it is destiny, my love!

( Camelot Heads )

( Camelot )

Hard to believe it's September already, isn't it? For me especially. It's been an absolutely bonkers year, starting with Arthur and ending with a funny-looking boyfriend – and then everything in between, of course, but seriously, it's all too loony to go into. The point is! September. It's nearly October, which means it's nearly my birthday, which also means it's nearly Hallowe'en. Not my favorite holiday, if I'm being completely honest, and only because it gives everyone complete license to act like complete and utter morons. (Could I have used the word 'complete' one more time in that sentence? Probably. I live to outdo myself.) I mean, really, though. 'The devil made me do it' is an excuse I'd give my left foot not to hear again as long as I bloody live. Nobody believes that, you know! He's a convenient scapegoat, but the devil never actually makes you do anything!

And yes, I do realise that most people are only taking the piss when they say something like that, but I no longer care even a little bit. It's a stupid thing to say. Stop sodding saying it!

Put the coffee down, Ava. Shut up. I need it. You need to sleep. Such a foreign concept, I know, b Shut up!

( Camelot Heads )

( Gareth )

( Danny )

( Morgans & Gareth )

( Gareth )

I think... I'm lost. Which is an incredibly embarrassing thing to admit seeing as Arthur grew up there, but the fact remains: this castle is extremely large and horribly confusing.

Help.

You'd think that generosity would be a bit more common amongst potential employers in this post-holiday season, but no. Not so. They're just as stingy and withholding as ever. But that's alright, I s'pose. I don't want to fold your stupid baby clothes anyway. Since when do babies need clothes anyway? It's not like they care what they're wearing. I mean, if I were a baby, I'm positive I'd prefer a nice, cosy blanket over a pink onesie with 'Mummy + Daddy = ME!' emblazoned on the front. Right, no shit, Sherlock. That's definitely the kind of math a baby can get its head round. Tossers.

I've no job and no money, and my rent is due in a week. Not to mention book fees and fucking tuition is right around the corner. I am so, so bloody screwed.

I feel like shit. Arthur feels like shit. This week is shit, and it hasn't even started yet.

It's official. I hate everything. Even my bed. I repeat: complete and utter shit.

Merlin. Do not. Say. A word.

A spoilt arrogant brat with the brains of a donkey and the face of a toad, am I? Go on, Merlin you twat. Tell us how you really feel. It's not as if I've got feelings or anything. Pfft.

Ugh, bugger all. Note to self: next week, don't wait till Saturday evening to get pissed. Start on Friday and never, ever stop. I'm young. My liver is hearty. I can bloody well handle it.

Stupid Morgana. Stupid Gwen. Stupid me. Stupid bony little know-it-all wizarding wanker.

Right. Haven't actually seen the new episode yet, but judging from the previews, it goes a little something like this.

Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, and Gwen go on a road trip. Arthur and Gwen share a moment. Morgana cockblocks. Ava pirouettes in victory, then remembers that this could very well happen in real life. Ava falls flat on her face. The end.

My life. Such thrilling television!

So, we started a new topic in my English lit course this week.

Three guesses what it is, and the first two don't count.

This would all be so much easier if I didn't have a thousand newly-discovered siblings who weren't awkwardly related to Arthur. Or a version of Arthur. Whatever. It's all the same to us, and it all makes us gag. Augh.

Right. I'm fairly positive none of you know me, but I've got a very insistent angel looking over my shoulder who refuses to give me my well-deserved cookie until I introduce myself. So. Greetings, etc. My name is Ava Prince, I turn twenty-one on Friday, and I've got a twat in my head. Said twat would like to apologise to a certain manservant/warlock for most (but not all) of his twattery. If you fit this description, please do come forward. We haven't got any armor to be polished, but we do have this sword...

He is also sort of demanding an apology in return for all of the bloody secrets and magic, but really, Arthur. I don't think you can blame him. Your father is raging, tyrannical arsehole, but I suppose you missed that due to

There. Happy, Michelle?

( It is destiny, my love! ... Destiny and chicken! )