LET'S FUCKING GO MKULIA IS NOW ABOVE RAJBOW IN FIC NUMBERS
LET'S GO LESBIANS LET'S FUCKING GOOOO
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Sanji + gender play (fem reader) for kinktober! Wanna ride him while he's all dolled up in lingerie with a vibrator in his ass 🤤
I didn't quite capture the letter of your request but I think I at least got the spirit. I wrote this in half an hour tipsy on mulled cider and I think I got possessed by the spirit of a novel writer from the 1860s
Kinktober 5: Gender Play, Sanji/Reader
Contains: Sanji's fucked up thoughts on gender, feminization, humiliation, lingerie, cross dressing, hand jobs
The kitchen door is locked, and most have gone to bed. But here on one of the chairs Sanji sits disheveled and full of shame and lust. You’ve removed his tie and jacket a long time ago, and tugged open his shirt and slacks to the soft sweet prize that’s been waiting for you all day beneath stiff wool.
It’s a set of lacy pink underwear, a matching bra and panty set that you bought with Sanji under the pretext of wearing it yourself. So consumed by thoughts of you in lacy bralettes and bikinis spinning through his head Sanji had neglected to notice they didn’t match your measurements (which he had of course memorized, as any good shopping companion should).
The long hours since you had connived him into the set this morning with soft kisses and softer touches had become tortuous, with Sanji hyper aware of the soft lace against his cock, and then comfortably forgetting, before swells of guilt at the thought that he was so little a man he could forget such a humiliation sweeping over him in turns throughout the day.
Finally, finally, you had come flouncing into his kitchen long after the dishes were done, eyes full of mischief to offer relief to him.
And that’s how he had ended up here, eyes tearing as you stood between his legs softly stroking his cock through delicate pink panties until he came and soaked them through as you called him, “Good girl~”
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In my mind the Persona trilogy protagonists are all top of their class but their methods and attitudes towards it vary wildly, so like Kotone was a decent student before coming to Tatsumi Port Island but then Mitsuru makes a comment about grades early on and Kotone dedicates herself to becoming top of the class without apparently trying just out of spite. She'll invite the group to Tartarus saying it's to train whoever isn't on the main fighting force but then she spends the whole time listening to audiobooks and vaguely waving her spear at shadows.
Makoto I think has mastered the art of putting in as little effort as possible for a grade. Does one class's homework in another class so he doesn't have to do it at home; half the time this is the period before the homework is due. He knows how to pad an essay and make it look like you're just being thorough about your research, netting you bonus points for less thought. It would be infuriating if he ever called anyone's attention to his scores but he's just coasting along.
Yu is a nerd. This kid organizes study sessions with his friends and takes notes in class and no one thinks twice about his grades because obviously.
Ren wanted to give off that impression when he first arrived at Shujin, visibly studying in the library and all, but he very quickly stops caring about that again now that he has friends and his reputation doesn't matter to him. What he also has is an excellent memory for trivia and a knack for bullshitting. He reads a book about shogi to try to impress Hifumi and two months later he finds a way to make a shogi analogy while explaining something in class that obscures the fact that he's parroting what the teacher just said. (This also drives Akechi crazy, because Akechi will painstakingly decide his stance through research and then Ren will go "well I don't know about that exact thing, but" and then somehow have an angle that Akechi didn't know about. Someday Ren will chain himself through three different fun facts and only hold back from a fourth when Akechi "jokingly" threatens to throttle him.)
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"are people not into that?" i ask, after posting my weird niche shit to the internet, despite knowing it to be weird niche shit.
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Current writing priorities, should they manage to stay the same for any reasonable length of time, in no particular order:
666 #7: genderfuckery + Vox finally realizing his dreams of getting fucked
666 #8: drunken antics + electrostim, finally
I put Alastor and Lucifer's post-finale traumas into a box and shake it violently
Al and Mimzy's final convo in I Love Her, I Love Her Not
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I made this for one my stories called 'Oblivion.' He's supposed to be older in this one because he is in the story, but I am not sure I got it right since he's not that old yet. Anywhooo... here's some more Five.
-series rated Teen and up because chapter notes and warnings will allow you to skip the explicit parts.
Link to my art and stories Master List
Link for easy access to my art on Tumblr
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Questions 5 and 19!
19. you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...
I am a creature of no shame but you know what, yeah, I temporarily WAS mad about one thing that I didn't think would float my boat at all.
Imagine me, January of last year, growing a bit desperate while grazing the AO3 Dooku & Obi-Wan tag. Ok, maybe checking out the Dooku/Obi-Wan tag won't hurt? So I looked and concluded that what I was seeing there wasn't for me. EXCEPT. EX-FUCKING-CEPT for two fucking one-shots that rewired my brain and did irreversible damage.
And you know what that means! Fic rec be upon ye
The Last Laugh (M, non-graphic) by @bluedaddysgirl / 500 words—short, hilarious and incredibly well-crafted with an amazing word economy. Dooku biting off more than he can chew with Hardeen!Obi. Big win for people who enjoy Obi-Wan being an asshole!
Three Days of Thawing (T) by @prahacat / 15k. Evil witchcraft which hath rotted my brain. Jaw-droppingly beautiful prose and introspection. Might be my favorite Dooku voice, period. Also big win for people who enjoy Obi-Wan being a (past) manipulative asshole! (READ IT) (I'M SO SERIOUS)
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Never gonna give you up 5+1
I don't think I ever posted this fanfic here, so I'm here to fix that.
1.
Never was too soon for a repeat of tonight’s experience, Derek decided as he braced himself against the sharp corner. The wheels of the Jeep skidded on the gravel, making the back of the car slide out. There was no need for them to drive this fast, not anymore. Leftover adrenaline made for a heavy foot on the gas, apparently. The engine whined as they cut free of the forest, trading gravel for blacktop. Gradually they reduced speed, until they were driving at a pace well within the limits.
“Think you can hit play for me, big guy?” Stiles asked in an upbeat tone. “Without getting blood all over my iPod, if you can.”
The look Derek sent him was cutting, but Stiles was long since immune for any angry stare he received from the werewolf. With all his energy going into healing, Derek decided it wasn’t worth it to get into it with Stiles over something so small. He pressed his left hand against the flap of skin that was only loosely covering his ribs on his right side and reached out with his free hand to the battered iPod crammed into the hole that used to house the radio of the Jeep. The radio was one of the car parts that fell victim to the crash with the Kanima and with some help of Boyd Stiles had hooked up his iPod directly to the car’s speakers.
The Alpha werewolf didn’t bother to check what playlist it was, he just hit the large button in the middle and settled back into his seat, gritting his teeth against the pain the movement caused.
The sounds of an eighties synthesizer filled the car, drums coming in alternately from the left and right speaker, immediately followed by a peal of laughter from the car’s owner. Derek bit through the agony and pushed forward again, cutting off the music abruptly just when the lyrics started. Stiles didn’t say anything, though it took a minute before he stopped chuckling quietly.
When they got to the loft, Stiles followed him inside, although Derek hadn’t asked him to. He hadn’t told him not to either, which was probably why the teen did it. Not that Stiles bothered with doing what people told him to, not when it came to Derek. The boy was pack in all the ways that counted, except for heeding his Alpha’s commands.
Derek let himself fall on the threadbare couch, still holding his skin more or less in the right place to knit itself together again. Behind him, Stiles rummaged around in the kitchen, emerging a little while later with two bottles of water and a couple of energy bars. He dropped the food and one of the bottles on the couch next to the werewolf, easily within reach. Then he sat down on the armrest furthest from Derek, twisting the cap of his own bottle and gulping the contents down eagerly. The werewolf watched the boy’s Adams apple bop with each swallow, his eyes catching on the long line of his throat.
Stiles wiped his mouth and looked down at Derek, intelligent eyes roaming over the werewolf’s bloodied torso. “You going to be okay?” he asked, not really sounding like he needed an answer, so Derek didn’t give him one. “Thought so,” the boy confirmed anyway, and patted Derek’s shin twice as he got up. “I’m gonna give Roscoe a wash. I think there are bits of skin stuck to the passenger seat. Gross!”
2.
“Gonna have to walk a little slower, big guy,” Stiles complained, sounding a little winded as he picked his way through the undergrowth a few paces behind Derek. He grunted dismissively, though he held his step a little anyway.
Derek might have wondered why he was always the one stuck with Stiles on a stake out, if the math wasn’t so easy. Being human, the boy was the weakest of the pack, physically speaking at least. And with Derek as Alpha and therefore strongest, it was only logical that they paired up. Besides, it wasn’t like Derek had his pick of people to go on stakeout with tonight. There wasn’t a clear threat, this was just Derek acting on a hunch. ‘Being paranoid’, Scott had said. ‘I’m not messing up my nails in the woods tonight’, was Erica’s reaction. Boyd had only told him to call when there was trouble. Derek was fully prepared to go alone tonight. It was his idea after all and he was pretty sure he could handle whatever he would encounter. Yet Stiles hadn’t let him. He didn’t offer to tag along, he just did.
When asked, the werewolf would say he hated being alone with Stiles. The boy was never not moving and only silent when sleeping. Scratch that, even asleep Stiles wasn’t silent. He was a source of constant movement, night or day, always in the periphery of Derek’s attention. It was impossible not to watch Stiles, even more so when they were alone.
Walking through the woods at night and trying to keep a low profile was also pretty much impossible with Stiles, a fact proved when Derek grabbed the boy’s elbow not for the first time that night to keep him upright. If it were up to him, he would’ve gladly let him faceplant in the leaves, but they were making enough noise as it was already.
“Do you think you could be any louder?” he hissed, shoving Stiles along the path.
“Do you think you could be any rougher?” Stiles threw back in a low voice, rubbing his hand over where Derek had grabbed his arm. He wouldn’t bruise, Derek hadn’t grabbed him that hard; chances were he was just sour about missing out on game night with Scott. He’d heard them talking about it yesterday, Stiles lamenting about him and Scott needing a boy’s night with pizza, energy drinks and playing video games in their underwear. Derek didn’t understand why Stiles would choose a night in the woods with him over that.
“Now what?” Stiles stopped at the ridge, looking out into the forest on the hill below them.
“Now we wait,” Derek answered, dropping down into a crouch and tugging the boy down with him. Stiles fell to his butt with a grunt, but pulled his legs under him a moment later, jostling Derek’s shoulder when he came up to his knees.
“You see anything?” Derek didn’t answer that, nor the next question: “Hear anything?”
Stiles rolled his eyes at the werewolf’s lack of communication and then shrugged his backpack off. He pulled the bag in front of him and opened up the zipper. At first Derek ignored the apple that was presented to him, but Stiles only shook it in emphasis until he took it.
For a few minutes, Stiles was as quiet as he ever got. Which meant that the sounds of him chewing on his own apple mixed in with the sounds of the forest.
When the humming started, Derek shut him up at first. It helped for a few minutes, but not long. Because the wind was in their favour, Derek gave up on shushing Stiles: it was easier to just tune him out and concentrate on the sounds that reached him from the forest.
It took a good while before the words showed up in his mind. Bits and pieces of song lyrics just floating around his brain, easy to ignore. It wasn’t until he caught himself starting to hum the same tune that he rounded on the boy next to him. “Damn it, Stiles!”
Stiles simply laughed softly. “It’s quite the earworm, isn’t it?”
3.
“Give me a second, I’m just gonna… Yeah, I’ve got it all right here,” Stiles said through the phone, clicking around on his computer. “Whole list of it, actually. I’ll send you an email right now.”
Derek hung up the phone and grabbed the laptop from the coffee table. It was a refurbished laptop that Stiles had made him buy a few weeks ago, claiming that ‘no self-respectable Alpha in the twenty first century could go without, especially if they don’t want to say goodbye to their frigging flip phone’.
The mockery of his phone by his pack was getting old. The device maybe wasn’t as up to date as the other phones, but it held up in a fight and that was something Derek valued more over the use of the latest social media apps. However, contrary to popular belief, Derek wasn’t completely unaware of pop culture, which was why he immediately recognised the video for what it was.
It was hidden in the list of websites Stiles sent him. Derek was working his way through the links one by one, working up a steady appreciation of Stiles' research skills, when his laptop suddenly started playing music after he clicked the fourth link on the list.
He almost called Stiles to tell him off, but settled for aggressively closing down the browser window.
The other links were all normal, providing him with the information he asked for and then some.
4.
“You want anything, hon?” The waitress directed the question to Scott, who placed his order of a large breakfast spread with an equally large smile. She wasn’t placated by it and Derek resigned himself to giving her an extra big tip for putting up with his raucous pack on her early morning shift.
“I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse,” Stiles said to the table at large, patting his stomach.
“Should’ve ordered something else than bacon then,” Isaac deadpanned from across from him.
Stiles smiled impishly. “My love for bacon is strong, I can’t help it.”
“Can you make bacon from horses?” Scott wondered out loud and that set off a whole discussion about the consummation of horse meat.
Derek let it all wash over him, leaning back in his chair. His pack was fine, all were whole, or whole again at least. Isaac was wearing a track shirt that Stiles had lying in the back of his Jeep, replacing his own shirt that was ripped to pieces. There was blood on his jeans still, Derek could smell it from across the table, but it wasn’t visible against the dark fabric and the wounds were all healed. Erica sported a similar situation, also with mostly invisible bloodstains on her dark clothes, as did Boyd. The blood wasn’t all theirs. Normally, Derek would have told them to go home, wash up, but this Denny’s was closer and growling stomachs had won over the urge to get cleaned up. Or rather, Stiles had strongarmed him into buying his pack breakfast, saying that it was good for bonding and empty stomachs alike.
Not bothering to get in on the conversation, Derek let his eyes glide over his pack members, ensuring himself once again that everyone was in one piece. He got stuck on Stiles, distracted by the way his T-shirt pulled taut when he moved his arms behind his back to stretch. Derek hadn’t seen the article of clothing before, it had been hidden underneath a grey striped hoodie; he guessed that was ruined too. It was a black T-shirt with a jumble of letters and symbols on the front. It looked like computer code, or something equally confusing. Undoubtedly it was some pop culture reference, or a bad pun. He didn’t care enough to ask for the meaning of it, yet his eyes kept returning to the text on the shirt, even after their food arrived.
He recognised a word in the top line from the abbreviations the pack used in their text messages; sometimes it was as if they were allergic to vowels. The letters ‘nvr’ probably spelled never. And below that, was the word ‘annog’, which could be a made up word or it was simply ‘gonna’ spelled backwards. Then it said ‘forgive’, subtract four, and on the bottom something with ‘me’, ‘you’ and ‘splitting soup’. It was complete nonsense, that’s what it was.
Eventually, Stiles caught him looking. “You like the shirt, big guy?” He took a bite of a strip of bacon, cocking his head as he waited for Derek to answer.
“It’s ridiculous. It doesn’t even make sense.”
Stiles grinned. “Sure it does. You just have to figure it out.”
Next to him, Boyd took a look at Stiles’ shirt and scoffed. “Isn’t that joke ancient by now?”
“Classics never go out of style,” Stiles argued, pointing the strip of bacon at Derek’s second. “Besides, I like it. It’s got meaning.”
“Like your stripper mom’s T-shirt?” Erica asked snidely. “Because that one’s just rubbish.”
“Nah,” Stiles smirked and then he winked at Derek. “This one has a better roll to it, doesn’t it, oh Alpha mine?”
It clicked for Derek in that moment and he let out a long suffering sigh. “I should rip your throat out…”
“With your teeth, I know,” Stiles finished for him, happily munching on another strip of bacon.
5.
Up until now Derek had always thought that brownies were something to eat, not annoying little creatures to kill. Or, well, that’s not exactly true. He knew they were mythical creatures, but he’d thought they were just that. Mythical, not real. And how bad could they be if they ended up being real? Pretty damn annoying, it turned out. They didn’t look like much, but they had razor sharp teeth and equally sharp nails that cut through clothes and skin like miniature knives through butter. And like a wolf pack, their strength was in numbers. However, he refused to lose to something small and annoying, so, in the end, the wolf pack won.
Derek looked around at his pack, who were panting and bloody, but otherwise okay. Erica was frantically raking her fingers through her hair, cursing angrily at the loose hairs she brushed out with it. “Those fuckers cut a chunk of my hair!”
Boyd diligently looked at the problem area, declaring it wasn’t so bad. Erica huffed in disdain. “No offence, honey, but you haven’t got a hair on your head. What the hell do you pretend to know about it?”
She turned to the other available girl, Allison, and let the hunter fuss over her hair. Derek was long past the point of wondering how the hell that happened. His pack included a hunter, a banshee and a former kamina, he'd learned to not question it anymore.
He patted his pockets, routinely checking for his car keys. Those he found, though they threatened to fall through a tear in his jeans any minute. He came up short when feeling around for his phone. The pocket on that side was cut clean through, empty of its contents. Derek rumbled in annoyance, getting a quick inquiring glance from Boyd.
"Lost my phone," he explained quickly, already stalking back to the area where he'd been for most of the fight. It was where Stiles was sitting, sagged out against a tree and scrolling through something on his phone. The boy was holding the cuff of his sleeve pressed gingerly against a small cut above his lip, otherwise he seemed fine and Derek didn't have to worry about him.
Sniffing out his phone turned out to be harder than he thought. The ground was covered in quickly disintegrating brownie bodies and while he could appreciate the lack of clean up they would have to do, the smell of decay and blood covered up the other smells in the area.
Derek planted his hands on his hips with a huff, scanning the forest floor around him. His phone was black and pretty small: it could be anywhere. He glanced at the smartphone in Stiles' hand, with its shiny firetruck red cover. Obnoxious and flashy as it was, it would be pretty easy to find.
"What's up, big guy?" Stiles asked from his spot by the tree. "Looking for something?"
"Dropped my phone," Derek sighed, already making plans in his head to drop by the mall in the next town over to get a new phone. He wondered if they still sold flip phones.
"Oh wait, I'll call you so we can hear it ring," Stiles said, clambering to his feet and moving his fingers over his touch screen.
Sure enough, moments later there was a song playing, a few meters to his left. "That's not my ringtone," Derek said sharply, his eyebrows climbing up to his hairline when he recognised the song.
“It is when I call,” Stiles answered gleefully, watching as Derek went off in the direction of the sound. The warm baritone of the singer was cut off when the werewolf bent down to retrieve his phone, buried half underneath a dead brownie. He wiped it on his jeans and then flipped it open.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Stiles called out.
“Figuring out how to delete this ringtone,” Derek bit out, tapping the keys forcefully.
“Hey, no, why would you do that?” Stiles ambled closer and for a moment Derek forgot to tune out his scent. It was a habit that his mother had taught him when he was young; with their keen sense of smell and hearing there was little privacy in a pack: it was common courtesy to try and tune the others out as much as possible in normal, day to day interactions. Derek did it with his own pack too, as much out of self-preservation as in consideration of their privacy. His pack consisted of teenagers, they were generally a whirlwind of strong emotions and unwarranted arousal. He would get whiplash if he’d be able to scent it all. Right now, Stiles smelled of disappointment and vague embarrassment.
Derek frowned. “Because it’s a cheesy song. A joke.”
The smell of embarrassment got a little stronger. “It’s our thing,” Stiles said with a shrug that wasn’t as casual as he probably hoped. “It’s our song, sourwolf” he tacked on with a smirk, also a bit strained.
“It’s a love song,” Derek said slowly, puzzled, his fingers stilling on the phone keys. It wasn’t like he knew how to change the ringtone anyway. Before now he didn’t even know you could add personalised ringtones to a caller.
“Yeah, well…” Stiles cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. He was also getting quite red in the face, yet still Derek couldn’t look away from him. “It’s the sentiment that counts.”
“The sentiment,” Derek repeated, still confused by the situation.
“The sentiment, you know, the message? The idea the song conveys?”
“I know what sentiment means, Stiles,” he said, more gently than he usually was with the teen. “But still… a love song.”
“I know that,” said Stiles, still with red cheeks. “And I know that we,” he gestured with his hand between them, “are not… that.”
Derek pressed down on the sudden urge to ask what exactly they were, if not that.
“I just think that, it’s just,” Stiles floundered and then he shrugged somewhat defeated. “It’s something that you need to hear, every now and then.” A silence fell between them, one loaded with something Derek couldn’t quite figure out. Not yet.
Stiles took a deep breath and held out his hand. “Give me that, I’ll change it back to your normal, boring ringtone.”
Derek shook his head and put his phone in his jacket pocket, a pocket that was still in one piece. With a nudge to Stiles' shoulder he started to walk away, towards the spot where they parked their cars. Stiles followed him, smelling content and happy, with his lips pressed together to hide a smile.
+1
Derek hadn’t known he had a first aid kit in his bathroom. Yet there it was, neatly tucked away in the cabinet underneath the sink. The rectangle box felt heavy, like it was stuffed full with all kinds of items a self-healing werewolf would never need.
“Why do I have this?” Derek asked as he walked back into the room, knowing for sure he never bought it, so someone else had to. Someone named Stiles, probably.
“Because you have humans in your pack,” Stiles answered from the sofa, making grabby hands at the kit before Derek was even close enough. He took the box, putting it in his lap and opening it immediately. “There should be ice packs in the fridge,” Stiles directed without looking up.
And indeed there were. Derek grabbed two and a towel, making his way back to Stiles. He carefully sat down by the foot that the boy had put up on the sofa. His sneaker was already off, but he still had his sock on. The werewolf carefully placed the ice packs on both sides of Stiles’ swollen ankle, wrapping them in place with the towel.
Meanwhile, Stiles was wrapping his arm up. It was his lower left arm, making it not too hard for him to do himself; the bandage was a little wonky, but it’d do for now. It was just a large scrape anyway, the bandage was mostly to keep the wound clean.
That left the cut on his eyebrow. Derek watched Stiles feeling around the cut with his fingers of his one hand, while holding a butterfly bandage with his other. It wouldn’t work, but he waited until Stiles grimaced and locked eyes with him, a crooked, bloody butterfly bandage still in hand.
Derek leaned forward and picked a clean bandage from the kit. “This one, right?”
Stiles nodded and kept his eyes on Derek when he scooted closer until he was seated next to the boy’s hip. The cut was already cleaned and disinfected, all that was left was to place the bandage. Maybe two, Derek thought, as he eyed the cut critically. Stiles had said it wasn’t deep enough to warrant stitches and he’d gotten hurt often enough to know, Derek presumed. It didn’t sit easy with him, though. He didn’t like to see his pack get hurt, especially the humans because they didn’t heal as quickly as the werewolves did. And, he didn’t like seeing Stiles get hurt.
Derek carefully placed the butterfly bandage across the cut. Stiles smelled of blood and pain, though the boy assured him the latter was mostly from his ankle. Spraining an ankle hurt, Derek knew from experience, even though for him the pain was always short lived. Stiles closed his eyes as Derek put a second bandage in place and covered them with a larger bandaid. “There, that should do it.”
“Thanks,” Stiles said softly as Derek put everything back in the kit and quickly tidied away the mess.
“Want to watch a movie?” The question came somewhat unexpected for Stiles, yet he smiled and nodded quickly. Derek tossed him the remote so he could select a movie from the streaming services the boy had set up himself a while back and went into the kitchen to grab them something to drink.
When he came back Stiles had a superhero movie lined up, one that Derek hadn’t seen yet but he knew Stiles had. He pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa so Stiles could reach his drink and then sat down, carefully placing Stiles' injured foot in his lap. The boy’s heartbeat ticked up and his cheeks coloured red, yet he didn’t say anything. Derek nodded for him to press play on the movie and gently eased his hand a little ways up Stiles’ pant leg, just above the ice packs, to make skin contact and leach away his pain.
“Thanks for coming back,” Stiles said quietly over the sounds of the opening scene. “And taking care of me.”
Derek glanced at him, at the way Stiles held his eyes glued to the tv screen to avoid looking at him directly. He waited a beat for Stiles to take a sip of his soda. “That goes without saying, Stiles,” he emphasised then. “I wasn’t gonna run around and desert you.”
Stiles made a choking sound and sprayed his drink everywhere. Derek kept his foot in place while the boy flailed and laughed, wiping the soda from his face with his sleeve. “Damn it, Derek! It came out of my nose!”
You can also find this fic here on Wattpad or on A03.
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Ada and Ian Headcanons (Rhythm Doctor)
this got Long As Hell i'm sorry lmao. headcanons under the cut!!
Ada:
- We know that Ian is a radiologist, but I think Ada is probably a general practitioner/primary care physician! If she's canonically a cardiologist (bc heart stuff) then that's my bad lmao. But based on what we see in the game, she doesn't really seem to specialize in anything. She instead seems to have a wide range of medical knowledge and we see her treating a variety of different illnesses/injuries, including Mr. Stevenson's broken leg and Lucky's torn rotator cuff. We know that she's been having to do pretty much everything around the hospital bc they're so understaffed, and primary care physicians usually have fairly extensive medical knowledge covering multiple fields, which I think is what allows her to do that.
- One of my biggest hcs about Ada is that she has a very strained relationship with her parents, and that her parents are also both doctors, though I imagine they're close to retirement by now. However, unlike Ada, they both specialize in highly specific fields like brain surgery or something (I actually do imagine her dad to be a neurosurgeon lmao), and because they're both so successful they have incredibly high expectations of her. They look down on her for choosing to be a GP/primary care physician because they think of that work as somehow less important/less worth her time. They're the kind of people who absolutely have a superiority complex about being doctors and ~saving lives~. Also definitely not the kind of people who should have had kids. They're distant at best and extremely judgmental and condescending at worst.
- Ada has one younger sister who's six years younger. Because their parents were always so busy with their careers, Ada basically grew up taking care of her sister, which definitely contributed to her mentality of feeling responsible for everyone all the time. Her sister moved out of their parents' house as soon as possible and is currently attending college somewhere far away, but she and Ada still keep in touch. Ada being an eldest daughter just makes too much sense to me lmao
- I like to think that Ada is an extremely affectionate person by nature. But because of growing up with emotionally distant parents, she doesn't ever really expect for that affection to be returned, especially from Ian who's not very outwardly affectionate most of the time. So when he does go out of his way to express affection it means a lot to her :)
- Because of the way her parents are, I think she kind of has an unconscious mentality of "no one is ever going to love me as much as I love them." She also struggles with people-pleasing tendencies (taking on more work than she can handle, having difficulty saying no to people) and self-esteem issues. So whenever someone goes out of their way to show her love, it kind of catches her off guard lol
- Ada's primary love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation (I'll explain this more below lol). She's REALLY big on physical touch—Ian generally does not like physical touch and one of the only people he tolerates/enjoys it from is Ada. Though I definitely think acts of service is one of her love languages too, as seen in Middlesea College Life. I simply think that she has so many love languages because she's FULL of love
- I imagine Ada as someone who feels her emotions very strongly, and who is generally just a highly emotional and empathetic person. Her empathy makes her good at connecting with the patients, but it also means that she feels everything so much all the time and it can be overwhelming for her sometimes. She’s undoubtedly very intelligent, but I think she’s still very much a heart over head type of person. She also cries pretty easily, though she has to try her best to keep it under wraps at work. The list of movies that make her cry is extensive, which Ian lovingly teases her for.
- Ada is extremely nearsighted and can't see much at all without her glasses. Because of this one of her favorite jokes is saying “I’ve seen enough” and taking her glasses off lmao
- Courtesy of @nightmun: Ada earnestly loves dad jokes, puns, and anything similar. Ian gets her a joke book as a gift once and regrets it immediately.
Ada, incredibly excited: IAN WHAT DOES A LEMON SAY WHEN IT PICKS UP THE PHONE
Ian: …what?
Ada: YELLOW!! *WHEEZE*
Ian: <:)
(this is the fifth one she’s told him today)
Ian:
- Ian’s mother is a single mom and his dad left when he was ten, hence why Ian is currently the only one taking care of her. Ian was also an only child. I imagine he and his mom are very close since it’s just been the two of them for so long, so her illness has really been taking a toll on him.
- Ian is bilingual and speaks Mandarin! I don’t think he has a canon ethnicity in-game (though please correct me if I’m wrong), but I’ve been thinking of him as Chinese Canadian, in line with @pokeblog123’s headcanon that Middlesea is in Canada. I imagine he and his mom speak Mandarin at home sometimes.
- I think Ian probably did robotics and/or coding as hobbies in high school and college! We know that he’s insanely tech-savvy, and he seems to have quite a talent for programming. In that same vein, another one of Ian's hobbies is buying old/vintage video game consoles from garage sales, on eBay, etc. and taking them apart to see how they work, sometimes also restoring them if he can.
- I know this is a pretty popular hc already but I think Ian is autistic/generally neurodivergent lol. I do try to write him with this in mind
- Related to that, Ian struggles with social cues to a certain degree, and subsequently has more trouble connecting with the patients than Ada. His little character card says he’s “better with computers than people” and I think this is probably because people are just difficult for him to read. Computers are much simpler; they’re predictable and generally do what they’re programmed to do. People are a lot more complicated. I do think he’s learned to read Ada fairly well simply because he’s known her for so long
- Ian's primary love language is acts of service/gift-giving. He struggles with physical touch and with verbalizing his feelings so he shows his love by doing things for people instead (which was part of the inspiration for my fic "Helping Hand"). If he goes out of his way to do something for you, that’s how you know he really cares. He's an actions over words type of guy :)
- Ian can be very blunt and straightforward, as we see in the game, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care. We know from game dialogue that he regularly encourages Ada to take breaks and is generally concerned for her wellbeing, and we can also infer that he worries a great deal about his mother. He definitely cares, he just has different ways of showing it.
- Ian normally doesn’t cry very easily and he also doesn’t like to cry in front of other people, but my hc for why he cried at the Stevensons’ reunion is because it reminded him of his own sick mother, who’s been alone ever since his dad left. He’s usually not one to cry in public but that just got to him. I like to think that Ada checked up on him afterwards.
(ACT 5 SPOILERS)
- Although he doesn't really show it, I think Ian probably feels a certain amount of guilt for everything that's happened with Connectifia Abortus, especially now that it's been revealed that the virus originated from the system he created. He knows that the rhythm defibrillator system could put the patients in danger if the virus keeps getting worse, and he's been working day and night to try to fix it. Of course, Edega's demand for a "miracle cure" at the expense of caution and safety certainly isn't helping matters. Given that Ada also needs treatment on occasion, one of Ian's biggest fears is that Ada will get hurt because of the virus (and, he thinks, because of him).
BOFA THEM:
- I think Ada was Ian's first, and possibly only, good friend at college. I imagine they met through their shared classes and Ada was one of the only people who made a point to talk to him. After that she sort of just stuck around, much to Ian’s initial surprise. He had always struggled with making friends and he was hesitant to open up to her at first, but her persistence and genuine sincerity eventually won him over. Now they’re best friends :)
- I've seen other people say that they were probably roommates at some point in college/med school and I definitely think so too. I'm sure they pulled a lot of all-nighters together lol
- Once Ada and Ian became close friends, I like to imagine that she also got to know Ian's mother. She's always gotten along with her very well, and because her own parents were so distant, Ada came to think of her as somewhat of a parental figure. When Ian's mom first got sick and started requiring intensive care, Ada insisted on helping out with anything they needed.
- What I was referencing above about Ada and physical affection: I think Ada might be somewhat touch-starved because of my headcanon that her parents aren't very affectionate people. She craves physical touch and words of affirmation because she never got much of that from her parents. Once Ian figures this out, he tries his best to do those things for her even though it doesn't come as naturally to him (as in like, he’s normally not one to initiate hugs but he’ll give Ada a hug if he can tell that she needs it).
- Ian’s pragmatism balances out Ada’s bleeding-heart altruism, and vice versa. I think over years of friendship they’ve learned to appreciate the other’s perspective and find a middle ground, though of course that’s not always possible in high-stress medical situations.
- Ada doesn’t really understand anything about the online games that Ian plays, but she probably uses gamer lingo incorrectly on purpose just to annoy him lmao
- Unrelated to anything but I think one of their favorite pastimes is hate-watching Grey's Anatomy together and making fun of all the medical inaccuracies (I’ve never watched Grey’s Anatomy but I’ve heard there are many). Despite this they’re both low-key invested but neither of them wants to admit it lol
Anyway I love them. In my mind they are besties who get married for tax benefits. Thank you for your time if you read this far lmao
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Ody Does Math
“Good morning, teacher.” sang the kids, faces radiating vitality.
Indeed, it was a good morning. You can hear the larks chanting in the forest, oak leaves whispering secrets of the wind, and see the open fields bathing in the blazing sunlight casted by Lord Helios. Every bit of this scenery was calling for your attention.
But now is not the right time for that. Commented Athena, in her mind. Now is the time for their math class, and none of them can escape this fact.
So she simply nodded to their greeting. So far so good. She gave a quick glance around the classroom. Odysseus, her favorite student, seemed rather eager for the class. He’s doing good as always, Athena thought. Eurylochus, on the other hand, seemed quite unsettled. Curious. Is it because of his homework? Athena wondered. And as she set her eyes on the next student, she called:
“What are you doing there, Mr. Polites?”
She could see his panic alright. But soon as Polites reclaimed himself she heard him say: “Sorry, Ms. Athena. I was just trying to pack this bag real quick.”
“What for?”
“Er, Ms. Athena…I don’t suppose this is the right place to say—”
“What for, Mr. Polites?”
He sighed. “It’s for a friend of mine, really. Today’s his birthday.”
As he finished, Athena caught a glimpse of the mild blush on Odysseus’s face. It wasn’t hard to figure out what exactly was happening here, but she merely said:
“Well, in that case, I might as well congratulate this friend of yours with a ‘happy birthday’. Hope he gets to be a valiant warrior, a warrior of the mind. And yes, you may sit down, Mr. Polites.”
As everybody settled on their seats, Athena quickly chalked a line of Greek on the blackboard. It reads: ΣΤΟΙΧΕΙΑ ΓΕΩΜΕΤΡΙΚΑ (Elements of Geometry). As soon as she finished, she said:
“Welcome to today’s math class, everyone. We’ll begin with a discussion on a simple problem in your textbook. Now, please turn to page 43, and evaluate the problem quickly. I’ll ask for your ideas in a few minutes.”
It’s not hard. Thought Odysseus. Just some simple geometry. You draw a perpendicular BC at point B with half the length of AB, and…
“Mr. Eurylochus, if you may?”
Eurylochus’s hesitation was all written on his face. And his silence was loud enough to speak for his cluelessness. I should help him. However, it’s not my turn. Thought Odysseus.
Athena apparently noticed something. “Mr. Odysseus, if you may?”
“Yes ma’am. You need to draw a perpendicular BC…now we have an auxiliary right triangle ABC, right? Draw an arc with center C and radius BC intersecting the hypotenuse at a point D. Then draw an arc with center A and radius AD intersecting AB at a point, say E. Now E should be the golden ratio point.”
“Good job. Now prove it.”
”Prove it?” now it was Odysseus’s turn to hesitate, but he hoped that he didn’t show it. However, Athena was quick to pick up something…else. “Well,” he started, “all I gotta do is…huh, what’s this bag for?”
A look at Polites was sufficient to explain everything.
“Mr. Polites! You seem quite eager to hand the present out, I see. Why don’t you give Mr. Odysseus a hand, by proving this point E to be the golden ratio point as he claims?”
Polites was eager, alright. He stood up swiftly, and said, “May I have a chalk, Ms. Athena?” After a moment Polites finished the proof on the chalkboard, saving the day. Then Athena complimented both Polites and Odysseus, and the class moved on.
But Eurylochus was uncomfortable with the compliment that Odysseus had received. Geometry is his strong point alright, thought Eurylochus, but let’s just wait till we get to arithmetics.
…
And soon they got to arithmetics. But there were only 10 minutes left for the class. So Athena decided to give a little quiz.
“I have a challenge, a test of skills.” said Athena, “the problem is, are you all ready for it?”
All nods. Ok. “Then let us begin by introducing a geographic fact. This is Troy, 600 miles away from us if you travel by sea. Now suppose that a ship travels at a speed of 5.755 miles per hour without the wind, and it is heading from Troy to Ithaca in full speed, and when it is 2.8 miles away from Ithaca it takes a turn to Temesa, sailing through 290 miles in total, and from there to Aeaea 158 miles away. Suppose the ship sails in a uniform speed, without any wind. How long does it take in total?”
Odysseus could see their expressions clearly. He could see Eurylochus busy doing the calculations, which wasn’t a surprise at all since he was so good at it. I could use a good right-hand man like him. Odysseus thought. And let’s see how Polites is doing. He seems to be struggling with it, which is not a good sign…
But what are you doing, Odysseus?
He had no idea. To be honest he haven’t even figured out how a decimal point works, but he’ll do it anyway, after all he’s a warrior of the mind! What do those miles add up to? 420? 420 divided by 5.755 is…730, right? Wait that 730 looks so familiar…isn’t that twice as long as 365 days? My goddess, that’s a really long time!
“Mr. Odysseus, what’s your answer?” From afar, he could hear Athena calling to him. But this time, there is no more hesitation. He had found his confidence. He knew his result to be true, though somehow he doubted the validity. But he’s gonna answer it anyway, knowing that had it been wrong, the fault was not his at all, but Athena’s. She provided the data, didn’t she? So nothing can go wrong. Just you chill, just you stand, just you answer.
”Ma’am…it’s two long years.”
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i saw ur comments on that post about writers portraying Charles as small and dainty because fr I had to quit a fanfic for describing charles as significantly shorter than max
For real! Nothing takes me out of a fic quicker than a description of Charles as significantly shorter, weaker, more delicate, fragile, etc. compared to Max (and vice versa, but that's not common). Their height difference is 180 vs. 181 cm +/- a correction for slouching, and yes - Charles has a more lithe frame compared to Max's broader build, but like come ON - I swear some writers have never seen Charles. I once read a description of Charles' neck (YES HIS NECK FFS) as "thin" and "delicate" and have never rage-quit a fic so quickly. 😭🤢
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5 times Merlin got Arthur a good Christmas present and 1 time Arthur got Merlin the best Christmas present
Contains: temporary angst, banter, merthur, banter, mentioned argwen (not end game),banter, no smut, banter, Christmas Carol levels of effort applied to the happy ending, banter
ao3: 5 times Merlin got Arthur a good Christmas present and 1 time Arthur got Merlin the best Christmas present
The Start of a tradition
"MERlin."
Merlin sighs at the clear sign of an unavoidable list of chores or ribbing he's about to get.
"Yes, sire." He turns to see Arthur peeking out from behind the changing curtain, shirtless, of course, before he steps out and starts strutting over. He grabs Merlin by the shoulder and says as he drags him behind the curtain, "What is this?"
"Ah, that." Merlin notes.
"I know your brain is the size of a pickled egg, Merlin, but surely there was enough room to store an adequate amount of vocabulary to describe all the unusual things you get up to for when you get caught doing them."
The unusual thing in this particular instance was the pile of assorted items wrapped in some of Arthur's old shirts.
"Well," Merlin replied, "you know that holiday Christmas?"
"I've heard of it," Arthur replies with raised eyebrows, awaiting what he's sure will be an entertaining explanation if not an original one.
"Well, it is a tradition to give gifts to people on this holiday, and there are a number of kind, hardworking people I know who I thought might enjoy a little festive token of my appreciation for them."
"And you decided to hide them in my chambers?"
"Well, Gaius has a habit of popping into my room unannounced and you've been in council meetings all day, so I figured this was a good place to wrap and store them for a bit until I could find an effective way of sneaking them into a good hiding spot."
"Mmhm. And the shirts?"
"Well, it's a shame to waste good paper when there's more reusable and decorative material at hand."
"I see. Well, ignoring your complete disregard for whose chambers these are and whose shirts those are, I suppose it is a rather thoughtful thing to do for the recipients of those gifts."
If Merlin, wasn't mistaken, Arthur may have just complimented him. How peculiar. "Thank you, sire."
"Especially since you typically have no thoughts at all."
"Of course, sire," Merlin said with minimum sincerity (which, in this case, is less than none).
"And in the case of the surprise being spoilt for me already, you can go ahead and give me my present now."
Arthur had that look on his face like he had set up Merlin to get in trouble, not that Merlin ever needed help getting into trouble.
"Your present?"
Arthur pouted comedically. "Don't tell me you forgot to get me one."
"Well, to be fair, I did say I only got gifts for kind and hardworking people."
Arthur then had his most shocked trying-not-to-smile-face break free. That was one of Merlin's favorites.
"But as a matter of fact, I did get you something."
Arthur suddenly looked skeptical. "Really?"
"Yes." He walks over to the laundry basket he had brought up earlier with Arthur's freshly cleaned clothes, and dug around for two socks, which he proceded to ball up haphazardly and place in Arthur's hands before stepping away with an exaggerated bow.
Arthur quirked his lips and squinted his eyes the way he does when Merlin calls him a word he doesn't know. Another one of Merlin's favorite looks that Arthur does. "Gee, thanks."
"You're welcome," Merlin says gleefully. "Shall I finish getting you ready for bed, sire?"
Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes fondly as he walks over to where Merlin has started turning down the sheets.
"You know, gifts are usually something one does not already own," he says as he lays part of the way down.
"Well, I thought it would be a nice reminder to appreciate what you already have, sire." Merlin said with a cheeky smirk as they stared into each others eyes, closer than they really ought to be. Merlin breaks eye-contact first and gives the covers a last pat before extinguishing all the candles except the one immediately by Arthur's bedside, which Arthur will blow out when he's ready.
"Good night, Arthur. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Merlin." Arthur says with an exasperated sigh. Merlin shuts the door on his way out and Arthur lays his head down to feel something hard underneath his pillow.
"Ow! What the?!" He shoots up and yanks the pillow away, to find a small box.
He picked it up and saw there was a note that said "For the best dollophead one could ever have the misfourtune of working for." Arthur huffed out a laugh. He opened the box to find it was an assortment of Arthur's favorite sweets. Some of them he hadn't had since he was a child. He remembers telling Merlin about it to prove him wrong when he complained about Arthur having no concept of what makes a sweet actually good.
Arthur smiled to himself. He put the box on his bedside table, tucked the note safely in the bottom of the drawer, and blew out the candle.
2. Penny for your thoughts?
Arthur sat at his desk and pressed his hands to his face, letting out the most exhausted breath of air he'd held all day. He still had three speeches to write for various holiday events in the coming week and a plan for food rations to draw up and later present to the council. He'd already had a long morning of training. It seemed he was now in for a long afternoon.
Suddenly a tray with three scrolls on it was plopped down in front of him with a loud clatter. He looks up into a familiar smiling face. "Hello Merlin."
"Your royal highness."
"What are these?" He asks as Merlin turns to get started on dusting, if you could call his version of it that.
"Drafts for your speeches this week. I'm sure you'll find them quite well-written."
Arthur did his best to contain his surprise. "Oh, you didn't trust that I could write them myself, then?"
"I just had a feeling you were going to ask me to write them, like you always do. Besides, I couldn't bare to let all those people die from boredom by letting you be in charge of what'd come out of your mouth."
"I resent that," albeit halfheartedly, Arthur notes to himself.
Suddenly, a paperweight fell off his desk. Strange, his arm wasn't anywhere near it. He bent over and picked it up. As he did, he heard the sound of something being open and shut. He looked up, but nothing seemed out of place.
"Did you hear that?" Arthur asked.
"Hear what?" Merlin asked back.
"That sound. I could've sworn I heard something."
Merlin gave him a look that told Arthur he didn't believe him. One of his least favorite looks from his manservant. "I think you're just tired, sire. Now, if you'll excuse me. I need to help Gaius with some potions and you have speeches to look over. I'll be back later."
And then Merlin was gone. Arthur looked at the scrolls before him and decided to get things over with. He opened one up and it didn't take long before he found one of the 'jokes' Merlin likes to throw in that would never be appropriate to say as a drunk in the local tavern, let alone as a future king addressing his subjects. Most of the speech was fine, but he certainly wasn't going to refer to himself as "His royal highness, Prince Cabbage Head," nor speak the plans he apparently has to give his manservant a year off.
He can't help but smile to himself as he opened a drawer to retrieve a quill for adding in the things he'd actually say in these places, which he always has to do. He never crosses out Merlin's jokes, though.
He opens the drawer and notices there's something in it that wasn't there before. It was wrapped in one of his old shirts. He picks it up, takes the shirt off of it and sees it's a journal. Nothing anywhere near as extravagant as he's used to. On the first page, is an inscription that reads
"With the face of a toad,
and the voice of a donkey,
here's a place to come up with better jokes,
Because yours are a bit wonky.
Merry Christmas Dollop-head."
He turns another page to find a somewhat poor drawing of a donkey with the face of a toad.
He thinks of the nights when he and Merlin would be sat by a fire on a trip. The calm of the night and the way the firelight cast everything from the tree branches to Merlin's cheekbones in warm shadows would often move him to write a few words of poetry on a scrap of paper.
Merlin is the only person he'd ever admitted to about his hobby. Or rather, the only person who'd found out despite Arthur's best efforts. And he always ribs him about it. Yet, Merlin is the only person Arthur trusts to read his poems without being genuinely unkind about their quality...or even just their existence. Granted there are some poems he wouldn't let anyone read, including Merlin. Especially Merlin.
This notebook would hereafter come with Arthur on trips as often as Merlin would.
3. Two Turtle Doves And a Little Wooden Bird
Arthur was currently preparing to face his worse nightmare. Dancing. In public, no less.
Every year, the five kingdoms held a winter ball to celebrate another year of peace and prosperity as well as to show that they would be ready and willing to aid and provide for one another in times of need, such as in the winter when food is scarce and travel is difficult.
This year, Camelot was hosting, which Merlin loved because it meant they didn't have to trek through the snow for days on end. He also loved it because part of this sacred tradition was for the hosts to start the ball with a dance.
Therefore, Merlin was getting the wonderful opportunity to watch Arthur prance around in frilly clothes. Finally, he gets payback for that stupid hat.
However, he enters Arthur's chambers to find him nervously practicing the steps, looking like he's going to throw up.
Okay, maybe payback is going to have to wait.
"You alright, Arthur?"
Arthur snaps his eyes to Merlin like he's just had an epiphany.
"Merlin!"
"Yes, that is my name. Woah!"
Merlin suddenly found himself getting dragged to the center of the room, Arthur circling him like he's checking the quality of a horse. This is strange, even by Merlin's standards. "Arthur?"
Arthur suddenly stops, his hands gesturing pointedly and his face looking like he's about to make Merlin do one of his least favorite chores. "I need you to help me practice for the First Dance. I only have a few days left to practice it and you're feminine enough to make a half-decent dance partner."
Merlin was certain he heard that wrong. "Come again?"
Arthur huffs annoyedly. "I need you to dance with me so that I don't make a fool out of myself in front of all the five kingdoms during the first Winter Ball where I'll be presenting myself as king."
"Ah." Merlin should've known. Every "first" Arthur has gone through as king so far has led to him being a huge ball of nervous energy. Merlin couldn't blame him. He knows perfectly well how much the weight of the land can take a toll on one's shoulders. And he's known Arthur long enough to understand the toll it's taken on him, in particular.
"Arthur, I'm sure you'll do fine. Besides, you have days to perfect the dance and you'll have Gwen to help keep you in time with the music."
"Or to be humiliated by her oaf of a husband. I've already shoveled so much responsibility on her by making her queen; a queen half the council disapproves of solely for the circumstances of her birth. I can't ask her to make up for all my short-comings on top of everything else. I need to be as much someone for her to rely on as she is someone I rely on."
To say it's rare for Arthur to be emotionally vulnerable is an understatement of great and prophetic proportions. This is always where Merlin needs to tread carefully.
"Gwen knew what she was getting into when she married you. She knew you were a leader of one of the greatest kingdoms in the world. She knew you are constantly having to talk your way into the minds and hearts of your fellow leaders, the council members with dated views on what is good and just, and even your own people, many of whom are used to your father's way of doing things, if not supportive of them.
Arthur settles a bit, though still with a tightness to his shoulders and stress in his eyes.
"She knew she would gain an immense amount of responsibility and have her honor and capabilities picked at viciously. She knew she would have to get used to protocols and traditions of which there are thousands to learn about and keep in mind at all times.
"She also knew she'd have you at her side. She knows you love her and would do anything to ensure her happiness and well-being. She knows if there is anything she can't handle, which you and I both know is not a very long list,"
He got a small smile and hum of agreement out of Arthur for that.
"She knows she can come to you for anything. She does rely on you, Arthur. As much as you rely on her, and you know why?"
Arthur's eyes light up with hopeful curiousity.
"Because you've already proven to her that she can. You continue to prove it every day."
It's true. Merlin has seen how a touch of his hand calms Gwen when the crowds or the sternness of the council gets too overwhelming. He's seen how one shared look from either of them can change the other's scared expression to battle-ready. They were both born to be leaders. Putting them together only made them each more powerful and the kingdom more secure.
"She also married you knowing you couldn't dance for the life of you, so I really wouldn't worry about disappointing her there. I'm sure her expectations aren't that high."
A laugh burst out of Arthur at that. He'd barely had stopped laughing by the time he said "Thank you Merlin."
Merlin smiled back at him, then looked away as though considering something. "You know...Here." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small wooden carving of a bird, similar looking to the bird that is engraved on his mother's sigil. Very similar, indeed.
"I have a carving of a dragon, one of the few things I ever received from my father. Whenever, I hold it, I feel protected. Hopeful. Like I am more... capable and strong than I sometimes... feel I am."
Merlin takes a moment to swallow and gather the words he'll say next. Being emotionally vulnerable isn't all too easy for him either.
"It's also just something of a good luck charm. I just sort of figured, if you ever felt like you needed an extra bit of luck, it might be nice to have something to remind you of your own strengths. The things that make you a good king, a good husband, a good son. A good friend."
He looks Arthur in the eyes when he says this.
"You truly are destined for great things Arthur. You have everything you need within yourself to continue being a great king. And you don't have to do everything on your own. You have people who care about you. People who trust you and who will never judge you for whatever missteps you may make because they know you're only human. And that you're true-hearted enough to set things right when you need to. The people who matter will never abandon you for something as small as not satisfying the impossible standards of stuffy old farts."
"You know, you really shouldn't insult them like that," Arthur comments.
"Fine, I'll insult them even more creatively, then."
Arthur rolls his eyes. They land on the steadfast gaze of Merlin's, as strong in hue as they are in character.
Merlin holds out the small wooden bird. Arthur takes it and observes it. The detail on the wings. The familiarity of the shape. The smooth texture. He quickly glances up at Merlin before saying "You made this yourself?"
"I did." he answers softly.
"So wood-carving is one of those hidden talents you're always going on about, huh."
They smirk at one another, knowingly.
"One among many."
"I'm sure."
They're silent for a moment longer before there's a knock on the door and a guard reminds them of a meeting Arthur is being summoned for.
A few days later, the ball would take place and Arthur would actually have fun dancing with Gwen. He also, would only trip once, totally on purpose, to make Gwen smile amusedly, which she does. After a few dances, however, he's had enough. Gwen had too, and she goes to make charming conversation with their guests for a while, occasionally taking a break to converse with her ladies in waiting, many of whom, she's been friends with since before she was queen.
Arthur makes pleasant small talk with everyone as much as he can, but it is exhausting. He tries to get away so that he can banter with Merlin and just breathe, just to calm down a bit. He can't though. Everyone wants to talk to him and the room is so full of people dancing and milling about that he can't even see where Merlin is. He reaches a hand casually into his pocket and takes hold of the wooden token Merlin had given him. He thinks of what Merlin said. About his father, about their friends, about hope and strength.
Arthur will never tell Merlin this, but he truly must be a genius, because that little bird really did end up making him feel better.
4. Practice Makes Perfect
Arthur holds Excalibur in his hands. It truly is a magnificent sword. If ever there was a blade to convince you a legend was real, it was this one.
Still, Arthur has a hard time believing Merlin was being entirely truthful about the whole thing. He watches as Merlin speaks with some of the villagers. There really was a lot to do. Still, there was something he wanted to do that he didn't want to risk losing the chance to do.
"Merlin!"
Merlin immediately looks his way, excuses himself from the people he was talking to, and walks over.
Arthur reaches into his pocket and before Merlin can get a word out, shoves his old sword into his hands, much to Merlin's annoyance.
"Is polishing your sword really a priority right now, Arthur? I thought we-"
"That's not my sword."
"What?" Merlin blinked at him.
"That's not my sword. This is," he says, grasping the hilt of Excalibur.
Merlin looked delightfully flabbergasted.
"That's your sword." he continues.
"Arthur, you know I'm rubbish with sword-fighting. What am I supposed to do with this?"
"You're supposed to hit people with it. Preferably enemies. Consider it your Christmas present this year."
Merlin was flailing his mouth open and closed like a dying fish. Arthur told him as such.
"Arthur," Merlin called as he followed Arthur, who was resolutely walking away. He stammers for words. "Why your sword?"
"Practice makes perfect. Or, in your case, it ought to at least make you able to fight something bigger than an ant without getting knocked on your bottom. Besides, It's a practical gift. Don't I always get you practical gifts?"
"Yes, warm clothes and books, things I use regularly. But I hardly use a sword on a regular basis. It's not that I'm not grateful, don't get me wrong, but I just want to understand, why the change in routine?"
Arthur stops and looks at Merlin, then at the sword that he's had for quite some time. It was one of his favorites. Well-balanced, easy to wield, and not too flashy. Excalibur was clearly symbolic enough to justify the gold inlay and engravings, making it quite clear that this was not just a king's sword, but the king's sword. Arthur could feel that this sword was meant to be in his hands. Nonetheless, "That sword has served me well, Merlin. Even if your skillsets are lacking, and I worry for the safety of yourself and those around you when you have any sort of weapon in your hands, we're going to need all the help we can get now. And I trust that sword to be the most helpful to you in battle. So just take it."
He looks at Merlin intensely, making it clear that he won't back down.
Merlin sees this, and gives in with a nod. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Later, after they get back home and finally have time to rest, Arthur will find a new journal wrapped up for him; He had filled the last one and, evidently, Merlin had noticed, which wasn't very surprising.
This time, the inscription reads,
"Even if my skillsets are lacking,
Yes, I remember that slight.
Stop telling me I'm slacking,
I can still beat you with words if not in a sword fight.
Merry Christmas Clot-pole."
5. I'm Sorry
It was the first Christmas without Arthur. Merlin did as he often did these days, and visited the lake. He kneels by the edge, feeling the cold mud soak through the knees of his trousers, which he found vaguely comforting.
"It's that time of year again," He speaks aloud. "I've had the hardest time thinking of what to give you."
"When you gave me your sword, you told me you trusted it to be the most helpful to me in battle. I had given you a sword that I had hoped would be most helpful to you in battle. In the end we probably would've been better off if we'd have swapped, I think."
"I went through your journals the other day. I found...some poems, that sort of explained why you were always hesitant to let me so much as glance at the damn things, when I'd already seen a number of your other poems. I must admit, I feel like a fool for...well, for a lot of things. For my part in turning Morgana into a monster. For pushing Mordred to her. For not telling you about my magic sooner..."
"For not telling you-" He's near sobbing now, his tears falling to wet the ground even further.
"For not telling you everything. For all the mistakes I made. For not being able to save you."
"I'm sure, if you were here, you'd be underwhelmed at my choice of gift for you, but I truly think it's the best I can do."
"...I'm sorry, Arthur. That's my gift to you. I'm just sorry, for telling you 'there could be no place for magic in Camelot.' I'm sorry for the lies and the secrets. I'm sorry for letting you go anywhere near that battlefield. I'm sorry."
"I'm so sorry."
+1. All I Want For Christmas Is You
Merlin would visit the lakeside every year, sometimes for a very long while, sometimes for just a few moments. Eventually, he'd barely find the strength to stop by at all.
Several hundred years after that, he'd get a job as a mail carrier, with a route that goes right by the lake. He walks that route now, in the winter cold and pauses for a breath. He doesn't look. He knows it's there. He knows he's not there. Not yet. Possibly not ever, at this point.
He continues along his route, as he has done over and over again, and will continue to do so over and over again until something forces him to change his habits as things do over and over again.
Until then, he keeps walking.
On this particular day, however, he must have been due for something to change again because something catches his eyes and ears. He hears the splash of water. He sees a glint of something shiny rising out of the lake. His heart stops. He drops his bag. He runs. His joints ache. He de-ages himself as he runs, so he can get to the lake faster. He gets there. He gets there and sees a fully armored, soaking wet, King Arthur of Camelot standing before him. They lock eyes. Arthur says his name and Merlin barely keeps from knocking him back into the water as he hugs him. Arthur hugs him back just as fiercely.
One year later, Arthur and Merlin will stand together in their house that stands somewhere close enough to the city that they can easily visit many of their reincarnated friends, who'd found wonderful lives for themselves in this new modern world(including Gwen and Lance, who had already been married for two years by the time everyone's memories came back), but far enough out that they can be left alone when they wish it.
It turns out that everyone aside from Arthur had been born into this new time and had new lives. When Arthur came back, they all regained their memories, and were all happy to see one another (mostly). Morgana and Mordred would each have a number of very long discussions with everyone. Over time apologies from all parties would be accepted.
In the meantime, Arthur and Merlin would be together, talking with each other, healing together, loving one another. Soon enough another Christmas is right around the corner and Arthur says, "I may need help finding a gift for you. I truly can't fathom how one can buy things with that same small card over and over and over. Not to mention the fact that your money is basically invisible now. It's ridiculous."
Merlin chuckles as he lays his head against Arthur's shoulder, the two of them sitting on the couch together as Merlin introduces him to the masterpiece that is "Monty Python and the Holy Grail."
After a moment of thought, he responds "Honestly, I don't think you need to get me anything ever again. You came back. That's all I've wanted for the longest time."
Arthur hugs him more tightly at that. Then he says "You're not getting out of me getting you a gift, by being all sappy."
"And you're not getting out of learning about modern currency by being cute."
"But you admit I'm cute."
"I didn't say that."
"Yes, you did."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did!"
"No, I didn't!"
They quickly end up wrestling each other until they've fully rolled off the couch and soon, it turns into a giggling mess of kisses and holding onto each other for dear life.
Even though he tried his best, Arthur has never been the best at picking out gifts for people. But in Merlin's book, nobody could ever beat the gift he got him that year. Nothing would ever top reuniting with the love of his life and finally living happily ever after.
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I remember why I stopped reading this fic oh my god
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spn fic: Flicker
A belated kris kringle mingle fic for the talented @thegoodthebadandtheart.
Relationships: Sam & Dean Winchester
Rating: Mature
Tags: Outsider POV, Canon-typical violence, Season 11
Length: 3,111 words
Summary: A snapshot of a hunt by the hunted.
Fic preview:
Headlights. The creak of a car door. It’s dark, cold. The brush of a fading feeling of recognition. Wait, where is she? In the woods. On the edge of a parking lot? Gravel and melting snow and walls of trees. Watching a tall man step from the passenger side of a car. A sleek, black beast. The headlights cut out. A second man joins the first.
Her body feels strange. Her head full of pressure and smoke. It hurts, or she thinks it does. Dull on the back of her head. Her ears are ringing. She smells pine and metal, copper or iron. Is that blood? She sees a flash of red splattered across concrete, like the memory of a dream. Something spikes in her heart—it’s beating so strangely—twisted up and tight like fear. Dread. Something happened. She needs help.
There's a moment of instinctual hesitance. Dangerous for a woman alone to approach men in the dark. But something happened. Something—
Help, she needs—she stumbles forward, says, “help,” quieter than she means to. She needs to yell it. Feels like it’s been bottled in her throat for hours, for days.
“Help.” Her voice is a croak, sounds—forced. She cringes away from the idea, sees a flash of her own face in a mirror. Flickering fluorescents and a smile that’s all wrong. How did she get here?
Continue on AO3
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i don't know how to say this, 'cause you're really my dearest friend
Five times Taylor and Link almost kissed, and one time they finally did.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | +1 | ao3
[title from Jenny (I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship) by Studio Killers]
3. The third time, it was an instinct
☆
There were some days when Link was Taylor's pillow. Nice and cool, comfy and cozy.
Taylor's awake, but part of him wants to keep pretending he's asleep, because the way Link cards his fingers through his hair is simultaneously thrilling and soothing in a way nothing else is.
And the soft fabric of his shirt feels like sleeping on a bed of fluffy clouds…ah—Taylor's been tracing Link's chest with his finger. The fabric is too soft to resist… but now Link must know he's awake.
His eyes crack open.
Link is looking back at him, reflecting his own half-lidded eyes and tired gaze.
"Good morning," Taylor mumbles into Link's chest before tilting his head up to face Link fully, pressing his chin against the soft fabric.
"Morning."
Link's eyes get a little wider. Not in shock, though. It's more like he just wants a better view of Taylor's face.
What he does next makes Taylor's breath catch.
There's a strand of hair obstructing Taylor's vision a little—it's really not much, but Link's hand makes its way closer with it's soft fingers and gentle careful touch that brushes the hair out of his face and tucks it behind his ear.
Taylor doesn't move an inch, just watching. And when Link is done, all he does is stare back.
Into his eyes…
But then a little lower…
And Taylor doesn't realize he's biting his lip until it's too late, and Link's eyes flick away.
"Uh… you wanna continue watching?" Link asks, his voice sounding weaker.
Right. They were watching TV before Taylor's nap break.
"Sure," Taylor answers, pulling himself off Link and sitting upright on the couch.
Link presses play, and while Taylor's eyes are locked on the TV, he's not really watching.
He's thinking about the look in Link's eyes a moment ago.
Out of instinct, Taylor bit his lip and Link tore away his gaze.
But there was something in that look.
Something Taylor feels that he knows.
He sneaks a glance at Link, who's staring wide-eyed at the TV, but also looking like he's not really watching.
Taylor smiles to himself.
He knows what that look was.
He's pretty damn sure.
☆
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So this post asking about people's total wordcount on AO3 is neat but I'll be honest, I'm interested in some more granular shit, so in the tags please put:
Number of fics under 1K
Number of fics 1K-5K
Number of fics 5K-10K
Number of fics 10K-20K
Number of fics 20K-50K
Number of fics 50K-100K
Number of fics over 100K
(Also feel free to reblog if you don't write fic at all! You can just put 0s for the values, it's still interesting information!)
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