MERLIN / MERTHUR ONESHOTS

Dark

TW- GORE IMAGERY

So this is following a request of an evil Merlin : )

Let me know what you guys think x
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Merlin had always felt something....dark within him. It was heavy and it twisted and scratched in his veins. Although, the way it warped around his soul, swam in his shadow, it was comforting. It often felt like a consistent storm, thunder clouds booming and shaking the ground beneath him. Like fiery bolts of lightning striking him with threatening, overwhelming power again and again and again. Upon the coast line is where this storm was most persistent, the sky never blue but a blanket of ash. The waves wailing as they rolled in and out, frothy hands grasping at the muddy sand in desperation. Salty tears begging to be saved. It never let out, a dense and ever growing pressure capturing the air, stealing breaths.

Merlins calloused fingers would throb as pulses of electricity would spit out vile insults to the Gods. His heart would hammer enthusiastically in his chest as his eyes would become clouded with a power hungry glare. He craved this darkness, it felt in essence to be the very structure of his being.

The young warlock would often dream at night; they were the sort of fantastical nightmarish tales that would leave even King Arthur suffocating in traumatised screams, the bloodied landscape etched permanently into his eyelids- cursed to relive the night with each blink. Yet within Gaius' chambers lay a boy in a peaceful slumber, hands curled pleasantly within the scratchy blankets and a soft thankful smile laced at his lips.

Visions of his pale hands coated in a coagulated, deep sticky red would often invade his thoughts. Mind racing with all the different possibilities, 'It would be Sir Gale's blood, still fresh, still warm, still addictingly delicious', he would turn his hands around in fascination 'My hands burrowing deep inside his torso, my fingers running smoothly up and down his guts- let his intestines snake around my fingers in a poisonous fashion'. When these sickening thoughts first began to infiltrate Merlins mind he would burn up with shame, but as time moved on around him he began to appreciate, even welcome and encourage such deluded desires.

Destiny. Kilgharrah had often spoke about some god forsaken destiny that Merlin had been metaphorically chained to. To be completely honest he had always thought it to be complete and utter bullshit. Merlin never had intentions of saving anyone, not Arthur, nevermimd the whole of Albion. Why be a saviour with the power to destruct? The longing to cause mayhem across the lands too strong, too instinctual, too Merlin.

Back as early as in Ealdor, back when he was but a wee boy, Merlin had witnessed acts of malicious intent; he'd be forced to watch on with his head cocked- gleaming ocean eyes unable to turn away from the corrupt circus before him. He learned from a young age that the world wasn't pure like his Mama had told him but instead a harbour of sins. From as little as merely five years old Merlin would pray before he let himself slumber, he would pray for all puppets of the devil to be purged.

During his years of being under Arthur's control he had learnt to tolerate the prat. Not that Merlin would ever admit it but he was even proud to consider Arthur a dear friend. The brighter side of the coin understood that he was in fact dull and rusted with hatred and fear but a voice that pushed against his skull with agonising sharpness would reassure him that all this bloodshed, all this torture would protect Arthur. He became content with being evil a long time ago, although now his destiny subconsciously defended his actions.

'Im a sorcerer. I have magic, and i use it for you Arthur. Only for you.'
Merlin had practiced how to tell Arthur time and time again, face sculpted into an innocent one, mouth stretching in unnatural ways. He figured one day he would be caught, one day his perfected acts of  betrayal would be put on show for the whole of Camelot to watch- Arthur in the front row, face crumpled up in despair at the stranger performing in front of him, the stranger he thought to be his friend.