Does anyone find the eye slightly creepy? I can change it if you want…

A note to anonymous reviewers: I try to replly to all the reviews I get but I can't if you don't have an account, especially if you reviewed a one-shot (which is most of my work) so to everyone without an account who has reviewed: Thank you!

I have developed a new pet hate in the time I have been writing FanFiction: People who add ONESHOTS to story alert. I am NOT going to continue them (unless someone actually gives me an idea how to) I write oneshots because I can't carry a plot to save my life. Please don't ask me to continue them.

I thought I might start using this space for something useful instead of just rambling, so I’m going to start putting up all the half-finished ideas I’ve had for fics. Whether they were discontinued because they were just plane rubbish, or because after the first paragraph/sentence I got confused as to what I was actually talking about, or because I just got bored writing them or even because they never got past the ‘that might be a good idea’ stage in my head. If you would like to continue any or use the basic ideas behind it please PM me, just don’t make it slash.

Did that make any sense?

No?

Oh well…

BTW bold is just the ideas I had around the fic

General Disclaimer (for the following and if i forgot to out one in my fics): I’m only borrowing them, I’ll put them back exactly where I found them when I’m done... probably...

They say that a mirror can show you your soul. This is not true. A mirror will only show you a reflection of the world, and most often a distorted one at that.

Although, with the aid of magic, you may be able to change which part of the world is seen.

Arthur is sent an enchanted mirror that shows the death of Nimueh, but not who killed her(somehow cant't see Gaius in the background either). He gets obsessed with trying to find her killer and who sent the mirror (thinks they're the same person?), probably set in series 2.

There was a Sherlock-Merlin crossover here but I actually wrote one so... yay?

He could feel the magic growing, pulsating, blindingly bright in his mind. He had never felt so alive, yet so afraid. He had always had control of his gifts but now it seemed that control had been torn from him

(this might be a long winded explanation) so I figure that because of Uther’s brilliant ban on magic Merlin has had to suppress his instincts to use magic at every opportunity putting up barriers to stop himself using magic. What if someone (a druid? ... it’s always the druids) removed those barriers so we can see just how powerful Merlin really is. Probably a reveal, although it might be fun to make Merlin come up with more excuses for Arthur.

People often underestimate the power a sorcerer can wield. In books and films there is always a limiting factor, knowledge of spells and potions, physical strength, energy, or in the more pornographic versions, the last time they had sex.

To put it as eloquently as possible, this is all bull, a person is born with or without magic, the level of this magic is always determined at the moment of their birth.

In my case, I was given unlimited power, imagine being able to control everything around you your entire life, imagine having the power of the gods, and now imagine what it would feel like to have that power stripped away, to suddenly be thrown into a world which you cannot control.

I found this in an old notebook (along with some really creepy stuff, seriously i scare myself sometimes), it was probable written before the first series of Merlin and definatly before I had ever thought of writing fanfiction, so I’m fairly certain that this was not intended to be about our favourite warlock. I’ve put it here because it does sort of apply, but would be incomplete as a fic

I forgot about this one, its was supposed to be the final 'Eye opener' but I re-read it on the day and decided it was terrible, so I'm going to inflict it on you here instead (because I have doubts that anyone actually reads this). The reason it is so bad is because i wrote it very late at night and it seemed like a good idea at the time... Well that's my excuse anyway

Merlin sank to his knees. Normally he could perform even the most powerful spells without much effort, but the hour-long battle for survival against seven of the world’s most powerful mages took its toll, even on the mighty Emrys.

“Merlin?” Arthur, of course as if his day couldn’t get any better, the bleeding prince if Camelot had been witness to the entire showdown. Merlin knew that he should, at this moment in time, be afraid for his life, but right now he just could not muster the energy required to give a damn. “You’re a sorcerer?”

He knew he should answer the question, explain to the once-and-future king why his servant, friend and ally had been breaking the laws of the land for twenty-odd years, but he barely had the strength to crane his neck far enough to meet Arthur’s gaze. By the time he had done so the Prince had lost patience, perhaps if Merlin had been faster with an explanation he wouldn’t have a sword pressed to his throat… oh well.

By this time the luckless manservant had managed to find and almost comfortable position, seated against the cool stone of the walls of Camelot. He was watching Arthur – who was crouching beside him, sword still pressed rather irritatingly to Merlin’s throat – through half closed eyes, the effort required to keep them open far too great, perhaps he should have slept last night, of the night before, there was always so much to do – save Arthur, prevent the destruction of Camelot, consult the dragon, wash Arthur’s socks… this wall really was comfortable.

He must have done something wrong because he found the blade of the sword was now painful against his neck, he managed to force one eye open long enough to get a blurry picture of a very irate prince. “Merlin! Answer me damn you!”

“What?” Merlin whined, he had just been about to drift off “alright alright I‘m a sorcerer, and a dragon-lord and I would quite like to sleep now” he said, or tried to say. A yawn had been threatening to emerge for a while now and as he spoke it turned his words to something more like “hih mm sorher nnnd agon ooord oood eeep oow” unfortunately for Arthur he never got a chance to revise his words as he fell deeply into the folds of sleep. The prince prodded his lifeless form once or twice before giving up and going away to review the damage the city had sustained.

Twelve hours later Merlin awoke, he was still seated, in rather cramped conditions, against the freezing stone wall of Camelot, but at least now he had enough of his wits this time to review the events of the day before, swear loudly, and run to find his –probably former – master to explain before he was sentenced to death… again…

This idea came to me as i was trying to rewrite my CV. I didn't want to publish it because I wrote it at midnight and it just seemed a bit flimsy to me. Its basicly what Merlin's CV might look like if he was applying to annother job and following some sort of template.

Curriculum Vitae

Name
Merlin, or Emrys… depends who you ask, and who’s asking.

Date of Birth
Don’t actually know

Address
The back room
Gaius’ quarters
Camelot
… err…
in Camelot

Telephone number
What is this?

Email Address
What?

Education and Qualifications
Gaius taught me some stuff, I’ve read some books… does putting up with supercilious prince for three years count as an education? Oh and I’ve taught myself some stuff that I’d rather not mention… not because any of its illegal or anything, I would just prefer you didn’t know.

Work experience
I’ve experienced all kinds of work. What is the difference between this section and the next? Do people like to experience work before they decide if full on employment is the best thing for them? Why bother? Do they still get paid?

Previous employment
See previous statement about His Royal Pain in the Neck. I had to wash his socks and everything! And I helped Gaius out a bit I suppose.

Skills
None. I can do absolutely nothing of interest. You think I have any innate talent? Hah! Of course I don’t, none whatsoever… the thought that I might be able to do magic is utterly ludicrous and I will deny it completely and turn whoever mentined it into a toad.

Hobbies and Interests
Does saving Arthur’s life count as a hobby? If not, I don’t really have time for outside interests. Sleep can be quite interesting though.

Referee
I once judged a practice jousting match. Does that count? Why do you have to have refereed something to be able to apply for a job?

And then something snapped.

He was done pretending. He was done hiding in the shadows, cowering in mock fear.

It was time to stop. Stop hiding who he was, stop living the lie, become who he was always meant to be.

He felt his magic respond, in his blood, in his bones, in every inch of his body. Confirming that, indeed, the time was right. This was the day that destiny had decided upon.

And it felt good.

To be able to release the power that had been building since the day he had been born, to break free of the chains Uther had unwittingly forced upon him all those years ago.

The words fell from his lips, beautiful and flowing shaping the haphazard power that was now cascading from him into something elegant and ethereal.

The spell was beautiful in its simplicity. Subtle enough to have gone unnoticed should he have wished but it was all too easy to show off…

Needs a beginning… and an ending, probably shouldn’t have started in the middle

The first time he saw someone die he was 4 years old, the winter had been harsh and without a physician the chances of survival after catching pneumonia where slim to none especially for those too old or too young.

The first time he had seen a murder he was 6. There had been an argument over the exact location of the boundary between two fields and the blows that followed were just a little bit too hard.

The first and last time he had been torn from his mother’s frantic arms he had been 7. They came for the children still young enough to be brainwashed, but old enough to follow orders and understand threats. They clothed him, housed him, fed and watered him. But that all came with a price. The training was their true purpose. A daily routine, starting with the dawn and ending when it became too dark to see the hand in front or your face.

They were taught to fight, to hide, to climb and to run. But mostly they were taught to kill. By the time he was 12 he knew 300 ways of taking a man’s life, 97 poisons, 13 places to cut and stab, the correct application of pressure in 4 places across the body that would cut off blood supply to various vital organs. And 186 ways of breaking the human body with magic.

The first time a fellow student died he was 13, there had been envy of the apparent favouritism the boy had received. They had found out later that it had all been a test from the masters as to how good the steel grip they all apparently had on their emotions was. He was the only one who was not subjected to the torturous punishment. Instead his training became more intense, the already long hours became longer, he found himself barely able to survive with 2-3 hours of sleep a night, and hardly enough food to keep a cat alive.

The first time he collapsed he was 13 the exhaustion and starvation, already excruciating, seemed to become worse every day and it was only a matter of time before his body betrayed him. Somehow the punishment his own body was inflicting on him was worse than the prospect of being whipped to within an inch of his life.

The first time he had taken a life he was 14. His training had not been reduced but the quality of his meals had increased dramatically, that is to say that they went from something even a dog would ignore to food he could stomach without gagging. And eventually he was granted what was considered to be one of the greatest honours a student could be granted. A piece of paper with a name and location written in an elegant flowing hand, and supplies to last him a week of travel. And so a merchant who had lost the delicate balance between the number of friends and enemies had possessed spent the last few seconds of his life begging for mercy. But mercy was a weakness. And he was not weak.

By the time he was 18 he was loathed by almost all of the other pupils, new and old alike. He was talented and knew it, the art came easy to him, he was the perfect poster boy for the masters and so it was he who was chosen for a mission that could be entrusted to no one else.

Arthur Pendragon
Camelot

AU where Merlin is actually an assassin sent to kill Arthur (or Uther, haven’t quite decided yet... maybe both?), but grows a conscience and ends up protecting him instead, send in OC who tries to get him to do the job he was sent to do. Cue lots of BAMF!Merlin. (because we love BAMF!Merlin). Probably a re-write of episode one.

He stared at his arm for what could have been hours, willing it to go away. But the dark green pigment refused to move from where it had been placed under his broken skin.

Why now? Why him? Alright, he knew why it was him. It was always him, when you had someone who is such a convenient dumping ground for everyone’s problems why bother to torture someone else? It wasn’t as though he didn’t have anything else to worry about, like – just for example – saving the prince’s life or anything!

Merlin closed his eyes, calling upon the power that was probably his only constant in this world of treachery and lies (do not mention Morgana), and willed the mark away, but he hadn’t really expected that to work, the mark was not a spell he could counter, it was an intricate circular pattern of symbols that…sorry, I kinda lost interest at that point. Basically Merlin has a druid tattoo that has randomly appeared overnight that he has to hide from Arthur, probably unsuccessfully, because it wouldn’t be fun if everything went right for Merlin :)

I would quite like to do a songfic or just a fic based on the song Streets of London by Ralph McTell (lyrics below) but I'm finding it difficult to start. I just want Merlin/Gwen to be able to show Arhur what life is really like outside the castle.

Have you seen the old man
In the closed-down market
Kicking up the paper,
with his worn out shoes?
In his eyes you see no pride
And held loosely at his side
Yesterday's paper telling yesterday's news

So how can you tell me you're lonely,
And say for you that the sun don't shine?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind

Have you seen the old girl
Who walks the streets of London
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags?
She's no time for talking,
She just keeps right on walking
Carrying her home in two carrier bags.

Chorus

In the all night cafe
At a quarter past eleven,
Same old man is sitting there on his own
Looking at the world
Over the rim of his tea-cup,
Each tea last an hour
Then he wanders home alone

Chorus

And have you seen the old man
Outside the seaman's mission
Memory fading with
The medal ribbons that he wears.
In our winter city,
The rain cries a little pity
For one more forgotten hero
And a world that doesn't care

Chorus

Dunno what this is, I've started not bothering to go to sleep until I'm really tired which might explain the following:

He could feel the ache behind his eyes slowly becoming worse with every moment he kept his eyed forced open. The weariness in his limbs had passed now, his body had gone beyond feeling tired but the headaches would only get worse. He longed to be able to curl up in bed and be dead to the world for glorious hours on end but he couldn't, not now. Not now that his world was ending, there was so much that he must do and so little time to do it in. There would not be time for sleep this night or the next. His eyes burned at the thought that he would have to endure this torture for so long, but he did not have the time to care about his own wellbeing. Not when there were people dead and dying outside. Not whilst he could still help.

They found him three days later in the exact centre of the courtyard. He had collapsed in the middle of the night whilst trying to transport bandages to the injured. His pulse was weak, he had not eaten for what must be a week now, and the dark splotches around his eyed made it look as though he had been punched.

He slept solidly for 96 hours.

Was discussing a fic with jedichild where Eragon changed his name to Balinor and moved to camelot but I can't be bothered to reread the books. please PM jedichild if you're interested, it was her idea.

Is it me or does it only rain in Camelot when something really disastrous is happening…? Just a thought…

Update (01/01/2013): Addict to Fanfics has written a short fic based on this. Can be found here: http://www.fanfiction.ws/s/8862513/1/Rain

I really wanted to write this one, it’s a parody of the scene in Monty Python’s Life of Brian, but I couldn’t think of anything positive that Uther’s done, if you can think of anything please pm me

The leader of the group held the attention of all those present, not only was he speaking to them about a subject that none had dared mention, but he was speaking from the heart. His passion for the cause might just be what was needed to lead these people to glory. It would not be difficult to convince them of what everyone already knew, and then they would seize victory over their suppressors... probably…

“They’ve bleed us white the bastards, they’ve taken everything we have, and not just from us, but form our children, and from our children’s children-”

He was interrupted by the man sitting to his immediate left, who seemed to feel it important to emphasise this point “And form our children’s children’s children. And form our children’s children’s children’s children-”

“Yes thank you, don’t labour the point…” He muttered silencing his over-eager comrade, before continuing “And what have they ever given us in return?”

There was silence for a long moment, the leader almost smiled, they were all of one mind, they would have their victory tonight-

A solitary hand was raised slowly, attached to the arm of a man at the very forefront of the crowd and in a quiet voice he uttered two words that the leader had only just realised he had been dreading to hear.

“seriously, something to put here would be nice...

That’s it for now, will probably be extended later.

If none of those caught your eye, try reading some of the fics below, go on, you know you want to…

Ok, I think I'm going through Randomness withdrawal, so please excuse the following:

Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so. -Douglas Adams (via Ford Prefect)

"there's an infinite number of monkeys outside who want to talk to us about this script for Hamlet they've worked out." -again Douglas Adams (via Arthur Dent this time)

No one’s singing war songs now like people used to do;
No 'over there', no 'praise the Lord', no 'Glory Hallelu';
Perhaps we've finally asked ourselves what we should've asked before:
With the pain and death this madness brings, what were we ever singing for?
-Father Mulcahy (M*A*S*H – yes I’m 18 and I like M*A*S*H get over
it)

All I ask is the chance to prove that money can’t make me happy – Spike Milligan (you gotta love him)

I was born not knowing and have only a little time to change that here and there– Richard P. Feynman

I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by. – Douglas Adams (again…)

If someone thinks they’re a hedgehog, presumably you just give ‘em a mirror and a few pictures of hedgehogs and tell them to sort it out for themselves.– guess what… Douglas Adams

You live and learn. At any rate, you live. –Douglas Adams (OK, maybe I’m a bit obsessed)

Sometime you have to pull down your pants and slide on the ice –Sidney Freedman (M*A*S*H)

Computer games don't affect kids, I mean if Pac Man affected us as kids, we'd all be running around in darkened rooms, munching pills and listening to repetitive music. - Marcus Brigstock

Human beings make life so interesting. Do you know, that in a universe so full of wonders, they have managed to invent boredom. -Death, Discworld (i.e. Terry Pratchett)

Give a man a fire and he's warm for the day. But set fire to him and he's warm for the rest of his life. - Terry Pratchett

Religion is hard, it's too hard for most people, whereas humanity is relatively easy, all you have to do is be you and try not to be a dick. - Marcus Brigstock

"But evolution is only a theory!”, which is true, it is a theory, it’s good that they say that, I think, it gives you hope, doesn’t it, that - that maybe they feel the same way about the theory of gravity… and they might just float the fuck away - Tim Minchin

I have a lot more quotes, but I think they’ll do for now

Has anyone actually read this? Tell you what, answer ‘bananas’ to the poll if you actually read the whole thing