papercaper
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“Look, just—here, you can even take the cot, so you don’t have to go all the way home to sleep. Okay? Please just-just lie down?”
“No, Martin. Give it a rest.”
“Be reasonable!”
Finally, Jon huffed and spun around to look at Martin directly.
“And what if I don’t? What, you’re going to make me go to bed?”
“Well, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve thought about picking you up and throwing you onto a bed just because I know I could, so may as well start now.”
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AU where Jon’s Compulsion powers begin to come into play much, much earlier in the story—early enough that he has no idea what Compulsion is yet, or why everyone around him is suddenly being brutally candid with him. Neither does anyone else.
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In which the big city Bachelor desperately needs a kick in the ass to act on his crush, and Sticky happens to have matchmaking skills which rival those of Cupid.
Alternately: author wanted a Burakhovsky mistletoe fic despite it being the middle of May, so it's a mistletoe trope, the Steppe version.
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The Final Problem Solved by papercaper
Fandoms: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
14 Jun 2017
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Sherlock pays Molly a visit to explain the phone call and show her that she counts.
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He thinks about what a fucking miracle it is that he’s still alive, and his chest tightens again.
The problem with survival isn’t the here and now, Artemy is beginning to realise; that’s easy. Here and now, what matters is taking another breath, is pushing through whatever is happening into the next moment. Doing what you need to get done when your life is on the line and, by proxy, the lives of countless others, isn’t the hardest part.
That is what comes after, when you’re no longer gasping for air, when there are no longer singular moments to gather your thoughts but an endless stretch of time ahead of you with no more looming disaster to take your mind off of the future.
Now, that’s where he finds himself; in the future, inside that vague notion of hope he was clinging to for weeks as he sprinted across town, plague clouds chasing his heels, herbs and bottles and raw human organs jostling around in his medic bag, dead bodies left in his wake. The whole time, the future was on his mind, getting himself and his children and his friends to it, and now it’s here and he doesn’t know what to do when he’s stopped running.
Series
- Part 1 of Dreams of a tomorrow
Bookmarked by papercaper
09 Apr 2026
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Artemy is very hungry.
Bookmarked by papercaper
31 Mar 2026
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Daniil's apathy meter is dangerously low. Artemy might be able to help.
Bookmarked by papercaper
30 Mar 2026
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Daniil's eyelids fluttered shut as he fought to retain his composure. His inexplicable immune response always heightened around Artemy, and now was no exception; Artemy's hand seared his skin through his waistcoat and dress shirt like a cattle brand, and Daniil nearly collapsed under the sudden influx of heady arousal.
This was not normal or healthy. He had to cure this vile sickness soon—before he didn't have the willpower to shrug him off like he barely managed to do now, fighting every cell in his body begging him to swoon back into Artemy's solid chest, among other things.
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Daniil's always had a weak immune system, and as an outsider, he's even more susceptible to the peak of twyre season. None of his attempts at treatment go as planned.
Bookmarked by papercaper
24 Mar 2026
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“… I’d say good morning,” Dankovsky said at length, a little hoarsely, “but I’m afraid I’ve lost track of the time. Good … something, Haruspex.”
“Afternoon. You look—” Artemy began, and broke off.
“Yes? What ghoulish thing do I resemble today?” Daniil blew out some smoke, staring pensively ahead. “A striga, perhaps.”
“—better,” Artemy finished. “Less like you’d gone already, and are only haunting me.”
That shut Daniil’s mouth.
[Or: a rendezvous with danger, one very cold winter.]
Bookmarked by papercaper
18 Feb 2026