Biggletines (A Biggles Prompt Meme for February)

[sholio]

In spite of the name, gen prompts and fills are completely fine! This is an "anything goes" prompting meme for February.

See our previous prompt posts to see how these have worked in the past. These are based off threesentenceficathon and similar DW prompting events.

I'm not going to get too restrictive with rules; this is a low-pressure, free-for-all fest, and the past ones have gone fine!

* Please warn in the subject line if your prompt or fill contains any of the AO3 content warnings.

* You can include DNWs in a prompt if there's something you don't want to see in a fill - please respect these, if there are any - but also, fills are not generally considered gifts for the person who left the prompt, which means a) you have no obligation to comment on or read a fill for a prompt you left, and b) you leave prompts knowing they might be used as general inspiration, and fills might not adhere closely to the prompt.

* It is fine to comment on other people's prompts with questions or encouragement.

* You can fill your own prompt, and multiple fills for the same prompt are fine too. So is using someone else's prompt as inspiration for your own. More cakes!

* You can leave as many prompts as you like (one per comment, please!), with no obligation to fill any. You can also fill prompts without having left one.

* You can crosspost your fills elsewhere, including to AO3 or your own space.

* Anon is on, and anonymous prompts and fills are fine. (I'll turn it off if anyone abuses it.)

This fest will be open for prompts throughout the month of February, and for fills at any time. Go forth, prompt, fill, and have fun!

Comments

QUESTIONS/COMMENTS? ASK HERE!

[sholio]

If you have any questions or want to bring something to my attention, please comment here to make sure I'll see it!

Re: QUESTIONS/COMMENTS? ASK HERE!

[tweague]

Is it okay to prompt for other WEJverse properties? I'd love to prompt for a Gimlet one ^_^

[ysande]

Any, fainting.

(Decided I may as well dive straight in by baring my id!)

[sheron]

Which just so happens to be my id as well.

[sholio]

Any, food/cooking/recipes while out in the field.

[paleblueeyes]

Sorry, not a fic, just suggestions but: Ginger would surely have some experience of this from his time living rough? Or Bertie from hunting/shooting/fishing?

I could do you a decent trout grilled in butter with rosemary but preferably in a kitchen :)

In the Modesty Blaise novels her right-hand man Willie Garvin can burn water in a domestic situation but can forage a decent meal in the wild. One of the books mentions hotchi-wichi which I'm not going to describe in case it upsets anyone!

[sholio]

Any, hospital vigils.

FIC "Biggles in a Flap" Biggles/EvS, Algy & EvS, Bertie & EvS, Ginger & EvS [G]

[sweetsorcery]

This was meant to be a scene of a couple of paragraphs, but suddenly everyone wanted to be in on it, so it got a bit long for comment fic. :)

Biggles in a Flap
set some time post-Hatchet

[sholio]

Any, AU in which two characters' places are swapped in any of the books.

(Someone gets hurt in the place of another, someone else stays behind instead of Algy, a different character goes on Mission [x], etc.)

[ysande]

Any, AU or crossover with the last book you read - fiction or non-fiction

[ysande]

Any, getting drunk for the first time

FILL: Fritz Lowenhardt, getting drunk for the first time

[(Anonymous)]

Fritz was so happy! Everyone had been so good to them. The doctors were looking after Uncle Erich, and Mr Bigglesworth was sorting out all his papers with the Colonel, and Pat Manton and his friends had taken Fritz for a lovely dinner, with seconds of ice-cream and his first ever Coca-Cola, and after dinner they had bought him lots of whisky-and-sodas. Really, Fritz would have preferred more Coca-Cola, but it made Pat Manton's friends happy to buy the whisky. Every time one of his friends came in, Pat Manton would say, 'Kelly, Kelly, you gotta meet this kid. Great kid!' and Fritz would say, 'It was all Mr Bigglesworth, really,' and Kelly would say, 'Let me buy you a drink, kid.'

'This kid, Kelly, saved my life. Get a load of this. How old are you, kid?'

‘Eighteen nächst Gebirthsday,' said Fritz. 'But it all Mr Bliggleswürth really.'

He was trying to explain how good Mr Bigglesworth had been, how nobody, not even his friends, had wanted to talk about Uncle Erich after he was arrested, but Mr Bigglesworth had come to visit Fritz in the hospital, and he had talked so kindly about Uncle Erich, and asked so many questions, that Fritz had known then that everything would be all right. 'In the Kranken - in the Krankenhouse. The sick house,' he told Pat Manton, who said, 'Sure is, kid.'

Pat Manton was so nice. Fritz wished that he could buy him a whisky-and-soda, but he didn't have any money.

'Hullo, Fritz,' said a voice behind him. 'Is this where you've been hiding?'

'Gibbles!' said Fritz happily. He turned around, which seemed to be a mistake. The room swung very treacherously around him, and kept on swinging long after it really should have stopped.

'Suffering Icarus, how much has he had?'

'Hey, relax, pal. He’s celebrating.'

'He stinks of whisky. You're lucky his uncle's indisposed, or he'd have your hide for this.'

'Relax,' said Pat Manton. 'Erich's a pal.'

'Unclerich?' said Fritz hopefully. He didn't want to turn around again, in case the room continued to misbehave.

Mr Bigglesworth put an arm around Fritz's waist and helped him stand up. 'Come on, laddie. Let's take you to your uncle.' Outside, he said, 'I'd advise you to steer clear of that stuff, but I expect tomorrow morning will be more convincing than I am.'

'In Berlin, no whisky,' explained Fritz.

'I doubt you'll be back in Berlin after this show,' said Mr Bigglesworth. 'But we can talk about that when your uncle's feeling better.'

The corridor was also moving strangely; the floor seemed to slip away under Fritz's feet, as though they were on a boat. It was very good that Mr Bigglesworth was there! He knocked on one of the doors and said, 'Erich, it's me. Are you awake? I have a delivery for you.'

The door cracked open, and a narrow blue eye peered out. 'Unclerich!' said Fritz joyfully. The door opened further.

'Your American friend has been plying him with whisky all evening,' said Mr Bigglesworth. He nudged Fritz forward, and Uncle Erich caught him tightly by the arm. 'Look, will you be OK with him?'

'Yes, thank you,' said Uncle Erich. 'I appreciate your attention to this matter.'

'Tomorrow you can join us for dinner, and keep him out of trouble.'

'Good night, Bigglesworth,' said Uncle Erich, and closed the door.

Three Uncle Erichs blurred, coalesced, and shimmered apart. Fritz closed his eyes. He hugged Uncle Erich close and pressed his face into the crook of his neck, the way he had done when he was a small child being carried home. It was funny, to be nearly as tall as his uncle.

Uncle Erich put a thin arm around Fritz's shoulders and said, 'You're a very foolish boy.' But he sounded fond.

Against his uncle's collar, Fritz said, 'I'm so happy. I'm so happy, Unclerich. Mama will be so happy.' But, struck by a sudden, vivid memory of creamed beef, he added apologetically, 'But I'm afraid I'm about to be sick.'

[ysande]

One of Biggles’ earliest squadron leaders, writing about his arrival and hijinks in the same way he does about 666 in Spitfire Parade:

Ginger shook his head wonderingly. 'Nuts,' he breathed. 'Absolutely crackers.'
Biggles stared at him helplessly. 'What have I done to deserve this?' he whispered plaintively.

Any (Team, EvS, Marcel), falling asleep on each other

[sweetsorcery]

From among any of Biggles' Team and/or EvS and/or Marcel - any character falling asleep on one of the others, who then happily endures some discomfort to avoid disturbing the sleeper.

As per this excerpt from Biggles Flies South:

‘With a hammer and cold-chisel, and a few months to work in, we might make the window large enough to get through. Then, if we had a hundred feet of rope, we might get down,’ he muttered sarcastically. ‘But as we have none of these things I suppose we might as well try to get some sleep.’

Nobody answered. Ginger, worn out, was already dozing. Presently he slipped sideways so that his head rested on Biggles’s leg. Biggles did not move. He took out his last remaining piece of cigarette from an inside pocket and puffed at it slowly while it lasted. Outside, the silence of the desert night remained unbroken.

[black_bentley]

Any, one character pouring the other into bed when they've had too much to drink.

(Yes this is about that one scene in The Cruel Sea again, what of it.)

Fill: one character pouring the other into bed (Algy & EvS)

[(Anonymous)]

Somebody tutted at Algy. This was odd, because there was nobody else in the flat. Bertie and Ginger were in Norfolk for a case, and Biggles - Biggles was in Hampshire. Which was the whole trouble, really.

The tut developed into a cough.

'Leave me alone,' Algy said, or tried to say. It didn't come out as clearly as he had expected.

Still, the intruder evidently understood him, because he said, 'An ignominious end to a distinguished career, were you to drown in your own vomit.'

Algy was in no mood for words of five syllables. 'Fuck off,' he said concisely. Besides, he had only been resting. 'How'd you get in here, anyway?' he demanded, as he was none-too-gently hauled to his feet. 'Gave you a key, did he?'

'He left some papers behind. I said I'd bring them down with me.'

'Unbelievable,' mumbled Algy, stumbling, or being stumbled, towards his bedroom.

'I would be more loath to confess I agree, if I thought there was the slightest chance you'd remember it.'

'You're a bastard.'

'So I've been told.' Algy was deposited on his bed. He found that his shirt was being removed with ruthless efficiency.

'But at least you had the decency to keep coming back,' he continued, having seemingly lost his ability not to. 'I bet she never gave him a second thought.'

'I make it a rule not to argue with drunks, but in fact, you're quite mistaken.'

Hands hesitated over his belt. 'Touch that,' said Algy, as distinctly as he could, 'and I'll scream bloody murder.'

The hands withdrew. 'Try not to piss yourself, then,' said their owner.

'Charming,' said Algy bleakly. 'Still, nice to see you running his errands for him. Certainly makes me surplus to requirements.'

'Are you going to beg me to tell you what we both already know? Because I expect you'd regret it in the morning.'

'Fuck off,' said Algy.

'Gladly,' said von Stalhein. The door clicked to, and Algy was left to pass out in blessed silence.

[sholio]

Any, AU in which something that went well in one of the books goes badly instead.

FILL, 'Secret Agent' AU snippet, mostly Algy + von Stalhein

[tweague]

(With interjections from WEJ in the opening section!)
* * *

Ginger grabbed a seat to steady himself as the machine swerved slightly; then the bumping ceased and he knew that they were in the air.

“We can’t leave!” he yelled desperately in Biggles’s ear. “Algy - we have to go back - I found a tunnel back towards the castle but it was blocked, I couldn’t get through - maybe if the two of us - “

“We can’t,” said Biggles. His face was very still and set, his eyes flicking back and forth between the instruments and the view through the windscreen ahead out over the darkening skies of Lucrania. “We’d never get down unnoticed, and if we’re taken then the Professor’s back where he started, only this time they’ll have all the leverage over him they need. They’d have the formula out of him in a week, and the gas would be in production in factories all over Germany inside the month, and that’d be it as far as the free world is concerned. We’ve got to get Beklinder out, and this is our only chance.”

“But Algy - !“

“Do you imagine I don’t know?” Biggles rapped out, and the words were like the cracking of glass. “We don’t have a choice. Now sit down and shut up - things are about to get bumpy.”

Ginger looked out through the cockpit windscreen, to find the sky ahead thick with the white bars of searchlights. He sat down, hurriedly. “Is that the frontier?”

“That’s it.”

“They’ll have guns there.”

“You bet your life they will. But it’ll be the same whichever way we try to leave this wretched country, so it might as well be here. I’m going to try to charge straight across.”

“Couldn’t we turn back?”

Biggles smiled, an awful, mirthless grin. “Take a look over to the right.”

Ginger looked, and saw a number of twin pairs of lights at about their own altitude. His heart skipped a beat. “They’re machines,” he said.

“Fighters, by the rate they’re travelling.”

“Shouldn’t we do better to put our lights out?”

“Has the Professor finished patching up Sparks?”

Ginger cast a glance back into the cabin, where the rescued Professor Beklinder and his son had just finished wrapping the wireless operator’s hand in neat white bandages from the medical kit. “Looks like it.”

“Right. Tell them to strap in then.”

Ginger yelled the instruction, and Biggles flicked off the cabin lights.

Ginger looked across at him. His face was very pale in the greenish light of the controls, pale even to the lips, which were drawn back a very little in a rictus of concentration. He would look something like that when he was dead, Ginger thought. The image flickered horribly across his imagination for a moment; replaced by a picture of Algy, in much the same state. He swallowed, hard.

“You strap in too, laddie,” Biggles said, a little more softly.

“Biggles - “

“I know. But we don’t have any choice in the matter. In any case - “ He smiled a little again. “With the way things are going, there’s every chance that Algy’s going to live for rather longer than we are.”

* * *

It was Algy who heard it first, because he had been listening for it. And it wasn’t quite the sound he had expected - not the machine he had brought here, but something else, a twin-engined job, he thought, coming from the direction of the airport and flying quite extraordinarily low, as if the pilot was looking out for something on the ground or intended only to hop to another landing site; but all the same, he’d have laid money that he knew who was at the controls.

“I am glad you can still find some humour in your situation,” said von Stalhein, in a voice that Algy rather thought was meant to convey a sort of silken menace; but the pen in his right hand still sometimes tapped against the blotter, an irregular, unconscious tattoo.

“Well, I think it’s quite funny, anyway,” said Algy, cheerfully. “But humour’s so subjective, don’t you think?”

Which was the moment when von Stalhein became aware of the sound too, and the nervous movement of the pen froze.

He sat very still for a moment; and Algy smiled a little wider.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “It could be anyone, of course. And I’m sure your men impounded my machine - quite illegally, of course, having entrapped me into landing here in the first place - so of course it couldn’t be him, because even if he go away from your guards, what on earth could he have found to fly? But then, of course, Lucrania doesn’t really have a huge amount of air traffic yet - and the regular mail service isn’t scheduled to leave for another hour or so - and of course it could be one of your lovely smart new air force machines, but it doesn’t quite sound like one - so all things considered - “

“Silence,” von Stalhein snapped. “It’s nothing.”

“Probably,” Algy agreed; then, after a moment: “Might not be though.”

Von Stalhein stood, stalked over to one of the castle’s high windows, and swung back one of the wooden shutters. It was just about possible still to make out the outlines of trees against the darkness of the sky; and far off, receding fast, were the lights of an aeroplane, just clear of the treetops.

“If you can make out the pilot at this distance, you’ve got better eyes than I have,” said Algy helpfully, still standing obligingly still before the desk. “But then, I don’t think either of us need to see who it is, do we?”

“He could not - “

The words were throttled almost before they were uttered. Von Stalhein’s eyes were still fixed on that point of distant light, the only visible star in the clouded sky.

“He could, you know,” said Algy, deliberately not looking at the guard on the door, or his gun, as he slowly and carefully lowered himself into the chair in front of the desk. “God knows where he could have rustled a plane up from, but we both know he could.” He sat back in the chair; crossed his legs. “Mind if I smoke? Since it looks like I’m going to be here for a while.”

“You would not be so insouciant if you knew where you are to be sent to,” snapped von Stalhein, slamming the shutter closed again with a force that rattled the glass in the window panes.

Algy shrugged, and reached - very slowly, very deliberately - into his jacket for the cigarette case which the guards had left him. “No good crying over spilt milk, I suppose. Any chance of a light? Your people left me with my cigarettes, but saw fit to pinch the matches. Some sort of Tantalean arrangement, presumably. Or is it just that they’re a bit short of matches in Lucrania these days? Better uses for their phosphorus, presumably.”

Von Stalhein turned. His face had even more of a greyish tinge to it than usual, and Algy could have fancied that his breath was coming a little short. He stood, for a moment, regarding Algy with eyes the colour of the Atlantic in winter; then he crossed the room in three quick strides, quick enough that Algy had to fight the urge to tense

He took a match from the silver box on the desk; struck it, and held it up. Algy leaned forward, cigarette between his lips, and touched it to the flame. He drew in a long breath.

“You will soon find that not everyone in Lucrania - or Germany, for that matter - is quite as hospitable as I am,” said von Stalhein, and shook the match out.

“I don’t doubt it,” said Algy, sitting back and looking up at the other man. He drew on the cigarette; let out the smoke slowly. “You poor cuckoo. You really thought he’d come back for me, didn’t you?” He laughed softly. “You really don’t know him at all. How galling that must be.”

The telephone on the desk rang. For a moment - one, two rings - von Stalhein looked at Algy; and Algy looked back. Then von Stalhein picked up the receiver.

The conversation, all in German, didn’t take long.

Von Stalhein replaced the receiver.

“Was it the mail plane he took?” asked Algy, with benign interest. “I’d have gone for the mail plane, if I were him. Already fueled and on the tarmac, I expect. It’d only take a little bit of nerve.”

“Yes,” said von Stalhein, evenly. “Yes, it was the mail plane.” He was leaning on the desk, his hands against the edge, his arms straight, his head dropped down between them. It was something like his usual lounging posture, but not quite. “He won’t pass the border.”

“And what will your paymasters think of that then?” asked Algy. “He’s got Beklinder, hasn’t he? If he goes down in flames, then so does your precious formula.”

“Then at least they will have the satisfaction of knowing it is not in British hands,” von Stalhein snapped.

“True enough,” Algy admitted. “But it won’t be in German hands, either. And we all know whose fault that’ll be.”

“And Bigglesworth will be dead.”

Algy looked at him for a minute: at the tense set of his shoulders. The position of his head, sunk down between his arms, meant that unless von Stalhein turned his way, he couldn’t see his face. He shrugged. “Maybe. That’s the risk we agreed to take at the start. But he’s got almost as impressive a habit of coming back from the dead as you do, so I wouldn’t start counting him out quite yet.”

Slowly, von Stalhein straightened, and turned towards him. “And I still have you.”

“Yes - you do, don’t you?” said Algy, thoughtfully drawing on his cigarette. “Bad luck for you. I didn’t know anything so terribly useful even before they got away, and I don’t know a damn thing now - even if I’d tell it to you, which I wouldn’t. And I can’t imagine that handing over one lost British pilot when you’ve just misplaced a priceless scientific and military breakthrough is going to go down too well with your superiors - rather like losing a shilling and finding sixpence, if you ask me.”

“I’m sure they will find some consolation in you,” grated von Stalhein.

“I don’t doubt it,” murmured Algy, regarding the tip of his cigarette. “But I wouldn’t have thought that was usually your style, is it? Threatening to murder an unarmed lad of fifteen, yes, kidnapping, wrecking, robbery with menaces, yes, yes, yes - but torture?” There was an extraordinary urge to laugh building up inside him: he felt light as a soap bubble, and the smoke that drifted up from the cigarette was straight as a lance. “And not even for any good, sound, strategic, Prussian reason - just out of spite. A boy pulling the wings off a moth because it dared to fly in his face. What would they have thought of that in the old imperial officer corp?”

“Be quiet,” said von Stalhein; and that note of breathlessness in his voice was more obvious now. “I did not - I never intended - “

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” said Algy. “But that’s what happens when you work for murderers, isn’t it? Sooner or later you’re going to find your hands are bloody, one way or another. Surely it doesn’t come as a surprise?” He leaned forward, and stubbed out the cigarette in the crystal ash tray; then flashed von Stalhein a bright, brittle grin. “So then - it’s all up to you now, Hauptmann. What are you going to do with me?”

[sholio]

Any, AU in which something that went badly in one of the books goes better instead.

[sheron]

Biggles & Algy, any scenario where one of them is hurt, intimate friendship feels

(Though EvS doesn't need to be in this, please don't write anything suggesting other requited romantic ships for Biggles than Biggles/EvS ♥ )

[sweetsorcery]

I wholeheartedly second this! (And am also pondering it eagerly.)

[(Anonymous)]

Any, cuddle pollen (in honour of the tag-wranglers making 'Cuddle Pollen' a filterable canonical tag on AO3)

[sweetsorcery]

Biggles & Algy & Ginger, intense Hurt/Comfort

Give them hypothermia, put them in a cave-in, get them lost together, or injured, or held captive, or have one or all of them come down with something in exotic climes or nice and cosy at Mount Street. I just want them dropping everything in order to take care of each other. Bonus points for cuddles, huddling for warmth, or feeding each other.

Perfectly happy if you want to make this Biggles/Algy/Ginger.

No focus on other characters, mentions of outside romantic interests, etc., please.

[philomytha]

Biggles /& EvS, all the cigarette business please (putting cigarettes in each other's mouths, lighting each other's cigarettes, sharing a cigarette, every way to get into each other's personal space via cigarettes)

(yes I have just rewatched Guns of Navarone)

[(Anonymous)]

Biggles shifted testingly against his bonds. "I don't suppose you'd spare a cigarette? Your compatriots took mine off me when they searched me for weapons." He glared accusingly at von Stalhein. "I'll be wanting that cigarette case back, you know- it's got sentimental value."

Von Stalhein turned sharply from the window. "I'll see you get a cloakroom ticket for all your belongings. Except, I think, your gun." He pulled out his own cigarette case and toyed with the catch. "I'm sure you can see of course that it would not be in my best interests to allow your hands to be freed."

"Of course," Biggles said with perfect equanimity. "All the same, it'd make the time pass better if you do mean to keep me trussed up here all night. How about just the one hand?"

"I think not," von Stalhein said coolly, and chose a cigarette out of his case, tapping the tobacco into precise alignment on its inner surface. He meticulously fitted it to his habitual amber holder and placed the stem between his lips. From a trouser pocket he pulled a small mother-of-pearl inlaid gas lighter. Drawing upon it, he lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply, and continued regarding Biggles with every sign of enjoyment.

"No, you won't be talking you way out of your bonds this time. Still," he stepped closer to the chair Biggles sat in, "I won't have you complaining of my hospitality." von Stalhein blew out a thin stream of smoke which trailed behind him as he stalked around behind Biggle's chair, nearly out of his peripheral vision.

The elegant hand which suddenly entered his field of view startled him, though Biggles made an effort not to show it. It was the hand which held the amber cigarette holder and the mouthpiece was a hair's-breadth away in clear invitation.

Biggles took a tentative drag. It was a doubly odd sensation, for being unused to smoking through a holder and for having his lips exactly where von Stalhein's had just been. His hand holding the thing to his face was so near Biggles could feel the warmth of von Stalhein's fingers radiating against his lips. If he leaned forward a mere centimetre, well within the allowance of his bonds- but Biggles did not.

The cigarette in its holder was kept in front of Biggles long enough for a couple good puffs- he savoured them, the smoke sitting easy in his lungs on each inhale, much smoother than his usual brand- almost sweet, or perhaps it was something to do with being transmitted through warm amber. Or the warm hand that held it against his face.

The hand and holder were withdrawn after the few seconds and Biggles heard the sound of a quiet inhale just behind him. The chair, sturdy though it was, shifted slightly as though a weight had been leaned against it. Biggles could feel bodyheat and the tingling awareness of another body not quite touching one's own through the wool of his jacket sleeve. The smell of smoke that wafted down around him was particularly heady.

Von Stalhein's brand must use a particularly potent tobacco blend to have quite such a headrush of nicotine, Biggles thought.

[(Anonymous)]

Marcel, getting much-needed care and coddling immediately post Chinese Puzzle

[tweague]

Gimlet + Copper, Copper having to heave his C.O. around like a sack of potatoes ^_^

Writer's choice of reasons and reactions, but I very much fancy the idea of light drugged / tipsy / otherwise mildly inebriated Gimlet being hefted over Copper's shoulder and being Distinctly Peeved about it.

FILL: Gimlet gen

[philomytha]

It was seeming increasingly likely that someone had put a sedative drug in his drink.

Gimlet was quite satisfied with himself for being able to formulate that thought so clearly. He was feeling the temptation to ignore the conversations going on around him, put his head down on the table and go to sleep. But he had spent many years disciplining his body so that he could avoid sleep, and he was entirely able to use of that training now, sitting ramrod-straight at the table.

He was almost completely sure he was ramrod-straight, though it was true that the windows onto the street appeared to be at a slight angle. But this was an irrelevant detail, easily ignored. The much more important question was, who drugged him and why?

"Who did it?" he said aloud.

"Sir?" said Cub. He was much closer and louder than Gimlet had expected him to be, leaning in. His face floated goblin-like in front of Gimlet's eyes, bobbing up and down. "What was that?"

"'Ere, skipper, are you okay?"

They were not listening to him. Annoyed, he reached out and grabbed Cub by the collar. His fingers closed on air. His thwarted movement continued, and now he was distinctly not upright but falling. That was all right. He knew how to fall, how to land and roll clear and attack whoever was assailing him--but it was oddly hard to remember the details and now the room was rotating and there was something warm and solid and faintly smelling of beer under him.

"I've got 'im--what the blazes is wrong?"

"It is a drug." Trapper. Trapper didn't say much but he was always worth listening to. "In his drink. Smell."

"I don't smell anything," Cub objected.

"If there's someone here who's drugged the skipper I say we don't hang about waiting for their next move," rumbled a voice that appeared to be coming from beneath his left ear.

"Yes, I have been drugged," Gimlet said as loudly and clearly as he could, but they still were ignoring him.

"Don't you worry, we'll get you outta this."

"And cut your hair," Gimlet added, aware of something tickling at his wrist. He tried to move his arm away, but someone had weighted it with iron bars. They would suffer for that.

"What's he saying?" Cub asked. "No, never mind, you're right, we need to get him somewhere safe. Do you need a hand with him?"

"Course not, there's nothing to him. You keep your eyes skinned for trouble, lad. I'll look after himself."

The world tilted again, rocking, still inexplicably upside-down, and he was outside, not in the bar. With cold fresh air in his face, it gradually dawned on Gimlet that he was being carried, in fact that he was slung over Copper's broad shoulder and pinned in place by Copper's left arm, which was not an iron bar but bore a more than passing resemblance to one.

It did not normally occur to Gimlet that he was so much smaller and slighter than Copper. He was quite sure it rarely occurred to Copper, who obeyed every word Gimlet spoke with alacrity. Upside down with his head resting halfway down Copper's back, it was a distressing reality. But it need not be a relevant consideration any longer.

His lips had been as uncooperative as the rest of him; that was why the others had been ignoring what he said. Now Gimlet concentrated his entire mind upon the problem, and made his body obey him, or at least one part of it. "I am quite well now. Put me down."

Copper always obeyed Gimlet, and he did this time as well, saying, "There you go, sir, glad you're okay--"

"Catch him!" Cub snapped.

Making his lips obey him, it turned out, was one thing; his knees were entirely rebellious, his spine appeared to consist of string, and being turned from upside down to its opposite in an instant had done nothing for his eyes' ability to track the world around him.

Of course that was when trouble showed up, and so nobody caught him, because Copper and Cub were both turning to meet their attackers. Gimlet could not focus on the figures, but he could still read the menace in their movements even as he crumpled into an awkward heap on the pavement.

He didn't see Trapper move, but then, people who saw Trapper move usually didn't know anything about it for long. He did see Copper plant large feet squarely between where he was lying and the advancing gang, and he saw Cub nimbly swing round to one side, in the most inconvenient location for the attackers.

To be a commando was to endure and survive in dire situations, and being harassed by a few thugs in an alley hardly constituted a dire situation for the likes of King's Kittens. Had things been otherwise, Gimlet might well have lounged back against the wall and watched his men handle the situation, confident in the knowledge that should anything trouble him he would be easily able to defend himself. But now Gimlet lay on the wet pavement with his head against the curb, barely able to focus his eyes or move even his right hand.

It was over in moments. In front of Gimlet's eyes, Copper's feet moved with the shocking lightness that made any assailant suddenly realise just how much strength lay in that massive frame. There was a horrible cut-off yell that Gimlet knew was caused by Trapper. And then Cub was bending down over him saying, "They've gone now, sir, sorry about that."

He couldn't speak; when he tried he made an incoherent sound. He glared up at Cub, and then Copper and Trapper were there too. "We'd better get him somewhere safe to sleep it off," Copper said. "I've got him."

This time it was worse: Copper didn't sling him over his shoulder, he carried him cradled in his arms like a child, carefully supporting Gimlet's head. Cub led the way, Trapper's footsteps were audible as a light counterpoint to Copper's. Gimlet tried to organise his mind and lips to protest all of this, but the more comfortable position and the steady rhythm of Copper's steps were finally rendering it entirely impossible to remain conscious. Hearing, as ever, was the last sense to go, and so he clearly heard Copper's rumbling voice: "He's out. Best thing, really. He'll be an absolute terror about this when he wakes up."

[(Anonymous)]

Biggles/EvS, trying to work out if they had thank-God-I’m-alive/sorry-about-the-gulag sex, or something more (it’s something more!)

[(Anonymous)]

Just a snippet but-
(Biggles stuck on plausible denial, meanwhile Erich's experiencing post-nutgulag clarity)

Biggles fumbled with cigarette and matches for several moments as though he'd never smoked in his life. "It's a perfectly common reaction- plenty of fellows in the war- effective catharsis- it doesn't necessarily have to be- I won't hold you to any-" he said in studiously neutral tones. None of his buttons were done up and his hair looked as though he'd, or somebody had, been running a hand through it vigourously. There some interesting marks forming at the base of his throat and on one hip.

Erich looked up at him. The room wasn't especially cool but he had a blanket drawn around his shoulders nonetheless. This was currently his only garment. The floor showed signs of several others. "Bigglesworth. I have entertained notions of doing that, or something similar, since Zabala. This was not some paroxysm of relief or attempt at settling a debt." He flashed a brief grin at Biggles. "Or have you forgotten the other fun we've had over the years?"

Biggles put down his cigarette, still unlit. "But we've never- until ten minutes ago- and some of those occasions featured rather concerted efforts to kill each other," he pointed out.

"Not that concerted, since we're both still here," Erich said. "True, we've not hitherto done so mutually, but have you never, ah- revisited an encounter after the fact? Alone?"

Biggles didn't answer verbally but he turned an remarkable shade of pink about the ears.

Erich extended a hand to him. "Come back here. Shall I prove I began as I mean to go on?"

"Yes, I suppose we'd better," Biggles shrugged off his still-unbuttoned shirt. "Did you really feel this way all the way back in Palestine too?"

Erich pulled the blanket over him as well. "The specifics have undergone several evolutions through the intervening years. But yes, something like it." He made use of his greater leverage of frame, underfed gauntness or no, to roll Biggles closer. "I notice you say 'too'- did you like the figure I cut on horseback, Bigglesworth?"

"Bertie still keeps some rather fine stables from what he says; we'll have to get you up to Chedcombe one of these days," he said, neither confirming nor denying the accusation. "If you're coming all the way to England, that is."

Erich fixed him with a stare. "You would have to try and stop me. We may have to continue this conversation and I don't think we could do it via letter." He provided an oral argument toward his sincerity.

[rietta89]

Algy &/ EvS: fake dating / fake marriage / undercover as married / just basically them having to pretend that they're intimately involved and hating every minute of it

[sholio]

These are the most amazing characters for a prompt like this. I'm just saying.
---

The couple entering the basement club in Soho knew the right passwords, but the curly-haired fellow got a good looking-over by the large bruiser at the door, having something of the look of a copper to him. However, his lithe, neatly dressed companion slipped an arm round his waist, and leaning forward, lit his partner's cigarette from his own in its long holder.

The doorman let them in.

The two made their way to the bar, the taller fellow with one arm still firmly latched around the other's waist for all the shorter one's efforts to dislodge it.

"If you don't let go of me," Algy said between his teeth, "I'm going to break your arm."

"The necessity of obtaining the information about Bigglesworth's whereabouts is not sufficient encouragement for you?" von Stalhein hissed into his ear on a cloud of faintly acrid smoke.

Algy ground his jaw so hard that it ached, and left the arm where it was. They slid onto adjoining bar stools. Von Stalhein snaked an arm up his back and ran his fingers through Algy's hair, and while Algy applied physical restraint to not kicking him off his bar stool, he rested an elbow on the bar, fingers dangling with the cigarette holder loosely between them, and ordered them two brandies.

"Make that a whiskey and soda," Algy said. "On second thought, hold the soda."

[(Anonymous)]

More werewolf-verse? (I just love all of it!)

[(Anonymous)]

Yes, please! All the von Stalwolf installments from various authors have been delightful!

[philomytha]

Marie/Biggles/EvS, post-Look Back convalescence for Biggles

[philomytha]

Algy & EvS, a pre-Hatchet situation where one of them has to help the other

[(Anonymous)]

Von Stalhein bites. That's the whole prompt. Whether in a battle or sexual capacity. He's a gentleman but he also bites.

[(Anonymous)]

Just dusting off one of Sholio's old prompts: https://bigglesevents.dreamwidth.org/12756.html?thread=111316#cmt111316

[paleblueeyes]

If you cross the: I just want Biggles accidentally discovering the secret Erich nuclear code for "makes him go completely limp/off his head/ultra cuddly" from this prompt and "Von Stalhein bites" from the previous one here, then...

Wouldn't 'Biggles Bites Back' be an almost WEJ-ish title?

Just saying :)