Chanel's Folly (2017-2020 Drabbles) Updated Feb 16

[Chanel_no5]

 

Prompt: Cavity
Fandom: Westworld
Note: I did a little allergy drabble… Just because. 

 

The worst thing with allergies was that it wasn’t just her nose (and eyes, and throat) that itched, but her entire nasal cavity felt like it was filled with thorns. It prickled and stung, and she kept feeling like she had to sneeze. 

Theresa sighed and took a fresh tissue from the box on her desk, cupped it around her burning nostrils and blew as hard as she could, sneezing messily mid-blow.

“HuERSSHugh! Huh-EERGSSHoo!”

Oh fuck me, she thought tiredly as she finished up – not that it really got rid of the congestion – and threw the tissue away. This crap just never ends.

She let out a watery groan and leaned her head into her hands, sniffling wetly, only looking up when there was a timid knock on the door.

“Yes?”

Bernard stepped inside, frowning at the scene in front of him. Theresa realised what it must look like and shook her head.

“I’m not crying. I’m… AAEESCHooo!”

“Allergic,” Bernard filled in for her as he scrutinised her face. “And it’s quite bad.”

“Oh, you think?” Theresa said sarcastically and blew her nose, then rubbed it through the tissue, scrubbing at the tender skin and inadvertently making the burning tingle shoot through her sinuses like a bolt of fire. Bernard ignored the sarcasm; he knew it was just a way for her to deal with it. An outlet for her frustration.

“What have you been doing?” he asked. “I saw you yesterday and you were fine.”

“My job, is what I’ve been doing,” she snapped.

“Reviewing horse hosts for decommission,” he said with a sigh. It wasn’t even a question. “You know you can delegate that part to somebody else.”

She wanted to give a snarky response, but she was too tired to think of any.

“I know.” She sighed. “What did you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t fuck around, Bernie, I’m not in the mood.”

“We have a stray in the park.”

“Where?”

“Sector 47.”

“Okay. Great.” She rubbed her temples, then rubbed her eyes, and just kept rubbing, smearing her makeup completely and didn’t even care. “I’ll look into it.”

“No, you won’t,” Bernard said calmly. “What you’re going to do is take all the allergy meds you have and take the afternoon off. I’ll talk to Ashley and have him send out a recovery team, and I’ll run diagnostics on the host when they bring it back. Then I’ll report to you.”

Theresa was about to object, but the itchiness was just too much to take.

“Alright. But if there’s anything off about it, and I mean that, the slightest anomaly…”

“… I’ll let you know. Of course.”

She nodded and reached for the tissues again. Before leaving, Bernard gave her a sympathetic glance that she pretended she didn’t notice. It was bad enough that she caved, she didn’t want to be pitied on top of that.

When he left, Theresa leaned into the tissues and gave in to a full-on sneezing fit, wincing as she felt the mess from the sneezes flood the tissues.

Ugh, fuck this.

 

[Leafeon78]

Aww, I have missed these a lot thanks for continuing to share such lovely writing.

[Chanel_no5]

 Thank you so much!! I'm glad you're still enjoying!  

Prompt: Westbound
Fandom: The 4400
Note: You thought I’d be so cheap as to use this prompt for Westworld, huh? Well, I did think about it. But I was binging the first season of “The 4400” yesterday, from my sickbed, and the actress playing Diana is the same who plays Kath in Pine Gap, and she does have that allergic look, and I did what felt natural. ^^

 

“Oh great, here we go,” Diana muttered. Tom took his eyes from the road for a second and looked at her as she raised her hands up to her face.

“What?”

“Heh-ISCHoo!”

“Bless…”

“Isschoo! ESSCHOo! HaISSSHHuh!”

“Wow, bless you!”

“Thanks.”

“Are you coming down with something?”

“No,” Diana replied with a congested sigh. “It’s just allergies. I get like this every year around this time.”

”So that’s what I have to look forward to hearing every day now?” he joked.

“Yup. And what I have to look forward to doing every day,” she replied, fishing out a tissue from her leather coat pocket and wiped her nose with it. “Oh God. EISSCHoo! Heh-ISSCHHahh!”

“Bless you again. Sounds like it came out of the blue,” he said.

“Oh I’ve been itchy all morning. Just tried to hold it back because once I start I’ll just keep g-gohhh… huhh… uhhAAISSSCHooo! going. HEH-yISSCHoo!”

Tom threw his head back and let out a hearty laughter.

“You weren’t kidding!”

“I’m glad it amuses someone,” Diana said, got the tissue up again and blew her nose into it. Hard. “I am not too amused myself.”

“Don’t worry,” he said and gave her shoulder a pat. “I’m amused for both of us.”

“EISSCHHo! ISSCHOO! HEH-ISSCHH! EH-iSSCHooo! Whoa, wait, why are you turning here? EhhISSCHooo! This isn’t…”

“We’re going to a drugstore before we go anywhere else. I think you’ll be pretty tired of that long before we get to our destination. It’s a long drive, Diana. And we're going to have to be focused right from the start.”

She sighed and nodded. Normally she hated taking allergy meds even more than she hated sneezing like this, but he was right. 

[Chanel_no5]

Prompt: Join
Fandom: Westworld 
Note: This little thing is probably going to turn into a bigger thing in the future, but so far I haven't managed to get there.  

 

Bernard wasn’t surprised when Theresa put down her wine glass and turned away from the table to sneeze for the fourth or fifth time since they started dinner. He could tell from a mile away that she wasn’t rid of the tickle.

“AhhEESCHHoo! AERRSCHHooo!”

He handed her a napkin, which she gratefully accepted.

“Alright Theresa, you’ve been sneezing a lot tonight, what’s going on?”

She sighed.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said candidly, “but I think it’s your cologne.”

Bernard winced. The thought had crossed his mind, since it was a new brand that he put on for the first time tonight, and she hadn’t seemed to be sniffly earlier today.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Really. I’m just sneezing.”

“I noticed.”

They smiled at each other.

“I’ll go take a shower and wash it off,” Bernard said, getting up from the chair. “Good thing we hadn’t gotten into bed yet, so it’d be all over the pillows.”

“Yeah.” Theresa blew her nose.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Bernard said, heading for the bathroom.

“I’m joining you,” Theresa said, following suit.

“You don’t think that’s counterproductive?”

“Foreplay being counterproductive?” She raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”

He grinned.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Yes, but I’ll make sure you die a happy man.”

She gave him a playful smile and swept past him. Bernard took a second to thank God for this woman and for her unwavering interest in him. Then he followed her into the bathroom.

***

Prompt: Speech
Fandom: Borgen
Note: part one of a series of three drabbles.

 

“Heh-TSSCHoo!”

The Prime Minister sniffled, gave her nose a firm rub, and returned to the papers she was reading.

Her spin doctor frowned.

“That’s the fifth time you sneeze today.”

“You’re keeping count?”

“You never sneeze this much unless it’s allergy season. It’s December. It’s not allergy season.”

“How observant of you.” She cleared her throat.

“You’re coming down with a cold.”

“Nope.”

“Birgitte, you sound like…”

“I know how I sound, but I don’t have time to get sick, so I’m going to ignore it.”

“Sure, but… the New Year’s speech is the day after tomorrow.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“And that’s live TV.”

She nodded.

“I’m aware of that too.”

“And in two days, you’re going to sound awful.”

“Thank you for that encouragement.”

She took off her reading glasses and put them on the desk, then she looked up at him. When she did, he could see the dark circles around her eyes, and just a hint of pink around the edges of her elegantly shaped nostrils.

“Look, I know. I’m getting sick. The New Year’s speech is in two days. I’ll probably be at the peak of this cold by then. That’s a problem. But it’s not a problem I see that we can solve. I’ll just have to push on anyway.”

He sighed.

“I’ll write something into the speech.”

“Kasper, I’m not telling the whole nation about my cold.”

“And if you sneeze during the speech?”

“If I sneeze during my speech I’ll apologise and return to the speech. What else can I do?” She let the question hang in the air as she reached for a tissue and blew her nose, a quick and efficient blow. “You’re not seriously suggesting that I cancel the New Year’s address, are you?” she asked, still with the tissue to her face.

“No, you can’t do that. Absolutely not. I’m just concerned. You’re under a lot of pressure from both the Liberals and Labour, and you really can’t afford to come across as weak right now.”

“It’s a head cold, Kasper, I’m not dying.”

“Not physically, but you might be dying politically, and we must prevent any speculation that you’re not capable of leading this country.”

Birgitte’s nose twitched. She grabbed the tissue again, pinched her nose with it and stifled a double.

Kasper crossed his arms.

“You’re already getting worse. Damnit.”

“I’ll manage.”

“You have to. Laugesen will go for the kill if you seem weak.”

“I know.” She stood up. “Maybe I should go home early today and try to get some rest.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Birgitte nodded and gathered her things. If she was being completely honest, she was starting to feel pretty lousy, and she welcomed the chance to put on sweat pants and hoodie and curl up on the sofa with a cup of tea.

“Sanne!”

Her hopelessly incompetent but very sweet secretary popped her head in.

“Yes?”

“Cancel the rest of today’s meetings.”

“The one with the Minister of Justice too?”

“All of them, Sanne.”

“Yes,” Sanne said and curtsied before returning to her desk.

Birgitte rolled her eyes at Kasper as she put on her coat.

“Why does she still do that?”

“Nervous tic?”

“I’m that scary to work for?”

“Well, you can be a bit… intimidating.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment.”

He chuckled.

“You should.”

Her nose tickled again, and she just had enough time to get her arm up and muffle the sneeze into the sleeve of her coat.

“HmpSCHuh!”

“Feel better,” Kasper said and gave her shoulder a light squeeze. She smiled and thanked him, but she had a terrible feeling she was going to get worse before she got better.

***

Prompt: Survival
Fandom: Borgen
Note: Part two in a series of drabbles.

 

Birgitte wondered why her New Year’s speeches seemed to be cursed. Her first year she’d been so hungover from the New Year’s party the night before that it was a miracle she got through it without anyone noticing. And she hadn’t even had that much to drink the night before. Well. Yeah. Okay, that one was on her.

This year, however, she had a cold. And there was no way she’d be able to hide that.

“HeeASCHoo! HahTSSCHoo! HuhESCHuh!”

She bent over the tissues, trying to be as discreet as possible, but this cold had blossomed into something she had very little control over.

“Careful,” Hanne, the makeup artist, said when Birgitte blew her nose again. “You’re wiping off the makeup.”

“I’m sorry,” Birgitte said and leaned her head back so Hanne could repair the damage.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to completely conceal all the redness around here,” Hanne said with a gesture to Birgitte’s nose.

“Just do your best,” the Prime Minister sighed. “And I apologise in advance if I get you sick too.”

“It’s fine,” Hanne said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Birgitte, if we lower the lights a bit it shouldn’t be as obvious,” Kasper said. “Maybe we could do candle light instead.”

“Yeah. But we still have this problem,” she replied. “I c-can’t… oh, I’m gonna sneeze…!”

Hanne handed her a Kleenex and stepped back.

“Don’t rub at it!” she said right before Birgitte snapped forward.

“HuhESSCH! EESCHoo!” There was a brief pause before she took a deep, shuddering breath and doubled over again. “AISCHHoo! HaaISCHuhh!”

“Done?”

Birgitte nodded and sniffled thickly.

“I’m sorry, but I really have to blow my nose.”

“Careful. We don’t have time to redo it from scratch.”

She tried to be careful, but she had to clear her nose as much as possible or her voice would sound completely drenched.

“I can’t go very long without sneezing,” Birgitte said, turned to Kasper. “We have to cut part of the speech.”

“We already shortened it from fifteen to ten minutes.”

“Shorten it more. I might be able to go five minutes. I will not be able to go ten minutes. I’m sorry Kasper, I really can’t, that’s the harsh reality.”

This was the third time Birgitte said ‘I’m sorry’ in the past couple of minutes, and that was not the attitude he wanted her to have right now.

“I can shave off three more minutes. But you have to be able to do seven minutes.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“No, Birgitte. This isn’t just a New Year’s address; this is about your political survival. You can’t afford to show any weaknesses. You either pull this off, or you’re finished by February. That’s also the harsh reality.”

She looked back at him. He felt sorry for her; she’d had the year of hell, she was sick, and she should probably be in bed instead of on TV.

But despite all this, he saw that old glimmer of steel in her eyes, and he was relieved. That was the look he saw in Birgitte’s eyes when she was ready to get things done with all means available.

“Cut three minutes from it and I’ll be able to do it.”

He nodded and went to work. 

***

Prompt: Trust
Fandom: Borgen
Note: Third and final drabble of a series.

 

Birgitte sat down by the desk while the crew did the last-minute checks of lighting and sound. Kasper looked nervous, but nowhere near as nervous as Birgitte felt.

She felt like there were a thousand unsneezed sneezes lining up inside her nose, and she wasn’t at all as confident in her ability to keep them at bay as she tried to make it seem.

Seven minutes. She had to keep from sneezing, coughing, sniffling, for seven minutes. She hadn't gone more than five at most since early afternoon.

Hanne did the final touch on her makeup before the cameras would roll, and Birgitte’s hands curled into fists as Hanne lightly brushed some finishing powder on her tormented nose. The touch tickled so much, there was no way she’d be able to hold back a sneeze. Against her will, she started drawing in air to fuel a sneeze. Hanne quickly removed the brush from the Prime Minister’s face, but it was already too late. Birgitte fumbled for a tissue but Hanne wouldn’t give them to her.

“Just sneeze openly.”

Hanne was far more concerned with the result of her job than the possibility of catching the Prime Minister’s cold, and there was less than a minute left to make any repairs to the makeup.

Birgitte leaned to the side and aimed the sneezes towards the floor.

“HeeSSCHHoo! AaISSCHH! HahISSCHHew! Huhhhh… ESSHHHeew!”

The sneezes were embarrassingly wet and forceful, and when she straightened up, she felt her nose starting to run.

“Thirty seconds,” the camera guy said.

Birgitte sniffled hard, cleared her throat, tossed her hair back over her shoulders, and faced the camera.

Kasper gave her a very worried look. Birgitte tried to send him a mental reassurance.

I’ve got this. Trust me.

But the problem was that she didn’t trust herself right now.

She started speaking, relieved to hear that her voice at least carried. She wasn’t sure how much of the congestion was audible to others, but she felt like the cold was more than obvious.

With every word, she felt the tickle deep inside her nose grow stronger. She felt her eyes tear up a bit, and a sharp prickling sensation in her throat. She wasn’t sure if she was going to cough or sneeze, but she was certain she would do either. Or both. Could she push herself through this?

She had to.

Reaching the end of her speech, her voice still carried, but she was so close to a sneeze that she in her thoughts already packed up her stuff and left office.

She was almost there.

So was the sneeze.

It was like a race, head to head towards the finish line. Birgitte couldn’t hope for a big margin, but she might win… by a nose.

She reached the end of her speech, and the moment the cameraman announced that they had stopped filming, Birgitte leaned into her elbow and erupted with what might very well have been the wettest and messiest sneeze she had ever produced. The wetness went straight through blazer and blouse and soaked her skin, and she was afraid of removing her arm from her face because she was certain it was messy.

“You did it.” Kasper sounded like he was in a daze. “Birgitte, you are amazing.”

“That’s all well and good, Kasper.” Her voice was muffled by her arm. “Now get me a Kleenex so I can clean myself up.”

 

[crazygirl22]

Great work again!

[Chanel_no5]

Prompt: Exchange
Fandom: Borgen
Note: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just that this show is trying to kill me with all the fetish-friendly settings in season 2, so I have to get this out of my system before I explode. The sheer amount of flowers pretty much everywhere Birgitte goes, what the FUCK, show creators?? And now knowing for certain that the actress is allergic to pollen, was there a morally corrupt person of our kink who were involved? Says the morally corrupt person who writes these things.  

 ***

The Prime Minister had a headache. These meetings with the Minister of Defence and Minister of Justice did that. They kept trying to play secret boys’ club, no girls allowed, with her, so every meeting started with her having to reinforce her authority and remind them that she was, in fact, their boss. Høxenhaven was starting to come around, but Thorsen was your typical chauvinist who would never yield to a woman, even when that woman had the power to fire him at the blink of an eye. He didn’t think she’d dare even if faced with the prospect.

Birgitte dared, if she had a good reason to. She had kicked two Ministers off her cabinet already, but she had done so in such elegant ways that she struck a deal with them and had them hand in their own resignations. Spared both parts bad publicity. She wasn’t vengeful, she just wanted peace and quiet.

Her headache kept getting worse. She rubbed her temples, then her eyes. Then she rubbed her eyes again.

And kept rubbing her eyes.

What the hell is this about?

Now that she thought about it, it wasn’t just her eyes. Her throat itched too, and…

“AaaIISCHHoo! Huh… aaaESCHoo! HahTSSCHuh!”

Her nose. Great. It was September, for crying out loud. Allergy season was over. But it definitely felt like allergy itching.

She looked up from the papers and looked around for the first time since she came into her office after that meeting, and to her horror found the vase on her desk filled with lilies. She’d told her secretary ages ago, never lilies.

She opened the top drawer of her desk and took out the tissue pack she kept there, sneezing again before she could even get one out.

She had told her secretary, yes, and there hadn’t been any lilies in her office since she did, despite Sanne being possibly the most incompetent secretary imaginable. But Sanne had a kind heart. She couldn’t keep track of a schedule to save her life, but she was wonderfully skilled in the tiny details of being a good person, looking out for others. The new secretary had little to no human emotions, though.

Well, it could be a simple oversight.

“Jytte!”

Her secretary marched in.

“Yes?”

Had it been Sanne, she would have been horrified to see Birgitte in this rapidly declining allergic spiral. Jytte mostly looked annoyed, as if Birgitte by this somehow dishonoured the position she held.

“Y-you can’t… hehh-EISSCHH! ISSCHOO! Can’t put lilies in m-myYESSCHHoo! In my… office… hehISSSHHHuh!”

“I can’t understand you when you keep sneezing like that,” Jytte said.

“I’m allergic to lilies,” Birgitte said as clearly as she could.

“Well, antihistamines are a thing.”

“Throw these pollen monsters out, now,” Birgitte ordered, barely believing she had this exchange with a member of her staff at all.

Niels Erik came inside, nearly bumping into Jytte, who carried the flowers away from the Prime Minister while looking like she had been personally insulted.  

“Uh, I spoke to…”

Birgitte ignored him, put her nose into the tissue and blew hard, trying to buy herself a few seconds from the itch. It seemed to be working, at least for the moment. She gave him a watery-eyed glare and said:

“I want Sanne back.”

“Jytte is far more efficient…”

“I want Sanne back.”

“I’ll get you Sanne.”

“Good. Thank you. I’m glad someone around here still knows who gives the goddamn ordehhh… errSSCHHO! Orders.”

***

Prompt: Street
Fandom: Borgen
Note:

Let's do a sick-drabble too. Because I'm up so late tonight that I've lost all my sense of moderation.  

 ***

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Birgitte said when Kasper reached for the water bottle she had been drinking directly from earlier. “I think I might be getting a cold.”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

He put it back, opened a fresh bottle and downed half of it in one go, then he took a closer look at the Prime Minister.

“You have seemed a bit off today.”

Birgitte raised her eyebrows.

“That obvious, huh?”

“Not exactly obvious that you’re under the weather. But you’re usually not this quiet.”

“No. My throat hurts.” She swallowed. He had noticed her doing that a lot today, swallowing, wincing, clearing her throat. “Be a dear and hand me my water.”

He took the other bottle and walked up to her desk with it. Birgitte took it, but before she could take a sip, her face was shadowed by a sneezy look. She turned to the side, raised her arm as a shield, and let out a sneeze so loud it reverberated in the room.

“RAH-ESSCHHoo!!”

Kasper jumped, then started laughing.

“No wonder your throat hurts.”

Birgitte shook her head.

“It’s not funny, Kasper. I never sneeze like this normally, but it’s like these are completely out of my control. The kids had finally gone to sleep when I was about to leave for the meeting tonight, I was almost out the door…” she threw her arms out. “And then I sneezed.”

“I don’t even have to ask if you woke them up.” Kasper downed the rest of his water. “I bet that sneeze could be heard all the way down to the street.”

Birgitte stuck her tongue out at him and he chuckled.

“Very mature.”

Birgitte laughed a little, but soon interrupted herself with a cough. Kasper sighed.

“Look, Birgitte, why don’t you go home and get some sleep? I’ll write up a press release and you can check it tomorrow.”

“Great. Thank you.” The relief in her raspy voice was enough to tell him that they were adding another problem to the pile. This wasn’t going to be one of the light, quickly passing head colds like the ones Birgitte usually got and could work through just fine. The flu went around. He really hoped the Prime Minister wasn’t coming down with that.

He opened another water bottle while she put on her coat, and handed it to her when she was ready to leave.

“Stay hydrated. And take some zinc supplements right away, that might nip it in the bud.”

“I knew you were a fantastic spin doctor, but I had no idea you were a pretty decent medical doctor as well,” she joked, smiling despite the obvious pain when she spoke. “I’ll be fine, Kasper.”

She didn’t look fine. But there wasn’t a lot he could do, other than taking some of the burden off her and send her home, and that he already did.

Birgitte disappeared down the hall, heading towards the elevators, and then he heard another one of those enormous sneezes echoing back in the building. Unless she stifled, Birgitte had been a rather loud sneezer in all years he had known her, but this, this was exceptional.

Hell, they might actually be heard all the way down to the street! 

[Chanel_no5]

I think I've written enough for today, now.  

Prompt: Railroad
Fandom: Westworld
Note: I should probably give a bit of a warning on this one. It’s basically my Theresa head canon: she gets really bad and messy colds and she doesn’t care where they go from her. 

Sometimes Theresa really hated her job. Quality Assurance wasn’t limited to the functions of the hosts. It included everything in the whole fucking park, and pardon the language – actually, don’t bother –it was a big fucking park.

A big fucking park.

It very rarely rained in the desert, but last night they had seen a sudden flash flood, which had washed away part of the railroad leading into Sweetwater. Stubbs had alerted her early in the morning, when she was sleeping a NyQuil-induced, nearly comatose sleep, and now here she was, inspecting the damages, feeling worse for wear than the damages she inspected. She was coughing a near-constant, rattling, wheezing, wet cough, punctuated here and there with a harsh, body-bending sneeze.

She was so fucking sick it was almost hilarious. At this point, the air was heating up again after the chilly night, and vapor came off the ground as the sun scorched it, and the rest of the team were in short-sleeved shirts. Theresa was huddled up in an oversized wool sweater, pulling the sleeves down over her freezing hands, folding her arms over her chest in an attempt at keeping her body heat to herself.

She may have made an effort at keeping her body heat to herself, but she certainly made no similar efforts at keeping her illness to herself. Theresa’s colds were infamous among Westworld staff. She wasn’t always the origin of a cold epidemic, but certainly played the part of patient zero more frequently than anyone else. It was possible it was just because she moved between all the different departments and sections and was therefore more likely to spread her colds more efficiently than most of them. A more probable reason was that she simply didn’t give a shit. If Theresa had to sneeze, she would sneeze, and she saw no point in holding them back. That would defeat the very purpose of a sneeze.

“AAAEERRSSHHH!”

She doubled over and screamed out this throat-tearing, spraying sneeze, and it was so loud that the junior techs assigned to accompany her and make repair estimates actually turned and stared.

If she had been able to, she would have hurled a snarky comment at them, but the scraping sneeze set off the cough again, and she could only straighten up, steady herself against the rock on the side of the railroad, and cough until she could go back to a raspy, congested breathing.

Jesus fuck, she was too sick to work today.

“You’re too sick to work today,” said Bernard, as if her desperation had conjured him up out of thin air.

“I’ll be the judge of that, Mr Lowe, thank you very much,” she said thickly.

“Make a judgment call, then, Ms Cullen,” he replied. He appeared completely calm, as if he had just by chance showed up here in the middle of nowhere, but he had his back to the techs, and she could tell from his face how concerned he was. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, half an octave above a whisper. “That’s not a cold, that’s the flu.”

Thinking of a thousand snappy responses but settling for the humbling truth, Theresa nodded. Bernard turned over his shoulder.

“You guys take over from here. Make sure QA gets an extensive report.”

They looked almost punishably relieved to be rid of her, and Theresa made a mental note who they were, in case punishments would be a possibility at a later time. 

“Can you blame them?” Bernard said in that low voice again, reading her behaviour with that annoying ease he had. “You wouldn’t want to catch what you have.”

“Yet you seem to be fine taking your chances,” she replied, and in her case she didn’t have to deliberately keep her voice down; her voice was almost gone anyway.

“Yes, but I’ve built up a resistance over the years,” he replied, referring to the countless kisses they’d shared. “Come on. You’re going back to bed.”

This time she didn't even try to protest. Going back to bed sounded too good. 

***

Prompt: Camp
Fandom: Borgen (season 2)
Note: Because Birgitte in camo uniform with hayfever was a combo I found irresistible.   (also, fixed a few things from the text because I posted the draft and not the edited version. 

 

“HeASCHHuh! Hehhh… eASSCHugh! HeeASSCHHooooh my God…! EEASCHHoo!”

How? How can she be allergic here? There is absolutely nothing in bloom here, except conflict and road dust.

Thorsen, her Minister of Defence, gives her a look over the papers he’s reading.

“Not the most ideal time for a cold,” he says, somewhat dryly.

“AllehhhrghhicKTSSCHoo!.”

The word and the sneeze merge into one convulsive, chesty exhale, and it's a good thing she just got a tissue up to her face, because the spray isn't only coming out of her mouth this time.

“To what?!” Thorsen says, mirroring her own disbelief.

She shakes her head.

“War?” she suggests sarcastically and blows her nose.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.”

“Hans Christian, for fuck’s sake!” she snaps. “You make it sound like I could have just taken a sick day! We’re in a warzone in fucking Afghanistan, knock it off now!”

“Whoa,” he says, and sounds a little taken aback. Birgitte sighs.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry. It has to be rough.”

“Not half as rough as life here at camp is for the soldiers,” she says dismissively and blows her nose again. “You ready?”

“Are you?”

“Good,” she says, not replying to his counter question. “Damn, I’m so glad we can leave those deals the previous government made with the Bush administration. We never had any business being involved in this waaAUSSCHoo! War in the first place.”

“Be careful saying that out loud, Birgitte. Ethically you might be right, but saying it, especially here, is degrading to those who fight it.”

She nods.

“Noted. Another thing before we meet with them. I see why you and the military chiefs of staff hate the fact that I’m in charge. Because I’m one of those naïve humanitarians who doesn’t understand what we’re doing here." She sees that he's about to object, and raises a hand to stop him. "And that’s correct, my party’s stance is that this was an illegitimate war from the start, and my personal opinion is that war should be a crime altogether. But now I do happen to be in charge, and I did inherit this war, and I need to be accurately briefed to make the right calls from a vaster standpoint than party policies and personal opinions. Yet nobody wants to tell me anything.” Her blue eyes, a little swollen and very watery, but still firm, drill into his. “So you're going to tell your boys’ club to stop with their conspiratorial ‘girls have cooties’ absurdities, unless making me look indecisive and stupid is more important than the safety of our soldiers. I need to have unlimited access to all the intel regarding this war when I ask for it. And that's not a request. That’s a direct order from your commander-in-chief.”

She can tell it hurts his masculine pride to do it, but he straightens up and gives her a crisp salute, completely devoid of irony.

“Yes, Madam Prime Minister.”

She responds in the same style while she privately wonders when this is going to end. Being a woman in a power position isn't one bit like breaking a glass ceiling, it’s more like trying to break an invisible, elastic force field, it gives and gives but never really breaks. And when you least expect it, it bounces back into your face.

“AeeSCHH! AEESCHH! HAESCHooo!”

Like whatever the hell it is that’s getting up her nose and wreaking complete havoc with her sinuses.

“Hans Christian?”

“Yes?”

“Get somebody to figure out what the hell is in the air that can possibly make me react like this. Does anyone else at this camp suffer and if so, do they have proper access to antihistamines?”

Before Thorsen can reply, somebody else speaks up.

“It’s cedar, Madam Prime Minister. Several soldiers in camp are allergy sufferers, but access to antihistamines is usually good. If I may suggest, you might want to take one yourself. The wind is picking up. It always gets worse then.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.” It’s a relief to get brief, to the point answers. He salutes her then shakes her hand.

“Welcome to Afghanistan, Madam Prime Minister.”

Let's see, she's the head of command of a technically invading force, she's being shunned by the old boys' club which she's actually the boss of now, and she's walking head-first straight into a wall of pollen, figuratively speaking. If that's being welcomed, she'd hate to feel unwelcome. But that's an observation she's diplomatic enough to keep to herself.

 

Edited May 22, 2019 by Chanel_no5

[Chanel_no5]

Prompt: Plea
Fandom: Castle Rock s. 2
Note: I could see this happen. So I wrote it down. It was way more entertaining than discussing with my know-it-all uncle after Christmas dinner, anyway... 😂

***

“Please?”

“No.”

“But he’s so cute!”

“I said no, Joy.”

That conversation had been the runup to it, and Annie had known – known – that it would come back to bite her at some point, because she hated telling Joy no, but she could see no way a kitten would make a very good travelling companion. And it was not an option to get one for a few weeks and then leave it behind to fend for itself; only bad people treated pets that way. Very bad people.

Well, today she found she had a more solid reason to say no. A shame that came a bit too late.

Annie had been sneezing a lot the past couple of days. The kind of endlessly tickly sneezes that she usually associated with allergies, but the pollen count was low and the cabin was clean and well-kept, not a box of dust like some of the places they’d stayed. She assumed it could be a cold, but it didn’t feel like one. Cold symptoms developed, you got a sore throat, a cough, maybe a fever. This cockadoodie ‘cold’ was focused to her nose and it never developed, the symptoms remained the same; congestion, runny nose, itching, and sneezing.

But the funny part was that as soon as she went to work, she didn’t sneeze anymore. Nor when she was at the store, or outside. Only in the cabin. And she was at a complete loss at what could be causing it if it were allergies, since it hadn’t started when they first arrived but about a week later.

Today it was time to do laundry. Joy was usually neat for a teenager, except for the laundry thing. She left laundry left and right and Annie had long since stopped nagging about it. The girl took more than her share of the responsibilities that really meant something, matters of life and death honestly, so who cared if that meant having to send out a dang search party to find a stray hoodie?

But when she grabbed this particular hoodie and pulled it up from the couch to put it into the laundry basket, a few hairs came loose from it and whirled in the air, right in front of her eyes. Short, brownish hairs. Just like those on a certain tabby kitten that her daughter had pleaded with her to buy about a week ago.

And, incidentally, this relentlessly itchy sneezing had started about a week ago.

It took Annie only seconds to reach the conclusion that Joy had taken her allowance and snuck back and bought the kitten anyway, probably while Annie was at work, and then kept it hidden in her room. Smart move, really, because Joy’s room had a back door to a deck where she could sneak it in and out. And she would have gotten away with it too, at least for now, if Annie hadn’t just now brutally discovered how allergic she was to cats.

The tickle deep within her nose, a tickle which had been there almost like background noise for about a week, suddenly flared up with vicious intensity, like throwing gasoline on a fire. It was as if finally getting a glimpse of what was causing this allergic reaction sent said reaction spiralling out of control.

“HiEESSHHooo!” She sneezed wetly against her sleeve, took a sharp, quick breath and bent forward with a second, even wetter. Followed by a third, a fourth and a fifth. At this point she dropped the laundry basket and the hoodie on the floor, unable to hold on to either with the way her body revolted against her. Her nostrils crinkled in a perpetual sneezy fashion, the edges getting visibly red and irritated.

“HihhEESSHH! ESSCHHoo! EIISSSHHoo!” At this point she simply bent over again and again, no longer able to even think about covering, just spraying the desperate sneezes freely into the air. She only had time to snatch a sharp, brief gasp of air in between each sneeze, and was starting to get lightheaded.

Stumbling towards the door, her streaming, itchy eyes caught glimpse of something moving quickly past her and into Joy’s room. Something distinctively tabby with a long, fuzzy tail.

Joy, we're going to have a serious talk about keeping secrets, little lady! Annie thought, not for a moment reflecting on the hypocrisy of this concept.

Her anger at being disobeyed was overridden viciously by the intensity of the allergy attack, though, and all she wanted now was relief. She grabbed her purse and tore the door open and sat down on the front steps, at first sneezing so violently she could do nothing else. But after a little while in the fresh – though chilly – air, uncontaminated by allergens, the sneezing calmed down enough that she could search her purse and find the chart of generic allergy meds, a leftover from last summer, and dry-swallowed two pills. Then she just sat there, wrapping her cardigan around her to keep the chill at bay, though she was still sneezing with enough force to keep herself warm.

When Joy got back from the store, she had another chore to take care of. Three, actually. Take the cat back where she got it from, clean the cabin, and do the laundry.

That, Annie thought as she furiously scrubbed her nose with her knuckles before succumbing to yet another tickly sneezing fit, was only fair.  

 

Edited December 25, 2019 by Chanel_no5

[Chanel_no5]

Prompt: Conspiracy
Fandom: Westworld 
Note: I've had a bad day. I'm not a very nice person when I have a bad day. Ask Theresa.

 

Theresa blinked and tried to focus through the headache, but the letters rather seemed to float together, turning into a blur. With an annoyed sigh, she pushed the tablet aside, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. This was the initial stirring of a migraine, which would probably blossom in its full miserable splendour within a few hours, at the very most. She had already taken all the pain medication she dared to take, trying to stop it in its tracks, but it was not deterred.

Guess it’ll be an early night for me, she thought, no longer rubbing her temples but only pressing her fingertips against them. The dull ache which would soon turn into a searing, tearing lightning bolt pulsated behind her eyes, making them water and making her nose feel both stuffed up and drippy. In fact, the congestion was getting so bad she had to breathe through her mouth, but there was no way she was going to blow her nose. She was not going to add that extra sinus pressure right now, not a chance. A tear leaked out of one of her closed eyes and traced a wet trail down her cheek. Pain lines had appeared around her eyes and mouth, and despite her tan (that bordered on a burn; Scandinavian skin was never meant to be exposed to desert sun) she looked oddly pale. Almost ashen.

She lowered her hands again, put them on her lap, and then leaned her head back.

And that was when the tickle began. A light, fluttering tickle deep inside her nose, like the very tip of a feather brushed against the inside, slowly, torturously. It was the kind of tickle that you normally just gave in to, sneezed, and it was gone. However, Theresa could only imagine the pain she was in for if she were to sneeze with this kind of thunderstorm headache. Envisioning it was more than enough, she had no desire to test it in reality.

It’s a fucking conspiracy. I swear to God, my own body is against me.

She wasn’t even rubbing her nose, afraid that alone would tip the delicate balance between physical urge and her self-control, giving reign to the former. She held her breath, trying to will it to go away, but instead, that imaginary feather brushed further, it almost felt deliberate. It felt almost like the tickle – originally a grain of dust, a fibre from her clothes, even the scent of her own perfume, maybe – was intentionally trying to make her sneeze. Or simply testing her willpower.

More pain-induced tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes, and now some wetness began to leak from her assaulted nostril as well. This liquid was as watery as the tears, as if her nose was crying too.

No, it didn’t matter what she wanted, she was going to sneeze either way. Theresa decided that the anticipation of pain might be as bad as the actual suffering, and took a deep, sniffly breath through her nose, egging it on rather than blocking it.

“AAERGSSCHH-oww!!”

Lightning bolt was too kind a description for this. This was a fucking supernova.

At least it quelled the tickle.

Or so she thought. The ghost of the tickle remained, and it was already recovering, aiming for the same level of innocent torment as before.

Theresa moaned, wiped the wetness off her cheeks and upper lip with the back of her hand, and got up from her desk. She was definitely going to need to take a sick day tomorrow.

[Chanel_no5]

I got productivity and inspiration for my birthday! Best gift ever!  

 

Prompt: Dominant
Fandom: Castle Rock s 2
Note: Tried my hand at Nadia as well. And did so in some F/F AU scenario. ^^

***

Nadia became aware of two things the exact moment she woke up; one was that she felt completely stuffed up, unable to take even the smallest breath through her nose. The other was that Annie was watching her, so close she was practically on top of her.

“Fuck, Anne!”

The other woman’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t flinch.

“Such vile language.”

“Yeah, you startled me. Have you been staring at me ah-all night?”

The hitch was almost unnoticeable. But Annie noticed.

“Only since I woke up. See, I can hardly watch you when I’m asleep.”

Annie had a knack for declaring the obvious as if she was the only one who realised. Sometimes this annoyed Nadia. Sometimes it endeared her. Right now, it was a tie between the two.

“Would you mind telling me why you stare at me like that, then?” Nadia asked and sat up. Annie sat back, but still watched her closely.

“You woke me up. You were snoring.” Annie gave her a look that seemed to say ‘there, get it now?’

Nadia didn’t.

“You could have just elbowed me, and I would’ve rolled over.”

The congestion moved slightly as she was now sitting upright, and an intense prickle blossomed deep within her right nostril. She rubbed her nose, but with very little conviction; she knew that kind of prickle, it was going to turn into a sneeze no matter what she did.

“Eh-TSShh!” She sniffed, then sneezed again, a bit harder. “Heh-TSSHH!” The sneezes were as soft as her Somali accent, but nevertheless forceful, leaving her winded and bent slightly forward.

Annie sighed.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Usually people just say bless you,” Nadia remarked, but accepted the tissue that Annie handed her.

“Well, bless you, then. You’re sick.”

“People do sneeze without being sihhh… heh…TSSCHoo!”

“Yes, but you never sneeze more than once unless you’re getting a cold, and you’ve already sneezed three times. Besides, you normally don’t snore, but you snored one heck of a lot last night, and if you need more proof….” Annie placed a cool palm on Nadia’s forehead – “you also have a fever. I’m not surprised. You’ve been overworked for some time now. So don’t even think about getting out of bed. Lie back down.”

“When exactly did you become this dominant, Anne?” Nadia asked. She sounded playful, and why not? Annie was many things, but dominant wasn’t one of them. She was normally only taking charge in situations directly or indirectly related to parenting, otherwise she was both shy and meek.

Apart from her sudden bursts of anger, but those were tied to her mental issues and by now, with proper medication, mostly under control.

“This isn’t about me,” Annie said firmly. Then she smiled. She became a completely different person with that smile, Nadia thought. It was an open, warm, carefree side of a deeply conflicted woman, and it was utterly disarming. “This is about you.” She gave Nadia a soft kiss. “I’m a nurse, you know. So I’m gonna take care of you.”

“You also know you’re probably going to catch my cold if you keep kissing me,” Nadia said. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Annie kissed her again, almost defiantly, then she got out of bed.

“It’s a cold. The perfect excuse to stay in bed, eat comfy food and watch movies for a few days, but not be too sick to enjoy it.”

“So it’s your plan to catch it, huh?” Nadia’s eyes glittered. 

Annie shrugged.

“I’m overworked too,” she said matter-of-factly. 

***

Prompt: Book
Fandom: Castle Rock s 2
Note: Direct sequel to above drabble

 

Annie took a tissue from the near-empty box and sneezed into it several times, blew her nose, threw the tissue away, sniffled thickly for a while, then repeated the cycle. It had been going on repeat for two days now. It was ridiculous. She had never had such a sneezy cold before.

Nadia had already recovered and was back at work when Annie came down with it, so she didn’t have anyone to snuggle up with either. She was all alone and wallowing in self-pity.

“Heh-ISSSH! ISSCHew! Heh-ISSCHHoo!”

She had sneezed so much that her whole body ached, not to mention her poor nose! That’s what she got for almost looking forward to a cold, take a few sick days, wear PJs all day and just relax and read books or watch movies. She loved Nadia, but she was so dang active. Always making plans for the weekends. Annie was never going to be truly comfortable socialising that much, even though she tried. Joy had adapted to that lifestyle far easier, but Annie was always going to be an introvert.

The front door opened and closed.

“Hey sweetie,” Nadia called.

‘You’re home early,’ Annie tried to reply, but it came out as a series of vocal hitches turned spraying sneezes. This time she didn’t even have enough warning to grab a tissue, and a fine mist mingled in the rays of sunshine coming in through the window.

Nadia came into the bedroom and had to chuckle at the pitiful mess before her.

“Well, you wanted the cold. Careful what you wish for, I guess.”

“It wasd’t this bad whed you had it,” Annie retorted and had to bury her nose in another tissue to catch the next volley of sneezes. “Ugh.”

“Hence the ‘careful what you wish for’-part,” Nadia said, a light smirk playing on her full lips. “I got you some more tissues. I figured you could use it,” she continued, handing Annie an unopened box, which she gratefully took and put on her lap.

“Thag you.”

“And I got you this.” Nadia held up a paperback novel, one of the romance novels Annie read in bulk. “I hope you haven’t read it. I just thought it was a fitting title.”

Annie took the book and read the title: Misery’s Journey.

“Ha, ha, you’re so fuddy. Heh-ISSSHH!”

”Bless you.” Nadia bent down and kissed Annie on the forehead. “I’m going to get you something to eat.” She nodded to the empty ice cream container on the bedside table. “Something a little bit more nutritious than that.”

 ***

Prompt: Applause
Fandom: Westworld
Note: Theresa thought she was off the hook. She should not make assumptions regarding me and my writing.  

 

Theresa is suffering. She hates these functions with a passion, hates the passivity of wandering around like an extra in a movie just to soothe the big shots’ egos. Despite hating it, she understands the game and knows how to play it, is well aware of her own very humble position in the Delos corporation. In the Westworld hierarchy she’s on top of the food chain, the one reporting directly to the Board of Directors. In the Delos hierarchy, though, she is a pawn. One that can be replaced at the whim of anyone above her. That makes her appearance and conduct so much more important when she’s forced to attend these fucking black-tie events. She’s never been the smoothest person in the world, but usually she can bite her tongue and smile and nod if her job depends on it.

Her allergies are a completely different story, though. She is totally unable to control them. She supposes she should be grateful it’s not a cold – she has this annoying tendency to catch really heavy, lingering colds whenever she’s stressed, and they’re absolutely disgusting – but when the pollen from the flowers decorating the hall first start to work their questionable magic on her, she’s torn between despair and anger.

Luckily, it’s not something she’s desperately allergic to. There are flowers that reduce her to a miserable, sniffly mess in a matter of minutes, but these only make her itchy. If she’s exposed to them long enough she starts sneezing, but not in fits. No, they make her sneeze in insufficient singles, sneezes that tease her with the promise of sweet relief, only to break their promise a few seconds after the sneeze is a fact. Then she’ll have another long, drawn-out, torturous buildup, lasting for several minutes, sometimes even hours, if she can’t get away from the allergen and take an antihistamine.

Theresa has already given in to three of these ridiculously tickly sneezes tonight, and she refuses to give in to a fourth. Her sneezes are so loud that people turn their heads, and so far she has managed to get away from the crowd and let them out in relative solitude. She doesn’t doubt that people have heard her, but no one has actually been around to see her do such an undignified and unladylike thing.

She knows she won’t have such luck much longer, however. The current owner of Delos corp. is making one of his increasingly rare appearances tonight, and has decided to make a speech. Like everyone else in the know, and maybe even more so since she knows what he does when he visits Westworld, she’s intimidated by him and she can’t think of anything more embarrassing – not to mention career-killing – than to sneeze during his speech.

Nor can she leave the room. That’s equally bad. If not worse.

Her eyes begin to water as the itch in her nose grows stronger and stronger with each passing moment. She has started breathing in very carefully regulated breaths, hoping to keep her body’s desire to gasp in hitching breaths to fuel the sneezy urge under tight wraps.

Her stunning blue dress is cut to enhance her rather modest cleavage, and as her breath begins to hitch despite all her efforts, the heaving of her chest does far more to enhance this area than any dress designers and push up bras in the world. For a moment she thinks about Bernard. He would quite enjoy the view.

The all-consuming itch reaches a crescendo and she knows she can’t fight it anymore, she has to sneeze.

The speech ends at the same moment Theresa accepts the defeat that is overpowering her, like a tidal wave crashing in, and the sound of her loud, helpless sneeze is drowned in the crowd’s applause. Those standing closest to her send brief glances in her direction, but at that point she has recovered enough to fall in line, be a good underling, and applaud the leadership.

She’s never going to another one of these fucking events without taking an antihistamine in advance. This was way too fucking close for her liking.  

[Victoria]

Awesome!  I've got to get back into Castle Rock.

[Reader]

I’m left in want of more sick Nadia! I like how she’s a bit cool under pressure but doesn’t outright deny. And a side of Anna’s personality really comes through which made me laugh. But  that hawk-eye demeanor is perfect for readers to get a view into every delicious detail happening!

[Chanel_no5]

Uh-huh, hmmmm, I'll see if I can nudge the muse into writing more sick Nadia, then.  But now for something completely different, so brace yourselves.

Prompt: Saint
Fandom: RPF, 21st century politics
Note: I'm not embarrassed about whom I find attractive (puzzled, sometimes, but not embarrassed), and I do find her attractive. But I'm not writing out names because for other readers, it's probably easier to read like this.   I had fun, at least, and once I got the idea, I just had to write it to see if I could.

 

She’s had it. That’s what keeps running through her mind the last half-hour of listening to his stupid manifesto of bullsh-… mistruths, and she’s at a loss of what to do. She was always taught to be a lady, to take the high road, not lower herself to the level of petty that certain other officials operate in. But even though she’s almost always in control of herself, behind the composed façade, she has a fiery Italian temperament that hasn’t diminished over the years. God knows she’s no saint.  

She glares at the back of his head and ponders breaking decorum and just roll up her copy of the speech and slap him in the head with it. Not a good idea, satisfying as it would be, she’s definitely better than that. 

She wrinkles her nose as a whiff of his cologne hits her. It’s as vile and vulgar as the man wearing it, but while she doesn’t let his projections and attacks get to her, there’s not a whole lot she can do about the cologne, that she has no control over. She rubs her nose lightly and sniffs, which she quickly realises was the wrong move as the heavy fragrance creates an irritating tickle. At first she thinks she can quell the urge to sneeze, but it soon becomes clear that’s not going to happen. She turns to the side and holds up a hand to hide her face, takes one deep, sharp breath and stifles a single sneeze. It’s a quick, quiet, discreet sneeze. Then she straightens up again and forces herself to keep listening to the rambling, boasting liar.

There has to be some way to show that it is just that; lies. Make a statement. A visual statement, shocking enough to get people's attention. She looks down at her copy of the speech and smirks. She has an idea. And that idea certainly breaks decorum, but… for once, decorum be damned.

***

 

Edited February 10, 2020 by Chanel_no5

[Chanel_no5]

Prompt: Luck
Fandom: Westworld
Note: I wanted to write a Valentine’s Day fic with these two, but inspiration failed me and everything I managed to cram out writing-wise this weekend so far is this. well, better than nothing. 🤷‍♀️ Also, I hope I didn’t shock everyone too much with the latest drabble. Buuuuut I am an Aquarius so I do hope I shocked you a liiiiiiittle bit. Jokes aside, I genuinely think she is an attractive woman, and either way, if the muse wants me to write it, I'm gonna write it. 🧚‍♀️ ( <--- that's a muse. Shut up. ) But now, back to Westworld. 🤠

***

These moments were the best. The lovemaking was wonderful, but these quiet moments afterwards were better; when they were just lying there in the dark, side by side and hand in hand.

All of a sudden, Theresa loosened her hand from his and sat up.

“Leaving already?” Bernard mumbled. He had almost dozed off.  

“AERSSHH!”

The sneeze was violent enough to shake the bed.

“Oh my God,” Bernard chuckled and rolled over on the side. “Bless you.”

“Thank you,” Theresa said, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m just gonna go blow my nose.”

“Are you coming down with something?” Bernard asked. Theresa rolled her eyes.

“I think you already know the answer to that, oh master of observations. Huh-EESSSHHoo!”

“Bless you.”

“You’re going to get tired of saying that very soon,” Theresa said with a congested sigh and got out of bed. Bernard listened to her footsteps heading for the bathroom, shaking his head a little. She was right, he had known since this morning that she was getting sick. Only subtle details; a more pronounced rasp in her voice, some occasional sniffling, and she had been rubbing her temples as if she was battling a headache. She hadn’t complained about it out loud, but she rarely did. From time to time she became a bit melodramatic about her colds – without being aware of it herself, which he found quite adorable – but most of the time she just soldiered through them stoically.

“HeeRSSHuh! EeeARRSHHoo! Fuck!”

Yes, it was pretty obvious she was past the subtle beginning of the cold at this point. Now she was plunging into the sneezy, drippy part of it, and he suffered with her. Theresa had notoriously bad luck when it came to catching colds. That was just the way things were. The nature of her reality, so to speak. 

 

[Glatissant]

I'm a sucker for Westworld content. Thanks for these!

[Chanel_no5]

13 hours ago, Glatissant said:

I'm a sucker for Westworld content. Thanks for these!

Thank you! I've written an embarrassing amount of Westworld sneezefics, so you can find plenty more in the fanfiction section. They're all Theresa-centric though, because she's my favourite character (I am in love with her gorgeous nose!), but.. yeah, you'll find a lot of Westworld fics on the forum and I'm either guilty of writing them or trading for them. 😂

 

[1a2b3d4c5]

So after reading your other Borgen stuff I came across this and have slowly been making my way through your drabbles. Well I got to the end and just wanted to say they’re amazing! You have such a talent for weaving in realistic dialogue with the sneezing in a way that doesn’t seem forced. I haven’t watched the other shows (though I might now), but the Borgen ones I could practically hear (all the more impressive since it should be Danish lol). 

[Chanel_no5]

16 hours ago, 1a2b3d4c5 said:

So after reading your other Borgen stuff I came across this and have slowly been making my way through your drabbles. Well I got to the end and just wanted to say they’re amazing! You have such a talent for weaving in realistic dialogue with the sneezing in a way that doesn’t seem forced. I haven’t watched the other shows (though I might now), but the Borgen ones I could practically hear (all the more impressive since it should be Danish lol). 

Thank you so much, that's so sweet of you!   I have written a lot (a lot!  ) of fics over the years, both original, fanfics, and drabbles, so I often feel that I repeat myself...  But then again... there are only so many ways to describe sneezing. The hardest thing about writing fanfics is to get the voice of the characters down right, so I'm really glad you think the dialogue works. It's been years since I watched any of the fandoms I wrote in this thread - I tend to go all in with specific characters and/or actors and then move on to another hyperfixation - but they were all special at one point. The character Theresa in season 1 of Westworld is played by the same actress who plays Birgitte, in case you didn't know that already.  

 

[1a2b3d4c5]

4 hours ago, Chanel_no5 said:

It's been years since I watched any of the fandoms I wrote in this thread - I tend to go all in with specific characters and/or actors and then move on to another hyperfixation - but they were all special at one point. The character Theresa in season 1 of Westworld is played by the same actress who plays Birgitte, in case you didn't know that already.  

 

Oh I’m exactly the same way. I get super obsessed with a show, and then once I finish it (which sucks) I get super invested in something else. I pretty much only watch one thing at a time lol. I figured you’re onto new stuff by this point but just wanted to let you know someone’s enjoying it 😊. And I may very well check out Westworld (if I can figure out how).

[Botek]

That's really cool