#so i just slapped ao3 hacks on

[dnfao3tags]

Finding Deleted Fics: A Multi-Method Guide

i feel like we are the fandom who needs this post the most any fandom has needed it ever.

all of these methods require you to know the title, author and/or link of the fic.

[disclaimer: the fic i am using as an example is not deleted, i just can't think of any other fics to use as an example right now.]

Method #1: Wayback Machine

this is my go to method that i always try first.

steps:

every fic on ao3 has a url of archiveofourown.org/[specific-numbers]. you're gonna need that url, doesn't matter if it doesn't work anymore.

eg.

2. now you're gonna go to archive.org and enter your url in the search bar.

3. something like this will come up. it probably won't be saved as many times though, just once or twice.

just click any of the links now, either the dates marked blue on the calendar or the earliest/latest date. that's it.

drawbacks:

often, a problem arises when searching for fics rated mature or explicit.

the site will have archived this page but not the actual fic. though, maybe lady luck is on your side and clicking proceed will lead you to a saved version of the actual fic. but usually not. and not all fics are saved here. in those cases, i have some more methods.

Method #2: Search Engine Cache

search engines like google and yandex often save a cached version of sites, though yandex is much more reliable than google. i'll give you a tutorial for both.

steps (yandex):

the link isn't completely necessary, just the title and author of the fic will suffice.

go to yandex.com and search for your fic by either entering the url or entering the title and author as such.

3. this will probably immediately come up.

just enter the captcha and it should let you in on the first go but there's a glitch i've encountered where you could be entering the captcha completely correct but for some reason the site still won't let you in. for that, you just have to keep trying again and again until eventually the site lets you in. might take more than 10 tries.

4. once you're in, search results will pop up. directly clicking them will only lead you to the not found page. what you're gonna do is hover over the box of the search result and you'll see 3 dots pop up on the right.

click those and a dropdown menu will appear. click the first option 'saved copy'.

and thats it! this is a much more efficient method especially for explicit or mature fics.

drawbacks:

for some reason, when i open yandex in google chrome, i can't see the 3 dots. i can in firefox though. don't really know what thats all about.

i'll show you how to do it with google too just in case yandex doesn't work.

steps (google):

in the url bar, type cache:[link of fic]. that's pretty much it. google doesn't have a lot of fics saved though so you'll probably get a 404 page.

Method #3: Reddit

there's a subreddit called r/DeletedFanfiction that can probably help you out. either search for the fic as it may have already been posted or req it and someone will probably get you a google drive link soon enough. u/throwthisaway11112 is my lord and savior.

afaik it's still up and running fine despite the reddit protest thing (which i recommend taking a minute to look into).

Method #4: Archive.org Database

okay, now you're gonna need a lot of memory on computer for this one. i'm not gonna even bother and try to explain it, i'll just link you to the original post. thank you once again to the anon who sent me this method!

Method #5: Fandom

if absolutely none of those methods work, you can still just send me an ask and maybe my followers or i will have a saved copy. same for any other fandom, i recommend asking around in popular fandom spaces, someone is bound to have it.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (pt. 2)

—

Tw: N/A

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) - (Pt. 3 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was a beautiful morning. Somehow, against all odds, the sun was shining through the thick smog perpetually covering Gotham.

And Danny hated it.

He was in pain, he was exhausted, he was grieving, and all he wanted to do was sleep for at least a week.

In an act of celestial mockery, the sun shone regardless.

After around twenty minutes of tossing and turning in bed, trying to get back to sleep, Danny gave up and pried himself out of bed.

He stumbled through the hallway and into the living room, staring openly at every splash of color he saw in the small apartment. He hadn’t forgotten what color looked like in the time he was in the lab, but it was comforting to see.

Someone cleared their throat. Danny whipped his head around, eyes falling on a scrawny, gangly man sitting down in a worn armchair, hunched over a laptop. He was looking at him with a dull, bored expression.

Right. Scarecrow.

His escape.

The chase.

His mom.

“You look a lot less terrifying without the mask,” Danny blurted out, slapping his hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t call my normal appearance frightening,” Scarecrow hummed, focusing his attention back onto the laptop, “that’s what the costume is for, after all.”

“Oh.”

After a brief moment of excruciating silence, Scarecrow spoke.

“You any good with computers, Danny? Hacking, and all that?”

Danny jolted. Scarecrow needed his help with something! This was great! Now, he’d have more of a reason not to get rid of him!

“Oh, uh, yeah! Not as good as my friend Tucker, but I think I’m pretty good.”

“And you’re familiar with the GiW’s systems specifically,” Scarecrow continued, beckoning him over. Danny complied, shuffling over awkwardly. “Right?”

“Well, I guess? My friends and I got into their stuff a couple of times before they…”

“Wonderful,” Scarecrow said, standing up with a stretch. He shoved the laptop into Danny’s hands and gestured for him to sit down on the couch. “Then you can hack into their system and extract whatever files you can find.”

Danny stared at the man like he’d lost his mind. He looked back at him expectantly.

Danny sat down.

“Yeah, I-I can do that. Tuck and I built a back door into their system ages ago,” he said, checking the screen. It was clear that for all the skills that Scarecrow had, hacking was definitely not one of them. “But, uh, don’t you have someone else that usually does this sort of thing for you? Not that I’m complaining!”

Scarecrow scowled, and Danny felt his heart fall into his ass.

“Usually, I do,” Scarecrow huffed, “but I chose to leave my most recent job with the Penguin early, so now there’s no way that he or Eddie will help me with anything until I make it up to them somehow.”

“Oh,” Danny said.

He had no clue whatsoever who Eddie was.

Danny got to work quickly, hoping that if he ignored the gangly man, he would leave him be. Luckily, he did just that, leaving to go work on something in another room.

Danny checked the laptop’s security before continuing Scarecrow’s progress, making sure that the GiW wouldn’t be able to grab their location.

It was…threateningly good. Whoever Eddie was, he had somehow crammed the functionality of a top-of-the-line PC into a tiny, beat-up old laptop. It almost reminded Danny of Tucker and his terrifying competence with his PDA.

Tucker.

Amity park.

Home.

Danny snapped himself out of his thoughts, tabbing back into the application Scarecrow had up and began to work his magic.

He had near full access to the entire GiW database within half an hour.

Mumbling out a quick thank-you to Tucker, he called Scarecrow over to appraise his work.

“Fixed up some food for you while you worked,” the rogue said, handing him a bowl of oatmeal, taking the laptop into his lap as he did so, “didn’t know how well you could eat, considering you’re recovering from… surgery, so I decided to stay on the safe side.”

Danny had no clue what this guy’s deal was.

He definitely did not tear up at the first genuine thoughtfulness he encountered in weeks, and he did not look away as he ate so that Scarecrow couldn’t see his face.

At least Scarecrow was too focused on the laptop to notice or care.

Or, maybe, he was just mercifully ignoring him.

Either way, Danny ate slowly, not wanting to make himself sick. He allowed himself to absentmindedly look around the room for the first time, taking everything in.

It was strangely homey. The space was filled with warm browns and yellows, a few splashes of color on the wall in the form of (obviously gifted) paintings. There was a beat-up bookshelf against the wall, clearly second-hand, filled to the brim with psychology books. On every available surface there was a different colored candle, all at different stages of use, clearly collected over the course of years.

Danny knew that the man next to him was a crazed, murderous criminal, but his home was oddly reminiscent of Jazz.

He was not about to cry.

“Danny,” Scarecrow hummed, snapping him out of his spiraling, “can you explain this to me?”

He looked over. The rogue was pointing to a new report, seemingly posted only a few hours ago.

Nodding, he took the computer into his lap, pouring over the contents.

He read the report again.

And again.

And again.

Danny swore loudly, crumpling like a wet paper bag, head in his hands.

“What?”

“It’s…” he swore again, glancing back at the laptop, “they…since you became liminal from synthetic ectoplasm, when we’re within about 500 meters of one another, our ectoplasm signatures resonate, and they can’t track us with any of their technology.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“If we’re not that close to each other, they can track us down from anywhere in the world.”

Scarecrow went dead quiet. After what felt like the single longest minute of Danny’s life, he let out a truly exasperated sigh, slumping over in his seat.

“Yeah, me too,” Danny mumbled, utterly miserable.

“…I’ll have to move my plans back a little,” Scarecrow sighed, “I can’t drag an injured child with me when I attack the Gotham GiW base, you’ll just get in the way.”

“Oh come on,” Danny whined, “I can take care of myself just fine. Besides, Batman brings kids with him to do dangerous stuff all the time, and he’s fine!”

“Might I remind you that the second Robin died violently,” Scarecrow snapped, “and that Batman most likely has more traumatic brain injuries than all of the Gotham rogues combined. That really isn’t the winning argument you think it is.”

Danny paused, trying to think up some way to win the argument. Then, he realized what he had ignored before.

“Wait, Scarecrow, you’re gonna attack the GiW?”

“That’s the plan,” he nodded, “and call me Dr. Crane. I’m only Scarecrow when I’m in the mask.”

But,” Danny sputtered, “Sca—uh, Dr. Crane—that’s insane! The weapons they’ve got- they’ll rip you apart!”

“Not my first time,” Crane said, making Danny wince. “Besides, I have plenty of experience avoiding gunfire. I’ll live.”

“You…” Danny was silent for a while, trying to think of something to say, “fine, but you have to take me with you wherever you go. As soon as they see either of us on their radars, they’ll hunt us down.”

Dr. Crane sighed.

“…Fine. I need some time to plan anyways. Now, you’re going to help me download these files, properly format them, and send them out.”

“…Why?”

“Well, some of the other rogues might appreciate the heads up, and I’d quite like them to be indebted to me. Besides, I still need to pay back the Penguin for ditching him, and he loves knowing things that other people don’t.”

Danny paused.

“That’s an awful idea, no offense. If any of the rogues know our weaknesses, they—”

“Danny, we’re censoring everything. The only things they need to know about are the GiW specifically, and any sort of laws surrounding them.”

Danny snorted.

“You care about laws now?”

“Yes, because if we get taken to Arkham, they’ll hand us off to the GiW the moment they ask, and it’ll be completely legal.”

Oh. Danny had honestly forgotten that Arkham was an option.

“…Ok. I’ll help you. Who are we telling?”

“I don’t think you really need to know,” Dr. Crane said, the faintest shadow of an amused look on his face, “but I’ll humor you for now. We’re sending the files out to the Penguin, Riddler, Poison Ivy via Harley Quinn, Two-Face, and Red Hood.”

Danny nodded. He could live with that.

“Alright, then let’s get to work.”

—

[vee-beeee]

Chicken Noodle Soup

HELLOO

I got a super nice request from Ant1SocialVapor3on over on ao3!

"Basically request is, Y/N wakes up sick one day, and try to go to work as is. Of course the fluffy RK boys aint having any of that, and they try to bring a cranky and sniffly human home to bed, oh and fuss over and overreact. I would really apreciate this, and keep up posting these fluffy bangers :D"

so that is exactly what im gonna do 😈

Warnings: sickness, general discomfort, RK boys are all over you, hank is literally their dad, they boys care for you, gavin slander

Connor, Sixty and Nines x reader

╰┈➤---------------------------------------------------------------------------

*...-eep beep BEEP*

You groaned, blinking sleep from your eyes. It's way to early for this.

So you rolled over, snuggling into the blankets.

*beep beep BEEP*

*beep beep BEEP*

Grumbling again, you rolled back over to slap you hand on your phone a couple times, before finally gaining some purchase on it and grabbing the device to pull it right in front of your face. Clicking the power button to see the time, you read the bright numbers at the top of the screen.

5:02

Sighing, you placed the phone back down and rolled onto your back to lay an arm across your face in an attempt to try and block out the morning, along with the world.

And then you sniffed

And you couldn't breathe. Your reaction was instant.

"please no" you moaned, shooting upwards in bed and then proceeding to groan once more in pain from sitting up way to fast, it felt like your head was going to implode.

Then the coughing started

Getting(falling) out of bed, you stumbled your way to the bathroom, where you rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for a thermometer. Finally letting out a shaky breath in relief when you felt your hand grasp it, you leaned your back against the wall and brought the small machine to your forehead, whispering pleas to not be what you think you were.

102.5

basically super duper sick.

Banging your head against the the cabinet and letting out a soft "nooo", you sniffed and contemplated your options.

You could stay home and disappoint everyone at work

Or power through and go on like normal.

Guess what you did.

That's how you landed yourself walking through the station in a giant black puffy jacket, blowing into a tissue, half bottle of cough syrup in hand, and hacking like no tomorrow.

You were truly a sight to behold.

Espically for 3 pairs of curious eyes

Arriving at your desk, you sat down, set your cough syrup on the desk, and proceeded to face plant onto a stack of papers that were sitting on top of it waiting to be worked on. You sniffled a little and slowly sat your chin on your paper to look up at your partner

who was staring at you with the most disgusted face on this planet.

"what" your deep sick voice asked (with a hint of amusement) as Gavin shot up from his desk, and slowly backed away

"are you sick?? i cant get sick, im meeting some guys tonight and I DO NOT want whatever you have. You look absolutely horrible"

You squinted your eyes and stared into his soul, un-moving, until finally you just leaned over his desk, grabbed his coffee cup that was full of pens, and dumped them out.

And then you licked the side of his mug, maintaining eye contact as you did so.

"Hey!" he yelped as you leaned back over to set it back down on his side of the cubicle. You crossed your arms and gave him a smug smile, which only lasted a second before you were consumed by an urge to sneeze, and quickly dove your face into your elbow.

He deserved it though.

You heard him grumble and storm off while you were grabbing a tissue, and you swallowed as you finished, noticing your throat was sore too. Awesome.

Before you could bury your face in paper work again, you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. You jumped and turned around to see 3 faces, full of concern.

" y/n? Are you alright today?" Connor slowly leaned down onto one knee so he could better see your face, which he then softly took into his hands, brushing hair out of your sweaty face. He looked so distressed, his caring eyes boring into yours. His hands were soft and cold, and you leaned into them, closing you eyes. Another palm pressed against your forehead and you sighed in appreciation.

"She has a high fever." a low voice murmured, and you suspected it belonged to Nines.

Blinking your eyes open, you started to open you mouth to say something, but instead a cough started. A tissue was pressed into your hand, and you brought it to your mouth, noticing Sixty had given it to you.

And was also giving you the softest look you have ever seen the sarcastic android wear.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as the group coddled you with their worried looks.

"Guys I'm fineee" you totally lied, sniffing your nose once again and leaning back away from the group to clear your throat.

"You are clearly not" Nines answered, crossing his arms as his LED went yellow, raising his eyebrows

"I agree with him, you need to go home" Connor gave you a sympathetic look and dragged his hands down from your face to your hands, and took them in his, rubbing the knuckles.

"Let us take you home sweetheart" Sixty tilted his head and brushed a hand through your hair.

You grumbled and shook your head, trying to look assertive "I have work to do, I cant leave"

Connor sighed, looking at his fellow RK units, LED flashing amber. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Sweet cheeks, we can do this the easy way-" Sixty started, shooing a reluctant Connor away from his crouching position to stand in front of you and put his hands on the arms of your chair, leaning forward so you couldn't escape his gaze "-or the hard way. Which is it gonna be?"

Glancing up at Sixty, you stuck your lips out and harrumphed, choosing to look out the window instead of the android and crossing your arms in defiance.

"The hard way it is then"

you turned back to ask him what he was going to do, but it turned into a yelp and finished in a cough.

Nines had swept you from your chair, holding you in his arms bridal style.

And was giving you a small smile.

You gasped like a fish out of water and thrashed slightly in his hold, which you quickly found out did nothing. You were secure in his arms.

Your over-exhertion resulted in more coughing, and Nines smug expression morphed into one of concern as he turned to his fellow units.

All of their LED's started flashing and you knew they were having a private android conversation.

Unfair.

Nines turned his steely gaze to Connor, who just nodded and started off towards their partner Hank, who was looking at your group with a troubled expression. You watched as Nines then turned to Sixty and motioned with his head to the stations front door, to which the rk800 responded by quirking his lips upwards, and rushed forward to kiss your hair, before leaving the main office to go to reception.

Nines adjusted you in his hold, before heading to follow behind Sixty.

As you walked through the lobby, you saw stares pointed at you from androids and humans alike. Everyone was giving you and Nines a raised eyebrow, and you were so embarrassed that you just instinctively leaned forward to hide in Nine's neck, silently apologizing when you coughed into him. He noticed and fastened his pace, lightly kissing your head and whispering in your ear for only you to hear:

"It's okay my darling, we'll take care of you."

Here come the butterflies again.

Or you were just really sick.

Maybe a bit of both.

In the blink of an eye you were fastened in the passenger's seat of your car, with all androids present and accounted for. Connor had told you that they had all taken the day off, and Hank saw his opportunity to leave for the day also. Hank had also wished you well, and said quote "being sick's a bitch". That had given you a giggle, but you still felt guilty for leaving. And now you were taking the 3 smartest detectives from the force.

"But Connor, I have so much work to do" you whined, once again giving the androids half-hearted death glares from around the car.

Nobody reacted, except for Sixty

"You look like a pouting baby" he chuckled and leaned back in his car seat, gazing out the window instead of meeting you now rage filled eyes. Your face was stuck in a jaw-dropped gasp, and you watched Connor turn his head to raise a judging eyebrow at his twin, who continued to ignore everyone.

But you saw that smug grin on his face.

Nines was the one driving, and kept checking your temperature with his hands during the trip to your house. You know you started the drive pretty lucid, but you knew it was getting worse.

You were so in pain from your throat and stuffed up nose, that a few hot tears slid down your face. You turned your head and huffed, hoping none of the boys saw it, but almost immediately after those tears hit your big puffy jacket, a gentle hand was on your chin turning your head in a certain direction.

Nine's direction.

The android had quickly punched in the coordinates to your house and set the car on auto drive when he saw your condition getting worse, and had noticed your tears the second they ran down your cheeks.

"Hey look at me, it's okay were going to help you" a few more tears slid down your cheeks at the comforting words, and Nines gave you the sweetest look to ever adorn his usually un-fazed expression, full of sympathy.

"He's right, we're going to do everything in our power to help you recover as fast as possible" Connor leaned over in his seat to kiss the side of your head while you finally closed your eyes, letting a comfortable darkness take over.

And finally, you fell asleep.

"....-ful sixty! you...e go...to wake th.....p if you hol...em like that"

"..-ever im...b..ing as care...as i can"

Your lids fluttered as you absorbed a conversation around you. Hearing bits and pieces as it felt like you were once again being carried somewhere.

You felt safe and warm, so you snuggled into the body holding you and shut your eyes once again.

"w...- up my heart"

The first thing you felt was a hand on your forehead.

You also noticed a body pressed to your back.

Blinking your weary eyes open, you meet Nines adoring gaze. His LED was yellow however, and he was leaning on one knee in front of your bed. Scrunching up your nose, you wondered how you even got to your bed. A voice behind you chuckled in response, you must have said that out loud. Nines took the hand previously on your forehead and leisurely stroked it down your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Well i drove us to your residence, and then Sixty carried you. We....-" he looked away with a stony expression as his LED flashed red, and you furrowed your brows in confusion.

"what did you do" you croaked out, pouting your lips out as Nines stared at an interesting corner of your room.

"We couldn't find your house key, so we had to break in" another voice piped up, and you looked to see a guilty Connor standing in the doorway with a cup of what looked like steaming tea.

The room went quiet as you stared with wide eyes as the boys.

"We'll pay for the window." the voice behind you mumbled, before nuzzling into your hair.

And then, surprising the androids and even yourself, you burst into laughter. Which turned into more coughing.

The body behind you (sixty) shook with chuckles, until your coughing fit started. The RK unit immediately stopped his laughter and helped you sit up, while Connor came and dropped the mug of tea on your bedside table before rushing out of the room.

Nines leaned forward to take your hand, and rub gently into it, silently reassuring you.

Waving your hand in front of you, the coughing stopped as you hastily addressed them.

"Sorry guys, that happens when you get sick" you hiccupped a laugh, but the boys didn't react. They silently shared a look.

And then Connor reappeared.

"You need to take all of these"

and you gasped as you saw basically an entire medicine cabinet in his arms. The android looked extremely worried, and was giving you the softest eyes. If he asked, you probably would take all of them.

You saw Nines sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose, and you wondered what had happened while you were out. On second glance at the cough medicine in his arms, you made a realization.

"Is that the brand of medicine that I brought to work?" you stuttered out, looking at Connor.

He shifted from foot to foot "I went to the store, and my memory record showed that this was your favorite brand. I didn't know how many to get, so I got...... a few"

The RK unit looked down on you with a small smile as you beamed.

They were the best.

And then an alarm went off.

You raised an eyebrow and watched as it was Nines turn to hot-footed it somewhere, and it looked like he was heading to the kitchen. Suddenly feeling a weight on your lap, you looked down to see Sixty had settled his head on your legs, and was gazing up at you.

"He's making Chicken noodle soup, Hank sent a recipe." Sixty murmured, and you watched his hand go up to tuck some hair behind your ear.

You instantly melted.

Maybe you would have a nice time being sick.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

HERE IT IS

Im sorry if that ending is a little out of character, just thought it was funny LOL

Still getting used to writing the three of them and their dynamics

Also feel free to request anything! I enjoy them :D

Thank you for the idea Ant1SocialVapor3on!

SORRY FOR SPELLING ERRORS

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2022: October 27th

Day 27: Forniphilia (Human Furniture) // Breath Play // Infidelity

Agent Whiskey x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Dom/sub tones, porn, masturbation, untouched ejaculation

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You smirk at the disgruntled frown that creases Whiskey’s brow. That cocksure grin that annoys you so much wiped off his face and there is a slight disbelief in his eyes, as if he couldn’t understand how things had turned out to not be in his favor. 

“A bet is a bet, Agent Whiskey.” You crow, making sure that this wounds his no-so-small ego and also calls into question his honor. Things that he is very brash in protecting. “And I believe that you lost.” 

“Fuck.” The curse is hissed under his breath, the scowl pulling down that perfectly trimmed mustache that you always wanted to take for a ride, but you wouldn’t deal with the insufferable ego that went along with it. 

Honestly, the only reason that Jack had made this bet with you is because he had been sure that he would be the one winning. That you would be the one that would be submitting to his whims. You have no doubt that he had planned out something that you would find less amusing than he would. However, you wouldn’t find out today. 

There is a small little giggle that escapes your lips and you can’t wait to see his reaction when he realizes what exactly you have planned for the brash agent. Completely meant to take him down a peg or five and serve him up a large slice of humble pie. 

“My place, seven o’clock.” You chirp, wiggling your fingers goodbye at him as you turn around to walk away. 

“Now hold on a damn minute.” Jack huffs, making you look back to find his hands on his hips as he looks towards Ginger as if this is all her fault. “There ain’t no way on God’s green earth that she completed more missions than I did. I’m the senior agent here.” 

You snort, shake your head and give a small shrug of your shoulder. “Don’t tell me you already ordered the barely there outfit you wanted me to wear while I was at your beck and call?” You know how Jack operates, he’s not exactly subtle with his leering and the comments that plenty of women around Statesman had heard. Even if he was a sexist jerk, he was fucking handsome and that might be the only reason he didn’t get slapped as often as he should. 

The huff and slightly ruddiness of his cheeks gives him away. Making you giggle again and tut. “Jack….poor Jack.” You coo condescending. “You forgot that you were injured for nearly three weeks during the timeframe you chose.” You remind him with a vicious grin. “Who do you think took on your cases? Surely not Tequila.” 

That’s exactly who he thought had taken on his cases. You wonder if he had just assumed or if the younger agent had embellished his own work over those weeks. It wouldn’t surprise you. 

“Son of a bitch.” Jack hisses, realizing he had set himself up for failure and he has no one to blame but himself. 

“See you at seven.” You hum, grinning to yourself as you walk away, eager for later on tonight to see how Jack looks in your living room. 

****

“You want me to what?” His brows shoot up, his hat already off his head and he looks around as if he is trying to spot a camera or some of the other agents hiding away to see his reaction to your decision on how he would pay off his debt from the bet. 

“Strip down.” You repeat. “All of it, bare assed.” 

“Now hold on-”

“How much material was in the outfit you ordered Jack?” You demand, brow raised. You might have hacked into his emails and seen the outfit, knowing that it was completely sheer. It would have been better to be naked like you were demanding him to be. 

“There was-”

“Not fucking much.” You interrupt. “Now you can pay out your bet here, In the privacy of my home or we could make this happen at Statesman. And while you would have to wear something, I would make sure it was most embarrassing for you.” As you know he would as well. 

Dark brown eyes watch you for a long moment, gauging how serious you are before he huffs and starts to peel his jacket off. It’s honestly sad how quickly your cunt clenches just from the fact that he was submitting. Giving you control over this. 

“Now you want me just, kneel down?” His brow is scrunched, confused and you bite your lip to keep from smirking at the total bewilderment that is now on his face. You hadn’t missed the split second smirk on his face when he has assumed you had told him to strip down so you could fuck him. 

You motion to the empty space in front of your couch. “I’m missing a coffee table.” The one that is normally there is in your spare room, but that’s not the point. The point is for him to be your coffee table. 

“Yeah but-”

“Jack, you’re the one that said the bet could be anything we want it to be. If you don’t want to do this, let me know. You know the other option.” You smirk, knowing his ego wouldn’t let him tell the entire Statesman division that you were a better agent than he was. There was absolutely no way. 

Huffing, your challenge works - Jack starts ripping at the buttons on his deliciously tailored shirt. Revealing the golden skin beneath, sliding it off his shoulders and sighing as he starts to toe off his boots. “Let’s get this over with.”

****

That’s an interesting turn of events if you do say so yourself. You bite your lip, eyes firmly glued under the small pooch of Jack’s belly as his body is held ramrod straight. Hands and knees firm on the floor under him. That’s not the interesting part, the interesting part is that Jack’s cock is hard. 

Your tea cup and saucer in your hand, you hum as you set it down on his back as you sit down on the sofa. Humming to yourself as you notice that the impressive hard on that had been bobbing in the air beneath him has not gone away. The small dribble of liquid underneath him telling you that he’s really excited about this. 

He can’t talk to you, he can’t look at you and he can’t move. Those are the rules of your little prize tonight. His small little ass is cute, almost nonexistent as he acts as your coffee table. A sharp drop off instead of a rounded edge but you don’t mind it. It’s appealing even without the painted on jeans he wears and now you know why the front bulges so deliciously. The rumors are that Jack may suck at sex, but he is packing the right equipment. 

Grinning, you pull your feet up off the foot and prop them on your human coffee table. Hearing the small moan that he tries to hide, the bouncing of his cock even though he hasn’t moved. Wiggling your toes, you seemingly ignore him, reaching for your remote to turn on the tv. You have the perfect thing picked out for this moment. 

Jack inhales sharply, making the cup rattle as he hears the soft moans. You see the tension in his entire body as his eyes cut towards your tv, positioned just to where he can barely see the screen out of the corner of his eye. It’s your video. One you had from when you were seducing a target. A personal favorite for when you needed to rub one out and right now, you are feeling horny. 

Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of your pants, sliding under your panties to start to slowly rub your clit. You won’t get naked in front of Jack, not yet. Your moan makes his cock twitch again, another dribble of cum hits the floor but you don’t comment on it. Feeling the muscles of his back ripple under your feet as you gently push them into his skin. Bracing them while your fingers work your cunt.

There’s always been a power dynamic between the two of you, a fight for control but you never expected Jack Daniels to be a submissive. Not the way that his body is giving away his excitement for this. If you were going to acknowledge your table, you would cup his cock and see if he moans. Instead you concentrate on making yourself cum, the rattling of the cup on his back very telling on how many muscles are moving even though he has strict instructions to keep still. 

He likes this. Really likes this if the way his entire body trembles every time you moan. HIs jaw locked and tight and his breathing less measured than it had been before. A quick glance at him tells you that the head of his cock is deeply flushed, almost purple with need. 

It makes your clit throb, the tension building in your belly as your toes start to curl. You’re close, so very close to cumming while Jack listens to you. Biting your lip, another few swipes of your fingers against your clit while you watch yourself fuck on screen and your cumming. Crying out softly and digging your toes into Jack’s back while your legs push against him. Feeling your entire body lock up, eyes closing when you hear Jack groan. 

Panting, you relax and open your eyes, looking down to find that Jack’s head is hanging between his shoulder blades. Ropes of cum are splattered on the floor and you hum at the sight. Jack had just cum, untouched by this scene. 

Lifting your feet off his back, you plant them on the floor and lean forward after you pull your hand out of your pants. “If you come back, I’m going to use you as my chair.” You whisper, making him moan softly, looking up at you with a strange mixture of shame and curiosity in his eyes. It was a surprise that Jack was submissive for sure, but somehow, you have a feeling that he will come back to be your chair. 

[spibbb]

Symbruary Day 10: In Sickness/In Health

Some time after the events of The Hunger, Eddie catches the flu. The symbiote struggles to help his body fight it off. Living "happily ever after" continues to be a challenge.

Another short, also inspired by land-of-brains-and-chocolate and their pre-Hunger one-shot on AO3.

It took a couple of days, some prodding of Eddie's memories and some physical prodding of Eddie's face, to coax him awake, to learn what was afflicting him. Some kind of virus. Influenza.

The symbiote had never seen anything like it before. It made his arms and legs so weak. His entire body was like a furnace. His mouth was thick with saliva for the better part of a week even when he didn't puke (which was, alarmingly, often). At times, the symbiote had to bodily drag him at night to find water because he'd be too tired to do it himself.

The symbiote grew agitated over this. Angered, but not at Eddie. He waved it off, collapsing back into another heap of garbage bags tucked into an alley.

“It's nothing to worry about,” he said thickly, his nose blocked (still blocked). “It will pass.”

It hadn't passed. Which the symbiote wouldn't have had cause for alarm for, except for the fact that all of Eddie's memories of this wretched thing told the symbiote that it would last a week at most. It had been two weeks, and Eddie's muscle mass was starting to feel the lack of stored food.

After the great, terrible hunger that had afflicted them, Eddie's body had shrunk noticeably. Noticeable to someone living inside him, anyway. Now it was even worse. It didn't like it at all, not one bit. It would fix this. It had to.

Medicine, Eddie, it urged. It pushed the strange bottle of liquid into Eddie's chest. He stirred, half awake, face scrunching.

“Where'd you get this?” he slurred. He didn't remember picking any up. The last thing he remembered was passing out on a rather large pile of bags that smelled like freshly discarded Chinese take-out. The symbiote batted the line of questioning away, insistent. “Alright, alright,” he conceded. He drank the wrongly sweet smelling liquid before clearing his throat.

“Ah, just as terrible as I remember it.” He smiled, turning the bottle around to look at it. But his eyes were extremely unfocused. The symbiote could see how the text swam in his vision. This did nothing to quell its anxiety.

Water, it thought urgently. Water, Eddie. Need water. Thirsty.

“I know,” Eddie said, with no particular panic. His eyes closed, but the symbiote pried them open with all its might. Eddie coughed wetly. “We’ll go get some water, yes. Okay.” Eddie tried to stand but his knees wobbled dangerously. The symbiote caught them both, leaning against the brick wall.

“Hm. Maybe I'm sicker than I thought.”

The symbiote hissed and pinched Eddie’s ear, writhing in frustration just under his skin.

Eddie ignored this and pulled himself upright. “Yes. Wouldn't do to have–” he took a moment to hack and wheeze, “to–ah, I can't think.” His head throbbing didn't help.

Need water. Food. Eat.

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement. He patted the pocket of the threadbare robe he’d pilfered from a dumpster. “I’m afraid we’re short on funds.”

The symbiote didn't have the words to describe it, but it could feel it: delirium. Eddie was absolutely delirious. In all his past memories of this sickness, it never seemed like this. The symbiote writhed some more, forming hands with claws to dig into Eddie’s collarbone.

Will get food. Need to walk.

So he did. With all the grace of a drunk gazelle. Thankfully, he was too out of it to pay any mind to people gawking at him as he stumbled down the sidewalk.

They managed to swipe a pizza box and an accompanying bottle of water off the back of a delivery man’s bike. The symbiote felt bad for a few seconds–before remembering its host, and it flung the lid off, slapping a slice of it into Eddie’s face.

“Hrffg,” Eddie said.

The symbiote chirped in response.

He chewed slowly, feeling his throat still trying to rebel against him. The symbiote did its part to wrangle his still churning stomach.

It was so frustrating. His body had worked perfectly well before, and then this–if it could tear apart the concept of Sickness itself with its teeth, it would do so with immense ferocity and prejudice. It was tired. They were tired.

Eddie dug his fingers into a clump of the symbiote’s mass, which had situated itself on his lap as he sat cross-legged.

“Thank you,” he said warmly. The symbiote pooled into his hand, mollified. He agreed that it was strange to be sick for so long. He downed the water bottle in about five seconds. His parched throat thanked him.

They sat in silence for a while; Eddie breathing, the symbiote feeling his pulse in his wrist, his chest, tendrils wrapped loosely around him.

“I'm sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I should be taking better care of us. I promised.” The symbiote uncoiled from his hand to look at him, eyes unblinking but not cold. Strange but in a good way.

Took care of me, it thought, unsure. It’s okay.

“I made you worry. I'm sorry, dear.”

It shivered.

Not worried. Ate. Drank. Not puking.

It was still pretty worried, but it could worry about literally everything now, so it was hard to differentiate it all quantitatively.

Eddie smiled broadly, eyes more focused now, more awake, and it shuddered with his gratitude, seeping out of every pore.

He kissed it between its eyes, squeezing it in his hands.

Then he sneezed directly into its face, making it splat against the wall.

“Oops.”

[patb-goose]

MERMAY 2023 ~Brinky fic

Brain comes up with a flawless plan to secure an asset from a facility surrounded by water. Become a fish! Unfortunately, before the mission can even begin, Pinky’s impulses set it off too early! My silly contribution to Mermay 2023

AO3

——————–

Brain’s plan was complete. Or it would be. The conception was flawless. His machine designs finished and a confident certainty that this would be the plan that would finally help him take over the world successfully. He was explaining all of this to Pinky, using a pointer on his freshly scrawled chalkboard which showed many drawings and equations.

“Fish?” Pinky asked in surprised confusion.

“Yes. Exactly right, Pinky. We shall become fish!” Brain exclaimed, tapping on the board. Pinky looked unsure and his expression appeared as if he was wondering if Brain had lost his marbles. Brain grabbed his arm and aimed to assure him they were all intact. He pulled him closer to his notes,“Our goal is to infiltrate Disuniters Industries—” He pointed at a nearby photograph of the building.“ —to procure their new, highly advanced microchip that I can modify for my own purposes”

“Oh, we don’t have to do that. Narf! Ive just done the shopping! Theres a big ol’ can of Pringles with your name on it! Saved you the trouble.” Pinky looked particularly proud.

Brain hated to deflate him when he was trying to be ‘helpful’ “…Yes. Unforunately, what I seek is slightly less sodium based..” He stepped away from him to pull out a blueprint, “Behold!” It took a few moments but Pinky finally seemed to understand they wouldn’t be eating this chip.

“Oooh…” Pinky admired.

“It wasnt easy but I managed to hack into their database and find the blueprints.”

“Egad. Amazing!” Pinky replied before frowning with second thoughts , “But wait, wait. If you have these, couldn’t you just make your own fancy chip thingy?”

A valid question.

“I could…if these were complete. The materials used to make such an incredible advancement have been redacted, and at a guess won’t be readily available to your common man…or mouse.” They had taken many security measures, but this wouldnt hinder Brain. He rolled up the print and set it aside. “Now let me finish." 

Pinky zipped his lip as Brain went on about how remote the location was and how this was a roadblock. "The only access is by water. They get in regular shipments of supplies by boat, but other than that, nothing gets in or out without security say so.”

“That’s a problem, then, isn’t it?” Pinky observed.

“Fear not, for I have found the smallest of weaknesses in their defense.” He lured Pinky over to a nearby wall where he had laid out schematics. He followed without word. “You see, there is a grate far underneath the building. A complicated access for a mouse, yes. But no problem for a…” He waved a hand, giving Pinky a chance to come to the same conclusion he had. 

“..a …pencil sharpener…?”

“Yes… Thank you for reminding me…” Brain said, walking nonchalantly over to a nearby pencil and then used it to whack Pinky on the head. “A fish, Pinky. A. Fish.”

Pinky danced dizzily around, his eyes crossed as tried to maintain proper balance. He giggled. “Right. That was my next guess!” He fell into a sitting position and when his vision finally refocused, he saw Brain pulling a cloth off his invention. 

He was immediately interested. Brain could tell, so he continued..

“This remote is the key to completing this mission.” Brain told him. Pinky asked how it worked with eagerness and Brain was glad to answer in detail. “This button here activates the device and this dial here—"Brain moved it around in demonstration— "controls how long the effects will last.” He slid it back and explained that the lowest setting was ten minutes and the highest being eight hours. “Simple.”

In retrospect, Brain wished he had kept his new device out of Pinky’s reach, knowing his affinity for buttons. Normally, he had the sense to slap Pinky’s reach away before he could touch anything he wasn’t supposed to but this time he wasn’t quick enough.

“You mean all you have to do is press this button here and—”Pinky had said, his finger ending up much closer to the activation button than intended and pressed it before realizing his mistake.

“Pinky, wait! Don’t—” was the extent of the pleas he managed to get out before he was silenced by a beam of light emitted from his remote.

It was too late to stop him

“Poit..” Pinky mumbled regrettably as the light and smoke from the beam cleared. He knew he was in for another bop. But his frown disappeared once he got a proper view at Brain. His eyes great two sizes in excitement as he gasped.

“Pinky! Look at what you’ve done!” He lectured.

Brain appeared much less enthused. 

Not to mention different.

He hadn’t exactly made the transformation he described to Pinky. Not completely anyway.

“Fishie Brain!” Pinky exclaimed, his friend’s irritation overlooked because he was too distracted by his new form. From the waist up, Brain had remained unchanged but below he had a scaly, green tail that swished around on the counter.  Pinky opened his arms wide  “You're—You’re a mermouse! Troz!” He hopped, switching from foot to foot before proceeding to examine him from all sides. Pinky then knelt down played with his fin because he couldn’t help himself and exclaimed "Look at your tail, it’s all ziggy zaggy. Just like your regular tail!”

Brain’s eyes widened, lightly blushing and he slapped him with it before claiming his replacement tail. “Pinky. Stop that! It’s very sensitive” He demanded Pinky bring his remote, so he could double check what the dial had been at during activation. He knew. He knew he knew, but he had a small hope that miraculously it had been at the ten minute mark. He was mentally begging.

But, no.

…Eight hours.

He would be stuck like this for eight hours.

He gave Pinky another scolding, but it was hard to do with him looking at him with so much adoration. So, he let it go for now and gave him orders to fill up the sink. If he was going to be stuck like this for an extended amount of time, he would need to spend it close to the water. He supposed one silver lining was he could test out this form before their plan. Hmm…Now that he thought about it, that really was something should have thought to add to the list of preparations. He wouldn’t have even pondered it were it not for Pinky’s blunder.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t still annoyed with his friend.

This was still inconvenient.

 As the time passed, however, the feeling eventually fizzled. It did nothing to dwell, even if he was frustrated that they would not be able to make any actual progress until at least tomorrow night. 

He swam along the length of the sink and back again. It was quite the feat. A sink was like a swimming pool to a mouse, so it was great exercise. Not that Brain regularly indulged in such activities, but he had to admit there was something…freeing about it. 

He caught Pinky watching him and cheering on his moves with several claps. He pretended not to notice, but swam over to him regardless.

Pinky had his legs over the rim of the sink and kicked his feet, which just barely grazed the water. He made a few alternating splashes with his movement. His grin widened as Brain reached him. “You make such a splendid fishie, Brain!” Pinky praised. “You look so graceful out there on the open waves.”

“Pinky. I’m in a sink. There are no waves..”

“There can be!” Pinky exclaimed, then moved ever so slightly to let his legs have more access to the water and began kicking wildly with a laugh that matched his actions.

Brain swayed a bit but mostly he just got unwanted splashes in the face, which was more than a little irritating. He shielded himself until he was able to get close enough to grab both of his ankles. “Cease!”

Pinky did and once he got confirmation that he wouldn’t do it again, he let go.

“Hey, Brain. I was thinking about your plan…” Pinky started up a few minutes later. He idly moved his feet but not enough to bother Brain, “and you know, I’m a real good swimmer! I bet I wouldn’t even need your fishie powers! Narf!” He stood up and grabbed a sponge, tossing it in the water beside him. He jumped on top, arms out to maintain his balance, “I can also hold my breath for a reeeally long time!” 

Brain watched him move around for a moment before replying, “…That’s only because you forget to exhale…” He tripped him up before Pinky could demonstrate this skill and he fell into a sitting position atop his floating cushion. “Besides, where we’re going, your really long would look really short. This form is indeed necessary. With the only other entry being for delivery hand-off’s, this is the optimal solution to get inside.”

“Won’t your microchip get wet on the way out? Nobody likes a soggy chip! Zort! If you don’t get that satisfying crunch, the magic is just gone, isn’t it?”

Brain ignored his stupidity for the moment. “..Obviously, we would find an alternate escape route.”

“And then back to the boat!” Pinky concluded suddenly.

“Precisely.” Brain replied. It was a smart idea. As long as they got what they needed within an ideal timeframe—before it sailed away. Pinky wasn’t wrong. Swimming all the way back to ACME Labs without damaging his prize didn’t sound feasible…

Pinky paused. The mentioning of the delivery boat made him think. He tapped his cheek with a finger “Say….Wouldn’t it make more sense to just stow away in one of the boxes?” He blinked a few times at the other mouse as he awaited his response. 

Brain’s eyes widened and then his face scrunched up because once again Pinky wasn’t wrong. He tried to think of a good enough reason why they wouldn’t be doing his much less complicated suggestion, but there honestly was nothing. 

“Brain…?”

Brain held out a little longer. Then, with a pout and a few grumbles, he finally replied. “…I had the technology. I wanted to use it.” It would have been a shame to let it go to waste.

The was a pause and a long look from Pinky before he asked, “Does this have anything to do with us watching The Little Mermaid the other night?”

Brain’s face fell and at first he was defensive and in denial of such a silly accusation but in the end, he couldn’t lie. He bashfully admitted the truth, “…I may have been mildly influenced..”

Pinky had a fit upon his admission and all Brain could do was sit there, propped against his sponge as he worked through his excitement. Brain could barely understand a word of it anyhow with how fast he was rambling.

“Narf! Does that mean you want to be part of my world?” Pinky asked with romantic inflection, leaning in close with clasped hands and dreamy eyes.

Brain growled and yanked him over the edge, causing him to fall into the water with a splash to hush him up. He swam off before he recovered so he wouldn’t see his flushing cheeks.

[yorshie]

why hello there sweet raccoon. hmmm eyeing your timezine a bit but i wont tell shhhh. Alas, i must know! <33

🌵 🥑 🔪 🦷 ❄️ 🏜️ 🦋🐚 ☁️ 🐝 🎨🧩

Hi keisha! It’s only (looks at clock guiltily.) oh. Oh ok yea you are right it’s pretty late my bad lol. I will honk sho after this raccoon’s honor.

Share the link to a playlist you love

- hm I think I’m gonna link The Wolf Queen, which fueled a lot of my werewolf boyfriend stage of life. It’s very much “I chose the wolf over the hunter” vibes and very darkly romantic.

You accidentally killed someone, which mutual do you call to help?

- Let’s be honest I would incriminate all of you in a voice chat session panicking to figure out how to get rid of a body. I am sorry.

What’s the weirdest topic you’ve researched for a fic?

- Hm…….. you know that tag for TMNT fanfic on AO3 called ‘turtle anatomy’? Lol

Share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear by

- If you get stung by a wasp slap some mud on it. Tobacco works great too.

What’s your dream theme/plot for a fic and who would write it best?

- oh goodness. Honestly, I think it would be neat if the moots all wrote a chapter of the “same” story. Like a choose your own adventure sort of deal. It might be a bit difficult but I think it could be fun, if we picked a easy prompt.

What’s your fav type of comment to receive on a work?

- any type of comment makes my day. Literal keyboard smashes are great. Falling out of windows are hilarious. Play by play thoughts? Marvelous. Once a person just spammed the letter A for three lines straight and I laughed so hard I wheezed.

Share something that has been on your heart and mind lately

- I’ve had a lot of feelings worrying over friends. Hoping they’re doing ok and wondering how to navigate helping them when I technically don’t “know” them…but I hope they read this and they know I’m thinking of them.

Do you like or dislike surprises?

- *squints suspiciously* hm…. Is this a turtle grenade question? (Lol I usually like surprises unless it’s irl and the person drops hints. Not knowing but Knowing kills me)

What made you choose your username?

- so my favorite book is called “The Last Dragon” by Silvana De Mari, and Yorsh is a character in the book. It’s a very good book, sometimes I hear ppl refer to me as “Yorsh” and am confused because I’ll forget I named myself after him lol. But it’s about the last elf who goes on a quest without knowing it to find the last dragon.

Tag your biggest supporters and say one nice thing about them

The whole Turtle Fam including you Keisha just the fact that you all let me be crazy about turtles makes you all my biggest supporters. You’re all dear friends and I must say you all have excellent taste in fictional characters.

Link your favorite piece of fanart and explain why you like it

This one of bayverse Leo giving Mona a Gift by Tychou When Leo Met Mona is my comfort fic to read when I’m feeling down, but also I just love these two. I will never not go crazy over Tychou’s Mona and her dynamic with Leo always makes me soft and fuzzy inside.

What will make you click away from a fanfic immediately?

- I can’t read things in first person.

Thank you for the ask!

[ginger-canary]

New Rules (And Why They Exist)

Chapters: 1/1

2459 words

Fandom: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Lucanus Aer'Tea & Jolene Cybin | Mee-Maw, Alanis & Lucanus Aer'Tea, Alanis & Jolene Cybin | Mee-Maw, Alanis/Jolene Cybin

Characters: Alanis (Not Another D&D Podcast), Lucanus Aer'Tea, Jolene Cybin | Mee-Maw

Additional Tags: Listen read into it how you will, Based on one interaction, Character Study, for Alanis maybe

Summary: Vibe check Alanis in College I read too deep into the interaction between Lucanus and Alanis when he went "Well I was blasted into space " and now the history expanded. Read into the relationships however you want because I sure don't know.

For @lovevalley45 happy birthday here’s the Alanis Jolene fic where Lucanus continuously loses his mind.

Follow the link up top to AO3 or check it out under the cut

Alanis was not really made for university life. Or- in some ways- she really really was. She enjoyed long nights in the large library and experimenting in the laboratory, going out on the town at night and making friends. But the strange competitive energy between different schools of magic and the envy between classmates who did better than the rest was absolutely not for her. 

In full truth she just wanted to do magic, eat pizza, go on adventures, and get high. But the rich high elves were so fucking annoying.

So she’d played a few pranks, confusing her stuck up roommate into using a sharpie as eyeliner by saying that it was the newest invention in makeup for royalty. She kept transmuting the arcane chalkboard wipers into water filled sponges when bullies slapped them together, water going all over them and the runes on the board. Most frequently she confused everyone by casting Message in the voice of the king of the elves and telling them things like “I accidentally transformed myself into a rock, please help me”. 

Headmaster Lucanus was not particularly affectionate towards her to say the least. He seemed to have good intentions but his sense of humour needed work and his punishments did too. If she had to spend another month working on the university gardens she was going to study druidism. Though that wasn’t the only reason druidism tempted her nowadays. 

Alanis looked down at the angry Venus Trap she was tasked with wielding into obedience (or as Lucanus put it, “make it stop snapping at those just taking a walk”) and zapped it with a ray of frost. The plant momentarily crystallised in a pale blue. She wiped the sweat off her brow and moved out of reach, taking a sip from her lime flavoured soda. While she continued to complain whenever Lucanus made her work in the gardens because of her pranks, the dozens of interesting and rare plants did give her a sense of calm.

Then she spotted Lucanus and a red-haired freckled crick elf walking between the Grasping Vines and the Catnap- a catnip that caused every cat to curl up and fall asleep near the plant. As the crick elf held the Grasping Vines back from a flustered Lucanus, a large possum crawled out of the crick elf’s satchel and started chewing on the Catnap. Then it started hacking and coughing up the catnap before curling up underneath the plant, next to two cats. 

Alanis snorted. She watched as Lucanus bent down to pick up the possum and put it back in the satchel only to be hit on the ass with a stray vine. Instead of picking up the possum he fell straight into the Catnap, tripping over the edge of his robes as he tried to get back up. Alanis and the crick elf burst out laughing in tandem. 

They made eye contact from across the garden and Alanis lifted her soda in greeting. “Sup,” she yelled. “I’m Alanis.”

The woman grinned and shouted back, “I’m Jolene. What’re ya up to, youngin’?” 

Behind Jolene, Lucanus managed to dust himself off and pick up the sleeping possum. He shot a disgruntled look at the Grasping Vines before turning to Alanis. “I would like to remind you this is your punishment for casting grease on the gym floor when the royal elves were forced to do the shuttle run test.”

“I’d like to remind you it was funny as hell.” She would never forget the yells of the royals as they slid right into the wall after making fun of the other elves. 

Lucanus and Jolene walked towards her now that she’d decided to go in on their conversation- or rather their yells. “You cast Grease on the rich high elves?” Jolene asked, raising her eyebrows. 

“Yeah.” 

The Venus Trap chose that moment to return to its unfrozen form and snapped at Lucanus’s ankles. Alanis absent-mindedly slapped the plant with a Chill Touch. “I told you you can’t eat the humanoids,” she hissed. The plant hung its trap in shame. 

“Here, let me see.” Jolene crouched down and cast Speak With Plants, spending a few seconds chatting in a strange language that sounded like leaves on the wind. “So I hear y’all used to feed it jerky but lately it’s been getting cat food?” Jolene and Alanis turned to Lucanus who blushed.

“We were out of jerky! The next shipment is late.” When the two women continued to stare at him he added, “last I heard it was taken by some gnomes.”

“You know it could just eat meat, right?” Alanis went through her bag, pulling out her sandwich and took the bacon out. She tossed it to the Venus trap as you would to a dog and it seemed much happier. 

Jolene suppressed a grin. “Ye are a wizard, right Lucanus?” 

“Yes?!”

She smiled and playfully punched him in the arm. “So why couldn’t you put together that the meat eating plant wanted better meat?” 

Lucanus stood for a moment clearly firing on all cylinders to find an acceptable excuse. “I… have a lot going on. I’m not actually in charge of the garden, okay?!”

Alanis felt a tug at her lunchbox only to watch the now-awake possum attempt to steal the rest of her sandwich. “Hey!” She tugged it free from the possum paws. 

The possum looked at Alanis then held up it’s front paws and said “reer.”  

“Alright I think we’ve solved this problem, you, come here.” Jolene scooped her possum back into her bag where it instantly fell asleep. She straightened and held out her arm for Lucanus. “Nice meeting you, Alanis.”

“Ah, um. Yes, let us continue our walk.” Over his shoulder he yelled, “see if you can grab some more bacon from the cafeteria. For now you can feed it bacon.”

Alanis shrugged and looked down at her now sad sandwich. “I wasn’t even in charge of feeding these plants to begin with, this was my detention,” she muttered. 

The Venus Trap made a swipe for the rest of her sandwich. 

“Fine, fine! I’ll go rob the cafeteria.” 

~~~

Another day, another good natured prank. She could actually defend this one- it was good for the environment! She was putting the frogs back into the large pond that existed near the divination tower. The pond was filled with lily pads and koi fish, weirdly shaped fountains and no frogs. It was simply not right. She’d even done the research to make sure the frogs could live with the koi- there had been no reason for the royals to get rid of them. Other than a weird hatred towards frogs. 

“Don’t let Lucanus see you do that.”

Alanis almost dropped the entire bucket of frogs on her toes when she was spoken to by one very large koi. She looked around then leaned in closer. “Are you a prisoner of the king? Did they turn you into a fish?”

She was met with a face full of water. When she’d wiped her face with her cloak, in the fish’s place was Jolene. 

Sitting in the middle of the pond, a lily pad with a frog on her head, she grinned. “Sup. I was just chilling with your fish.” She stepped out of the pond, dripping water everywhere. “Why are you fillin’ the pond with frogs?”

“Well, uh. There always used to be frogs, the high elves just kicked them out for no reason. I even checked some books on whether they could live with the koi. It’s fine! So, I’m putting them back.” To demonstrate she carefully took the lily pad and the frog from Jolene’s head and put them back in the pond. 

“Where did you get these frogs?” 

Alanis put on a shitty high elf voice. “From our ancient moat.” She dropped it. “I cleaned them and everything. The frogs- not the moat.”

“Usually I say nothing’s wrong with a little dirt but even the fish in this pond seem stuck up. Won’t you get in trouble again when the others complain?”

Alanis shrugged. “Nothing in the rulebook that says you can’t help frogs.” She continued placing frogs on the rim of the pond, watching them leap into the water one by one. 

Jolene snorted. “I doubt there’s a rule against casting grease on the gym floor but ya still got punished for it, huh?” 

“Okay, true.” She held up a finger. “But there’s probably one now.” Placing the last of the frogs in the pond, Alanis grinned. “If there’s no place where a rule has been invented because of your actions, have you lived?”

She held out her arm waiting for Alanis to take it. “I’m seein’ now why Lucanus complains about you so much.”

Alanis raised her eyebrows. She tossed the remnants of the water from her bucket then placed her arm in Jolene’s. “I’m in his head rent-free.”

“I don’t think he dislikes you,” Jolene laughed. “He’s definitely frustrated that you’ve chosen to use your powers this way.” 

“So what do you think?”

“Me? I think it’s funny as hell.” 

Alanis grinned as they slowed to a stop in front of one of the student towers. “So you’re a crick elf, right?”

Jolene’s expression became guarded. “Yeah?”

“How do you feel about weed?” Alanis bumped her hip against Jolene’s.

“Oh! Weed’s great, we love all the drugs Melora gives us.” 

“Wanna go smoke some?” 

Jolene opened her mouth to respond but before she could, Lucanus appeared- his robes dishevelled while he breathed heavily. 

“Alanis!” he wheezed.

“Uhuh, wassup?”

“Manners! You’re not supposed to have drugs in your dorm- this is a no drugs school.” 

Jolene lowered a flask. “Huh?”

He scrambled, “uh, okay listen. You’re not a student here.”

“Wow. So it’s only a no drugs place for students? Buzzkill.” Alanis crossed her arms.

“You’re here to learn!” 

“About drugs, yeah, among other things.”

Lucanus put his face in his hands and started muttering in Sylvan as if she couldn’t understand it. “She’s top of her class, you can’t suspend her. She’s the best wizard in the transmutation tower, it doesn’t matter what she does in her free time.”

“...Thank you?”

Jolene just sighed and passed Alanis her flask. “Here, huff, don't drink. It’s what I do when he goes all highfalutin on me.”

“Ooh okay.” Alanis didn’t hesitate and huffed the mystery liquid, grinning as it hit her. “Oh, that’s good.”

“You bet your ass it is, it’s crickwater.” 

Lucanus groaned. “Okay both of you. Stop getting intoxicated right in front of all the other students. I came here for something else.”

Tentatively, Alanis held out the flask for him.

“Not that!” Then quietly, he added, “maybe later.” 

“Well then what? You wanna smoke some pot too?” 

“Boundaries!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alanis, did you put frogs in the pond near the divination towers?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“Why?” He sighed. 

“‘S good for the ecosystem.” 

Lucanus closed his eyes. “The royals are complaining.”

“Okay and? When are they not complaining?”

“Just… I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t do it again.” 

Alanis shrugged. “Okay.” She turned back to Jolene with a sly smile. “So do you wanna go smoke?” 

“Alanis!” 

“Fine, fine.” She put her hands up, handing the flask back to Jolene. “I’ll leave you two to your… whatever this is.” She bumped her hip into Jolene’s with a grin. “See you around.” 

She entered the transmutation building feeling like she’d at the very least gotten away with her frog move. 

~~~

Another day, another summon to the principal’s office. They’d stopped trying to literally summon her there after she made duplicates of herself which piled atop Lucanus’ receptionist. 

She sighed and kicked the nose of her scuffed boots against the wall. As far as she knew, she hadn’t even done anything to get detention this week. Too busy hanging out with Jolene. 

Eventually Lucanus stuck his head around the corner. “Let’s get started.”

With a shrug, she walked in and took a seat in front of his desk. “So I just want to say whatever it is I supposedly did, I didn’t actually do it this time. Oh, hey Jolene.” She grinned at Jolene sitting on the edge of the desk.

“...What?” Lucanus shook his head. “You’re here so we can discuss your summer internship. “You had said you wanted to work in the garden?”

Alanis blinked and scratched the back of her neck. “Ah, right. Yes.”

He sighed. “This is a big responsibility, Alanis. I’m only considering it because you already have quite a bit of experience with our plants.”

Jolene rolled her eyes. “What he means is that he’s trusting me because I told him I’d love to help you out. Kinda be your guide.” 

“Yes, that.” 

Alanis grinned and wiggled her eyebrows. “My guide, huh?” 

Jolene winked at her.

“Jolene, please… that is a 20 year old elf.” 

“And? At least she flirts with me!” She slapped him on the arm.

“Should I be here for this?” Alanis slowly stood up from her chair. This seemed like their personal drama. 

“You’re not done with this appointment!” he waved his hands. 

She shrugged and sat back down, leaning toward Jolene. “So are you free tonight, or…” 

“Yeah!”

“No!” Lucanus turned beet red. “Gods give me strength… Alanis. Do you agree to work in the garden as your summer internship with the help of Jolene and agree to do whatever she tells you to while in that garden?” 

“Hell yeah man.” 

“Great.” He signed a scroll then turned it towards Alanis. “Please sign this and leave my office.”

Alanis scrawled her name across the dotted line and handed the quill back to Lucanus. “A’ight dude, see ya.” She slipped out of his office with a wave to Jolene. 

In the hallway, she leaned against the door. She didn’t have to- it was easy enough to hear the pair argue through the wood.

“Jolene, please. I know crick elves are poly but don’t hit on my student. She’s like 20!”

“Hey I meant what I said, at least she’s flirting with me!” 

Alanis grinned and opened the door again. “So, are you free tonight or?” She put her head around the corner. 

“Yes.” 

“Dope. Can I see you at like eight?” 

Lucanus loudly sighed and put his head down on his desk.

“Sure.” Jolene pat Lucanus on the head. “I’ll see you at eight, youngin’.”

“Cool, bye! Bye Lucanus.” 

“Gods give me strength…”

Alanis walked to her room with a big grin on her face. She wasn’t going to get involved with whatever Lucanus and Jolene had going on but she was going out with Jolene. Or at the very least do some drugs with her.

[karin848]

I guess School Spirits is the thing that gets me to finally publish a fic for the first time in three years. Have this little un-beta’d ficlet about a scene in the friendship of Maddie and Simon

When It’s Your Time to Dye by KARIN848

Read on Ao3

A pre-series snapshot into the life and friendship of Maddie and Simon

It was the summer before ninth grade when Maddie brought up the idea of dying her hair.

“New school, new Maddie Nears, right?” she asked Simon as they were hanging out together, laying on her bedroom floor.

Simon shrugged as much as he could from his spot on the carpet. “Sure, I guess. Dyed hair is pretty cool. Are we gonna be cooler at this new school?”

Maddie gave him a light shove and laughed. “Not possible, we’re already the coolest people I know.”

Simon grinned and sat up to face Maddie as she studied her own brown locks intently. “Alright. What color are we thinking? Red? Purple? How about a daring black?”

Maddie smiled and tapped her fingers against her chin. “Ooh, a grunge look, very 90s.” She ran her fingers through her hair and tossed it over her shoulder as she decided. “I’m thinking classic blonde. Grab the scissors, we’re doing this.”

Simon pulled himself up with an amused huff. “We? I’ll let you hack at your own hair, but there’s no way I’m letting you get close to this with a blade.” He shook his head in an exaggerated motion as if he were a mermaid bursting out of the water.

Maddie laughed as Simon’s shoulder length hair hit her as it flipped. “Fine, fine! I’ll be my own guinea pig today. But you have to help me with the dye. I think I got some extra gloves somewhere around here.”

There was a lot of struggling in the Nears’ small bathroom that day. Cramped space, two awkward teenagers, and a box of chemically-smelling hair dye did not add up to an uncomplicated process.

“Maddie, did you mean to cut this part that short?”

“…Ah, shit.”

The faucet and sink were already spattered with chemicals. Maddie was just grateful her mother never really cleaned anything around the house and wouldn’t be coming into her bathroom to notice it any time soon.

“Simon! Not too much! You’re gonna burn my scalp off.”

“It’s too goopy, I have no clue how much to put on!”

The bleach was tingling her scalp to an almost-uncomfortable degree, and waiting for her brown hair to turn as light yellow as a baby chick was turning into an excruciating waiting game.

“Hold still, Nears, I need to un-butcher this side.”

“Do not cut it straight across Si’”

“Hey, neither of us are exactly professionals here.”

The gloves were making their hands sweat and the smell of the dye was making their noses twitch, but at least they got most of Maddie’s head appropriately covered in goop. A timer was set on Maddie’s phone and they chatted about their future class schedules while the color set in.

“You can toss those gloves in that bin. Trash day is in like two days, I’ll take it out then.”

“Alright, if you say so.”

Simon kicked his feet lightly against the lower cabinets as he sat on the counter, idly glancing over the instructions on the side of the hair dye box. Maddie was running her head under the bathtub faucet and splashing half the water onto the floor where someone would probably slip on it later.

“I don’t think we left it in long enough.” Simon says as he lightly scratches the back of his neck and tosses the box onto the bathroom counter without really looking at where it went.

Maddie slaps the knob to shut off the water and twists the excess out of her hair, watching it flow down the drain. “Well it’s gonna have to be good enough, because that stuff was starting to burn like hell.”

Simon reaches for a towel hanging up on a nearby rack and hands it over to Maddie. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

She reaches back and grabs it without looking, wrapping it around her head and twisting it to dry her hair. “We sure will.”

Later, Maddie removes the slightly bleach-stained towel from her hair and she and Simon decide it didn’t turn out as bad as it could’ve, which is declared an overall win. Maddie sweeps up the hair that fell onto the floor during their chopping process while Simon gives the sink and tub a cursory wipe-down with the already-stained towel. When the room is deemed ‘clean enough,’ Simon suggests watching a movie and Maddie turns to find her laptop.

During their movie marathon that evening, Maddie looks over to find Simon already staring at her.

“What? It’s that bad?” she asks, slightly perturbed.

Simon shakes his head. “No I just…it suits you.”

Maddie shoves his shoulder and drags her laptop closer. “Eyes on the screen, Si’.” She rests her head on his shoulder and smiles.

“Thanks.”

[blorbologist]

Two for joy - Chapter 9

They find Tova on the table.

“Oh!” says Tary. “I guess it wasn’t everyone that died, after all.”

Tova groans, massaging the frayed flesh of her wrists gingerly. “Nice to see you too. Do I get a bonus for this?”

Vex swipes one of her brother’s spare cloaks to drape it over the dwarven woman’s shoulders. “You can both sort out payment once we’re out of here.”

Tova comes along, obviously.

--

It’s the Nine Hells - of course something was going to end up on fire, at one point or another.

Just so happens to be now, and Vax, and Taryon, and that mechanical marvel of his. Surprisingly the men endure the heat better than the construct, which crashes to the ground with an awful clang. Not as loud as it could be, metal softened by the heat, already beginning to glow.

“Doty!” Tary howls, making to run for his machine before another bone devil intercepts him. He scrambles back, slapping a glow Vax recognizes as Sanctuary on his chest. The whites of his eyes are incandescent so near to the fire.

Vax grits his teeth, pushes this back to hack, stab, taste the copper behind his molars. Galdric is beside him, teeth sinking deep into the pit fiend’s bicep - more effective than Vax expected from a wolf. Perhaps there is something special to him, to be buried in that tomb, to be in the Raven’s Slumber for centuries. A keen desire for death, at least, as he tears a chunk out as he’s thrown. The wolf lands on his feet, bristling.

Kynan’s shots and Grog’s bellows both make his ears ring, just a bit - Galdric shakes his head with a whine before finding another target. Hearing is making a languid return by the time their target falls, the world blaring faintly, faintly, louder, louder.

“Guards incoming!” Vex calls from beyond the doorway. “Let’s get our game faces on, shall we?”

“But Doty!” Taryon cries again.

[One for sorrow] [Ch 1] [Keep reading on AO3!]  

[grimeysociety]

🎃 Kinktober 2022 - Day 4: Chair

(Darcy/Bucky, 685 words, un-beta'd) Read below or on ao3

“How dare you let me wake up all alone,” he heard Darcy say in his doorway.

Bucky liked gadgets. He’d always had a thing for technology as a kid. It was his idea to go see Stark’s flying car way back. This geekery in the 21st century meant he liked computers and gaming, he didn’t just know how to hack from his days as the Winter Soldier.

One afternoon he was sitting at his desk in his apartment, having left Darcy in bed while she dozed half the day away. She’d pulled an all-nighter researching and he wasn’t about to disturb his Sleeping Beauty. He played Solitaire after lunch, enjoying the slowness to everything. He was in no rush to find this King of Spades to complete the set. His favorite part was hearing the clicking sound effects when the cards snapped together.

“How dare you let me wake up all alone,” he heard Darcy say in his doorway.

He turned his head, smirking to himself, and was surprised to see her standing there completely naked with her hand on her hip. The other arm leaned against the doorframe. All she wore was her glasses and a wicked grin on her face.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” she murmured, approaching him.

She sat on his lap, her back to him. She watched as he placed a six on top of its rightful seven. He relished in the full weight of her in his lap, his sweatpants between them as her bare ass shifted every so often, as if her movements were incidental. This was obviously a very deliberate attempt at seducing him back to bed. He chose to ignore her nakedness.

“Want some coffee?”

“Maybe.”

She turned a little, regarding him. “This is more important than bed?”

“Not necessarily,” he retorted. “I just can’t stay prone all day like you.”

“You wound me, Sargent Barnes,” Darcy said, hand on her chest, her breast pushing up.

“I doubt that, Doctor Lewis.”

He took hold of her hip, grinding up, her eyes widening. He was hard the second he saw her in the doorway. Their eyes met and his brow lifted.

“I think I made a very good point-”

“It’s nice to know that you’re in charge,” he drawled.

He kissed her, his tongue slipping into her mouth in an instant. She moaned, twisting more to hold his face and kiss him back. His grip on her tightened and he used his free hand to slip away from his mouth, computer forgotten, to lift her up.

She’d left a mark on his pants, and he shoved them down, enough to free his cock and take hold of it. He stroked it, sucking on her tongue as Darcy struggled to regain any sense of control. He spit on his palm, stroked himself some more, pulling away from her lips to look her in the eye again.

“Easy.”

She lowered herself, sitting on his cock, shoved to the hilt. She gasped, Bucky still as she reoriented herself. She spread her legs for him and his hand slipped down from her hip to meet her clit, rolling it lazily as she whined.

“Can’t stand me not giving you attention, huh, sweetheart?”

She shook her head, Bucky’s hips lifting to fuck into her. He kept her in place, pinching her clit to make a point. She whimpered, thighs already beginning to shake. Soon, all that could be heard was their twin moans and the slaps of their bodies. Sweat gathered as Bucky took hold of both her hips, bouncing her on his cock, panting:

“Touch yourself for me.”

“Fuck, Bucky-”

She came with a cry, rolling her hips, cunt gripping him tighter than ever. He groaned, keen to wreck her, to make her pliant again. He gave her no reprieve, and she became louder once more, fighting to reach a new end. He could feel the heat swooping down, everything threatening to spill over. He felt her flutter and then clamp again, and he shot inside her, still pumping until his hips gave out.

He curled his arms around her, lips to her neck as he twitched and panted.

“Better move or we’ll wreck this chair,” he heard her whisper.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

don't wake me (if you won't be there)

Read on Ao3

Warnings: fever dreams

Pairings: gahan, can be platonic or romantic, literally there's queercoding and then there's whatever the fuck this show's got going on

Word Count: 4339

Gaon knows he’s about to have a really rough week or so when he ends up snapping at Jinjoo over something really stupid. 

A rough week turns out to be much worse than that when it turns into a fever so high he can't get out of bed. 

Nowhere to run except inside his head and that's where they wait.

Gaon knows he’s about to have a really rough week or so when he ends up snapping at Jinjoo over something really stupid. 

His face goes white almost immediately after the words come out of his mouth and he’s stumbling apologies before Jinjoo has a chance to react. 

“It’s okay, Gaon-ssi,” she says after he’s already apologized three times, “are you alright? You…seem to be unwell.”

Gaon huffs, dragging a sleeve over his forehead. “That’s a strange way to say ‘bit my head off for no reason.’”

“That too.”

He opens his mouth but he’s cut off by a hacking cough that shudders his lungs. Jinjoo’s eyes widen. 

“Definitely unwell.” She throws his coat at him and plants her hands on her hips. “You need to go home, Judge Kim.”

“We’re back to titles now?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Jinjoo says firmly, “then yes, Judge Kim. You need to go and rest.”

“Alright, alright,” he mumbles, gathering his things, “at least I know I’ve got time stored up.”

“When I said you’d work yourself sick, I didn’t mean it literally.” Jinjoo rests her hand on his shoulder. “But really, Gaon-ssi, you do need to rest.”

“I know.” He gives her a smile. “Don’t start the next war without me.”

“Get out! Get out,” she laughs, shooing him out the door. 

Gaon has to admit, about halfway home, that he really is coming down with something. Everything just seems like too much. The sound of the train is too loud, the sound of the bus is too loud. The glare of the sunlight that flashes through the windows is enough to make him shy away from it. The feeling of his coat collar rubbing against his neck is like sandpaper. The sudden jolt of coming to a stop threatens to send him staggering. 

He doesn’t remember getting off at his stop, only blinking and fumbling for his keys at his front door. He looks behind him, checking to see if this is the right path he’s walked up. He can’t remember coming up the stairs. But his babies are there, in their little pots, his watering system still giving them what they need. He makes a point not to neglect them before shutting himself inside. 

No use in more of them getting troubled by whatever this turns out to be. 

‘This’ turns out to be a fever. A bad one. He cautiously checks the guide on the back of the thermometer package and, well, according to what it says, there’s no way he should have gone to work this morning. Gaon shrugs and sets it aside. He should, uh, eat something? Get changed? He really doesn’t feel like he’s all that bad, maybe it’s just an exaggeration. 

He goes to take a shower. His bathroom is really shiny. Why is it so shiny? He fumbles and slaps the wall for the light switch and thanks whatever past versions of himself put a nightlight in there so he can shower without gouging out his eyes. The water feels good. It beats down over his shoulders and neck, tipping his head forward with a sigh. He lets himself collapse under it, the spray making the pressure on his chest lift a little. Maybe if he stays here long enough, he can remember how to breathe. 

He blinks. Oh. It’s dark outside now. The water’s gone cold. How long has he been in here?

Getting up is a bad idea, his head thinks, sending him almost careening through the shower curtain. He manages to grab onto the counter and haul himself upright enough to struggle into the pajamas in here. 

When he emerges from the bathroom, he blinks blearily at the clock. 

It’s ten in the evening. 

He—uh. Wow. Maybe he should just go to bed. 

Gaon shuffles over to his bed and lies down, pulling the blankets up to his chin with a sigh. It’s cold. He doesn’t like being cold. He would rather not be cold. He scrunches down into the blankets, frowning so hard it makes his head hurt. It’s no use; soon he’s shivering and cursing whatever decision-maker put his bed right next to his window. He turns his head, an unbidden whine slipping from his throat. 

He doesn’t remember being this sick before. Is this how having a fever always goes? What is he supposed to do? Is he supposed to get something? Does he try and sleep like this?

A memory. From several lifetimes ago. 

“You just need to rest, Gaon-ah,” his mother says softly, stroking his hair back from his sweaty forehead, “feed a cold, starve a fever.”

“Don’t starve me,” a Gaon mumbles, trying to lean further into the touch as his mother chuckles, “please don’t leave me, it hurts so bad.”

“I know, shh…” His mother gives his cheek a pat. “It’s alright. We just have to let it run its course.”

Gaon blinks and he’s twenty-six again, shivering under mountains of blankets and rubbing his cheek half-heartedly against a pillow. Only it’s not dark anymore. He blinks, shifting around only for everything to try and stick to him. Sweat glues his pajamas to his skin, his skin to the blankets, and he’s not shivering, he’s sweating. 

With a groan, he kicks all of the blankets off the bed and winces at the throbbing in his temples. He gropes blindly for the curtains and yanks them shut, breathing out a sigh of relief that turns into a hacking cough, 

Water. He needs water. Water’s okay to drink, right?

Getting up is a whole ordeal, sending him staggering left and right as he strains to get to the kitchen. Glasses. He needs to take a glass down. He fumbles for the cabinet and gets it open. He takes a glass and fills it with water. He drinks it. What is he drinking? He needs water. He opens the cabinet—there’s something in his hand. He can’t open the cabinet with something in his hand. He looks. Oh. It’s a glass. He fills it with water and drinks. As he finishes drinking, he looks down at his hand. He’s holding a glass. Why is he holding a glass? Did he need to drink something? He puts it down. He’s not thirsty. 

He should get changed. Everything feels awful. He stumbles to the bathroom and starts trying to change. His arms are useless, flappy things that can’t grab the ends of his shirt. His legs don’t work and he can’t put pants on. His head pounds as he keeps trying. Why is this so hard? He does this every day, doesn’t he?

He blinks and he’s back in bed. Oh. He must’ve figured something out. He should go check on his plants. They’re probably thirsty. It would be rude to neglect them. After all, who would take care of them if Gaon won’t?

Someone laughs behind him and he turns. 

“Soohyun-ah?”

“Of course, you big idiot,” Soohyun laughs, slapping his chest, “who else is here to look out for you?”

She shakes her head as Gaon just stares at her. After a moment, she notices him looking and rolls her eyes fondly. 

“I’ll take care of you and your precious plants,” she says, coming over to cup his face in her hands, “that’s how this works, remember?”

“Remember?”

“Yes,” she says, her hands beginning to stick a little to his skin, “I do all of the work to take care of you and you just stand there.”

Gaon blinks. “Just…stand there?”

“Yes, Gaon-ah.” Her hands aren’t warm anymore. “You just stand there.”

Gaon blinks again. There’s something on Soohyun’s face. He raises his hand to wipe it off and his hands turn red, red, red. 

“You just stood there.”

Soohyun’s hands are red. They grope dumbly for something to hold. 

“You just stood there.”

His hands are full of blood. Soohyun lies in his arms. He’s shuddering, gasping, she’s dying. Soohyun is dying in his arms and his face is smeared with her blood. She stares up at him with her eyes full of a forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. 

“You just stood there.”

Gaon gasps, jolting upright in bed. In bed? When did he get to his bed? Everything hurts. It’s dark outside. He’s cold. 

As soon as the adrenaline wears off, which only takes a moment, he collapses back down onto the bed. His head pounds. It hurts. The gaps of light are too much. Something blurry moves far away. His throat is sore. His nose is all stuffy and he flails for a blob of blue that looks like it could be a tissue box. 

Something dark is flitting around the room. He tries to swat it away. He doesn't like bugs. He doesn't know if this is a bug. It’s big, it keeps skulking around. He opens his mouth to ask what it’s doing but he doesn’t know how to speak bug. 

The blob just gets closer and it sounds like it’s talking. Can bugs speak human?

“One day,” the blob says, “one day, you’ll understand.”

Understand? Understand what, bug? A hand rests on his shoulder and pats once, twice. 

“You’ll understand, Gaon, one day.”

He knows this voice. He squints and Min Jungho’s face swims into view. He blinks again and the old professor gets closer. 

“Someday,” he says in a voice that hurts his chest, “you will understand why you’ve been left here.”

“No,” Gaon pleads, “don’t leave, why—what are you doing? Why did you betray me? They killed Soohyun-ah, what—why are you doing this?”

“We all do what we have to.” He starts to walk away as a storm brews, threatening to swallow him up. “One day you’ll understand.”

Gaon doesn’t want to understand Min Jungho. He doesn’t want someone to leave him. 

But one by one, he watches them go. 

He watches his parents leave. He watches Soohyun leave. He watches his professor leave. 

He watches reality leave. 

He spins in a downwind of voices, of blood, and of memory. Sometimes it’s Soohyun telling him she needs him to be careful with her mouth full of ash. Sometimes it’s Min Jungho with a pair of scissors in Gaon’s back. Sometimes it’s his parents and no matter how hard and long he screams, he can’t find them. 

He hits the floor. 

“I suppose you have a good reason for barging in like this.”

Gaon whips his head up. Yohan sits at his desk in his study, closing a book and looking at him. He raises an eyebrow. 

“Ch-chief,” Gaon mumbles, clumsily getting up, “you’re—you’re back.”

“This is my house, unless you’ve forgotten that.” Yohan stands up. “Why are you still here?”

Gaon just stares dumbly. “I—I thought you left.”

“Left?”

“You were gone,” he says, trying very hard not to pout, “you and Elijah, you…you weren’t here anymore.”

Yohan hums, coming around the desk but refusing to touch Gaon. “Of course we did.”

“W-what?”

“That was the plan, Gaon.” Yohan tilts his head. “Why would we change it for you?”

The words bruise. Gaon sways. “I…”

“Sunah broke you, Gaon,” Yohan says, turning his back on Gaon and walking away, “and I don’t make a habit of playing with broken toys.”

He’s falling again. 

He’s caught by the throat and slammed against the wall. Yohan glares at him, his eyes full go fire as his grip tightens. 

“How could you,” he hisses, Gaon’s vision starting to black out, “how could you betray me? Is that how you think this goes?”

“Yohan—“

“You don’t get to do that,” Yohan snarls, pushing Gaon further into the wall, “you don’t get to use my name. You don’t get anything.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Sorry won’t bring anything back.”

He’s falling again. 

Now everything is Yohan, Yohan, Yohan. Sometimes he’s angry, choking Gaon until he loses consciousness, throwing him across the room, or yelling until his ears bleed. Sometimes he’s cooly indifferent, treating Gaon as if they’re nothing but strangers and not privy to any of the details. Sometimes he thinks he catches glimpses of Elijah but she’s snatched away before he can chase her, find her, tell her he’s sorry, he’s so sorry. Sometimes Yohan is crueler, treating Gaon with the same fake tenderness that he treated so many with, hands gentle yet firm on Gaon’s shoulders as he whispers how of course, they left Gaon behind, what else could he possibly expect? Gaon was worth no more to them than a memento, a memory, his value on par with a photograph or a necklace worn around a wrist. He’d been left behind because he wasn’t important, but if he was so determined to believe otherwise, he could think of this as punishment. He was being punished for being a stupid baby deer. 

Gaon cries. He screams and begs and claws for a proper grip no matter which Yohan he gets, but every time Yohan leaves and he feels his chest rip open every time he does. It never stops hurting. 

So when he opens his eyes and sees Yohan sitting on the edge of the bed, he just sobs. 

“No,” he whimpers, trying to turn away, “it hurts, make it stop, I don’t want this anymore, it hurts.”

There’s a pause, then a hand carding through his greasy hair. “Stop what, Gaon-ah, what hurts?”

“No—don’t be nice to me, that makes it worse when you leave—just—just—“

“I’m not leaving, Gaon-ah, I’m right here.” Gaon shakes his head furiously, wanting it to end, just let him suffer in peace. “Stop that, you’ll make your headache worse. Shh, shh, just relax. Stop moving so much, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But you did,” Gaon sobs, “you left and it hurt and it won’t stop.”

Yohan is quiet for a moment. Then he’s reaching out to take Gaon’s hands and wrap them around his neck. He leans down and keeps stroking Gaon’s hair, the other hand propping him up next to his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Gaon blinks. “Y-Yohan? You’re…you’re actually here?”

Yohan hums, his expression softening. “You’ve been very sick. You didn’t charge your phone and Elijah got worried.”

“Elijah?” Gaon swallows. “She’s not…mad at me?”

“She’s mad at you for letting yourself get this sick,” Yohan says, frowning, “which she should be. You were hallucinating. Badly.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sighs. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Okay.” He’s still drinking in the fact that Yohan is here, something Yohan picks up on as he adjusts his hand. 

“What did you see,” he asks softly, “you were crying.”

Gaon swallows. “…things that hurt.”

Yohan bends closer, resting their foreheads together. “I’m here now, Gaon-ah. I’ll make it better.”

“Why…why did you leave?”

“There wasn’t time. I didn’t mean to leave you all alone.”

“It hurts,” Gaon sobs, “it still hurts.”

“Show me where,” Yohan murmurs, “show me where it hurts.”

Gaon has a fleeting worry about Yohan getting sick but it’s chased away by warm hands on his chest, helping him breathe. He rubs in slow, careful circles, shushing the little cries with too much patience. Gaon isn’t sure if this is real but he knows he wouldn’t dare imagine Yohan being this…tender. Especially not when he starts to cry again and Yohan lets out a soft noise, pulling away to get a tissue box. 

“If this is a dream,” Gaon mumbles, “don’t wake me up, please.”

Yohan chuckles. “Are you sleepy, baby deer? You still need to rest.”

Gaon sighs and lets Yohan settle him back into bed. “I meant it. Don’t wake me up if you won’t be here.”

“Go to sleep,” he murmurs, the hand on his chest a warm promise, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

———

There are no anchors this far out to sea and the water is so, so cold. 

He does not remember the last time he felt as though he had a grip on his life, that it was his and only his. 

He does not remember the last time he could look in the mirror and see only his eyes looking back at him. 

Not Soohyun. 

Not Min Jungho. 

Not his parents. 

Just him. 

When he wasn’t haunted by the mess of what his parents’ suicide had left, when he could breathe without the constant weight of promise, potential, possibility drowning him. When every time he passed his reflection, he expected to see himself being followed by the bodies of every person that had a hand in shaping who he is now. 

He remembers the weight. He always remembers what it feels like to be weighted down. 

He remembers two weights shackling themselves irrevocably to either side of his ribs, making it almost impossible to breathe without feeling their presence. 

He remembers another, smaller weight around his wrist. It was not heavy, not really, nothing that prevented him from moving, but still noticeable. But he noticed that he could no longer hold his arm outstretched, lest his shoulder begins to ache and his hand begins to tremble. 

He remembers a third, tied around his ankles, dragging him slowly and inexorably in one direction. At times, he remembers it helping, just to keep him moving, distract him slightly from the pressure of the other weights. But then he remembers the grind, the way he was sure his feet would bleed if he stayed on them one moment more. 

Someone remarked once that he looks like a man walking for a crowd, not just himself. 

He remembers laughing. 

How true it was. 

Gaon never chose the weights. They tethered themselves to him and irrevocably shaped the way he moved. Some had greater influence than others, some constant reminders just by the slightest touch against his lungs or his heart. 

And then someone had come along and cut them loose. 

He remembers a sudden increase in the weight around his chest. He remembers suffocating under it, scrabbling at the loose material of his shirt in the middle of the night, wondering what, what, what he’d done wrong. 

He remembers struggling to hold a pen, his arm aching after barely a moment, his fingers trembling either too tight or too loose as his shoulder screamed in pain. He remembers clenching his fist and worrying his lip between his teeth and struggling to figure out why he couldn’t do anything right. 

He remembers collapsing to the ground and being unable to move. He remembers crawling, digging his hands into the floor, trying to move, to make it to the bed, to get up, wondering what he’d done now. 

The answer to all three questions came in the form of golden scissors and a new weight that held him around his waist. 

He can’t tell whether he’s the one that cut the tethers loose or whether it’s a consequence of accepting the new weight, but suddenly all he can think about is the new sensation of being held. 

Does he remember the last time he was held and not restrained?

The weight around his waist makes him look. Guides his gaze as best it can and holds him, unyielding, as he stares into the face of reality without letting him shy away from seeing, seeing, seeing. 

Sometimes he feels as if his eyes will turn black from all he’s seen. 

But he’s always held. 

It’s an unfamiliar sensation at first, to sink into the weight as opposed to against it, but there’s an arm around his waist and someone pressed up against his back and if he tries very hard, he can feel another heartbeat against his. 

For the first time, he starts to search for the pressure. He looks for it instead of gritting his teeth and accepting it. In response, the weight…it does not ease, but it shifts. The hold gentles, never absent, never breakable, but propping him up when his legs threaten to give out of pressing into his stomach to ground him. 

Sometimes, when the world is too much and he feels like he can’t breathe, he imagines finding the hand at the end of the arm and lacing his fingers through it, just to know that it’s still there, that he can have something to hang onto. To hold. 

In his dreams, it holds his back. 

But we all have our weights to cast off, and he makes the mistake of thinking he was not one. 

And now…now he floats. 

It hurts, being weightless. He doesn’t know what substance he has without everything weighing him down. He doesn’t know what shape he leaves in the air around him without anything to give him shape. He finds himself winding his arms tightly around himself, trying to remember what it felt like to have the weight there, how it felt to have something to lean against when he grew weary of the world. 

But his hold is now halfway around the world and he is alone, trying desperately to stay afloat in deep water with no anchor. 

It’s cold here. He wishes it weren’t. 

He wakes up almost sobbing because of how cold he is, about how much he aches to fly apart and never come back. In his agony he clumsily fits together an afterimage of the weight around him, what it felt like to be held, pleading for what he’s done wrong so it can come back. 

Warm. Something warm is around him and he doesn’t dare hope. 

“Gaon-ah?”

———

“Gaon-ah.”

Gaon blinks. And blinks. 

Kang Yohan is sitting on a chair next to his bed. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” the supposedly-dead man says as he passes him a glass of water, “how are you feeling?”

“…not good.”

“Mm.” Yohan frowns at him as he tries to raise the glass to his mouth. “You’re going to spill it.”

“Wha…?”

“You’re going to spill it,” he sighs and reaches out to steady Gaon’s hand. “Let me.”

Maybe he’s still hallucinating because it looks like Yohan is standing up to sit on the edge of the bed, holding the glass and quietly bidding for Gaon to lift his head. It feels like a hand slots around the base of his neck and lifts so he can drink. 

The water certainly feels real. 

“That’s enough for now,” Yohan’s voice murmurs as he pulls it away despite the bereft noise that leaves Gaon’s throat, “you’re still sick.”

What—okay, so he’s here. Why…why is he here? Isn’t this the last place he should be, in a country that thinks him dead and where his enemies still claw at the walls? 

And why is he with Gaon?

“You’re staring.”

What?

“You’re staring,” Yohan says, reaching out to flick Gaon’s cheek, “did you miss me that much?”

His smile drops as Gaon’s eyes fill up with tears.

“Yah,” he says, leaning forward, “are you in pain? Do you have medicine? Did you take anything when this started? Did you fall and hurt yourself?”

Hands. Cool hands. On his face. Cool hands on his face and his chest hurts. 

“Kim Gaon.”

“Sorry,” he blurts out, “I’m—I’m sorry—I’m sorry—“

Yohan visibly startles before leaning down a little closer. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I’m sorry—“ he can’t say anything other than apologies, and how could he? When he’s done so much, he ruined so much, he—he—

“Breathe,” comes the low voice, “and tell me what you’re sorry for.”

Breathing. Right. He should do that. His chest protests, groaning and wheezing as he drags air through labored lungs. Yohan just waits, holding his face still, apparently not minding the tears. 

“I ruined everything,” he finally manages, “I…I ruined everything.”

Yohan scoffs. “You young people are so melodramatic.”

If Gaon were less sick or emotionally traumatized, he would point out that he’s not the one who seduced someone younger than him, dramatically quit his job, faked his death twice in as many days, and ran away to Switzerland. 

“The world has been around much longer than you have,” Yohan continues, “and it’ll be here long after you. You’re not so important as to break it irreparably.”

“But I hurt Elijah. I hurt you. I—I—“

“Shh,” comes his voice, softer than it should be, “I forgive you.”

Everything stutters to a glorious pause. 

“I forgive you,” Yohan repeats, easing his head back to the pillow, “if you need to hear me say it, I forgive you.”

“Wh—why?”

“Didn’t I hurt you too?” He tilts his head. “Didn’t you forgive me?”

Gaon nods. 

“Then yes, Gaon-ah, I forgive you.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

He’s…he’s been forgiven. Yohan isn’t angry at him. 

“Are you…staying?”

“Elijah would kill me if I left you like this.” A tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “She’s been doing well with the physical therapy.”

“That’s good,” Gaon mumbles, sleep tugging at him—good sleep, proper sleep— “that’s…that’s good.”

“How about this,” Yohan says as he runs a hand through Gaon’s hair, “go to sleep, rest, and then we can call her when you wake up, hmm?”

“But I was just asleep.”

“You were also very sick, hallucinating, and having a nightmare,” he remarks dryly, pulling the blankets up around Gaon’s chin. 

Wait.

“You could tell?”

The hands pause, then Yohan looks back up at him. “Yes, I could tell. I know what nightmares look like.”

“O-oh.”

A sigh. “Are you afraid to go back to sleep?”

“N-no.”

A gentle tug on his hair. “Don’t lie to me, Kim Gaon.”

“…maybe.”

Yohan laughs, low and gentle. “I’ll be right here, baby deer. Go to sleep, now. Elijah will be quite anxious to see you.”

If this is a dream, he thinks as he closes his eyes again, I don’t ever want to wake up again. 

Elijah yells at him for letting himself get sick and at Yohan for leaving him alone. Despite the way his body protests the idea of moving, he can’t stop smiling. 

[damienthepious]

okay so the knight!rilla thing. okay so. the knight!rilla herbalist!damien thing. So. the thing. okay so the THING.

Spit the Blood Back, Baby

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Sir Damien/Rilla, (SORTA), Sir Rilla/Damien, Rilla & Marc & Talfryn

Characters: Rilla, Sir Damien, Sir Marc, Talfryn

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, First Meetings, Injury, (injury for the sake of Plot let's be real), difficulty accepting help, (lmao), Fainting 

Summary: Sir Rilla the Relentless meets the herbalist, Damien of the Gate of Tranquility. Begrudgingly. Under duress.

Notes:The idea of Knight!Rilla and Herbalist!Damien invaded my brain courtesy of the designs by @thetrainfromnowhere on tumblr (art here and here), and I've got a bit of meta on my own tumblr here and here talking about how I think about their new dynamics, if you want a bit more context! oh, and, usual caveat that i don't actually know anything about medicine/doctoring and all that jazz is simply for plot convenience. love and light. Title from the song Chelsea by Phoebe Bridgers!

~

"I'm fine, Marc, when I get back to the barracks I'll just slap a bandage on it and-"

"You aren't gonna make it to the barracks, don't be stupid, Rilla. Come on, the place isn't that far."

"I can take care of myself! He probably isn't even a real doctor. He's probably just another hack with sugar pills and colored booze he passes off as potions-"

"You know that we listen when you talk, right? I wouldn't be suggesting the guy if he wasn't legit."

"You, uh, you really are bleeding a lot," Talfryn adds, his tone a little strangled, and Rilla grits her teeth hard to stop herself from snapping again that she's fine, she's fine, she just needs to sit down for a second, because-

She's starting to get dizzy. In conjunction with the blood loss Talfryn's describing, it really isn't a great sign. She hisses a breath out through her teeth, readjusts her grip on Talfryn's arm, and rolls her eyes.

"Oh fine, you absolute mother hens. Take me there and I'll just borrow his supplies and take care of it myself if you're so fucking worried."

Marc narrows his eyes, but he doesn't argue the plan. Not yet, at least. Rilla knows that he's more strategic than he likes to let on, and she knows he'll probably kick up a fight when they actually get to the place. In the meantime, though, he helps her balance between Talfryn and Dampierre, trudging slowly through the jungle.

She almost passes out once, but only once. It's just a wobble, really, and when Tal shoots her an alarmed look she just- grits her teeth harder, stands straighter, fights back the creeping dark at the edges of her vision, keeps moving forward. She doesn't need help, she's fine. She'll be fine.

Annoyingly, Marc and Tal aim them mostly towards the Citadel anyway, veering off course only when they pass the Gate of Tranquility. She tries to protest again, the barracks- she can just take care of it there- but Marc's eyes go steely and Talfryn's voice raises an octave and Rilla knows she'll lose this particular two-against-one.

It's only a short walk after that, anyway, even considering the pain.

Marc's doctor has a picturesque little set-up. His little cottage is tucked snug in the bend of a river, close enough to the bank that the structure itself connects to a little dock that hangs out over the flowing water. There's a modest garden in the front, all neat little rows of plants that Rilla vaguely recognizes, dusting off memories that make her grit her teeth without really meaning to.

"Marc, I really don't-"

"Damien!" Marc calls, scooting Dampierre forward and leaving Rilla wincing as she leans more fully into Talfryn's side. "Bit of a situation, Damien, you busy?"

Marc barely finishes his sentence before the doctor bounces around the side of his cottage - he must have been over by the river - carrying a basket full of cut grasses and herbs. Rilla's mind rushes again, with that unhelpful, bittersweet familiarity.

"Saint Damien above grant me Tranquility, Marc, because if you've lost your medicine or gone and gotten yourself hurt again I'll-"

The doctor catches Marc's gesturing, glancing past Marc to see Rilla, and-

He's-

His eyes are a pale sort of brown, a rich enough color to look almost gold in the late afternoon light, and his long, dark, loose curls are pulled back into a low ponytail. A well-trimmed little mustache sits above his absurdly pouting lips. His loose shirt hangs enough to show a hint of shoulder, a shadow of collarbone, and the belt cinching his shirt accentuates his narrow waist, and Rilla is struck by the strangely compelling urge to fit her hands there and just- pick him up, maybe? He holds himself with a careful sort of grace in his posture, an attentive warmth in his expression, and altogether, the effect is-

"Y'didn't tell me he was pretty," Rilla's surprised to hear herself say out loud, and the doctor startles like a deer, his round cheeks flushing darker as he gives a single, musical laugh, and Rilla's head spins-

Oh, fuck. Shouldn't have stopped moving. Something about- something about adrenaline, she shouldn't have stopped, because-

The last thought in Rilla's head is just how surprised Damien looks as she passes out.

~

Her armor.

Her armor someone is trying to pull off her armor and Rilla isn't going to die like an idiot she just isn't so she thrashes and pulls and tries to find her sword and-

Talfryn's voice, panicked and comforting at the same time, and hands- not Tal's, she'd know, but-

Soft. Incredibly careful hands on her face, and a musical murmuring voice soothing her back from the edge of frantic, furious panic, and-

Gone again.

~

Next time is like-

Blink. Awake.

There's no slow swim, no confusion, really, just the orange-pink of sunset out the window and linen sheets underneath her and the doctor- sitting calmly at Rilla's bedside, scrawling something in a notebook in a careful, looping hand.

"Where's Marc and Tal?"

Damien blinks, his quill flicking black splatters across the page as his hand twitches, and then he turns towards Rilla and blooms into a smile.

"Sir Knight," he says brightly, setting his book and his quill on table beside him. "I am glad to see you awake! Ah, don't- don't sit up just yet, please, I wouldn't want you to pull at your stitches. Please, lie back down." He pauses as she scowls up at him, and then he shakes his head. "Marc and Talfryn- right. I asked them to do a favor for me, as I was meant to deliver some medicine into the Citadel tonight and was, obviously, otherwise occupied. They should be back soon, hopefully with some food from the marketplace to serve as our supper."

Rilla frowns, but- well, she knows that Marc is friends or "friends" with half the vendors in the marketplace anyway, and he does tend to pick out the best food carts.

"There's no way it was bad enough for stitches," she says instead, narrowing her eyes. "It was just a scratch."

The smile he gives then is somewhere in the area of bemused. "Forgive me, good Sir Knight, but I must disagree."

"I could have taken care of it myself," she insists, glaring. "I'm a knight. I don't need anyone taking care of me, I don't need Marc and Tal acting like babysitters, and I don't need you."

That last word spit like a curse, and the doctor's face twitches, but after a beat he only looks a little sad.

"That sounds rather lonely, don't you think?"

"Wh-" Rilla pulls her head back. "What?"

"Not needing anyone, not letting anyone help. Pushing away the people who care enough for you to offer, or to insist." He watches her carefully, his tawny eyes on her own until she looks away. "It sounds rather lonely."

Rilla swallows. "I'm not lonely. I just don't need help. I can take care of myself. I could've just- stuck a bandage on it and slept it off, it would have been fine."

The doctor presses his lips together, as if burying a smile. "Hm."

"It would have been fine," she says again, scowling harder.

"Hm," he says, more emphatically, and then his gaze goes thoughtful for a moment before he leans forward. "I think I should show you, then, if you are so certain. May I help you sit up?"

Rilla scowls, then scowls harder when she recognizes his phrasing. "I don't need-"

"Indulge me," he says. "Please."

... he really is cute, is the problem. Rilla sighs, rolls her eyes, and gestures for the doctor to go ahead.

He helps to ease her into a seated position. She expects him to tuck the pillows behind her for support, but instead he turns her to sit on the edge of the cot, supporting one of her shoulders with a hand and then reaching with another to pick up a mirror about the size and shape of her face, angling it behind her back and then gesturing for her to look- towards a larger mirror against the wall, a few feet away.

"Would you lift your undershirt for me?" he asks, and Rilla eyes him critically. The doctor purses his lips, his brow furrowing with a sigh. "Only a little. I wouldn't dare impugn your honor, my good Sir Knight, I swear upon my life and my Saint. I only want to show you the... extent of your injury."

"My name is Rilla," she says flatly, because the way he says Sir Knight is starting to make her- uncomfortable, maybe.

"I know," he says with a smile. "I am sure that Marc already told you, but I am Damien, of the Gate of Tranquility. At least," his expression goes a little distant, thoughtful, "I believe I am still so called."

"Yeah, whatever," Rilla mutters, wincing and tugging the hem of her undershirt up a few inches, and Damien carefully peels the bandages off. He takes a few moments to angle the mirror, tipping his head close to hers (he's got freckles across his round cheeks and the bridge of his nose) to check that she can see properly, and then he leans back enough to allow her the chance to look for herself.

And.

Okay.

So, it's a bit wider of a cut than she thought it was.

She exhales, forcing herself not to grimace and thinking another vicious curse on that stupid ogre and his stupid Serrated Palm blade, slipping between the plates of her armor.

The slash is wide and angry-looking and curved unpleasantly from just to the left of the base of her spine up and out towards her ribs, and- it's sewn shut, now, with very careful, very delicate stitches. The doctor has a steady hand, if nothing else.

"Okay," Rilla says, annoyed by how sullen her voice sounds. "Fine. Fine. You can- you can stitch, at least, but how do I know you actually have any skill as a real doctor and not just another miracle-pill magic-elixer bullshit artist, looking to make some quick buck off desperate sick folk? Living out in the jungle on your own-"

The doctor gives another baffled-bemused look, laughing very lightly as he wraps her in fresh clean bandages again. "Truly you have no fear of giving offense, Sir Knight. A confidence quite beyond me, I must say. Regardless, I can allay some of your concerns, I hope, if I explain that I do not... I do not take payment, for my services, in fact." He smiles more gently when she shoots him a suspicious look. "Those who can afford Citadel doctors may very well go where they choose," he says calmly. "I prefer to offer my assistance to those who might not find help otherwise. Occasionally townsfolk will insist on giving me donations, but I would never ask."

Rilla stares at him hard, for a moment, but he simply holds her gaze with a calm smile, and... she believes him. Enough. "That... that doesn't actually tell me anything about your qualifications," she mutters, and he laughs.

"Very attentive and very scrupulous, my good Sir Knight," he says warmly, and Rilla snorts. "I will admit that I am, for the most part, self-taught. Or, rather," he continues when her eyes narrow, "scroll-taught. I apprenticed briefly in my youth, during my travels from the Western Wastes back to the Citadel, but I have since expanded my knowledge quite substantially through the application of a wide array of texts. Which is, in part, why I align myself more with the title of herbalist than doctor."

"You learned from texts," Rilla echoes, flat.

"Some more traditional," he says, shrugging in one direction, and then the other, "and some that require... decoding, so to speak. I could show you, if you'd like."

Rilla- thinks about that for a sec, weighing her curiosity against the possibility of slapping face-first into the sort of nostalgia that'll hurt if he shows her just the wrong book.

She shakes her head. "Maybe some other time."

Damien looks just a little disappointed, at that, but he smiles anyway. "Another time," he agrees, and then he perks up, glancing towards a door that Rilla assumes leads to the rest of his cottage. "Ah, I think I can hear dear Dampierre approaching. I believe, perhaps, you should be able to come dine with us, with a little assistance. If you would allow me."

Damien lifts an arm towards her, the very picture of a gentleman asking to dance, and Rilla's face heats with a furious fear that he's making fun of her-

But his honey-brown eyes are entirely earnest, and serious, and dutiful.

She hesitates, but-

She sighs, and then she takes Damien's arm and allows the herbalist help pull her to her feet, supporting her with an arm around her back, above the wound.

He's- stronger than he looks. Well... he must need to be, living out here on his own.

His kitchen table is pushed right up against a window, and Rilla watches Marc pull it open from the outside and latch it to a hook on an awning that hangs over the space outside, allowing him to lean on the sill right from Dampierre's saddle. It's a very specific setup, and it reminds Rilla instantly of something similar at their mother's house. When Rilla frowns in consideration and then shoots Damien a glance, the herbalist smiles again.

"Marc helped me make a few modifications when he started to become more of a regular patient," he says with a pointed grin in Marc's direction. "A friend, rather. I'm not quite so skilled with carpentry and the like, myself, so his help was invaluable. This whole cottage was a... a slow sort of project."

"Slower since you don't expect payment, I bet," Rilla hums, scanning her eyes across the room (full of living plants and drying herbs and scrolls and books) and noting the structure, the way that the building appears to have been built in parts, now that he's pointed it out. If she had to guess, she would say that the cottage started as this one single front room, before the rest was added on.

Damien laughs, his body jumping slightly beside her, and Rilla decides to ignore that until he helps to lower her down onto the cushions by the table, close enough to the window that Marc can reach through and pour her a glass of water.

"Get your beauty rest?" Marc says with a raise of the eyebrow, and Rilla only glares half as hard as she could, because she knows him well enough to hear the I'm glad you're awake underneath the taunting.

"Run your errands?" she snipes back, and he doesn't have the chance to answer with more than a pout before Talfryn jogs inside, arms full of wrapped packages of food. He deposits them unceremoniously on the table, though, clearly distracted by Rilla as he drops to the cushions next to her, knocking his forehead against her shoulder briefly before he leans away.

"You're alright? You're alright. You're okay!" he says, his tone high and pleading, and Rilla buries the urge to bristle.

"I'm fine, Tal, I told you-"

"I hate when you scare us like that," Talfryn says in a miserable mutter, and Rilla- tries not to feel the way that twists a guilty little knife in her stomach. "You just fell, it was-"

"I'll heal. You brought me here and now I'm all stitched up and I'll heal," she tries, instead, and when Tal gives her a pleading look, she gives half a smile before she aims her gaze towards Damien instead. "Right?"

Damien smiles. "I rather think you're too stubborn to do anything else, Sir Rilla."

Her actual title in Damien's voice startles a breath of laughter out of her, and she shakes her head, reaching to take one of the wrapped packages and passing another over to Marc.

"Exactly," she says, with the finality of a door closing, and then she nudges Tal's elbow with a hand until he cracks into a worried sort of smile.

"And you'll all stay the night, of course," Damien adds, just before he takes a sip of water. Rilla catches his eye over the cup, glaring hard, but-

She shrugs. "Yeah, sure. Whatever," she says, refusing to meet either of her brother's eyes as she digs in.

Maybe she's a little bit relieved, not to trudge back to the barracks freshly stitched. Maybe it'll be kind of... nice, to spend a night under the same roof as Marc and Tal again.

And maybe- maybe, Rilla might just like the chance to get to know this herbalist a little bit better.

[19thsentry-blog]

Anarka, Meet Jagged

Miraculous Ladybug Fanfic (Anarka Couffaine/Jagged Stone Oneshot)

AO3 Link

"I mean, there's always the Raincomprix kid, right?" Fester's feet were straight in the air, resting against the back of the ratty ass couch in his garage; his mohawk grazed the concrete from where his head was hung off the seat. He had a jar of imported cheese puffs in hand, shoveling them in his mouth with big handfuls, and a couple fell out between his fingers and rolled underneath the drum set that they had somehow managed to make fit around Fester's dad's golf kit and tool chests.

Anarka stared at him, mouth agape. "…Are you fucking kidding me?"

The last thing their band needed was to get laughed off the stage when they introduced themselves:

Fester!

Anarka!

Raven!

…And fucking Roger.

Johnny finally decided to stop being a colossal douche and actually agreed to book them to play at Fuzzies, the CBGB knock-off every band of hooligans ached to headline at. This was it. It wasn't just a badge of honor to play at Fuzzies--it was a sign that you were worth your shit, and now it was their turn. They had finally made their break. …Only to have their lead singer and guitarist, Serge, pull a disappearing act because he was a horndog, got a girl pregnant, and didn't want to end up part of some shotgun wedding.

Fester sucked cheese dust off his black-painted fingertips. "He knows a few of our songs. He could learn to scream--"

Anarka threw her guitar pick with force, landing it squarely in Fester's mouth, causing him to cough and hack like a moron. "Absolutely fucking not. We are not letting that nancy ass choir boy in the band. He wouldn't know rock if it bit him on the ass!"

Raven tossed her magazine on the wobbly three-legged table next to her and clapped her hands, dropping them between her knees. "Narky. Baby doll. I'm fucking tired of auditions. If you're so opposed, you go find someone--but you're teaching them the set. At this point, I'm willing to slap Roger on the ass and call it good."

Anarka grit her teeth. There was no way that in the entire city of Paris there was not one person better than Roger. Anarka grabbed her guitar rougher than intended, the strings letting out a twang of discomfort. "I am not giving up on our sound like my shitty bandmates!" she shot back, although it didn't have the desired effect. Raven rolled her eyes at her, popping bubble gum while Fester looked entirely unbothered at the insult, rubbing his throat from his hacking fit. "Am I the only one who cares here?"

Fester and Raven shared a look--that Anarka-is-having-another-shit-fit kind of look, which suspiciously reminded her of the one Ma Gracie and Pa tended to share. "Ach, fuck it, you guys are worthless!" 

Anarka marched the twenty minutes down to Fuzzies alone, her guitar banging against her back, slamming open the door to the record store so loud that the rarely perturbed Johnny actually jumped at her entrance. The other patrons turned to look at her as she stomped up to the counter and slapped her hand down. Johnny stared down at her frowning face, his half-lidded eyes watching with a subtle spark of interest behind his small circular black lenses. He leaned back on his stool and blew cigarette smoke out between slightly amused pursed lips.

"Yeah?" He said lazily, prompting her to speak.

When Anarka first met Johnny, he had kind of impressed her. He was the mysterious shopkeep, the guy with all the 'forbidden' records Ma Gracie would have had a heart attack over, and he could talk about any band with a casual firmness that indicated that he was a guy who knew music. And that was the exact opposite of who she had been, the nervous pre-teen in braces with imposter syndrome. But that wasn't her anymore.

"You know everyone." She said flatly, hand still splayed out on his desk.

His smirk became more pronounced around his cigarette. "Yeah."

"We need a guitarist--you're gonna give me someone." She could sing the lyrics her-damn-self; it wasn't like she was asking for a miracle here. There was no way Johnny didn't know someone that could play for them, at least for their gig at the shop.

Johnny tapped ash into the tray on the counter while he held one long pointer finger out behind her. "You've seen the board. You can post whatever notice you want up there. I'm sure someone would be interested."

Yeah, as if he didn't already know they'd done that weeks ago. "No, fuck the board. Your board fucking sucks."

"Hey!" he said back in mock offense.

"You've gotta know somebody. I know you do."

Johnny stood on his lanky legs and jammed his cigarette into the ashtray. "And what makes you think I'd give you a name?" His tone had turned sharp, eyes challenging her from behind those black lenses, making Anarka's stomach flip despite herself. She wasn't scared of anyone, and she took great pains to remind people of that fact, but…alright, yeah, she was still just some snot-nosed kid compared to the other musicians that Johnny let play here.

He was right, and she knew it. She wasn't Iggy Pop or anything; Johnny had no obligation to help her out of the hole she had found herself in. Fuck, it would probably be more entertaining for him to watch their rag-tag team of idiots fall apart on stage. But still. Anarka's hand balled into a fist, and she clenched it a few times before letting her other hand drop from the counter.

"Because I need this." Anarka didn't want to sound desperate, but it came off as desperate anyway.  

It was the truth, though. Anarka didn't just want to make music. She didn't just want to play at Fuzzies, the very place that had given her the first taste of something real on this shitty floating rock--she needed it. She'd finally have some way to mark her progress, a way to prove that she was a real musician, that she was making it work. It wasn't fair that her dreams would be ruined just because Serge wanted to get his dick wet.

Johnny looked at her for a second, head tilted a little to the left, before he chuckled low and slow, shaking his head. "Come with me, kid," he said, shuffling out from around the counter. Anarka practically chased him as Johnny sauntered up to the shop's second floor. They passed the shelves of classical music, the bluegrass records, and the folk shit, and she almost rammed straight into Johnny when he randomly stopped in front of one of the aisles.

"Hey, kid," Johnny called out to the person in the aisle. Anarka had to move around his lanky frame to see who he was talking to, nervous that he was fucking with her--which she might have expected.

The boy in the aisle was frowning over a record in his hand, and he jolted a bit at Johnny's voice, turning to look at the hippie shopkeep and the not-so-tough-looking-at-the-moment-but-could-still-kick-your-shin-in punk girl, one dark brow lifting in confusion. To Anarka's relief, he at least looked the role of a real rock and roller--crazy stupid purple hair, black leather jacket, boots. He even wore black eyeliner and eyeshadow. And he was kind of hot, in a sallow sort of way, but more importantly? He wasn't Roger, so even if he sucked gravel through a curly straw on the guitar, she wouldn't even care.

Johnny looked down at Anarka (who was still slightly hidden behind him, trying to look unbothered and aloof and utterly failing) with an all-knowing smirk. "Kid just shipped in from New York. I think he might be able to help you out. Anarka, meet Jagged."

[joonismyheart]

It's Always Been You

Park Jimin has been in love with Jeon Jungkook for years, probably most of his adult life. He doesn't even know when it all started or when he first realized it, but what he does know is that he's alone in his feelings. Now that BTS has retired and everyone is working on solo projects, he can get some distance between himself and Jungkook. At least he thought so, except that JK is a mega star and his face is literally everywhere. Jimin is doing amazingly in his own career but fans are constantly asking for him to collab with JK and all he wants to do is avoid him at all costs. Things were never the same after his private journals were made public after Heron's servers were hacked.

How was Jimin ever going to survive this? Worse, how was he ever going to get over the love of his life?

Come check out the first 8 Chapters here on Ao3! Updates each Wednesday if not before. Sneak Preview of Chapter 1 below.

Jikook with SOPE and TaeJin side pairings. Joon x OFC as well.

Rated Explicit with the following tags.

Emotional Hurt/Comfort Gay Panic Unrequited Love Mutual Pining public shaming - nonsexual First Time Blow Jobs Porn Watching Angst and Porn Angst and Feels Park Jimin is a Mess Jeon Jungkook is a Panicked Gay

eatingdisorder (CW used so it can be avoided)

Park Jimin had been just fine living his life alone. Tired of the cavernous ache in his chest he’d spent the last year conditioning himself to not want anything more than that. It had been six years since he’d been anywhere near Jeon JungKook and a decade since BTS finally went their separate ways. Since then, he’d done pretty well with his solo career. Even at 36, he still had rabid fans who loved him and loved his music - what else could he possibly need?

Persistent knocking pulled him out of his exhausted haze. “Jimin-ah…are you in there? Let your hyung in!” 

He jumped at the sound of Hoseok’s voice. Looking back at him in the mirror of his dressing room was an empty man, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, he knew it was true. He couldn’t show Hobi that side of him though. No one saw that. He put on a warm smile and went to let his old friend in. Hobi flailed his way through the door, hugging Jimin’s neck as soon as he could get his hands on him.

“Ah, Jimin, I’ve missed you! The show was AMAZING! You continue to blow everyone away! How do you do it?!” Hobi’s wide smile radiated sunshine but he didn’t miss the flash of concern in Hoseok’s eyes.

“Talent, Hyung!” He struck a confident pose and then threw his head back with a laugh when his friend raised a skeptical eyebrow. Jimin pulled Hobi in tight once more then slapped him on the back and motioned for him to take a seat on the couch while he sat himself back in his makeup chair. “Just let me take all this makeup off while we talk, ok? It’s suffocating.”

“Jimin-ah, since when do you complain about makeup? You used to wear it on your days off!” He teased his friend, but the complaint only heightened his sense that something wasn’t right. His Jiminie wasn’t happy, and he was trying to hide it. JImin didn’t hide emotion unless something was very wrong.

“I’m just a bit tired of it, I think. I’ve gotten lazy in my old age.” He winked at his hyung in the mirror while Hoseok feigned offense.

“How dare you! I’m older than you are and we’re NOT OLD.” He stood from the couch to wrap his arms around Jimin’s shoulders. Resting his chin on top of Jimin’s head he looked into his friend’s eyes in the mirror. Jimin bit his lip to stop a wobble and looked away. “Jimin-ssi…you know you can tell your hyung anything. Always. I love you.”

“Ah, I love you too. I’m just tired, I promise.” A pasted-on smile covered his face, he even made sure it reached his eyes. A valiant effort but Hobi wasn’t buying it.

“Alright, if you say so. I have to go though, Yoongi is waiting at home, and he's been extra needy lately but don’t tell him I said that.” His conspiratorial wink made Jimin laugh. Sope, the pairing name Army had given Yoongi and Hoseok years ago, had been more true than their fans realized, and now that they were out and proud Jimin found his heart ached for something similar. 

“Tell him hello and that I said he’s the worst hyung ever for not coming to see me.” Jimin’s pout was intense, but Hoseok knew he was teasing. He kissed the top of Jimin’s silver mop of hair and smiled that warm smile that always warmed his friend’s heart.

“Don’t worry Mochi, Yoongi and Tae will both be here tomorrow. I think Joon is coming too. Jin Hyung is still in New York trying to get that silly american woman to love him, but you know how he is. He’ll be back with a sob story and then it’s on to the next girl. The fansites love it and you know Jin loves the chase.” That got a genuine laugh out of Jimin and made Hobi feel a bit better about leaving him. 

“I can’t believe Namjoonie might come. I haven’t seen him in ages.” A wistful smile crossed Jimin’s face as he thought about the last time, he’d seen Joon. He’d been off on some adventure with his wife, Lenae. Sri Lanka? He couldn’t remember but he’d dropped both of them at the airport. That was a couple years ago, and the couple had just returned to Seoul last week.

“I always look forward to his stories.” Hobi smiled from the doorway, one last attempt to cheer his friend. “See you Friday for dinner at our place? Tae’s coming too, of course.”

“Of course, Hyung, you know I wouldn’t miss it. Love you.” Jimin wiped away the last bit of eyeliner as he spoke. Hobi nodded, closed the door, and once again Jimin was alone with his thoughts. Always alone.

[instablamwriter]

A3! | TaiTenYuki | can we still eat cake?

Rating: G

Summary:

It's the night before Yuki's birthday.

A/N: long time no see lol. i've been writing casually on my casual writing account qermittea on twitter, but otherwise, i havent really written much;; anyway, here's a lil tyt for yuki's birthday. im still not confident writing my faves but i tried :")

AO3 Link

The true indicator of getting older is the inability to stay up late willingly anymore. As soon as 9 PM comes rolling around, Taichi finds himself gravitating to the comfort of snuggling under their duvet sheets.

"Just go to sleep, idiot. Your mouth is so wide when you yawn, flies will start flying in without you noticing," Yuki says, after the nth time Taichi must have done so.

The sewing machine works as usual with its rhythmic sounds and Taichi had purposely gone to the workshop to stay awake, but seems like the familiarity is firing back on him instead.

"I'm okay...." he slurs out.

Yuki stops his project for a second and looks in Taichi's direction, shaking his head.

"You don't have to greet me at midnight, you know? Even I might not be awake then."

"No! We've done this every year! Ten-chan is even coming later with the cake-" Taichi slaps his own mouth in realization.

"Cake? Hey, we won't even be able to finish that." Yuki frowns. Another sign of aging seems to be finding most things too sweet for their liking. Gone are the days where Taichi could tolerate a single bite of a Kame Bun, the epitome of sugar, and now he's down to eating 2 slices of cakes maximum.

The chair creaks as Taichi gets up and walks towards his boyfriend, putting his arms around Yuki's neck and tucking in Yuki's head under his chin while the other sits down at their work table.

"It's fine, Yuki-chan! I'm sure Tomo-chan and Miki-chan are willing to eat the leftovers! Aren't you going to celebrate your birthday at the store?" Taichi wants to rub his face on Yuki's cheeks like he does with Tenma (he's been called a cat over being a dog for times like these) but he doesn't want to go overboard. It had taken time for Yuki to get used to these affectionate touches. He usually only let people hug him during big emotional moments, but through the years, he spoils Tenma and Taichi with a bit of hand-holding and cuddling.

"Yeah, those two would eat anything," he replies, deadpan. But Taichi can tell Yuki says so with fondness.

The doorbell rings. Even after all these years, they are much more comfortable with opening the door to each other than going in with their keys. It’s just not the same to come home to a quiet house.

“Coming!” Taichi yells out.

There are footsteps that follow behind him as he goes to their front door, humming.

Opening the door reveals an all-masked, complete with sunglasses Tenma, carrying a wrapped box in one hand, and a plastic from one of their favorite bakeries in the other.

“Welcome home, Ten-chan!”

“Welcome back, hack.”

“I’m home- hey! At least be nice to your gift-giver!” There’s not bite in Tenma’s words and he simply tips out of his shoes and slides them to the side while Taichi locks the door behind him.

“Gift or not, you’re always going to be a hack.” The tip of Yuki’s mouth twitches.

Tenma glances up at their wall, muttering“’Bout three more hours…”

Yuki leans on the wall, arms crossed. “You guys don’t have to wait up…we’re not getting any younger, especially you two that are older than me.”

“Nonsense! We do this every year! We can watch a movie to stay awake…”

“One of yours?”

“Nah. How about this one?”

“No fair, guys! If we’re watching Mankai videos, not just the Autumn Troupe! We’ll only be watching me!”

“I’m not sure I’m in the mood to see my acting in those days.”

“You were great, Yuki-chan! We’re just all more experienced now.”

“Okay, fine, fine. Here’s a Winter one.”

“How does Azu-nee look the same even after all this time…”

“Magic…maybe he really was a vampire.”

“Stop! No supernatural speculations!”

“Scaredy-cat.”

“Hey! So is Taichi!”

-

The hours pass and they are all sat at their couch, heads on top of each other. Tenma is snoring at one end of the couch while Taichi is clutching onto a pillow he had brought from the bedroom. Yuki’s eyes flutter awake to the scene of Tasuku helplessly left alone in his room after the character of Azuma bites him. He stays in that position, slowly stretching out his neck and joints, in a way that doesn’t disturb his sleeping boyfriends beside him.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers to himself, looking up at the ceiling where glow-in-the-dark stickers were plastered onto years ago.

How long have they lived in this house? Old skateboard equipment and yoyos are set beside film and dramas awards on their shelves beside the television. Some walls have cracks and dents from accidents from his two clumsy men. The dining table has some felt dolls as the centerpiece that he had made himself, worn over time, but still washed regularly to stay clean.

When Yuki had taken up the job to make clothes for a theatre at the age of fourteen, he hadn’t imagined it would get him, here, in the most peaceful place there is.

Despite the petty fights, the not-so-petty arguments, the ups and downs of puberty, their twenties, and everything that came after – they’re still together. Albeit, the two who had insisted on staying up are the ones conked out right now.

He huffs out a laugh.

This is the way things should be.