#you /know/ i would already have 'see you space cowboy' tattooed somewhere on my body

[tls123]

i think having silly little tattoos all over my arms would fix me

[poignantpulchritude]

Silly Pleasures-Chapter 5

I starred at the text for fifteen minutes before I walked into Molly’s room. 

“I don’t know what to do,” I pouted, collapsing onto her floor like a toddler. She looked down at me from her prone position on her bed. Molly was no doubt irritated that I interrupted yet another episode of Made in Chelsea with my frequent interruptions. She should be happy I at least had clothes on this time. 

“With what?” 

Instead of answering, I shoved my phone in her direction, urging her to take it from me. She looked puzzled at the device in her hand, glancing up one moment to speak, but she decided against it and went back down to the text at hand. 

Hiya Jeanne! Interested in getting drinks Friday night???

“I’m confused,” Molly finally stated. I gave her a blank look, waiting for her to continue. Along with knowing a great deal about my life before London, Molly also knew that very few boys were in the picture ever since we started living together over a year ago. I kept my male interactions mostly virtual. Any message from a boy, besides Keith, was shocking. “Who is this anyways?” she finally asked, noticing there was no name at the top of the message

I mumbled his name under my breath. 

“Huh?” 

“Harry,” I whispered again. 

“Who the fuck is Harry?” she asked, confused. I just looked long and hard at her before something clicked in her head. She suddenly leapt up on her bed to stand, her skull almost touching the ceiling. “No!” she yelled with eyes wide and voice alarmed. “No fucking way! You’re lying! Oh, my god! Yes, yes, yes!” She continued the squealing for a few more moments before she jumped off the bed and got close to my face, kissing my checks ardently. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Help me!” I whined back at her.

“Oh, this changes everything! Okay. Okay, we can do this.” Molly took a deep inhale and exhale before continuing on. “So obviously, the answer is yes! But your-“

“I don’t think I can say yes,” I interrupted her.

“What! Why?”

“I’m so awkward around guys that are cute! You should have seen me at Dallas’s yesterday,” remembering my abnormal behavior towards Harry and feeling embarrassed all over again. 

“I’ve never understood this with you! Like…you sort of flirt for a living? May I remind you that you literally masturbate on the internet for crowds of people!”

“That’s different! They pay me and I don’t meet them!” I defended. “Besides, they are extremely horny so they are less focused on me and instead are paying attention to Phoebe, their ‘horny cum slut,’” I told her, raising the pitch of my voice to match a girly stereotype. 

“Eww stop!”

“That’s my shtick, it’s what paid for this flat!”

“But you don’t need to be so vulgar about it, I already have to hear it when I’m home,” Molly sulked. I was immediately concerned. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it bothered you that much. I’ll by some more sound proofing equipment-,” she cut me off before I could finish.

“No, it doesn’t bother me terribly. It just reminds me sometimes of how little I get shagged on the daily. And I hate the c-word.”

“Cum or cunt?”

“STOP!” 

I smiled jokingly at her at her reaction. As I spoke my next few words, my tone became more serious. “I’m just shy,” I said quietly, “He was really nice and I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t even know what ‘it’ is. To make it worse, there are so many logistical problems to even begin to fantasize about going out with him.”

“Well, you should try. Don’t count yourself out before you even know.” She gave me a sweet, yet slightly pitiful look. I so often made excuses to avoid situations that had the possibility of being painful or upsetting. If I never leave my comfort zone, nothing is scary-and I was okay with that. Molly clearly had different ideas for me. We made extended eye contact and I could tell that this was her way of urging me to take my phone from her hand.

“Should I pick the location or have him do it,” I conceded. Molly smiled brightly, before starting to draft the most appropriate response. “And you’re coming with me!”

*

“Okay, maybe we shouldn’t be doing shots in the back of the Uber, Jeanne,” Molly communicated to me on our way to a fancy bar in North London. I was taking swigs of vodka from a flask shaped like a tampon on our way to meet Harry. With the help of Molly, I was able to solidify plans with him to have drinks at a bar in his area of town. I begged Molly to come because I knew myself well enough to know that meeting Harry Styles by myself at a bar would give me severe anxiety. Though she at first was against the idea of her joining me, I could tell that she was secretly freaking out inside. Luckily, the whole hang out was more casual, with his other friends already invited. 

Even though I had backup in the form of my best friend, the liquid courage that good Russian vodka delivers could not be forgotten tonight. Molly quickly ripped the tampon from my hand as I went for a third swig. “C’mon now, you are not getting blacked out before even saying hello to him,” she chided sternly. To keep my mind off of the impending meeting, I started to fiddle aggressively with the frays in my demin shorts. Though it was September and the air was getting less and less friendly, it was hard to force myself into jeans, especially when going out drinking. Molly also encouraged me to show my personality through my clothing, so paired with the jean shorts were black cowboy boots, just in case people couldn’t get from my accent that I was American. On top, I settled on a white, long sleeve bodysuit, tight, but also practical. Molly looked much chicer than I did, in nice dark jeans and an expensive top. I looked a bit like I didn’t belong, though she assured me I stood out because I was different.  

The vodka started to buzz through my veins when the Uber pulled up in front of the cocktail bar. “Should we wait here and I’ll just text him to come out and get us?” I asked her nervously. She gave me an annoyed look before pushing me out of the car first. I took a few deep breaths before finally turning towards the bar and walking inside.

Far from your average pub, this bar was sleek, with marble counters, leather booths, and bartenders that looked down on you if you ordered well liquor. It was comfortably crowded for a Friday, with people lounging in the elegant booths all around the room. As I searched the space nervously, I heard my named yelled from somewhere to the right. I spun to see Harry walking happily towards me. I noticed that even though he was such a well-known face, few people were gawking at him as he walked over. It must be a place he frequents, I thought. 

It hurt to look at him. His hair was pushed high up his head and managed to look purposeful yet messy. My mouth dried up when he went in for a hug when he reached me. The shock I felt quickly melted away to awe when I noticed how good he smelled and felt how soft his cotton shirt was. But-

“Are you wearing a sweater vest?” I asked as I pulled back from the hug, not actually greeting him. He looked down at me, I was quite a bit shorter than he was, and smiled wide.

“It is! It’s Gucci,” he told me proudly, pointing out the animals scattered through the design. 

“Bitchin,” was my only response. Nailed it. Molly cleared her throat softly to notify Harry of her presence.

“Oh hi, I’m Harry! You would be Molly then?” Harry asked sweetly, leaning in to hug her. Molly blushed deeply as he spoke to her, trying her very best to make coherent conversation. 

After the brief introductions, he pointed towards the back corner of the room where five other people were sitting around a large, blue leather booth with drinks dispersed around the small tables before it. As we walked, I jumped slightly at the feeling of Harry’s hand lightly between my shoulders, guiding my way towards the group. My body suit was thin enough that I could feel the rings on his left hand. The pads of his fingers were rougher than I expected, surely calloused from frequent guitar playing. I covertly turned my head to look back at Molly behind us to see her mouthing words of encouragement and clapping excitedly. I did my best to hold in the shiver of excitement, not wanting him to feel just how jumpy he was making me.  

“Everyone, this is Jeanne and Molly! We have here, Sara, Pixie, Francis, and then Nick and Eliot, who you’ve met Jeanne.” I wasn’t sure if our brief interactions were really considered meeting, but I smiled politely anyways and waved at the group. “Did you want a Mule?” Harry asked me as we took a seat and he caught the attention of a waiter. Molly sat down strategically, ensuring that I sat next to Harry near the end of the booth so she could prevent me from avoid Harry’s questions or jumping into conversations with other people. 

“Oh, sure, that sounds great,” I smiled up at the waiter. Once he left, I looked back at Harry and muttered, “You remembered.”

“How could I forget the girl with the crazy tattoo and three condoms,” he responded, amused. 

“Well, I only have one tonight so I’m breaking protocol.” I wanted to slap myself in the face at my words, but he seemed to enjoy the banter, eyes crinkling with laughter. I relaxed a bit, reveling in the knowledge that my random bursts of wit were pleasant to him.

“So, you said you are a model? Will I be seeing you in any shows soon?” He asked politely, trying to make genuine conversation about London Fashion Week starting in a few days.

“Definitely not!” I laughed, passing off my discomfort for humility. “I do, alternative modeling I guess,” I replied, as vaguely as possible. “Not runway.” He opened his mouth to clarify my answer when a Moscow Mule was placed in front of me. I took that distraction as an opportunity to move on. “I am a student though.”

“Oh really, what are you studying?” he inquired, sufficiently interested enough that the modeling questions seemed done for. 

“Getting a PhD in History,” I affirmed proudly. His thick eyebrows rose, clearly impressed at my words. 

“Well that tattoo really makes sense now,” he pointed to my left arm where my snake tattoo was hidden beneath fabric.

“Yup, thinking about Ben Franklin gets me wet.” 

Harry choked on the beer he was swallowing as I spoke and I couldn’t help but giggle. Molly whipped her head away from a conversation with Pixie to glare at me. I ducked my head in shame at her gaze. “Oh shit, sorry Harry. I’m really vulgar on a normal day, it only gets worse when I-,”

“You’re good, you’re good,” he laughed, finally catching his breath. “Just a bit shocked is all.” I smiled awkwardly. “Speaking of tattoos, how’s Cecilia?”

“Oh, she’s good! Healing up nicely I think. How does Eliot like his tattoo?” I asked, referring his friend across the table. 

“It’s fantastic! I’ll have to head back to that shop for some work sometime.”


“Absolutely, they are brilliant.”

“You and your tattoo artist seemed very close, do you go to him often?”

“Yea, he’s done all of my tattoos here in London. That’s probably why we started dating.”

An awkward pause followed. That comment was a mistake on my part.

“Oh, you have a boyfriend?”

“No, no, no. I should have clarified, we dated for about a month around January.” 

“Cool, cool,” Harry said slowly.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked politely, though I already knew the answer. 

“Uh, no. That ended a while ago.” Harry’s tone became tinged with sadness at his own words. 

In an effort to liven up the mood I responded, “Well, I don’t have a girlfriend either so we are in the same boat there.” That brought Harry mostly out of his obvious stupor, I could see his shoulders relax again.

“What is your favorite vulgar word?” Harry asked out of nowhere.

“I’m sorry?” I replied confused, tripping on the switch of conversation back to myself.

“You called yourself really vulgar, and saying you’re wet isn’t terribly vulgar. You can do better than that I’m sure.” My eyes widened at his words. I could not understand why this was the conversation he wanted to have. If Molly was in-between us, she surely would have pulled me aside and scolded me for even thinking of responding. But, alas, Molly was three people away.

“Okay, but are you prepared for how much you will cringe?” I asked him, getting excited from the alcohol in my veins. These types of conversations relaxed me immensely, I felt like I was talking to a close friend-not a godly man in a sweater vest that smelled like summer fruit. 

“Bring it on.”

“Okay, so it’s my favorite because it’s used as a term of endearment. Just remember that, to me, it is an endearing phrase.” Harry looking at me in anticipation, nodding at my qualifying statement. Instead of blurting it out in front of all of his friends, I leaned over to whisper in his ear. 

“Oh, not this again!” Harry noted loudly, before I could speak, referencing our first meeting at Paradise. I playfully slapped his shoulder and he grinned back at me. As I leaned towards his ear I was thankful that he could not see the flush in my cheeks in response to his smile. The heat was radiating off of his skin as I whispered the vulgarity in his ear. As soon as the last syllable left my lips, he slammed his drink down on the table, inadvertently getting everyone else’s attention. “How is that endearing? Who calls you that?” he asks shocked. From my peripheral, I saw Molly lean her head down on her hand in embarrassment. I could tell she knew what we were talking about, clearly not meeting her standards of sweet, date conversation. 

“I have lots of fans,” I responded humorously. 

Harry leaned closer to me, blocking the view the others in our group had of my face. He attempted to make his face stern, but his voice was light as he said, “Now listen, you aren’t actually a prostitute, right? I can’t be catching a charge; my second album still has a few months to go.” I cackled at his words and pushed him lightly again.

“No, I’m not, stop with that now,” I playfully chided. 

Harry looked at me silently for another moment before continuing. “I knew that night at Paradise you weren’t behaving that way just because you were drunk.”

“What do you mean?”

“All flirty! I thought for a minute at Union Jack that I completely misread you, but now I can tell I’m right.” 

Choosing to brush over the knowledge that Harry thought I was flirting, albeit effectively, I fell into the trap to flirt more. “How do you know I’m not drunk right now?” I asked, feeling the alcohol in my veins, but knowing full well that I was far from drunk. He did not respond, and instead gave me a knowing look. I shrugged, “Well, I did take shots in the car on the way here,” and took a big sip of my own drink. Harry bellowed out a laugh in response. 

*

Around 11, I felt it was time to depart from the bar and head home. Molly gave me pointers before meeting Harry that I should ‘leave him wanting more’ which meant leaving before he got tired. In an interesting turn of events, the vulgar conversation with Harry completely erased my nerves. The entire rest of the night I teased and giggled with him like we knew each other years prior. It was so weird, at one point, I entirely forgot he was a famous millionaire, only noticing because of the radio DJ sat beside him. He just became Harry. When I stood to leave, I accidentally brushed against Harry’s hand that was outstretched to place his glass down. This left a trail of goosebumps from the edge of my shorts down to my right knee up. I felt giddy.

The entire group walked outside together to wait for cars and to say proper goodbyes, free of the more confined space. Molly ended up bonding with Harry’s group, getting the numbers of everyone and promising to pass them onto me. Even though these people were also well known socialites, I felt completely comfortable in their presence. Harry did not strike me as someone to hang out with people he did not truly enjoy being around. Our car arrived first, just as I was finishing up hugs, ending with Harry. I was enveloped in his warmth again and his arms were tighter on me than earlier in the night. “Are you sure you don’t want to pop by Nick’s?” he asked, my stomach fluttering at the hopeful tone in his voice. I needed to keep him on his toes and I also knew I should really get home and get online. Bills do not magically pay themselves and nights were my most lucrative times for work. I shook my head. 

“I should really get back home, I’ve got some work to do,” keeping it as ambiguous as I could. He released me as I moved to get into the car behind Molly. “Bye Harry.”

“See you soon, cum bucket!” 

“Harry!” I squealed, looking back at him, as Molly roughly pulled me into the car. I could see through the windows of the car his beaming smile, so I decided to roll the window down and stick my middle finger outside. I heard a loud, hiccupping laugh on the sidewalk in response. Delighted and giggling, I turned back fully into the car to see Molly glaring at me.

“Cum bucket? Really J?” I heard the Uber driver snort in front of us, but try to hide it with a cough. I didn’t respond to Molly, choosing to lean my head onto her shoulder and muffle bits of my laughter. I slowly felt her body shake too. “You’re so nasty, but I guess he is too,” Molly said, laughter and awe in her voice. “But, Jesus, how is that endearing?”

[baconwaffle2016]

[NNT Sin Week, Day 1: Meliodas] Firefly AU: “No Power in the ‘Verse”

So, it was basically a tie between the Hogwarts AU, something canon, and the Firefly AU. The Firefly AU won.

If you don’t know about Firefly or Serenity, just think cowboy/pirates in space. Who also intermingle Mandarin with their speech, because of backstory reasons. There’s a wiki out in the ‘verse somewhere, it won’t be hard to find.

Some glossary on the Mandarin phrases that are used here. Most are from the television show, one I picked up by looking up Chinese profanity on google. That being said, it is likely very inaccurate and I apologize in advance.

Ta ma de – basically, “damn it”

Go-se (or just go se) – “dog crap/shit”

baobei – “sweetheart”

goo yang – “motherless goats”

chi shi – “eat shit”

dong-ma – “understand,” usually in a question

And my favorite one, so far…

Cào nǐ zǔ zōng shí bā dài – “fuck your ancestors to the 18th century”

I hope you enjoy!

Meliodas was brought from his thoughts when a rag was put to his back, damp with cleaning alcohol, and he hissed as pain seared through him. It hadn’t been long since the last battle on-world, so the knife wound was still fresh and bloody, but he’d live. The bastard that done this to him didn’t though, heh—

He let out a groan he couldn’t bite back or muffle as the rag pressed into him again, agony fraying his nerves. He closed green eyes and sharply inhaled a breath, then hissed it out. When he opened his eyes again, he glared ahead.

“Ta ma de, woman,” he growled, his gaze shifting to nearly glare behind him. “You tryin’ finish the job?”

The hand holding the rag still rubbed at the wound, but at a lighter touch, hinting at apologetic. But still, she said, “Please, you’re fine. You’re just being a baby.”

“Are you always this charming with your patients, or am I just that gorram special?”

“You’re one of the few soldiers in this damn platoon who’s on my slab the most. If anything, I have to question how highly you regard me.”

Meliodas snorted, his mouth quirking into a smirk. He rolled the shoulder that wasn’t wounded, but still aching from atrophy, and then sat up straight from his previous cringing position. Raising a brow, he said wryly, “Maybe I wouldn’t have to see you like this if you let me visit you.” 

She sighed out a near laugh, sardonic but musical. She patted the knife wound again before removing the rag, and then rubbing in a salve to heal the damaged tissue. Then she took out a needle and thread, and began to gently suture the wound; she placed her free hand on his unwounded shoulder for leverage.

“This is where I work, Mel. It’s not exactly a place for a rendezvous,” she told him. 

Meliodas smiled and placed his hand over hers, his fingers gently stroking her skin. Her hands weren’t as smooth as they were a year and a half ago—these weren’t just hands that healed anymore, they’d learned to harm others too, with guns and knives and even by curling into fists that slammed into jaws like lightning cracking rock—but he still reveled in the softness that remained. He turned and tilted his head to lay kisses along the back of her hand. When he heard her soft intake of breath, hardly a gasp, he smirked and lingered his lips on her wrist bone. 

“We can meet in my tent,” he offered. 

“I-I, that’s, I mean,” she stammered before clearing her throat and saying, in a tone that carried the authority of a soldier, “Absolutely not!”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble, I can just kick Ban out.”

“Th-that’s not the point!”

“There’s also a pretty decent inn back in town. Roaches don’t even look that big—” 

“Oh, gorram it, Meliodas!” 

“—and maybe eat a meal that isn’t canned beans, for once,” he added with a dry chuckle, even as his stomach clenched in longing.

(Damn it, he just wanted this war to end already, and finally be free to live without the rutting Alliance holding him and everyone else down.) 

She sighed and nearly bit out, her Londinium accent beginning to bleed through, “Meliodas, I have to stitch this up properly so you can heal.” 

“Eh, you always do it shiny-like, no matter what.” 

She said nothing to that, instead seemed to focus on finishing the stitch. When at the end of the suture, she snapped the thread and tied it off. Then she let out a sigh that sounded satisfied and then dabbed the stitch with another salve to clot the wound. After a pause, Meliodas rolled his shoulders experimentally. The wound would smart for a few days, but it was more or less good as new.

He finally turned to look at her, to watch as she washed her hands in the sink. She was dressed in a loose purple button down with a brown leather vest clasped tight to her and a pair of beige pants that were pulled taut to her body in a way that made heat tingle up his spine. When she turned around to face him with those eyes, big and blue like the ocean but bright like a star, and that slight curve of her mouth—Meliodas won’t lie, it made his heart go a little wild. Someone like her had no right to look so shiny, not during a war like this.

No star in the ‘verse could shine as bright as her. 

As if she’d read his mind, pink rose to her cheeks, the blue in her eyes flaring self-consciously.  

“What?” she asked, then glanced down at herself. “What’s wrong?” 

Meliodas leaned back on his elbows, regarding her with a warm smile. “Nothing. Just thinking about what I’ll be doing after the war.” 

She scoffed, then while rolling her eyes, she placed her hands on her hips. Those same hips rolled to the side, cocking in a gesture that read irritation, but made Meliodas grin regardless.

“And what exactly will you be doing after the war?” was her question, her right brow giving a wry quirk.

Meliodas smirked and spun around to face her, legs hanging over the slab, and reached out to loop his index and middle fingers through the loops of her trousers and tug her to him. She kept frowning, even as the blush on her cheeks darkened to red, but stepped closer.

“I actually want to set up a bar somewhere on the outer planets. Maybe on Whitefall, or Persephone,” said Meliodas, while settling one hand on her waist and stroking his thumb against her hip. His smile towards her turned warm. “I was thinking maybe you could join me.”

She laughed, then placed her hands on his shoulders, drawing close enough to nearly brush her forehead against his. Her smile was wistful, as if in memory. 

“That does sound nice,” she said. Then she smirked. “But what would I do? Wait on customers in my scrubs?”

Meliodas cringed, mocked a gag. “Oh, ew. No way, that’s not nearly sexy enough. Nurse uniform or bust.” 

“I’m a trauma surgeon.”

“Ruttin’ good one too. But if you’re gonna be my waitress, you gotta wear somethin’ to show a bit of that skin—y’know, for tips.” 

“Yeah, because it’s not for your benefit or anything.”

“Absolutely not,” he claimed, already thinking of what hot number she’d look best in. “Customers’ needs gotta be met first.” 

“It’s nice to know that this future you picture of us has me retaining such dignity,” she replied flatly. 

Meliodas snickered and hugged her close enough for him to turn his head and leave kisses along her neck. She giggled but then tried to push him away.

“No, stop, I’m still mad at you, you piece of go-se!” 

“Yeah?” He smiled and trailed kisses up to her jaw, then around to her mouth. “What can I do to make you happy?” 

“How about not getting knifed in a fight with the Alliance?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? War scars are the new tattoos, baobei.”

She let out a groan and tipped her head back. Then when she faced him again, despite her scowl, she grasped the sides of his neck and leaned in to kiss him. Her mouth was soft and moved over his in a way that implied everything but anger; he groaned and answered the kiss with his own, one hand moving to rest on her back while the other went to thread through her short hair (silver, like starlight). 

Before the kiss could deepen, she parted from him and looked at him with watery blue eyes—a vulnerability she rarely showed anymore, since she joined the Independents—and bit her lip. 

“Just promise me you’ll come out of Serenity Valley in one piece,” she said. 

Meliodas paused, unsure what to promise. In a war, even one on the brink of ending, the future was always uncertain. He didn’t want to open either of their hearts with pretty promises, only to pierce them with regrets. But he hated it when she felt unsure, when she felt scared. In the time since they’ve known each other, which many will argue had been short, he had grown incredibly in tune with her. Sometimes, when they were sharing a bed and whispering secrets beneath sheets, Meliodas swore even their hearts were in sync.

(Stupid. So fucking stupid…)

“I promise that I’ll do my best to, that we both leave here alive,” he decided. Then after a thought, he added, “And maybe Ban, because we could use a family pet.”

She snorted, then began giggling so hard her nose pinched cutely. Meliodas smiled back and closed his eyes. She had such a beautiful smile…

 …

 …

 …

 …

 There was a daze, a vision of black—blacker than the vast cold, some might argue—and with that came the sounds, that of gunfire, explosions, cries of pain, and yells to “Fall back, fall back, gorram it!” and of course, the sound of ships touching down. The sounds were muted, and with the darkness overwhelming his mind, it felt like he was drowning. But there was one sound, one voice that rang out clearer than the others—just like always. 

“…Mel.” 

He clenched his eyes tightly closed. No. 

“Mel? What’s going on…?” 

Please. 

“—Meliodas!” 

Just be quiet, for once, he prayed, even as his mouth opened to rasp, like a scripted line he’d long memorized, “…I’m so sorry, baobei. We lost.” 

“…Captain?” 

Meliodas woke with a gasp, his green eyes snapping wide open. He blinked, put his vision into focus, and he realized he had fallen asleep atop the kitchen table while using his folded arms as a makeshift pillow. His mouth tasted sour, his throat was dry, and his head throbbed in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time. Groaning, he ran his hands through his hair and grasped the side of his head. What happened last night?

A near snarling snore from across the table. Meliodas glanced to see Ban leaning back against a chair, empty bottle still in hand. Then, it all came back. 

(“To Unification Day!” Ban slurred, his grin bitter and eyes red from lack of sleep—neither he nor Meliodas ever slept well in the days leading to the end of the War—and his right hand (no longer flesh, but metal, because most of his arm had to be amputated to let him live) holding an amber bottle of a liquid that could probably shrivel the paint on the ship. “May those gorram goo yang chi shi for the rest of their days!”

Meliodas snickered, then held up his own bottle as he claimed, “To the Alliance, the biggest sons of bitches on this side of the ‘verse. Cào nǐ zǔ zōng shí bā dài!”

“Ooh, that was a good one, Cap~”

“I try.”

Sharing sardonic grins, they clinked their bottles together and drank to their defeat, their misery, and those they lost in the War. They continued to drink and talk into the night, probably keeping up many members of the crew but not really caring, emptying bottle after bottle—except one, which stood at the end of the table, in front of an empty chair.

That bottle was for—) 

“…Elizabeth.”

Meliodas snapped his head around to face the doorway into the dining room. There stood Elaine, her expression blank and her gaze clouded; the dress she was wearing was a loose sundress, likely something she borrowed from Diane, and on her feet was a pair of combat boots. She was a young woman of at least twenty-one, with wide caramel eyes and a baby face that made her look younger than she was, along with her petite form. He stared at her with wide green eyes.

“How do you know that name?” he asked, his voice cold and holding a danger he couldn’t hold back. No one should know that name, much less anyone on his crew; no one except Ban. “How—?”

“You were calling for her, all night,” said Elaine, her voice calm, almost in a daze. As his eyes narrowed, she lifted a hand to poke her head with her finger. “From in here.” 

Meliodas remained silent, except for the deep inhale and exhales he released to keep his calm. It’s not her fault, he reminded himself with clenched teeth. The Alliance did this to her.

It didn’t make him feel any less hurt though, which he hated. Once upon a time, her name brought joy and hope for a future; now, just hearing her name felt like shrapnel embedding into his chest. Like a war wound that flared up occasionally, a reminder of what had once been. And knowing what had happened to Elaine didn’t make her piercing stare any less unnerving. Meliodas quickly turned away and got up from his seat, walking around to where Ban was still sleeping.

“Don’t ever say that name again, dong-ma?” He ordered her. “And please, try not to read my mind. You won’t like all you find in there.”

Elaine kept staring. He didn’t turn to see her, but he could feel her stare. 

“Brother needs to see you on the bridge. He says that we got a wave from Gowther, who got some information from a client,” she said. “Says that we have a job.” 

“…Tell your brother I’ll be there in a bit. Thank you.” 

She stared at him some more, making Meliodas’ neck tingle with discomfort, despite knowing he shouldn’t feel this way.

(Go-se, though. What did those bastards do to her?) 

Meliodas wondered for a moment before shaking his head. That question wasn’t for him to ask, let alone investigate. She’s not his sister, after all; as captain, his responsibility over her only goes so far.  Honestly, if her brother wasn’t such a skilled pilot, Elaine and Harlequin probably would have been marooned on a dusty moon somewhere. Meliodas placed his hand on Ban’s good shoulder and shook him awake.

“What, what, what’s going on?” Ban cried out in a panic, his eyes for a moment in a furious daze, forgetting where he was. Then he blinked at Meliodas and calmed down, his shoulders slumping like he was holding the world. With an exhale, he leaned forward and threaded his metal hand through his hair. “Shit…probably shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

“C’mon,” Meliodas said, patting his shoulder again. “Gowther’s on the Cortex. He’s got news ‘bout a job.”

“Oh, awesome~” Ban giggled rather madly and rubbed his hands. “Money, money, money—”

“—Which you’ll be sharing a percentage of with the rest of the crew.”

“Aw, Cap’n!” 

“That’s how it is.”

“Fine,” Ban groaned and walked out of the kitchen/dining area.

Meliodas began to follow but paused when he passed the untouched bottle from the night before, the bottle that should have been hers. After some thought, he reached out and took the bottle. He stared at it for a moment before reaching for it and taking a swig, then another. Once the bottle was empty, he nearly slammed it back down on the table and went off to run his ship.