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eventinelysplayground · 2 months ago

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Day 13 of the Ikemen Advent event hosted by @candied-boys and @queengiuliettafirstlady. Today's prompt was dreary weather and I also used the stuck on a snowstorm prompt from @writingwhimsey naughty or nice event. This story is purely chaotic funny fluff with some of my ikevamp grown children. WC approx 880.

Bribery

Last night's weather had been dreary and Faust clicked his tongue at the snowstorm whirling outside the bedroom window as Mitsuki slept on.

"This is going to be a headache. Though perhaps mildly entertaining as well."

Down the hallway in another room there was the faint sound of laughter followed shortly by a stifled shriek.

*Knock knock knock*

“Hope are you still asleep?”

“Just a minute!”

As one young man knocked, another leaned against the far wall, his hazel eyes full of mischief and a devilish smile on his face.

“Are you coming or not Hope!?”

“I'm quite sure that's why she's taking so long.”

The first young man turned to look at the other and his face quickly went from confused to understanding and he let out a disgusted sigh.

“Christian!”

The heavy door swung shut with a bang as suddenly as it had opened.

“What, did I say something to offend you?”

The young woman quickly crossed the hallway and hit Christian on the arm.

“How can you say such things as a priest brother?”

“Because he's a dirty minded sham of a priest.”

The young woman's words were punctuated by multiple hits but all Christian did was stand there and laugh.

“Hope calm down, Christian stop goading her.”

“Why?”

The replies came in unison and the other young man groaned then shrugged his shoulders before turning to leave.

“I’m going to breakfast. I can't deal with you two on an empty stomach.”

“Friedrich do you think-”

“No way Hope.”

“But-”

“Nope, if Papa finds out I know anything about any of this he'll have my head.”

“I believe you gave some of-”

Hope pinched a portion of Christians arm and twisted it causing him to pull away from her.

“You do all realize I'm a grown woman and can do whatever I please right.”

“Nope!”

“No.”

“Uggh I hate you both!”

Hope turned back around and stormed off towards her room, her long brown curls hitting Christian in the face as she left.

“Don't hate us dear sister, hate this dreary snowstorm we're-”

Christians words were drowned out by the slam of the door.

Breakfast was already well underway when Faust looked up to see his daughter entering the dining room.

“It's not like you to come down so late, Hope.”

Faust looked up at his daughter, Charles and Christians gaze followed his while Friedrich’s focused intently on his food and Vlad and Mitsuki shared a glance with each other.

“Sorry Papa I just couldn't seem to get moving this morning.”

“Are you feeling under the weather?”

“She certainly was under something.”

Christian mumbled under his voice but his siblings heard it all the same and although it was clear Hope was desperately trying not to react Friedrich shot him a look on her behalf.

“I'm fine Papa, I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I thought I'd just grab something light and go back to my room.”

Christians lips curled in a barely contained smile and he let out a faint chuckle.

“Neither did I my dear sister.”

Faust turned his attention to his son.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, some loud noises kept waking me at all hours, is that what kept you up as well sister? Our rooms are quite close together after all.”

Christian sat back in his chair with fake concern written all over his face while Hope stood there turning a deep red, whether from anger or embarrassment he wasn't sure.

“Hmm perhaps I should investigate to see where these loud noises are coming from.”

Hope's eyes shot open and Christians smile widened at their father's words.

“Johann, I'm sure it was just from the storm outside.”

“Oh?”

Mitsuki nodded her head as she placed her hand on top of his.

“Besides Docteur you promised to help me with some research this morning.”

“I can manage both.”

“I thought after you finished with Charles you wanted me to help you with some of your experiments?”

“Checking on the source of the noises shouldn't take long, we'll still have ample time for the experiments.”

“Oh but-”

“Don't worry Faust I'll check on the source of the noises for you.”

“You will?”

“Of course I will Hope, I have nothing else to do this morning.”

Vlad's smile said he would have no argument. Not long after Hope had retreated back to her room there was a knock on the door.

“It's me Hope.”

Hope opened the door to see a sweetly smiling Vlad but she wasn't fooled.

“I know you can sense his presence, so what do you want you old goat.”

Vlad let out a laugh.

“You're so much like your father sometimes.”

Hope just stared at Vlad waiting for his answer.

“I want…all the strawberries from your first harvest this year, from every plant.”

“Every plant!?”

Vlad's smile widened and he nodded. After a moment Hope clicked her tongue then sighed.

“Fine, you can have my first harvest from every plant this year.”

“Excellent! I'll take care of everything then just enjoy your day, oh and say hello to Comte for me when you return to the mansion.”

Vlad had turned his attention from Hope to a certain spot behind her door for those last words then he took off down the hallway humming merrily to himself and daydreaming about all the delicious strawberries he would have come summer.

Tag List: @fang-and-feather @floydsteeth @nani-nani-nani @nightghoul381

#ikemenadvent #whimsey naughty or nice #ikemen vampire #ikemen vampire faust #ikemen vampire vlad #ikemen vampire fanfic #ikevamp faust #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp oc

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maddiesbookshelves · 1 year ago

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Le Patient, by Timothé Le Boucher

The police arrests a young girl wandering the streets covered in blood and holding a knife. When they go to her house, they discover the dreadful scene of a massacre: her whole family has been murdered... Six years later, Pierre Grimaud, the sole survivor of the "Corneilles street massacre" wakes up from a deep coma. The 15 year-old teenager that he was at the time is now a young man aged 21. Disoriented, still paralized and suffuring from partial amnesia, he is put under the care of doctor Anna Kieffer, a psychologist who specialises in criminology and victimology. During their sessions, Anna tries to help Pierre remember the circumstances that led to the tragedy despite his memory loss. Pierre mentions a mysterious "man in black" haunting his dreams, a possible trauma response. After several sessions, Anna finds Pierre to be sensitive and intelligent. Moved by his story, she even starts taking a liking to him. With time, they develop a real sense of complicity. Anna can't imagine how this patient will forever change her life...

Would I recommend it to anyone? Like all of Timothé Le Boucher's work, you've got to look up potential trigger warnings (you can always ask me by the way, I'll answer as best I can), but otherwise yeah, I'd definitely recommend it. Well, you've got to appreciate mind games, mysteries and horror but yeah

Level of (dis)satisfaction based on the summary and my expectations? I thought Le Patient had come out before Ces Jours qui Disparaissent so I thought Le Boucher's art and the overall plot would be between this and Dans les vestiaires. Turns out I was wrong, it came out after and it's even better, so I was pleasantly surprised

My thoughts on it? All of Thimoté Le Boucher's preferred themes are back, aka time, identity and memory. His characters are always complex and intriguing, and his way of telling a story by turning it on its head always impresses me. I want to read 47 Cordes so bad, but the end isn't out yet so I'm gonna wait, otherwise I'm going to suffer

French version under the cut

La police arrête une jeune fille errant dans la rue, couverte de sang, un couteau à la main. En se rendant chez elle, les agents découvrent avec effroi une scène de massacre : toute sa famille a été assassinée... 6 ans plus tard, Pierre Grimaud, l’unique survivant du « massacre de la rue des Corneilles », se réveille d’un profond coma. L’adolescent de 15 ans qu’il était au moment des faits est aujourd’hui un jeune homme de 21 ans. Désorienté, encore paralysé et souffrant d’amnésie partielle, il est pris en charge par le docteur Anna Kieffer, psychologue spécialisée sur les questions de criminologie et de victimologie. Pendant leurs séances, Anna tente de l’amener à se souvenir des circonstances du drame, malgré ses pertes de mémoire. Pierre lui évoque la présence mystérieuse d’un « homme en noir » qui hante ses rêves, probable réponse inconsciente à son traumatisme. Après plusieurs rendez-vous, Anna découvre en Pierre un être sensible et très intelligent. Touchée par son histoire, elle se met même à le prendre en affection. Petit à petit, une véritable complicité s’installe entre eux. Anna n’imagine pas à quel point ce patient va changer sa vie…

Est-ce que tu le conseillerais à quelqu’un ? Comme les autres Timothé Le Boucher, il faut se renseigner sur les TW potentiels mais sinon carrément. Après faut aimer les jeux mentaux, les mystères et l’horreur

Niveau de déception/satisfaction par rapport au résumé et tes attentes ? Je pensais que Ces jours qui disparaissent était sorti en dernier, du coup je pensais que Le Patient serait entre ça et Dans les vestiaires niveau dessins et histoire, mais en fait Le Patient est sorti en troisième. Du coup j’ai été très agréablement surprise

Avis sans spoiler ? On retrouve les thèmes de prédilection de Timothé Le Boucher, soit le temps, l’identité et la mémoire. Ses personnages sont toujours complexes et intrigants et sa manière de raconter l’histoire en la retournant sur elle-même m’impressionnent toujours. J’ai énormément envie de lire 47 Cordes mais pour l’instant la fin n'est pas encore sortie alors je vais attendre parce que je sais que je vais souffrir

#timothé le boucher #le patient #roman graphique #graphic novels #books #booklr #booklr community #book recs #book recommendations #book reviews #french #french books #french authors

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fatedevour · 2 years ago

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♢ — @bogachs said: "you've significantly improved since the last time we've done this. i'm impressed, docteur. perhaps i'll make a gentleman of you yet." them slow dancing 🥺

UNPROMPTED ASKS: ALWAYS ACCEPTING!

Any GENUINE compliment from the sharp tongued Regrator was a rarity that might rival any of the absurd priceless artifacts he horded in his chambers like a dragon on its horde. Perhaps Dottore should value it more. But of course, he does not. There is quantitative data to support Pantalone’s statement, so the comment is nothing but a mere fact that has been vocalized. It is as cold as the steel of his labs and the metal of his machines.

The truth of the matter was such: Dottore had always been far more attentive of the instruction that he displayed or acknowledged when Pantalone gave it. If he gave too much, Pantalone would nag incessantly, latching onto his progress and demanding more. Decidedly NOT acting eventually led to irritation - but he wasn’t nagged about it at least. Tonight puts forth more of the TRUTH. That he has LEARNED because he is who he is, and inevitably he learns. Mainly only what interests him. ( So why then has he learned something as mundane as this? He will not answer or acknowledge that thought. Merely hums an acknowledgement of Pantalone’s comment on his improvement. )

“ Don’t get ahead of yourself, Pantalone. “ Dottore answers, a rumble of his deep voice from his chest breaking the silence he’s held until now. But for now he entertains Pantalone’s silly delights with perfect timing and slow but calculated steps and sways to the slow music that wraps around them like ivy around ancient trees.

“ I think I’ll leave all the gentleman and proper etiquette trivia and details to you. “ He had no such desire for learning it, even if he knew Pantalone would inevitably lecture him on matters sooner or later. Probably sooner if they went out to ear at one of those pompous restaurants he so favored. Only for image, as far as Dottore can tell, which makes no sense to his logic. Why go out at all in that case? But Pantalone will just spout some garbage if he asks. He’d made that mistake once before and gotten a headache after.

Dottore wraps a hand around Pantalone’s back, leading him into the slow dip at the next section of the song, and only then flashes a grin that screams of danger and barely contained madness that blends with brilliance. “ Besides, you don’t like me for all that nonsense, or we wouldn’t be here. “ he adds, matter of fact and without hesitation. If Pantalone wanted someone as dull as that, he could have his pick of nearly anyone. But they weren’t the ones that got to kiss him, or see the ugly he hid under this pretty porcelain mask, they only tasted poisoned honey and thought they were being pampered.

The Second Harbinger leans closer, teasingly close yet achingly far away. “ That, my dear regrator, you can only entertain yourself with in your dreams. But the waking world is far more entertaining, don’t you think? “ He poses the question before he’s gently bringing Pantalone back up and flowing into the next part of the song - without falter like he had the last time.

#bogachs #bet you weren't expecting this were you :)#sURPRISE #here you go ~ !#♢ — ❛ he whom ushers in your darkest hour ❜ ( ic )#♢ — ❛ science is the only thing worth my time ❜ ( main verse )#♢ — ❛ lips stained in the violence of love ❜ ( bogachs | pantalone )#♢ — ❛ experiments take time to be completed ❜ ( queue )

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bdslab · 4 years ago

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#docteur poche series #il est minuit docteur poche #docteur poche #johnny really decided he should wake up a man by sending them on the haunted house ride on loop #while a crowd of people apparently gathered to watch

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klutzyroses · 3 years ago

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I've been looking for more headcanons about ikevam for so long now (yes, I read almost everything out there😂), anyway I'm so glad I found your account, your writing is great and accurate with every character🥰, so about the last request of the short MC, could you do it for Vlad, Charles and Faust, please? I'm obsessed with them

Aw, thank you and welcome!💖 I get you, I feel like I've read everything too!👀

IkeVamp HCs: Short S/o with long hair

(The short s/o headcanons but with Team Vlad)

Suitors: Vlad, Faust, Charles

Vlad

When he first looked upon you, he felt an instant need to get to know you.

You seemed so marvelous to him, so little, delicate and beautiful. He almost thought you a little water sprite, you were just that enchanting to him.

He would peer down at you with so much love, deciding then and there that he would make the world a better place for you, so that you would only know beauty, safety and security.

He would do anything to make your life easier. Be it lowering things to your level or simply lifting you to reach them yourself. Anything you need.

He would be absolutely obsessed with your beautiful hair. He'd often run his fingers absently through it when lost in thought, contemplating the color and thickness of it.

He would occasionally weave some of the flowers in his care into those flowing tresses, within lovely braids and plaits until you resemble a flowery princess from a mystical faraway land. Just the way he sees you.

Should you feel insecure about your height, he will shake his head fondly and tenderly stroke your hair as he cradles you to his chest.

"My little flower, I made a vow to make this world into a beautiful one...but my world is a very small, but perfect and lovely one. If only the rest of the world was like mine..."

Faust

He was instantly intrigued by you for the moment he saw you. Such a tiny, interesting woman.

He needed to know more. Why are you so small? He is curious.

He will often watch you struggle to reach things in high places, and he would do nothing at first, just to see if you reach your target. When he sees you get frustrated and opt to start climbing things, that's when he shakes his head and simply gets it for you.

He is a very tall man, so your small stature makes you seem like quite the pair, especially since he was so intimidating and you, in comparison were so sweet and cute.

He would often play with your hair idly, surprising you by lifting a lock of the smooth silk in his hand and watching it trail off his fingers slowly. He finds it soothing to do so. He would also instruct you to keep it tied when you are up and about, for your own convenience and safety.

If you feel insecure about your height, he will shoot you the most unimpressed look you have ever seen, ceasing his reading momentarily to twirl a lock of your hair around his finger.

"There is no use lamenting what cannot be changed. Don't think such things."

Charles

Your tiny stature immediately drew him to you. He just couldn't believe a girl so sweet as you even existed.

He wouldn't be able to leave you alone for even a moment, he is completely captivated by you and can't get enough of you.

He just loves hugging you, to feel your petite body in his arms is the best feeling he could possibly think of. He also adores lifting you on his shoulders or piggybacking you around Paris. You feel so light, so easily to lift, no effort is needed on his part, which makes reaching things on higher places easier and more fun.

He is just as in love with your hair as he is with the rest of you. It's so long and silky and shiny, he could almost spend all day looking at it, especially when it's loose and blowing delicately in the breeze.

Brushing your hair becomes one of his self-assigned morning duties, right after brushing le Voivode's and waking le Docteur. You have to be last, simply because once he gets ahold of those gorgeous locks, he cannot part with them for at least an hour.

If he finds you are feeling insecure about being so small, he will wrap you up in his arms in the warmest, most adoring hug he can muster, kissing the top of your head over and over.

"Non, non, ma princesse! I love your tinyness! You're so cute and adorable, I don't want you to change one bit!"

🌸

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire headcanons #ikemen vampire scenarios #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp faust #ikevamp charles

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kuruchyo · 2 years ago

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(MC x Friend)

-Fanfic conteste

-the oc of Friend belong to @stnaf-vn

TW: Depression/Sucide

You woke up in a place...A very strange one, everything was white you couldn’t hear, feel, smell, or taste anything for some reason. But somehow it didn’t bothers you or scares you, In fact this deep silence soothe you. How ever you still had this feeling who was telling you to get out of here as soon as possible, but of course you ignored it...You needed time to think straight about everything that happened lately in your life...Everything was so fucked up that tears started to rolled down your cheeks.

-« I want to see Friend » was what u had in mind

All of the sudden you heard a creak of a door opening , followed by a voice that sounded familiar and that you recognised immediately .

-« Helloooo Sweethearth ! »

Of course it was him...Who else could it be ?If he was far and screamed your name so you could hear him, you would recognized his call despite the distance that would stifles his voice. However you couldn’t see Friend anywere, neither the door you heard creaking.

-« Am I going crazy ? »

because of all the shitty things that happened to you ,you believed that you lost your mind since you couldn’t se Friend anywhere around you . But you heard his warm voice another time and this idea had been put aside.

-« How you doing today dear ?... »

For some reason this question made you tear up and you started to cry even more...No, nothing was okay , that’s what you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him everything that weighed on your heart and you kept asking yourself , why ? , why didn’t you told Friend earlier about it ? Why were you being a scaredy cat even though you knew each other since forever…

All of the souden you felt a warm and pleasant touch on your hand like someone was holding it, excepte there was no one here. You couldn’t see it but it was your childhood friend who was holding one of your hand titly

-« When are you going to wake up sleepyhead ?… »

His voice cracked at the moment he finished his sentence

-« What are you talking about ? I’m awake !...But you where are you ? I can’t see you anywhere… »

Nothing make sence right now, and to be honest that’s when you started to get a little bit scared...You also noticed that you couldn’t remember anything, everything was so blurry…

-« What time is it ? What day are we ? What happened yesterday and even before that ? And most importantly...Where am I ?… »

-« How ever...Happy birthday Sweetheart !...I...I bringed something for you...It’s not much but I hope you will be able to recognize it... »

-« it’s...my birthday huh ?... »

you could smell it , and recognise right away what it was, it was your favorit flowers, but why flowers on your birthday ? Knowing Friend he would of bring you something bigger even if you didn’t ask for it...Now that you think of it you always felt a little bit bad everytime he was buying yous something you wanted, cause you couldn’t always give him back the favor. The way he was spoiling you was cute and funny, but sometimes you wished you could do as much as he had done for you.

-« Sweatheart...The...The doctors said that your case was stagnating… »

it’s at this moment that he cracked and started to sob, you could barely understand what he was saying next :

-« Please...please, please, plesa..d-don’t leave me behind...n-not like this... »

D-Docteurs ? Were you in a hospital? Is your case that serious ? What happened to you?And it clicked...That day...That day where it was the straw that broke the camel’s back...You remember taking alot of those pills in just one sip...How much did you took of them ? 6 ? 8 ? or maybe more ?…

-« Wait... »

« A-am I...I-in a coma ? »

That would explain why you couldn’t see Friend ,why you could just hear his voice and feel his touch or smell the flowers he brought for you...But to be honest you couldn’t believe it , you couldn’t believe that you’ve been such a selfish person for leaving everything behind like that ...u were thinking just about yourself when you did the blameless…

-« Gosh...It’s been 6 months...And I fell like it’s been years that I haven’t hear your voice...I’am so so sorry...If only I’ve came in time...I-If only I asked you earlier if you were feeling okey...Because YES !...I noticed it but I didn’t asked...I was thinking of doing it when you would be at your home so I could come and we could of talk about it calmly...But it was too late...And right now...I’m about to lose you for the 2nd time…except for this time there may be no turning back »

If only you could see him, he looked so miserable. His haire were greasy, he probably didn’t took a shower for a month or 2 or didn’t even brush his teeth. His eyes were extremly red as if he cryed even before visiting you on your hospital bed, or maybe was he taking again those things he use to take alot in highschool ? What ever it was neither of those answers were good to hear...and to finish this sad protraite, the poor young man had dark circles, and those were worst then the one he used to already have.

No...You couldn’t handle this..nothing was his fault...It was yours, your fault to be a scaredy cat for not telling anything to him, for thinking only about yourself ,for being this weak, for not thinking about the huge impacts it could have on him and even on your family...You wanted to wake up...You wanted to hug Friend and cry in his arms telling him that nothing was his fault and that he shouldn’t blame himself for what happened to you...You just wanted to see him one last time if those days were the last one...Just so he can live maybe piecefully whitout this burden…

« I want to go home... »

(ps: it was my first fanfic, so sorry if it's not very good! and I also apologize if I did some grammar mistakes or if there is sentences that doesn't make sance! )

#stnafgame #friend stnaf #fanfic #contest

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lu-undy · 4 years ago

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Chapter 49 - SBT

Here it is!

"Docteur? Docteur, please!"

[Doctor? Doctor, please!]

It was past midnight and it took the medical expert about a minute to wake up from his slumber and realise that someone was shouting his name in the street. He slipped a gown on and thurtled down his stairs to the door. Of course, he had recognised the French accent.

"L? Oh! That stench!" The Doctor fanned the air in front of his nose with his hand.

"It's M, he has been drugged and beaten up."

"Is he breathing?"

"Oui, he is just unconscious."

"Come in, go straight to the bathroom, we'll make him take a bath first then."

Lucien was carrying his unconscious friend and followed the doctor until he put Mundy's body in the bathtub.

"Start undressing him and throw his clothes in this bin bag here... I need to get a change." The Doctor said and left Lucien alone.

The Frenchman sighed and threw his black jacket away before getting to work. He undid his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt after he threw his gloves away. Then, he started with Mundy's brown sleeveless jacket.

"Mundy… Pourquoi tu as fait ça? Ils allaient te tuer, imbécile! Et puis on avait promis de le faire ensemble… Arh, j'imagine que j'ai brisé ma promesse en te disant que j'allais tuer Duchemin seul, donc tu ne fais que me rendre la pareille… Hm."

[Mundy… Why did you do all that? They were going to kill you, imbecile! And we had both promised to do it together… Ugh, I guess I broke my promise when I told you that I would kill Duchemin alone, so you were only doing the same to me… Hm.]

Lucien removed the red, washed out polo shirt off of Mundy and looked down at his shoes. He removed the old, worn out boots and mismatched socks. His eyes then moved to the brown trousers. He gulped down hard and opened the zipper before pulling each leg swiftly. Now Mundy was laying in the bathtub with nothing on but his underwear.

Lucien wouldn't remove them. Instead, he took the shower head and started the water. It took a few seconds before getting it warm. He rinsed Mundy's body quickly to get rid of any stains of mud or dirt.

He then took one of the washcloths hung on the wall and started scrubbing the Aussie's skin with some shower gel.

"Je ne sais pas à quoi tu pensais… Est-ce que seulement tu te rends compte de ce que tu as fait…?"

[What even were you thinking…? Do you even realise what you have done…?]

Lucien rinsed the first round of shower gel off and went for round two. The Doctor was behind the door and hearing Lucien talk to Mundy, he preferred giving them a moment alone. Lucien's eyes and hands went everywhere on Mundy's skin. He felt the tense muscles in his arms, the soft layer of fat on his stomach. But on the skin everywhere, Lucien could see the bruises, patches of red and even bluish, here and there. Mundy had got a pretty good beating and the Frenchman knew that he could defend himself.

Ah.

That surely must have happened as Mundy was chained or at least restrained. Lucien looked at his wrists, he could see the red marks that rope binding would leave. He raised his eyes to the unconscious man.

"Ils t'auraient tué, Mundy. Si je ne t'avais pas suivi, ils t'auraient tué…! Pourquoi tu as fait ça? Pourquoi? Est-ce que c'est de ma faute? Est-ce que j'ai dit ou fait quelque chose que je n'aurai pas du?"

[They would have killed you, Mundy. If I hadn't come to your rescue, they would have killed you…! Why did you do that? Why? Is it my fault? Did I say or do something that I shouldn't have?]

And of course Lucien knew that it was his fault. He imagined so. Mundy must have felt that nothing and no one held him back to this rock of a planet, and so he decided to take his leave, taking Duchemin with him…

Lucien bit his lip. He felt atrociously guilty. The unconscious man he was washing the face of now had gone to his death all that for what…? God only knew, but Lucien was convinced he had something to do with it all.

He rinsed off the second round of shower gel and took the shampoo. He spread some in his palms and applied it on Mundy's long hair. He didn't realise it as he was deep in thought, but Lucien was kneading the Aussie's scalp slowly, his fingers sliding between the long locks of dark brown. He took his time as if he was in slow motion, but that was only because his brain was thinking fast.

If Lucien hadn't found Mundy early enough, he would have been washing a corpse's head.

The realisation hit him like a punch in the throat and Lucien screwed his eyes shut.

"Merde… Merde…"

[Shit… Shit…]

He was breathing fast in shock. Of what? Of the thought that he indirectly had sent Mundy to die and that if Maurice hadn't told him anything, the Aussie wouldn't just be unconscious…

"Je te demande pardon… Je ne suis qu'un vieux con qui ne pense qu'à sa gueule… Pardon…"

[I beg you to forgive me… I am nothing but an old idiot who only thinks about his own fucking self… I am so sorry…]

Lucien, who was kneeling next to the bathtub, pulled Mundy's head and hugged him.

"Pardon… Pardon, j'ai failli te tuer avec mes conneries… J'ai failli te perdre avec mes mensonges…"

[Sorry… Sorry, I nearly had you killed with my nonsense… I nearly lost you with my lies…]

He clawed in his wet hair and his head strongly as he was whispering in his ear.

"Je te promets que je ne voulais rien de tout ça. Je voulais t'épargner, je voulais te sauver. Je voulais y aller à ta place. Je sais que tu veux tuer Duchemin toi-même, mais tu n'y arriveras pas sans te faire tuer."

[I swear that I didn't want for any of this to happen. I wanted to spare you, I wanted to save you. I wanted to go in your stead. I know that you want to kill Duchemin yourself, but you won't manage it without getting killed.]

Lucien's lips were right next to Mundy's ear. They were so close to him that he could feel the warmth softly radiating from his body.

"S'il te plaît… S'il te plaît, quand tu te réveilleras, pardonne-moi, je t'en supplie…"

[Please… Please, when you wake up, forgive me, I beg you…]

Lucien squeezed the Aussie tighter before looking at his face, resting against his shoulder. He was still unconscious and a bit pale. Lucien rinsed his hair off, paying attention that no shampoo would drip to his eyes.

He sighed, thinking again about Mundy's willingness to go and get killed instead of him.

"Je suis désolé…"

[I am sorry…]

Lucien stopped the water from running. The smell in the bathroom had turned from an abominable stench to vanilla, the shower gel's scent. The Frenchman put his wet hand on the Aussie's cheek and let his thumb brush it slowly.

"Je ne mérite pas un homme comme toi."

[I don't deserve a man like you.]

He rested his head on his arm, on the edge of the bathtub, and stared at Mundy, covered in bruises and sleeping. He pushed his long hair behind his ears and continued stroking his face slowly, while cupping his cheek in one hand.

"Let me see what we have here…" The Doctor entered the bathroom and had to pause for a moment. Lucien's posture did surprise him, but the Frenchman didn't move. "Well the smell is much better for starters. You can leave him with me and take a break if you want."

Lucien turned his head and looked up.

"Are you sure? You don't need any help to carry him?" He asked.

"Nah, don't worry." The Doctor picked up Lucien's black jacket and matching gloves and put them on a table in the entrance hall of the house. Lucien had followed him. "I'll deal with him now, I'm used to it. Go and get some fresh air, you look like you need it."

Lucien nodded and the Doctor headed back to the bathroom.

"Docteur?"

[Doctor?]

The beggar stopped and turned to Lucien.

"Yes?"

"May I stay with him for the night?"

The Doctor smiled.

"Sure. Just let me deal with him."

"But of course, many thanks."

Lucien took his cigarette case and lighter in his jacket pocket and went outside. He sat right behind the front door, on the few steps there and lit a cigarette.

The night was deadly dark and equally quiet.

Lucien yanked off his balaclava, his hair following in a mess, and rubbed his eyes.

"Huh?"

Only now did he realise that his vest and shirt were wet and some foam from the shampoo had stuck to him when he had hugged Mundy.

He didn't mind the cool sensation of the night breeze on his wet clothes. Nothing compared to the guilt that weighed on him now and his only response to that crushing pressure was to suck harder on his cigarette…

Lucien carded his hair back and stared at the buildings of the poor neighbourhood. Old houses in decay, eaten by wild vines and other climbing plants. The wind rustled between their leaves like the whispers of ghosts.

Only the cigarette end lit up a spot of orange in the deep and dark blue night.

The door opened and Lucien turned to look up.

"You may come back in." The Doctor said and the Frenchman crushed his cigarette before obliging.

He followed the old man to the room him and Mundy had been in the first time they had quarrelled.

"I take it that you weren't the one responsible for his bruises this time?" The Doctor asked.

"Non… I found him chained like a prisoner to a wall. He was conscious although slightly delirious, as if he was drunk, and then he passed out as we tried to flee the scene."

"Hm, I see."

"Will he wake up fine?" Lucien asked.

"Yes, he will. He should wake up tomorrow with a headache on top of the pain caused by his bruises, but not much more. I gave him something that will help his body eliminate the drug."

"Merci Dieu…" Lucien whispered and sighed in relief.

[Thank God…]

"You may stay here as long as you don't bother the patient…"

Lucien looked at the Doctor with intense eyes.

"... But I know you won't. Good night."

"Many thanks. Good night to you too."

The Doctor shut the door after him and Lucien looked down at Mundy's body lying down on the bed, under the duvet and wearing a white medical robe. He sat on the edge of the bed, at Mundy's side and put his hand on his forehead.

"Hm." He couldn't really see anything, the room was so dark. Lucien remembered that there was a night lamp. He groped for the switch that he soon found and flipped it.

Lucien then devoted all his time and his attention to the Aussie. He pushed the locks of hair that were a bit too close to Mundy's face and let his fingers cup his cheek, his thumb brushing it slowly.

"Mon Dieu… Je n'ai jamais voulu que te protéger. Ça me paraît tellement fou qu'un homme comme toi puisse être mêlé à autant de bêtise. Tu es doux, inoffensif et attentionné. Tu n'as rien à faire avec les gens comme Duchemin et moi. Nous, on est des vauriens. On force le respect à travers les vies qu'on vole. En fin de compte, Duchemin n'est pas si différent de moi."

[My God… I never wanted anything but to protect you. It seems so strange that a man like you ends up involved in all this nonsense. You are soft, inoffensive and caring. You have nothing to do with people like Duchemin and me. Him and I, we are good-for-nothings, rascals. We force people to respect us through the lives that we steal. In the end, Duchemin and I aren't so different.]

Lucien slid his fingers through Mundy's hair and brushed it lazily, feeling his silky locks flow in between his fingers. Gosh, it was so soft…

"Demain, quand tu te réveilleras, tu m'en voudras. Tu me haïras, te me détesteras non seulement parce que tu m'aimes, mais parce que je t'ai empêché de faire ce que tu voulais."

[Tomorrow when you wake up, you will be cross with me. You will hate me and detest me not only because you love me, but because I was the one to prevent you from doing what you wanted.]

Lucien sighed. He looked around him and saw the clock striking three in the morning. He hopped off of Mundy's bed and opened the curtain that stood between his bed and the Aussie's. The Frenchman removed his vest and his shoes. He took off his socks and garters, his utility belt and he opened his shirt completely before removing it, staying only in a white tanktop. The watch was the last one to go to the table and after all that, Lucien pushed his bed next to Mundy's. When they were flush next to each other, the Frenchman lied in his bed, bringing his pillow as close as he could to Mundy's without encroaching on his personal space.

Lucien lied on his side, staring at Mundy sleeping.

"Si seulement j'étais quelqu'un de brave. Si j'étais quelqu'un de courageux, je te dirais que l'homme qui habite mon cœur c'est toi. Si j'avais l'espoir de vivre encore quelques années, je passerais mon temps à tes côtés sans compter les jours qui fuient. S'il y a quelqu'un à qui je pardonnerais de détruire mon coeur, c'est toi."

[If only I was brave. If I was courageous, I would tell you that the man who lives rent free in my heart is you. If I had any hope to live another few years, I would spend my time at your side, without counting the fleeting days. If there was someone whom I would forgive if they destroyed my heart, it would be you.]

Lucien's hand slid on the bed and found Mundy's. He slid his fingers through the Aussie's and brushed it slowly.

"Mais je n'ai plus de temps à vivre, ni à aimer. Je n'ai plus rien et je ne suis plus rien, ni un espion, ni un père, ni un époux, et encore moins un homme."

[But I don't have any more time to live, or to love. I don't have anything anymore and I am nothing at all: neither a spy, nor a father, or a husband, and not even a man.]

Lucien looked up, trying to hold back the waters of his shame that he felt were burning his eyes.

"Je ne suis rien qu'un costume sur mesure, un masque et une pile de mensonges."

[I am nothing but a tailor-made suit, a mask and a pile of lies.]

He sniffed. His nose burnt and his throat felt like it had just been punched.

"Je ne suis pas l'homme beau que tes yeux croient voir. Je ne suis pas le chanteur sensible que tes oreilles croient entendre. Ce ne sont que des masques et des costumes. Je ne sais pas qui je suis, ni ce que je suis."

[I am not the handsome man that your eyes believe they see. I am not the sensitive singer that your ears believe they hear. They are but disguises and masks. I don't know who I am, or what I am.]

That sentence made the first tear brave enough to roll down the Frenchman's cheek.

"Je suis une erreur, un monstre, un pantin que l'on déguise à sa guise pour aller faire le travail que personne d'autre ne peut faire, parce que personne d'autre n'est aussi inhumain… que moi."

[I am a mistake, a monster, a puppet that they disguise at their will to go and do the job that no one else can, because no one else is as inhumane… as me.]

His breath broke out of sync. That was it. He took a moment to let the waters flow and the hot sensation fill his entire face, his red eyes, his running nose, and the shame everywhere. He squeezed Mundy's hand as he cried.

"Je suis désolé… Je ne peux pas t'aimer en retour, je ne peux t'offrir aucun bonheur et surtout pas celui que tu mérites, parce que même si je me laissais t'aimer, alors quand je mourrai, je te laisserai seul et le cœur brisé. Je sais ce que ça fait de rester vivant quand sa chère et tendre est partie pour toujours. Je sais l'enfer que c'est et je ne veux surtout pas te faire vivre ça."

[I am sorry… I cannot love you in return, I can offer you no happiness and not the one that you deserve, because even if I let myself love you, then when I die, I will leave you alone and heartbroken. I know what it feels like to stay alive when the person you love with every fibre of your body is gone. I know that it is hell to live through and I absolutely do not want to put you through any of this.]

Lucien pulled Mundy's hand and his entire forearm. He held it under his chin, like a child would their teddy bear.

"Je t'aime trop pour te faire ça."

[I love you too much to do that to you.]

He lowered his head, stuck Mundy's hand to his chest and let himself sob while no one was there to see. In a flash, he wished Perle was there and hoped she was alright. But his mind was overwhelmed right now and as much as his vision was blurred by the tears, his mind was blurred by the guilt, the remorse, and his heart was torn apart in his ribcage as if Mundy had decided to leave him; because in essence that's what Lucien was saying. He loved the Aussie like he never loved any man before, that wasn't the issue, non. The problem was that all would soon end, somehow, and so he didn't have the time to offer Mundy what his heart burnt for.

-- Next morning --

When Lucien opened his eyes, it took him a few seconds to remember where he was and why he was there. But seeing Mundy sleeping next to him was both the best sight in the world, and one he wished he never saw.

While of course he loved the feeling of waking up next to the person he loved, Lucien anticipated the heartbreak it would be to leave him.

The Frenchman sat up on the bed and rubbed his eyes as he yawned. The night had been short. But he wanted and needed to look after Mundy so going back to sleep was out of the question.

Lucien put on his black shirt again without closing it and went to the bathroom right next to their room. He splashed water on his face and carded his hair back. The grey front tuft fell on his forehead as always.

He came back to the bedroom and grabbed his cigarette pack and lighter. He opened the window and started smoking at the windowsill. The noises of the city woke him up with the fresh air. Cars passing by, children shouting as they played in the distance, dogs barking.

"No smokin' here, you mongrel."

Lucien's eyes popped wide and he turned his back. Mundy had opened his eyes and was looking over to him.

"You are awake?"

"Nah, it's my bloody ghost speaking to you from the afterlife…"

"Don't say that."

Lucien crushed his cigarette and closed the window. He came back on the bed that he had stuck next to Mundy's. He sat cross-legged and took Mundy's hand in both of his.

"How do you feel?" Lucien asked.

"Head's hurtin' like hell… What happened? Did I get Duchemin?"

Lucien shook his head.

"Non. He nearly killed you as a matter of fact."

"Bugger… I'll get him next time…"

"Non, Mundy."

"What?"

"Non." Lucien repeated.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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terresdebrumestories · 4 years ago

Text

Nile Week - Day 2: Sadness

Did I randomly make this part of the Bâtardverse and also kiiiiiind of a sequel to the previous snippet? Yes.

Do you need to know anything about the Bâtardverse to get it? Nothing beyond the fact that Bâtard is Booker's pet tortoise whom he crochets outfits for.

Do I regret posting this without a read more again? Yes, but less than I'd regret not posting it. I will edit if Tumblr allows.

----

The strawberry rolls to a stop against Nile's white-socked foot, followed by the slow patter of tortoise feet crossing the living room--or whatever passes for it in the semi-dump they're occupying for the night. She sniffs and wipes at her eyes, curling up tighter on herself, a part of her ready to snap that she doesn't want company right now. A few minutes pass, however, without any indication of Booker following his pet, and so Nile looks down only to snort in involuntary laughter.

Bâtard's outfit of the day is a crocheted white coat complete with additional stethoscope and a thin wire poking out at the top of its shell, a clothespin-like end holding a ragged piece of paper up for Nile's perusal. She picks it up, taking a moment to appreciate the clean loops of Booker's stick-enforced penmanship, and reads: "Docteur Bâtard, professional listener" and then, in smaller but just as elegant cursive "10/10, would recommend - M. Booker" chuckling as she turns the paper around. This one has Booker's casual handwriting on it--still much more legible than average but not so obviously meant for a fountain pen--and reads "Consultation fees are one strawberry per session, first one on me."

By Nile's feet, the tortoise is chomping away at the fruit, delight much easier to read on its face than she would ever have imagined before meeting it. She looks at it for a moment, eyes still burning but not quite crying anymore, and then figures she might as well.

"I miss my mom," she tells Bâtard. "It's her sixty-fifth birthday today, and I can't even call her, let alone be with her!"

It feels stupid, in a way, to be sad for this. She can and will call her mother tomorrow, first thing in the morning--fournyears ago she wouldn't even have had that because her mother and brother thought she was dead. Now she's still forced to stay estranged, but there's the internet. It's a better deal than she thought she'd have, much better than anything Booker predicted!

But it's her mother's birthday--her mother who's growing old and greying at the temples, her mother who will not be there forever and whom Nile can't see nearly half as much as she would like to. Sometimes that fact hits her hard enough to split her heart in half, make her want to book the next flight to Chicago so she can sneak into her brother's room and tickle him awake before they go make their mom breakfast in bed.

"I want to be there so bad," Nile tells Bâtard. "The others, they're great but it's not--it isn't the same and I want--I want my mom."

She sniffs, unable to hold the tears at bay any longer, and rests her forehead on her knees even as the tip of her finger finds Bâtard's head, stroking lightly as the little beast keeps eating, pushing back at her finger with every chomp. She sobs for a long time, alone in the kitchen of their latest safehouse, until she finds her voice again and whispers:

"I don't want to not be there when she goes. I don't want to find out from my brother, and then find out about his death from his wife or his kids who'll think--I don't even know who they'll think I am! I don't want to be a ghost in their lives! I wish I'd never listened to Booker!"

She knocks on the ground with her heel, once, and sobs until she coughs with it. Then she wipes her eyes and face dry, or as much as she can given that she's got no tissue with her, and grabs a piece of lettuce from the fridge for Bâtard. She goes back to her previous spot on the floor, mindful of the fact that it's nearly two AM and at least two, possibly three of the others are asleep.

"That wasn't fair," she tells the tortoise. "He couldn't have known. And he was trying to help. And it's not like I won't lose them eventually anyway it's just...well. It's hard. There's a reason for this, somewhere, I'm sure, but I can't see it and it's... It's hard."

Nile sniffs again, marginally lighter than she felt a few minutes ago. She still misses her mother something fierce, but it feels easier to bear now, at least. With a small smile, she rummages for a pen and, smoothing the little note on the table, adds under Booker's fake review: "Best therapy tortoise I've ever consulted! - N. Freeman". She's about to set the tortoise back on its way to Booker's room when, seized with inspiration, she snaps a picture of him and send it to her mother.

"I was sad I couldn't see you for your birthday so I got professional help" she writes in the caption. Only then does she release Bâtard to his rightful owner, smiling when she hears Booker laugh--muffled but distinct--at her note.

The best part, though, is waking up to an email from her mother that contains nothing more than a picture of a heart-shaped strawberry.

#Nile Freeman #e: nile week #tog fic #the old guard #s: the Bâtardverse #Bâtard the Tortoise

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thetriggeredhappy · 5 years ago

Note

hello! do you take sniperspy requests? if it's okay with you can i ask for something soft between them? not romantic or sexual but i mean Soft™ and intimate moment maybe some kind of inside joke they only understand idk. thank you!

me, speaking into the mic, my mouth exactly zero millimeters away from it: what if spy and sniper..... were best friends

my girlfriend from the back of the auditorium: (absolutely apeshit bananas applause)

Spy sauntered out the door and into the shade of the base, pointedly moving to stand more comfortably even as he kept an amount of distance between himself and the wall for the sake of his far-too-expensive suit. He took a cigarette from his case without needing to look, lit it in one smooth motion, took a puff, and exhaled. Then, and only then, did he turn his head to acknowledge Sniper, lounging against the wall a few feet away.

“Your fifth smoke break of the day, mon ami,” he observed neutrally. “I can’t help but wonder if something might be bothering you.”

Sniper didn’t reply verbally, but there was a muscle in his shoulders that went lax when Spy finally spoke. He took a drag of his own cigarette.

It was something that the team had commented on, once or twice. The fact that Sniper’s greatest enemy on the battlefield was the other team’s Spy, and Spy’s the other team’s Sniper, and yet with the counterpart on their own team, there was no great tension or rivalry to speak of. Instead, their relationship was entirely professional, even somewhat warm. And they took care to have the team think they were merely professional, as strictly speaking, friendship was looked down upon in their line of work, but also because with the aforementioned rivalry, their being good and well-trusted friends was something that would surely be questioned and prodded at and neither of them cared for such theatrics.

Well, Spy did ever-so-slightly, but he knew that Sniper loathed such attention, and so took care to be discreet.

“Am I being that obvious?” Sniper asked after a brief silence between them, voice a deliberate kind of calm and easygoing and level.

“Non, I’m simply being observant,” Spy replied easily, and took another drag before he elaborated. “Usually you only smoke this much when your scores are down or we’re on a losing streak, but you’ve been performing in an entirely standard and average way all week. You seem to be coping with a stress that simply doesn’t seem to be there. And so, something is bothering you.”

“Social mathematician, you are,” Sniper huffed, rolling his eyes.

“I might not have noticed, if not for the fact that you forgot your cigarettes at work and had to ask me for one three separate times and didn’t seem to remember it,” Spy admitted.

Sniper nodded at that, eyes drifting to look back out at the landscape stretching before them again.

“So?” Spy prompted, voice a bit quieter. “What is bothering you?”

Sniper reached up to knead at the bridge of his own nose, eyes falling shut, needing to push his glasses up out of the way to do so. “Not sure I’d like to talk about it, t’be honest,” he said, tone falling in parallel.

Spy shifted on his feet, looking into the distance as well for a moment. After a second or two, he spoke again, changing tactics. “Perhaps some long-lost love, or the glory days of youth?” Spy asked, intentionally melodramatic. “Pondering what all was, or perhaps what once could have been? Have you been assigned a quest by some supernatural or religious force that will surely involve mortal perils?”

“Bugger off, Spook,” Sniper deadpanned, but there was an undeniable twitch at the corner of his mouth as he fought the urge to smile at the theatrics.

“I’m only this curious because more often than not, I’m the one being dramatic and glaring at the horizon line, mon ami. Melancholy is a new look on you,” Spy admitted, dropping the joke.

“It’s... hard to explain,” Sniper finally said, and the hint of a laugh was gone.

“You’ll find I’m patient,” Spy replied easily.

Sniper was quiet for another few moments. He looked at the stub of a cigarette he had left and gave up on it, crushing it out against the wall and then grinding it into the sand beneath his heel. “It’s not... it’s not your joke about the ‘long lost love’ buggery,” he said, doing halfhearted air quotes. “It’s more... in general, the idea of...”

Spy didn’t interrupt or make any jokes, simply waiting patiently for Sniper to decide on a sentence to finish.

“...I’m just, I’ve never done any of this right,” Sniper finally said, sighing hard at himself. “Grew up too scrawny, too clever and cared too much about books when I was young and then wasn’t clever enough when I started getting older, learnt to shoot rather than fistfight, ended up a mercenary rather than a... a scientist or a rancher or any other respectable thing. And I never... never went out, never got along with anyone, and, after a while you can’t help but wonder if you’re just not meant for people. If maybe it means something that dating never once appealed to you beyond being some big strange idea of a thing that eventually you’re meant to get around to, or...” He hung his head, dragging a hand down over his face. “...I don’t know. It’s... I had it for a moment.”

Spy hesitated for a few moments, looking at him. Considered his words. Stepped over to clap a gentle hand to Sniper’s shoulder, exhaled when that made Sniper relax in some small way. “If it’s any consolation, I can assure you that you are not the only person in the world who feels that way, and perhaps even not the only man on this base who feels that way,” Spy said finally. “It takes a particular kind of person to willingly go live in a cramped, terrible experimental military base in the deserts of New Mexico being killed practically on the daily. I’m sure that is a sentiment you will find in great supply among the other men here, should you ask. And for what it’s worth, even if you are not meant for regular people, you are well liked and very much respected by your coworkers and by me.”

Sniper nodded in a way that meant he heard and understood what Spy was saying, even if he couldn’t quite formulate a verbal response to it, which was such a specific thing to read into a nod that for a minute it caught Spy by surprise and he lost track of what he’d been planning on saying next. He took a moment to try and remember it.

“What I think might help, more than expediting your inevitable lung cancer and getting a replacement set from the Docteur,” he said, gesturing pointedly with his own cigarette, “is taking one of those... what do you call them, hunting trips?”

“Just camping, usually, more than hunting,” Sniper corrected lightly.

“Oui, that. You haven’t taken a break in quite some time, and it’s terrible for morale. You were talking about the, the Rocky Mountains being the place you were hoping to see next, since last time you went to the Appilachia?”

“Appalachian Mountains, yeah,” Sniper nodded. “You’d know that if you, er, ever bloody well agreed to go with one of these times.”

“I simply do not see the appeal of camping,” Spy said airily. “It is not to my tastes. There is value in quiet cabins and inns in countryside or less populated places, but camping itself simply does not appeal to me.”

“What, never been?” Sniper asked lightly, mouth quirking up on one side.

Spy scoffed, well and truly offended. “I take back absolutely everything I said about you being respected,” he said firmly.

Sniper started to snicker outright. “Oh, go on, why’s that?” he prodded.

“You do not get to use ‘never been’ for camping. That is not allowed,” Spy said firmly.

“You’ve used ‘never been’ for bloody wine tastings, you absolute cheat!” Sniper pointed out.

“Less so the wine tasting and more the region itself,” Spy huffed, posture straight, head held high. “But you do not get to use ‘never been’ for camping.”

‘Never been’ was one of their pettier jokes, to be fair. It had started when Sniper had challenged Spy’s claim to being the most well-travelled individual on the team, and when Spy had asked where exactly Sniper had travelled to, he’d begun bringing up locations outside of largely English- and French-speaking regions, and ended off his list with a rather cocky “What’s the matter, have you never been?” It had kicked off them each naming place after place in stories when around the team, saying the place in passing then lightheartedly saying “never been?” in an entirely and increasingly ridiculous and elaborate manner for more and more specific locations.

As they ran out of stories and places, they began to argue semantics more and it became clear that the joke wasn’t even truly them trying to make fun of each other so much as them bonding over the concept of traveling in their own way, and they found it coming up more in conversation in the wake of the joke.

“Fine, can I at least use it for the mountains?” Sniper laughed.

“No, because I have been, thank you very much,” Spy huffed, turning up his nose at the very thought.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, you’re just ridiculous.”

“Are you going to go camping or not?” Spy challenged.

Sniper rolled his eyes, even if his mood had visibly improved, his posture straightening out, less tension in his brow. “Not scheduled to have a break for a long while.”

“We do have vacation days, however,” Spy pointed out.

“I don’t do that,” Sniper said without hesitation. “I’m not leaving you blokes alone to deal with the other Sniper so I can go build a bonfire near some trees, awright?”

“Would it not be convenient, though, if something were to mysteriously happen to him and he just so happened to miss work for the exact number of days that you were gone?” Spy asked lightly, examining his cigarette case with too much interest.

“Do you want him to hate you more, Spook?” Sniper asked dryly. “You can’t just sabotage the man so I can go see slightly more bloody birds than usual.”

“I’m not saying I would sabotage the man! I’m just saying it would be a funny coincidence that would be entirely unrelated to me and nobody would ever be able to prove otherwise,” Spy said, just as lightly as before.

A pause. “...What kind of mysterious something would happen to him, just out of curiosity?” Sniper asked, tone flat.

“Oh, how on earth would I know such a thing, mon ami? I have no idea. But if I were to venture a guess I would simply say that he would be hired on a contract to protect some random citizen in a faraway city who is in absolutely no danger in the first place by some mysterious but concerned source,” Spy shrugged airily.

“...And you’re sure you don’t want to go camping too?” Sniper asked, tone back to normal and vaguely conversational. “Really, it’s not all that bad. You might enjoy it.”

“I am more than fine,” Spy assured, dropping the joke for a moment and shaking his head. “But thank you for the offer.”

Sniper nodded vaguely, considering it. “...Might just take off next Thursday and Friday, make a four-day weekend, two days to camp and a day’s travel and packing on either end,” he mused aloud. Paused. “...Thanks. For... you know.”

“I do,” Spy agreed easily. “And it is of no issue, mon ami, I can assure you.”

“Right.” Sniper stood there for a moment, lost in his own thoughts again. Paused. “Well, bugger off now, Spook. Go... drink wine, or, or whatever the hell else you do.”

“But of course,” Spy laughed, and crushed his own cigarette into the sand. “Bonne nuit, Bushman.”

“See ya, Spook,” Sniper said easily, even as Spy cloaked and walked away, his eyes still locked on the horizon line.

#sniperspy #tf2 #team fortress 2 #my fanfiction #shut up me #everybody talks #the fiendship tag #had fun with this one anon #sometimes..... you just gotta comfort your coworker abt his place in the world and what hes meant to do with his life #and thats okay

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madscientistjournal · 5 years ago

Text

Fiction: On a Cure for Werewolf Bites

From the research journals of Louis Pasteur, as told by David Harrison Art by Leigh Legler

12 August 1889

A man was brought to my Institut late tonight. Three foreigners brought the man to the front gates, gravely wounded. The night guard attempted to turn them away, but they said the man had been bitten by a rabid animal and implored him to call for me.

I arrived shortly before midnight and, with the help of his friends, placed him on the table in one of my laboratories. Between us we removed his trousers, which were badly torn and blood-stained, and I examined the wound on his leg. He had been bitten twice–one was a superficial wound, not much more than a graze; the second was a deep bite with multiple punctures and compound fractures to both the tibia and fibula of his right leg.

I cleaned the outside of the wounds as best I could and sent the night guard to wake my friend and colleague Docteur Grancher to deal with the fracture. Between us, we were able to set the leg and dress his wounds. It was necessary for Docteur Grancher to administer injections of cocaine to numb the leg, but despite this, the patient passed out when we set the bones.

The patient is resting, and I will review in the morning and speak with his friends about how he came to be bitten.

13 August 1889

I returned to the Institut this morning to find our patient still unconscious. I administered his first dose of my rabies inoculation while he rested.

His friends returned mid-morning to check on his condition: an American couple, Monsieur Butler and his wife Phoebe, and a tall Serbian immigrant, Monsieur Tesla. Tesla had come to Paris for the Exposition Universelle with our patient, declaring an interest in the scientific advancements on display, and the two had met up with the Butlers, who were also in Paris for the Exposition.

During their exploration of the Exposition, they had heard rumours of menageries of fantastic beasts, not just exotic, but otherworldly. I replied that there are many zoos and displays among the exhibitions of the show, but any talk of legendary creatures was surely nonsense.

They replied that they had thought as much, but had nonetheless decided to investigate, expecting no more than some charlatanism they might easily debunk. They were right for some of the displays they found, but the last one they visited, they claim, was no fraud, but contained several specimens of loup-garou, the werewolf.

While there, one of the wolves escaped from its confinement and bit our patient, after which it fled into the city. I am not sure I believe their claim that this was a genuine loup-garou. No doubt when the beast is caught, it will be revealed to be a simple wolf, or perhaps large dog.

The full moon rises tonight. The rooms in the basement are prepared.

To read the rest of this story, check out the Mad Scientist Journal: Summer 2019 collection.

Louis Pasteur (1822-1895) was a French biologist and chemist. He is best known for his invention of pasteurisation, his advancement of germ theory, and his studies in immunology. His work in immunology lead to his developing many vaccines, including ones for anthrax and rabies (and were-rabies). Prior to his death, Pasteur asked his family to never reveal his research journals to anyone. Following the death of his last male descendant, the journals have been kept under lock and key in a restricted section of the French National Library.

David Harrison is a speculative fiction and mythology writer from Wellington, New Zealand. He graduated from Victoria University of Wellington with majors in Classical Studies, Religious Studies, and Latin and now divides his free time between writing and visiting the zoo too often (feeding giraffes helps with writer’s block). He can be found on Twitter @DavidSHarrison.

Leigh’s professional title is “illustrator,” but that’s just a nice word for “monster-maker,” in this case. More information about them can be found at http://leighlegler.carbonmade.com/.

Fiction: On a Cure for Werewolf Bites was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

#David Harrison #Immunology #Leigh Legler #Louis Pasteur #Werewolves

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shadowsprodpresent · 6 years ago

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This post is about all the stories I've written about Doctor Who, a sci-fi British show. The story is about a 900 years old Time Lord, an alien from the planet Gallifrey, named The Doctor traveling through all of Time and Space with his mostly humans companions. The Doctor doesn't die, he regenerates and when people need help, he never refuses. Especially when the Time War leaves him with a deep scar and a need for forgiveness and redemption. This post is about all the stories I've written about the show. Please note that they all concern the second part, or reboot starting with the Ninth Doctor and going to the Thirteenth Doctor.

xxx

31 days of ficmas

One-shots » » A story a day makes everything better. I’ve taken up the doctorroseprompts Christmas challenge for all the December month and here’s my contribution. Featuring all the New Who Doctors. » Rated: T - English - General/Romance - Chapters: 32 - Published: 2017 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - Complete.

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31 days of Whumptober

One-shots » » A story a day makes everything better... Except when it's Whumptober. » Rated: M - English - Angst/Whump - Chapters: 31 - Published: 2018 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler; Thirteenth Doctor/Graham O'Brien/Yasmin Khan/Ryan Synclair] - Complete.

archive of our own || tumblr

Animal I have become

Three-shots » » It was a bad move and yet, she was willing to do it, to know the man behind the monster. » Rated: M - English/French - Angst/Drama/Romance - Chapters: 3 - Published: 2016 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - Complete.

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A Taste Of Christmas

Fiction » » After a very turbulent summer holiday in Broadchurch, the Metacrisis Ninth Doctor and Rose are trying to get used to an almost ordinary and human life while the cold season settles down... » Rated: T - English - General/Fluff/Romance - Chapters: 6 - Published: 2019 - [Metacrisis Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - Finished.

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Chronicles of a better man

One-shots » » "We never forget our first Doctor." The TARDIS never forgot any of them and is still ready to go back on adventures with his many incarnations. » Rated: T - English - Drama/Romance - Chapters: 39 - Published: 2015/2019 - [New Who Doctors/New Who Companions] - In progress.

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Chronicles of a better man

One-shots » » "On n'oublie jamais son premier Doctor." Le TARDIS, lui, n'en a oublié aucun et il est toujours prêt à repartir vers de nouvelles aventures avec ses différentes incarnations. » Rated: T - French - Drama/Romance - Chapters: 29 - Published: 2015/2017 - [New Who Doctors/New Who Companions] - Complete.

fanfiction.net || wattpad

Down To Earth

Fiction » » Instead of killing himself, he could rewrite his whole life and have a better one. He only had to use the Chameleon arch. And maybe finally be happy in a life where his past as killer wouldn’t weight so much on his shoulders. » Rated: M - English - Angst/Drama - Chapters: 22 - Published: 2016 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - Complete.

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Ghost of you

Fiction » » When an unusual eclipse appeared on the world on the 21st of December and left a strange virus turning people into inoffensive zombies in its wake, all the most brilliant minds had to work on the possible cure before the whole humanity disappeared. Could they manage to create it or was the world destined to end on that day? » Rated: M - English - Angst/Drama - Chapters: 21 - Published: 2017/2019 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler; Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness] - Complete.

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How would you feel

Fiction » » The Doctor thought everything was done when he had kissed Rose to remove all the power of the Time Vortex out of her. He was dead, and was gonna regenerate into a new man. The universe was safe again. He hadn’t expected that the new Doctor would throw Rose out of the TARDIS, nor that the Bad Wolf would remain into Rose’s mind… » Rated: M - English - Angst/Drama - Chapters: 21 - Published: 2017 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - Stopped.

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Our last winter

Fiction » » “This thought was what made him move from the bed. He sat on the edge and glanced at the alarm clock. A bit over nine. For someone who always got up around 5 in the morning, this was oversleeping.” » Rated: M - English - Drama/Angst - Chapters: 31 - Published: 2018 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - Complete.

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The Fallen

Fiction » » He had thought he had taken it all away with that kiss, but he was deadly wrong, and now, his new life was in danger. » Rated: M - English - Drama/Whump - Chapters: 12 - Published: 2019 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - In progress.

AO3 || teaspoon || tumblr

The summertime of our lives

Fiction » » What if the Metacrisis Doctor was Nine instead of Ten? What would happen to him in an universe he doesn't fit in? How will Rose try to fix his angst? » Rated: M - English - General/Romance - Chapters: 6/6 - Published: 2019 - [Metacrisis Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - Complete.

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Waste the night

Fiction » » In nine hundred years of travels in time and space, the Doctor had never lived something as strange, as intriguing and as fantastic as the thing that happened a few hours ago. » Rated: M - English - Drama/Hurt/Comfort - Chapters: 9 - Published: 2016/2017 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - Complete.

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Waste the night

Fiction » » En neuf cent ans de voyages à travers le temps et l'espace, le Docteur n'a jamais vécu quelque chose d'aussi étrange, d'aussi intriguant, et d'aussi fantastique que ce qui s'est passé il y a quelques heures. » Rated: M - French - Drama/Hirt/Comfort - Chapters: 9 - Published: 2016/2017 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - Complete.

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We don't wanna be like them

Three-shots » » It all started on December 24th, six years after she ran away from her abusive boyfriend. Rose Tyler lived in the streets with her little boy, and she ran into troubles. She hadn't expected that someone would show up and give her the help and gentleness she had so much needed in her life. » Rated: T - English - Drama/Hirt/Comfort - Chapters: 3 - Published: 2017 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - Complete.

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We don't wanna be like them

Two shots » » Tout a commencé un 24 décembre, six ans après qu'elle se soit enfuie loin de son petit-ami abusif. Rose Tyler vit dans la rue avec son petit garçon, et rencontra des problèmes. Elle ne s'était pas attendue à ce que quelqu'un se montre et lui donne l'aide et la gentillesse dont elle avait tant eu besoin dans sa vie. » Rated: M - French - Drama/Hirt/Comfort - Chapters: 2 - Published: 2017 - [Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler] - Complete.

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#masterpost

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madamedupigeonsalon · 2 years ago

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Société : black excellence

LeBron James , Kanye West , Jayz et Beyonce ou Rihanna sont des stars que le monde entier connaît bien. Basketteur ou chanteur ou encore avocat , peu importe, « They made it » comme disent les américains. Mais c est quoi la black excellence ? Une expression qui est devenue courante récemment dans les médias et chez les jeunes et moins jeunes. Il faut dire que les personnes les plus défavorisées aux usa sont les femmes et les personnes de couleur de peau noire. Alors réussir est devenu rare chez tout le monde mais encore plus ces gens. Donc, pouvons-nous faire un point sur ce sujet là ?

Je regardais un documentaire sur YouTube qui parlait des noires qui avaient réussit aux usa . Des cas d exemples comme des docteurs ou des entrepreneurs etc… et en réalité il y avait un sentiment de fierté chez ces personnes, comme pour dire, nous sommes arrivés à notre destination. Ils étaient souriant et fiers. Mais encore cette question pourquoi pas ??? Est ce que c est mal de réussir ? Ou plutôt est ce qu être noir et réussir c est mal ? Non , pas du tout vous me diriez ? En réalité, c est que nous avons pas l habitude du noir qui réussit dans la société. Souvent, l image qui colle aux noirs, c est la délinquance, les quartiers dangereux et les activités suspicieuses.

Mais aujourd’hui, une nouvelle americanah se réveille à l Aube. En effet, de plus en plus , on voit des familles afro-américains qui s investissent dans les études des enfants . Par exemple, Michelle Obama et Barack Obama sont des exemples de réussite scolaire. Black excellence est un mode de vie. Bien réussir est un objectif et le montrer est un pas vers l avant comme sur cette photo de LeBron James avec sa famille. Alors , devons nous prendre exemple sur ce nouveau modele américain ?

Un petit conseil de mon point d avis : viser l excellence, peu importe qui vous êtes ! Après tout c est notre unique vie.

Society : black excellence

LeBron James, Kanye West, Jayz and Beyonce or Rihanna are stars that the whole world knows well. Basketball player or singer or lawyer, whatever, "They made it" as the Americans say. But what is black excellence? An expression that has recently become common in the media and among young and old. It must be said that the most disadvantaged people in the USA are women and people of black skin color. So success has become rare for everyone but even more so for these people. So, can we take stock of this subject?

I was watching a documentary on YouTube that talked about successful black women in the US. Cases of examples like doctors or entrepreneurs etc… and in reality there was a feeling of pride in these people, as if to say, we have arrived at our destination. They were smiling and proud. But still this question why not??? Is it bad to be successful? Or rather, is being black and successful bad? No, not at all you would say to me? In reality, it's that we're not used to successful black people in society. Often, the image that sticks with blacks is delinquency, dangerous neighborhoods and suspicious activities.

But today, a new Americanah is waking up at dawn. Indeed, more and more, we see African-American families who invest in the studies of children. For example, Michelle Obama and Barack Obama are examples of academic achievement. Black excellence is a way of life. Doing well is a goal and showing it is a step forward like in this photo of LeBron James with his family. So , should we follow the example of this new American model ?

A little advice from my point of view: aim for excellence, no matter who you are! After all, this is our only life.

Kevin Ngirimcuti

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blackbeltkitten2ficsnships-blog · 6 years ago

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Bad, bad Alphonse Capone (Chapter 8)

You are what you dream.

Fandom/Movie/Series/Ect: Night At The Museum

Setting: Larry is still the night guard, several exhibits from the Smithsonian are at the Museum of Natural History

Pairing(s): Eventual Capoleon, Jedtavius, Teddy/Sacagawea

Characters: Al Capone, Napoleon Bonaparte, Ivan the Terrible (Awesome), Larry Daley, Teddy Roosevelt, Sacagawea, Jedediah Smith, Octavius, Ahkmenrah, Shaka Zulu, several Zulu tribe members, Dr. Richard McPhee, several Mobsters, Antonio Villalobos, Mariana Villalobos, Ramón Espina, Doctor Jess McClain, Docteur Alain Chaput, Claude Travere

Genre/Warnings: Some slightly graphic violence, Foul language, Fic inspired by a song, I’ll come up with more tags later

Notes: I listened to the song “Bad Bad Leroy Brown” by Jim Croce about a thousand times and decided I just HAD to make a fic. The reason Al and the boys get made into color (as a plot point) is so everyone can see what happens to Al.

If anyone is OOC or this reads like a Dick & Jane, this is my second posted fic and I haven’t done much writing in the NATM field. (Disclaimer: I don’t own the song, nor the characters.) (If anything suddenly changes, I had to fix a mistake I missed.)

I hope this doesn’t seem sterile, I wrote this chapter while fully rested instead of slightly tired.

Word count: 1,041

Summary: Al and the boys practically beg (Though they won’t stoop so far as to say they were actually begging.) for him and his gang to be colored up like everyone else. Finally one day they get a paint-job, despite McPhee’s ever-present paranoia; Capone and the gang being popular in grey-scale. Several weeks after they finally get what they want, Al gets in a fight, and doesn’t come out of it well. Luckily for him Napoleon is compassionate enough to put up with Al’s grating personality to help him.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Last Chapter

Al shifts under Napoleon’s weight.

“Hey Napoleon, this bench is really hard. Can we go somewhere more comfortable?”

Napoleon leans back enough to give Al a little nod before standing up, tears streaming down his face.

Al gives Frankie a pointed “We’ll talk later, okay?” look before checking his watch. Two forty-three AM, that gives Al roughly three and a half hours before he has to make sure both he and Napoleon are up to snuff for morning.

Al grabs their hats with one hand and drapes the other arm around Napoleon’s shoulders, leading them off to the Beds Through The Ages exhibit.

Al shoves the big curtains out of the way and hangs up their hats, before pushing Napoleon to sit down on the bed. He looks miserable.

“You don’t have to do anything for me, you know.”

“Who’re you kidding, Napoleon? You change my bandages, you insist on reminding me you need to change my bandages, you check in on me, this is the least I could do.”

Napoleon’s bottom lip quivers before he chews on it. Al assumes he’s trying to not start bawling again.

Al fumbles while pulling off Napoleon’s boots, and it takes him a minute to open all of those brass buttons on his jacket and waistcoat-vest-thing, and find the tiny buckle on his neckwear.

“I hope you won’t strip me nude, it’s bad enough I’m baring my emotions...”

Al can’t help but chuckle at that. He sits down on the bed next to him and takes off his own shoes, jacket, vest and tie.

“I wasn’t planning on it. I’ll let you take the sword off.”

Al pulls off his own belt and takes Napoleon’s out of his hand, setting them by their shoes.

Al shifts back to lay down on the bed, and pulls Napoleon by the shoulder to lay down next to him.

Napoleon picks at his thumb quietly.

“Why here?��

“Hmm?”

“Why here, why not the office couch?”

Al does his best to will away the warmth in his face.

“I figured your bed would be relaxing... Remind you of something good.”

A few tears roll down Napoleon’s temple, and he rolls over and lays his head on Al’s shoulder. Al figures if he really wants to know about the cap, now would be the time to ask.

“Uhh, so... What’s the cap for?”

Napoleon sniffles and cracks a tiny little smile at that.

“It would be easier to show you.”

He props himself up on his elbow, pulls the string on the cap, and takes it off.

Al won’t admit out loud that he squeaked a little.

Dark, dark brown, almost black hair falls down, just touching Napoleon’s shoulders.

“It is a long story.”

Al barely contains his grin.

“Alright. Now lay back down, why don’t ya?”

Al, not so smoothly, manages to walk his fingers up Napoleon’s shoulder and into his hair. He’d have to go without pomade a few days, to remember what his own hair felt like.

Napoleon shaking again derailed his train of thought.

“Hey hey, it’s okay, alright? You’re here now.”

That didn’t help, he sniffed hard and buried his face in Al’s arm.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Napoleon nodded a little but kept shaking, it was enough to make the bed creak.

“I was a fool... I should’ve stopped while I was ahead, but no, I kept telling myself and my advisers and my soldiers ‘Just a little more, a little more’.”

“By the time I realized my mistake my soldiers were knee deep in mud and sludge in the middle of that Godforsaken field in Belgium. There was no turning back from it, or I would’ve been seen as a coward...”

Napoleon whimpers, and Al rubs the back of his head.

“I was sent to two separate islands for exile, and...”

Napoleon bit his own hand to keep from outright sobbing.

Al carefully rolls over and wraps himself around Napoleon.

“You made some mistakes, everyone does. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

The shaking slowly subsides, and Napoleon goes silent. Al looks down at him and finds he’s asleep.

“Good thing I got us down to comfortable clothes...” Al murmurs to himself.

Al shifts carefully and manages to close the bottom half of the curtains with his foot, and the top half with his free arm, before falling asleep.

Al wakes up with a hundred-and-forty-something pound Napoleon on his chest. He doesn’t really mind, but initially it was a little shocking, since he’s used to the person in bed with him being smaller.

Al checks his watch. Four fifty-seven, one hour before he has to make sure they’re up.

He knows that he’ll fall asleep again if he doesn’t get Napoleon off of him. It’s a shame really.

“Hey, hey Napoleon... Napoleon we’ve gotta get ready for sunrise.”

Al pokes and pats his arm, and all he gets back is a deep snore.

“Damnit... Napoleon, come on, get up.”

He tries to push Napoleon off, but with his other arm pinned he can’t get the leverage.

Al does, however, manage to roll over with Napoleon until he’s the one on top.

“I know...” Al mumbles, while poking Napoleon in the stomach.

Napoleon grunts. He’s on the right track.

One particularly good jab wakes him up.

“Damn ... Pudite micca quì.“

“Get up, it’s an hour till sunrise.”

“Ugh... Fine... And I was warm too, with you here...”

They put on their clothes silently and leave the exhibit hall.

“Alphonse I... Thank you.”

“Happy to help, Napoleon.”

They make their separate ways, and Al gets into position in his exhibit. Napoleon and his troops march by.

“À présent! Mettez-vous en position, les hommes! Le lever du soleil est sur nous!“

Al suddenly remembers his dreams, with a mysterious man with an accent. He remembers the man yelling “À présent!” and a bunch of men coming in to help.

Shit. Oh shit shit shit.

The man in his dreams is Napoleon. It’s Napoleon, and it’s almost sunrise and Al feels like he’s about to fall over. He can’t look panic-stricken when the sun rises.

Al slaps himself a few times and makes an effort to look normal just as the sun comes up.

Translations, according to google:

Pudite micca quì. = Please stop that.

À présent! Mettez-vous en position, les hommes! Le lever du soleil est sur nous! = Now! Get into position, men! Sunrise is upon us!

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