#I look at the jars of moonshine instead of knowing about anything else

[dragon-chica]

other than my grandmother giving me her beer to finish when I was like six, the alcohol I got started on was always moonshine. my mom would drink apple pie moonshine and give me a little glass each time growing up. I'd be gotten those tiny jars of fancy flavored moonshines. to celebrate my 21st, big jar of moonshine. for all the wine and beer that goes through my family, I just randomly got assigned moonshine? what was that about

[mauserfrau]

Last Night At Jawgrim’s - Bordertober

Happy Friday! Have some artsy nonsense with a side of drinking and gore.

I remember— it was really a pretty sunset that night.  It was truly a sight to see.  You know, that night.  The last time I went down to Jawgrim’s for some bathtub tequila.  

You’re saying holy people don’t drink.  But ah, you’re wrong.  We all drink on that planet.  

I got chest up to the bar.  Jawgrim kept it awful high, but he was a big man.  Yes, I’m sure it wasn’t Grimjaw.  Yes, big in every dimension, but he wore his old bandit mask off to the side of his head like a Promethean girl at a summer festival.   

I was trying to catch his eye, but he didn’t see so good.  Hazard of drinking too much of his own moonshine.

I figured he’d come around sooner or later.  Anyway, he had Trash Fire and her boys to water, the cobbler from down in the gulch.  A couple Hyperion types who wandered in.  The usual raff and riff.  Actually, Riff wasn’t around… 

Only realized Deupree showed up ‘cause he let in a gust.  He had a knack for that and swagger and conning ladypersons out of tables.  Wasn’t any need that night.  He put his feet and his pack up, pack half-open, just daring somebody to go looking inside.  Yeah, I know that’s part of What’s In The Box.

But by then I’d got a drink and Trash Fire was on it.  I’d say lit, but I mean, Trash Fire… 

I tried to make it last.  Great stuff.  Made your ears ring or your nose run depending on the batch.  I miss it.  I was missing it that night while I still had a glass and the air still smelled like air instead of whiskey puke.  

So of course you know the next gust, it’s all sweet and chemical.  Thought somebody busted a slag rifle over somebody else’s head outside.  That would have explained it.  But I’ve still never smelled anything like her.

Wasn’t unusual to see strangers at Jawgrim’s.  Only bar in town.  Wasn’t unusual he acted like they weren’t there.  No point if they didn’t know him.  Wouldn’t tip.

So this woman, she’s got a scarecrow with her.  I’m mean, I was looking at this guy… I guess it was a guy…  nobody asked.  Nobody ever asks on that planet.  Looking at him I got so stuck on autumn, pumpkin for supper and getting scratched to bits in a field of maize like back on Halcyon 1.   

The fan came around.  I got another whiff of her.  Stared into my glass after, trying to figure just what was in the ice that night.

The scarecrow slid in beside me.  He flashed he wanted two fingers for two people and Jawgrim gave it to him right up.  

I remember, he drank before the woman.  She made a face when she did.  I mean, more of a face.  Shoved her pour back at him after one sip.  Him now, he drank it like it was water.  Left the glasses on the windowsill too.

Anyway, the woman, she got over to Deupree and she sat with him.  I thought maybe he’d turned over a new skull plate.  Don’t start, I was there for too long.  I thought good for him.  

But he looked out from under his hat.  Could see it in his eyes— he didn’t know this woman, but he smelled her like I did.

“Well, hey little lady,” he said, all smooth.  “Do you know what tonight is?”

And she said back, “What’s it matter to me what day it is?” That was a new one.

No, I don’t actually remember myself what day.  I was a holy person on that planet.  I didn’t know what two times four was half the time.  

Now, it took him about two seconds, but they were the longest two seconds anybody ever spent at Jawgrim’s I’m sure.  Deupree came around though.  He smiled, gold canine winking out of his mouth.  “How about I make it matter?”

“You can try, I guess.  But I’m pretty good at What’s In The Box.” I couldn’t see the look she gave him.  She’d swung around the side of the table so it was just him and the scarecrow got any view.

Now, the thing I forgot to mention about Deupree was that he used to be a chemical engineer.  His bar bet box would have been the stuff of legends anyplace else.  But on that planet, he was small time.

Should have known there was something funny about her ‘sides the smell.  Why’d she care so much about a hustler in a no-name town?  Why’d she say, “What’s the bet?”

“Hundred.”

“Cheap.”

“Well, what’s rich then, if you wanna play that way?”

“I dunno.  You?”

“Me?”

“Bet me your soul.  I always wanted to try that.” She made this movement, tugging on her sleeves, like wrapping the idea around her.  And I think she raised Deupree the scarecrow once he finished laughing, but Trash Fire threw a cherry at me and said this was my job and I’d better referee.

I shook my glass at Jawgrim and I went over.  Deupree and the woman nodded. 

She had blue eyes.  Parts of them seemed red.  Not like a white cat’s.  Like they just were red sometimes.  Just ‘cause.

Now, Deupree’s box was black, and the finger slits, they leaked shadows.  I don’t know how he did it, but I wouldn’t put my hand near the thing.  Nasty looking business even if the effect was just carbon and crossed fingers.  

No, I didn’t think it was unholy.  I know unholy when I see it.  Or, I did at some point.  Look, it’s complicated.

The woman reached towards the box.  She touched the tip of her pinky to the shadows crawling on the outside.  Then she pressed it back to her mouth, tasting with all of her tongue.  How she smiled, all hungry and certain.  Her attention locked on Deupree as she reached into her coat.

“It’s a sheep’s eye like this one.”

One splattered on the table.  It sat there, staring up.

So this woman had been walking around with an eyeball in her pocket.  That’s what I’m saying.

Deupree gave it a hell of a look.  His laugh, that came out hollow.  Still did manage to laugh, but still.  He slid the first compartment open and dumped out the eye.  His was all discolored from whatever he’d used to pickle it.  “I’d say that’s cheating.”

I didn’t have any plans to allow it, until he got to his but.

“...but I can feel the love in your efforts.  OK then.  One of the compartments tonight is new and you can’t guess it even if you are a fangirl of mine.  The other? Nobody’s guessed that ever.  Not in seven years.”

The woman looked on.  Her smell and her satisfaction got all fierce-like.  People were taking their own bets in the back now, Jawgrim pouring as fast as his chipped mason jars would let him.  She put her hand— yes, her whole hand —in the furthest compartment.  She didn’t once take her eyes off of Deupree, but she reached behind herself, gesturing to the scarecrow.

He came to her, both their glasses in one hand.  One he tipped into the opposite palm and it clanked.  No, I don’t remember what he smelled like.  Never got that close to him.  Anyway, he shook the two together, whispered some gibberish and held the bottom one out to the woman.

The contents splattered on the table when she dropped it.  “Unlaid vinegar pigeon eggs.  You could have just peeled some grapes.”

“Ah, but grapes are awful hard to get here.”

Vinegar pigeon eggs? Oh, people on that planet ate them with the local meat.  Made it taste less bad by comparison. 

I went to call it again.  

Deupree gestured slitting his throat.  I guessed he meant shut up.  ‘sides Jawgrim shoved another glass in my hand.  My last drink there.  Soapy and familiar.  Made my eyes swim and my guts stammer hard as Trash Fire’s laughter.

“Last round,” said the woman.  Her concentration broke for half an instant.  She told the scarecrow, “Oh, nice knowing you.”

He pretended to weep.

No, I didn’t notice he hadn’t spoken, but… You’ll see.  Hang on.

Picture her, reaching into the center slot, her whole hand again.  Some thoughtfulness got on her lips this time.  She closed her blue eyes.  The bar buzzed and chirped and hiccupped.

Her fingers when she pulled them out were stained with dark, old blood.

She hummed.  I fought to get Deupree to look at me.  He was all eyes for her though.

As she said: “This is the heart of a boy named Eucariah.  He died a long, long time ago in a valley on the other side of the planet.  Mama said not to go out after dark.  Oh no, he did anyway.  He could hear the bandits singing.  He had to do it.  He had to not listen to Mama and wasn’t that sad? Wasn’t that the hardest thing ever? Listening to somebody else.  Hell, he didn’t even listen when they tried to do his autopsy.  It took the town doc an hour to cut open that thick skull of his and then there was nothing inside.”

She dropped one more thing on the table.  A metal toe tag.  The kind like they used at the old Dahl camps ‘cause the only paper they had rotted in the heat.

Deupree said nothing.

The bar, we were laughing, you know.  She was bullshitting so hard.

She just had to be.

Deupree said nothing.  He wasn’t even breathing.  He could not look away from her.  Not even as the scarecrow loomed over him and placed a hand on his back.

“Well,” said the woman.  “Say your prayers or…”

“Or what!” he cried.  His voice cracked so hard.

“Get out.  Get out of town.  We don’t want you here.”

We? Who was we? I wondered half this damned awful second.

Deupree turned the table over as he bolted.  Glass and guts spilled everywhere.

And the woman, she reached out to me.  I guess she wanted to wipe her hand.  I flinched.  One terrible moment I met her eyes myself, but she turned to the scarecrow and she shrugged.  “I guess we should catch him before he hurts his little self.  Or not.  As long as he’s gone.”

The scarecrow shook his head.  He pulled her to her feet even though her hand was still filthy.  He showed her out, all formal and bowing.

For the rest of us, he said “Peace!” and slammed the door and went laughing out of Jawgrim’s.  Everybody behind him? Quiet as a graveyard by that point.  Everybody except for me.  

I remember, I ran outside after them.  Why? Dumb curiosity, I guess.  I was the only one after all.  

Maybe it was the bathtub tequila or maybe it was that too pretty sunset or maybe, God damn them, it was real, but the streets of that town? All full of gusts and ghouls.  Not even sure half of them were people before they died, warped as they looked, but they were definitely dead, smiling through their skulls in the dusk.  The woman walked down the line of them and they chattered, all of them, their teeth and their ribs shaking, body slime dripping from the old ones.  I heard them say mother; mother something.

You know, I heard her name, but my brain won’t let me remember it.  Know it’s in there.

But I couldn’t.  I can’t.  I didn’t look away.  I stood there crossing myself as the streets swelled with dead.

I don’t know what snapped.  One touched me.  Or something.  Anyway, it was by the grace of God I ran.

I ran all the way back to my room in the back of the whorehouse.  I grabbed my things and I left that place— that town, that planet, that galaxy.  I’ve had no drink since.  OK, except for what I needed to ween myself off of the stuff.  And this glass with you.  I’m sorry, I’ve got no taste for real tequila.  

I still smell her, sometimes in the autumn.  Smell that woman.

I smell her and I pray.

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 28

All that’s left is an epilogue, my dudes, my pals, and I’m so incredibly happy that anyone has hung in until now.  

AO3

“What exactly happened?”  Snotlout asks, looking more alive than Hiccup feels, leaning his elbows on a surprisingly clean table at what still claims to be Gruff’s bar. 

“We’ve told you like ten times,” Hiccup leans his head on his hand, swirling the glass of the clear alcohol he doesn’t really trust and wishing he were somewhere else. 

“Since when have you denied an excuse to tell some long-winded story?”  Snotlout rolls his eyes and Astrid nods, quietly agreeing even though her eyes are worried. 

“It’s not a long story.”  Hiccup understands the impulse to celebrate, but given that he’s the one who just got out of jail, shouldn’t he get to dictate what constitutes that celebration?  Shouldn’t his so-called friends have realized that his idea of a celebration might be less ‘bar’ and more ‘shower and nap and food that wasn’t squeezed out of a tube by someone with a face tattoo wearing a hairnet’?

 “I want to hear it again,” Snotlout clasps his hands together in a pleading, annoying way that makes Hiccup roll his eyes. 

“I hit Grisly,” Astrid tries and fails to bite back an almost shy, self-congratulatory smile, “in the face, with an umbrella.  I think I broke his nose.” 

“I think you broke his nose when you kneed him in the face.”  As much as he wants to go home, Hiccup will tell his half of the story all day if it keeps making Astrid smile like that, buoyant in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her.  Flashes of it maybe, under his sheets on that night he can’t think of without aching, but never this constant, like the weight she’s had on her shoulders has been banished to a cell where he belongs. 

“Right, I hit him with an umbrella, then kneed him in the face, then shoved him into a wall.”  She nods, scooting closer on the booth bench when Ruffnut slides in beside her.  

Her leg is warm against his and her hand is casual on his thigh, thumb tracing the seam of the shitty, too-big jeans they gave him when they took the jumpsuit back.  He shivers at the contact, barely resisting the urge to lean his cheek against the top of her head.  He doesn’t think she’d stop him or anything, it just feels like something he wants to be private. 

Everything about her makes him want to be alone, to have her all to himself instead of sharing her with everyone while he paces an anxious victory lap in his tour de force of keeping his face straight for over a week.   As lonely as he was in jail, he doesn’t want to show it yet, not when everything is still so fresh and chaotic and unbelievable.  But he wouldn’t have to act around Astrid, couldn’t even choose to.  There’s no debate about letting her in because she’s already there, behind his defenses, holding them up even when he crumbles. 

“I bet he can pull off the broken nose though,” Ruffnut’s assertion pulls him back into the conversation and he turns slightly to see her better, his arm sliding around Astrid’s shoulders.  “What?  Why are you all looking at me like that?” 

“He was going to kill us, Ruff, I don’t care what his nose looks like,” Astrid scoffs. 

“I’m not saying I care, I’m just saying I don’t mind a guy who looks a little dangerous.” 

“Well he is that, if your definition of ‘a little dangerous’ means someone who killed at least four people, including your cousin, and tried to kill three others.”  Hiccup can’t believe the last few months fit in a sentence. 

Well.  Two sentences.  One compound and twisting and the other short and to the point.  The very big, life changing point, but it’s a straight three word shot to get there. 

Three words that he said, out loud, that Astrid didn’t ever respond to, because a sociopathic soon-to-be punching bag interrupted the moment.  And every moment since has been filled with questioning and paperwork and friends who he just doesn’t want to perform for right now when all the tension is melting out of his back and leaving it a sore mess of frayed nerves. 

“This is why we didn’t work out, Hiccup,” Ruffnut tuts and shakes her head, patting Hiccup’s hand on Astrid’s shoulder, “you’re too literal.” 

“You married Mr. Benson for his money and it’s about time you admit that to yourself. It’s not my fault that we were lying, and I don’t have any money.” Hiccup snorts, glad to talk about something other than jail, even if Grisly’s face flits through the story like he’ll surely do in Hiccup’s nightmares.

“At least I didn’t have to drag out the divorce by milking you for alimony,” Ruff says, “the annulment because you wouldn’t put out is much quicker.” 

“Too bad, I know a good lawyer.  Maybe I could have ended up with alimony.”  Hiccup smiles when Astrid looks up at him, ponytail tickling his arm.  “Don’t worry, the marriage was a fraud anyway, I only made Mr. Benson up to launder money.” 

“Yeah, and it was just my attempt to burn through Snotlout’s precious friend-group,” Ruffnut laughs as she elbows Astrid in the ribs, “you could be next, babe, I like a girl with a bludgeon.” 

“Probably not the day to get under Astrid’s skin, Ruff, she’s not pulling her punches,” Snotlout warns, “I think there’s an umbrella rack by the door.” 

“I’ll go hide it,” Ruffnut leaves but Astrid doesn’t move except to lean forward and pluck Hiccup’s glass from his hand, continuing his mindless swirling. 

“That’s not entirely true,” Astrid teases Snotlout, eyebrow raised, “I’m currently holding what?  Sixty-five punches for a later date.” 

“Sixty-eight,” he corrects, unusually solemn.  “Precisely, I could check Heather’s tally, if you want—”

“That’s fine, I guess I’ll trust you.”  She takes a sip of Hiccup’s drink before turning to look at him, “do you not trust Tuffnut’s sudden moonshine making abilities?”  She asks, mischievous enough to offset the tired circles under her eyes. 

“I’m confused enough about today without the help of any mind-altering substances.”  He’s struck again with the urge to leave, to go somewhere quiet where things make sense and he can hug her until the room stops spinning.  Maybe longer, if she doesn’t have anywhere to be. 

“What part are you confused about?”  Snotlout’s eyes brighten.  “Because we could go through it again, piece it together, I’d be happy to help.” 

“You just want to hear about how I hit Grisly again.”  Astrid’s fake flippant tone fails when she smiles, victorious like the night she took over his tour, his too big hat tipped sideways on her head. 

“What would happen to my psych profile if I admitted that it was kind of hot?”  Hiccup’s filter slips ever so slightly, exhausted from its constant engagement, and Astrid shakes her head and laughs, looking at him like she’s wondering if he hit his head. 

“Nothing good,” a tired British voice answers and Eretson appears, sitting heavily on the booth bench beside Snotlout and setting a familiar hat on the table, “don’t worry though, it’s shredded.  Grisly did his best to clean up before he went to see you.” 

“Is that…”  Hiccup reaches for the hat but pauses, remembering the last place he saw it and curling his hand into a fist.  “Isn’t it evidence?” 

“Even Berk PD doesn’t need it with the way Grisly’s talking,” Eretson takes Snotlout’s glass and pounds it back in one long gulp.  He’s not wearing his usual tie and his sleeves are pushed up, and Hiccup wonders if he’s finally going to catch a glimpse of the man off duty. 

“Hey!”  Snotlout protests but Eretson ignores him, pointing at Hiccup’s barely touched drink in Astrid’s hand. 

“Um, be my guest.” 

“Why is it that serial killers always want to tell you what they do to the bodies?”  Eretson asks the room at large before taking a slightly more measured sip.  “It’s never good.” 

Hiccup is almost as shocked by the authenticity of his laugh as Astrid is, pulling away from his side enough to look up at him with obvious relief, “What?  No stories of respectful funeral services?  I always pictured Grisly as a ‘be the undertaker you wish to see in the world’ type.” 

“We’re just ignoring the fact that Eret stole evidence?  If that’s even your real name,” Snotlout narrows his eyes and Eretson does his best to ignore him, nudging the hat in Hiccup’s direction. 

“I thought you might want it back, seems like it has history.” 

“A gory history,” Hiccup frowns but Astrid takes the hat carefully by its brim and slides it to him. 

“Well, so do we.”  She nudges him with her elbow and everyone else’s eyes bore into him like more invasive searches while ‘I love you’ pounds on the gate, hatching another escape plan. 

“You’re right.  Again.”  He clears his throat and if she gets the reference, she doesn’t show it, “I’ll get it disinfected.  And dry cleaned.  And sterilized.” 

“You know, I think I spent all this time being jealous of you because you’re tall and a detective and you have abs and talk like you’re on Downton Abbey, but you’ve actually just been a klepto waiting to steal evidence.”  Snotlout laughs to himself, sitting up a little straighter. 

“And to think, if you hadn’t gotten shot, I’d still be following the rules.” 

“You’re blaming me?”  Snotlout looks at Eretson a too long second, his eyes darting down to the open button where the other man’s tie usually is.  “Well that’s typical.” 

“Can I steal you another drink?”  Eretson picks up both empty glasses and Snotlout crosses his arms, suddenly flustered. 

“Uh yeah, you better, since you drank my other one.”  He brushes Eretson off and then calls after him, “also, you can’t steal them, they’re free because the bartender is an idiot.” 

“I prefer guru!”  Tuffnut jumps away from the still, which is suddenly emitting an alarming amount of steam, “or alchemist.” 

“It’s really just a chemical reaction…” Fishlegs explains as he pours a jar into the two glasses. 

Everyone else is having fun.  Maybe they wouldn’t notice if Hiccup just slipped out and looked into whether he could bribe an Uber Eats driver to deliver the food directly to his bedroom door.  It’s not like there’s a serial killer out there anymore, Berk isn’t exactly California in the seventies.  Grisly was a rare occurrence. 

“I’ll get the fire extinguisher,” Tuffnut disappears into the back room and Fishlegs walks over to lean on the edge of the table, thinking for a second before holding out his hand. 

Hiccup stares at it before shaking it, awkward with the realization that he was so used to being surrounded by fellow inmates and guards who hated him that he forgot that Fishlegs’ dislike was an exception. 

“Not to be a downer,” Fishlegs starts and Astrid glares at him. 

“Then don’t.” 

“I’m just wondering what comes next,” he looks at Astrid like a worried older brother she didn’t ask for, moustache radiating concern, “a trial for impersonating a police officer to break into a jail.”  He flicks the side of Hiccup’s hat and his tone turns judgmental, “a tour of the compiled murderous history of the city.” 

“No, I—I’ve had enough murder for multiple lifetimes,” Hiccup insists, wondering randomly if anyone has ever told Fishlegs that he has the uncanny aura of a high school guidance counselor. 

Hiccup’s high school guidance counselor didn’t like him either.  He should be glad that Fishlegs doesn’t get to see his shredded psych evaluation. 

“And no one talked to me about the off-label badge use,” Astrid shrugs at Eretson when he sits back down, “they seemed pretty happy to get us out of there, honestly.” 

“That’s an understatement,” Eretson’s chuckle is cynical, free of any veneer, “they spent all their quarterly budget hiring civilian security guards and their serial killing commander, they couldn’t afford for you to sue them.” 

“I can’t afford to sue them,” Hiccup waves off what he assumes is Eretson’s offer as soon as he opens his mouth, “mentally.  I can’t believe that somehow this is over, but I need it to be over.  I know I’ll have to be a witness later but I just…” 

Running out of words is an uncomfortable feeling that he has no interest in getting used to.  It’s not even that he’s out of words, he can see himself finishing the sentence in his head and the end of it adds nothing.  It’s nothing he hasn’t said before, it’s nothing he’s not communicating now with his slumped shoulders and surely exhausted expression. 

Astrid finds his hand and squeezes it, “I think it’s fitting.  Sometimes modern bureaucratic problems require medieval solutions.” 

He loves her.  Those are words he wants to say a thousand times and he doesn’t doubt that every time he does, they’ll mean something different.  More.  Building on each other in ways he doesn’t even understand yet. 

“While there is evidence of umbrellas existing prior to the middle ages, the steel ribbed model that did so much damage wasn’t invented until the seventeen-hundreds at the earliest,” Fishlegs says it like a joke and Snotlout groans. 

“I can’t do it, I can’t spend anymore time with nerds.”  He catches himself, “not that Astrid is a nerd.  I’m only calling Fishlegs a nerd, for the tally.” 

“I would have used a sword if I had one,” Astrid thinks seriously on the problem for a second, forehead furrowed as she taps her finger on her chin, “a battle axe, maybe.” 

“I think a sword is customary for the knight in shining armor rescuing the damsel in distress from the tower,” Eretson smirks and takes a self-congratulatory sip of his drink when Hiccup’s mouth falls open. 

“Now, you decide to be funny?  I tried to get you to lighten up for days while I was in jail, but now that everything is miraculously going to be ok, you reveal that you’re funny?”  Hiccup shakes his head, “Snotlout, maybe you were right about this guy.” 

“Right that he’s an asshole or right that he’s a tall detective with abs who talks like he’s on Downton Abbey?”  Snotlout checks and Eretson can’t quite hide his blush this time, which only makes Snotlout smile wider. 

“First one.” 

“You’ve been Princess Hiccup for two seconds and you’re already making decrees that people are assholes,” Snotlout grins at the new nickname and Hiccup wants to hide under the table, “that took no time at all to go to your head.” 

“When you’re a princess, you have to cling to the power that you can,” Hiccup tightens his arm around Astrid, resolving to take her with him if the urge to flee entirely overwhelms, “now I’ve got to hope that my knight in shining armor doesn’t lock me in another tower to ravish me, or something.” 

“My tower,” Astrid’s face falls, eyes suddenly wide and serious as she folds her hands on the table, expression frozen like she just got very bad news. 

“I mean you don’t have to ravish me, if you don’t want, I was just pointing out that I’m not familiar with the existence of any Distressed Damsel consent laws or—”

“I can’t lock you in a tower because someone got murdered at my apartment.  Shit.  I was so focused on,” she waves at him in a distracted, distressed way, “that I forgot I don’t have anywhere to live that’s not a recent crime scene.  I bet my stuff is covered in blood—”

“It is.”  Hiccup mumbles, wincing at the memory. 

“I’m never going to get my deposit back.”  She leans her head on her hands and Hiccup rubs the sudden, stressed knot in her shoulder. 

“I’ll talk to Gobber for you.” 

“You can move in with us,” Snotlout offers, too blunt to be anything but sincere.  Almost annoyed, like he’s frustrated that he has to be the one to suggest such obvious things. 

“What?”  Hiccup and Astrid ask simultaneously and Fishlegs coughs. 

“I mean if you still need my guest room—”

“She doesn’t need the guest room, Fishface,” Snotlout brushes him off, “she can move in with us.  We have a three-bedroom place, if she doesn’t want to stay with Hiccup, he can sleep on his weird desk.”  He elbows Eretson to bring him into a joke, “she’d probably join him though—”

“Sixty-nine!”  Astrid shouts, face red and glare sharper than the sword she wished for. 

“Do you need the pants back?”  Tuffnut asks from the back room and Snotlout snickers. 

Hiccup’s whiplash is feeling more and more like a stroke. 

“I wasn’t asking for details…” 

“No, I’m going to hit you sixty-nine times—you planned that.”  She crosses her arms, “that’s why you were so nice—that’s why you asked me about football—”

“Yeah,” he holds his hand up to Eretson for a high five and Astrid clears her throat.  “The Pats are the best, by the way.  God, not saying that was so hard, but worth it.” 

“If you’re good enough for high fives, I can probably start knocking that tally down…”  She rolls up her sleeves and threatens and Hiccup remembers waking up with his head on Astrid’s lap, casual banter bouncing around and making the hospital room feel like home. 

And he loves her, and it’d be perfect in a way that could almost make up for everything that’s happened.  And he loves her, and she didn’t have a chance to respond. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?”  He blurts at Snotlout and points behind him towards the front door, “alone?” 

“Why can’t she move in with us?  I love her.”  He says it so easily and Hiccup feels like his eyes might bug out of his head. 

“Now?  Can I talk to you alone, now?” 

Something about his tone, probably the fact he sounds crazy, keeps anyone from saying anything as they all unload from the booth to let him and Snotlout out.  The cool evening breeze is wonderful against the back of Hiccup’s neck, even now when he’s in the middle of freaking out, and he takes a deep breath, trying to let the freedom quell the panic. 

“What’s your problem?”  Snotlout throws his arms up and Hiccup glares at him. 

“What’s my problem?”  He shakes his head, “you can’t just ask my—” Girlfriend?  They haven’t agreed on that.  Savior?  As much as he wants her to ravish him, he’s not actually her princess and this is the twenty-first century.  Reason he’s alive?  That’s doesn’t have anything to do with their living situation.  “You can’t just ask Astrid to move in with you like—”

“Us, I said us,” Snotlout corrects. 

“That’s supposed to be my job and I would have asked you first and—”

“Do you not want her to?”  Snotlout frowns, holding his hands up in a tentative surrender, “dude, I legitimately thought it was going that direction, you can’t go two seconds without staring at her with stupid lovey-dovey eyes, so I just figured—”

“I want her to.  I—more than—I was thinking about it before the whole jail thing but—” He exhales, letting himself remember that morning, how right it felt, “and you can’t just go around telling her that you love her—”

“Uh, I do love her, cuz,” Snotlout points at his shoulder, “some creepy asshole tried to kill me, and she broke his face.  And she saved your idiot life in the process.”  He backhands Hiccup’s chest a little too hard and Hiccup realizes he hasn’t even considered that Snotlout might feel the same about losing him as he did about losing Snotlout, “so yeah, I kind of love her.  I think she should probably get a medal or a plaque or something.” 

Hiccup sighs and rubs his hand over his face, “I love you too.  And I love her—”

“Different ways, I hope.” 

“Couldn’t be more different.” He tries to shove his jumbled brain into some kind of order, before the door opens behind Snotlout and Astrid steps out, halfway through putting his borrowed jacket on. 

She’s wearing his hat. 

“Tuff helped me spray it down with one-hundred-eighty-seven proof alcohol.  The inside too.  I think that counts as disinfecting it.” 

“Good.”  He swallows hard, wondering for the thousandth time today if he’s dreaming and he’s going to wake up uncomfortable on that cot in his cell.  Or worse, wake up at four in the afternoon at home, only to realize that none of this happened and he never met her. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” She asks, magical words in her magic voice, laced with that magic understanding she seems to have of his brain and soul, and he nods so fast that his back twinges. 

“I’ll see you at home,” Snotlout points at Astrid, “and maybe you also, potential roomie, guard my boy on the way there?” 

“That was the plan,” her lips twitch, “I’ll have to do without my umbrella, but I think I’ll manage.” 

“You don’t have to decide now,” Hiccup placates as soon as Snotlout is back inside, but Astrid seems relatively unperturbed.  Maybe after all of this, she’s just imperturbable. 

He wishes he felt that way.  At all.  He feels like he could be disrupted by an unexpected pebble in his path. 

“Where to?”  She takes a couple of backwards steps ahead of him, like she’s giving him a tour that makes him use fresh eyes to take in a street he’s seen a hundred times before. 

Home.  He wants to go home.  He wants his bed and his sheets and her and he wants it to be her home too.  It won’t feel like home without her and he loves her, and he needs to make sure she knows that before he makes any plans. 

If he has another serious conversation today, he’ll scream.

“I don’t know.”  He shoves his hands in too big pockets, Fishlegs’ question rattling around his head.  What comes next? 

It was easy to think about the next few months when they’d been taken from him, but now, looking at Astrid starting some tour to the future wearing their past on her head, ears sticking out under the weight of the brim, he can’t make himself focus on anything but her.  Even if he’s lost, he’s not adrift, because his anchor is safely held in her competent, decisive grip. 

“You seemed a little…antsy in there.” 

“You caught that, huh?” 

“Do you want to talk about it?”  She falls back into step beside him, looking up from under the black brim with endlessly deep blue eyes and his heart thuds out of rhythm. 

“No, not at all.”  He runs his hand through his hair and can smell the anti-septic of cheap jail shampoo, “I want a shower and I’m so tired that I want a nap, but I’m way too keyed up to take one.  I really want pizza, but I don’t want to have to talk to anyone to get it.  I want to be alone, but I want you to be there—” He pulls up short, “Princess Hiccup is demanding, apparently.” 

“Not particularly,” she grabs his hand to get him walking again, her fingers warm steel and comfort, “your place then.  I think that the people making minimum wage at Pizza Hut wouldn’t be too happy if you showered in the sink while not talking to them.” 

His place.  Like she’s willing to be there, like she understands how he needs to be alone, but he’d be miserable if she wasn’t there.  Even if she is there, it still counts as being alone, and he’s never felt like that about anyone. 

“Astrid, I…”  There’s so much he wants to say and so much he wants to say later, so he settles on a question, squeezing her hand so she’ll look at him. “How does Snotlout know about um, well, my desk?” 

“Well,” she starts, then her face falls, instantly distraught in a way he knows instinctively means that Grisly flitted across her thoughts. 

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s a valid question—”

“I wish I hadn’t asked,” he rubs his face again, “or I wish I hadn’t asked now, because I’ve been in jail and I don’t want to think about it, or about what I missed, or about what happened.  Not right now.” 

“I don’t want to think about how Snotlout knows about your desk.”  She wrinkles her nose, flushing when she says ‘desk’ and he doesn’t think about it, his feet follow a path that goes with the hat, dragging her with him into an alley between two planes of century old brick.  “What are you doing?” 

“Shortcut.” 

“Wait,” she stops just within the shadow of the buildings, yanking on his arm with all that unexpected strength, and when he turns around, she’s astonished and half smiling. 

“What?”  The hat is crooked, and he can’t be conflicted how he feels about it when she’s laughing and pressing an intentional finger against his chest.

“You almost went to jail for being the Grimborn copycat, but you’re not—”

“I know that,” he catches the hand she’s poking him with, folding in her pointer finger before kissing her knuckles. 

“You’re the prostitute.” 

“You lost me.” 

“If Grisly was the Grimborn copycat, and you’re the one lured into dark creepy alleys for the promise of a few bucks to pay your bills, then you aren’t the damsel in distress, you’re the prostitute taken advantage of by the dastardly fiend.”  She whispers the last few words and it’s perfect, it’s Grisly reduced to an anecdote or a setup. 

“What does that make you?”  He lets go of her hand to brush her hair behind her ear, and he hasn’t kissed her because of cops and audiences and neither of those are here now, in an alley so like the one where she first stood on a grate and refused to enjoy his tour.  “No, no, I’ve got it.  You solved it.” 

“Solved what?”  She cocks her head, cheek pressing into his palm, and his other hand finds her waist as her back meets the wall and the hat tips forward over her eyes.  She takes it off and sets it in place on his head, nudging it straight with a satisfied smile as his thumb drags across the corner of her mouth.  “Please get to the point.” 

She relaxes when he kisses her, arms wrapping around his neck, simple and charged when his knuckles scrape against kiln-fired brick.  It’s the right kind of distraction, the jumble in his head pushed aside for something better and more important.  More permanent. 

“You solved Grimborn,” he mumbles against her cheek, kissing down her jaw and shuddering when her warm hand slides under the back of his itchy prison lost and found tee-shirt. 

“What?”  She pushes him back an inch with a hand on his chest and frowns, eyes too focused behind the daze.  When he tries to kiss her again, she repeats the question, eyes flicking to his hat as she hooks her heel around his. 

“As you said, I’m the prostitute, easily lured and cornered.  You caught the murderer.”  He’s too close not to kiss her again, especially when the brim of his hat nudges against her forehead and she smiles, momentarily content in the victory.  It’s about time this happened in one of the alleys that still center him, even when the Grimborn lure is dissolved.  “You solved it.” 

“I didn’t…” She trails off when he runs a hand down her thigh, tugging it against his as he kisses her pulse, “it’s not solving—”

“It’s good enough for me,” he pulls back enough to brush his nose across hers before meeting her eyes, the weight of the last serious thing he can’t ignore sitting heavy in his chest, “your apartment sucked.” 

“What?” 

“Condo of eighteen-eighty-three, mass-produced, no character, remodeled by a renegade arcade enthusiast on a budget in the early nineties,” he pauses to rebuild his drive, lips pressed against hers as his hand cradles the back of her head, “my place on the other hand…” He gets distracted by soft hair tickling his forehead and the way her fingers curl in his hair, displacing the hat, “original hardwood floors.  Towel warmer.  Crown molding.” 

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”  She rakes her fingernails through is beard when she gets him far enough away to read his face.  She has hat-head. 

He can’t breathe. 

“I meant what I said,” he swallows, “in jail before—I love you.” 

The weight off his chest lands on his foot and he freezes, feeling her heavy breathing against his front and her fingers frozen in his hair at the nape of his neck. 

“It’s too soon.”  She says it like she’s reading it off of a quiz on a website that didn’t give her the answer she wanted.  “You can’t say that this soon.” 

“I just did,” he tries to smile, “what rule am I breaking this time?” 

His experience in evading conviction makes him hope it’s closer to trespassing than murder. 

“You don’t know?”  She tries for chastising but it’s hard to take her seriously when her warm hand finds his side as she stands up straight, putting some space between her back and the wall even if she doesn’t expand the space between them.  “You don’t ask someone to move in with you after what?  One date?” 

“Wait, all those times you saved my life or my sanity don’t count as dates?”  He fakes shock, taking her hand and starting towards his apartment again. 

“I’ve saved your life once,” she allows, bumping her shoulder against his, “doesn’t exactly increase the total that much.” 

“Oh no, you’ve saved it at least twice, probably more.  What do you think would have happened to me if you weren’t there when Fishlegs caught me with a broken copier for a second time?” 

“You wouldn’t have broken the copier without my help.” 

“You don’t know that.”  He pulls her onto the sidewalk through a small gap around a dumpster, his front door half a block down the road pulling him towards it like a gravitational beacon.  Shower.  Astrid.  Food.  Astrid.  Bed.  Astrid.  “You don’t have to decide now, I just…wanted you to know how I felt about it.” 

“Which, just to make sure we’re on the same page, you feel that I’m personally offending you by living in a place without crown molding.”  She jokes even as her eyes scan his face, probably looking for some sign that he’s offended by her response, as impossible as that would be with her holding his hand.  “I feel like…it’s too soon but if you can afford it on your meager prostitution income, I could definitely afford it.”

“That’s how it is?”  He laughs, refusing to let go of her as his key slides into the front door and turns with a click that resonates in his bones. “You’re not wrong, but do you have to rub it in now?” 

“And I feel like if I look away from you for a second, you’re going to disappear, and I don’t even want to think about going through that again.” 

“I don’t want to think either,” he opens the second door and his dad’s old, dusty chair greets him like an envoy promising safety.  When Astrid locks the door, he can breathe again fully, the quiet making room for him to feel how empty his chest has been, how his hands burn when he looks at her.  “I don’t know the rules behind the knight locking the damsel back in their own tower.” 

“Already looking for more rules to break?”  She takes the hat off of his head and hangs it on the rack by the door, exactly where it goes, like she’s belonged here all along. 

“Mostly wondering who retains ravishing privileges in this situation,” he helps her shrug out of his borrowed jacket and tosses it onto the couch, clutter the last thing on his mind. 

“Where does that even fit in the shower, nap, not nap, pizza schedule?” 

“Now,” his voice surprises him, deeper than he expected, and he clears his throat as he pulls her to him, hands sliding down to her hips, “ideally, if you think we can squeeze it in.” 

“Are you on a tight schedule I don’t know about?”  She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek, cocking her head when he nods.

Before, when a package sent him skidding off kilter, he wasn’t ready to move forward, to clutch at the happiness he could instead of dwelling on the possible bad.  But holding on so tight is what got him in trouble, it’s what led him further and further into someone’s trap, away from the path he wants to be on.  He could talk all night about the last week in hell, but it wouldn’t make him feel better the way that taking a break from the obstacle course inside his head would. 

“Very tight schedule,” he starts walking backwards, tripping over the edge of the rug and catching himself on the arm of the couch.  “Might have to multi-task.” 

“Hiccup,” she laughs, taking a step away from him to rely on her own obviously better balance, “it’s been a long day—”

“It’s been a long week, stuck in my head all day with all my worst-case scenarios.”  He continues to pull her with him towards the bathroom, “right now I just want you to help me stop smelling like jail and to start out this new leaf on the right foot.” 

“How else would you do it?”  She relaxes, all trepidation gone as she tugs his too big, itchy shirt up his chest, getting it over his head as he fumbles the door open. 

“Funny—”

She cuts off his not quite complaint with a kiss, her hands dragging up and down his chest in a pattern like she’s assessing him for damage.  Her fingers practically shock him with warmth after so long in practical isolation and he pulls her shirt up, sighing at more of her skin against his.  She laughs into his mouth as she tugs on the waistband of his jeans against the cheap belt bunching them across his hips. 

“Whose pants did you steal?” 

“It was all they had,” he takes off his own belt and the oversized pants fall to his knees before he realizes he’s still in his shoes and sits back on the toilet to deal with his leg. 

“I figured you’d be done with communal showers,” she locks the bathroom door before taking her own shoes off and stripping easily, curious eyes flicking only once to the red marks on his shin when his leg drops to the floor. 

“I’m not really ready to take my eyes off you either,” he shrugs, grinning when the words make her blush even as she looks around the bathroom, efficient even in her embarrassment. 

“How do we do this?”  She asks after a second, gesturing simply at his leg as she opens the shower door and turns on the water, steam billowing towards the ceiling. 

“The bench should work.”  He doesn’t know where his crutch is, doesn’t know anything except it feels right when she touches him, fingers sure against his back as she helps him to the bench and sits unceremoniously across his lap. 

And seeing her through bars and across fraught tables covered in paperwork, after being surrounded by their friends and curbed by outside world, she’s finally close enough to feel real.  She kisses him, combing her fingers through his hair and letting the shower water soak into it as he pulls her impossibly closer, one hand on her hip and the other sliding up her stomach to trace the curve under her breast. 

She shivers even though the water is on the cusp of too hot and he hums into the kiss before breaking it, mumbling against her wet jaw. 

“Something’s different.” 

“You’ve had even less sleep this time?”  She swipes a gentle thumb under his eye and stands just long enough to straddle him, knees squeezing his hips as his back slips down slightly against the wet wall. 

“That’s not it,” he groans when she grinds against him, hand darting down to wrap around him.  And after so long in his head, ignoring uncomfortable situations to the best of his ability, it’s almost too much, his head falling back against the tile as his fingers dig into her hips. 

“Is this it?”  She kisses his neck, hand moving slowly, teeth grazing his earlobe when he catches her wrist to stop her.  “I thought you were in a hurry,” she teases, breath hitching when he slides his hand around to her inner thigh, fingers brushing between her legs. 

“No, it’s just that I don’t have any old books in my bathroom for you.”  He kisses down to her collarbone as he touches her, and her sound of exasperation is half-hearted as she clings to his shoulders.  “Can we still do this, or do I need to install a humidity-controlled bookcase under the sink?” 

“The respect for climate control,” she stutters, biting her lip when his finger slips inside, “is kind of hot.” 

“Yeah?”  He laughs into her neck, pulling her closer with a hand between her shoulder-blades and adding a second finger to the first.  “Oh wait, that’s not true either, there���s a soggy magazine in here somewhere to read when my phone dies.” 

“What magazine?”  She asks, grinding down against his fingers, breath cool on his forehead. 

“Highlights.”  He twists his fingers, thumb searching for her clit. 

“That works.” She moans under her breath when he finds it and he focuses on the sound to keep from shaking, this much good after all that bad making him lightheaded. 

“I already did the maze though.” 

“No,” she fakes miserable as best she can while rocking against his hand, fingers wrapping around him again and stroking, “that ruins it.” 

The door rattles and they both jump, his arms wrapping around her back and pulling her as close as he can, like he could somehow protect her, one-legged and tractionless.  As if she needs his protection, she’d probably bludgeon the intruder with the toilet tank lid, or something, and he’d be stuck helpless again. 

“Oh, are you guys in there?”  Snotlout’s voice is muffled through the door and Astrid hides in Hiccup’s shoulder, arms crossed self-conscious across her chest. 

“Uh, can you go away?”  Hiccup tries, rubbing her back and repositioning in an attempt to wake up an ass-cheek that he hadn’t realized had fallen asleep. 

“It’s just you?” Snotlout yanks at the door again, “let me in, I have to pee.” 

“No?”  It comes out as a question and he clears his throat, trying again as Astrid shifts, the water suddenly hitting his thigh instead of her back.  “No.”

“Come on, I just have to pee, I’ll pee in the sink—”

“If you’re planning on peeing in the sink, just pee in the kitchen sink,” Hiccup growls back and Astrid sits up straight, hands on his shoulders for stability as she looks disgusted between him and the door. 

“No!  Just hold it, no one is peeing in any sink!” 

“Astrid’s in there?”  Snotlout snickers, but she’s too indignant to be embarrassed now, eyes on fire as she responds. 

“I’m moving in with people who pee in the sink?” 

“It all goes down the same drain,” Snotlout’s justification barely registers as Hiccup looks wide-eyed at her. 

“You’re moving in?”  He whispers, not trusting the words to be louder. 

“You offered,” she pushes a strand of wet hair away from her face and he kisses her, hands on her face, fingers curling in wet hair and holding her close. 

Snotlout says something he doesn’t hear, an unwelcome grunt from an outside world he doesn’t care about and he breaks the kiss just long enough to bark back. 

“Go away!” 

“He’s going to pee in the kitchen sink,” Astrid grimaces and he kisses her wrinkled nose, heart thudding. 

“I don’t care.” 

“I—”

“Move in,” he rests his forehead against hers, “please.  Just—please, I will never pee in the sink.  I swear on my life, which I already owe to you.  I promise.” 

“But Snotlout—”

“Don’t talk about Snotlout right now,” he touches every part of her he can reach, memorizing her again, this time knowing he doesn’t have to let her go, “please, I have to focus on giving you another reason to move in.” 

“Another?”  She looks at him like he’s a reason, like he’s reason enough, and it feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin. 

“Besides the old books,” he kisses her chin, “and the hat.”  And the lack of on-site murders.  “And the crown molding.” 

She slicks his hair back from his face, “and you.” 

“And me.” 

“I’m convinced.” 

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Keep Smiling Through

By George deValier

One-shot sequel to We’ll Meet Again

Summer, 1948 Nebraska, USA

.

In the few months since the ocean liner RMS Queen Elizabeth steamed into New York City Harbour, carrying Mr. Arthur Kirkland and the recently promoted Captain Alfred Jones with it, Arthur could honestly say he had never been so confused, so surprised, or so completely and utterly bewildered in all his life.

If there was one word Arthur could use to describe America, it was big. It was also loud. And confusing. And oddly marvellous. In fact, it was very much like Alfred himself. The American seemed positively ecstatic to return to his country of birth. He had been back once before, just after the war, but that had been without Arthur, and neither had handled the separation very well. Being alone again in the Emerald Lion, with his fears and his worries and his memories, was almost more than Arthur could bear. When Alfred finally returned to London Arthur had been so overjoyed he'd jumped on him in the train station, causing quite a few raised eyebrows and stunned stares and outright cries of outrage. So this time, when Alfred had to return to America for military reasons, Arthur accepted immediately when asked if he wanted to accompany his lovely, charming, bloody frustrating Yank.

Of course the trip turned into more of a sightseeing adventure than anything else. They travelled through more states than Arthur could name in their shiny red Chevrolet, stopping at more diners and lookout points and roadside oddities than he ever wished to see again. Alfred simply bubbled with excitement at showing Arthur everything he possibly could of the great United States of America, all of which had been somewhat bearable so far – until Nebraska. More specifically, until this airfield in Nebraska. Even more specifically, until this tiny, metal, claustrophobic, inescapable plane cockpit sitting on this runway in the middle of this wide, flat, golden field in Nebraska.

It did not take long for Alfred to convince the airfield staff to let him take up one of their planes. Not once they realised who Alfred was; the young trainees gathering in awed respect, the pilots telling their own stories of service during the war, the older engineers shaking Alfred's hand and sharing their memories of Alfred's father when he was a delivery pilot in the twenties. Alfred seemed far more comfortable with these men than the decorated, uniformed, highly-ranked military personnel who usually clamoured to shake his hand.

And now, Arthur wondered how in the bloody hell he had allowed himself to be talked into this. He tried to breathe past the anxiety choking his throat, struggling to suppress the growing fear in his chest. He took another look out the small side window at the long shadow of the wing on the runway. The sound of the roaring engine was almost enough to drown out the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. "I can't…" Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaking breath. "Alfred, I don't think I can do this…"

"Sure you can, Arthur!" Alfred spoke cheerfully over the clacking of the control keys. He slipped his free hand into Arthur's and gave it a soft squeeze. "Come on, look at me."

Arthur nodded, breathed out, and blinked open his eyes. He could really use a stiff drink right now - maybe he should have bought a few more of those jars of moonshine from that bloke in Ohio.

"You're okay." Alfred grinned at him from the pilot seat, his worn old bomber jacket slung over his shoulders, his bright blond hair poking through his flight cap and his radio speaker slung around his neck. "This baby's a breeze." Alfred patted the dashboard. "A good ol' Aeronca Chief - I used to fly one just like her before the war. Y'ain't got nothin' to worry about."

Arthur nodded again, tugged at his tight suit collar, and tried to remind himself that Alfred knew what he was doing. He'd been flying for years, of course he knew what he was doing. "I know, Alfred, I do, but…" But the rational part of Arthur's mind was completely overwhelmed by this instinctive, primal fear. How could he be sitting here in a plane, sitting here about to take off, about to fly into the air for the first time in his life… Arthur suddenly tugged on the belt strapping him into the seat. "I apologise for being a nuisance, but… but perhaps we could just wait…"

"Arthur, listen." Alfred spoke firmly this time, his blue, bespectacled eyes holding Arthur's gaze intently. "You're with the guy that once shot down seven planes, completely alone and with no radio contact, while running low on fuel and surrounded by an entire enemy squad. You're with the guy that's spent over three years training the best pilots the British military has to offer. And you're with the guy that loves you more than anything else in this whole damn world and would die before letting anything happen to you. Now, come on darlin.'" Alfred winked and Arthur's heart stuttered. "Let me take you to the clouds."

Arthur felt thrilled and giddy and frustrated and proud and bloody terrified all at once. He let out a low, groaning sigh. "That's utterly unfair."

Alfred beamed innocently as he pressed even more of the buttons and tapped the gauges and reached for the strange-looking little wheel. Arthur was rather amazed at how easily Alfred pressed and pushed and pulled what looked like a dozen controls at once with only his seven remaining fingers. "What's unfair?"

Those words, that wink, that blasted grin… "You know what, you bloody fool."

Alfred just laughed as the plane started moving along the runway. "All right, now, I'm getting her into takeoff position…"

Arthur's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Don't tell me what you're doing, good God man, just do it!"

Alfred shrugged. "All-righty then, if you say so." The plane continued steadily for a few moments before Alfred shouted, "Here we go!" The roar of the engine filled the cockpit and Arthur very nearly dived for the door. Instead he forced himself to control his panic, to focus on Alfred's confident motions and his bright, cheerful smile. But as the plane reached impossible levels of speed and noise, the runway blurring beneath them, Arthur could not help but close his eyes. Alfred cheered as the plane tilted and lifted from the ground. "WOO HOO HOOO!"

An invisible force seemed to attack Arthur. His stomach sunk through his legs, his chest compressed, and his ears felt full as blood rushed to his head. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was grip onto the seat and grit his teeth and pray that this shaking, soaring plane would not fall from the sky. The aircraft seemed to drop slightly and Arthur almost choked as he gasped, his hand flying to his chest.

"That's normal, sweetheart. It's just the plane gaining height."

Arthur was too overwhelmed to even object to the nauseating term of endearment. He just kept his eyes squeezed shut, felt his knuckles turn white. This was the oddest feeling he had ever experienced: both heavy and weightless, his head tight with pressure and his stomach empty and unsettled. It felt wrong, it felt strange, it felt completely mad, and how could Alfred be laughing and cheering like he was having the time of his life? Didn't he realise Arthur couldn't breathe here?

"Isn't this amazing, Arthur?" Alfred shouted loudly.

Arthur tried to reply but all he could manage was, "Oh bugger oh bollocks oh Christ blast shit bloody hell STOP LAUGHING!"

"Aw come on now, takeoff's the best part! See how everything just falls away below… hey look, there's our Chevy! I tell ya, these old controls sure bring back memories. Sure is different from all those Spitfires and Hurricanes they've got me showing off these days. Hey, Arthur, in a few minutes, I'll be able to show you the farm I grew up on! Hang on a minute… Arthur, why are your eyes closed?"

"Because I'm bloody terrified! Please, just tell me when this is over!"

Alfred's laughter quieted and he sighed instead. "Oh. All right. I'll just get her level and do a quick fly-round."

The disappointment in Alfred's voice sent a painful stab of guilt through Arthur's chest. What was he saying – that he did not trust Alfred? Yes, this was new and different and scary – but this was important to Alfred. This was his home, his past, his life - and Arthur was letting fear get in the way of Alfred showing it to him. Alfred was not even able to fly for long these days, not with the strain it placed on his damaged eyes. Arthur breathed through the cloud of fear, and told himself he could do this. For Alfred. "No, I'm fine, I'm just... Blimey, this is very odd, isn't it?"

Once again, Arthur felt Alfred's hand slip into his. "It's also amazing. Just look at the view below us. Isn't it terrific?"

All right. Just look. Arthur could do this. He gripped Alfred's hand, forced himself to open his eyes, and immediately gasped in shock. "Blimey," he said again.

An infinite blue sky stretched out around them. Green and yellow striped fields spread out below, dotted with dark houses and streaked with criss-crossed dirt roads, like a labyrinthine maze. The high, brilliant sun blazed down and drenched the endless, flat, open expanse of land in unfiltered, golden light. Arthur shook his head as he took it all in; he couldn't imagine any place in the world more different from London. Alfred's home was sunny, bright, enormous; awe-inspiring. And it was beautiful. Arthur turned to see Alfred grinning wildly, ecstatically happy once again. That same grin that Arthur still loved, as always bringing the blue sky and driving away the dark clouds of Arthur's fear and doubt.

"It's beautiful."

Alfred laughed, overjoyed. "I knew you'd love it! I tell ya, Arthur, the times I've dreamed of soaring through the sky together - and here in my own home..." Alfred winked. "It's magic."

Arthur's heart sped up, and it wasn't from fear anymore. The three years since the war ended had been more than Arthur had ever dreamt of. Every day with Alfred was bright and new and fun, every moment an adventure, and Arthur didn't know how it was possible but it seemed he loved the mad American more with every passing hour. Loved him enough to cross the world; enough to fly into the bloody sky for him. Arthur gently nudged Alfred's arm. "It is, Alfred. Magic."

Alfred's eyes sparkled behind his glasses, bluer than the endless sky. "Now keep your eyes peeled for one of them flying saucers like what crashed in New Mexico last year!"

Arthur groaned in exasperation. "That was a weather balloon, Alfred."

"That's what they want you to think."

Arthur rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. If he heard one more word about this blasted 'cover-up in Roswell...' "I am not having this conversation again."

"You'll see the truth one day, Arthur. Ooh, look, look!" The plane tilted slightly and Arthur gripped the seat as Alfred pointed past him. "Right down there - that wide dirt track, do you see it? That's the first runway I ever took off from! And I don't know if you can make it out, but there's my old house, on the edge of that little hill there, do you see?"

Arthur didn't, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, yes, it's lovely. Now put the plane back in that nice straight position, please."

Alfred giggled as he did so.

As the flight drew on, Arthur asked about the land they were flying over, and about the confusing plane controls, and he couldn't help but smile at Alfred's joyful enthusiasm as he answered. All anxiety was forgotten. Arthur was just sitting here with Alfred, a thousand miles in the sky, and it was as magical and strange as every other moment they had shared together; as all the beautiful madness these three years had brought.

"It's amazing you can remember it all," said Arthur when Alfred finished explaining the difference in turning speed between the Aeronca Chief and the Mustang.

"Nah, Arthur, it ain't that hard. I could teach you to do it easy, I reckon, what with how smart you are and all."

Arthur scoffed doubtfully. "You flatter me. Up here, you're the smart one, Alfred."

Alfred attempted a nonchalant shrug, but his expression was proudly delighted. He looked out again at the vast blue sky and the endless country below. "Let's take her higher. You trust me now, right?"

Of course Arthur trusted the blasted Yank. He always had; he always would. And that's why he was doing this. Why he was sitting in this winged metal box a thousand miles in the sky; why he was here in this strange, wild country a million miles from home. Because it made Alfred's face light up, made him laugh with joy. Because this was what Alfred loved, and who he was, and this was what had brought him to London and into Arthur's life almost five years earlier. Because it was still, and always would be, magic.

"Always, Alfred."

Alfred flashed Arthur a tiny, sideways grin. "Enough to let me put her into a spin?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes warningly. "Maybe next time. For now…" Arthur pushed himself up in his seat, leant towards Alfred, and followed his gaze into the sky. "Take me through the clouds."

.

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[badcowboy69]

Homeward Bound part 4

Yeesh...long time no write on the continuation to this saga. The story continues on Travis’ trip back to his parents’ ranch in Arizona where he tries to find any lost memories and most importantly tries to reconnect with his family.

@fuzzyelves it’s about time, huh? lol  Hopefully part 5 won’t take as long.  Previous chapters can be found in my #writings section.  Enjoy!

Placed under the cut due to length.

“Here’s to the rest of this visit going easier,” Travis muttered with a pessimistic tone in his voice while pouring a small portion of moonshine.  He toasted no one in particular then downed the liquor in one gulp.  With the very condensed tale of the past years over with, Travis felt slightly at ease.  Slightly.  He even dared to admit that he was starting to feel curious about what stories his parents had to share about his forgotten past.  Setting the jar down on the coffee table, Travis gave Riley a nod indicating to follow him and together they headed towards the bathroom.

After both men washed the day’s sweat and desert dust off their faces, necks, and arms, they proceeded back down the hall to the door that Mrs. Blackfox indicated was to Travis’ room.  However, instead of charging right in, Travis simply stood in front of the door, his hand hovering scant inches away from the worn, brass door knob.  

“Are you ok?”  Riley asked.  “I’m sure this is going to be overwhelming.  Just take your time and…”

“Ain’t that.  Lookit this,” Travis grunted, pointing at a bouquet of dried sunflowers tacked to the door.  “Thought she said this is supposed to be my room, but what’s with the flowers?  I might not remember much of anything on my past, but I know hanging flowers on my door ain’t something I’d ever do.”

Riley frowned deeply and uncomfortably ran his fingers through his red hair.  “Well,” he started slowly, trying to carefully choose his words.  “I’m not sure what traditions or cultures are out here, let alone fully in the wasteland these days, but back in my time something like this meant the person had...ummm...passed away.  It’s a memorial of sorts.”

“Buncha shit,” Travis snorted and smacked the door making Riley quirk an eyebrow.  However, Travis didn’t explain his remark.  In the back of his mind he knew all the years of torture his parents must have went through thinking he was dead was his own fault.  He knew all he had to do was ask Mister House for help or even simply get on his motorcycle drive to Hackberry, but fear of rejection always held him back.  Regardless of his memories being lost or not, the last thing he wanted to do was try to connect to where he might not be welcome or wanted.

Riley sighed heavily and felt his shoulders slump seeing that Travis’ dour mood was starting to return.  He hated seeing him like this and hoped that Travis would relax and cheer up or, even better, find a forgotten memory soon.  There was nothing he could say or do at this moment to help as this was something Travis had to overcome on his own.  Taking a quick look around, Riley spotted a few frames on the wall near the door.  Hoping to break the tension and distract Travis from the flowers, Riley offered, “Check out these photos, Travis.  Do any of these spark anything for you?” 

Without even turning to look at the pictures, Travis replied with disinterest, “Ain’t got the foggiest.”

The response was almost what Riley anticipated, but he still tried.  “Your folks seem to really like photographs.  Maybe during this reunion they can add some new pictures to their collection.  I’m also willing to bet they’d love to see those pictures you have back in the Lucky 38 showcasing your adventures through the years.  I’m sure they’d especially love the ones of you performing on stage at the Tops.  I know those are my personal favorites.”

“Maybe.”  Travis stared intently at the dried flowers on his door and twitched his moustache in annoyance.  He reached to remove them as he wasn’t “dead” anymore, but immediately changed his mind.  Although this was his room and he could probably do whatever he wished, Travis felt the removal of the flowers should be decided by his folks.  This may be his home, but being absent for so many years he felt he had to earn his place again.  Taking a deep breath and twisting the knob, Travis exclaimed, “Here goes nothing!”

The door opened with a soft whine to an average sized room.  The room was dim, but the afternoon sun managed to peek through the sides and small holes of a worn, red drape covering the single window.  Travis slowly made his way to it across the wooden floor which gave the occasional creek under his boot heels.  Leaning over a desk and carefully taking the drape, he pushed it aside allowing the sunlight to enter.  He blinked his eyes from the sudden brightness and once adjusted, Travis saw that the room faced a large corral.  He frowned seeing it was empty and briefly wondered where all the livestock could be.  Furrowing his brow, he continued to gaze at the vast property that made up the ranch while an odd sensation of longing slowly spread through him.  He wasn’t sure if it was his broken brain trying to connect back to his forgotten past or something else.  Either way, he felt an unfamiliar calm and the ends of his moustache slowly lifted into a wistful smile.

On the right past the corral, he spotted his father and two men out in the distance rolling what appeared to be wooden barrels towards the barn.  All three men seemed to be laboring hard over their work indicating that whatever was inside of the barrels was very heavy.  Travis wondered if it was alcohol of some sort in the barrels and that momentary distraction suddenly pulled him out of the previous longing.  He returned back to the present with a disappointed sigh.  I sure could use a drink about now.

Seeing Travis had come out of his momentary fog, Riley smiled and gestured towards the small, makeshift bookcase he was standing in front of.  An assortment of different Nuka Cola, Sunset Sarsaparilla, and other types of bottles were arranged neatly on it.  Aside from a light covering of dust, they were all in decent condition.  “Look, Travis, it seems like you were a collector of bottles like you are now,” Riley commented, hoping that finding a small connection like this would help trigger something for his man’s destroyed memories.

Travis stepped to Riley’s side and looked over the bottles with mild interest.  “Dang, some of these I don’t even have back in Vegas.  Pretty cool.”  

Unfortunately, the spark Travis seemed to have got from seeing the bottle collection was temporary and it vanished as quickly as it came.  He flicked his fingers against a glowing Nuka Cola Quantum before turning away and drifting towards the center of the room.  Hooking his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans, Travis slowly turned in a full circle as if trying to take in everything all at once in hopes he would find something familiar to him.  However, as he expected, he recognized absolutely nothing.  Still, he was slightly determined to find something and figured the best place to start would be his bed.  After all, there’s nothing more personal than that little bit of space.

The neatly made, full sized bed was in the corner against the wall.  It had faded, red patterned sheets and a folded patchwork quilt rested at the foot.  A rag doll of an animal that seemed to resemble a pre-war bison was laying against the pillows.  Over the headboard hung a dreamcatcher made from dried vines and adorned with feathers and colorful beads.  Next to the bed was a nightstand with an oil lamp, harmonica, a book about Native Americans that has seen better days, and a small frame with a photo inside of a teenage Travis and his father holding up two large fish, obviously proud of their catches. 

Travis sat on the bed, snatched up the frame and stared at the photo, his brow furrowed in concentration.  “Reckon we ate good that night,” he said glumly as nothing in the photograph triggered any bit of memory.  As he set the frame back on the nightstand, his eyes caught sight of a guitar wedged between the bed and the wall.  Reaching over the bed, Travis grabbed hold of the instrument’s neck and freed it.  He held it against him and gave a few strums, wincing at how out of tune it was.  “Shit, gonna have to fix that later if we stick around,” he mumbled more to himself than anything.     

Setting the guitar against the nightstand, Travis stood and chose the desk that was directly in front of the window as his next focal point.  The desk was made of wood and both it and its chair had seen better days.  The desk was far from organized and it made Riley smirk seeing that not much has changed with Travis in that aspect.  The desks back at the Lucky 38 were neat for the most part, but every now and then they could be found with stacks of papers and jalapeno stems scattered about.  Here, instead of papers and peppers, was a thick homemade journal open to a random page and a tipped over soup can with its contents of pencils strewn about.   

Reaching for the chair, Travis noticed there was a gun belt and holster draped over it, but no gun.  Taking a quick look around he found the pistol in question, half-buried under the papers on the desk.  He carefully brushed them aside to discover a .375 revolver and gun cleaning kit.  Disinterested, Travis placed the papers back over the gun then turned his attention to a crude wood carving of a yao guai.  Arching a curious eyebrow, he examined it with mild interest noticing the few chips and gouges in the wood betraying the creator’s inexperience.  “Wonder if I made these?  I mean, it sorta looks like my carving style, but ain’t as good...kinda rough and not too detailed.”

“It’s still very nice and maybe they have been recently learning how to carve.  Certainly much better than anything I could ever do.”  Riley took the yao guai from Travis and looked it over for any identification of the artist like initials or a date.  “Maybe whoever made this was your inspiration of sorts for you to do your own creations?”

Travis took the figure from Riley’s outstretched hand while his shoulders suddenly slumped.  “I reckon,” he responded softly.  He set the figure down and noticed the initials TB that were carved deeply into the wood of the desktop.  He smiled wistfully and traced over the letters with his finger.  “I mean I wish I could remember at least one damn thing around here.  Bad enough my folks are off the list, but if I could find only one thing I can remember growing up in this place…just one...”

“I understand, but the day is still young.  Don’t be discouraged.  Something might crop up when you least expect it and if not, that’s ok too,” Riley said gently while reaching for the worn book on the nightstand and carefully flipping through its pages.   

“I reckon,” Travis repeated and slowly made his way to the closet on the opposite side of the room.  He stood in front of the door and looked over the variety of cowboy pictures that were tacked all over it.  The pictures were from pre-war magazines or books and showcased cowboys in all sorts of situations and scenes either in shootouts, riding the range, or participating in a rodeo.  Some were even from advertisements promoting clothing and farming equipment.  However, the vast majority of cutouts were of shirtless cowboys striking seductive, sultry poses.  Travis smirked, “Man, if my folks don’t know I’m a confirmed bachelor, they’re really clueless.”  

Riley looked up and saw the pictures Travis was directing the comment about.  “Not necessarily. Some people can be very well aware of that fact, just...might not like to acknowledge it, unfortunately.”

Travis frowned and rolled his eyes.  “Well, gee, that’s encouraging.”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t…”

“Don’t worry about it, Riles.  I get what ‘cha mean.”  Travis did his best to flash his partner a smile then opened the closet door.  As expected it was filled with a variety of plaid and solid colored shirts as well as plenty of jeans.  Resting on the floor were a few pairs of worn and dusty cowboy boots as well as random leather gloves and a few coiled ropes.  Travis pulled out a blue shirt and placed it against himself as if checking the size before returning it.  He continued to sift through the clothes, but like everything else, nothing seemed familiar to him.  Besides the bed, clothing would be the most intimate connection a person might have with something, but none of the articles sparked any recollection.  This is getting ridiculous, he glumly thought while shutting the door with a frustrated sigh.

Glancing around the room to see if there was anything he might have overlooked, Travis spotted a shelf he hasn’t yet examined.  It was adorned with an assortment of neatly arranged trinkets, but what really caught his attention was hanging above it.  The item in question was a long spear made out of a tree branch.  It was adorned with feathers and beads and its pointed rock tip was attached with leather straps and a strip of gray fur.  He stared at it for long moments wondering what the story was behind it.  He saw plenty of spears used by Tribals in parts of Utah and this one looked similar to them.  It got him thinking if he was truly a descendant of Tribals or even pre-war Native Americans.  He had his suspicions and hopes, but nothing was ever validated.   

Not wanting to strain his frazzled brain on thoughts about his heritage until he could speak to his parents about it, Travis focused on the items on the shelf instead.  Aside from random things such as a few nice rocks and a large pine cone, there was also a carving of a coyote and a two mason jars filled with bottle caps and marbles respectively.  However, a framed photo of a teenage Travis holding a baby animal of some kind caught and held his attention.  He stared intently at the picture for a long time, more intrigued as to what kind of creature he had rather than if the picture sparked any sort of memory or not.  The animal looked similar to the horses he’s seen in pre-war books and magazines or even the toy, Giddyup Buttercup, except this was a real being.

Noticing Travis had found something of apparent interest, Riley looked up from the book.  He could see the concentration on his partner’s face and it made him fidget in hopes that maybe Travis finally recognized something.  “What has your intense attention, babe?” Riley asked while returning the book to the nightstand then joining Travis at the shelf.

Travis gave him a side glance while nodding towards the photo.  “Check it out.  What kind of critter is that?  I mean, it looks like a pre-war...ummm….horse.  At first I thought it was one of those Buttercup toys, but this looks like the real deal.”

When Riley saw the animal in question he couldn’t believe his eyes.  He adjusted his glasses and peered closer for a better look at the photo in disbelief.  “I’ll be damned.  If I didn’t know any better I’d swear that is a horse, but from what I’ve gathered they’re long gone.  Well, at least in Boston anyway.  Travis, think back during your time at the Big Circle for that brahmin drive.  Do you remember anything like this?  I mean, you can’t exactly herd cattle on foot...at least I wouldn’t think it’d be too practical.  You and the other cowboys had to have a mount of some sort.”  Riley felt excitement rising inside of him over the possibility of horses in the Mojave. 

Sadly shaking his head no, Travis picked up a carving that was resting against the picture frame. This one resembled the animal in the photograph, but apparently as an adult.  Travis stared at it for long moments while tracing over it with his finger, admiring the craftsmanship and details.   “The few random things I remember about Big Circle, these critters ain’t one of them,” he said sorrowfully.  Suddenly furrowing his brow in frustration, Travis walked back to the bed and dropped heavily on it, still clutching the wooden horse.  He rubbed his face with a groan before resting his elbows on his knees.   Shifting his gaze up to his partner, Travis twitched his moustache and gave a weak laugh while shaking the carving.  “Ya know, had this been any ole room I would be fascinated by all of this stuff...especially the animal in the photo.  But knowing this is all my stuff and not having any recollection of it...well...it’s...it’s kinda surreal.  Does that even make sense?”

Taking a seat at Travis’ side, Riley put his arm around his shoulders and pressed an affectionate kiss on his cheek.  “Yes, it does, babe.”

“At least I got some cool stuff,”  Travis weakly laughed, leaned against Riley and closed his tired eyes.  “All this stuff and especially the photos don’t mean anything to me.  Not a damn thing.  It’s so weird seeing me doing shit in pictures, but have no memories of it.  Ain’t just surreal, it’s downright frustrating.” “Well, like I said, maybe something random will crop up for you when you least expect it.  Don’t try to force it.” Riley hoped he sounded encouraging, but deep down he knew he really couldn’t offer much.  This was all something Travis had to figure out and discover on his own.

Travis glumly nodded against him and felt Riley press a kiss on top of his head.  Pulling back, Travis nuzzled against his neck, placing a few kisses on the freckled skin.  “Thanks, Riles.  This all feels so hopeless, but I’ll try and not give up.”  

Riley heard the tiredness and frustration in his partner’s voice and his heart sank.  Had they been anyplace else but here, he would have laid back on the bed pulling Travis against him and would do his best to dole out comfort with his hands and mouth.  However, that was not an option at this point and time and instead he put his fingers under the whiskered chin of Travis and tilted his face towards him.  “That’s all you can do.  Like I’ve said earlier, you aren’t facing this alone,”  Riley said gently then pressed his lips against his partner’s.  “You have my full support in all of this and I’ll respect and honor any decision you make on how to keep moving forward here.” 

“Dang, I love you so much,” Travis smiled gratefully and returned the kiss while wrapping his arms tightly around him.  “I really cain’t wait to get outta here later and show you just how much.”  

Riley playfully nudged him and chuckled.  “There will be plenty of time for that.  I only hope there’ll be a nice, clean place in town for us to stay.” “If not, we got the camping gear.  That’s good enough for me anyways, you know that.”  Travis snickered seeing Riley flinch over the mention of camping.  “You know you love it!”

“If I wanted to get hot and sweaty at night, I’d much prefer to do it in our bedroom with you back at the Lucky 38,” Riley scoffed earning a frisky nip on his neck from his partner.  “Oh, you’re so lucky we’re not somewhere more private or I’d have to have you put your mouth to better use than that.”

Travis’ moustache lifted to a grin and Riley noticed a small spark of mischief in his crystal blue eyes.  Even though he knew Travis was caught up in the moment and the emotions were probably fleeting right now, it was still good seeing him in better spirits than the frustrated, somber mess he’s been since they arrived at the ranch.

As Riley bowed his head down to press a gentle kiss on Travis’ lips, a sharp knock at the door caused both men to jump and instantly scoot away from each other on opposite ends of the bed.  Riley found himself blushing fiercely from almost being caught and he immediately turned away, grabbing for the Native American book as a distraction.  

Although not as embarrassed, Travis still felt awkward and he cleared his throat to try and compose himself.  Grabbing the wood carving, Travis glanced at Riley to make sure he was ready before calling out, “C-come in!”

The door opened and a smiling Mrs. Blackfox stepped in.  “Dinner’s about up.  It’s your favorite, fried prairie fowl and maize,” she directed at Travis while her eyes caught the wood carving he was clutching.  “That right there…” she began, but stopped as she felt a sudden wash of emotions going through her.  “Do...do you remember that at all?” Tracy reached for the carving and held it lovingly while her finger traced over the animal’s ears and snout.  Travis shook his head no making his mother sigh softly.  “This was the last thing you did the night before you left for that New Vegas delivery.  You were so proud of this and it was the best one you made since you began learning the craft.”  She looked around the room and gave a nod to nowhere in general.  “All the figures in here and the few that are out around the house were done by you.  Each one you tried harder and harder to perfect, but this one...this was a true labor of love.”  Sighing, she handed the figure back to Travis and mustered up a supportive smile.  “Reckon that’s a story for later.  Now then, come and eat before your father inhales everything.” 

Travis sighed as he watched her go then dropped his gaze downwards to the carving.  He stared at it for long minutes, suddenly feeling rather sentimental over what his mother said about it being the last thing he did before his fateful journey to New Vegas.  He bit his lower lip as he felt tears wanting to build up in his eyes.  Furrowing his brow, Travis set the figure on the nightstand and snorted.  “Let’s make tracks...I’m gonna pass out from starvation.”

to be continued...

[room-on-broom]

Hi, your vampire!hb drawings are amazing! For the au ask: What do you think about hb on a (your favourite) space ship?

I’ve only just saw this ask this afternoon I am so sorry! here we go!

The Tuesday had been normal. Extremely boringly normal… until it got really weird. One moment Mildred had been nipping to the shops for her mum, then she swept along in the adventure. And not a fun one. Sure she’d made a new friends in Maud and Tabby at least. But Maud was purple. Tabby was actually Kit-10, a robot. And people had DIED. Aliens. Witches. Robots. The woods coming to life. An angry lady in an almost Edwardian black dress. Magic…  Mum would be back at the flat (if there was still a flat!) wondering where she was.

Right now though, they need to be going. Earlier she’d seen the witchy looking lady ( Maud had said she was her teacher, but she looked like no teacher Mildred had ever seen) had given Maud a bottle of red stuff then vanished. Later cornered the green alien tree thing, Maud had thrown a bottle of red stuff at it and yelled “Run!” 

Mildred had done as she was told but not knowing where to go had followed Maud. The potion had given them a head start on the monster but not much. Mildred could hear it not far behind them as they tore down the back alleys, roaring and knocking over wheelie bins.

“It’s a dead end this way!” Mildred gasped. They were zigzagging toward the scrap yard Mil knew the gates where high and locked. Normally. Someone had left them open and Maud dragged her on regardless. Then Mildred saw what they were aiming for. It was wooden and blue and had not been there this morning when she’d cycled past.

“But it’s box!”

“Just Come on!” Maud urged. And yanked her inside and slammed the door. Mildred put all her small weight against it barricading it shut. “Hover! Up and AWAY!”

Mildred was almost thrown back at the lurch. The alien must have hit the door.

“How will this help? It can smash though walls!”

“Not these ones! We’re not in that place in time and space anymore, we’ve moved.” Maud grinned. “Or are moving?  HB was ready with a transfer at any rate-“

“Why is there a human in here?!”

Both Mildred and Maud jumped at the voice and turned around.

“Mistress!”

Mildred fell to the floor as Maud  ran up to her teacher. A teacher stood with her arms folded looking even more cross the she’d done earlier.

“Let me re phrase that,” she said coldly. “Why have you brought that particular untidy and clumsy non-magical human child in here on to my ship?”

But Mildred wasn’t paying attention. Instead of the inside of a shed or a cupboard like she’d expected the inside of the blue box was- well it was hard too describe. But it was enormous!

A stone cavern that had been built into, Metal and brass and wood and glass floor runways. but as if it had grown up from the rockface, lined with shelves of books and bottles and jars and cupboards looking Like a ancient library and a laboratory all in one. Candelabras hung High above from a Ceiling like hallowed hall dotted with a galaxy of stars, lighting the place in soft oranges and blues. In the centre, where Maud and the ‘HB’ stood, There was a large pink and silver crystal Colom stretching from the floor below to almost the roof. It moved slowly up and downas if the very place was breathing.  A big table or alter hugged the middle of it, covered in instruments and strange systems.

“Maud Warlock Moonshine Spellbody There is absolutely no excuse-!”

“But she is magic! I saw her! She’s what Agatha’s cronies, were after not me.”

“So you brought her here?!”

“She was in trouble! I couldn’t leave just her. And she helped me earlier! I think she knows where the others are.”

Mildred blinked, turning back to her new friend. Maud was apparently trying to vouch for her. Judging by glare, the Time Witch was not impressed.

“Think? Is this some kind of joke?” she said approaching Mildred.

“it’s -it’s-“ Mildred stammered.

“Bigger on the inside. Yes, I’m aware, heard it all before.” Snapped the stranger. Suddenly she grabbed Mildred’s hand and dragging her up the steps to the middle of the room, and held her hand onto a handle forcing it down. “Hold that down. Do not let go under any circumstance.”

She then addressed Maud stalking around the console. “Humans are trouble. That one will be trouble. You can’t keep them. Why isn’t it in a school? They have compulsory education in this era.”

“ ‘She’. Millie doesn’t have school Mistress.” Maud shrugged. She was taking the collection of things out her bag and carefully measuring them out into smoking pot that had sprung up from somewhere. ‘Tabby’ was next to her curled up on the table, his silver wire fur reflecting the light around it. If it was wasn’t for the cable plugged into his belly, he would look like he was asleep. “It’s something they call ‘sommer holladay’.”

“Oh, those. I don’t believe in them.” The lady scoffed and pulled a screen around to her, studying whatever gibberish it was saying intently.  But said nothing else.

No one did for a while.  For the first time since the high street had exploded, it was quiet. And time was slow. Mildred could catch her breath. Mildred could only hear Maud as she worked, tabby’s whirring purr. and some far away hum deep and rubbling. She Feel the vibrations up through her feet as if this big place were flying.

The woman didn’t relax, although she’d shed her elegant black cloak from earlier. Mildred took a better look at her. She stood as straight backed as ever, even more Tall and thin and all angles now without the robes. She wore a Black blouse with a high collar, its funny cuffs rolled up her for arms and a embraided black waist coat with matching- Mildred wasn’t sure if it was a tight long skirt or a pair of trousers but it matched. And Pocket watch too. but its chain went twice around the women waist with a bunch of keys attached, then looped around her neck so the watch hung down like a necklace. Hair piled up high on her head, and a pale profile with burgundy lipstick.  She wasn’t pretty. But there was something handsome in her face, like the old paintings. There was the energy about her too, like a crouching panther or an oncoming snow storm…

A large book had popped into existence and hovered helpfully at the teacher’s side. She kept switching from reading it to adjusting the controls. All the while carefully watching Maud doing whatever it was Maud was doing and offering up the occasional instruction.

“Stir it three hundred and forty three degrees withershins. Then leave it half an witching hour and it should be done.”

“Will it be enough Mistress?” Maud asked, putting away her bits and bobs. A wave of her hand  had the pot, precious contents and all stored neatly under the metal flooring.

“It’ll have to do.” Her teacher sighed. “It reverse some ot the effects at least.”

“Excuse me? Miss?” Mildred pipped up timidly. The lady’s head snapped up, as if she’d forgotten Mildred was there. “What’s going to happen to Rowen?”

“Who?” the stranger said.

“Her next door neiabour. He’s a frog.” Maud added helpfully.

“You live next door to a frog?” Her mistress said frowning at Mildred.

“No, he wasn’t a frog he was Rowan Webb but that thing-!” Mildred said. Suddenly she felt her eyes watering, the day catching up on her. “It- It turned Rowan in to a frog! He saved us but-! And the others-!”

A hanky on sprung out of the console , thrust in her face by a claw. Followed by a glass of water. Maud came around and hugged her tight.

“they’ll be fine.” The time witch said after a pause. Awkwardly. And possibly lying. “there there. don’t cry. You’re no use crying. Tell me exactly what you saw today.”

Mildred did albeit with a sniffle.

“Was that an alien?” She asked afterwards.

“Technically not for you. It originated from earth.” The lady sighed.

“Have we really moved? From the junk yard?”

“Yes. We transferred.”

“How?” Mildred asked.

“You would even understand if I told you so I’m not going to waste my breath.”

“So where are we?”

“No where yet I haven’t decided.”

“What about home? My Mum? All the people?” Mildred asked. “Who are you?”

“Oh will you stop asking questions I’m trying to concentrate!” the lady snapped standing up to tower over Mildred.

“Now now, HB.” Said a voice. A soft laughing voice that echoed  around the console, the grey pink light flickering with each syllable. “She’s a child, be gentle with her.”

Mildred shrieked in surprise letting go of the lever.

Aliens. Witches. Robots. The woods. Magic. Up till now she’d coped quite well but now spaceships that talked was really far too much on top of everything else!

“I said Not to let that go.” ‘HB’ scowled. “It was a very simple instruction.”

“What will it do?” Maud asked helping Mildred to her feet.

“Absolutely nothing. I just needed her away from the door and not to wander off or break anything.” Maud’s teacher said.

The voice made a disagreeable noise. HB made one right back.

Only it sounded like a name.

“Ada...”

“Don’t worry. It’s only the CACKLE.” Maud reassured to Mildred in a stage whisper. “Part of the TARDIS interface. That’s what we’re in by the way. It stands for Time And Relative Dimi-”

HB glared at the girls, stopping Maud mid flow.

“Moonshine go make yourself useful and make some calming tea or something.”  she  grumbled. “The stray you’ve picked up is in shock!”

Maud shot off into the belly of the TARDIS with “Yes Miss Hardbroom.”

“You can’t keep calling the poor girl things like that!” CACKLE admonished.  Mildred felt as if, even with no visible eyes, it was peering at her. Kindly at least. “…What is you name my dear? Maud called you ‘Millie’, is that correct?”

“I’m not calling her by Millie.” Miss Hardbroom insisted then addressed Mildred. “Haven’t you a proper name?”

Mildred was too stunned to speak. HB rolled her eyes and came around behind her; seizing her jumper by the scruff of her neck.

“Mildred Hubble.” The Time Witch read aloud from  the  sewn in name tag. with a sneer. She turned back to the console. “Fine. Welcome aboard Mildred Hubble. But you’re not staying! You’re here on a trial basis till I-”

“with our help.” The Cackle added.

“Till We Save your silly little planet.” HB finished but while still very grouchy when Hardbroom spoke again, her face and voice had gone all soft. “Once this is over, Mildred we’ll take you home to you mother. You’ll be safe here. Now. Hold on tight…”

(my fave ship is the tardis so allonsy!)

[perlocutionary]

Morning Glory, pt. 16 - The Maze Runner - Thomas au

Description: Based off the original story of The Maze Runner, where Y/N has been around a long time and she and Thomas might be the key out of here. I have my own take on this, I have used particular things from the movie/books but a lot I did change for this story!

Relationship: Thomas x Reader - THE MAZE RUNNER

Title: A Griever’s sting Word count:  1998

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Part 13. Part 14. Part 15.

“Can I have your attention please?” I yell over the Gladers, my feet trying to keep myself steady on the log I had stood on just a few weeks prior – speeching. The loud chatter dies down to quiet murmurs and I grin at all my boys, clapping my hands together once. “Thank you. First of all, enjoy your meal! Frypan has outdone himself this time.”

A chorus of cheers erupts around the open field of the Glade, the noise become louder and louder until I try and shut them down again. “Now, some of you know that we may have found something. A way out. I am here to tell you – that that is the case.”

“Please, please, guys, settle down. Otherwise this is going to take a lot longer than necessary.” I laugh, winking at Thomas and Newt who are standing right in front of me, to my right. I cannot help myself as to grin brightly when Thomas stares up at me, his tongue poking past his lips to lick daringly along his bottom lip. I wink again, this time only meant for Thomas’ piercing gaze, as I refocus back on the task at hand.

“From now on, there are no more Grievers!” I screech, throwing my hand holding my mug of moonshine into the air, feeling the liquid slosh and land on my hand before the droplets slowly trail down my arm to my elbow.

“As you all know, some of you found their place within our Glade fairly quickly. Others weren’t as lucky but did find their place nonetheless. Everyone was here with a goal – a goal that WCKD apparently set for us to let our community thrive. “

My voice drops back down to its original octave, glancing over all the eyes glued to me. A hand raises somewhere in the back and I sigh as I finish my introduction, holding my hand up as well. “Please, I want to have a discussion after. Let me get to this before I forget anything crucial.”

My gaze finds Thomas’ again. His happy-go-lucky smile has disappeared, and a frown has taken over his place. I can’t help but let my eyebrows furrow – why wasn’t he as elated as the rest of us had felt? I wish I had had the chance to talk to him before the bonfire started – but it would have to wait until we got to be alone later tonight.

I scrape my throat, putting on my smile again as I address the crowd once more. “I want to give you all the information we inquired – this was an experiment.” Loud murmuring starts but instead of waiting, I just continue my explanation. “All of us are immune to a disease that torments the outside world, The Flare. They wanted us to survive. For mankind to once more thrive again. Without history to guide us, or knowledge, they silently asked us to build a new society – and we succeeded, as you can see.” I motion my hands around the Glade, nodding my head as once again, cheers erupt among us.

“Because, this… This is a safe haven. It’s designed to keep us safe – all of it. The Grievers were meant – ” I can’t finish my sentence as a voice among the crowd interrupts me, causing the whole Glader group to second guess my words. “Y/N! Look at Gally! Do you really think they were here to supposedly protect us?”

My gaze flicks over to a bandaged-up Gally, my lips pursing together into a thin line. Gally looks up, shrugging his shoulders as our eyes meet and I feel mine slump. The only theory I could come up with is that the Grievers were supposed to be there to keep us from finding this out too soon. We couldn’t enter the facility without the flower, which hadn’t sprouted until a few days ago.

Perhaps, the Griever were indeed also for us to remain safe. “I – well – I theorize that – “

This time, I am interrupted, but the words land straight in my heart. I swallow harshly. “Have you forgotten Rebecca and Isabella?” The Glade turns silent, the lone voice dying in the mass of people as I stand frozen. This is what I think a Griever’s sting feels like. Penetrating every fiber of my being, shaking its way to my core – my heart ached at the thought of them, of Alby… Anyone we had lost.

I couldn’t let them see – I couldn’t show them how much it had hurt. If I show them, they might not believe my next words – ones that I desperately believed myself. “It is safe here.”

Silence envelopes us all. MY attention is diverted when Thomas suddenly jumps into motion and stalks off, away from the bonfire and away from me. I feel my throat constrict as I see him disappear into the night. Newt scrapes his throat and my gaze flicks to him. The little nod he gives me tells me he’s onto it, and he trails off after Thomas.

I would’ve never survived if it weren’t for Newt. He had been my rock – during my first days here, the months thereafter, and everything that had haunted my mind at night. Newt was here. And now, even now, he remained here – not only for me, but also Thomas.

Still, nobody speaks.

“There are others out there – places like us. People that are also safe from the outside world. We have a chance to explore the world and try to find this other Maze. We can finally leave this place.” I sigh, defeated perhaps, when it stays eerily quiet.

“I cannot stay here, knowing that there are other out there. Knowing there is an actual world out there, that doesn’t keep us confined. Opportunities, an actual life, I cannot stay here. There is so much more out there. And I know, some of you feel the same way. I invite you to come along with us.” I motion to the only remaining person from my group, Minho, who nods his head, agreeing with my statement. I knew Minho and Newt had my back – always – but I was wondering about Thomas.

“Y/N…” Gally’s voice chimes out above anyone else’s, his features set into understanding – my heart swells when I see the emotions course through his eyes. “If everything turns to shit out there, know that the Glade is your home.”

“Boys, we’re still together, alive, we’re still here, and we’re safe. I propose we celebrate tonight. Everything else can be settled tomorrow.” I raise my jar, bidding everyone a good evening and hop off my log. Gally approaches me, his brow set into a frown.

“I figure you’re not going with us?” I cross my arms over my chest, smiling as a few Gladers pass us and congratulate me on our accomplishments, but remaining close to Gally. He sighs, shaking his head before he speaks – but I knew. I always knew. “No. My place is here, in the Glade.”

I shrug my shoulders, keeping my features stoic. “Then the Glade will have an amazing new leader. If you’ll excuse me.” I nod to Thomas and Newt, meters away from the bonfire, as I smile briefly at Gally. He nods his head, the frown never wavering, as he takes a step back.

I motion Minho with my head to follow me, the tan male falling into step beside me as we trail over to Newt and Thomas. They’re muttering but silence themselves when we approach. “Are you guys alright?”

I take a step closer to Thomas, letting my fingers curl around his wrist as I pry his arms away from his chest. He reluctantly agrees, dropping his arms by his side as I intertwine our fingers. “What’s wrong?” A frown settles over me, my gaze flicking from my best friend to my lover in record speed – but Newt stays silent.

“I can’t help but doubt when I hear the rest of the Glade. Their concerns are valid, Y/N.” Thomas mutters, not meeting my gaze as he stares off into the distance. I thought Thomas and I were on the same page – that we had the same goals. I guess I had been mistaken.

I try to catch his attention, but when he doesn’t budge, I meet gazes with Newt. He smiles apologetically when he witnesses my pained expression, and I drop Thomas’ hand from mine. “Thomas – I – we can’t stay here. That was never an option before.”

Thomas turns as soon as our contact his broken, his hand raising again to grasp our fingers back together, but I retract immediately. The littlest shakes of my head follows as I cross my arms over my chest defensively. He sighs, dropping his hand back to his side. “I know – but they have a good point, you know?”

Immediately, I reciprocate. “Are you not curious as to what’s out there? Am I the only one?” My eyes flick to the other boys in our little circle, but they remain silent, nor do they move. Newt sighs, eventually. “No, Y/N. Definitely not. We have to take our chances. But Thomas is right too.” My eyes widen as I feel Newt shift as well – we can’t stay trapped here forever. Newt, Minho, all of us wanted nothing more than to find a way out of here.

Why would Minho risk his life every day running that Maze if we were going to stay here anyway? Why would Newt help me plan out every single detail of the mapping, why did we even hold Gatherings to keep up-to-date with Minho’s findings?

I swallow harshly as I glare at all three men. “What do you want me to do?” When Thomas tries to grasp my hand again, I let him. He slowly pulls me closer, trying his best to look me in the eye, and I can see his concern course through the honey-speckled orbs.

I also see love, determination and preservation. His tongue darts out to lick his lip, a deep breath leaves his nostrils. “Answer this one question I have…” “And that is, Thom?”

I hold in my breath as I wait for him to speak. He’s fiddling with my fingertips, stalling his question. I knew it was something I didn’t want to hear – or perhaps couldn’t answer. “Why would she call them trials, if it’s a supposed safe haven?”

I want to pull away, but Thomas won’t let me. Instead, he pulls me impeccably closer, pressing his lips against my temple as I slump against his embrace. My defensive stance wouldn’t hold with the people I considered my close family – and there was no point in trying to come up with a lie either. “I – I don’t know. But I trust them. I don’t get why you don’t.”

Minho laughs boisterously, shaking his head as he grins at my against-Thomas-slumped form. It’s Thomas voice that rumbles through the silence though, his chest vibrating against my shoulder as he speaks. “Because locking someone inside a death trap surrounding by a bunch of slimy technology is not something you can justify as protection. Especially not considering the fucking Maze and all.”

For the smallest moment I had considered not telling them what I had found in the control room and keep them to myself, perhaps even burn them when the flames of the bonfire were slowly licking at the wood and every Glader was asleep, but I couldn’t. They should know. “Thomas – you were there too. You made it. “

He’s quick to retaliate. “I made what?”

I pull from his grasp, walking away from the boys and to my back pack that rests against one of the logs. I rumble through it, pulling out the manila folders that I had jammed in there right before leaving the control room, squeezing the paper before turning on my heel and stalking back over. “Here.” I hold out one of the folders, the bold lettering on the front showing THOMAS.

Taglist: @mariariley96 @rebeccaannex3  @blue-berry-barry-allen @honeymoonmuke​  @dashofholland

Forever:@ssweet-empowerment​ @fuckwhateverfuck​ @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname​ @behind-my-hazeleyes27​ @itsbilescallmebiles  @7e6205 @4-a-m

[red-5]

Bad Influence

Summary: Derek is a little shit when he drinks.

Pairings: Derek x Reader/OC

Warnings: Adult themes, alcohol consumption 

She collapsed onto Derek’s couch with a huff, muscles stinging and skin burning as her body stitched itself together. It was a state she has grown accustomed to in her years living as a lone wolf, given the chance hunters tended to take the path of least resistance and an omega without a pack was an almost guaranteed payday, but unfortunately, she never healed any faster. Not that it ever stopped her. Despite the unbelieving glances she received at the declaration, she maintained she would take the open road over pack life any day.

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” she breathed through a grimace, flexing her fingers as the joints popped back into place.

“Tell me about it,” Derek grumbled beside her. He didn’t look any better than she did.

“Hey, it’s not my fault every time I stroll into town I find you bleeding and half dead on the side of the road.”

“That was one time!” he cried in protest, wincing, and easing back into the cushions as his bones protested the sudden movement.

“That was twice,” she corrected matter-of-factly.

“No, that second time didn’t count, and you know it.”

She shot him a teasing grin that widened as his scowl deepened.

“Whatever you say, Hale.”

“You don’t have to keep coming back, you know,” he shot back, the softness behind his green eyes betraying his sharp words.

“Aw sure I do,” she drawled, grasping his hand playfully. “Who would show up at the last minute and save the day? Be the hero?”

Her airy giggle filled the loft as he yanked his hand back and rolled his eyes.

“Some hero you are, we almost died. Again.”

“Almost. And stop being so dramatic. You’re a werewolf, and a Hale at that. You should be used to it by now.”

His withering glare only cause more giggles to bubble from her chest.

She sighed as her laughter subsided, noting happily that the dull throbs and sharp pangs that littered her abused body had also ceased. They sat in a comfortable silence, watching as the scattered rays of sunlight disappeared from the floorboards. Despite the impending darkness, neither one of them could be bothered to move from their slumped positions to turn on a light, content instead to bask in the spreading moonlight.

“All healed up?”

He lifted his chin from his chest, eyes cracking open as hummed an affirmative.

“Good. Cause you look like you could use a drink.”

He wanted to sigh in exasperation, deliver a perfectly executed eye roll, remind her that no amount alcohol in the world would have any discernable effect on either one of them, but, being far too used to her antics by now, he simply resigned to watch her with tired eyes as she leaned over the side of the couch to dig in her tattered backpack and extract a large mason jar. The clear liquid inside sloshed up the sides and to the underside of the tightly screwed on lid as she lifted it up to give it a little shake.

“Just what the doctor ordered.”

He raised a challenging eyebrow.

“I highly doubt that.”

She tutted softly as she swatted his legs away to set the jar on the table top in front of them and moved to extract two small glasses from her bag.

“Don’t be such a party pooper.”

“You know that’s not going to do anything to us, right?”

His blood ran cold as she eyed him slyly. He knew that look. Nothing good ever followed that look.

“Being an omega has its advantages.” She twisted the lid off and set it aside, tipping the jar just enough to fill the two glasses to just below the rim. “You meet some very interesting people on the road.”

She turned to him, carefully lifting one glass to present it to him.

“Notice anything?”

He eyed her for a moment before tentatively reaching to take it, taking care not to allow the liquid to spill over the sides as he took a wary sniff. The strong scent of alcohol burned his nose and made his eyes water, but there was something else, something terrifyingly familiar beneath the sharp sting.

“Wolfsbane?” He asked incredulously, eyes widening as he held the vile substance away from his face.

She laughed in earnest, taking her own glass with her as she settled back comfortably.

“Moonshine, actually. But yes. It was distilled with wolfsbane.” Her eyes sparkled gleefully as she watched him, tipping the liquid in question down her throat in one go to prove a point.

“See? Harmless. And yes, technically, this is wolfsbane poisoning,” she admitted as she reached forward to pour herself another glass. “But, it was also carefully calculated through a series of trial and nearly suicidal error. It won’t kill us, just knock us down enough to fully enjoy the side effects of alcohol consumption. God bless the south, and the rednecks that call it home.”

He watched her, eyes wide and mouth gaping open.

“You’re actually insane.”

“Oh, come on, this isn’t even the most dangerous thing you’ve done today.”

She raised her now-full glass in a toast, nodding suggestively at him when he didn’t budge.

“To the last minute. If not for that singular stretch of time, nothing would get done.”

His eyes passed back and forth between her glass and his several times before a grin cracked the stone mask that held permanent residence on his face.

“To omegas,” he relented, clinking his glass against hers. “And bad influences.”

She shot him a wink before downing the shot, grinning wildly as he erupted into a fit of hacking coughs as the liquid fire burned down his throat.

“Good, isn’t it?”

He narrowed his eyes at her as his lungs constricted painfully.

“I know just what you need.” She plucked the jar off the table, gripping his wrist to steady his hand enough to pour him another despite the wild shake of his head. “You’ll get used to it,” she soothed, guiding the rim to his lips and coaxing his mouth open.

“You’re trying to get me drunk,” he accused after swallowing his second mouthful. Dizziness had already begun to take hold, and he firmly told himself it was the recent lack of oxygen, not the wolfsbane-laced alcohol she was force feeding him.

She shrugged, reaching to fill their glasses again.

“You need to get drunk. If you get any stiffer, you’ll snap in two. If Stiles were here, he’d back me up on that.”

He didn’t need to be coerced into downing the third glass. The burn had lessened considerably, and a pleasant warmth had begun to spread down his limbs.

“Besides, this has to be better than sneaking into your mother’s liquor cabinet and raiding her prized brandy specifically reserved for honored guests in a failed teenage attempt to test werewolf alcohol tolerance.”

The laugh that forced its way out of his throat surprised him, but he didn’t stop it. She returned it, sparing him a glance before taking a sip.

“I’m not even sure what she was angrier about, the fact that we drained a bottle of 100-year-old cognac or the fact that you did it with an orphaned, juvenile delinquent omega.”

Peals of fresh laughter erupted between them as they reverted to a lighter moment from their younger days. He had forgotten how good it felt to laugh, free and loud, without the imminent threat of danger looming over their heads. He sobered as the humor at the memory died, leaving the subconscious implication of her words in its wake.

“I’m sorry- “

“Don’t.” She held up a halting hand. “Don’t apologize. I don’t blame her. The lone wolf threatens the pack, brings death and destruction, blah blah. Nothing I haven’t heard before. She was just looking out for her own. Protecting her impressionable son from a bad influence. I would have been a black mark on the family name, and If tonight is any indication she was right all along.”

She lifted the hand that held her empty glass to emphasize her point. Talia Hale never hated her, as far as she knew the older woman had harbored no ill feelings for her whatsoever, but that didn’t stop her from being wary of the stray omega her son had dragged in off the streets one day.

“It’s not like you chose this,” he returned, the softness of his voice surprising her.

“No, but it’s a fact of our existence. And I wasn’t exactly a star citizen. I can’t even get a parking ticket in this town without being carted off to the station.”

Sheriff Stilinski’s tired face peering at her through the bars of a holding cell swam behind her eyes. She remembered the way his eyes swam with understanding when he was admitted into the dark underworld of Beacon Hills, but even he didn’t have the authority to make her rap sheet go away. The things it took to stay alive on the back end of an attack that wiped out her entire pack did not always coincide with the law. Nor the anger of the child it left behind, manifesting itself into a legendary teenage rebellion for the ages.

“Well, if she would have known how many times you would end up saving my life she may have had a different position.”

She couldn’t stop the genuine smile that stretched across her face if she tried.

“He admits it!” She cried triumphantly

“Yes,” he sighed begrudgingly, “he admits it. I probably wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for you.”

“Sitting,” she corrected without missing a beat despite the haze that had begun to build in her head.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, accepting the jar she passed to him and taking a swig, eliminating the need for their forgotten glasses as they passed the source back and forth.

“You’ve saved my life too, you know,” she slurred lightly after a few more swallows. “I’ve lost count of the number of arrows you’ve dug out of me.”

He cackled mercilessly, the less-than-playful swat she aimed at his chest only intensifying his mirth.

“I swear you’re a moving target. It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long considering you trip over your own two feet.”

His sides cramped as she gasped dramatically, whirling to face him as she clutched her chest.

“I do not!”

He doubled over as his laugher intensified.

“Derek!”

“I’m sorry,” he managed between giggles, tears forming in his eyes as a light tinge of pink dusted his scruff-covered cheeks. “But it’s true.”

“Wow,” she drawled. “I come back to this hell hole, save your life, share my booze, and this is the thanks I get.”

“You love it,” he toned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to drag her into a lopsided embrace.

“You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are, Mr. Hale.”

He hummed in response, pressing his cheek into the side of her head.

“And yet, here you are.”

She tipped her chin just enough to catch his twinkling eyes.

“Here I am.”

They stilled in unison, lips frozen in their upturned position, unsure if the buzzing under their skin was the alcohol or a result of their sudden proximity. His warm breath fanned across her face, and for the first time she noticed how handsome he had become, the round features and soft lines of youth had melted away to reveal sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. Neither of them knew who moved first, only realizing they had drifted closer when their noses brushed against each other, lips millimeters apart. She need only lean forward to discover how his mouth would feel moving against hers. Her eyes fluttered shut as the growing warmth in her chest gave her the courage she was sure she would otherwise lack, straightening her back as the breath halted in her throat and-

SCREEEEECH

They flew apart, blinking through the shock of the sudden intrusion and heaviness that had settled in their eyelids as Scott tumbled in through the open door of the loft still clad in his grass-stained lacrosse uniform.

“We heard about the attack, are you guys okay?” he breathed, eyes darting wildly back and forth between them.

“Heyyyy!” she called, flinging her arms open in greeting as she regained her composure, discreetly scooching over to put some distance between her and the brooding werewolf she almost kissed in an alcohol-induced haze. “How was the game? Did you guys win? Of course you did. Don’t listen to that coach of yours, you guys are the best.”

His eyebrows pulled together as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Are you guys… drunk?”

“Wait, what?” Stiles’ head appeared from behind him, hand slowly reaching to pull his phone from his pocket.

Ignoring the interruption, Scott’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he pulled a deep breath in through his nose.

“Is that wolfsbane?”

“Shhhhhhh,” she held up a finger to shush his barrage of parental questions. “That’s a story for another time, Scotty boy. As much as I maintain that the hardships of being a teenage werewolf has earned you a drink, Mr. Stick-in-the-mud over here might disagree.”

She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder as Derek’s eyes rolled into the back of his head despite the grin that still graced his face.

“Maybe when you’re older.”

“This is awesome,” Stiles giggled under his breath, unlocking his phone once he had freed it from the confines of his pocket and raising it to eye-level.

“That’s okay… it’s a school night… “ Scott trailed off as the corners of his mouth twitched up.

“Blech. Well, that’s my cue.” She heaved a sigh, unperturbed that they were undoubtedly being filmed as she flopped a hand over the side of the couch to drag her bag into her lap before flinging her arm into the air. She had nearly made out with Derek Hale after only a few drinks, and she wasn’t quite prepared for what would happen, or the guilt the morning would bring, if she stayed. “Beam me up, Scotty.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” he asked, laughing as he walked over to drape her arm across his shoulders and haul her into a standing position.

She waved a dismissive hand, steadying herself on her feet as she slung a strap over her shoulder.

“Pft. I’ve made worse decisions under the dubious effect of illicit substances. I’ll be fine.”

She shot a look over her shoulder at the handsome… at the man still slouched into the pillows.

“Derek, always a pleasure. Keep that, you need it more than I do.”

He raised the jar in thanks for the gift, and in acknowledgement that any conversation that was to be had about what had nearly passed between them would be held at a later date, and in private. Not to mention, sober.

Scott walked her to the door, ghosting behind her with an outstretched hand, just in case, as she waltzed over to Stiles and swatted the gadget out of his hand.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” she said over his shout of protest as she pulled the two boys into a hug. “Alright, you two. You know the drill.”

“Take care of each other,” they monotoned in unison, returning her hug with nods and smiles.

“That’s right.” She pulled away, pinching their cheeks motherly. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon. You guys just can’t seem to stay out of trouble.”

“You’re one to talk,” Derek called.

She suppressed an aggravated sigh, sparing one last glance at the two faces currently turning a lovely shade of red at the effort to suppress their laughter.

“He’s your problem now. Tootles!”

With that she danced around them, stumbling, and giggling as she picked her way down the stairs.

“Why can’t we keep her?” Stiles asked seriously as he watched her leave.

Scott shook his head with a laugh, turning a tentative eye to the second drunk werewolf of the evening who stared back at them with a bored expression, tipping another mouthful of the mysterious fluid into his mouth before speaking.

“Didn’t you say you have school tomorrow?”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #111

You know you’re from North Carolina when...

- You either have the lighthouse or the plane on your driver's license (nobody gets the seal). (don't have my license *shrug emoticon*) - You roll your eyes and correct people that pronounce it "App-a-LAY-shun" instead of "App-a-LATCH-un." - You have probably been to the Biltmore Estate (AKA America's only castle) before on a school field trip. - If there is even a CHANCE of snow school will be cancelled for a week, the grocery store will be out of milk and bread, and everyone will be afraid to drive. (THIS IS SOOO FUCKING TRUE) - You either like light blue or dark blue, not both. - Some of your family members probably make/sell real moonshine and it's WAY better than that knock-off crap they sell in gas stations now. (I know someone who does, though.) - Cook Out is life. - You have waited in line in your car for two or three hours just to see a street of Christmas lights in McAdenville (AKA Christmastown, USA). - In elementary school you heard the phrases "Duke is puke! Wake is fake! But NC State is the one we hate!" and "You can't get to heaven in a red canoe 'cause God's favorite color is CAROLINA BLUE!" thanks to your obnoxious UNC-loving classmates. - Billy Graham is a state-wide hero and you've probably been to his beautiful library. - You often wonder why Charlotte isn't the capital instead of Raleigh. - Two of God's greatest gifts were invented in North Carolina: Cheerwine and Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. (I've never had Cheerwine) - NASCAR is a big deal. (Not to me, but to literally almost everyone else, yeah.) - In school there was importance placed on the Lost Colony, Blackbeard, and tobacco. - It doesn't matter what time of year you go swimming in the mountains, the river water is always freezing. - You've been to Sliding Rock before. - "Wagon Wheel" (by Old Crow Medicine Show) is a very important song to you and you knew it way before Darius Rucker covered it. - Occasionally, you have to worry about a hurricane destroying your town. (We get hurricanes every couple years I'd say, but the bad ones usually curve back into the ocean.) - Bojangles is the best way to cure a hangover. (You haven't fuckin' lived until you go to Bojo's, but it's not gonna cure a hangover.) - We love going "all the way," AKA chili, slaw, onions, and mustard on our hotdogs. (Again, not me, but pretty much everyone else.) - You brag about all the amazing movies filmed here, including "The Last of the Mohicans," "Dirty Dancing," "The Hunger Games," "A Walk to Remember," "Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby," and "The Color Purple." - And also the popular TV shows filmed in North Carolina, including "One Tree Hill," "Homeland," "Under the Dome," "Sleepy Hollow" and "Dawson's Creek." - You rep 23 because the greatest basketball player of all time is also from here: Michael Jordan. - There are two kinds of barbecue: Eastern-style and Lexington-style, and you probably have a preference. Either way, North Carolina has the best barbecue in the country. - And barbecue is a NOUN, not a verb. - We have some of the best breweries in the country, also. - The ACC tournament is an extremely important time of the year where families and friendships will be torn apart. - Many people think North Carolina is super conservative, until they make their way to Asheville. (Uh, no. The entire state is conservative.) - There's nothing more relaxing than driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway in the fall. - You've definitely been to Carowinds and then realized it's not that great. - Every hour is happy hour to you, because North Carolina legally cannot have an official happy hour! - You can always see a lovely dogwood tree blooming in the spring. (Never, ever, do you want to smell one.) - You will fight anyone who says Ohio was first in flight. - If you need to buy furniture, there are only two places to go: Hickory or High Point. - You know the North Carolina mountains are the best and only place to get a Christmas tree. - You know the struggle of waiting to get your after 9's when you first get your driver's license. (It's the same for a permit.) - Even though we're on the coast, most people go to the beach in South Carolina. - You think the Rocky Mountains are great, but the Blue Ridge Mountains are home. - Tracking red clay into your house is normal. - You had to memorize the names of all the North Carolina lighthouses in 4th grade. - You either conquered the swinging mile-high bridge on Grandfather Mountain, or turned around halfway in fear. - There's a certain time of summer when it's too hot to even go swimming because the pool water feels like bathwater. - People from other states get confused when you say you're going to Beech and grab your skiing gear. (Lmao what.) - You know our state motto "esse quam videri" (meaning "to be, rather than to seem") is an appropriate representation of our great state. (Well that's a load of shit.) - You have strong feelings about barbeque. (Yeah, in the sense that I hate it.) - Somehow our favorite team always come down to some last-minute victory or loss. Ensue floods of tears. - On a Florida vacation at least three people have asked you where you're from. (My grandma lives in Florida.) - You LIKE tobacco, as in, the gorgeous tobacco fields and the rich heritage it has in our state. - You've partied in a field. (We were what, 13, so it wasn't exactly a "party," but we played out there, if that counts?) - It's not Christmas unless you watch the Andy Griffith Christmas Episode - It doesn't feel like fall unless you visit the State Fair. - Summer vacations meant one thing, ferry rides to the Outer Banks. (Again, to other people. OBX is huge here.) - You've bought watermelons, peaches, and vegetables off the side of the road. (I don't trust that shit.) - You have mixed feelings about Myrtle Beach. - You've attended a pig pickin'. (And they're fucking gross.) - Your accent and dialect varies depending on which part of the state you grew up in. - You've never met ANY celebrities. - You measure distance in minutes. (Literally everyone here does.) - Down South to you means South Carolina. (It can.) - You know Pepsi originated in New Bern, Cheerwine in Salisbury, and that Mountain Dew was invented in Fayetteville. (I knew they were all invented here, but not where specifically.) - You know Coke tastes better in the little bottles and that peanuts make coke taste even better. (Don't like peanuts) - Your folks have taken trips to the mountains to look at leaves. - Your school took a field trip to the State Fair in Raleigh. - You watched as Dale Earnhardt was the only man who ever lived who could go 200 mph, spin somebody out, flip them the bird, call them a you-know-what, and win the race all in the last lap. - You skipped school to go to Dale Earnhardt's memorial service. - You know a bunch of people who have hit a deer. (Like everyone lmao) - You know a few that have also hit a bear. - You remember watching the ACC Tournament on television at school. - The local newspaper covers state, national, and international headlines in one page, but sports require six pages. - Most men in town consider the first day of deer season a national holiday. - Fifty degrees Fahrenheit is "a little chilly" (To other people; that's like perfect for me.) - You have no problem spelling or pronouncing "Conetoe" or "Top Sail" (I've been to Conetoe once and it blew my mind how it was pronounced lol.  I didn't know Top Sail had a weird pronunciation...?) - Your school classes were canceled because of cold. - Your school classes were canceled because of heat. - Your idea of a traffic jam is ten cars waiting to pass a tractor on the highway. (Happens rarely.) - You know tea is served sweet unless you specifically asked for unsweetened. - You've ever had to switch from "Heat" to "A/C" in the same day. - You end your sentences with a preposition, for example, "Where's my coat at?" "What's that made out of?" (Doesn't... everyone sometimes...?) - All the festivals around the state are named after a fruit, vegetable, or tobacco. - You know the difference between a deer dog, a bear dog and a coon dog by the way they bark. - Your four seasons are almost summer, summer, still summer, and highway construction. (PRETTY FUCKING MUCH.) - You think the four major food groups are beef, pork, beer, and Jello salad with marshmallows. - Schools and churches hold barbecue fundraisers with banana pudding as the dessert. - Your folks would rather eat at Bojangles's than McDonald's. - You know what "cow tipping" is. - You say, “it don’t” instead of “it doesn’t." - You sometimes eat country ham, grits and eggs for supper. - “Onced” and “twiced” are words. - You know how much a "mess" of anything is. - You say "tater" instead of "potato" - You say "skeeter" instead of "mosquito" - You say "possum" instead of "opossum" - You say "coon" instead of "raccoon" - You know that "barbeque" means cooking pork on an open pit and a "cook out" is grilling hamburgers and hotdogs. - You know that "pop" is a sound, and "soda" is used for baking. - Everything tastes better when served in a mason jar. - You'll never hear anything more passive-aggressive than "bless your heart!" - Everyone knows someone who's in the military. - Everyone seriously loves the North Carolina Zoo. - People have to ask, "Is there alcohol in this?" - You loooove Sun Drop. - You know to NEVER go to the Crabtree Valley Mall on the weekend. (Never, ever, do it.)

[xyriath]

Hung Up on You

Ship: Roy/Ed

Rating: PG-13 for pottymouth Ed

Summary: Colonel Edward Elric is pleased to have snapped up the latest alchemical genius to join the military, but for reasons more than his abilities.  And though Roy Mustang may be a looker, he's got an adorable awkwardness to him that Ed just wants to...

Well, eat up.

Notes: VERY VERY VERY VERY BELATED BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR MY DARLING @gettibucket THAT TOOK FOR GODDAMN EVER TO FINISH BUT I HOPE U LIKE BB!!!!!

—

“Boss?”

Ed chewed on the end of the pen, the words vaguely penetrating his concentration as he stared at the capelet obnoxiously obscuring his vision.  His eyes narrowed slightly, and he wondered, if he asked to borrow it…

“Boss.”

Ed finally tore his eyes away from that regrettably covered ass, removing the pen from his mouth and dragging his gaze over to Havoc, grimacing.

“What?”

Havoc glanced in the direction that Ed had just been ogling, raising an eyebrow and lowering his voice.  “Could you be any more obvious?”

“Probably,” Ed deadpanned back, utterly unrepentant.  “Have you seen him when he talks to me?  I haven’t seen someone trip over their own two feet so much since Elicia was learning to walk.”

Havoc rolled his eyes, and Ed muttered, “Insubordination!”  This didn’t save him from the file slapping down onto his desk, and with a sigh, Ed opened it.

“Time to get a different view of him, then.  Also, your own damn secretary.  I’m tired of delivering papers for you.”

“It’s just ‘cause you look so good when you walk in,” Ed shot back without much force, skimming the papers.  Idly, he wondered if it were his skill with alchemy or the laid-back nature of his team that had kept him from getting nailed with fraternization accusations in the past few years. Probably both.  He clicked his tongue, then looked back up.

“Hey, Mustang!”

The newest member of his team straightened from where he had been searching through the bookshelf, turning to face Ed, eyes wide at the force of the statement.

“Colonel?”  Mustang even saluted.  Adorable.

Ed beckoned him over with two crooked fingers, raising an eyebrow.  For someone eight years Ed’s senior, the man had a remarkably difficult time making eye contact with him.  And only him: Havoc, Fuery, Breda, Falman, Ross; Mustang seemed to be fine with them, but the moment he came within a few feet of Ed…

Like Ed had said.  Not very subtle.

“I’ve got some questions from the higher-ups about the history you provided. Sounds to me like you’ve been everywhere.”  He flicked through the folder.  “I think they wanna know if you’ve got connections or something.  Know people there.  East City in particular, apparently.   Looks like you might be in the running for a special mission.  Who the fuck knows?”

Mustang shifted in his seat, then glanced down at his knees, hands twisting in his lap.  “I don’t think I can be of much help there, sir.  I’ve been to most places across Amestris, yes, but that was with my father.  I grew up traveling with him, and we never stayed anywhere long.  I would mostly stay in the hotel rooms we rented, and certainly never got a chance to speak with anyone.”

Ed glanced back down at the file, twirling a bang around an automail finger.  That certainly explained plenty.  No wonder he could barely hold a conversation.  Or flirt properly.  He toyed briefly with the idea of reining it in.  He’d keep an eye out for any signs to back off, but when Ed glanced back up, Mustang’s eyes had fixed on the hand.  As soon as he realized Ed had spotted him, however, he flushed and turned away.

…So maybe not.  Ed smirked slightly.

“Well, you’ll get plenty of opportunity to travel in more favorable conditions if you want.”  Ed snapped the file shut with an air of finality.  “So, onto other matters.  You’ve heard about Lieutenant Ross’s promotion?”

Mustang nodded, turning back to Ed, seeming to relax now that he wasn’t the topic of conversation.  Well, he should enjoy it for the couple seconds it lasted.  “To First Lieutenant, yes?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”  Ed leaned back in his chair, his expression innocent.  So innocent, in fact, that any of the rest of his team could have spotted trouble a mile away.  “I’m taking the team out to drinks tonight to celebrate.  All on me.  You should join us.”

“Join—me?”  Mustang drew back, looking a little alarmed.  “You shouldn’t go through the trouble—”

Ed waved his hand.  “Nonsense.  You’re part of the team, aren’t you?   Everyone else is coming.  Nice chance to socialize a little more.”

He grinned, and he could see Mustang hesitate.  “You mean that?” he asked, and the combination of wariness and hope in his voice startled Ed, prompting a small jumping sensation in his chest that he hadn’t expected.  But then again, he shouldn’t be surprised: going from a life of isolation like Mustang had described straight into a team that he had been built on camaraderie had to be a jarring shift.

“Of course,” he said firmly, grinning, and this time he could feel the sincerity shining through instead of the smirk.  “I know we’d all like to see you here.  Me especially.”

At that, Mustang went an adorable shade of pink, glancing away and trying to look unaffected.

Ed’s smirk returned.

—

Though Ed ended up working late, too late to go back home to change, he always kept a few spare sets of clothes in his office.  More importantly, he always kept a spare set of absolutely, completely work inappropriate clothes alongside them.

When he stepped into the bar, he knew he turned heads.  It might be the golden hair, freshly brushed and tied in a high ponytail, bangs framing a dark face with matching golden eyes.  It might be the hint of eyeliner, smudged underneath those eyes, or the sleeveless red shirt that showed off his arms, one tanned and muscled, the other silver and gleaming in the low light.

Or, it might be the tight black leather pants.  Who knew?

Ross, Havoc, Breda, and even Fuery had dressed to similar effects, knowing the bar and its unofficial dress code, though Ed probably pushed the boundaries a bit more than them.  Falman had gone for safe.  Mustang had opted for a suit, but…

Well, he certainly didn’t wear it the way Ed expected.

Instead of neatly pressed and buttoned, it hung open, the white collared shirt underneath unbuttoned just enough to leave you curious about what would happen if you popped it open one more.  He had shoved the dark sleeves up to reveal a really, really nice set of forearms, by virtue of belonging to Roy fucking Mustang.  His hair, messy as ever, fell into eyes that the dim light of the bar seemed to make even darker.

It all culminated in a rumpled effect that, somehow, unbelievably, managed to convey ‘effortless sex on legs.’

Formerly smug and confident in his own appearance, the sight quickly sent Ed into a tailspin of no fucking fair!

“Colonel!”

Despite the look, Mustang didn’t seem to be much different.  He straightened, eyes wide, and tried to salute.  Noticing the drink in his hand, Ed’s left hand darted out to clasp around his wrist, stopping him from lifting it before he spilled.

“Calm down, soldier,” he teased, offering a careless grin in Roy’s direction.  “No need for formality here.  Hell, you can even call me Ed.  The rest of them do.  Mostly.”

Roy swallowed, nodding as he lowered his drink, glancing at Ed’s hand on his with mild alarm.  Ed admired the flush that crept up his cheeks for a few moments before releasing it.

“Then I suppose,” he murmured, voice soft, but the glance he shot Ed as he looked up was anything but, “you should call me Roy?  While we’re off-duty, of course.”

Ed grinned brightly over at him, and something tiny in Roy seemed to relax at having read the situation correctly.  He lifted his drink to take another sip, and Ed didn’t miss the slight lack of coordination in the movement.

“How many have you had?” Ed asked, trying to restrain his face back into something that wasn’t a smirk.  Roy glanced up from over the rim of the glass, then lowered it.

“This is my first one.”

Ed snorted softly, then leaned over to the bar, watching Roy out of the corner of his eye as he ordered a drink for himself.  Roy didn’t miss the opportunity to glance at the assets displayed in the leather pants. Good.  He needed a confidence booster.

“Better watch it, then.” He took the drink offered, a real Risembool Moonshine—one of the many reasons he chooses this place to frequent—and turned back to Roy, who looked faintly indignant.

“I’m not drunk!” he protested.

“No, but you look like you might be soon.”  Ed took a sip, grinning at the apple pie aftertaste that chased the burning.  Perfect.  “Y’know, for someone way bigger than me and all your limbs, I have a feeling I’m gonna end up outdrinking you.”

Roy scoffed, but of course Ed’s words prompted jeering from Breda and Havoc, demanding a drinking contest.  Ross put a halt to that, insisting that they could get smashed once she’d had a chance to squeeze several more drinks out of Ed.

“Glad to know you guys keep me around for a reason,” he retorted, swigging the moonshine when she grinned innocently over at him.

In the end, it didn’t even take a drinking contest.  Just three drinks with… slight strength.

“Y-you see, it’s not about the fire!” Roy chattered, hands waving animatedly as Havoc and Ed stared at him intently.  “It’s the—the damn oxygen!  You just gotta… y’know.”  He waved his hand again, this time dismissively. “You gotta control that.  And when you… uh…”

He frowned in concentration, and Ed lifted two fingers, placing them against his lips with a grin.

“Now, now, don’t go around sharin’ your secrets.  It’s bad form, and y’never know when someone’ll try to grab ‘em and usurp you.  Or use ‘em for evil.  Whichever bugs you the most.”

Roy’s eyes went wide, and he froze.  “My god, you’re right.  There could be spies anywhere!  Drachman spies!”

His lips moved against Ed’s fingers, and Ed couldn’t help but laugh.  He reached over instead to pat Roy’s shoulder.  “Somethin’ like that, yeah.  Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Roy nodded solemnly, hilariously so, then lifted his hands to take Ed’s, the one on his shoulder, and held it to his chest, staring down at Ed with an intensity that left even his heart almost stuttering.

“This… this is why ‘m so glad I got you,” he murmured, eyes burning.  “’Cause you know this shit.  You’re… you’re damn brilliant, and so good, even when you were younger—shit, I can’t believe I was this lucky.  And my god, you’re gorgeous, too, and I just…”  He shook his head, stepping closer with a wobble.  “Could I kiss you?  God, I wanna kiss you.  But…”  He let Ed’s hand fall, looking suddenly heartbroken.  “But that would be seducing a superior officer, wouldn’ it?  Shit,” he groaned.

Ed stared at him, jaw dropping, trying to suddenly come to terms with the fact that, yes, he had just heard those words leaving Roy’s mouth.

Havoc seemed to have made himself scarce.

“Well, I mean, if you’re concerned about that sort of thing,” Ed said carefully, refraining from mentioning that he had never given a terrible amount of fucks about fraternization.  Though he would eagerly say yes to this in a heartbeat, he hadn’t expected it to come across as a drunk confession, and that made navigating the already tricky waters of consent even harder.   He hadn’t made the first movement for a reason, after all.  No need to put pressure on Roy.  He wasn’t interested in this unless Roy wanted it, too.

“And do you?”

Ed leaned back, tilting his head, and this time, Roy wasn’t even subtle with the way his eyes dragged up the dark skin of his neck.

“Tell you what, Roy.  You still feel the same way tomorrow, sober, ask me then.”  Ed smirked.  “Alone, preferably.”

Roy’s eyes went wide, and Ed didn’t know what mental image he had conjured up, but it seemed to be a very nice one indeed.  He held this expression for a moment, then looked crestfallen again, and Ed winced, feeling as if he had kicked a puppy.

“So I can’t kiss you now?”

Despite the very, very tempting mournful look from those beautiful dark eyes, Ed took a step back, smiling wryly.

“No, Roy.  Not yet.”

—

Havoc insisted, nursing a hangover with a book spread open over his eyes, that one day, Ed was going to be too old to drink that much moonshine before coming into work the next morning.  Ed, bright-eyed and chipper, flipped him off with a loud “Fuck you, Lieutenant!” at a pitch and volume that left Havoc wincing.

Ross seemed to be faring a little better, while Breda seemed as untouched as Ed.  Roy… well, Ed couldn’t exactly tell how Roy was feeling, not with how his face was buried in an atlas.

“Taking me up on that chance to travel, Mustang?” Ed called, shuffling through his paperwork and then organizing it in chronological order (where it had previously been in alphabetical) to make it look like he was doing something.

Mustang only made a quiet noise, not looking up, and Breda snorted.

“Told him he shouldn’t bother, but he’s apparently doing that one assignment you got from General Hawkeye.  You know, mapping out those latest alchemical incidents, which you were supposed to do to see if there was a pattern?  The one she wanted last week?”

Ed went still.  Oh, yeah, that had been a thing, but honestly, he had things due that were way later than a week.  He’d face her wrath later.

“Any luck?”

“Some, sir,” Mustang murmured, still not looking up, reaching out to take another pin and place it in a spot that seemed to be southwest of Central.  “Nothing concrete yet, though.”

“That’s not what he said a half hour ago,” Ross murmured, placing the open folder of her weapons certification on his desk.  “Sounded like he was close to cracking it.”

“Mmm.”  Ed signed with a flourish.  “Y’don’t say.”  He lifted his voice. “Havoc, go get some coffee, and do some actual work for a change.  And take a babysitter if you’re not sure you won’t get distracted.”

“Guess that means me,” Breda broke in, stepping over and scooping his arm through Havoc’s.  “C’mon.”

“But boss!” Havoc whined, letting himself be led away.  “This is the only place I can sleep without getting yelled at!”

“I’ll start yelling if you don’t leave me alone.”  He handed the folder back to Ross.  “High-pitched.  Singing, even, and you’ve heard me sing.”

Havoc made a terrified noise.  “Oh, god.  Get me outta here, Heymans.”

“Go find a supply closet to sleep in like the rest of us!” Ed called after them.

Ross let out a soft snort, tucking the folder under her arm.  “Is that what you use supply closets for, sir?” she muttered.

Ed turned, eyebrows raised, expression innocent, and said archly, “Not anymore I don’t.  Not with my office.”

Ross wrinkled her nose.  “And with that, I am leaving.  I’ll see you later, Colonel.  And by later I mean, as far away from this moment as I can justify.”

The door clicked behind her, and Ed lifted his head. His team had their flaws, sure, but they at least knew when to exit a room.

It took Roy several minutes to realize that they were alone.

He lifted his head, glancing around, eyes going wide as they took in the empty room.  Slowly, so very slowly, they slid over to Ed, then quickly looked away.

Ed sighed, standing, then walked over in Roy’s direction.  “I don’t bite, you know.”  He paused, considering, then tilted his head.  “Unless you want me to.”

Roy let out a panicked choke, shoving suddenly away from the atlas, then turning to cough frantically into his arm.  When he finished, he turned back to Ed, looking up at him with a mournful, almost panicked expression.

“I… last night, I was absolutely… I shouldn’t have…  I’m so sorry—”

Ed winced.  He didn’t usually feel guilty about this sort of thing, but most parties were usually both on the same page about what they wanted, too.  He reached out, gently taking Roy’s shoulders, trying to smile reassuringly.

“Hey, hey.  Look, it’s okay.  I’m not upset.  How much d’you remember?  All of it?”

Looking away again, Roy nodded once.

“Then hey, that’s somethin’.  I’m not upset.  Hell, couldn’t be further from it.  You don’t gotta be embarrassed.  I meant what I said, too.  If you actually still want anything, you just gotta tell me.  But if not, you say so, right now, and we’ll both forget this ever happened.”  Ed’s smile crooked up on one side.  “Deal?”

At that, Roy seemed to remember how to breathe, and he nodded slowly.  Ed didn’t miss the relief flooding his face, and he dropped his hands from his shoulders, congratulating himself on a crisis averted.

…Maybe.  As a blush crept back up Roy’s face, Ed wondered what it was this time.

Roy cleared his throat, head turning further away, the same way he did when Ed flirted a little too blatantly.

“What’s up?” Ed asked, eyebrow raising.

Roy shifted in his seat for a few more moments, but Ed let him think.  His patience rewarded him with a shy but hopeful glance upwards.

“…So, when you say you meant what you said, you mean…”

“I mean,” Ed finished for him as it became clear that the trailing off wasn’t likely to start back up again, “that if you wanna kiss, I’d be happy to, but if you don’t, we can forget about it.”

“No!”  Roy sat bolt upright, dark eyes widening again, and this time they met Ed’s.  “No, that’s not what I…”  He cleared his throat, then swallowed. Though his blush deepened, he didn’t look away this time.  “That’s not what I want.”

Ed tilted his head, trying not to let the grin inside him split too quickly over his face, scare Roy off.  “So what’s the problem?”

“I… well, fraternization, for one.  Well, for all. That’s the main problem.  I know we’re not supposed to, and since you’re my commanding officer…”

Ed nodded.  “Yeah, I can get how that might be concerning, and that’s why I’m sayin’ you can step away now, if you want.  Or whenever.  You could—well, you could say yes today and tell me to fuck off tomorrow and I’d get it.  No pressure.”

“But the rules?”

Ed snorted.  “Yeah, there are those.  And we’d be breakin’ them.  If that’s a problem, again, you can tell me to fuck off.”

“N-no!”  Roy sat up at that, eyes gleaming with… was that excitement?

Ed finally let himself grin.

“You like that?” he murmured, leaning in, eyes beginning to gleam as well, he knew.  “The idea of it bein’ a secret?  Never struck me much as a rulebreaker, Major Mustang.”

“I’m not!” Roy gasped, but the expression on his face of suppressed excitement said otherwise.

“Can’t fool me,” Ed murmured, leaning in so close that their noses almost touched.  “Now, I just have one last question—”

Roy, of course, ruined his smooth delivery of, ‘Can I kiss you now?’ by leaning in with a gasp and pressing his mouth against Ed’s.

It wasn’t even a particularly skilled kiss, a little harsh, a little clumsy, but something about the eagerness, the earnestness, that sent a thrill deeper into his bones than anything from a more experienced partner could have.  He lifted his left hand to gently take Roy’s jaw, tilting it up and slightly to the side, correcting the angle.  Once Roy seemed to have the hang of that, he slid the hand around to the back of Roy’s neck, sliding his fingers up through that dark hair, softer even than he’d fantasized about.

Roy’s lips parted slightly underneath his, and he took the opportunity to flick a tongue out, just a tiny bit, to tease at pressing inside.

With a gasp, Roy jumped back, eyes wider than Ed had ever seen them, blush an attractive crimson color.

“Sorry,” Ed murmured, but his smirk dampened the apology.  “Should I not have done that?”

“No!” Roy gasped.  “I mean, yes, that was—you should have.  Should.  Do.   Still.”  He cleared his throat, reaching his hand up to straighten his hair.

“Noted.”  Ed said the word easily, then turned on his heel, walking briskly towards the door.  With one quick motion, he locked it.

When he turned back, Roy had stood, watching him, a combination of eagerness and nervousness that forced Ed to bite his lip to keep from fucking losing it.

“S-sir—”

“Roy,” Ed breathed, striding over in a few long steps, reaching up to straighten his hands down his chest.   “When we’re like this, call me Ed.”

Roy’s hands lifted to lightly grip Ed’s waist, and Ed grinned, sharklike.  This was going to be fun.

“All right.”  Roy swallowed, and Ed admired the bob of his throat as he did.  “Ed.”

“Perfect,” Ed breathed, and with an experienced twist, he pushed Roy back towards his desk.  Roy followed, a little alarmed and very surprised, until the backs of his thighs hit the wood.  He paused, clearly thinking Ed would stop there, and then let out an alarmed yelp as an automail hand pressed into his chest, tipping him back onto the desk.

Ed leaned over him, bracing that hand next to his head, grinning as their noses actually touched this time.

“Ed, what are you…”

“Please, Roy,” Ed drawled, pressing his left finger to Roy’s lips, then leaning in to kiss him, long and slow.  “Please.  I can tell you’ve got a lot to learn, and it’s about time we get started.”