#I feel like kids are much more vulnerable feverish than adults

[pixelatedraindrops]

“Don’t be afraid. Come on. Take your medicine!”

Some sick baby Makoto doodles

(self indulgent bc I too am sick ;w;)

So babies and toddlers can take medicine in multiple ways which breeds a lot of interesting scenario ideas for this little one if he gets sick. I doodled them all as a therapeutic distraction.

He hates the icky medicine ;-;

I was too lazy to fully color it so tried a different color style for doodles~ i think it works~?

Which one were you as a kid w taking medicine? (answer in replies if u want)

color version before I gave up

yeah nah ;w;

[aurora077]

The word is 'attempt' (Chapter 3)

Chapter 3 - Jiang Fengmian’s epiphany

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13962595/3/The-word-is-attempt

Jiang Fengmian realised he had some apologising to do, to everyone in his family, but especially to his wife and son. He started with the latest misunderstanding. “A-Cheng, even though I don’t understand you all that well, I never meant for you to think that I don’t care for you. You are the sect heir, I brought up the motto because no matter how well A-Ying understands, I needed you to understand. I correct you because you are mine, don’t you know? Whatever fights your mother and I have, how could I forget who my son is?” He stroked Jiang Cheng’s head tenderly.

He had a lot to make up for. Because though he had never forgotten, he’d always seen him more as his mother’s son… he’d always wished his son was different… always tried to change him.

He’d also disapproved of his wife constantly pitting A-Cheng against A-Ying because he thought that his son just couldn’t compare so what was the use of trying to make him be better than a natural genius? He’d been so caught up in what his wife was doing wrong that he hadn’t realised that he was doing the same thing. He was always subconsciously comparing the two and finding his son lacking. Was it any wonder his wife kept making A-Cheng try to be better than A-Ying when it was he himself who set the standard that to get his approval A-Cheng would need to be more like A-Ying?

It was all his fault. If he hadn’t made his wife and son think that he would replace A-Cheng with one more suited to be a Jiang then would there even be so much conflict? He’d thought it was obvious that Jiang Cheng was the indisputable heir whatever his feelings about him, and that his wife was being ridiculous. But his distaste for his wife had bled onto their son and left both of them feeling like they didn’t belong. Like they were replaceable.

He owed A-Ying an apology as well because he knew his wife took out her frustrations about the situation on the boy and it was mostly his fault (not 100% because A-Ying really was quite naughty. His head disciple often lead the younger ones into trouble as well. But he had let the boy be because his carefree nature was hereditary and also very much like the rogue cultivators who founded their sect. He was very fond of A-Ying. But also he was inclined to let the kids be kids while they, the adults, were still there to bear the brunt of the responsibilities.) Regardless, he had to make amends to his family.

“I’ve been remiss in my duties as a father. What A-Ying did, I praised him for. Not just because he did something impressive, but because he tried his best and succeeded even when it seemed to be an impossible situation and it would have been easy to have given up. I praised him because he embodied our motto, and he deserves to receive recognition for what he did.

Even though he tried to give all the credit to Second Young Master Lan and that infernal Wen Chao is claiming it was him instead, at home at least we can show him that we acknowledge his deed,” he glanced for a moment at Wei Wuxian to show his sincerity (noting that his hand was still intertwined with Jiang Cheng’s). He turned his focus back on his son and admitted what should have been said from the beginning. “But, my son, I’m sorry that I overlooked your efforts. If A-Ying deserves to receive recognition then so do you, and I’m sorry that I did not give you due credit.”

Because his son had made a 10 day trip in 7 days, with no sword, no food and no rest. His son had shown up looking like half a ghost himself, and had immediately gone with them to save A-Ying because if he hadn’t they might have discovered the boys too late. They couldn’t have found them in time without Jiang Cheng. And from what had been said, it was Jiang Cheng who had helped the rest to swim out of the cave. Jiang Cheng had worked together with Wei Wuxian. While one distracted the beast the other helped evacuate all of the other heirs by swimming in the same pool of water as the beast and going down several times to lead each batch of heirs to the hole to escape.

If that incompetent Lan disciple hadn’t shot his ward then Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have been stuck in the cave in the first place. His son had had to make the difficult decision of leaving his shixiong behind to save the heirs that were left in the cave because the blood from A-Ying’s wound would have attracted the beast and went after them.

It couldn’t have been easy for his son to leave him behind and yet he knew he had to get back to Lotus Pier for reinforcements and so he travelled unceasingly until he could return with help. Exhausted and pale he hadn’t had one second of rest and he hadn’t complained at all, more focused on his shixiong’s safety than on his own state. And then when A-Ying had awoken and was joking about being bored while he was trapped in a dangerous situation, Jiang Cheng snapped at him with insensitive words and berated him for playing the hero.

But hadn’t his son done everything he could to make sure A-Ying would be saved? He’d scolded him with harsh words but he’d also helped him to the best of his ability. (And wasn’t that something? Because… he’d always said his son was like his wife, and though his wife was always scolding Jiang Cheng, he’d had no doubts at all that she loved the boy... just that her way of expressing it was harsh… so how is it that he didn’t recognise the same thing in his son? Neither his wife nor his son were straightforward with their feelings. It was increasingly obvious.

And while it wasn’t necessarily a good thing to be so harsh and he still didn’t really condone it, he was coming to realise that they didn’t exactly mean it either. That even though they said harsh things it didn’t mean that they didn’t care. He wished they would be more honest about what they felt but it seems like both his wife and son used anger as a shield. Showing that they cared would make them feel vulnerable.

And if it’s one thing he knew about his wife it’s that she prided herself on her reputation of strength. She wouldn’t want anyone to see her as being vulnerable. She passed on that trait to Jiang Cheng evidently.) After having to leave his injured shixiong behind, trapped in a cave with a terrifying monster and no proper weapons or sustenance for several days, his son must have been so worried and anxious.

To hear Wei Wuxian joking about being bored to death must have upset him and he lashed out with harsh words the way his mother tended to do. It wasn’t nice, but he understood now why his son looked defiant when he scolded him. Because once again he felt wronged and misunderstood by his father. Even A-Ying had said he was just angry and speaking without care. It wasn’t that he meant it, it was just that he let his anger show instead of his worry. And even though it’s a trait that he believed his son should work on, he no longer took the words at face value.

“While I am proud of A-Ying for his accomplishment and for saving Second Young Master Lan and that girl, you my boy, helped save everyone , including A-Ying.”

Who’d not sustained many injuries but who had been so feverish that in a few days time he may have been dead. Lan Wangji, for all his achievements, could not survive with an injury and no food or water for much longer either. He had been so pleased with A-Ying’s achievement that he had glossed over what his son had done because it just wasn’t as impressive as killing a legendary beast at seventeen. But while A-Ying did something heroic, his son took charge of the rest of the sects’ heirs and got them to cooperate and coordinated an escape. And to take over the sect in the future his son didn’t need to be a hero, but he did need to be a good leader.

“A-Ying might have acted in accordance with our motto, but you acted the way a leader should. You’re the future of Yunmeng Jiang. Your burden is far heavier than A-Ying’s. Of all people, I know how difficult it is to have to make a decision when my actions will have consequences for our people. It’s because you are my son, you could not act rashly. I scolded you because I thought you were being thoughtless. But you weren't, were you?” His son jolted slightly as if in surprise that his father would say that.

“A-Cheng, A-Ying is not my heir, you are. It gives him more freedom to act according to his conscience. You are restricted by your duty to our people and that is why you were so worried, isn’t it? You thought his actions would bring the ire of the Wens upon our sect. You wanted him to keep his head down and not draw any undue attention that could bring trouble for the sect, didn’t you? And you were angry and worried when he didn’t take heed and then landed up in a bad situation.”

Jiang Cheng nodded; his eyes were shaking. He had not expected his father to understand him. He never usually did. Jiang Cheng knew he was like his mother in temperament. That was enough for his father to not look deeper into anything he said other than to consider him too much like his mother. Jiang Fengmian never understood his son’s concerns, similar to how he didn’t understand his wife. His father did not abuse him or treat him poorly, but he did not usually show Jiang Cheng any care either.

For all of his mother’s shouting, he knew she loved him. His mother was always worrying about him and pushing him to be better. She always tried to get Father to see him. But Father had never seemed to care about anything he did one way or another unless it involved Wei Ying. His father’s indifference to him had hurt way more than his mother’s scoldings. But his sister had seen all of that and more and had stood up for him. Stood up for all of them. He couldn’t believe she was scolding their parents. He couldn’t believe that his father had actually taken her words into consideration and started thinking about them. His father’s next words also gave him a shock.

“You are smart enough to know what you said wrong but I did not consider your position and perspective and I apologise for misunderstanding you. I apologise for turning a blind eye to your efforts. I will try to be better for all of you. And I’m proud of you son. You did well. Yunmeng Jiang has a bright future in you.”

Jiang Cheng’s lower lip trembled and the tears that had been building began to fall. He was overwhelmed by the things he never thought he’d ever hear from his father.

“A-die’s sorry,” Jiang Fengmian said, holding his weeping son and feeling guilty that he’d caused it. When was the last time he’d held him? And a few kind words from him were enough to make his child sob. What kind of parent did that make him that his son heard so few words of praise that when he did, it made him cry? He really did feel ashamed of himself.

Jiang Fengmian hugged his son until the tears stopped and then he pat his face gently, wiping away the remaining wetness with his sleeve and stepping away. He glanced at Yanli who looked satisfied so it seemed she at least thought he was on the right track.

But he didn’t only have to apologise to his son. His ward deserved an apology as well. Jiang Fengmian sat on the bed, next to Wei Ying, whose eyes widened in surprise at now being the centre of attention. “A-Ying, Jiang-shushu is sorry. I should have cleared up these misunderstandings so much earlier. Please forgive this old man for letting your parents’ reputations be soiled by my inaction. You must often have wondered if I truly cared for them.”

“No! I didn’t think-- Really Jiang-shushu, it’s unnecessary. You don’t need to apologise to me. If it wasn’t for you--” Wei Ying started to say, startled and a bit unsettled at having the sect leader apologise to him, before he was stopped by a wave of Jiang Fengmian’s hand.

“But I do need to. I should apologise to your parents as well. They must be so angry with me for calling myself their friend while letting their precious child be caught in the middle of such sordid gossip. And it is just that, mere gossip. I’m sorry I didn’t consider how those rumours were affecting all of you. I brushed it off because I thought well it’s obviously not true. But for others it may not be so clear. I never meant for anyone to think you a bastard. I never meant for you to ever have reason to question your parentage or my motives for bringing you home. So I will clear up everything right now. As dear as you are to me my boy, you aren’t my son."

"Your mother and I were never involved in that way. We were friends, whatever other feelings I may have harbored. Your mother never once looked at me the way she did your father. Your parents loved each other very much. And they loved you just as well. I always tried my best to not let you feel their absence so much but of course it seems like that backfired. I’m sorry A-Ying. I thought if I spoke about them it would hurt you and make you feel their loss even more. But maybe I should have been speaking about them… should have been helping you keep them alive in your heart instead of trying to fill that void myself.

I know I can’t replace them but I had hoped you would be happy here, like your father was before he met your mother and fell in love. They were so happy when you were born. Your father sent a letter gushing about how cute his little A-Ying was. They were smitten with you from the moment they knew of your existence and I know they would be so proud of you.”

He felt a twinge of guilt in his heart, because he had been glad his wife had borne a son since he needed an heir, but the genuine joy his friends had felt at the birth of their son was lacking because their son was born from a happy, love-filled union, whereas his was made with duty in mind. The guilt grew as he realised that unfortunately, he’d ended up treating his son the same way. Like a duty.

The natural affection that should have been there between parent and child was lacking on his end. And his poor son had been trying to gain it ever since he was little and had always failed because Jiang Fengmian saw him as the second coming of his wife who he’d begrudgingly did his duty with and considered it over. Once again he resolved to do better by them. He’d not let his son feel his apathy anymore.

“I…” Wei Wuxian swallowed thickly after absorbing the words the Jiang Sect Leader spoke, “Thank you, Jiang-shushu. And I.. I am happy here. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m relieved to hear that A-Ying.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes were red. It was the first time he’d been told that his parents would be proud of him. He didn’t know that it was something he wanted to hear until he heard it. Jiang Fengmian had never really spoken to him about his parents before. Everything he knew about them came from other people. He never truly believed in the rumours though, but it did make him uncomfortable because it was clear that Madame Yu put stock in them and it also made Jiang Cheng sad.

Jiang Cheng knew that if his father didn’t show his favour so clearly that people wouldn’t believe that Wei Wuxian was really his child. And what could Wei Wuxian say to that? It’s not like he was wrong. It was obvious to even him that Jiang-shushu preferred him though it was something that he tried not to think about because the guilt would eat him up if he did, even if it wasn’t really his fault.

But Wei Wuxian also didn’t realise that his shijie could tell that it made him feel bad to be in the middle of their family, his very existence causing them problems. He always tried not to burden anyone with his feelings. He was grateful to Jiang-shushu for taking him in and treating him better than a mere disciple. He was close with his shijie and Jiang Cheng, even if Madame Yu didn’t like them fooling around with him.

He had a good life in the Jiang sect. A much better life than one of his station really should have, sharing the room of the sect leader’s son and being allowed to study in Cloud Recesses etc. So he didn’t want to seem ungrateful by talking about his negative feelings. But it seemed that shijie could see right through him. She really was the best.

He locked eyes with her and Yanli was smiling so sweetly at him that his heart lifted. And all the while his hand was still in Jiang Cheng’s, both providing support for each other in the best way that they knew how. They were always better with actions than words anyway. For the first time in a long time, Wei Wuxian didn’t feel restlessness under his skin.

[turning-the-kaleidoscope]

YOU’RE BOTH ABSOLUTELY RIGHT

(please excuse the somewhat unpolished writing, still recovering haha <3 thanks for the prompts!! this was so therapeutic to write Teru deserves all the comfort and happiness in the world)

~*~*~*~*~

Teru doesn't get sick often, but when he does, he goes down hard.

He goes down and stays down for several days, running a fever, wracked with chills and nightmares and fevered dreams that leave him feeling like he'd never slept at all. He goes down and deals with it on his own. He's had to deal with it on his own for so long now that it's basically second nature.

But this time is different. This time he's sick, and his fever leaves him exhausted and delirious and weak, and he can't sleep for more than a few moments without being woken again, coughing and hacking like there's no tomorrow. Each fit brings up the pounding in his skull, and despite his best efforts, he's left with tears in his eyes every time, tired and frustrated and feverish and sick and so, so alone.

It's two in the morning, he's just finished coughing up a lung and is curled into a fetal position on his side, blankets sprawled and tangled around his legs and an empty box of cold plasters nearby. His phone, held shakily between trembling hands, illuminates the futon and all the half-empty water bottles he's tried forcing himself through, all the tissues that miss the trashcan, all the sweat that sticks his clothes to his skin like hot glue.

Tears burn behind his eyes again and he barely manages to force them back this time, thumb hovering over the Call button. He wants to. He really wants to. He's sick and alone and he feels awful, he feels so tired and frustrated and hurt and he just needs someone.

And he told him to call, if he needed someone.

Teru hits the call button and presses the phone against his burning ear, trying to steady his breathing. His lungs rattle and crackle and he almost launches into another coughing fit. The phone is cool against the side of his face.

One ring. Two. Three.

"Hn, yeah?"

"R-Reigen?" He could cry in relief. He's too overwhelmed to feel guilty. "R-Reigen, I—I-I—"

"Hey, what's up?" Reigen sounds more awake now, concerned, even. "You good? Is something wrong?”

"I—" And then it happens, there's a hitch in his chest that climbs into his throat and then he's coughing again, hacking and choking so hard he sees stars. He tries clamping his hand over his mouth to stifle it; Reigen is shouting for him on the other end of the phone, and Teru can’t even hear it through the horrid ring in his ears and the burn in his skull. He can’t breathe.

“Hey, hey! Teruki!”

He can’t answer at first, not even when the coughing has stopped. His chest is full and tight and his lungs are desperate, heaving and trying to replenish themselves. He holds his breath, swallows back another round of coughing, and presses the phone against his ear.

“S-Sorry—” His voice is awful, much worse than before, it crackles all over the place and he wants to cry again. “I-I—I think I’m—”

“It’s okay, don’t apologize. I’m gonna come get you, okay? Where are you?”

He’s going to cry, he’s going to cry— “M-My apartment.”

“Okay—” There’s rustling on the other end of the line. A door opens and shuts. “I’ll be there in a second, okay? Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

He… doesn’t know. That’s a good question.

“Nevermind, I will.” Oh. Okay. “You laying down?”

“Y—” He has to stop and choke back a coughing fit before it starts. He doesn’t have the energy. “Y-Yes.”

“Good, good.”

Reigen asks him a few more questions, stuff that Teru doesn’t really answer completely or coherently—actually, he barely hears the questions half the time. Reigen doesn’t seem to care. The questions aren’t important. It’s just nice to hear his voice.

“Kid, you need to unlock the door for me.”

“Wha—” Teru blinks himself awake, holds his chest when it rattles. “You’re h—Y-You’re here already?”

“Yeah, took a taxi. But I need you to unlock the door.”

It takes a second longer than it should for him to recognize the command, and with a gentle, weak flick of his aura, the locks slide back, and the door swings open.

The receiving end of the phone clicks, but he can’t bring himself to let it go or lower it. Footsteps draw closer; there’s a rustle of plastic; and when a hand settles over his and tugs the phone from his grip, he cracks open his eyes.

“Hey,” Reigen says, setting the phone down on the nightstand, beside a plastic pharmacy bag that definitely hadn’t been there before. He sits down on the edge of the futon beside him, palm pressed to his forehead, and Teru is still reeling with he’s here, he actually came. He’s reeling so much that he forgets to respond.

“H-Hey yourself,” he croaks.

“Damn, you sound pretty rough.” Reigen’s hand against his head is the first relief he’s had in days, and it takes everything he has not to close his eyes and fall asleep. “Have you taken anything for it?”

Teru blinks tiredly. “T… Taken anything?”

“Medicine.”

“Oh.” Teru thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “I-I don’t… have a lot, here, and I didn’t want to—” There’s a tickle in his throat, and he barely swallows it back. “G-Go down to the—pharmacy—”

“Yeah, yeah, I getcha.” Reigen withdraws his hand, and Teru misses it. “I grabbed some stuff on my way over here, but you should probably eat with it… how’s your stomach?”

“F-Fine.” The tickle is back. He prays it doesn’t mean what he thinks it means. “I-It’s just the—th-the coughing.”

“Mm, gotcha. Think you can manage some soup?”

“Soup…” He thinks about it, but doesn’t have to for very long. “Th-That sounds great. Thank you.”

Reigen smiles and pulls his sweaty hair back out of his face (he’s growing it out again—it’s about the length of his shoulders), and then he’s on his feet again, and Teru finally lets his eyes drift shut.

He listens to Reigen bustling about in the kitchen for some time, struggling to make his way around and find where he keeps the pots and pans, and Teru considers hollering out to him but fears the crackle in his chest. Another word and he’ll be launched right into another coughing fit and he doesn’t have the strength to deal with that right now.

He hears a clatter, followed by a sharp swear, and he can’t help but crack a smile. He still can’t believe Reigen actually came. It’s not that he thought he wouldn’t or anything like that; but it still surprised him. Just how willing he was.

Reigen is… kind.

Teru hasn’t known many genuinely kind adults.

It comes on him suddenly, and he can’t stop it in time; a hitch rattles his chest and he’s vaulted into another coughing spasm, clutching his chest with one hand and his mouth with the other. His throat bruns, his head pounds, he can’t catch his breath and it hurts, he doesn’t know how many times this has happened tonight but he hasn’t been able to sleep, he hasn’t been able to even rest, and it’s taking more out of him than he has left and he can’t—

“C’mon, sit up, sit up—”

Reigen is back, hand on his forearm, hauling him upright. And Teru complies without really wanting to or meaning to, still coughing into his hand and feeling vulnerably small. Reigen’s hand goes between rubbing and patting against his back and slowly but surely, the fit begins to ebb, and he can breathe.

“Hell, that sounds bad.” Teru can’t answer, too focused on breathing. Reigen’s hand is a steadying weight against his back, and he doesn’t move. “How long have you been sick like this?”

“F-Few… few days—” He coughs, twice, and Reigen rubs circles into his back. “I-I don’t know.”

Reigen takes a measured breath, and Teru barely resists the urge to lean into him. Sitting up is taxing, and his already light head feels even lighter.

Reigen takes him by the arm again to steady him and reaches around, grabbing askew pillows and setting them on top of each other with his free hand. Teru watches, blearily, and it’s only now that he notices what Reigen is wearing. T-shirt, sweatpants. He hadn’t even gotten dressed before coming over.  

The guilt is settling in, now. He’s a mess, he’s a gross, pathetic mess and it isn’t Reigen’s job to clean him up. He wants to cry again. He blames the tears in his eyes on the coughing fit.

“Here, sit back.” Reigen tugs him promptingly, and has him lean against the pillows he’s stacked. “Lying flat isn’t going to help you breathe,” he explains, and feels Teru’s forehead one more time before pulling a thin blanket over him. He’s already hot and sweating like it’s the middle of summer, but he doesn’t have it in him to kick it off. “Hang tight for a second, alright?” Reigen pulls his hair out of his face again, tucking it behind his ear. “Soup’s almost done. Gimme a shout if you need me—or, cough, if that’s easier.”

Teru nods, and Reigen leaves again.

He breathes through his mouth cautiously, wary of impending coughing spasms, but it’s a lot easier to breathe when he’s sitting up like this. He doesn’t feel like he’ll be hacking up another lung in the next couple seconds, either. That’s nice.

And Reigen returns shortly after with a bowl of soup, and Teru sips on it while Reigen examines the medicine bottles with the light of his phone. Teru doesn’t make it through the entire bowl, and Reigen says it’s fine, that anything he can eat is better than nothing. Reigen gives him the proper dosage of medicine and he takes it. His taste buds are so out of sorts from the fever that it doesn’t really taste like anything, but Reigen still hands him a water bottle with which to chase it down, and he does.

There… isn’t really a lot to be done, after that. Now that he’s been able to breathe for some time, he’s eaten, taken medicine, he isn’t alone, he feels oddly content. Which doesn’t make sense really, not at all, but he does.

He thanks Reigen for it. For coming over. He sees Reigen’s smile, feels his hand in his hair, and is fast asleep before he can hear a response.

~*~*~*~*~

Truth be told, Reigen doesn’t know what he’s doing.

It’s not that he’s never looked after a sick kid before. He’s looked after Shigeo once or twice when he came into the office with a fever (usually he didn’t even realize it until Reigen pointed it out). It’s normal. He’s dealt with it before and he’ll deal with it again.

But with Teruki, there isn’t a home to walk him to. There aren’t parents he can contact and tell them their kid is sick. Teruki doesn’t have anyone like that to take care of him.

At least, he didn’t. He does now.

Reigen sits on the futon, leaning against the wall with Teru curled close against his side, fever lesser but still present. He hasn’t had another serious coughing fit--at least, not one that pulled him out of his sleep. And that’s good. With the state he’s in, he needs all the rest he can get.

Reigen’s legs fell asleep beneath him hours ago, and they tingle and prickle, but he doesn’t move. He’s more than happy to be here, more than happy to look after Teru when no one else will. Because no one else will.

Reigen has never been a parent, and he can’t see himself becoming one, but he’d be damned before he let Teru go.

[thecloserkin]

fic rec: Dante’s Stars by Pretani

fandom: A Series of Unfortunate Events

pairing: Violet Baudelaire/Klaus Baudelaire

word count: 94k, complete

Is it canon: Yes

Is it explicit: Yes

Is it endgame: Yes

Is it shippable: I’m fucking crying it’s so beautiful

Bottom line: The one and only Violet/Klaus epic, read it and bawl your eyes out (def read the warnings first tho)

It’s a canon-divergence AU where the Baudelaires stage their own deaths to escape Count Olaf. In canon the three Baudelaire orphans—inventor Violet, bookworm Klaus, and baby Sunny—are hounded from guardian to guardian by cartoonish villain Olaf, who will stop at nothing to get his hands on their fortune. Olaf murders or incapacitates every single adult who spares two seconds of sympathy for these kids, leaving a wide swathe of destruction in his wake. In this fic the Baudelaires have decided to wipe the slate clean and assume new identities.

I have mentioned in the past how salty I am about the Baudelaires’ characters being sidelined for Snicket the narrator, Olaf the villain, and/or sundry other bit-players (in the Netflix show the Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender p much steals every scene they’re in). In canon we’re not really privy to the kids’ inner lives. This fic avoids that pitfall by sticking with tightly focused third-person Violet and Klaus POVs.

The thing this fic does really well is instill a pervasive sense of dread/paranoia which is remarkable because for the first 25% absolutely nothing ominous happens. The orphans get taken in by a slightly addled, very nice old lady and they just … live in her house. For free. While she cooks for them. And every morning Violet and Klaus hook up in her barn.

Ok back up so the ship they’re passengers on goes down in a storm, all hands lost, the Baudelaires are presumed drowned with the rest. Which is positively providential. The first event of any import to occur is that Klaus swipes some cash from a dead man’s wallet. Violet has ethical qualms but Klaus quashes them by pointing out that Sunny’s starving:

”I’d do anything for her,” he said. “Even become a thief or a murderer.”

Then his dark eyes found Violet’s. “I’d do it for you, too.”

So on the one hand I think this is rather extra. I mean, what possible use could a dead man have had for that money? Money that could put actual food in Sunny’s stomach. The Baudelaires are keenly aware that justice does not equal unquestioning obedience to authority and I think their exposure to a raft of tyrannical and unjust authority figures has hammered that home. They’re down with bending the rules because they know the rules are never even-handedly applied anyway (ie. the show trial at Hotel Denouement, the farcical final exam at Prufrock Academy). On the other hand I remember how uneasy they felt about stealing Hal’s keys in Hostile Hospital, and that was barely a misdemeanor! A friend of mine astutely pointed out how Violet is always trying to behave in any given situation the way their parents would have wished, whereas Klaus takes a pragmatic approach: do whatever keeps his sisters safe. And that is a very interesting contrast and one I want to see explored further.

They get on a train. Things that happen: Klaus notices when Violet is down in the dumps or angry or upset or in this case, wistfully jealous of other people who lead “normal” lives, bustling all around them. He’s not in love with her yet but noticing is the first step. Violet atm is super focused on being the elder sister, the adult in the room, the One In Charge. They get off the train and as soon as they blow into town Violet gets catcalled and propositioned. One of the themes of this fic is the horrendous baseline level of violence against women, some of it normalized and casual like the catcalling. The Big Bad Villain of the piece is literally a guy who’s murdered multiple girlfriends on account of them fridging his ass, since he appears to think that women owe him sex. And this man’s driving ambition is to add Violet to his list of conquests.

So often, men treated her as little more than an object … Klaus was different. He saw her, the woman she was inside.

HOW COULD SHE NOT FALL FOR HIM?? Is there another man she could learn to trust enough to fall in love with? However I’m getting ahead of the story. Klaus is still in the phase where he’s awakening to his attraction to Violet:

She was mother and sister, soft skin and tender strength, and he hid his face in her neck. Like a child, she rocked him gently, cradling his head.

I have to protect her, even if it’s from myself.

He couldn’t take this, his brave, beautiful sister, so near … the knowledge of what those men wanted to do to her. I”ll kill them … And what he wanted …

God but it kills me, Klaus thinking that his attraction to Violet is as noxious as those vile men and their rapacious stares. Klaus himself otoh is president of the Violet Baudelaire Fan Club. The contrast could not be more marked. Look at him building her up when she’s about ready to to give up on picking a lock because she’s lost her hair ribbon:

”I’m done, Klaus. I don’t have anything else to give”. ”Vi … “ he was pleading, willing her to believe in herself again, because he did. “You’re a brilliant inventor,” he told her. “It’s who you are. Nothing can take that away. You don’t need your ribbon.”

The unwarranted parallel that he draws between himself and a bunch of sexual predators is the source of so much angst and pining:

Is that what I am? A pervert?

She’ll blame herself for this

Well, well, well, if it isn’t ye olde I’m-Leaving-Her-For-Her-Own-Good-Lest-My-Perverted-Attraction-To-Her-Despoil-Her-Innocence. I am absolute trash for it every time, film at 11.

”I love you, Vi … I’m in love with you.” He said it like he was confessing to a crime, and she wanted to scream, to laugh and cry all at once.

THEIR LOVE IS A CRIME!!! Could these babies be more pure??

They’d always had an extraordinary connection. It was the reason for their seamless partnership, their ability to support one another … But now, the bond that had kept them alive was killing him. How could anything ever be right again?

”Vi, I’m sorry … I want to be your brother, but I can’t … I want to be more than that … I don’t know what to do.” ”Kiss me,” she said, “and be both.”

THATS IT THATS A WRAP I CAN NOW DIE HAPPY. That “kiss me and be both” is PERFECTION.

And she knew she’d never willingly give herself to anyone but him.

she’d loved him even then. Who could tell when they had crossed the line? It was already too late.

cross the line what line??? they were made for each other.

”You know, we missed the sunrise,” he said, nose to nose with his sister.

Violet and Klaus carve an extra hour out of their morning to go make out in the barn. I shit you not these kids spend a whole month without progressing past first base because Klaus doesn’t want to “pressure” Violet into anything she’s not ready for. Violet, for her part, is beginning to suspect there’s something wrong with her person; why hasn’t he even tried to take her top off? Thank you #Patriarchy for teaching us that desirability is the measure of a woman’s worth. God they are so thirsty. This bitch almost fell over the first time he touched her tits:

“Vi,” he spoke into her hair, voice breaking. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me to —“ But she only titled her head, to meet his mouth in a feverish kiss.

So Klaus and Sunny are having a snow fight and Violet tugs her glove off to tousle his hair and it’s THE SEXIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN BYE. True story after I read this fic I legitimately thought that “Vi” was a pet name Klaus called her by in canon, and when I finally finished the books much much later and realized that it wasn’t—well, it should have been.

There is a fairy tale about a princess who disguises herself in the skin of a donkey to escape the attentions of her lecherous father the king. Violet and Sunny discuss it. Violet points out that rape is wrong because rape is rape, because it is coercive, not because it’s incest. I love it when fic highlights the fairytale parallels to the Baudelaires’ situation, and I feel like Donkeyskin was such a spot-on choice because it’s all about surviving sexual assault and learning to make oneself vulnerable again afterwards? Klaus is the prince who sees through her disguise and falls head over heels in love with her CHANGE MY MIND. On the subject of happily ever after:

”Is that what you think I want? A fairytale? A walk down the aisle in a white dress?" He felt a lump forming in his throat. "Most girls think about those things, don't they?" "I don't," she told him. "I prefer not to. And as for children��well…I love them. That's why I don't want any of my own … how selfish would I be, to bring another little life into this? Another hostage they could use against us. Imagine how awful it would be if…" She shook her head. "No children… not ever. I couldn't protect them." And she turned to him with a soft look. "It's no sacrifice, Klaus. Not for me. I've already been through a… a wedding, you know." He felt her shudder, and she averted her eyes. "I won't be sorry if I never see another wedding dress again."

My dudes, when you have children each and every one of them is a hostage to fortune because of course they are. Also, Violet’s traumatized by the whole idea of being a bride, after going through the wringer of her fake wedding to Olaf. Olaf put Sunny in a cage to compel her compliance, and that’s what the Big Bad in this fic does too. He says things like “You’re a sick little bitch, aren’t you? Spreading your legs for your own brother” which turns their beautiful relationship into this ugly depraved thing to be ashamed of. I mean, this guy was literally a voyeur who would watch them from his hidey-hole while they were being intimate?? My god I would feel so unclean. And the worst part is, he overheard them calling each other by their real names not their aliases, so now he knows who they are and since the Baudelaires are still on the lamb this is bad. It gets pretty dark pretty fast.

“He won't want you anymore! No one's gonna want you when we're done!"

So he kidnaps and rapes Violet. Klaus and Sunny rescue her, dispatch the villain (Klaus’s earlier “I’d do anything” for his sisters, including becoming “a thief or a murderer,” acquires sudden resonance), and that’s when fucking Count Olaf shows up!!!! These kids just cannot catch a break. Turns out the Big Bad was actually working for Count Olaf all along. Olaf’s plan is still the same plan from The Bad Beginning where he plotted to steal the Baudelaire fortune by marrying Violet. Since Count Olaf has never in his life paid a henchman a salary, he was keeping the Big Bad sweet by promising to let him ravish Violet first. Let the full enormity of that sink in. Oh wait a minute Olaf isalso bent on knocking Violet up asap so the union can’t be dissolved on non-consummation grounds, or somesuch:

"You look at me as if I were a usurper, boy, about to steal something of yours. Tell me…" He gestured at Violet. "Is she yours?"

Why would you do this to me??????? This is so, so painful. Olaf uses an electric cattle prod on Klaus and makes Violet watch??? It’s ok though the Baudelaires prevail in the end, and emerge from the bloodstained ordeal as the family they are. My kink will forever be Violet and Klaus praising each other’s bravery and resourcefulness. They! Are! So! Proud! and! Supportive! Of! Each! Other! This line from earlier in the fic gets me every time:

I’ve failed them. This was his greatest fear, worse than death or any torment fate could devise. In his head, he imagined the struggle, saw his girls beaten and shot, felt each blow and bullet as if his own body were the target instead.

Klaus Baudelaire laying down his own body between the world and his sisters is really the only thing I care about:

And then her gaze fell to the marred canvas of his body.

I bet his back is a mess of burn marks ugh. Four weeks after Violet’s discharged from the hospital (practical Violet made sure to get the green light from the medical professionals) they finally have sex again, which is a relief—after the rape they were both hesitant to initiate sex because she thought she was damaged goods and he thought she wanted space? Silly kids. Oh and and here they are being mistaken by strangers for a pair of lovebirds:

One of the women sighed dreamily. "Did you ever see a more likely pair of turtledoves?" "Of course not," Mr. Poe sputtered, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief. "The very idea!" And he excused himself hurriedly, to make some phone calls. "Don't be silly," said the other. "They're siblings. Haven't you heard? … They're the Baudelaire orphans." "Well, I daresay," the first one went on, "anyone would've taken them for sweethearts."

I CANNOT WITH THESE TWO

The Baudelaires finally, finally come into their fortune free and clear. They put on their parents’ wedding rings and move to Canada. A cat (!!!) leaves baby Beatrice II in a basket outside their front door, and that completes their family. Nobody deserves good things more than these kids, and this fic ends exactly where it ought, describing “a rural life of moral simplicity.”

I read this fic years ago and it was w i l d rereading it again, thanks for coming along for the ride. If anyone wants to scream/cry about this fic in particular, or Violet and Klaus in general, feel free to send me an ask or message me ANYTIME

[builder051]

Flu Hits the Deangeles-Carson Household, part 2 (OC sickfic)

Contains vomiting.

“You sure you’re ok?” Colby asks.  He’s leaning against the wall beside the front door, watching as Jason heartily blows his nose.

“I think so,” Jason replies, sniffing and running his sleeve across his face for good measure.  “I think I’m getting allergic to this apartment.  Maybe to some of the people who live here.”  He cracks a smile and raises his eyebrows at Mike, who’s sitting on the couch doing her homework and still getting over the crud that’d had her miserable and in bed for the better part of the week.

“Well aren’t you nice,” Mike says with a sneer.  “Face it, you’re getting sick.”

If Jason’s honest, he has caught Mike’s cold. ��Or flu, or whatever the fuck it is.  With her shoddy immune system, Mike’ll get walking pneumonia from the mildest of viruses.  Jason isn’t feeling that bad.  Headache, stuffy sinuses, a slight aura of tenderness over his body…which could totally be from blasted fall allergies and overdoing it at the gym, if he commits his mind to it.

But there isn’t time to be sick now.  He and Colby are headed to a hockey game, putting the season tickets Mr. and Mrs. Deangeles has purchased for their children to good use.  Jason acutely feels the unspoken pressure to prove that at least one of their children is capable of having a somewhat normal college experience.

“If you insist on passing on your germs, at least make an appointment for next week,” Jason teases.  “Right now I have to send our mother an obligatory selfie of me engaging in an approved mainstream activity.”  His voice is thick with snot and sarcasm.

“Well, have fun with that.”  Mike rolls her eyes.

Colby drives Jason’s car the short distance to the university’s ice arena.  Jason’s internally grateful; a couple forceful sneezes burst from him, and he has to wonder whether he’d have been able to maintain control of the vehicle if he’d been behind the wheel.

“Seriously, unless you’ve, like, directly inhaled pollen or something, you don’t sound healthy,” Colby says over the sounds of Mumford & Sons coming from the stereo.

“I’m a solid 95%,” Jason replies.  He fumbles in the glove box for another Kleenex.  “Believe it or not, I actually like hockey.  It’s just my stupid parents and their obsession with normality that makes this so flipping weird.”  He drags his hand down the side of his face and decides that even though his forehead’s warm, it’s not into the realm of feverish.

“I feel ya on that one,” Colby mutters.  He parks the car in the crowded lot, and throws his arm around Jason’s broad shoulders as they jaywalk across the street to the ice arena.

Jason swipes his wrist under his leaking nose again before handing their tickets to the attendant. The woman looks suitably disgusted before tearing the perforated slips and gingerly handing them back.  Jason makes a sorry expression before being forced to wipe it again as the insistent drip returns.

They stop at the concession stand so Jason can grab a napkin.  The flimsy paper saturates quickly when he attempts to blow his nose, but the action does nothing to relieve the stuffiness in his nasal passages.

“Might as well take the whole thing,” Colby playfully suggests, gesturing at the napkin dispenser.

“Oh, shut up,” Jason mutters.  “You want to get anything to eat?”

“From here?  No, it’s all disgusting.”  The greasy sports-arena nachos and hot dogs and funnel cakes have never been Colby’s thing.  “Please don’t tell me you do.  We can get real food afterwards.”

“But it’s a hockey game, we have to get snacks,” Jason insists.

“You’re such a kid,” Colby says.

Jason’s not exactly hungry, but it’s practically automatic.  Junk food and sports games just go together.  He scans the concession menu for something sweet and pays for a bag of blue cotton candy.

“You may as well be eating Windex,” Colby admonishes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know you don’t want any…”

They meander to their seats to watch the players warm up.  Jason sinks into his hard plastic seat, cold seeping through his hoodie and jeans to chill his spine and the backs of his thighs.  He opens his bag of cotton candy and tosses a furl into his mouth, then he takes his phone out of his pocket and pulls Colby close.

“Smile,” Jason says.  He snaps a photo of them with their heads together and starts to send it to his mother.

“You sure your folks want to see me?” Colby asks.

Jason shrugs.  “Yeah, I mean.  Not like you’re going anywhere, right?”  He and Colby have been together for a year.  His parents have known for over six months.  Whether or not they acknowledge it seems to be entirely their problem.

Within a minute of sending the text, Jason’s mom answers.  Where’s your sister?

Jason types back, She has a cold.

You left her by herself?

God, he just can’t win.  She’s fine, mom.  She’s an adult.  He has to stop himself from adding and so am I.

“Can I comment on that?”  Colby’s reading over his shoulder.

“Fire away.”

“I know you already know, but your mom’s a jerk.  She’s manipulating the shit out of you.”

“Yeah,” Jason sighs.  He puts his phone away and takes a large bite of cotton candy.  The sugar dissolves into syrup on his tongue and feels gritty against his teeth.  Then it blooms into a wave of uneasiness once it hits his stomach.  But that could also be guilt.

Jason stays quiet as he watches the Zamboni makes laps across the ice.  He leans slightly sideways so his shoulder presses against Colby’s.

“Hey, forget about it,” Colby murmurs.  “You like hockey.”

“Yeah.”  Jason says.  He tears off another blue puff and chomps down with his front teeth.

By the time the game starts, Jason’s munched through more of the cotton candy than he actually wants.  The fingers-to-mouth motion is unconscious, and the more he thinks about it, the more Jason’s sure he learned it from his dad.  As he swallows a lick of blue sugar that’s starting to taste more chemical than sweet, he wonders if he’s received any positive influences from his parents.

Halfway through the first period, Michigan State scores a goal.  The crowd’s roaring on its feet, and even serially non-sporty Colby is clapping gamely.  Jason would normally be shouting encouragements and pumping his fist, but instead he digs out another napkin to wipe his nose.  It seems like no matter how much drips out, more is running down his throat.

“You still good?” Colby checks in.

“Mm,” Jason acknowledges.  He’s not, though.  His head’s starting to ache with the noise of the game.  The only things in his stomach are mucous and sugar, and it feels like they’re having a reaction something like baking soda and vinegar.  His stomach feels weirdly frothy, and there’s an almost sickening pressure behind his eyes.  Jason wraps one arm around his abdomen.

Though his eyes are tracking the players streaking up and down the ice, Jason can’t focus on the game.  The arena is borderline freezing, but he’s suddenly hot around his neck, and the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet are tingling.  He hasn’t taken a bite of cotton candy in several minutes, but he can taste it heavily on the back of his tongue.  He swallows hard and his throat burns.

There are two minutes left in the first period.  Jason wishes they hadn’t come.  Sitting there has become torture.  He desperately tries to suppress the mounting urge to gag, and the plastic cotton candy bag is sweaty in his clenched fist.  He can’t be sick.  There’s stuff to do, classes to attend. His stomach can’t be rebelling.  It’s too much to bear.  He’s in too public a place.  A half-hiccup-half burp surfaces, and Jason jams his fist to his mouth.

“Ok, this is not gonna fly.”  Colby has one hand on Jason’s back and the other under his elbow. “Come on.”

He drags Jason out of their row of seats and down a set of steps.  They emerge into the deserted hallway of the ice arena, and Colby pushes Jason’s shoulders back against the cinderblock wall.

“Alright, what’s going on?  You really don’t look good.”

“I, um, I—”  Jason’s words are lost as he lurches forward and sprays the ground with thin blue liquid.  He doesn’t even have time to breathe before his stomach heaves again.  He’s bent nearly double, dripping from his eyes, nose, and mouth.

“Ok, ok,” Colby murmurs, getting a comforting hand on Jason’s back.  From back in the arena, the buzzer goes off to signal the end of the first period and the start of the intermission.  “Fuck.” Colby spreads his arms and legs, using his lanky frame as a shield between Jason and the masses of spectators now cramming out into the hallway on their way to the concessions or the bathroom.

Jason retches a third time, but hardly anything comes up.  The rumpled plastic bag of mostly squished cotton candy falls from his limp grasp and ends up in the splatter of vomit on the floor. Jason struggles to get his breath under control, then his contracting stomach.  He feels so awful he almost doesn’t care about the scores of people around, seeing him in this most vulnerable and disgusting moment.  Almost.

“No one’s looking at you.  They’ve got other shit to do,” Colby whispers.  But it has to be a lie.

Jason’s mortified and unsteady on his feet.  “Get me the fuck out of here,” he chokes.

“Ok.  Can you walk with me?”

Jason holds his sleeve over his mouth and nods.

“Alright.  Come on.”  Colby inserts his shoulder under Jason’s, crouching slightly to make up for their height differences, and leads him through the blur of the arena.

Once they emerge into the still night, Jason ghosts his hand against the building’s concrete exterior wall.  The air, though it’s chilly, feels almost warm against the pervasive frigidity of the ice rink.

“You alright?” Colby poses.  “Well, as alright as you can be?”

Jason takes a hitching breath.  “I…I really don’t feel good.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Colby chuckles.  “Let’s get you home.”