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sholiofic · 1 year

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For the whump wheel, Biggles, EvS, high fever?

It shook Erich, in a quiet way, that Bigglesworth's friends had trusted him with this responsibility. True, it was not without a lot of last-minute advice, from Lacey in particular. ("If he packs a suitcase and says anything about following us to Turkey, throw it out the window and sit on him.") Erich had the definite impression that if the three of them returned and found Bigglesworth in anything less than perfect condition, Erich would be hunted down no matter where he tried to hide.

If anything happened to Bigglesworth in their absence, they wouldn't have to track him down; he would give himself up without a word.

"Sit up, you need to drink," Erich told him. He helped Bigglesworth sit with a hand on his slight back, trying not to think about how prominent his spine and ribs felt under the sweat-soaked nightshirt, how light he was to the touch. Bigglesworth had no weight on his slight frame that he could afford to lose, and after days of the shaking fever, he seemed almost translucent.

But his hazel eyes were still bright and sharp, even while fading between mild delirium and coherence. He pushed away Erich's efforts to help him with the cup of water, instead holding it in both shaking hands as the rim of the cup clicked against his teeth. A little of the water slopped over and spilled down his front.

"You don't have to sit with me," he said, pushing the half-empty cup away. His voice was thready, but still animated by the force of his personality, unfaded even as weak as he was. "I'll be all right. It's not my first time through this, after all."

"I was only going to read." Erich thought about offering to help change him out of the clammy nightshirt, but decided not to. By now he recognized the signs of Bigglesworth in a stubborn and uncooperative mood. Later on, sleepy and pliant, he might be more agreeable to having some small things done for him so he could rest more easily that night. "I'm going to make some tea, and then I could read aloud to you for a while."

Bigglesworth still had the stubborn look, so Erich was surprised when he agreed with a quiet, "Yes, I'd like that. If it's no bother."

Erich tried to keep the flood of inner warmth out of his expression, not succeeding very well, he guessed. "No bother at all. I was going to read the book anyway. No different, really."

He made two cups of tea, one weak and well-sugared, the other as strong as he could make it, and brought them in along with some toast in case he could coax the patient to eat it. In the end he didn't try; Bigglesworth was half asleep, drowsing beneath the blankets, so Erich quietly placed the tea and toast on the nightstand, picked up the book beside it (one of many from Bigglesworth's well-stocked shelves), and opened it to his bookmark.

He wasn't sure whether it mattered if he read aloud, as the patient seemed to have fallen asleep. But he had said he would, and anyway, if Bigglesworth woke from fever dreams, the sound of Erich's voice might be soothing.

Erich found the paragraph he had stopped on, and began to speak quietly. Without really intending to, acting purely on instinct, he placed a hand on the blanket-wrapped bundle beside him.

He felt Bigglesworth relax slowly under his touch. Ah, not quite asleep, then.

He read on, pausing occasionally to moisten his throat with a sip of tea.

#biggles books #biggles #james bigglesworth #erich von stalhein #biggles x evs #whump wheel fics

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scioscribe · 11 months

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For the ask game: this is a TERRIBLE choice to force me into, but I'm going with "The Rest of Our Lives" because I'm really curious what that one is about.

If someone else already chose it, then "Artistic Inspiration" please!

The Rest of Our Lives is going to need to be long, but I'm really excited about it. It's where Algy starts--every night--dreaming snippets of his future, but he only wakes up with the memories of whatever experiences he had during that dream, which is a huge problem when it turns out that he's dreaming about something awful that's going to happen, but his deeply upset future self (who's unaware of this) isn't exactly taking the time to think, Ah, this tragedy all started when [x]. or, The thing I really have to avoid happens on [date]. So we see him in the present collaborating with the others to try to figure out the details and change the future and we see his future self trying to deal with his grief and the catastrophe and move on. Should be Algy/Ginger, Biggles/EvS, and Algy & Everyone, including a fair bit of Algy & EvS, to Algy's chagrin.

#ask meme

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dotsayers · 5 months

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18, 20, 21? x

18. What was the hardest fic to title?

they're all always horrible to title but shifting into biggles fandom this year meant my usual mainstay (wordy mountain goats lyrics) felt wrong and so i've started... shudder... Making Up Titles Properly. hardest was probably covert operation, because i wanted SO BADLY to name it after a transgender dysphoria blues lyric but i also wanted it to have cross-appeal with the biggles forumites so 'they just see a faggot' might have ruffled some feathers

20. Share your favorite ending line

my Favourite favourite ending line is (alas!) from one of my yuletide fics, but of ones which are available under my name:

Biggles smiled wider. “True enough.” He put out a hand ready to shake. “James Bigglesworth. You can call me Biggles, if you like.” “I won’t,” said von Stalhein, automatically. Then he caught himself, and took Biggles’ hand.

it's from down on the cards, which i loved writing and was my first attempt at the algy vs evs situation, a perennial favourite.

21. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

this one is long, but: i love writing dialogue, and one of my favourite pieces is from my second the terror fic, in which goodsir is having a not-good time at all.

“Sorry,” said Harry. “I – didn’t mean to.”

A child’s excuse. Harry wanted quite badly to do something equally childish to avoid himself; hide under a blanket or in a cupboard, perhaps, knees to his chest.

John looked at him. Harry tried hard not to squirm like a schoolboy about to be thrashed.

“I know, Harry,” John said, eventually. “I came to find you to ask about your morning, actually. Not to send you into a fit of hysteria.”

“I’m not hysterical,” said Harry. “Leaving aside the strict diagnostic criteria, the etymology alone–”

“I was being facetious,” John replied. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’d taken after their mother, hair straight and fine. “Doctor Litefoot sent a telegram. He was not pleased to have his assistant surgeon vanish halfway through an autopsy, let alone one I’d told him would be of great diagnostic help.”

Harry couldn’t speak for a moment. His chest felt tight. “Then I apologise for disappointing you, and him. I thought I would be able to – tolerate it.”

“But not enjoy it,” said John. He looked oddly sad, his forehead creased in a frown. Harry wasn’t sure why.

“Was I supposed to?” He remembered feeling excited about autopsies in the past; his anatomical studies had interested him at the time, of course. He didn’t see how it was relevant.

“You used to enthuse about this,” John replied. “Could hardly keep you away from the museum, or the lecture theatre. Always hearing about some new advancement in surgical practice. And now – Harry, you knew you didn’t have to do this, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” said Harry, automatically. “I have to do what you tell me, or–” He stopped.

“Or what, Harry?” John’s voice was gentle; it scraped against Harry’s nerves.

Harry said nothing. He set down the rag and went to the sitting room, where John’s pet tortoise was busily eating half a head of cabbage. The cat, an ageing Persian that Harry had helped nurse as a kitten, padded over and pawed at his leg until he sat on the chaise longue and lifted her onto his lap.

She purred happily as he scratched her behind the ears. She was warm and soft and very content to curl up and doze.

John came to stand in the doorway. Harry glanced up at him, words drying in his throat.

“I don’t know what happened, that you’re so frightened of us,” said John. “I wish I did.”

“If you did, you’d wish you didn’t,” Harry said, softly. “I’m quite sure of that.”

#ask tag #adainesjacket #thanks ada!! <3

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