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petitmonde · 11 months

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May Trope Mayhem Day 26: Isekai or transmigration

In which I could not resist a cliché for @duckprintspress May Trope Mayhem.

Tags: Sashnetra, Anetra, Sasha Colby, RPDR s15, Isekai

Gravity always felt weird in the void, as if nothing tangible was tethered to anything in it. One step could feel like you were walking in water, the next on solid rock. Head held high, Anetra made her way towards the blue light.

Anetra opened her eyes. She was once again in the all too familiar void of darkness, illuminated by the blue crystals at the far end of the eternal Hallway of Rebirth. So, she had died. Again. She still wore the garb of a Hero, all of her weapons intact and where they were supposed to be.

One day, she'd learn not to get cocky fighting a high-ranking demon all on her own. That day wouldn't be today or the next. She never learnt not to dive head first into danger. There was no reason to, if she died, she would wake up here, talk to a god, then be on her merry way onto her next life.

Only to find someone who definitely was not the goddess she expected to be on the throne. On it sat a woman who could only be described as the sun. Long, black hair wrapped in a ponytail, adorned with jewels of gold and glitter. Green piercing eyes stared right into her soul, warm but distant at the same time. Skin that glistened like diamonds, the goddess barely wore anything that could be classified as clothes, putting everything on show. In her hand was a sceptre shaped like the sun.

The shock on Anetra's face must have amused the goddess.

"Welcome to the Hallway of Rebirth," the goddess' voice was loud and welcoming. She snorted and shook her head lightly. "No, that isn't right. It's welcome back, isn't it? You sure have been here a lot."

"I haven't seen you here before," Anetra said. She didn't dare speak out of turn. There was always a chance that this deity wasn't as kind as the others. "What happened to the Lady of the Moon?"

The goddess laughed at her. Yeah, no, she was an asshole. Anetra's initial faith in her was entirely misplaced, and along with it, any hope that she would help her.

"She's too busy running around with the Spirit of the Forest to take care of her duties, so here I am." The goddess raised her sceptre only to slam it down with a big thud. The action lit up the sun with a strong glow, replacing the blue that had preceded it. "I am the Goddess of the Sun, but you can call me Sasha."

Sasha didn't let Anetra get a word in. She clearly had a lot to say, and with a captive audience that had no option but to listen, she dug right in.

"I must say, you sure have died a lot. 237 times, wow, I'm almost sure that's a record. Is it recklessness? Incompetence? Or–" Sasha stretched the last syllable in taunt, "were you meeting someone here? Oh, right, right, you were, weren't you? I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you've been dumped."

"I've been... what?" None of the words that left Sasha's mouth made any sense. She didn't die on purpose. Most of the time.

"Dumped. Broken up with. Never to see her again. It's over. But that's not the only bad news you're getting today. I hate to diminish the work of a fellow god, but it truly is sloppy to revive the same person this many times."

"I see," Anetra sighed dejectedly. It was bound to happen at some point, only she didn't think she would get the news from a god she hadn't met before. "This is it, then?"

"Not quite. Seeing as I am a kind and benevolent goddess, I'll give you one more life in a new world, one without demons or monsters. You will never have to fight another troll again or worry when the Demon King's army is advancing on an innocent village."

Sasha tapped the ground with her sceptre once again. A ring formed around Anetra, trapping her in it.

Sasha continued, "as one last divine gift, you can make any one wish for something to bring to the new world. As soon as you speak it, the two of us will part."

An idea formed in Anetra's head. There was no telling what kind of world she would be sent to or what dangers that lurked, but with a companion, maybe it would be easier to get by.

"Anything?"

"Didn't I say so? Do hurry it up, please. I have other things to do than entertain a godchaser."

Anetra smirked. She knew exactly what she wanted to bring. "Then, I'm taking you with me."

"Wait, what... you can't do that–"

Another ring enveloped Sasha, lightning up and lifting her off the throne. In desperation, Sasha hit the invisible walls of the ring. "What the hell, you can't do that."

"I'll see you on the other side."

The last thing Anetra saw before she was enveloped in the light was Sasha's angry face yelling something she couldn't hear. She was sure to hear the other end of the rant once they both woke up wherever it was they were going.

#sashnetra #may trope mayhem #rpdr fanfiction

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unforth · 1 year

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Fandom: 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Liǔ Qīnggē/Luò Bīnghé/Shěn Yuán | Shěn Qīngqiū Characters: Liǔ Qīnggē, Luò Bīnghé, Shěn Yuán | Shěn Qīngqiū Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Feels, Everyone needs to use their words Word Count: 2,974 Summary:

Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu, and Liu Qingge check into an inn together.

The inn only has two rooms.

And each is absolutely certain they know who should share. Obviously (as Luo Binghe knows) Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge love each other and should be together. And obviously (as Liu Qingge knows) Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu love each other and should be together. And OBVIOUSLY (as Shen Qingqiu knows) Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe love each other and should be together.

What a mess.

(written for May Trope Mayhem Day 4: Staying in a B&B Together)

(this one got long so I’m not gonna xpost the whole thing here. Oops. But look, I BingLiuShen’d!)

@duckprintspress

#unforth writes #svsss #bingliushen #they deserve each other #fucking idiots all three of them #I'm days behind now for mtm but the next prompt is hanahaki and the plan is zhoudu #so bolo #may trope mayhem

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artificialqueens · 11 months

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🏳️‍🌈 You Call My Name, What a Strange Magic (Halldoll) - Mar

A/N: Day 28 of Mayhem: Farmer’s Market

Nicky’s magic flows like rivers in her veins, calm and constant.The way Jaida says her name is a tidal wave that lifts her off the ground and sends her heart spinning.Strange, strange magic.

Tags for @duckprintspress: rpdr fanfiction, may trope mayhem, jaida essence hall, nicky doll, jaida x nicky, magic au

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47698924

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The witch sprays the budding flowers with river water, and they gratefully unfurl their petals. They sway in their pots, gleaming under the sun and grabbing the attention of every passerby in the farmer’s market. They are Nicky’s pride and joy.

An older gentleman leans down and adjusts his glasses to see them better.

“How much for a flower?”

“A childhood dream, or a poem to a lover.”

“Ah, when I was little I wanted to be a train. Not a train conductor, mind you– the whole thing!”

“Really?” Nicky says fascinated, jotting it all down in ink, blotting the page with how fast she is writing. Stupid witch protocols and their aversion to pens.

“Yes,” the man says with a smile as he looks far into the distance. His memories float in thick purple clouds from his mouth to Nicky’s pen. “I wanted to travel long distances and bring people to their loved ones, and I wanted those loved ones to chase after me as I pulled out of the station, waving goodbye until we were just a spot in the distance.”

“That was a good dream,” Nicky says, smiling brightly at the gentleman. She sets down the last dot after the words and the ink glimmers in the paper before settling down. She picks carefully between her flowers, and finds the perfect one for this man. “Here, take it home. Tell it all your worries in the morning, and all your glories at night. It will take it all, good and bad, and it will grow.”

“Bless you,” says the man. He tips his hat goodbye.

A teen shows up not long after, hair dyed the same color as the only flower left. They wave at the flower and the flower waves its leaves.

“Hi! Is this cutie for sale?” says the teen, swaying to the rhythm of the flower.

“Yes, and it looks like it likes you,” Nicky says with pleasure. She only sends her flowers to the best homes.

“I like you too,” the teen says to the flower. “How much?”

“A childhood dream, or a poem to a lover.”

“Oh, man, I’m not much of a poet… and I don’t remember my childhood. Do you take, like, any coin? Like silver or bronze? Crypto?”

Nicky sighs. The exchange rates are brutal, but so many humans insist on using money.

“I can leave it at twenty dollars, plus the warmth of the sun in your face.”

“Deal!”

The teen ruffles through their backpack and puts two crumpled ten dollar bills in Nickys hands, plus some loose candy they find, as a tip. Nicky beckons them closer. She holds their cheeks, chants the words, and watches their cheeks go from rosy to pale, their lips from pink to blue.

“T-that’s c-c-colder than I th-thought,” they say through chattering teeth.

“It goes back to normal in just a few moments, I promise,” Nicky reassures them with a twinge of pity. She gets a stone out of a thermo box and holds it tightly between her hands. The stone absorbs all the warmth. “Stay in the sun for some minutes, and I always recommend a hot coffee,” she says, pointing to the coffee cart at the end of the aisle. “If you tell the girl that the witch sent you, you’ll get a discount,” she winks.

“Sick, thanks,” says the teen, already looking less blue.

They pick up the flower with great care, and they are off.

With the very last of her flowers sold, Nicky begins to clear out her stand. It is so early that she can take a turn around the whole market and be home by sundown. She needs herbs, honey, and questions voiced by children, and she needs time to gather enough courage to visit the coffee cart.

Some days, she has to avoid it entirely and leave the market through the other side. Some days, when she gets close to it, her heart beats loud as a battle drum and all of the squirrels around the park climb down from the trees, hypnotized, and march in a long row after Nicky, scaring the shoppers. Nicky has been told before that, if she can’t get a hold of her powers, they won’t let her rent the stand anymore.

She feels more confident today, however, languid and weakened from the new moon, and her magic is easier to constrain. She takes her sweet time shopping around and not a single squirrel joins her. She takes the offered samples and pretends to eye the products that may be knit blankets or clay pots or wooden toys for all she knows. The coffee cart holds all of her attention.

Nicky steadies her breaths and her magic flows calmly through her veins, constant as a river. There are some people chatting in front of the cart, waiting for their orders, enveloped in the condensation their words form in the cold. It blends with the steam from their coffees, warm as the smile of the girl who’s passing them out. Nicky’s chest burns like a small sun.

The cart is painted a neat white that stands out among the wooden market stalls, and the name is written on the front in elegant cursive letters that Nicky has found herself copying in the margins of her potions books.

Essence

Nicky walks up and the owner welcomes her yelling.

“Nickay!” Jaida screams, twisting the last vowel of her name until it becomes an entirely new sound.

Multilingualism and verbal spells have made Nicky particularly sensitive to sounds. In her second year at the witch academy, one of her classmates tried to bring a chair closer with the accedo spell, but she accidentally said accendo and lit the whole thing on fire. Nothing like watching someone get their eyebrows burned off to learn the importance of phonetics.

When Jaida pronounces her name in that unique way, it’s like Nicky has an entirely new name that belongs to Jaida alone. It feels like a type of magic. That would certainly explain the radiant happiness that manifests in Nicky’s heart at such a simple word. She tampers it down and tries to sound casual.

“Ça va, Jaida? Easy day?”

“Slow day,” Jaida sighs in a low voice, just for Nicky. “I’m dying of boredom out here. Nothing but cappuccinos all day, a girl can only do so many cappuccinos, Nicky! Look at this,” she says, putting a bag of marshmallows in Nicky’s face. “I got these to make hot chocolates, and I haven’t made a single one,” she pouts, making Nicky melt.

“Well, but now you have them for tomorrow, right?”

“I’ve already downed half the bag. You want one?”

Nicky laughs and accepts a marshmallow out of politeness, immediately regretting it when her fingers get all sticky. By the time she finishes it, masking her disgust, Jaida has eaten three more.

“Alright, enough,” Jaida scolds herself with her mouth full, putting the bag away. “What about you? You done already?”

Nicky nods.

“The flowers sell very quickly. I almost cannot keep up.”

“How long does it take to grow them?”

“It takes some weeks. They grow faster in the winter, because I leave the sprouts by the fireplace and they love that. They’re inside plants, you know? They want to be cozy and hear people talk around them. The hard part is that I have to spend so much time inside with them, because they don’t grow if they don’t hear human voices.”

“Girl, leave them with me for a day, I’ll give them back six feet tall. Ain’t nobody quiet in my house.”

“Don’t offer twice, I would love to drop them off somewhere and have a free day.”

“Is there any money in the flower nanny business?”

“Jaida’s daycare for magical flowers?”

“Jaida’s kinder-garden!”

Nicky lets out an undignified snort at the joke which she covers by coughing.

Jaida smiles and leans on her elbows on the counter, closer to Nicky.

“So like, do the flowers speak any language?”

“They should understand every human language, in theory, but I haven’t tested them a lot. I’ve only tried French, English, Latin, Greek, Darija, and ehh, Catalan… and some Spanish.”

“Oh, only those. Pretty shoddy scientific work, Nicky. That will never pass the board.”

“Well, luckily, the board is just me.”

“Paper written by Nicky for Nicky, peer reviewed by Nicky from the Nicky council of Nickys.”

It’s so silly, but Jaida’s voice makes Nicky giggle the more she talks, and she has to rein it in before she attracts another flock of common loons. They’re not even native to the area, but it has happened before. Jaida made a stupid pun and a murmuration of birds obscured the sky, swirling over Nicky’s head and mimicking her laughter. The flock followed her all the way home. They wreaked havoc on her garden.

“Oh, I was gonna ask,” Jaida says, “do you have any more of that cream you gave me for joint pain? It’s so good, I finished the sample already.”

“Did it help?” Nicky says with a luminous smile.

The cart’s light bulbs over their heads shine dangerously bright in a spike of electricity. Jaida looks at them with worry, but Nicky hides her teeth and the light goes back to normal.

“I better unplug these for a minute,” Jaida says.

The cart gets a little dimmer, though still warm in the gray evening. Nicky leans on the counter like Jaida to see her better.

“What was I telling you…” Jaida asks, squinting her eyes. “The cream, yeah. Yes, it was crazy good. I swear that every winter brings some new ache, and this year it was my knuckles’ turn.”

She flexes her fingers with a pained expression, and Nicky already knows how she’ll be spending her evenings the next few days.

“I can make more by Wednesday,” Nicky says.

Monday, if I don’t sleep.

“Really? You’re incredible!”

Her aching hands take Nicky’s with no warning. Thank God Jaida unplugged the lights, or the glass bulbs would have exploded over them. She’s pretty sure the streetlights are getting brighter.

“Of course,” Nicky says, clearing her throat.

She takes back her hands and rubs one over her heart in circles. Counterclockwise, like she was taught, like she does with scared wild animals or sick babies who enter her hut crying in their mothers’ arms, needing to be soothed before they can be healed.

She needs to soothe herself before she can make the offer.

“If you want,” she says when her heartbeat settles down, “I can do a quick lay-on-hands. It’s not as good as the cream, but it lasts almost a day.”

“Really?” Jaida says excitedly. “What’s that, like a massage?”

“Something like it, yes.”

Nicky sets her hands on the counter with the palms up in invitation. Jaida gives her hand with unquestioned trust, and Nicky is so grateful for the complete ease that has marked all of their interactions since they first met. Many humans are wary of her, and some brave souls have even tried to attack her, but not Jaida. Since the very first day, she has only shown curiosity and admiration for Nicky’s craft. Nicky treasures that trust, and repays it whenever she can. Like now.

“Where does it hurt the most?”

“The knuckles, mostly. My wrists kind of crack at night, like a little old lady’s.”

“Okay, relax your hand,” Nicky instructs. Jaida lets her hand rest entirely on hers.

Nicky presses her thumbs on Jaida’s wrist. She closes her eyes. For the first time since she approached Jaida’s cart, she sets her magic free.

It flows from the depths of her mind to her throat, piling incantations on her tongue that she has to swallow down, because it is not the time for words. The magic moves down her arms, burning pleasantly in her palms, and finally reaches her thumbs. When it brushes Jaida’s skin, it recoils.

“This is where the problem is,” Nicky says as she opens her eyes and digs her thumb in the middle of Jaida’s wrists, right on her pulse. It picks up under Nicky’s touch. Jaida must be excited to watch the whole process; she has always shown herself fascinated with magic. “Your body has its own healing energy that flows through your veins. There is something blocking it here,” she runs her thumb over the wrist, “which is why your hand is not curing– healing, I mean. Relax again.”

With some effort, Nicky makes her magic seep through Jaida’s skin. Two paint strokes of radiant blue flow from her thumbs into Jaida’s bloodstream, and although they bump against the blockage, Nicky pushes through and they both see how the magic traces blue rivers down Jaida’s hand and fingers. The beautiful blue glows a dazzling white for a second, and then it is over.

“Can you move your fingers?” Nicky asks in a gentle voice.

Jaida flexes her fingers one by one, entranced.

“That’s wild…” Jaida says, a little breathless. “It doesn’t even hurt, you– you are incredible.”

“It’s just a mid-level transmutation,” Nicky says, trying with all her might to keep her cheeks from turning pink. “Any witch can do that.”

“Are you fucking with me? Nicky, you made literal magic. Let me be impressed,” Jaida urges, squeezing Nicky’s hand.

The gesture could trigger a reaction if Nicky wasn’t entirely captivated by the way Jaida is looking at her. That too, Nicky has learned over time, is its own type of magic.

“Do you want to give me your other hand?” Nicky says, just to have something to say.

Jaida nods and only looks away from Nicky’s eyes to watch the blue rivers form under her skin again.

“Are you gonna let me pay you this time?” Jaida says when they are done and she can flex her fingers painlessly.

Nicky refused to charge her for the cream, using the excuse that it was a sample. Samples don’t usually last for a month, but oh well. Nicky never claimed to be a business woman.

“No, we never charge for this.” When she sees that Jaida is about to argue, she adds: “It is bad luck to heal for money.”

Jaida squints her eyes.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It is bad luck to lie,” Nicky says, biting her tongue.

“You’re just saying whatever, now,” Jaida says, and pushes Nicky’s shoulder. A hard feat, with the counter between them, but Nicky still lets herself be moved by Jaida’s force.

Nicky would like to stay there until the sun sets and the last of the stands is cleared, but she has plants back home waiting for their bedtime story, and ingredients to gather and macerate in oil if she wants to get that cream done in time.

In spite of Nicky’s protests, Jaida sends her home with a tall cup of free coffee made exactly to her taste and a honey-apple roll so fragrant that it fills Nicky’s house with its scent when she leaves it half eaten on her kitchen table. The sweetness and warmth of the drink pools in Nicky’s stomach, and every step home feels like she’s walking on air. For a short second, Nicky wonders if Jaida is hiding powers of her own. But Nicky understands her own heart too well. She knows what is happening, and she knows what kind of magic it is.

The flowers grow heart shaped leaves and pink petals that night, dulcified by the honey in Nicky’s voice. When she takes them to the market on Monday, they are all gone in an hour. Nicky sets one aside, and takes the flower and a tub of healing cream to the cart at the end of the aisle.

Pride Challenge Points: 385

#rpdr fanfiction #may trope mayhem #jaida essence hall #nicky doll #jaida x nicky #s12 #magic au #witch au #fic challenge #mar #concrit welcome

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abnormal-normality · 1 year

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• | dors bien (sleep tight)

Summary

Cédric pinned Jesse under him, rumbling. Jesse relaxed, and threaded his hands through his hair, purring lightly.

“And the overgrown pig has made an appearance,” he heard Christelle say, though her voice was soft and fond. “C’mon, you gonna make some room in your pigpen for me?”

Cédric pulled away for a brief moment to yank her down with them.

“Better than yours.” he sneered.

(Alternatively: in which Cédric spends a slightly atypical heat with his mates.)

Notes

for day 16 of @domaystic: sleeping habits AND day 16 of may trope mayhem (hosted by @duckprintspress): non-traditional alpha/beta/omega dynamics. just a cute lil thing for cjc

#cedjesschris #twsb #when the third wheel strikes back #kg fanfics #cjc #domaystic2023 #may trope mayhem #may trope mayhem 2023 #domaystic

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dianneking · 1 year

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In Her Arms - Queerplatonic Miranda/Robin (Top of the Lake)

This is my entry for @duckprintspress‘s May Trope Mayhem 2023 Day 1: Queerplatonic Relationship. As soon as I read the prompt/trope, I thought of my favorite underrated pairing, so I hope you enjoy! Crossposted on AO3 - if you prefer reading it there, link is in the title below.

Tags: Spoilers for Top of the lake: China girl season finale, Hospitalization, Gunshot wound (mentioned - not graphic), Coma, Jealousy, Infidelity, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending.

Fandom: Top of the Lake: China Girl - Pairing: Miranda Hilmarson/ Robin Griffin - Wordcount: 1052

In Her Arms

It's a split second decision: she doesn't stop to think, she doesn't - for once - let the voice of reason convince her that she shouldn't, that coworkers that barely know each other don't simply jump into each other's arms. She just jumps, as instinctually as Miranda has opened her arms, expecting nothing less than for Robin to trust her.

Surprising even herself, Robin does.

That's why Robin is now enveloped by Miranda’s strong arms, being held against the blonde's chest and being deposited so very carefully on the warm sand.

Miranda’s arms linger a little longer than would be normal, and at the same time they leave too soon. It all lasts too little, and yet to Robin it feels like a lifetime. She can still smell Miranda’s delicate soap scent lingering around her, mixing with the saltiness of the seaside air. It is as if Robin has found something in those arms, something she didn't know she had lost.

"There you go!" comes the cheerful voice from up above her head, and Robin tries to once again focus on her job, on her professionalism, pulling her usual mask back on her face. But as she looks up, she can see a warm understanding in the deep blue eyes above her, and that shakes her even more than the unexpected hug did.

"What is she to you?"

Adrian looks at her accusingly from across Miranda’s hospital bed, pain and regret distorting his face. For a man who's still married to his wife while trying to build a family with Miranda, he sure doesn't make much of an effort to hide the jealousy in his voice, Robin notices.

Hypocrite. As if he was the only one allowed to care.

But Miranda wouldn't want her to lash out at him, however much Robin wants to - he was supposed to be the one directing the mission, he was the one supposed to have contingency plans and safety measures in place, he was the one who should have kept Miranda safe - so instead she focuses on his question.

What is she to you?

Robin thinks of the ease with which Miranda reached over and held her hand while they walked side by side. She thinks of the tears that they have shed together. She thinks of Miranda’s arms around her, holding her, grounding her, keeping her together. She thinks of the special, secret smile that lit up the constable's face when her eyes found Robin's from across the room.

"She's my friend." The word feels wrong in her mouth - to reduce what she had with Miranda to simple friendship feels unfair, especially now - and yet, theirs was not a romantic relationship either, was it? Miranda had Adrian, after all, and Robin...well, Robin didn't need anyone else.

"A friend she'd take a bullet for."

"As I would for her."

"I wish you had."

Robin's eyes travel along Miranda’s body, looking so uncharacteristically small under the bandages, the tubes and the wires that keep her together - that keep her alive - and finds that his words don't hurt her as he probably wanted them to.

"I wish I had too."

He stops visiting after a while, and Robin is both relieved and angry. Relieved not to meet him anymore - the tense silences in the hospital room wore her out more than the loneliness does - but angry, because how dare he abandon Miranda. Word around the station is that he patched things up with his wife and Robin can't help but think how heartbroken Miranda will be when she wakes up and hears the news.

Because she's going to wake up.

Robin squeezes the long, slender hand she's holding, as Miranda used to do with hers when she could feel Robin was upset.

She's going to wake up and Robin will be there when she does.

The nurses stop trying to make Robin leave the room when visiting hours end. The people from HR stop asking her how much longer her carer's leave will be. Robin stops counting the days.

It feels as if her whole world is waiting with bated breath for Miranda to wake up.

Robin keeps holding her hand, waiting.

"Hey."

Miranda’s voice is rough and crackly, her lips are chapped and her cheeks are sunken in, and yet her small, tentative, tired smile is the most beautiful work of art Robin could imagine admiring, her voice the sweetest song ever heard.

She can now admit to herself that a part of her had been terrified to not be able to hear her voice, to see her smile anymore.

She squeezes that soft hand once again, and this time the long fingers wrap around hers.

"I had the weirdest dreams."

And it's such a Miranda thing to say after being in a coma for weeks on end, that Robin can't hold herself back anymore and - carefully, delicately - hugs Miranda around her shoulders, and what starts falling from her lips as a laughter quickly turns into sobs as all of her fear, her sorrow, her guilt finally come out. Miranda’s hands come trembling up - even this small movement is such an effort for her - and land on her back, soothing, comforting.

When the doctors clear Miranda to go back home, with strict orders not to tire herself out too much, Robin puts her foot down and convinces her to come stay at her place - only for now, she reasons, until you get your energies back. Miranda accepts, looking at her with that soft, understanding look that makes Robin stammer and bluster and remind her that it's just because Miranda needs someone to keep her in check otherwise she would overexert herself within five minutes of being home.

Miranda doesn't say anything, and just smiles down at her, her eyes crinkling up as if they had just shared a secret joke.

That evening, when she sees Robin bringing her pillow and linens to the couch, she's the one putting her foot down, and telling her not to be ridiculous and just come to bed. She holds her arms open, welcoming, and as Robin curls up against her side, she can't help but think of how perfectly she fits into the blonde's embrace, and she allows herself to simply bask in the happiness that she only finds in Miranda’s arms.

Liked it? You can find more of my fanfiction on my fanfiction masterlist!

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ladylilithprime · 11 months

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FIC: Tom Hanks, Eat Your Heart Out

Written for @heavenandhellbingo Square: Repaying A Debt

Written for @duckprintspress May Trope Mayhem Day 24: Interspecies Relationship

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Gabriel/Sam Winchester

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 2882

Summary: Gabriel likes to pop in on his favorite hunters and his best little brother to make sure they're doing okay and not in danger of dying or breaking the world again. Finding Sam chilling in a tiny motel bathtub with a massive scaled and finned tail was definitely a new one, though.

Tags/Warnings: Involuntary Species Change, Dean Being An Impulsive Idiot, References To Canon Torture, Winchester Guilt Complexes

Read on AO3

IF HE EVER managed to discover the twist of fate (or Fate) that had Frigga showing up in the middle of Loki's diatribe against the death of Odin and broken vows made to gods, Gabriel was absolutely going to have to do some pretty grand gestures of gratitude. Despite still being visibly in mourning for her murdered husband, Frigga had been absolutely incensed over what Loki had planned to do to the Archangel "in retribution" for something that she had already Seen wasn't even his fault and which he had tried repeatedly to stop to his own detriment. Furthermore, given her general purview, Frigga had already "read ahead in this story" and had no intention of losing more family members to senseless acts of unnecessary revenge.

"All that research you have done into binding an Archangel might be better served offered to that little Seraph who is trying to keep our Gabriel's third brother from picking up where the eldest two left off before his desperation drives him to do something all of us will regret," she had told Loki tartly, and promptly taken Gabriel out of her brother-in-law's presence and off to the tender mercies of Asgard's healers.

Gabriel heard about the eventual showdown after the fact once Eir had deigned to release him from her clutches and he had managed to track down the "little Seraph" in question. Castiel had been understandably wary to have another Archangel in front of him so soon after having dealt with Raphael, but he was at least willing to listen when Gabriel explained where he had been (stuck in Asgard first in their prison because Loki was pissed off that Lucifer killed Odin, and then in the Healers' Hall) and what he wanted (to find out what the hell was going on because the rumors were wild) and what he planned to do now (to go back to as much of his former life here on Earth as he could manage, preferably with less dying). Hearing from Castiel about the second War of Heaven was heart-wrenching enough that Gabriel was begrudgingly willing to admit that Frigga and Eir had been right to keep him bedridden for as long as they had. Hearing what had happened to Sam and Dean Winchester while said second War was happening had not been any better, especially when he heard about the damage to Sam's soul and how one of Raphael's agents had broken the wall in his mind that Death had put up as a distraction technique, and to his own aggravated dismay Gabriel felt a very strong need to see them for himself to make sure they were really all right now.

He had been expecting just about anything from a holy fire Molotov (nice one, Cassie) to an attempted staking for old time's sake. He had not been expecting to find Dean on the verge of a nervous breakdown carefully hidden behind a mask of rage while Sam thrashed on the floor as if reacting to blows from an unseen opponent in eerie silence. Hallucinations, Castiel had whispered silently across their Grace connection, brought on by the trauma inflicted on his soul in the Cage. And that... that was equal parts heartbreaking and horrifying, because it was Gabriel's brothers who had done this to Sam and it had been Gabriel's desperate Hail Mary half a plan that had led to them doing it. The guilt that swamped him in that moment of realization was probably what made him temporarily take leave of his senses enough to show himself, ignoring Dean's startled cursing and the resulting scuffle as Castiel had to wrestle the agitated hunter's gun away from him when Gabriel's Grace touched Sam and the younger hunter started screaming. Healing wasn't his forte, but Gabriel was all too familiar with his brothers' respective tactics and handiwork, and he had just enough of his energy left to see Sam's eyes flutter open, clear and aware and wide with shock, before Gabriel's own rolled back and his Grace shut down his vessel to conserve itself enough to heal again.

The fact that he woke up some two months later in a human hospital was both reassuring and a little disheartening, but at least the Winchesters hadn't just left him on the floor of that rickety old cabin.

It only took a day to discover that they hadn't actually left him as Sam appeared in the doorway to his hospital room just before visiting hours would have been over, Dean not far behind. The relief on the younger Winchester's face at seeing him awake was a surprise, as was the dismay that replaced it when Gabriel asked if Sam was okay.

"Am I okay?" Sam had exclaimed incredulously. "Cas said you just got done healing when you showed up and promptly put yourself into a coma fixing my head, and you ask me if I'm okay?!"

"Well, I'd hate for my efforts to be wasted, but there's only so much of your head I can fix," Gabriel had deflected jokingly, only to end up with an armful of emotional hunter who couldn't seem to decide between laughing and crying and so was doing both at once.

"Man, you gotta stop dying on us, Gabe," Dean said over his brother's sobs in a tone that more closely matched Gabriel's own, if a bit more gruff. "It's becoming a habit."

"I'll try and break it if you two chuckleheads do," Gabriel grumbled irritably, and was rewarded with a somewhat wet laugh into his shoulder.

It took about as long for them to hash out just what that deal would end up looking like as it did for Gabriel to be discharged from the hospital, bills paid with his own money and prescriptions for painkillers that were promptly discarded. It had to be renegotiated when Abaddon showed up chasing Henry Winchester through time and the brothers almost didn't call him because he was only a week out of the hospital and they didn't immediately think a Knight of Hell qualified as an emergency. Eventually they settled into something of a loose sort of check-in schedule that worked for all of them so long as they pretended that it was just about hanging out.

To everyone's surprise except Castiel's, that worked out just fine.

Or at least it was supposed to. Gabriel was starting to have some doubts about that as he stared in dismay at the sight in front of him. He had privately entertained more than three or four fantasies about popping in on the Winchesters to find Sam naked in the bath, but this was a far cry from what his imagination usually conjured up. For one thing, the bathtub in question was a tiny and cramped motel bathtub instead of a jaccuzzi the size of a king bed. For another, the already tiny tub appeared even tinier when Sam's lower half was distinctly less human-shaped than Gabriel was used to.

Gabriel let his eyes rake over the usually long and lanky form that was now even longer, giving visual appreciation to the more familiar but still rarely seen bare arms and shoulders and well-sculpted muscled torso and abs. His eyes tracked further to where the sun-bronzed skin became shimmery with tiny translucent scales that got bigger and more vibrant as they went down, normally long and powerful legs now fused together into a single solid limb that could never even hope to be contained by the tub's short and narrow dimensions. Sam himself clearly realized it, too, as the end of his tail was draped over the edge of the bathtub and curled partially back, giving Gabriel an excellent view of the spiny fan of a translucent green and bronze caudal fin. He glanced back up beneath the water line and, sure enough, there were the shapes of somewhat squished pelvic fins and, at the underside of Sam's ribcage, the telltale gaping curves of gills awkwardly trying to breathe in the still, unmoving tub of water that was barely enough to keep him wet.

And he was still unfairly gorgeous.

"I don't even know where to start with this one," Gabriel said at length, thus also announcing his presence to Sam, who startled hard enough to send water splashing out of the tub.

"Gabriel!" he yelped, hands going reflexively but futilely to the area of his body that was usually much more potentially interesting to look at, then jerking his hands away again as his fingers brushed over shining green-and-bronze scales. "A little warning, maybe?"

"Shouldn't that be my line?" Gabriel asked, his eyebrows going up as he leaned his shoulder against the door jamb. "Or did you think this new look you're sporting didn't fall under the Third Commandments Tablet?"

"I'm not dying or even injured and I'm not facing off against a high ranking demon," Sam pointed out with a frown. "Not facing off against anything like this unless we get another ghost ship case."

"Commandment thirteen," Gabriel intoned, beginning to grin as Sam abruptly looked distinctly hunted. "Thou shalt not keep Gabriel out of the loop of big changes. Hate to break it to ya, Samperch, but changing species absolutely counts as a big change."

"It's temporary," Sam insisted, then scowled. "Or at least it was supposed to be, according to Cas. Dean got me this pendant that was labeled as a protective amulet because of the way that vamp nest last week tried to use me as a chew toy, which would have been fine except none of us thought to check up on the exact nature of the spells on the pendant beyond getting Cas to scan it for harmful magics just in case."

"At least you got him to check it at all," Gabriel broke in with a huff. He was starting to get the picture of what might have happened. "Let me guess, the pendant was an engraved cowrie shell strung on leather cording with coral beads?"

"You've heard of it," Sam sighed. "Of course you have. So you can guess what happened when I went to take a shower and Dean's idea of a solution to it."

"He broke the cowrie shell?"

"He broke the cowrie shell," Sam groaned. "And when that didn't work to change me back he salted and burned the whole damn necklace, and only decided to call Cas when that didn't work, at which point Cas informed him that if he had just left the necklace alone I could have dried off and changed back and then remembered to take the thing off to shower from now on, but now..."

"Now you have to find a mermaid enclave with one of their shamans who is willing to make a new pendant for you," Gabriel concluded. "Or rather, Dean does since he's the one who broke it and you're not exactly well versed in swimming with that fintastic new tail of yours to make the trip underwater."

"Not that Dean would be happy about letting me go off alone like this anyway," Sam said with a shake of his head. "He went back to the place that sold him the original pendant to see if they have any more first and Cas went with him to try and be a restraining influence with a promise to fly back if something happens and I need help."

Well, that explained why Sam had been left alone in a motel bathtub, at least. A cursory glance around the tiny bathroom showed a few bottles of water, some protein bars, and a small stack of books on the back of the toilet along with a plastic jar of what looked like salt. "I'm hoping the place isn't far, then?"

"It's in Maine," Sam deadpanned. Gabriel groaned inwardly. They were currently in Kentucky. "Fortunately, Dean was willing to concede that letting Cas fly him there and back once he gets a replacement pendant made logical sense, no matter his usual discomfort with taking Angel Air, so..."

"So they should hopefully be back once Dean learns that it's really rare for the enclaves to let one of their pendants fall into human hands for exactly this reason and the only reliable way to maybe get a new one is to find a mermaid shaman and sweet talk her into letting you at least borrow one for long enough to change back," Gabriel summarized. "And because this is Dean-o, the chances of him managing that are about even with the chances of him sticking his foot in his mouth, and he wouldn't think to call me about it either."

Sam paused and gave Gabriel a shrewd, narrow look that the Archangel tried not to let get to him beyond a pointed raising of his eyebrows. After a moment, Sam snorted softly, the caudal fin twitching where it lay against the water-splashed floor. "If his search back in Maine doesn't turn up anything useful, I was going to suggest calling you. I figured you would at least get a good laugh out of it."

There was a resigned edge to the words, not precisely unhappy so much as displeased. "Already got your fill of the jokes from big bro?"

"I wish," Sam sighed, slumping back into the tiny tub and sloshing the water again, the massive length of his tail arching up out of the water. "He's too busy brooding in guilt because this is technically all his fault, what with giving me the amulet and then breaking and burning it before checking with Cas about the particulars when I ended up half fish. I'm honestly expecting him to have a million jokes to make, most of them about my supposed continued transformations into a Disney princess, but he feels like he can't make any jokes until he's fixed me and it's driving me up the wall!"

"Literally," Gabriel remarked, eyeing the way slick green scales were rubbing up against the wall of the bathroom. One of the scales had detached from Sam's tail and lodged itself in the gap between the edges of the peeling wallpaper, which was going to be interesting for whoever got this room next if the cleaning staff missed it. "Well, I'm here now anyway. You want me to ping Cassie to bring Ahab back?"

"Does that make Cas Ishmael?" Sam snorted. "Sure, might as well, especially if you're right about the rarity of a pendant like that turning up in a coastal antique shop twice, which I can't imagine you wouldn't be."

"Flatterer," Gabriel batted his eyes at Sam even as he reached out to Castiel and sent the Grace equivalent of a polite knock. Come on back, kiddo, Sam's filled me in on the situation and I've got a better solution than old triggerhappy making an ass of himself.

Oh thank Father, Castiel answered in immediate relief. It still took another thirty-seven seconds before the telltale sound of wings rustled in the main part of the motel room, followed by the displacement of air as Castiel and Dean phased back onto the physical plane. "You have a solution, brother?"

"Yup," Gabriel confirmed, popping the 'p' as he twisted around to lean his back against the door jamb so he could see Castiel and Dean while still keeping partial attention on Sam. "Kind of a two-fold solution. First part is I take you all to one of my properties to hang out, untwist, decompress, stretch your legs or leg equivalents--"

"Hey!" Dean protested, getting a very unimpressed look from Gabriel.

"Unclench, buccaneer," he said flatly. "Seriously, we get it, you fucked up, and at least this time it's not actually the end of the world. Besides, I'm pretty sure all three of you would have tried testing me with silver if I wasn't making jokes about it, especially when I can fix it."

"Then why haven't you?" Dean demanded, crossing his arms.

"If you would shut up," Sam piped up from inside the bathroom, "he was about to explain. And I'd like a bit more information on the stretching of leg equivalents, if it's all the same to you!"

"Thank you, Salmon," Gabriel smirked, not even phased when Sam splashed water at him in retaliation. "As I was saying, step one is taking you to one of my properties which, in addition to the usual human-safe entertainments and amenities, also boasts a nice, big salt water infinity pool that will be, heh, infinitely more comfortable for our fine-finned fellow to reside in while I go on a little scavenger hunt of my store rooms to find the ummyndun hafmeyjunnar amulet I picked up about a thousand years ago."

There was a long moment of silence while the Winchesters processed his words and Castiel gave Gabriel a small, relieved smile. And then Dean said in an entirely too calm voice, "Are you seriously telling me that while I've been running around going out of my mind trying to find an impossibly rare piece of jewelry and getting my face slapped by a blonde in a bikini, you've had one of those damn things the whole time?!"

"See what happens when you don't think to call me about something like this right away?" Gabriel couldn't resist snarking cheekily.

"Son of a bitch!"

#supernatural fic #heavenandhellbingo #may trope mayhem #mermay #sabriel

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saviorofdandysuits · 1 year

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You'll Ruin the Surprise!

Written for @duckprintspress 's May Trope Mayhem, Day 1: Queerplatonic Relationship Who better than our beloved Ineffable Husbands? Rated: G - WC: 480 - No content warnings - [ AO3 ]

“Angel? Could you—“ The key finally turned just as the handle snapped on Crowley’s soggy bag from Sainsbury and oranges, potatoes and a pint of blueberries spilled out onto the polished hall. Sidling through the gap in the door, he managed to get in and close it without squishing any of the little fruits. “Angel?”

Metal clanged from the kitchen, underlaid by the simmering bubble of something… something good.

“Angel?” Crowley called again, a little quieter, as he guiltily tapped the blueberries back into their carton and sauntered down the hall, scooping up the fallen produce with the remains of the bag.

“Crowley, no…” Aziraphale stood in the doorway, soft, round arms stretched wide and a stern gleam in his eyes. “You are entirely too early. Come back later,” he ordered, the corner of his mouth jerking with what was certainly not a smile.

“Angel?” he repeated, voice soft as he tilted his head, stealing a peek at the sinkful of mixing bowls, two skillets and the good saucepan. The bottom was now caked in the remnants of melted chocolate. “What are you up to, Angel?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale’s voice grew stronger with each denial. “Nothing at all. In fact, I am quite certain I’m not even here, you’ve simply fallen asleep on the tube and are dreaming.” He nudged the center of Crowley’s chest with two fingers. “Go on now, wake up before you miss your stop.”

“Are you really attempting to miracle me back onto the tube?” he laughed, eyes sparkling behind his sunglasses. Before his partner could answer, he pressed the bags into Aziraphale’s arms and ducked around him with a little wave.

“Now, Crowley!” he cried after him, setting the packages onto the counter and shaking off the wet tattered remains of the disintegrating Sainsbury bag. “You’ll spoil your surprise!”

“A surprise for me?” Crowley turned around and allowed Aziraphale to cover his eyes with one hand as he marched him back into the hall and out to the living room.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Now.” He snatched up the first book he passed and pressed Crowley down into a plush armchair and laid the book on his lap.

Crowley scoffed but didn’t get up. “Three Plays by Ibsen?” He held up the book and made no attempt to hide his smile. “Really?”

“Consider yourself lucky,” he retorted, his own smile softening the mild threat in his voice. “I might have picked up a Bible. Now, stay here until you’re called.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Crowley said with utter seriousness as Aziraphale glared at him for a long moment before he turned and walked back to the kitchen.

A moment later, a stifled gasp spilled out into the hall. Aziraphale’s muttered, “Oh, Crowley,” his only other reaction to the bright daisy that suddenly adorned his lapel.

“Happy Beltane to you, as well, Angel,” Crowley murmured and turned the page in his book.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #may trope mayhem

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eliotqueliot · 11 months

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After the Scarlatti Web

For the May 29 prompt: Bed Sharing, for @duckprintspress May Trope Mayhem

Fandom: The Magicians (TV)

Relationship: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh

Tags: Sharing a Bed, queliot, Insomnia, References to Depression, Fear, Falling In Love, Best Friends, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together

Summary: Quentin’s afraid to sleep. Eliot wants to help.

This story takes place following the end of 1x04, “The World in the Walls,” right after Quentin wakes up from being trapped in his own mind by Julia in the Scarlatti Web.

Warnings for canon-typical language. The first 1k is up on tumblr, but the whole story is on AO3; link at the end.

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

Eliot handed Quentin a brandy. Q glanced at him as their fingers brushed, but didn’t pull away. Instead he looked at Eliot as though he was some sort of lifeline.

Eliot reseated himself on the back of the couch beside Quentin and reached out to pet his hair again, but this time it was more than a quick pat. “How are you, Q? Really?”

“A little freaked out?”

“Understandable. If I get my hands on that hedge bitch—”

Quentin shivered. He pulled Eliot’s hand off his head—but then he just held onto Eliot’s wrist for a minute. “God, no. Just let her be. I hate what she did—”

“You almost died, Quentin,” Eliot spat out. “There was a very good chance you were never going to wake up.”

“But I don’t blame her for being mad. I should have told the dean she had magic, like she wanted.”

“That doesn’t excuse—”

A smile ghosted over Quentin’s lips. “No, but maybe they would have mind-wiped her again? Before she could do anything stupid?”

It surprised a laugh out of Eliot. “God, I hope it takes next time.”

“Same.” Quentin drank his brandy. Eliot crossed around and sat next to him.

“What was it like in the mind-prison? How did you get out?” God, I was so worried, Quentin. His heart still hadn’t calmed the fuck down. The flood of relief was making him giddy, possibly stupid, because—he wanted to tell Quentin what he’d realized. How his heart dropped the moment they’d found Q unresponsive in the back of that closet. The moment he realized just how much he loved Quentin.

“It was my worst nightmare. I got committed.” Quentin tipped the tumbler, downing the rest in one go, and God, he didn’t recommend that, but Eliot reached for the glass instinctively. But Quentin shook his head to a refill. “You know, Eliot, you were there? Probably the one bright spot in the whole damned place.”

“Really?” Eliot’s aplomb was no match for this sudden surge of happiness. Inescapable: I love Quentin. Oh God, I’m head over heels. So that’s what it means… Fuck, he was in trouble.

Quentin sighed and flopped back against the cushions. “The funny thing is… I slept for what, ten hours? Thirteen? But I’ve never been so tired in my life. I feel like I’ve been running for, like, a month. Only…sleeping right now? I can’t even. Would I ever wake up? Is it bad that I’m so tired I almost don’t care?”

Eliot took Q’s hand and stood decisively. “Come with me, Quentin.”

“El, I have to go to class.”

“They can excuse you for one day. After this? They can excuse you for a month. You almost died, Quentin. And their famous methods of dealing with former students and warding against hedge magic didn’t work.”

But halfway up the stairs, Quentin sighed heavily and just stopped walking. “I’m not sure I ever want to sleep again, to be honest.”

“I can watch over you, Q. If you’re worried about it.” Always. I’ll always be there for you, Q. “It’s no trouble.” Oh, I can think of so many ways to help you sleep… Sternly, he told his brain to settle down.

“My guardian angel?” Despite the cheeky smile, Quentin looked so tired, so serious. “Thank you, El. But—I’ll let you know? Right now I need to get my books and just—make it to class. So I don’t get mind-wiped too.”

“Don’t worry, Q. I’m not going to let that happen.” Eliot helped Q gather his books, tucked his tag back in his shirt collar, smoothed Q’s hair, and had just enough time to grab him a water bottle before Q rushed out the door.

Eliot had class himself, and plans with Margo, but he tried to keep an eye out for Q. Quentin didn’t come back till late after dinner—apparently having a serious meeting with Dean Fogg, among other things. Eliot put a plate together for him—heard all about it while Quentin ate, even though there was a previously scheduled party to attend to. When Quentin pushed back his chair and announced he was going to crash, Eliot followed him upstairs to make sure he had strong enough wards to keep out the noise of the party, before wishing him a peaceful sleep.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay? I don’t mind. I have plenty of homework. I can sit up and read,” Eliot found himself babbling. “Make sure nothing happens. Keep up the sound wards.”

Quentin just smiled tiredly and waved at the bed. “It’s okay. I’m so wiped I could sleep through anything at this point. But I appreciate it.”

Then he closed the door.

Eliot just stood there for a moment. The way his heart surged out of his chest, still on the other side of that door, with Quentin…felt like an out-of-body experience.

The next morning, Eliot got up early to make Quentin breakfast before class. Quentin dragged himself downstairs just in time, clearly struggling.

Q talked to him, but he seemed subdued, his chatter coming more slowly than usual. While he moved about the kitchen, Eliot snuck worried glances at Q. Each time, he found Q sitting there, slumped in the chair, his usually eloquent hands flat on the table like fallen birds.

When he set the plate of scrambled eggs on toast in front of his favorite nerd, Eliot murmured, “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t sleep all night, El. I mean, I tried, okay? But I guess I’m kind of afraid to? Every time I close my eyes, they pop back open after a few minutes. What if I never wake up? I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to sleep again,” he repeated his fears more forcefully—this time backed by experience. He looked up at Eliot miserably.

Eliot soothed a hand between his shoulders. “You probably got enough sleep for a while, Q.” “And now I’m going to fall asleep in class and flunk out and be mindwiped,” Q fretted.

#may trope mayhem #duck prints press #eliot waugh #quentin coldwater #queliot #quentin x eliot #the magicians #queliot fanfic

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fategoflatass · 1 year

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Usually, when people expel petals from their lungs, they take it as a sign of worry.

But Mary’s not worried, not even one bit.

#hamefura #my next life as a villainess #fanfic #may trope mayhem

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duckprintspress · 1 year

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Welcome to May Trope Mayhem!

May Trope Mayhem is a multi-fandom/original creation event open to writers, artists, and content creators of all kinds! We’ve put together a list of 30 of our favorite tropes (plus one day for you to pick YOUR favorite!), one per day through the month of May, and we encourage creators to join us for this month of fun tropey mayhem.

Our goal is to promote motivation and help with habit building, so we’re encouraging people to keep their ficlets under 1,000 words, or if you make art or a gif or some such, to stick to a sketch or a single image.

This event is primarily held on Tumblr, but you’re welcome to participate anywhere Duck Prints Press has an account (you can see all our current platforms here) and we’ll keep our eyes on our tag everywhere!

How can you participate? It’s easy! There’s just a few simple rules:

to participate, write a ficlet or a poem, create art, make a gif, or create any other content that you want, aligned with the prompt for the day!

post your correctly tagged fills to Tumblr, and we’ll reblog them! We’ll retweet works on Twitter, retoot those on Mastodon, you get the idea. 😀

you must tag warnings such as gore, MCD, sexual content, etc., so that people can avoid triggering material!

please also tag fandom and ship, so people can find what interests them!

we ask that you put the tags at the top of your post, so they’re easy to find.

if you write more than 1k words, please use a read more.

if you write something with NSFW content or potentially triggering material, please put the entire story under a read more.

Ping us (duckprintspress) or tag your creations “#may trope mayhem” and so we can find them! We’ll reblog all fills that follow the above rules and are posted between May 1st and June 8th, 2023.

If you post to AO3, you can also add them to our collection there!

You don’t have to sign up, just post your fills. You don’t have to be a member of the Press nor do you have to be following us. You don’t have to be part of a specific fandom. We’re open to all ships, genres, formats, etc.! You don’t have to post fills on the corresponding day, though we ask that if you’re creating for a day that hasn’t happened yet, please wait for that day to post.

This is a low-pressure event, held in good fun, and we look forward to seeing what you create!

Who We Are: Duck Prints Press LLC is an independent publisher based in New York State. Our founding vision is to help fan creators publishing their original works. We are particularly dedicated to working with queer authors and publishing stories featuring characters from across the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. Want to always hear the latest? Sign up for our monthly newsletter! Want to support the Press, read about us behind-the-scenes, learn what’s coming down the pipeline, get exclusive teasers, and claim free stories? Back us on Patreon monthly!

#may trope mayhem #may trope mayhem 2023

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petitmonde · 1 year

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🌻

May Trope Mayhem Day 15: Character is a sex worker

Tags: Sashnetra, Sasha Colby, Anetra, RPDR s15, Stripper AU, unrequited feelings

For @duckprintspress May Trope Mayhem.

She was the sun, light shining bright on those who watched her. Her smile was the burning fire that inspired people to write poetry on the divine. One couldn't look away from the way Sasha Colby moved on a stage, alight in the darkness shining like diamonds.

Or that was how Anetra would describe her, should anyone ask. From the very first time she laid eyes on her, she was hooked, unable to escape her thrall. And God, the way her voice rang through her chest when she thanked her for the generous tip Anetra had left her that night, all those months ago.

Now, Anetra's bank account was nearing empty, while her heart was in a surplus. Silly, really. Sasha hadn't paid her much mind aside from giving her a couple more minutes in the private rooms for free. It didn't mean anything. She was merely rewarding her best customer. But to Anetra, it meant the world.

Her friends were worried about her too, and why wouldn't they be? Anetra barely saw them anymore, always with a flimsy excuse that she needed to do overtime or that her family needed her. The first a half truth, the second a complete fabrication. She needed them off her back for whatever the fuck she was doing. Without talking to them, Anetra had no problem imagining Luxx staging an intervention for her problem.

As if Anetra didn't know this wasn't healthy. There weren't any real feelings there beyond dollar bills and shitty booze. There never would be.

Still, Anetra looked up at the stage for her sun as she absentmindedly counted the money she had left in her wallet. Five $20 bills and some change. Just barely enough. With ten days until payday, ramen noodles would have to do. She tucked her wallet back into her pocket. She had a show to catch.

#yellow ocean #sashnetra #rpdr fanfiction #drabble #may trope mayhem

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unforth · 1 year

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Fandom: 盗墓笔记重启 | The Lost Tomb Reboot (TV), 盗墓笔记 - 南派三叔 | The Grave Robbers' Chronicles - Xu Lei Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Wu Xie/Zhang Qiling Characters: Wu Xie (DMBJ Series), Zhang Qiling, Wang Pangzi Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cancer, Resurrection, Temporary Character Death, Self-Harm, Angst with a Happy Ending, Zhang Qiling shows signs of PTSD, POV Zhang Qiling, Touch Starved Zhang Qiling Word Count: 2,207 Summary:

When Zhang Qiling returns after 20 years behind the Bronze Gate, he finds Wang Pangzi much aged and Wu Xie dead of cancer.

Living without Wu Xie is no life, so Zhang Qiling does the only thing he can: he brings Wu Xie back.

(Or: a "what if" for if Zhang Qiling's time behind the Gate was doubled and he didn't return until after the events of TLTR)

(Written for May Trope Mayhem Day 7: "Twenty Years Later" Reunion)

@duckprintspress

#unforth writes #pingxie #dmbj #may trope mayhem #at least this time I knew it was not going to be super short there was just no way #this fic is all the dmbj discord server's fault #i was considering a much happier au #and then they just full-on enabled my worst most angsty idea lmao

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applepato · 1 year

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Here’s a lil something I wrote for this year’s May Trope Mayhem! I’ve been meaning to do something for this challenge all month and now I’ve finally finished my college project so I can focus more on writing :]

Fandom: Sanders Sides Tags: analogical, virgil is a vampire, biting, kissing Prompt: Vampiric Feeding Wordcount: 1312 AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47175820

“Virgil?” Logan called, voice echoing through the seemingly-empty apartment. “Are you here?”

It was a stupid question, really, Logan thought. Being a vampire, Virgil was unable to go outdoors during the day, for fear of becoming a pile of ash by the side of the road, and from what Logan could tell, Virgil didn’t leave all that much during the night either. He preferred to get deliveries from the local butcher shop rather than seek out a more lively source of food.

That was one of the reasons Logan hadn’t immediately run for the hills upon realising his roommate was a vampire - that and the way his eyes glowed softly, drawing Logan's gaze wherever he went...

Logan shook himself out of his musings with a frown. Now was not the time to be daydreaming.

“Virgil?” he called again, knocking on his roommate’s door. “Are you okay? I was going to watch March of the Penguins, would you like to join-”

The door burst open and Logan jumped back, startled.

His roommate stood in front of him, wearing ripped black jeans and a black tank top in place of his usual hoodie. Logan carefully didn’t stare at the vampire’s exposed skin and forced himself to meet his eyes. His eyes that were- exhausted.

Deep black shadows hung underneath his eyes and, for once, Logan didn’t think there was any makeup involved. Even the bright purple of his irises seemed more dull than normal. He swayed slightly on the spot, his naturally pale skin almost translucent in the faint light shining from the closed hallway curtains.

Logan put his hands out as if to steady Virgil, and said, alarmed, “Virgil? Are you quite alright?”

“Oh, hey Logan. Yeah, I’m okay- just-” he shuddered a bit, “Just hungry.”

Logan widened his eyes. “You haven’t eaten? Wait here, I will get you some-”

“There isn’t any.” Virgil interrupted.

“What do you mean? Surely, there should be some left over from Friday’s delivery.”

Virgil shook his head. “There wasn’t a delivery on Friday. James texted me saying there was a delay and that I’d have to wait till next week. I thought I had enough in the freezer but there’s none left.”

"Shit.”

Despite his state, Virgil laughed. “Yep, that about sums it up.”

Logan’s brain was whirring, running through all the possible options and discarding them just as fast.

Logan could go out and buy some blood? Nope, it was 5pm on a Saturday, the butcher’s wouldn’t open again until Monday.

Virgil could just wait until then? No, Virgil had told Logan that vampires could only last around three days at most without eating and any longer than twenty-four hours could be detrimental to their health, as demonstrated by the shaky man standing in front of him.

…Virgil could go out and hunt? Logan shuddered. Virgil would never. And anyway, aside from the obvious moral issue, Virgil was in no fit state to do that at the moment.

Fresh animal blood was always a possibility, however wild animals would be exceptionally difficult to catch for a sick vampire and domesticated animals were not an option.

Ah.

Logan had a solution.

“Bite me,” he said bluntly.

“What? Logan, no-”

Logan interrupted him, looking right into his eyes, “Virgil, the next chance you will have to get blood will be Monday morning, and with your current state, I sincerely doubt you will make it that far. At least, not without serious damage to your physical health.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his self-preservation instincts were screaming at him to stop offering himself up on a figurative platter to a hungry vampire, but the louder part of his mind was inexplicably focused on the sheen of sweat across Virgil’s face and the slight tremors running through his body. This was logical. This would save Virgil and come at little cost to himself.

Provided Virgil was able to control himself.

Well, no time to back out now; Virgil still seemed unsure but he nodded slowly and muttered a small, “Okay.”

He gestured into his room. “Should we- Maybe it would be best to do it in here? You’ll be able to sit down on the bed if you need.”

The two entered Virgil’s room and turned to face each other. Virgil was close enough that Logan could count the freckles dusting his cheeks. Or he would’ve been able to had he not been distracted by trying to keep his breathing even.

“And you’re sure you’re okay with this?”

Logan nodded, cleared his throat, and said, “Yes. This is the logical solution.”

“Right,” Virgil took a breath - out of habit rather than necessity. “It might hurt a bit, just at first.”

And he stepped closer, until they were only inches apart. Logan hadn’t really noticed the height difference between the two of them until now. Virgil’s mouth exactly lined up with Logan's neck.

The sensation of Virgil cupping his hand around the back of Logan’s neck surprised him, goosebumps tingling across his skin. Virgil moved his head closer, opened his mouth and sank his teeth into Logan’s skin.

A small gasp escaped Logan’s mouth as Virgil’s needle-sharp teeth pierced him. Although he had expected the pain, a warning wasn’t enough to dim the shock.

A moment passed and Logan began to feel a tugging sensation in his neck. It didn’t hurt anymore; if anything, it was bordering on pleasant. Logan supposed that was an evolutionary tactic to keep prey from struggling too much.

Logan didn’t struggle.

He let Virgil push him gently back into the wall behind them. Without thinking, he placed his hands on the shorter man’s waist, tugging him closer until they were pressed together. It may have been Logan’s imagination, but he could’ve sworn as his own body was drained of warmth, Virgil’s usual chill seemed to lessen slightly.

And just as lightheadedness began to creep up on him, Virgil pulled away. Logan swayed for a moment and his roommate caught his arm, worry clear in his violet eyes.

“I’m sorry, did I go too far?” There was an edge of panic to his voice.

Logan shook his head, although he did let Virgil guide him to the bed where he sat down gratefully. Virgil took a seat next to him and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Logan offered a smile.

Virgil nodded, although he still seemed unsure of himself. There was a silence, broken only by the tapping of Virgil’s fingers; a full meal always left him with a burst of energy.

Logan couldn’t help but admire the vampire, so different from the person who had opened the door fifteen minutes ago. His face, although still much paler than Logan’s, was tinged pink, his eyes were glowing a soft iridescent purple, and he just seemed stronger. Less likely to blow away in a summer breeze.

Virgil turned towards him and, before he could think about the absurdity of what he was about to do, Logan leaned forward and kissed him.

It barely lasted a few seconds before Logan came to his senses and pulled back. “I apologise,” he said quickly, “I should have-”

He broke off as Virgil surged forward and met his lips with just as much enthusiasm as Logan himself. Logan’s mind went static-blank for a second before his brain caught up with the current situation.

The taste of iron inevitably met his tongue, his own blood sweetened by the delicate touch of Virgil’s mouth. Virgil put one hand on Logan’s waist and the other behind his neck, fingers accidentally brushing the bite mark in a way that made Logan shiver.

It was a long moment of overwhelming sensation before the two finally broke apart. Virgil smiled shyly. “Thank you. For, you know, letting me bite you.”

Logan smiled back as he realised he really wouldn’t mind being bitten again.

#may trope mayhem #may trope mayhem 2023 #logan sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #analogical

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