Tobyisrad
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Summary
A Ball held in Essetir is to announce the legendary King Emrys has risen from the shadows. The four remaining Kings of Albion meet on Christmas to secure the prophecies alliance that will unite Albion under one crown.
Out of all those Kings, the Anti-Magic King Arthur Pendragon is the last person people would have expected to come. Let alone to be invited.Series
- Part 102 of Merlin's magic
Bookmarked by Tobyisrad
28 Jun 2026
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Based on this: (my post, but I altered it a bit)
Arthur is granted a wish.After years of obliviousness, Arthur has grown an awareness for how blind he is, so he wishes to be able to see people for who they really are.
That's how he begins to see people dressed differently than before. He sees servants dressed like people of the court, he sees closeted people finally representing as themselves, he sees his wife with an eternal crown over her head.
And then he sees a man walking into his rooms. His face held high, his eyes golden. His face and hands are scarred all over and Arthur knows it's emotional scars. But the man glows, his clothes that worthy of a king, no. A god.
Only when the man opens his mouth and pulls away the curtains, does it dawn on Arthur whose in front of him.
"Rise and shine :D"
Series
- Part 77 of Merlin's magic
Bookmarked by Tobyisrad
28 Jun 2026
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“I think I need to start charging people to ask me stupid questions.” Merlin mused, letting his head fall back off the couch, effectively hanging upside down.
“What you need is a rich himbo.” Gwaine declared and Merlin opened an eye to peer at him curiously.
“What?”
“For your questions tax.” Gwaine explained.
“Hmm, I don’t know, I mean, first of all, where would I even find a rich person? And Secondly, obviously, fuck the rich.”
“That might be fun.” Gwaine said, grinning.
“That is not an instruction you idiot.”
“Not with that attitude.”
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“I’ll go.” He says it without brashness or deference. Just a statement.
“Where?”
“You want to climb the Forty,” he says, and Enjolras can’t deny it. “I’ll go with you.”
Bookmarked by Tobyisrad
11 Nov 2024
Bookmarker's Notes
“You brought me a banana, right?”
“Oh, fuck,” says Courfeyrac, gutted. Early mornings have never been Courf’s jam—and since he’s not climbing, it makes sense that he’ll have forgotten. In Courf’s face, Enjolras sees the momentary finality of dread; they’re as good as dead already.
’Ferre sees too, of course. “Top of your pack,” he says, and he’s barely got the words out before Courf’s rummaging through his daybag and producing bananas for all.
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“You don’t even tell me.”“We have known each other so long, Courf.”
“Tell Combeferre you love him.”
“What? This is really not—”
“Say it.”
[E u r SO real for this,,,i didn't tell my sister I loved her till I was 18 🫣🫣
AND COURRRRFFFF!!! CALL HIM OUT BABE LOLOLOLOLOL ]
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Rooting around in the first-aid kit that evening for a fresh tube of superglue, Enjolras discovers anew that Courf never lets the ABC go anywhere unprepared.[😏😏😏 🫦🫦]
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Epiphanies by Riotstar
Fandoms: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
21 Jan 2023
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There's no emotion in the look Enjolras gives him at all beyond recognition, yet it still pierces Grantaire through like a lepidopterist's pin through the body of a specimen; a knife thrust through two years of separation that brings the entire complex whirl of feelings he's been suppressing for the last two months to the fore.
There's no doubt about it: he's still got it bad.
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Grantaire tries to make it through a weekend with his friends without saying something.
Bookmarked by Tobyisrad
30 Mar 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
He manages to escape the kitchen only when the last dish is in the oven, and Bahorel's attention turns instead to the mountain of washing up they're created.
"I did my time," Grantaire says, imploring. Bahorel is merciful enough to dismiss him, if only because Joly wanders into the kitchen at an inopportune moment, giving Bahorel the opportunity to collar him.
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There's one person who might hold one of the keys to the mystery, and he finds him in the dining room, holding an upturned glass up to the light. A moth beats its wings forlornly inside it, trapped in place by a cork coaster.
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I suspect it's of common ancestry to our tradition. Pasquier suggests we used to invoke the name of Apollo –"A loud, hacking cough from the opposing side of the table halts Prouvaire's speech; Enjolras coughs again, and puts his hand over his mouth; he's red-faced, and Grantaire realises with alarm that he's choking.
Joly squeaks in horror; Bahorel, at Enjolras's side, raises the flat palm of one mighty hand to strike him between the shoulder-blades. Enjolras quells him mid gesture with a death-glare, even while continuing to cough into his own fist.
At the next cough he ceases, and raises his napkin to his lips, pink-cheeked and avoiding eye contact. Grantaire realises his own hands have curled into fists in his concern; he's gripping his own fork like a vice. He takes a deep breath, and forces them to relax.
Enjolras lowers the napkin, and unfurls it to reveal a tiny porcelain statuette of an angel, complete with white robes and tiny, stubby yellow wings.
[Not TEETH ... (Me trying to find this fic,,, recollected the angel as teeth 😭😭!! Found it with "napkin" jahagsjbx)]
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"I'm glad you're still with us – don't worry about the work thing, I'm sure your colleagues can continue your good work without you. There was no dishonour in Napoleon's exile before the Hundred Days –"Cosette, beside him, places a gentle hand on his arm, quelling him into silence. There's a moment that might be broken by the drop of a pin, as glances are exchanged across the table, a silent fencing in which no one steps forward to be the one responsible for furthering Marius's political education. Enjolras cracks a small, genuine smile, and says:
"Thank you. I'm glad to be here."