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arianakristine · 5 months ago

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Title: Like My Mirror Years Ago

AKA The Prompt That Won’t Be Written

CHAPTER 17

Present

Graham held his temple in one hand, sighing heavily as he poured through the documents across his desk. The missing person’s report, the marriage certificate. It all placed itself neatly into those unanswered questions, never mind the cracks along the edges.

“You know it doesn’t fit, right?”

He didn’t bother to look up, and instead grabbed the thermos and gulped down more of the weak coffee inside.

He hadn’t even heard the door to the office open, but he also didn’t remember well enough to lock it behind him hours ago when he first decided to come here instead of his apartment. It had been a long night, and he could feel it all in the tension of his back and the strain between his eyes as the clock edged to three in the morning. His boots and jeans were still crusted with mud, and his mind was still swimming with images of Mary Margaret bringing the man from the brink of death.

He rubbed his forehead and squinted at the papers harder. “No, that’s the problem: it fits,” he contended.

Emma sat on the edge of his desk and peered down, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Okay, it makes for a neat little story, doesn’t it? But it’s still not quite right.”

He finally looked up at her, his bones creaking slightly as he stretched from the hunch. “What about it?” he asked, not arguing, but more curious to what she was finding. Was there something she could see that he was blinded to, being so close to it?

She seemed to catch his tone, a smile quirking along her lips as she plucked the report from his pile. “This. How, in a town of less than 700, did a missing person not immediately get associated with a John Doe that shows up in the hospital during the same timeframe?”

“It’s a fair question. But we have at least 706,” he quipped.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, those extra six really made the difference in keeping track.”

He grinned at her lazily, the fatigue draining any bit of defensiveness from his posture. “Now you’re seeing the trouble I have in such a big city.”

She narrowed her eyes, but her lips tugged upwards. “So, Kathryn’s going hard into the story about how they got into a fight about him leaving and that’s why she never sought him out, but if an unknown man was found two days later and it’s all over the news?”

He cracked his neck and stifled a yawn. These were the same questions that had plagued him all evening. Kathryn hadn’t exactly seemed untrustworthy; her relief and concern had certainly seemed genuine. But then there was the Regina connection; suddenly, the mayor was his emergency contact? If there was one thing to mistrust, it was always Regina. But if the pieces didn’t fit, what did?

“And here, where it says there was a storm. Now, we’ve had bad storms in the northeast in recent years: road closures, lockdowns, all of that. But it says he went missing in July.”

He didn’t remember a storm in July, until he did. Maybe a freak cold front? No, no, that wasn’t it. It was worse, wasn’t it? Maybe a hurricane? Swirling light and high winds stood out in his mind suddenly, along with a piercing pain in his chest. He sucked in a breath and blinked rapidly, rising from the chair to try to get his bearings.

“Graham?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. Sorry, just got a little …,” he trailed off, and thought about it for a second. A little what? He shook his head harder. “Lightheaded,” he finished lamely.

Suddenly she was there, in his space, a hand hovering over his shoulder until it cautiously rested. “Can I get you something?”

He looked up, catching her worried gaze. Once more, he was transported. That worry, those same eyes, and the sweetness of her breath …. He quickly broke their stare. “I’ll be fine. Sorry, it’s late.”

She backed up a pace and folded her arms in front of her. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to go all Colombo on you at three in the morning.”

He huffed a laugh and rubbed his temple. “Well, maybe I should be mixing water in between the liters of caffeine if I’m to keep my sanity.”

“Or sleep,” she offered bluntly.

“I could say the same of you,” he countered.

She hopped up onto the desk. “Who said I had a problem? I’m the one giving you all the pieces for this case. I know I’m on to something here, I can feel it.”

He sighed and leaned back, relaxing onto the scuffed wood so that they were eye to eye. “I know you are, too.”

The words brought a light to her eyes, glinting into focus. He cocked his head to the side to study her. He could see here why she kept her job; she had passion for finding sense of the pieces and making them right.

Maybe even, he dared to think, bringing happy endings to these stories.

“I’m a little understaffed,” he said, tilting his chin up and letting her gaze follow through the empty station.

She narrowed her eyes when she came back to his. “And that’s an excuse?”

He smiled. “Not an excuse. A job offer.”

She startled back, brow cocked. “I have a job, you know.”

It wasn’t a no, that much was clear. But there was an air there, a challenge for him to meet. He leaned forward and scrunched his nose a bit. “As a bail bonds person? Not much of that going around here.”

“And you’re saying there’s more sheriffing?” When his answer was a mere grin, she pursed her lips. “So, the 706 is too much to handle for one person.”

“I’m saying I’m impressed. Look how you helped today,” he coaxed. “David would still be out there if it was just me.”

“If that’s the case, you’ll be hiring Mary Margaret and Henry next?” she deadpanned.

He ignored her and leaned forward. “It’s not just the skill that you have for it, you have the drive. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, you can admit as much.”

He was also considering the way they worked together: how they anticipated their next moves, how they listened to each other, how they didn’t have to speak each action out loud to know what the other was thinking. It was like they had always been like this.

He felt a warm, steady pulse under his fingers, and barely registered that he had slipped a hand under her sleeve to brush along her wrist, the move subconscious. It wasn’t deliberate—at least, that’s what he told himself. But now it was deliberate to stay. Her skin was soft, warmer than he expected, and her pulse was strong, alive beneath his touch. She hadn’t pulled away.

“I don’t do graveyard, you know. This is a special case,” she said.

He grinned. “Well, it’s unusual for me, too. Night shifts are few and far between, but if that’s your dealbreaker ….”

“And … if I accept?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“There’s dental,” he said with a grin.

She pushed on his shoulder and chuckled despite herself. “Gee, with an offer like that,” she teased. Emma’s touch lingered on his elbow, her thumb grazing the worn fabric of his shirt as if testing the connection. “Let me think about it.”

“You have my number,” he reminded.

She sighed. “I have your number,” she agreed begrudgingly.

His hand still circled her wrist, her unoccupied one on his elbow, and suddenly he was very aware of being in each other’s spaces. Something about her eyes, the softness behind the grit and armor intentionally bricked over it, it made him lean closer. “You should use it, you know.” He wasn’t sure if he meant the number he’d joked about earlier or something far less literal. He just wanted her to stay in this moment with him.

She huffed a small sound that might have been a laugh. “Still forward,” she teased, though he caught the clear sign that she was deflecting from the more blatant tension that was brewing between them.

He tilted his head to the side, lingering in the moment a beat longer, then blinked. He didn’t lean out of her space, and she hadn’t moved out of his, but it still felt like distance eased in between them. His hand flexed, just slightly, as if to reassure himself that she was still real, still there. She didn’t pull away, but her gaze broke, sliding down to their joined hands before darting back up to his face, a bit of that armor sliding back in place. Despite this, he smiled. “I think Henry appreciated today.”

She frowned slightly and then did pull back. “I don’t know that it was the step I was searching for there, but I think … maybe it was a good day.”

“You get to be his heroine,” he nudged, wondering if she was aware.

She scoffed softly and crossed her arms across her chest. “Mary Margaret was the hero today, and someone else was a close second.”

“Ah, but you forget: that’s his grandmother, there,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start. But look … maybe it’s a good thing, him getting to see heroes in the people around him.” She looked at him pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

He beamed at her, pleased that she was seeing it. “And watch what he gains when that’s brought out.”

She hesitated a moment, the beat long enough for him to catch that she was fighting with herself against something. Her lips parted, but then she pressed them together firmly. She grabbed her purse over her shoulder and smiled stiffly. “He doesn’t know her all that well other than being his teacher. He’s certainly not seeing heroics in the person he’s living with.” She paused once more, then ventured, “It’s good that he has someone to look up to.”

He hummed an agreement. “So, you’ll really think about it, then?”

She had a strange smile on her face as she looked at him, seemingly peering into him. “It’s funny that you don’t see it,” she murmured, almost to herself, and then shook herself out of it. She smirked at him. “Yeah, I’ll really think about it.”

“Good,” he replied. “Where should I send your W4?”

She barked a quick laugh, and slumped against the desk. She tossed her purse down. “You’ll never believe it.”

He raised a brow, and leaned forward. “Try me.”

She rubbed the back of her neck and sighed grudgingly. “Guess I’m moving in with my mom,” she said.

He beamed at her, stifling a laugh. “I had a feeling that spare room wouldn’t stay spare long.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well. I needed a bed, especially since my new boss doesn’t sleep.”

He brightened. “Does that mean you accept already? My pitches are getting good.”

She chuckled and raised her hands up. “I didn’t say that. Not yet, at least,” she argued, even though Graham was pretty sure she actually did. She chewed on her lip contemplatively. “Might make good fiscal sense, true, but no good decisions are made after midnight.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll let you marinate,” he said with a laugh. “Roots take a moment to settle, anyway.”

She hummed a response that was more absent than expected. Suddenly, she looked about as tired as he felt. It felt like a glimpse beyond the barriers she kept up, just for a moment. “I can’t promise how long I’ll stay, seriously, I can’t. But … I don’t know. It’s not time to go.”

He felt something climb through him, a wild thing starting in his chest and filtering out through his fingertips at the thought of her not staying. He itched with the desire to grab her and give her another reason to stay; there was something about the vehemence that felt like déjà vu.

(It was as if he could tangibly feel what losing her was like, hand outstretched and fingertips touching but just missing the ability to hold on, slipping away into the storm)

He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t push her, he knew that well enough (but why?). He also couldn’t voice the certainty he already had, at least not now. “Well, I would be glad to be sure you were getting a steady paycheck in the meantime.”

She smirked. “I guess my savings won’t last forever, but I don’t exactly expect you to match my previous salary.”

“Ah, putting away the bad guys is less lucrative than chasing them down, I suppose.”

“More paperwork, too, I assume,” she quipped back.

“No avoiding that,” he agreed, as he looked back to his messy desk. He grabbed his thermos again and took a sip, meeting her green eyes in the dim light. “A couple perks, though,” he mused, thinking about the kid waiting in a mansion for a change just like this.

“A couple perks, maybe,” she half-agreed.

He sat back on his desk chair with a thunk, and then made a pillow of his hands to rest his chin. “So, when should I expect the news? Y’know, so I can work on my surprise.”

She rolled her eyes. “How about you hold your breath.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, and squinted up at her. “I’m big on anticipation.”

She hid a smile into gathering her things. She glanced up and pulled her bottom lip through her teeth. “Give me until I’ve had a full night’s sleep, okay? So don’t bother me tomorrow.”

He crossed his heart. “I solemnly swear not to mention the job tomorrow. Mostly.”

She finally stepped toward the door, her hips swaying in a too-pendulous way that had more to do with fatigue than seduction but may have had the effect, nonetheless. “Get some sleep, Graham,” she called as she slinked out the door.

He chuckled, and considered the empty room around him. He blinked slowly, imagining a partner by his side for these late nights. “I hope you’ll be here when I wake.”

Eleven Years Ago

The light was what woke him first.

His breathing was heavy, struggling to find that wakeful place, and his eyes were slits as he blearily took in his surroundings.

He coughed, and rolled to the side, trying to recall the previous night and why his bed was so pliant. He shook off the rest of his dreams and found Emma beside him, blinking the sleep out of her own eyes.

“Oh,” she murmured when she saw him awake. She pushed up to one arm, stifling a yawn. “I didn’t mean to doze. Are you feeling okay?”

He paused a moment, just taking in the sight of her. She was framed in the morning dawn which cascaded through parted curtains, a prism of light peering from the sun-storm outside. She reminded him of the colors of the fairy, and she felt as magical as anything he had ever dared to witness in his life. Before he could really think about it, he leaned in to join their lips, softly pressing her close.

Her gaze was hazy when they parted, and she looked ethereal. She cupped his jaw in her hand and then brushed over his forehead. Her lips were barely upturned, gentle and relaxed. “You don’t feel hot anymore,” she mused.

He stifled another cough and rolled over finally, trying to gauge how he was feeling. He remembered the fever that had started in him, that familiar feeling of infection. He frowned as he realized that he no longer had that sensation, that pending doom and danger. He shook his head, a half-answer to her question.

“Wolf boy? Should I get something from Ruth?” she asked.

“No,” he managed, and then looked back at her. He tangled his hand in the strands of hair closest to her face and finally smiled. “Actually, I think the tea helped.”

She smiled back at him, cautiously, as if unsure she should trust his words. “Can I see?” she asked.

He shrugged and pulled up the loose shirt that Ruth had provided, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to see for himself. He frowned a bit, not finding the gash that had been present just yesterday.

“Wow, that healed quick,” Emma said, and brushed cool fingers along a scar further up his ribs. He shivered, and caught her hand, warming it between his own.

“That’s not from yesterday. I can’t even find the edges of that one,” he said, frowning further as he struggled to catch a glimpse of it. There. Just a small red mark, barely noticeable. Strange.

She made a soft noise of confusion, tracing the scar from his childhood, finding its edges and the elongated X It made in his skin. “What made this one, then?” she asked curiously.

A knock sounded on the door, and they both startled in unison. Emma shook loose of it first, and pressed her forehead against his briefly before rolling out of the bed.

“How is our patient doing this morning?” Ruth’s sunny voice questioned, then clucked her tongue at the sight of him. “Ah, dear, you look worlds better. Did you get some good rest?”

He nodded once and was almost surprised that it was true.

Ruth tsked and fussed over him a bit, brushing back his hair and checking his temperature with the back of her hand. “Oh, you had me worried yesterday, dear. It looked like hemlock bacteremia when I first found you. There’s some around these parts, you know.”

He didn’t voice it, but he was fairly certain that’s what he found growing in the rock falls. Once he noticed the broken skin, he thought for sure the poison had entered his bloodstream.

“His wound has even closed up already,” Emma offered helpfully.

“Fortunate,” Ruth said with a nod. “It’s a good thing you had someone to keep watch.”

Emma blushed prettily. “So, he’ll be okay?”

“I think it’s a good sign,” Ruth said with a smile. There was a crack of thunder, and the room darkened as the rain rolled in once more. “Hmm, but that’s not. Let me get some soup ready for us this morning, and I’m going to make you one more tea just to be sure it’s out of your system, whatever that was.” She closed the door behind her as she hustled out, not leaving space to protest nor to offer assistance.

Emma leaned up on her knees to peer out the window, sighing lowly. “I was hoping it had passed,” she murmured. She sunk back onto the bed next to him, snuggling in to give the warmth missing from the morning. “We need to figure out a better way to pay her back. We’re taking her room.”

“Huh?” he asked, distracted. It felt like a drug, being wrapped up in her.

She grinned, seemingly pleased with herself. “It’s her room that she lent us. She’s sleeping out on the couch near the fire.”

He frowned. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’ is right. But we can’t exactly leave with the storm still this bad.”

He finally leaned up and looked out the window, watching the winding clouds and the thundering of the rain. “It’s better than last night, but you’re right,” he agreed begrudgingly, then closed the shutters and pulled the lock closed once more. The room enveloped in darkness, barely illuminated from the dying embers in the fireplace.

She sighed and continued to play with his hair. “You scared me yesterday.”

“I'm sorry,” he said solemnly. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” she finished. Her lip pouted slightly, and then she peered up at him. “But it still scared me.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. To know that she cared enough to be scared, that she was willing to tell him now. It felt like something big, and he didn’t know the right words. He leaned forward instead, covering her lips with his once more. When they parted this time, he didn’t even try with words. He just stayed there, waiting on her.

Emma pulled her arms around him, tugging him close until his cheek was on her breast, over her heart. It was thudding hard, belying the calm she had seemed to be in all morning. He tugged her closer around the waist, until there was no more space between them.

They lay there a long moment before her heart calmed. “So, where’s the scar from?” she finally asked.

“Hmm, oh,” he said. The pad of her thumb was tracing the scar again, somehow found easily. It was old enough that the edges were scarcely palpable; it was just the look of it that really told the story. The other side was worse, a broken rib that had pierced through skin, one that healed messily in the woods. That one had been more dire, and he barely remembered the scar her soft fingers explored now. “It was from years ago.”

“How old were you? I mean, approximately,” she asked, and the careful tone she took let him know she was hesitant to ask. It warmed him, the fact that she remembered how uncomfortable he was at people asking about his age.

“Unsure, of course, but maybe ten,” he ventured. It was maybe a year or so after Fionn, so it sounded right.

“It must’ve been deep. I don’t think I have a lot of scars from that long ago.”

He reached out, touching the tattoo on her wrist. “One under here,” he said, and then traced upward to the one between her thumb and forefinger. “And here.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, the one under the tattoo is older, when I broke my wrist as a kid, needed surgery. The other … ah, harder to explain. Do you even have cigarettes here?” She shook her head. “Anyway, we were learning about yours.”

He traced the path between her scars as she explored his, and his lashes scattered across his cheek as he remembered. “It was a different hunting group, before I’d really learned their patterns. They were after one of my—anyway, they shot their arrows. It hit me, and I didn’t understand at the time how to remove it without making it worse.”

“Ugh, worse, I can imagine that,” she said as she winced, finding those jagged edges. She peered back up. “You save him?” she asked.

He lifted his head and rested It on the pillow so he could watch her eyes. He pressed his lips together. “The first arrow, yes. I wasn’t as lucky when the others came though. You see … the pack was bigger, once.”

“Oh,” she said, and her big eyes swarmed with a sudden flood of tears. She looked away as if to gather herself. “Oh, wolf boy, I’m sorry.”

“That was long ago,” he reassured, even though he still felt those echoes from that night as the story unfolded.

“I know. But I know what that means, too,” she said. “Ugh, I’m so sorry I brought it up. You’re just getting better and I—I say the wrong thing a lot of the time.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, and he was surprised he meant it. “Thank you for asking.”

She looked up and rolled her eyes. “No, it sucks, I know it sucks when people ask and you didn’t wanna talk about it, didn’t want to bring up those memories, and I just—”

“Hey,” he said, and his arms moved from her wrist to her shoulders. “Listen. I don’t say what I don’t mean, Emma.” He waited a long time, making sure that she was focused on him. He cupped her face between his palms, smiling gently. “Thank you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why?” she finally asked.

He shrugged up a shoulder. “No one has ever asked before.”

“Soup is ready, kids!”

Emma startled and then ducked her head. “I’ll get you some. Stay in bed, okay?”

“Wait,” he said, and leaned up. His brain felt a little foggy, either from the sickness or from sleeping much longer than he was used to, but he was starting to feel that itchiness that came with being confined. At least he could go to the other rooms with her. “I’m okay, I can eat at the table.”

She frowned. “If you’re sure,” she said, sounding like she was anything but.

He laughed a little and rose, picking up her wrist to pull her to him. “I’m sure. About it all, Emma, I swear,” he said.

She scrunched her nose, but then smiled up at him. “You are, aren’t you?”

"With you? Yeah, pretty sure,” he replied before he could really think about the words.

Her eyes widened, and she blushed for the second time that morning. “Okay, wolf boy, let’s get some food.”

The wind was howling against the cabin once they entered the kitchen space, the rain pounding against the windows once more. David was already seated, and he smiled genially at them both as they took their places. He sat with an easy posture, his chair angled slightly away from the table as though he didn’t feel the need to belong entirely in their space. He cradled his bowl of soup in both hands, sipping thoughtfully as he watched the newcomers settle at the table.

“Now, it might be a touch more concentrated this morning, but it should still do us good,” Ruth said as she moved through the kitchen. “Emma, child, would you care for tea? One without the medicine, of course.”

She shivered slightly and nodded, “that would be nice, Ruth, thank you.”

“This storm is a hard one to follow, but I’d think it’s only got a day’s worth left in it,” David mused as he sipped up a spoonful from his bowl. “It’s a bad beat, but it should at least lessen up.”

He nodded, but still eyed the boy warily, not overly concerned with speaking more than he needed to.

David leaned back in his chair, his posture casual, but his gaze was sharp as he studied them. His spoon hovered over his bowl, forgotten for a moment, as he finally spoke. “So,” he said, his tone conversational but firm, “where is it that you were going when you found my mom?”

He stiffened, his hand tightening around his spoon. His dark eyes flicked up to meet David’s, and the weight of the question lingered in the air. He didn’t like the way David was watching him, like he was waiting for a misstep. He tried to see if there was judgement in his tone that never seemed to be in Ruth’s. There was none—or at least, none he could find—but something about the question put him on edge.

He must’ve been glaring too long, as it was Emma that answered. “Oh, no where in particular. We only went to town because we knew the storm was coming.”

“You went to town because of the storm? Well, why wouldn’t two kids such as yourselves just go home?” Ruth asked as she laid two bowls and their mugs out for them.

He grunted slightly as he took a bite of his soup.

“We live in the woods,” Emma replied simply.

He looked up at her, brow creasing slightly. He cocked his head to the side in question.

“The woods, dear?”

She met his eye steadily and took a sip of her tea before answering Ruth’s question. “Yeah, the woods,” she said. “We live out there together.”

His heart fluttered slightly, wondering if she was truly saying that she thought of her home as his.

“Oh, dear,” Ruth tittered, seeming unsure what else to say.

He frowned, but again it was Emma that answered for them both. “It’s a good thing,” she said with a shrug. “It’s quiet out there. Safe. More than most places.”

He caught the edge in her voice, the way she leaned into the word "safe" like it carried more weight than Ruth could understand.

David glanced at her, his gaze lingering a moment longer than it should have. “Safe,” he repeated, like he was turning the word over in his mind. “Well, I suppose that depends on how you define it.”

There was nothing outwardly threatening in the words, but he felt his chest tighten all the same. His hand tensed slightly against the table, his instincts prickling at the undertone in David’s words. He didn’t like the way David said it, as though he was testing them. His gaze flicked to Emma, who didn’t seem fazed, and then back to David.

He shot him a glance but kept his silence.

“There’s family there,” she finished simply, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

It was a simple word, one people used carelessly, but when she said it, it felt like something monumental. He hadn’t realized how much he longed for someone to call his world home, for her to call it that. He didn’t how much more he could feel towards her, but he knew for sure that a certain word that was thrown around in books and bard tales and townsfolks’ songs seemed … weak in comparison. He couldn’t think of more to do then find her hand underneath the table and squeeze affectionately. He watched as a smile tweaked her lips, though she didn’t offer more than that.

David watched the exchange, his expression unreadable, but he caught the subtle tightening of his jaw, the faint furrow in his brow.

“Oh, my,” Ruth said. Her tone was light, but the crease in her brow betrayed a quiet worry. “The woods can be a harsh place for two young people like yourselves. But I suppose,” she added with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “you’ve got each other. That’s something.”

Emma shared a subtle look between bites of her soup, a blush tinting her cheeks just barely, and her hand sought his again under the table, squeezing gently.

David sighed. “Storm’s still got a ways to go,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s a good thing you’ve got a roof over your heads for now, I guess.”

Emma nodded, her grip on his hand tightening slightly, reassuring. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Good thing.”

His gaze drifted back to David, the tension coiled tight in his shoulders. He didn’t like being in this house, didn’t like the way David looked at Emma—not with malice, but with a familiarity that he couldn’t help but resent. They’d been alone for so long, just the two of them. The thought of anyone, even someone as seemingly harmless as David, intruding on that felt like a threat he didn’t know how to address. It felt like a wild thing in his chest, one that if left unbound could spread through his fingers and out through his words.

The feeling in his chest wasn’t unfamiliar—it was sharp and hot, the same instinct that had driven him to protect Emma when the world outside had been nothing but a threat. But this was different. Smaller. Pettier. And yet, no less consuming.

But Emma’s hand in his brought him back. Her touch was gentle but firm, her fingers threading through his. The touch wasn’t just grounding—it was deliberate, a quiet reminder that she saw him, even if he didn’t speak. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to let go of the tension knotting in his chest.

David’s gaze flicked between them, on the closeness that he barely noticed they had closed in on until her shoulder brushed his own. “Well,” he said lightly, though his tone carried a quiet edge, “you found us, at least. And we were here when you needed it.”

He tried to piece through the tone, to determine if the mistrust was there in David as much as it was in himself. He finally shot a look to Ruth, humming as she cleaned, her movements slow and deliberate, like she was trying to will calm into the room. Her back was turned, but he had the distinct sense she was listening. Maybe she always was. He realized that perhaps he wasn’t the only one protecting something here.

David’s gaze held steady, sharp but not overtly challenging. It wasn’t malice—he could see that now—but something else entirely: a quiet protection for what was his. For his mother. Maybe even for Emma. He didn’t like it, but he understood it.

He finally raised his eyes to meet David’s plainly, and nodded once. “Yes. It was fortunate. But we’ll also make sure we don’t overstay.”

David’s lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. The two met each other’s gaze headlong, a quiet understanding reached, a fragile truce. David nodded, seemingly satisfied with the boundary drawn, and returned to his bowl. Emma sensed his growing ease, keeping a lighter contact as she finished her meal.

#gremma #emma swan #graham humbert #gremma ff #like my mirror years ago #the prompt that won't be written #It's been like 4 years anyway here's wonderwall #crossposted to FFnet #will get it to AO3 eventually once I agonize over it a bit more

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jenneferofjengaberg · 2 months ago

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Author Layla Moran Plagiarizing Fanfics

I haven't seen much about this here, and I was just made aware of it by a crosspost on the r/AO3 sub, but there's a self-published author of MM and FF novels who has been plagiarizing fics from AO3. In fact, at this point, it appears that her entire catalog may be plagiarized fics. Her pen name is Layla Moran (not the British MP). She also publishes Sapphic books under the name Rey Luca.

Here is the original post from the r/MM_RomanceBooks sub detailing the accusations, including evidence comparing passages of some of the books to fics published on AO3.

Here is a link to a comment on that sub from a user who made a spreadsheet of all of Layla Moran's and Rey Luca's published works and the fanfics they were stolen from. They have stolen from a variety of fandoms and authors, from Pilgrimage (2017), Dragon Age, Supernatural, and others.

Most of their books on Amazon written under the Layla Moran pen name have been taken down, but most of her sapphic books under the Rey Luca name are still up, even the ones that have been shown to be plagiarized. She has several other sapphic books that have not yet been linked to any fic, but given that her entire MM catalog appears to be plagiarized, it's not crazy to assume all her works are. If you have published any F/F fic on AO3, please check and see if she has stolen your work.

#fanfiction #plagiarism #ao3 #layla moran #rey luca #pilgrimage #supernatural #spn #dragon age

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dramioneasks · 1 month ago

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Hi, do you or your followers have some ff recommendations which are exclusive on FF.net and not crossposted on AO3 or wattpad?

I've already read some like from the authors mezy or cleotheo.

Thanks!

Honestly, that isn't something wrong keep track of.

Does anyone know any authors like this?

#anonymous

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daisyishedwig · 2 years ago

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Fic writers tag

I was tagged by @kurtsascot, thank you for the tag!

And I'm tagging @calsvoid and @lusthurts and anyone else who wants to participate.

1. how many works do you have an ao3?

I have 37 on AO3 and 80 on FF.net, and most things from my AO3 are on FF excluding like 3 fics. I'm including my FF account because that's where I started posting many many years ago and continued to update until a couple yers ago when I transferred to just posting on AO3. There is a lot of fics on my FF that I haven't crossposted to AO3 yet, and some I probably never will.

2. whats your ao3 word count?

AO3 is 217,634 and FF.net is 287,357

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Nowadays, just Glee, though I do have some WIPs for Stranger Things, Captive Prince, Magnus Archives, and Hatcetfield that I do want to post /someday/. When I started I wrote Supernatural. And over the years I've also written Doctor Who, Takin Over the Asylum, Harry Potter.

4. top 5 fics by kudos

Not So Dapper, Dare, and This Isn't Love all tie for first place with 171. Then there is Chance at 164, I'm Never Letting You Go at 157, Don't You Dare at 150, and Don't Tell Me What You're Thinking at 144.

On FF.Net (by favorites) its The Thoughts I Can't Deny at 163, The Unspoken Rule at 120, A Strange Realization at 142, Icy Love at 101, and Maybe We Can Be Okay at 93.

5. do you respond to comments? why or why not?

I certainly try! I'm always torn between giving hints and secrets and wanting to keep everything close to my chest so the closer someone is to guessing a big plot point or asking a question that I can't answer without spoiling, the less likely I am to respond. Which is why I'm better at responding on one shots, because there's nothing to spoil!

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ohhhh, probably Say Your Name While Our Tongues Are Tied. There's probably a Blangst fic from back in the day that has a sadder ending, but they're usually at least hopeful. Say Your Name just feels very helpless, like it's hard to envision a world where anyone walks away from this situation happy, you know?

7. whats the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

A Place To Call Home, probably, even though I haven't posted it yet. The Thoughts I Can't Deny probably would have if I'd actually written an ending for it, lol. Tear Down My Reason is definitely very happy, and I Could Touch the Teardrops on Your Face is probably the sappiest ending.

8. do you get hate on fics?

I know I have in the past but I don't remember for what or why, which means it probably didn't really stick with me. And from what I do remember I think it was largely from people who didn't like the characters or ships I was writing about and would come to bitch about that and I'd be like, if you hate Blaine Anderson so much, why are you reading a Klaine fic? I do kind of remember a Kurtofsky shipper coming to complain about how "abusive" Blaine is and I was just like, sure, Jan, when you ship Kurt with the person who threatened to kill him, you definitely have a leg to stand on.

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

I don't as much as I used to and I actually tend to skip over it a lot. I've been much more into the emotional aspect and only really write the sex if I feel like it will add to the heart of what I'm writing.

But oh boy did I used to. And when I did it was pretty much exclusively D/s and kink stuff, and even when it wasn't there would at least be some form of powerplay or marking in an otherwise vanilla scene, just so my kinky brain would have something to latch onto.

10. do you write crossovers? whats the craziest one youve ever written?

Only on occasion? Like I'm currently working on a White Collar/Glee fic and a Magnus Archives/Hatchetfield fic. Aside from that it will be more like just an AU or inspired by a different media. So like, Sebastian Smythe is the flash, but other characters from The Flash don't really appear. Or my Mrs. Winterbourne Seblaine AU. Or the Spies Are Forever inspired Seblaine AU I have currently only managed to write 300 words in.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

I have. I remember someone turning the original Icy Love (which I still haven't crossposted to AO3, oops) into a Larry fic. And I know I've seen some of my stuff around any time there's a new website stealing things from AO3 and putting it behind a paywall. But at some point I got to lazy to care.

I did have a scare a litte while ago where I thought someone had stolen one of my fics because someone commented saying they'd read it under the username comewhattklaine before and I was like I have /never/ used that username before. I've used a lot of pennames over the years but never that one and I went absolutely crazy trying to find where someone with that username at stolen my fic. And then I realized that on my old Scarvesandcoffee account, I had used that name, but that website had been dead for so long i'd forgotten about it.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

I feel like I have but I cant for the life of me remember what.

13. have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Yes! @itallstartedwithharry and I wrote Tear Down My Reason together. It was an absolutely incredible experience and I always wish that she had the time to write together again because we worked so well together. I was really good at word vomiting on the page and she was really good at cleaning it up and making it more coherent and actually sounding nice. Which is part of why I still ask her to beta for me on fics that are really important to me because she tends to just get what I'm trying to say better than I do sometimes. Like she's been absolutely incredible with betaing A Place to Call Home for me and I'm so glad to have her because she just makes me a better writer.

14. fave all time ship?

Okay. This one is complicated. Because Klaine was my otp to end all otps for so many many years. Klaine means the world to me, it was so incredibly important to me as a teenager and to me accepting my own queerness and feeling safe to come out to my mom (because we bonded a lot over shipping Klaine) and I have written hundreds of thousands of words about those two.

But Seblaine. Ohmygod Seblaine. I have reached a point in my life where my brain is more interested in the kind of stories those two can supply me. In this concept of quantum entanglement that will always pull them together but never ever let it be /easy/ for them. There's just some ways in which I think they're better for each other, I think in some ways they bring out the worst in each other, but that in turn allows to them to truly see the best in each other too. I think the tragedy of their story as it happened is beautiful and cruel. And I just want to explore every crevice of their brains and to never let them go. At some point, Klaine became too easy. They'll always get their happy ending (at least in canon). But Seblaine never will. And the art that can be made from a relationship like that intrigues me far more.

15. wip you want to finish but doubt you will?

Probably La Pute. Of all my old WIPs, it's the most likely to be finished (because I do have some pretty extensive notes on how the plot was supposed to go). But at the same time, that kind of fic that I loved to read and write when I was young (dubcon, noncon, slave fics, etc.) just doesn't interest me the way it used to.

If I were to psychoanalyze myself i'd probably say that my love for stories like that was deeply derived from my sexual repression and inner angst (largely driven by vast amounts of untreated mental illness) that I had no real life experience to draw from so I just used these dark dark stories as a way to try and release any of those emotions. But now as an adult I've lived through many traumas and general life shittiness and I can now find a release for my inner turmoil in writing about things more close to life instead of having to reach into that level of darkness.

16. what are your writing strengths?

Oh I don't even know. I think probably dialogue? That's what usually comes the easiest to me so it's what I would assume, but I'm honestly not sure.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

I tell more than I show. Like I try to describe body language and expression in a way that isn't just "he shifted anxiously" "He looked pissed", stuff like that. But I'm just not great at it, so I tend to just tell the reader what a character is feeling more than anything else.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I'm always drawn to the idea of doing it, but I don't just want to like copy and paste the lines into google translate, you know? And I don't speak any other languages and most of the friends I have that do speak the languages I would want to translate lines into (namely Tagolog and French) aren't Glee fans, so I don't want to make them translate for me.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

Unpublished? Inuyasha/Naruto/Harry Potter/Bleach/probably some other things. I wrote a very extensive self insert fic when I was like 9 or 10 that involved all of those fandoms but it never even got typed up and I lost the binder I was keeping it in probably nearly two decades ago.

Published though it was definitely Supernatural.

20. fave fic youve written?

A Place To Call Home was such a long endeavor and something that was very important to me to finish and it means a lot to me to have finally finished it.

Maybe We Can Be Okay is probably one of my most well-received fics considering the dark content and complex themes. And I'm still really proud of it.

And then it's not out yet, but my fic for the I Want You Back day of 10 Days of Seblaine has been a very difficult fic to write but I'm really happy with how its turning out and I can't wait to share it with you all in November.

#personal #daisyishedwig writes #glee #seblaine #klaine #sebklaine

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thesoftestirises · 2 years ago

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Do you plan on posting playing with fire/Any other ff in another platform(ao3/wattpad)? Or have you done already?

Hi love! I do crosspost to AO3 with the name "thesoftestirises"

#lanxlab #asks

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thespivzy · 2 years ago

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With ao3 down I figured I might as well crosspost to fanfiction.net, within 5 minutes of uploading I got a bad review telling me there was "no hook"

There's one chapter up! I'm not shooting my load that early, sheesh.

FF seems meaner than ao3, the lack of a tag system is straight garbo as well, not sure I'll bother uploading the rest on there.

#ao3

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craftymiddlehorses · 2 years ago

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Man, I miss when people used to crosspost on AO3 and FF.net more often 🥲 There's barely any OFMD fic and barely any from this year on ff 😭

#ao3 is down #ofmd #fandom woes #I just wanted to read some gay pirates before bed 😭💜🏳️‍🌈🏴‍☠️

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misslisamiray · 1 year ago

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I know I just reblogged this the other day, but it bears repeating because I am off from work the next three days, and THAT means:

I have several Rick and Morty things to work on. Getting the next few chapters of my fic typed + at least one posted. Putting that playlist in... some kind of order. Hopefully getting some things so I can finally start my Rick cosplay. Possibly Secret Fourth Thing?

I've been saying since I finished watching Revolutionary Girl Utena last year that I was going to try dyeing my hair the same shade of pink as Utena's, and It. Is. Time. Wish me luck as this is the first time I've ever done a pastel color. 😅

It has been entirely too long since I baked a cake because it's an anime character's birthday, AND I happen to not be working on Spike Spiegel's b-day (June 26th). I *might* also be finally getting my two Bebop fics that are on ff dot net crossposted to Ao3. That is definitely happening at some point; it's just TBD if it'll be for Spike's birthday.

I'll be able to sit and write out all my thoughts and feels on the Princess Gwenevere and the Jewel Riders graphic novel & things I hope to see in future volumes. Note to self: I need to make two versions of said rambling - one for Tumblr where I can be as spoilery as I want so long as I tag it appropriately, and one for everything else... where the best I can do is nest stuff in the comments and hope that's not the FIRST thing FB/Twitter/etc shows people. 🙃

Someone please tell me this is not also the week to start a new Tenchi AMV. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to remind me that it's been 3 years since my last one, and almost two since I made any AMVs at all...

no i will not make separate blogs for my fandoms, everyone who follows me must experience ALL my insanity

#yes that is certainly an interesting mix of things #there's being versatile in your fandoms and then there's... whatever the hell I have going on #i feel like I'm forgetting something too tbh #i'm so excited for the chaos of the next 3 days #i promise i will also sleep at some point

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misslisamiray · 5 months ago

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Hello, Tumblr! After a 3 & a half month (holy shit, I am sorry about that and will try my best to not let that happen again) hiatus, here's Chapter 13 of Down With the Rickness!

Chapter 12 left off with our duo sound asleep on the couch & finally having a few moments' peace. In this chapter, Rick wakes up first & discovers Morty's well-intentioned but utterly terrrible internet research doomscrolling. The peace does not last after that. There's also a few really cute fluff moments where it's Rick's turn to worry a little.

Anyway, new chapter is below the cut!

Rick woke up a while later, disoriented and confused.

“Fuck, this still isn’t *COUGH!* over yet?” he asked with a groan, nearly tumbling off the couch. He was aware he was holding onto something, but wasn’t sure what. Blinking a few times and struggling to see in the dim light – he didn’t remember it being dark when he fell asleep – Rick realized he had both arms wrapped around one of Morty’s. Looking a little embarrassed, he pulled away and sat up, rubbing his head with one hand and lower back with the other.

“Owww. Dammit, Morty, why’d you let me fall asleep like that? How long was I *SNIFF!* out for, anyway? Morty?” he complained. No answer. His eyes adjusting a little more to the darkness, Rick realized Morty was asleep. Rick had no idea what time it was, or day, for that matter. But it was definitely night now, and the only light was coming from the TV – and Morty’s open laptop. With nothing better to do, and hoping it would be more interesting than the infomercial for orthopedic shoes – now available in THREE shades of brown! - currently blaring from the TV, Rick decided to see what his grandson had fallen asleep looking at.

The first tab he saw had the headline, ‘Much Worse Diseases That Are Often Mistaken for the Common Cold – And How To Tell the Difference Before It’s Too Late’. Rick raised the left side of his unibrow and clicked on another tab. ‘Dangers of Pneumonia in the Elderly’. He sighed and reached for his flask, scowling when he remembered it was empty. Reluctantly, he moved onto the next tab, which read, ‘Serious Complications of “Minor” Illnesses to Watch Out For’. The one after was a Google search for ‘How high does a fever have to be to cause brain damage?’

“Yep. Definitely seeing a pattern here. Dammit, Morty. Do I really seem this *Cough!* *Cough!* pathetic to you today?” Rick whispered crossly. His blankets slid about an inch and he shivered again, adding, “On second thought, I’m glad you’re not awake to answer that.” Even more hesitant now, Rick looked at the other tabs. Morty had at least a dozen open, and they were all more of the same, as he’d expected. Noticing Morty’s phone plugged into the computer, Rick decided to be nosy about that, too. He sighed again when he saw Morty had a large amount of tabs open on that device as well, and they were just as bad as the ones on the computer. ‘Sinusitis and Bronchitis and Allergic Rhinitis, Oh My!’ ‘Early Signs of Strep Throat’ ‘Scary Causes of and Scary Things Caused by Tonsilitis’. ‘Is it a cold, The Flu, or SOMETHING WORSE?’ ‘Complications of Colds That are Are Rare but You Should Definitely Worry About Anyway.’ Having seen more than enough, Rick put Morty’s phone down, shaking his head. He stared at Morty, who looked worried even in his sleep.

“Christ, what am I even supposed to *COUGH!* do with this?! Fucking kid…I knew Morty worried too much, but this is just… Ugh. He’s seriously spent the whole day looking at this shit?!” Rick muttered, trying to decide on a course of action.

He wanted to wake Morty up and tell him to stop worrying – that he was greatly overthinking the situation. He also wanted to wake him up to confront him – did Morty seriously think the Rick Sanchez was going to be taken out by a simple cold? Then again, judging by a number of those open tabs, Morty clearly suspected there was something worse wrong with him. Still…

At the same time, maybe it was better to just let him sleep. Between trying to take care of him, and worrying himself sick with terrible internet research, Morty was clearly exhausted. Plus he couldn’t lecture Rick or reject any of his ideas in his sleep. As he watched Morty sleep and continued his internal debate, Rick noticed him shiver a little.

“Fuck. Don’t tell me you’re sick now, too.” Rick sighed, tentatively feeling Morty’s forehead with one hand.

“Hmmm. Seems normal, I guess. Maybe a little warm? Or maybe it’s just too warm in here?” he murmured, putting his other hand to his own forehead to compare.

“Shit. I can’t tell anything. If you do have a fever, it’s lower than mine. But you naturally run warmer than me, so maybe you don’t have one? Maybe my hands are just cold and *Achoo!* we both seem warm by comparison?” Rick alternated which hand was held to who’s forehead a few times, growing increasingly frustrated that he was getting no useful information from this.

“Guess I have to find the stupid thermometer. If my implants were working, I’d have a scan of all the kid’s current vitals, and a year’s worth of projected ones in a few seconds. Instead, I’m reduced to this. Pathetic is an understatement.” he grumbled, tapping the right side of his head and trying, unsuccessfully, to activate a scanner behind his eye.

He sat there for another minute, watching Morty sleep and debating what to do next.

“This week on The Wonderful World of Water: Waterfalls of the World!” boomed an announcer’s voice from the television.

“Hmmm. Sounds like the least boring or stupid thing that’s been on all day. Not that that’s saying much.” Rick mused, turning his head to look at the TV. He decided to delay dealing with the Morty situation by watching the nature show. Well, that was the plan, but watching the screen full of gushing waterfalls quickly made Rick aware of how badly he needed to use the bathroom.

“Well, I guess that’s as good a way to procrastinate as any.” he sighed, reluctantly sliding his blankets off and standing up. Shivering a little and slightly unsteady on his feet, Rick stopped to stare at Morty again, and saw another shiver shake his small form.

“Dammit. Are you sick, or is it actually just cold in here?!” I hate *Cough!* *Cough!* not being able to tell.” he muttered, arms wrapped around himself. With a sigh, Rick covered Morty with the pile of blankets before leaving the room.

Morty woke up a few minutes later, instantly aware something was different.

“What the hell?...” he mumbled sleepily, struggling to get out from under the weight of all the blankets.

“Rick, do you think you can stop throwing these on me whenever you get too warm? How are you feeling now? You up? Rick?” Morty asked softly. He sat up, pushing the blankets aside and blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Suddenly fully awake, he realized Rick wasn’t there.

“Rick? Where’d you go?” he asked, panic creeping into his voice.

Rick was in the downstairs bathroom, frowning at his reflection as he washed his hands. He hated to admit it, but everyone who’d told him how terrible he looked today was right.

“Yeah, I can kind of see why Morty thinks I might be dying. *Sniff!* Fuck, I really need to deal with that.” he muttered, splashing some water on his face before shutting the faucet off. Rick shook his head, trying to clear it. It didn’t help. He opened the medicine cabinet to look for the thermometer.

“Okay, Rick, what kind of crazy thing are you up to now? I thought you agreed no more trying to cure your cold with dangerous sci-fi shit.” Morty called, walking into the garage.

“Oh. You’re… not here.” he stated, clearly surprised. For a few seconds, Morty was relieved he wouldn’t have to drag Rick out of the garage for a third time today. That relief didn’t last, though, because if Rick wasn’t in the place where Morty had most expected to find him, where was he?

Having not found the thermometer in the downstairs bathroom, Rick had dragged himself upstairs to check that one. No sign of the device Morty had used on him, but he did find what he was fairly certain was an ear thermometer. Tossing it into one of his pockets, he continued to search through the medicine cabinet.

“Ugh, guess we really don’t have any more of that crap Morty made me take earlier. Yet this is *COUGH!* the fifth vial of antidote for Zarplorbian Giant Toad venom I’ve found, and I know there’s at least three more in the garage. Might need to seriously reconsider what we keep on hand for medical supplies.” Rick complained to himself, frowning at a vial of pale purple liquid. He put it back and decided to see if Beth and Jerry at least had anything good.

“Meh. This is *Achoo!* a waste of time.” he sighed, looking over a couple of pill bottles and immediately putting them back. He wiped his nose and grabbed the one vaguely appealing thing in the medicine cabinet – a bottle of extra strength aspirin.

“Practically just candy to me at this point, but beggars and *Sniff!* choosers, right? Feels like I’ve had to say that a lot today.” Rick mumbled, taking a handful of the pills. After thinking it over for a few seconds, he decided washing them down with the vial of Zarplorbian Giant Toad antivenom probably wouldn’t help, but also wouldn’t hurt.

“Rick? You in here? Did you decide your bed was more comfortable than the couch?” Morty called, keeping his voice low in case Rick was asleep. He flipped the light switch by the bedroom door, and of course found the room empty.

At the same time Morty was staring into Rick’s room, Rick was walking by Morty’s. He was just going to keep walking – after all, he knew Morty wasn’t in there, and that the boy certainly didn’t have any good drugs. But something occurred to him. Acting on his hunch, Rick turned the light on and strode over to Morty’s bed.

“Ah ha! I fucking *Cough!* *Cough!* *COUGH!* knew it!” he declared, retrieving the portal gun from under the bed.

Morty was now checking the kitchen. No Rick, and no sign anyone had been in the room for hours.

“Dammit, Rick, where are you?” he asked worriedly.

To his surprise, a gravelly, lower than usual voice answered, “Calm down. I’m right here.”

“Rick! I woke up and you weren’t there, and…” Morty sputtered, visibly relieved when he turned around and saw Rick.

“I just went to the bathroom. You’ve been shoving liquids in my face all day. You should not be this surprised I had to take a piss.” Rick said gruffly, pretending not to notice Morty’s barely concealed panic.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Guess I was just worried when I woke up and you weren’t there, and I, ummm, never mind. Sorry for falling asleep.” Morty apologized.

“I don’t need a babysitter. In case you forgot, Morty, I’ve been trying to get you out of the house, or at least *Cough!* away from me, all day. I’m not mad you took a nap.” Rick sighed.

“Oh. Well, that’s good. How are you feeling now, Rick?”

“Awful. That’s *COUGH!* gonna be the answer to that question for at least a few more days, so you can stop asking it, Morty.” Morty’s face fell at that response, which Rick also tried to pretend he didn’t notice.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Huh? I’m fine, Rick.” Morty answered. Rick stared at him, trying to determine if Morty was lying, not yet aware he was getting sick, or honestly was fine.

Still unable to tell anything, he shrugged and said, “Come on. Let’s go back to whatever stupid crap is on television now.” Morty nodded and followed him back into the living room. Upon reaching the couch, Rick immediately wrapped the massive pile of blankets around himself again.

“You still can’t get warm, huh? Hey, Rick, I know you can’t talk much right now, but do you think that maybe, maybe there might be something more wrong with you than just a cold?” Morty asked hesitantly, alternating between looking at Rick and the two screens in front of him. Rick groaned – there was no getting out of this conversation now.

“What makes you *COUGH!* ask that, Morty?”

“Well, it’s just that you seem to be having a pretty hard time with this thing. And like, isn’t the whole deal with colds supposed to be that they’re like, minor? Y’know, you’re more annoyed than you are actually sick? It kinda seems like you’re sicker than you should be if you actually just have a cold, Rick.” Morty began nervously.

“Oh, really? Care to *COUGH!* *COUGH!* elaborate?”

“Well, for starters, there’s that cough of yours. It sounds really painful, Rick. You said yourself it was making your sore throat worse. And that’s another thing that seems like it shouldn’t be as bad as it is. Plus you’ve still got those awful chills. Y-you think you might actually have the flu? Or maybe even pneumonia?” Morty continued, looking at his computer, phone, and the notes he’d been taking. He gulped audibly at that last question.

“Pneumonia, huh? Fuck, I wish. *SNIFF!* But no, Morty. Definitely not.” Rick mused, thinking it over as he tossed another empty tissue box aside and grabbed the remaining full box.

“What?! Don’t say shit like that, Rick! Why the fuck would you wish you had pneumonia?!” Morty asked incredulously.

“Because if this was pneumonia, I’d be considerably less humiliated by how hard it’s hitting me, okay?! FYI, you pointing out every symptom I have that’s worse than it ‘should’ be for a cold isn’t helping matters! I’m well aware of what a pathetic mess this lame-ass virus is reducing me to, and…” Rick yelled, jumping up from the couch. Of course, that outburst set off another coughing fit. Morty hesitated for a second, then ran to the kitchen and immediately ran back with a bottle of water. Once Rick managed to stop coughing and catch his breath, he eagerly drank about half of it.

“Easy, Rick. Maybe you shouldn’t try to talk anymore.” Morty said gently.

“Would you stop? I’m fine. Ish. But *Cough!* yeah, definitely no more yelling. Or jumping up like that. Ugh.” Rick conceded, sitting back down. He was dizzy again and hoped Morty couldn’t tell.

“Uh-huh. You’re kind of proving my point more than yours.” Morty mumbled.

Ignoring him, Rick continued, “I admit, this cold, and yes, it’s just a fucking cold, is kicking my ass. Which I knew it would, since that’s what always happens when I get sick. Which I’m *SNIFF!* sure I told you this morning. M-maybe it is a little worse than I was expecting. Not sure if that’s because it’s been so long since I was sick last, or because I’m a little older now. Or maybe I’ve always done this badly with viruses and just blocked that out. Doesn’t matter. Either way, this blows, but that does not mean I’m dying or have 5 worse diseases. *ACHOO!*”

“Uh-huh. I wasn’t suggesting you had all these things. But y’know, strep might explain your sore throat. And you’re the one who brought up that you have issues with your tonsils. The flu and pneumonia are often mistaken for the common cold at first. This site says whooping cough is, too and… Aw geez, Rick. This sounds bad, and the symptoms do kind of match yours.” Morty worried, switching between several of his open tabs. Rick groaned and covered his face with both hands.

“I noticed you staring at your phone like a Season 2 Summer all day, but I figured you were *Cough!* cyberstalking Jessica again, or maybe playing some dumb mobile game to distract yourself from how much non-interdimensional TV sucks. It’s really all been this, huh?” he asked.

“I guess? I was trying to find ideas that might help you feel better, and that sorta led me to all this. And the whole time I’ve been reading this stuff, you’ve been getting worse, Rick. You say it’s nothing, but I don’t, I don’t believe you, alright? And why should I?! You started off lying that you had some weird alien disease that humans can’t even get. When I caught you in that lie, you said it was to hide that you have a cold. So why shouldn’t I believe your ‘cold’ is just another cover for something worse? I don’t think it’s some crazy dangerous space illness like Dad’s afraid of, but…” Morty blurted out, frantically switching between the myriad of open tabs on his two devices and scribbling some more notes.

“I’ve heard enough. Gimme those.” With that, Rick grabbed the laptop and phone out of Morty’s hands.

“What the fuck? Give those back, Rick!”

“Nope. You’ll get ‘em back once I can trust you to use them for videogames or porn or whatever pointless social media time suck teenagers are into these days. No more of this Dr. Google hypochondriac bullshit. You’re done.” Rick said as he pulled out the portal gun. He opened a small portal and tossed Morty’s devices into it. Morty sat there looking mildly horrified as the portal closed.“What? I’m *Cough!* *Cough!* clearly better at hiding shit than you are. Deal with it. Now, back to the matter at hand.” Rick replied with a shrug.

#rick and morty #rick and morty fanfic #rick and morty fanfiction #my fic #my writing #down with the rickness #the hiatus is over!!!#chapter 13 #sickfic #technically counts as hurt/comfort?#i think #fluff #rick sanchez #morty smith #crossposted to ao3 #crossposted on ao3 #crossposted on ff dot net #crossposted to ff dot net #i'll post the links later for those who'd prefer to read there

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dramioneasks · 1 year ago

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Hi, do you have some ff recommendations which are exclusive on Fanfiction.net and not crossposted on AO3?

my tbr-list is filled with AO3 stories but I'm sure there are some gems on FF.net too :)

Thanks!

On the one hand, I'm like: I came back at the perfect time to answer this question, because FFN got me into fanfiction. It's my first love. But on the other hand, I'm almost exclusively an AO3 reader now (FFN got too spammy).

Your best bet is to honestly just google something you're interested in and see if it's cross-posted. There was a big push a few years ago for authors to move or at least cross-post their fanfiction. And then there's a lot of fans who have moved older stuff over when it looks like the author is no longer active. So googling is the only way to tell.

But I'm happy to share my personal Dramione FFN favorites list, and I'm 100% sure some of our followers will post theirs in the comments.

-Shirlyn

The Request by redhead414 - M, 39 chapters - Astoria was never a fan of Hermione Granger, but pretty soon, she would be gone, and Draco was going to need all the help he could get. Rated M for future chapters.

The Fine Line Between Love and Hate by Short-circuit-Soulmate - M, 30 chapters - The Silver Marauders are the most popular group in school, consisting of Ron, Harry, Blaise and Draco. Hermione is the most unpopular girl in school. Blaise wants to discover the motivation behind Draco's constant bullying of Hermione. AU. Violence. COMPLETE!

Vibrations by Craft Rose - M, 6 chapters - After three years of a mundane, sexless existence and far too much wine, our favourite brunette happens upon the magic equivalent of a sex line. There, an intriguing, deliciously devilish caller manages to pique her interest. It's all fun and anonymous

Wrong Life by camnz - M, 25 chapters - Hermione wakes up in the wrong bed, with the wrong face, and with a husband that hates her.

Crimson with a Silver Lining by Lady Cailan - M, 78 chapters - It is six years since the fall of the Ministry to Voldemort. Those other than purebloods are deemed less than human. When Ginny's daughter ends up in grave danger, Hermione sells herself to the Death Eaters to save her life. Draco/Hermione. Not fluffy.

Burbage High by Charlotte Bird - M, 27 chapters (abandoned) - 14 Years post war, Hermione has become Head of the progressive, yet failing Burbage High. Handling right wing politics is easy, but working out why Malfoy is insisting his son start there in September is not. 10 years spent in Azkaban and 2 years isolated in the muggle world may have changed Draco, but surely not that much? Is something more sinister going on?

Forget Me by Emara88 - M, 26 chapters - The war ended over two years ago, but Hermione still feels the echoes of strange memories from that time, as though something is missing or has been taken from her. When she sees Draco Malfoy at a Ministry ball and collapses, falling into a coma, the truth about their past together is revealed.

Once More with Feeling by Kyonomiko - M, 20 chapters - Sometimes taking a second look can give you a new perspective on someone. Hermione has difficulty analyzing people once she has made up her mind, especially in regards to herself. Circumstances what they are, she might not have a choice but to try again. Dramione EWE. Granger Enchanted Awards 2018 Winner

Who Needs Friends by camnz - M, 47 chapters - Friends prove difficult as Hermione and Blaise start dating, especially his friends. Malfoy is particularly offended by Hermione's presence on the scene.

Simply Irresistible by bookworm1993 - M, 30 chapters - Draco gave a cocky grin. "I am going to give you a makeover." "I'm sorry what?" "You heard me Granger, I'm going to give you a makeover that will make every man want you,and make Weasley die of regret. You will be simply irresistible."

Pride, Image, and Reputation by Fanofbooks.Harry Potter - M, 28 chapters - They hate each other. Plain and simple. But he's Draco Malfoy, and no girl escapes his charm. Even if it is stupidly smart Granger. But what happens when progress is actually made...from both ends, and a certain little bet between friends gets in the way?

Of Kings and Queens by galfoy - M, 26 chapters - Hermione has a bad habit. Draco has a big problem. The universe has one heck of a plan.

Little, Fragile Toys by Bex-chan - M, oneshot - "That incident, their first kiss, always reminded her of a car crash; people often described how they could recall every moment before and every moment after, but the impact itself was lost or hazy, like when you find a new bruise and can't remember where it came from. And Hermione could genuinely remember every detail that followed the impact. Every detail." Dramione. One-shot.

It's All Uncharted by redhead414 - M, 38 chapters - "Are you ready?" she asked. Draco brushed the back of his hand against her forehead before tracing it down her cheek. "I was ready the moment you came back into my life, Granger. Are you ready?" "With you," she whispered, "I'm ready for anything."

It's Just Me by jehszs - M, 32 chapters - After a night of mistaken identity Hermione finds herself unable to stay away from the mystery man from the darkness. How can she stop herself from falling for him when he's doing everything in his power to make her his again? M. HG/DM. Warning: some non-consensual sexual themes

Heir Brained by diagonally - M, 42 chapters (abandoned) - The war witnessed Draco managing his way into the Order's fold & the trio's cramped boundaries. Years later, they are quasi-friends. Does Hermione want more? Want to bet your copy of 'Hogwarts, a History? Flashbacks/action/post HBP

Utterly Despicable by camnz - M, 24 chapters - The death of both Voldemort and Harry Potter let the pureblood elite build the world they wanted. One that leaves Hermione in a vulnerable state, which Draco Malfoy is prepared to take full advantage of.

The Bracelet by AkashaTheKitty - M, 103 chapters - Hermione has everything she could possibly want... Except a life. People are getting sick of her superior attitude, especially Draco Malfoy, who schemes to get her down, once and for all. And then there's the thing with The Bracelet... 7th year AR. COMPLETE SINCE 2009 XD

Forbidden by Darkest Dawn - M, 17 chapters - He hated her...but he would have her. After all: Forbidden fruit always tasted much sweeter. -Being revised-

Sweet Caroline by gingercat0319 - M, 43 chapters - He was rich, single and disgustingly handsome. Learn how a four-year-old will turn his world up-side down. Sequel now posted - My Darling Caroline.

The Passion Of Hate by XorderlyXchaosXnXconfusionX - M, 17 chapters - It's a known fact to the entire population of Hogwarts that Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy hate each other with a passion. But what happens when that passion turns the hate to lust? Winner for He Had It Coming Dramione awards

Valentine Encounter by Kyra4 - T, 24 chapters - READ ME! Draco and Hermione are Head Boy & Girl, but do NOT share a common room and see as little of each other as possible til a fateful encounter on Valentine's night leads to a gradual, reluctant romance. Starts 7th year goes postHogwarts. NOW COMPLETE

Never is a Promise by LoPotter - M, 45 chapters - HrD fic, they're head girl and boy and having an interesting year. June 19! I finally updated! It's been a year, sorry. But here's Chapter 45. Oh nelly :

#favourite fics #ffnet

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