Kink Me! #5 Closed to new prompts
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It’s not as if Merlin meant for it to happen, or that he woke up one morning and thought, ‘why yes, I do think I need to use my brain a little less often.’ There was deference and then there was senselessness, and he was surrounded by enough Yes sire’s and Yes mi’lady’s and Whatever you might command, your O-great royalness’s all day long to know the difference. Merlin had also broken enough of Camelot’s laws (only out of necessity, of course, and always very sensibly!) to know he didn’t fall into either category - nor did he really want to.
But Merlin, in short, had had a very, very bad day. It wasn’t the type of day where monsters were rampaging or armies were sieging or Arthur was in very grave danger. It was just the type of day where everyone in Camelot, from the moment Merlin emerged from Gaius’ chambers, ( ... )
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Unfortunately for Merlin, his magic responded best to those impulses he didn’t have to think too hard on, and spells he had to say aloud. He doubted there was a spell out there that would do this - or at least he hoped there wasn’t, because he was buggered enough as it was that he didn’t want to think that it could possibly (and with Merlin’s luck, would) happen again.
It didn’t happen immediately. He didn’t wake and find himself suddenly changed, a complete stranger to himself. Instead he woke and felt something was… off.
The obvious difference was that he was up early. Most servants were up and working before dawn but Merlin rarely found himself opening his eyes before Gaius came to knock on his door. But here he was, up before the sun had peaked over the ( ... )
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Thanks for writing a story for the meme! :D
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eagerly awaiting more, anon. \o/
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Merlin spent the rest of the day desperately tidying up the Prince’s chambers, cleaning out all the corners he’d previously - appallingly, insolently - neglected before. He was down on hands and knees scrubbing the floor most of the morning, and as much as he wanted to take a break he just knew he wanted to get it clean; he wanted to be able to see the color of his face shining back at him from the stone. His hands were dry and his skin cracked painfully, but he kept up the forward-back-forward-back rhythm, dragging the wet rag over the floor. He knew he had to do this now; he’d put it off for far too long and therefore it was all his fault to begin with ( ... )
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“Oi, git out,” cried the head cook when she saw him. “I ain’t wantin’ any o’your muckin’ about today ( ... )
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