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wosoamazing · 2 months

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Nursery & Sickness

Summary: You don't want to go to nursery. You also get sick from Nursery, making your Mum sick too. Based off this request.

Warnings: Sickness (Vomiting)

A/N: I was kind of stumped on what to write so of course I turned it into a sickfic - I hope that is okay. I promise I am trying to write things other than sickfics, some of your requests are definitely helping with that.

You didn't want to go to Nursery, you wanted to go to training as you always did, but you didn't understand why you couldn’t. Once you realised your Mum was leading you in the direction of your nursery you planted your feet firmly on the ground, refusing to walk, she just picked you up, not budging at your actions.

As she placed you down in your room, you started to cry, you didn't want to leave her side. “I’ve got to go to training Bubba, so you’re going to spend the day here, and I’ll be back to pick you up as soon as training is over”

“No, I come training with you”

“But Bubba you can’t, it's better for you to go to Nursery, and you can still come to games, I promise I will be back to pick you up.”

“No go,” you sobbed.

“I have to, what if we read a book together before I go?” You sadly nodded your head and went over to pick a book, while you Mum sat crossed legged on the floor. You chose a book and walked over to her, before walking backwards into her lap and sitting down, she read you the book and you calmed down, enough so that she didn’t feel guilty to leave you.

When she came back to pick you up, you had a huge grin on your face and you were in the middle of a painting activity, you didn't want to leave. So she helped you finish your painting before you both went home, in the car you told her about your amazing day. She was relieved that you had enjoyed, so much so that you asked when you were getting to go back

_____

Leah expected you to be sad and upset the first time she took you to Nursery, but what she didn’t expect was that you would have a new illness every week, the experienced nursery parents told her that this was normal, and would happen for roughly 2 or 3 months than you would just get like the seasonal flu, and if you moved Nurseries it would happen all over again, Leah took a mental note of that and promised herself she would not move you to a different Nursery. Heaps of the more experienced parents told her that this would happen for the first 2 or 3 months than you would be fine, so she just had to get through it.

_____

Today was game day, which you were excited for, it meant you didn’t have to go to Nursery, however you felt funny, your head kind of hurt and your tummy felt icky, but you didn’t tell your Mum, you didn’t want her to make you stay home.

You slept in the car on the way to the game, which wasn’t a rare occurrence, considering it was a late game. When you were offered your snacks to eat before the game started you shook your head, which your Mum found odd as it was an offer you would always jump at. You fell asleep very quickly into the first half and slept the whole way through the game. Only waking up when Katie turned on the TV to see the men play as she waited for Caitlin to finish getting ready. The loud noise of the fans cheering through the TV radiated through your head and you started crying.

“What’s wrong Bubba?” Your Mum asked, snapping her fingers in Katie’s direction, who quickly turned down the volume.

“Icky,” you cried out.

“Oh Bubba, do you feel sick?” she asked as she felt your forehead, which was quite warm. You nodded in reply.

“Okay, well I’ll just get our stuff all packed up and then we can go okay, I love you,” she said, placing a kiss on your forehead. She was walking around the locker room, gathering all your things when the sound of liquid spilling onto the floor echoed around the locker room. She quickly spun around to see you covered in vomit, with a puddle of vomit in front of you. She quickly moved over to you and moved you out of the way of your puddle of vomit, tears started to roll down your cheeks, as she went to look over to Katie to ask something, but Katie had already left the room and there is no one else in the room, they all have already left or the ones that remain are in the showers.

Your Mum takes off your Shirt and Shorts, and uses a wet wipe to wipe your hands and face, before she starts getting you changed into your spare clothes. As she is smoothing down your hair that was messed up by your shirt, you gag, she looks around the room panicked trying to figure out what she can grab, when she sees Katie walk in who quickly chucks her a sick bowl. She places the sick bowl under your chin just in time as you start throwing up again. Caitlin, Steph, Lia and Kim have all now finished their showers and walk into the room, to see the absolute scene in front of them. Your Mum is kneeling beside you rubbing your back as you throw up into the sick bowl she is holding for you, there is a puddle of vomit nearby and a bag with your vomit cover clothes in it, sitting near you, that has yet to be tied up.

“Do you need any help Leah?” Kim asks.

“No, no it’s all good, you guys just go, have a good night,” Leah responds, they all quickly gather their things and head out, except for one, who is rushing around behind your Mum, gathering all your belongings. She has finished packing all three of your bags and walks over to where the bag with your dirty clothes sits, your Mum jumps slightly not realising there was still someone in the room with her, she looks up to find it is Lia, her heart melting slightly at the kindness of her best friend.

“Lia, you really didn't need to stay behind,” she looks behind her, “Or pack up any of our stuff.”

“Don’t be silly Leah, I’ll just take these things out to the car and then I’ll come back for you and Y/N/N, and before you say you are fine to drive home, we drove here together.” Your Mum’s face cringed, she had totally forgotten that.

When Lia came back in you were sitting in your Mum’s lap, as she held you close, rocking you backwards and forwards.

“Le,” Lia said softly, your Mum looked up, “I’m ready when you are.” Your Mum got up and headed to the car, you threw up a lot more that night. The worst being when you had just gotten home, you were in your Mum’s arms, meaning it was all over you and her.

____

It had been a day since you last threw up, but you still felt icky so you were sleeping in your Mum’s bed, between her and Lia. Lia had insisted she stayed to help look after you.

“Fuck, Lia, can you hand me a sick bowl?” Your Mum asked.

“Yeah, but why, Y/N/N is asleep. Or have your Mum senses started tingling,” Lia joked as she handed the sick bowl to your Mum, who lent her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes, taking some deep breaths, Lia quickly clicked on to what was happening. She carefully and gently picked you up and quickly walked to your room, knowing Leah would be more comfortable if you weren’t there, she placed you on your bed before returning to the room. She climbed into the bed and sat next to your Mum, placing her hand on your Mum’s thigh, gently reassuring her, knowing that your Mum wouldn't want much physical touch currently. They remained like that for a few minutes before your Mum’s upper body jerked forward and she lost the contents of her stomach into the sick bowl, Lia rubbed her back whilst she softly spoke reassuring words to her.

____

You awoke in your bed feeling much better, but you wanted your Mum so you decided to toddle off down the hall and into her room, you saw her with Lia in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet as Lia rubbed her back, you walked into the bathroom.

“Mummy?” You questioned, slightly worried.

“Mummy is sick, I think she got your sick. Are you feeling better?" you nodded your head, "Thats good," Lia said before she moved her free hand to your Mums shoulder and gently squeezed it, your Mum shook her head slightly and Lia murmured a quiet 'okay' before she turned her gaze back to you. "Why don’t you go out to the living room and I’ll join you in a sec,” you nodded and toddled off.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal wfc #awfc #awfc x reader #leah williamson x reader

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ivystoryweaver · 2 months

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March the 9th

Marc Spector x gn!reader 1.4k words, angst, sex is implied, no smut, tw abuse, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Your skin tingles as you struggle you steady your breathing. Pacing the floor for an hour does nothing to calm that fuzzy feeling in the center of you.

He’ll be here soon.

You’ve memorized the pattern on the ceiling over your bed, because you stared at it the entire night, never once slipping into blissful slumber.

Your phone never rings. No emails, no letters, no messages.

But he always shows.

Bouncing on your toes, you smooth your hands down the lines of your body, checking your reflection, which lets you know you look the same as you did five minutes ago.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

The first year...

Your family moved onto the Spectors’ street when you were nine years old. You quickly befriended the Spector boys, often playing with them after school and on weekends.

Then, one day, Randall was gone. You were supposed to play with them that day, but you had the flu.

Marc was never the same and you didn’t see much of him, except at school. The Spectors didn’t throw him a birthday party and he didn’t show up at yours either.

So you created a handmade birthday card for him, making a point to cross his path at school. He was absent.

The next year approached, and you realized the Spectors once again would not be throwing a party, so you gave Marc his birthday card on March 8th. He jerked it out of your hand, eyes downcast, muttering, “thanks,” before shuffling away.

You called his name, scampering after him, but he never looked back. The two of you were in middle school now and Marc didn’t seem to have many friends at all. Hopefully he would read the card, which invited him over to hang out.

He did.

On the night of March 9th, he crawled through your bedroom window for the first time. Tears streaked down his cheeks as his body trembled.

“Can I sleep on your floor?” He brokenly whispered.

You had a queen sized bed, so, of course you didn’t let your clearly devastated friend sleep on the hard floor.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured drowsily, once he slid beneath the covers. “Please, they’ll kill me.”

You didn’t understand and he wouldn’t explain. You were only twelve years old. You squeezed his hand and let him rest.

He talked to you after that, only sometimes.

The next March 9th, you gave him another card, with another invitation to come over. He did. Your fingers tangled with his.

Again at fourteen, when, after swiping the tears from his eyes, he kissed you. He kissed you for a long time and you thought you’d never felt anything so magical.

At fifteen, he kissed and touched you all night long. Your heart was his now.

Still, he kept to himself for most of the other 364 days a year.

At sixteen, he climbed into your bed and the two of you lost your virginity. Neither of you had a clue what you were doing - clumsy and wild and sweet. But he kissed you and held you and he tried. You loved him and you had never felt so close to anyone in your life.

He flinched away from your touch several times, so you thought you must be doing something wrong.

It wasn’t until seventeen that you saw his well-hidden bruises and red welts by your bedside lamplight.

“Who did this to you?” Tears streamed down your face as your fingertips traced lovingly around anger and drunkenness unleashed on his beautiful body.

His eyes met yours and you knew. He came to your bed a lot more after that.

Then came eighteen. Three months before graduation. You asked him all the time where he wanted to go to college - where the two of you could go together, but nothing ever came of it. He only answered, “I have to get out.”

March the 9th of year eighteen was the last you saw of Marc Spector for a long time. He didn’t make it to graduation.

He sent you a letter in year nineteen.

‘I’m sorry,’ was all it said.

Year twenty passed. 21, 22, 23…

You graduated college and met someone. But every March the 9th, your fingers would trace his picture, so your "someone" didn't last.

More than a few March 9ths ago, you somehow wished him right back to you. He knocked on your door, shuffling anxiously from foot to foot, swallowing hard and expecting rejection.

You threw your arms around him. “Happy birthday,” you whispered against his cheek before his mouth found yours.

He took you to bed and you knew then that your heart would only ever be his.

It wasn’t enough though. He granted you a half-hearted explanation about danger and old debts and how he was so messed up - he could never bring it all into your life.

You had enough dignity to refrain from begging him.

The next March the 9th was the same. And the next, and the next.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

This year, you’re resolute. It will be the last. It has to be. You can’t do this anymore. He doesn’t love you - not the way you love him. You’ll wish him happy birthday, take him to your bed, but - never again. It hurts too much.

A sharp knock jolts you out of your reverie, sending all the air rushing out of you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you steady yourself, giving yourself one final moment to prepare for your last night with Marc.

You reach for the door and find him holding flowers. Irises.

“You like these…right?” Dark eyebrows shift hopefully.

You breathe his name, your heart flaming with adoration. You take the bouquet and wrap your arms around his neck like always, whispering, “Happy birthday,” against his cheek as his lips seek out your own. He tastes you slowly…sweetly, his breath mingling with yours.

You lose your grasp on the irises, forgetting to care as they spill to the floor. Strong arms wind around you as his hands spread across your back, pressing you against the solid warmth of his chest. The kiss goes on and on until you’re dizzy and breathless and hot tears wet your eyes at the thought of never tasting him again.

You fight them back as the two of you finally make it through the front door and he kicks it closed. He takes you to bed and you drown in the essence that is Marc - unearthed secrets, soul-crushing burdens, beautiful desperation and a kind of hungry tenderness. You bury your nose in the crook of his neck, comforted and tormented as you inhale the spicy, sun-kissed scent of him, your lips tasting, committing him to memory.

Saltiness seeps into your mouth and you’re not sure if it’s the slight sheen on his skin as he works his way into you, or the tears slipping down your cheeks.

Your fingers twist through his dark curls as you pull your body flush against his - the heat of your tongue - the twist of your body - the scrape of your fingernails desperately attempting to communicate your need for this man.

He’s been your birthday wish most of your life.

He holds you against him until the calendar turns to the 10th. The sun rises and you realize he’s never stayed this long.

Which will make the speech you’ve planned so much harder. You shuffle to the bathroom while he sleeps, steeling yourself for the heartbreak. As you stare into the mirror, tears burn your eyes and you wonder if you can go through with it. The thought of never seeing him again is crushing, but you can’t go on like this.

Finally, you straighten out your appearance and freshen up, fighting like hell to keep your composure.

Marc is awake, sitting on the edge of your bed in only his boxers. You expect him to be dressed and ready to walk out the door, but as his warm, coffee colored eyes find yours…

He gently smiles.

“Marc?” You whisper, slowly approaching him.

“Come here,” he softly instructs, reaching for you. You sink down beside him, your foreheads touching sweetly as he grips your arms.

“Could…do you think I could stay?”

Tears trickle down. Again. “I don’t know,” you whimper. “I-I can’t-"

“I know.,” he nods, pressing an urgent kiss to your mouth. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

He’s off the bed and reaching for his clothes before you can blink, but you don’t let him get far. “Stay,” you urgently plead. “Stay with me.”

He freezes, eyes wide and hopeful. “F-for tonight, or…”

“Stay,” you repeat, pressing your palms to the heat of his bare chest. “Stay or go. Just decide.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next March the 9th…

“Happy birthday, baby,” you murmur against his lips as he rolls you underneath him.

“Happy anniversary,” he returns, sealing his mouth to yours.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc Spector-Centric stories

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#happy birthday marc spector #angst filled baby boy #we love you #marc spector #moon knight #mcu #oscar isaac characters

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to-thelakes · 3 months

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sick day (well... sick month)

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; after yet another doctor's appointment, frank takes care of his sick - and frustrated - girlfriend

warnings; fluffy as hell, mentions of medication, discussions of eczema and being sick with the flu, brief mention of guns

notes; this is my first time posting my one-shots on tumblr so hello! i've done a little bit of posting on ao3 but i've always been a little scared to post here but here i am! now, this fic, it is a purely self-indulgent fluffy fic and it's the first in my fluffbruray fics. i'm hoping to do a fic every day of this month but i'm in uni and about to start a new job so whether that will happen is anyone's guess! but this fic is just some frank fluff because i've been going through a bunch of health issues and i needed the comfort from my favourite big bad punisher <3 i did proof-read it but it's not beta-read or anything so apologies for any grammar mistakes! i hope you enjoy <3

ao3

When you trudged back into the apartment after your appointment at the clinic, Frank could tell something was wrong. He had been cleaning up his guns at the table when he heard the door close. There was no call of his name or any sort of greeting; only a quiet shuffle of shoes being discarded and your coat being hung up. A frown was quick to spread across his face as he pushed the chair back, walking to meet you in the hallway.

“Everythin’ alright, sweetheart?” He asked. You looked up at him, tears welling in your eyes as you shook your head. He frowned but was quick to wrap you up into a hug. Your face buried in his strong chest as you sniffled.

“Apparently it’s normal and there’s nothing they can do to help me,” You mumbled against the fabric of his shirt. It smelt like him and that seemed to make it all so much better. Frank sighed and he used one of his hands to cradle the back of your head. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you somehow closer.

“We’ll figure something out, yeah?” He said. You sniffled before nodding your head. You didn’t know what you were going to do. It had been over a month and you didn’t feel any better. It was exhausting. When you had gotten the flu, you hadn’t expected to still feel the effects now. You’d never had it before and you were at the point where you wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Your health had plummeted and it was infuriating.

It also didn’t help that your new-found eczema had spread to your nose. You had done everything that the doctor had told you yet he still seemed out to punish you. You had never felt more disgusting and your nose hurt constantly. The constant dripping and blocking from when you had the flu would go away with time - apparently - but you didn’t really believe that at this point.

“I’m so tired,” You mumbled. Frank sighed and he pressed a kiss to your hair before pulling back. He cupped your face with his hands, looking into your eyes.

“You put the cream on yet?” He asked, his voice was gruff but soft. You shook your head and he nodded, glancing back at the table. The gun was still in parts but you were more important to him right now so he slipped his hand into yours, “Let me help ya put it on.” You nodded and he led you over to the bathroom. You stripped your jeans off and he grabbed the cream from where you had left it the night before.

“At least my leg is getting better,” You muttered, attempting to be optimistic. Frank smiled at you, glad to see some of your normal self coming back to the surface. He couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t broken his heart seeing how crushed you had been recently. Getting out of bed for work had been a struggle every day but you had managed to do it and he was proud of you.

“Attagirl.” That familiar grin had spread across his face and you couldn’t help but smile back; though that made your nose hurt.

The cold winter air had made the eczema on your nose sting on your walk back to the apartment but you knew that it would be okay as soon as the cream was on.

“Put your leg up,” He said once he had gotten down on one knee. He patted his thigh and you lifted your foot up, resting it there. He squeezed a fingertip of cream onto his finger before spreading it across the marks on the side of your thighs. It didn’t tingle as much as it had the first few times you put it on but there was still an uncomfortable feeling that lingered.

“He said that the flu probably caused the eczema, not my medication,” You said after a beat of silence. Frank had switched out to the moisturiser now and was spreading it across the underside of your thigh as you spoke. Frank scoffed and lifted his hand away from your leg, tapping your calf. You put your leg down.

“Course,” He commented. You could tell by the look on his face as he clambered back to his feet that he didn’t believe that. You didn’t really either. Frank cleaned his hands off before reaching for the steroid cream again.

“He still dropped the dosage but I dunno,” You mumbled, not entirely sure what you were trying to say. You just felt frustrated and it felt like nobody was really taking you seriously. You knew something was wrong and maybe it was just your medication but it still felt frustrating that nobody seemed to care enough to talk through everything with you.

“One step at a time,” He mumbled and you nodded. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub and you moved to stand between his thighs as he angled your face towards him. He then spread the small dot of cream onto your nostril where the eczema had begun to spread.

“Thank you,” You said after a moment. Frank switched out for the moisturiser again and began to dab across your nose. He was being careful. He knew how sensitive your face was at the moment and he didn’t want to cause you any more pain.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” He responded before letting go of your face. The cream would take a few minutes to soak in but then there would at least be some relief from the aching pain. He leant forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead before you stepped out of the way.

“I’ll make us lunch,” You suggested. Frank switched the taps on and nodded, washing his hands off, “Pasta?” A grin spread across Frank’s face - replacing the previously stoic look - and you knew that it was a yes. You chuckled, stepping towards him to press a kiss to his cheek before you disappeared out of the bathroom.

Frank had always been a pasta lover and it was the reason you had met him.

The first time you met the Big Bad Punisher, Frank had stumbled through your window - half-dead - while you were cooking one of your mum’s pasta dishes. It had been famous in your home town for how good it was and it seemed to have drawn Frank Castle in just like it had your dad to your mum all those years ago. Looking back, the scenario was amusing. But at the time, not so much.

Frankly, you had been terrified considering that the Punisher was standing in your living room demanding pasta while he was bleeding on your carpet. Initially, you had stood there frozen but then Frank nearly collapsed and you spent the night feeding him pasta and tending to his wounds. You remembered the next morning that Frank was gone and so were the leftovers. You had tried to be mad but it was somehow endearing.

You hadn’t expected to see him again but you did when you were cooking that pasta again. He had come knocking on your window and part of you wanted to berate him for stealing the leftovers but you didn’t have the heart to. The fact that you were now dating Frank still confused you sometimes. He was meant to be a terrifying, menacing murderer and yet when he was around you, he was nothing but attentive, loving and devoted.

Maybe it was the pasta is something you often mused but Frank assured you that he loved you for a lot more than your pasta. There was a sense of safety with him and just as you were finished collecting all your ingredients for the meal, he appeared, wrapping his arms around you.

“Feelin’ better, sweetheart?” He asked. You nodded and leant back into hold.

“Much.” He grinned and kissed your face once more before he let you return back to your cooking. He loved to watch you work.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #frank castle x you #frank castle fluff #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x female reader #the punisher fluff #the punisher x reader #fluffbruary #reader-insert

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writingseaslugs · 10 months

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Heartslabyul: When You're Sick

So in light of my physical health declining the past month or so, I decided to just begin writing this. At the time of writing this, I can say the “When They’re Sick” version has been written over a month ago…almost two. Glad to be back to writing though!

Also the very start of the headcanons stay the same for every fic, so once you read it once, you won’t need to read it again.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series are aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please click the “Au Information” below!

Request Information | Masterlist | Au Information

Heartslabyul: When You’re Sick

The worst thing to ever happen to you while attending Night Raven College had to be, hands down, getting sick. You were alone in the dorm with only ghosts and Grim to keep you company, and as much as you loved them, they couldn’t take care of you when you became sick. This meant you had to make do and hope that everything was alright. Normally if you were under the weather, you’d just suck it up and go to class so as to not worry anyone. This time however, that wasn’t an option.

You woke up with every muscle in your body feeling sore and aching with even the slightest movement. Your stomach churned something fearsome and you had a runny nose and cough to boot. You had no idea what illness you had fallen to. Having so many symptoms…you could only assume it was the flu or something akin to that.

Still, there was no way you were making it to class like this. So begrudgingly you told Grim you weren’t feeling good and needed to rest, and to go to class and get your homework so you could do it later. The demon cat was grumpy about not having his henchman, but eventually gave in, leaving you alone to rest in your room and hope that whatever you had would go away.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle finding out you get sick is like hearing about a crisis situation. He is on it. He becomes worried but tries to hide that fact pretty well, but everyone in the dorm knows how anxious he is the moment you are sick. He’s heading over to your dorm right away to check in on you. He’s going to act like he’s calm and collected, but you can tell he’s worried about your health with how he keeps playing with the skin around his cuticles.

Thankfully his mother was good for one thing, and that was teaching him how to care for others while sick. He was forced to read a few medical books, so he knows the basics. Of course he’s going to be checking in on you and looking over your health to see if you need a proper doctor at first, but once he knows you just have the flu, he is a bit more calm about the entire situation.

He’s contacting the nurse the moment he knows what’s wrong in order to get you the proper medications you need. He’s by your bedside the entire time, even after you’ve fallen asleep, making sure to wake you in time for meals and medication. He’s managed to convince all his teacher’s to give him his classwork so he can work on it in your dorm while you’re dead asleep so he doesn’t fall behind. He’ll be damned if anyone tries to drag him away from your bedside until he knows you’re all better.

Once you’re finally better, Riddle’s mood is going to be light and airy. He’s going to be calmer and tell you that you don’t need to worry about thanking him, since you’ve done/would’ve done the same thing for him. He will be asking you the rest of the week if you’re certain you’re doing better, so just do your best to reassure him that everything is fine and dandy.

Trey Clover

He’s rightfully worried the moment he finds out from Adeuce that you’re at your dorm, sick as a dog. He’s going to just subtly ask them what exactly is wrong with you, and sadly for him Ace might play it up like you’re at home dying and make Trey extremely concerned for your health. It wasn’t like Ace had even seen you, but apparently Grim had told Ace that you were dying in bed and couldn’t even stand…so his worry was at least justified.

Trey has a lot of experience in taking care of others while they’re sick, with being a big brother who was thrusted to take responsibility at a young age tends to do that to you. So he’s always on it when he finds out someone is sick, in fact at the dorm normally it’s Trey who’s checking up on sick students instead of Riddle. Normally it wasn’t something he wanted to do, but when it came to you he found himself wanting to make sure you were okay.

Trey is going to be taking your temperature and making sure you’re coherent as he asks you a few questions. After he’s going to make sure you get medication and make you several yummy things to eat. If you can’t stomach food he’s going to try to convince you to at least try some broth. He promises after you’re all better he’ll make you your favorite treat as well. He is more okay with leaving your bedside while you rest, but he is checking in on you before and after classes, and then on his lunch breaks as well, just to be sure you’re taken care of.

Once you’re better, Trey might tease you a bit. Thankfully he does follow through with his promise, and as soon as you can stomach it, he’s bringing you your favorite treat and eating it with you. He’s just relieved to know that you’re all better, but he will be reminding you that you need to take it easy for the next few weeks to make sure it doesn’t come back. He can be a real mother hen when it comes to these things.

Cater Diamond

When he finds out you're sick he is concerned. He is always worried when someone he knows ends up sick, so he’s going to be heading over to your dorm without another thought. He needs to make sure you’re okay and alive first before he begins trying to figure out how to make you better. The moment he sees you his concern only grows and he’s now fretting. You might actually have to tell him to calm down and that you’re going to be okay. He’s not fully convinced, but whatever,

He lacks skills in taking care of others, since normally he’s the one being taken care of at home when sick. So he’s going to actually be asking Trey for some advice on what would be the best course of action. He’s dragging the Vice Dorm leader to look over you as well, to make sure he doesn’t mess up and give you something that he shouldn’t. It’s honestly a bit comical how disheveled Cater seems to be at the thought of you getting sick.

Once he’s given instructions on what to do, he makes for a half decent nurse. He’s good at making sure you’re taking medications on time, and bringing you some simple foods that wouldn’t be too much on your stomach. He even finds himself enjoying it, and when you’re awake and bored, he’s showing you several things online to make you laugh. His best technique is distracting you from the sick feeling you have until you end up falling asleep. Then he’s definitely taking a photo to save and never show anyone. He might make a post about taking care of a special someone on Magicam later.

Literally the moment you’re better he’s going to be asking you to do things with him. Apparently he’s never heard about taking it easy once you’re feeling better. The boy has been deprived of doing fun things with you though, and he wants to make up for lost time. So go ahead and just go out for a walk or something with him. Let him snap a couple of photos of the two of you and he’ll be super happy.

Ace Trappola

He finds out through Grim and originally he acts as though he doesn’t care at all. You’re just a bit sick, so what? That is until Grim starts to over exaggerate things about your health and now he’s slowly getting worried about you. He’s going to be more irritated in class, tapping his foot anxiously on the ground until Trein tells him to stop fidgeting so much. This is going to prompt him to just up and leave the classroom to go check on you, despite Trein yelling for him to sit back down.

Sadly Ace has no skills in taking care of others while they’re sick. He just assumes a little bit of tylenol or something is all you need while sick. He has no past experience in playing nurse, so he’s clueless. Deuce is probably the one who points out that his methods of taking care of you are horrible and you need proper care with medication that’s aimed for whatever is wrong with you at the moment. Only then will Ace actually stubbornly seek out help.

He gets the nurse, because he’ll be damned if he asks Riddle for help. Thankfully the nurse gives him a list of things to help take care of you, and he does his best to follow it. He will be getting food from the cafeteria though, saying that his cooking might end up just making you sicker than before. He is caring though and you will notice his voice softens a bit as he’s taking care of you, almost like he fears causing you a headache or discomfort. He’ll deny it with every fiber of his being, but he really does want you to get better.

He’s going to be a smug little butthead the moment you’re all better, claiming how well he took care of you. You can either knock him down a few pegs and remind him that it wasn’t until Deuce and the nurse intervened that you began getting better. Or you can simply let him have it, and thank him for doing such a good job in helping you out. He might actually blush if you praise him though, so the latter option is probably the best to go with if you want to fluster him.

Deuce Spade

Another boy who becomes so worried about you being sick that he rushes over to your side. He is checking you over and spamming you with questions, wanting to know if you’re hurt anywhere. He might actually make you dizzy or give you a headache, but you know it’s all coming from a place of caring. He just doesn't know what else to do when he sees you laying there, sick as a dog.

Sadly he doesn’t have the best skills, but it doesn’t mean he won’t be asking for help. He’d go straight to Riddle, knowing that he probably would know what to do. After Riddle checks you over and says it’s not bad enough to see a nurse, he’s going to be hounding Deuce on how to properly take care of a sick classmate. Deuce is going to take everything to heart and take his word as law at that point.

After he’s told what to do, he’s not half bad. He might forget a few things and fumble, but he manages to always make it right in the end. He’s going to be a bit bashful when checking your temperature, using his forehead to do so since that’s how his mom always did it. You can remind him about thermometers, or just let him do his thing. Either way, Deuce is doing his best and will be by your bedside at all times, despite really needing to go to class since he’s fallen behind.

Once you’re better he’s so relieved, but he’s not done worrying. He’ll be asking you if you’re certain everything is alright and once you assure him about twenty times he might drop it. Just expect him to be a bit more protective over you for the next month or so after getting sick, since he’s worried you’ll somehow fall ill again.

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sinon36 · 4 days

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Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC - Part 2

Part I

Author's block and tummy aches don't make a great team. Apologies that it took some time to post this. Enjoy!

Warnings: none other than mistakes, it's fluff.

Being a primary school teacher is far from easy. From the endless hours spent correcting homework or grading tests to preparing visual materials, your work never ends. Maybe you should listen to your colleagues and double down on the work you put into this. But you can’t deny the satisfaction you get from seeing your students get excited in class even when you assign extra work for them over weekends and holidays. But now that you came down with the flu, another downside of working with kids, you couldn’t care less about the little punks.

You lay down in bed covered in the thickest of blankets, shivering and barely able to breath. The house is empty and you’ve never felt so alone. You wish Simon would walk through the door and snuggle you until everything is better again. He was deployed again, and in the past few months you managed to talk to him for a total of 10 minutes. He’d call you to check on you and let you know he was fine, but he’d be quick to tell you he can’t say more about his whereabouts.

Being married to him brought a hell of a lot more stress than you could have imagined. Not knowing where he was or what he did was eating you on the inside. You worried about your husband’s well being but you always reminded yourself not to pester him too much. His job is stressful as it is, no need for you to put anymore pressure on him when he was home. You painted an image of his coworkers through his brief comments on what they did on base. The most you heard about was the Scot, Johnny, the young lad had made an impression on Simon. Even though he’d complain that Johnny was a ‘pain in the arse’, you couldn’t miss the small chuckle he let out whenever he spoke of him. You concluded that this young Scottish man was the closest thing to a friend your husband had.

The clock on the nightstand reads 2AM. The fever and headache are back. Your body hurts everywhere. you stand up readying yourself to leave the warm cocoon of the blanket and go to the kitchen to make some tea and take some more medicine. The otherwise short trip to the other side of the house seems now like an endless maze, it’s dark and you can barely see; you keep one hand on the wall just to be safe if nausea takes the better of you. You take a seat at the dinner table as the kettle starts warming up.

There is a faint click at the front door, so soft that at first you believe you imagined it. But it turns out that it was real, that the sound was a key turning the lock and the knob twisted, and the door opened. You watch everything as in slow motion, your brain too fuzzy with the flu. The massive body dressed in all black walks in illuminated from behind by the street lights, leaving their shoes on the rack. It’s Simon…. He’s home but you don’t have the energy to move. In the still and quiet atmosphere of the house the bloody kettle lets out a blood curling whistle signalling the water is boiling. Simon’s eyes dart towards the kitchen space, not having noticed you until now.

‘What’re you doin’ in the dark, love?’ he chuckles coming over to you. He’s becoming suspicious when you don’t make a single move to get up and greet him as you would. He first reaches for the knob to turn off the stove, then he pulls off the balaclava, reaching down to your sited position to kiss your forehead. ‘You a bit warm…’ he hums and you nod sniffling your runny nose. The rest is a blur, you can faintly remember him pouring the tea for you and handing the medicine. Next thing you know strong arms carry you to the bedroom, the same arms you fall asleep until morning.

Simon is trained in the art of staying still no matter what waiting to get a clear shot of the enemy. But since he met you, that skill has been put to a better use. He had no qualms with becoming your body pillow over night. He just loves the feeling of you pressed so closely to him, head rested on his peck near his beating heart. He would gladly stay there for an eternity is you asked him.

Anything for you. Always, no matter how costly or how small, he’d do anything to see you happy. That’s his love language, while he struggles to word it he makes up with his actions. And you’d never trade him for anyone else in the world. The following days are spent with him not leaving your side, pampering and loving you the way you’ve never been loved before.

Once you feel better, he asks you to go on a date just like first time he asked you accepted with a school girl giggle. It’s safe to say you’re in love. The date goes well and you find yourself walking through the park like two hopeless romantics, talking and laughing. He tells you that Soap caught a whiff of him being married to you and now he won’t stop pestering him with questions about you two. ‘Maybe you should invite him to dinner… if you want to.’ You smile at him. ‘Maybe’ he grunts not looking at you. Bringing Johnny to your house, to meet you, it involves risks. But he knows that he can trust the sergeant with his life, so what if his only friend meets his wife. Nothing can go wrong, right?

Bonus:

On base, Ghost approaches Soap in the armoury, making sure no one is in ear shot. He gives the Scot a date, time and the name of a bus station somewhere in suburban Manchester. At Soap’s questioning look Ghost lets out a grunt ‘Wife wants you to come to dinner.’ At that Soap grins and accepts politely which prompts the lieutenant to threaten to kill him if he tells anyone about this.

The day when Johnny arrives at your doorstep comes faster than expected. You open the door and greet him, rather warmly which is a stark contrast to your husband’s harsh demeanour. Opposites do attract, he supposes. At dinner you listen to him talk, about their time on base, stories from missions, nothing too detailed though, and about his own family. He shows you pictures of his sisters and his nieces and nephews. They’re cute. You talk about your pupils, sharing stories of your own. Johnny perks up at the knowledge that you are a primary school teacher. He asks if he can have your number in case he needs help with their homework. You gladly give it to him, asking in return to keep an eye on Simon for you. He accepts your deal.

Johnny leaves after a couple of hours, going back to the hotel, even though you insist he can take the couch. But you know that Simon is glaring at him over your shoulder daring him to accept. Once he left you turn towards your husband hugging him and kissing him. You thank him for letting you meet his colleague, and he reminds you that he’d do anything for his lovely wife.

A couple of weeks go by. You’re in bed with Simon having a heated kissing session when your phone rings. Groaning you pull off from him and grab it. Johnny’s name lights up the screen and you answer. The conversation is short, something about math and how to use the graphic method to solve a problem. Simon listens intently seeing you smile conspiratorially. When you end the call, he grabs you and pushes you underneath him, trapping you between his body and the bed. ‘Why does Johnny have your number?’ the low rumble pulls a laugh from you. You know you have no chance to lie to him, he’ll see right through. You explain to him that he wanted it so he can ask you whenever he doesn’t know how to solve his nephews’ homework. He watches you not really convinced by your answer. ‘You hate talking to parents on the phone. What did you get him do? Spy on me on base and report back to you?’ Busted. You laugh and let out an even more unconvincing ‘no’ for an answer. He knows you too well.

#ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley imagine #shi #shinnochiwrites

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suddencolds · 4 months

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The Worst Timing | [2/?]

happy (late) new year :') after a month (and a lot of editing and dissatisfaction), i am back with part 2 of the 'yves has had too easy of a time' series (6.4k words). you can read [part 1] here!

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

When they get to the hotel Aimee’s booked for them, it’s already late enough to be dark out. Yves helps unload their suitcases from the back, while Leon loads them up onto a luggage cart.

It’s an exceptionally nice hotel—picturesque brick walls, glossy windows all in a row, slanted red rooftops rising up into the sky. He’d looked at it briefly when Aimee consulted him about the bookings, but it looks even more like a castle in person, like something straight out of a storybook. Yves will have to remember to thank Aimee and Genevieve again for picking such a nice place for them to stay at.

They check in at the lobby. Yves makes sure the suitcases make their way up to Leon and Victoire’s room, which is on his and Vincent’s floor, but at the other end of the hallway. (“Don’t be late to breakfast tomorrow,” he tells them, sternly, and Leon—who has slept through his alarms for as long as Yves has lived with him—laughs. “I’m especially talking to you,” Yves adds, looking straight at him).

Then he wheels the luggage cart down the hallway. “I’m so ready to crash,” he says, to Vincent. “It’s been a long day. Are you tired?”

“I’ll be tired once I lay down,” Vincent says. He carefully extricates one of the key cards and holds it out to the door card reader.

The interior of the hotel room is a little colder than the hallway is. Vincent flicks on the light, slips the key card back into its designated slot, and leaves his shoes in a neat line at the door. Yves follows him in.

Their room is a standard suite—there’s a small sitting area just next to the entrance, a bathroom off to the side, and a door frame—though not a proper door—which leads to the bedroom. On the far end, translucent white curtains give way to a sliding door which opens up to the balcony. It’s a nice room, Yves thinks, with a nice view of the rest of the hotel, its pool and gardens, the circular sun umbrellas stretching out floors below them. It’s only when Vincent hesitates, standing in the bedroom, that Yves realizes what’s wrong.

The bedroom has a singular queen-sized bed, and nothing else.

Of course. It makes sense for this to be the living arrangement, if they’re really dating.

“I can take the couch,” Yves says, clearing his throat, which doesn’t feel any better than it did earlier.

Vincent turns to look at him.

“I mean, this whole pretend-relationship thing doesn’t have to extend to us sharing a bed.”

Mentally, he kicks himself for not having the foresight to predict this. Just because Vincent is fine with putting on a show in front of his friends—and in this case, family—doesn’t mean that Vincent will be fine sharing a bed with him when they’re in private.

“You can have the bed,” Vincent says. “The bed will probably be warmer.”

Whether that’s a comment about how Yves has been too cold all day, or whether it’s just an offhanded appraisal which has nothing to do with him, Yves doesn’t know.

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I don’t mind the sofa. Besides, hotels usually have extra blankets. I’m sure they’re just hidden in some drawer somewhere.”

He rummages through a few of the cabinets and looks through the closet until he finds what he’s looking for—a feather comforter, folded neatly on the top shelf. He takes it down, keeping it folded under his arm.

“See,” he says, flashing Vincent a smile. “I’ll be perfectly warm, like this.” Vincent still looks a little unconvinced. “You should wake me if you’re not,” he says. “I don’t mind switching.”

“Duly noted,” Yves says, even though he has no intention of waking Vincent for any reason.

“The couch probably extends into a pull-out bed,” Vincent says, already heading back into the living room. “It should be more comfortable. I can help you set it up.”

“I can do it,” Yves says. All this talking is not helping with his throat. Worse, somewhere over the course of the past couple hours, there’s a faint tickle that’s managed to settle into his sinuses.

“It’s the least I can do, if I’m taking the bed,” Vincent says.

Yves is about to say more, but he finds that he really needs to sneeze. He lifts his arm to his face, his eyes watering, his breath hitching—

“Hh-! hHehh’IIZSCHh-IIEW!”

“Bless you,” Vincent calls, from the next room over.

“Thanks,” Yves says, turning into his shoulder with a small cough. His breath hitches again, irritatingly. “hHeh-! HEHH’IiITSHHiEW! snf-!”

When he heads into the living room, Vincent is already almost done setting up the pull-out bed. Yves helps him lock down the legs of the frame.

“Thanks,” Yves says, fluffing out the blanket he’s holding so that he can lay it out over the mattress. “All set up.”

He looks the bed over. It looks inviting enough—a little smaller than the bed in the bedroom, the mattress thinner, but fluffy and clean regardless. Vincent steps past him to duck into the bedroom and emerges a moment later, carrying two pillows.

“Are these your pillows?” Yves says.

“They’re yours now.”

“I can sleep without pillows.”

“They gave me two sets, anyways,” Vincent says. “I wouldn’t have made use of these ones.”

“Okay.” Tentatively, Yves takes a seat at the edge of the mattress. From the doorway, he gets a limited view of the bedroom—he can see the curtains at the far end, the desk pushed up against the wall, and the very foot of the bed. “Do you think this is what couples do when they’re traveling and they get in a fight?”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Vincent asks.

“It might as well be,” Yves says.

“If your family walks in and sees that I’ve banished you to the sofa, I don’t think I’ll ever be forgiven,” Vincent says, so seriously that it almost doesn’t register as a joke. Yves laughs.

“You can just say I snore,” he says. “Or, worse. Maybe I kick you in my sleep.”

“Do you?”

Yves doesn’t—at least, he’s been told he doesn’t—but it’s of no consequence. They’re not going to be sharing a bed. “Luckily for you, you won’t have to find out.”

He gets settled—sets his suitcase out on one of the side tables, sets out all his toiletries in the bathroom, puts the clothes he’s planning to wear for tomorrow in a neat stack, and hangs up the suit he’s going to wear for the wedding in the closet. He’d been careful folding it, but he’ll probably have to give it another good iron before the wedding date. By the time he has everything accounted for, the bathroom door is closed, and the shower’s running.

The hotel has left them a couple bottles of water on the nightstand but he heads downstairs to buy a couple more from the on-site convenience store on the first floor. Victoire had them exchange dollars for euros at the airport, which Yves thinks he might have forgotten to do in their haste. Even though she’s the youngest of the three of them, sometimes he thinks she is the one with the most common sense.

He strikes up a brief conversation with the cashier, in French that he thinks is fairly fluent but probably accented—it’s been awhile since he’s gotten any practice with it. His speaking is good, but there are some colloquialisms and some idioms that he’s not familiar with and ends up having to ask about.

By the time he gets back up to the bedroom, bottled waters in hand, Vincent is done showering, his hair still a little damp.

“I got us extra waters,” Yves says. “There’s a convenience store down on the first floor.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.” He looks nice, even with his hair damp, even though he’s wearing just a t-shirt and shorts to sleep, Yves thinks, and then immediately tables that thought.

“It was nice to stretch my legs,” Yves says. “And nice to have a chance to practice my French. My relatives are going to be disappointed in me if I sound worse than I did last year.”

“Are you fluent?”

“Fluent enough to hold a proper conversation. Not fluent enough to not sound like a foreigner. I grew up speaking French and English, but obviously in the states, there aren’t as many opportunities to practice French.”

“I don’t think you would have lost much of it,” Vincent says, as if from experience.

Yves laughs. “For my own sake, let’s hope not.”

When he steps into the bathroom, the mirror is still fogged up from the steam. He swipes a hand over the glass to clear enough of it so that he can see.

He looks fine, still, at least outwardly—a little tired, maybe, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by. There’s a faint flush to his complexion, too, which is strange, because he doesn’t feel like he has a fever. He’s just a little colder than usual, is all.

All in all, he still looks passable. At first glance, it doesn’t seem very evident that anything is wrong at all.

He takes a shower, cranks the water up until it’s almost scalding, and stands under the hot water, shutting his eyes. The warmth is a welcome change. It’s the first time today that he’s been really, properly warm—if only because he’s turned the water up a couple degrees higher than he usually has it at.

The water splashes over his shoulders. He leans his head back, taking in a deep breath of the steam.

It’s fine. It will be fine. He’ll drink tons of water, take all the vitamin C he can find, and sleep this off tonight. He’ll be good as new tomorrow.

—

When Yves blinks awake, it’s still dark out.

The first thing that registers to him is that he’s cold.

What started off as a slight headache has turned into something much worse—his head is throbbing, and even with the blanket, he’s freezing. The air conditioning in the room is on—he can hear the low hum of it through the vents—and everything feels unbearably frigid. Even the bedsheets, which are at the very least warm from his body heat, seem to always be losing heat, unpleasantly, when he shifts.

When he checks his phone, the time onscreen is 3:45 am. Too late to call the front desk and ask them to send up more blankets, probably—even if they are technically in operation, he doesn’t want to be that one asshole to ask for a favor at this time of day.

He’ll ask tomorrow, he thinks, at a more reasonable hour. It’s almost morning, anyways. Maybe if he manages to get back to sleep, he won’t feel the cold as much.

There’s a dull pressure to his sinuses, a slight tickle that seems only to sharpen as he rubs his nose. His breath catches, too quickly for him to do anything to attend to the subsequent—

“Hheh—! hHEHH’iISHHhi-iEw!”

Fuck. The sneeze is loud enough to echo a little within the confines of the living room. Vincent is in the next room over. Vincent is asleep, presumably, like Yves should be.

And Yves’s nose is starting to tickle again.

He raises the blankets to his face, presses his nose to them to muffle the next—

“hhEH— hehh’IZschhH-IIEW! snf-!”

The sound is marginally quieter this time, muffled into the cotton, but it’s far from silent. He hopes, desperately, that it’s quiet enough, or that Vincent is a heavy enough sleeper for it not to matter. There isn’t even a proper door between them.

He reaches up to swipe a hand over his eyes. How did this get so bad so quickly? His head feels heavy, and every sneeze that tears through him is harsh enough to scrape at his already-raw throat—whatever hope he’d had for sleeping it off seems to be diminishing with every passing minute.

He listens, for a moment, for anything: any shifting from the room over, any motion, any footsteps. But to his relief, there’s nothing.

His head is swimming. Worse, he still has to sneeze. The tissue box is on the nightstand in the bedroom Vincent is in, but Yves thinks that it would be too unwise to make a trip right now and risk waking Vincent up a good three hours before sunrise.

“hHh-! hhH-!...”

Fuck. He stays frozen like that, for a moment, one hand hovering over his nose and mouth. His nose tickles, badly, kept just narrowly on edge. It feels like one wrong breath would be enough to set off a sneeze, but sometimes it seems to evade him at the last second—he can’t seem to get his body to settle on something decisive. “hhHEh-!”

The sneeze is unexpected, when it comes, at last—loud and forceful and vicious.

“hehH’NGKT’shhH’EEW!”

A short burst of pain shoots through his temples. Yves can’t claim he’s ever been good at stifling, and this attempt is no exception. It’s not much quieter than the others, even muffled into his pillow, and the attempt to stifle has only made the pressure in his head feel worse.

“Hheh… hh-!” He sniffles. His eyes are watering so much he thinks they might spill over. “hHeh… hh-hHih-HEHh’DJJSHh’iEEW!”

This one he muffles into his hands, ducking forward into his chest. The relief he feels from letting out the sneeze is unfortunately short-lived. He’s nowhere close to done. He can feel it, in the tickle in his nose which refuses to let up, in the pressure to his sinuses which only seems to worsen with each sneeze.

For a moment, Yves contemplates spending the rest of the night just outside their room, out in the hallway. It will almost certainly be colder, he would be quieter there, at the very least—there would be a proper door and a wall between him and Vincent, and that’s something, isn’t it?

Before he can seriously consider it, he’s snapping forward at the waist, muffling another loud sneeze into the covers.

“hhHeh-iIDDSHHhh’YyiiEW!”

He finds himself coughing, after, muffling the coughs tightly into the feather blanket in an attempt to cough more quietly. He shivers, huddling deeper into the covers. His head is pounding. Every time he swallows, sharp, hot pain lances his throat.

He hears nothing from the room over, even when he listens carefully. This much is a relief—truthfully, he would feel awful if he were keeping Vincent up because of this. Yves has survived on less sleep—back in university, 6am crew practice meant waking up early even when he’d been up late to finish projects or coursework, or otherwise out late with friends—but the thought of keeping Vincent up makes something uncomfortable settle in his stomach. Vincent hadn’t slept at all during the flight. He must be tired, now. The last thing he needs—after the stress of being surrounded by strangers in a foreign country, after traveling for almost 10 hours straight, after being assigned to room with his coworker, of all people—is to be woken up at an ungodly hour just because Yves can’t keep this damn cold under wraps.

Yves thinks he should try to sleep too, if only because it means he won’t be awake to succumb to the next sneeze that threatens to tear through him.

But if he’s entirely honest with himself, he’s not sure if sleep is going to come to him anytime soon.

—

Yves doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up to his 7:30am alarm so tired that he feels like he hasn’t slept at all

“Morning,” Vincent says, emerging in the doorway. He’s fully dressed already, his shirt crisply ironed, the collar upright, his hair neatly styled.

“You’re fast,” Yves says. His voice sounds a little hoarse—all the sneezing last night probably hasn’t done it any favors. But if Vincent can tell that it sounds off, he doesn’t say. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Not really,” Vincent says. “We have time.”

“Give me a few minutes to get ready,” Yves says, hauling himself out of bed. “I’ll be out in five.”

He changes in record speed, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and stuffs everything he can see himself needing into a backpack to take down to breakfast.

When he emerges, Vincent is waiting for him in the hallway.

“How did you sleep?” Yves asks.

“Fine,” Vincent says. “You?”

“I slept well enough,” Yves says, before muffling a yawn into his hand. At Vincent’s pointed glance at him, he adds, “I’m just a little tired. It’s probably jetlag. It’s what, like, 2am over in New York?”

“1:42,” Vincent says, checking his watch. “Is your whole family going to be at breakfast?”

“I’m not sure if everyone’s up,” Yves says. “But Leon and Victoire will be. I told them to be downstairs by 8, so obviously they’ll kill me if I’m not there first.”

The breakfast lounge is on the first floor, a few hallways down from the reception desk. Yves saves a table for them.

He isn’t very hungry, for some reason. Still, he fills his plate with breakfast pastries and scrambled eggs and grabs a cup of hot tea while he’s at it. He really doesn’t want to lose his voice entirely before the ceremony. Even with his jacket on—which is probably even excessive, considering the temperature of the lobby—he isn’t as warm as he’d like to be.

Victoire joins them next. She waves to Vincent as she passes. “Hope you guys got some sleep,” she says innocently.

Yves says, “We got perfectly good sleep, thank you.”

“Morning,” Leon says, appearing in the doorway at 7:59.

“You’re really cutting it close,” Yves says, sniffling.

“It’s 7:59,” Leon says. “Whether I’m on time is a binary, not a sliding scale. I’m entirely on time.”

The table Yves picked can fit more than four, so they spread themselves out through the seats. “Mom and dad said they’re having breakfast at one of the cafes nearby,” Victoire says, shrugging her sweater off and leaving it perched on the back of her seat. “They said they’d report back if it’s anything life changing.”

“There’s a welcome party tonight,” Yves says to Vincent, “For everyone who’s flown in. You’ll get to meet them then.”

“Is there anything your parents hate in a partner?” Vincent asks.

“Don’t worry too much. I don’t think— hEHh…” Yves scoots back from the table turning away as he reaches blindly for one of the cocktail napkins he’d taken. “HEHh’DDJJSHh-iiEW! Ugh, sorry.” His nose has been running all morning—he’d made sure to take a generous stack, and stuff some of them into his pockets for later, but it’s been all of fifteen minutes and he’s already nervous that he might run out. “I don’t you could get them to hate you even if you tried.”

“Mom and dad met in college, at a bar,” Leon says. Yves, who has heard this story many times before, busies himself with eating, and tries hard not to visibly shiver. In a way, he’s grateful to the two of them for filling in the space for him—the less he strains his voice today, the better. “Mom was super drunk, and for some reason when she started talking to dad the conversation topic turned to, like, something super specific and not at all romantic.”

“It was whether or not it’s ethical to clone extinct species,” Victoire says, idly folding her napkin into a pinwheel. “Though this was before it had ever been done.”

“Apparently she was drunk enough to ask his hand in marriage mid argument, and he was drunk enough to say yes, because he thought it was a joke,” Leon says. “And it was a joke. But he proposed to her seriously a year later, and all she said was ‘at least you kept your promise.’”

“But now they’re happily married,” Vincent says.

Leon nods. “They’ve been happily married for almost thirty years now. Anyways, my point is that whatever relationship you have with Yves, you don’t have to try and impress them. There’s no need to overthink it.”

“I understand,” Vincent says. “My parents got married because my dad did well in a business competition at the time, and my mom thought he was going to make a lot of money.”

“And how did that turn out?” Victoire says, interested, propping her head up on one hand.

Yves watches Vincent cut a pastry into four even pieces. “Better than you might expect,” Vincent says.

—-

The welcome dinner is held at a local restaurant—Aimee and Genevieve have rented out the outdoor space for seating. The table—a long table that seats thirty, or so—is set with tall, elegant white candles, all in a row; wine glasses with delicate stems; vases spilling over with flowers—lilacs, pink and white roses, orchids.

Above them, string lights are strung up in neat lines. When Yves sees Aimee, he doesn’t drop all of his things to run over and hug her, but it’s a close thing.

“Yves! You made it,” she says.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he tells her, in French. “God. Did you plan out all of this? It looks gorgeous.” “Genevieve did a lot of it,” she says. “She has a good eye for decorations.”

Genevieve is off to the side, talking to someone who Yves recognizes as her sister—Yves follows Aimee’s gaze over to where she’s standing. When he looks back, Aimee is smiling in a way Yves has never seen her smile before—the sort of fond, private smile that he feels like he isn’t sure he’s supposed to be seeing.

Yves is stricken, for a moment. It’s so clear that she’s in love. It shows all over her face, plainly, the kind of love that’s uncontestable; the kind of love that makes love, of all things, look simple. Has he ever looked like that, to someone else?

“How have you been?” he asks. “I imagine preparations have been hectic.”

“Never better,” she says, turning back to face him at last. “You’re right—it’s been exhausting. But I feel like the adrenaline is carrying me through, you know? Like I’m so happy this is happening.”

“You two deserve a perfect wedding,” Yves says, and means it. He clears his throat, sniffling. It’s a little cold out, even though the sun hasn’t gone down yet; he really hopes his nose doesn’t start to run visibly. “If you ever need any help—with last minute preparations, or if anything comes up, or if you need someone on transportation or moving things—let me know. Even if it’s like, 3am or something. My hands are completely free.”

She laughs. “Thank you, that’s so kind of you to offer! It has been hectic, but I haven’t been up at 3am this week, thank God.”

“I hope to keep it that way.” Yves turns away from her, raising an arm to muffle a fit of coughs into his sleeve.

Aimee takes a step forward, her eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay? You sound a little off. And you’re coughing.”

And Yves thinks: she can’t know. He has his toasts to give at her wedding. He has the wedding rehearsal tomorrow and the wedding ceremony on Saturday to attend. If Aimee finds out he’s coming down with something, she’ll probably tell him to sit things out—to get some proper rest, to disregard virtually everything she has planned, and to not leave the hotel room until he’s feeling a hundred percent better—even if it’s at her own expense.

Worse, she’ll be worried for the entirety of his illness, he’s sure. As if she doesn’t have enough on her plate already, between the setup and all the accommodations and the last minute changes.

Aimee deserves a perfect wedding.

That’s the bottom line in all of this. This is a once in a lifetime thing for someone he cares and cares deeply about. Yves is not going to ruin it. He’ll get through the next few days, even if it means pushing himself a little past his limits. He can crash afterwards, on the plane ride home, after all the festivities are over and everyone bids farewell.

“I’m fine,” Yves says, clearing his throat. “I’m—” This is really the worst possible timing. He takes a few steps back, craning his neck over his shoulder. “hH-! hHhh’kKTSSH-IEEW! snf-! Ugh. I’mb just getting over a slight cold.” Getting over might be a bit of a stretch, and a slight cold might be even more of one, but other than that, it’s not entirely dishonest.

Aimee frowns at him. “Bless you. Does your throat hurt? There are cocktails on the side table, if you want anything to drink. Wine, too. I can get something for you if you’d like.”

“Nice try, but there’s no way I’m letting the bride go and get things for me,” Yves says, grinning. “Do you want any cocktails?”

“I need to be sober until I’ve officially said hi to everyone,” she says. “Can’t make a fool of myself just yet. Speaking of which, where’s your boyfriend?”

Yves waves Vincent over. “Come say hi!” he says, in English.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Vincent says, in slightly accented French, which is a surprise. He seems to hesitate, thinking hard. “Congratulations on your wedding.”

“Oh my gosh!” Aimee says in English, pulling him close for a hug. Vincent hugs her back. “It’s good to meet you too, Vincent. Thanks for always looking after Yves. I’m glad to have someone keeping him out of trouble overseas.”

“Thank you for having me here,” Vincent says, hugging her back. “I know it was really last minute with the flight and everything. I hope it wasn’t too stressful for you.”

“It was no trouble at all!” Aimee says. “Yves is like a younger brother to me. Last summer was pretty rough for him, I think.” she doesn’t mention Erika, but Yves is sure Vincent knows what she’s referring to, regardless. Aimee smiles, a little wistfully. “I’m just so grateful that he met you. I’m glad to see him happy again.”

“I don’t think I can take credit for that,” Vincent says, blinking.

Aimee smiles warmly at him. “He’s the happiest he’s been in months,” she says. “I think you are selling yourself short.”

After Aimee asks Vincent how his stay has been (good, Vincent says, it’s actually my first time in France, to which Aimee excitedly lists off places he absolutely has to see while he’s here) and Vincent asks Aimee how the wedding preparations are going (nothing’s gone terribly wrong yet, Aimee laughs, which I suppose is all I can ask for), they find their way to their seats at the table. Someone has set out little name cards with all of their names written in calligraphy. Yves realizes, faintly, that the handwriting isn’t Aimee’s. Maybe it’s Genevieve’s, then.

“I didn’t know you knew any French,” Yves tells Vincent, in English.

Vincent looks away, a little sheepish. “I took a crash course into it when you mentioned the wedding would be in France,” he says, which Yves finds somehow disproportionately endearing. “I know maybe five sentences total, plus a few common terms.”

“Five sentences is impressive given that you had, what, just a few weeks to learn them?”

“I’m not sure if they are very coherent,” Vincent says. “The vowels are different from English. I’m still trying to get the hang of saying them.”

Yves is about to respond, but he’s cut off with a sharp, unexpected gasp. He pitches forward, raising his elbow up to his face just in time to muffle a—

“Hh… HhEHH-!’IihH’DZSCHh-IIEW!”

He’s glad, for once, that he’s not wearing the suit he’s planning on wearing for the wedding. His nose is running again, which is embarrassing, especially because he can still feel Vincent’s eyes on him.

“À tes souhaits,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs, rummaging through his jacket pockets for one of the napkins he’d taken at breakfast to blow his nose into. “Merci. Is that one of the common terms you learned?”

“No,” Vincent says. “I looked it up last night.”

“Last night?” Yves asks.

For a moment, he’s afraid that Vincent might reveal to him that Yves had kept him up last night, after all, despite all of his efforts to keep quiet.

“On the car,” Vincent clarifies. “During the trip to the hotel. I was just curious.”

“Oh,” Yves says, relieved. He blows his nose into the napkin he’s holding, which he’s sure he has reused at least a couple times already—but with his nose running so much, he doesn’t exactly have the luxury to be picky. “Well, you’ll be an expert at saying that phrase by the end of this trip, at the very least.”

It’s easy to lose himself in the throes of conversation, after that. Aimee and Genevieve have arranged it so that he and Vincent are sitting directly across from his parents. Leon is right—his parents have never really been the type to subject the partners he’s brought home, over the years, to any sort of interrogation. It’s a fun night, especially after everyone’s a couple drinks in.

“I think it’s a good thing that you guys are in the same line of work,” Yves’s dad says, conversationally. “Yves won’t have to explain why he’s always working overtime.”

Yves’s mom says, “Isn’t that a bad thing? We shouldn’t be encouraging their workaholic tendencies.”

Yves neglects to mention that he’s pretty sure Vincent (who worked the entire flight here)’s workaholic tendencies will persist, even without any encouragement.

Vincent tells them how they’d met—it’s the same story as he’d told the first time they’d done this, during Margot’s new year party a few months back, but Yves’s parents seem to find it extremely entertaining.

Yves’s mom says, “I told you Yves was the one who asked him out.”

Yves’s dad says, “I didn’t know if he had it in him.”

Yves’s mom says, “I remember hearing him say something about having an attractive coworker. It wasn’t that much of a logical stretch to assume he’d make a move at some point.”

(Yves thinks he sees them exchange a twenty dollar bill under the table, but he can’t be sure.)

Vincent practices his French with Yves’s parents—Yves fills in for him when he stumbles on a word, or when he hesitates, wracking his memory for a term he can’t quite translate.

“A fantastic attempt,” his dad says, when Vincent is done talking. “I can’t believe you learned so much in just a few weeks. I can only hope you’ll keep learning..”

“I will,” Vincent says. “Maybe next time we can have this conversation entirely in French.” There’s no uncertainty to the way he says it. Yves doesn’t mention that there’s a real chance Vincent won’t see them again, after this. It’s not a thought he particularly wants to confront.

At some point, Leon rises to his feet and shouts, in French, “Let’s toast to Aimee and Genevieve, everyone’s favorite couple!”

They all stand and raise their glasses. Yves finds he feels a little unsteady on his feet—maybe he’s had too much to drink. He feels warm, through the flush of alcohol in his cheeks, despite the evening chill.

He’s marginally worse at covering when he’s tipsy—and worse, too, at anticipating that he’s going to sneeze in the first place. At some point during the night, someone—maybe Vincent, or maybe one of Aimee’s friends from work that are seated nearby—sets down a stack of cocktail napkins in front of him.

Yves just hopes whoever’s put it there knows how grateful he is. The night is getting colder, even though he can’t quite feel it, and his nose is running so much that he finds himself grabbing a new napkin every couple minutes to blow his nose. It’s strange, he thinks, how such a small thing can be so comforting.

At some point, too, Vincent takes the glass of wine out of his hands and switches it out with a different glass. Yves thinks it might be a cocktail, at first, but when he takes a sip, he finds it’s just orange juice.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Vincent says.

“I haved’t had that much,” Yves says. But come to think of it, his head feels hazy in a way that suggests he’s just a little drunk. “Just a couple— glasses— hh-! hHhEH’IIZSCHh’iIEw! snf-!” He barely manages to cover that sneeze in time.

“Bless you,” Vincent says.

“Ugh.” Yves reaches for another napkin from the stack. He feels a little dizzy, now that he’s paying attention. “I swear, my toleradce - snf-! - used to be a lot better before I graduated.”

Vincent hides a laugh behind one hand. Yves is too tipsy to pretend he doesn’t find that a little endearing.

“What?” he asks, faux-affronted.

“Nothing,” Vincent says. “I should’ve known that you went to parties and drank irresponsibly.”

Yves laughs. “Along with every other college student in the world.” He turns aside to muffle a cough into his sleeve. Perhaps he hasn’t been especially conscientious about saving his voice this evening—with all the talking he’s been doing, it will probably sound even worse tomorrow. “What, don’t tell me you’ve ndever gotten irresponsibly drunk!”

“Once or twice,” Vincent says, which is a bit of a surprise—he can’t imagine Vincent being drunk enough to lose the air of… well, composure isn’t the right word, perhaps. Professionalism? Self-assuredness? But maybe even drunk Vincent is professional and self-assured, all the same. Yves wonders, faintly, if he’ll ever have the chance to find out.

—

Dinner winds down slowly. Yves helps Genevieve collect all the name cards, gathers everyone’s plates to set them in a couple neat stacks at the end of the table, says hello to the relatives he’s closer to, and strikes up a conversation with some of Genevieve’s friends, who look to be just a few years older than he is. They talk first about the planning she’d kept them in the loop about, and then about the planning that she’d pulled off behind the scenes. Yves tells them about the many aesthetic and managerial decisions Aimee had consulted him for early on over text. The common consensus seems to be that Aimee and Genevieve are vastly overqualified when it comes to making sure that everything is logistically sound.

“Do you want to head out soon?” Vincent says, after some time, when Yves returns to his seat and some of the other guests have begun to filter out.

“That might be a good idea,” Yves says.

He says his goodbyes—to his parents, to Leon and Victoire, to Aimee and Genevieve, whom he’ll see tomorrow. Then he follows Vincent out. The hotel is a fifteen minute walk from where they are—some of their relatives have cars, but they’d walked here, and Yves thinks it’d be more work to try to coordinate a ride with someone.

Everything feels bright, Yves thinks, blinking.

“You’re cold,” Vincent says. It isn’t a question.

Yves realizes, faintly, that he’s shivering. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t feel it that much.”

“That’s because you’re drunk.”

“I’m ndot drunk.”

“Tipsy, then.”

Yves can’t argue with that. “Just a bit. I’ll probably— hhEh-!” He turns aside to direct the sneeze over his shoulder, away from Vincent. HH-! hHEHh’iIITSHh-IIEw! Snf-! —sober up soon.” The end of the sentence catches wrong on his throat and suddenly he’s coughing, a little harshly, into his wrist. The coughing fit is harsh enough to leave him faintly lightheaded, which is a surprise to him.

He thinks it shouldn’t be visible, but Vincent reaches out and grabs his shoulder to steady him. For a moment, Yves contemplates how nice it would be to lean into his touch.

Then he catches himself. He’s tired, but not so tired that he can’t sustain a short walk from the dinner venue to the hotel. It’s dark, but they don’t have any early obligations tomorrow, and it’s not late enough that he won’t have time to shower, get changed, and get a good night’s sleep, with time to spare.

Yves shifts out of Vincent’s touch. “Sorry about that,” he says, with the most convincing smile he can muster. He’s sure Vincent would be understanding if he brought it up, but truthfully, it feels like a waste of time to say anything at all.

Vincent doesn’t reach for him again, but his eyebrows furrow. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“You almost fell,” Vincent says.

“I just tripped. The roads aren’t very even, and it’s dark.” They’re standing in the middle of a small, winding cobblestone street. None of the roads around here are very flat for very long.

“Are you saying that because you believe it?” Vincent says. “Or are you saying that so that I stop worrying about this?”

Yves stares at him for a moment too long. He’s sobering up a little.

For a moment, he contemplates telling Vincent everything—about how tired he’s been, all day. About how much it’s taken out of him to keep up this front, the whole day; about how he feels worse than he did waking up this morning—tired and cold and congested, a little unsteady on his feet. If he’s not mistaken, he thinks he might be running a slight fever; it’s hard to tell through the jacket, through the brisk evening air.

Maybe Vincent would understand. Maybe Vincent would insist that he get some rest, tomorrow, before the wedding. Maybe Vincent would tell him that this is all going to be fine—that this wedding that Yves’s been looking forward to for months, that he desperately doesn’t want to mess up, is going to be perfect, just as Aimee and Genevieve has planned it, even if he isn’t feeling his best.

But this is not Vincent’s problem to solve. Yves’s bad timing and his unfortunate circumstances are not Vincent’s responsibility, and Yves extended the invitation because he wanted Vincent to have fun on this trip, and no part of that entails having to look after Yves. Vincent has always been reliable, but Yves can’t start to expect things out of him—to take his kindness as a given, to take more than Vincent is willing to give.

He already asks more than enough of Vincent, as it stands.

“I’m fine,” Yves says, a lie, as easily as any other lie he’s ever told. The smile that follows comes easily, too, though he’s not sure if Vincent can see it in the dark, can’t tell if it’s more to fool Vincent or more to fool himself. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

[ Part 3 ]

#sneeze fic #snz fic #snz kink #snz #i edited this for a week straight #and now i have given up officially #i hope this doesn't feel too much like a filler/otherwise uneventful 😭#next chapter i promise yves is in for a bad time #yvverse #my fic

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weirdwildwonderland · 3 months

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I know ppl downplay certain siblings trauma a lot but let me just reframe everyone’s for you based on the seasons

1) imagine the person you love the most sending you 185828282 miles away for 4 years to live on the moon. Completely alone. When you get back you find out that all the samples you put so much work into didn’t even get read or taken out. The person who sent you there tells you later that he put you there to guard the most precious thing in the universe but you can't help but think that he sent you up there because you died and came back looking like a monster. He left you on the operating table for two months and when he saw you again he couldn't even look at you.

Imagine being a little kid and being told you’re not special. And then living with 6 other people who are constantly praised because they’re more special than everyone else. Imagine them 30 years later still talking about you behind your back and blaming you for everything that went wrong.

Imagine being 12 and being so restless to see the world and to see what you can do that you go somewhere no one’s ever been. And it’s hell. And no one comes to save you. You think about how you saw your family dead in those first days. And it haunts you for those next 45 years.

2) imagine being transported back in time. You have powers that can kill people. And since you’re from the future you have history books on your side. You have the power to stop one of the most famous assassinations in history and prove to your dad (who’s alive now) that you’re GOOD. That you’re not the impulsive emotional crazy mess he always said you were. You just want him to love you, because whether you want to admit it or not, you want his love and validation more than anything else in the world. You don’t prevent the assassination.

Imagine having to witness all the stupid things your brother does. You just want to give up sometimes but you literally can’t. So you put up with his attitude and stupid justifications and you never get to hug those 5 other people that you miss so much. Your brother says that ghosts can’t time travel. You don't get to say goodbye to him. Even though you hated him sometimes he had a good heart and you miss that good heart all the time.

3) imagine going through brutal racism and dehumanization every single day. Not knowing if your husband is alive or in jail or not. Constantly on alert. Your husband is the only thing keeping you from losing it. And the thought that your daughter will be there when you get back. You didn’t get to see her before the first apocalypse. You failed her as a mother and she died that night not even hearing your voice. Your brother was on the phone for you. You leave your husband for her. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Except she isn’t there.

4) (speculation) you used to be immortal. You got really sick one time from walking barefoot in a field and from something you smoked. You got shot by a spear gun. You came back. You can drink however much you want. You can get run over by a bus and you heal in half an hour. Now that you don’t have your powers it’s different. Everything is terrifying on a new level. Salmonella from the canteloupe and liver poisoning from the alcohol and flu from your brother's new kid. The clorox wipes smell like a security blanke and you can't get close to anyone anymore. Not even your sister. Not even your niece. And it makes your brother sad. You don’t smoke anymore and you’re so, so quiet. No one notices. You’re finally quiet.

#the umbrella academy #see if you can guess who!!!#but oh my god this made me so sad jesus christ #tua #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #number five #viktor hargreeves #didnt include lila here sry #writing #kai's writing

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mental-about-you-too · 2 months

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Why I believe the Will Darling Adventures were originally conceived as johnlock fanfiction

I will die on this hill.

The Will Darling Adventures (Slippery Creatures, Sugared Game, Subtle Blood) by KJ Charles are my favorite guilty pleasure comfort books. I have listened to the audiobooks an embarrassing number of times. I can play exchanges of dialogue in my head from memory, reader’s inflections and all. If you haven’t read them and you like a mix of adventure and gay smut (plus it’s a trilogy so there’s time for more complex characterization and more gradual relationship development than you usually get in books of the genre), then absolutely go do that, and don’t read below—because here be spoilers. Also, because the books are a delight.

So. Grand theory.

To be clear: I am not knocking these books AT ALL (if I’m honest, the Holmesian flavor is part of why I like them so much). As in many really good works of fanfiction, the characters have ceased to be mere copies, and have gained their own original and internally consistent characterization. Kim and Will are not Holmes and Watson, but I am completely convinced that the latter were the inspiration for the former. Here are some of the parallels/moments of homage:

Watson => Will

Returned to England from war with nowhere to go; ended up in London: “I had neither kith nor kin in England, and […] naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.” (Study in Scarlet) => “…his mother had died from the Spanish ‘flu while he’d waited to be demobbed […] So, like everyone else, he’d come to London…” (Slippery Creatures)

Ran out of money as a recently-discharged veteran: “So alarming did the state of my finances become…” (Study in Scarlet) => “…his slide into poverty was unstoppable...” (Slippery Creatures)

War wound that nearly killed him: “For months my life was despaired of...” (Study in Scarlet) => “A month in hospital.” (Sugared Game)

Saved by an underling who never appears in the story: “…had it not been for the devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a pack-horse and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines.” (Study in Scarlet) => “If it hadn’t been for the bravest stretcher-bearer in Flanders, I’d have died out there.” (Sugared Game)

Retained his favorite weapon from the war: “I have my old service revolver and a few cartridges.” (Study in Scarlet) => “…the Messer, his old trench knife...” (Sugared Game)

Is asked to bring the weapon on adventures: “Put your pistol in your pocket.” (Study in Scarlet) => “Got your knife?” (Sugared Game)

POV character

Holmes => Kim

Has a bunch of names but goes by a middle one: William Sherlock Scott Holmes => Arthur Aloysius Kimberley de Brabazon Secretan

Has pretty hands, which are something of a fixation for the POV character

Doesn’t eat much: “My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food…” (Norwood Builder) => “They ate breakfast, or at least Will did, while Kim chewed a single slice of toast with distaste.” (Subtle Blood)

Withholds information because he doesn’t trust his partner’s ability to deceive: “You won’t be offended, Watson? You will realize that among your many talents dissimulation finds no place.” (Dying Detective) => “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but subterfuge isn’t your strong suit.” (Sugared Game)

Withholds information for dramatic effect: “It was too bad to spring it on you like this, but Watson here will tell you that I never can resist a touch of the dramatic.” (Naval Treaty) => “Of course Kim would turn up after two months with some bizarre story; of course he wouldn’t tell it like a normal person.” (Sugared Game)

Plays fast and loose with legality: “Doctor, I shall want your cooperation.” “I shall be delighted.” “You don’t mind breaking the law?” “Not in the least.” (Scandal in Bohemia) => “I am absolutely not empowered to break the laws of the land, so I try not to get caught at it.”

Has a brother seven years his senior, whom we meet (several adventures in) at a gentlemen’s club in Pall Mall, and who looks like him but bigger: “Mycroft Holmes was a much larger and stouter man than Sherlock.” (Greek Interpreter) => “He looked like someone had drawn a caricature of Kim as John Bull and not been kind about it. He was significantly bulkier…”

The club (The Diogenes => The Symposium) has a Strangers' Room, and in at least part of the club: "no talking is, under any circumstances, allowed" (Greek Interpreter) => "speech is strictly forbidden" (Subtle Blood)

Chases down the leader of a mysterious criminal organization who appears respectable in normal society, and who stays one step removed to leave no evidence of his involvement: “But the Professor was fenced round with safeguards so cunningly devised that, do what I would, it seemed impossible to get evidence which would convict in a court of law.” (Final Problem) => “[Arrest him] on what grounds? I’ve got a lot of nothing. Straws in the wind, and fears, and the words of the dead. The case needs to be iron-clad, and mine is wet tissue paper.” (Sugared Game)

Has a chat with this adversary before the action kicks off: “…I was seriously inconvenienced by you” (Final Problem) => “It has caused me enormous inconvenience” (Sugared Game)

Better at hand-to-hand combat than he looks like he should be: “I have some knowledge, however, of baritsu, or the Japanese system of wrestling…” (Empty House) => “Where did you learn knife fighting?” (Slippery Creatures)

Lounges around in a purple dressing gown (Blue Carbuncle; all three Will Darling books)

Tall, slender, pale, and dark-haired, with remarkable eyes (at least, the POV character sure remarks on them a lot)

Other parallels:

Inspector Lestrade (“lean and ferret-like as ever”) => Inspector Rennick (“He was a short, shrewd-looking man who sounded North London.”)

An aortic aneurism renders prosecution of a criminal moot: Jefferson Hope (Study in Scarlet) => Lord Waring (Sugared Game)

Will’s expectations upon meeting Waring line up with a description of Moriarty: “His face protrudes forward, and is forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion” (Final Problem) => “[Will] wasn’t sure what he expected. Something snakey, some reptilian air of cruelty…” (Sugared Game)

This rather iconic phrase: “He sits motionless, like a spider at the center of its web...” (Final Problem) => “…sits like a spider at the centre of a web of obligations...” (Sugared Game)

Alongside the parallels, Charles adds elements often found in the best works of fanfiction: in addition to the on-page romance, there's expansion of the characters' backgrounds, including an exploration of class and privilege, plus a fix-it-esque resolution of the issue of Holmes'/Kim’s dishonesty (I for one always wished Watson would confront Holmes about lying to him for cases).

There. Cataloguing all the parallels was taking up a ridiculous amount of space in my brain, so now you know & I can stop obsessing over it so much.

#this is less a conspiracy theory and more a love letter #will darling adventures #sherlock holmes #john watson #sherlock holmes fanfic #johnlock #acd holmes #kj charles #will darling #kim secretan #slippery creatures #sugared game #subtle blood #will darling spoilers #inter-fandom meta #i will die on this hill #thank you for coming to my ted talk #edited to be even more unabashed in my appreciation of these books #also i listened to an interview with kj charles about comfort reads and these fit the bill

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nikki-is-a-nerd · 6 months

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Invisible String

Synopsis:

While in bed with Ezra, you tell him how you think you two were always destined to find your way to each other.

(it's also my apology for the angst fic and this Taylor Swift song hits in ways you don't know)

Genre: Fluff just tooth rotting fluff.

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

It has already been about six months since you and Ezra have been reunited and three months since you two started dating and living together. It wasn't a difficult transition from being friends to lovers, not when you and him had so much history. It felt almost too natural, like you two were meant to end up here.

You and Ezra both grew up with the other members of the ghost crew, you more than him. You were younger than him by three years, but you were part of the crew way before him. When he disappeared, you and Sabine took it so hard, but Sabine at least had an outlet for a while when she was training with Ahsoka, while you stayed behind to help out the resistance in any way that you could.

All those years apart and gaining experiences, though different made you think about the what ifs in life.

"What are you thinking about?" Ezra asked softly as his fingers carded through your hair.

"Just...what if you stayed here. Like you didn't get to sacrifice yourself. Would we have arrived at this point in our lives still?" You asked truthfully.

"I think we would, maybe a lot faster than we did. I also think that it would have been less complicated too. I think I would have confessed to you in a nice field somewhere in either Lothal or we could go to Naboo." Ezra said looking at the ceiling.

"I think I would've liked that, but am I biased if I like the one I did get?" You teased.

"What? The one I said while I had the flu? You're weird." He laughed.

"Only for you." You joked.

You lay your head on his bare chest drawing patterns on it and some of the blaster scars he must've gotten in his time in Peridea. Ezra looked down on you, feeling content and happy, when he asked you a question as well.

Imagine how different life would've been if I declined Kanan's offer to teach me the ways of a Jedi." He said softly.

"I wouldn't have met you, gotten close to you and all of our little adventures with Sabine would be non existent. I don't think Lothal would be free without you." You said softly.

"I wouldn't know how happy I could've been." You added as you looked up at him through your lashes.

"Aw geez, you really know how to fluster a guy." Ezra said as a blush creeped up his face.

"You know I did try though, date other people while you were gone but they didn't work out." You whispered.

"I know, Sabine told me and that's totally fine. Like I told her, as much as I love you and wish to be with you, I don't want you waiting around for someone who might not come back." Ezra added kindly.

"No, Ezra. They didn't work out because I was looking for you in all of them. I was trying to see glimpses of you in them but, then again there's only one you."

It was silent for a while as Ezra let those words sink in. He felt so much unbridled happiness at the thought. He just felt so much happiness.

"I read a book somewhere how some people are connected by the force, or for some a red string, but with how life was with us. The way we keep finding each other. I'm starting to think ours is no measley red string. I think ours is a golden thread." Ezra said.

"Well aren't you a romantic." You teased as you poked his chest.

"Only for you." He returned your earlier words to you.

"Since we're not as busy in the resistance as of yet, wanna come with me to Yavin-4. I want to show you somewhere I used to go before I joined the ghost." You asked.

"Honestly I'd go anywhere with you. I don't think I can handle being away from you for too long now." He said as he kissed your temple.

"You're such a sap. Jacen tells me you talk his ear off during training and you just tell him how we met, albeit very different from how we actually met." You teased.

Ezra looks at you with a teasing grin as he shifts himself to hover over you and moves his hands to where you're ticklish. Letting the sound of both your laughter echo in your little haven. Although Ezra finds it funny to tickle you and finds it even funnier that now that you're both older, you're struggling to get him off of you, but he was much more focused on the sound of your laughter. A sound he truly did miss while in exile.

"Stop, stop, I admit defeat to the great Jabba the Hut!" You exclaimed a bit breathless.

"What? The great Jabba can't hear you clearly?" He said grinning.

"Oh great Jabba, love of my life, sunshine boy, I surrender." You said catching your breath as Ezra slowed his ministrations to a stop.

"Yay! You are now the captive of Jabba!" He said as he dropped his entire bodyweight on you.

"Ezra, no, you're heavier now and you're huge. You're as heavy as a loth wolf or something." You whined playfully.

"This Loth wolf wants to cuddle his darling girl, awooo" Ezra said hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

You card your fingers through his locks and he looks at you. Eyes full of affection, one you're sure you're reciprocating. At that moment, Ezra immediately knew that there was no time more perfect than this. No crowds, no fancy preparation, just you two in your happiest moment in your comfortable pajamas, with the light of the moon being the only light source in the room.

"Marry me?" Ezra asked shyly.

"Huh?" You asked, wanting to be sure.

Ezra moved away from you, allowing you to sit up as he opened a compartment in his bedside drawer, pulling out a small box. He then situated himself in front of you once more as he opened the box and got down on one knee.

"Will you marry me, your goofy and very much smitten boyfriend and make me the happiest guy in the universe, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?" Ezra asked, his voice shaky as the nerves were settling in.

Your eyes pricked with tears, as you hugged Ezra tightly, nodding your head.

"Yes Ezra. Always yes." You answered as you pulled away.

"Thank the force, I thought I was getting a 'not yet Ezra', I mean I wouldn't mind it but that would definitely destroy my confidence." Ezra said as his own tears of joy rolled down his face.

He grabbed your hand and placed a beautiful ring on your hand. It wasn't too in your face or intricate but it was the perfect ring. You then noticed a certain detail engraved inside the ring.

"Ezra, did you ask the ring maker to engrave this?" You asked, a soft smile on your face.

Ezra looked at you as you handed him the ring so he could see it and he grinned as he read the words.

One single thread of gold tied me to you.

"Yeah, I did. I feel like it sums us up perfectly." Ezra said as he placed the ring back on your finger.

"I love you, I'll always find my way back to you." You said softly.

"I'd wait forever for you too. Now, let's sleep my future Mrs. Bridger." Ezra said with the brightest smile.

"Alright, only because I'd wake up seeing your handsome face." You said as you snuggled closer to Ezra.

The future was truly bright for you two. You won't know what would happen next but as long as you two are together. That would be enough.

#ezra bridger x reader #fanfic #fanfic writing #fanfiction #fanfiction writer #starwars fanfics

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cevansbrat0007 · 2 years

Text

Fallen

Summary: It’s that time of the month, and as much as you love your boyfriend, all you want to do is go home and curl up on your couch. And you certainly do not want to talk about it. Especially not with him.

*Warnings: Fluff, Schmoop, Andy Being Sweet, Discussion of Menstrual Cycles, Implied Smut, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for my friend, @forg3tbytw0. I hope you enjoy it! Part of my Growing Pains Series. As always, I’d love your feedback, so please let me know what you think. Semi-proofread. Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

___

You frown when yet another cramp hits as you go to put away your leftover chicken curry. You should never have agreed to come over to Andy’s place tonight, not with how you were feeling. But you’d been so excited at the prospect of seeing him that you just couldn’t say “no”.

And now you were starting to regret it. You wanted nothing more than to curl up in your sweatpants on the couch with a pint of strawberry ice cream. Everything hurt, courtesy of the red devil in your belly. Your lower back ached, your breasts were sore.

You did not want to be touched, like at all. Which was something you were struggling to tell your boyfriend. He was so damned handsy. Always stroking you, kneading your curves, kissing you. Frankly, you just wanted to be left alone.

That did it. You were going home.

“Hey, Andy I -” You yip when he suddenly comes up behind you, his wandering hands going to cup your breasts. While you normally would have loved that, your nipples were incredibly sensitive at the moment. You typically enjoyed whenever he toyed with them, kissed them, bit them…but during your cycle? Stay the fuck away.

“Ow!” You hiss, prompting Andy to immediately remove his hands.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He spins you around so that you’re facing him. “Did I hurt you?”

“You’re fine, honey.” You mumble, looking away. “But I think I’m just gonna go home.” His big arms wrap themselves around your waist.

“What? Why?” He asks, his voice laced with confusion. “Is it because it’s my turn to pick the movie? I swear I won’t make you watch Rambo…again.” You know he’s trying to get a laugh out of you, but it doesn’t work.

“No. No. I just don’t feel good. That’s all. But thanks for dinner. It was yummy.”

His handsome brow furrows at your words. “What do you mean you don’t feel good? Are you sick?” Andy presses one large hand against your forehead. Wait. Was your Big Man really trying to take your temperature?

Now that makes you laugh. “Andy, stop it, I’m fine.” You giggle. “And if I was sick, why on earth would you willingly stand so close to me?”

He shrugs his powerful shoulders. “Because Andrew Barber isn’t afraid of the flu. Now, tell me what’s wrong so I can make it better.” You simply shake your head and try to pull away.

Like most women you knew, you had learned a long time ago that talking to men about...it being that time of the month typically earned you one of two responses. They either cracked jokes or they were grossed out. And you weren’t in the mood to deal with that.

“It really isn’t a big deal.” You lean up to peck his soft, full lips. “Walk me out?” You’re surprised when you and Andy are suddenly dancing around his kitchen.

“Talk to me, Y/N.” He croons into your ear. “Talk to your man, please. You know I always make it worse in my head.” Andy continues to hold you close, the worn fabric of his gray t-shirt rubbing against your cheek. “I’m still not hearing anything, little one.”

“Ugh, Andy…I don’t want to talk about it.” You grumble as you try to wiggle out of his firm hold.

“Do it anyway, please.” He growls, still dancing. You wince when another cramp kicks in. Of course, Andy is quick to notice your discomfort.

“Hey. Hey. Hey!” He pauses his movements to lightly grip your chin. “What was that face all about?” His stunning blue eyes search your own, almost as if he’s trying to read your mind.

“Please, just let me go home.” You whine. Which only serves to embarrass you further. “I just want my sweatpants, my fuzzy socks, a blanket, and some Midol…okay?” You feel yourself blushing.

“Midol? Why would you need…ooh…” He trails off as everything clicks into place. “I get it now.” Andy picks you up and sits you on the counter. “Why didn’t you want to tell me that, young lady? Hm?”

You shrug and avert your gaze. “No, now don’t you look away from me. Why didn’t you want to share that with your man?”

Again, you shrug. “Because I didn’t want to gross you out, I guess. Some men get super weird about periods and blood and tears, and I knew that you would probably want to have sex tonight and I didn’t want to have to go through the whole awkward song and dance of having to make up an excuse. Because somehow you always manage to see right through my excuses. Which is rude as hell in my opinion, because sometimes a girl needs to have her secrets, Andrew Barber!”

You’re rambling and you know it. But you can’t quite seem to stop. Andy just looks at you and patiently nods his head.

“And what if I accidentally bleed on your sheets? Now we’ve got to take a trip to Bed Bath & Beyond so that I can buy you a whole new set, and I would never live that down. Also you hate shopping. It makes you a Grumpy Ass Gus! So you know what, Mr. Barber? I’m going home to curl up on my couch and stuff my face with ice cream before I quietly cry myself to sleep. I will see you sometime next week.”

“You finished, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” You huff.

“Good.” Your big man then leans forward to capture your lips. He takes his time, exploring every inch of your mouth like it’s the first time. “I adore you.” He murmurs as he whispers sweet kisses along your jaw. “Truly, madly, deeply.”

“But I’m crazy!” You tell him, your arms flailing.

“Maybe a little,” he concedes. “But I wouldn’t have my baby any other way. You know you can talk to me about this, right? I’m serious. Because just like the flu, Andrew Barber is not afraid of a little blood. You got that?”

You sniffle and nod.

“I’m gonna take care of you tonight. Do we, uh, need to run out for some supplies or do you have everything you need in your overnight bag, honey?”

“I - I have everything. But I forgot the Midol…” Crap. And now you were crying.

“Aww, Y/N. It’s okay. Just let it out for me.” You grab him and bury your teary-eyed face in his chest while rubs your back. “I don’t have any Midol, for obvious reasons, but I have Advil. How about you take some of that?”

“That’ll work.” You mumble, your words coming out muffled. Andy pulls away to fetch the pills for you, as well as a glass of water. You down them immediately.

“Good girl.” He purrs before going to grab your overnight bag and slinging it over his shoulder. And then you’re suddenly back in his arms as he heads towards the stairs.

“Andy…what are you - ?”

“You and I are going to shower, so you don’t feel gross. And I personally plan to soap up every sweet inch of your luscious little body, just to make sure it’s done right. And when I’m finally satisfied that you’re all nice and clean, I’m going to give you a pair of my sweats and a shirt, and then we’re going to snuggle up on the couch and watch a little Supernatural while you enjoy my last ice cream sandwich. Sound good?”

Good? That sounded amazing.

‘Yes, Andy.” You whisper.

Keep this up, Big Man, and you’re gonna make me fall in love with you. But deep down, you knew the truth. You’d already fallen a long time ago.

END

#Chris Evans #andy barber #chris evans smut #andy barber smut #chris evans x black!reader #andy barber black!reader #chris evans woc!reader #andy barber woc!reader #chris evans fanfic #andy barber fanfic #chris evans imagines #andy barber imagines #Cevansbrat0007 fic #cevansbrat0007 asks #cevansbrat0007growing pains series

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liminalmemories21 · 6 months

Note

Hi Lim 💗 For the AU game - So it’s flu immunisation time for Austin’s police force and time for Carlos to get his shots. TK is the administering nurse at the clinic and he practically short circuits when he catches sight of just hot and muscular Austin’s finest is. (those arms 💪🏼🤤) He tells Carlos all about the EMT exams he just passed and how excited he is to leave nursing and start work with the AFD. He flirts a little (a lot) with him and Carlos ends the appointment with TKs number in his pocket and a date for next week 🤓 (btw this did not 🤥 🤐 happen to me a fortnight ago at the gp when I was getting a jab) 🤪

Nancy has become the unintentional hero of this story.

1 - TK pulls Nancy aside when he sees Carlos in line. "Trade places with me."

"What?"

"Trade places with me."

"What? Why?" She looks down her line. "Seriously, dude, shallow much?"

"Yup, now trade places with me."

2 - Their first date is . . . not great. TK had a rough couple of shifts at the firehouse, adjusting to a different schedule, different expectations for how much they can do and when they have to let go. Carlos is too in his head about trying to make this perfect, and trying to fix things.

3 - They keep running into each other at scenes though, and TK gradually relaxes into his job, and finally Nancy gets tired of watching them make eyes at each other over the accident scene and marches over to Carlos and writes TK's number on his palm. "He's sorry he was a dick, call him."

And then walks back to TK and scribbles Carlos's number on his palm. "He wants to make you dinner and dick you down, what are you doing standing here talking to me?"

4 - Nancy's the one who calls Carlos four months later to ask if he's got time to pick TK up, because she doesn't think he should go home alone tonight. TK looks small and fragile when Carlos gets to the station, but he's wearing an old hoodie of Carlos's and he curls into Carlos when Carlos sits down next to him on the bunkroom bed.

"You want to talk about it?"

TK shakes his head into Carlos's chest, and his voice sounds thick. "Later. Can we just go home now?"

5 - Nancy is also the one who takes credit for all of it when they move into together, and insists on throwing the bachelor party when they get married and says she never doubted that the horny idiots would finally figure it out, and then stands up to tap on her glass at the wedding reception and talks abut how it's been an honor to watch two people fall in love the way you read about in books and leaves them all a little weepy.

#au prompt #asked and answered #tarlos #lonestar

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athena-writes-i-guess · 2 years

Text

Sick Day

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Eddie comes over to keep you company while you’re sick and reads The Hobbit to you

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 851

Warnings: pet names, flufffff

Author’s Note: This takes place in the same universe as my series but is just a short little moment in their relationship so can be read as a one-shot blurb. Inspiration from this TikTok

Masterlist

You don’t remember the last time you felt this sick. Maybe 4 years ago? After your entire friend group passed around the flu? You couldn’t remember, your head hurt too much, you were thirsty and it was causing a pounding headache. But it felt like you couldn’t drink enough water either.

You groaned as you threw the covers off of you, too hot to stay under any longer due to the fever you’ve had all night. You grabbed your phone and dialed the number for Eddie, it rang a few times before he answered a bit groggily, you must have woken him up, “Hello?”

“Hey Eds.” You croaked out.

“Oh hey, you still sick baby?” He asked with a yawn. You still got butterflies when he called you that, even when you were sick. The relationship was new, you had been friends for a few months but you had only been a couple for the past few weeks.

“Yeah, I feel like shit.” You practically whined into the phone, you could hear Eddie chuckle lightly.

“How about I come over today and keep you company?” He suggested.

“Eddie you shouldn’t, you have school and I don’t want you to get sick.” You responded with a sigh. You wanted him to come over but you also were trying to help Eddie graduate this year and you didn’t want to make him miss an entire day of school because of you.

“I can miss one day, babe.” He laughed, “I’m coming over, I’ll be there in 20.” He said, you could hear him groan a little as he did that stretch he does when he gets out of bed in the morning.

You knew there was no arguing with him today, you had made him keep his distance the last few days and he had been really good about it but you could tell that Eddie was not going to take no for an answer this time. “Okay,” you sighed playfully, “I’ll see you soon then.”

“See you soon, baby.” He said before the line went dead. You smiled slightly to yourself as you decided to watch something on your TV while you waited for your boyfriend to arrive.

Thundercats was playing when you heard a knock on your bedroom door, “Hey sweetheart it’s me.” You heard Eddie through the wood, your mother must have let him in.

“Come in Eddie.” You got out with a cough.

The door opened and you saw the wide smile on his face as he walked in. “Hey beautiful.”

You scoffed, “I am not beautiful right now.” He chuckled as he kicked off his shoes before hopping into bed with you.

“You’re always beautiful to me.” He said pulling you close to him, “Even when you have all that snot coming out of your nose.” He finished teasingly.

“You know, maybe I shouldn’t have let you come over after all.” You teased back, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Oh there was no way I wasn’t coming over here, 2 days is long enough away from my girl.” He said as he kissed the top of your head. “What do you want to do? Want to go back to sleep for a while?”

“No, I’m too hot to sleep.” You said, annoyed.

“Want me to read to you again?” Eddie asked with a big smile. “I know you love my voices.”

You returned the smile, you loved when Eddie would read to you, he brought the stories to life. You had started reading the Hobbit again a few days ago before you got sick when he took the book from you and started reading it like it was one of his D&D campaigns. He would do voices and change his tone depending on what was happening in the story, to your utter delight. “Yes, please.”

You got comfortable leaning into Eddie as he got your book off the nightstand, you still wanted to be able to see his face as he spoke. His expressive face was one of the best parts of the experience.

“Okay, here we are, just finished Riddles in the Dark.” Eddie said as he picked up from where you both left off, arms wrapped around you again. “Bilbo had escaped the goblins, but he did not know where he was.” He started.

“‘Now I am old and strong, strong, STRONG, Thief in the Shadows!’ he gloated” Eddie growled in a deep voice, it was hours later and you had made it through most of story, getting to Bilbos conversation with Smaug the dragon, “‘My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath’” Eddie paused to take a drag of his cigarette, “‘death.” He growled out, pushing the smoke out of his mouth for effect. You giggled at his dramatics and Eddie beamed at the sound.

“You liked that princess?” He asked before attacking your face with kisses, loving when you giggled again.

“Of course I did Eddie.” You said, “You always know how to make me feel better.”

“That’s all I want, baby. For you to always feel good.”

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rallamajoop · 1 year

Text

On Donna (and Claudia) Beneviento

So, having spent the last couple of months absorbed in the world of RE: Village, somehow what’s really got my inner-canon-sleuth going this time is the issue of timelines. Just how long was Miranda posing as Mia before she was found out? Just how old are each of the Four Lords of the village? The game’s not telling us, but can I puzzle it out…

There are probably no ‘canonical’ answers to questions like this, at least in the sense of ‘answers the writers have agreed on and written down.’ Even putting aside all the usual complications of writing for games, RE: Village is a horror title structured around a gothic fairy tale: genres built on dream-logic and atmosphere. You may as well ask the ‘canonical’ backstory of Cinderella’s evil stepmother, or Dracula’s three ‘brides’: there isn’t one, because that’s not the point.

And yet, RE: Village provides just enough tantalising hints that I can’t resist the challenge of hunting answers that are, if not definitive, at least consistent with all the (limited) information we get. Which is how I wound up writing up this whole spiel about the four lords and who joined the family when (now up over here) – only to realise that the section on Donna Beneviento alone was getting so long it really needed its own post – so here we are.

Here's what stands out about Donna: Miranda has (very canonically) been experimenting on her villagers for a full century. Her daughter’s death in the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1919 is as explicit as anything in this game gets. The four lords and their household crests are presented like an institution that’s been around for generations (Do Not Ask why a small Romanian village needs as many as four lords. It’s a fairy tale, and that’s the wrong question).

And yet, Donna herself logically can’t have joined Miranda’s family any more recently than 1996 – a mere 24 years ago.

We know this, because it’s the year of death on Claudia Beneviento’s grave (1987-1996) – and that grave already existed when she was adopted by Mother Miranda. What little we know about Donna’s past comes from her gardener’s diary, and he talks about both in entries only days apart. There’s no year provided, but the dates are November 10-29. It could have been 1997, it could have been 2019 – but it’s a year I’m old enough to remember either way.

So did it really take Miranda that long to ‘complete’ her little family collection? Or could there have been a previous cadou-empowered Lord or Lady Beneviento? And should I be reading so much into a date on a gravestone, which for all I know should have read 1896, and which made it into the game by accident? I have no idea, but we're going with it anyway.

But wait: we have more dates! We never meet the gardener himself, but he’s given the name Josef Simon in the note he left on the Iuthier house in the village. And if he left that note in person, he must have been still living in the village as recently as 2017, because (and this is where it all gets deep into nerd-analysis territory), there’s a child’s drawing on the wall of Iuthier’s house dated to that year.

Why does this matter? Well, his last diary entry ominously ends with him taking an invitation to visit Donna’s house to see his ‘departed wife’. And that’s all the more ominous, considering the Duke’s statement that ‘none of her playmates have ever returned’ – not to mention, well, everything that happens to Ethan down there. The looming implication is that the gardener died soon after writing that last entry – meaning those entries were written after he’d shut up the Iuthier house, meaning that Donna only became her mould-empowered self as recently as 2017 (or even more recently still).

(God, do you see why this shit had got me so hard? It’s like solving one of those grid-based logic puzzles where if Mary is wearing a red hat and Adam wasn’t in the house on Thursday, which of the household could’ve been present at the time of the murder? This isn’t even supposed to be a detective game, GDI!)

But before we get too far down this particular rabbit hole, it’s worth remembering we don’t know for sure that the gardener died within days of Donna joining Miranda’s family. Or, to take a slightly darker angle, we don’t know for sure that the gardener who kept that diary was the same gardener who shut up the Iuthier house after 2017. Maybe ‘Josef Simon’ is a completely new gardener, who kept that old diary around to remind himself why he should absolutely never breathe too deeply over Claudia’s grave, or accept any of Mistress Donna’s invitations to come inside for tea…

Claudia Beneviento herself is a figure so mysterious that I’m a little suspicious her grave (let alone those bizarre dates) only exists at all due to some miscommunication between the writers and the environment asset team, or as a relic of a couple of very different stories getting awkwardly redacted into one at the nth hour (notes that came with the artwork say that her house was originally conceived as belonging to a doctor, the doll-theme only added later, which isn’t surprising). Taken at face value, a woman in mourning dress with a creepy doll obsession and a 9-year-old’s grave in her garden screams that Claudia was Donna’s daughter, whose tragic death she never recovered from. It fits with the greater themes of the game too: Miranda and Eva, Ethan and Rose, Donna and Claudia?

Only problem being that the gardener’s diary suggests that Donna's personal tragedy was something else altogether.

If the gardener is to be believed, Donna’s story is that of someone who shunned others from childhood due to ‘the scar over her eye’ (a birth defect?) choosing instead to talk to people only through the ventriloquist’s doll made for her father – then cut off from the world even further by her parents’ tragic deaths. (Notes on the artwork go further, suggesting that her parents committed suicide at the waterfall, but this never made it into the game.) Where does a dead 9-year-old girl come into that? Is she Donna’s sister, her cousin or aunt? It’s damn hard to find space for a daughter in the gardener’s account, but the fresh bouquets on the grave suggest she was at least someone important. It all feels like a story that’s been hastily patched together at the last minute (and very likely, it was).

Donna’s powers present a similar dichotomy: hallucinogenic plants and autonomous living dolls? The only common theme there is ‘spooky shit’. (God, it’s like Heisenberg and the lycans all over again!) I don’t mean any of this as a serious critique of the game or story: Donna’s house stays with people for a reason – horror’s often more effective because it’s incomprehensible – but Donna-the-character is a cypher.

Speaking of Donna's medical report, that confusing line about how she "divided her Cadou among her dolls in order to control them from a distance" is (inasmuch as I am qualified to translate it) a little clearer in the Japanese version. A more literal translation might be more along the lines of "has shared her own cadou with her favourite doll to control it from a distance" ‒ which certainly adds context to why it's Angie's remains you bring back to the Duke. What's in all those other dolls is open to question: more experimental cadou, or is them moving just another illusion? We'll never know for sure.

That's about it for hard info. Still, for what it’s worth, have some rampant speculation!

Suppose Donna and Claudia were sisters, Claudia the treasured ‘normal’ sister, to Donna’s disfigured recluse. Suppose Claudia died, and their grief over the loss of their one 'proper' daughter led Donna’s parents to throw themselves over the waterfall, leaving her all the more alone. Yeah. Just let that settle in for a moment.

Alternatively, suppose both of Donna’s parents (and perhaps even her ‘normal’ sister) lost their lives to Miranda’s quest to integrate all four noble houses into her own twisted family. The success rate for cadou experiments was notoriously low. Suppose she resorted to Donna last because her deformity made her that much less desirable – only for Donna to survive, to be ‘adopted’ by the very woman who murdered her whole family.

Now imagine Donna living under the shadow of inevitably being supplanted (yet again) when her new ‘mother’ manages to revive the true daughter she really wanted all along…

Now there are some horror stories for you.

As a side note, I’ve seen some articles claim Donna had a female family member called Bernadette who died in Miranda’s experiments. This isn’t based on much: the only evidence is a 21-year-old “Bernadette B” mentioned in one of Miranda’s case notes, shortly before the success story of “Alcina D”. Notably, “Alcina D” is recorded as being ‘of noble birth’, while “Bernadette B” is simply noted as ‘no occupation’, which doesn’t really support the idea the B stands for another important family. Being nearly as old as ‘Alcina D’, Bernadette would have lived and died generations before Donna and Claudia. So even if B does stand for Beneviento (and it probably doesn’t), it doesn’t add much to Donna’s story.

And on a final note, did anyone else notice that of all the four lords, Donna is the only one who gets called by her first name? Like, Heisenberg is ‘Heisenberg’ even to his mother, brother and sister. I don’t think anyone but the Duke ever says Dimitrescu’s name aloud (let alone calls her ‘Alcina’). But Heisenberg mentions his other two siblings twice, and both times they’re Donna and Moreau. Not Beneviento and Moreau, or Donna and Salvatore: Donna and Moreau.

Now, maybe he’s just lazy (Beneviento is a bit of a mouthful), but while everyone else in the Duke’s spiel is called by their last name, Donna gets to be Donna Beneviento. Naturally, she’s ‘Mistress Donna’ to her gardener too. Possibly Angie is part of the reason ‒ logically, she's a Beneviento too, and we need some way to distinguish the two of them ‒ but it certainly speaks to how she's thought about, by family and by the writers.

No other first name is spoken aloud at all, AFAIK – you have to find Miranda’s experiment reports at the very end of the game to learn Moreau and Heisenberg’s first names (‘Alcina’ is at least written on her diary as well, much earlier on, as well as in Miranda’s separate case notes on experiment 181).

I doubt there’s much significance behind this detail, but it does kind of back up the idea that Donna may be the baby of the family – the youngest in years and the youngest when she was turned. And somehow still the most mysterious, for all that we arguably have more information about her past than any of the other three.

Please don’t take that as suggesting she’s just an innocent little baby, though. There’s a tendency in fandom to portray her as perfectly talkative and functional with the right audience (never mind that she speaks only a few words in the whole game, and canonically preferred to ‘talk’ through her Angie even to the gardener who’d known her since childhood, and who clearly cared for her deeply). Her backstory is tragic as fuck however you fill in the blanks, but all those fucked up murder dolls didn’t come from nowhere.

It's probably a mistake to treat Angie as a separate entity at all, when she's functionally Donna's own alter ego: very plausibly her way of acting out her own childhood trauma, from which she never recovered or matured. And trauma exorcised into a new vessel isn’t trauma that’s gone away.

#Donna Beneviento #Claudia Beneviento #Resident Evil Village #Resident Evil #meta #Resident Evil timeline

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kedreeva · 1 year

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did you read the CNBC article "Egg prices rose 60% in 2022. One farm griup claims it's a 'collusive scheme' by suppliers"? Given how knowledgeable you are about your own birds, I'm interested to hear your thoughts! I particularly found it weird in the inflation numbers comparison where eggs went up by 59.9% in December while the "poultry" category only went up by 12.2%. Doesn't that seem counter-intuitive since it takes much longer to raise meat vs eggs even with the flu? I'm not trying to grill you at all I just like your blog and would like to see your thoughts on it :)

I have no idea why you think eggs take a shorter time, but meat birds are ready for butcher at 6-8 weeks old, and egg birds are a minimum of like 4 months, if not 6-10 depending on breed.

Don't listen to people (general) on farm groups. I'm in several, and day in and day out I see some real hot takes on stuff and a lot of people who either don't know what they're doing or are doing stuff that's like, actively harmful. The people that know what they're talking about burn out trying to argue with the people that are Very Convinced that they're right as they say the most wrong things. I'm locked in combat to the death in one group over the people there using the phrase "fertile but not fertilized" to describe an infertile/unfertilized egg. There's literally no such thing as "fertile but unfertilized." An egg is infertile or fertile, or it's unfertilized or fertilized. But by golly you cannot convince them this is the case, even directing them to google to check for themselves. I've seen med recs for overdoses and underdoses. I had one lady tell me she poured some injectable meds under her bird's wing, and flat out refuse to give more via injection or buy the pour-on version because didn't "want to overdose him." MA'AM you didn't DOSE him!!! What you did was the equivalent of pouring cough syrup on your hand. I chased my own tail for WEEKS with a lady that INSISTED 12 accidental fires in a single year, across all the farms in the US (you know, the 2.5 million farms in the US), meant that there was a government conspiracy to cause a food shortage, and that's why she kept chickens. You might be able to find A Person on those groups that knows anything correct, but the groups at large are often not great for anything other than sharing cute pics and finding homes for excess birds.

Now don't get me wrong, if a company CAN charge a little more for something and get away with it, they're probably gonna try, and I'm sure that some of that is involved, in some places more heavily than others. But also we lost almost 58 MILLION chickens, a lot of them egg layers, to HPAI last year, from around march to june (like, for reference, the US has about 300 million egg-type production birds, across ages). There's also a higher cost in fuel, and likely an unwillingness to hire people who have standards about how they're treated factoring in. Given the processing/shipping/distribution time and the requirements (including the cost of materials, testing, cleaning, disposal etc) of sanitizing land and having to let it sit for a period before being able to resume production, that lag and then sept-dec 2022 zone was exactly where I expected the price rise to happen, and at least from what I've seen, it's already coming back down (from $6 to $4 around me anyway) as those lost facilities have reached laying ages. I expect it will keep going down, provided HPAI doesn't devastate the industry again this year.

If you want a visual representation of what the fuck happened last year, here's from the USDA:

So no, I don't think it's weird and also I don't think it's a conspiracy. Shit just happens sometimes, and instead of taking the hit to their profit, they took it out of egg prices because they had an excuse to raise them to cover costs and possibly make extra while people were tolerant. That's not really a conspiracy in my book, it's just capitalizing on a thing that happened. you know. like capitalists.

#chickens #animal death for ts #anon asks #asks #hpai #eggs #wank for ts #collusion gives them a lot of credit where I really don't think it's due #they're just being shitty morals capitalists #we had this same rigamarole the year corn prices rocketed #and it was because fields all got slogged by way too much rain #huge amounts of harvest were spoiled #rotted away from the overwater #it wasn't a conspiracy then either #doesn't mean it's not shitty #and doesn't mean it's RIGHT #but they didn't get together and go #let's all agree to raise the price for fun and profit #it's just a bad thing happened and cost money #and a lot of people along the way decided they could exploit it individually #because there was an obvious cause consumers could reason about #also before anyone else sends asks about this #I'm not getting into this in WIP Wednesday #today is writing day

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ozwriterchick · 1 year

Text

Who the hell is Daddy??? - Pt 2

Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes; OFC/Meghan Snow; OFC/Darcy Hunt; Other Avengers mentioned

Content warnings: Angst; Pregnancy

Legend: Italics are OFC Journal entries

A/Notes: This is part 2, Part 1 can be read here, please read that first or this may not make sense

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

The next day

I barely slept last night, what little I did sleep was out of pure exhaustion and no more than about half an hour at a time. By the time 5am came around Bucky still hadn’t come back to our room and he hadn’t answered any of my calls or messages.

I wanted to talk to Steve or Nat, but they had gone away for the weekend so I couldn’t talk to either of them. I figured I’d call my Mum and maybe talk to her but it was still super early, so I thought, why not drive to their place and talk to her in person.

I packed a bag to stay the night and around 2 hours later I arrived at my parents house. The place where I grew up, I took my first step, had my first date, my first alcoholic drink. The place where I lost my virginity and most importantly, the place I first told Bucky I loved him, about 6 months into our relationship.

As I walked up the front path, the door swung open and Mum was standing there. I ran to her and she opened her arms and just squeezed me and I broke down crying.

“Meg, baby, what’s wrong?”

“Just ev..everything Ma.”

“Oh love, do you want a cup of tea and we can talk?”

“Ye..Ye.. Yes p..please”

We went inside, Mum made a cup of tea and grabbed a box of tissues and we went and sat in my old bedroom so we could talk without any interruptions. Dad wasn’t home so it was just us.

She let me drink about half the tea and calm down a bit before she continued.

“Now Meggy, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Oh Mum, I thought he’d be ha..happy but he st..stormed out and he didn’t com..come ho..home.”

“Ok, well how about you tell me what you thought he’d be happy about and what happened before he stormed out.”

“I.. I.. Oh god, why is it so hard to say..”

“You’re having a baby?”

“You knew? Then why did you ask?”

“I’m your Mum, I know you, and I couldn’t think of much else that it would be. You needed to say it, but I get why it’s hard, the last reaction you had was so far from what you wanted or thought it would be. Oh my gosh, I’m going to be a Nanna? Just wait until your Dad gets home, he’s going to be over the moon.”

I laughed because I knew she was so right. I know his reaction will be what I’d hoped Bucky’s would be.

I explained everything to Mum while we waited for Dad to get home. I told her that we hadn’t discussed kids and that we were good with using protection, that the flu I had a couple of months ago must have reduced the efficacy of the pill I was taking and we didn’t think to use any backup. I told her that I was nervous and scared but also excited because I thought Bucky was my endgame and I was his.

I showed her pictures of the box I put together to let Bucky know about the baby. Then I told her about what happened after I gave him the box.

“Mum, he didn’t explain anything, he just left and he didn’t come back. I suppose we should have spoken about kids before now but he just said he needed some air and he left. I know it’s sudden but I was excited about it - I still am I guess, but it’s definitely taken some of the shine off it.”

“Well, that does sound odd. I would have thought after all he’s been through that he’d be jumping for joy at starting a family.”

“Me too, see I’m not being unrealistic to expect that reaction am I? I mean, if he really didn’t want kids, you think he’d tell me at the start?”

At that moment, the front door opened and I heard my Dad’s excited voice. “Meggy, I didn’t know you were coming? Where are you?”

“In the kitchen with Mum.” I laughed for the first time in the last 15 or so hours.

Dad came through the door and almost picked me up he was so excited to see me. “Oh darling, I’m so excited you’re here. I have a little league match that I’m coaching this afternoon. Where’s Bucky,? As soon as I saw your car, I thought maybe he’d like to come with me, give you and your Mum time to talk, or you can come too if you want.”

At that, he noticed my face fall. “Meggy my darling, what’s wrong?” He picked me up off the chair and hugged me to his chest.

“Oh Dad, everything. I think you should sit down, I have some stuff to tell you.” Dad sat at the table next to me and reached over to grab Mum’s hand “To answer your first question, I don’t know where Bucky is. He’s not here, that much I do know. I think we might be over, he left last night and didn’t come home.”

“Now the reason he left, because last night I told him I’m pregnant.” I smiled at Dad to let him know I was ok with being pregnant, even despite Bucky’s reaction I’d just let him know about.

“My baby’s having a baby? I’m gonna be a Granddad? Oh I can’t wait to tell the guys at the club - none of them have grandkids yet.”

“See, that’s the excitement I was after, why is that so hard.”

“Honey, he must have a reason for his reaction, he’s not a cruel man. You just have to sit down and talk to him”

“I know Mum, but it’s kinda hard to talk to him when I don’t know where he is.”

With the perfect timing of a movie or tv show, my phone started ringing at that moment. I nervously picked it up and told Mum & Dad that it was Steve.

“Hi Steve, what’s up?”

“Hey Megs, do you know where Bucky is?”

“I don’t Steve, I haven’t seen him since last night. I was going to ask you if you knew where he was.”

“Last night? Did he go on a mission or something?”

“Ummm, no, we had a.. well I guess you’d call it a fight, and he left. He didn’t come home all night. I left early this morning and I'm at my parents place right now.”

“Oh, say hi to them. What happened if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t but I’m not sure I want to talk about it over the phone. I was going to stay here tonight, because I really can’t lay in our bed and wait and have him not come home again.”

“Was it that huge a disagreement Megs?”

I sighed thinking I may as well tell him. “Steve, I may as well tell you but you have to promise not to tell anyone else ok?”

“If you ask me not to say anything I won’t, you know that.”

“I know, I just have to be sure, because, well, I’m pregnant Steve. I thought Bucky would be excited but he got really strange and asked me why I’d tell him this and think he’d be happy about it. Then he said he needed air and he just left.”

“Oh, ok, wow. Ummm, yeah.”

“Steve??? You’re having a similar reaction to him, is there something I don’t know about?”

“I guess you could say that. Even though I don’t know where he is, I know he’ll be spiralling down a rabbit hole right now. But you really need to ask him about it. ”

“Well, that would be easier if he would answer my calls or messages.. I guess I’ll just have to keep trying. If you see him, please ask him to talk to me.”

“I will. And Megs, don’t give up on him and allow him to explain his thought processes..”

“Ok Steve, thanks.”

I decided then and there to try him again, I hadn’t tried calling him since before I left the tower. I called and again it rang several times then went to voicemail, so I knew his phone was on.

“Hey Buck, I’m not sure what’s going on but I guarantee whatever you think is happening probably isn’t. I just need you to talk to me so I can put your mind at east. Please, please call me. Or come to me, I’m at Mum & Dad’s place. Please Buck, I love you.”

Not 30 seconds later, my phone started ringing, his face and name showing up as the caller.

Taglist:@cjand10@angstysebfan@psychictazzy76@lovely-geek@samanthaneedsanap @kentokaze @iheartsebastianstanstuff @void-imaginations @wolfsbeanpotion

#James Bucky Barnes #OFC #Bucky Barnes x OFC #ozwriterchick #Angst #Pregnancy #Misunderstanding

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