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Biggles ficlets from Tumblr
Proof of life that I am writing something other than B5! I've been posting these short prompt ficlets on Tumblr and was waiting until I had stacked up enough to do a cumulative post here.
(And yeah, I realize realistically, the fandom is basically dead and currently consists of like 2-3 people and a shoelace, but I'll wander out in my own time as usual.)
1. Sharing a seat/bench/etc while injured
Prompt: Biggles and EvS (gen, slash, amperslash) sharing a cot/bench/back seat/stretcher while both injured
Originally posted here
"Well," Algy said, coming out of the back office with fierce satisfaction, "I just got off the phone to Gaskin, and it looks like that's one gang who are going to be wrapped up tighter than --"
He stopped.
Going out in the field with von Stalhein was still a strange experience; some part of Algy just wanted to slap handcuffs on him on general principles. But it made Biggles happy, and Algy was able to tolerate it (mostly), even if he didn't particularly like turning his back on him.
And on this particular case, von Stalhein had turned out to be instrumental in getting Biggles back from the gang who'd had him in their hands for almost 24 hours. After nearly going out of his mind with worry, Algy was willing to put up with von Stalhein gladly in exchange for what the man had done for them.
When he had left them, Biggles and von Stalhein were sitting together on a bench in the hall, quietly talking. They were both a mess; Biggles had his arm in a sling, his face still bruised from the gang's attentions. Von Stalhein had taken some blows of his own, and had a bandage across his forehead, and another swathing one of his hands. Algy had figured it was unlikely they could get into any new trouble in five minutes (well, they probably could, but at least he more-or-less knew where they were) but he was unprepared for what had happened in his absence.
They had fallen asleep on each other.
Algy simply stood and stared. He had a sudden wild urge for a camera, it would make good blackmail material, but there was far too great a chance that Biggles would not only fail to see the absurdity in the situation, but would want several copies of the photo for himself. No, definitely best to let it go.
Ginger came around the corner, starting to speak. "Algy, have you seen the chief? I need to ask --"
Algy held his finger to his lips and shushed him just as Ginger saw why and stopped talking anyway. For a minute they both stared at the scene in front of them. Then Ginger whispered, "What I wouldn't give for a --"
"Think about it," Algy whispered back. "He'd probably frame it and put it on the wall."
Ginger stifled a grin. "You're right. How long should we let them sleep?"
"As long as they want to," Algy said quietly, and taking Ginger lightly by the elbow, steered him down the hallway.
----
2. Waterlogged
Prompt: Biggles & EvS, waterlogged
Originally posted here
This is a prompt I adored that I couldn't quite get to come together. I do want to write a longer/more complete version someday.
"Biggles!" Algy shouted, scrambling down the wet rocks. He had lost sight of Biggles in the churning whitewater.
It had all been going well until it wasn't. Von Stalhein pointing a gun at them, standing on the edge of the jumbled rocks dropping off to the river. Ginger, unnoticed until then in the bushes under the trees, had hurled a rock with excellent aim, glancing off von Stalhein's temple.
Von Stalhein dropped the gun, went limp, and collapsed, vanishing from sight.
And Biggles jumped in after him. Because of course he did.
Clambering down the sloping rocks, Algy glimpsed a sleek water-dark head in the foaming water, and struggled down to the water's edge. It was Biggles he cared about getting out; von Stalhein could take his own chances. But Biggles was clearly having trouble, dragging someone with him (three guesses who, Algy thought).
Algy waded into the swirling and treacherous water around the rocks, reaching out and grabbing handfuls of sodden clothing, and eventually, Biggles's belt, helping drag him ashore with cold-numbed hands. They both staggered out onto a small, rocky beach, Algy half-dragging Biggles, and Biggles half-dragging a limp, water-soaked figure.
"Help me -- Algy -- here --" Biggles was trying to speak between fits of coughing, and Algy found that he was halfway having to hold Biggles up.
Ginger appeared at the top of the pile of rocks, shouting something down that was lost in the roar of the river thrashing around its rocks. Algy shouted back, half-dragging Biggles from the waves, "A fire and something hot, and get to it!" and Ginger vanished, presumably he'd caught the better part of that.
They both half-collapsed on the shore, Algy clutching Biggles -- Biggles, coughing, gasping, falling forward, who still had his fingers locked around the belt of a limp, straggling Erich von Stalhein.
Algy, with a sigh, gave some help to heaving the bedraggled form of their enemy onto the shore. Von Stalhein was utterly limp. Biggles struggled to sit up and bent over him, touching his pale, blue-tinged face with desperate hands.
---
3. Tossing and Turning
Prompt: ‘Tossing and turning’ - Biggles/Erich.
Originally posted here
It was like sleeping with a cricket sometimes. After being kicked in the back yet again, Erich rolled on his side, propped his head up in one hand, and with annoyance-tinged fondness, gazed at the pretzeled sleeper, who had somehow managed to get almost sideways in the bed, one leg thrown over Erich's legs and his tousled blond head pressed against the wall.
Bigglesworth slept like a hyperactive five-year-old. It was hard to get him to go to sleep in the first place -- he wanted to stay up talking -- and then he slept restlessly, sometimes pressing himself against Erich and wrapping his arms and legs around him as if he thought Erich was going to vanish in the night, sometimes flipflopping in the grasp of intense, often distressing dreams.
The thing that puzzled Erich to no end was that he wasn't like that in the field. Bigglesworth on a job tended to catnap, and he could fall asleep almost instantly and stay asleep for an hour or two and then snap awake perfectly alert and ready to go. Bigglesworth in the field, as far as Erich could tell, lived on cigarettes and coffee and about three hours of sleep a night.
It had taken him a long time to realize that this meant no one else ever saw him like this. Oh, Lacey probably had. But this view of Bigglesworth -- sprawling with deeply trusting abandon, twitching and rolling over twenty times a night -- was something reserved for Erich alone.
Erich had his own problems with insomnia, and he might have grudged Bigglesworth waking him half a dozen times in the middle of what sleep he did get. But he couldn't, not with the implications of that trust and all that came with it.
Bigglesworth jerked and spasmed, his head twisting against the wall. His eyelids fluttered; he mouthed something in his sleep.
Dreams, then, and upsetting ones, from the look of him.
Erich reached out and ran his hand through the soft fair hair. Bigglesworth did not wake, but he slowly slipped into deeper sleep, and then -- it was fascinating to watch -- he rolled over, flopped around a little as if looking for something, and gradually nestled himself into Erich until he was bonelessly puddled against him.
Erich put an arm around him, and with Bigglesworth sighing in soft, huffed little breaths against his neck, he settled down to get what sleep he could get, before he inevitably woke up smothered in the pillows with Bigglesworth lying on his head, or they both fell on the floor.
No. He didn't begrudge it at all.
---
4. "Get your hands off them."
Prompt: Biggles &/ EvS, Whumpril #29 'Get your hands off them'
Originally posted here
Biggles was outnumbered and overwhelmed. He put up a good fight, but after they knocked him to the ground, all he could do was curl up and try to protect himself as best he could. Once they tired of kicking and stomping him, they hauled him upright. His mouth was filled with the taste of blood, and there was blood and sand in his eyes. His legs swayed under him.
"Now," growled their leader, "do you want to tell us where the rest of your team is?"
Although his mouth was so bruised that it hurt to move it, and stretching his lips caused fresh blood to spring to his split lips, Biggles grinned anyway. "I think you're about to find out."
It was Erich who reached him first, giving no warning before he came down on Biggles' captors like the fury of hell itself. Somewhere Biggles heard Algy shouting, "You're all under arrest! Hold still!" but his attention was captivated by Erich.
It had been a while since Biggles had seen him really fight, and never on this side of it, always on the opposite side. Erich was swift and powerful, in constant economical motion, striking hard and fast as a rattlesnake. Not a movement was wasted, and not a single man required more than one fiercely placed jab (to the throat, to the stomach) to go down and stay down.
But he left them groaning, not dead. The remaining members of the gang fled under the onslaught, and the rest of Biggles' team were moving in now, handcuffing von Stalhein's targets and taking down the escapees. Left standing on his own, Biggles had an instant to sway and try to catch himself before Erich's hands were on him, lowering him to sit on the floor.
"Are you all right? Can you speak?"
"I'm fine," Biggles managed through bruised lips. Erich was half holding him up, and he tried to muster some objection, but his head was swimming and the strong hand on his shoulder was a welcome grounding presence.
"How is he?" Algy snapped from somewhere nearby, his voice rough with suppressed worry.
"He says he's fine," Erich said. But his attention was all on Biggles; he touched Biggles' face lightly, fingertips brushing across the corner of his mouth. The grey-blue eyes were focused on Biggles with a curious intensity from much closer than Biggles was used to seeing him, and he wasn't sure how to read that intent expression at all, but it captivated him.
"In that case we'd better get a doctor out here immediately, he's probably dying." But there was a new lightness to Algy's voice. He crouched down on Biggles's other side. "Are you planning to die in the next ten minutes?" His hand on Biggles' shoulder was gentle, keeping him up if he was inclined to sway the other way. "Because if not, the Otter is over that way."
"Just need to get my feet under me, and I'll be all right."
"In other words, he's going to pass out, then," Algy said to Erich. "Probably best if he sits there for a minute 'til he gets his altitude. Do you mind staying with -- of course you don't."
Algy patted Biggles' shoulder and with that, he was up and off to supervise the remaining cleanup of the gang. Biggles felt as if he ought to help, but when he tried to get up, Erich pressed on his shoulder and he went back down. "Oh no you don't. I'm not going to argue with Lacey, and I suggest you don't either. You haven't had to deal with him for the past two hours since you went missing," Erich added, and the lightness in his voice only ineffectually covered up the worried edge underneath.
Erich took out a handkerchief, dampened it with his canteen, and began cleaning up Biggles' face. Biggles watched him, still held by the play of light and emotion in Erich's eyes, as much as by the soft stinging touches on his face and the hand resting against his chin, holding his head still.
--
5. Waterboarded
Prompt: Erich being waterboarded, in front of or within earshot of Biggles and co., and the subsequent aftermath thereof
Originally posted here
TW torture aftermath
As Biggles helped Erich out of the restraints with furious yet careful hands, Erich was perfectly controlled -- but the effort was visible, his entire body rigid and trembling. His face was chalk white, his hair damp, and he kept his eyes downcast, as if meeting Biggles' gaze might crack something in him. His hand, when Biggles cautiously took it to guide him, was cold and shaking.
The sounds that Biggles had been forced to hear, as he had struggled to free himself from his bonds, would haunt his nightmares for a long time. But this sight was somehow almost worse.
"Come on." Biggles found that he had been talking without being entirely aware of it, low words murmured as if to give Erich something other than his hand to grasp. Because Erich wasn't gripping back, he hardly even seemed aware of him. Biggles had seen him in many states, from cold fury to the dead-eyed look of Sakhalin, but he had never seen anything like this.
Algy and the others were taking care of their captors, and Biggles guided Erich out of sight of the metal chair he'd been strapped to, and the crumpled wet burlap on the floor. He meant to take him all the way outside, but Erich was gasping in short, shallow breaths, and his jerky, uncoordinated movements suggested that outside might be too far; so Biggles guided him to sit on the floor as soon as they were somewhere relatively private.
It was hard to make him go down, as if Erich didn't understand what was wanted, and then he capitulated and went down so suddenly that the back of his head bashed into the wall. "Careful!" Biggles said. He had been trying not to touch Erich any more than he had to, not after the violent recoil when he had first put a hand on him. But now he moved on pure instinct, slid his hand behind Erich's head, shielding the back of his skull from the cold cinderblock wall.
He did not expect Erich to lean his head back into Biggles' hand, but that was what happened. Biggles sat beside him on the floor, not sure what else to do, one hand curled gently across the close-cropped, damp hair on the back of his head, the other wrapped around his unresponsive hand.
Slowly Erich's rapid, shallow breathing slowed to something more normal. He was still looking at the wall, not at Biggles, but finally his cold hand turned around to clamp onto Biggles' hand, and hold on.
(And yeah, I realize realistically, the fandom is basically dead and currently consists of like 2-3 people and a shoelace, but I'll wander out in my own time as usual.)
1. Sharing a seat/bench/etc while injured
Prompt: Biggles and EvS (gen, slash, amperslash) sharing a cot/bench/back seat/stretcher while both injured
Originally posted here
"Well," Algy said, coming out of the back office with fierce satisfaction, "I just got off the phone to Gaskin, and it looks like that's one gang who are going to be wrapped up tighter than --"
He stopped.
Going out in the field with von Stalhein was still a strange experience; some part of Algy just wanted to slap handcuffs on him on general principles. But it made Biggles happy, and Algy was able to tolerate it (mostly), even if he didn't particularly like turning his back on him.
And on this particular case, von Stalhein had turned out to be instrumental in getting Biggles back from the gang who'd had him in their hands for almost 24 hours. After nearly going out of his mind with worry, Algy was willing to put up with von Stalhein gladly in exchange for what the man had done for them.
When he had left them, Biggles and von Stalhein were sitting together on a bench in the hall, quietly talking. They were both a mess; Biggles had his arm in a sling, his face still bruised from the gang's attentions. Von Stalhein had taken some blows of his own, and had a bandage across his forehead, and another swathing one of his hands. Algy had figured it was unlikely they could get into any new trouble in five minutes (well, they probably could, but at least he more-or-less knew where they were) but he was unprepared for what had happened in his absence.
They had fallen asleep on each other.
Algy simply stood and stared. He had a sudden wild urge for a camera, it would make good blackmail material, but there was far too great a chance that Biggles would not only fail to see the absurdity in the situation, but would want several copies of the photo for himself. No, definitely best to let it go.
Ginger came around the corner, starting to speak. "Algy, have you seen the chief? I need to ask --"
Algy held his finger to his lips and shushed him just as Ginger saw why and stopped talking anyway. For a minute they both stared at the scene in front of them. Then Ginger whispered, "What I wouldn't give for a --"
"Think about it," Algy whispered back. "He'd probably frame it and put it on the wall."
Ginger stifled a grin. "You're right. How long should we let them sleep?"
"As long as they want to," Algy said quietly, and taking Ginger lightly by the elbow, steered him down the hallway.
----
2. Waterlogged
Prompt: Biggles & EvS, waterlogged
Originally posted here
This is a prompt I adored that I couldn't quite get to come together. I do want to write a longer/more complete version someday.
"Biggles!" Algy shouted, scrambling down the wet rocks. He had lost sight of Biggles in the churning whitewater.
It had all been going well until it wasn't. Von Stalhein pointing a gun at them, standing on the edge of the jumbled rocks dropping off to the river. Ginger, unnoticed until then in the bushes under the trees, had hurled a rock with excellent aim, glancing off von Stalhein's temple.
Von Stalhein dropped the gun, went limp, and collapsed, vanishing from sight.
And Biggles jumped in after him. Because of course he did.
Clambering down the sloping rocks, Algy glimpsed a sleek water-dark head in the foaming water, and struggled down to the water's edge. It was Biggles he cared about getting out; von Stalhein could take his own chances. But Biggles was clearly having trouble, dragging someone with him (three guesses who, Algy thought).
Algy waded into the swirling and treacherous water around the rocks, reaching out and grabbing handfuls of sodden clothing, and eventually, Biggles's belt, helping drag him ashore with cold-numbed hands. They both staggered out onto a small, rocky beach, Algy half-dragging Biggles, and Biggles half-dragging a limp, water-soaked figure.
"Help me -- Algy -- here --" Biggles was trying to speak between fits of coughing, and Algy found that he was halfway having to hold Biggles up.
Ginger appeared at the top of the pile of rocks, shouting something down that was lost in the roar of the river thrashing around its rocks. Algy shouted back, half-dragging Biggles from the waves, "A fire and something hot, and get to it!" and Ginger vanished, presumably he'd caught the better part of that.
They both half-collapsed on the shore, Algy clutching Biggles -- Biggles, coughing, gasping, falling forward, who still had his fingers locked around the belt of a limp, straggling Erich von Stalhein.
Algy, with a sigh, gave some help to heaving the bedraggled form of their enemy onto the shore. Von Stalhein was utterly limp. Biggles struggled to sit up and bent over him, touching his pale, blue-tinged face with desperate hands.
---
3. Tossing and Turning
Prompt: ‘Tossing and turning’ - Biggles/Erich.
Originally posted here
It was like sleeping with a cricket sometimes. After being kicked in the back yet again, Erich rolled on his side, propped his head up in one hand, and with annoyance-tinged fondness, gazed at the pretzeled sleeper, who had somehow managed to get almost sideways in the bed, one leg thrown over Erich's legs and his tousled blond head pressed against the wall.
Bigglesworth slept like a hyperactive five-year-old. It was hard to get him to go to sleep in the first place -- he wanted to stay up talking -- and then he slept restlessly, sometimes pressing himself against Erich and wrapping his arms and legs around him as if he thought Erich was going to vanish in the night, sometimes flipflopping in the grasp of intense, often distressing dreams.
The thing that puzzled Erich to no end was that he wasn't like that in the field. Bigglesworth on a job tended to catnap, and he could fall asleep almost instantly and stay asleep for an hour or two and then snap awake perfectly alert and ready to go. Bigglesworth in the field, as far as Erich could tell, lived on cigarettes and coffee and about three hours of sleep a night.
It had taken him a long time to realize that this meant no one else ever saw him like this. Oh, Lacey probably had. But this view of Bigglesworth -- sprawling with deeply trusting abandon, twitching and rolling over twenty times a night -- was something reserved for Erich alone.
Erich had his own problems with insomnia, and he might have grudged Bigglesworth waking him half a dozen times in the middle of what sleep he did get. But he couldn't, not with the implications of that trust and all that came with it.
Bigglesworth jerked and spasmed, his head twisting against the wall. His eyelids fluttered; he mouthed something in his sleep.
Dreams, then, and upsetting ones, from the look of him.
Erich reached out and ran his hand through the soft fair hair. Bigglesworth did not wake, but he slowly slipped into deeper sleep, and then -- it was fascinating to watch -- he rolled over, flopped around a little as if looking for something, and gradually nestled himself into Erich until he was bonelessly puddled against him.
Erich put an arm around him, and with Bigglesworth sighing in soft, huffed little breaths against his neck, he settled down to get what sleep he could get, before he inevitably woke up smothered in the pillows with Bigglesworth lying on his head, or they both fell on the floor.
No. He didn't begrudge it at all.
---
4. "Get your hands off them."
Prompt: Biggles &/ EvS, Whumpril #29 'Get your hands off them'
Originally posted here
Biggles was outnumbered and overwhelmed. He put up a good fight, but after they knocked him to the ground, all he could do was curl up and try to protect himself as best he could. Once they tired of kicking and stomping him, they hauled him upright. His mouth was filled with the taste of blood, and there was blood and sand in his eyes. His legs swayed under him.
"Now," growled their leader, "do you want to tell us where the rest of your team is?"
Although his mouth was so bruised that it hurt to move it, and stretching his lips caused fresh blood to spring to his split lips, Biggles grinned anyway. "I think you're about to find out."
It was Erich who reached him first, giving no warning before he came down on Biggles' captors like the fury of hell itself. Somewhere Biggles heard Algy shouting, "You're all under arrest! Hold still!" but his attention was captivated by Erich.
It had been a while since Biggles had seen him really fight, and never on this side of it, always on the opposite side. Erich was swift and powerful, in constant economical motion, striking hard and fast as a rattlesnake. Not a movement was wasted, and not a single man required more than one fiercely placed jab (to the throat, to the stomach) to go down and stay down.
But he left them groaning, not dead. The remaining members of the gang fled under the onslaught, and the rest of Biggles' team were moving in now, handcuffing von Stalhein's targets and taking down the escapees. Left standing on his own, Biggles had an instant to sway and try to catch himself before Erich's hands were on him, lowering him to sit on the floor.
"Are you all right? Can you speak?"
"I'm fine," Biggles managed through bruised lips. Erich was half holding him up, and he tried to muster some objection, but his head was swimming and the strong hand on his shoulder was a welcome grounding presence.
"How is he?" Algy snapped from somewhere nearby, his voice rough with suppressed worry.
"He says he's fine," Erich said. But his attention was all on Biggles; he touched Biggles' face lightly, fingertips brushing across the corner of his mouth. The grey-blue eyes were focused on Biggles with a curious intensity from much closer than Biggles was used to seeing him, and he wasn't sure how to read that intent expression at all, but it captivated him.
"In that case we'd better get a doctor out here immediately, he's probably dying." But there was a new lightness to Algy's voice. He crouched down on Biggles's other side. "Are you planning to die in the next ten minutes?" His hand on Biggles' shoulder was gentle, keeping him up if he was inclined to sway the other way. "Because if not, the Otter is over that way."
"Just need to get my feet under me, and I'll be all right."
"In other words, he's going to pass out, then," Algy said to Erich. "Probably best if he sits there for a minute 'til he gets his altitude. Do you mind staying with -- of course you don't."
Algy patted Biggles' shoulder and with that, he was up and off to supervise the remaining cleanup of the gang. Biggles felt as if he ought to help, but when he tried to get up, Erich pressed on his shoulder and he went back down. "Oh no you don't. I'm not going to argue with Lacey, and I suggest you don't either. You haven't had to deal with him for the past two hours since you went missing," Erich added, and the lightness in his voice only ineffectually covered up the worried edge underneath.
Erich took out a handkerchief, dampened it with his canteen, and began cleaning up Biggles' face. Biggles watched him, still held by the play of light and emotion in Erich's eyes, as much as by the soft stinging touches on his face and the hand resting against his chin, holding his head still.
--
5. Waterboarded
Prompt: Erich being waterboarded, in front of or within earshot of Biggles and co., and the subsequent aftermath thereof
Originally posted here
TW torture aftermath
As Biggles helped Erich out of the restraints with furious yet careful hands, Erich was perfectly controlled -- but the effort was visible, his entire body rigid and trembling. His face was chalk white, his hair damp, and he kept his eyes downcast, as if meeting Biggles' gaze might crack something in him. His hand, when Biggles cautiously took it to guide him, was cold and shaking.
The sounds that Biggles had been forced to hear, as he had struggled to free himself from his bonds, would haunt his nightmares for a long time. But this sight was somehow almost worse.
"Come on." Biggles found that he had been talking without being entirely aware of it, low words murmured as if to give Erich something other than his hand to grasp. Because Erich wasn't gripping back, he hardly even seemed aware of him. Biggles had seen him in many states, from cold fury to the dead-eyed look of Sakhalin, but he had never seen anything like this.
Algy and the others were taking care of their captors, and Biggles guided Erich out of sight of the metal chair he'd been strapped to, and the crumpled wet burlap on the floor. He meant to take him all the way outside, but Erich was gasping in short, shallow breaths, and his jerky, uncoordinated movements suggested that outside might be too far; so Biggles guided him to sit on the floor as soon as they were somewhere relatively private.
It was hard to make him go down, as if Erich didn't understand what was wanted, and then he capitulated and went down so suddenly that the back of his head bashed into the wall. "Careful!" Biggles said. He had been trying not to touch Erich any more than he had to, not after the violent recoil when he had first put a hand on him. But now he moved on pure instinct, slid his hand behind Erich's head, shielding the back of his skull from the cold cinderblock wall.
He did not expect Erich to lean his head back into Biggles' hand, but that was what happened. Biggles sat beside him on the floor, not sure what else to do, one hand curled gently across the close-cropped, damp hair on the back of his head, the other wrapped around his unresponsive hand.
Slowly Erich's rapid, shallow breathing slowed to something more normal. He was still looking at the wall, not at Biggles, but finally his cold hand turned around to clamp onto Biggles' hand, and hold on.
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And I've said it before, but so much love for all of these ficlets, there can never be too much whump and h/c for all of them <3
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I also have been really appreciating your comments on Tumblr! <3 I really do want to turn the "waterlogged" one into something longer and more comforty, if I ever escape the Babylon 5 spiral.
I miss using my Biggles icons.
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And I am enjoying your B5 spiral, it has inevitably prompted me to a bit of rewatching though so far mostly I am discovering that my little crush on Ivanova hasn't gone anywhere in the fifteen-odd years since I last watched it...
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And yes, I haven't really had a chance to try to write her much yet, but Ivanova is excellent and well deserving of a crush!
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I've seen it dwindle twice so far with the elderly purists losing control of the narrative
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I was really hoping to get some Whumpril fics done but as May rapidly approaches I fear getting married was actually more time consuming than anticipated...
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(I am rowing this raft come hell or high water XD )