#my heart isn’t over Tracy though

[strawberrypinky]

MCM Comic Con was an absolute dream.

I met so many lovely people and on top of that I got to meet a few of the wonderful VA’s from Baldur’s Gate. Each interaction was nicer than the last and I still feel like I’m floating. I wish I would’ve had more time, but I doubt this will have been my last convention. 1000/10 would recommend ✨🥰

Tim was so refreshingly funny and generous - I prompted him to use a quote that would persuade me to finally commit to a full Gale romance run. I think he more than delivered 🤣

George was as humble and kind as ever and I got the Mr Rolan Darcy quote from him. I unfortunately also promised him to take good care of Rolan, so I’m afraid my plans for an evil run have been squashed for good 😂

And Tracy? Where do I even begin? Such a kindhearted goddess of a woman. She dedicated so much time to each and every soul in her queue and she came prepared (No seriously, she provided her own selfie lighting for the selfies at her table lol 😭). I don’t think anyone else could’ve done the role of Jaheira, because she’s such a kind and warm soul. Not to be weird, but being around her felt like one warm and kind hug.

Honestly, I wish I would’ve had more time to meet the rest of the cast but in this case I firmly believe in “there’s always a next time” 🥰

[humbledragon669]

S1E6 – The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives P2 - from the dissolution of the Horsemen to Sunday (the very first day of the rest of their lives)

OK, cool. Nuclear holocaust avoided. That means that everything is going to be just fine and dandy now, right?

Oh, bloody hell Crowley, why’d do you have to be so pessimistic (realistic) all the time? I was taking my cue from the nice soothing music that this was time to relax. Well, before we go down the doom and gloom route again, let’s take a quick look at Crowley’s choice of words here, shall we?

Nothing’s over.

Hmm. Strange thing to say. Or is it? Remember this?

What if.. what if… this little speech from Crowley isn’t just referring to Armageddon? If he is in fact well aware that there were things that were said on the bandstand that need to be addressed? That he does not accept that he and Aziraphale are through? And that they are still going to have to be very careful about spending time together? His expression when he points out that Heaven and Hell are still on opposite sides conveys an air of disbelief that the angel could actually be naïve enough to believe that the avoidance of this particular Armageddon would fix everything.

After all, if Heaven and Hell are still desperate to get at each other’s throats, that means that he and Aziraphale are still expected to be pitted against one another, doesn’t it? You have to feel a bit sorry for the angel though, he genuinely does look like he thinks things are absolutely tickety-boo now.

As a side note, I got a little hung up on Aziraphale’s interrupted line here:

It’s as I’ve always said, at bottom…

Is it me, or is there no linguistical situation where that combination of words makes sense? The scripted line is actually a slightly amended line from the book:

If you take the trouble to look, deep down inside anyone, you’ll find that at bottom, they’re really quite…

I mean, the original makes a little more sense, but not really, or at least not to my mind. “Underneath it all” or “at heart” would make sense sure, but “at bottom”? Feels weird to me.

I can fully appreciate Crowley’s reluctance to try and relay the tale of the dissolution of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse to an ordinary human when he’s challenged by Anathema, but what I find interesting is Aziraphale’s storytelling. Setting aside the fact that explanations are clearly part of the role that it is customary for the angel to play when it comes to his and Crowley’s involvement (for that, see the expectant look that Crowley sends his way when Anathema won’t take no for an answer), why does he start “in the beginning”? I know Crowley said it was a long story, but 6000 years long? That’s a bit of an understatement. See, I can’t help but feel like Aziraphale is actually launching into the tale of him and Crowley, and that he sees this non-Armageddon simply as part of their own story. Notice how he sets himself and Crowley up as the main characters from the very start (not to mention the attempt he makes at flattery, calling the demon “wily”)? And if you didn’t notice it, Madame Tracy certainly does:

The fact that Aziraphale launches into the story so quickly, and at such a fine level of detail, I find myself wondering if he (or in fact, they) have actually spent time constructing this story in the event that they ever are asked about their relationship. Or indeed, if he has already told that story to someone else before. I’m sure that we as the audience know that his timing and understanding has fallen pretty wide of the mark here, just like Crowley does.

Isn’t this just adorable? Crowley could have told him, shouted at him even, to be quiet, even to shut up, but instead he takes control of the situation (you could almost say he was rescuing Aziraphale from making a fool of himself…) in a way that conveys a great deal of familiarity and kindness. I suspect that this is a moment, similar to him saying “nothing’s over” earlier on, where the things he doesn’t say to the angel are much more poignant and revealing than the things he does, non-spoken communications between this pair being the running theme throughout the show that it is.

Side note on the soundscape that accompanies the arrival of Gabriel and Beelzebub: we can hear the typical miracle noise as Gabriel appears but there isn’t one to signal Beelzebub’s arrival. I do rather like the noise that’s been chosen to represent the closing up of the earth that she emits from though – it’s like a cross between a crackling file and a creaky door. Feels very apt.

Quick question: how does Gabriel know Adam’s name? He didn’t know which of the children was the Antichrist at all in the first place, never mind any of their names.

I feel like Gabriel’s assertion that “you can’t just refuse to be who you are” is a pretty obvious reference to two things. Firstly, the running theme that to be human is to have free will. Gabriel’s insistence that Adam has no free will suggests that he does not consider the child to be human in any way at all. Secondly, that he does not accept that Aziraphale or Crowley could be anything other than what they are expected to be by others. With those two factors in mind, I find it interesting that this is the point at which Aziraphale chooses to speak up, and I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that anybody that misses the expression of blind panic on Crowley’s face as the angel steps forward really isn’t watching properly.

The demon shouldn’t panic though, because Aziraphale has a plan. Which he desperately tries to communicate, again without words, to Crowley:

If that’s not a massive indicator that this pair being able to communicate without words, I don’t know what else you need. At the very least it makes clear that they can understand the subtext that is being sent their way. And hasn’t Aziraphale stumbled across the most amazing loophole here? Let’s just take a moment to appreciate the bind he manages to put Gabriel and Beelzebub in and start with the definition of ineffable (which, until watching this show, I didn’t know).

So, the very fact that the Ineffable Plan, by its very definition, cannot be expressed in words, means that it cannot be the same as the Great Plan, which has not only just been described by Beelzebub, has apparently also been written down somewhere. Genius, Aziraphale, really. And his point really hits home once he’s joined by Crowley, whose presence fills in all the gaps of credibility that the angel has. It’s another instance of us being shown how they work so much better together as a team because they complement each other perfectly. And they know it:

We’re being given a clue that the situation is de-escalating here through the music, which is a replaying of the “Man with a Harmonica” styling we heard earlier in the episode, except this time it’s less prominent, slower, and less heavily orchestrated. It signals to us that the stand off is resolving, not in a mass of fire and flame but more like a tyre with a slow puncture. The music also serves to underline the moment of comic irony from Crowley and Aziraphale with their gleeful acceptance of the “blame” for putting a stop the war (as if that was something to be ashamed of).

Whilst we’re on the topic of sound (again), I just want to say that the noise we hear Gabriel and Beelzebub disappear makes me giggle. I think it sounds like someone, maybe even a child, making a fake retching noise. No idea why I find this so funny.

Quick note: Anathema really needs to work on her consistency of information that she holds to be true:

NEWT: Perhaps it’s a volcano. ANATHEMA: There aren’t any volcanoes in England.

Well, it wasn’t that long ago that you were Newt told you the same thing about tornadoes, and look how that turned out.

So, Armageddon was avoided but now Satan’s on his way to kick some butt. That about sum things up as they stand? That’s certainly how Crowley sees it, and he is all out of options for any of them. But here’s where things get interesting for us.

There is only one thing that Crowley needs to do in what he likely believes are going to be the last moments of his existence – look at Aziraphale and tell him, in as few words as he possibly can for time purposes, that he values him. And for the record, I am of the belief that “that was that” is not a reference to Earth, or even to his own existence, but to the relationship that he and Aziraphale have shared. Stings a bit that line if you consider that to be potential subtext, doesn’t it? What stings more is the realisation that Aziraphale, still holding out hope that they can fix the situation, is doing something that he has been doing for Crowley for a long time – being Crowley’s hope as well as his own. He is, in an incredibly beautiful way, bringing light to Crowley’s darkness. And he is fully invested in their partnership here too:

We can’t give up now.

Not I, or you. We. Did I get any of you with that light into darkness thing? Maybe I’ll have you with this instead.

There are a couple of things to say about this little stand Aziraphale makes for himself, and I’ll leave the one that always makes me feel like there’s something in my eye until the end of the paragraph. This demand from Aziraphale that Crowley is the one that finds a solution to the problem is a strong indicator, as has been discussed before, of the demon always being the one to save the day. It’s part of his role, given to him by Aziraphale, and one that he happily plays because he enjoys rescuing the angel. There is, of course, a lovely subtext in this that the “bad” one is actually the hero. The fact that Aziraphale picks up the sword here (no longer flaming now – is that to do with intent of the bearer?) is a clear sign he’s giving Crowley that he knows he’s not getting out of this situation without making some compromises of his own. Despite the fact that the sword was his originally, the idea that he’s picked it up with the intent of using it to fight offensively rather than defensively goes against his gentle nature. It’s meant as a message to Crowley to show that he means business. And it does the job – we can see Crowley registering the out-of-character nature of the action and rallying himself a little to try to replicate it. Lastly, there’s that threat:

Come up with something or… Or, I’ll never talk to you again.

Except. Except. It’s not really a threat, is it? Let’s have a quick look at what the original script had down for this line:

Come up with something or… Or, I’m never going to talk to you again.

It’s a very subtle difference. But it makes it a lot clearer that this isn’t a threat – it’s a statement of what will happen if they don’t find a way out. This isn’t the angel throwing out the only thing he can think of to say out of spite, it’s him spelling it out for Crowley the real consequences for them. And you can see how frightened he is by the realisation of it:

The stage directions at this point are pretty clear about both the intended effect of those words, and the resulting action that are to take place:

Crowley nods. That one hurts. What the hell. Crowley snaps his fingers … and time stops.

Obviously there was a bit of scope creep on the mechanism for Crowley stopping time between the script being written and the end product. Interestingly, this stopping of time appears to take Crowley a lot more effort than the previous instances we’ve seen him do. It’s also missing the trademark noise that has accompanied this particular brand of miracle (the popping noise), but there are some elements of the more generic miracle noise underneath the epic-sounding choir in the soundtrack. This is the first time we’ve seen Crowley also transporting himself and others to a different place whilst time has been stopped, and we are given no explanation of where this place is. The script suggests it’s all in Adam’s imagination, or possibly Crowley’s. If it’s Crowley’s I can understand why both he and Aziraphale now have their wings, as it would help convey to Adam that their intentions are good. If it’s actually Adam’s imagination, that would suggest that he himself has pictured them with their wings, which would further suggest he is aware of their true nature, despite this never having been addressed (at least in the series, there is a line in the book that spells this out a bit more clearly – “I know all about you two.”). Interestingly Aziraphale’s sword is flaming again now (which would pose some questions depending on who is responsible for that – Aziraphale? The person whose imagination they’re residing in?) and it’s only now that Crowley chooses to adorn his glasses.

Despite the perilous nature of the situation, Aziraphale still manages to have not one, but two realisations of his own in the time bubble. Yes, that’s right I had said two. The first of those is something he has been winding his way inevitably towards for most of the season – that he can see that the virtues of being human make for a better being than one that is solely of Heaven or Hell. That realisation is quickly followed that the realisation doesn’t just apply to Adam but to himself and Crowley too. Not onboard? Check out the knowing glance he throws Crowley’s way when he delivers the line:

He knows that, morally at least, the pair of them are both much closer to being human than angel or demon now. I suspect he also knows that the admittance of that is both a compliment to Crowley and an acknowledgement of something that the demon has known for a long time.

I do not think it a coincidence that Adam is pictured with an angel on one side and a demon on the other in both this and the previous scene (on the tarmac): that image has been the stereotypical image used to depict a conscience for a very long time. What I do find interesting in this particular representation of that is that both the angel and demon are there in order to support the human they are tasked with helping, and that they intend to work together.

Side note: Crowley uses the tyre iron from the Bentley to restart time. Again, I find it interesting that this instance of him stopping time appears to be quite a strain for him given that previous (and future) instances will be easily started and stopped with the click of his fingers.

Really quick side note (just in case you didn’t know): Satan is played by a certain Benedict Cumberbatch, though you’d struggle to recognise him beneath all the CGI.

Ah phew, Satan has been dismissed just like the Horsemen. Perhaps it was just a necessity of shooting that Crowley and Aziraphale were stood so far apart prior to Satan’s dismissal, but they certainly don’t waste any time before they’re standing together again.

Either way (and I choose to believe they made a conscious decision to stand together), it would have been difficult to get this shot if they’d still been standing eight feet apart:

It’s a shot we all deserved – Crowley smiling (actually smiling!) whilst Aziraphale gazes lovingly into his eyes.

Quick note: Aziraphale does not wipe the top of the bottle after Crowley has been drinking from it before taking his own swig (this interaction is slightly different in the script, where Aziraphale passes the bottle to Crowley instead, and actually does wipe the bottle top before he does so). Also, where has that bottle of wine come from?

Just a few lines ago I wrote about how there was no time wasted between these two in coming back together. Well, now we see Aziraphale wasting no time in returning to flirt mode. This cheeky side-eye he gives Crowley when he tells Lesley that he’s been sitting on the sword is priceless:

Or how about this once-over he throws over, with the cue word from Lesley being “wife”:

And Crowley does appear to have noticed – he turns his attention to the angel at the first chance he gets, disguising the turn of his head as him simply following Lesley’s departure.

Prior to Aziraphale’s discovery that his bookshop has actually been burned down, there’s a moment where you can see him physically deflate with disappointment that he and Crowley are going to be apart.

You can see how difficult this is for him to say – he doesn’t actually manage to say the whole sentence until his second attempt at it. I can’t help but feel like this is a nod to their break-up on the bandstand – whilst he said what he did with honest intentions, it’s all come back to bite him in the ass now that the World hasn’t actually ended. It feels to me like the subtext here is along the lines of “I understand if you don’t want to be around me”, but I also feel that this is him fishing for a rejection of this idea from Crowley, like he’s really desperate for him to say “no, don’t be so ridiculous, all is forgiven” (no pun intended. Well, maybe a little bit of pun intended). You can see him waiting for the verdict, albeit in a very blurry fashion, in the foreground of the shot. It’s pretty heartbreaking that not only does he not get what he’s looking for, but that Crowley has to deliver the soul-destroying news of the bookshop being gone for the second time, which he does in the kindest and most compassionate way that he can. It’s at this point that he offers his apartment as a place to stay for. My question about this little section is this: had Crowley, mistakenly believing that Aziraphale knew he couldn’t go back to the bookshop, already assumed that the angel was going to stay with him that night? I think that’s highly likely. There is the tiniest flicker of a smile from Aziraphale at Crowley’s offer, and why wouldn’t there be? Crowley’s invitation suggests that things can be worked out between them, that he hasn’t completely bolloxed things up with his declaration that “it’s over”. He also looks pretty devastated when he realises that it’s probably a bad idea to take him up on the offer.

Crowley’s not taking no for an answer though, is he? And he wants to make sure that his message is getting through to Aziraphale loud and clear - his assertion that they are now on their own side is really his way of saying “I forgive you”. Well, Aziraphale does get the message loud and clear – he sits beside on him on a virtually empty bus and, we are led to believe, holds his hand. And I do choose to believe that’s exactly what happens – you can actually see Aziraphale’s hand reaching down towards Crowley’s, which looks as if it’s rested on his knee or thigh.

I understand that there was a Tweet at one time where Michael potentially confirmed that this had happened, but I have been unable to find it. And on that delightful Aziracrow bombshell, I think I’m at a really good place to wrap up this part, not least because I can create a banner from noticeboards from the next scene to start the next section instead of making up my own banners. As always, questions, comments, discussions: all welcome. See you next time 😊

[diazsdimples]

Inspiration Saturday!!

I did a bad thing and started a new fic, which will be known as the Musician AU. Basically, Eddie, Hen & Chim are all players in the L.A Philharmonic, Bobby is the conductor, and Buck joins them for one concert as a new hot shot cello soloist. Eddie immediately falls head over heels for the man and him and Buck fuck nasty in many many backstage rooms. This is gonna be a long snippet sorry, I'm scared it's too niche lmao

Tagged by @callmenewbie @wildlife4life @loserdiaz @thewolvesof1998, thank you guys!

Eddie gets to his chair and takes a moment to fully appreciate that it’s his. He’s not played first horn for a while, let alone while being the principal, and he’s pretty hyped. He takes a moment to unpack his horn, slotting the slides carefully into place and pressing the valves up and down to make sure they don’t need any grease. He’s so focused on it that he doesn’t hear Hen sneaking up to his side, clarinet in hand, and almost jumps out of his skin when she speaks.

“So, have you seen our new soloist yet?” she asks, leaning casually against his music stand and Eddie lets out a startled yelp.

“Not yet” he responds once his heart rate has gone back to normal.

Hen picks at something in her teeth. “Apparently, he’s very good, Tracy and Jeff can’t stop talking about him. It’s getting on my nerves”.

“Makes sense that he’s good, you don’t solo with the L.A Phil if you’re shit” Eddie jokes and Hen sends him a flat look.

“You know what I mean” she responds dryly. “Was the youngest in his class at Juilliard and did a stint playing in New Zealand with the NZSO before moving back to New York and playing with the New York Phil”.

Eddie can’t help but be impressed; the New York Philharmonic isn’t easy to get into and from what he’s heard, the NZSO are no slouches either. “He must be alright then”.

“You talking about Wonder-Boy Buckley? More than alright from what I hear”. Chimney is slouching towards them, weaving his way through the chairs and music stands from where he usually sits as principal trumpet. “Cathy says he’s hot. You’d better not let him distract you, Eddie”.

Eddie rolls his eyes playfully at Chimney as he sets his music out on the stand. “I have excellent impulse control, thank you. Haven’t had a random hookup in almost a year, even though Joel’s been repeatedly trying to jump my bones”.

“He does that with everyone, don’t feel special” Chimney replies, and he pats Eddie on the back.

“Why do they call him Wonder-Boy Buckley by the way?” Eddie asks. “Buckley’s a weird name, isn’t it?”

“Buckley is his surname; his first name is Evan” Hen explains while Chimney blows into his trumpet to warm it up. “And he’s Wonder-Boy because he’s so young and hot”

Eddie scoffs at this. Wonder-Boy Buckley sounds like a bit of a prick, honestly.

“Ready for your big moment? First movement of the concerto has a pretty big horn solo, and Bobby is expecting big things from you”. Chimney is looking at him with big eyes and if Eddie didn’t know him better, he’d think the guy was actually concerned.

Eddie won’t lie, he is pretty nervous about it. The cello solo and the horn have a few moments in the piece where it’s just them playing and it’s damn high and fucking difficult. Eddie’s done it in concert before, but that was with a much more minor orchestra and not in front of an audience of 2000+ people. However, Chimney and Hen under no circumstances are allowed to know he’s nervous so he shrugs nonchalantly and says, “yeah, I’ve been practicing it loads and think I’ve got it all sorted. Unless the soloist is truly as hot as you say, I’m pretty sure nothing will throw me”.

It seems the gods are listening to Eddie and laughing at him, because at that very moment, an extremely attractive young man walks into the auditorium with a cello strapped to his back and all Eddie can think is fuck, he’s really fucking hot.

“Oh look, there he is” Chimney says, perking up and Hen’s eyes flit across the auditorium, coming to rest on the man and her jaw drops.

“Holy shit, he’s hot. And I like girls”

“How’s our resident dick-expert doing” Chimney nudges Eddie teasingly and Eddie’s currently making a conscious effort not to drool.

“Yeah he’s – uh – he’s not bad”.

Not bad? Eddie is convinced this is the hottest man he’s ever seen in his life. His muscles bulge as he swings the cello case off his back and sets it on the ground and he flicks his head up to talk to Bobby, his blond curls flouncing delightfully as he does so. Even from here, Eddie can see how his eyes are a piercing blue and he can’t help but notice the way they crinkle as he smiles at Bobby, flashing a set of perfect, white teeth. He’s got some sort of mark around his eyebrow, maybe a piercing? Eddie can’t quite tell from this distance but man, it’s got him feeling things he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Hen and Chimney are sharing a knowing look and Eddie firmly ignores them, instead picking up his horn and beginning to blow some warm air into it. Terry, Amy, Sophie and Grant, his fellow horn players, have all turned up and are setting up, striking up idle conversation with one another as they wait for Bobby to give the order to tune up and start practicing. Hen pats Eddie on the back before returning to her chair and Chimney wiggles his eyebrows as he retreats, flicking his tongue around his mouthpiece suggestively.

(No pressure) tagging @theotherbuckley @eddiebabygirldiaz @wikiangela @fionaswhvre @smilingbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @fruitandbubbles @watchyourbuck @incorrect9-1-1 @knightlywonders @housewifebuck @monsterrae1 @evanbegins @cal-daisies-and-briars @thosetwofirefighters @disasterbuckdiaz @spagheddiediaz @malewifediaz @shitouttabuck @jeeyuns

[use-your-imagination98]

GH Couples Inspired By Taylor Swift Songs

Had this in my drafts for FOREVER. thought it was a good time to post it haha. 

Alan and Monica: The Last Great American Dynasty

And they said

"There goes the last great American dynasty"

"Who knows if she never showed up, what could've been"

Luke and Laura: My Tears Ricochet

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe

All the hell you gave me?

'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you

'Til my dying day

Luke and Tracy: Better Man

I know

I’m probably better off all alone

Than needing a man who could

Change his mind at any given minute

Laura and Scotty: New Year’s Day

Please don't ever become a stranger

Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

Laura and Kevin: Lover

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Kevin and Lucy: Delicate

This ain't for the best

My reputation's never been worse, so

You must like me for me

Frisco and Felicia: Closure

Yes, I'm doing better

I know that it's over, I don't need your

Closure

Mac and Felicia: Ours

And life makes love look hard

The stakes are high, the water's rough

But this love is ours

Robert and Anna:  It's Nice to Have a Friend

Call my bluff, call you "babe"

Have my back, yeah, everyday

Anna and Valentin: Sparks Fly

My mind forgets to remind me, your a bad idea

You touch me once and it's really something

You find I'm even better than you, imagined I would be

Sonny and Brenda: The 1

But we were something, don't you think so?

Roaring 20s, tossing pennies in the pool

And if my wishes came true

It would've been you

Sonny and Carly: Haunted

​​You and I walk a fragile line

I have known it all this time

Sonny and Alexis: Blank Space

So hey, let's be friends

I'm dying to see how this one ends

Stone and Robin: Sad Beautiful Tragic

We had a beautiful magic love there

What a sad beautiful tragic love affair

Robin and Patrick: This Love

This love is good

This love is bad

This love is alive back from the dead

Lucky and Elizabeth: Tolerate It

While you were out building other worlds, where was I?

Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire?

I made you my temple, my mural, my sky

Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life

Nikolas and Emily: Happiness

There'll be happiness after you

But there was happiness because of you

Nikolas and Elizabeth: Dress

Our secret moments in your crowded room

They've got no idea about me and you

Ned and Alexis: Stay Stay Stay

You took the time to memorize me

My fears, my hopes and dreams

I just like hanging out with you

All the time

Alexis and Julian: Death By A Thousand Cuts

I get drunk but it's not enough

'Cause you're not my baby

I look through the windows of this love

Even though we boarded them up

LuLu and Dante: Wildest Dreams

Someday when you leave me

I bet these memories

Follow you around

Sam and Jason: It’s Time To Go

15 years, 15 million tears

Begging 'til my knees bled

I gave it my all, he gave me nothing at all

Then wondered why I left

Sam and Dante: Cardigan

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite

Chase and Brook Lynn: Mastermind

Once upon a time, the planets and the fates

And all the stars aligned

You and I ended up in the same room

At the same time

Spencer and Trina: Invisible String

And isn't it just so pretty to think

All along there was some

Invisible string

Tying you to me?

Cameron and Jossyln: Karma

Addicted to betrayal, but you're relevant

You're terrified to look down

'Cause if you dare, you'll see the glare

Of everyone you burned just to get there

Elizabeth and Franco: Red

Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes

Tell myself it's time now, gotta let go

Maxie and Nathan: Enchanted

My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again

These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon

[hebuiltfive]

WIP Snippet!

Warnings for swearing. Quite a lot of swearing. (They’re not all under the cut either, so if that’s not your thing, please stop reading now).

This story is one that is taking up every hour of my free time (though usually through little plans being made rather than actual writing). It’s becoming something that is completely self-service, and I'm really nervous about that but I’m hoping that when I do eventually get around to posting it that other people will enjoy it in some way shape or form.

This particular scene is from a section of the story that’s quite far into the action, but I had it in my head all afternoon and I had to write it out.

Evelyn’s chair scraped as she pushed it back from the table. The book she’d been reading was closed and tucked under her arm as she stood. Still, he continued to avoid her stare.

“You know something? The Scott Tracy that I knew all those years ago wouldn’t have stood for this. He wouldn’t have been pushed around so easily. I don’t know what the fuck you’ve got yourself into, Scott, but the old you would have found a way around it. The old you wouldn’t have allowed anything, gun to the head or not, get in his way from doing what he needed to do.”

Being told the truth always hurt, but in this case it felt like an ice shard straight to the heart. Evelyn was right, of course, and it burned him worse than that hot water container had, but that didn’t mean he had to stay and listen to it. Her words were the last straw.

“Yeah, well, that Scott Tracy is no longer in the fucking building, so get used to it.”

He stood, knocking the chair off balance and leaving it tumbling into the floor behind him. He was no longer just tired, he was angry.

Angry at being pushed around.

Angry at being threatened.

Angry at not being able to do what was right.

“Excuse me,” he whispered, noticing Gordon carefully studying whatever the hell was going on from the kitchenette in his peripheral. “I have to get some air.”

He made it all of three steps before her next question sunk in.

“Do you at least miss him?”

It had him stop dead in his tracks. Did he miss that old version of him? To get such a reaction, he figured he must have done, but he’d never thought about it before. Scott was Scott, and deep down he was still the same person that he’d been all those years ago. Besides, he’d never noticed any changes, but perhaps that was because change can happen slowly over time, right? His answer to her question scared him more than anything else currently did in this district of Bereznik.

“I’ve had to adapt to survive.”

“To survive what? Life? That isn’t going to cut it around here.”

Scott stayed rooted to the spot, even as he heard her socked feet pad over to him. In front of him she stood, head tilted upwards to catch his gaze. He didn’t deny her it this time. After that outburst, eye contact was probably the least he could offer by way of an olive branch.

“Look,” she continued after a few moments of that silent, understanding staring. “Whatever the hell it is, if you want me to stop asking, I will, okay? But just know that our work here will only be a success if we’re a team. We all need to know all the variables in all the situations, otherwise this isn’t going to work.”

He understood that. Truly, he did. This line of work was built in the very foundations of trust in the team, and knowing that he was withholding information wouldn’t make it any easier for him to be seen as trustworthy.

Evelyn held his gaze for a moment, allowing him one last chance to open up to her, to tell her the truth, but Scott held his silence.

She sighed. “You might not want to divulge your secrets, that’s fine, but I’ll let you in on one of mine. I miss him.”

[gumnut-logic]

Dear Mr Tracy (Part 4, Bit 1)

Sweetapple | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 - Bit 1

@flyboytracy​​​, @amistrio​​​ and @onereyofstarlight​​​​  you asked for it, so you get to suffer more :D

Many thanks to @gaviiadastra​​ and @katblu42​ for the read throughs and their amazing support. And special thanks to all of you who have cheered Alex on. I did not expect such an amazing response to this OC and I cannot express how grateful I am for all your kind words ::hugs everyone::

This again is mostly set up, but it is what it sets up that is going to be...interesting.

I hope you enjoy it :D

-o-o-o-

The test went off without a hitch.

Alex stood staring at the sealed habitat as its pumps churned out the remainder of the water and reinstated oxygen, creating a liveable interior in what had been marine overnight.

“Now, isn’t that something.” The words were said with awe. A glance behind him, and Alex found astonishment on Mr Jeff Tracy’s face.

Mr Tracy beside him caught Alex’s eyes and smiled, dimples, and eyes sparkling.

Alex was confronted with all the power of the renowned Tracy charm. God, he could see how this man could inspire so much. In that moment, Alex would have given him his soul if he had asked.

He blushed and turned back to his readouts.

“Thunderbird Four to Determination II. Alex, that was perfect!”

He had to admit that the jubilance in Gordon’s tone was heart-warming. He hit the comms. “I am very happy with the results. Did Thunderbird Four catch any detail I might not have?”

“Transmitting all readings now, Alex. Man, this is worth celebrating. Scott, you there?”

“Gordon.” How did Mr Tracy manage to shove so much warning into a single name?

“I think this is an O’Malley’s moment.”

Alex eyed the readouts sent over by the Thunderbird. They corroborated his own sensors, though there was far more definition. He had to admit to some grabby hands towards whatever equipment had generated the data.

“I think that is a fantastic idea.” Jeff Tracy agreed with his son. “Call Virgil, John, Alan, Kayo, Brains and Mom, we are due a celebration.”

Alex registered the conversation, but wasn’t really paying attention. He prodded at the data, noting slight discrepancies in the organic end of the matrix. It still sealed across some organic life, its bioelectric sensitivities unable to distinguish inorganic from the milder bioelectric fields, but that was a good thing. He just needed to push the design a touch in the more sensitive direction. God forbid if the sensitivity failed and trapped a living creature more complex than seaweed in the sealing net.

How to distinguish between organic and inorganic had been the true challenge in this design and he had been fiddling with that sensitivity throughout the entire project. He almost had it. The numbers were good and-

“Alex?”

“Yeah?” It had indeed trapped a strand of seaweed, but no fish despite at least one species showing an interest in the habitat at the time of Siliwrap deployment.

There was always the issue of what to do with life that was too dense in the target area, hence the need to tweak the sensitivity-

“Yo, Alex!”

He jumped and discovered he had a room of people staring at him. It was Gordon’s voice over comms that had broken him out of his train of thought. “Oh, um, sorry. These results are important.”

Mr Jeff Tracy was smiling. “I have no doubt. However, my sons were asking you if you would like to join us for a celebratory dinner.”

Alex blinked. What?

“Alex, we’re talking O’Malley’s best steak and burgers in the southern hemisphere.” Gordon’s voice piped over the comms circuit. “Bonus points if we get to see Scott devour an entire apple pie.”

“Gordon!”

“Hey, it’s true. You ate my half last time as well as your own.”

“Gordon, this is not the time.” Mr Tracy was actually flushing a little red.

Alex had the sudden realisation that the aquanaut on the team may have warning in his name for a reason. Especially since he continued to egg Mr Tracy on, despite that warning.

Mr Jeff Tracy rolled his eyes and took a limping step towards Alex, as if to leave his quarrelling sons behind him. “There is no pressure, Mr Sweetapple, but as we are going to be celebrating your success, I think it is only fair that you attend.” A soft smile. “Tia will also be joining us.”

“Okay.” It was weak and stunned thoughtless, but how else could he answer such a question?

“Alex, bring your results. Virg will want to see them.” Gordon piped up from comms again. “I’m calling him in to pick me up. Perhaps he’ll be kind enough to give us a lift.”

It took Alex a moment to realise exactly what that meant. When it clicked, he froze solid. Thunderbird Four was carried by Thunderbird Two.

“Let me guess. He’s gobsmacked. Scott, my bro, you have to stop terrifying our employees.”

“Gordon, for goodness’ sake!”

But there was only a cackle over comms followed by, “See ya soon, Thunderbird Four out.”

On the scope, the submarine spun on the spot and darted out into deeper water, far more agile than any underwater craft Alex had ever seen…which was a short list, but Alex reserved the right to be awed by any vessel sporting the name ‘Thunderbird’.

Mr Tracy stepped away and started quietly speaking into his shirt collar.

Not weird in the slightest.

Alex took the moment to examine his test results again. Elation returned at all those wonderful numbers.

“You’ve done a great deal of good today, Alex.” Mr Jeff Tracy’s voice was deep beside him. “This invention will save many lives.”

“That’s all I can hope for, Mr Tracy.” He still needed to work on that sensitivity. Perhaps if he increased the conductivity…

He barely heard the soft chuckle beside him.

-o-o-o-

Next

[thehattiefox]

Tonight, probably.

Trixie was awake. It wasn’t uncommon anymore, between the late nights after shows and dj gigs, but this night was different.

“The end of an era,” Brandon kept saying, and Trixie knew he was right. He talked to Katya countless times about it, how this tour was absolutely too much, how they’d never do anything like this again, how they both had some solo things they were excited to do, and were also excited to be spending some time at home.

And truly, Trixie had meant it. This tour was so fucking much. The effort, the schedule, the amount of people it took to put on one of these two-hour monsters.

But he was having a moment now, out of drag, in bed with the covers pulled up to his chin and light dancing through the curtains from the hotel parking lot.

He was going to miss Katya.

He hated himself with every movement it took to reach for his phone on the nightstand and pull up Katya’s name, pressing the call button and holding it to his ear.

It rang twice before Katya picked up, his voice low.

“What in the hell, Tracy?”

“Hey.”

“You never call me at 3am anymore.”

Trixie let out an amused sound. Anymore.

“Were you sleeping?”

“No. Tired as fuck, though. You see me dancing out there tonight?”

The cast and crew had taken over a local bar, closing the place down as they played an eclectic mix of music from the bar’s old jukebox. Katya, as always, spent most of his time on the dance floor, which always made Trixie smile.

“Mama, who didn’t. You were JoJo Siwa out there.”

“Is that the only dancer you can think of?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

Katya wheezed on the other end of the line, and Trixie heard him shuffling around.

“What’s up, mama?”

Trixie swallowed, annoyed with the fact that he needed to hear Katya’s voice after seeing him an hour ago. “I think it’s finally hitting me. The show being over.”

Katya hummed in agreement. “It’s wild, isn’t it?”

“And of course we still have all of our other stuff, but this was a whole year. One entire year of our lives that just ended.”

“Yikes,” Katya said. “I mean, sure, that’s one way to look at it. But that means another year is beginning.”

Trixie could hear the amusement in Katya’s voice, the lightheartedness he was trying to bring to the moment. Trixie couldn’t blame him. Katya was sentimental about a few things, but never about work. And that’s what this was, just another project ending.

“I guess I’m just going to miss you, Brian.”

Katya was quiet for a moment. “I am literally seeing you in two days—“

“I know, I just mean in this context.” Trixie felt his chest starting to hurt. “It’s fine, I know you don’t care that much about it ending—“

“Oh no no, hold on there,” Katya interrupted, his voice suddenly serious. “You don’t get to call me on my cellular telephone at three in the morning and tell me I don’t care. We are not doing that.”

Trixie swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, you need to know that as excited as I am to have some time at home and to relax and do other things, that doesn’t mean this wasn’t the best year of my fucking life.”

Trixie sucked in a breath. “Really?”

“You bet your ass, Mary. I am so tired and my hips are about ready to fall off my decrepit body but I have loved every single show we’ve done together. It’s been hilarious and stupid and fun. I’m going to miss it.”

Trixie felt a tear fall and quickly wiped it away in the darkness. “Me too.”

It was quiet for a minute, both of them breathing into the phone, trying to find the words.

Trixie cleared his throat. “Brian?”

“Yeah?”

Trixie took a deep breath, but his words still came out in a whisper. “Would you ever do this again? With me?”

“You mean tour?”

“Yeah.”

Trixie’s chest pounded, his heart heavy with sharing this vulnerability and the weight of a very fresh ending swirling around him.

“Trixie?”

Trixie sniffled. “Yeah?”

“I’d do pretty much anything with you.”

Trixie pulled the phone away from his ear, a deep, shuddering sob wracking his body. He took a moment, breathing deeply, the weight of what he was feeling starting to ease, slowly, as he took in Katya’s words.

He pulled the phone back to his ear. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m a mess.”

Katya chuckled, his voice gravelly, thick with exhaustion. “You’re ok, diva.”

“Two days, huh?”

“Two days. Back at it, money never sleeps, yadda yadda.”

“Will I see you tomorrow before your flight?”

“I’m getting up at 7am to work out if you’d like to join me.”

“Gross, ew, no thank you. I will meet you for breakfast, though.”

Katya laughed. “Alright. Go to sleep, mama. We can cry in the morning.”

Trixie rolled his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

[starman-john-tracy]

Just A Little EVA [RP with @asteria-star]

starman-john-tracy:

“It’s just a little EVA.” John’s reassuring smile is interrupted as he tugs his helmet on over his head, fastidiously checking the seal around his throat as he does. “It’s gonna be a quick out and in, I just need an extra pair of hands while I make the hatch repair.” He knows full well that she hates going outside the ship but he could really use someone to watch his back… and hand him the right tools. “Come on.” He slaps her helmet against her palms, “It’s time to put some of that training we’ve given you to use," a grin creeps onto his face, "Freeloader.”

asteria-star​:

“What training,” Star grumbles under her breath, peering sulkily up at the taller man while jamming her own helmet over her head. “I don’t know if it counts as training if I just show up and figure it out as I go.” Training or not, she’s been outside of Thunderbird Five - in SPACE, which still makes her want to run away - more than a few times by now, and no matter how much she hates it, she is getting used to it. Rather than a heart-stopping plunge of terror it's mellowed out into a begrudging requirement, like going to the doctor or the dentist. Even the uniform is growing on her, though no one will ever hear those words pass her lips. “I’m glad you have confidence in my ability to identify tools, because I do not.” She said, and pats John firmly between the shoulder blades to let him know she’s joking. Kind of.

starman-john-tracy:

“I’ll have to start colour coding them.” John seems to pointedly ignore her comment about the training she’s received. He’s well aware she’s not a fan and if she’s taking all his little corrections and notes as something else, then that’s probably a good thing. Basic sims had been a compulsory minimum requirement of her placement on his Thunderbird, but John had got the impression from the one time she’d ever, scathingly, mentioned it, that he should have run them with her himself. The few weeks prior to their first meeting Star had been stuck in a GDF hyperbaric spacelab attempting to complete trials that, John gets the impression, essentially equated to trying out all the ways you could die. Auntie Casey had been thorough, and John’s not sure that getting yeeted out of a virtual airlock without a helmet is even his idea of a good time. No wonder Star had made a… surly first impression. Still, she’d come out of it with septicemia and a rudimentary space license, and John’s done his best to give her more practical, day to day training ever since. He had been surprised how necessary ‘please don’t open the airlock without cycling the other side’ had been though. Things change around quickly on his 'bird, between his and Brains’ tinkering, and keeping her knowledge fresh and up to date is important to him, however much she might grumble about it. Besides, there’s no way he’d have agreed to having her up here without making sure she’s got enough knowledge to keep herself safe. He’s been on the rescue end of too many uneducated astronauts to find such a thing acceptable here. The name Langstrom Fischler still brings him out in stress hives. “Torque wrench, pliers, spare wires, transistor, crocodile clips-” He’s made her up a little kit bag, with velcro tethers for all the tools, and it’s abundantly clear as he holds it out for her to take that he was never intending to go out alone. Space is always safer with a buddy to spot your six, after all. “It won’t be long, and then you can go back to that book you were reading. What’s it about anyway?” He hopes he isn’t going to regret his curiosity. He also hopes that his discomfort when thinking about her training doesn't show on his face. John’s well aware of her natural reluctance when it comes to life up here, and it’s always made him uncomfortable that the GDF’s idea of the perfect imprisonment for her had been his home. It worries him, sometimes, that his own attempt at her training might come across as torture too.

[myfeeds]

Why does skin get leathery after too much sun? Bioengineers examine cellular breakdown

Surprisingly, though, very little research has been done to explain why this happens on a biological level — until now. A study from Binghamton University researchers recently published in the Journal of the Mechanical Behavior of Biomedical Materials explores how ultraviolet radiation can alter the microstructure of human skin. Particularly affected is collagen, the fibrous protein that binds together tissue, tendon, cartilage and bone throughout our bodies. “We don’t want to put a fear factor in here saying ‘don’t go out in the sun,'” said Binghamton University Associate Professor of Biomedical Engineering Guy German. “But extended periods of time under UV light can toughen up your skin as well as lead to a higher risk of carcinogenic problems.” Leading the research with German at the Thomas J. Watson College of Engineering and Applied Science’s Department of Biomedical Engineering are PhD student Abraham Ittycheri, Zachary Lipsky, PhD ’21, and Assistant Professor Tracy Hookway. The new study builds on previous research from German and Lipsky that focused on the outer stratum corneum, which is the top layer of skin. This time, the Binghamton team compared full-thickness skin samples before and after various levels of UV exposure. “One way to characterize the material characteristics of skin is by conducting a mechanical stretch test on it,” Ittycheri said. “If it stretches very easily, it’s relatively compliant, but if it’s much harder to stretch it, you can characterize it as much stiffer. My experiment was to see what the isolated effects of UV light would be and compare it with a scenario where a skin is not exposed to UV light.” The researchers found that as the skin absorbed more UV radiation, the collagen fibers in it became more tightly packed together, leading to increased stiffness and tissue that is harder to break. German sees correlations with the cross?linkage theory of aging, which proposes that the accumulation of undesirable molecular bonds over time can cause cellular dysfunction. advertisement Hookway — who won a National Science Foundation CAREER Award earlier this year for her research on cardiac cells — sees similarities between how heart and skin cells deal with damage, even though they have very different functions. “Our body has this natural response in any tissue when there’s some sort of injury, which likely happens in the stratum corneum,” she said. “First, wherever there’s some sort of weakening, there has to be compensation by some other part of the tissue or else there’ll be catastrophic failure. Same thing happens in the heart when you have a myocardial infarction — you build up a scar and your heart’s going to not work the same way anymore.” Sometimes, she added, the body’s reaction will keep you alive but isn’t necessarily a good result, possibly leading to other medical issues later. Figuring out the mechanics of how it all happens could allow future doctors to steer the reactions in a healthier direction. Following this research, further collaborations among Ittycheri, German and Hookway are already in the works. Our skin is the body’s largest organ and the first line of protection against microbes and other outside attacks, so ways to maintain and even strengthen it are clearly beneficial. “Any kind of disruption to the normal process of skin is going to be extremely dangerous and detrimental to our overall lifestyle,” Ittycheri said. “That’s not even going into the cosmetic side of things, where a person’s perception about themselves can be challenged when their skin does not look good.”

[prometheusinitiative]

EDEN | CH 3 EVENT REACT | AUTUMN SKULLCAP

Running out into the unknown is what Eden does best. It’s one of the few pleasures he can still find in the false-life purgatory he exists within. Naturally, it’s what he does when he sees the basin dissolve into chaos. 

The familiar thrill of adrenaline had coursed through him as he stared up at the static sky, momentarily awestruck—not at Encke, but at the intruders themselves. That one must be the deer demon that Michiya had talked about, oh, and Marbas! That was the Marbas! He bounces slightly on the balls of his feet, watching everyone else scatter. Was now a bad time to ask for an autograph? The urge not to get left behind wins out in the end. Later! He’ll ask later!

When he finally reaches Tracy and sees what they’re doing, the energy is still buzzing in his ears—or is that static? It’s joined by a fleeting, childish pang of jealousy as he stares wide-eyed at the glowing circles carved into the ground. Tracy’s asking for help? Of course he’ll help!

Eden runs to the tower without a second thought, doing his best to untangle wires and plug things in where they probably go. He’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t seem to realize most of the others are doing exactly the opposite. It’s not until Kezia calls out that he looks up from his fevered scrambling. 

It’s a death sentence to jump in like this without a plan.

That’s not exactly a concept that scares him. Not for his own sake. But as it sinks in, and as Eden looks around to see his friends quickly undoing all of the work he’s just done, he remembers that isn’t the case for them. For any of them. 

Eden drops the cable he’d picked up like it had burned him, heart leaping into his throat as he darts back to where Tracy is carving circles into the ground. 

“Tracy, this won’t—you’ve gotta—you gotta stop!” 

They don’t. 

“I want you to stop!” 

They don’t.

“I need you to stop!” 

They don’t. 

Eden’s face scrunches up in frustration. His hand digs deep in his pocket, fingers curling tightly around the selfie they’d taken together, the one they had both signed on the back.

“If you’re my friend, you’d stop!!”

They don’t. 

He can feel frustrated tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as his fists squeezes at the photo, crumpling the paper in his pocket.

“Why? Why aren’t you—you promised! You promised you would be! You said you can’t break a—”

The words have barely left his mouth when Eden feels the frantic beating of his heart drop from where it’s been fluttering in his throat, down back to where it belongs between his ribs.

“...you can’t break a contract.” The pieces fall into place and Eden watches Tracy with a much softer, painful realization. “This isn’t your choice at all, is it?”

He looks back over to the others working hard to dismantle the tower. There were enough of them to make sure it stayed that way. Enough of them had refused to help Tracy when they couldn’t even help themself. Eden’s expression darkens briefly, features caught in a flicker of shadow cast from nothing at all.

At this point, he knows it won’t make any difference whether he helps Tracy with repairing the tower or not. That’s not really the point, though. Not to Eden. He’d wanted to help because it was Tracy that had asked. Tracy was his friend. 

"What constitutes as bein' your friend? If we're gonna make a contract, lets go over the terms n' conditions, yeah? So we both get a good deal.”

"Being my friend means that you listen to me! Like when I wanna talk about stuff! And then you help me try to fix stuff if I mess up! And you say nice things. And you like being around me. And you don't think I'm..." A small frown crossed his face. "You don't think I'm stupid. You'll believe me. In me.”

Eden leaves the crumpled photo safe in his pocket, and reaches out to grab hold of Tracy’s sleeve instead.

“I need a friend who won't leave.”

What sort of friend would he be if he couldn’t do the same?

[usermischief]

I don't even remember the last time I worked on anything other than NPFP, and since I can't post anything about NPFP. Guess I gotta write something else. This is going great.😂 Thanks for the tag. 💖

chapter 58

Jealousy/Envy

"Honestly, I just want to help people."

"My teeth in your neck"

1 - 4x05

I'm tagging: @amatchinwater @raksh-writes @raisesomehale @sapphireginger @bundibird and everyone who is interested in doing this. 😊

Here's a snippet from "Jealousy/Envy":

Lydia massages the bridge of her nose. “Sweetie, this isn’t a movie. The public—“

“You've known me since middle school,” Stiles cuts her off, “do you really think I give a shit about what the public thinks?” Sure, breaking up a potential wedding might not go over well with a bunch of people, and so far, he’s somehow ended up everybody’s darling. Probably because he’s sharing a bunch of his spotlight with Kira, and since she’s the biggest sweetheart, everyone simple assumes the best of him.

Terrible mistake.  

She brushes a curl behind her ear and purses her lips, studying him thoroughly. “What about Brett?”

“He told me to do this.” Stiles sinks a little deeper into the pew, still not sure if he even wants to be seen. “He told me to make a decision, and that’s what I’m doing.” Brett hasn’t been quite as crude. Despite being an asshole, deep down, Brett is a painfully good person, and he’d told him that he’s going to respect whatever Stiles decides, but that he needs a conclusive answer before they’re making the step from friends with benefits to an actual relationship.

“At a wedding?” Lydia closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Stiles shrugs. “Maybe I’m just here to let him go.”

For a moment there, Lydia looks as if she’s about to laugh in his face. She doesn’t, which only proves that she’s got enough self-preservation for the two of them. “If Theo sees you here, he’s not going to let you go.” She turns towards him now and reaches for his hood, tugging it down more. As if that’s going to change anything. Sitting here in a hoodie makes his stick out like a sore thumb. Lydia grabs his hands, squeezing them tightly.  “He is…” About to get married. Considering the decorations, and amount of social media posts Tracy has thrown around, nobody is going to miss that this is a fucking wedding. “Stiles,” Lydia continues softly, “if you’re not sure right now, maybe it’ll be best to leave. You’re my best friend, and I want you to be happy more than anything. But this isn’t fair to Theo.” 

No, it’s not, Stiles is more than aware of that. Still, staying with Brett might not be fair to either of them —  not as long as he can’t scrub Theo from his brain.

Or his heart.

Lydia is right, though. Unless he’s here to win Theo back, he shouldn’t even be I the vicinity of this church. 

Or Theo.

And yet.

Stiles sets his jaw. “You don’t even like him.”

“No, I do not.” Her tone is clipped. The only reason Lydia attends this wedding is because Jackson is, to her utter dismay, Theo’s brother, and they do get along like a house on fire. “But if someone did that to me on my wedding?” She raises a perfectly plucked brow, and the look on her face is almost enough to send Stiles running.

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Requested/Friend event mentions under the cut! If you'd like to be pinged next week, send me a message to ask!

@fiore-della-valle @redbirdblogs @greenbergsays @idkfandomwhatever @luckyspike

@obaewankenope @mad-madam-m @anonymousdandelion @geometricfractal @prettybirdy979

@eriquin @labelleizzy @aparticularbandit @madnessfromthemountains @makeroftherunes

@whimsicalmeerkat @kidsomeday @lizhly-writes @skyderman @adhdavinci

@owlbearwrites @anachronismstellar @anyctibius @rilannon @lazinesswrites

@zyrafowe-sny @dreaminghour @blue-eyedbeta @candyskiez @dreamerking27

@kalira @virgulesmith @i-want-delfeur @selkies-world @exceedinglygayotter

@oitreewrites @post-and-out @1attheedge

[oneyeartowrite]

Eight Steps. Five Years.

Thought I’d try something a little more light-hearted with John. 

Behold, John on drugs...

************************************************************************

“Are you ready, Scott Tracy?” The Hood’s eyes gleamed. “Are you ready to watch the world burn?”

Scott struggled to free himself from the men holding his arms. One cock of a gun aimed at Alan’s head, and he gave up the fight, sagging forward in the men’s grip. Virgil and Gordon were being held in a similar manner, and the fight left them too. They shared a look of doom, passing it around each other one by one, but when they turned to John, he burst out laughing and covered his mouth.

The Hood had his finger hovering over a button. A button to launch a nuclear bomb, the catalyst to the world’s annihilation. He had them trapped in his bunker, poised to watch the end of the world play out in front of them. The horror weighing down in Scott’s gut attempted to pull him to the floor. Virgil looked to Scott for answers, Gordon eyed the gunman in front of Alan, Alan was pale-faced, muttering pleas under his breath.

They were done. Defeated. Yet…

John laughed again and slapped his hands over his mouth. He slipped them down, making his bottom lip pop. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m being rude, I’m trying not to be though. It’s hard, really fucking hard. Fuck, that’s a lot of swearing isn’t it?”

Scott double-took, and gawped at his brother. He couldn’t find any words, and neither could the rest of his family. John was unsteady on his feet, drifting forward, only to lurch back again.

The Hood lifted his finger and stabbed it in John’s direction. “What the hell is wrong with that one.”

Scott flexed his eyebrows at Virgil. Virgil mouthed ‘shock’ back but finished his silent diagnosis with a frown. John wasn’t one to break under pressure, and if this was his breaking point, it was a little alarming it came with a dose of hysteria.

One of the men holding Gordon sighed, “I kind of…. mixed up his dose.”

The Hood glared. “Care to elaborate?”

“I was supposed to give him a sedative to get him here like the others, but…I may have given him something else. Something,” the man coughed. “I use for recreational purposes.”

“It’s LSD,” John said. “I remember. It’s like my brain is crawling. It kinda tickles.”

“You’ve taken LSD before?” Gordon squawked.

“I was curious. Lady Penelope was curious…”

“Lady Penelope took LSD!”

John gasped, and tried to catch a speck of dust in the air. “Dust. Human-made stars. How fascinating.” He cupped it in his hand. “This is definitely one of Scott’s, it screams of stress. It’s okay little speck of dust, Johnny’s got you now.”

The Hood waved his hand. “Gag him or something. I don’t want him ruining his moment. This is when the world becomes mine.” He held his finger aloft, smiling to himself, but before he could press the button, John made a wrong answer noise. The buzzer sound echoed, and all eyes fell on him.

“I thought I said to gag that one!”

“World domination is never as easy as flipping a switch, trust me, I know. I tried the whole nuclear explosion, world war three route when I was ten. “ John dodged the gag coming towards him, knocking into Virgil who attempted to grab him. “I mean, it’s dramatic, kind of exciting, but you fuck the planet, you don’t kill everybody, and you’ll be long dead before it’s safe to leave the bunker. Like…your kids, kids, kids might get out of here, but they’ll have issues when they get to the surface. What’s the point in ruling the world, when there’s nothing of it left?”

Silence descended on the room. Broken only when John decided to act out a missile launch and subsequent explosion with his hand.

“KABOOM!”

The Hood stepped away from the button, gawping. He went to speak, but John got there first.

“What’s your second step?”

“Second step?”

“Yeah,” John stumbled forward, pointing at the button. “That’s step one.”

“No.” The Hood said slowly. “That’s the final step—

“No, no, no.” John scrubbed his face. He groaned and threw a look at Scott. “Can you believe the absolute idiocy of this man?”

Scott startled, “Um—

“You’ve gone about this completely the wrong way if that’s your final step. Call yourself a villain. What a disorganised mess. Genuinely, makes my blood boil. Look.” He wiped his brow. “Look at that, exasperation. What the hell were you thinking? Sometimes I think the only way a villain can win is if I become one.”

The Hood folded his arms. “I suppose you’ve got the full plan?”

John studied his nails with a pout. “I don’t mean to brag but….”

“John,” Scott said, carefully. His brother turned to him sharply, and he recoiled at his pupils, covering all of the turquoise in his eyes. John’s orange hair darkened with sweat, and trails ran down his flushed skin. “I…I think you should be quiet now.”

John’s face scrunched up.

“Most of the time I’m told I’m too quiet. I need to be more social, I need to talk, and be articulate,” he waved his arms, knocking the gunman trained on Alan. “But when I’m like that, it’s wrong. I’m not doing it right. Tell me, Scott, is there a right and wrong way of being social? I’m anti-social, that suggests I’ve made the choice to become anti, but that’s not true, I don’t like the anxiety, and the panic, and the self-consciousness, and the fear—"

“I would like to hear your plan.” The Hood said, carefully. “If you don’t mind.”

“Give me an incentive to share it.”

The Hood clicked his fingers. A gun was pressed against John’s forehead. Scott began struggling against the men holding him again, but stilled at the sound of the gun cocking.

John clacked his tongue. He cracked his fingers, then reached for the gun, not smacking it away, he grabbed it and pressed it to his head. “That plan is in here, in my racing, chaotic, brain, and sometimes I think blowing it out is the best option. “ The gunman darted panicked glances in the Hood direction.  His eyes widened. His bottom lip trembled. John sighed, swiftly moved his fingers, and the clip from the gun dropped onto the floor.  The loud thud was enough of a distraction for John to swing back his arm and punch him in the face.

He stepped over him and headed closer to the Hood.

The Hood retreated, giving John plenty of room. “It’s really hot in here. I’m sweating.” John wiped the back of his arm over his forehead and shook the sweat onto the floor. “That’s disgusting. Is there no aircon down here?”

“World. Domination.”

The Hood said, clicking his fingers in front of John’s blown eyes. John tried to bat them like a playful cat.

“Right, yeah. First, you’ve got to ask yourself what kind of world domination you’re after. You’ve got to think of time frame, and sustainability, and repercussions, but you just think, look at that shiny button, and the big rocket, and the explosives, and really, they are minor points in the grand scheme of things,” John threw his arms out wide, slapping a man in the face. He spun around, and the Hood ducked to avoid a palm to the cheek. “There are questions you need to ask yourself before you think about shiny buttons.”

“What questions?”

“Do you want a fully functioning society, or do you want a wreck.”

“Fully functioning—”

“Then no pretty, shinny, little buttons.” John crouched down in front of it. He touched it, tapped his finger against it, and everyone inhaled sharply. He rested his chin against the desk, stroking the button. “Pressing buttons is always so tempting though, right?”

No one dared breathe.

“How something so small can trigger something so huge? It’s amazing, isn’t it.”

Scott coughed awkwardly. “Maybe…move away from it.”

“Do you think so?” John asked.

“I absolutely think it’s a good idea,” Virgil said in a rush of words.

John cupped his ear. “What’s that Gordon? I should totally push it?”

Gordon launched into the air. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Sorry, that’s my inner Gordon speaking.”

John dropped to the floor, laughing. The Hood nudged him with his foot. “Let's hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“Your plan.”

John rolled onto his front and held up his fingers. “I’ve got it down to eight steps, five years, and I’m happy with that. Eos, three steps, one year, but she kills at will, and I won’t do that so mine takes a little longer, but you know, I don’t wipe out mankind with my eight-step plan I just,” John swiped at another speck of dust. “Move them elsewhere.”

The Hood crouched over John. “Move them?”

“Yeah, it really is hot in here, like, even the concrete feels like it's bubbling. Why is it so hot?”

Everyone except John startled at a piercing alarm. The source. Virgil’s wrist strap flashing up dangerous readings coming from John’s suit.

“How did you get them to…move on?” The Hood asked.

“No, no, no. That’s my plan, you’ve got to think of your own.”

The Hood pointed at the hologram of the globe turning in front of him. “I have—

“Nothing but a button. No plan.” John reached out and grabbed the hologram. It disappeared. One of the Hood's advisors yelled out in protest, but the Hood’s glare sealed his lips.

John twisted towards one of the many computers. “Let’s have a little thinking session between us, and see what we can come up with, hmmm?”

No one spoke. Virgil shuffled, showing Scott John’s readings. Scott widened his eyes and cursed under his breath.

John groaned. “Seriously, nothing? Alan, throw me a bone, you’ve got a brain cell and a sadistic streak, start us off.”

Alan glanced at Scott for permission. “Urm. A virus.”

“Brilliant Alan.”

He beamed at John’s praise.

“There are lots of different viruses, but you’ve got to make allowances for immunity. Some people will naturally be immune. There are also pesky scientists working against you, so I suggest you deal with them before releasing the virus. Some mass assassination, but that’s time and money, but then when we get past that, we’ve got to think about the type of virus.”

One of the Hood’s men cleared his throat. “When you say a virus, do you mean….like a zombie virus?”

Gordon pipped up, “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no zombie virus.”

John clutched the back of his neck. “Keep telling yourself that and you’ll sleep at night.”

Gordon recoiled. “What?”

“Let's release the zombie virus,” John said with mock cheer. “Now, we’ve got problems from the start—

“Yeah, Zombies!” Gordon shouted.

“No, the zombies are the solution, people are the problem. They’re resilient, not to mention some people have prepared for that eventuality. There are courses and everything, let's say we wipe out eighty percent.” John brought up a pie chart displaying eighty percent. “We come out of hiding, and the world, well, it stinks. Literally, all that rotting flesh and corpses are everywhere, and there are not enough people for the place to function. Then starts the infighting and the gangs, and the cannibalism because it’s far easier to hunt humans than anything else, and I for one don’t want to chow down on Scotty, he looks tough and bitter.”

“Hey!” Scott snapped. “I’d eat your scrawny ass first.”

“Virgil on the other hand, if I had to eat one of my brothers, it would be him.”

Virgil rubbed his temple. “Thanks, I guess.”

The Hood sighed. “Forget the zombies, and the viruses, I don’t want the world to be that much of a state. I need everyone to do as I say, that’s all.”

“Says Mr shiny button.” John folded his arms. “Anyone going to offer up any other ideas?”

Virgil cleared his throat. “Why dominate? Won’t being likeable and respected earn you the same rewards in the long run?”

John smiled at Virgil. “And that is why you’ve got the softest soul of anyone I know.”

Virgil flashed a shy yet confused smile.

“That will never work.” The Hood snapped.

“It will,” John answered, “But you’re talking about….” He tapped away on a different computer until a number appeared as a hologram. It climbed higher in front of them. “About thirty-six years for that to take effect.” He glanced at the Hood. “I’d say you have thirty-two, and I’m scarily accurate. I freak myself out with it. Genuinely. But thirty-two years for you.”

The Hood looked away, mouthing thirty-two.

“So we need a balance between the outright terror of a virus and the destruction that comes with it, and the nice guy smoothing out the ragged issues of the world, and that’s where my eight steps come in, but I’m not going to hand them to you. Work them out for yourself.”

“I’m starting to understand why Jeff kept you hidden away…”

John launched himself at a chair on wheels and whizzed round in circles. He stopped suddenly. “He hid me away because out of all my brothers, he liked me the least.”

Scott made a protesting noise, but John cut across him.

“It’s okay, Scotty.”

“Your father was an idiot for not valuing you.” The Hood wandered closer. “If you were my son, I’d be proud of you.”

John tilted his head, considering.

“That’s flattering and disturbing all in one.” He looked into the Hood's eyes, then hummed. “But it would never have worked out.”

“What?”

“If I was your son.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” John sighed. “I’d be the brains behind your schemes, and the world would be ours,  easily I might add, but then you’d grow paranoid knowing I could take it from you. Which I could because I’m a genius. You’d plot to have me killed, and because I would’ve already foreseen that, I’d kill you first.” He shrugged. “See. It wouldn’t work out, but thanks though, it’s nice to feel appreciated and I imagine for a few years you would be proud of me, and maybe there is a part of me that craves that, but everything has a time limit. Tick-tock.”

John leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “Now, I’m tired. Hush everyone. Wake me up when you’ve figured it out.”

The door burst open. A SWAT team entered, shouting out commands. The Hood’s men dropped to their knees with their hands on their heads, but The Hood lunged, flicking the button.

The hologram of the world appeared again.

Everyone stared at it, waiting, but nothing changed.

John cracked an eye open. “That’s another thing about buttons, a snip of a wire and they’re useless…” He grinned at the Hood’s shocked face. “You have no plan, and now you have no button. Night night.”

He promptly fell asleep.

And upon waking in a bed on Tracy island, hooked up to a load of machinery,  with four worried brothers hovering over him, remembered nothing.

Scott ruffled his hair.

John looked up at him. Dazed, and still not one hundred percent on the planet. “Why am I here?”

“You had a little trip to the land of crazy,” Gordon announced. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Alan nodded. “It was totally awesome.”

“Scary,” Virgil mumbled, closing his hand around John's wrist to feel his pulse. “For multiple reasons.”

“But we’re really proud of you.” Scott kept stroking John’s hair. “You distracted the Hood with your manic talk of world domination, severed a wire under the desk to the kill switch and got an SOS out to Eos via the Hood’s network…”

“Eight steps. Five years.” John said dreamily. He closed his eyes. “And no use of zombies like Eos’s plan…” he sighed, “Then the world will be mine.”

The brothers passed around another worried look between them.

Scott continued stroking John’s hair. “I’m so relieved you’re not a villain.”

[seiyasabi]

Spew

(This is a Yandere Lucius Malfoy x Sick Female Reader story! I hope you like it, and it’s not too OOC :))

TW: !mentions of past noncon, !pregnancy!, !mentions of vomit, !you also have the flu :((, Lucius calls himself Daddy!, etc..) 

Stirring your pot of (pot roast/soup) with an increasingly heavy hand, you try to hold back your feeling of vomiting. The pregnancy Lucius forced onto you hasn’t been going very well thus far, leaving you with lots of morning sickness, headaches, and you’re now stuck with the flu. The food you make for the death eater constantly makes you feel sick, the smell of it revolting you, even through a stuffy nose. 

You don’t know how Narcissa held out for so long, and you can’t help but be angry she left him. If she hadn’t left, the Slytherin man wouldn’t have stolen you away. Or, so your toxic thoughts think. 

You know that she and Draco feel horrible that they couldn’t stop the Malfoy from doing this to you, but there was nothing anyone could truly do. That fact alone kills you every time you cry yourself to sleep at night. 

The tang of copper at the back of your throat signifies that you need to run to the bathroom, so with shaky hands, you quickly shut off the cooker, and hobble to the bathroom down the hall. Once inside, you fall to your knees, chucking the lid off of the loo, before hurling your breakfast into the ceramic bowl. Tears trail down your cheeks, dropping into the bowl below you, as you continue to be sick. 

Resting a hand on your growing tummy, you can’t help but curse at it. If it weren’t for the foetus inside of you, you wouldn’t be feeling this horrible! 

Heeled footsteps echo down the hall in quick succession, as your captor opens the restroom door, and kneels behind you. He gives no mind to his expensive clothing, reaching out to (hold back your hair/rub your shoulders reassuringly).

“It’s alright, Darling. Let it out,” He kisses the top of your sweaty forehead, the blond’s large form dwarfing yours, which is currently curled around the ceramic in discomfort. Lucius is literally the last person you wish to see, “Daddy is here now, he’ll take care of you.”

You wouldn’t need him if he didn’t force you to be his ‘home maker.’ He’d claimed that he made a mistake letting his last wife out and about, allowing her to forget her ‘place’ was only with him. That thought alone makes you throw up again, entire body lurching. 

Lucius’ large hand finds its way to your tummy, its warmth wrapping around yours, making you feel uneasy. 

The both of you sit in silence for a moment, waiting to see if you’d spew again. When you didn’t for a good five minutes, your ‘husband’ gathers you in his arms, lifting you off of the floor. You rest comfortably against his chest, as he closes the lid, and flushes its contents down. 

“You did well, let’s get you to our room. I’ll have a maid bring you (meat/vegetable) broth,” The blond massages your left shoulder in soothing circles, his other hand squeezing the area at the bottom of your spine, just above your cute ass. 

Once inside your shared room, he sets you on your side of the bed, helping you sit underneath your coal grey covers. He props your pillows behind your aching spine, allowing you to be comfortable. 

“There we are,” He gives you an uncharacteristic smile, caressing your face lovingly, “Are you comfortable, My Sweet?” 

You nod, sniffing pathetically, “Yes, thank you,” He reaches over to your side table, grabbing a kleenex for your dripping nose. Nodding in thanks, you take it, blowing your nose into it. 

“You’re absolutely adorable, my (Your Name). I’m so happy you’re with me,” You don’t say anything, tired eyes starting to close, “Uh-uh, you can’t sleep yet. You need something in your tummy for you and the little one.” 

Reaching over to the bedside table once more, he grabs your house phone, dialing the head maid’s number. After a few rings, the older woman answers, “Tracy, bring up (Your Name)’s favourite broth. She isn’t feeling very well,” He then sets the receiver back onto its holder, turning back to you, and grabbing your hands gently, “There, now talk with me. I wish to know what you did today.”

His warm hands make yours sweat in anxiety, “Well, I made you breakfast before your meeting. I then read my book for a few hours, before I started on your dinner. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to finish it, due to me getting sick.”

He pinches your cheek adoringly, “You’re so wonderful to me, My Love. Are you-” He’s cut off by a series of knocks, making him sigh through his nose in mind annoyance, “Come in.”

The head nurse hurries inside, balancing the bowl with practised movements. She hands it and the spoon off to Lucius, before bowing, and hurrying out of the room. 

Turning back to you, he smiles once more, using the spoon to mix your broth, “Here you go. Be a good Darling and eat well.”

You nod, opening your mouth nonchalantly, allowing him to feed you. 

He feeds you multiple spoonfuls, before you feel too full to eat anything more. 

“Thank you, Daddy, but I’m full now. I think I’ll get sick again if I eat any more,” He nods, setting the bowl aside. Lucius then helps you lie back, using your maternity pillow to cushion your bump whilst you lay on your left side. 

“Good girl, go ahead and sleep. You need your energy for tomorrow, after all, I wish to take you to my meeting.”

You nod absentmindedly, eyes feeling heavy. Your entire body hurts, along with your pride, making you pass out almost instantly. 

Lucius watches you sleep for a few moments, sighing to himself happily. Standing to his feet, he heads to your large walk-in closet, changing out of his designer clothing. Stepping into a luxurious pajama set, he heads towards your shared bed, before sliding in next to you. He holds your sleeping form close, even though it’s quite early in the night, he can’t help but fall asleep next to you. 

His heart feels so warm when he’s with you. 

That’s why he can’t let you or this baby go. 

That’s why he needs to keep you happy and healthy.

With that thought in mind, he lets himself slip into a giddy slumber, excited to introduce you to the Dark Lord in the morning. 

Hopefully the health potion he slipped into your food will be enough to make you well. 

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent Challenge 2021 - “Taste of Heaven” (Rated G)

Summary: All Kurt wants for Christmas is a good night's sleep, but Blaine has a cookie emergency that threatens to rob him of the twelve hours of shut-eye he was hoping for.

But that might be a good thing. (1582 words)

Notes: Written for the Klaine Advent Challenge 2021 prompts: rise, ordinary, qualification, work, cup, and company.

Read on AO3.

"Kurt?"

Kurt murmurs something vaguely resembling the word what while keeping his eyes closed. He has no intention of opening them. Opening his eyes means rise and shine!

Nope.

That's not him. 

Not yet.

The past few years, he has wanted only one thing for Christmas - a good night's sleep. That way, he doesn't look like a bleary-eyed mess when family stops by. Not that much family will be stopping by with the new social distancing measures in effect. 

His father and stepmother won't be. 

Even though they’ve all gotten the vaccine and the booster, it's not worth the risk. Not with the way the number of virus cases has been climbing again. But Cooper will be by, accompanied by Blaine's mom.

Kurt would rather not look like death warmed over when they get there.

Kurt worked hard to get to bed as early as he could. He'd finished wrapping presents days before, had their daughter's new bike assembled at the shop where he bought it, and finished tomorrow's food prep all before nine.

He's not waking up early unless someone is dying.

Even then, he’ll require proof.

"Help. Kurt? Help… "

Kurt's lips twist into a calculating grin. "What is it, Taylor?"

Three beats of silence pass, and then, "That's not funny, Kurt."

"You mean not funny like when you came home drunk from your bachelor party and called me Tom?"

Kurt hears Blaine gulp and bites his teeth together to keep from laughing.

"Touche. But I need you to wake up."

"No. I got to sleep early. It's all I wanted, so that's what I'm doing. You promised you wouldn't wake me till ten a.m.."

"I know I did, unless it was an emergency."

“Unless it was an emergency," Kurt mimics. But when realization hits, he shoots up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress with his eyes still shut. "What... what's going on? Is it Tracy? Is she hurt?"

"No. She's okay." Blaine takes his husband's hands in his and gives them a tug. "Can you please just come with me?"

"Can you explain first? Because all of this mysterious mystery isn't doing my heart any favors."

"Sorry." Blaine continues to tug on his husband’s hands until Kurt groans reluctantly to his feet. "Here's the run-down - Tracy woke me up about an hour ago to make cookies… "

Kurt frowns. "Cookies?"

"A-ha."

"This is a cookie emergency?"

"Sort of?" Blaine admits lamely.

Kurt stops walking. "You've made about a million cookies in your lifetime. Why do you need my help?"

"Because this time I'm a little out of my wheelhouse."

Kurt snickers, then he snorts, and because the situation has gone from annoying to amusing, he starts walking again, allowing his husband to lead him to the kitchen. "You have a cookie-making wheelhouse?"

"Focus, Kurt. Focus."

"Sorry. I did just wake up."

"She didn't want to make any ordinary cookie," Blaine continues, nudging guilt aside for the greater good. "She wanted to make your mom's Lacy Almond and Mexican Chocolate Roll-Ups."

"Wow. Look at our little Tracy, scaling Mt. Everest.”

“Yup. She takes after you that way.”

Kurt hears the smile in his husband’s voice. Flattery does go far in their relationship. Kurt won’t lie. But he knows his husband. 

He knows he’s sincere.

“Did she make it safely to the top?" Kurt asks.

"Not quite. They turned out a little… “ Blaine pauses and hems, searching for a tactful way to describe the situation “… wrong. And I don't have the necessary qualifications to fix them."

Kurt stops walking when his hip bumps the counter. He'll have to open his eyes eventually, but he’s stalling for as long as possible. Just a few more seconds of blissful blackness. That's all he asks.

"I know that's my mom's most complicated cookie recipe, but I'm sure they can't have turned out too - whoa!" Kurt stares, drop-jawed, at the sheet of congealed black before him, center oozing a blacker substance still. The cookies are supposed to be light as air, delicate, pale on the outside, with a swirl of cocoa peeking through the ends. 

These don’t look like his mom’s roll-ups. 

They don’t even resemble cookies.

“Too much brown sugar,” Kurt deduces under his breath, “not enough flour, too high heat, jeez… “

Three years ago, Tracy built a model of The La Brea Tar Pits for school. She used a combination of dirt, peat, and Elmer’s glue to create the base.

These “cookies” look exactly like that.

He gives it a poke. It makes a popping sound, and he physically recoils. "What happened?"

"Let's just say mistakes were made," Blaine says quietly. Kurt thinks he catches Blaine cross himself once or twice. "But now I need your help to fix them."

"Scrape them into the trash and cover them with coffee grounds. She'll think Santa ate them, like every year."

"Uh... that’s the thing. She didn't make them for Santa. She made them for you."

Kurt tilts his head, meets his husband's gaze. "For me?"

"Yeah. She said she wanted you to have something special for Christmas."

"But we make cookies all the time."

“It’s not about the cookies. It’s about… your mom.”

Kurt’s eyelids narrow as he tries to get that comment to make sense. “What about my mom?”

Blaine runs a tired hand through his mussed curls and looks down at his feet. “I promised I wouldn’t tell you.”

“That means you should probably tell me,” Kurt retorts, knowing his logic is flawed. But this early in the morning (three, he thinks, if he can trust his microwave), logic doesn’t exist.

He’ll broach the subject with his husband later when he’s conscious.

“I guess she overheard you on the phone with your dad,” Blaine explains. “Talking about how much you miss your mom over the holidays and… “

“Say no more,” Kurt mumbles, shame catapulting him fully awake. Frick.

No wonder he didn’t get the lead in West Side Story. He obviously isn’t as good an actor as he takes himself for.

Kurt adores Christmas. Always has. He’s not religious, but he loves the ritual of the holiday: planning, decorating, buying gifts, going to parties and school plays and dinners with his friends and family. He has even suffered through a few midnight masses so that their tiny trio could spend quality time with Tracy’s mom, Mercedes. Participate in her holiday traditions.

But he hasn’t enjoyed Christmas as much lately as when he first became a father. 

As Tracy gets older, everything feels like a chore, especially as they struggle with the COVID pandemic.

And the things Kurt loves he has started to avoid.

Kurt will admit he didn’t try his hardest to hide his melancholy. But he wasn’t worried about diminishing his daughter’s Christmas spirit. Blaine has enough for both of them. The man is practically an elf. Kurt figured Blaine’s enthusiasm would compensate for his own apathy, and Tracy wouldn’t notice.

But his daughter is too smart for her own good.

Kurt has been going through the motions. That’s one of the reasons he wanted to get to bed early.

He wanted to get Christmas over with.

Kurt thought Christmas would be a thousand times better, happier, more joyful when he had a child of his own. And it was for the first few years. But more and more, it underscores how much he misses his mother.

Kurt didn’t have a bad life after his mother passed. Far from it. Burt Hummel is the greatest father that has ever walked the earth. But Kurt feels cheated every day that his mother isn’t around, curses every missed Christmas, birthday, and graduation.

His wedding and the birth of his daughter.

Tracy has a mom, two dads, grandparents, and a host of adopted aunts and uncles who drop in for nearly every holiday, every special event.

He hates to admit he’s jealous of his own daughter. 

Kurt yawns, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to wipe away the sleep.

But mostly to hide the tears.

He needs to make this up to his daughter. 

And this is where he starts.

"How did you tell her they were going to get fixed?" Kurt asks.

"I told her that leaving them to cool would activate the baking soda, and they'd puff right up."

"And... ?"

"She didn't believe that. She said you'd taught her enough about baking to know that wasn't true."

Kurt grins at the brilliance of his daughter. "Good girl. And after that?"

"Santa magic."

"Did she believe that?"

"Yes."

"Crap." 

Why did Blaine have to say Santa magic? Why couldn't he have said 'hopes and prayers'? Tracy is clever enough to know that those aren't worth a thing. 

But Santa magic must be preserved.

Kurt's elusive night's sleep on Christmas Eve remains out of reach for yet one more year. But maybe it should. This time, at least. "All right. Let's get to work keeping the spirit of Christmas alive."

“Excellent!” Blaine says with a muffled clap. “Shall I give you your space? Let the master work?”

“Nu-uh! I’m not going to bake while you sneak off to the sofa for some shut-eye. Misery loves company." Kurt plants his hands on Blaine's shoulders and moves him into the space between the kitchen island and the stove. He shoves a measuring cup in his hand and points to a bag of flour. "You’re manning the flour station. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Turning Circles - Celly

A/N: All of the Turning Circles verse snippets are here. In this bit  - another slide-y sport. This was the last one I had written out, but definitely isn’t the last one I had in my head if you all want more?  I know it’s not a fully fledged story, but I hope you’ve enjoyed these snippets during the Olympic run all the same, and thanks to anyone who watched and participated and enjoyed the games and the prompts. Until next time! ~*~

“John, dear?” Penny was used to the cold of the stadium, but usually it was the constant motion that kept her warm in her skating tights and costume dresses. As a spectator, she felt the cold air against her cheeks. And though she would never admit it out loud, the seats were doing nothing for the numbness in the back of her thighs. She huddled closer to her skating partner, wincing as the walls of the rink below reverberated with the thwomp of two human bodies hitting the side. “Is it always so… violent?”

John squeezed her hand through their gloves. “They have padding” he assured her. “Don’t worry.”

She wasn’t worried. She really wasn’t. It was just …

“He’s so tiny.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that, Pen. I promise you it’s to his advantage.” John grinned at her. “Gordon’s slippery.”

“And Gordon’s the wing?”

“Left wing, correct.” He pointed towards the players on the Thunderbirds side. “Rigby is your right wing. Scott’s over there, the center. Mike and Lance, the two big guys there – they are the defenders. And Virgil.” He gestured towards the goal to finish off. “You know what Virgil does.”

She hummed. Virgil had a goalie’s build but the heart of an artist, in her opinion. But she’d never really seen him play before either. She knew Virgil as relaxed, calm, soulful. The Virgil that showed up to the area today was focused and driven, with alertness that tracked every movement. With sharp eyes he watched their opponents, the puck – did he call it a biscuit earlier? – and his teammates. It was the first time she’d seen his hard edges, and it reminded her very much of the first time she’d met John, the young man determined to repeat the dance lift that was part of his audition with her. Until he got it right. It was ambition she admired. Not just a John trait, but in the Tracy blood.

Never give up, whatever the cost.

Down at the rink, Virgil blocked a shot from sinking into their net, and Gordon swung around in his pursuit of the puck to fist bump in celebration. Virgil’s large goalie gloves comically connected with his brother’s smaller covered grip.  

Penny smiled. “Is this an important game?” she asked.

“When is it not?” John mused. He turned toward her. “Would you ever approach a competition as anything less than a championship?”

She shook her head. She had to admit she wouldn’t.

With their arms still linked, John pulled her in close and pointed out the plays and the penalties, his explanations more exciting and robust than any commentator’s - and more biased. A five-minute penalty was an opening for John to the list the worst offenses to result in one of the team being ejected from the game, and a backhand shot was a chance to share the story of the time accidentally Gordon knocked out one of Virgil’s teeth during 1-on-1 drills. Now that she knew Virgil had a fake central incisor, she knew she’d always see the slight off-color matte in his smile.

The figure she knew to be Scott appeared to find an opening, as he broke away with the puck in his possession and darted towards the opposite net. He slammed the puck, sinking it into the upper corner of the goal. Penny’s gaze shifted to watch the scoreboard accept the additional point.

“That Scott’s celly,” John explained to her, grabbing her attention back towards the rink below. He gestured towards where Scott was turning back towards his team with a deep edge, his hands raised up in celebration and the stick pointed up toward the sky. “Aaaand that’s Gordon’s.” Sure enough, the younger man came up beside his older brother and jumped up onto his back, his wild limbs clinging to Scott as the two of them continued to cheer. “That’s how he gets the name Squid.”

[katblu42]

Passing the Big Brother Baton pt 3

Part 3 is here! It's a little longer than the other parts, so I've put in a cut for length. It turns out John has a lot to say about being a big brother!

You can read the whole thing on AO3.

Gordon had just turned four, and with a new baby on the way the family had inevitably been throwing around the “big boy now” comments. Lucy had been careful to involve Gordon in the necessary process of setting up the nursery furniture in the room he would soon be sharing, worried that he might resent the impending invasion. Unlike any of the other boys, Gordon seemed reluctant to step into big brotherhood. For over a week now he’d been very clingy, wanting cuddles with Mom on the flimsiest of pretexts, and needing Mommy’s (or, to a lesser extent Daddy’s) help with tasks that he had more than mastered.

Lucy was wondering what challenges today would bring when there was a commotion in the kitchen – a clattering of kid-safe plates, cups and bowls as though someone was rummaging through cupboards and spilling items out onto countertop and floor tiles. Gordon had just gone in there. With a sigh, Lucy heaved herself to her feet to see what was happening. Before she reached the kitchen door the sound of John’s voice prompted her to stop and listen.

“What are you looking for?” the eight-and-a-half year-old enquired with a patience Lucy was sure she could not have mustered.

“My sippy cup,” came the simple reply, accompanied by more rummaging and clattering.

“Why?”

“For my juice.” Lucy could hear the exasperated sigh in Gordon’s voice suggesting this was the most obvious thing in the world, despite him not needing his sippy cup in well over a year.

“I was going to pour yours into a cup just like mine.”

Lucy was relieved her perceptive third child had been smart enough to avoid the term “big-boy cup.” The use of similar terms had been enough to induce tantrums over the last few days.

There were footsteps and a cupboard door squeaked open as John apparently went and retrieved Gordon’s sippy cup from the corner cupboard used to store all the retired-until-further-notice toddler items. Juice was poured, the lid popped on and the cup was slid across the countertop, presumably towards Gordon who had more than likely climbed up to sit on a stool opposite his big brother.

“You know, just because you won’t be the littlest anymore doesn’t mean Mom and Dad don’t love you just as much as they always did.”

Lucy was not surprised John was able to pinpoint the problem behind Gordon’s regressive behaviour, but she was impressed that he was able to articulate it so well, and that he was willing to address the issue head on. There was no answer from Gordon, and she found herself imagining him trying to process what John had said, probably with head slightly tilted to one side and a squinty frown.

“I was the littlest before you were born,” John said solemnly, and perhaps with a hint of nostalgia.

“Really?” The shock in Gordon’s voice had Lucy visualising his russet eyes widening. “But you’ve always been big!”

John laughed. A quiet, contented, closed mouth, chesty sound that Lucy always loved to hear.

“That’s because I’m older than you. And I’ll always be older than you. I’ll always be your big brother, just like Scott and Virgil will always be my big brothers, and all of us, including you, will be the baby’s big brother.”

“I don’t wanna be a big brother.” Lucy heard the pout, and the crossed arms in Gordon’s words.

“Why not?”

“Don’t wanna be sponstible. Wanna do fun stuff with Mommy, like before. Just me and Mommy. No baby.”

Lucy felt the prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes. John let out a sigh.

“Yeah, it kinda sucks that you don’t really get to choose to be a big brother. It just happens and you’re stuck with it. And it is a big responsibility. You need to look out for the little one, make sure they’re safe – like when I had to stop you from crashing the toboggan into the garage. You have to help them with things they can’t do yet – like I just helped you get a drink of juice. But being a big brother can be pretty cool. If you help mum look after the baby you’ll still get to spend time with her too. And you can play with the baby sometimes. Then when he gets bigger you get to teach him stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Well, the baby isn’t going to know anything about the world, or how things work, or being a Tracy. He’ll watch you and learn from you – even when you don’t know it. And when he’s old enough you’ll get to answer all his questions – like I answered when you asked me about how tadpoles turn into frogs. You’ll be able to teach him important things like where all the best hiding spots in the house are, and not to steal grandma’s cookies. Stuff Mom and Dad might not know, and stuff they might be too busy to help with – that’s the kind of big brother stuff you’ll need to do.”

There was a pause, and a soft shuffling and rustling of clothing. Lucy thought John might have moved around the kitchen counter so he could put an arm around his little brother, or a comforting hand on his back with a gentle rub.

“You don’t have to do it all yourself. That’s the best part about being a Tracy – we stick together, we all help each other. You have three big brothers you can come to whenever you need to.”

Lucy wished she could see her boys at that moment, barely holding herself back from entering the kitchen just to see their expressions, to see the demonstration of exactly the big brotherly love John was speaking of. She could hear the gentle scrape and clacking of cups that suggested the boys were sipping their drinks, perhaps even toasting the moment, before cups were tapped back down onto the countertop.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she heard John quietly continue. “I wasn’t sure how I felt about being a big brother at first.” This was news to Lucy, and she wondered if she had missed something that she should have seen four years ago. “But as soon as Mom and Dad brought you home I knew I would do anything to make you happy and keep you safe.”

“You didn’t want to be my big brother?” The teariness in Gordon’s voice was heart-wrenching.

“I changed my mind really quick. I found out having a little brother is the best feeling in the world. There’s nothing like the way you looked up at me when I held you in my arms, or the feel of your tiny hand wrapped around my finger. And you were fun to play with, especially when you were big enough to laugh.”

“I’m still fun to play with!” Gordon insisted, then doubt crept into his voice. “Will you still play with me after the baby’s born?”

“Of course.” John laughed again, this time a bright chuckle.

It seemed the serious conversation was over and the long silence prompted Lucy to begin to withdraw. As she walked away she heard the beginnings of a whole new discussion.

“Are we sure the baby’s gonna be a boy?” Gordon asked

“Yeah, Mom and Dad and the doctor are all pretty sure. Why?”

“Do you think I could ask if we could have a sister instead?”

As curious as Lucy was to hear how John would handle that one, she kept walking, unable to stop the broad smile spreading across her face, and the swelling of absolute love in her heart for all her boys.