension is both amusing and annoying to witness and Morgana doesn’t really have much say in whether she wants to play audience to them. The best she can do is leave the room or tell the two buttheads to get out but that’s all only temporary. Just an intermission. Sooner or later Merlin and Mordred will swoop back in for another insufferable act of a play far longer than necessary.

Merlin’s doing his broody thing again. It’s a good look on him but knowing the cogs are turning in his head, one thought following another, clicking when they fit together, Morgana cannot stand the sight of him. A need to crack his skull open and stop his mind from plotting is swelling in her chest. Her fingers dive into her hair with painful tugs to give.

She’s considering getting a haircut. Chop it all off. Look like him. The old him. Wouldn’t it be funny.

Merlin’s hair is shaggy and tousled these days, he’s sporting permanent bed hair and the thought of doing something with it has obviously not crossed his mind yet. Morgana is far from suggesting he does anything. For one, she’s not Merlin’s mother or girlfriend (God forbid), she’s not his anything. Not in this life. They’re just stuck with each other, too scared, too hopeful to let go. So it’s not her job to make him look presentable. (Though he could use all the help he can get.)

And for second, living with Mordred has already made their morning bathroom schedule a pain in the butt, she doesn’t need another pretty boy smacking blobs of gel onto his head while stuck in an infuriating endless rinse-and-repeat loop.  

She could save the time spent blow drying her hair if it was short as Mordred’s.

Plus, she would totally wear it better than him. Poor child.

Morgana sips at her cooling mug of coffee, one arm wrapped around her middle. Standing in the kitchen in a bathrobe thrown over her pyjama she can feel her socks soak in the cold of the tile floor and she suppresses a shiver.

this is what i’m pretending to work on now because merlin once and future AUs and various other reasons

The next time Merlin sees him, the exposing cold light over the operating table illuminates red ribbons of torn flesh caught between the white shards of bone splintering Arthur’s ribcage. It has been centuries upon centuries, and what was the decade by Arthur’s side but a fleeting moment, yet Merlin recognizes him at once. Arthur’s eyelids are still heavy with the same shadows that dawn streaked them with by the lake of Avalon in the hour of his death.

In the frantic series of bleeps coming from the EKG Merlin hears Arthur’s heart beating. His fingers tighten around a haemostat. His hands are steady.  

I has an AO3 account nao.

To store my sole and only Sherlock fic lmao. 

I hope it will motivate me to work on that folder full of women Merlin fic I started and now just pretend to be writing. 

btw about the username. well. it is an extraordinarily mary-sueish name, isn’t it? Kiley Selena McGriffits. It’s what I named Cala when I first invented her at the age of 15. 

It’s to remind me where I come from as a writer and also it’s freaking hilarious to look at. I mean, McGriffits is not even a real surname lmao. 

{Merlin reincarnation AU}

It drags on for weeks and then ends too abruptly. Mordred thought that waiting for news, any news about Merlin was worse than whatever form could certainty take. But when Morgana tells him, her voice steady despite the painful looking stiffness of her fingers coiled around a rolled up newspaper, Mordred realizes how wrong he was. 

Certainty stills the blood in his veins, sets it alight and dries to ashes in the span of a single second. It grinds his fears and hopes and leaves them wrapped around his mind while Mordred tries to form a thought he could hold onto.

“Who’s going to be there when Arthur returns?” he hears himself ask.

Morgana shakes her head. The paper crumples in her hands but her whispered answer is still audible to his ears. “Us.”