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ameliasstories · 2 years ago

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Mars - Chapter 3

The Jedi were not built for war. And though Cody was quickly realizing that no one in this galaxy was besides his brothers, the Jedi were different. Already, they had proven to be nothing at all like how he’d been trained to expect. They were soft and kind. Their lightsabers were used defensively, and offensively if needed, but the movements were imbued with flow and flourish indicating none of them were trained for hard combat.

No, the Jedi he had encountered so far were neither godlike nor cruel and cold. The Kaminoans had outlined their abilities in their courses. According to them they were connected to the very thing which holds the universe together, aloof as the Kaminoans themselves. Their other trainers described them as trained warriors; able to control minds, destroy any weapons with a flick of their hand, and cut any man clean in half with a swing of their sword.

Yet, each of them radiated warmth. The Jedi Temple was bursting with it. Even from the outside, it seemed to glow in the sunlight of Coruscant, and the traffic around it was heavy as if all beings here were drawn slowly into its orbit.

Bly was already all but smitten with his Jedi General, whom he’d met on Geonosis. Cody had been injured in a training accident, the source of the new scar on his face, just prior to the deployment and hadn’t been allowed to go along with his batchmates. Like many Commander-General duos so far, Bly and his General had taken to each other instantly, negating the need for any reassignment.

The only proper description of the Jedi he’d been able to wrangle out of Bly was “skin as blue as the ocean on Kamino, but warm, and eyes brown like nothing at all like Kamino, like nothing in the whole Galaxy.” The declaration had received him a kick in the shin from Fox, who, though he refused to admit it, was jealous he was being assigned Master Yoda, who would not see much combat.

Though all clone batches were born at the same time, technically, each of them was placed firmly on a spectrum from older to younger brother. Fox was assuredly their youngest. Each of the batch doted on him in their own ways, mostly by letting him get away with being an absolute menace in training. Where Bly was calm and centered, Fox was excitable and wicked. On the rare occasions he took his helmet off other than for mealtimes, his eyes were always glinting with mischief and determination.

The Jedi’s ranks were filled with little ones who had been running up toward the clones all day, eyes shining with curiosity. Cody shoved down a stab of that growing swirl of emotions. It was like a small star of anger, which sometimes lashed out in solar flares, the heat of it reaching into his throat and fingertips. He reminded himself that their fortune was not the cause of his misfortune. And if what his brothers had told him of the war was true, the Jedi would lose their peaceful warmth soon.

The Quad they were waiting on was wide, open. Stairs on the north most side lead directly to the Temple entrance. The square was filled with Jedi Knights and Masters milling about, talking with clones, or simply going about their daily business. Despite the protection these Jedi, and their lightsabers, provided, the kids were allowed to roam freely. Evidently, they were not worried about whether the clones would be gentle with them.

“Do you think that’s Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Waxer drew his attention to the steps leading up to the Temple entrance with a nod of his head. A Jedi had stopped there, kneeling and talking with some of the Jedi cadets, one of whom had fallen down on his dash back upward towards the Temple.

“It is,” Cody conceded, having just received the ping on his comm from one Master Mace Windu that the Jedi was on his way. The information he’d received about the General was sparse. And Cody had not had the time to research their assigned General independently.

What he knew was that he was a human male, 35 years of age with auburn hair and a beard. The Jedi on the steps matched this description. After some short internal debate on whether to wait for him to approach first, he resolved to go up and greet the Jedi. “I’m going to meet him halfway. Everyone else is to stay here, parade rest.”

The walk to the steps seemed longer now than it had from a distance, and the little Jedi dashed away at his approach, except for the one who had fallen who continued to cling to the older Jedi’s leg. “Sir?”

The General, and now that he was closer Cody could tell he was undeniably the General, straightened himself, one hand brushing against the cadet’s head gently, and met his gaze. “You must be the 212th’s Commander.” He smiled, and the expression miffed Cody, “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Cody said and, muscling past his instinct to protect his name from outsiders, introduced himself, “I’m CC-2224 but I would prefer to be called Cody.”

Despite Bly’s insistence that the Jedi would respect him, which Ponds didn’t quite confirm but definitely didn’t deny, Cody was still hesitant to expose himself so quickly. A name was personal, for the clones. They were shared readily among brothers, but the Kaminoans had never approved of them and react badly to any assertion of their identity.

There was no precedent on how to approach sharing names with natborns, so Cody, as Commander, had to set one. He didn’t want to share his own name yet. But if the General did end up using it it would be a far improvement to his numerical designation.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan said, and Cody narrowed his eyes behind his helmet, watching every twitch and flicker of his expression carefully. The General seemed stricken by something, his mouth pulled down into a sharp grimace and his brows furrowing together. Cody worried it was his name that had caused the reaction, and straightened up slightly, squaring his shoulders. “Why don’t you hurry along?” He spoke the child, who reluctantly separated himself from the General’s robes and dashed back to join his friends at the Temple entrance.

The General tilted his head to meet his gaze once more. Some strands of hair fell at the sides of his face, sweeping down to the edge of his jaw. The rest of his hair was brushed neatly behind his ears. The robes he wore looked both light and thicker than some he’d seen. Distantly, he hoped that the General was planning to wear at least some armor once they actually engaged in battle. “I’m sorry, Cody” he said, and Cody’s anxiety over the General’s reaction to his name was replaced by a growing confusion. “I’m sorry for the situation, you have been forced into, all of you.”

His words were unexpected, to say the least, And Cody had to think for a moment of a reasonable response to give to such a statement from a man he’d only just met. Cody knew the situation was hardly his fault, he’d been trained too well in warfare to blame its beginnings on any one person, even if the ugly feeling bubbling in his chest made him want to lash out at him, at anyone. “Respectfully,” Cody replied, trying hard to keep his voice measured and even, “it’s what we were made for.”

It was the response he’d had drilled into him for all his life. They were made for this. For war and for the Jedi, to live and die and protect and fall at their side. No apologies from General Kenobi would change that, now or ever. But the General looked at him as if he’d been made to eat something vile. It reminded him of the way his face had scrunched up the first he’d undergone training for foreign food acclimatization on Kamino. In a moment of instinct, he nearly apologized to the Jedi in turn, for upsetting him, but he bit his tongue. He had nothing to apologize for.

Instead, he redirected. “The men are anxious to meet you, sir.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi took the change in subject graciously, though his brows remained knotted together on his forehead a moment longer. “I look forward to meeting them as well.” He smiled at him again, softer this time, as if he was testing the waters of their new relationship. Cody simply nodded his head in return, And the two began to walk down the stairs toward the battalion together, Waxer and the other Captains stepping forward to meet them at Cody’s signal.

Cody had not lied. The men were anxious to meet their General, riled up by the other clones' description of both their kindness and battle prowess. Not many of them had caught onto Cody’s hesitation. Or if they did, they did not let it affect their excitement. As each of them introduced themselves excitedly by name, not designation, Obi-Wan Kenobi did so in turn, mirroring their excitement easily.

many thanks to my wonderful beta @cassie-isms

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #codywan #also on ao3

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preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years ago

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Whumptober Day 1: Bound

It's October so of course I'm writing again! We'll see how far I get through Whumptober this year lol.

Day 1: “You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

Characters: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne

Summary: When Damian becomes the latest victim in a string of kidnappings across Gotham, it's down to Dick to save him and the rest of the missing kids. He just has to get there in time.

AO3 Link

The sound of Dick’s boots echoed in the empty hall even as his heart pounded in his chest and his comm buzzed white noise into his ear. Dim lights flickered around him, only just illuminating his path through the old abandoned hotel. But he had to keep moving, had to find the missing kids. Had to find Damian .

He pushed himself a little faster through the hall, pausing only whenever he came to a door to throw it open, then on finding it empty, start his mad dash again. They had to be here, everything pointed to this location.

Batman and Robin had been investigating a series of kidnappings over the past month. Dick had done his best to keep Damian away from the information but the kid was about as stubborn as Bruce had been when he decided on something, so Dick had let him in with the promise they did everything together.

And he’d kept that promise. He’d done so well, and then it had been Dick who’d lost him.

“Stupid.” Dick grumbled, peering into yet another empty room. Every room was empty on this floor, but there were still the ballrooms at the top to check.

He’d been so stupid, taking Damian out to do some shopping then turning away for a moment. A second had been all the kidnapper needed to grab another kid. Another victim. And it was Dick’s fault. For looking away when there was a person out there grabbing kids Damian’s age.

Alfred’s consoling voice from earlier flooded through his thoughts as he took the stairs down two at a time, ‘It is not your fault, you were simply trying to have a good day amidst all this terribleness.’ And what good had it done either of them? Panic in Dick’s chest, and a missing brother.

The only thing that kept him moving was that none of the kids had been found yet. No ransoms had been sent out either, but no bodies meant they had to be somewhere. And Dick was going to find them.

He’d tracked the kidnapper here via an unusual series of shipments of food and chemicals sent to a Dr. Keith Raimy. An ex-professor from Gotham U who’d been kicked out for multiple breaches of student privacy and theft of university property. He'd recently had a paper rejected. It's title? Fear and Trauma: Can We Make Our Kids Strong Enough for the Future, Through Fear Today? Dick had skimmed the paper, and what had been proposed inside had made him sick to his stomach.

The door to the first ball room he tried on the top floor was locked. Muffled, and just through the door, Dick could hear screams. In a fit of rage, and fueled by the panic Dick was only just keeping in check, he kicked it down. The old rotting hinges gave way and the thing toppled backward with a heavy thump.

Silence filled the room for a moment, giving Dick a breath to take it in. Mostly empty, it had rotting carpet and peeling wallpaper. A tattered chandelier hung from the ceiling, pieces held on by a few dangling wires, but mostly disassembled either from time or theft.

Huddled in a group in one corner of an old ballroom, were children. The children Dick had been searching for. From what he could see, they were bound with some sort of rope, and looked rough, but alive and breathing.

At the far back of the room there was a stage, or what had once been used as a stage. Now it was mostly just a raised platform with tall floodlights dragged up to it, a rumbling generator the source of their power. It was cluttered with other equipment too, tables filled with jars and beakers, boxes opened with bits poking out of the top, and a laptop hooked up to a microscope. Standing among the clutter was Dr. Raimy in a stained lab coat just blocking a table.

He had turned to stare at Dick when the door came crashing down. Now, he moved to raise his arm, mouth opening, and in the next breath the moment of silence was broken as the screaming started again. The doctor tensed, shifting a bit to cover the table, but it wouldn’t help.

Clear now, the voice was unmistakably Damian’s, high and terrified in a way Dick had never heard it before and it was coming from behind the doctor.

Dick bolted forward, slipping batagrangs out of his belt. Damian was his only thought. His boy was up there, terrified and suffering all because of the man in front of him.

Dr. Raimy jumped to the side, attempting to make a run for it, and stumbled into another table. It gave Dick long enough to cover most of the distance between them and fling a few batarangs in the man’s direction. One caught his jacket, and the other stabbed into junk on the table making him yelp. He jerked back, and then turned towards the table he’d been guarding, making a second dart for it, and the figure writhing atop it. Red clouded Dick’s vision as he got his first clear view of his little brother, strapped down to the table with a long strand of barbed wire, and straining against it as he yelled.

Dick roared, and leapt up to the platform, grabbing the doctor as he did so. The man released an aborted shout as Dick flung him back and away from the table into a pile of boxes. He turned for a moment to Damian, catching sight of his brother’s pupils blown wide. He hadn’t even registered the action beside him, trapped in whatever horrorscape he’d been dropped into.

The sound of rustling indicated that Raimy was already pushing himself up, babbling something about science and progress and Batman not understanding.

He stalked forward, raising himself up to as imposing a height as possible and kicked at the doctor, knocking him back into the boxes to stun him. Then, he reached down and dragged the man upwards.

“What did you give him?” he demanded.

“It was--a mixture of my own making.”

Dick shook him so hard that he heard something pop, “Did you make an antidote?”

Behind him, Damian’s screaming changed pitch to something even more desperate.

“ Tell me .” he growled.

“T-there, it’s--it’s in the line of blue vials. Please don’t kill me, I was only trying-”

Dick didn’t give the man the time to finish his sentence, he punched him square in the face, and dropped him unconscious back into the boxes. Then he was over at the vials, thankfully a syringe had already been filled or he’d have to waste time figuring out how much to give Damian. He pocketed it, swapping it out in his hand for a pair of wire clippers and rushed back to the table.

“Damian, I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s alright.” Dick said, voice gentle, “I’m getting you out of here.”

Something must have gotten through to him, because Damian stilled at his words, staring with wide, terrified eyes up at Dick. Dick tried not to look at the red lines of blood on Damian’s arms and chest he worked on clipping the barbed wire, instead murmuring quietly to Damian to keep him calm.

Thankfully, the man hadn’t totally wrapped Damian in the stuff. The single band was thick and strong enough to keep a drugged kid down, but hopefully hadn’t done too much damage. Still, it made Dick’s stomach churn as he lifted it as gently as he could off his brother, Damian making only the tiniest of sobs as each barb still embedded in his skin pulled out.

“Just one more second, sweetheart.” Dick whispered, hoping his voice wasn’t carrying over to the other kids. There was murmuring coming from them by now, as they realized rescue was at hand, but Dick’s focus was on the kid currently in need of the most help. At last, Dick dropped the discarded wire onto the table and leaned back to find the vial of the antidote.

Something about the sound of the wire, or a movement Dick made, or just whatever concoction the doctor had given him triggered something in Damian the moment Dick leaned away. He shot up from where he’d been lying, and grabbed the wire with both hands, heedless of any damage it was causing.

Dick reached for him, ready to pull the barbed wire away from him but Damian scooted back, precariously close to the edge of the table and yelled, “No! Don’t!”

“Hey, it’s alright, why don’t you give me that?” Dick asked, trying to calm him back down.

“Stop!” Damian yelled again, gripping the wire tighter and pressing it to his chest, “Don’t take him!”

“Damian please, you have to let go. It’s hurting you.” Dick tried again, wincing as red started to drip down the wire.

“No! I won’t let you!”

“Okay, okay.” Dick held up both hands, whatever Damian was seeing must have been convincing and he didn’t want to hurt the kid by forcing the barbed wire out of his hands, he’d only tear them up more that way.

“Would you let me give you something?” Dick asked, gently lowering his arms to retrieve the syringe, “It’ll make you feel better.”

Damian eyed him, the look almost like what he’d normally make when suspicious, but just off enough from the drugs, “Yes?” he said.

“Great. I just need your arm, you don’t have to let go of anything or anyone okay?” Dick said, slowly reaching for Damian’s arm with his free hand. When the boy let him place his hands by his elbow, Dick angled it up, then after a moment, praying he hadn’t been lied to, injected his brother with the liquid in one motion.

Damian jerked back, squeezing the wire closer to him and went tumbling from the table. Dick lunged over it, and just managed to hook an arm around the kid, tugging him up. He heard the clatter of glass falling and hitting the ground as the syringe that had still been stuck in Damian’s arm slipped out and shattered.

“No! No! Stop!” Damian wailed, kicking and jerking in Dick’s hold.

Mindful that if he tugged Damian into his chest the barbed wire would do more harm, Dick decided he'd restrain him by pulling his back towards him. That was easier said than done with a flailing kid. At last, Dick had an arm hooked under Damian’s arms and had him held tight against him, seated again on the table. His brother continued to scream and kick and tug at him for another minute, then two, until gradually Damian’s own chest slowed it’s rapid rise and fall and his cries quieted down to nothing.

“Batman?” His voice was tiny, shattered from screaming, but almost lucid.

Dick dropped his face into Damian’s hair and sighed, “Yeah, I’ve got you.”

He let go of Damian and stepped around to face his front. There, he pointed at the tangled barbed wire still in Damian’s hands, “Will you hand me that?”

Damian looked down surprised to see it, “Oh.”

Wincing he released it, and before anything else could happen, Dick balled it up and tossed it away from them. When he turned back to Damian, the kid was staring down at his palms that were red and torn. He hadn’t said anything else, but Dick could hear the tight way he was breathing, the sound almost like whistles, like he was holding back the pain.

He dug out some gauze, wraps, and something to numb the pain, “Here, let me.”

With gentle motions Dick bandaged Damian’s hands. When he was done, he dropped a kiss onto the knuckles of each one, “Wait for me right here? I have to help the others.”

Damian’s eyes went wide, “The kids--”

“Are mostly fine.” Dick said, sparing them another glance, they’d been remarkably patient, but their chatter had gone up from quiet murmurs to full conversations, “But eager to be untied I’m sure.”

His brother nodded. Even though it tore at Dick’s heart to step away, he did. And he took as much time with each of them as they needed. Batman couldn’t focus only on one child after all, especially when others showed signs of having gone through something similar to Damian. Gradually though, Dick got them all settled down, untied, and called Oracle to let her know to send police and paramedics. Then he swung by Damian to scoop him up into his arms --the kid for once not arguing being carried-- and corralled everyone downstairs.

Dick could see the lights of the emergency vehicles through the windows, and sent the children out before him, lingering back in the building with Damian. The last thing he wanted to do was let go of his brother, even if it was to hand him off to medical professionals. He’d just gotten him back, and the mere thought of having him out of his sight for a second felt impossible to manage. All he could think of were the number of --mostly implausible-- ways Damian could end up hurt or in danger again.

He was starting to see why Bruce had been so protective of his Robins.

"Batman?" Damian's voice was very quiet in the dim lighting.

"Yes?"

Damian shifted so his face was pressed a little closer to Dick's neck, "I'm sorry. I got caught."

"No, you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry I let you get taken."

"I-" Damian sighed, "Thank you for coming."

Dick tugged him a little closer, mindful that he still had injuries that needed to be cared for, "Always. Now, what do you say we sneak out and let Alfred finish patching you up? The police are used to Batman disappearing, and I found you before I ever reported you missing."

Damian, hummed, “I would like that, I want to go home.”

Dick pressed a kiss into Damian’s hair, “Then straight home we go.”

#Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #whumptober2021 #day 1 #bound #barbed wire #you have to let go #injury #blood #hurt/comfort #angst #whump #happy ending #precious posts #no editing we die like robins

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years ago

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Do you have any good coffee shop au fics? Danke schön!

Hey Nonny!

Ahhh, Coffee Shop AUs aren't totally my thing, BUT I did find a couple I loved, and I've a few on my MFL list that's tagged with Coffee Shop. Check it out, and feel free to add more, friends!

COFFEE SHOP AU

See also:

Coffee Shop AU (Updated Nov 2020) (COMM RECS)

Coffee Shop AU Fics (Alexx's)

Coffee Shop AU – Part 2 (Alexx's)

Teenlock Coffeeshop AU (Alexx's)

Caffeine and Adaptive Programming by DemonicSymphony (E, 5,540 w., 1 Ch. || Androids AU / Bond Fusion || Android Sherlock, Coffee Shop AU, Pining John Hinted Bond / Q, Toplock) – Sherlock is a coffee shop android slowly falling for a regular customer. But he's not supposed to be able to feel emotions.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

-----

MARKED FOR LATER (TO READ)

Espresso Patronum by zigostia (T, 1,750 w., 1 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || Clueless Sherlock) – “I'm joking,” John said breezily. “Girl's name or not. I don't mind, if you know what I mean.” “Ah,” Sherlock said with uncertainty.

Giveaway Fic #4 - Coffee Shop/Mary Has Left/Sherlock Is Not Okay by ConsultingPurplePants (T, 2,498 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Everyone is Unhappy, Happy Ending) – They sit in silence for a moment. Sherlock fumbles a sugar packet when he tries to get it into his coffee. He looks up to find John staring at him. “It’s… good to see you, John,” he tries. John doesn’t look at him; he’s too busy looking at the way Sherlock’s hands are trembling. Too late, Sherlock realizes that no matter how well he washed his hair this morning, there’s no hiding his emaciated appearance. “When did you last eat, Sherlock?” John asks, but there’s none of the friendly teasing from Before, only a hard-edged, muted anger. Part 4 of the 1000 Tumblr Followers Giveaway Fics series

Whatever you say, Gobbo by Ewebie (T, 4,608 w., 1 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || Balletlock, Rugby John) – “I purposely get your coffee order wrong just so you’ll talk to me again” AU. Part 33 of the Tumblr Shorts series

Crossing Paths by prettysailorsoldier (T, 5,346 w., 1 Ch. || Uni/Teenlock Coffee Shop AU || Crosswords, Christmas, Fluff) – It seemed like a great idea, a 24-hour coffee shop near a thriving university campus, but, when everyone goes home for the holidays, John finds himself trapped in a ghost town, wiling away the hours of the overnight shift any way he can. Of course, that gets a whole lot easier when a handsome insomniac starts making regular visits, and, somewhere between the case files, crossword puzzles, and copious amounts of coffee, John discovers he doesn't mind the late shift so much after all.

Not Your Doctor, Not Your Captain by weneedtotalkaboutsherlock (E, 8,645 w., 1 Ch. || AU || Daddy John, Barista Sherlock, Legal Age Difference, First Kiss/Time, Blow Jobs, Texting/Phone Sex, Anal, Rimming, Felching, Praise Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Pet Names, Doctor John) – "Coffee for John Watson," a voice calls, a low, deep rumble that sends a shiver down John's spine. The thought is pushed aside, his shoulders sagging at the sight of his long-awaited coffee. "Thank God." His eyes lock with long, elegant fingers around the rim of the cup, dimpling the carton in a way that John can only describe as sensual. It shouldn't be. It's seven-thirty in the bloody morning. "I'm afraid that God had not much to do in making your coffee this morning," the barista replies. "I, on the other hand…"

Percolate by cwb & Ellipsical (E, 13,793+ w., 6/16 Ch. || WiP || Unilock Coffee Shop AU || Barista John, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Insecure Sherlock, Patient John, Case Fic, Flirting) – This work is a collaboration between Ellipsical and cwb and promises to be a lighthearted, fun romcom with strong themes of mutual pining, awkward flirting, and panicked impulsiveness. POV will alternate between Sherlock and John; cwb writes Sherlock, Ellipsical writes John.

Mistletoe and Misdemeanours by Robottko (T, 20,738 w., 12 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || Christmas, Fake Relationship, Coffee Shops, Victor Trevor, First Kiss, Holmes Family, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Drama, Kidnapping) – When Victor Trevor backs out of the Holmes family Christmas at the last minute, Sherlock panics because he has no way to impress his parents. Thankfully there is a handsome army doctor with nowhere to go in his coffee shop, though it would be more helpful if he were a bit more willing.

sherlock and his daddy series by rory_kent (M, 24,433+ w. across 6 works || Series WiP || BDSM / Sugar Daddy AU || Sugar Daddy John, Age Difference, Sub Sherlock, Daddy Kink, Military Kink, Subspace, Hurt/Comfort, Coffee Shop AU, Unilock) – Sherlock didn't mean to upset daddy he really didn't!

A Wizarding Barista's Field Guide to Seducing a Muggle by paradigmfinch (T, 29,344 w., 9 Ch. || Harry Potter Coffee Shop AU || Fluff, Wizard John, Muggle Sherlock, Bisexual John, Flirting, First Dates, Harry Watson, Secret Identity) – To help pay for Healing tuition, John Watson gets a job at a coffee shop in Muggle London, where he soon sets his sights on a particularly gorgeous customer. John's seen plenty of Muggle films. How different can it really be to woo a Muggle?

Four Shots Series by Opy3332 (T, 34,736 w. across 5 works || Series WiP || Coffee Shop AU || MI6, Barista John, Developing Relationship, First Dates) – Series of stories revolving around John and Sherlock meeting under different circumstances--when John takes a job as a barista at SIS headquarters and meets Sherlock there.

Blond Barista Seeks Dashing Ballet Dancer: Inquire Within by prettysailorsoldier (E, 43,847 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock Coffee Shop AU || Rugby/Barista John, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Fluff) – Between classes, his job at a local cafe, and being captain of the rugby team, John Watson's life is plenty stressful enough without the addition of a mysterious ballet dancer he can see through the windows of the dance studio across the street, but, somehow, he can't bring himself to mind.

Captains of Industry Series by 221b_hound (E, 131,398+ w. across 34 works || Series WiP || Australian Hipster Coffee Shop AU || Barista John, Security Consultant Sherlock, Awkward Flirting, First Kiss/Time, Panicking Sherlock, Patient John, Cuddles, Grooming, Anal, Bathing/Washing, Coming in Pants, Frottage) – Captains of Industry is the most hipster of Melbourne hipster cafes. It's bespoke suits, artisan shoes, sculpted facial hair and the most exquisite food and coffee all the way. Sherlock Holmes, Digital Security Consultant, has become a regular patron. And one day, perhaps one day soon, he will work out how to successfully flirt with the hot barista, John Watson.

#steph replies #johnlock fic reqs #johnlock fic recs #coffee shop au #my fic recs #help steph find fics #fic rec wednesday

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im-the-king-of-the-ocean · 4 years ago

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I’m not sure I’m ever going to be completely happy with this one, but then I’m seldom satisfied with my first forays with characters I haven’t written before, so there’s that.

Anyways, I’ve edited and re-edited it a lot, so I figure I’ll let it go out there and see what happens.

To Leave, As To Give Opportunity For Return

Love.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? Nureyev muses to himself. He swirls the deep red wine in his glass. His gaze roams and lingers to meet that of quite the beauty, all silken, flowing hair and curves to caress, sitting at the club’s bar. He smiles. They smirk back.

He just can’t resist, a pretty face, can he? Nureyev inhales his wine’s aroma and then sips. He lets his tongue flick out over his lips suggestively. The perfect image of mysteriously handsome with a dash of temptation complete, he allows himself a single, indulgent memory.

Juno’s face certainly is a pretty one, with or without the loss of one eye. Although, he could do so much more, aesthetically-speaking, than the plain eyepatches he prefers to adorn himself with. That’s one of the draws of Juno, Nureyev supposes. His preference for function over presentation is quite admirable, in its way. There’s a certain allure to Juno’s bluntness. Where others will decorate and costume themselves to conceal their identity, Nureyev himself included, Juno seems satisfied presenting ‘as-is’.

Nureyev’s ‘friend’ from the bar approaches him, offers a hand, and nods toward the dance floor. He graciously accepts. As he’s passing the stage, Nureyev slips a credit to one of the musicians, and whispers, “play something to set the mood, would you?”

The musician winks, quickly gestures something imperceptible to anyone but his bandmates to them, the lights dim, and the first notes of a soft, amorous melody are plucked. The dance begins.

Oh, but it is so much more than mere looks that draws Nureyev to Juno. Looks can instigate a dalliance, but they can’t sustain it. Not for as long as it needs to grow into something deeper. There has to be a spark. A breathless moment. The kindling of passion catching and burning so bright not even the darkest of night can smother it.

It’s not an easy thing to replicate. Not genuinely. But, Nureyev seldom needs to. The motions of attraction, the indications, they tend to get him as far as he needs. Simply present them and doors once locked will willingly open themselves to him.

The slow, smooth music notes of the band’s instruments drift around Nureyev and his partner of the night. He lets the melody inform his movement, lets it guide his body into languid, sensual poses. A dip here, a slight, ‘accidental’ caress there. Perfection. An image turned performance art.

Ah, his feelings for Juno, well, they had caught, hadn’t they? Even now, so very far apart, Nureyev’s heart flutters for none but his lady. He wants nothing more than to be with him, holding him close and whispering sweet, sultry nothings in his ear. Feeling Juno squirm with embarrassment while nestled securely to his chest.

The universe seldom bends to personal desires, does it not?

Nureyev skims his hands down his partner’s sides. They press into him, and exhale a breathy gasp in his ear. He nuzzles back, and, in the distraction, they doesn’t feel his hands nimbly lift their comms from their pocket.

There is the lingering dream of what could have been, yes. A few steps danced differently in a previous performance. A spaceship not left behind among the stars; a sitting duck for the authorities he beckoned to it.

Nureyev could be riding off into his own metaphoric sunset, into a happily-ever-after, if he had so chosen, and, yes, he’ll admit, there’s a version of himself who desired nothing more.

There’s so much more to it than that, though. A history spanning decades. His life. A play, enacted for none but himself, but witnessed by an audience he did not choose and could not control. The tale of the young revolutionary turned master thief completely. A show for the ages.

One that owed itself to deep, deep debts.

What would be the point of a lovely, fantastical future if it could so cruelly be ripped away by the vengeful, spiteful at being ignored, or disregarded? Was there anything to a fleeting happiness that winked as soon as it began?

Certainly not for one who still danced on puppet strings pulled taut by the marionette of another’s hand. For if a puppet were to strategize, nothing would indicate its plans more to its master than a tug on the strings too early.

And yet, at the same time, if left unattended too long, once dazzling bright affection could flicker and fade. The tune which plucks a heart’s strings could change, and, if heard again, the original would not be recognized at all, or welcomed back.

It is the simplest of matters for Nureyev to let his partner slip out of his grasp and into the arms of another. He steps back into a shadow. For a moment, there is an empty spot, an absence, on the club dance floor. Then it closes, and the memory of his presence is cast aside for more exciting options.

Juno, Nureyev thinks as he ascends the stairs at the back of the club and uses the stolen comms to open the door there, is perhaps one of the only people he personally allowed a glimpse of his private theater. It’s a wonder Juno never searched for a hint of it on his own. One that’s both relieving and disheartening. To have the love of someone who doesn’t need to know who he was before, who loves who he is in the now, it’s an impossible gift. At the same time, to want for who he was before to receive that same love, it’s a desperate ache.

Perhaps there’ll be a day when there’s harmony in such emotions. It is not now. The rest of this job is not deception through performance art. The safe he must crack has no mind to perceive or comprehend him. It is simply a device to puzzle out.

And so passion is put away.

Until such a time when he needs to call upon its skill again.

Nureyev can hope it won’t be a performance then, but he cannot admit the the indulgence to himself.

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #junoverse #peter nureyev #jupeter #whirls writing

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airly-yo · 4 years ago

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The aftermath

Chapter 1

Alarms blaring. Red lights flashing.

“Warning. Warning.” The constant reminder from a women’s robotic voice, that the ship is about to explode.

“Ahh! Come on! This is aircraft 0475, stand down this is one of your own. I repeat, stand down! Ahh Comms is down! Gosh damn it!!” The young girl dashed left and right on the control panel. ‘Seriously, what is going on? Do they not realise that we are in a star storm!! Why are they attacking me? Or more like who is?’ her mind screamed. Bang! She cried as she hit the ground and groaned. Her body was covered in cuts and bruises, her left ankle cartilage was torn. She wasn’t going to make it. A different alarm buzzed, a red warning hologram appeared and she swiped on it as she was lifting herself up. Left wing smashed. The constant robotic voice of the women glitched and jarred. The system was shutting down. She needed to get out of the storm or she will be screwed, but It was too late. She already lost the controls of the steering, now she is about to lose the entire ship. She has a serious puncture on the right side of her right thigh that was gushing blood. Thank gosh it wasn’t an artery. Quickly she grabbed her supply bag, with her little supplies left and ripped the GPS from the control panel. ‘I’ll fix it later and get it working again’ she thought. There was no time, her defence system was down, one hit is all it needs. Using the last of her energy she summons a portal, the last sight she could see was an aircraft right before her ship… her eyes went wide, there was no pilot. She was then consumed with clouds of blue before she musted, with her dying breath “…safe…”. In the nick of time the ship blew up and she was lost with her intention to get her somewhere safe, away from space.

Gasp! The young girl jolted upright. Her body ached in complaint from her core. Dried blood patched all over her body. Clots were blocking the spots where new blood was trying to break through. The surroundings were funny and she just couldn’t grab her bearing. After a full minute of her ears ringing, her senses came to life. The warming rays of the sun above slowly soaked through her skin, its bliss relaxing her thrilled nerves. Just where was she? Taking a moment looking around, sand dunes enclosed around her. It appeared that she was at a beach. The soft sounds of the ocean calmed her even more. Behind her was this great cliffs further proving her point she was at a beach. Now turning her attention to her screaming body. It doesn’t matter where she is at the moment, she’ll figure that out later. Right now there was no visible threats and there was a strange comforting silence. She just hoped for the best there was no creatures that would pry at her at this state.

Counting her fingers to see if she was in just one piece and that she wasn’t in any abnormal form with any extra or missing fingers. Wouldn’t be the first time anyway… Her powers were strange to her, she only discovered them, like what? Almost two years ago? But she could summon portals that would allow her to further places or into a different universe. That is when stuff gets dangerous, who knows, you could come back out with two heads. It is something you do now want to mess with. Even bringing something from a different reality is even more dangerous. It could start a black hole. Though one of her limits was indeed time travel. That task she could not do. Snapping out of thought she looked at her petite body. She was a mess. Her bulky supply bag was just in arms reach in front of her. Good so she hasn’t lost that at least. Reaching it, she looked inside. She had one medical box, some water, little tracker gear and some tools. Oh also a spare set of clothes too. Ever since that accident with one of her crew members how had acid burn through their clothes, and didn’t have any spare, she always remembered to pack some anywhere she went. Speaking of crew, why was her own fleet attacking her? Surely they would come looking for her right? The G.S.P.F (Galactic Star Protection force, was formed after the Incident with Thanos.), never leaves someone behind, that is like their whole motto. Yet here she was, damaged from an attack by them. She had so many questions to ponder. Looking up into the blue sky, not a cloud in sight, just the blinding sun. A deep feeling knew why but part of her didn’t want to believe. Was that whole mission about a crystal pure bullshit to drag her away? Or is there a bigger picture here?

“I need to wash the blood and junk of my clothes and cuts if I want to heal myself or at least fix me.” She could only muster from a raspy voice. Clearly the damage from the oxygen leaking on the space ship did some short term damage to her voice. She then proceeds to ask herself questions to see if her brain was still intact.

“Ok what Is my name? Y/n Done. What planet did I originate from? Earth. Why did I join the force? Cause it was the only way I could escape.” Y/n continued to survey herself. For as far as she knew she was intact. Looking up to the giant dune in front her, she a rose to her feet. Trekking up the dune to the very top. Sand stuck to her like glue, yuck. All the dried blood and sand in her clothes made her very uncomfortable. She needed to wash, and who knows, perhaps some salt water will be able to chill her nerves. Thighs were burning, sand was such a hard thing to climb up on. With grunts and groans she finally made it to the top. Y/n couldn’t believe the sight before her eyes! She was on the most gorgeous beach she had ever seen! Lush soft white, yellow sands that stretched into the distance and a gorgeous ocean calling to her. Y/n laughed in disbelief, she knew she was safe. Who ever was attacking her must think she was dead and she would like to keep it that way. Worries drifted away with the calming ocean breeze, her pain floated away. What was even better was that there was no alien birds in the sky, no unexpected holes in the ground, just peace. It occurred to her that this place looked like Earth. Hopefully…

#g/t community #giant/tiny #g/t fluff #mcu #marvel #giant loki #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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godinmyhands · 1 month ago

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"Never smash. Dissect. Slowly slice open to examine the insides. Preserve what you can for study and, potentially, future utilization."

#{finitevus; ic}「made in heaven」#{DASH COMM}「The Universal Mind」#yourflame #hi onestep he's thinking about you

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clockvvorker · 3 years ago

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I’m working on a full about page for Miku right now, hopefully finished in time for Meeks Day, but a break down of how I play her since she’s a little more......unconventional than just having a main verse and AUs:

*might want to view on my blog so you can see the proper list indents!

the main Miku has knowledge of all her other counterparts- she sort of exists as a meta manifestation of herself, wherein she knows what’s going on with everyone else, even if she can’t control them. In this sense, she’s capable of making dash comm of any other Miku, which she may do if one of her modules does something stupid (looks directly @ World is Mine module).

Main Miku (or Meta Miku, I might call her sometimes) is kind of a lowkey narcissist, but she’s also generally friendly and easy to get along with. Just don’t take it to heart if she offhandedly compliments herself or acts like she knows everything. She’s just.....like that.

Each of her other AUs exist as “modules” of herself. They aren’t normally aware of other manifestations of Miku, although that is also dependent on their canon (i.e. Eve Zvezda is aware of most of the other Evillious Mikus, by nature of them existing in the same universe).

Some modules are more heavily derived from headcanons than others. For example, Seraphim in the Ring Miku has a fairly decent backstory, but no other descriptions other than wannabe-idol-turned-pro-wrestler. Sand Planet Miku has no backstory whatsoever and is more open to interpretation beyond just wandering around the desert like in her PV. On the other side of the spectrum are the Evillious Mikus, who all have very distinct personalities and roles in the story.

If anybody wants to build a story/world with Miku in any of her songs, or as a side character in another VOCALOID’s song, feel free to let me know! I love world-building and character-building, as well as VOCALOID music, obviously :P

Specific headcanons for Project Sekai: just like Meta Miku, PRSK!Main Miku is aware of the existence of all the Sekai Mikus, but none of the Sekai Mikus know about her existence, or the other groups’ Mikus. Until this is proven non-canon, this will not change. Other groups’ Mikus will be able to interact with other characters (i.e. Leo/Need Miku will be able to interact with a Kanade muse), but will neither know that character nor know that they are involved with another Miku. Even if this is proven non-canon, this is how I’ll keep things moving forward for my own peace of mind.

Before anybody says anything, I’m not touching KagePro with a ten foot pole. Love the music, don’t know shit about the series and at this point I’m too afraid to ask. The only way you’ll get me into KagePro is if you also promise to get into Evillious Chronicles, and I know nobody wants that.

Miku is canon to everything, I could not make this up if I tried. It originated as a joke wherein I basically six degrees to Kevin Baconed Miku into every fandom connected to the Smash Bros multiverse, but, like.....seriously, it’s ridiculous how much Miku connects to. It’s just.....Miku. Miku.

......you can call her Miku.

#hm. headcanon #c. miku hatsune #long post #figured I'd get this out today since Meeks Day is in the middle of the gotdang week

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un-fett-ered · 4 years ago

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finder’s keepers

In this universe, Boba invades an imperial base and finds the child instead of the Mandalorian.

note: So,,, I recently started writing fanfics. Here’s a one shot that ended up more serious than I wanted, so I probably won’t continue it.

warning: mostly canon-typical violence, a little mention of blood and mistreatment of the child

Boba squats in the thick brush, watching the pair of stormtroopers stand guard for a small back door. One chats loudly to their partner, their helmet faced towards the other and waving their hands wildly. Their partner seems uninterested and continues to slowly survey their stationed area. Boba glances down at his chronometer. Last night at the cantina, the Weequay had told him a routine supply shipment would be arriving around this time.

Even at high noon, humid fog was still lingering in the forest surrounding the Imperial base. Boba’s dark robes clung to his skin, chafing against some sensitive scar tissue on his back when he shifts. Boba tries to ignore it and instead focuses on relaxing his muscles while he waits.

The more stoic stormtrooper shifts and both troopers stiffen up, shuffling their feet to a more ready stance. Boba huffs – their stances are so lax, having not idea of the storm approaching. The stormtroopers are answering a call from their wrist-comms, catching Boba’s attention. The supply transports must have arrived.

Rolling his shoulders and flexing his legs to make sure his body hasn’t fallen asleep, Boba clicks the detonation button. The charges he had set around the supply drop area set off a satisfying chain of loud booms and the stormtroopers both turn sharply towards the noise. The previously chatty one immediately punches in the door code, rushing inside before the other trooper can stop them. The other trooper, clearly the wiser one, at least looks perfunctorily at the forest surrounding the back area of the base before going to punch in the door code.

Just as the door hydraulics begin to stir, Boba jumps out of bushes and raises his blaster to shoot the trooper before they can rush inside. Boba curls his lip in disdain at these stormtroopers for leaving their post at the slightest drop of trouble and leaving the door wide open for him. Oh, how standards have dropped. Stepping over the fallen body, Boba hears another set of heavy boots stomp away towards the front of the base before he tucks himself through the half open door.

The recycled air is crisp and dry compared to the heavy, muggy atmosphere outside. Someone has turned on the emergency red lights and the wailing alarms. Boba glances into empty dorm rooms as he heads down the hallway, blasters tilted down but finger on the trigger. A half dressed trooper bursts out of a refresher, still dripping water and pulling on pieces of his armor. Boba lifts a blaster to strike him twice on the exposed part of his torso then leaves him in the hallway. Gripping his two pistols, Boba peeks around the corner to the next hallway. He spots three troopers and a sign marking “storage”. Bingo.

One trooper breaks off from the group to walk in his direction. Boba silently backs away from the hallway entrance to attack the trooper when they turn the corner. Unfortunately for his plan for a quiet kill, the trooper yelps before falling.

Boba dashes quickly into the closest doorway. When the other troopers rush through the hallway, their heads are drawn towards their fallen friend on the floor.

Boba slams open the door again, squarely blasting the closest one in the chest. He jumps at the farther trooper, landing a solid elbow before the trooper can lift their heavy automatic blaster. Instead, the trooper swings the blaster like a blunt weapon, sweeping at Boba’s legs. Boba dodges to the right, ramming his shoulder in to push the trooper off balance. One of their arms goes flying out towards Boba, who grabs the arm and pulls the trooper close. Kicking out his legs in a wide stance, Boba uses the momentum to twist and slam the trooper’s head into the wall. If he then bangs the trooper’s head a few more times than needed, well, no one is here to see it.

Boba catches his breath, proudly standing over the mess he just created. Stifling a smile, Boba nabs a free detonator off a trooper’s belt and re-grips his blasters.

Boba puts his head around the corner, looking for any other patrolling troopers. Boba treads up to the first door marked “Storage”, but the door to the right has a visually complicated locking system and no window. Insecure people keeping valuables in visually secure boxes (as if to reassure themselves that it is safer), only paint a target for thieves. And Boba had made a living “acquiring” things and people alike. He slips easily past the mechanisms and the door slides open.

Boba’s foot hesitates in mid-air before he stalks forward and lifts a pistol at the shaking scientist in the corner. He closes the door behind him.

“What the kriff is that thing?” Boba demands, pointing at the wrinkly green – thing the scientist had practically shoved into a crib behind him.

The scientist edges over to block Boba’s view from the crib, holding up his hands, “it’s – it’s just a baby. Please don’t hurt it!”

Boba took in the sight of the baby and the scientist in the lab, the resemblance to the Kaminoans decanting him in the sterile white walls of his birth world. Boba moves closer to the crib and snarls out “what are you doing to that baby?”

“I protected him, I’ve been protecting him! If it wasn’t for me, he would already be dead!” the scientist pleads. Boba shifts his grip on his raised blaster.

The scientist blurts out “Please just let me go!”

Boba tilts his head menacingly. “Just let you go? Just you? Is this not your child?”

The scientist furrows his brows, “Well, no” and Boba puts a blaster bolt in this thigh. The man falls to the floor, clutching his leg and yelling. “What the kark! What was that for?”

Boba glares down at the cowardly man. He growls out, “I know what men like you do to children. Be grateful I did not kill you. You stole this child.”

Leaving the scientist to desperately clamp his hand over the bleeding blaster wound, Boba lowers his pistol and carefully approaches the crib. The child is a wrinkly green mess, somehow looking so unbelievably old and young at the same time. After getting over his initial shock of disgust, Boba notices the child’s sickly pale color and shallow, uneven breaths. Though this was not the treasure he was searching for, Boba would not leave this child by itself. He grips the metal edges of the crib, deciding what to do next.

Gathering himself again, Boba easily pushes the crib towards the door using the built-in repulsor lifts. After checking the hallway again, which is thankfully empty, he turns back to the scientist.

“Given the poor state of this baby, I’ve changed my mind. Hurting a child is unforgivable,” Boba declares and raises his blaster once more. The child does not even stir at the true ring of the blaster bolt.

#boba fett #the child #my writing #star wars fic #au

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thenocturnalshadow · 3 years ago

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Rules

I don’t have many rules but they are as follows.

1. I’m open to rping anything pretty much but I like development and some planning. I try to stay away from things like non-con/rape but gore and stuff is fine. I tag my things and use cuts (Read mores) on anything that I feel is not child/work appropriate. Mun is 18+ and experienced as an rper but will under no circumstances rp smut with a minor. Other adults, possibly, depending on the situation.

2. Mun=/=Muse and as such if my muse says or does something that does not mean I feel that way or agree with it. Thus why this is roleplaying and all.

3. I do not encourage anon hate, bullying or anything of that nature. I follow a do on to others as you would have done to you rule so I try to be nice and respectful to my rp partners and expect the same.

4. I am now semi-selective, I will rp with just about anyone though from any universe, show, game, OC, it doesn’t matter just don’t expect me to know your fandom or your character. That said, you do need to be a mutual. I no longer rp with none mutuals as I can’t tell who wants to rp with me still and who does not otherwise. Note: I also reserve the right to refuse to rp with someone for any reason, though I will likely let you know if I have a problem and poke you calmly about it.

5. This blog is multiship and multiverse and muse is semi-multiverse aware so he isn’t surprised to see alternates.

6. Do not power play, godmode, or meta-game. It’s rude and kills the fun of Rping.

7. I may drop threads, but I will inform you if I do. That said, sometimes I have problems with my tag tracker or I miss something, don’t be afraid to poke me and remind me. I’ll actually be glad you did! On tags, I use them a lot and I always check my tracker so if you want me to see something use TheNocturnalShadow tag.

8. I’m not super picky but try to make your writing readable. I will try to match your writing to a point but I personally don’t get fancy with the format. I use third person paragraph unless it’s a POV which are mostly just little drabbles I do rarely. The more you write the more I have to work with for my replies. //Comms//, Thoughts, “Speaking”, (OOC), is the formula I use when rping.

9. If I follow you I will give a two weeks for a follow back and if you haven’t I will unfollow. It is not personal, I just like to keep my dash clean of those I don’t rp with. In short I will mostly only rp with mutuals past the first two weeks.

10. I have no preferred ships with Shadow, all ships are interesting and I don’t mind exploring them but as for her home universe she is not shipped with anyone.

#Rules for Mobile #OOC

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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

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Sky Candy

Okay, this one is for ‘shits and giggles’ :D Literally. It grew out of a discussion with @onereyofstarlight this morning and I managed to both start and finish it today :D Just a bit of fun.

Spoilers & warnings: This is actually based in the Kermadec Universe created by my fic ‘We’ll Be Home For Christmas’, but it barely relates to that fic and it can be read without it. Maybe mild, mild spoilers for that fic. There is a tiny amount of Scott/OC ship in this, but it is minimal. Low level language, 4490 words.

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the inspiration, support and the read through. And also to @scribbles97 for a read and encouragement.

I hope you enjoy it :D

-o-o-o-

Living on an island in the middle of the ocean had Virgil fairly used to birds. There was a colony of Kermadec Petrels on Mateo that he liked to keep an eye on since apparently, they were ‘native and uncommon due to past ecological interference in the area’ and Mel had glared enough at his father to let it sink in…particularly when they were building their backup generator over there. The fact the little island had nearly been blown up by the Hood had given him nightmares for weeks. A firm discussion with Kayo and a change to the WASP protocol had been enacted since.

But so close.

There were the lone albatrosses that occasionally visited, their vast wingspan visible far above the island. Virgil had been known to just sit and watch them until they disappeared to the horizon or behind Tracy Peak. There was something so calming about them.

Of course, then there was the time a huge gull had taken up residence in the pool…while Gordon was in it. There was such a ruckus at that, even Virgil had been dragged out of bed. Alan had been eating breakfast when the bird landed and had caught a good chunk of it on film. One sodden, screeching aquanaut tangling with a much put out gull provided entertainment for Christmases to come.

But this? This was unprecedented.

Thunderbird Two had been left on her runway overnight due to a small fault in her module retrieval system. No module meant no wheels and a ticked off pilot. He had lowered number four to the tarmac at 2am and used a pod to push it into the hanger, but Two had to stay outside.

Gordon had not been happy and Four couldn’t deploy without help from Two at this point, but at least the craft had been safe inside overnight.

Two on the other hand…

Virgil crawled out of bed at 6am, drowned himself in coffee and stumbled out into the morning.

Fortunately, the weather was blue sky and the wind almost non-existent. The palms were still and the foliage on either side of the runway was just lighting up as the sun slowly crept over the horizon beyond the villa. It was all quite beautiful.

It was a relief. With the exception of last night, the last week had been full of nasty weather. Not enough to stop a Thunderbird launch, but dark, grey, windy, wet and depressing.

Virgil took a moment and let his shoulders drop and closed his eyes. Okay, he was overreacting. He was tired. Yesterday had been hell and the fault had appeared just as he was finally able to leave the last rescue site. It meant a crawl back to Tracy Island and Gordon stuck in the module and his ‘bird the entire way.

The vitriol over comms hadn’t helped.

If they had been near land, he would have paused to collect the aquanaut out of the module, but the rescue had been in the middle of the Pacific and it was pitch black and, god, he just wanted to go home.

The fact he was separated from his brother by a comline that could possibly be muted was a reassurance of his sanity.

Did he mute it?

No.

But the possibility was there. It really was.

It was over. He was home. The morning was beautiful and he should be able to fix the problem easily enough.

The petrels over on Mateo were squawking up a storm. A glance in that direction and, yes, the sea eagles were out looking for breakfast.

Living on the Island was a twenty-four-hour nature documentary sometimes. Without the editing.

Two was exactly where he left her, squatting on her struts. He took a moment to just stop and gaze at her. It wasn’t often he was able to see her outside without having to dash to or from an emergency.

She was lit up by the sun, her green hull glowing with its satin shimmer. Her big number two emblazoned and glowing on her tail. He was able to appreciate just how big she was and just how beautiful.

His heart swelled with a little pride and, if he was to admit it, blatant affection.

She was just perf-

He frowned. What the hell was that?

A white glow on her front windows where there should be no highlight with the sun this low on the horizon.

He took a step sideways, moving the angle of reflection.

You have got to be kidding me.

He didn’t have his uniform on, just his service harness, wrist remote over his flannel and an old pair of jeans. He was planning on using his onboard tool kit and killing two birds with one stone by checking the equipment at the same time.

He ran to the hatch, lowering it without thought and waiting impatiently for it to rise up into the cabin. The moment he could, he dashed forward to his pilot’s seat.

Across the forward windows was sprayed a large splat of white something.

Virgil’s brows cut a furrow into his forehead that almost cleaved his skull in half. If the white mess wasn’t so huge, he’d think a bird had eaten Grandma’s cooking and had a bad night. But it was massive. The streaks spread over several windows.

If Gordon had used paint on Virgil’s ‘bird as a prank, fratricide was a possibility.

Grabbing a safety line, Virgil hooked himself in and raised the hatch. Lips, pursed he climbed out onto Two’s hull and lowered himself down to her windows.

It was bird shit.

One massive bird shit.

It encompassed plexiglass and cahelium hull and was a spray of at least a couple of metres across.

How the hell? Anger was frozen as his brain attempted to account for how it got there.

It wasn’t there last night. Hell, if it was, there was no way he could have missed it. So, it had to have happened overnight.

The problem was, as far as he knew, there was nothing on Tracy Island big enough to do such a thing. Except maybe Gordon. Anything was possible with Gordon.

Gordon. Yeah, it had to be Gordon.

Climbing back into his ‘bird, he hunted down enough cleaning equipment to remove the mess.

Once it was cleaned up, he turned to the task he had come out there for and fixed the faulty retrieval hydraulics.

-o-o-o-

Virgil had mostly forgotten about the issue by lunchtime. Having his ‘bird out in the sunshine gave him the opportunity to air out her life support systems and do some general cleaning. He even got one of the bots to hose her down and climbed out and polished up her windows and external lights. For an hour or two he lost himself in the job, his mind wandering over yesterday’s events and processing as his hands worked on familiar surfaces.

Gordon wandered out onto the tarmac at one point to check on him. His fish brother may claim to be carefree, but if one of them wasn’t acting normally, he was known to chase them up or alternatively poke and prod if they weren’t responding in a Gordon-acceptable manner.

“Hey, Virg, whatcha doin’?”

It was yelled up as Virgil was hanging almost upside down above Two’s port wing polishing his third number two for the day.

“Cleaning.”

And yes, that was an arched eyebrow from his little brother. He couldn’t see it, but he could hear it. “You gonna wax and polish your entire ‘bird?”

“Just the important bits.”

“You do know we have bots for that.”

“Yes, Gordon.”

“Then wh-“ A wet splat interrupted his brother. “A-aaaargh!”

Virgil spun so fast, his safety line shifted and he found himself falling forward and off the edge of the wing.

Hanging in mid-air only gave him a better view.

Gordon stood on the tarmac, face absolutely disgusted, somewhat distraught and covered in white bird shit.

Virgil immediately looked to the sky, but from this angle half of it was obscured by the cliff face and the rest of it was blue, empty and glaringly full of sun.

“What the hell?!” Gordon stood like a frightened scarecrow, white uric acid in his hair, on his shirt and hands. His fingers flicked white all over the asphalt.

Virgil kept a wide berth as he rappelled down the side of his ‘bird.

“You okay?”

“Do I look okay?!”

Virgil bit his lip. “Well, you’ve looked better.” And if his phone camera was suddenly in his hand, it wasn’t like the fish wouldn’t do the same if he had the chance.

The expression of disgust on Gordon’s face was one for the record books. An accusatory glare at the phone, he spun on the spot, careful not to touch any part of his body with his filthy hands, darted between the ferns and clambered down the cliffside.

Virgil unclipped himself and ran after his brother, only catching sight of him as a pair of sand shoes flew up the cliff and landed on the asphalt. Gordon took a leaping dive into the lagoon.

Well, that was one way to get rid of it.

Virgil watched him purely for safety’s sake as his fish brother skimmed below the surface towards the deeper blue at the centre of the caldera. As always, Virgil marvelled at how fast Gordon could move underwater. Goofy above, powerful below.

And now madly trying to scrub the mess out of his hair. Words which Grandma would not approve bounced around the bay.

A figure in blue appeared at the edge of the villa cliff staring out at the splashing in the middle of the lagoon. That was an explanation waiting to happen. He was surprised there hadn’t been a squawk from comms already.

A glance at the empty sky and he returned to the question of what the hell would be capable of doing this.

Virgil was no orthinologist, but he did have a camera and an interest in the wildlife around him. They were in a rather privileged position just north of one of the world’s largest wildlife sanctuaries, and if his photos were of use to the scientific team on Raoul Island a few hundred kilometres south of them, well, it didn’t hurt to help where he could.

Mel, the leader of the team had him grabbing rough counts of the Kermadec petrels on Mateo every now and again, plus the sea eagles in the cliffs. With the tui in the forest and a number of other species, Virgil was pretty sure he had encountered just about every type of bird on the Island.

And none of them were big enough to make that mess.

Gordon was heading back and no doubt, the words were not going to be pleasant.

He was spitting chips before he even climbed out of the water.

“What the hell was that?!”

His soaking wet brother climbed the verge, hair sticking out in all directions, bare feet nimble despite the sharp rocks.

Virgil opened his mouth, but another voice interrupted. “What happened?”

Blue eyes, dark frown, Scott had already walked half the length of Two’s runway. “What’s going on?”

“Relax, Scott. Gordon just had an encounter with some bird poop.”

His big brother stopped walking. “You’re kidding. All that,” and he waved his hand towards the lagoon, “was for a little sky candy?”

“Candy?” Outrage was one word. Bedraggled was another. Gordon was shoving damp feet into his sand shoes and having a doozy of a time with it. “A bird shit on me, Scott. A pterodactyl sized bird. Possibly an elephant with wings.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “If it was an elephant with wings, you’d need a shovel.” Though at this point, he was willing to entertain the pterodactyl theory.

Another wary glance at the sky.

Perhaps it would be a good idea to get Two undercover.

-o-o-o-

The video captured by Virgil proved to be highly popular that night, particularly once it was thrown up on the main holoprojector. He knew he was risking dye in his shower rose, but it was a change from being the subject of joviality and it really was harmless. It was also a rare day when they hadn’t been called out, so everyone was relaxed and there was laughter which was sorely needed after yesterday.

There was less laughter the next morning when Scott walked out onto the main balcony at five in the morning and slipped on a wet patch.

The mug of coffee in his hand went flying, splashing boiling hot water on his shirt as he fell, and it was only years of sparring with Kayo that saved him from cracking his head on the hardwood.

As it was, by the time a worried Gordon dragged Virgil out of bed, there were a number of nasty bruises sprouting on his big brother.

“Well, you are staying home today.”

“Virgil, c’mon. I just fell over.”

Wrapping the scald on Scott’s hand, Virgil shook his head. “Nope, you slipped. On a non-slip balcony, by the way. What were you doing out there in the dark?”

“It wasn’t dark.”

“The sun wasn’t up and you didn’t see what you stepped in.”

“Giant bird poop isn’t usually a problem, Virgil.”

No, it wasn’t. The sight of the white splash on the hardwood, large enough to overcome the non-slip surface was like a taunt.

Virgil cleaned up his big brother while listening to Gordon whine about the shit in his hair that apparently hadn’t washed out, ocean or three showers later. After that, he dropped a line to Mel on Raoul and asked her if she knew of any local birds that could do that much poop in one evacuation.

Apart from the snort of laughter from the blonde ecologist, the answer was only ‘maybe an albatross’. Apparently, that was the biggest bird in the Kermadecs.

He sent her the video in thanks.

The howling laughter that followed was worth it. He couldn’t help but grin at the sound of Sam in the background.

Oh, yes, Gordon was going down.

Virgil spent the rest of the afternoon securing everything he owned and rigging some protective security.

Gordon would likely get him anyway, but no need to make it easy.

Scott, of course, refused to acknowledge the burn or the bruises and went about his usual activities. If strangling him wasn’t counterproductive to his preferred outcome, Virgil may have considered it.

“I’m fine, Virgil.” The bandaged hand waved in his direction begged to differ.

The sun was setting and Scott had been at their father’s desk for most of the day. At least they hadn’t been called out.

“There’s someone on the runway!”

Virgil jumped as Alan tore up the kitchen stairs.

“What?”

Young blue eyes were earnest and not a little worried. “There is someone on the runway!”

Scott’s response was immediate, swiping aside paperwork and bring up the Island’s security network. Views of the runway, now almost in darkness flickered past, all empty of life, until a screen came up blank.

“Camera Five is transmitting, but there is no image.”

Scott thumbed his comms. “Kayo, we have a possible intruder on Two’s runway and a camera down. Could you please check it out.”

Their sister’s efficient FAB bounced back over comms.

“I’m going with her. Gordon jumped off the couch where he had been lounging for most of the afternoon and threw himself into his launch chute.

“John, we have a possible intrusion and a blanked camera. Can you give us extra eyes on Two’s runway.”

Another efficient FAB bounced down from orbit and the transmission in Scott’s hands changed to the massive sensors employed by Thunderbird Five.

There was nothing on the runway.

Virgil stared at it. “Alan, what did you see?”

His little brother was standing beside him. “Movement. A head maybe. It was too big to be anything else.”

Kayo appeared on the display, followed by Gordon. They both sketched out a search pattern.

That ultimately proved unfruitful.

They did discover why one of the cameras wasn’t working properly.

“More bird shit.” Gordon’s disgust was a physical thing.

Virgil turned the unit over in a gloved hand. It was designed to withstand a cyclone, yet here it was coated in enough uric acid to simply block any light from entering it.

The thing was, this wasn’t the first time this camera had had an issue. The way it protruded out of the cliff made it a perfect perch and it had seen a few birds over the years. Consequently, it was maintained and checked regularly. It was fine yesterday.

Now it was not.

Coated in one big bird turd.

“You know whatever the hell this is, it obviously has a stomach issue.” Apparently, Gordon was on the verge of declaring whatever it was to be his personal nemesis.

“We’ll need to work out a way to deter the birds from this camera.”

“Bird, Virg. One great big honkin’ bird.”

“That we have yet to see.”

“Well, we have cameras and sensors all over the island. Let’s use them.”

-o-o-o-

They were called out before they could do anything. China. A flood. Three days of drudgery and misery.

It was bad.

Bad enough for Grandma to shut them down for forty-eight hours after they finally made it home.

Virgil was limping with a twisted ankle and a cranky commander who had witnessed him making the jump responsible for the injury. It nearly ended up so much worse,

An aching ankle was worth the life of the two children he had in his arms at the time. He’d be fine.

After fourteen hours curled up in bed, he crawled downstairs and hunted down his coffee. It was midmorning, but the house was quiet. The weather was still holding out and despite a long night’s sleep, he still felt exhausted. Hopefully coffee and breakfast would help.

Sun would be nice. He grabbed a bagel, limped out onto the pool deck and found himself a lounger.

-o-o-o-

Coffee or no, he must have fallen asleep, because he woke to a whisper on comms.

“Virgil, stay still.”

“Wha-?” He mumbled and rolled over, blinking against the sunlight.

And came face to face with an alien.

What the f-?

Dopey brain, adrenalin, and he was floundering backwards, landing hard on the concrete. The lounge flipped over and collapsed on him.

A massive pair of black and white wings spread and flapped, agitated. They backed off, but not without grabbing his neglected bagel first.

Virgil stared as his brain booted.

It was a pelican. A very large pelican.

The bagel was gulped down a huge pink beak.

“Virg! It’s a pelican!” Gordon sounded excited, his whisper over comms almost a shout.

“I can see that.” At least they now knew where all the poop had come from.

Virgil eased the lounger off his back as quietly as he could.

“Virgil, are you okay?” Scott, of course.

“Fine.”

“That is a very big pelican.”

Virgil resisted rolling his eyes...just. “I noticed.”

The bird was eyeing him. Virgil edged backwards a little only for the lounger to rattle behind him.

Those black wings spread again and Virgil froze.

Several feathers were missing from those wings and there was a small smear of red amongst the white on the bird’s right side.

Aw, hell. “Gordon, it’s injured.”

“Damn. How bad? I can’t see from here.”

Virgil looked up and found both Scott and Gordon on the balcony above watching him.

“I can’t tell. We will need to capture it.”

“Reckon you can grab it?”

Virgil eyed the bird. It was over a metre tall and had a beak to match. “Possibly.”

Any other thought on the matter was suddenly vetoed as a familiar hiss lightly disturbed the surface of the pool and Virgil found himself covered in netting.

Kayo and Shadow.

The pelican did not appreciate it and struggled, tangling itself.

Virgil held still and tempted to calm it with soothing noises. Then Scott was there, dragging him out from under the net. Gordon was gathering the huge bird, hands and words desperately trying to calm it.

Thumb on comms. “John, get me Mel. We need her help.”

-o-o-o-

“Well this is a first. An Australian Pelican all the way out here.” Mel stood watching the injured bird stalk about its cage. “You sure he didn’t hitch a ride on one of your Thunderbirds?”

Gordon snorted. “Virg tried to bring home a polar bear once.”

“That was not intentional.” Okay, so it was a sore point. Alan could have been seriously injured simply because Virgil hadn’t closed the module door.

“Well, you did.”

“Did not.”

“Alan would disagree.”

“I did not!”

A hand landed on Virgil’s shoulder, its partner landing on Gordon’s. “That’s enough. Mel, is he going to be okay?” Scott’s voice was authority deep.

The blonde ecologist tilted her head to one side and shrugged. “I’ve done what I can. I think so. He should still be able to fly, but there is no way he is making it back to the continent by himself. I’ve contacted Birdlife Australia. We’ll make an estimate of where he might have come from and take him home.” She smiled up at Scott. “I might need a lift.”

A lopsided smirk. “You’ve got one.”

Gordon rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, Mel.” Virgil held out a hand.

She eyed him a moment and took it. “I see you’re the walking wounded again.”

His eyelids dropped into a flat glare. “Just a twisted ankle.”

She smirked at him. “Look after yourself.”

“Oh, for gods, sake, Mel, isn’t one of my brothers enough?” Gordon groaned.

The ecologist shrugged and Scott frowned. The moment Mel spotted the frown she burst into a grin. “Something wrong, Commander?”

Scott’s glare was flat enough to level the Island. “Not a thing.”

Mel’s grin just got wider. But she reached out and took his fingers in hers. Scott’s shoulders relaxed just a little.

She stroked the back of his hand. “Good.”

Both Virgil and Gordon rolled their eyes at that.

“I’m going for a swim.” Gordon skipped out of the room.

“I’m going to go finish my breakfast.”

Neither Scott or Mel noticed.

The pelican stared him down.

Virgil flicked his eyes towards the ceiling, turned and left.

-o-o-o-

Scott wanted to borrow Thunderbird Two for the delivery. Virgil offered but the Commander claimed he was injured. Virgil told him where he could shove that, listing off a burn and a maze of bruises from a few days earlier as far more injurious than a twisted ankle.

Scott resorted to whining after that.

The fact Scott actually whined like his littlest brother had the engineer staring at his big brother like he’d grown an extra nose.

“How old are you?”

“Virg, please.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You want to borrow my car to take out your date because your jalopy can’t do the job.”

That got a more familiar reaction. “It has to be Two to lessen the trauma to the pelican.”

“Fine, I’ll take him to Brisbane.”

“Virg!”

An arched eyebrow. Okay, he had to admit this was a little fun. “Something wrong?”

“Virgil! I could order it.”

“Sure, you could.” I dare you.

Blue glared at him fit to bust a vein. Virgil held those eyes calmly with his own, doing his best to hold back his grin.

Ultimately, he failed.

“Damnit, Virgil.”

A snort. “Fine. Bring her back in one piece. No aerobatics.”

His brother’s grin was worth it. Who ever thought Scott Tracy would be so eager to fly the family cargo carrier?

The pelican left Tracy Island along with Mel and his brother the next morning.

Virgil did not fail to notice that there was a night before that morning and Scott was positively chipper before he left.

The engineer stood out the front of the villa and took the opportunity to watch his bird lift off with a familiar roar and bank towards the south-west.

He couldn’t help but smile just a little more.

His brother was gone all day and it was no surprise. Virgil was not worried, despite Gordon ribbing him about it for a good part of the day.

The artist hid in his studio.

And painted a pelican.

Eventually, the familiar sound of his ‘bird returning to the Island drew him out and he met his brother on his way back from the hangars.

Scott was obviously preoccupied and didn’t see him approach.

“How did it go?”

The man nearly jumped out of his skin. “Virgil! Give a guy warning next time.”

Virgil stared at him. “You okay?”

“What? Yeah, sure.” The commander pushed past him towards the lockers.

That didn’t sound right. Virgil turned and followed. “Did you have a good time?”

That had a better result. Scott straightened and grinned. “Definitely.” The man was obviously seeing pleasant memories in his mind’s eye.

“So, what’s wrong then?”

The grin vanished. “Er, nothing.” He unfastened and lifted his baldric up and over his head. He looked at anything other than Virgil.

“And you say I can’t lie.”

Eyes caught his. “You can’t. You’re crap at it, Virg, always have been.”

“Well, you’re failing big time today. What happened?”

His brother’s shoulders dropped. “I’ll help you clean her. I promise.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. Oh, god. “What did you do?” He turned and ran towards the hangers.

“Virgil! I’ll fix it. It was an accident.”

“What the hell did you do?!”

He burst into Two’s hangar only to be met by Gordon grinning like a loon. “Big Bro is in trouble.” The fish managed to sing that.

Virgil shoved him out of the way so he could see his ‘bird.”

His jaw dropped. “Oh my god.”

Scott stepped up beside him. “Honest, I didn’t know.”

Virgil held out his hands to his beautiful Thunderbird as if in supplication. One desperate word. “How?”

Scott sighed. “Local fishing fleet docked while she was parked on the beach. Apparently, it is an event that all the local birds gather for. Two unfortunately made a great perch.”

There was bird poop from one end of his girl to the other. She looked diseased. Her green hull mottled with white and brown.

“I’ll clean her. I promise.”

Pelicans. There were pelicans. Likely gulls as well.

“Virg? I will, I promise.”

Bird shit all over his ‘bird.

“Virg?”

“I think you broke him, bro.” Something waved in front of his eyes, interrupting his view of his girl. He swiped at it.

“Well, we have movement at least.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“Virg?”

He turned on his big brother and shoved a finger in his face. “You are going to clean every single turd off my ‘bird.”

“Yes, Virgil.” Those blue eyes were very wide and Scott was leaning backwards.

“Good.” Virgil spun on his heel and stormed out.

Stupid birds.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

If you would like to see the possibilities of what can happen with these birds, please have a look here and here :D

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #scott/oc #just a little

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