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tracybirds · 3 years

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I can officially switch the status of Being Known from “stuck” to “WIP” again :) It’s been over a year since the last update for various reasons but I’m very excited to go back to this one and provide a new chapter!

For those new to the story, this was prompted by @kenzie-running-free in March 2020 and slightly got out of hand 😅 I’ve never stopped thinking about it and I bit the bullet and deleted the entirety of Chapter Four a few days ago and let myself rewrite it from scratch.... and it WORKED!!! (use technique with caution... scariest thing I’ve ever done.....)

Anyway...

A ‘what-if’ story based on “The Man From TB5” where the Hood recognized John in the scene when he makes himself known (instead of John stuttering).... and then he gets kidnapped :)

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

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Darkness bled into John’s line of vision and he scrubbed desperately at his aching eyes. Time collapsed around him as he worked, the abruptly extinguished bulb the only hint of night. And every new day seemed to bring new weariness as he jolted awake by the sudden onslaught of light which interrupted the deepest part of sleep.

Just another tactic to keep him from gathering his wits together.

This morning, if it was morning, the brightly burning bulb was coupled with the scraping sound of a breakfast tray being shoved through the small slot that had been crudely and hastily carved in the door after he’d lain in wait and brought the tray down over one of the guard’s head. He’d left the man stunned on the floor and made it all the way to the end of the corridor before another guard had grabbed him from behind and thrown him bodily back into the room.

He’d woken to security footage of a fire ravaging a building, his own family on screen.

“They’re not looking for you,” sneered the Hood as he swept from the room.

No guards came in anymore.

Two days later, he’d been savagely poked in the eye when he’d tried to look through the new slot that had been hastily added to his door.

He spent hours every day, searching for a way to send out a message, or even create another receiver. Any link to the outside world would do. But it soon became apparent that the Hood had done one thing right in giving him access to an isolated system, keeping the holomonitor he’d been provided with separate even from his own devices.

One thing right among many.

John peered at the screen with his good eye, wincing at the torn skin that pulled over bruised muscle. His head spun as he stared at the endless commands, trying to replicate the spark of life no-one had ever found before EOS.

Not even him.

And that was the rub of it all.

John didn’t know, not after all his time studying EOS and her abilities, just how she’d been born of code and logical absolutes. How she could grow and change and evaluate her own mind in a way that not only seemed human, but was unquestionably so.

He glanced at the clock he’d created from scratch, counting the oscillations in the electrical current and spitting back a digital time at him. This ‘morning’ truly did correspond with the morning, and that meant the Hood would be paying him a visit for an update.

He wasn’t sure how much more time he could stall for until things got truly desperate.

How much time he had until he had to conclude that he was truly on his own.

* * *

“Scott, the floor’s unstable there!”

“I know what I’m doing, Alan.”

“Yes, but I have the numbers,” Alan replied, his voice cracking as he spoke. He spun the holo in his hands, checking and double checking the analysis that was running under his fingertips.

“Then the numbers are wrong.”

“They can’t be!”

“Alan,” said Scott, patiently. “I need you to check the parameters over again. I’m seeing two trapped vehicles, with no sign of ground stress, both much larger than me and more importantly containing passengers. I need to get them out of there.”

“Yes, but hang on–”

“There’s no time!”

Alan watched in horror as his big brother barrelled forwards. He crouched low as he ran, grabbing at nearby pylons for support. The ground heaved beneath his feet, but still Scott moved forwards steady and sure. Always with his eyes on the scared little boy in the back seat and a gentle smile on his face.

An alert ticked over into the red.

“Jump, Scott!” he yelled, watching the model floor cave in a split second before a real sinkhole opened beneath Scott’s feet.

“Alan, what’s happening up there?” came Virgil’s urgent voice, bound for home with Gordon from their own rescue.

Alan flipped the channel, realising in his hurry he’d accidentally broadcast his message to everyone.

“He’s fine,” he said, eyes still wide as he watched Scott shakily stand on the other side of the chasm. “The floor went.”

“What?”

“He’s fine, he’s fine!”

“Didn’t you run the simulation?”

“I did,” said Alan, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “He wouldn’t listen.”

Silence fell over the space station.

“Hey Alan, can you pilot Thunderbird One over to us? Got my hands full here.”

Scott’s voice rang out loud and clear. Five clear thermal images were standing around him, including one in his arms.

Alan fumbled for the call button.

“F.A.B. Scott.”

“I’ll talk to him, Alan,” said Virgil. His eyes were focused beyond him, but Alan could read the quiet fury beneath the clear focus on his own piloting.

“I can’t do it, Virgil,” whispered Alan. “I must have done something wrong, there must have been something he could see that I couldn’t.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” interrupted Virgil.

“He never would have done this to…”

Alan’s voice failed him.

Twenty-two thousand miles below, Virgil choked back his own distress. Gordon was chewing at his lip, staring anxiously at Alan. He leaned forward so he was in view of the holo.

“Hey, Allie,” he said. “John’s gonna be okay. And he’ll be giving Scott hell for ignoring the modelling like that soon enough.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Absolutely, I do,” said Gordon, cracking a grin. “No way, John would let Scott get away with that crap. Not even if he had to haunt him for the rest of his life in ghostly fury to do it.”

“Is he wrapping up now?” asked Virgil, eyes still pinched.

Alan looked down at the display.

“Yeah, he’s on his way home.”

“Right. EOS?”

“Virgil?” Her quiet voice was sullen and more than a little distracted.

“Got room in your processors for another task?”

EOS’s lights flashed suddenly, and Alan’s blood ran cold at the sight. Three weeks he’d been stationed on board Thunderbird Five and he still found himself walking on eggshells around EOS. Her frustration at turning up nothing in the holonet that could lead them closer to John morphed quickly from long, silent sulks to short outbursts of flying bagels and spinning gravity rings. He’d never forgotten the sight of John floating limply like a rag doll that had been torn apart one too many times by a playful, thoughtless, destructive child.

An angry EOS felt too close to losing his brother for good.

“Will it help, John?”

“It’ll keep his brother alive, and that will make it more likely for us to find him.”

“What can I do?”

“Lock Scott out of his controls, Order TB2-5711FR. Make sure Alan gets to Tracy Island before him. Redirect all calls to local authorities in the first instance, follow Protocol 24.”

“I’m not leaving,” argued Alan. “Don’t pull me from duty, I can do better.”

“No arguments.”

Alan wilted, knowing he had no choice but to follow Virgil’s instructions.

“This is done, Virgil,” said EOS, blankly.

“Thank you, EOS,” said Virgil, his manner still stiff and terse. He shifted his gaze from the open ocean in front of him to Alan, his expression softening. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Alan. If Scott takes his life into his own hands, that’s not on you. But we can’t have him in the field like that, cutting corners to get back to finding John. So, we need you down here in his place.”

“You can’t pull Scott,” said Alan, his eyes wide. “What would… well, what would Scott say?”

“We’re doing him a favour,” remarked Gordon with a sarcastic twist of his lips that made a mockery of his usual grin. “He wants to find John, we all do, but if he’s willing to risk lives and rescues to do it then he should put his energy into searching and we shouldn’t stop him.”

Alan swallowed, his eyes filling with tears that he angrily swiped away.

“Does he think we’re not looking just as hard?” he asked. “We haven’t forgotten him. Have we?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alan,” said Virgil, firmly. “John would have our heads before we put the possibility of finding him above the certainty of ignoring people who need our help.”

“So, we keep going out there,” agreed Gordon. “And when, when Allie, Kayo and Lady P and Parker find something, and they will, we’ll be right there without a moment to lose.”

“I just don’t want him to think we’ve forgotten him.”

“John’s too smart for that,” said Gordon. “Promise you, Allie.”

* * *

He’d worked it out. Every time he did something to anger the Hood, innocent people paid for it in blood. There was no point in harming him directly, not when what the Hood wanted was inside his mind, ripe for extraction. But his heart and spirit could be broken, as a video feed periodically forced itself over his work to make him watch. Earthquakes, landslides, tidal waves, anything that would get International Rescue on the scene and off his scent.

Senseless destruction and despair epidemic across the world because he couldn’t make an AI fast enough.

But senseless destruction that he could use.

There was no doubt in his mind that his family knew the natural disasters were anything but, he could see it in the determined fury in Scott’s face, in the tense draw of Virgil’s shoulders, in the sardonic mockery in Gordon’s smile as he quietly pocketed yet another piece of equipment.

He didn’t see Alan, and he thought of his baby brother up in space often. None of his brothers had any real idea of the full extent of his contribution, no matter how grateful they were for his guidance, and he hated to know Alan would be forced into that knowledge.

He also suspected that when Alan did spill the beans, he’d find his own rotations scrutinised with a lot more care.

Still, the limited glimpses of his brothers did nothing to discourage him, and he found himself contemplating a plan of escape well into the long, cold nights.

He needed more information.

He needed access to an external holonet connection. And the only way he’d get near one was with a working AI.

Or something that could pass for a few minutes as one.

#john tracy #alan tracy #all the bros are there but these are our main perspectives today #thunderbirds are go #sometimes i fic #i need to update ao3 again don't i.....

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fandom-necromancer · 3 years

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A matter of comfort

This was prompted by the amazing @iamsofternow ! I hope you enjoy! This story involves trans topics. As I’m not trans myself, please tell me if anything I wrote is wrong or could hurt someone! I will change/delete it!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: implied body disphoria, trans character written by a non-trans author)

Nines was running just behind Gavin following the fugitive android. He cursed as he should have caught up to the criminal long ago, hadn’t it been for the fugitive’s companion who had nearly ripped his left leg from its socket as he had interfaced to induce stasis for later arrest. Like this, he could only keep up with his human partner that was blocking his sight remaining surprisingly on the optimal path to catch up even with the faster model. Right as they turned the corner though, Nines got a good view of their fugitive, who had turned in just the right way to pull out a pistol from his side. Although the supposed weapon was still masked behind his body, Nines had already pre-constructed the probability of the bullet hitting his partner. So, right when he exited his pre-construction software, he shouted: ‘Gavin! To the left! Now!’

The exact second, he shouted “now” the bang of the pistol being fired echoed through the air and Gavin jumped aside and out of the way. Nines realised three outcomes next: First of all: Gavin would survive. Secondly, the bullet would hit him instead, directly into his thirium pump, causing him to bleed out and overheat in mere seconds. And lastly: His momentary momentum was too high to break or redirect in his weakened and damaged state, causing him to run directly into the railing, tip over it and fall into Detroit River. That didn’t mean he tried to stop that outcome anyways, hoping for that few percent chance the universe would align to save him.

But in the end, it was futile, as he felt his body fall and saw the water rushing closer. All he could do was shutting down before the water would cause him to short-circuit and hope that someone would care enough to fish him out of the river.

‘Nines!’ Gavin had jumped to the side as soon as the android had said something and only started running again, as he registered Nines had been shot in his place. He watched as the android stumbled forwards, trying hard to halt before the railing, but even to the human it was obvious he wouldn’t make it with the way his left leg slipped under his weight. He had to watch as the android toppled over, desperately trying to reach for the vertical bars but hands grasping only air. And then he disappeared.

An agonisingly long moment later, Gavin found himself at the very same railing, leaning over and staring down at the splash that was the only evidence Nines hadn’t just simply disappeared into thin air. ‘Nines!’ Could androids swim? Was Nines light enough so it was even possible? Was he even waterproof? How severe had the wound been? Would he survive this? He was short of jumping himself, but held himself back, calling backup instead. He informed them of what had happened, that their fugitive had escaped and was armed. ‘I need a technician here. And… A diver probably. As soon as possible!’

About an hour later, Gavin stood at the side of a scene that could have been finny hadn’t it been his partner: A tow truck had parked at the edge of the pier and pulled up Nines’ motionless body with a wench. A team of technicians as well as a group of the experts that had worked on the sole prototype’s development had gathered around the truck and got to work immediately as soon as the android was lowered to the ground. Multiple cables were hooked up to his neck port while others carefully opened as many compartments manually as they could to let the water out. The partial reactivation half an hour later made Gavin hope for good news, but the technicians shook their heads.

‘What?! What is it?’ ‘He shut down before hitting the water, that’s good. His memory core is likely the best protected part of him, therefore it is still intact. The person you got to know is still there.’ ‘I hear a but coming’, Gavin sighed. ‘Yes. He won’t be able to use this body. The damage is too intense. He will need almost a full body replacement and as he is the only unit ever developed, we can’t just put him in a new one. We will have to contact people that have already resigned if they haven’t fled the city after the revolution. It will take a long time until we are finished rebuilding him.’

Gavin’s face fell. ‘How long are we talking here?’ ‘At least six months. Likely more if we don’t have all the blueprints readily available. Some of it was top-secret and some only Kamski’s AI had access to.’ ‘So effectively, Nines is dead for the next six months, possibly more?’ ‘We will try our best to come up with a solution.’

That was about all of an explanation Gavin got as the technicians carried Nines over to a van, laid him down in the transport area and drove off after leaving their contact details with Fowler, who had only just arrived at the scene. He stood there, answering his Captain’s questions once again and then returned to the precinct where he was supposed to carry on with his job. Because Nines was in repair and taken care of and he would recover eventually. Seemingly only Gavin sat there staring at the empty chair and worrying how the hell he was supposed to continue like this without his partner, a pain in the ass but still by now a person he considered a friend or at least acquaintance, missing for half a year.

When Nines stood in front of the station, he felt uncomfortable. Not only because of the attention his unannounced visit would likely cause, but also because of his body. His old clothes stretched in places it hadn’t before, his considerably weaker state compared to his old one was unsettling, and his perspective had changed too. He was looking at the world from a point far lower now. It was an overall weird feeling.

He entered the lobby and walked up to the reception, grimacing as he pulled out his badge and pass. ‘Hello. I’m Detective Nines, I’d like to talk to Fowler.’ He cringed at the high pitch in his voice he couldn’t modulate like he could do with his own. The android behind the counter frowned, so Nines extended his hand – so much smaller and more defined, almost sculpted – for an interface. Soon after, the receptionist smiled at him the next second and let him pass the security gate.

Nines directly marched towards the glass cube of Fowler’s office, ignoring the confused faces of his colleagues. He tried to walk with just as much confidence as he always had, but it was difficult now that he had everyone’s attention. The only reason he wasn’t stopped by any of them was that the receptionist obviously had let him pass and not activated any alarm yet. He sighed, entering the glass cube and waiting for Fowler to get off his phone call. What was nearly immediately happening.

‘Who are you? What are you doing here? Who let you in?’ ‘I’m Nines’, he declared, handing over his badge and service weapon. ‘I think I’ll have some explaining to do.’

Gavin had watched the foreign woman walk into the bullpen like it was nothing out of the ordinary. He exchanged glances with Chris and Tina, who both just shrugged and looked back to the reception. But as no one came running after her, they just collectively frowned and waited for what would happen next. At least the woman seemed to know exactly where to go and she headed directly for Fowler’s office. Maybe someone from the higher ups? But she was an android… Not to be racist, but most of them hadn’t yet made it so far up the ladder, even with the new regulations in place. He watched her enter the office and hand an object over, then the glass frosted over for privacy, leaving them wonder but soon getting back to their work.

‘Everyone!’ Gavin’s head lifted up from the paper he was working on to look towards the stairs in front of the glass cube. Fowler was standing next to the woman and Gavin froze. That could only mean… Had they replaced Nines already? He had only been gone for a week and a half. ‘This is Nines. Cyberlife found a way to transfer him into a new body, so he isn’t missing life for half a year. I expect you to treat him the same way you did before and help him to adapt the best he can. Now back to work.’

Gavin always prided himself to be unphased by almost everything. This though? This had his mouth gaping in surprise. And he wasn’t the only one. But of course, the woman – Nines – was approaching their desk already, and he forced himself to stand up and keep his face under control. ‘Nines?’ ‘Yes.’ Gavin had to look really intently to notice it, but the way the woman looked to the ground ashamed or maybe embarrassed had something entirely Nines to it. ‘Yes, it is me.’ ‘Holy shit, it’s nice to see you’re still alive’, Gavin sighed as even considering everything, this had been the most important thing. ‘What- How- They told me it would take over six months!’ ‘Yes, I was informed. My own body will indeed need more time to be repaired. About that time actually. But for the time being, they transferred me into this tracy model.’ ‘A tracy?’ ‘They are the only ones that are compatible with my programming.’ ‘Would have thought they’d put you in a RK800.’ ‘We have a similar architecture, yes. But only Tracies are able to freely download additional data and programs outside of their own… purpose and are the only android model aside from custom ones that allow intense modification. My personality isn’t that extensive, but my military programming is. Therefore, they put me into this body.’ ‘Well, it’s good to have you back’, Gavin stammered. ‘I… I don’t know if I’m so happy about it. Maybe just waiting those months would have been better. At least for me. I wouldn’t have noticed the time.’ ‘Then why didn’t you do that?’ Nines stepped from one foot to the other. ‘I don’t want to miss that much time. And I worried that… That being gone for so long would alter your view of me. Also, someone obviously has to look after your ass on missions like the last one.’ Gavin chuckled at that. ‘Yeah, thanks for that, I… I guess you saved my life.’

They kept standing there awkwardly, unsure what to say or if they should rather be quiet. It was Nines, who spoke up in the end: ‘Should we get back to work? Did you catch the fugitive?’ ‘Hmm? Yeah, sure.’ Both of them sat down and Gavin updated him on their cases, after which they both got back to work. But something kept Gavin looking back at Nines and it wasn’t him trying to adjust the chair to his new hight. ‘Hey, err… you said you don’t know if you are happy about being back… Is there a reason for that?’, he finally asked. Nines looked up. ‘Yes, actually… This might be dumb, I mean androids and genders don’t really make sense, but… I feel weird in this body. I guess it is a matter of adaption, but… If I could, I would love to have my own back. This is… highly uncomfortable.’ ‘Just because of the body or-‘ ‘Gavin, I’m a woman now. For at least the next six months. And I have never been a woman before. This is… alienating.’ Gavin swallowed. ‘I… first of all, others see you as a woman. That’s not necessarily the same as being one. Second-‘ ‘I don’t see a difference there’, Nines interrupted. ‘Okay, as someone to who this really matters: There is a difference. And as I was about to say, I might be able to help you.’ ‘And how’s that?’ Gavin grimaced, looking around to see if anyone heard them. It wasn’t something he considered a secret, but he still had only come out to his closest friends, mostly because it was personal. ‘Well, Nines I haven’t exactly always been considered male myself… Maybe I kinda get how you are feeling at the moment. Just saying I might be able to help you if you want that.’ ‘I…’ Nines looked at him and maybe it was the fact that this new body’s eyes were just as blue as his own, but Gavin could clearly see the surprise and relief on his face. ‘I would appreciate that.’

They met on neutral grounds the next weekend with the overall plan to get Nines something comfortable to wear and help him set a few things clear. As Gavin waited on the bench outside the mall, he was playing with his thumbs lost in thought. Yes, okay, he would admit he felt guilty about the whole ordeal. He knew far too well how it could feel being uncomfortable most of the time simply because of existing in a space with others that didn’t see you as you truly were. Being the cause of that was just… Nines had taken a bullet for him and now suffered the consequences. The least he could do now was help where he could and make these six months as comfortable as it could be for the android.

‘Hello, Gavin. So, what’s the plan?’ Gavin jerked up pulled from his thoughts and only then adjusted realising this wasn’t a random woman asking him, this was Nines. ‘Err… Hi. Yeah, err, I thought to get some clothes for you? But I don’t know what will help you. What bothers you the most?’ ‘I don’t really know’, Nines shrugged. ‘I’m just… bothered? What was the first thing you changed?’ Gavin cleared his throat, breaking eye contact. ‘I… Well, I changed pronouns. Told them I would like to be addressed as a he, not a she. Then I changed my name to fit my identity. But err… you don’t have to do that, you are seeing yourself as male, right?’ ‘I don’t see myself as anything, Gavin’, Nines disagreed. ‘I am a program running on hardware that is now considered female. So I guess, I would switch to female pronouns? It would cause less confusion and spare me the explanation every time I’m introduced.’ ‘Nines, this isn’t about what’s more comfortable for others but for you.’ ‘I’m more comfortable not talking to strangers about my personal life if we are on a case.’ ‘Okay’, Gavin said, lifting his arms in defeat. ‘It’s your decision. But by the way, you can also go by them or other pronouns. It’s not that uncommon and it would go with your personal perception.’ ‘I will be considered female’, Nines determined. ‘At least for the time I possess this body. I may think of adapting something else once I’m back in my body.’

‘Alright’, Gavin nodded. ‘Do you want to change your name, too?’ ‘My name will remain Nines. I like it and I see no reason to change it.’ ‘Nice’, Gavin commented. ‘Then let’s see if we can get you something to wear that’s not Cyberlife branded.’

The months had passed quicker than thought. After an initial adapting phase, work almost went back to normal. Gavin had went shopping with Nines, buying a bunch of clothes both baggy and tighter as Nines hadn’t been sure if she wanted to accentuate her body or hide it just yet. She did underline that she liked tighter clothes as they didn’t get in the way as much, but in the end, she seemed to settle mostly on hoodies that were some sort of a compromise of both.

During work Gavin noticed a few things neither of them could change or disregard: Nines was slower now. The Tracy body wasn’t built to withstand higher forces and overheated far too quickly in high demand tasks, limiting Nines to only slightly above human levels of speed and endurance. She wasn’t as durable either. Without armoured plates and reinforced hull segments, almost every hit to her meant repairs and replacement parts. Gavin learned quickly to keep watch of Nines and more than once catch a blow from some criminal directed at her if it meant she would be spared the trip to a technician – although she always scolded him for that. Reduced strength of her model compared to her former soldier unit also meant Gavin had to constantly remind her of it, much to Nines’ frustration.

By the time the fifth month started, almost everyone had adapted to Nines’ new self and the call from Cyberlife that her body was repaired was almost like a wake-up call. Gavin and Nines had grown closer during these few months. Gavin had helped her whenever she asked for it and the mutual need to look out for each other now had changed their dynamic quite a bit. Gavin considered Nines his best friend by now, maybe even more considering how intimately familiar they both had become. He had shared stories with her he had never told anyone else about and Nines had in turn been the first person, Gavin had met outside of the internet that shared his experience. How often they had just sat next to each other on a couch in either of their apartments, sharing their thoughts holding each other close. Each of them telling the others their personal worries to in turn be comforted. Sure, Gavin had known that one day Nines would get her body back and the way she smiled, honest and bright, he could only feel happiness himself. But again, there was that little voice in the back of his head that told him it all would change now. And he didn’t want it to.

He parked the car in front of the Cyberlife Tower, forcing a smile at Nines sitting next to him. She smile back at him, obviously more than excited to walk over, but hesitating. ‘Will you wait for me here?’ ‘Of course’, Gavin nodded fondly and patted her shoulder reassuringly. ‘See you in a bit.’ He watched her walk towards the entrance turning back to give him a little wave of her hand and then disappeared behind the doors. Gavin’s smile fell and he leaned back against the backrest. Why did this feel like goodbye? Nines would be the same person when she- when he? – came back outside. He was just worrying too much, surely.

But when two hours later, Nines emerged dressed in his tight black turtleneck and white custom-tailored leather jacket that looked just like her - his - uniform had without the Cyberlife logo, his heart sagged. He stepped out of the car regardless and stood there awkwardly, as Nines came closer, hugging him with a strength that hurt as he was spun around. ‘Ahh, phck, Nines, too much!’ ‘Sorry’, the far, far deeper voice chuckled and put him down. ‘Ah, it’s good to be back in my own body.’ ‘Heh, yeah…’, Gavin commented, rubbing his arms. ‘Guess so.’ ‘I can finally see everything again’, Nines marvelled and blinked before bending down to pick up a small pebble to throw it with a force as if he planned on sending it into orbit. ‘Oh, yes, I missed that. I can finally calculate everything I want to again. I can analyse samples again, I can switch to infra-red and night vision and I can scan-‘ Apparently, the android had tried everything while listing it and now frowned. ‘Gavin, are you alright?’

‘I am’, he hurried to reassure. ‘Just… You have your body back. Anything else changed?’ ‘Oh. I guess I would go by male pronouns again. Just to avoid confusion. And… I will likely change my wardrobe again, because I doubt any of the shoes will fit. But other than that… not really. Why?’ ‘Oh, nothing, just… Nah.’ Gavin opened the door and entered the car, just to escape the situation. Too bad Nines followed and sat down on the passenger side. Gavin went to turn the key in the ignition, but was stopped by a hand – too large, too powerful, far harder than before. ‘Gavin, please. We used to talk about these things, not swallow them. I… Nothing has changed. I promise. I’m still me. My body changed, but what is my body than a means to interact with the world? I am still the same.’

‘I just…’, Gavin began but stopped himself again. ‘Nines, I… Before all this happened. Before you saved my life I hardly knew you. We were work partners and you were pleasant company. But there wasn’t… We only really became friends when you changed. When you needed my help. Now that you have everything back, I… I’m worried you will just get back to business as usual.’ Nines seemed to think about all he had just heard, then turned around judging by the sound of his clothes. He remained silent though, so Gavin risked a glance over. Nines was staring at him directly, his eyes full of concern and maybe even fear. And yes, some things stayed the same. Nines was still looking at him the same way, with the same expression. ‘Gavin. It is true I needed your help, but you are a fool if you think I only kept you company because of that. I like you. I really do. And in those few months I realised what I feel for you is more than I ever felt for anyone. I may be back in my body and have less problems, but… Gavin, I still need you.’ ‘You do?’, Gavin asked sceptically. ‘Sure’, Nines grinned. ‘Who else can I sit around with in parks judging the people passing by. Who else can I gossip with about our co-workers? And who else can I talk to when I need someone to really listen? Gavin, when I say nothing changed, I mean it.’

Gavin still didn’t look convinced, so Nines took a different approach. ‘You once told me that it isn’t about what’s more comfortable for others but for yourself. I think you should understand, that just because you helped me, my need for help isn’t what makes me like you. You were there for me when I needed you most. Because of that I know you will be there for me always. And that makes me comfortable regardless of the body I am in. Do you understand?’ ‘Yes’, Gavin answered silently. ‘Yes, I do. Thank you.’ ‘I have to thank you’, Nines corrected. ‘But for now, I think we should celebrate this, shouldn’t we?’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #trans Gavin Reed #I wanted to add a joke of Nines being unable to open a jar but for one androids don't eat and also I'm always pissed when I can't open one #So I wanted to spare Nines the embarrassment #In our online drinking night I spent like ten to twenty minutes opening my damn bottle while everyone watched aaaa #yeah that's it for tag stories this time XD

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angelofbenignmalevolence · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Virgil Tracy, John Tracy, Scott Tracy Additional Tags: Mentions of the incident with EOS, Brotherly disagreements, Sibling fight Series: Part 4 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

John descends from on high after EOS reveals herself. A full medical scan needs to be run. And there are some words that need to be exchanged between brothers.

This is for my "Bad Thing Happen Bingo Card." The prompt here was John and Pinned to a Wall. It was requested by @kenzie-running-free and @ohsheasus. A very special thank you to @thunderbird-one-ai for the help getting out of the corner I had written myself into.

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John was one of the brothers that didn’t mind visiting the infirmary so much. Alan hadn’t yet grown into hating the infirmary, since his scrapes had been relatively minor this far and thus he had only had a slightly stern Virgil and a doting Grandmother to deal with in the infirmary. Gordon tried to avoid the infirmary like the plague after his hydrofoil crash and so many subsequent instances where Thunderbird Four had gotten into some serious trouble. Virgil didn’t mind being the medic, but when it came to his own injuries, he made himself scarce in the infirmary. And Scott…well, Scott seemed allergic to the infirmary where his own injuries were concerned.

John wished that allergy to the infirmary applied to the brothers’ injuries as well. Perhaps then, Scott would not be standing across from him in the infirmary, glowering. Scott’s arms were folded across his chest, a sign that didn’t bode well for John. It was obvious that Scott was waiting for Virgil to finish full medical before giving John a piece of whatever was on his mind. John wouldn’t have needed three guesses to know what that was. Virgil stepped back as he completed the scans and battery of tests on John.

“Well, it looks like all your scans appear to be coming back normal. There doesn’t seem to be any long lasting effects from earlier,” Virgil said. John had been so close to death when Alan had pulled him into Thunderbird Three that Virgil just wanted to run all the tests again, as if he was afraid that this was some kind of an illusion and that John was still dying.

“So does that mean that I am clear to return to Thunderbird Five?” John asked. He was anxious to get back to his bird and fulfill the promise he had made to the AI that had, only hours ago, tried to kill him. Scott’s lips thinned into a line, a change of expression that Virgil didn’t miss and only barely managed to suppress himself.

“Medically speaking, I have no reason to deny you a return to Thunderbird Five, but it looks like Scott might have something to say about that,” Virgil said. John hopped off the bed in the infirmary.

“Well, he can tell me while I prepare the space elevator to take me up,” he said. If Scott was going to ream him out, he didn’t exactly want an audience. He didn’t give either Scott or Virgil the chance to protest as he headed for the infirmary doors. A set of footsteps following behind him told him that Scott had followed him. John kept walking, knowing that it was only a matter of time until Scott couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Are you going to slow down so we can talk?” Scott asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice. John kept walking.

“I suppose that depends on your definition of talk,” John said. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture.” Scott grabbed his arm and wheeled John around. He had been so close to making it to the hangar. John could see the stormclouds in his brother’s eyes.

“What the hell are you thinking, John?” Scott asked as John wrenched his arm out of his brother’s grasp. John took a breath before answering. Getting upset was going to get them nowhere fast, not with Scott’s volatile temper and John’s penchant for glacial fury when he was pushed to anger.

“I’m medically fit to continue to do my job,” John said. “To do that, I need to go back up to Thunderbird Five.”

“Back up with that thing that tried to kill you.” It wasn’t a question.

“She didn’t—”

“Don’t you dare try to tell me that thing didn’t mean it,” Scott said. “Or that it didn’t know what it was doing. It’s made from your code. You’re the smartest person I know and the one that calculates everything in advance. Your code taught itself how to evolve to near human intelligence. It knew exactly what it was doing.”

“Her prime directive was self preservation,” John said. “The same prime directive that we all have.”

“We don’t have a prime directive! We are humans, John! And what is to stop it from resorting back to that prime directive, from labeling you as a threat?” Scott said. John shook his head.

“I managed to get through to her. She has me at her core, Scott,” John said, trying to use his cool logic to defuse the situation.

“That didn’t seem to make a difference when it locked you out of your spaceship without any supplemental air,” Scott said. The sight of John’s lifeless body on the hologram projector, the glassy eyed stare as the oxygen in his suit thinned, these were images that would haunt Scott’s dreams for too long.

“Dad would have given her a chance,” John said.

“Well dad isn’t here right now,” Scott said. John folded his arms.

“You’re right. He isn’t. So stop trying to pretend like you’ve become him. You’re my brother at home, my commander in the field, but you will never take the place of dad,” John said.

“Goddammit John,” Scott said, grabbing the front of John’s uniform and pushing him roughly against the wall, eliciting a soft oof from his brother. “You aren’t listening to me!”

“Get off me, Scott,” John said, pushing against his brother’s wrists. Scott held fast, letting him up off the wall only enough to push him back against him again, forcing John’s attention back on him.

“No. You’re going to listen to me,” Scott said. “I watched you as you slowly started to suffocate up there, because of that thing. That thing pretended to be you so well that we nearly lost you.” Scott’s voice shook with suppressed fear. “I nearly lost you because that thing isolated you from us. And once we got you out of there, you went straight back in and put your life in its hands.” John could feel his brother’s knuckles shaking through the fabric of his uniform, holding on not as a threat, but instead out of fear that if he let his brother go, it might be for the last time. John laid his hands over his brother’s wrists.

“I’m still here Scott,” he said. Scott rested his forehead against John’s.

“I don’t trust that thing,” Scott declared softly. “I don’t trust that thing with you. I can’t lose you as well as mom and dad. It would break me.” John let go of his brother’s wrists to put his arms around Scott, assuring him of his presence. After a moment, Scott’s grip on his brother shifted to an embrace.

“You don’t have to trust her, Scott,” John said, pulling Scott close to him. “Put your trust in me. Trust that I won’t leave this family…I will do everything I can to make sure that nothing like this ever happens again.” Scott’s arms tightened around his brother as he heard the space elevator descending.

“Please, John,” Scott asked, barely audible over the creak and groan of the machinery. “Please…just…stay here on earth tonight…for my sake.” John pushed Scott back slightly to get a good look at his brother. His brother’s eyes were glistening with desperation and his shoulders were tight with panic. John nodded.

“Ok, Scott…I’ll stay tonight…I’ll stay…” John said. “Just let me smooth things over with EOS and then we can go relax, yeah?” Scott frowned at the mention of the AI but he nodded slowly, letting John up off of the wall. John moved over to the control panel for the space elevator and Scott let out a soft sigh.

John’s heart was far too big, and his trust often misplaced. But Scott knew his own trust in John was never misplaced, even if it meant compromise when Scott would rather exert his will to keep his brother safe. He waited until John had a brief conversation with the AI and dropped the tension he hadn’t realized he was holding in his shoulders when the Space elevator began to ascend again. John moved over and put a hand on Scott’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, leading the way out of the hangar. “Let’s get you to relax a little.”

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #bad things happen bingo #fanfiction #my fanfiction #one of mine

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misssquidtracy · 3 years

Text

Noble Intentions (Part 3).

The end of my slightly belated contribution to Gordo’s FabFiveFeb week. I finally managed to snap a leash on it before it could breed any more 🙌🏻

All credit for FabFiveFeb goes to the gorgeous @gumnut-logic 💚

Prompt: You did what?

Genre: Humour.

Characters: Gordon & Brains.

Part 1 Part 2

-x-

“Magnificent!” Brains cooed, peering out the window of the Helipod at the forested slopes of Bogota’s Eastern Hills, “What a t-truly remarkable place!”

Gordon smiled and tightened his grip on the yoke, “See, Brains? Wasn’t this worth getting up early for?”

The scientist twisted his head to gaze out the opposing window and peeped in delight when a flock of colourful finches zipped past, “Absolutely! Though while the views are stunning, it’s Dr. Gabriela I’m really looking forward to meeting. I can’t believe she’s one of just a handful of senior ophthalmologists investigating the link between vision restoration and gene t-therapy. I’ve never felt defined by my eyesight, but I’ve always wondered whether a t-technique exists that could reduce my reliance on corrective lenses. I went to a clinic specialising in photorefractive keratectomy and refractive lens exchange a couple of years ago, but nothing ultimately came of it. I’m excited to see if Dr. Gabriela has any suggestions. How lucky for me t-that you were able to get me an appointment at such short notice!”

“Yeah…” Gordon bit his lip and tried to ignore the guilty sensation that was holding his conscious hostage. He’d been up all night researching various scientific phrases he could throw at Brains in an effort to persuade him to tag along to Gabriela’s charity event. While his initial sales pitch had been enough to convince the engineer to abandon tinkering with his hatch deployment actuator, the little reading that Gordon had done on eye health hadn’t prepared him for the barrage of questions Brains had thrown at him.

“Does Dr. Gabriela have access to a VT 3 vision screener? And how up-to-date is her femtosecond laser?”

Sweat started to bead on Gordon’s forehead as he fought the urge to start making words and phrases up, “Oh, everything she uses is top of the range, Brains. Top of the range I say.”

The engineer made a noise of contentment similar to the one he’d made after Scott had given him permission to butcher the stray GDF R.O.BOT that had ended up in Tracy Island’s hanger.

-x-

Five short minutes later, and Gordon was ushering Brains through a pair of automatic doors that led into a gymnasium of sorts. While the scientist was content to admit that he’d never been to a South American country before, the layout of this so-called ‘private clinic’ was definitely not what he’d been expecting.

It wasn’t long before the discomfort of being in unfamiliar surroundings began to eat away at Brains’s composure. Thankfully, he had the ever sociable Gordon for backup, “Is this the w-waiting room?”

“Yeah…kind of,” Gordon replied, waving awkwardly as several people doddered past and began setting up easels, “You know what, let’s save Gabriela some trouble and start getting things ready for her. I know she’s a very busy woman, so any time we can save her will be a win for us.”

A peep of shock forced its way out of Brains’s mouth as he was bundled off towards a corner of the room that was obscured by a curtain of sorts. He’d done some preliminary research on Bogota’s economic health and was aware that the area was seismically sensitive and had suffered extensive infrastructural damage as a result of said seismic activity. Even so, he’d expected something markedly different when Gordon had bleated about how ‘top of the range’ this place supposedly was.

“Okay, you need to strip off,” Gordon instructed, shoving the scientist behind the safety of the curtain before politely turning away, “All new patients have to undergo a full-body CT scan to check for any underlying health conditions. Unfortunately they’re out of gowns, so you’ll have to do it in the buff.”

Any preoccupations Brains had with the decor of his new surroundings flew out the window quicker than Scott on an amphetamine at the bluntness of Gordon’s statement. Stripping off for an invasive procedure was to be expected, but for an eye exam?

Something didn’t add up…

“Oh, and you can’t wear your glasses during the scan either,” Gordon announced, inserting an arm through the curtain and popping the lenses neatly off the engineer’s nose, “Metallic objects can interfere with the final result. Now, chop, chop! Gabriela is waiting.”

Eager to avoid anything that could cause social awkwardness, Brains set about hesitantly disrobing. He’d never had a medical experience quite as…rustic…as this one, but reminded himself that not everyone had access to the same resources and technology they had back on Tracy Island.

Plus, he trusted Gordon.

-x-

“Is he here?” Gabriela asked, clattering towards Gordon like a giraffe on stilts, “Because I’ve got seventy people who’ve paid good money to put a member of International Rescue on their canvases.”

“Relax,” Gordon soothed, jerking his head in the direction of where he’d left Brains, “He’s getting ready now. How long will the whole thing take?”

A cloud of noxiously sweet perfume wafted through the air as Gabriela ran to consult her diary, “The entire class is three hours long, but guests are encouraged to take reference pictures during the first few minutes. Obviously, we can’t expect a model to pose for so long, so we generally ask for them to sit for just the first hour. Most people should have finished subject studying and underpainting by then.”

“He won’t last that long,” Gordon sighed, jolting when John suddenly issued a rescue order for a couple of stranded hikers on the Nepali slope of Everest. Thankfully, Scott picked up the call before enquiries could be made about Gordon’s whereabouts.

“Fifteen minutes, minimum,” Gabriela clinched, aware that her guests were starting to twiddle their brushes in impatience, “I just need him long enough for photos to be taken. I know it sounds tedious, but photographic shots are necessary for shading and contouring. Plus, guests can refer back to them if they don’t finish in the allotted time.”

Caramel eyes narrowed to slits as Gordon calculated the risk of further hoodwinking his blind colleague.

“Okay, fifteen minutes,” the aquanaut affirmed, striding back to where he’d left his charge, “You done yet, Brains?”

“I t-think so,” came the uncertain response, “But how am I going to get to the radiology clinic in t-this condition? Surely it would have made more sense for me to ‘prepare’ myself in the same room as the scanner?”

“Oh, it’s a portable one that can scan you from a distance in any position,” Gordon blabbed, throwing Gabriela a thumbs up as he gripped the curtain and prepared to yank it back, “Top of the range, remember?”

“If you s-say so,” Brains stammered, blinking like a mole that had just emerged into the sunlight, “I t-trust you.”

The hand that was about to rip the curtain back paused, it’s owner reflecting on the depth of the three words that had just been uttered.

Sure, if Scott hadn’t threatened to ground him, then Brains would be back in the safety of his lab and Gordon himself behind the curtain. And the entire event was funding a very worthy cause with numerous far-reaching benefits…

…but was it all worth humiliating a friend over?

Everyone who had the pleasure of meeting Gordon always described him as an uncommonly kind man. He had an almost innate ability to see life through other people’s eyes. Though it was emotionally exhausting at times, it was the driving force behind his desire to make people happy. He soaked up emotions like a sponge, and had learnt over the years that the best way to keep himself light and fluffy was to project as much positive energy into the people around him as possible.

Despite being disoriented and confused, Brains had willingly put a healthy chunk of his dignity into Gordon’s hands. And now his ass was on the line.

Quite literally.

Gordon sighed. Noble intentions or not, no impulsive decision was worth a friend’s modesty.

“Change of plans, Brains,” the aquanaut informed, “Gabriela’s got an emergency telephone consultation, so has referred you back to your usual guy in Sydney. You can get dressed and come out. I’ve popped your glasses down by your shoes, so don’t tread on them.”

Of course, the life of someone in Gordon’s line of work with Gordon’s personality meant that for every battle won, another was lost. While the moral dilemma over Brains’s involvement in the event was over, there was still the issue of Gabriela and the roomful of impatient artists she’d amassed.

“Hey, Brains? I’m just nipping home real quick. Tell Gabriela I’ll be back within the hour with a fully-fledged International Rescue operative for her…um…thing. This neighbourhood isn’t the safest place on the map, so don’t leave the compound by yourself. See you in a jiffy.”

The partially dressed Brains had less than a second to formulate a reply before Gordon bolted out the door, a metaphorical trail of fire blazing in his wake.

“I really must talk to Scott about a p-pay rise...”

-x-

One hour later…

MAX beeped seductively as he stretched his robotic limbs across the chaise lounge he was sprawled across.

“Draw him like one of your French robots,” Gordon suggested to a dark haired woman who had been studying her easel for several minutes, the hilarity of his own joke causing a snort to break forth. The woman remained impassive, her eyes fixed on the contours of MAX’s storage pod. Titanic references were clearly neither wanted, nor appreciated.

It hadn’t been the event anyone had expected. There had been no naked emergency responders, no naked engineers, and by extension, no naked calendar. Thankfully, MAX’s delight at being asked to participate in a human activity, combined with his enthusiasm for arts and crafts had gone some way towards placating some of the slightly miffed attendees.

“Well, we hit out target,” Gabriela announced, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “Plus, MAX managed to rake in a fair few tips. That should cover the cost of food for the day.”

A sad series of beeps sounded as MAX dropped his gaze to the floor. He’d hoped to use the human money he’d earnt to buy his own easel, since Virgil was getting tired of him constantly vandalising his. Maybe he could ask Scott to pay him every time he emptied the dishwasher, just like he did with Alan…

“Chin up, MAX!” Gordon cooed, loading as much leftover food into the Helipod’s storage bin as was physically possible, “I’ll pay you twice what you earnt in tips for your time today. How does that sound?”

Brains smiled and self-consciously adjusted his glasses, “Thank you G-Gordon. We both thoroughly enjoyed our time here today. I must say, everyone did an excellent job at capturing MAX’s likeness. I think the canvas I p-purchased will look wonderful next to Kayo’s picture in the lounge. Of course, we’ll have to shift the r-rest of you up a bit to make room.”

Gordon gave a distracted nod around the sandwich he was chewing, his own small reward for a day chock full of hoop jumping.

After watching his creator disappear outside to chat to Gabriela (who was in the middle of a well-deserved smoke break), MAX wheeled over to the bag containing the portrait Brains had bought and carefully extracted it, his eye widening in awe as he drank in the masterful brushstrokes that came together to recreate him.

There was just one thing missing...

...a moustache.

-x-

Present day

"Uh, Gordon?" Virgil's voice was low and gentle, a stark contrast to the shrieks of delight Mandy was emitting, "Do I need to remind you about what happened last time you signed up for something like this?"

Gordon most certainly didn’t need reminding. He still hadn’t fully recovered from the tongue-lashing Scott had given him after discovering the portraits out of whack and MAX’s canvas next to his launch station…or the follow-up tongue-lashing that had come about after he’d learnt the reason behind the portraits being out of whack.

Hopefully an expensive bouquet of flowers on top of one of Scott’s ‘fat-ass cheques’ would keep Mandy from hunting him down and gnawing off his toes while he slept…

It wasn’t all bad though. Scott would never admit it, but Gordon’s previous display of charitable benevolence had warmed his heart enough for him to disclose to John the one person they could all freely bare their naked asses to if they so wished.

The Hood. But on two conditions:

1. He had to be en route to a prison cell at the time.

2. The phrase ‘kiss my ass’ would have to take on a literal meaning instead of a metaphorical one.

FIN

#Team Sea Bean #Gordon Tracy #Brains #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #fanfiction #thunderbirds fan #tracybros #tracy bros #tracy boys #tracy brothers #Tracy Island #international rescue #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #Alan Tracy

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Klainetober one-shot - “Scorched Earth” (Rated PG13)

Summary: "We ran to escape it ... to escape the oncoming horde ... but there is no escaping an enemy that has no end ..." (Or the day the Ander-Hummels came back from vacation to discover they now live in a whole new world ... a harsh and terrifying world ... which needs to be rectified before Tracy goes to school on Monday ...) (1097 words)

Notes: A fun little re-write for Halloween, re-worked to fit the @klainetober prompts 'monsters' and 'scream'. Warning for brief mention of the pandemic and quarantine, but the rest is all in good fun, I promise <3

Read on AO3.

Dear diary …

Blaine heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes flicker up, staring across the harsh, sterile scenery, and he wonders why? Why them? Why were they targeted? They were so careful. Kurt especially. Blaine’s beloved husband. Always so careful, so thorough. What had they done to bring this curse down upon them?

But more importantly, what happens now?

His eyes linger longer than they should, but not towards the future. On the present - the life he once knew before his arduous battle began.

It’s been three weeks since we left home in search of comfort, a more hospitable landscape, and water.

Mostly water.

Fsst!

This new reality we find ourselves in is open and vast, full of exciting opportunities. But it’s also foreign and dangerous. One wrong step could mean the end of us, but we must hold tight to hope.

Hope and family.

That’s all we have.

Fsst!

I fear for the safety of those I love.

My gorgeous and talented husband.

My sweet and innocent child.

Our plucky and loyal cat.

I don’t know how long we can continue on this way, but we have to keep going. We have to search. We have to scavenge. This … this is how we will survive.

Fsst!

I suspect it was the heat. The blasted, unseasonal heat! Climate change, global warming ... these aren't just myths! I've seen them! We've felt their effects! Year after year, things have gotten worse. We ran to escape, but there is none. Where do we go? This planet is our home! It's the only one we have! We don't possess the technology to explore the universe in search of another! We did our best to cope, to wait it out, but everything we did to push them away drove them to us.

We couldn't win.

We couldn't even stem the horde. Those monsters! And now, we are overwhelmed by their numbers. They come and come and come and show no signs of stopping. Who knows from where they originate?

Who knows how many there are?

I am doing all that I can, but more keep coming, and I … I cannot stop them.

Fsst!

Was it a mistake coming back? Did we really need to return? The sad answer is yes. These four humble walls and a roof are all we have. And it’s my duty to defend them.

Besides, Tracy has Zoom school on Monday and, apparently, that’s important or something.

Fsst!

The fog is thick.

Fsst!

It never ends.

Fsst!

It's supposed to help.

Fsst!

It hasn't yet.

Fsst!

It makes you want to scream. But when you open your mouth, it steals your voice, fills your mouth and throat, replaces the air.

Fsst!

Blaine sniffles. He blinks watering eyes, trying to focus on the task in front of him, of destroying the army marching relentlessly onward despite his best efforts.

Fsst! Fsst!

It burns the eyes, the nose, the mouth, he mutters. Makes it difficult to breathe, to think. Everything around us is a haze of grey; the air a toxic, chemical soup. I feel myself affected, slipping into a delirium from which I may never recover. And though I will take hundreds of them with me, it won’t make a dent. Not a God dammed dent!

They may still win.

Fsst!

If I don’t make it … if I don’t survive … I only hope that my husband and my daughter can forgive my weakness and remember me the way I was - young … motivated … sexy … a warrior … but also a bastion of love and kindness …

“If I remember correctly, aren't I supposed to be the drama queen? God, Blaine! You're as bad as Rachel.” Kurt coughs, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Nice, Kurt ..."

“Are you high? You have to be. You’re three inches away from the floor, spraying a layer of Raid so thick, the tile is changing colors. Can’t you just spray the ants without making it an event?”

Blaine sits up on his knees, a little giddy, a little woozy, and takes a deep breath of less contaminated air. The world spins left, then goes black for a moment, and after that, he starts giggling uncontrollably. He hears Kurt tut and knows without looking that his husband is shaking his head, probably imagining the amount of damage Blaine has done to his brain. Blaine can admit that he's gotten black-out drunk a time or two more than he should have and come out unscathed, but huffing Raid at his age can’t be good. Maybe he should reconsider calling an exterminator instead of tackling this himself, but it kind of hit them by surprise.

Quarantine had been getting to them.

Getting to them hard.

When times get tough, they normally take refuge at Kurt's dad's, but they couldn't risk it. Not with his existing health concerns. Not considering the fact that Kurt had just returned from a fashion show overseas before this all blew up. Burt Hummel landed squarely in the high-risk category. He'd proactively put himself on lockdown along with Carole before any state mandates went out. Kurt wasn't going to chance bringing this pandemic straight to their door.

So, the Ander-Hummel clan did the next best thing.

They ran away to the Anderson family cabin in Idyllwild.

They’d come home only a few hours ago to discover they had squatters - a humongous colony of ants that had found a way in and made themselves at home, forced inside by the intense heat (even though it's autumn) on a search for water. And they'd found it, pooled inside the cat's freshly cleaned water dish. How it didn't evaporate in the scorching heat, Blaine has no idea.

Blaine takes a few more cleansing breaths. When the world finally slows to a nauseating bob, he turns to his husband.

“You never let me have any fun,” he pouts.

“Are you sure about that?" Kurt asks, crossing his arms over his chest. "I want you to think about last night. Think really hard. And this morning. And over lunch when Tracy took her nap. And then answer me honestly …”

"O-okay, okay," Blaine says, recalling all of the fun they'd had together during those times - all of the athletic, naked, X-rated fun. “Uh, yeah … I may not be thinking clearly. You know, with the Raid, the protecting our house …”

“Yeah, well, your version of protecting our house is keeping me from eating my cheesecake, so chippity-chop-chop, soldier! Let's get this over with.”

#klaine fanfiction #Klaine fic #klaine #klainetober

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apparitionism · 4 years

Text

Decalogue 2

This is a belated continuation of my Bering-and-Wells tenth-anniversary piece: a listing of “commandments,” one issued by each year of their association. I did the first five years in part 1. The ensuing years are of course both easier (I get to make up what happened!) and harder (oh lord, I have to make up what happened...). So this second five years’ worth of commandments—this second pentalogue?—will probably be both worse and better than the first. As always, I’m in it for the talking, but also for the idea that Myka and Helena would get things right, and wrong, and right again. I testify regularly that it’s hard work to sustain a long-term relationship. You have to want to do that work, and it isn’t always pleasant. But I’m absolutely certain that B&W would power through. Anyway I meant to do the ensuing five years as a single part, but I decided instead to fake myself into thinking I’m accomplishing things if I do them one or two at a time. I’m taking wins where I can find them right now.

Decalogue 2

Year six: Thou shalt not damage.

This commandment, which Myka would have been overjoyed to be able to keep in its absolute form, worked out in practice to something more like “You’re going to do some damage. Fix it as best you can.”

Distinguishing between where it was and was not safe to step was one of Myka’s most confounding challenges. So many years ago, at the start, the literal gunpointings had made the hazards very clear, but now, instead, Myka encountered metaphorical landmines, buried in places stranger than she had expected: she knew to step around guns and guilt; she knew not to mention Christina, unless Helena was in a mood to think about her. But how was Myka supposed to have anticipated that on any given day, a particular word would be a sensitive plate?

She had been complaining, expressing general resentment on the topic of her parents and Tracy and the grandchild. She concluded with, “And that’s my family for you.”

“They are your family,” Helena said, a flat statement that Myka could not parse. Then she stopped talking to Myka. Entirely.

Myka tried to ask, tried to find out what was the matter; then she tried just talking to Helena, pretending nothing was wrong, hoping it was some sort of circuit-breaker problem and that acting normal would throw the switch; then she offered a general apology for everything she might ever have done wrong; but in the end she had to give up. Helena with an idea in her head—whatever the idea was—couldn’t be reasoned with.

They slept in the same bed. No words. No contact either, but that was because Myka avoided it. She could deal, for a while, with being verbally ignored, but she didn’t think she could handle even one instance of Helena coldly refusing to escalate touch into intimacy.

Claudia couldn’t save them this time. Not that she didn’t try: “Talk to Myka!” she bellowed at Helena, but no talking ensued. “I guess you gotta keep trying,” she told Myka with a shrug. “Send her flowers?”

Well, flowers never hurt anything, did they? So Myka had an arrangement of peonies delivered to the B&B, because Helena had once been very “these belong in an English garden” about peonies, softer than Myka would ever have expected her to be.

Helena read the card—and Myka had to admit that the “I love you” message wasn’t very creatively written, even in terms of penmanship, but she was running on desperate fumes at that point—then very pointedly placed it and the peonies into the kitchen trash can.

So Myka’s best version of tenderness was in the garbage... clearly tenderness was not sufficient to fix anything. It was necessary, she was fairly sure, but not sufficient.

After much additional analytical thought, she developed a hypothesis. “I think I get it. Your family’s gone,” she offered to Helena, who barely twitched in response. But she did twitch, so maybe Myka had got it right? She continued, “And I’m being insufficiently grateful that mine isn’t.”

No response other than a very loud absence of anything resembling a twitch.

Back to the analytical drawing board... at which Myka now drew nothing but a blank.

It took an entire week for Helena to budge at all, but: prompted perhaps by Myka rescuing one of the peonies from the trash and putting it in a vase on the nightstand on Helena’s side of the bed, or maybe by Pete endlessly complaining “I hate when Mom and Mom fight,” or alternatively by Steve handing her cup after cup of tea and noting (just as endlessly) that it was “to soothe your laryngitis,” or possibly by the phase of the moon or a conspicuous mote of dust or something else that even Helena herself probably couldn’t or wouldn’t ever articulate, she interrupted Myka’s weeklong insomniac ceiling-staring session at two in the morning by pushing at her shoulder, hard, and saying, “I thought you might be moved to describe me as your family. But I see I have not been promoted to that exalted level.”

Helena was vocally doing “stoic” and “offhand,” insofar as anyone could really pull off either of those after a week of administering the silent treatment. Which meant that she wasn’t pulling them off at all, which in turn meant that Myka could hear the wound: a fault line sending a bleak rumble through the substrate of that voice in the dark.

“Exalted,” Myka said, herself trying to pull off “no, I never really thought you’d refuse to speak to me for the rest of our lives.” She was also trying to hide her embarrassment at being so analytically obtuse, as well as her shame at having inflicted pain in the first place. “Do you want me to not get along with you, too? Complain about you all the time?”

“You do complain about me all the time,” Helena pointed out, and Myka had to concede, at least internally, that that was probably more than a little bit true. She had to concede, too, that she had not in any way put Helena in her mental dictionary to illustrate the word “family.” The pictures of an endlessly troubling group of people from whom she could not really escape, about whom she complained all the time, had seemed to be a permanently closed set. Any additions, she had thought, would be similes: Pete was like a brother (and thank god that was once again true), Claudia like a sister (though a different sort than the one Myka actually had).

She should have known that Helena’s role in her life was literal, not figurative. And she should have known that Helena, in all her literal intensity, would have expected words to be applied.

Family. She complained about Helena all the time; Helena was endlessly troubling; and Myka certainly could not escape from her, as five-years-unto-six had shown. But the difference was that she didn’t want to escape Helena... apparently she’d mistaken that for a disqualifying factor, family-wise.

“You have sequestered me from those who are so exalted,” Helena said then. “Ideationally, but physically as well.”

“In my defense,” Myka began, but she faltered. “I know it isn’t much of one. But you haven’t been here for very long. I mean... you were, but then you weren’t. Physically. Since you brought that up. And we’ve been together for real for less than a year.”

Silence again, but this time it was an audible challenge.

“So I guess I’m taking you to Colorado Springs pretty soon to show you off.”

Myka realized, while she was searching for reasonably priced plane tickets for the trip, that this was the first time she’d hurt Helena in a way in which she might have been similarly likely to hurt anyone. She’d been so busy working on not making Helena-centric mistakes, those to do with guns and guilt and grief, that she hadn’t thought much at all about this relationship in a broader sense. It was singular, yes (obviously yes), but it was also two people in love with each other, trying to live with each other. Buying “meet the parents” plane tickets forced her to confront how pedestrian they were, as people in love with each other. It was both a minor disappointment and an enormous relief.

Arriving at her childhood home with Helena in tow was even more surreal than she’d imagined... despite the fact that she’d imagined it out, scenario after scenario.

It was also even more awkward than she’d imagined. “Mom, Dad,” she began, as her parents and Helena did nothing but look at each other, wary, as if a hostage exchange were about to occur, “I told you about Helena.” No one said anything. Yes, awkward. She had indeed told them, but that been... what it had been. Myka still wasn’t sure how to think about what it had been.

She’d called them, determined to tell it all—well, not all—but before she’d finished clearing her throat in preparation for launching into her prepared remarks, she was subjected to the usual enthusiastic recounting of grandchild activities. That was fine, though, for she did take a little schadenfreudic satisfaction in how quickly grandchild-centric material had replaced Tracy-centric information in these bulletins.

“I have a little news,” she said as the child-related hosannas began at last to run out of steam.

She took a breath. “I’minaseriousrelationship.”

One more breath. “WithsomeonefromworkhernameisHelena.”

After a pause, but not much of one, her father said, “How do you want us to respond?”

Myka had braced herself for questions, certainly, but not that one. “By being happy for me?” she offered, and she wished she had sounded decisive.

“Then we’re happy for you,” her mother said, and when had her mother ever sounded that decisive?

Myka could easily imagine them at the kitchen table, both leaning toward the phone that her father would have propped against the lazy Susan, for he’d always seemed to believe that placing a phone flat on its back rendered it helpless, like a turtle. That picture was very clear, very familiar. But she could not envision how those two people, addressing that upright phone, would look if they were happy for her. “Just like that?” she asked, because her inability to see it suggested that she shouldn’t believe it.

“If that’s what you want,” said her father.

Had he come up with that on his own? Had her mother kicked him under the table? Who were these people? Myka groped for words to address this strange moment in which she wanted to believe what her parents were saying. All she could come up with was a slow, “It... is.”

You were promised endless wonder, she reminded herself, and you do seem to be in the bonus lately. She’d heard Pete say “in the bonus” about something sports-related, and even though she hadn’t bothered to find out what the phrase really meant, it felt solidly descriptive of the way the past couple of years had been resolving.

Speaking of wonder, though, she did wonder, in the moment, whether what she had really wanted was to have to argue passionately for her reasons and right to be with Helena... to have to make that case. She probably wouldn’t have done it, not out loud to her parents; they were her parents, so she would have just resented them, adolescently, for not respecting her choices.

But now there was nothing big to resent. Was this adulthood?

Ignore it, she told herself, and she managed, mostly, to do what she was told. Her parents acted like she’d told the same thing to them; they didn’t bring up someonefromworkhernameisHelena when they spoke with Myka. Myka didn’t either.

But now here they all were, face to face in the doorway of her childhood home, her parents and Helena and her own instantly re-teenaged self, refracted by the bizarre temporal displacements that had worked together to stand them here, scaled strangely, like dolls from different playsets.

A few very formal words, such as “how do you do” and “pleased to meet you,” ensued, and Myka had genuinely never been so happy to see her sister when Tracy finally showed up. She did so sans grandchild, which Myka had requested; she tried to tell herself she’d asked for that because inflicting a child on Helena would be cruel, but in all honesty, she selfishly wanted her parents to focus not on that child, for once, but on Helena—no matter how contradictory it was of her to have tried for so long to avoid directing their attention to Helena at all.

“Myka talked about you like you weren’t even real,” Tracy greeted Helena.

“For some time I was not,” Helena greeted back.

As if Helena’s response had been the epitome of etiquette, Tracy nodded and said, “I’m going to pretend out loud that I understand that.”

Helena said, as a stage whisper to Myka, “I like your sister. She functions.”

“That may be the nicest thing anybody’s ever said about me,” said Tracy.

Myka said, “Helena can be very nice when she feels like it.”

Tracy made a face that reminded Myka she wasn’t the only one who reteenaged around their parents. “You probably can too, Myka, but I’ve never seen you feel like it.”

“I, on the other hand, have seen her feel like it,” Helena informed Tracy. “So you may have hope.”

Tracy said, as a stage whisper to Myka, “I like your girlfriend. She functions too.”

And Myka didn’t in the end care if it was Tracy’s imprimatur that made the difference: the fog of overpropriety lifted, leaving Myka free to sit back and witness Helena returning her father’s interrogative serves with H.G. Wells–related volleys—more of them than Myka had imagined could be worked into conversation. “Oh, I think my friend Edward Prendick expressed it best,” Helena began one anecdote, and she ended another, “...which brought home to me that we all feel invisible now and again.”

“You made a game of it,” Myka accused her later that night, when they had escaped to their hotel room.

Helena smiled an indulgent smile at her across the snowy-white acre of king-sized hotel bed that separated them. “Of course I did. How many points would you say I accrued?”

“I stopped keeping score,” Myka said, and she wasn’t sure if she herself was being indulgent or just grumpy.

“Quitter...” Helena began, a drag of amused accusation. But then she paused, got on hands and knees, and initiated a trek to Myka’s side of the bed. She could have done it catlike, teasing, but this was a common human crawl. “No, that’s wrong,” Helena said as she moved. She was taking her time, but it really was a very large bed. “You’re no quitter,” she announced, answering Myka’s unvoiced “huh?” with, “You feared that initial interaction.”

“That’s unfortunately true.”

“But you did in the end ensure that it occurred.”

“Because you wanted me to.”

“And here we are,” Helena said, reaching her destination. She leaned to kiss Myka, a slow melt in which Myka felt gratitude, and also softness, the sort that was always a surprise (see: peonies). Just as there were unexpected sensitive plates, there were surprisingly graceful bays of yield and give. This kiss was one of them. Gratitude, grace; and Myka felt too the future: this kiss was happening here, now, but this kind of kiss could (should) happen tomorrow, next week, years from now. Here, somewhere else, anywhere.

This is why we came here, Myka thought. Because we kiss like this. Someone you kissed like this was who you were supposed to bring home to meet your parents—and again Myka felt the sad slight press of disappointment at, but also the knee-buckling relief of, being exactly like everyone else. “Here we are,” Myka agreed. “In a hotel room in Colorado Springs. I have never in my life spent the night in a hotel room in this town.”

“Interesting.” Helena gave her a look that included a little aggressive chin-jut. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Don’t Abigail me,” Myka warned.

The chin retracted, minimally. “All right, I’ll rephrase: And what do you intend to do about that?”

But Myka felt not quite ready for what she intended to do about that. “Look, you aren’t them,” she said.

“Correct.”

“So you see my category error.”

“I do.” Helena said it soft, and Myka chose to hear it as an apology for, or at least an expression of some regret about, that wordless week. “You see my...” Helena stopped. She sighed. “My emotional error.”

A straightforward statement from Helena about having got something wrong.... Myka really was in the “endless wonder” bonus. “I do see,” Myka said. “We’re both pretty bad at this.”

“Also correct. How do you feel about that?”

Myka rolled her eyes, but other than that she didn’t bother.

Helena pursed her lips, which sometimes signaled frustration, but this time she coupled it with playful eyebrow movement. “What do you intend to do about that?”

They were bad at this so much of the time, but here they were in Colorado Springs, being better at it... good at it, even. “Ignore it for now and get back to kissing somebody. Something else that I have never done in a hotel room in this town.”

“I would think not, given that—”

“Listen, don’t make me explain what other kids did on prom night.”

Helena smiled a beautifully familiar smile. Lascivious, but only to the degree that Myka liked. So: respectful. Her tone was further along on the lascivious scale (and Myka was fine with that) as she said, “I don’t know what ‘prom night’ is, but perhaps you should explain. In detail. If I understand your implication correctly.” The word “implication” was accompanied by a placing of her body atop Myka’s that she also knew Myka liked. “Correctly” was accompanied by an application of pressure, one that she further knew Myka loved.

And that was how Myka came to enjoy what she would forever after remember as her very own personal—personalized—prom night.

During which she may have accidentally caused some bruising... but no damage.

Per the commandment. Which was difficult, but not impossible, to keep.

TBC

My non-tag essay on this one is very simple, and it is basically a version of the next “commandment,” which I had already formulated, but which the past few weeks have really made clear to me: “Thou shalt take nothing for granted.” In fact my original first ideated line of that seventh-commandment bit was going to be “Because if you take any given thing for granted, it will explode in your face. Guaranteed.” I am here to tell you that is true. Prize each and every minute of the life you consider “normal,” if that normal feels good to you. My wife was in a serious accident very recently. She’s going to be okay eventually, with luck and hard work, but change to your everyday, which you may undervalue as I did mine, comes as a whip-crack.

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Decalogue #part 2 #(although it deals with the sixth commandment)#(apologies for how weird the numbering of all of this will end up looking)

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

Text

Their Island

Ooh, lookie, I managed to write an IRRelief fic myself. The fact that I started it without that in mind is irrelevant. The fact that I found myself typing out one of the prompt words part way through is :D That and it is mostly fluff which is the main requirement. So IRRelief fic for the prompt ‘power drill’...which is one of mine, I know, but it just happened, honest.

Spoilers & Warnings: I have again written this in my Kermadec AU, however the deviations are minor and it can be read without reading We’ll Be Home For Christmas. There are Tracy boys ages in this as it is technically pre-IR. We all have our own ideas on the boys ages. I’ve run with the age scheme I worked out for Parents as it makes enough sense for me to live with...so technically this could be considered part of that fic as well. So, we have younger!Tracys, pre-IR, Kermadec AU (but only a little bit) and lots of fluff. 2949 words.

Many thanks to @scribbles97 for the read through and support :D

I hope you enjoy :D

-o-o-o-

It was a tropical island with the foliage to match. Ferns, palm trees, warm air, the distant sound of ocean with a breeze that came with it.

Virgil found himself up high, sitting on a fat patch of moss in a protected nook far above the construction busily happening below.

From here he could see the footprint of the villa, the hole where the pool was going to go, his father directing operations like the commander he always was.

He had to admit, it was amazing.

Seeing the plans was one thing, seeing it being carved out of the volcanic rock was another.

In the distance sat the chiselled-out runway, another of Tracy Industries’ cargo planes coming into land. No doubt it was stock full of luxury fittings. Fancy doorknobs, Scott’s king-sized bed and other frivolities. But Virgil knew that under the disguise of rich eccentricities there were more important things.

The Island was riddled with secrets, most of which had been actioned long before the villa.

But now the house was the final piece. The topping on the cake. And it was amazing to watch it come together.

A scuff of boots on gravel and Virgil jumped.

“Relax, Virgil.” A gentle hand on his shoulder and his younger brother pulled up a chunk of moss beside him. John’s hair always lit up in the sun, almost a warning as to what that sun could do to that pale skin.

There must have been something on Virgil’s face, because John held up a hand. “I have sunscreen.”

“Sure you do, but is it on your face?”

The glare from his twenty-year-old brother tipped the scales into affirmative.

“Just checking.”

The glare turned into a frown. “What are you doing all the way up here?” A twist to his lips filled with put upon sarcasm. “Are you wearing sunscreen?”

Well, no, but then Virgil wasn’t used to thinking of that yet. His skin tended to brown with what little sun he picked up in Colorado. John, on the other hand, had been wearing the stuff since the day after he was born.

Virgil wasn’t going to admit that though. “I have protection.”

John snorted. “You’ll learn. This is the tropics, Virgil. Southern hemisphere, just that touch closer to that healing wound in the ozone layer.”

“I’m aware of the meteorological and geographical differences, John. I don’t need a space degree for that.”

His brother just shrugged. “It’s on you, big brother.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just because John was right didn’t mean he had to be all haughty about it.

“You started it, remember?” Turquoise eyed him along with an amused smirk.

Virgil shrugged it off and turned back to staring down at the construction below.

There was silence except for the sounds of nail guns and power tools bouncing off volcanic rock.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Virgil’s voice was quiet. “Yes, it is.”

“You okay?”

“Sure.”

Almost level with them, a huge bird that just had to be an albatross, wheeled past.

“Wow.” The word was out of his mouth without thought.

“There is a lot of wildlife out here.” John’s voice was matter of fact, lacking the feeling welling inside of Virgil. The wind tousled red hair and the artist inside suddenly had the urge to paint it. In fact, that was the source of it all, Virgil realised. He was inspired. To paint.

Everything.

“Have you spoken to Mel Fisher?”

“Huh?” The bird swooped back out over the caldera and Virgil’s eyes tracked it.

“The director of the Raoul scientific expedition. She should have some data on the species native to the island.”

“Oh, yeah, Gordon has been liaising with her.” It was a welcome distraction from the pool. Virgil had been both supportive and worried about Gordon’s obsession with the Olympics. Combined with his school studies and a gruelling training regime, these few weeks of family leave was exactly what was needed.

Of course, tropical island meant sea water that could replace the pool for that time and his little brother had been in the caldera every morning. Their father had spoken to the local authorities...aka Mel Fisher, newly appointed director of the Kermadec expedition on Raoul Island a few hundred kilometres south...about what wildlife existed in the region that could kill or injure an over enthusiastic Tracy fish. The list had been considerable.

Gordon had immediately parroted off what he knew about every single one of those lifeforms enough to glaze over his father’s eyes. The Tracy fish had then been referred to the Director.

The speech Mel had given him was long.

Three other Tracy brothers - John was the one escapee having been on the other side of the planet at the time - were dragged into it and lectured on the hazards of living in a wildlife dominated area.

The biggest danger was apparently death enacted by the Director should they impact the area in any way.

Even their father had taken a step back at the passion in the woman’s speech. Young, blonde and ready to kick a billionaire’s butt, if necessary.

She and Gordon had hit it off immediately.

A distracted smirk at John. It could be entertaining to see the spaceman encounter the eco-passionate Mel. “You guys need to meet.”

Far down below, his father yelled something at one of the workers. He stormed across the construction site and by the amount of gesturing, Virgil reckoned the man had committed at least a level three offence. Probably a safety deviation. Virgil was glad he wasn’t down there to hear the lecture.

“Have you spoken to Scott?”

It startled him. It shouldn’t have, but it did. His head was in the clouds and he obviously needed grounding. “Uh, yeah. He is okay as he can be.”

His big brother was suffering from an abrupt end to a career he thought would be his life. Honourable discharge was one thing, but after what his brother had given the Air Force, the strain behind those closeted eyes...

It was enough to sprout a permanent dislike of the military deep in Virgil’s soul.

“He is managing.” A breath. “This should help.”

The silence returned, both men lost in their thoughts.

“What are you two doing up here?”

It was inevitable really. Virgil looked up as his fish brother approached, his eyes curious. Gordon’s hair appeared permanently wet and sticking up in all directions. He had his latest loud shirt on, but it wasn’t buttoned up. Little more than flip flops protected his feet from the volcanic rock beneath them.

“I could ask you the same thing. Do I need to lecture you on appropriate footwear again?”

Gordon slumped. “God, Virg, when are you gonna loosen up?”

“When my brothers learn to look after themselves.”

“If you expect me to wear flannel and steel-tipped boots in this tropical climate, you are dreaming, bro. Not all of us want to smell like you.”

“What?!”

“You do the ‘working class man’ thing just a little too much, big bro. Have you noticed the humidity? We’re gonna have to invest in a deodorant factory if you keep wearing that outfit.”

Of course, John had to throw his dice into play. “Tracy Industries already has a personal hygiene department.”

Virgil turned his glare to his traitorous next younger brother.

“What? We do! We produce some very good quality products.”

“Next supply run, we’ll need to stock up for Virg.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

He didn’t stink, did he? A sniff of his armpit would be too obvious and would just inspire more smart-ass remarks from his brothers. And yes, that was a plural. He could trust John about as far as he could throw him...though admittedly that was quite a distance nowadays, but still…

Gordon derailed that train of thought by dumping himself down beside Virgil. He smelt like seawater.

“So, we spying on Dad, or what?” Gordon pointedly stared down at their father who was still giving that one worker the riot act.

“No. Just came up here for the view.” It was the truth. Ocean for miles in the distance, Mateo and its birds, jagged rock, crystal clear water in the caldera, their future being built beneath his feet.

Gordon didn’t immediately answer and Virgil looked in his direction. He found a small smile on his little brother’s face as he stared down at the turquoise depths below them. It suddenly struck him, that of all of them, this move was going to be the best for Gordon. Surrounded by sea life and the very ocean he adored; his fish-loving brother would be in his element.

Once he landed himself that Olympic medal, finished high school and grew up.

Virgil blinked.

‘Grow up’ and ‘Gordon’ were interesting when combined.

He loved his little brother, but he was a handful. Without thinking, Virgil reached out a hand and squeezed Gordon’s shoulder. That prompted a quizzical look in his direction, but Virgil just smiled a little before letting go and returning to his gaze far down below.

“Gordy! Where are you?” The high-pitched voice of the youngest Tracy bounced freely about the rocks.

Gordon rolled his eyes and whispered. “Keep it quiet.”

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

“He’s looking for someone to play that stupid space game with him.”

That earned Gordon a clap around the ear.

“Hey, I played it with him all day yesterday!”

“You could have told me, Gordon.” John was frowning.

“That’s why I came looking for you! I figured if you beat him several times, I wouldn’t have to worry about it tomorrow.”

Virgil clapped him up the ear again.

“Ow! Quit it, Virg. I don’t see you volunteering.”

“No, I’m too busy with that stopwatch timing your ass.”

Gordon blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“What are you guys doing up here?” Blond, blue-eyed and nine years old, little Alan bounced into the grotto and stared at the three of them before looking around. “Wow, this is a cool spot. You can see everything!”

The kid glared at Gordon for a second before pushing himself in between John and Virgil.

“Hey, sprout. What you been doing?”

“Looking for you guys. Gordon won’t play Star Hero with me.” Those blue eyes shot daggers at the next eldest brother.

“Maybe spending some time outside would be a good idea.”

“Aw, Virg. I’m nearly at the next level!”

Virgil reached out and wrapped an arm around his shoulders drawing him to his side. “But there is so much to see out here, Alan.”

“We’re gonna be here forever. I can see it then.”

A frown. “Allie, you okay?”

“I just wanna play Star Hero.” That was definitely a whine.

“Alan, if you drop the attitude, I’ll consider playing it with you tonight.” John’s voice was cool and clearly not tolerating his little brother’s tactics.

Alan lit up, eyes widening. “You will?! Be on my team?”

John arched an eyebrow. “As long as you don’t give me a silly name.”

“He called me Drockus Doofhead yesterday.” Gordon growled from Virgil’s other side.

“That’s because you are a doofhead. You don’t know the difference between a supernova and a nebula.”

“Yes, I do!”

“Prove it!”

“Hey, hey!” It had been quiet. It had been inspirational. Now... He shoved a finger in Gordon’s direction. “You, he’s nine. Give him a break.” Another finger in Alan’s face. “You. Respect others’ skills. Everyone is different. Consider how much Gordy does know that you don’t, how much he can help you and how much you can help him.”

The pout didn’t fully disappear, but Alan muttered something that could be considered an acknowledgement.

Virgil squeezed his shoulders, but didn’t say anything further. The breeze picked up a little and played with his hair. “Do you like the Island?” The question came out without thought and it stopped him in his tracks, suddenly wondering what his little brothers’ responses might be.

“Are you kidding? There are dolphins, Virg! I was swimming with dolphins this morning! This place is fantastic!”

Yeah, that was the response he expected from his fourteen-year-old fish.

“What about you, Allie?”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“Allie?”

“I’m gonna miss my friends.”

“You can still see your friends.”

“How?”

“Hololink.”

“Not the same.”

“We can fly in and out as much as you like.”

“Until you’re too busy.”

Silence fell over the grotto, returning it to its natural soundscape of distant waves, birds and the wind.

“I will never be too busy for you, Alan.” The deep voice of his eldest brother broke into the grotto and Virgil’s heart lurched. He looked up to find Scott staring down at their little group. He was still pale, the gash at his temple still pink with healing.

The walking stick in his hand was being leant on heavily.

“What the hell are you doing all the way up here?” Virgil shot to his feet and hurried over, grabbing his big brother’s arm almost terrified he would fall on his face.

“Can it, Virgil. I’m fine.”

Virgil ignored him. “Sit down.” His three other brothers shuffled over to make room and the recovering pilot rolled his eyes before lowering himself awkwardly down onto the moss carpet.

“I should be asking you that question. Is this a meeting I missed the memo for?”

“No. I just came up here for some quiet.”

Scott snorted. “Really?”

“Well, I didn’t expect a family convergence.”

“Can’t escape us, Virg.” Gordon was grinning.

“Wasn’t trying to, Gordo.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“What?”

“Well, why do you think we’re all up here? You’ve been disappearing every afternoon for days. We had to ask Brains to ping your locator.”

“What?!”

A hand landed on his arm and he turned away from Gordon to find Scott staring at him. “Maybe you should answer your own question, Virgil. Do you like the Island?”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

So, he closed it again.

It wasn’t just a question of his liking the Island. The eldest three knew far more than the youngest two. Exactly why they were moving to this isolated chunk of rock.

Scott squeezed his arm. “Johnny is in a star man’s paradise with his observatory, and you know my opinion.” He certainly did. Scott was itching to get back into the sky with that rocket plane. “But I don’t recall hearing your thoughts lately.”

“You know my answer. I agreed.”

Eyes as blue as the sky above them interrogated him. “But what about now that we are here?”

“I agreed.” This was not something he wanted to talk about in front of Gordon and Alan. Hell, Gordon’s amber eyes were as sharp as anything. “This place is beautiful.” It was. As if to emphasise the statement, the albatross reappeared from behind them. Its massive wings were hardly moving to keep it aloft. It coasted above, its eyes passing over all five brothers. “I think we can be happy here.” He hoped.

That hand squeezed his arm again and the grotto fell into a thought-filled silence.

The albatross caught a thermal and rose far above the Island.

Virgil watched it grow smaller and smaller.

Scott’s hand did not leave his arm.

Alan clambered around Gordon and curled up next to Scott. Just as Virgil had done earlier, Scott automatically reached out an arm and pulled him close.

Gordon threw a nasty glare at his little brother, stood up, stomped around Alan and Scott and pointedly dumped himself on the other side of Virgil. There may have been an exchange of raspberries between the two youngest, but Virgil tuned them out to protect his sanity.

He did not fail to notice John closing the gap left by Gordon and sidling up next to their littlest brother.

He ignored the sputtering of the fourteen-year-old he grabbed and drew close to his side in a sudden need for closeness. His other arm snaked around behind Scott, snagged John’s collar and gave a yank. The astronaut let out a yelp and nearly fell on Alan. Virgil’s fist caught in the back of his shirt and he managed to sandwich all his brothers together.

“Virgil!” His name was protested vehemently, but he had to smile when none of his brothers pulled away.

“Love you guys.”

Various sputterings of affirmation had him grinning outright. Gordon was literally squirming.

“Love you, too, Virgil.” Alan’s high-pitched voice was refreshingly honest.

“Thanks, squirt.” It was whispered.

Scott’s hand moved from his arm to wrap around Virgil’s back. A tired forehead dropped gently onto his shoulder.

His big brother didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

Virgil’s voice was rough. “Dad has called this place Tracy Island. We are the Tracys. Let’s make it ours.”

“Except the crabs.”

A blink. “What?” He stared at Gordon.

The kid was still under his arm, but was grinning up at him, mischief in every line.

“Half the crabs are on the endangered list. Mel has already laid claim to them.”

Another blink and Virgil just drew his little fish in tighter.

“Oh, god, Virg, need to breathe.”

A laugh welled up and burst out of Virgil from somewhere deep inside.

“I’m glad you find this funny.” The words were perturbed and put out, but John’s struggles were strangely in vain. Alan put an end to them by wrapping his arm around his astronaut brother and dragging him even further into the pile.

No one could resist the squirt.

They sat there together, quiet except for a few sputters from the fishy teenager.

Down below Dad was waving his arms around in front of the tiny figure of Brains.

The sun glittered off the turquoise caldera.

Virgil smiled.

They were the Tracys.

And this was their Island.

-o-o-o-

FIN

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #irrelief #irrelief2020 #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #Scott Tracy #younger!Tracys #kermadec fic

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unproblematicme · 4 years

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Could you do a short lil blurb about Zira and Crowley's baby? I adored the pregZira fic ;w; Zira being so nervous and trying to not get distracted by Crowley's amorous action. He needs to tell him, Crowley deserves to know about their lil miracle, but he's so so scared that Crowley would reject them once he knows. If Crowley doesn't want to be involved, then, then i-it's alright, it's my fault anyways for not being careful. I'll handle it myself, I swear! Just please don't leave me! ;n;

I finally got to your prompt today, anon. Sorry, it took so long. Just like the pregnancy fic was my first of that kind, this is my first baby fic so I have no idea if that’s what you were expecting. Hope you enjoy.

Arrival

Aziraphale practically clung to the little bundle and the bundle in returned snuggled against Aziraphale. Crowley could just stare in awe at his angel, well, angels. The baby’s hair was blonde and curly like Aziraphale’s and the eyes were of the same deep blue.

When Gabriella Device, Anathema’s mother who had assisted during birth, took the baby, Aziraphale made a sound of protest but was too tired to really say or do something. The baby though agreed with the angel loudly and cried while Gabriella cleaned her up. Smiling Crowley watched as Aziraphale’s pretty eyes fell shut almost immediately.

So it was Crowley who Gabriella handed the baby to upon her return which apparently calmed the little thing down. Crowley pressed the child against his lean chest, staring down on it. Somehow he was still in disbelief. One would think that after 10 months of taking care of his pregnant partner, he would have expected what was to come. But only now that he held a real-life baby, he had become aware of the situation’s severity.

Smiling he took in his child. Even stained with blood and slick, the face crumpled from the process of birth and from crying, she had been beautiful. But now, all cleaned up and peacefully sleeping in his arms, she was simply glowing.

Crowley wanted to be annoyed when the Device women and Madame Tracy gathered around him, but he couldn’t. The two witches would forever have his gratitude for their advice and guidance during pregnancy and of course during birth. And Tracy had been a rock in the past months, comforting and helping an anxious angel whenever Crowley had been at wit’s end.

So he just harrumphed for good measure when the three women neared. Anathema looked over Crowley’s shoulder and smiled.

“I’m so happy. A girl!” she whisper-squealed, aiming for the tiny nose with her fingers. “I will teach her all the ways of the Witches. How to make potions, draw runes…”

Growling Crowley turned his upper body to shield the baby from Anathema.

“You’ll do nothing of that sort, bookgirl,” he said. “I don’t need you to put her in danger by playing with any magic forces.”

“Oh yes,” Anathema said sarcastically. “Let her live the peaceful, uneventful and safe life as the daughter of Heaven and Hell’s renegades.”

Crowley opened his mouth for a sharp rejoinder when he realized that the Witch had a point.

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “You’re right!”

Without further ado he pressed the baby in Madame Tracy’s arm and started to shoo the two witches around.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Check my apartment’s magical protection and upgrade it, especially the baby’s room! Maybe some extra for her bed. If you’re done, do the same for the bookshop. And the Bentley! Can we put protective runes on rompers? Maybe I should’ve taken up a sewing class…”

“Mr. Crowley, calm down,” Gabriella chuckled. “Anathema and I have done all this weeks ago. Well, not the magical rompers.”

“You have? When?”

“Not sure,” Anathema teased. “It was one of those days you were practically glued to Aziraphale’s side. Not that this would narrow it down.”

“Oh, right,” Crowley nodded. “Speaking of, is Aziraphale alright? Except being fucking tired.”

“He is fine,” Gabriella smiled. “Your angel is very brave and strong.”

“I know,” Crowley said proudly and then hesitantly asked: “Was anything hurt, you know, down there?”

He gestured awkwardly in his crotch area and the women chuckled.

“Yes,” Gabriella nodded. “But the cheat just turned back to his male corporation after things were done so he is perfectly fine.”

“It’s a neat trick,” Anathema sighed. “I wish I could do that whenever I have to use a public toilet.”

“I’m quite happy with what I have,” Tracy chimed in. “I’ve witnessed first-hand the embarrassing situations the alternative gets men into.”

“Could we not discuss genitals in front of my child?” a voice sounded from the bed, tired but still condescending. “And could someone, a demon for example, miracle away the mess around here?”

Aziraphale crinkled his cute nose and with an indulgent smile Crowley snapped his fingers, cleaning the room.

“Another neat trick,” Anathema sighed.

“Now you must tell us,” Tracy smiled. “What will be her name?”

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other. Whenever they had spoken about it, they had not been very successful in finding something. Time had passed quickly and here they were.

“Erm,” they both made.

“No problem!” Gabriella said, pulling out a thick book from her back. “I have brought our family tree. A long line of amazing witches with beautiful names.”

“Why look into it?” Anathema asked. “We know which witch deserves the honor. Without Agnes nobody would be here anymore.”

“Mr. Shadwell gave me a long list of male names. All honorable members of the Witchfinder Army,” Tracy said. “And a very short list with female names: Odette and Mary.”

“Oh,” Anathema exclaimed. “Newt made a list, too. He thought you might want a biblical name.”

Crowley and Aziraphale watched as the women compared their lists and discussed names and preferences. It woke the baby but instead of crying, she just observed with interest. With every suggestion he heard, Aziraphale looked a bit more desperate.

“You remember how you gave me the ‘Peanuts’ comics to shut me up, angel?” Crowley asked while he smiled at the baby who had grabbed one of his long strands of red hair, pulling lightly.

“Of course, I thought a comic book would be a good compromise for someone who doesn’t read but likes pictures.”

“I really liked those kids. But my favorite was that loud girl with the black hair,” Crowley said. “Confident, head-strong, smart, taking no shit from anyone.”

“Lucy?”

“Lucy.”

“Lucy,” Aziraphale repeated with a smile, carefully stroking his daughter’s hair.

Anathema, Gabriella and Tracy fell silent when they heard the name.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Tracy exclaimed.

“Yes, Lucy Crowley, I like it.” Anathema agreed.

“Alright,” Gabriella nodded and smiled. “We’ll leave the family alone for now. Give us a call if you need something.”

On the way out she leant towards her daughter and patted her book.

“That’s okay,” she whispered. “There are two Lucille Devices and one Lucinda Device in here. It counts.”

#good omens #prompt #sort of mpreg #birth #aziraphale/crowley #protective crowley #Anathema Device #Madame Tracy #Aziraphale #crowley

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

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Apple Juice

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Scott, Virgil, Tracy brothers

How hard is it to get a drink? Harder when younger brothers insist on interfering. For @gumnut-logic‘s FABFiveFeb 2020 - Week 4. Prompts: “What do you mean?”, apple, crease, glow.

"Scott, stop!" Virgil's voice was sharp and urgent. Scott stopped, unsure of the reasoning but trusting his brother. The rescue control voice was one all of them had mastered through necessity, and one they'd all learnt to heed – if only for a moment.

A quick scan of the area revealed nothing wrong. Nothing was in imminent danger of collapse, ignition or full blown explosion. Perhaps Virgil had seen something outside of his field of vision, but Thunderbird Two's pilot would handle that – of that, Scott had absolute faith.

He continued his advance.

"Oh for- Scott!" Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, immobilising him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Scott attempted to turn to face his brother, but Virgil had a powerful grip. He made do with craning his neck awkwardly.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "I'm just getting a drink." The fridge he had just managed to open before Virgil interrupted him bathed him in a cool glow, but all he really cared about was the carton of apple juice he'd been about to reach for.

Virgil's brow was furrowed, the scar on the bridge of his nose almost swallowed by the resulting crease.

"That's what the bell is for," he all but growled. "You don't have to ring it as constantly as Gordon, but you are supposed to use it!"

The bell in question was abandoned upstairs by the sofa Scott had been bundled up on by overreacting younger brothers several hours earlier before they'd gone on a mission without him. He'd heard Thunderbird Two return, but he'd at least hoped he would be able to fetch the drink before they left the hangar.

"It's just a drink, Virgil," he pointed out. Virgil did not seem pacified.

"Back upstairs with you," he said instead. Scott realised what was about to happen a split second before it did, but his brother was strong and it was the inevitable, if infuriating, conclusion as he ended up bridal-style in his middle brother's arms.

"Virgil!" he protested, his crutches clattering to the floor as the sudden change in orientation made him lose his grip.

"If you don't stay on that couch this time you're being put back in the med bay," his brother threatened. Scott glared, but Virgil was undeterred as he walked away from the fridge and Scott's desired apple juice, and back up the stairs to the den where three unimpressed younger brothers were waiting.

"John?" he asked, blinking and waiting for his immediate brother's form to float around as Five's lack of gravity shifted his holographic form. It didn't happen; instead John took a step forwards and almost face-planted the sofa as his boot caught on a crease of discarded blanket on the floor. Alan was quick to catch him. "What are you doing here?"

Turquoise eyes regarded him reproachfully as John found his feet again.

"You clearly can't be trusted to look after yourself," he said scathingly. "Nor will you listen to people telling you to stay put." Scott vaguely recalled his holographic form complaining at him earlier, when he'd left the sofa in his quest for apple juice. "So the logical solution is to ensure you are supervised in person at all times, and Grandma and Kayo are away visiting Lady Penelope."

"I can look after myself just fine," Scott snapped as Virgil finally put him down. Gordon pounced almost immediately, wrapping the discarded blankets back around him before replacing the bell in easy arm's reach with a too-big grin. Scott glared at it.

"Your leg is broken," Virgil reminded him. "You need to take it easy, not put any weight on it, and let it heal."

Scott sighed.

"At least give me my tablet," he said, wrestling with Gordon's tightly wrapped blankets until he worked an arm free. John's raised eyebrow spoke volumes even before his brother spoke.

"No. You have the tv for entertainment. Or books."

Alan had been most helpful in amassing a pile Scott doubted he'd touch.

"Downtime means downtime, Scott," Virgil added. "No paperwork, no reports."

"You have The Bell!" Gordon reminded him, gesturing wildly in the direction of the small, irritating thing. "That means you get to do absolutely nothing!"

Scott didn't want to do nothing. It was bad enough being slowed down by a broken leg – he refused to let it stop him all together.

"It's my leg, not my head," he complained.

"Scott." Virgil sounded a little like a dying cat. "For once in your life, would you just take it easy?"

"I don't have time to take it easy, Virgil!" he snapped, before clamping his jaw shut. Four little brothers looked at him, varying from confusion to something too much like pity for Scott's liking.

Gordon moved first, because of course he did. Scott might be the eldest, but Gordon had a hunger for being first that none of their other siblings could rival, and he found himself with blond hair in his mouth as one of Gordon's infamous squid hugs targeted him.

Squid hugs were unlike bear hugs. Bear hugs were warm and strong. Squid hugs were tight and unpredictable. Even Scott with years of experience and big brother instincts could rarely anticipate one, and this was no exception.

"Gordon!" he spluttered, spitting hair out of his mouth ineffectually. Deceptively thin arms gripped like a vice – or a many tentacled creature, despite Gordon's regular human number of limbs – and Gordon lifted his head to grin at him.

"Yes, bro?"

"You-" Scott's attempts to tell him to get off were interrupted by Alan, the youngest Tracy supporting the squid hug with the limpet hug – similar, except without the illusion of many limbs. "Alan!"

His brothers were laughing. All four of them, including John, who was out of sight behind their youngest brothers and hopefully not losing a battle with gravity again. Scott craned his neck past blond hair to try and check. Ginger hair was visible next to black, proof that John was still on his feet. Scott relaxed slightly.

"You do have time," Gordon said after a moment, his hug placing his face so close to Scott's that all he could see was the brown blur of his eyes. "We're going to make sure of it."

"You always look after us, Scott," Alan chipped in, nuzzling his head somewhere in the region of Scott's lower chest – Alan's favourite place to rest his head during a hug. "So we're going to look after you."

"That's right," Virgil agreed, a warm hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

Scott might be the eldest, but with all of his younger brothers ganging up on him while he was injured, he was facing a losing battle and knew it.

"You don't have to," he protested, still unwilling to go down without a fight. John laughed, somewhere behind Virgil but out of Scott's line of vision.

"We want to." Alan's voice was muffled against his shirt, before he raised his head to look at Scott with adoration-filled blue eyes.

There wasn't really a response to that, so Scott closed his eyes while he waited for his three youngest brothers to let go of him.

It was a crash from the kitchen that startled them into releasing him, all of them looking towards the stairs in mild concern. Scott himself attempted to jump out of the sofa to investigate until Virgil pinned him back down.

"Stay," the dark-haired man said firmly, even as Alan scrambled to his feet and scampered in the direction of the stairs.

John was nowhere to be seen, and Scott quickly put two and two together to conclude that the ginger had either forgotten gravity's effect on things, or had lost another battle with the force. He hoped it was the former – broken glasses were always preferable to broken bones – but unable to check there was little he could do except wait and stew in concern.

Gordon readjusted his blankets before flopping dramatically onto the sofa next to his and swiping the tv remote.

"If you won't pick something, I will," he declared before the too-familiar opening of Into the Unknown started playing. Scott rolled his eyes, sharing a long-suffering glance with Virgil.

"Really?" Alan whined, catching Scott's attention. His youngest brother was carrying a plate of what looked like apple pie – goodness knew where that had come from; Scott thought he'd have known if any of that was in the kitchen – while John walked carefully a step behind him, a glass of the much sought after apple juice tightly held in his hands.

He looked unhurt, Scott reassured himself.

"He forgot plates don't float on Earth," Alan confirmed, as John rolled his eyes and muttered something disparaging about gravity. "No harm done, except to another of our plates."

Gordon's hard work was ruined as Virgil helped Scott into more of a reclining position than his previous laying down, blankets falling away. He eagerly accepted the pie – no broken bones were going to dampen his adoration for his favourite food – and knocked back the juice instantaneously as John handed it over.

Better late than never, he supposed. And it was nicer to drink in company rather than alone.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds #fabfivefeb #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #family fic #broken bones #apple juice #tsari writes fanfiction #thunderfluff

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rewritingtrauma · 4 years

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Permaculture Design Course

We dialled in from living rooms, bedrooms, caravans and gardens across 11 different time zones, from Abu Dhabi to California (with Brazil and Berlin somewhere in between). Our reasons for being here were all unique and yet all similar; concerns for the future; for the mass extinction event and loss of natural habitats; hoping to learn how to live sustainably; how to grow food naturally; how to produce more than we consume; how to change career; how to live without doing harm; and how to co-create a better world for our children and future generations to grow up in. In the context of one of the biggest worldwide pandemics in living history, this group of strangers met in the timeless hinterland of the online meeting room to explore, share, and learn about positive solutions both now and for our futures...

I stumbled across The Permaculture Design Course quite by accident (as I was looking for ways to make my struggling garden thrive rather than merely survive) but, over the course of a month, this unexpected experience changed my life completely... For the first time in 35 years I feel that I have been given access to a toolkit for living - a set of frameworks, processes and principles which speak entirely to what I feel and know to be real and right - for how to be and live in the world in deeply connected, holistic and sustainable ways... At a moment when I was feeling incredibly helpless and overwhelmed by global and personal circumstances, the PDC and this group of wonderful, disparate strangers, appeared “as if by magic” and turned around the whole way I understand myself, my power, and my place in the world. On my ‘rewriting trauma’ journey the PDC has been an invaluable turning point and has provided me with the maps and materials I most need (though may not have been looking for) for going forwards...

Since finishing the course I have been asked numerous times by friends, family and neighbours “What IS Permaculture, exactly...?” And I have responded with numerous answers (according to who was asking, their reasons for asking and the context in which the question was asked) but I would like to take this opportunity to address that question, in the best way I know how, through the precious and manifold ideas and conversations which came up throughout the course. I want to respond to the question “What is Permaculture?” in this way (rather than offer a singular narrative) because I believe this embodies and reflects much more of the essence of what Permaculture is : a set of principles, processes and frameworks for living which can be tailored to the particular and specific answers and solutions each one of us seeks in our own, unique context.

Word bubble formed from the PDC reactions to the question “How do you define Permaculture?” 2nd June 2020

“You can’t have sustainable food production without sustainable everything else.”

Graham Bell, Online PDC, June 2020

June 2020 was an astonishing and deeply challenging month in so many ways… Personally, I was forced to face the vulnerability of my own situation; my reliance on shop bought food and uncertain income streams when, at the very outset of lockdown, literally all of my work dried up, my partner was made redundant and access to food was scarce and difficult. Then there was worse to come. In the late hours of the 16th of June, my cousin Beth died. The news arrived during one of our PDC sessions. She had been battling secondary and primary breast cancer. This is a heartbreak and a loss I am still trying to understand and process (but one which, had I not been held by this group and this experience, would have been so much harder to deal with).

Meanwhile, on the international stage, people were facing so many additional threats and challenges posed by the Coronavirus Pandemic. The death statistics highlighted the social and economic inequalities, both at home and abroad, particularly along lines of race - with a disproportionate number of deaths and redundancies in people from BBIPOC (Black, Brown, Indigenous, People of Colour) backgrounds. We saw deaths in refugee camps sky rocketing. These statistics were a bitter salt in the wounds of exhaustive and institutional racism which we saw enacted again and again from the refugee crisis in Syria and Yemen to the police murders of George Floyd in Texas, Israel Berry in Oregon, Tracy Downe in Florida and many more besides… Some of us white folx, in waking up to the scale and pervasiveness of institutional and embedded violence towards our African, Asian and South East Asian Diaspora friends, that we (I) started to understand our (my) own white fragility and the systems of dis/advantage which many of us have been complicit in. And it was amidst this context of great uncertainty and upheaval that the PDC took place...

Over the course of the month of June, with three day-long zoom meetings a week and a handful of break out/additional sessions in between, we explored (amongst many things); the ideas and inspirations behind Permaculture; the centrality of Observation; Non Violent Communication; Patterns; Input & Output Analysis; Wild Design; Trees and Soil; Guilds - what they are, how they work, making our own; Arts and Culture(s); Landscape; Climate; Planning for the future; Alternative Exchange Economies; Food and Water; Six Coloured Thinking Hats; Plant Families and Nomenclature; Sociocracy; Healing; Cooperation vs Competition; Zones and Sectors; Needs, Wants and Offers… And many more things besides and between.

Though I was not aware of it at the time (though I might have been, had I read the curriculum and course handbook in advance!) almost the entire first half of the PDC was taken up with the co-creation of a safe and productive learning space and culture.

One of the first questions posed to the participants was from Kate Everett who asked “What makes learning work for you?”

I struggled to identify what had worked for me in the past but could instantly conjure what made learning not work: I thought of GCSE revision, 20 cups of tea a day, desperately cramming information into my head… I thought back to how long it had taken me to learn how to tie shoe laces or to put up a tent because of how much heat and anger there was from my father and his father that I couldn’t just do it… I thought of those feelings of shame, humiliation, stress and of shutting down when I was told I was an idiot and a failure… But then, interestingly, so many others in the group articulated similar experiences - “stress, school, competition”…Some people described themselves as lone wolves, others learnt better in groups, some benefited from working together over a problem or by sharing what they were learning… But what all of us agreed upon was the inhibiting effects of stress on learning and the need to enfold experimentation, play, overview and failure in order to make our learning journeys productive and engaging...

“Learning is love”

Graham Bell

Little did we know it at the time but all this information about our individual learning experiences was being observed, gathered and harvested… as we learnt about ourselves and one another we were also learning how to create the best learning (and hence growing) conditions for us as individuals and as a collective. Though we may not have fully realised it as it was happening, we are all in the “inverted classroom” : we had all become the teachers, as well as the students and would learn more from the collective than any single teacher or pedagogy could ever bestow...

Quotes and prompts I collected throughout the course

“A person who doesn’t make a mistake probably doesn’t make anything”

Graham Bell

Mark Shiperlee introduced us to the concept of the Culture Board and we begin brain storming what factors are important to measure our course culture against. The factors we decided were of most importance to integrate into, and develop throughout, the course were;

Positive Solutions

Long & Short Breaks

Gift Economy

Time Keeping

Mutual Respect

Fun

Creativity

Task Setting & Reporting

Inclusion

Group Work

Connect With Nature

Throughout the course we would check in on the Culture Board regularly to determine what stage these various factors were at i.e. Seed; Sprout; Leaf; Flower; or Fruit. For me this was a valuable tool in understanding where the group felt our learning journey was at - which areas were working and which were not. It made this an easy, fluid and almost anonymised process and helped to address both the successes and the failures as we went along, understanding where energy needed focusing. This was one of many visual tools, along with The Life Ethics venn diagram, Six Thinking Hats, OBREDIMET, Looby’s Design Web, Input & Output Analysis, PMI (Plus, Minus, Interesting) Analysis, Importance/Urgency Matrix, and Relative Location which I have continued to use in my own Permaculture Life/Design Processes…

My LIfe Ethics Venn Diagram - i.e. the three main ethics of permaculture”Earth Care”, “People Care” and “Fair Shares” Where they all intersect is the core of Life Ethics

During the course we were also given our own break out Guild groups with whom we had to develop ad present a Permaculture Design Project with (below is ‘an artist’s impression’ of our Guild The Four Acorns - Lynn, Siobhan, Lucy and myself.

“Though the problems of the world are increasingly complex, the solutions remain embarrassingly simple”

Bill Mollison

By the third week of the course, with each one of our guild feeling exhausted by various life stresses (illness, work, family, bereavement, etc) we decided the best and most effective design we could work on was one for supporting each other as a guild whilst we embarked upon our permaculture journeys (the one thing which united all of us was that we wished to continue beyond the course).

We started applying some of the tools and processes we acquired throughout the course to our own visions for the future. We started off with Holmgren’s Permaculture Design Principles;

Principle 1. Observe & Interact

We began our guild process by gradually getting to know one another, developing & discussing project ideas that would tap into all of our needs & aspirations.

Principle 2.Catch & Store Energy

As we were all feeling a bit burnout we realised we needed to do something that would hold space and energy for us as individuals and a collective i.e. catch and store energy by making and holding space for one another. We wanted to encourage each other to feel safe enough to start exploring with new eyes and to assist each other’s courage in the face of major life changes.

Principle 3.Obtain a yield

We all wanted to carry on our development beyond the course and to share permaculture with others - so we asked the questions “How could we support one another in this?” But, in addition “What renewable resources and services did we have that we could use, share and apply?” and “What could we create - the main yield - within this guild?” We decided that the yield we could create in the present, but carrying into the future, was a space full of loving-support, inspiration, challenge and abundance.

Principle 4. Apply Self-regulation & accept feedback & Principle 5. Use & Value Renewable Resources and Services

As we began using permaculture tools to explore our individual designs, these processes enabled us to support and affirm one another; to share wisdom; tell stories; hear, value and integrate one another as individuals in a guild; become energised and strengthened by our diverse experiences, perspectives, knowledge(s), points of view; and to be challenged and strengthened by processes and making compassionate space for learning through failure too... And believe me, we did fail...

Mind Map at the outset of my own Permaculture Life Design exploring my assets, helps/opportunities, limitations, needs, aims and potential tools & processes to employ

“It takes shit... literal shit... but then you get humus”

Siobhan

On the last day of the course all of the individual guilds presented their design projects and it was amazing to see the wealth, depth and diversity of those ideas and the tools and processes (which we had been given throughout the course) put into action. There were design solutions that addressed; food scarcity; social isolation; mental health issues; segregation; alienation; loss of habitat and species; water shortages; poor health; access to education; job losses; seed sharing; community spaces; and so many more big issues. It was staggering.

In such a short space of time this small group of strangers had come together and, with the support of our guides and course leaders, co-created a network of support from across the world, positively enriching one another and the larger ecosystems each of us are a part of. It was a little island of paradise which cultivated an abundance of new perspectives, hope and courage. By showing us what might be possible and - rather than getting too mired in the negative/things we cannot control - looking to appreciate what we have, what we can be and what we can create together, the PDC taught us how diversity and collaboration can help us, both as individuals and a society, develop resilience in the face of the overwhelming challenges of our times.

It was an experience I will never forget and which I hope to keep alive as I go into the future (remembering to regularly use, sharpen and adapt those valuable tools)...

#permaculture #design #PDC #trauma #rewriting #collaboration #culture #diversity #solutions #growth #tools #futreproof #sustainability #food #growyourown #IrisPriest

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Alaska Doesn't Know (Katlaska) - a-tresia

She doesn’t know when it happened. But it happened. Quietly. Gradually. Gently. Unknowingly.

AN: I was rewatching All Stars 2 on a 14 hour plane ride to Europe and wrote this on the plane ride home because I couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s unedited and messy and basically a scattered brain on a long haul flight manifested in a 3,000 word story.

And, uh, if you like it – let me know. Turns out, sitting in a plane for half a day is great for *productivity*. So there’s another story in this same universe if you guys decide you like this.

My Craquaria fic is still being written – just had to purge a little.

—

Alaska doesn’t know when it happened — when she started calling her Katya (proper, formal, professional) then Ka-tee-ya (drawn out vowels, markedly Alaska) then Kataya (“My mom didn’t know how to say her name for a while and was calling her Kataya,” she said in an interview and it became a running joke but really it was just endearing) then Kati (Only Alaska calls her Kati, as far as she knows. And only Alaska can call her Kati. Because why would they? That’s not her name). Sometimes it’s an irreverent butchering of her name but she does it with the purest of intentions. And only in public. Now it’s just Brian. Or some sort of an overly sappy, teeth-rotting pet name. And it sounds more natural. And real.

It wasn’t until she lost her phone — in a cab, or the airport, or a plane, or another airport, in a car, in an event venue, a hotel room, wherever, whenever, whatever — that she realizes that Katya’s constant texts or phone calls or video calls, seemingly a continuous stream of consciousness, has stopped being Too Much and Infuriating to her.

(Alaska asks Trixie how she does it. How she can keep on listening to Katya go on tangents about anything and everything and not want to strangle her.

“Oh, you think I don’t?” Trixie laughs. “I constantly want to strangle her. Or kill myself. Which I think would be an easier option.” Trixie shoots herself in the mouth with two finger guns.

“TRACY!” Alaska laughs — screeches, really — and almost falls off the stool as she does.)

She doesn’t know when it happened. But it happened. Quietly. Gradually. Gently. Unknowingly.

(After a show, with everyone scrambling to get out of drag, trying to get the fuck out of this place and into bed, Katya’s going on about something or another on some sort of a live video. Alaska’s observing her from afar. She zones out of her (one-sided) conversation with Detox and focuses her attention on Katya. She laughs as she finally catches the gist of Katya’s seemingly endless and nonsensical story.

“Why are you laughing?” Detox asks, pulling Alaska back into THEIR conversation.

“What?” she asks automatically as she focuses back on Detox.

Detox looks at Alaska’s reflection on the mirror. Then at Katya’s. “I can’t believe people actually stay up to tune in to that,” she says. “Bitch gives me a fucking headache.”

Alaska laughs. Because it’s true. The bitch gives everyone a headache. Except her. Not anymore, apparently. “Verbal diarrhea. Like she’s dumping her psyche online,” Alaska explains. “Makes her more relatable, I guess. It’s cute.”

“When did you start finding that cute?”

Alaska locks eyes with Detox on the mirror, scrunches her nose, and pouts her lips. “I don’t knoooooow,” she drawls. And she really doesn’t.)

And now she’s uncomfortable at the sudden peace and quiet. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s usually on the phone with Katya as soon as she lands until she’s pulling up to their apartment. She just knows she needs to get home. Home to Katya. To Brian. A new phone can wait until tomorrow.

She comes home to an empty apartment. It’s as tidy as it will ever be. There’s mail on the floor. Why Katya didn’t pick it up, she doesn’t know. There’s an unwashed spoon and bowl in the kitchen sink, still with oatmeal left, almost calling out her name for a wash. There’s a cheap pair of heels, superglue, and some crystals on the coffee table. There’s also a new addition to their plant babies on the windowsill. Oh no, another mouth to feed. Alaska moves to admire them but is stopped by the sudden sound of retching coming from the bathroom.

Katya’s on the bathroom floor, head resting against the toilet seat. She lifts her head to see Alaska’s worried face. “Mother, I’ve been having morning sickness again,” she manages to say before Alaska could ask. She’s been in and out of the bathroom the whole morning, throwing up everything she takes in, so she’s decided to camp out instead.

Alaska grabs a towel before sitting on the floor beside Katya. “It was ONE time. Are you telling me I should have pulled out?” Alaska says with a straight face. Katya laughs — it’s weak, but it’s there, and the effort hurts. “Because, honey, you know that’s not how it works, right?”

“I didn’t go to fucking school for math.” Katya laughs again, more force this time, and Alaska joins in. She leans her head against Alaska when they finally calm down. “You’re home,” she says kissing Alaska’s shoulder.

Alaska nods. She kisses the top of Katya’s head. “I AM home,” she says. “And I lost my phone.” Alaska thinks she’s been trying to get in touch. Katya mumbles something about getting a new one tomorrow and Alaska agrees. That’s not important, for now.

It takes them a while to get up from the floor. Mostly because Katya has to throw up again. And again. And again. Each time finding herself crawling back into Alaska’s lap. All the traveling has Alaska’s back hurting but she doesn’t want to get up until Katya feels better. Solidarity. Poor, Kati. Alaska offers to take her to the doctor but Katya refuses. “Can you just call my mom? Or my sister?” Katya suggests.

She remembers that Pat’s a nurse. And she can help. She’s probably the only legitimate medical professional Katya trusts. “Your mom, okay,” she agrees. “But why your sister?”

Katya sits up to look Alaska straight in the eyes. “She’s a veterinary pathologist,” she explains, enunciating each syllable as if that would explain how she could help Katya at the moment.

“Exactly! She’s a veterinarian - AN ANIMAL DOCTOR!” she says trying to get up from the floor. She doesn’t know why Katya insists on deferring to the medical expertise of her sister whenever she has a medical issue because well, she’s not a human doctor, but Katya is Katya. She’ll indulge her sometimes. Not today though, not when she looks like she’s dying and dead. “You’re not a dog, Brian,” Alaska reminds her, AS IF she needed reminding that she is indeed of a different species.

Katya gets up on all fours. “But I AM an animal,” she pants before literally rolling on the floor laughing. Alaska has to laugh along with her because she walked right into that trap.

Alaska doesn’t know when she’s come to accept that nothing that comes out of Katya’s mouth will ever be as expected. But she always expects to be surprised.

(Another flight delay in the chronicles of touring drag queens. No one is happy but they’re trying to keep the beast mode to a minimum. It’s a silent but solid agreement that only one queen can lose their shit at any given time. None of them are having a breakdown at the moment. And that’s good. No one needs whiny ass bitches right now.

Katya opens a bag of Skittles and settles in. “Let’s get serious here for a moment,” she says turning her body to face Alaska. She mirrors Katya’s position, knees touching knees. She agrees and takes Katya’s candy to share. “What exactly do you want to wake up to everyday?” Katya asks very seriously.

With Katya, you never know what you’re going to get. Some days, it’s all nonsense. Some days, like today, it’s this. Smart. Deep. Existential. Alaska’s quite taken aback by the question. She thinks for a moment, as she chews on her Skittles, that maybe her tired brain can’t handle these types of questions. She considers a shallow answer. But shallow is not what Katya wants. “Warmth,” she answers. And frankly, she can’t believe that she’s comfortable enough with Katya to be this candid with her. Katya furrows her brows as if prompting her to elaborate. “Not in the literal sense, as in heat,” she starts to explain. “But, as in, the feeling of warmth and contentment. Whether I wake up alone or next to someone, I just want to wake up to a feeling of warmth, positivity, comfort, and safety.”

Katya is surprised. Genuinely surprised. “Wow,” she says blinking at Alaska. She grabs Alaska’s shoulders. “May I remind you, ma’am, that THIS is an airport,” she says seriously, raising her hands to solidify her point. “I came here to catch FLIGHTS, not feelings.” Katya abruptly gets up, leaving Alaska dumbfounded, thinking: feelings?)

Alaska calls Pat on Katya’s phone while she unpacks and Katya showers. They both agree it’s because of Katya’s shitty food choices. “He was filming with Trixie yesterday,” Alaska offers. It was a dumb explanation but it made sense to them both. Pat laughs. She knows. Everyone knows. All Katya takes in when she’s filming is caffeine and sugar. Nothing substantial. Nothing nutritious. Alaska promises to sneak in more greens.

Katya’s mom tells her what medicine to buy and what flavor of Pedialyte to get “because Brian gets very particular about that.” Alaska knows. “I’m sorry you have to live with a child, Justin,” she says in jest. Alaska agrees. Completely. She doesn’t mind though.

Alaska catches up with Pat for a bit while she sorts through her stuff. She doesn’t know when talking to Katya’s mom became like talking to her own — it’s comforting. She tells her they’ll try to come visit soon. Katya catches the tail end of their conversation, only to sneak in a hi mom, love you, bye, before the call ends.

She thanks Alaska for calling her mom, declares that she’s feeling so much better now that Alaska’s home, and starts to help with the unpacking. No, not really. All she’s really doing is playing with Alaska’s feather boa.

Katya makes a show of plopping herself onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Alaska looks at her suspiciously. “I feel like there’s something you want to say.”

“I don’t want to be dramatic but —”

“Let me stop you right there.” Alaska holds her hand up to stop Katya from talking. “I can tell you right now that you are physically incapable of not being dramatic. You may continue,” she says with a hand flourish.

Katya crosses her arms and looks away. “I have feelings, you know. And you hurt them.”

Alaska crosses the room to sit beside Katya. “Uh, Brian,” she says, unsure. Her heart is pounding in her chest. She must be genuinely upset. But Katya being Katya, this can also be one of her stupid antics. She hopes it IS just one of her stupid antics. Katya refuses to look at her. She moves closer, enveloping Katya in a hug. “Brian, what’s wrong?”

“Alaska Joanne Elizabeth Thunderfun,” Katya starts. Alaska sighs in relief. This isn’t serious. But she’ll keep up the charade until Katya’s done talking. “Well, you’ve been home 4 hours and you haven’t even properly kissed me yet.” Katya pouts. “I brushed my teeth, mama. I don’t have vomity breath.” Serious enough, Alaska thinks. She shifts Katya’s body to face her. “Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me!” Katya insists.

“A certifiable disaster.” And Alaska doesn’t know any better but to oblige. Again. And again. And again.

(Alaska catches Katya in the dressing room taking off the last of her lipstick. She removes her wig and settles herself on the seat beside Katya to remove her nails. She doesn’t know it but she’s making a face. That face. The things-didn’t-go-my-way-I-want-to-cry-and-I’m-about-to-throw-a-tantrum face.

Katya eyes her carefully. “Are you okay?” Alaska doesn’t respond and it makes Katya uneasy. Their friendship has definitely changed in the past few months. And Alaska has never been this quiet around her. Not since All Stars. “Alaska,” she calls out. Alaska’s brows are furrowed. “Justin,” Katya tries.

She looks up. She heard Katya the first time. And she definitely knows what Katya wants to know. She’s been in a sour mood the whole night. She wants to say something. She has just enough alcohol in her body to be able to feel things but sober enough to stop herself from doing or saying something stupid.

“Look,” Katya says as she put on her boy clothes. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” All Katya gets is a nod. It’s vague. It doesn’t really mean anything. But she knows not to push it. She reminds Alaska that the van is ready to leave and tells her she’ll be outside to smoke.

Alaska quickly changes into her boy clothes, leaving her face to deal with later. She follows the rest of the queens to the parking lot where Katya has been waiting for them forever. She watches Katya take a long drag off her cigarette before calling out to her. “Kati.”

That must have sounded pathetic because Katya definitely knows something is wrong. It’s unfair, really, how Katya can see right through her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t want to talk about it. But she does, SHE DOES want to talk about it. “Kati,” she says slowly. She pauses. And Katya waits. Quite uncharacteristically patient and unmoving. “I need…” She takes a deep breath. “Please don’t make me say it out loud.”

Katya’s confused. She really doesn’t have patience for this right now. Alaska’s bad mood is contagious. “I’m not making you do anything, Alaska.”

Alaska thinks she would never have to tell Katya this. They’re friends, really great friends, and it’s amazing. Alaska even thinks she replaced Ginger as Katya’s best friend. She doesn’t know when it happened but this friendship, this warmth in her chest, is suddenly dense and heavy with feelings that she knows aren’t just for friends. It’s like Katya crawled her way into Alaska’s heart and made a home there. And tonight, Alaska is suddenly forced to open this floodgate. She is faced with the need to open herself to these feelings and just be true to herself. Because she really doesn’t need to see Katya flirting with everybody. She doesn’t need to see Katya STEALING. WILLAM’S. TRADE. In front of her. She doesn’t need that. Not when she’s already deep in this rabbit hole. Yes, Katya may not reciprocate. Because she never knows with Katya. And that’s not okay, she thinks. But it will be. It should be. They should be able to still remain friends.

It doesn’t help that Katya is just there, smoking her third cigarette, letting Alaska gather her thoughts. She’s quiet and Alaska isn’t used to a quiet Katya. Not when they’re around each other. “You really don’t have to tell me anything,” she repeats. “I can see that something’s bothering you but I won’t push. I can give you a hug if you need a hug or space if you need that.”

And Alaska knows that. But she has to get this off her chest. She looks Katya straight in the eyes. Katya senses that whatever Alaska wants to say is coming so she shifts her body to face her head on. “Kat — Brian.” She drops Alaska’s inflections. “You are the BEST human. Ever. And I like you way more than anybody, even myself. I really like you. You, Brian. And not just as a friend.” Alaska wants to stop but the words keep on coming. “If I don’t see you or talk to you, I get curious. I get worried. If you’re sad, I get upset. When you smile, when you laugh, it makes me happy. It drives me crazy. And maybe that’s bordering on love. I don’t know. But I really need you to stop flirting with everything that moves. Because I really want to kiss you. And I NEED you to like me back.”

Katya’s gathering her thoughts. She looks at Alaska skeptically as she stubs her cigarette. “Did you really mean that?”

Alaska looks a little offended. “You really think I’d pour my heart out like that if I didn’t mean it?”

Katya is silently looking at her. “THUNDERFUCKER!” This makes Alaska laugh. “I thought I was imagining things!” Katya shakes her head and turns to walk away but comes back quickly. “I’ve been trying to convince myself that there’s really nothing between us. That the shift in dynamic—“

But Alaska cuts her off. “This nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings.”

“Ha! You’ve Got Mail! You’re such a girl!” They both laugh. And it takes them a minute to calm down. Katya takes Alaska’s hand. “I really want to kiss you, too,” she confesses. But she doesn’t move. She’s letting Alaska take the lead.

Alaska raises a brow and takes a step forward. She’s just gathered enough courage to kiss Katya when the van door opens to show a very pissed off Willam. “Let’s go! We’ve been waiting for you bitches forever!” she screams before slamming the van door shut.)

Alaska wakes up with Katya draped over her. She’s awake but Alaska tries as hard as possible to sleep in for as long as possible. Traveling does take a toll on the body. And honestly, she can feel the age settling in. It’s difficult for them to sleep in. They’re just naturally early risers, despite the late nights. “I’m so happy you’re back,” Katya says as she kisses Alaska’s neck when she realizes she’s awake too.

There are things that Alaska are certain of — That she has a warm bed to fall into at night although it’s not her own on most nights. That she’s got enough money to keep her comfortable. That she has a caring and somewhat overbearing family. That she’s got friends and sister queens who redefine loyalty, who love her in ALL her forms — tantrums or otherwise.

And Katya. At one point, she didn’t know what to make of her. She remembers Tatianna commenting on All Stars that Katya is very quiet but also really out there. Everyone in the room agreed. Including her. She still thinks Katya is an amalgamation of contradictions. But there is something so sure, so solid, about her. About them.

Katya starts to get up but Alaska pulls her in closer, “Don’t move, you’re warm.” And there it is. The warmth. She just wants to bask in the light that came off Katya because it’s warm and it’s good and it’s enough. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be cold anymore.

#rpdr fanfiction #katya zamolodchikova #alaska thunderfuck #domestic fluff #katlaska #atresia #canon compliant

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cg29 · 4 years

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40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers.

Thank you to @soniabigcheese @gumnut-logic @onereyofstarlight and Anon for the ASKS you sent my way. Since I wanted to answer in detail, I’ve had more than 1 question, and I’ve not had a lot of spare time today I thought I’d answer all in this one post…

So first up @soniabigcheese sent me: ‘How about ... 9 ... 15 and 19? Please.’

9: Which fic has been the hardest to write?

All have been challenging in their own individual ways. Yet, really thinking about it I’d have to say GONE. For various reasons – It was my first Thunderbirds Fanfic, the longest story I had ever written, at this point the one I’ve had to do the most planning and research, and finally because of the emotions that needed portraying. However, the elation at finally finishing the story was amazing and has certainly inspired me to continue.

15: If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Oh my God, that would be amazing! I would definitely have to go for Bad Day (Virgil’s day keeps repeating. What will it take for it to end and a new one to begin?) I had so much fun writing this, it’s one that I’ve reread a few times since competing, and it still makes me giggle. I’m sure I’d be in stitches if I got to watch it on the big screen. Although due to some of the contents towards the final chapters it would definitely need a UK PG or 12A rating.

19: Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

For Thunderbirds fanfiction my muse is definitely Virgil, The-Virg, It’s definitely his creativity and those eyes, plus that mouth, also those eyebrows, and his muscles… Sorry getting distracted – Actually, thinking about it, Virgil’s more of a distraction than a muse. Especially with my new mobile screensaver which I keep staring at.

Okay, back to the question. I don’t think I’ve got a muse – just a little voice in my head that won’t shut up when I have a story idea until I’ve written it down.

…

Next we have @gumnut-logic who asked: ‘Writer meme question thingy - 1 & 12.’

1: Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

I always seem to revert to the family dynamics rather than a full-on rescue story (which is probably why I’m struggling with two of my fics which need to have rescue bits written in) Basically, I love to go deeper into the descriptions of the physical/emotional whump, and how the family deal with the situation (hidden feelings, tempers, how they bond) during and afterwards.

12: Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Yes, for both TOS and TAG.

The original series: There’s a few – Terror In New York City (Yep, the beginning in particular) The Perils of Penelope, Sun Probe, The Uninvited, Edge Of Impact. After thinking long and hard to narrow it down I’d have to say that while Terror In New York’s my favourite. The Perils of Penelope inspired my naughty fic The Night of Anderbad (Penelope & Virgil pairing) plus the idea of Virgil having a secret crush on her in later chapters of The Tracy Family and a few other one of fics.

TAG: There are a few earlier ones which have inspired fics – Grandma Tourismo, Flame Out, Hyperspeed, SOS pt. 2, Signals pt. 1, Upside Down. There are probably others and these last few episodes have been really inspiring. However, I think I would definitely have to go for the more recent SOS Pt 1 & 2 and Signals Pt 1 & 2. (I’m sure the finale of Season 3 may change this answer)

…

Third we have @onereyofstarlight who asked: ‘2 and 37 for the ask meme.’

2: Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Yes, I would like to have a go at Were Virgil at some point. Also, would like to try doing the boys ages differently to see how the dynamics changed – Alan as the eldest, next in line is Gordon, then Scott in the middle with John then Virgil as the youngest.

37: Talk about your current wips.

Lol, I have a few so this could take a while :D

I will start with ones that I’ve posted on FF.Net & A03 (Probably also shared them here at some point.

1. Avalanche: TAG.

This story began as a prompt that suggested a story that begins and ends with the same line but the meaning/feeling of the line changes. I started it with the intention of writing just 1 chapter …hahaha… of course I ended the story on a cliff-hanger and couldn’t leave it there, so it’s been continued and I’m so glad I did because I personally feel it is nearing the top of my best written list. The story itself is set when the boys are just children and focuses on the tragedy of the Avalanche and the emotional repercussions. I’ve just reached chapter 14, and probably have another 2-4 chapters left.

2. Lucille: TAG

Synopsis - A story about the unseen woman who watches over International Rescue."I am a wife, I am a mother, and I am the one who watches over International Rescue, making sure I am there to catch them whenever they fall. My name is Lucille Tracy and this, well this is my story!"

A story told through the eyes of the boy’s mother. This is one that I keep stopping and starting, most likely because I hadn’t planned it out. It’s currently on-hold until I finish some others, but I will complete it.

3. The Games: AU - Thunderbirds Are Go mixed with the concept of the Hunger Games. (Although, only Thunderbirds characters will make an appearance)

Here’s my synopsis - Climate change, famine, war. In the end another major war lead to the richest creating the Global Defence Force and 'order' was restored. To celebrate and keep control the Hunger Games were created. This was the 100th games.

The fic started from the Whumptober Prompts and I decided to continue it, wrote half of the 2nd chapter then promptly forgot about it. I’ve recently been looking at this again and have started to reread The Hunger Games for inspiration. However, like Lucille this fic is currently on hold.

4. Virgil Drabbles: TAG.

Started out as a challenge to see how much I could get across in just 100 words. All chapters are based around the lovely Virgil - TAG (but with him being the middle child – started before the Grandma Tourismo episode and apart from a few fics where I write it the other way around I prefer it this way)

The story starts from Virgil’s birth and I’ve now got him attending Denver. I still have a fair few chapters to write but the rest is now all planned out.

5. Reflections: TOS.

Set after Virgil's crash during the Season 1 episode 4 of 'Terror in New York City.' Short reflections from each of the family on nearly losing a brother and son. (Previously Titled, Fallen Brother)

I had always wanted to write something based on my favourite TOS episode. Then Shane Rimmer passed away and this was inspired. Slow updates on this one but I’ve finished telling myself the story just need to edit/rewrite that into something coherent.

And now we’re onto the ones that I may have posted snippets for or just 1 section for on here, but nothing officially posted as yet.

1. Two Untitled Prompts: TAG.

Both prompts were given to me at the end of November and I actually wrote out both (Plotting, thoughts, and telling myself bits of the story) Then December knocked me sideways and my writing suffered. Back to working on these 2 again now and really enjoying them. Without giving to much away, the one features a heart-broken Alan and the other (which with Avalanche is at the top of my pile) features Virgil having a day from hell with added whump.

2. Two Whumptober Fics: TAG.

Posted 1 or 2 chapters for each of these back in October and decided that they could possibly be extended/completed before posting. (All short fics)

The first one is titled Coffee Shot: Virgil gets shot in a café and emotions will run high. Fully planned out but decided to finish some others before I continue working on this.

The second is currently titled Ransom and is set when the guys are children. Scott and Virgil get kidnapped – Only done some basic plotting for this and it’s currently towards the bottom of my WIP pile.

The third is untitled and at the moment my word file is saved under the imaginative title of ‘Virgil Whump’ (Posted 1 snippet that I wrote in 15 mins at the beginning of October then left it because of other projects) In this one the guys are all extremely busy with call-outs and Virgil needs to go to a rescue on his own that involves Fischler. Unfortunately he ends up getting trapped, injured, and because its Fischler left on his own. Fully planned out.

3. Working Title – Shattered Hope. TAG

A story idea that came to me over a year ago, written some short bits, planned out most of the story but because of one small element I need to wait until TAG Season 3 finishes.

Here’s a bit from it that did get shared to Tumblr…

‘How had it come to this?’

Just a short time ago they’d been happy, enjoying some rare downtime in the sun, five brothers together. It shouldn’t be like this… With him cradling one brother who was bleeding from a bullet wound after saving the youngest from certain death. The other two close-by. One with a dislocated shoulder, the other with a broken leg, he himself had a stab wound to his arm... All of them with numerous other injuries… Beaten, bloodied, bruised… And praying that someone would rescue them!

…

Fourth we have anonymous who asked for ’35, 38 and 39.’

35: Would you ever kill off a canon character?

I’ve killed poor Scott off a few times HERE ... HERE and another time as an old man where Virgil also got killed off. (The fic scarred me – But, at the same time I think it’s the best short I’ve written - It’s called White Light if you want to give it a read)

I’ve not killed any of the others yet, and I keep telling myself that I won’t do it again, but it will probably happen again at some point…

39: Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

I’ve had a couple, but they are usually anonymous ones. I normally just delete them and move on because people like that have nothing better to do and are not worth any upset. But if it does affect my confidence then I’ll reread a couple of nicer comments, then when I’m ready I’ll continue writing. I think there was only one that really knocked me for six and that was an anonymous rant on my Bad Day fic because I’d dared to pair up Virgil and Brains. (I’m sure you can imagine the content)

38: Talk about a review that made your day.

Even though 38 comes before 39 I wanted to save this one for last.

Every single comment I’ve ever got. No matter how short or detailed has brought a smile to my face and helped inspire me to continue writing – If I had to single out one then it would actually be a private message that was sent to my Fanfiction.Net inbox. It was over 2 years ago and unfortunately I can’t find the message now but whoever sent it to me said that they’d loved my Fics, in particular Gone which they had read several times and that I was their favourite writer. I was beaming for weeks afterwards.

So, whoever you were thank you - and to all who comment, re-blog, like or kudos my stories. Thank you from the bottom of my heart… Seriously you all make this fandom such a lovely place to be!

All my current posted fics and their status can be found via my: Thunderbirds Fanfiction Masterlist

#40 questions #Ask Meme #send me questions #Question and Answer #Thunderbirds Are Go Fanfiction #Thunderbirds Are Go Fandom #Thunderbirds Original Series #Thunderbirds Are Go #Thunderbirds

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fallenfurther · 4 years

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Fluffember Thank You

Fluffember is finished! (I know it’s the 3rd of December but seeing as I started on the 6th November, I’m letting myself off.) This was my first steps into fanfic writing and I’m happy that I managed to write something for all 30 prompts. It was an incredible achievement and not an easy one either finding myself getting ahead of myself, only for other things to get in the way and be back to writing the post on the day. I’m definitely looking forward to being able to slow down on the writing front (My husband is mildly annoyed I’ve delayed the completion of our crochet blanket again, especially with it getting cold!). But I’m going to continue writing on the tube on the way to work as I’ve found I can get a fair flow going when I’ve got the plot in my head. I want to thank everyone else who has posted during Whumpember and throughout Fluffember as it is you who made me want to join in and write.

I have to say a big thank you @gumnut-logic for the prompts. There only one way to really show gratitude and that’s to write a fanfic, so this is for you. Enjoy!

***

Nina walked down the crevice away from the others. They had just finished lunch and the guide had given them the go ahead to explore freely, as long as their digital trackers were on. A quick check on her phone and she confirmed her little dot on the map of the caves. She knew it was best to travel in pairs, but she had done the larger caves before and had come to look at the smaller ones.

Nina ran her hand gently along the rock, looking at the striations in the light of her head-torch. Her family had always thought her fascination with rocks and geology weird, but then she didn’t see the world as disposable as they did. Nina valued the resources held within the earth, but not to the point that they should destroy it. The rock dipped, and Nina had to duck low for the next 20 meters before she had to climb up to cavern aptly named, The Grand Passageway. Nina walked the entire length of the passageway before twisting sideways down a thin tunnel to The Seamstresses’ Tomb. Most people passed on visiting the Tomb, but Nina had to come see the fine stalagmites and stalactites which had formed in the cavern.

It was while standing in The Tomb that the rock shook. Nina wobbled, and in the shaking light of her head-torch, saw a crack forming in the ceiling above. Twisting, she headed to the exit, only to trip over in the dark. She felt the sharp tip of a stalagmite run along her side as she fell and winced in pain as the headteacher hit the wall ramming it into her skull. Her body crumpled to the floor.

Nina blinked. It was pitch black. The rock had stopped shaking but reaching up to her head, she felt the broken front of the torch. Flipping the switch a few times confirmed it was dead. Feeling the floor around her, she found a good place to put her hands and tried to sit up. Pain shot up her leg and along her side, causing her to flop back down on the ground. Nina reach into her pocket. She felt for her phone only to feel the cracks on the screen. Carefully she pulled it out. Nina pushed the power button, but nothing happened. Great, it was dead so no calling for help. She hoped the tracker was still working. Nina reached around and pulled the small pack from her back. She took out the emergency kit and felt for the light. She turned it on, and the Tomb lit up. She looked over her shoulder. Nina could see the rock trapping her feet. Nina wiggled her toes and was relieved that she could still feel them, which meant the rocks were just pinning rather than crushing her, which was a relief. She fetched her water bottle from her pack and had a drink to clean the dust from her mouth, and settled down, ready to wait for someone to find her.

***

The noise startled Nina. She lifted her head to see a light entering the cavern. Nina had to squint as it beamed into her eyes, but relief filled her body. As the light moved closer, Nina could make out the vague form of a man below it through the tears that slipped from her eyes.

“Virgil Tracy, International Rescue. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Her rescuer placed a hand on her shoulder. His face slowly come into focus and Nina smiled at him, noting that he smiled back. She blinked as he moved the light, which was on one of his broad shoulders, out of her eyes. Nina’s heart skipped a beat. Surely it was illegal for someone that handsome to be in the rescue business? It was her light that lit up his face, allowing her to gaze into his chocolate brown eyes.

“N…N…Nina.”

Nina swallowed as heat spread across to her face. Although she was sure many women stammered and blushed when he came to rescue them, she still wished she hadn’t.

“Okay Nina. Just lie still while I scan you for any injuries before I move the rock that is pinning you.”

Nina lay still and watched his face as he concentrated on checking her over. His brown hair was styled, and his jawline was sculpted, making her want to stroke her fingers down in. His uniform was close-fitting, allowing her to see every bulging muscle. From this angle his arms were thick, and she enjoyed the way they moved as he waved the scanner over her body.

“Looks like you’re fine apart from the gash on your side. I’ll see if I can’t move this rock and well get you bandaged up and out of here.”

Nina observed Virgil as he turned to the rock. He crouched down to find a grip on the rock, and Nina was glad the scanner had been put away. There was no way she could hide the increased heart rate brought about by the fabulous pair of buttocks that she had a prime view of. Her rescuer lifted the rock which allowed Nina to pull her feet free. She twisted her body and sat up. Virgil was at her feet almost immediately. He inspected her legs, his hands gripping them lightly, before placing them carefully back down.

“No wounds, but there’s going to be some serious bruising later. You are lucky no bones were broken. Now, if you don’t mind, may I lift you top and quickly clean that gash?”

“Please do.”

Nina took a deep breath as Virgil came closer. He slipped a small medical kit from one of the compartments on his belt and placed it beside him. Replacing his blue gloves with disposable medical ones, he carefully lifted the left side of her T-shirt. Nina winced as he pulled the fabric out of the wound.

“Could you hold you top up for me?

Nina placed her hand over his, before he pulled his away to let her hold the fabric he had been holding.

“This is going to hurt, but it should clean the wound and stop any infections.”

The cold wipe was placed against her skin and brushed gently over the gash. The pain was sudden, and Nina gasped and screwed up her face. The pain dulled as she felt gentle fingers pressed a dressing to her side. She opened her eyes and looked at Virgil at the same time as he lifted his head to look at her.

“All done. Now let’s get you out of here.”

Nina dropped her top and released the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. He removed the medical gloves to reveal large hands which Nina wanted to get to know intimately. The dexterity he displayed as he nimbly packed everything away left Nina staring. The last thing he did before standing, was to pull the protective gloves back on. He towered above her and offered out his hand, which she took. He easily pulled Nina to her feet. Pain throbbed in her ankles, causing her to crumple. A hand under her arm kept her on her feet, though it didn’t stop her sucking in a pained breath.

“The bruising is pretty bad. Are you sure you’re okay to walk?”

Nina nodded through the pain. How else were they meant to get through the narrow tunnels if she wasn’t walking? Opening her eyes, Nina took a step forward, Virgil’s hand still under her armpit. Her ankles complained but she stayed upright. Her next step fell on uneven ground, twisting her ankle and forcing Virgil to keep her standing again.

“That’s enough. You can’t walk.”

With that Nina felt his hand move around her back and his other arm behind her knees. Before she could say anything, she was in his arms, and she felt the blush in her cheeks. Nina’s arm automatically reacted around his back. He carried her to the entrance of the Tomb, each of his steps caused her uninjured side to rub against his chest. Nina was thankful his concentration was on the narrow path, as she was sure her cheeks were beetroot red from the contact. His pecks were firm, just like the arm muscles she’d been admiring earlier and now felt against her back. His shoulder was strong beneath the grip of her hand, and she felt safe despite the circumstances. As the cave narrowed, Nina pressed her head into his shoulder, to reduce the likelihood of it hitting the rock. She was surprised at how he carried her even through the lower sections, with barely a grunt. Nina observed his face throughout the journey, his brown eyes looked ahead, his face a mask of concentration. Nina resisted the urge to touch the five o’clock shadow that covered his jaw, as well as the urge to wrap her arms around his neck and hold him close.

He carried Nina the whole way down the Grand Passageway and out into the cavern she’d last seen her group. There was another rescuer standing in the middle of the cave, surrounded by equipment. He was dressed in the same uniform, except his belt was yellow. Nina was lowered onto a stretcher and the other rescuer came over and smiled at her.

“Hi, I’m Gordon. I’ll be taking you from here. Virgil, there are another rock slide blocking the way to the last two people. Would you mind using the exosuit to free them?”

“Of course. You’re in safe hands, Nina. Gordon here is going to take you back to Thunderbird Two, so we can transport you to hospital with the rest of your group.”

Nina’s heart sank at the prospect of saying goodbye to her rescuer, her body already feeling cold without his warmth against her. But she smiled at him and nodded.

“Thank you, Virgil.”

“You’re welcome.”

Nina watched as he disappeared down the tunnel and fought the sigh she wanted to release. Gordon started guiding the holostretcher in the other direction, towards the cave system’s entrance. Nina lay back and smiled. What dreams she was going to have tonight!

#thunderbirds are go #virgil tracy #gumnut-logic #rescue #fluffember #thank you #Thunderbirds #fluffember2019

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thatswhatwaterslidesoff · 5 years

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ok since I have literal no chill here's a prompt ('cause I'm a mood for comfort + smoochy protective bf): something about that post with Zira nursing an old First-War injury to the leg that was borderline lethal, and Crowley finding out about it? Maybe it keeps bothering once he gets his body back after the Apocalypse That Wasn't, and Crowley comes to realize that one, he nearly lost /his/ angel before even meeting him and two, some of the despicable Hell gang Downstairs is responsible?

know what? i have absolutely no fucking chill either so here’s an accidental 4k+ long ficlet about aziraphale’s war wound and two traumatized old war veterans trying to cope in the aftermath of The First War and Armagedidn’t.

… i have nothing to say for myself

@coffeesugarcream

Aziraphale was many things. He was a lover of ancient books, prophecies of Armageddon (none of which turned out to be more hideous than what actually happened, despite the fervent imagination of humans, but that may simply be because he lived through it); he was a connoisseur of food and desserts and of wine. His skills in accounting were unparalleled. He was lovely and soft, by nature as well as by choice. However, under that initial softness, covered by tartan and too many layers of clothing, could be felt (and often would be, at every given opportunity, by Crowley) a steely pane of brawn that gave away his history as one of Heaven’s foot soldiers. That simmering warrior would always burn underneath, forever only to be brought out when the people he cared for were in dire need of it. This being said, the angel was also other things. A bit of a bastard, mischievous eyes, and secret smiles. He engaged in sin, which Crowley actively indulged in a benevolent way. The worst aspect of himself would probably be that he tended to keep things he should confide in Crowley to himself. Maybe it was pride or fear. His desire to protect Crowley, at all costs. He preferred not to look too closely. There were many things that had happened to Aziraphale that he kept to himself. His part in The First War was the main one, but neither of them talked about that with each other, ever unable to face the realities of that traumatizing battle despite eons of padding between then and now.

In the aftermath of the Armageddon-that-wasn’t, there was too much of an adrenaline high for Aziraphale to think about the phantom pain in his leg whenever he took a step. Delirium overtook him once they arrived at Crowley’s flat. Everything was a blur of touch and skin contact, the demon’s soft hisses and desperate writhing under his influence, that too pale skin flushed against the backdrop of silk sheets.. There was a far more pressing matter consider, such as saving Crowley and himself from the wrath of the combined forces of Heaven and Hell. That sort of fell into place on its own, from their union. Then he had to beat the pain back with a huge stick because he needed to be flawless while impersonating Crowley. Once that was taken care of, both of them back in their own bodies, the rush of it all bleeding out of him, there was nothing left to distract him, and his mind cast back to when he was first placed in this plump and comforting vessel. It had taken him nearly a century for the old war wound to settle into an insusceptible hum at the back of his mind, something that bothered him very rarely when he was feeling particularly lonely or on those occasional days when he felt outside of himself.

He almost felt guilty realizing that Madame Tracy must have felt the wound brush against her soul, too, and didn’t wonder why she was so ecstatic to be rid of him (Okay, that may have had to do with the fact that he was going to kill Adam, but really. People are complex and Aziraphale was certain that the soul searing pain within the area of his corporeal thigh was one of the reasons, too.) The angel resolved to send her and Shadwell wine every New Year and cards of their holiday choice for the rest of their lives for all the inconveniences he put them through. But Madame Tracy and Shadwell weren’t the problem. The problem was keeping up face in front of Crowley. Well, it wasn’t a problem, per say. More of a dilemma. Oh, Aziraphale knew the charade couldn’t last long. He was simply hoping he could hide his pain for at least a decade. His reasoning was that while Crowley hadn’t explicitly said, Aziraphale could connect the dots. The only way Crowley could have had Agnes Nutter’s Book of Prophecies was if he had gone into the bookshop during the fire. Aziraphale couldn’t see Crowley in the pub that day, yet Crowley’s broken, wet voice told the angel everything he needed to know. I lost my best friend would haunt him into eternity. Yes, telling Crowley would definitely have to wait.

As it was, Crowley- wonderful, attentive, intelligent, observant Crowley- picked up something was wrong the night they went home on the First Day of the Rest of Their Lives.

Everything had been going so perfectly. They had eaten a glorious lunch at the Ritz, which turned into wine, and eventually into dinner. Life around them was cast in the deep oranges and purples of the sunset when they left the building. Instead of their usual postures, hands in front or in pockets, never touching, they allowed their hands find each others half way. They returned, hand in hand, to the Bentley, and Crowley took them for a drive with absolutely no destination in mind. The soft old serpent actually had the courtesy to obey the speed limits for him until they were in deserted streets, where he allowed himself to speed along winding roads. Aziraphale couldn’t complain, channeling anxiety into exhilaration that pulsed through his human veins. He wanted to feel it. Both of them did. What Aziraphale most definitely did not want to feel was the pain, blossoming slowly and all-encompassing down his leg and reaching to grip just under his hip. Unfortunately, in this case, he did not get what he wanted. By the time they rolled into Soho, Crowley parking in his usual space in front of the bookshop, Aziraphale had to make a concerted effort to ignore his soul enduring agony.

Crowley popped out first, eager, to open the door for Aziraphale and the angel smiled politely, crows-feet at his eyes tightening when he lifted out of the car. Crowley’s easy smile faded. Damn.

“Anything wrong?”

“No, no, course not. What would give you that idea? I’m quite fine. Thank you.”

Not for one second did either of them think Crowley believed that. They were too smart, knew each other too well. Crowley’s jaw twitched, clearly trying to control a deep-seated heartache.

“Really, m’dear. It’s alright.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand, quickly. His free hand lifted to brush the backs of his fingers along Crowley’s jaw, take his lean cheek into its warm palm. Soft whisper, full of conviction, he continued, “It will be. I am on Our Side now.”

The Truth of that statement rang through them both on a spiritual level. Something calmed in the demon, his face softening in a way that always made Aziraphale’s breath hitch, and his head instantly tilted into Aziraphale’s hand to nuzzle, pushing the angel’s palm away with his nose to steal a quick, chaste kiss to the sensitive flesh right in the center. His own sinewy hand caught Aziraphale’s to twine their fingers together.

Aziraphale swallowed the pain in his soul and in his heart. “This is simply something I need bear for myself. For a time.”

“‘Course, if you’re sure.”

So Crowley let it slide. Six-thousand years of history told him that Aziraphale wouldn’t tell him until he was ready, and Crowley had built up six-thousand years worth of patience set aside only for him. He was simply happy that Aziraphale was no longer pushing him away. These thoughts made Aziraphale’s heart ache, almost tempted to tell but he couldn’t, unsure why. To protect Crowley, maybe, or maybe to protect himself from memories long since buried away in an antique chest at the back of his mind.

While Aziraphale fiddled with the keys to the door, unwilling to use a miracle to open it, Crowley suddenly caught his wrist. Something just occurred to him, something that couldn’t wait after all.

“Wait, angel.”

Aziraphale paused. He looked up at Crowley’s face with fluttering lashes. “Yes?”

“You would tell me, if whatever is going on with you had to do with..” He flapped his free hand. “Downstairs. Right?”

“Oh. Yes, of course. It has nothing to do with that. I would have told you.”

Part of Crowley doubted that, but he believed him. Being a demon, he could usually sense lies- that sense was a lot stronger with Aziraphale, if mostly because the angel was a terrible liar. “Yes, alright. Fine. Good.” He slid his hand back into Aziraphale’s to entwine their fingers.

Aziraphale beamed, squeezed Crowley’s hand, and popped the door to the shop open with a shove.

Once inside, the door closed and locked itself. Ambient luster from street lights poured in through the windows. Crowley took off his sunglasses, hid them away in his coat pocket, shining eyes vulnerable to Aziraphale in the semi-dark of the shop. It made the angel’s heart overcome with untold happiness, desirous to close what little physical distance was left between them. They crashed onto the couch, it feeling far more intimate than the idea of the barely used bedroom upstairs, their hands held together. Lazily, the pair of them touched, fingers sliding up each other’s sleeves, bodies leaning heavily together, soft kisses to foreheads and cheeks, never going too far. They were too tired and that could wait. They had all the time in the world. For now. Eventually, they let their exhausted souls rest, and Aziraphale never slept so easily as he did when his body was fit up against Crowley’s, warm and safe. It wasn’t a heavy sleep. His incorporeal form throbbed, fire and ice in a war that would never be won. But he could push it away, focus on the steady, snuffling breaths of the demon beneath him.

In the next few days, Crowley hung around the bookshop. The steadiness of him made Aziraphale all smiles, caused him to be decent to some customers even! (Not that he was ever mean… never mean. Terse, at best. “Yes, Crowley, terse.” “Whatever you say, angel.”) Much to Crowley’s amusement. Crowley always made sure to cause enough distractions and haze the minds of those who got too close to the books the demon knew to be off-limits. His hardened occult heart melted at the telling delight on Aziraphale’s face that let him know these deeds were not going unnoticed.

Daily, Crowley would leave to care for his plants. Aziraphale would let his guard down, allow himself to grimace and work through the damage permanently etched into his being. There were no real pain killers for this sort of thing so he suffered quietly, just like in the Beginning. He would limp around the bookshop, taking inventory, occasionally needing to lean against a wall. Then Crowley would be back, hours later, with divine, expensive chocolates or a bottle of fine wine with a selection of cheeses from their favorite delicatessen down the street in Soho. Tonight was no different. The foul fiend slithered up behind him in one of the many isles of shelves, grinning face instantly meeting Aziraphale’s neck, as he held out a package, with a rich Devil’s Food Cake, wrapped in a small bow. Aziraphale nearly swooned. Whether it was from the sight of the dessert or from Crowley’s warm lips pressing a tender kiss to the curve of his throat, he wasn’t sure. “Oh, oh my- that seems scrumptious.” Quickly, he took the box from Crowley’s hand, placed it on the shelf in front of him and wheeled around to Crowley’s stunned face. Aziraphale placed his fingers delicately on Crowley’s sunglasses. “May I?” he asked.

Crowley nodded, “Mmhmm.”

With reverence, Aziraphale took the sunglasses off, folded them and placed them safely by the cake (The cake would keep fresh until it was ready to be eaten). He faced Crowley, stopping for a few moments to admire his luminous yellow eyes. Adoration hammered Aziraphale’s chest at the playful, loving look from within them, and he lurched forward. Their kisses were sloppy, full of tongue. Aziraphale’s hands slid up Crowley’s chest, hands mussing Crowley’s short but perfectly stylized hair. He gasped when Crowley’s sharp teeth bit his bottom lip, dragging away with a soft pop, immediately taking advantage of Aziraphale’s parted lips again.

Alright, it was Aziraphale’s own fault in the end that Crowley found out so soon. He just.. simply could not stop himself from touching Crowley now. Not now that it was okay. Now that it was safe. He was drunk from the mere thought. Memories of their closeness at Tadfield Manor and their heated night in Crowley’s flat after the world didn’t end caused his head to swim.

Right now, they had clumsily found their way onto the couch. Aziraphale’s grin was mad between their clashing lips, fingers of one hand curled into Crowley’s jacket, fingers of the other curled into the back of Crowley’s neck, desperate for him to be closer. He may have gotten overly enthusiastic when he swung his bad leg over Crowley’s thighs and he winced with a tight intake of breath.

Everything came to a halt. Crowley’s hands stilled at Aziraphale’s hips, face taking on the stiff expression he always got when he was being serious, careful with Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale. What-”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Hush, dear.” Aziraphale tried to kiss Crowley’s lips again, desperate to move past what just happened but Crowley actually turned his face away, tilted his head back a bit, to keep his eyes on the angel’s face. Cold sweat was beading under the blond curls resting over his forehead. His normally steady body was trembling. Frustration settled deep in Aziraphale’s chest, and he growled. “Fuck.”

A series of emotions crossed over Crowley’s bared face, eyes naked to imprint the full depth of what the demon felt. First and foremost was anger- anger that Aziraphale had lied to him about this- the lying wasn’t even the problem (although in hindsight it probably should have been, but Crowley knew what he was getting into), it was what he had lied about- and Aziraphale felt a rush of shame. The next was deep, unabashed concern, his yellow-slit eyes widening a fraction, and he quickly shifted Aziraphale off of him, much to both of their discontent. Crowley snapped a comfortable leg rest into existence underneath the leg Aziraphale was clutching.

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale’s blush and small, pleased smile was almost enough to distract him. Almost.

Sympathy was next, as Crowley reached over to Aziraphale to cup his cheeks. He pressed their foreheads together. Something manic bubbled in Aziraphale’s chest, but he couldn’t push Crowley away.

“This wound isn’t physical. I would have noticed.” Crowley’s voice was a deep, hollow murmur.

“Yes,” Aziraphale shakily answered.

“Let me see?” It was a gentle request.

They both knew if Aziraphale said no, Crowley would back off. Suddenly, Aziraphale couldn’t deny him anymore. He swallowed and nodded, imperceptibly, brushing his nose against Crowley’s. Crowley took a shaky breath himself and reached out with his essence. Aziraphale shivered as he felt the occult quintessence of Crowley brush against his ethereal soul, allowing himself to bask in the scalding heat of it, foreign yet so strangely familiar to the undulating warmth of his own holy light. They both gasped, one laden with desire, the other marred with anxiety, and one of Crowley’s hands covered Aziraphale’s thigh. The link between them snapped shut, unceremoniously, neither sure who was responsible. Crowley hissed.

“Angel,” Crowley’s husky tone was strangled by a semi-furious growl. “That wound was near lethal. Had that been any different- Yu-you could.. have.. have been. Gone.” Ghosts of flames seemed to burst to life in the room around them in Crowley’s mind. He could smell smoke that was no longer there, hadn’t been for nearly a week. “How- why- you should have told me. I could have hurt you. Just now. What were you thinking?”

So Aziraphale told the truth, through a desperate, distressed giggle, “Frankly, my dear, I wasn’t.”

Crowley fixed him with an intense glower. He took a deep breath as he schooled himself, eyes closing for the first time in days when it didn’t involve kissing, then his eyelids flew open, yellow covering the whites of his eyes, in a fit of panic, mouth moving, incomplete noises tripping from his throat until he could muster up real words. “Did I hurt you? That night. In my flat? When we-”

“What, no!”

“Aziraphale-” Crowley hissed, body coiled, all anxious trepidation.

“No, my dear. You genuinely didn’t.” The angel hurriedly cut him off, then spoke calmer; “My mind was rather preoccupied.” And Aziraphale switched on his most innocent look.

The anxiety didn’t leave Crowley completely, but he did manage a snort. His jaw moved, teeth gritting under tight skin. “When?” he demanded. “Who?” Oh, someone was going to pay. Hell may be ignoring him but Satan help anyone who got in the way of him destroying whoever it was that did this to his angel.

“Oh, it was so long ago, really,” Aziraphale giggled again, nervous, worried, and Crowley swallowed.

“The War.”

There was a drawn out silence.

“Yes.” Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s, who tried pulling it away, but the angel kept it steady, flattened the palm against his thigh. “The War.”

They were both trembling now, keeping eye contact. This was something they had once agreed never to talk about, long ago, when they nearly came close during one of their many drinking sessions that occurred after Rome. For six millennia, they had seen humans torture and maim each other. The two of them had actively participated in the Crusades. They had passively participated in the World Wars. None of those experiences would ever compare to the innocence they lost during The First War. Through the haunted fogs of his own memories, the wave of freezing cold realization crashed into Crowley’s mind, splashing unceremoniously to soak into the core of his heart and trickling the rest of the way down his spine.

“Y-you almos- We may not have-” The slits of Crowley’s eyes thinned into barely visible strips, heart pounding in his chest.

“But I didn’t!” Aziraphale hastily replied, brave in the face of Crowley’s mounting panic attack. He released Crowley’s hand, shifted in a way careful of his leg. Strong hands rested on Crowley’s chest, slid up to Crowley’s shoulders, and he pressed a chaste kiss to Crowley’s lips. He brushed his fingers into the candy-apple red locks of the demon’s hair to gently rest Crowley’s head against his chest. “I’m here, Crowley.” Crowley’s shoulders shook, breathing erratic, and Aziraphale stroked his hair and kissed his head, patiently waited the several long minutes for Crowley to calm. “I’m right here. Everything’s okay.” He continued to murmur reassurances until Crowley’s breathing steadied.

When Crowley’s voice came again, it was hoarse and wet. “I always wondered why you were posted to the Eastern Gate. Guess that answers that question.”

Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s head, wiping tears with his thumbs, “I was wounded. Wasn’t much use in Heaven, because of it, I’m afraid. Rather desperate to get away, actually. Not that I wanted to leave forever. Simply. Wanted to forget.”

Crowley nodded, swallowed, and instantly his anger resurfaced, full force, in the wake of his wrecked emotions. His eyes burned red at the edges, and Aziraphale tried desperately not to be hopelessly aroused by that feral countenance but decided he didn’t care. Holy Hell that look was hot on Crowley’s face, especially when it was displayed in the palms of his hands this way.

“Crowley, dear-”

“Ssspill it, angel. Who did thissss to you?”

“Dear-”

“Who?”

“Darling.” Aziraphale exerted some of his angelic will. He needn’t have bothered. The use of that term of endearment was enough to momentarily distract Crowley until he was narrowing his eyes again.

“Aziraphale. I am going to find who almost took you away from me.”

“It’s not like you would have know- Shit.” That was entirely the wrong thing to say.

Fresh tears sizzled at the edges of Crowley’s burning eyes. “No. I wouldn’t. That’sss the point, angel. Don’t ssssay that. Ever again.”

“Crowley, listen to me. It was a war. It’s not like it was personal-”

Crowley hissed. “That whole War was persssonal.”

“But that demon’s actions weren’t personal against me. I don’t even know who they were.”

The idea that he may have worked with the demon, maybe demons, who had done this made Crowley sick. He found himself running through every contact he had ever had with any and all other demons, tried to remember if any of them had ever taunted him about Aziraphale specifically. “Would you recognize them?”

Aziraphale’s silence was a hard tell, but he persisted. “Crowley. It was six-thousand years ago. If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else-”

“Would have been better if it had.”

With a patient look, worn from many years of use, Aziraphale let a smirk show. “My dear, while I find your usual show of gallantry to be very romantic-”

“Not meant to be romantic,” Crowley muttered, in a weak argument.

That made Aziraphale smile more. He couldn’t help it, he leaned over and kissed the corner of Crowley’s rouge lips. Crowley returned it briefly before Aziraphale could keep talking. “I would rather us not immediately start another fight with either Heaven or Hell this soon into our freedom.”

Thankfully, the angel’s logic pierced the veil of Crowley’s righteous fury and seemed to placate him into half-hearted mulishness. The rage would take some time calm, but he would make a concerted effort for Aziraphale. Anything, for his angel.

Crowley sighed, voiced a concern he’d been letting rest in the back of his own dusty mind. “They will come for us again, eventually, you know.”

“No, my dear. We don’t. Even so, it will be some time before then.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a sharp look. Sure, okay, it may be some vague point on the future horizon. Still. They needed to be ready. But this was a conversation that could wait for another day. Maybe.

Waves of sadness washed into the places abandoned by the demon’s slowly receding rage. It threatened to consume him. He knelt down between Aziraphale’s legs and pressed his fingers hesitantly to the corporeal leg, where the wound ached beneath. Again, Crowley extended his soul to tickle against Aziraphale’s, waiting for consent.

“Yes?”

Aziraphale hummed, and Crowley laid his head on the leg. He felt Aziraphale’s essence become pliant, allowing Crowley to tenderly tend to the pain in Aziraphale’s leg at the source. An indecent noise escaped the angel, one hand instantly seeking purchase in Crowley’s hair.

“It feels like.. what I suppose muscle damage would be to a human, in this body. Much easier to handle, of course, than out of it.” Aziraphale speculated, out loud, needing to chatter. He carded a set of plump fingers through Crowley’s deflated hair. The demon sighed. His eyes scrunched closed, as he realized Aziraphale dealt with this in silence and he hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed a damn thing. Crowley knew it was irrational, but he hated that he hadn’t been able to help somehow. Can’t entirely help now. He listened as Aziraphale slowly began again. “It,” he paused. “It struck me rather violently when I was discorporated. I hadn’t felt it full force in so long.” A weak laugh. Then silence.

Crowley worriedly opened his eyes and tilted his head to look at Aziraphale, whose eyes were wet, tears threatening to leave him.

“Oh, Crowley, I was so.. so terrified, back then. When it happened. During the whole fight. And then.. then.. I was faced with having to ki..ll-” Aziraphale’s voice broke around that last word, and the angel put his own fist to his mouth, biting down on the knuckles. “It hurt. So badly. But who was I to complain? Others were wounded worse. Gone.” The angel was biting down so hard to keep his emotions at bay, his knuckles were beginning to bruise. “I am so sorry, Crowley. I know we promised never to speak of this, but-”

Crowley sprung to Aziraphale’s side on the couch. “Shh, shh, shh.” He softly hushed. Very carefully, he lifted the angel into his lap, a cushion for Aziraphale’s leg surprised to find itself come into being out of Crowley’s sheer force of will. “Shh.” The demon intercepted the angel’s blemished hand and tenderly touched his thin lips to each knuckle. Sensitive, damaged skin healed itself in the wake of each peck. “Listen, Aziraphale. I don’t want you to ever feel frightened of talking to me, about anything, or to be frightened of me at all if being candid is what we’re doing right now.”

Quivery laughter twinkled through barely contained sobs, and Aziraphale gratefully hooked onto the change in subject. “My dearest Crowley. If your Hellish fury moments ago wasn’t enough to send me running hastily for the hills, then I’m sure nothing you do ever could.”

“Well, that ire wasn’t aimed at you, now was it?” Crowley nipped playfully at Aziraphale’s ear, hands rubbing the angel’s sides and back.

“One might still find such expressions frightening when faced in their direction.”

Crowley’s grin resembled a shark’s, fully pressed into Aziraphale’s soft cheek. He kissed it.

“I’m not afraid of you, my dear.” Aziraphale paused, sighed, when Crowley’s lips peppered kisses over the apples of the angel’s cheeks, nuzzling his nose into the soft skin as he went. When Aziraphale’s voice returned, it was steadier. “I don’t think I ever have been. I’m-mm-” He stole a kiss. “I’m afraid for you.”

“I’m more than afraid enough for the both of us, thanks.”

That reply made Aziraphale sniffle. One of Crowley’s hands snaked lazily up the back of the angel’s neck, pads of his fingers smoothing over and into Aziraphale’s downy, blond curls, twirled and bounced individual locks. The other hand, strong and slender, rubbed up and down Aziraphale’s injured thigh. Hazy warmth radiated from Crowley’s soul to keep Aziraphale’s pain at bay, continuous in his spiritual massage. Moments of this gentle comfort passed and the swell that was building within the angel was coming to a head. Aziraphale tilted his head back, screwing his eyes shut, continuing to thwart the swell until heated lips pressed openly onto the hollow of his throat. Something about that intimate touch caused his last defenses to crumble, a broken cry wrenched from the angel’s throat, and his tears fell freely. Aziraphale clung to Crowley’s lithe form, and the demon felt tears sting at the corners of his own eyes while the angel wept against his shoulder. They were both due for a good cry, he supposed, but the tears wouldn’t come for him, still too wrung out from all the crying he did last week. He forced himself to focus on the very real weight of Aziraphale’s corporeal form shuddering in his arms, to breathe in the scent of Aziraphale’s books, safe and sound, not a flame among them, the feel of Aziraphale’s angelic warmth through the skin of his vessel.

They had both survived. Somehow. They were alive and safe. Best of all, they had each other, with no one standing between them any longer.

Neither of them were sure how much time passed. It didn’t really matter. Not to eternal beings such as themselves. But eventually Aziraphale’s shudders calmed into trembles then, slowly, pacified altogether. He sniffed, using one thumb to rub at one of his own cheeks, used a minor miracle to clean the rest of his face.

“I rather feel I ruined the mood. So sorry, my dear.”

Crowley couldn’t help but smirk, huff. The smirk relaxed into a soft, fond smile and he shifted underneath Aziraphale so he could cup the angel’s face with both of his hands, long thumbs firmly smoothing over Aziraphale’s cheeks, under his eyes, along the soft curves of his jaw. He ghosted their lips together, breathy, “We’ll find it again.” His amber eyes, no longer red at the edges with rage or full with the threat of panic, met Aziraphale’s too bright, too blue irises before he caught the angel’s full lips half way in a deep kiss. Their essences remained intrinsically linked, bright red inferno and shining blue holy light blending into a beautiful burst of purple nebula within the aether.

Days later, when they were ready to be up and about again, Aziraphale found a well crafted, hardwood cane with a sharp metal dove on the handle. A sweet little smile tugged his lips and he looked at very coy Crowley, who lurked about the books, pretending to all the world as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the afternoon trollying around London to find it.

“I love it, my dear, thank you.” Aziraphale tightened his grip, possessively, on the length of the cane.

“Yeah, well, seemed your style.” Crowley spoke, voice gravelly to save face, and he wiggled his body. He slunk over and pressed a chaste kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. “Fresh air?”

“Yes. That would be lovely.”

They stepped out onto the pavement in tandem, grasped for each other’s hand, decided without speaking to take a stroll through St. James’ Park. They would take the Bentley, and Crowley would obey the speed limit again. For now. Aziraphale secretly hoped Crowley’s newfound respect for the laws of the road wouldn’t last, despite appreciating the sentiment. He needn’t have worried. Of course, it wouldn’t.

Aziraphale was many things. Book lover, food and wine connoisseur. Soft and lovely. Unflappable. Manipulative bastard. Warrior. However, there were two things that he took the most pride in over all of these other aspects:

Aziraphale was desperately, emphatically, irrevocably in love with Crowley. He had always been. Knew he was meant to be. Knew he always would be.

And Crowley loved him too.

#i'm too terrified to actually tag this as ineffable husbands so uh #this is just for you dear #coffeesugarcream #ask #ngk #okay this ended up being long #it also got really emotional #i'm so sorry #my fic #i hope i didn't fuck up their characterizations too much oh my god #i know it's a bit shallow because what they went through is going to years for them to work out but there it is #i'm gonna flee to a cave on a deserted isle somewhere now #also may i tempt you to imagine crowley having aziraphale take a hot bubble bath with him to ease the leg pain

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