#inability to be accountable is exactly why i go 'yeah no i need space'

[yaldabaoth]

nothing like seeing people paint themself as completely innocent and that you're that bad guy for finally putting your foot down

[gumnut-logic]

Census

After my little hissy fit last night about not being able to write, I spent all day today doing exactly that. 5000 words later and we have this rambling fic. I had to fill in our Census today, so I figured the Tracys could too. It went places I did not expect.

There are a couple of anachronisms in this fic. It is based in 2060 for census reasons, but I mention at least two characters interacting with the Tracys from later seasons. Please ignore and enjoy anyway :D

There are also a couple of vague references to ship, but no real ship, I promise.

Thank you in particular to @katblu42​ and @willow-salix​  and the other members of Thunderfam who kindly checked on on me last night while I was bemoaning my inability to write. Sorry if I was exasperating. I have a degree in that. If it helps, no one gets more annoyed with me than I do ::hugs you lots::

Rambly, mostly brotherly conversations and doesn’t really go anywhere, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

-o-o-o-

How Gordon got there first was no mystery. Virgil was just too damned tired after three rescues in a row and Scott had been tied up with Tracy Industries for most of the day. Grandma could possibly have been on it if she hadn’t been filling in for John who had broken out his exo-suit to yank a couple of free floaters out of the sky.

He was still muttering about idiots and safety. His mood was not improved by the fact Grandma insisted he come down for the night so he could be counted.

Consequently, his muttering also included cursing bureaucracy even though Virgil knew census night was a favourite of the astronaut.

Perhaps Gordon got to the form first because he knew everyone else was tired and grumpy and needed a kick in the pants. Virgil had to admit with a fond thought that his little brother was prone to throwing joke bombs amongst them when the mood was through the floor.

Virgil had no issues wondering why Alan wasn’t the one poking at the form. Their resident teenager wasn’t interested at all.

“Okay, guys. What is our address? What did we put last time?”

Alan didn’t even look up from his game. “Tracy Island.”

Gordon, who was sitting at Dad’s desk, staring at the holographic form, hesitated. “Did Dad register that with the powers that be?”

“What?” Alan really wasn’t paying any attention at all.

Virgil sighed. He was sitting on the couch with one of his uniform boots on his lap attempting to pick out several penetrating objects out of the sole. His last rescue had been a collapsed factory and he was still trying to work out what exactly it was that they made that could penetrate his specialist footwear.

Fortunately, despite multiple incursions, he only had a scratch on his left foot, more an annoyance than anything, but these objects were frustrating and suspicious.

“Dad did all the right things. Tracy Island is the official name now.” The pliers weren’t quite gripping the piece of metal properly. The grip slipped and Virgil swore.

“Now? What was it called before?”

“Deserter’s Rock.” Scott strode in from the kitchen, a coffee in hand, and grimace on his face. His usually perfect hair was scruffy, as if he had been running his hands through it.

Virgil frowned up at him. “You okay?”

His brother took the steps down into the lounge and sighed. “Nothing a holiday won’t fix.” It was Scott’s turn to frown. “What’s with the boot?”

“Deserter’s Rock? Really?”

It was John who answered, very much like Alan, staring into his tablet and barely paying attention. “Really. Three sailors were stuck here for months. Only one survived. That’s why there is a cairn on Tracy Peak.”

“I thought that was a pile of rocks put there by Dad.” Gordon seemed genuinely surprised. “You mean there are two dead guys on the Island?”

“Along with their ghosts, yeah.” John still didn’t look up.

“Ghosts?” Alan did look up at that, eyes wide. “What ghosts?”

“The one’s who keep stealing my Bailey’s ice cream.”

“Oh.” Alan went back to playing his game, his eyes definitely not darting between John and Gordon at all.

“Okay, moving on…so where do I put ‘Tracy Island’ in this thing? It’s not a suburb, state or territory…do we have a postcode?”

“It’s a locality. Shove it in there.” Virgil grit his teeth and yanked hard at the piece of metal embedded in his boot. A grunt and a flex of heavy lifting muscles and…it didn’t move at all. What the hell?

“Okay, whatever.” Gordon half sung ‘Tracy Island, Kermadec Ridge, South Pacific Ocean’ to himself as he entered it into the form. At least he was being specific. Virgil glared at his boot.

“Next. Who gets to be head of household? Oh, the Householder?” A pause in which Virgil poked at his boot, Scott sipped his coffee with closed eyes, Alan killed three zombies with a grin and John sat motionless still staring at his tablet.

“Okay, then. It’s me.” Gordon grinned to himself.

Nobody looked up, but all four other brothers said simultaneously and in chorus. “It’s Grandma.”

Virgil flexed his hand and picked up his pliers again. Peripherally, he watched Gordon’s shoulders drop. Even the Fish couldn’t argue with that.

“Fine. It’s Grandma.” He reached up and touched the box to open that section of the form. “Where is she anyway?”

Virgil tried to get a better grip on another chunk of metal in his boot. “Yoga. Don’t disturb her.” Yoga was Grandma’s mindfulness time and after today, it was well overdue. “Leave her be.”

“I wasn’t going to. Sheesh. So, name. Sally Tracy.” He typed in her name. “Person two?”

“Scott Tracy.” Okay, so Virgil had a bit of a thing about this. His brother deserved acknowledgement for everything he had done.

Gordon glared at him. “And so I guess the rest of us are in age order?”

Virgil flipped his boot over. “Whatever floats your boat, fishboy.” A glance in Scott’s direction and he had to wonder if his brother had fallen asleep, he was that still. The coffee mug in his hand was the only proof of consciousness.

Virgil fought the urge to save it. “Scott, you wanna go to bed?”

“Wha-?” His brother sat up. “I’m fine.” Fortunately, he put the coffee mug down. The chances of Virgil having to treat burns tonight dropped significantly.

“How do you spell ‘Hackenbacker’?”

Virgil did not grace that with an answer as it was obviously a stupid question.

John was apparently on auto as he spouted off the required letters anyway while still staring at his tablet.

Gordon poked at the form in silence for a little while and Virgil wondered what on Earth he was entering. He trusted his brother. This was an official document, after all, but he was still Gordon.

“Okay, guys, I need your information.”

Beside Virgil, Scott ‘woke up’. “What, no questions about Grandma?”

Gordon frowned at his eldest brother. “I’ll have you know that I know our grandmother very well. We have a special kind of relationship.”

Alan snorted.

“What? You got something to say, sprout?” The fish glared at Alan enough to torch him on the spot.

“I’m just saying that after that time with Grandma’s diver’s license, you should know Grandma’s details very well. Her birthdate, her ancestry, her suit measurements…”

A starfish plushie suddenly had a very short career as a ninja star and bounced off Alan’s head. “Shut up, Alan.”

Their little brother only giggled more.

John, still staring at his tablet, raised an eyebrow. “Allie, Grandma baked some cookies yesterday. I think there are still some in the cupboard. Would you like some?”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Alan threw the plushie at his fish brother, missing completely, and went back to playing his game. There was muttering about Gordon making jokes but Alan not being allowed to.

Virgil sighed to himself.

“Scotty, what’s your age? It’s 2060 for reference. Oh, and your gender.”

All signs of sleep fell away and Scott sat up. “Gordon…” It was all warning.

“Hey, I’m just giving you the opportunity to offer an alternative. After all, tonight you look at least fifty-six.”

“I’m thirty-one and you know it.”

Gordon poked at the form. “Thirty-one years young. Got it.”

Scott grunted at him.

“Virg, are we telling the truth this time?”

“Depends on whether you want me to leave you in the ocean next time.” Why the hell couldn’t he get this out of his boot?

“To threat level already, you are grumpy tonight.”

“Gordon…” Virgil echoed Scott from earlier to the note.

“Johnny?”

“No one named ‘Johnny’ lives here.”

Gordon signed. “John Glenn Tracy, how would you like me to record your age?”

“Accurately.”

“Fine.”

“If I say I’m thirty-two, do I get to go higher up on the form?” Alan looked hopeful.

“If you like.” Gordon moved things around on the display.

Virgil gave up. The locality of Tracy Island was destined to be a statistical anomaly anyway. At least it would be an interesting one.

Besides, John would probably hack it later and fix it. The fact he had hardly protested so far was eminent proof of that security factor.

“Scotty, are you the husband or wife of Grandma?”

Scott rubbed his face and didn’t bother to answer, picking up his coffee again and burying his face in it.

Virgil just wished he would go to bed. The man was a zombie.

Gordon took the hint and was quiet for a little while. Virgil went back to tugging on his boot. Maybe he should take this down to his workshop.

The thought of actually working more had his shoulders slumping enough to alert Scott. The concerned and questioning look shot in his direction had Virgil sitting up a little straighter to fend it off.

“John, where should we put your usual place of residence?”

“Here.”

“But you live in space.”

“So do you.”

“Pedantic much?”

“As necessary. Tracy Island is home. Thunderbird Five is merely in our astronomical backyard, not to mention secret.”

Virgil looked up at that. It was a simple statement, but it was good to hear that John still considered Tracy Island home despite his multiple protests over the years.

“Fine. Secret space station wasn’t an option anyway. I could flub it and use Global One but then that would spark all those rumours about you and that captain all over again.”

“Gordon, I can hack your bank accounts.”

“Go for it.”

“I can also hack your fish tanks.”

The aquanaut shot to his feet. “You touch my tanks and you’re dead, spacehead.”

John didn’t react other than to smile just a little.

Their space brother could be a right royal ass when he wanted to be. Virgil sighed. “John, you know the rules.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t break any.”

“You touch my tanks, I’m spicing up your atmosphere on Five. I’m not kidding. I have fart gas resources even you can’t find.” Gordon was still on his feet and actually appeared angry.

John shuddered. “TMI, Gordo. Not interested in your gas capacity, honestly.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Calm down, Gords, John’s not doing anything to your fish tanks. He knows the rules, don’t you, John.” He arched a prompting eyebrow at his brother.

“Never said I didn’t.”

Definitely an ass.

“Gordon, calm down. You can put John’s relationship to you in as ‘nemesis’ if it makes you feel better.”

“I can only put in our relationship to Grandma. I wrote favourite grandson in yours.”

It was Virgil’s turn to shrug. “I’m not going to complain. Sit down and finish the form.”

His brother didn’t answer, but he did sit down, albeit still glaring at John.

John had gone back to his tablet, doing who knew the hell what.

Definitely an ass.

Virgil turned back to Gordon. “What’s the next question, Gords?”

The glare switched to Virgil for a second before turning to the form. “Where were we born?”

“Kansas.”

“I know that. What about Grandma, Brains and Kayo?”

“Space.” Alan said it with triumph.

“What?”

“Where John lives. Isn’t that what the question was?” Alan stared between his brothers.

“Go back to sleep, Alan.”

“Grandma was born in Kansas, Brains was born in India, and Kayo was born here.” Scott proved he was still awake by suddenly providing information enough to make Virgil jump.

Gordon poked at the form, but nothing further was said on that front. Everyone knew Kayo was sensitive about her past, and while she wasn’t in the room, she would find out and partially kill anyone responsible.

“Kayo is here tonight, isn’t she?”

Virgil yanked on his boot again, slipped and managed to elbow Scott in the ribs. His brother grunted.

“Oh, shit, sorry. You okay?” He shoved the boot aside and the pliers along with it.

Scott eyed him and rubbed his side. “That answers your question, Gordon. Kayo is on a conference call with Captain Rigby.”

Virgil glared at Scott.

Gordon eyed the both of them. “Is there something you two aren’t telling the class?”

“Shut up, Gordon.” Virgil glared at Scott a moment longer, enough to have his brother’s expression fall into one of concern. Grabbing his boot again, Virgil went back to wrestling with embedded metal. Damned specialised rubber was amazing when it protected him but when its tolerances were overrun, it was a pain to fix. Maybe he should ask Max to give it a yank. “What entertaining religion are you using this time, Gords?” Any attempt to get the conversation off this topic.

Gordon stared at him a moment, obviously still trying to work out what the hell happened there.

Scott was dead later; Virgil was going to make sure of it. Tired or not, he had crossed a line.

A sideways look in his eldest brother’s direction and it was obvious Scott realised that. Okay, maybe he could let it go. It had been a long day and they were all tired.

Probably should go to bed.

He went back to fighting with his boot.

Gordon was still staring but even the fish knew when to shut up apparently, because the next words out of his mouth were entirely religious.

“I’m worshiping Neptune this year.”

Alan frowned. “I thought you said that last time.”

“Dad wouldn’t let me.”

That brought the whole room to a standstill. Last census was ten years ago. Flashback to that time brought everything that had changed into the bright glaring light. The biggest change being Dad’s absence. But even more, ten years ago they were still based in Kansas, IR was in development, but not yet a reality. Alan was only six, Gords eleven and with his body still intact…it was a completely different time. Virgil was still in college and had to fill in his own census form in Denver.

Gordon broke the looming silence with a determined smile. “This time the government gets the truth. Scott bows to the sky gods, Virg worships molemen, Johnny is a god, and Alan is Satan.

“Hey!” It was said by multiple brothers at once.

Only John remained calm. He even had a smile. “In that case, I want bagels every Sunday.”

“You get bagels every Sunday. Virg sends them up all the time.” Alan glared at his space brother – Alan did not like bagels.

John grinned wider. “I’ll take that as proof that I have at least one faithful worshipper.”

“Next time you can get your own bagels.” Virgil glared at his brother.

Gordon snorted. “Yeah, right, you old softie. John could blow up Two and you’d still send him his bagels.”

Virgil found himself glaring at Gordon again. It seemed to be a theme tonight. “Short pier, long walk, Gordon, go for it.”

He got a smirk for that. “Don’t mind if I do. A little night diving is quite spectacular around here.”

Virgil ignored him and went back to his boot…which he had made zero progress on for all the time he had been sitting here, damnit.

“Does Virgil ever ‘need someone to help with or be with him for self-care, body movement, or communication activities’?” Gordon typed into the form. “Before coffee.”

Virgil ignored him some more as Alan took the bait and snickered. “Better watch it, Gords. Won’t be long before ‘before coffee’ time kicks in. Look at him, he’s already brewing.”

The piece of metal in his boot finally shifted a little. Thank goodness.

“Long term health conditions.” Gordon slumped in his seat. “Well, isn’t this cheerful.”

“Just fill it in, Gordon.” Scott’s words were little more than a sigh.

That left a gaping silence. Gordon tapped a lot at the keyboard filling in far too much. More for himself, obviously, but then there was John and his space issues, and they all had been diagnosed with something on the list hanging above their father’s desk.

Except Alan, who could not be left out. Virgil pretended to not be able to read the word ‘zombification’ next to his little brother’s name.

“Schooling? Oh man, John, you can write all the letters after your name. I can never remember them all.”

“Not a problem.” The astronaut poked at his tablet and the hologram in front of Gordon sprouted half the alphabet.

“Really? Did you get a new one?” He stared at John. “When did you get time for that?”

John shrugged. “Made time.”

“What’s this one for?”

“Oceanography.”

“What?”

“You were in the ocean. I didn’t know enough to help. So I fixed the problem.”

Gordon just stared.

Virgil, of course, knew. He had been the one to field John’s version of panic the day he didn’t know enough to help Gordon. John was practical. He saw a problem, he fixed it. Oceanography wasn’t an obvious topic for the starman, but he was a genius and that genius could be applied where he wished it to be.

If Virgil had found himself helping John at a few points that intersected with his specialities along the way, he was just going to take a little comfort from being able to return the favour after years of borrowing his brother’s brains for other topics.

And besides, it had meant he had been able to spend a little extra time with John. Always a good thing.

Despite him being the occasional ass.

Gordon was still staring. “Is that why you bugged me to take you out in Four?”

John shrugged. “Partly. Didn’t mind spending a bit of time with you either. Good experience to familiarise myself with Four as well.”

The stare continued.

“Be careful you don’t catch any flies with your mouth open.”

The stare became a glare. “We’re talking about this. You and me.”

“Sure.”

Gordon looked like he didn’t know whether to yell at him or run over and hug his brother. Virgil was voting for the latter.

But everything was interrupted by a sudden snore and snort.

Virgil turned to Scott and found his brother startled awake, likely by his own snore.

“Wha-?”

“Scott, you need to go to bed.”

“I’m fine.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Do I need to pick you up and carry you?”

“I’m fine.” He waved Virgil away, sat up straighter and attempted to guzzle whatever was left of his probably cold coffee.

“Idiot.”

“What?”

“Go to bed.”

“No. We need to finish the census.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because I want to.”

“Why?”

“Can you stop that?”

“Can you go to bed?”

“No!”

“You need sleep.”

“I can manage my own health, thank you, Doctor Virgil.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I am an adult.”

“Sometimes.”

“Virgil!”

Gordon let off a loud snort. “That’s it. I’m putting you two in as married.”

“Gordon!” Both of them, in chorus. It was apparently a theme tonight.

“Well, you both argue like an old married couple, what can I do?”

“You can shut up and move onto the next question.”

Gordon poked his tongue out at Scott, but he didn’t stop grinning and Virgil was forced to hold back a smile himself.

Bratty little fish.

He was still smirking when he said, “Employment.”

“Oh god.” Scott sank back onto the couch and rubbed his face with his hands.

There followed a book’s worth of employment activities.

“Rocket surfing is not an occupation, Gordon.” Virgil sighed.

“Why not? Both Scott and Allie surf rockets.”

“Alan rides a rocket sled and Scott is just trying to give me grey hair.”

“Has he succeeded yet?” Bratty fish.

“None of your business.”

“So is International Rescue paid or unpaid work?” Gordon was frowning at the form.

“Unpaid.”  Scott’s tone was sharp.

“So are we unemployed, employed or self-employed?”

“Self-employed.”

“How much do you earn a year, Scotty?”

Their eldest brother paused as if calculating, but then threw up a hand. “Stuffed if I know.”

John snorted and rattled off a number.

“There isn’t enough space for that many zeros here, John.”

“Give me a moment.”

The display in front of Gordon flickered and each of their names received a variety of numbers…except for Alan.

“Hey, how come I don’t have any earnings?”

“You are a minor.” John spoke calmly, as if speaking to a minor.

“But I do stuff for Tracy Industries, I do.”

“All your income is held in trust, you know that.”

“Then who is paying for all that popcorn I bought this morning?”

Scott sighed. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to bust the bank.”

“We own the bank.”

Scott stared at John. “When did we buy a bank?”

“I bought it for your birthday last year but forgot to give it to you.”

“Oh.”

“I’m writing obscenely rich next to all our names. Oh, except for you, Allie. You’re a pauper.”

“Hey! You suck, Fishbrain.”

“Remember who might need to lend you money in the next couple of years…”

“While Gordon remembers who lent him money in the past, who still helps him with his finances, and who also is the one to fish him out of the ocean after every mission.” Virgil pinned Gordon with his eyes.

Gordon blinked. “You have a point.” A pause as a smile crept over his face. “Who was that again?”

The hologram of the census form wobbled as a lounge cushion flew through it and hit Gordon squarely in the face.

“Right on target. Hmm, I’ve still got it.” Scott blew imaginary smoke off a finger gun.

Unfortunately, Scott may have still had it, but he wasn’t the best marksman on this census form. The cushion rebounded via aquanaut and hit Scott squarely in the face with an oomph.

This forced both Virgil and Alan to come to his defence and for a full ten minutes after that, it was an all-out pillow fight between the brothers. Even John was drawn in as Gordon came up behind him and tried to stuff one down the back of his shirt.

Which wasn’t advisable since his gravity support was still in play. But then John was king of the noogie and immediately grabbed a head full of strawberry blond hair, dragged it down onto the couch beside him and made sure it received the full-on noogie treatment.

Gordon did squawk quite a bit.

An extreme one-on-one joust erupted between Scott and Alan. It was that determined that Virgil had to back out. Alan, being the terrier he was, managed to get Scott on his back on the lounge and sat on him pummelling him with pillows.

Virgil had suspicions that the game was rigged.

In any case, he had to find somewhere else to sit and tinker with his boot.

Eventually, Gordon found his way back to the census form. Scott was still on his back and apparently Alan had decided he preferred that his big brother stay that way by sitting on him and playing his computer game. Scott at least had a remaining cushion under his head, but one foot had taken out a pot plant and the other was hanging over the back of the sofa. His brother really was too tall for lying on the seating arrangements, but he didn’t seem to care.

With a bit of luck he might fall asleep.

“Okay, let’s finish this. How did you get to work today?” Gordon grunted. “This form has no rockets, planes, submarines or space elevators on it.”

“Tick the ‘other’ box and let them work it out.” John let out a yawn.

Virgil eyed him.

John screwed up his face and poked out his tongue.

Wha-“ Virgil blinked.

“Hey, Virg, how many hours did you work last week?”

That distracted him enough to turn to Gordon. “How the hell do I know?”

“You worked them. I bet you know your flight hours.”

“Today’s. Not last week. That was last week.”

“Eos, send Gordon last week’s record?”

The AI chimed in at her father’s request. “Yes, John.”

Another document appeared in front of Gordon. “Wow, that much? Really?”

“The documentation is correct as recorded.” Eos sounded a little miffed. But then she never particularly liked Gordon on the best of days.

His fault, of course.

“Virg, you win, but only by a bit over Scott and that was because he twisted his ankle on Monday.”

“Sprained, you mean.”

“Twisted.” It came from the couch and was strangled by a little brother.

“Sprained. He should have been off for several days, but he’s an idiot.”

“You can’t talk, Mr Bruised-not-cracked.”

“At least I’m not Cracked-not-broken.”

“Sure.”

Scott might have said more but Alan whacked him with a pillow. “You guys are idiots. Gords, John and I are lucky our grey hairs don’t show.” Alan growled. “I’m sixteen, for crying out loud, and I know more about hospitals than I ever wanted to. Look after yourselves, you morons.”

Silence hit the room again.

“Way to go, Allie. You tell ‘em.” Gordon’s words were honest.

Of course, Scott was devastated and immediately questioning all his life choices. Virgil wasn’t far behind, but Scott, in particular had a sensitive spot where Alan was concerned.

“Hey.” He reached out a hand and rested it on their little brother’s arm. “Talk to me, Allie.”

Alan growled again. “I’m fine as long as you two look after yourselves. We kinda need you, you know.”

Scott grabbed his little brother and dragged him down into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Virgil sat with his boot in his lap needing to grab both his brothers but not wanting to interrupt their moment.

He shouldn’t have worried. A second later Gordon jumped over the back of the couch, landed beside him and grabbed him, dragging him sideways into an oomph of a hug. “Don’t worry, my dear wingman, we still love you even if you are an idiot.”

“Gordon…”

“Admit it, you want a hug.”

“Shut up.”

Gordon didn’t say anything further, but he did squeeze tighter.

“When you get to the questions on whether any of us looked after children, Gordon, tick yes for all of us.” John’s tone was as dry as a desert.

“Will do.” Gordon grinned at him.

Scott actually fell asleep after that. It was about time. Apparently, Alan made a great teddy bear.

Alan grumbled about that for days, but Virgil knew his little brother treasured his relationship with Scott and the fact he fell asleep as well was rather telling.

But that fact pretty much ended the census form filling for that night.

The next morning saw all of them out on an earthquake and it wasn’t until two days later that Gordon realised they hadn’t submitted the form.

Grabbing Scott and Virgil, he ran them through the last of the questions, landing on the definitions of their dwelling.

“How many registered motor vehicles do we have at this dwelling?”

“Er, none? We have no roads.” Virgil frowned at the obvious answer.

“Three rockets, two planes and a submarine don’t count?”

An arched eyebrow. “Does it say anything about planes? Tracy Two and Three are registered in Aotearoa.”

“Aotearoa is not the United States.”

“But they are still registered.”

Scott sighed. “Read the form properly, guys. It says exclude heavy vehicles.”

“Well, that strikes Virg off the list, but your ‘bird’s a pansy.”

That earned Gordon a mocking whack up the back of the head.

“Gords, just write zero. The intent is there.”

“Fine. We have no motor vehicles. Stupid form.” A sigh. “Okay, how many bedrooms do we have?”

Scott answered that one. “Ten.”

“I thought it was twelve.”

“One went to an art studio and the other to a music recording room.”

Gordon glared at Virgil. “Way to take over the house, bro.”

“And how many fish tanks do you have in how many rooms? Not to mention the chunk of vegetable garden we had to sacrifice for Rover’s pond?”

“Leave Rover out of this. That wasn’t his fault.”

Virgil snorted. “Not his.”

“Shut up.”

Scott sighed again. “We have ten bedrooms.” He scanned the rest of the form, which thankfully wasn’t very long. “We own the place outright, and yes, they can archive our information for our grandkids to access. Tick the boxes and get this sent so I can go get some lunch.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Scott growled but Gordon ignored him.

Boxes all ticked, he hit the submit button.

“This form has already been submitted. You may not submit it again.” Underneath was the date of the day before census night. “What the hell? How could we open it if - ” Scott hit his comms. “John!”

John’s hologram flickered up beside the misbehaving census form. “I’m between a hurricane in Bermuda and an avalanche in the Pyrenees. How may I help you?”

“What?!”

“Oh, the census form. Eos submitted that three days ago.” Their space brother was distracted a moment out of pick up range as Scott’s jaw dropped. “Needed to get it done before Gordon got his hands on it. Besides, we can’t guarantee we wouldn’t have been called out anyway, so I got it done beforehand.”

“Then why the hell were we going through the damned thing on census night?”

John blinked. “You had fun, didn’t you? We shared an evening together.”

Virgil joined both his brothers at staring at John.

The astronaut just smirked back at them. “You did a great job, Gordon. Thanks.” The smirk turned into a grin. “Thunderbird Five out.” His hologram disappeared.

Scott’s face curdled. “I’m going to kill him.”

Virgil let his shoulders drop and sighed. “You said that last time he did something like this, and he’s still kicking.”

“I’m soaking his underwear in saltwater.” Gordon had that fire in his eyes that usually preceded a Tracy Island Armageddon.

“Gords…”

“He played me, Virg. He knew what I would do and played me. He thinks I’m predictable!”

“Yeah, but he obviously did it for the right reasons.”

Virgil found himself the target of two glares. “What? You want a group hug or something? C’mere.” And he grabbed the both of them, wrapping his arms around them. “Happy Census Night.”

The grumbling was worth it.

-o-o-o-

[grimmseye]

Expectations

Read on Ao3: here!

Fandom: She-ra and the Princesses of Power

Pairings: Entrapta/Hordak

Characters: Entrapta, Hordak, others mentioned

Tags/Warnings: Post-Finale, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Hordak

Prompt from @spiderlondon: "Entrapta starting to feel so much pressure from everyone in her kingdom that she breaks down crying. I could see hordak snarling at her subject and/or hug her to his chest until she calms down some"

Politics had never been Entrapta’s thing. Way back when, her parents programmed a pair of AIs to mimic their own decision making process, and the small nation of Dryl was left to it after their demise. Princess Entrapta had never learned their laws, or the law-making process, or the judiciary system, or really anything that princesses were allegedly supposed to do. There were the bots and there was probably a council of living people to account for those they represented, and Entrapta had never been informed if there was a problem with that. 

Apparently, sometime after joining with the Horde, the AIs had been dismantled. A part of her grieved them, the last pieces of her biological parents. The ones she’d constructed were destroyed in a lab accident years ago, at an age where she’d realized she didn’t need robots to read her stories or carry her to bed and tuck her in at night. At a certain point, their doting had become counterproductive to her projects, and just being able to pace herself as she pleased was best.

That was unrelated to the situation at hand. Extraneous data, things that didn’t need to be considered for this particular conundrum. The problem was that at the end of the almost-end of the world, Princess Entrapta was meant to become the Queen of Dryl. 

Her return from Beast Island came sooner than she appreciated, frankly. She and Hordak had been doing important work in determining what could be salvaged and what needed to be completely and mercilessly destroyed. They had fun, competing to design the most effective form of annihilation, factoring in environmental impact and showmanship. When the others came to visit, they’d take them up to the best viewpoint to watch as a pile of First Ones’ tech was dissolved in flashing, multicolored flames and spiraling rockets that burst in the sky.

And then the message from Dryl arrived.

Hordak was granted temporary leave from his duties, as Entrapta required her lab partner’s presence, no matter how much people grumbled about his tyranny. And besides, he’d never actually seen her original lab. She was sure he’d appreciate the complexity of the Crypto Castle, though perhaps not the inability to navigate it. The Fright Zone, by contrast, had an efficient layout despite its daunting appearance. 

Their ship, reconstructed from salvaged materials and her understanding of Darla, shot over the restored lands of Etheria. Biology wasn’t really her field of interest, but she just may have to take a step into it as she gawked at the creatures below. So many new beasties had woken up with the restoration of magic. The First Ones’ designs especially made her eyes shine, as they were a fascinating splice between the biological and mechanical, which provided all kinds of resources to study with regards to neural integration that could revolutionize prosthetics — 

“ — and it’s really a shame that all of Horde Prime’s data got trashed in the final battle but between you and Kadroh I’m sure I can figure out how you integrated ports into your central nervous system.” As she spoke, Entrapta poked Hordak in the back, in the space between those ports. The skin surrounding them was sensitive, according to him.

Hordak’s brow scrunched. He just tended to do that, whenever Kadroh came up. The whole Wrong Hordak thing hadn’t exactly been well received, but she propped herself up on her pigtails to smooth out the crease with her thumb. “Can I? Study you?” she asked, giving him an enormous grin.

Hordak stared at her, his expression flat but his silence telling. From him, the lack of a no meant that — “I suppose that would be fine. Though I would have thought with as much poking around as you do, you would have already figured that out.” 

“Not at all!” She gushed. “I’ve only collected sufficient data on how they integrate with your armor, but I haven’t even scratched the surface of what it does with your body. Once I figure that out I could make further improvements to your exoskeleton to boost its sensitivity — I really am going to have to start picking up biology at this rate, hmmm.” She drew her feet up, hair forming a cushion under her legs. 

Hordak gave a huff, but she knew he would say something if it actually upset him. 

As the first peaks of Dryl’s mountains came into view, their conversation quieted. Most of the nation was formed from spread-out mining operations, the towns reliant on their dig sites. She vaguely remembered issuing money out wherever a dig produced something new and interesting to study, skimming the details to skip right to the good part before authorizing the transfer. Her bots took care of the rest. 

Her bots had taken care of most things, before she joined the Horde. It had been a rougher transition than she liked to let on, moving into those sprawling halls. 

Entrapta felt Hordak come up beside her at the window, peering down as well. His presence helped soothe her nerves. The Fright Zone had been a home to her, but it only really became that once they started working together. “Tell me about this place,” he said. 

Entrapta faltered. “It’s — well Dryl is one of the smallest kingdoms in Etheria, but we built it right on top of a First Ones’ hot zone! Most of it is ore mining — iron and adamantine and such, but on occasion we’d pull up First Ones’ tech, like that chip that infected Adora’s sword!” 

A smile crossed his face. “That’s why you were so familiar with First Ones’ technology,” he observed. 

“Yep!” She plastered on a smile of her own without real enthusiasm.

The silence stretched out, longer than she thought it was supposed to. Or maybe he was just thinking. It was nothing, probably. She was just getting into a tizzy over nothing. 

Hordak cleared his throat. “What was… growing up here like? I know that the Horde did not take interest in your kingdom until you… fell into our grasp. A critical error on my part, though perhaps one made for the best.” 

Entrapta could recognize his attempt to compliment her and apologize all at once. Hordak was weird like that, but at least he didn’t act other than how he felt. People would say they weren’t upset when they were, and seemed to expect her to figure out the truth. It was nice, having someone who meant what they said, even if she had to dig a bit to find its meaning. 

“Entrapta?”

“Huh?” She blinked, tearing her gaze from the window. 

Hordak was frowning at her. “You didn’t answer the question.” 

“Uhhhh.” As he opened his mouth to repeat himself, she burst out, “Oh right! Yeah, it was great!” And she got to launch into all the intricacies she’d installed in the Crypto Castle, uncertain why he was frowning through it. As the castle itself came into view she squealed her excitement, tugging on Hordak’s arm and pointing, shouting, “There it is, see!” 

She watched him from the corner of her vision, how his frown lingered on her before he slowly turned his gaze to the window. 

The ship banked down, landing rougher than she would like, but all things had their quirks. They were in one piece and that meant flight was a success. She hopped down the ramp, taking in a lungful of the air, the scent of metal and dust tasting of home. 

They’d landed upon the cliffs above her old castle, and Hordak strolled to the edge to look down upon it. “This is an impressive fortress,” he commented, smiling. “Sturdy walls, even from above its navigational system is unintuitive. Excellent design. Where is the way down?”

“Right here!” Entrapta scooped him up with her hair pulling him over the edge of the cliff. He shouted as she cackled, her hair catching in rungs she’d bolted into the cliff, too far apart for any humanoid arm span but perfect for the length of her pigtails. She pushed off the rock to land on the bridge that connected her tower, only to drop again and corkscrew down its support and onto a rooftop. 

She spun Hordak into her arms, dancing him around as she laughed. “That was fun! I haven’t ever brought another person with me!” 

His ears were waggling in the way they did when he was dizzy — recalibrating the bit of the inner ear that handled balance, she was sure. “Warn me, next time,” he snapped. Even when he got short with her, he didn’t shout and roar like he used to. Softening, Hordak looked aside and added, “But yes. It was. Fun.” 

She cackled and took his hand. “Let me show you around!” Her hair grabbed a hatch in the roof to pull it open and swing them inside, another lock grabbing her pad to pull up a map of the labyrinth. There was so much he had to see. 

Her old lab was in a sorry state. Entrapta had almost completely cleaned it out when she was moving into the Fright Zone, and now she had to frown at the disconcerting sight of an uncluttered workbench. 

“This is way more disappointing than I thought,” she stated, hands on her hips. Her voice rose into a loud groan, lamenting, “I wanted to show you my cool lab!” 

When she sighed and looked at him, she found his eyebrows raised. Entrapta gave a bashful laugh. “When I heard your lab was called your sanctum, I thought it was classy.” She rubs the toe of her boot on the ground, smiling up at him with a blush. Truth be told, she’d gotten a little bit of a crush on him the same day she’d entered his lab. He called it a sanctum and hoarded tech and knowledge of the likes she’d never dreamed of, it was impossible not to get the butterflies. 

It makes him smile, a hand lifting. “I am certain that —” 

A sharp blip! Interrupts him. The smile vanishes, turning to glower at her pad. Entrapta taps the notification, pulling up a video of a balding man in a spiffy-looking suit. 

“Your highness!” The man exclaimed. She saw his eyes flit, how he gave a start when he noticed Hordak at her side. “And — and — o-oh my.” 

Hordak growled until Entrapta pushed him away with her hair. “Hello!” She chirped. “Who are you?”

“I — you don’t —?” He frowned, then shook his head. “Nevermind. I am councilman Wren!” 

“Uh-huh.”

“I… am the head of the Council of Dryl?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I and the other council members are meant to have a meeting with you, today.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“... Could you tell us how to get inside?”

Entrapta gasped. “Oh!” She clapped her hands, squeaking in delight when one of the dusty bots animated. “Go show them inside. Bring them here! No! Bring them to the dining room! Do we have a dining room?” The bot nodded. “Bring them to the dining room! And then bring tiny snacks! From the ship!” 

“Your Highness —” 

She closed the video feed.

For a long moment, Entrapta stared at the black screen. Then she realized she was being stared at, and looked up to see Hordak’s red eyes fixed on her. 

Feeling self-conscious, she hunched her shoulders up. “What?”

Hordak blinked. “Nothing,” he claimed. Then, pausing, corrected, “It is strange to hear them address you in that way.” When Entrapta only cocked her head, he said, “Your Highness. At times I forget…” 

“That I’m a princess?” Her mood plummeted. “I’m not, really. It’s just a title.” 

She hugged herself with one arm, holding onto her own bicep as she shuffled out of the room, the pad guiding them to the dining room she apparently had. Behind her, Hordak stammered through several false starts, never getting more than a word out. 

Entrapta didn’t recognize any of these people. Not their faces, not their names. They all bowed and offered a hand, and only stared at her when she gave them a lock of hair. Bow had kissed it, she remembered, with a pang of first intense fondness and then disappointment. She wished her friends were here. Not because Hordak wasn’t enough, but because the others made it better. 

They sat around a rectangular dining table, as the bots brought out the tiny cupcakes and fizzy drinks she’d stored in the ship. Not a single member of the council touched their food, and even though she had no qualms with popping the sweets into her mouth and lounging in her seat, she couldn’t shake the distinct sensation that she was doing something wrong. 

They’d been droning on about something for way too long. She’d broken out her tool kit to start fixing up the bot’s blinky eye, mask snapped over her face and hair bristling with tools. These old things were charmingly dated compared to what she’d been working with. Not obsolete, she only scrapped things when they could no longer go on, just adorably simple in their design. Hordak had introduced her to a world of new ideas, one that was only expanding with each day — 

“Princess Entrapta!” 

The sudden snap made her jerk upwards, yelping as she rapped her knuckles against the metal eye socket. 

She looked up, searching for the speaker but only finding Hordak glaring across the table. “Lower. Your. Voice,” He growled, and Entrapta found Councilman Spanner shrinking in his chair. In a steadier tone, Hordak looked to her, asking, “Princess Entrapta, what are your thoughts regarding the deconstruction of Horde Prime’s spire in Dryl?”

The title gave her pause. He never used her title that way. A derogatory princess at times — though these days it was teasing — but the sound Princess Entrapta was alien in his voice. She kind of liked it. And she really liked him. 

She curled a lock of hair around his ankle, squeezing it in thanks. “The spire, right!” She chirped. “We are absolutely gonna salvage everything we can. First Ones’ tech is advanced but what Prime was using exceeds even their sophisticated designs. The code they were working with was practically a living creature, it was constantly adapting itself, building and breaking its defenses to an almost unpredictable degree, but as you know true randomness cannot be achieved by —” 

“Anyway,” Councilwoman — Bradawl? — Bradawl cut her off, leaving Entrapta to deflate. “Who are you placing in charge of this project? Who are they hiring? How will they be paid? What precautions should they be taking?” 

“Uh — uhm,” Entrapta raised a hand, but another voice piped up. 

“In addition to that,” Councilwoman Pliyer stood up, hands planted on the table, “What of the towns that were destroyed in Prime’s attack? The refugees in the cities? All of our most critical mines were commandeered in the attack and may be too dangerous to allow citizens to return to work, how do you intend to restore them to functionality?”

“I’m — hold on —” 

“We cannot hold on, Your Highness.” It was Councilman Wren again, voice nervous as he wrung his hands. “I understand you are not suited to this job but the unfortunate fact remains that you are the only heir to the throne of Dryl and without the programs the former king and queen left behind, their responsibilities fall to you.” 

A cold chill poured under her skin. Entrapta hugged herself, hands rubbing up and down her own arms. 

“Your Highness,” Bradawl said, “If I may be frank?” She stared at Entrapta, waiting until she got a nod. “You have not made the best decisions for Dryl in the past —” Her eyes spanned to Hordak, “ — and your citizens lack faith in you. I believe that you must focus on rebuilding your image, while we make sure the cogs are turning smoothly.” She let the words settle.

Entrapta didn’t know what she’d expected to get out of this. She slumped into her seat, staring at her knees. Her nails bit into her skin, dragging scratches up and down her biceps. 

“With all due respect, Princess, I would recommend that you cede these decision-making promises to us — your council — and that you fulfill your duty as the figurehead of Dryl.” Bradawl was smiling, now, voice smooth as silk. “After all, it is hardly as though you were their ruler in the past. There is no need for us to throw Dryl into further turmoil —” 

“That is enough!” 

Hordak was on his feet, slamming his hands down on the table. The council silenced, all eyes on him. Even Entrapta stared. His image was blurred by tears she was barely holding back, but she could see him shaking, the snarl of his teeth, ears pinned back in fury. “Shut your pathetic mouths at once,” he spat. “If I hear another word from you I just may elect to put your tongues to better use as slop for the worms! You. Will. Not disrespect Princess Entrapta in this way. Now be silent, and remove yourselves from her castle at once.” 

There was quiet. Then, Spanner squeaked, “But what of Dryl —” 

Hordak roared and smashed his hand into the table. His claws tore through its cloth and into the wood, splintering around his fingers. The man went pale as the others scrambled to their feet, making a hasty exit without so much as a bot to guide them. 

“Send your requests by message. I see no need for Her Highness to endure the sickness of hearing your voice.” Looming over Spanner, Hordak sent him one scampering for the door. He remained poised over the table — over her — breathing hard and growling with every breath. 

Entrapta burst into tears. 

It welled up too quickly for her to stop, the tears pouring down her face and sobs hitching in her throat. Hordak was there in an instant, snarling violence replaced with a gentle yet faltering voice. “En… Entrapta.” 

Embarrassment flushed her skin, and she reached up to pull her mask over her face. Delicate fingers stopped her, before Hordak spoke again, sounding more certain: “May I hold you?” 

She had to consider it before nodding. Touch was good today. He lifted her into his arms and sank into the chair, holding her in his lap. His claws combed through her hair, awkward at first but gaining a smoother rhythm. 

“Do you…” He trailed off. “Want soup?” 

It caught her so off guard that Entrapta started snort-laughing through her tears. His face went red, ears leveling, his face caught in such goofy embarrassment that she could only laugh harder. 

“You said it makes you feel better!” He growled, defensive. Even the fingers in her hair felt petulant. 

Entrapta sniffed, then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It does, thank you,” she smiled. It crumpled in an instant, the good feelings draining away. “I’m just — they’re right, though.” 

“How are they right?” Hordak glowered at the door they’d run through. “Nothing they said indicated they possessed the brain cells required for critical thought.”

“I’m really not meant for this,” she said. Entrapta arranged herself more comfortably, sitting sideways across his lap, her temple leaned into his shoulder. “I didn’t learn how to be a princess. I’m just going to mess everything up if I try. And I don’t —!” She sat upright, stopped, and slumped against him again. Quieter, she finished, “I don’t even want to do this. I don’t know why I’m all in a tizzy about it.” 

“They were disrespectful,” Hordak insisted. “If ruling is not a position you want, we can figure it out together. Perhaps with… the other princesses.” It came out begrudgingly, and she had to smile. She knew he still felt strange around them. Hordak sighed, then nuzzled into her hair. “We will figure it out. But anyone who attempts to undermine you will be crushed. … In a nonlethal manner.” 

The disappointment in his voice made her break into giggles. She slid her arms around his shoulders, content to just be held for a little while longer. They would figure it out together in time. That was what lab partners were for. 

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 9

It was concerningly easy to lie about the circumstances of their hospital visit. All Ford had to say was ‘there was a bear-’ and the nurse was already taking Stan off of his hands, nodding like this was an everyday occurrence. No questions asked or police notified or rangers called.

Then again, this was Gravity Falls. That seemed to be a sentiment that never got tired.

The nurse also didn’t bat an eyelid at Stan’s jumpiness and apparent inability to communicate with anything other than body language – whether that was a symptom of shock, or of his… condition, remained a mystery. However, when Ford had last seen him Stan seemed to be relaxing somewhat, enough to mutter ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to the doctor’s questions.

Ford had only suffered some scrapes and bruises and minor puncture wounds, so once those had been cleaned and covered he was just… left in the waiting room. To wait, presumably.

Ford hated waiting.

And now he was stuck here in this practically empty sterile room, listening to a clock on the wall tick idly. Tick, tick, tick. It set his teeth on edge. But it couldn’t begin to distract from the complete and utter confusion swirling around in his skull.

Ford pulled his journal from his pocket with shaking hands and began jotting down information, in the hopes of organizing his mangled thoughts.

·      Rebus appears to be some sort of shape-shifter

·      Is also Stanley???

·      Why didn’t he tell me who he was?

·      Why is Stanley here at all?

·      Stanley is a human. But this isn’t a human.

·      By all accounts, it seems to be him.

·      Stan – Rebus? He protected me. Rebus has always been protective of me.

·      Stan was protective of me before he was kicked out left

·      Same person?

·      Why is he so scarred? What has he been doing these last nine years?

Ford hesitated, seeing fresh wounds crossing old scars in his mind’s eye. They’d been visible under Rebus’s pelt and on Stan’s skin alike. Stan’s – pelt? Try as he might Ford couldn’t reconcile the two individuals in his head. There simply wasn’t enough data to come to any conclusions!

No, he could still work with this. The first step in the scientific method was having a question, coming up with a hypothesis, speculating on possible solutions before investigating. But where to start?

Stan certainly hadn’t come to Ford of his own free will, not with Ford rescuing him from being beaten to death and then locking him up. The thought of that cage made Ford feel quite ill, now. The thought of trapping his brother behind steel bars and studying him like any other specimen…

And for some reason, Stan hadn’t revealed himself, despite the fact that he seemed perfectly capable of it. But why? Ford resisted the urge to pull at his own hair in frustration. His life’s work was studying and quantifying the anomalous and unexplained, but somehow his brother’s decisions baffled him far more than any Manatour or gnome civilization ever could!

“Mister Pines?”

Ford startled at a nurse’s voice in front of him. He snapped his journal shut and hurriedly straightened his glasses.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Your brother’s ready to be discharged.”

“Already?” Ford found himself saying. The nurse shot him a funny look.

“It… it’s been several hours.”

…oh. Ford may have been a little more lost in his thoughts than he’d realized. He flushed and cleared his throat. “Ah.”

The nurse roused himself and glanced down at the clipboard in his hands. “He sustained a lot of flesh wounds, but luckily no bones have been broken except for a few ribs. Those have been bound and he’s on pain medication for it, but there’s not much else we can do for those. He needed quite a few stitches on that arm, and – well, just about everywhere else too. That being said, he’s in surprisingly good shape. The doc cleared him to leave but you’re gonna have to pick up his pain meds and antibiotics from the front desk before you go on your way. Wouldn’t want injuries like that getting infected.”

“No.” Ford agreed uneasily. The nurse continued, talking about the importance of taking the full course of antibiotics and proper dosage of pain medication and how Stan shouldn’t be operating any heavy-duty machinery, which Ford filtered out because he already knew it all.

There was paperwork, and a prescription to get filled, and then finally a familiar figure approached, arguing loudly with a nurse about how ‘no, he didn’t need a wheelchair thank you very much, he wasn’t an invalid’ and ‘he’d had worse, who cared about a little blood loss’. He had recovered from his shock enough to be difficult, it seemed. Stan shut his mouth once he caught sight of Ford.

Ford scanned his brother quickly – he was dressed as well as he could be in shredded clothes over bandages and assorted wound-dressings. He was also obviously doped up on some kind of medication, given the slight slur to his words and his unsteady gait. It didn’t help that one arm was pinned to his chest by a crisp white sling.

The nurse sent Ford a harried look that seemed to say ‘he’s all yours’. Stanley shuffled on the spot and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Ford sighed. “My car is just outside.”

Stan still quiet as he followed Ford to the car. It made him uneasy – Stan was meant to be loud and exuberant and big, not quiet and… small. He wouldn’t even meet Ford’s gaze. He stared out the window as Ford turned on the engine and pulled out onto the road.

Ford opened his mouth, realized he didn’t know what to say, and closed it again. They drove in silence.

They had just started on the winding forest path when Stan mumbled, “You can just drop me off here.”

Ford slammed on the brakes.

The wheels squealed and both brothers were jerked against their seatbelts as the car jerked to a halt on the thankfully abandoned road. Stan swore and rubbed his chest. Ah yes, broken ribs. Whoops.

“Shit, I’m going, okay-”

“You owe me answers.” Ford didn’t mean to sound so accusing. But good grief, he’d been kept in the dark for long enough. He twisted around in his seat to face his drugged-up brother. “Stanley, you are not leaving this car until you explain to me exactly what is going on.”

“Alright, jeez!”

“Rebus.” Ford said. It wasn’t quite a question. “The whole time, that was you?”

Stan grunted an affirmative, shoulders curling in.

“Just… how. Just how.”

“Apparently I’m a werewolf now.”

…well. Not the weirdest thing Ford had heard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna get kicked out!” Stan snapped. “Okay?”

Ford spluttered. “What on earth gave you-”

“Obviously that plan’s bumpkus now. Well, I had a good run. Later, Sixer.” Stan rambled as he fumbled for his door handle. Ford gaped.

“You’re leaving?”                        

“Well, yeah. No use overstayin’ my welcome.” Stan was still struggling one-handedly with the door. “Now, just – gotta get my stupid car – if it hasn’t been impounded – I’ll just get outta yer hair-”

“Stan!” Ford said loudly. Stan jumped. Ford sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not telling you to leave.”

Stan stared at him like a fish out of water. “But – you-”

“It is quite literally my life’s work to study the paranormal. You really think I would throw you out?”

Something Ford had said must have hit a cord with Stan, because he slumped and turned his face away. “…no. Not when you put it like that.”

Ford nodded, pleased that his brother was finally getting it. “Good. Let’s go back to my house, it’s – well, you already know where I live.” And wasn’t that strange? “I have several tests I’d like to run; and I’m going to need to hear about how this whole thing started. In my studies I’ve never come across conclusive proof of the existence of werewolves. Knowing how it came about would be very useful for classifying…”

He trailed off when he noticed the click of the car door and the fact that the seat next to him was empty.

The crunching of footsteps through leaf litter snapped him out of his shock. Ford undid his seatbelt hurried from his seat to follow his brother, who was currently making his way into the forest.

“Stan!”

Stan whipped around to snarl, “Fuck off, Ford!”

Ford blinked at him like a startled owl. “I… what?”

“Ya made yer point!” Stan’s words came somewhat garbled through fast-growing fangs. The glint of them sent a shiver down Ford’s spine. “M’no’ gonna be yer science ‘periment. ‘Tha mithtake thtaying here a’ all.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Ford demanded. Stan growled out an answer but it was lost in the distortion of his no-longer-human vocal cords. Stan threw up his hands and turned to stalk off into the woods.

“Stanley! Where are you going? Stanley!”

Ford shouted after him, but Stan had already disappeared.

 _______________________________________________________________________

Something’s wrong.

Everything’s wrong.

His head was stuffed with cotton wool. It made the world around him blurry as he stumbled deeper into the forest. The forest was Safe. Trees were Safe. They felt almost like home. Now that he was surrounded by them, he couldn’t even remember what he was running from. Or where he was running to…

He hadn’t been in this form for so long. He’d forgotten how weak humans were. His vision blurred and smeared (to be fair, that could be the lack of glasses), the cold nipped at his skin, his hearing was muffled as if he were underwater, all he could smell was dirt and sweat. He felt naked without his thick coat of fur, only jeans and his torn jacket chafing against raw skin. Everything was wrong. And that wasn’t even counting the oil-slick taste of wrongness that seemed to have pervaded his throat, making every rasping breath taste awful, like he was biting into that weird bear all over again.

But worse was how fucking intense this hurt felt. His chest pinched and it felt like his lungs were tied together with an elastic band, unable to inflate. He almost wanted to crack open his ribs to give them space to breathe. But… he couldn’t remember what he was even upset about. Why did hurt so much? What was he forgetting? Think, think, think.

He staggered and leaned heavily against a tree trunk. The light was all wrong, it glinted and glared and threatened to blind him. Was that his head buzzing, or had hornets encircled him? He swiped blindly at the air around him and his claws bit into bark. Why were his claws out…?

Ugh, it was getting hard to think and his mouth still tasted awful, like the air around that weird crystal, and the blood of the thing that had attacked them. His whole body was buzzing now. He tripped on not-so-human legs and fell forward into a more comfortable stance, spine shifting with a grinding crunch. The cloth binding his throbbing arm ripped and tore at the shifting of muscle and bones beneath it. This… this was wrong, he wasn’t in control here, what was going on? Where was Ford?

Ford. Ford, who didn’t care for him. Who saw him as an oddity to be investigated, and later discarded. He had been stupid to think that his brother would want him around. That hurt, enough to make his eyes prickle. Of course Ford wouldn’t want to help him.

(Yes he would. Brother is Safe.)

(But he only likes not-me.)

(Wait, that’s… me? Who am I…?)

Maybe it was easier to just let go.

Just for a little bit; let the hurt fade into numbness until it wasn’t quite as hard to bear anymore. Let himself forget the ache in his chest. Close his eyes and no longer be…

…who?

Someone who was already dead, just a ghost of pain and frustration.

It was all too easy to let go.

[la5t-res0rt]

i was just sent a post from the blog who must not be named it was a post reblogged from someone who ive added to my list of really bad people but one of the things that struck me was a tag i saw in the post

antis seek therapy

we do

we do seek therapy often to combat the trauma some of us have endured through being groomed and being abused we spend time on ourselves to heal we find ways to cope and enjoy life again after it feels like parts of ourselves have been ripped from us and broken and tainted and violated

we work to be comfortable again we work to feel like ourselves again we find things we love again we allow ourselves to enjoy media again

we are taught to stand up for our own levels of comfort and to take control of the space around us we are taught mechanisms to move forward and we are encouraged to help others and support others at least thats what my therapist of multiple decades told me

we all seek shelter in our own ways and many people seek it in media its literally what so many beetlebabes shippers claim to be doing like they’re quote reclaiming some lost childhood thing unquote and yeah i think youre going about it in a terrible way that continues the cycle of pedophila and is normalizing it but thats not even what this is about right now this is about the blatant disrespect and inability to open your eyes to someone elses experience and story

so many antis are so uncomfortable with the content created by beetlebabe shippers myself included since its so similar to the material used to character veil up abuse me character veil down

we try to curate our spaces for that we say beetlebabes dni dont reblog dont put yourself in this space im making for myself but then people come in and call it gatekeeping and try to illustrate how someone is a bad person for not wanting exposure so pedophilic content like its absolutely baffling to me that people can state such a clear and simple rule and then people will whine and moan about it as if its oppression newsflash its not fucking oppression you whining slime mold being asked to not interact on the ground of pedophilia isnt fucking oppression read a book go outside and learn something anyway

people are entitled to have control over the space in which they occupy people have the control to remove people from their spaces its like ok weird metaphor but this whole ordeal with wearing masks in public spaces yes you may have the right to refuse to wear a mask and you have the right technically to harass service industry workers but the businesses that employ these workers also have the full right to not allow you in and to even remove you from the property free speech also comes with consequences this is such a simple principle like talk shit get hit metaphorically is basically the same principle

coming into someones space after they specified that that your content is something that makes them uncomfortable makes you a major asshole and also makes me think youre dumb and maybe cant read

all of that is bad enough

but to continuously berate someone and belittle their very real trauma all in the sake of you wanting to ship and post pedophilia is simply abhorrent it is truly vile behavior to come back multiple times is truly a disdainful act in my eyes and im sure im not the first person to feel this way

if youre close to people in the field of psychiatric medicine you should know better than to belittle someones trauma and as a csa survivor yourself you should have the compassion to respect someones boundaries

have you discussed this behavior with this psychiatrist husband of yours not the pedophilic stuff but this blatant disrespect and dismissal of someone elses trauma and the growth theyve achieved thanks to their therapy and counseling have you addressed this narcissistic holier than thou approach you have to discussing such serious issues with people because thats something that should be addressed along with your acceptance and tolerance and even romanticization of pedophilia in media

this is harassment and gaslighting in action folks nether receipts I hope youre taking notes because you clearly dont know what either term means and the fact that youve gone out of your way to promote this abusive behavior is yet another reason why people dislike you i can’t tag you because youve finally taken the hint and blocked me so I see no point but you know who you are also people don’t hate you because youre a woman they hate you because youre a pedophile anyway this isnt about you

back to the person im actually addressing

trauma is not an experience that is easy to read and apply to every person you yourself sourced years of trying to deal with what you went through who are you to dictate how long someone can feel pain for what theyve gone through who are you exactly to say whether or not if has been too long of a time for someones trauma to effect them you of all people should know that this shit doesnt go away it lingers and it grips you forever it doesnt matter if you’ve been apart from it for ten days or ten years

in one sentence you belittled a person for still being effected by their trauma and then in the next stated that the battle is life long which is it which statement do you actually beleive because it seems to me you only seem to care about your own horrible self without taking this other person into account at all because their response to their trauma was to break the cycle and work to make his space safer for himself and i beleive that takes more courage and more strength to actively oppose what hurt you rather than let it become how you cope and it becomes something you reintroduce into the cycle by keeping the its all okay attitude alive

i do not usually do direct posts its not exactly my style but i am so disgusted by what i have seen and what has been shared with me that it would be a disservice to not alert as many people as i can about your behavior

for a closing statement i will quote you

quote i hope you find your way to it instead of wasting all of your time being afraid of pictures and words on a screen, and picking fights with people who harm nobody unquote

what the fuck so you think youre doing by coming back over and over to belittle trauma denounce treatment and all around be unpleasant and high and mighty thats fucking harming people you narcissistic fool

im sorry you were hurt that fucking sucks but that doesnt give your the right for one fucking second to come into someones space where it was specified that you were not allowed and proceed to harass them and belittle them like you have done

@soeur-tiame you should be ashamed of yourself

dont bother responding as ive shown before with that transmed guy i dont like to waste any more of my time on filth than i need to

[gemsofthegalaxy]

I have had a bunch of headcanons swirling around in my mind for days now about Rad Bouquet having kids

At first I was like "oh they'd have like one or two kids" but now I'm like "maybe more like 4 or 5 kids"

And I mean does it make any sense for Rilla and Arum specifically to be able to reproduce? Perhaps not* but what if they do Anyway? (besides, all three of them parent equally, regardless of biological relation, obviously. so Damien and Rilla’s spawn would be just as much Arum’s) but, yeah,

I think Damien would be a Very good and dedicated "my children come before anything" type parent. He may be a tad overbearing on the whole, but, I think he would encourage exploration without imposing too many of his own ideas about what constitutes a Good Interest, be very emotionally available, and know when to apologize. 10/10 parent.

Damien's downfall would, however, be the inability to discipline, so Arum and Rilla would have to pick up on that end of things. For the record, I think Arum and Rilla would also be very good, dedicated parents, and also really adept at encouraging their children to be curious, explore their passions, etc.

this is getting long, oops so, read more break: 

Rilla would be the Funny Parent but also know how and when to be Stern. Damien rallies them together to set up a set of rules, and list of chores, etc. but Rilla is much more likely to be the one enforcing it (you think Arum and Damien can say no to those big, sweet, eyes? hah)

Arum, I think, would be the most insecure in his parenting ability and also the least naturally inclined, but that doesn’t mean he's a bad parent. He is also probably better at parenting than he thinks he is, and, while he might be the most prone to snapping he also knows how to actually apologize which is arguably more important (like, literally no parent is perfect and all parents snap, what happens afterwards is more telling imo). He is a good listener when it comes to his kids, and, when they have a problem he’s the most likely to let them just cry without trying to SOLVE it right away, which is both Rilla and Damien’s inclination. the kids appreciate that and thus when they are not looking for a problem solver, the children will go to Arum (he still gets surprised by this even after theyre old enough to explain why)

Also, they definitely expand Rilla's hut and end up with a pretty big house. They need to create a new space for Rilla's work that they can lock the children OUT of, for safety reasons. and, while their kids do share a bedroom when they are young, they all agree it's important for everyone to have at least a little of their own space as they get older. Arum also frequently takes them to the Keep which all of the children absolutely love because it’s a very fun and magical place to grow up and get to call their own. they are ALWAYS playing hide and seek and asking to go out and galavant around the wetlands. 

I imagine they would be home schooled, given half of their children are part-lizard, but tbh they can cover their basic subjects with just the three of them. Damien teaches arts and languages (and history, though, it becomes apparent they need to figure out a less biased portrayal than the one he learned in the Citadel), Rilla fosters a curiosity about science, nature, and health, and Arum teaches them, well, magic. Living in the woods, they get to go outside and do activities enough to constitute some sort of “physical” education. 

I just want them to have a big, happy family!! 

*Tho Ohlala is apparently a child of human and monster parentage, so it’s not impossible Rilla and Arum could have children biologically. 

Also. I don’t account for Ohlala exactly yet w these headcanons, bc so far she’s only met Marc, even tho I've been getting the ~vibe~ from my partner she spends more time with the other Other Three later on??? and maybe some of these will be discredited if we do see them acting as Parents to Ohlala and I just haven’t gotten that far yet. oops! 

[kindabraveandlittlestupid]

Donald Trump is a fucking idiot. Not exactly breaking news but he continues to remind us how idiotic he is almost daily and beyond belief he still has people who support him. It feels good to say that and even write it on the screen. A sweet sweet catharsis of stating an established truth about the current President is a moron. That being said, with his inability to lead the country (even in the most basic of ways), we can talk about one of his ideas that has the potential to be either something very exciting or a complete and utter waste of taxpayer money depending who is steering the end result of the concept.

The concept at hand? Space Force.

I will be going over who this idea might be used for good, why it will likely be bad and why it is a stupid distraction from the next true battleground.

The Good

Now the ‘good’ elements of Space Force is circumstantial. If you know your US History, you will know when the US considers any massive spending bill for the military there are sometimes social programs linked to it and often advances in science. If you need an example of how war spending ended up creating programs, look no further then National Defense Education Act from 1958 which basically spent a huge amount of cash to help establish public schooling as a means of shoring up the United States Intelligence against the Soviet Union for the long run. I will let that sink in for a moment... the US paid for public schooling because it would make the country safer. I can hear the brain vessels popping in Conservatives heads when the account for education system being partially created by a military spending bill.

There are other examples of how spending in the Military sector ended up improving the lives of Americans across the country. Your Freeways? Military spending was involved to help move mobile missiles around the country. Power? US nuclear weapons and the eventual development of nuclear energy as a power source. The Internet? Created by ARPANET which was funded by the Department of Defense. International Travel? Radar and GPS allow thousands of flights to lift off and land across the world, also thanks to military spending. On occasion, the spending on military budgets creates social systems that enhanced the overall living in this country and around the world.

If we are able to tailor this USSF (United States Space Force) we might create some long-term benefits for space travel, colonization, mining of asteroids, and advanced satellites (to you know to add more proof to global warming because apparently some people still need MORE evidence). This military spending also may supplement NASA’s dwindling budget and expand some of their long-term projects like visiting Mars or keeping the International Space Station up in orbit. So at least we can see some potential good come from it.

The Bad

The concept of Space Force isn't a new idea. Infact the United States Space Command existed from 1985 to 2002 as one of Americas first flirtations with the idea. Do to infighting and the fact that the ARMY, NAVY, and Air Force already had their own ‘space programs’ in regards to GPS and Satellites the agency was redundant and mothballed. 

NOTE: Just keep this in mind when a Trump supporter acts like their great dictator is break barriers with his ideas, he isn't.

The real issue with Space Force is the fact this will become the next big spending project for Conservatives. They have a habit of waving their flags not because they actually are proud of the military service members (I am sure some Republicans are) but the real reason why they love military spending is that it is taxpayer money (IE socialist spending) investing into private companies and when they pass bills like this those private companies suck from the sweet breast of military spending as long and hard as they can while contributing to those candidates that helped them get the contract.

This is why we saw great mismanagement of military spending during Iraq and Afghanistan where private companies loved to bill the US for work they weren't even doing. This happens stateside as well as companies build tanks with taxpayer money and the US proceeds to sell said tanks to Saudi Arabia and so on. While I do not outright hate capitalism, when it comes to programs like this there is no doubt once you have those private contractors building the United States Space Force, their objective will be to do it cheap enough to get the contract but expensive enough to maximize their profits once they have their foot in the door. This is where programs like NASA are superior because the mission isn't about profits but making sure those astronauts don't fucking die. 

The Stupid

Trump sells Space Force like the next great battle will be in space (someone in the White House has been watching Roger Moore’s Moonraker) when in reality its more likely to be over things like fresh water, China’s rapid expansion into the Pacific with their man-made islands or most likely a ‘Cyber War’ which is kinda already taking place. No one views the armchair soldier who codes all day as someone who deserves a medal but when you protecting connected infrastructure (water/power/etc), the global stock markets, satellites and pretty much your personal data, they deserve some big credit for being a digital-front line. 

The problem with the concept of cyber warfare is that it isn't ‘sexy’. People enjoy the scenes where Neo is shooting up a lobby far more than were him doing his hacking in the beginning of the movie and that is what Trump thinks about when pitching Space Force. What can he sell this to his base? What is marketable to the populace? I imagine the idea of Space Force is easier for him to wrap his small mind around then the concept that hacking is taking place all the time and white hats are trying to keep black hats from doing destructive acts day and night.

The Wrap Up

Really the whole problem with Space Force isn't really that big. Trump won't be president forever which means whatever lucid ideas he has for this new branch of the military will likely be sculpted by men and women with at least triple his unimpressive IQ. If the USSF does end up being launched there could be unknown good that comes from it; that perhaps relieves the pains of climate change and improving lives across the planet.

What is sad about the concept (besides the con man pitching it) is the fact we are drawn to looking at the stars (which I am excited about exploring) instead of being aware of the next battleground that is very much likely to be a digital one. The shoring up of defense is a conservative value to some degree (if only for the most profitable reasons for them) but the world is not yet free from bad actors looking to cause chaos. We should be spending our money in actual branches that could actually help with our defense and space is simply not yet one of those locations.

As always thanks for reading.

Regards, Michael California

NOTE: I feel as though I left out the fact that Space Force will be incredibly expensive which could fall under the ‘bad’ or ‘stupid’ part of this post. We all know and heard this argument which is why I kinda left it out but now that I am finished writing? Yeah, it's gonna cost billions; health care, clean air & water, cybersecurity, free college, taking care of the homeless, serving our vets, or building green energy are far better ways to spend money then this concept.