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A private board for younger members to discuss any topic in private, away from adults' or guests' abilities to read or post. Note: This forum is NOT a Snake Pit. Details of gaining entry can be found here.
YAAAS! So glad you two finally saw the movie. Don't get me wrong, it was SUPER flattering that you both read my stuff before you saw it, so thanks for that. And thanks for your lovely comments, too.
Someone please stop me. I need help. Here's YET ANOTHER ficlet featuring a cold-ridden Hermann again, but in a different setting. You can view this as either a domestic AU where kaiju don't exist, OR a slice of life "downtime" following the closing of the Breach.
“I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Herms,” Newt said, running his fingers through the fine strands of Hermann’s hair. He offered the same affectionate attention to the soft fuzz of his undercut as well. “You, like, always catch a cold in March. Without fail, man.”
There was a sound of protest from down below, where Hermann was currently using Newt’s thighs as a pillow. He felt wretched, absolutely so, though miraculously still inclined to defend himself. He cleared his throat, hardened his voice, and tried very hard to enunciate his words through his nasal congestion.
“I do not.”
“‘I do dot’,” Newt imitated, adding the stuffy emphasis to the word 'not' that Hermann hadn’t quite managed to elude. “Also, are you actually trying to make yourself sound intimidating right now? Because if you are, it’s totally not working,” Newt pointed out, snickering. "Not even a little."
He felt bad for Hermann, sure, but he wasn't going to pretend to be scared when fear was the last thing he was feeling. How could he when Hermann was basically a kitten right now, swatting and hissing at him before falling over?
“And you do SO, by the way. Last year you got sick in March, and the year before that, too.”
Hermann had to think around the cotton that was stuffing up his head to confirm whether or not Newton's statement was correct. He did tend to fall ill during the changing of seasons, but it was more of a coincidence than a guarantee. At least, that was what he’d told himself year after year, cold after miserable, bloody cold.
“I mean,” Newt continued, interrupting Hermann’s train of thought. “We can’t all have a stellar immune system. That just wouldn’t be fair.”
Hermann’s rheumy eyes opened just so they could roll closed again. “Need I remind you who it was that contracted influenza in December?”
“That J-technician LITERALLY sneezed in my face, Hermann. You don’t have to be a biologist to know how the transmission of pathogens works,” Newt huffed, thinking back to the cringeworthy event and shuddering deeply.
Perhaps it was the inclusion of the word ‘sneezed’, or just poorly-timed irony, but a feathery twinge in Hermann’s nose suddenly made itself known. He shielded a hand over his mouth (he had no intention of catching the sneeze that way, yet some kind of precautionary barrier was better than no barrier at all), and used his other hand to flail at Newton.
Newt already knew the drill—waving hand = ‘I need a tissue, pronto’—and quickly reached for the box that was sitting on the arm of the couch. He shoved it in front of Hermann, who snatched two sheets and pressed them against the lower part of his face.
Newt gave Hermann’s back a comforting rub, even as he felt him tense up again.
“Bl-eh-ss you,” Newt offered, dramatically articulating the blessing in hopes that it would somehow chase away any more potential sneezes. They weren't particularly loud or jarring or anything, but Hermann insisted on squashing them down anyway (which probably didn't feel nice with inflamed sinuses, a sore throat, and a pounding headache).
Hermann snuffled into the tissue, crumpled it, and kept it trapped in his fist as he readjusted against Newton’s leg. “Thank you. Excuse me.”
Newt hummed in acknowledgement and started stroking through Hermann’s hair again. “You know what’ll make you feel better, babe?”
“…aside from rest, water, and paracetamol?”
“I mean yeah, okay, that too, but like—that’s not what I meant. I’m talking more along the lines of binging Bill Nye. I fucking LOVE Bill Nye.”
Hermann sniffed, half in distaste over Newton swearing and half because he felt that ticklish twinge again. “Language.”
“Seriously?” Newt asked, incredulous. “Fine. I’ll cut back on the f-bombs, but as a compromise we’re watching Bill Nye. I have every season saved on my laptop just for these kind of occasions. Same with Friends.”
The flailing ‘I-need-a-tissue’ hand made an abrupt comeback, and Newt offered up the box again. This time, he kept talking over Hermann’s sneezes.
“Speaking of Friends, I honestly can’t believe—”
“—you’ve never seen the show, Hermann. How do you even—
“—live with yourself?”
“Mmm. I had never seen Bill Nye the Science Guy either until you insisted on introducing it to me last month,” Hermann said, wiping his nose and sighing wearily. “Excuse me.”
“Dude, you’re excused for the rest of your cold. You don’t have to keep saying that,” Newt told him, shaking his head. “Anyway, we’re gonna finish up Bill and then start Friends. It’s ten seasons, so there’s a hell of a commitment there, but we can knock it out in like two weeks if we’re really dedicated. We just, uh. We just won’t sleep.”
Careful not to jostle his precious cargo too much, Newt bent over Hermann and reached for the blanket that was pooled on the floor; he covered Hermann up, nice and cozy, and then opened the laptop on the coffee table. Hermann was close to dozing by the time Newt started up an episode, but he watched the screen, lashes fluttering sleepily, as he struggled to stay awake for the next fifteen minutes.
He eventually fell asleep to soft strokes across the nape of his neck, as well as the sound of Newton’s hyena laughter.
In one of the recent episodes of The Late Late Show with James Corden, he talks about how bad his flower allergies were at the royal wedding. he pretends to sneeze a couple times, and demonstrates his sneezy face too.