decisions, decisions
So I have two Arthur/Merlin ideas, and I don't know which one to put my effort into. They'll probably be a long time coming, so the sooner I stop umming and ahhing I can actually make a proper start. One is (vaguely) canon, one AU.
- - -
Canon
Merlin loves Arthur. Fiercely, stupidly, disgustingly. That's not to say he doesn't still think he's a prat, 'cause he does. Just a kind of beautiful one, one that Merlin would lay his life down for in a second. And not just 'cause of all that destiny lark.
Or maybe it is because of that destiny lark.
What the fuck ever - fact remains, Merlin's got it bad.
And you know, he'd probably be able to live with that. I mean, after the whole 'I'm-an-illegal-sorcerer' thing, this doesn't even rate on the secret scale. Yeah, he'd be ok with that. I mean, after all, it's not as if anything was going to happen. He's not Arthur's type. He's got, you know - a dick.
But then Lord Caylen of Dunwich comes to Camelot. He's charming, rich, sophisticated, and almost as beautiful as Arthur in a dark-and-mysterious kind of way.
And Arthur notices. Oh, he definately notices.
And, basically, Merlin's life goes to fuck.
Meaning bad.
- - -
AU
Life's good for Arthur.
No really, it's fairly brilliant. He's got money, tonnes of money, a cushy job that he's really fucking good at, and all the skirt he could ever want to chase.
Not that he ever has to, y'know, actually do the chasing. Ever.
That is until one night, he gets lost on the way home from a pub crawl. Gets lost with bloody Michael, of all people. Simpering, mentally deficient, useless nobody. Basically, Arthur may have had one too many. And it's so fucking cold, he needs to warm up, right? So it's perfectly natural that he starts lobbing empty bottles from a recycle bin on the side of the alley at him, yelling "Don't stop!" and "I told you to keep moving" and "Come on, run, you lazy fucker!".
And then gets found, by a scrawny kid in a tattered beanie, derelict fingerless gloves and a ridiculous neckerchief thing. He's got a battered old guitar case slung casually across his shoulders, and a smile that's equal parts amused and disapproving when he tilts his head and says "Hey. Come on, that's enough."
- - -
So... any thoughts? Preferences? Basically, I can't make my own decisions. I need rescue from the bog of mediocrity.
Cheers folks.
- - -
Canon
Merlin loves Arthur. Fiercely, stupidly, disgustingly. That's not to say he doesn't still think he's a prat, 'cause he does. Just a kind of beautiful one, one that Merlin would lay his life down for in a second. And not just 'cause of all that destiny lark.
Or maybe it is because of that destiny lark.
What the fuck ever - fact remains, Merlin's got it bad.
And you know, he'd probably be able to live with that. I mean, after the whole 'I'm-an-illegal-sorcerer' thing, this doesn't even rate on the secret scale. Yeah, he'd be ok with that. I mean, after all, it's not as if anything was going to happen. He's not Arthur's type. He's got, you know - a dick.
But then Lord Caylen of Dunwich comes to Camelot. He's charming, rich, sophisticated, and almost as beautiful as Arthur in a dark-and-mysterious kind of way.
And Arthur notices. Oh, he definately notices.
And, basically, Merlin's life goes to fuck.
Meaning bad.
- - -
AU
Life's good for Arthur.
No really, it's fairly brilliant. He's got money, tonnes of money, a cushy job that he's really fucking good at, and all the skirt he could ever want to chase.
Not that he ever has to, y'know, actually do the chasing. Ever.
That is until one night, he gets lost on the way home from a pub crawl. Gets lost with bloody Michael, of all people. Simpering, mentally deficient, useless nobody. Basically, Arthur may have had one too many. And it's so fucking cold, he needs to warm up, right? So it's perfectly natural that he starts lobbing empty bottles from a recycle bin on the side of the alley at him, yelling "Don't stop!" and "I told you to keep moving" and "Come on, run, you lazy fucker!".
And then gets found, by a scrawny kid in a tattered beanie, derelict fingerless gloves and a ridiculous neckerchief thing. He's got a battered old guitar case slung casually across his shoulders, and a smile that's equal parts amused and disapproving when he tilts his head and says "Hey. Come on, that's enough."
- - -
So... any thoughts? Preferences? Basically, I can't make my own decisions. I need rescue from the bog of mediocrity.
Cheers folks.