#and then humped a stuffie until i came twice

[chucklechampion]

um. just got tickled so much that i had to safeword bc i was so deep in subspace i felt like i wasnt able to consent anymore 😵‍💫

[artificialqueens]

Blank No More (Biadore) - Tanawrites

Summary - Bianca and Adore wake up together after a night out on tour.

A/N - might not be what you’re expecting from the description - or a totally realistic idea but I couldn’t get it out of my head so enjoy the pure mindless fluff that it is!

-

It’s with a groan that Roy stirred awake, instantly aware of a throbbing in his temples. His mouth felt dry and when he went to rub his eyes, his hand came away with black smudges. It wasn’t often he went to bed without fully cleaning Bianca away from his face so that paired with the  initial symptoms of a nasty hangover told him that last night had been a big one.

He wasn’t surprised to notice a dark head of hair curled up on his shoulder, clingling closer and making a noise of disapproval as Roy started to shift. Danny usually ended up in Roy’s bed whether they were sharing a hotel room or if they were down the hall from each other. It had started as the four of them, the familiarity of the ABCD group piling into bed with each other, either too drunk or too reluctant to part from the comfort of their makeshift family some nights when they felt so far away from any other sense of normalcy.

As they continued to tour with each other and they realised Darienne snored and Courtney more often than not brought trade back to the hotel room with her, Danny and Roy spent almost every night together. It didn’t matter if they came back together or if Danny came in hours later than Roy, they almost always found themselves in the same shared space every morning. Plus, Roy was the only person who could get Danny up on time.

The dull light that peaked through the corners of the curtains told Roy it was well into the afternoon and much later than he usually got up, on days he wasn’t nursing quite possibly his worst hangover in years. When he was younger, partying was just as much part of the gig as the performance was. Drag work meant clubs and clubs were exclusively night work. Even drag brunch was performed after not sleeping from the Saturday before. Shots backstage in the dressing room quickly translated into a glass of wine while getting ready and afterparties. Roy didn’t participate nearly as much in all the antics and partying as his fellow Drag Race sisters did. This tour had been somewhat of an exception though, much at Courtney and Adore’s insistence.

Roy was getting glimpses into the previous night as he closed his eyes again to soothe some of the pain. Going out after the show, still in drag, dancing with Adore in a club, taking shots with Courtney, saying a reluctant goodnight to Darienne and then not a lot else. Some hazier memories without Courtney, of being in a cab with Adore practically in her lap and not much else after that. They’d somehow made their way back to the hotel though and after daring a glance at the nightstand, Roy’s phone seemed to be in tack even if it wasn’t on charge and his bank card thankfully next to it.

As he woke up more, his hand running along Danny’s back as a gentle way to start waking him up, Roy noticed they were both in nothing but their underwear. That wasn’t unusual though, the lack of privacy in dressing rooms, sharing a hotel room so often and the numerous occasions Roy has stumbled Danny into a shower after a drunken night meaning there were little to no barriers between them anymore. He was just grateful he’d somehow managed to get them both out of their costumes and cinchers before they’d passed out.

There was extra pressure on his hip other than Danny’s body though, a discomfort where Danny’s knee was nudging against, leg tossed over both of Roy’s thighs.

Eyebrows knit together in a frown, Roy peeled back the blanket. There was a bandaged taped in place on his hip, half covered by his briefs. Quickly dismissing the thought that he’d hurt himself somehow in the show, he started to pull off some of the tape. If it was rare for him to wake up with a hangover, it was unheard of for him to come home hurt after a night out. Even after completely letting go of his inhibitions, Roy by nature was always careful and especially as Bianca, in control of the situation.

“Let me up, my love.”

Roy nudged Danny’s arm until he grumbled a little but loosened his hold enough to let Roy slip out from the embrace. Standing up was briefly disorientating but even the raging headache wasn’t enough to distract Roy from his curiosity. He padded into the bathroom, wincing at the harsh lights until his eyes adjusted.

He looked at the bandage in the mirror and watched his reflection as he tucked the waistline of his briefs down to see the bandage in full. It honestly wasn’t that big at all but he couldn’t work out what he could possibly have done to the dip of his hip bone to warrant a bandage. Or more importantly, who had bandaged him up? It certainly hadn’t been him or Danny, considering they seemed to be in about the same state. Impatient, he was hasty in pulling off the tape but was cautious as he pulled the bandage away, not knowing what to expect.

“No fucking way.”

-

The night before was one of their biggest crowds yet and they all felt the difference. Performing to any crowd at all was an experience but one of this volume, to see the rows going further back than they could with the stage lights partially in their eyes and to hear the applause not of a hundred people in a club but thousands. The atmosphere was addictive and they closed the show a high. Once they’d all caught their breath backstage, there was no discussion of if they were going out but just a matter of where.

A few hours into the night, after Courtney had separated from the group to talk to the guy she’d been eyeing since the first club and Darienne called it a night, Adore was hanging off Bianca’s shoulder at the bar. Their makeup was slightly smudged from sweat both from the show and dancing but it was mainly in tack still. Their wigs had seen better days but in Adore’s case, that was true even before the show and Bianca would have told her that, had she not been in such a good mood.

“Come on, Delano. Let me buy you another drink.”

It wasn’t often or ever that Adore was the voice of reason between the two of them. Bianca took celebrating seriously though and tonight there was a definite reason for it. She’d been the one offering a round of shots, to agree to Adore’s first request to dance despite her usual reservations, the one who complained and tried to convince Darienne to stay out longer.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, Yanx. We can drink more from the mini-bar.”

Adore tugged on Bianca’s hand, letting her lips drop into an exaggerated pout to counter Bianca shaking her head stubbornly.

“I had to tuck for the show and it’s so uncomfortable.”

“Go untuck in the bathroom!”

Using her free hand, Adore tugged up her miniskirt just enough so that Bianca could see the thin strap of the thong Adore was wearing and made it obvious why she couldn’t untuck. Without the support of the tape, that thong certainly wasn’t going to be enough support for the short skirt. Bianca rolled her eyes but was quick to tug the material back into place.

“Alright, alright, you whore. Lead the way.”

Bianca allowed their fingers to lace together instead of the loose hold so that Adore could lead them to the exit, already fishing into her bra with her free hand to pull her phone out to book them a ride back to the hotel.

The cool air was a stark contrast from the stuffiness of the club and although momentarily relieved, Bianca knew they’d get cold quick. She sighed, trying to get her eyes to focus on the screen so she could type the address of the hotel. She was snapped back into the moment when Adore tugged excitedly on her hand, nearly dropping her phone in the process.

Before she could make a snide remark about Adore practically ripping her arm off, she was being tugged down the street until they came to a stop a few doors down. Confused for a moment at what she was looking at, Bianca looked the store up and down dubiously while Adore bounced on the spot.

“We have to. Come on!

-

Roy was frozen for a moment as he looked at his reflection, at what the bandage had revealed. He blinked once. Twice. Then he was moving back into the main room, reaching for the corner of the duvet and tugging it off the bed despite the loud complaints from Danny.

“I swear to god, Adore.”

He avoided Danny’s hands that were alternating between swatting at him and trying to grab a hold of him, no doubt to pull him back to bed to make up for the lost warmth. He was too caught up in his task to be tempted, though bed was more and more inviting as his head spun, a mix of his confusion and the resounding headache.

“You better have one too.”

Mumbling to himself at this point, he ignored Danny’s squinting gaze that looked down at him and tugged against Danny’s knee where he’d curled it up into himself.

“Quit squirming around.”

Grateful that Danny compiled without complaint, Roy pressed against the planes of Danny’s stomach until he was laying flat but he was surprised to find no matching bandage covering Danny’s hip. Remembering that the idea came from Danny initially, Roy was dumbfounded that he was the only one to leave the shop with a tattoo. His first and only tattoo.

He even lifted the waistband of Danny’s thong on each side to make sure there wasn’t one covered by the material, shaking his head as Danny giggled at the touch from under where his hands were covering his face, no doubt to try and escape the dull light that was entering the room.

“Are you coming on to me?”

“In your wildest dreams. Or at least the ones you have when I wake up to you humping my ass.”

Even in his state of shock, Danny’s responding laugh had Roy’s lips lifting in a smile. He shifted to kneel by Danny’s side instead after reaching for the blanket and tugging it back over Danny, resting back on his heels.

“I’m guessing you can’t tell me how I got this?”

He pulled down his underwear on one side to show Danny the small but prominent tattoo. He glanced up to gauge Danny’s reaction, expecting it at least to be as surprised as he was. He wasn’t expecting the amused, knowing grin that was spread across Danny’s lips.

“You bitch!”

“Hey, you were all about it! I picked it out but you loved it last night!”

Roy rolled his eyes. Of course Adore picked it out, he should have picked that immediately as his memories came back to him. Some were still fuzzy, especially in getting back to the hotel and how on Earth any tattoo artist decided that either of them were sober enough to be inked.

He got up again, returning to the bathroom to keep looking at himself in the mirror, turning from side to side. Part of him wanted to rub his finger across it, as if to see if it was fake or not but he swallowed the urge and instead picked up the pamphlet he’d noticed when he was in the bathroom earlier. After a quick read through, he noted it was instructions on ‘how to care for your new tattoo’.

“Alright, expert. Can I shower with this thing yet or not?”

He knew the instructions would probably tell him that but he tossed them back onto the bench after he got a decent idea. Danny probably wasn’t the best person to ask. As many tattoos he had, Danny was hardly someone who went by the book as Roy liked to normally. With the exception of apparently getting a tattoo impulsively.

He was about to poke his head back into the main room to see why Danny hadn’t responded when he felt hands coming to rest on his sides, curling around his abdomen and a chin settling against his shoulder. Roy leaned back into the embrace, his eyes flitting up from the tattoo to Danny’s face instead.

“Do you like it?”

Roy took a moment before responding. He watched Danny’s hand gently trace around the tattoo, not touching it but closely around the outline of the small but defined mermaid now permanently on his skin.

“I’m just glad you didn’t pick a dildo or something.”

He chuckled as Danny nudged him from behind, unhappy with that as a response and wanting Roy to continue.

“I like it, angel. Relax, even drunk I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to. It’s cute.’”

Danny relaxed against him, having heard what he needed to release any lingering guilt that was ready to emerge if Roy hated it, if he felt that Danny had pressured him into anything.

“I like it too.”

“I really like that it’s not somewhere I’ll have to cover up for Bianca.”

Something unrecognisable crossed Danny’s expression then that made Roy’s eyebrow quirk in interest. He was already comforted by the fact that it wasn’t on his arm or his face or somewhere else obnoxious so he wasn’t worried, just curious as he watched Danny squirm in their reflection. He turned in Danny’s arms to face him.

“So I might have a problem.”

His curiosity doubled, Roy didn’t have time to respond before Danny was pulling his arms away and taking a step back. Danny turned around and showed Roy what he had been looking for earlier but missed. A small bandage like Roy’s, except it was on the curve of Danny’s ass rather than his hip.

“No fucking way. Tell me you got a clownfish on your ass or something.”

Roy was cackling at this point, hands gesturing for Danny to reveal what it was but he sombered quickly once Danny had pulled the bandage away. In small, cursive writing was ‘Willow’ permanently inscribed on Danny’s skin. Both of the tattoos held meaning exclusively for one another but Danny’s was something that could never be explained as something else. Willow was something Danny and Danny alone called Roy, usually my Willow, either in their lightest of moments or when one of them really needed the other, needed to belong somehow.

“Adore…”

He trailed off, unsure of what he wanted to say but knowing something needed to be said. Roy stepped forward, hands reaching for Danny to pull him into a tight hug. Vulnerable was something Roy was never comfortable being, even in front of their close knit group of friends. He was certainly softer to all of them than the rest of the world but still guarded to a degree. He wanted - he needed to let Danny in now though.

“Never one to be subtle, are you. I love it. Do you? Like it too, I mean.”

Stumbling over his words, Roy sighed quietly when Danny nuzzled his cheek against his shoulder, allowing the touch to ease the tension that had risen in his body. His own hand was resting low on Danny’s back where he knew the tattoo was just below where his fingers were sprawled.

“Of course I love it. I’ll have to be careful next time I go live on Instagram though.”

That was enough to have them both laughing, knowing Danny’s history of flashing his moon tattoo, now infamous amongst his fans for it. The seriousness of the moment had passed but Roy still felt the same swell in his chest, like it was a secret only he and Danny knew about.  

“The fangirls would go crazy if they saw this.”

Roy pulled back a little, sharing a smile with Danny before he was moving around him to get to the shower, reaching in to turn the hot water on. The initial shock had distracted him but now that he had gotten all the answers he needed, he was becoming more and more aware of the niggling symptoms of his hangover again. Namely, he remembered that Bianca’s makeup was still smeared all over his face and he desperately wanted it off.

“I’m taking your silence as a yes I can shower so go order us some room service, I’ll be quick.”

“Shut up, there’s enough room for us both.”

“I won’t be long-”

“We’ll order together when we get out and there’s a cream you have to put on when you get out. It’s easier if I’m already in here with you.”

Roy wasn’t quite convinced with Danny’s argument but it wasn’t like he was going to say no anyway. Despite Danny knowing that as well, probably even better than Roy did, he rolled his eyes for show mainly and pulled them both under the spray of water.

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 51

MM had nothing uplifting to tell me, not that he wasn't doing his damndest to find another site where Vought could be pumping the less than fully sane with Compound V to test the likelihood of it doing who knew what on those the world would rather forget. He sounded as light on patience as I was, and I told him to remember self care and the importance of taking care of himself in the madness of the course of our duties.

"Don't worry about me, Ronnie," he promised me he was taking more than enough time to smell the roses, or in his case take his little girl to appreciate the offerings at Baskin Robbins. "We have a standing date, and I do my best to not miss it."

"Good man," I was smiling through the burdens our lack of answers seemed to grow, but knowing that our team was taking the care to keep sane was at least something. "We'll have to work out a monthly get together as a group, maybe -" I was thinking of my added visits with Ryan, weekly as of now, but if Billy's intel showed it necessary and if my own digging proved my worries correct that schedule would grow. "We'll see."

"Hey," I blinked, brought back to the conversation at hand with the phone in my hand and MM in my ear. "Look, you just got back in the saddle, Ronnie." I nodded, but sighed. "Don't think you're gonna have all the answers all at once. Vought is the damndest group of conspiracy shit that I've ever seen, my pops even knew that -" I swallowed hard, knowing exactly what he meant, having dug through his past as well as Billy's and the others. "Rome wasn't built in a day, and Vought won't tumble in one."

"Wise words, MM." I grinned, my eyes landing on the monstrosity of the tower that I normally wouldn't notice outside the bank of windows that made up one wall of my office. "I have to wonder though, if it will ever 'all fall down'."

Mallory agreed to lunch, in the office after I told her it was of a sensitive nature. She surprised me by actually bringing it with her, however. "I thought I'd cut out the middle man, as it were," she said, juggling the bags and drink carrier. I rushed to help her and together we set it up on Billy's desk, still the clearer of the two.

Once our meals were divided up, drinks and chairs situated, I told her the reason I'd asked to see her face to face. "I asked Billy if I could meet Ryan." She nodded around her bite of salad and I went on. "What do you know about his current living arrangement, Grace?"

She chewed carefully as she considered my question, then after swallowing and taking a sip from her drink she answered as I'd expected. "All I really could do, Ronnie, was start the process. You know the majority of my pull is reputation based." That's what the paperwork showed, but I had to make sure. "I sent it up the ladder, a request, that's all I could do."

I'd started eating while she explained, so it was my turn to chew and swallow. "The problem is that I'm not sure who took over after you took that first step." She was squinting in confusion. "I can trace your request. Hell, I can even trace the request that Homelander made to find out Ryan's location." She stared at me in confusion. "It happened the same day you came to tell us about Adana." A nod and I went on. "I put off or pushed away worries about Ryan because honestly I assumed out of sight out of mind was the best way to go with him." Pushing away my own lunch I sat back. "Then my own troubles with his darling sperm donor started and I guess I started thinking about him more often, and it started to nudge me, this worry. Until it was a nagging irritation."

"You asked Billy if you could meet him and he agreed?" She seemed surprised and I smiled. "He really would hand you the world if you asked." I shook my head, I highly doubted that. "What happened when you went to meet him?"

I told her about the area they were keeping him in, the neighborhood that had no neighbors, the tutors instead of school. "He's not being socialized. The guardians are guards, from what I can tell only one is an agent, and her identity is only known from the time she joined up, before that I can't find a single mention of her. The man? Nothing." I groaned. "I haven't a clue of what the tutors are teaching him or what he's being given in the way of nurturing at all. All I know for certain is that he has three chips in him and all are transmitting."

"Three chips?" Now she truly looked confused. "Why would he have any chips?" I stared at her. "Vought had him in a controlled community from the moment of his birth, Ronnie. Why chip a subject you never intend to allow out of your sight? We had no reason to chip him because, honestly, he's a child who has only ONE known enemy and he's a VERY noticeable one. As for the third chip, who would do it?"

"I guessed Stormfront." She waited for me to explain my reasonings and when I did she was shaking her head. "I thought with her background, Ryan would be the epitome of the perfect specimen."

"It doesn't make sense." Grace leaned forward, her lunch as forgotten as mine. "The same reasoning as Vought's. Why chip what you don't intend to allow out of your control? Stormfront had the same over confident belief in herself that they did in their control of him and Becca. Why chip what you don't intend to lose?" I started to point out my own chips, but she held up a hand. "You were different. You're a loose end, Ronnie. No one controls you. They had to chip you to make sure they knew where you were in case you went supernova and exploded. That way they control the narrative. Ryan? He's a child. Minors that young don't just run off, not when they are under control of an adult dependent on the kindness of the company like Becca was, or Homelander and Stormfront." She was making sense and it pissed me off because it left another puzzle unanswered. "These chips make no sense. Not when you really think about them."

Knowing that Grace simply asked for Ryan to be given protective custody, but then left it up to those who took care of that particular designation within the agency wasn't super helpful, but it did cross her off the list of those who could answer more in depth questions about Ryan's current living situation. Her theory about the chips, on the other hand, gave me more questions than answers.

I was going over Davos' short file of service in the agency, trying to see if there was any way that I could finagle her identity through some channel that I hadn't found before, when Billy came back. It was later than I thought, the sun starting to hint at the end of the day, and he looked grim.

"Do we want to talk about it now, or do we want to go pick out our boy from Mom's and hear whether or not they're no longer allowed in the toy stores in the tri-state area?" His lips quirked and he let out a long breath.

"Let's do it on the way," I slipped on my shoes and he held open my jacket for me. His arms wrapped around me and I felt how tense he was, how it released slightly as his body came into contact with mine. "God I missed you."

"Same," I sighed. As we locked up, saying goodnight to the worker bees finishing up and the janitorial staff just starting their shifts, our fingers linked and we both felt that at least we were together again, and we could shift through what we'd come across while we'd been working apart.

Mom and Terror hadn't been banned for life from any of the toy stores. From the sight of how many new acquisitions they'd purchased, I had a feeling I knew why. Terror was bright eyed and drooly, and he rushed over to Billy like he couldn't believe the luck he had in moving back in with him and ending up with this crazy old broad as his daycare provider. I mean, can you imagine being a horny dog and having a babysitter who ended up making sure you never had to hump the same stuffy twice in one afternoon? Life was sweet for the little sweetheart.

Hugging my dad, who was trying desperately not to mock my mom, or laugh his ass off at the insanity, I apologized for making her crazy. "I'm not sure this is your fault, Veronica." He shook his head, trying to hold back on what was clearly laughter to end all laughter. "Maybe we should have let you have a puppy when you wanted one back when you were little." He turned a laugh into a cough and I held mine in until I swore I cracked a rib. Jesus.

We didn't talk about the drones, or Frenchie and Kimiko's help during the 'mission'. Not during the ride to pick up Terror, or during the final leg to our house. Instead we simply enjoyed the lightness of being near one another. The ease it brought to both of us, letting us unwind from what was clearly a stressful day for both of us.

He parked and let Terror chase the fireflies while I got the house opened up and dinner started. We ate in the kitchen, laughing at Terror as he gobbled down his own kibble, rushed outside and did more business, then ran upstairs to his less than posh bed and started snoring.

"I think his daycare tires him out," I offered as I took another bite of my own food. "He might need a break from Mom's house."

Billy snorted, taking a drink from his beer and shaking his head. "I think we'd have a tantrum to end all tantrums if we try to keep the two of em apart." He took a bite and sighed. We couldn't keep work and our debriefing at bay forever. We both knew that. "Want to go first?"

"No, but I will." I smirked. "MM hasn't found anything that remotely resembles what Stormfront did with Sage Grove. Doesn't mean there aren't others, just that he hasn't found one yet." He nodded, thinking about what I was saying as he ate through his dinner and drank through his beer. "Then Grace and I had lunch. She confirmed that aside from asking for protective custody and putting him in the car and handing him off, that's all she did for Ryan's protection."

"Kind of thought so," he sat back and groaned. "Not like she's got that much pull, even if we wish she did." He shook his head. "So she's got no idea about those cunts watchin' him?"

"None," I pushed my empty plate forward. "And worse yet, she doesn't think I'm right about the chips. None of them."

"What do ya mean?" He set his bottle down from where he'd been about to take a pull.

"Her theory is this: why would Vought chip a child that they never intended to let out of their sight? And why would WE chip him for the same reason? Then with my theory about Stormcunt, she asked the same question. And I have to admit, I didn't consider it from that angle."

"But if Vought didn't, and WE didn't, and the cunt didn't -" he stared at me and I sighed louder. "Fuck me, Ronnie. And I thought my day was bad."

"How bad?" I gathered our dishes and loaded the dishwasher, then refilled my glass and got him another beer. When I got back to the table, he reached out and grabbed me, pulling me onto his lap instead of letting me sit on my own chair. "I do prefer this seat." He rubbed his face against my neck, moaning at the scent and feel of my skin.

"Me too," he murmured, kissing me under my earlobe. "Let's see, we got the drones up, after we managed to find cover about half a town over in a park." He groaned. "Between me, Frenchie, AND Kimiko, we manned them and took some usable footage. Got Frenchie editing it so we can work it up to actually show you it." I nodded so he would continue. "Tutors are a man and woman, just like his guards. They go in, but they 'teach' in an interior room. No windows, doors closed." Fuck. "The guards have the tellie on half the time, but it ain't on nothing too traumatizing. Soaps, news, whatever strikes their fancy at the moment." Right, great. "From what we could tell, there are other residents in the neighborhood, but they don't go anywhere. No cars in the driveways, no mailman. It's the weirdest shit I've ever seen."

"Do you think you got a good shot of the tutors for facial recognition?" His hum told me he thought so, but his fingers were busy pulling my shirt free from my slacks. "Are you back to distractions, Mr. Butcher?"

"Think we both deserve a reward, Doc, don't you?" His mouth started to tempt me by teasing against my neck. "Unless you want to debrief more?"

"Oh, I think a gold star is a better idea," I was laughing as he scooped me into his arms, gesturing for me to grab our drinks, as he took me back out to our hanging bed outside.

"Terror snores so damn loud he throws me off my rhythm." He growled before I could ask why we were leaving the comfort of our house. And as I giggled, our clothing hit the porch floor, the lightning bugs were flickering around us, and Billy gave me a few dozen sparkling gold stars and I was sure to give him a couple of his own.

[justsomehobo]

Hatt’s Army: Chapter 3

(Originally posted 7/15/2017)

Constructive criticism welcome!

Wednesday: June 26, 1940

"Gud moahnin', Mr. Havirty," said Sir Topham Hatt.

"Good morning, Sir," our Foreman responded flatly.

"An' gud moahnin' tuh you," Hatt greeted us, turning our way.

"Gurrd mrrrrnnng, Durrrurrcturrrrr…" the rest of us moaned, still drowsy.

"Mah wohd!" the mogul ejected sharply. "J-jahsht look et yuhselves! Whot evuh wuh ya doin' ohll naight!?"

Henry had had trouble getting up to steam lately, Havirty explained to him, and so the night before, he and the rest of the workmen had worked on him trying to find out precisely why. This meant they had to light his fire, see how long it took for steam to build, disappointedly bring it back down, make several adjustments and notes, light Henry's fire again, rinse and repeat. The roaring and crackling of the fire and hissing of steam made it a sleepless night for Henry, for the other engines, for Havirty and his engineers, and, I suspect, for the rest of the borough. Indeed, the workers were still crawling all over Henry like ants in dungarees. We all were staring forlornly at him, and he glanced miserably back at us, but Havirty reassured us that he would be back to work in a week at most.

The Morning Report proceeded as it had all week before. Sir Hatt was handed this morning's inspection papers by Havirty, both of them forcing polite grins. They had a brief discussion about the day before, which I had never cared for. With that, Hatt gave Havirty his orders on paper and quit the scene, punctual as always.

7:38 AM

Platform 1 seemed to be dimmer somehow. The cobblestone walls were a deeper shade of gray, the green paint on the pillars holding up the station's glass roof seemed to become duller, the posters with the colorful countryside paintings boasting "It's Quicker By Rail" were gone, and in their place were simple posters that announced, below a drawing of a crown, such messages as:

Keep Calm and Carry On Freedom Is In Peril, Defend It With All Your Might Your Courage, Your Cheerfulness, Your Resolution Will Bring Us Victory

Yeah, I figured. That was probably why.

"Abaht toime ya showed up! This plaice shmells lahke an oshtreh."

Oh yeah. And HIM. So much for courage and cheerfulness.

It was taking all the resolution I could muster to carry on in the face of our Mister Five-By-Five, let alone Hitler.

"With all due respect, Sir," said the Butler at his side, "this is a train station. It's supposed to smell like ash. Shall I fetch another french roast from the cafe out front?"

"Yesh, thaink ya," answered my Sir, readying his handkerchief.

I turned my gaze to the right of the coach in front of me, not about to witness him gorge himself again. Reaching the end of the platform with the express coaches, I happened upon Havirty having a chat with another train guard at a bench on Platform 2.

"How's work at Anopha, Jo?"

"Um… okey. But it does have its moments. You know that one huge timetable mix-up a couple days ago that held up three trains? See, they found it was 'cos of a truck on the first train that was written 'Do Not Hump' in a goods train to a hump yard. If that really was the case, I suppose it's on me. I's the one who wrote it there. See, they keep catchin' a guy who's a closet-o-rama-file-a-yak or somethin', an' it's a really long word an' it means the guy runs off to the same sidin' at night ta pay a truck a visit, an' he spoons it 'til four 'cos it gets 'im hahd. So they keep catchin' 'im, yeah, but the delinquent keeps gettin' away, right? Good. Now I's not havin' the trucks 'round the quarry be sticky wit' dew in the mornin's, so…"

The rambling dullard went on and on, like the background music in a stuffy cafe, long after I had stopped listening. In the meantime, the passengers shuffled aboard the coaches, the porter brought the luggage trolleys into the guard's van, and the guard inspected the couplings between the coaches, this time checking twice to see if the chains were hanging loosely between my buffers and those of the coach in front of me.

Suddenly, after the guard took his place at the far end of the platform with his green flag, everything around the train seemed to freeze in place. Even the wind hung in the air.

"What's going on?" I asked my driver, confused.

"Just as I feared, old boy," said Maxwell worriedly. "This really is supposed to be Henry's train."

"But Henry's being fixed at the depot. He can't work."

(sigh) "Exactly."

"Who is pulling this train, then?"

"I don't know."

"Edward?"

"No, he has to take a goods train first thing this morning."

"James?"

"He might. But it's twenty past seven. If so he'd be here by now. Or at least in short order."

"We're going to be late, aren't we?"

"I… I honestly don't see why not."

Oh, bugger. Oh God. Oh no! I thought. I caught myself almost in the same moment, but my cab auraphone betrayed me.

"Stop it!" barked Max; then seeing that he had my attention, he lowered his voice. "Get a hold of yourself! Feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to change a thing."

"I'm trying. But what else is there to do?"

"…Well, the guard is talking to our Fat Controller right now," he noted. "I hope they'll think of something."

"Wait!"

(sigh) "What now?"

"Can… can you tell me the riddle again? The one from the ancient land?"

"..."

"The one the traveler told you? You told me to remember it in case something really went wrong like this."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well… this is how I remember it. There's a great big desert, and in the desert, there's two huge stone legs with no body, and there's also a huge broken vase shaped like a head. The legs and head are supposed to be from a statue, but there's no reason it should be there; there's no one to see it, because it's only desert sand as far as the eye can see in any direction. So who built the statue?"

"Ya mum's hairy pits!" Boris catcalled.

The dullard next to Havirty burst out laughing, and our yard boss dragged him away in embarrassment.

The guard and Mr. Hatt, who had been rudely interrupted by the outburst, now resumed talking, this time with my full attention.

"...Rahght. Hae's fahrd. Nahw! How much tahme d'we have t'soaht dis aht?"

"Until the train's due out? … Roughly four minutes."

Sir Hatt, gripping his hat with his left hand and cradling his forehead in his right, gave a long sigh. He turned to his butler, handed him his coffee, then stomped audibly in my direction with a scowl. "Mr. Wilkinson! Mr. Tell!" he called, and my driver and fireman came out of my cab. He took them behind me for a few minutes to tell them something I couldn't hear, in a concise, anxious almost-whisper.

He soon dismissed them, and while they silently went back into my cab, Sir Hatt walked over to stand on my buffer beam. His scowl loosened when he saw the look on my face. I didn't know what to think, and I looked the part. If my complexion hadn't always been as such, it would be safe to say I had gone white-as-a-sheet.

"Tommush, lishin tah me," he pronounced slowly and concisely. "It'll ahll be ahkay."

"Yes, sir?" I panted, trying to look as presentable as I could.

"Ah want yeh ta pool this tren twinteh mahls, ta Crowsby an' Willswuhth. Leave thah coachus there fah Idwahd, and come bahck ta tha Stehhtion whin tha deed is done. Thess tren is goin' with yah, or it's naht goin' ahtohll. Just pehce yohself and keep an eye out fah signal towahs. Do ya know how they wahk?"

"Up-and-red-train-ahead!(gasp)D-down-and-green-track-is-clean, SIR!" I spat anxiously, my dome already throbbing with excitement.

"Jakers, ah said ta pehce yohself," he replied with a sigh of relief. "Well, tha-'s toahn it. Dismissed!" And turning back round to the guard, he said, "Git the shontah ta tha head o' tha trehn, pronto!" As he walked away, his butler handed him back his coffee mug and he took a swig.

"Ahhh… kkkhck!-pthw! Leahst it isn't boiling hot."

7:44 AM

I took a moment to look around.

I looked up at the shimmering glass on the station roof, with the occasional bird dropping here and there, as if to break up the monotony.

I looked down at my buffer beam to make sure all the equipment was in working order, and briefly flashed back to the awful moment I witnessed the coupler chain pull taut not so long ago.

I looked to my left at the tall steeples and chimneys that jutted out of the lake of roofs that was Knapford town. Old Prince Gordon also caught my eye as he lumbered into the yard. Oh, what a shock he's in for, I thought to myself. Now he'll see how much I know about hard work and dedication!

I looked to my right at the woods that obscured whatever lay beyond for miles around, and the gold-tipped ridge that rose above the treetops in the distance.

Finally, I looked straight ahead of me, at the green signals of the Gate and the open line beyond, in wait for the sacred Whistle.

I would never look back.

On.

And the fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth: and to him was given the key of the bottomless pit. And he opened the bottomless pit; and there arose a smoke out of the pit, as the smoke of a great furnace; and the sun and the air were darkened by reason of the smoke of the pit.

And in this darkness, I could feel only a strong wind that swept my soul off the ground and sent it cartwheeling helplessly through the air like an autumn leaf. It gave the sensation of a bottomless pit, although I knew I had simply gone numb. In a moment I could feel the ground beneath my wheels again. My vision, at first a bright blur, slowly came back into focus; sky-blue and deep green came first, followed by a deep beige that soon filtered itself into grey ballast and brown sleepers. Then there came the white of clouds, the grey of factory smoke, and the blackish grey of the steel rails I was on. By then, I could also hear my own loud huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff-huff in tune with each stroke of my rods and turn of my wheels. I looked back at Gordon again as I passed him, and I saw, to my surprise, that he had a spirited grin on his face. It was the happiest I'd ever seen him looking at me. He was soon gone behind me, as was Knapford town and the gateway that separated the junction from the open line.

I had been here once before, but I hadn't cared for the scenery. This time, it was enrapturing. I had never seen so many shades of a single color in my life, and I briefly imagined that this was what the Emerald City of Oz looked like. Furthermore, these shades were forever shifting, for the same wind that was in my face, almost stinging my lenses, was rustling the leaves all around. Aside from this, the only noise was of my own escaping steam, the occasional birdcall, and the ta-tuck ta-tuck, ta-tuck ta-tuck of the rails beneath my wheels.

In a strange way, it reminded me of the evenings when our fires were being doused and cleaned and all was slowing down for a good night's rest. Perhaps this was what encouraged me to start to let down my guard and cutoff rate alike. I caught myself each time, though, knowing I had a train to pull and didn't want to be late. But then I went back to watching those leaves, and it was so quiet, and I got so tired, but I pulled myself back up again only to stare back at the leaves. It happened at least twice- maybe four times- along my journey, and I nearly felt out of steam by the time Crosby, the quaint town with its little platform, booking office and car park by the side of the line- and our next stop- finally appeared in the distance.

The workmen had explained to me that the platform there was usually crowded with people who took the train to their Jobs in the big cities. But as I coasted sorely to a stop near the end of the platform, looking for a water crane, we couldn't help but notice that there were no passengers to be found. There were two trolleys at the ready, a janitor leaning against the office wall, sandwich in hand, and a porter waving a red flag. The janitor's eyes met mine as he chuckled to himself.

Boris stepped onto the platform impatiently. "What the devil are you laughing at?" he interrogated. "And where are all the passengers!?"

"The railway bus came and went ten minutes ago," explained the porter, gesturing to me. "Say, uh, that isn't supposed to be the Limited… is it?"

"…oh, BUGGER!"

His shout triggered a force of habit and I looked behind me.

Through the bronze rim of my cab window, the lone and level line stretched far away.

Friday: June 28, 1940 ~1:00 PM (Greenwitch Time)

Scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch.

The noise of the scrubber's stiff spindles was as irritating as always, but there was nothing else for me to focus on with my apertures shut tight to keep soap from getting in. We engines hate being dirty, sure, but we barely enjoy washdowns either. It's all too easy to get hot and bothered when you bleed steam, live on coal and give off smoke, but after spending half a day of this sort of irritation, the water they use is usually lukewarm! On bank holidays, though, Havirty has the water run through a chiller before it comes out the crane, which punctuates them for us the way children's presents punctuate Christmas. (And on snow days, he has the water heated instead, which feels just as refreshing.)

It goes without saying that we turn green with envy whenever we hear the workmen complain about cold showers.

"Okay… and now for the right tank." Scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch...

"Hnnnnnmmm," I grunted defeatedly under the soap bubbles.

"What was that?" the cleaner said, wiping my face off with a flannel.

My eyes now clear, I could see that Edward, pushing a long wagonload of chittering trucks and vans two tracks to my right, was helping the workmen arrange them into that evening's goods trains. The men would work their way up the line towards Edward, marking the numbers of the sidings the trucks were slated for on their sides with pieces of chalk. When a truck reached the junction ahead, the signalman would see the chalk markings and set the points for that siding. The truck would be uncoupled, and on the foreman's mark Edward would give a single, mighty stroke with a huff of escaping steam, sending it coasting gently on its way into the siding.

"Mark!"

"wha?-oof!ah!he-e-ey!heyheyhey!waitwaitnononoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaDHNG!"

As laughter rang through the rest of the yard, I allowed myself a quiet chuckle before turning my attention back to the cleaner.

"Oh, that was all, Miss Meriwether. Carry on."

"Look, I know it's taking a while," she replied. "But I haven't seen this much soot on an engine in months! Not since the coal fire, even." And she gave a shudder.

"It's the big engines," I explained. "They've been blowing smoke at me for forgetting the Limited."

"You didn't forget it," Meriwether corrected. "The guard did!"

I suppose nobody knows exactly what had happened that fateful morning at Knapford Station. Sir Topham Hatt told us Maxwell had opened my regulator by accident, Max said the guard had forgotten to couple me up, the guard said the stationmaster had refused to allow him to inspect the train before we left, the stationmaster said our Fat Controller had insisted that we left on the dot, and Henry, Gordon and James all said a whiny little pug just hadn't the common sense to leave well enough alone.

"Madam," said Edward, in a voice that felt like an electric blanket, "do you mind if I talked to our Number One about this?"

The old cleaner nodded understandably.

"I know how you feel, little one. This could go one of two ways: either something new comes up and they forget about the whole Limited thing, or they let it blind them to everything else that sets you apart. And already, just for being a tank engine, they think they're better than you."

"...Are they?" I posed.

"Well, I see the work you do each day out in the yard," the cleaner pitched back in, "getting everything ready for the big boys and then picking up their mess. And I think from all those years you've been doing that, it's made you the sharpest of all. I mean, they only need enough smarts to go forward 'til they see a red light. Why, I don't even think I can keep track of how many sidings there are in that blasted yard!"

"Why… thank you, Miss. I'd never thought of it that way."

"Mark!" came the order.

-huff!-

-clunk!-

"ow!he-e-ey!no!no-no-no-no-no!no-no-no-no-nonononoaaaaaaaaaah!"

The wagon slid slowly down the line, screaming to itself all the while. Edward and I chuckled again.

"And besides," continued the old craftmaster, "there's no room for a second fisheye on those big tenders of theirs. Take it from me; my fisheye peeks a bit over my own tender, but even I need my driver's help looking out behind me." Then, with a chuckle, he added, "But if you still really want to go off to war, see the world, be a hero... then I won't stop you."

"He's certainly got the courage and cheerfulness to bring us victory," Meriwether joked, remembering the poster on the station wall, "not to mention the determination. Matter of fact-" here she paused, glaring into Edward's lenses- "I wonder if you could pull some strings for us?"

"What?" started Edward, bewildered.

"Well, you've done it before," she explained. "We all know what went down between you and those union men!"

"...I suppose so. But I don’t work for free."

"I'll leave thirty pence in your cab this morning as collateral; then, when you talk it over with Havirty, you two can decide that for yourselves."

"Mark!"

"...aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"Now, Thomas…"

"Yes, Edward?"

"If I tell you how, would you be willing to try pulling another train?"

There was a long silence.

"I don't know," I answered, after giving it some thought. "Maybe? I mean, I'd love to. But what if something goes wrong again?"

"Then let me rephrase that question," said Edward slowly and clearly. "Have you become too afraid of failure to even try? Or are you still willing to open yourself up to the possibility of defeat and disgrace, all so you can travel the world and redeem yourself in the eyes of your fellow jinn?"

I didn't reply at first. In spite of himself, he began to grow impatient, and it showed in his voice as he glared back at me.

"Thomas!?"

"I'll give it a try, Edward," I determined, as he followed my gaze to the gold-peaked hill in the distance. "What have I got to lose?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Well, here's the next one! Hopefully there's enough material now to warrant some constructive criticism, because, to be honest, that's what this whole thing is really for. I'm a storyteller at heart, and I'm putting this out there to see what people think about my writing style, and how I could improve if I became a professional writer. So if you post a review, I ask you to please be thorough with it; reviews that basically go "looks cool, good job" are a dime a dozen. I don't mean to put anyone off, but if you can't offer more than that, try to hold your tongue.

And one more thing you might want to keep in mind: When I visualize the engines talking, I imagine they sound a bit like male Vocaloids- an imperfect, mechanized recreation of a human voice that may or may not come to rest in the uncanny valley. This, of course, lends additional meaning to Edward's voice being described as sounding like an electric blanket.

Enjoy!