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dont-offend-the-bees · 4 months ago

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If the Shoe Fits, Then I Won’t Try It On

Omg I made it! Threw this one together today, so might not be my best! But thanks to my pal @every-moment-a-different-sound making these gorgeous gifs for my fic Outside Looking In, and also @wordsinhaled writing this lovely little fic inspired by it, I felt compelled to pop back in and give the disguise altar egos a little love! So this one is set pre-canon, about seven years into the boys' friendship/detective agency, and it's the first outing of the disguises (in their very early and imperfect forms! I like to think Charles has been experimenting over the years and the ones we've seen in show are just like, the latest versions!). It can really only be called case fic by the barest technicality but it's the best I got xD There's some nebulous Edwin gender-feelings, I'll leave it up to your personal preferences/interpretation whether it's a bit of transfem/nonbinary/genderqueer joy or just a boy's formative experience with drag, this baby can fit so much gender!! And references to fictionalised alcohol abuse, gambling and infidelity, but it's all just banter and tall tales, really. 2k, T-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Perhaps we ought to rethink this strategy," Edwin muttered, fussing with his skirts.

"Relax, it'll be fine," said Charles. "No one's gonna suspect anything."

"They may suspect something," said Edwin. His voice sounded different, but the tone was one Charles had heard a thousand times before — pessimistic and haughty. Edwin seemed to pick up extra helpings of poshness when he was rattled. "They needn’t ascertain the exact nature of our ruse to know we're playing one."

"What? You think they're gonna be expecting someone to go in for fake marriage counselling?" Charles laughed.

"Stranger things have happened, Charles." Edwin spread his hand and swept it, gesturing between them and their magical disguises. "Q.E.D."

Charles looked at him blankly.

"Quod erat demonstrandum."

"Mate. They haven't taught Latin in that school for donkey's years."

Edwin made a noise of frustration — it had a bit of a high pitched, trilling quality with his fancy new vocal chords. "What I mean to say is that you and I are — figuratively speaking — living proof that real life is stranger than fiction."

"Well, yeah. But only to people who know ghosts exist," Charles reasoned. "And if this lady knew that, our client wouldn't've needed to come to us, would she? She'd've haunted the information out of her already."

Edwin exhaled, a quick, nasal huff like a bull, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His fingers bumped the chunky plastic frames of his enchanted glasses. "Pity. If she could see us, there'd be no need of these ridiculous costumes."

"I think we look brills," Charles beamed, proudly straightening out his big red rain mac. Sure, the disguises weren't perfect — he was still getting the hang of tweaking the enchantment. And yeah, he'd ballsed up his own bald spot at first, made it too big and just a little bit sort of... Australia-shaped. But all in all, he thought they looked mint! No one was gonna suspect them of anything, couple of old geezers. Who'd think they were a crack detective team?

Edwin was obviously having a harder time settling into character. He kept on faffing about with his unfamiliar layers of flowy clothing. Kept tugging on his little blue cashmere scarf, changing his mind on the drape of it — getting thrown whenever a tug of the fabric dislodged the waves of hair on his shoulders. Charles really hadn't got the hang of hair, just yet. He'd been aiming for something a bit classic and classy for Edwin, something honey-blonde and neatly coiffed. Instead he'd ended up with straw-like, brittle strands of peroxide white with... maybe just a hint of green. Charles would have to get that sorted out sharpish before they brought these disguises out again. Edwin would never let himself walk around looking less than his best if he had any say in it!

Charles turned to him, properly, grabbing Edwin's restless hands away from his scarf. "Eds. You look fine. Nice, even! Leave it."

Edwin glared at him, brow wrinkled. If Charles was being honest, the weirdest thing about seeing Edwin like this wasn't the fact that he looked blonder or older or, well. Like a woman. No, weirdest thing by far was how much thinner his eyebrows were. Charles had probably made them a bit too thin, he'd have to fix that, too. They were decent eyebrows! Visible, at least. But they were skinny and pale and neatly plucked, no little dusty dark hairs in between. Charles sort of missed them. He'd gotten used to those thick, dark brows scrunching up at him like grumpy caterpillars when Edwin was ticked off about something.

"It hardly matters if I look nice, Charles," he said, with a little belligerent flick of his hair that sent it flying. Charles probably should've made him a hairband or something — all long and loose, Edwin couldn't seem to get his hair off his mind. "But I do need to look convincing."

"You do! It's a good disguise, mate — made it special, didn't I?"

"I never said it wasn't." Edwin sighed, eyes fluttering closed a moment. Charles winced — maybe he'd overdone it a bit with the eyeshadow. There was a bit of colour-clashing going on, but hey-ho. Sort that in the next edit, too. "I am not concerned with the quality of the work, Charles."

"What is it, then?" asked Charles, dropping Edwin's hands to squeeze his shoulders instead. "What's got you all het up?"

Edwin shifted on his feet. His high heels clicked on the concrete porch. "I am merely concerned that I'm not... wearing it well," he said, a little bit through his teeth. "I don't want to compromise the entire investigation because I'm unable to act in a... befitting manner."

"Well, you're not gonna. Mate, you're doing brills." Charles smoothed down the big, floppy collar on Edwin's trenchcoat — he tried to do a Casablanca thing, but he might've gone a bit overboard — and grinned at him. "You're a natural. The way you stand all straight and that. Christ, you could've been walking in them heels for years! You're smashing it. For reals."

Edwin ducked his head, with the smallest smile. It was so Edwin that Charles could almost see the shape of him through the disguise; high, sharp bones under those rouged apple cheeks. Could almost spy that little spot on his chin. Actually, the chin wasn't a million miles off Edwin's own, with that barely noticeable little dimple in the middle. Maybe Charles had been taking some inspiration, subconsciously.

"I don't come across... peculiar?" asked Edwin.

"No. 'Course not." Charles sighed and patted his shoulders. "But look. If it's too weird for you, I can be the girl."

Edwin's brow twitched.

Alright. So maybe Charles could've worded that better. He coughed and took a step back, shoving hands in his pockets. "I mean, y'know. Bet I can manage it. How hard can it be? Probably won't be as like, chic as you, but I could give it a go."

Edwin pursed his lips, looking off to the side. He was fiddling with the rings on his fingers — maybe Charles had overdone them too, a bit.

"It... doesn't feel strange," said Edwin, quiet as a mouse. He couldn't seem to look Charles in the eyes. "It doesn't feel strange at all."

Charles smiled, all warm in the chest. Edwin had been a closed-off, buttoned-up sort of chap as long as Charles had known him — seven years and counting. Every time he offered up something of himself, Charles wanted to cup it in his hands.

"Oi," he said, gently, waiting for Edwin to look at him. "Suits you, mate."

Edwin smiled again, a barely-there twitch of his tinted lips. But he gathered himself quickly, clearing his throat and adjusting his scarf. "Well. We'd best be be getting on. We're due for our 'appointment' any minute now."

"Right."

"Shall we walk through the plan once more?"

"Go in, introduce ourselves, spin a backstory for a bit, make her think we're legit," said Charles. "Angle for a bit of one-on-one time. I keep talking, see if I can get her to slip up, drop us a hint — while you sneak off, search the office."

"Spot on," said Edwin, with a brisk nod. "According to our client, this woman writes down everything. No doubt she stores her more sensitive journals somewhere apart from the rest, somewhere discreet. Find the journals..."

"Find the body," Charles agreed, tilting his head side to side to crack his neck. "She'll have written down what she did with it for sure."

"Precisely. Right. That's the aim." Edwin steepled his fingers. "And we are...?"

"Edie and Colin Cromley," Charles replied, automatic. He should bloody well hope he knew that one — he'd had to put up with Edwin calling him Colin all night, trying to get him into character.

"Correct. And we are here because of discord in our marriage, resulting in my alcohol dependence and your extramarital affair."

Charles frowned. "Right..."

Edwin cocked his head a little. "Is there a problem?"

"You, uh. You ever actually been drunk before, mate?"

"Not as such, no," said Edwin, primly. "But, as we've quite thoroughly ascertained, I've never been a woman before, either."

Charles snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Fair point."

Edwin's manicured finger hovered over the doorbell. "Right. Are we quite ready?"

"Yeah," Charles mumbled, fidgeting on his feet. "Yeah, s'pose."

Slowly, Edwin lowered his hand. "Charles. We must be on the same page if we're to go inside and sell a convincing fiction."

"Just... feels a bit weird, is all."

"Why? You've always enjoyed undercover work in the past."

Charles shrugged. "Just... feels off. I wouldn't do that to you, y'know? Cheat, I mean. If we were married."

Edwin stared at him. "But we're... not married."

"Yeah, obviously." Charles felt all hot in the face, embarrassed. He should've just kept his big mouth shut. "Just saying, like — I wouldn't mess around on you like that. Or anyone," he added, quickly, because he was making things weird again, fuck's sake —

"Charles," said Edwin, amused. "Are you having ethical qualms about the character you're playing in this scenario?"

And alright, yeah. It sounded bloody ridiculous when you put it like that. Charles huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just — it's hard, yeah? Dunno how I'd even pretend I'd screw you around like that."

Edwin hummed, toying thoughtfully with the dangly end of his scarf. "Perhaps... I could play the unfaithful partner?"

"You want to?"

"... No. No, not particularly." He pressed his fists together. "Hm. Perhaps infidelity is the wrong narrative for Mr. and Mrs. Cromley."

"Not believable, is it?"

Edwin chuckled. "No. No, I suppose not. Hm. Back to the drawing board..."

Charles mulled it over, tugging on his earlobe. "How about... right, okay, how about, yeah, if I have a secret gambling problem?"

"That does feel more authentic — we've had plenty of words about your impulsive decision-making," Edwin teased. He nodded, eyes sharp as he formulated the new story in that big brain of his. "Very well, a gambling problem is it. You've been losing money at the races —"

"Reckon I'm more of a footie bloke. Big bets on the big games."

"You've been losing money at various sporting events," Edwin corrected, rolling his eyes. "And the extent of your debt has recently come to my attention."

"You should see how much I lost on the cricket world cup," said Charles, seriously.

"Oh, believe you me, I did. Hence, marriage counselling."

"And boozing."

"Indeed. I knew the problem needed addressing a month ago," said Edwin, fingers gesticulating as he spun his little yarn. "When I visited our local public house for a consolatory tipple and became positively sozzled on sherry."

Charles chuckled. "Sure you wanna go with sherry?"

"Is it not appropriate?"

"I mean. It's fine," said Charles, raising his hands. "Nothing wrong with it! Just doesn't sound like your usual sort of, uh, blackout drunk sort of booze. Never heard of anyone going on a sherry bender."

"Well, what would be your suggestion?" Edwin challenged.

Charles wasn't actually sure, come to think of it. What did middle-aged classy ladies drink to get sloshed? "Um... well. Me and the lads used to get pissed on White Lightning after school."

"Very well, then. I overindulged on White Lightning. Happy?"

"Aces."

"Right. Well, now that's all straightened out..." Edwin lifted his finger to the bell again. "Shall we?"

"Go for it."

Edwin rang the bell — and when he dropped his hand, Charles picked it up. Edwin looked at him, quizzical.

"What?" said Charles. "Meant to be a couple, in't we?"

"One in the throes of marital strife," said Edwin, a little smile on his lips. "I doubt we'll be expected to be affectionate."

"Right. 'Course not," Charles agreed — but he didn't let go.

Edwin chuckled, and stayed put. His hand felt small, smaller than it ever had the few times Charles had held it — usually when he was hauling Edwin out of harm's way. Small and bony, lined with soft wrinkles, dotted in sun spots. Couldn't be much further from Edwin's long, lean, smooth hands if it tried.

But it fit in Charles' hand just the same.

Hope you liked it! Probs won't be one tomorrow unless I can whip up something suuuuper short/quick or I find an existing WIP to polish off, but there'll defo be fic on Sunday! Thank you so much for all your love and comments I seriously appreciate them beyond words 💛💛💛💛💛💛

#painlandweek #painland week #payneland #dead boy detectives #dbda #my fanfic #BARELY scraped this one together #i wanna shout out the lovely payneland community who helped me brainstorm ideas for a fic that #sadly #untimately ended up too involved for me to write/finish today #y'all are angels and also SO fucking funny holy shit #anyway have fun!!#REALLY interesting writing charles and edwin at a different level of friendship/intimacy than i've done before #not brand new not 30 years in #just sort of... beginning to find their way #god i love them

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gemharvest · 5 months ago

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RGB idea GF wiping the floor with BF and Pico in Uno even if they team up against her (she's eating the cards)

"Uno!"

"Jesus Christ, Gee, this is the third game in a row. There's no way you're that lucky." Pico gestured to the girl, holding nine cards in his hand.

"You're just a sore loser." Girlfriend said with a small laugh. "Besides, it's not my fault Biff keeps hitting you with draw fours."

Upon being called out, Boyfriend just gave a toothy smile and shrugged. Pico stared daggers at him; at the both of them.

"It's just starting to feel suspicious, that's all." The ginger grumbled, shaking his head.

"Ska be d'bop."

"Don't you start too-"

A few more moves, and Girlfriend placed down her last card. The game officially over, Boyfriend took the cards to reshuffle for a new one. He hesitated for a moment, then looked at the stack more carefully.

"Ba bo..?" Pico looked over at the cards as well, then furrowed his brows.

"Yeah, I swear the stack keeps getting smaller each game. We're not losing cards, are we?"

Girlfriend felt a bit anxious at the boys' observation, though was able to hold a perfect poker face.

Truth be told, she wasn't that good, or even lucky, at Uno.

What gave her that winning streak? Well, her boys would get distracted easily; staring into their cards with a bit too much focus or giving their phones a quick check when it wasn't their turn. In these brief moments, she would slip a card into her mouth and eat it.

Probably not the smartest idea; though much like Boyfriend, she wasn't really known for them. It was only a couple cards a game, and neither boy paid enough attention to the others' card counts to even notice. As long as she could get away with it, she'd do it.

"It doesn't look that small? Maybe we misplaced a few cards last time we played."

Pico raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't seem to have any desire to argue.

"Maybe, I guess I'll have to keep an eye out the next time I clean."

Nice, they're still none the wiser.

Boyfriend nodded at the pair, before splitting the deck to shuffle. After a few passes, he set the deck face-down, smiling at his work; the boy probably enjoyed shuffling the deck more than actually playing the game.

Cards were dealt, and a new game began. Pico seemed to be putting an effort into paying more attention, so Girlfriend had to go quite a few turns without pulling her trick.

Eventually, his eyes turned to his own cards. Girlfriend waited a moment, making sure he was truly focused while Boyfriend agonized over what card to play himself, before carefully slipping one of her cards out and into her mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Girlfriend froze, card stuck halfway in her mouth. Beside her, Pico's head was still in his cards, though his eyes were raised and staring at her.

Slowly, he lowered his cards and his stare turned into an incredulous look.

"Have you been eating your cards? Oh my god?"

Girlfriend took the card out of her mouth, now crumpled and slightly damp, and held it with the rest of her deck casually; as if she hadn't just been caught.

"Whaaaat, no... Why would I do that?" She spoke, voice feigning innocence. Pico huffed at the lie.

"Bullshit. I can't believe you're trying to pretend you didn't just get caught." Pico scolded, voice more amused than angry. "How in the hell did you even come to the conclusion that that was how you should win."

"Well... It's not like you guys had noticed cards going missing until now."

Boyfriend, Who had been staring silently up until then, suddenly burst out into a fit of musical laughter. Pico and Girlfriend followed suit, not being able to suppress chuckles at how ridiculous the situation was.

While the laughing fit was probably only a few seconds, it felt several minutes long to the trio. Pico was the first to speak after, voice still cracking slightly from the laughter.

"Oh, you are definitely banned from Uno for a while. You also owe me a new deck." He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning as he spoke.

"Awww come on, I promise I'll stop doing it." Girlfriend pouted, giving puppy dog eyes to Pico. "The deck thing is fair though, I'll bring it the next time I'm over."

"Beebop ska doh??"

"Yeah, I'm not budging on the ban. You'll have to deal with the consequences of your actions, sweetheart." He shook his head gently while he spoke.

Girlfriend stuck her tongue out at him, playful yet clearly not happy with the decision.

"Wow, you're so mean to me over just a few cards."

#artings #(rest of fic under cut !! also ignore how I didn't draw any cards on the table I kinda forgor and don't wanna go back to add them)#fnf #friday night funkin #girlfriend fnf #boyfriend fnf #pico #pico newgrounds #friday night funkin boyfriend #friday night funkin girlfriend #boyfriend x girlfriend x pico #polyship #idk if i reallyyyy wrote her wiping the floor with them but i had this scene play out in my mind and i had to run with it #also less serious fic so i just wrote boyf doing his thang. i think its funny if he just talks like that and ppl understand him #ik i already do my thing of. hes beeping but i write out what he means instead of just. skadop n stuff. but its funny when even the audienc #doesnt get a translation. or i guess readers in this instance idk why i went w audience

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bandtrees · 3 months ago

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hiatus catastrophizing has made me really worried for how find us alive will end. given the weight it gives character deaths and injury, i don't think anyone will die or anything like that - but i think, and maybe this is just my angst brain talking, site-107 has evolved so much and its people have adapted so well over time, into something unrecognizable as the foundation, that i think when they get out they will be completely incompatible with the outside world/the foundation at large and we'll get a tragic "the shift grew to symbolize hope in isolated community that cannot persist in the 'real world'"-type ending.

(in particular, anna got an ask about the idea that the 107 employees will all be amnesticized when they're found, and that concept's stuck with me...)

a foundation site has become a place where d-class are treated like people, where people who'd previously hardly spoken are now close community members, where a contained anomaly can atone and return to his work and his friends, where anomalies themselves are treated with affection as the pets of a physically+mentally disabled field agent who was considered disposable by the foundation long before she became disabled.

and that's wonderful. it makes me so happy. but i have to fear if the rest of the foundation will be as understanding of the hope and triumph the staff of 107 have gone through - and i don't think they will. fua's story is all about making normalcy, and i would say at this point in the story, shown most recently by gravett and klein, that they've achieved it - but won't it hurt, just like it had in the initial shift, to have that normalcy taken away?

#babbles #find us alive #fua podcast #fua spoilers #i do wanna make a fic or something of the amnestic concept cuz i do have ideas for it 100% but euueeeghhhhhh. not really ready to return to #writing for this fandom idk how much juice i still have....#we'll see. would be funny if i predicted it #i tend to do that but not like. consciously like Oh i think thisll happen.. i just keep having fics and aus and whatnot #and then things or at least themes in them happen... it fuels my ego but also frightens me somewhat.#looks at my klein and lanc fic abt lanc getting horrifically invasive medical abuse in containment #looks at ep40. squirms a little

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gothsuguru · 9 months ago

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starting my curator!geto fic officially now! <3

#really want it to sound artistic bc obvi he’s an artist/art curator so i HOPE that comes through 😭#also finally got the name of the fic down! i was lamenting for ages bc i couldn’t think of anything that was art-inspired #and then i listened to a song and in the lyrics… There It Was… shining like a beacon of light <3 #(funny bc the name has ‘shadow’ in it)#also by alter-ego you’ll see what i mean once i write more of the fic i promise that part will make sense 😭#kenjaku exists in this fic almost like an Entity he’s not actually a person in this fic #it’s a no-curses au! just wanted to play w different facets of suguru’s personality is all :3 #why aren’t tags saving #oh now you save you bitch.#ANYWAYS.#editing me here: i’m already reworking this intro so it’s more descriptive and less choppy #but it’s hard bc i wanna use a bunch of descriptors but i don’t want it to be CLUNKY 😭 intro is beating my ASS rn #kenjaku has me against the ropes 😩🫦#ignore the lipbite or don’t… but omfg… maybe I’M the tortured artist 😳😳😳 suguru step aside #double edit: the newer vision is so much better omfg i’m kinda gagged…#snippets #personal

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teecupangel · 7 months ago

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*gets through the fireplace* Bonjour! Desmond in the Uncharted games! Because I find it funny if he would meet Nathan, thanks to them having the same VA. Adios! *uses the smoke bomb and runs*

So, for this one, we’re going for the Uncharted series is part of the AC series because plot bunny just hit me right at the face.

And yes.

Nathan Drake is absolutely a descendant of the Auditore-Kenway line. (Spoilers to the Uncharted series), it’s heavily implied Nate isn’t really related to Francis Drake and we’ll make use of that setup.

The church Nate grew up in was actually a front of the Brotherhood. His family doesn’t have ties with the Brotherhood, not really, but Sam did learn of the Brotherhood during his stay in the orphanage and is recruited.

Now, Sam isn’t exactly loyal to the Creed. More often than not, he was more in it to get the skills necessary to survive. He kept it a secret from Nate though because he didn’t want him dealing with anything related to the Templars and the Assassins. To keep Nate away from the Templars and the Assassins, Sam tells Nate that they’re last name is Drake.

Samuel Morgan was an Assassin.

Sam Drake was Nathan Drake’s older brother.

So things happened…

Nate meets Sully while Sam was in prison (an undercover mission for the Brotherhood).

Later on, Nate joins Sam in adventuring but Sam keeps any thing connected to the Assassins and the Brotherhood away from Nate.

Sam is an Assassin who is only known by very few other Assassins but Nate has some inkling that something fishy was going on, he just wasn’t sure what it was.

There were specific artifacts that Sam wanted and was okay parting with more lucrative stuff just to get it.

But then…

They teamed up with Rafe…

Sam supposedly died…

Even in the eyes of the Brotherhood.

And that is how Samuel Morgan died and Sam Drake survived the Great Purge that would happen two years from his apparent death.

So we have different points in Uncharted that we can catapult Desmond to.

2008 – A 21 year old Desmond is employed by Elena Fisher as her cameraman as they join Nathan Drake in finding Francis Drake’s coffin. This ends with them being part of the whole quest for El Dorado (the corpse of which is an Isu that contracted some kind of deadly virus that is severely dangerous to humans but Desmond and Nate have immunity due to their Isu genes). In this one, Nate actually acts more like an older big brother to Desmond and Elena joked about how they sound a lot alike.

2010 – A 23 year old Desmond gets roped into Chloe and Harry’s plan with Nate because he’s been fired from Bad Weather due to an altercation and has been sidelining as a thief using the training he received from the Farm. He also may or may not have had a fling with Harry Flynn (according to Chloe) and Nate is absolutely questioning Desmond’s taste.

2012 – Desmond escaped Abstergo before the Assassins got him and he is absolutely suffering from Altaïr’s Bleeding Effect. It’s by chance that he is in Yemen at the same time Nate and Sully are there to meet up with Elena. Maybe you can even add in that Desmond used to be Elena’s cameraman for a bit. Anyway, he joins the group because he feels like he knows the Atlantis of Sands that they are looking for. To be more exact… his Bleed of Altaïr knows of it.

2015 – Desmond survived the Solar Flare and has been working for the Brotherhood. He’s tasked with looking into a man named Sam Drake because he sounded a lot like the late Samuel Morgan and they needed to check if he is (1) alive and (2) faked his own death because he was a Templar mole like Daniel Cross. He gets roped into the search of Avery’s treasure and ends up Bleeding as Edward more than once because Edward knows a bit about this supposed treasure.

And, just to be clear, Nate does not have the exact same ancestors as Desmond. He’s Haytham Kenway’s descendant from a fling he had in England so they have the same ancestors from the Auditore-Kenway line until Haytham Kenway.

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halfratsalready · 6 months ago

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Yea I’ve got six weeks to write it but I wanna do it NOW 😤

#I’m fine I promise it’s not even as bad as it has been in the past #I just thought this was a funny meme to make #but like I wanna write my silly little story but also I wanna be laying in bed doing nothing #wanderrose fic exchange #oboe rambles

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set-phasers-to-whump · 1 month ago

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seasick

prompt: motion sickness (alt no.7)

whumpee: river cartwright

fandom: slough house/slow horses

hii here's yet another sh fic for yall but this time with no spoilers for anything lmao. i saw the prompt and was like 'wouldn't it be so funny to do this to river considering his name' and so this was born. hope you enjoy!

This is one of the more bizarre assignments she’s been given in her tenure at Slough House. Go on a cruise down the Thames and look for “anything unusual” beneath the bridges. Totally normal thing to do. Definitely worth her time.

Not that she’s complaining much. It gets her out of the office and there’s a bar on board. She’s sure there must be some way of getting a drink and snack paid for on the Park’s dime.

She’s gone ahead and gotten them, in any case. She balances both items in one hand as she pushes out through a door onto the deck. The first bridge is coming up, and she supposes she’ll at least pay some attention to it.

River is where she’d left him, having turned down the suggestion of both drink and snack. She’d assumed he’d been less assured of their ability to be reimbursed, and admittedly, the prices hadn’t been low.

He’s leaning against the railing now, and he turns his head slowly towards her when she stops beside him. She offers up her bag of crisps and he turns away, swallows visibly. His skin has gone a funny shade, almost grey, and he’s sweaty although it’s rather cold and drizzly.

“Are you ill?” Louisa asks, point-blank. He’d looked fine when she’d left him, and that had been all of ten minutes ago.

River shakes his head, then stops very suddenly. He takes a deep breath which he aborts halfway through, and then leans over the railing and throws up.

“Shit,” Louisa says, the pieces assembling themselves rapidly in her mind. She sets down her snack and drink, returns to River and puts a hand on his back.

“Do you get motion sickness often?” She’s been in cars with him plenty of times, but, she supposes, cars and boats are quite different. “Or, seasickness, I guess?”

River shakes his head, vomits again. “I don’t—I don’t really go on boats.”

There’s something a little funny there, a jibe at his name she could make, but he looks all kinds of awful and she just feels sympathetic, more than anything else.

He throws up again, coughs harshly, rubs a shaky hand across his face. “This fucking sucks.”

Louisa squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll get you some water. Why don’t you sit down?” There are empty benches behind them—in fact, the whole deck is empty, owing to the wet and the cold. Louisa’s suddenly incredibly glad for the weather. She knows how much worse River would feel if this was happening to him in front of a larger audience than just herself.

River shakes his head. “I’m not—I might…”

Ah. Louisa’s not sure that she’d care all that much about the potential consequences of puking on the deck, their positions being reversed, but it feels very River, somehow, to not want to risk it.

“Alright, just—hold on, then. I’ll be back soon.”

She heads once more into the covered portion of the boat and makes her way back to the bar, where she manages to procure a bottle of water, napkins, and some crackers. She’d been hoping for medicine or an offer to stop off at the next dock, but she’ll take what she can get.

Louisa returns to the upper deck. River is still leaning over the railing and barely stirs at her arrival. He’s sort of crying, Louisa notices, which she supposes is down to the exertion of vomiting more than any truly severe distress. It makes her feel worse for him, all the same.

She wordlessly hands over the bottle of water, watches him struggle to open it with shaking hands for several seconds before doing it herself.

He says, “thanks,” and his voice is noticeably rougher than it had been before. She decides she’ll hold off on handing over the crackers, not that she particularly expects him to want them, anyway.

She watches with a critical eye as he rinses out his mouth and wipes his face with a proffered napkin.

“How are you feeling?” Louisa chances to ask.

“Shit,” River replies, not meeting her eyes. His sickly grey face has gone pink from what she guesses is a combination of embarrassment and strain.

“You’re alright,” she offers. “You’ll feel so much better as soon as we get off this boat.”

“When’s—when’s that?”

She checks her watch. Fuck. “About an hour.”

“Fuck,” River echoes her thoughts exactly. He bends down, rests his head against the railing. He looks so fucking miserable and Louisa hates that there’s really nothing she can do. Unless—

“D’you think they’d stop the tour and let us off if I told them we were MI5?”

River shrugs. “Maybe.” He lifts his head briefly and gags harshly over the railing before promptly putting his head back down again.

Yeah. She’ll go wave her ID in the face of whoever’s in charge here.

Fifteen minutes later, the boat is pulling up to a dock somewhere beyond Tower Bridge. As they get off, both putting on their very best official-agent-on-official-business looks, River valiantly stopping himself from throwing up in front of the onlookers aboard, Louisa briefly remembers that they were supposed to be examining the bridges. Not that it matters much. She’ll just tell Lamb there was nothing of note—she’s sure there wouldn’t’ve been, anyway.

The second they step onto the dock, River drops to his knees and throws up once more, unable to hold out any longer. Louisa stands behind him, doing her best to protect him from the suddenly very interested gazes of the people aboard the boat.

When he’s done, she offers him a hand to his feet. He takes it, staggers upright, blinks hard, then breathes a sigh.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I—I feel fine now, actually.”

Based on the scratchiness of his voice, she knows he’s not entirely fine, but evidently the nausea has left as quickly as it’d come.

She wraps him in a quick side-hug and he leans into her in a way that reassures her, somehow, of his being relatively unhurt by the whole ordeal.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

“Don’t mention it. Speaking of not mentioning it, actually, we’ve still got like 45 minutes to kill before our tour is supposed to end. I’m hardly going back to Slough House until I’ve got to. Fancy a walk?”

River nods, “yeah, yeah, that’d be nice,” and the pair of them set off together, just like that.

thanks for reading! hope you liked <333

#whumptober2024 #altno.7 #motion sickness #fic #slough house #slow horses #emeto tw #sick #cared for #comfort #vomiting #my writing #i say things #look i just think it would be ironic and a little funny if river was susceptible to seasickness ok?#sue me.#anyways. tomorrow i have class again and i do not wanna go i want to stay home and do fuck all! but nooooo #ok enough from me. gotta do readings. ugh.

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