#crossposted to fanfiction dot net

[misslisamiray]

Yay, finally, here's the next chapter of Down With the Rickness!

In this chapter, we're going to check in with Space Beth & SumSum, AND we get to hear Rick's thoughts on Jerry's plan. Took me long enough, but Chapter 9 is here and below the cut!

Also, I've decided to start posting screencaps with the new chapters on here & with the links on my other socials, and thought this would be a good one to start with, considering where the previous chapter left off. 😁

Meanwhile, Space Beth was saying to Gearhead, “500 flurbos for these? Please tell me that’s a joke and you don’t realize how much you suck at comedy.” She glared distastefully at the set of cybernetic screwdrivers on the counter in front of her.

“Mean! And 500 is more than a fair price for these, lady.” Gearhead argued. “Take it or leave it.”

“It would be a fair price for the newest model, sure. Not these. Granted, they’re a step up from what Dad has now, but this set is not worth 500 flurbos. Yes, he’s paying me back, and no, I don’t particularly care about you trying to rip him off. But I have zero patience for your sleazy sales tactics. So either bring out the better ones, or knock half the price off these.” SB said, picking up the index and middle finger screwdrivers to inspect them more closely. Unimpressed, she tossed them back on the counter.

“Got it. No sale. Try haggling somewhere else, and…” Gearhead said crossly, grabbing the screwdrivers and starting to put them away. Then, something occurred to him.

“Wait, did you say these are for your dad?” Space Beth nodded.

“But, I only have 3 clients who buy these things, and the only one with a kid is…”

“That’s right.”

“That means that you’re?...”

“Sure am.”

“And you’re not the you that mostly just stays on Earth, taking care of donkeys, are you?”

“Horses, actually. And no, I’m not.”

Gearhead gulped audibly, realizing he’d definitely picked the wrong customer to try and swindle. Space Beth’s grin was unsettling him more by the second. She pulled a large, futuristic looking gun from its holster and raised it slightly.

“H-hold on a second! Let’s talk this over! I didn’t do anything that bad! You’re not really gonna kill me just for trying to get a few extra flurbos from you, right?!” Gearhead stammered, shaking in his boots. Beth kept her gun aimed at him for a few more seconds, then placed it on the counter, laughing.

“Nah. Mostly because this thing could use a few replacement parts, too. And I understand you’re the best person for the job. So, let’s make a deal. For 500 flurbos, and me not reporting you to your planet’s Better Business Bureau equivalent, how about you give me the parts I need, plus the better screwdrivers for Dad?”

“Deal! I’ll even do the upgrade on your gun right now!” Gearhead agreed quickly, pulling out supplies for the repair job, as well as a better set of cybernetic screwdrivers.

“That’s what I thought.” With a smug smile, Space Beth handed over the money.

“Tell Rick I said hello. Haven’t heard from him in a while again. Not since that whole ‘intervention turned birthday party turned kidnapping’ thing with the weird little dude. And, ummm, you’re not going to mention that I tried to, uhhh…” Gearhead said nervously as he started to tinker with the weapon in front of him.

“Don’t care enough about either of you for that.”

“I see. Ya know, you say that, but you’re obviously here as a favor to Rick. And you wanted to make sure he got both his money’s worth, and the best parts in my shop.” Gearhead prodded. That hit a nerve, and Space Beth was clearly flustered.

“You do realize I have a fuckton of weapons besides the one you’re fixing, right? I won’t shoot you because I need you to do that, but I can and will make you work at gunpoint if you don’t back off. Understood?” she threatened, quickly hiding her reaction to Gearhead’s words.

“Okay, okay! Message received! I’ll be done fixing this in about 20 minutes.” Gearhead agreed.

“Good. And I guess when I bring these to Dad, it won’t hurt to tell him you said hello.” Space Beth conceded. Gearhead didn’t say anything else to her, and she chose to ignore that what she heard him mutter was almost certainly, “Like father, like daughter. But I think the daughter’s even worse!”

Summer was not faring as well at the Martian cell phone store.

“Look, even if I believed these charges were mistakes on our end and not the results of a drunk dialing spree, which I don’t, it’s been almost a year since Mr. Sanchez’s service plan with us was terminated. The dispute window is 90 days Martian time, or roughly 126 Earth days. No exceptions.” a very annoyed, bright pink alien said, staring distastefully at the old, tattered bill in his hand.

“But…”

“But nothing! ‘No exceptions’ means No. Exceptions.”

“Excuse me, but do you have any idea who my grandfather is?” Summer asked cockily, hands on hips. Instead of being impressed or frightened, the alien just looked more annoyed and bored, which hadn’t seemed possible a moment before.

Rolling all five of his eyes, he answered, “Unfortunately for me, yes. I just said his name, didn’t I? And unfortunately for you, this store is one of the few places in this galaxy where that name doesn’t carry any weight.”

“But what if?...”

“NO. Look, the only reason we’re not pursuing legal action against Rick, or even trying to collect what he owes, is that everyone here, myself included, just doesn’t want to deal with his shit anymore. It’s easier to cut our losses and be done with him. Do I make myself clear?” the annoyed creature stated.

“Okay, but… Ugh. Alright. Fair enough. Grandpa won’t like it, but y’know what? That’s his problem.” Summer reluctantly agreed. Considering she was every bit as annoyed with the situation as the alien man in front of her, she couldn’t really see arguing with him further.

Back on Earth, Morty was carrying a pile of blankets roughly half his height. Some pillows and two more boxes of tissues were perched on top. He was struggling to look at something on his phone and keep from dropping the pile, which he couldn’t see over.

“I’m back, Rick. I figured this was enough to start with, plus I didn’t trust you alone any longer. You are still here, right?” he said as he walked back into the living room.

“*Cough!* Yes, Morty. You won, remember? I’m not going to try any more experiments to get rid of this stupid cold – uh, I mean alien virus that I definitely caught far away from Earth.”

“Huh? Why are you back to your dumb lie about that?” Morty was understandably confused. After dropping the new supplies onto the couch, he was able to see again, and immediately noticed Jerry was there.

“Oh. Hi, Dad. Yeah, now that makes sense.” he said wearily. Jerry ignored him, staring intently at Rick.

“Well? I explained my entire plan to you, and you haven’t said a word. What do you think, Rick?”

“You explained your ‘brilliant’ idea to Rick? The one where you’re going to magically know how to cure his mysterious alien virus after you watch an episode of Sailor Moon a few times? Oh, this is gonna be good. Yeah, Rick. What do you think about that?” Morty said with a chuckle, fully expecting Rick to start mocking Jerry relentlessly. At first, all he got for an answer was Rick gesturing for him to give him more of the blankets.

As Morty wrapped two more around him, Rick cleared his throat and finally said, “There’s definitely some flaws in your logic, Jer. A few things I’d do differently. But overall, your plan’s solid. I *COUGH!* I get what you’re trying to do.”

“Go on.” Jerry said, while the only word completely dumbfounded Morty could manage was “WHAT?”

“There’s just one thing I can’t get past, Jerry. Sure, Sailor Venus tries her best to help the other girls, and she means well and crap, but isn’t the premise of the entire episode her being terrible at it? Correct me if I’m *Sniff!* wrong, since this is literally the one thing in the universe you might know more about than me. But it is, right? Doesn’t the 90’s dub call this episode “No Thanks, Nurse Venus!” specifically for that reason? Because the others don’t want her taking care of them because she sucks at it?” Rick continued, eagerly grabbing one of the tissue boxes.

“Well, yes, but…” Jerry said hesitantly. He had a feeling he knew where Rick was going with this and he didn’t like it.

“So, if you’re trying to learn how to deal with this sickness from watching her, won’t everything you’ll learn be well, wrong?” Rick pointed out.

“I, I hadn’t thought about that.” Jerry admitted, the realization slowly washing over him.

“That’s the biggest flaw you see in this plan, Rick?! Really? And Dad, you said yourself that she was bad at taking care of the other girls – why are you acting like this is news to you?!” Morty asked, disappointed by Rick’s reaction.

Rick sshshhed him, while Jerry said, “I did know that, but I guess I hadn’t really thought about how it would affect the outcome of my plan. Everyone does get better in the end, but that’s just because they defeat the monster, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, sounds like it. *Cough!* *Cough!* There’s also the fact that, while the illness was caused by some sort of magic spell, for most of the episode, don’t they all think they’re dealing with an ordinary flu? I mean, how’s that at all *ACHOO!* relevant to us?” Rick replied.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” exasperated Morty sighed. His father and grandfather both ignored him.

“I guess it’s not. Not even a little.” Jerry said sadly, looking more and more defeated. He held onto the tape tightly but let the rest of his supplies fall to the floor.

“Okay, Rick. I’m not going to be able to help you beat this weird sci-fi sickness you have, but I can still make your day a little better. Go ahead and make fun of me. Another stupid, useless idea from stupid, useless Jerry. Let me have it.” he sighed.

“I could, but you meant well, Jer. You’re way outta your league with this thing, but you tried to help me out anyway. Even if this was never going to work – and it wasn’t - , I *COUGH!* appreciate the effort. *COUGH!* *COUGH!* Ow.” Rick answered, his voice growing hoarser.

“That’s awfully nice of you. Too nice. Either you’re making fun of me in a much more subtle way than usual, or you must really feel terrible, Rick.” Jerry commented, watching his father-in-law closely. It was hard to be sure with all the blankets wrapped around him, but he seemed to still be shivering in spite of them. His nose was red and irritated, and he looked considerably more unwell than just a short time ago.

“Dad’s actually got a point. Are you getting worse?” Morty worried, feeling Rick’s forehead again. Still a little too warm, but not alarmingly so. And there was no noticeable change from earlier.

“Morty, stop that. If you insist on fussing over me, there’s better ways to do it. For starters, I’m still cold.” Rick complained, pulling away from Morty’s hand.

“Better?” Morty asked, wrapping another two blankets around him. Rick nodded.

Then, forcing a laugh, he said, “To answer your question, Jerry, eh, maybe a little of both. Mostly the second one, though. I’ll be okay, and let me repeat again, this thing isn’t dangerous. But I *SNIFF!* guess it’s pretty obvious I’m having a bad time right now, huh?”

“Well, yeah. If this is what it just mimicking an ordinary cold does to you, I’d hate to see what happens when it moves onto something worse. Does Mimicking Disease also act as a Magnifying Disease? Like, the version of whatever it’s copying is magnified to be x amount of times worse than the real thing?” Jerry replied. Rick glared at him, at first angry over the implication, then miserable over the fact he could easily see where Jerry got that idea from.

“No, it doesn’t. And I’m done talking about this now.” Rick groaned, flopping down on the couch in his blanket cocoon.

“Right. You should get some rest, Rick. Especially since I’m certainly not going to be curing your illness today.” Jerry sighed, getting up to leave. He gathered up the notebook and writing utensils he’d dropped.

“Dad, wait. Yes, you should let Rick sleep, but now that you’ve finally realized your dumb plan is dumb, I could still use your help with some stuff.” Morty said, following Jerry as he started to leave the room.“*SIGH!* Not now, Morty. I have a lot to go think about. How could I have been so sure about something, and been so wrong?” Jerry mumbled, heading back towards his man cave. Morty followed him a few more steps, then gave up and went back to Rick.

[pokemon-exploration]

As if Fanfiction dot net couldn't get any worse

What on fucking earth is this bullshit

[osunism]

AO3 shitting the bed for hours at a time is exactly why I crosspost my fics across platforms. I post on here and Fanfiction(dot)net in addition to AO3 to maximize my reach. I've actually been getting more consistent comments on FFN than on AO3 which is likely due to the fact that I have comment moderation on on AO3 because people can be absolute dicks in the comments.

[goodlucktai]

anyone who still follows me on on fanfiction dot net unfollow me i’m gonna be crossposting

[thanatoaster]

I still can't believe how bad the fic on fanfiction dot was. I mean it still is but I don't go there anymore. But my preteen to teen years were all fnafiction dot net and adultfanfiction dot net or whatever it was called. I know i just had lower standards then too as a literal child. I read probably hundreds and hundreds of fics and there is only a single author I looked up on AO3 after moving there. Their stuff is still amazing. I'm glad AO3 is the default now.

Also I never learned what the fuck wattpad is. All I know is "crossposted on wattpad" = badly written at best, do not click.

[annieslytherpuff21]

Falling for Hogan’s Heroes Day 1

I will be crossposting this on fanfiction dot net account (LightShiner14) soon. I’m already a few hours late for November 1st and I want to hit all the days, so my anxiety and constraints of being a night shifter made me post it here first.

Holidays

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through barracks two not a creature was stirring except Felix the mouse.

Except, Carter was whistling cherry Christmas tunes, Newkirk was griping about the onslaught to his ears, LeBeau’s spoon was clanking on the sides of his pot on the stove, Kinch was talking football with a few guys at the table, and Colonel Hogan was chatting up a pretty underground agent who’d just dropped them off some intel about troop movements. So not really all that quiet.

“Carter, would you stop that infernal whistling?” Newkirk finally slammed his darning down, hopped down off the top bunk, and pulled Carter’s hat down over the young American’s face.

“Aww, come on, I wasn’t bothering anyone was I?” Carter fixed his hat and set down the letter he was writing and stood up to face off with the slightly taller Britt.

“LeBeau, please tell Carter here that he’s givin’ us all a brain bleed!”

“Hm?” LeBeau looked up from the pot where his attention had been focused. His eyes gave off a deer in the headlights gleam.

“Tell Carter to stop whistling,”

“I wasn’t bothering you, was I LeBeau?” Carter pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You need to settle this yourselves, I won’t fight your battles for you. Grow up.” The Frenchman snapped before turning his attention back to his pot.

“LeBeau, are you feeling ok little buddy?” Newkirk was suddenly concerned about LeBeau and Carter’s whistling seemed inconsequential.

“Yeah, LeBeau, what’s the matter?” Carter chipped in.

LeBeau heaved out a heavy sigh and shook his head no. “I am fine, just thinking. I will be ok,”

But he wasn’t really, every Christmas was hard to get through. He tried to keep himself busy, but sometimes that wasn’t enough.

“You’ve been real quiet lately Louie, are you sure you’re ok mate?” Newkirk nudged the shorter Frenchman.

“40,” Louis whispered.

Recognition gleamed in Newkirk’s eyes and he squeezed the other man’s shoulder and huffed out a sigh of his own. “I know,” he nodded his head, gave LeBeau another squeeze and then nudged Carter back towards their bunks.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothin Andrew, just sit back down and finish writin’ that letter, ok?”

“But what’s wrong with LeBeau?”

“You wouldn’t understand Carter, just give it a rest,”

“Fine,” Carter huffed, plopping himself back down onto his bunk and grabbing his pencil to finish writing his letter to his gran.

“And no whistling!” Newkirk grumbled as he saw the American’s pursed lips, like he was about to start up again.

Carter huffed but continued writing in silence.

As Newkirk started up his darning again, he, like LeBeau, got stuck thinking back to that terrible Christmas.

It was December 24th of 1940 and Newkirk had finally gotten to a destination. He’d been shot down and separated from the rest of his flight crew over a week prior. He had then been shuffled from train to train until he finally was stuffed into the back of a truck that brought him ultimately within the barbed wire of Stalag 13.

They were made to stand in a line, he and the other British flyers who had been in the truck with him, and wait for the Kommandant.

2 hours later, a tall gangly German came out of the building they were facing. He had a malicious grin and an evil twinkle in his eyes.

“Welcome to where you will die,” his smile grew.

Newkirk felt a pit grow in his stomach that was already gnawing at his insides from lack of food. A feeling he knew all too well.

“For you, the war is over. If you try to escape, you will be shot. If you do not follow the rules, you will be shot. And that would be lucky for you, because otherwise, the cold, that is what will kill you. Now! I will assign you to your barracks. If there is so much of a hint of insolence that I hear about, you will be shot. Be aware, the walls have eyes and ears, so if you step a toe out of line, I will know, and you will be shot.”

Newkirk quivered in his boots. His usual snarky self knew that he could get in trouble easily and he wasn’t too fond of the idea of being shot. Therefore, he decided that he was just going to keep his mouth shut. Safer that way, just like it had been with his old man.

Newkirk was assigned to barracks two. When he was finally dismissed, he entered his new dwelling to find that all but one other prisoner in there were all sporting French uniforms. He couldn’t control the grimace that grew on his face.

Bloody Frogs.

“Right on, what’s your name old chap?” The other Britt, whose proper accent made Newkirk even more uncomfortable than all the frog eyes on him, stood up and walked over to Newkirk with an outstretched hand of friendship.

Newkirk shook it, and cleared his throat, “Newkirk,” was all he said, but he could tell by the subtle changes in the other man’s face that it had been enough.

“Right, we’ll then,” the other corporal was much less cheery now, “ you can bunk there, the last bloke passed about two nights ago now,”

Newkirk gulped, the Kommandant hadn’t been joking. He nodded his head and made up his mind that he was going to do everything in his power to make it back to his sister alive.

Sitting down on his newly assigned bunk, he took in the rest of the barracks. Most of the men within were supporting cherry red noses and a haunted expression accentuated by deep dark bags under their eyes. A few had their arms in slings and there was much coughing.

Even though there were four walls and a roof, it was still very cold and everyone was trying their best to maintain their body heat.

Newkirk hadn’t even realized that he had drifted off to sleep until he heard the yells summoning all the prisoners to a roll call and in less than three seconds, all the prisoners were bolting for the door to make sure they were out in a timing that the Kommandant and his goons deemed respectable.

Newkirk, as hard as he tried to not be, was the last one out and his heart was pounding. He didn’t want to be shot within his first 24 hours of being a prisoner.

It was pitch black, the only light was from the guard towers and he saw the smoke that came out from all the noses and mouths of everyone present in the dim lighting. The sight made him feel even colder than he already did.

“Merry Christmas, in honor of this day and that you are so far away from all of your loved ones, we will celebrate by standing in formation until I deem fit!” The Kommandant announced over the loud speakers of the camp. He didn’t even dignify them with leaving his office, which, if the smoke billowing out of the chimney was any indication, was nice and toasty warm.

Newkirk had no idea what time it was and didn’t have the guts to look at his watch, afraid that tiny movement might get him shot.

They stood, and stood, and stood. Newkirk was afraid his legs were going to fall off. The sky opened up, and soon the men were starting to get snow accumulating on them, but no one moved. Their teeth clattered and their eyelashes started to freeze.

The wet started to seep through his clothes and eventually even his shoes. His toes were numb, and his face was as cold as ice.

They watched the sun rise, and it continued to climb. Still, they stood.

Men started falling to the ground, and if someone made a move to help them, a gun was trained in their direction.

When they finally were dismissed, Newkirk’s watch read 10. The men could barely move, they were all so stiff.

The hut felt so much warmer compared to the frigid temperatures outside.

“Merry Christmas, dirty boshe!” A short Frenchman growled helping one of the men who had collapsed into a bunk. “Someday, I’ll show him, make the filthy pig pay!”

“LeBeau, be more quiet, or they will hear,” the man he was helping whispered before letting out a horrendous cough.

“So what, let them shoot me! I don’t care, I will die for France!”

“France is in ruins, they have ruined our beautiful homeland,”

“Shh, we will someday rescue her and rebuild, picture the day, the wine will flow, and the children will sing, it will be a beautiful day, and we will see it,”

The other man was coughing violently and started convulsing.

The fiery one, LeBeau, started singing softly, a French carol and slowly the rest of the men started chiming in, just as softly.

It brought tears to Newkirk’s eyes. He didn’t understand the lyrics, but he understood the sentiment.

“They can steal our freedom, our land, and our lives even, but we can not let them steal our spirit, because that’s when we lose,” LeBeau hissed and his countrymen nodded in agreement and they started to sing what Newkirk recognized as the French national anthem.

Newkirk couldn’t help but admire the short man who single handed raised the morale of 15 other men.

It helped him too, even though he was sure the speech hadn’t been for him.

Unfortunately, LeBeau’s rallying words were some of the last that 5 of the prisoners in the barracks ever heard.

“Newkirk! Newkirk, are you ok?!”

Newkirk blinked as he registered that Andrew Carter was trying to get his attention.

“What is it now?” He grumbled, only half grumpy, at the American.

“Colonel Hogan wants to see you in his office, and you were off in another world,”

Newkirk rolled his eyes. “Ok Carter, and uh, you can keep whistling if you’d like.”

[blueskyscribe]

Is Fanfiction dot Net down for anyone else? I thought "Hey, might as well crosspost my fic there" but the site won't load.

[iit-s-kitty]

what they don’t see (is how you make me feel)

summary: Angelica Darling had a gift to see changes and small details in the most unexpected of places, or in Harry Hook's case, the most unexpected of people. And Harry being Harry, he is more than eager to show them to the little Darling girl. OR— Angelica Darling is a big oblivious mess that has sex with Harry and even then doesn't notice he is into her. pairing: harry hook/oc (angelica darling), mentioned ben/mal edited: more or less. rating: +15. lenght: 1,1k trigger warnings: implied sex, language. crossposted on fanfiction-dot-net and my ao3 tag list: @sweet-tea228 @esteicy-blog (because she’s a sunshine and my bff who always support my messes and i’ll tag her if i want to lmao)

Angelica Darling had always been one to take notice of the small things. Perhaps it was a product of her upbringing, since her mother, Jane Darling, had been known to be quite the perfectionist (or a control freak, as some would say it); or maybe it could be a side effect of her 'bookworm' status in Auradon Prep. Either way, whenever she would caught notice of something, no matter how big or small but rather how interesting, it wouldn't leave her mind until she had deciphered the reason behind it

She could cite a few examples— one would be the way Mal's hair had gone back to her signature purple color, yet was still stylized to resemble a more traditional Auradon look to signify her relationship to the kingdom (and the prince); another example would be how Evie's make up had slowly faded from a striking but exaggerated kind to a more polished and elegant get up; and where many people would notice how Ben had started to be more daring in his choice of clothing, it was Angelica who noticed that he looked more free, more human. To be able to see where many would just look felt nice, as if in doing so Angelica would find a treasure of her very own, that she was somehow more than a teenage girl whose best friends were a stack of books.

But to see such things always takes its time, you see—it certainly took a while before she saw a change (or well, anything) in him. Many people who met Harry, even the more positives, would point out how the boy was the same eccentric pirate lad from the isle: same clothes, same hair, same exaggerated accent that drove people insane (but not as much as his attitude). And Angelica felt like an idiot for trying to search for something that wasn't there in such a flamboyant being, but never an idiot without a point because there had to be something else in Harry Hook.

Something like his voice, for example.

The thing with voices is that while you certainly hear them, most of the time you don't listen— Angelica certainly didn't want to listen to him for a long time, and on how they went to a point where she felt utterly lost without his voice in her life was a whole other matter, but the thing with voices could certainly applied to Harry: not many listened to him, not many noticed the way it abruptly changed from a giddy, almost sick with happiness rough thing to a more faint but sincere tone, the one that could hypnotize any maiden that stumbled into him if used.

She certainly happened to be such maiden, and he was almost in ecstasy to see it. Thought it had to do more in how.

And it was as she lay bare on his side of the bed, chest nude and against his side, as he slowly dragged her fingers on the skin that Harry spoke: "I could get used to this, you know?"

Angelica, being Angelica, snorted at his words— as if she wouldn't mind 'getting used to it' as well. "You're a hormone filled man, Harry, of course you could get used to sex."

And Harry, being Harry, laughed— but not his high-pitched giggle, but a soft if not tired snort left his mouth as he absent-mindedly pulled her closer. "You're right that I could get used to bedding, my hearty—"

"Please spare me the 19th century pirate slang, I'm too tired to keep debunking it—"

"— but what I actually meant was..." and as her body shook because a smooth, low and ragged voice just spoke, her mind snapped out of the post-climax haze to certify that such voice was no one else's but Harry's. "What I mean was that I could get used to bed you, girlie."

(Though, to be fair, it certainly didn't shake her as much as to hear such words, and from Harry of all people.)

It took even more time before Angelica dared to do bring the subject to him. Most details she could give an explanation herself, but with Harry everything seemed to be crystal clear until you turned the whole thing around and you found yourself in the air with no clue how you've got there. And given that he was, well, bedding her it was a frustrating feeling, to say the least.

Not as frustrating as to bring it up, though, especially with her matted hair covering her flustered face and both their bodies covered in sweat.

"Was it true?" she asked and for a second his permanently painted smile faltered.

"What do you mean, hearty?"

"What you said," and somehow her face became redder and she had to look away as if he hadn't fucked her spent. "That you could... Get used to me, you know."

And he tensed beneath her, for he was most certain unprepared to be interrogated in such way— for it was that to someone like Harry, who always wore his heart on his sleeve and who was unashamed of everything he did, to be questioned in such a vulnerable state was akin to being disarmed.

And Angelica found that she couldn't stare into his eyes, that after all, rejection and to face that she was never something special to begin with was something that she could hardly take with good grace. 'Please be quick,' she prayed to herself. 'Please be good and spare me the pains.'

And as such, to have her face taken and to face him into his eyes, eyes that for once weren't so sure of his victory this time. Not until he used that voice again, anyway.

"Of course, I meant it, Angie, but only if you want to."

It had to be because to know that someone wanted her shook the Darling girl to her core, in a way that no spell could've done, that Angelica wasn't able to say anything coherent. She wasn't the loving, overly emotional type that went to tears, and it was clear that they wouldn't be in this situation if it was any other way; but for many years Angelica had felt painted on the wall, silent and unnoticed, and to be noticed was to feel alive. Such a feeling would leave anyone in shambles, and Angelica Darling, always so logical and stern and just Angelica was no exception.

"Your voice," she said as she unnoticedly traced his lips with her fingers. "It's so different."

"I guess it's like many things lately," he said, regaining his signature smile. "It changes when I'm with you, hear~ty~"

Then again, Angelica had never been the overly emotional type— but she would be more than pleased to see such changes unravel.

[drsteggy]

For the fanfic writer ask thing: 2, 13, 27, 34! Happy Friday!

Happy Friday @st0rmyskies ! Thank you for the asks!!

2. Why do you write fanfiction?

I have a pretty high stress and occasionally emotionally charged job that was spiking into my red zones prior to March 2020 when the screws got tightened, and my job got busier, and everyone got more stressed and all the escape things I did had to stop. I could not go to cons and dressing in cosplay at home feels weird to me. There were no model horse shows, and while the hobby has adapted to photo shows, I have only been able to participate as a judge and again, the social aspect is gone. I could not see my friends and work really became my entire world. I have always told myself that could never happen.

So I threw myself into a thing I’d written just to dump an idea that then became 9,000 words and pantsed it into 88,000 words and wow it was a ride at times but it did get me through some shit when I was angry and sad all at once, and there wasn’t a way to physically burn the crap via competition. I like that the particular sandbox I’m in is very flexible with canon (or not) and seems to welcome remixing and retooling.

I thought I’d be one and done but I managed to make friends as I wrote and it was fun bouncing silly ideas off each other, and experimenting with things to just play with them and I find that I really enjoy this new way to play. I don’t know if I have another novel length thing in me but I do have a couple irons in the fire and I did my first fic exchange and I’ve applied to a couple zines (I’m hoping to hear from the first of these today squeeee!) so I hope that going forward, once the world allows me to cosplay at cons, and pack up a carload of plastic horses and drive 12 hours to meet up with other people with carloads of plastic horses again, I’ll still play with it.

13. First fandom you ever wrote for?

The X Files! The show started the same year I started grad school and I was hooked immediately. I also got online the same year. One day, a fellow fan/classmate told me about a Usenet group where people wrote stories about the X Files and Star Trek!!!! It took several years, but I did write one story and I remember getting it beta read and I don’t think it ever got posted because I also thought it never was finished and then lost as I moved computers.

Then like 3 weeks ago I was digging through my hard drive for something and I found it! And it was done! So I posted it on New Year’s Day, and I am so freaking happy I have it back. Hooray for digital hoarding.

27. What’s the nicest comment you ever received?

It’s hard to pick just one, because I've had a lot that touched me, but this stands out to me. I joined a small discord server that focused on my fandom and posted a link to my then in progress longfic. I wanted people to read it but I was getting frustrated that no one seemed interested-I do a relatively small fandom and everyone wanted to read Marvel and Harry Potter.

I woke up in the morning and someone on the discord said something like “oh hey I’m reading this and no regrets” and then I opened my email and this person had binged the entire thing I had at that point and commented on every chapter. I was terrified because I had been crossposting to fanfiction dot net and already had some kinda mean anonymous people who I could not interact with. These comments though were gentle and encouraging and picked out things I’d written and praised them and I went from being completely terrified to realizing I’d probably found my people.

I do like it when people tell me they thought Old!Link would be boring or weird but they tried it anyway and ended up loving it.

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of

This is the end of chapter 14 of the long fic. I like it because it’s a point where Link is starting to clumsily grapple with the trauma of his life, though it’s not going well for him. He is making decisions that don’t serve him well, and make him more upset. He is angry at his lot and starting to lash out at people who want to support and help him, and idk it was delicious to write this.

Plus I am also happy with how my version of the Arbiter’s Grounds came out because I have not played that bit of Twilight Princess yet.

“Hylia, have you tired of sending children in your stead? Are you sending an old man in your name now?”

The voice has a smokey texture to it he didn’t hear in his dreams. He swivels his head, looking for the source. He has done this before, and he knows what is next. He wrenches the sword out of the skull, and slides to the floor.

He is ready.

“Who do you think you are? Do you really think you are worthy of that tunic you wear?”

He snarls “You can decide after we dance. Let’s go.”

There’s a throaty laugh in response. Link stands his ground, relaxing his hips and knees in preparation to fight. He rolls his right wrist, giving the Master Sword a showy flip. The blade is glowing and he can feel a low thrum through his arm. He hears the faint sound of glass breaking somewhere.

“Not today, old man. Not today.”

“But soon.”

And like that, the presence is gone, and it’s just him and a giant pile of dead bone. He thinks there’s a flash of light on the corner of his vision and when he turns to it, there’s a wooden box that he is sure was not there before. Inside that; the red, heart shaped crystal and an enormous topaz. He scoops them up, pausing as the red crystal restores him. Using the hook shot once more to get out of the pit, he then heads out into the desert night; back to Gerudo.

It’s cold; and the sky is a deep, dark blue, filled with pinpoints of light. He pauses once to look up and name the constellations. The Wind Fish. Aquamentus. Creatures from stories. He catches himself wondering if she is looking up at the night sky and naming the same stars. He pushes on. None of this seems fair, suddenly.

He is back at the gates at dawn. The guards eye him, wondering how much trouble he is going to be. He feels like a toxic combination of tired and frustrated and angry. He feels like he might be trouble.

He barks at them. “Tell the queen of Hyrule her hero is at the gates for her.”

[bakurapika]

when an author you’ve been following on fanfiction dot net finally crossposts their fic onto ao3 and gets a new wider audience but updates slower so people think the fic is still being written but you’re 10 chapters ahead of everyone else and you respect the author for promoting their work

[misslisamiray]

Here's Chapter 12 of Down With the Rickness - we're only a few chapters away from the ending now and I am NOT ready. I just love sharing this fic with all of you so much, and I'll be sad when it's over.

Anyway, this is (mostly) another chapter of just Rick and Morty, but there's one brief appearance by Jerry. New chapter below the cut!

“Mom’s gonna be late.” Morty informed Rick, who nodded, rubbing his throat again.

“Ugh. Morty, remind me to stop including tonsils in any and all future clones. They just sit there doing nothing 99% of the time, then get all inflamed and painful the few times a decade I get sick. Talk about a design flaw. It’s *Cough!* *Cough!* like the little pick-me ass bitches are mad at me for typically forgetting they exist. Ow. Also, remind me to remove these the second I feel up to it.” he complained.

“Uh-huh. I promise I will.” Morty agreed, trying to decide if it was a good or bad sign that Rick was talking about removing his own tonsils when he felt better, as opposed to right this second.

“You planning to stay up for a while?” he asked, getting another nod as an answer.

“Okay, well, it’s lunchtime. Did you want to try eating a sandwich or something?” Rick gave him a look that was meant to be angry, but came across more pitiful.

“Fine, I’ll just bring you more ice cream.” Morty gave in.

“Thanks. Oh, and Morty? I’m kinda *Cough!* empty here. Think you can help me out, buddy?” Rick asked, shaking his empty flask.

“No way. You’ve had plenty already. I’m not gonna get into a whole thing with you about how much you drink normally, but you’re way too sick for it today.” Morty refused.

“Pick a lane, Morty. I can’t be *Cough!* ‘too sick to drink’ and ‘not sick enough to cure using one of my supposedly crazy experiments’ at the same time.” Rick pouted, putting the trash can and tissue box aside to put his labcoat back on and retrieve the blankets from the floor again.

“Yes, you can. Both of those things can be true, Rick. And they are. You’re not guilting me into refilling your damn flask. I’m bringing you more juice.” Morty told him, starting to leave the room.

“But *Achoo!* my throat hurts. And my head hurts. And I’m cold again. It’ll help with at least one of those things.” Rick whined, throwing his head back dramatically and putting his feet up on the coffee table. He snuck a glance at Morty to see if this was working at all.

“No. It’s probably why your head hurts in the first place. Or at least one of the reasons. As for the rest, I don’t see how it’s supposed to help…” Morty made the mistake of looking over at Rick, seeing again how disheveled and miserable he looked. And asking for more booze, while not a good idea, was tame compared to every other idea Rick had come up with today…

“Okay, I’ll make a deal with you. I still refuse to bring you any of the stronger shit you keep in the garage. But I’m pretty sure there’s sofa wine left, and if you drink it, I won’t tell Summer it was you. I should since she’s mad at you anyway, but I won’t. Deal?” Morty compromised.

“Fair enough.” Rick agreed. With an annoyed sigh, Morty went to the kitchen to get lunch for the two of them. 

Rick felt around under a cushion until he found the half empty bottle of wine. The overly colorful, badly designed label had silhouettes of about a dozen dancing figures, all in obnoxiously bright colors, in front of a disco ball. It looked as much like something teenagers would sneak as this particular bottle was. He unscrewed the cap and took a tentative sip.

“Eww. How long have we all been sitting on this shit? I doubt it was great to begin with, but it’s definitely seen better days.” Rick complained to himself. He looked the ugly label over again and saw the alcohol content: 7%.

“Ugh. It’s terrible and weak as hell? One or the other I can deal with, but this is just awful. *Cough!* Dammit, Summer. I would’ve expected better from you.” Rick took another sip and shuddered. He recapped the bottle and started to put it back, then reconsidered. This stuff was giving the cold medicine a run for its money in terms of what tasted worse… but the warm liquid sliding down his throat did feel sort of nice. Soothing, even. It didn’t burn like the liquor he would have preferred to be drinking would. And sure, the alcohol content was a joke, but it’s not like he was starting from sober…

“Fuck it. Beggars can’t be choosers and all.” Rick muttered, deciding to drink more of the sofa wine.

Meanwhile, Jerry was sulking in his mancave. He turned the Sailor Moon tape over in his hand repeatedly and sighed. Finally deciding to put it down, he checked his phone to see if either of the Beths had replied to any of his texts. Neither one had. Jerry frowned and sat there for a few minutes, looking even more dejected and forlorn. Then he thought of some more messages to send, and immediately proceeded to do that. 

Another thing Morty became aware of throughout the day was that, besides not sleeping well when ill, Rick also rarely seemed able to get comfortable for more than a few minutes at a time. The tossing and turning was just as bad, if not worse, when the man was awake than when he was sleeping. When he was lying with his head at the opposite end of the couch, Morty kept getting kicked, usually in the back of the head. If Rick was lying with his head at the end of the couch where Morty was sitting, that meant more getting coughed and sneezed on, and sometimes being hit by a bony elbow or shoulder.

When he wasn’t sprawled across the couch (and Morty), Rick would try to sleep sitting at the opposite end of it, usually with at least two pillows under his head. Apparently, this helped with the postnasal drip, but sleeping like that hurt his back. Morty had to stop himself from pointing out that Rick fell asleep sitting on the couch all the time and didn’t usually complain about that afterwards.

Then of course, there was the temperature issue. Rick alternated between freezing and not being able to get enough blankets, his thin frame shaking despite all the layers… and the exact opposite, tossing all the blankets aside as quickly as he could, complaining that the thermostat must be broken. He kept going from one extreme to the other, with very little middle ground.

During the few moments of calm when Rick slept, or at least had settled down temporarily, Morty kept looking at things on his phone and scribbling down notes from what he read. As the day went on, what he was looking at progressed from benign things like the debate on whether or not vitamin C did anything for a cold and memes about watching game shows while home sick, to distinguishing colds from more serious illnesses. And from there to complications of those more serious illnesses, and how they could be worse and more likely in someone older…

While Rick seemed to be sleeping soundly enough, Morty decided to risk sneaking upstairs to grab his laptop. His phone was nearly dead, and besides, he was tired of staring at that small screen (and Rick sometimes kicking the phone out of his hand). He came back downstairs about 10 minutes later to discover Rick awake and glaring at him. The tissue shoved up his right nostril undercut how furious he looked, but only slightly.

“Morty…”

“What? I wasn’t gone long, and you’re the one who wants me to leave you alone all together. If you’re mad again because I won’t bring you more booze, too bad.” Morty said, trying to figure out what the newest problem was.

“Where’s my portal gun, Morty?” Shit. Morty gulped, but quickly tried to act nonchalant and lie his way out of this.

“You mean you don’t have it? Aw geez, Rick. I don’t, don’t know anything about that. You probably dropped it in the garage earlier and didn’t notice. You have been pretty out of it today.” Rick considered this. He hated to admit it, but that was possible. After all, he still hadn’t figured out why there’d been a shoe in his pocket earlier. But Morty was clearly more anxious than usual, and it was a dead giveaway he was hiding something.

“Uh-huh. Can’t argue with *COUGH!* that. So how about you help me find it?”

“Maybe later. You need to get some more rest, and what’s it matter where your portal gun is when you’re in no condition to use it?”

“I’m not going to use it. Just getting up from this couch to go look for the thing sounds like a huge pain in the ass – forget about going to another dimension. But it’s mine and I want it. Besides, *Cough!* *Cough!* if I’m not going to use it, what does it matter if I have it?” 

Morty couldn’t think of a reply, and for the second time that day, Rick found himself locked in a staring contest with one of his grandchildren. Also for the second time that day, he lost when he sneezed.

“Ugh. Dammit, I hate this. At least it’s almost over. I mean, it has to be – I’ve been sick for days.” he complained weakly after blowing his nose.

“I hate to break this to you, Rick, but it’s only been a day. More like half of one, actually.” Morty informed him, feeling another wave of sympathy and worry. He plugged his laptop in, plugged his phone into it, and sat down next to Rick again.

“That’s not funny, Morty.” Rick told him pitifully.

“I know it’s not. But I also wasn’t joking. Sorry, Rick.” Morty apologized. Rick grabbed the nearest pillow and screamed into it.

“Stop that. You’ll just make your throat hurt worse, and for what? Throwing a tantrum isn’t going to help anything.” Morty told him, patting his arm.

“You don’t know that it *SNIFF!* won’t.” Rick argued, still talking into the pillow. Realizing how pathetic that sounded, he tossed it aside and slumped against Morty, resting his head on his shoulder.

 “But… probably not. *YAWN!*” he admitted.

“Aww, come on, Rick. Don’t fall asleep on me. I’m covered in your germs as it is. Move.” Morty protested, trying to nudge Rick off him.

“You gonna tell me where my portal gun is?” Rick asked, struggling to stay awake.

“Nope. You say you aren’t going to use it, but I have zero reason to believe you.”

“Fine. Then I’m not moving.”

“If you fall on the floor, I’m leaving you there.” 

Still trying unsuccessfully to make Rick move, Morty was surprised there was no sarcastic response or further argument. He turned his head slightly and saw it was because Rick had fallen asleep. With a sigh, Morty tried one last time to nudge Rick off his shoulder. When it didn’t work, he resigned himself to being used as a pillow for a while. He turned on the laptop and went back to his questionable research. Another episode of the fishing show came on. This time, the man who looked like Gene with a beard was listing facts about salmon.

While Rick had slept half an hour at most any other time during the day, of course, now it seemed like he was going to be out for much longer.

“How is this the one position you’ve managed to get comfortable in all day?” Morty asked, feeling some drool drip onto his shoulder. Besides being awkwardly slumped against Morty, Rick had one leg draped over the back of the couch, and the other dangling off the front of it. It was surprising he hadn’t fallen yet. Having given up on getting Rick to move, Morty decided to see if he could slip free without disturbing him. He put his laptop aside and tried to stand up… only to realize that Rick had grabbed onto his arm at some point without him noticing.

“C’mon, really?” Morty whispered, carefully trying to free his arm. Rick groaned and coughed a few times.

“Shit! Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” Morty apologized.

Either ignoring or not hearing him, Rick sat up a little straighter and took a half asleep look around the room. He pulled his blanket pile up to his chest, then immediately rested his head on Morty’s shoulder again. He also tightened his hold on the boy’s arm.“Fine, I give up. At least you’re not trying to ‘fix’ this with something that could kill us, and you’re finally getting some sleep. You win. *YAWN!*” Morty gave in, accepting that he wasn’t getting up any time soon. He suddenly realized how tired he was, too. The sounds of the rain, the boring TV show, and of course, Rick’s snoring, weren’t helping. Morty looked back and forth between what he’d been reading on his computer, and Rick sleeping up against him. He debated whether it was alright for him to take a nap, too. After a few minutes of just watching Rick, who appeared to be sleeping soundly, Morty closed his eyes. Within a minute, he was also fast asleep.

[misdre]

do people still use fanfiction dot net?? like could i potentially crosspost fics there??? feels absurd to me but. or is there only a community for set pairings so it’s pointless dropping my own fecal matter there anyway because that’s always been my impression at least

[ao3feed-danganronpa]

Hajime Hinata is a jackass-idiot and Kazuichi Soda has to deal with that idiot.

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2AlZ0Cc

by xXPokefictionXx_isnt_that_bad_of_a_name

Hajime Hinata has no reason to do anything, so he doesn't. He just sits and thinks about the same things, as if that would give him a new result. Kazuichi Soda is pretty tired of seeing that, and ends up in an argument.

~-~-~-~ I uploaded this on mobile so the tags and formatting might be fucky, I'll edit it on a computer tomorrow or something to add the "X character (mentioned)" tags and such, but Hajime and Kazuichi are the only characters who properly appear so only they get tagged for now.

This is a remake of a fic I made last year with the same premise, albeit with significantly less a focus on the "One-Sided Implied Hajime/Nagito", although I didn't drop it entirely, because this fic in the first place was a birthday present for a friend who gets off to that stuff or something. Unlike last year this one is actually out on their birthday, though.

Contains spoilers for basically the entirety of Danganronpa 2, crossposted on fanfiction dot net under the name "FueledByNightmares"

Words: 10049, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Hinata Hajime, Soda Kazuichi

Additional Tags: Swearing, Angst with a Happy Ending, How Do I Tag, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, One-Sided Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2AlZ0Cc

[initiala]

baby's breath

about how many fics have you completed?

fffffffffff------

don’t look at me or my 9000 unfinished fics

Okay, so I do a lot of one-shots. According to Fanfiction dot net, which has my absolute oldest fics on it that I have not deleted, there are 78 completed fics. Then we combine the series of one-shots in my collections in Staring and Ecstasy, which is 94. THEN we go into the “only posted on AO3 because smut” category of complete, which is 7.

78 + 94 + 7...

179

not including whatever is on tumblr that I’ve never crossposted anywhere and I’m NOT doing that.

But wow. I know there’s more that are much, much older than 2008 that I completed, but they’re deleted and gone and they don’t count anymore.

writer meme

[misslisamiray]

Time for Chapter 8 of Down With the Rickness!

Morty has, at least for the time being, finally convinced Rick to give up on tying to get rid of his cold through highly dangerous scientific experiments. Now it's time for our favorite dysfunctional duo to take it easy and relax watching Interdimensional Cable.

What, you think I'm lying and that's not what's going to happen? That I'm adding another issue to make poor Rick's day even worse? Well, maybe. Why not read what's below the cut and find out for yourself?

A few moments later, they were back in the living room. More worn out than he cared to admit from the struggle in the garage, Rick immediately collapsed onto the couch, dropping the trash can that he’d once again brought with him onto the floor.

“You just relax and get comfortable, and I’ll find us something to watch on good ol’ Interdimensional Cable. We’re gonna, gonna have a real easy day the rest of the day. You’ll see.” Morty said cheerfully, grabbing the remote. Rick mumbled something unintelligible in response. Whether he was agreeing, arguing, or trying to suppress another coughing fit, Morty wasn’t sure.

“I know it sucks that you’re sick. But try to look on the bright side. It gives us a perfect excuse to just, kinda hang out together but not really have to do anything. It’s been a while. Rick and Morty, taking the day off, y’know?”

“Uh-huh. Just hurry up and find something. *Cough!*” Rick grumbled, stretching out more and shoving a throw pillow under his head. Morty turned on the TV to find loud, black & white static. No big deal. Next station. This one had wavy lines in varying shades of gray instead. Morty flipped the channel again, this time finding pink static with almost no sound.

“Huh. Well, I mean… infinite channels from infinite realities. At any given time, some are bound to be having technical difficulties, right? Kinda weird it’s three in a row. Haven’t seen that happen before. But I’m sure it’s fine!” Morty muttered, trying to ignore the bad feeling he had about this. Rick eyed the set suspiciously. Morty continued to flip through channels, only to find something wrong with each one. Some had static, others wavy lines, and a handful were badly pixelated. Most had either no sound or static noise, but some garbled words came through on a few.

“Coming soon: the sequel no one asked for, but everyone is getting!” Click. Silent black and white static. Click. Wavy green lines.

“Previously on our recap edition of the special edition of Soap Opera Summaries…” Click. Wavy pink lines. Click. A solid blue, silent screen. Click.

“New and improved, it’s Plumbus 2.0!” Click. Solid black screen with a faint hissing noise. Click. Red static accompanied by a horrible high-pitched noise. Morty flipped through the channels even faster, but still couldn’t find one coming in properly.

“Ummm…” he worried, shaking the remote in the vain hope that would do something.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” Rick said gruffly, dragging himself off the couch and over to the TV. He sat on the floor and grabbed the cable box. After studying it for a moment, he said, “Dammit, the quarantine forcefield interfered with the signal, just like I thought. Can I get one fucking break today?!”

“Oh. Can you fix it?” Morty asked timidly.

“Of course I can fix it, Morty. Hmmm. Besides the signal getting jammed, this crystal’s nearly worn out. So, I would’ve had to do this in like, a few more weeks max, anyway. *Cough!* Would’ve rather dealt with it then, but it’s whatever. At least this should be a quick fix.”

Rick tossed the worn-out crystal aside and pulled a similar, but not identical one from a pocket. It took a minute, since this crystal didn’t fit properly, but he managed to jam it into the cable box. Seeing that did nothing to improve the wavy picture on the TV screen, he scowled and tried to lift the top off the box.

Morty watched closely – there was something very off about Rick’s attempt to fix the cable box. Aside from the crystal not being right and him apparently not noticing that, he seemed unsure how to open the thing. Morty couldn’t understand why he wasn’t either smashing it against the floor like when he’d first installed the Interdimensional Cable or taking it apart with the array of tools built into his hands.

“Come on. Work already!” Rick muttered under his breath, shaking his right hand and trying to produce a screwdriver. Nothing happened. He punched the box with his left hand. Still no tools appeared, but at least he’d hit it hard enough to make the top of the cable box pop open.

“Rick, are your implants not working right because of your cold? Is this like, a thing that happens when you have a fever?” Morty asked hesitantly as he realized what was going on.

“Christ, is it that obvious?” Rick groaned, pausing his attempt to fix the cable box.  

“Kinda, yeah. But also just sort of a lucky guess. I mean, you’re the one who said your temperature sensor things weren’t working, and it looks like you’re having sort of a hard time over there. But it wouldn’t be… as obvious to someone who didn’t know you like I do, if that’s what you meant.” Morty said. That got a heavy, disgusted sigh from Rick, who was getting some tools out from his labcoat pockets.

“Rick, you know it’s not a big deal if you can’t fix the cable today, right?”

“I can fix it, and I’m gonna! *Cough!* *Cough!* Fucking hell, Morty. It’s not like I’m on my deathbed here. A few of my implants malfunctioning a little doesn’t mean I can’t function at all, you know!” Rick snapped as he went back to tinkering with the cable box. He spent a few minutes tightening some screws and loosening others. This did nothing to improve the waves on the TV screen. Rick’s scowl deepened as he looked back and forth between the cable box and TV set.

“Hmmm. Maybe…this?” he asked himself, snipping a blue wire with a small pair of pliers. This produced a few sparks, but no improvements to the picture. Rick snipped a few more wires, one red and one yellow, then crossed the three of them together. This resulted in considerably more sparks, hotter than the first ones.

“Oww! Dammit, I thought that would work!” he complained, jumping back about a foot.

“Uh-huh. You okay? Or at least, not less okay than you already were?” Morty asked.

“Yeah. But that should have worked! Maybe if I just…”

“Rick, no. Whatever you’re gonna try, save it for when you’re thinking a little clearer, please. For now, you should stop before you electrocute yourself. More than you just did.”

“Even if the stupid forcefield messed up the signal, that should *SNIFF!* have been resolved once it was down. Changing the crystal didn’t do anything, either. Hmmm. I might need to check something on the *Cough!* roof.” Rick mused, completely ignoring Morty. He started to get up but stumbled and fell.

“Absolutely not. Rick, you can’t even stand up. You’re not going on the fucking roof! And, and if you try, well… I won’t take your blankets away again, but I will do my best to turn them into a strait jacket. Got it?” Morty said sternly. Rick rolled his eyes.

“I can too stand up, Morty. I just don’t want to right now. But fine, no roof. It’s not like I really wanna do that, either.” he grumbled in an attempt to save face. He haphazardly put the cable box back together, then threw the whole thing back into place. Suddenly, there was a picture on the screen.

“There was a 3 car accident this morning on the corner of First and Main. Be advised that this is causing traffic jams in all directions.” a bored sounding reporter droned, adding with slightly more enthusiasm, “And now here’s Janet with the weather.”

“Wasn’t this morning’s sunrise beautiful, folks? It was truly one for the record books. I hope you all enjoyed it, because we’re getting nothing but rain for the next 10 days. If you missed it, well, sucks to be you!” a pretty redhead announced. Her voice remained perky and energetic even when it was contradictory to what she was saying.

“Like I *Achoo!* needed you to tell me that.” Rick groused, searching in his pockets for something again.

“Let’s see what else is on.” Morty suggested as he changed the channel. The next station had an infomercial for tires. Ordinary tires, shown on a variety of ordinary cars. Not one spaceship or tire with retractable razor blades in sight. Next station – golf. Morty couldn’t help noticing that all the golfers looked human, and not one golf club was turning into a weapon or flying away. He flipped through a few more channels, all equally boring and surprisingly… terrestrial. Settling on a fishing show, Morty had a realization.

“Rick, you didn’t fix Interdimensional Cable, but it looks like you at least got the regular TV working again. That might have to be good enough for today.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever. Works for me. Ugh. Morty, weren’t you supposed to get me more blankets if I agreed to leave the garage? I held up my end of the bargain, soooo…” Rick agreed. With some effort, he got up again and dragged himself back to the couch, settling into a corner. He finally found the handkerchief he’d been searching for and blew his nose again.

“Oh, right. You still can’t get warm, huh?” Morty asked, his concern growing again. He noticed Rick shiver a little as he adjusted the three blankets he currently had.

Equally annoyed by Morty’s question and the chills that wouldn’t go away, he answered, “Obviously not, no. So maybe do something about it instead of *Cough!* standing there? ‘Every blanket in the whole damn house’ is probably overkill, but don’t, don’t be stingy with them, either.” Rick could hear the whininess in his voice and hated it. He hoped Morty didn’t notice.

“I won’t. Just stay here, and I’ll be back in a few minutes. You need anything else, Rick?” Morty was, with good reason, clearly reluctant to leave the room.

“*SNIFF!* More tissues. I’d forgotten just how much extra mucus the human body makes when infected with a cold virus. Eww. This is gross. I mean, it’s kind of impressive. But still gross. You wanna see?” Rick replied. He stared at the contents of his used handkerchief with a mix of disgust and scientific curiosity.

“No thank you! Trust me, I’m good. Okay, blankets and tissues. Tissues and blankets. Got it. B-R-B.” Morty kept looking over his shoulder as he left the room. Rick studied the handkerchief for a few more seconds before deciding there was no saving it and tossing it into the trashcan. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, half listening to the man on TV list facts about trout.

“When was the last time I got sick, anyway? Obviously not counting being hungover or poisoned. Sure, I’ve died a handful of times. Of the actual bones left in my body that I haven’t replaced with titanium, there’s maybe two that have never been broken at this point. No, wait. One. *COUGH!* But actually catching a virus from some random person? And a lameass, Earth-originating virus at that? The last time was definitely before I moved in with the family. Like, a lot before. Maybe after one of the times I pulled Morty out of kindergarten or first grade for a day?” Rick said to himself. He took a drink from his flask, grateful he’d remembered to refill it before starting on his recent failed experiment.

Putting it away and closing his eyes, he continued, “Elementary schools are basically dirty, oversized petri dishes. I remember that from when Beth was little. Shit, I remember it from when I was little. Some things don’t change, I guess. So yeah. Between kids being snot nosed germ factories, and my otherwise never being around other humans at the time, that checks out. *Cough!* *COUGH!* Happened more than once, now that I think about it. Might’ve been why I stopped doing that. Eh, it was still *YAWN!* worth it, though.” Despite how awful Rick felt, and most of what he was thinking about being unpleasant, a smile crossed his face, and he started to drift off. 

Just then, Jerry walked in, holding a tape up in the air and triumphantly yelling, "I found it! Now I just need to watch the episode 2, maybe 3 times to make sure I don't miss anything. Once I've done that, I'll be ready to cure Rick. And then we'll see whose plan is stupid, Morty!"

"Obviously yours is, Jerry." Rick groaned before starting to cough again.

"What? You're in here?! Shouldn't you be in bed, or back in the garage, or maybe some kind of quarantine bubble?" Jerry asked, jumping back a little and nearly dropping his supplies. Besides the tape, he was also carrying a notebook, pen and pencil. Getting no answer from Rick, he quickly reassured himself, " Easy, Jerry. There's nothing to worry about. You've got everything you need to solve our little crisis right here."

Smiling smugly, he continued, "So does this weird sickness you have work slower in humans? The way you made it sound, it transforms from one awful thing to another pretty quickly. But it's been hours now, and you still seem stuck on these cold symptoms."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Rick asked groggily, opening one eye slightly. After a few seconds, he remembered his cover story. "Oh, right. That. Yeah. Good *COUGH!* job, Jerry. You hit the nail on the head. How long Mimicking Disease makes you think you have any one illness varies, but it does typically progress slower in humans. In fact, it can be so slow, I m-might just be stuck like this the whole time I'm sick." Jerry side-eyed him, and just missed putting two and two together.

"Well, that would be a lucky break, wouldn't it? You contract some alien virus that can make you feel like you have any disease in the universe, and all it does is imitate a bad cold? Sounds like you'll be getting off easy if that's what happens, Rick."

"Of course you'd think that. Personally, I'd rather deal with Venutian varicella or Floopfloopian ass fever or Morgluxian measles any day over five more minutes of this bullshit. *Cough! Cough!* Anyway, talking to you is more exhausting than usual right now, and I'd like to stop. So whatta you want, Jerry?"

Jerry took a few hesitant steps closer to the couch, asking, "Are those real diseases, or are you just making shit up? Are these things I have to worry about you bringing into my home?!"

"Calm down, Jerry. Everyone in the house, you included, is vaccinated against the one that exists and has a vaccine. One of the others has no preventive measures, and one I just made up to mess with you. No, I'm not telling you which is which. My throat feels like I swallowed glass, and this conversation needs to end. So for the last time, what do you *ACHOO!* need?"

“Well, I need the VCR so I can watch this tape, so I can help you, Rick.” Jerry replied.

“Uh-huh. So sit down and watch it. Interdimensional Cable’s down, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not exactly invested in the plot of ‘Guy Who Looks Like Gene With a Beard Stands in a Boat and Talks About Fish’.” Rick said gruffly, patting the couch and inviting Jerry to join him.

“Ummm, couple problems with that. First of all, I know you keep saying what you have isn’t dangerous, but until I’ve finished my research and am just about to cure you, I’d rather not get any closer than this. No offense, Rick.”

“Eh, none taken. That’s actually the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Of course, that might be *SNIFF!* just the fever or the crappy medicine talking. I’m… not really sure. Anyway, you could just sit further from me and watch whatever that is you’re holding.” Rick agreed, turning to face Jerry.

“I guess I could, but with all your hacking and sniffling, I won’t be able to hear anything. And it’s very important that I pay close attention to this tape, otherwise I might miss some key details, and my plan won’t work. *SIGH!* Not to mention, if I try to explain my idea to you, you’ll just trash it and mock me like usual. So I’d rather not tell you anything until I’m just about to put my plan into action.”

“Look, you’re *COUGH!* right about the noises. Can’t really *Sniff!* do anything about that besides hope whatever the uh, Mimicking Disease moves onto next is quieter. But I’ll admit, I’m intrigued by this plan of yours, Jerry. And whatever it is can’t be worse than Morty’s idea of helping me so far. So go ahead and tell me more.”

“You’re serious? You want to hear my idea, and you’re not just saying that to fuck with me?” Jerry asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. Rick, who really did need a break from talking, nodded.Jerry debated it briefly, then sat in a chair, saying, “Alright. I’m still not going to actually watch it with you, and I’d prefer to limit time spent in the same room. But I suppose it won’t hurt to sit here for a few minutes and fill you in on the details. I know you’re more familiar with Sailor Moon than Morty is, so this is already a better use of time than trying to talk to him was.” Rick stared at Jerry, slightly more alert now and curious as to what the hell that was supposed to mean.

[misslisamiray]

Ran into some delays due to real life + this chapter being long + my brain being my worst enemy, but finally, here's Chapter 7 of Down With the Rickness! It is also up on Ao3 and ff dot net, & those links will be posted soon. Screenshot chosen for this post because at this point in the story, Rick really needs to just go back to bed (and someone should strap him to it, tbh). 😂

New chapter is below the cut!

After some quick, frantic thinking, Morty figured out a way to convince Rick to abandon his newest terrible plan. Or hoped he had, at least.

“Yeah, I guess that would be pretty silly. Oh, no. Wait a minute, Rick. Germs can’t like, communicate or even think the way we do, can they? And making them big won’t change that. So it sounds like it’d be a waste of your time either way. Too bad. Guess you should just go back to bed now, huh?” he said. Rick’s expression instantly turned crestfallen, and Morty was sure that was the end of the subject.

“Right. I was *Achoo!* forgetting all about that. You see what I mean about not being able to think straight with this cold? Thanks, Morty. Y-you really helped Grandpa dodge a bullet there. That could’ve gone really bad really fucking quick.” Rick admitted, slowly getting up from the floor. Noticing that he was a little unsteady, Morty helped him up again.

“Aww geez, you don’t have to thank me for that, Rick. It’s what I’m here for, y’know? Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.” Despite the false modesty, he was clearly proud.

“Yeah, yeah. In a minute, Morty. Help me over to my workbench first.” Rick argued, resisting Morty’s attempt to pull him back towards the house.

“Huh? Oh, sure. You need to sit down for a minute. I guess you did overexert yourself setting up that experiment. I’ve gotta say, even though it wasn’t gonna work, I’m impressed you were able to do all that so quickly when you’re feeling so poorly. I’m surprised you’re even up already – I wasn’t in the attic with Dad for long, and you were out cold when I went look for him.” Morty mused, not noticing that Rick had grabbed two beakers and a Bunsen burner.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Kinda sneezed myself awake. It was gross, but also a good reminder to myself that the sooner I do this, the sooner I’ll be done with this whole ‘being sick’ bs.” Rick replied. Before sitting at his workbench, he grabbed three test tubes of different colored liquids from the shelf above it, then placed them next to the other equipment he’d gathered. He pulled another petri dish from one of his pockets and added it to the newest assortment of things.

“Oof. That sounds unpleasant, alright. I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time with this thing, Rick. But you’ll be okay soon. At least colds don’t last long. I think. Wait. The sooner you do what, exactly? Ugh. Rick, what are you doing now?” Morty said, initially sounding sympathetic and concerned, then quickly becoming weary once he processed what Rick had just said.

“I’m doing *Cough!* what you reminded me I need to do in order for this experiment to work, Morty. If I’m gonna have any chance of reasoning with these germs, I need to make ‘em sentient. Th-the most important part of this whole process, and I was forgetting all about it. It’s a good thing you’re here to help me out, Morty.”

“No! I mean, thanks I guess… But this is still an awful idea, Rick. I thought we were done with all this and you were going back to bed!” Morty wailed, watching Rick debate what to do with the liquid-filled tubes. He kept picking them up, staring at them like he’d never seen them before, then putting them back down, sometimes rearranging them. Blue, red, yellow. Yellow, blue, red. Red, yellow, blue. It was, to say the least, not remotely reassuring.

“I will once I’m done! Of course, I won’t need to then, since I’ll be cured. Now get *COUGH!* over here and finish helping me, Morty. Oh, and bring those things with you.” Rick instructed, pointing in the general direction of the experiment on the floor. Thinking he wanted the ray gun or maybe the used tissues, Morty was about to tell him no. Then he realized Rick was actually pointing at two items about a foot from the experiment - his nearly empty tissue box and the trash can from his room. While Morty retrieved the items, Rick finally decided to pour the contents of the blue tube into one of the beakers. After lighting the burner under it, he added the red liquid. It instantly started glowing.

“Here. Umm, is that what’s supposed to be happening, Rick?” Morty asked as he placed the tissue box on the table and the trash can on the floor. He eyed the glowing solution suspiciously.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. That’s fine. It’s just, just doing what it needs to do.” Rick muttered, now visibly struggling to keep his eyes open.

“I’m afraid to ask, but what exactly is the plan for this… stuff you’re making? I’m guessing it’s to add it to either the blood sample you took, or maybe one of those used tissues. And by the way, I’ll help you clean up the rest of the mess, but you’re picking those up yourself.”

Rick sniffled and wiped his runny nose before answering, “Yep. Either that or inject myself with it, then take a new sample to work with. You see, Morty, there’s potential downsides either way. If I give the entire virus sentience by injecting myself with the serum, I run the risk of it you know, trying to take over, like it’s in charge.”

“Uh-huh. Seems like a good reason to not do that. Also, even for you, that stuff doesn't look like anything you should put into your bloodstream. What happens if you only make a small sample of the virus sentient after it’s outside your body?” Morty said wearily, still closely watching the glowing beaker.

“Then I’ll definitely have the advantage of these stupid germs not trying to take me down from the inside. *COUGH!* That is, more than they already are. But there’s also a possibility they’ll attack us once they’re out in the open and several million times their original size. As much as I hate these microscopic assholes, I can’t really blame ‘em – I’d freak the fuck out too under those circumstances.” Rick continued. He grabbed another tube, this one containing a pink liquid.

“Wait, that’s what’s going to happen?! And you’re this calm about it?!” Morty asked. He didn’t know how it was possible, but this just kept getting worse.

“It could happen. It’s not necessarily going to. I mean, before I give them rational thought, the enlarged germs will basically be stupid, panicked wild animals. But so long as we react fast enough and apply the mixture the second they’re big enough to see, we should be able to avoid that. Then everything will be fine, Morty!” Rick argued, pouring the pink liquid into the second beaker.

“Okay, no. Absolutely not. We’re not doing this, Rick. I’m sorry, but none of these are acceptable risks for trying to get rid of a cold! Like I said before, it’d be different if you were seriously ill with some space disease like what you pretended to have. I’d still think your idea sounded crazy, but I’d be willing to go along with it, since, like, that might be the only way to save you. But you’re gonna be fine in a few days, and you aren’t even that sick to begin with! So let’s get all of this put away, and you please just go back to bed.” Morty protested, reaching for Rick’s current project.

“No! Fuck you, Morty! I thought you wanted to help me feel better. *Cough!* *Cough!* Clearly that was a lie.” Rick refused, leaning forward and wrapping his arms protectively around the things on the table.

“Of course I do! But none of this is going to do that, Rick. Best case scenario is you’ll just make yourself sicker. And in case you haven’t noticed, things rarely go best case scenario with you.”

“He has a point, you know. Now’s also as good a time as any to tell you, that’s not even an enlarging ray you set up over there.” the garage AI chimed in.

“Yeah, I thought that didn’t look right.” Morty agreed with a sigh, glancing over at the other part of Rick’s experiment.

“Sh-shut up! Both of you, just shut up! I’ll show you two Doubting Thomas assholes a thing or two. Just you wait.” Rick snapped, hands shaking a little as he added the yellow liquid to the pink. At least this combination didn’t start glowing, which the first mixture was still doing. It had also started flashing every few seconds. Still keeping close to the table, Rick turned his head slightly to glare at Morty smugly.

“I’m supposed to be impressed by this? You clearly don’t know what you’re doing right now, Rick.” Morty sighed.

“Hmmphh. Just you *SNIFF!* wait, Morty. Ha! It should be ready now.” Rick mumbled, watching the second mixture start to bubble. He picked it up and added some to the first concoction, careful not to look at that one for long – he’d never admit it, but the sight of the pulsing, glowing liquid had brought back the dizziness from earlier in full force.

Morty watched apprehensively. He fully expected a huge explosion, and to have to pull Rick away from it. Instead, the new solution bubbled nearly to the top of its beaker, then stopped. The flashing and glowing also finally ceased.

“Yeah! Step 1 accomplished, baby!” Rick bragged… either ignoring or oblivious to the fact that the beaker containing only the combined pink and yellow liquids was still bubbling. He started coughing again, and mumbled through it, “Ugh, and not a moment too soon. *SNIFF!* H-hang on a minute.” He grabbed another handful of tissues and blew his nose loudly. While Rick’s guard was down, Morty boldly pulled away his three blankets. Initially, Rick froze in place, unable to react to the sudden change.

Then, he whirled around furiously, yelling, “You little turd! That’s so mean! You can see I’m fr-fr-freezing, Morty! Give those back!”

“Why? You’re gonna be all better any minute now thanks to your little project there, right? Doesn’t sound like you’ll need these.” Morty taunted, backing up a few steps further from Rick.

“I won’t need them then, but I still do now! Give them back!” Rick argued, lunging towards Morty. He missed, and nearly fell over.

“Uh-uh. You want these back, come get them, bitch!”

Morty was now waving the blankets like a matador’s red cape. And like a bull (albeit a shivering, stumbling bull), Rick charged at him again. This time, he managed to make contact, knocking Morty to the floor. He fell down with him in the process, but wasn’t concerned with that.

“I said give those back!” he ordered again, trying and failing to pull the blankets away from Morty.

“I will once you go back to bed! I’ll get you every blanket in the whole damn house if you’ll just do that!” Morty yelled back, tightening his grip on the blankets. Rick thought it over for a few seconds – that was a tempting offer. Shaking his head, he instead resumed trying to pull the blankets away from Morty.

“This isn’t fair, Morty! A sneak attack, and when you know I’m not at full capacity? *COUGH!* That’s a real dick move!” he complained, swatting at Morty’s left arm and hoping that would make him lose his grip.

“It’s for your own good, Rick! And since when do you give a shit about what’s fair?!” Morty scoffed. He kicked Rick’s right leg in hopes that would knock him down. It almost worked. Rick, barely managing to keep his balance, pinched the side of Morty’s right hand hard enough to loosen his hold on the blankets.

“Ah ha! Yes! I win!” Rick exclaimed, almost entirely pulling the blankets away from Morty.

“No the fuck you don’t! This is so stupid, Rick! And it’s gonna stop now!” Morty shot back, shoving Rick backwards and pulling the blankets as forcefully as he could. Rick almost lost his hold on them, but just managed not to, also pulling with as much strength as he could manage. Refusing to let go, Morty ended up being pulled on top of Rick, who tried unsuccessfully to push him off.

“Really, Rick? How long are you planning to keep this up?! Stop fighting me when I’m only trying to help you!” Morty yelled, growing more exasperated by the second.

“Oh, yeah. Some help you are, interfering with my experiments to get rid of this damn virus, and trying to take away my one source of comfort. Great bedside manner you got there, Morty. *Cough!* *Cough!* You should be a doctor when you grow up.” Rick said sarcastically, kicking Morty off him again. Morty rolled his eyes at Rick’s dramatics for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

“Well, I couldn’t possibly have a worse patient, now could I? And stop with the guilt tripping, because it isn’t going to work.” he replied crossly. The combination tug of war/wrestling match continued. Sick and clearly losing steam as he was, Rick was as stubborn as ever.

Ending up on top of the tussle again, he started to say, “And another thing, Morty! I, I… *AH-AH-ACHOO!*”

“Gross. Completely expected, but still, gross.” Morty sighed. At least being sneezed all over had brought the fight for the blankets to an end. And Rick, for his part, had the decency to look embarrassed. The two of them slowly sat up, the blanket pile now on the floor between them.

“S-sorry. I uh, didn’t mean to do that. I mean, it was kinda your fault, too… No. Nevermind. I’m sorry. Here you go.” Rick mumbled sheepishly, handing Morty the tissue box as a peace offering.

Morty took it and used the last of the tissues to wipe off his face, saying, “Yeah, well you’d better get used to sharing these things, since any chance of me not getting your cold just went out the window.”

“Yeah, sorry for that, too. You know, Morty, so long as my experiment works, I, I’ll do it for you, too. I mean, it wouldn’t be fair to cure myself but just let you suffer. I won’t do that to you.” Rick offered. Morty was about to tell him the experiment wasn’t going to work, but it wasn’t necessary.

As if on cue, the beaker containing the bubbling liquid overflowed, tipping over in the process. It quickly ate a hole through the table, but fortunately didn’t continue through the cement floor.

Looking over his shoulder at the new mess, Rick sighed and admitted, “This isn’t, it isn’t going to work, is it?” Morty just shook his head, annoyed it had taken Rick this long to figure that out, but relieved he finally had.

“Ugh. I feel like shit, Morty.” Rick groaned, slumping forward and starting to shiver again. Morty’s expression softened a little. Yes, Rick was driving him crazy and making what should have been a minor problem into a disaster. But he was also clearly miserable, and Morty felt bad for him.

“I know you do, Rick. But it’ll be okay. You’ll see. Here.” he said gently, getting up from the floor and draping the blankets around Rick’s shoulders again. 

“Yeah, sure. I guess. If you say so.” the mad scientist mumbled, pulling them tighter around himself. Morty quickly realized that, while he’d finally managed to talk his grandfather out of his experiments, Rick was now back to his original plan of wanting to sulk on the garage floor all day. Morty wasn’t about to let him do that, either.

“It will. You just need to get some rest. Hey, if you don’t want to go back to bed, let’s go watch TV. It’ll distract you from feeling sick, and the living room’s a lot warmer, so you’ll be more comfortable. Sound good?” he offered, reaching to help Rick off the floor yet again. Rick nodded weakly. Just then, the previously stable beaker resumed flashing and glowing. This continued for a few seconds before it exploded.

“*SIGH!* Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Rick said defeatedly, grabbing onto Morty to steady himself as he stood up.

“Hey, umm, garage? Do you mind dealing with all…this?” Morty asked, gesturing to the series of messes.

“Sure, Morty. It’s not like I have anything better to do today.” the AI replied sarcastically. Several robotic arms emerged from the walls and ceiling and began to clean things and repair damage. The ones dealing with the used tissues and petri dishes wore gloves.

“I mean, you kind of… don’t? But thanks just the same.” Morty replied.

“Whatever. But I guess I shouldn’t complain. My day is going to be a breeze compared to yours.” the AI scoffed. Morty opened his mouth to argue, but quickly realized she was right. He closed the door, sincerely hoping this was the last time he’d have to drag Rick out of the garage today.