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  <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere</id>
  <title>Alex Blaine Layder</title>
  <subtitle>H</subtitle>
  <author>
    <name>H</name>
  </author>
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  <updated>2009-12-19T18:33:56Z</updated>
  <lj:journal userid="7820349" username="derryere" type="personal"/>
  <link rel="service.feed" type="application/x.atom+xml" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/data/atom" title="Alex Blaine Layder"/>
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  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:130507</id>
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    <title>THIS IS ALL I EVER WANTED EVER IN MY LIFE EVER</title>
    <published>2009-12-19T18:32:51Z</published>
    <updated>2009-12-19T18:33:56Z</updated>
    <category term="there are no words for posts this epic"/>
    <category term="merlin finale"/>
    <content type="html">&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;font size="10"&gt;O___________________O&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll just go lie over there and twitch for a while if that's okay with everyone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NGH</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:130169</id>
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    <title>derryere @ 2009-12-16T15:27:00</title>
    <published>2009-12-16T14:28:03Z</published>
    <updated>2009-12-16T15:22:49Z</updated>
    <content type="html">Okay, last entry? In bad taste. Never mind that. Apologies all around and carry on as you were!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*fidgets*</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:129328</id>
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    <title>SPORADIC POST IS SPORADIC</title>
    <published>2009-12-15T23:06:05Z</published>
    <updated>2009-12-15T23:51:58Z</updated>
    <category term="go go go"/>
    <category term="the brain is a stew of weird"/>
    <category term="the fleck? jesus"/>
    <category term="procrastinaation for the nation"/>
    <category term="sol to the stice"/>
    <category term="freaky dreams man"/>
    <content type="html">I have things to do and I don't want to do any of them and everything sucks and WHY DOES NO ONE UNDERSTAND ME didn't I expressively state I wanted the RED M&amp;MS TAKEN OUT OF THE BATCH &lt;i&gt;BEFORE&lt;/i&gt; YOU GOT THEM TO ME god now I have to &lt;i&gt;wait&lt;/i&gt; and watch you flail and make a mess of everything WHICH IS REALLY NOT HOW I WANTED TO SPEND MY ME-TIME, YOU KNOW. GOD. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or, you know. Something like that. POOP, guys. When is this week gonna be OVER. UGH. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Diiiiistractions. Gonna tell you about a dream I had! Because I need something to do that isn't staring at me from a word doc. THIS GOES FOR YOU, TOO, FIC FROM HELL. And don't give me that WHAT WHAT I'm just an assignment project document! face, NO ONE'S BUYING IT. Please X yourself within the coming ten seconds or I'll have to do it myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway! Dreams. Freaky shit, dreams. The other night it was something about--me, my sister and my dad living in a centre parks like cabin in the woods, only. Yeah. My sister was a ghost and my dad was addicted to--WAIT FOR IT--WEREWOLF PILLS. Which, you know. Made him a WEREWOLF. And I disapproved, but it made him so happy and what else could I do, right? Well, one time something went wrong and he was sort of stuck in that ecstatic dog-like state of mind, and I had to go to a pharmacy to get the anti-werewolf pills, but the only pharmacy was in the next village (visited often by Kate Winslet. I DON'T EVEN). SO WE WENT THERE, but there was this--huge fair thing going on, and the pharmacy was on the street behind where the roller-coaster was, and there was no way around it. SO WE HAD TO CLIMB THE TRACKS, because the cars were only for people who actually went IN the attraction, like Kate Winslet, and it was all very bothersome and I got very annoyed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ANOTHER ONE! From two weeks ago or something. It was--well, the main story was about me being crap at school and failing everything (ah, don't you love these?), but it was a universe with a different literary canon. AAAND the biggest work of fiction of this century, like. THE novel, THE Oprah Club jewel, was this book about a guy who'd proven God didn't exist. He'd found THE ultimate evidence, indisputable, like, the end. No more doubt, no question to it, GOD DID NOT EXIST. The story itself takes place five years later, after he'd published all his works and been on the news and talkshows and everything, aaaand he wakes up one morning, looks in the mirror and there's this. FLECK. In his eye. Like, his iris. A black FLECK. AND, UM. It's Jesus. The fleck is Jesus, and it starts talking to him. Just, random things. "Hi man, this is Jesus. How are you doing? Hey! By the way! Congrats on your big--you know, the, scientific, yeah, I don't know you guys' speak for that, but man! Awesome. Good for you. GOOD FOR YOU!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YEAH I DON'T KNOW. There wasn't more plot that I can remember, because I fell asleep (in the dream) and then got woken up by a teacher who was sitting next to my bed STARING AT ME and screaming, 'READ READ READ!' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, what could that POSSIBLY mean! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, in conclusion, everyone should not indulge me when I'm procrastinating and head over to &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_camelotsolstice' lj:user='camelotsolstice' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://community.livejournal.com/camelotsolstice/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif' alt='[info]' width='16' height='16' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://community.livejournal.com/camelotsolstice/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;camelotsolstice&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; and check out the collective awesome posted there. Go! Go and I'll catch up in a week, yes. I'LL SEE YOU THERE IN A WEEK, YES. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and &lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?zo1nm5lmzmj"&gt;HERE.&lt;/a&gt; Have the best Christmas song EVER. All I want for Christmas? Is a--GETTIN' CRUNK.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:129228</id>
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    <title>it's lean, mean giffin' machine </title>
    <published>2009-12-13T03:36:11Z</published>
    <updated>2009-12-13T04:04:27Z</updated>
    <category term="a yellow subma--sleep!"/>
    <category term="i&amp;apos;m bringing sleepy back"/>
    <category term="sleeeeep"/>
    <category term="need sleeeep"/>
    <category term="want sleeeeep"/>
    <category term="thinking of sleeep"/>
    <category term="zzzzzzzzzzz"/>
    <category term="sleeeeepy"/>
    <category term="can write a sleepy romance"/>
    <content type="html">Hey, did anyone else ever end up watching the last ten minutes of Hole in the Wall before Merlin comes on? Isn't it a horrible show? Aren't those outfits a crime against humanity? Doesn't anything think there should really, REALLY be some serious Joe/Austin fic out there? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just sayin'. I mean. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i47.tinypic.com/2hh41uv.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They're in silver BODYSUITS, for Christ's sake. TOUCHING. Being SNARKY. Riding each other like HORSES (&amp;lt;- actually happened, I believe.) It's not like I'm even TRYING here. It's just--come on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;SILVER BODYSUITS, GUYS.&lt;/i&gt; SILVER. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, while all of you are off writing me Jaustin fic, I'll give you some gifs from 2.12 :3 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://i45.tinypic.com/o8x54y.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Longest gif I've ever made. 250 FRAMES, JFC. Took over an hour. SO WORTH IT, THOUGH.&lt;br /&gt;"AW A WEETLE BATTLEWOUND IT'S SO CUTE ALL IT NEEDS IS A PWETTY LITTLE BOW." &lt;br /&gt;Merlin: *not amused* &lt;br /&gt;"COME HERE AND LET ME WRAP YOUR WEETLE BOO BOO IN A RIBBON. DON'T YOU LIKE RIBBONS? DOESN'T THE BABY LIKE THE PWETTY RI--" &lt;br /&gt;Merlin: *holds out arm* "Shut up and get the fuck on with it. Asshole." &lt;br /&gt;Arthur: *kisses the boo boo* &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i46.tinypic.com/fc7c4i.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Preeeeettyyyy faaaaacceeee iiissss preeeeettyyy iiiinn sllooowwwmooootiiooon toooo~~~~ &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i50.tinypic.com/2ex7pde.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"WHOA WHERE DID THAT FALLING WALL COME FROM!" &lt;br /&gt;"Uh. the. uh. ceiling?" &lt;br /&gt;"Oh yeah okay that makes sense. For a second there I thought it was magic or something, ha ha!" &lt;br /&gt;"Yeah... ha... ha..." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i46.tinypic.com/szts1l.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HOLD ON ARTHUR DON'T MOVE I THINK IF I STARE ARE YOU MOUTH ONE MORE TIME I'LL FIND THE ANSWER TO THE CURSE. ...NO OKAY ONE MORE TIME. ...JUST ONE MORE. ...OKAY I'M DONE. NO I'M NOT. THIS IS THE LAST TIME I PROMISE. OKAY I LIED. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i45.tinypic.com/2w4zhar.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DHKSJFH VSKJDFHV SDFJVHKDSJFHVSDKF VDSKFJVH :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i46.tinypic.com/33ljvki.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how Bradley's, like, making to grab FOR HIS HAND and then goes, 'oh whoops ON CAMERA RIGHT SORRY'. I know you're thinking that's not Colin's hand he's aiming for, but I've capped this step by step, and I'm sorry to disappoint you pervs. But he was trying to grab his hand. BE HAPPY OKAY, IT'S SERIOUSLY TIME FOR YOU TO GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE FILTH INTO THE TINHATTED SUGARY FLUFF I'M OFFERING HERE.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, for some older ones:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i46.tinypic.com/mcvpxt.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you can't see the point of this gif, then you're fired from the internet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i35.tinypic.com/11lk394.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"LET'S HAVE SEX!"&lt;br /&gt;"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!"&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now all I want is a 2.12 outtake with sleepy!Arthur and sleepy!Merlin where they're confused and blurry and at some point, in between all the running and the hiding and the dragging of the king around the castle on a SLAY OF SHEET, Arthur's being vaguely sleepy!concerned, trying to check Merlin's ~battle wound~, and actually does end up kissing the boo boo. Doesn't that sound like a fun little fic, flist? MAYBE EVEN, SAY. COMMENTFIC, FLIST? DOESN'T IT? DOESN'T IT, FLIST? *nudges*</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:128777</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/128777.html"/>
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    <title>:O</title>
    <published>2009-12-12T18:45:15Z</published>
    <updated>2009-12-12T19:37:24Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;font size="10"&gt;:OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;ETA,&lt;/b&gt; and that, kids, was badassedness at its ASSENDEST. ASSED--ASS...ST...whatever YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. There are gonna be some haters this time around, which I totally get, but today? Today I'm a lover. I'M A LOVER, KIDS. A LOVER OF THE BADASS. AND SWEAT. AND THE GASPING. WHICH WAS HOT. DON'T DENY.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:128298</id>
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    <title>! </title>
    <published>2009-11-28T14:34:40Z</published>
    <updated>2009-11-28T14:35:17Z</updated>
    <category term="tagging is not for the lazy"/>
    <content type="html">I'm not sure how exactly I survived this week, BUT I DID. WHICH IS AWESOME. Two essays! DONE! THREE HOURS OF SLEEP COUNTERED BY AN UNINTERRUPTED FOURTEEN! &lt;i&gt;YES.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so, on my way out, because The Dodos are in town and I have tickets and while I know--I KNOW--roadtrip and WOOING and everything, but. Y'know. &lt;i&gt;THE DODOS.&lt;/i&gt; Men! FABLES! THEIR SONGS ARE M/A FICS WAITING TO HAPPEN, so all in all, I'm still keeping the shippy spirit alive. Also, dragging &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_zarathuse' lj:user='zarathuse' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;zarathuse&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; with me. ALSO, having dinner at the King Arthur's. SO. DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. This is not bailing out. THIS IS GIVING THE NIGHT ANOTHER DEGREE OF AWESOME, OKAY. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...But I'm also expecting you to keep me updated. ALL THE TIME. IN THIS POST. So reply with links to the good stuff, bbs. Posts, reviews, squeefests, whatever. JUST LINK ME TO IT, so I can come back and gatecrash all the parties once they're over :D &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In exchange I'll give you fic. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(ALSO RAS YOU ARE FIRED FOR NOT KNOWING. SAME GOES TO MIA. I &lt;i&gt;talked&lt;/i&gt; to you about it MOMENTS before I posted. MOMENTS! DO YOU NOT REMEMBER THE WHINE! THE TEARS! &lt;i&gt;HOW COULD YOU NOT HAVE KNOWN!&lt;/i&gt; So yes. Fired. I mean, come on. IT HAD &lt;i&gt;HYPHENS.&lt;/i&gt; Who else uses more hyphens than commas? Who? ...FIRED. But rehired, because I love yous. DAMMIT.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/22680"&gt;&lt;b&gt;At Our Best When It's From the Hips&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt; | M/A | NC17 | ~13K | &lt;i&gt;Merlin goes to a brothel to get rid of that virginity thing and runs into Arthur. From there on, it's all madness.&lt;/i&gt; Originally posted &lt;a href="http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/6345.html?thread=3342025#t3342025"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt; at &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_kinkme_merlin' lj:user='kinkme_merlin' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif' alt='[info]' width='16' height='16' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;kinkme_merlin&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. Don't know why it's so long, it's all porn and angst, but there you go. WRITTEN FOR &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_ras_elased' lj:user='ras_elased' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://ras-elased.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://ras-elased.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;ras_elased&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, WITH ALL MY PORNY LOVE &amp;hearts;</content>
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  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:128104</id>
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    <title>and it's not even saturday yet</title>
    <published>2009-11-24T22:12:35Z</published>
    <updated>2009-11-24T22:30:13Z</updated>
    <category term="holy shit"/>
    <content type="html">I AM WRITING TWO ESSAYS AND FICS AND SHIT BUT KIDS, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;font size="10"&gt;KIDS.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;big&gt;&lt;b&gt;SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND LISTEN THE FUCK UP BECAUSE &lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://community.livejournal.com/bradleycolin/274875.html?style=mine"&gt;COLIN MORGAN AND BRADLEY JAMES WENT ON A MOTHERFUCKING ROADTRIP.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/big&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;font size="10"&gt;BAM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i47.tinypic.com/ao198l.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BAM.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now go write me fic about why Colin shaves off his scruff on the first night. OR, you know. ABOUT ANYTHING ROADTRIPPY AT ALL. &lt;/center&gt;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:127852</id>
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    <title>derryere @ 2009-11-21T22:03:00</title>
    <published>2009-11-21T21:03:55Z</published>
    <updated>2009-11-21T21:06:20Z</updated>
    <category term="whaaaaaaaaaat"/>
    <category term="shirtless fun!"/>
    <category term="colin cut ur nails"/>
    <content type="html">&lt;img src="http://i49.tinypic.com/6zplbl.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT THE FUCK&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IS THIS</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:127545</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/127545.html"/>
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    <title>MY JOB IS TO WOO!</title>
    <published>2009-11-21T18:52:33Z</published>
    <updated>2009-11-21T20:30:58Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&lt;span style="background: url(http://www.ukauctionhelp.co.uk/image.php?i=sparkle); font-size: 40pt"&gt;SWEET. MOTHER. OF GOD.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I'd say this was my favourite ep, but I already know next week's will be THE MOST AMAZING MOMENT IN SUBTEXTUAL GAY TELEVISION EVER. DHSJFH NOW, NOOOWWW I WANT IT NOOOW D:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;eta&lt;/b&gt;, random thoughts. Too lazy to type them up, so! C/p from a convo I had w/ &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_ras_elased' lj:user='ras_elased' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://ras-elased.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://ras-elased.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;ras_elased&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i&gt;I loved, loved loved the whole infatuation plot. It was so adorably inappropriate and so obviously just, TEENAGE AND BLIND and unrealistic, with the whole, 'we'll leave Camelot together!' without thinking about ANYONE but himself--and it's exactly what I think Merlin would do. 'LOL MAGIC AND MONSTERS WHO CARES LET'S HAVE SEX IN THE DUNGEONS!'. And yeah, he has his ~destiny~ with Arthur and all, but. I mean. HE IS JUST A KID, AFTER ALL. Those weren't genuinely DEEP feelings, were they? It was just the thrill of having found someone, of being able to be with someone, and--let's be honest. How he treated her? The way he talked to her? It was pretty much exactly how he wishes the people he loves could treat him. OR, AS I SEE IT, 'I WISH ARTHUR WOULD BE LIKE THIS W/ ME BUT HE WON'T SO NOW I'LL GO AND PROJECT ON THIS GIRL :('&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically. Plus other things. YES, FLAWS, WEIRD SCENES--half naked chick running through castle? But, to be honest, nothing in this ep bothered me like certain details did in previous eps. I say 'bother', but that's a big word too. I WELCOME MOST CANON. More to play with, right? AND FREAL, never expected this show to make much sense. In the meanwhile, we have cross-dressing jokes and MERLIN KISSING. I'm happy. Are you happy? It's okay if you're not. I'm almost completely sure next week will make you happy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know why? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BECAUSE ARTHUR'S JOB IS TO FUCKING &lt;i&gt;WOO.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:DDD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;FINAL EDIT,&lt;/b&gt; &lt;a href="http://community.livejournal.com/bradleycolin/269849.html?style=mine"&gt;Bradley and Colin went on a roadtrip together.&lt;/a&gt; Someone is doing SOMETHING on purpose, I am certain of it. THESE THINGS DON'T JUST HAPPEN. AAH *breaks*</content>
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  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:127478</id>
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    <title>SNIPPERTSSS *bored*</title>
    <published>2009-11-20T23:39:42Z</published>
    <updated>2009-11-21T00:10:26Z</updated>
    <category term="and food"/>
    <category term="ezra koenig u r sex"/>
    <category term="drunk!merlin love"/>
    <category term="snippets"/>
    <category term="i want tea"/>
    <category term="my toes are cold"/>
    <category term="why is there a plate here?"/>
    <category term="merliiiiiiiiiiin"/>
    <category term="bla bla bla"/>
    <content type="html">Snippets from unfinished fics! Haven't actually posted anything ACTUAL fic-like ever since the 'Bang, so this is sort of me trying to seem productive. WHICH I HAVE BEEN! Just. Also very flaky :3 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ANYWAY. Onto the ficcage! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(AND NOW it's like, what? 30 minutes later? THIS IS HARD. I can't choose passages. And I'm cold. WANT TO POST EVERYTHING AT ONCE. GAH. Why am I hungry upstairs and when I go down I'm good again? WHY? WHY IS THIS?) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;M/A, an  unfinished something for Bina :) Awkward!Merlin + Horny!Arthur, yay!&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Arthur rolls his head to the side, tapping his thumb to the nape of his neck as he stares at the unmarked path along the wide-standing trees a little distance off the clearing. He can see the jutting roots where the ground dips into a slanting descent, gradually giving way to the river's near presence--the sound of the water clattering in the distance blending in with the fire's quiet hissing. Merlin disappeared down that way a while ago, and it's starting to get dark and Arthur waits, patient for a lack of anything else to do, until he's back. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the time he does it's gotten colder, and Arthur's already folded his blankets haphazardly over his chest. Merlin pushes his way past some twigs, shoes in his hand and hair still damp from bathing--parts of his shirt, too, where the water's run down his neck and soaked into the collar. When he notices Arthur, lying where he is, eyes lazily following his movements, Merlin acknowledges him with an uncomfortable half-nod. Looks down and away.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur is all too aware of their sleeping arrangements, of where he is and where Merlin will be lying. Head to toe, he thinks, and feels the needy frustration grow stronger at knowing that it's not very welcome right now. Not a good thing, he knows. Can't very well help it, lets his mind fog up a little as he watches Merlin lay his shoes with the rest of their things—watches his back, the wet hair at the base of his neck sticking to his skin, curling under his ear. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you gonna wash?" Merlin asks, not looking up as he makes toward the fire. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"God, no," Arthur says, arches a bit as though to stretch before adding, "The water's bloody freezing, isn't it?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin nods vaguely. "Suit yourself." He steps over Arthur's legs to his own bedroll, sitting on it to brush the dirt off his feet before getting under the blankets himself—self-conscious of his movements as he turns on his side, back to Arthur. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Night," he says, small, and Arthur stares at him for a long, bemused moment before replying with a, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Merlin." And then again, when no answer follows, "Merlin." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy doesn't move. Doesn't say a thing. Arthur gives a short, hollow breath of a laugh, tries for another, &lt;i&gt;"Merlin,"&lt;/i&gt; but the answering silence is as stubborn as before. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fine," he breathes out, annoyed like there's somehow something funny about this, and rolls his eyes up to the canopy. Sniffs, shifts. Glances at Merlin, quickly, then up again—he is nothing close to being tired.&lt;/ul&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid2"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;M/A, RIDICULOUS MODERN AU OF RIDICULOUSNESS. Gwen leaves Merlin, the chem teacher, for Arthur, the martial arts teacher at the local gym. Merlin gets drunk, challenges Arthur to a duel. Hilarity ensues.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Somewhere on the forth day, probably between waking up and a lunch of canned olives he found in the back of the cupboard, Merlin decides he's lost all sense of pride. He'd thought about it for a while—a pensive few hours under the covers, murmuring to himself in a tight, whiny little voice—and came to the conclusion that pride was a nice idea in general, but really had no place in his life anymore. His life, for as far as he was concerned, had rebooted itself in a sudden display of extreme masochism—and in its renewal, apparently, was currently prepared to make room for only three things: alcohol, wanking, and weeping himself to sleep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This monumental shift in his priorities had, obviously, the necessary effects on his lifestyle. But fuck it all, he thinks. And, Sacrifices have to be made!, while wading his way through to the kitchen and stepping into a pizza box—old cheese and sauce squishing between his toes. He thinks it again, later, when trying to crawl into bed with a bottle and misjudging the relation between the vertical and the horizontal. And again, after having turned over his stained mattress, watching something German and filthy on the telly with lotion and tissues for company, remembering the time Gwen had said, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey, d'you wanna, like. Try it with porn, sometime?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he'd laughed into her neck and said, "Who needs porn when I've got this?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which ruins it all, immediately, and so he groans and gives up—hands going slack along with the rest of him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Great," he says, not quite crying yet but close to it. "Now the wank's gone, too."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wipes his palm on a pillow, chin trembling as he lets his head drop back against the headboard—breathing in unsteadily, glancing up at the ceiling. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No more wank," he tells himself, sadly, voice cracking towards the high-pitched. He sighs, thinks about it, then pushes himself to a sitting position. "No more," it comes again, softly this time, and then he gets to his feet—wobbling, staggering his way to the window, steadying himself on the sill before sliding it open and squinting at the rush of noise and stifling summer air that come at him. He frowns, leaning forward and sticking his head out, shouting at the city, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You hear that, Gwen! NO MORE WANK! Bet you'd like that, huh? Bet you would, you backstabbing &lt;i&gt;bitch!&lt;/i&gt;" And then, as an afterthought, "Wait, no I didn't mean that. I love you. Come back. I love you, Gwen! I LOVE—" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;i&gt;—Oi!&lt;/i&gt;" someone from below, an old lady smoking outside the pub opposite, shouts at him—jabbing her cigarette in his general direction, voice hoarse as she adds, "Fuck off!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin blinks down, the street a bit of a blur and too bright compared to the dimness of the last couple of days. "&lt;i&gt;You&lt;/i&gt; fu . . . " he starts, is unable to finish, head spinning with beer and the standing up, and settles for flipping a very unimpressive bird. He closes the window and turns, slumping against it and sliding to the floor. On the floor, he finds that's not low enough yet, and lies down—sobbing to himself, happy to be miserable now that he has no pride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just off the edge of the bedside table, above his head, he sees the corner of a downturned picture frame. From his new angle he can make out his smiling face and Gwen's hand around his neck, and lifts a flailing foot to shove it further onto the table. And while he's up there, anyway, he catches the curling telephone wire with his foot and nudges it down. The receiver falls off the set, dangling next to his head, and he blearily catches it—dialling a quick and easy number, then randomly resting the phone on his face, waiting for it to switch over to voicemail. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He listens to Gwen's voice telling him she can't answer right now, or is out, or maybe on the run somewhere (an awkward laugh), but please to leave a message after the beep and she'll get back to him as soon as—&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin knocks the receiver against his head, muttering, "Stupid, stupid, &lt;i&gt;stu—&lt;/i&gt;" until the beep has beeped, and then he holds his breath. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Gwen," he says. "Gwen. Please. Gwen. Just—I just want to know, okay? I just don't—understand—Why would you—You have to call me back sometime, Gwen, you can't just . . . " &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another beep beeps, and clicks over into a monotone continuation of a single note. Merlin hisses out a sigh, and digs the end of the receiver into his eye. He waits in the muffled silence of the apartment for a while, and nothing sounds except for the vague grunting noises coming from the TV in the background. He's thinking hard about the last time she used the key. It was a few days ago—she'd quietly padded into the living room when he was still in bed, like he was wont to do ever since last week, and gently called out that she was just here to pick up her stuff, and that she'd be gone in a second. He'd called back, repeating her name in a pathetic, constant manner, telling her not to go but not getting up or try to stop her. She'd sat at the edge of his bed, edged back the sheets, stroked his hair back and off his face and said, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Don't make it so hard, Merlin."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's not conflicted. Not really. It's not like he's wondering whether or &lt;i&gt;not&lt;/i&gt; he should call her every five minutes, hour, every day—the answer to that is simple and obvious. Yes. Yes, he'd call her, he'd call her as much as he needs to. He'd weep over the phone, beg, he doesn't care. It's worth it, he thinks, it'll be worth it if she just talks to him, just for a moment. What gets to him, what really settles itself deep in his guts and &lt;i&gt;wrenches&lt;/i&gt;, is the total lack of understanding. This chronic state he's been in ever since she left, like he's still staring at the door, blinking and going, &lt;i&gt;what the shitting hell just happened?&lt;/i&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He taps the phone to his mouth, eyes closed as he dials another number—her landline. Another voicemail, another chance, he thinks, and waits for the switch of the tone on the other side. One, two, three, four, fi—&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"'Lo?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin's eyes snap open. For a moment, he stops breathing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hello?" the voice on the other end goes, stretching the last syllable into a long question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin blinks, sits upright too quickly and bangs his head against the edge of his bedside table—making his first reply a muffled groan, and the sound of items falling messily around him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Shit," he whispers, rubbing his forehead. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Pardon?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin frowns, quickly shifting the phone and aligning it with his ear, holding it with two hands before saying, "Who is this?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Who is &lt;i&gt;this?&lt;/i&gt;" the voice retorts, too light and unbothered. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wait, is—" His frown deepens. "Is Gwen there?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nope. She's out for the afternoon. Can take a message, though, if y'want." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Staring at the knobbly bit of his knee, the flickering shadows of the television making his skin sickly blue, then green, then red, then flashing back to blue, Merlin remembers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You," he says, first a whisper and then, "&lt;i&gt;It's you!&lt;/i&gt;" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's . . ." the voice pauses. "Me?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;i&gt;You!&lt;/i&gt; You're him!" Merlin clarifies. "You &lt;i&gt;stole&lt;/i&gt; her from me!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A short, stunned silence is all the reply he gets initially—but it's quickly followed by an inhaling sound of dawning comprehension and a, "Aaaah. The ex-boyfriend." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fuck you!" And again, to make his point, "&lt;i&gt;You stole her from me!&lt;/i&gt;" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Listen, mate," the man says, a bit too laughingly, "I didn't do anything, all right? These things just—happen, yeah? So why don't you just take an aspirin, sleep it off and—"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No! You—you prick, these things don't just &lt;i&gt;happen!&lt;/i&gt; They don't happen unless someone comes along and fucks it up for everyone! You, in this case, whoever the fuck you may be." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Look, mate, I don't appreciate your language, and—" He stops as Merlin snorts into the phone, loud and drunkenly mocking. "&lt;i&gt;And,&lt;/i&gt; obviously, I'm not the one who got walked out on. So maybe, maybe that should get you thinking, yeah?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What?" Merlin makes a ridiculed, confused face at the phone. "What the fuck does that mean?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man breathes into the mouthpiece, close and restrained. "It means, friend," he says, voice clipped, "that there was probably something wrong with you in the first place, yeah, that a top girl like Gwen was so eager to get out at all, yeah?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eyes widening in the dark of the room, Merlin gets to his feet—ready to act big to no-one. "I am not," he replies through clenched teeth, "your &lt;i&gt;friend.&lt;/i&gt; I am &lt;i&gt;not the ex-boyfriend&lt;/i&gt;, and you—you have no idea what the fuck you're talking about."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You need to stop calling her," the man says instead. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What, because you say so?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No." The phone shifts a little, something scraping along the receiver. "Because she's moved on."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's been a &lt;i&gt;week&lt;/i&gt;." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, well, maybe it's been more than a week for her." A short, heavy pause. "You don't know that, do you." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;i&gt;Shut up&lt;/i&gt;. She—We were happy, all right? We were so bloody happy it was coming out of our fucking ears. It's just—unfortunate, that you came along and messed with her head, all right? Because you obviously did and now she obviously doesn't know what's good for her." He lets go of a small, tight breath. "Obviously." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, and I suppose you do, don't you?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;i&gt;Me,&lt;/i&gt;" he says immediately. "&lt;i&gt;I'm good for her.&lt;/i&gt;" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, mate. You're not." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And you decide that, right." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No. She did. She decided that when she broke up with—"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"—No. You know what? No, just. This isn't working." He rubs a knuckle to his eyebrow, eyes briefly closing. "We're not getting anywhere like this." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And why d'you think that is?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fuck you," again, and then, "There's only one way to solve this. Gwen doesn't—no. This isn't about her. It's you, you messed it all up, so there's only—"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, God, don't tell you're actually trying to—"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"—I'll fight you," Merlin says, before realising the words are out of his mouth—or even how ridiculous they sound. But then he thinks it over, a second, and suddenly it's brilliant again. "Yeah," he adds, "I am. I'm challenging you. To a fight. Best man to win gets to keep Gwen." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the other end of the line there's nothing for a while, and then there's a lot. And it's all laughter. Rolling, genuine laughter, a distinct kind that's odd enough to make people want to laugh too—or kill, whichever comes first. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm not joking," Merlin hisses. "I'm fucking serious, all right? I'll fight you. It's honourable enough. I'll fight you, and if I win you back the hell off, yeah?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, Christ," the man says on a breath, still laughing. "How drunk are you?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You scared? Is that it? You're scared I'll actually win?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, yeah, positively terrified, me." He gives a happy chuckle. "You're a funny little man, aren't you?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I. &lt;i&gt;Am&lt;/i&gt;—" Merlin holds the phone in front of him as he shouts, "&lt;i&gt;SERIOUS!&lt;/i&gt;" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His face is a nasty grimace as he brings the phone back to his ear, and he reminds himself—no pride. He's breathing hard, feeling regrettably sober and unable to explain his actions, listening to the silence on the other side. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"All right," the man says, eventually, sounding wary. "All right, then. I'll fight you." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah," Merlin replies, voice hoarse. "Good." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How about—park behind the school? Ten past. That's in twenty minutes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What? You mean—" Merlin glances sideways at the wall. "Now?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes. Now." A pause. "Or, what? You don't want to?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, no I—yeah, no, now's good. Now's great. Now's—" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good," the man says. Merlin's about to confirm with something like, &lt;i&gt;won't be so good for you when you're crawling your way back, ha ha&lt;/i&gt;, when he's abruptly hung up on, leaving him with a half-uttered sentence and nothing more than a long, long beep of a tone. The phone stays to his ear for a stretching minute after that, and it takes a while before he manages to slowly bring down his hand, comically gulping at the wall opposite as he pushes the off button. &lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid3"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Morg/Gwen, Modern AU snippet for puckling :D Started writing this one while waiting for the 'Bangs to be posted. THIS IS WHAT NERVES DO TO ME, YOU SEE. Weird POVs and shit D:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not one of us really knows how many times we've been over it. Back in college, when Sam and JJ still roomed together on campus and the rest of us had fanned our social circle across the city's student housing, we used to get together for coffee every other week. And while new classes were exciting to discuss, asshole professors, the douchebags with better grades, the change from high school to life, real life, or what we thought was real life at the time, with our gas bills and essays and crashing romances--while all that was what kept us busy most of the time, whenever we were together, the old gang, we always ended up talking about what had happened that final term, that last year of school. We went through the facts over and over, trying to solve the mystery of it, to get our heads around it and while we never came to any conclusion--nothing beyond what we and the police and the school board had already established a long time ago--we still kept bringing it up. It was our story, like everyone's got a &lt;i&gt;story&lt;/i&gt;, this was ours. The one we told at bars or when we wanted to impress a date, when everyone was drunk or stoned and quiet and needed something to get the party going again. The one we told when we wanted to say something deep philosophical, since our own experiences never quite seemed to live up to everyone else's. We were an ordinary bunch, some richer than the others, some less advantaged, but we all lived in nice houses and we all got into okay colleges, we all bought clothes at the thrift shop even though we could afford better and we all pretended to be in a band. Some of us were. Only Philip could really play the drums, though. He was our one true musical talent. The rest of us considered ourselves gifted by association. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In our collective mediocrity, The Story was the one thing that made us different. Special. More interesting than we used to be. And it wasn't even our story to begin with. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heather always swears it started in March that year, swears that one time after chemistry--the one class she'd shared with Gill--the two of them walked back to the cafeteria when the Devil Woman (the name Heather always gave her, a weak attempt to get the rest of us to call her the same--which we never did) walked past. She says she'd bumped into Gill's shoulder without pausing or apologising, and that Gill, always so quiet and reserved, suddenly stopped in her tracks--turned around, and in a complete uncharacteristic move shouted after, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;"Who do you think you are?"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But we never got the chance to ask Gill about this, and--well, we all know Heather. The question of where it all started was always rehashed in our once weekly meetings, that've now shrunken down to every other year, and every time we all democratically decide that it most definitely truly started that day in early May. That morning the gang had gathered by the lockers, like we always did, waiting for the first bell and talking about what we were doing that day. It was never much, our plans. Usually hanging out in the park, Urie passing around a joint for the willing, JJ making a show out of doodling in his notepad--ignoring our jabs at the shadow of a moustache he tried to grow that spring. It was Philip who noticed, that morning, that Gill hadn't shown up. This was something worth noticing because Gill always showed up, usually was there before most of us. She used to be one of us for years before It happened. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She wasn't a very noticeable addition to our group when she was around. Never said a lot, wasn't exceptionally funny or smart, didn't have much hobbies to talk about. We knew she used to like horses when she was six, but most girls did at the time, so. She liked reading, but then again lot of us did, and besides she was just that kind of person. You'd be more surprised if she'd say she didn't read. Lily, who used to be her best friend before we'd all found each other and somehow glued together, said that Gill liked panel shows and that she sang sometimes--but only when a CD was playing in the background. She didn't see the attraction in performing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh," one of us, probably Sam, said when Philip noticed her absence. "Maybe she's sick? Dunno, dude."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all shrugged. This was before the time of cellphones. This was back when you had to wait for your friends to show up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end we found her before the second lunch break. She was waiting by the drinking fountain outside history class, which most of us had together and the rest flocked towards after the bell. Now we lament, we say, "No, dude, no, there was definitely something weird about her that day." And, "I swear I thought to myself she looked tired, I swear," and, "I almost even said it, you know, almost asked her if she was okay." It's all bullshit, of course. We had no idea at the same. She just lingered back against the wall, absently playing with the fountain's button. Pushing, watching the water spray up, letting up. Pushing, letting go. When she looked up, noticing us, she smiled a little. That was it. We thought, "Oh, it's Gill," and that was that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Philip asked her why she'd missed half the day, because Philip cared because Philip had an inexplicable little crush on her and Philip had a bet with Will from Biology that he'd get her in the sack before prom. Secretly, Philip just wanted her to like him that way. He didn't care that much about the bet, he admitted to Urie a short while after it all happened, when they were both stoned and sad. He just really wanted her to like him. Urie didn't get it. She wasn't even that hot. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In reply to his question Gill had mumbled something about a bad night of sleep, frowned and said--we're not really sure. She had a very quiet voice. Talia, who never knew her that well and who joined the gang just a few months before--moved here from uptown, big city girl who couldn't find a way to fit in and so stuck to the average kids--always stuck to the idea that Gill said something about a nightmare she'd had. Most of us think she just wanted to be involved in some way, and that's why she won't let that one go. Some of us believe her, though, say that they'd heard something similar. We never know for sure. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What we do know, what all of us know even though it was only Sam, Heather and Little Erik in that class, is that that day, Gill was sent to the principle's office. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gill had never, in her life, been sent to the principle's. What happened was this: she didn't finish her homework. She was taking advanced French, was a passable student, and if she couldn't finish something on time she'd tell the teacher at the beginning of the class. But that day she didn't. She'd forgotten entirely, she'd said later, didn't know why, really. So when the teacher asked her to answer a question she was supposed to prepare, she stared down at her empty notebook and said nothing. The teacher asked again, and still she said nothing. She was blushing, embarrassed, but still said nothing. The third time the teacher got annoyed, said, "Mon dieu, &lt;i&gt;Geel&lt;/i&gt;, qu'est-ce qu'il y a?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Gill, face burning and mind muddled, couldn't decipher the man's quick speech--didn't know what he asked her this time, what he wanted, not even when he repeated that last part even louder--&lt;i&gt;what is wrong with you?&lt;/i&gt;--and just like that, something snapped. In retrospect it's clear to us all that there was something else going on, that something was troubling her, that that day wasn't just another day, not for her, but at the time we were puzzled as to what the shit had made her do what she did. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that it was that spectacular. A lot of us had done worse in class, JJ once spit on the shoes of a Maths teachers, but for Gill it was something else. For Gill it was unprecedented. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She'd looked up in a flash, frowning, and cut the teacher off mid-sentence with a loud, "Ta gueule!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They'd learned that in class two weeks ago. Everyone was using it as a joke all the time, saying it to each other in badly accented French, 'shut up,' 'no, you shut up,' but no one, no one had ever thought to use it again Mr. Bylmer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Erik always says her voice echoed through the classroom. Says that everyone, ironically enough, had immediately shut up. No one knew whether to be shocked or amused or awed. Talking back to a teacher? Hardcore. Talking back to a teacher in a foreign language? That was something new altogether. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the silence that followed, Mr. Bylmer took a long, deep breath. "The principle, miss Farrar," he said, quiet and weary. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gill pushed back her chair, stood up, took her bag and went. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's what did it. That's how it happened. That's how she met Fay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it's not like she hadn't seen Fay before. Everyone knew Fay. Or, more accurately, knew &lt;i&gt;of&lt;/i&gt; her. Her legend always preceded her, and Big Erik whose twin brother went to K.B. High on the other side of town said that even there people were talking about Fay. Just Fay. No first name, none that anyone knew of, not even the teachers it seemed. Miss Fay, they called her. Or rather, Miss Fay To The Principle's Right This Second. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing was about Fay, she looked like she could've been a beautiful girl. More than beautiful, perhaps. Jerk-off-material beautiful, slow-down-your-car-and-whistle beautiful. So much playboy potential, could've been so popular, and yet she was the extreme opposite of everything her looks promised. She seemed to have emerged out of no-where one day, though looking back through yearbooks we managed to locate a picture of some seniors making goofy faces outside the gym--in the background, leaning against the wall, a small thirteenish year old girl with braces and blonde hair looking at her feet. JJ and Sam came up with the theory that that was Fay the year before she moved away, two years before she moved back, a changed person. They said it was in the nose, man. 'It's all in the nose.' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fay as we knew her, though, didn't look like anything small or blonde or with braces. She was tall, abnormally tall for her age, miles of legs far from hidden in torn denim. She used to have long hair for a little while, way back, but one day she showed up at school with all of it chopped off. Like she took a pair of scissors and chopped it all off herself. We could almost see her, standing in her bathroom, grinning at her reflection as those dark locks came off--uneven and messy, manic like a true child of punk rock. And with that came the whole package--the black hair, the black eye-shadow, black nail polish and a dark, low, gravelling voice. Sex Pistols shirt, the Ramones buttons, the Dead Kennedeys and The Clash, leather jacket and gloves with the fingers cut off--showing whenever she flipped the bird. Which was often. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was our very own rebel, our only serious one in the entire school, and we were scared shitless. Sure, we talked. Everyone did. Made fun, rolled our eyes, mimicked and snorted at how fucking anti social she was, how rude and rough, how she was probably a dude or something or a lesbo or a total slut in secret and every other horrible thing we could think of. None of the boys admitted they sometimes took a detour to class when she was standing in the hallway they were heading toward, and none of the girls admitted that they had--at least once--cut off the fingers of one of their old gloves, just to see how they could pull it off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid4"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;M/A, 'nother modern AU, this one written for KMM. The life of secretly!gay Arthur and his dick of a father. THIS IS MY BABY &amp;lt;3 I've been writing it for ages, snatches here and there, and whenever I'm bored I just faze out and think up scenes to fill in the blanks of this fic. AS IN, 'hmmm how can I get more PORN into this super emotional scene of major importance?' Because, you know. Don't have enough of that.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the early nineties, around the same time the company began to gain notice amongst the bigger boys on the business playgrounds, his father went through this phase where he took extreme pride in his work--the kind of which he'd never shown before and the kind that, afterwards, he denied to've ever displayed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything was just going so well for them back then, the concept of new money still foreign enough to not yet be taken for granted. They'd moved into a bigger house, got a second car, but the extent of their wealth hadn't really hit Arthur until the day he asked for a TV for in his room, and--against all he'd learned to expect from adults in general--actually got one. He was eleven, a little bit too short and quiet for his age--but now he also had a telly in his room, and so naturally life was &lt;i&gt;great.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their household expanded, and where before his life was made up of a maximum of three adults--dad, step-mum Helen, the teacher: an intimidating trio as it was--now there were so many others to keep track of. The cook, the cleaning lady, the grocery guy, Helen's new friends, dad's new friends, colleagues--most of which, to his great surprise, did not seem to notice Arthur at all. This particular trait in the fleet of strange grown-ups whose names he was made to remember proved to be useful in that it immediately rubbed off on his parents; when someone else ignored Arthur, they, automatically, also ignored Arthur. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was all right. He could eat with his fork in his right hand, could stay up in his room way past ten PM playing Nintendo, could slide across the wooden hall the second floor on socks only and see how far he got before coming to a stop--could do all that without anyone telling him not to. Things were changing and it felt like good changes, like everything was going better for everyone, because his parents always needed the money and now they had it--and he had always wanted everyone to stop telling him what to do, and now they had. The grown-up world was suddenly far more distanced and mysterious than ever before, a strange combination of low laughter, clanking glasses and snatches of serious conversation drifting up the stairwell where he'd sit, leaning against the railing, trying to decipher what was being said. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His step-mum had &lt;i&gt;parties&lt;/i&gt;. But his father--his father &lt;i&gt;invited&lt;/i&gt; people. Every few weeks he'd have one of his favourite employees over for dinner, for lunch, for drinks with the family. They were usually young men, sharp looking in their suits and polite in their stoic airs. They stayed for no longer than an hour at a time, gave Arthur a hand when introduced but after let their gaze glide over his presence as they focused on his father with a frightening intensity. Arthur was indifferent to them most of the time, more or less, still wanted them to think he was important or cool for his age, though it happened once or twice that their regular appearance shook up the household in unexpected ways. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One example, one that Arthur never managed to forget--never managed a month without thinking back to it at least once or twice--had been of Young Hall. That was how his father always referred to him--young Hall, never just Hall or Mr Hall or William Hall. Young Hall it was from the start, and young Hall it remained until the last time the name was ever mentioned in the Penn household. He couldn't have been older than twenty-four at the time, but to Arthur he was a giant all the same. His father had taken a great liking to him, said that their  department had never run this smoothly before, that he was a important asset to the company. Young Hall had flushed at this, sitting in their living room, knuckles white where he was clutching onto the ear of his coffee cup. Arthur, dressed in his Sunday shirt and pressed trousers, pulled his mouth into a line and stared at the carpet. Compliments from his father were always directed at the things Arthur cared the least about. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he looked up, sparing a glance at young Hall--going for something quick and menacing--Hall somehow noticed and shot him a glare of his own. This surprised Arthur enough for his expression to drop back into blankness--to which Hall grinned, briefly, and then pulled a face. It was a silly face, one of mock-horror, motioning toward Arthur's father with his eyes as if to say--&lt;i&gt;'That's one scary dad you've got there.'&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shocked, Arthur glanced toward his father who all the while picked up on none of it, was arguing with Helen over how much scotch he should or should not have before dinner. Arthur, completely at a loss as how to react to the sudden waves of communication coming off this grown-up giant and aimed specifically at him, frowned first--then gave a vague, nervous laugh in reply. Young Hall twitched up his eyebrows, toasted with his cup before taking a sip. Then Arthur's father said something in a language beyond him, Hall swallowed his drink and replied enthusiastically, and Arthur disappeared from their radar once more. But then later, at dinner, during a pause in the conversation, Hall pointed at him with the end of his fork, smiled and said, "You go to St. Reuben's, don't you, Arthur?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur didn't reply. His father had to sigh, urge him, "Answer the man, Arthur," before he could mutter a quiet, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah?" his father repeated, and it already sounded like a threat. Arthur cleared his throat, corrected, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, sir." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hall's smile widened, and he looked somewhat triumphant. "Thought so," he said. "Did you know, you're in the same year as my little brother?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur was still uncertain. This hadn't happened before, and he was never given permission to talk to his parents' new friends--it was never necessary. He wanted to get it right, was unsure, froze with his cutlery hovering over his plate and ended up managing a feeble, "No?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, he is. Not a Hall, him, you see--we don't have the same dads. But you may know him." Young Hall gave Arthur's father a quick, friendly look, turned back to Arthur. "Ferris? Alec Ferris. Short kid. Baseball cap. Mumbles a lot."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur blinked, stared. "Yeah," he said, a bit like relief. "I've seen him."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Funny, that, isn't it?" young Hall laughed lightly. "Small world, 'tis. Well next time you see him, tell him his brother absolutely commands him to stay out of trouble, all right?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"All right." Arthur chanced a short smile of his own. "I guess." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Brilliant," Hall said, and Arthur felt something akin to pride at this--even though he hadn't done anything but answer, a bit stupidly too, hadn't come close to being impressive in any way. He decided right there and then that Hall was nice, and cool, even in his suit and tie, still cool with his faces and his talking to Arthur, Arthur, who was eleven and not cool and not very popular with his father. Young Hall had come by a couple more times, and every time he was a bit louder, a bit more strange and colourful amidst the regulated order that was their home. He talked big, laughed hard, was so unlike Arthur's parents that Arthur couldn't understand how someone like his father could get along with someone like Hall, but couldn't complain all the same--he liked it when Hall visited. He liked it a lot. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hall asked him things. He passed him the peanuts bowl, didn't mind Arthur showing him his Nintendo, and once--when Uther had had to take a business call when young Hall came to pick him up to go golfing--kicked a ball with him in the garden, and actually cussed when Arthur managed to get one past him. No one had ever cussed in front of him, just like that, a full blown, 'Oh, fucking hell!', with no shock or apologies to follow. At school, Arthur looked up Alec at lunch one day and said, "Your brother works for my dad, you know." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alec had mumbled, shrugged. Arthur said, "He's cool, though." Alec still said nothing, ate his sandwich, and so Arthur was quiet as well. He came to sit next to him most lunches after that, and while the boy didn't say a lot and Arthur--who wasn't that big of a talker himself at the time--ended up doing all the speaking for the both of them, it was still better than sitting on his own. He also liked asking questions about Hall. He wasn't sure why, was aware it was a bit silly, and couldn't really help it all the while. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time Arthur saw young Hall was on a Saturday afternoon--he would never forget. He'd been kicking a ball against the shed for a while, and when he came back in his father and the young man were in the sitting room talking. Hall was talking about a person named Robin, with whom he'd gone on a mini-break last week, and apparently it was a really funny story because his father was laughing, saying, "Oh, she sounds absolutely delightful." And, "You must bring her 'round for dinner sometime, I'd very much like to meet this young lady of yours." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a short silence after this. A small intake of breath, then, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Actually, Robin is..." Hall paused. "He's--my partner." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another silence. "I beg your pardon?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Robin. We--we're together." He cleared his throat, and from the hallway Arthur could see his back as he shifted in his seat. "He's my boyfriend." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur's heart immediately, inexplicably, thudded heavily in his chest--rose up, lodged itself at the base of his throat. &lt;i&gt;Pa-boom, pa-boom, pa--&lt;/i&gt; in his ears, thrumming to his fingertips, flushing his face with a thick blush. He watched, horrified for reasons he wouldn't yet fathom how his father stood up--silently, expression stony--put down his brandy, and slowly walked out the room. Hall tried to call  after him with a weak, "Sir, please--" but it went unacknowledged, the only reply coming in the form of the sound of the study-room door closing shut a moment later.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur watched Hall sitting in the armchair by the empty fireplace for a long time. Or what seemed like a long time, even in retrospect, although in all probability it couldn't have been more than a minute. It was autumn, still light outside and not that cold, and the man's coat was slung over the arm support--his hand kept smoothing it down, going in circles over it, again and again. Arthur wanted to run to him. He wanted to shout something, had no idea what, wanted to ask a million questions but didn't know which ones, had a strong feeling about something in the pit of his stomach but couldn't say what it was for the life of him. But he didn't run, he didn't shout or ask anything. He was frozen to his spot, leaning against the frame of the glass sliding door--shoes muddy, a dirty football tucked under his arm, his mind racing in time with his heart. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He thought about asking Hall if he wanted to play some footy. Thought that would be better than him just sitting there, smoothing out his coat, staring at nothing. He had almost done it, too, but then Hall stood up--took his coat, ran a hand through his hair then over his face, sighed loudly, then walked out of the room. Arthur took a step after, a small, pointless step as he heard the front door being opened--closed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stood still, breathing uneven, trying to figure out what had happened. In his mind, he'd remained standing there--one step into the room, far too many from the exit, sweaty and dirty and confused--for years to come. In reality, he trudged his way up to his room a short moment later. Everything about what had happened troubled him. He thought he got it, understood some of it--boyfriend, he got that, his father standing up and walking away, he got that too--but what it really meant and why and what just jumbled up in his head at every attempt to comprehend it. There were things that muddled it up, strings that sprang from the pit of his stomach, from the back of his chest, tangled themselves in the mess of thoughts and made it impossible to make sense of. None of it got better when, a day later, his father lingered in his doorway while he was watching the telly and said, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The young man who's been visiting us lately." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur looked up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Has he...has he ever..." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Has he ever put his hands on you, Arthur?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What?" Arthur frowned. "How d'you mean?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When you showed him your room, remember that? Did he ever try to, well, touch--" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I just showed him my telly, dad!" Arthur cut him off, suddenly angry. "He's just really nice, all right."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Arthur, when you say nice . . . when you say--" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dad!" He wanted to say more than that. He wanted to tell his father invite Hall again, to say he was sorry, to pretend that it hadn't happened at all and that they could have that Robin person over after all, so that Arthur could see, because Arthur wanted to see, was curious and puzzled and wondered more than anything how something like that would look and two boys and that was weird, odd, but if could work then--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His father took a deep breath, closed the door, left Arthur to himself, to the flashing colours of his telly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next week Arthur had to search down the school for Alec. He'd found eventually, huddling red-faced and puffy-eyed in one of the bathroom stalls on the third floor. Arthur stood on the toilet bowl of the neighbouring stall, head barely peeking over the separating wall, peering down at the blue top of Alec's baseball cap as he asked what was wrong. Alec didn't answer, sobbed angrily and quietly into his knees, and in the end--when he reappeared washed his face, walked out--Arthur just followed him, breaking the silence every few seconds with a lame, "Are you okay?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alec spoke once, and spoke loudly, when they got to the lockers and Arthur--on seeing someone had punched in Alec's locker, had sprayed big, ugly letters cross it, sloppy lines spelling out an 'F' and an 'A' and a 'G'--tried to awkwardly wrap his arm around the boy's shoulder for comfort, not caring in the deserted corridor, tried to press a messy kiss to his cheek. He just did what he thought he'd like if he was crying, if someone was calling him names, graffitying his locker all ugly and mean. But Alec did not feel the same way, did not like being held or kissed at all, and when he pushed at Arthur--he pushed hard. Arthur stumbled back a step, taken by surprise, and Alec was already walking away--moving backwards. And through his tears, through his weepy sobs and shaky breaths, he shouted, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am not a fag!" He wiped at his face with a sleeve. "I hate my brother! I hate--" He stopped, added as an afterthought, "I hate you." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Arthur, shocked, the best he could come up with was, "No you don't." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I &lt;i&gt;hate&lt;/i&gt; you," Alec insisted. He stopped in his steps for a moment to stare, to stare and seethe and spit, &lt;i&gt;"Fag!"&lt;/i&gt; with all the hurt and all the spitefulness he could put into it. Then he turned, walked down the rest of the corridor, hitting every locker on his way--the soft, metallic impact of every little punch echoing in the silence. He didn't look back, and a month later he moved schools--Arthur never spoke to him again. Some years later Arthur was buying a CD for a friend's birthday at a record shop nearby town, and the guy behind the counter looked a lot like Alec. It could've been him, six years older, still not that tall but without a cap, shy looking and mumbling the price as he scanned the album--saying, 'Twelve pounds fifty please' and, 'thank you' and, 'come again', a low, rumbling voice that sent a shiver down Arthur spine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it could've just as well not been him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It could've been anyone, really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid5"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;M/A, another unfinished KMM prompt. Wanking over the battlements, I think? Never even got to the battlements. HDSKJF WHY DOES THE CASTLE AND GUARDS AND SHIT ALWAYS DISTRACT ME, IDEK D:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At some point during the evening he has a thought. It's a big thought, something important that he forgets right away, his mind tripping over itself with the clumsiness of ale and loud conversation. No matter, he thinks, and cheers along with the rest of the serving staff when two of the maids get up on the kitchen tables and pull their skirts over their ankles, start to dance. Someone accompanies their skipping, drunken moves with the high chords of a lute, and a burly man in a corner sets the beat by kicking his heel against the upturned crate he's using for a seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin's contribution to the activities comes in the form of a raised cup and an incoherent grunt of approval. It's a good evening, a great one, the feast on the floors above drawing to a slow close--the party shifting downward by grades of social degree as the night continues, the servants picking up where their masters left it. There's no reason for worry, not now, not with so many pretty faces around, so many wide smiles and loose limbs, low feelings and good enough intentions. And Merlin doesn't worry, can't even worry--can't even hold on to the feeling mention of it that crosses his mind. All that it leaves him with is a faintly unsettling idea in the back of his mind, too far in to decipher, only managing in nudging him with a vague sense of disagreement every now and then. He frowns at it, tries to grasp at it, and is then promptly distracted by a flash of a shin at eye-level as one of the girls dances closer to his end of the table. Such is the fate of the night, foolishness and intoxicated happiness, and Merlin doesn't think anything of it until one of the older stewards clasps his shoulder and says,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They been needin' your help upstairs, prince's-boy. Off you go."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin sadly uncurls his hand from around a waist, pulls his lips back from a soft cheek, and grumbles as he puts down his cup. Helping with the cleaning after a feast isn't his job, not even close, but he supposes that's what you get for hanging around the kitchens when things start getting fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not a lot of them like him that much, downstairs. He knows why, knows he can't do anything about it but still tries--haplessly, unflappable, determined to make friends even if it means making a little bit fun of Arthur, mimicking the way he talks when angry or the way he blinks when confused, then overdoing it, feigning slowness and stupidity. Merlin isn't exactly made for it, for this offhanded cruelty and so he makes it too loud, ha ha's at the wrong moments and agrees too vehemently when someone sighs over Arthur's demands. Most servants pick up on it; some take pity and talk to him anyway, but most steer clear, call him the prince's boy, shake their heads at him when he shows up in the middle of the night to heat some water for his master's freezing feet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he finds time to think about it during the day, it does bother him--that tiny bit of rejection and how he can't get himself to back down. But now he's pleasantly indifferent to the people around him, nice enough and too buzzed to care, indifferent to the food and the tasks that await him, the slurred words and weak hands, the castle in its entirety. He trudges his way to the great hall, sobering up a little, cheerful for no reason. There are a few souls stumbling about the torch-lit corridors, shushing each other and pushing each other up staircases--failing, staggering back, laughing. Merlin passes without a word, smiling to himself, and for a moment--on his own like that, walking toward the hall and knowing the way by heart, tracing the walls with lazy fingers as he goes--feels like he is a certain part of this operation, this court. Perhaps not irreplaceable but certainly more knowledgeable than the outsiders, people of the city who don't really know the workings of the castle like a true insider does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Insider,&lt;/i&gt; he thinks, labels himself, grins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A shadow of a thought then crosses his mind, and the grin fades. He tries to remember again, tries to recollect what it was, the realisation that settled so heavily in the pit of his stomach, but can't. He reaches the hall with a slight frown, takes in the damage, takes in the small crowd of scattered servants picking up the remains of food and cutlery off the floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They sent me to help," he tells one of the men, poses it as a question. He isn't sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man turns to him, a stained tablecloth bunched in hand, and his expression goes from brief friendliness to irritation. "Oh," he says. "You." Then, "Actually, we're good for now. You best be off, yeah?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But--" Merlin scans the hall, the impressive mess of it. "Are you sure? I mean, they sent me here so--"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No," he interrupts. "I'm sure. Besides, shouldn't you be looking for the prince or someth'n?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"From what I understood no one's seen him since the second course." The man sniffs, wryly amused. "Guards've been looking for 'im all night, yeah."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin frowns, wants to say one thing--decides against it, shakes his head. "S'not my problem. Been given the night off, me, so I might as--"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well what're you doing here then, boy? Night off? And you're spindin' it with the likes of us? Stupidity if I ever sawrit. Really, now, make yourself scarce. I won't be needing you, no sir, before I know it the prince would've been wanting you and I'd've been keeping you and I don't want to be having any part in that, no sir." He shakes his head, turns away, adds, "No sir."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a moment Merlin stands there, confused before insulted. He shrugs out his arms, puffs out a breath as if at a loss for words, frowning as if failing to understand. But the man is shaking out the tablecloth, folding it to his front, decidedly not noticing him any longer. Merlin keeps his ground for an awkward moment more, then shuffles off, quietly upset. He can't go back to the kitchens, won't go back to his room yet, and doesn't want for the night to be over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aimless, he wanders towards Arthur's chambers--to check, to have something to do. It's not the first time Arthur slinks away from a feast, disappears for a few hours, and Merlin has his ideas about why and where. He doesn't mention them, sees no use in making the both of them uncomfortable with the subject, and instead spends an appalling amount of time reflecting his notions and succeeds in making no one but himself exceedingly uncomfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur's chambers are deserted. Merlin is still leaning half-inside the room, holding on to the door frame, when a guard walks by with a soft smile and a nod.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guards have always been nice enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No sign of 'm yet, then?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guard pauses. "Not a single trace," he says, carelessly, and then--on a breath, adding a secretive shadow of a grin, "Well. Maybe a little tiny trace. But, you know." He shrugs. "The man deserves a break every now 'n then, dunn'ie?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin snorts. "The man," he says, "doesn't know how lucky he is. Which deprived corner of the castle did he pick this time?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The western post," the guard says. "By the field. The men are giving him a little head start, if y'know what I mean. We'll pass by in a while, but for now..." He stretches out a sound of indifference, something like 'neeeh', shrugging along to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin replies with a shrug of his own, smiling as the guard starts a backward walk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What're you up to tonight, then?" he calls, already a ways into the corridor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Off duty," Merlin tells him. "...Bored, basically." He laughs pathetically, awkwardly motioning to Arthur's chambers as if to say--&lt;i&gt;Look what the boredom made me do!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, you make the best of it, yeah."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, well..." Merlin cocks his head slightly, moving it from side to side, supposedly considering with a conclusion of, "See you around, mate."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sure," the guard replies, pausing before rounding a corner to add, "G'luck with the boy, yeah."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy. Merlin snorts again, nodding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's always liked the guards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;hr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaaand more that I can't post because that's against the rules and also I have a few ~surprises~ which I'll definitely ruin by blurting out everything if I keep talking for a second longer. SO SHUSH, CHILDREN. Let's instead watch Ezra Koenig sing in a video instead of living IN MY PANTS :C &lt;b&gt;ETA&lt;/b&gt;, I meant Ezra. In my pants. NOT CHILDREN IN MY--WELL. YEAH. God that whole sentence really fucked itself up somewhere between my brain and the keyboard XD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;lj-embed id="41" /&gt;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:127195</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/127195.html"/>
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    <title>derryere @ 2009-11-20T15:40:00</title>
    <published>2009-11-20T14:40:23Z</published>
    <updated>2009-11-20T21:36:53Z</updated>
    <category term="tagging is not for the lazy"/>
    <category term="derryere is all kinds of lazy"/>
    <content type="html">I would really, really like to explain the last couple of weeks, but I CAN'T. I mean, not as in, 'if I tell you I'll have to kill you!/the N key on my keyboard is broken and my story is about bananas!', more like, 'THERE IS NO POSSIBLE WAY OF PUTTING THIS INTO WORDS.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not in a bad way. OR A GOOD WAY. Just genuinely strange and alarming. If I had any way to use twitter, it'd look something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;font face="Arial"&gt;&lt;big&gt;&lt;b&gt;@xDerryEre87x&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/big&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exams over! &lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;BDAY! This is a nice restaurant. It's called King Arthur's. We're inside King Arthur. 'S. They serve Bradley tea. &lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;#bdaynight Why am I not this drunk enough to misspell this? What is happening? ARE WE AT A GAY BAR? WHO ORDERED THE FRIES?&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Did not finish hw. Am going to say something in class and hope no one will notice all I ever did for this was read sparknotes summaries. &lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;#class PEOPLE NOTICED. People ON THE STREET noticed. PEOPLE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD NOTICED. LOL.&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Will I go lasergaming? ABSOLUTELY I WILL GO LASERGAMING. &lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;@LastTrainHome: nooooooooooooo :O&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Waiting seven hours for first train back. This city is strange. There are people dressed as dinosaurs. &lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Some Irish dudes are dragging a guy around by his ankles. Using their belts. Singing. Are there laws against this? Why?&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;UHM. &lt;a href="http://i33.tinypic.com/20qi8hi.gif"&gt;http://i33.tinypic.com/20qi8hi.gif&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;A mouse in a bagel shop! IN A BAGEL SHOP! &lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;@Mother: once again, for the love of all that is holy, i am NOT joining a jewish dating site. NOT.&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;@Bed: NO I HAVE NOT BEEN SLEEPING ON SOMEONE ELSE. I'm just very busy. And my phone as off. IT WAS A THIN MATTRESS OKAY IT MEANT NOTHING TO ME~&lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------------&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talk Solstice to me! Or, in other words, SOMEONE PLEASE SCARE ME INTO WRITING MORE. I know some people on my flist are already done (you impossible little creatures D:), but I am almost certain there are still a few around who are flailing around every time they open their doc. And weep at the sight of their wordcount. SHARE YOUR PAIN, PLEASE. MY MISERY IS HOT FOR YOUR COMPANY. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh, plus all the other unfinished shenanigans. Not even talking about the WIPs commentfics. I mean the real stuff. I want to do the snippet meme, only minus the part where you go, 'I won't ever finish this one ANYWAY!' because I can't do that to the babies. Am way too good at having delusional notions of accomplishments to even try. I WILL DO THAT LATER TODAY OKAY. First this one:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Pick a paragraph (or any passage less than 500 words) from any fanfic I've written, and comment to this post with that selection. I will then give you a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what's going on in the character's heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you'd expect to find on a DVD commentary track.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FUN! ...FOR NO ONE BUT ME, probably. Oh wells. DO IT ANYWAY *&lt;a href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/friends/"&gt;prods&lt;/a&gt;*</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:126841</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/126841.html"/>
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    <title>derryere @ 2009-11-05T22:51:00</title>
    <published>2009-11-05T21:51:45Z</published>
    <updated>2009-11-05T21:51:45Z</updated>
    <category term="the fifth man"/>
    <category term="lovelovelove"/>
    <category term="ilu!"/>
    <category term="i mean 4real"/>
    <category term="god only knows"/>
    <category term="sandi&amp;apos;s birthday people"/>
    <category term="leeaaan on me now"/>
    <content type="html">&lt;center&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 40pt"&gt;&lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_sandi_wandi' lj:user='sandi_wandi' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://sandi-wandi.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://sandi-wandi.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;sandi_wandi&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy birthday, beautiful. I know we don't talk a lot anymore, and that I'm all over the place and also nowhere, but I miss you like burning and jsyk, JSYK, you're one of the best people I've ever met. The best kind of friend I've ever made. AND YOU SUCK FOR LIVING SO FAR AWAY, or maybe I suck for living so far away, OR PERHAPS WE BOTH SUCK IN GENERAL FOR OUR GEOGRAPHICAL IMPAIRMENTS. But, just. You're amazing, baby. GOD ONLY KNOWS WHAT I'D BE WITHOUT YOU, RIGHT. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope today was good, I hope tomorrow will be good too, and OVERALL WELL BEING IS WISHED UPON YOU FOREVER OKAY. I love you, Pops! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(NOW GET OVER HERE AND WE'LL LIVE IN POVERTY TOGETHER. LIKE, NOW. NOW-NOW.)&lt;/center&gt;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:126563</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/126563.html"/>
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    <title>! </title>
    <published>2009-11-04T17:39:40Z</published>
    <updated>2009-11-04T17:41:34Z</updated>
    <category term="my colorcoding sucks tday"/>
    <category term="memememe"/>
    <category term="twentytwo!!!!!!!!"/>
    <category term="birfday"/>
    <category term="twentyone died today"/>
    <content type="html">&lt;span style="background: url(http://www.ukauctionhelp.co.uk/image.php?i=sparkle); font-size: 40pt"&gt;~22~&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Resolutions: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;- Stop bothering w/ cleaning room. Easier to just move out at this point, really. &lt;br /&gt;- Kiss more people! ON THE MOUTH. &lt;br /&gt;- FINISH. ANYTHING.&lt;br /&gt;- Organise socks/bras/panties (tossing them all in a basket throwing a pillow coverlet over the pile DOES NOT COUNT)&lt;br /&gt;- SIT LESS! Walk more. &lt;br /&gt;- Stop repeating the first syllable of a word over and over while figuring out what it is you want to say. &lt;br /&gt;- TRICK ANY ONE PERSON TO FALL DISGUSTINGLY IN LOVE WITH ME. Really, APPALLINGLY. &lt;br /&gt;- Writewritewrite holyshit write already o_o&lt;br /&gt;- Get BJ and Cmorg to confess their undying love on national TV. &lt;br /&gt;- Have dinner.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to another one 'round the sun, peeps!</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:126462</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/126462.html"/>
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    <title>derryere @ 2009-11-02T00:42:00</title>
    <published>2009-11-01T23:56:19Z</published>
    <updated>2009-11-01T23:56:57Z</updated>
    <category term="cmorg"/>
    <category term="bj"/>
    <category term="tagging is not for the lazy"/>
    <category term="merliiiiiiiiiiin"/>
    <content type="html">Heading to bed (exam tomorrow, ohmyfuckingod I am so not ready), but before I do I just wanted to share this: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Watch the fingers. Watch the &lt;i&gt;cheek stroking.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i36.tinypic.com/2iaenfs.gif"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ngh. &lt;i&gt;It's getting too easy *_*&lt;/i&gt;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:125911</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/125911.html"/>
    <link rel="self" type="text/xml" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/data/atom/?itemid=125911"/>
    <title>this week I read my first Drake&amp;Josh RPS so now I can finally use this icon as a bonafide shippah</title>
    <published>2009-10-21T00:58:36Z</published>
    <updated>2009-10-21T03:49:10Z</updated>
    <category term="c) or the tired"/>
    <category term="g) sbeen a long day"/>
    <category term="f) but whatevs"/>
    <category term="e) by which i mean losers"/>
    <category term="a) tagging is not for the lazy"/>
    <category term="h) i am sooo hungry omg"/>
    <category term="d) or the awesome"/>
    <category term="b) or the hungry"/>
    <lj:music>Vampire W's new one, HORCHATA &lt;3</lj:music>
    <content type="html">Oh, look, it's random schoolwork sneak attack time again. Don't you just love those? One week you're lounging back, not changing clothes (oh, please, CLOTHES? They're pyjamas and you know it) for three consecutive days, eating crumbs off your sleeves and watching That 70's Show's NEVERENDING GODAWFUL RERUNS--aaand the next your up to your eyeballs in work that you're almost definitely sure wasn't officially announced by any one of your teachers. Almost. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a good thing I am ridiculously clever. You should've seen me today! My brain was on FIRE. And by 'on fire', I mean, 'I didn't fall over potted plants and managed to get out three sentences without suggesting my own chemical imbalance, YEAH!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, someone shouted 'OMG YOUR SHOES! YOUR SKIRT!' at me today, on the street. Okay, yes, she WAS trying to sell me something, but let's ignore that for a second and just accept the compliment for what it is. Because, seriously. MY SHOES. MY SKIRT! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few weeks back I was out w/ lady ZThuse, and some guy made a seriously EARNEST confession that went, 'You have nice legs, pretty eyes, and you smell GREAT.' Like, he was FROWNING. This was the most IMPORTANT MESSAGE he EVER had to communicate, and would not relent until I heard him out. This is understandable. In the context of that night, or at least what I remember of it, it was a remarkably sharp contribution. REMARKABLY. &lt;b&gt;ETA&lt;/b&gt;, I forget to mention that this was hilarious mainly because he was standing on the OTHER side of the sidewalk and was probably a few good meters shy of being able to sniff THE PERSON IN FRONT OF ME, let alone me. Shit, I don't even think Z, who I was carrying on my back (no, but wouldn't that have been BRILLIANT?), was able to smell me. I choose to believe this is a good thing. Idk what the dude smelled, but it wasn't me. All the same, I TOOK THE COMPLIMENT AND RAN WITH IT. Literally. Because it was also creepy. The end. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I'm done with this mickey mouse bullshit in two days. THEN I have a relatively laid back two weeks (save for Halloween, HDAKSJDFH), and then it's exams. OR, well, exam. Singular. AND THEN BIRTHDAY YAY I CIRCLED THE SUN YAY~ &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until then, dumpage. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Commentfic and shenanigans from the past, uh, idek. Some unfinished, but I'm not the kind to give up (procrastination is so much better than failure), so I'm just declaring them wips :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://ras-elased.livejournal.com/171086.html?thread=1483342#t1483342"&gt;The One Where Arthur Sells Tongue B/C Being Rich Is a Bitch&lt;/a&gt;, PG13 from &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_ras_elased' lj:user='ras_elased' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://ras-elased.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://ras-elased.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;ras_elased&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;'s M/A kissing meme :3 &lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/125553.html?thread=2577009#t2577009"&gt;Bath!hug&lt;/a&gt;, PG13, for the M/A hug meme. WEIRD HUG IS WEIRD. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/125553.html?thread=2648177#t2648177"&gt;M/A Sleepy!hug&lt;/a&gt;, PG. ART WOT ART? Art. Ish. Or something whatevs YOU KNOW I DON'T DO THIS. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://thisissirius.livejournal.com/456195.html?thread=6318083#t6318083"&gt;Gonna Go Eat My Grape&lt;/a&gt;, PG. WIP :P For &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_thisissirius' lj:user='thisissirius' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://thisissirius.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://thisissirius.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;thisissirius&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;'s create-a-thing-day. M and A have an awkward post-kissing week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://camelot-fleet.dreamwidth.org/8338.html?thread=704658#cmt704658"&gt;W/A/M, or, Give It to Someone Special&lt;/a&gt;. THIS IS INSANITY. It started out as blah-blah'ing re: the awesome potential of Will/Arthur/Merlin, and then football and hooligans and then, well. STUFF. Also unfinished, but this is one I'm definitely updating at some point b/c I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS FOR THIS and no one will mind if it sucks b/c HI 2,5 PEOPLE OUT THERE WHO LIKE W/A/M *waves*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://camelot-fleet.dreamwidth.org/13738.html?thread=1578410#cmt1578410"&gt;M/A Pornlet: leather&lt;/a&gt;, R. 600 words of sexin' over at the fleet :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://camelot-fleet.dreamwidth.org/13738.html?thread=1593770#cmt1593770"&gt;Arthur/MORGANA WHAT WHAT: X Away From Home&lt;/a&gt;, R. HAHAH IDEK. Blame the fleet. Again, weird ficlet is weird. *shrugs*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/2045.html?thread=839933#t839933"&gt;I am Aghast, Your Favourite Man&lt;/a&gt;, R. &lt;i&gt;Arthur/Merlin, unrequited for a long while,&lt;/i&gt; over at the kinkme. Linking this in the hope that the public shame will embarrass me into FINISHING THE GODDAMN THING ALREADY. UGH. I CURSE YOU, DERRYERE! But I give you a bonus get-out-of-a-curse-free card because you seriously need to finish this and you can't do that if you're cursed. &lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all? I think? Either way, THIS IS WAY MORE INTERESTING. &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_dollygrip' lj:user='dollygrip' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://dollygrip.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://dollygrip.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;dollygrip&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; asked for music, and in the spirit of dumping things, I'm posting this mix I made myself MONTHS AND MONTHS ago when I started writing the BigBang. So there are a bunch of older songs in there you probably already have by now, PLUS I ALSO POSTED A NUMBER OF THESE INDIVIDUALLY SINCE THEN, but ooooh well. I have a cover to go with it, so I'm posting. I'M POSTIN'! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;font size="6" face="Impact"&gt;MERLIN AND ARTHUR &lt;br /&gt;BLAH BLAH BLAH&lt;br /&gt;THIS IS A MIXTAPE&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i33.tinypic.com/iq9apw.jpg" border="10"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i33.tinypic.com/6frr6o.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=994f38bc636b7d78a5b14de90033c97b6d32f06e07fe2dc5"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i36.tinypic.com/2j4zvaa.jpg" border="0"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of music! AND GOOD THINGS! &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_crazyboutremmy' lj:user='crazyboutremmy' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://crazyboutremmy.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://crazyboutremmy.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;crazyboutremmy&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; made &lt;a href="http://crazyboutremmy.livejournal.com/20678.html?style=mine"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; BRILLIANT mix for At Least It Would Seem, which I'm still baffled and insanely flattered over (baffled wins most of the time, b/c ohmygod that fic. MORAL FAIL, ANYONE? D:). And I know it sounds a biiiit biased coming from me, but seriously? HDSKJF THE MUSIC &amp;hearts; I would've flailed over the choices no matter what fic/story/ANYTHING inspired it. HOWEVER, it DOES so happen tha these songs fit the fic just about perfectly and, just, YES and YES and &lt;a href="http://crazyboutremmy.livejournal.com/20678.html?style=mine"&gt;GO CHECK IT OUT&lt;/a&gt;, PEOPLE! &amp;hearts;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:125553</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/125553.html"/>
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    <title>Merlin/Arthur Hug Meme &amp;hearts;!</title>
    <published>2009-10-14T01:05:16Z</published>
    <updated>2009-10-15T02:48:52Z</updated>
    <category term="hugsforthesoul"/>
    <category term="meme"/>
    <category term="the love: partly mine"/>
    <category term="brainwork: not mine"/>
    <category term="html: not mine"/>
    <category term="merliiiiiiiiiiin"/>
    <content type="html">Who else needs this like burning? Tuesdays are just extended versions of Mondays and everyone knows it. I NEED A HUG. Merlin needs a hug. Arthur needs a hug more than anyone. And I have a feeling that you, friend, won't say no to a hug as well at the moment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Totally and completely ganked from &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_ras_elased' lj:user='ras_elased' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://ras-elased.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://ras-elased.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;ras_elased&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, who hosted the jshgd brilliant &lt;a href="http://ras-elased.livejournal.com/171086.html?style=mine"&gt;kissing meme&lt;/a&gt; a while ago :D And also, just noticed they had a wonderful round of this at last week's fleet &lt;a href="http://camelot-fleet.dreamwidth.org/13019.html?thread=1397723#cmt1397723"&gt;party&lt;/a&gt; (should really take a look over there if you have time, people. MULTISHIP HUGS THAT'LL WARM YOUR HEART, GAH &amp;hearts;). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;font size="6" color="#66CCCC" face="Georgia"&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;hearts; Merlin/Arthur Hug Meme &amp;hearts;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hug meme! Make A and M hug. Is it a spell? Before a battle? A cuddle? The accidental expressing of emotions on escaping death? PUSHED TOGETHER BY MEDDLING KNIGHTS? Stuck in a hole in the ground? Everything works! As long as there are arms and limbs and the crushing of ribs, you're good &amp;lt;3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;The rules:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Porn = allowed (WHAT WHAT), as long as it's still about the huggin' :)&lt;br /&gt;2. Post your Merlin/Arthur hugs in the comments below. &lt;br /&gt;3. No wank. Only love. &lt;br /&gt;4. GLOMP EVERYONE &amp;hearts;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Want to share? LO: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;textarea&gt;&amp;lt;font size=5 color=#66CCCC face="Georgia"&amp;gt;&amp;lt;center&amp;gt;&amp;lt;i&amp;gt;♥ &amp;lt;a href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/125553.html"&amp;gt;&amp;lt;span style="color: rgb(173, 216, 230);"&amp;gt;Merlin/Arthur Hug Meme&amp;lt;/span&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/a&amp;gt; ♥&amp;lt;/i&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/center&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/font&amp;gt;&lt;/textarea&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(w/o le colour:) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;textarea&gt;&amp;lt;font size=5 face="Georgia"&amp;gt;&amp;lt;center&amp;gt;&amp;lt;i&amp;gt;♥ &amp;lt;a href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/125553.html"&amp;gt;Merlin/Arthur Hug Meme&amp;lt;/a&amp;gt; ♥&amp;lt;/i&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/center&amp;gt;&amp;lt;/font&amp;gt;&lt;/textarea&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;ETA!: we now have a &lt;a href="http://thisissirius.livejournal.com/473301.html"&gt;hugs masterlist!&lt;/a&gt; ALL CREDIT GOES TO THE VERY KIND &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_thisissirius' lj:user='thisissirius' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://thisissirius.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://thisissirius.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;thisissirius&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &amp;hearts;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;/center&gt;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:125270</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/125270.html"/>
    <link rel="self" type="text/xml" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/data/atom/?itemid=125270"/>
    <title>I KNOW THE COLOUR OF YOUR SOUL OKAY?</title>
    <published>2009-10-13T16:35:35Z</published>
    <updated>2009-10-13T16:35:35Z</updated>
    <category term="tagging is not for the lazy"/>
    <content type="html">Mondays are GETTING to me this year. JESUS. Maybe it's not the Mondays that are getting worse, but the weekends that are just too AWESOME to deal with? Because the weekends are great. AND DEAR GOD YESTERDAY WAS AWFUL. I made such an ASS out of myself in class. I hate when that happens, when you embarrass yourself in a way that AS IT HAPPENS you're already aware you're gonna be thinking back to this and cringing for WEEKS/MONTHS to come. The trouble is, this time, is that while this HAS happened to me before, generally there are either friends around who can make fun of it and then it's not that bad--or you know the people in the class, and they know you, and they know that sometimes your brains function like ass and that you occasionally end up saying truly inspired stupidities. BUT THIS CLASS, RIGHT, I'm like a complete stranger to these people. I KNOW NO ONE, THEY KNOW NOT THAT I CAN'T BRAIN V WELL AT TIMES, and then it's just embarrassing and awkward and FUCKING ANNOYING BECAUSE I BLUSHED LIKE A THOUSAND BURNING SUNS. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then on the train back I was in the same compartment as two people from my class, and they just went, 'Yeah, we're, just gonna...' AND THEN THEY TOOK OUT THEIR BOOKS AND READ. I cannot understand this level of SOCIAL REFUSAL. I don't care that you're a lit major, homeboy. There is no excuse for not even trying to have stunted conversations and painful silences before you give up altogether. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...But then again, then I get to come home and use awkward gangster speak in my lj posts and I guess the world really can't be all that bad. RIGHT. SHORTIES. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:D &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;font size="5"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://community.livejournal.com/chanteuserie/15191.html"&gt;What &lt;i&gt;Merlin&lt;/i&gt; character am I most like?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://community.livejournal.com/chanteuserie/15191.html?thread=291159#t291159"&gt;MY THREAD&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(jsyk, farmer#26 is totally acceptable, too. OR MORRIS. Shit, I'd love to be Morris. DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW MUCH THAT KID GETS TO ANGST? People throw knives at him! No one knows his name! He has to linger just outside of shots all the freggin' time! God! FHL!)&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOL, btw. LOL LIKE A MILLION LOLLERBLADES LOLLING DOWN THE LOLLEROAD: Arthur/Gwen/Lancelot/Merlin. SERIOUSLY. Take the bunch of them, put them in jeans and hoodies and tops and heels, and you'll get &lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Arthur staying over (hiding out) at idk his bff? Merlin's friend's place (Gwen) because uhm some shit with his dad and a Polo match or something. Gwen is annoyed but hot, Arthur is 21 and a virgin and REALLY HORNY, they have some wine with dinner and make out a little. Flash forward next week: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur: I LOOOOVE HER I CAAAARE ABOUT HER MORE THAN AAAAANYONE WE'RE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER I'VE NEVER FELT LIKE THIS ABOUT A PERSON EVER BEFORE SHE'S LIKE THE SUN AND THE MOON AND OTHER CELESTIAL BODIES THAT EXIST SOMEWHERE IDK BUT OH GOD HER BODY IS LIKE, IT'S LIKE THIS BEAUTIFUL ROSE BUT WITH TITS AND ASS AND--&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: --Uhm. I. Stop, please, I--&lt;br /&gt;Arthur: --THINK ABOUT HER ALL THE TIME WANT TO BE WITH HER AND LISTEN TO HER MUSIC AND--&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: Dude I don't care go for it man, just please stop--&lt;br /&gt;Arthur: NO YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND MY FATHER WILL NEVER ALLOW IT BECAUSE SHE IS A POOR PEOPLE PERSON IT IS ALL VERY TRAGIC AND I AM TORN APART AND MY HEART IT BLEEDS AND--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then Merlin takes Arthur to a party where he knows Gwen will be and then Gwen is making out with Lance in a corner and Arthur locks himself in the loo and Merlin has to sit OUTSIDE the freaking door for hours and talk to him about fishes and seas and how Gwen's a nice girl but she was just the first and, well, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur: NO YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND SHE WAS THE ONE FOR ME I WAS GOING TO BUY HER A SMALL ISLAND OFF THE COAST OF SPAIN AND MAKE LOVE TO HER ON THE BEACH ALL DAY LONG. &lt;br /&gt;Merlin: You don't even know her, Arthur. &lt;br /&gt;Arthur: I KNOW THE COLOUR OF HER SOUL OKAY YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING. &lt;br /&gt;Merlin: What's her favourite movie? &lt;br /&gt;Arthur: SHUT UP. IT DOESN'T MATTER OKAY KNOW THE COLOUR OF HER--&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: What's her last name?&lt;br /&gt;Arthur: I--YOU--THIS IS NOT--&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: How old is she, Arthur? &lt;br /&gt;Arthur: ...but...the colour...of...&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: Jesus. You're pretty desperate, aren't you?&lt;br /&gt;Arthur: SHUT YOUR HOLE &lt;i&gt;MERLIN&lt;/i&gt; WHAT WE HAD WAS SPECIAL I WOULDN'T EXPECT YOU TO UNDER--&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: If you come out now of there I'll take you to a stripclub. &lt;br /&gt;Arthur: I don't WANT a strip club you TIT, I want DEPTH and LOVE and--&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: It's okay, Arthur. Strippers have feelings too. &lt;br /&gt;Arthur: ...They do?&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: Yes. &lt;br /&gt;Arthur: Oh. *PAUSE* Are you sure?&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: Positive. &lt;br /&gt;Arthur: ...Okay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then they go to a strip club and Arthur gets a lapdance from a girl called Clarice and falls in love again and writes her poems and waits her up after closing time and it gets so bad Merlin has to lock him in his room because he's a bottle of beer and a tiara away from getting a restraining order AND THIS KEEPS ON until some girl on the elevator recognises the music he's listening to and then he's forgotten all about Clarice and WHAT WHAT YOU KNOW ARTHUR IS THAT GUY. YOU KNOW HEH IS. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So obviously at some point Merlin has had enough of this mickey mouse bullshit and decides it has got to stop, and that Arthur needs to lose his virginity right freaking five hours ago for the SAKE OF HUMANITY IN GENERAL. What follows are a series of botched attempts to get a girl in A's bed, complete with comic relief background music and slapstick half-naked humour, and there is probably food involved. Arthur is down, whiny, and drunk and still horribly horny on Merlin's couch: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur: IT'S DOOMED. &lt;br /&gt;Merlin: It's not doomed. &lt;br /&gt;Arthur: I WILL DIE A VIRGIN. &lt;br /&gt;Merlin: You will not die a--&lt;br /&gt;Arthur: CURSED! CURSED! Here I am, with the bone structure of a Greek GOD and the golden locks of a ... GOD WITH GOLDEN LOCKS, AND YET I AM DOOMED TO FOREVER BE A--&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: SHUT UP. PLEASE. ARTHUR. I've been putting up with your capslock for the past HALF YEAR and I seriously--&lt;br /&gt;Arthur: WHO WILL HAVE ME? WHAT IF NO ONE EVER LOVES ME? WHAT IF I WILL ALWAYS FALL IN LOVE WITH--&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: Fuck it. *Puts beer on table with A DETERMINED AIR~~* Let's make out. &lt;br /&gt;Arthur: .......FHkdjh?&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: Yeah. Well. Shut up. &lt;br /&gt;Arthur: --I--&lt;br /&gt;Merlin: I SAID SHUT UP. And come here. NOW NOT TOMORROW NOW YOUHMFFdfh--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then they make out. A LOT. And then some things happen, and Arthur's no longer a virgin. It's all very annoying, especially when Arthur tries to wake up him the next morning with the poem he's been composing while staring at sleeping Merlin like the creep that he is. But they work it out in the end. And Arthur loves him a lot. And Merlin puts up with it, somehow. Crazy kids! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(BTW, wtf &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1283456/"&gt;Trinity&lt;/a&gt;?! There are no words for the insanity that is this show. Basically, Merlin on viagra meets History Boys meets Mean Girls. NOW I WANT CHRIS COOKE TO COME ON MERLIN AS A SNOOTY PRINCE THAT EVERYONE LIKES SOMEHOW BUT ARTHUR HATES, and he's trying to steal Merlin away. SO BASICALLY A REVERSED CEDRIC, only hotter, because &amp;hearts;&amp;hearts;&amp;hearts;CHRIS COOKE. Also, that would give people an excuse to write BJ/CK/CM rps triangle. There is only one reaction you can have to that mental image right there, and this is it: &lt;i&gt;YES.&lt;/i&gt;)</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:125106</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/125106.html"/>
    <link rel="self" type="text/xml" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/data/atom/?itemid=125106"/>
    <title>derryere @ 2009-10-09T14:32:00</title>
    <published>2009-10-09T12:41:22Z</published>
    <updated>2009-10-09T12:41:22Z</updated>
    <category term="adieu to u &amp;amp; u &amp;amp; not u"/>
    <category term="prompt me good"/>
    <category term="byeeeee"/>
    <category term="merlin"/>
    <category term="gotta go like right nownow"/>
    <content type="html">Gone for the weekend! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HAVE FUN WITH THE MERLIN, EVERYONE. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(gonna be on a looot of trains these coming few days. Will have a looot of time to stare out the window and drool. OR! Write. I'll be checking my email as best I can (TINY PHONE SCREEN IS TINY), so if anyone wants to hurtle a prompt in my general direction, that'd be awesome :D) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ADIEU, PEEPS &amp;hearts;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:124735</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/124735.html"/>
    <link rel="self" type="text/xml" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/data/atom/?itemid=124735"/>
    <title>I AM THIS HELMET</title>
    <published>2009-10-04T04:19:18Z</published>
    <updated>2009-10-04T04:19:18Z</updated>
    <category term="booty"/>
    <category term="funny magic"/>
    <category term="draco/ginny"/>
    <category term="piratology"/>
    <category term="yawsome"/>
    <category term="skipping rope"/>
    <category term="french accents"/>
    <category term="jagermeister"/>
    <category term="mutton"/>
    <category term="bffs. tiny umbrellas"/>
    <category term="unicorn times"/>
    <category term="scientology"/>
    <category term="tiara"/>
    <content type="html">I AM RISKING MY LIFE TO BRING YOU THIS BECAUSE, AS WE SPEAK, &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_derryere' lj:user='derryere' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://derryere.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://derryere.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;derryere&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; FUCKING ERE IS HOLDING ME (&lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_zarathuse' lj:user='zarathuse' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;zarathuse&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; FUCKING THUSE) AT SWORDPOINT.*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;here is my vital message:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, then, there's that one time Arthur and Merlin have the conversation about Merlin trying to be funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's dinner -- venison again, dammit -- and Merlin livens up the meal with a wickedly amusing anecdote about an octopus and a serving wench he heard off one of the pages that morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur is not wickedly amused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Merlin," he says, not bothering to look up from his plate.  "We need to talk."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin is vaguely concerned.  "All right," he says earnestly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sit down."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's nowhere to sit.  Merlin looks around and takes a single awkward step to the left.  He hopes that's enough. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you know," Arthur starts, gravely, "what you're not?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Funny."  He still hasn't looked up from his dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh," Merlin says.  "Yeah."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Don't try it again."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Right."  Merlin frowns.  "Uh.  Sorry."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur smiles.  He is pleased with the exchange.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THE END FUCK YEAH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*earlier she was &lt;i&gt;polishing her sword&lt;/i&gt; and making pointed comments about &lt;i&gt;externality&lt;/i&gt;.  i fear for my virtue y'all.  send help.  or a jump rope and a tiara.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:124460</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/124460.html"/>
    <link rel="self" type="text/xml" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/data/atom/?itemid=124460"/>
    <title>derryere @ 2009-10-01T02:36:00</title>
    <published>2009-10-01T01:34:15Z</published>
    <updated>2009-10-01T02:05:58Z</updated>
    <category term="there is no penis"/>
    <category term="fic"/>
    <category term="season2"/>
    <category term="tagging is not for the lazy"/>
    <category term="bina for pornsident"/>
    <category term="too tired need sleep agh"/>
    <category term="merliiiiiiiiiiin"/>
    <content type="html">SEE NOW this is what happens when you've got a midterm in five hours. YOU WRITE FIC. Or something like it, anyway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Super belated EP1 codas. I've got some for EP2, but they're not done, so. SO. Those will happen tomorrow, THESE are happening now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;I'm Bolding This So It'll Look Like An Explanation (But It's Not, Really, It's Mainly Bullshit Hurray For Bullshit! \o/):&lt;/b&gt; okay, so, here's the thing. The new season? I do not know whether to laugh or go 'WHAT WHAT WHAT' a lot. CONFUSED YET AMUSED. SO! I have two codas. One accepting BBC's interesting take on both Merlin and Arthur's characterisations so far (ADMIT IT, secretly, you all LOVE IT. SUPER EMO MERLIN, GOD, we've been waiting that shit forEVER), and another slightly more redeeming one. Redeeming for whom, you ask? EVERYONE. EVERYONE GETS REDEEMED. AWESOME. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Coda 201a goes out to &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_zarathuse' lj:user='zarathuse' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;zarathuse&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, who promised to record a dramatic reading of this and publish it as a podfic. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW BAD I NEED THIS TO HAPPEN. PLEASE HARASS HER UNTIL SHE CAVES, FLIST. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;201b goes out to, uuuuhhh, whoever wants it. Does anyone even wants it? It's GEN. RATED G. WHO WANTS THAT? &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_leandergasped' lj:user='leandergasped' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://leandergasped.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://leandergasped.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;leandergasped&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, I think this is perfect for you. GOOD, CLEAN FUN. &lt;i&gt;PERFECT.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Let it be known that this is the most gen thing I've written in three years. The last one was about Neville LBottom being stuck in a living bunker with Seamus, reading Nostradamus and decidedly not wanking. AND EVEN THAT ONE WAS AT LEAST PG13. SO. SO!) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Merlin 201a/b codas&lt;/b&gt; | G | M/A preslash | &lt;i&gt;A) Emo Merlin, You Are Emo | B) Sit Down Child And Let Uncle Arthur Explain To You Why He's Such A World-Class A-Hole | &lt;/i&gt;Beta'd by the lady. YOU KNOW WHO. &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_cherrybina' lj:user='cherrybina' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://cherrybina.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://cherrybina.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;cherrybina&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. THE LADY. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;201a – Emo Merlin, You Are Emo&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gaius had laughed, Merlin had laughed, and it really did feel like something good had just happened—the both of them still giddy with the ease of a day that was safer than the one before. Merlin couldn't keep the grin off his face, tried anyway by propping an elbow on the table and leaning into his hand—heel to his jaw, fingers covering his mouth, pushing his lips into an awkward angle. He looked up at Gaius with a minute shake of his head as if to say—&lt;i&gt;Madness, this place. Madness.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gaius raised his eyebrows in small acknowledgement. He nodded a salute, picked a plate off the table, fingers tapping the bottom as he turned back to the small cauldron. Merlin watched him, fond, then glanced down at the pile of armour before him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was rusty around the links, bits of mud and grass wedged impossibly in every groove and knick of metal. An oddly bent gauntlet slid off the top, making a half-roll onto the edge of the table—its broken fingers hanging off the end with a single sway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin's crazy grin slowly shrunk under his palm. His hand dropped from his face, elbow slipping onto the armrest. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;I am the armour&lt;/i&gt;, he thought, suddenly. Then again, blinking, &lt;i&gt;The armour is me.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He spent the afternoon in his room, cleaning under the ridges of welded iron with pathetic devotion, feeling increasingly sorry for himself as he continued to come up with comparisons between himself and the pieces he was holding. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;I am sort of like this vambrace,&lt;/i&gt; he quietly concluded, flipping the thing over in his hand. &lt;i&gt;Clingy.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Or maybe like this hauberk,&lt;/i&gt; came he thought later, miserably pushing a twisted bit of cloth between the links. &lt;i&gt;Often an unnecessary weight.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Perhaps it's the helmet.&lt;/i&gt; He held it up, inspected its hollow eyes with a sad little noise. &lt;i&gt;Hollow, and all . . . head-shaped.&lt;/i&gt; Crinkled his lip, sighed. &lt;i&gt;I have a head. I am this helmet.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Placing it on his pillow, Merlin carefully lined it to the puzzle of armour spread over his bed—bits of it put together like a shell of a person resting on the thin mattress. &lt;i&gt;Arthur doesn't care about the helmet,&lt;/i&gt; he thought. &lt;i&gt;Arthur lets anyone have a whack at the helmet.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flicking at the material with a dull echo of a sound, Merlin muttered to himself. "Sure, why not, go right ahead. Bang on the head, really, see no reason why not. I mean it's not like the bloody thing is trying to do a &lt;i&gt;job&lt;/i&gt; or any—"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Merlin," Gaius called from the other room. "Are you coming down for dinner, boy?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No," Merlin replied after a beat, staring at the armour. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Not hungry." And then, flustered unable to help himself, "I hate dinner." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You hate dinner?" The comment was given with short chuckle, quickly followed by a dryly delivered, "Again?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes. Again." Merlin nudged his bedside table with his foot, blew some air into his cheeks—puffed it out. "I hate dinner &lt;i&gt;again.&lt;/i&gt;" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;201b – Sit Down Child And Let Uncle Arthur Explain To You Why He's Such A World-Class A-Hole&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not a hot day, the light a greyish yellow where it filters in through the cracks in the roof of the loft—the air clammy between the hay stacks, and what little heat remains deeper in the mounds of wheat is of no use to Merlin who can only lie back and burrow into the crook of his folded arms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the same, Arthur is flustered and sweaty when he appears at the top of the ladder, still in full armour and grunting his frustration as he clambers his way onto the loft, cursing, clanking and wobbling as he goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin watches disinterestedly, eyebrows raised and chin tucked into his scarf. He makes no move to help. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It takes Arthur a bewildered moment of glancing about before he notices Merlin's huddled form against the hay, and the sight brings him to a long, staring pause. He blinks, hisses out a breath. Then, "Where the &lt;i&gt;hell&lt;/i&gt; have you been?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin slowly glances sideways, then back to Arthur. There's a slight shrug to his shoulders before he mutters a small, "Here?" into his chest. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur looks at him, mouth twitching in an attempt to fight back an ugly sort of scowl. One of his hands comes up, pointing a finger at Merlin as he bends forward a little—as though ready to say something, mouth opening and closing, at a loss. But he deflates quite quickly, as he often does, and instead casts a glance up to the ceiling with a tight sigh—then sets to taking off his armour, vaguely indignant still. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's clumsy. He fumbles with the straps, the hooks, and ends up pulling and pushing a lot—apparently figuring that taking off his own arm in the process can't be half as bad as displaying any kind of patience. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually, with a hauberk half over his head and its hem hooked on his shirt, he manages a strained and muffled, "Well, are you going to help me or what?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What," Merlin says. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Help you or what." Merlin lifts his head a little, looks at the tufts of Arthur's hair peeking through the hauberk links. "I'm going with the what. Besides," he adds, voice dropping back to a mutter, "wouldn't want me to accidentally chop off your head or anything, what with my servant skills and all. Right."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur doesn't move for a moment, arms half up in an awkward angle. Then, "Oh, for—" He starts wriggling out of the hauberk, frantically, ripping his shirt in the process and undoing a small circle of links. He tosses the bundle of metal away as quickly as he can, annoyed and flushed, fringe matted to his forehead. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin looks away, shifts against the prickly hay. There's a crack between the floorboards where he can catch glimpses of the horses beneath, backs and ends of flicking tails, so he keeps to that—looks down, watches intently and ignores Arthur as he flops down beside him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Knighted one of my men today," says Arthur after a short pause, sounding somewhat cheerful. It's a blatant peace offering leaning back into the hay out of the corner of Merlin's eye, and he won't acknowledge it at all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Would you like to know how it went?" Arthur continues, propping one arm under his head. "Sure you would. I'll tell you how it went, Merlin. Listen. Here it comes: it went fine. The man's a knight, blissfully happy, there were no attempts for anyone's life—unless you count the dancing that ensued not a moment after I made my ultimate escape—and I believe the greater part of the castle remained intact so all in all," –he stops, takes a breath. "All in all, a jolly successful day in Camelot." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the horses sighs loudly, shakes its head. Its breath is visible in the cold stables below, and Merlin thinks that it was easier to not notice the temperature when Arthur wasn't there, a bulk of heat close to his shoulder. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Isn't that right, Merlin?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin says nothing. He sets his jaw, stares at the floor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Merlin." An expectant pause, another, &lt;i&gt;"Merlin."&lt;/i&gt; Then, on getting no reply, a quickly exhaled, "Well at least tell me how long you're planning to be like this so I have the chance to plan your sulking into my schedule, yeah?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You can't possibly expect me to know now," Merlin replies, voice low and humourless. "It's hardly even been a day." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh honestly, Merlin, I don't even—" Arthur doesn't seem to know how to finish his sentence, laughs instead. "What are you being so prissy about? You've still got your job, haven't you. I could've had you fired ten times over for all the stunts you pulled, you know. You should be grateful, of all things, rather than . . . " &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I most certainly should &lt;i&gt;not&lt;/i&gt; be gra—"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're my &lt;i&gt;servant&lt;/i&gt;, Merlin." The statement hangs in the silence that follows, awkward, and Merlin tenses—blushes a little—still stares at the wooden planks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You slack off appallingly for a week without so much as an excuse," Arthur keeps on, quieter now. "Then somehow still find it in you to get so angry when someone manages a better job that you'd fabricate some story about them, just to get them in my bad graces, I'm sorry but that's just not—"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I didn't &lt;i&gt;want&lt;/i&gt; to be a servant!" Merlin turns to look at Arthur—arms falling from his chest, propping himself on his elbows, face red. He's angry, already embarrassed with what he's about to say though seeing no way around it, now. "I try, all right? I try but it's not easy, you're not easy and—well I wasn't &lt;i&gt;meant&lt;/i&gt; to be a servant, was I? I wasn't born into it, wasn't trained for that sort of thing and you know that, you know where I came from, where I—grew up. You saw it. So I can't help that, yeah, but I'm here now which all right, it's fine, I accept it but—" He takes a shaky breath, releases it tightly through his nose. "It's not fair, Arthur. You've got to give me a break sometime. I mean . . . " A shrug, a small one. "What else am I going to do?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur keeps his gaze level for a while, fairly blank, then turns to look at the slanted ceiling. "You could always work for Gaius, I suppose." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin swallows thickly. He starts blinking, rapidly, and it takes Arthur a moment to notice and add an unnecessarily loud, "Oh don't give me that look! So someone came along and told you how to do your job for once, so what? It's not like you're not guilty of exactly the same thing." He frowns back up at the ceiling. "Don't do this, Arthur. Don't do that, Arthur. That's the wrong thing, Arthur. That's the stupid thing, that's the selfish thing, that's arrogant, that's foolish, that's too dangerous, that's not dangerous enough, don't go, go, stay, leave, arse, prat, git, clotpole!" He coughs up a harsh breath, inhales. "&lt;i&gt;Clotpole,&lt;/i&gt;" he repeats, making a flourish of a gesture to go with it, then heavily drops his hand back into the hay. His forearm brushes Merlin's. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Between you, Morgana and my father it's no wonder I . . . " he trails off, makes a small sounds as though commenting on a thought. "It's just . . . Merlin, everything I do is for my people, and everyone just thinks I'm an . . . Well. You can hardly blame me for taking a liking to the one person out there who actually acknowledged the hardships of a prince." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin stares at where their arms are almost touching for a quiet moment—Arthur's with his sleeves rolled up, a lot of muscle, some scars, hair and goosebumps; Merlin's covered by two layers, a shirtsleeve and a jacket, thinner even like that. He slowly lies back down, mimicking Arthur's stance—looking up at the ceiling. He touches his pinkie to the side of Arthur's hand, says, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't think you're a . . . " &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes you do," Arthur cuts him off roughly. He doesn't move his hand away, though. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I was only trying to help," Merlin says, sounding small, vaguely annoying even to himself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't always need your help, Merlin. You don't &lt;i&gt;always&lt;/i&gt; know better than me, all right?" He glances at Merlin, just for a second, a brief and uncertain frown. "You think you're so clever. I know you do. Well I'll have you know that I do have a sense of judgement of my own, and that I don't . . . " But nothing follows. Arthur seems to be looking for more words, and that keeps on for a short minute, but in the end the sentence never gets finished. He sighs instead, closes his eyes. With a small gesture he catches Merlin's little finger for a heartbeat, squeezes it with his own. When he lets go he does so completely, sitting up with a grunt, resting his elbows on his knees—blinking at the change in gravity. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin stares at his back, at the protruding line of his spine. He curls his fingers into his palm, worries the corner of his lip with grazing teeth. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I heavily dislike this conversation," Arthur declares, pulling at a blade of wheat from the edge of the stack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin gives a breathy laugh, almost a snort, says, "Yeah."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't even know why we're having it," he continues. "I've always been most adverse to the expressing of one's . . . " A quick, indistinct motion of his fingers. A small roll of his eyes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"S'all right, Arthur." Drawing up his knee, Merlin nudges Arthur's side. He makes a bit of silly voice when he adds, "I won't tell anyone."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur gives him a look over his shoulder, unhappy but not entirely serious, and rather than give a retort he just glares for a moment—then just looks, no specific expression to it, eyes flicking distractedly to Merlin's mouth. It takes Merlin a second to realise he went back to chewing his lip. He stops and Arthur looks away—down. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Right," Arthur says, eventually, and gets up. He makes his way towards the ladder, only to stop when he turns in his descent down to the stables—taking in the state of the loft. He sighs, scowls. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oi, Merlin, when you go back, you wouldn't mind . . . " he gestures at the mess of his armour, pieces lying scattered in wayward corners where Arthur threw them in his frenzy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What?" Arthur asks, already defensive. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin raises two eyebrows. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's not—!" Arthur stops. Looks away, licks his lips. Takes a breath. "&lt;i&gt;Fine,&lt;/i&gt;" he says, then stomps the two steps back up the ladder. He picks up his hauberk and two vembraces, makes a show of settling them under his arms as he starts back down the ladder. "Half," he tells Merlin, head disappearing below the level of the loft. "I did half. You do the rest." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That was so not half of it," Merlin tells him in a mutter that probably goes unheard. He sits up just when Arthur's voice calls back a distanced, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Before dinner, Merlin!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merlin laughs quietly, mostly to himself, closing his eyes as he shouts back an easy, "You got it, Arthur."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur's laughter is louder than Merlin's, not a trace of inhibition, and it echoes off the stables walls—off the wood and the mud and the tar. Merlin keeps his eyes closed, his smile private, and toys with a pluck of hay—pulls at it, breaks some of it, peels off the leafy layers. His hands are dusty with it, warm, even as the chills run up the back of his neck. &lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meanwhile, &lt;a href="http://mamoru.dreamwidth.org/79301.html"&gt;this.&lt;/a&gt; I recommend going through those pictures while listening to &lt;a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?hejyxygz2zm"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; song, then gazing a good fifteen minutes at that last shot. WHILE PLAYING THAT SONG ON REPEAT. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you don't see the love by then, baby, you're a lost case. LOST. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OKAY. Now I'll go spend a while pretending to study even though I won't process any of it, and then fall asleep on my notes. DROOLING. ~*THE GOOD LIFE*~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;ETA:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;font size="6" color="#ff0080"&gt;&lt;b&gt;♥ &lt;a href="http://ras-elased.livejournal.com/171086.html"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 255);"&gt;Merlin/Arthur Kiss Meme&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ♥&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go *_*</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:124401</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/124401.html"/>
    <link rel="self" type="text/xml" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/data/atom/?itemid=124401"/>
    <title>MERLIN 201</title>
    <published>2009-09-19T19:19:52Z</published>
    <updated>2009-09-19T19:21:17Z</updated>
    <category term="dragonballs c(eigan)(edric)"/>
    <category term="aircraft carrier m/a"/>
    <category term="needs moregana"/>
    <category term="zara is punny"/>
    <category term="merliiiiiiiiiiin"/>
    <category term="needs more uther/gaius"/>
    <category term="i do everything for him!!!!!!!"/>
    <category term="spoilers are for winners"/>
    <category term="lol awkward het"/>
    <category term="zara has designs on bjs virtues"/>
    <content type="html">&lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_zarathuse' lj:user='zarathuse' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;zarathuse&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_derryere' lj:user='derryere' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://derryere.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://derryere.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;derryere&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;'s INSTANTO REACTION: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="background: url(http://www.ukauctionhelp.co.uk/image.php?i=sparkle); font-size: 40pt"&gt;"I DO EVERYTHING FOR HIM, AND HE THINKS I'M AN IDIOT."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHORECRUX. INAPPROPRIATE UNCLE GAIUS TOUCHING. FOR EVERY 45 MINS OF GAY, 45 SECONDS OF HET. WEEPY MERLIN IS WEEPY. AND PRETTY. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FIRST THING CEIGAN CEDRIC CORNELIUS DIGGORY DOES ON RECLAIMING A BODY: GOES TO NEAREST DRAG QUEEN FOREST. KILLS 30 RAVENS. CAREFULLY ASSEMBLES EVIL CLOAK OF FABULOUSA. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MERLIN: I WISH I WAS THAT FABULOUS. *KILLS*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HELLO ARTHUR'S CHEST NIPPLE. NO HEAD NECESSARY. Z: "I'LL PROVIDE THE HEAD." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;END SCENE: UNCLE GAIUS' ROOFIED PIZZA. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THAT IS ALL. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off to make cockies. YA'LL HAVE AN AWESOME NIGHT. </content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:124039</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/124039.html"/>
    <link rel="self" type="text/xml" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/data/atom/?itemid=124039"/>
    <title>It's morning now</title>
    <published>2009-09-19T10:32:45Z</published>
    <updated>2009-09-19T10:32:45Z</updated>
    <category term="raaaaaadio"/>
    <category term="merlin"/>
    <category term="2) like rockstars"/>
    <category term="but im adorable!"/>
    <category term="bj!!!!!!!!!!"/>
    <category term="exclamation marks!!!!!!!"/>
    <category term="1) i dress my dogs up"/>
    <category term="its morning i hate waking up"/>
    <category term="my hair looks nuclear"/>
    <category term="cmor!!!!!!!!!"/>
    <category term="my room looks nuclear too"/>
    <content type="html">SO. Who else is listening to the &lt;a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00mtp2d"&gt;radio? &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will probably take another hour, but HEY let's get together and FLIP THE FUCK OUT~</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:123784</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/123784.html"/>
    <link rel="self" type="text/xml" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/data/atom/?itemid=123784"/>
    <title>Things!</title>
    <published>2009-09-18T20:20:23Z</published>
    <updated>2009-09-18T20:29:03Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt; HAPPY ROSH HASHANA, BITCHES! Which year is it? Tet, chet, shin, something? I HAVE NO IDEA. SERIOUSLY. I LOST COUNT SOMEWHERE MID-5K. &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_dollygrip' lj:user='dollygrip' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://dollygrip.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://dollygrip.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;dollygrip&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, HELP ME OUT HERE. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt; ER today. FREAKY SHIT. It was nothing big, just some stitches that needed reminding what they were there for in the first place, but it's all fixed and pretty now. Still, though. First trip to the the ER ever! Things To Do So You Have Stories to Tell at Parties #345: Rush to ER in a cab. CHECK. Cool. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt; I TOTALLY CALLED THIS. JUST SAYIN'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i33.tinypic.com/23ubtrc.jpg" border="20"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt; Murrrrrrliiinnnnn tomorrroooowww &amp;hearts; &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_zarathuse' lj:user='zarathuse' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;zarathuse&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; and I are gonna make &lt;a href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/123243.html"&gt;cockies&lt;/a&gt;. And Dragon Balls. SWEET. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;big&gt;Sharing is Caring&lt;/big&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For one week, recommend/share:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;small&gt;&lt;s&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day one:&lt;/b&gt; a song&lt;/s&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;s&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day two:&lt;/b&gt; a picture&lt;/s&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;s&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day three:&lt;/b&gt; a book/ebook/fanfic&lt;/s&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;Here! Have a seriously, &lt;i&gt;SERIOUSLY&lt;/i&gt; kickass fic: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://christycorr.livejournal.com/127970.html"&gt;Laws of Attraction&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_christycorr' lj:user='christycorr' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://christycorr.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://christycorr.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;christycorr&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day four:&lt;/b&gt; a site&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day five:&lt;/b&gt; a youtube clip&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day six:&lt;/b&gt; a quote&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day seven:&lt;/b&gt; whatever tickles your fancy&lt;/small&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt; DO YOU KNOW, what I need to stop doing? Writing half a comment fic and never finishing. It's getting a bit pathetic. I haven't finished a fic in over two MONTHS. MONTHS! I've started, numerous times over. I HAVE THREE 10K+ FICS WAITING TO BE FINISHED, and hundreds of smaller things all over the place. THIS THIS NOT ON. SOMEONE SHOULD DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS. IT IS GETTING OUT OF HAND. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.penguin.co.uk/nf/Book/BookDisplay/0,,9780670915651,00.html"&gt;Juliet, Naked.&lt;/a&gt; This is about fandom, about fans, about those who have to put up with fans, about the people we idolise and the people who are idolised. It's also just about people in general. SO, IN OTHER WORDS, THIS IS A BOOK ABOUT YOU. GO READ IT RUN DON'T WALK. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt; Thoughts on Glee: Purk. Puck/Turk. YOU KNOW IT'S HOT. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt; &lt;b&gt;ETA:&lt;/b&gt; HDKJFH UHM, YES. Don't know how I almost forgot, since it's basically made my week. &lt;span class='ljuser ljuser-name_leechunsa' lj:user='leechunsa' style='white-space: nowrap;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://leechunsa.livejournal.com/profile'&gt;&lt;img src='http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif' alt='[info]' width='17' height='17' style='vertical-align: bottom; border: 0; padding-right: 1px;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href='http://leechunsa.livejournal.com/'&gt;&lt;b&gt;leechunsa&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; made an amazing &lt;a href="http://leechunsa.livejournal.com/276433.html?style=mine"&gt;soundtrack&lt;/a&gt; to Accidental Memory, and--just. AMAZING. The art, the songs, the THOUGHT that she put into it--TOTALLY blew me away. All of it. GO CHECK IT OUT AND GIVE HER SOME LOVE, PEOPLE &amp;hearts;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No comments for me today. NO COMMENTS UNTIL I FINISH SOMETHING. ANYTHING. Be it Virgil or fic, I don't even care. AS LONG AS IT'S DONE. DAMNIT.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:123512</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/123512.html"/>
    <link rel="self" type="text/xml" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/data/atom/?itemid=123512"/>
    <title>Gifs! I have them.</title>
    <published>2009-09-07T22:39:49Z</published>
    <updated>2009-09-07T22:39:49Z</updated>
    <category term="merlinmerlinmerlin"/>
    <category term="tagging is not for the lazy"/>
    <category term="why do i even bother w the tags idk"/>
    <content type="html">&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://i32.tinypic.com/2922zxv.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img src="http://i29.tinypic.com/2z7lpo4.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/iqyjcy.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i26.tinypic.com/juu92o.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/2dgji11.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/5u4hmb.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ALL SNAGGABLE :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sleeeep *___*&lt;/center&gt;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:derryere:123243</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/123243.html"/>
    <link rel="self" type="text/xml" href="http://derryere.livejournal.com/data/atom/?itemid=123243"/>
    <title>derryere @ 2009-09-07T21:17:00</title>
    <published>2009-09-07T19:43:08Z</published>
    <updated>2009-09-07T19:59:38Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&lt;ul&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;big&gt;Sharing is Caring&lt;/big&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For one week, recommend/share:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;small&gt;&lt;s&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day one:&lt;/b&gt; a song&lt;/s&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;s&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day two:&lt;/b&gt; a picture&lt;/s&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day three:&lt;/b&gt; a book/ebook/fanfic&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day four:&lt;/b&gt; a site&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day five:&lt;/b&gt; a youtube clip&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day six:&lt;/b&gt; a quote&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day seven:&lt;/b&gt; whatever tickles your fancy&lt;/small&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PICTURE! My outfit today. Because it was pretty goddamn kickass. CAN I SAY THAT? Well I'm saying it. I'M SAYING IT. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;center&gt;Phonecam = crappy quality. But at least now I get to say: ~IT LOOKED COOLER IN RL I SWEAR~ &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/1ie44w.jpg" border="20"&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SO, in other news. When are those promos coming, HUH. Also, just asking, are there any Merlin ppl from in/around Dutchland who feel like a S2 viewing partay? I HEARD THERE WOULD BE--wait let me find the exact wording. AAH, yes, "'Excalibur' cookies. By which I totally mean cock cookies. Cockies, if you will."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IS IT OKAY TO QUOTE YOU ON THAT TEXT, DUDE? I seriously inhaled a tonsil when I read it. MID-LECTURE. European lit history, man. No one bought the 'NO BUT AGAMEMNON CRACKS ME THE FUCK UP FREALS!' diversion, somehow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Antigone for Thurs D: This is the worst class for someone who reads 12 pages an hour. If you'd rip out twelve pages and put them on the ground and then put a snail on the one end THE SNAIL WOULD GET TO THE OTHER END OF THE PAGE-PATH FASTER THAN I'D BE ABLE TO READ THEM. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FUCK!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://i40.tinypic.com/59q8l.jpg" border="10"&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(still catching up on comments, old/not so old/ancient, SO! Don't mind me. AGAIN. I'll just keep on until I feel emotionally ready to procrastinate again :3)</content>
  </entry>
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