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“You have magic.”

Merlin’s world tilts at the words, unbalanced, like a coin about to tip. Arthur knows. Arthur saw. And from his tone Arthur is not happy about it.

Merlin turns, faces his judgment from the man he loves.

“Yes,” he says, because there’s no denying it now. Arthur stares at him, face unreadable. When the silence stretches, Merlin adds, “I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you.”

Arthur huffs. “Of course you do.”

The he gives an aggravated sigh and steps forward. Merlin steps back, heart in his throat, scared for the first time, really truly terrified, of Arthur. But then he sees the pain in Arthur’s features and he stops.

“Did you really think I’d hurt you?” Arthur says softly, moving another step forward, cautious. “Merlin, did you really think I’d be that angry?”

“I—“

Arthur puts forth a hand, another cautious movement.

“I’m not my father,” he says, still moving forward. Merlin is frozen in place. Arthur’s right in front of him now, smiling a sad smile. He quietly curls his fingers around the back of Merlin’s neck and touches his forehead to Merlin’s own.

“You idiot,” he says, fond. Then, softer, tender, “Thank you.”

unbalanced - @merthurmicrofic [200 words]

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"just write a little every day" ok but what if i write nothing for 3 weeks and then suddenly type like i’m being hunted by god

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Happy Pride!! 🏹🌈🍎

May I interest you in Aldric's Letter Brigade?

It's my Robin Hood kind of webnovel about two university ex-bfs, who become sworn enemies as Outlaw and Sheriff!

(Or is it all a ruse???)

👉 ruemxu.com/alb 🅰️ You can read it on AO3!

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Hey! the first chapter of that looks on tempests went up today!! It's a Gwaine/Percy story set in my slings and arrows series, a Merlin high school/college AU! The first part is complete, and I highly recommend you read it first before diving into that looks on tempests lol

I'm really excited about this one! Gwaine pretty much captured my heart in this and won't give it back.

Hoping to have all six chapters up by the end of next week :3

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Non-writers don't understand how much of writing is just googling things like "when was the croissant invented" for worldbuilding reasons and staring off into the distance.

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when Arthur is the reasonable one

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It’s always nice to see Arthur in his element at feasts, bright and sharp as his sword. It’s a joy to see him happy, laughing and joking with his knights, and the warmth of the evening lingers as they make their way back to his rooms so that Merlin can attend to the last of his duties. Merlin’s tired, content, and ready for bed himself.

“Will that be all sire?” he asks, a hand on the door.

“One more thing Merlin, before you go,” Arthur says, his distracted attention focusing suddenly. “Dance with me?”

“What?” Merlin sputters, thrown.

Arthur puts out his hand in invitation. He looks serious.

“Dance with me.”

“You sire, are drunk,” Merlin retorts, mind scrambling to cope with the situation.

Arthur huffs, smiling.

“I’m not. You know I’m not.”

He’s not. Merlin was the one pouring his wine after all, and he knows when Arthur’s past his limit. He didn’t even hit it tonight.

Arthur reaches out a little further, expression soft, not quite beseeching.

“One dance.”

“Why?” Merlin asks, utterly baffled, but he takes a step away from the door.

Arthur takes his hand, presses a tender kiss to the inside of his palm. Merlin wills himself to keep breathing.

“Because I’ve been thinking about it all evening—about having you in my arms.”

“What am I, some damsel in distress?” Merlin mutters, but allows himself to be led. Because it’s not like he hasn’t wanted this himself. He just didn’t know Arthur knew—that he felt the same.

Arthur laughs, putting one of Merlin’s hands on his shoulder and taking the other one up as he lays his own on Merlin’s hip. He starts to step them across the stone floor of his chambers to silent music. Merlin worries about tripping and ruining this, but Arthur’s too sure-footed, and guides them with ease.

“You would be the grumpiest, most insolent damsel in distress there has ever been. You would complain, and snark, and decide halfway through being rescued that you could do it better yourself and run off into more trouble.”

Merlin scrunches up his nose and Arthur laughs again, pulling him closer.

“And I would run after you,” he says into Merlin’s temple. Merlin unwillingly shivers at his soft tone. “Because I couldn’t be without you, and your witty retorts, and your eye rolls, and your questioning of everything I do.”

They’ve stop moving, so Arthur’s just holding him now. Arthur tips his chin up with a knuckle, looks at him eye to eye.

“I can’t, Merlin. I can’t be without you. So please don’t go.”

Merlin frowns at him, at the worried expression Arthur’s giving him, so genuinely concerned that Merlin’s going to run from this, from him.

“Was I going somewhere?” he asks, smile teasing. He threads his fingers through Arthur’s own, weaving their hands together, enjoying the surprise and relief on Arthur face. “Because I was planning on staying right here.”

“Damn right you are,” Arthur says, and kisses him.

feast - @merthurmicrofic [500 words]

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🎶 merlin and arthur

sitting in a tree 🎶

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Merlin traces his fingers, follows the exposed lines of Arthur’s jaw, neck, collarbone, but does not touch. He does this sometimes, when Arthur’s asleep. It feels like trespassing even though Arthur’s door is never locked to him and Merlin dares not breech it further. He dares not to put his fingertips to Arthur’s skin and feel his pulse flickering under the pressure of Merlin’s touch. He longs to. Merlin longs to see if that pulse would jump in recognition at the contact. He longs to see what magic might spark if he was allowed to touch Arthur with the love he feels. He doubts Arthur returns his feelings, so he never does, and lets the magic die on the tips of his fingers, cold, unlit.

-

Arthur’s eyes follow the boundaries of Merlin where he dares not cross with his hands, his mouth. Arthur longs to touch, but keeps it to himself. Instead he lets his gaze drift over the angle of his cheekbones, the turn of his chin, the neck that disappears beneath his worn neckerchiefs. An article of clothing Arthur would happily dispose of, if only to see more skin, more Merlin—

More of what he denies himself. Arthur shakes off the thought, only to see Merlin’s hands skitter in and out of his vision as he uselessly tidies the desk around him. Merlin’s long, pale fingers that Arthur would spread between his own, tangling together, and pull—

No. Arthur will keep the distance between them, that endless chasm.

-

Arthur slips. He pulls Merlin out of the shot of an arrow, fingers wrapped around Merlin’s skinny wrist, skin to skin. This alone is not the problem. The problem is Arthur lingers, despite the danger apparent. He allows himself to feel. Merlin’s skin is hot, sparking with fire, and even when Arthur lets go, he can feel the heat of him. He can not shake him, can not shake this simple interaction, and when they return to the castle, whole and unharmed, he does it again. He wraps his fingers around Merlin’s wrist and drags him back to his rooms, desperate.

“Arthur,” Merlin says laughing as Arthur presses the door closed behind them. “If you want out of your armor that bad—“

Arthur kisses him.

-

Merlin, for a brief eternity, does not move, does not believe this is happening. Arthur’s mouth is hot on his, one hand curled protectively at his neck. Then Merlin slides his hands into Arthur’s hair and holds him there, unwilling to let him run from this.

Arthur doesn’t run. He presses closer, presses a noise into Merlin’s mouth that punches the air out of Merlin’s lungs.

“Merlin, I—“ Arthur says, wrecked.

“Arthur, yes,” Merlin says and drags him back in.

Later, Merlin traces his fingers down the exposed lines of Arthur’s body, skin to skin, feels Arthur’s pulse flicker under his finger tips. Merlin knows now that he has permission to touch. That Arthur is all his.

And that alone is a kind of magic.

touch - @merthurmicrofic [500 words]

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In your view/experience. is the rate of "incompleteness" among webcomics more or less the nature of online personal projects as a whole? Or is there something specific to webcomics like laboriousness, audience expectations, relative medium infancy or whatnot?

well for one thing webcomics has changed significantly in the last ten years. it used to have a much lower barrier for entry, just get a smackjeeves account or set up a website with a wordpress plugin. starting a webcomic when i started my webcomic vs starting a webcomic now are totally different experiences.

so i can only speak to people who started their webcomics roughly ten years ago. and roughly ten years ago a lot of us were a whole lot younger with a lot more time and energy to spend on a comic for free. this part is probably still somewhat true for new artists.

but then you get older. your ideas change. your skill develops and the old stuff isn't as good. or you don't have as much time, you got a day job. unless you're one of like five people on earth your webcomic is not paying your rent. you need to make money. your shoulder hurts. you're 30 now. you're struggling to make updates on time between whatever else makes you happy and what else you need to do to live. you wrote this story when you were 21, you don't relate to it anymore, you have different ideas, you've grown up, your audience has noticeably dropped off from the peak, social media managing is hard, you have to go to work, you're so tired, all the time.

it's a lot of things.

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les miserables + tumblr posts (inspired by this and other such posts)

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pinned post time? pinned post time.

this is mostly a fandom blog (les mis, hamlet, MASH, merlin, whatever my brain is fixated on at the moment)

about me:

✧ Nell

✧ they/them or e/em/eir

✧ writer / sewer / crafter / former artist + zine maker

where else you can find me:

pillowfort: akingofinfinitespace

ko-fi: nellerific + zine shop

AO3: 27noir

current fanfic projects:

slings and arrows (a Merlin high school / collage AU)

slings and arrows (COMPLETE)

that looks on tempests (posting July 2025)

a sea of troubles (writing)

Disaster Danes (modern Hamlet AU)

we know what we are, but know not what we may be (COMPLETE)

and by opposing, end them (COMPLETE)

3 + 4 (coming soon!)

Les Mis

the night that ends at last (Les Mis vampire AU) (coming soon!)

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Merlin traces his fingers, follows the exposed lines of Arthur’s jaw, neck, collarbone, but does not touch. He does this sometimes, when Arthur’s asleep. It feels like trespassing even though Arthur’s door is never locked to him and Merlin dares not breech it further. He dares not to put his fingertips to Arthur’s skin and feel his pulse flickering under the pressure of Merlin’s touch. He longs to. Merlin longs to see if that pulse would jump in recognition at the contact. He longs to see what magic might spark if he was allowed to touch Arthur with the love he feels. He doubts Arthur returns his feelings, so he never does, and lets the magic die on the tips of his fingers, cold, unlit.

-

Arthur’s eyes follow the boundaries of Merlin where he dares not cross with his hands, his mouth. Arthur longs to touch, but keeps it to himself. Instead he lets his gaze drift over the angle of his cheekbones, the turn of his chin, the neck that disappears beneath his worn neckerchiefs. An article of clothing Arthur would happily dispose of, if only to see more skin, more Merlin—

More of what he denies himself. Arthur shakes off the thought, only to see Merlin’s hands skitter in and out of his vision as he uselessly tidies the desk around him. Merlin’s long, pale fingers that Arthur would spread between his own, tangling together, and pull—

No. Arthur will keep the distance between them, that endless chasm.

-

Arthur slips. He pulls Merlin out of the shot of an arrow, fingers wrapped around Merlin’s skinny wrist, skin to skin. This alone is not the problem. The problem is Arthur lingers, despite the danger apparent. He allows himself to feel. Merlin’s skin is hot, sparking with fire, and even when Arthur lets go, he can feel the heat of him. He can not shake him, can not shake this simple interaction, and when they return to the castle, whole and unharmed, he does it again. He wraps his fingers around Merlin’s wrist and drags him back to his rooms, desperate.

“Arthur,” Merlin says laughing as Arthur presses the door closed behind them. “If you want out of your armor that bad—“

Arthur kisses him.

-

Merlin, for a brief eternity, does not move, does not believe this is happening. Arthur’s mouth is hot on his, one hand curled protectively at his neck. Then Merlin slides his hands into Arthur’s hair and holds him there, unwilling to let him run from this.

Arthur doesn’t run. He presses closer, presses a noise into Merlin’s mouth that punches the air out of Merlin’s lungs.

“Merlin, I—“ Arthur says, wrecked.

“Arthur, yes,” Merlin says and drags him back in.

Later, Merlin traces his fingers down the exposed lines of Arthur’s body, skin to skin, feels Arthur’s pulse flicker under his finger tips. Merlin knows now that he has permission to touch. That Arthur is all his.

And that alone is a kind of magic.

touch - @merthurmicrofic [500 words]

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Miss Piggy Artwork Parody of The Swing Painting by Jean-Honore Fragonard

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Today's edition of "Merthur interactions that drive me crazy"

Merlin & Arthur - 2.12 "The Fires of Idirsholas"

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Dame Archer kicks McDougal’s Scots ass there in the rain at the Washington Midsummer Renaissance Faire - August 11, 2018 - Photo by Douglas Herring